#considering the last owner was a kid

[fbwzoo]

Make that 2 days in a row for Ed eating arugula & bugs on his own, followed by willingly eating his syringe food!! He took almost the full 2cc today too, before he closed his eyes at the final offer.

He's been mostly really good at taking his pain meds too, he only fought it a bit last night. The rest of the time once I get his mouth open, I can shoot it in quick & he's fine. Hasn't even really black bearded over it at all!

He's such a good lil dragon. 🥺 We're all fully in love with him already.

[norikuna]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

[onewakingworld]

Twelve and a half hours until doors open for showcase I am vibRATING

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist 

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k 

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family. 

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash. 

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints. 

**

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

**

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping. 

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation. 

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face. 

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed. 

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

**

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!? 

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since. 

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example. 

**

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied. 

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile. 

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you. 

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

**

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake. 

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

**

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message. 

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound. 

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you. 

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face. 

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him. 

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…” 

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips. 

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement. 

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly. 

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered. 

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again. 

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed. 

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

[halsteadlover]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Lando Norris x Female!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: Lando and his obsession with TikTok trends almost got him in trouble.

• Warnings: none, just few curse words I think lol.

• Word count: 776.

• A/N: I know, I know I’m just posting fics based on trends but this is the last one I promise 😭

“Got it babe? On the count of three make an ugly face.” Lando stated after setting up his phone and press record. He was standing behind you, his girlfriend, his hands resting on your shoulders as you sat while putting on your makeup.

You looked at him skeptically through the phone’s camera, with a confused look on your face. He was trying to hold back his laughter, already imagining your reaction.

“Why?”

“It’s just a game,” he replied, leaving a kiss above your hair. “Okay on my three. One, two… Baby! I said on my three!”

You frowned, continuing to look at your boyfriend through the phone and he suppressed another laugh, knowing by your face you were already getting upset even though you hadn’t said a word about it yet.

“Babe come on you can do it. Again. One… Oh c’mon why do you keep doing it before my three?!” he exclaimed and you didn’t answer again but he immediately noticed how your expression shifted from confusion to sadness, your lips slightly curved downwards.

“What?” you sadly whispered as you turned your head towards him. “What do you mean? Am I ugly?”

Lando felt his heart break at the sight of your tear-filled eyes as you looked at him with that broken expression, almost making him kneel on the floor. “Oh no, no, no, no, my love, oh my god,” he babbled, immediately hugging you from behind and leaving numerous kisses at the top of your head.

He pulled away after a while and turned the chair so that you were face to face with him. He knelt down and cupped your face with his hands as his thumbs caressed your cheeks. “I’m so sorry baby, please forgive me. I just wanted to make a stupid trend, please don’t cry. You’re not ugly, you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on, you’re beautiful beyond belief please… I’m so sorry.”

He kissed your forehead, then your cheeks, your lips. “Please forgive me, oh baby I love you so much. I hate seeing you like this, I hate doing this to you. I swear to god I will never follow any stupid trends again… Fucking TikTok.”

“Can you cook my favorite dish tonight please?” you asked in a low voice.

“Of course baby, yes, whatever you want, I would buy you the moon if it made you happy. Please don’t cry, I’m so sorry.”

A bright smile appeared on your lips and you kissed him. “Thank you darling, I love you so much too.”

Lando let out a sigh relieved, even though you were just making fun of him. “You little… I thought I made you cry. Don’t ever do this to me again please, I though I was having a heart attack.”

You giggled and threw your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he hugged you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your hair. “I’m sorry love, but you deserved it.”

He kissed your neck. “Yeah I do… God I’m never watching TikTok again in my life.”

You laughed and he pulled away from you, cupping your face with his hands again. “You sure you’re okay? You know it was just for a video right? You’re… To say you’re breathtakingly beautiful is an understatement and I’m not even kidding. There’s no word I could use that would even begin to describe how gorgeous I think you are. You’re so fucking perfect baby and I don’t want you to doubt that for even a second.”

“Hey, hey it’s okay love,” you stroked his hair, brushing it off his forehead and smiling gently. “I was just messing with you, I know it’s just a trend since I’ve seen it a million times. I’m on social media too you know.”

He nodded. “Yeah I know, I know, I just didn’t consider the fact I could hurt your feelings and seeing you with that sad expression broke my heart, even if it was just a joke, I want to make sure you know I’m totally crazy about you and you’re perfect, okay?”

You laughed again and nodded before kissing him. “I’m really okay, I promise baby.”

“Seriously, I worship the ground you walk on, I would lick any surface you sit on, that’s how desperate I’m for you.”

“Ew Lando! You’re disgusting!” You exclaimed, loudly chuckling and playfully shoving him away, making him burst out laughing.

“Okay you’re laughing so I guess it’s really fine, but don’t think I’m joking baby,” he retorted as he stood up and stopped the recording and you fake gagged. “But what do you think about the dinner I promised you now?”

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[der7py]

Yandere Ceo x reader

Damien Sanchez. Easily one of the world'overs biggest ceo owners ever, owning nearly over 50 companies, and being married over 42 different times since he was 18. It was no shocker. He was incredibly crude and stuck up to all of his employees. But he's more soft towards you, little butterfly.

Warnings: Mature language, age gap, implied murder, work abuse, unfair amount of power in the work field, degradation, Slight babying if you squint, unfair treatment, favoritism

Working for the Damien Sanchez was definitely an opportunity you didn't want to pass! Even if all former and current employees were strongly advising against it.

You worked as a receptionist in one of his companies on the first floor. Apparently, each floor was something completely different than the last! But it was advised in the rules you mind your own business on your own floor.

You barely ever saw the boss. But it was fine! You made bank as a receptionist, so running into the boss wasn't really any of your concern. He probably wasn't even that bad!

That was until you heard a strong voice yelling at another employee from the 5th floor.

Apparently, his coffee wasn't brewed right, and that warranted him firing the employee on the spot. Soon, the elevator made a ding, and the big man himself stomped right over to you. You could've sworn all of the employees scattered like rats.

"You! Yes, you! Go brew me a dark coffee. None of that sweet stuff now get going or so help me god I'll fire you too!" You immediately ran to the closet coffee maker to make it for him. You had bills to pay!

You rushed back over with his coffee, where he was impatiently tapping his foot on the ground. You were surprised you didn't spill it everywhere, or fall straight on your face the way you practically threw it in his hands.

_______________________

He sipped his coffee, clearly taking his time while you squirmed under his gaze. Jesus, he really was intimidating with how fast your job could be on the line. "Mm... good job. What's your name?" He asked, raising a brow at you and your squirming figure. You immediately straightened up, letting out a silent sigh of relief. "Y/n Mr. Sanchez!" He nodded his head, snapping his fingers as he drank more of his coffee. "How unique. Anyways, you're moving up in the ranks, kid. 10th floor as my new assistant, get your bags." Without another word, he walked to the elevator and took it all the way back up.

Holy shit. Holy shit! Did you just get promoted?! This job was even better than what you thought! You wasted no time packing everything up and running to the elevator, a big grin on your face. You were eating good this week! As you checked your phone to tell your friends and family the good news, you forgot you had an article about your boss pulled up.

It was no surprise to anyone that your boss had been married 42 different times. You did admire him for his pull game, but figured he had bad luck. Maybe they were all gold diggers! But apparently, people had theories of what really was happening. All of his spouses mysteriously disappeared a few days after Damien and his newly wed spouse got married. Then he'd get all the inheritance money and whatever companies they owned, considering all 42 were rich. Some people were theorizing, he murdered them. Man people were crazy with their conspiracy theories.

But you remembered you never did see the old assistant leave the building.

_______________________

He liked how eager you were to take the new position as his assistant. Maybe you wouldn't fuck up as much as his old assistant. The old bastard could barely make a coffee for him.

You took your new role very seriously, and he appreciated that about you. Even if the other employees picked on you for being relatively young. They all disappeared anyway.

Over the few weeks, he found himself drawn to you. You were his little butterfly. So full of life unlike the other scum in all of his companies.

He made sure to be extra careful and lenient with you. Oh, you accidentally misfiled an extremely important file? Oh, it's fine, darling. He used to make that mistake all the time.

Oh, you spilled coffee on his brand new outfit? It's fine, little butterfly, he has the same outfit 5 times just in case.

But anytime, any other employee dare make a mistake as little as dropping a staple while he was walking? Fired immediately. What were they thinking? Idiots.

You never noticed how much more soft he was with you. And he was determined to keep it that way. He didn't want you getting hurt over any special treatment you definitely might be receiving.

He felt alive with you. Hell! Sometimes, he upped your pay just because you smiled at him! You really were a precious angel that needed to be protected. A butterfly with delicate wings.

Just quit researching about his past spouses' disappearances, or else he'll have to clip those pretty little wings before you fly too far and find out what really happened.

[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[majestyeverlasting]

Hellooo, can I please request a Joel miller x reader oneshot where the reader had a really bad day at work and she’s calling him from the bathroom crying and he immediately rushes to pick her up? 🥰🩷

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader 

Summary A disheartening setback at work leads you to call Joel, who always knows exactly what you need [fluff, 1.6k].

A/N Thank you so much for this request and your patience, anon! Really enjoyed writing this one.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Hi, are you busy right now?

A heavy exhale is freed from your chest the moment you hit send. It’s quiet in the bathroom except for the rhythmic drip of the leaky sink faucet. Muffled voices arise from the hallway as people pass by, some preparing to commute home. Warm tears stream down your cheeks. 

No sooner does your phone vibrate to life, a picture of you and Joel at McKinney Falls filling the screen. There isn’t much time to compose yourself before you press the accept button with a shaky thumb. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Got done early today, we’re cleaning up the site,” Joel greets, wind in the background. Tommy’s voice emits from nearby as well, followed by rowdy, cackling laughter. “Hold on a second, lemme get someplace quiet.” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

There’s shuffling on his end of the line that eventually subsides. It’s still worth clinging to even though he’s miles away. 

“Sorry about that. Everything alright?” Concern dances around the edges of his words. You can tell he’s trying to keep them from being consumed. 

After Sarah moved out for college, he’d gotten better at accepting that every phone call he received from her didn’t automatically mean trouble. Most of the time, she simply wanted to catch up now that she lived two hours away. 

However, the opposite was true between you and Joel. Nowadays, you spend so much time together that there’s seldom a need to talk on the phone. The fact that you were calling him, from work, no less, meant something was up. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, but it doesn’t do much for the wavering of your voice when you finally speak up again, “Just wanted to hear your voice.” 

Your subsequent sniffle makes him grow still. You can see it through the phone. It’s in the way he doesn’t immediately respond, gears undoubtedly turning in his head. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” There’s a gentle, almost melodic quality to his voice that makes you wish you could lay your head on his chest and feel the rumble of his words. 

“Today’s just been a lot,” you tell him. “You know Alexander, the Bulletin’s editor?” He makes a small sound of affirmation. “It wasn’t his decision, but he pulled me aside to let me know my feature has been put on hold for further revision.” 

Relaying the news makes fresh tears well in your eyes. Over the past few weeks, Joel has watched you pour yourself into each stage of constructing the story to do the subjects justice—the meticulous research, heartfelt interviews, and late nights perfecting every draft. 

It was a labor of love, a piece that sought to illuminate the struggles of longtime Austin residents, artists, and small business owners navigating the challenges of gentrification and displacement. 

“Something about it being redundant.” Which, for all you knew, could be higher-up code for we don’t want this stepping on the toes of donors with deep pockets.  

“You’re kidding,” Joel grouses, disappointed for you. 

You shake your head even though he can’t see you. “I wish I was,” you breathe. “Redundant, yet they’ve got room for age-old dieting tips and holiday gift guides every year,” you say, voice wavering. 

