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shadowbriar · 6 months ago

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Five Hargreeves - Back To You

Pairing : Five Hargreeves x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 2.8k Warning : Angst. Season 4 references. Synopsis : After one too many subway trips, Five's plan of temporal refuge extended as he met someone he refuse to lose. Notes : I refuse to acknowledge what happened in Episode 5 and 6 though I use the gif of said episodes. Don't come at me if you don't agree. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Living in a small cottage by the lake has never been in his cards. To settle down and watch the sun sets everyday, hearing the rocking chair creak as he takes a sip of his coffee. This was beyond anything he could ever hoped for, anything he could afford. He knew that this wasn’t the life he’s supposed to lead. Lord, this wasn’t even a life he owns to begin with. But with each second passed in this universe, Five finds it hard to drag himself back to that subway and return to his own timeline.

“Enjoying the scenery, are we?” She whispers as she sits on his lap, clinging her arms around his neck “You know, I could really use the help stuffing that chicken. It is afterall your special request.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t I be off of any chores since it is my special request?”

“Just because it’s your birthday, doesn’t mean you’re having a vacation, big guy,” She reasoned “We’ve only got two hands and this house is only getting bigger than smaller.”

The boy couldn’t bite his grin when he leaned in to kiss her. His heart swells. She was right. The house feels like it’s growing along with them. They might not have much, certainly far from the wealth his father possesses, but it was much more than enough. Having her was much more than enough.

“You know that I love you, right?” Five asks as he pulls away, his left hand still cupping her cheek as his thumb caresses her gently.

“I know,” She nods, smiling “But you can’t sweet talk your way out of kitchen duty, Mister.”

Five chuckles, standing from his seat as he carried her in his arms, “Alright, Missy, let’s see what this chicken fuss is all about.”

—-

The muscles on his cheeks were aching but he couldn’t fight the need to grin as wide as he could. He was happy, watching her carry that awful looking cake out of the oven. The icing that supposedly spelled ‘happy birthday’ was crooked, its colour pale compared to the bright fondant covering it. Thank God the candles were their only source of light, otherwise she wouldn’t even bring it out, he reckons.

“It’s ugly, I know,” She says as she lets it rest on the table “But it tastes better than it looks, I promise.”

Five shakes his head, disagreeing with her discouraging comments as he steals a kiss, “It’s perfect.”

“Well, go on and make a wish!”

The boy closes his eyes. His hands holding hers as he whispers his wish: I wish for this to last forever. Her squeals of excitement was music to his ears as he blew the candles. It is indeed the best birthday of his life.

“I’d ask but I know you wouldn’t tell me your wish.”

“Who said I made any wish?”

“You did,” She says as she helps him cut the cake “You make that little frown everytime you say your little prayer, do you know that?”

“I don’t pray, Love.”

“You do. Well, not religiously, but sometimes you do. You say your little prayer, your hopes. You whisper them sometimes, but most times you just close your eyes and do that little frown thing.”

Five raised an eyebrow, “Have you been watching me?”

“I might,” She teases “I mean who wouldn’t watch such a handsome man like you?”

The night continues as the couple finishes their dinner. Fulfilled would be such an understatement for what he feels right now. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed of, is served right in that room. He wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

“So can I take a guess about what you wished for?”

“Really, Love?” He asked, putting down his glass of wine.

She shrugs, “We’ve talked about everything else, haven’t we?”

“You know, there’s a belief that if you say your prayers, it won’t happen.”

“Well, you’re not saying what it was, I’m just taking a guess what it’s about.” She argues, still persistent “And what’s so bad with it not happening? Do you really want it that bad?”

“I— Nothing, I just don’t—”

“What is it that you could wish for? What is it that you don’t have?”

“Nothing, I’m not saying that I want anything, I just—”

“Is it your family?”

Five pauses. It was as if he was stupefied. He hadn’t thought about his family in a while. Shameful of him, sure, but after one too many subway trips, he figured that a little rest shouldn’t be so bad. He just had to find a timeline where there weren't that many people shooting at him. Perhaps take a week or two to rest and gather his strength before jumping into another subway.

It just had to be her. The girl he bumped into right after he got out of the station. He remembers vividly the concerned look on her face when she saw him. He was littered with bruises, dirt and dust covering his body. He looked more like trouble than a lover yet she still found it in her heart to ask if he needed any help.

And here he was, feeling the happiness in his heart wither as the thought of his family returned to his consciousness. He knew that the universe is cruel, that he couldn’t have the best of both worlds in this lifetime, that he had to choose between his lover or his family. Some nights he wonders if his family had succeeded in preventing another apocalypse without him. Some nights he wonders if his family had found a way to another timeline. Some nights he wonders if his family were still alive. But most nights he tried his best to ignore these wonders. His family must have found a way to stop the apocalypse, or at least escape another one.

Taking a deep breath, Five reaches for her hands. Guilt and regret were evident on her face. He knew that she didn’t mean to sound as cruel. Perhaps it was the wine that made their blood more sensitive or that the fatigue of the day had clouded their minds. Either way he knew that they both would be sorry when the morning came.

“I love you,” He starts gently “I love you more than anything in this and every timeline.”

A tear left her eye. It was painful. To love someone you know doesn’t belong to you. To desperately grasp into the moments you knew would end anytime soon. To selfishly stay in a relationship that was doom from the start. Neither of them deserved this, yet neither of them wanted to let go.

“It’s been six years, Five,” She reasoned “As much as I love you.. We can’t keep living like this.”

“Time works differently there, my love. Six years here might only mean a couple hours there.”

“That doesn’t make it any less wrong for you to stay. Those couple hours might be the most crucial hours for your family. They might be fighting for their lives right now, they might be dying, for all we know! You need to come back to them, Five. You have to.”

Five forces a laugh, “Wait, what are you saying?”

She remained silent. Her tears were falling, biting her lips to conceal her tremble. A bitter feeling is brewing in his stomach now.

“Your family needs you and—”

“Okay, stop,” He stood from his seat with an offended look “Are you breaking up with me? On my birthday?”

She looks away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Goodness, you can’t be serious.”

“What choice do we have, Five? One way or another, you’d have to go back to your family. They need you—”

“And you? You don’t need me anymore?”

Her jaw clenches, “That’s beside the point.”

“No, that is the whole point, actually,” He argues, this time coming close to her “I love you, alright? Why is it so wrong for me to want to be with the person that I love? I’ve lived more than a lifetime alone, why can’t I have someone for once?”

“You don’t belong in this timeline. I—”

“I belong with you,” He cuts in “It’s not the timeline that matters, it’s where you are. I belong with you.”

If there’s anything she loves most about Five other than his gentle and caring nature towards her, it would be how adamant he is once he’s set his mind into something. There’s no doubt in her heart about the genuinity of his words. But as much as she’s grateful and touched over it, she knew that they could only spend so long before the guilt eats them whole.

She lets go of his hands softly, placing them on his cheeks instead. She admires him. The beautiful man that’s now standing in front of her with his heart on his sleeves, announcing his devotion to her on the day when he’s supposed to be the one showered with attention and love. His eyes were glossy, clearly conflicted.

“I love you, Five,” She whispers, gently caressing his skin as if it was their last goodbye “But I can’t keep you here, I can’t. I can’t keep you from your family.”

Five looks defeated, silent.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to them? If they’re okay? If they’ve figured out how to stop the apocalypse? Don’t you want to know?”

“I— I don’t know.” He answers “What I know is that I want to be with you.”

“I’ll always be with you, Love,” She reassures, kissing his cheek “I might not understand how this whole different timelines work, but I know that whichever timeline it is, whatever universe we live in, I will always belong to you. I will always be with you.”

And he finally cries. His tears flowing and wetting her palms. His heart shatters, finally succumbing to the guilt he’s tried so hard to bury and forget. He misses his family, he wanted so badly to get back and pick up where he left off, but would it be worth it? Would leaving everything here be worth it? Would leaving her be worth it?

“We’ll find our way,” She reassures, pulling the broken man into her embrace “You’ll find me in your timeline. Maybe we’ll meet at the grocery store, or at a bar, or perhaps at another train station.”

Five chuckles a little, letting a shaky breath as he asks, “And if we don’t?”

“We will,” She says firmly, giving a little space between them so they could gaze into each other’s face “I’m too much of a troublemaker and you’re too much of a problem solver for us to not meet. It’ll be too hard to ignore each other with our nature, Love. We’re bound to meet each other, in any timeline, in any universe. Trust me.”

The boy forces a smile. He leans in, kissing his lover gently as if she’d burst into petals if he pushed too much. Her hold around his neck feels different. Like she wasn’t looking for support but giving one instead. He could feel her trembling a little as his hands pulled her closer by the waist. Her heart is breaking too, as much as his is, but they knew that it’s inevitable. It’s only a matter of time before time pulls them apart and it certainly would be much more painful then.

“I’ll find you,” He whispers “I promise.”

—-

Canada is certainly much colder than home. Five rubs his hands and blows some air to his palms in hope to gain some warmth, but it’s obvious that the only comfort he’ll find in this weather is to get in Viktor’s bar and ask for some drink. That is, if Diego could start the car and get them going.

“It says here that Viktor’s bar is only five minutes by foot,” Klaus says “Who wants to run to the bar with me?”

“No one is getting out of this car!” Diego says in frustration, irritatedly trying his best to start the engine “We’re going to get to his bar together, in this car. That’s the whole point of a family road trip. We go to the bar by car, not by foot!”

“Yes, but it’s freezing here, Diego! The heater is not even on!” Alison argues.

“Well, it won’t be unless the engine is on.”

“No shit, Luther,” Ben says “I vote to run.”

Lila raises her hand, “Second to run.”

“No! No one is getting out of this car!” Diego yells once more, hitting the steering wheel frustratedly “I just need to—”

And by God’s miracle, the engine turns back on. Though their trip would soon reach its main destination, the bicker done by the family persists. The coldness of Canadian weather and how the heater broke almost twenty kilometres ago has made the seven heads’ temper raise. They really need to get to Viktor’s bar before they start to kill each other.

“I’m out of here,” Five announce as the car gets into the parking space of the bar. He space jumped inside, finding himself on one of the empty stools “Good to see you, Viktor.”

“Five,” VIktor greets, a little startled but his smile grows “You’re here. Where are the others?”

“Still figuring their way out to get here. Can I get whiskey on rocks?”

“On it.”

Five taps on the wooden table as he waits for his drink. His heart was content, as much as it might mean now. Their plan to stop the apocalypse worked. Viktor managed to take the marigold off of Ben before the Cleanse happened and now they’re trying to get back or rebuild their life. For once they finally managed to stop the apocalypse from happening.

