#just get your feelings off with whoever... its fine

[date-everything-has-taken-over]

Hi hi hiii I wasnwondering if u could do a fic thing where reader is basically dating most dateables n one day they (the reader) basically ends up feeling extremely sick from not taling care of theirself properly, running around to fix stuff, starting a new part-time job, going out with new friends. Could some of the characters included be dorian, eddie & volt, hector and whoever else? Pls and thank uu!!

Gonna add Barry and Betty because I think they'd fit in very well with this case (And they're my babygirls)

Dorian🚪

● One of the first to notice something was off

●After losing your job at Valdivian, you had gotten two part-time jobs to make up for it, and it was beginning to take its toll

●He was the kne to see you before you walked through the front Dorian. Before you would take a deep breath and put on your best, "everything's okay" face

●He'd try his best to convince you to give yourself a break and get some well needed rest, but you kept reassuring him you'd be fine

●Well, he was right. After one too many overtime shifts combined with coming home to help everyone with their problems resulting in many sleepless nights, you come home and practically collapsed in the front hallway

●"Right, that's it. You're taking a couple days off work and resting"

●Unfortunately, he's still the front door, so he can't take you to bed himself, but bedroom Dorian will take things from there

●If you thought he was like a bouncer before, you haven't seen anything yet.

●A dateable wants to see you. "Are you on the list?" "What do you need with them?" "You're not gonna cause a fuss are ya?"

●He even contemplates moving the hanks downstairs. Sure, they're usually in your room, but they're so loud. He gives them a stern warning (which scares them just a bit) and let's them stay

●He makes sure the house is safe and that your room is the pinical of peace

●"Autherized personal only" Dorian blocks anyone trying to get in, but especially the more rowdy members of the house

●"Darling, you never believe what I heard about Hoove!" Scandalabra tries yelling through Dorian, which was followed by a suspicious thud (I'm sure it's nothing to worry abt)

●Until he sees you're 100% better, Dorian doesn't let you out of his sight (not that he does that anyway). Going to the kitchen for chicken soup? He's got an eye on you just in case

●When you actually do recover, he's making sure you don't get yourself in the same issue and makes you promise not to push yourself

●"It's not just my job to keep you safe from the outside world, love." He holds you close to him, enveloping you in a warm hug. "I will always be there to keep you safe from all danger"

●Even after you're better and going back to work, he's checking on you every chance he gets, reminding you to eat and sleep at a reasonable time

●He may not woo with words as much as other dateables, but he shows how much he loves you every day by being a safe and reliable presence for you

Eddie & Volt⚡️

●Work was short-staffed, and with it being busy season, you were picking up extra shifts almost every day

● They know overworked when they see it, so when you show up to the club, noticeably tired, they clock you right away

●Volt takes a seat next to you, placing his lips on the side of you head

"You know we're always happy to see you, live wire-"

Eddie cuts him off

"-But you look dead tired, go to bed"

● Volt chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap

"Our live wire doesn't need to leave to rest, do they?" He brings you closer. "You can relax right here, live wire"

●After that night, Eddie stopped letting you help out around the club

"Don't worry about it, alright? You look like you're about to fall over anyway"

●Eddie acts tough, but he's checking on you and bringing you water every time you visit the Breaker Box after work

●When everything catches up to you and you actually do end up getting sick enough to take a couple of days off work while stuck in bed, they're both worried (and a little pissed)

●They've seen you running around the house helping everyone, fixing things around the house, settling arguments between other members of the house so they have a pretty good idea of how you ended up like this

●They check on you every day to make sure you're doing alright

●If you're not awake when they come by, you'll wake up to find a glass of water, Nyquill, and a note

'Rest well, live wire -E&V

●After a couple of days of bedrest, you return to the club, and they're happy to see you doing well

●They've both accepted you're too nice to say no to helping everyone in the house, so how do they remedy this?

●By practically keeping you hostage in the club for the next couple of days (Can't get exhausted again if they just keep you at the Breaker Box)

●Eddie still refuses to let you help out even if you insist

"And you get on me for not taking a break," he sets a glass in front of you. "Little hypocritical, don't ya think?"

●He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head, keeping close for a moment before going to the back to do maintenance

●They may be busy running the club, but never too busy for you, and they make sure to remind you

Hector💨

●Also, very quick to notice

●He was very worried when he noticed how much slower you seemed lately

●Asks how you're doing multiple times a day. Never believes you when you say you're fine but he doesn't wanna push it and upset you

●Fully panics when he sees you collapse after walking through front Dorian

●The temperature spikes for a moment until he calms down

●He doesn't leave your side for a moment

●Takes extra care to keep the temperature at a comfortable level for you

●You don't even have to say anything. Ate you pulling the blanket closer to you? Heat up. Are you kicking away the sheets? Air on.

●He so badly wants to be there with you. To hold you and comfort you. But he's still terrified to leave the vents

●He's slightly soothed knowing Betty is taking very good care of you (but also kinda jealous)

●In the middle of the night, when he's sure everyone is asleep, he sits beside your bed, watching as your breath rises and falls

● He brushes your hair aside, admiring your beautiful face (even though it's sick and sweaty, he doesn't care)

●Before leaving, he gives your forehead a kiss. "Feel better soon, my love."

● If someone tried disturbing you or kept you awake, he'd turn the heat up in the room they're in to be petty

●When you're well enough to get out of bed, he's overcome with both joy and anxiety

●Joy because you're well enough to see him in the attic now. He can hold you again (and you can watch him turn bright red as you kiss his face)

● But anxious because, what if this happens again? What if the human keeps pushing themselves? What if it's WORSE next time?!

●He begs you to slow down and not push yourself too hard. To give yourself more free time and rest more often

●The look he gives you is like a kicked puppy, and you just can't help but hold him close and promise to take care of yourself better

●He clings to you for a bit before you leave the attic to go to bed "Rest well, my love."

● When you finally go back to work, he anxiously waits for your return, watching Timmy just a little too closely

●When you finally return, he observes your every move to see if you look tired or overwhelmed

●If not, good. But if you look any kind of distressed, he's whisking you away to the attic to cuddle, then practically dragging you to bed at the end of the day

●You're honestly a little surprised since he's normally not this bold face-to-face

●Even long after recovery, it becomes a new routine. If you come home tired, he's attaching himself to you koala style

Barry💄

● Well, technically, he noticed pretty quickly when he'd see you so exhausted every morning, buuuuut then he forgot and would notice all over again each morning

●Feels terrible when you come home sick and remain bedridden for days

●He's almost too nervous to visit you, scared you'd be mad at him

●"Are you feeling alright, darling?" He peeks into your room, "Anything I can do to help?"

●When you tell him you'd just like to hear his voice and that you love it when he goes on little rants about whatever he's obsessed with at the moment, his whole face turns red

●"Oh! W-well, that's, um, very n-nice, darling." He laughs nervously. He takes a moment to compose himself. "I 'm-I'm glad you enjoy hearing me talk. I'm happy to keep you company, darling."

●Since you're stuck in bed with nothing to do, Baeey is happy to keep you company while you recover

● He'll talk about just about anything that interests him at the time. Makeup, toucans, history, lions, movies. He's also happy to listen if you have anything to yap about

● If you're not able to shower, he'll brush your hair so it doesn't get too knotted while you're sick, taking care to be extra gentle.

●It's so soothing you send up falling asleep. He brings the covers over your body and turns the lights off, letting you sleep peacefully

●Before leaving, he leans down to kiss your cheek "Goodnight, darling."

● You may or may not have woken up with a lipstick smudge on your cheek, but you certainly didn't mind

●When you're feeling better, Barry helps you through your post-sick self-care routine. Warm bath, skin care, hair care

●Helps you with your bath so you don't fall asleep, definitely not because he wants to rub your soapy body noooo definitely not

Betty🛌

●She noticed right away. You've barely been sleeping and even when you do, you toss and turn all night.

●She tries to get you to come to bed early, but you're busy helping around the house. Then she tried getting you to sleep in, but you got called into work early.

●This repeated a couple of times until you stumbled into your room and fell onto her.

●She's happy to be able to spend so much time with you, but she wishes it weren't under such conditions.

●She holds you close, your head just under her chin and your face against her chest (awooga). She's somehow the perfect temperature for when you're cold or overheating.

●She'll gently stroke your head and hum softly until you fall asleep.

● When you wake up, she looks down at you and brings a hand to your cheek. "Good morning, lover." She presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I'm afraid I can't let you go anywhere until I'm sure you're better." Her gentle voice makes it seem like a joke, but you know she's serious.

● You wouldn't have thought to leave anyway, you could barely move, and your whole body felt achy but more importly Betty was just so damn sweet and comfortable.

●Ngl it's mostly sleeping and cuddleng with you and occasanaly getting food

●When you finally felt better, she convinced you to take an extra rest day with her "just in case"

Sorry, Betty's is so short! I couldn't think of much for her

[thecatchat]

Free fic idea because I know I'm going to run out of energy if I try to write it myself.

Takes place after the realized ending. I don't know what the cannon ending is but I'm imagining they definitely buy a bar together and name it The Breaker Box, but they eventually realize that running a human bar requires more than two people, no matter how much they try. So they hire a small amount of staff, I'm thinking no more than 4 people.

This would be a 5 times someone learned something new (or odd) about their bosses and the 1 time it made sense/someone put it all together.

1. Volt and Eddie kiss in front of a homophobic costumer, revealing that they're a couple to the employees.

2. Eddie adopts an orange alley cat and names them Copper. Copper disappears for a few days and Eddie is fine (he's overworking himself with worry. He's replacing lightbulbs whenever he can get away with it, none of them are actually burnt out.) When Copper comes back, they drop 3 kittens in Eddie's lap and curl up at his feet. ("I'm not a cat dad, I'm a cat uncle at most.") The kittens names all relate to electricity. Due to this, Volt or Eddie reveal that electricity, or even specifically a breaker box, was the reason they met in the first place and refuse to elaborate.

Rest under the cut because it got really long.

3. The staff are invited to a team building thing, it could be a party or an escape room or whatever. Point is: there are black lights illuminating the space. Volt sees his reflection under black light, sees how his hair looks like it's glowing and shuts down? Maybe even starts crying without realizing it? Either way, when Eddie is going to comfort him, one of the employees hear Volt say "my hair is glowing again." Or something along those lines. The employees learn that Volt has an emotional reaction to his white hair glowing.

4. One night, the breaker trips due to a storm and Eddie runs off to fix it almost like a mad man. Volt is caught up keeping the guests calm and entertained so when it takes Eddie a while, an employee goes to check on him. They find him staring angrily/confused at the breaker box and mumbling like he's missing something. The employee flips the switch on the breaker and Eddie is startled out of his trance. When asked why he didn't flip the switch he's like "I- I couldn't feel it." Now he's shut down and/or tearing up. The employee panics a bit, puts a cat on him then goes and tells Volt what's happening. The employees aren't sure what they've learned, but it's definitely something.

5. Somebody gets a little violent/rowdy at the bar or an after closing repair goes a little wrong and Eddie or Volt gets hurt, dealers choice. Now, I think realization shouldn't come without its quirks, some more obvious than others. For Volt and Eddie, I think their blood should be blue. Our blood looks red because when the iron in it oxidizes with air it becomes a red color. If the blood has copper instead of iron, like Horseshoe Crab blood, it appears blue when oxidized. Copper wires = copper blood = blue blood.

So all 4 employees see that their employer is bleeding blue. Everyone is shocked, eventually the unhurt boss calls Freya, because they can not go to a hospital for this. In the meantime while they wait. "Um, is that blood?" "No." "What is it then?" "... blood can't be blue." "Horseshoe crabs have blue blood! They're really cool animals." "... human blood isn't blue." "..."

In the days following, lots of really odd people swing by specifically to talk to Volt/Eddie. Whoever you want, just, individually, any resemblance to an object is a fun thing to see. But when every single person who's specifically asking after your boss reminds of something/is a very distinct personality, it begins to pile up that something is weird.

+1 - I think this point could be told from Eddie and/or Volts pov. Basically, the employees are trying to figure out what kind of magical creature their bosses are. Someone tried to stick a fridge magnet on Eddie (robot). Someone flicked water at Volt (Holy water, vampire). They both keep getting poked with metal things (Iron, Fae). Eventually they call up a meeting to tell them to knock it off.

"You tell us what you think we are and we'll tell you if you're correct or not." "Hint: we're human." *a few incorrect guesses* "um, more of a question than a guess. But, um, were you cursed to be a breaker box? At some point?" "..." "..." "..." "Volt. Don't." "I didn't say anything."

Up to the author if they fully explain the house thing or if they basically go, "You're not right, but you're not wrong either. No more questions." Either way, I think that could be the end of the fic.

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter twenty

Synopsis: You, Rex and Bulletproof are expected to share a room together for the night.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Chapter: 20/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: None

Note: W*rk is kicking my ass, thank you all for being so patient! Happy 100k!!

“No way in hell am I sleeping on one of those couches.” Zandale pulls his bag over to the bed.

“I mean they look nice at least, right?” You say it more to comfort yourself than the other two standing in the very over-the-top guest room with you.

“Sure, it looks nice, it doesn’t look comfortable.” He sits down at its edge, giving a few gentle pets to test out the firmness of the mattress. “For having so much money, I’m a little disappointed.”

“Why would she be worried about the guest beds? She probably sleeps on a giant brick of gold or something.” You took the chance to sit down on the couch you were standing in front of. It wasn’t bad, but you could tell it was not going to be anywhere near restful.

Rex remained almost eerily silent, the only proof of his presence was the sound of the wood creaking lightly as he laid back on the other couch, testing it out himself.

Bulletproof was slipping off his suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly behind him on the bed. Lying back, he pulled out his phone, responding to whoever the guy had to respond to. Now that you thought about it, what does he do outside of being a Guardian? Maybe nothing?

It was interesting to you how much being a Guardian seemed to fully encapsulate some of the other members’ identities. After begging for an hour, Donald had let you look over the files of the old Guardians, you had claimed to want to learn, and that was partially true. But you were also just really curious. For your whole childhood, they had been the team. Everyone knew their names, everyone had a favorite, and everyone trusted that they would be there.

From their files, a lot of the old team seemed to have full lives outside of their work. War Woman was a high-up executive in a company she had helped build from the ground up. Green Ghost had been a photographer, even Aquarus had been the literal king of Atlantis. Most of them had spouses, or people they were dating, they had whole lives. With the brutal killing of all the former members, it was hard to remember it had been different before.

Even when trying to make small talk with the patients at the hospital, you noticed it. Hardly anyone on the outside seemed interested in familiarizing themselves with the new team. A few people had said things to the tune of “Oh yeah, wasn’t that guy on the original team?” or “I thought he died?”. To the world, the Guardians were no longer a phenomenon. They weren’t indestructible or untouchable, they definitely weren’t invincible. They were dead. A new group to replace them didn’t overshadow the shock that followed the initial announcement of the massacre.

Robot’s or Immortal’s, whoever’s team, didn’t come across as united, and from the inside it didn’t feel that way either. The team was capable, sure. But you still wondered how fulfilled the other members were truly feeling.

After a few more minutes of comments on the room you began to eye the guest bathroom residing in the corner of the room, to the left of the bed. Unless you are content with sleeping in your dress you should probably get changed, maybe even shower. It had been a long night. Lifting the small suitcase, you unzipped it open, trailing a hand over the nightwear you had brought. It was…fine. Mismatched, cozy, reliable. But you had originally been under the impression you would have your own room. If you had known differently, would you have brought something else? Eh, probably not. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you remember something that had proved to be a hindrance earlier. You’ll need help unzipping your dress.

There were few things you could think of off the top of your head that you’d rather do less at this exact moment than ask Rex to help again. So, onto the next best choice. After standing, and purposely avoiding looking at the other couch, you loitered near Zandale, who was practically ripping through his duffle bag. Surprisingly well-packed for a two-day mission.

“Can you help me really quick?”

He threw a shirt down at the bag, frustration clearly rising. “Stupid mission, with a stupid dance, stupid beds-”

You leaned back on your heels, trying to wait patiently, but the longer you stood watching him pull out somehow yet another graphic tee, the less easy it was to be patient. “Hello-?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?”

“I forgot it.” He sighed.

“It? What it? You have like fifty thousand shirts in there, man.” You leaned forward to look into the contents of the bag, but he was already zipping it up. He let out a groan, resting his elbows on his knees while staring past you.

What on earth is he going on about-?

No.

Nope.

He’s not about to do this.

“Who were you texting, Zandale?” You squint, watching a small smile ghost over his expression that disappears just as soon as it arrives.

He clears his throat, standing up. “I forgot my shirt.”

There’s a pause as you look down at his now-closed duffle bag that contained at least five different shirts.

“Really?” You respond dryly.

“Yeah, there’s a specific one I sleep in, well, you know how it is.”

“No, I don’t know how it is, Zandale. Just wear one of those.” You gesture down to the bag with a tense hand.

He hums, looking down at it before glancing back up. “Those are too cottony-”

“What?” You watch as he bites the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling.

“And the bed feels like shit. So, I was sitting here, quietly lamenting how awful my night would be, in a cotton shirt on an uncomfortable bed, and it hit me. I can leave.” No. “I can actually be home, and in my own bed, before you’re even ready for bed.” No fucking way.

“Why do you even need to wear a shirt to go to bed, Zandale?” You shake your head, pressing two fingers to your temple, then lowering your voice, hopefully to a tone Rex couldn’t overhear. “Was it Rae? You were texting Rae, weren’t you?”

He ignores you and continues. “It has been absolutely lovely spending a whole evening with you two, but I’m actually good-”

“Zandale-”

“I’ll be sure to be back on time in the morning-”

“Zandale, no-”

“I could technically take one of you with me, but that would add travel time, and I’m absolutely beat-”

‘Please don’t.’ You mouth it at Zandale, narrowing your eyes at him, with the subtlest shake of the head. As frustrated as you were right now with him and Rae, who most likely was putting him up to it, you were somewhat more frustrated that Rex was saying absolutely nothing.

Bulletproof gives you a pout and slowly walks up to you, putting up an act like he’s really considering. He stands directly before you, puts his hand out on your shoulder, and- “Yeah no, every man for themselves.”

 “Dick.”

“Thank me later.”  Dick!

You had almost expected him to grab his things, open a window, and fly away. Instead, he picked his bags up, put them neatly in a corner, and rather anticlimactically left out the main door. Leaving you alone with Rex who was positioned away from you. One of his arms folded neatly underneath his head, the one on his injured side resting on his lower stomach. It was probably the only way he could lie without pulling at whatever stitches he now had.

A pang of guilt washed over you. Guilt that he got hurt, that he came along on this mission. Guilt that you hadn’t healed him. Which was quickly replaced by the annoyance that he didn’t allow you to heal him. And that annoyance was even quicker replaced by more annoyance that Zandale had really just bailed. And he had done so without even helping you with what you had originally gone to ask him for help with.

Rex finally looked over at you, meeting your gaze. You threw your hands up in exasperation, a silent, ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

“What?”

“Oh my god.” You groaned, grabbing your bag and heading to the bathroom.

You tried a few times to reach your zipper on your own, even considering pulling it over your head. After a few failed attempts, and the sound of threads buckling, you finally decided to call it quits. Leaning against the bathroom counter, you pressed on the first contact in your phone, selecting to call. Simply messaging her would take longer than you wanted.

“Hello?”

“You did this, didn’t you?” You hissed it out, your voice low as you turned on the sink to drown out your words.

“Don’t worry about thanking me or whatever, drinks are on you next time I’m over.”

“I’m not thanking you, Rae! This is extremely inconvenient!”

“It’s inconvenient to be alone in a room for the night with a guy you’ve been drooling over?” The sarcasm drips in her tone, even through the distortion of the call itself.  

“How did you even know we were all going to be in a room together? I didn’t even know that!”

“Zandale owes me money because you two apparently danced tonight-”

“God, not a semblance of discretion on this whole fucking team-” You sighed, clicking your nails against the marble countertop.

“Anyways,” She cut in loudly, “He told me about the room situation, and I told him he wouldn’t owe me if he left the room. He was complaining about being stuck between you two eye-fucking each other anyways so-”

“Rae!” You put a hand over your face, you knew that Bulletproof had been someone clued into your feelings, but to know he had been observing made it much worse. “Rae, I love you, you’re wonderful, amazing, beautiful, everything, you just royally fucked me on this.”

“Hopefully I’m not the only one getting to fuck you-”

“Rae, oh my god, can you just listen?”

She snickered but didn’t speak over you.

How exactly do you explain that you are quite angry with Rex right now without going into way too much detail? “He’s…well, he’s an asshole.”

“You already knew this, babe. Have fun!”

“Wait, Rae, seriously-” And… she’s gone.

After staring at your reflection for a few moments, and having a mental crash-out, you prepared for bed to the best of your ability while still wearing the dress.

“Have fun talking on the phone?” Rex sounded as you left the restroom, he was facing towards the door, now sitting up on the couch. His tie was loosened, and the top of his dress shirt was unbuttoned.

You gave him an unimpressed look, but you could still feel your face heating up. “Yes, thank you.”

“I wouldn’t have listened in.”

“Yeah, sure.” You roll your eyes with a sigh, dropping your stuff next to the bed. Maybe you should offer it to him, he was shot after all. You turn to him again, opening your mouth to offer it, and-

“Are you going to bed wearing that?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “And what about it, Rex?”

His eyes ran over you, a semi-confused expression dusting his features. “Why-” He paused. “Do you need help?”

“Your help?”

“Yeah, I’m the only one here aren’t I?”

“Then no.”

“Are you fucking serious, Joy?”

“Yes, thank you.” You were already pulling back the duvet and sliding under the comforter. It was almost immediately uncomfortable. But at this point, you weren’t about to give in and ask him. As good as he looked sitting on the couch, with his arms slotted over his knees, and his tie hanging loose, you were still angry with him.

It’s quiet for a minute or two, the lights are all still on, so all you can do is lay with your eyes closed, hoping morning will come quick. Eventually, you hear the shuffling of Rex grabbing his things to go to the restroom, the door closes, and you hear the shower turn on.  

With stitches that fresh he most definitely should not be taking a shower, but you weren’t exactly raring to go barge in and stop him. Rolling on your back you started up at the intricately decorated ceiling.

It was separated into sections, golden leaf etchings mapping out the edges of each box. The walls were painted deep red, with dark mahogany load-bearing beams jutting across the room. Overall, the room was bordering on maximalist, a variety of different wall decorations littering every open available area, all overlapping and intertwining in an artful way. It was a stark contrast with the subtle greens and browns of your furnished apartment.

Your apartment that Rex had haphazardly clamored into, soaking wet.

You ran a hand over your face at the memory. Usually, you pushed it away when it surfaced. The guilt that you didn’t go with him felt suffocating at times, but this time you didn’t.

The shower was still running; Rex would be gone for a bit longer. What was the harm in reanalyzing it? Not the confusion, or the anger, or the frustration, but the feeling of his eyes on you. His hand pressed flesh against the wood of the front door, your breaths intermingling. His eyes on you in the elevator. It made your stomach twist.

He had asked you to dance. Talked your ear off for hours about islands versus bar-styled countertops, and the different ways to properly utilize skylights. Which, you didn’t think there was even a way to utilize it, right? It was just there to let in natural lighting and look pretty. Rex had sighed heavily when you said this and launched into a whole lecture about it. You don’t know exactly when it happened, but you started to enjoy the sound of his voice. Steady, constant. Sure, he wasn’t exactly the most elegantly spoken person ever, you couldn’t come up with anyone who cursed half as much as he did. But it was comfortable, you couldn’t say the same for trying to sleep in this dress.

Ugh. You felt like a proper sap. Even now, as angry with him as you were, you almost missed him. He wasn’t even a room away and you missed him. Thank god Rae can’t read your thoughts, or you’d really never hear the end of it. This is borderline pathetic.

The sound of the shower turning off lurching you from your thoughts. You quickly turned on your side, away from the bathroom, although you’re not sure why. A few minutes pass and the door creaks open, the fan inside the bathroom whirling away the silence of the bedroom. You wait to hear footsteps, but they don’t come. He’s standing there at the door, you can feel his eyes on you, but you refuse to look back.

“Are you sleeping or just still ignoring me?” His voice is quiet, unsure. The statement itself is ridiculous though, you haven’t been ignoring him any more than he’s been ignoring you. You were so consistently aware of him that it almost seemed impossible to truly ignore him.

“I’m not ignoring you, Rex, we just talked a few minutes ago.” Your response came out short and sharp, more so than you intended.

“That wasn’t talking.”

You breathed out a sigh, turning finally to face him, propping yourself up on your elbows. The short length of his hair dried quickly, which somewhat disappointed you after the trip down memory lane to how he’d looked at your apartment. Wet strands clinging to his face, droplets clinging to every lock. He was out of the dress shirt and was now wearing a generic white t-shirt, over dark grey boxers. “What would you like to talk about?” Your tone dry, closed off.

You wanted to talk to him, wanted him to talk to you. But the residual irritation was still clinging to you like a burr entrenched in an old dog’s fur. You couldn’t shake it.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That guy…whatever his name was. He had you in a really rough spot.”

“I survived.”

“I know that, but are you okay?”

There was a longer silence. You tilted your head an inch, looking at him, really looking at him. “I’ve had a gun pointed at me before. Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me.” Soft, hardly audible.

“Rex, I know you think I struggle to hold my own but-”

He groans, “Would you stop that?”

You bite back your response, pushing yourself up more so that you are fully sitting up. The gesture pulls your dress, causing the top to dig mildly into your shoulders. Pulling at it absentmindedly, you try to formulate a response.

“Will you stop being so stubborn and let me help you?” He’s taken a few steps towards you. You can smell the shampoo, it was fancy, something already set in the bathroom. Distinctly not him.

“Will you stop being so stubborn and let me help you?” You shoot back with a glare, your eyes settling on his side you know is injured.

“Is that seriously what it’ll fucking take?” Irritation laces his voice. It could make you sigh once again, you didn’t want to be fighting with him, but a small voice in your head reminded you that he had refused your help. Doubted your abilities.

“Maybe it is.” You shift, the silk of your dress exaggerating the movement with how little friction you have against the sheets. “You’re not supposed to take a shower that soon after getting stitches anyways, you’re gonna get an infection.”

“Christ! Are we really doing this again?”

“You’re the one who brought it up!”

“No, I’m not, I offered to help you with your dress!”

“You can help me with the dress after I’ve healed you!”

“Unbelievable.” Rex let out a huff, crossing his arms, which proved to be ill-thought-through, as he immediately returned his arms to his sides, fighting a wince.

You scooted out of bed, crossing the short distance to him. “Deal?”

Rex’s expression furrowed, but he surprisingly didn’t seem to want to argue further. He held his hand out for you, and you quickly took it. The last thing you wanted was for him to change his mind at the last second. Shutting your eyes tightly you willed your way through it. Mending the wound in his side, and a few other bruises you could sense were waiting to announce themselves in a few hours just below the skin. With your thumb pressed firmly against his pulse point, you could almost swear you felt his heartbeat stutter.

“Okay, happy?” His voice was low still, his eyes practically drilling into you.

“More than I was.” You concede, letting go of his hand.

“Will you let me help you now?”

“I suppose.” You murmur, and before you can turn for him, his hands are on your shoulders, guiding you to face away. The pads of his fingers rough against your skin, sending a lightning-fast spark down your spine. With every passing moment, you only became more and more aware of the fact that the two of you were alone in a room and that he was helping you free yourself from the confines of your dress.

His touch left your shoulder to meet with the back of your dress, easily unzipping it for you. The interaction lasted no more than a few seconds, but that’s all it took. It felt intimate, too much.

As soon as his grasp on the zipper disappeared you were practically jumping away, grabbing your bag again, and locking yourself in the bathroom. Really, really smooth.

Switching to your nightwear took no time at all, but you still spent a good few minutes standing against the door, regulating your breathing. Willing yourself to get a fucking grip.

When you returned, Rex was settled back on his couch, both arms now settled under his head with his side injury taken care of.

“You can have the bed if you want-”

“No.” It cuts through the end of your sentence. A breath passed between you, without him looking over. “Thank you for offering, I guess.”

Okay…

You shrugged to yourself; you weren’t going to fight him on it. The bed was much more comfortable, and the exhaustion of the evening was catching up with you. After you had closed the bathroom door, there was a surprising amount of light still filtering under the bedroom door and over the curtains. Did they ever turn the lights off in the hallway? The sheets felt much better now that you weren’t in the confines of your dress, you were ready to pass out, and after a few turns, you did.

--

You couldn’t have been asleep for long. It felt like you’d blinked from when you must have fallen asleep to right now. You were sure you heard something but you were too groggy to know for sure what it had been. So, you waited, straining to hear something, anything-

It’s soft. Not what had woken you up, but definitely distinguishable. You can hear Rex’s breathing, it’s quick, distressed. A few moments after zeroing in on the sound of it, a soft groan breaks through the silence. It’s sharp, clear indicator of pain. Before you can fully register anything, you’re swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The floor feels cool against your bare feet, and the warmth of the blankets beckons you to lay back down, but you push through. You pad as quietly as you can over to the couch, slamming your foot into your bag at one point, which draws a stifled breath from you.

“Rex?” He didn’t immediately stir. The only thing now illuminating the room was the ghost of light peeking through the curtains. It shined on part of the wall behind the couch, a corner of it hardly lighting his face. His eyebrows were tight, an obvious sign of discomfort. “Rex.” You said again, lowering yourself down closer to the ground so he didn’t wake up to you standing over him.