“I know, I hear you. I’m so sorry, baby,” he soothes, releasing a heavy sigh. “At least it hasn’t been canned entirely. That’s worth something.”  

He’s right, but it still feels like a slap in the face considering all the time invested. From you and everyone who shared their story. 

“It just sucks,” you sniffle. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and now I feel even worse.” A dull ache has settled in your temples. 

Shuffling arises on Joel’s end of the line again, and you remember that he’s still on site. 

“I’m sorry. You can go if you need to.” 

Instead, he comes back with, “Hang tight, okay? Gonna come get you.” 

When you bite your lip instead of responding, he keeps talking, “Should be there in twenty, give or take.” 

As appealing as it sounds to be whisked away, reality is quick to set in. 

“No, it’s fine, Joel. Tommy and the guys need you. I couldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t good for it,” he replies. 

•••

Outside, you’re met with a relaxed breeze and the dwindling warmth of downtown, where the sun eases towards the horizon. A few tourists mill around, men and women in business casual stride by with messenger bags. At Joel’s truck, which is parallel parked across the street, he gets the door for you. An 80s station plays low on the radio, Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run faintly recognizable. 

You watch as he rounds to the driver’s side in that relaxed stride you love. He looks handsome despite his mused hair and the specks of dried paint on his shirt. When he climbs in, you’ve taken notice of the ice-cold raspberry tea in the cupholder closest to you. 

Along the way, he’d stopped and gotten it from the cafe you and Sarah frequented whenever she was visiting from school. You only went alone as an occasional treat, but he knew how much you liked it. 

A smile buds on his face when you pick it up and take a grateful sip. There’s a softness to his gaze that makes warmth bloom in your chest. With him, even the little things seemed to say, I see you. 

When you extend the cup his way in a silent offer, he waves you off. However, curiosity gets the better of him after he pulls off the curb. “Guess a sip won’t hurt.”

For the first time in what feels like hours, you smile when Joel hums at the flavor. For a moment, it doesn’t feel like the world is ending anymore. When he places his hand on your thigh, you intertwine your fingers with his, and he gives your hand a squeeze. 

A comfortable silence settles between you. It isn’t until you’ve left downtown that Joel speaks up again, voice measured and sure, “Your story will get out. Those guys know good journalism when they see it, and they’re gonna have to run it.” 

You glance over at him, your lower lip caught between your teeth as hope kindles in your chest.

“Hell, I’ll make my own publication if that’s what it takes. The Miller Times.” 

A chuckle bubbles out of you, but you could cry at the same time. For an entirely different reason this time. 

“I could get in trouble for going to a different publisher,” you remind him, running your thumb over the back of his hand as a small smile plays on your lips. “I’m on staff.”  

“I know, honey.” Joel squeezes your hand, a playful glint in his eyes. “Admit it, though. You thought about it for a second. The Miller Times has a nice ring to it.” 

He can see you fighting against your growing smile. “It’s alright.” 

“I’ll take that,” he concedes. Then, a greater air of sincerity settles over him. “What’s that one saying—setbacks are setups for something better.” 

You nod, gazing out the window as you turn into his neighborhood. 

“Don’t let this weigh you down.” 

You felt worlds lighter with him. 

•••

The warm spray of the shower feels so good against your skin that you remain under it even after the day’s troubles have washed away. Three months ago, you would’ve had to use Joel’s body wash, but your products and belongings had since made their way here. Some, he bought because he knew you’d be around, and others—namely, clothes—that migrated from your apartment. 

The word home has lost its shape in that regard. Not in a detached way of not belonging in any one place, but in that Joel’s house had begun to feel like just as much of a home as your cozy one-bedroom a few miles away. 

When you finally step out of the shower, a towel wrapped around yourself, you can see straight into the bedroom, where Joel is stretched across the bed. The sound of the shower door closing prompts him to sit up with a low grunt. You offer a shy smile upon meeting his gaze. 

“Promise I’m not creepin’ around,” he says, standing to his feet. “Just wanted to see if your headache was gone. Can bring up some Tylenol if you need it.” 

“It’s fine. I feel better now,” you assure. With a satisfied nod, he turns to leave with the intent of giving you space, but stops in his tracks when you speak up again, “You’re allowed to creep around if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Joel saunters into the bathroom doorway, propping an arm against the frame. The motion causes his bicep to strain against the sleeve of his shirt. Getting to see you like this, the intimacy of it all, always makes him feel grateful and warm. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“You’re the boss,” you lilt.

With a low chuckle, Joel pushes out of the doorway and moves to stand behind you. You stare at your joint reflection as he rests his large hands on your hips, then leans down to press a delicate kiss to your bare shoulder. His frame is broad and rugged behind you, but his eyes are kind. 

When you rest your hands over his, he presses a second kiss to the crook of your neck. Then another just beneath your ear. His lips are so soft and warm against your damp skin that you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine and makes you press back into him. 

“I like you like this,” he whispers. “Relaxed…smiling.”

Now that you’re in his arms, it’s hard to imagine having stayed at the newsroom. With the meetings, chatty colleagues, and constant blue light. It’s quieter here with Joel. The world at large has disappeared while your smaller one keeps turning.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” you admit. 

But Joel did. He always did. 

-

Thank you so much for reading. Like, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all.

MORE

[a-b-riddle]

Runaway Love (kidnapper Price x captive reader)

cw: established kidnapping, violence, intimidation, unplanned pregnancy, miscommunicated threat of forced abortion, eventual Stockholm syndrome, housewife kink. Reader just accepts her situation at this point. Dub-con, non-con.

You couldn't think of anything except the pain that radiated with each step toward your room. You were lucky your work and home were the same place. It was incomprehensible, downright unbelievable how some of the other maids worked their shift and then either walked home or walked to the bus stop.

Granted, most of them weren't pregnant and had shoes that actually fit, but you didn't like to complain. You were lucky to have the job, even if it was back breaking. You had a roof over your head and although the pay was minimal, you were able to buy essentials and save up and with a baby on the way every penny saved counted.

Most importantly, you were free. You were safe and so was the baby. It had been the only reason that after almost a year, you had finally been brave enough to escape. Knowing that it would be hard to rebuild a life from scratch. Knowing that the consequences meant a punishment so severe you could only hope for death.

You had tracked your period religiously. Even with the stress of being held captive by a psycho military Captain, your cycles were fairly normal. So when you were five days off, you knew. In a moment in which you wanted nothing more than to be happy to finally be starting the family you dreamed about having as a little girl, fear enveloped you.

John had never mentioned kids. Only a wife. Someone to be at home waiting for him. Keeping the house in order and his bed warm while he was away.

All I need is you and the boys, Birdie. What more could a man want?

You considered telling him. Hoping that he would be as happy as you wanted to be. Yet anytime you came close to telling him over the next two weeks, horrible thoughts raced through your mind. What if he was angry? What if he blamed you even though he practically took you whenever he pleased? How would he terminate the pregnancy or would he be content in letting you give birth without any medical intervention and simply get rid of the baby after?

Would he just get rid of you altogether?

It was like the universe was telling you to run when shortly after you decided that telling him wasn't the answer, that he told you he was going on a mission. Won't be back for a couple of weeks. Sent the boys to pick up anything you'll need. I know you'll be good for me.

You had been good. For that last six months, you had behaved. Didn't pull away from his touch or put up a fuss. You lived in the epitome of domestic bliss, so John had no reason to send you down to the basement. Not when you had so many opportunities to try to escape and you didn't.

Granted, he had threatened to break your legs during your first and last stunt. You had been in the basement for three weeks. Living in near darkness as he brought all of your meals. You had been upstairs for about twenty minutes and barely made it to the door before he tackled you. Pinning you to the ground, breath hot against the back of your neck as he hissed in your ear. Ungrateful little brat.

Your apologies fell on deaf ears as he hauled you back down where you would stay for six weeks.

For months you built the relationship on a lie. A lie John deluded himself into believing. Anytime he told you he loved you, you repeated the words back. Wanting to scrub your body raw anytime he touched you and hating yourself anytime he made you come.

But it had been worth it. You were four months along, and given your ill-fitted clothes, not really showing, but knowing that in another five months you would be holding the baby you always wanted. A baby that you had went through hell for. Seeing his or her face for the first time, being their mom would be worth it.

You kept all of the lights off. It was a request of the motel owners to reduce their bills. So even if it was early December and you knew you would be walking back to a freezing room, they didn't give a shit. In truth, they were doing you a favor only charging you $400 in rent with unlimited access to their laundry services. You suppose having the pity of others did have its perks.

You hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights before pulling your shoes off your feet and plopping down on the bed. The grit and grim still felt thick on your skin, but you couldn't find the energy to care. You would shower and get on a fresh set of clothes you had gotten from the shelter when you first made it into the city, but for now you needed a moment. Just a few minutes to decompress.

A few minutes turned into five and then ten. Before you knew it, you had been laying in the bed floating in and out of consciousness for almost twenty minutes. You knew you needed to get up. Wash away the grime of the day that had settled on your skin. Your clothes smelling faintly of bleach.

Fuck you were tired.

You were always tired.

You got up and made your way to the bathroom, barely keeping your eyes opened. Not confident enough you would actually be able to take a shower without wanting to lay down in the tub and let all the strain of the day go down the train.

It's funny how the human body can make us teeter on the edge of sleep. We imagine things that may or not be there. But when you heard it, when you heard that voice coming from the corner of you room, you knew you weren't imagining anything.

"Wonderin' when you'd wake up."

[tk-duveraun]

LBH is SO NORMAL About Shen Yuan

Part 1/?

1 (here), 2

Based explicitly on @sunderwight 's idea here

System dialogue modified from the 7seas translation of svsss

-

Everything hurt. Considering the last thing Luo Binghe remembered was metal and glass flying everywhere thanks to a truck t-boning his car, pain everywhere was only to be expected. Less expected was the mobile phone ringing so loud it felt like it was inside his own head. No one should have their mobile in his hospital room. Not since he was taken in by his biological father, who was the very definition of more money than sense.

He opened his eyes a crack to see if he could glare at the phone's owner until they silenced it. The ringing stopped, but his eyes were assaulted by an electric-blue floating window out of some badly CGI-d scifi movie.

He had to blink a few times before his vision was clear enough to read the words.

[Activation Code: "Who wrote this? Knock-off Chat GPT fed only a twelve year old's wet dreams?" System automatically triggered.]

The fu— Luo Binghe's eyes snapped fully open to stare at the screen. Yes, he had been reading the latest update to "Intricate Rituals with my Shixiongdi" while his driver took him to his father's house, but—

[Welcome to the System. This System operates in lie with the design concept "YOU CAN YOU UP, NO CAN NO BB"; we hope to provide you with the best possible experiene. It is our sincere wish that during your time, you can fulfill your desires and, in accordance with your wish, transform a stupid work into a magnifcent, high-quality, first-rate classic. We hope you enjoy.]

My wish? Luo Binghe went cold, then hot, adrenaline flushing through his body. I can finally wife Shen Yuan? He wanted to cry, to scream, but he was still saddled with enough pain that even the adrenaline didn't give him much energy to get up and run off his excitement.

"Ah, Shixiong is awake. Good," a voice came from his right.

Luo Binghe agonizingly turned his head away from the blue screen and saw an older teenager in neat hanfu and a starched apron standing next to him. The teen had a handbound book folded open and was holding a stick of charcoal.

"How is Shixiong feeling?"

"Hurts." Luo Binghe said. His voice was rough and his throat felt like he'd swallowed every shard of glass from his windshield. He tried wiggling his hands and feet and found the movement easy, if excruitiating.

