#anyway... the last thing I will say; the one hint to what's on my mind; is never forget everything's interconnected

[isolatednights]

"actions," she murmured, not even acknowledging that she'd only spoken part of the phrase aloud ( actions speak louder than words ). "ooh - like a big game of hide and seek? d'know if you'd find me. weren't good at it so far," she quips with a little, sleepy smile. "'m not great at it anyways. would've found me eventually because i wanted to be found - just never had someone try that hard at chasing me."

unsatisfied that he's not provided the hand she'd all but demanded with her wiggling fingers, eyes squint open to look at the disheartened expression before reaching forward to snatch the hand she'd so desired. lacing their fingers together, she drags their combined digits toward her chest to cradle there with a satisfied hum. "mmm, scared like - like everything you're saying is good. right, you know? and if the words and actions line up then it'd be really, really easy to love you. it should take time, right? like - months or years to love someone like that? but you're my person. so what if its not that long? what if its like - hours? or days? like - what if i already love you a little bit, right, and that's why i avoided you and that's why i'm scared?" she's rambling now - fueled by a mix of alcohol and the call for sleep.

"nothing wrong with that. anyone who expects others to be entirely there a hundred percent of the time is just deluding themselves." he notes with a shrug. "none of what we're experiencing now is what we expected when we woke up. don't think anyone would blame you for spending time away. to recharge. this is... it's a whole other type of ballgame, isn't it?" knowing they would die long before they were capable of breathing fresh air and feeling real sun against their skin - rather than that which had been scrubbed or artificially created. "well... i doubt honesty is what everyone always wants to hear. i'm sure there are instances that white lies are easier - better - maybe. but think about what our future looks like. we can all dream about what it might be, but we need someone to keep us grounded."

"there's an area of the ship somewhere that simulates that sort of thing, so if you're craving a rainstorm..." silas shoots her a grin in return. "oh no - i hate when people talk during movies." he hesitates for a moment before flopping back in the grass. "as long as you don't mind that i sometimes talk too much."

"that's the liquor talkin'," he remarks with a sigh. all of this would've been left unspoken - if at all - between them had it not been for the state he'd found her in earlier. "you can ramble. talk nonsense about your life, or how you feel about the particular shade of gray they used for the walls - whatever you want." there's no comment on his looks. asher isn't going to touch that with a ten foot pole. he knows that on the surface, he might be appealing, but beneath he's littered with scars, physical and not.

glancing down at her with a hint of amusement, his attention doesn't take long to shift back toward the path he's taking them. leading them up the last few sets of stairs, down a hall and finally into a sprawling and blissfully empty medical bay. "think it would very much be the other way around sweetheart," he remarks, picking one of the many cots to gently set her down into. "let's get you set up with an iv bag for some fluids and some pain medication for that headache you're bound to have in the morning and we'll talk about whether or not i'll get into bed with you. so be a good girl and stay right here, alright?"

"true but what a great thing it is that i don't want to, problem solved. "oh n' you can try this whole avoidin' me thing you've been doing but uh, it wouldn't work for long. i'd go through the whole ship, room by room floor by floor." his brows raise up though, even in this state he was listening to every word. "scared you? why's that scare you? like.. like that i'm scary or?" for a few moments cade looked so disheartened at the idea that he was scary, he'd had that thrown at him a lot of times on earth, that he looked like he'd be cruel.

"yeah.. yeah exactly that.. i found it hard, to try and keep that act up so i hid, a lot of the time. especially when i was younger, i couldn't.." she made a noise, a 'hmph' of sorts. "i don't think i was ever cut out for people... i was better with animals, better on my own. i didn't have any ties, when they asked me to do this, when they approached me like they did everyone else, nothing to leave behind." her shoulders shrugged. "the recharging thing though, i still do it... i go off, i find quiet places, even on here i'm doing it. i find it so.. difficult." she mumbled, and she didn't know why she was telling him this, maybe because she hoped that he seemingly understood, that he'd continue to understand. "that ide though, just being myself.. well nobody ever liked it before, why would they now? i'm a bit too.. honest."

eris tilted her head back, picturing what he described. "outdoor pictures? i never got to do those outdoor movie things before, never one in my area, so that sounds nice.. i mean hey, at least we know it wont rain." she started to smirk again, moving to sip the hot chocolate that brought her far more joy than she could admit. "i think i'd like that and- but.. you won't... if i don't talk much?" her eyes squinting, that judgmental look, trying to determine what he was really thinking, whether he'd lie for her ease.

"then, well?" she hums softly, shifting her head to angle to the scent of him, she liked that.. his scent, the warmth, the comfort of strong arms cradling her. it felt very safe, maybe she should've told him that too. "then, well, say you'd stay." oh, the wine was talking.. and yet weren't her drunken words just sober thoughts that she was too scared to say? "say you'd stay, that i could ramble, tell you such nonsense about my life or anything... and that'd be perfectly fine. tell me that i could tell you how stupidly handsome you are, god stupidly stupidly handsome, it's not even fair you're so..."

her hand moved, stroking along his cheek, this dreamy little smile on her lips. "no dutch courage would've been enough if we were on earth, i'd have adored you silently you know that? you'd be that.. what did they call it, one that got away?" then came the little stroppy thought, the more stubborn side with the pout she only showed when she'd drank. "i'm only sleeping in the bed if you sleep in the bed. it's always cold here. and yes that is my excuse and i'm sticking to it."

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE SOMEONE THEY RECOGNISE ON F!STREAMER!READER'S IRL STREAM. FT. WALLY WEST!

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, absolute crack energy, the boys are still majorly obsessed with you, jealousy, death threats, wally—sorry, the flash—flirts with you like there's no tomorrow, your username is just your name

★ A/N: more batboys being super fans of you since you all asked so nicely <3333 you don't need to have read the first part to read this btw!!

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

The day starts off normal.

Dick is sifting through the fridge for a snack. Jason is sat at the kitchen island with his elbows propped up and a book in his hands. Both Duke and Tim are sat on the couch, scrolling through their phones with seemingly no thought behind their eyes. And Damian is stabbing into his freshly made pancakes like they've personally wronged him just by existing.

So yeah, a normal day at Wayne Manor.

That is, until, all of their phones chime at once.

Dick, Jason, and Damian all exchange a glance, each with one brow quirked up and the other furrowed down.

Duke and Tim, on the other hand, shoot up from their seats like lightning, hands burning with the answer to the question in their brothers' eyes.

Duke is the first to speak.

"[Name]'s streaming," he says, slow and in a bit of disbelief.

"[Name]'s streaming?" Dick echoes, "But today isn't Friday."

"You would know, wouldn't you, Dickhead?" snorts Jason, the memory of the last time his older brother mixed up the days still fresh on his mind.

"Shut up."

"An IRL stream," Tim cuts through the two eldest's bickering. "Look who I ran into," he quotes slowly and with furrowed brows.

Then he clicks onto the stream, and immediately, all of his brothers rush to his side.

Tim's screen is black—not a hint of colour, or even a speck of your pretty smile, displayed upon its surface. Just the reflection of all the boys staring back at themselves.

The sight makes Tim's jaw tick.

"Why the fuck are you all crowding me?"

Dick shrugs. "You're the first one to click on the stream."

The detective narrows his gaze, lips parting to retort, when he's interrupted by the phone in his hands.

"Is this thing working?" your voice breaks through the screen, and in an instant, all the boys' chests flutter. "Sorry guys, still not used to the whole IRL streaming thing. Can y'all see me?"

Tim's hands move before he can even think.

@/greatestdetective donated $1,000! nope, just a black screen

"Shit. Okay, hang on a second."

A shuffling sound then follows your voice, moments passing by before the screen alights like a flame, and the warmth of your face travels through Tim's phone to bless everyone's eyes.

"How about now?"

@/therealdamianwayne donated $10,000! Perfect, Habibti.

"Huh?" Duke mutters in confusion, turning to the left along with all his brothers.

Damian stands there, phone shamelessly situated in his hands as he stares back at them all with a quirked brow.

"What?" he scoffs. "Did you just expect me to watch my beloved's stream without donating to her? What type of future husband do you take me for?"

"The non-existent type." Tim deadpans, turning back to his phone screen and ignoring the demon head's electric glare.

"—and I'm rambling again, aren't I?" You nervously laugh on the other side of the screen. "Anyway, sorry about the sudden stream, guys. I know I'm not much of an IRL streamer, even less one that doesn't stick to a schedule, but I think today is a special exception."

You grin wide after your words, eyes sparkling with an excitement that has the bats' breaths hitching in their throats, hearts swelling with such love and adoration that it seeps into their eyes and blinds them all for just a split second.

Then you turn the camera, and their vision clears up again.

"Look who I ran into!"

On the other side of the screen, holding a red-gloved-hand up in a peace sign, stands a man.

Red hair exposed at the top of his head, lightning bolts strapped to the sides of his mask, freckles peeking out from just underneath his cowl—to anyone else, the civilian identity of the hero would be unknown. But to the bats, it can't be more obvious.

Dick snatches the phone out of Tim's hands.

"Hey—!"

"Is that Wally?!" shrieks the eldest like a teen girl who just found out her best friend attended a party without her through someone else's Snap story.

Duke squints, lips pulling into a frown. "Seems like it."

Dick lets out another shriek.

"I was in Keystone," your voice sounds from the phone, "and just so happened to come across my favourite Flash!"

Dick stops breathing, despair choking him as his siblings peer over his shoulders just in time to see the way Wally's lips quirk up into a smirk.

"Your favourite Flash, huh?" He winks. Dick chokes. "I'm honoured, doll."

"Doll?" Jason's hair casts a shadow over his eyes. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Thank you for agreeing to be on my stream, Flash," you say, and your voice carries warmth, gratitude, that big smile they can't see because of the camera angle but know is still there anyway. "It really means a lot."

Wally's smirk softens a bit at the edges, and he regards you with the same warmth. "Anything for a beautiful lady such as yourself."

"Grayson," Damian growls through gritted teeth, "Tell West to use that super speed of his and run a hundred thousand miles away from my beloved before I slit his throat."

But he didn't even have to say anything, really, because as soon as Wally started talking to you in that tone, Dick handed the phone back to Tim and pulled his own out, furiously typing on it before hitting that big send button.

On the stream, a phone buzzes in Wally's pocket.

The camera lowers, and your form peeks from the corner of it, a step closer to Wally as you ask in a quiet voice, "Do you need to get that?"

Wally pulls his phone out, glances at it for a brief moment, then stuffs it back in his pocket. "Nah, it's nothin'."

Dick's veins bulge, his own phone starting to shake in his grip. "Did that little shit just leave me on read in front of eighty thousand people?"

As if to further Dick's swelling rage, Wally's smirk broadens.

Boiling beneath his skin, the oldest of all the siblings starts typing again, and Wally's phone buzzes once more.

"Are you sure?" you ask, tone a little wobbly with uncertainty.

Then, Wally West, the little shit, fucking turns his phone off, right then and there. "Yup."

"I'm gonna kill him," Dick mutters.

"Oh okay." You adjust the camera back to its previous position.

"Now, where were we?" Wally grins, and all the boys see the way he looks at the camera, that knowing glance—the piece of crap knows exactly what he's doing. "Something about me being your favourite Flash?"

"How fucking dare he?" Tim mutters, already planning on burying his oldest brother's best friend's reputation in the dirt. Maybe he'll conjure up a scandal, or start a rumor—people usually mindlessly believe those, right?

"Oh yeah!" You perk up, beaming. "Y'know, super speed is actually my favourite super power."

"Favourite super power..." It's Duke's turn to mutter in despair, heart shattering in his eardrums as he all but hugs his sides. "Super speed..."

He's broken out of his little trance, however, at the sound of a new voice coming from the hallway. A new voice that catches everyone's attention.

"Master Damian, where are you heading off to?"

Alfred. And he seems to be looking straight towards the door of the manor.

Everyone's heads whip in the same direction.

There, somehow fully suited up in his Robin armour—hood pulled over his head and all—strides the demon head, one hand curled firmly around the handle of his katana, the other already on the knob of the door.

"To take out the trash."

No one stops him.

Later that day, Dick's phone lights up with a message notification.

'GET YOUR LITTLE DEMON BROTHER AWAY FROM ME'.

Dick leaves it on read.

COMING NEXT -> BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE F!STREAMER!READER PLAYING SMASH OR PASS WITH THEIR HERO PERSONAS WHILE COSPLAYING AS THEM ON STREAM.

[randomshyperson]

The Pinning Problem - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: There are several ways to resolve the rivalry between the Avengers that does not involve fighting. Or, the one where Wanda Maximoff likes to be pinned down by her not-so-secret crush, and somehow this becomes the whole team's problem.

words: 2.944k | warnings: a lot of sexual tension, kissing, hints of rivals to lovers, this is a crack fic - nothing here can be taken seriously, another alternative solution for civil war that’s better than what they did, nothing explicit but hints of sub!wanda.

A/N-. I found this on my draft, had to translate, and I have no idea what was the inspiration or writing process but I thought it was so funny, so here it is. The name is actually quite self-explanatory.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

In Wanda's defense, a sequence of events led to this unsustainable situation.

It probably started a year ago, when she had mind-tricked the team of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and felt confident enough to try it on someone who was notoriously known for being invulnerable. It was the first time Wanda had been pinned against a wall by another person, and it was the most inopportune situation possible for any feelings other than anger and fear, so of course Wanda had never been so aroused. Things didn’t get any better after that, and in her interactions with you in the Avenger routine a while later, she would probably describe you as having some obscure desire to pin her against things.

In training, against the mat.

In the kitchen, against the counter or the fridge, with bad excuses to reach things or just because you wanted to see her blush or traumatize any team member present.

And one notable time, one that haunted her in wet dreams for weeks, against the door of the motel room you were staying in for one of the countless stakeout missions in search of clues about the Winter Soldier.

Wanda was never so grateful for a shared bathroom as the day she saw you in just a towel, hair and wet muscles exposed.

“Damn, wrong door.” You said with an innocent tone, but it didn’t seem like you had made any mistakes, the little smile giving away your true intentions.

Wanda, who had just emptied the bathroom for the next in line for the shower, clutched the towel to her body tighter, a nervous giggle escaping her.

She's never felt as powerful as she does now, using all her mental and spiritual control not to rip off those towels and grab you with the entire team to witness.

“Did you save some hot water for me, witchy?” You teased with your hand on the doorframe, too close for Wanda to breathe properly. She had to blink her concentration back, her brain barely able to focus on anything other than your inviting lips.

“Hm, I can’t say I have it.”

You lick your lips, a smile threatening to escape as Wanda's eyes followed the movement. "No problem, I need a cold shower anyway." That's what you said, using much more of her personal space than you needed to exit the room.

And for the next few weeks, Wanda could only remember that feeling, her fingers tucked deep inside her pants as she bit her lip to keep from whimpering your name to the ceiling.

The fight between Steve and Tony escalated into a catastrophe shortly after that, and Wanda had a little time to focus on other things.

That is until Clint picked her up at the Tower, and informed her that he had two stops to make. Ant-Man was the easy part, he was loud and energetic and kept Clint busy with excited questions about his life as an Avenger.

You were the proof of the gods.

With a leather jacket you got as a gift from Natasha hiding a band t-shirt that in Wanda's opinion, made you look like the most attractive person she had ever laid eyes on, you threw your backpack on the bench and squeezed in next to her.

You didn't have to press your lips to her cheek, but you did it anyway, as if you and Wanda were great friends, and you had missed her a lot in the last few weeks you hadn't seen each other with all the team's drama.

“What’s up, witchy?” It was so casual that Wanda almost believed that you two had a real relationship and not a history of arguments, teasing and staring challenges.

Clint didn't pay a second thought to the matter, he was stressed with everything that was happening to the team, and he was pleased that you were joining the fight, especially on his side. Having a demigoddess should mean an easy victory, and hopefully, without much fighting.

Staying under wraps in Europe until it was time to meet Steve at the appointed point was a minefield. Four people sharing a van, two of whom were hormonal teenagers, with some sort of battle going on over who would give in first could easily be one of the reasons Clint Barton wanted to stay retired.

Three hours into the ride, and Wanda let out another sigh from the backseat, and he had enough.

“I swear to god I’m going to make you walk all the way there.” The hawk warned, stealing a glance in the rearview mirror, quick enough for him to see you move your hand away from Wanda’s thigh. He snorted in disbelief. “That’s so inappropriate. And disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic, Clint.” You immediately retort, but the Avenger shook his head, chuckling reluctantly.

“I’ll tell your cousin what kind of things you do while other people are around you, young lady.” He threatened but you shrugged, an easy laugh escaping you.

“Good luck trying to slut-shame me to the god of fertility.” Your bratty response made Wanda and Scott hide a giggle.

Clint huffed in irritation. “What the hell, that’s not what I’m doing!” He defended himself, offended. “I just don’t want to be there while you make out with your girlfriend.”

You shrug. “Sounds like homophobia to me, man.”

Clint shakes his head indignantly, and tries to look at Scott for some support but the other just shrugs, with an expression that he agrees with your words. The Archer lets out a humorless laugh, and announces that he will stop for food at the next gas station he drives by.

When the stop finally happened, almost an hour later, Clint and Scott practically fled the car.

Wanda thinks she should have at least changed seats.

“Can I ask you something?” She ventured as the noise of the older Avengers talking grew more distant, as they were going to buy food at the convenience store. You hum in agreement, and Wanda swallows hard because she feels your gaze on her. “How did Barton convince you to join the fight?”

The question takes you by surprise. You change seats, and Wanda almost regrets it, but you do it just to look at her and it's more disconcerting than before.

“Why wouldn’t I join? I’m an Avenger too.” Apparently, you wanted to see her reaction. Sometimes, Wanda forgot that not everyone could read minds. Especially you, who, although you could resist any of her magic tricks, didn’t have the same abilities to do them on other people.

“I know, I meant…” She thought for a moment about the right words. “I just got the impression that Thor advised you to stay a little distant from things like that. He himself doesn’t seem to be around much for this kinda of… human and bureaucratic stuff.”

You click your tongue. “I’m human, Wanda. Half, but still.”

“I know!” she snaps back, her cheeks hot. “I just meant—”

“I know what you mean, I’m messing with you.” You cut her off with a giggle, gesturing slightly. “I’m flattered, you know? That you think I’m so strong and amazing, so superior to all of this.” You make an exaggeratedly theatrical expression, and Wanda laughs with an eye roll.

“Oh, shut up.” She retorts, and manages to make you smile too. The lightness of the interaction changes the second after this dialogue ends. You look at her in a different way, more intense and vulnerable, and Wanda swallows hard. She feels like she wants to say a million things at once, but it’s you who speaks first.

