#I’m going to have to hold back the urge

[the-librabry]

FANCY SEEING YOU HERE II

- DANTE SPARDA (DMC)

Thanks for all the love on part one, much appreciated. FSYH is not finished but it’s also not fleshed out (pure brainrot) so if you have ideas you would like to see here, you’re more than welcome to comment or send an ask my way.

Happy reading!

Part one

6:57pm.

You were waiting at the front doors of a grand hotel lobby. Enzo assured that this was an intel only mission, however the heavily armed security posted on every corner had you thinking otherwise. Whoever was in there was considered a risk, and while you hadn’t known Dante for long, you doubted his ability to act tactfully.

As another man held the hotel door open for you, you politely waved your and in rejection, “Just waiting for someone, thank you.”

The man looked down your figure once more, sending you a wink before disappearing inside. You fought the urge to cringe in disgust, and looked around once more into the dark street. It was bustling with traffic as cars pulled into the valet parking, you hoped Dante would be here soon. You were starting to freeze you ass off in this thin dress, although floor length, the fabric did nothing to warm you.

A low whistle called from behind you, “Damn sweetheart, holding out on me earlier were you?”

As you turn around you can blatantly see Dante staring you down, his eyes glued to the way the dress highlights your curves. It’s not really the low cut of the dress that gets him going though (although it certainly helps) it’s the deep red colour you’ve purposely chosen to wear. The symbol alone, the idea that you’re an item is enough to make his mind jump off the deep end into his fantasies.

“Can’t show all my cards now can I?”

“Guess not,” he mutters absently, watching the way your heels clack against the stone pavement.

Once you’re close enough, you lean in, “Did Enzo send you the target details?”

Naturally, Dante reaches forth to place a hand on your waist. To outsiders you look like a couple getting comfortable, and he’s fighting to keep the act up. “Yeah, some hotshot boss man right? Has information on some demon hoard,”

“Not just a demon hoard, rumours have it that he has access to his own portal, did you read all of the report?”

Dante hums dismissively, his thumb circling your hipbone, “I was thinking about other things,”

“Like what?” You scoff.

“What’s our backstory?” He questions, eyes peering up at you.

You frown, tilting your head, “Sorry? I didn’t see a backstory in the plans,”

The man laughs, gently tugging you closer as he watches another couple walk through the doors of the hotel lobby. They nod towards each other out of curtesy, “I’m thinking we met through work friends, everyone said you were too good for me, but I, ever persistent, refused to back down,”

You laugh out of disbelief, “Are you forming our dating history? I don’t think that’s necessary, no one is going to pick up on that,”

Dante looks down at you, his expression shifting into a tense furrow, “They are going to catch us in an instant if we can’t blend in, I’m not risking that.”

This makes you pause, the break in his usual flirty character makes you second guess yourself. When you look over your shoulder into the hotel lobby you can see multiple partners chatting and drinking. Had Enzo set you up for failure? This didn’t seem like a usual business gathering. The fancy dress code, affluent crowd, and security made it seem more like a private gala.

“How long were you chasing me before I agreed to a date?”

Dante smirks, “Three and a half failed attempts over two months,”

Your eyebrow quirks, “Half attempt?”

The man sighs, waving his hand in distant memory, “You were drunk, I drove you home, and you kept spouting on about how handsome I was—”

You raise your hand with a scoff, “Not likely,” you tap your chin in though, “How about, I agreed to a fake date at a work function to avoid an ex boyfriend?”

Dante hummed, “A jilted lover huh?” He shuffles closer, in the name of keeping up appearances, he justifies, “Seems likely, poor guy I’d almost pity him.”

You shake your head in disbelief, you’re almost tempted to break out of his grasp but the thunk of car doors behind you signals that people are still walking past into the building. Instead of shying away you lean forward, tilting your head and completely invading his space.

You raise your hand, a manicured finger gently tracing his cheek, “Well, he was a disappointment. His ego couldn’t keep up with his performance, if you know what I mean,”

Dante feels a spark crackle down his spine, he’s pleasantly surprised by your adaptability. Most people like wouldn’t humour him for this long, and he’s starting to mourn that he’ll never experience this again.

His eyebrows furrow together in confusion. You roll your eyes, “Don’t make me spell it out for you Dante, have a little bit of taste,”

His sly smile gives him away, “I’d never disappoint you darling, promise,”

You hum, “We done now? I know I’m getting paid overtime, but I have got to get to my bed at some point tonight,”

“Can I join?” The quick response makes you slap his arm. Not wanting to humour him longer, you grab his hand and turn around. Dante falls in step with you as you walk towards the lobby doors, he props the door open, ushering you in with his other arm around your waist.

A door man greets you instantly, offering to take your coat. You smile warmly, turning your back towards him but before he can step forward, Dante intervenes by placing his body between your back and the doorman.

“Allow me, sweetheart. Why don’t you go ahead and find our table?” Dante murmurs.

You can see the doorman back off instantly from the corner of your eye. When you look over your shoulder at Dante, you can see why. His gaze looks murderous as he slips your coat off, you mentally applaud his dedication to the role.

Following his lead, you nod both to him and politely at the doorman, “Sure, don’t take too long,”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs, gently dropping a kiss on your shoulder before backing up. The slight feel of it makes you pause, a tingle remains in the spot but you refuse to make a deal of it. Instead, you look over at him once more to see him walking towards the coat room before making your way into the venue.

The person of interest tonight it Marcus Wicks, a man with some very deep pockets, and interesting ties with some unorthodox scientists. Information on him is limited, as he has done a good job sticking close to the shadows or having other informants do his work for him.

You catch sight of the man as you walk over to your table, he’s standing near the corner, surrounded by what you assume is associates chatting around him and security behind him. He looks over his shoulder to ensure they’re there before being pulled into a conversation.

Paranoid much? You look over the name plates on the table, stopping when you see yours and Dante’s. You’re not sure how Enzo managed to get you both into this venue, but you’ve learnt not to question it if it’ll save you the headache. You’ve barely just sat before the lady to your left turns to you.

“My, my that gown is gorgeous, what a beautiful colour,” she gushes.

You smile politely. “Oh, thank you, you’re too kind. I could say the same about you,”

The lady waves her hand, “Oh, this old thing. I didn’t even bother buying a new dress, I’ve been to so many of these things by now, they’re starting to get boring. I’m glad to see a new face,” she grins, “Are here with someone?”

You lean in closer in an act of interest, if she’s been here for a while she could offer some insight about Marcus. You’re about to ask but she cuts you off with a wide flourish of her hands, “Wait! I’ve got the perfect guy for you! He recently moved here, tall, good looking,” she leans in a closer with a whisper, “Rich too,”

A hand drops on your shoulder, “Goodness sweetheart, trading me in already?” You look up to see Dante had made his way over, “I know I was in the doghouse but I didn’t think you’d get rid of me that fast. What can I do to make it up to you, my love?”

You laugh, placing your hand over you chest and on his, “Don’t be dramatic, I was just about to introduce you,”

The lady in front of you gasps, “I’m so sorry! I just assumed because you had no ring, my husband is always telling me to think before I speak, oh god how embarrassing,”

You smile in reassurance, “Please, don’t apologise, it’s not a big deal,” you pat Dante’s hand, “This is Dante, my partner,” the sentence rolls off your tongue smoothly.

Dante squeezes your shoulder, “Pleasure to meet you…” he draws out.

“How rude of me, I don’t believe we introduced each other. Vivian,”

You introduce yourself in turn. The first thing you learn about Vivian is that she is one nosy lady, she has gossip on just about every person present in the building. Dante stands as a steady shadow behind you, thumb rubbing the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone gently as he half listens, half surveys the room.

“Mr.Wicks, or Marcus, is a new addition to our little events. I can’t remember who invited him, he just showed up one day and quickly became a popular patron,” Vivian takes a sip of her wine, “Probably because he has all the money in the world to burn,”

Your eyes widen, “He really has that much?”

“That much, and more darling. He’s got a very successful data broker company that keeps his hobbies afloat.”

Dante leans over your shoulder, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to introduce myself to the others,”

You look over at him, “Sure, I’ll see you soon,”

You watch as Dante walks over to a group of men nearby the open bar. He bumps his elbow into one of the men in a friendly gesture, shaking his hand with a broad grin. He’s a natural at this. You almost shake your head in disbelief, it’s like he has a pull that draws people in. One that you’re starting to fall victim to.

Vivian chimes in, “You two are gorgeous together,”

To save yourself from an embarrassing flush, you reach for your drink, “Thank you,”

“No, really, I’ve never seen a man so enamoured,” is that jealousy you hear? “It’s like you fit in each others shadows, a complete match,”

You take a sip of your drink before responding. Pondering how you should go about this conversation, “We’re not perfect,” you laugh, “We’ve had our fair share of fights, that I can assure you of,”

Vivian hums thoughtfully, “What’s your secret then? What keeps you two together?”

At this, you grin, “Stubbornness.”

After a few moments you manage to get out of Vivian’s spotlight and steer the conversation back to Marcus. You lean that his hobbies include everything about demonology, and portals.

“Gateways to other dimensions, he calls it,” she waves her hand dismissively, “I couldn’t tell you anything else I tuned out after that. Honestly, what a load of garbage right? Who believes in any of that?”

You nod and take it all in while Vivian has another sip of her drink. Heavy drinker. While what she has told you isn’t anything new, it’s good to have your information solidified by another person.

Before your conversation can continue, a man walks up on stage, “Ladies and gentlemen if you could please make your way to your seats. The event will start soon.”

You watch as every begins to weave between tables to their seat, whispering to each other. It’s not long before Dante drops himself down beside you, he places his hand on your thigh and leans over to whisper in your ear.

“How was your gossip session?”

You hum, “Information was confirmed, nothing new though. What about you and your gentlemen club?”

You can hear Dante inhale, his hand gently rubbing up and down your thigh, “Afraid the club brings bad news,” this makes you frown, “Apparently Marcus is unveiling a project tonight for his loyal followers,”

You tense, rigid enough that Dante squeezes your thigh in reassurance, but that alone is clarification enough of your suspicion.

“He has a demon. Here?” You murmur, trying to keep your breathing even but your heart rate has picked up.

“Yes,” he exhales, “You should sneak out now, I can meet you—”

The lights abruptly cut out, you can make out a screen being lowered as a projector clicks on. When you look over your shoulder you can see Dante is already seeing the same thing. Security closes the door and swiftly locks everyone inside.

“So much for plan A,” Dante mutters.

You don’t know how he can be so calm. Well, you do know, demon hunter and all, but you’re freaking out. Heart rate elevated, your breathing gets heavier, and you think you’re getting dizzy but that could either be the alcohol or paranoia talking.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,”

You whip your head around, facing him directly, “You can’t promise that,” you hiss hysterically, “We don’t even know what we’re up against,”

Vivian looks over at you quizzically, concerned about your rising tone. You smile pleasantly, and pat Dante’s chest patronisingly. She smiles knowingly before turning back to her husband.

Dante leans closer, talking lowly, “Have some faith in me please, sweetheart, this is my job we’re talking about,”

You search his eyes, in the light of the projection screen you see nothing but confidence. Everything from his expression to his body language suggests he has nothing to fear.

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply, when you look back at him, he has an unreadable expression on his face, “I swear Dante, if I come out of this with even a scratch, I’ll be pissed off,”

Marcus makes his unassuming entrance onto the stage. There’s nothing out of the usual with his appearance, just an average looking business man if you didn’t know any better.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining me tonight. As you may know, all your efforts and contribution to my project has come to fruition,” he raises his wine glass, “Please join me in a drink, for this is a celebration of our hard work.”

Applause erupts around the room, you hesitantly join in but Dante remains still with his arm draped across the back of your chair. The rooms becomes quieter as security rolls out a large cage, the contents are covered— typical— by a white sheet.

Marcus goes on, with what you honestly think, is a tangent about his passion for otherworldly dimensions and demons from hell. You can’t find yourself tuning in as much as you should, far too distracted by the cage that sits quietly on stage. Why is it quiet? You would have thought the demon inside would be kicking up a storm in its captivity, but not even the sheet is moving. Is it sedated? Who has their hands on demon grade sedative?

You tense when Marcus walks over to the cage, “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” his hands grasp the sheet, “Feast your eyes, on what is only the beginning of our journey.”

The sheet flies off with a flourish, falling to the ground below the stage, gasps sound from around the room including your own.

The cage is empty.

“Oh, fuck,” you panic.

“Fuck.” Dante sighs.

A strange shadow crosses the projector lens, cause the screen to flicker. You look up at the ceiling, in the darkness of the room you can see a bulking shadow. Hovering right above you.

You clench Dante’s thigh, “Dante—”

“I see it.”

Through your peripheral you can see him gazing up at the ceiling, “Get under the table.” He demands.

You don’t really want to let go of him, it feels more dangerous separating from him than finding cover. Hesitantly, you start to shuffle off your chair slowly to not cause suspicion.

Vivian looks confused as you go, “What are you doing?”

You’re already sitting on the floor when she asks, you make a shushing motion, “Follow me,” you whisper, taking her by the wrist and not taking no for an answer.

Once you’re under the table, she asks again, “What on earth is going on?”

You can hear a chair dragging across the floor beside you, “Where is it then?” Dante calls out. You cringe at his brash attitude.

“Where’s what?” Vivian she asks quietly.

You don’t answer, but Dante does, “The demon? I was promised I would see one tonight.”

You can’t see Marcus’ expression but you assume it’s not a friendly one. You can hear footsteps closing in, security probably, trying to search the perimeter. A unearthly growl reverberates across the room, silencing everyone.

You can see Vivian open her mouth but you slap your hand across it before she can speak. She’s frowning, you’re about to try and placate her when something heavy drops onto the table about your head. It rattles the cutlery and you can see wine glasses fall off the edge.

“Wow,” Dante whistles, “Now that’s what you call an entrance.”

The room erupts with screams, people frantically getting out of their seats and dashing for the exit. You stay perfectly still, even as the table worryingly starts to rattle and tip.

“What is that?” Vivian cries.

“A demon,” you try to say as evenly as possible. You can hear Dante in the background trying to lure the demon off the table.

“What?” Suddenly she looks around frantically, “My husband, what about—”

“I really wouldn’t suggest leaving here right now,” you whisper, “Wait for Dante to lead the demon off the table,”

She stares at you for a moment, “You’re being serious,”

Sounds of cutlery falling crashes around, “Yes,”

“And just what does you partner do?”

You look away, “He’s a demon hunter,”

“A demon hunter,” she frowns, “How did you get in tonight? Who do you know here?”

You sigh, looking at Vivian squarely, “Now is not the time for the full story but I think you’re smart enough to piece it together anyway,”

Vivian looks at you for a long moment, “I want to get out of this alive,” she says finally.

