#and those are supposed to be flies around her

[leavemetoplaythesims]

a pond creature (x)

before:

[fanficsat12am]

You were never supposed to matter (1)

Targeting the fans was only the beginning. If he truly wants to bring down HUNTR/X, Jinu knows he has to strike at their core by focusing on one of their beloved managers, (Y/N). But what happens when the demon prince of pop finds himself falling for the very heart he planned to break?

wc: 1.9k

divider credits go to @hyuneskkami 💛

Letting out a sigh, your shoulders droop in exhaustion, your marbled countertop now looking like the softest mattress in all of Korea. With the way the Saja Boys have been climbing the charts lately, Rumi’s voice disappearing, and the backlash from the canceled live performance, you had no idea how you were supposed to manage this nightmare.

You knew about the girls’ second life—how they protected the world from Gwi-Ma’s demons while maintaining the perfect image of K-pop idols. You were one of the few people Rumi trusted with her secret, having accidentally seen the marks on her back during a fitting. After years of working with HUNTR/X, you’d gotten good at spinning lies to Bobby and the others: exploding demons? Special effects. The girls falling from the sky mid-rehearsal? Just some ambitious wire work. But with the recent threat of the hot, muscular demon boy band, you had been on your toes for days, coordinating with the PR team on how to keep the girls afloat amongst their competitors. 

Your eyelids begin to droop, heavy from exhaustion—until something shifts.

The air changes. The night breeze picks up, colder now, sharper. 

Your eyes snap open. You reach back, grabbing the nearest knife from the block. As you spin around, your blade lands inches away from a familiar figure—a raven-haired boy standing in your kitchen. 

“Easy, easy, easy,” he says, hands raised in mock surrender. As he takes a step closer, the streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains reveal him in his human form—the one plastered across billboards and fangirl daydreams.

And who could blame them?

He was the epitome of perfection. The sharp jawline, the tousled black hair, the lean frame that moved with dancer precision—it was a weapon in itself. He was sculpted to charm, built to be adored. Even now, bathed in silver light, he looked less like a demon and more like a dream.

But it was his eyes that made you hesitate—those honey-colored irises, warm and gleaming with something almost human. Almost.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” you demand, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he replies calmly.

“Oh sure, because trusting a demon has never gone wrong before,” you snap, stepping closer, the blade still pointed at him.

But he doesn’t flinch.

“Well... your little friend believed me when I promised to keep her secret. Purple hair with demon marks sound familiar?”

That stops you. Just for a moment. Just enough.

Jinu sees it—and steps forward, gently pressing a finger to the tip of your knife and guiding it away.

“Now that I have your attention,” he says calmly, “I want to help you.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “And what makes you think I’d ever believe you?”

He sighs, gaze lowering. “I don’t expect you to. I just… I want to be like her. To be free. But until they reach the Golden Honmoon, we’ll never escape Gwi-Ma’s control.”

Your jaw tightens. “You have those marks for a reason.”

“I made a mistake—”

“No,” you snap. “You made a choice.”

Your grip tightens on the knife. “And that’s why I can never trust someone like you.”

In a split second, the blade flies from your hand—but before it can touch him, he vanishes in a puff of violet smoke. The knife hits the wall with a dull thunk, then clatters to the wooden floor.

A small, pale blue card flutters down from where he once stood. You hesitate before picking it up.

A cartoon duck smiles on the front.

You open it.

Inside, in delicate handwriting, it reads:

“Come find me when you’re ready to listen.”

You roll your eyes, toss the card into the bin, and fall back onto the couch with an exhausted sigh.

But as the night settles in, you can’t help but wonder, why did Rumi trust him? And why, deep down, did part of you want to believe him too.

__________________________________

As you watched the girls practice the dance for what felt like the umpteenth time, your mind kept wandering back to last night’s encounter. There had to be a catch. Demons were all the same—selfish, vile, cruel.

So what did he really want?

The memory of his honey-colored eyes lingered like a bruise in your thoughts. Warm, almost sincere—but lies always wore a pretty face.

So many questions spun through your head like a whirlpool, dragging you under until—

“Helloooo?”

You blinked. Zoey was waving her hand inches from your face.

“Earth to (Y/N)?” she teased, dragging out the last word.

Your eyes widened, snapping back to the three girls now staring at you.

“You okay?” Mira asked, head tilting, brows furrowed with a mix of concern and suspicion. “You’ve been acting… different today.”

Zoey pipes up again, “Yeah, you’ve been looking at us like—” She tilts her head to the side, eyes wide, like she’s under a spell.

You giggle softly. “Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking.” You send them a reassuring smile.

They all nod, understanding. You always had a lot on your plate as a manager.

“We’ll go ahead and call it a day,” Rumi says. “Let’s pick it back up tomorrow.”

The other girls sigh in relief, clearly eager to be swallowed by the nearest couch. As they turn to pack their things, you reach out and gently grab Rumi by the wrist. She stops, her violet hair swaying slightly as she looks back at you.

“Can we talk?” you whisper.

Her brows crease. “Yeah, sure, uhm…” She glances over to Zoey and Mira. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up later.”

“Sounds good,” Mira calls. “See you tomorrow, (Y/N)!”

“Bye, (Y/N)!” Zoey waves excitedly before leaving with her pink-haired companion.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, the room grows quieter.

You turn to Rumi, wasting no time.

“Have you been talking to Jinu?” Your voice is firm. “And don’t lie to me.”

She stiffens. Her eyes dart away, debating silently. Then, quietly—

“Yes.”

You let go of her hand as if burned, staring at her like she just suggested disbanding HUNTR/X.

“Rumi…”

“It’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” Your voice sharpens. “Rumi, he’s a demon! One of the very monsters you’ve sworn to hunt and destroy. You’ve hated their kind since you were a little girl!”

She hesitates, but then… she speaks.

“He’s different.”

She bites her lip. “He’s not like the others we’ve fought. He just… he doesn’t enjoy the hurting. It’s like he’s trapped in something he didn’t ask for.” She pulls her sleeve up slightly, revealing the faint glowing marks etched into her skin. 

“People change,” she says, voice low. “Sometimes… they just need a reason to.”

Before you could respond, the studio lights flickered once… twice… then died. The room plunged into darkness.

“Get out,” Rumi said sharply, her voice instantly shifting into that protective, no-nonsense tone. “Now.”

“Wait, what are you—”

“Go!” she shouted, already dashing in the opposite direction.

Heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, you grabbed your phone with trembling hands and fumbled to switch on the flashlight. The weak beam flickered to life, cutting through the thick veil of darkness as you sprinted down the hallway, footsteps echoing against the studio walls.

But halfway through, you skidded to a stop—your breath caught in your throat.

A low, sickening growl echoed from the shadows ahead. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even close.

Then came the sound of claws—wet, ragged, scraping against the walls. From the cracks and corners, they emerged—a horde of demons, crawling out like living smoke. Half-shadow, half-nightmare. Spines jagged like broken glass. Eyes glowing red in the dark. Limbs bending wrong, too many joints, too many teeth.

You turned to run—but they were faster. One leapt toward you, its mouth splitting open in a shriek that pierced your skull.

You screamed, stumbling back, and instinctively squeezed your eyes shut.

You braced for the pain. For the end.

But it never came.

Instead, a feral snarl ripped through the air, so loud and guttural it made your bones rattle. The sickening crunch of impact followed, like something had been thrown straight into the wall. Hard.

Your eyes snapped open.

There, standing between you and the demon pack, was a tall figure draped in a jet-black hanbok, its fabric swaying gently like smoke in the still air.

“Jinu?” you whispered

But not the Jinu you knew.

His human illusion had fallen away. He wore a traditional black gat, its ribbon fluttering in the unnatural wind that had suddenly stirred. From beneath the wide brim, his eyes burned golden—not warm, but wild, predatory. Smoke, thick and purple-black, coiled around the edges of his silhouette.

His body moved like liquid shadow, sleek and elegant, but every step oozed restrained violence. The demon who had attacked you lay crushed against the wall in a heap of limbs, twitching before going still.

Jinu didn’t even glance back.

He didn’t speak.

But as the others lunged at him, he moved with a speed that was inhumane.

Effortless. Precise. Beautiful in a way that made your breath catch and your spine crawl.

He cut through them like a blade of darkness—one clawed hand dragging a demon to the ground, the other summoning a flick of searing smoke that split through flesh like fire through paper. Each motion was deliberate, calculated, protective—but brutal.

You stared, frozen.

Not because you were afraid.

But because you understood.

He hadn’t come for them.

He came for you.

You watched as he dealt with the last of them, holding it by the throat and with a crack of finality, letting it fall limp to the ground—it’s body fading into ashes. He looks back to you, but the look of anger and bloodshed in his bright golden eyes was gone, now back to a warm hue. The silence seemed to stretch between the two of you, almost palpable. He walks towards you. Every step echoed in your ears, louder than your own heartbeat. Your instincts screamed—Run. Turn away. Don’t let him get close. But you stay frozen in your spot. He stopped just inches away, closer than you should’ve ever let a demon get. He raised his hand slowly. You flinched and shut your eyes, breath hitching sharply. 

This is it, he’s going to kill me himself. 

Instead, you felt his ice-cold finger lifted your chin gently, his touch featherlight. Your eyes fluttered open. You find his gaze inspecting every inch of your face, his bows furrowing just the slightest as he memorized every detail. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice. 

You nodded, though your voice trembled. “Y-yeah.”

He let out a soft breath, the corner of his lips curling into the faintest smile. “Good.”

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then his expression shifted—just slightly, like a storm creeping back in behind his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he murmured, gaze dropping for a second. 

Before you can speak, he steps back. The smoke curling around his form starts to rise again, swallowing him like mist.

“Wait—” you call out, reaching a hand toward him

But he’s already fading.

“Don’t follow me,” he says, voice soft but clear. “Not until you’re ready.”

Then, just like before, he vanishes into a ripple of violet haze.

You’re left standing in silence. The hallway, once haunted by demons, now feels too still. Too empty.

And then… something flutters gently to the floor.

Your eyes lower.

Another card.

Same pale blue. Same cartoon duck. But now, taped to the back, a single ticket—National Theater of Korea. Tomorrow. 8 p.m.

You pick it up slowly, heart thudding in your ears.

Inside the card, in that same careful handwriting:

“Come find me. I’ll be waiting.”

You want to throw it away.

You should throw it away.

But instead, your fingers tighten around it. You stare at it for a moment longer… then quietly tuck it into your pocket.

[darkmatilda]

𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: who would’ve thought a drunken vegas wedding would have consequences? well, definitely not spencer—at least not in the moment he went through with it. but now he has to do something about it, sign the right papers, and overcome the dozens of excuses that, for some unknown reason, are starting to form in his head.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, aftermath of The One In Vegas fic — but you don’t need to read that one first, all you need to know is that the imbeciles got married in vegas, reader’s cat is seriously ill :(( but pulls through and they take care of her together hihi you know the secretly dating trope what about secretly married trope??

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.2k

𝐚/𝐧: request masterlist

It's been two months.

Time flies right? Bullshit. You can say it about some fresh relationship with an intensive honeymoon phase where one day you wake up thinking, oh, it's been two months already! Or about a cat you adopted. Who at the beginning was a tiny little crumb, a speck of sweet cake and suddenly as if overnight transformed into a dignified, refined lady cat looking at everything with alert little eyes (Spencer, as a cat dad himself could confirm)

But you couldn't say that about a wedding you took two months ago in Vegas by mistake. With a woman you hated could barely stand tolerated enjoyed being around just sometimes. And you still hadn't gotten a divorce.

And, as it turned out, you weren’t planning to.

But how Spencer and his irreplaceable, gorgeous friend from work came to that decision, you’ll find out in a moment.

*

“Avoiding me?”

Spencer had just poured the last spoonful of sugar into his coffee, grabbed it, and the moment he turned around, he ran into her and her question. He hadn’t even heard her approach, nor sensed her presence behind his back. So, of course he jumped, and a few drops of coffee landed on the sleeve of his shirt. He cursed.

“Am I that terrifying?” she asked with a snort.

Spencer shot her a look full of frustration. It was his favorite shirt!

“No, you just for some unknown reason have to sneak up on me. Like you’re planning to slip arsenic into my coffee.”

“You think I’m in such a hurry to become a widow?”

Hearing those words, he stopped worrying about the stain on his shirt and froze in place, catching her gaze. She also suddenly turned serious—actually, in a split second—which made him start to suspect that she had been that way ever since she walked up to him, just hiding it behind a few sarcastic remarks. She stood in front of him, perfectly straight posture, arms crossed over her chest, and as always, her chin slightly tilted up. Yes, she was deadly serious. But it was hard to expect any other attitude from her, considering what they finally had to talk about.

It was the first time they’d seen each other after returning from Vegas. At work. In the morning. She was right, he had been avoiding her a bit. The weight of the whole situation turned out to be too much, and besides, he needed time to figure out whether all of it hadn’t just been a dream he’d had during some deathly serious fever.

Confronted, Spencer looked at her face not very intelligently, his mind filled with black. He had no idea how they were supposed to have this conversation. She suddenly nodded slightly.

“If that’s what you think, you’re absolutely right,” she said. “I’m in a hurry to become a widow. That’s why I came to talk to you, because we have to finally do something about this…”

“I think you meant to say divorcée. Not widow. The word widow clearly suggests…”

“Whereas the word husband means you don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking…”

“Since when…”

“Since always. Shows I’m your first wife if you don’t know such basics.”

Reid’s brain fogged up like he’d stumbled upon some mysterious equation whose solution was beyond even his math skills. And that didn’t happen often.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t use the word wife in our context.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. I’m your wife now, even if it’s only temporary.”

He set his coffee mug back on the counter so he could cross his arms over his chest and fixed her with an analytical look, which she had no problem returning.

“Careful. Or I’ll start thinking that somewhere deep down you actually like the way this is turning out.” 

First, she parted her lips, automatically, ready to answer immediately, sharply. Then the words must have really hit her, because she closed them again. But Spencer didn’t even have time to relish the triumph of having successfully silenced her (something he practically never managed to do, unless his own mouth also stayed shut) when her eyes widened, and her brows shot to the middle of her forehead. With pity.

“Now that was brilliant, genius,” she snorted, shaking her head slightly from side to side. Right after, she snorted again. “Go on, say I dragged you by force to that Vegas chapel. The beginning of my master plan, poor Spencer fell victim to it. And then, from grief and devastation, went to bed with me...”

He held out his hand in a stopping gesture, to steer the conversation back to its original course because they didn’t have much time, yeah, that was the reason.

“We’re getting off topic,” he noted instructively, ignoring her next snort that followed right after his words. He drew more air into his lungs, as for a short moment they both fell silent, and the air in the empty kitchen thickened.

When he spoke again, he made sure his voice was quieter. Not just because he wanted to give it the proper seriousness—but also because he didn’t want, couldn’t allow anyone to accidentally overhear it. On that, at least, they agreed.

“We’re getting a divorce, right? Like we agreed on…y’know, back then.”

He was fully ready to take the hit of her ironic no, let’s stay married till death do us part, but it didn’t come, which was enough to tell him that she, too, wanted out of this complicated, stupid mess they’d gotten themselves into.

She nodded once, but firmly.

“As soon as I get home, I’ll print the paperwork,” she announced. “So, we’ll just meet later, all we need is both our signatures since we both want it and don’t have any kids or anything like that. Then we file it with the court and we’re free. We don’t even have to dress up, but personally, I think we should as we never got the chance to go all out for our wedding outfit—”

Spencer cut her off, inhaling a huge gulp of air through his nose, realizing something.

 “I can’t,” he said.

 Her eyebrows rose at him.

 ‘What do you mean you can’t...’

“I can’t meet with you today,” he clarified, as he had meant to from the start. He rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “We have another case, and we’re flying out…literally in half an hour. I just wanted to grab a coffee before we left. We might even be gone for a few days.”

His voice softened unintentionally, like he was trying to cushion the potential explosion from her end—oh, it was definitely coming. One look at her clenched jaw was enough.

 And it wasn’t even his fault!

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” the woman began through gritted teeth, but didn’t finish—

because someone else cut her off mid-sentence.

“Good morning, guys. How’s your day going? ’Cause mine’s just fantastic,” Morgan strolled into the kitchen with a near-dance in his step—one that hadn’t left him since his girlfriend said yes to his proposal. He paused, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze drifted over their faces. “Okay, clearly not that fantastic. Sparks are flying around your heads. What’s it this time?”

“None of your business,” they snapped at the exact same time.

His eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t offended. He looked at them more like he was observing some strange behavioral exhibit.

“Two of my friends are fighting, so yeah it kinda is my business. At least to some degree. But seriously now, what’s going on with you two? You’ve been acting weird ever since we got back from Vegas.”

Like the worst actors in the world, they whipped their panicked gazes toward each other.

Spencer’s look screamed he knows! He knows! Do something!

Hers, on the other hand, was clearly yelling stop making it so obvious, don’t panic like a little boy!