“You’re right though, I wasn’t going to get involved.” You say, your typical confidence failing for the first time since Wanda met you. “Diplomatic immunity and Asgardian royalty perks or something like that.” You joke with a weak laugh, but something about the way you’re saying it makes it impossible for Wanda to laugh, let alone breathe properly. “Clint only had to use two magic words to get me on the team.”

She swallows hard, her stomach flipping. “What words?”

You smile at the corner of your mouth, not meeting her eyes for a moment. And then you sigh deeply, and look at her. “Wanda Maximoff.”

The breath that escapes her is shaky and faltering, and you hold her gaze until she gathers her courage. You wait patiently for Wanda to approach, and you don't move at any of her hesitations, until she sighs and grabs the collar of your blouse, pulling you in with determination. Despite the urgency, the first kiss is not rushed. You let her get used to the feeling first, and pull away before Wanda has a chance to protest.

But when you dive back in the next second, you take control. Your hand cups her jaw and your mouth is hungrily against hers, teeth and tongue, devouring every whimper of need she gives you. You’re not immune to Maximoff’s charms either.” You gasp at Wanda’s taste, brow furrowed as if you’re physically unable to pull away.

But you have to, because Clint and Scott can't make a purchase longer than eight damn minutes.

The veterans climb into the car, and the archer turns to the back of the van to deliver the food and catches a glimpse of your disheveled appearances and uneven breathing and grunts of disbelief.

“For the love of god, I don’t even want to know. And don’t you dare touch my stuff!” He says, throwing the snacks into your laps as you and Wanda struggle to hide your giggles.

-&-

The plan was to sneak out, but Stark closed the airport. Steve's order was for everyone to put on their suits and follow him, but Wanda ended up trapped between the closed door of the van and your body.

“Everything okay, girls?” Captain America asked uncertainly, and without moving away, you forced a smile at Steve.

“Sure, Cap. I’ll just wish Wanda a good fight. We’ll catch up with you for a grand entrance, I promise.” It’s practically a warning that you’re going to do this regardless of Steve’s permission, so he clears his throat and waves for the team to follow him ahead.

The Avengers have barely finished walking away - she can still hear Clint complaining that the two of you haven't let go of each other when you lean your face down and kiss her.

She doesn't know what she expected, but she certainly doesn't feel prepared for this kind of kiss. Sloppy and charged with lust, just a few hours after she experienced the sensation of having your lips for the first time.

Your firm hands on her waist and the extra support of the van are the only things keeping her upright. Her wobbly legs gave out at the first bite of her lip, three kisses ago.

Between one gasp and another, and this because neither of you wants to let go, Wanda tries to remind you of what they are doing in Germany.

“We have to go. The others. The fight.” Each word comes between one kiss and another, and she’s not even trying to open her eyes, because you drag your mouth down her jaw and start pressing your lips to her neck with enough intention to make her arch her body towards you and forget the world around her.

Though you look equally affected, you manage to break the caresses with a husky chuckle. “Who the hell came up with the idea of adding a damn corset to your uniform, Wanda?”

The question makes her bite her lip, especially since she catches the way your gaze is fixed on her collarbone.

“I chose it myself. Don’t you like it?” She teases with false innocence, baiting you by puffing out her chest in your direction.

Your fingers reach up and pull at the limit of what the corset's laces will hold without opening, the gesture being suggestive enough for Wanda to tremble.

“I loved it, that’s the problem.” You murmur, evidently aroused, your mouth marking her skin again. “How do they expect me to fight with you looking like that around me. All I can think about is undressing you…” A soft bite on your lobe, and Wanda moans directly into your ear. “God, I could fuck you right here.”

“There’s no time.” She pants back, but your grip tightens a little and Wanda is sure that if you try to take her clothes off in the middle of this parking lot, she’ll help you.

“We can make time.”

But your whispered phrase carries a meaning she can’t ignore. She struggles to push her arousal away and manages to retort a hoarse “What?”

Your hands reach inside the suit's jacket, and move downward. Wanda gasps as she feels them on her ass, squeezing the flesh and forcing your hips together. The sensation is so delirious that she almost forgets she asked a question.

“We can kill time if we let the boys fight alone.” Your voice combined with all the attraction she’s kept secret for so long is like a siren song taking her mind to places far removed from Avengers intrigue, and more like beds or mats. Or anywhere you can press her, including this car. “Romanoff knows how to take care of herself, and the others wouldn’t even notice.”

“Yes, they would.” She retorts with a soft laugh before pulling your mouth back to hers. Kissing her again wakes something in you. Your hands go frantic, tugging and squeezing, and Wanda finds herself pressed completely against the iron door with one of your legs between hers. The softest press of your knee against her core makes Wanda gasp in a whimper.

You break the kiss to rest your forehead against hers. “You sound so beautiful when you make those sounds.” But she needs to put more distance between you, because she won’t be able to stop if she doesn’t do it now.

“We can’t.” She insists, one hand on your stomach to gently push you away. “Not now. And not here.” She sighs at the dark look in your eyes. “We gave you our word that we would help.”

For a moment, it looks like you’re going to ignore it, your lips brushing together, teasing away whatever sanity she has left. But then, you kiss her cheek and pull away, and Wanda would have slid down to the floor if it weren’t for van’s support.

“Okay, I’ll help.” You declare with a determination that makes Wanda swallow hard.

She barely has time to work on her appearance and has to rush to catch up with you, sprinting towards the team.

You missed the grand entrance - Things were about to start, and you interrupted a spider-clad teenager with an energy pulse that threw him away and kept him pinned to the ground.

“Sorry guys, I’m really busy today.” You announced. Everyone looked at you in shock, Tony seemed genuinely surprised to see you pick a team, and Steve seemed worried that you had changed your mind. When you started fighting with everyone, things got even more serious.

But Wanda didn't even have time to think about what it all meant; she realized that you weren't hurting them. You were bringing them together, to face them all at once.

Vision was probably the only one there who could do any damage due to the Infinity Stone, so she needed to keep him under control.

And with Spider-Boy safe and immobilized just like Vision, you screamed to the heavens.

“Heimdall, let’s take my friends for a ride!”

The Avengers only had time to widen their eyes. The transport was almost immediate.

Wanda closed her eyes, as shocked as the others, but the trip was actually smooth. While half the team was still fighting on the rainbow that led to Asgard, you held her by the waist, and the landing was calm and coordinated.

Steve was the first to approach you, as furiously as everyone else. “What do you think you’re doing? Send us back right now! We have to-”

“Sorry, I’m on vacation.” You cut him off, shrugging. Your hand is clasped in Wanda’s, who’s standing behind you.

The team all stands around, angry and surprised. Steve gives an incredulous laugh, but Tony actually laughs.

“Wow, that’s impressive, Rogers. Seriously, this time you outdid yourself in the worst decisions you could make. You didn’t think about what could happen when you called her to fight, she has the maturity of a ten-year-old!”

“Wow, and you can talk about maturity, can’t you Tony?”

You rolled your eyes, leaving them behind, cursing each other. Natasha was trying to stop King T'Challa from attacking Bucky, but none of them had a way out of here. Rhodes took off his armor helmet and was commenting on how huge Asgard was with Sam, while Clint tried to get a cell phone signal to warn Laura that he would most definitely be late. You think Ant-Man was trying to take pictures, but you got distracted by Wanda on the way through the Bifrost.

“Are we just going to leave them?” She asked, glancing at the irritated team.

You shrug. “Yeah, Heimdall will keep an eye on them. And when they calm down, the palace awaits. And you will see my royal chamber now.”

Wanda purrs, her cheeks flushed. “You’re getting pretty confident.” She teases, making you smile.

“I’m just inviting you to a late-night fondue.” You joke, and it’s Wanda’s turn to chuckle before pressing her lips against yours.

Some of the Avengers complain in the background but none of you are paying attention to them anymore.

[crystallizedday]

SO

I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE NEW DELTARUNE CHAPTERS OR I WILL EXPLODE

I wanna primarily talk about my take on the knight’s identity, but I’ll sprinkle a few other thoughts of mine in if I can, cause HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Anyway

MASSIVE spoilers for Deltarune chapters 3 & 4.

DO NOT CLICK READ MORE IF YOU DO NOT WANNA GET SPOILED!!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

So

To me, it’s down to Dess & Carol Holiday.

Like

Look at this design.

Those are DEFINITELY antlers.

Toby knows his audience.

He’s poked fun of it in the game before (ie the theorist rant about Mike)

To me, he wouldn’t just include a design detail like that & NOT expect us all to think about the Holiday’s

So either he intentionally made them look like horns

Or it’s a red herring

& I highly doubt it’s the latter.

I DO think there’s a potential red herring, but it’s not in the knight’s design.

SPEAKING OF TOBY KNOWING HIS AUDIENCE & LIKELY HAVING THESE SPRITES HAVE SPECIFIC DETAILS

THOSE HAND HOLES ARE NOT A COINCIDENCE, & I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL!!

However, I don’t think it’s as mind blowing as it may seem at first.

Most of the fandom already agrees that Gaster has SOMETHING to do with the plot of Deltarune.

The hand holes don’t feel like something that indicates that Gaster is the knight.

Instead, it feels like it merely connects the knight TO Gaster.

Either the knight serves the former scientist (since there is no knight without a leader they follow)

OR

They BOTH are of equal power, people who were once of the light now prisoners of the dark.

Whether they have the same goal is… not clear.

However, the very fact that we now have solid (even if unspoken & rather interpretive) confirmation that the knight and Gaster ARE related

Is a big deal

Even if we all kinda knew that already.

NOW

Back to the Holiday’s.

I actually played through chapter 3 & 4 myself without looking anything up beforehand.

Yes, I missed some things, but from what I DID see, I first came to the conclusion that Carol, Noelle’s mother, was the knight.

In chapter 4, Kris talks to someone on the phone.

Kris seems to be working with someone who wants the dark worlds to spread & grow, hence why they stop the player from reading the bunker code written inside Dess’ guitar (keep that last fact in mind).

We don’t know for certain who this voice belongs to.

Is it the knight?

Gaster?

The same person Spamton spoke with back before his fall from fame?

It all seemed ambiguous

Until this happened.

Kris tells the person on the phone that they failed to stop Susie from getting the guitar.

The person then says they’ll be “right there…”

Which leads to

You cannot tell me with a straight face that this is a coincidence.

Noelle KNOWS her mom’s work hours.

Why would Carol suddenly come home so early?

If Carol was not the one on the phone, then someone or something HAD to come over to Noelle’s.

The voice specifically says “I’ll be right there.”

Not “I’ll stop her”

Or “I’ll send someone.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Carol is the ONLY person who arrives at the house before Susie’s kicked out & Kris follows her.

Not to mention

Like

Toby didn’t highlight “you” in RED merely to create emphasis.

He rarely does that.

We see him highlight stuff in YELLOW in this chapter, sure

But the only other thing he’s highlighted in red (from my recollection) was when Noelle talked about listening in for the presumed “mouse” while she & Susie wait in Dess’ room

& the red text hinted for you to make noise.

Considering that hint was for YOU & not KRIS (since you’re separated from Kris during this scene)

Me thinks it legitimately means something

& wasn’t just Toby deciding to be a lil funny & switch up his text colors for kicks (even if that WOULD be hilarious…)

THE POINT IS

I highly doubt Carol’s talking to Kris in the above scene, or at least, not JUST Kris.

I think she’s talking to the player.

The “you.”

We know from chapter 2’s Snowgrave route (specifically when you are about to defeat Spamton) that “you” refers to the player, not Kris.

Carol’s line here feels intentional.

ANOTHER INTERESTING THING

This COULD be seen as like

A metaphorical thing

(ie to show how “cold” Carol is toward others)

But considering Noelle’s whole thing in chapter 2

& the background ambiance when she arrives

& how Susie comments on FEELING the ACTUAL temperature drop…

It just feels

Too odd to be purely metaphorical.

Do I think this confirms she is the knight?

No.

To me, it merely shows that Carol is a PART of whatever this whole thing is.

Carol COULD be the knight

But to me, it doesn’t feel as thematically fitting as Dess being the knight.

Cause like

Dess is MISSING.

We don’t know HOW she went missing.

No one hasn’t seen her in quite a long time.

It makes sense that Dess, either willingly or forcefully, became the knight.

& when I say “became”

I mean like

MORPHED into it.

She IS the knight.

It is no suit of armor she can take off.

It is no dark world form she can shed if she were to enter the light world (assuming she ever could).

She IS the knight, & the knight is HER.

She is forever warped by a past event we have yet to see.

Plus

Carol feels like she has a few intentional red herrings that would make fans point to HER as the knight

Mainly the kitchen katana that she apparently uses to cut fruitcake with.

THAT feels like a straightforward red herring

Cause it’s TOO obvious.

Besides

The knight doesn’t wield a katana.

If Carol were the knight, I feel like the knight’s sword would be a lot more elegant looking, more katana-like.

It wouldn’t surprise me to see Carol KNOW about her eldest daughter’s fate & actively be working with her.

…

Also WHY IS THERE A NOTE IN DESS’ GUITAR??

Who put that there?

WHEN did they put that there?

I doubt it was Carol. That feels like a weird place to put a code. She feels like the character to have the code on HER at all times.

The code was likely from Dess herself.

Why was it put there?

To remind Dess how to open it (likely causing her to explore the shelter & later go “missing)?

Or perhaps

Somehow

It was written after her disappearance

As a quiet call for help

For SOMEONE to open the bunker & end the nightmare.

Carol could still know about the code without being the one to write it.

If Kris can spot the note so easily after only looking through the guitar ONCE

We can wager that Dess’ MOTHER, who LIVES in that house, likely found out about it at some point, ESPECIALLY if she truly is a part of the madness somehow.

Assuming this is all true, I wonder if Carol never plucked the note out because doing that would require breaking the guitar in some way, & she does not have the heart to do it.

That idea’s more headcanon-y than anything

Cause I’d just love to have a scene like that play out

Where she mumbled to herself about just getting rid of the damn note

But can’t without hurting the strings

Showing that she DOES still care. She DOES have humanity.

It’s just buried in the freezing cold.

…

… so while this seems like a good ending spot

I wanna say one last thing.

Fellas.

F e l l a s.

The later chapters don’t HAVE to abide by a set formula.

I keep seeing people argue whether this or that was the secret boss

& I’m just like

Fellas

It doesn’t have to match chapter 1 & 2’s format.

Hell, chapter 2 diverted from chapter 1’s format by making IT’s secret boss someone you encounter in game no matter how you play, a stark contrast from Jevil, who you can play the entire game without ever seeing a LICK of dialogue about him.

I think, out of everything, we shouldn’t worry about “who the secret boss is.”

No.

We should be more concerned about the shadow crystals & where they end up.

Cause APPARENTLY

DEFEATING THE KNIGHT IN CHAPTER 3 LEADS TO SUSIE CHIPPING OFF A PIECE OF THEIR SWORD

& WHEN YOU GO TO PICK UP THE SHARD

YOU ADDITIONALLY GET A SHADOW CRYSTAL!!

At first, I assumed the shadow crystal came FROM the sword, but that may not be entirely right.

Even still, I think the crystals either come FROM the knight

Or the knight & the crystals come from the same place.

Now, how specific characters get a hold of it

Is… up in the air.

We see Gerson hand one to Susie in chapter 4.

He tells her that someone likely wanted him to use it, but he didn’t find it interesting, so he never really did anything with it.

Perhaps someone (the knight, Carol, Gaster, who knows) is giving certain Darkeners shadow crystals for some unknown reason.

Whatever the reason is, considering the bosses to get these shadow crystals all tie to EXTREMELY hard boss fights, it’s likely a source of power the corrupts the user, just as it did with Jevil & Spamton.

So

By that logic

I suppose the knight IS the secret boss

But more so that the secret to the boss is that it’s winnable

Which feels

Very hilarious & overall Toby-ish to me, not gonna lie. IWNWODMWOCKSOMXOSMXODCM

But uh

Seriously.

We gotta look at how these bosses connect on a far less shallow level. We can’t be too occupied with interpretive patterns in the chapters’ varying story beats

Cause those story beats aren’t always gonna be repeated.

After all, repeating story beats make the rest of the potential chapters predictable

& I doubt Toby’s gonna be doing that…

Anyway uh

That’s all for now.

…

Ya know

Aside from how we finally got concrete confirmation that monsters bleed (so the whole “when you kill sans, you cut through some ketchup he had hidden away to make it look like blood” debate no longer matters)

Ralsai directly addressing how there MUST be another ending to their story (& suggesting that Toby’s “one ending” claim may be tied to the prophecy specifically)

Dead monsters having the capacity to be “revived” in the dark world, even if we can never be sure if it’s really “them”

THE FUCKING SNOWGRAVE CONTINUATION SCENE IN CHAPTER 4

LIKE HOLY SHIT

But that last one’s for another time

… probably.

For now, imma just

Close off my ramblings here before I spend another 2 hours of my day talking about how these two chapters absolutely DESTROYED my brain.

[kbwrites]

Breaking up is hard to do!

synopsis: breaking up with the jjk men.

⚝characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

⚝content: heavy angst, gaslighting(Gojo's), depression (Suguru's), mutual breakup(Nanami's)

⚝wc: 3.5k

Satoru Gojo

“Yeah so then Yuji popped out of the crate and surprised them all! You should’ve seen it baby!” Satoru wheezes holding his stomach as he recalls the event from the day.

No matter how hard you try though, you can only muster a small smile.

It had become really hard to do much else recently. With the weight of the hundreds of tasks at work taking its toll. Satoru looks over at you, waiting for a laugh—but it doesn’t come.

“Hellooo? Everything alright princess?” He questions giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Mhmm!” You nod.

He looks at you for another moment, unreadable expression on his face. Satoru shifts, clearly expecting more from you. “You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight. That’s not like you,” he says, his voice still light, but there’s a hint of curiosity now.

You try to hold back the frustration, but it bubbles up anyway. “I’m just tired, Satoru.”

“Tired? Seriously?” he mutters, pulling his hand away. “You work, what, a nine-to-five? You act like you’re running yourself into the ground.”

You blink, taken aback by his dismissive tone. “Satoru, it’s not just about the hours. It’s everything piling up, and—”

“Piling up?” He cuts you off with a scoff, already reaching for his phone. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner? You know I could’ve hired someone to handle that for you. I’ve got the money. You shouldn’t be stressing over... whatever this is.”

The words sting. You knew his mind would go there. It always does—like money could just make the exhaustion disappear, like hiring someone to take care of the smaller details would magically solve everything.