You nod, “Me too.”

You both agree to stick together in solidarity, holding each other’s hand tightly. You hear the demon screech terribly above you.

“That one hurt big guy? Why don’t you come do something about it?” Dante taunts.

Heavy footsteps crack the table, causing splinters to rain down on you. They reach the end of the table, slowly you shuffle back, bringing Vivian with you. When you reach the opposite end, you hesitantly peek out from under the cloth, you can see the stage, now empty, but surprisingly no blood spilt. You hope it stays that way.

You can see an emergency exit door beside the stage, you could make it if you dashed for it. The tablecloth drops as you slip back under, you tug your dress up and reach for your heels.

“What are you doing?” Vivian whispers.

“Take them off,” you respond, “We have to make a run for it.”

Vivian quickly follows your direction. With heels abandoned, you wait for Dante’s signal. Listening carefully you can hear something being thrown before landing with a thunk, the demon responds with a resounding roar.

“I have enough knives to throw to last me all night,” is he being serious? “Are you gonna make the first move? Or do I?”

The table creeks once more, you grab Vivian’s hand. “Get ready.”

The table tips with the demons weight, exposing your place of hiding. You take your chance as the demon launches itself at Dante. Keeping low you dash for the emergency exit door, Vivian close behind you. Vivian lets out a terrified gasp, alerting the demon. Its head whips in your direction but you keep going, dragging Vivian even closer.

The demon is about to turn around when Dante runs for it, you only catch a glimpse of it but you swear you see him summon a sword out of nowhere.

“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet.”

You shoulder the exit door open, shoving Vivian through and then slamming it closed again as if that would be enough. Once it’s closed, you grab her hand again and leap down the stairs until you see the doors leading outside.

You gasp, breathing heavily. It’s not safe yet but at least you’re out of the perimeter. It’s raining heavily now, and you’re getting soaked to the bone.

You glance over at Vivian in her deep purple dress, she wraps her arms around herself. “What do I do? My husband…is he alive?”

You swallow, “I don’t know,” you whisper, “But Dante is doing all he can, don’t lose hope yet.”

She nods absently. You can hear police sirens in the distance.

Not long after, you were ushered away from the lobby doors by paramedics begrudgingly, despite explaining you weren’t hurt. But they insisted you get out of the rain to avoid hypothermia, so now you sit increasingly anxious in the back of an ambulance with a blanket over your shoulders. You can hear gunshots, even a few windows shatter.

It felt like forever before it finally went silent. Moments passed before you saw police securing civilians out of the building. You leap out of the ambulance, despite the worried shouts of paramedics you run for the doors. Staying behind the parked police but looking anxiously.

Familiar white hair can be spotted easily amongst the crowd, “Dante!”

You can see him more clearly now, his clothes are torn from what looks like claw marks. And there’s bloodstains, of either his or the demon’s you can’t be certain. His head turns in the direction of his name, spotting you instantly. He walks over, mid-conversation with the police, which irks them you can see but they don’t try to follow him.

“Missed me?” He smirks.

You exhale, relieved to see him okay, “All pieces of you accounted for?”

“All the important ones anyway,”

He smiles, tucking your drenched hair behind your ear, “I told you, you’d be okay. Look you even made it out with no scratches. Damn, I am good at my job,”

“You scared me half to death,” you exasperate.

Dante looks at you for a moment, “You care about me, sweetheart?”

Your eyes widen at the insinuation, you look down at your bare feet to avoid his gaze. You were just put through an intense situation, one that you were nowhere near prepared for. And you don’t appreciate that being downplayed.

“Yes, I do care, for you wellbeing,” you hiss, “You are one of my hunters, and what you did in there was reckless at best! Taunting a demon like that, are you fucking stupid?”

“I like it when you call me yours,”

“Don’t deflect the conversation—”

He steps closer into your space, you’re practically chest to chest, and the height difference causes you to look up.

“I am fine,” he emphasises, “Renowned demon hunter, remember? I know my limit, and I don’t need you to worry about me,”

“You’re impossible,”

Dante shrugs, “Get used to it angel, because you’re going to see a lot more of it.”

You can head Vivian in the background shouting her husband’s name, when you look over you can see her leaping into his arms. You let out a sigh of relief, you’re glad they got reunited. Her husband hugs her tight as she sobs into his arms.

“Saw what you did in there, brave of you,”

You look away, “Kinda stupid separating them though, worried her for nothing,”

Dante hums, “He was lucky this time that I was there, you though, you saved her. Sure we can’t make a hunter out of you?”

You look up at him, eyebrow raised. “Maybe not,” he second guesses, “Then who would greet me after my missions?”

“Enzo?” You guess.

Dante scrunches his nose, “Nah, he’s no way near as hot as you,”

You roll your eyes, “Walk me home?”

Dante nods, removing his damaged jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

[formulaonecrumbs]

Hiiiiii xoxo

I love reading your sibling au’s with the drivers they’re so good !!

Would you be open to making one about max Verstappen but as the little brother ? :)

i’m always gonna come find you

Max Verstappen x older sister!reader

summary: after their dad (jos verstappen WHEN I FUCKING CATCH U) left max at the gas station for a ‘bad’ race, reader takes care of him.

warnings: bad dad. hurt little max.

A/N: this situation was perfect for this cuz every time i’m reminded of it, i feel the primal urge to (1) KILL JOS (2) protect little maxie. also i didnt remember when this happened to him so i just made him 13, reader is 18. ENJOY MY LOVVVEEE. i love u, thank u anon, VERY MUCH 🫶

p.s. i won’t do the home film thing for any other sibling au’s when it comes to other drivers cuz i have that reserved for lando IM SORRY!! it’s just special to that series, hope u can understand :)

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

it was getting dark by the time she found him.

the gas station lights buzzed faintly overhead, a flickering, sickly kind of glow. max was sitting on the curb with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, helmet still in his lap like he couldn’t bear to let it go. he looked so small like that. so young. like the little brother she sometimes forgot he still was.

she pulled into the parking lot too fast, tires crunching over gravel, throwing the car into park and practically flying out of it.

“max!” she called, voice already cracking with worry.

his head snapped up immediately, eyes wide — and the second he saw it was her, his whole body sagged, like he could finally breathe again.

she ran to him and dropped to her knees without thinking, gathering him into her arms. he didn’t even hesitate — just pressed his face against her shoulder, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of her hoodie.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it. “i tried. i really tried—”

“shh, hey, no,” she soothed, pulling back enough to cup his face in her hands. his cheeks were pink from the cold, and his eyes were glassy with tears he was trying so hard not to let fall. “none of that, okay? you don’t ever have to be sorry with me.”

he sniffed hard, ducking his head a little like he didn’t quite believe her.

she brushed his messy hair back from his forehead, feeling her heart splinter at the sight of him. thirteen years old and already carrying the weight of expectations he didn’t deserve. already blaming himself for things that weren’t his fault.

“dad was mad,” he whispered. it wasn’t really a surprise, but hearing it still made her chest ache. “he said i embarrassed him.”

her hands tightened on him instinctively.

“dad’s wrong,” she said firmly, voice leaving no room for argument. “you hear me, max? he’s wrong. you didn’t embarrass anyone. you raced your heart out. that’s what matters. and leaving you here—” she broke off, shaking her head. “there’s no excuse for that. none.”

max looked up at her then, cautious, like he was waiting for her to get mad too.

but all he found was her, steady and sure and warm.

“you’re not alone,” she promised, her voice gentler now. “i’m always gonna come for you. always.”

his lip wobbled. just a little.

then he threw his arms around her neck again, this time holding on even tighter.

she hugged him back just as fiercely, rocking him slightly like she used to when he was little and scared of thunderstorms.

for a long time, they just stayed there on the curb, wrapped up in each other while the rest of the world spun on.

finally, she pulled back enough to smile at him — a real smile, soft and proud.

“c’mon,” she said, standing and offering him her hand. “let’s get you home.”

max nodded, still silent, but he took her hand without hesitation, gripping it tightly like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

and maybe it was.

maybe it always would be.

THE END :>

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

Robin’s double-triple-quadruple checking that Steve is okay—well, okay as he can be, gritting his teeth as Nancy wraps hastily made bandages around him—when she sees Eddie turn away out the corner of her eye.

She follows the movement unconsciously, but then she really looks, and at first she thinks it’s just this god-awful place draining the colour out of everything, but wow, he looks bad.

“Hey,” she says as brightly as she can, “you just checking out the scenery over here or…?”

Eddie shakes his head, and that immediately seems like a bad idea because his face gets even paler, which Robin didn’t even think was, like, possible.

“Just needed to—” he says faintly.

And that’s all he gets out before he weaves where he’s standing, and Robin reaches for him instinctively, grabs a hold of his hand; his palm is cold with sweat, and she suddenly finds herself thinking that the rumour going around a couple years ago, that Eddie passed out in the middle of a dissection in Biology, must have some truth in it.

“Okay, we’re okay!” she says quickly, and holds on as tight as she can. “We’re just gonna stand here and breathe.”

She says it a few more times, “We’re just gonna breathe,” and she’s got no idea if it’s the right thing to do or not, whether it’s just deeply annoying or making everything worse.

Eddie closes his eyes, and she worries about that initially, but the grip of his hand gets stronger, and he doesn’t sway again, and when he opens his eyes and looks at her, they’re clear and focused.

He squeezes her hand twice. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t let go, and he looks embarrassed about it, so Robin says that her sense of balance is so incredibly shit, and this is very helpful of him, thank you.

It works at least a little bit; he almost laughs. Then he swallows, and she can feel his urge to look back over despite himself. He stops the motion just in time.

“Is he—” His fingers twitch uneasily. “Is he okay?”

“Yes,” she says immediately.

She really hopes it doesn’t sound like she’s pacifying him. It’s just, she knows by now what to watch out for, she doesn’t even really need to be looking; an awareness of Steve in her periphery is enough.

She rushes to try and clarify, “Like, I know it seems like I was panicking with the rabies thing, I mean, I kinda was super panicking, but I got it all out my system, like I’m a worrier first and foremost, that’s my secret default emotion, you’re welcome, so when I say there’s nothing to worry about, obviously there are plenty of things to worry about, look where we are, but I promise nothing major currently in the Steve department, and I can tell you, like, instantly when that changes, it’s a sixth sense.”

Eddie blinks, looking slightly stunned. Shit, she forgets sometimes that it’s only really Steve who’s used to these monologues.

A big breath. “And I know it seems like I’m panicking because I’m rambling which—okay, that’s sometimes true, but in most cases—this one included, I swear!—me talking way too much just means I’m comfortable with whoever’s listening.” Eddie’s eyes widen. “So, um. Congratulations? Sorry? Take your pick. Does that, um, make sense?”

There’s a pause before Eddie replies—he’s probably still processing just how many words were thrown at him.

“I don’t think you talk too much,” he says in a taken aback kind of way. Then, “And yeah, sure, that makes sense. Just, uh, questioning your judgement.” A slight self-effacing smile. “I’m not typically the kinda guy folks are comfortable around.”

“Is it really so shocking?” Robin says, meaning it as a tease but—

“Yes,” Eddie says, and while he matches her tone, the word teeters between a joke and something vulnerable.

They both turn at a sudden grunt of exertion—Steve’s standing up, supporting himself with one hand leaning on the rock he’d fallen against. Nancy watches his movements with an anxious intensity; Robin follows her eyeline and notes with relief that the bleeding’s stopped.

“We can go to my house,” Nancy says like she’s trying to convince herself it’s a good idea. “There’ll—there must be some bandages or something just. Just in case.”

Steve lets go of the rock and stands up to his full height. It’s a deliberate show of reassurance, Robin thinks, as much for himself as it is for Nancy.

“Sure,” Steve says. “And guns too, right?”

Nancy’s startled into a laugh. For a second, the weight of concern leaves her face. “And guns,” she repeats.

Eddie catches Robin’s eye with an air of bewilderment. “Guns?” he mouths.

Robin nods.

Eddie looks, if possible, even more lost. Then his eyes slide away from Robin’s, and his expression changes; he starts to frown. At first Robin can’t tell what he’s noticed except that there can’t be any more blood, thank God, because he doesn’t look away. Then she sees it too as Steve takes a step forward with a nonchalant, “What are we waiting for? Let’s go,” like the determined normality of his voice can somehow hide the fact that he’s shivering.

Nancy bites her lip, looking like she’s come to the same unwelcome conclusion as Robin: that no matter what they say, it’ll just result in Steve arguing against it.

There’s a rustle off to the side. Robin glances over only in time to see a blur of denim; Steve catches it against his chest. Eddie’s vest.

“For your modesty, dude,” Eddie quips like it’s no big deal, but Robin can instantly sense the care he’s taken in how he’s said it, that he’s guessed intuitively about the kind of person Steve is: the kind who, when Robin once forgot her umbrella, shared his and made sure she was fully covered, despite him getting soaked in the process.

It’s like she can physically see the path that Eddie’s flippancy has opened up. This way Steve accepting the vest is just continuing the joke; he doesn’t need to admit that he actually needs it.

And it works. Steve expertly sidesteps around the vulnerability and shrugs on the vest, echoing Eddie’s levity right back at him.

“Oh, my modesty, sure. Well, in that case, don’t wanna offend you, dude.”

“You know me, propriety is my middle name.”

Steve laughs. He fiddles a little with one of the buttons on the vest then says lightly, as if an afterthought, “Didn’t know you cared.”

It still walks the line of a joke, but Robin can hear his sincerity, and from the look of surprise on Eddie’s face, so can he. And it’s not like Steve being genuine is a surprise to her, but—

The ground gives way beneath her feet; her stomach lurches as she loses her balance, and it’s only when she accidentally catches Eddie’s shoulder that she realises she’s not going to fall through an endless chasm, that the world is just shaking violently—still not a comforting prospect, but she’ll gladly take it over the alternative.

She barely has time to feel the relative relief before another shudder sends her straight to the ground; she’s too caught off guard to even protect her face with her hands. But her landing isn’t nearly as painful as it should be—as everything finally grows still, she finds the reason why: Eddie, who from the awkward twisted position of his legs looks like he was caught equally off guard, and yet he’s still managed to fling an arm around Robin, bracing to keep her from the worst of the impact.

“Did anyone touch the vines?” Nancy asks breathlessly.

Robin and Eddie shake their heads.

“Any, uh, particular reason why?” Eddie says in the tone of someone who’d really rather not find out.

“It’s a hive mind,” Steve and Nancy say simultaneously, in a very hive mind like way.

Robin hums the theme to The Twilight Zone; everyone laughs, some pressure finally released.

“So killer demon bats weren’t enough, we’ve gotta deal with booby traps too,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts. He glances childishly to Robin as if looking for approval; she rolls her eyes with an irrepressible smile. Seriously?