"Mmm, to be expected given the severity of Shixiong's qi deviation." He reached out and took Luo Binghe's wrist. Having his arm moved hurt as much as moving it himself. It felt like being injected with saline to have his meridians checked or whatever the trainee healer was doing. "But Shixiong's system has stablized nicely. One of this shidi's seniors will be by to release you to Qing Jing Peak with the next…" The teen glanced at something outside of the room and finished, "half shichen."

"Thanking Shidi," Luo Binghe croaked. So it was confirmed: he had transmigrated into IRS. Had transmigrated into Shen Yuan's own peak. And as a disciple, if he was the same generation as this kid. Was he part of Shen Yuan's cohort? His heart thumped at the thought.

IRS was an excrutiating mess of will-they, won't-they between the protagonist, Shen Yuan, and his ever-increasing bevy of admirers. It was a mess with character growth and subplots dropped in favor of introducing another man in love with Shen Yuan's poise and genuine goodness. If Luo Binghe was part of Shen Yuan's cohort of disciples, he could cut through ninety percent of the garbage and save his beloved the indignities of countless 'wardrobe malfunctions' and plants with extremely dubious tentacles.

The teen — a Qian Ciao disciple — nodded politely. "Luo-Shixiong would be wise to consult with Shen-shibo before resuming normal cultivation."

A klaxon went off between Luo Binghe's ears even before the blue screen returned to his sight with a merry jingle.

[This system was sucessfully actuvated! Bound Role: Shen Yuna's demonic student, Luo Baixiao. Weapons: Amature Spiritual Cultivation, Demonic Cultivation (locked), Demonic Abilities (locked). Starting S-points: 100.]

Luo Binghe's mind raced with swear words in a rainbow of languages. He finished with an emphatic kurwa.

[You have triggered the System's execution command and have been bound to the Luo Baixiao account. As the plot progresses, various point types will gradually become available. Please ensure that no score falls below zero, or the System will automatically mete out punishment.]

What kind of shit luck. Luo Baixiao was boogie man of the entire second half of IRS, used as a punching bag by Shen Yuan's various suitors to show off. It was stupid, senseless! How was Luo Baixiao so powerful that he never died, yet so weak he was constantly defeated by the man of the week? Why did he start as Shen Yuan's student only to disappear after a few chapters only to return as a villain?

It made no sense!

Luo Binghe — Baixiao now, he supposed — bared his teeth at the empty room. Actually, that was weird. Who did that? Was that a demonic instinct from his new body? He'd have to do some intense examination and introspection when he could move his limbs without wanting to curl on the floor and whimper.

He was supposed to be Shen Yuan's worst nightmare? Well that whole plot could kindly fuck itself. Luo Binghe knew exactly how Shen Yuan's squirrely mind worked and he was going to slot himself irremovably from his shizun's life while the suitors of the week failed in attempt after courting attempt.

[Warning,] the System warned, flashing again before his eyes. [This proposed plan is incredibly dangerous and qualifies as a violation. Please do not attempt or the system will automatically mete out punishment.]

"What do you mean dangerous? Shen Yuan would never hurt one of his disciples, let alone one that made his life easier," Luo Binghe asked inside his mind.

[Currently, you are at the beginner level, and the OOC feature is frozen. You must complete a beginner-level quest to unfreeze it. Before unfreezing, any act in violation of the original Luo Baixiao character settings will result in a deduction of a fixed number of S-Points.]

"You must be joking," Luo Binghe deadpanned. "Disciple Luo appeared in three chapters. I managed the wiki. He didn't have a characterization at this point."

[This System utilizes all resources in defining characters.] Okay, that meant nothing. So it was going to pull characterization out of its ass and hold him to it? [To aid user, multiple reply options will be given during critical dialogue. User may complete side-quests to unlock Luo Baixiao character motivations. For now, review the complementary character sheet.]

Luo Binghe wasn't really much of a gamer, but the character sheet displayed by the System was pretty basic. Strength, endurance, charisma… It also listed the same 'weapons' the System initially told him about. Near the bottom right it said simply: Internally cold and resentful, externally polite and aloof. Thanks, System.

[User is welcome (✿◡‿◡)]

He was going to have another qi deviation.

[pixelnrd]

Now that they were in Henford, Mac needed to figure out where to search next. They could feel the trail going cold for the first time, unsure of where Margot and Alexandre had come from before their marriages - but they had noted Margot's maiden name, 'Brown'.

Perusing the war memorial situated in the center of town felt like the first clue. They couldn't find anyone by the surname of Dreyfus - but for Brown, there were a few: Bernard, Cecil and Douglas.

Burying themselves in miliary records online, Mac came across the service records for each of the young men listed on the statue. Bernard and Brown - both killed in battle in 1942. Could either of them have been Margot's father, killed when she was young, leaving her a fatherless child?

Then there was Douglas Brown - respected military officer, with marriage records to Joan Eastman. Could this have been Margot's father? Mac felt like they could never know which of the three brothers it was. It was frustrating to have come this far.

The best they could find, however, was a listed address for the deceased boys Bernard and Cecil. A farm, situated in the township of Henford. Mac decided to pursue the address. It was the only clue they had. Maybe they could find out more about where these young men came from.

Mac walked up the long driveway to the beautiful old farmhouse sitting atop the hill. It had clearly been lovingly taken care of for many years by someone. They knocked on the door nervously, hoping that the owner would be amicable.

The man who opened the door was an elderly but friendly farmer, who invited Mac inside almost immediately when they told him of their quest to discover their family history. The inside of the farmhouse was tastefully curated and had been clearly well-preserved.

'This is my kid,' said the farmer, as they walked into the house. Mac was greeted by a person of similar age to them. 'They're home for the holidays to help their old man.'

'Hi, I'm Hugo,' they smiled. Mac smiled back. 'So, are you both part of the Brown family?' they asked.

'Oh no...' said Hugo. 'Our family name is Stratford. I don't actually think we know anyone by Brown at all.'

'Actually...' interjected Hugo's father. 'Perhaps there could be some history worth considering.' He went to a drawer and pulled out a pile of old papers. 'This farm has been in my family for many generations now. But the last time it was sold was in 1946. Maybe these deeds for sale will have what you're finding?'

Mac looked at the dusty yellow papers, reading through the fine handwriting, and gleaned some hope for what they were looking for. There, in the transaction sale for the land, was the name of the previous owner: Theodore Brown.

It was something. A name to go on for next - this Theodore Brown, owner of the farm, father of three sons, only one of whom survived. Their next clue!

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:09」 — k.seungmin

» stray kids menu | seungmin menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ fallen angel!Seungmin × fem!Reader wc: 4.5k summary: His fall from grace had been due to his hard headedness and Seungmin’s status as a fallen one never really crossed his mind. At least until he met Y/N. He’d been dejected and grown disillusioned with life but upon meeting her, he started to see some meaning to life again. To put it simply -- Y/N made him feel alive. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: past bodily harm (seungmin had his wings literally cut off), not-so-high-speed collision of person on a bike with an angel (Y/N runs Seungmin over with a bicycle lol), one baseball reference (cause I couldn't help myself), past crime life/criminal activity (glosses over it but its there); sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is closed! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: i thought about revisiting vampire!Seungmin for kinktober but I changed my mind for fallen angel Seungmin. I like the direction I went with this and I tried to keep the wordy bits down so it wouldn't be too long. So far I've written a total of 45k for kinktober not including this piece so, words are wordin'. anyway, next piece is Yunho which I am very excited for so stick around! thank you for reading. if you liked this, pls consider reblogging so more people will see it and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), impact play (f receiving; spanking, pussy slapping), begging, unprotected sex (use condoms! ):< ), oral (f receiving, m receiving), fingering (f receiving), use of pet names (hers: kitten, baby, angel; his: Minnie, sir), dom!Seungmin, sub!Reader, and that should be everything but if I missed some, let me know! kinks: Impact play + begging dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Oh no. Not until you beg. ❜❜

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

Falling from heaven is not as graceful or as ethereal as one might think.

For Seungmin, it was painful, bloody, and nightmarish. The process is one no one could ever fathom. Being cast down from all you’ve known, thrown into a cruel, dark world with nothing and no one. The only thing more painful was having his wings removed. Even now, years since then, he could still feel the burn of the hot steel as it sliced through tendon and flesh.

When he first arrived on Earth, Seungmin had nothing. He had his name and his memories but a drive to survive and so he did, albeit not by the most legitimate of ways and he did fall into the wrong crowd but it was so much easier to climb the social ladder of the underworld than to try things the proper and legal way. After all, he didn’t even have a social security number, a line of credit, or even a last name.

Seungmin realized he was caught in the wrong crowd when the hideout he was in was raided. He barely managed to get away and broke into a convenience store to hide from the cops. He was confronted by the owner and instead of alerting the authorities to his location, the man took him in, giving him a place to live and a job.

It wasn’t much but it was something and it allowed Seungmin to start over. His old crew were all rounded up and seeing as no one knew who Seungmin actually was, they were never able to turn him in. He was safe. For now.

Seungmin ended up taking the last name of the man who took him in, a man who simply went by Mr. Kim, and came to regard him almost as a father figure. Mr. Kim owned a small convenience shop off the beaten path. Seungmin was given a room in the small apartment above the shop where Mr. Kim lived alone. 

His life had gone quiet but a sort of disquiet had settled over him, not knowing where he was going or what he was going to do with his life. He simply was going through the motions of life.

Until he met you.

You had come crashing into his life. Quite literally.

He’d been walking down the sidewalk on a particularly gray and gloomy day, running errands for Mr. Kim, when he heard a high pitched scream. It wasn’t a scream of terror or fear. It was more like a shriek of excitement. It was playful in nature.

Seungmin didn’t have time to even respond when he heard a voice screaming at him to move out of the way. He turned, finding someone on a pink bicycle hurtling towards him. “BRAKES! HIT THE BRAKES!” someone had cried but despite the brakes being squeezed, you still managed to crash into him.

It wasn’t like you were going all that fast, but it was enough to knock the wind out of him as you toppled off the bike onto him, pinning him to the sidewalk as the bike flipped over without your weight on it. You let out a groan, pushing yourself up and glancing towards the mangled heap that was your bike.

Seungmin stared up at you, blinking as he tried to process exactly what just happened.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “I’m so sorry!” You quickly scrambled up, pulling him into a sitting position. You panicked, inspecting him all over, asking a plethora of questions. 

“What hurts?!” Nothing.

“Are you bleeding?” No.

“Did you hit your head?” Yes.

Your introduction to him was as violent as they come but his life completely turned around after meeting you. He finally had someone else to talk to. Someone he could spend time with outside of the convenience store and upon meeting you, Mr. Kim urged him to spend more time with you.

Your friendship grew, blossoming naturally over a short period of time and after knowing you for nearly a year, Seungmin couldn’t imagine his life without you.

You were vibrant, full of life, eccentric, and ecstatic about everything. You never seemed to have a bad day in the entire time Seungmin knew you and he found your optimism a refreshing new outlook that he started to adopt into his own life.

Of course, while you were very bright, bubbly, and vivacious, you were also extremely bratty. Seungmin often had to argue with you about things he thought he’d never have to argue with anyone about. Making sure you took medicine when you were sick was a chore and Seungmin came to realize you were only a brat because it pushed his buttons.

Especially today.

Mr. Kim had given him the day off and so he was at your place, a cute little studio apartment on the 14th floor of your building. It had an exposed brick exterior wall and floor to ceiling windows that spanned almost the entire wall. Outside the window was a fire escape where you had lots of plants as well as smaller potted plants sitting in the window. Your bed was sectioned off with a large cube storage unit and sheer curtains.

The living area was small and cozy with a flat screen television, a cream colored loveseat with lots of blankets and pillows. A coffee table that doubled as a dining table stood between the couch and the media center where you kept your gaming consoles and collection of games and movies.