And actually, she was the first to pull herself together, squaring her shoulders and shifting her gaze to Morgan with stoic calm.

“We’re acting weird?” she asked, tilting her head toward him, accusatorially. “You’re the one acting weird. Walking around all sunshine and rainbows. Only thing missing are the little hearts floating over your head.”

Unfazed, Morgan spread his arms.

“Happy relationship, happy man,” he summarized.

She gave him a sarcastic smile.

“Don’t worry, it all fades after the wedding.”

He smiled back, just as sarcastically.

 “And what would you know about that?”

“Well,” Spencer began, feeling obligated to take his temporary wife’s side, “if you look at it statistically…”

“What would either of you know about that?”

This time, they waited until he left the kitchen before exchanging a silent look.

*

Another two weeks had passed and it was only just starting to sink in for Spencer that he had a wife — and what’s more, he was finding himself more and more fascinated by that fact.

Okay, he didn’t want to sound silly, but sometimes he did imagine what his life would look like after getting married, and usually those visions were shaped by what he saw around him, the people he knew, what he’d read in books or seen in movies. Either way, he had never expected that 1) it would be someone he wasn’t even in a relationship with, and 2) they wouldn’t actually see each other after the wedding!

The case they had been working on dragged on horribly, and once it was wrapped up, they both got swept away by their own responsibilities. And if they saw each other at all, it was exactly because of that. The topic of divorce just hovered above them, somewhere in the back of their minds.

Just like in the back of his mind there was always wow, you're a married guy now, Reid. All the time �� even though the marriage was literally just a piece of paper — he kept catching himself directing those words at himself.

How many times had he sat on the jet with the team, in total silence, staring at each of his friends in turn while thinking none of them know I have a wife!

He didn’t flirt with women, didn’t go on dates, but he knew that if he did decide to — or even tried — he’d feel bad about it.

One time he and Morgan were sent to a bar to talk to some witnesses, and one of the women there kept getting closer to him, accidentally brushing against his arm or shoulder, trying to catch his eye — and he didn’t respond, because he was too busy dissociating and wondering whether, theoretically speaking this would count as cheating?

He wondered if she ever felt the same way, at least sometimes. It really made him wonder, and after a while he came to the conclusion that there was a significant chance she didn’t.

And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that left him with an unpleasant feeling.

Spencer eventually came to the conclusion that the whole marriage situation was simply too overwhelming for his overanalyzing brain, so when they finally managed to schedule a time to sign the divorce papers, he accepted it with a certain sense of relief.

He hadn’t even made it to her apartment — hadn’t even left his own — when he got an unexpected call from her, suggesting that their plans for the evening were going to be a little different.

Because divorce didn’t usually involve a veterinary clinic…right?

When he arrived, any thoughts of signing anything were quickly — very quickly — pushed aside, not just because of the circumstances, but also because of the look on her face when they finally came face to face.

“What happened?” he asked, not even trying to hide his concern. Her cat was also his cat — the one he’d personally pulled out of a dumpster a few months ago and since neither of them had much time on their hands, they’d decided to care for her together.

Her arms were crossed, not in a dominant way but more as if seeking some semblance of comfort, and one of her legs was bouncing slightly in place,a detail he noticed in passing.

“Marie was acting strange since the morning,” she began. Her voice wasn’t trembling, but it was significantly lacking its usual strength. The same went for her expression — tense, clearly balancing on the edge between deep worry and fear, crossing that line over and over again. She took a shallow breath and forced herself to continue with a slight nod of her head, her arms crossing tighter over her chest.

“She was apathetic, didn’t want to eat. Then the vomiting started and…I don’t know, it seemed really serious. And don’t look at me like that, it’s not like last time.”

Last time they’d gone to the vet and it had turned out the cat was fine, the whole thing just her premature panic. But Spencer flinched, surprised she snapped at him, since not for a moment had he looked at her with suspicion or condescension — still, he felt guilty anyway and quickly protested, shaking his head.

“I know,” he assured her honestly, even meeting her gaze, which quickly caught onto the contact with some surprise, but also a bit of softening. “Even if it’s a false alarm, it’s good that you’re here. Do we know anything?”

She shook her head with another anxious breath.

So they waited together, not breaking the silence even once — not when they sat there, not even when they were leaving the clinic an hour later, having found out that Marie would have to stay for at least a few days because she had contracted feline panleukopenia.

A dangerous disease in cats.

Spencer glanced uncertainly at her profile while she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, and he wondered whether she was scanning the parking lot for their car or if her thoughts had drifted somewhere far away. He had no idea what to say—he didn’t want to throw out a casual hey, everything’s gonna be fine because he knew it would sound dishonest when he himself wasn’t sure, and besides, it would definitely earn him one of her hard looks that clearly meant shut up.

So he cleared his throat and decided to go with something that always resonated with both of them. Science.

“Panleukopenia has a very high mortality rate, that’s true,” he began, making sure to follow up quickly before the weight of that first sentence could fully land. “But the older the cat, the better they fight it. The worst cases are usually in kittens under five months, and Marie’s over a year old, she’s well nourished, actually, she eats better than I do thanks to you. Besides, she’s a strong cat, remember when she…oh, okay—”

She hugged him. The kind of hug one gives a pillow after a cruel day, wrapping her arms around him, and he was almost sure she locked them behind his back. At first, he must have made a terrible pillow, stiff with surprise and general lack of practice at being touched, but he quickly found it in himself to get better at it. Surprisingly better, placing a hand on the back of her head where it rested against him, and started to wonder if maybe he was generally better at giving hugs than he’d always thought he was.

“When she gets better I’m adopting her fully,” she said, the words muffled against his body and clothing. He furrowed his brows, not quite sure what she meant. “Marie. I’ll even quit my job. Become a full-time cat mom. “

Spencer, recognizing the tension still in her voice but catching the self-soothing joke beneath it, let out a short snort and added, “Of course you will. Giving up partying too?”

“You bet I will.”

He nodded, signaling he didn’t believe her. Then realized she couldn’t see that. Right.

But before she pulled away — which he wasn’t rushing her to do — one last thing came to his mind. He decided to bring it up, taking advantage of the slightly lighter mood, because well, they had to eventually.

“About those divorce papers, we could sign them to-”

She didn’t let go of him, but jerked her head up abruptly to shoot him a disbelieving, angry look.

“How dare you think about divorce when our baby might be dying?”

Spencer blinked, not very intelligently.

The woman pulled away from him, crossing her arms over her chest — this time in an authoritative, offended gesture.

 “I don’t even want to hear about it until she gets better,” she snapped. “All the way better. I’ve got enough on my plate, and I’m not going to think about it right now.”

She walked off toward her car and sat in the driver’s seat without looking back. Spencer stood still, processing her words. I don’t want to hear about it until she gets better?Did that mean she wanted them to stay married for at least a few more weeks — since that’s how long the cat’s recovery might take?

She leaned her head out of the car, looking at him questioningly.

 “You coming or not?”

*

Did that mean she wanted them to stay married for at least a few more weeks — since that’s how long the cat’s recovery might take?

Exactly that’s what she meant. And, amusingly, over time, he completely came to understand the decision.

The following weeks turned into a true marathon for both of them at work, on top of caring for a sick cat. Especially after she was discharged from the veterinary clinic and required an even stricter diet and supervision than before. And even when they did have a spare moment or day off, they preferred to spend it resting, catching their breath — not dealing with a divorce.

Because, when it came down to it, it was just a piece of paper. It didn’t mean anything. It would be a different matter if one of them were dating someone else, maybe planning a real wedding of their own — then they’d have to deal with it. But for now? No one besides them even knew it had happened, and they could simply pretend it hadn’t.

Marriage — even an unserious one (though it was, without question, a real one) — had its perks. And it wasn’t just about taxes or health insurance; it was about something Spencer had never even thought about before, because it had never concerned him. Something he now discovered with genuine surprise.

For example, the nearby gym offered a very attractive discount for married couples.

And okay, right, he didn’t go to the gym. But what if he intended to? Maybe it was a sign from the universe to take care of his fitness, which would be a smart idea considering his job? When he had access to that discount, he had fewer reasons to postpone it. 

And he mostly mentioned that gym and the discount because the day he found out about it, they both happened to have the day off and he was considering taking care of the paperwork that very day. To get it over with before they got caught up in work again and put it off for another week.

He even printed the proper papers, but then he saw the gym poster and put them in the drawer for another half a month.

He remembered them when he was staring at how she was half-sitting, half-lying on the couch in his apartment with the cat on her lap, who kept hitting her in the face with its tail, making her close her eyes. Since their cat was recovering from illness, they decided not to stress her out further with constant changes of location, so for a while she would stay in his apartment. So when she wanted to spend time with Marie, she would just drop by, something he had already gotten used to.

Was this a good moment for a divorce? He had been thinking about it for over ten minutes, but finally sighed, acknowledging that they had to do it at some point anyway. What was even stopping him? A potential discount at a potential future gym? Oh, what an idiot he was.

"Since we're already here, just the two of us," he began. He waited until the woman opened her eyes and looked at him over the cat’s body, questioningly. He cleared his throat. "I have the divorce papers in the desk, we could sign them and get it over with. Then we’ll just need to file them in court..."

"Do you want to sign them now?" she asked.

He had expected more eagerness in her voice. Relief that they were finally getting out of that stupid drunken decision they had made almost two months ago. But he found none of that in her voice—instead, he watched as she doubtfully pushed out her lower lip.

"I was just about to leave," she announced. "I have a manicure in literally ten minutes. And you know, I’d rather read them first. Make sure that what you're putting in front of me is actually divorce papers and not, I don’t know. A pact to enslave me."

Spencer realized he was nodding enthusiastically.

"Completely understandable," he admitted, because her explanation really did make sense. It truly did. She had an appointment with her manicurist, and being late would be a bit disrespectful of her time. The next client would have to wait ten minutes longer. What if the next client had a booked flight to Italy for their cousin’s wedding? And had scheduled the manicure just in time and those ten minutes could make them late. Why should random strangers have to pay the price for their divorce? Besides, he genuinely supported reading documents before signing them. "So, well. Next time."

“Mhm,” she agreed with a hum, planting an aggressive kiss on Marie’s head before getting up from the couch and slipping her shoes back on. “Sure. Next time.”

She was already heading for the door, and Spencer pretended not to be watching her, but when she turned and caught his gaze, it instantly became clear that he had been following her with his eyes. She waited a moment before speaking.

“I added you to my car insurance policy. As my husband,” she said. Spencer’s eyes widened. “I figured you wouldn’t mind, especially considering how many times I’ve given you a ride to work lately. And, well, I’ll have to find out how this works in case of a divorce. Before we actually get one.”

Spencer was surprised, that’s true, but he adapted surprisingly quickly to this reality. After all, he wanted to use their marriage for a gym discount. Cheaper insurance wasn’t much different.

“All right,” he replied thoughtfully, biting the inside of his cheek. “No, actually, all right. That makes sense. We don’t have to do it today either, although, I don’t know when I’ll next have free time to sort it out.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “But someday we’ll have to do it.”

“So, are you planning a wedding anytime soon?” he asked, half joking, half earnestly hoping she wasn’t, since so far he believed she wasn’t seeing anyone. If she was, things could get complicated.

“No,” she answered seriously. “You?”

He let his shrugged arms be his silent answer to that obvious question.

They stayed silent for a moment, looking at each other. Meanwhile, someone was running late for a cousin’s wedding in Italy, but that wasn’t important right now. The question was probably burning on his tongue, but he was afraid to ask it. He wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to ask it himself.

Finally, she moved, and he panicked, thinking she was going to leave — which only confirmed to him that he really wanted to ask it. But instead of changing her position, she said, “We don’t have to get this divorce.”

He stared at her even more intensely than before, not even blinking.

“Face it, Spencer,” she continued with surprising dignity, considering what they were talking about. “It’s been two months. It hasn’t affected our lives in any way. At least not negatively, because the insurance is a plus. And neither of us really has time right now to deal with it. Sure, we could sign it, but then we’d have to file it in court…”

“So you’re suggesting we just stay married?” he asked, swallowing hard.

She nodded slowly, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was doing herself.

“Until we can calmly deal with it,” she clarified. “Besides, it’s not exactly a marriage. You know what I mean. I’m suggesting we stay that way in our civil records for a while.”

“And reap the benefits,” he blurted out. “Insurance. Gym.”

“Gym?”

He shook his head, hoping she’d forget that part.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked again.

She didn’t move for a moment — he liked that she was actually taking a moment to think. Then she shrugged.

“I guess I am,” she said at last. “But if you change your mind in a few days, that’s your right. I’m not going to keep you as my husband by force,” she added with a snort.

He nodded quickly, signaling he understood.

“Same goes for you.”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment longer, searching for any doubt on each other’s faces. There was a bit of it, he couldn’t deny. But in the end, neither of them said a word.

[wingedhallows]

pairing: vi x reader | 1.1k words plot: a little slip up on your end results in a happy end authors note: hey, babes. I recieved a message - or rather a demand for more vi content and other characters so, here is a little something. hope you enjoy it :)

navigation

Her sheets are soft around you, the dim light casting gentle shadows across the room. The familiar sound of her favorite band hums in the background, a quiet, steady rhythm that blends with the warmth of the moment. You sink back against one of her pillows, feeling the comforting weight of it behind you.

Your hand rests on her thigh as she carefully drags the nail polish brush across your fingernail, her brows furrowed in concentration, The glossy black liquid glides into place, and you watch as she bites her lip, her tongue just barely peeking out in focus.

“You’re cute.” 

The words slip out before you even realize you’ve spoken them, your voice quiet - almost uncertain.

Her head snaps up in an instant, an - oh, sweet god - those sky-blue eyes.

“What?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, the tiny brush frozen mid-air as she stares at you.

Panic flares in your chest. Crap. You clear your throat, scrambling to backtrack, to smooth over the moment before it turns into something more than you meant. She wouldn’t like you back, right? Not Violet. No chance.

“I said you look like a fruit.”

The words tumble from your mouth before you’ve even fully processed them.

A fruit. Really? You mentally curse yourself. You’re the biggest idiot to walk this earth. 

Her eyebrows knit together, and she tilts her head, clearly trying to make sense of your nonsense. Oh, you’re done for.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Her voice carries amusement, like she doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. You curse yourself—of course it doesn’t make sense. The room feels heavier, the shadows stretching longer as her gaze stays fixed on you.

What are you supposed to do now? Your hands grow clammy as you force yourself to look away, willing your heart to stop its relentless hammering.

“I heard you, you know.”

Her voice is softer this time, a gentle caress against the storm in your mind.

What?

Your eyes snap back to hers, your shoulders tensing as you sink deeper into the pillows, half-hoping they’ll swallow you whole.

“You did?” The words barely escape your lips, breathless and uncertain. Your heart stutters, beating so wildly you’re convinced it might just give out.

She nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips as she carefully drags the tiny brush over your nail, coating it in sleek black polish.

“You’re cute too.”

You swear you hear laughter in her voice. Is she enjoying this? Your stomach flips as you stare at her, and for the first time, you realize just how close she is.

“You think so?” You manage, and you curse yourself for the pathetic uncertainty in your voice. How much more embarrassing can you get?

Heat creeps up your neck, and suddenly, the room feels warmer—was it always this hot in here? She chuckles softly, moving on to your ring finger, her movements steady and precise.

“I do, yeah. Wasn’t I obvious enough?” Her voice is quiet, almost teasing, but there’s something in it that sends a shiver down your spine.

Your brows knit together. Obvious? What in the world—

“Obvious about what?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Vi keeps painting your nail, but you notice how her hand stills, just for a second.

“That I liked you.”

The confession nearly flies past you. Nearly.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your heart trips over itself. You swear you’re about to die—right here, right now, in the bliss of her fluffy sheets.

“What?” The word comes out embarrassingly weak, and you hate yourself for it.

Then, her eyes meet yours.

And for the first time since you’ve known her, you see it—vulnerability. Fear. She’s terrified. Of rejection. Of you breaking her heart. She swallows, looks away, maybe to gather the courage to keep going. When her gaze returns to yours, the faintest blush dusts her cheeks.

“I like you.”

The moment the words leave her lips, your ears ring. Your heart soars.

She likes you?

“I like you too.”

It comes out higher-pitched than you intended, but before you can feel embarrassed about it, you see her smile—small, but real.

Then she leans in.

The air shifts, suddenly too thin, like the room itself is holding its breath. Was there always this little oxygen in here?

Her hand comes up to cup your cheek, and your heart stops for a solid second.

Is this really happening?

“Can I?” she whispers, her breath brushing against your lips, sending your mind into a frenzy.

You swallow—hard—before nodding. A silent assurance. A quiet yes.

Vi doesn’t hesitate. She crashes her lips against yours, and the sensation sends a soft, helpless sound spilling from your throat. You feel like a prepubescent teenager, but you’re too blissed out to care.