There’s a split second of disbelief before Eddie just grins in delight. “Real mature, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry, man,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just providing what Dustin would’ve done.”

They sober slightly at the reminder that their group’s been split.

“You think they’ve figured out that we’re…?” Eddie wiggles his fingers vaguely. He’s slower at getting to his feet than everyone else had been—he’s still hunched over slightly, rubbing at his knee.

“They will,” Nancy says with conviction.

“Don’t underestimate them,” Steve says mildly.

“Oh, I’m not, believe me. They’re kinda terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” Nancy echoes, laughing again, right as Steve says, “Exactly.”

As if in response to their laughter, there’s a distant growl punctuated with ominous clicking. Steve and Nancy both go rigid, and Robin thinks of the night after Starcourt, when Steve stayed over at her place because neither of them wanted to be alone; and he told her how everything started for him, his voice tripping over the words like he was reliving it all over again: running back to Jonathan Byers’ house, hearing the snarl of a monster.

“Yeah, I’m all for going to the Wheeler sanctum,” Eddie says weakly.

But he doesn’t move initially, so Steve and Nancy end up leading the way. Steve repeatedly sweeps the beam of his flashlight back and forth, making sure that the path is lit up for everyone, and Robin wonders whether he’s so focused on that that he hasn’t yet noticed—

“You’re hurt,” she tells Eddie softly. She’s up and looped her arm through his without thinking—which is kind of a big deal considering she nearly threw up with nerves when dancing with a boy at her middle school Snow Ball—and she realises that, for once, she forgot to be nervous about it.

“It’s not that bad,” Eddie says dismissively, but she can feel him leaning on her so it must be at least a little bit bad. “Hey, we kinda even each other out like this, huh? Your balance is pretty good, actually.” He pauses, then, “I’m okay, promise, just didn’t wanna…” He shrugs, nods towards Steve. “Gotta prioritise, y’know?”

Robin doesn’t push back on it for now, just slows her pace so Eddie isn’t jostled. “Thank you,” she says instead, lowering her voice. She nods toward Steve too. “For the…”

“Style improvement? Yeah, you’re welcome.”

This time Robin only lets him get away with belittling it for so long; it’s important, she thinks, that he knows.

“I mean it. He wouldn’t have taken it if you hadn’t—he’s…” She sighs. The greatest Tammy Thompson impersonator. Stupidly funny. Serious, when he has to be. Caring. Selfless. My best friend. “Stubborn.”

Eddie laughs under his breath. “Oh, and you’re not? What the hell was that back there?” He drops into a gently mocking impression of her voice, “I made that shit up.”

“I was just being honest!”

“Way to give me a heart attack.” She feels him squeeze the crook of her elbow. “Don’t do it again.”

And there’s that balancing act again, joking but not. Robin hears it for what it is. Don’t leave me alone. She squeezes back.

“I won’t.”

She expects Eddie to change the subject quickly. Instead he laughs—smaller, sadder. “Shit, sorry. You must think I’m—”

“No,” she says firmly. “I don’t.”

Eddie looks down like he’s just watching his step, nothing more. But his hold around Robin’s arm tightens again. He clears his throat.

“Thanks, Buckley.”

“Hey, Robin, Eddie,” Steve calls; Robin feels Eddie jump. “There’s vines up ahead, like…” He turns around and indicates where with the flashlight. Then he catches Robin’s eye, knits his eyebrows slightly. You okay?

She smiles in reassurance before subtly tilting her head towards Eddie, wrinkles her nose. 

Steve’s forehead relaxes. The tiniest nod. Yeah, I know. Got my eye on it.

Because of course he’d noticed the hurt knee despite Eddie’s attempt to hide it; Robin recalls now one of Steve’s rants about his time at school, how he’d often clock injuries during basketball games before the borderline neglectful coach.

And then she realises that Steve’s been walking backwards throughout their silent conversation, alternating between lighting the way for Nancy, and for her and Eddie.

She rolls her eyes, briefly draws a circle in the air with her finger. Now you’re just showing off.

Steve grins, waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. Oh, yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?

But he obligingly turns around, as Nancy gives him a sidelong, questioning look. He answers, too far away to hear, points behind him with his free hand like he’s explaining something. Then his hand goes to the vest, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over the denim near the collar; Robin smiles.

“So, uh, how likely is it that I’m gonna get that back?” Eddie asks. He sounds amused, like he’s just noticed the same thing as Robin.

“Like, out of ten?” She pretends to think about it. “Two point five.”

Eddie snorts. “Wow, thanks.”

It’s a compliment, Eddie, she thinks, recalling the select few sweaters that Steve fiddles with in winter. He only does that with clothes he really loves.

“You’re not the first. He steals my sunglasses all the time.”

Eddie bursts out laughing. “Figures. He’d look good in anything, it’s so unfair.”

And it doesn’t sound serious; it’s said off the cuff, like it doesn’t have to mean anything. But Robin’s growing more certain that she can hear what’s hiding underneath—that, however hesitantly, she’s being tested.

“Yeah, but we’re not supposed to actually tell him that, he’ll never shut up about it.” As Eddie laughs, she elbows him gently, reaches across to tug at one of the zippers on his sleeve. “So are you providing a permanent service with your clothes? Cause I call dibs on your jacket.”

Eddie laughs again; the mix of disbelief and joy in the sound is familiar—Robin’s heard it come from herself not all that long ago. It takes a while to sink in, that friendship can be found so easily—an uncomplicated, earnest type of love once thought lost to kindergarten; it doesn’t have to hurt.

(“I didn’t need the truth serum to say it,” Robin had confessed during a terminally slow day at Family Video. “I think, deep down, I trusted you.”

“Oh,” Steve said softly and watched the rest of the movie they’d thrown on dewy-eyed.)

There’s a spring in Eddie’s step now despite the limp. He calls out like he’s on a summer hiking trail, “Are we there yet?”

Nancy chuckles. “No. Are you five?”

“Wheeler, I’m shocked that you’d repeat the baseless lies of the school faculty.”

Steve turns, his grin caught by the flashlight—and he looks younger suddenly, Robin thinks, like he’s in class, sneaking a look at someone in the seat behind.

“Wow, dude, I’m so sorry. Are you bored? I forgot to book the entertainment.”

“Did you, Steve?” Eddie asks, all innocence. “I thought you were the entertainment.”

And as they go back and forth, it’s as if the darkness of the woods can’t reach them anymore—as Steve starts a game of I spy, and Eddie encourages Nancy to come up with equally outlandish guesses, the two of them barely keeping their giggles under control, violets, vixen, velociraptor?

“Vines, you losers!” Steve says, still grinning, walking tall like he’s totally forgotten about his injury; and Eddie turns to Robin like that had been his aim all along, “Your turn, Buckley.”

Oh, you’ll fit right in, Robin says to herself before jumping into the game—as they all, at least for a little while, leave fear behind.

[its-mayas-world]

Loved ur Spencer fic!!! Can we have more scenarios of Morgan and Garcia coming on announced?? Honestly my favourite!

Heyyy. First off- I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FIRST REQUEST 😭❤️ second, i didn't really know what to do so there's this. Hope u enjoy 😀

"Braids and Blackmail"

Spencer Reid x Reader, established relationship, chaos ig?

Y/N sat on the couch, a rare smirk playing at her lips as Spencer shifted nervously beside her. His hair had grown a little longer recently, and she couldn’t ignore the urge anymore. "Come on, Spencer, just once," she teased, holding up a hairbrush and a few elastic bands.

"I-I’m not sure about this," Spencer stammered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "It’s, um, really not necessary."

But Y/N, being the irresistible force that she was, had already begun to gently part his hair, her fingers deftly working through the strands. "I promise, you’re going to look adorable. And honestly, I’ve wanted to do this for so long," she added with a wink.

Spencer let out a sigh, a soft chuckle escaping him as he tried to keep his posture stiff, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I guess you’ve already started, so there’s no turning back now, huh?"

"You know me so well," she grinned, settling into the task. Slowly but surely, she worked her way through his hair, braiding it with surprising skill. He had to admit, it felt... kind of relaxing.

Just as Y/N finished one braid and was starting on the second, the door to their apartment flew open with an enthusiastic bang.

"Spencer Walter Reid," came the unmistakable voice of Penelope Garcia, full of energy. "I brought pizza–!" She strutted in, Derek Morgan following behind her with a grin on his face.

"Wait," Derek blinked, eyes going wide as he took in the sight. "Is that—are you letting her braid your hair?"

Spencer froze, his cheeks flushing as he looked up at Y/N, who was now quite smug. "Ugh, not you guys too," Spencer muttered, face in his hands.

"Oh no, we’re definitely taking pictures of this," Penelope laughed, pulling out her phone. "This is too precious."

"Spencer Reid, the genius profiler, taken down by a simple braid," Derek teased, his laughter filling the room. "How does it feel to be this adorable?"

"Guys, please," Spencer groaned, his embarrassment palpable. "This is never leaving this apartment, okay?"

But both Penelope and Derek were already exchanging knowing looks, their phones in hand. "I think we have some potential blackmail material," Penelope whispered loudly to Derek, barely able to contain her excitement.

Y/N shot Spencer an apologetic look, but it was clear she was enjoying every second of it. "I told you," she said with a playful glint in her eyes, "you can't say no to me when it comes to this stuff."

Spencer just sighed, resigned to his fate. "I swear, you all are the worst," he mumbled, though there was a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Aw, come on, Pretty Boy," Derek teased, "It’s not that bad."

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer grumbled, rolling his eyes, but it was clear that despite the teasing, he was secretly grateful for the way Y/N took care of him.

And so, with Penelope and Derek in full photographer mode, Y/N finished braiding Spencer’s hair, her heart swelling with affection as she watched him squirm just a little more. This was her favorite version of Spencer—soft, shy, and so adorably hers.

hope u loved this 🧍

[81pastrys]

Rebel

Summary— Isa sneaks out and Max has to figure out rules for her not to.

Warnings— defiant teen ; strict dad!Max ; underage drinking ; mention of alcohol sickness ; puke

A/N— this one is longer than I expected it to be

Dad Max List

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— Helloo, could you do something angsty with teen daughter x dad max? your choice, but maybe she's done smth rebellious or what you prefer!

“Dan please??” Isa begged on the phone quietly to her uncle. “Just one night! Dad knows!” She continued whining to where Max and Kelly couldn’t hear.

“Isa, I told you if you go out with me you need to have your dad’s permission and it sounds like you don’t.” Daniel explained. She had done this before, told Daniel she had permission to go out as long as Daniel was there when she quite obviously did not.

Daniel was in town and was going partying, which is knew he was going to do. So, she called him and asked if she could go, being 16 and all. When Daniel shot her down she started whining and begging.

When Daniel ended the call and stopped answering she resorted to her backup plan. Charles. He could never say no to Isa, even if Max scolded the fuck out of him time and time again.

Charles answered the phone with a quick greeting and Isa began her spiel. “Uncle Cha, can you come get me? Uncle Danny said I can go out but he can’t pick me up.” She sounded innocent and truthful.

“Oui, I’ll be there in 15?” He said. “If I see your window open I’m leaving.” He tried to resist the urge to just not give in, but Isa was a little princess in Charles eyes.

She smiled and ended the call, getting ready in a two piece party outfit. She had Daniel’s location along with a few other drivers, which were in the same club. She could easily pass off as drinking age and sure as hell could flirt her way into anywhere.

Max and Kelly were sound asleep, her only obstacle: Penelope. She got past her door, not wearing the heels. Perfect it was her time to shine. Charles pulled in the driveway and she walked out the front door, quietly able to lock it.

She got in the passenger seat and put the heels on. “Thank you uncle cha.” She said, dolled up and ready for the club. Charles was too, a loose fitted shirt and some slacks.

“Does Max know you’re going out?” He asked. She lied and he believed her. He knew she was going out with the rest of the drivers so that’s where they headed. It was easy getting in, an F1 driver exiting the car with a girl who looked overage? Yeah, the club had no chance.

There were no bands so she easily got hold of a drink and started dancing away. Some drivers noticed her and either smiled or gawked at how she even got there without Max present. He would never bring her out.

Her big mistake, talking with Lando and Oscar. “Isa, did you ask Max to go out?” Oscar asked her. She never lied to Oscar, he could read every single micro expression. She looked away guilty and mumbled a ‘no.’

Lando grabbed her hand and brought her over to the drivers table. Nearly every other driver present, including Daniel. He took a deep breath and set his cup down. “Isa Rose.” He said warningly.

Charles perked at her name and smiled at her. “Having fun little Verstappen?” Pierre laughed. Daniel was now walking off with his phone to his ear.

“Snitch.” She mumbled to Oscar. “I was having fun until the McLaren boys decided to ruin it.” She said out loud.

“Ruin it? You shouldn’t even be out!” Lando said. “It’s fucking 2 am and you have school in the morning.” He was yelling but to be fair school could mean college.

Daniel walked back and yanked her away. “Ow! Danny!” She whined. She was a bit drunk thanks to the drinks she kept getting. “I’m in heels slow down!” She scoffed.

“Max is not happy.” He said shaking his head. He got his car from valet and her phone was blowing up with texts and calls, silenced from the do not disturb feature she put on earlier.

Daniel drove her home in silence. Anytime she tried talking he would shush her or blatantly say to shut up. They pulled in the driveway and she got out, still drunk, holding her heels and Daniel trodding behind her.

Max was waiting in the kitchen for her. He huffed a heavy breath and held his hand out. She placed her phone in it. He started quietly scolding her but her head was spinning and she was swaying side to side slightly. All she could manage was hums of agreement.

“I don’t feel so good.” She slurred before Daniel led her to her bathroom and she puked her brains out. “Do you really need to punish me when I clearly punished myself.” She shot at him standing in the doorway as Daniel held her hair back.

“Yes, Isa. Your mother is not going to be happy about this either.” He said. “You’re lucky they were even there, what if they weren’t?” He whisper yelled.

She disregarded all his words, allowing her body to flow through the motions of alcohol sickness. Once she was done they got her in bed. Water and crackers on her nightstand.

In the morning she had a blaring headache and groaned. She drank the water and ate the crackers. Her body was itchy and she realized they never changed her clothes. She got up and did just that, comfy sweatpants and a hoodie.

Kelly and Max were waiting for her in the kitchen. It was obviously too late to go to school, Penelope was already gone it had been a few hours since she even left.

“You went out, again.” Kelly said, the anger so high she could barely hear herself. “Who brought you this time? Obviously not Daniel if he brought you home as pissed as your father.”

Isa groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Charles.” She was nonchalant, like she isn’t about to be punished for life. “It wasn’t even that fun.”

