[glorestarz]

Can you write about Naoya and a top male reader who’s a lot bigger than him? Who’s also obsessed with with forced feminizing Naoya as he worships him. Think a breeding think.

enter— naoya zenin !!

status: edited + not proofread (ts too long)

synopsis: the domestication of naoya zenin.

word count: 7k

cw: porn WITH plot, naoya lives AU, AMAB reader, top!reader, brat tamer!reader, muscular reader, implied widow reader, sub!naoya, brat!naoya, face-slapping, dubious consent, forced feminization, anal fingering, loss of anal virginity, belly bulge, breeding kink, mating press, creampie, lowk fluffy at the end

note: anon, i might owe you an apology because i wrote this in a sweaty stupor and might not have achieved what you are looking for. 🙂‍↕️ i put pen to paper and shit just flew out. either way, i hope you enjoy my word vomit. ♥︎

you wake before dawn, as always, expecting a quiet morning and the familiar routine of tending your fields. but as you cross the furrows, boots squelching in the dew-soaked earth, you spot something unnatural among the neat rows of young rice. something that shouldn’t be there.

it’s a man, sprawled face-down in the mud, his once-white shirt ruined, fabric torn and soaked through with dark streaks of blood. his fingers dig into the earth, nails cracked and black with dirt, one arm trembling as he tries to pull himself forward. up close, the details are almost too much to take in: blood streaks his scalp, matting down hair that might once have been glossy and proud; dirt cakes his skin in thick layers, hiding bruises that blossom purple and yellow beneath. the left half of his face is a ruined landscape, swollen and filthy, the flesh puckered around a ragged, blood-crusted scar where his eye should be. even in collapse, there’s a harshness in his posture, a stubborn refusal to be helpless, his shoulders squared, jaw set, as if he could hold himself together through sheer will, even as his body betrays him and sinks deeper into the mud.

he blinks up at you with his right eye, the blue cutting through the grime, sharp even now—a glower composed of pain, pride, and something on the verge of breaking. his jaw works as if he wants to speak, but only a guttural sound comes out, a wordless growl, more animal than human. he tries to push himself upright, muscles trembling violently, but his body is a mutinous, aching cage; his arms buckle, and he sags back, breath rattling. the stubbornness flickers in the hollow of his cheeks, in the way his good eye refuses to look away from yours, even as defeat and humiliation threaten to swallow him whole. everything about this encounter is wrong, as if fate itself is pressing him into the mud to see how much he can withstand before he cracks, testing the limits of his pride and endurance, and finding them wanting.

you don’t know who he is, not yet. all you see is a man on death’s doorstep, and that is enough to set your course. you kneel beside him, the mud soaking through your trousers, and try to lift him. he’s heavier than you expect—solid muscle gone slack with exhaustion, but every inch of him tense with resistance. as you haul him over your shoulder, mud and blood smear across your chest, the iron tang sharp in your nose. he stiffens at the contact, a shudder running through his battered frame, but the fight is out of him; he’s too weak to protest, his dignity stripped away with every step you take toward the farmhouse. each footfall is awkward, your arms straining to keep him balanced, but you grit your teeth, determined not to let him fall again.

inside, you lay him out on the old wooden table, its surface a graveyard of knife scars and water rings, stained darker in places by years of spilled broth and medicine. the smell of camphor and old rice straw lingers in the air, mixed with the sharper tang of sweat and blood. the light is dim, a single bulb humming overhead, flickering every so often as moths batter themselves against the glass. you work quickly, setting out your supplies: boiled water in a chipped metal basin, bandages torn from old petticoats, the blunt needles of your grandmother’s sewing kit, and a battered tin of ointment that smells of herbs and whiskey. each tool is familiar, but tonight their weight feels different, heavier somehow, when pressed into service for a stranger who looks more corpse than man. you hope it doesn’t bite you in the ass later.

naoya’s breaths are shallow and furious as you clean the mud from his face, each exhale hot and sharp with indignation and pain. the mud is caked into every crease of his skin, clinging stubbornly even as you work at it with careful, practiced motions. you wince at the carnage where his left eye should be—a gaping, angry wound rimmed with infection, the flesh puckered and raw. your hands are steady, practiced from years of mending broken things—fences, animals, yourself—but there is a tremor in your chest as you peel away the filthy bandage, the stench of rot and blood filling the cramped kitchen. he flinches, jaw clenched so tight the muscles jump beneath your fingers, as you douse the wound in water, scrubbing gently to clear away the worst of the grime, then stitch it closed with thread that smells faintly of mothballs and old perfume. the needle bites deep, drawing fresh blood, and you murmur apologies which he doesn’t bat his one eye at, your voice low and soothing even as he trembles with humiliation and agony. he doesn’t bother to tell you how he got like this, and you didn’t bother to ask.

he is silent, but every muscle in his body is coiled, vibrating with humiliation and resentment from just hours before, reduced to this. the heir of the zenin clan, reduced to a broken animal on your kitchen table, enduring the indignity of your care. even your touch—a farmer’s touch, practical and impersonal—is a reminder of how much he’s lost. when you finish, he’s slick with sweat, his jaw locked tight, but the bleeding has stopped. resentment lingers on his face, mingling with exhaustion and the dull, animal pain of survival.

you patch up the rest of his wounds—bruised ribs, a split lip, cuts up and down his arms. he smells of smoke and death, blood and something unfamiliar, like foreign incense. you dab ointment onto his cuts with a rag that still holds the faint scent of lavender from its past life as a woman’s handkerchief. each touch makes him tense, a silent fury in his jaw. naoya zenin, heir to a clan that worshipped power and perfection, is reduced to this: stitched up in a peasant’s kitchen, the legacy of his name meaningless among the mismatched, hand-me-down supplies. he’s used to crisp uniforms, servants who bowed their heads and never made him wait, the quiet terror his name commanded in every room. here, nothing is as it was—no sliding doors or lacquered floors, no disciplined silence, just the chirr of cicadas and the soft thud of your boots on the packed earth. the indignity festers in him with every ointment dab, every reminder that he is no longer feared. you realize with a chill that whatever happened to him was no accident, and that the prideful, bitter man before you is clinging to shards of a shattered legacy.

he sleeps for hours, barely stirring even as you check on him. only when the sun is high and the air thick with the scent of turned earth does he finally open his eye and fix you with a look that’s both wary and arrogant.

"name’s naoya. naoya zenin," he says, as if that name alone could part the clouds and command obedience. there’s a glitter of self-satisfaction in his eye—he’s certain you’ll recognize the name, that you’ll be grateful just to be in his presence. the bratty lilt in his voice is unmistakable, expecting you to flinch or bow for some reason. unfortunately for him, you don’t.

he waits for recognition, some flicker of awe, or fear, or the deference he’s been fed since childhood, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. you only nod and offer him a chipped bowl of rice and a cup of lukewarm water. his frown deepens, a shadow crossing his face as the realization settles in: here, his name means nothing, and his old tricks fall flat. the silence is thick and suffocating, filled with things neither of you will say. he expects reverence, or at least curiosity, but receives only the blank patience of someone who has long ago learned how to outlast storms. he blinks at you.

"eat or starve. it makes no difference to me." you turn away, your back a silent rebuke. he glares, but when he finally picks up the food, his hands shake. the sound of his eating is small, almost animal—half-starved, half-defiant. you tend to your chores.

it’s only later, when you catch the whispers in town and see the headlines at the corner store—zenin clan massacred, no survivors found—that you realize who’s sleeping under your roof. the last scion of an esteemed clan, broken and half-blind, clinging to life in your room. that night, you keep an eye on his as he sleeps, curled on his side with a thin blanket pulled tight around his shoulders, shivering even in the stuffy dark.

days blend into weeks as you settle into an uneasy routine, each day blurring into the next with the monotony of your work. you wake before dawn, slipping from the house to tend the fields—your hands raw, your back aching from the labor. naoya sleeps late at first, his body demanding rest to heal, the bed that was once yours now given over to him. even then, he complains about how rock solid it is. for now, you sleep on a folded blanket by the stove, the night air biting at your back. he never thanks you, but sometimes you catch him glancing at the empty space beside him when he thinks you aren’t looking. the hours crawl by in a pattern of work, silence, and strained proximity.

it’s impossible not to notice how out of place naoya seems in every aspect of country life. he holds his chopsticks too delicately, as if expecting someone to serve him, and when he eats, he sometimes turns his head just so, as if hoping to catch his own reflection and reassure himself he still looks good doing it. his hands, though roughened now by weeks of toil, retain a certain fineness—long fingers that once knew only calligraphy brushes and lacquered fans, not hoes and heavy buckets. the first time you handed him a shovel to finally pull his weight after all of this time, he gripped it all wrong, recoiling at the blisters it raised, then spent an hour examining his palms for damage, muttering about how he was never meant for such menial labor. he winces at chipped bowls, sneers at rough linens, and whenever he thinks you’re not watching, you catch him examining his reflection in the cloudy window, fussing with his hair, as if searching for the handsome face he once wore and mourning every small imperfection. even the way he walks, back straight, head held high—marks him as someone raised in a world you had no access to. he knows this and seemingly can’t help but make it your problem one way or another.

his complaints about the food are endless, he struggles with the knots on his borrowed apron, the way he scowls at the uneven floorboards, the way he fumbles with the pump handle at the well, muttering curses under his breath. he doesn’t even know how to mend a tear or light a fire, and on the rare occasions he tries, he does so with a sullen, frustrated grace that only makes the gaps in his upbringing more obvious. the farm’s routines are foreign to him, and for all his bravado, it’s clear he’s never lifted a finger for himself—not until now.

sometimes, as you pass in the cramped kitchen or out in the yard, he offers a barbed comment about your clothes, your hands, your meager meals. but more and more, naoya is forced to notice the details: the faded blouses he wears, the shirts cinched in at the waist, the hems just a little too short or the sleeves a little too narrow. some are patterned with delicate flowers, some button from the wrong side, all of them unmistakably feminine in cut and feel. all of it smells faintly of soap and lavender.

at first, he refuses to acknowledge it, wearing the clothes defiantly and making crude jokes about peasant thrift. each day, he delays dressing, sometimes outright refusing,, until you have to tussle with him, having to physically force his arms through the sleeves, your grip leaving red marks on his skin. the resistance is stubborn, bitter, and loud—shouted protests, empty threats he has no way of acting on. over the weeks, the resistance doesn’t so much disappear as it is worn thin by futility. there are no other options, no new shirts arriving from kyoto, no tailor to take his measurements anew. this is all you have to offer him. his choices shrink until there are no choices at all; he gets used to the way the fabric clings to his body, the way the neighbors look at him, the way you quietly hand him a freshly laundered blouse and expect him to roll up the sleeves and get to work. his body, his posture, even his movements start to shift to accommodate his new wardrobe. hips sway a little more as he hauls water, hands folded the way he’s seen the market women do as they wait in line for rice. the transformation is subtle at first, forced by necessity and the awareness that resistance achieves nothing, but soon he finds himself falling into these roles simply because there is nothing else left for him.

the prideful zenin heir is gone, replaced by a figure draped in someone else’s softness—a woman’s ghost, clinging to his skin. when he tries to protest now, the words come out weak, uncertain; it’s easier to keep his head down and let the routine swallow him. even the neighbors’ whispers fade, replaced by nods and small smiles, as if he’s become just another woman toiling in the fields. the humiliation stings, but it’s dulled by the comfort of belonging, however artificial. it amuses you.

your days fall into a rhythm: you work the land, naoya sulks and snaps, sometimes helping, sometimes refusing. you tolerate plenty from him, from his snide remarks about your food to his sneers at your calloused hands, even the bratty little games he plays to get a rise out of you. half the time he’s daring you to lose your patience, pushing at your boundaries just to see what you’ll do. you let him have his tantrums, let him throw his sharp words and roll his eyes, but you always make it clear you’re the one in charge, never rising to his bait, always answering his petulance with icy calm or a quiet, knowing smirk that only frustrates him more.

but you have no patience for his contempt toward the people who make this place home. his barbs come often in the beginning, each insult a desperate act of defiance—mocking the neighbors, spitting venom at the muddy boots and sunburned faces that pass by your porch. he tries to regain some of his old authority, barking orders at you and the neighbors, expecting the deference owed to a man of his name.

he snaps at the old women in the market, expecting them to cower. they only glance at him and return to their gossip, unimpressed. the men you’ve grown up with laugh when he sneers at their rustic ways. “these people are pathetic," he hisses once, loud enough for everyone to hear. that’s where you draw the line. without hesitation, you seize his jaw, make him look at you, and slap him. the sting of your hand silences him far more effectively than any words. "if you can’t keep your mouth shut, i’ll find a way to keep you quiet," you growl, your grip firm and fingers digging in just enough to remind him who’s in control. he sees, in that moment, the difference between the bratty games you’ll allow and the hard limits you enforce—he can test you, tease you, even mouth off about your cooking or your temper, but the instant he crosses that line, you shut him down. the message is unmistakable: you’ll tolerate a brat, but not a bully. after that, every time he tries to test your resolve, you shut him down with the same cold certainty, and he learns, slowly, that your discipline is something he craves as much as he resents.

over time, something in naoya starts to shift. the slaps sting everytime he says something out of place, but what wounds him deeper is the utter lack of fear or awe in your gaze. your discipline is never cruel, always matter-of-fact, as inevitable as rain, doled out with the same steady certainty as you might weed a field or shoo a stray dog from the porch. each time you silence his venom, a little of his bravado chips away, until his barbs sound more like questions than threats. he tries to rally, tries to goad you into outrage, sometimes throwing little fits, slamming doors, stomping his feet, cursing you under his breath—just to see if you’ll finally break. but you only arch a brow, sometimes giving him a warning look or word, other times simply ignoring his antics until he’s forced to come to you for direction. the more he tests, the more he learns.

after, meals are quiet affairs. rice and pickles, miso soup and bitter greens, eaten in silence or broken by his restless complaints. at night, you tend his bandages in the lamplight, your hands steady, his words sharp, but now with a wariness in his gaze, something raw and uncertain flickering behind his pride. a kind of fragile truce grows between you, built out of necessity and the slow passing of time. he is quieter, more watchful, and when he speaks, his words have lost their bite. that being said, when he thinks you are asleep, you sometimes hear him cursing to himself, or more accurately, at you, as if rehearsing old insults he might have thrown at you only mere weeks before.

eventually, when his wounds have knitted closed, and the pain is only a dull echo, you fold up your blanket for good. there’s only one bed and no more reason to keep to the floor. once upon a time, he would have never let that come to pass, but he doesn’t fuss. not much at least.

that first night, you lie beside him, the space between you thick with old resentments and new, unspoken things. he turns his back to you, shoulders tense, but doesn’t tell you to leave. the routine holds, but something subtle has shifted—the quiet at night is heavier, and sometimes, you wake to the sound of his breathing just inches away, steady and uncertain in the dark.

he’s forced to swallow his pride—and his pain—as the weeks slip by and naoya’s resistance is gradually worn down by necessity and routine, the nature of your expectations begins to shift. at first, it is enough for him to don the faded blouses and mend the household linens, his hands learning the gentle, repetitive work he once would have scorned. he fetches water, tends the stove, and folds your clothes with a carefulness that surprises you both.

but as the rhythm of your lives entwines, the boundaries of his role blur further. he looked down on women, yes—raised in a clan that taught him to sneer at softness, to treat domestic labor as something beneath him, to see femininity as weakness. he had been drilled to believe that a woman's worth was measured in obedience and silence, that the gentle work of tending, cleaning, and nurturing was something shameful, something lesser. even as a child, he'd mimicked the men in his family: laughing at the village wives, rolling his eyes at the girls who learned to sew, dismissing the quiet strength required to keep a household running.

most of all, he'd scoffed at maki and her sister, calling them useless, treating their struggles and ambitions as a joke—he'd mocked the way maki fought for scraps of respect, belittled her stubbornness, and told anyone who would listen that a woman like her would never amount to anything. in his arrogance, he'd failed to recognize the power and resilience that lived in her defiance, never imagining that she would be the one to finally break the zenin legacy apart and leave him here, stripped of everything, forced to live out the lessons he'd scorned. the irony is bitter: it was maki's rebellion, her refusal to accept her place, that brought down everything he thought untouchable. now, each time he finds himself on his knees scrubbing the floor, folding your shirts, finding himself in dainty clothes tailored for a woman, it's impossible not to remember the names he called her, the laughter he aimed towards her for being useless. the idea of being seen as anything but powerful, commanding, and masculine had always filled him with a bitter, defensive scorn—a scorn that now, day by day, you made him confront and swallow. although, it’s not as bad as he makes it. he’s forced to admit, in quiet moments, that the peace of your home is a strange comfort.  it’s quieter here—no judgmental onlookers, no cruel laughter behind sliding doors, no cursed tools to train with until his hands bled, no spirits to hunt or fear. for all his scorn of domesticity, he finds himself relieved by the absence of clan politics and the constant pressure to prove himself. he doesn’t have to fight for the right to exist in your home; he doesn’t have to measure up to impossible standards to be the next clan head. there is simplicity and safety in this new life.

at some point, the relationship between you two blurred into something else—an unspoken exchange of power and need that ran beneath the surface of every shared glance and each wordless touch. the shift was gradual, but unmistakable. it began with small things: the way his posture softened when you entered the room, the subtle ease with which he accepted your direction, the way he lingered each evening as if waiting for you, when you came back late before retiring to bed. with so little time in the day, he started to anticipate your needs before you voiced them, bringing a cup of tea without being asked, smoothing the wrinkles in your shared bed before you lay down, making himself like nice in the best way he can.

as you began to delegate more and more of the evening rituals to him, you noticed the pride he took in doing things exactly as you liked—lighting the lamps in the right order, arranging your shoes by the door, messily patching up the clothes you’d ripped open just the day before. you watched with a quiet satisfaction as he moved about the house in his borrowed skirts, the hem brushing his ankles, bare feet padding softly over the old wood. it became impossible not to notice how his body had changed. a softness had worked its way into his frame where once there had been sharpness: his muscles, once tense and defined, had rounded and eased beneath his skin, his waist and hips softening under the steady diet of home-cooked meals and the absence of constant training; there wasn’t any reason to anymore. his hands, though still deft and precise, now bore the faintest traces of permanent pink from dishwater and the scent of lavender soap.

his hair, too, had started to grow out, the roots showing their true color where once there had been meticulous dye and careful grooming. he spends long minutes in the mornings fussing with it, sighing at how unruly it’s become, sometimes lamenting—loudly—about how he used to have servants to style it just right. the strands hang long and loose around his face, the ends curling a bit in the humidity, the roots a darker brown than the sun-lightened tips. as you watch him in the lamplight, you catch the glimmer of uneven growth or the way he fusses with a stubborn cowlick at his crown, muttering that he used to pay for haircuts that cost more than your week’s groceries. he tries to smooth it down with damp fingers, a small, frustrated frown pulling at his lips, and you find yourself oddly fond of the way he looks. he’s oddly pretty.

the neighbors, ever watchful, begin to treat him as just another woman in your household, too, and you, almost without thinking, begin to expect the same. you instruct him to kneel at your side and brush out your hair at night, each stroke slow and careful, his fingers trembling the first few times but growing steadier as he learns the rhythm you like. he sits behind you on the tatami, careful not to pull too hard, the scent of your hair oil lingering between you. the first time, he scowls and you gently correct him, guiding his hand until it moves just the way you want, patient and precise, lips pressed tight in concentration. after a few nights, he does it without thinking, the old sharpness in his eyes replaced by a quiet focus, his hands finding a gentle, almost worshipful rhythm.

at bath time, you have him draw your bath, and he joins you. he kneels to scrub your back with a rough cloth, pouring warm water over your shoulders, careful not to splash. and you do the same for him as the steam fogs the small room, mingling with the scent of soap and the faint blossom of camellia oil. you watch him, the way his lashes lower as he works virously to get the dirt from under your nails, the pink at the tips of his ears when you praise his effort. when you help him step out, you wrap him in a towel, more often then not, your hands lingering a moment too long at his waist. that becomes the new shape of your evenings.

neither of you spoke of it, neither of you made any declarations or confessions. the closeness built itself from necessity and boredom—shared baths on cold nights to save firewood, the need for warmth in a house that felt too big and empty with only the two of you inside. a brush of hands while passing in the kitchen, the casual intimacy of exchanged glances while working side by side. it was never a single moment, but a series of small surrenders: the first time he let you lean against him as you both soaked in the steaming water, the first time you let your hand linger at his waist a heartbeat longer than needed as you helped him dry off. each shared ritual, each night of tired silence, wore away at the boundaries between you, until one evening his blush lingered and he didn't pull away, and your touch was bolder, and neither of you looked for an excuse to end it. from then on, everything changed.

night after night, you work him open with slow, deliberate care—thumb circling over sensitive skin, fingers slipping inside until you feel him yield beneath you, his breath coming in shaky, ragged gasps. the ritual is one of patience: at first, you find yourself holding back, worried about hurting him, moving slow and gentle even as he wriggles restlessly beneath your touch. naoya is a brat from the start—impatient, demanding, rolling his hips and huffing out curses, urging you to hurry up and do it already. he wants more, wants you to push him, but you refuse to rush, ignoring his sulky complaints. when he reaches for your hand, tries to guide you faster, you simply swat it away, as he squirms or mutters a bitter word under his breath, but you hush him with a word or a touch—occasionally, you press rougher, spreading him wider before he’s ready, letting him feel the bite of your fingers until he softens and submits, the stubborn tension in his thighs and jaw yielding with a hiss or a bitten-off curse.

with each passing night, you add more. you grip his hips, steady and firm, your forearm pressing against his thigh as you stretch him wider—first a second finger, then a third, your knuckles grazing his skin, feeling the heat and tension in his body as he shudders and squirms. he gasps, arching into your hold, his back bowing as you push deeper, drawing out new, startled sounds. your movements alternate between gentle caresses and unyielding, purposeful thrusts, attentive to every shift in his breathing and the tremble in his hips. your palm slides over his belly, pinning him down, thumb tracing slow circles as his body softens under your touch. each time he yields a little faster, the defiance melts from his eyes as he finds himself arching into your touch, the instinct to rebel fading beneath the heat of your patience and the burn deep in his core.

you praise him for every inch he gives, your voice low and steady in the hush of the room, and watch as resistance melts into need, as he grows accustomed to the fullness, to the way your palm presses against him. the air smells faintly of lavender and sweat, the quiet punctuated by the soft, wet sounds of your hands moving over him and the ragged, unguarded whimpers that escape his lips.

eventually, you begin to focus on his most sensitive spot—your callous fingertips massaging his prostate in slow, deliberate circles, learning exactly how to make his body seize and arch with pleasure. it takes time, but your patience is rewarded: night after night, you coax him closer, and soon he can find release from this alone, shuddering with shock and disbelief as the pleasure crests and spills over with nothing but the pressure of your hand inside him.

naoya’s bravado dissolves with each stroke, his hips lifting in helpless search for more, his cheeks flushed deep crimson as he tries—and fails—to bite back the broken sounds that spill from his lips. you had never thought you would hear something so sweet come from that foul mouth of his. he clings to the sheets, fingers twisting in white-knuckled desperation, every muscle vibrating with the effort not to give in. but he always does, in the end. he learns to anticipate your touch, to arch into your hand and beg for more, voice catching and eyes glistening as you push him to the brink with nothing but your fingers and the practiced patience you’ve honed. by the time you finally let him fall apart, his body is soft and pliant, trembling as you coax him to shuddering completion, his pride undone—each release wrung from him as much by surrender as by pleasure.

one night, as the rain lashes the windows and the stove casts a gentle glow across the narrow room, you lie side by side on the futon. the air is thick with unsaid things, tension humming in the space between your bodies. you reach for him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the muscles in his throat jump beneath your touch. his breath hitches, lashes fluttering, as you tilt his face up to see the flush blooming beneath the powder you dusted there earlier. your hand drifts down, smoothing the fabric of his borrowed slip, feeling the way his body shudders and arches, nipples peaking visibly beneath the thin fabric. he trembles when you guide him onto his back, legs falling open, breath coming in ragged, eager little gasps. he doesn't resist when you part his thighs, only stares up at you—eyes wide, pupils blown—while you press slow, wet kisses to his throat, his collarbone, the thudding hollow where his pulse beats wild and frantic. his skin is fever-warm, a line of goosebumps rising in your wake, his hips twitching each time your lips graze lower.

you yank his slip up to his waist, exposing the vulnerable, trembling softness you've claimed as yours. your hands are rough as you grip his thighs, pushing them up and apart, the muscles straining beneath your fingers. you press him down, shifting his legs up and folding them tightly against his chest, pinning him in the perfect mating press. the position leaves him utterly exposed, his knees nearly touching his shoulders, thighs spread wide and quivering, your palms splayed over the warm flesh to hold him still, the mess between his legs glistening in the low light. his hips jerk at the touch, and you feel the tremor travel up through your arms. his eyes go wide, lashes trembling, his lips parting on a gasp as you spread him open—completely at your mercy, unable to hide or escape. you drink in the sight of him, flushed and helpless, hole twitching in anticipation as you stroke over the sensitive skin, your thumb circling slickly around his rim while your other hand presses down on his belly, feeling the tense flutter of his stomach as he squirms beneath you.

you tease him mercilessly, fingertips circling his entrance, letting your nails graze just enough to make him shiver. your other hand squeezes the inside of his thigh, spreading him wider, fingertips digging into the flesh until you leave faint marks. every time you dip in, barely breaching him, his body jolts—hips jerking, thighs tensing, as if he can’t decide whether to arch closer or squirm away. you grip his hip to keep him from squirming too far, thumb pressing into the soft dip just above his bone. he’s so sensitive, so desperate, that even your breath against his rim makes him gasp. the angle lets you see everything: his chest heaving, nipples red and hard, beads of sweat rolling down his sides; his cock twitching and leaking helplessly, the head flushed dark and sticky with precum; the way his muscles clench and flutter around nothing, hole twitching and sucking at your finger, begging to be filled. when you finally push two fingers deep inside, you curl them, feeling him clamp down with a broken whimper, slick heat swallowing you greedily. you work him open with slow, filthy circles, scissoring him wide, pressing hard against his sweet spot until his back arches and his voice cracks, every inch of him melting and trembling beneath your hands.

naoya's bravado shatters completely, hips grinding up in frantic, needy circles, his ass clenching greedily around your fingers as you work him open, two, then three plunging deep, scissoring him so wide his thighs tremble and twitch. his legs quiver and clamp tight around your arm, heels digging into your back or shoulders as you press into him. his face is flushed, mouth slack and wet as he moans, spit slicking his chin, eyes squeezed shut in helpless need. his cock leaks in thick, glistening ropes across his stomach, each gasp and sob sending new spurts spilling over his skin. "please, please, just fuck me, don't make me wait—" he begs, voice breaking as you rub your thumb over his stretched rim, feeling him flutter and pulse under your touch. please is a word he’s only just learned, but it seems he is utilizing it well. you take your time, savoring the way he writhes, the broken whines and desperate curses, until his body is quivering and open, hole red and glistening, twitching for you. when you finally line yourself up and push inside, it's rough, deep, and possessive—your hands gripping his hips so hard you leave bruises, his body yielding instantly, his hole swallowing you to the hilt. he screams for you, back arched so high his heels leave the mattress, fingers clawing at the sheets as you grind your hips in slow, punishing circles before slamming in again, harder, the wet slap echoing between his desperate, filthy cries.

each thrust has his body jolting, the muscles in his belly rippling, thighs spread wide and trembling, heels digging into your back, desperate to keep you buried inside him. his cock bounces uselessly, drooling precum with every slap of your hips, the tip swollen and flushed, smearing slick up his torso. the slap of skin is loud and lewd, wet and hungry, echoed by the filthy, high-pitched sounds spilling from his lips—gasps, sobs, guttural moans that grow wetter and more frantic with every thrust.

you tell him you want to put a baby in him, to see him swollen and plump carrying your babies, to make sure everyone in the village knows he’s yours. your words make him groan and whimper at the thought, half-wishing he did have a womb so he could satisfy that fantasy for you, as humiliating as it was. repopulate the clan that maki zenin nearly wiped out.

his body convulses around you, his hole clenching so hard you can feel his inner walls pulse, milking you for every drop. he’s still folded in the mating press, knees pinned back nearly to his shoulders, thighs trembling and spread wide, your hands gripping the backs of his knees and forcing him open. every thrust drives him deeper into the bed, his body rocked forward with each snap of your hips, his belly taut and glistening with sweat and his own precum, smearing thick, sticky streaks across his belly, as his cock twitchs and bouncing with every possessive thrust you drive into him, untouched and aching for release.

sweat pours down his chest, collecting in the hollow of his throat, nipples so hard they ache as you fuck him through it. his whole body shakes, pinned beneath you, helpless to do anything but take and take. each time your hips slam home, a new, broken moan escapes his lips, his fingers digging into your back, desperate to anchor himself as you ruin him. he clings to you as if the promise could make him whole, babbling desperate cries—"please, more, don’t stop, want it, want all of you," voice raw and trembling, ruined by need.

you fuck him with that intent, each thrust deep and punishing, grinding your hips so he feels every inch, filling him again and again until his whole body trembles, thighs shaking, his tight hole spasming around you to try and accommodate. his moans fracture into sobs of raw pleasure, fat tears streaking his cheeks, drool glistening at the corner of his mouth as you drive him to the edge without mercy. his cock spurts helplessly to your rhythm, untouched, making a mess across his belly and chest, every climax wrung out of him by nothing but the relentless pounding of your hips. when you finally spill inside, you stay buried, cock pulsing as you flood him, your hands gripping his hips so not a drop can escape, watching as your seed leaks out around your length, staining his thighs.

it’s obscene, honestly, the way you leave him. naoya’s just sprawled out under you— ass held in the air, whole body shaking and sticky and so fucking open you’d think he was made for this. he’s a mess, ruined in a way that feels almost tragic if it weren’t for the blissed-out, dumb grin on his face, drool slicking his cheek as he tries to catch his breath. you can feel the way his hole flutters around you, still clinging tight, greedy for every drop you pumped into him. your cum’s everywhere—oozing out of him in slow, heavy drips, slicking down his thighs, making a mess on the sheets.

he’s moaning, low and broken, like he’s half gone, hips still rolling in these lazy, desperate little circles just to feel you grind deeper. it’s not enough for him to be filled—he wants to be stuffed, plugged so full he can barely keep it in, the slick squelch of your spend inside him making him shiver every time you move. his fingers are buried in the sheets, knuckles white, but he’s not trying to get away—he’s anchoring himself, pulling you closer, like he thinks you’ll disappear if you let up for even a second.

you watch your cum leak out of him, thick and slow, pooling beneath his ass, and he whines—actually whines—when some of it escapes, like he’s losing something precious. you slide your hand down his spine, nails dragging lightly over his skin, and cup the curve of his ass, squeezing, thumbing your spend back inside as he shudders. he begs you, voice all raw and hoarse, not to pull out, not yet, just one more minute, just want to feel you inside, want to be stretched and leaking and filthy, want to know he’s yours. he’s babbling, half sense and half filth, but you get the message. you settle in, keep him full, palm pressed flat against bulge of his belly as he melts into the mattress, so fucking content with the mess you’ve made of him he could cry.

he is utterly ruined, and you make sure he feels it in every moment—but it is not only pain that lingers in his body, but the memory of your touch, the gentle, relentless worship that has replaced his pride. there is nothing left of the zenin heir—no pride, no resistance, not even a spark of his old arrogance. each time you hold him, each time you fill him until he sobs and begs, it is as much devotion as domination; you coax pleasure from him until tears blur his vision, your touch tender and unyielding, your mouth leaving gentle marks where your hands have claimed. he clings to you with shameless, broken hunger, eyes glazed and pleading, desperate for both your approval and your affection. his body is marked not only by your discipline, but by the warmth of your hands and the softness of your voice in the dark. the routines you forced on him are all he has left—he moves through them docile and obedient, seeking the meaning he now finds only in your praise, your caress, the certainty that he belongs to you—every piece of his old self stripped away until only your possession remains. he’d be more than glad to play the role of your wife.

[stvrw1tch]

This left me speechless

[nyniiiii]

Crowns and Cracks

Roy Harper x Reader + Lian & mom!Reader

Part 1 (here) Part 2 Part 3

All you want is to give Lian the birthday she deserves: full of laughter, Brave-themed castles, and family. But with Jade’s shadow lingering and Roy’s promises fraying at the edges, the day you worked so hard to perfect threatens to unravel in ways you can’t quite hold together.

A/N: I am not good at transitions (Also I’m trying out headers, plz tell me if it looks lame </3)

-------------

You were honestly two seconds away from whacking Roy with the piñata stick. It had been a little over a year since he and Lian moved into your home, and life had been one long adjustment ever since.

Going from living alone in the quiet house you inherited to sharing it with… a man and his precious daughter wasn’t exactly how you imagined your mid-twenties. 

Yet here you were, caught between laughing or yelling as you watched Roy absolutely butcher the piñata setup on the cherry tree in your backyard. You’d think a superhero would know how to tie a proper knot.

Instead, the rope sagged pathetically as he fumbled, and you couldn’t shake the suspicion he was doing it badly on purpose, as payback for you dragging him out of bed at six in the morning to help. 

Still, you stood by that decision. This was Lian’s first birthday party in the house, and you wanted it to be perfect,  something she’d remember with nothing but joy. 

You tightened your grip on the stick, reaching out to give him a light swat. “Hurry up! This should not be taking you this long, you know!”

Roy laughed, staring down at you with that insufferably amused look.

“You’re real bossy, you know that?” His grin widened as the rope slipped again in his hands. “Normally, I’d find it pretty attractive…” He leaned just enough to eye you with mock menace. “But right now? I’m seriously considering dropping this piñata on your head for waking me up so early.”

You eye him unamused at the threat before you tipped the ladder over with a smirk, listening to it clatter into the grass. Then you squared your shoulders and looked up at Roy, who was perched on the branch, blinking down at you in disbelief.

“Alright, listen up, Harper,” you called, tone clipped like you were giving orders. “You’re not touching solid ground again until that piñata is tied up properly. No wobbly knots. No lazy shortcuts. I expect tension, symmetry, and a piñata that can hold its own against a mob of sugar-crazed kids”

Roy leaned against the branch, one arm dangling lazily as he smirked down at you. “You realize I can be on the ground in about two seconds flat, right? Arsenal doesn’t exactly get stranded in trees.”

You twirled the piñata stick between your fingers, clumsy, but just threatening enough, and then pointed it straight at him. “Uh-huh. Try me. If you come down before that thing is hanging the way I want it, I will test this stick on you first. And trust me, Roy, I won’t miss.”

He grinned, clearly amused by your faux-seriousness. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You arched a brow, stepping closer like you might actually swing. “Wouldn’t I? Go on, Harper, make my day. See if I don’t.”

You knew full well you wouldn’t actually hit him (well, at least not hard enough to hurt him), and you also knew he could disarm you in less than a few seconds if he wanted. You tried to ignore how the thought of him pinning you that easily sent a little spark through you.

Instead, you took a step back, chin tilted up as you looked down your nose at him, staring him down like you were the one with the upper hand.

Roy seemed amused, if anything as he leaned against the branch and smirked down at you. “Again, you’re not much of a threat, sweetheart. But if this is your idea of foreplay, I’ll play along.”

You shook your head, lips twitching despite yourself. “You are incorrigible. This is supposed to be a wholesome children’s party, Harper, not a scene out of your questionable daydreams.”

He grinned down at you, unrepentant. “Hey, you’re the one threatening me with a stick. Can’t blame a guy for finding that a little attractive.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you jabbed the piñata stick at him anyway, voice mock-scandalized. “Tie the damn knot before I show you just how attractive a concussion feels.”

“Yes, ma’am. Though if you keep threatening me like this, don’t be surprised if I start enjoying it.”

You groaned, pressing a hand over your face. “God help me— Lian’s party hasn’t even started and I already regret inviting you.”

Before Roy could shoot back, the bouncy castle let out a loud wheeze, the kind that made your stomach drop like something terrible had just deflated. You froze, lowering your hand to give him one last, razor-sharp look.

The kind that promised dire consequences if that piñata wasn’t up and secure by the time you got back. He had the audacity to wiggle his fingers at you in a mock salute, which only earned him a narrowed glare before you spun on your heel.

As you crossed the lawn, the soft thump of your shoes against the grass, your gaze wandered over the backyard you’d been fussing with since dawn. You knew you’d gotten started too early, but your excitement had won out over practicality. This wasn’t just any party— it was Lian’s first birthday here, and you wanted it to be unforgettable.

The theme had been obvious from the start. Brave. Princess Merida was Lian’s undeniable favourite, and honestly, who could blame her?

A fiery, headstrong girl with a bow in hand, of course the daughter of Roy Harper would latch onto that. The bouncy castle loomed ahead in the shape of a fairytale stone keep, the great castle of DunBroch reimagined in squeaky vinyl. 

The piñata, waiting for its proper knots, was a bear and you’d spent the last week attempting to recreate every baked good from the movie. Your kitchen had looked like a medieval bakery, but in the end, you managed trays of tarts, sweet buns, and something resembling the infamous blueberry tart (though yours hopefully wouldn’t transform anyone into a bear).

By the fence, you’d even set up a little toy archery range: foam targets, suction-cup arrows, and a tiny plastic bow. The whole yard was a mix of chaos and charm, proof of just how badly you wanted everything to be perfect for her.

You could practically feel his amsuzed gaze in your back, daring you to look up.

“Harper, if I turn around and see you half-assing that knot, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight. With what’s left of the piñata.”

Roy’s laugh followed you, warm and rough, the kind of sound that said he thought you were all bark and maybe a little bite, but he loved every second of it.

You didn’t bother to look back, just raised the piñata stick in a half-hearted warning, planting it against the side of the inflatable as if that was enough to keep him in line.

The bouncy castle gave another drawn-out groan, a whisper of escaping air making the walls sag just slightly inward. You crouched, running your hand along the seam until your fingers brushed the loose tube that fed the blower.

“Great,” you muttered, tugging the plastic back into place. With a sharp yank, you tightened the strap and waited, watching the vinyl puff back to life.

Still, your suspicion lingered. You straightened with a sigh, brushing stray strands of hair out of your eyes as your gaze swept the inflatable from top to bottom. It looked fine now, but you’d learned not to trust first impressions, not with rental companies and definitely not with kids this excited.

Kicking off your shoes, you stepped onto the soft vinyl, testing it with careful pressure at first. Then another step. The castle squeaked faintly under your weight but held firm. You bounced once, then twice, shifting your stance as if daring the floor to give way. When it didn’t, a little hum of satisfaction escaped you.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment you ducked inside, Roy had moved. The faint thud of boots against grass marked his landing, silent and effortless as he dropped from the tree.

He dusted his hands together, knots tied and mission complete, though the piñata was long forgotten compared to the sight in front of him.

His eyes tracked you, your focus, the way your brows pinched as you tested the seams, the light bounce that made your hair shift around your face. His grin softened, fondness tugging at his mouth even as a flicker of mischief lit behind his eyes.

He didn’t announce himself, not yet. Instead, he padded closer, quiet as a predator stalking prey, though there was nothing predatory in his intent. Just amusement. Just the unshakable pull you had on him.

You were so caught up checking the walls that you didn’t notice his shadow stretching closer, didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered as if you were the real centerpiece of the party, piñata and decorations be damned.

You definitely noticed when Roy grabbed you from behind and pulled you down. One second you were very seriously testing the integrity of the bouncy castle, muttering about bounce ability, and the next you were squealing as he yanked you onto the vinyl floor.

The bouncy castle answered with a loud squeak and a deep wobble, launching you both upward before dropping you back down in an ungraceful heap. You shrieked again, hands scrambling for balance, only to land squarely against his chest.

“Roy Harper!” you shouted, breathless, though your voice cracked with half a laugh.

He had the audacity to look completely unbothered, sprawled beneath you with a wide grin. “Relax, sweetheart. Just making sure this thing can handle a couple of rowdy kids.”

“You are not a rowdy kid,” you snapped, shoving at him, though the push only made the floor ripple and bounce again, which earned him another laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled, propping himself up on his elbows as you tried to wriggle free. “Feels like I’m having just as much fun as one.”

You shot him your most withering glare, cheeks warm and hair a mess. “I was fixing it.”

“And I was helping,” he laughs back, entirely too smug for a man who had just ambushed you like a five-year-old.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you jabbed a finger into his chest. “If this thing collapses at Lian’s party, I’m telling everyone it was your fault.”

He only laughed harder, head tipping back as the castle gave another squeak under you both. “Fair deal. But you gotta admit, this is way more entertaining than whatever grumbling you were doing in here.”

Despite yourself, the corners of your mouth twitched, fighting a smile you refused to let him win just yet. You twisted in his arms, trying to wrench yourself free, but Roy only tightened his grip with a laugh, using the bouncing floor to his advantage. Every time you thought you’d found your balance, the castle betrayed you and sent you sprawling against him again.

“Not fair!” you accused, wriggling, though your laughter betrayed you.

“Please,” he said smugly, flipping the both of you with ridiculous ease until you were on your back against the vinyl floor, breath caught in your throat. ““ Turning your back on me?”

He hovered above you, arms braced on either side of your head, pinning you without even trying. “You were basically asking for it. That’s on you.”

You glared up at him, cheeks warm, breathless from the tussle. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Roy murmured, grin softening into something almost tender, “you still keep me around.”

Before you could muster a retort, he dipped down and kissed you— quick at first, but then another was quick to follow. His weight pressed you deeper into the squeaky floor, one hand sneaking to your hip as if he had all the time in the world.

For a moment, you let yourself melt into it, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. It would’ve been too easy to forget the bouncy castle, the piñata, the whole damn party.

But reality snapped back fast. You pushed at his chest, huffing, though your lips still tingled. “Roy. We don’t even have costumes on yet. Lian’s gonna wake up any second, and I am not explaining why her parents are making out in a castle before her birthday party even starts.”

He chuckled, not moving right away, eyes dancing with mischief. “Could’ve fooled me. Looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Out,” you ordered, shoving harder this time until he rolled off with a laugh, sprawling beside you as the castle gave another wobble.

“You’re no fun,” he teased.