You kiss her back, and for a moment, the world outside this room ceases to exist. You swear you hear the same breathless sound from her as she deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing against the seam of your lips. You don’t hesitate—you welcome her in.

The moment your tongues meet, she threads her fingers into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. Your hands find her shoulders, clinging to her like she’s the only thing anchoring you to this moment. Your mouths move together, desperate, breathless, as if trying to make up for lost time.

Then Vi breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against yours, her breath coming just as uneven as your own.

“I think I love you,” she murmurs against your lips, and the words send a shiver down your spine.

You inhale sharply. The weight of her confession settles deep in your chest, but there’s no hesitation, no fear. Just her.

“I love you too.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, the words brushing against her skin like a secret only meant for her.

A small grin tugs at her lips. She brushes her thumb over your cheek in a slow, tender caress.

“Say it again,” she whispers.

And how could you deny her?

“I love you.” The words come out soft, reverent.

Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, her expression melting into something so blissful it makes your heart ache. When she opens them again, you swear you see stars reflected in her gaze.

“God, I love you too.” Her voice is barely more than a breath, but it’s everything.

[p0orbaby]

It Doesn’t Get Any Easier

summary: you’re the new physio, tasked to help leah one on one with her recovery; but lines start to blur the longer you spend with one another

warnings: none

a/n: i enjoyed this one. also trying out a slightly different style so let me know what you think

word count: 2.8k

-

Leah comes in every morning just after 7:30, always a little earlier than the rest of the team—well, what’s left of the team—who roll in around 8, give or take. You start noticing her patterns by the second week. It’s not intentional. It’s just that she’s hard not to notice. The way she slips into the room quietly, moving like a shadow, like she’s trying not to be seen even though she’s Leah Williamson and there’s something impossible about Leah Williamson going unnoticed. You’re not sure she’s aware of it, or maybe she is, maybe it’s part of the act, something people like her learn over time—how to balance being seen and unseen simultaneously. Either way, she always acknowledges you. It’s a brief nod or a soft “Morning” that comes out like a sigh. But it’s there. And you nod back because it’s professional, it’s polite.

You’re the new physio, brought in because someone higher up decided that ACLs are the new pandemic, and Arsenal’s hit hard by it. One by one, players dropping like flies—tears, rips, stretches that aren’t supposed to stretch. Someone needed to focus on rehab, on these slow and tedious one-on-one sessions. So, here you are. Your life has become a revolving door of knee braces, resistance bands, ultrasound machines, and cold compression therapy. A strange, repetitive kind of intimacy.

Leah is assigned to you. "Take care of her," they say. She’s a captain. She’s the face. There’s an unsaid urgency that comes with her, an invisible asterisk by her name. You feel it in every briefing, every passing mention of her progress. Everyone’s waiting for her return. Waiting for her to be fixed.

Your first session with her is awkward. Stilted. You’re overly conscious of how she sits, her knee elevated, her eyes on the ceiling, like she’s counting the tiles instead of looking at you. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and that weird plastic-y scent that medical equipment always has. You ask her the standard questions: pain level, range of motion, any stiffness. She answers with one-word responses, tight-lipped. There’s a distance between you that you can’t quite figure out if it’s professional or personal. Maybe both.

-

Weeks pass, and the routine becomes muscle memory. You know when to push and when to pull back. How to make her laugh, how to coax her into stretching just a little more without her getting defensive. You start to notice the little things about her. Like how she always wipes her hands on her shorts after you adjust the brace on her leg, or how she clicks her tongue when she’s frustrated, a soft noise that barely registers unless you’re paying attention, which you are. You’re always paying attention to Leah.

It’s in the middle of a session that things shift. You’re guiding her through a series of exercises—balance work, stuff that’s boring but essential—and she’s sweating, biting her lip as she focuses on not wobbling. You’re right there, hands out, ready to catch her if she stumbles. She doesn’t, but the proximity is there. Too close, maybe. Your fingers brush her waist as you correct her form, and she inhales sharply. You freeze, but she doesn’t move. Neither do you.

"Is this okay?" you ask, your voice lower than usual, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the weight of her stare, those sharp blue eyes locking onto yours.

"Yeah," she says, but her voice sounds strained, like she’s not sure it’s the right answer. She’s not looking at you anymore, her focus now on the floor, her hands gripping the sides of the bench like she needs to anchor herself. The room feels smaller, the air thick.

You pull back, step away, putting space between you, but it doesn’t feel like enough. You can still feel the echo of her skin under your fingers, the heat of her proximity. You clear your throat, force a smile. "Let’s take five”

She nods, doesn’t say anything, just grabs her water bottle and takes a long drink, her throat working, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck. You turn away, pretend to be adjusting something on the ultrasound machine even though it’s perfectly fine, just to give yourself something to do, something that isn’t thinking about how her skin felt under your hands.

-

The next time around is more tense. There’s an unspoken tension now, like a line has been crossed, or maybe it hasn’t, but it’s close. You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every brush of skin. Leah doesn’t mention it, but there’s a change in her too. She flirts, subtly at first—offhand comments, jokes that land just a little too close to something more. You laugh, play along, because it’s harmless. It’s nothing. Except it’s not.

You catch yourself watching her more. The way her muscles ripple under her skin as she moves, the way her lips part when she’s concentrating, how her eyes flick to you when she thinks you’re not looking. You wonder if she notices you doing the same. You wonder if she feels it too—this thing simmering between you that’s becoming harder to ignore.

One day, after a session, she lingers. The rest of the team has filtered out of the gym, and it’s just the two of you, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound.

"Thanks for today," she says, her voice soft. She’s sitting on the edge of the bench, her knee still wrapped in the brace, but she looks more relaxed than she has in weeks. There’s something in her eyes, something you can’t quite read, and it makes your chest tighten.

"It’s my job," you say, but the words feel hollow. You’ve been telling yourself that for weeks now, trying to convince yourself that this is just work, that this is just another injured player, another knee to fix. But it’s not. You’re not sure when it stopped being just that, but it has.

"Is it, though?" she asks, and her voice is lighter now, teasing, but there’s an edge to it. A challenge.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. "What do you mean?"

She stands, slowly, her movements careful, deliberate. She’s close to you now, too close again, and you don’t step back this time. "I think you know what I mean," she says, her eyes locked on yours, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous.

You don’t have an answer, or maybe you do but you don’t trust yourself to say it out loud. The air between you crackles with something electric, something that feels inevitable.

She leans in, just a fraction, and you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You could close the distance. You could kiss her, right here, right now, and no one would know. It would be easy. Too easy.

But you don’t.

Instead, you step back. You force a smile. "We should stick to the plan. Don’t want to push the knee too hard too soon”

It’s a cop-out, and you both know it. The shift in her expression is almost imperceptible, but you catch it—the brief flicker of disappointment before she masks it with a shrug.

"Right. The knee," she says, her tone casual, but the tension is still there, hanging between you like a thin thread ready to snap. She doesn’t push it, though. Instead, she grabs her bag, slings it over her shoulder, and heads for the door. But just before she leaves, she glances back at you, her eyes sharp, like she’s trying to figure you out, trying to decide if this is a game or something else entirely.

You stand there for a long time after she’s gone, the gym feeling too big, too empty. You can still feel the weight of her gaze, the heat of her body close to yours. You tell yourself it’s just work, just rehab. But deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

It’s never that simple.

-

The sessions after that are different. There’s a push and pull now, a tension that neither of you acknowledges but is impossible to ignore. Flirting turns into something sharper, more pointed, like you’re both testing the limits, seeing how far you can go before something breaks. But nothing breaks, not really. Not yet.

Then one night, you cross the line. It’s late, the training ground is empty, and Leah’s the last one in the gym. You’re both exhausted, worn down by weeks of slow progress, of frustrations mounting. The conversation starts off innocuous—something about her recovery timeline, how she’s feeling. But it shifts quickly. There’s an edge to her voice, a sharpness that cuts through the usual banter.

"Why do you keep pulling back?" she asks, and there’s nothing light in her tone now. It’s serious. She’s serious.

You blink, thrown off. It’s late, the harsh fluorescent lights above cast everything in this sterile, washed-out glow that makes you feel like you’re in a hospital, or some kind of waiting room where nothing feels real, nothing matters. Leah’s standing in front of you, close but not too close, not like before, but close enough that you feel it—the weight of her presence, the space she occupies, the air between you vibrating, charged with something neither of you is willing to name but it’s there. It’s been there for weeks. Maybe longer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, but it’s a lie and you both know it. You’re tired, too tired to come up with something convincing, and it’s the way she’s looking at you now, like she’s seeing through every excuse you’ve built up, every wall you’ve thrown up between you because you know you have to, because you’re the physio, you’re supposed to be the professional, the one who stays detached, clinical, objective. You’re supposed to care about her body, her knee, not the rest of her. Not this.

But the truth is, you do care, too much, and it’s bleeding into everything. Into the way you touch her during sessions, the way your fingers linger just a little too long on her skin when you’re adjusting the brace, or the way your pulse speeds up when she leans back on the bench, sweat glistening on her forehead, the tendrils of her hair stuck to her neck, and you wonder what it would feel like to brush them away. You know you shouldn’t, that it’s a line you can’t cross, but the line’s blurred now, so faint you can barely see it anymore.

Leah narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s wearing an old Arsenal training kit, the fabric worn and soft, the logo faded from too many washes, and you notice that she tugs at the hem of her shirt when she’s frustrated, twisting it around her fingers like she’s trying to keep her hands busy, like she doesn’t know what else to do with them. “You’re not stupid,” she says, and her voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it—something vulnerable, like she’s exposing a part of herself she doesn’t want to, but she can’t help it. “You know exactly what I mean”

She’s right. Of course she’s right. You’re not stupid. You know why you’ve been pulling back. Why you’ve been keeping your distance. It’s because this—whatever this is—is dangerous. It’s complicated. It’s wrong in a way that’s hard to define but easy to feel, like a low hum in the back of your mind that you can’t shake. And yet, the more you try to stay away, the more you find yourself drawn to her. Like gravity. Like something you can’t control, no matter how hard you try.

“It’s not that simple,” you say, and your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. You’re aware of how this looks—two people alone in a gym, the air thick with unspoken tension, the kind of tension that feels like it’s been building for a long time and is about to spill over. You glance at the clock on the wall—it’s almost 10 a.m.—and you wonder how it got so late, how time seems to bend around her, how hours slip by when you’re with her but still, its never enough. There’s always more, always something unsaid hanging in the air between you.

Leah uncrosses her arms, taking a step closer. You can see the faint scar on her knee, the way the skin’s still a little pink, a little raw, and it’s a reminder of why you’re here, what your job is, but all you can think about is the way her eyes are locked on yours, unflinching. “I’m not asking for simple,” she says quietly, and there’s an intensity in her voice that catches you off guard. “I’m asking for honest”

The word hangs in the air, heavy, and you feel something in your chest tighten. Honest. You think about what that would look like. What it would feel like to stop pretending, to stop playing this game where you act like you don’t notice the way she looks at you, the way your body reacts to hers. You think about what it would mean to cross that line, to give in to what’s been building between you. The consequences. The fallout. The way it would shift everything irreparably, and yet, the thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

You take a breath, slow, steady, trying to collect yourself, trying to find the right words, but they’re all tangled up in your head, a mess of things you can’t say, shouldn’t say. “Leah,” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence, because there’s no good way to say what you’re thinking, no good way to explain the way your heart speeds up when she’s near, the way your skin prickles under her eyes, the way your mind drifts to her at night when you’re lying in bed, staring into the darkness, replaying moments in your head that shouldn’t matter but do.

She’s watching you, waiting, and you can feel the weight of her expectation, the way she’s daring you to say something real, something that matters. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re tired of pretending, tired of holding back, but something inside you cracks, just a little, just enough.

“I’ve been trying to keep this professional,” you say, and the words come out in a rush, tumbling over themselves like they’ve been waiting to escape. “Because I have to. Because I don’t know how else to do this without—” You stop, shaking your head, because it sounds ridiculous, it sounds like an excuse, and maybe it is. “It’s not just about your knee,” you say finally, and it feels like a confession, like something you’ve been holding onto for too long. “It’s about everything else”

Leah’s eyes widen, just for a moment, and you see something flicker across her face—surprise, maybe, or relief, or something else entirely. She doesn’t say anything right away, but she steps even closer, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of her sweat mixed with the scent of her shampoo, something clean and floral, and it hits you like a wave, overwhelming in its simplicity. You feel the pull again, stronger now, undeniable.

“You think I don’t know that?” she says, and her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that cuts through the haze in your mind. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

The words hang between you, suspended in the air, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the gym, the team, the world outside this room. It’s just you and her, and the weight of everything you haven’t said, everything you’ve been too scared to admit.

Leah reaches out, her fingers brushing against your arm, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites something deep inside, something you’ve been trying to suppress for weeks, months. You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you disappears, and her lips are on yours, and it’s like everything snaps into focus all at once.

The kiss is rough, urgent, like it’s been building for too long and now there’s no stopping it. Her hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of her body against yours, the way her breath mingles with yours in the small, stolen space between kisses. It’s messy, frantic, like neither of you can get enough, like you’ve been starving for this and now you’re finally letting yourself have it.

You don’t think about the consequences, about what happens when this moment ends. You don’t think about the power imbalance, the lines you’re crossing, the mess you’re making. All you can think about is the way she feels against you, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.

[tootiecakes234]

Katsuki’s POV:

I fucking hate myself. I was never supposed to become this type of sick idiot.

But here I am, across the room staring at her because she’s laughing, and it’s one of those full body laughs. She’s not trying to cover her face or stifle it at all. Sometimes she gets self conscious about her laugh being too weird or too loud but she couldn’t give two fucks about that right now and I physically cant tear my eyes away from her.

I’m aware that Eijirou is talking to me, but I’m not hearing anything he’s saying. It’s not until Denki’s face pops up in my line of vision that I finally snap out of what ever fucking trance the temptress had put on me.

“Baku-bro you should really close your mouth before something flies in it.” Denki says with a goofy grin on his face.

“Yea well, you should close your mouth before I shove my fist in it dumbass.”

“Hey, leave him alone. He’s in love.” And Eiji bumps his shoulder up against me. “It’s super manly.”

“Do you idiots ever shut up and mind your business?” I shout because I hate being called out about her. I swear I’m trying my best to not follow her around like a lost puppy but all that does is have me tracking her around with me eyes like a goddamn stalker.

“Dude, no one is saying it’s a bad thing. She’s super hot. Sometimes you can’t help but stare at her.” Denki says with a smirk on his face. He’s goading me. “ but you know what’s better than staring… touching. I might just run over and give her a big old hu- woah dude. I’m kidding calm down.”

My hands grabbing the front of his shirt and I can feel the sparks about to start flying from my hand. Then I feel a soft hand on my forearm and the effect she has on me is immediate.

I cut my eyes over and catch her smiling at me and just like that the sparks stop because I’ll be damned if I ever do anything that might end up hurting her.

“Kats… what have we said about hurting our friends….. they may be stupid but that doesn’t give us a right to kick their asses right???” She’s speaking slowly like she’s trying to talk down a jumper.

“Yea Kats. Don’t beat up your friends.” Denki’s smug voice caused my hand with his shirt to clench a little tighter.

“Denki dude. You’ve gotta cut it out before he murders you.” Eiji says that like he’s trying to help but the asshole is also snickering.

Then the hand on my forearm slides up my arm, across my chest and ends up wrapping around my neck and that’s it. She’s got me.

“Come on bub. I’m hungry, let’s go get food. Leave the evil men to cause chaos amongst themselves.” Then she’s pulling me away and all I can do is follow.

I turn my head quick tho and shout, “watch your back dunts face. I still owe you an ass whoopin!”

“Yea yea lover boy.” And his friends chuckle behind him.

And that’s what i am now isn’t it? It’s what she’s turned me into. A man so deep in fucking love that all she had to do was say the word and I’d fall to my fucking knees for her.