“It’s not about the money, Satoru.” you snap, trying to hold onto your patience. “I don’t need someone else doing my job for me. I just... I need you to listen.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Listen? What do you expect me to say? You’re tired. I get it. But don’t act like you’re drowning when I could have fixed this a long time ago. Hell, I could’ve bought you time off or flown you somewhere. You're sittin' here sulking like I can’t take care of things.”

You clench your fists, the exhaustion now compounded by frustration. “It’s not about you fixing things, Satoru. Sometimes I just need support—not your money.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowing. “Right. So you want to feel miserable instead of letting me help. That’s real smart, princess.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you shove clothes into your bag, the sound of zippers and drawers slamming echoing through the room. You can feel Satoru’s presence behind you, hovering, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not after that.

“C'mon, princess.” he says, his voice exasperated, like he’s the one who's supposed to be annoyed. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”

You don’t answer, your hands moving faster, yanking more clothes off hangers, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. You’re so angry you can barely breathe.

“I’ll book us a trip,” Satoru tries again, a hint of desperation creeping into his usually arrogant tone. “How about Paris? We’ll stay at that five-star hotel you like, the one with the private balcony. You love that place.”

Your jaw clenches. “This isn’t about a vacation, Satoru,” you snap, stuffing the last of your things into the bag. “It’s not about your money or your fancy hotels.”

“Then what is it about?” he shoots back, his voice rising with frustration. “You’re acting like I haven’t given you everything. "What more do you want?"

You freeze, bag halfway zipped, your body trembling as you turn to face him. His icy blue eyes are wide, confused, and maybe even a little hurt, but you’re beyond caring. “I want you to see me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you, louder than you intended. “I don’t need you to throw money at the problem! I need you to actually understand what I’m going through!”

Satoru stares at you, speechless for once. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks almost... shocked, like he can’t comprehend that his money, his status, can’t fix this. That he can’t fix this.

“Do you even care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less angry. “Do you care about how I feel? Or is it just easier for you to throw cash at me until I stop complaining?”

He’s silent, his gaze hardening as he crosses his arms. “I’m trying to help. What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to listen!” You throw your hands up in frustration, feeling more alone than ever. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want trips or fancy dinners. I want you to care about me, Satoru. Not just the idea of me.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. The silence is louder than any of his words.

As your hand grips the doorknob, ready to leave, Satoru’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and bitter.

“Right, run off to Shoko’s.” he scoffs, his arms crossed defensively. “You always do this, don’t you? The moment things get tough, you bolt. Guess it’s easier to complain to her than actually deal with me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, stopping you in your tracks. You turn slowly to face him, disbelief clouding your vision. He’s standing there, arms folded, arrogance in his posture.

“I always do this?” you repeat, your voice trembling with anger. “I’ve stayed through everything, Satoru!"

“You’re just like Suguru.” Satoru spits out, the words dripping with bitterness and desperation.

Your hand freezes on the handle. You weren’t expecting that. Slowly, you turn to look at him, and the mask of arrogance has cracked. His eyes are wild, wide with something close to panic. “Running away the moment things get hard,” he continues, his voice shaking slightly. “Is that it? Just gonna leave like he did?”

Your heart skips a beat, anger fading for a moment as something else stirs inside you. You’ve seen Satoru angry before, frustrated, even cold—but this? This is different.

“That’s not fair.” you say quietly, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I’m not leaving because things are hard. I’m leaving because you’re not listening.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a hard line. Then he snaps, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold. “Well, fine. Go. I survived him abandoning me, I’ll survive you too.”

His words sting, burning through the air with a finality that makes your breath hitch. It’s a challenge, a defense—his way of masking the fear that’s clawing at him from the inside out. He’s pushing you away before you can leave, just like he’s done with everything else that’s threatened to crack his carefully controlled world.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, staring at him as his walls rise higher, shutting you out. This is what it’s come to. He’s too scared to let you in, too scared to admit that you leaving isn’t something he can just survive—that it’s something that terrifies him.

But he won’t say it. He won’t ask you to stay.

And that’s when you know.

Suguru Geto

You rest under the comfort of your blanket. How many days have you been in this bed? Three days? Four? 

The world was just too much right now, and your room was the only security available. It had been a week since Suguru vanished without a word, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and broken trust. Principal Yaga’s words still echoed in your mind—a whole village slaughtered, his parents among the dead. 

And not even a text.

You weren’t sure if he was even alive, maybe it would be better if he wasn’t. At least then you wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that the love of your life was now a wanted killer.

You took another tissue from the box, blowing into it and tossing the crumpled mess into the garbage can.

Satoru hadn’t responded either, was he okay? Did he know?

Your mind screamed for silence, for the thoughts to stop, but they kept coming, relentless.

“Angel?”

That voice… no it couldn’t be. You lower the covers from your face.

It was

“Hi baby...” his normally soothing voice does little to alleviate the ache in your chest.

“You…” your voice barely a whisper, threatening to break. “I thought you were dead.”

He moves closer, his footsteps barely making a sound on the floor, and you finally take him in. Despite everything, despite the horrors you’ve been told, he looks… normal.

How could he look so much like the Suguru you knew, the Suguru you loved, when everything inside of you was shattered?

Was this the same man who held you close? Whispered sweet nothings in your ear—promised to protect you with his life? 

“It’s me, (Y/N).”  he says softly, his voice cutting through the silence as if he had read your thoughts.

The tenderness in his tone feels like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he say that—so casually, so easily? Like everything was normal, like your world hadn’t come crashing down around you. You blink, trying to force the tears back, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes.

“Are you?” your voice is small, barely more than a whisper. Doubt lingers in every syllable.

He doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, his gaze softens, and without a word, he pulls the covers off of you. The cold air rushes over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you had buried yourself in, and for a moment you flinch, instinctively clutching the blanket before you let it slip from your fingers.

His eyes trace over your fragile form, and there’s something in them—a flicker of sympathy, regret, even—but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the reason for your downward spiral. He knows it too. The weight of it presses on him, though he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, sliding his arms under you and lifting you up as if you weighed nothing.

You want to protest, want to ask what he thinks he’s doing, but you’re too tired, too drained to fight. So you let him carry you. His arms are steady, and despite everything, you can’t help but melt in his embrace.

He takes you into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the space as he sets you down gently. You can feel the cool tile under your feet as he kneels in front of the tub, turning the faucet on and testing the temperature.

You had so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to yell at him, curse him, ask him why. But you couldn’t.

He dips his hand under the stream, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. His movements are deliberate, methodical, as if this is the only way he knows how to show you any kind of care right now.

You stand there, numb and silent, watching him. The man who destroyed your world, now kneeling before you, acting as though he can piece it back together with something as simple as a bath. It feels absurd, almost cruel, but at the same time, you don’t have the strength to stop him.

Suguru rises to his feet, his presence towering yet calm as he began to undress you. Gentle hands pulling his t-shirt off of you, the one you had been clinging onto for days.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he lifts the shirt over your head, sending a shiver down your spine.

He had seen you in this state before, many times. But this….this was different.

Suguru guides you to the shower, washing your body with a gentleness you missed so deeply.

You close your eyes, letting him take care of you, even though you don’t understand why or how he can. The silence between you grows heavier with every passing second, filled with words unspoken and emotions too tangled to sort out.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “Why are you here, Suguru?”

His hand pauses for a moment, the washcloth resting against your skin. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but when he answers, his voice is low, steady, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

“Because I….I love you” His voice almost too quiet, as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud.

“Then why, Suguru?” your voice trembles, almost breaking under the weight of your next words. “Is it true? You killed those people?”

The washcloth falls from his hand, splashing into the water as the silence between you deepens. He doesn’t speak right away, and the hesitation in his silence is an answer in itself.

You swallow hard, the air thick with the weight of the truth you already know but can’t bear to accept.

“They were… in the way,” he finally admits, his voice low, almost hollow.

You step out of the shower, the warm water sliding off your skin in slow rivulets. Without thinking, you reach for the towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armor.

This isn’t the man you loved, the one who spoke of protecting the weak, of valuing life. Yet, there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way he says it—like a twisted version of the Suguru you knew, now wrapped in darkness.

“But those were people, Suguru,” you say, your voice fragile, as if you’re trying to reach the man you once knew beneath the monster he’s become. “Innocent people. How could you…?”

He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you, his hand brushing against your skin, cold and distant. “Because this world is broken.” he murmurs. “And I need to fix it. I had to do it. Can’t you see that? We—sorcerers—we’re meant for something greater. And they… they were holding us back.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t understand, Suguru. I don’t understand any of this.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your face gently, as though trying to reassure you with his touch. "Come with me." he whispers, his voice softer now, pleading. “Run away with me. Together, we can build something new. You don’t have to be a part of this broken world anymore. We can leave it all behind.”

Before you can respond, his lips press against yours, a kiss that’s both gentle and urgent, as though he’s trying to pour every unsaid word, every plea, into this one moment. It’s the Suguru you remember—the Suguru who once made you feel safe, loved.

But the reality of who he’s become crashes down on you.

You pull away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, creating a wall between you. “No.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I can’t.”

For a moment, Suguru just stands there, staring at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—some kind of understanding, some sign that you’ll change your mind. His hand lingers on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant, as though he’s trying to hold on to whatever connection is left.

But then, slowly, he withdraws, his hand falling back to his side. He straightens up, his expression hardening as he steps away from you, giving you the space you so desperately need. The softness in his eyes fades, replaced by the cold determination you’ve seen before.

“You’ll see,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “One day, you’ll understand. When you see what I’ve seen, when you finally understand the truth about this world—you’ll come around. I know you will.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and without another glance, he turns and walks toward the door, leaving you standing alone, trembling in the silence.

Nanami Kento

Kento was an honest man. There was nothing he ever kept from you. Other people might view him as a hard shell, but you could read him like a book.

So when he came to bed that night, holding you just a little tighter than usual—you knew something was up.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, his grip tightening instinctively as if he feared you might slip away.

“Kento?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room. 

“I’ve decided to talk to Gojo tomorrow.” he said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of resolve. “I want to return to being a sorcerer.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into you like lead. You stiffened, a sharp sting blooming in your chest as you processed his decision.

“Are you seriously considering this?” Your voice trembled with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You know what that life entails. You’ve seen the consequences. Are you really willing to go back to that danger?”

Kento’s silence was heavier than any response he could have given. His arms, though still holding you close, seemed distant now, as if they were reaching out from across a chasm of uncertainty.

“I’ve thought it through,” he said finally, though his tone lacked the conviction he tried to project. “I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep pretending I’m satisfied with where I am.”

The last words echoed in your ears their weight sinking deep into your heart. “So you’re not satisfied with me?” you whispered, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat.

Kento’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what is it, Kento?” you demanded, frustration and hurt sharpening your words. “We have something good here. You have a good job. You left Jujustu High for a reason! What about Haibara—”

At the mention of Haibara, Kento’s face hardened. His eyes, which had been searching for the right words, now burned with anger and frustration. “Don’t.”

Your eyes widen at his tone. He sighs, trying to catch himself. “This…isn’t about him, or his fate. It’s about my own path, my own choices. You think I’m risking everything without knowing the cost?”

 “And what do you expect me to do, Kento?” Your voice cracked, raw emotion rising as you slid out of bed, unable to lie still any longer. “Sit at home and worry about you? Not knowing if you’re going to come back in one piece? I can’t live like that! I can’t live every day with the fear that you might not come back, that you might be hurt or worse?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You paced the room, your emotions boiling over, while Kento sat still, his gaze following you but offering no solace.

“You’re asking me to accept a life where every day is a gamble with your safety!” You stopped, turning to face him, your chest heaving with emotion. “How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to pretend everything’s okay when the reality is that you might not come back to me? This isn’t just about you, Kento. It’s about us, our future!”

Kento ran a hand through his blond locks, frustration etched into every line of his face. “I’m not asking you to pretend it’s okay. I’m asking you to understand that this is something I need to do for myself, even if it means risking everything.”

You blinked, tears blurring your vision as his words sank in. “And what if everything we have is the cost?”

The question lingered, echoing in the space between you. Kento rose from the bed, standing tall before you, but the weight of the moment seemed to bow his shoulders.

He stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His eyes, filled with a deep sadness, searched yours, looking for understanding that he knew might never come. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You need to know that.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “But that isn’t enough… is it? It never will be…”

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.

“I… can’t watch you throw your life away, Kento.”

He took a deep breath, the sound heavy with resignation. "Then… we’ve both made our decision."

His hands, which had held you with such tenderness, felt distant as you pulled away. You took a step back, a sob catching in your throat.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out with a trembling breath, he stepped forward and gently pulled you into his arms. The embrace was tender, filled with the weight of finality.

He buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent one last time as if trying to imprint it into his memory. The warmth of his body, once a comfort, now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice strained. The words were barely audible, but the sentiment hung heavy in the air.

Kento lingered for a moment, his hand sliding from your back to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, and his expression softened with a promise you weren’t sure either of you could believe.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered, his voice strained but resolute. “Somehow… I’ll find my way back to you. One day.”

You clung to him for a moment longer, feeling the ache of goodbye in every fiber of your being, before he slowly pulled away. Leaving you.

[kryllia]

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own Pt2

art from pinterest

yandere mafia classmate x reader pt2

Pt 1 - Pt 2

The next morning, you were woken by a knock. Not the usual maid.

“Good morning, [Your Name],” came Isabella’s voice through the door. “Mind if I come in?”

You sat up slowly. “What if I say yes?”

“I’ll still come in,” she said cheerfully.

The door opened. She stepped in, carrying a tray with breakfast and tea, dressed in a long robe like she hadn’t just orchestrated your kidnapping.

“Sit,” she said, motioning to a small table by the window.

You didn’t move. “I’m not in the mood to play family.”

Her expression didn’t falter. “This isn’t play. It’s preparation.”

“For what? A forced marriage?” you snapped.

She gave a quiet, fond laugh as she set the tray down. “You remind me so much of myself when I got here.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did Giovanni’s family kidnap you too?”

She sat across from you, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Not exactly. He took me from my life. A cleaner version of kidnapping, maybe. I screamed, I fought, I hated him. But he never let me go.”

She looked out the window, her voice softer. “Then one day I realized he hadn’t just taken me. He had chosen me.”

You stared. “That’s not romantic. That’s obsession.”

“Yes.” Her eyes flicked back to you, and something steely passed through her calm. “Exactly.”

Later that day, Nicolò didn’t come to see you. But one of the staff—older, polite, with eyes that never met yours—knocked once and said, “The Don would like to speak with you in the study.”

You didn’t want to go. But you went anyway.

The study was dim, rich wood and books and a large globe in the corner. Giovanni Dellabarca sat behind a massive desk, his gaze cool and unreadable.

“Sit,” he said, without looking up.

You stayed standing.

He finally looked up. “Still not one for following instructions, I see.”

You crossed your arms. “You going to have me thrown in a cell next? Or just marry me off like your wife keeps hinting?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “If I wanted to chain you up, I would’ve done it already.”

You flinched.

He stood, walked around the desk, and poured himself a drink. “I asked you here because I want to make something clear. I didn’t order your abduction. I simply didn’t stop it.”

“Oh, great. That makes everything better,” you muttered.

He turned back to you, swirling the glass in his hand. “You think this is a prison. I think it’s protection. Do you understand what Nicolò has stopped from reaching you in the last three months?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Threats. Stalkers. Opportunists who figured out your class schedule. You’re pretty, smart, not connected—easy prey. Until Nicolò stepped in.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Giovanni watched you for a long moment.

“You think he’s weak because he doesn’t force your hand. But that boy would raze cities if you asked. He’s already done things I’d rather you not find out about. But all he really wants is to sit beside you at breakfast without you looking at him like he’s a monster.”

You looked away.

“And maybe he is a monster,” Giovanni said, setting his drink down. “But he’s your monster now.”

That evening, you returned to your room to find it wasn’t yours anymore.

Your things were gone. In their place, a single note:

You’ll be staying in Nicolò’s wing now. He insisted. – Isabella

Your stomach twisted.

A maid guided you to a different part of the estate. It was quieter. Fewer guards.

The bedroom was larger, but colder. Less lived-in. A second door led to an adjoining suite. His.

You hesitated at the threshold.

“Come in.”

Nicolò’s voice was soft, but firm. You stepped inside.

He stood near the window, sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking out into the night.

“You moved me,” you said.

He nodded. “I wanted you closer.”

You crossed your arms. “So you can watch me 24/7?”

He turned. “So I can sleep.”

You blinked.

“I haven’t slept right since you got here,” he said, voice quiet. “I wake up thinking you’re gone. Or someone took you. I—I can’t stop imagining it.”

You stared at him.

“This isn’t normal,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

He stepped closer. “You make me feel. That’s not something I’m used to. It’s not clean. It’s messy. I don’t know how to do this the right way.”

You stayed silent.

“I never wanted to scare you,” he said. “But if it’s between scaring you or losing you, I’ll choose the first every time.”

And that’s when he dropped the last wall.

His voice cracked, his eyes dropped to the floor. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

You laid in the bed that night—his bed—on opposite sides. The silence felt heavier than anything anyone had said.

Then, from the dark:

“I would never hurt you.”

You didn’t answer.

He turned slightly, facing your back.

“But I’d hurt anyone who tries to take you from me. Even if it’s you.”

You closed your eyes.

And from the other side of the bed, his voice came again—barely a whisper.

“You’re mine, [Your Name]. Even if I have to spend my whole life making you understand that.”