After a brief moment of hesitation, you put your hand on his arm, preparing to say his name again. But upon contact his hand quickly grasped yours, his eyes now open. You give him a speedy once over, his chest was rising and falling in a hectic fashion. His eyes quickly scanned your face, mouth slightly parted. After a few blinks and a deep shaky breath, his grip loosened on your wrist, obviously needing a moment to fully recognize you and the environment around him.

“Rex?” You whispered, not trying to take your hand back. His thumb was lightly grazing over the back of it, making goosebumps rise up your arm. He had relaxed mildly, rolling slightly to face towards the ceiling, trying to regulate his breathing. For a moment you felt a little hot, watching his chest rise and fall so desperately. You closed your eyes mentally shaking the thought. He was obviously reliving something bad, and you were thinking about how good he looked? Get a grip.

“Come to the bed.”

“What?” His voice was scratchy from sleep, but you didn’t miss the quickness with which he snapped to look at you.

“I don’t want you sleeping over here alone, and you have just as much of a right to the bed.” Rex hesitated for a moment and then went to speak. His body language screamed that he was going to refuse. “I can’t sleep with you over here being as loud as you’re being.” You tease lightly, hoping that will be enough, but just in case you add, “We can put pillows down the middle if you’re so worried. But this is ridiculous.”

Rex closed his mouth and gave a light sigh, his tired gaze staring into you.

“Was I really being loud?”

“Yes.” You say without hesitation, standing up again. “Come on.” Your hand leaves him, and you take notice of how his hand follows you a few inches before dropping back down. You still couldn’t understand why he didn’t kiss you earlier during the dance. Every sign you were picking up on screamed that he was interested, he did everything but outright say it. “Get up loser.” You grabbed his blanket, tossed it over the other side of the couch, and offered him a hand. He didn’t take it of course, but it wasn’t in the same way as other times. There was no malice behind the act, but rather hesitation.

You go back to the bed, settling back on your side, pulling the blanket down on his. You pushed one of the decorative pillows vertically in the middle to separate his side from yours. After making a show of demonstrating it he finally moved to the other side of the bed. After a brief pause, he was in bed with you, pulling the covers up over him.

You weren’t sure what to do now. Or even if this would actually help. Chances were he could still have troublesome dreams here, but now you’d hear it even more. You pulled the duvet up a little more, the coarse material grazing your cheek. You were facing each other, something you thought would be awkward.

But it wasn’t. You both just stared, a heavy, weighted silence drifting over you. His bright verdant eyes traveled over your face. You could feel your eyes drooping slightly from the exhaustion you were still feeling.

“Do I really repulse you that badly?” The whispered question caught you off guard, causing your eyes to snap open again.

“What?” You’re met with silence, unnerving, sterile. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” He started, his fingers picking at the embroidering on the pillow between you.  “Earlier, I helped you with your dress, and you left as fast as you could, and now, with the pillow-”

In this moment you were increasingly grateful that there was very little lighting, because your face was feeling so warm you were sure there was no way he would have been able to miss it.

“You don’t repulse me, Rex.” You blinked a few times. He was completely misreading you.

“Yeah, sure, no need to say it just to try making me feel better, you know.”

“When have I ever said something solely for the purpose of making you feel better, hm?” You smiled, your own hand mirroring his in tracing the embroidery.

“Maybe I keep hoping you’ll learn to try.” His voice regains a bit of its life, less the small whisper, more Rex.

“Tough luck, Sloane.” His last name ghosted over your lips, something you’d been waiting to bring up since you heard it.

He groaned, turning his head to he was stifled by his pillow. “Oh, brother.”

“Rex Sloane, hm?” You roll on your back, staring up at the ceiling. “Not horrible as far as last names go. Very official though, I think you were meant to be a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” It’s muffled still.

“Mhm. Sloane and Co. Your business partners wouldn’t get a choice in the name because you wouldn’t be able to get anyone to stick around with you for long. You know, with your dazzling personality.”

“Ouch.”

“Now that I think about it, all lawyers are dicks, so you’d fit in well.”

“Well, that’s a reassurance.” He sighs, rolling back onto his back as well.

You hum in response. “Sloane…Sloane-“ You test out his last name a few times in different tones, snickering to yourself as he lets out a disgruntled noise a few times.

“Stop saying it.”

“Why? Worried I’ll wear it out?”

“Something like that.” He said lowly, his head turned to look at you.

“Limited edition?”

“Would you quit it?”

There’s another pause, only clouded by the sounds of your shared, disjointed breathing. You shift back again, the bed creaking softly, so you’re on your side facing him. The center pillow only made it harder to make out his face, so you push it down further, wedging it between your chest and his upper arm.

“Have you been having a lot of nightmares lately?” It’s a whisper, your voice crackling through the empty air.

“A few.” He mumbled back, his gaze lowering down your face, or at least you think it does, it’s too dark to tell.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is a little.” You respond quietly. He had asked you to come back with him. That night all those weeks ago. You could still feel the rain dripping down your face. You could still feel his gaze on you as the car you had called for him traveled down the road in front of your apartment.

“You wouldn’t have known.” His features are soft, he means it.

“It was immature, I shouldn’t have left in the first place.”

“It’s not like Rudy and I gave you any choice.” He chuckled softly, a familiar bitterness, not directed at you, but at the memory.

“I should have been the bigger person, stood my ground.”

“You shouldn’t have even been put in that position in the first place.”

Your gaze searched his eyes, and for a moment you wanted to cry. One shot to the head and he was no longer clinging to his belief that you didn’t belong. But what if he was right? He and Rudy had not figured out the whole picture when confronting you, but they weren’t wrong. You were hiding something. You were still hiding something. Everything inside screamed at you to tell him, admit that a part of him was right. Apologize. Yell at him for being nice to you now. Something.

“I’m sorry Rex.” Was all you could manage to murmur for now.

His brows twitched closer together, and his mouth curled slightly downward in an expression you couldn’t quite read. Was he angry? Upset that you were trying to apologize now instead of a few weeks ago when he first woke up in the hospital? It made your stomach lurch.

“God…Joy-” He paused before uttering your actual name like he was having to correct himself. “Would you just-” He tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling again as if fighting himself on something before he turned back to you. His eyes are on you again, but for a split second. it feels different. Like he can hardly contain himself, before he says, “Fuck it.” in a low tone.

His left hand is quickly on the side of your neck, it’s a gentle touch, but there was a firmness to it, unwavering. In the movement he had pushed the duvet slightly off your shoulder. His thumb brushes right behind your ear sending a jolt of shock down your spine. Not even a second later his mouth is on yours. Hungry. Desperate. The suddenness of the action steals the breath from your lungs. Your brain is hardly functioning fast enough to process what is happening.

As quickly as it happened, he’s pulling away. His hand lifting to hover over your neck rather than laying directly against it. So much for the barrier pillow.

“Fuck-” A shaky tone laced around his words. “I’m sorry-”

He doesn’t have the chance to finish what he is saying. And frankly, you did not care to know what it was going to be. You had surged forward to meet him again, his shock present in the way he tensed. Only a second was needed before his hand was back on the side of your neck. He groaned lightly into the kiss; it made you feel lightheaded. His lips parted slightly, inviting you in. As you deepened the kiss his fingers pushed further, meeting with your hair. They curled slightly, grasping a few locks.

Your hands came forward to grab fistfuls of his shirt, your knuckles brushing his collarbone at the motion. He reacted to this by putting his free hand on the other side of your face. It was a little awkward, both of you on your sides facing each other. Trying to utilize both arms while you both were simultaneously lying on one of them. It was hard to think, to form a single coherent thought, this was actually happening.

You broke the kiss to laugh quietly, both at the awkwardness of the position and the fact this was really happening, but he was not about to let you leave yet. His hand that was in your hair tightened and pulled your head closer again. He was greedy with your mouth, exploring it like he would never be able to again. You could feel his heartbeat under your clenched fists, it was completely erratic.

When he finally broke the kiss himself, it was only because he was in dire need of air. Lightheaded, his mouth parted as he panted, quickly trying to regain oxygen. You shared in his need, your eyes un-focusing slightly from the strain of your mutual exercise.

“Woah.” You wanted to slap yourself. That was all you could think to say? You weren’t sure where to start, what to say, what to admit to. What did this mean?

Rex didn’t respond, immediately shifting forward slightly to return to you, but you pushed him back lightly, your hands splayed across his chest, you still hadn’t caught your breath. He immediately nods.

“You’re right, we should stop.”

You respond to his words with an incredulous smile, going to sit up. His head tilted upwards to follow you at the motion, and his fingers trailed over your shoulder down your arm. “And why is that, Rex?”

He sits up too, his back fleshed with the headboard. “Because I really want to kiss you.”

You wanted to tease him, pretend that this wasn’t a huge deal, play it cool. But honestly, your heart was racing. “What is so wrong with that?” You tried to return to your usual banter to the best of your abilities, but you were already leaning slightly towards him.

He lets out a small sigh, his eyes were only on your lips, in the scarce light you could see a dusting of pink coloring over his cheekbones. He honestly doesn’t look capable of forming a cohesive thought, which made you feel a bit better about how cloudy your own head was. He ran a shaky hand up over the back of his neck. “Because I really want to kiss you…” He repeats, “ And I don’t think I want it to stop there.” He admitted softly.

Oh.

You blinked a few times, a subtle pricking rising from the back of your spine. Excitement.

He looked like he was actually at war with himself, the most pathetic look you had ever seen on his face, his eyes staring off in another direction. And just like that you were scooting closer, your knees brushing against his thigh. His gaze darts to you as you internally debate what to say. Maybe it would be simpler to stop here. Go sleep on the couch, leave him alone on the bed. But that was never going to be a real option at this point. Not after the dancing, fighting, longing.

You rise up slightly, lifting your leg that’s closest to him and placing it between his thighs so you can be closer. His eyes quietly watch you, and once you have situated yourself your gaze returns to him. “I want you to kiss me.” You say definitively, biting the inside of your lip. “If that’s okay with you.” You add, wincing slightly.

“Yeah?” For a moment you see his familiar cocky side, a small grin appearing on his face. But you know, especially now, how much of a show it is. You’re convinced if you put your hand to his chest, you’d be able to feel just how anxious he is. You just couldn’t figure out why. He was not one to be shy, Rae had told you plenty about his past excursions with Duplikate and he dated Eve for years. Why was this different?

“Yeah.” You say, leaning in towards him, but his lips don’t meet yours. Instead, his hand is traveling up your back to the nape of your neck, gently tilting your head to the side. A soft gasp leaves you as you feel him kiss your neck, trailing them up towards your jaw. His other hand is grabbing your hip, pulling you closer to him. The friction of his leg between yours drew out a breath from you. You can feel him smiling against your neck, his hand is moving up to the hem of your shirt, his fingers ghosting against your bare skin underneath it. “Fuck-” you breathe, his fingertips sending chills up your side.

This seems to have some kind of effect on him because now he is tilting your head down and forcing his way into your mouth. He’s sloppy like he cannot decide what he wants to do. No move feels precalculated.

Your hand comes up to the side of his neck, mirroring the move he had been doing when he first kissed you. Instantly his hand that was on your hip is clasped over yours on his neck. He pulls away for a painful second just to mutter “Don’t.”

“Why?” You pant as he shifts back to kissing your neck, making his way to the tendon where it connects to your shoulder.

“You’re making me lose focus.” He says against your skin. You let out a soft noise as you feel his teeth lightly graze you. His hand is still wrapped around yours, his thumb trailing over your knuckles. The hand that was around the nape of your neck traversed down your spine to the small of your back, pushing firmly against you.

A ringing sound fills the room. Your phone. Immediately you groan, turning your gaze to the table on your side of the bed. You shift to see if it’s important, but Rex is not making it easy for you, immediately his hands are both on your hips trying to hold you in place, still lying open mouth kisses on you, now he’s hovering over your collarbone.

“At least let me turn it off.” You laugh, your hand coming up to lightly pull him off of you. He grumbles against your skin but loosens his grip, letting you quickly crawl over to turn it off.

One Missed Call: Cecil Stedman

Shit. You ran a hand through your hair; this was more than likely important. And you could not think of many people you wanted to talk to less at this exact moment.

A light flashed across the screen as you powered it off. Something you could live to regret later. You turned and shuffled across the bed back to Rex, who was watching you with a love-drunk gaze. You put your hand to the side of his face and leaned in giving him a chased kiss before settling in back on top of him again. His hands were immediately at the bottom of your shirt, you could feel he was moments away from ridding you of it.

“Dammit!” You said with frustration as your phone started to ring again. How did Cecil do that?

“It’s Cecil, isn’t it?” Rex sighed, his head making a soft clunking nose as he rested it against the headboard behind him.

You looked over at the phone and then back at Rex. He looked so perfectly disheveled. His eyes unfocused, lips parted, kiss swollen, and a tantalizing heat radiating off him. But you both knew if you ignored Cecil much longer, he was going to just teleport into the room.

“Yes.” You admitted, running a hand over his chest.

“Typical.” Rex snorts, obviously feeling as frustrated as you are.

You don’t know what to do. Cecil was only calling your phone, which meant you had to leave Rex here. No idea when or if you’d be back before morning. You go to get off Rex and he grabs you, his eyes quietly pleading with you.

“Please.” It’s such a simple word, but it sounds so pretty when he says it. He was making this as hard for you as possible, and you had a feeling he knew it.

“I don’t think you want Cecil to show up in the room any more than I do.” You whisper, leaning forward and pressing what was meant to be a quick chaste kiss to his lips. But it quickly devolves into much more. Resulting in you having to break away and practically hopping off the bed.

“You don’t need to use Cecil as an excuse to turn me down you know.” He gives you a smirk, he would seem unbothered if his body language didn’t completely betray every level of uncertainty he was feeling. Rex Splode was nervous. It made you smile. If you thought you would be able to escape another kiss you would have given him another one now. But after having to pry his hands off of you from the last one you figured it would be safer to stay off the bed.

“I’m not turning you down, Rex.” You reaffirm, if you had more time, you’d spill about how badly you’d wanted this, and for how long. Tell him about how your mind was reeling, and part of you wondered if this was a dream. And then you’d explain why you had to be sure after the last dream you had about him. You grab your phone and pull on your spare pair of shoes. “Who knows, this might be nothing…” You knew the chances of that were so minuscule there was no point even hoping. Cecil was too no-nonsense of a guy to just call to chat.

“Next time I see you,” Rex starts, uncertainty lacing his voice, “We’ll talk?”

You hesitated; your hand already grasped around the doorknob. There was nothing in this instant that you wanted more and less. It was starting to dawn on you that this was a turning point, your weeks of visiting him in the hospital felt so long ago now. This felt complicated and messy. You just made out with someone who’s basically a glorified coworker. Well, that’s an unfair way to put it, he was a friend at least now, right? Maybe soon to be more- you’re getting way ahead of yourself.

“We will, Sloane.” You smile at him and leave the room before your able to change your mind.

“You’ve got to answer your phone when I call.” Cecil’s voice cuts through the dark of the hallway, making you jolt.

“God, you could at least announce yourself or something.”

“I just did.” Without another beat passing he starts debriefing. “We just caught something on the satellites, moving fast.”

“Okay? Why are you telling me? You’ve got all of the other Guardians who could deal with that-”

“We’ve only seen that kind of trajectory and flight pattern twice before.”

You stand in silence, folding your arms across your chest. “The suspense is killing me.” It’s dry, subtle sarcasm displaying completely your distaste at being bothered.

“Once with Invincible, and the other time with Omni-man.” You cocked your head slightly.

“It’s a Viltrumite?”

“All answers point to...”

“Shit.” You murmured.

“Shit, is right.”

Author's note:

Rex: If I kiss you, we’ll end up kissing on the couch, and if we end up kissing on the couch chances are we’ll kiss in the bedroom and if we kiss in the bedroom then you know, that’s the part I always rush into. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to rush into spending the night together.

Reader: I want to spend the night together

Rex: I have no problem with that.

Also this image I made to haunt my friend after I let her read a draft of this chapter

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101 @0ut0fsweets @sugaramped @spidernuggets @sweet-cuddlebug @ohmysoultakemysoul @lapisbwub @velovicy @liquideyes @insirecrate @isnotraven @mightymeick @k1nky-fool request to be tagged for new parts!

chapter twenty-one

[hauntingblue]

BIG NANA STARTED SPEAKING IN THE INTRO TOO!! ABOUT BUILDING HER A HOUSE BEING FOR REALS??? ALRIGHT

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation wc: 17k spotify playlist series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“What do you mean you’re just ���giving up’?”

“Satoru, calm down.”

“Oh, calm down? You expect me to calm down when you’re just letting whoever threw all this shit on Y/N, my son just…free? You’re really not going to look harder?”

Satoru huffs in a frustrated manner, rubbing his hands through his hair, and messing up the silver locks. When he was called by his parents so early in the morning to come to their place, he thought he would’ve been greeted with good news. Any news. Not this. He not only feels immensely annoyed, but also thrown under the bus. But what else was supposed to expect from them? He’s pacing the living room, his parents standing off to the side and watching their only child try not to lose his shit. 

“Satoru, we’ve all looked into this. But whoever took that picture was smart, they knew how to stay hidden. We’ve done everything in power, son.” His mother tries to placate him, holding her hand out in an attempt to gently plant it on his forearm. 

He promptly pulls away before she makes contact, fixing his mother with an icy look, lip curled up slightly.

“How convenient,” Satoru snaps, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The all-powerful Gojo family, with all its influence, resources, and connections, suddenly can’t find one person? Spare me.” His pacing becomes more erratic, his steps heavy as if each one is an outlet for his frustration. 

His father finally speaks, his tone sharp and commanding, “Enough, Satoru. You’re not the only one affected by this. We’ve handled the situation as best as we could without escalating it further. Do you even understand the damage control we’ve had to do?” 

“Damage control?” Satoru lets out a bitter laugh, stopping dead in his tracks to glare at his father. “You’re more worried about your reputation than your grandson’s safety, aren’t you? Or Y/N’s for that matter?” 

His father narrows his eyes, his voice lowering dangerously. “Watch your tone. You think we don’t care? Everything we’ve done has been to protect this family.” 

“Family?” Satoru scoffs, gesturing wildly. “If you cared so much about family, you wouldn’t just let this slide. You’d help me hunt them down, no matter what. But no, you’re just sweeping it under the rug like everything else, aren’t you?” 

His mother’s voice trembles slightly, though she tries to keep her composure. “Satoru, please try to understand—there’s only so much we can do without creating more chaos. We can’t act recklessly.”

“You mean I can’t act recklessly,” he mutters darkly, taking a step back from both of them. His jaw tightens as he looks between his parents, disgust and disappointment etched into his face. “You don’t get it. None of this is just about me anymore. It’s about Y/N and Koji. They didn’t ask for any of this, and now they’re the ones dealing with it.” 

His father sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want us to do, Satoru? Tell me, what more can be done that hasn’t already been tried?” 

“I’ll handle it myself,” Satoru growls, the fire in his eyes blazing. “You won’t. Fine. But I will.” Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and storms toward the door. 

Yamato’s hand shoots out, gripping his son by the elbow and effectively holding him in place. Satoru turns his head over his shoulder, matching his father’s death glare with one of his own—only it looks…scarier. 

The silence is palpable—disturbing. Akane stands half way in the middle, unsure if she should stop this now or let Yamato deal with it—deal with their son. She worries her lip between her teeth, brows furrowed together. 

“Satoru,” Yamato’s voice is low, firm, but the underlying tension cuts through the room like a blade. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

Satoru’s lips curl into a cold smirk, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t pull away, but his entire posture radiates defiance. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m talking to. The man who taught me that family comes second to pride. Let me go, Dad, before this gets uglier than it already is.”

Akane takes a hesitant step forward, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches out. “Yamato, please. Let him go. This isn’t the time to—”

“Stay out of this, Akane,” Yamato interrupts sharply, his focus never wavering from Satoru.

Satoru scoffs, the sound filled with disdain. “Of course. Can’t let Mom get in the way of the big, bad Gojo men, can we?” His tone drips with mockery, but his glare burns with genuine anger.

Yamato’s grip tightens, his knuckles white. “You think this is about me? About my pride? This is about you—your recklessness, your inability to see the bigger picture. You can’t solve everything with brute force, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smirk fades, replaced by a steely resolve. “And you can’t solve anything by sitting back and doing nothing.” He yanks his arm free with a sharp motion, the force of it making Yamato take a half-step back. “You’ve made it clear where your priorities lie. Don’t worry—I won’t let this ‘family legacy’ get in the way of protecting my family.”

Yamato’s jaw tightens, his expression unreadable. “Satoru, the boy is your family but not that woma—”

“Address her by name, Yamato.” Satoru steps closer to his father, the two at towering heights. Truly a frightening sight to an outsider’s perspective. “Or you and I are going to start having some serious problems.”

Yamato’s lips press into a thin line, his stoic demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of irritation. “You think threats will get you anywhere with me, boy?” His voice is sharp, controlled, but there’s a distinct edge that betrays his frustration. “She’s the reason this mess even exists. She’s—”

“Enough.” Satoru’s tone drops to something cold, lethal. His cerulean eyes blaze with an intensity that could freeze anyone in their tracks. “You don’t get to disrespect her. Not when you’ve done nothing to fix this so-called ‘mess.’ Not when she’s been doing everything she can to protect my son—your grandson.”

Yamato stiffens, his brows furrowing. “Watch your tone.”

“I’ve been watching my tone my whole damn life,” Satoru snaps, his composure finally breaking. “But not anymore. You don’t get to sit on your throne and act like you care about this family when all you care about is the Gojo name. Koji and Y/N are my family now. Whether you like it or not.”

“You two aren’t married,” Yamato reminds his son, for what must be the thousandth time now. 

Really, Satoru’s losing his mind here. He knows that. He knows you two aren’t married. But he still feels an obligation towards you—the magnetic pull to protect you from outside scrutiny that could potentially harm you and Koji. So sure, you guys aren’t married. But that doesn’t change the matter of fact here. “And what if we were?”

Akane gasps, Yamato’s eyes visibly widening in surprise before lowering down to their normal state. His jaw ticks. “Stop, don’t make jokes like that. You’ve been promised to Himari for a while now.”

Satoru’s laugh is sharp, humorless, slicing through the tense air. “Promised? What century are you living in? I’m not some pawn for you to move around, Yamato.” His tone drips with disdain as he steps closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over his father. “You think a promise to Himari means a damn thing to me? I’ll marry who I want, when I want.”

Yamato’s composure wavers for the briefest moment before he narrows his eyes. “You don’t understand the importance of this arrangement, Satoru. It’s not just about you—it’s about securing alliances, protecting the legacy—”

“Legacy, legacy, legacy,” Satoru mocks, rolling his eyes. “Is that all you care about? Your ‘legacy’? Not your grandson, not the fact that your son is trying to do what you never could—actually be there for his family?”

Akane’s hands tremble at her sides as she steps forward, voice tentative but pleading. “Satoru, please. We only want what’s best for you—”

“No,” Satoru interrupts sharply, turning his icy gaze to his mother. “You want what’s best for you. Don’t twist it.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair as if trying to physically shake off their words. “Koji doesn’t need your ‘legacy.’ He doesn’t need your politics or your alliances. He needs a father who puts him first.”

“And Y/N?” Yamato retorts, his tone scathing. “Do you think she’s above this? She could be using you, Satoru. She’s a liability, dragging you—us into scandal after scandal. And now, with the boy—”

“Enough!” Satoru’s voice booms, cutting through the room like a clap of thunder. He steps even closer to his father, their faces mere inches apart. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. She’s the mother of my child. She’s family. And I’ll defend her with everything I’ve got.” His voice drops, low and cold. “So go ahead. Keep pushing me. See what happens when I stop giving a damn about your ‘legacy.’”

Akane’s quiet, labored breathing breaks the tension, her hand fluttering to her mouth as she looks between the two men. The silence that follows feels deafening, and for a moment, Yamato looks like he might lash out—but then he takes a breath, regaining his composure.

“Fine, you’ve made your point clear,” Yamato finally says, his voice low and measured. “But don’t expect me to clean up the fallout when this all collapses around you.”

Satoru huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I won’t. I’ve learned not to expect much from you anyway. A man who cares more about sealing business deals than the own well-being of his family.”

Yamato glares, his jaw tightening once more, but he doesn’t respond. The tension in the room is suffocating, a silent battle of wills playing out between father and son.

Satoru doesn’t wait for his father to break. Instead, he turns sharply, heading for the door. Before he leaves, he glances over his shoulder, his eyes steely. “You can take your promises, your alliances, and your legacy—and shove them. I’ll protect my family, with or without you.”

And with that, he slams the door behind him, leaving Akane and Yamato in stunned silence. The house rattles with Satoru’s exit. Akane slowly turns her head towards her husband, who is still staring at the spot their son once stood in. Her jaw clenches, French-tipped nails digging into her aged palms. “You…you’re breaking this family apart, Yamato.”

“It was already apart.”

That’s it. Nostrils flaring as she hastily stomps up to her husband and delivers a slap to his right cheek. His head shoots toward his left, unflinching. He doesn’t face his wife, even after he hears the sniffling come from her. 

The room hangs heavy with silence after the sharp crack of Akane’s hand meeting Yamato’s cheek. She stands there, trembling, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Tears well in her eyes, blurring the sight of her husband—unmoved, unshaken, and cold as stone. 

“You’re so blind,” Akane whispers, her voice quivering. “Blind to what really matters. Satoru…he’s slipping away from us, and you can’t see it because you’re too damn proud to admit you’ve failed him.”

Yamato remains still, his head turned, staring at nothing. “I’ve done what I had to do,” he replies, his voice devoid of emotion. “For this family. For its survival.”

“No,” Akane counters, her voice growing louder, cutting through the tense air like a blade. “You did it for yourself. You’ve always done it for yourself. The name, the power, the control—it’s all you care about. You don’t care about Satoru. You don’t care about Koji. And now…” Her voice cracks, and tears spill over her cheeks. “Now, you don’t even care about me.”

Finally, Yamato turns to face her. His expression is unreadable, a mask of stoicism, but there’s a flicker—just a flicker—of something in his eyes. Regret? Doubt? It’s gone before she can be sure.

“I care about this family,” he says, the words sounding rehearsed, hollow. “I’ve always cared.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Akane snaps, taking a step closer, her fists clenching at her sides. “If you cared, you’d see what you’re doing. You’d see that you’re driving Satoru away, driving us all away. You’d see that the ‘legacy’ you’re so desperate to protect isn’t worth a damn if there’s no one left to carry it. Aren’t you tired of this all?”

Yamato opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his tongue. For a moment, he simply stands there, his towering frame somehow diminished by the weight of her words.

“You’ve lost him,” Akane whispers, her voice breaking. “And if you keep this up…you’ll lose me too.”

She turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she retreats, leaving Yamato alone in the echoing silence of the living room. He doesn’t call after her. Instead, he stands there, the faint sting of her slap lingering on his cheek, and for the first time in a long time, Yamato feels the weight of his choices pressing down on him.

Satoru’s driving faster than he should back home, inhaling deeply then letting it go. He stops at a red light, too close to the white line of pedestrians. His phone sits in the cup holder before being picked up once more, eyes narrowing at the article he was looking at before he stormed on the pedal home. 

“Satoru Gojo and girlfriend Himari Nakamura spotted with Y/N L/N! Trouble in Paradise? Is this an end to Hitoru?!”

He bitterly scoffs once more when he sees the idiotic title to the even more idiotic article. Once again, an intrusive element to his already asphyxiating life. He knew meeting up with you to drop off Koji’s jacket might have been pushing it already, but for some reason…he found himself wanting to see your face and hear your voice. Even if it was just for a few short minutes. He hadn’t expected Himari to find him so soon, which was why he knew he needed to cut it short and keep his cool before anything unsavory happened. 

Because of shit like this. 

Satoru’s grip tightens on the wheel as he glares at the screen, the words blurring as his anger mounts. His chest feels tight, like the very air around him is too thick to breathe. The headline taunts him—Hitoru—the mockery of it all, the never-ending reminders of the mess he’s in. Himari’s name keeps appearing in connection with his, like some knot he can’t untangle.

Hitoru—the name they gave him and Himari when they were pushed together by their families, the perfect picture of a relationship built on top of strict obligation, not love. His fingers tighten around his phone, the familiar buzzing of frustration building in his throat.

He snaps the phone shut with a sharp motion, tossing it back into the cupholder. But the damage is done. The images of you, of Himari, of the scrutiny that surrounds them, keep circling his mind. It’s suffocating. He doesn’t even want to think about it anymore—about how you’ve been dragged into this mess.

The light changes, and he slams his foot down on the accelerator, the engine roaring as he speeds toward home. But even as he drives, his mind races—faster than the car, faster than his thoughts can keep up. He can’t shake the image of his parents, the look in their eyes, the silence that followed his exit. And now this—this new intrusion. It’s like he’s always on the edge of losing something, something he can’t even define anymore.

He turns off the road onto a quieter street, his heart hammering in his chest as he parks in front of the familiar house. The world feels too loud, the air too thick, and all he wants is for it to stop—for it all to just stop.

He grabs his phone again, his thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. He pauses, staring at it, then pulls his hand away, staring at the water in front of him instead.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself. There’s so much to fix, so many wrongs to right, but he doesn’t know where to start anymore. Throwing the phone onto the passenger seat, he knocks his forehead into the leather wheel. 

He wonders if you saw it already. Maybe you did, but maybe you didn’t. There’s a part of him that wants to text you to ask, and maybe even apologize. However, he’s not sure if that would be a good choice right now. He recognizes every little bit of you so easily, it’s startling. Maybe concerning?