This shit is so embarrassing🙄

Katsuki Masterlist

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[sqrclouds]

i won’t kiss your friend, konon. ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

pairing. best friend’s brother! nishimura riki x fem reader

synopsis. unbeknownst to you, konon made riki promise to never touch you. you’ve been crushing on him for years; will he give in?

wc. 2.1k

warnings. brief makeout session, angst

pls feel free to send in requests! i write for all enhypen members <33

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

riki was never the best influence. you had to be near him, though, as he was your best friend’s brother.

you and konon have known each other since you were kids. you were seatmates in school and you both became friends immediately. she knows every little thing about you: your biggest fears, your best subject in school, your middle name. there was one thing you wouldn’t tell her about — the crush you had on her brother.

it was small and came and went. you always found him cute, and as you grew up, he became more attractive. you wouldn’t act on it, you only stole glances of him every now and then. you were shyer around him.

riki was known to have a different girl on his arm frequently. he’d talk about one girl to you and konon, then go on to a different one the next week. you knew he wasn’t good for you, so you kept your distance the best you could. you weren’t innocent, you were just inexperienced in a sense. nothing compared to riki.

konon knew this, and she made riki swear up and down that he would never touch you. he even swore to himself that you weren’t his type. maybe it was the fact that he swore to never get involved with you, but he found himself attracted to you more with every passing day.

you’re sat in konon’s room with snacks and drinks spread around while you talk about anything that comes to mind. “university has been so hard recently,” you complain. “seriously! i’ve just been so burnt out recently” konon tells you. just then, there’s a knock on her door. “come in” she calls out.

you can see a head of black hair peek behind the door before he opens it wider. riki had recently dyed his hair back to his natural color and it made you feel more entranced by him. “oh hello”, he says to you, “didn’t know you were here,” definitely something you were not supposed to be attracted by as the man barely paid attention to you.

he turned his gaze towards his sister, “do you want to order takeout or something? i’ve been craving it.” she looks to you, silently asking if you would want to. you nod and she responds, “sure. get me the menu and we’ll look”

when he leaves, your mind is clouded by him. the dangling of the earrings he was wearing, the way he was speaking, his comfortable outfit, everything. while you don’t want to give away your crush, you ask konon, “wow, he’s changed a lot, right?” she rolls her eyes and replies, “he has. i’m surprised he hasn’t brought a girl home tonight.” you giggle, but a light blush sets on your skin.

once you have the restaurant menu, you and konon pick several things to share and she texts riki the order. “i think he’s paying tonight. that is so out of character” she’s surprised. you take a mental note to thank him later, but you’re not sure if you can without becoming flustered.

when the food comes, he delivers it to your best friend’s room, grazing your hand slightly. his touch sent a warm feeling on your hand, and even when he pulled away, you could still feel it. he steals one last glance from you before leaving to eat his own food.

“that was so weird” konon calls out, noticing his peculiar actions. “he’s acting like…” she trails off. you raise an eyebrow at her, “like what?” she has to think for a moment, “like he cares about you.” those words made heat rise to the entirety of your face and you pray she didn’t see it.

the food was regular takeout, but it tasted better when you remember that riki paid for it. you were helpless with your crush and the clock was ticking until konon found out. you had to keep quiet. you had to pretend like he wasn’t most of your thoughts when you were sitting in silence.

after that night, riki’s flirtatious behavior only increased. he’d often sneak glances at you while you pretended not to notice. he’d make a point to touch you when he handed you things. he’d move you out of his way by grabbing your waist.

you try to act like everything was normal. you only speak to him when spoken to, or unless you feel like you absolutely have to. however, it felt like you needed to be around him. you could look, not touch, that’s what you told yourself.

you’re sleeping over at konon’s house, as usual, when you wake up in the middle of the night. you begin coughing from a dry throat. quietly, you get out of bed and make your way towards the kitchen. you open the fridge and grab a bottle of water before drinking it and walking back to konon’s room. you’re just about to pass riki’s room when the door opens and you immediately look up at him.

“hi,” he says smoothly. you gulp. you needed more water. “hello” you greet as best as you can. he gestures towards your water bottle, “i was just going down there for that” he meets your eyes again. you regrettably ask “would you like some?” as you hold out the water bottle to him. he doesn’t say anything, he just takes it and drinks from it too.

you try not to think about the fact that you indirectly kissed. he hands the bottle back to you, “see you in the morning, angel.” you almost choke. you only wave before going back to bed. there is no way that just happened.

your mind is silenced by sleep overtaking you once you lie in bed. you look at konon and you feel terrible. how could you do this to her?

the next morning you’re laughing with your friend as you make breakfast together. riki comes out of his room, humming to himself once he sees you. you continue talking to konon as you make food for all three of you.

riki so graciously sets the table before you set down the breakfast you made: egg dashi and various side dishes. you turn to use the bathroom before breakfast, and riki follows. he corners you between the restroom and his room. “you’ve been acting differently” he says, his voice a little husky. you decide to play innocent. “i haven’t” you shake your head.

“i’m not stupid, i know you like me” he says darkly, almost teasingly. you want to speak up, but you know your voice will come out in a squeak. he gives you a small peck on the lips before leaving you to go back to the kitchen. you stand there stunned.

you see him around university sometimes. often, he’ll be in the same lecture hall as you, or coming as you are leaving. this time, you’re leaving your last class of the day when he stops you by grabbing your wrist. “hey, angel” he whispers. you can only stand there in silence as you watch the rest of your classmates file out of the hall. you’re quite embarrassed that anyone could’ve heard him.

“what’s wrong with you? i’m not one of your girls and you know that, riki” you say, raising your voice ever so slightly. “not one of my girls, but my girl” he bites his lip. you want him… no, you need him. you lean up to crash your lips onto his. he wanted you and he’ll have you.

he gasps quietly at your boost of confidence but quickly goes back to his confident demeanor. the kiss isn’t gentle; it’s rough with desire and the latest weeks of pent up frustration. he’s meticulous with the kiss, biting your lip to ask for permission to explore your mouth.

you part your lips slightly, moving your fingers to thread through his dark hair and pull at the strands there. he can’t help but groan at the feeling as he moves his hands to your waist, gripping it harshly. you moan as his lips and tongue move against yours. the kiss is somewhat sloppy but the feeling has you desperate.

he pulls away after nipping your bottom lip. your hands are still in his hair as you pant from the lack of oxygen. “you’re a good kisser. lets me take control” he smirks. you roll your eyes, “your girl?”

“you’ve always been my girl. just didn’t know it yet” he says, still smirking. “what about all of those other girls? the ones you were always with?” you ask genuinely. “was trying to make you jealous, baby. it never worked so i stopped” he honestly answers, although it sounds daft now that he says it aloud.

there’s only one thing running through your mind now: you have to tell konon. you bite your lip before speaking again, “i have another class to go to, but i’ll see you later?” he nods, “see you” and he leaves.

you rush to konon’s house. the guilt is eating you alive and you only kissed him five minutes ago. once you reach her house, you knock on the door frantically. she opens it in a rush, “oh my god, are you alright?” she ushers you in, closing the door and locking it.

“no. konon, i did something terrible!” you want to scream, but she holds your face and caresses the skin there. “hey… no… what happened? you can tell me, okay?” you burst and say quickly, “i kissed your brother! i’m so sorry, i just-“ she removes her hands from your face. “no, no, konon, please just-!” your eyes fill with tears.

she shushes you, “it’s okay… don’t be upset. i’m not upset.” you let out a breath, but there was something in your head that she was definitely upset about something.

to make you feel better, she tells you to relax in the shower. you oblige, knowing that would calm you down in this moment. you just hope she’s not angry at you. after your shower, you put on some of her clothes that she left for you to wear. you go out to talk to her.

“you kissed her? are you serious, riki?” you hear her screaming and a pit forms in your stomach. “it was a mistake, alright? i shouldn’t have done it!” you hear riki’s voice echo off the living room walls. you can only freeze in place. a mistake? it would’ve hurt less if you didn’t like him as much as you did.

after a few more curses thrown around, konon looks past riki to see you behind him. she gently escorts you to her room while tears pool in your eyes. she speaks to you softly once you’re sat on her bed, “i’m not upset with you, okay? i’m upset with him. he swore not to do that. and i know for sure you weren’t the mistake. he feels guilty for kissing you,” the tears begin flowing and you cry into her chest.

you were at least glad she clarified the “mistake” part. you just didn’t know how to feel about her telling riki not to kiss you. deep down, you knew it was because of his reputation, but you didn’t want to admit that.

after what feels like hours of crying in her chest, there’s a knock at the door. you both know it’s riki, and you don’t say anything as he opens it. “can we talk, alone?” he asks, his question directed to the both of you. you nod, and konon stands to leave while riki kneels in front of you. “i’m so sorry,” he begins, “a while ago i promised her i would never touch you. i liked you too much and my desires got the best of me.” you sniffle and he continues, “you don’t have to forgive me, but i care for you a lot. i want you and only you.” he reaches to wipe the tears off your face. your eyes meet his for the first time that night and you can tell he’s sincere, but you need time.

both konon and riki allow you that time and space. you haven’t talked to either of them in days and it feels like it’s killing you inside. they smile at you on campus, they wave, and you feel terrible for not doing it back. you know they’re both sorry, so you finally decide to stop ignoring them.

you knock on the door and riki is there to answer it. he looks at you, not knowing what words will pour from your lips. “i forgive you, both of you” you tell him, afraid to show any emotion. he smiles and reaches his hand out for you, and you take it. a smile reaches your lips too as he pulls you inside.

[jobean12-blog]

Lovestruck

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Little do you know, after being in the wrong place at the wrong time- that you've gotten yourself on the radar of some very bad men. Thankfully, you now have the protection of one very good man (and Steve, also good) but when Javi first lays eyes on you he knows he wants so much more than just to protect you.

Author's Note: Again, I apologize for deleting this post a second time. The tags are just not cooperating. I really hope things work this time! Thank you again to those who gave me notes, hope you can enjoy again! No reason for more Javi other than I can't seem to get over him and I don't want to so yay! He's been on my mind extra lately. Wishing you all a very happy New Year filled with love, health and happiness! Thank you for all the support and much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of tension and flirting, some soft sweetness too, Javi is forward but not in a bad way, he saves the day in more ways than one and might be in a little over his head (which he's not used to), fingering, smut (unprotected p in v- but just for fanfic folks lol)

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Keep staring like that and you’re gonna blow our cover man.”

Steve’s comment goes unnoticed as Javi continues to do just that. Stare.

You’re standing against the bar, drink in hand and talking with your friend, unaware of the pair of dark chocolate eyes glued to you.

“Hey,” Steve says again.

Javi tears his eyes away from you and pins Steve with a glare.

“What?”

Steve gives him an exasperated look. “You’re not supposed to fuck her. Just protect her.”

Javi grunts before finishing off his drink, his eyes sliding back to you as you saunter over to the juke box.

He’s been watching you for days now, his infatuation only growing the more he learns the little nuances of your body and the brightness of your smile. Barely conscious of his feet moving and Steve’s disgruntled objections, he starts toward you, unsure of his intention but at this point, unable to stop himself.

You shuffle through the songs on the screen, chewing your lip with indecision. His teeth sink into his own bottom lip in response, wishing it were yours. As he gets closer, your startled gaze flies up to meet his.

Lightning rockets through his system. If he thought you were beautiful in the photos and from across the room, it’s nothing compared to what he sees standing in front of him now.

He takes a step closer. Talking to women is like second nature to him, yet he finds himself stranded in silence, second-guessing everything that pops into his head.

And if he doesn’t speak soon, his closeness will begin to alarm you. Exactly the opposite of what he should be doing.

“I can’t let you do that,” he blurts out.

“Can’t let me do what, exactly?” you retort, turning to face him with a raised brow.

Your voice slides like silk across his skin and it takes him a minute to recapture his train of thought. He tilts his head toward the song on the screen of the juke box.

“Not that song.”

You smirk. “Elaborate.”

“Everyone picks that song. Aren’t you tired of it?”

You peek up at him, a laugh flirting around the edges of your mouth.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“Of course,” he replies. He tries not to stare at your lips. “I like to dance so for me, something like…”

He leans in and starts to scroll through the song list, his warmth and scent sweeping over you in a magnetic wave.

He stops on a song you don’t recognize but when it begins to play the beat is lively and makes you want to move.

Your eyes meet his once more, humor lurking in their depths. “I like it.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod and with a sultry smile over your shoulder you head back toward the bar and your friend, an extra sway to your hips that matches the music.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Steve says when Javi returns with a smug grin. “You could blow our cover.”

“How?” Javi asks before he motions for the bartender.

“I’m surprised you let a woman get to you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Are you just going to answer all my questions with more questions?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts with his last string of words and he waits as Javi just looks at him blankly.

When the song ends Javi turns his attention back to you and he finds you watching him. Without a second thought he walks over.

He smiles at your friend then asks you, “what did you think?”  

“I liked it,” you tell him. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“I should definitely play another one then. And you should dance with me.”

He catches your sharp intake of breath and realizes you might be waiting for a significant other. He feels a sharp jolt of jealousy that surprises him.

“Are you here with someone?” he asks.

Your brow quirks at his growled-out question, but you answer anyway.

“Just my friend here,” and you motion to Samantha.

Relief washes over his expression.

“So why not dance with me?”

“I’m here to spend time with Sam,” you explain, even though you can tell she wants you to go dance with him.

“She can hang out with Steve,” Javi says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in Steve’s direction. “He’s loads of fun.”

“He’s cute,” Sam chimes in, giving Steve a little wave.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Javi says, earning a chuckle from both you and Sam.

“So, is that a yes?”

You look incredulous. “No. The only thing I know about you is that you like to dance.”

“What would you like to know about me?” he shoots back as he leans against the bar, looking more than comfortable.

“Nothing. I’m not dancing with you. In fact, how do I know you’re not some creep trying to abduct me.”

At your unintentionally keen words Javi gives up the battle with a smile. “I’ll get you dancing sweetheart.”

“We’ll see about that…”

“Javi,” he finishes and holds out his hand. “Javier Peña”

You hesitate a moment but then hold out your hand and give him your name-even though he already knows it.

“Pleasure,” he croons as he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles.

Warmth tingles up your arm and down your spine, rendering you speechless for a moment. Samantha pulls you from your stupor when she nudges you in the side.

“Enjoy your night ladies,” he says but not before looking you straight in the eye and adding, “I’ll be seeing you again.”

When Javi is back at Steve’s side he sighs.

“What happened? She tell you to fuck off?”

Javi practically rolls his eyes. “Not exactly.”

“Well, hope you didn’t freak her out too much because we have a job to do.”

As the night goes on you catch Javi looking your way more than once and you find it hard not to look back. He doesn’t approach you again though and the disappointment you feel is unexpected.

By eleven pm Sam is ready to go so you say goodbye and go to use the restroom before heading out. The night air is damp with impending rain, and you jog quickly to your car, hopping in and setting your bag down on the seat.

You put the key in the ignition and turn it. Nothing happens. No lights. No sound. Nothing.

“SHIT!” you shout and hit the steering wheel. Is it your battery? A faulty starter?

You’re just about to dial Sam when you hear a light rap at your window. You jump but quickly see that it’s Javi and let out a relieved breath.

You press the button to roll down the window.

“Problem?” he asks with a sideways smile.

“My car won’t start,” you sigh.

His lips turn downward. “Shit.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I can try to jump it if you want,” Javi offers.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Javi pulls his car up close and starts to fiddle around in the trunk for the cables. Once he has everything ready you meet him by the hood.

“How come you were out here anyway?” you ask, watching as his long fingers make easy work of the clamps and wires.

“Just a feeling,” he says nonchalantly.

After following his directions and trying to start your car again you realize it must be more than the battery and let out a string of curses.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Javi says. “I’ll give you a ride home and you can deal with in the daylight.”

“I can just call Samantha.”

“You can, but it’s after midnight,” Javi says, looking at his watch. “I’m already here.”

You study him. His strong jaw, the dark hair that falls boyishly over his forehead, and the way the open collar of his shirt frames his long neck, the tempting hint of collarbone peeking out just enough to make you want to kiss it.

“Ok,” you say without further thought.

He opens your door and helps you out then waits for you to lock it before he opens the passenger door to his car.

“What about Steve?” you ask suddenly.

“Steve?” Javi repeats. “Oh, yeah. He’s fine. Has his own car.”

When he pulls up to your building he frowns when you don’t wait for him to open your door. You ride up the elevator in silence, the atmosphere between you feels charged.

You’d been more than willing to go up to your apartment yourself, but Javi insisted on walking you.

So, when the elevator opens you breeze out and past him, taking quick steps to your door.

“This is me,” you say without turning around.

You unlock the door and open it, stepping inside and setting your bag down. When you turn, Javi is filling the doorway, one hand on his hip and the other casually resting above his head on the frame like he owns the place.

“I don’t live far. If you need anything…” He holds out a card, his name and number printed on it under the Police Department symbol.

“You’re a cop? You could have told me this earlier. I would have been less worried about you murdering me.”

“DEA agent,” he corrects. “And that was never my intention.”

Your eyes meet and you feel a frisson of heat at the intensity there.

“Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Anytime sweetheart. I’ll see you around.”

He throws you a wink and pushes away from the doorframe, his long legs taking him easily down the hall before he rounds the corner and disappears.

The next morning you drag yourself out of bed and get ready to go about your day. Your thoughts are mostly occupied by Javi, and you’re almost done with your coffee before your brain registers the rest of the night and how your car failed to start.

“Shit,” you grit out. “Ughhhh.”

You think about calling Javi and asking him to take you back to the bar to get your car but then you think it might be asking too much after what he did last night. Instead, you call Sam, who is happy to come get you.

Your car is just where you left it and so is an unmarked cop car, parked right next to yours.

Javi steps out into the sunshine, a sleek pair of aviators perched on his nose and a smile on his face.

“There you are sunshine. I was wondering when you’d be back to get your car.”

He walks close and nods a greeting to Samantha.