The kitchen was also small. White cabinets hung on the walls where you kept your dishes. An island with a sink separated the kitchen from the living area and at the bar of the island stood three bar height chairs. Seungmin had arrived early, bringing food and drinks but they had long run out and you were whining at him to get more.

He sat on your couch, feet resting on the coffee table despite your insistence to remove them. You sat on the other cushion, next to him, wrapped up in your favorite blanket. Seungmin had arrived as you were opening your windows, saying it was a nice day out — it wasn’t, it was freezing — and that you and your plants needed the fresh air.

Despite insisting it was a nice day, you had immediately wrapped yourself in your blanket and curled up next to him on the couch, sapping the warmth from his body, not that he exactly minded. You had exhausted your movie library, picking the things you either hadn’t seen in a long time or at all which wasn’t much. 

Streaming services didn’t provide much of a difference in options so for the last hour, you’d been playing games on your phones, showing each other silly videos while enjoying the other’s presence. You’d finally grown bored of your game and were now pestering Seungmin into leaving to go get more snacks and drinks. 

“Why don’t we get food instead?” he asked as his little avatar died on screen and he shut the game off. “I think we need actual food, Y/N,” he added, locking the screen of his phone and turning his head to look at you. The urge to smile came over him because you looked sort of ridiculous wrapped up in your blanket so only your face was showing.

“But I don’t wanna!” you protested. “That means I have to get up.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes, throwing his head back against the back of the couch. “You’re so impossible,” he sighed before getting up with a groan. “Come on,” he said, holding his hand out. You shook your head, pulling your blanket tighter around you.

“Yah,” Seungmin said, giving you a playful but stern glare. “Get up,” he said, moving to stand in front of you, towering over your seated form. You shook your head wordlessly, staring up at him. He grabbed your blanket, tugging at it in an attempt to get you to listen. “No!” you squealed as he tried to pull the blanket harder. “You’re gonna rip it!”

Seungmin tugged harder. “Then let go so it doesn’t rip,” he countered. You glared at him. “It’s my blanket!” you reminded him. Seungmin tugged harder and you could have sworn you heard the material start to rip and so you let out a panicked whine and let go, allowing Seungmin to pull the blanket away.

“Alright,” he said, wading up the blanket and throwing it onto your bed. “Let’s go!”

You shivered, your once warm skin now exposed to the cool air filtering in from outside. “It’s cold!” you whined, curling in on yourself. Seungmin rolled his eyes and walked over. “Then get up and get changed,” he said, holding out his hand. You hesitated before taking his hand and then quickly tugging him towards you.

Unprepared, he lost his balance and fell onto the couch on top of you as you giggled, immediately hugging onto him like a koala. “So warm,” you murmured. Seungmin groaned trying to pull away from you but unsuccessfully. It wasn’t like you were all that strong, he just liked to indulge in some skinship with you from time to time.

“Okay,” Seungmin said. “You warm?” he asked. You nodded, smiling contentedly at him. “Good,” he said softly. “Now get up.” He tried again to pull away but you whined, holding onto him tighter so when he tried to get up, you moved with him.

“Y/N,” he scolded. “I’m not going to ask again. Get up.”

You looked up at him and he could see it before you even replied. A defiance in your eyes. 

“Make me.”

He didn’t know if it was because of your continuance to press his buttons mixed with the obvious tension between the two of you, but your resistance and disobedience made something in him snap. He quickly pulled your arms from around his neck, pinning you under him on the couch.

Your giggles died immediately as he leaned over you. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him. This was a side of him you hadn’t seen before nor had he planned on sharing but you really, really liked to push his buttons. 

Seungmin hesitated as he looked down at you, assessing whether or not he’d taken things too far but the look in your eyes, while being one of surprise, was also a look of eagerness and he could tell then that you wanted this as much as he did. 

He leaned in closer, testing your reaction, wondering if he should stop and when your eyes dipped down to look at his lips, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours for the first time. 

Your stomach fluttered as his lips moved against yours. It was entirely new but it felt completely right. Your lips parted at the same time, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You let out a soft moan, muffled by his mouth, as his thigh pressed against your cloth covered crotch.

Seungmin pulled away, lips ghosting over your ear. “Do that again,” he whispered, pressing his thigh against you again. You muffled your moan, biting into your bottom lip. Seungmin scoffed as he reached up, using his thumb to gently pull your lip from between your teeth. “You’re such a brat.”

You opened your mouth to respond and at that exact moment, he grinded his thigh against you, making you whimper. “It’s so much nicer when you listen to me,” he sighed, nuzzling into your neck. He let go of your wrists, moving his hands down to your sides.

“Are you still going to be a brat and fight me or are you gonna let me make you feel good?”

You whined in response as his hands cupped your chest over your shirt. “I take it that’s a yes?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. You nodded eagerly. Seungmin let out a low chuckle, hands sliding down your stomach until he could curl his fingers under the waistband of your shorts.

“Then these need to come off,” he murmured, pulling them down slowly past your thighs as you lifted your hips. He discarded them on the floor behind the couch, eyes drinking in your naked lower half. “Lace?” he asked, looking up from the crimson material to meet your gaze.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown as he moved his hands up your thighs towards your hips. “Be honest,” he said as he leaned over, pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Did you wear these for me?” You giggled as his tongue traced a line up your skin. “No,” you giggled. Seungmin pulled away with a slight frown.

“You mean you just wear these for no reason other than to wear them?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded silently, letting out a gasp when Seungmin delivered a sharp smack to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t lie to me,” he snapped.

“You don’t wear anything uncomfortable for long periods of time without a purpose,” he continued. “You told me so yourself.” A small smile spread across your face as you looked up at him, hands still resting by your head where he left them. “You always listen to everything I say?” you asked as his eyes wandered back down to the red material that barely covered anything.

“Yes,” he said simply, moving his hands up your sides, pushing the hem of your shirt up to just under your breast. He met your gaze once more. “Are you wearing a matching set?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy. You giggled, shaking your head. His eyes narrowed. “If you’re lying to me, there will be consequences, you know that, right?” he asked. You nodded. “I know.”

Seungmin held your gaze as he pushed the shirt up over the swell of your breast, exposing the incriminating evidence of your red lace bralette. He made a tsk sound as his eyes fell to your chest, taking in the sight of the red contrasting with your skin, your nipples visible through the sheer material. He looked back up to meet your gaze. “You lied to me, again,” he muttered.

You watched with excited eyes as he sat back on his heels, looking down at you. “I told you there would be consequences,” he added. “I know,” you said softly. Seungmin sighed as he shifted on the couch so he was sitting before holding out a hand for you to take. “Are you going to be good and take your punishment or am I going to have to force you?”

You took his hand, allowing him to pull you up and over his lap so you were lying on your stomach. You felt one of his hands move to your ass, fingers skimming over the lace as he inspected the sight. His other arm held you down. One of his fingers slid under the material of your panties, sliding it over to expose your cheek.

“I want you to count,” he said softly as his hand returned to your bare cheek. “How many?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder. Seungmin looked up from your ass, meeting your eyes with his. He had a dark look in them, something that both excited and sent a chill down your spine.

“Until I say so.”

By the time Seungmin finally did tell you to stop counting, your ass was sore. The skin burned and your body was aching, as was your cunt. You needed release and you were practically dripping. “Seungmin,” you whined. “I need release.”

Seungmin scoffed, moving his hand to pull your panties aside while he traced your folds with two fingers, spreading them slowly. The cool air against your hot cunt felt both foreign but oddly wonderful. “So needy,” Seungmin murmured, sliding the tips of his fingers between your lips, gathering your wetness before slowly pushing them into your hole.

You let out a pornographic moan, the sound resonating around the apartment. Seungmin felt his cock twitch in his pants, straining against the material of his underwear and aching to be freed. ‘Not yet,’ he told himself. ‘Not until Y/N proves she can behave.’ 

You moaned loudly as he pumped his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt, lightly scissoring them and curling them against your walls. “Seungmin. More,” you gasped, making him chuckle. “More?” he asked. “I have two fingers stuffed in you and that’s not enough?”

You shook your head as he sped up. He delivered a sharp smack to your sore ass. “Words, kitten,” he cooed. “N-no!” you stammered. “No you don’t want to use words?” he asked. “No!” you said quickly. “It’s not enough! I need more!” you clarified. Seungmin shook his head. “Such a greedy little baby.”

He obliged, giving you a third finger, opening you up to take his cock easily but he wasn’t about to give it to you that quickly. Your moans grew in pitch and volume as he fucked you with his fingers. He could feel you start to shake, your walls clenching rhythmically around him. “Don’t you fucking cum yet,” he growled, pulling his fingers from your hole, making you whine in protest.

“But Minnie!” you complained. He nudged you, signaling you to sit up. “Do you want me to fuck you here, on your couch, or over there,” he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards your bed. “Where I’m sure it’s much more comfortable.”

You grumbled softly as he got up, grabbing your hand and all but dragging you over to the bed, stepping up onto the small platform upon which your bed stood.

He turned your back towards the bed, moving his hands to quickly strip you of your shirt and bralette. “Sit,” he instructed but you didn’t listen, instead trying to pull at his clothes. He grabbed your hands, bringing your wrists together to hold with one hand and grabbing your chin with the other.

“If you don’t listen to me, I won’t let you cum at all, understand?” You nodded quickly and as soon as he let go, you sat on the bed, looking up at him. “Good, kitten,” he said, cupping your chin, moving his thumb to brush over your bottom lip. “I need you to do something for me,” he said, moving his hands to undo his buckle. “And then I promise I’ll make you feel really good”

You nodded, keeping your eyes locked on his as he unzipped his pants. “Do me a favor and put that mouth to good use, yeah?” he asked, pushing his jeans down past his hips. Your eyes roamed down his body, taking in the outline of his hard cock behind the dark blue color of his underwear. 

You could see it was straining against the fabric, begging to be freed. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached to pull the front of his boxer briefs down. Seungmin quickly grabbed your hands, stopping you. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, the dominant persona he’d taken on dissipating for a moment as he gave you a look of concern. You nodded, giving him a smile.

“Just nervous,” you whispered. He caressed your cheek gently. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he said softly. “It’s just me.” You nodded, swallowing thickly as you returned your attention to the task before you.

Your fingers snuck under the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down in one swift motion and freeing his cock. You stared at it in awe, saliva starting to pool in your mouth at the sight of it bobbing before you. Wrapping your fingers around the base of the shaft, you looked up at Seungmin for confirmation to keep going. He merely nodded, watching as your lips parted and you gave the tip of his cock a kitten lick. He let out a hiss but was unable to catch his breath as you immediately went back in, tongue swirling around his cockhead.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut as your mouth enveloped his cock, taking it as far as you could in one go. “You’ve done this before,” he groaned as you pulled back, cheeks hollowing as you sucked. Seungmin let out a sigh as you took him back into your mouth, the tip of his cock barely brushing the back of your throat.

“Keep going, baby,” he murmured, resting his hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer. You gagged as the head of his cock tried to push into your throat. “Shit,” he gasped as he let go and you pulled back, coughing. “Sorry,” he murmured. “We can stop if you’d — oh fuck!”

His words were cut off when you took his cock back into your mouth, keeping your hand firmly wrapped around the base as you started to bob your head, taking everything up until you hand. Seungmin let out a choked moan, throwing his head back as you continued to suck him off, now moving your hand as you pulled back.

You let his cock fall from your mouth, continuing to stroke him quickly. Too quickly. He had to stop you before he came. He didn’t want to cum on your face or chest or in your mouth. “S-st-stop,” he stammered, moving his hand to try and grab yours but missing. “Y/N,” he said, a little more firmly. “Baby, stop.” You finally looked up at him, hand stalling but his cock still firmly in your grasp.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked as he pulled your hand off him and slowly knelt down at the edge of your bed. “No,” he murmured, pulling you into a kiss. “You were perfect. I just wasn’t ready to finish,” he added. “Lay back,” he instructed.