The small downturn to your lips as you held back a frown and formed a smile, the pitch of your voice lowering in disappointment. The look in your eyes that glazed over with nothing but…betrayal? He cursed himself, eyes squeezing shut. 

You probably hate him even more now for not standing up for you as you would’ve liked—as he would’ve liked.  He’s starting to feel like his older self again, and he absolutely despises that. Fucking up and knowing it, but not fixing it up afterwards. He should’ve followed you back into your workplace and apologized for what Himari said to you, but he didn’t. He froze like a fucking idiot and in the end—chose another woman. 

Satoru’s forehead remains pressed against the steering wheel, the heat of it grounding him in the overwhelming rush of guilt and frustration. His thoughts swirl in chaos, a vortex of what-ifs and should-haves. Every moment he’d spent ignoring your pain, every opportunity to protect you he let slip by—it feels like he’s suffocating on the weight of it all. The truth is, he knows you too well. Better than anyone else ever could. And that makes it worse.

He can picture it so clearly: the way your lips had almost quivered before you plastered that smile, the way your eyes shifted, too tired to pretend anymore. He’s seen that look before, way more times than he’d like to admit. And it terrifies him now. Betrayal. Is that what he’d done? It was almost like he had carved a bigger wedge between you without realizing it, all because he couldn’t act fast enough, couldn’t be the man you needed. 

Did you still need him?

He slams his hand against the wheel in frustration, the sharp sound echoing in the otherwise quiet car. 

His phone buzzes on the seat beside him with a random notification, and instinctively, he grabs it, his thumb hovering over your name again. But no—he can’t. Not like this. Not when he’s this tangled up in his own mess.

What could he possibly say? 

He drags his hand over his face, muttering to himself. "God, what are you doing to yourself?"

Every time he tries to piece it together, another fragment of reality shatters in his mind. You’ve always been strong. You never asked for him to do more than what he could handle. But you’d been forced to handle so much already, and he... he’d let it all slip away.

Maybe you actually do hate me now.

He leans back against the seat, closing his eyes again, hoping for a moment of clarity. But the only thing he can hear now is the ringing silence in his head.

“Do you still love me?”

“…of course I do. I’d never stop.”

“Then why…why don’t I feel like you do anymore?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“No, really. I’m—”

“Let’s go to sleep now.”

He actually feels like he’s going crazy. Snapping his eyes open. He’d never thought he’d be the person to hear voices from the past in his head, but now he’s starting to understand. His heart is beating faster than it should, mouth drying like the Sahara desert and his fingers are starting to feel fidgety. With a shaky, labored breath inward, he reaches for his glove compartment. Opening it and bringing out the picture frame you gifted him. 

It’s only been a few days, but Satoru has discovered that not just staring at his son, but at you, has calmed him down in his hardest of moments. 

Satoru’s fingers tremble as he holds the picture frame, his eyes drawn to the image of you. It’s a moment frozen in time, a snapshot of a time when everything was different. Your smile, your eyes full of a younger warmth and something more—something he wishes he could’ve seen in person. That smile, the one that always made his heart flutter despite the chaos surrounding them. 

It was just a small moment, a simple gesture—no grand speeches or dramatic declarations—but to him, it meant the world. And now, in the silence of his car, surrounded by the weight of everything he’d failed to protect, it’s the only thing that feels real.

He runs his thumb along the edge of the glass, his mind replaying the words from before—your words. His chest tightens.

“Why don’t I feel like you do anymore?”

It’s a question he still can’t answer. How could he? He was so far from being the man you needed him to be. He thought the love you shared was enough, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d let it wither, neglected it in favor of his own responsibilities, his own distractions, until it had slipped through his fingers like sand. But in a way, he saw the neglect. And again, he froze. And again, he chose to turn away from you, letting you walk away. 

“Satoru... I know you are.”

He flinches at the memory of your voice, still so clear, still so piercing in its sadness. He'd heard the pain in your words that night. The resignation. He should’ve comforted you more—should’ve tried harder to. It was your own understanding that whatever you two had left, he wasn’t offering it in a way that could keep you whole.

The picture frame shakes slightly in his grasp. The noise of it is almost deafening, drowning out the chaotic swirl of his thoughts. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of guilt settle deep within his chest, heavier than anything he’s ever felt before.

I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry.

His breath hitches. Maybe he wasn’t entirely lost. Maybe he could still fix this. 

With a shaky exhale, he sets the frame back on the seat, staring at it for just a second longer before slowly closing his eyes, and leaning back against the headrest, allowing the overwhelming weight of it all to settle over him. His heart rate evens out, his hands no longer jittering. His sweat has dried down and his shoulders feel lighter. 

Maybe he should apologize. For anything at this point, so long you know he’s regretful. 

He gets a ping at his phone again, one that has him reaching for it and unlocking it with quick ease. He’s set up a different notification sound for whenever you text him or call him—it separates you from the rest of the contacts. Also, it lets him know that your message or phone call is actually worth replying to. 

Y/N:

Can you watch Koji tonight, please? I’m going out with a friend. 

He hesitates, a wave of curiosity passing through him. What friend? Going where? He wants to ask, and he almost does. But logic wins over and he finds himself having better restraint than he would’ve expected. So, with a big inhale, he types back a simple ‘sure’. 

He blames it on the fact that he hasn’t seen you dressed up in a while. That’s why his mind has suddenly gone foggy, lips parted and eyebrows raised as if he’s on the very verge of saying something. “You look…” Edible. 

Clearing your throat, you stuff your hands into the pockets of the small black jacket you adorn to keep you semi-warm throughout the night. But it probably won’t do much considering your legs are on full display for everyone to see. Your white-painted toes peeking out from the black heels you wear. And not to mention, the red dress you’re wearing that’s almost too tight and short for his liking. You’re wearing a glossy red lip to match, hair down, and jewelry that stands out perfectly against your skin. If he inhales hard enough, he’ll smell the sweet scent of your floral, strawberry fragrance that always leaves him wanting—feining for more. 

“…nice.”

Nice? That’s all he could come up with? He mentally berates himself, though he’s not entirely sure if he wants to give you the satisfaction of knowing just how good you look. It’s not just the dress or the heels—it’s your unknowing confidence in your stance, the way you carry yourself. It’s infuriatingly captivating. 

“Thanks,” you reply, not meeting his gaze as you adjust the strap of your small purse. You’re not oblivious to the way his eyes linger, but you refuse to let it affect you. Not tonight, not anymore. “Koji’s already asleep, so you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

Satoru nods, leaning against the doorframe, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Who’s the lucky guy?” he finally asks, his tone deliberately casual.

You pause mid-motion, glancing back at him with a raised brow. “Why does it matter?”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Just curious. I mean, you haven't gone out much, so…”

“It’s a friend,” you say firmly, cutting him off before he can push further. “That’s all you need to know.”

His lips thin, looking briefly at his son’s closed door before back at your figure; watching you grab your keys. “Well…how are you getting there?” He asks, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“My friend and the guy she’s talking to are picking me up. We were going to meet him there, but he said he could pick us up instead.”

“What guy?” He can’t help but ask. “Is he a good driver? Do you know him well? Do I—”

“They’re picking me up,” you reiterate, cutting him off. Looking back at him, a plain emotion on your face. “I have it situated. Just worry about watching Koji, okay?”

The words sting more than he expects them to. He watches as you step out the door, your heels clicking against the pavement. “Please be safe,” he calls after you, his voice softer this time, almost hesitant.

You turn briefly, offering a small, polite smile. “I will.”

And just like that, you’re gone, leaving Satoru standing in the apartment, staring after you with a sinking feeling in his chest. The thought of you out there, dressed like that, with someone else—some other guy—makes his blood simmer. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but it doesn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him.

A few minutes and he decides to be nosy. Peeking out the window, looking down at the parking lot of the complex. He sees you getting into a car. Now, it’s not the fact that the entire car is blacked out so he can’t even see who’s in the car with you, or the fact that it has obnoxious lights on the rims. But solely the fact that it’s a Maybach. 

Since when do you know anyone who drives a Maybach?

Not that he’s trying to diss you or anything, but so far, he has no knowledge of you coming across any people who could afford that kind of car. Up until now. And that thought alone has him on edge. 

Or maybe it’s the signature, golden ‘Z’ emblem above the back license plate that he spots as the car drives off. His stomach turns. No. No. No. That couldn’t be. He’s just imagining that. 

No way you’re in a car with a Zenin right now. 

There’s just no way. 

“You look cute,” Hana comments, turning around in her seat. Smiling as she gives you a once-over. “Is that the dress we bought together that one time at the mall?”

“Yeah. You look great too,” you chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You glance over at Naoya who’s currently fixated on the road. “Thanks for the ride, by the way. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Naoya replies without taking his eyes off the road, his tone neutral but polite. “Hana insisted we pick you up anyway.”  

Hana grins, turning her attention back to you. “Of course I did! It’s been forever since we had a proper night out. You’ve been cooped up for too long, Y/N.” She gestures dramatically, earning a small laugh from you.  

“I guess I have,” you admit, glancing out the window as the city lights blur past. “It’s just been… a lot lately.”  

Hana’s smile softens, and she reaches back to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Well, tonight’s about letting go of all that. We’ll have fun, I promise.”  

Naoya glances at you in the rearview mirror, his sharp gaze lingering for a moment before he focuses back on the road. “Just make sure you don’t let loose too much,” he says, his lips curving into a faint smirk.  

You look over, seeing the corner of his lips upturned into what must be his permanent grin. You catch his eyes meeting you through the rearview mirror for a minute and it makes you feel naked. Clearing your throat and looking back at your window with an awkward chuckle. 

“Naoya, the overprotective chauffeur,” Hana jokes, earning a laugh from Naoya as he puts his hand on her thigh.  

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you two,” Naoya quips, his smirk widening as his fingers give Hana’s leg a light squeeze. “Especially when you’re dragging her along into whatever chaos you’ve planned.”

Hana rolls her eyes, brushing his hand off playfully. “Relax, Dad. We’re just going out for a few drinks and some dancing. Nothing too wild.” She winks at you. “Right, Y/N?”

You nod. “Right. I’m not exactly a party animal.”

Naoya hums, clearly unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Hana waves him off.  He chortles a low, smooth sound that vibrates through the car. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just here to make sure my ladies get home in one piece.”

Your lips part in confusion, brows knitting together. You glance at him, but he doesn’t elaborate. Hana, ever the chatterbox, quickly fills the silence. “Well, lucky us, then! Who else gets a chauffeur who also cares about their well-being?” She leans over and plants a dramatic kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

Naoya laughs, but he subtly turns his head to the side and grimaces, wiping his cheek as if offended. You notice. 

The dynamic between them is easy and light, and though you try to relax, you can’t shake the feeling of Naoya’s lingering gaze every time he catches your eye in the mirror. There’s something unnerving about the way he looks at you—like he knows something you don’t. 

For now, though, you push it aside. Tonight isn’t about overthinking—it’s about having a moment to breathe.

But you shake it off, plastering a smile on your face as the car pulls up to the club. Hana claps her hands excitedly, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Alright, let’s get this night started!”

Naoya puts it in park and rounds over to the other side of the car, opening Hana’s far and surprisingly yours as well. Giving him a small nod in thanks, you go to loop arms with Hana, but she’s already doing that with Naoya. 

You falter for a moment, your arm awkwardly dropping back to your side. Hana is too busy chatting animatedly with Naoya to notice, her laugh ringing out as they start walking ahead. You follow a step behind, trying not to feel out of place.

The entrance to the club glows with neon lights, and the steady thrum of bass greets you as you approach. Hana bounces on her heels, her excitement contagious as she tugs on Naoya’s arm. “Hurry up! We don’t want to miss the good music!”

Naoya glances back at you, his sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You good back there?”

“Yeah,” you reply quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

Hana beams at you over her shoulder, oblivious to the moment. “Don’t let us leave you behind, Y/N! Tonight’s about you having fun too!”

“Right,” you murmur, falling into step beside them as the bouncer waves you three in instantly as soon as he sees Naoya’s with you. 

Inside, the club is alive with energy—flashing lights, pulsing music, and a crowd already losing themselves on the dance floor. 

In other words, it’s a sensory overload. The air is thick with the smell of perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and the floor vibrates underfoot with the heavy bass of the music that pulses from every corner. The dim, moody lighting casts long shadows across the room, but flashes of neon blues, purples, and pinks blink and fade in time with the beats, giving the space an electric, otherworldly glow.

To your left, a long, sleek bar stretches the length of the room, illuminated by LED lights embedded beneath the counter, giving it a cool, almost ethereal glow. Behind the bar, bartenders move with practiced efficiency, mixing colorful drinks, occasionally tossing bottles into the air as part of a flashy show to catch the attention of the crowd. The shelves of liquor gleam under the shifting lights, every bottle begging to be chosen.

The dance floor is alive with movement—a sea of people in various states of abandon, swaying, grinding, and throwing themselves into the beat. The DJ booth is elevated at the far end of the room, with an impressive setup of turntables, flashing screens, and a bright spotlight that shines down on the DJ as they command the crowd. Their hands are a blur as they adjust the controls, sending waves of sound crashing through the speakers, making the room feel alive with every drop.

Above, the ceiling is dark but dotted with small, moving lights that give the illusion of stars or distant galaxies, adding to the club’s otherworldly atmosphere. A few scattered tables sit around the edges of the room, reserved for VIP guests, and each one is surrounded by plush, velvet chairs and bottles of expensive liquor.

As you move through the crowd, you catch glimpses of people laughing, chatting, and flirting, but it all feels distant—like you’re part of the scene but not entirely involved. The club is packed, but there’s a strange sense of intimacy in the chaos as if everyone is trying to escape their real lives, if only for a few hours. The energy is intoxicating, but beneath it all, you can feel the weight of your own thoughts creeping back in, no matter how hard you try to let the music wash them away.

Naoya guides you two upstairs, which shocks you because you weren’t aware this spot has more than one floor. “C’mon, upstairs is where all the important people stay.” He says, his head tilting in the direction of where he’s referring. 

Hana giggles and practically bubbles with excitement. You on the other hand, not so much. Maybe it’s just the fact that you’re a very analytical person at heart, constantly checking and being sure of your surroundings. Of course, a few men pass you and Hana lingering stares, but none of them approach you. 

Naoya walks over to a small VIP booth that’s been blocked off, sitting leisurely down on the couch and bringing Hana down to his lap; her arms around his neck. You sit beside them, hands in your lap. Looking around, and yep, it definitely is a different vibe than downstairs. 

As you settle into the plush, velvet booth, the vibe upstairs feels even more exclusive. The lighting here is more subdued, with golden accents and low-hanging chandeliers casting a warm, luxurious glow over the space. The music from downstairs is muffled, replaced by a mix of smooth beats and more chill, electronic sounds, making the atmosphere feel like a blend of relaxation and quiet intensity. The view from the booth offers a perfect vantage point, allowing you to overlook the main floor, but with a sense of separation from the chaos. The air smells richer up here too—expensive cologne and the faint scent of cigars from the few people who seem to want a more private retreat from the crowd below. Glasses of wine and crystal-clear cocktails sit on the tables, adding to the upscale feel.

“All rounds on me. Let’s enjoy the night,” Naoya announces. 

“Thank you, babe!” Hana exclaims, nuzzling into his neck.  

Your eyes flicker to the other patrons in the booth with you. Some are laughing softly, holding drinks, while others sit in hushed conversations, the dim lighting making everything feel secretive and intimate. You can’t help but wonder if this is how the elite live all the time—an almost curated existence, designed for maximum enjoyment and minimal disruption.

A waitress arrives with a tray of drinks—various cocktails with elaborate garnishes, the scent of alcohol mingling with the floral air in the room. Naoya takes one without hesitation, handing it to Hana, who beams in delight. He looks over as if waiting for you to take one as well. You glance down at the assortment of drinks before finally picking up a glass, the amber liquid gleaming in the dim light. You take a small sip, the sharpness of the alcohol hitting your tongue as you try to keep your focus on the present moment, not letting your mind wander too far.

Naoya watches you with a raised brow, then leans back in his seat, his arm casually draped around Hana’s waist. He seems to enjoy the fact that you’re more reserved than the others. He chuckles lowly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be the type to go for the fancy drinks,” he remarks, his voice light but piercing as he studies your expression.

You give him a dry smile, shifting your attention toward the music pulsing through the speakers. “I’m not, but I figured it’s a good way to blend in,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation flowing without delving into anything personal.

Hana, always the life of the group, doesn’t seem to notice the tension hanging in the air. She’s already lost in the rhythm of the night, swaying her body slightly as she sips her drink. You, on the other hand, are a stranger in it all, unsure of your place here.

You’re don’t know how much time has passed, but it’s probably sooner than later when you’re nudging Hana over as Naoya is engaged in conversation with another man. “Hey, I thought we were going for the more…you know. Lively kind of night. Not a sit down and whiskey type.” You lace your words with a chuckle, though you speak the truth. You’d much rather be on the first floor, drinking expensive, but poorly made drinks and shaking your ass off on the dance floor with a bunch of strangers. 

“What’s wrong with being up here? Naoya said all the important people stay here.” She tilts her head, sipping from what must be her fifth drink already. She’s drunk, obviously. 

You’re teetering the line of tipsy and drunk. 

“Well, yeah, sure. But don’t you want to dance or something?” You ask back. 

Hana looks at you for a moment, her eyes softening with a thoughtful expression. She tilts her head, the buzz of the alcohol making her seem a little more carefree. “I mean, I guess, but I like the vibe up here more. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Her words are a little slow.

You glance down at your feet for a moment, debating your options. The temptation to be more carefree is there, gnawing at the edges of your mind. But as the music and voices continue to swirl around you, you feel more and more out of place in this sterile, high-class VIP area. You can practically feel the weight of the high-heeled shoes digging into your feet, the tightness of your dress that’s become slightly uncomfortable as the night wears on.

You shoot a glance toward Naoya, who's deep in conversation with some well-dressed man. His posture is perfect, the kind of poised confidence only someone like him could exude, while you and Hana are caught up in your own corner of the booth, the alcohol clouding your judgment but not your awareness. It’s strange to be so close to people who are so at home here but yet feel so far away.

“I think I’m gonna go dance,” you say, suddenly making up your mind. “You don’t have to join me if you’re not feeling it.” You stand, brushing your dress down as you do. Your legs feel a little unsteady, but it’s manageable. You’re not a newbie to drinking, after all. 

Hana looks at you, her gaze blurry but her smile still wide. “Go for it, girl! I’m fine here.” She gives you a thumbs up, though she seems too drunk to be fully aware of what’s going on around her.

You nod, and make your way down the stairs back toward the first floor. The music is louder here, the bass thumping through your chest as you walk toward the crowd of people already dancing. Normally, Hana would never shy away from dancing with you—or straying away from you during a night out. So the fact that she’s suddenly willing to tonight makes you feel weird. But it’s probably just the alcohol. 

You shake off the momentary discomfort, the need to blend into this world of expensive drinks and quiet conversations. This is what you came for.

The crowd is exactly as you expected—a mixture of sweaty bodies, neon lights, and the pulsating energy of a hundred people trying to escape their realities, if only for a few hours. You take a deep breath, letting the beat of the music invade your senses. For a second, you feel a bit more free.

You grab a drink from one of the servers, not caring much about what it is, and make your way into the center of the dance floor. The drink is cool in your hand as you take a sip, feeling the sharp burn of the alcohol before you set it aside, letting yourself be carried away by the rhythm.

The night is finally starting to feel a bit more like it should.

As you lose yourself in the music, the bass vibrating through your bones, you feel the tension in your body start to melt away. For the first time tonight, you're not thinking about the drama, the men, or the uncomfortable constraints of the VIP booth. The club is full of people, all dancing, laughing, and letting go of whatever worries they might have had earlier. You let yourself blend into the crowd, moving fluidly to the beat, forgetting about everything except the thrum of the music and the freedom in the space around you.

It feels nice. Very nice, in fact. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been to a club, let alone go dancing. You forgot how freeing it feels. Of course, the alcohol plays a role in the freeing sensation, but it’s also the fact that you can let loose. You don’t have to think of anyone else but yourself at this moment. That realization makes your lips upturn, hips swaying and eyes closing in a euphoric blissfulness. 

You can tell it’s been a while since you’ve been down here by the way sweat beads at your forehead and the back of your neck. You don’t wipe it off, however. That’s the whole point. 

But as you move, you can suddenly feel eyes on you. At first, it's easy to dismiss the sensation, assuming it’s just the way the lights play across the room, making everyone appear to be watching. But the longer you dance, the more you realize that someone is actually watching, their gaze sharp and unwavering. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s Naoya.

His presence is unmistakable. Even amidst the blur of strangers, you can feel him like a weight in the air, his energy standing out amongst the crowd. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, his arms folded, his expression unreadable but clearly intent on you. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. Something about the way he’s staring makes your stomach flip, though you can’t quite tell whether it’s from excitement or unease.

You try to ignore it, but the discomfort lingers. You dance a little harder, moving to the rhythm, hoping the feeling will pass. But Naoya doesn’t look away. In fact, his posture shifts slightly, and the subtle smirk that plays on his lips only deepens. 

At that moment, you feel an unexpected shift in the crowd around you. You glance over, expecting to see some stranger encroaching on your space, but instead, it’s just the pulse of the music getting more intense. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that Naoya is watching you with something more than curiosity. His gaze is intense, too intense for a simple night out. 

The realization starts to gnaw at you. He’s waiting for something. And it’s not just the usual flirtatious attention. There’s a deliberate energy in the air, a challenge almost. 

You swallow thickly, trying to push the tension away. But it’s getting harder to pretend like you’re not aware of him, especially as you move.

“Having fun?” Naoya’s voice cuts through the noise as he approaches you, standing dangerously close, almost too close. You freeze momentarily, caught off guard by his forced proximity. He towers over you, the heat from his body radiating towards you, his gaze locked onto yours like he’s studying you, dissecting you. 

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out, your mind scrambling for something to say, anything to break the intensity of the moment. Instead, your eyes dart toward the exit of the dance floor. You need space. But Naoya doesn’t give you the chance to retreat.

“You seem a little distracted tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low as if they’re the only two people in the room.

You know he’s not just talking about the music. A part of you wants to pull away, to tell him you’re fine, but another part feels caught in his web. 

He leans in slightly, his voice nearly lost in the music. “I thought you’d be enjoying yourself up there. Why the sudden change of heart?”

You tilt your head, forcing yourself to stay grounded. “I just needed a change of pace, that’s all.”

Naoya looks you over with a raised eyebrow, his posture leaning just a bit closer. “I see.” His voice drops to a teasing whisper. “You’re not trying to forget anything, are you?”

You glance at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, letting the question hang in the air for a second. Instead, he moves closer, his hand brushing against the small of your back. His touch is light, but there’s an intensity behind it, a pull that almost makes you lose focus. The air around you thickens, the moment stretching out longer than necessary.

“I’m just wondering how long you’re going to keep running away from what’s really bothering you,” Naoya murmurs, his smirk never faltering.

You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. His words—casual, yet somehow pointed—cut through the haze of alcohol in your mind. It’s strange how Naoya can make you feel uncomfortably exposed even when he’s doing the least. That’s not normal. 

“I’m not running from anything,” you say, your voice steady but your heart suddenly a little heavier. “Just enjoying the night, like you said.”

Naoya chuckles softly, though there’s a sharpness to it now. “Sure, just enjoying the night. You do that.” He leans in closer, almost too close now, his breath brushing your ear. “But you should know, sometimes the thing you’re trying to forget ends up finding you, no matter how far you run.”

You tense, your pulse racing, and for a moment, you wonder if he knows something—something about you, about Satoru, or maybe even about your own deepest fears. His hands are on your hips before you know it, moving your body in a swaying motion to the beat of the music. 

And for some reason, you let him. Feeling the weight of his ominous words stay heavy on your mind, fixating on a random tile of the floor. You feel his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, unmoving. For a second, you feel yourself give in. Placing your hands atop his in a hesitant manner—testing out the waters. 

And instantly, you’re met with your answer, a nauseating pit forming in your gut. Lip curling into a tiny sneer. 

“W-where’s Hana?” You blurt out, pushing his hands away from you and turning around to face him. 

There’s a momentary look of shock on his face before he pulls it back down into his usual Cheshire grin, though you can tell it looks more forced than usual this time. His eyes narrowed. “Oh, Hana? She’s still upstairs.”

“And you left her there?” You huff with disbelief, your head shaking. You attempt to side-step past him, but he’s putting an arm around your shoulder before you can go. 

“Don’t worry, pretty. I can lead you to her.”

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol clouding your judgment or the lingering discomfort from his presence, but you find yourself stopping. His touch, warm but unnerving, keeps you in place as his arm wraps around you. His grip feels possessive in a way that makes your skin crawl, and for the briefest second, you almost feel trapped.

You glance up at him, his grin too wide, too knowing. There’s something in his eyes—something that doesn’t sit right with you. His words float in your mind like smoke: “The thing you’re trying to forget ends up finding you.”

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you tilt your head toward the stairs, where you know Hana must be waiting. “I think I’ll find her myself,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm, and detached, though your pulse quickens.

Naoya’s eyes glint with something unreadable, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he tightens his arm around your shoulder, his touch more possessive than before, making it hard to breathe. “I’m just trying to help, sweetheart. What’s the harm in me escorting you?” His voice is low, almost coaxing like he’s trying to pull you into his orbit.

Before you know it, he’s taking you upstairs. All the while keeping his arm around you. You gulp down the lump in your throat, unsure if you should push him off and let him take you to your friend. Maybe you’re overthinking—overreacting. Once you two are upstairs, he’s walking past the booths. You glance at the booth you were once at, seeing no sight of your friend. 

Panic trickles in slowly as he takes you down a small hallway, turning to his right and opening the last door. 

You’re taking in everything. Women, men, glasses of alcohol. Some make out and others getting frisky with each other. The room feels even more suffocating than the second floor itself. But your eyes don’t just widen at what the others are doing, but what your friend is doing. 

She’s sitting beside some guys you don’t even know, white snowy lines laid out in front of them on the glass table. She’s leaning down, holding a finger to her nostril and just about to partake in the activity when you snatch her up by her arm. “Hana! W-what the hell are you doing?!”

Hana looks up at you, her face slightly flushed and her eyes glazed over, an uncharacteristic haze of confusion settling over her expression as she blinks a few times. The room is full of murmurs, laughter, and the sharp scent of something far stronger than alcohol. For a moment, Hana doesn’t seem to recognize you at all, or perhaps she’s just too far gone to care. The men around her don’t react immediately, their attention is divided between each other and whatever else is happening in the room.

“Hana!” you repeat, voice rising in panic, shaking her arm a little more forcefully. Your grip is tight, and you can feel the tremor in your hand as the weight of the situation starts to sink in.

She blinks again, then her gaze clears just enough to focus on you. “Y/N?” she slurs, a small frown forming as she rubs her nose absentmindedly. “What’s up? I was just… having fun.”

“This isn’t fun, Hana!” You pull her up from her seat, your voice trembling as you yank her away from the men. “This is dangerous—what are you thinking?”

Hana stumbles a little, her movements sluggish, and she doesn’t seem to fully grasp the seriousness of the moment. She laughs softly, her words laced with a slur that makes it hard for you to hear her clearly. “Come on, Y/N, chill out. It’s just a little fun. You’ve been so uptight lately... you need to loosen up, too.”

Your heart races as you glance back at Naoya, still standing in the doorway, his hand resting casually on the frame. His grin is gone, replaced by a coldness that seems to make the room feel even more stifling. You’re left standing there, breath shallow, with Hana still swaying slightly in your grip. You don’t know how long it takes for the fog of confusion to lift from her eyes, but when it does, her face falls.

Your stomach twists, both from the overwhelming sense of protectiveness and the lingering disgust at what she’d been about to do. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You’ve been friends for too long to just let this go. You can’t leave her here like this—not with those people, not in this situation.

You pull her closer, your voice softening. “We’re leaving, Hana. Now.”

A beat of silence hangs between you, and for a moment, you think she might actually listen, but then she looks at you with frustration, and then back at Naoya, who hasn’t moved an inch.

“Why are you always trying to control everything, Y/N?” she snaps, and it feels like a slap to the face. “I’m fine. Just let me do what I want for once.”

It’s the final straw. You can’t stand it anymore. You’re about to pull her out of the room, about to drag her away from this mess, but Naoya steps forward, a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stop. “Maybe you should let her be, Y/N,” he says, voice calm but his grip tightening on you. “She’s not your responsibility tonight.”

Your anger flares, but your mind is spinning too fast to catch up. You want to scream. You want to slap him across the face, but you know better. You can feel the weight of the situation settling in, and something about being in this room with him, watching everything around you spiral out of control, is making you lose your footing.

And Hana—she’s still there, looking so lost, so far gone.

You feel the pressure of Naoya’s touch on your shoulder, almost like an invisible barrier, stopping you from moving. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the air heavy and thick with tension.

“Did you bring her in here? Did you force her to do things she couldn’t consent to?” You ask, forcing your drunken mess away for just a moment to deal with the situation at hand. 

His head tilts in faux innocence. “What? No. She said she wanted to meet my friends so I let her. I said I’d be back in a few minutes, I didn’t know she’d be doing anything like that.”

“But you still left her alone.” You grit. 

“So? She’s a grown woman. Besides, she’s not alone.” He gestures to the people inside. 

You can feel your heart racing, each word hanging in the air like a heavy weight, suffocating you more than the dense atmosphere of the room. Your chest tightens with anger and concern for your friend. The nerve of him—standing there, acting like he didn’t know what was happening. He knows exactly what’s going on, and now he’s just playing it off like it’s nothing.