“You’ll thank me later when this party actually runs on schedule.” You grabbed his arm, pushing him toward the exit. “Now get up, Harper. We’ve got a princess to wake.”

-------------------------------------

You’d honestly thought Roy would be at least a little reluctant about the kilt. You’d lovingly shoved him into a King Fergus costumewhile you were Queen Elinor, but instead of pouting like a normal person, he seemed thrilled. Worse, his attention kept slipping back to you, and the gleam in his eye had nothing to do with the party theme.

“Why do you look like you’re enjoying this more than Lian will?” you demanded.

“Because I get to call you my Queen all day,” he replied, grinning like an idiot. “And that dress? Best idea you’ve ever had.”

You roll your eyes, hoping you can get away with not entertaining a response for him. But your loving boyfriend never knew how to shut up.

“You know,” he drawled, leaning in with that infuriatingly boyish smirk, “if this is what royal roleplay looks like, I’m starting to think you’ve been holding out on me, Your Majesty.”

You groaned, shoving at his chest with a hand that he absolutely let slide off his solid frame. “It’s a children’s party, Harper. Children’s. Control yourself.”

“Can’t help it,” he shot back, spreading his arms like he was modeling the ridiculous costume. “You gave me a sword, a crown, and a kilt. I feel unstoppable. Totally on-brand for me, don’t you think?”

“You’re irritating," you muttered, though your lips betrayed you with a smile.

He leaned down, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “You mean handsome. Majestic, even.”

You swatted at him again, half-laughing, half-exasperated. God help you— he was far too into this.

Nonetheless, you shoved the plastic trumpet into Roy’s hands (because if you were going to commit to the Brave theme, you were going to commit all the way) before adjusting the Princess Merida dress draped over your arm. “Alright, King Fergus,” you teased, “don’t screw this up. You’re supposed to delight the princess, not traumatize her.”

Roy gave you an incredulous look, beard crooked from where he’d been tugging at it. “Delight? Sweetheart, this is going to be legendary. She’ll be telling her grandkids about this wake-up.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as he puffed out his chest, striding toward Lian’s room like a man going to war.

The second he burst through her door, he let trumpet rip; loud, chaotic, and painfully off-key. “DAH-DAHHH!” Roy bellowed on top of the noise, “The king is here!”

Lian jolted upright, eyes wide, hair tangled in every direction. For half a second she froze, caught between confusion and horror— then she saw the beard, the kilt, the ridiculous stance Roy struck at the end of the bed.

Her face split into the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “DADDY!” she shrieked, half laughing, half screaming, before throwing herself at him. “You look so silly!”

Roy caught her easily, spinning her once before plopping her back down on the bed. He uses the most ridiculous attempt at a Scottish accent to coo at her “Silly? I’ll have you know I’m the fiercest king Scotland has ever seen.”

You leaned against the doorframe, Merida’s dress folded neatly in your hands, watching the two of them cackle together. “Mmhm,” you drawled, deadpan but fond. “Fierce enough to make the birthday girl lose it before breakfast.”

Lian giggled harder, tugging on Roy’s fake beard. “He’s King Fergus, Mama! And you’re Queen Elinor, right?”

“Right,” you confirmed, lips twitching into a smile you couldn’t hold back. “And you, Princess Merida, have a very busy day ahead. So let’s get you dressed before your dad breaks out into battle cries.”

Breakfast didn’t even stand a chance. The second she swallowed her last bite of waffles that Roy horrifyingly doused with more than half of the chocloate syrup in the bottle, Lian practically threw herself out of her chair, her little feet pounding against the floor as she tore open the back door.

The moment her eyes hit the backyard, she froze for half a heartbeat, just long enough for it all to sink in, before absolutely losing it.

Her shriek of pure delight rang louder than any party trumpet you’d bought. “MAMA!” she wailed, spinning around wide-eyed before sprinting back and hurling herself into your arms. You staggered a step under the force, laughing as her arms locked around your neck.

“You made it look like Brave! You made it look like Merida’s castle!” She pulled back just enough to gesture wildly at the inflatable castle, then the bear piñata, then the toy archery set, her words tumbling over each other in a rush. “And the bear, and— and the bows, and everything!”

Your beam, warmth spreading through your chest as you smoothed a hand over her hair. “Well, of course I did,” you teased gently. “What kind of queen would I be if I didn’t give my princess the perfect kingdom for her birthday?”

Roy leaned casually against the doorframe, but the grin stretching his face gave him away. “Careful, Pumpkin— squeeze her any harder and she’s gonna pop. Who’s gonna run your party then?”

Lian ignored him entirely, clinging to you with all the might she had. “You’re the best, Mama! The best!”

And honestly? In that moment, with her arms tight around you and her laughter bubbling in your ear, you believed her.

By the time the first wave of Lian’s friends tumbled into the backyard, the place was buzzing with life. The inflatable castle had already claimed its first casualties, squealing kids bouncing off the floor and running through the yard, while the scent of grilled food drifted lazily through the air.

Roy’s friends filtered in around the same time, a mix of familiar faces and civilian clothes, blending surprisingly easily among the chaos of parents, kids, and balloons.

You tried not to dwell on the absence of your own family or friends, reminding yourself of the quiet conversation you and Roy had had weeks ago. Better this way, you’d agreed, given how some of Lian’s friends and Roy’s circle included metas with powers and certain apperances.

You didn’t want to risk wide-eyed stares or whispered questions from people in your life who couldn’t possibly understand. Still, the empty space where your side of the guest list should’ve been left a little hollow in your chest.

That ache softened, though, every time another parent or friend of Roy’s turned to him in awe.

You lingered by the drinks table, pouring the new pitcher carefully into the waiting cups. The chatter of voices floated from across the yard, and though you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, the sound of Roy’s laugh carried easily.

“Man, this setup’s incredible. You really went all out,” someone said, genuine awe lacing their words.

Roy didn’t even hesitate. “Not me. That was all her, every last detail. I just got stuck with the piñata.”

That drew a ripple of laughter, someone clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah that sounds about right. Still, you picked the right partner. She’s got taste.”

“And patience,” Artemis added, dry as ever eyeing his outfit amused. “Plenty of it, if she’s putting up with you in that ridiculous kilt.”

More laughter followed, but you didn’t hear the specifics, your ears had already gone warm. You busied yourself arranging the cups, keeping your head ducked, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upward despite your best efforts.

It wasn’t just the compliments. It was the way Roy’s pride rang so easily. He wanted everyone to know this was yours, that this joy and excitement throughout the backyard had your fingerprints all over it.

The ice clinked softly as you adjusted the last cup, your smile hidden in the glassy reflection of the pitcher before you finally straightened, taking in the sight of kids racing across the lawn, laughter in every direction.

For a moment, you let yourself just stand there, heart full, before sighing and brushing your hands on your dress, can’t stand to the side forever afterall.

Moving closer to the group you felt a bit of nerves flood you. You still weren’t the most natural around his friends. Your eyes dart towards the bouncy castle, maybe the kids would enjoy having Queen Elinor playing with them? 

Roy spotted you before you could retreat and reached out, tugging you right into the group with one arm around your waist.

“Perfect timing,” he announced, grinning at his friends. “The mastermind herself.”

Donna gave an approving nod, eyes sweeping across the yard. “Seriously, it looks fantastic. You clearly put a lot of thought into this.”

“Yeah,” Wally agreed, reaching for a drink. “Lian’s friends are never gonna stop talking about it. You set the bar way too high for the rest of us, by the way.”

You opened your mouth, ready with a polite thank-you, but Roy didn’t give you the chance. Instead, he leaned down and planted an exaggeratedly loud kiss to the side of your neck.

“Mwah!” The obnoxious sound effect was deliberate, and he pulled back with a smug grin, eyes sparkling as your face went crimson. “And she still looks gorgeous doing it. Queen Elinor herself, right here.”

Your hand flew to shove at his chest, mortified. “Roy!”

Donna was clearly trying not to laugh into her cup, while Dick outright snorted. “Subtle,” he teased, shaking his head. “Real subtle, Harper.”

Roy only squeezed your hip tighter, unrepentant. “What? I’m just giving credit where credit’s due.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your free hand, already regretting letting him get within kissing distance.

You somehow managed to fall into normal enough conversation, only fumbling here and there, but still by your own standards you were feeling pretty good.

Roy didn’t let you sneak away either, his arm looped casually around your waist or his fingers squeezing your hip you tried to drift. Every time you thought you’d slip back into hosting mode, he tugged you closer, murmuring something or just giving you that smug grin like he knew exactly what he was doing.

It was only when Lian came barreling over that he finally loosened his hold. Her cheeks were flushed from running around, a very tragic pout on her face. She thrust a bent tiara up at you, the plastic jewel hanging by a sad little thread.

“Mama! My crown broke!” she wailed, lower lip trembling like this was the end of all princessdom.

You crouched instinctively, taking the tiara with the seriousness it deserved, though your mind immediately flicked to the stash of emergency spares tucked away in the kitchen drawer.

You hadn’t spent weeks planning this party just to risk a meltdown over a plastic accessory. At your side, Roy leaned down too, giving you the briefest glance, quick, knowing, the kind that said go. You didn’t even need to speak.

“Broken crown, huh?” Roy said, crouching in front of Lian, voice dipping into mock-serious authority.

“That’s bad, Pumpkin. Real bad. No princess of mine can walk around without her royal gear.” He tapped her nose, making her giggle through her pout. “But lucky for you, I happen to know the Queen herself has powerful magic. The fixing kind.”

Lian’s wide eyes immediately turned back to you, hopeful. You mustered your most reassuring smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead before straightening. “Your daddy’s right, sweetheart. Give me just one minute, and I’ll have this crown good as new.”

Roy smoothly intercepted, scooping Lian into his arms before she could trail after you. “C’mon, birthday girl,” he grinned, blowing a loud raspberry to her cheek that earned a squeal of laughter. “Let’s play some archery together while Mama works her royal magic.”

Her laughter followed you as you slipped toward the house, tiara in hand, moving with purpose toward the cabinet where you’d stashed the extras. You’d known something like this would happen, kids and flimsy plastic crowns were a doomed combination. So of course you’d bought five backups. A quick swap, and Lian would be beaming again. Easy.

You pulled one free, gave it a quick polish with the edge of your sleeve until it caught the light, and nodded in satisfaction. Crisis averted.

That was when a soft knock echoed from the front door.

Your brow furrowed. Everyone you invited had already arrived. Maybe a delivery? Balloons? Or the bakery messing up and finally sending the extra cupcakes you didn’t order but wouldn’t turn down?

Balancing the tiara in one hand, you smoothed down your gown with the other, tugging the fabric until it fell properly. The Queen Elinor costume still made you feel a little ridiculous, but the last thing you wanted was to greet a stranger looking like a frazzled host who’d already lost control of her kingdom. You adjusted the crown on your head, straightened your shoulders, and swung the door open.

And froze.

Jade stood there.

Her gaze was sharp, feline, taking you in from the curls of your hair to the gown pooling around your feet. The faintest flicker of something, mockery? Curiosity? Passed across her face before her expression smoothed into the kind of calm that made your stomach knot.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tiara in your hand suddenly felt absurdly fragile, your fingers tightening around it until the cheap plastic dug into your palm.

“...Jade,” you said at last, your voice lower, tighter than you meant.

She tilted her head slightly, one corner of her mouth lifting just enough to make it unclear whether it was a smile or something sharper.

“Hello,” she murmured, her tone deceptively light. Her eyes, however, never left yours; steady, weighing, the kind of gaze that made your chest tighten. “Interesting… choice of attire.”

You don’t hate her. You can’t. Lian lights up when she sees Jade, and that alone keeps you from ever letting bitterness settle too deep. You’ve made your peace with the fact that your daughter has two mothers— different, unequal maybe, but both connected to her in ways that matter. And if you’re honest, you want it to work.

You want Jade in Lian’s life because Lian deserves that, deserves to know all the people who love her. You want it to be… workable. Something whole, instead of a spotty visits and half-kept promises that always leave cracks for Lian to notice.

But the last time you and Jade spoke, her words had been mean: You’re a civilian. Weak,do you really think you can protect her if it ever comes to it? Cold, clinical, like she was just stating a fact, not carving you open. You just nodded, let it roll off in the moment, but later, lying awake while Roy snored beside you, you replayed it over and over.

And it stung. Because hadn’t you been protecting Lian all this time, in your own quiet ways? You’ve kept the nightmares away, packed lunches, kissed bruised knees, held her hand through every fear. Wasn’t that protection, too?

To add salt to injury, just last week, after Lian had gone to bed and the dishwasher was rattling in the kitchen, you and Roy had finally fought about Jade.

Really fought. It started small, like it always did: you asking, again, for the bare minimum, a text from Jade before she dropped by. The event itself was rare, but when it happened, it always threw off the day.

Instead of the understanding response you expected, Roy's jaw tightened, his hands scrubbing over his face, and his voice turned defensive, tired.

He insisted she had the right. That you were being unreasonable. And then he said the one thing you weren’t prepared for, the words that landed like a blade pressed against your ribs— She’s Lian’s real mom. She doesn’t need permission.

The silence afterward had been deafening. You’d gone so still he’d looked up, guilt written all over his face the second he realized what he’d said. He’d backpedaled fast, apologies tripping over themselves, hands cupping your face, promising— promising— that he’d talk to Jade. That he’d set boundaries. That you wouldn’t be blindsided again.

And yet, here she is. Standing on your porch, unannounced, on the day you built piece by piece for your girl.

Out back, the squeals of children drift over the fence, punctuated by the bounce and squeak of the inflatable castle. Roy’s terrible attempt at a Scottish accent carries faintly, earning giggles you can almost picture. A perfect day for your little girl, that’s what you planned for today.

But in the doorway, it’s just the two of you. The woman who gave Lian her eyes, her hair, her blood… and you, who gave her everything else.

You draw in a breath, steadying your shoulders. When you finally speak, your voice is gentle, and measured to make sure you don’t accidentally insult her.

 “Jade,” you say, meeting her gaze head-on. “This is… unexpected.”

Jade’s lips curved, not unkind but not quite warm either— an expression caught somewhere between polite and knowing.  “Really?” she said, one brow tilting in faint amusement. “Roy invited me.”

You froze. For half a heartbeat, you swore the air thinned around you. Invited her?

The promise replayed in your head— his thumb brushing your cheek, voice low after the fight; I’ll set boundaries. I’ll make sure you’re never blindsided again.

And yet here she stood, calm as if this was always the plan.

For a moment, you just looked at her, words stalling on your tongue. You wanted to ask, When? Why didn’t he tell me? But the question sat like a weight you couldn’t lift. Not now. Not with the house full of kids, with laughter spilling in from the yard, with your daughter’s party teetering on the edge of perfect.

Your gaze dropped to the bag in Jade’s hand. Tissue paper peaked from the top in neat folds, a gift clearly chosen, carefully brought. For Lian. Always for Lian.

The ache in your chest twisted, but you forced it quiet. Later, you could unpick the knot this left behind. Later, when you weren’t standing in the doorway in a costume crown and gown, trying to make the day magical.

Right now, you swallowed the sting, stretched a smile into place, and stepped aside. “Well,” you said gently, “come in.”

Jade didn’t linger on your hesitation. She only moved past you, graceful as ever, the bag swinging lightly at her side as if she hadn’t just punched you in your stomach.

You shut the door after her, smoothing your gown, breathing steady. Whatever this meant, whatever you and Roy would have to talk about,  it would wait. Because today, all that mattered was Lian.

That throb in your chest grew stronger, but instead of blowing this up, you did something else. With a firm tug, you pulled the crown from your own head. 

Jade noticed immediately. Her eyes traced your every movement not threatened but curious. You half expected her to step back, to catch your wrist, to remind you of what she was capable of.

But she didn’t. She let you come closer. And she let you set the crown gently on her head.

Here she was; assassin, runaway, absentee mother, contradiction embodied and yet the crown fit as easily on her as it had on you.

You smiled softly “You’re Lian’s mom too. That makes you a queen today, whether you like it or not.” your lips twitched into a rueful grin “And lucky for you I’m more than okay with sharing the crown.”

Her eyes flicked up as if she could see the thing, then back down to you. For the briefest second, the sharpness in them dulled.

“…Queen,” she murmured, the word tasting strange on her tongue. “Don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“First time for everything,” you said gently. “And if you ask Lian, she’d say you’ve earned it just by being her Mommy.”

That got her. You saw it, the smallest tightening of her jaw, the way her lips wanted to soften but didn’t quite make it. For one long moment, she looked like she might let herself believe it. 

Jade huffed out something that was almost a laugh, tilting her head as the crown slipped slightly to the side.  “Don’t get too sentimental,” Her eyes gleamed, sharper now, cutting away the softness from before.  “Queens tend to lose their heads.” 

She tapped the edge of the cheap plastic with one finger, smirking as though to mask the weight of her own words. “But sure— if it makes the kid happy, I’ll play dress-up.”

You forced a little laugh, brushing off the weight of her words, refusing to let her drag you into what you sense is a small threat. “I— uh, yeah. Lian will definitely be happy.”

Jade didn’t answer, but she moved beside you too follow along her head shifting occasionally to look at your home. You told yourself not to think too hard about it. If she was here, she wanted to be here. And whatever else Jade was, she loved her daughter. That much you couldn’t doubt.

The moment you slid the back door open, the noise of the party spilled in, squeals from the bouncy castle, laughter from clustered adults, and the hum of music. Jade stepped out at your side, and you felt the air change instantly. 

Artemis spotted her first. For a heartbeat, her eyes went wide, then her entire face brightened, “Jade?” Her voice carried across the yard, surprise bled into her voice as if she couldn’t believe her sister had actually shown up. 

The others noticed quickly. You caught the shift through Roy’s friends, immediate cautious silence cutting chatter flat.

They all knew Jade, but none of them truly believed she’d cause trouble here, not in the middle of a child’s birthday surrounded by heroes and wide-eyed kids. But still, her presence drew wary glances, hushed whispers, and a sense of unease that never quite left the air. 

And then Roy saw her.

One second, he was mid-laugh, chest shaking, hands moving animatedly as he told some story. The next, a complete 180. His grin dropped off his face so fast it looked painful, his whole body seizing up like he was tazed.

The colour drained from his skin. His shoulders locked, his hands went still at his sides. You saw the breath stutter in his chest. His gaze hit Jade first, eyes flaring wide with recognition and dread.

Then he looked at you.

And that was when the panic really set in.

Because you were standing there with her, side by side in the doorway, the crooked plastic crown still perched absurdly on her head. His eyes bounced between you both, once, twice, like if he looked fast enough he could make the picture rearrange into something else. But it didn’t. And the horror on his face only deepened

This wasn’t just Jade.

This was the woman he swore he’d set boundaries with. Who he promised wouldn’t blindside you again. The woman, he hadn’t breathed a word about inviting.

And yet, here she was.

When his eyes finally locked with yours across the lawn, they were wide and frantic, pleading in a way that made your chest twist. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. This isn’t what it looks like, his stare begged. I didn’t mean—please—

But you didn’t need the words. You already knew.

The pit hollowed out in your chest, sharp and cold, because his silence told you everything: he hadn’t talked to her. He hadn’t warned you. All those promises, all that reassurance— you could see it unraveling right there in his panic-stricken face.

Around you, the party blurred. Laughter dulled, whispers pricked the air, but all you could see was Roy, pale, stiff, his eyes locked to yours like a drowning man desperate for a rope.

And then, like the universe had the cruelest sense of timing, a familiar squeal cut through the quiet.

“Mommy!”

Lian came tearing across the grass, curls flying, her little dress bouncing with every frantic step. All the grownups who had gone stiff at Jade’s arrival softened instantly, the way only a child’s joy could disarm a yard full of wary heroes.

Roy flinched. You saw it, the way his shoulders jerked at the sound, as though the single word had been a blade pressed right against him. Mommy. Not you this time. Her.

Lian barreled past Roy without a glance, her whole world zeroed in on Jade, who dropped fluidly into a crouch just in time to catch her. The assassin’s mask cracked in an instant as she folded her daughter against her chest, eyes fluttering shut, lips pressing into Lian’s hair.

Roy’s friends shifted uneasily, torn between cautious sympathy and the ghosts of her reputation. Artemis had already stepped closer, her face lit up in a way you’d never seen, equal parts relief and joy at seeing her sister here, really here.

And Roy—

You didn’t have to look at him, but you did anyway. His panic hadn’t eased. If anything, it hollowed deeper, because he wasn’t just watching Jade with Lian, he was watching you watch them.

Watching you stand there, still as stone, party crown gone, your hair a bit messy, while his promise unraveled into ash in the middle of the birthday party you’d built from the ground up.

For one suspended moment, you couldn’t even hear the kids laughing on the bouncy castle anymore. Just the beat of your own heart, the weight of his wide, frantic eyes, and the sound of your daughter’s delighted giggles as she clung to her “Mommy.”

Artemis moved first. Her eyes were locked on Jade, and she closed the distance quickly, drawn not just to her sister but to the sight of Lian wrapped around her, giggling like she’d just been given the world.

You didn’t wait.

Your fingers slipped into the pocket of your gown, brushing over the smooth plastic of the spare tiara you’d tucked there earlier. You stepped forward, intercepting Artemis before she could crouch down beside them. Without much chatter, you pressed the crown into her hand.

“She broke hers earlier,” you murmured, voice low, the kind of excuse you knew no one would question. “Can you… put this on her for me?”

Artemis blinked at you, startled for a second, before nodding firmly. She took the crown.

And that was all you needed.

You turned on your heel before anyone could stop you, smoothing your gown as if you weren’t retreating but simply occupied. “I’ll, uh— go pull the cake,” you said just loud enough for Artemis to hear, your words clipped, almost casual. “Looks like everyone’s here now.”

The murmur of the yard swelled behind you as you stepped back inside, closing the sliding door on the sight of Jade, Artemis, and Lian together.

The kitchen light felt harsher than usual, your reflection in the microwave caught your eye, a queen without her crown. You busied your hands with the cake knife, the matches, anything to keep from thinking about the pit hollowing out in your chest.

You’d set the cake box down on the counter, neat as could be, plates and utensils stacked on top to make it convenient. Still, your hands couldn’t stay still, folding and unfolding napkins, smoothing corners, fussing with them until the paper crinkled under your fingertips. Anything to keep from shaking.

The sliding door opened, laughter spilling in, then dulled again as it clicked shut. His footsteps followed, hesitant, heavy.

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.” The word came out sharp, sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take it back. You kept your eyes fixed on the napkins, knuckles whitening around them.

You turned then, slowly, and the look on your face stopped him dead. “Roy,” you said, your voice flat but trembling. “You promised me. You promised you’d talk to her.”

“I did talk to her!” he shot back, too quick, too sharp, like he was scrambling to plug holes in a sinking boat. His hands twitched at his sides before lifting helplessly. “She just… shrugged. You know how she is. I can’t control her showing up.”

Your chest hollowed at that, your hand bracing against the counter. “That’s not the point, Roy. The point is you didn’t tell me you invited her! You didn’t give me the chance to prepare for this— for her— on today of all days.”

“I… I mentioned the party. I didn’t think she’d actually show. I didn’t think she’d come.” His jaw worked, his shoulders tense like a bowstring.

“She’s Lian’s mom,” he said, softer now, but still stubborn. “She deserves to be here too. I didn’t mean for you to feel—” His voice cracked, breaking into something raw. “I didn’t mean for this to blindside you. I’m sorry.”

You felt his presence crowding closer, his hand lifting as though to touch you, to soothe. For a heartbeat you wanted to let him— but instead you stepped back, the space between you deliberate. His hand dropped uselessly, guilt flashing in his eyes.

The air was too tight, pressing in on the two of you. You drew a breath that felt jagged in your chest, ready to argue again, to tell him how much it hurt that promises meant nothing if he never followed through.

But then, through the glass door, a shriek of pure delight rang out— Lian’s voice, high and bright, bubbling with joy.

The sound cut straight through you, cleaving your frustration in two. You closed your eyes, pressing your hand to your throat, steadying yourself against the hollow ache. Not now. Not here. Not in the middle of her day.

When you opened them again, your voice had softened, though it shook at the edges. “Roy, I can’t do this. Not right now. Not with everyone out there and her so… so happy. This isn’t the time.”

He nodded quickly, swallowing hard, still searching your face like he wanted to fix it right there, right then. “I know. I’m sorry. I swear, I’ll make it right.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pushed the cake box against his chest, forcing him to take it. “Go,” you said gently, firmly. “Get the candles. Get it ready. I’ll be out in a minute.”

For once, Roy didn’t argue. Just nodded, shoulders heavy, and slipped back out the door.

You leaned against the counter for a moment longer, napkin still clenched in your hand, until the sound of another giggle from the yard pulled you upright.

You lingered a second longer in the kitchen, the faint hum of the fridge and the scratch of your pulse in your ears the only sounds. The pit in your chest hadn’t gone anywhere, but Lian’s laughter pushed you forward. You smoothed your gown, straightened your shoulders, and slid the door open.

The backyard unfolded before you in a warm, chaotic blur. Roy was bent over the table, arranging the cake like it was a priceless artifact, candles waiting in neat little rows.

His shoulders were still tight, but he moved with purpose, trying to make it right. His friends hover around him, some helping others, talking to him in low voices that you couldn’t hear.

Across the yard, Lian practically glowed. She’d grabbed Jade’s hand and was tugging her toward the knot of wide-eyed kids by the bouncy castle, chattering a mile a minute. “This is my Mommy!” she announced proudly, her little chest puffed up like she’d just introduced royalty.

The kids shifted, some offering shy smiles, others gawking at the woman in dark clothes with the crooked plastic crown still perched on her head. Jade’s mouth twitched like she wasn’t sure if she should smirk or retreat, but she let Lian drag her forward all the same.

Artemis trailed behind them, her expression caught somewhere between exasperation and genuine amusement, the faintest shake of her head giving her away.

You’d never seen her look quite so… comfortable? She’s never been like that around you… Watching her sister step awkwardly into the sunlight of Lian’s world softened something in her face you didn’t realize was tense.

You breathed in, slow. It wasn’t how you pictured this day. Not by a long shot. But for Lian? Maybe it would still be enough.

Roy was only half-aware of whatever Wally had just ribbed him about; his laugh came a beat too late, hollow at the edges. His gaze was restless, skipping over the yard like he was trying to track a dozen threats at once. Lian’s grin, Jade’s presence, Artemis hovering close… it all blurred until he finally found you.

It stopped him cold. His hands froze mid-motion over the stack of plates, breath caught in his chest. You weren’t smiling, weren’t exactly forgiving— but you were there. Standing at the edge of it all, watching instead of shutting yourself away.

He exhaled hard, chest rising with a shaky relief he didn’t even bother to hide. His lips pulled into a smile, not his usual easy one, but something quiete and sheepish.

For a moment, you just stared back, weighing whether to give him anything at all. Then, with a small sigh, you straightened and lifted your voice so the whole yard could hear.

“Kids! Cake time— let’s go!”

The shrieks of excitement burst instantly, bodies barreling toward the table. It gave you the excuse to break eye contact, to busy yourself ushering little hands and voices into something organized.

When you glanced back, Roy was still watching, that crooked smile lingering as he turned to light the candles like it mattered that much.

The table was a mess of chatter and clinking plates, kids leaning over one another to see the cake, adults directing them with varying degrees of success. Lian came bounding forward, cheeks flushed, dragging Jade along by the hand, the pair of them carving straight through the crowd to the head of the table.

That’s when it hit you— your careful count, all your lists and prep. Every chair was filled. Every spot accounted for. Except now Jade was here, standing where there wasn’t room for her to stand.

The realization tightened in your chest, small but sharp. Lian deserved her Mommy at the table. She’d want her there. And you’d be damned if your daughter’s perfect day was marred by something as simple as a missing chair.

So you forced your face into calm and stepped back from the table. Your eyes flicked toward the garage, already calculating how fast you could drag a folding chair in before the frosting started melting under the candles.

It wasn’t the end of the world. Just another adjustment. Another quiet step back to make sure things looked seamless on the surface.

You didn’t think much of it as you slipped out the back, skirting around the hum of the party to duck into the garage. The shift in noise was jarring— laughter and chatter muffled instantly, replaced with the musty stillness of cardboard boxes and old tools..

A huff left your chest before you could stop it. One day, you were going to make Roy tackle this disaster properly. Maybe you’d even get to sit back with a glass of wine while he cursed his way through reorganizing boxes of god-knows-what. That seemed like a fair trade for blindsiding you today.

Stepping carefully around a tipped-over bucket and some old sports gear, you spotted what you needed— two folded chairs leaning against the wall, half-hidden behind Lian’s plastic tricycle. With a little grunt, you tugged one free, shaking off the thin film of dust.

Not pretty, but functional. That was enough.

You exhaled, balancing the folded chair against your hip, and you slipped back through the side gate. The noise of the party swelled immediately, clapping, laughter, the chorus of children’s voices still buzzing with sugar and excitement.

For a fleeting second, you thought the kids managed to stay patient and you’d be able to prop up the chair and slip next to Roy’s side, next to your daughter.

But today wasn't so kind to you.

The candles were already nothing but thin trails of smoke, curling up into the air. Lian sat at the center of it all, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, wedged between Roy and Jade. Her grin was wide, triumphant, her little hands still smacking together in applause as she blew out all 5 of her candles.

You froze just inside the doorway, the chair biting into your palms as your grip faltered. It stretched before you like a snapshot— your daughter’s brightest moment, framed by the two people who gave her life. Without you.

It landed like a stone in your chest. All the hours, the planning, the details stitched together just so, and you’d missed the moment. The wish. The glow on her face. The thing she’d remember when she was older.

No one looked your way. The crowd was already leaning in, shifting toward the cake, the chatter resuming like nothing monumental had just slipped by. You pasted a smile onto your face, one that felt stiff and wrong, and took a step forward. If you moved, if you acted normal, maybe no one would notice. Maybe you could fool even yourself—

“Mama!”

Lian’s voice rang out, clear and delighted, her little hand flapping wildly in the air. She nearly tipped sideways in her seat, cheeks flushed from excitement. “Did you see? I blew them all out!”

The world stuttered.

Roy froze. His grin, the one he’d been wearing a second earlier, dropped away so completely it was almost jarring. His head jerked toward where she was pointing, and the moment his eyes landed on you, his entire body locked. The colour bled from his face, his mouth parted like he’d been caught mid-laugh but forgotten how to finish it.

And then his gaze slid, fast and instinctive, to the empty spot at his side. The one he thought you’d been filling this whole time. The place where you should have been when Lian leaned forward to take her breath, when she squeezed her eyes shut and blew with all her might. Roy’s chest rose once, sharp and unsteady, as the realization slammed into him: you weren’t there. You’d missed it. He hadn’t even noticed.

God, today was not his day, was it?

When his eyes found yours again, the panic was plain, raw and unfiltered. Wide and desperate, his lips moved soundlessly before pressing together, like the words jammed in his throat. Please—believe me. I thought you were beside me. I never would’ve let this happen. His expression screamed all of it without him saying a thing.

Around him, the shift was immediate. Dick’s posture went stiff, his usual easy composure giving way to a faint crease of guilt. Wally’s grin faltered into an awkward half-smile before he ducked his head, ears going red. Donna exhaled softly, eyes lingering on you with sympathy she didn’t try to hide. Even Artemis faltered, torn between watching her niece glow and the sharp awareness of the wound opening right there in the doorway.

And Jade, stoic, unflinching Jade, sat with one hand curled on the back of Lian’s chair. She didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat. Her eyes flicked to you, sharp and knowing, then away again. Not pity. Not mockery. Just… acknowledgment.

The kids, didn’t notice the silence stretching tight around the adults. They were too busy chanting for cake, their voices rising in a happy, impatient chorus. “Cake! Cake! Cake!”

Roy’s eyes clung to you, frantic, begging.

And then Lian turned, bouncing in her seat as if your answer mattered more than anything. “Mama, did you see?” she asked again, louder this time, giggles threading through her words. “All of them—all at once!”

Every adult gaze shifted to you, waiting. The chair in your hands suddenly felt impossibly heavy.

[stvrw1tch]

This is now my all time favorite series!!

The writing, storyline, everything about this is spectacular, amazing, wonderful, so fuckin depressing and realistic that it got me sobbing 5 different times at 1am

20/10 give this a read ppl!!!

[spideyyeet]

➷ BLUE RASPBERRY SLUSHY

[ SUM ] — choso works at the dying seaside movie theater, permanently high and painfully untouched. you’re the new regular that gives him mean glares, then cute smiles? he tries to blame the summer heat… but really? he’s just one shift away from snapping—and you’re the only one he’s got his eye on.

[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+. nsfw. smut. piv. RISKY PUBLIC SEX. exhibitionism. raw. creampie. slight angst. dirty talk. weed. DRY HUMPING. choso whines/whimpers. tit worship. spitting. groping. unckuna. def some grammar errors. wc: 8.6k

[ A/N ] — i actually don’t read a lot of choso fics, but this idea was not leaving my head, so enjoy!!!

choso was many things. but caring about his job was not one of them.

and that’s how you find the movie theater worker. sitting behind the counter scrolling mindlessly on his phone, loose baggy jeans and an oversized band tee, hitting his vape. and with just as much boredom, if not more, you step up to the counter and with the least amount of enthusiasm in your voice, and ask.

“can I get one blue raspberry slushy.”

choso practically jumps ten feet in the air. dropping his vape and phone the second he sees you standing there. the theater was completely empty, considering it was a monday afternoon, but it looked like you appeared out of thin air—

“jesus christ,” he heaves, catching his breath. “yeah sure.”

he shoots you one glance, eyeing your casual outfit, before moving to grab you a cup in their only available size. you stand quietly, hand briefly coming up to suppress a yawn. it’s silent. just the quiet actions of the worker.

he places the drink in front of you, turning the small screen for you to pay. but you just pull out a twenty, before pointing to one of the posters they’re showing in their three theaters. “and one ticket.”

choso hums, rubbing his eye as he includes that in the total, printing out your ticket.

“anything else?”

you shake your head for half a second, grabbing your drink and ticket, then heading to theater two.

he muttered a good night once the film ended and you were leaving. you barely offered him a polite wave in return.

that was the first time you met choso, but you didn’t know that was his name until the third week you came. you point to your chest.

“shouldn’t you guys have name tags?” you ask as he fills your cup with your usual blue raspberry slushy.

“lost mine,” he mutters, placing the drink on the counter, eyes clearly bloodshot and lidded. “my name’s choso if ya need anything,” he rings your drink and ticket up, turning the screen.

then his brows crease briefly, eyes snapping up to you, almost like he finally processed your question again before he starts sputtering, “don’t report me though, if that’s why you wanted to know my name. I don’t even smoke in the theater, it’s just a vape.”

and that was the first time he saw you smile.

your eyes gleam with a little mischief and amusement, taking your drink and ticket without uttering a single word.

choso worked at the small local movie theater every summer and winter break. primarily to get away from his nagging dad asking him about his future, as if he’s convinced choso actually attends all his classes and isn’t moving around pot for extra cash. and also to get away from his uncle who’s doing god knows what with megumi’s dad.

either way, the theater job was chill. the owner was his gramps and he let’s choso handle practically everything, and lately choso’s found himself looking forward to seeing you come in multiple times a week so he’s taken up more shifts.

sometimes he would casually stand at the front of the theater when it was empty, which it usually was, and smoke a joint. his dark bloodshot eyes shining when he’d see you cross the street.

the hot summer sun was beating down on you, your cropped top was stuck to your body like a second skin, hips swaying in your jeans.

“fuck,” he exhales lowly. your chest gleaming from the sweat.

you wipe your forehead, slightly out of breath as you shoot him one single glance, smiling to yourself once he follows you inside like a lost puppy.

“were you running?” choso coughs, putting out his joint, and picking up his pace as you reach the counter.

you nod, “yeah, was at the old diner a few blocks away with my friends,” your shirt was pretty low cut, desperately controlling his eyes from wandering as he grabbed a cup and went to the slushy machine.

“friends?”

“yeah from high school and stuff. we usually jus’ hangout in the summer since we all go to different schools now,” your tone is so easy and light, choso always feels like he’s floating when you speak. or it could be because of the weed he just smoked. either way, every time you come in now, he feels it’s less and less awkward talking to you.

“so why’d you rush here?” he casually asks, placing the slushy in front of you, hands leaning over the counter. you were shorter than him, but you still carried yourself high which had lately started to make him fantasize about things.

you glance between his sunken eyes, chest still coming down from the light jog you had. “I always come around this time,” was the explanation you’d give him. but deep down, choso was praying you’d say it was because of him. still, you point to another old movie that’s playing and finally disappear into the theater.

it wasn’t until a few weeks later, and the fourth of july rolled around.

surprisingly, the owner kept the theater open, and choso would rather smoke on the job, than get caught by his dad or uncle back home so he took the shift. however, the last thing choso was expecting when he was walking absentmindedly in the theater as fireworks went off outside, was for someone to walk in.

and that someone being you.

“you guys really stay open,” you smile, something you’ve started doing more with him. choso’s red eyes widen, heart palpating at the sight.

you were fucking breathtaking.

his mind was so high in the clouds he couldn’t control it anymore, his eyes immediately wandering down. his ears burn red, eyeing the short short skirt you’re wearing, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. even the half-zipped sweater you’re wearing barely covered your top which was a red bikini top that hugged your breasts as they bounced lightly. “choso?”

his eyes quickly snap to your face, cheeks aflame as he stutters out a reply, “yeah, uh—you wanna watch something?”

choso swallows thickly glancing down at your chest again as you walk up to him, fingers at the hem of your sweater, fixing up the zipper before slowly pulling it up. “someone told me,” you stop in front of him, big seductive eyes batting up at the stoner, “that there’s a better view of the fireworks, from this roof.” your finger points up.

it takes a moment for choso to register your words, his eyes now glancing at your glossy lips, beyond tempted to brush his thumb across it. “someone told you?” he repeats, brain still processing as you hum. suddenly his eyes snap to yours, wide and alert, “wait I said that!”

your lip tugs up, laughing softly, and it feels like a shot of dopamine was just injected into his veins. “you said I should come see the fireworks from here. did you forget?”

choso gulps, remembering now, how could he forget. maybe because he thought there was no way you’d ever come. which is ridiculous considering you’ve been coming every week since the start of summer. but it was the fourth of july you had to have been doing something before this to be dressed like that.

“choso?”

the stoner blinks, electing a light giggle from you which sends him into orbit, but he manages to push his hair back, biceps flexing in his old tee shirt, catching you by surprise.

“shit, yeah—here follow me.”

choso felt like he was floating the second his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you further into the theater all the way into the back. the marijuana in his system easing his nerves as he led you up to the second floor. completely unaware how flustered you’d suddenly gotten.

your heart was racing at the sudden contact, his hand warm, cheeks hot as you glanced at it wrapped around your smaller wrist. your chest heats up as you notice the veins that run up his forearm. the tee he was wearing was much more firm fitted than his usual oversized ones, which extenuated his broad back.

“woah,” you exhale.

“huh?” choso glances over his shoulder, catching you by surprise. “did ya say something?”

you swallow thickly, shaking your head. his lips part before closing into a tight lipped awkward smile, turning. you’re so hot. you watch him reach the ladder in the back room on the second floor.

“lemme just unlock the hatch first,” he says, letting go of your hand to climb the ladder. your fingers loosely wrap around one of the bottom steps as he reaches the top. he digs his hand in his pocket grabbing the set of keys.

maybe this wasn’t the best spot to stand because now your entire body feels like it’s on fire as you watch the, once, chill slightly dorky movie theater worker reach both arms over his head, his shirt riding up and exposing a sliver of skin, along with the few hairs that peak out of his black Calvin Klein boxers and loose jeans. oh fuck, you can see his defined v-line—

“there we go!” choso smiles, pushing the hatch up hearing it bang and the lights shine in the night sky in the distance. choso hooks the keys back on his belt loop as he climbs to the top, hand stretched out for you.

damn, your heart is thudding against your chest as you reach the top. his shockingly muscular arm flexes once your small one falls in his palm feeling a second wave of heat flood your body. you were so consumed by how flustered you’re suddenly getting that you miss a ladder step and slip—

“woah! careful,” his arm catches the edge of the latch, holding your bicep with his other hand. “grab the ladder,” but before you could even find your footing again, he’s lifting you higher. your body weight seemed like nothing to him. you’re halfway out of the hatch when you’re finally able to stand on the final step. “you okay?” he’s heaving lightly, hand falling from your bicep to your waist, brows creased and eyes still bloodshot.

this is bad.

your name leaves his soft voice again, a tinge of concern in his eyes when he notices you staring off. “a-are you high too?” he cuts again, finally able to shake you back to reality.

“no, I’m fine. thanks,” you gently pat his shoulder as a thank you, the action filled with timid awkwardness, nothing like how you usually were.

his brow raises, glancing at your sudden attitude change. are you acting differently?

you wet your lips, crossing your arms feeling slightly more self conscious as you walk further away from the hatch you came out of. choso is not far behind, dusting his jeans and stepping up beside you, hand digging in his pockets for another joint.

“wait,” he puts the joint in his mouth, then stands behind you. both his hands come up to your arms as he walks backwards. completely unaware of the shock his touch sends throughout your body, even over the sweater! your heart hammers louder, mouth dry as you try to look over your shoulder. “yeah, here. now look up.” he unconsciously squeezes your arms, nodding his chin up, hands sliding off you to grab his lighter.

your face burns, mouth going dry as you watch the theater worker casually light his joint, jaw flexing at the action as he inhales.

his dark black lashes flutter as the smoke fills his lungs and dulls his senses. he looks so effortlessly pretty….it felt like this is the first time you were seeing him. like you hadn’t realized the first fifty times you came to the theater that he was actually pretty attractive. or that his lips were a pretty pink as he exhaled the smoke. or that he was taller than you, of course you knew that, but your body didn’t fully sink that fact in until now.

“you sure you’re not high?” choso cuts, glancing down at you seeing you still staring at him.

your eyes widen, glancing away. “no, not high.” choso’s hums, shoving one hand in his pocket as he stands beside you, both of you silently waiting. as for choso, the joint from earlier had loosely dulled his anxious heart, but he could still feel the heat creeping up his neck. your body heat so close to his arm, occasionally glancing down at you. eyes flicking over your breasts, then face, then back down.