______

@magicaldestinyharmony @rowanyaboats @elloredef @kawaii-moon-47 @wishtrest @kazeiyyuuu @ch1p0tl3

[really-fanny-longbottom]

in sickness & in silence

azriel x reader | because actions speak louder than words. words: 2.9k a/n: one year ago i created this page and never did i thought i would gain the corage to write and post my own fanfics, how crazy is that? (anyways, i'm back 😊)

masterlist

it was currently eight o'clock on a cold, white winter morning.

some inhabitants were still sleeping in their warm beds that protected them from the cold that reigned in velaris at that time, while others were already on the streets, preparing for another day of work.

azriel was one of them, one of those who was already walking through the streets, with a mission in hand.

but this mission was not like the others, in which his brother gave him instructions to travel somewhere in order to have to do something that would taint his hands or mind.

no, this mission was not guided by orders but by his heart.

the male's steps remained firm and fast as he walked towards the white house with the blue door whose porch was decorated more with flowers than with the stone of the stairs. 

the house that one day he wanted to walk towards, not to visit but to stay. 

the house that, for some reason, made his mind calm and body relax.

maybe not because of the house itself but because of the young female who lived there, the same one with green eyes and dark brown hair. 

the same one whose perfume reminded him of a peaceful spring morning, whose presence lit up a room as if she were the sun, whose shampoo reminded him of the flowers in the gardens, whose hands made the best chocolate chip cookies and whose voice was so sweet it seemed to have been made of honey. 

the same young female who burst into his life and brought with her all the colors of the world. 

azriel began to climb the hill that would lead him to his destination. how many times had he passed that hill? five? ten? thirty? a hundred? 

and still, he had never passed the front door of that white house with the blue door. 

azriel doesn't know when he lost his heart to her, but he didn't want it back anymore. what he wanted to know was why she hadn't come to the house of wind in three days.

three days and no warning—no letter, no sign, nothing.

azriel had even gone to the river house to talk to rhysand, who was busy exploring the new concept of fatherhood.

the conversation lasted only two minutes—long enough for the high lord to say that he hadn't seen you, that he didn't know anything about you, and to say that you should probably be at your house.

azriel didn't waste any time and almost immediately headed to your house.

now standing on the sidewalk in front of the said house, the male looked it up and down before opening the small wooden gate, also blue, and starting to climb the steps.

with each step he climbed, his heart skipped a beat, and another, and another.

he couldn't deny that he was frustrated for not having heard from you for three days but where there was room for frustration, there was also room for worry and fear.

and those feelings spoke louder than the previous one.

azriel stopped on the second to last step before knocking on the wooden door and taking two steps back.

the male waited, and waited until the green curtain of the front window moved to the side and. . .there you were.

something calmed the male's heart just by seeing you and he couldn't help the somersault his heart did when you smiled softly at him before disappearing into the house to come to the door, at least he hoped so.

the male took another step back, precisely a second before you opened the door just enough to peek out.

your eyes met his and for a brief moment, it was just the two of you before you broke the silence. 

“azriel? what are you-?”

“it's been three days.” azriel simply replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

you were alright and that was good, but he still didn't know why you just disappeared.

there was a hint of confusion in your eyes. whatever he was trying to say, you clearly didn't understand. 

“ahm, i. . .i don't understand.” you tilted your head slightly to the side, something you usually do subconsciously but that always provokes something in him. 

the male took a deep breath, his fists clenched at his sides with his knuckles turning white. 

“you haven't been to the house of wind for three days. you just disappeared without saying anything and that's not okay. you can't-” 

“azriel-” you opened your mouth to explain but was quickly interrupted.

“don't,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for arguing “you can't just disappear like that. if you're mad at me, then just say it. say it, scream it, hit it, anything.”  

he climbed two steps of the stone stairs, being at your eye level now, “do whatever you want but not this. don't disappear on me without a word.” 

you stared into his hazel eyes for a moment—a moment of silence and contemplation.

his reaction took you by surprise, you had never seen him react like that about anyone—not even his brothers. 

you couldn't ignore the confusion you felt from his words but you could feel his worry and fear. 

you waited a few more seconds until you were sure that the male in front of you was calmer and there were no signs of him interrupting you again.

“azriel,” you said calmly with a small hint of a smile in the corners of your lips “i'm not mad at you or avoiding you.” 

the male, stubborn as always, crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. his way of saying he was waiting for an explanation and that he wasn't leaving without one.

you let out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle and shook your head.

this male was unbelievable.

“i'm sick,” you said, looking at him and seeing his broody expression falter a little.

“. . .what?” he asked quietly.

his answer made you smile and you couldn't help the laugh that followed or the coughing fit as a result of the laugh.

“i caught the flu a few days ago but i sent a letter to rhys to inform him.” you explained.

azriel's eyebrows furrowed in the middle of his forehead. this information was unknown to him—why hadn't rhys told him when he went to his house to ask for you? 

“you're sick?”

you opened the door and stepped forward to reveal your appearance.

your hair was tied up in a nearly undone braid, you were wearing white polar pajamas with brown teddy bears and a red blanket was over your shoulders. 

there were dark circles under your eyes and your nose was slightly red. 

his eyes softened and the male found himself fighting a smile that wanted to form on his lips.

his worry vanished and was immediately replaced by a sense of protection and caring.

even though you were sick, you looked beautiful and especially adorable in your teddy bear pajamas. 

azriel couldn't hold it in and let out a chuckle, “you look adorable in those pajamas.”

a blush began to form on your cheeks, leaving you slightly flushed but you were quick enough to blame the cold for it. 

as you cleared your throat, you wrapped the blanket tighter around you, your only barrier against the cold of the street “you can let rhys know that i'm better but it will take me a few more days to return to work.” 

azriel climbed the last steps, his figure now towering over you.

you tilted your head up to meet his eyes—the ones you would often get lost.

the male placed a hand on your cheek, his scars caressing your soft skin, making your heart skip a beat at the gesture as those hazel eyes studied you.

“i don't care about your work. i care about you," he said as his thumb caressed your cheek in a slow rhythm, “i'm not leaving until you get better.” 

butterflies formed in your stomach, and your skin was on fire. suddenly, you were very aware of all the sensations that were invading you and the cold was no longer one of them. 

“i. . .i’m already feeling better-” you tried to say before he interrupted you—again.

“that's not what i meant and you know it.” he looked above your head and into your hallway before his gaze returned to your face “can i come in?” he asked.

“please say yes” his begged in his mind.

the caress of his thumb made you wake up from the trance you were in and very quietly, you replied “the flu is contagious, azriel. i don't want you to-”

your sentence was interrupted—once again—by azriel's hand grabbing the back of your neck and gently pulling you forward until your body was flushed against his.

his other hand found the curve of your waist, placing it there with an open palm. 

azriel closed the distance, placing his lips on yours.

your cheeks heated up and a tingling sensation ran up your spine, making your skin even hotter. 

your blanket fell to the floor, the tips of your feet lifted slightly and your hands found a place on his arms.

your mouths moved in sync as azriel deepened the kiss, one that was gentle and tender.

the kiss lasted a few seconds, sending a silent message that azriel had no intention of leaving your side anytime soon. 

the male finished with a small peck to yours lips before pulling away, his hand on your waist gave you a soft squeeze while his other hand came to tilt your chin. 

his hazel eyes locked on your greens and with a smirk curving his lips, he asked quietly, like you were the only two people in the world “i'm afraid i'm infected now. will you let me in and take care of you or. . .” his eyes fell on your lips “do i have to kiss you again?” 

your mouth was slightly open as you studied his features, your mind still trying to process what had just happened but you managed to nod. 

azriel chuckled, his fingers letting go of your chin to trace your jawline.

“to which one of my questions is that nod for?”

you opened your mouth to speak but could only manage incoherent words, before you lowered your head to hide your blush again and step aside, inviting him silently to come in.

azriel chuckled, his heart swelling with affection for you. he leaned down to pick up your blanket and wrapped it around your form, his gesture both protective and maybe a little possessive “here you go, love.”

when he stepped in, he guided you inside as well, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

he made sure to close the door quietly behind you, shutting out the world and making it just the two of you for the moment, taking this moment to calm his jumping heart from what he just did.

the male turned back to you and watched as you walked inside, his gaze lingering on you as you settled on the couch. 

his heart clenched at the sight of you in your teddy bear pajamas, this was the first time in all the years he had known you that he had seen you in such a vulnerable state. 

he looked around, inspecting your home. small but comfortable, just like you.

azriel walked over to the couch, gently grabbing your legs and helping you lay down. 

he took a brown blanket that was on the back of your reading chair and covered you with it,  tucking the blanket around you and making sure you're warm and comfortable.

he leaned down to kiss you on the forehead, “rest and let me take care of you. i'm going to make you some soup, okay?” 

“okay, thank you.” 

azriel smiled and walked towards the kitchen and started to gather everything he needed. 

as he started preparing your soup, he would occasionally look towards you, making sure you were alright.

his eyes softened at the sight of you sick, you looked so small and defenseless on the couch, making his heart clench.

he had to fight against the urge to pull you in his arms and lay with you, tried to tell himself that this was all because of you being sick and that he was just worried.

but deep down, he knew that wasn't true. seeing you like this triggered something within him. 

suddenly, realization dawned on him, causing him to roll his eyes as he realized why rhys had lied to him about your situation.

not even after he was married and had a child, his brother would stop meddling in his love life. 

bastard. 

as if his brother could sense it, azriel could swear he heard a laugh in his mind. 

ignoring it, he focused on the task at hand, and made sure to make your favorite soup.

twenty minutes later, azriel picked up the bowl with a slice of bread on the side and walked towards the couch.

he maneuvered the bowl in one hand while using his other to lift your legs and placing them on his lap as he sat down.

you sat up a little straighter, ready to pick up the bowl but the scene in front of you stopped you. 

you watched as azriel gently blew on the spoon to cool the soup before holding the spoon out to you. 

your eyes traveled between his face and the spoon. you raised an eyebrow as if to say 'seriously?' 

“what? i don't want you to get your hands cold.” azriel said with a small smile, bringing the spoon closer to your mouth. 

you shook your head and smiled before giving in, you couldn't lie that it felt nice to have someone to take care of you.

you tucked your hands underneath the blanket again and opened your mouth.

“mmm, it's delicious.”you said as you enjoyed the tomato soup accompanied by a slice of bread, just the way you like it. 

“how did you know i like tomato soup? and that i always eat it with a slice of bread?” you asked before opening your mouth for another spoonful.

“i pay attention,” azriel answered, already grabbing another spoonful.

“right. mr spymaster always paying attention to the little details.” you joked before noticing the seriousness in his face.

“that too, but i meant i pay attention to you.” he said, making your throat dry.

you cleared your throat before pointing at the small coffee table in the center of your living room “water, please.” 

azriel chuckled but did as you asked. 

after helping you with the water and the rest of your soup, azriel helped you with your medicine before helping you laid down on the couch again and tucking the blankets around you.

he did the dishes, and started to prepare some tea for later.

he added more firewood to the fireplace before his eyes landed on you again.

finally, he couldn't help himself any longer and gave the green light to his thoughts.

he took off his coat and placed it on the back of the chair before taking off his boots and placing them next to the door where your shoes were also.

the difference between his boots and your sandals didn't go unnoticed by him, drawing a smile from him. 

azriel, then, moved towards the couch, hovering over you. 

you looked up at him, a slight pout on your lips “i can't seem to get comfortable.” 

azriel chuckled and reached for the blankets “i think i can help with that.” 

he moved the blankets off before helping you to sit and laid himself down on the couch, his back against the fabric of it.

he then pulled you forward without warning, making you lay on top of him.

he reached for your red blanket, leaving the other one on the floor, covering you both with it. 

the moment your body collided with his, you immediately relaxed. 

you nuzzled your face against his chest a few times, before closing your eyes and letting out a sigh.

one of his hands went to the back of your head while he leaned slightly down to kiss your forehead. 

after you were both settled, his hands fell to your back, one of them going under your pajama shirt and rubbing it softly. 

“rest, i'm here and i’m not going anywhere.” he said softly, his lips falling to your hair. 

with your eyes closed you smiled, exhaustion taking over your body.

moments before your mind was off, you managed to let out such simple but so meaningful words “i love you, az.” 

azriel's heart stopped for a second before it started beating again.

he had loved you since the moment rhys had ordered him to travel to illyria when one of the camp lord's sent a letter about how a young female was wreaking havoc in his camp because they refused to train her.

every day since then, he waited and prayed for you to feel the same.

and, now, here it was, what he most wanted in this world.

he always thought he would be the first to give in and confess his feelings to you but apparently you had anticipated him.

“i love you more,” he whispered softly while wrapping his wings around the two of you, but you were already asleep. 

but that was okay.

he would tell you again tomorrow and every single day after that.

after all, he wasn't going anywhere.

a/n: thank you for reading!

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*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because i couldn't find your blog.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[lowkeyren]

reverse dating tropes w hsr men! (pt. 2)

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — gepard, aventurine, sunday (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 2.1k, downbad gepard + flirty aven + sunday is js fluff overload, wrecked my brain out for this, serval robin cameo xx, anyway pls enjoy!! reblogs r appreciated <3

boothill jing yuan blade vers here!

gepard ♡‧₊˚

"blind date" but gepard is just too shy to ask you out himself so serval does him a favour —setting you up on a date with him.

gepard clutches the bouquet of ball peonies tightly behind his back; he catches sight of you sitting on a bench, patiently waiting for him. to ease his nerves, he takes a deep breath, reassuring himself, it’s going to be alright gepard, just go over there, give them the flowers, and ask them out! surely it’s not that hard…

upon spotting him, you rise from your seat and wave eagerly in his direction. he hastens his steps, closing the distance between you. as he stands in front of you, you can see a faint blush tinting his cheeks, the rosy hue contrasting with his fair skin. he clears his throat, “ahem…sorry to keep you waiting.” revealing the bouquet behind his back, he averts his gaze downwards, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

you accept the flowers graciously, smiling warmly at him. “and would you please—” in that moment, his gaze flickers up to meet yours, it's the worst thing he could have done. 

oh aeons… you look so beautiful. his heart races, threatening to leap out of his chest, and he finds himself at a loss for words, his mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions. “hm?” you tilt your head with a soft smile, the sound of your voice washes over him like a gentle breeze, leaving him tongue-tied. he’s sure you can see the redness spreading to his ears now.

panicking, he blurts out “—pass the flowers to my sister.” (re: go on a date with me) 

his eyes widened at his own words, wait no he meant to ask you out on a date! 

“ah… okay, no problem!” you reply, masking your surprise with a polite smile, quickly dismissing any lingering curiosity. though you do find it a bit odd that he would arrange a meeting just to pass on flowers to his sister, but hey perhaps as the captain of silvermane guards, he's simply too busy to visit serval himself. in any case, you admire his thoughtfulness towards his sibling.

“now tell me brother dearest, to what do i owe the pleasure of receiving ball peonies from you?” serval crosses her arm across her chest, learning against her workbench, her face deadpan, oh she’s definitely aware of what happened.

sensing her brother’s nervousness, she shakes her head teasingly. "oh, nevermind! please, spare me the explanation… you totally fumbled, and told them to give the flowers to me? really, geppie? and how long do you plan to drag this out for?" 

gepard sighs as he realises there's no use in trying to deflect her sharp observation. he can only resort to his last-ditch effort now: asking serval to set you up on a date with him. 

so now, you find yourself sitting at a cozy diner, waiting for your so-called “blind date” that serval has set you up on.

(“i guarantee you won’t regret it!” serval throws a playful wink at you; you give up trying to figure her underlying intentions) 

suddenly, a man walks over to you, you assume that he is your date— “gepard? what are you doing here..?” gepard's cheeks flush with embarrassment as he stands before you, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of his lips. "i, uh... i’m your blind date." he admits, swallowing nervously. 

you let out a soft laugh, “oh i was hoping it would be you.” you admit, your voice tinged with a hint of bashfulness.

hoping it was him? so that means you feel the same right?

needless to say, your date went well. before you part ways, you press a soft kiss to his already-burning cheeks (don’t do that again, you’re gonna break him), and you disappear into the distance, leaving behind a trail of butterflies in his stomach; he presses his hand against the spot you pecked, he thinks he might not be able to sleep for the next few nights, what you have done to the poor guy. 

oh gepard, he is so deeply, utterly, in love with you.  

aventurine ୨୧｡˚ ⋆

CEO playboy aventurine takes an interest in you, but you unintentionally lead him on, so he ends up falling heads over heels for you.

“meet me in my office in 5 minutes.” you immediately pause at what you’re doing, and read the message from your boss over and over again. oh gosh you’re really done for now! what did you do wrong?! your mind races as you try to recall any mistakes you’ve made recently, but nothing comes to mind… 

you nervously knock on the door to aventurine’s office, feeling your palms grow clammy with sweat. a voice rings out, “ah, yes please come in.”

you step into the room, not daring to meet your boss’ gaze. “i’m here sir, as you requested. is there anything you need from me?” you suddenly find the marble floor very interesting, opting to stare at it as you anxiously wait for his reply.

aww, are they really that shy to see me? that’s cute.

aventurine’s next sentence catches you completely off guard, “so, what do you think about my new tie, hm?” he walks over to you, a smirk forming on his lips.

is this one of his stupid schemes again? aeons, this won’t work on you.

“...it's crooked. let me fix it for you.” you reach out and adjust his tie, being careful as to not accidentally choke him (even if you really want to, just because he scared the shit out of you by calling you into his office for something like this), lest you get fired.

aventurine is pleasantly taken aback by your boldness. usually those who fall victim to his flirtatious ways are quick to shower him with compliments, but your reaction is refreshingly unexpected. or perhaps you are challenging him? oh well, a little gamble never hurts, right?

it's obvious he’s taken a liking to you; for the next few weeks, he's been calling you to his office more and more frequently, to the point where you're no longer nervous to enter, as you know it’s probably nothing serious. plus, you’ve gotten used to the “strange” reasons he requests for your presence.

including the times where he made you do your work in his office, claiming that he feels lonely and needs your (it can only be you, no one else) company. or the many-times that you told him to manage his money wisely because he CANNOT be spending thousands on you. 

“just a small gift for my favourite employee!” (and it's a whole ass car that costs way above your pay grade)

at this point, you're beginning to think he should hire a secretary. you subconsciously bring the idea up during one of your visits, what you didn’t expect was for him to eagerly agree with you. his eyes twinkle with amusement, “no wonder you’re my favourite, of course you’re interested in being my secretary, well lucky you! your new position begins tomorrow.” 

so instead of hiring a secretary like any normal person would, he makes YOU his secretary. and hey, when did you ever express that you would like to be his secretary? this scumbag…

“oh don’t be so nervous sweetheart, just sort these out for me—” he hands you a folder of documents, his fingers deliberately brushing against yours, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “and stay here while you work on them.. want to see your pretty face.”

you think your boss is insufferable, even more so now that you’ve fallen for his charms. it's as if he enjoys playing this game of cat and mouse, keeping you on your toes with his teasing remarks and lingering touches. yet beneath the facade of annoyance, there’s something undeniably alluring about the way he looks at you, as if you're the only person in the room. well you’re not far off; you are the sole focus of his attention. 

like right now, while you attempt to maintain your composure under his unmistakably, shameless, lovesick gaze; his lips curl into a mischievous smirk,  “oh by the way, dinner's on me tonight. choose whatever you like." with a coy smile, you decide to tease him, “what? can’t even ask me out properly?” you quip, raising an eyebrow in faux innocence.

and later that night you find your boss on one knee, waiting at your front porch, in his hands are freshly bought flowers. his eyes immediately light up the moment you open the door, a horrified look on your face. “will you go on a date with me?” oh how he delights in your flustered expression.

“i said ask me out! not get down on one knee and propose!” 