“You still left her alone,” you repeat, voice sharper this time, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though every instinct tells you to look away. “If you had any decency at all, you wouldn’t have let her get to this point.” 

Naoya shrugs, an almost bored expression on his face, like he’s done this too many times to count and knows exactly how to make people like you back down. “Decency? You want me to babysit her?” His lips curl into that smirk again, the one that sends a chill down your spine. “I’m not her keeper, Y/N. She made her own choices.”

Your hands shake, but you force them to remain steady. You glance at Hana again, who’s swaying, her mind clearly lost in whatever she was about to do, her gaze vacant. The sight makes your stomach churn, the reality of how deep she’s gotten into all this hitting you like a punch to the gut.

“Then why did you bring her here?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice from breaking. “Why even let her near this place if you knew what was going on?”

Naoya’s eyes narrow, and for a second, you think you might have actually caught him off guard. But then his expression hardens, and the slight tension in his jaw gives way to a shrug. “Because she wanted to be here. She asked to come. I didn’t make her.” His tone is colder now, more dismissive. “You know, Y/N, sometimes people just want to let loose. You can’t control everything. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

You flinch at his words, and that’s when you know—you’re not going to get anything else from him. He’s already too far gone into his own ego, into this sick game he’s playing. But you won’t stop. Not when Hana’s here, not when she’s clearly in over her head.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward, putting yourself between Naoya and Hana, your voice unwavering. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Naoya opens his mouth as if to argue, but you don’t give him the chance. You grab Hana’s arm again, more forcefully this time, pulling her away from the table. She resists at first, confused, but your grip is unyielding.

“Come on, Hana. We’re going.” You almost want to shout it, to get her out of there before anything else can happen, but instead, you keep your voice steady, calm, for her.

She blinks at you, her vision blurry. “But... Y/N... I... I’m fine, I just... I just wanted to try it...”

“No, Hana,” you snap, cutting her off before she can finish her sentence. “This is not you. You’re not fine.” 

The words hit her hard. You can see it in her eyes—the brief flash of clarity before the fog comes back over them. She sways, but you manage to keep her steady as you drag her out of the room, ignoring the stares and whispers of the people inside.

Naoya doesn’t try to stop you. He stands there, arms crossed, watching you leave with that same smirk plastered across his face.

You can hear him mutter under his breath. And you find that being your final straw again. 

You stop in your tracks, holding your friend to your side by her waist. Debating. “Hey.”

He barely has time to look over his shoulder before your fist makes contact with his cheek. He audibly yelps in a feminine manner, instantly holding the injured area. “Ow! W—hey!” 

His mouth is agape, eyebrows furrowed and glaring at you with looks to kill. You wring out your fist, glad you wore your favorite ring today. You can’t punch for shit, yet he’s acting like…

“You crazy woman!” He huffs out, the room going silent as he has his breakdown. Rushing over and pushing a couple of women out of the way to cheek his face in the mirror. He sees the red area, and his lip is busted. Whipping his head back over to you. “How dare you?! I’ll fucking sue you for this, you know?”

“Go ahead, I have nothing to give you.” You reply back, turning on your heel and walking out. Footsteps quick from the sheer adrenaline and small amount of fear that he’ll try to grab you from behind. He doesn’t, luckily. 

All that matters now is getting Hana out of this hellhole. As you make your way to the exit, you finally feel like you can breathe again. But just barely.

Once you’re outside, the cold air hits your skin, grounding you. Hana stumbles beside you, still out of it, but you’ve done what you came to do. You’ve pulled her from the edge.

But as you both stand there, the reality of what just happened settles in. You’ve confronted Naoya, punched him, and you’ve dragged your friend out of a situation she was too far gone to see. But now, as the adrenaline begins to fade, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not done yet.

You look down at your shaky fist, seeing the red knuckles. “…shit…” you mumble under your breath, chest heaving up and down. You gasp and catch yourself on a light pole when Hana suddenly goes dead weight and almost brings you down to the concrete with her. It takes everything in you to hold her up.

Your vision feels wavy, feeling your feet stumble a bit to the right from your own inebriation before catching yourself mid-haze. “Okay, okay.” 

You’re bear-hugging her to your chest, holding your bodies up against the light pole. Breathing in and out heavily, eyes closing as you try to figure out a situation for this all. Your ride, gone. You didn’t even bring money for a taxi. And your friend is passed out drunk. You do a mental checklist of people who can haul you and Hana’s drunk asses back home. Only coming out with two viable options. And one of those is currently watching your son at home. 

Leaving only one other person. 

Satoru has been lounging around your place for a few hours now, bored out of his mind. He switches from laying on the couch, to rummaging through your cabinets and reading the expiration date on everything, to checking on his son. 

He sighs heavily, staring down at the familiar key he had gifted you that lies on the kitchen counter. Untouched. He still hasn’t asked about your confirmation of the place he bought for you two, he figures he can do that tomorrow. But the fact that you haven’t seemed to put much regard into it feels like a small dig to him, his frown deepening. Did you not care for it? Do you not like it? The fact that he went out of his way to buy you and his son a better place to live??

He needs to clear his mind. 

Walking over to Koji’s room, peeking in once more, everything is the same. His son still sleeps peacefully, snoring lightly and holding his Spider-Man close to his chest with his blankets thrown over him. The Spider-Man makes Satoru scowl again, forcing his eyes away and to the small hamper in the corner. 

He might as well do something productive now. 

Carefully, he walks in and grabs the hamper, walking back out with effortless silence. Going over to your washer and dryer, opening the two doors to reveal them. He already sees a full hamper on top of the washer and sighs. “C’mon, Y/N,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. 

Flipping the light switch on, he puts both hampers on the ground and it takes him a while to figure out how to work your washer. Afterward, he opens the lid and tosses on Koji’s small load, then yours. He tries not to hold onto your panties and bras for too long, not trying to be a perv. But he’s a man, after all. A man who may still have feelings for his ex. 

So when he sees a pair of blue, lace panties, he thinks he might get a hard on right then and there. You creep! He’s holding it in front of his face, admiring the dangling fabric. He’s surprised you still have this. He remembers the…day you got it, after all. Yep, he feels his pants tighten. 

The sick, twisted part of him tells him to give the panties a small sniff. What you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?

No, no. That’s disgusting of you, Satoru. 

He shakes his head, reminding himself that he can’t do this and that he has a girlfriend. And by the gods above, he quickly tosses it into the washer before he loses control. The rest of your clothes consist of pants, sweats, a jacket, a few shirts, and a….wait. 

…what’s this?

Getting to the bottom of your hamper, he comes across a shirt. One that’s too oversized to fit you. One that’s cotton. One that smells faintly like someone else he knows. One that he bought for his best friend two Christmases ago. 

Satoru stares at the shirt in his hands, his eyes narrowing as the realization hits him like a cold slap to the face. The fabric feels heavier in his grip than it should, and the faint scent clings to it—the unmistakable scent of someone else. Someone he knows. Someone who's apparently been a part of your life in ways that make him uncomfortable to even consider.

His stomach twists, a mix of anger and confusion flooding his thoughts. The shirt feels like a thread unraveling everything he’s been trying to convince himself of. He knows it’s irrational to feel the way he does, but in that moment, all he can think of is him. His best friend. The one who’s always been there. The one who seems too close to you. His grip tightens around the fabric, his stomach dropping. Gulping hard and forcing himself not to jump to conclusions. 

But that’s pretty fucking hard. 

Why the fuck do you have Suguru’s shirt? Why is it in your dirty clothes? Did he just put it there? Did he spend the night? Did you and him—

He tosses the shirt back into the hamper with more force than necessary, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there. It’s his.  

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. What is he supposed to do with this? He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but everything about this feels wrong. He glances over at the pile of clothes—your clothes. He sees everything but that damn shirt. But it's there now, in his mind, looming like a specter. 

Satoru grabs the rest of the clothes, hastily tossing them into the washer, but it’s hard to focus. His mind keeps returning to that one question. That one shirt. And the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, there's something he's been missing.

He almost feels like gagging as he closes the two doors and turns the light off, head spinning. He places a hand to his forehead, blinking hard. 

His head whips over to the front door when he hears muffled chatter from outside. 

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” you mumble in embarrassment, focusing your eyes on your fiddling hands in your lap. 

“Don’t thank me, Y/N. I would’ve come either way.” Suguru responds, smiling briefly at you before focusing back on the road. 

You’re just dropped Hana off. The trip felt way easier since Suguru opted to carry her in and to her bed, with you grabbing her keys and unlocking her door. When you left, you made sure everything else was locked. He didn’t even question anything, simply doing as you asked. 

Of course his gaze is riddled with concern, confusion, and skepticism. You don’t miss the way he keeps looking down at your red knuckles that you hide, but with the way you haven’t mentioned anything about the night, he figures you won’t talk about it. 

“How much did you drink? I brought some water, it’s on the door.” He juts his head in your direction. 

You glance down and grab the bottle, thanking him as you down it. “Um…just a few drinks. I’m not entirely sober right now, still.”

Suguru nods slowly, not saying anything for a moment as the car hums along the quiet road. He doesn’t push you to talk, but he knows something’s off. You’ve been quieter than usual, and the tension in the air is palpable. He’s been around you long enough to sense when something isn’t right, but he’s trying not to pry—especially when you’re clearly trying to avoid the topic.

When you finish the water, he glances over at you, eyes softening. “I know you’re not ready to talk, Y/N. But you know I’m here, right? If you ever want to—”

You nod quickly, cutting him off, but not in a way that’s dismissive. It’s more like you’re trying to assure him. “I know. Thanks, Suguru.” The words hang between you both, neither of you fully comfortable in the silence. Guilt hits you, so you continue. “I just…tonight didn’t go as planned.”

He nods, stopping at a red light. Finally taking the chance to look at you fully once more. His lips thin in displeasure when he sees your current state. Shivering, flushed cheeks, hazy eyes, hair messy. He sighs and reaches in the backseat and brings out a warm, thick black jacket. Putting it over your shoulders. “Put that on, okay? Keep yourself warm and hydrated.”

Your lips part, but you nod and smile slightly. “…thank you,” you murmur, holding the jacket closer. 

“And don’t thank me anymore, okay?” He replies, hints of playfulness in his voice like he’s trying to ease the mood. When the light turns green, the car moves forward again and gets closer to your apartment complex. 

You let out a quiet breath, the warmth of his jacket enveloping you as you pull it tighter around your shoulders. The night feels like a blur now, too many conflicting emotions tangled together. Suguru’s steady presence is a welcome relief, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve lost control in some way. Tonight wasn’t just a mess—it was a wake-up call.

As he makes the final turn toward your apartment, you glance at him, still holding the jacket close. His eyes are on the road, but you can tell he’s trying to read you without being too obvious. There’s concern in the way his brows are furrowed, even though he’s doing his best to keep things light.

“I didn’t expect the night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice quieter than before. “I thought it’d just be a fun time with Hana, but… everything kind of spiraled.”

Suguru’s expression softens, though his gaze doesn’t stray from the road. “I know you wanted to have a good time, Y/N. Sometimes things just… happen. Doesn’t mean you can’t recover from it.”

You glance out the window, trying to focus on the passing scenery. The bright lights of the city feel like a distant memory compared to the emotional chaos inside your head. You force your stomach not to start twisting. “I know. It’s just hard. I never thought I’d have to deal with something like this.”

Suguru reaches for the wheel a bit tighter, but his voice is gentle as ever. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone, you know? Not everything is on your shoulders. Let yourself breathe a little.”

You bite your lip. I tried doing that tonight, look where that got me. You stay silent as he finds a space and parks, deciding he’s dealt with enough of your burdens. 

“I’ll walk you up,” he mutters, unbuckling and getting out of the car to come to your side. He helps you out wordlessly, closing the door behind you and locking his car. 

Your footsteps falter for a moment. “I-is it okay if I lean—”

“Of course,” he cuts you off, holding a steady arm around your waist and allowing you to use him as grounding for your leaning weight. He’s practically leading you, but you have no problem with it. Even as you two enter the elevator, the silence doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable. If anything, you’re leaning more into him, the side of your head against his chest. 

He glances down at the top of your head, pulling you just a tad bit closer and twisting the urge to plant a kiss to your hair. His thumb rubs small, soothing circles around your hip, feeling you lean more and more against him. 

The doors open and he’s slowing his movements for you. “Still with me?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He smiles and looks forward. “Good, don’t go falling asleep. Get some water in you, maybe some bread.”

You can’t help but softly chuckle. “You know, you’ve been really nice to me, Suguru. Nicer than anyone else.”

Your words are getting quiet and more mumbled—slurred. But he can still faintly piece your words together. You feel the rumble in his chest from his coaxing laugh. “Yeah? I think I’m just acting how any other man would.”

“Not any other man.” You reply.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, getting a tiny idea of who you may be referring to. But he doesn’t want to ruin your night even more by saying his name. 

The quiet hum of the building is a comfort, a stark contrast to the chaos of earlier. You’re not sure how much of your surroundings you’re taking in; your thoughts are still clouded from the night’s events. The warmth of Suguru’s presence, his steady support, makes it easier to keep going. When you reach your door, he stops, giving you the space to find your keys in your pocket. You fumble a little, but Suguru doesn’t rush you. He stands patiently, his thumb still grazing the side of your hip. He’s careful not to crowd you too much, but there’s an undeniable sense of protectiveness in the way he stands close.

Finally, you manage to find your key. You glance up at Suguru, your eyes a little foggy. “Thank you… for everything.”

He smiles down at you, the warmth in his expression making your chest tighten a little. “It’s nothing, really. Just doing what’s right.”

You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should say anything else, but the words slip out before you can stop them. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Suguru’s eyes widen slightly but his smile softenn. His hand traveling up to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll always be around when you need me.”

There’s a quiet beat between you two, the silence saying more than words ever could. You swallow down the lump in your throat, trying to keep the emotions from overwhelming you. You gently bite your bottom lip, the action causing his eyes to flicker down towards it. “I just…I feel like I haven’t been having anyone on my side lately. I’m…I’m glad I have you.” 

His insides practically melt at your soft, drunken tone of voice and the way you’re gazing up at him. Suguru feels his heart shift, warmth pooling in his chest at your vulnerability. He’s never seen you quite like this, so open and raw, and it makes him want to protect you in a way that’s deeper than he expected. The softness in your voice, the way you lean into him—it all pulls him in closer, making his resolve weaken just a bit. He swallows hard, stepping a little closer to you, but trying to keep his distance, knowing that you’re vulnerable right now, not fully in control of your emotions.

“Y/N,” he says gently, his voice low but steady. He reaches for your hands, lifting them from where you were gripping the door, and holds them softly in his. “I'm not the only one, I promise. But I’m always going to have your back. You never have to feel alone, okay? We all go through tough times, but you’re not carrying it on your own.”

You nod slowly, eyes glimmering with a mix of gratitude and something else he can’t quite place. Your fingers curl around his as if you’re grounding yourself in his touch, a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty.

“You’re not like the others, Suguru,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. “You make me feel… safe.”

The words hang in the air, delicate and full of meaning. Suguru’s chest tightens again, but this time it’s not from concern or pity—it’s from something else. Something warm, something that feels a little dangerous, but right. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing, as he registers the way you’re looking at him.

“You’re safe with me,” he says softly, his voice almost a promise. “You always will be.”

You both stand there in the quiet, the weight of everything between you—everything unsaid—lingering. Suguru’s hand reaches up, brushing your hair away from your face again, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary, like he’s trying to convey something in that simple touch. 

You blink, breaking the moment just enough to step back. “I should go inside.”

Suguru nods, not forcing anything further. He understands. “Yeah, go get some rest. Drink that water, and don’t forget about the bread.”

You tiredly smile, looking back at your door and putting the key in its hole. But, you find yourself hesitating. Movements stilling as thoughts overwhelmed your already vulnerable brain. You’re looking back at him before you know it. 

His eyebrows raise. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head in response, your heart beating faster. He says nothing, just allowing the little staring contest to continue on. For some reason, it’s making you not want to face your reality. God, it’s the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing to him. How stuck he feels, how guilty he feels and how perfect it all feels at the same time. It’s almost not fair.

Maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve experienced more shit than you would’ve wanted to tonight—and of course, you’re a lightweight. Hence why you don’t really like drinking in the first place. But you’ve needed one recently. 

So yeah, your balance is not very steady, your head feels light but heavy at the same time, your lips are curved up into a smile on their own and your calculations are a little miscalculated. 

Because you could swear that with the way he’s looking at you now, his lids the slightest bit hooded that one could miss it, his tilted head, and the way he’s leaned in close enough that you can smell his intoxicating cologne…he’s looking tempted. 

And to be honest, so are you. 

The night air is suddenly quiet, you’ve been staring into his eyes for who knows how long now and your breathing feels shallower. It feels like a sappy romance movie you watched when you were a tween and wished upon a star that one day it would happen to you. Except it’s not the person you would’ve exactly wanted. But your body is still reacting all the same. 

What does that mean for you?

Your key is still lodged in the hole of your door, seemingly frozen—but awaiting. He leans in and your eyelids flutter. “I’m sorry.”

“F-for what…?”

“For being such a selfish man right now.” He places a steady hand to your waist as your body swayed backwards again. 

It’s just the alcohol talking. “I-it’s okay…”

“Is it?” He mutters, breath fanning your face. 

This time, you lean closer, practically moving up to your tip-toes. You notice the way his eyes have darkened, glancing down at your pink, parted lips. “Yeah, I think…I want to be selfish too.”

He smiles, matching your drunken one. Your right hand raises to his cheek, admiring the heat that wavers off of it. You think you want more of his magnetic heat. He doesn’t move, allowing you to do the work. Maneuvering your head up to close the rest of the distance. And you’re so close, so very close that you could practically lick his lips if you wanted.

His lips part, making space for your own to slot between them. Just when you’re about to—

Your door yanks open from the inside, jolting you back to reality. Eyes wide and looking over at the culprit.

Oh, fuck.

Satoru stands in your doorway, hair poking up at all different angles, jaw clenched and saccharine eyes darting around at the sight in front of him, of what he just interrupted. And it feels like you’ve just been burned, pulling back and away from Suguru like you’ve been caught cheating. Suguru matches your actions, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “S-Satoru…” you mutter, swallowing. 

“What’s this?” He asks, looking between you and his best friend. “He brought you home?”

“I—”

“She called me to pick her and her friend up, Satoru.” Suguru interrupts, meeting his friend with undeterred eye contact. 

However, that seems to be just the icing on top for Satoru. Turning his gaze towards you, looking up and down quickly. “…So…I’m watching our son while you go ahead and get yourself shitfaced, you’re gone for hours without any call or text to let me know you’re okay, and when you come back… you’re about to…kiss my fucking best friend?”

“Sato—”

“Shut the fuck up, Suguru.” He gives his friend a death glare, taking a step outside and forcing you to take a wobbly one back. Suguru doesn’t move. “Tell me, huh. You think I’m an idiot?”

“Satoru,” you reach out for his arm, but promptly pull back when he looks back at you. 

“And to think,” he scoffs, regarding you with an icy coldness that feels completely foreign to you. “I thought we had it okay for once. And now you’re fucking my best friend behind my back?”

“No! N-no, Suguru and I aren’t doing that.” You quickly protest. 

He simply scoffs and Suguru steps back in between you two. “Satoru, calm down, okay? We weren’t doing anything. Y/N’s been having a tough time and I’m just here to help her through that.”

“By what? Forcing yourself into her life? Into my son’s life? Who the hell do you think you are, Suguru?” He pushes the other man by his shoulder, to which Suguru does not fight back. 

You grimace, pulling back on his shirt. “Satoru, stop it, please. We aren’t doing anything like that.”

“Bullshit!” He snaps, throwing his arms up. “He gives you and Koji a present. I find his fucking shirt in your hamper, and now I just caught you two about to kiss. Did you fucking forget I was inside? Were you going to bring him inside and let him fuck you?”

Your mouth is agape, eyes blown wide at the accusations. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and unable to form a coherent thought. Satoru’s accusations sting, each one harsher than the last. His anger is palpable, the venom in his voice making it hard to breathe, and yet all you can do is stand there in stunned silence, feeling the weight of the situation crash down on you.

“No... Satoru, I—I didn’t—” You struggle to find the words, but nothing seems to come out right. How do you explain something that’s so far from the truth but also so complicated in its own way? 

Suguru, his expression tight with frustration, steps forward, clearly trying to keep the situation from spiraling even further. "Satoru, this isn’t the way to handle it. Y/N’s been through a lot, and I'm just trying to be there for her. That’s all it is."

“You think that makes a difference?” Satoru spits, turning back to Suguru with a glare that could burn. “You think you can just waltz in, playing hero, and it’s all fine? You don’t get to play the martyr here. Not with my family.”

You flinch at the mention of Koji, feeling the sting of his words even more sharply now. "Satoru, please," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Don’t talk about him like that. You know I would never—" 

But Satoru cuts you off with a sharp gesture, his eyes dark with fury. "No, you don’t get to explain yourself anymore. I saw it. I know what was happening."

Your heart races as the silence hangs heavy between you, Suguru and Satoru locked in a tense standoff. You can feel the weight of the accusations pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“I’m sorry, okay?” you manage, the words coming out in a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry. But I swear, nothing was going to happen. Nothing. I just... I didn’t know what else to do.”

Satoru doesn’t respond, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches. Suguru looks between you both, his eyes softening just a fraction, but there’s nothing left to say. You’re standing at the edge of everything, and you don’t know how to fix this, how to make Satoru believe you.

“Satoru, Y/N’a a grown woman.” Suguru says. 

“Yeah? And what, that makes you a grown man?” 

Once more, Suguru is pushed by Satoru. You can see the growing irritability in Suguru’s expression, the way he’s doing his best to not give in and fight with his best friend. You’re torn, unsure of how you can stop this. Sure, you punched a man today, but he was a bitch. That doesn’t mean you can stop a possible  fight between two other men. “Please, don’t raise your voice, Satoru. I don’t want to wake Koji.”

“Oh, now you fucking care?” He huffs out. And that sentence alone puts a halt to you. Your mind momentarily freezes, going silent. He almost looks like he regrets the words as soon as they’re uttered, but it’s drowned out by his look of anger. 

Soon…you’re mirroring his fury. 

“What?” You quietly ask, letting out a deep huff. “What? What the fuck did you just say to me?”

This time, it’s you who pushes the pusher. He stumbles back barely, caught off guard by your suddenness before he’s planting himself in place. “Don’t touch me, Y/N.”

“Then don’t you ever say something like that! I’ve done everything I could for Koji and more. You had no idea what kind of shit I went through alone.” You grit out. 

“Because of you! Because of your own stupid decision to not let me in, let me help you!” He argues back. He's right. He's always right. And that’s why you two could never work together because while Satoru was always right, you were always wrong. They say opposites attract, when actually, opposites do nothing prove what the other could never be.

And after the events of tonight, you’re growing tired of holding back your explosion. Your drunken brain is telling you to fight fire with fire. 

“Because you were a fucking shitty person!” You shout back, aware of the fact that your loud voice may cause some of your neighbors to wake up. Koji to wake up. “And now you’re getting mad at me for trying to move on? For trying to live my life? Fuck you! You have a fucking girlfriend who treats me like shit and you let it happen!”

“You want to play that game, Y/N? Really?” Satoru replies, a dead firmness in his tone. 

Before you can respond, Suguru, ever the peacemaker, is cutting in again. “Y/N, stop it, okay? Go inside, you’re drunk. Satoru, don’t—”

He’s cut off by another push from Satoru. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do, Suguru. You’re trying to get with my ex behind my back, is that how low you’ve become?”

“Satoru,” he slowly exhales out, trying to calm himself. “I’m not doing that. Y/N and I aren’t getting together. I’m just being here for her.”

“By trying to get in bed with her?”

Suguru has begun to have enough. “Stop speaking like that, Satoru.” He gruffs out.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, and your pulse races as Satoru’s words hit harder than before, each one a slap in the face. You can feel the anger bubbling up inside you, pushing you past the point of control, past the point of regret. This argument feels like it’s never going to end—like it’s been building for years, simmering beneath the surface, only now it’s boiling over in a mess of accusations and past hurts.

Satoru’s sneer deepens as he stares you down. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? I’m not stupid, Y/N. Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes now. You think you’re going to move on with him after everything?”

You step closer to him, barely noticing the way your hands are trembling, your heart pounding in your chest and tears prickling at your eyes. “I’m not moving on with anyone. Not like you think. But you—” You pause, trying to steady your breath. “You’ve had no idea what I’ve been through. You’ve walked away at times when I needed you the most, Satoru. Don’t fucking act like I owe you anything now.”

Satoru’s expression darkens, his hands balling into fists, but you don’t flinch. “I’m sorry if you think I don’t care, but I’ve been in the fucking trenches with you, Y/N. Do you think it was easy for me too? To watch you shut me out? To watch you fucking struggle with everything while I—while I—tried to be there for you? But I was never enough, was I?” His voice cracks with a mix of frustration and disbelief, but it’s too much. It’s too late for apologies and explanations. You feel your vision blur with tears, and for a brief moment, you almost crumble under the weight of the argument, the hurt, the feeling of being misunderstood.

“You knew you could’ve tried hard enough. You knew that, you know that.” You argue, despite your shaky voice. 

His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Suguru steps forward, intervening again, his voice low and firm, but there’s a warning in it. “Enough, Satoru. You’re not hearing her. This isn’t about you anymore.”

Satoru’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with frustration. “It’s always been about me, Suguru. It’s always been about what I need, what I want. And now you want to play the hero? To take my place in my own fucking life?”

Suguru shakes his head, his expression hardening. “No, I’m not trying to take your place. But you’re blind if you don’t see how much she’s suffered. How much she’s going through. And how much you’re still hurting her by dragging all this up now.”

“Shut up,” Satoru snaps, and his voice is harsh enough to make you flinch. “I don’t need a lecture from you, not now.”

Suguru doesn’t back down, his eyes never leaving Satoru’s. “Then maybe you should take a fucking look at yourself first.”

For a moment, the three of you stand there in silence, the tension thick enough to slice through. Your heart is racing, your mind spinning with a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion. The words you’ve been holding back for so long feel too much to bear, too raw to say out loud, but now they’re there, sitting on your tongue, threatening to spill.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of everything is overwhelming. Your hands tremble as you press them against your sides, eyes focusing on the ground to keep from breaking down. But the words, the truth you’ve been holding inside for so long, feel like they’re going to suffocate you if you don’t let them out.

“I didn’t mean for this, Satoru. I didn’t mean for any of it,” you finally say, your voice thick with emotion. Your chest tightens, your breath shaky as you look at him, the tears threatening to fall. “But now you’re standing here, making it worse, blaming me for everything. I’m always getting blamed, no matter what. For trying to find happiness. For surviving.” You swallow hard, your voice quieter but still filled with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “But you don’t get to make me feel bad about trying to heal, Satoru. You don’t get to make me feel like I’m the one who ruined everything when you were the one who stopped trying.”

Suguru’s gaze flickers to you, a flicker of concern flashing across his face, but it’s Satoru who you focus on. The silence stretches, suffocating, before he speaks again, his tone hard, bitter, but with a hint of something deeper—something vulnerable. “I never wanted to leave you,” he mutters, almost too quietly. “But you shut me out. You kept pushing me away like I didn’t matter.”

“You didn’t try hard enough to matter,” you shoot back, your voice a little stronger now. “You didn’t try to understand. You didn’t try to see me. You only saw what you wanted, what fit into your world. And I couldn’t do that anymore. I couldn’t just keep being this thing that existed to meet your needs, while I fell apart. I couldn’t.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker, and for a moment, you swear you see something break in him. But it’s gone just as quickly as it appears, replaced by the cold, hardened exterior he’s been wearing for so long. “You think this is easy for me?” he spits, voice laced with something that could be self-loathing. “You think it’s easy watching you—watching him—take over everything I thought was mine? That’s not fair either, Y/N.”

“You don’t own me, Satoru,” you whisper, the words coming out stronger than you expect. “You never did.”

Suguru steps forward again, his voice steady but firm. “Enough. This isn’t going anywhere. It’s just going to keep hurting both of you.”

But Satoru isn’t listening. His fists clench again, his jaw tight as he shakes his head, the hurt flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this, Y/N. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I ever could.”

The rawness in his voice catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. The anger and resentment still burn in your chest, but beneath it all, you realize that maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left. Something that isn’t as broken as you thought.

But it’s too late for that. It’s too late for him.

With a shaky breath, you look away, your heart heavy in your chest, and turn toward the door. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Satoru. It’s done.”

Suguru’s hand rests gently on your shoulder as you walk past, his silent support a comfort, even though the pain doesn’t fade. And Satoru stays there, his fists trembling at his sides, caught between regret and anger, as you step back into your home and shut the door behind you.

The tears overcoming your being once you’re locked inside, taking the jackets off haphazardly and tossing your purse onto the sofa. Holding a hand to your mouth to muffle your cries as you walk past Koji’s door and to your own room, silently shutting and locking it. 

You crumble into your bed, holding your pillow close, and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Letting your warm tears wash your makeup away and stain your white pillow. Feeling your body trembling from every sensation flowing through it right now. You feel your heart pick up way too fast for your liking and you’re almost sure you’re breathing at an erratic pace right now. 

You feel like no matter what, you can never do good in your life. You fucked up tonight by trying to kiss Suguru, you fucked up by keeping Koji a secret, you fucked up by even going out in the first place. 

Everything is crumbling down at you all at once and you think it’s about time you toss the rag in. Because everyone has their breaking point, you’re not sure if you hit yours yet, but it damn well feels like you have. And now you’ve probably broken up a years long friendship due to your own selfishness, to your own stupid intoxication. You’re wrong in every aspect. Everything is eating you alive right now, leaving just a hollow suit in its place. 