Right after they succeeded in preventing the cleanse, Five found himself running to the subway station. He could still feel his feet burning from how fast he tried to get back to the station, wanting to jump in the train and go back to her timeline, but once he got there, the station vanished. There was no trace of it, no matter how many times he tried to run around and look for it. The subway is gone. She is gone.

Perhaps it was the price he has to pay for saving the universe. One’s happiness in exchange for the lives of millions doesn’t seem to be a hard sacrifice to make, but it’s still a tough pill for him to swallow. He knew that she would be proud. That she would hug and kiss him for doing all the hard work in saving the world. But the more he thinks about it, the more it stings for such touch would only be as good as a dream now.

“You ordered whiskey on rocks?” A voice asked, breaking his train of thoughts.

Five’s mouth went agape. He couldn’t tell if he was daydreaming or if this was some sick new power he gained from the marigold, but she was there. Standing right in front of him with a glass of whiskey in her hand.

“Viktor said his brother ordered whiskey on rocks, I assume that’s you?”

“I— Uh, yes,” He stammers, getting off the stool “You’re here.”

Five couldn’t believe his eyes. In his heart he knew that they would meet again, that somehow the universe would let him keep both her and his family, but he never expected that it was true. He never expected that he would meet her again. Not this fast, not this way.

“Sorry?” She asks, raising an eyebrow “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Five said, shaking his head and taking the glass “Thank you.”

The girl smiles. It was a different smile than what he’s used to seeing. There wasn’t much love in her eyes, but he wasn’t in the position to complain. The girl he’s staring at and his lover might be the same person but she’s yet to know him here. She’s yet to know that he’s hers. She’s yet to know that he loves her. She’s yet to know that he belongs to her.

“Sorry, but have we met before?” She asks, still staring back at him “You look very familiar.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” He lied, offering his hand “I’m Five. Five Hargreeves. Viktor’s brother.”

She took his hand, telling him her name, “I didn’t know Viktor had a baby brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not really his baby brother. It’s— It’s complicated.” Five could feel his cheeks burning like a little boy, bashful “It’s a long story.”

“You mind telling me about it?” She asks, leaning on the table “I’ve got time. I love hearing stories.”

“I know you do,” He says with a big smile “Well, where do I start..”

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves angst #five hargreeves fluff #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five hargreeves x oc #the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves scenario #five hargreeves scenarios #five hargreeves oneshot

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gojonanami · 1 year ago

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FIVE TIMES NANAMI WANTED TO PROPOSE BUT DIDN'T - NANAMI KENTO

✴︎ summary: nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, swearing, ANGST (major spoilers for jjk 120 (probably next week's episode, character death, exploration of grief, if you wish to avoid the major angst: stop reading after part 5), SMUT (fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), panty sniffing, semi public sex, nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms), pet names (love, sweetheart), happy ending (sort of?) ✴︎ wc: 10,121 (i have a problem) ✴︎ song: the archer - taylor swift (blame laney for this)

ONE.

The first time Kento Nanami wanted to propose to you shouldn’t count.

And it won’t because it was when he first met you — enrolled into Jujutsu Tech along with the other first years, he first laid his eyes on you at a welcome party that the soon to be menace to his sanity, Satoru Gojo, had organized. Well, he could thank Gojo for one thing it was introducing you to the room — because he may have had to find the words to ask you himself. And he didn’t know if that was possible with his tongue in knots.

But he managed to talk to you — mostly with Haibara leading the conversation. You were reserved, at first, but he saw the spark in your eyes whenever you spoke about something you were passionate about — reading was one, one thing you both shared a love for.

“Yeah hauling my books to Jujutsu Tech wasn’t an easy feat, I had to ask Geto-senpai to have some of his cursed spirits help me haul it up to my dorm,”

“By the way, you still owe me lunch for that,” Geto smirks as he slips past, and the flush that settles on your cheeks is one Nanami wanted to see — again and again.

“Aren’t the upperclassmen supposed to buy lunch?” You grumble, pouting as Gojo interjected himself, resting himself on your shoulder with his arm, making you jump.

“Not here, here the kouhais earn their keep,” he grins, tilting his glasses down, “can you?”

And Nanami opens his mouth to reply, irritation creeping over his senses, before you brush Gojo off, “I’ll buy you lunch, but next time, if that’s what it’s gonna cost me, I’m going to have you two haul my books by hand up those steps,” You stick out your tongue, before your arms curl around his and Haibara, “let’s have cake,” you smile at both of them, gaze lingering on Nanami, “and we can exchange book recommendations?”

That was the moment he wanted to propose — could see himself living in a home with you, filled with both of your books lining the walls of a personal library, but your living room as well. He could see himself falling asleep beside you as you read to him, your fingers carding through his hair.

But no, no, it was irrational, he chided himself, as he talked to you, his lips curled in a smile that had damned him from the moment he saw it. He just had met you — he had barely been ever moved by another person, much less fallen in love. And it shouldn’t happen this quickly — it only happened this quickly in books — not in real life.

But you — he watched you and Haibara chat and laugh — you were someone that might just be the thing of books.

~~~~

TWO.

The second time he wanted to propose, he didn’t care to remember.

And he barely did.

He remembers the facts of the mission. It was supposed to be simple — exorcise a grade 2 curse, simple enough for him and Haibara to handle by themselves. Not that they had a choice. Jujutsu Tech’s resources were already far too spread thin — Gojo himself being sent all over Japan and even overseas to handle things himself that no one should be able to. But their mission? It should have been simple — dangerous still, but simple.

But nothing was simple when it came to curses.

He remembers sensing the curse — the manifestation had frozen him and Haibara for a moment — their bodies taut with fear and adrenaline — but they couldn’t move. Even as the cursed spirit screeched before them, he couldn’t articulate what was happening — it was supposed to be a grade 2, it was supposed to be a grade 2, but no — this was a grade 1.

And then it struck — Kento barely had enough time to react, but he did, pushing Haibara out of the way when it did.

He didn’t remember much after that.

He remembered the squelch of Haibara’s flesh, the blood seeping through his clothes, the way his body crumpled on the ground, and he remembered the next moment was the first time he landed a black flash — stunning the curse enough for him to grab Haibara and escape.

But not enough to save him.

Haibara had made him promise if anything had ever happened to him — he would make sure his sister wasn’t recruited to Jujutsu Tech. And he had to make the call to his family — he couldn’t bear the thought of some higher up taking advantage of their grief to manipulate another into their clutches.

No, he couldn’t let that happen.

And now he sat in the morgue with his body, towel covering his eyes — Geto had come and went — and now he sat waiting for the body to be examined and taken away to be burned. Burned to ash with nothing left — that was the way all sorcerers bodies were disposed of. It was if they never existed in the first place - pawns in a never ending war that would have them piled like corpses on a sacrificial pyre.

What was the point?

Haibara had always told him — if there was something only he could do, he would do it. And for him it was jujutsu — but wasn’t there something else? Something else for him to do that didn’t let him up like this? A body on a metal slab waiting to be incinerated. What was the point?

Was there even a point? People lived and people died. He had lived and Haibara died, but he didn’t know why. Why or how do people live one day and disappear the next? He had seen death before but not of someone so close — someone so precious to him. And the chaos was too much for him. To be killed by another’s twisted feelings manifested into a monster — it was almost poetic if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

“Nanami?” And he pulls the towel from his eyes, and sees you — your eyes glassy and red tinged — tear streaks you didn’t hide well left on your face, “Nanami—“ and you don’t know what to do with yourself — as you come to him, hesitating, “can I—“

But he’s the one pulling you into his arms, nearly into his lap as his fingers dig into the fabric of your jacket, “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry I wasn’t there—“ your voice breaks, and it’s enough to break him — he hadn’t really cried, not around another person, but tears well at your words, as your fingers card through his hair.

“You have nothing to be sorry for — I’m the one—“ and his voice breaks in turn, as the words stuck in his mind going round and round, until they were nearly had shattered his sanity and skull along with it, “I’m the one who couldn’t save him,”

And you pull back to look at him with tear stained cheeks, “that’s not your fault, Nanami—“

“How is it not?” His words are laced with more venom that he wishes them to be, a little more bite than he wished to chew, and the hurt in your eyes was enough to make him regret speaking altogether, “I’m so—“

“No, it’s not your fault, Kento,” and his eyes find yours, your lips twisted in a frown, and your gaze unwavering, “I know a part of you knows that — knows that…Haibara’s death is nothing but a function of this shitty system we’ve been funneled into. Nothing more. Nothing less. And you know,” your voice grows softer, “you know Haibara wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for this. You know what he’d say?” You almost chuckle, “he’d tell you not to sweat it. To keep going. That you got it, right?”

He gives a terse chuckle in return, shaking his head, as his head tilts into your chest again, “How do we—“

“I don’t know,” you murmur, you don’t need him to say more, “I don’t know how we do this without him, but we have to. We have to for him,” and your hand cups his face, tilting his chin up so he looks up at you, “together?”

And he wants to ask you then — ask you to marry him. He doesn’t know when he would get a chance. You were the only thing that made his life make sense — the only thing that made him feel okay, feel safe, for once. He was so tired of never feeling that way. And he had just lost the one other person who made him feel that way.

He knew you wouldn’t say yes. You couldn’t. You were both so young still, still reeling from Haibara, still stuck in this system that could kill either of you at any time. But still…wasn’t that all the more reason to do it?

But as you pulled him into another tight hug, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the Jujutsu world. He couldn’t — he couldn’t take another loss like this. He didn’t know if he could bear it. But as his tears wet your jacket, surrounded by you — your scent, your soft breath, your warm presence — he would try.

He would try for you. And his eyes slid to Haibara’s body covered by a sheet — and for him.

~~~

THREE.

“After graduation, I’m leaving,” it was a late night, a couple days before graduation that he told you. The soft pitter-patter of rain was the only thing heard from int the silence before he spoke. You laid on the foot of his bed, reading a book, while he sat cross legged at the head of it, his eyes fixed on you.

Your gaze lifts from your book, brow furrowed in confusion, “Leaving?”

“I can’t be a jujutsu sorcerer,” his words are as plain as always, “I can’t do it. I’m going to go to college and pursue some other line of study—“

And you sit up slowly, putting your book aside, and he expects protests, expects you to convince him otherwise, expects you to try and stop him, but all you ask is one question, “are you sure?”

It catches him by surprise — as you always seemed to. He could anticipate enemy attacks, analyze their next moves five steps ahead, plan three routes of escape, and even predict what garbage will come out of Satoru Gojo’s obscene mouth, but you — you always could surprise him.