“You have been defying all of our rules Isa.” Max said. “You sneak out, you’re failing classes, is there something else going on?” He was more concerned now. “Are we not giving you enough attention from this?”

“I don’t know, I just like sneaking out and not doing my work.” She shrugged. Kelly laughed, walking off as to not piss herself off more. “I never have fun, the boys do.”

“So let me get this straight.” Max said. “I invite you to go and play padel with us, you say no. I tell you we’re going to races and you roll your eyes.” He said. “But for some fucking reason sneaking out is more fun than that?”

“I guess.” She was still calm minded and not anxious what so ever. “Penelope is always out with her friends partying.”

“Do not bring Penelope into this, she actually listens when else say she can’t go out.” Max said. Penelope was the golden child, good grades, never in trouble, and basically the favorite.

“Well then I guess it is an attention thing.” Isa said. “Penelope gets good grades and scholarships and I’m fucking nobody.” She starts tearing up at her own words.

“That is not true, Penelope has worked hard for her grades and scholarships.” Max corrected. “Penelope actually feels left out.” That’s probably something Penelope told him in confidence not to repeat but it seemed to help his stance.

“If I’m not breaking rules it’s all about her, so maybe that’s why I do it. If I can’t get praise I might as well act out to get some sort of recognition.” She stormed to her room and Max decided he needed to talk this over with Kelly.

This was not okay, one kid feels left out for being nearly perfect and the other feels neglected by them. “What do we do?” Kelly asked him.

“I mean, how do we make things more equalized between them?” He asked. “They’re very different girls.”

“Sadly one has your mentality.” Kelly joked a bit to lighten the mood. They decided it’s best they start both girls off with a clean slate. No harsh punishments but trust should be earned, not just taken for granted.

Once Penelope got home they called them both to the kitchen. They laid our ground rules and privileges they have. “We want to trust you girls, but it has to be earned. If we deem you can’t go out, you simply can’t.” Max said. “If we say you can go out we want to know with who and where and why.”

“I always tell you that stuff.” Penelope said innocently. Max and Kelly nodded at her and looked to Isa.

“You’re both starting on a clean slate, no strikes or privileges being taken away, but if one of you breaks our trust and sneaks out or defies the rules we set, those things get taken away.” Kelly ended the speech.

“I’ve talked with the boys too, no special midnight rides anywhere unless they ask me first for confirmation.” Max said. “In which I expect whoever asked them to ask me as well.”

Isa hated the fact he dragged Penelope into this after he said not to but ultimately agreed with the stupid rules. She followed them, even asked for a tutor to get her grades up.

Her instincts never died down, knowing the boys were in town and wanting to ask one of them to come get her, but she didn’t. She went to Max first.

“Dad, can I go out with the boys tonight?” She asked. He smiled at her. He was getting ready to go out with them to celebrate Lando’s birthday.

“Did you ask one of them already?” He asked her. She shook her head no and bit her lip. “I’m proud of you for coming to me first, but I think for tonight it’s going to be a no.” It was a test.

“Okay.” Isa said and went back to her room. She had no urges to text one of the other guys or sneak out on her own. She just let it be a no and went to sleep.

Constructive parenting 🙂‍↕️

@chertik-007vvv @il0vereadingstuff @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @angelluv16 @kallanfiona

[kathryn-maraudersversion]

The Serpents and Stars Pt 10

Summary: After the tense conversation between Regulus and Sirius, things are still far from fixed. But progress isn’t always loud—it’s in the quiet moments, the tentative steps forward. And maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something new.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders (James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin) x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt11

The fire in the Slytherin common room crackled, filling the silence between you all. No one had moved much since the last words were spoken, as if breaking the moment would shatter whatever fragile understanding had just been reached.

Regulus sat stiffly in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking toward Sirius every few seconds, as if bracing for another fight. Sirius, on the other hand, was trying to look relaxed, but you could see the way his fingers tapped against his knee, his restlessness betraying him.

James and Remus had settled in, but you could tell they were just as uncertain about the situation. James, ever the optimist, looked like he wanted to make a joke to break the tension, but even he seemed to know better.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak. “So… that went well.”

Regulus shot you a dry look. “Did it?”

Sirius huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Well, we didn’t hex each other, so I’d call that progress.”

Regulus didn’t dignify that with a response.

Dorcas, who had been quiet through most of this, finally spoke up. “If we’re going to keep doing this, you lot should probably learn how to be in the same room without all of us holding our breath.”

Barty snickered. “I don’t know, I think the tension is rather entertaining.” He leaned back against the couch, clearly enjoying the drama.

Pandora shot him a look before turning to you. “But she’s right. If you really want them to get along, they need to learn how to exist without wanting to strangle each other.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t expect them to suddenly be best mates, but…” You hesitated, glancing between the two brothers. “I just don’t want to keep choosing sides.”

Sirius frowned at that, his expression softening. “You’re not choosing sides.”

Regulus scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Sirius tensed again, but this time, instead of snapping back, he took a deep breath. He ran a hand through his dark hair, exhaling slowly. “Look, Reg, I know I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but I don’t hate you.”

Regulus blinked, clearly not expecting that. “I never said you did.”

Sirius tilted his head, studying his younger brother. “You didn’t have to.”

The silence that followed was almost unbearable.

Remus, ever the voice of reason, finally leaned forward, his tone gentle. “You don’t have to forgive each other overnight. No one’s expecting that. But maybe… just consider that this doesn’t have to be a fight, both of you at least do it for y/n.”

Regulus looked down then to you, his fingers tightening into fists before he relaxed them. He didn’t speak right away, but when he did, his voice was quieter. “I’ll think about it.”

That was the best you could ask for, for now.

James clapped his hands together, shattering the tension. “Well, that’s progress. At this rate, we’ll be singing campfire songs by the end of the year.”

Regulus shot him an unimpressed look, but there was no real venom behind it.

It had been a couple days and things weren’t amazing, but they weren’t bad either the marauders had more officially been introduced to your friends.

Which is why you weren’t sure how this had happened.

One minute, you were in the library, enjoying the blissful silence of an empty corner. The next, Lily Evans had appeared like some righteous, freckled menace, flanked by Mary Macdonald and Marlene McKinnon.

You stared at them. They stared back.

You resisted the urge to glance over your shoulder. Surely, this was a mistake.

“What do you want?” you asked, voice sharp.

Lily, to her credit, didn’t flinch. “We want to talk.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Talk?”

Mary smiled. “Yeah, you know. A conversation. You’re dating three of our boys, so we figured we should at least get to know you.”

Your lips curled. “Dating is a strong word.”

Marlene snorted. “Right. Because James looks at you like you hung the bloody stars for him purely as a hobby.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting in your seat. “And if I don’t want to talk?”

Lily crossed her arms. “Then we’ll sit here in silence and make you uncomfortable until you do.”

You blinked. “That’s blackmail.”

“That’s friendship,” Mary corrected with a grin.

You narrowed your eyes at them. They weren’t leaving. And worse they weren’t being hostile. You were prepared for anger, judgment, insults about your house. You weren’t prepared for kindness.

You sighed, tapping your nails against the table. “Fine. Say whatever it is you came to say.”

Mary rested her chin in her hand. “So, tell us. What’s so special about you that the three most obliviously love-struck idiots in Hogwarts are obsessed?”

You scoffed. “You tell me.”

Lily hummed. “You’re sarcastic.”

Marlene smirked. “You’re confident.”

Mary grinned. “And you look like you could kill a man and not blink about it.”

You shrugged. “All very true statements.”

Lily tilted her head. “But you’re also guarded.”

You froze for half a second before forcing a smirk. “Maybe I just don’t trust easily.”

Mary gave you a knowing look. “You don’t.”

Marlene and Mary exchanged a look before Marlene leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand.

“You’re really pretty.”

You blinked. “What?”

Mary grinned. “Yeah, you are. It’s kind of unfair, actually.”

Lily nodded, tilting her head. “The green tie and the whole ‘mysterious and brooding’ thing definitely work in your favour.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Out of all the things they could have said this was not what you expected.

“You lot cornered me in the library to tell me I’m pretty?”

“Among other things,” Mary said cheerfully.

You stared at them, then scoffed. “You Gryffindors are ridiculous.”

Marlene grinned. “And you’re dodging the compliment.”

Your fingers tightened around your book. You didn’t know how to handle this. You knew how to handle insults, how to fight back. But being called pretty? You could feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Alright,” you said, standing abruptly. “This has been weird. I’m leaving.”

Mary grabbed your wrist before you could bolt. “Oh, come on. We’re just messing with you.”

“Are you?” you asked dryly.

Lily smiled. “Partially. But we do mean it.”

You hesitated. There was something disarming about them. They weren’t pushing, but they weren’t letting you run, either. It was almost… Marauder-like.

A voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Evans, are you stealing my girlfriend?”

You turned to see James, Sirius, and Remus approaching, all wearing varying degrees of amusement.

“Girlfriend?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

James shrugged, dropping into the seat beside you and throwing an arm over your shoulders. “They’re calling you pretty, love. Feels like competition.”

Mary smirked. “Maybe we are competition.”

Sirius snorted, plopping down across from you. “Sorry, Macdonald, but we’ve already claimed her.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Claimed her? She’s not a Quidditch broom, Black.”

James grinned. “No, but she is ours.”

You tensed. The words sent something sharp and unfamiliar through your chest. You weren’t used to being someone’s.

Remus, ever perceptive, nudged your foot under the table. When you glanced at him, his expression was soft.

You let out a breath. They’re not trapping you. They’re holding you.

Lily watched the exchange, then turned back to you. “Well, whatever they are to you, just know we’re not the enemy.”

You eyed her. “I’ll believe that when you stop glaring at Sirius every time, he breathes near you.”

Sirius put a hand over his heart. “Tragic. I suffer every day.”

Lily rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Fine. I’ll… tolerate you lot.”

Mary beamed. “That’s the spirit.”

Marlene grinned. “And if you ever need a break from these three, you can always sit with us.”

James pouted. “Betrayal.”

You smirked. “Careful, Potter. I just might take them up on that.”

James narrowed his eyes, then tackled you against his chest in protest, pressing a dramatic kiss to your temple.

You shoved him away, but you were smiling.

Maybe the Gryffindor girls weren’t so bad after all.

Authors Note: sorry that its been a while guys i've been super busy I actually adore the gryffindor girls in this so i hope yall do too. Also please interact if you want to stay tagged. xx

Taglist: @amatoanima @nymanas @flaviaandbooks @bridkesby @yvessentials @treefairy-28 @maraudersgirlsposts @navs-bhat @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @zoleea-exultant @hermionelove @starmaniii @kitcat912 @hopperbopper @forgottenandfree @b-i-h-i @nahhoz @jillyun @mysexy-anxiety @msmarklee1213 @luv-wonyoungism @bellatrixscurls @psychobitchsthings @chicken-flux @marina468 @sherwoodforesttales

[c4ttheart]

how to survive a hurricane !

falling in love isn't about changing for someone. it's about learning to weather them. or, nagi seishiro is a houseplant, and you are a walking natural disaster.

nagi x gn!reader, mini series. reader is quite emotional & clumsy. italics r used for dramatic purposes. lowercase is not intended but i cba to turn autocaps on 😛 1.4k wc.

prev. • masterlist. • next.

1. Secure your foundation. (Hold on to who you are.)

“I presume you know why you’re here, yes ?” the counselor asks as you squirm in your seat, relentless under her gaze. you nod, although quite shyly, and she repeats the motion with a lot more assurance than you, urging you to go on. 

“It’s about the gardening club, is it not ?” you ask, nibbling on the inside of your cheek. she lets out a small smile in return, and you look away. you do not need her pity. 

The room you sit in is dim, even though large windows occupy two out of the four white walls, and you can see the students having lunch on the quad a few stories down. Since the ceiling lamp is turned off and her back is facing one of the only sources of natural light in the cramped space, the counselor’s face is darker than it should be, and she seems tired, almost older. The floor is padded with worn down carpet, indents of high heels and coffee stains visible. There are wooden cupboards and storage cabinets behind her, similar to the desk she leans on, and you know they are empty, because Hakuho High doesn’t have much to offer. She takes off her rectangle glasses and looks at you again. “I really appreciate all the effort you’ve put into organizing it, and I can tell it means a lot to you. Unfortunately, according to school policy, a club needs to have at least three active members to stay officially recognized. Right now, your club doesn’t meet that requirement, having only two members, yourself included, so I’m afraid we won’t be able to continue it as an official club for now.”

you nod unsurely. “And, as you may know, since you are a first year, school clubs are mandatory, so I thought we could use this session to find you a new club,” she continues, as she cleans the lenses of her glasses with a pale pink handkerchief, “How about-”

“What if I find another member ? for the gardening club, I mean. I’m sorry. For interrupting.” you cut her off, although your gaze immediately redirects itself to the ground out of shame. The counselor blinks, slowly, as if she was bewildered by your question. 

“Well, hypothetically, if you did get a third member to join, then we would be able to officially recognise it as a club. Although, it is hypothetical, because the motion to dismiss it has already been set. You’d need to find said third party before the end of classes today.” 

You gulp. She does not pause longer than needed, already continuing the meaningless flickers of her wrist on the mouse of her computer to scroll through the list of existing, official clubs at Hakuho. “How about a sports club ? Or art, maybe. We have poetry and theatre as well,” she goes on, but you drown her words out. She simply does not understand the importance of the gardening club. She does not know of the countless lunch hours spent with Shijiki, the other member and your best (and probably only) friend, in the greenhouse, the trouble you had put yourself through just for your work to be dismissed. She did not understand the safe place it represented, or the memories it held. She probably did not care either. 

However, her words pull you out of your trance. “So, what do you think ? Do any of these speak to you ?” You blink back the tears that are threatening to spill, and let out a meek ‘i’m not sure.’ 

She sighs in response, placing her glasses back in front of her eyes. “Well, what do you like to do ?” 

“Um, tending to plants. Planting seeds. Gardening.” You answer after a few seconds, but she only sighs louder. “Right. But apart from that ?” Her voice does not carry that concealed pity and kindness anymore, only annoyance. 

“I, uhm, I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

The room falls silent again. You don’t like it here anymore. The walls are closer now, the carpet dirtier, and your seat seems itchier than it was before you first sat down. Your legs ache, urge to stretch, to leave and your fingers have curled so deep into your palm you’re afraid they might draw blood. You wish you could just get up, scream at her fatigued face and cry, but instead your foot bounces up and down, quickly, repetitively, until the tap tap tap of your shoe against the carpet is the only thing that can be heard. 

“Well then, how would you describe yourself ? I’m sure at least one of these clubs here is searching for a profile like yours.” She asks, a faux smile plastered on her face, the crookedness of her teeth worsening your unease. 