You wonder how things will look going forward. 

And you wonder if you’ve ruined any little chance at possibly having Satoru in your grasp again. 

A small knock pulls your attention, shifting your eyes open and looking over to the small head that peeks through. Oh god, this is the last thing you wanted. 

“Mama…” Koji’s small voice utters, slipping inside and coming over to your curled up form on the bed. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

You wish you had it in you to put on a poker face and dry your tears, giving him the usual lie. But tonight, you can’t. “…mama’s sad.” You whisper. 

His eyes widen, lip quivering down into a pout. Eyes glistening with his own onset of tears and he’s diving into your bed, scrambling up to your chest. Wrapping his tiny arms around your neck in such a fast way that it leaves you momentarily speechless. When he looks at you, you almost feel yourself wanting to cry harder at the sole fact that your son is seeing you like this, that he’s almost crying now too. “Please don’t cry, Mama. I don’t like you being sad.”

“I…I know.” You croak out, holding him close. “I know, Koji. And I’m…I’m so sorry. I can’t be strong today.”

He shakes his head furiously. “It’s okay! Because Papa told me that when I grow up, I’ll protect you. I’ll be strong and big like him. So…so maybe I can be strong today for you, Mama.”

Your heart shatters at his words, and despite the weight of everything that’s been crushing you, you hold him even tighter. The fragile little boy who’s trying so desperately to comfort you when he should be the one you’re protecting—it’s too much. You can’t hold back the flood of emotions anymore. You pull him into you, your arms trembling, but all you can do is let him in, letting his warmth and innocence wrap around your heart like a fragile balm.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to be strong for me. You’re so strong already just by being you.” You bury your face in his hair, feeling his small body pressing against yours, his little heartbeat steady and comforting in a way nothing else can be. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, Koji. I promise I’ll be okay.”

Koji’s small hands rub at your back, and his voice, though still a little quivery, carries the same hope and determination he always carries. “I’m gonna help you, Mama. I’ll make you smile again, okay? I promise.” His words, simple as they are, strike a chord deep inside, reminding you of everything you’ve fought for. You’ve fought to protect him, to give him a better life, to shield him from all the pain and hurt that came with being tied to Satoru, and now you’re breaking down in front of him. It feels so pathetic. 

But maybe you need to be broken in order to rebuild. Maybe it’s okay to let him see your fragility, so he knows it’s okay to feel and not bottle everything up. 

You breathe out a shaky laugh, lifting him slightly to kiss his forehead. “You’re my little hero, Koji. I’m so proud of you. I don’t deserve you.”

Koji, however, just shakes his head again, his small face scrunching up in determination. “No, Mama. I’m not a hero. You’re my hero. You always are.”

And somehow, in the midst of the mess you’ve found yourself in, his innocent words are the only thing grounding you. You’re not alone. You’re not broken beyond repair. You still have him. You still have him to fight for, to love, and to protect.

And right now, that’s all that matters. 

You hold him close, sinking deeper into your bed, feeling his small body curl up against you. The weight of the world still feels heavy on your shoulders, but for a brief moment, with Koji’s warmth surrounding you, you feel the tiniest flicker of hope. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe you’ll figure things out. 

But for now, you let yourself cry. You let yourself grieve. Because tomorrow is another day.

a/n: soo many things happeneddddd. hoped u all enjoyed :)

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[ningvory]

SCREAM - jang wonyoung

1,740 words // yall i wanted to do kinktober sooo baddd but im so outta ideas and school and work has been draining😔 so instead i'll just write 2-3 more halloween themed fics

CW: noncon -> dubcon, ghostface!wonyoung, big dick wony, bully!reader, a little knife play, choking, backshots, doggy, missionary, a little tit play, mentions of reader getting impregnated, squirting, not proofread lolz

its about 11pm on a friday, 'means girls' is playing on your living room tv while you were in the kitchen searching for a pot to put your noodles in. your parents left for their business trip to wherever, you weren't really paying attention after they mentioned you'll be alone for two weeks and that you had a spending allowance of 5k, which is why you were wearing your new black lingerie set under your fuzzy pink robe.

you were humming a song as you head to the pantry to get a bottle of water to fill the pot with until you heard your phone ringtone go off. you went to mute the tv and grabbed your phone, tapping the answer button. you held the phone up to your ear but you're met with silence.

"hello?~" you questioned, dragging out the word. it was a habit of yours when you were annoyed,

"didn't think you'd pick up." the voice was cheerful, too cheerful to the point where it had you furrow your eyebrows trying figure out who's calling you at this time.

"well, i did. so.." you responded with a little bit of attitude. you were starving and here this stranger is playing on your phone. "listen, who the hell are you and what do you want?" you raise your voice a octave.

"your tits look good in that bra, wish i can see the way your ass looks in the panties." you furrow your eyebrows once more. every window was locked and your curtains blocked any prying eyes from seeing inside.

"um—you must've gotten the wrong number or something. i'm hanging up now." you smile half heartedly, trying to wrap things up, whoever this girl is can probably hear your labored breathing.

"hang up this fuckin' phone and i’m killing you myself!" she quickly responded, you froze immediately. especially after hearing some sort of bang coming from upstairs, “not so tought without your friends here, hm y/n?"

you were assuming this was a silly halloween prank call but she knows you personally! she knows your friends and even your name—you can admit that you were a bitch to most people but you didn't think that someone would break in and kill you for it!

"w-what kinda joke is this? this isn’t funny!" you let out a nervous laugh. no way this is fucking real, this is just a prank, right?

the person lets out a hysterical laugh—almost like she’s gone crazy. "you think this is a joke? was it a joke when you make every single day a living hell for me?" she asked but you remained silent, "now you wanna act like a scared little girl? don't you think its time to get what you deserve?" she asks.

the amount of people you’ve been a bitch too, its hard to guess who this person was. the fact that this persons voice was low and raspy to the point where you couldn’t even identify who’s voice this is didn’t help you either.

"i think we should play a game. i’d advice you listen, if you want to live that is." you can hear her smiling through the phone.

your heart is racing now, you have a gut feeling that this person is in the big ass house somewhere and that promise of her killing you is haunting you.

"fine. what's this game?" you try to put on that tough façade, still holding onto your pride.

"go upstairs. into your room." she commands you and you hate it but all you can do now is obey her words.

you grip your phone tighter and walk up the stairs—just like she said. you walk into your room. your pink led illuminated the room.

"good girl~ now, strip." her praise breaks the silence.

"what?" you whispered in disbelief.

"you heard me, don't make me do it for you."

you sigh, you really aren't sure why she wants you to strip for her. maybe to humiliate you on the internet on something but you comply to her demand, untying your robe and letting it drop to the floor. you stand, praying that’s all she meant when she said strip.

"do you not know what strip mean, bitch?" she questions, noticing that you're just standing there.

you stay silent, tears were beginning to form in your eyes and you let out a whimper, “why? are you some kinda sick pervert?” you demand, looking around the room.

it was silent for a while, it was like she hung up the phone on you. your heart was racing, you were getting anxious, “hello! where are you!? who are you!?” you cry out.

as soon as you asked that your closet door opened, revealing a figure dressed up like ghostface charging right at you. you let out a loud scream, backing up into the wall but the figure used that to her advantage, her long hands engulfed your neck, pushing your head into the wall and tightening the grip, forcing a strangled whine to fall from your mouth as you gasp for air desperately.

tears began to fall from your cheeks, your hands came up to hold her wrists before hitting them, desperately trying to pry them off your neck. she swiftly slapped you right across your face and manhandled your frail body on your bed, choked whines coming from you in the process.

“you look so cute like this, crying and at my mercy.” her tall body straddled yours, under her coat and her skirt, you can feel her bulge on your tummy. no way she’s hard from this.

if you were gonna die like this you might as well see who this sicko is, you removed your hands from the hands that were on your neck and you reached up to the ghost mask, removing it from their head. your eyes widen when you realized who it was. wonyoung.

her soulless eyes looked down at yours, a smile slowly found its way onto her face which made shivers run down your spine. she removed her grip on your neck, but still remained ontop of you.

you inhaled air almost immediately, trying to catch your breath before you can question the girl. but before you could even speak, she held a butcher knife right under your chin, “don’t scream or move.” she spoke menacingly.

“since you can’t seem to follow orders i’ll force you to,” she sighs. she starts to slowly move her knife down to your shaking body. the metal causing goosebumps to awake on your body. she trailed down until she got to your bra, she easily sliced it in half with her knife. “hey! i just bought this!” you spat, your first time wearing this set and it’s already ruined? this really isn’t your night.

“shut up, whore.” she’s quick to bring the knife back to your neck, pressing down on it but not enough to draw blood.

your bottom lips quivers which makes her coo before she gets off your tummy and flips your body over. you yelp in surprise with how easy she’s moving your body.

before you can complain she’s pushing your head into the sheets and placing the palm of her hand to your back, forcing you to arch your ass up in the air. to position muffled anything that you might’ve said and you felt your heart drop when you feel her bulge prodding against your ass.

wonyoung slices your panties as well before placing the knife in her mask. she pulls her boxers down along with her miniskirt. she giggles as she hovers over you of you, large hands pinning yours to the bed before she leans into your ear with a wicked grin.

“i’m going to make you scream.”

“w-wait!” you quickly retort squirming under her iron grip.

she wastes no time before she pushes her cock deep inside your virgin cunt.

it was like the wind got knocked out of you. you can't even make a sound, all you can concentrate on is the burn on your hole being stretched out. she had just pushed in and her cock is already kissing at your cervix, just how big is this girls cock?

wonyoung harshly gripped your hips and pulled out until her cock head was the only length left inside you before violently thrusting forward, letting out a long groan at the satisfaction. her hands left your back to grab your wrists to hold them behind your back, and forcefully yanking you back down onto her cock. she wasn't letting you get out of this anytime soon.

she was using your body like you were her human sized sex doll. drool was running down your chin and down to the valley of your tits and your eyes were crossed over, "for someone that hasn't taken a real dick before--you take it like a cock drunk whore." wonyoung muttered loud enough for you to hear. if you hadn't been too busy cryin' n moanin' on her dick, you would've made a snarky comeback.

she's never heard your voice become this high-pitched but she wasn't complaining, "s-so big! y-you're gonna break me!!" you whined through your tears.

"and you're gonna keep taking it all in your little cunt. even after i impregnate you." wonyoung quickly agreed to your statement, shooting three spurts of cum into your cunt.

you thought she'd be done but her hips never stopped smacking into yours, instead, she flipped you over into missionary. she swiftly picked up your left leg, placing it on her shoulder to reach a deep angle.

she continued to drill into your cum-stuffed pussy, her cock heavily throbbing inside you due to just seeing the lewd sight below her, "like being fucked by a killer, gonna cum all over me?"

"uh-huhh~" your eyes rolled back and your body began to shake. she took one of you tits that's bouncing with her thrust into your mouth, earning a loud moan from you. you suddenly felt a little funny, almost like you had to pee? your body soon went limp before you let out a whiny moan, squirting all over her dick and pelvis.

"at first i was just gonna fuck you and then kill her." she pulls out of your sloppy pussy and grabbed her knife. you flinch at these words, a bit terrified of what was gonna happen next, "but i think i'll make you my cute cock sleeve."

[cloudzoro]

Kink Discovery 3 | One Piece ♡

This is part three, part one is here and part two is here

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

individual reaction/headcanon scenarios on kink discovery with op characters!

one piece masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: smut (minors dni)

characters: mihawk, perona, reiju, shanks, smoker

cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, all other warning are kinks which are outlined in the post already

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mihawk - Cockwarming

It was your idea. A stupid idea. You didn't think Mihawk would take you seriously when you issued him a challenge. You had asked him to a competition of resolve. You're sat on his cock, and whoever gives in first loses. You may have underestimated your husband's competitiveness and self-restraint.

Your husband takes the opportunity to admire you perched on his lap, completely undressed. He's more than aware of the way your pussy is pulsing around his cock, you're desperate for him to move, but he won't. He won't give in; he's having far too much fun observing your reactions. You're practically shaking above him, your lip caught between your teeth as you try your best to stop your face from expressing your true feelings.

“You can't hide from me, Darling,” he says, reaching up to pull your lip from your teeth before you bite it off. His stare is intense, as always, as he gazes into your eyes. “I quite like this game you've come up with. I get to watch your beautiful eyes fill with desperation.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Perona - Bondage

Perona has always been a little bit of a freak and has always encouraged you to explore your kinks with her.

When you hand her a rope and a book on shibari and other types of bondage, she's not sure what to think. When she next gets you alone, she delicately ties your wrists to your ankles and turns you over onto our back. She holds a vibrator to your clit as she kisses up and down your legs, outlining the rope with lipstick. Your restraints block every twitch of pleasure, and there's nothing to hold onto as the vibrations get more intense.

Perona watches, intrigued and impossibly wet, as you're forced to feel the full intensity of the pleasure without anything to ground you. Your arms twitch and move, your moans fill the castle walls, and your legs attempt to clamp shut around her hand. She is mesmerised by your body. She never expected to enjoy seeing you helpless like this, but there's something about the way you writhe in pleasure that has her feeling like a monster leaning in to catch its prey.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Reiju - Face Sitting

Reiju loves eating pussy; it's her favourite meal of the day. She's always wanted to try face-sitting, but you've been too nervous. You're always fretting about hurting her or just not making her feel good. Though she's been very clear that eating out is not a selfless act on her part, she derives almost as much pleasure from it as you do.

It takes a lot of sweet talk and irresistible touches, but she finally reassures you that it's going to be fine, and you agree. As soon as your pussy makes contact with her face and she gets a taste of you on her tongue, it's over for her. She is addicted, and she doesn't want to give oral any other way. Her firm grip makes it so you don't even have the option to hover. She's not satisfied until she has the steady weight of your body on top of her.

Her tongue laps at your walls as your clit bumps her nose. adding to the stimulation. You couldn't get any closer to her if you tried. She can't get enough of your taste. She is more than happy to let your thighs squish her as she gets her fill.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Shanks - Breeding

Shanks already had a kid before dating you. He never really thought much about having another one. It had never crossed his mind that he could have one with you. Your relationship was perfect as it was. He never thought about any possible changes.

That is until one day when you bring up the idea of a mini-you running around. It's like a switch flips in his brain, and it's all he can focus on. He pushes your legs up to your chest, holding you in place as he bullies his cock into you. He's dead set on filling you up as much as possible. You already have one fat load inside you and dribbling from your hole.

“You can take another load, can't you, baby?” he says, adjusting himself above you so he can hit a better angle. “gotta make sure it sticks”, He growls, burying his head in your neck as he cums for a second time. He whispers absolute filth in your ear as he empties himself inside you.

Shanks leaves zero possibility that his cum hasn't taken. He can practically smell that it's going to work and it makes him feel feral. He needs to fuck you raw as much as possible until you get a positive result from a doctor.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Smoker - Marking

You're such a pretty girl. Smoker insists that every guy who so much as glances at you is thinking about railing you six ways to Sunday, and it disgusts him. His irrational jealousy is calling, screaming, for him to do something that lets all these low lives know you're taken. Let them know he's wrapped around your finger and there's no room for anyone else.

After a long, hard day at work, Smoker likes to unwind by fucking your brains out. He pins you down, kisses every inch of skin he can possibly kiss while he stretches you out on his cock. His scent is all over you; trails of saliva glisten on your skin, but it's not enough. He needs something that won't wash away in the shower, something more permanent. That's when he feels the urge clawing at his teeth.

He leans forward, clamping his teeth over your shoulder. His cock twitches at the way you moan for him. He sucks your skin into his mouth, leaving a mark on your skin as a warning to anyone who may see it. He continues, leaving hickies and indents of his teeth in a pattern that makes it clear you are seen to. Seeing you bearing his marks makes him cum embarrassingly fast. Though when he's done, he stays sheathed inside you so he can admire his work before he shows it off to the rest of the world.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

i hope you enjoyed reading! so sorry for my inactivity recently :(

tag list: @bloodfixnd @sexysapphicshopowner @beachaddict48 @lem-hhn

[seneon]

Hey hey🩷

Could you maybe write a headcannon with blue block boys when they lash out on reader bc they have a bad day and call them annoying or disrespect them? Reader (female) is not sure abt forgiving them. I love angst. Could you maybe pls do it for Isagi,Nagi,Bachira,Reo,Barou Yukimiya,Rin,Sae or actually for whoever you like want to write for. If its to much Im really sorry 🥺🩷. I really enjoy your writings and I hope you are alright.

WILL YOU LOVE ME WHEN I'M DEAD ──── bllk various.

notes. featuring yoichi, seishiro, yukimiya, and the itoshi brothers only. and angst. for everyone, i'll have the same scenario of them coming home angry after football practice, then we'll escalate from there onwards. not my best work since my blue lock knowledge has gone rusty butttt ya :v

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ISAGI YOICHI

he's so so stressed after football practice that he can't keep his cool. yoichi didn't mean to raise his voice at you, vulgarity spilling down his tongue like ancient curses. you're terrified in disbelief, and he doesn't notice it. not until you slowly nodded and pursed your lips in a tight line that makes him regain some senses of himself. you then walked away, and he follows you the second you moved your muscles. "my love wait, i'm so sorry," he calls out softly, voice almost breaking and you tell him to give you time, locking him out of your shared room so he could think upon his actions. yoichi will stay outside your door, even sleeping by the wall just waiting for you to come out from your room so he could apologise.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ NAGI SEISHIRO

silent treatment creeps into the air even hours after he tells you that you're annoying and pestering, always nagging him all around. he appears to not care by occupying his attention in his games. but truly on the inside, he's so bothered that you're not beside him doing your own thing as he played his game. he feels empty beside him, so used to having you by his side all the time. he could tell you were in no absolute mood to see him right now, and his inexperienced self has no idea how to apologise or make it up to you. maybe he'll try some other time when you come home from your late night drive to cool off from a brief argument with seishiro.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ YUKIMIYA KENYU

he's an expressive young man, thus when he comes into your room with your favourite snacks in a basket properly and you're ignoring him, his lips is all turned downwards into a guilty frown. kenyu knows he's in every wrong that he called you annoying for simply wanting to check up on him after practice. he didn't mean any of it, just an 'in the heat of moment' occurrence. kenyu yearns for you as he kneels by your bed and holds your hands just to get your attention. then he apologises. he knows he's hurt your heart and soul. he'll have to keep trying because he's going to earn it.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ITOSHI RIN

in an absolute crisis mixed upon the events that happened at practice along with a million of thoughts and possibilities swimming in his mind that you will leave him. when his strings break at how you forgot not to touch a jersey of his that he has hanging by his drawer, rin leaves you first— to his room. a heavy pessimistic, even if it looks like he's fine with simply cleaning his football shoes. you've shut him out, as he did to you when he came back home and refused to speak to you like he usually would. tonight will be long if neither wants to see each other eye to eye.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ITOSHI SAE

does not take no for an answer when he apologises. that is a bad trait of his— sae thinks everything will go his way. so when you flat out said you wouldn't forgive him this time for even disrespecting you in the first place, his anger heightens. when you want to walk away, he will simply pull you back, heartfelt apologies he muttered in hopes of you forgiving him. but you're so hurt by him that he could see it in your eyes. it held the fading reflection of the last chance. and maybe, just maybe... you've lost the spark with him. he died a little on the inside at that surfacing realisation.

© SENEON 2025 ♱ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[ericshoney]

Forgotten Birthday ~ Avengers

Summary: Being the youngest Avenger usually means you get looked over for missions, but you never thought they'd forget your birthday.

Warnings: Possible swearing, angst, tears, fluff at end.

Reader's age: 17

Being the youngest Avenger had its perks. I could outrun a speeding car, manipulate energy fields, and occasionally, snag the last slice of pizza before Tony could. But it also meant being underestimated, sidelined on the ‘easier’ missions, and treated with a gentle, almost patronising, kind of care. I knew they meant well. They were protective, especially Steve, who saw me as the kid sister he never had. But sometimes, I just wanted to be seen as an equal. A capable, contributing member of the team.

And today, on my birthday, I just wanted them to remember that I wasn't just a little kid anymore.

The day had started like any other. I woke up, expecting at least a mumbled "Happy Birthday" from whoever was awake. Nothing. I figured they were busy, caught up in some impending doom I hadn't been briefed on. I made my own breakfast, a sad, solitary affair with a bowl of cereal and a heavy dose of disappointment.

The day dragged on. Peter came over, rambling on about something that happened in school - the one place I think I was happy I never attended, Tony deciding I could learn at the tower - listened patiently as Sam complained about the lack of decent bird-watching spots in New York, and somehow sat through a lecture from Bruce talking about gamma radiation.

I paced the common room, trying to look busy, hoping someone would notice the date on their phone, the faint decorations I'd secretly put up last night (easily dismissed as late Halloween ornaments, I supposed). The clock ticked with maddening precision, each second a hammer blow to my already fragile hopes.

Finally, around late afternoon, Natasha walked in, her face etched with a familiar weariness. “Rough day,” she sighed, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch.

“You could say that,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice neutral.

She glanced at me, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Something up?”

This was my chance. “Just… a little forgotten,” I said, carefully avoiding eye contact.

She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she stood up. “Wait here.”

Hope flickered within me, a tiny, fragile flame. Maybe she remembered. Maybe she was going to orchestrate a surprise party, a cake with seventeen candles, a chorus of off-key "Happy Birthdays."

But no, she returned empty handed, “Tony needs help re-calibrating the repulsors. He’s about to blow up the lab. You're closest. Go.”

My heart sank. The flicker of hope extinguished. I forced a smile. “Sure thing, Nat.”

The lab was, indeed, a controlled chaos. Tony was covered in grease, his usually impeccable hair a mess. He barked orders at a bewildered-looking Peter, who was struggling to hold a wrench twice his size.

“Ah, Y/n! Perfect timing,” Tony exclaimed, without even looking at me. “Hold this. Tight. And don't breathe on it.”

I spent the next hour balancing carefully on a stool, holding a delicate piece of Stark tech, trying not to sneeze, and feeling utterly invisible.

Finally, Tony declared the repulsors “minimally functional,” and Peter, bless his heart, after being dismissed as a “potential explosion hazard,” whispered a quick, “Happy birthday, Y/n!” before scurrying off.

It was enough to make me want to cry.

I mumbled a thank you and slumped back into the common room, defeated. I couldn't even muster the energy to be angry. Just… sad.

The others slowly trickled back in, one by one. Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Bruce, all looking exhausted and preoccupied. Each of them passed me with a cursory nod, completely oblivious.

I decided to retreat to my room, to wallow in self-pity and watch bad reality TV. As I reached the door, Steve’s voice stopped me.

“Y/n, could you…” he trailed off, looking slightly sheepish. "You look a little down. Everything okay?"

"Fine," I lied, my voice barely a whisper.

He frowned. "You sure? You know you can talk to me."

I wanted to scream, to tell him that no, everything was not fine, that it was my birthday, and they had all completely forgotten. But the words caught in my throat, choked by disappointment.

"Yeah, Steve. I'm fine. Just tired." I turned and walked into my room, closing the door softly behind me. I leaned against it, tears welling in my eyes.

A moment later, there was a knock. I ignored it.

The door opened.

It wasn’t Steve. It was Bucky, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Heard you weren’t having such a great day.”

I glared at him, tears threatening to spill over. “What do you want, Bucky?”

He shuffled his feet. “Just… figured you might want this.” He held out a small, rectangular box.

I took it, my fingers trembling. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a silver bracelet. It was simple, elegant, and perfectly me.

"Natasha picked it out," Bucky said, avoiding my gaze. "Said it was…appropriate."

My breath hitched. “But… they forgot.”

Bucky shook his head. “We didn’t forget, kid. We just… we wanted it to be a surprise.”

He stepped aside, and I saw them. Standing in the hallway, all of them, looking sheepish and slightly apologetic. Tony held a half-eaten cake (chocolate, my favourite). Natasha had a stack of presents wrapped in brightly coloured paper. Steve was grinning, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. Sam was holding a boombox, which he promptly turned on, blasting a slightly off-key version of "Happy Birthday."

“Surprise!” they all yelled, their voices blending together in a cacophony of sound.

Tears streamed down my face, but this time, they were tears of relief and joy. I laughed, a shaky, emotional sound.

"You guys…" I choked out, unable to find the right words.

"We may not always show it, Y/n," Steve said, stepping forward and giving me a hug, "but you're an important part of this team. And you're important to us."

Tony clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright, enough with the mushy stuff. Cake time! And presents! And then, maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you drive one of my cars.”

The rest of the evening was a blur of laughter, cake, terrible presents (thanks, Tony), and surprisingly heartfelt speeches. I learned that Natasha had been planning the surprise for weeks and that Bucky had spent hours agonising over the perfect gift.

As I sat there, surrounded by my dysfunctional, chaotic, but ultimately loving family, I realised that being the youngest Avenger wasn’t so bad after all. They might forget things sometimes, they might underestimate me, but they would always, eventually, come through. And sometimes, that's all that really matters. Especially on a birthday.

Tags:

@riowritesitall @mandmilovehim @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @lgbtq-girl @parkjihoonsnudes @rajah-oliver

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[moonstruckme]

a thought:

reader is literally so grouchy and bratty and tired and is accidentally snapping at (whoever u want) and thennn they take initiative to casual dominance her to take a nap after some tea and it’s just so crazy fluffy!!!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: d/s dynamics

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 708 words

You’d claimed to want to read with Remus on the couch, but you keep huffing like your book is your least favorite thing in the world. Remus wraps a hand around your thigh, rubbing a slow back and forth with his thumb in an attempt to pacify you. He knows precisely what this mood is about. 

“Ugh, this construction noise is the worst!” You glare out the window as if hoping the men across the street will see. 

“Why don’t you use my headphones and try to have a nap, dove,” Remus suggests mildly. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, sounds like it’s catching up to you.” 

You bristle at the implication. “I’m not tired, I’m just sick of this. Nobody asked for the road to be redone. It was perfectly fine before.” 

Remus shoots you a sideways look. The road outside your house was riddled with potholes, and you both know it. If you were in a better mood, you’d be baking cookies for the construction workers to thank them. 

You ignore it, huffing again. “I’m gonna get some dinner,” you say, setting your book down roughly as you stand. 

“Last night’s leftovers are in the fridge.” 

“Don’t feel like those.” 

Remus gives your bum a light swat through your sweatpants as you go by. “Eat something real,” he warns. 

You make a vexed harrumphing sound. He chooses not to hear it. 

What he does hear, less than a minute later, is popcorn popping in the microwave. Remus sighs through his nose, tenting his book on the coffee table and pursuing you into the kitchen. You don’t turn around as his footsteps approach. 

“Dove.” Remus takes your hips, turning you manually. “That’s not a real dinner.” 

You shrug, obstinate. Your stare looks like you’re itching for a fight. “It’s what I feel like.” 

“You haven’t had anything with a vegetable in it all day. You need to pick something else.” 

You roll your eyes, turning back around. Ignoring him. Remus hits the button to shut off the microwave. 

You spin back around, eyes flashing. “You can’t—” 

“That’s enough.” He takes your jaw in his hand, your chin resting at the apex of his thumb and forefinger. “You’re being a brat,” he says in a low, steady voice, “because you’re sleepy and probably because you haven’t eaten a real meal since yesterday. That stops now. You’re going to eat the dinner you made yesterday, which you liked, and then go have a nap. Understand?” 

Remus isn’t really irritated with you. You’re being unruly, sure, but these moods always end once you get what you’re looking for from him. Now he’s given you it, you’ll calm down. 

It’s fucking precious, the way your temper melts away under his hard gaze. Your eyes round out and your head sits heavier in his hand, remorse finding its way into your expression. 

“Sorry,” you say, tone about ten degrees milder than it had just been. 

Remus rolls his eyes at you, squishing your cheeks between his fingers. “I know, darling. You can still make it up to me. Heat up those leftovers, okay?” 

You hum, and he lets you go, kissing the hill of your cheek. 

A minute later, you join him in the living room, curling up next to him on the couch while you eat and he reads. Your posture is already less rigid, the both of you enveloped in companionable silence and the smell of warm food. Your fork clinks as you set your plate down on the coffee table, and when you don’t get up to go to bed, Remus looks over at you. Your eyes are already on him, a question in them.

He fights to repress the smile that curves his lips. “What?” 

“Can I sleep here?” you ask hopefully. “Would it distract you if I put my head on your lap?” 

Remus coos. “No, sweetheart, of course you can.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask, though you’re already lying down, him uncrossing his legs to make his lap more comfortable for you. “You’re not still mad at me?” 

He tsks, petting your hair while you get comfortable. “I’m not. Wanna know a secret?” 

You hum, eyes already closing. 

“I’m never really mad at you, dove.”

[gothghostiie]

I'm babysitting so yall know what time it is

cw: stressed price, babysitter!reader, domestic stuff, gn!reader

you haven't even opened your eyes this morning when your doorbell began to ring. in fact, you feel like it never rang louder in your entire dang life. and never more frequently. you groan in annoyance as you heave yourself out of your bed, eyes small with sleep as you unlock the door, just wide enough to poke your head out and yell at whoever wakes you up at such an ungodly time - at least that's what you want to do, until you see who it is.

no one other than a very stressed looking John, baby on his arm, looking excited to see you. you look at them, confused, rubbing your eyes to try and wake up properly. before you can even process.. anything, he's already speaking.

"Love. 'm so sorry, didn't mean to wake ya.." he mutters, an edge in his voice. " 'm sorry, it's an emergency, I don't have anyone to watch the kid, I-" he sounds like he might cry - or possibly scream in frustration, so you cut him off, taking the baby that's already making grabby hands at you into your arms.