“I am,” he finally answers softly, “this society is shit, you know that. And these past few years have shown me that the difference I make isn’t worth the toll it’s taking, especially when I’m not changing anything,”

“Kento, you do make a difference,” your fingers find his, intertwining with ease, such ease he can’t help but think that’s what it was meant for, “you do — even if you can’t see it, I just want you to know, you do. For the people you help, even if you don’t see them, for the other sorcerers you inspire, and for me,”

And he chuckles, “even you?” And you roll your eyes, pouting — the same pout that makes him want to lean over and kiss you until your lips are utterly ruined.

“Even me,” you toss a pillow at him, and he catches it with ease, and you scowl playfully, “y’know i’m gonna miss you, but I’m not gonna miss that,”

“What? My quick reflex—“ and you smack him with another pillow and giggle, the noise making his lips quirk into a smile even as you laughed at him, hands covering your lips.

“What was that, Mr. Ratio? Your quick—“ and he’s tossing a pillow right back smacking you in the face, making his lips curl in a rare grin (though not so rare when he was with you—“

And you pull the pillow off, your face grim, “Oh, it’s so on—“ you’re tossing a pillow, but it’s only a diversion as you lunge for him, assumedly to mess up his hair, but he’s caught you by the wrist, his other hand around your waist as he’s gotten you pinned to the bed.

Time stops.

He’s breathing heavily, and you are too — from the rise and fall of your chest, but he can hardly hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Your lips part as you look up at him — you’re dressed in your sleep clothes, a thin tank top and shorts — and it would be so easy to lean down, let his palm slide under his shirt. He sees your eyes flicker down his body the same — climbing back up before pausing at his lips.

It wasn’t a good idea. He was leaving. You both were graduating. Who knows when he would see you again — yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when this is what he wanted for so long, when he wanted you for so long. But maybe he should — maybe it would be easier, he couldn’t ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech. Just as you couldn’t ask him to stay. He knew you would stay to honor Haibara’s memory, to carry on his legacy — the one thing sorcerers could do for their fallen comrades.

Sometimes the only thing.

And sometimes it was the only thing they couldn’t do.

“Kento—“ your voice pulls him from his reverie, as your fingers brush against his cheek, “are you going to hover over me forever, let me go, or…” and your teeth graze your lip, “are you going to kiss me?”

And he’s blinking, cheeks most assuredly flushing, as your fingers graze the back of his neck, and his mouth is dry, as he looks down on you.

But he doesn’t need to asked twice, as he leans even closer, delighting in how your breath catches, looming over him, “do you want me to kiss you?” And the telltale quirk of his lips makes you gape at him, drawing a laugh from him.

“I hate you,” you murmur, as his lips finally brush yours, swallowing those playfully bitter words with them — and your lips are even softer than he imagined, your fingers settling themselves on the back of his neck, brushing the hair that rested there.

And when he pulls away; his heart squeezes at the sight of your kiss ruined lips parted as you pant slightly, eyes fluttering open to look up at him as if to ask why did you stop? And he can’t help but smile.

“It’s too bad because I love you—“ the words slip from his mouth — but he doesn’t regret it. How can he? When he might not get another chance.

And he thinks his heart will stop at your silence again, the pitter-patter of raindrops ringing in his ears again, before your lips finally curl.

“You love me, huh?” You’re leaning up and kissing him, lips finding his again and again — and how is it that he’s already addicted? You taste like honey, and sunshine, and something headier — sending heat warmer than liquor throughout his body that only made him crave more of you, and you finally pull away, and you’re smiling, “good thing I love you too,”

And he can’t believe his ears, he can’t believe you love him too — all these years he thought it was one-sided, that he was deluding himself with all the times your fingers found his, your eyes met across a classroom with a smile, and the times he found himself falling asleep next to you all those nights neither of you wanted to be asleep, your arm curled around his.

But you did. You loved him. And he loved you.

And as your lips met again, he knew, he knew he still couldn’t ask you. Couldn’t ask you because he knew you maybe wouldn’t say no — and he couldn’t ask that of you. Not when it wasn’t what you wanted. Not when he knew you could do the good he couldn’t bring himself to do. And you would — because you were the best person he knows.

He loves you. And therefore he had to let you go.

But — as he lingered over you on his bed, his body hovering over his as he dragged his thumb over your red, puffy lips, before leaning down for another kiss —