As you laid back against the soft material of your comforter, Seungmin took that opportunity to rid himself of his clothes. You started to scoot back towards the middle of the bed but he stopped you. “Here,” he said softly. “I want your ass hanging over the edge of the bed.”

You pouted at him. “But I’ll fall,” you protested. He shook his head as he knelt down. “Just trust me, angel. Do as I say or am I going to have to punish you again?” You shook your head, moving until your hips were hanging off the edge of the bed. You watched as he slipped your panties off before he shrugged your legs over his shoulders, his hands grabbing your hips and holding them in place as he licked his lips.

“Minnie,” you cooed, reaching down to comb your fingers through his dark hair. He looked up at you, his dark gaze meeting yours and making a fresh wave of arousal course through you. “Can’t you just fuck me?” you asked as sweetly as possible. Seungmin chuckled, shaking his head. “No,” he answered. You frowned at him. “Why not? You’ll find I’m more than ready to take it,” you answered.

Seungmin merely chuckled again. “No,” he answered again. “I want a taste first.” 

The words on the tip of your tongue died as you felt him spread your folds and his tongue run from your hole to your clit. The moment his tongue met the nub, he sucked on it, making your thighs involuntarily try to close around his head but he moved his hands, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold them open and keeping you firmly in place.

You were left to the mercy of his tongue as his mouth ravaged your clit. One of your hands moved to grab the bedding by your head in a tight fist while the other combed through Seungmin’s hair, grabbing a handful of the locks. Each time he flicked his tongue, your body jerked and you cried out. 

“M-Minnie. M’gonna cum!”

Seungmin pulled back and you whined only to receive a slap to your pussy which made you gasp, thighs twitching. “You don’t cum until I say so, understand?” You nodded quickly, your orgasm slowly slipping away. Seungmin’s mouth returned, attacking your clit with quick flicks of his tongue until the sensation started to rise again, tension building in your stomach.

“Minnie, I’m close,” you warned him. “Hold it back,” he retorted. “Don’t make me punish you again.”

You bit your tongue, trying to will away the tension and the building orgasm. “I-I don’t think I can,” you sobbed. Seungmin pulled back, delivering another slap to your sex. “Such an impatient and greedy kitten,” he snapped. “Can’t even wait a minute more.”

“Just fuck me then,” you retorted. Seungmin scoffed, almost mockingly. “Oh no,” he said, landing another slap on your clit. “Not until you beg.” You whimpered. If that was all he needed, you could do that. “You should have just said so,” you gasped. “Please Seungmin. Please give me your cock. I want it. I need it.” 

“You need it, huh?” Seungmin asked, brushing his fingers over your clit languidly. He wasn’t trying to bring you to climax, simply giving you some friction while he listened to you. 

“How bad do you want it?”

“I want it so bad, please,” you sobbed. “I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do everything you say but please Minnie, please fuck me.” You needed him inside you so bad and you weren’t above begging if that’s what he wanted you to do. “One more time,” he cooed. “What do you want?”

“I want your cock, Seungmin. I want you to fuck me!” you snapped. Seungmin moved quickly, letting your legs fall back as he climbed over you. “Middle of the bed, on your hands and knees, now,” he growled. You scrambled to get up, moving into place and presenting yourself to him. He kneeled behind you, hands grabbing your ass and kneading.

“I’m going to fuck you how I want to,” he started as he leaned over your back, the tip of his cock brushing against the inside of your thigh. “If it’s too much for you, say ‘pitcher’s mound,’ understand?” he asked. You nodded. A smack rang out as he landed a slap to your ass over the same side he’d made sore earlier.

“Words, kitten. We use our words,” he snapped. “Yes, sir!” you gasped out, your backside burning. He gently ran his hand over the spot soothingly. “What do you say if you need me to stop?” he asked, leaning over your back and whispering in your ear. “Pitcher’s mound,” you replied softly. You felt him press a tender kiss to your shoulder. “Good,” he cooed.

You felt the tip of his cock press against your entrance and without any resistance, he pushed into you. Once the head was firmly lodged inside you, he snapped his hips, pulling you back to meet his thrust and filling you with one stroke.

You cried out in both pleasure and pain as he buried his cock to the hilt inside you. Seungmin still, thumbs rubbing circular patterns into your skin as he held your hips. He waited for the spasming of your walls to cease before he pulled back, giving you a shallow thrust which made you moan softly.

“Any pain?” he asked quietly. “No,” you replied, shaking your head. “Good,” Seungmin said simply, tightening his hold on your hips. “Remember your safeword,” he reminded you. 

“Cause I’m not stopping until you’re screaming.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[holylulusworld]

BFG (3)

Summary: He’s new to town and just your type…

Pairing: Reacher x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: size kink, flirty reader, objectification of Reacher, language, violence, flirting, fluff, mentions of animal cruelty / eating dogs (nothing happens!), slow burn continues

A/N: Please consider that I do not follow the exact storyline of season one. Some characters known from the show may appear.

Catch up here: BFG (2)

BFG masterlist

“The front door is fixed,” Reacher says as he walks into your kitchen to gulp down a huge glass of water. “I checked on the backdoor too and fixed it. I’ll take care of the fence when I’m back.”

“Reacher,” you sigh. “You don’t have to fix my house or the fence. I invited you to stay here for free. And after you handled KJ so well, I owe you.”

“He owed you respect,” he says and places the glass he used into the sink. “I don’t like men treating women like that. You deserve respect, and to be treated right.”

If you weren’t already head over heels for him, you’d have lost your heart to Reacher at that very moment. “You are very well-behaved. A gentleman.” You eye him up and down and bite your lower lip.

“My mom taught me to respect women and to use my strength only to do good,” he shrugs. “I only hurt people deserving to get hurt. He disrespected and harassed you.”

“Your mom was a wise woman,” you step toward Reacher to grab his hand. “She raised a righteous man. I wish I could meet her to thank your mom.”

“She’s—” his voice cracks. You already knew that she must’ve passed away from the way he talked about her, and the sadness in his eyes. “I think she would’ve liked you.”

“Hmm…moms always like me,” you grin. “Because of my charming personality and the pie, I make.”

“I bet they do,” he gives you a half smile. “Your pie is the best I ever ate.”

“Now you try to get more free food out of me.” You chuckle and turn around to prepare breakfast. “What about tonight? Will you be around for dinner?"

“I don’t know yet,” he says and looks out of the window. You still don’t know why he’s in town, or how he spends the time away from your diner and house. “I’ll try to make it in time.”

“If not,” you turn back around to run your hand over his arm, “I’ll make sure to have some leftovers for you. A big man like you got to eat.”

“Not again,” you yell at the owner of the restaurant across the street. He once again chased the poor stray away and even kicked the dog. “I will make sure they arrest you, asshat. The dog didn’t do anything wrong. He only walked past your restaurant to reach my diner!”

“Well then, put a leash around that beast’s neck and shut your mouth,” the man yells back. “If not, he’ll eat a bullet next time that piece of shit comes near my restaurant. You can sell its meat at your shitty diner after I’m done with that mangy mutt!”

You crouch down and call for the dog. He trots toward you and whines low in his throat. “I told you to stay away from that asshole. How about I take you home? I know you are used to freedom and not having an owner, but we can just pretend we are roommates.”

“Y/N, is something wrong?” Sally Ann comes running toward you. “What happened? Your roommate, or private bodyguard, or whatever that guy is to you stormed out of the front door. I think he’s about to kill someone.”

“What? I-“ You hear Reacher’s angry voice. This time, it’s directed toward the owner of the restaurant. “Fuck!” You ask Sally Ann to look out for the dog while you try to cross the street before Reacher kills that man.

“REACHER!” You call for him, but it’s too late. The restaurant owner refused to apologize to you and even tried to land the first punch. Reacher easily dodged his attack, stopped the man’s fist in midair, and twisted his arm. “Fuck!”

“One last time,” Reacher snarls at the man, still holding his arm in a tight grip. “You will apologize to the lady and leave the dog alone. If I hear or see that you threaten any animal or kid ever again, I’ll break more than your arm.”

As fast as he grabbed the man, Reacher released the restaurant owner and stepped away. He’d like to beat the man into a bloody pulp for what he said and did, but he doesn’t want you to see only the violent man he can become to protect people.

“Are you alright?” You don’t care that the restaurant owner cries and sniffles. Your hand reaches out for Reacher to check on him. “Did he hurt you?”

“He broke my fucking arm,” the man whines and hopes for any sign of compassion from you. “That monster!”

“Monster?” You cock your head. “Last time I checked you threatened children and an old dog. You wanted to shoot him and offered his meat to me. If anyone in town is a monster, it’s you. Not the man defending me and the dog.”

“I’ll call the cops!”

“Go ahead,” you snap at the man. “Everyone saw what you did and heard what you said. I don’t think a single person will help you!”

There is applause coming from the other side of the street. Your employees and guests cheer for you and Reacher. “We should head back. The dog needs food and you a slice of my pie.”

Reacher glares at the whining man one last time. The restaurant owner flinches and ducks his head.

“I shouldn’t have hurt him,” he says on your way toward the diner. “He was much smaller and weaker than me.”

“He’s an awful person, sweetie,” you grab his hand and squeeze it. “Believe me, you did the right thing. I saw him slap a kid two weeks ago. And he kicked a cat away from his door. He threatened Charlie too.”

“Charlie?” He furrows his brows.

“I gave him a name,” you smile. “Maybe he’ll stick around for a little longer if I give him a name.”

Crazy from Patsy Kline blares from the old radio at your kitchen when Reacher sneaks inside the room. He watches you slowly dance to the song. In lack of a partner, you just sway to the music and close your eyes.

“Hi, uh-“ he clears his throat. “I brought wine, dog food, and Clark bars.” 

“Perfect timing,” you clap your hands. “Come on, it’s Patsy. Dance with me Reacher.” You hold out your hands. “One dance.”

“I don’t dance. Ever.” He glances at the old radio. “That’s almost antic.”

You drop your hands and sigh. No dance for you then. “It belonged to my grandmother. I know it’s old and most of the time it doesn’t work but…” you shake your head and turn around. “I didn’t have the heart to throw it away.”

“It’s a dear memory,” you feel his hands on your hips, and his chest pressed against your back. “You don’t throw memories away.” Reacher starts to sway, and you follow his lead. “Where’s the dog?”

“At the living room. He prefers to lie in front of the couch instead of using the dog bed I bought,” you turn around and start to dance with Reacher. “For a man who never dances, you’re not bad at dancing.”

“I love to dance,” he moves one hand to your back and presses you closer to his body. “If I ask someone for a dance, it mostly includes a lot of punching.”

You chuckle. “You won’t punch me,” he hums and watches you rest your head against his chest. “I wanted to thank you for punching two guys for me within three days.”

Reacher dances with you for another song before he reluctantly lets go of you. He turns your attention toward the wine and dinner instead of the things going on in his head.

He cannot risk getting attached to you. If this case is over, and he finds the murderer of his brother, Reacher will leave town. The last thing he wants is for you to miss him, or even fall for him.

Even though, the thought of getting attached to you is nice…

BFG (4)

Tags in reblog.