“where were you before this?” choso breaks the silence.

you glance down at yourself then up at him. “there was a fourth of july party at my friends beach house.”

choso hums, “sounds fun.”

you nod, “yeah. it was fun.”

another sound leaves the man’s lips, rocking on his heels, keeping the conversation going as best as he can. “how come you never bring one of your friends to the movies with you?”

a silent beat passes.

choso looks back at you, your smile no longer playing on your glossy kissable lips. the joint slowly burns between his fingers, heart picking up at your silence.

“was that tmi?” he quickly cuts, salvaging the moment, no filter whatsoever.

your fingers lazily play with the zipper on your sweater, shaking your head. “no…I just like watching movies alone,” you shrug, “all my friends talk through the whole thing anyways.”

“ahhh yeah, that’s like super annoying,” choso nods in agreement, earning a soft giggle from you. “watching movies alone is such a vibe.” you hum again, smiling.

another beat of silence follows, but luckily the second round of fireworks begin. you and choso simultaneously tilt your heads up, faces illuminated by the lights.

“woah,” you both exhale. choso snorts, taking another hit before passing it over to you. you glance at the joint, leaning forward. “oh,” choso blushes, bringing the joint up to your pretty lips, watching you closely as you wrap your lips where his once were, and inhaling.

you can still hear your heart racing behind your ears.

your fingers lightly brush his wrist, before pulling back. you do your best to hold in the smoke, then exhaling, onto for a throaty cough to come out.

“shit,” choso bursts out laughing, softly patting your back. you flush deeply, still coughing as you hear the man laugh a little louder at how flustered you are.

to think you were this nonchalant regular that would give him attitude, and finding out you’re just as awkward as him. well maybe he’s still the weird one, but it was cute seeing you struggle to take another hit to prove some stupid thing to him. so he holds the joint for you again, letting you hit and you do better this time. eyeing him down as if you really showed him.

“cute,” he mutters.

flustered by his comment, you distract yourself, and move a step forward before squatting carefully to sit on the roof. however, when you start to lean backwards—

“what’re you doing!” choso suddenly lurches forward, stopping you from laying down with a hand on your head.

your brows fly up, “I’m just laying down??”

“this roof is dirty as shit!” choso scrambles, looking around for god knows what. you’re still looking at him, even more confused. why is he suddenly freaking out? “here!” he resolves the problem the only way he knows how.

his arm comes over his head, grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking the material off.

“what the—“ your cheeks sting, eyes bulging wide at the sight of choso completely shirtless. what the fuck! your brain short circuits. he was built! his abs were defined, and his arms are huge. he’s literally the definition of sleeper build. and is that a “tattoo?”

choso was bent down, laying his shirt behind you, catching a glimpse at the large tattoo on his back. “huh—“ he glances up catching your eye as he looks over his shoulder, almost like he forgot he had a giant tattoo on his sculpted back. “oh yeah, cool right?” he smiles widely.

how can he be so hot and dorky at the same time?! you internally scream, because now you’re just nodding, too flustered to respond.

“my dad fucking killed me when he found out. here lay down,” he pats his shirt, then crawls beside you and lays down.

now the two of you, side by side, stare up the flashing lights, and distant laughs and cheers from the town, everyone’s eyes were up. and then you realize…

“I was gonna put my hood on, you know…so like…you didn’t have to take your shirt off, dude.”

a beat.

choso’s ears are a bright red, then you feel him turn his head to you.

you do the same.

and the deadpan look on the man’s face had you sucking in your lips, holding back a horrible laugh.

“well…” was all he could respond with.

your lips curve into a smile as the sound of your laugh bursts out and fills his ears. your eyes close laughing harder when he tries to keep that deadpan look, especially with how bloodshot his eyes were, he was not fully present.

but eventually, he gives in. laughing with a touch of embarrassment, grumbling under his breath, before nudging you with his muscular arm. “it’s summer so it’s not that crazy,” he huffs.

you laugh again, but make him feel better with an encouraging nod. “for sure. I’m wearing a bikini under here so I can’t really say anything,” but you still laugh at him.

“yeah whatever,” choso sarcastically snorts, but then his eyes fall to your bent knees, your beach skirt exposing more flesh as it rests on your waist. you couldn’t stop laughing, hand on your stomach as you lean towards him, leg touching his waist.

“sorry sorry,” you wave, “just the face you pulled was crazy.” you slowly come down, stomach hurting from how much you’d been laughing. unaware of the warm palm resting on your thigh now, until you feel the light caresses of a foreign touch.

“my bad for tryna be a gentleman,” he mutters, tone laced with amusement, but his eyes were slightly lidded. gaze locked on your face, brushing his calloused palm over the surface of your thigh.

your heart skips a beat. skin breaking out into goosebumps. how did we get here?

the bursts of fireworks fall quiet, senses focused on him and his heavy breathing. his dark orbs glance over your lips. face inching closer. you couldn’t stop your heart from beating louder, not when you feel his warm breath fanning across your face now. is going to kiss you? please please let him kiss you.

similar to you, choso couldn’t not keep his heart from pounding in his ears. palms turning clammy, the sudden confidence, slowly sinking now that he’s so close. fuck—

“is it—“

his words are cut by your lips. his gasp eaten by your hungry mouth as you swallow another whimper from him. your hand gently cups his jaw, lips molding against his, parting them to swipe your tongue across his.

“open,” your soft command, had a pathetic groan escaping the man’s throat.

your confidence was souring at his response. his hand squeezes your thigh, letting you hook your leg across his lap. sliding closer to him as the kiss deepens. neither of you could focus on anything else other than the touch and taste of each other.

you pull away, catching your breath as he pants, hand squeezing your waist under your sweater. “you’re so pretty,” he husks, cupping your head and pulling you back to his lips, taking control. the shift in dominance has a wave of heat pooling between your legs. pressing yourself against him, just to feel a hard tent.

choso swears under his breath as your leg shifts on his bulge. your name leaves his lips, jaw straining. “I needa sec…”

his breath is hot, swallowing another moan when you purposely shift again. blushing at the moan like whimper that leaves his mouth. your nails slide across his pecs, sending shivers down his spine, and blood to his crotch.

“seriously,” he squeezes your waist, groaning as you press your thigh firmly on the bulge, smiling at the twist in his expression.

your lips brush his lightly, smirk tugging at the corners, “is it okay if we keep going?”

choso freezes. his eyes are wide, completely out of his element, unable to react as he watches you climb on top of him. cheeks flushed as you settle back on the large bulge that tent his jeans up. your pretty hands fall on his warm chest, lashes fluttering down at him.

he must be dreaming right now.

the fireworks go off above you. the lights beaming in the night sky and illuminating your seductive silhouette. now this was the same girl that gave him teasing banter for the last month.

“choso?” you softly coo, hips slowly grinding down on his bulge, the friction of his jeans against your thin swim suit bottom had your stomach twisting in pleasure. “you still with me?”

an embarrassing noise leaves the stoner’s lips. his face turns a darker shade of red.

your lips part again, a gentle sigh of pleasure escaping. “do you like me, choso?”

the man finally is able to nod, followed by his hands on your thighs and waist again. you smile, leaning forward, lips hovering over his as you whisper softly, “I think I’m starting to like you too.”

all sanity flys out the window. his lips crash into yours, swallowing a gasp as your bodies mold perfectly. it was amusing to anyone else, the way two young adults, both playing at the timid confidence and flirting, making out heavily on the roof of a struggling movie theaters. desperately dry humping like your life depends on it.

“ngh fuck,” choso grunts, hips bucking as he pulls the zipper of your sweater off. his hand easily falls on your breast, groping the flesh. “this okay?” he asks, nibbling on your bottom lip. however, he doesn’t wait for a response before pulling your bikini top down exposing your tits to the warm summer air.

“choso,” you whine, jaw slacking as he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking like he’s been deprived of water. he moans around the bud, hand falling to grab your ass, rocking you more.

the air grew thicker around you. his bare chest was burning under your palm, his heart racing as you continued grinding your clothed pussy on his jeans, unaware that the material has been sliding to the side, allowing your arousal to stain his pants. the two of you were possessed. his teeth tugged on your nipple, eyes flicking up to catch your pretty face twist in pleasure, jaw going slack as you began shivering.

“y’ look like you’re gonna cum?” he mutters, tongue swirling around your nipple like a lollipop.

an incoherent whine leaves your lips, unable to speak when you’re so close.

“fuck, you’re gonna cum now. yeah—haah gonna cum just from humping me?” he’s both amused and so unbelievably turned on. his cock was leaking desperately in his boxers, jaw clenched when your humping grew sloppier, pretty lashes fluttering. “shit…” choso groans as he watches you come undone. your luminous eyes are glossed over, jaw slack with a silent oh escaping your lips.

your thighs tremble around his waist, back curving forward, cumming from just a measly dry hump session.

you bury your face in the man’s neck, completely embarrassed. did you seriously just cum? the heat spreads up your neck, to the tips of your ears. however, a deep voice suddenly breaks your anxious heart.

“that was really fucking…hot.”

your heart clenches.

“you feel good?” choso is completely unaware of your reserved reaction to what had just happened. his words just spew from his lips without a second thought. it was usually how he spoke to you before, but in this setting, it brought you more comfort than you were willing to admit you needed.

your lips turn to the shell of his ear, arms wrapped around his neck, and lowly replying, “yeah.”

the slight rasp in your tone sent shivers down the man’s spine, his cock twitching in its confines, hips pushing up. his hand slides to your ass, biting his lip as he grabs a handful of your cheek. the other brushed along your spine under your sweater.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” he starts, face turning to nudge you up, a lopsided grin plays on his lips as you hover close to him. “but I’m really fuckin’ hard.”

you swallow thickly, cheeks burning hot, his lips brush yours again, kissing your bottom lip. his sudden switch between submission and soft dominance left you spinning. now you’re wondering how big he is. especially when you start to sit up, shuffling further down his lap so you’re straddling his thighs.

“I’m gonna….” you trail off, wetting your lips as you start to unbuckle his belt, heart racing as you eye the light hairs that grow darker the lower you go.

choso is in a similar position, possibly worse since he’s rethinking you taking his cock out. his heart is racing, praying the moment you wrap your hand around him he doesn’t cum.

choso doesn’t sleep around — he has slept with the occasional clients back in university, but he definitely doesn’t compare to the fuck boys in the frats. but to say, even with those experiences, watching you unzip his jeans, still two layers over his bare cock, was the most exhilarating feeling ever.

you flush as you thumb his boxers, hooking your fingers around them before—

“what the fuck are you doing on the roof!”

a loud yelp escapes your mouth as you duck to the side of choso, covering yourself from the stranger’s head popping out of the hatch.

choso immediately sits up, turning around in fury, hands coming to his pants.

the low whistle sends even more heat bursting through you and choso, followed by the stranger’s boisterous laugh. “ah ya took her to the spot. told ya this always gets em in.”

your heart stops.

“shut up,” choso snaps. fully sat and reaching to help you fix yourself. however, you immediately brush his hands off, zipping your sweater on your own.

what did that guy mean by this always gets them?

“can you give us a sec?” choso huffs, the stranger was now standing on the roof beside the hatch, hands in his pockets and lit cigarette in his mouth.

“ya left the theater unlocked, you’re lucky it was me and not the old man that came around,” the man tilts his chin to the fireworks still in the sky. “plus i wanted to see the view,” he smirks, sharp crimson eyes skimming your figure.

you brush your skirt off, skeptically glancing at the man as you and choso stand.

“yeah whatever,” choso huffs, cheeks burning red as he faces you, away from the man as he tries to hide his obvious boner.

“who is that?” you glance over choso’s shoulder, the man was still smiling wickedly.

choso tsks at the question. he does his best with his bulge before turning around.

“that’s my uncle ryo.”

uncle? your heart speeds up, so it definitely wasn’t some joke then. why would he say this always gets them?? your mind starts spiraling, hands getting clammy as you glance at his uncle again, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes as you follow choso to the hatch.

“sorry to breakup the lovemaking,” his uncle adds.

you reach the latch when choso is suddenly stopped by the older man, his hand catching his shoulder, turning choso to face him.

“dude,” choso tilts his face away, knowing exactly what’s about to happen, but his uncle holds him still either way.

“how fucked up are you?”

choso’s tsks, jaw clenching, “jus’ smoked like two joints, I’m fine.”

sukuna eye’s narrow at his nephew, letting go. “I won’t tell ye’r dad—“

“yeah, I know. you owe me—“

“cut the shit,” his uncle snaps, pointing at him, “walk home. leave the car.”

choso waves him off in disinterest, turning back towards the hatch when—you’re gone.

his sweat turns cold, quickly racing down the ladder, sharp eyes catching a familiar raven haired man at the bottom. of course his uncle and toji are about to do some shady ass shit now. choso brushes it off and quickly jogs down to the lobby catching your pretty skirt exiting the front doors.

“wait!—“ choso calls your name, sprinting out and catching your wrist with a firm, gentle grasp.

your heart lurches in your throat, stomach twisting into an uncomfortable knot. he’s panting beside you, dirty t-shirt thrown over his shoulder. the fireworks were still going off, and the streets were filled with teenagers and young adults running around with sparklers and making bad decisions.

“I’m really sorry about my uncle. i didn’t know he’d come by—“

“s’ fine,” you cut in, unable to stomach a second thought about what his uncle had hinted at. “I’m gonna head home.”

choso can’t help the sudden jump in anxiety he’s feeling. did his uncle really mess things up with you for good? he treated you nicely though, does that not mean anything. choso swallows the lump in his throat, nodding his head, but instead of letting go of your wrist, you’re suddenly being pulled to his broad chest.

his muscular arms carefully wrap around your smaller form, hugging you close, eyes shut tight. “I’ll see you later…?”

choso’s question hangs in the humid summer air. his heart thumps louder the longer you’re silent, biceps twitching with nerves.

it was an unfamiliar experience. your skin was sticky with sweat, insides hollow and unsure, but your body moved before you can think too much. “yeah,” you quietly mutter, giving him a gentle hug back, allowing him to finally pull away from you.

the booms and cracks of the fireworks echoed through the alleys and streets, quietly rattling store windows as choso watched you disappear into the crowd. and the moment you left his sight, he definitely knew something was wrong.

his anxiety was only proven correct once the following week came around…

choso was sat at the counter, heart thumping loudly as he waited for your usual intimidating aroma to walk through the doors, monday afternoon. you’d be stoic, but the moment you asked for your blue raspberry slushy and he’d make some lazy comment, you’d grace him with your smile.

but you never came.

not monday, or tuesday, or wednesday, or that entire week. and with every passing day, choso grew more and more heartbroken and bitter. was it really because he tried to fuck you on the first night? you kissed him first!

“nah man, girls are just weird,” his close friend ino drags, the usual beanie still covering his light brown hair even in the summer heat. his arms were covered in grease stains, gloves resting on his lap.

choso frowns, joint still between his fingers as the two sit outside toji’s beachside car shop. “that’s not an explanation,” he huffs.

“well,” ino thinks some more, “did you say something wrong?”

“no,” choso’s leaning on his knees, fingers scratching his sharp jaw. “i said sorry because my uncle interrupted.”

“so she’s mad at sukuna?”

choso’s shakes his head, “but that doesn’t make any sense? why would she ignore me?”

suddenly a deep voice cuts behind them, “she looked heartbroken when i saw her running out.”

the two young adults turn their heads, toji was standing a few feet away clearly eavesdropping on the conversation. his white wife beater was covered in grease stains and sweat that trickles down his back and chest. the older man swiped his forehead with his arm.

“what’re you talking about?” choso’s brows pinch.

toji shrugs, wiping his hands with a rag, “the cutie on the roof with you last week. saw her climb down the ladder lookin’ devastated as shit.”

choso’s jaw clenches, “how do you know she was upset?”

the older man scoffs, wicked smirk on his lips, “i know when a woman is heartbroken.”

ino holds stifles a laugh, glancing at choso who doesn’t bother to question toji, he’s known him long enough to trust his instincts with women. however, this leave choso even more confused.

“so was she upset at uncle? or maybe that i made her vulnerable and he saw?”

“vuLnErable,” ino chuckles, just for choso to kick his friend.

toji shrugs, walking over, “could be.”

“or she’s a virgin!” ino shouts, solving mystery.

choso’s eyes widen, “a virgin?!!”

toji deadpans at the young men, “don’t listen to him,” he tosses his dirty rag at ino. “from what y’ said, i fuckin’ doubt she’s a virgin—“

“she’s not a slut!” choso defensively cuts.

toji rolls his eyes,” I didn’t say she was slut.” choso’s eyes are still aflame, standing his ground. toji sighs, “ino’s right.”

“for real?” the twenty-two year old smiles.

“women are confusin’, ya gotta talk to her and ask,” toji shrugs, like it’s that simple.

choso’s head falls forward, “she hasn’t been around the last week. that’s the whole point man!” he groans into his hands. “I thought you know women.”

toji snorts, leaning down to snatch the joint from choso, taking a drag. “I do if I’m with ‘em. I read body language, kid,” he winks.

ino laughs, while choso frowns, “her body language was that she came from dry humping me.”

toji exhales from his nose, laughing, “not just sex. general body language, facial expression, eye contact.”

“oh…”

toji takes one last drag before dropping the joint on the ground and putting it out.

“dude!”

“y’er dad’s comin’ to pick up his car,” toji nods towards ino, the kid sighs dabbing up choso before jogging back to the shop. “she’ll come.”

the week following your absence was worse than the one before. all choso could do was wait. wait until you finally come to theater so he can clear whatever miscommunication managed to happen without him even realizing. all of it was infuriating, especially because he didn’t have your number or any of your socials so it was impossible to contact you—

“one blue raspberry slushy.”

choso jumps so violently and inhaling like someone just unplugged him from the universe and plugged him back in at full voltage.

the vape he was twirling between his fingers clatters onto the counter. he hadn’t even seen you walk up, he was too busy having an out-of-body experience staring at the theater’s carpet pattern, convinced the swirls were breathing back at him.

but then you speak. and suddenly you’re there. right in front of him.

his soul launches into the astral plane for the second time tonight. “oh—” he chokes, jerking back so hard his elbows smack the slushy machine. his eyes shoot to you, wide and slightly bloodshot, like a startled cat who just saw god.

and god, apparently, looks like you.

after ten dry, agonizing, notification-less days, there you stand glowing in the neon reflection of the concessions menu like an angel descending from the heavens with a halo.

you’re an angel. a terrifying, sudden, beautiful angel who kissed and dry humped him days ago then vanished like a fucking heart stabbing tragedy. and then you just fucking walked in holding exact change.

“you scared the shit outta me,” he whispers, voice shaking, but there’s no real accusation in it, just awe. the kind that sounds a little like heartbreak and a lot like love.

you don’t grace him with a smile. your eyes don’t even meet his fully, only flick over his face briefly, then glancing at the three films playing, pointing to one.

choso’s heart beats erratically. palms clammy as he grabs your drink. you were wearing the same sweater you wore that night, but this time it was a cute spaghetti strap sundress that reached mid thigh underneath….are you gonna say anything? maybe something happened to you that’s why you didn’t show up…fuck no, toji already confirmed you were upset with him, or uncle ryo. fuck!

“can we talk about—“

you turn on your heel once he placed your drink and ticket down. disappearing into the theater.

“what the fuck?” choso’s insides twist into a fighting pit of anger and confusion. so you’re not even going to talk to him now? acting the same fucking way you did the first time you met??

his heart hammers against his chest with every passing minute. knee bouncing on the floor glancing at the theater door.

“fuck me—“

the stool slams back into the counter as choso rises. the adrenaline quietly pumps through his veins as he enters the theater, eyes scanning the room, before landing on your form two rows from the back.

it was the first time he left his position to see you. not counting the fourth of july.

“if you tell me what’s wrong or whatever, I’ll leave you alone,” choso whispers, not caring one bit that you’re trying to watch chungking express.

his jaw clenches at your silence, your legs crossed and hands holding your blue raspberry slushy, sucking the straw with a frown tugging at your brows. you’re definitely upset.

“is it about my uncle? I’m really sorry he walked in. for real, I had no idea he was coming,” choso whispers, heart beating quickly, desperately trying to remember the other things he wanted to say. “and I should’ve taken you on a date first, o-or just asked you out first. so I’m sorry for being douche and tryna fuck you—“

your head suddenly snaps to him, your lips blue. his breath catches, and his heart immediately sinks to his stomach at the sight of your glassy eyes glaring at him.

“I’m not mad that you wanted to fuck me, choso,” you whisper, chest rising in anger. “I’m mad that this how you fuck me.”

huh? choso shakes his head. “what’re you talking about??”

your jaw clenches, eyes narrowing at him, “how many times have you done this with other girls? it’s—“ your face contorts, “it’s disgusting.“

choso is even more lost than he was before.

your heart beats erratically in your chest, eyes wavering as you glance between his. the large theater screen the only source of light, as choso shifts closer to see your face.

“honestly, I’m sorry, but i have zero clue what the hell you’re talking about right now. what trick? I didn’t trick you?? and other girls. I’ve been bumming my whole summer in this theater??”

you frown, “I don’t need an explanation seriously,” you mutter turning back to the screen. “we’re not even a thing.”

“I want an explanation because I’m really lost here,” choso’s agitated voice irks you, throat drying as your eyes flick to him.

“your uncle said some bs about, this always gets them in, how else am I supposed to interpret that?”

your words suddenly clear the fog in chose’s mind. breaking the surface as he blinks with absolute annoyance.

“are you kidding me?” he whispers, voice low sending chills down your spine. you frown. “so you assumed he meant me?”

your eyes flick between his, “well…yeah.”

choso’s face is suddenly inches from you, his hot breath fanning over yours. “my uncle used to work here when he was in school. i’d mentioned you once to him and he told me about how he brought girls up here to watch the fireworks,” choso’s lips brush your ear, deep husky voice laced with inconvenience. “there were no list of girls. I already knew the view was good from there and invited you just for that.” your heart suddenly starts beating with anxiety, throat growing dry as he continues. “there was no master plan…my uncle’s jus’ a narcissistic dick and thinks he deserves credit for everything.”

choso’s lips brush the shell of your ear, his hand hesitantly touching your wrist. “I never took any girls up there. and you would’ve known all that if you just asked me to clarify.”

with a blink of an eye, you’re pushing his chest back, pretty eyes glowing up at him.

“really?”

choso immediately flushes, heart pounding out of his chest as his ears turn pink.

how are you able to go from zero to a hundred in seconds?

he’s left speechless by you’re shining orbs, nodding wordlessly.

then, straight out of his prayers, you finally grace his humble self with your warm, infectious smile.

“i—“ your words don’t come fast enough as you embrace the stoner. arms wrapped around his shoulder hugging him close. “I’m sorry.” your apology doesn’t even attempt to ease his racing heart. “I don’t know. I was being dramatic, but like we also don’t know each other that well anyways, so you can’t blame me for just yeah—“

“I wanna know you,” choso suddenly cuts, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“me too,” you smile bashfully, relieved he can’t see your face. “but you know what I mean…right, choso?”

his hands squeeze your torso, humming against your shoulder as he inhales your ocean-coconut scent. “so were you mad about what happened on the roof?” he can’t help but question, especially when your lips are ghosting over his ear now, sighing softly with a slight shake of your head.

“I wasn’t mad about that. it was all perfect until your uncle came,” you exhale, sending shivers down his spine.

the creaking and hushed whispers in the back barely concealed the truth behind what was unfolding.

his body is unable to stop himself from guiding you to his lap, lips ghosting over one another.

“so you wanted to have sex with me?” choso whispers, smile playing on your glossy lips.

“mmm…felt bad about leaving you unsatisfied like that,” your lips part along with his, your tongues connecting, just as his hand squeeze your waist with a pathetic whimper. he’s so quick to whine, it sends a flood of heat between your legs.

“you’re hard now,” you mutter, settling on his bulge for the second time.

choso swallows a moan, “can’t be surprised. got an angel devil on top of me.”

you’re heart skips a beat, lips crashing onto his. neither of you care that you’re in an empty theater, and the risk of anyone walking in was still high. your actions remained hushed, intimate.

choso was melting the second he had his hands on you. tongue tasting you the blue raspberry slushy on your tongue, unashamed by your smirk. “cho?” your fingers move between you, unbuckling his belt.

heat breaks out across his face, heart speeding. “you wanna?”

you nod, mischief gleaming under your lashes.

choso silently swears under his breath, biting his lip as he quietly helps you shimmy his jeans down, breath catching once you place your palm on his bulge. “feels big,” you mutter against his lips. his cheeks sting, cock twitching in his boxers. you continue groping and feeling him, smile playing on your lips as he whimpers.

“s-stop teasing,” his grip tightens on your waist, your sweater slipped off your shoulder.

“jus’ wanted to feel,” you coo lowly, licking his bottom lip like a seductress. you then gingerly thumb his waistband, slowly pulling it back and slipping your small cold hand inside. his entire body locks up once you grip his base, pulling him out. “oh.” you’re pleasantly surprised by the size in your hand. “it’s big.”

choso let’s out a shaky exhale, hips rising briefly once his cock touches the cool air. his pretty eyes flick up to you watching you spit in your hand, and slowly start working his cock.

“you’re not gonna cum in my hand, right?” you coo against his lips, back arches over him as you press your pretty breasts agaisnt his chest.

choso swallows a whine, shaking his head. “n-not even you don’t want me too.”

you smile adorably, like you didn’t have this man in the palm of your hand, “good boy.”

fuck.

choso’s head falls back, jaw slack with quiet moans as you jerk his thick cock. his abs clench every time your thumb swipes his tip. tapping the crown like a devil. “d-don’t,” he whimpers.

“but it looks so pretty, cho,” you whisper, kissing his lips. he only whines in reply, kissing you back with more fever. jaw slacking and tongue pushing into your mouth desperate for the taste of the blue raspberry that’s stained your tongue.

it was easy for choso to get drunk of you, and he realizes that when he’s feeling his tip brush a wet soft flesh.

“oh fuck—“ he chokes, he pulls away briefly, gaze dropping to his lap to see his flushed cock rubbing your bare pussy. “wait,” his head snaps up to you, brows furrowed in worry. “is it not to big, I can stretch you out first?”

your fingers brush his jaw, tilting his head up as you kiss the corner of his mouth. your voices hushed, “s’ fine, I can take it.”

choso swallows thickly, hand finding purchase under your dress to grip your waist, and the other holding your ass as you slowly nudge his tip against your entrance.

“okay,” you exhale coolly, slowly sinking down.

“shit,” choso swears between clenched teeth. grip unforgiving as you gasp against him. your cute whimpers were the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. it felt like honey being dripped into his ear as you did your best to swallow his thick pulsing inches. “y’er squeezin me, r-relax baby.”

you whine quietly, gently moving up, just to push down again and take a few more inches. “bigger than I thought cho,” you pant.

his head tilts, capturing your lips, “sorry,” he apologizes, and it actually sounds like he’s sorry for how big he is, especially when you let out another adorable whimper.

but still, he kisses you like it’s the first time he’s ever been intimate with someone. and after a few more shallow bounces, you finally settle every big chubby inch of him inside your gummy walls.

“fuh—you feel so good,” he mutters, “feel so good wrapped around my cock,” your tongues collide as you start grinding against him. hips rocking slowly, as you adjust to his impressive size.

your hearts beat together. breaths colliding as the world slowly disappears, likes it just you two quietly moaning and whining on a theater seat. the creaking and quiet squelches that left your pussy with every bounce didn’t register in your ears. instead your focus remained on one another.

on his voice. your gasps. his curses. your coos.

“I feel so full, choso haah,” you babble, lips glossy from his spit. “d-do you feel me to anh too?”

choso whimpers as you clamp around him as you sink down again. his fingers dig into your ass the other fully wrapped around your waist, biceps flexing around your back. “course I do,” he grunts, bitting your bottom lip. moaning once you drool into his mouth.

nothing else mattered now.

his thick thighs part. his hips angle up, and his firmly plant themselves on the ground. “c’mon, keep riding my cock princess,” choso moans agaisnt your lips. his hips snap up getting you to pick up the speed.

you gasp in surprise, cheeks flushed, sweater falling at your elbows, and the straps of your dress starting to slip of your shoulders as you fix your feet to rest over his knees for better balance. “o-okay choso,” you hold his shoulders as you start picking up the speed.

neither of you could think about the sounds of your ass clapping against his thighs, or the whines that left both your pathetic mouths.

choso kept your pace, helping you bounce your pretty ass up n down his cock like one of his toys. and with every bounce, your pretty breasts followed, until one strap fell low enough for it to expose you to him.

“haah fuck,” choso groans, lips wrapping around your nipple sucking immediately.

“ahh,” you clamp around him, whining. he only moans around you, humming as your nails comb through his hair.

you were lucky you were the only one in the theater, because now it was obvious what was happening. the creaking, the clapping, the moans. it was beyond lewd, and obscene.

“m gonna cum cho,” you whine, bouncing quicker as you chase that coil twisting in your tummy. his flushed tip continues hitting your sweet spot, dragging against your gummy walls with each bounce.

“fuhck—fuck I’m close, keep movin’” he huffs, drooling against your chest as he kisses up your sternum to your neck, panting harshly as he bucks his hips as you start to grow sloppy. “don’t sto—ah-p—“

“I can’t—angh—“ your vision turns white, drool escaping your lips as you fall apart, creaming around the stoner.

choso swears, arms holding you desperately to his chest as he starts pumping his messy cock into your weeping hole. “fuck—tight pussy, melting inside ya—haah—“ his thighs start trembling, muscles flexing underneath you as his head falls on your shoulder.

“so good baaby…ngh haah god—“ his own climax hits him like a truck. the words fall off his tongue and pull out flashes in his mind, but the searing white that blinds him leaves him frozen inside your deep warmth.

“chosoo,” you whine into his neck as the thick ropes of white cum fill your insides.

the stoner pathetically whimpers, hips still bucking as he milks every last drop, emptying his balls, hand wrapped around your nape as the other squeezes around your waist under your dress.

“fhuck,” choso pants, chest heaving as he slowly comes down, lips parting as he leaves open mouthed kisses along your exposed shoulder. trailing them up your neck. “beautiful,” kiss, “so sweet.” his hums and sighs left shivers down your spine as you stroke his long hair. scratching his nape as your lashes flutter.

that’s when a loud whistle cuts the air.

you freeze hugging the man desperately as he lifts your strap up. neither of you realizing the movie had ended.

“y’er shameless, kid. your daddy would be disappointed ya turned out like me.”

a vein pops from choso’s neck.

“dude, what the fuck?” choso groans, hand coming up to fix your sweater on your shoulders again at sukuna laughs beside the door.

“I’m not the one fucking in a public space—“

“fuck off,” choso swears under his breath, choking quietly as he pulls out, electing the softest whimper from your lips. “sorry,” he mutters.

“why is he still here?” you whisper, fixing your dress as you stand up, glancing at his uncle still beside the door, choso quickly tucks himself ignoring the stickiness of your mixed juices.

“because he’s a dick,” choso tsks, leading the way out.

sukuna smirks, eyeing his nephew, “all good?”

“you need the space again” choso holds your hand this time, glaring at his uncle,

sukuna exits first, revealing another man standing beside the door. “something like that. don’t tell your gramps.”

choso hums digging for the theaters keys in his pocket, “don’t tell him about today then,” he tosses the set,

“I don’t talk to that old man anyways,” sukuna catches them. “take the girl out for dinner, can’t just keep fucking her here.”

“dude!”

you glare at the uncle making him smirk wider, shooting you a wink.

choso leads you to the exit as you hold his arm, “your uncle is weird,” you grumble.

“yeah, sorry ‘bout him,” choso catches toji, accepting the wink he gives the kid before exiting the theater. “but uh—you down for dinner—on me?”

you smile, lips still stained blue, “yup. and we needa get plan-b.”

“oh shit!”

a/n: sorry if the ending felt rushed! but I hope u guys enjoyed the fic, i just couldn’t get movie theater worker choso out of my head!! (divider by @/strangergraphics)

[stvrw1tch]

Heheheh this shit is PEAK!!

[indiewritesxoxo]

THINKING OF YOU

⊹ part two to the one that got away

࣪₊˚☆ synopsis: you spent your life missing a man up in the stars. a shame he only came back down when you weren't there anymore. but as gojo picks up the pieces of you he left behind, he finds moving on is a lot harder when it appears you might not have either.

⊹ pairing: teacher!choso x f!reader x astronaut!gojo

࣪₊˚☆ wc: 19.0k

⊹ content: mdni, HEAVY ANGST + SMUT, make sure to read part one first! gojo is once again suffering with no relief, heavy tension, intense jealousy and insecurity all around, mentions of character death, mourning, anxious avoidant attachment, reader is an emotionally constipated mess beware, a lot of choso pov, conflicting feelings, kissing, piv sex, oral sex (f! receiving), aftercare, choso whimpering, choso LOVES his girl more than anything okay, parenting, proposals, breakups and makeups, some domestic fluff, uncomfortable conversations and confrontations, marriage, bittersweet endings, if you want comfort, not much to be found here once again i'm afraid

࣪₊˚☆ art cr: @yotume div cr: @/decomposedmaw

The ghost waiting at your grave wasn’t yours. 

Not much older than he looked in that photo still tucked in the top drawer of your dresser, but rather than the brilliant smile plastered on his face back then, your former fiancé was grimacing. Leaning against the closest tree, head leaning back against the bark as he stared up at the sky accusingly. 

As if he had anyone other than himself to blame for choosing anything over you. 

Choso bit his tongue, reminding himself that in the end, he was the one who won, the one who got to spend his life with you – and if it hadn’t been for Gojo being an idiot who left you behind, he wouldn’t have gotten his wife. His kids – whether by blood or bonds. His grandchildren. 

Gojo had given it all to him. 

One foot dragged a little slower than the other, but he made his way to the grave, bending down on aching knees to place a bundle of lilac by your gravestone. Apollo came by once a week to clean it, the one next to it left dingy in comparison. 

It had always been you who insisted on upkeeping it – but well, your son didn’t exactly share the same sentiment for his biological father. 

Especially now that he was here. 

“Lilacs?” Gojo grumbled behind him. The morning sun wasn’t very warm, the breeze in the air making him shiver as he reflexively fiddled with his wedding band.

“Her favorite,” Choso shrugged, glancing back at his…well, not competition anymore. It was irritating how attractive he was. Made it obvious why you’d fallen so hard – and never seemed to fully snap back out of his spell. That icy intelligent stare refocusing onto where he was still kneeling by your plot, making it clear he didn’t think he deserved that position.

Gojo was holding onto his own flowers, long fingers clasped tight around thin stems. Forget-me-nots. He felt a sick shift in his stomach, a familiar ache returning to the forefront of his mind at the reminder that the two of you still had something he’d never been able to touch. The peace he thought he’d finally managed rippled by his reappearance. 

Choso didn’t want to let it get ruined though. 

Clearing his throat as he gestured to the flowers, “She never forgot about you.” 

Even though part of him had always hoped you would. 

“Her favorite color was blue,” Gojo blurted out, and Choso felt his eye twitch. Mouth barely able to hold onto thin neutrality as he resisted reacting. 

“When I was with her, it was purple,” he evenly replied, pushing off the ground to stand up straight. You wouldn’t even let him paint the kids bathroom blue. Skipped every shade of it to pluck out a soft lavender, smiling as you offered it to him. 

“Well, I guess you just know her so much better than I do,” Gojo scoffed, white brows pinching together tightly as he walked over to place his flowers by Choso’s.

It was hard not to cringe. 

Jealousy used to burn him up inside, gnaw at him endlessly at night no matter what you whispered or how tightly he held you in his arms. But now, seeing the man who was responsible for it teetering on a knife’s edge, miserably mourning your memory the same way he was, just sorta made all those harsh edges of his own hurt soften with unexpected sympathy. 

“She wouldn’t want you to waste the rest of your life waiting by-” 

“You don’t know that,” Gojo snapped at him, before immediately wincing, probably realizing how he sounded. “That was childish, I’m-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Choso waved it off. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’d do if he was in his shoes. 

Except for maybe not leaving to start with. 

“I used to be terrified I’d wake up one day and you’d be waiting at the front door,” he added, not sure if being candid would help him any, or if it just felt good to get it off his chest. 

“I wish I was,” Gojo openly admitted, defined jaw clenched tight. 

Up close, Choso could make out the curve of his cheekbones, a little too hollow to be healthy. A haunted quality etched into every line, every feature of his face. Not getting enough to eat. Probably not getting enough sleep either. 

Struggling to cope with his new circumstances.

Displaced in time and space.

And still there was one thing they both had in common. 

“I miss her,” Choso softly spoke, throat constricting as a lump started to take shape, blocking his breathing as he steeled himself. He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him. 

“Yeah,” Gojo awkwardly agreed. “Me too.” 

“Do you want to go out for lunch later? Talk about her?” He offered, shoving down his own discomfort to extend an olive branch. 

Hope blooming when Gojo hesitantly accepted it, nodding with just a short bob of his head. 

“Can you bring some photos of her?” 

And a couple hours later, they were sitting across from each other in a corner booth of a restaurant he used to take the twins and Yuji to with you, plates pushed to the side as they poured over photo albums, fingers tracing over the glossy plastic protecting your pictures. 

Choso paused over an old one, back when the two of you first started dating, where you were sandwiched between Apollo and Artemis, smiling at him from behind a snowcone in a roller skating rink. It was supposed to be a playdate for the kids, but it kinda felt like one for him too. Holding your hand skating, making conversation over the loud bass of the obnoxious music blaring, and blushing when you nearly fell and sent him tumbling down on top of you. He could still remember that flutter in his chest when he helped you up, your fingers gripping onto his forearm and his own splayed across your side, lovestruck at the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes, a temporary tattoo of a butterfly stuck to the bottom half of your cheek courtesy of Artemis and crinkled when you laughed. 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so gorgeous. 

Snapping photos of your side profile and the kids racing around the arcade section, glued to your side and feeling like a dumb dog lapping up every little sliver of affection you tossed down to him. 

Devouring every ounce of it, feeling like he’d been stuck in a drought, wandering in a desert without you as he watched you help Yuji calculate how many tickets he’d need to get a ridiculous stuffed animal from behind the prize counter, Apollo tugging at your pants and pleading for you to play air hockey with him after Artemis went back to skating. 

It had been a good day. 

A great one. 

The five of you together had felt like a family far before you actually became one. 

“They look like they’re having fun,” Gojo muttered, tapping the picture of the little boy who looked so much like him. 

It was strange, honestly, a little uncomfortable how much Apollo had grown up to resemble him.

And now Apollo was older than him, his dad damn near the spitting image as him at that age. 

Not that he’d admit it. 

No, his stepson had done everything he could to diminish the similarities, running as far from his dad’s shadow as he could while his sister found the light in it. 

“We had just started dating back then,” Choso wistfully exhaled, reminiscing about how naive he’d been back then. 

How easy things had been. 

Artemis had filled your former fiancé on the basics. A rough history lesson on the years he’d spent in space. A vague outline of your life since he left. 

But he didn’t know how much Gojo really knew.

“You seem pretty close,” Gojo commented, his mouth pressed in a thin line as he flipped the page to a photo Mrs. Geto had snapped of the five of you at a soccer game, Apollo still in his uniform and beaming at the camera while you leaned into his side for the shot. 

“It, uh, was a little rocky,” he admitted. “Mostly because she was still in love with you.” 

And you had been terrified of falling out of it. 

“I think she was scared of falling for me too,” Choso added, leaning back against the leather seat, still able to shut his eyes and bring himself back to the first night he confronted you about it. 

Standing in your kitchen, putting plates in the dishwasher as you wiped the crumbs off the table, all three kids watching a movie in the living room, throwing popcorn at each other and giggling while you cleaned up after dinner. 

Another night where everything had revolved entirely around the kids, picking up after them and playing, breaking up their bickering or dragging them around from place to place. 

He had felt like a fucking asshole for having any kind of complaints, but when the most the two of you managed was a handful of makeout sessions you had to sneak in, a brief foray to second base that ended in less than a minute when Artemis burst into the bedroom crying about a skinned knee, frustration had begun to build. 

Choso didn’t mind waiting, if that was what you wanted. 

Taking however much time you needed if the idea of being intimate was still too much. 

But you weren’t saying anything. Avoiding the conversation every time he tried to bring it up, switching subjects or shifting back to the kids like you were searching for an excuse not to be close with him. 

To not move to the next step together. 

He wanted to take you on real dates. To spend time with you one-on-one. Be a couple instead of just coparents. 

“Can we talk?” Choso cleared his throat, shutting the dishwasher and fixing the settings without looking over at you. 

“Yeah?” He could tell you were nervous already, voice cracking on just a single word. 

“I, uh, just was thinking that we haven’t gone on a real date, y’know?” He started, peeking back at you just to see how stiff you were suddenly standing, shoulders squared as your mouth parted in surprise. 

“I mean, I guess,” you awkwardly replied, biting your bottom lip as you avoided his stare, turning your attention away, and he could already anticipate how many seconds he had left before you’d offer to check on the children or change the topic.

“Are you avoiding being alone with me?” He bluntly asked, a tiny bit stunned himself at the way the words just fell out of him. 

“No, no,” you stammered it out, repeating yourself as you shook your head. “It’s just, it’s hard to find time with the kids, it’s not you-”

It was the fact he wasn’t actually their father. 

But he didn’t say that. Didn’t bring him up. 

“I don’t want to rush you,” he tried to clarify, stepping closer and reaching out. Desperate to feel some kind of connection even when he suspected he might only end up freaking you out. “If you’re not-”

“What if I, um, ask Suguru’s mom to watch all of them next weekend?” You offered before he could explain his concerns, cutting him off with the words he wanted to hear.

“You’d do that?” Choso asked, heart thumping against his rib cage as he contained the hope he’d been clinging onto since the first day he met you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling at him softly as he ran his hand over your arm, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

He hadn’t looked then. 

But part of him wondered now, what he would’ve seen if he had. Would the smile reach your eyes? 

Still, you kept your word. 