He didn’t have to let you go this second.

~~~~

FOUR.

It’s years before he sees you again.

It wasn’t purposeful. Not exactly anyway.

It was just easier. Easier not to have to think of you still at the place he once was. Still fighting the same curses he would have been fighting with you. Still risking your life day in and day out. While he…he only had money to worry about. To think about. To obsess about.

Money. Money. Money. Money.

How was this somehow shittier than what the jujutsu world? He had considered going into a more humanitarian profession, but when his goal was to retire early, why waste time? If he wanted to help people…he glances at his phone — the one vice he allowed himself, a picture of you that you had sent him when you got promoted to Grade 1 saved as his screensaver — he could have stayed by your side.

No, he wanted to retire. Find himself a nice place to retire to — he hadn’t decided the exact location yet. Somewhere peaceful. With nothing but beaches and sky and sand and books for him to read, to reclaim his life page by page. But to get there — he had to slop through this shit work — making the rich richer.

The same in the jujutsu world, and the same here as well.

And it was one day after he had exorcised a curse from his favorite bakery’s worker, he had felt anything good — anything remotely good — in far too long. Your words rang in his ears — you make a difference.

Was he making a difference by lining the pockets of the rich? Maybe his sorcery wouldn’t change the world, move minds or hearts, pivot the course of history — but maybe he could have his own impact. And not feel like complete shit when he woke up every morning.

And he wouldn’t — he knew he wouldn’t — if he could just see you smile again. Even if he could just see you again. He pulls out his phone, staring at your picture. And maybe…maybe even more.

“Hello, Gojo? I’d like to return to Jujutsu Tech,” and he hears laughter on the other end, “why are you laughing?”

“Kento?” You drop the pen you’re holding, as he steps into your office. And your lips are parted in surprise, your eyes fixed on his, “what are you—“

“I’m coming back, to Jujutsu Tech, I’m going to be a sorcerer again,” and he knows what you’ll ask, he knows you’re going to ask why — you’re going to ask him if he’s sure. And he doesn’t know how to tell you except by saying it’s because of you.

But you don’t say anything, your chair screeches back as you get up, clattering backwards and suddenly as you’re running into his arms. Your face is buried in his chest, and he can feel the tears against his shirt, and his arms curl around you, fingers running through your hair, “I missed you so much,” you murmur, and then you look up at him, fingers tracing his cheeks, gingerly moving his glasses away, “you look tired,”

“I am, but I’m better now,” he’s murmuring — and how is it that you send him right back to where he started, right back to where you always send him. It doesn’t even take a touch — only a glance, a whiff, a second — “I missed you too,” he adds, “a lot,”

And you push him playfully, pouting up at him, “Could have fooled me. You barely ever called or texted me all these years. You talked more to Gojo than you did me,”

“That’s only because that flippant idiot won’t stop calling until I pick up,” he grumbles — Gojo was the last thing he wanted to talk about in his moment — his fingers caress your cheek, tracing the line of your cheekbone, “I wanted to talk to you — I did, I just, I knew if I talked to you, I might say something I’d regret,”

“And what would you regret saying to me?” You raise an eyebrow, and his eyes are sliding away from him.

Asking you to come see him, asking you to leave Jujutsu Tech for him, asking you to be with him — every question that he wanted to ask, but never could.

“It’s not important—” and your hand cups his cheek guiding his eyes back to yours, and he knew you weren’t going to let this go, “If I talked to you, I knew it would end one of three ways — one, I’d ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech; two, I’d come back to Jujutsu Tech; or three, you’d ask me one of these yourself — but I knew I couldn’t do that,”

And your brows knit together, “Why not?”

“Because it had to be our own decision — I couldn’t leave and you couldn’t leave, just because the other asked,” he murmurs, his gaze softening, “it wouldn’t be fair to either of us — or the other — to feel like the only reason we’re together was because of guilt or want for the other, not for ourselves,”

You consider his words for a moment, “I would have left if you asked me,”

“I know, and I would have come back if you had,”

“But we didn’t,” and your fingers cup his face, “you remember what I said to you that night that we kissed?”

And he swallows the lump in his throat, his heart rattling against his chest, “You said, you didn’t want to go further because it would only hurt more when we had to go our separate ways,” and your hand slides up his chest slowly, the other already resting against his neck, and his find their way to you — one hand holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek, “but we’re not separate anymore, are we?”

“I hope the wait was worth it,” you smile, as both close the gap, lips meeting again and again — and you taste the same, but even better somehow — and he’s only pulling you closer, lips curled in a smile so wide that he hadn’t felt in so long, so long.

“Always, when it's you,” he murmurs against your lips, before his lips begin to trail kisses down your jaw and then your neck, his teeth brushing against your pulse, pulling a gasp from your lips, “good girl,” And he feels your knees buckle against his and he’s walking you backwards into the edge of your desk, “is anyone left on campus?” and you’re shaking your head, your eyes flitting to the door, as he makes you sit on your desk, thighs parted for him to settle between.

“The door—”

“Locked,” he replies, drawing back only a moment to take in the image before him — your lips red and ruined, chest rising and falling as you look disheveled at best, sexed at worst, and your eyes — your eyes swirled with lust, half lidded and desperate for his touch— “didn’t want any interruptions,”

Just as he was.

His fingers draw up a strand of your hair and kisses it, and your lips part, “Kento, please—”

“Please, what, my love?” his voice is low and teasing, as his fingers peel back your jacket, pulling it off your shoulders, “you’re going to have to be more specific,” his lips find your neck, soft, wet kisses that has your body leaning into his, “I’m not a mind reader,”

“But you are a tease,” you pout, and he only smiles, leaning down to do the thing he always wanted to — he kisses the pout off your lips, moaning lightly when your lips part for his tongue, his hands dragging down your sides, as your fingers loosen his tie, “I think you will be doing overtime with me today, Nanami-Sensei,”

And he grunts, as your fingers free him of his tie, joining your jacket on the floor, “I’m not going to be a teacher, just a sorcerer,” his teeth graze right under your chin, nibbling, “so you’re the only sensei here — are you going to teach me what you’ve learned the last few years?”

And you toy with the top button of his blue button-up, “Oh, I’ll teach you, Kento,” and you’re starting to undo his buttons, as he busies himself undoing yours, “the question is whether you can handle it,”

“Beautiful,” he murmurs in reverence, and his fingers finally undo the buttons, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, eyes raking over your chest — sharp blue gaze lingering on the erect nipples poking through the fabric for your bra, “You’ve always been the one thing I can’t handle,” his mouth leans down, closing around one clothed nipple, while he teased the other with his fingers, and he delights in your gasp, the noise sending heat right down to his already aching cock, “but I’m willing to try, my love,”

“You still love me?” You murmur, as he shrugs off his own shirt, perfect abs teasing into a v-line, all this muscle hidden under his business attire — and you knew he still must work out, and he did. He did in case he ever needed to come back — come back for you.

“Who says I ever stopped?” His nose buried in the nape of your neck now, as his fingers teasingly snap the strap of your bra, “you smell so good, so perfect,” and his fingers undo your bra and it joins the pile of clothes growing on the floor, “there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you — a night that i didn’t dream of you, that I didn’t want you,”

“Kento—“ you whimper, as he tugs at your skirt, a quick glance for your nod, and he slides it down your legs, bunching at your ankles until you kick it off. Your cheeks burn as he’s kissing your way down your body, his mouth teasing the other nipple he had neglected, trailing hot kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the fabric of your panties, “I need—“

“Been wanting to taste this for so long,” and he’s kneeling between your parted thighs, still calloused fingers parting your plush flesh, tongue flicking over his dry lips at the sight of the dark wet patch at the crotch of your underwear. And you look down at him, eyes glazed over with unadulterated lust that is almost enough to have him cumming in his pants, “so sweet,” he’s murmuring as he noses your clothes cunt, and you jerk, as he pulls the crotch aside, “wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell,”

“Kento—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, nose bumping against your clit, as your thighs curl around him, pulling him closer, closer — “fuck—“

“Such a filthy mouth,” he tuts, smiling against your cunt as his tongue teases your folds, “almost as filthy as you are down here,” and his finger begins to part your walls, making your thighs shake and quake, his lips close around your clit, sucking.

You’re a mess of moans and pants, hips grinding against his touch, as one hand tries to muffle your moans, the other is curled in his blonde locks, “taste even better than I imagined — just f’me, only for me,” You’re so close, as he parts your folds with another finger, sinking knuckle deep, as his fingers brush against that one spot that has you parting your lips in a silent moan, head thrown back — and the heat deep in your stomach is going to snap.

KNOCK KNOCK.

You both freeze, your cunt jerking around his fingers, as you bite your lip — maybe if you’re silent, they’ll go away— but Kento clicks his tongue, a smile on his glossy cum covered lips, mouthing, “Speak,” and you gape at him, chest still heaving, as you shake your head, before he’s curling his fingers just right.

Fucker.

You hear Gojo’s voice, calling your name, “You in there?”

You swallow thickly, meeting Kento’s gaze — he’s not backing down, “Yeah, sorry I’m in the middle of something — do you need something?”

“I was just wondering if you heard from a certain salaryman, or should I say, ex-salaryman?” the very one that was burying his face back in your still sensitive pussy, slurping and licking, despite Gojo being right outside.

You have to bite back your moans, swallowing them as you speak, “You mean Nana—ah—mi?” And you feel the very same sorcerer smirk against your abused cunt, a third finger finding its way inside you, “ha-haven’t heard from him, and what do mean ‘ex?’”

You do your best at acting, but it’s hard when his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard, as your fingers curl in his hair, biting your lip so hard, as he fucks your pussy in earnest with his fingers — how can Gojo not hear the nasty squelch of your cunt?

“He left his job. He’s coming back to Jujutsu Tech,” and he takes a beat, “I’ll take my leave,” and he chuckles, “have fun you two, and Nanami?” You feel your face flush, “don’t be too rough with her — we need our best teacher available to teach tomorrow,”

You hear his laugh all the way down the hall, and you’re covering your face — those fucking six eyes — but Kento’s tugging your hands away, “Pay attention to the one who’s filling you, love,” and he’s burying his face in your cunt, fucking you even harder — hitting that spot over and over, until you cum, back arching, as he’s pulling his fingers out to lap up the slick dripping from you, “delicious,” he murmurs, kissing your still sensitive clit, before he’s looking up at you — all fucked out, your chest rising and falling with every pant, your lips kiss ruined red — “and so beautiful,”

His licks his lips clean of your cum, wiping the rest with the back of his hand, as he rises to your feet, “Kento, please,” you’re murmuring, his hands slide over your body, squeezing your hips, “I need you,”

“What do you need—“ and his words are cut off by your fingers reaching for his buckle, the clink of the metal as you undid it, along with the button, tugging his pants and boxers down.

He hisses as his too sensitive dick slaps his stomach, your lips parting, eyes in a trance, “So pretty, Kento,” your fingers traces one of his veins to his already leaking tip, “and so fucking big,” you murmur, teasing the bead of precum on his slit, making him groan, “can’t wait to have this inside me — been waiting ten years,”

And he’s sliding your hand away, pressing his hips flush to yours, as your legs wrap around his waist, “That long huh?” And his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, “and I thought I was the only one pining,”

“So you admit you were pining for me?” And he laughs, as you smile up at him — like all the times he had hoped you would — “I had a crush from almost the moment I met you,”

“You could have fooled me,” he presses kisses up and down your jaw, drawing a moan from both of you as he teases your puffy clit with his aching tip, “I thought you had a crush on Geto,” and you scoff.

“Geto? So you were jealous of him — that’s why you always had that sour look whenever I studied with him,” you grin even wider, “well you had nothing to worry about - I had a crush on very gloomy boy and no one else ever caught my eye,”

And he softly smiles, and it seems to ebb away the years — the trauma and the tiredness — and left only him, your Kento.

“Is that right?” He asks before kissing you again, his fingers finding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, as you moaned, muffled by his mouth, “I want—“

“I know, me too, please — don’t keep me waiting any longer,” and how could he refuse a request like that?

He’s sinking into you, thick cock parting your dripping folds until he hilts himself fully in you, his fingers digging your hips — and you’re so full, too full. And you’re perfect — perfect walls wrapped around him, so warm and so tight — it’s enough for him to neatly blow his load then and there.

But he can’t, can’t when he’s waited this long to do this. You’re whimpering, “S’good, Kento, too good,” your walls flutter around him as his hips shift lightly, “please, please move—“ his hands find your legs, lifting them higher to find a better angle, fingers digging into your soft thighs.

And his hips slowly thrust into you, edging you with his shallow thrusts, and you’re whining, “Kento—“

“Look at the mess you’re making all over your desk,” he’s guiding your gaze with two fingers on your chin, making you watch where his cock is sunk into you, “taking me so well, practically swallowing me, good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts, “want it harder? Want me to fuck you?”

Your desk is already creaking under your weights and the movements, you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted, “Kento, please, I need—“ and you watched his cock pull out only to slam back in. Your head falls back, moaning his name again and again.

The squelch of your cunt rang in his ears over and over, as he grunts, barely keeping himself from cumming, especially when you begin to roll your hips into him, “You’re so pretty, and all mine — just mine,” and his lips find yours again, just as your walls flutter at his words, “like that? Like it when I claim you, love with my cock fucking you?” And his vulgar words only makes you tighter, and he grunts, “‘m close, sweetheart,”

“Me too—g’nna cum—“ and his dick reaches that spot right as his thumb bears down on your clit, teasing it in circles, until you’re moaning his name as you cum. Your walls clamp down, soaking his cock, a white ring of cum around his base as he fucks you through your orgasm.

His eyes meet yours as you do, watching your high overcome you, twitching and moaning — and he doesn’t last much longer. His hips stutter against you in shallow thrusts until he’s notching himself deep inside, groaning as he cums, hot seed painting your walls white.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, as he kisses your sweat slicked forehead, “so good,” and he’s grunting as he pulls out, watching your mixed releases trickle out, leaking all over your desk and onto the floor. He drags his cock over your weeping cunt, watching it flutter around nothing.

“Kento,” you murmur, gazing up at him, utterly blissed out as your lips curl, your legs slipping off his waist as he settles down on your desk, “I love you,”

And his heart squeezes — is he dreaming? He must be dreaming — because nothing in his life has ever been so good. So wonderful. So perfect. It didn’t happen for him — it never happened for him.

“I love you too,” he murmurs reverently, his fingers trailing over your jaw, “so much — you don’t know how much, darling,”

“Think you can quantify it for me, Mr. Salaryman?” And he snorts, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t call me that,” he kisses your neck — you smelled so good, were you real?

“Then what should I call you?”

And he wanted to ask you then — ask you to call him your husband, to marry you, to buy that ring he had looked at from time to time when he thought about marrying you. But you just found your way back to each other — hell, he had just slept with you in your office, not even a bed. It was too soon, but — his lips curled — he was closer than he had ever been before. And he wouldn’t wait, he wouldn’t hesitate, not when it was you. He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers.

He smiles, “Just call me yours.”

~~~~

FIVE.

Today was the day.

He was finally going to ask. That’s what he thought when he looked at you, still in bed, bathed in the dappled sunlight let in by his parted curtains. You were still fast asleep beside him, body curled up so your body was pressed against him. He ran his fingers through your hair gently not to wake you, “I love you,” he murmurs, as opens his bedside drawer, pulling a ring box and notecard from it — and he stares at it.

He’d ask you. He would ask you to marry him — finally take you on that vacation to Malaysia you both had talked about for too long, read all the books you both had put off, and lounge on the beach — and do much more in your hotel room. And then maybe, maybe he could ask you to retire from jujutsu.

He had always promised himself, promised that he wouldn’t be a sorcerer when he got married. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a family behind to mourn him — but even more than that, he couldn’t bear the thought to lose you, to call you his wife, call you his soulmate — and have you fall away from him.

He would rather be the one to die.

But this way — he rises, grabbing his clothes for the day, and slipping the ring and the note into his coat pocket — neither of you would have to worry about losing the other. At least to a curse.

“Where are we going?” You giggle as he drags you along the street, packed with people, more than usual. He keeps you close, an arm wrapped around you, especially for a Wednesday evening. What date was it? He had seemingly lost track of everything he had planned.

“It’s Halloween,” you remind him without him asking the question, “explains all costumed people and the packed streets — we should definitely avoid Shibuya — the crowds there would be insane,”

“How’d you know—“ and you tap his forehead with a smile.

“I could see your gears grinding, Kento,” you smile, resting your head against his shoulder, “and it’s just like you to forget it’s Halloween,”

“Is it?” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “well good thing I have you to remind me,”

“Very good thing, and I have you to remind me about everything else,” and he nods, and you elbow him, “you don’t have to remind me of that much!”

“You were leaving the house yesterday and you forgot your wallet, keys, and purse — you almost forgot to put on shoes—“ and you’re covering his mouth his your hand.

“How about you remind me about where we’re going?” And he smiles against your hand, before kissing it gently, pulling it from his lips and kissing the back of your hand as well, making you flush.

“Why ruin the surprise—” and then both of your phones ring — the two of you share a dark look, glancing at your phones and seeing the same message — Emergency: veil has fallen over certain areas of Shibuya. All available sorcerers report.