You stand there like a fish out of water, your mouth hanging open in shock.

“What are you doing here?” you finally ask.

He shrugs with a devious grin. “Working.”

“The bar is closed.”

Ignoring your comment he continues with, “you have someone to fix this?”

“You mean like a mechanic?”

“Yeah sweetheart.”

“I was just going to call the closest shop.”

He shakes his head, clearly not liking your idea. “I got a guy. Come on.”                 

Samantha leaves you with Javi and he takes you to the shop, helping you settle everything and getting you a good price.

“I hope it doesn’t take too long to fix,” you sigh. “But thank you for helping me out.”

“Anytime gorgeous…now how about that dance?”

“You’re still hung up on that?”

He raises his brows with a tilt of his head, his smile devious.

“Fine, but how am I getting back to the bar tonight. No car. Remember.”

“I’ll pick you up. Seven.”

With that he pulls up to your place and practically jumps out of the car before it stops, rushing around the hood to get your door before you can open it.

You step out and he reaches over you to shut it, trapping you against the car.

“Thanks again,” you whisper as you lean into him.

He dips his head, but you can’t see his eyes, so you reach up to pull the sunglasses off his face. He smiles, lifting his eyes from your mouth to meet your gaze.

You hang them on his shirt, the collar open like it always seems to be, and smooth your hand down his chest. He watches you intently, one hand sliding off the car to settle on your waist. He tugs you forward, lining your body up with his using his other hand to cup your cheek and brush a calloused thumb across your soft skin.

“I told you sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Anytime.”

With one final glance at your lips he slowly moves away and you’re thankful for the strong metal of the car at your back, keeping you upright.

With a steadying breath you peel yourself away and head toward your building, looking over your shoulder to find him leaning against the car, long legs crossed at the ankle and his arms crossed along his chest.

His glasses are still hanging from his shirt, and his hair is slightly messy from the breeze. Your eyes linger and he smiles, pointing his long finger in your direction when he says, “you’re mine tonight.”

The knock at your door makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Be right there,” you shout.

You open the door and his hot gaze sweeps over you from head to toe.

“Hi Javi…”

Before the words are completely out of your mouth, he has you spun around and backed against the wall.

“Did you get all dressed up for me sweetheart?”

Biting your lip, you nod, loving the way your answer makes his eyelids lower; his breath quicken.

He dips his head and runs his nose along your neck with a deep inhale, then places a soft kiss just under your ear. His lips move across your cheek and stop just above your mouth.

“Ready to dance?”

Your knees nearly buckle underneath you, but his weight keeps you upright and you manage a nod.

The bar is crowded but you and Javi find yourself an open space at the bar and order drinks. He stays close. A hand always at your back or on your waist and when he sits on the stool, placing his feet on the bottom bar, he pulls you between his spread legs.

Your hands land on his thighs and you dig your nails in.

He growls into your ear and smooths his hand up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck to drag your face closer.

Right when you think he’s going to kiss you, he stands and pulls you toward the juke box, scrolling through the songs until he finds the one he wants. He presses play and holds his hand out.

You place your fingers in his palm, and he closes his hand around yours. With an ease that steals your breath he tucks you against him as the music starts, slow and sultry. The way he moves his hips so sensually borders on inappropriate, but you can’t find it in you to care.

Instead, you lose yourself in the way he moves and the way he feels. It’s the best kind of foreplay and when the song ends you cling to him, wishing the music could go on forever.

You tuck your head against his chest, but he presses two fingers under your chin, lifting your face to his. He’s grinning, and the way it exaggerates the lines around his eyes and softens the angles of his face makes a flutter erupt in your stomach.

A haze of electricity settles around you and you’re unable to look away. His eyes drop to your mouth and his warm breath fans your cheek as he bends, brushing his lips lightly across yours.

His moustache is soft but still tickles your skin and you want nothing more than to feel it along every inch of your body. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, and you whisper his name just before your lips meet.

But then his mouth is gone, and a rush of cool air fills the space between your bodies.

“Steve,” you say with confusion.

Steve stands next to you with a tight grip on Javi’s arm.

“We have to go. Now,” Steve says.

“Javi?” Your stomach is fluttering for a whole different reason now, nervousness and fear taking over.

“I’m sorry sunshine,” he says, wrapping you up in his arms. “I need you to go home. Right now.”

“But…” you start, clinging to him.

“Please,” he begs. “Just trust me. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”

“I don’t have a car,” you sputter out.

“Here,” he says and reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his keys before dropping them into your hand. “Right home ok?”

“Ok,” you say while nodding your head vigorously. “But I don’t understand…”

“I know,” he says, grabbing your face with his hands. “I promise I’ll explain later.”

He stares at you, clearly torn between wanting to kiss you and having to leave. You make the decision for him and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering long enough that when you pull away his eyes are still closed.

“Be careful,” you whisper.

“You too,” he says before jogging off with Steve, but not without looking back one last time.

Back at your apartment you wait and pace the floor. There isn’t much more you can do and it’s driving you nuts.

By the time you hear the knock on your door it’s past midnight and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch. You wake with a start and stand on shaky legs. Thankfully, you have enough sense to check the peephole before opening the door.

On the other side stands Javi. His leather jacket hangs open and his hair is messy and hanging loosely in front of his forehead. He looks tired but otherwise ok.

“It’s me sweetheart,” he says quietly.

Your door flies open, and you throw yourself at him. He catches you and lets out a huffed laugh that quickly dies off when you slide down his body and move back, a clear invitation.

 His eyes rake down your body, lingering on the way your dress is rumpled and sitting high on your hips, exposing the soft skin of your legs. With an audible swallow he takes a step inside, and you shut the door with a definitive slam.

“Are you ok?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

You can’t blink away from his steady gaze and your blood seems to vibrate. After a calming breath you point to the couch.

“I want to know what’s going on.”

He moves past you and takes your hand in his, tugging you toward the couch before he sits. You stand at the edge, waiting.

His head drops and he presses the palm of his hand to his forehead.

“I…you already know I’m a DEA agent.”

You nod.

“And Steve and I work together…we’ve been trying to bust this drug trafficking group for a while now and somehow you got on their list…”

“List?” you repeat, feeling your palms sweat.

He stands again and takes a tentative step closer.

“Yeah, wrong place wrong time type of thing and it got you on their radar. We got tipped off from one of our informants and Steve and I were put in place for protection.”

“So, all the flirting, the dancing…you’re only here because you’re protecting me? Not because…”

He holds up a hand to stop you.

“No sweetheart,” he says. “Well, I mean yes initially that’s all it was but then I saw you and like a dick couldn’t stay away and…I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

He looks up at you with pleading brown eyes.

“Actually, that’s a lie. I wanted to take you home from the moment I first saw you and it took everything in me not to.”

You can see he’s starting to ramble, and you soften at the way he seems desperate to make you understand.

“I promise this has nothing to do with work…I want to be here…”

“Javi.”

“And you’re safe. I promise that too. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Javi.”

He opens his mouth to speak again but you press a firm finger to his lips. He goes silent and with your gentle push falls to the couch again.

Slowly, you climb over him, settling in his lap on top of his thighs. He stares at you, eyes shadowed, and adjusts his posture to set two large hands on your waist, warm and strong.

You lean in but he meets you halfway, crashing his lips to yours. His mouth is soft but commanding and he tilts his head, coming at you better somehow, and deeper, his lips parting, one hand wrapping around your hip to pull you flush against him, the other sliding up your neck, cupping your face.

You’re undone by the way his breath shakes against your lips and the quiet groans he strangles down when you sweep your tongue across his.

You roll your hips against him, but instead of bringing relief it only makes you wilder. His mouth chases your kiss, swallowing the sound you make when he rocks up, the thick line of his cock pressing exactly where you need him.

His hand roams up your back, around your ribs, cupping your breast while the other drags you down again, pinning you to his body. You’re rewarded with another groan, and another when you grind against him.

He doesn’t stop you as you reach for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders before going for his shirt, one by one undoing the buttons until you feel the warmth of his skin along your palms.

His mouth is on your neck, his fingers curling around the strap of your dress, dragging it down your shoulder and lower, until your bra goes with it, and you’re bare to his mouth. He sucks and kisses and your fingers find purchase in his soft hair, pulling and tugging when he continues and his lips close around your nipple in a delicate bite.

With soft grunts into your skin, he encourages you to pull harder, moving with the gesture to where you want him. Rough and desperate hands sneak under your dress to slide your panties down.

“Sweetheart?” he asks into your neck, and you nod, because frankly, he has permission to do whatever he wants.

Long fingers wrap imposingly around your thighs and his palm slides back up, teasingly slow, his kiss still rough, and then his fingertips graze over you, slippery and hot for him. His mouth goes soft and overcome against yours before he pulls away a fraction, watching your face as he fucks you with one finger, and then two, achingly slow.

And you stare at his mouth, the way it shapes the groaned curses and then tilts upward in a smug grin when he presses a thumb to your clit, and you let out a low moan.

Under your impatient fingers, his pants are soon loose and down his hips and you slide yourself over him, coating him and teasing you both until you’re a fevered mess, kisses sloppy and biting, the head of him pressing into you.

It’s a slow, perfect torture. His focus is on your expression and the sounds you’re making. But then it goes from careful to starving the second he’s all the way inside you. His grip on you is bruising, the sharp, rhythmic gasps he makes making you feel out of control.

He stares down between your bodies, slowing to watch, moving to touch you, his thumb stroking.

“That’s it gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You want to hold back, make it last forever, but it’s too good. The pleasure hits you in a wave, his name falling from your parted lips and your body clenching around him until he captures your mouth and finishes with a lewd groan, slowing and holding you against his chest.

Your face falls to his sweaty neck and your fingers curl around his open shirt. After catching your breath, he gently brings your face to his, pressing his lips softly to the corner of your mouth and then running the pad of his thumb across your lower lip.

He lifts you off him, reaching for the tissues on the side table and helping you clean up. His actions are careful and gentle and once you’re settled he takes the blanket off the couch and drapes it over you before he wraps you in his arms and lays down.

You tuck yourself closer and kiss his neck.

“Javi?” you whisper.

“Yeah sunshine.”

“Will you stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, kissing your cheek.

His lips tease along your jaw and you shift to give him better access, feeling his cock stir against your stomach. When his mouth reaches your ear he tugs on the soft flesh, running a hand along the curve of your spine to pull you closer and whisper, “I didn’t even get to use my tongue on you. I hate not knowing how you taste.”

Your little gasp makes him smile and his kisses continue.

“But lucky for me,” he murmurs with a brush of his lips, “we have all night.”

[namism]

Hi! Can I request a Zoro x reader who's mihawks daughter, I think it would be a funny scenario bc he would have to get his approval first lol

with wine, zoro | roronoa zoro

➳ categories: canonverse, female reader

➳ word count: 1.9k

➳ summary: Who knew that the mysterious Dracule Mihawk had a daughter? Zoro certainly didn't, but now that he's fallen head over heels for her, he supposes he has to do something quickly.

➳ notes: i adore this request! this is by far the one fic of mine that i would proudly reread without cringing because it's funny 😭

➳ cross-posted on ao3

"Psst!"

Zoro looks to his left. Slowly, Perona floats past him with her stuffed animal Kumashi in one hand, the other holding her parasol.

"Where were you last night?" she asks.

Zoro ignores her and goes back to whatever he was working on.

"Were you outside again?" Persistent as ever, Perona floats in front of him and blocks his line of sight. "You must have visited that girl from the tower!"

"How do you know her?" Zoro snaps. Perona smiles to herself smugly.

"A-ha! I knew it! You and that girl are together, aren't you? You disappear so often, I can't believe I hadn't caught on until yesterday!"

Zoro grumbles under his breath. Walking past her, he asks Perona what she's bothering him for, to which she replies with her uniquely annoying laugh, one that Zoro has heard too many times over the course of the eight months they've been together on Kuraigana Island. Her Hollows fly around her as she bursts into a fit, bearing an expression of mockery on their translucent faces.

"Just bothering you," she answers. Zoro picks up the weights he was lifting moments ago and proceeds to ignore her again, but she continues to pester him. "What is she to you? A friend? A girlfriend?"

Zoro huffs in annoyance. "Why do you bother?"

"Because this island is boooring!"

"Find something to work on," he suggests.

It's Perona's turn to show her annoyance. Hovering over Zoro, she extends her arms and spreads out her fingers toward him.

"Negative Ho—!"

"She's a friend!" Zoro yells in panic. Perona stops her Hollow attack with a flick of a finger. "She's... special... can you get those stupid ghosts away from my face?"

"Wow. You aren't as unemotional as I thought." Blinking rapidly, Perona's hands fall to her waist. Zoro always seemed withdrawn like Mihawk, so she never pictured him as the type of guy to hold any romantic feelings for anyone.

A light blush coats Zoro's cheeks. He looks away shyly but composes himself apace. He can't be vulnerable in front of Perona—she would tease him for ages.

Perona has different plans, though. She would tease him if it were about anything else, but she's smack dab in the middle of nowhere, and her boredom convinces her to be more considerate than pesky. Besides, she's been annoying toward Zoro enough. It's time to compensate.

Using her powers, she conjures a Special Hollow and orders it to pick the swordsman in its mouth. Zoro drops his sword and flails his arms around helplessly. With a manic laugh, Perona flies to the castle with the Hollow trailing after her.

"Let's get you a girlfriend!"

Zoro didn't know what to expect when Perona dragged him back to Mihawk's shady castle, but the events that transpired were definitely not in his top 5 guesses.

Perona held him at gunpoint—just her Negative Hollows, really—and told him to list all the things he likes about you. When that didn't work because Zoro was too flustered to speak, she concocted the perfect plan that is guaranteed to win your heart over, should he execute it properly.

Right now, Zoro stands in front of you with his hands crossed over his chest. It's the morning of the plan's execution, but facing you brings him back to the first time he stepped foot in your dwelling.

Ever since he and Perona were teleported to Kuraigana Island eight months ago, he found himself exploring (or rather, getting lost around) the island that apparently housed Dracule Mihawk's residence. He lives in the abandoned castle of the now fallen Muggy Kingdom that stands in the middle of the dense forests, just a few kilometers away from a lone tower nestled in between the trees.

When Zoro explored (got lost) too far, he scouted the tower and found you there, sleeping peacefully. You shot up from your bed in panic and used your swords to attack, but Zoro had backed you into a corner. Afraid, you begged him for your life and proved your innocence.

Zoro had no business with a random girl he met on a random Tuesday, who was stuck in a random tower on a random island he was magicked into. Yet you eventually charmed him with your abilities, earning his trust and respect to a degree close to acquaintances. As time went by, you started getting flirtatious that crossed the line of "just friends," leading Zoro to feel a mutual fondness for you that he couldn't quite communicate.

That leads him to his current predicament. As he waits for your reply to his quiet confession, he prepares himself for what's to come.

"It doesn't take one to figure out that I'm fond of you, too," you tell him with a soft smile. "However, you have to ask someone first."

Zoro isn't surprised by your reciprocity, but he's surprised by the latter. Whose consent does he have to ask for?

"Who is it?"

"My father."

Zoro furrows his brows.

"You live alone."

"Well, yes! I live alone in the tower."

Suddenly, the front door of your home is kicked open. You turn on your heel to greet the visitor, while Zoro watches intently.

Mihawk appears at the doorway.

"Good morning, love. Sorry for my entrance. Are you in the middle of something?"

You run over to the man and help him with the bags of groceries in his arms. Hauling them over to the kitchen counter, you invite him inside the building.

"We were, but it's just Zoro. No big deal."

Mihawk looks at the swordsman, one eyebrow raising in curiosity at his presence.

Meanwhile, Zoro tries to understand what's happening. The fact that you know Mihawk isn't shocking since you've lived on the island your whole life, but being called 'love'? Zoro doesn't mean to be possessive, but he has a problem with that.

"I guess my student has become acquainted with my daughter," says Mihawk nonchalantly before helping you unpack your groceries.

At that moment, Zoro wishes to be eaten alive by the island mandrills.

What. The. Fuck. He thinks. Daughter?!

"Daughter?!" he repeats aloud.

"Mm-hmm! I don't live in the castle. This tower is far better than that ominous place." You hum to yourself. Looking at Mihawk, you grin sheepishly. "Sorry, Father."

"Doesn't matter. Your absence gave the ghost girl a room to her liking."

Nearby, Zoro hears a faint gasp.

Clasping your hands together, you approach Zoro slowly. You look at him with sincerity in your eyes, a look that has Zoro going crazy.

"Well, my father is here. Would you like to ask him now?"

But the admission of your relationship to Mihawk, his master, is far crazier. Zoro doesn't have the time to be wooed in by your cuteness because he feels like an idiot for not having caught on to this fact much earlier.

Your swordsmanship, your demeanor, your aptitude for many other things—Zoro understands it now. There is no questioning your abilities when you had genetically inherited them from someone. You're Mihawk's daughter, and you had always been.