Dropped all three of them off to be babysat for the night a week later, got all dressed up in a little purple dress that left him swallowing his drool throughout the entire dinner, clumsily opening doors for you and paying the check despite his dismal teaching salary. 

You laughed at his jokes, leaned across the table and let him trace circles over your knuckles with his thumb over white wine. 

Choso didn’t go on dates often. 

But he hadn’t met anyone who made him feel like you did. Warm and fuzzy and frustrated and so entirely wrapped up in every word that left your lips that it was driving him mad.

Practically vibrating just from your touch, the way your fingers delicately intertwined with his when you led him back up to your front door, electricity he might just be imagining buzzing between your body as his as you leaned back against the the frame, giggling when you accidentally bumped into the bell. 

He could see that nervous glimmer in your eyes. 

Shared his own sea of anxiety over how tonight would end when everything inside him was aching for it not to. 

“So,” you started, sucking in your bottom lip for a second as your unsure stare met his.“Are you gonna come in?” 

Choso felt like he was going to black out.

Sure that he was going to blink and wake back up in his bed. Alone. Exhausted. Craving you so goddamn much he could hardly contain it. 

And before he could hold himself back, he was cupping your pretty face and kissing those lips that constantly lingered in the back of his brain. 

The rest was a blur. You kissing him back and looping your wrists around his neck. Shutting the door behind both of you and stumbling back to your bedroom, clothes hitting the floor while his chest strained to catch his breath. 

And when your back hit the bed, he was sure this had to be heaven. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, god, I can’t fucking believe you’re mine-” He didn’t even realize he was rambling until your mouth collided with his again, your soft thighs wrapping around his waist as his cock pressed up against your entrance.

You were already wet, which felt like far more of an accomplishment than it should. 

Pride sparking in his chest as his pre-cum unhelpfully leaked out onto your skin. 

“Condoms are, um, in my drawer,” you blinked when you broke the kiss, swallowing hard as you tilted your head towards your nightstand. 

“Okay,” he nodded, a little too eagerly as he climbed off to grab it, yanking open the drawer to find a sealed box. 

Brand new. 

Did you actually buy it for him? 

Or was he being delusional? 

He ripped open the top flap, but before he put one on, he looked back at you, feeling a little bit like an idiot for thinking with his dick instead of his brain. 

How could he forget about foreplay? 

Choso tossed a condom on the bed, walking back around to the edge of it before getting on his knees and yanking you down by your thighs until that pretty pussy of yours was right there in front of him. 

Ready to be prepared. 

“Can I taste you first?” He asked, not entirely selfless in his request. 

He wanted to bury his tongue inside you. Get the whole experience rather than rush into it and risk cumming in just a couple clumsy minutes. 

You nodded, maybe a little unsure yourself. 

As rusty at this as he was. 

You had confided in him before you hadn’t dated anyone since him. But Choso had no clue whether or not you’d actually been with someone else – even if it was just a hookup. 

His fingers trembled as they slid over your pliable thighs, pulling them closer as he shyly leaned in to tentatively take his first lick. 

But all it took was a taste. 

And a handful of minutes later, he was nuzzling his nose as he sucked and lapped like a man starved, cock throbbing and twitching as he resisted the urge to cum every time you moaned and whined for him. 

Pausing to ask if you were okay a couple times before he got too tangled up in balancing your pleasure and his. 

Your fingers laced through his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him going, thighs clamping down on his head as he swirled his tongue around hungrily. 

It honestly felt like a crime you’d kept it from him for so long. 

He could spend the entire night like this. 

Solely devoted to you. 

Trying out every little thing, pushing and pressing and prodding at every spot inside you until he made a map of your likes and dislikes. 

But you were prying him off, ignoring his deep whine as his glossy lips froze in a panicked pant, ready to plead his case to convince you to let him have a teesny more time. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, swallowing hard as his own saliva and your slick dripping down his throat. Pretending he didn’t notice the rings gleaming around your neck, the diamond one you’d switched from your fourth finger to a dainty chain. Daring him to remember that you weren’t supposed to be his. 

“I-I’m fine,” you murmured, chest heaving with every breath, making the necklace bounce with it. “Good.” 

“Please,” he began to beg, brows knitted together tight. Desperate to make you his. For tonight, at least. “I just want-” 

“I want all of you,” you half-whispered, like you could hardly believe it. 

He couldn’t either. 

Brain still lagging by the time he was sheathing his cock inside the condom, squirting lube on his hand and stroking his shaft before slowly starting to slip his way in you. 

No resistance. No more holding back. No more hoping for something he didn’t know would ever happen. 

Just you and him here together. 

It was perfect. 

You were perfect. 

Your warmth, your touch, your scent, god, every last detail was far better than he ever dreamed it.

His thrusts were precise, dragging in and out all slow and deliberate so he could study the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, watch your lips part and purr his name like a prayer. 

“C-Cho,” you groaned, raking your nails down his shoulder blades, not enough to sink into his skin, but more like a soft graze. 

“Y-you like that?” He stuttered over his own words, not coming off nearly as confident as he liked. 

You were nodding, your head on a bobble as your mascara-laden lashes fluttered. 

He was shuddering, whimpering right as his cock pressed all the way in, bumping into the back as your walls squeezed down on him. 

Nothing had ever felt so good. 

He wasn’t sure anything ever would again. 

Fucking you all soft, hips sliding smoothly against you, grabbing your hands and pinning them over your head so he could kiss you as much as he liked. Tongue slipping into your mouth, tracing your teeth, exchanging whines just for the other to swallow. 

Pressure building and twisting in his core, terrible tension he couldn’t resist, trying to break him before he could make you finish. 

Rushing to rub your clit, murmuring into your mouth and practically begging you to cum for him. 

You were hurting. 

He still thought he could heal you. 

Intoxicated by your face when you unravelled for him, cumming into the condom twice as hard as usual hearing your breathy moan, half-collapsing on you as his knees went weak. 

Choso might’ve been more embarrassed if he wasn’t so enticed by every little shiver and shake of your body, absolutely enveloped while he left kiss after kiss across your soft skin.

Talking to you in a soft voice, pulling your body back up the bed and flipping over so you could be on his chest. 

It didn’t take long for you to drift off like that. 

He didn’t blame you. 

Between work and the twins, you barely had time to take care of yourself. You rarely got restful sleep. 

He was feeling it call to him too. 

Peace. Contentment. 

Heat lingering underneath his cheek as he held you close, brushing your hair back from your face as you dreamed. Your mouth curled up, a pretty smile reflexively forming as your fingers tightened around his side. 

Some sliver of him sort of wanted to wake you, to ask what occupied your mind when you slept so soundly. But he just craned his neck down to nuzzle his nose in your hair, pulling you up another inch or two closer to cradle your body against his. 

And then you said it and shattered the illusion completely. 

“Satoru.” 

One sleepy word. Three soft syllables. 

And you broke him in a way he wasn’t sure he could repair. 

He stilled beneath you, heart lodged in his throat as he resisted the urge to throw it up. Flush it down the fucking toilet as he tried to lie to himself. 

Swear that you didn’t mean it – even if your subconscious did. 

That he wasn’t even here. 

But fuck, that look on your face, so relaxed, so raw, it made something inside him snap. 

What the hell was he thinking? 

He couldn’t do this. 

Slowly, he slipped out from underneath you, making sure to tuck the pillow under your head and cover your bare body back up with the blanket before he padded silently over to his discarded clothes. 

Choso couldn’t take just being your consolation prize. 

But the idea of going home and never coming back to you felt pretty fucking unbearable too. 

He didn’t want you to know he felt like this either.  

Hated the idea of you seeing him spiral into doubt. 

His feelings were his responsibility. He couldn’t put anything else on you – be another burden on your shoulders. He just needed time. 

Yeah, that was it. To think this through. 

Figure out if you were really ready for this. If he was ready to be what you needed while knowing he wasn’t who you needed. 

Choso had only managed to get his socks and boxers back on when he heard rustling behind him. 

You were sitting up and staring, eyes wide and worried as you watched him wordlessly. 

“I need to get Yuji,” he lied, sweat sticking to his forehead and plastering his bangs down as you blinked at him. 

“Why?” 

One word, and he nearly cracked. Changed his mind and caved in. “I forgot that we’re supposed to go see Sukuna in the morning,” he excused, shrugging his shoulders. “I should probably pick him up and head home.” 

“You’re going home?” Your voice was wound tight, but you didn’t call his bluff. 

“I should, yeah,” he muttered. 

You didn’t fight him on it. 

Just covered yourself with the blanket as you got up to grab some clean clothes from the closet. Not looking directly at him when you got dressed, mumbling under your breath that you’d let Suguru’s mother know you were picking the kids up as you sent her a text message. 

She answered the door with a soft smile for both of you, murmuring that the kids were still asleep as she let both of you in. 

“I’ll go get them,” you yawned, walking past her – and all the framed photos of men who weren’t around anymore. 

“Would you like some tea while she wakes them up?” 

Choso always had trouble saying no. 

Ending up in the kitchen, a deep line imprinting on his palms from the bite of the sharp counter’s edge as she poured him some fresh tea. 

She glanced up at him with tired eyes, holding out a steaming cup he timidly took. She wasn’t a fool. Probably figured it out from your text alone that something was up. 

“Can I ask you something?” He started, readjusting to lean against the kitchen cabinets as he looked at the ticking clock on the wall. 

“Of course,” she nodded, a fondness in her gaze that he knew wasn’t reserved for him either. 

You had told him about her son. Your fiancé’s friend. 

Commenting quietly a month after he had met her that you thought he reminded her of him.

“Do you think I’m wasting my time?” He asked, keeping his voice down as he felt all the muscles in his face involuntarily clench. Mouth twitching in a tight line as he voiced the thought haunting his mind. 

Was he just a moron for standing here wishing for someone who didn’t want him back? 

He didn’t want to be a placeholder. 

“Wasting your time doing what? Waiting for her to stop loving Satoru? Or for her to start loving you?” She asked, tilting her head to the side knowingly. 

His mouth opened, but no sounds came out. 

Unsure what question he really was trying to ask once she said the silent parts out loud. 

“She’s never going to stop loving Satoru,” Mrs. Geto calmly said, no malice or condescension, just stating a fact Choso already knew. “But you’d have to be blind to not see how far she’s fallen for you.” 

He hoped she was right. 

Would rip his heart out of his chest and hand it to you if it made it true. 

Artemis stumbled in first, sleepily rubbing her eyes and clutching a stuffed animal to her chest as the boys trailed in after her. You were behind them, but you weren’t looking at him. 

“What’s happening?” Apollo grumbled, leaning all his weight against your leg as Yuji scampered over to his big brother. 

“We’re going home,” you answered, your voice coming out all breathy, familiar heat still curling hot in his stomach just at your pitch . “And Yuji’s going home with Choso.” 

“But I thought we were-” 

“No buts,” you huffed, wrangling your kids towards the door without looking at him once. 

He knew that he might’ve screwed things up. 

Still, he didn’t think it would still be so tense a full week later. 

That when he didn’t text you good morning, you wouldn’t either. No more dinners for five. Or carpooling to school. No more cozying up on your couch while the kids fell asleep halfway through a bad movie. 

The distance didn’t make him feel any better. 

It only made him miss you more. 

Staring at the stars outside his window and wishing that he was home with you. Even if there would always be a ghost haunting its halls. Looming over the two of you no matter how much love he had to offer you. 

Was the man you loved before him still out there somewhere? 

Craving you the way he was now? 

Sympathy he hadn’t anticipated surged inside him, daring him to fully empathize with someone he wanted to hate. 

But he couldn’t hate him. 

And he couldn’t stop himself from loving you. 

So he sent you a text Saturday morning, typing and deleting a variation of the same ten words before finally hitting send.

He wasn’t lying when he said that Yuji missed the twins. Choso just didn’t know how to tell you how much he missed you too. 

But you replied back that he could bring him over if he wanted, and he refused to miss the chance to reconcile. To fix things before they ended up broken. 

Choso thought you might be a little upset. Confused by the sudden space between you. 

But you barely even glance at him when you opened the door, speaking only to Yuji as you directed him to the backyard, nodding along to his endless chirping about what he learned in school yesterday before he ran out to join the twins. 

The morning sun wasn’t too harsh yet, your side profile illuminated in the soft rays as you stepped out with them, wearing one of your favorite faded shirts he suspected belonged to him, the chain of your necklace peeking out underneath the color. 

“Are you going to say it?” You broke the silence, your stare focused solely on Yuji and Apollo chasing each other and laughing. 

“Say what?” He repeated, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to not sound as nervous as he felt. 

You scoffed, low and soft, your mouth curling down as you looked down at the grass around your bare feet. 

“I guess this is it then?” You asked, refusing to so much as glance his way. Leaning against the wall with your arms tightly folded across your chest like you were trying to protect your heart. “We’re over?”

His own practically fell through the fucking floor as he processed what you just said. 

“What?” The question came out wounded. His throat drying out as he forced himself to exhale, “Why-”

“I don’t want to waste your time,” you coldly replied, but he could hear how much you were struggling too. 

Oh god. 

You must have overheard the first part of his conversation with Mrs. Geto. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he defensively started, panic pulsing through him as he reached out to touch your arm. But you recoiled, flinching fast like his fingers would burn you. 

“I thought things were okay,” you murmured, shaking your head like the very notion was stupid now. “Was it the sex? Was I not good enough for you?”

“No, no, I swear-”

“Then what?” You snapped, finally looking back at him, your beautiful face scrunched together in pain. Big tears welling up in your pretty eyes that you were trying to blink away. 

For a second, Choso froze, stunned that he could be the reason for that. That you cared enough about this, about him to cry. 

His mouth stuck open in a moronic ‘o’ as he stumbled for the right thing to say to stop your relationship from unraveling. 

“You had your fun and fucked me. I’m just not what you wanted, right?” You were half-whispering, keeping your voice down to not alert the kids. Bottom lip quivering as you continued, “I don’t know why I thought you’d stay.” 

Fuck. 

This was not how this was supposed to go. 

He was supposed to be smoothing things over, not losing you over nothing. 

“No, baby, no,” he insisted, grabbing your hand before you could retreat even further away. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You tried to pull your hand out of his, but he wasn’t the kind of fool who would let you walk away. 

“The sex was amazing, god, you’re amazing,” Choso rambled, rushing through his words as he felt a frightening surge of anxiety at the idea of you thinking he was just using you like some scumbag. “I just, I thought everything was perfect, and after you dozed off, you said his name and I-” 

“What?” You faltered. 

“You were in my arms, and you called out for him,” he murmured, attempting to suck air in his lungs as he inhaled sharply. 

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could burst into sobs, he was pulling you back against his chest. Enveloping you in his embrace, arms wrapped around you as your body wracked with the weight of your sorrow. 

“M’sorry,” you cried, your voice muffled as your tears left damp spots in his shirt. “I-I-” 

He was stroking your hair, swallowing the lump in his throat at the sound of your broken voice. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, pressing your head against him to make sure the kids wouldn’t have to see you crying. 

Not when you tried so hard to be strong for them. Built a life around being there when their father hadn’t been. 

“I didn’t mean-” You started again, and he only pulled back to wipe the tears away beneath your eyes, thumb slowly dragging over your cheekbones. “I just haven’t had sex with anyone since-”

“You don’t have to apologize when you didn’t do it on purpose,” he reassured you, feeling that hole in his own heart chisel just a tad wider at your acknowledgement he’d been the first man to fuck you since him. “I just needed some time to sort out my own feelings.” 

“You’re still going to leave,” you mumbled, wiping your nose on your forearm as you tried to step back and recoil back. 

“I’m not,” he promised, cupping your cheek. “I’m just scared of being his stand-in. A shitty replacement for the real thing.” 

You stared back at him, taken a little aback before you shook your head, leaning into his palm. “You know you’re not.” 

He didn’t though. 

How was he supposed to believe he wasn’t second place when you wore the proof of who was first around your neck every day? 

But he couldn’t point that out. 

Not when he knew that he wasn’t being fair. 

Your former fiancé had been gone for years. It wasn’t a bad breakup, or like you lost him in some tangible way. 

You had no closure. No answers. 

Just an empty hole in your heart that Choso was doing his damndest to fill. 

He glanced back at the children, clueless as they played in the sandbox, Artemis threatening to dump a bucket on her brother while Yuji dared her to do it. 

And his chest fucking spasmed at the idea that there might be another life where they weren’t his family. 

Where you weren’t his. 

“I’ll always love Satoru. I wouldn’t have the twins without him,” you admitted, sniffling a little as you pulled yourself back together. “I wouldn’t have you either.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Aware that you were right, but having a hard time finding it in himself to be grateful. 

You were a gift.

Choso just couldn’t decide how to feel about the sender. 

“I love you,” you spoke so softly to him though, so tenderly despite how scared he could sense you were just saying the words out loud. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“I love you too,” he promised, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. 

To seal it. 

“I think we just have to work on talking to each other,” Choso added after you started to pull away, slipping a hand around your back to keep you close. “Communicate better before it turns into this.” 

He didn’t want to be the reason you cried. Be the one who broke you. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled an agreement, relaxing into him before looking back over to the twins and Yuji. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And then what?” Gojo interrupted his story, shoving a fry in his mouth with an annoyed frown. “You guys lived happily ever after?” 

Wouldn’t that be sweet? If it had been so simple? If you’d both stuck to what you swore? 

“Uh, not exactly,” he muttered. “I mean, most of it was great. But we did have a pretty bad patch.” 

Gojo freely glared at him, like he was offended at the concept of him having anything to complain about. 

“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?” Gojo huffed. 

Some childish part of him wanted to retort that it was. 

That he spent his life fixing the damage he’d done to you by getting on the damn spaceship. 

But Choso had made his peace with that long before you were his wife. 

“You’re the one she married,” he bitterly added, jaw locked with barely concealed contempt he wasn’t bothering to hide without Artemis around. 

Apollo didn’t even want to entertain him at all, only tolerated seeing him when his sister dragged him around to family gatherings and brunches, excited to have someone to chatter about science stuff the rest of them couldn’t comprehend.  

Choso didn’t blame either of them. 

“You know, she didn’t say yes the first time I asked her to marry me,” Choso confessed, twisting his own wedding band around a wrinkled finger. 

You broke up with him, actually. 

He had tried to dull the memory over the years. Make the edges of it less sharp, enough that it didn’t taint you in his mind. 

But it still stung. 

No matter how much time had passed. No matter what he knew now that he hadn’t then. 

Choso had spent weeks planning it. 

Debating on all the different ways to do it before finally deciding that he should do something as a family. Show you how much he loved you and the twins. 

He didn’t want to just be your live-in boyfriend. 

He wanted to be the step-dad to your kids. Your husband. To slip a ring on your finger and swear to love you for the rest of his life. 

To never leave. 

He settled on making the kind of meals usually reserved for holidays, buying candles and balloons, buying a pack of rose petals to scatter on the bed. Picking out a ring he hoped you’d like and saving enough money to afford a second if you didn’t. 

Waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you out of the house long enough to set everything up only for you to hand it to him on a silver platter. 

You were distracted when he got home from work, chewing on your lip as you dropped your phone in your purse and murmured that you needed to go run a couple errands while he tried to hide his excitement. 

Maybe, if the kids hadn’t rushed over and started tugging on his jeans, distracting him with what they’d done at school, he might’ve seen your face before you walked out the door. 

Maybe it would have all played out differently. 

But he didn’t, and he’d never get to know what could’ve happened instead. 

Roping the kids into the plan was perhaps a mistake. 

But he wanted the twins' permission before he proposed. 

“I need to ask you two something,” he hummed, ruffling Apollo’s hair as Artemis squinted suspiciously at him. 

“What?” She murmured, glancing between him and Yuji, who was practically bouncing up-and-down with excitement he couldn’t contain. 

“I would like to ask your mom to marry me,” he admitted, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he measured their reactions. 

Apollo threw his arms around his leg, looking up at him with those bright blue eyes, absolutely elated. “So you’re gonna be our dad?” 

“It would make me your step-dad,” he replied as calmly as he could, still trying to respect the man who made them – even if he’d never gotten to watch them grow. “And that’s up to your mom.” 

You lived together. You told him you loved him. 

He never thought no was really an option. 

“If it makes mom happy,” Artemis murmured, a little more reluctant as she nodded. 

“That’s all I want,” Choso softly replied, smiling at her. 

She looked like a little version of you. Acted like one too sometimes. Slower to trust. Sweet underneath it all. She wanted to seem strong, but she was still soft underneath it all.

Choso had overheard her on the playground telling her one of the other kids swinging that her daddy was up in space, swearing that he’d come back after the child called her a liar. 

He felt pretty fucking shitty for his silent hopes that her father would stay up there. 

Did it make him an awful person? To want a place in your life that badly? Unsure if you would really pick him if your first choice became an option once more? 

He did what he did best though. 

Push down his anxieties and pray he never had to find out. 

“Who wants to help set everything up for her?” He asked, forcing his brightest smile as his ring sat impossibly heavy in his pocket. Weighing his heart down like a lead balloon, threatening to bury it as he tried to swallow the fear that he might fuck this up. 

But the chorus of ‘me’s and the bright faces of the kids that had all started to feel like his own was enough for him to forget about it and focus on you instead. 

Getting all the details right as he devoted himself to the dinner, letting the kids lay out the tablecloth and set the plates up – although he had to stop Yuji from accidentally setting his hair on fire when he snuck the lighter out of the drawer to light the candles Choso had set out. 

But eventually, everything was in its place, the lights adjusted and the food set out, the children all changed into nicer clothes as the twins talked about how they’d all be siblings soon. 

“What do you guys think?” Choso grinned, wiping his palms off on the apron before taking it off. 

“She’ll love it,” Apollo optimistically smiled, one of his front teeth missing from where it’d fallen out the week before and traded in for five dollars from the tooth fairy. 

Choso really hoped you would. 

It was too late to change anything, because they all heard the familiar sound of your key turning in the lock, the creak of it swinging open. The front door thudded shut, and he was pretty sure his heart was going to explode if it started pounding any harder. 

“Are you guys hungry?” You called out, your voice wavering, bordering on exhausted, pride flaring in Choso’s chest at how happy you’d be to see the spread on the table, to see the way the kids were all eagerly holding their breath, glancing between each other and nearly bouncing out of their seats. “We could order pizza or-” 

You stopped speaking the second you saw it. 

Froze in the open doorframe, your eyes going wide as you scanned over the scene. All the food and the fancy tablespread and the flickering candles, the way the kids were holding in giggles as he stepped forward to bridge the distance between you. 

“What is-” 

Choso got down on his knees mid-question slipping a hand in his jeans to clumsily grab the crushed velvet box, blinking a little too fast, mouth opening too soon as he struggled to remember the speech he rehearsed a thousand times in the mirror over the last month. 

“Um, I, uh,” he paused, spit thick in his throat that he had to swallow before continuing, “I love you, and I love our family, and I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you or the twins in it. Will you make me the happiest-” 

“I cannot believe you,” you interrupted him, shaking your head as you stepped back, your face blank, mouth hanging open as you sucked in a shallow breath. 

“What?” He blanched, barely even processing the words that had just left your lips as your expression shifted to anger, of all things.  

Brows scrunching together as you scoffed, fingers trembling as you pointed down the hall. “My room. Now.” 

The kids looked at each other, awkwardly slipping into dining chairs as if they were the ones in trouble, but Choso didn’t know what to say to soothe them when it felt like his heart was shattering too. 

Humiliation burning his cheeks as he put the ring box back, getting up off the ground and following you like some dejected puppy, hoping for his owner’s love. But the moment you were alone, the second you shut the door behind him, the way you were staring at him was closer to a stranger. 

“What the hell did you think doing that in front of my kids?” You asked, and he couldn’t comprehend what the fuck he’d done that was so bad in your book. 

“We’ve been talking about marriage for like, a year,” he argued, indignation he didn’t know how to handle boiling up inside his chest at your attitude. Glaring like he had done something so absurd to deserve it, your rejection leaving a sour taste in his mouth he didn’t think would be going away any time soon. 

“We?” You hissed, hurt written all over your face before you wiped it and replaced it with thinly-veiled resentment. “You were the one who kept bringing it up.”

His jaw dropped. 

“Are you kidding me?” Choso deadpanned, disbelief wracking through his body as he felt a shot of adrenaline begin to course through his veins, fingers flexing into a fist before he forced them to relax. 

“I was just trying to keep you happy, I didn’t think that you were serious about it,” you said, turning away from him as you buried your face in your hands for a second, breathing hard like you might be on the verge of a panic attack. 

Instinctively, he wanted to reach out. Hold you close and let you crumble while he whispered soft words to coax you through it. But he stayed still, nails digging into his palm as he found himself fuming at you for the first time ever. 

“What the fuck?” He spat, his voice starting to raise as you recoiled back even further. “Why wouldn’t you say something? Why the hell would you just let me think you wanted it too?” 

That you wanted him? 

“Don’t shout at me,” you huffed, mouth still quivering as you folded your arms tight across your chest. 

“What happened to communication?” He demanded, thinking about the fight the two of you had. How you’d sworn that you loved him and didn’t want to lose him. 

And now here you were, refusing to meet his eyes, mouth pressed in a thin line as you held your tongue. 

Something he didn’t know he’d been holding back snapped when he realized you weren’t going to reply. 

“Oh, I get it,” he grimaced, brows knitting together in frustration as his disappointment bubbled into disgust with himself for not seeing it sooner. “You don’t want to marry me because I’m not him.”

He knew the second he said it that he couldn’t take it back. 

“That’s not fucking fair and you know it,” you snapped at him, and a bitter voice in the back of his head pointed out that you were only speaking up now that he brought up your real fiancé.

“You’ll wear his ring every day and not mine,” he retorted, doubling down rather than backing out of his accusation. 

He thought you’d yell back.

That you would fight him on it. He wanted you to fight him on it. To finally let every thought you kept from out so the two of you could get out of this frustrating limbo. He didn’t care if it dropped him in hell. 

He just wanted to get somewhere with you. 

But you shut down. 

Silently staring at the floor, chest heaving as you dug your own fingers into your side.

“I really am just a fill in for you,” Choso continued, trying to get any kind of reply out of you. 

And still, you somehow found the only one he didn’t want. 

“Get out,” you whispered. 

“What?” 

“Get out.”

Everything that had been boiling seconds before abruptly stopped, the pot ripped off the burner and left him stranded in hot water as his senses finally snapped back into place. 

You had never kicked him out before. 

What the hell had he done? 

“I’m not trying to hurt you, I just, I want to understand,” he tried to backpedal, holding his hands out and stepping forward just for you to not even glance up at him. 

“I need a break,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, sounding like you were a world away.

“From this conversation? Or us?” He blanched. You were supposed to be throwing your arms around him right now. Telling him you loved him and discussing what season your wedding should be in. Not fucking dumping him. 

“This is just too much,” you muttered. 

What the fuck was that meant to mean? 

He felt helpless as he stared at you, the way your head was hanging down, shoulders slumped as you shut him out. 

“I’ll take the twins somewhere and you can get your stuff,” you added, getting up and walking around him, making up your mind without even giving him a chance to talk this out.

Watching you walk away, dumbfounded as you slipped out the door, the conversation over before it had even properly begun. 

“Are we going to be a family now?” Apollo’s hopeful voice carried through the door down the hall, and Choso rested his head against the door, wishing the conversation had gone another way and still too upset to think of a reasonable way to reach you. 

To break through the barriers you were haphazardly throwing back up. 

“Yuji and Choso aren’t going to live with us anymore, baby,” you softly said back. 

Fuck. 

You were supposed to be his wife. 

Not his ex-girlfriend. 

“You’re a fucking moron.” 

Said the jerk that left a pregnant you to go to fucking space. 

“You’re one to talk,” Choso commented, mouth curling down as he grabbed his glass to take a sip, the sight of his own aged hand reminding him that he was definitely too old for starting fights like this. 

“So she really dumped you?” Gojo grinned, irritatingly white teeth on display as he leaned forward, looking directly at him instead of the photo albums. 

“Not for that long.” 

“You should’ve fought for her more,” Gojo pointed out, before almost immediately stopping himself, brows scrunching together like he realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to. 

“I thought she didn’t want a future with me,” he shrugged. “Not when she was still thinking about what one would’ve looked like with you.” 

Always stuck in the same position. 

Torn between wanting your heart and wishing that he wasn’t second-place in it. 

“If I could’ve been there,” Gojo started, genuine remorse bleeding through, and Choso remembered once again why he’d never been able to bring himself to loathe the man you loved. 

Because they both loved you. 

“I know,” Choso murmured. “I sorta wished sometimes that you would just show up if it meant she would be happy.” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

You weren’t sure you had ever been so fucking miserable. 

Breaking up with Choso had nearly broken you. 

You hadn’t seen him since you came back home to find every trace of him and Yuji gone. Hadn’t said his name since you had to explain to Apollo that you were going to switch him over to a new soccer team for the summer. Artemis had asked if you were happy, giving you that look like she could see through the stories you tried to keep up for them. All you could do was twist the necklace and tell her that her and her brother were all you ever needed. 

But she had wanted to go to a sleepaway space camp for the summer, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no when everything you would have planned with Choso had fallen through. So she was hours away, gone for weeks while Apollo was busy with his own soccer camp and sleepovers with friends from school. 

When he was home, he was just complaining about how much he hated the older kids in the 9-12 group he’d gotten stuck in, muttering under his breath that his old team was better. 

You sort of thought if you stayed busy with him, you could forget about all the other stuff. 

Shut out the awful spiralling that started in your head every time you laid down in your cold, empty bed and rolled onto your side to see the unwrinkled spot next to you. 

Picturing your pretty dark-haired man there, his eyes lazily opening and noticing you staring before pulling you into a warm embrace. Waking up in a daze from a dream where your blue-eyed boy was still holding onto you, murmuring that it was all just a nightmare and to go back to sleep. 

Now you didn’t have either of them. 

God, you couldn’t even pull yourself together enough to send a video message to Satoru like you used to, staring at the unused webcam when you got ready every day and lacking the strength to even sit in front of it and say something. Couldn’t bring yourself to call your therapist either, cancelling appointments over text and shrugging your shoulders to swear that you were fine. 

You wanted to believe that you could heal from this. That there was still real happiness to be found somewhere between the lines of hurt and heartache. 

But it didn’t feel like it when you pulled into the parking lot for one of Apollo’s exhibition tournaments and he started bouncing around in the backseat swearing he was sure you passed by Yuji. 

Shit. 

God, you were sure that he wouldn’t be here. 

Yuji was in so many sports, and Choso usually coached younger kids anyway, so what the hell-

“Can I please go say hi, mom?” Apollo begged as you stopped the car. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” you nodded, going ahead and practicing your smile when the muscles to make it were a little rusty. 

The second you had slung your chair over your shoulder and opened the door for Apollo, he was sprinting over to the grassy area, Yuji’s voice calling out his name as a boy you didn’t recognize protectively puffing up his chest as he stepped between the two of them. 

“Who’s this, brother?” The boy asked, looking back to Yuji as he stepped out from around him. 

“Apollo, are you playing?” He chirped, his loose soccer jersey swaying as he rushed over.

“Yeah,” he nodded, deflating the moment he noticed how close Yuji was with his new friend. “My team kinda sucks though.” 

There really weren’t many feelings worse than watching your kid go through something you didn’t know how to help them with. 

Seeing the shock scrawled all over their face the second they thought they were replaceable. 

“You think we’ll play against each other then?” Yuji asked, grinning with a gap in his teeth, one that must have fallen out this month. 

“We’ll definitely beat you,” the other boy boasted, and you knew you shouldn’t hate a kid, but you sorta did. 

And then you looked up, glancing around just to see Choso approaching – but he was too busy talking to a blonde to notice you with his brother. Her hand on his forearm, leaning forward as he spoke all seriously about something, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she listened intently to every word. 

You hated her. 

Almost as much as you missed him. 

But you couldn’t deal with either emotion. Had no way to defend or deflect it, just putting your hand on Apollo’s shoulder and nudging him away, “Sorry, but, uh, I should get him to start his drills. It was good to see you, Yuji.” 

You didn’t stay long enough to see what kind of accusatory stare he’d give you for breaking his brother’s heart. Or run the risk of Choso coming over and catching you clinging to the remnants of your relationship by letting Apollo hang around Yuji. Rushing off to find the right field, a sick feeling spreading across your stomach, filling your lungs and choking up your throat as you set up your chair and tried to tell yourself that the chance of Yuji playing against Apollo was slim considering how many teams there were here today. 

But luck hadn’t decided to grace you today.

Because standing across the field twenty minutes later, in his stupidly attractive jersey and shorts, Choso was tying half his hair up off his face, bending over to listen to Yuji before looking over to see where Apollo was sitting on a bench, a cap hiding the steaks of white from the sun as he kicked his feet and waited for the game to start. 

You saw the way his mouth pulled tight. How his jaw clenched before he looked over to the sidelines, starting to scan it before you looked back down in your lap, pretending to be interested in something on your phone instead of staring at him. 

Just one game. 

That was all, you told yourself. 

You could make it through that. 

But fuck, it would have been so much more bearable if she wasn’t a few seats away once it started. 

Loathing didn’t quite cover the jealousy simmering inside you at the way her pretty blonde hair cascaded down her back and gleamed in the sun, how freely she bounced and cheered, clapping her hands together and calling out Yuji’s name in a chipper voice along with her own kid. 

The one who called Yuji brother. 

That was how it was now. 

Choso wanted a happy family. So he started one with some other soccer mom, huh? 

It had only been two fucking months. 

How the hell could he just move on like that? 

Maybe you broke it off, but he could have at least pretended to be bent out of shape about it when he had said he wanted to marry you. 

Were you just not that serious? Had the past few years really meant that little to him? 

Every time she cheered for Yuji felt like a fresh stab. 

It was hard to hold back your annoyance when Apollo was struggling on the field too, all his older teammates refusing to pass the ball to him on the rare chance that he got to play. 

And then came the moment that her kid knocked Apollo down, big tears welling up in his blue eyes as the ref called it and his coach had to pull him off the field for good. He tried not to cry. To hold it in and not seem like a baby in front of the big kids. 

But rage was boiling inside you, injustice at how fucking unfair everything always for you. 

You were trying to fight for your kids. 

It wasn’t like you had someone other than Suguru’s mother to rely on. Not really. 

No one else understood. 

Knew what it was like to lose your whole world and then have to hold it together anyway. To never get closure and still be expected to just move on like nothing happened. Like you weren’t reminded of what you were missing every moment of every day. 

Apollo’s team lost. And you were still trying to be the mature adult you knew he needed you to be as you folded your chair back up and slung it over your shoulder, hurrying over as he nursed his scraped knee, still trying not to sob as he bottled it all in. 

But Choso beat you there. 

Kneeling down on the ground and putting a bandaid over it as he smiled at your son softly. You used to love the way he cared for your children like they were his own. But now you were second-guessing if maybe that was just who he was, that it never had anything to do with you.  

“-did great out there, okay? You should be proud of yourself,” he spoke gently, using all the right words as you tried not to wince. But Apollo smiled, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, ignoring the dirt and grass sticking to it before throwing himself at Choso in a big hug. 

Arms wrapped around his neck before you could move forward fast enough to pry him off. Choso patted his back, but you were already trying to pick him off yourself, swallowing the pain threatening to close your throat. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Couldn’t think straight.

Clouded with so much distress it felt like someone had embedded sharp shards of glass in every fiber and muscle of your body, limbs robotically moving as you mentally replayed what your last conversation had been.

“Can we go out for ice cream? Please? Like we used to?” Apollo blurted out, and you hated that you knew he would hold the refusal that was about to leave your lips against you. 

Choso opened his mouth to reply, hesitating as your eyes actually met his for the first time, and you wondered if he could see the hurt in yours as the lump in his throat bobbed. 

“Choso!” The blonde called out, her tits bouncing in her shirt as she waved to him. “Time to pass out snacks!” 

“Choso’s busy, sweetheart,” you said, picking Apollo up, his long legs dangling as he kicked, trying to get put back down. Trying to save yourself from the scene of him begging for attention from a guy who wasn’t his father. 

Even if you both wanted him to be. 

He watched you leave. 

Didn’t try to make you stay. 

That wasn’t who he was, you guessed. 

No, he just wanted to throw a ring at you on the second worst day of your life and toss the fact that you’d lost the father of your children back in your face when you were on the verge of a breakdown. 

Apollo pouted the entire way back to the car, his little nose scrunched up as you pulled out of the parking lot, muttering that he didn’t want to play soccer anymore. 

You tried to talk him out of it, saying that the next game would be better. 

But you didn’t know if he believed you. 

Not with the way he was dramatically staring out the window the rest of the ride home, switching between having  arms folded across his chest and fidgeting with the seatbelt. 

“I know you’re upset, but-” 

“I’m fine,” he stubbornly insisted, shaking his head. He had his cap back on, unable to make out any of his white hair underneath it as his blue eyes looked up at you through the mirror. “Are you?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, even though you knew he wasn’t stupid. 

He wasn’t as scientifically minded as Satoru, or Artemis, but he read you like a book. Saw in between the lines without you having to say anything. 

“I want to sleepover at grandma’s house,” Apollo murmured, diverting his stare  as you swallowed your pride and shrugged. 

“Okay,” you muttered. “I’m sure she’d like that.” 

Suguru’s mom had never said no to either of the twins. 

And when you brought him over in the evening, watching him run straight back to the spare room she made for them, hearing faint rummaging and rustling noises as he pulled out toys to play on his own. 

“I take it the game didn’t go so well?” She asked, fine lines and wrinkles really starting to show on her soft, tanned skin. Wisdom you wished you had even a small sliver of in her kind smile as you flopped down on her couch. 

“Choso was there,” you muttered, your stupid heart stuttering just saying his name. 

“Oh?” That piqued her interest. 

She always liked him. Told him that he was good for you. Good for the kids. 

But you could see how much he reminded her of Suguru. Always chalked it up to her seeing some of her son in him. 

“He already moved on,” you bitterly huffed.. “Some other soccer mom was practically all over him. God, her kid even called Yuji brother.” 

“Honey, are you sure? Did you speak to him?” She started, trying to be careful with her words as you scoffed louder.

“No, but-” 

“Have you spoken to him at all since you broke up?” She pressed, and you could only shake your head. 

What the hell were you supposed to say? You were broken up. 

It wasn’t like you had his number blocked.

But he hadn’t reached out either. 

“That boy loves you,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t just-” 

“He left me,” you muttered. 

Well, you left him. 

But if he loved you, he wouldn’t have let you leave. Just stood there when you walked away. 

You had made that mistake before. You let Satoru go. Trusted him to come back. 

He didn’t. 

And you were the one who had been stitching yourself back up every time his memory tore your heart back open. 

But how were you supposed to marry a man who couldn’t tell when you had come undone? That you were falling apart in front of him? 

“Did you want him to stay?” She asked, and you knew the answer instantly, no matter how hard it was to actually say it. 

Of course you wanted him to stay anyway. 

Even though knowing that felt like betraying Satoru. 

“I should go home,” you murmured, picking yourself back up off the couch and snagging your purse from the floor as you threw a long look down the hall to where Apollo was, debating on peeking in to tell him good night before deciding against interrupting him. “Just, uh, call me when I should come get him.” 

Or just walk next door. 

The house was horribly quiet. 

Your footsteps echoing as you returned to your room, the silence following wherever you went as you stripped and showered, scrubbing your skin raw with soap and sighing at your blurred reflection in the fogged-up mirror after you got out feeling no fucking cleaner than you had when you stepped in.

Truthfully, you didn’t really want to look at yourself anyway. 

Clinging to the towel you wrapped yourself in, staring at the clothes in your closet as you searched for something to hide yourself in, settling on an oversized hoodie you’d bought before either man you were wrecked over. 

Throwing on pajama shorts too, wondering whether or not it was worth wasting an hour scrolling through shows and movies searching for stuff to watch or giving up and crawling into bed when you heard a knock on your front door. 

A flicker of relief slipped in, thinking that Suguru’s mom must be bringing Apollo back, that maybe he changed his mind and you could offer to let him stay up late watching whatever movie he wanted together as you scurried back towards it. 

You didn’t even ask before pulling it open, but you stopped in your tracks the second you saw who was on the other side. 

“Hey,” Choso greeted, the single word shoved out unceremoniously as you just stood there and stared.

“What are you-” 

“She, uh, called me,” he muttered, jutting his thumb over to the house next door. He had changed into an outfit you missed seeing him in. A sweater you used to steal of his, thick and cozy, in your favorite shade of purple. Jeans that were well worn. His hair was a little damp too, bangs framing his handsome face as the dim lighting made his dark eyes hard to read. “If you want me to go-” 

“You didn’t speak to me today,” you pointed out, not that you made the effort to talk to him either. Picking a fight in the first five seconds. 

“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Choso sheepishly answered, and before you realized it, you were stepping aside, letting him back in. Although, you guessed it was better than letting half the neighborhood hear you bicker. 

“Yeah, I’m sure your new girlfriend wouldn't be happy with you talking to your ex,” you defensively said, gritting your teeth as he shut the door behind him. Throwing you a confused glance before he fully turned to you with his thick brows all pinched together. 

“What are you talking about?” He shook his head dismissively. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t see the new soccer mom all over you?” You snapped at him. Your jealousy was plain to see, painfully obvious as the words came out all wounded and weak. 

“Are you talking about Yuki?” He asked, his lips parting as you imagined her mouth meeting them.

“Oh, is that her name?” You spat it out, backing away as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “She’s pretty, huh?” 

Did he think she was prettier than you? That he upgraded? 

The worst part was you could barely recognize yourself right now. 

You didn’t want this to be you. Petty and pathetic and pining over something you were trying to damndest not to want. 

Since when were you so insecure? So jealous that you were starting an argument with Choso because you couldn’t get a fucking grip on yourself? 

“She is,” Choso agreed, and you wanted to throw up. 

Ruin his sweater like he ruined your day. 

You didn’t know what face you made, but whatever it was, however wrecked you must have seen before you could recover, he softened. Unlocking his jaw as his eyes crinkled, exhaling slowly. 