If you were to ask Shijiki, she would describe you as a reckless person, perhaps. Or maybe a stupid one. Tap tap tap.  Scratch that, she would probably say careless, because of how much money you had spent renovating the old shed on the far right of the courtyard, which was now doomed to become nothing but an empty shed again. Not a greenhouse. Not a safe place. Just another hidden area for students to make out. Tap tap tap. Other people would say obnoxious. Loud. Hyperactive. Tap tap tap. But your teachers always reprimand you for being too quiet, they encourage you to participate more, to pay attention. Tap tap tap. How would the counselor describe you ? Distant ? Indecisive ? Or, 

“Clumsy.” is the adjective you finally settle for, and you watch as the counselor's brow lifts in something akin to amusement. “You would describe yourself as… Clumsy ?” 

“Yes. When I was seven, I broke my mother’s favourite vase after she had instructed me to be careful around it several times. She got mad, of course, so I spent the night trying to fix the broken pieces with superglue. I think that resumes what type of person I am.” The counselor does not answer. She just stares at you, perplexed. “Ah. I guess you could add ‘oversharer’ to the list.” you joke, although she does not seem amused anymore. You do not tell her about how your classmates whisper when they think you cannot hear, how they call you ‘a walking disaster’ or ‘a catastrophe waiting to happen’.

“Right. We’ll go over this tomorrow, it seems our time is up for today.” Is what she decides  to answer and even though you should be grateful for the opportunity to finally leave, you can’t help but feel uneasy. That dismissal is nothing good, it makes you feel a special type of distress in your stomach, one that makes your eyes water. You nod in response. 

“Could you please tell the next student to come in ?” she asks politely, repositioning her glasses on her oily nose. You hum, but you do not look at her. The weight of the world is suddenly crashing down upon you, and it feels even more real now that you’re standing up. You leave, quietly, and spot a student right next to the door. He is crouched down, his white hair obscuring his face and his phone in his hand. You know that mop of limbs, the one that sits in the back of class, asleep half of the time. Somehow, you’re not really surprised he’s here as well, because Nagi putting effort into something like a club doesn’t feel quite right. 

“Nagi, the counselor is waiting for you.” You speak softly, like one would to a child because Nagi is the embodiment of an infant and because you’re afraid your voice will crack if you raise it ever so slightly. “Oh.” he replies as he gets up, but he does not thank you. He does not look back at you either, but you don’t really care, the only thing on your mind being how you will break the news to Shijiki. She won’t be half as devastated as you, that’s for sure, but she’ll still be sad because she knows how much the gardening club meant to you. A sigh leaves your lips, and silently, you make your way back to the small shed on the far right of the courtyard, where you know Shijiki will be waiting for you with both of your lunches and tissues. You inhale, deeply, and bring your sleeve up to your eye to absorb whatever droplets of disappointment have formed. However, by doing so, you temporarily blind yourself, and run into a few hurried students. The force of the impact sends you to the floor, and that is when the dam finally breaks. Because you truly are clumsy. A disaster waiting to happen. 

i caved in so im publishing this before finishing chap 2 😓. starting school again on monday so updates r gonna take quite a while.

taglist : open ! ask to be added :3

@kalithulium @ihsoti @minlahzz @demiitria

[kikyoupdates]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

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“I’m leaving the Zen’in Clan.” 

Shortly after the birth of the twins, Toji makes an announcement. Up until now, it was a day just like any other. You were eating some dumplings you made—stuffed with an assortment of things, including flaming hot Cheetos—when all of a sudden, he turned to face you with a stern expression. 

He must have been expecting you to gape at him. He must have expected you to stop eating, frozen from the shock of it all. Perhaps he was even expecting you to ask him to repeat himself, because clearly, he just said something absolutely insane. 

But instead, you merely shrug.

“Cool,” you reply, taking another bite of your dumpling. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. You should totally do that. I support you.” 

Toji knits his brows together, incapable of hiding his confusion. “That’s all you have to say? Aren’t you even going to try to talk me out of it?” 

“Why would I do that? The Zen’in Clan is full of buttholes. Other than Naoya. He’s nice. He could easily have turned out to be a misogynistic douche, but don’t worry, I fixed him.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” 

Toji shakes his head and lets out a heavy sigh. As always, you’re difficult to make sense of. But then again, he probably should’ve known you wouldn’t react normally. You’ve always been special. Full of surprises. It’s never a dull moment with you around. 

That must be why he likes you so much. 

“I’m really leaving,” Toji repeats. “You might think I’m not being serious, but I am. I’ve had enough of these lowlives. I’m constantly biting back the urge to kill them. Now that those twin girls have been born, I already know the clan is going to test my patience even more. I can’t stand to be around to watch it happen. It pisses me off.” 

You slowly set your dumpling down, then offer him a reassuring smile. “If that’s what you want to do, I think you should do it. You don’t owe them anything. In fact, I’m sure you’ll be much happier without them.” 

It’s not just that you think the Zen’in Clan is full of incorrigible losers. The fact that Toji has made up his mind to leave, at this point in time, clearly indicates that a specific event is set to occur. He has to abandon the Zen’in Clan. That’s one thing you have absolutely zero intention of changing. 

After all, you wouldn’t want to prevent Megumi from being born.

Part of you fears that you’ve already messed up the timeline enough. You’re worried that, with all of the changes you’ve brought on, they’ve triggered some kind of domino effect that will prevent Toji’s meeting with Megumi’s mother from ever taking place. It’s entirely possible that he’s already missed his window of opportunity. You were so determined to save as many lives as possible, that in doing so, you might have completely erased a certain boy’s existence from this world. 

…no. It’s not too late for them to meet. I have hope. I promised I would never give up, no matter what, and this is no different. 

“I want you to be happy,” you beam, and it’s crazy how just by looking at you for a few moments, Toji’s irritation completely subsides, and instead, a smile rises to his lips. 

“Is that so?” he chuckles. 

“Of course. I love you. You’re like my big brother. I want you to have a great life, surrounded by people you care about. Maybe even… a wife and a kid?” 

You bat your eyes at him, making no effort to be subtle. He blinks several times in a row, and at first, you assume it’s because you brought up marriage and kids, but it turns out that’s not what caught his attention.

Toji clears his throat. “What did you just say?” 

“Hm? I was just saying that I want you to be happy, and I think it’d be nice to have a family to call your own. Not like the Zen’in Clan. A real family. One that you actually care about.” 

“That’s not the part I was referring to.” 

You frown, not understanding right away, but eventually, your eyes widen. 

“Oh! Are you talking about how I said I loved you?” you ask, and based on the way Toji awkwardly shifts in place, you must have hit the nail right on the head. 

“That’s not a word you should be using at your age,” he says, although funnily enough, he doesn’t look all that torn up about it. “You’re too young. You’re just throwing it around without knowing any better.” 

“No, I’m not,” you insist. “I love you. And Satoru. And Naoya. All of you are irreplaceable to me. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. When I say something like that, I mean it.” 

“...I see.” 

Toji doesn’t say anything else. You already know that he’s hardly the sentimental type, and perhaps it’s too soon for him to say he loves you back—perhaps he’ll go his entire life without uttering those words—but it’s okay. You don’t need any verbal affirmation. Just by watching him struggle to suppress his smile, the answer is obvious.

He cares about you more than he ever thought was possible. 

“I can’t believe he actually left!”

Well, it’s official. Toji is no longer a member of the Zen’in Clan, and surprise, surprise—Naoya isn’t happy about it.

“He seriously left,” Naoya grumbles, kicking a stray twig on the ground. “Why would he do something like that? I promised him I’d fix the Zen’in Clan. I told him I’d make everything better once I’m in charge. Does he… not believe in me at all?” 

“Of course he believes in you,” you reassure. “It’s just that he was tired of being treated so badly. He’d had enough. I’m sure you’ll become a great leader someday, but for now, the clan is still a difficult environment for Toji to be part of. He deserves the chance to be happy, don’t you think?” 

Naoya’s lips are still twisted into a pout, but your words give him pause, and he turns towards you with a hopeful expression. 

“Really?” he asks. “Does he really think I’ll become a good leader?” 

“Definitely not,” Satoru cuts in, spinning a leaf between his fingers disinterestedly.

Naoya grits his teeth. “Nobody was even talking to you, loser! I only care what [Name] has to say!” 

“Well, I thought you might want to hear the truth. [Name]’s just going to lie to you, like always, because that’s what people do when they want to spare stupid babies’ feelings.” Satoru stares at him, pointedly. “You’re the baby, in case that wasn’t clear.” 

“For the millionth time, I’m only one year younger than you!” 

“Ignore him, Naoya,” you sigh, half rolling your eyes. “I meant what I said. Toji might not show it, but I can tell he’s rooting for you to change the Zen’in Clan once you’re in charge. It’s just that it’ll be a while until then. For now, Toji’s just going to be doing his own thing. And it’s not like you won’t get to see him anymore. He’s still going to be training me.” 

“...I guess.” 

Naoya crosses his arms and relents, just this once. He really does look up to Toji. It’s kind of incredible just how much Toji meant to him in the canon series, because as far as you know, they didn’t really have a relationship. Certainly nothing like the one they have now. 

All thanks to you. 

For the next couple of days, Toji is busy finding a new place to live and getting settled in. You’re not worried that he’s going to go back on his promise to train you. Even if you end up having to be apart for a while, it’ll be fine. You’re confident that he’s changed for the better. He should know that you’ll be very upset with him if he decides to start going around assassinating sorcerers and whatnot. 

It doesn’t actually take all that long for you to see Toji again, and from what you can tell, he’s his usual self. Still, he’s always been good at keeping a poker face. So, to figure things out, you’ll have to put on your detective hat and be a little sneaky. 

“Toji, you haven’t started killing people for money, have you?” 

Satoru and Naoya both turn their heads, jaws dropping in disbelief. Perhaps you could’ve sugar-coated your words a bit more. Also, fine, you were lying about being sneaky. When it comes to Toji, you’ve learned that a blunt, steadfast approach is the most effective one. 

“What are you talking about?” Toji snorts, picking up a piece of offal with his chopsticks. “I’ve only been gone a week. Has your brain already started to rot?” 

“No, I’m still the same genius everyone knows and loves,” you reassure. 

“Well, isn’t that a relief.”

“You’re telling the truth, right?”

“Yes. I really am relieved that your brain hasn’t rotted.” 

“I’m obviously talking about the other thing. How many people have you killed this week, Toji? If the number is anything other than zero, I’m afraid we’re going to have a problem.” 

Naoya leans in to whisper in Satoru’s ear. “What is she talking about? I don’t understand at all. Is this what people call an inside joke?”  

“It better not be an inside joke,” Satoru mutters. “She knows I don’t like to be kept in the dark. Hey, [Name]! Who are we killing, and why?” 

“Nobody’s killing anyone,” you sigh, making a point of frowning towards Toji. He barely even flinches, of course. He’s always been good at keeping his cool (for the most part, at least), so it’s true that his expression doesn’t exactly give you much to work with. Still, you like to think that you know him pretty well by now, and you’re pretty confident that he hasn’t done anything wrong. 

“I’ve been gambling,” Toji suddenly says. He takes another bite of his food, wipes his mouth with a napkin, then leans back with his arms spread out. “Listen up. Other than [Name], you’re all a bunch of spoiled brats who don’t know any better, but adults have to make a living. Now that I’m no longer part of the Zen’in Clan, I have almost no money.” 

You frown. “What about the money you won all those times I snuck into the casino with you?” 

“Ah, I spent that already.” 

“All of it?” 

“Obviously. How do you think I managed to find somewhere to live in the first place? Most of my savings are gone now. I’m trying to take what little I have left and turn it into a fortune,” he says, chuckling to himself and looking awfully smug—as if gambling is something to be proud of. 

Satoru blinks languidly. “I give him less than two months until he ends up homeless.” 

“If you’re looking for a fight, all you have to do is ask,” Toji scowls.  

As much as you would like to rectify Toji’s problematic lifestyle, you figure he’s probably on the right track. He needs to explore the world on his own, and somewhere along the way, he’ll encounter the woman he’s meant to fall in love with. If you fix everything too soon, that meeting might never occur. 

So, you wait. Every time you meet up with Toji, you’re practically holding your breath, waiting to hear the good news. Or—some news, at least. Any kind of news other than the same old nonsense he usually greets you with. 

“[Name], you really need to come with me this time,” Toji urges, pulling on your sleeve like some kind of needy kindergartner. “I just can’t win. I only ever win big when I’m with you. Come on. I’ll buy you a present afterwards.” 

“I’m not going to keep enabling your gambling addiction, Toji,” you sigh. “Plus, we’ve already been blacklisted from pretty much everywhere. They even called the cops last time. I’m a good girl. I want to keep my record clean.” 

“Those kinds of laws hardly apply to jujutsu sorcerers.” 

“I’m just not destined for a life of crime. Sorry. Have you ever considered getting a real job?” 

Toji reels back, visibly offended. “What?” 

“A real job,” you repeat. “You know, like, working construction or something. You’re super-duper strong. I bet you wouldn’t even break a sweat.” 

“I can’t do that,” he refuses. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to.” 

“Ah. It seems that once again, laziness is the cause of your misfortune,” you sigh. 

“Shut up.” Toji flicks you on the forehead, and you wince, hands moving to rub the sore spot that’s already forming. He then grumpily rests his chin on the back of his hand. “I’m still getting used to things, that’s all. I’ve been part of the Zen’in Clan all my life. I’m relieved to be done with those bastards. I just don’t know what to do next.” 

That settles it. You’re more certain that ever than he hasn’t yet become the famed Sorcerer Killer in this lifetime. Otherwise he wouldn’t look so confused. So lost. So unsure of what to do with his life. 

Having a new family should give him a sense of purpose. Especially if he’s actually a good dad this time around. 

“Things will look up soon,” you beam, leaning your head against Toji’s shoulder. “I promise.” 

Unfortunately, that turns out to be not-so-true. More time passes, but even now, Toji still hasn’t met Megumi’s mother. You hate to admit it, but you’re starting to panic. You’re terrified that you may have fucked up the story beyond return. 

Satoru must be able to tell that you’ve been rather high-strung lately, because he decides to take you out for a fun day in town. As much as you enjoy sneaking away from the Gojo Clan, admittedly, your attention is elsewhere. You can’t seem to get out of your own head. You can’t stop thinking about how, because of you, Megumi might not even exist. 

“[Name],” Satoru frowns. He grabs onto your wrist and pulls you towards him, gently. “What’s the matter with you? You’re acting weird. You’ve barely even been saying anything, and normally, you don’t know how to shut up.” 

“Oh… sorry.” 

You strain a smile, but he’s not your best friend for nothing. He can tell when there’s something weighing on your mind. He must have been hoping that this little trip would cheer you up. He looks disappointed with himself that it isn’t working. 