“...so will you?”

don’t worry, he knows you'll look forward to the day he proposes (you’re not even dating, yet) but for now he’ll spoil you with the most lavish meal known to mankind, not that you’re complaining about it either. 

sunday ༊*·˚

not-so-accidental confession with sunday who intentionally leads you to overhear him talking about his feelings for you. 

you raise your hand, ready to knock on the door, but a voice from inside halts your movement. you hesitate, your knuckles hovering just inches away from the wood, as the unexpected sound piques your curiosity. 

“brother, why didn’t you tell me this before?” it’s no doubt that the soft-spoken voice belongs to robin, her tone carrying a tinge of surprise; and by the way she addresses the other person, it can't be anyone but sunday himself. 

their conversation sounds tense, you think it's inappropriate to eavesdrop, but just as you were about to leave, sunday's voice catches your attention, and you freeze at the sound of your name slipping past his lips. 

“—their infectious laugh, how their eyes light up with pure innocence, their unwavering passion and selflessness that knows no bounds; always putting others before themselves. how can i possibly not love them?”

your face flushes with warmth upon hearing his words, and you're unable to suppress a cough that escapes; you bring your hands to your mouth, hoping to stifle any further embarrassment.

robin chuckles, “oh brother, i understand exactly what you mean”, a genuine smile spreads across her face. “...seems like you’re expecting a guest” she raises an eyebrow knowingly, “i’ll take my leave now." with that, she gives sunday a reassuring pat on the shoulder and gracefully exits the room, shooting you a playful wink as she walks by.

uh oh… you’re totally busted

you immediately turn on your heels, trying to slip away before sunday realises you're there. but just before you can make your escape, someone grabs your wrist, holding you firmly in place. you turn around to see sunday looking down at you, his eyes flickering with emotions swirling within him.

"i swear i didn't hear anything!" you exclaim, waving your hand in front of you defensively.

“really…nothing?”

“yup! nothing at all.” you lie through your teeth, cringing at yourself.

“nothing? ...but i made sure you were there to hear everything.” a hint of disappointment evident in his voice.

“huh..?” your expression twists with confusion, a faint blush creeping up from your neck. you were meant to hear that? he just poured his heart out to his sister…about you! 

sunday smiles, oh there’s no point in lying now, he knows you heard him. (as expected)

he steps closer to you, his arms caging you between the wall and himself. “you know i meant everything i said right?” a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, leaving you momentarily speechless, unsure of how to respond; you can feel your chest swelling with warmth, his wings flutter subconsciously as he awaits your response. 

“y-yes…” you avert your gaze, too shy to stare into his eyes. “please, look at me…” he gently tilts your chin up, his eyes boring into yours. “i wanted to tell you that i love you, for so long” he looks vulnerable at that moment, a side he only ever shows to you; a side of him only you get to see.

“i love y—” sunday gently places his finger on your lips, silencing you. you tilt your head at his gesture, your mouth still agape. “don’t say it back yet…” moving his hand to hold your face, “allow me to take you out on a date, then tell me how you feel.” you interlace your fingers with the his that rest against your face, nodding your head in acceptance.

though sunday longs for you to utter those 3 words to him, he wants to make that moment perfect, just as you are to him. despite sunday’s intention for you to overhear him, he regrets not being able to catch your reaction to his words, so next time (re: on the date), he vows to repeat it as many times as necessary; he will do anything to fulfill your every wish.

and should you desire for him to put a ring on your finger, he will do it in a heartbeat. 

✧.*

masterlist boothill jing yuan blade vers here!

[puckinghischier]

Mornings

quinn hughes x fem!reader

WARNING - SMUT! minors DNI. 18+. unprotected sex, fingering, p in v, basically smut with no plot

summary - quinn wakes up with a need to go slow n steady

notes - i have officially launched into writing for quinn and there’s no turning back now. i hope this is at least decent bc when it comes to writing smut, i feel like i’m always being too repetitive and not descriptive enough, so don’t yell at me if it’s bad 🫣. anyways, i hope you enjoy, and as always, happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request - soft morning sex with quinn

[2.3k]

Quinn has always been a morning person. He loves the feeling of being up before the sun, feeling like he has the world to himself. He loves being able to sneak out for a quick run, getting back in time to cook breakfast and make your coffee before you wake up. Sometimes he even loves just sitting beside of you as you sleep, reading or going over plays that he knows they’ll be working on in practice that day.

This morning? This morning he wants none of that. This morning he woke up to the sun peeking through the curtains of your shared room, way later than he intended, with one thing on his mind.

Forget a run, forget breakfast, forget hockey. All Quinn wanted this morning was you.

Last night the two of you attended a party hosted by the team at the rink. A fundraiser for some charity he can’t even remember at the moment.

What he can remember is the way you looked in your dress last night. From the second you walked out of your large walk-in closet yesterday, he wanted nothing more than to see the dress draped across the floor, but a few too many old fashions throughout the night caused an instant crash as soon as his head hit his pillow when the two of you got home last night.

His body very obviously didn’t forget how he felt last night, though. Which is very apparent right now.

Your body is slotted perfectly into his, his arms entrapping you and holding you as close to his body as he can. Even though you’re facing away from him, he can tell you’re not awake yet, your breaths steady and even. The observation made him think about having you just like that, slow and steady.

Readjusting his position, trying give a little relief to his aching dick, he hears your sharp inhale.

“Quinn, I haven’t even opened my eyes yet and you’re already horny and ready to go,” you grumble out, still half asleep.

Quinn lets out a low chuckle. “What can I say, baby? Can’t stop thinking about how good you looked last night.”

He brings his face down to give a light kiss to the back of your neck, bringing an arm up to move your sleep tousled hair over your shoulder.

You sigh at the feeling of his warm lips on your skin as they move away from your neck and down to your newly exposed shoulder.

Involuntarily, you scoot back to press your ass into him, causing a groan to ring out around you two.

“Don’t tease me now, baby, s’not nice,” he mumbles against your skin.

“Who says I’m teasing? Maybe I saw something I liked last night too,” you turn your body around to face him, hooking a leg over his hips, bringing your core closer to his.

His eyes lock onto yours, searching for any hint that you’re teasing him.

When he sees nothing but desire in your eyes, he closes the space between your lips, capturing yours in a searing kiss.

He grinds against you, tangling his hands in your hair. When he tries to deepen the kiss, you pull back in protest.

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth, let me go at least brush them before we do this,” you try to untangle yourself from his body, but his grip on you tightens, preventing you from moving further away.

“Not important,” he tells you, bringing you back in for another kiss.

This kiss was much slower than the first, the two of you simply savoring each other.

“Wanna take m’time with you,” Quinn mumbles against your lips, removing his hand from your hair to slip the strap of your silk tank top off of your shoulder.

Your response was a content sigh, feeling his hand slip under your tank top to fondle your breast.

“Just take it off, Q” you whisper, wanting the fabric gone.

He breaks the kiss long enough to remove your clothing, pressing his bare skin against your own.

You shift your position, laying your back flat on the bed and pulling him to hover over you.

Quinn lifts his head up, admiring your body, nothing but love in his eyes.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that? Don’t know how I ever got so lucky,” he speak softly, bringing a hand up to caress your stomach.

His words still make you blush, even after all this time. You move to bring your hands up to hide your flushed face.

“Nuh uh, no hiding that pretty face. Wanna see it always. Never wanna look at anything else,” he tells you, grabbing both of your hands in his large one, bringing them up to rest above your head. “Keep them there f’me, yeah?”

He trails the same hand down your body for a second time, this time letting it travel all the way down to the waistband of your shorts.

You gasp as he slides his hand under the waistband, his long fingers making contact with your clit.

“Especially wanna see your face when I’m doing this,” he slides his fingers down further, feeling the wetness coat his fingers. “God you’re soaking, baby. Guess I’m not the only one who woke up feeling needy.”

You inhale sharply, your mouth forming an ‘o’ when he slips a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out lazily.

“Can’t help it. You looked incredible in your suit last night. Even had a dream about it,” you gasped out, itching to thread your fingers through his hair, but keeping them above your head like he asked.

Quinn lets out a groan when he feels you clench around his fingers, bringing his thumb up to rub slow circles on your clit.

He notices your hands twitching as you squirm, deciding he wants to feel your hands on him.

“You can move your hands, pretty girl. Since you’re behaving so good,” he tells you as he adds another finger.

The second the words leave his mouth your hands are in his hair, tangling and twisting the strands around your fingers.

The strokes of his fingers are slow and steady, the pace driving you wild.

“Q, I need you. Need more,” you beg him.

“Uh-uh, told you I wanted to take my time with you. Need you to come nice and slow from my fingers before I give you anything else,” he picks up the pace just slightly.

You whine in protest, wanting to feel him.

Quinn circles your clit faster, but keeps the slow pace of his fingers. The contrast of the two paces causes the familiar knot to form deep in your stomach.

You remove one of your hands from Quinn’s hair to toy with your nipple, the added stimulation inching you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“There we go, get yourself there pretty girl,” Quinn rasps out, enjoying the sight of you underneath him.

His words aid in your impending release, always loving how vocal he is during sex.

He feels you clench around his fingers again, knowing you’re close to exploding.

“C’mon, just let go for me, baby. Show me how much you enjoy my fingers,” is all Quinn has to say before you’re seeing stars.

Your orgasm doesn’t match the slow motion of his fingers, your legs shaking as he rides you through the aftershocks.

Quinn removes his fingers from you, fully sitting up on his knees and bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them clean. The sight makes you fear another orgasm without even being touched.

As you lay there and recover for a few seconds, all you can think about is how badly you want to feel his dick inside of you.

“Please, Q, need to feel you inside of me,” you whine out, causing him to chuckle at your desperation.

“Well, who am I to deny a pretty girl what she wants?” he responds, lowering himself down to press a light kiss to your lips, moving a strand of hair out of your face.

You bring both hands up to rest on his neck, pulling him down to deepen the kiss, trying to show him just how badly you want him.

He meets your kiss with just as much enthusiasm, moving his hands to remove your shorts and underwear altogether.

You kick the pieces of clothing off of your feet, removing your hands from his neck to help him remove his own.

Once you’re both completely bare, you reach a hand down between the two of you, wrapping your hand around his hard dick, giving it a few strokes.

Quinn’s hips involuntarily buck forward, driving his cock further into your closed fist.

“Slow down, pretty girl. Told you I wanted to take my time with you. Won’t last if you keep touching me like this,” he grunts out, trying to keep some form of self-control.

He removes your hand from himself, replacing it with his own. He nudges your legs apart, bringing a finger to your entrance once again, collecting the arousal still dripping from you and spreading it around the tip of his dick, closing his eyes and shuddering at the feeling of your wetness on him.

“Remember, baby, slow and steady wins the race,” Quinn tells you as he guides himself into you inch by inch.

You cry out at the feeling, still sensitive from your first orgasm only minutes ago.

“Shit, you’re so tight. Always so tight,” Quinn hisses out, teeth clenched.

“Oh my god, Q, you feel so good. Needed this, needed you,” you whine, feeling every ridge and vein as he sets the torturous pace.

He brings his arms up to rest on either side of your head, going full missionary this morning.

Quinn pulls out completely each time before pushing back in, reminding himself with every stroke that he’s supposed to be going slow and savoring you.

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this. Swear I’d stay here forever. Spend every second of every day between your legs like this. With my dick, my fingers, my mouth,” he tells you, earning a moan from you when you feel him twitch inside of you.

The slow, languid pace of his thrusts allows him to feel you in a way he’s usually too impatient for. He finds the soft, spongy spot deep inside of you, earning a moan that almost causes him to lose his composure.

“God, baby, can’t be making those noises like that. Gonna make me lose it,” he tells you, bringing a hand down to toy with your clit once again.

“Can’t help it. Feels too good. Need you to move faster,” you plead, loving the slowness but aching for relief.

He lowers his head, placing hot, open mouth kisses to your neck, keeping his current rhythm.

“Can’t. Enjoying this too much,” he mumbles against your damp skin.

Despite his words, you can feel him lose himself a bit, his thrusts getting just a little faster and sloppier.

All of a sudden he pulls out of you completely, removing his body from over yours. Up until this moment your eyes had been closed, but they snap open at the loss of contact.

Quinn sees your wide eyes and can practically see the whine of protest on your tongue, but he quickly brings himself to lay beside of you, pulling your body back into his.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl, just switching positions for a second,” he explains, lining himself up to your entrance once again, thrusting into you from behind as you lay on your side, opening yourself up to him with a leg slung over his own.

He keeps his same, slow strokes, but the new angle causes him to hit a place you’ve never known to exist until this moment.

“Swear I can feel you in my stomach, Q. Don’t stop. I’m so close,” you tell him, already feeling the coil tighten for the second time this morning.

The clench of your walls around his dick from this angle causes his balls to tighten, his own orgasm quickly approaching.

“Need you to let go before I can, baby. Wanna feel you make a mess all over me, think you can get there again?” he kisses the back of your neck.

Meeting his thrusts, you reach behind you to grab his hand and bring it over to stimulate your clit, needing some relief on the throbbing bundle of nerves.

Quinn presses his fingers down on your clit, hard, causing the bubble to burst inside of you, coming harder than you even had the first time.

“Oh my god, Q, I-“ you get cut off by your own moans, unable to prevent your body from shaking, his fingers still moving on your clit, intensifying the release even further.

The clench of your spent pussy nearly prevents him from pulling his dick out of you to thrust back in, causing such a pleasurable feeling it trigger his own orgasm, hitting him harder than he think he’s ever come before.

His body goes rigid, freezing inside of you with a groan. As you start to come down from your own orgasm, the feeling of his release inside of you brings a new wave of pleasure, knowing you’re the only person that gets to experience this from him.

He stays lodged inside of you long after you’ve both come down from your highs, wanting to stay as close to you as he can possibly be.

You let your fingers stroke the arm that’s slung over your frame, his large hand resting against your stomach.

After a few more minutes he finally slides himself out of you, turning your body to face him, assuming your earlier positions.

He stares at you, admiring the post sex glow on your face with the sun shining through the curtains behind you.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him, wrapping a piece of his hair around your finger, playing with the small curls around his ears.

“How much I love mornings,” he gives you the cheesy line, causing you to laugh so hard you shake the entire bed, causing a large grin to break out on his face, looking forward to spending every morning for the rest of his life with you.

[yukkiji]

taste like home

osamu miya never expected love to find him behind the counter of onigiri miya—until a girl from miyagi handed him her number during a volleyball match. what began with long-distance visits and late-night messages turned into quiet mornings, shared meals, and a life built side by side. now living nearby, he dreams of always cooking for her, and her always tasting—because some love stories are simple, steady, and meant to last.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. miya osamu x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, timeskip!osamu, chef bf and taster gf

wc: 4.1k

author's note: i always imagined osamu having a s/o where he would always cook for them and would let them taste his newest creations in onigiri miya

the warmth of onigiri miya always made it hard for you to leave.

technically, it had become your second home ever since you started dating osamu miya—the former volleyball star turned onigiri restaurateur with a sharp mind for flavors and an even sharper way of knowing exactly how to hold you when the day had worn you thin.

here you were, sitting down on your usual stool behind the counter, right in that little space between the rice cooker and the stack of handwritten menus—close enough to watch him work, but far enough not to get in the way of the lunch rush he’d just wrapped up. the clatter had died down. the stools were empty now, save for yours, and soft music hummed low from the speaker he swore he never remembered turning on.

osamu was wiping down the cutting board, towel slung over his shoulder like always, apron dusted with grains of rice and streaks of miso. he didn’t say anything at first—just gave you that look. the one that said you’re here without needing to put it into words.

“you’re late,” he muttered, but his voice was gentle, teasing more than scolding.

you shrugged, chin resting in your hand as your eyes followed him behind the counter. “work held me. new team’s still getting the hang of things. i swear i answered the same email five times today.”

osamu didn’t answer right away—just huffed under his breath, the way he always did when you sounded too tired for your own good. then, without a word, he grabbed a small ceramic plate from the drying rack and walked over to where a fresh tray of onigiri rested, cooling slightly on the sideboard.

he picked up three—each wrapped slightly differently, seaweed folded with intention, each one marked with a tiny dot of colored seasoning on top like a secret code.

when he returned, he set the plate down in front of you like it was a course at a five-star restaurant, not something whipped up in a quiet corner shop in hyogo. “try these.”

you blinked. “all three?”

“all three,” he said, bracing both hands on the counter and leaning in slightly. “need you honest, though. not just the ‘you love me so it’s good’ answer.”

you smirked. “i always give honest feedback.”

“lies. you once said my umeboshi one was ‘an acquired taste’—that’s code for ‘i’m sufferin’ but i love you anyway.’”

you laughed, picking up the first one, identifiable by a dusting of furikake on top. “alright then, chef miya. let’s see what you’ve been up to.”

the first bite was comfort—a smooth blend of miso butter and sweet corn, surprisingly mellow. creamy, rich, but not heavy. you chewed thoughtfully, nodding.

“this tastes like… if autumn had a kitchen.”

osamu’s lips twitched. “miso corn butter. you like it?”

“like it enough to fight someone for the last one.”

he chuckled, clearly pleased, and gestured for you to try the second.

this one had a sliver of thin lemon peel tucked beneath the nori. the first bite hit sharp—pickled daikon and a touch of yuzu kosho, with a hint of grilled mackerel. bold. salty. clean.

you blinked. “okay. this one punches me in the face, but in a respectful way.”

“that’s the idea,” he said, clearly trying not to grin.

“name it something dramatic,” you said through another bite. “like… ‘breakup cleanse.’ or ‘kiss me after this and you’ll regret it.’”

he barked a laugh. “i’m not writin’ that on the chalkboard.”

“you’re no fun,” you teased.

finally, you reached for the third. it was smaller than the others, rolled slightly rounder, with no seaweed wrapping—just a glossy brush of soy on the rice. one bite in, and you paused.

then blinked.

then slowly looked up at him.

osamu raised an eyebrow. “too much?”

“it’s… sweet,” you said, brows furrowing. “but… smoky? and is that—?”

“caramelized onion,” he said. “mixed with katsuobushi. finished with black sugar glaze.”

you stared at him. “who hurt you?”

he shrugged. “felt like tryin’ somethin’ weird.”

you shook your head, still chewing. “weird. but addictive. i hate how good this is.”

he looked insufferably smug now, arms crossed over his chest. “so?”

you leaned back on the stool, tapping your lip. “the first is the safe choice. the second is for people who think wasabi’s too mainstream. the third…” you looked him straight in the eye, “is gonna start fights.”

“which one’s your favorite?”

you didn’t hesitate. “the third. but you already knew i’d say that.”

he nodded once, satisfied, then leaned over the counter until your knees bumped.