"Mr. Price, it's fine. Don't worry." you say softly but firmly, trying to reassure him despite being barely comprehensible. you yawn and snuggle the fat baby against you, he sighs in relief, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing.

"You're an angel." he says, taking a deep breath. "Get dressed and I'll drive you to my place, yea?" he says softly, you nod. the baby goes back to price with some mild fussing, letting you go to get dressed, quickly brush your teeth and look halfway presentable - which means a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt with some jacket thrown on top. You come back outside with a small bag, price already has the little one buckled in, holding the passenger door open for you. you smile and climb in, he gives you a tired smile before shutting your door and getting in himself. the drive is filled with him telling you how sweet you are, thanking you and telling you how lucky he is to have you. he only stops when he parks, looking a bit uncomfortable again. "Key is under the mat, let yourself in love.. and.. I'm sorry for the mess. it's been a hard week." he admits, you just smile and nod, telling him it's okay. you climb out of the car, unbuckling the baby out of the backseat, waving at john as he drives off again.

with the litlte one on your hip you go inside - price wasn't lying, the house is a mess - taking off your shoes and slipping into the slippers he got for you a while ago. you take a look around, humming to yourself as you put the baby in the playpen, letting it happily coo at its favourite blocks and the countless stuffies John bought for it, while you got to work around the house. clothes into the washing machine, trash collected, even vacuuming goes easy with the baby laughing every time the vacuuming makes a funny noise. by the time you're done with the living room it's already lunch time, followed closely by nap time - as much as you'd love to lie on the couch with the little munchkin again, you wanna keep cleaning. with the baby in bed it goes by even quicker, soon enough the kitchen is done and the first load of laundry is hung up to dry, the baby awake again and happily cooing on your arm while you clean it's room up a bit. you even go to his bedroom to clean up, put fresh sheets on the king-size bed, vacuum and mop while the baby jumps around on the bed. you do the last bit of laundry (and think about stealing one of his worn shirts, because christ he smells so heavenly), and then go to clean the bathroom too, organising his few products a litlte; making a mental note to gift him some more too - then it's already time to start dinner.

baby sits on the counter, fat legs dangling as you cook some simple pasta, of course trying everything. after it's been approved by your little chef you sit down and have dinner, then get the little one ready for bed already. in fresh pyjamas you cuddle on the couch for a little before putting it to bed with a bottle, just in time to hang up the last load on laundry. you hum to yourself, tv on with John's show that you got weirdly invested in by now, hanging up the wet clothes - when finally the door opens. you can't help but smile to yourself as you hear the heavy steps on the creaking floor board that he always tries (and fails) to avoid, followed by the familiar groan when he stretches after a long day. there's a pause as before the steps continue, this time with slippers instead of his usual street shoes, slowly coming into the living room to find you there, still hanging up laundry. you look over and smile at him, a soft 'hi mr. price!' coming from you as he takes in the clean home.

"bird.." he hums softly, stepping closer. "you cleaned." his tone is almost cautious, as if he's afraid to dirty the space again by merely speaking. "You didn't have to.." he sounds sheepish, almost embarrassed, but you just smile.

"no worries." is all you say, he stares at your form in awe. "dinner's in the microwave, just gotta heat it up. and our show's still on, join me?" john swears his heart stumbled right then and there.

"will do.." he goes to walk past you but stops behind you - before you can speak up again you can feel his strong arms wrap around your waist, your back pressed up agaisnt his tummy and chest; his head resting on your shoulder. you freeze as he holds you like this for a moment, before whispering against your neck. "thank you, darling."

he leaves you standing there as he goes into the kitchen, skin still warm from his touch, tingling where you felt his hot breath, still frozen in place as a heatwave creeps up your whole body. and for the first time you really dont want to go home tonight.

[writingsonsaturn]

Tim's fiancee gets arrested when a cop (let's say Lucy or someone) (this is after they are rookies) arrests her because she looks like a suspect they already caught, his fiancee told them she was engaged to Tim but they didn't believe her and Tim gets mad at the officer - <3

wrong place, wrong time - tim bradford

{ masterlist }

🪐: very sorry about how long its taken me to write, had a lot of stuff to do this week lol! this ones a little short <333

word count: 850

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Waking up with Tim being gone was normal, even after he had left the military his day continued to start at 6 am sharp. Although on weekends he would cut himself some slack to hold you until you were ready to get out of bed and begin with your various tasks you two needed to get done.

Today didn’t start off any different, waking up only a few hours after Tim had, at a ripe 8:30am.

Rubbing your eyes you flung your legs to your left, your warm feet chilling almost immediately at the cold wooden flooring of you and Tim’s shared bedroom. A shiver shot through your nerves and up your spine, you sighed lightly at the shift in temperature and made your departure to the bathroom.

The spring air seeped into the sunlit room, the fresh morning breeze filling your soul with flowers and bright colors. Music filled the house whilst you finished your morning routine making breakfast and feeding Kojo.

You started out your afternoon deciding to head to the local library, wanting to return a book you had borrowed before you were charged with a late fee. 

The library wasn’t full since it was the afternoon and school was still in session, “hello! i’m here to return a book” you said in a chipper but quiet tone. The librarian smiled and took the book, checking it back into the system and sending you on your way.

Your next stop was a supermarket, you had only a handful of items that were needed. Tim had run out of coffee filters this morning and you needed more shampoo, you also opted to get a new water bowl for Kojo, not that he needed one, you just thought it was cute.

As you walked out to your car you were stopped with a taser pointed directly at your torso, “get on your knees with your hands up!” a woman yelled.

Your confused manor caused your reaction to be delayed, causing the police officer to yell once again. “Get down on the ground with your hands up, now!” you immediately get down to your knees and put your shaking hands up. 

“You got the wrong person, I swear! Call Tim Bradford, he's my Fiancé!” you pleaded, the cop with the name ‘Chen’ on her shirt just scoffed and laughed you off while stuffing you in the back of her squad car.

The ride to the precinct was uncomfortable, the cuffs were digging into the skin of your wrists. “Officer please, I'm not whoever you think I am. All you have to do is call Bradford, he’ll tell you exactly what I'm telling you know” you tried to plead your case once again, but it fell on deaf ears.

“Tim doesn’t have a fiancé, he was my T.O, i think i would know a big detail like him having a girlfriend” she laughed, feeling as though it was ridiculous to even entertain your words.

As you were brought into the station to get your picture taken and be put into holding, Chen passed you onto another officer and went to tell Grey about her catch. 

To Lucy’s surprise everyone had already been packing up the evidence and started paperwork, “what’s going on?” Lucy questioned, “we caught the killer, she was at her parents place shooting up when we got there” Tim explained. Lucy was confused, “so if you caught the killer, who do i have in holding?” the question hung in the air, Tim looking at her with perplexed eyes.

Lucy walked Tim over to holding and that’s where Tim saw you, “oh thank god!” you exclaimed seeing Tim. He hurried over to you taking your cuffs off and waving off the other officers. “Chen, why is my fiancé sitting here in cuffs?” Tim sternly asks, Lucy looks down, stuttering and trying to explain herself.

“Tim it’s fine, she was just doing her job” you did your best to defend Lucy, “No y/n, this is not okay, if it had been anyone else this would be a lawsuit” he turned his body at you but his tone was directed at Lucy.

“Tim i’m sorry, I didn’t know we had already caught the suspect and she looked exactly like our suspect” Lucy tried to explain, stumbling over her words.

“You are going to go to Grey and explain everything, lucky for you, y/n isn’t going to file a report against you” Tim assigned Lucy, to which she scurried away. “Are you okay? oh christ your wrists,” his questions and concerns came at you with speed.

“Tim, baby, I'm okay,” you smiled trying to calm him down. Tim held your wrists in his hands, and kissed them. He hoped his love would be enough to soothe your angry red skin, “i’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened” he persisted. 

You shut him up with a kiss, “drive me to go pick up my car” your smile made him relax. “Yes ma’am” he laughed, telling Grey where he was going, and walking out hand in hand with you, still profusely apologizing.

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Viltrum culture can be quite a shock. Everything'll be fine, as long as you listen and do everything the Emperor says. Oh... Well, things wouldn't have to be this way if you weren't such a bitch!

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

World building tiem... Look guys, they be flippin' that shit around tho. NSFW

[Part one] [Ao3] [23] [Chapter Index] [25]

24 * Bitch  [14.4k]

"I get mean when I'm nervous like a bad dog."

Cop Car - Mitski

        Having a master bathroom was only something you could dream about. With a deep, wide tub, products hidden away, on demand at the press of a button (Technically there weren't showers in Viltrum, just gas chambers that ionically cleaned whoever was inside but Mohawk had some more human amenities added to his room). Double sinks, clean mirrors that seemed to hover off the wall. Not a cobweb in the corner or spec of dust on the shiny tiled floor. The grand prize, a toilet with a bidet- that you were currently puking in.

        You gripped the edges, heaving. Orangey vomit was quietly flushed away without back spray. Viltrumite plumbing was something else. You wanted it to be over but you could still feel your guts flipping, deciding whether to let it end now or drag the torment on for another hour.

        "Why didn't you slow me down?" You whined, tears squeezed out the corners of your eyes.

        The party had gone on awhile longer. It was all a haze after your seventh glass. You didn't entirely remember when you got back to Mohawk's room but you knew, you'd been at this toilet for what felt like forever. Hurting like a motherfucker. 

        Mohawk (held your hair/rubbed your) back, as helpful as he'd get. "Cuz she could hold her liquor."

        You'd had beer that tasted like cardboard that didn't get you nearly as fucked up. "I can! Your girlfriend was just an alcoholic bi-bllarrgggg."

        Mohawk watched your body slump and shudder in misery. Smiling despite it, because karma was real. "This is what you get for being a bitch to me earlier." He singsonged over the sound of puke hitting toilet water.

         When it was over, you said, "I'm not gonna say sorry for being a bitch when you fucking kidnapped me."

        "Baaabe, we've been over this." He whined. You tried lifting your head to glare but another wave of nausea dragged you back down. "Just accept it already. You're here with me now and you're safe. I'm not gonna hurt you, unless you ask me to." He remembered how you liked it. How willing you were to be choked or pinned down or restrained. 

        He was going for sexy, you just heard creepy. "You're actually crazy, dude."

        He patted your (head/back), tutting, "Only for you."

        Through it all, he stayed. Idly chattering in the bouts of quiet between episodes. Asking you about your favorite shows or movies he could put on because the Viltrum Empire had archives of most media from the planets they conquered. Especially the programs he listed as favorites of yours- you'd never heard of. There was Jackets-Yellow or Interrupted, Girl. The titles sounded so stupid and you felt so bad you shot them down immediately. 

        Eventually, it was over. You were empty and tired and dry mouthed. Mohawk left the room, pressing a button beside the bed and pulling out a bottle of water imported from the medicinal springs of planet Zigguart of the southern sector. Viltrum developed most of its own medicines but sometimes other races just did it better, it was why they still conquered after millennia; there was always something to gain, to learn from other races. The people of Zigguart made a damn good cure for post-vomit, pre-hangover party girl sickness. He often had to make you drink it back when you were alive. You had been right- the old you was something of an alcoholic, because watching you drunkenly vomiting over the toilet bowl was deeply nostalgic for him.

        He held your neck while you drank. Praising quietly when you didn't think you could take anymore, "You're doing so good, just keep going, it's going to help. I've got you, babe."

        He pulled you gently off of the floor, put a mouthwash tablet in your mouth, and told you to chew. Pepperminty suds washed over your mouth and dissolved any taste of puke and of course all of the plaque. You spit out the remains according to his instructions and felt somehow the cleanest you had in months. 

        Then he took you to the closet and set you on the bench, handing you a white set of pajamas. A loose white button-down with Viltrum's logo on the breast pocket, paired with white pants.

        "It's Martian silk." He said. "Super comfortable."

        You'd stopped puking, were still lightheaded, but your stubbornness was steadfast. "I told you I'm not wearing her clothes."

        He set the pajamas next to you on the bench. "I don't gotta lotta rules but it's no outside clothes in the bed or none at all."

        You watched him as he pulled out his own pajama set, matching yours exactly.

        "I'd rather sleep naked." You said.

        "Oh would you?" Mohawk turned to you, looking hopeful.

        "I'm not fucking you, I'm sick." 

        "Don't gotta kiss your pukey mouth to fuck you." He leaned forward, fingers pushing between the magnetic fastening of your bodysuit, "Gonna get naked or what?"

        You grabbed the heap of pajamas next to you. "I'll wear these, actually."

        He patted your head, "Good girl." You were a lot easier to corral into doing what he wanted than he expected. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard.

        "Don't call me that, I'm not your dog." You say as you watch him start to peel off his emperor's clothes. Revealing his clean body beneath. 

        "But you're my bitch." He said not unkindly, like it was some new form of endearment, personal to you. You watched as he pulled the suit down his torso, over his recently trimmed pubes (a landing strip), stopping right before revealing himself. Meeting your eyes with a smirk, "What? You changing your mind, pukey mouth?"

        You turned around immediately, hot in the face. "No." You opened the front of the suit and started to wriggle out of it when Mohawk hovered slowly into your periphery. Already changed into those stupid pajamas, wearing a stupider expression on his face at the chance to see you naked. You held the open portions shut, "Turn around, freak."

        "Aww, come on, nothing I haven't seen before."

        "And nothing you'll see again if you don't turn around!"

        His brows waggled, "That a promise?"

        "Turn! Around!"

        Mohawk sighed dramatically, "You're no funnn." But he turned, listening to the shuffle of clothes as you changed. He tried peaking but was whacked in the face by his bodysuit, blinding him. He pulled the clothes off his face to see you, alive, in those same pajamas, swaying slightly from drinking. You looked so similar in this closet, it scared him. He wanted you, a copy, a re-do, but not the same person who betrayed him.  

        Quietly, he led you to the bed, dimming the lights. You didn't have the energy to argue for your own place to sleep, you just slid into her old spot and flipped into her usual sleeping position like a glove. Just like she had a million times, normally in bed before him. He watched you, not feeling himself in his own body but knowing he was again lying in bed with you. He was too scared to reach out, to touch you in this room. 

        You were asleep within minutes. He tried to sleep but couldn't. He stayed up through your twitching nightmares, rubbing your back and telling you it was okay, you were safe, until you calmed. He was utterly still for the first five hours you slept, the first natural sleep you'd had since arriving and it was in his bed, in your bed. At some point you rolled, shifted your leg over his then flopped your arm over his chest. She used to do the same thing. He shifted his arm under you, his shoulder now your pillow. You grunted something in your sleep, nuzzled into him, and went still again. Finally, Mohawk fell asleep.

        ***

        Southeastern space wasn't known for much. Most of it was empty due to a supermassive black hole slowly eating away at it. It was speckled through with minimal stars, a handful of debris fields, and fewer planets. None of which housing societies the empire deemed advanced enough to meddle with. 

        For the most part, the empire was correct in their assessment. In the hundreds of millions of miles, there was nothing worth anything. That's why when Mohawk learned of Thragg's plans for him, he gutted the motherfucker and dumped him into southeastern space to die. Thragg's heart, the most integral part of a Viltrumite biology, had been pierced. He was to die in the black cold of space alone, without an empire.

        His survival came down to luck. The Thraxans saw him, a floating ball of blood and gore, when out on a routine clearing of a nearby asteroid field. They took him in, healed his wounds, and for the last few years and generations of the Thraxan people, he'd been there. Using the Thraxans as he saw fit, siring children, catching the mantis-people up to almost Viltrumite levels of sophistication. 

        He was nearly ready to make his move on account of one thing. These last ten months, the empire he'd loved so much had been quiet. What transmissions he did intercept about the empire from the Coalition were bad. The empire had lost its grip, taken losses it never would've taken had he been in charge. Rumors floated that the boy-king finally died but nobody had seen a body and Thragg was too disillusioned to hope.

        Scanners that the Thraxan scientists had made showed little movement from the Empire. The only thing he knew for certain was that they hadn't taken that lazy idiot's favorite shortcut to western space in all that time. It had been routine for millennia to take the long way, checking and rechecking on seemingly conquered planets just to ensure they were still under Viltrum hold. Pathetic. He was unfit to rule, just like his father.

        Imagine Thragg's surprise when a scientist came stumbling into his throne room, right when he was about to get started with one of his hundreds of concubines. "Sir! You're gonna wanna see this!"

        Thragg considered killing the insect for the interruption. But he went along, deciding if this was nothing, the useless bug would die. It wasn't nothing. Far from it. 

        Lo and behold, the emperor's personal ship was flying through his favorite space passage. He was alive and back at the helm for whatever reason. Thragg was as ready as he'd ever be to get his plans rolling despite the danger it could mean for him and the Thraxan people. 

        "Prepare me a ship."

        ***

        Mohawk woke up long before you. In his sleep, he'd tangled his legs between yours. Had pulled you into his chest so your ear rested on his heart. He was never a prude but the sight of your face, so relaxed and contented, made him flush. He hoped, wished you would be like this more. But he knew you wouldn't. He was still afraid you'd be just like her and betray him the same. Of course you'd try, he'd be suspicious if you didn't try at least once- but it was the secrets he was scared of, if you could keep them from his prying eyes and cameras like she had. 

        But it'd be a welcome surprise if you didn't. If you just stayed sweet and compliant and a little bitchy for the fun of it.

        You woke up and thrashed until he let you go, which wasn't very long because he was scared he'd accidentally crush you play-fighting in bed. Again you refuse to wear her clothes, taking another one of his suits for your own use. He wore his same uniform, power washed during the night by the closet itself. Sensors built into the walls detected dirt or skin cells, pulled them into a cleaning chamber where they were cleansed down to the molecular level. This time, when he tried peaking you used your powers and made him face the wall. Last night was one thing, he didn't mind you using your powers to entertain. But using them on him, the literal emperor? Was another. 

        "Maybe you shouldn't do that." He said as you both stepped out of the closet, headed for the door because he had said he wanted to show you something before his work began for the day.

        "Maybe you should listen the first time I ask you to do something." You snipped back. 

        "Who has the power here?" He said half-testing, half-joking. He hoped you'd back down, take the joking route. 

        He isn't surprised when you say, "You're the Emperor of Viltrum, not Earth."

        "Uh, actually." He said, stepping through the bedroom door and into the hall, "Earth has been part of the Empire for almost six years, so I'm the emperor of Earth and two-thousand-seven-hundred-forty-two other planets which, by the way, was the number when I first started. No clue what it's at now, probably over three thousand. So yeah, I am your Emperor." He didn't tell you now that the Empire had conquered over ten thousand planets, but most of them hadn't survived the initial culling of dissidents or had been stripped of all useful resources. You would learn about the Empire's history at some point.

        You made a face he laughed at. "Don't be so sour, babe. Play your cards right and you could be my Empress. Still not as powerful or important as me but, it'd have a lotta perks." You recalled the ring he threw down, one of the first nights stuck in the desert. The weird look he'd given you. He'd been planning on proposing before he killed her. He wanted you not just to take her current place, but the future he had planned with her as well. 

        "If you're proposing, you're doing a shitty job." You followed him as he turned into another hall and floated up a flight of stairs. "Answer's no by the way."

        "Answer'll be yes eventually." He landed at the top of the stairs and turned, waiting for you the climb the last few steps. "Plus, my proposal's gonna be big. Not some lame ass chicken shit like that. What am I? That asshole, pussy bitch you dated?" 

        "You literally are." You ignored the hand he held out for you to take. 

        Fine. That was fine. You'd come around. He could deal with a few disobediences here and there. He'd correct them all in time.

        "Yeah, but I'm not an asshole, pussy bitch." He floated backward, you followed.

        "You're so good with your words." You paused to take it in. The stairs gave way to a long room, half an oval. The walls were mostly glass, smoothly curved and reaching the ceiling. What little stars you saw bent around the glass in yellow, white blurs.

        "I am when I need to be. That's why I'm the Emperor, duh." Mohawk moved further into the room, stopping a few feet in front of the glass where the room came to a head. He watched you through the crystal clear reflection. "This is the observation deck."

        "Seems kinda shitty, the only thing you can do is look at stars? Needs a telescope or something." No way he could tell the stripes of stars apart. 

        He gave you a look, walked to the wall, and pressed a single finger to it. Suddenly, a blue screen was projected over the glass, highlighting stars and planets as they passed, giving at a glance scans of their surfaces, expected resources, gravity force, and compounds of the atmosphere. 

        You approached and tapped one of the popups. The small data sheet enlarged, tells you the planet is called T-47. Showed you a distant photo of a purple-blue ball. Inhabited by a suspected insectoid race. Status: Not ready for colonization. Potentially suitable in 398 years.

        "This is just the simple shit, but we're not here for that." Mohawk tapped a button and all the data was gone. "Come on." He walked away from the screen and headed toward the back of the room where the glass ended, and returned to the regular Viltrumite wall paneling. He pressed a finger to a button set into the wall and a door slid open. You followed him inside to find what looked like a Viltrum version of an office kitchenette. 

        You squinted, "This is where you make all your food for like? How many people?"

        He laughed, "Nah. The main kitchen is six levels down and takes up the whole floor. I had this put in just for you cuz you spent a lotta time up here. You hated when the servants did their job and served you food or drinks. God, this place was such a pain in the ass to get built. You wanted the contractors to be paid with money instead of letting their family live. Ugh." He opened a cabinet, stocked full of snacks, some you recognized, some you didn't. "Still got everything stocked." He checked the mini fridge embedded into the wall, which was stocked so full that canned drinks nearly fell out when he opened it. He shut the door, turned to you hopefully. "Like it?"

        You shrugged, unable to ignore the love put into it, how she was immortalized into parts of the ship, how she would always haunt you here. "Nicer than my apartment, so sure."

        That wasn't as impressed as he'd like you to be but he wasn't done yet. "How about a drink?"

        He remembered how you took your (coffee/tea), made it just right, like he had a hundred times. Sure, the servants could've done it but the old you had always appreciated the gesture. He waited, more anxious than he was willing to admit for your approval. Nearly exploded with relief when you had to hide your surprise, looking away as you said, "It's... good." He can hear the lie in the rhythm of your heart.

        Satisfied, he led you back into the main room. Near the glass again, he pressed the toe of his boot into the floor. Paneling you hadn't seen before split apart as a chair rose up. A single white thing comprised entirely of hard edges. Mohawk flopped down into it, making the cushions that looked nothing like cushions, sigh. 

        He patted his knee. "Come'ere." 

        You stayed standing, sipping your drink from a pale mug. "There's seriously not another chair?"

        "There's a bunch, but I'm not tellin' you where." You opened your mouth, he raised a finger, "Use your powers on me an' I won't take you down to torture that pussy bitch later." 

        "I could use my powers now and later." 

        His smirk doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We both know you can't keep that shit up forever. Either you sit down willingly, or I gag you, tie you up, and then put you on my lap- which you'd love by the way- your choice. Oh and-" From the side of the chair came a study table. He took the mug and set it down. 

        Your cringe was like a reward, but not nearly as rewarding as you shuffling forward and leaning on the arm of the chair. "You're fucking ridiculous."

        "I didn't say to sit there," He put a hand to your back and pulled you down. Ass falling over his thighs. "I said here." His hand stayed in place, ready to pull you back onto his lap if you moved. "Good. I can finally show you this." From the arm of the chair, he plucked a narrow thing that was flush with the fabric. Translucent at first but after a moment it lit up, glowing blue. At your confused face, he said, "It's a data pad, dummy."

        "Like an iPad?" 

        "Yeah, but a billion times better." He tapped a circular icon and brought up the landing page for the archive. "Check it, we've got every book in the galaxy." Technically, every book, news article, research paper, and leaked nude uploaded and categorized from all of the thousands of planets the Viltrum empire had conquered. With Viltrum-powered artificial intelligence, any confusing alien text was immediately translated and not in the chunky Google Translate way, it was actually understandable. 

        He pressed a few more buttons and brought up your personal favorited list. The Southern Book Club's Guide to Vampire Slaying. My Heart Is a Sawchain. The Games of Hunger and all its sequels. You both paused, looking at the last book she was reading. The progress bar said she was a little over halfway through- Jaymocking. Mohawk's fingers went still, but you pulled up the summary. It was some dystopian fantasy, the third in a series about a corrupt, murderous government and its evil figurehead. Ouch.

        "I still don't get it," Mohawk said. "I gave her everything she ever could've wanted and more, and she fuckin' betrayed me." He's quiet like you'd have an answer. "You won't do that to me, right?"

        You're suddenly very aware of everywhere he was touching you. Every place he could pierce through your soft, human flesh. "I don't even know what she did and uh... What could I do against any of this?" 

        "You askin' cuz you wanna know?"

        Kinda. "I just don't even- I? I just fucking got here? This is like, the first time I've been in a spaceship. I hace no idea what's going on and even if I did try to leave, I'd be sucked into the vaccume of space. Also, I almost starved to death multiple times. I don't know what the fuck you think I'm gonna do if I can't find the other chairs."

        His face relaxed. "Right.. Right." He was tempted to tell you what she did but then what if you snuck a data pad and got into contact with the Coalition too? The best thing he could do was make sure you were happy, never starved or wanted for anything ever again. "So... you like reading?"

        "Hate it." You lied. 

        "In that case-" He moved to put the data pad away. You snatched it, you couldn't remember the last time you'd gotten to read. Gotten to snack and relax and be calm. You scowled at him, "Knew it." 

        You scrolled though the catalogue, looking for something to catch your eye. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

        "Not for an hour." He said.

        "Are you gonna show me the other chairs or have me on your lap the entire time?"

        He pretended to consider. "I'll think about letting you up if you read to me."

        You laughed, "No fucking way."

        He hummed, "Guess you gotta stay here then."

        You did. Finally finding something good to read. Titled Spill Your Guts. You didn't read aloud, knowing he was full of it. The writing was terrible but you couldn't stop reading it. Mohawk asked if you wanted to read something better, something cool from an alien planet. To spite him, you said no and kept reading the worst published text you'd ever laid eyes on. 

        You couldn't remember the last time you'd relaxed like this- aside from the sitting in the lap of an evil Emperor part, but still. You ended up so engrossed in doing something as trivial as reading and drinking (tea/coffee), you didn't notice the creep of his hand until it was set between your thighs. Gently gripping and ungripping to try and get your attention. 

        You lowered the datapad to its indented bed in the arm. "Move your hand."

        He didn't. "Do you reaaally want me to?" He said into your ear, "Don't you remember yesterday?"

        You'd focused on the good part, Mark's suffering. Forgetting after the party and getting drunk about the cute little detail of almost letting Mohawk fuck you in that prison cell. "I don't."

        "You're such a shitty liar." Mohawk's fingers moved side to side, ghosting over the inner thigh of the suit. "But fine, I'll play along, you want a reminder?"

        You snapped your legs shut as you started to feel a pooling heat, inadvertently trapping his fingers. He could've moved them but he didn't. "I'm still mad at you."

        "Oh, I can fix that." His other hand moved to the front of your body, aiming for your chest. You should have gotten up, used your powers, but you didn't. Part of you wanted to feel him again, left unsatisfied from the way things ended yesterday. Maybe if you fucked him again, it'd get the need out of your system and the next time he tried something you wouldn't be so defenseless, so easy under his hands.

        Still, you put up a mild fight. Trying to tighten your thighs to give him more resistance- give yourself more time to come to your senses. But he was stronger than your thighs, sliding his fingers between them easily until he was rubbing the side of his hand against your apex. Other hand, kneading your chest. 

        You held in a sigh. Stiffen your muscles so you wouldn't grind against him. Through clenched teeth, you tell him to, "Stop messing around."

        "Man, you're really determined to act like you don't want this." He laughed against your neck. He pushed your legs apart, just enough to flatten his hand against you and rub you entirely through the fabric. He felt you twitch, heard the sound at the back of your throat you swallowed. "Just give in."

        Open-mouthed kisses were laid to the side of your neck. He listened hard for the start of your words and bit down when you spoke- forcing you to trip over the phrase, "N-no."

        But you didn't stop him as he unlatched the magnetically attached front of the uniform, letting his hand slip in under the fabric and toy with your nipple. Fingers pressed harder to fabric, finding the shape of your clit. He knew just where to put pressure and it was terrifying. You held in the urge to gasp but you were starting to lose your head. Hips twitching, unknowingly grinding your ass against his hardening cock, getting him off.

        "I'm serious." You spit out. Face hot, pussy throbbing, but still, your mind was intact enough to know this was a very bad idea. Your body didn't agree.

        "You know I love it when you play hard to get." That was one difference he really admired. His version of you was perfectly trained, submissive. He wanted that, of course he did, but he liked a little push and pull. Liked to prove to himself over and over you couldn't resist him, and didn't actually want to. It was like a game he just kept winning. 

        "You know I love it when you fucking listen to me." You hissed.

        "Use your powers then, stop me." He said with a particularly harsh twist of your nipple that made you throw your head back against his shoulder and groan. He went on, watching your face flash between pissed and utterly desperate. "Thaaaat's right, good girl. You know you want it." He knew you could be good, deep down, he just had to dig for it. But at the same time- he wanted to antagonize you. Wanted to bring out your mean side because you were so predictable when you were angry. If you stayed predictable, he'd know what to expect. 

        "Stop calling me that." You snarled weakly. 

        "Don't like it? Hm. Let's see about that." Fingers left your clothed cunt, traveled up and under the open flap of the bodysuit. They ghosted over the flesh of your belly, slowly getting lower and lower. Your legs were spread but enough enough to be easily fuckable as he'd like so he said, "Open your legs." 