“Just be honest with me,” he insists. “Did something happen? You acted like it was no big deal, but are you secretly upset that the old man isn’t part of the Zen’in Clan anymore? Knowing you, I’m sure you’re still not over how badly they treated him.”

“No, not that. I’m just… preoccupied. With something I’ve been trying to fix.” 

“Well, why can’t you tell me what it is?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” 

“I’m not stupid. Whatever it is, I’ll understand.” 

He pulls on your wrist repeatedly, urging you to confide in him, but there are certain burdens in this world that only you can carry. You wish you’d done a better job of hiding how bummed out you are. It wasn’t your intention to worry him—

“Ah, good morning, Fushiguro!”

“...” 

Wait, what did I just hear? 

You turn your head so fast you nearly break your neck in the process. Your gaze wanders aimlessly at first, but eventually, you manage to discern where the voice was coming from—and it’s safe to say that your heart nearly stops. 

There’s a woman waving to the person who just called her name. She has black hair that doesn’t reach much further than below her chin, and a warm, gentle smile. A woman who, despite having only made a very brief appearance in the series, you immediately recognize. 

She is Megumi’s mother. Or at least, she’s supposed to be. 

You watch, lips parted in awe, as she steps inside one of the stores. It’s a restaurant, by the looks of it. Well, not that it really matters what it is. Yet again, the universe has just blessed you with an opportunity, and as always, you have no intention of wasting it. 

“I’m hungry,” you suddenly blurt, grabbing Satoru’s hand to pull him along. “That place looks like they’d have good food. Let’s go in there.” 

“Huh? Wait, you still haven’t even answered my question—” 

Too late. You’re already dragging him into the restaurant, whether he likes it or not, and even though he doesn’t understand what the hell is going on, he just can’t seem to figure out how to say no to you. 

You step inside the restaurant, with the door’s bell jingling behind you as it swings shut. It’s a small place, but it has a nice, comforting feel. You weren’t exactly lying about what you said before. It does look like it’d probably have pretty good food. That’s not what you’re here for, though. 

There are a few other customers inside, people sitting at tables and enjoying their meals, but regretfully, no sign of Fushiguro. You don’t understand how she could’ve possibly disappeared so fast. You watched her walk inside literally a few seconds ago. 

No way. Did I… lose her? Did I miss my chance? 

Your shoulders slump, and you’re once again weighed down by disappointment. This time, you really screwed things up. You’ve been doing so well in this world that you must’ve gotten overconfident. You must've forgotten just how delicate of a matter changing the future actually is. 

“What’s wrong now?” Satoru asks, tilting his head to get a better look at your expression. “Hey. Seriously. You need to talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” 

You part your lips, even though you’re not really sure what to say, but before any sound escapes, you hear footsteps approaching. 

Ah. 

It’s Fushiguro. She looks slightly different than before. She changed into another shirt, and she’s also wearing an apron. Not only that, but she’s holding a pen in her hand, and a little notepad to write on.

Holy shit. She works here? 

“Hi there,” she suddenly says, smiling in your direction. “How can I help you today?” 

“T-Table for two,” you stammer out of pure reflex. After all, there’s no chance in hell you’re leaving now. Not when Lady Luck has so graciously decided to shine down upon you. It turns out that you’ve been worrying for nothing. When it comes to the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen, you’re quite literally a magnet for all of them.

Fushiguro leads you and Satoru to a table, then gets you started with some tea and water while you take the time to read the menu. She leaves to give you a few minutes to decide, and you’re so excited now that you can’t stop swinging your legs underneath the table. You even end up accidentally kicking Satoru in the shin. 

He rubs the tender spot on his leg and frowns. “Man, you’re weird. You looked so upset just a few minutes ago, but now you’re smiling nonstop. Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” 

“It’d be a waste of time to get into it. Just know that I’m amazing. I’m literally built different.” 

He’s not sure what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but at least you’re in a good mood again. Being upset doesn’t suit you. It just feels unnatural. Wrong. 

Satoru chuckles softly. 

As expected, you look best with a smile. 

“I’m telling you, the food’s amazing!” you exclaim. “You have to try it. I’m sure you’ll love it, too.” 

Toji knits his brows together. “I’m not sure I trust your opinion when it comes to food. If you’ve come up with a new way of trying to poison me, I’m not interested.” 

“Don’t worry, the food actually is good,” Satoru reassures. “Otherwise I sure as hell wouldn’t have come back.” 

“Hm. I’m still not convinced. This could easily be a prank.” 

“Well, you’re just going to have to find out, aren’t you?”

Satoru looks up at Toji with a taunting expression, to which the latter responds by glaring even harder, but you could care less about their petty feud right now. You’re practically vibrating as you step inside the restaurant. You’re about to bear witness to a modern love story, and it’s taking all your willpower not to let your inner fangirl explode. 

Fushiguro is working today, of course, and it’s not through sheer coincidence, but rather, by design. Last time she was your server, you shamelessly asked what her schedule was, so that you could visit her again. Perhaps it would be kind of a creepy question coming from an adult, but in everyone’s eyes, you’re just a cute, twelve-year-old kid. She seemed ecstatic that you liked her so much. And now, you’re about to repay her kindness with a gift. 

AKA a super jacked future husband. 

“Welcome,” Fushiguro beams. “There are three of you today! Who’s this you’ve brought along with you?” 

“This is Toji,” you happily introduce. “He’s basically my big brother. He takes care of me and is really nice. He’s handsome, too. Don’t you think so?” 

Toji turns towards you with a bewildered expression, and Satoru clamps a palm over his mouth to keep from laughing. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said something out of pocket, and besides, Fushiguro doesn’t seem to mind. 

In fact, her cheeks redden ever-so-slightly, and a giggle spills from her lips.

“Yes,” she responds, timidly averting her gaze. “You’re right. He is quite handsome.” 

Toji straightens up, looking awfully alert all of a sudden, and you suspect that what you just said no longer bothers him. He might even be thankful for it. And he certainly doesn’t look like he wants to leave anymore. 

Now, then. 

It’s time to play Cupid. 

More chapters are available on Quotev and Ao3!

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[neighbourhoodspidey]

slow hands

gn reader and wanda

summary: wanda tests your limits. even then that won’t stop you from lovingly retaliating

this content contains smut, minors and ageless blogs dni. i will have to block if i don't have an 18+ age confirmation, or any indication that proves otherwise.

a/n: i don’t know what got to me. a random inspiration just went through my brain, which is good and all but what about the wips i have. like i just know they’re looking at me with disappointment. anyway this is one of my other attempts at writing romance this time jealousy. i really tried not to make it embarrassing cause again, i’m new at this but i’ll take any advice if there’s anyone willing to help :) even though i did felt embarrassed while writing and had to look behind my shoulder every other other minute. also, i didn’t want to use vision as a character cause he’s a gentleman toaster and would never do that. perhaps the other vision that hayward built would but that’s something else. enjoy reading leave any comments feedback or anything the spam and love is much appreciated!!

w/c: 1.83 k? (if it's 1883 words then that is how i should indicate it right?)

warnings: praise, orgasm denial, reader being a little piece of shit, themes of voyeurism?? i think. wanda being a tease, top reader rights, proofread but there might be some mistakes left, you know the drill :( and if there’s anything i missed let me know!

“Is this what you want?” You whispered hotly against her ear, your breath fanning across her skin, sending electroshocks to her body. She wishes you would just stop making her wait.

She offers no answer, only lifting her hips in a silent question, hoping that will be enough to appease you but you don’t take the bait. Your hands place themselves on her hips, pushing them back on the mattress much to her own disappointment. You can’t help but let your amusement known, chuckling at her impatience.

“Answer me, pretty girl.” Your hands trace her sides until they reach the band of her underwear, fingers slipping to feel her skin for just a fragment of a second before letting go.

“Please.”

“I can’t do anything until you tell me.”

“Please I just want you to touch me I need it, I-”

That was enough for you to kiss her, finally kiss her. It was gentle, slow, you were allowing her to set the pace, drowning in her completely, the sounds of her moans and soft breaths urging you to take her now.

You break apart for air, staring down at each other’s eyes. You can’t see anything other than her, other than the woman laying in your arms. Her hands were on your shoulders, you were still wearing your shirt and she wished she could unbutton it but she knew she couldn’t really be demanding tonight. Not really.

“I can do that. I’m the only one who ever can.” You lean back, smirking as she chases your lips. “But I’m just curious…tell me. Do they even know anything about you? The kind of perfume you wear? Your favourite song? Anything about you?”

If she were to answer all of those questions she would say no. It’s clear the person was only interested in her but that was about it and only knew her name. Yes, she entertained it but it was only to see your reaction. To see if you would hold up to the reality of you “not being the jealous type.” But right now? She has her answer. In all honesty she had it from the moment you joined them, when your hands were around her waist, how in your conversation you slipped a few subtle insults and remarks.

She had more when you were in the car, your hand on her thigh while she was driving, threatening her to pullover as you asked questions about this person, who you didn’t want to learn their name.

And as soon as they called her phone? You were right behind her, kissing her in her weakest spots, telling her to not hang up or you’ll stop.

She had her answers. Now all she wanted was you.

“I…I don’t…” Was the only thing she could speak, her brain going foggy at the pressure of your body against hers, at your words.

“Take your time.” Your fingers lifted her chin as her gaze left yours.

“They don’t…they know me. At all, I’m not interested in them, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you I promise.” It was more of a ramble than a coherent sentence. But that seemed to be enough for you.

You hummed, brushing her hair back. It was oddly sweet, that she was just curious about your reaction, that she just wanted to test your limits.

“So you just wanted to get me jealous?”

She nods, hands reaching for you. You allow yourself to be pulled back, her lips clumsily meeting yours, hips grinding against yours trying to create the friction she needs and it works. She sees she has  got you in a trance, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as you groan in pleasure at her state.

“What would you have done?” She whispers brokenly, caught up in anticipation of your touch. For a moment you can’t speak. How could you, when she takes away your breath?

“What would I have done…what?”

“If…if you were there. Right now, with them. If we were with them, what would you do?”

“I would…” Giving in to her not-so-silent wishes, your hands place themselves on her chest, toying with the straps of her bra. “Turn you around. Kiss you in all the spots you want then lift your dress and feel where you want me. Then I’d drop to my knees and start by kissing each part of your legs. I wouldn’t miss an inch of your skin until you beg me to take you. I’d be slow with you. Then fast. Until you beg me to stop. I’ll tell you to be loud, to not hold back, and make sure that everyone knows you’re taken, not just by my mouth…but by me.”

The image is wildly painted in her head. So much so that she can practically feel your tongue on her. “I’d take anything you’d give me.” Her chest was heaving, goosebumps rising on her flesh. It’s a pleasant torture. To have you prolong the feeling of imagined desire. An unbearable but pleasant torture.

“Good.” Your fingers play with the straps of her bra, letting them fall down on each shoulder. She eagerly sits up, allowing you to reach for the clasp of her bra, watching as you release her breasts from its confines, setting it aside.

You swear you feel yourself going weak at the sight of her chests. Your lips ghosts the top of her breasts, grazing her skin, eyes kept on hers, eyebrows raising in a silent question.

“Please.”

It was enough for you to kiss her, scattering the touch of your lips to her nipples, her collarbones, anywhere you could reach. You trail them to her nape, softly biting before soothing the sting with your tongue, knowing she’d be left with a mark. A message.

“Lay down for me.” Like a Pavlovian response she listens, like she’s attuned to your voice. You smile, kissing the kiss on the tip of her nose, her lips, the valley between her breasts, her abdomen, the hem of her underwear. It was methodical, all she could feel was you, how you were all over her, everywhere but where she really needed you.

You hated to prolong her pleasure but this was more of a…punishment, of sorts. Something that tips between the lines of retaliation and love.

Just when she thinks you’ll relieve her of the last layer uncomfortably sticking to her, you don’t, pressing your lips to her clothed pubic bone instead. She wanted to call you a tease, how you were being purposefully mean, but she had a feeling that would only get her into further trouble.

“You’ll get what you want. Soon.” As if you’ve read her thoughts you immediately pull down her underwear, groaning when you see her absolute want for you.

You push her thighs open, the cold air hitting her just right, enough to make her tremble and plead. Without wasting any time you kiss her inner thighs, slowly inching towards her need and then—

“Fuck.” She gasps, uttering curses as she feels you slide your tongue between her folds to her bundle of nerves. It was like you were taking pleasure out of it more than she did, moaning at her taste.

Your lips wrapped around her clit, eyes nearly rolling back when she took ahold of your head, refusing to let go.

She couldn’t think of anything, anyone other than you taking her, her heart racing at an alarming rate as you worshiped her, like she was your altar.

Grinding against your face and using you for her pleasure she was chasing the edge, almost tipping the edge of it, her back arching, head tipped back in bliss as you carried her to the place of desire-

You pulled back. She whined, eyebrows furrowing as she stared down at you. You would be scared and a bit intimidated if it weren’t for you wanting to use this as a reminder.

“Why’d you stop?” It wasn’t a reprimand. She feared what might happen if it was but she had trouble speaking, her voice breathy and mind still weak at her loss of pleasure. But you were acting all innocent, rising up to your knees, hovering over her with a grin.

She wishes she could wipe that smug look off your face but you were undeniably attractive in this moment. Your face flushed, clothes all crumpled and lips wet with arousal and saliva.

“I can’t give you things the easy way.” She was pretty in this moment. Her face flushed, eyes heavy and hair tousled. Like she’s a painting meant for you only. “So beautiful.”

It was reverent, how you spoke. As if you weren’t being punitive. Your eyes were on her, every bit of her. And you didn’t want to let go.

You led her to sit on your lap, her body seeming willing to follow your movements, anything it’ll take as long as it means she’ll find her release.

Your hands found their way between her thighs and you had to bite back a moan at how needy she was for you. “Are you ready?” You asked, with nothing but care, tracing the skin of her rear. At her nod you slowly slid in a finger, her walls greedily welcomed you in. You love how she curses aloud, her voice getting louder as you let her get used to the intrusion before pumping in and out of her.

“More…” It was her last plea, her last demand that you’ll listen to her. To her surprise it did.

You lifted her hips, adding a second finger, before slamming them back down. She understands your requests, slowly riding them.

“So sweet…and so, so, good for me.”

Her pace quickens, fingernails digging into your shoulders. You forget the pain, too blinded by the woman taking you. She feels you, how you curl your fingers to reach her pleasurable spots, your thumb pressing on her bundle of nerves, how she clamps your hand.

Her legs were burning in chasing her release, she was begging for you to not stop but you didn’t, allowing her to take everything she needed.

“I love you.” She whispered hotly in your ear, pulling you for a messy kiss, uncoordinated and sloppy but still loving.