“I guess we are going to Shibuya,” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair, “we should—”

“We should stop by the apartment — we both left all our equipment there and I need to change,” and you nod, as his fingers toy with the ring box in his pocket, a sigh stuck in his throat. When will he ever get the chance to do this right? Finally, he had worked up the nerve and this—this had to happen.

“Hey,” you cup his cheek, a soft smile on your face, “I’m sorry our plans are falling through, and just when I was going to make you give up this secret surprise,”

His lips curl, as his arm pulls you even closer, “I don’t recall agreeing to give up any secrets,” and you lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet quickly turning heady — neither of you were ones for public displays — but for some reason, it just felt right. And you part, breath warming his lips with a wide grin.

“Oh, you would have,” and he laughs, squeezing your hips, as he rests his forehead against yours, “We’ll pick this up right after we deal with this problem.”

He nodded, leaning down to kiss you again and again, his fingers still toying with the box in his pocket. And he wanted to ask right then, just drop to his knee in the middle of this packed street full of costumed weirdos and freaks, mission be damned, jujutsu be damned — but he didn’t want to do it like this.

He wanted it to be a time where both of you were safe, where you could celebrate without the fear of danger beating down your necks, where he could talk to you, hold you, kiss you — without fear it would be the last. Because he always wondered when it would be the last. But it wouldn’t be — he’d do anything to make it back, to finally take that step with you, the one he’d been waiting for over ten years to take. Take that vacation you both wanted with his ring on your finger, and retirement from Jujutsu around the corner.

And he squeezes your hand, “Promise?” and you lean into him, pulling him along the street back to your shared apartment.

“Promise.”

~~~

He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise.

That’s what kept repeating in his mind with every step he took. He couldn’t really feel much — not anymore. That special grade curse had burned him — burned half of his body to a crisp, he could barely smell the burning flesh anymore. All he could do was keep moving. Moving. Moving. Moving.

But he didn’t want to move anymore — he was tired. So tired. He couldn’t feel much, but he could feel the weight of having to keep going, even if he didn’t want to.

And now, he stands before a swarm of…curses? Transfigured humans? He didn’t know — he could barely see at this point out of his one remaining eye — he could barely keep it open, still drooping even as the monsters loomed before him.

“Malaysia…Yeah, Malaysia…Kuantan would have been nice,” the recommendation he had gotten from Mei Mei when trying to decide on a vacation for you and him to take — who better to ask than the woman with all the time and money in the world, a little brother who’d take her anywhere she wished. You both had settled on Malaysia, still panning out the details of when, but he had planned to surprise you with open ended tickets for the both of you — paid extra for them, in case something came up.

He almost chuckles. Something always came up.

Maybe if you both had liked it enough, he’d have a private home built for the two of you — with the little library nook you always dreamed of having, finally getting around to reading the countless books you both had bought and never read, go through page by page and take back the time you both have lost.

But right now each step felt like an eternity as he walked.

Where was he going again? Oh yes, to help Fushiguro. And what about Naobito and Maki? What had happened to them? There wasn’t much he could do about that.

Tired. He was so tired. I’ve done enough, haven’t I?

Hadn’t he done enough? He thought he had done enough when he left — left it all behind like a nightmare he didn’t care to revisit. Left the loss, the pain, the anger — the curses really — all behind him, in exchange for another set — greed, money, power. What was really the best option? Had he made the right choice?

But then he thought about you.

Your smiles, your touch, your kisses, your laughs — all the times he spent with you — slow mornings spent reading the paper together over coffee and toast from the bakery you always went out of your way to buy his favorites from; lazy evenings spent watching movies or reading, your legs intertwined as you did, his arm around your shoulders, until you plucked the book from his fingers made it so you were only thing his eyes were on; and sleepless but perfect nights spent in each other’s arms. The many times he wanted to ask you — the one question he never got to ask you still burned on the tip of his tongue like a curse unspoken, and he knew if he spoke it now, it would be one.

And so he did what he did best, he dispatched the curses, quick and easy. And his lips curled despite himself — at the thought of you. He could almost feel your lips on his still from earlier, the sweet scent of you instead of the smell of blood or burning flesh, he could almost see you too.

A hand rested on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Mahito stared back at him.

Oh. Oh.

It was over.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry I can’t propose. I’m sorry I can’t marry you. I’m sorry I can’t have the life we wanted. I’m sorry I came back only to leave you with the worst curse of them all.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Nanami says, staring back at the curse — and it reminds of that time — that time Mahito had him in his domain, he truly had resigned himself to death. Resigned himself to die — and then Itadori had come crashing in, crashing in as he did his life, saving him. Saving him by not only by his very existence as Sukuna’s vessel, but by just his sheer strength.

That kid had really grown on him — he didn’t want him to. Not when he had the same positivity, the same smile, the same kindness…as Haibara. It was illogical. He wasn’t Haibara — he was Sukuna’s vessel, and he wouldn’t acknowledge him, he wouldn’t until he proved himself. But he’d protect him, and he would do what he could. Because being a child isn’t a sin — but perhaps, being a jujutsu sorcerer is one.

“Yup. The whole time,” Mahito replies, lips upturned in a slight smile, “Wanna chat? We go way back, after all,”

Nanami’s eyes shift to the floor, the muddied and bloodied tiles underneath his feet — he didn’t care to divulge his deepest feelings to a curse. There were only two people he could talk to about this — and one of them, he supposed, was now closer to his being than the other.

Haibara, what the hell was I trying to do? He asks in his mind, not even daring to say the words aloud, I ran. Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of finding the work worthwhile.

And then he sees him. Haibara appears in front of him, patented smile on his lips, as he points south — points right at—

“Itadori,” Mahito says, his eyes narrowing.

“Nanamin!” his eyes wide as he takes in his state — oh, he had hoped no one would see him like this, much less Yuji. He had already been through so much, so young — hell, he had already died once. He didn’t deserve to see this. He didn’t deserve to grow up like this — to have his youth ripped away. But, did any of them deserve it?

It was a marathon, a marathon that they found themselves in that headed only towards a pile of corpses — but each time, they had to pass the baton before they stopped.

Could he finally stop?

He had dropped his baton so long ago, dropped and left the track, but he knew it would be picked up by another and another and another — but it was his baton, his baton that Haibara had handed him before he died in his arms.

No, Haibara. That’s not right. I can’t say that to him. It’ll just end up becoming a curse for him.

But it’s a curse every jujutsu sorcerer had to bear — made to bear until there were either no curses or no sorcerers left.

But he couldn’t regret it now.

“Itadori,” his lips curl, smiling for the last time, “you’ve got it from here.”

He couldn’t keep his promise to you — but he kept his one to Haibara.

And you’d pay the price.

~~~

This wasn’t real. Was it?

You stood outside your shared apartment with Kento. Finally a stop to the fighting for a month for everyone to train — enough time for you to retrieve some cursed weapons you had left behind — not knowing the fight would drag on for this long. You had considering sending someone — maybe not Ijichi but someone else to retrieve them, but right now, you couldn’t bear the thought of someone else rifling through Kento’s things. Moving the things that he had placed just so — the last remnants of his life, the marks he left that proved he was there, that he lived — that he had lived.

Lived. Past tense. And now you were still living — living in a world without him.

You inserted your key and turned the lock, opening the door. And it did, just like it had every day. Each day you’d open it — sometimes before Kento, other days after — but each time, there was always a meal Kento had prepped or bought waiting for you.

And this was the first time that there wasn’t.

Not only a meal — there was no one waiting for you. Not here.

You closed the door behind you — no longer a home, just an apartment. You needed to remember the things you needed, your mind was nowhere to be found, and fled the country when you had heard the news. You didn’t cry. Not at first.

Yuji was the one to tell you. He shouldn’t have been the one to see it. You knew it haunted his dreams, you knew he blamed himself, you knew — because Kento had done the same. So you hugged him, let him cry silently into your shirt, comforted him the best you could — because you knew that’s what Kento would have wanted.

He loved Yuji — he loved Ino too, and the other students all held a special place for him, but Yuji — Yuji was a special case. You knew that from the moment he had spoken about him.

“Gojo wants me to mentor Sukuna’s vessel,” he told you one night in bed, having returned from a mission and having a drink with Gojo — not a real drink, Kento had clarified, since it had no alcohol in it — but a drink nonetheless.

“He has a name, Kento. Itadori. He’s sweet,” you smile, you had met him and all the other first years from teaching, “he’s a good kid — very new to all of this, but he has a good heart and some good skills under his belt.”

“A vessel for the ticking time bomb has a good heart? Glad to hear it,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t know — he was a normal kid two minutes ago, and now he’s running around with Gojo feeding him Sukuna’s fingers every second,” he leans back against the headrest, “what am I supposed to make of this? I’m not even a teacher,”

“And what have you been doing with Ino?” you raise an eyebrow, “that kid is constantly after you, dogging your every step — he looks up to you. “And I know a lot of the other students do too, the ones that know you,”

“It’s—”

“You should do this. It would be good for you,” and he’s hesitating, “Yuji needs a sorcerer to guide him — teach him the basics that Gojo has neglected to do, and show him how a proper jujutsu sorcerer who isn’t…a special case like Gojo, operates.”

Kento’s lips curl, “You know you can call him a moron,”

“Why call him that when I have you to call him that for me?” you snort, “now what do you say?”

And he eventually agreed — and it was the best decision for him. It gave him more purpose, more drive — he seemed even more fulfilled — the most you had seen him professionally fulfilled in quite some time.

“You got it from here.”

His last words to Yuji. You almost have to scoff at the poeticness of it all — the same words Haibara had told him. The ones he hadn’t told you for nearly a decade, until one night he had told you what he said.

“And why didn’t you leave any words for me, Kento?” you ask the empty apartment before you, “for so long, we didn’t have each other — we couldn’t. And we finally find our way back, we finally do all the things we said we would — you’re gone, again,” your voice breaks, “I wish, I wish you were here. I wish I could see you. I wish—” and you break off.

There’s no point for wishing for things that can’t happen. You had things to do, and little time to waste. You needed to get stronger too. You needed to be useful. You needed to fight. You couldn’t tarnish Kento’s memory, or — you look at a picture that you had taken of him and Yuji a few days before outside a convenience store you had stopped by after a mission — his legacy.

You searched for the things you needed, placing them in cloth bags and then paper bags for easy and inconspicuous transport, but you needed to label them. You searched your apartment for a pen — but apparently you had misplaced every single one that you had — where the hell were all the pens? A question you’d usually ask Kento and he’d produce one from thin air. No matter what you lost or what you needed — he had it.

He always had it.

If he did always have what you needed, then maybe…you walk into the bedroom, over to his nightstand — he often kept a notebook for thoughts and notes in his bedside table so maybe—-

And there it was — a pen, but it wasn’t the pen that made you pause — it was the two things beside it.

A notecard and a ring box.