"Is something the matter?" you ask softly.

Zoro loses the color on his face. He feels dizzy.

Floating right outside the tower's open window, Perona makes a face of surprise as she eavesdrops on the conversation.

"Shoot," she cusses quietly before flying away.

"I can't remember the last time I've witnessed anything more devastating than falling for your master's daughter," Perona ponders aloud, causing Zoro to glare at her as he nearly hyperventilates. "Calm down! We can do something about it!"

Zoro grits his teeth at Perona's poor attempt to cheer him up. Coming from the ghost girl who knows nothing but to attack people with her depressive powers, her optimism is anything but helpful.

"You said you spied on her a few times in the past. Did you not know this?!" Zoro shouts.

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't intrude enough!" Perona yells back. "You didn't even bother asking your girlfriend what her full name was! Ugh, you tire me out—you're unbelievable!"

After Perona fled the scene, Zoro followed in horror. He looked too disturbed that you offered to escort him back to the castle so that he could take a deep breath and process the situation. However, Zoro excused himself and instead ran down the spiral steps of your tower, disappearing into the forest that led him back to the castle.

Having reunited with Perona in her bedroom (that was apparently yours before she teleported to the island), Zoro admits that she has the right to insult him. Zoro never asked for your family name, and you never told him about it either. He thought you were an orphan since you had always lived alone, and it wasn't rare for people in the Grand Line to be secretive of their family.

Still, he feels like an idiot. Despite looking different from your father (you must have taken after your mother in appearance), you're incredibly trained with a sword, and you have a familiar aura around you. Zoro should have connected the dots together and theorized that you're Mihawk's daughter, but it's too late for that now.

He isn't mad by all means, but he curses the old man for not even telling him. He's been living under his roof for the past eight months, for goodness' sake!

Perona floats in front of him, twirling her hair.

"What are you going to do now?" she asks.

Zoro doesn't respond. He's clueless.

"Me either," she says. She flies around the room, thinking to herself. "Well, only a coward would accept defeat in courting a woman. Get back there and ask for her father's blessing!"

Zoro clenches his fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands.

"Help me with something."

Many hours later, Mihawk comes back from his day visit at your tower. Tired from today's events, he decides to lock himself in his bedroom and take some time reading the newspaper over a glass of wine. To his dismay, he seems to have run out.

Thus, he immerses himself in the newspaper, wine-less, thinking it's good to cut down on the liquor for a while. In the middle of it, a knock sounds on his door, followed by a soft clink of glass. Mihawk waits for a minute to pass before standing up from his seat and peeking out the door to investigate the sound.

Whoever had knocked is now long gone. Instead, there sits by his foot a bottle of unopened wine and a piece of parchment. Mihawk collects the items and retreats to his bedroom.

He opens the bottle and pours himself a drink. Then, he settles back in his armchair and finishes the newspaper before picking up the parchment.

"A letter," he says to himself. He reads.

Thank you for taking me under your wing.

I'm sorry for running out earlier. I like her, and I stand by that.

Have this for now.

With wine, Zoro

Mihawk drops the letter on his lap and takes another sip. He laughs to himself.

The next day, he calls Zoro to his room as he reads the daily newspaper with careful sips of the gifted wine. As Zoro speaks, having swallowed his pride another time in front of the man, Mihawk leans back into his chair, seemingly pleased.

With wine or not, he was going to give his permission anyway.

[rueclfer]

evergreen

𖤓 part x. | series m.list | prev | part xi.

“are these kids fucking dumb?” tomura leans back and whispers through the metal whistle resting against his lips, “like just get the ball in the net, how hard is that?”

you two sat at the ledge of the dock ankle deep in the lake, lightly kicking the water up a few feet ahead of you. while tomura was hunched forward, with his eyes locked on the game, you were leaning back on the balls of your hands and taking in the sunshine through dark sunglasses. only half of your attention was on the campers swimming back and forth the same 30 meters chasing after the highlighter-yellow ball.

“i don’t know shigs, water polo is-”

your hand flies up to your ear as you’re cut off by the piercing high pitch whistle from between his lips.

“hey!” tomura calls, “elbows to yourself or i’ll eject your ass, sis! don’t think i won’t.”

the competitiveness runs in the family.

“keep everything under the water, guys,” you remind in a gentler tone, “if we can’t see it, it’s legal…ish.”

you blow your own whistle to resume the game before turning and landing a punch on tomura’s shoulder.

“a warning next time, dumbass, you almost blew out my eardrum,” you groan, plugging a knuckle in your ear.

“well someone has to pay attention and ref don’t they? can’t even coach my team either because we’re down two idiots to help run this shit show.”

“the counselors were never this strict with us when we were kids, shigs," you return the attitude, "speaking of the idiots though, where did those two run off to? you saw hawks this morning?"

“clearly you've never had to have kaina as your counselor," he scoffs, "but, you seriously asking me where hawks is on a lake day?” he turns his head back at you and cocks an eyebrow, “as for your boy toy, i have no clue.”

“not my boy toy. don't call him that.” you reach over off the dock and grab a handful of water before throwing it at the back of tomura’s head. “i’m only asking because he wasn’t in the cabin when i woke up.”

"don't overthink it. probably just off plotting to piss his dad off or something." he shakes the water from the hair clinging to the back of his neck, "you know him."

you knew touya was never the one to pass up on a day in the lake. when you were kids, he’d always start the summer off by highlighting the lake days on the calendar. always the first one to jump in. always begging you to sneak out past curfew for a dip- even if it just meant you sitting on the dock with your knees up to your chin watching him go in circles.

there was a specific rush that touya was always chasing- the feeling of being swallowed whole by freezing waters when the surface tension is broken against dry skin. there was nothing as euphoric as the chatter of the world muffled to nothing as water rushed in his ears. 

when did he grow out of this?

despite the beautiful day and itinerary of outside activities, there’s a twinge of anxiety bubbling in your chest that you couldn't shake.

“i think i should go look for him,” you suddenly say, pulling your feet out of the water.

“of course you do,” tomura mutters, “sure, leave me alone to watch over these kids who are all actively trying to drown one another.”

as you open your mouth to return a snarky response, you’re met with screams and cheers from the lake.

both of your eyes snap towards the water to find a commotion hidden behind large splashes of white water coming in from all directions.

“you broke my bracelet, you stupid rabid dog!” ochako shrieks, grabbing a fistfull of katsuki’s hair and pulling his head back under the water.

“you’re not even supposed to be wearing that shit in the game,” katsuki coughs once he resurfaces, grabbing her by the straps of her swimsuit and pushing her under.

“aht! aht!” you stand up, rapidly blowing your whistle, ”take it on land, ladies, no one’s drowning on my watch!”

you and tomura exchange side glances as you two watch the group of kids migrate towards the ledge of the lake where they circle around the two wrestling in the patchy grass.

“i didn’t expect them to listen to me so easily,” you mutter under your breath, “you’re welcome, though. no more kids trying to drown each other while i’m gone.”

“yeah, thanks. now they’re just trying to kill each other,” tomura deadpans, “how long do i let them go at it?”

“uhhhh…until blood is drawn?” you shrug, “they’re old enough to know when to call it quits, right? just let them kill their energy.”

“like a bunch of fucking animals,” he sighs, “if you three aren’t back by sundown and leave me alone to entertain them for the bonfire, i’ll be pissed.” he calls out as you make your way up the steps.

“if we’re not back by sundown, i expect you to grab a gun and go after the bear that got our asses.”

tomura rolls his eyes and sends you off with his middle finger up before turning his attention back to the campers.

a/n: i had sm fun with togachako and bakudeku with this one hehe AND shigs and y/n time <3 sorry no touya in this but our boy is schemingggg...kinda maybe sorta

next part won't take as long to get out :-) lil break was much needed i feel a lot more excitement for this series yay

tags:

@iluv-ace @bitchyfestivalbouquet @redr0sewrites @babylambdietcoke @bnhabadass @hanmastattoos @1ndee @starsryi @nesrynsblog @twoplayergaymers @suksatoru @ita606 @pookiebear16 @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @in-the-marina-trench @haruhi269 @itgetzweird08 @ilophilia @chimimon @emluvs-sugu @punishblue @whorror-complex @akumakitsune21 @maddie-rose-1 @ixeyi @commonmisery @ggriwm @exselily @kryscent @starrmage @vannyinthestars @burnishingbagels @soobhns @kaybug88 @lantsovheiress @0skullyard0 @albakugo @sleepyk0dyz @blu3-l0v3r @bakugouswh0r3 @kaldurahms-lover @thoughtswithbbg @slothsmoths @reocidal @multi-write @stoned-anime-babe @i-simp-to-much @satansdaughter123

[thezombieprostitute]

Royal Pain

Summary: You talked back to Ransom and now you're getting married to him!

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Bad parents, Fat shaming, Insecure reader. Please let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.

"You've done so well!" you're father beams.

"I... I have?" You'd been expecting a lecture on your bad manners. A reminder that you are supposed to take insults from those of a higher standing with a show of grace.

"Normally I'd consider your actions disgraceful," he admits. "But because of Duke Drysdale's response, and Prince Rogers' rebuke of said response, Dutchess Drysdale has offered us a marriage with her son as an apology!"

Your jaw drops.

"Close your mouth before you draw flies, my dear."

You shake your head to clear your shock. "I'm...to be married. To Duke Drysdale?"

"Yes! And our family will rise in the ranks as a result."

"But he's awful!" you argue. "Ransom publicly humiliated me. He's clearly not going to want this marriage, either."

"Oh nonsense," your father dismisses. "He'll settle into just like you will. Just like your mother and I. Just like his parents. It's how things are done. Now, we've got a week to prepare for the initial courting. Make sure you don't embarrass the family name by sulking about it."

"Yes, father."

"You have got to be shitting me!" Ransom shouts at his mother.

"You made a scene at the King's gala!" Linda objected.

"How was it a scene? It was just banter?!"

"You insulted a woman from a good family and stormed off when she hit back! Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was?! The Prince had to pull you aside! At a public setting!"

"And how is forcing a marriage between us going to help anyone?!"

"It's an apology to her family by bringing them up a level in the social standings. They've already agreed to it on her behalf "

"This is bullshit!"

"I thought it's what you wanted! You wouldn't stop talking about her so I figured she was of interest to you. I'd never heard you talk about anyone as much as you did her!"

"She's going to be an embarrassment! Have you seen her?"

"It's that kind of thinking that got you into this!" Linda yells, exasperation in every word. "It's time you learn that actions have consequences."

"Like you've ever had to deal with consequences," Ransom snorts.

"I've had to deal with your consequences for far too long! How do you think you've been able to get away with half the shit you do?"

Ransom crosses his arms and huffs

"This might be the best thing that could ever happen to you," Linda surmised. "You have your first courting in about a week and you will be on your best behavior and you will not embarrass this family again!"

Ransom sneers and storms out.

The restaurant is much more high class than you like. You're already going to be on edge about your weight because Ransom will be there, you don't need others commenting on your eating habits as well. Sure you stood up to Ransom but you'd had exhaustion and a bit of alcohol to help with that. And a certainty that you'd never have to be around him again. So much for that.

Rather than picking you up from your home, Ransom had agreed to meet you at the restaurant. Your father wanted to protest but you countered it would be easier on all parties for Ransom to have some wins. You're an adult, you can drive yourself.

Besides, it might help sell the the relationship as real. Linda Drysdale was one of the few women to not marry for a title. She fought hard for her father, the late Duke Harlan Thrombey, to pass his title to her instead of one of her brothers. So showing up to the date in your own car might spark some rumors about Linda approving of you. Or that Ransom has some serious mommy issues. Either way, you get a small win.

An arm wraps around yours as you approach the front entrance, startling you.

"Oh, did I scare you, sweetheart?" Ransom asked sarcastically. "That's bad for our image."

"And clearly so are bad manners," you rebut, plastering a fake smile on so no one could see your distaste. "Otherwise there's no way the Dutchess would approve of this union."

Ransom huffs, "yeah, she said something about consequences. I don't know. I wasn't really listening."

"You don't listen to others, yet you expect others to listen to you. Such a jackass." You keep your tone and body language playful only for the sake of the public watching you.

"What was that? I wasn't listening," he smirks.

"Oh, don't be afraid to ask for help remembering how to use silverware. I know your manners are rusty."

"I may be rude but I'm not an idiot," he growls through his own fake smile.

"Then how did you end up with me instead of one of those pretty girls hanging on your arm at the gala?" you ask, batting your eyelashes.

His retort is interrupted by the hostess. She smiles politely but you can see the judgement in her eyes. You're not good enough for him. Well, you don't look good enough for him. She does, so she's clearly better than you.

She leads you to a table that will afford you some privacy. Ransom holds the chair out for you, surprising you.

"Oh, thank you," you smile sincerely for the first time all night.

"Have to put on a good show," he grouses. "Can't have anyone doubting my manners."

"Still, thank you, Ransom."

It could just be the lighting, but you swear you see him blush a little. He takes his seat and opts to hide behind the menu. You take that as a sign he's not up for talking and opt to look over the menu for yourself.

You ask him, "just to make sure, will I also be paying for my own dinner?"

His jaw drops, "why the hell would you do that?"

"I'm just double checking," you retort. "Don't want to be embarrassed by accidentally dining and ditching."

"This is supposed to be a date," he growls.

"One I had to drive myself to," you shrug. "Didn't know if we were going halfsies on anything else."

Your argument is cut off by the waiter arriving. After they take your orders you breathe deep and face your "fiance".

"So---" You stop as Ransom rolls his eyes.

"Do we have to do this? Neither of us wants this, so why are we going along with it?"

"For the same reason we do anything we don't want to: our parents," you shrug.

He huffs at that. "Fair enough. If yours are anything like mine, we're stuck together."

"Yup."

An uncomfortable silence falls over you both, the only interruption in the form of your drinks arriving.

When the server steps away you ask, "when did you start hating me?"

"I didn't hate you until I was told I'd have to marry you. Before that I was simply looking for an easy target. You caught my eye "

"So you were checking me out," you smirk.

His jaw tightens, "that's not what happened."

"No, but considering the press, and how everyone knows about our fight, we have to come up with something. Saying I caught your eye is a good start. Just leave out the part where you felt immediate revulsion at the sight of me "

"If we have to have a story we can go the bullshit route of 'pulling your pigtails' because I didn't know how to express my interest," he sighs in annoyance.

"Good call," you nod. "People will eat that up."

For a second Ransom gives you a confused look before reverting back to his usual haughty facial expression. "Yeah, well, it's a pretty common one."

"Still..." you're met with an icy silence. "Alright, slight change in topic?"

"Do you always talk so much?"

"Only when there's a lot to talk about."

"What is there to say?" he whispers angrily. "We're set up to continue the tradition of unhappy marriages. What do we need to discuss that can't be handled by a public relations agent?"

"Just because the marriage is unhappy doesn't mean we have to be miserable," you shoot back, eyes hard. "We can negotiate some things between us regarding the living situation."

Ransom leans forward. To an outside observer it might look like he's getting a closer look at your eyes. But you can see the hate in his glare. "Separate rooms for when you're on your period or when you finally get pregnant. That way I don't have to deal with your hormonal bullshit."

"I can agree to that," you hit back with a smile. "Though I propose we hold off on an heir. That way we don't have to touch each other."

"You'll never get them to agree to that."

"Prince Rogers will soon be engaged, yes?" Ransom nods in confirmation. "Well if his wife gets knocked up right away, we wouldn't want to look like we're competing by having our own so soon, right? And if she doesn't, well we wouldn't want to be rude and draw attention to her fertility issues, would we?"

Ransom raises an eyebrow. "That's not bad. The problem is, I need sex."

"So get a mistress. Or a side piece."

"If I didn't have to keep my image clean, I would," he says through gritted teeth. "One blip of infidelity gets to my mother, I lose everything."

"Then hire someone?" you suggest. "They get paid to keep quiet, right?"

"I've tried that. Linda keeps too close an eye on the finances."

"Well then I'll guess you'll have to invest in lotion," you roll your eyes. He gives you a mean look and you scoff, "I'm not going to sleep with someone who thinks I look hideous."

Ransom rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "I never said that."

"So commenting on my size was just, what? Complimenting my resourcefulness in finding a designer who caters to plus size women?"

"I didn't..." Ransom scowls, biting his lower lip.

"And your lack of surprise at my relationship status? Was that simply congratulating me on avoiding an unhappy marriage for as long as I did?"

"It wasn't..." Ransom shakes his head.

"Because those ladies you were with certainly seemed to take it the same way I did. Maybe you should learn to communicate more clearly."

Ransom nearly slams his hand on the table, his teeth grinding in frustration, but you don't back away. You meet his rage fueled stare with your own. He's not the first person to look down on you, treat you as lesser, simply because of your figure. You won't bow down him just because he's your future husband.

The contest of wills is interrupted by your food being brought out. You smile and politely thank the server. Even Ransom gives a small nod, grateful for the break in tension.