“you work too hard,” he said quietly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “let me take care of the rest of the night.”

“you mean feeding me until i can't move?”

he smirked. “exactly that.”

and just like that, the weight from your shoulders melted. you weren’t sure if it was the food, or his voice, or just the fact that he always knew how to meet you where you were—without asking for anything in return.

so you stayed. behind the counter, on your usual stool. picking apart rice grains with your fingers and feeding him bites in between cleaning up the shop. it was quiet. simple.

the kind of simple that only comes after everything else—after distance and longing and workdays spent apart. after months of phone calls, rushed trains, and bags packed in half an hour. after the ache of trying to make something real when miles stood in between.

funny how everything always circled back to that day.

your eyes drifted toward the storefront window, the hyogo dusk painting gold onto the floor, and your mind pulled back—to a year ago, in a city that used to feel like home.

sendai. kamei arena. the adlers vs. the jackals.

the stadium had been buzzing, a sea of noise and jersey colors, and you’d been there more out of obligation than genuine interest—invited by coworkers, not wanting to be the odd one out. the game itself had been intense, sure, but halfway through the second set, all you could think about was food. your stomach had growled loud enough to make the girl beside you glance over. you needed something, anything, to get you through the last two sets.

so during the break, you wandered out to the concession area—fully expecting overpriced hot dogs or soggy fries. but instead, tucked at the end of the row of pop-up food stalls, was a modest setup with a hand-painted banner that read:

onigiri miya – hyogo's own.

he wasn’t shouting like the others. no flashy signs, no mascot. just a man in a black t-shirt, a matching black cap tugged low over silver-streaked hair, and a crisp white apron wrapped around his waist, tied off like he barely noticed it anymore.

he stood there calmly, molding onigiri with practiced ease, his movements smooth and steady as the world around him bustled and clamored for attention. most of the ones on display were already gone—just a few scattered triangles left in the front case, their labels curling slightly at the corners, proof that word-of-mouth had clearly done its job before you even arrived.

but osamu didn’t rush.

he didn’t bark out specials or wave signs in people’s faces. he worked like a man who knew his food spoke louder than anything he could say. each rice ball was pressed with deliberate care, fingers moving like it was second nature—like he was doing something sacred, not just feeding a crowd.

even from a few feet away, you could see the focus etched into his features, the faint line between his brows, the way his mouth quirked thoughtfully whenever he tasted something off the back of a spoon. every so often, someone would try to ask for a substitution or an extra helping of filling, and he’d just glance up with those steady grey eyes and say, “trust me.”

and they did.

so did you. without realizing it, you’d stepped into the line, drawn in by more than the smell of grilled soy or the crackle of seaweed. it was something in the quiet confidence of him—how still he was in a place full of noise.

by the time it was your turn, he barely looked up, just asked, “what’ll it be?” while reaching for another sheet of nori.

you hesitated for a split second, just long enough for him to glance at you.

that was the moment everything tilted.

because when his eyes met yours—fleeting, unbothered, but sharp—you felt something catch in your chest.

there was no dramatic spark, no sweeping music in the background—just a quiet shift, like gravity adjusting without warning. he looked at you like he didn’t need to look long to know what kind of person you were. and maybe that was exactly what made your pulse stutter.

“grilled salmon,” you said suddenly, abandoning your original choice.

osamu blinked once. nodded.

“comin’ right up.”

he didn’t question the change, didn’t tease or smirk like most guys might’ve. he just reached for the next ball of rice, hands steady, eyes flicking down like he already knew exactly how you’d like it—lightly salted, crisped just a little on the outside, no extra sauce.

as he molded the rice, a small line formed between his brows—focused but relaxed. the cap shadowed part of his face, but you could still see the way his mouth moved slightly as he worked, murmuring something under his breath. a habit, maybe. you wondered if he talked to the food when no one was listening.

a minute later, he wrapped the finished onigiri in wax paper and slid it across the counter toward you. warm. perfectly shaped. his fingers brushed yours again—another second, another static jolt under your skin.

“first time tryin’ us?” he asked, voice casual.

you nodded. “didn’t plan on eating. but i smelled yours all the way from the stairs.”

that earned the faintest quirk of his lips.

“hope it lives up to the hype.”

you smiled, already taking the first bite. “if it doesn’t, i’m tracking you down after the game.”

he tilted his head. “bit dramatic, ain’t ya?”

“you’ll see.”

and you meant it.

you tore a napkin from the dispenser at the end of the stall, tugged a pen from your bag, and scribbled your number down without hesitation. the numbers bled slightly into the paper, your handwriting a little rushed but still clear.

you slid it across the counter toward him with the same ease you might’ve handed over spare change.

“if it does live up to the hype,” you said, meeting his gaze, “text me anyway.”

osamu looked at the napkin, then at you. there was a brief pause—measured, unreadable—but the corner of his mouth ticked up, slow and knowing, like he was already one step ahead.

“a bold move,” he said, eyes steady beneath the brim of his cap.

you shrugged, lips curving. “well, i can’t let this opportunity slide.”

he huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, the kind that said he was more amused than he’d let on. like he hadn’t expected that answer—but he liked it anyway.

“you always give your number to guys makin’ rice balls in crowded arenas?” he asked, one brow raised.

“only the ones who look like they know what they’re doing,” you said, tapping your half-eaten onigiri for emphasis. “and wear their aprons like they were born in one.”

his smirk twitched into something dangerously close to a smile. “careful. flattery might get you extra fillings next time.”

you leaned in a little, voice light but certain. “good. then i’ll see you next time.”

and with that, you gave him one last look—just long enough to linger—before walking away, warm rice still in hand, grin still tucked against your mouth.

behind you, osamu watched.

napkin folded in his apron. number already memorized.

a text came right after the game ended.

nothing fancy. no overthinking.

“still think it’s worth trackin’ me down?”

you were halfway through unlocking your front door when your phone buzzed, and the second you saw the unfamiliar number, you knew. no one else could’ve timed it that perfectly. no one else could’ve said just that.

you didn’t hesitate. you leaned against the frame, keys still in hand, thumbs moving on instinct.

“definitely.”

that was it.

no games. no waiting three days. just two people—separated by miles but tethered now by rice, timing, and something that felt like a beginning.

from there, it became a rhythm.

a photo of his new flavor, sent at 2 a.m. a blurry shot of your train window, captioned “hyogo-bound.”

a voice message from him, thick with sleep and kansai accent, muttering, “train again? ya sure i’m worth all this rice?”

and your reply: “you’re worth more than salmon and seaweed, samu.”

during free weekends, you always tried to hop on a train bound for hyogo—sometimes after work, sometimes at sunrise. more or less than 24 hours with him, depending on schedules, delays, how long you could get away with calling it “remote work.” even if it meant sleeping in the corner of his cozy little shop, wrapped in a borrowed blanket while he wiped down counters behind you, the hum of the fridge lulling you to sleep.

you never asked for much. just time. just him.

and he always made room for you in that space between his morning prep and late-night cleanup. sometimes you’d arrive and find a new flavor waiting—your name scribbled next to it on a sticky note taped to the glass display. sometimes he’d greet you with a nod and a cup of warm tea, tugging off his gloves before leaning across the counter and kissing your temple like it was nothing. like it was routine.

other times, you’d stay past closing—bare feet tucked beneath you on your usual stool, helping him fold napkins while he tested new fillings. you’d sneak him bites and steal some for yourself, laughing when he smacked your hand away with a lazy, “oi, that one ain’t even cooked yet.”

but he never minded. not really.

those visits were short, sweet, and stitched together with quiet moments that made it all worth it.

and when the weekend ended, and the train home came too soon, he'd walk you to the station if he could—hood up, hands deep in his coat pockets, eyes a little too soft under the streetlights.

“text me when ya get there,” he’d say, every single time.

“i always do.”

sometimes, there were weeks when the world got too loud. work piled up. meetings ran long. schedules clashed. the shinkansen felt too far, too much—for just a few hours with him.

you’d text him with a heavy heart, thumbs dragging over the words: “can’t make it this weekend. i’m sorry.”

he’d reply with a simple: “don’t worry. rest. i got ya.”

and sometimes, that was it. you’d assume he meant it literally—that he understood, that he’d wait. that he’d keep his side of the rhythm until you could pick it back up again.

but then you’d hear a knock on your apartment door late that night. or early the next morning. and there he was—osamu, standing just outside your door like it was the most natural thing in the world. hoodie pulled over his head, travel-wrinkled duffle slung over his shoulder. one hand in his pocket, the other holding up a neatly packed bento box wrapped in a cloth with little rice ball prints.

no words at first. just that small, knowing look of his. like he’d felt your exhaustion through the phone and didn’t want you eating convenience store food alone again.

“i brought yer favorites,” he’d say, nudging the box into your hands.

the first time he did it, you’d laughed and asked, “samu, did you seriously get on a train at six in the morning just to feed me?”

he’d just stepped past you, slipping off his shoes and tossing his bag by the door.

“nah. five-forty.”

the food was always warm when he arrived—miso-marinated fish, pickled veggies, rolled omelets the way you liked them, and of course, one perfect onigiri shaped the way only he made them.

you’d eat curled up beside him on the floor or on your small couch, sharing bites and leaning into his shoulder when your eyes got too heavy to stay open.

he never asked for anything in return. never acted like it was some grand gesture.

to him, it was simple.

if you couldn’t come to him—he’d come to you.

every time.

of course, there were moments—quiet, aching ones—when doubt crept in. long train rides. missed calls. holidays spent apart. you’d lie awake sometimes, wondering if it was sustainable, if something this good could really stretch across prefectures without tearing.

but osamu had a way of grounding you. of making the distance feel like a small detail instead of a mountain.

he never said too much—didn’t believe in grand speeches—but he showed up. always. with warm hands, a quiet laugh, and food packed with care like it was his love language (because it was).

even on your birthday.

you told him not to come. it was already late, the weather was awful, and you didn’t want him exhausting himself just for the sake of showing up. he said he’d stay put. you believed him.

until there was a knock on your door at 11:47 p.m.

you opened it, heart already racing, and there he was—drenched from the rain, holding a tiny cake box and a towel slung over his shoulder like he knew you'd scold him first. his voice was hoarse from the cold air, but his smirk was clear.

“told ya i’d stay put,” he said. “didn’t say where.”

that night, sitting cross-legged on your rug while sharing a too-sweet cake with plastic forks, the conversation slipped in like breath.

“samu,” you’d murmured, your voice half-laughing, half-tired, “what do you think… are we?”

he didn’t even blink.

“we’re literally dating at this point. probably married.”

you’d choked on the frosting, smacked his shoulder, but couldn’t stop smiling.

and just like that, it was official.

no fanfare. no fireworks. just a quiet agreement between hearts that had already been choosing each other for months.

but then—like fate finally decided to take your side—your company announced its expansion plans. to hyogo.

they said they needed someone capable, someone familiar with the region, someone who wouldn’t mind relocating.

it wasn’t even a decision. it was alignment.

and when you told osamu, he didn’t say much at first. just stared at you from across the counter in onigiri miya, like the rice might spill if he didn’t hold the emotion still.

then he walked around, wiped his hands on his apron, and pulled you into a hug that smelled like shiso and sea salt.

a few days later, osamu suggested—casually, like he was talking about the weather—that the two of you should just live together.

“you’re here now. would be easier if ya just moved in,” he said, setting down a tray of tamagoyaki like he hadn’t just dropped a life-altering sentence.

you’d blinked at him from your stool, halfway through sorting your spice rack.

“i just unpacked my boxes,” you replied with a dry laugh. “let me enjoy paying rent first.”

he snorted, unfazed. “don’t see the point in ya going home when yer already home.”

you smiled at that—softly, quietly. and yeah, a part of you wanted to say yes right there. but you didn’t. not because you didn’t want it—hell, you did—but because you still wanted to build something of your own first. have your own space, even if it was temporary. even if it was just down the street.

so you said, “not yet.” and he didn’t push. just gave a nod like he understood—because he did.

eventually, the two of you found a small apartment tucked into a quieter street just a few minutes’ walk from onigiri miya. it had creaky stairs and a balcony barely wide enough for two, but the light hit the kitchen just right in the mornings and it smelled like home within the week.

now, on slow afternoons, you’d stop by the shop just because you could. no train tickets, no suitcases—just a pair of house slippers by the counter with your name written on the soles in marker.

and osamu? he never said “i told you so.”

but every time you showed up—hair still damp from a shower, sleeves rolled, reaching for a rice ball—he’d give you that quiet, satisfied look.

like this was the part he’d always been waiting for. like maybe, this was the life he’d started shaping the moment you handed him your number on a napkin—creased and half-soaked from your drink, but carefully folded into the pocket of his apron like it was gold.

you caught him watching you sometimes when the shop slowed down—when the sound of the rice cooker humming was the loudest thing in the room. his eyes weren’t hungry or calculating. just… still. steady. as if he was memorizing you, again and again.

you, perched on your usual stool, picking the seaweed off your onigiri before taking a bite. you, humming some song under your breath while scribbling on a receipt pad. you, already reaching for the soy sauce bottle before he even asked if it needed more.

the shop had learned you. you had learned it. you’d even learned him—the way he never said everything, but always said enough.

and on nights like this, when the shutters were down and the last pot had been scrubbed, you both settled into the quiet like it was a blanket. some couples needed fireworks. you two just needed clean counters and leftover rice.

“samu,” you asked one night, your voice a little sleep-warm, cheek resting against the rolled-up sleeve of his flannel shirt, “did you ever think it’d end up like this?”

he didn’t answer right away. just breathed in deep, like he was still taking in the scent of miso and your shampoo. then he glanced down at you, lazy smirk forming like it always did when he was about to say something that’d stick.

“this is perfect,” he said simply. “just sayin’… still got time. might add a second shop. bigger kitchen. maybe even a ring—if yer not too busy workin’ overtime.”

your chest tightened—not with nerves, but with something heavier, warmer. hope, maybe. recognition.

but then his tone softened, and so did his expression. he leaned a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

“when you gave me your number, i knew i’d marry you someday,” he said. “not right away. eventually. knew you had your own thing to build. and i wanted you to. still do.”

the weight of his words settled over you like a quiet sunrise. no pressure. no rush. just the truth—his truth. he’d been choosing you from the beginning. not loudly. not with fireworks. but with presence. with every rice ball he wrapped. every train ride. every surprise visit. every “you okay?” when the world got too loud.

and maybe you didn’t answer—not with words, at least. because when you turned to him, leaned in and kissed him, it said everything.

it wasn’t urgent or rushed. just real. a quiet promise sealed between the taste of salt and tea and the lingering warmth of the shop.

he kissed you back with the same certainty he always carried behind the counter—with focus, with care. like loving you was a craft. something he’d chosen to get better at, day by day.

when you pulled apart, his hands stayed on your waist, thumbs brushing slow circles over your sides. he didn’t say much after that. didn’t need to.

but as you helped him store the last batch of leftover rice, you caught him glancing your way again—this time with something new in his eyes.

he looked around the shop—the neatly labeled containers, the dented trays, the sign you helped paint over last month—and then back to you.

“y’know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “i want this. all of it. you. me. this place. i wanna keep makin’ stuff for ya. new flavors, old ones—whatever comes to mind. i want you sittin’ there,” he nodded toward your stool, “tastin’ every single one.”

you smiled, the kind that curled slowly across your lips and settled into your chest.

“and i will,” you said, your voice quiet but certain. “as long as you keep making them.”

and just like that, it was settled. no rings, no grand declarations—yet.

just a kitchen, a counter, two bowls of leftover soup. and a love made of rice, patience, and the promise of always coming home to each other.

always.

[moonstruckme]

im literally in lovee with your writing of sirius black id love love love more of him x reader pleasee [my favourite is friends to lovers or just being super domestic but tbh I'd read anything u write with him in lmaoo]

Thank you for requesting lovely! It worked out that I'd just written this when I got your ask, so I hope it fits what you're wanting!

cw: reader has hair long enough to tie back

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 833 words

Sirius finds you out behind Remus’ house, sitting in the grass and, by all appearances, playing with mud. 

“Hey there,” he says, “did you manage to find the bathroom?” 

You have a tendency to wander off. Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes you get lost, and Sirius can never tell which is happening at any given time. As much as he’d like to tie a string between you so you’re never very far, he’s learned to let you go where you will; you always end up where you want to be anyways. 

“You were talking about football,” you say by way of answer, the slightest hint of sheepishness in your sweet voice. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I went off for a bit.” 

Sirius hums and lowers himself onto the grass beside you, stretching his legs out. The sun is warm and welcome on his face, just enough breeze to keep it from getting too hot. 

It’s a beautiful day, you’d noted upon waking up this morning, already opening the windows in his bedroom. 

Looks like it, Sirius said from bed. He smiled wryly. It’ll probably be the last decent one we have all year.

You’d frowned. That’s not a very nice way to manifest the weather. 

While Sirius is upturned, you’re bent over, messing with something in your hands and dipping your fingers occasionally into a pail of water. 

“What’ve you got there, pretty girl?” 

“A mug,” you say simply. You thumb concentratedly at the slimy thing in your hands, lips pursing. “Or, a soon-to-be-mug.” 

“And you’re making it out of…mud?” 

“No,” you laugh, looking up at your boyfriend in that fond, indulgent way you have. Like he can be so silly sometimes. “Remember how Remus said there was clay by the stream back that way? I’m using some of that.” 

“Ah.” Sirius tilts his head, studying the misshapen lump in your hands. “I see. And this is going to be a drinking mug?” 

You hum in affirmation, and he leaves it at that. He’s not terribly sure whatever you end up with will be able to hold water, but he knows better than to try and dissuade you once you’ve set your mind to something. Maybe he can sign the both of you up for a pottery class sometime. 

A piece of hair falls from behind your ear, and you blow at it, trying to keep it out of your face with your hands occupied.

“Here,” Sirius offers. He takes an elastic off his wrist, gathering the hair away from your face and tying it back loosely the way you like it. 

You gift him a sideways smile in return. A bit of dried clay on your cheek cracks with the movement. Evidently, this isn’t the first time you’ve had to push your hair back. “Thank you.” 

“Baby,” he says, voice laden with fondness. He steadies your face with one hand, swiping at the clay with the other. “You’ve got it all over you.” 

It’s true. It covers your hands up past your wrists, and several places on your legs have pale gray tracks where you’ve wiped your fingers off on them. 

“It’s a messy business,” you say matter-of-factly, “but it dries sort of pretty, I think. Do you want some?” 

He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you mean?” 

You set your soon-to-be-mug down gingerly, extending a hand to him. “Give me your arm.” 

Sirius suppresses a sigh. He didn’t really plan on getting dirty today, but he’s hardly in the habit of denying you anything you ask for. He sets his forearm in your hand. 