“I’m not into her like that,” he added. Treacherous respite rippled through your body, but you held onto your anger, resisting everything you instinctually wanted to do around him. “But, we’re not together anymore. We can see other people without-” 

“You proposed to me two months ago,” you pointed out, but the accusatory tone didn’t really do much when it came out half an octave too high. A horribly familiar lump was growing in your throat, heat crawling up your cheeks dangerously close to your eyes. “If you actually loved me, you wouldn’t just move on like we were nothing.” 

“I’m not just moving on, it’s just,” he paused, budding frustration threatening to boil over as he took a small step closer. Standing in front of you as if he was the victim, like everything was all your fault for being the fucked up one in your relationship. “I should be allowed to heal however I need to heal.” 

For a second, you couldn’t stand him. His maturity. His rationality. The way he was still collected when it felt like someone had plucked out all your seams and left you to crumble. 

Tears you couldn’t stop welling up, a choked sound coming out before your broken words, “I’m sorry I was such a horrible girlfriend you have to do so much healing.” 

“I’m healing from your rejection,” he clarified, but you couldn’t stop yourself from crying, rubbing underneath your eyes as you tried to stop yourself, scoffing a little as you tried to reel yourself back in. 

“You had an out from the beginning,” you sniffled, although it sounded more like a huff. “I told you I didn’t want to waste your time.” 

He recoiled at the reminder, and panic sprung back up, hot and bright, burning your throat. You wanted to take what you said back. 

But you were too stubborn to say that. “Our relationship wasn’t wasted time,” he muttered, and there was a hint of remorse in his tone. Disappointment that things didn’t work out the way either of you wanted. “But this argument is.” 

You were about to throw out a retort, ask him what that was supposed to mean, but then he was walking away, sweater stretched across his broad back as he started towards the door, and you were bridging the gap between you, snagging his sleeve to stop him. 

“You’re just going to leave again? Like that?” You asked, voice quivering as you forced your stare to harden. He looked down at you like it was taking everything inside him not to give in too. 

“You wanted to break up,” he murmured, and you bit down on the raw spot you chewed in your cheek, ignoring the taste of blood on your tongue as the temptation to take it all back grew harder and harder to resist. “I was stupid to think that maybe we could talk things through tonight.” 

He began to slip away again, and impulsively, you were pulling him down by his sweater, your mouth crashing into his to reclaim him in a manic kiss. 

You sort of thought he would push you away. 

Tell you that he was really done this time. Through with you and all the baggage he’d have to bear being yours. 

But then his calloused palm was cupping your cheek and he was kissing you back twice as hard, returning the fever with his own heat. It seared through you, fried your nerves as his tongue slipped past your lips, his nose nudging against yours while his body pressed up against yours. Clumsily forced back a few steps until you were both falling on the couch, sandwiched between his heavy chest and the stained cushions. 

Having sex with your ex was almost always a mistake. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to let Choso go. 

“I hate how much I love you,” he muttered when the kiss broke, and your pulse picked up, self-loathing sinking into you as it struck you how much your fuck-ups were fucking him up too. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, weak and almost whimpering as your apology came out sincere this time. 

You weren’t even sure which crime of yours you were apologizing for. 

Breaking up with him to begin with. Forcing him to bear the weight of your burdens. Being too emotionally constipated to communicate what was haunting you without turning it into a fight. 

“Show me then,” Choso dared, his usually low voice dropping down to damn near dangerous while his intense stare narrowed, studying your face for some sign that you meant it. 

And then you were tethering your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another rushed kiss, shutting out all the thoughts of how many sins you were trying to atone for. 

You spent so long trying to be strong for the twins. For Choso. For yourself. 

But you were so tired. So exhausted from expending all your energy putting on a show pretending to be fine when you just kept failing. 

Couldn’t you just let it go for a little bit? Let yourself love Choso without holding back? 

His hands were slipping underneath the soft fabric of your hoodie, phantom shivers racing down your spine as he nudged your thighs further apart with his knee. You could feel each finger, how they tentatively ghosted across your side up to your chest, greedily grabbing a handful of one of your breasts, nothing shy or reserved about it. 

No soft questions of if it was okay, or if you wanted more, just taking what he wanted. 

And you were willing to give it. 

To let him have all of your body when you struggled to hand over your heart. 

Kissing him came easy. His palms pressed so firmly against your skin, pulling at the soft muscle and tender flesh, his lips fitting so nicely between your own as his nose nuzzled against you. The connection you had been fighting was too intense for you to resist his pull, the intimacy that used to terrify you slipping its tendrils around you and wrapping around you so tight you didn’t think you’d ever be able to escape the hold he had on you. 

He pulled away, and you were left chasing the kiss, craning your neck up, whining and missing him the moment his mouth wasn’t on yours. 

That was the truth, wasn’t it? 

You had missed him the moment he stopped being yours. You were used to loneliness. To being lost in your head and longing for someone. 

So why the hell did it feel so different with him? So visceral and raw to accept that he might move on if you couldn’t give him what he wanted? What he deserved? 

“You don’t want me but you don’t want me to go,” he accused, and you were shaking your head, pulling him back down by his hair as you locked your thighs around his waist. 

“I do want you,” you admitted, brows knitting together tightly as you practically begged him to believe you. 

Your heart and your head might both be a mess. 

But you could pick out that brutal fact between the wreckage any day. If you didn’t want him, it wouldn’t hurt half as bad as it did right now to see him hurt. 

Like he was concerned you could change your mind (or maybe before he changed his), his grip slid back down to your hips, pulling you up some so he could get your clothes off. Adjusting down so he could shimmy your shorts and panties down your thighs in one go, 

You awkwardly lifted your arms, and he was half-ripping the hoodie off of you, but the moment it was off, he was flipping you over in one rough move, one hand on the back of your neck to press your face into your throw pillow. 

He left his clothes on. 

All his shields still up when it came to you. 

Your body trembled, cool air hitting your ass as you heard the rustle of him pulling down his pants behind you. 

Usually the sex was slow with him. An hour long affair of foreplay and making out, rolling around the sheets before taking turns giving each other head, drawing out an orgasm or two before he actually fucked you, or you even rode him. 

You were in uncharted territory. 

On the outskirts of his heart instead of taking up space inside of it. 

He ran his other palm over your ass, slowly trekking over your spine and letting out a low exhale you couldn’t decipher. You tried to look back at him, but the fingers on the back of your neck kept you firmly in place, sinking in a little deeper to get you to stay. 

You shouldn’t be soaked. But you could feel the dampness leaking down your thighs, your hips aching to wiggle a little and entice him into just fucking you into feeling something other than sorry for yourself. 

There was no prep. 

Just him tentatively testing how wet you were with his swollen tip before smoothly sliding in, a drawn-out hiss leaving his throat at the way your warmth wrapped around him the same way it had a thousand times before. 

You wanted him to kiss you again. Would even settle for a handful of pecks pressed to your shoulder blade or a few tracing up your throat. 

But you didn’t feel like you had the right to make any kind of requests from him right now. 

“C-Choso,” you whispered, your voice muffled into the pillow as your walls clamped down around him mid-thrust, squeezing as he shoved his way past the first ring of resistance. 

“Don’t,” he murmured, and if he didn’t already feel so good inside you, you might’ve broken down from that single word. 

Don’t what? 

Call out for him? 

“Not unless you’re mine.” 

You knew what he was asking of you. To give him the pieces of you that you were still desperately clinging onto. To let go of the ones that were someone else’s. 

His mouth hovered over your shoulder, so close to touching and still so far away, a little squeak escaping as his cock rubbed right into a spot he knew was sensitive. 

“When you close your eyes, are you picturing me? Or him?” 

The raw sound of his voice ripped through you, painfully piercing your heart as his hips pinned you to the cushions. Bottomed out and buried inside like he was aching to claim you completely and utterly as his own, his teeth finally skimming over your throat as a moan involuntarily slipped out. 

“You,” you half-whispered, and you could see his face in your head now, dark and dreamy and dragging you over the coals of a fading fire. The fight you used to have in you, the one that kept you dreaming for the life you lost, dying out.

Choso had fire of his own. It was tamed, controlled, where the flames wouldn’t hurt if they licked your skin. A warm hearth you could curl up by without fear of being burned. 

“Promise me,” he grunted, the springs beneath you creaking as he thrusted right where he knew you’d crumble and crack, your pleasure memorized like it was his favorite book. 

“It’s you,” you echoed, a whimper echoing in your living room as his back pressed flat against your own, his hand moving your hair off the nape of your neck so he could kiss you again. Mouth leaving a messy trail of kisses, each consecutive one making the invisible thread in your stomach tense and tighten, pulled taut as he pounded you into the couch with no mercy. 

“I said promise,” he groaned just before biting down, your wrecked whine just making his cock twitch as his free hand slipped around your side, roughly beginning to rub your clit like you weren’t already on the brink of breaking. 

“I p-promise,” you stammered, clawing at the cheap pillow for grip, each of his thrusts threatening to make you jolt. But he didn’t stop fucking into you faster, no matter how hard you were clamping down around him, thighs trembling and toes curling at the force of his rough strokes. 

So stuffed you thought you were going to snap, strangled noises buried into the pillow as his thick fingers worked your sensitive bud, his mouth littering your neck with what you hoped were love bites. 

Even if he wasn’t fucking you the way he usually did, Choso was still Choso. 

Still made sure you came first, waiting until your breathy gasps turned into a broken moan, shuddering as he painted white splotches across your vision, cumming and crying his name, ruined and half-limp underneath his body. 

Hiding your face in the pillow as hot tears welled up in your eyes, knowing it would probably leave damp spots after this was over. 

Were the two of you still over? 

Now probably wasn’t the time to ask. 

He pulled out at the last second, hand furiously pumping his cock, cum spurting out to spill all across your bare back as you started to come back down to earth from your climax. 

Waiting for him to say something first, shutting your eyes as you struggled to catch your breath, the metal of your necklace pressing hard into your chest as his weight shifted. Carefully moving off of you instead of collapsing like he used to. Sometimes you could spend half an hour afterwards just with his body melting onto yours, playing with each other’s hair or listening to him murmur about whatever was on his mind. Letting him trace pretty shapes over your skin while he swore he adored you. 

“I got some in your hair,” he mumbled instead.

Oh. 

Right. 

“We can shower,” you offered quietly, turning your head to the side, but still barely able to make out any of him in your peripheral vision. 

You thought he’d turn you down. 

Leave anyway now that he fucked you. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

There was no big conversation. No emotional breakthrough under the hot water. 

Choso cleaned you with the same attention he always had. Scrubbing your skin with the loofah, massaging your scalp when he washed your hair. 

Taking care of you like a lover. 

Even if you didn’t deserve it. 

You knew you should have a proper conversation. Address what had landed you here, adjusting the water and pretending not to notice the ghost in the room. 

But then the shower was over, and he was stepping out first, tying a towel loosely around his defined hips, water droplets still clinging to his happy trail as he handed you your own towel wordlessly. Was this just how things were going to be from now on? 

You watched him in the steamy mirror as you dried yourself off, searched him for remorse before he bent over to pick up his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans.  

“Yuji wants me to pick him up from Todo’s,” he muttered, looking back at you with an uncertain expression. 

“Oh,” you muttered, stomach twisting with discomfort you once again didn’t want to vocalize. Todo. Wasn’t he the one that belonged to the blonde? “So Yuki’s place?” 

And despite what he said earlier, a poisonous part of you whispered that he might be going over to just repeat what he’d done with her instead. 

That perhaps he had just picked up those moves from being in her bed. 

“Yeah,” he casually confirmed with a small nod. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

How to bring up your insecurity when you couldn’t even commit to him how he wanted in the first place. 

So instead you deflected, biting down on your bottom lip before tilting your head to the side, “Do, um, you wanna come back over tomorrow?” 

Surprise registered on his face, and he slowly nodded. 

“What time?” 

He was at your door the next afternoon while the kids were off at camp. 

And the one after that. 

Keeping your bed warm for an entire week, fucking you into your mattress like he was hoping to leave an imprint by the time he finished. To permanently press the shape of your bodies into the sheets, mold it around both of you while he molded you around him in everything from mating presses to reverse cowgirl. Any position where he could make a point in seeing how hard you would cum for him. Even in the shower afterwards when he was supposed to be cleaning you up. 

Kissing you from the moment he crossed the threshold to the time he left. Desperate ones that gave away the craving you both shared, the hunger that seemed to spread and sink you further into starvation. 

You didn’t know what this was. 

What your relationship with him would be once the summer camps were over and you wouldn’t have the time to spare for having steamy sex with your sorta-ex. 

“Shit,” he groaned, throwing his head back, the outline of his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his throat as you stole a glance over your shoulder at him. On your hands and knees, cum sticking to your ass and connecting your skin to his cock as he came a few seconds after you. His muscled abs glistened in the fading daylight, toned ridges and divots on display as he finished fucking his frustrations out on you doggy-style. 

Pulling out instead of using condoms, the risk of it making your stomach flutter all funny even if you had a hard time imagining yourself ever having another kid. 

You knew he wanted one though. 

Another conversation you’d been avoiding. 

But before you could even consider broaching it, your phone started to buzz beside the bed, and he was leaning over to pick it up for you, face softening as he held it out. 

“It’s Artemis,” he muttered. 

“Shit, okay,” you blinked, climbing off the bed in a hurry to grab your robe off the back of your desk chair, hastily throwing it on and tying it around your waist before rushing back to take it. 

You barely got to speak to her since she’d been so busy with her space camp. 

Answering before it could end, biting your lip as the facetime automatically connected, the image of her all fuzzy and blurred for a few seconds before becoming clear. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” you greeted, heart rapidly thumping in your chest as you made sure she wouldn’t be able to see the rest of your room.

“I missed you, mom,” she grinned. 

Artemis had a light in her eyes that you missed. That spark, that gleam of excitement that was infectious, smiling easily back at her as she pushed a planetary model in front of the camera to show off. 

“Check it out. Do you like it?” She beamed, proud of her work as you instinctively thought of what Satoru would make of it. How he’d probably grin and goad her into going over every detail. How happy he’d be that she was into the same stuff as him. 

“I love it,” you promised, nodding along as she started rambling about how they were learning about worm holes earlier, bouncing up and down as you tried to not let the sinking pit in your stomach swallow you up with how much she reminded you of her father. 

But if he was really still here, would he be here to see this? Or would he still be choosing work over the three of you? 

You were so distracted, you didn’t hear Choso creeping back up until you felt the weight of him against your back, bending over to rest his chin on your collarbone as he saw Artemis’ project on your phone. 

“You made that all by yourself?” He asked, and you could see his soft smile on your screen, admiring her work like she was his. The pretty picture of a perfect father. “Choso?” Artemis blinked, mouth falling open and nose scrunching up in surprise as she looked back at you with sheer confusion. 

You stammered something out, a weak excuse about her brother calling, ending the call before you had to actually answer her reasonable questions about what you were doing with him. Turning back the second you were sure she wouldn’t overhear, scoffing as you shook your head at him. 

“Why did you do that?” You asked, blowing a short puff of air out of your nose as his palms settled on your hips. 

“Do what? Talk to Artemis? We’re back together,” He said it as if it was obvious, and you reflexively wanted to refuse. To sabotage the slice of heaven you were living in for the past week. 

“I never said that.”

The moment those four words left your lips, you wanted to put them back. 

Freezing as his hands fell away from you, loathing yourself for letting this happen, seeing how hard and fast he recoiled from you.

“I’m such a fucking moron,” he muttered, turning around and grabbing his sweater from the bed, pulling it over his head as your body seized with dread. “You’re just using me. You never wanted a life with me.” 

“No,” you breathed the word, but you were already sure it was too late. You screwed it up again. “I didn’t-” 

“Stop with the stupid lies,” he shook his head, not believing you. 

“Stay, please,” you half-whispered, the slowly-growing guilt gripping your heart encasing it completely. “I wasn’t trying to-” 

“To what?” He interrupted. 

“I panicked,” you weakly explained, an excuse forming on your tongue about not wanting to confuse the kids anymore, but he wasn’t about to let it go this time. 

“Why don’t you want to marry me?” He bluntly asked. 

No room for wiggling out of the conversation or wishing it away when it meant watching him walk out your door again. 

You had to be honest. 

No matter how much your brain was trying to convince you that you were just jinxing it. Cursing him to follow the same fate as your former fiancé by saying the words out loud. Condemning yourself by tying yourself down to someone you were scared would slip away too.   

“The day you proposed,” you hesitated, holding your breath as you swallowed hard. “While you weren’t here, someone from NASA stopped by that afternoon to tell me Satoru had officially been declared dead.” 

You didn’t know why it had even surprised you. 

All the years he’d been gone, the excuses his old coworkers had offered started to dry up, the same old stories they sold you not holding the same hope. 

And now they were admitting there wasn’t any. 

Satoru was dead to them. 

And you didn’t even really get to be a widow. 

“I went to his grave after you got home, but I just, I don’t know how to say goodbye to him,” you muttered, thinking about how it felt to sit there knowing his body would never be buried by his headstone. About the life he deserved and never got. Where he got to be a father and a husband and be a family. “And then you came home and pulled out the ring, and it was like everything was happening all over again.” 

The memory of it was a blur, your head a complete mess as an awful as intrusive thoughts threw everything you were terrified of straight in your face. 

Telling you that you were just replacing Satoru. That he would hate you if he knew you had moved on. Insisted that if you said yes, Choso wouldn’t stick around either. 

So scared that he’d leave you too, that you nearly lost him anyway. 

“Baby, if you had told me-” 

“I know,” your voice broke, body trembling as he wrapped a warm arm around your shoulders to tug you into a tender embrace. “I should’ve said something. But I didn’t know how to bring it up and I just shut down, and-” 

“If I had waited, would you have said yes?” He asked, and you couldn’t answer straight away. 

Was it a betrayal to Satoru to say yes? 

Or were you losing the best thing in your life by clinging onto the ghost of a man who hadn’t loved you enough to listen and stay in the first place? 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t want another proposal if it ends in losing the person I love.” 

Looking up at him anxiously, waiting for the foundation you were standing on to crack and crumble – for him to prove you right. For the world to rip him away now that you admitted that you loved him enough to fear living without him too. 

“The only way you’ll lose me is if you keep pushing me away,” he comforted you, and you wanted to cry. 

“I don’t want to push you away,” you mumbled. 

“Then let me in,” he whispered, pulling you onto the bed and placing you on his lap. Letting you curl up on him, holding you tight like he was trying to make it clear he wasn’t going to let you go. 

Your sniffles turned into soft sobs, all the tears you’d been holding in, all the mourning you’d been rejecting released the moment you had someone to lean on. 

“Are you still seeing your therapist?” He pressed, and you hung your head lower.  

“No,” you confessed through the tears. “I haven’t been since we broke up.” 

“You need to go back,” he softly goaded, and you knew he was right. That you were only hurting yourself the more you held it all in. 

“Could, um, you go with me?” You muttered, unsure and anxious as you searched his face for some sign that you weren’t making a mistake, rubbing the damp streaks off of your cheeks as he nodded. 

“If you want me there,” he muttered. 

And you could finally admit to yourself that you did. 

That you wanted there when you went to sleep, and when you woke up, and for everything in between. 

“I want you here for everything,” you whispered. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t see what you were going through-” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

“So what? The second she thinks I’m dead she decides to marry you?” Gojo interrupted his retelling of it, Choso’s mouth finding it hard not to frown at how much he sort of reminded him of you. Seeing the bits of his personality that had melted into yours, picturing how the two of you might have worked together if the positions were reversed. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Choso muttered. 

“That’s what it sounds like,” he retorted. 

His phone vibrated on the table, Artemis' name flashing on the screen before Gojo snatched it off and shoved it in his pocket. 

“You can answer that,” Choso muttered, shrugging his shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable sharing a daughter, but she was too grown for him to say anything about it. And between the twins, she was the one who always had a soft spot for the father she lost to the very thing she was studying. 

Of course she was going to be excited that he was home. 

Even if some things were better left in her imagination than in real life. 

Choso had never planned on meeting him. Never considered what he might actually be like.

Although he did find it a little annoying that he was somehow even more obsessed and in love with you than he ever conceived. 

“I’ll call her back later,” Gojo answered, but there was a nervous glint to his eyes as he cleared his throat before picking up his fork to shove some food in his mouth, still talking mid-chew. “How long, exactly, did it take for you to marry my-” 

He nearly said fiancée. 

But Gojo corrected himself, clearing his throat, “Her.” 

“Your friend’s mother, she, uh, got cancer a year later,” Choso muttered, still a little haunted by the look on your face when she announced it. At the hard memories always attached to the good ones. “The doctors thought she only had six months to live.”

“Oh,” Gojo muttered, a crease forming between his brows on his pretty, wrinkle-free face. 

“It changed things.” 

If it hadn’t been for her, he wasn’t sure if the two of you would’ve found your way back together at all. 

It had been her birthday. All of you over at her house, the kids playing in the living room while you helped her clean up. Choso was supposed to be keeping an eye on the twins and Yuji, but he was within earshot of your conversation, beating a level that was too hard for them on the game console she’d bought them last Christmas.

He nearly died the second he heard the words terminally ill leave her mouth, using every ounce of his self-composure not to snap his head around and ask all the questions he was itching to know. But then the kids would notice, and the idea of the twins realizing that they were about to lose the closest thing they had to a grandparent was enough to make him hold onto his cool. Force his face into a neutral expression as he clicked buttons haphazardly. 

“You can get a second opinion, or, or-” You were stumbling over your words, in denial as Mrs. Geto tutted at you. 

“Sometimes, it’s just a person’s time,” she softly said. “I’ve lived a long life. A happy one.” 

Choso glanced back right as your entire face fell, devastation obvious in every line etched into your skin, shaking your head hard as you rejected it. 

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. 

“I want to be with my husband and son,” she said, and you were trying so hard not to cry. Eyes watering with tears you were quick to blink away. “I’ve made my peace with it.” 

Choso knew you. Could see how hard you were resisting the urge to say that you wanted her here too. 

“Don’t give me that look, dear,” she lightly said, reading you like an open book too. “All I want now is to know that you’ll be okay when I’m gone. All three of you.” 

You might not be her daughter. But you were damn near close to it after nearly a decade of leaning on each other for support. 

“You know Choso takes good care of us,” you softly replied, your voice barely audible as you sniffled. Rubbing your face from the spot you’d frozen in, lip still quivering. 

“He does, doesn’t he?” She knowingly said, and you were nodding. 

“He’s great,” you reiterated, and even when the timing was terrible, he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude at hearing you speak about him like that. On you counting on him. 

“Not great enough to marry?” 

He almost flinched. 

A game over screen flashing across the TV as the kids groaned in unison, little fingers poking and pushing and telling him to try again. 

“I don’t need his last name to know I love him,” you muttered. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t marry him,” she argued, and Choso felt his chest constrict, wondering whether or not he should even be listening when she started talking about Suguru, so fondly, recounting a memory of his father, her husband, the weight of her missing them present in every syllable. “Even if it hurts sometimes, I wouldn’t take any of it back.” 

You knew what that felt like. 

Choso could see the contemplation scrawled across your face, struggling to keep his focus on the game as Mrs. Geto continued. 

“You’ve known him longer than Satoru, sweetheart,” she guided, touching your shoulder tenderly as he caught a glimpse of you chewing on your lip. “He loves you just as much.”

It wasn’t a competition. 

Even if sometimes did feel like he was fighting a phantom for your love. 

“He would understand if you went all in with him,” she spoke gently. “All any of us have ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

You were about to start bawling, but you held it in, nodding along like you knew she was right. And Choso was already planning on sending her a gift basket the next day with all her favorite foods and snacks, including a note promising to make time to take her to any appointments she needed. 

“I loved Satoru like he was my own too, but even if they came back tomorrow, I don’t know if he’d be the one that’s right for you now, dear,” she gently goaded, guiding you as you sucked in a sharp breath. 

Choso waited for you to shake your head, to tell her that she was wrong. 

But you didn’t. 

And he was still thinking about what you were thinking that night. You told him about her illness after the kids had fallen asleep in their beds, sitting up with a pillow pressed against your chest as you gave him that look you always did when you were deep in thought. 

He pretended not to know, just wrapping his arms around you to offer whatever comfort you needed. He wasn’t going to push. Press about marriage just because you had spoken with Mrs. Geto about it. 

Truthfully, he didn’t expect anything to actually come of it. 

He understood your reservations. Those fears you were still working through with your therapist. 

So you caught him off guard when you looked up at him with wide eyes and nervously asked, “Do you still think about marrying me?” 

“Of course I do,” he answered a little too fast. “But I understand why you don’t want to.” 

He would take a forever of being your boyfriend than a future where you weren’t anything to him. 

“Why do you want to?” You asked, the question coming out slightly stilted, a hint of something he had a hard time placing. It wasn’t dismissive. Not completely curious, more like, searching for confirmation from him. 

“You already know I’m in love with you,” he murmured, reaching over to brush his fingers across your cheek. “And how much I love our family.” 

You and the twins. The way you readily accepted Yuji as their sibling. Loved his little brother without hesitation. 

“I want to grow old with you. Spend as many moments of our lives together as we can. Watch the kids graduate and get families of their own,” he mumbled, finding more confidence with each sentence as you leaned into his hand. “I want to write cheesy vows and say them in front of all our friends. I want Yuji to be my best man and Apollo to carry the rings while Artemis tosses flower petals down the aisle.” And fuck, when you were looking at him like that, like you wanted all of it and more too, he nearly melted on the spot. 

“I want to see you in a white dress, walking towards me while I cry at how beautiful you are,” Choso whispered, his gravelly voice standing out in the soft silence, the sound of crickets chirping through the cracked window as a breeze filtered in. “But really, I just want you to choose me. Forever.”

He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life waiting and wondering if he was the one you wanted. 

You swallowed hard, your hand reaching over to graze against his fingers affectionately. 

“Ask me again,” you breathed.

He stared for a moment, barely believing what had just left your lips. But the moment it sunk in, he was rushing off the bed, nearly stumbling towards his nightstand, pulling it open and rummaging through everything to find the ring box he tucked in the back when he moved in with you again. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, a ghost of a smile curling up on your lips as you watched him hurry to get down on one knee and pop open the box, revealing the ring you didn’t get to see last time. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Gojo looked like he was about to puke over the photo album in front of him. 

There you were, standing in your wedding dress, Choso’s hand slung on your waist as you leaned into him. Mrs. Geto was by your side, using a walker as her illness left her struggling to get around the way she used to. Yuji clinging onto the leg of his tux, grinning and sticking his tongue out at the photographer by his new step-siblings. Artemis and Apollo were in front of you, your bouquet in her hands while Apollo beamed at the camera, proud of himself for doing a good job not tripping or falling with the rings. 

“She’s glowing,” Gojo murmured, tracing over your face down to the wedding dress, face twisting up in pained tension. Maybe thinking of what his photos might have looked like with you. 

All his plans wrecked by his own confidence that the world would bend to what he wanted. 

And before Choso could really react, tears welled up in his blue eyes, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to hide the fact he was crying at the photo. 

“She was pregnant,” Choso explained, feeling himself getting choked up too thinking about that year. “It wasn’t planned.” 

Honestly, when you told him, stepping out of the bathroom with a positive test, that nervous glint of pure fear in your eyes as you held it out, he was sure you were going to tell him you didn’t want it. 

That you could marry him, but you would draw the line at having his kid. Sure that you wouldn’t want to put your body through it again, especially ten years after having twins. 

But you just anxiously asked if he wanted it, if he thought the two of you could really handle it. 

“How was it?” Gojo asked, a surprising sincerity to the question. Genuinely wanting to know, maybe because he missed his chance to go through it with you. Only got a handful of videos you sent when you were pregnant. Didn’t get to be there for the sonograms, or the appointments, or the birth. 

Missed buying baby clothes and painting a nursery. Picking out names together. 

Although, it had been you who suggested naming her Keso, after one of his brothers who passed when he was younger. “It was hard, sometimes,” he admitted. The later months especially. Your anxiety picking up the closer your due date came, convinced that something would go wrong, going to see your therapist every other week until your delivery date.  “But our daughter was healthy, and I was there to help her recover.” 

Choso never left you once. 

Was there for every diaper change and late night feed. Comforted every time he picked up his little girl relief he hadn’t expected blooming in his chest at having one that looked like him. He had told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he would’ve loved a little girl that looked like you too. Especially since he already adored Artemis. 

But it was nice to know that strangers would see his girl and know she was absolutely his. 

Gojo had only met her once since she came back at a big family dinner, and she was too preoccupied with her own husband and kids now to care about the man her mother once loved, just offering him an awkward smile before going back to talking to Artemis. 

He was wiping his face, pretending like he hadn’t been crying as he flipped the pages back in the photo album, finding one where you were sprawled out in the backyard on a towel and smiling at the camera, shielding your face from the sun. Artemis was laying next to you, her head buried in a book. 

“Can I have this one?” He asked, and Choso wanted to say no. 

Not let him have any more pieces of you than he’d already stolen. 

But it was hard to actually say no when he knew there was a second copy of the photo underneath, reluctantly nodding. “I suppose.” 

“I’m glad she got to move on,” he mumbled, not that it sounded even remotely truthful. The only thing there was regret. “That she could forget about me.” 

“I meant what I said,” Choso sighed, turning more serious as he looked into those frustratingly familiar eyes. He loved you too much to hate him. Loved Apollo and Artemis too much to loathe the man he had to thank for them. “She never forgot you.”

Gojo was the one who was struggling to swallow the fact he had to share your heart with someone else now. 

“Yeah,” he dismissively muttered, lips pressing together. 

“When she got sick a few years ago, her memory started to go too,” Choso reluctantly broached his least favorite subject, recalling the long months of watching you waste away. “Eventually, she forgot almost everything. Except you.” 

Gojo didn’t know what to say. 

Sitting there stunned as he stared at Choso, finding it too hard to meet his eyes and turning his attention to the wedding band still on his fourth finger. 

“She couldn’t remember the twins or our grandkids. But she still talked about you. Called me your name a couple times when I helped her get out of bed. Looked up at the sky and told everyone who visited that you were up there,” Choso admitted, his voice wavering as he tried his damndest not to hold it against you. To remember all the decades that had come before that when you were more than happy to be his. “Swore that her husband was just with the stars for a little bit before he’d come back for her.” 

He wasn’t quite as emotional as he had once been. But it was hard to not break down at the fact that he’d lost you long before you passed away. 

That in the end, he hadn’t carved himself deep enough into you to be the one you recalled. 

Sure, you still had moments of clarity. Rare days where you were almost like your old self, where you’d kiss him and hold him and swear you loved him more than anything. 

And those were enough. You were enough. Even when there was barely anything left. 

“We both loved her,” Choso murmured, although love didn’t seem like a big enough word for it. He had a feeling that Gojo would understand anyway. Know what he was trying to get at here. That they’d both felt the full spectrum of emotions, the highest highs and the lowest lows that came with worshipping you. “And lost her too.” 

“Yeah,” Gojo whispered. “I guess we did.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Choso exhaled, taking one last sip of his drink. “Losing her all at once like you or seeing her disappear piece by piece.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and Choso looked up to see the way his face had scrunched up, his brows furrowed as he twisted around the wedding band he started wearing too. The one you bought for him once upon a time. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Choso shook his head. 

If anyone understood what it was like to miss you, it was him. Even if he spent most of his adult life despising him to some degree.

But Gojo was still staring at him with guilt he hadn’t anticipated. Like he knew everything was his fault and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

Choso contemplated telling him that there wasn’t anything left to fix. 

It wasn’t like he could go back in time to change anything. And even if he could, Choso wouldn’t change a single moment. Not when he’d gotten you. Gotten his daughter – and two bonus kids. 

His life had been filled with your warmth and laughter and a million smiles he wouldn’t trade for anything. 

Even if the ending had been a bit lackluster. Even if he had to spend the next ten years on his own wishing you were still around. 

“I’m going to Apollo’s place,” he announced. “His daughter brought her baby over.” 

Awkwardly extending an invitation even if his son wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at having the father that was now younger than him around. 

“Oh,” Gojo said, his mouth curling down like he knew it too. 

Recognized where he wasn’t wanted. 

It might be too late for Apollo. But he still had time to get to know the rest of his family if he stopped focusing on the past and learned to live in the present. 

“Don’t you want to come spend some time with your great grandson?” Choso asked, his voice coming out gravelly as his knee ached with the effort of standing. Gojo’s stare flicked down at his lap, towards the pocket he shoved his phone in. 

And even though Artemis didn’t share his physical features, he recognized that distracted look of hers in Gojo now, like he was working out a problem too complex for anyone else to solve. 

“I’ll, uh, catch you guys there later,” he excused, running his thumb over the edge of the photo. 

He didn’t have the energy left in him to convince him to come. 

Gojo would just have to learn for himself how little time there was left with the people he loved in this life. 

Choso supposed he should consider himself lucky. At least he got to spend most of his by your side. 

It wasn’t jealousy that plagued him as he collected his photo albums, the proof of every year you’d given him while Gojo was gone, but pure pity. 

If only he had the foresight to realize how misplaced his empathy was. 

But even if he had, he wasn’t the one who could turn back time. 

a/n: this was also a commission by the super creative and inspiring @dayanim !! i love her and her big brain sm :3

[stvrw1tch]

This has me crying :(

[pervertedaydreams]

Let's Have A GAANG BAANG

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Pairing: Aang x Top/Seme Male Reader x Sokka x Zuko

Summary: It's been years since you've seen any of the gaang, and the three male members have just been dying to get their hands on you.

Featuring: Oral/anal sex, straddling, biting, blood, hand job, cowgirl, no-prep, exhibitionism, infidelity, jealousy/possessiveness, blow job, creampie, prostate massaging, making out, temperature play, glowing body parts, minimal Sokka x Zuko at the end, and cum play.

WC: 4.7k

──────────────────────────────────────────────

The flicker that came from the flames presented in front of you did nothing short of create a beautiful scene. Their romantic glow caused an inconsistent cascade of light and shadow to mix in the cave you and the rest of the crew were in.

Of course, the master behind those flames was even more impressive himself. It had been a while since you had seen Zuko in person—hell, since you had seen any of the members from your teenage group. After everyone had decided to go their own way, there was never much time for you all to have a mutual meetup, as everybody was busy pursuing their own life.

Maybe it was a calling from a spirit that Aang needed all your guys' help on this mission. You did miss the dynamic and energy that came from being surrounded by the people closest to you; heaven knows you craved to be going back and forth with the guys or teasing the girls about something random.

In the midst of your zoning out, you suddenly heard an abrupt yet clear cough that came from your right. 

"Hey, Y/n, you okay?" probed the same voice that previously cleared its throat, seeming to add a slight playfulness to its tone as if to not discomfort you. "You've been burning holes into Zuko’s torso for a good minute now."

Blinking your eyes a few times, you zoned back in to realize that your pupils had been laser focused on the fire lord's chest. Immediately ripping your eyes away from his body, you looked at the floor instead, deciphering whether it would be better to explain yourself to who you now realized was Sokka on your right or apologize to Zuko for the unintentional staring contest with his pecs.

You ultimately decided to do both while keeping your gaze on the ground, assuming that would save you the most humiliation from the expressions plastered on your comrades’ faces.

"My bad, I guess I was too in my head and didn't realize where I was looking," you mumbled timidly, like a kid who was forced to say sorry by their guardian. On your right you heard Toph let out a cheeky snicker while Katara started to tease.

"What's so enthralling about Zuko’s chest that had you zoning out over it, huh?" the waterbender taunted, wrapping a lazy arm around Aang’s shoulders. She put a portion of her weight on him while eyeing you, her grin stretching across her face at the realization she struck gold in something to mess with you about when you covered your face with shame, groaning in response.

"It was nothing. I'm telling you, I got busy thinking and didn't pay attention to where my eyes were," you stated disgruntledly, trying to be as casual about the conversation topic as possible in hopes that it would make it die out faster.

"Yeah, right," Toph mocked, now starting to join in on the ridiculing that should've ended 30 seconds ago, "I bet you were doing it on purpose and are just making the zoning out thing up to not get caught."

The metalbender got more comfortable in her sideways position on the floor before looking in your direction. For a blind woman, she sure did have a talent for knowing where to look to make eye contact.

"You can admit Zuko is pretty handsome," she kept on going, manipulating a small rock to head in the firebender’s direction and circle his upper body. You dragged your eyes over to look at him, wondering if he was hating the situation as much as you, only to be met with a rather flustered expression.

Although he wasn't saying anything or interacting with the discourse, Zuko was visibly red in the face. His shoulders were nearly steaming from how hot he was.

'He's probably just surprised at the direction the conversation went in,' you reasoned, not questioning his reaction much. 'It's nothing.'

Thinking about reactions, it had just dawned on you that neither of the other males in the room had said a single word since you apologized. Looking over at Sokka and Aang, you noticed that they seemed rather...tame with the whole theatrical.

They didn't seem overjoyed at the opportunity to dogpile on you about something silly like they usually would. Instead, their faces reflected that of hidden discontent. 

Sokka was wearing a smile like usual, but the ends of his mouth shifted from time to time as if he were forcing himself to do it for appearances. Aang was barely reciprocating Katara’s physical affection, spiritlessly wrapping his arm around her waist while mundanely looking around the room.

Their reactions were inherently odd compared to how you last remembered them acting. However, again, it has been several years since everyone's gotten together like this. Perhaps they've just grown up and changed.

──────────────────────────────────────────────

Nighttime had officially fallen, and everyone had mutually decided it was time to rest. After a bit of rearranging had been done to better set up for sleeping, the crew had started to pull out their own bed linens and do whatever else was needed before lying down. 

You had found yourself taking the space between Zuko and Sokka, dropping your blanket and slowly following it onto the ground as well. Sluggishly mumbling a goodnight to the rest of the group, you closed your eyes and instantly began dwindling into a limbo between wakefulness and sleep, your exhaustion overtaking you.

──────────────────────────────────────────────

Gradually evening out your breathing, you tried focusing on the black behind your eyelids and disconnecting from the rest of your surroundings. In the process of doing so, though, you heard a shuffling coming from in front of you. 

‘Someone's just probably changing positions,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It's not like sleeping on a cave floor is the most ideal resting location.’

Just when you were about to return to your previous activity of zoning into nothingness, you heard something again, but this time it was coming near you. Someone was up, but that shouldn't bother you. There isn't any danger from anyone in the team. You're safe, and as far as you know nobody from the outside is coming in.

Still, you opened your eyes just to peek at who exactly it was and what they were doing at this hour of the night. You did not expect, however, to be met with Zuko hovering over you, his stature unwavering even as he came to realize you were, in fact, awake.

"Uhm, hey there, Zuko," you started, a slight concern present in your voice by the odd interaction. "Everything alright?" The buffer man did nothing but gaze down at you for a few more seconds.

It was when you were about to go in again with another question that he finally acted, kneeling down to meet you at face level and inching towards yours. Somewhat appalled by the action, you attempted to lean back and put some space between the two of you, but just as you were starting to, another hand made contact with your neck, halting your movement.

Slightly jumping at the unexpected intervention, you turned around to be met with Sokka already looking back at you, his loosened hair cascading over the front of his face, giving him a rather alluring appearance. 

"Why are you up?" Zuko grilled in a low voice, though it came out more like a statement with how harsh his voice sounded. While asking, he leaned forward again, but this time his body language came off more territorial than usual. Your knees bumped together as he took a hold of your forearm, seeming as if ready to drag you away from the other man.

"The same reason you are," Sokka bit back, pulling out a smile as he gave Zuko an all-knowing look. You now wore a perplexed expression, completely unaware of whatever hidden message was being spelled out behind the pair’s short sentences to one another. What exactly was Zuko here to do?

You didn't have to wait much longer for that question to be answered, though, as Sokka pulled his arm back—your hair that was held by that same hand went with it. He forced the back of your head onto his collarbone, instantly diving into an open-mouth kiss. The tactician’s tongue played inside your mouth, making room for itself without prior notice.

Your eyes widened at the intrusion, too surprised to take any immediate action. Too caught up in the obscurity of the moment to fight back or do anything but make an alarmed noise. 

"You—" Zuko spat out, catching himself before going off the handle over what he was seeing in front of him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Everyone should've been asleep, and the two of you should be kissing. Yet, now that the situation has been changed, there's nothing he can do except modify his plan.

The flame king clenched his teeth, taking a breath before crawling towards you. Just because Sokka landed the first move didn't mean it was over for him. He slowly brought his hands to rest on your thighs, using them as leverage to put his weight as he neared your necks. The firebender began to leave soft kisses from your collarbone to your neck, finding home on one of your scent glands and beginning to suck. If Sokka got the first kiss, he was going to be the first to leave a mark on you.

You groaned into Sokka’s mouth at the sensation on your neck, subconsciously wrapping a hand around Zuko’s waist to keep him there. The man who was responsible for tonguing you seemed to take notice of this, a new rage filling him at the reciprocation in touch. How come Zuko got it and not him? Why were you even looking at his chest earlier? Did everything have to always be about him?

Deep in his thoughts, Sokka ripped his lips away from yours and dug into your neck instead. However, he wasn't as sweet with his markings as the fire lord. The inventor locked his canines into the skin in between your shoulder and neck, biting down without a second thought. An uncomfortable grunt came from your throat. Moving your irises down to look at the skin after feeling a trickling wet sensation on it, only to be met with your own blood flowing down and seeping into your clothes.

"W-what did you do?" you asked, a visible quiver in your voice at the fact that you already knew the answer. Sokka dragged his eyes back to your own, a small grin of satisfaction on his face. Lowering his head, he licked the open wound, not breaking eye contact with you as he lapped up the spilling red liquid. That seemed to have gotten your attention away from the other male.

While in a dazed state and still looking at the clear bite mark on your trapezius, you heard another shuffle come from across the cave. That's when reality hit you again: there were several other people in the lair that could wake up at any given moment and see the scenario unfolding.

Although you told yourself that scared you, and your stomach filled with anxiety at the thought, you somehow felt an additional mix of arousal at the idea too. That small drop of it must've been enough to cause your body to react, as you felt yourself growing.

Zuko seemed to notice it too, looking down to be met with a clear bulge sticking forward in your pants. Continuing to gaze at it, he moved one hand away from your thigh and cupped your clothed penis. A ragged breath tore through your lips at the feeling. This caused the fire lord to snap his head back up, looking at your pleased expression and uneven breathing that was mildly hitting his face.