        You didn't. Still contemplating getting up, leaving him with blue balls. You excuse yourself saying, "What if someone walks in?" Wasn't like there was a door, just a staircase leading to the open room.

        "They got jerkoff material for life," Mohawk replied. "What're they gonna do, huh?  I'm the emperor, and I can do whatever I want and everyone has to listen to me, even you. Open up." You consider this so long he takes it as an answer. "Oh, I get it, you wanna get manhandled." Faster than you could protest, both your legs were hooked over the arms of the chair, spreading yourself wide and easy. His finger moved viper fast before your brain even process shutting your legs.

        "No, I do-haaaahhh." His middle finger slid inside of you to the knuckle. Glided in smooth as silk. His palm was already pumping, finger curling. Shutting your protests down.

        "Again, terrible liar." Mohawk hooked his chin over your neck, watching you half-exposed body jerk and twitch. Your eyes were watching the outline of his hand pumping your cunt through the tight suit. "Are you always this wet or is it just for me?"

        You opened your mouth to argue but he pressed hard against your g-spot, thumb savagely rubbing your clit. Your eyes screwed shut and your reply was an incoherent moan.

        "Good girl." He goaded, feeling your cunt happily squeeze around his finger, trying to suck him further in. "You do like that."

        "I'll-" Gasp, "I'll kill you."

        "Will you?" His pumping slowed, finger nearly pulled out as he added another. Sliding in easy to your slick, needy cunt. "Cuz if this is you trying to kill me, I think I'm winning."

        You jerked and nearly squealed as he filled you further, "Fuck you-"

        He grounded his hard cock against your ass, "You are." 

         "Shut up." You writhed against him. Grinding into his fingers, against his cock.

        He took a sharp breath. "Keep that up and I'm not gonna get the chance to cum in you." Mohawk always had to wear a condom with her. She'd get mad if he didn't. He'd offered better birth control but you'd been adamant. Never wanting the possibility of children.

        And yet.

        "You should stop... They aren't fighting back anymore." You said in this very room, overlooking the orange planet below where Kregg was ripping it to shreds. Taking the resources since they wouldn't offer them up.

        You'd been such a bleeding heart, it was a boner killer. He tried working with you around it. "Aww babe, do you want me to keep one alive so you can have a pet?" He put his fingers to his earpiece to contact Kregg.

        "No but-"

        "Ah, okay, so they all can die, got it."

        "No!" He gave her a look. She shut her mouth, backed down. 

        "If you want a lil thing runnin' around the ship so bad, just let me cum in you already."

        "I don't think..." At the time, he thought she wasn't ready. Now he knew, she didn't want to have his child because she saw him as a tyrant. Fine. Fine! It's fine because he saw her as a pathetic revolutionary fighting against an ultimately better future. Not like he wanted kids anyway, the empire wanted him to have an heir, yeah, but it seemed like such a pain. Plus, he didn't want to become a weak fool like his dad had.

        Your gasps bring him back to moment. Bucking your hips, desperately riding his fingers while accusing him of being disgusting.

        "You're the one taking two..." He slipped out of you a moment to add another digit to the fold, filling you so sweetly, "Three fingers, I think you're a little nastier than me right now." He had to prep the other you for something like this. You just took and took. Whimpering pathetically and never whining about pain- if there was any- hell, maybe you liked that he was moving so fast.

        "I-I'll-haaahh- I'll k-kill you."

        "Death threats again, babe? You gotta get some new material." You could only gasp and shudder in reply, grinding your ass harder against him. "Or can you just not think of anything else?" Teasingly, he curled his fingers into your g-spot, kept them there, pulsing into you.

        Your back arched, eyes fluttered back, "Shut up!"

        "You've said that one too. You really going stupid this quick?" 

        "No, I'm just close, you shith-aaaah-head." He could feel it, the way you clenched around him. The way your whole body was tensing up. 

        He mumbled into your neck between hickeys, "Just let it happen." The pre-wave of orgasm cinched tight around his fingers. He went in for the kill, "Good girl, just-" He didn't get to finish because you were wailing, cumming around his fingers hard. You really did like that. 

        Mohawk worked you through the orgasm. Never slowing or stopping his abuse of your weeping cunt. You started to go limp on him but he kept going, growling into your neck, "You're done when the emperor says you're done. I haven't even fucked you yet. Come on, babe, don't wimp out on me."

        You're stuck by a moment of clarity, "Don't fucking talk in third person while you're fingering me."

        Mohawk clicked his tongue, "You just gotta be a bitch when I'm-" Did you just moan? Just throb around him? "Do you fuckin' like that too? Holy shit?"

        "No I-"

        "What else you like bein' called, hm?" His words came with a pinch to your breast, "You gonna fuckin' cum if I call you a slut or something?"

        You did, in fact, cum. So hard and fast you lost yourself, sounding horrifically embarrassing when you arched your back and gasped out a pathetic, "Y-yesss."

       Mohawk muttered, "This is so awesome, holy fuck." She had been fine with some meanness from his end but this much? God, he couldn't wait to find out just how much of a slut you were. How many loads you could-

        "...Sir?" 

        You went stiff. Mohawk didn't, still pumping away. "Shit." He hissed. "The meeting."

        Kregg hovered at the top of the stairs. Arms folded behind his back, expression expertly poised. He'd been through this sort of messing about with the Emperor before. With you, he was often distracted, late, off task- but if it meant the empire would have an heir and the emperor had something to fight for (because apparently ruling the greatest empire in the galaxy wasn't enough for the spoiled brat) then so be it. Still, Kregg's fellow Viltrumites were deeply uncomfortable with your... messy lovemaking. Nobody ever told him as such but the others seemed to make themselves scarce when you and the Emperor were at it. Leaving Kregg, experienced with the pleasures earthly women could bring, to deal with whatever fallout came from these dalliances. 

        "Did you not get my message?" Kregg asked. 

        Mohawk thought he'd heard some bug buzzing in his earpiece a few minutes ago. He'd been so engrossed in unraveling you, he forgot to respond.

        "I did." He said, thumb idly tracing circles on your clit, "Am I late?"

        You folded up your legs, tried to get up or snap your suit shut but Mohawk wouldn't let you go. Didn't stop moving his fingers despite the fact that you were mortified. Fucking in front of people to hurt their feelings was a little far, but it'd happened, whatever. In front of Mohawk's political right hand who had nothing to do with this? God, you wanted to jump through the observation deck glass and float into space. 

        "We waited five minutes, sir." How long had he been at it?

        Mohawk hummed, ignoring your thrashing. "Ten more minutes?" It wasn't nearly enough but Mohawk could finish fast, get the rest of his fix later.

        "Are you crazy?" You hissed.

        Kregg didn't often find himself in agreement with a human. Especially you, back before you were dead. It was an annoyance you were back, and a danger as the council privately advised, but the Emperor didn't care. As long as he had you and Angstrom Levy to bring him more dimensions, he was perfectly content. Still. "This meeting's important, sir. We require your presence."

        Mohawk hummed, thinking a moment, fingers slowing. "How important is it really?"

        "Incredibly."

        "Fine." All at once, he exited you with a loud, wet sound that Kregg definitely heard. You scrambled upright, snapping your suit shut while Mohawk lingered in his seat. "But if this is going over those boring ass charts again, I'll take your other eye." He took the moment you spun to look at him, suit fixed, to suck on his fingers. Obnoxiously rolling his eyes back at the taste of you. Much cleaner than you'd been in the desert. 

        Kregg shouldn't be afraid of him, but he was. He killed Emperor Nolan, the strongest of them all. Despite his attitude he wasn't that bad of an emperor, just rather nontraditional so he held his tongue, "It's not, sir." 

        "Good." He stood, boner obvious in the outline of his suit. He turned to Kregg, still hard, uncaring. He waved for you to follow like some well-trained pet. "Let's go." This really had been a mistake. 

        The war room was large. Table stark white against the gray floor. Viltrumites filled the seats lining its side, the Marks save for Phantom were counted among them. All of them looked at personal data pads while a large 3D map of space projected blue from the table's center. More complicated machinery blipped on the walls, displaying ever changing coordinates and other space travel bullshit. At the table head was a large seat, back nearly reaching to the paneled ceiling. 

        Mohawk sat himself there and splayed his thighs, patted them for you to sit. Again, there were no more seats. When you hesitated, you were met with an icy glare from the woman whose name you thought was Thula. You shuffled to Mohawk's side, but again he pulled you to his lap. You glared at him, but were hesitant to fight in a room full of murderous aliens. 

        In the dim of the room that allowed the projections to shine, you couldn't quite tell them apart. They'd gotten so cleaned up since the desert and wore such similar outfits of gray and white, it was a little hard. Most of them cut their hair back to what you knew as the typical Mark cut. Some went back to how they were before. Scars was the only shape you could identify with his longer hair he hadn't touched. 

        Kregg got down to business. Instead of sitting, he was standing at the other end of the table, in front of a screen that he gestured to along with the 3D map. Battle plans, strategy, shit you didn't understand in the slightest. 

        Gray understood plenty, chimed in to Kregg's annoyance at first but quickly morphed into relief. Gray had conquered some of the planets that had rebelled and looked to be an issue- solo. His input was valuable, whereas Mohawk had nothing to add. Kregg wouldn't say it, but at first he'd been hesitant about there being more versions of Emperor Mark, but if the others were like Gray? Fuck, let them stay.

        Markus was a little too focused on you and how stiff you were to really give much valuable insight. He'd worked for the empire, but not long or deeply enough to be of much value besides in battle. Still, Kregg appreciated that someone was paying attention, nodding along and scrolling on his data pad to follow along. The longer the meeting went on the more he noticed his Emperor's hands starting to roam. Nowhere devious or obvious, but he'd slept with you before, he knew the moves to pull. A hand on your hip went a long way. 

        Seb gave absolutely nothing. He had no idea why he was even here. He'd be a solider, whatever, but it wasn't like he had to care about the wider plan or planetary shit affecting landing physics bullshit. He worked with Dad, got the job done enough to go home without any of this fuckery. He spun a stylus between his fingers and ignored his datapad, much to Kregg's annoyance. Sometimes he glanced at you, wondering the next time you could hang out so he could talk to someone kind of normal. He never looked long, Mohawk was getting too heavy-handed, too alpha male 'she's mine' about the way he was touching you. Seb wouldn't say no to fucking you again but he seriously didn't want to die.

        Scars watched in mostly silence. If he was going to sell subjugation, he needed to shut his mouth a little more. Needed Thula to believe he wasn't as much of a threat as he was before he found a way to kill the old bitch. Then kill that bastard sitting smug in his tall chair. He didn't deserve The Empire, or the fine, fearful thing sitting stiffly in his lap. Scars did.

        Lensless wouldn't shut the fuck up, giving terrible ideas that'd get his fellow soldiers killed or injured. He'd been with the empire some years, he knew how these things worked, but always ended up disregarding safety procedures just to get to the carnage faster. Kregg made a note to not put him on the front lines.

        Lucan tried reeling him in. He'd done a decent enough job following the boy around, but it was concerning how easily he could be lost. He had a feeling Lensless was letting him follow most of the time. Trying to make him think he wasn't as fast or clever as he really was. The thing was, Lensless was twenty-two, a child to Lucan, well over three-thousand years old. Those tactics wouldn't work. 

        And yet he couldn't get the twit to shut his mouth. 

        To your absolute horror, he pointed out Mohawk's hand, resting casually over your thigh, inching to settle between them. "Is he allowed to do that? Can I do that? Cuz he's me, so I'm also technically the Emperor? Hey (Y/n), can you come over here, pleeaaassseee?"

        "I can do what I want," Mohawk said, hand slipping further down. You tried not to flinch away, at least he wasn't rubbing your clit in front of ten people. "You can't, shut the fuck up." He pulled you backward, chest firm to your back.

        Lensless didn't say, "Yes boss," for him, but for you, and your withering glare that made him shiver excitedly.

        The meeting resumed, dragging on and on. You had no fucking clue why you had to be here. It wasn't like you were going to be on the front lines. 

        You didn't know that you were here because Mohawk had ears in the Coalition. If anything got out of this room, he'd question you first. This time he wouldn't gut you, just... imprison you awhile to teach you a lesson. It wasn't a fully sound plan, but he also liked the comfort of you on his lap. The entertainment of your legs twitching whenever he dragged his fingers down them. He knew you still wanted him. That your cunt was wet and waiting for him to take.

        By the time you'd gotten to the meeting room, he'd gone soft enough to flash by the others without setting off alarms. Now, bored, with your ass pressed up against him- he was hard again. Straining against his suit, poking at your back for attention. 

        You gave no reaction. Unwilling to cause a scene, to give him what he wanted. You'd chew him out later, make him listen.

        He ground against you ass. You twitched, catching Gray and Markus's eyes. You did your best not to meet them, to look at the meeting screen as Mohawk, slowly, as not to catch any more attention, ground his cock into you. 

        You shifted forward, trying to hover off his lap because this was so not happening. He couldn't be serious. He pulled you down, repositioning his dick under your legs, rubbing himself against your clothed pussy. Of course you were still horny but not insane. You shot a hand back, hitting him in the chest as a quiet 'stop it'. 

        Mohawk thought you were playing. Even if you weren't, he knew once he got his dick in you, you'd stop fighting. He wonders how quiet you could be, wonders how long he could warm his cock in the tight heat of you before one of you broke and started humping the other in front of the whole crowd. 

        The others did their best to act like they didn't notice. Markus and Gray stayed on task. Seb thought if he looked at all, Mohawk would have his head. Lensless watched, smiling dozily at your discomfort, wishing it was him. Scars counted on his fingers, hoping he could get you alone soon. You needed to be taught a lesson.

        For a moment, your eyes lingered on Lucan's bald head. You wondered what Mark would think. He wouldn't even be here, actually. Wouldn't stand for any of this. Would've taken you back home or away from the empire that ruined him. Even if he stayed, he would've spoken up. Wouldn't have let this bullshit happen. But he was dead in another dimension. Mohawk ground on, breath hot on your back. His council let it happen. The Marks let it happen.

        "Can you fucking stop?" You snapped over Kregg and Gray's conversational back n' forth. Heads turned, eyes stared into you but at least Mohawk stopped. 

          "(Y/n)." His voice was quiet, dangerously sharp. You turned, meeting his eyes that bore into you, trying to telepathically tell you to obey. To not make a scene in front of his council when he was the one who started it. "Do not interrupt my general when he is speaking."

        "Are you fucking serious?" You went to stand up, but his hands on your sides tighten to keep you down. You do it without thinking, "Let go." He does. You stand up fast like you'd been burned. In a way, you had, with the lingering want, but you didn't want this, not in front of so many people. Not when he blatantly disregarded your feelings.

         The council had been advised of your powers. It raised concerns, lots of them. You could be dangerous, a valuable asset to the Coalition. Mohawk had assured them you were weak, could barely control him at all. But that was in the desert when you were living off cave water and cannibalized rations, always with some wound or ailment. 

        The command was finished, Mohawk was free but still he sat. Angry, humiliated in front of the council that already doubted him despite how he'd won the empire- pried it from his father's soft hands. But he could almost hear their thoughts as you glared at him, Nolan had been a better Emperor, Nolan kept people in control. If Mohawk couldn't control a human- again- he'd lose more of the faith Argall's blood lent him.

        He said with feigned calm, "I think you forget who you're talking to. Sit." His boner still ached in his suit. He was mad about your defiance, but he'd be more mad if you gave him blue balls.

        "How could I forget when it's all you talk about? No." You backed up a few feet, keeping a distance from the table and chairs despite how fast they all were. You couldn't feel hands on you yet, only the crawling feeling of so many eyes and their judgments.

        He turned to the others, "Stop fucking staring and keep talking." Kregg went back to presenting but all ears were strained toward you. Mohawk growled through barred teeth, "I'm not going back and forth with a human. Sit."

        The air crackled between you two. He opened his mouth again, desperate now, but you stopped him in his tracks.

        "Shut up." His mouth closed. You held onto his mind with an iron grasp, "Do that shit to me again and I'll kill fucking kill you." This time it wasn't weak sex talk, you meant it, he knew it, the whole council knew it. You turned your back on all of them and almost ran out of the room.

        Gray was close to the door, he considered turning to you and saying something, but he couldn't look weak. So he just watched you go out the sliding door and listened as you stomped down the hall. Kregg knew to shut up, making any noise when the Emperor got red in the face like that and was certain doom.

        "We should count her as a loss." Thula said as soon as the door slid shut. She did not fear death, for if she died, she deserved it. "This one doesn't even like you, and she's obviously a flight risk. Vidor, the pods are locked, yes?" The ginger nodded. "Good. I know you're... attached to the human, Emperor Mark, allow me to assist you in disposing of her."

        Thula never liked you, not then, not now. Humans were a weakness, she saw how their affections weakened Emperor Nolan and Mark. Saw them ebb away at Kregg though he stayed strong and true to Viltrum's core values. You also had a habit of ruining things, the Emperor lost it after you died, then left for ten months to go get another you who was more likely to stab him in the back. Kregg had told her young humans could be awfully flippant, that this must be his humanity shining through. A couple thousand years of experience would squash that out- but not if you were alive during them if he ever reached his goal of keeping you by his side for eternity.

        The Emperor's head rigidly turned on her. Hands now empty of something to squeeze so they curled into fists. "Nobody's killing her, she just needs to get broken in. Just get back to the battle plans." He wouldn't go after you, was afraid if he saw you right now, he'd grab you and gut you just like he had before. He needed to calm down.

        Markus stood from his chair, "I'm going after her."

        "Sit." The Emperor hissed.

        "Apologies, sir." Markus said as he walked out the door. 

        He found you not too far away, headed nowhere in particular, he could tell you didn't know where to go. He landed from his float, trotting to your side. You didn't look at him, eyes set ahead on nothing as you said, "I'm not going back."

        "I won't take you back." He said, because he hadn't even been planning to.

         It was the first time he'd been alone with you since arriving in One's universe, he had so many things he wanted to say but he knew he only had a few minutes. He had expected you to like it here, to be grateful for food and shelter, but Emperor Mark had always been too overbearing, you couldn't recover from the trauma with him hovering. Markus's grief was the most recent of the living variants, he had heard plenty from the others, knew that the Emperor's version of you had been dead for years. He thought it was weak-willed of him, shortsighted and foolish to push you like this especially when you had just begun to tolerate him in the desert. Markus knew you more than tolerated him now, but he still expected venom. This version of you had always been defensive, moved between cages you had no chance of escaping. 

        "Then what do you want?" You knew it was Markus from his stupid quiff streaked with gray hair but you couldn't look at his face- Mark's face. It was always Mark's fucking face. 

        "To talk." He knows you won't start the conversation, you never had when you were mad at him. He began, "I'm sorry that happened. You have the right to be upset but you have to understand-"

        "Why didn't you stop him?" His heart ached at the way your voice cracked, trying to cover the hurt with anger and failing.

        "You have to understand you can't win by fighting back. None of us can fight back here. You have to play along." The Emperor wouldn't kill you, but he was so scared if another Viltrumite found you, an unwilling human against the empire, they'd make you suffer. The Empire had been ruthless in his universe and it was much the same here. 

        "Play along?" You stopped, turning to him with a scowl. "Are you serious? He was gonna fuck me in a room full of people! Nobody did anything! The fuck do you mean, play along?"

        "Play along until I figure things out." He said. "I can't protect you if I don't have sway with the council. The more they trust me, the more clearance I'll have, I'll know when Angstrom can be used again. I can get us out, but you have to listen to me and play along so you don't get hurt until then." He was already taking a hit to his budding reputation as respectable and obedient unlike other Marks by being here with you.

        Your gut reaction was that you didn't want to go with Markus, but it might be better than here. This fucking humiliating place where you were just a pet. You'd probably be the same thing with Markus but he at least wouldn't fuck you in front of bunch of multi-thousand year old aliens. All you wanted was to... You didn't know where you wanted to go, hadn't known what to expect since you stood on that roof and told Mohawk to stop. He was right, you didn't have shit, your life sucked even before he tore it to shreds, but you knew you couldn't stay here. Wanted to be anywhere else.

        "Can't we just try running now?" You blinked, held back tears but he saw them shiny in your eyes.

        Markus put his hands on your shoulders, resisting the urge to hold and placate you. He'd placated and lied to the other you too much, had built a tower of lies that led to your death, he needed to be honest with you.

        "We can't." He said, "I know you're scared-"

        "I'm not." You lied.

        He lets you believe he believes. Bringing a hand to cradle your cheek, the most he would allow himself, even as you leaned into the touch, "-But you have to be strong, my love. I need you to promise me you'll listen to him."

        Your lips wobbled. You'd been holding in how much the desert had affected you, how much the deaths, Mohawk treating you like a pet, had deeply burned you. You held it in because he was keeping you at arms length. Held onto it so hard the sorrow hardened to anger. "Fine."

        He took you to Mohawk's room, a hand on your back that he hoped you interpreted as affectionate instead of controlling. He told you to stay and take whatever punishment Mohawk gave when he came back, to know that he was with you. Then he left. Went right back the meeting and murmured in Mohawk's ear that you were dealt with and where you'd be.

        You stood at the shut door. Stood over where she died for having the daring to plan on leaving. Fists shaking, eyes burning. You should have stayed, listened, been a good bitch.

        But you didn't.

        ***

        You didn't know how long you'd been wandering the ship, looking for Mark in his guarded prison cell. You couldn't quite remember the way, all the halls looked the same and were so long they were disorienting. Had Mohawk taken you through this door or this other identical door? All you remembered was it was a long way down. 

        You were surprised by the fact that you never ran into anyone. Maybe the servants kept to particular passages or maybe they'd been ordered to avoid you. The thought made you feel strangely lonely. When you finally heard voices behind a door, you didn't think before feeling for a button to let yourself in. 

        The room was no larger than your studio apartment. Complicated equipment was set into every inch of the wall. Some of it hummed, some of it buzzed. Sat on a patient table in the middle was Phantom. Listening intently as the alien bio-engineers explained to him the state of his new limbs. The machinery that sprouted from his bicep and hip respectively, were attached to his body via strong magnetic implants sewn under the skin of his stumps, nerves connected to intrafascicular electrodes so he could control each analogous part of the limbs. It'd take time for the prosthetics to move exactly the way he wanted, there was no telling how long it'd take for him to be able to curl his fingers or kick his new leg.

        The machinery was stark white, smooth, but nowhere near streamlined as everything else on the ship. Viltrumites weren't often amputees, it seemed. Phantom had been changed out of his torn costume like everyone else, into a sleeveless tight fighting tanktop that bore the empire's sigil. His pants only went down his flesh leg, his skirt was tucked back into the belt that held some sort of emergency battery pack or connector or something sciencey you didn't understand. Everything was tight and tucked out of the way of the delicate mechanics. 

        Blue eyes had already caught onto the shape of you. He didn't know if you were real, standing in the doorway unacknowledged by the scientists. He'd been out of the goo-chamber for only a few hours. They'd told him all of the relevant information, but he still felt the whiplash of everything. It was hard to believe this place was real, hell, that anything in the desert that happened... happened. 

        One of the Martians turned to grab something and finally noticed you, who he correctly assumed wasn't staff. "You're not supposed to be in here."

        "Leave. Do something else. You didn't see me." 

        The Martians did, easily enough, filing out of the room as you stepped in. Their minds were weak and brittle compared to the Viltrumite ones you'd been training against. You and Phantom were alone as the door slid shut behind them. Room blipping and beeping with machinery. 

        His buzzcut had been evened out and beard shaved, clean of blood and free of bruises, looking at you with unabashed awe and surprise. You were also surprised to have found him of all people. Mark should've lived, not him. You feel a burning urge to settle the score, to get one more danger to your survival out of the way.

        On Phantom's end, he had just realized you were real. You who he failed to covet and protect, whose name he heard in this very lab while the scientists worked over some sort of bendy cuff. Similar to the one he'd thrown on you in Sydney with all its micro-monitoring devices. He took the cuffs as they were from the GDA but the Emperor apparently kept sending them back, telling the workers to make it 'cuter'. He hoped it was some sort of mapping device, something to help you get around the ship, because clearly you were still alive. But he'd helped the GDA make containment units for difficult aliens or villains, he knew what electrical probes looked like. He hoped it was a nerve connector, similar to his own but you hadn't lost any limbs so what if-

        "I can't believe they kept you alive, but they let those others shitheads live so why not?" You said, mulling over ways to make him die.

        "You should know I-" He sounded much better than he had in the desert, though his voice still fizzled and cracked at the end of words. "I'm sorry."

        Your lips twitched into a frown. "Don't lie to me."

        Phantom's face went from crestfallen to flat as your powers took hold. "I was terrified for you there, now we're here, and I'm more scared for you than I've ever been. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I want to help you." He couldn't lie under your control. He meant every word. 

        Even under your control, you could see the fear in his eyes, the want to do better. You needed more lifelines to escape, because what if Markus failed? "How do I know you won't fuck me over again?"

        "I'm too scared to lose you." His voice cracked and warbled but you understood well enough, he wanted to fix things between you.

        It hurt. God, it hurt so bad. He ruined everything then wanted to get better. Mark couldn't change, couldn't recover because Mark was dead. Dead because of the man in front of you. 

        You let him out of your grip. Sick to your stomach by his devotion. "You barely know me."

        "I want to know you." He was desperate for new happy memories with you. Not the fractured ones from the desert, "I- I don't know what parts from the desert are real. I'm not sure what I said to you there." He couldn't tell the difference between the narrative he told himself and what really happened. He slid off the table, tried to land on his feet but was met a with a jolt of pain in his hip where the prosthetic was attached. "But I want to know, want to remember the time we had together." He floated into the air as he said it, inched closer but stopped when you stepped back. He was being too intense again.

        You could easily use your powers, check again if he was lying. You both knew it, that's why you believed him. You don't mean to say it but you do, "You're the only one who's apologized to me for any of this." 

        Phantom wasn't surprised but finds himself pleased, this would endear you to him. He had done you wrong but, he still had a chance because he was the most humane of them all, the most willing to admit he was wrong.

        "I took no pleasure in finding out what Mohawk has planned. I won't submit to him." Keeping the others and him alive was too good to be true. There was no way they could be alive and happy with you and jealousy in the mix. Mohawk was going to use them until they were good for nothing, string them along with you as a prize and lead them to fall into their graves. He wouldn't fall for it, wouldn't help the empire that took his whole family from him. 

        You were quiet a moment, trying to formulate a plan. "You really want to help me?"

        "Of course." It was almost instant, bubbling up from him like a well.

        "Then help me find Angstrom Levy."

        It was like two blind rats in a maze. Phantom had only been in the med wing, had barely known Angstrom Levy was on the ship. You'd only been to Angstrom the once. 

        He floated over the ground, twitching his digits to test the movement while your footsteps filled the halls. The quiet was heavy between you, there was so much you wanted to say to him, to ask. You didn't know how long you had together before Mohawk inevitably found you. Did whatever he was going to do.

        "It's my fault he died." You found yourself saying like a deathbed confessional. Phantom turned to watch you. "I choose when I use my powers and I chose then to tell him to stop and he just... He told me for days it was your whole plan to let him die then you confirmed it and everything was easy because I could live as long as I had someone else to blame but... It was still my fault."

        Phantom wanted to hold you. To tell you it was okay, that it was over. He had planned to kill the Viltrumite prisoner, but it shouldn't have been you to do it; it should have been a weight off your chest not a scar that would haunt you. But he knew you didn't want placation, you wanted the truth. "My plan failed and I hurt you. It's okay if you hate me." Though he didn't want you to. "But know I'm different now, I won't lie to you. You can trust me." Getting tortured and eaten alive for weeks really changes a guy.

        "I think I'll have to." You said, and Phantom had to suppress his joy. "But if you get any ideas, I'll actually kill you."

        He nodded, "I'll make sure you don't have to."

        You gave him the greatest gift, a small, genuine smile. "Offering to kill yourself for me? What are you, one of my exes?"

        He hadn't meant it like that, but he played along, "Well, technically."

         You snorted and turned into another hallway expecting the same old smooth white walls. But you knew this hallway, a slightly darker gray than the rest, with big sliding double door in the center. You raced over to it.

        Only when Phantom stood beside you did the door scanner register the Emperor's DNA. You both stepped inside and looked over the railing. You were hit with the same sight as yesterday, Angstrom strung up.

        You didn't entirely know what you were doing. Didn't know if making Angstrom open a portal was safe, if he even could in his state. You didn't know where you'd go but this felt like the right place to be. Having a choice in front of you would make deciding simpler. You could just-

        A Viltrumite rose up from the ground to float in front of the railing, looking down his narrow nose at you both. "You're not the Emperor. And you're not supposed to be in here without the Emperor."

        "You think he's the Emperor."

        The Viltrumite blinked then shook his head. "They told me you might do that." He sighed and floated over the railing, going to press a few buttons set into the wall. "I'll call the real one over to pick you up right away."

        "Stop." Your powers bounced off him, a pure blooded Viltrum soldier, well over three-hundred years in age. You struggled to control Gray, no older than twenty-two. You didn't stand a chance.

        He did. Fingers poised over the call button. "Mmm, you're right he's in a meeting, it'd be better if I brought you to him." He reached out for you, slow as not to startle a rabbit. You were still the Emperor's pet, he couldn't have you screaming and thrashing about. 

        Phantom's prosthetics made his muscles seize and jump, electric with pain but he still reached out to attempt to catch the man's arm with his new robotic hand. Before the white metal made contact, he went utterly still, the servos locking up, before a bolt of agony was shot right into his nervous system. Liquid lighting hot, electricity. He crumpled to the ground, letting out a torn scream.