"It seems like something we can agree on is that we each have a room for ourselves," you start. "A room where we can go and not be bothered by the other." Ransom nods, avoiding looking at you. "Do you know anything about our living situation after the wedding?"

"A smaller manor on my family's property," he states between bites. "Hasn't been used in some time so Linda's got crews looking it over for cleaning and upgrades."

"I'm going to guess we don't get a say in how the place looks?" You focus your gaze on your food. If he won't look at you, you won't look at him.

"I'll see about making sure we can add whatever furniture or decorations we want. But walls, flooring, whatever, that'll be all her."

"That's a relief," you nod. "Can we get a tour before the wedding?"

"I'm sure it can be arranged after it's cleaned up."

"Thank you for that," you nod.

Ransom lets out a heavy sigh, and you break your gaze away from your plate just in time to see traces of that same confused expression from earlier.

Tagging: @alicedopey ; @delicatebarness ; @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @irishhappiness ; @kmc1989; @lokislady82 ; @peaches1958 ; @ronearoundblindly; @theinheriteddutchess; @thiquefunlover63

[loves1ckmoth]

NEW TATTOO

Non-WLF!Abby x Reader

Warnings ♡: fem reader, they tease and argue in the beginning, reader has an attitude, they cuddle at the end, reader gives Abby a stick and poke, Abby gets her dad's birthday and name tattooed, my babies

Word count ♡: 1169 (heh)

Your day had been long, and with the storm outside, you were sure the night would be even longer. Abby sat beside you like she always did before bed. Tonight, she was sorting through everything you had gathered from the town you ran across today. She frowns as she takes out a plastic bag of ballpoint pens.

“Did you need to grab these?” She grumbles, inspecting them. “Of course I did! How else am I supposed to cover your arms with tattoos?” You say jokingly, but the way she eyes you tells you that she does not take it as such. “How the hell would you tattoo me with these? Don’t they use a different ink? And a whole gun?”

You roll your eyes and snatch the bag from her, pulling one out. “You take out all the ink from these and put it into something. I like to use those old bottle caps from sodas. Then, you take a needle or something of the sort and stab a pattern onto yourself.

She looks disturbed, shooting you a weird look. “That doesn’t sound right at all. Isn’t there ink poisoning and infections from the needles? I wouldn’t trust you within five feet of me if you were going to do that.”

You groan, leaning over and falling into her lap. You press the back of your hand to your forehead, whimpering in faux pain. “You wound me… Implying I would hurt you… You’re so awful to me.” Once you’re finished whining, you peek up at her to see her reaction. She’s not amused.

“Are you quite done?” She says snarkily, and you sit up. You roll your eyes and she wants to smack you upside the head for your attitude, but the way your mouth quirks up and she can see your smile lines after teasing her makes it bearable. “Why can’t you be fun? I’d only do something simple. I’ve done it to myself before and I turned out fine.” She raises a brow and looks you over as if to say, ‘Did you?’ “I did, dammit!” You shout.

She finally grins, grabbing her stomach as she starts to laugh. It stuns you. All you can do is watch and stare. Her eyes crinkle at the corners and her nose scrunches. Her hair flies over her shoulder as she leans back. Was it that funny? As her laughter dies down to soft heaves and she rubs tears from her eyes, she looks back at your starstruck expression.

“‘M sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I shouldn’t laugh at you.” She says as she finally manages to recuperate. You frown finally, leaning back against the wall and studying the pen that’s still in your hands. “So you won’t let me do it?” You ask softly. She leans back with you, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m just wary. I don’t want to get sick or hurt from it. But where would you put it? What would you put?” You also take a moment to think before tilting your head to face her. You like it when it’s quiet like this. Despite your fear of the storm taking down the house you’re staying in, you like the way her nose looks against the dark, rainy window. You wanna reach out and touch it? It’s not like it’s normal for you to poke her randomly but this time would feel too intimate.

“I’d like to put something on your arms. They’re so big and bulky and empty. I don’t want to do your stomach, That hurts a lot more. As for what… I’m not sure.” She hums quietly, messing with her arms as your gaze drops down to them. They might be your favorite part of her. The way they’re so huge, the way the muscles underneath ripple when she chops them, the way they feel around your neck and you start getting lightheaded… Yeah. You like it all.

“Do you have any quotes from books you like? Or maybe a name or a date?” You ask softly. A strange haze drops over her eyes and her brows furrow. She looks concentrated. “A date and a name. On my arm. Would you do that?” Even if you weren’t over the moon about doing it, you know you wouldn’t be able to tell her no. Not when that familiar mournful look takes control of her face.

“Of course, I would. Is it him and his birthday?” She nods solemnly. You don’t need to say his name. You both know. You’re sure if you said her dad's name aloud she’d finally break down in front of you. Out of all the walls she erected, most have fallen except that one. You want to see her finally surrender it all into your hands, but you’ll wait patiently for it. It feels better like that.

“I saw a soda bottle outside earlier. I’ll clean it up in the rain. You can use that spare needle from the sewing kit in my pack.” She says as she gets up and you’re quick to follow orders. Her bag is a maze to navigate and it frustrates you every time you have to look in it. You’re convinced only she can navigate it.

Once she’s back with the bottle, you’ve managed to find the needle. She sits in front of you as you get the ink from the pens into the cap. She rolls up her sleeve for you and places it in your lap. You gently draw out the date and her father's name with one of the pens that’s still intact.

You hum quietly, offering a gentle hand as you get to work on her. She likes the way your brows furrow as you concentrate and watching you stick out your tongue manages to distract her from your arm. It begins to come out nicely and she’s pleasantly surprised.

You pull back after a while and stretch, your body trembling. She bites the inside of her cheek as your shirt rides up, barely constraining herself from grabbing your midriff. “You done?” She asks quietly. When you nod, she takes her half-asleep arm off your lap and looks it over.

You study her face, waiting for a response. “Is it any good?” She huffs, barely holding back tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” You smile brightly, incredibly proud of your work. You clean up the space as a bright flash floods the house. She holds up a finger to silence you as she counts the time until the thunder comes, making the house shake. She sighs in relief once it passes. “It’s a ways away. We’ll be fine for the night.”

She moves with you now, helping set up a pallet on the floor next to the dying fire. Once it’s all laid out, she grabs you by the hip and pulls you into her. “Lay down and rest. Let me help you sleep.” You let out a soft breath and melt into her, finally collapsing for the night.

Hi everyone!! Back with Abby again because I missed her ૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა ♡♡ reblogs and likes are the most appreciated ♡

[pasukiyo]

PERHAPS, PERHAPS, PERHAPS.

eric (a quiet place: day one) x f!reader word count: 2,894 warnings: a little bit of violence summary: perhaps it's chance. perhaps it's happenstance. but perhaps it is fate. perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

 Hands find the sleeve of her sweater and she’s pulled backwards, her lips parting in a gasp as she turns. A woman, with dark hair beginning to fade into gray, locks her hands around her wrist, trembling. 

 “Please!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know where to go! I need help! Please! Help me!”

 She’s frozen, her mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out because the truth is, she’s just as helpless. She wishes she could help, she really does, but she’s alone in a foreign city while the world around her falls apart and all she knows to do is run. 

 She tries to shake off the woman, but she only tightens her grip, and it’s not until she screams again that she lets go. It happens in a blur. One moment the woman is on her arm and the next she’s taken away by one of those things. She can’t even process what they look like because they move so fast. 

 She stumbles backwards as a car alarm sounds and she only just manages to duck in enough time to avoid being crushed as the airborne vehicle flies overhead, crashing into the building behind her. Her teeth catch her bottom lip and she whimpers, holding her head in either of her hands. Screams sound and die, wheels screech, vehicles crash, windows shatter, people are torn apart and it’s all just too loud. 

 She sinks to her knees in the middle of the chaos-ridden street and covers her ears, the hot water in her eyes falling fast down the apples of her cheeks. She feels utterly alone and only now does the weight of her family’s abrupt deaths begin to seep in, like poison injecting itself into her veins and wearing down her bones. 

 She wonders if this is it— if today is the day she dies. 

 She wonders if she should just stay here: on the ground, unmoving, waiting for death to take her. 

 It’s harder to breathe than ever now and she can’t calm herself down, can’t even focus on inhaling a steady breath. The ground quakes below and she thinks something explodes, but it’s hard to hear over the ringing in her ears. She only thinks to duck until she faces the ground as smoke pervades the air and ash falls and all she can see is gray. Her hearing is only just coming back to her when she hears a scream— whether it was her own or somebody else’s, she’s uncertain— but all she knows is in the next moment, everything is black. 

 The world is still black when she hears her name. She stirs and thinks it must be death calling upon her but then she hears her name again and it sounds… real. Still, she does not open her eyes, lingering in that state between waking and oblivion. 

 The voice calls her name again and suddenly it sounds… familiar. She’s heard it before but she’s unsure where. She must be dead, she thinks. 

 But is the afterlife supposed to feel so… real? As in, she feels the warmth of fabric above her and thinks it must be a blanket, the cushion of what she can only think can be a pillow beneath her head. She can feel her feet, so she moves them, and she can feel something soft underneath them, something her entire body can feel. It must be a mattress she sleeps on but how when only a moment ago, her knees were on the asphalt of a crumbling street?

 Her name is called again and this time, she feels a weight on her shoulder, a hand. It suddenly registers that she isn’t in the city at all but rather somewhere else entirely different and her eyelids snap open at the realization. A shadow looks over her and she pushes herself to sit upright, her throat tightening as she tries to blink the blurriness away from her vision.

 “Hey!” The voice calls again, the hand on her shoulder firmer. The silhouette before her warps and moves and it must be the source of the voice but her muscles remain taut with panic. “It’s me! It’s just me.”

 She tries to draw air into her lungs but it’s hard when she can hardly make out where she is and the hand falls from her shoulder to instead find her cheek, pulling her face towards the shadow. Her chest rises and falls with her breaths as she continues trying to make out the face of the shadow before her. 

 “It’s me!” The voice says again. “It’s Eric!”

 Eric. 

 The shape in front of her finally materializes and indeed, it is Eric. His brows are drawn in concern, his big, signature doe eyes round and searching hers. Her mouth feels dry and it opens and closes multiple times before he places his hand on her chest, right over her pounding heart. She glances down to his palm, watching as it rises and falls with her breaths before his other hand reaches for her chin. 

 Their eyes meet and for a moment, it’s like the world stills and it is only him she can see. His eyes are so dark a brown that they seem to merge with the sea of black in its midst and she thinks she will lose herself if she stares too long. His lips move to form the words “breathe” and “it’s over now, you’re safe” and it seems easier now that she’s rapt in his eyes, shining like dark topaz. 

 Her chin rises as she inhales and she focuses on his hand on her chest as her head dips with her exhale. Air floods her lungs and the world begins to turn again.

 “Okay?” Eric asks carefully, his hand no longer on her chest but still hovering above just in case. She takes another deep breath before she nods, sniffing. It’s only now set in that she was sleeping and she was living a nightmare, or rather, reliving her nightmare. 

 It’s been three months since day one, since the nightmares began and every day since has been long, some longer than others. Every day since the first sort of happened in a blur, but she remembers the day she met Eric like it was yesterday. 

 She remembers the boat, the boy with the cat who she’d just watched escape death before he swam to his new beginning. She remembers the conversations they had on the (what felt like at the time) seemingly never-ending boat ride, the vow they didn’t speak aloud but seemed to silently agree on that they’d stick together, and they did, even when they arrived on the island. She remembers it all and so she pulls the boy in front of her into her until she can rest her head on his shoulder, fingers clutching his white t-shirt. 

 His arms wrap around her middle and hold her close, his breath warm as it threads through her hair, seeping down to her scalp. Her nails burrow into his shirt, deep enough to snag skin underneath and her heart pounds against her ribcage, dread creeping up her spine at the realization that she doesn’t want to let go. When he inevitably begins to pull away, she sinks her nails into his shoulders like the claws of a cat and a crease forms between his brows. 

 “What is it?” He asks and she swallows, brows pinched together. “Will you stay with me?” She questions and his expression softens, nodding as he lets go of one of her shoulders to gesture with his thumb behind him. 

 “Yeah, you know I’ll always be right over there,” he says, referring to the small sofa bed across the room. He gives her bicep a reassuring squeeze and turns, moving to pull away again but she finds his hand, clasping it between hers as tight as she possibly can. 

  “No, I mean will you…” she pauses, sighing as blood bites her cheeks, filling them with color. “…will you lay with me?” She finishes quieter, his hand growing warm in hers. 

 He turns to face her again and when their eyes meet, silence strings between them. She swears she can see him connecting the dots until realization washes over him and finally, he understands. He blinks again, once down to the bed and once to the open space beside her. On his next blink, color floods his cheeks and he nods, lifting up the blanket to slide underneath it. Their legs touch for the briefest of moments and either of their breaths hitch. His skin lingers for a heartbeat before it’s gone and she has to take in another deep breath through her nostrils to quell her quaking heart. 

 They both settle themselves down on the mattress and it creaks beneath either of their weight. She holds her breath again, still under the guise that one of those things will come snatch her away at the smallest of sounds, but the reminder that they are on the island, that they are safe fills her with some solace. Even though the relief never stays long. The past always comes back to haunt her, as if some sort of evil spirit has made it its sole mission to taunt her. 

 “Hey,” Eric whispers and she turns, realizing he was looking at her. “Are you alright?”

 She nods, sniffing again. “Sorry, I’m just… thinking,” she replies, blinking back towards the ceiling. “I had another nightmare.” He sighs beside her and she hears the sheets shift a little as he adjusts his weight. “It’s okay. I get them too.”

 It’s easy to forget she’s not the only one who experienced the horrors of the invasion, that she isn’t the only one who lost things, people. She forgets she’s not the only one who is haunted by what transpired that day and she peers back over towards Eric. He stares up at the ceiling, his hands neatly folded on top of his stomach and his lips pursed. He taps his fingers against the back of his hands a little awkwardly, as if he wants to speak but isn’t sure what to say. So instead, he remains silent, waiting for the moment he succumbs to sleep. 

 “Tell me about England,” her voice fills that void between them and he almost flinches, snapping his head towards her, an incredulous look upon his face. “What?” He says as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. The corners of her lips twitch, “tell me about England,” she repeats. “I’ve always wanted to go. And well… it doesn’t look like I’ll be going any time soon.”

 He exhales and it almost mimics a laugh but it dies as soon as he rolls his head to face the ceiling once again. He stares into the darkness above, sifting through the memories he has of home. The truth is, it’s been so long since he’s been home, the memories are already beginning to fade away. His mother, his father, his little sister, their cat, his childhood home, the town he grew up in. The more days that pass, the farther away all those things seem. He can still see them toward the horizon but they’re fading behind shadows. He fears that soon enough, they’ll be nothing more than black shapes out in the distance, too far away to make sense of what they are. 

 For a moment, she wonders if he’s going to speak at all. Frodo purrs as he leaps onto the bed, curling into a ball at their feet. And then, Eric finally speaks. 

 “Growing up, I never thought where I grew up was small until I came to the States,” he begins. “Did you know that the entire population of New York City is over four times the population of Kent?” 

 Her lips curve into a tight, genuine grin and she shakes her head. “No,” she replies and he scoffs. “It’s crazy,” he mutters. “I’d never seen so many people in one place before in my life.”

 She laughs again and this time, her grin splits her face and when Eric turns, his gaze lingers. She stares back, finding his eyes even in the darkness. Even in the dark, she can see the way they soften in searching. Whether it is her or his memories he is searching, she is not sure. She grows warm at the sudden awareness of their closeness and she has to turn away again to ease the erratic beating of her heart, folding her hands just beneath it, sucking in a deep breath. 

 Eric clears his throat. Then he continues, “there was this bakery around the corner from my house. My sister and I practically kept that place afloat all on our own with how many times we went.” 

 She turns and watches his side profile as a soft smile curves his lips and she thinks to herself, how can she possibly look away? Neither one of them ever really talked about their life before the invasion much, but maybe they should’ve tried sooner, if he was going to look the way he does now. It’s the brightest she’s ever seen him, the fastest he’s ever talked. His eyes gleam at just the mere mention of home and she wants to know more, wants to learn more about him. 

 “Have you ever had focaccia?” He asks, turning to find she’s already staring and she raises a brow. 

 “Ever had what?” 

 His brow furrows and he looks almost offended, a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Do the Americans not feed you focaccia?” She laughs, shrugging. “I honestly have no idea what you’re even talking about,” she replies and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 “It’s only, like, the finest bread in the world,” he says. “But the best is at the bakery near home. It’s the focaccia of all focaccia. Their focaccia beats all focaccia.”

 She chuckles, “I’ll have to take your word for it then.”

 “Well, anyway, my sister and I would get focaccia from that bakery everyday after school,” he blinks, brow dipping. “Except Wednesdays. They were always closed Wednesdays. I always hated Wednesdays because of it.”