A blush crept up his cheeks as he swallowed down the saliva that had unknowingly been building up in his mouth.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he whispered, letting himself catch a small peck from your unguarded lips before lowering his head to be between your legs. Though the contact of lips merely lasted for a second, you could feel just how high his body temperature was. Had he not been the leader of the Fire Nation, you would have become concerned at just how hot he was. 

You got distracted from his steamy kiss, however, when you heard the shuffling from before again, but this time it seemed more consistent. Hearing a groan, you turned your head to be met with Aang slowly waking up. Your heart started beating even harder, a mix of feelings seeping into your skin. 

The moment you were experiencing had happened so fast that you hadn't even thought to yourself what you would do if another member woke up. You hadn't exactly wanted this, so should you ask for help? Yet again, you weren't exactly fully opposed either. 

Not much time to think was given, though, before the airbender rubbed any sleepiness he had left over from his eyes and scanned the view in front of him. After shifting his now wide eyes back and forth and analyzing what was going on, his pupils ultimately landed on you. Staring back at him, you said nothing, but your expression was an amalgamation of panic, anxiety, and arousal.

A beat passed without anyone saying anything, but eventually the avatar slowly rose from his bed, walking more casually than you would've expected towards the scene. Squatting down in front of you, he cupped your face and leaned into a kiss. His kiss was less intense and aggressive than Sokka’s, but just as hungry. He let himself moan into the kiss, seemingly enjoying the small yet heated act of intimacy.

"Not gonna say hello or anything before crashing the party?" probed Sokka through heavy breaths. One of his hands was down his pants and the other up his shirt, twitching his right nipple. He had become so spellbound by the bite mark he left on you that he'd been lapping and sucking on it for minutes, getting off at just how dark and noticeable he could make that singular mark of his on your skin.

Aang spared him a glance before returning his attention back to you, not completely in the mood for talking.

"It's not like there's much to say. And anyways, I obviously showed up late, so I have some catching up to do." He simply stated, closing his eyes to continue the kiss while slowly reaching to hold one of your hands. 

By this point you had stopped including rationality or morals into the mix. You were so drawn in by the kiss that it hadn't even hit you that out of all three men, Aang was very much taken. The man who was necking you like he needed you in order to breathe was in a relationship with a woman who was less than 20 feet away from you.

The thought itself punched your gut with guilt, but with the way he was kissing you the negative feeling slowly transitioned into one of excitement. You eagerly kissed back, letting the airbender intertwine your guys' hands together as you made out. It wasn't your responsibility anyway to deal with the way people went about their relationships.

A sharp inhale was forced into your lungs as you felt a warm sensation overtake your cock. Slightly opening your eyes, you lowered your vision to be met with Zuko and his mouth wrapped around your shaft. You could see the tip of it poke out through his cheek as he made his best attempt at taking you all in. 

Utilizing your free hand, you moved it over to be on top of his head, caressing and petting his hair in a way of showing praise for his actions. The lord peered back up at you, his half-lidded eyes making their best attempt to stay on you as he swallowed, making more space in his throat for your dick to pierce through. 

"Lean back for me, baby," heaved out the strategist behind you, freeing the hand latched to his nipple and making a feeble attempt at pushing your shoulder down to put you on your back. You obliged, momentarily removing your hand from Zuko’s head—who seemed rather saddened by the missing physical contact—to balance yourself as you lay on your back, stretching your legs out to give the one between them better access.

Aang followed you down the whole way, continuing to smooch you like a lovesick puppy. It really started to make you wonder just how devoted he was to Katara with how feverishly he was about a simple kiss.

When he leaned back to catch his breath, Sokka took that as an opportunity to use your mouth for himself. Putting a hand on your chest, he used his other to peel off any clothing item that was on his lower body. Once they were discarded, he crawled closer to you, putting a leg on either side of your neck and straddling your face.

Without even needing to speak, you knew what he wanted to do and instantly cooperated, moving one hand to get a firm hold on his thighs as you helped lower him onto your face. Now that your mouth was taken, the avatar resorted to kissing your free hand instead, slowly moving it over to his lips. The wet sensation of his tongue rolling around your middle and index fingers was felt directly as he sucked on them while palming himself through his pants. 

You laid your tongue flat under Sokka’s ass, licking a long line from his balls to his brown hole. This seemed to appease him, evident by the strained exhale that left his lips. Deciding to stop teasing, you went for the real motive. Pointing your tongue, you wiggled it into his anus, letting a finger you had previously wet tease around the edges before ultimately sinking in too. The inventor arched his back at the intrusion, slapping a hand over his mouth to keep his voice down while you worked your way into his hole.

The change in pace seemed to have struck a nerve for the element bender more down south. Zuko retracted his lips away from your cock and impatiently started to part ways with his lower-body garments as well. Throwing them off to the side, he inched closer to your midbody, deciding to straddle your hips before he made a reach for your cock again.

By this point Aang had soaked your fingers in enough of his saliva that it dripped down the back of your hand and onto your wrist. He pulled back from it, a string still connecting to your middle finger before fully detaching. 

Lowering his pants just enough to unsheathe his cock, he moved your hand over to position it in a way that your palm would immediately make contact with his base. As you felt around it, you wrapped your hand around his dick with a firm hold, going to toy with the tip and realizing it was already leaking pre-cum. 

A groan left your mouth and reverberated into Sokka’s tight walls as you felt Zuko’s warm ones take in your cock. The sensation mildly came off as painful first due to the lack of prep he had done for himself, too eager to have you inside him to consider the faults of his rushed plan.

However, his walls were soooo warm. He absolutely lived up to the fire lord name with how heated and comfortable the muscles taking your penis in were. A small groan of discomfort left his mouth at the initial penetrating sensation, but eventually he started to move, not seeming to let the tenuous pain get in his way.

“Do you feel it, Y/n?” he called out, looking down at the visible bump in his stomach from your cock. He felt himself twitch just from the sight below him. Moving a hand over to lay it over the protruding skin, he instinctively tightened around you even more. “We’re one now, too.”

He placed his hands on your torso while swaying his hips, moving them in a circular motion as he made his best attempt to properly ride you. Although the lack of preparation made for an uncomfortable start, the more he grinded down on your dick, the more tolerable it became.

Just when he was about to start speeding up, the side of your cock hit a bundle of nerves that made him gasp, suddenly freezing at the spike of pleasure he felt. When he tried moving again, he realized it was a lot harder to hit that same spot with the way he was positioned. 

He grounded his feet on the floor, taking a squatting position before beginning to bounce up and down on your dick. The change had absolutely helped, as he was more frequently able to make contact with the spot.

"U-ughhh, Y/n, Y/n, Y-Y/n, this feels really good," whined the man, getting cock-drunk the more stretched out his walls became from your erect piece of flesh. His eyes started to unfocus as he didn't know where to look while feeling this almost unbearable amount of pleasure.

With Zuko now having a repeated pace he was fucking himself on your cock with, it caused you to also start reacting to the building feeling in your abdomen. Pulling your finger out of Sokka’s anus, you wrapped your hand around his thigh, squeezing it as a method to mildly ground yourself. 

Focusing instead on protruding your tongue as deep as you could inside him, you used that hand to push him even closer to your face. 

While moving your tongue near the middle of his walls, he suddenly clenched around your tongue, letting out a small mewl and clawing at your thorax. Seeing this as a good sign, you repeated your assault on that specific angle, locking your arm around his thigh when he tried rising from your tongue or squirming away. 

With your opposite hand, you had started to fully jerk Aang off, utilizing the pre he had been leaking as a form to more smoothly glide your hand on his cock. He had been able to better handle the sensation of pleasure than the other two men, focusing on keeping his breathing evened and as quiet as possible. 

Yet, even with not being as loud as them, his pleasure could be visibly seen by his arrows actively glowing. He had also put a portion of his weight on one arm, slowly starting to feel himself collapse the closer he got to reaching his high. Even with his energies being down, though, he made an attempt at reciprocating your actions by repeatedly pushing his hips forward, humping your hand in return for the service. 

"T-thank you f-for this, Y/n," he huffed out, trying to put together words without letting out an audible moan. With the hand not supporting his weight, he laid it on your forearm, wanting to have more physical contact with you even aside from the one already taking place.

"I-I," Zuko whimpered, taking in a few breaths before trying his sentence again, "I'm going to cum soon." Had you not been tongue-deep in Sokka’s ass, you would’ve realized that the firebender was heating up like crazy. 

Aside from his walls sucking you in so warmly, his back—leading up to his shoulders—and thighs were releasing steam at a rapid pace. It’s surprising he hasn’t caught on fire by this point.

Sokka agreed with his message by nodding his head, opening his mouth to speak, but only an airy moan came out.

"Me too," he added, biting his lip the closer he got to his climax. He’d started grinding his hips back into your face, alternating from shifting away at your abuse towards his prostate. “I-I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Out of the three men fondling you, the air nomad was the only one that stayed more so quiet, seeming too caught up on your hand pumping him to care about the other two’s words. Yet, he too felt himself building up and getting ready to explode. Anyone could tell, really, if they simply looked at him. He was lighting up like a glow stick the closer he got to reaching his peak.

Five more bounces later and Zuko had started shaking, his orgasm overtaking him as he clenched and unclenched around your cock. He wasn’t able to actually say anything, but small strained noises left his lips while he aimlessly looked up at the ceiling of the cave. 

His seed spilled all over your stomach, dripping down to nearly reach your belly button. The flame king’s breathing continued to waver as he felt his limbs collapsing, the overexertion from riding you taking a toll now that the high was coming to an end.

But it didn't come without the seeping of your own semen starting to fill him too. He softly gasped as he let himself hunch over, using your cum-splattered stomach for leverage while you let your load out inside him.

Sokka came next, the moans from you reaching your own peak being the last thing he needed to be thrown over the edge and climax as well. His thighs tightened around your head as he bit his hand to cheaply cover his moans. He tipped his cum on your pecs, some of it still dripping from his tip, painting little dots in the middle of your collarbone.

As Sokka and Zuko both were catching their breaths, stooped over and holding onto a part of your core for leverage, they timidly made eye contact. They were practically breathing on each other from how close in proximity they were. 

The non-bender decided to make the move first, and he weakly reached out for the flamebender’s face, pulling him into a tired and messy kiss. Although mildly surprised, the other didn't pull back and soon started to kiss back. The two silently rejoiced in the kiss, seemingly content with what they got out of tonight.

Aang finished last, an extra few pumps from you being enough to finally join the rest of you in the euphoria that came with experiencing sexual relief.

With his mouth agape but no sound coming out of it, his arrows maintained an unwavering glow throughout his whole orgasm, and his eyes fully went bright for a few seconds before calming down. His cum dribbled onto your closed hand, gradually slipping downwards and seeping into the web space between your thumb and index finger.

When the avatar finally came to—with wobbly breaths and tears poking at the corners of his eyes—and saw the mess of himself in your now-relaxed fist, he used that as a weak opportunity for the two of you to "unite" as well.

Shakily moving the hand previously grabbing yours, he slid it over to your knuckles, extending his fingers to intertwine his hand with yours once again, letting his still-warm semen mix into both of your palms. That was his personal compromise for not getting to have a part of you inside him.

Everyone seemed to have been satisfied for tonight.

──────────────────────────────────────────────

The next day you had mysteriously risen with a fever. Nothing deadly, but definitely not well enough for you to move much for the day.

"You were just fine yesterday," stated Katara, organizing her bag before getting started on whatever needed to be done that day. "I just don't understand where this could have come from in such little time."

"Maybe those guys chasing us had something to do with it," guessed Toph, shrugging her shoulders while putting her hair up. It's true, there hadn't been that big of a time window in between yesterday, when you were doing just fine, and today, when you're practically bedridden.

But there definitely had been a lot of action, and none of the men in the room seemed to want to offer any explanation for your sudden decrease in health.

"I'm not too sure what happened, but someone should stay near Y/n while the rest of us go out," the waterbender sighed, seeming both concerned and irritated at your condition.

"The three of us can stay behind, and you two look for resources today," chimed Sokka, getting closer to you and putting a hand to your forehead, checking your body temperature. "There's a decent chance someone might locate us here, and if that happens we won't be able to move as efficiently with one of us being weaker."

Katara wanted to interject, but Zuko and Aang cut her short by immediately expressing their agreement with Sokka’s idea. She eventually gave up on proposing any other agenda and went on her way with Toph, leaving you alone with the three other men.

Nothing to worry about anyways; they were obviously going to take good care of you.

──────────────────────────────────────────────

[stvrw1tch]

You know what hell yea

[llovelygood]

All those memories kept in a shoe box

ex!Dick Grayson x reader

— Dick can't get over you. The memory of you haunts him every day. And one day, he just can bear it anymore, and decides to open the damn shoe box that keeps every memory of your past relationship. To get drunk with the memory.

!!: ANGST. A little fluff in the flashbacks. fem!reader. no use of y/n. +3.3k words. Reader can be either Superman's daughter or Superman's protege, (it isn't that relevant tho). English is not my first language. Dick can't get over his ex, he's a yearner.

[dc masterlist] dividers by @enchanthings

There was one exact corner in Dick’s room that was sacred for everyone who visited his apartment at Blüdhaven. It was the very left corner of his closet, where he kept a shoe box.

A blue box, with the characteristic three stripes from Adidas, plus the logo. It kept every single little thing of everything you had done together. Its content could wander from the wrapper of a candy, to a broken phone. He kept it just because it was yours, you had been the one who had collected everything and kept it with such care in that box.

He still remembered when you picked a paper napkin from a diner you both went one night, just because you were craving a burger and a milkshake. He remembered asking you why you had picked the napkin that had the ketchup stain instead of a new and clean one. Your answer was simple: “We have used this one, it has an extra value”. He didn’t understand it at first.

But now he did understand, because every time he opened the box, even if most days he tried not to, he saw the damn napkin and remembered perfectly how that stain was created.

He remembered how you were going to add ketchup to your fries, but you hadn’t opened the package correctly and the sauce ended up outside of the plate, on the table, on the napkin and in your hair. 

The memory was longer than that. It made Dick remember your laugh after a few seconds of shock. He remembered how you had stolen his napkin to clean the table and your hair, and his “Hey!” when you did so.

Most of the things he had questioned you for putting inside of a box now had a meaning, proving your point of the box acting like a time machine.

He didn't know why he still kept the damn box. No one knew, and they often asked him. Whenever he met someone he avoided telling them about your stuff. Obviously, no one would like to know that the boy they are talking to still keeps the memories of his ex like something holy.

You weren’t dead, if that was the case Dick keeping the box wouldn’t be that weird, because at least he would have the excuse of him mourning his late girlfriend. But the reality was that he had broken up with you in a moment of anger, of impotence. 

He didn’t remember why he had been that angry that day, and he didn’t remember how it had gotten that bad for him to explode and say horrible things to you. But what he did remember was your broken expression, like he had just taken your heart out of your chest and tore it apart with his own hands in insignificant pieces.

Like it didn’t mean anything. Like you didn’t mean anything. 

He remembered how your eyes filled with tears when he yelled at you for the first time. And you weren’t weak or submissive—you yelled back at him too, but you also held yourself back. You could easily have broken every single bone in his body, because you were angry enough to do it. But your heart ached, because you loved him, and that was what held you back. Because, even though he made you feel as if he hadn’t loved you even once in your six-year relationship, you did love him. 

He was insulting you and spouting nonsense that the Dick Grayson of yesterday would never have said—or even thought. And you didn't push him, or slap him, or throw a chair at his head; because you still loved him and didn't want to hurt him. 

You left the apartment and flew to your grandparent’s house that same day; because, imagine telling your father, who loved and trusted Dick deeply, that he had just broken your heart and that you didn’t want to see him again. He would have gone feral.

A week later you came back to his apartment. When he saw you he instantly tried to apologise, to tell you that whatever he had said that night he didn’t mean it. You didn’t listen. You didn't even make an effort to open your mouth and yell at him to shut up. Instead you threw the box that was in your hands into his chest. He didn't have time to react, so the box fell over, and everything inside spilled out onto the floor. When he looked back up you were already gone. 

He took a look at everything that had come out of the box, and that helped him realize which box it was: your so-called time machine. The box where you kept all the memories of the two of you, which you often said you would show to your future children. Your box was now his, and your message was clear:

“I don’t want to remember you or this relationship anymore.”

He still kept the stupid box, he couldn't bring himself to throw it away, so he just left it in his closet and would shout to whoever dared to take it just to take a curious look inside.

One day, out of the blue, Damian appeared at Dick’s house. The reason? No one truly knows,  but when he entered and saw his oldest brother with a different girl instead of you, he didn’t even care and said: “Who is that?”. 

Dick didn't have time to answer because Damian immediately started asking about you—where you were and why that girl looked so much like you. 

Instead of kicking the boy out, Dick asked the girl to leave and explained everything to his brother. 

When he told him about the fight Damian said "You're stupid.”; and when Dick told him about the box, his brother just left the living room to find it. He came back with the Adidas box Dick had become very familiar with after six years of you using it and five months of him being the owner, and placed it in front of him. 

“You need to throw this away.” Had said Damian.

Dick didn’t get rid of the box, it kept rotting in his closet every single day until today. 

Dick had seen you on TV, alongside Superman. You had saved Metropolis once again from whatever disaster Lex Luthor had orchestrated, and you were radiant. You looked happy; you had an inner glow that no one else in the world possessed, as if you were the sun itself—perhaps because you were Dick’s sun—and you were beautiful, even more so than a year ago, if that were possible.

Once your interview had ended and Superman had asked the reporters to give you some space, Dick stood up from the couch and walked directly to his room, opened the door of his closet and, with determined hands, grabbed the box. Not to throw it away, to drown in the memory of you.

When he opened the box he found a collection of everything from your six years together. The tickets of every time you went to the cinema, the receipts of everything, bracelets, letters, dried flowers…

Every single thing was a memory, a moment in your lives that had been significant enough for you to be kept forever in a box that guarantees their eternity. 

Dick, unable to resist the temptation, extended his hand and took a finished lipstick. You had worn that lipstick way too many times, Dick loved it. When you finished the first one you threw it in the box and bought a new one, the same exact shade. 

Dick was peacefully laid down in his bed, the light from outside coming into his room through the windows and a small salt lamp was on in his girlfriend’s nightstand, giving a cozy atmosphere to the room.

He could hear the water from the sink running, you were brushing your teeth before going to bed and he was waiting to hear the water stop so he could have you in his arms as soon as possible. 

Once you were done you came out of the bathroom. Dick’s shirt hung loosely on you, covering your body down to your thighs. Oh, what a delightful sight for Dick Grayson, and how damn lucky he was. 

“I bought a new lipstick this morning,” You said, sitting down next to your boyfriend, your knee touching Dick’s ribs. His hand moved upwards automatically, landing in your leg. “Do you want to see it?”

He simply responded with a low growl from his throat, his lips curving into a smirk. His gaze never left your face, and his hand gently caressed your leg. Your smile widened, and so, you uncovered the lipstick and applied it in your lips perfectly.

“It’s from the new limited edition collection of lipsticks YSL Beauty has dropped.” You moved to lay down next to Dick and got closer to him. His hand, that was previously on your leg, shifted and ended in your waist, pulling you closer to him. “It’s more pinky than the ones I normally use,” you said, kissing his cheek. “but I saw it today, and thought that I could try something new.” Your next kiss was on his jaw. “Besides, I’ve got this dress that could go perfectly with this shade,”you then kissed his collar bone. “Remember the one I wore to the last gala we went to?” You kissed the bicep of his other arm, the one that wasn’t holding your waist. The stains of the lipstick stayed in every spot you had kissed, pink and glossy and perfect.

He made another sound of satisfaction, and you then moved upwards again, your faces less than an inch from each other, both of you with your eyes closed, savoring the closeness. 

“It also tastes really sweet, wanna try it?” The kiss was lazy and slow, but it held some hunger from each other.

Dick loved these types of nights, the quiet ones; when it was only the two of you and your flirty and sexy voice trying to convince him that a $60 lipstick was worth the price.

And damn right it was.

Dick placed the lipstick back into the box. Then, he moved the hand deeper and found some polaroid pictures inside of an envelope. 

He remembered when he gifted you the instant camera that printed out the photo right after taking it. How your eyes lightened up and you couldn't stop thanking him with quick pecks during the rest of the night, in your birthday party.

A professional and expensive camera that you had used at every important event, every single time you could. At parties, at home, in another country, at the beach… 

You were attached to the object, and of course it wouldn’t be inside the box, but the pictures were, and they were beautiful. 

He recognized every single one of them. 

The one that had been taken by him in the mirror of your bathroom, with you hugging him and the camera covering you two’s faces. 

The one you had taken of him in his Nightwing suit, eating the leftovers of the dinner of two days before in the kitchen, at 1am.

The selfie you took with Wally at one of Dick’s birthday parties, where he could be seen in the background with a lovesick expression. 

The one Tim took of Dick and you, playing with Damian and Jon at the Kent’s farm.

The one Dick took of you one night after he had returned from patrol. Deeply asleep on the couch, with an open book covering half your face and Haley sleeping in the small space in between your ribs and the couch. 

Sweet and short moments you had wanted to keep. forever captured in photos that were now Dick’s property. They had stopped being the proof of your love story to turn into the proof of a doomed ending. The ghost of your memory haunting his mind and his senses.

He hadn’t seen all the pictures, but for the shake of his sanity, he put them back into the envelope, and back into the box. 

He should’ve stopped there. Close the box and throw it away; or put it again deep into his closet, in its now designed space. 

But he didn't. He couldn’t. 

He needed to get drunk with the memory of you. 

He needed to physically feel the closest feeling he could get from the time you shared together. 

So he kept searching.

A concert ticket. The first gift he gave you on your first anniversary. A sketch Damian had made of you and Dick, the one he had gatekept for three years until he gifted it to you on your birthday. A broken Nightwing keychain. 

A broken Nightwing keychain. 

“Look what I found in the store near the cafe we always go to.” You walked into the living room, still in your work clothes. 

Dick was laying down in the sofa, with Haley next to him, doing nothing in particular. 

You sat down next to him, next to Haley, and showed him the keychain. It was only 

Nightwing’s logo, made with crochet. The owner of the shop you had got it from made those type of things with crochet and sold them. It could go from very detailed but cute mini figures to the small keychains, like the one you were now holding. 

Dick smiled and took the keychain from your hands to take a look at it. 

“It 's cute".

His hands touched the yarn, enjoying the texture of it, inspecting the blue color, the shape of his logo. You had bought a hand made keychain of him for yourself. Even if you were more powerful than him, even if you worked with Superman himself, it was adorable how you acted like Dick was your favourite superhero.

“I also got you one of my logo, and you have to use it.” You demanded, pulling out the second keychain from your pocket. 

Of course you’d bought matching keychains for the two of you. And, of course, he was going to wear it, because you were his favorite, too. 

“Thanks babe.” He kissed your cheek, accepting the second keychain and giving you the Nightwing one. 

One of the yarn loops broke after it hooked up with something inside your bag, that's why you had put it inside the box. You stopped using your, Dick never took his off. Your crocheted logo was still hanging with his house keys. His excuse was laziness, he was too lazy to take it off so it is just there. But the reality is that he didn’t want to take it off.

He kept the very last things he has from you like a treasure. A priceless treasure that no one was allowed to touch but him. Like he was afraid it would disappear, go away, like you did. 

That’s why he kept the box hidden. That’s why his keys were always left in the same place, so he wouldn't lose them, lose your keychain. 

He left the keychain inside the box. Everything he had taken out of the box, he put it back in again. He has done with the memory of you.

He wanted you. Real and alive.

He didn’t want to see your physical appearance in pictures, your scent in a broken bracelet that still had your perfume, your voice in the videos he still kept in his phone. 

He needed all of that at the same time. He needed your physical presence.

He needed you.

He was probably being stupid, reckless, when he left the open box in his bed and rushed to get his keys. 

He was determined to drive from Blüdhaven to Metropolis to see you. He wasn’t sure how you were going to react, but he needed this. Even if you rejected him, his mind would be at peace after seeing you in front of him. Then he’ll move on, promise. 

Before he knew it, two hours had passed and he was already standing at your door. You’d probably heard him; you knew he was there. You were just waiting for him to muster the same courage he’d had to come all the way here and ring the doorbell. 

“Fuck, I’m stupid.” He complained to himself, rubbing his face with both hands.

He had come to Metropolis with nothing prepared, just love and stubbornness. The drive had been long enough to think of a speech, but instead he had been too distracted with the thought of seeing you again. 

And now, that he was standing at your door, his mind was blank and his body was tense and immobile. 

Minutes passed and he just stood there. Never moved, never talked, or made a sound. 

Until you were the one opening the door. Because you knew he was on the other side. You had known since the moment he left Blüdhaven that he had come to you. And the fact that he hadn’t been able to even ring the doorbell was pissing you off. 

“What do you want Dick?” Your voice was sharp enough to cut Dick’s heart in half. And it did.

“I just–” He fought to keep his gaze forward, instead of looking down. Like the coward he was being right now. “I wanted to see you.”

“Mission accomplished then, you can leave now.” 

He didn’t remember you being so cold. You have always been so caring, soft, kind. It was almost like someone was controlling you right now. 

“I am sorry. Extremely sorry, for everything.” 

Your expression softened when he began to apologize. Even though you were angry and rage had taken hold of you the moment you saw him standing in front of your apartment, you still had a soft spot for Dick Grayson—the man you had once considered the love of your life.

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough.”

“I know but–”

“Dick, you said horrible things to me that night. No one can just forget them and just keep living their life. I can't keep loving you after what you told me.” 

He knew he had hurted you. He knew he had been the dumbest jerk that night. He knew you weren’t going to forget it that easily. Because you were smart and you had self respect.

And you knew that someone who truly loved you would never have said such horrible things to you.

“I’m not going to get back with you, Dick. I don't regret all the years we spent together, but I can’t forgive you that easily. I suggest you move on.”

“Fine, yes, I… I didn’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.” He gave up and looked at his shoes. 

“Dick,” He looked up again. “I loved you, despite everything, I still remember you with love. I really hope you can find someone else and be happy with them.”

Dick was trying to hold his tears, and he could tell you were too. It was overwhelming to have him standing in front of you for the first time after almost a year since the break up. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to form a smile. 

You gave him a sad smile back and closed the door. He stood there for a few minutes, like a statue. Tears didn’t fall from his eyes, his heartbeat didn't calm down. But he had to leave now, for good. 

Start again with his life. Make a huge effort to get over you. 

But before he left he looked at the door one last time and whispered: “I love you.”

© llovelygood

A/N: I had this fic unfinished since April so I finished yesterday night and edited today morning. Hope you guys like it. Also I'd love to know what you guys think cuz it motivates me a lot to keep writing.

Dick Grayson taglist: @princesstrunkz @currentblasphemy

[stvrw1tch]

I’m so happy for the ending but god damn does it hurt :( it’s so good tho !!!

[raomera]

But I love you so..

tags; miscommunication-ish, hurt/comfort-ish, angst to fluff,i wrote most of this in one sitting, no beta

a/n; maybe not what you had in mind? never seen anne with an e, gave it my best shot though

Fourty-three days.

One-thousand thirty-two hours.

Too many minutes to count. You used to, though.

You should be used to this by now.

Wake up. Stare at the ceiling. Drag yourself out of bed. Ignore the empty space on the mattress.

Get to the bathroom. Brush your teeth. Pretend the other toothbrush isn’t there.

Make breakfast. Don’t grab ingredients enough for two servings. Don’t listen to that one radio station that always used to be played in the morning. Sit down, pull the chair out yourself. Don’t look at the empty seat across from you.

Blind yourself to every trace he left where he used to be.

Where he should be.

God, you’re tired.

The first thing you feel before you even open your eyes is the cold lingering on his side of the bed.

The taste of your own toothpaste reminds you of his morning kisses.

His favorite cereal sits in the pantry, the box too obnoxiously colorful to ignore.

You've lost your appetite by the time you set the plate down, and push it out of the way, leaning your elbows on the table as you bury your face in your arms.

For the fourty-ninth consecutive time, you fail to forget Dick Grayson.

You stay like that for a moment, wallowing.

…

With a deep breath in, you drag yourself back to your room to retrieve your phone from the bedside table, calling in sick. It's not a lie, not really, because when you take the time to look around your apartment, you feel nauseous at every trace of him he's left behind.

Discarded. Abandoned. Like they don't matter.

Like your time together never meant a thing.

Like you.

You shake the thoughts out of your head. Your boss, thankfully, tells you to stay home and get some rest. You won't, but you thank her anyway. There's no way you can continue like this. You shouldn't have let it get this far in the first place. But a few days of waiting for him to come back around turned into two, two weeks to a month... fuck.

A few years ago, you would have moped around a bit longer. Maybe wait for day fifty. Or a hundred. Maybe you wouldn't have moved on from the best man you'd ever been with at all.

But you've grown since then. Thanks in no small part to Dick—who had taught you that you don't deserve to be treated this shitty.

Not even by him.

You run out to the corner store a block away, grabbing a pack of extra large garbage bags.

Stepping back into your apartment, it's a battle to force yourself to think through what you're about to do, and a war to actually do it. The garbage bag, now free of its confines, rustles restlessly in your hand, like a weird, feral thing, anxious to be fed.

Despite the ache in your chest and the tremble of your hands, you grab the first thing of his you see. Fingers tight around the jacket, you throw it down the maw of the bag.

"Hey, Babs?"

"Hm?"

"Can I.." you trail off, gaze drifting down to your hands in your lap. You shouldn't ask. You'd invited her out for coffee, not to be ambushed about a relationship from years ago.

Barbara tilts her head expectantly, eyeing the hesitation on your face. "Come on, you can't just leave me hanging," she says in a lighter tone. You shake your head.

"It's nothing—you wouldn't want to hear it."

She says your name in that tone that tells you, you're not winning this one. You feel your cheeks heat up the slightest bit. Maybe in embarrassment.

"It's about.. Dick."

"..oh."

He's been gone for a little over a week at this point. You don't doubt she knows where he is; you've seen his status marked as active on the Batcomputer a day or two ago, when you'd had to run down there for something.

The fact that he's just actively choosing to ignore you stings more than his initial departure.

"...how did you two break up?"

The question hangs in the air between you for a moment, weighing you both down until it settles on the table like decades old dust. Barbara takes a sip from her mug, her gaze a little far away as if she's reliving their history.

And god, you wish you could be her sometimes. It's not healthy, at all, and she's been nothing but like a sister to you, but you can't help it. You wish so badly to be a part of his life, to be woven into his time, like she had been. Like she still is.

He's probably not ignoring her contacts.

You could tell by the tiny shift in her posture whenever you asked about him the last couple days.

She finally answers.

"We just... fell apart, I guess. The lives we live aren't really meant for companionship, y'know? Even when we were together, all we could talk about was.. work. Things got... suffocating, after a while."

You dread the next words that come out of her mouth.

"We had a bad night. He just packed up and.. left. Dropped off the radar like he always does whenever he's feeling off."

The pit in your stomach grew colder. Deeper. Preying on your heart, trying to swallow it whole.

You hadn't let it.

Looking back, you probably should have. Should have come home and threw every single thing of his he'd left behind in the trash, like you're doing now. Maybe you would have been fine by now if you had. Or maybe you'd still be crying at how his scent no longer lingered on your sheets.

By the time you're done, there's two full bags at your feet. The contents of his half of the closet sits in one, other items like his cologne and shampoo fills the other, significantly more slumped over bag. Maybe putting some of the hygene products in there was a bad idea—they were yours too, after all. But you're feeling a bit petty, and a quick trip to the store will replace whatever you'd tossed. You'd thrown all your pictures together around the apartment in it as well in a moment of mindless grief. Grief. What a funny concept to mourn someone who's presumably still alive. Maybe you're just mourning the death of your relationship.

Barbara had told you Dick met up with her a while later to talk about how things had ended, that he thought they just weren't meant to be together in that way.

He hadn't given you the same courtesy. And while one tiny part of you had remained hopeful that it just meant he was planning to come back at some point, the bigger, more jaded part of you has convinced you that it's because you don't share the same history.

You wonder if he's even alive right now to consider even for a moment to come back and break things off officially. It's been a while since you'd cut contact with his family.

You consider briefly if you should actually throw the bags in the apartment bin, but decide against it. You shove them in a corner and stick a note on one to remind yourself to mail them to the manor on your next day off, lacking the energy to go to the store and go through Gotham's shitty postal service in the same day.

Gotham's rain was never pleasant. It was always a bit too cold to be refreshing and a bit too warm to feel anything but sticky, somehow at the same time. Blame all the smog and gasses of various villain origins in the air.

He's gotten used to it by now, but fuck, he'd kill to have a zeta tube straight into his apartment's shower. There's one to the Cave, but Bruce's briefing can wait until tomorrow, at the very least.

He maneuvers his motorcycle easily through the streets, taking a few less-than-legal shortcuts to get home faster. He's been away for so long.

There's a mix of relief, anticipation and a bit of worry clouding his mind. You hadn't returned a single one of his calls or messages. In fact, you hadn't contacted him at all. He brushes his nerves aside. Nothing would have happened to you, right? You live in Gotham—his family would have been there to save you when he couldn't. He trusted them.

God, he's missed you.

The giddy butterflies in his stomach are quick to drop though, when he enters his and your shared apartment and finds everything out of place.

His favorite jacket is gone from the rack. Assorted trinkets brought home to you from missions around the world are nowhere to be seen. His shoes are even gone from the cabinet.

He's confused. Did you.. move? Without him? Had he just walked into a stranger's apartment? There's a voice in his head whispering that you're gone, buried in the dirt. He pushes that voice out of his head, but it feels like it just goes straight down to his heart instead, swarming it, creating a cesspool of dread and sharp familiarity. No, no, no, no, no, the furniture's all the same. All his things are just... missing.

Like you'd erased him from your life.

Surely, you wouldn't do that, right?

....right?

Please tell him you didn't.

As if the universe had heard his plea, the sound of keys in the lock snaps him from his stupor. He still hasn't even taken his shoes off, so he's met head-on when you open the door.

Both of you freeze on the spot.

Then, tears start to fall.

Not yours, but his.

He moves towards you, lifting you up in a hug like it's been hell to be away from you. Even if he chose to do it. It was his own fault, he has no ground to stand on. And yet, you find your arms are looped around his neck like it's second nature, pulling his as close as physics will allow, too relieved to see him alive and standing, even if he looks like a wet dog at the moment.

"Are you— are we—" he stops trying to talk after a minute, opting to just hold you, no matter that he's soaked in rainwater. After a minute that feels like forever, the two of you have stumbled into the apartment at one point, the door closed again. You're sitting upright on the floor as Dick is sprawled across your lap, arms locked tight around your midsection.

"...are you here for your stuff?" Is the only thing you can think of to say. He looks up at you through infuriatingly long lashes, eyes red rimmed from crying.

"Why would I take my stuff?" He asks, confused, voice raspier than usual. You hate that it still makes your heart flutter.

"Because you broke up with me?" It's your turn to be confused now. He up and left for nearly two months—what else were you supposed to think?

He looks devastated at that and sits up, both his hands coming up to cup your face. "Sweetheart, I would never—"

The anger kicks back in at that moment.

"You left me, Dick. Without even saying goodbye. I was alone in our home for nearly two months without a word from you— what else was I supposed to think?" You rip yourself from his grasp a bit more violently than intended. He flinches at the loss of contact. You don't notice through the blurring of your vision, all the emotions that had been pent up for the last weeks taking their course now that the initial shock fell through.

Without..? No, he was sure he'd left you a note. On a blue sticky note, no less, stuck right on the fridge for when you'd be back from work. Why—

Looking over to where he'd placed the note, his eyes caught sight of something under the fridge. He wouldn't have seen it from a higher angle.

Carefully, not wanting to leave your side but with you clearly wanting the space, he went over to the kitchen, lowering himself back down to the floor in front of the fridge.

He can feel your gaze still trained on him as he moves.

After a second of fishing, he pulled the note he'd written from the depths.

He crawls back over to you then, sliding the paper across the space between you. It takes you a minute to take it, and another to actually read it. Once you do though, you don't have a chance to reach out for Dick before he's already surrounding you, cradling you in his arms.

"...you didn't even try to call," you whisper, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He lets out a small huff, though his eyes are still misty.

"I did, you didn't pick up," he mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Then another, and another, until he's peppering kisses all the way down your temple to your cheeks and to your forehead, making you laugh weakly. His heart skips a beat for a good reason for the first time in weeks when he hears it.

"They never came through."

You're content for the first time in nearly two months as you lie in bed, your boyfriend's face tucked away in your neck as the steady weight of him on top of you grounds you both after weeks of distraught on both ends. He presses kisses periodically on the skin he can reach, no doubt leaving more than a few bruises there you'll have to cover up tomorrow. You can hear him whispering little 'I love you's as you drift in and out of sleep.

"I love you too," you mumble, taking in the scent of his that surrounds you once more. Warm. Safe.

You feel his lips curve into a smile.

[stvrw1tch]

This is what I imagine would happen when dating Grayson

[fromrory]

𐔌 ⋮ “Are you man enough?”

feat. dick grayson x fem!reader angst / comfort / healing tw: mentions of SA (canon Tarantula incident, no graphic detail), guilt, trauma, implied PTSD wc: ~2.4k If you're sensitive with any of this themes put yourself first and don't read it,i'll see you on the next post!

✶—Masterlist

The rain had been falling for hours. Gotham rain wasn’t soft — it wasn’t the kind that washed streets clean or made windows shimmer. It was heavy, unrelenting, the kind that crawled under your skin and refused to leave.

You had always thought the Manor felt bigger when it rained. The hallways seemed longer, the ceilings higher. The silence echoed more.

And that night, it wasn’t the rain that kept you awake. It was Dick.

He’d come home late from Blüdhaven patrol — later than usual, drenched and pale. He hadn’t said a word. Just went straight upstairs, peeling off his domino mask and gloves with shaking hands.

You had seen that look before. Not the bruised exhaustion — the emptiness behind his eyes. The kind that said he wasn’t here. Not really.

You waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. The rain only got louder.

Then you went up.

His door was ajar, light spilling from the crack.

“Dick?”

You voice was soft, testing.

No answer.

You pushed the door open quietly, peeking in — and froze.

He was sitting on the floor beside the bed, still in his undershirt and pants, his hair dripping onto his hands. His knees were drawn up, head down, and his breathing was too controlled. Too careful.

“Hey…” you whispered, stepping closer. “You didn’t even change—”

He flinched. Not much, but enough. Like you voice snapped him back into the room.

“Sweetheart—,” he said hoarsely. “Go back to bed.”

“Not when you’re like this.”

He exhaled sharply, hands gripping his knees. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He didn’t answer.

You knelt in front of him, ignoring the cold water soaking your socks. You rested a hesitant hand on his wrist — he didn’t pull away, but he didn’t move either.

“Talk to me,” you murmured.

His eyes stayed fixed on the floor. His jaw clenched. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Then just… sit with me,” you said gently. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He huffed out a laugh — brittle, humorless. “You don’t get it. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

You tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Broken, I don't know,disgusting.”

Your heart twisted. “You’re not broken and you are not disgusting.”

He looked up then, and for the first time, you saw it — the storm behind his eyes. The guilt. The kind that doesn’t fade, no matter how many years you spend saving people.

“Love…” you whispered.

He swallowed, gaze flicking away again. “There are things I don’t want you to know. Things that—” His breath hitched. “—that change how you look at me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” you said softly.

“You’d be surprised.”

The silence stretched. The rain against the window was the only sound.

Then, quietly — barely a whisper — he said it.

“It wasn’t my choice.”

Your chest went still.

You didn’t need him to explain. You’d read enough between the lines, heard enough whispers from Blüdhaven, seen the way his face changed when that name was mentioned.

He finally met your eyes. “It happened after Blockbuster. I was— I was already done. I’d lost. And she—”

He broke off, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes. “I didn’t stop her.”

Your voice was almost a breath. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” he said instantly. “I could’ve— I should’ve—”

“Richard,” you interrupted, your voice firm for the first time. “You said no.”

His throat bobbed. “Not out loud.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said. “You froze. You were hurt. You were grieving. That’s not consent.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it. I didn’t fight back.”

“Because you didn’t have to fight,” you said quietly. “Because you were in shock. Because it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His hands trembled. “You sound so sure.”

“I am.”

He blinked, eyes shining wet in the low light. “How?”

“Because I love you,” you said simply. “And I know what it looks like when someone carries guilt that isn’t theirs.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you. Then his breath cracked. A sound escaped him — not quite a sob, but close.

You reached forward and cupped his face, slow, careful. He didn’t move away this time.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You don’t have to be strong right now.”

His shoulders trembled. His head fell forward until it rested against her shoulder.

And just like that — Dick Grayson, the boy who smiled through everything, who carried the weight of every city he’d ever protected — broke.

You held him, saying nothing. Your fingers traced slow circles over his back, grounding him.

“I thought I deserved it,” he said after a while, voice muffled. “I let people die. I let Blüdhaven fall. I thought maybe— maybe that was punishment.”

Your stomach clenched. “Don’t say that.”

He laughed — hollow, empty. “You don’t know what I did.”

“I don’t need to. You didn’t deserve that,no one does.”

He shook his head, but his grip on your arm tightened.

You leaned back just enough to make him look at you. “You were hurt, Dick. Someone took advantage of that. That’s not on you.”

He exhaled, eyes glassy. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple,” you said gently. “It’s cruel. It’s wrong. And it should’ve never happened. But that doesn’t make you dirty, or weak, or less worthy of love.”

He closed his eyes, jaw trembling. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Deal with you?” you asked softly. “You’re not something I deal with, love. You’re someone I choose. Every day.”

He let out a shaky laugh — the kind that cracked somewhere in the middle.

“I don’t know what to do with you sometimes,” he murmured.

“Just… let me stay,” you said.

So he did.

Minutes passed. The rain softened. His breathing evened out against her shoulder.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet — almost childlike.

“Sometimes I wake up and I can still feel it,” he said. “Like my body remembers before my head does.”

You nodded. “That’s how trauma works. It doesn’t live in words. It lives in the body. But that doesn’t mean you’re still there.”