You dip a finger into the wettest part of your clay, setting it to the skin above his wrist. Your touch is cool and slick on his sun-warmed skin. You draw a little star like you’re fingerpainting, the clay a funny contrast to the dark tattoos surrounding it. 

You look so pleased with your work that Sirius can’t help himself. He leans forward, giving you a drawn-out, amorous kiss. 

“Thank you,” he says in his most saccharine voice. 

Your lashes flutter prettily as you blink, a rare shy smile taking you. “You’re welcome.” 

Sirius dips two fingers into your pail of water, using them to wipe the remaining clay off your cheek more thoroughly. When he’s done, he spots another smudge on your shoulder, inexplicable. He tsks. “When you’re done with your mug, we might have to ask Remus if you can use his shower, lovely girl. You really do have it all over you.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to trouble him,” you say airily. “The stream’s not very far, and it’s flowing rather quickly with all the rain we’ve been having.” 

He blinks. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”

You look at him bemusedly. “No. Why?” 

Sirius bends his head, letting his hair fall like a curtain to conceal his smile as he kisses the clean part of your shoulder. “I think it’d be better if you used Remus’ shower, sweetheart. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 1

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, awkward & nervous reader, hints at a mini panic attack

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 2.1k+

✿ A / N ✿ i haven't written this kind of stuff since like 8th grade (i recently graduated from university sooo yeah) but i kinda felt the urge to go back to writing now and idk. there are so many smut involved fics on here (which isn't bad, i just need more softer slow burn stuff). not saying there won't be any mildly suggestive stuff in future parts hihihihi. also i have no clue how the american school system works (i'm from europe) so pls just accept this lol. anyway, this is for all my introverted and overthinking girlies (who may or may not be kinda insane) <3

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W E E K O N E // M O N D A Y

Fuck my life.

That was the first thing on your mind as Mr. Smith announced the partners for the upcoming two-week project in art class. In pairs, you were supposed to create a reinterpretation of the Greek gods.

The assignment itself wasn’t the problem. In fact, it actually sounded kind of fun. But your partner? Yeah, that was the real issue.

Fucking Rafe Cameron.

Of all the people in this class, it had to be him.

You didn’t even know why he'd chosen Art in the first place. Rafe was probably the last guy you’d expect to take an art elective—well, right after Kelce Statter.

He'd probably thought it was an easy class to boost his GPA.

Rookie mistake.

Okay, whatever, it was just a small project. You could handle this.

NO, YOU COULDN’T, HOLY SHIT.

The thought of working with Rafe made your skin crawl. In all your years at Kildare Academy, you'd maybe exchanged two words with him—and that was only because he'd mistaken you for another girl.

"Y/n, right?" Rafe appeared at your desk at the end of class, a bored expression on his face.

Okay, okay, just act normal. Be nice.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Rafe stared at you for a moment, probably waiting for you to say more. His eyebrows furrowed slightly before he tilted his head. "Cool, okay. Let’s just meet up during lunch break and get this over with."

Did he seriously think you could finish a two-week project in one lunch break?

When he saw the look on your face, he raised his brows in amusement, his tone teasing. "What? You too busy?"

Your cheeks heated up as you shook your head. "No, lunch sounds good."

"Aight, then let’s meet after fifth period." Before you could ask for a place, he turned around and disappeared out of the classroom.

You frowned. This was off to a great start.

Just two weeks, you reminded yourself as you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed to math class.

On the way, you unlocked your phone to text your bestie Cara:

You shoved your phone away and tried to ignore the uneasiness creeping into your stomach. You didn’t usually have trouble talking to guys but Rafe Cameron was a whole different story. Not because he was "too cool" or some dumb shit like that.

No, Rafe was just... intimidating. Not in that bad-boy, cringe Wattpad kind of way. It was something else, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

He wasn’t arrogant, he was proud. He was loud, but not in the annoying way Kelce Statter was. He wasn’t rude—he just said whatever the hell was on his mind.

He was just ... himself. And yet, somehow he wasn't. It felt like there was a lot more going on beneath the surface.

Maybe that’s what made him so interesting to you. Sure, he had a nice face and a well-known name, no doubt about that. But more than anything, you wanted to understand who he was and get to know him.

Was he just a blunt person who didn’t give a fuck, or was there more to him than his looks and his last name?

So yeah, maybe a part of you was curious about him, but he had such an overwhelming presence, you wouldn’t even know where to start.

In the past, he'd had a few friends-with-benefits situations, but none of them had lasted long. And that was definitely a path you didn't want to go down. Under different circumstances, maybe you could but you've never even held hands with a guy, let alone kissed one or—yeah, no, not going there.

Okay, chill. Internally, you cursed Cara for fueling your delusions.

You had more important problems right now anyway. Like math class with Mrs. Richman. And no one could claim you were a star student in that subject.

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The lesson dragged on, your thoughts constantly drifting. After class, you were supposed to meet Rafe.

Rafe, who had PE right now.

Shit. You tried not to think about a sweaty, heavy-breathing, and—NOPE, NOT NOW.

"Okay, that’s it for today. Don’t forget about the math test next week. But for now, go enjoy the nice weather," Mrs. Richman announced, dismissing the class.

Your hands felt clammy as you got up to leave. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You headed to the restroom and washed your hands, trying to get rid of this horrible feeling in your gut. Why were you so nervous about spending one lunch break with Rafe?

Fuck you, social anxiety.

"Everything okay?" A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. "You look kinda pale."

You turned to see the pretty face of Molly Crane. Red hair, cute freckles, and a super charming smile. She was one of the few Kooks (if any existed at all) who was genuinely nice.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, all good. I think I just ate something bad for breakfast."

Molly didn't look convinced. "You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Really, thanks, Molly. I’m fine now." With an awkward smile, you excused yourself and headed out, only to realize that, well… great, you and Rafe had never picked a meeting spot.

Brrrt.

Your phone had been buzzing since math class. Of course, it had been Cara.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and texted back.

Should you really wait in front of the gym? That felt weird af. But at the same time, you didn’t want to miss him and end up having an awkward conversation about it in the next art class.

The dining hall would've been the most obvious spot to meet up, but would Rafe actually look for you there?

You pressed your lips together. Fuck it.

Heart pounding, you headed toward the gym.

Good thing your body totally knew how to distinguish between social interaction and actual danger.

When you arrived, you heard muffled voices of the boys inside, along with Coach Brown’s instructions.

Just breathe, it’s just one lunch break, you told yourself. Then again, this was probably how the next two weeks were going to feel.

You held your breath as the gym doors swung open, and a crowd of sweaty—oops wrong—freshly showered boys streamed out.

You awkwardly stepped to the side, ignoring the curious glances thrown your way.

No sign of Rafe yet. A sick feeling settled in your stomach. Even worse than being here and having to explain HOW you knew that he would be here, would be explaining WHY you were standing here if he didn’t actually have PE right now.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD.

But then relief washed over you when you spotted Kelce Statter and Topper Thornton. And right behind them—Rafe Cameron.

You tightened your grip on your bag. Okay, okay, I can do this. They’ll probably say bye to Rafe and leave for lunch now.

They didn’t.

Great.

When Rafe spotted you, something flickered in his gaze that you were too afraid to analyze. You expected him to just walk past you but instead, he headed straight toward you. With Kelce and Topper right behind him…

Just smile. No, not like that, you probably look like a creep. Oh god, okay.

"Yo," Rafe greeted you with a slightly puzzled smile as the three of them stopped in front of you. "Didn't expect you here."

In other words: Did you stalk me or how did you know I was here?

Kelce and Topper eyed you with amusement. This is so unbelievably embarrassing.

With heated cheeks, you pointed at the gym bag slung over his shoulder. "Well, I saw you bringing a sports bag today, and PE is usually scheduled right before lunch ... so I just assumed you’d be here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kelce stifling a laugh. You wanted to disappear from Earth, no from this universe. No way anyone would believe--

"Riight," Rafe replied with a lopsided grin. "I would’ve just waited in the dining hall."

…

So you had been right. And you could've saved yourself this painfully awkward moment :)))

G-r-e-a-t.

"Good thinking though, I guess. The faster we get this shitty project over with, the better."

Shit, did Rafe just compliment you? Then again, why did the last sentence sound like he didn't want to work with you? HAHAHAH WHAT AM I EVEN DOING HERE?

You smiled awkwardly. "Exactly."

"You're Y/n Y/l/n, right? Your mom owns Y/l/n Yacht Sales." Topper’s voice cut in, and you were grateful for the topic change.

You nodded with a polite smile. "Yeah."

Was that admiration on Topper’s face?

"Ohh, a business Mommy, I like that", Kelce said, and both Topper and Rafe eyed him with shaking heads.

Topper blinked at him annoyed. "Bro, shut the fuck up for once."

Kelce just giggled.

"My dad bought a Grady-White from you guys recently," Rafe remarked, and your gaze flicked back to his blue eyes.

Jesus, he wasn’t just looking at you—he was staring into your soul. If he was always looking at girls like that you'd gladly be his friends-with-benefits-girl. GIRL WHAT.

You prayed to whatever gods were listening that you didn’t look like an awkward mess. "I remember. A 456 Canyon."

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched up. "Yeah, a beauty."

HELP.

Your cheeks heated up like crazy and with that nervous smile on your face you probably looked like a weird cartoon character. SOMEONE SHOOT ME.

"Oh shit, that sounds like a boat party," Kelce chimed in with a grin and looked at you. "If I were you, I’d have thrown a dooozen parties by now. So many possibilities…"

Rafe scoffed amused. "Shit, good thing she isn’t, or her family would be broke by now."

You chuckled awkwardly. I’m so bad at whatever this is, fucking shit.

„Hey, I’m just saying.“ Kelce raised his hands innocently.

Topper tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. „Okay, dude, and I’m saying we’re leaving now before you say more stupid shit.“ Then he looked at you apologetically and turned his gaze to Rafe. „See you later.“

Rafe just gave him a short nod, his expression hard to read, before turning back to you with a crooked smile as Kelce and Topper disappeared behind the gym. „So, you hungry?“

Why did this situation suddenly feel so… intimate?

It wasn’t. Definitely not. There was absolutely no reason to feel weird about this. And yet—standing here alone with Rafe Cameron was… a lot. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—calm, focused, as if he was actually paying attention.

Or maybe it was the damn wet strands of hair falling into his forehead after his shower.

Get a grip.

You nodded quickly, trying not to overthink it. „The dining hall has quinoa veggie bowls today. Or fries, if you’re not into influencer food.“

Oh God. Was that your attempt at being funny?

Tragic.

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement. „So, you’re assuming I don’t like quinoa bowls?“

Oh. Oh no.

Heat immediately rushed to your face, and you could feel your cheeks straight up burning. Why the hell did you say that?

„No—I mean…“ You let out a nervous laugh, which sounded more like a weird cough. „Not that you wouldn’t like it, but you’re just more like—uh, not that I’m putting you in a box or anything, but you don’t seem like someone who…“

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. „Someone who eats quinoa?“

You sighed. „Forget it. I’m just talking nonsense.“

„Nah, now I’m curious.“ His voice was amused, almost teasing. „How exactly do I seem?“

You swallowed. Shit.

„Uh…“ Your eyes flickered over him for a second—his broad shoulders, the damp strands of hair falling into his forehead, the fresh polo shirt fitting way too well against his body—oh God, wrong direction.

„I just meant…“ Maybe you should just stop talking and dig your own grave, how about that? You sighed and smiled awkwardly. „Okay, look, I'm sorry if you’re actually a secret quinoa veggie bowl advocate or whatever. I didn’t mean to sound condescending.“

Rafe laughed. Not in a mocking way—no, it was real, boyish, which somehow made it worse because it only made you all the more nervous.

„Nah, shit, I get it,“ he said, shrugging with an amused smile. „Guess I gotta work out more if I’m giving off ‘McDonald’s stan’ vibes.“

Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. „That’s not what—“

„Jesus Christ, relax, I know what you meant.“ He cut you off, tilting his head toward the dining hall. „Now, come on, you can keep judging me in there.“

I am the most embarrassing person alive, you thought, face still burning.

Still, you fell into step beside him, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Brain, could you please shut the hell up? Thanks.

It didn’t.

Because why the fuck did Rafe’s presence feel so overwhelming in the best and worst way possible? And why did his ridiculously good aftershave still linger in the air between you, like some kind of cruel distraction?

And most importantly—how the hell were you supposed to survive two whole weeks of this?

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | N E X T ->

[girlokwhatever]

can you do like reader is mad at paige n paige yk the attitude right outta her?

CERTAINLY I CAN!!!!

⋆·˚ ༘ *𓍢ִ໋₊˚*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆𖡎 are you done yet? ,,

paige bueckers x fem!reader

you’ve been wanting to leave this club for the past hour.

the crowd was large when you got here, but since then it’s only grown. the air is hot and tacky, causing you to stick to each person you pass. it was nasty really, even worse on the dance floor.

your feet were aching and the lace from your top was scratching against your chest, only adding to your discomfort. a sheen layer of sweat covered your skin from head to toe and it seemed everyone else was experiencing the same thing.

you were just leaving the dance floor, jostling around larger bodies to get to the bar where you last saw your girlfriend. she had been talking to some guy about basketball when you’d left, but now she’s replaced her company for a woman around your age. you were slightly jealous and definitely angry. she had barely paid you any mind within the past hour, constantly occupying herself with other people. even after you tugged on her hand and asked her so nicely if the two of you could just go home.

that was an hour ago though. your desire to leave only grew in the time frame, as well as your annoyance.

you walked straight to paige, trying to find your balance among the numerous bodies. there wasn’t really a chair available, so you opted for leaning against her, one hand at the back of her neck and the other adjusting your top.

“hi baby-“

“can we go?” the abruptness of your question shocked paige. her eyebrows raised and she gave you a ‘really?’ look. you’re deadpanning though, attitude written across your face in neon bold lettering. if she wouldn’t take your hints earlier, you’d stop dropping them.

she’s pulling you between her and the bar and onto her lap. though it relieves the aching in your legs and feet, it’s not really what you wanted. she’s leaning up, lips just behind your ear and muttering a quick “don’t be a brat.”

you roll your eyes at that, finding her antics absolutely ridiculous. you’d been here with her all night, letting her enjoy herself while you suffered. you usually didn’t mind going out and having some fun; the club tonight had been too packed for you though. everywhere you went, every time you turned around, there was someone within whispering distance to you.

at this point, you stop considering the consequences of your actions. you grab her car keys out of her pocket and leave the club. paige is absolutely flabbergasted, excusing herself and following behind you with haste. she feels her body grow hot with anger watching you walk away from her without so much as a look back.

why were you so pissed?

her stride is much longer than yours so she’s catching up to you in no time. she grabs your wrist and her keys simultaneously, turning you around and stopping you in your tracks.

“what the hell is your problem? hm?” she emphasizes her point with the tight grip on hour jaw, staring straight at you. you’re both tipsy, you more so than her, and it throws your usual rationality out the window. you push her away from you, watching with satisfaction as she stumbles back a step.

she makes you so angry but fuck does she look good. you’re scoffing right to her face and doing it loudly. as though her feelings are ludicrous, completely irrelevant and wrong.

“my problem?! you know what- whatever. you stay here if you want. i’ll walk home. need a break from you anyway.”

if you had left the last part off, paige wouldn’t have been as mad as she was. in all honesty, she would’ve just taken you home peacefully after giving you a kiss and apologizing for keeping you here so long. but, you did add the last part. you looked your girlfriend in the face and told her you were tired of her.

“say that again, i dare you.” her tone is taunting and you know it’s a trap, but you do it anyway.

“you’re getting on my nerves and i need a break from you.” you’re punctuating every word, but little do you know it’s only fueling your girlfriend.

as soon as you say it you’re being pushed into the backseat of her car. she’s climbing in after you, closing the door as she tries so desperately to fit her frame into the small space. paige pulls her loose hairs into a bun, leaning over you once she’s finished.

“wanna act so fucking tough and mean- gonna get rid of your attitude baby. till all you can say is my name.”

“i bet you couldn’t.”

oh. challenge accepted.

your skirt is hiked up, panties pulled to the side as paige prods you with her fingers. she notices the way the street lamp makes your cunt shine from your wetness, smirking at your situation. she’s knees deep into the backseat, pushing two fingers into you at once.

you cry out at the new and sudden stretch. she doesn’t give you time before her fingers thrust roughly in and out of you at a brutal pace. they’re curling inside of you, already finding the spot that makes your back arch to heaven.

“you like that?” you say nothing, make no motion of acknowledgement. smoke is blowing from her ears at this point, not able to believe how stubborn you’re being right now, even as she plunges her fingers into your sopping wet cunt. your silence only motivates her to speed up, because sure, you didn’t say any words, but your loud moans spoke for you. your body is so responsive to paige, it always has been. every time she touches you, you lean into it. every time she kisses you, you’re chasing her lips when she pulls away.

just like right now. the way your core tightens and she feels it, moving away and watching your hips follow her fingers when she denies you your orgasm. you’re protesting, begging for her to continue and cryimg out her name like a chant. your hair is already a mess and your girlfriend’s heart pounds, using every bit a restraint to stop herself from giving into your pleas.

“are you done being a brat yet?”

“paige-“

“apologize and i’ll let you cum, how does that sound?” she’s rubbing and kissing your thighs, watching the way you squirm at the proposal.

even from her position between your legs she sees the battle you’re having with yourself. she almost thinks for a moment you’ll brave the storm and say no, but deep down she knows there’s only one option for you. she can tell by the way you push your hips into her face.

“i’m sorry paigey. i was.. fuck- i wasn’t being nice. i’m sorry for being mad and giving you attitude.” your voice is weak and it’s turning her on so much to hear you like this, begging for her completely. she doesn’t know how genuine your apology actually is, but she doesn’t care either.

her tongue twirls your clit, gentle and slow to tease you. it’s excruciating, the feeling making you screw your eyes shut as your mouth falls open. you’re moaning her name out too, just like she said you would be.

she’s sucking on your clit now, toying with it and gauging your different reactions to different movements. she knows what you like already (nearly everything from her) but the look of pure ecstasy on your face will never get old. you grind your hips down onto her face, desperate to find your release. you can feel it tightening in your stomach and making your head spin, but just as quickly as it came, it’s being ripped away from you.

paige is sitting upright now, readjusting your clothes and wiping around her chin where she feels the remains of you. she’s licking her fingers and lips clean, staring at your shocked expression, one singular tear rolling down your cheek.

“what’s wrong baby?”