“I love you too. Let go for me.” You were guiding the movements of her hips, giving her permission to take anything she wanted until—

Until she cried your name, forgetting anyone that might hear her. But you didn’t care. At all. If anything it was a sort of reminder although twisted, for everyone to know what they can’t have.

You peppered kisses all over her face, her chest, her collarbones, as she rode through the aftershocks, going wave after wave of pleasure until she pulled your hand away.

She slumped on your chest, breathing ragged. You held her near you, combing back her hair, kissing her forehead. You were whispering praises, soothing her back as she tried to recover.

A part of her knows she’ll never attempt to even flirt with whoever that was. Another of her tells her it can’t be that bad, especially with how you react.

That’s what she tells herself as you took care of her and stayed by her side all evening, wearing an innocuous smile that tells you she isn’t planning it anytime soon.

[that-kid-from-vault-101]

“Well shit, Private. Forgive me for not saluting.” The man issues a lazy, half-hearted salute, the bitterness in his voice almost matching her own. FEDRA had been a shitshow from the beginning, shooting civilians in the streets, and they’d never quite improved. But looking at her, his disgust runs ever deeper. “Child soldiers…God Bless America. I’m sure Sun Tzu said something about treating your soldiers like your own children…pretty sure it wasn’t meant to be literal.”

His own laugh is a humorless exhale through his nostrils, utterly devoid of humor, given with gritted teeth. “Fucking savages. I think everyone who actually understands how the infection works lit out years ago. Now look at them.”

His lips press into a thin line as she takes a good look at the stitches, prepares to tell her not to touch it as her fingers brush lightly over them. Judging by her reaction he figures that besides the bite this is the worst wound she’s ever taken, and that makes sense. Out there, that kind of injury meant death. If not immediately from blood loss or infection, then later from not being able to fight, scavenge, run.

“You’ll heal.” It’s a definitive statement, like considering any other possibility is foolish. Like he’s sure beyond any doubt that she’ll bounce back from this. “It’s debilitating now, but you will heal, you will walk again, as long as you don’t tear yourself open somehow you’ll run, and you’ll jump, and you’ll ballroom dance if you damn well feel like it.”

That type of exhaustion isn’t something someone of her age should feel. At the very least he can commiserate with her, that bone deep tiredness that sleep can’t fix. It creeps into everyone at one point or another now, and it’s just a matter of fighting it back until something else gets you. Be it the flu, the infected, or God willing a heart attack at a ripe old age. The cry makes him tense, grip his armchair, resisting an old urge to go and comfort her. Instead he grabs the Zofran again, just holding it in his hands.

“I can give you another dose of the anti-emetic if you want. It wont make you woozy or put you to sleep, but it’ll stop the nausea.”

Her switchblade and gun clatter across the floor, but he doesn’t rise from his seat, simply raising an eyebrow at the two items in front of him. It’s something, he supposes. That she’s willing to give up her weaponry on her own. Whether it’s truly willing or still out of fear he isn’t sure.

“I don’t need those.” He says simply, finally leaning down to pick them up, setting them down on the coffee table, within her reach. “If they make you feel better, keep them. If you were going to shoot me, you already would have. I’m going to get you an MRE. I’ll be out of sight for a minute, at most.”

"Yeah, you’re lookin’ at a bonafide Boston QZ FEDRA soldier," Ellie mumbled, her voice low, thick with the kind of biting sarcasm that barely masked the ache underneath. Every word dripped with disdain, not just for the place, but for the person she’d been forced to become there. "Some soldier," she added under her breath, letting the bitterness sour the air between them. "We didn’t even have a doctor. Guy dipped after I got there. Guess he knew better."

Her throat worked around a dry, humorless laugh that didn't quite make it out. "Had to tough through all my flus and shit on my own. Nothing but thinned-down broth… and a gun to my head, just in case I changed."

She didn’t have to explain changed. The word hung heavy enough.

A soft exhale slipped from her lips when she noticed Aaron put the meds away. Another invisible stone of tension rolled off her shoulders without her even meaning to let it. She wasn't stupid—trust was a death sentence—but somewhere deep down, her guard cracked just a fraction more.

When he spoke again, her gaze dropped away from his face, falling to her leg, and her breath hitched like she’d been sucker-punched.

It was the first real look she’d allowed herself to take—and it made her stomach turn harder than any fever or drug ever could.

The stitches looked like they were the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. Angry red lines crossed swollen flesh, the edges weeping where the thread fought against her body’s stubbornness. Her fingers, trembling, reached out and hovered a breath above the wound before brushing it lightly. A shudder crawled up her spine.

"Don’t really have a choice if shit hits the fan now, do I?" she rasped, her voice trembling, the facade of strength cracking wider by the second. "It’s either run... or die."

There was no steel behind it. No fight. Only the trembling voice of someone who knew damn well she couldn't do either right now.

“I’m... fucked.”

The words left her in a whisper, barely audible, but no less true. As soon as she said them, something inside her gave way—the fear, the exhaustion, the days of scraping and starving, the nights of keeping her back to a wall and praying for one more sunrise—all of it finally pouring out into the open.

Ellie was exhausted in a way that no nap or meal could fix. This was marrow-deep, soul-sick exhaustion—the kind that made people give up and never get back up again.

Her vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in, and when Aaron spoke again, she barely caught it through the roaring in her ears. Her body convulsed in another dry heave, and she barely managed to pitch forward into the trash can in time. Hot tears burned the edges of her vision as she gagged helplessly, her ribs aching from the violence of it.

Frustrated, humiliated, desperate, she let out a broken cry that sounded more like a wounded animal than a person.

But still, somewhere deep inside that battered, stubborn heart, she clawed for something that looked like defiance. When he made a comment about her stabbing him, she actually barked out a weak, bitter laugh through the haze of misery.

Shaking hands moved instinctively to the small of her back, where her pistol still sat, uncomfortable against her spine. She fumbled it out, checked the safety without even thinking—good habits drilled into her bones—and tossed it across the floor toward him with a clumsy flick of her wrist. The switchblade quickly followed, clattering noisily against the ground between them.

[loulooser]

Oh the undying urge to put my head on their shoulder when I sit next to them

[jacksonekennedy]

Jack’s half eaten meal was suddenly the least important thing to him in that moment. The only thing that could’ve satiated him was this conversation, with Alice.

So he listened. Absorbed every little detail that Alice provided, every expression, doing his very best to understand. That’s all Jack really wanted. He wanted to know her. He wanted to understand her.

Alice mentioned the difficulty she’d experienced after college. She’d brought that up yesterday, too — how she’d run away to Canada, feeling angry. It was no coincidence. Jack didn’t want to overstep, but he really would have liked to know why.

There existed this incurable urge in the pit of his stomach — to erase and repair every single bad moment that she’d ever had. Every doubt that she had about her creativity, or feeling unfulfilled — Jack would take it. He wanted to cradle Alice’s head in his hands and banish away any doubt or insecurity that had ever nestled in her skull.

And he knew that was a selfish desire to have. People learned from those experiences. People became better from those challenges. Perhaps Alice wouldn’t be the same if she hadn’t gone through that.

Then, Jack smiled when Alice said that writing felt like breathing for her— that she’d die without it. It made his heart swell. It was fucking romantic and poetic, wasn’t it? It made sense for a writer. He found it very endearing. He’d only known Alice for a short amount of time, but he couldn’t imagine her doing anything else.

She turned the question back on him, and Jack didn’t even know where to start, but he wanted to respond to her, first. He had thoughts.

“I’m glad you don’t feel that way anymore,” Jack answered. “But I understand, I think. I’ve felt that way before.”

Jack hummed.

“Maybe not on the same level, but earlier today? When you talked about domed roofs in Mykonos and Aegean blue and fluorite gems…”

Jack’s mouth twitched in a funny sort of affectionate way.

“It was visible to me,” Jack said, gently. “Tangible. Felt like I was holding it in my chest.”

Jack exhaled, worried that maybe he’d said too much?

“Anyway. I know you don’t feel that way now, but I can’t imagine you ever not … writing or talking the way you did earlier. Honestly.”

Jack reached for his nearly empty glass of wine, sipped on it to give himself something to do. Vulnerability felt very foreign to Jack these days, but he couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to Alice.

“And I know saying it doesn’t go back and change anything. And I know saying it doesn’t change the way you feel or felt either, but sometimes it just … feels good to hear. I think.”

Alice wanted something in exchange for what she’d shared. Jack thought it was a very fair trade off. He exhaled. Exhaled again, building up the courage to admit something big and scary. He pressed his thumb into the crevice at the center of his chin, once, twice — a little tic that had stayed with Jack since he was a kid. He remembered thinking that it used to feel funny. Now, it just felt comforting, in a way. It reminded him of being a kid, when things didn’t feel as complicated as they did now.

“I don’t want to lose my job,” he finally said. And he smiled, in a sad kind of way, but lately, he hadn’t known any other kind of way. Alice had shared a lot, and Jack wished he had more to say, but it was the first time that he'd really said it out loud.

So he let it sit there, out in the open, wondering how long it'd take before he had to go upstairs and find his pills.

Jack shakes his head, gives her palm another squeeze before releasing it, assuring Alice that he wouldn't do that— wouldn't call her a bad name in French.

And he was earnest about it, Alice was sure.

But so was she— Jack could say whatever he wanted to in French, and no doubt Alice would want to swoon, would want to grasp his legs and beg to hear it again.

Except she can't really admit that. Not now. Not over dinner.

Not when Jack is asking for more information.

'Alice fact, Alice lore, Alice pet peeve. But. Well. I want to know something.'

And not just any something.

Something with substance.

Something special.

Alice should be thinking of all the ways to fulfill his request, curate something he might like, but in truth—

In truth, Alice is watching Jack lounge in his chair, rub at his stomach like a cat observing something of interest outside.

Intent and focused. Fuck, she wants to grab his hand again watching him like this.

What was with that? All these Jack gestures. Slow ones, quick ones, lazy and intent and purposeful and idle ones. Kinetic, just like she'd thought earlier.

But there was something about the very languid form of his body that made her face heat in a funny way.

Made her want to clasp his face and lean down and somehow transfer everything he ever wanted to know, her lips to his. She wants to breathe into him, for some reason.

'I don't know. I want to know you..'.

'Tell me everything. Anything.'

She sucks in a breath. What comes out of her is not something she would typically pick; it's certainly not what she would tell someone she only met the other day.

But that isn't Jack. Jack doesn't count.

Yes, they'd met the other day, but Alice thinks timing doesn't really apply to them— time was slippery, and after all, they'd held hands three times today. "Mmm. For a while I ... really wished I wasn't a writer."

Sort of.

"This was right after college. I liked writing, but for some reason I was almost ... sad, that I couldn't make things, that I wasn't another kind of artist. Like I remember trying to teach myself how to paint, and I took a sculpting class, and it wasn't like it clicked with me, or I made significant process or anything— and. I don't know. Writing alone felt inadequate? For a while it just didn't feel tangible to me like a canvas would."

A beat, and Alice raises and drops her shoulders.

"It felt like I wasn't actually creating something, I guess. I wish I was a visual artist. My grandmother was— she did watercolor artist, she used rock salt to make patterns in her painting."

Alice runs her ring finger along the rim of her glass, pops a chip into her mouth.

"Swear I'm trying not to bum you out. I'm actually very fulfilled with writing, and it's kind of like breathing for me— like at this point I really do think I would die without it. It just took me a while to like stuff that I made again."

A beat. Not for the first time, Alice wonders if it was from all the changes she'd made, getting her drinking under control— if maybe her mood and creativity had plummeted while her body was still returning back to baseline.

She wonders if that sort of thing would ever make Jack uncomfortable. Talking about stuff like that, when everything in the news was so ... raw. Or would he somehow find it reassuring?

"Though— you should know I did a glass-blowing class once, and the pumpkin I made was actually really fucking good."

A grin overtakes her, and Alice takes a deep gulp from her wine, growing lax and loose in the chair as Jack had once done.

She eyes him. Smiles privately to herself. It's too bad she couldn't cast a spell, and freeze this hour— freeze it so Jack sat in this chair always, and sat here just to answer Alice's questions so it felt like she knew each inch of him.

"This means you have to tell me something now. Preferably ...." A beat, as she recalls Jack's earlier words. "Everything."

[yujisdreamgirl]

“why are you looking at me like that?” nanami sets his book down on the coffee table, leaning in towards you as you lean on the same table with your chin on your palm.

“what, i can’t absolutely yearn for my husband now?” he chuckles. yearning. he knows a thing or two about that.

“i’m not saying you can’t. i’m just saying i would prefer if you showed it to me.” he takes a seat beside you on the fluffy ground with his legs crossed, eyes never leaving your figure.

“well maybe if you put your book down once in a while..”

nanami leans forward, showcasing a smile you would absolutely go to war for. he pecks your pout away, holding your cheek in his palm so delicately as if you’re glass. you look into his eyes and you’re convinced he’s casted some spell because you just can’t seem to look away..

“yeah? hm.. are we just going to ignore the fact that i started reading when you stopped giving me attention? i was merely just.. killing the time.”

oh, now he’s the one pouting.

you giggle at his antics, doing the same thing he did and kissed his pout away.

“huh.. i guess i should clock back in my job then hm?”

he raises his eyebrow, “and what job is that?”

“hmmmm i’m not sure what to call it..do you? it involves cuddling and kissing my boyfriend endlessly.” he chuckles.

“i’m not quite sure. would you like to demonstrate it on me?”

“ah!” you gasp as he carries you bridal style, holding onto him tightly as he heads to your guys’s bedroom.

he gently lays you on the bed, but you quickly switch positions so you lay on top of him.

“alright, stop!” he pleads as you continue kissing his face all over and tickle his sides.

“say you surrender!”

“never!”

you don’t stop, not until he switches your positions again and hovers above you.

“alright, alright. you win. can i have my fun now?” he pants breathlessly.

“hmmm.. fine.”

the night lasted long and he had work tomorrow, but nanami wouldn’t have it any other way. not when a small box containing a shiny ring sits waiting inside a hidden drawer in the house.

this.. idk how to feel. i saw scrumptious art and had the urge to write lovey dovey bf!nanami ♡ hope u guys like it^.^

part 2(?) here !

͙͘͡★ divider by @/strangergraphics 👔

[sttoru]

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. nanami kento always hurries home towards his pregnant wife, you, to compensate for the time he spends at work.

tags. sheriff!kento nanami x pregnant wife!reader. fluff, sfw. wild west!au. girl dad kento lets go. reader gets called ‘sugar, darling, wife’. not proofread. wc around 1k

you’re comfortable laying on the couch, nibbling on a piece of bread, when you hear the familiar footsteps on the porch of your cozy home. the front door opens with a faint creak and reveals no one other than your husband, kento, in his work uniform. he’s home earlier than he normally would be.