He swallowed hard. “Then why does it feel like I am?”

“Because healing isn’t forgetting,” you whispered. “It’s learning that you’re safe now. That you’re not alone anymore.”

He went quiet again, breathing slow.

“You make it sound like I deserve to heal.”

“You do,” you said instantly.

He looked up, eyes red-rimmed. “Even after everything?”

“Especially after everything.”

You smiled softly, thumb brushing away a tear on his cheek. “You don’t have to prove you’re okay. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

He didn’t answer, but his shoulders loosened a little. The fight in his jaw softened.

You shifted, sitting beside him now, their backs against the bed. Their hands brushed — his fingers twitching before curling around yours.

It was a small thing, but it was something.

After a while, you asked, “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, wary but calm.

“What would you tell me,” you said carefully, “if I told you the same story you just told me?”

His eyes flicked to you, startled.

“I’d tell you it wasn’t your fault,” he said immediately. “That you didn’t deserve it. That whoever did it—” his voice broke “—was a monster.”

Your hand tightened around his. “Then why is it so hard to say that to yourself?”

He exhaled shakily. “…Because it happened to me.”

“Exactly,” you said. “You protect everyone else so much that you forget you’re allowed to protect yourself, too.”

He looked at you then, really looked — at your quiet steadiness, your kind eyes, the way you didn’t flinch from the worst parts of him.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For listening. For not… looking at me differently.”

You smiled faintly. “You’re still you, Dick. The same man who jumps off buildings for fun and eats cereal at midnight and insists on making everyone breakfast when you can’t sleep.”

That earned a quiet laugh.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be fully okay,” he admitted.

“You don’t have to be,” you said. “You just have to keep going.”

He nodded slowly, eyes softening.

Silence filled the room again — not heavy this time, but warm.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and after a long pause, he rested his against yours.

The rain outside faded into a quiet drizzle.

For the first time in years, Dick Grayson didn’t feel haunted by what he couldn’t undo.

He felt held. He felt seen.

And when you whispered, “You’re safe,” he almost believed you.

Later that night, you woke up to find him still awake, tracing absent circles on the back of your hand.

“You should sleep,” you murmured.

“I’m trying,” he said softly. “But I keep thinking about what you said.”

“Which part?”

“The part where you said I’m still me.”

“You are.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re the first person who said that without meaning it as a reminder to move on.”

You squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to move on. You just have to move with it.”

He was quiet for a long time after that. Then:

“I used to hate myself for freezing,” he said. “But tonight… I realized I survived. That’s something, right?”

She nodded. “That’s everything.”

He looked at you— really looked — and for once, there was no shame in his gaze. Just exhaustion, and a fragile kind of peace.

“Thank you,” he whispered again.

You smiled, half-asleep. “Anytime, Grayson.”

When he finally closed his eyes, she brushed a hand through his hair, whispering softly words of comfort, of home.

A/N: posting 2 times the same day? dw i'm just releasing drafts! I wanted to practice writing about more taboo subjects! didk grayson fluff coming to save y'all 🔖 𓂃⋆.˚:: @simpingmyassoff @shootingstargirl2001 , @dreamerwhofell , @gothamwing , @amiratheangel , @virtaideen , @asterwriter221 , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore , @supahnohvaa , @vivian-555 , @piatosniathenie , @sonyboos , @beanxiv , @animegamerfox , (if you want to be added comment down below!!)

[stvrw1tch]

I’m wounded and heartbroken this is gut wrenching 

[sassatoru]

Congrats on getting 2k followers!

I would like to request hydrangea (srry if I got it wrong, my memory sucks) + string + "wish you loved me just as much as you loved her (kory)" !

LOVER OF NOT MINE

pairing. dick grayson x reader

warning. angst

prompts used. “wish you loved me just as much as you loved her.”

you could see the difference in the way he looked at you and her. dick could try to deny it, promise you that he and kory were done, but god you could see through him. the stupid looks of pity that his friends sent your way.

and that’s when the doubts started forming in your mind. how could you compare to her. kory was a princess, from another planet. an alien princess and you… you were just you.

a normal person, who lives a normal life. no vigilante tendencies, you had your load of trauma but who doesn’t?

was it you? were you too boring for him? too normal?

this “outing” as he’d called it had confirmed everything you were feeling. he’d dragged you along against your will, you hadn’t wanted to come to this stupid vigilante/superhero/anti-hero get together at some bar.

the second you’d arrived he kissed your cheek to make his way to kory, her eyes lit up at the sight of him as they hugged, his hands lingering on her hips a lot longer than they ever did yours.

what were you going to do now? you didn’t know anyone here, so you sat at the free spot at the end of the bar, alone and disappointed. it’d been half an hour now, and he hadn’t even spared a glance in your direction yet, too busy listening to whatever stupid nonsense was coming out of kory’s mouth.

honestly you looked too pretty to be left behind like this, you wanted to just go home. you didn’t have the car keys though, dick insisted that he drive the two of you there.

maybe that was his plan, keep you trapped here, watching him and kory so you’d know where you stood in this relationship. you felt that lump in your throat get heavier, you couldn’t walk home. not in fucking bludhaven, this place was nearly as bad as gotham — wait, they’re leaving.

together?

you froze in your seat as they walked past the bar, he’d forgotten you were here, you could tell by the way his eyes focused on her completely.

you should’ve stayed home. guess you’re gonna be walking home after all.

people didn’t pay you any mind as you slipped past them and out onto the chilly streets where you could catch a glimpse of dick’s car speeding away from the bar.

you felt sick. scared and sick. bag clutched as you walked tensely, head low to avoid anyone’s gaze. the dark made the city look a little peaceful, but everyone knew that was far beyond the truth.

you distantly hear a few whistles calling out to you but those men make no move to pursue you either. so you kept walking until you reach the entrance of you apartment building, you stepped in as quickly as you could, pressing the elevator button a few times, impatiently.

the door dinged as it opened, you shivered as you stepped in, pressing the button of the floor you lived on, it was times like this you were glad you hadn’t moved in with dick.

you didn’t bother changing when you crawled into bed, kicking your heels off at the door, greeted by your cat meowing at you and following you to bed.

at least someone was acknowledging you, your little companion jumped up onto the bed, taking the side dick usually would most nights with a purr as he tried to get as close to you as possible.

you couldn’t hold it back anymore, silent tears falling down your cheeks as you curled up. eventually, sometime past 11pm you passed out. you had exhausted all your tears and just given up.

it’s only at 1am that dick comes looking for you. his key to your place jingled softly enough to not stir you as he opened the door, barging through and going straight for your bedroom, the noise startling both you and your cat awake.

you let out a noise something between a scream and a cry and your cat hisses as the sight of dick. he’d never liked your ‘boyfriend’ in the first place, maybe you should’ve trusted his instincts.

“sweetheart, i’m so sorry.”

the apology is the first thing that slipped from his tongue and it all came back to you.

“i lost track of time and—”

“where were you?” you ask, throat sore from your crying, he could see the dried tear stains on your cheeks and he knew he’d messed up past what was forgivable.

he’d left you alone, in a room of strangers with no way home.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes dropping to the floor and you notice the disheveled way his hair sat, collar covered in the same shade of lipstick kory had been wearing, and if you looked close enough there’d be a matching stain on his lips.

you didn’t need this. “get out.”

you gave him no time to argue, standing up and shoving a box of his stuff into his arms. things you’d collected in your state of sad anger, the box contained his clothes, random little trinkets he’d brought along, gifts he’d brought you — never anything expensive just stuffed animals and cards.

“can’t we talk about this?” he pleaded and failed as shoved him further.

“no, if you want kory so badly. then have her, but don’t drag me along to play the fool.”

he winces at your retort, shame settling in his bones.

“is it me?” you cant help but ask, “why can’t you love me as much as you love her? wish you loved me just as much as you love her.”

he’s starting to really wish he’d left the first time you asked — told him to.

“you’re perfect,” he whispers, “but she… me and her, we..”

“just leave, i don’t want to see you again, dick.”

he doesn’t fight it, he doesn’t have the right anymore does he. his heart sinks when he closes your bedroom door behind him and he can hear the way you break down, trying to keep quiet.

you deserved to know but he’d never tell you, it was never real. you and him, you were just a sweet innocent girl he was using to get his ex back, and it worked. now he’ll move on and leave you to suffer the consequences.

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[stvrw1tch]

I love rereading stuff that I know will hurt like a bitch

[lavilavs]

୨୧ ── I wish I knew you wanted me

Sequel — Now I know you want me

› Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

› Scenario: Many question your relationship with one another, but it's a different story when it's asked right in front of you. What are you both, anyway? Still letting time pass by and hoping a miracle will happen for both of you?

› Warnings: Underage drinking (brief mention)

› Notes: English is not my first language. Reblogs and likes are very appreciated! + angst <3

"You have so much chemistry! Are you aware of that?"

The question takes you both aback. Although it wasn't a difficult question, it had you both tongue-tied. You felt his gaze on you as the reporter tilted her mic further onto his mouth, curiosity etched on her face.

You steal a glance, expecting him to have already looked away. But it didn't—you knew his eyes didn't wander anywhere else except your figure with how dazed he looked.

He wonders what's going through your head. Are you experiencing the same dilemma he's having inside his head right now? It really is a simple question, yet he feels unsure about what to say. The words are on the tip of his tongue; all it needs is a push. And so, he tries finding the answer in you. He looks at you for something, just something to ease him.

But even if you did, it would be left unsaid.

Dick clears his throat when you break the eye contact, redirecting his attention to the reporter in front of him. He felt disappointed. He knows he shouldn't have expected something from you. There might be a chance—even the slightest chance—that you feel what he feels.

"It's natural that we do. We've been fighting together for fifteen years." Dick ruffles your hair, chuckling when he hears you complain about messing your hair up. You lightly brush it off and give the camera a small smile to show that you're only messing around as friends. The last thing you want right now is another dating headline about you.

"Many citizens think that the chemistry between you doesn't seem to be platonic at all. Are you sure that in those fifteen years, you've never once thought about it?" She questions again, the glint in her eyes telling you she's more than you let on.

The last thing you knew was that you were trying to hide your irritation with the pushy reporter.

"I've never once thought about him that way. Nightwing is an excellent leader and partner. Our status as close friends will remain close friends. Thank you." Dick's eyes narrow with hurt, trying to hide what he felt with a stoic face. But eyes don't lie. Anyone staring at him could instantly tell what he felt.

He felt daggers pierce his heart with every word that left your mouth, not knowing you felt like you were chewing on shards. Hearing those words from you hurt him as much as it hurt saying them. Unbeknownst to each other's pain, you both twist your knives deeper.

You drag him away from the media. With a glare, the media ceased their chatter and nodded at your unspoken words. From adult to adult, they knew better than to continue with their constant questioning. You wouldn't take any more bullshit.

This is why you skipped the interviews and just went home to rest. It adds another problem in your head that you can't stop thinking about. They always know what's beneath your masks. What secrets and feelings you're hiding, they'll find ways to know.

Dick was the opposite. He loved interviews because attention was a given—all eyes and ears are on you. The limelight was something he subconsciously craved. Influenced by the passion he has for acrobatics.

He knows he's talkative, but he's smart enough to dodge questions. Just not the questions about love.

Sure, he'll easily answer if it's about in general or his past lovers like Kori and Zatanna. That was a piece of cake. It only goes downhill when it comes to you.

Richard Grayson's everything.

Words can't even express how much he admires you. He put you on a pedestal that nobody else could reach. Dick knew he set his own standards that are far above his own. That's why he's having trouble forgetting what he feels.

Despite loving you and having you within arm's reach, he never made a move. It was his punishment and blessing. He lives lamenting that he'll never be enough for you. You were too good for him, and no matter how he changes himself to be better than yesterday, you keep on proving to everyone that you're also better than before.

It suffocates him to feel your arms wrapped around his waist like this. The cold air breezing through him contrasts with the warmth building up inside his body. He closes his eyes momentarily, savoring and memorizing how you feel against him. Even for just a second, he can fantasize a reality where you're hugging him just like this. Not on his motorcycle, but within the warmth of your shared home, exchanging kisses and laughter.

Dick cherished moments like this. It's just you and him in this cruel world. He always felt that time moved slower whenever he was with you. It gives him more time to gaze at you without another thought except you in his mind.

His mind keeps replaying what the reporter asked them earlier. It hurt him more than any broken bone he had on his body. The damage was irreversible, as it's only figurative. You've inflicted an everlasting wound inside. No matter who or what he uses to heal himself, your mark lingers and haunts him.

"Dick?" Your soft voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He hums in response, letting you know that you have his attention. 

He feels your hold tighten around his waist. He observes the flow of the road before slipping one of his hands down to yours. Dick knew you well enough to understand what got you so tense. He is, too. You both knew that question would linger on your thoughts for weeks.

Like him, you had a lot on your mind throughout this ride. The ETA back to the tower gives you both some time to think about everything. And by everything, it meant everything that made you question how you felt about him and vice versa. 

Have you ever shown signs that you like him? Not once. There just wasn't a chance you could take. Your cowardice irritates you. You shove your face onto his broad back more, drowning your thoughts by basking in his warmth and scent.

"Nothing." And a veil of disappointment looms over you both again.

The ride was silent after that. The remaining time back to the tower was spent with unsuspecting touches. Neither of you knows this is what you're both desiring from the other. But you both felt content with it, deluding yourselves into thinking this is all that you're going to get. It was a minor pain to deal with if you deceive your morals that it's alright to be selfish once in a while. 

For 15 years, this is all you've been. Nothing more, nothing less. No hints nor talks about where this is all going. And for Dick, he was slightly grateful. If he had noticed a slight change in your dynamic, he fears that he'll fuck up and make it worse by being greedy. He's a risk taker, but he just can't take it with you.

It wasn't because you aren't worth it. Dick was just bound by his thoughts that you'll never feel the same way. Let's face it, he's observant. Dick is a master at reading someone. And by the way you act, it only fuels his thoughts. 

Your eyes never linger on him for more than a minute. He almost thought it had a warm look in it, but he may have mistaken it for his reflection looking at you. More so, you never seemed to care about who he's with. You always bid him your best wishes with a big smile on your face. Bigger than the ones you gave when it was just him. You were truly happy for him when he introduced his girlfriends.

How true was it, though? Dick doesn't know how much it pained you every time. And it isn't like you can just come up to him and slap him for the sole reason of, "Why can't it be me?" 

It was difficult to express yourself when every time you tell yourself you're about to confess, he comes back with a new girl. You never stood by your hopes, it'll only hurt you more. The only way to face it was to smile and wish him the best. At least now, you'll have a reason to move on.

"Thanks for the ride, Dick." You hit his shoulder lightly as you pass the helmet back to him.

"Don't mention it." He smiles at you.

Another silence envelops you. You steal glances when the other isn't looking. There was a minor problem that needed to be talked about, but it wasn't a problem that you're ready to face just yet.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dick. Good night." I want to be with you.

"Yeah—yeah, good night." Don't leave yet.

He watches you leave with yearning eyes. He has a feeling he should call out to you, run up to you, prevent you from going up to your room, and seclude yourself until you forget about tonight. Will he ever get this feeling again about having the opportunity to talk about his feelings that's still left unsaid after fifteen years? 

You might be thinking hard about him too. Thinking about what he is to you. You might even realize your buried feelings for him. But maybe he's overthinking it because he's hoping again. Dick feels everything is complicated and overwhelming at the moment.

You turn on your heels, and a sliver of hope flashes inside him. 

"G-Goodbye! Don't stay up too late." You wave at him goodbye. Fuck.

His hands felt heavy to raise—no, his whole body did. Dick waved goodbye back nonetheless, watching helplessly as the elevator doors closed on your face. There goes his chance and yours. 

You both wasted the time to relay the secrets you've been hiding. The opportunity was handed over to you on a golden platter, but you both let the fear of being poisoned by what's served to you—miss the sweet taste of each other's love.

The elevator slightly shook when your body slumped down on its railings, tightly holding onto it to support your body from crumbling down. It felt so irritating and stupid that you let another chance go. The metal doors keep you from looking down on Dick's figure at the ground. You wanted to force it to go back.

Dick sat down on the floor and threaded through his hair, gripping it tightly out of frustration. He let you go again. He heard that stutter in your words, but he stayed still. He never heard you stutter once before this, and that made it worse. 

Two hopeless people that love each other unknowingly have to be one of the worst set-ups from the universe. It was toying with them. Somehow always giving the other the wrong idea about the other. 

You slump down in your room in regret. Frustration was clouding your vision and logic, you wanted nothing more than to scream and thrash around. 

The clear skies of the night caught your attention, stopping you from your self-loathing pity. 

By the sight alone, you'd have proof that the universe loved making you feel like a joke. The same sight of that constellation above your balcony made you scoff with disdain, a bitter smile on your face as memories of that night resurface.

At the top of the tower laughing and joking around with alcohol bottles scattered around you. It was a simple teenage mistake. The thought of it being bad and restricted made it feel the more enjoyable. You don't know what made him run away that night. But you remember how frustrated you felt, your hands clutched tightly in the air as if it was about to reach out for someone's head.

"I love someone." 

He remembers how easily those words left you that night. Dick was also reminiscing about that same night down here. 

Those words made his heart tighten, making him run away like the little boy he was back then. He was willing to listen to you. Just not... you confessing you love someone else. The thought of not having a possibility of him being that someone made him run away. After all those drinks and laughter you shared with him, making him feel that he was the one—it was his first heartbreak. 

The universe must be relishing at the fact that the two of you will never be together because of simple misunderstandings. How happy it is to see you both frustrated and sad over the other.

You both bury your heads in your arms, tears of defeat streaming down your eyes. The same thought haunts both of you, a subconcious voice telling them they've fucked up and lost the chance to have you as theirs.

I wish I knew you wanted me.

[stvrw1tch]

This physical hurt me, didn’t even kiss the brick when it was thrown :(

I’m sobbing

[alexiroflife]

"shared space" : ̗̀➛

first part!

hiromi higuruma x secretary!reader

Synopsis: it's just an ordinary afternoon in the office as hiromi counts down the seconds until he can get his hands on you again

to sum it up: your boss kissed you... in what world are either of you expected to carry on like normal?

WC: 3,774

Warning(s): noneee just kissy kissy sappy sappy

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Hiromi's lips buzz for the rest of the day as the clock ticks the slowest it ever has, a great contrast to the way time ordinarily works against him, forcing him to act hastily for the sake of his reputation as well as his clients'.

The dark haired attorney deduces that you must be made of magic, as he feels more energized, more focused because of you, and yet at the same time, his eyes keep flickering to the clock.

Counting down the minutes, simultaneously sorting through calls and case files with a smoothness his morning and previous days severely lacked.

His earlier sourness has swept away, flown free from his countenance, his expression, his very stiff shoulders. His ordinarily heavy mass feels light. For once, he isn't dragging himself down under the weight of his own masochistic, workaholic habits. 

All he can think about is the sweetness of your gentle lips to his. And instead of heavy, he feels... light. His head, as though pulled toward the ceiling by an invisible string, his posture straight, his eyes jumping frantically over words. 

Then back to the clock. Then those words. And... seriously, it's only been two minutes?

He sighs, scratches the side of his head with the bud of his pen, then gets back to it.

After all, you're the only reason he has even come to grasp the concept of time as something stretching on for too long rather than forcing his hand at an inhumane pace.

You're the only reason his brain has cleared its disorienting, troublesome fog, the only reason the tension in his neck and upper shoulders has relieved itself. You're the only reason, now, that he can breathe again.

But strangely, you still steal that very breath away when your precious gasp of air against his lips whispers through his ears, breaking the flow of his thick fingers scattering over his keyboard. You still slot yourself into the folds of his mind meant solely for the documentation of his daily work related observations.

You've grounded him, but the consequence of so still remains: your present residence in his head. And if it wasn't bad before, now, it's somehow worse.

Because now, he does not have to imagine what your body feels like beneath his roaming hands. He does not have to imagine you pressing against him for longer than a few seconds of contact caused by a mistaken collision. He does not have to imagine the warmth and desire in your gaze, your tender urge to help free him of some of his stress, your quiet, bashful confession of reciprocation.

He does not have to imagine how perfectly your plump lips fit against his. What noises you'd make when he kisses you. Whether your hands would grip his wrists or lock around his neck, whether your fingers would tangle into his scalp - which they do. They did.

And he feels the ghost of your dainty fingers tugging lightly, experimentally, as though attempting to stifle the eagerness you'd already shown. He’s wrecked.

Instead of his jaw clicking, however, and his eyes blinking hard to rid himself of the images, he finds himself allowing them to consume him. He'll turn mindlessly in his office chair, telephone tucked to his ear to gaze outside of his window past the bold green lettering of his firm. He'd hum in understanding occasionally, offer a few thoughts, detail the risks of various pleas, and then you'd strike him again.

Gentle and sweet like the dot of a snowflake to one's nose. Surprising, a shocking nip at the skin, but welcomed.

He'll go on, turning back and forth on a swivel, lashes fluttering as he looks down and a soft smile graces his lips when he speaks. Not because of anything warming his client has said, but because he's become completely foolish over the thought of you. The breath of you. The touch of you.

And that kiss. 

Would it be shameful of him to seek another after having already asked so much, bore so much to you within the privacy of his office?

He's acted out of line. Hiromi would have never done something like this before meeting you. He's wary. He's cautious.

But clearly not when it comes to you.

No man who honors caution would sweep his secretary from her feet, prop her up on the very desk he works upon, and kiss desires into her that he only discovered had further depths to after the first lock of your lips.

He could get you into so much trouble for this. He could get himself into so much trouble for this. He's already in trouble with himself, with his mind, for he's struggling to balance you into the other things he's meant to care for. Sure, he can work the day away as he always has, but he isn't doing it for the sake of his occupation. At least, he isn't today.

Hiromi's doing it so that he can find a break to see you again, a gap in his crowded time to get you alone once more, to perhaps apologize? To gain a proper understanding of where your head is at? To, possibly, pull you back in by the small of your waist, to look into those lovely eyes, to lose himself in you just one more time?

Is that so wrong? Is that too selfish? To ask for just a few minutes longer? He promises, after that, he'll behave. He promises to try.

When will you return with more contacts? With notes? With excuses to revisit, to step once more into the space where the two of you broke professionality?

Hiromi eyes the door. Waiting. Listening to the echoes of your laughter. The muffled chirp of your breathy voice. You're so close, but so far away. Divided by walls he can not bring down. It would be inappropriate to approach you, wouldn't it? To stall, to temporarily abandon the work he's done so well to stay on top of despite the little angel dancing about in his head.

The second-hand ticks slowly. The minute-hand, even slower.

But then, he hears you. A couple hours after the kiss, he hears the click of your kitten heels that approach his door. Shimizu's busy on the phone, and Hiromi straightens, granting you entry upon hearing your mindful knock, his heart jolting in his chest.

Your eyes connect the very second you step in. Your lips are pressed together, suppressing a small smile, and your cheeks are pinched with a cheery heat. You try to keep yourself composed, your eyes flicking away only for a second out of nerves, from the very intensity of his striking eyes on yours.

Your employer's gaze falls rather soft on you, your presence in his space reminding him of why your perfume still stains the air, why he can't look at his papers without recalling how your thighs looked seated overtop of them.

He lowers a paper to his desk, turning to you expectantly, eyes locked. Your shoulders jump with a little shy laugh, one you can't contain, before you slot yourself next to him and set a few sheets down before him. Hiromi's eyes dart to the papers habitually, then float their way back up to you as you speak.

"These just need your signature by the x whenever you get the chance," you say sweetly, head hovering beside his. Hiromi hears you, but does not give you any indicator that he does. You glance up to see if he's listening, only to find his eyes trailing to your lips, then back up to yours.

You swallow hard, cheeks reddening.

You look down at your position beside him, how close your shoulders brush, and you realize your mistake again. You assume you've stepped to close.

You take a cautious shuffle back, freeing a few inches between you, and you smile apologetically.

Hiromi's eyes cut down immediately to where you've opened space.

What the hell?

"When do these need a signature?" he asks slowly, looking up at you as you straighten yourself up with your hands folded before you.

You're so far. So far away when you're not within his immediate bubble of space.

Now that you're truly respecting his wishes, now that you're cognizant of your lack of boundaries, oh, he doesn't like it.

And yet, you smile at him. Like you've finally understood, finally honored his requests, finally corrected your thoughtlessness.

What has he done?

"By the end of the day,” you tell him.

He sets his fingertips firmly to the papers, sliding them upward. "Come back for them then."

"Oh. Okay!"

He watches you leave with something tight in his chest, catching your eyes again when you turn to look at him one more time on your way out of the door.

Hiromi inhales and exhales slowly, holding his forehead in his hand as he stares at the papers you've given him, wondering why you decide now to step away. Why you've put that barrier between you after it had been deconstructed.

And why is it bothering him so much?

You're only following directions, as the ever-so efficient and reliant information specialist you are. He knows what he said, what he begged of you, but that was before the kiss. Before the intimacy. Before the warmth in your eyes.

He looks at the time. Grinds his teeth together. Gets back to work.

You return to your desk with wide eyes and shrugged shoulders, chastising yourself in your head for your awkward behavior. You can't help the way you crumble under his gaze, the way you go to mush when you step into his presence, approach his hungry, unrelenting, horrifyingly hypnotic eyes.

You didn't want to further work him up by trampling the boundaries he set. You know you're a clingy person, and you're eager to dampen this behavior of yours for his sake. You don't want to mess with his head, or ruin whatever you’ve just sparked, or risk distracting him - though you highly doubt it's possible for Hiromi Higuruma to get distracted by anything...

Well, that's what you thought before he ruggedly pleaded with you to step away, breathlessly voiced his need for you that has muddled his organized brain.

You wince as you slide back into your chair and look up at the clock. Only an hour and a half left of the work day. You truly hope you didn't do anything to disturb him again. You hope he can manage to get through the day without any more hiccups.

Especially after the kiss. After you finally got close enough. After those big hands held yours, those lips dropped pecks to your skin, his matured grace enveloping you in the way he held you, traced over you, lifted you, breathed into you.

You drop your head to your desk with a dazed groan, your heart roaring in your ears and heat bursting through your skin. You can't take much more of this. It's impossible for you to get anything done as long as you know he's only a few paces away from you around that corner, behind that door, thinking of you, wanting you all the same.

The time comes for you to gather his papers, but you enter while he is caught up in an important conversation with Shimizu over her desk. You purse your lips politely, halting at the door. There's only ten more minutes in the work day. "Hi, Mr. Higuruma," you greet rather quietly.

He looks up, pausing his discussion, one of his hands propped up on his assistant's desk, the other tucked in his pocket. "Hi."

"I’m sorry to interrupt. I... was just coming for those signatures."

"Ah." He swiftly leans over to grab the neat stack, turning to meet you as you walk over. He points the papers toward you, holding your gaze. "Here they are."

You nod, fingers brushing his as you take them. You twitch, retracting your hand. "Thank you."

You leave without another word, and Hiromi watches you go with a frown. 

He hates these fleeting moments. These fractions of you.

He looks back at the clock. Ten more minutes.

And suddenly, finally, the rustle of coats, the creaks of chairs, the dull murmur that carries as your coworkers shuffle out one by one, bidding you farewell with a wave, come. You wave back with a grin, watching everyone file through the doorway to head home.

"Good night, (Y/n)!"

You turn to see Hiromi's brunette assistant skip out of their shared office, wiggling her fingers to you with a smile. There's a certain pep in her step you think is thanks to Hiromi letting her off early.

Your heart jolts, the rest of the office left empty behind her, save for you and your boss.

You shiver. "Good night, Shimizu. See you tomorrow!"

The door shuts behind her, and you're left with nothing but the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights. Your heart is in your throat as you dare to attempt to straighten up your station to prepare to go home as well.

You freeze, however, when you hear the shuffle from around the corner. The sound of a handle turning resonates, the click of a door opening, then creaking wide. Your eyes jump up, and Hiromi emerges slowly, hand tracing the wall with the other still casually tucked away in his pocket.

You stand on instinct, watching like a deer in headlights as he takes his time to walk up to you, swaying with slow strides and lidded eyes, until he's right before you on the other side of your counter, setting his forearms over the surface to lean in to you.

You blink, breath hitching in your throat, a nervous smile twitching on your pretty lips. "Hi," you breathe. "Um... are you...is everything-"

"How are you?" he asks sincerely, chocolate eyes searching yours.

You part your lips, adjusting to his sudden question. "Good," you breathe a laugh, nodding. "I'm good."

He hums. "Yes?"

"Yeah," you grin. "How are you?"

A moment of silence passes, and he smiles, chest warm. "I got a lot of things done," he says lowly.

You nod. "That's good."

"Thanks to you."

"Wh-" you sputter, furrowing your brows cutely. Hiromi blinks slowly, ears warm, lips curved softly. "Me? I don't do nearly as much as you do."

"You do," he says. "You're here."

He says so as though that is all that matters, that your presence in his life is everything, and you relax, tilting your head with a growing beam you struggle to hide. "Okay, well," you shrug, unsure of how to take his sweet words. "I'm happy to be. So. You know, no need to thank me."

Hiromi chuckles. You giggle.

"...Are you staying late tonight?" you eventually ask.

"Most likely," he murmurs. "Are you?"

You look down at your desk, then back up at him. For the first time in hours, you don't look at the clock. "Possibly," you suggest playfully. "If you want me to."

"Forget what I want. You think about what I want too much."

You sway on your feet. "I mean, it's kinda my job to think about what you want. Part of it is, at least."

"Smart. You know what I mean."

You snicker. "I know,” you grin. “You may say I think about your wants too much, but I don't think I do."

"You do. If you want to stay, you should stay. Don't let me dictate your decisions. Outside of what I tell you to do for work."

You blow an amused breath. “Right.” You peer up at him through your lashes. "So if I want to stay...?"

"Please do," he pleads. You bite the inside of your lip, heart buzzing.

"Okay. I will."

Hiromi lifts himself from your desk and takes in a slow breath, looking over you again in that pensive you've always admired. "Is that why you stepped away?"

You tilt your head. "Hm?"

"Earlier. When you gave me those papers. You stepped away."

You don't have to do much thinking to know what he's talking about. "Oh. Yeah. I did."

"And that was because you believed I wanted you to? You were acting in my interest?"

Your brows twitch, unsure of what direction this is heading into. "Yeah... I just thought when you told me earlier that I tend to stand to close, you wanted me to be more mindful of that. I don't want you to think I didn't listen or take your wishes into consideration."

The dark haired attorney can't stand to waste another second.

With another weighted exhale, he turns to round your counter, making his way from the side into your desk's interior. He saunters up to you, instantly closing the distance.

Your brows raise as you look down at his chest coming toward you, his woody scent soaking your air. If he listens close enough, you're certain that Hiromi will be able to hear the frantic beat of your heart.

His hands raise to hold your shoulders. They slide down gradually, gliding carefully down the skin of your arms. You relax in his hold, breathing slowly, flickering your eyes up to his face as his hands slip into yours again.

You can tell he likes holding them by the way they squeeze over yours appreciatively, his thumbs moving to caress over your skin once more as he admires you.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

You frown in confusion. "What for?" you whisper.

"For making you think I don't want you near me." He looks down at your conjoined hands. "I've always wanted you near me."

"Hiromi," his name slips from your mouth, and he responds immediately by curling his arms around you, bringing you closer as your hands slide to his chest.

"Yes," he answers with the crane of his head, foreheads brushing as he follows your eyes, your lips. "Is this okay?" You nod firmly.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all day," you tell him, fluttering those pretty lashes, (e/c) eyes shining as you are overcome with the urge to pour your heart out to him. Hiromi thinks he could die here and be completely content with where the course of his life has taken him.

He still finds it hard to believe that this is real. That you aren't imaginary. That you won't vanish in his arms. "You'll make a man weak with those words," he mutters. "And those eyes. This face."

"Hiromi Higuruma, you are a complete sap," you tease, gasping as if thrilled. Hiromi rolls his eyes.

"Don't say that. My competitors will have a field day."

"Another joke! I'm impressed."

Hiromi smiles with the shake of his head. "I couldn't stop thinking about you either," his voice mellows out, tone shifting once more. "You got me through the day."

"You give me too much credit."

"I don't give you enough," he argues. His eyes glance at your lips again, his palms pressing tighter to your waist. You smell like heaven, look like happiness. He feels the warmth of your palms against his chest, and wonders if you can feel how his heart hammers for you.

You look down at his lips, then back up at his face longingly.

"You won't step away from me again, will you?" his lids grow heavy over his hues, the air between you growing smaller and smaller. You lean into your tip toes, Hiromi keeping you steady by the small of your back.

"No," you shake your head. "I never wanted to in the first place."

"Good. Don't do it again."

You sigh. "Okay."

Your lips come together in harmony, the very sensation bringing soft moans and hums instantly from your throats. Your head spins as he pulls you in, his body tight to yours as those bowed lips curve. He could practically melt with relief, finally able to think clearly now that your lips are on his again, now that he can feel your heartbeats hammering into one another's as you lock your arms back around his neck, securing him, claiming him.

God, he's so happy to be claimed. To be wanted by you.

The pace of this kiss grows faster than your first, shifting into heated desperation, hunger, passion. Hiromi turns you, walks you back blindly until the back of your legs hit the edge of your desk. You moan, tugging him down into you as lips smack against one another's, parting just long enough and wide enough for your tongues to accidentally nudge.

Your eyes peer open slightly, as do his, the both of you calling attention to the enticing connection. You take a moment to breathe, losing yourself in one another's hazy eyes.

Hiromi cradles your jaw and keeps your gaze as he brings you back into him. Your eyes fall closed once more upon contact of your lips, tongues worming against one another's, slithering exploratively to savor your taste. Hiromi groans, needing more. More. More. More.

His lips are coated in your saliva. Your scent is all over his suit. Your thighs are pressed against his, and he can feel you twitching, hear your beautiful sounds of pleasure and contentness.

How has he lived without you so long? How has he gone thirty something years on this earth without you?

"You are," he sneaks in between messy kisses that echo throughout the space, his hands wandering every part of you they can find, his lips chasing their way back to you every moment they break away, "so beautiful," smack. "so wonderful."

"Mm, so are you," you pant when he breaks away again, pushing in to smush your lips back into his. "I like you," smack. "so much."

He swoons, knitting his brows and parting to look you in the eye. "That makes me the most fortunate man alive."

You whisk each other away in a whirlwind of kisses and affections that seem to meet no end. Time flies in circles, blurring away with infinite conversations. You’re eventually settled in his lap over his office chair, his legs sprawled slightly as you tuck your head against his shoulder, his head knocked against yours. One hand dwarfs the computer mouse as he reads while the other braces your knee, holding securely in between frequent intermissions for the tilt of his head to kiss you.

Your heels lay tossed somewhere in the corner, knocked against the wall and forgotten. Hiromi's suit jacket covers your shoulders, draping down over the armrest.

Hiromi's leg doesn't twitch. The muscle in his eye doesn't spasm. His teeth don't grind.He simply breathes against you, whole, calm, happy.

[stvrw1tch]

This is me howling and barking !!!! Ughhh what a fine ass man he is

Also this writer right here is amazing, wonderful, fantastic and I just read all their works and it was chief’s kiss

[fwops]

aang, in all his avatar glory, is not above tongue-fucking his cum right back into your quivering, convulsing pussy. his wide, stupefied eyes glow white as he licks and scoops and sucks with relentless devotion, lithe tongue sweeping across your folds with striking precision only a master of the four elements could possess. powerful arms pin your thighs against the mattress while roughened hands palm over your lower stomach, cradling the skin above your uterus with something almost reverent in their touch.

“it has to take. . .” he’s mumbling to himself, practically incoherent, but you can still hear the raw desperation threaded through his guttural chanting. “has to, has to, has to—!”

“a-aang, mmph! what’s wrong? did something happen on your trip—?” you whimper through the haze of overstimulation, hands scrambling against his shoulders as you search for something to ground yourself with. he’s been at it for hours, ever since he returned from his home air temple. had stormed into your shared bedroom with the doors rattling against the walls behind him, barely a greeting leaving his mouth before he was climbing over you, frantic hands shoving the hefty layers of his robes and beads from his body like they’ve suddenly become unbearable.

in mere seconds he had you flat on your back.

then on all fours.

and then on your side and everything else in between.

the room is in absolute shambles— feathers spilling from torn pillows and swirling through the air in frantic, whirling currents. the bed barely remains intact beneath you, headboard split apart and canopy hanging in splintered ruin, all of it unable to withstand the force of him as the elements hum beneath his tortured skin.

“aang, honey, are you— hah!— okay? talk to me, baby. please.”

what new revelation could he have possibly had for him to suddenly fold you into a million different positions?

and you tried to run, to tap out after the nth round, but did you really think you could escape the hold of an avatar in his avatar state? a handsome, beefy, six-foot-five, one-hundred-something kilogram man so utterly desperate to revive an entire bloodline, yet far too in love to want to do it with anyone else but you?

aang’s voice comes out rough, wrecked with pathetic want. “need to get you pregnant,” he finally admits, lips never leaving your twitching clit. “need it right fucking now.”

his sharp, unfamiliar words send a shiver down your spine.

he begrudgingly sits up, one hand keeping you spread for him while the other drags down his chiseled abs, ghosting over the twin downward arrows that curl just above his v–line. he fists his burly cock in slow, measured strokes as he readies another thick load, bright eyes trailing from your flushed face to your heaving breasts, tongue-in-cheek.

your heart jumps. you know that look. “aang, i know how much reviving air bending means to you, the duty you have to your people—” you start in an attempt to soothe.

because when he gets like this you tend to wobble for the next few weeks.

he cuts you off with a dry, humorless chuckle. “you think that’s what this is about?” he tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

you could only gulp in response.

then, he’s rising above you, broad, muscular shoulders boxing you in as he settles between your thighs. the heavy heat of his dick presses against your sensitive, aching entrance, his incandescent gaze dragging over your face like he’s trying to memorize every expression, every shaky inhale.

mapping out your features in his mind with perfect, painful precision.

the realization that had struck him back at the temple as he looked at every mural, every worn painting and towering statue of the air nomads. they all looked like his people. familiar faces, familiar smiles, familiar eyes, familiar powers.

but none of them resembled you.

none carried the curve of your lashes or the little furrow in your brow when you worried. none had your laugh, the unique slope of your nose, your warmth, your favor for sour over sweet, your gentleness for children and particular bugs. and suddenly, the grief that sat in his chest for years changed shape entirely. because what would be the point of preserving the world he lost if, in doing so, he lost every trace of the person he loved most within it?

“this—this isn’t about me reviving airbenders or a duty to save my dying culture. this isn’t about avatar sonam or tagah or monk gyatso or anything that has to do with bending. this is about you and me and me wanting to start a family with you,” he states with that heavy, solid avatar voice of his. firm and sure, thumb brushing along your jaw, “this is about me making sure that a part of you will always exist in a world where the avatar exists. that your lips, your eyes, your soul. . . live on for eternity. so that every time i look into this world through the eyes of the new avatar, i can still see you. see you in our grandchildren, in our great-great grandchildren, in the people that will come to exist because we loved each other. . . to know that you’ll always be in my life someway, somehow.”

“aang. . .”

“i realize now that there will come a day when airbending returns, whether in our lifetime or long after we’re gone.” he presses his forehead against yours, tone softer despite the ache in his words. “i know that i’ll get to see that vision through the eyes of the avatars who will come after me. and if i keep chasing impossible answers, impossible resolves— if i keep throwing myself at a future i can’t force into existence— i’ll lose you in the process. i’ll waste the little time we’re given together. with our friends. with our children. the thought of losing you to time. . .”

it killed him.

you feel it. the shift in him. the sincerity behind every broken word, every trembling breath. the sheer despair that claws through him at the thought of you leaving nothing behind of yourself, of the love the two of you share. the regret he’d forever live with if he only prioritized the revival of air-bending or the kids that would inherit it. and the fact that he still hasn’t left the avatar state only makes it worse, every emotion stripped raw and vulnerable beneath glowing eyes and tattoos and shaking hands.

“so i vow now that i will never neglect your life or your culture for the sake of mine. whether we have airbending children or not. . . that is up to the universe.”

his hands cup your cheeks gently as he leans in, connecting the both of you in a slow, sloppy kiss. you could only gasp as he slips his tongue in, as if to seal your fate with his.

he slowly pulls away, thick fingers easing you open as he makes room for himself. “i can live without other airbenders. i can make due with the acolyte family we’ve founded. what i cannot live without is you. what i cannot imagine not ingrained in this world beyond my lifetime is you.”

aang smiles for the first time tonight, like the image in his mind was far more beautiful than anything he could’ve ever imagined. he sinks inside, massive and overwhelming, drawing a raspy breath from your lungs at the sheer stretch of him. still, you pull him closer, wanting nothing more than to feel the slow, heavy drag of him inside you.

“so for now,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips as he begins moving slowly, in and out, “all i want is a child with you. one that embodies everything that you are. one that will carry on your memory, your curiosity, your strength, your traits.” gone was the glow of the avatar state, the white fading slowly from his eyes until they were simply his again, fixed on yours with a tenderness so deep it was almost unbearable. “so i’m begging you. . . give me a baby that looks just like you.”

you cry out helplessly as he buries his face into your throat, holding you impossibly close. every stroke is long and deliberate, driven far less by hunger and more by an emotion too large for words. the slick of your arousal coats his balls as you helplessly grind against him, cunt fluttering around the girthiness of his base. you could feel all the veins that line him, tracing your walls as he fucked you like he needed you to breathe.

you blink back the tears threatening to spill. “b-but i do want our baby to be like you. i do want to help you—”

he shakes his head fervently, fingers tightening around you like he’s afraid you still don’t understand. “no. no,” he rasps, “i don’t want this to be some duty you carry for me. i want this because it’s us. because it’s the life we chose together. no obligations. no sacrifices.”

you feel the dampness at the corner of his eyes as he clings to you, hands roaming your body in a worship-like trance, as though he was reassuring himself that you were real and here and present and his. to have and to hold and to sink himself into when the world is in chaos.