[yikesmary]

hi! i saw u were asking for some svt oneshots ideas so ... strangers to dating (?) w mingyu where u walk ur golden retriever and while in the park mingyu bumps into ur puppy and asks if they can play together for a while <3

PUPPY PARENTS — kim mingyu x reader

summary: where your golden retriever has the tendency to bring you things she has an interest in— sticks, frisbees that obviously don’t belong to you, and even the occasional bird. but this time, your dog brings… a man? and not just any man, only the most beautiful man you’ve ever met. maybe your dog is onto something…

notes: WOO first request! i don’t have a dog but this request is cute. also i have no knowledge on how having a dog at the park works so i’m just guessing. it’s a non-idol!au but it doesn’t really matter since it’s not really mentioned. i kinda got carried away and the plot ended up a bit different than what the request was so i’m sorry anon 🧍‍♀️

“Now, I know I’ve let you bring in whatever interesting thing you see. But this time it should stop. I mean, come on, the old lady’s chihuahua? You weren’t the one getting hit by her purse,” you told your golden retriever Winnie, who looked as if she wasn’t understanding a thing you were saying.

Which made sense, considering she was a dog and you were, you know, not a dog.

You sighed, and kneeled down to the level of Winnie and decided to give her a tiny head rub before standing up and proceeding your walk to the park.

Thankfully, the park wasn’t busy. The last thing you wanted Winnie to do was pick up another kid again by their collar and proceed to kidnap them (the first and last time it happened, the mom was understanding but also really concerned).

Once you entered the park, you looked for a bench to sit on with Winnie not too far away, her tail wagging as she walked. When you finally chose a bench and sat down, Winnie looked at you as if she was expecting you to let her roam free.

“You can’t go too far away and play nice with the other dogs,” you reminded her, and she barked in response. It was times like these where you thought she understood you. But no matter how much you reassured her that you knew how to keep secrets, the only thing she did was stare at you blankly.

You gave her one last ruffle on her head before she took off running, watching her as she zoomed past the many people in excitement.

After making sure that she didn’t immediately run away from the park, you went on your phone to watch TikTok and respond to the texts you got that you told yourself you were going to respond and never ended up doing.

However, this didn’t last long because a confused, “Miss, is this your dog?” which made you look at the person that belonged to the voice.

You froze at the sight of the beautiful man. And it wasn’t just a quick stop; you physically froze at the sight of him. But you stopped once you realized that your dog was forcibly keeping him there in front of you by biting his pant leg and not letting go.

“Winnie! I told you that you can’t kidnap people,” you whisper yelled at your dog, but it was futile, as your dog just kept on wagging her tail, no doubt drooling on the handsome stranger’s pants.

You took ahold of the dog and pried her mouth open in order to release the pant leg. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve known she would do something like this,” you apologized, putting Winnie’s leash back on.

The man had smiled at you, not bothered at all at the fact his pants were now covered in dog spit. “No worries, she was nothing but sweet when she approached me. We even did a game of catch before she decided to kidnap me,” he said, grabbing a tennis ball from his pocket and showing it to you.

“You just happen to have a tennis ball in your pocket?” You asked, raising your eyebrow.

The beautiful mystery man only grinned at you, “I like visiting the park because I like asking dog owners if I can play with their dogs,”

“That’s… adorable,” you blurted out, since the thought of the man just having the ball for the sole purpose of having something to play with dogs was adorable.

“Thanks, but Winnie here is adorable, too. I’m guessing she’s named after Winnie the Pooh?”

“Unintentionally named Winnie. My niece had a Winnie the Pooh phase when she was younger and constantly kept calling her Winnie and it was the only name she ever answered to after that,” you explained.

“So if I know the dog’s name, can I know yours?” he asked.

You told him your name feeling a little embarrassed, since you went on to call him adorable and explained your dog’s name origin without either of you knowing each other’s names. If he didn’t stop you, you would’ve probably ended up over sharing and telling him all your life problems.

“Pretty name for someone who’s just as pretty,” he complimented, which made you smile.

“Does that line work?” You questioned.

“Depends. Did it work on you?”

“How about I know your name first before I say anything?” you asked.

“Oh, right! I can’t believe I asked you for your name before even saying mine. My name’s Mingyu,” he said, finally putting a name to his face.

“Well, Mingyu, the line worked. Just a tiny bit,” you replied, putting your pointer finger and thumb close together in a pinch.

“That’s disappointing. I thought it would’ve been the perfect line to lead to asking you out for coffee. My treat,” Mingyu said.

“Well. the coffee does sound good. And you did get ambushed by my dog, so I’d feel bad rejecting you…” you jokingly trailed off.

“And I might be injured! You might have to stay with me until I feel all better,” Mingyu played along, causing you to laugh.

“You’re such a dork,”

“A dork who just so happens to know of a cafe that allows dogs and even has their very own menu of drinks and food curated just for dogs,”

Winnie interrupted your banter at that moment in order to nudge you, giving her own seal of approval at the mention of the cafe. “I guess Winnie chose for the both of us,” you said, gesturing to your dog’s sudden movement.

“Just as a warning, don’t taste the dog’s food. I tried it and I should’ve never done so in the first place,” Mingyu said, the both of you walking with Winnie beside you, trotting along.

“What made you even eat the dog treats anyways?”

“They looked like human food! So, as a result my friend, Jeonghan, dared me to try one…”

[infamous-if]

.1

As won by the poll, the MC x Seven first kiss drabble is first! A few things: 1) this drabble is fucking long sorry and 2) though this is what I imagine their first kiss to be like, I don't want to go as far as saying it's completely canon, mostly because I'm sure it can go many different ways with different types of MC's. And 3rd) I tried really hard to make this fluffy and not so serious and I'm sure you can see the shift where I thought 'oh crap' but...I am not a fluff writer and I will be working on that lmao 4th) as always, I do not edit my drabbles and I really only do one draft of them so excuse the wordy/awkward sentences or typos or any of that sort and finally, sorry about that last line lmfao

“Have any of you seen Seven?”

That’s the question you’ve been asking all night since your band left The Golden Spoon, a bar in the crux of the city. It had one of your best audiences in recent memory; there were no lulls in engagement, no dull moments that made you question yourself. People loved the songs and danced their hearts out, some even asked for pictures once the set was over. Fame, however small, feels pretty fucking good. 

That holds the most truth in Seven. After the set was over, they were on a high, laughing and talking to anyone who offered them even a sliver of their time. That’s usually how it goes with a successful set--Seven becomes a magnet for all sorts of attention. Unreachable, untouchable. No wonder you barely had a chance to talk to them after leaving.

It didn’t bother you, considering you were all heading to the bar owner’s apartment for a small after-party. You just assumed you’d talk to Seven there, considering it’s an apartment. Eight-hundred square feet at most. Small enough that you could spot Seven’s familiar red bandana in any crowd. 

Or not. 

The group you just asked share equally confused looks and answer with varying shrugs. 

You huff, pushing through the slightly sparse but growing crowd. You maneuver through the kitchen and ask a haggle of women who claim they didn’t even see Seven arrive. The man standing alone in the hall? Saw Seven once and never again.

You’re growing frustrated.

With every answer, your impatient grows. Where the hell could Seven be? You came with them but were quickly swept away by the hordes of people throwing various questions and praise your way. Seven hasn’t responded to any of your texts either, which sprouts up a small seed of worry in you. 

“Hey, MC!” 

You look up to see Jazzy beckoning you over to the couch in the living room, where most people have congregated. In the center stands Rowan, gesticulating wildly as he tells a story from high school...one you’re sure you’ve heard many times before.

Jazzy waves you over again and you sigh. Half your mind still on Seven’s whereabouts, you stride through the living room and take a seat in the corner of the couch next to Iris, half your body pressed against the armrest.

“…and that’s when I had to sit down because I kid you not, I was about to fucking eat concrete…”

The group laughs as Rowan weaves a tale of failed skateboarding antics. The names of you and your friends come up a few times, and whenever Seven is mentioned you can’t help but jolt and look around in hopes that they slipped back inside at some point in the story. With every mention, your body deflates further and further.

Until your phone buzzes. 

You turn it around, only to catch Seven finally responding to your million texts asking where they are.

Seven: Roof

You quirk a brow at the message—the one word that says so much—and type something quickly in return.

You: Thought you died.

Another buzz.

Seven: Can’t get rid of me that easily.

You snort, though no one else is laughing. You lower your phone a bit to appear engaged but send back a quick text. 

You: Aw, really? I was hoping I’d finally be free of you.

Seven: Har-har. Are you coming or not? I’m feeling lonelyyyy

Your heart races and another laugh bubbles out of you when Seven sends a GIF of someone ungracefully falling on the floor. You didn’t realize how much of a relief it is to hear from them until now, seeing Seven’s text on your screen. Is your body that attuned to them? That, whenever they’re gone, you can feel their absence, so palpable it’s as if a part of you is missing? When they’re near, you feel more than complete. Drowning in so much joy that it’s almost overwhelming?

What do you call that?

You shake away the thoughts and send a reply: Coming. 

Brushing yourself off when you stand, you catch your friends looking at you. You shoot Rowan a small smile and walk out of the living room, where you quickly hear him go into another story about who-knows-what. At least the party seems interested.

Another buzz. 

Seven: Bring some bears please

You: Bears? 

Seven: Beers. Whatever. 

Shaking your head, you put your phone away and divert your path to the kitchen where you swipe two bottles of beer. You use the end of the counter to pop open the tops before making your way out of the apartment…only to soon realize you don’t actually don’t know where you’re going.

Dangling the beers between two fingers, you take out your phone. 

You: Where am I going?

Seven: Are you serious? It’s a roof. Just go up.

Seven: lol

You: I will kill you.

Seven: OMG you really are trying to get rid of me

You: Seven Lawless

Seven: Using my whole name? Just shivered. The roof entrance is down the hall to your left. Ignore the signs telling you…not to go to the roof. 

You move to the door and sure enough, there is a large sign warning of any trespassers. 

You: You mean the sign saying that ‘violators will be fined and/or arrested?’

Seven: Ignore it. It’s just a very strong suggestion

Seven: (trust me) 

Scoffing, you push it open with your shoulder and go up the single flight of stairs to the roof. Stepping outside grants you a cacophony of sounds; car horns, the sound of the wind rushing past your cheeks, music playing from Seven’s phone. 

“I’m starting to think you look at the floor plan of every place you enter just to find the roof,” you say by way of greeting as you approach them.

Seven looks behind their shoulder from their spot on the ledge, their previously blank face widening into a sly grin. 

Your heart races at the image of Seven smiling at you, though you quickly push it down. You don’t know what’s been happening but lately, everything Seven does pulls a reaction from you. A simple look makes your stomach squeeze. A brush of their hand sends goosebumps up your arms. A smile can throw your whole body out of whack. 

“I needed a break,” Seven replies, turning back around to face ahead. As you get closer, you see their legs dangling over the edge. It’s not too far below—the building is four stories—but it’s still enough to give you vertigo when you go to sit next to them. “Someone asked me to sign their divorce papers."

Your lip twitches as you hand them a bottle. “Did you?”

Seven looks over to you, gaze glittering beneath stray strands of dark hair that fall in front of their eyes. “Yes.” 

You laugh and Seven swats your following hand away in your attempt to shove them to the side. “Woah, woah!” Their brief panic from the possibility of falling is laced with humor and you let out a small, ‘sorry!’ that Seven waves off. 

"Signing divorce papers," you muse. "I wonder what we'll sign when we're global rockstars."

Their humor subsides, and their smile weakens as they toy with their bottle. You wait, silent, as Seven inhales through their nose and says, “Do you ever regret it?” They gesture vaguely around them. “Doing…all of this?”

You face ahead and think about it, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Not really. Do you?”

Seven takes a swig of their drink before setting it down next to them, lifting both shoulders in a quick shrug. “No. This is all I ever wanted to do.”

“Then why don’t you sound so convinced?”

Their eyes cut to yours and they snort a little. 

“Hey, you brought it up,” you prod.