“evenin’, sugar,” kento steps into the house, his tall frame filling the doorway. he looks over at you, a small smile spreading across his exhausted face as he takes in the sight of you sprawled out on the couch.

his eyes soften when they land on the swell of your belly–reminding him of the life you’ve created. both you and the child growing in your stomach are the reason why he works so hard every day. to provide for you and make the pregnancy as easy as possible for your body.

“hi, honey,” you greet him back with a big smile, “how was work?”

it never fails to make you happy; seeing your husband back home after spending the first half of the day alone. knowing kento is out there making sure you and your baby have food on your table at the end of the day is heartwarming.

kento closes the door behind him and the latch clicks into place. “the usual. nothin’ out of the ordinary today. thank the lord,” he answers. he sets his stetson hat down on the hook near the entrance and starts unbuckling his gun belt, the weight of the revolver and ammunition clinking softly. he hangs it up carefully before taking a couple steps towards you.

“aht-aht, don’t ya go gettin’ up now, sweetheart,” kento chuckles as he notices your attempts to get up to greet him like you usually would do. before your belly got this heavy, that is.

he holds out a callused hand towards you, silently urging you to take it. the last thing he wants is for you to pull a muscle. “i’m right here,” he reassures you as he kneels down in front of the couch.

you lean in for a kiss and your husband instantly does the same. his lips linger on yours for a good few seconds before he pulls away. he cups your face with one hand while the other comes to rest on your rounded belly, palm molding to the gentle curve of it.

“y’re getting’ more beautiful every day,” kento praises in a low yet soft voice. he dips his head to press a kiss to your stomach and closes his eyes, “our little girl ‘s also growing well in there, hm?”

“of course,” you reply with a giggle. your hand comes to cover the one on your belly, your hand smaller than your husband’s. your wedding rings shine beneath the sunlight filtering through your windows and it reminds you of the love you share for each other. your eyes meet kento’s and you’re about to lean in for another kiss when you feel your child kick. 

kento’s eyes widen the second he feels a small but distinct movement beneath your belly, your child stirring within you. a slow smile spreads across his handsome face, his eyes crinkling at the corners before he glances up at you with pure adoration. “that–” the blonde man doesn’t finish his sentence, simply looking back at your stomach with pure love and wonder. his thumb gently rubs small circles over the spot where your child had just made her presence known.

“that was our little girl saying hi to her daddy,” you comment with a giggle. you said it half-jokingly, but kento seems to have taken it seriously.

you’re not sure if he’s fighting the tears or if he’s just blinking rapidly and turning his head sideways so you wouldn’t see the emotions playing out on his face. probably both.

kento clears his throat before nodding. he rests his head gently against your stomach, stubbled jaw tickling your bare skin. “hi there, baby girl. You recognised my voice there, didn’t ya?” he chuckles softly, his voice raw with emotion that he tries to suppress. you can’t see his face like this, only the top of his head, but you’re sure that he’s experiencing all kinds of things at the moment.

you run your fingers through his fluffy blonde strands, the hair gel he uses in the morning almost gone by now. a few seconds pass and another faint kick on the side of your belly makes your husband’s breath hitch. it never fails to fascinate him, to make him feel a great sense of joy. 

“i can’t wait to meet ya too,” kento continues, holding a conversation with your unborn daughter like she’s responding to him. in a way she is, with the occasional kick. he sighs in pure content as his muscular arms wrap around your middle, keeping you close to him while he kneels in front of you. 

what he’s feeling is indescribable. a couple moments pass before he tilts his head back to face you again. you cup his face and rub at his cheekbones, smiling at the loving way he’s staring at you. “you’re gonna be a great father, ken,” you whisper. you’re sure of it. he’s a great husband and will be the best father to your child.

kentk smiles back at you and nods. “thank you. I will try my best, for both of you,” he replies with a determined glint in his brown eyes. his large hands massage your belly before giving it a final kiss. “I promise,” he whispers against your sensitive skin.

it’s a promise he will keep no matter what, until he draws his last breath on this earth.

[femmefruit]

having your dom sit you in their lap with a vibrator pressed between your pussy and their thigh.

a simple enough variation to your usual routine of thigh riding, you let out a pretty sigh and rock your hips forward once before you feel their hands grip your hips to stop you.

“be still for me, baby. no grinding, can you handle that?” you know the sweetness behind the question is all for show, that it’s designed to make you feel small and disgustingly needy. it works. you’re nodding stupidly, already letting the vibrations between your legs overtake your thoughts. they appraise your expression, the way it starts to shift from attentive to blissed out, and turn the vibrator up one setting for good measure. “good, baby. i knew you could do it.”

it’s harder than you thought it would be, holding still through the pleasure. your brain, warm and gooey, keeps trying to urge you into your usual routine of humping away at whatever your partner puts between your legs. every time your hips twitch or shake, their grip tightens around you. you wonder if it’ll bruise. you hope it will. you know you’re getting close, drooling as you kiss and bite at any inch of their skin you can reach without moving your hips. a particularly insistent throb of your pussy threatens to drag you down into an orgasm, and you remember your manners at the last second.

“can i cum?” shakier than you would’ve liked, followed by a long moan. a beat of silence hangs in the air as you realize the answer, but it doesn’t stop you from pleading again, “can i? please?”

“no, baby. wait.” your ensuing cries are hushed, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently as though you’re not being tormented. you wind up to object again but you’re silenced by a tug on your hair that forces you to look them in the eye. “quit, baby. you know you like how it makes you feel, so wait.”

your cheeks flush hot at the accusation, knowing how much truth it held. your eyes start watering as you try to look for a way out, knowing just by their tone that this will not be a time where you could get away with cumming on accident. you drop your head to their shoulder and try to lift your hips, only to be forced back down onto the toy. your brain vaguely registers the instruction to “sit your ass down and be still,” but it’s nearly drowned out by the wail you let out as you connect with the vibrator again. you start shaking your head, pushing back against their chest in an effort to separate yourself from the overwhelming pleasure while your hips stay locked in place by strong hands. how long have you been holding this orgasm? a few minutes? seconds? it feels like it’ll never end, like you’re letting them dangle you over a cliff for their own pleasure, watching you fight and cry while you try your best to follow the instructions given.

they pull back again to admire the distress on your face, letting out a pleased hum at the state you’re in. you’re whimpering constantly, head resting pitifully on their shoulder. they know they could stay there forever, keeping you desperate and pliant as you pant into their neck. they give an experimental bounce of their leg that sends you into another fit of moaning and begging.

“please, please! i need to cum, daddy. i wanna be good but i’m going to cum, can’t hold it anymore. need you to say yes,”

the grin that spreads across their face could only be described as lecherous, listening to the way they’ve absolutely ruined you. they have to get in close to your ear to ensure you hear, holding you still through the fight you’re still putting up as they press a kiss against your temple. “go ahead baby, give it to me,” they groan out, hearing your moans start to pitch up before they even get the sentence out. as if you needed any help to ride it out, they press you down harder against the vibrator, coaxing out sob after sob as your orgasm tears through your body.

“shh, baby, i know. it’s good isn’t it? why don’t you do it again for me since you were so well behaved?”

[crypticgrayson]

Round and Round

Pairing: Front Man/ Hwang In-ho x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, lil bit of angst

Summary: Quick one shot about the mingle game, reader is a participant in the games.

Part 2

You inhaled a deep breath as your eyes took in the circular room you just entered, a comically large merry go around horse in the center of it, surrounded by a round red platform. You looked at the walls next, seeing different colored doors before Gi-Hun grabbed your arm to pull you along with him and the others towards the platform.

“Do you have any idea what this is supposed to be?” Gi-Hun asked, shaking your head in response before you turned to Young-Il stood on your other side, a cold look on his face, snapping out of it when your eyes met his. “How about you?” You asked him, a sigh escaping Young-Il’s lips before shaking his head, “I’m blanking as well”

“It could be a form of Mingle? Make teams and enter a room” Jung-Bae joined in, before the lights suddenly turned off, feeling a hand grabbing either of your arms. Some smaller lights turned on instead, seeing the hands belonged to Gi-Hun and Young-Il. A children’s song started to play as you felt the platform beneath your feet kick into motion, grabbing onto the two men beside you to steady yourself.

You closed your eyes for a moment to keep your ground, feeling yourself grow dizzy because of the spinning platform, the colored doors zooming past your vision. “Y/N, you okay?” Young-Il’s voice sounded close to your ear, making you open your eyes again as you looked up at him to quickly nod your head. The platform suddenly came to a halt which almost sent the three of you to the floor when Gi-Hun lost his footing, but he managed to hold his balance.

“Five, please form a group and enter a room” A female voice spoke over the speaker when the song stopped, making you look back at Jung-Bae who was already making his way over. “One more” Gi-Hun sighed, before your eyes fell on Hyun-Ju looking around frantically, searching for people to join. “Hyun-Ju!” You yelled, making her eyes snap to yours before running over, the five of you running towards an empty room.

Young-Il closed the door behind you as a lock slipped into place, locking you inside. After 1 minute passed some people still hadn’t made it into a room, all the doors closing suddenly, gunshots sounding through the room not much later before the lights turned off again. You sank down to the ground as you felt your heart beat loudly against your chest, placing your hand on top and taking a few deep breaths.

You could feel someone sit down next to you and could make out the contours of Hyun-Ju’s face as she wrapped an arm around you, the seconds ticking by painfully slow before the door swung open again as the lights came back on. Young-Il extended a hand to you to help you up, the five of you walking back to the red platform, blood splatters scattered around the room. You held on to Hyun-Ju when the platform started spinning again as the song sounded too, fighting the urge to close your eyes.

“Four” The female voice sounded when the platform came to a halt, panic in your eyes when you looked at your group of five. “Go! I’ll find another group” Young-Il yelled, pushing the four of you off the platform. You reached out to grab his arm but before you could clutch onto his jacket he turned around to make his way through the crowd, calling out his name but Gi-Hun and Hyun-Ju pulled you along with them to follow Jung-Bae to an empty room.

When the door locked behind you again you moved on your tiptoes to look through the slit in the door, but it was too difficult to locate him in the chaos outside. When the gunshots sounded again the hairs on your arms stood up as a shiver went down your spine, the wait for the door to open somehow feeling even longer than the previous round.

When the door finally opened you pushed it open as quick as you could, the four of you looking around before your eyes finally fell on the man you were searching for, a broad smile on his lips when he walked over to your group. “Thank god you made it” Gi-Hun breathed out as he grabbed onto Young-Il’s shoulder. You tried to hide your shaking hands as Young-Il rubbed your back shortly, before you all moved back on the platform.

“Seven” The voice sounded, making your way off the platform as Gi-Hun called out to 007 and 149, the mother and son looking around for a group. Now that you were with seven people the search started for an empty room, noticing not even half the doors had opened, and a lot of them were already occupied. “There!” You yelled as you saw an empty chamber at the other side of the room, your group running over. Everyone made it inside until you noticed Young-Il wasn’t close behind you anymore, seeing someone pushed him to the floor who was now running in your direction. You moved to stand in the doorway as you grabbed onto the edges of the frame, holding yourself tight and waiting for the man to close in. You moved your leg back before kicking the man in the stomach with all of your strength, sending him flying on his back with a loud thud.

Young-Il ran over to you and tackled you to the floor with him, managing to break your fall as he landed on top of you with his arms wrapped around your body, the door swinging shut not a second later. The only sound filling the room the next few seconds were both of your heavy breaths, the others stood in shock against the wall at what just happened. “Thank you..” Young-Il softly spoke, making you lift your head from the floor to meet his dark eyes. “You’re welcome” You dryly replied, somehow also in shock at where your sudden strength had come from.

You felt your face go red as Young-Il finally moved to get off of you, helping you up again as the others let out a laugh of relief. “What a move, y/n!” Jung-Bae laughed, making you join their laughter as you wiped a drop of sweat away that had rolled down the side of your head. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Young-Il asked as he grabbed your shoulder, concern clear on his face as he looked down at you. “No, I’m fine. I’m just glad you made it” You replied, making a smile form on his face before he patted your head, the door opening again.

“This should be the final round” Gi-Hun spoke when the platform started spinning again, “What do you reckon? It’s probably two now right?” You asked him, Gi-Hun nodding his head. “I was thinking the same” Gi-Hun replied, before the platform came to a halt. “Two” Sounded from the speakers just like you’d expected, your group running over to the doors. Your foot landed in a puddle of blood however, causing you to lose your footing as you fell to your knees. Young-Il was the first to notice, quickly stopping as he called for the group to continue running, making his way back to you.

“What are you doing?! You’ll never make it, find someone else” You yelled at him when he ran back over to you, but that didn’t matter to him, leaning down to pull you up as he grabbed onto your hand. Both of you were looking around to find an empty room, only to see there wasn’t one, the only door still open had people fighting for it. Young-Il however pulled you in that direction, clutching his hand tightly as you followed him towards it. He pushed someone out of the way roughly as he tugged you inside the room with him, pulling the door close behind him.

You both turned towards a sound in the corner of the room to see someone was already inside, feeling panic start to rise within you as you knew what this meant. Young-Il suddenly moved towards the man however, swiftly moving behind him as he wrapped his arm around the man’s neck, both of them sinking to the ground as Young-Il started to choke him. “What are you-!” You started before you realized what was happening, closing your mouth as you looked down at Young-Il before he snapped the man’s neck, letting his body drop to the floor with a loud thud right before the timer hit zero.

You could hear your own loud breathing as Young-Il stood up, walking over to you as you pressed your back against the wall, Young-Il moving to stand right in front of you. You had to move your head back against the wall to meet his eyes, his hand coming up to your cheek. “I still had to repay you for saving me earlier” He softly spoke, his eyes moving down to your lips for a short moment before moving back up to your eyes. “Thank you” You muttered, in a weird state of shock at what you just saw and how he was now only inches away from you.

He suddenly leaned down to press too short of a kiss on your lips before he parted his lips to say something, but the door opened again, Young-Il nodding his head towards the door as he followed you outside. The rest of your group had made it as well as they came running over to you, a fake smile back on Young-Il’s face as he celebrated with them, but you had seen right through his facade.

Not much later you returned through the stair maze back to the sleeping quarters, Young-Il and you walking at the back of the group as you felt him walk closer to you and lean down next to your ear. “You’re smart enough not to tell anyone about what happened inside that room, hm?” He softly spoke, goosebumps raising on your skin as you felt his breath against the side of your neck. “You saved our lives, that’s all that happened right?” You replied, hearing a soft chuckle leave him. “Good girl” He whispered as he moved back upright again, you looking back to meet his eyes one last time before making your way to your bunk bed.