        "They didn't tell you?" The Viltrumite scientist said. "If you exceed three-hundred miles an hour and Viltrumite DNA other than your own is detected within a few feet, you get a controlled shock." Or in simple terms, he couldn't attack other Viltrumites. Mohawk had flagged him as a risk, had the Martians set him up on an older model of prosthetics that could be tampered with, hence its non-sleek design. "I still don't how that's going to apply to the Emperor, if you're stupid enough to try attacking him at all, but I'm sure those lab rats figured it out. As for you-" He reached out while you were stunned, staring at Phantom on the ground, still convulsing. 

        The door behind you slid open. "We can take care of them." 

        Gray and Markus stood in the doorway. Finally having found you minutes after the meeting ended- off track as it'd gotten after you left with most of the Marks trying to leave to follow. Lucan had to force Lensless to sit back down, shut up. It took threats from Mohawk to get the room in order.

        Mohawk returned to his rooms, angry but a little contented in knowing you could be reasoned with, as proven by Markus. But you weren't there. He'd rushed to Markus's room thinking him a liar. Thinking he was trying to keep you to himself, but you weren't there either and Markus insisted you'd been in the Emperor's room. So began a quiet, panicked search for you where Gray and Seb were added to the party along the way. Scars and Lensless weren't a consideration, not with their tails or whatever ideas they'd get knowing you were alone.

        It was Gray who thought to check the cameras. They all chose a level to search through while flipping through the camera feeds on data pad displays. Gray found you, Markus saw him on the way and followed. Now they were here, witnessing whatever this was. 

        The Viltrumite paused, "You sure?"

        "I won't mention you in my report to the Emperor." Gray said flatly, you knew it was him because he had somehow found the same model uniform he wore in the desert. His voice became a little less rigid when he turned to you, "Come, he wishes to speak to you."

        You stayed in place, bristling with the memory of the meeting. He too was complacent, pretended like he didn't see. "Fuck you both."

        Markus wore disappointment on his hard-set face, but said nothing to you. He simply grabbed Phantom from the floor and said to Gray, "I'll return him to where he needs to be. I'll meet back up with you." He needed to cool off, to get ahold of his head so he didn't look a fool in front of another Viltrumite. He gave you one last stern look before he was out the door. 

        Gray waited for you to follow but you didn’t. "I'm not talking to that asshole."

        It pained him to see you upset, it really did, but at the end of the day you were just a human who didn't know any better. A cornered animal who was lashing out, he found it endearing, but knew the others would not. His eyes flickered to the Viltrumite scientist who was watching the exchange closely, Gray had known this man vaguely in his world. He was high ranking and ruthless, the overseer of a large group of slaves. He would not be endeared to your nature, would see your resistance as a need to break your will. He kept his breathing level and looked back to you, willing you to cooperate, to know he had to play his role. 

        "How difficult do you want this to be?" He said flatly. 

        Your head jerked back like he had slapped you, surprise at his tone evident. He stayed level as you stared at him, remembering what he was. From his boots floating off the ground to the way his body was held taught under his Viltrum uniform, he was a soldier with an order from his Emperor. He could make you go. Make you shut up but he was giving you a choice. 

        "I thought we were friends." Or something more, mixing romance into this only made the sting worse. 

        "There are no such things as friends on Viltrum," Though inside, he was felt a rush of warmth at the declaration. He'd have to ask later but for now, he had to put on a cold front and you- you needed to be corrected, not coddled, despite the primal urge he felt to hold you. "Come." Gray inched back into the hallway, eyes hard set on you. You had seconds to follow or else. 

        Miserable, you followed him.

        The walk back was shorter than you'd liked. Gray had been on the ship the same amount of time as you but he knew just what turns to take. You tried dragging your feet, making conversations to slow him down but he caught on every time. Chided you sternly that one more squeak of your heel and he'd be forced to carry you to the Emperor. 

        Mohawk was on the observation deck. Gray stopped a bit away from the bottom of the stairs, wanting to stop whatever was going to happen. Your behavior had been dangerous and foolish, but he knew you didn't know what the Empire was capable of. He had taught multiple races what Viltrumites were capable of, and he was worried Mohawk would do the same. You stopped beside him still scowling but he could see the fear in the set of your body, hear your heart pounding.

        He was quiet, he didn't know what to say, he wanted to protect his mate, but like the version of you before, he couldn't defy the Empire, he had already made too many exceptions. You looked to the stairs while he considered, "Is he up there?"

        Gray nodded solemnly, "Yes, he's quite upset."

        You bristled, he had said the wrong thing again. "He's upset? Poor little Emperor. You're not upset about what he was doing? You kicked his ass just for touching me in the desert."

        He had been upset, had been upset everytime you chose to be with one of the others, but he respected that your situation was unique. But you hadn't chosen this situation and his anger had been shoved down just like it always had to be. He wanted to tell you everything, had from the moment he came inside you, from the moment you became his in his mind. But he knew there were cameras, had been hyper aware of them as a new recruit with his father. They had been an unconventional family by Viltrumite standards, and he had learned quickly to hide that on battle ships. Had learned even earlier to hide it in front of other Viltrumites. He didn't want to hide anything from you. But now wasn't the time or place to share. 

        "I'm in no place here to be upset, I can only follow orders. Your safety here relies on your ability to do the same."

        You scoffed, "Fuck you Gray, seriously. You guys keep acting like there's nothing you can do but there has to be something!"

        He looked at you, trying to communicate with only his eyes that he was helpless, had always been despite his desires to protect you. He reached his hand out to yours, a gesture his mother had always done to show sincerity, to show love. You batted him away, so he spoke instead, "There are Viltrumites here older than your planet's recorded history, and they obey the Emperor. You shouldn't upset him."

        You said nothing, only watched him with that same sour expression on your face. She had never looked at him so defiantly, only with fear, and he thought he would prefer that now. You were asking for punishment, for correction and it scared him. 

        "We shouldn't keep him waiting." 

        You turned to the stairs without him and began to climb silently. He followed behind.

        The chair you had sat in before was tucked away under the floor, Mohawk's back to you both as he watched space bend around the ship's window. He had been standing there stiffly a long time, letting the dread brew in you. He didn't turn, instead listening to the quickening of your heartbeat when you saw him. Gray had sent him a ping when he found you so he came here to wait, watching your dower approach on a screen embedded into the wrist of his suit.

        Gray lingered as you reached the deck. He should have left, he could feel Mohawk's murderous rage thick in the air. He spoke despite it, "Be patient with her, she is only human."

        Patience for lesser species didn't exist in the empire, it barely existed for other Viltrumites. Mohawk could feel how terrified he was for you. How attached. 

        "Leave." Was all Mohawk said, voice rife with impatience. Gray gave you the best sympathetic look he could, which read more constipated than anything, and left, though not fully. He hovered quietly at the bottom of the stairs, close enough he would be able to hear, maybe step in. Despite what he had told you, he wouldn't be able to stand by if the Emperor hurt you. He wasn't sure what he would do if anything happened, but he couldn't leave you. 

        The stairs were unguarded but you knew if you tried running things would be worse. You were frozen in place, terrified, angry and deeply lonely because nobody had been a friend to you today. It was just like you were back with Machine Head all over again, just a cog.

        "I care about you so much." Was not the opener Mohawk had planned but there it was, echoing off the walls. "I think about you all of the time. I wonder how I can make your life worth living. I knew her for years, I did it for her but not good enough. All I'm asking is you give me time to get to know you. I want to make you happy."

        It was sweet, the most genuine thing he had said to you, but you couldn't forget why he was angry at you in the first place. All at once your anger overrides your fear and you snapped, "You dry humped me in front of your council."

        He huffed a laugh, "And you directly disobeyed me. We're even now. I'll forgive you if you forgive me. I think we make a lot of sense. We're both angry people, we both care harder than we should about things we shouldn't. We can be good together, (Y/n)."

        The more he talked like this, the angrier you were. "I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your Barbie doll. I'm not like you at all." That last part was a lie, you both knew it. "You love me so much? Then let me go cuz this?" He watched in the glass reflection as you pointed between you both, "Isn't fucking happening, you freak."

        He sighed, turned on the heels of his boots and faced you, forcing his expression into indifference. Under his clothes, his muscles twitched and flexed with the urge to hit something.

        "You know," his voice slipped into a menacing quiet as he took slow step after slow step towards you, "She never said rude shit like this to me and I still killed her. She listened better than you too. You should watch what you say to me." He hadn't wanted to steer the conversation this way. Really, he had wanted you to break down crying, to apologize for being so ungrateful. He'd have forgiven you, fucked you till you were numb and dumb. But he knew that probably wouldn't happen, that was why he came prepared.

        You were scared. Mohawk could see it all over your face but still you pushed. "Kill me then. I bet it'll work out sooooo well for you." You both knew his plans for the empire would crumble without you to keep the other Marks satiated. 

        Mohawk's mask of indifference cracked down the center. "Would you stop complaining then?"

        "Yeah, I'd be dead."

        His brow twitched. "You really don't know when to stop."

        "Neither do you." Words fall to the floor and there is silence. Neither of you move, it was a western standoff at not-quite high noon. You couldn't take it, his scrutiny. You just wanted this to be over. "Don't do that ever try and fuck me in f-"

        Mohawk was all you could see, right in front of you, hand hard on your throat. Crushing the words before they could come out. "Don't tell me what to do." His eyes were dark, flashing feral, but all you could focus on was the pressure in your head. So fast and absolute you thought he was going to crush your windpipe right there. "I didn't want to do this but you just had to be a bitch." You actually were going to die and you couldn't even beg for your life.

        Something cold was slapped around your throat. Encompassing it, replacing Mohawk's hand before it was shut tight. You gasped in air, gagging, pulling at the thing as Mohawk stepped back. Finished. The labs had a short turnaround with the design process but they'd made it work. Especially with the cute metal heart in the black center of the collar. 

        Your heart was racing. You didn't know why he was just standing there watching. You wanted to run, but you knew you wouldn't make it. You settled for trying to tear the thing clasped around your neck off. It had some give, sides occasionally dotted with cool, rounded metal. You scrambled for a back clasp but there wasn't one. You felt around with shaking hands for anything to take it off but whatever you tried did nothing. 

        "What is this!?" You couldn't keep the panic out of your voice. You didn't know what it meant, but the cool metal touching your neck set off memories of prison, of being helpless and afraid. 

        "A collar," he said, smiling meanly, "because you act like such a bitch."

        "Are you serious? Take this off m-" You couldn't scream because you couldn't breathe. The electricity that shot into your neck made all of your muscles seize at once, your nerves screaming at each other. It was worse than being shot, stabbed, gutted. It was fire all over, under the skin, in your bones. You didn't know you'd fallen to the floor until it stopped, the aftershocks rippling through your twitching muscles. 

        Your vision pulsed around your hands splayed on the floor, framing a pool of spit that still leaked out your lips. It took multiple attempts to make your neck work the way you want it to, to look up at Mohawk who looked deeply content. "I forgot to mention, it's a shock collar. From now on, anytime you use your powers at all, that'll happen."

        You opened drool-slick lips to tell him to die but you couldn't talk, muscles jumping, heart pounding in your ears.

        "Ah, shit, maybe I should turn it down a little." He tapped at a screen set on his wrist. "Okay, now try." You didn't, could barely process the command. "Fine, disobey me, I bet that'll go so well for you! Lemme just try the remote control." The pain was back again. It didn't matter that it was lessened when your body was already so abused. When you returned to yourself, you were laid twitching on your side, tears being forced out of your eyes. "How was that? Still feeling like an asshole?"

        Through the erratic twist and pull of your muscles your hands shot up and tried to pull the collar off. He smiled, "Oh baby, no one can take that off but me. You're stuck with it until you learn how to behave."

        You didn't stop pulling couldn't stop even as the panic ebbed away. You were trapped again, going to be worn down to an empty husk once again. The tears weren't forced anymore. 

[interruptedtrance]

Papaya rules (lando x reader x oscar)

Smut; 18+

contains: exhibition, voyeurism, anal, threesome, butt plug, calling lando and oscar daddy and sir, calling you princess, female body anatomy, she her pronouns

rough sex after the hungary gp

masterlist

the deal in your relationship was whoever wins gets to do whatever they like, today oscar won. 

opening the front door, lando is met with your whiny moans. of course you two are already celebrating oscar’s win, it’s like you have forgotten all about his existence. not wanting to disturb you two he  makes his way to the living room silently praying you two can’t be heard from there. 

mustering up all his strength, he plops himself into the soft sopha and tries tuning out all the noises. hearing you whine to oscar about lando’s lack of presence makes him sit up straight with his heart skipping a beat, so they finally remember me, lando thinks to himself, making his way to the bedroom with a hasty step, almost taking the door off its hinges from how hard he has slammed it open, making both you and oscar jump a bit. 

there you two are, in the middle of your guy’s fluffy bed, oscar with his back leaning against the headboard and you with your legs wrapped around his waist and arms wrapped around his neck, all flustered and red in the face. 

“lando! come and join us” you say quickly

“yes princess”, lando grins, “i see you are waring your toy today, it looks nice in your ass” he praises with a slight smirk.

“thank you daddy, but my ass would look nicer stuffed with your cock” you say as innocently as you can, you know your plan has worked when you feel oscar twitch inside you, and hear lando’s sharp inhale.

“princess, do you think you are ready?” oscar asks, moving his hands from your ass to your waist showing a bit of concern and hesitancy in his eyes.

“i think i am sir”, “please daddy, can we try” shyly you ask, giving lando puppy eyes.

“okay, let’s try” lando says confidently walking over to the nightstand pulling out lube and sitting down on the bed, “come oscar, let them off for a second”

“or we can do this while princess here is sitting on me” oscar said it more as a command than a suggestion, “i mean her tight pussy feels too good to even go a second without it”

“fine, are you alright with that princess?” he asks giving you the most concerned look ever.

“i am, just please go slow” you whisper, tucking your face into oscar’s chest, with him moving his hands up to your back as an extra piece of comfort.

“i will, i promise” and so lando began prepping you, slowly taking out the plug, you moan at the sudden empty feeling, which is soon replaced by one of his lubed up fingers entering you, whining again into oscar’s neck gets you reworded with a kiss from him to the side of the head, and praise form lando with more promise he will go slow, and he does. 

he moves his finger in and out of you, curling it a bit as he enters you again, once oscar feels you relax in his arms he gives a little nod of go ahead to lando to add another finger. with a little shudder coming from you, and even more praise from the guys, lando maneges to put in a second finger, he continues the slow repetitive motion of moving his fingers in and out and slightly curling them while he gets you all comfortable for him.

“please daddy, can i have your cock now?” you ask almost fucked out of your mind “i need you, i might cum soon”

“yes princess let me adjust first” and so he takes his hand away, sits down, legs following yours and going over oscars, gently he places both of his hands against your waist alongside oscar’s and lifts you just a tiny bit, so he can adjust his now very well lubed up cock against your hole, “ready?” he asks worry still lacing his voice

“yes daddy” you say determined, and so lando lowers you back down, where in your pussy you are filled by oscar and in your ass by lando, “yes, thank you daddy, thank you sir” you moan out in pure bliss, with a slight pant in your voice you tell them to move. 

they start moving in sync, slowly and slowly pace growing faster and harder, especially when both can feel the other move inside you, urging each other to hit the perfect spot inside you, with each thrust from them your body feels more lip, especially now that your head is supported by oscar’s shoulder and you're just a moaning mess, no coherent words can be pulled from you. 

“princess, are you close? i can feel you tightening around me” oscars says, nicely moving his head so he can get a glimpse of your expression.

“yes sir, please don’t stop” you say no louder than a whisper.

“don’t worry princess we won’t” lando says sincerely, “cum when you have to, i know you are our good girl just waiting for permission”

“thank you daddy” before you are able to finish your sentence you release around oscar, the tightening around him makes him release with your orgasm, and lando hearing oscar groan from pleasure with a final thrust releases in you. 

“let me go get a towel” lando says, removing himself swiftly from the mess of limbs all you have become now. with a little whine you look at oscar, it’s like he can read your mind. before lando returns to the bedroom from the on suite bathroom, oscar picks you up in his arms, slowly sliding out of you and carefully making his way over to where lando is. he gently places you down on the countertop, and lets you go with one final kiss on your lips. he makes his way to the bath, letting it fill with water and bubbles from the soap he has put in, until the bath is full you three share small short intimate kisses.

“come, the bath is full” lando says between kisses, picking you up in his arms he makes his way to the bath, letting oscar go in first so he can gently lower you into his arms, and lay your back against his chest, with a final kiss to your forehead he joins the bath behind oscar.

[backwzzds]

Toji getting out jail and showing us some appreciation 🙈🙈

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ daddy’s home, toji fushiguro (nsfw)

omg bc prison bf!toji would be something interesting.

the story would be that before prison, toji was the ORIGINAL scammer. all these mfs his sons forreal. of course with being a hired professional hitman, it came with its financial perks, all of which he’d used to spoil his pretty little princess.

you lived comfortably well. you’d known toji since he was just a bum scrounging for any type of work, so you actually got to see the come up frfr. though you’ve always loved him from the start (even when he was broke), he was nearly 10 years older than you. just in your early twenties, you always told him—you did not deserve any type of struggle love. and a struggle life toji lived indeed. you assured him that if he was really about you the way he always swore he was—he’d do whatever he could to support for you.

and support for you he did!

it wasn’t anything about being a gold digger—you just had standards. toji chased after you for years and you loved it—but you knew you deserved better when he couldn’t even take care of himself. by the graces of whoever allowed him to stumble upon a secret job that could land him 1 mil cash—500 upfront as a deposit and the rest later—toji was yours the moment he proved to you he could take care of you indefinitely.

ass ironic as this sounds, he was actually arrested on false charges. the nature of the charges were true on everything—but the actual person they were accusing him of executing and murdering, he simply did not do. the courts didn’t care though, they just needed someone to hang for it and make an example out of them. that led to toji being sentenced to life in prison.

but thanks to his crooked ass lawyer, the piece of shit was out in 6 years.

you nervously tapped your acrylic nails on the pink wrap of your car as you leaned against the passenger side of the door. it seemed as if today was release day for a few other prisoners, seeing as a group of men walked out with plastic bags, all while staring you down. your arms remained crossed over your fat tits barely being able to breathe in the baby tee you wore to accompany your long flowy skirt as you awaited for your own man to re-enter the world again.

the minute another person leaves the building, your eyes meet with the familiar man’s. it was almost as if your energy was instantly drawn to his, because you immediately recognized him off the bat. toji is blown away by your beauty. you were always fine, but damn, watching you outside of a bulletproof plexi glass was top tier when he finally got to see your fuller ass and pudgy stomach in person again.

the second he’s in your vicinity again, instead of doing the normal thing like hugging him—you slapped the shit out of him.

“ow’!” toji groans. “fuck was that for?!” the old man rubs the spot you hit him in, giving you a fearful look. toji didn’t fear anyone or anything, but you had to be at the top of that list, especially when you were upset.

you give him a knowing look with your hands on your hips. toji rolls his eyes and grips your waist, “tch, i told ya i didn’t do that shit!” he groaned, referencing the one crime he was actually innocent for. “but with all the trouble that dead bastard put me through, wish it was me.”

you mirror his previous actions and do a double take in his physique. you weren’t the only one who got finer. toji’s waist got smaller—probably from starving himself like you told the fucker not to—but his build was more muscular, yet lean. he had an unimaginable number of new tattoos hidden under his normal clothes, and you couldn’t even think about what more laid hidden beneath his thick jeans.

toji fully notices your gawking eyes and gives you a cocky smirk with the scar on his lip fully rising. “miss me mama?” a smile can’t help but form on your own lips as you embrace him in a tight hug. not feeling the love enough, toji wraps his arms underneath you, fully lifting you from the ground. with your legs now around his waist, you were finally face to face with the man of your life.

toji leans into you and pecks your lip ever so lightly. with the sun in his view, he still got the best look of just how perfect you really were. “i missed ya,” he says so low, you barely catch it. “missed ya so much. went crazy dozens of times from you not being with me.”

it was strange for toji to be so vulnerable. but his time under made him realize just how ungrateful he really was for all the great things in his life. how ungrateful he really was for you. he vowed that when he did get out—if ever—he wouldn’t waste a minute without reminding you how he felt about his little girl.

with a proud smile on your face, you run your manicured thumb over the callous of his aging skin. you kiss the small scars there and then his lips. snuggling your head in his neck, you whisper, “let’s go home daddy.”

and that was how you ended up here, face down and ass up into your own mattress.

“you gonna tell daddy you missed him yet?” toji grunted while thrusting in and out of you. the ripples of your fat ass had him in a trance. “been almost seven years since i been in this pretty pussy’a yours. think i deserve at least that, baby.”

you whine into your pillow, drool pooling from the sides of your mouth. you wanted to play stubborn; let toji know that if he ever went to jail for something so stupid again, he wasn’t gonna see you or your pussy he loved so much.

your silence results in a hard slap to your ass. “ahh!” you yelp out, leaning forward into your white duvet. with another harsh smack and then the smooth rubbing of his large hand, toji smirked at the reddening imprint forming on the terrain of your pretty brown ass. “this ain’t about you!” you can’t help but seethe out to his previous statement. your voice is muffled by the fluff of your pillow, “i suffered these last seven years. not you.”

toji slows in his movements. you were so right. he knew how much you longed for him. your big hunky man that walked the streets with you 24/7 was no longer by your side to protect you like he usually did. he left you open. he left you vulnerable. though he’s had his people, geto and gojo watching over you, it wasn’t enough, you constantly slept in fear. you walked in fear. you lived in fear.

you didn’t know why, but suddenly all the emotion you felt in the past seven years came flooding to you. tears flowed from your eyes and you were crying. but from the pulsing grip your pussy had around his dick, toji knew you wanted more.

“look at me,” toji’s voice is muffled. when you made no effort to move, too ashamed to rven be crying at a time like this, toji pulls out of you and softly grabs you by the hips, turning you over so that your back was no against the mattress and you were facing him.

swiftly, the older man slides back into you, but this time moves inside you with more care. toji’s body is so close to yours, your hard nipples are brushing against his own with every thrust he makes.

“‘m sorry,” toji whispers with every rut into you. “daddy’s so sorry baby. didn’t mean to abandon you the way i did.” you could hear the genuineness in his tone as he stops fucking you, but begins to make love to you. “can’t imagine how scared you must’a been these past few years. haven’t been taking care of you the way i promised all those years ago.”

more tears flow from your eyes as toji brings you to your building orgasm slowly. “know you can’t forgive me for being so stupid ‘n careless now. ‘s gonna take some time. i know that. but jus’ lemme in again mama. let daddy back into your heart ‘n i promise i’ll take acre of you again.”

“daddy,” you sob. “‘m close,” is the only words that could leave your mouth. “don’t leave me, please. ‘m so close.” you were begging to cum, but deep down toji knew you were also begging him to stay.

toji brings his hand down to your pretty pussy and rubs at your clit as his lips engulf in yours. with just a few touches, you were creaming over his fingers and crying into his mouth.

“never gonna leave you again, mama. daddy’s home now.”

[callme-holly]

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐃.𝐖

||۶ৎ reader is on her period, aching and exhausted, and dallas, for all his tough exterior, promises to stay right beside her, providing all the comfort he can muster

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

The low hum of your record player fills the silence that has built up in your bedroom, drowning out your occasional pained sounds and the rustle of sheets as you shift, a futile attempt to get comfortable.

The cotton is wrapped around you like armour, shielding you from the chill waiting to bite, the heating pack on your stomach doing very little to soothe the dull ache in your lower stomach. In fact, the throbbing only seems to be getting worse. 

Your limbs are heavy, hands strangely shaky due to lack of food and sugar, but you can't bring yourself to eat anything. Not until your stomach stops rolling like waves during a storm. You’re not sure you’d keep food down even if you tried.

You feel gross and sweaty, one of Dally’s old shirts draped over your trembling frame like a pillowcase on a baby, far too large in a way that swamps you. The collar is stretched and frayed, and the lingering scent of smoke clings to the fabric like a stain. 

A faint knock sounds at your door, pulling you from the edges of sleep you’d been gradually approaching, the need for rest fuelling your instinct to ignore whoever is there. You pretend not to hear, burrowing further into the warmth of your bed. The tapping comes again, and just as you're about to call out and state you’re not in the mood for company, the hinges squeal, and they enter anyway.

The sound of boots on hardwood cuts through the peace, freezing the second the intruder takes in your pale, sickly appearance, the way you clutch your stomach like it’s trying to murder you. You’re far too quiet.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to flake.” Dallas grunts, crossing his arms as he watches you. He’s referring to school, of course–you hadn’t bothered going in, not able to bring yourself to drag your feet through the halls and try and survive. 

You hadn’t told him, leaving him waiting for you in the parking lot until the final strays dribbled from the building like droplets from a dried-up stream. 

“Not in the mood, Dal.” You sound weak and tired, exhaustion lacing every word. It’s abnormal, unsettling in a way that makes him frown. 

“You didn’t answer my calls. Thought maybe you’d skipped town.” He’s quiet for a few seconds before adding, “You look like hell, sweetheart.” 

His eyes rake over your form, finally landing on the heat pad and the abundance of painkillers beside you. The realisation seems to dawn on him slowly, and his eyes widen. “Oh… It’s that time, huh?” 

You nod slowly, unable to be mad about his tone. “I’m fine. You didn’t have to come.” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, and you watch through lidded eyes as he kicks off his boots and shrugs off his jacket. “Yeah, right.” He grumbles. “Move over.” 

You do it begrudgingly, whining at the pull in your lower abdomen. The mattress dips as he settles beside you, slipping under the blankets and exhaling. 

“Jesus, doll. It’s damn hot under here…” 

“It’s the heat pad, stupid. That’s its job.” 

He merely hums in response, knowing any smart remark would earn a sharper one from you. He would prefer to stay then be kicked out. 

“Why didn’t you call earlier?” He grumbles, arm winding around your middle, applying a firm pressure to your stomach that makes you sigh in relief. His hands are warm and welcome, like heaven against the throbbing. “You think I’d laugh or somethin’?” 

“Didn’t want you to think I’m gross.” It comes out akin to a whine, and you tuck your face into his chest in an attempt to hide the flush blossoming across your cheeks. 

He’s silent for a few moments, long enough to spark anxiety within you, and just as you’re about to peek up, he laughs. Low, humorous.

“Doll, I’ve seen men bleedin’ out in alleys. You crampin’ ain’t nothin’.” 

“Feels like I’m bleeding out.” You mutter and that makes him grimace. Still, his hand doesn't stop rubbing your stomach, slow and sure, grounding in a way he only ever is with you. Alone. 

“Feel like crap. Look like crap. I’m bloated and sweaty.” You carry on in a stream of derogatory words that Dallas can’t quite make out as they’re muffled against his shirt. Either way, he doesn’t like them.

“Hey”, He brushes back a strand of damp hair from your forehead, tipping your chin up so your eyes meet his own pale blues. “You’re my girl, yeah? Even when you’re pale and pissed off.” 

It’s so incredibly tender and out of character, so much so that it makes you crack a smile, your lips twitching slightly. “You’re a sap, Dallas Winston.” 

“Nah,” he shakes his head, shifting so you’re more comfortable. “Just… Don’t want to get slapped for talking’ wrong.”

The laugh that you let out is genuine, making you wince slightly as it pulls at your tender muscles. It’s a sharp pain, one that makes your breath hitch and your smile drop just as fast as it had shown. 

Dallas’ brows furrow, concern flashing in his eyes and he swallows thickly. “You takin’ anything for this?” The words come out sharp, the same way they do when he’s confronting someone who looked at you wrong, a dangerous blend of protective and defensive. 

“Couple pain killers.” You sigh, reaching to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his skin lightly. “It’s only cramps. I’ll deal.” 

“Don’t mean it doesn’t suck.” His eyes are soft and gentle, and he leans into your touch like a puppy craving attention. It’s a rare act, one he only does subconsciously, and you decide not to point it out for the sake of prolonging the moment. 

Silence comes over you both, settling like a blanket over the room; it’s not uncomfortable, just a gap in conversation, neither of you knowing how to fill it. The song has long since changed, the record player clicking on occasion, birds chirping their own tune outside. 

“You don't have to stay, you know. Bet you have better things to do.” 

Dallas scoffs, shaking his head and drawing you even closer, like the mere thought of leaving you alone is ridiculous. “Yeah? Name one thing, then lyin’ in bed with my girl while she’s wrapped up in my shirt, aching and complaining.” His smirk fades into something a little more serious, and he leans closer, lips brushing yours faintly. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. So don’t even try it, baby.” 

You sigh softly, closing the distance to press a featherlight kiss to his lips, filled with all the thanks you could never say. That he’d never let you say. “Sorry you have to deal with me being weak.” 

“You ain’t weak,” he whispers, forehead against yours, blonde strands soft under your fingers. “Hurtin’ doesn't make you weak. Just means you're alive."

You pause, letting the weight of the words sink in before you chuckle again. "Do you ever say anything that's not weirdly profound or terrifying, Dal?” 

He rolls his eyes, dropping one final kiss to your jaw before settling back against your pillow. “Just sleep, doll. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

“Promise?” 

He holds up his pinky finger, interlocking it with yours, a gesture he’s learnt means more to you than words ever will. “Cross my heart.” 

||۶ৎ dallas masterlist

||۶ৎ tag list. @mrsdillonx , @goingdelux18 , @princesshailierawr , @r0seb100d , @groovydonutpost, @rizzraa , @sheepandlams , @marinefreaakk , @sugarrootwrites , @marilyn-girly , @itonlyhastobetruetoday , @dairyfairyy , @williamafton26 , @mystiqueonfleek007 , @atpeacee

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