A ring box.

Your hands shake, and you almost want to close the drawer. Forget you say anything. Continue with the work you’re doing. It would hurt less.

But you can’t. You can’t.

You reach for the notecard first, fingers shaking as you gingerly pick it up — and you can tell this wasn’t the first he had written on. You could see the indentations from his pen, this card underneath the others as he had wrote. But his handwriting was neat, yet messy at the same time — his patented half print, half cursive scrawl that he hadn’t left.

Your legs buckle and you sit down on the edge of the bed — the side he used to sleep on, his arm wrapped around your waist, face buried in your back, his lips brushing against your skin when he finally stirred. And now it was empty.

My love, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to ask you this. I’ve thought of ways to ask for years — I had to write it down just so I didn’t mince my words or ramble — you know I’m not one to drag out conversations. I love you. I’ve always loved you from the moment I met you — I know you’d tease me for pining for you, but I did pine for you and I’ve pined for you every second we’re apart. The other times I’ve wanted to ask you, the timing never worked out. But we have the time now, don’t we? Will you do me the honor of being your husband? I’ll spend every second making you happy, because that’s what you deserve, sweetheart. Only the best.

And your tears splatter against the corner of the card, before you put it down, as you let your sobs overcome you, screams you didn’t know you were capable of making— you didn’t even realize it was you, until your throat began to ache.

Why? Why? Why?

It wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening.

And your fingers reach for the ring box now, opening it only to feel more tears well — it was the ring you had showed him. One you had showed him one late night when it had showed up somewhere or another — you hadn’t even thought about the ring again. Until now.

You can’t bear to touch it. You can’t. Not when he wasn’t there to pull it from its box and slip it onto your finger. And he never would be. Not until you saw him again — one way or another.

You snap the box closed, tears slipping down your cheeks as you placed the box and card back into the drawer — noticing something else underneath — a printout? And you pull the papers out, scanning it.

You almost sob. A trip to Kuantan, Malaysia. The trip you two had talked about for months, but never had gone on. The trip was more for Kento than it was for you — and it was for you, in a way, because what you wanted the most was to just be with him. Time was all you wished for with him — all you wanted — but you knew you could have spent every moment with him for the last ten years and it wouldn’t have been enough.

It would never have been enough.

“I miss you,” you speak to the ghosts that fill your mind and haunt your dreams — Kento and Yu, “I hope you’re at peace. I hope you’re lying on a beach somewhere, reading the books you wanted to read, drinking an expensive drink, and eating the bread you love — I promise, I’ll find my way to you, someday,”

And you place the things back in the drawer, and shut it.

For now, you had other things to do. Other people to protect, other curses to exorcise. But — you stare at the picture of the two of you on your nightstand — his love was the one curse you could never give up.

Many months later.

You take that vacation he wanted. Packing the books he always wanted to read. Pocketing the ring he wanted to propose to you with. You’d pack a few shirts of his to wear on the beach, and maybe he would be lying beside you in spirit. You would find that beach he wanted to take you to — the one he had written down and had looked up several times while booking your trip.

You kept the seat beside you on the plane empty but you ordered a glass of wine and a sandwich for him regardless. You know you would have ended up ordering because he likely would have fallen asleep — old man he always was. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was sitting in the seat beside you.

He wasn’t dead. Not really, you think as you sit in the beach in one of his deep blue button ups thrown over your swimsuit, reading one of his books page by page, taking back the time that was stolen from him with your own — minutes and hours and days you’d wish you could take off your own and give to him.

He was alive, he was alive as long as you were, as long as the people who he was important to were alive. And he was alive — alive in your head and your heart and your very soul.

You read his proposal aloud as the sun sets, tears slipping down your face as you slip his ring onto your finger. And there it would stay.

Stayed all the seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years you lived -- lived in the house you built in Malaysia when all was said and done for you in the jujutsu world, just as Kento had wanted. Stayed until you finally saw him again. Saw him standing beside Haibara, softly smiling behind him, as your eyes fluttered open as he greeted you. Lips curled in that same smile that damned you from the moment you saw it.

“Don’t keep me waiting, love,” he smiles, the same words you had said to him, “we’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?”

But neither of you had to wait anymore — as you run into his arms, warm and made of flesh and blood and real, so real — you had forever now.

✴︎ a/n: first, i'm so sorry lol. i don't know how the spirit of gege possessed me but i decided to inflict some pain. i have to thank @laneysmusings for proofing this for me and having to endure this pain. I also want to credit @/tempenensis for their post on haibara / jjk 120 that helped inspire/inform the third to last scene (but they don't like self-insert so i am not gonna tag them, but you should check out their tumblr!

✴︎ taglist: @your-local-simplol, @renawithane, @grooveandshit, @aemondseyesocket, @nitskilanara, @yunchans, @ackermanbby, @luminouslateralup, @multi-fandom3, @idktbhloley, @minteaful, @malleusmybelovedd, @lighttism, @lemonpoppy-seed, @nitskilanara, @wshwshi, @rreborn, @reyy-chanx, @kiradoki, @uroldall, @madam-milf, @elusivemoon

#sab [mlist]#nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami smut #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #nanami fanfiction #kento nanami angst #jjk angst #nanami x you #nanami x reader

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damn-stark · 29 days ago

Note

hiii!! I was wondering if you could write a hwang Jun Ho x reader where it’s angsty but with fluff ofc as well!! the plot is totally up to you :))

Strained Heart

Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader

A/N- My first Squid Game imagine so I really hope you like it:)

Warning- Angst and fluff! Spoilers for the show!

Pairing- Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader

Episode- 2x01

——

*12:00 AM*

“Hello?” Your voice comes out groggy, making the person on the other end of the call let out a shaky sigh before they interject.

“I am so sorry to call so late, ma’am, please forgive me,” a sweet feminine voice sounds extremely apologetic and almost as if she had hurt you by just calling so late. “I am calling from the hospital regarding your husband, Hwang Jun-ho.”

The grogginess that was making you all foggy leaves your body in a flash of a second as you hear the name of your husband. She has not mentioned his state but after days of not hearing from him and him not coming home, just hearing someone call you in regards to him is like a spike of adrenaline.

“He was admitted earlier today without any identification, but we were finally able to contact you—”

“Is…my husband alive?” You cut the woman off because you can’t sit in anticipation anymore. You need to know now.

“Yes. He has not woken up, but he was able to get treated. He will be here for the full day if you wish to come and see him. I am sorry again for calling so late. Goodnight.”

“Good night,” you mumble before you pull the phone away from your ear and let it slip from your hold as you drop your head into your hand while also holding your chest and letting out a deep shaky breath.

You had called his phone so many times and messaged him twice as much. When he did not come home the first night, you called his work over and over again in hopes something would change or that they would have received any kind of word from him, but they also had no idea where he had gone. You were all in the dark and the worry had begun eating away at you.

However, there’s finally news from him and you can’t say you’re riddled with relief nor that the strain over your heart lets go, but you no longer feel fear over him being potentially dead. Perhaps you should still feel scared, when you reach the hospital he doesn’t wake up. You wait until morning, but he still fails to rise with the sun. It has his poor mother weeping with worry, but you don’t feel a sliver of fear.

Maybe it’s because you know him better. He’s a fighter, after all, you know that. He wouldn’t give up so easily, especially not when he has yet to hear from his beloved brother. Or maybe fear doesn’t cling to you because your mind is focused on an annoying thought telling you to leave.

You don’t want to live with constant worry, if this is how your life is going to be with him, you don't want any part of it. You can’t live with the constant fear that one morning will be the last time you get to kiss him before he leaves your front door. That strain left you almost invalid this time around, you couldn't focus on anything but him, and all you imagined was violent made-up thoughts of different deaths. Could you really live through that again? Do you want to?

You love Jun-ho, but if that fear and pain is going to be following you around like a looming shadow can you go on at his side and be swallowed by it?

You let out a shaky breath and drift your eyes away from his resting face, catching his lonely hand resting at his side and feeling tempted to grab it to provide him some warmth and comfort while he still lies unconscious as if debating at that moment to give in and take his hand, or leave it be and run with that cruel thought.

Yet before you can decide the heart monitor starts to pick up, not in an alarming way, but enough to pique your curiosity and make you look back at him, noticing at that moment his eyes fluttering open at long last.

“Jun-ho,” you breathe out and slowly rise from your seat at the same time his mother does.

“Jun-ho,” his mother calls out with more tears already rolling down her cheeks. As said man’s eyes open wider she cries out. “Jun-ho, can you hear me?”

A shaky breath runs past your lips and you immediately stroke his cheek with a faint relieved smile spreading on your lips.

“Doctor!” His mother shouts as she runs out before you can offer to call a nurse or doctor inside. “I need a doctor in here! My son just opened his eyes!”

Jun-ho’s dark eyes remain fixated on the ceiling and he breathes out a single name. “In-ho.”

It’s his brother's name. The same estranged brother he’s been searching for, and the same estranged brother he worries about everyday

“Jun-ho,” you call out softly as if to not hurt him, and his eyes slowly shift to you, making his heart monitor skip a beat and a glimmer flash in his eyes as he makes out your face and seems to realize you’re no fever dream. He then utters your name and your smile widens while tears fall from your eyes without warning.

Before either of you can utter anything else besides each other's names his mother returns with a nurse who does a check up on him and preps him to be seen by a doctor. Thus for a while, he belongs to the fleet of nurses that barge in, as well as the doctor that comes in and out until they’re all finally satisfied and know for certain that nothing is wrong with his brain or heart after he was found drowning.

Drowning…he was drowning and you didn’t have a clue. Your worst fear could have come true and you would have never known, you would have lived forever worried and searching desperately if he hadn’t been found.

Can you really go on living like that?

That thought spins in your mind without seeming to know how to stop until finally, Jun-ho steals your attention. “Are you okay?” He asks with his voice still raspy.

You swallow back nervously and then draw in a deep breath. His mother seems to have caught the tension and excuses herself from the room. It’s only when the door is closed that you give his question an honest answer.

“Where were you? I called. I messaged you, and all I got that night you didn’t come home was that I shouldn’t worry, but you were gone for days, Jun-ho. And when I hear from you again, all I get is a call from the hospital saying you were brought in.”

Jun-ho’s eyes linger on you, on your furrowed eyebrows, and your eyes brimming with tears of frustration and he sighs deeply as he averts his eyes.

“I…can’t tell you what I was doing just yet. Wait until we get home so I can tell you what I know. For now,” he says and looks back at you with a slightly pleading look. “Can you trust me when I say I’m sorry for making you worry? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have another choice and my phone was only at half percent battery.”

You scoff in disbelief and slowly rise from your seat to pierce a glare into him. “That’s all I get? After I was riddled with worry not knowing if you’re alive or not?”