 She cannot help it anymore so she laughs, her shoulders wracking with the sheer power of the action. She clasps a hand over her mouth to attempt to suppress any embarrassing chortles and Eric sputters, the mere beginning of his own laugh. 

 It’s something she can’t remember doing last: laughing. At least, genuinely laughed. It must’ve been before the first day but that day feels so long ago that she can’t place a finger on nearly anything before it. 

 So this feels good. It feels like things can be almost perfect, because even if this lighthearted feeling is only fleeting, in the moment, it feels right. It feels right to be here with Eric, laughing over a life that neither one of them will ever have again. Laughing even as the world crumbles around them. Laughing as they pretend that everything is okay, if only temporarily. 

 There are tears in her eyes now from how hard she’s laughing and she blinks them away, peering over at Eric through her watercolor vision. He’s still coming down from the high his laughter gave him when she reaches over, fingers finding his arm. 

 “Eric?”

 He hiccups with laughter, “yeah?”

 She sniffs and bites back another laugh. “Can I kiss you?”

 Maybe it's the spur of the moment. Maybe it’s just happenstance. Or maybe, just maybe, it was meant to be. 

 She doesn’t know. 

 But none of it matters right now. 

 Because his gaze drops to her lips and when he looks up, she finds he wants her just as much as she realizes she wants him too. 

 Eric says nothing, only reaches for her, his hand finding the back of her head to pull her in and her arms wrap around his neck and then their lips are one. They fit together in the perfect mold, as if it truly was just as she thought: meant to be. 

 Perhaps, Eric was who she was meant to find all along. End of the world or not, life— at least on Eric’s end, it was more chance on hers— brought them both to New York at the same time and she can’t help but wonder, as his tongue swirls her mouth, whether she would’ve found him anyways. 

 Perhaps they would’ve run into each other on the street. Perhaps, even on the subway. Maybe they would’ve walked into the same restaurant at the same time and locked eyes. Or maybe they would’ve gone to the same shops, the same hotel, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

 An arm slithers around her waist and draws her into his chest and she knows that this is fate. It simply can’t not be. 

 She pulls away for a moment, just so either of them can catch their breaths, and their eyelids peel open and seemingly nothing else matters. There’s a sort of silent understanding between them— Eric must feel the same. 

 And that’s enough. It’s all she needs to be okay again, to want to live. 

 They crash into one another again, like two stars in a stellar collision. She burns brighter than she ever has before and they melt into one another and relish the notion that this is enough. 

a/n; saw a quiet place day one the other day and i think writing an eric fic was inevitable so... HERE YOU GO! i hope you all enjoy this one and let me know if you'd like for me to write up more eric fics! i'd love to explore this character some more :)

🤍 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! ✨

[thefemmefatalexo]

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 1 - Invisible in the Spotlight

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: Welcome to chapter one guys! Feedback is appreciated as always hehe. Also, the taglists for all of my stories are still OPEN, so make sure to get tagged so you don’t miss out on any new chapters! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{introduction} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Campus is chaos, as always. The sidewalks are packed with students rushing to their next class or chatting in tight little groups like they’ve known each other forever. It’s the first month of the semester, but it feels like everyone’s already found their place—everyone but you. You walk with your head down, weaving through the crowd as quietly and invisibly as possible. That’s been your strategy for years now. It works. Mostly.

You didn’t think living at home while attending college would feel so… stifling. At first, it seemed like the logical choice: save money, stay close to the familiar, and avoid the pressure of navigating both a new school and a new city. But now you’re not so sure. Sharing a roof with your parents and your step-sister, Mia, is starting to feel like you’re suffocating.

The comparisons never stop. Mia, the perfect daughter with her flawless tennis career and her endless achievements. She’s a campus celebrity in her own right—everyone knows her name, her face, her victories. And then there’s you. The one people glance at for a second before looking past you. The one who never quite measures up.

You pull your hoodie tighter around you as you pass a group of students standing by the fountain. One of them mentions Mia’s name, and you feel your stomach twist. Something about her latest tournament win, how she’s heading to the finals soon. It’s not surprising, but it still stings. She’s everywhere. Even here.

You shake the thoughts away and head toward the coffee shop near the engineering building. It’s your usual escape—a place to grab a moment of quiet before your next class. The line is long when you step in, but the familiar smell of coffee and the soft hum of indie music make it worth the wait. You tug your phone out of your pocket, scrolling mindlessly through messages you’re too tired to respond to.

That’s when it happens.

The force of someone slamming into you from behind nearly sends you tumbling forward. Your bag slips off your shoulder, and your coffee almost flies out of your hands.

“Whoa, careful there,” a smooth voice says, almost lazily, as though you were the one at fault.

You turn around, already annoyed, and find yourself face-to-face with him.

Satoru Gojo.

Of course, it’s him. Because who else would nearly knock you over and then smile at you like you owe him an apology? His snowy white hair practically glows under the fluorescent lights, and his blue eyes—hidden behind those ridiculous round sunglasses—glint with amusement. He’s tall, too tall, and he carries himself with the kind of confidence that only someone who’s never been told “no” can manage.

You’ve seen him around. Everyone has. Satoru Gojo is one of those people you can’t ignore even if you try. He’s an engineering major with top grades, an influential family name, and a reputation that precedes him. Girls throw themselves at him. Guys want to be him. He’s the king of campus—loud, obnoxious, and completely full of himself.

And now, unfortunately, he’s staring right at you.

“I think you dropped something,” he says, gesturing to your bag on the floor.

“No, really? Thanks for pointing that out,” you deadpan, bending down to pick it up.

When you straighten, his grin is still plastered on his face. It’s infuriatingly smug, like he’s thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

“You’re new,” he states, as if it’s a fact.

You glance around the room, hoping the line will move faster. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I know everyone here, and I definitely don’t know you,” he says, leaning casually against the counter like this is the most fascinating conversation he’s had all day.

“Congratulations. You’ve solved the mystery. I’m new.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel his eyes studying you, probably trying to figure out why you’re not falling all over yourself like the others do. “You don’t seem very impressed by me,” he finally says, and there’s a mock pout in his tone.

You can’t help but snort. “Why would I be?”

His grin widens, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? You don’t care enough to figure it out.

You step forward as the line moves, eager to order and leave before he decides to keep talking. But, of course, he follows.

“New girl, huh? So, what’s your name?”

“None of your business,” you reply, still not looking at him.

“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically. “Cold and mysterious. I like it.”

You roll your eyes and finally make it to the counter, ordering the cheapest coffee on the menu. As you fumble with your wallet, you hear him behind you, ordering something unnecessarily complicated and way too expensive.

When you turn to leave, you catch his gaze one last time. His grin hasn’t wavered. “See you around, mystery girl,” he calls after you.

You don’t bother responding, walking out the door as quickly as you can.

But as you step back into the crowd, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s right.

Because as much as you want to stay invisible, something tells you Satoru Gojo isn’t about to let that happen.

[t1oui]

@jegulus-microfic | may 3rd: rush | 727 words

“Do I look alright?” James asks for the hundredth time. His voice sounds funny. “Merlin, do I sound alright? What am I even supposed to say?”

Sirius marches over to him, forcefully grabbing his shoulders and turning him around, away from the mirror.

“You say nice things,” he says sternly. “Because he is my baby brother.”

Sirius has been very supportive, James thinks.

“Right,” he agrees. His voice sounds a bit better now. Sirius nods.

“Don’t worry, Prongs,” Remus says, wandering over from his desk by the windows. “He’s crazy about you already.”

Sirius punches him in the arm. “My baby brother,” he says, an aggressive reminder. Remus holds his hands up in surrender. He turns back to James, waving his wand to cast a tempus. “Best get going,” he says. “You don’t want to be late.”

James checks the time: 10:53. Fuck. He’s supposed to be in the entrance hall by 11.

“Fuck,” he says out loud. Remus snorts. Sirius narrows his eyes.

“You better make this good, Potter,” he almost snarls. Remus places a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Peter rolls his eyes. He’s behind them, so only James can see.

“Bye,” James calls. It’s still warm enough out that he doesn’t need a coat. A little chilly, sure, but James has always run warm. He knocks on one of the wooden columns of Peter’s four-poster. “Bye, Pete.”

“Good luck, Prongs,” he replies, not looking up from his book.

James flies down the stairs and careens into the common room. He’s halfway to the portrait hole when someone grabs him for the second time today. He whirls around to find Lily smiling up at him, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding a pink rose.

“James,” she says softly. “Hey. Calm down.” She holds out the rose, and he takes it hesitantly. “Dora brought me a bouquet the other day,” she explains. “Thought you might want one?”

James stares at her for a moment. Then he nods. “Thank you, Lils.”

She waves him off, stepping away. “Don’t mention it,” she says. She nods to the portrait hole. “I’d get going if I were you.”

He nods, shouting one last thanks over his shoulder as he steps out. Lily shakes her head with a smile, heading back to her room.

James is going so fast that he nearly falls through a trick step. He stumbles, shakes it off, and continues running through the castle. He trips over a group of first years playing exploding snap on a landing. “Sorry!” he calls over his shoulder. The first years watch him with bewildered, confused expressions before going back to their game.

James steps into an alcove once he’s reached the bottom of the stairs, casting a tempus. 10:59. He has one minute. He flattens down his hair and regulates his breathing as much as he can before finally putting on a smile and stepping out. He spots Regulus almost immediately, standing in the entrance hall right where they agreed to meet. He’s got a book in one hand. As James approaches, he looks up from an expensive-looking watch, aristocratic features spreading into a warm smile.

“Right on time,” he says. James stutters to a stop taking him in. Regulus is wearing a dark blue button-up over black slacks and boots. His hair is neatly parted in the middle, pushing his short curls to either side of his face, hanging over his ears. He cocks his head to one side. “Are you alright?”

And it’s those three words, the way Regulus’s mouth moves around them, that inspire James to rush forward, closing the distance between them by swooping Regulus into a hug and pressing a kiss to his temple. Regulus laughs, tossing his arms around James’s shoulders. His laugh is so beautiful.

“Jamie,” he snorts. James presses their foreheads together and stares into Regulus’s eyes. They’re the color of clouds on a winter day. James could get lost in them. Regulus smiles at him. “This is a bit of a strong reaction for a first date, don’t you think?” he asks softly. James thinks. Thinks about the months of wanting, of loving, of needing. Thinks about Sirius gagging as loudly as possible when he kissed Regulus on Platform 9 ¾. James grins.

“No,” he says. “I don’t think.”

Regulus snorts, and James kisses his smile.

[leonsdolly]

Wicked Game

Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

Synopsis: Leon leaves you for her, and you're not sure what to do now.

CW: nsfw 18+, infidelity, angst, suicidal thoughts, comparing yourself to her, masturbation, mentions of p in v

WC: 1.5k

“What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you…” You murmur along to the melancholy words that are floating around your room like butterflies. Actually, more like flies nearing the end of their life span - movement transitioning from an erratic flight to a lazy, almost purposeless dwindle until they’re on their backs with their legs sticking up in the air. That’s exactly how you are now that Leon’s done with you. A dead fly - no one could save me but you. Chris Isaak gets it. He gets it so well that he’s been looping for God knows how long.

Was it only last week that Leon left you for the ghost from his past? The one in red, haunting him in ways that you were oblivious to. Always bleeding red, like Bloody Mary or something. Maybe it was better if you’d feigned ignorance to the evidence. Maybe you’d still be able to call him yours if you played your role of a cross-eyed Mary jumping right into his arms with no protests, always playing it clean.

It was all because of a letter that was carefully tucked away in his desk drawer, folded and sealed with a kiss. No, literally a kiss. The bitch left her lipstick imprint in lieu of her signature. YSL, shade R1. You’d always been a Dior girl anyway. 

You swore up and down that you weren’t purposely snooping through his belongings, that you were just looking for Scotch tape. The offensive document shook in your hand as you fearfully inquired about its contents. He was stuttering and ashamed and apologetic and all the things a good man is when he’s sinned. He let you cry and scream and sink to your knees with your head in your hands like you were never going to come back up, like you could die in this position and be encased in marble. A new weeping angel.

You know in your heart that you could never equate to her in his eyes. The knowledge that he’s probably been comparing you to her throughout your relationship makes you so damn ill. Maybe you should slit your own throat in front of him and let the crimson flow over your body so you can match with her. Bleeding red all over the place, letting him see nothing but that cursed color, the way he did all those years ago in the city where it all started. The way he’d still continued to do so after meeting you and promising all sorts of things you weren’t accustomed to hearing. You suppose you can’t fault him completely, it wasn’t like he intended on hurting you; he’d tried to overcome his adversities and forge a new home for himself, one that was pink and frilly and covered him in glossy kisses after a long day at work. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough. His allegiance lay with first red, then white, then blue. 

You just miss him so damn much. You’re desperate enough for him that if he were to walk through the door right now, you’d take him back in a heartbeat. Sure, maybe you’d have difficulty meeting his eyes for a while, deep pools, murky with guilt and who knows what else. Your vision would be limited to the freckles on his neck, the ones resembling a vampire bite, but that’s alright with you. You’re familiar with the area, having kissed it so many times. You shouldn't be thinking about those little spots or anything else about him for that matter. He made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. With her. Pressed up against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Oh God, now you're the one seeing red. Is there really such a thing as a red string tying two people together, keeping them bound for eternity? Hopefully not, because you're nauseous at the concept that it's always been her. She was right there beside his former bright eyed and bushy-tailed self, the version that had a vague understanding of how the world worked, before he was your solemn Leon. They trudged through the abyss together, leaning on one another for strength in the midst of a plague. You wish God would just deliver armies of locusts to devour you and him and her and the rest of the world. The end is here anyway now that he isn’t. 

Your last memory of him is that pitiful look in his eyes as he gazes at you one more time. You said I was your baby. He said a lot of things, promised you the world, and look how things turned out. It’s sickening really, how cruel fate can be. Was this fate? You’re going to tie their disgusting red string around your neck and squeeze until your head pops off like a rocket. A blazing glory, capable of stealing his attention.

The thoughts of needing to be better so that he’d be with you again swirls around in your brain, filling up your entire being until you can’t bear it any longer. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to put a ring on your finger and give you his babies and hold you close on your deathbed. Your hand twitches, muscle memory activated from all the times you slipped your hand into his, anchoring you to him. I’m so sorry… Ada and I… We’ve been through a lot together. You can’t take this anymore. But I love you more than anything in the whole world… How am I supposed to live without you? He never did give you a proper response to that, silence encompassing the air between you.

You shuffle to the bottom drawer of your dresser and fish out a wrinkled shirt that had been shoved towards the very back, away from prying eyes - navy blue with the letters “RPD” emblazoned in white across the front. You slip it on and inhale the fabric draped over your frame, protecting you, hugging you as you crawl back into your bed. His arms really were the loveliest place to be. Firm and gentle, wrapped around your torso like your very own bullet vest. Shielding you from horrors you would never have to experience, he’d make sure of that. Or at least he had, anyway. His lingering scent fills your senses like whispers in an abandoned chapel. Something familiar, a sense of comfort in your hollowed out state. It takes over your grief for a second, and when you shut your eyes tight, everything is alright again.

You yearn to hold onto this feeling, but it dissipates once your eyes open, and you're isolated yet again. Your bottom lip trembles as you squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, gripping onto the hem of his shirt. His arms are around you again, and the smell of him is welcomed. It elicits a natural response from your body, begging for his touch, forming a silent prayer to any divinity who will listen. Your thighs involuntarily part as you reminisce on the feeling of his face in between them, tongue lapping at everything you have to offer. Whimpers fall from your lips as your other hand travels down to slowly stroke your clit the way he used to do it. There’s my baby. You’re his baby, still so good for him. You rub your clit faster and faster as the hand that was clutching onto his shirt for dear life comes up to squeeze your tits and pinch your nipples. 

You realize that tears have been running down your flushed cheeks as you grind down onto your fingers faster in an effort to chase your high. Just like that… Sweet baby, my sweet baby. 

He's probably fucking her at this exact moment. Cock buried miles deep inside her perfect cunt, perky tits bouncing at every thrust while she moans for him. You’re going to blow your brains out. What kind of sounds does she make when she’s getting the railing of a lifetime? Something more refined than your own little whines. Is she kissing those precious freckles on his neck, giving them all the attention they could ever ask for as he lets out his own delicious noises? You weep as you continue to rub your clit while slick leaks from your neglected pussy, begging for only him to fill it up.

You’re sobbing as you feel the release building up in your core, and you're bawling as you feel your pussy clamp around the ghost of his cock. You let out a cry of both pleasure and agony as you frantically cum all over your fingers. My perfect baby.

Shallow pants escape you as you simply lay motionless, eyes trained fixedly on the ceiling of your melancholy prison. You shakily bring your other hand up to wipe away the tears that have forged new paths for themselves on your cheeks and down to your pillowcase. I love you. You’ll always be my girl.

This world is only gonna break your heart. How are you supposed to live without him? Nobody loves no one. Chris Isaak needs to shut up.