“please,” he croaks hoarsely into your neck, voice cracking around the word, and the raw vulnerability in it makes your chest ache more than anything else ever could. “say you’ll give me a baby, sweetheart. say you’ll give me this one thing. even if they come without air-bending.”

a broken sound leaves your throat as you cling to his shoulders, nodding desperately against him, back arching into his warmth. “yes,” you breathe out shakily, fingers curling around his nape. “yes, yes, yes. of course, i will.”

the words—your defining proclamation—undo him entirely. he groans into the curve of your neck, holding you so tightly it almost hurts, every breath hot, cold, then hot again against your skin. he cums in thick, long spurts, coating your insides pearly white as you cream on his cock, legs caging him in. his tattoos begin to faintly glow once more as he shivers, hips still pumping his seed into you, forehead pressed beneath your jaw, as though he can’t bear even an inch of distance between you.

when he finally pulls back, his eyes have returned to their natural state, shining with something far softer than desire.

devotion, perhaps. a need to always keep you safe. to give you—and your children—a world that offers everything and takes nothing in return.

“i love you,” he murmurs softly, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face. he rests his forehead against yours again, eyes slipping closed as his heart, for once, is at ease. “thank you.”

your lips tremble into a tired smile, fingers curling weakly around his head. “you never have to thank me for loving you.”

though your words alone could never truly capture the depth of everything you’ve given him.

[stvrw1tch]

If I don’t find me a man who yearns for me like this what am I doing in life. This is spectacular like OMG

[ynifrey]

no thoughts just taking anime!dante down a peg.

---

pristine white locks fell into his face as red eyes peered back at you, with the black headboard behind him he almost look like a painting. dante stared at you amused. it was annoying how he was the one tied up and it felt like he had the upper hand.

"so," dante tilted his head playfully, "you are aware that i can break out of these right?" he pulled at the cuffs hanging above his head experimentally.

you sighed, "yes, i am aware of your freakish strength, thanks for asking. but you'll be obedient for me, won't you?"

"well when you sweet talk me like that, how can i say no?"

he was naked sitting on the bed legs crossed, all you did was restrain him and he was already at half-mast.

from your place infront of him, your eyes wandered over his body contemplating your next move.

"want a picture?" dante mused.

you smirked, "trust, i'll be taking alot of those."

"yeah when im old and gray because ive sat here and i think the grandparents next door are having more action than me."

"oh yeah?"

---

"ngh! i just came..! so s-stop pounding!" ribbons of cum splattered on his already coated chest yet you didn't stop, the thought didn't even cross your mind. you were no where near done with him and that smart mouth.

how many rounds was it now? dante lost track after the first five.

"you know, your dicks been staying soft while i fuck you. maybe i've been using your ass so much your body knows you don't need your dick anymore."

"f-fuck you," dante spat brokenly as you continued pistoning into him like he was a toy. his cock laid limp on his abs, weakly spurting in a pool of cum. his body shook with the after shocks of his orgasm a few moments ago.

the headboard creaked and banged against the wall in rhythm with your thrusts. "not getting enough play still? should i amp it up? you always loved a thrill, dante."

"n-no, please! dont turn it on [name], i swear you'll break me-!" his plea fell on deaf ears as you flipped the switch on the bullet vibrator taped on his shaft.

"ohh fuck!" he screamed, dantes arms flexed in his restrains, it took all his willpower to not pull through the restrains and turn off the intense stimulation.

"there we go," you smirked. "see, when i dig into your pussy the cum just keeps flying out."

"'m close! gonna cum again!" you were surprised dante still had cum left in him.

"oh wait before you do i almost forgot!" you stopped your assault on him for just a moment to lean over to the bedside desk and grab your polaroid camera.

you grabbed him by his hair like he was an animal you conquered and he looked positively debauched to say the least.

"smile!"

the camera flashed in time for dantes first dry orgasm to be on record.

[stvrw1tch]

oof yes give me 100 more please and thank youu :3

[sleepy-hawks]

[stvrw1tch]

Y’all I am SCREAMING, BARKING, HOLYYYYY MOLYYY!!!!

[bodhiscurls]

baby, it's you!! ( clark kent )

you're the one i love! you're the one i need! you're the only one i see! clark kent finally works up the courage to ask you to dinner; only to run behind on work with lois and completely stand you up. it's fine, you're three glasses of wine in and ready to rant at your friend lois' door, only to find the cause of tonight's rage sitting there on her sofa. now, clark has to find a way to tell you the truth; that this is all a misunderstanding and it's only ever been you. it will always be you.

pairing: clark kent x journalist fem reader (no use of yn)

themes: angst, fluff, implied cheating (more so accusation)

masterlist.

the voicemails started off polite, poised and then four missed calls later you were bordering into unhinged, murderous woman who had been stood up on her first date territory. which you were- so that take is completely true.

you've known clark kent for a few months since you joined the daily planet as a journalist for their women's health section. separated by the plastic wheels squeaking as his bumps his chair into yours and the sweet cups of coffee he starts your mornings with, it wasn't long between your smiles at him became softer. you let yourself look at him a little longer, hanging on to whatever slivers of himself he'd let sneak past his usual charming and boyish front.

he returned those feelings pretty quickly too, through the holding of hands under the desks, him learning a little over your shoulder purposefully to read over your work, the intensity of his closeness throwing you off- how when he'd speak it was as if he had reserved a separate tone just for you- one that felt a little more breathless, thoughtful, pooling heat in your stomach instantaneously and laced with a feeling a lot like love.

it took him weeks to work himself up to ask you on a date. your first date, you mused. clark kent was clearly a man who did things by the book and you had hoped that after tonight, he'd finally meet you in the middle of this strange dance you're stuck in and kiss you silly already.

you'd imagined it in your head a million times; so often that you had once unintentionally started typing out the scene like a true novella; how he'd wine and dine you at the little italian place a few blocks over, dance with you in the dark on the walk home and kiss the remenants of sweet dessert off your lips on your doorstep- instead of filling the column with your recent musings on the importance of gut health in retaining a balanceful mood. you had never smashed the backspace so hard in your life- the angry crushing of keys and the rosy pink flushing the tips of your ears and neck drawing attention to your best friend, lois who stared at you amused.

"he's obsessed with you," she assured with you once, the very first time he looked your way and sent you spiralling. it was the same day he asked you out, a casual question for dinner and maybe it was your fault for overthinking this. he gave you one look and you went running straight into his heart, demanding entrance and free rent.

"hey this is clark! leave your message and i'll try and get back to you-" and you can imagine his obnoxiously gorgeous face, slight chirp in his voice and suddenly the alcohol buzzing war in your veins is giving you the confidence.

"you know clark, if you wanted to just embarrass me you didn't have to take me out to dinner to do that," you grit between your teeth, "oh wait, you didn't even take me out to dinner! call me NEVER." the breath of anger is hot on your phone, steaming the screen. the phone hangs on by a thin thread of misplaced hope and largely embarrassment as it sits between your collarbone and ear.

it's a contrast to the chill air of the apartment stairwell that bites at your bare skin. the off white slip you paired with a soft knit cardigan that was a sweet butter yellow seemed incredible in the moment but right now, only the breeze- bordering wind territory is getting a treat of it tonight. your kitten heels clatter on the stairs up because your friend's stupid elevators are out of service. like mystery man, lois lane had also not returned your calls tonight. you figured she was going through her usual work phases, her perfectionism and hyperfixated need for the chase of a story stealing most of her time. you let her do her thing, its what she loved and you loved supporting her.

when you first moved to the daily planet she was the first to show you around and became the sister you never had; an instantaneous friendship that made the world spin a little slower for you to keep up.

and that's why tonight: three sweaty flights of stairs and two more voicemails that ended with the escape of sniffles has you knocking on your friend's door- in need of an ear to lift this heavy burden of embarrassment of your shoulder.

"lois!" you don't even knock, just throw the entirety of your body weight at her door. your figure is slumped against it when she opens it just by the smallest of inches and maybe if you were intoxicated less, that could've been the first sign.

"he stood me up," the tears stream and before you know it you're sobbing in her hallway- loud wails that widen her eyes comically in fear you're going to wake up the whole neighbourhood.

"i waited," you throw your arms around miserably, like a toddler having a tantrum, "and he never showed."

something instantly freezes in her and what looks like guilt flashes over the sympathetic smile she sends your way before she crushes you into a bone-bending hug. "oh honey," she soothes into your skin and you let the tears soak up her tank top and then you pull back.

"can i come in now?" your voice quiet and lois decided she'd rather the earth swallow her whole.

"i'm a little busy," she winces, trying to close the door a little bit more behind her but you peer through nonetheless anyways, blood freezing cold at the sight of soft black curls you know from the memorisation of how they've felt under your fingers.

"clark," you breathe. its not exactly a question, more so a snot fuelled statement of betrayal as your eyes flicker between him and your friend. you don't know which one to settle on, shift all your focus and blame on because you're so tired and the alcohol is making you drowsier as the minutes tick by.

"honey," he gets up from his spot on the sofa and tries to meet you at the door but the wrinkle in your brow and fury laced in your frown tells him to stop exactly where he is.

"don't you dare come near me," shame rises in your throat and you feel flushed as hell. the heats on the back of your neck, tinging your cheeks in a rosy fire of embarrassment. "god, how could i have been so fucking wrong?" your voice stretches out with a strain and you take a step back in defeat, "i knew i was in over my head," and then you decide no. this is not a pity party for one, you will not take the blame. you were stood up!

"yeah!" you shout with a growl and the two of them look between themselves in concern, unsure of how to approach you.

"honey, wait," a warm and heavy wrist reaches out to grab your arm as you make a sharp turn on your heel- ready to end this night of drunken shame and theatrics.

"oh i did!" you fight the empty laugh with a scoff, "for a whole hour, no texts no calls, nothing," your voice gets quieter, thudding in clark's chest like warning signals blaring disasterously. this is all on him, he thinks. he's fucked up majorly.

you shrug yourself out of his hold, throwing your small purse in the direction of the two of them and hobble away in a huff. the stiletto heels swelling at your ankles as you shift the weight. the air is heavy as you leave it and face the chill of the outside air swimming around you.

the walk back to your apartment isn't far- you live pretty close to lois and when you reach your door, you sigh heavily. leaning your head onto the wooden frame, and as the tears start to well up all over again you bite them back down. in your fit, throwing your purse at the two traitors you forgot that you left your phone and your keys in there. however, sober you is smarter and you use your excellently hidden spare key to unlock the door and crash inside.

it's safer in your home- no one can reach you here, you think. the kitten heels are abandoned at the entryway, and your body collapses straight onto the sofa, not even making it to your bed before sleep chases you and claims to you a life that was kinder to you, where you ate donuts for breakfast and didn't gain a pound, wrote about things that interested you instead of the latest shopping trends and where you could fall asleep in the arms of someone who let you in all the way and just liked you back enough to choose you first.

...

he softly places your purse on your desk infront of you, shifting his weight back and forth, rocking gently on his feet as he waits behind your chair. at 6'4, his height looms over your area, like a cool of shade on a warm summer day, you normally welcome his presence instantly. usually you notice him in a second, with a soft sweet smile in which your nose scrunches a "good morning" and clark kent knows the day is going to be a good one.

instead, he's met with silence.

pure, heavy, lonely silence.

you were thirty four minutes late this morning- he was absolutely counting as he watched the door open and close, hoping it'd be who'd pass in. and when you did you were quieter than usual, hair tied in a messy knot at the back of your head, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose and the same damn yellow cardigan wraps around your frame. only today it sits on top of a black satin slip that sways in the breeze as you take the furthest seat from him. he's instantly tortured with the memories of last night, how undeserving he was to see you in such a fragile but gorgeous state and he blew it completely.

your eyes narrow in on the purse to the side of your computer.

he watches carefully as you poke your tongue in your cheek in thought and prays like hell that you'll just say anything. instead what he soaks up is your snail- like movements who takes all the time in the world to open your purse, not bother checking whether all your things are still there but unlocking your phone.

"i charged it," he has to clear his throat but the earnest rumble still peeks through. you nod slowly, switching it off within a moment and letting it clutter on your desk with a gentle thud- a careless offhanded movement and he winces.

he still waits, hoping you'll throw another crumb his way. he tries not to let the fact that you've not touched the cup of coffee he left steaming at your desk this morning sting his chest like you've poured gasoline over his heart and are just waiting to set it alight.

"not hungry?" he asks, fighting back a stutter. you look over to the muffin he left by the side of your mug and then back at him, a bored expression on your face and clark wishes he could make this whole thing right again. it was a misunderstanding- hard to explain to someone who's drunk- not that he'd ever blame you. it was his fault for getting caught up in his interview with lois he didn't realise the time. he planned this date, he knew about it, scheduled it weeks in advance and he had let it all go to shit because there was someone out there who knew him. and that changed everything, scared him more than anything.

but seeing you so detached, god that's got to top the list for sure.

"no thanks," you deliver flatly, turning your attention back to the screen. your fingers hover lazily over the keyboard and in the reflection of your glasses, clark can still see his reflection fading to the background.

"listen, about last night-" he starts the story he's practises over and over again with great precision but the nerves in his stomach threaten to rip him open still.

"i said no thanks," you repeat more firmly, "look i get it, you're not interested and it's my fault for dragging this on but for the love of god, please don't make this any more awkward for me i will actually die," you don't take your eyes off the screen once but your fingers are frozen. no words typed out but everything said in the open.

"that's so far from the truth-" he begins and you cut him off with a glare sent with pure edge. he stands firm and watches the ice melt with a softened stare. he thinks he has you for a moment and then all the light fades from his eyes when you give him a reassuring nod.

"clark, it's okay. please just go now," and just like that, your focus is taken back to your computer screen and clark is frozen behind you. he stands for a couple more seconds before jimmy places two hands at his broad shoulders and diverts him away.

"i don't know what you did kent, but it's best to wait this out maybe?" he suggests but clark's mind screams the opposite. he has to fix this and quick or the best thing to happen to his life is going to disappear- and he would've just let it all happen.

...

lois gives him a nod across the room and he delivers one exactly the same. at his side, jimmy crosses his fingers and says a prayer which clark thanks him quietly before getting up and walking with such stealth a few feet behind you.

it's lunch time- later than you usually take it but you've grabbed your work bag and have it slunched over your shoulder and make way to the elevator. clark keeps his steps purposefully measured- slower than yours but quick enough to keep up with your momentum. he stops at your side and presses the button to call for the elevator and feels you still beside him.

it's comical how statue-eque you've transformed that clark has to look extra closely to check the rise and fall of your chest to make sure you're breathing.

"hey, do you wanna grab a bite fro-" he can hardly get the question out before you've darted in the direction of the stairwell, taking off at such an incredible speed that clark has to beg for a few huffs of breaths to keep going.

"honey!" he calls out and growls lowly when you do not pause for a single second, jumping down the flights of stairs like each step is burnt straight from hell. clark uses the last of his strength and ounce of caffeine to pull through getting slighter ahead of you and knocks you against the wall.

his hand shoots out in a razor sharp reflex, cushioning your head from where it was moments from meeting the wall as the other pushes itself gently into your abdomen, holding you still.

"stop running from me please," his voice is dangerously low, a plead heavy in the subtle vibrations

"oh," you whisper stupidly at the hand placement, heating pooling in your stomach at the sudden proximity. you hate yourself for how easy it is for him to break your stony resolve. you planned to give him a whole day's worth of the silent treatment but had already broken your pact by charging your stupid phone like a nice human being. ugh.

he stumbles out an apology and pulls back gently, enough to give you some more room to breathe. his hand covering your stomach travels to the side of your hip instead and squeezes it gently in comfort.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, hanging his head low. "lois and i got paired for a new article and we just ran over time. it was my fault, i thought i'd make it to you on time but as we got deeper in the work i forgot to even call or text and," he breathes out slower, "i'm worried i've blown this all because i'm fucking stupid."

his breaths are heavy, slicing the air as it settles thicker with emotions and regrets of last night.

"so you and lois are not?" you can't get the words out and he shakes his head immediately.

"no," he firmly puts, "god, no," theres more emphasis this time, "she's amazing but she's not you. there's only ever been you- there will only ever be you and it fucking kills me that you thought i wasn't interested anymore. honey you hang the stars in my sky and rotate the damn earth, it could never not be you," he whispers again and you nod, staring straight into those gentle eyes.

"i got all pretty for you," your voice cracks, the shards worming its way and seeping through clark's heart. he watches how your eyes glass with a fresh batch of tears and he reaches out to catch the strays intimately, fingers cupping your jaw and he presses his forehead against yours.

"i know baby, and god i'll be sorry till i die,"

"bit dramatic," you ease to break the tension and he huffs out a laugh, "but i appreciate it nonetheless."

"let me make it up to you?" he asks hopeful and you bite your lip, the insecurity and fear of being left behind still making its way into your bones. he can feel that you're inside your own head and curses himself for making you feel this way.

"i don't know clark," you get out honestly, "i felt real stupid sitting there, you also owe me fifty bucks for all that wine," you face the floor, unable to keep eye contact.

he uses a finger to hook under your chin and lift your eyes to him, "i broke your trust," he speaks gently, as if being any louder might scare you away, "i'm so sorry for making you feel forgotten and alone last night, you are important to me more than anything and i'll show it to you. i'll prove it to you, i'm here," he pleads and you sigh, resting your head into his chest and he melts under your touch.

"one chance," your voice heats at his heart. "as long as you promise to delete all those voicemails- i went a little bit overboard," and you flush with sniffle of embarrassment once more. he promises with a chuckle and soft kiss to your temple, holding you in the stairwell for moments that stretch into an eternity.

you don't know that clark cried so hard to each voicemail, he threw his phone in anger, almost breaking it. that he followed you home last night from a distance to make sure you made it back home safe even though he was probably the last person you'd have wanted to see. you don't know that now as you stand in his arms, every bit of honour he has to fight and hang on to desperately when he wants nothing more than to lean down and kiss you stupidly.

he wants forever with you.

and he'll spend the rest of his life working towards it- one dinner, three glasses of wine and eight raging voicemails at a time.

note: i think im just a hardcore david corenswet girl im ngl the press run hes been on lawddddd - 2k on this is crazy!!!!!!! tysm i love u & have posted some clark fluff to celebrate that- but also make up for the angst, i love u!!!! 💘💘

[stvrw1tch]

This genuinely is so cute, I love this so much!!!!!

[buckysfaveplum]

krypto, take me home

summary: when Clark can’t make it to the fortress, Krypto brings him to you

pairing: clark kent x female reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: typical injury/kinda recovery warnings, blood, broken bones, etc. not much else. reader is mentioned have hair once. no other descriptions

a/n: sigh another fic the next day, that’s when you know i’m obsessed. here’s a lil idea i had as soon as i saw the opening scene. if you're new here cause i'm pretty much known for bucky barnes fics, I love angst so that's kinda my lil niche. hope that's okie!

oh and I loved @sharknutz idea of Clark calling the reader sunshine so yeaaa I had to try that out <3

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You were never a very light sleeper, per se. It wasn’t like you were waking up with each creak of the floorboards or gust of wind. But you never were one to sleep fully through the night without waking up just once. Clark had this little joke; he could always count on an extra cuddle sometime around 2 am. What could you say? You always slept better with him by your side.

Tonight, sleep proved to be a challenge. Clark had been gone for hours, off handling what you think you heard as some underground group of metahumans terrorizing the capital of Wales? After a while, you couldn’t find it in yourself to watch the news. Sue you, but the constant sight of your boyfriend smashing into concrete and brick buildings wasn’t how you wanted to spend the evening. It never was easy, knowing every time he left in that cape, there was the slightest chance he wouldn’t return. The habit of flicking on the television, just to become distraught and overwhelmed, and turning it off only to cave and flick it on again, consumed your evenings.

The bed was cold, feeling larger than normal without Clark’s large frame claiming more than half the bed and hogging the blankets. Your feet fluttered under the duvet, trying to shake the nerves and unease that engulfed your body. He should’ve been back by now, slipping through the door with a smirk and some half-funny quip about his injuries; it never was all that funny to you. You knew he needed to stop by the fortress first if he was hurt, recharge and heal, and maybe check on Krypto before flying back. Still, it was 4 am, and the news declared the situation to be handled by 1 am.

The thoughts swirling in your brain halted when a crash and the sound of shattering glass echoed through the living room. You jolted upright in bed, stumbling quietly out from the sheets and reaching for the steel pipe you had stashed under the bedframe. Clark always thought it was ridiculous, offering to get you a bat or something, but the pipe was found with your first apartment, and you’d had no issues in all your years since in Metropolis, maybe it was a good luck charm.

You slowly inched to the door as you heard grunts mixed with the sounds of stumbling feet and soft pounding. Any bit of drowsiness you had managed to build up while lying in bed was gone. If you needed to escape, the front door was in the kitchen, which was right next to the bedroom. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Unless they weren’t human.

Before you could continue to spiral and plan your first mode of attack, the familiar sound of a bark bounced up the other side of the door.

“Krypto?” you asked hesitantly as you lowered the pipe. The grading sound of that familiar yelp continued, confirming your suspicions.

You placed the pipe on the bed before slowly pulling the door open. You couldn’t even greet the superdog before he latched onto the hem of your shorts and tugged you out of the room.

“Hey, buddy, slow down,” you said as you stumbled behind him, trying not to fall. Something was wrong; the high-strung and chaotic pup you had come to know well was never this focused. He dragged you to the living room before letting go of your shorts with a bark. The white dog rushed over to the window- that’s when you saw.

The large bay window was shattered, exposing the crisp air of the early morning. Glass was strewn across the hardwoods. Lying face down in the middle was Clark. He looked wrecked, bruises covered the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and blood dripped from his lips and soaked parts of his hair. His arm twitched slightly, letting you know there was something damaged beneath the suit. He looked awful. The haunting rattling from his chest was the worst, filling the silent room and pounding in your ears.

“Clark!” you said, rushing to his side. As carefully as possible, you slipped to your knees, being sure to avoid the bits of glass that surrounded the scene. Your hands began to shake as you reached for him, scared to do any further damage. You rarely saw him like this, and if so, it tended to be through news footage. 

“Honey, hey,” gently, you tried to turn him off his face and onto his back. He cried out at the movement, but his voice quickly turned to a whimper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

He didn’t respond, just fluttered his eyes open and glanced up at you. Through the blood on his lips, he still flashed you a smile. Your heart stuttered.

“Hi baby,” he said, through bloody teeth.

“Clark, honey, what are you doing here?” Your voice was frantic as your hands hovered over him, afraid to touch anywhere. 

“…needed to heal,” he said, trying to lean up into your touch, but the movement just brought more pain.

Delicately, your hands moved to cup his face, softly brushing a bit of glass from the sable curls that framed his face. As your fingers grazed the dark bruises by his eyes, you couldn’t help but notice how he relaxed under your hands. 

Krypto leapt up onto the couch beside you, crawling up to the front and watching as you tried to figure out what to do next.

“Why…why didn’t you go to the f-fortress?” You asked. He hated how he could hear the tremors in your voice, hated how visibly distressed you were. He hated that he was the one to cause it.

He tried once again to lean upright into a sitting position. This time, you grabbed him and quickly propped him against the couch. At this angle, it seemed the airflow in his lungs was strengthened.

“I…too far,” he said, his bright blue eyes fully opening and meeting yours. “I couldn’t…make it. I got as far as outside the city but...”

Your hands moved slowly down from his neck to his chest. Through the thick blue fabric, you could feel the cracked bones of his clavicle and sternum. Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to relax.

“Then why …? Clark, why did Krypto bring you here? I can’t—I can’t fix this,” you said, your words spilled out in an almost incoherent ramble. Your panic stilled for just a moment as you felt Clark’s hand softly reach up for yours, guiding it to his chest where your palm felt the steady thumping of his heart.

“I told him to take me home,” he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

A soft sigh left your chest; you couldn’t place what it was, perhaps it was a mix of surprise or relief or even resignation. Those words were everything you wanted to hear. You wanted nothing more than to be his safety, his place to go and feel protected. If he wasn’t battered on your living room floor, those words would have driven you to kiss him silly.

Your hands came to rest on his neck, tenderly keeping his weary head up as you focused.

“Okay… okay, love,” you said, nodding to yourself as your thumbs brushed softly along the dips of his cheeks. Your eyes darted around the room, trying to remember where you placed the first aid kit. You began to rise from your spot beside him, hoping to find some hydrogen peroxide and gauze to clean out the gash by his hairline. A strong hand on your wrist held you back.

“Don’t… please stay,” he said, his brows curling up as he pleaded his case.

“Clark, I need to get stuff to clean you up…we need to fix you,” you said, brushing back some curls to get a look at the wound.

“The sun will be up soon… I’ll be fine,” he said. “Please, just stay, sunshine.” Your hands moved to cup his face once again, gently leaning in to place a soft kiss to his temple. 

“Please, I can’t see you like this. Just let me make you better?” you asked. 

Clark always knew his biggest weakness was kryptonite, but somewhere along the way, that changed. Somehow, it became you. He never could deny you, say no, or dare to not put your needs or wants before his own. It didn’t matter if it was inconvenient or difficult or even impossible; if it was for you, he’d make it happen. He could see the fear and devotion in your eyes; he knew the sight of himself was crushing you. You needed comfort, you needed to feel useful, as if somehow you could make it all okay for him. He knew he’d be fine with a few hours, but if you needed to patch him up, then so be it. Who was he to say no when you asked?

“Yeah… of course, baby,” he said, his hand gingerly squeezing yours before letting you go. With a relieved sigh, you rushed to the kitchen. You didn’t miss the needy sigh that left his lips at your absence. 

Krypto dashed from the couch, following you through the apartment as you checked your cabinets. You carded through the bathroom until you gathered everything you’d need. Rushing back to Clark’s side, you could feel the pounding of your heart begin to slow. Words ran through your mind, repeating like a mantra as you tried to compose yourself. He’s okay, he’s alive, he’s here. 

You spilled your medical stash along the rug as you returned to his side. You gently began to wash out the first cut you saw. You stretched over him as you worked, kneeling but no longer resting on your legs as you found the best angle to wash out the wound. Your hands worked quickly, stopping the bleeding before applying butterfly plasters to close it.

Somewhere lost in your mission, you noticed the weight of the superbeing below you melting into your chest. Clark’s head rested safely against your chest. His good arm wrapped around your thighs, keeping you as close as he could with the strength he had. The sound of his breathing still left you shaky, but his sighs of content helped. 

By the time you had finished, the sun began to creep its way over the sky-high buildings of Metropolis. Warm light filtered in through your apartment, casting deep shadows before banishing them with a brighter day. Your hands gently shook Clark.

“Love, sun’s up,” you said. His strength was returning, but he still had injuries only the yellow sun could fix. He slung his arm around you and helped you pull him up as you moved him over to the window. 

You did your best to hold him still and steady as the bright glow of the sun coated his body. You were never around when he took his time to heal; you never saw the way he thrashed and cried out at the pain. As much as it killed you to hear his whimpers, you held him firmly, using what little strength you had as a human to keep the god-like man in your arms upright.

With one last cry, Clark sagged back into your arms. You struggled to keep him rooted, but he soon caught himself. You watched as he drew in deep, long breaths, air finally filling his lungs without the eerie rattle you’d never get out of your head. His hands gripped your arm and hip. His arm was straightened out, firm and taut once again. With one last breath, he stretched back up.

“Are-are you okay?” you asked, your hands once again moving around in search of any surprise injuries you may have missed. With a soft laugh, Clark took your hands and pressed a kiss to your palms. He pulled you in closer, cupping the back of your head and slipping his fingers through your hair.

“I’m fine, sunshine. I said I would be,” he said, pulling you close and resting his forehead to yours. “You took care of me.”

You nodded at his words, falling into his chest as your arms wrapped tightly around him. Calloused hands stroked your hair and held you to him as he placed kisses on the top of your head. You peeked around Clark’s large frame to see Krypto stretched over the couch, his tail thumping at the faded leather as he watched you both.

“I’m glad Krypto brought you to me,” you said, resting your head back over Clark’s heart. The steady beat filled your ear and soothed any anxieties that settled in your bones. 

Clark rested his chin atop your head, sighing softly as he squeezed you gently, “He brought me home.”

---

I hope you liked it! kinda quick and eh but thx for reading <3

[stvrw1tch]

This has me kicking me feet 😩💗

[glorestarz]

YO I’m the free use anon)?) if I did set it to anon anyways. Just wanted to add on to my previous ask because it automatically got sent.

Your writing has me hooked and I thought it’d be cool to send you an ask. If you decide to do it, let loose and do whatever you want with it!

enter— your pretty house husband !!

status: edited + proofread

synopsis: your friends come over for a game night, and you can’t help but want to show him off.

word count: 3k

cw: porn with no plot, AMAB reader, FTM char (AFAB terminology used), established relationship, dom! reader, top!reader, sub!char, bottom!char, free use, exhibitionism, voyeurism, pussy slapping, fingering, praise kink, possessiveness.

note: thank you so much for the request! i hope it met your expectations! 🫶

the living room buzzes with laughter and the clatter of dice as your friends settle in, but your attention keeps drifting to him.

he—your beautiful, obedient boy, your pretty house husband, the perfect display of submission and want—moves through the kitchen with practiced ease: refilling glasses, offering snacks, wiping crumbs from the counter with a gentle, almost absentminded grace that makes your chest tighten and your cock throb.

he’s meticulous, always making sure every glass is full, every snack perfectly arranged, every detail attended to just the way you love. the house sparkles under his care—pillows fluffed, candles lit, the faint scent of his favorite cookies wafting from the kitchen. he anticipates your needs, bringing you your favorite drink before you even ask, checking that you’re comfortable, giving you that sweet, adoring smile that says he lives to please you.

the curve of his ass as he bends over the table is a private invitation, a promise, making you shift in your seat and clench your fists to keep from dragging him into your lap right there.

every time he moves it’s for you, whether he knows it or not—every flick of his wrist, every dimpled smile, every time the hem of his shorts rides up, showing off the soft swell of his thighs and the barest hint of his pussy beneath the fabric.

he tucks stray hair behind his ear, cheeks pink, and his eyes dart to you—always checking, making sure you want for nothing, and always craving your attention.

you do notice—every detail, every shiver, every unconscious arch of his back that presses his ass out for you to admire.

his shirt clings to him just right, outlining the curve of his waist and the soft skin you want to mark up all over again, and you don’t miss how the fabric of his shorts hugs the fullness of his thighs, the hint of wetness darkening the inseam.

he’s so soft, so pretty, and when he fusses over napkins or straightens a stack of games, you know he’s doing it for your praise.

"do you need anything else, love?" he asks quietly, voice gentle and eager as he leans closer. the question is for you, but his eyes flick to your friends, as if hoping they, too, will notice just how attentive he is.

you grin, letting your hand brush his hip. "you're perfect, baby. keep showing off for me."

he blushes deeper, ducking his head as he returns to his tasks, a little smile tugging at his lips.

when he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips linger a second too long, and his fingers skim your waist as if asking you to claim him. sometimes he leans in so close you catch the faint sweetness of his skin, the unique scent of him and his soap of choice, and you wonder if your friends can see the flush on his cheeks, the evidence of your teeth on his neck just visible where his collar falls open.

later, as he passes you another drink, one of your friends jokes, "careful, he'll spoil you. wish mine took care of me like that."

you smirk, pulling him gently into your lap for a second. "maybe you should take notes."

he laughs, barely above a whisper, "i like taking care of you."

every time he glances at you, it’s a plea to be seen, to be shown off—your boy, your house husband, your needy little thing.

you adore how he blushes under your gaze, how he soaks up your praise, desperate to be recognized as yours, his ears burning pink when the others tease him about being the perfect host.

you want everyone to see how lucky you are, how much you crave him, how you’d bend him over the kitchen table or the back of the couch at any opportunity—spread him open, mouth on his pussy, tongue buried deep until he’s shaking, sobbing, begging, just to remind him—and everyone else—who he belongs to.

he’s yours. he wants the world to know it, and you’ll never tire of letting him put himself on display.

your friends sometimes complain, half-joking and half-envious, about the way you and he disappear together at gatherings or the not-so-innocent marks he tries to hide the next day.

they tease you for being insatiable, for how you can’t seem to keep your hands off him even when company’s over, for the way you look at him like you’re always moments from dragging him away.

sometimes you catch them rolling their eyes or making snide comments about your lack of self-restraint, but you only feel a surge of pride—why should you hide your desire, your luck, the way he’s yours in every way?

what a useless thing to do.

you want them to see, to know just how thoroughly you adore him, how much he craves your attention and how gladly he gives himself to you.

there’s a part of you that wants to show off, to let everyone witness the way he melts for you, the way you can make him blush and squirm with just a look or a whispered word.

their complaints only make you bolder, eager to prove that what you have with him is something worth envying, worth flaunting, a love and hunger so intense it can’t—and shouldn’t—be hidden.

you want them to imagine what it’s like when you pull him onto your lap and make him ride you, slow and deep, until he’s shaking and sobbing into your shoulder—how his pussy clenches around you, greedy for every inch, how you hold him open and watch him drip all over your cock, gasping as you fuck him through wave after wave of needy pleasure.

you want them to know how he begs for you to fill him up, how he whimpers for your tongue, your fingers, desperate for the stretch and the praise, all the filthy words that make him come undone.

you want them to imagine the nights where you bend him over the kitchen counter or pin him against the wall and fuck him hard without so much as a word, where his cries echo through the house, and you make sure every mark you leave is one he’ll wear with pride the next day.

you want your friends to see, to really understand, how you own him—how he’s yours to tease, yours to ruin, yours to show off however you please. he’s the perfect display, your favorite prize, and you’d let the world watch if it meant they’d know just how beautiful, how desperate, how absolutely wrecked he is for you every single night.

and you notice it—the way your friends shift in their seats, the way their eyes linger, the flush on their cheeks or the subtle bulge in their pants betraying just how much watching turns them on.

sometimes you catch them glancing away, embarrassed to be caught, but you know they’re imagining what it would be like to have him, to see him come undone for them the way he does for you.

their hands sometimes drift to their laps, knuckles pale as they try to discreetly adjust themselves, biting back groans. they're not sneaky with it at all. the gall, really.

you see the hunger in their eyes, the way their lips part, breaths shallow, as they witness the two of you together.

tonight, you can’t help yourself. you'd indulge it.

when the conversation grows loud and everyone is focused on the board, the urge becomes too strong to resist.

you slide your hand around his waist, fingers curling possessively against his soft skin, and tug him gently further into your lap, right there in front of your friends.

at first, he freezes—shocked, flustered, his breath catching as he processes the sudden intimacy.

you steady him with a firm hand on his hip, guiding him to straddle you.

his cheeks burn as your friends notice and laugh, egging you on with teasing whistles and catcalls, their playful jeers mixing with the nervous energy between you.

"damn, get a room!" someone jeers, but you just smirk and hold him tighter.

"nah, i like it here," you say, voice low but clear. "want everyone to see how pretty he is for me."

your hands wander boldly, squeezing his bare thighs as his shorts ride up, the muscles beneath your fingers tensing with each touch.

you press kisses to his neck, lips skimming over flushed skin, and you savor the faint, shivery whimper he lets out.

from where he straddles you, knees bracketing your hips, his back arches, chest rising and falling with fast, shallow breaths.

your friends can’t help but stare; his shirt has ridden up, exposing the soft curve of his waist, the marks you’ve left behind from earlier.

you shift him so he’s facing the room, to his surprise, straddling your lap with his back pressed tight to your chest, every inch of him on display for your friends.

you push his legs wide, planting your hands firmly on his inner thighs, keeping him open.

his shorts barely cover anything now, riding up so high that the soft skin of his inner thighs is completely exposed, and you let your friends catch every trembling breath, every flush across his cheeks.

"what're you doing?" he whines.

you whisper in his ear, low and teasing, letting everyone else hear: "let them look, baby. you're perfect like this."

with a slow, deliberate motion, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and pull them down over his hips, letting them slide to mid-thigh.

the room falls silent as you expose him—soft, pretty, dripping for you—his thighs spread wide and nothing left to hide.

the flush on his face deepens, lips parted as he sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting between your friends and your hand.

for a moment, you pause, letting the anticipation build, then you take his hand and guide it between his own thighs, urging him to spread himself open for the audience.

far from shrinking away in shame, instead, with trembling fingers, he obeys, like you knew he would, pulling himself wide, revealing his slick, needy entrance to everyone watching, his breath coming in fast, shuddering gasps as he shows off the most intimate part of himself.

the soft pink folds part easily under his fingers, glistening with arousal, the delicate rim fluttering each time he breathes or you whisper in his ear.

his entrance is flushed and swollen, slick with need, the inner walls pulsing and glossy in the light—so wet you can see the sheen of it catching on his knuckles.

it’s a beautiful, obscene sight: the way his hole clenches and relaxes, shiny and inviting, on full display for everyone in the room.

you keep a possessive arm wrapped around his waist, whispering filthy encouragement into his ear while your other hand joins his, rolling your thumb over the sensitive, wet seam and angling his hips so the room has a perfect view of how ready he is for you.

letting your friends witness every detail, you murmur, "show them how much you love this, baby. let them see you inside."

each time he spreads himself wider, exposing the flutter of his entrance and the shine of arousal, your pride grows.

every breath he takes is visible, chest fluttering, his body straining to stay still despite the attention.

your friends watch, rapt and silent, as you make a show of it—of how easily he gives in to you, how much he trusts you.

"look at him," you murmur to the room. “all mine. just for me to play with."

your fingers trace over the slickness between his legs, and you feel his whole body shiver in your arms.

nothing to hide—your pretty house husband, shuddering as you let your palm cup his heat, thumb circling, pressing just enough to make him choke on a gasp. it was this strange feeling that everyone was looking at him, which was uncomfortable.

perhaps because there were so many people whose attention were only on him. it rivaled nothing else. even deep breaths didn't clear his clogged chest, so he tried taking a big breath to expand his lungs. but there was still a sticky feeling as if his alveoli weren't fully expanding.

nothing comes out.

his head falls back against your shoulder, eyes fluttering, mouth open as you whisper, "that's it, let them see how perfect you are for me."

you can feel how wet he is for you, slick and needy, and you let your fingers slip lower, teasing at his entrance with slow, deliberate strokes.

the anticipation makes him tremble, thighs quivering as you slide one finger inside.

his walls flutter around you, every pulse a silent plea for more, and you relish the hungry, jealous looks you draw from the crowd.

he clings to your arm, hips rolling up to meet your hand, desperate for more, his breath coming in short, whimpering gasps, head dropping back against your shoulder as he surrenders to your touch.

you add a second finger, slowly stretching him open, feeling his body tense and then yield, the lewd, wet sound of your fingers working him echoing through the charged silence.

his rim clenches, fluttering at the intrusion, as you curl your fingers just right, searching for that sensitive spot inside.

your thumb circles his clit with teasing, featherlight strokes, coaxing out shivers and broken cries, his voice growing hoarse with need.

your onlookers watch, transfixed, as you work him open for everyone to see—the way his thighs quake, the way his body arches, the way he bites his lip to keep from begging aloud. unable to look away from the way he squirms and gasps, from the lewd, sounds filling the room, from the way you stretch him wide and make him beg, knowing they’re hard and aching just from watching.

you take pride in how you can make your crowd of friends so desperate, so jealous, so turned on they can barely sit still, all because he’s yours to ruin and flaunt. too bad for them.

the air is thick with the scent of his arousal, and you take pride in just how much he responds to you, even with watching eyes.

when you find it, his thighs shake, hips bucking uncontrollably as you press down just right, forcing a helpless cry from his lips, nails digging into your arm as you thrust into him, slow and deep, showing everyone the way he falls apart for you.

you can feel him squeezing around your fingers, his body fluttering as you keep up the relentless rhythm—fingers scissoring, stretching him wider, making it impossible for him to hide just how much he loves being filled and put on display.

wet, squelching sounds fill the room, obscene and shameless as you piston your fingers in and out, your palm pressed tight against his mound, grinding against his swollen clit. his attempt to steady his breathing was futile. scraping the inner walls recklessly and thrusting rapidly into the unsuspecting mucosa of his insides, had made him practically forget when to breathe.

then, cruelly, you pull your hand back just enough to let it hover over his pussy, letting the suspense build as he trembles in your lap.

you bring it down with a sharp, deliberate slap, the sound a wet crack that echoes through the room.

the sting makes him gasp, his whole body jolting—hips bucking, thighs quaking, his pussy clenching and gushing fresh slick as the sensation ripples through every nerve.

he whimpers, legs spreading wider without even thinking, as you rub your hand over the reddening skin, feeling the heat and the way he pulses against your palm.

you slap him again, harder this time, and watch as his pussy grows even slicker, the tender flesh flushed deep pink, glistening with arousal and shining in the light.

each smack sends fresh waves of pleasure and humiliation through his trembling body—he arches, moans, his entrance fluttering and leaking, coating your fingers as you tease him between slaps.

his abs tense, back arching, eyes squeezed shut as he rides out the sting and the praise, his body begging for more even as he squirms in your lap.

your friends watch, transfixed and silent, as you alternate between spanking and fondling, showing off how easily he melts for you, how much he loves the attention, the roughness, the ache.

his whimpers turn shameless, louder, as you murmur filthy praise in his ear and slap him again, letting everyone see the way he gushes for you—slick streaming out, his thighs shaking, desperate and needy, lost in the sensation.

the next slap lands perfectly, and this time his whole body jerks—his pussy tightening and fluttering around your fingers before he suddenly goes still, every muscle tensed.

the impact resonated and there’s a split second of breathlessness, before he lets out a broken moan as he gushes hard against you, his milky cum burst forth from him, release soaking your hand, the evidence of his pleasure on full display for everyone to see.

you hold him tight, whispering encouragement as he trembles and rides out the aftershocks, completely undone by the sting and the praise, lost in the bliss of being shown off and claimed so openly.

one of your friends finally breaks the tension, voice low and admiring: "god, he's really well trained, isn't he?"

another pipes up, laughing gently, "you've got him so obedient—look at how he just takes it, all pretty and eager."

someone else whistles, adding, "wish mine listened like that. he's perfect for you."

don’t you know it well.

their compliments wash over both of you, fueling your pride and making your house husband squirm in your lap, his face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.

you catch his eye and grin, letting him bask in the praise. you should do this more often.

[stvrw1tch]

Y’all I have no words…hehehe