“Did you get what I sent you?” He asks and avoids answering, but that only infuriates you more.

“Jun-ho!”

“Please.”

Your frown deepens and you shake your head stiffly. “No.” You deadpan. “The nurse said you didn’t have a phone on you when you were brought in either.”

He groans and drops his gaze, so you press yourself against the edge of the bed and dig your eyes deep into his gaze to press him. “When we got married you said that you would not let me live with that kind of worry. You promised me Jun-ho, and look at us now.”

He slowly finds you again and with the strength he was gaining, he picks his hand off the bed and wraps his fingers around your hand to offer you some consolation. “I…found my brother…that’s what I was doing, and that’s all I can offer you now. I will explain it all when we go home, where I don’t have to worry if my mother or anyone will overhear. Can that be enough for now?”

Your breath catches and curiosity and confusion fill your mind, outweighing your frustration. Jun-ho sees that and continues to pass another apology. “I am sorry. Please forgive me. I…will do better. I promise.”

That cruel thought pulses in your mind, making your doubt clear.

“I…will change departments. I will work as a traffic officer. Just say you forgive me. I found my brother and lost him all in the same day. I…can’t lose you too.”

That cruel thought falters before it's completely destroyed by your bleeding heart. He doesn’t offer another promise, just sweet and affectionate words, but that’s enough to make your heart swoon and make you grab his hand to kiss his knuckles before you press your forehead against his.

“Don’t give up what you like to do for me…nothing will stop me from worrying, just…don’t leave me in the dark.”

Jun-ho grabs your hand and presses it against his beating heart, letting you feel the same ba-dum you hear on the monitor by his bed.

“I will try,” he offers you without making a promise so as to not potentially break another promise.

“I’m so glad and relieved you’re alive and back to me,” you whisper against his forehead, making him lift your hand to his dry lips to press a kiss on the heel of your hand and find peace in the silence.

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sitepathos · 4 months ago

Text

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 6: The Return

A/N: Did this chapter during a slow day in class. Enjoy this mini chapter!

You tried to keep your promise to Alfred about taking regular breaks to stop for food and sleep, but the Megamycete gives you unlimited energy, reducing your need for food and rest and allowing you to focus only driving as much as you can before night because Alfred is no doubt keeping track of when you tell him you’re stopping and resuming your journey.

Finally, after forty hours (you wished you could’ve turned into a giant flying creature and carry your car all the way to Goodsprings, but you’d never be able to explain that to Alfred), you pulled into the driveway of your childhood home and you feel tears swelling up in the corners of your eyes.

(Your feelings for this home are quite profound,) it remarks as you make your way up the driveway. (May we ask a favor?)

“Yeah, of course?”

(Allow us to establish a root system around your house. We promise our roots will not damage anything.)

“Can I ask why?”

(You have longed to return to this house for years. We wish to ensure its protection. With a root system, we will be able to watch over your house and keep out undesirables, be they man or pest.)

“Sure,” you chuckle, bending down and touching the lawn and from your finger, a sliver of mold extends from your skin and disappears into the dirt.

(We thank you. Should anything threaten your home, we will intervene.)

“Thanks, buddy,” you chuckle as you walk up to the front door, pulling out the key that the Clark County Probate Office sent you after you turned eighteen.

As you insert the key into the keyhole, you realize that you’re holding your breath. You’ve dreamed on this moment for years and now that it’s here, you’re worried that the home you’ve wanted to return to won’t bring you the joy you thought it would.

(Do not let your fears stand in your way. This home contains memories of a time of your life that you cherish. You will also be able to walk through the halls of this house without fear. Within these four walls, you will create a new life that will bring you happiness.)

You’re thankful for accepting the Megamycete into your body. Not only has it given you powers and abilities that you could never dream of, but it’s provided you comfort and companionship. It’s been very helpful to have your own Jiminy Chricket, whispering guidance and help from your shoulder.

With that, you turn the key and push the door open, stepping into the small foyer. Sure, the house has that type of smell that says it’s been empty for years and it’s pitch black since the curtains are drawn, but you’re overwhelmed by so many memories all at once. You and your Momma chasing each other down the hall in a game of tag, you sprawled out on the couch in the adjacent living room to watch the latest episode of one of your favorite cartoons, and so many others.

As you make your way through the house and notice every piece of furniture is covered in white sheets, protecting them from being covered in dust. Probably Sheriff Foley, he was the last one here the day your left and from what you remember of the distinguished sheriff, he’d do everything in his power to preserve the house and make sure nothing happened to it.

Finally, you pass throgh the dining room attached to the kitchen, walk down the small hallway and stop at the door on the left.

“Momma’s study,” you say, looking at the door before you.

(A room she spent most of her time. Many hours spent at her desk, working on her books. And you would stay in here to watch her.)

You open the door to see her bookshelves, desk, and chair covered in white tarps and the curtains drawn just like the rest of the house. You walk over to the other side of the desk, pull the tarp off the chair, and plop down on it.

“Feels just like I remember it,” you say, spinning around in it.

(What will you do with this room? Will you keep it as a study, or repurpose it?)

“I can turn it into my own study. With all that money Lex gave me for Bruce’s secrets? I can buy one hell of a PC that’ll be perfect for making games.”

After the study, you head upstairs, which has your old room, your Momma’s room, an upstairs bathroom, and a bedroom she had turned into a storage room. Your old room’s empty since you took most of your belongings when you moved to Gotham, the only things left are a bed that you’ve long since outgrown and a small dresser, so you decide otherwise set up in your Momma’s old room, which has a large bed that’s been covered in a tarp for years, a large dresser perfect for your clothes, and a sizable private bathroom.

(This house seems perfect for your purposes. And your mood has definitely improved since arriving.)

“Yeah, we have the house all to ourselves and there’s no Waynes in sight. This is definitely better than Wayne Manor.” You look around at the dark room and sigh. “We have a lot of work to do.”

And you did. For a week, you worked tirelessly to get the house livable, making calls to utility companies to get power, water, and gas turned back on, airing out the house, taking down the tarps and making everything look presentable, and clearing out your Momma’s belongings. You kept as much of you could, like her books, movies, jewelry, and everything else in between, but her clothes were boxed up and donated, along with appliances that date back to the early 2000s.

You had a lot of shopping to do, replacing the old appliances you donated, groceries for the new refrigerator, and a new mattress for your new room since the thought of sleeping on a decade old mattress made you itch all over. If you could’ve, you would’ve done all the shopping online, but you didn’t want to risk attracting attention to your finances with so many large purchases, so going to stores and paying with cash was your only option.

The best part of all this was converting your old bedroom into your gamer cave, full of your Pokémon plushies, toys, and posters, LED strips lining the corners of the room, and a giant desk and a top-of-the-line gaming PC. As much as you loved your trusty laptop, this PC makes it look like a relic from over a hundred years ago, and you can now play more modern games without any kind of lag. You’re really looking forward to future video game sessions.

After your gamer cave came your office. You boxed up your Momma’s old books and placed them in the storage room, replacing them with a few art books and game guides and bought another top-of-the-line PC full of digital art and video game creation software and placed it on the desk. You also found a fancy pen stand and placed your Momma’s pen on it, retuning the pen to its proper place. Plus, it can give you inspiration while you work.

Thankfully, the Megamycete made this undertaking easier, giving you stamina and energy that allowed you to work for hours on end without getting tired and allowing you to summon tendrils so you can do something upstairs while your body’s downstairs.

“Finally,” you sigh, plopping down on the living room couch after finishing the second coat of paint in the living room. “We’re done.”

(You have turned this house into a place anyone would kill to live in. You should be proud.)

“You helped. Getting this place into shape would’ve a few weeks, probably a month.”

(What is your next course of action?)

“Right now? Rest. Tomorrow? Time to get back to work.”

(That is right, your game. With your new tools, you should create a masterpiece worthy of you in no time.)

“Glad to know you think so highly of me, bud,” you chuckle.

That’s when you hear your phone go off, indicating you have a text. You take the device off the table, which had been playing your playlist of video game soundtracks, and see a message from Alfred.

Alfred: I hope your first week back in Goodsprings and that you’re taking proper care of yourself. I was thinking about you earlier today and decided to make my chocolate chip cookies.

The text is accompanied by a picture of said cookies and you instantly start salivating at the sight of the baked goods.

(Yes, the butler’s treats were very palatable to you.)

That’s a gross understatement.when it comes to any form of cooking, especially baking, the man is a god, able to conjure up food that would bring tears to anyone’s eye. While you’re ecstatic to be back home and away from the Waynes, you miss the man and his cooking. Now, you have to make do with either what little restaurants Goodsprings has or try your hand at cooking your own meals. And while there are many in the Megamycete’s records that were good in the kitchen, none of them held a candle to Alfred.

Me: Looks delicious! Making me drool up a river in my living room.

Alfred: I certainly hope that’s a joke. A young man as respectable as you should never be caught doing something as disgraceful as drooling.

You laugh at the text. Bless him, the poor man really thinks of you as a member of the “prim and proper” Wayne Family instead of the product of a one-night stand. When you first moved in, he tried to teach you all the ways of high society, but none of it ever took. You are who you are and nothing’s going to change that.

Alfred: Is it too early to ask when I can expect a visit from you?

You feel your heart drop a bit. You miss Alfred and would do anything to see him again, but you promised yourself that when you left Gotham, you’d never step foot in that hellhole again. And you know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to get their shit together and remember the third child brought to live with him, but you hate all of them more than anything and if you never saw them again, it would be too soon.

Of course, you can’t tell him that. It would break his heart and make him feel guilty for not doing more. So, instead, you say:

Me: Sorry, I’m still getting things cleaned up around here and I’m trying to get my game working. Don’t know when I’ll be able to.

Alfred: I understand, my boy. I just ask that you try to carve out a little time to come back to Gotham and visit home when things calm down.

Home and Gotham definitely do not belong in the same sentence. Not for you, at least. Nevertheless:

Me: I promise!

Of course, you have no intention of going back there. You miss Alfred, but that city isn’t a place where good people end up. You were dragged there against your will and if it wasn’t for that drunk driver, you never would’ve lost the best years of your life to it and the Waynes. No matter what, you will never step foot in Gotham again.

You’d rather die.

#male reader #yandere batfamily #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #batman #yandere dc #dc x male reader #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere batfam #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere alfred pennyworth #from gold to mold

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fashionteahouse · 4 months ago

Note

Can I get one where Paul imprinted on the hottest girl on the rez and all the pack had crushed on her at one point in their lives so when they are all out patrolling Paul keeps thinking back to when he and the reader slept together the pack can’t get that image out of their heads so when they are with their own imprints during their sexual activities they accidentally say readers name when they finish and the imprints get mad thinking something is going on kinda like that episode

yes! this honestly seems so juicy to write 😭 hope you enjoy :)

rewind - paul x reader

Admiring from a far, each pack member imagined what it would be like if you said yes. They looked forward to seeing you around the rez. You knew them kind of well from growing up together. Annoyance was there when you knew the inevitable question would come, “Can I take you out?”