They huff through their nose, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. “Shut up.” Once again, their humor is brief, and you start to think that there must be something within Seven that’s torn, fighting to come out. It wouldn’t surprise you; Seven has always loved too much, hurt too much, felt too much. They call it a Fatal Flaw, how attached they get, but really, you find it endearing. It’s rare to find people like them in this world. You wish they knew that. “Ah, I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

You nudge them. “Say it.” 

They begin rocking back and forth in thought, nudging you back every time they move. “Sometimes…when I’m on stage…” They clear their throat. “Sometimes I feel so lonely.”

Oh.

You expected many things, but not that. 

Lonely? Seven is lonely? Granted, Seven hasn’t had the greatest home life, but you assumed that they found an abundance of people to surround themselves with. Hell, they looked like they were having the time of their life after the gig!

Seven’s frowning now, their eyes glazing over with an emotion you can’t read. “I see all those faces and I love it. The attention. The way they sing our songs. I feel fucking alive, you know?”

You nod, hanging on to every word. You understand them; the feeling of music and standing on that stage, singing emotions and states of being that can’t be explained in any other way but through song.

“But then I look back and…” They chew on their inner cheek, brows furrowing as they evidently search for the right words. “I wonder if they see me. Like really see me.” 

Your lips part. For a moment, you’re speechless. “Sev—“

“And I know it’s unfair to think that,” Seven breaks in quickly. “They’re fans. I shouldn’t put so much responsibility on them, but it just….fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“No!” you say. Seven jolts and whips their head toward you, giving you a look of alarm. “I get what you’re saying.” You adjust to face them completely. “I feel it too, sometimes. You just want to be seen not as Seven Lawless but…” You clear your throat. “Seven Duckstein. You know?”

Seven holds your gaze. Their eyes sparkle under the fairy lights that are strung around the lattice detailing on the roof. As their eyes dart around your face, searching for something, you wonder if it was wrong to bring up their real name. It’s always been a sore topic for them, amongst other things. You just hope Sev understands what you’re trying to say. 

They crack a small smile and nod. “Yeah.”

You let out a small breath of relief, grateful Seven understands what you mean. You gaze around, looking down at the street below. Distantly, you can feel Seven’s eyes still on you. Your skin burns under their stare, but you do your best to keep looking at the tiny people running inside shops, chatting, and slipping into cars. Living entire lives that you will never know the depth of. 

You wonder if you have learned the true depth of Seven Duckstein. Even after all these years…they still seem like a mystery to you. 

And you sort of hate how exciting that feels. As if uncovering the hidden layers of your best friend is something to look forward to. 

“I’m not lonely with you, though.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet theirs. You laugh a little. “How could you be? I’m with you 24/7.”

Seven rolls their eyes and it’s their turn to shove you. “Can you be serious a sec? I’m trying to tell you I appreciate you.” They drag the syllables on the word ‘appreciate,’ trying to emphasize the severity of the moment. 

You raise your palms in mock surrender. “Keep going. I’m listening.”

They pause for a beat. “No. I’m nervous.”

“What!”

“Too much attention.”

“You’re a performer?!”

They raise a finger. “That’s different.” 

“Oh, please—“

Somehow you and Seven fall in a lighthearted round of bickering, swatting each other’s hands as you playfully fight. That fighting soon turns into tickling, and Seven’s usually even voice turns into high-pitched squeals that you wish you could record to use against them later.

You don’t know how it happened, but somehow Seven ends up on their back, sighing happily at the darkened sky that hovers over you both. You lean on your side, your body pressed against Seven’s, and rest your head on your hand.

“Come onnnn,” you prod, poking their rib. They squirm. “Tell me how much you appreciate me.” Your voice softens as Seven’s humor dies. “Tell me how you really feel.”

You meant for it to come out as a joke, but the delicacy in your voice betrays the true intention that’s hiding deep within you.

Seven’s eyes slowly, hesitantly, glide away from the stars pulsing in the sky to meet your eyes. With their hair framing their face, their small smile, and the glare of the fairy lights dancing on their face, they have never looked so vulnerable.

So…different. 

“I don’t think I should.”

That has you stiffening. A flare of panic rises in your stomach. What does Seven mean by that? Part of you knows but…no. You’re being ridiculous. 

They turn their head away, rolling their lips. It’s silent for a moment. You convince yourself Seven won’t speak until they say, “I’m afraid. Of you.”

“What?” you blurt, eyes wide. You hardly know how to act right now. This conversation has gone a direction you’re not sure of.

They turn back to face you. “You have too much power over me. It scares me.”

You open your mouth to speak. The only thing that comes out is a pathetic noise from your throat.

Seven snorts at your reaction, frowning at the sky. “You really don’t know the effect you have on others.”

“I doubt I have any impact on others," you mutter, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“Fine then. You don’t know the effect you have on me.” They huff, throwing their bandana aside to run a hand through their hair in frustration. “It’s kind of annoying.”

You sputter out a laugh, reaching out to poke them again. “Are you seriously insulting me—“ 

Seven grabs your hand mid-way, their skin warm against yours. You look down, staring at the polish on their nails as they curl their hand around your palm. “I’m not trying to insult you.” 

“Then what are you trying to do?” you mumble, your eyes still on your joined skin. 

“I’m trying to do as you asked.” Seven inhales a shuddering breath. “I’m telling you how I really feel.”

You jerk a nod. “Okay. Sorry.” Your voice is quiet. “Go.”

Silence.

Seven’s lip twitches as they look up at you. “Nervous again. Too much attention.”

“Fuck off,” you throw out, though there’s no strength behind your words. 

It’s Seven’s turn to apologize. “Sorry.” They swallow. “I just think I might mess up my words with you looking at me.” 

You debate something. Debate the logic behind whatever you’re going to say next. This moment feels too big to make decisions on feelings you don’t know are fleeting or not. This is Seven. Your best friend. Anything you do will permanently change the comfortable camaraderie you two have had since you were kids. 

But…you can’t stop from thinking it might be worth it anyway. 

“Then don’t use words.” 

Seven’s lips part, mostly from surprise. And then you see it; the shift in their expression-- from uncertain to determined. Their eyes darken and slowly, they release their grip on your hand to place it on the back of your neck, pulling you toward them. 

Your heart races in your chest. Are you two really doing this? After years of casual closeness; sleepovers, handshakes, private looks across crowded rooms. Has there been an underlying attraction you just never paid attention to? Or maybe you did, and both of you were too afraid to confront it. 

Seven is slow at firs, as if they aren't quite sure they should be doing this after all. But when you don’t pull away they grow the confidence to close the remaining inches of space between you.

Kissing Seven isn't like anything you imagined. And you can't lie; you've imagined it plenty of times.

What is happening...?

Lips warm against yours, you clutch the leather of their jacket as they pull you closer. The kiss is a messy and desperate dance of teeth and tongues but you don’t mind. Not when Seven tastes like gum and alcohol and is sending goosebumps down your arms as they absently run circles on the skin of your neck. 

Messy seems about right.

Seven smells of lavender and pine and mint and so many other smells you never noticed until now, when you’re so aware of them and their existence that your brain can’t make out any words except Seven Seven Seven.

Seven kisses you like it's their own salvation; as if kissing you now is the only thing anchoring them to this moment. As if pulling away means breaking whatever dream you two have found yourselves in. So they pull you even closer, deepening the kiss and sighing happily into your mouth.

You could kiss Seven Lawless all night. Shit, you could kiss Seven Lawless forever.

They tug on your lower lip with their teeth just lightly before closing their mouth to plant a more chaste kiss before pulling away. You swallow a frustrated groan, stifling the urge to pull them back into another kiss. 

Your eyes flutter open at the loss of warmth.

"That...that was a lot better than I thought," they breathe.

"You've thought about it?" you joke, careful not to speak too loudly in fear of ruining the moment.

Their answering nod is jerky. "Yeah. An embarrassing amount of times."

You both laugh. The humor quickly dies. Then...the worst part comes: the silence.

The horrible, awkward silence.

See, no one ever talks about what comes afterward. The reality of realizing what it is you've just done. The panic that follows the post-kiss clarity.

“Uh…”

“Er…”

They slowly drop their hand from your neck. 

And then they burst up, making you fall back on your ass. 

“You—“ They whirl around. “Did you just kiss me?”

“Me?!” you guffaw, standing on your feet as well. “You mean you kissed me!”

“Me?” They stand there, and then a manic, happy laugh escapes them. You watch as they put their hands on both of their cheeks, blowing out a long breath. “So I did, didn’t I?”

It’s your turn to laugh. You feel drunk. “Yeah. You did.”

“You kissed me back.” Their voice comes out almost accusatory.

“Yeah.” Your brows furrow. “…I did.”

Seven and you stand there. A rush of wind passes. Neither of you speak.

Until both of you do.

“That—“

“We—“

Seven physically clamps their mouth shut with their hand. Your brain is a static fuzz of nothingness. 

Songwriters at a loss for words. It’s almost funny. 

“Is…” You clear your throat. “Is that how you really feel?”

Seven meets your eyes and then quickly looks away. “Yeah.” A mumble. “For a while now.”

Your eyes widen. “I—“

“Don’t say anything!” Seven raises a hand, stopping you. 

You jolt, mostly because Seven just acted like they saw a bug or something. “What!”

“You know in the movies and TV shows where a person confesses to another person and that other person feels obligated to say something back even though they likely didn’t think it through as long as the other person?” Seven says in one breath.

You blink. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“—well, I always found that to be pathetic. Almost like a pity response.” They begin nervously smoothing their hands on their pants, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Just don’t…say anything, okay?”

“Seven.”

Seven, still a bit frantic, comes over to you and puts their hands on your shoulders. “Just forget this happened. I’ll get over it. I just…I may have drank a bit and I needed to get it out of my system and I don’t want this to ruin what we have.” 

You have whiplash. Maybe it was you who drank too much. You two were just kissing—kissing—and now Seven is telling you to forget it...?

“That kiss was in the heat of the moment and I mean, I did like it but it may be weird and we’ve been best friends for so long that I know you might find it odd. And hey,“--they let out a burst of shaky laughter--"maybe we can write a song out of thi--'

You pull their face forward, stifling the rest of their words in another pathetically desperate kiss that burns you all over.

It takes Seven a few seconds to catch up, but when they do, their hands go from your shoulders to your cheeks, cupping your face.

By the time you pull away, you're both slightly breathless. You say, “Just…shut up.”

Seven simply stares at you, parted lips glistening and eyes peering at you as if you’re a painting in the Louvre. Like you're something worth their awe and wonder. 

Maybe it’s now, just like when they were laying down, that Seven is seeing you differently too.

The sound of metal squeaks in the air with the door opening. You and Seven jolt, quickly shuffling away from each other just as Rowan, Iris, Devyn, and Jazzy appear. 

“We were looking for you gu—what’s going on?” Jazzy asks, her eyes darting between you two.

“Nothing.” Seven takes a wide step away from you, swiping a hand across their lips. You swear you see the shadow of a smile on their face. “We were just...talking.”

“You were missing the party, Sev Sev.” Jazzy comes over to Seven and throws her arm around their neck in some sort of move that can’t possibly be comfortable. “Where did you go?”

“Sorry, Jazz Jazz,” Seven jokes back, exasperated. They keep one eye on you as Jazzy pulls them away back inside. They steal one glance at you before they disappear down the stairs.

You stand there, ruminating over what just happened. Your lips still sting and the phantom touch of Seven’s mouth still makes the hair on your arms rise.

“You okay?” 

Rowan’s voice has you jolting back to the present. “What?”

“You and Seven.” Rowan gestures at you. “Are you guys alright?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” You wave a dismissive hand as you begin walking back inside. “Totally. We’re just peachy. What are we doing?”