“you said-“

“should’ve thought about it better honey. i’m jus’ giving you space since you’re so tired of me. just like you wanted right?”

you don’t miss her shit-eating grin as she leaves the backseat. she plops into the driver’s seat, glancing back at you momentarily. she places a hand on your thigh and it makes you jolt at the sensitivity, legs aching more now than they were before.

“i hope it’s everything you wished for and more.”

*♡∞:｡.｡˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

paige is sassy and mean but what’s new??!

anyways, hope you enjoyed 😘

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JAY

PAIRING : jensen ackles x fiancé!reader

SUMMARY : it’s jensen’s 47th birthday and reader surprises him at work

WARNINGS : fluff. love. surprises. established relationship. mentions of wedding. age gap if you squint. strong language. implied oral sex (male receiving). daddy!jensen. hints of jealous ex.

A/N : thought of this last night and wrote this morning. happy birthday jensen. i love you more than you know and i hope you get to see your kids today. —your bonnie on the side. 🫶🏽😘🎉🎂🥳🎈🎊🎁

March 1st: Jensen’s birthday. Today, he’s turning 47, a year closer to the number he dreads, yet his age had never bothered me. All I wanted was Jensen. And I’m fortunate enough to say I have him.

He’s been working so hard since September, juggling cons and shooting Countdown, and it doesn’t end there. Once he wraps up his current project, he’s heading straight to Toronto to film The Boys, followed by Vought Rising. I moved to L.A. to be with him, both of us refusing to be apart. Yet, he comes home so late and leaves so early that I hardly see him. But not today, not on his birthday.

With the filming running behind, he still had to go in on Saturdays, and unfortunately, that’s the day his birthday fell on this year. Unbeknownst to him, I had very special plans. The first one was waking him up with breakfast and head in bed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I don’t know what’s better: the food you make or your pretty little mouth.” Jensen breathlessly chuckles as he swipes the dribble of cum from the corner of my lip.

That was this morning, and now I’m on the set of Countdown, talking with the PAs about his surprise. As he’s finishing his scene, the most important part of my plan shows up. Jensen knew I’d meet him for lunch but had no idea I was flying his kids out from Connecticut for his special day. The only downside to both him and I was his ex tagging along. Despite the years Jay and I have been together—and after Vought Rising wraps, I’ll become their stepmother—Danneel didn’t trust me alone with them. And no matter the animosity I have towards her, I needed his children to be here.

They rush toward me, tackling me with their embrace. It had been months since I last saw them. In between cons, tournaments, and public appearances, Jensen spent his free time visiting his kids across the country. Not that I minded, but I did miss him—and them—like crazy. I wrap my arms around them, laughing with glee as they cling to me.

“Hey! I’ve missed you guys so much.”

“We’ve missed you too!” says JJ.

They squeeze tighter, close to taking my breath away. I play into it and gasp dramatically, making them giggle. My gaze falls on an annoyed Danneel, and a smirk tugs at my lips. She’s always hated my relationship with the kids. ‘Could’ve been one of the reasons she gave Jensen such a hard time about bringing me around. It didn’t matter, though; They loved me anyway. Right from the very start.

They set me free, and Arrow asks loudly, “Is Daddy almost done?”

“Yes, but it’s a surprise, remember? We have to be quiet until we sing him ‘Happy Birthday,’ then you can be as louudd as you want. Okay?”

“Okay!” A PA calls me over, and I excuse myself, but she scampers beside me and takes my hand. “Can I come with you?”

“Sure, but you have to ask your mom first.”

Arrow spins on her heel, asking her mom, “Can I go with Y/N?”

“I wanna go too!” “Me three!” Both JJ and Zep chime in.

She shakes her head. “No, you can stay here.”

They begin to whine, but she doesn’t care. “C’mon, Danneel. It’s not like you won’t be able to see them. They can help me finish a few things.”

A few producers and PAs watch her closely, waiting for her response. With all eyes on her, she caves in, grumbling a “Fine,” under her breath.

The kids jump in joy and hurry after me. Backstage was lined with Jensen’s favorite foods and desserts. All that was left was to finish the decorations and bring out the cake. Without having to be directed much, they pick up streamers and run them along the tables. They even blow up balloons and hang them where they see fit. Once we finish, I tell them my plan.

“Okay, so. I’m thinking you guys hide when Daddy comes in, and when everyone starts singing, you roll the cake out, surprising him. What do you think?” They nod their heads in agreement. Jensen’s PA comes in, quietly shouting that he’s coming. “Okay, kids, it's showtime! Go tell your mom to stand in the back so he doesn’t see her, and you guys wait by the cake.”

They run off, and I direct everyone to stand in a half circle, facing the direction Jensen will be coming from. After giving the final instruction, I turn around and wait. My heart pounds, excited to see his reaction. Everyone’s quiet, and we hear the laughter between the cast members coming off stage. It gets closer, and the curtain pulls back, revealing my groom-to-be.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” The crowd shouts, making Jensen jump.

His green eyes widen, and a grin grows. He looks around the room, and his gorgeous orbs land on me. His face says it all: He knew I put this together. That’s not all, Ackles. Everyone begins to sing to him, and he stands in amazement. I walk to the edge of the crowd and wave the kids out.

JJ pushes the cart with her dad’s favorite cake, and the twins walk beside her. His demeanor changes in shock, not expecting to see his offspring. She wheels it in front of Jensen, and the moment it’s in place, he pulls them in for a hug. Everyone watches in awe as they continue to sing. He glances toward me, tears welling in his eyes, having not seen them since Christmas.

My heart soars at the sight. They look so happy. He’d been feeling down lately, not only having gone so long without their presence but knowing their absence was to be expected on his birthday. And when JJ told me her New Year’s resolution was to see her dad more, I knew I had to make this happen. Seeing their reunion was a gift of its own.

I walk toward Jensen, settling my hand over his neatly trimmed beard as he extends his neck to kiss me. It was long and sweet, enough to make Zep cringe. We chuckle and pull away, ceasing our PDA. The traditional birthday song ends, and he blows out his candles. With his face still close, I push his head down, and it smashes into the frosting. Everyone laughs, some hooting and hollering, as they clap. He stands up, shocked that he hadn’t seen it coming before a laugh of his own comes out.

Nearly everyone snaps a picture of his cake-kissed face before he uses his tongue to clean the area near his mouth. Someone hands me a napkin, and before I can wipe him off, he grabs and holds me still. I squeal, but he shuts me up with his mouth, smearing the frosting onto mine. The crowd cheers, and he deepens the sugary kiss. We separate and clean each other’s faces off, but not in the way we would in private.

“All right, kids,” Jensen claps and rubs his hands together as the kids circle the chocolate sheet cake. “Dessert first!” They cheer, and Danneel comes out of the shadows to protest. He mutters, “I knew it was too good to be true,” before arguing back. “Hey, it’s my birthday, and as their father, I say let them eat cake!”

I roll my eyes, knowing he won’t be the one dealing with their sugar rush. Then again, it’s not like she would let me have them anyway, so to hell with her! She doesn’t put up much of a fight with everyone so close. Instead, she stomps away. Once she’s out of sight, I talk some sense into the man.

“Dad, are you sure that’s a good idea? ‘Cause if I remember correctly, you once told me that cake tastes soooo much better after eating food first.”

Understanding my hint, he nods. “You’re right. I did say that.”

“Did you make the food, Y/N?” His younger daughter asks.

“No, babe. Not this time,” They ‘awe’ in disappointment, but I assure them I will tonight. “For now, why don’t we eat some food from Daddy’s favorite restaurant here in L.A.?”

Bouncing at any chance to be closer to their father, they nod excitedly. The kids then run toward the table with the disposable eatware and grab their plates. Before I follow after them, Jensen pulls me into his chest.

“I can’t believe you did this for me.”

I turn in his arms and pull him closer. “Of course, baby. Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs, looking in the direction his ex-wife disappeared off to. “I guess it’s not something I’m used to.”

“Well, get used to it, birthday boy.”

Jensen gently cradles my face, tilting it up so our eyes meet. “I love you. So fucking much.”

“I love you more.” His lips attach to mine, keeping the kiss PG with our audience present. “Happy birthday, Jay.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. For everything. ‘This has been one of the best days I’ve had in a while.”

“You’re so welcome,” I press a quick peck to his luscious lips before tugging his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go feed our kids.”

He drapes his arm over my shoulder, drawing me close and planting a kiss on the crown of my head as we stroll toward the impatient children.

JENSEN ACKLES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

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JENSEN TAGS : @cheynovak, @deadlymistletoe, @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld, @kindollss, @juicyballsworld

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@tinas111, @deansbbyx

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO JAYS-BONNIE-ON-THE-SIDE

: do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or republish any of my works* on here or another platform

*beside my writing, my works include : all banners, dividers, and gifs that i use (which were made by me,) unless otherwise stated.

[poutysprouty]

Best Friend!Gojo

He inherited an empire built on power, wealth, and success, but you were always his crown—his greatest treasure. From the moment you became friends, he knew you were the only thing that made it all worth it. Nothing meant anything to him without you by his side. — In which reader has been Gojo's other half since high school.

warnings: Tooth rotting fluff. Gojo is now, and always has been, a menace.

a/n: Loosely inspired by all of the Nerdjo & College JJK AU's I've been seeing and consuming like they're the last food I'll ever eat in my life. I have ideas for some Sukuna ones next <3

Best Friend!Gojo who you’ve known since high school. Appropriately nicknamed “The Chaos Twins”, the two of you were always feeding off each other’s energy, causing trouble just because you could. 

Best Friend!Gojo who was the de-facto ringleader of your little duo, but everyone knew that you were the true mastermind—and the only one who could knock him down a peg when needed. Much to Geto and Nanami’s eternal suffering.

Best Friend!Gojo who realized in Junior year that he had a little crush on you. Watching you giggle, eyes alight with mischief as he helped you set up a prank for Yaga, he suddenly saw you in a different light—beautiful, brilliant, and so effortlessly you. Perfect for him in every way.

Best Friend!Gojo who felt his heart drop out of his ass when, in Senior year, you listed the colleges you were applying to, not a single one matching the Ivy League he had already been accepted into. The same one his father and grandfather had attended, the one he had assumed you’d be right there with him at.

Best Friend!Gojo who quite literally dropped to his knees and hugged your legs, dramatically begging you to apply to his school, only for you to sigh and murmur, “I won’t get in even if I tried.” It was one of the few times he’d ever heard you sound defeated, your fingers brushing through his hair like you already knew the outcome.

Best Friend!Gojo who refused to accept that, who convinced you to apply anyway, helping you with the entire process, flashing that smug grin and saying, “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

Best Friend!Gojo who was the first person you told when the acceptance letter arrived, who pulled you into the tightest hug, grinning like a fool, promising to take you out to celebrate.

Best Friend!Gojo who had a stupid, lovedrunk smile on his face, watching you scarf down fries in the passenger seat of his expensive sports car in the parking lot of some random fast food place that you loved, utterly satisfied while half-listening to you ramble on and on about how excited you were, because he’d made sure to pull some strings to make sure you got in, no matter what. Your place was beside him, always.

Best Friend!Gojo who made it his mission to be in all your classes in college, flashing that smug grin as he slid into the seat next to you like it was his birthright. In his mind, it was.

Best Friend!Gojo who was in your dorm more often than he was in his own, to the point you suggested the two of you look into student housing off campus together once you were eligible.

Best Friend!Gojo who dragged you to every party, claiming it was networking while you side-eyed him over your drink.

Best Friend!Gojo who had plenty of girls fawning over him, ready to do whatever he asked, but he only had eyes for you. And any time the two of you separated and another guy came up to chat with you? He was always reappearing by your side, as if he could sense some terrible disturbance in the world, scaring the poor guy off with a steely glare you had never seen him use on anybody else.

Best Friend!Gojo who helped you cram for exams, bribing you with your favorite snacks, only to fall asleep on your notes while you actually studied.

Best Friend!Gojo who, one late night in your dorm, finally blurted out, “I like you. Like, like you.” His usual confidence wavered just slightly, eyes searching yours for any hint of rejection.

Best Friend!Gojo who barely had a second to process before you smacked his arm, exasperated. “It took you long enough!”

Best Friend!Gojo who blinked, then laughed, bright and unfiltered, pulling you in by the waist and kissing you like he should have years ago.

Best Friend!Gojo who spent the rest of college by your side, making sure everyone knew exactly who you belonged to.

Best Friend!Gojo who swore up and down that you had to graduate together, refusing to let you slack off or fall behind—not that you would have anyway. He made it his personal mission to match your efforts, pushing himself just as hard as he pushed you.

Best Friend!Gojo who grinned ear to ear when your names were called, the two of you standing at the very top of your class, like he always knew you would.

Best Friend!Gojo who, the moment he got his diploma, grabbed you right there on stage, dipping you dramatically before crashing his lips against yours in front of everyone. The crowd went wild. The professors sighed. 

Best Friend!Gojo who only pulled away to smirk and say, “Had to make it official, sweets.” As if it weren't already official enough.

Best Friend!Gojo who, two years after college, dragged you on a spontaneous trip to Santorini, claiming he just needed a break from corporate nonsense; but you had a feeling something was up.

Best Friend!Gojo who, at sunset, stood with you on the beach overlooking the sea, fidgeting with something in his pocket, uncharacteristically quiet for once.

Best Friend!Gojo who suddenly dropped to one knee, pulling out a ring that sparkled almost as much as his eyes did when he looked at you.

Best Friend!Gojo who grinned up at you and said, “Took me long enough, huh?”

Best Friend!Gojo who barely got a chance to hear your answer before you tackled him into the sand, kissing him breathlessly, murmuring “About damn time.”

Best Friend!Gojo who planned the most extravagant wedding imaginable—but the only part that mattered to him was you, standing at the altar, saying yes.

Best Friend!Gojo who dipped you just like he did at graduation, kissing you like the world was watching.

Best Friend!Gojo who, years later, would still introduced you as “my wife” with the biggest, cockiest grin, like he had won the ultimate prize. And to him, he had.

Best Friend!Gojo who, only 3 years after he married you, sat at the head of his father’s company, grinning like he owned the world—because, well, he practically did.

Best Friend!Gojo who made damn sure you were right there with him, offering you a top position without hesitation. None of it mattered to him without you.

Best Friend!Gojo who strolled into your office, hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he smirked. “Told you we’d rule the world together.”

[folkwhoreberry]

Earned It, Owned It

dad!fernando alonso x daughter!reader

or... the one where there’s no shame in the name

word count : 956

warning : none, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : I love it by icona pop & charlie xcx

request

🥷🏻🇪🇸

the paddock was buzzing, as it always was on a race weekend. you had just finished checking over some final details in the garage when you were pulled aside by one of the media teams. it wasn’t unusual - being fernando alonso’s daughter came with a certain level of attention. you didn’t mind it, though. it was part of the job.

“just a quick interview?” one of the journalists asked with a smile that you knew was supposed to look friendly but carried a hint of something else. they always wanted more than just a quick chat, but you nodded anyway, knowing exactly where this was going.

you stood in front of the camera, adjusting your aston martin polo, and gave them a nod to let them know you were ready. the questions started easy, asking about the team, how preparations were going for the race, the usual pre-race chatter. you answered with the same professionalism you always did, keeping things light.

and then, it came.

“so, some people have said that your position here is thanks to… well, your father’s legacy in formula 1. what do you have to say to those accusations of nepotism?”

you couldn’t help but smirk. there it was. the question they were all waiting to ask. you could see the glint in the reporter’s eyes, hoping you’d squirm, hoping you’d try to defend yourself or make some grand statement about your qualifications.

but you weren’t about to give them that.

“honestly?” you started, your smirk widening. “yeah, I’m a nepo baby. no denying it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to take advantage of having a two-time world champion for a dad?” you shrugged, your tone light, completely unbothered. “I’m proud of it, honestly. got me here, didn’t it?”

the reporter blinked, clearly taken aback by your response. they hadn’t expected you to lean into it so hard. you could almost hear the gears turning in their head as they tried to figure out how to follow up.

“so… you admit that your father helped you get your position?” they pressed, clearly unsure of where this was going.

“of course,” you said with a laugh. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend that growing up around formula 1 didn’t give me an advantage. but here’s the thing - having connections might get you in the door, but it doesn’t keep you here. I work hard. I know my stuff. and if people want to focus on my last name instead of what I actually do, that’s their problem, not mine.”

you glanced to the side, noticing your dad approaching, clearly having overheard the last part of the interview. he had that signature fernando alonso grin on his face, the one that told you he was ready to stir the pot just a little bit more.

“am I interrupting?” he asked, stepping into the frame with you, his arm casually slung over your shoulder. “what’s going on here?”

“oh, nothing much,” you said, smiling at him. “just addressing the usual nepotism accusations.”

fernando raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “nepotism? ah, yes. my daughter, the nepo baby.” he said the term with a playful roll of his eyes. “is that what they’re calling you now?”

“apparently.” you shrugged, still grinning. “but I was just telling them I don’t mind. being a nepo baby’s not so bad.”

fernando laughed, looking directly into the camera now. “well, if being a nepo baby means you’re good at your job and work as hard as she does, then I guess I’ll take credit for it,” he said, giving you a proud look. “but really, she’s the one putting in the work. I just gave her the love of the sport.”

“so, you’re not concerned about the claims that your daughter only has her position because of your influence?” the reporter asked, clearly trying to stir things up between the two of you.

fernando chuckled, shaking his head. “not at all. I know how much she’s done to get here. I might’ve opened some doors, but she’s the one who walked through them - and keeps walking.” he gave you a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile at his response.

“besides,” you chimed in, “if I wasn’t good at what I do, I wouldn’t still be here. this is formula 1. it’s not exactly a place where you can coast by on your last name. my dad knows that better than anyone.”

fernando nodded in agreement. “exactly. you don’t stay in this sport unless you’ve got the skills to back it up.”

the reporter, clearly realizing they weren’t going to get the reaction they were hoping for, tried to wrap things up. “well, it’s clear you both have a strong bond. thank you for your time, and good luck with the race this weekend.”

you smiled, already moving to step away from the interview. “thanks, appreciate it,” you said, giving them a small wave before turning back to your dad.

as you walked away together, you could feel the eyes of the paddock on you, but it didn’t bother you. you were used to it by now. and honestly? you wouldn’t change a thing. you were proud of where you came from, proud of what you had achieved, and if people wanted to call you a nepo baby, so be it.

you’d own it - just like you owned everything else in this sport.

“you handled that well,” fernando said with a grin, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “i think you might’ve even thrown them off a bit.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “yeah, well, I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

“damn right,” he said with a wink. “now, let’s go get back to work.”

————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : little miss alonso is living my dream bc I want to be a nepo baby sooo bad