“We’re heading home, actually,” Iris says, shooting you a curious look. “Party got boring.”

You snort, and you and your friends walk down the stairs to meet Seven and Jazzy in the hall. Seven looks your way and quickly averts their gaze, grazing the bottom of their teeth along their lip in evident thought.

You know, eventually, you and Seven will have to talk about…whatever that was that just happened. You’re not quite sure yet what it means. Though you do know one thing: tonight has changed something. Suddenly your friendship is something far more than precious: it’s fragile. And you can’t help but wonder what that kiss means for it.

“Should we get something to eat?” Iris asks the group as you saunter out of the building. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Rowan snorts, weaving Iris’s jab. 

“I’m okay with anything you want.” As Seven says this, they look over to you, and you know they’re not just talking about food.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Me too.”

“Burgers it is,” Iris says. Devyn hums in agreement.

Seven smiles at you, and you can feel the shift in them. When they gaze at you, something else lies there. Something else that makes your heart quicken.

Yeah, you may not know what comes next in your friendship, but you do know one thing: you and Seven will never part.

And that thought comforts you.

[hockeyshmockey]

the grudge

summary: in which olivia verstappen can't get over the things her family put her through so easily. max verstappen x sibling!oc

warnings: angst, mentions of neglect and abusive behavior. this is F I C T I O N I just needed to write angst with this song, so forgive me and don't consider any of this fact!!!!!

Olivia Verstappen had been through more in life than many of her peers. Yes, some would say she lived an extravagant life with her father's former career as a driver. Most people saw the nicer houses, the way she and Max had nicer machines than some of the other kids.

What they didn't see was the constant tension in their home. The way their mother had given the two of them to their father for major custody after he yelled, holding in her flinches as she gave in. The times her and Max were punished after an unsatisfactory result in a race.

As a child, Olivia had idolized her big brother. She wanted to go to his races, her mother humoring her, and one day she ended up behind the wheel. When her father saw the way she could almost keep up with her brother, the dollar signs started flashing. And so for a few years, Olivia imagined a dream where she and her brother ended up in Formula 1 together, the first brother and sister racing line up.

It only took about five years until things fell apart. Max and Olivia were with Jos full time, and the mans behavior was getting worse and worse. There were times after a race when Max would win, and Olivia would come second (even racing up in the next age group), and their father would scream at Olivia as Max watched his sister in silence.

Olivia always contemplated calling her mother and asking her to come for her on those nights.

And I try to be tough, but I wanna scream How could anybody do the things you did so easily?

When she was 13, Olivia went to the race track to practice before the first kart race of her season. The owner of the track had seemed shocked to see her, saying he had no equipment ready for her as her father had never called to register her for the upcoming season. Olivia had pedaled her bike home (because Jos could not be bothered driving his daughter the two miles out of the city to the race track), trying to calm the rage in her veins.

Max and her father were watching a race in the living room when she came inside. "You didn't sign me up for my karting season?" Olivia asked with barley a quiver in her voice as the two males looked at her.

"You aren't good enough," Jos said with little care, shrugging as he turned back to the tv. "I'm not spending money on a kid who comes in second place. It's a waste. You're a waste."

Her father didn't see, but Max could clearly see the way Olivia's lip quivered. Tears gathered in her eyes, but the girl took a deep breath, straightened her spine and nodded. She turned on her heel, headed into the bedroom and packed a bag.

That night, she did call Sophie and ask to come home. That would be the last time she would see her father for 6 years, and the beginning of the demise of her relationship with her brother.

And I doubt you ever think about the damage that you did But I hold onto every detail like my life depends on it

"Mijn liefje," a knock came on Olivia's door in her and her mother's apartment while she was getting ready for her graduation from University.

Two years of hard work, and Olivia was graduating with a degree in mechanical engineering. She already had an internship lined up with the Williams' Racing team while she pursued her secondary degree in Engineering and Aeronautics at Oxford.

At her heart, racing was still one of Olivia's passions. And while her opportunity to pursue it as a driver had been ruined by Jos, her heart for the sport remained. And so she had taken the jump, applying with Williams' Engineering department using her mothers last name. Her father was notorious on his own, but with Max now at Red Bull, she wanted to feel as if she made this entrance into the world of F1 on her own merit.

"Ja?" she said as she opened the door to her mother's strained smile. "What's wrong?"

"Your sister just got here," Sophie explained. "But she's brought your brother."

After Olivia left Jos and went back to live with Sophie, she had tried so hard to keep her relationship with Max stable. Her brother was one of her favorite people in the world. But when he had come to see them for the first time after the move, the older boy hadn't been happy to listen to anything Olivia had to say about her choice to leave.

In Max's mind, Olivia had given up. Their father had given her a test, and she had failed. Never did he consider that as hard as Jos was on Max, it was a two fold on Olivia who could never live up to her prodigy brother.

And so over the past 5 and a half years, Olivia and Max hardly saw each other. And when they did, it was clear things were different. Max was resistant to hear Olivia out or try to see things from her side, and Olivia decided to stop trying and just wear a brave face.

"Oh, okay," Olivia shrugged. She didn't know why Vic had brought Max, but the women walked out into the living area to see the two blondes sitting. Victoria leaped up and wrapped her arms around her little sister.

One of the best things to come out of Olivia's return to Sophie's custody and home, was her newfound relationship with Victoria. Living together had brought the two girls closer than before, and Vic was there when Olivia's mental health had been in the toilet after having to talk with Jos over the years.

"Olivia," Max cleared his throat and nodded as Victoria and Olivia pulled apart.

"Max," Olivia half smiled, clasping her hands together to hold back from wrapping her arms around her brother. "I didn't expect you today."

"I didn't know you were graduating," Max said, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

"I sent an announcement to you and Dad," Olivia furrowed her eyes, Sophie nodding as she had helped the younger girl address the cards.

"I never got it," Max's lips thinned. "I didn't even know you were in school."

"Let's be honest, when have we talked in the last five years long enough for you to ask," Olivia scoffed as her mother put a hand on her shoulder.

"And you're working at Williams?" Max ran his hands through his hair. "Why are you working for them? They're not a winning team, you should-"

"I don't need to hear that Max," Olivia said calmly. "I don't need to hear about how what I'm doing isn't enough for you, or for our father. Don't worry, he reminds me enough every day for the whole fucking family."

"Olivia," Sophie said sharply as Max looked to her in shock.

"Dad said you two hadn't spoken in a few years," he said.

"No, he calls me about once a month to remind me what a failure he thinks I am," Olivia smiled weakly as Victoria looked at her with pity in her eyes. "It wasn't enough what he did to me those years ago, he's got to make sure he leaves a lasting impression, just in case I ever feel like I'm moving past it all."

I have nightmares each week 'bout that Friday in May One phone call from you and my entire world was changed

Two years pass. Job interviews are had, and it's with the last name Kumpen, that Olivia gets a job with Red Bull Racing after completing her Masters degree. She had spent a season working under the strong female presence of Hannah Schmitz and the legend Adrian Newey, learning more than she ever thought possible, and watching her brother fight and win his first championship.

After the season had ended, Max and Olivia had retreated to Monaco for a few weeks before Olivia would return to the factory for in person work. Jos had come to spend a weekend, and Olivia had put things aside to join him and Max for dinner.

"You know they only hired you because of Max," her father said after they had finished their salads and were waiting for their main course.

"Excuse me?" Olivia asked wide eyed. "They didn't know my last name was Verstappen until a month ago."

"You think they're that stupid?" Jos laughed as he sipped his drink and Max looked away, refusing to meet Olivia's eyes.

"Max?" she asked with dread in her heart.

"I'm sorry," Max shook his head as he watched his sister's heart shatter in front of his eyes. "I mentioned it to Christian. But I knew you would be such an asset. I wanted you on my team."

"More like he didn't think you could get hired somewhere else," Jos scoffed. "F1 isn't for losers. For complainers. You've never had-"

The man was cut off by Olivia standing up. "No," she said lowly. "You don't get to do this to me. You don't get to try to make me feel like this anymore. As far as I am concerned, I am not your daughter. Lose my number, forget me, I don't care. But I never want to see you again."

With that Olivia gathered her bag and walked out of the restaurant. She went to wave her arm for a taxi when she felt a hand encircle her wrist, yanking it free and whipping around to glare at her brother.

"Olivia please-" he began to plead.

"No," she shook her head. "No. I'm done. You knew. I really thought you finally understood how I felt. But then you do this. You take this accomplishment that I was so proud of. I was so proud to think I had finally proved myself. That little girl who was screamed at every time she wasn't good enough. Told she would never amount to anything, I finally felt like she was healed. And you just fucked that up for me."

"Livvy it wasn't like that," Max fell into the use of his old nickname for her. "Please. You did get this job on your own. I promise. Talk to Christian ok? Let him tell you-"

"No Max," Olivia sighed. "No. I can't do this anymore. I really thought this was what I needed to feel healed. To fight with you and win, to get a championship and know that was a way to fulfill my dreams. But being around him every day, being around him at all, thats not something I can do anymore. And as much as I know you see it more now, I don't think you'll ever be able to get out from his thumb and from the weight of his expectations. I love you, but that's not something I can put myself through any longer."

"Livvy what does that mean?" Max asked as she turned back to the street and hailed a cab. "Please. Will I see you in England in a week? Please."

Olivia looked back at him with a sad smile before climbing into the waiting car.

Yeah, I'm so tough when I'm alone, and I make you feel so guilty And I fantasize about a time you're a little fuckin' sorry

"Max, have a good off season?" the reigning world champion was asked in his first media day of the 2021 season.

"Yeah mate," the Dutchman smiled. "Got some good relaxation in. Spent some time in the sim. It was good, but I'm glad to be back." The interviewer asked a few more standard questions out of the way before he dropped the bomb.

"So, we got some information in during testing but things have unfolded since and we wanted to bring it up with you." At the interviewers lead in, Max got hesitant and his media officer creeped closer, ready to intervene.

"It's come to our attention, that your little sister was a Junior Strategist with Red Bull last season," the interviewer asked.

"Ah, yes," Max nodded. "That was her first season with us after she interned with Williams."

"Of course," the man nodded. "Quite impressive, getting to work with Hannah Schmitz and Adrian Newey. Interning with Williams, advanced degree from Oxford. That is some talent."

"It is," Max said proudly. "She's been a star, and I've been so thankful to have her with the team."

"So what do you think about her signing a contract to join Mercedes for the next three seasons to work with Lewis?"

But even after all this, you're still everything to me And I know you don't care, I guess that that's fine

It's 2024.

Things were reversed. In 2020, Olivia had watched wistfully as Max had stood on top of his car, pumping his arms as he won his first WDC. In Abu Dhabi 2024, Max was watching from the second step as Lewis held up his trophy that had won the man his eighth World Championship.

Max held his breath as he looked to the side of the stage as Mercedes sent up a representative to gather the trophy for the constructors. To his surprise it wasn't Toto heading onto the stage, but his baby sister.

His breath stalled in his chest as Lewis and George both hopped of their podiums to wrap their arms around Olivia. His sister had the biggest smile on her face as she accepted their embraces before turning to the officials, and shaking hands as she made her way to the fourth step and the trophy waiting for her.

Three years at Mercedes had turned Olivia into a rising star. She was the second seat on Lewis' pit wall, making several calls that season that had led to Lewis securing a strong lead in the WDC standings. Toto and the team always sang her praises, and Max knew Red Bull regretted the situation that lost her to their biggest rival.

As the British National Anthem began to play, Max caught his sister's eye and smiled, sending her a nod. The girl smiled with her eyes, but he knew things weren't the same.

She wasn't ready to forgive, and she wouldn't ever be able to forget.

It takes strength to forgive, but I'm not quite sure I'm there yet