Everyone was turned down. One after the next. It was confusing because it was rare for a very pretty girl to be single. You didn’t care about being in a relationship. You wanted to focus on your future. Something needed to stick out to you for you to gravitate towards it.

With rejection targeting all of his pack brothers, Paul for the first time was nervous about asking out a girl. After he shifted, he saw you walking with a friend in the city and bam! He felt like he could take the word into the palm of his hands and own it. He wanted to own it with you. You seen him around, but never struck up a conversation with him.

In a way, you thought he was a bit interesting. His eyes enchanted yours and you found yourself finding it hard to look away. You had to though, in order to cross the street.

The pack didn’t believe him when he told them he imprinted on you. Waving it off and saying, “She’ll shoot you down too.”

He knew they were just jealous. He watched slowly but surely as his pack brothers were getting entangled in their imprint’s lives.

He felt like he could do a thousand backflips when you agreed to let him treat you out to ice cream. You didn’t know that one yes could change the trajectory of your life. One hangout turned into many. Soon, you both were joined at the hip. You both didn’t need to breathe in oxygen. You had each other. The kisses were sweet, the touches were comforting, and the moments never seemed to be enough.

Breathy pants of Paul’s name escapes your lips over and over. Dancing with stars was the best description to match the feeling you both felt. Hovering over him, he was able to possessively cup your breast as you bounced on him. Reaching your peak, Paul watched as you went silent and arched your back as you faced the ceiling with your eyes closed, trembling.

“Jesus..” Jared comments.

A growl erupts deep in Paul’s animalistic mind and leaks out of his throat. He totally forgot he was on patrol. He couldn’t help it. You drove him wild. He was counting down the very second he was able to go back to you.

“Thanks. I’ll never get it out of my head.” Quil says, almost not sorry for admitting the excitement he felt.

Paul predatorily creeps towards him, “I have an idea on how to get it out for you.”

“That’s enough.” Sam orders, knowing Paul will actually attack him to make him forget.

“You all need to mind your business.” Paul says to the others.

“I still can’t believe you were able to score her. You really are the spirit’s favorite.” Jacob says. He was tired of the same sexual positions that his imprint was comfortable with.

“I swear Kim only gets on top every once in a blue moon.” Jared says.

“Didn’t ask.” Paul says and think of blankness for the rest of patrol.

Emily was happy to see just Sam come through the door. Usually a pile of boys would be behind him.

“They wanted to go home.” Sam explains when he noticed Emily’s puzzled expression. He knew the reason why. She nods and smiled and pulls him close to her. His intrusive thought of what he saw during patrol made him feel aroused. He tried to shake it. Finally having alone time, the bed rocked to the rhythm that Sam pumped into Emily. Her brain was mush and she was loving every second. Her rolling hips reminded him of how you bucked at Paul. Feeling the tingling of climax approaching, he pumps faster, only to whisper your name as he rides out his orgasm. He hopes that it was quiet enough for it to miss Emily’s ears. Emily rewinded what he said as he moved to the bathroom to clean up. She felt some type of way. Hurt even.

Jared had to coerce and coerce Kim to be on top this time. The memory of what he saw in his pack brother’s mind, made him really want Kim to do it. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” she shyly says. Jared caress the sides of her skin giving her a content smile. “Just move in the direction it feels good.” he coaches and helps give her the start of the rocking motion. A special spot hits her and she gets the hang of it soon enough. Her face slightly titled up and eyelids hung low, Jared’s mind rewinded the image of the same position he saw on patrol. Bucking his hips, he closed his eyes trying to focus on just Kim and just Kim only. Instead, the picture of your puffy and puckered breasts moving up and down was alone with him. At the height of Kim’s note of her orgasmic moan, he moaned at the same time as her, calling your name. He didn’t think she heard, her voice was louder than his. Kim noticed because she actually liked on top this time, she was left wondering if Jared didn’t like it. Another girl was on his mind.

Laying on his back, waiting for his imprint to come into the bedroom for bed, Jacob stared at the ceiling. He tried to make it through the seconds that passed him to not go back to the imagery of you in the bedroom. He was happy with who he was with. He just wanted a switch up every once in a while. Coming in, slowly becoming shy as Jacob pulls her to him, she runs her fingers through his hair. He kisses her with love and while she was still on top of him, he rocks his hips a bit even though she still had clothing on. Gladly, she responds with the roll her hips, getting comfortable with position. Jacob takes his sweet time, it was a blessing for her but it was a curse to him. Trying his best to focus on the girl removing her top, he rewinded on the moment of your orgasmic face. He wanted to make his imprint make the same face. For the heck of it, his imprint rode him without wanting to go safe. She was shy at first but Jacob’s grunts and groans motivated her to keep going. Watching him squeeze his eyes shut, she felt really good. At her peak, she heard a groaned out trail of your name leave his lips. She didn’t want her tears to show until she leaves out to turn on the shower.

A three way communication was involving the three imprints. One vented to the other of what happened in bed. They came to the same conclusion and let the other know, only to find out they’re all victims. Wondering on what to do, Kim couldn’t help but speak her census.

“Y/N definitely has something to do with this”

Emily didn’t want to believe it but in her mind, there was no other reason why Sam would say your name.

“I’ll invite her over. If she’s around the boys they will either stick up for her or vise versa”

Waiting on your arrival, you were stalling to leave Paul. He was like a magnet. He promised to pick you up soon.

Arriving was normal for you. For the other three girls, not so much. You joined them at the table and is surprised that none of them got up to hug you like they always did.

“We won’t be mad, but what’s going on with you and the boys?” Kim starts off. She didn’t want to do small talk. This was no manner.

“The boys? Um…it’s been a while since I’ve seen all of them. But as far as I know, nothing.” you say trying to bring a resolution.

“Have you seen Jared?” Kim asked.

“No. Why is he missing?” you ask worriedly now.

“No, he’s not missing…if you’re leading him on then it’s not a good idea.” Kim says getting agitated. Emily touches her arm.

You get confused and thrown for a loop. “Me, leading them on? What are you talking about?” you say.

“Our three imprints said your name.” Jacob’s imprint speaks up to say.

“What?!” and then you laugh. You actually think it’s a joke. “Okay, you got me. That was a good one.”

Their furious expressions don’t change and you notice, your smile starting to deflate.

“I really hope you’re not serious.” You say trying to piece everything together.

“We’re not joking.” Emily says.

“I’m sorry, but that’s their problem. I haven’t done anything for them to do that. Why would they do that?” You ask and ask the last question really wanting to know.

You pull out your phone, feeling uncomfortable. Kim starts to say and points her finger at you accusingly, “That’s so fucked up. They wouldn’t just do that if you didn’t do anything.”

You let your finger press on Paul’s contact, turning your head to Kim. “You need to ask them. Not me.” you hiss to them and Paul picks up. You ask him to pick you up but Kim interrupts, “You might need to ask her if she’s doing anything with your pack brothers.”

“What?” Paul says on the other line.

“They think I’m the reason why their imprints fantasize about me.” You say in disbelief, tears trying to prickle your eyes. You didn’t like being accused of such thing.

“Y/N, put me on speaker.” He says to you and you press it.

He calls out for the angry imprints’ attention. Once he knows that they’re actually listening to him on the phone in the middle of the table, he speaks out about what happened on patrol.

You had no knowledge of this and put your face in your hands. All you could think about that the boys saw that moment. The looks of the imprints changes from viciousness to great compassions.

They all make an effort to hug you right after Paul hangs up, feeling guilty for jumping to conclusions. The apologies were sincere and promised to never make such thing tear you guys apart. Now united, you all now think of a plan to make them feel what you all felt.

#paul lahote imagine #twilight wolfpack #twilight wolves #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote #paul lahote x you #paul lahote fanfic #twilight saga #twilight #fanfic #la push #y/n #y/n imagines #quileute #twilight aesthetic #imprint #twilight imagine #imagine #x reader

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elllisaaa · 1 year ago

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how seventeen would confess to you - hhu vers.

-> pairing : svt hhu × gn!reader

-> words count : 2.9k words

-> genre : svt members crushing on you, fluff

-> warnings : while make you giggle and kick your feet

-> sorry if I made any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist

hhu vers. | vu vers. | pu vers.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL - INTIMATE

cuddles, cuddles, cuddles !

once he tackled you on the couch or bed and you’re in his arms, you’re not getting up for at least an hour.

watching long shows together, and you’re forbidden from watching even one episode without him, or he’ll get so pouty.

big golden retriever energy, he’s always so smiley around you.

but also big on protecting you.

he’s the type to say “dress how you want, i can fight”, and he will definitely fight if needed.

always has an arm around you, making you feel safe in every situation

since both of you are friends since as far as you can remember, he’s like another member of your family.

i can literally picture your aunts asking you when you’re gonna marry him at every gathering lmao

with all of that, the line between friendly and romantic feelings is blurred, but cheol wished he had the courage to fully cross it.

however, everyone and their mothers knew about his big crush on you, and about yours on him.

his confession would be so domestic crying because i’m lonely.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to cross paths with Seungcheol late at night. Just like you, he often got thirsty and you always ended up staying in the kitchen until the early hours of morning, and being sleepy at the family gathering. And this time was not different. Well, it was, in fact, a bit different. You had been aboard for the past year and only got back to Korea a few weeks before, so both of you hadn’t really seen each other and you had a lot to catch up on about your lives.

“- And after that, this bitch didn’t even dare to look me in the eyes for the rest of the year ! Can you believe this ?

- I don’t like to judge people I don’t know, but she’s indeed a bitch.”

Both of you bursted out in laughter, and your heart felt warmer again. It was as if you were finally complete again. Being away from Seungcheol when he had been by your side for the majority of your life was the most difficult thing you ever had to do, and feeling him slip through your fingers as he started to respond less was horrible. He apologized so many times about how busy he was, and you knew it was not his fault, but still, you just wanted to be back home, back in his arms.

“- Yeah, she definitely is.”

You landed your head on his shoulder with a smile, and Seungcheol feared that you would hear how fast his heart was beating. He was happy for you when you announced to him that you had the opportunity to go aboard for your studies, and he was immensely proud of you. But at the same time, all he wanted to do was convince you to not go and keep you forever with him. But he was only your best friend, and he couldn’t ask you to give up on your dreams for him. But he wished he could be your boyfriend instead.

“- I have something to confess…”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him as you waited for his next words. Seungcheol eyes’ dived into yours, and he just knew. He knew that this was the right time, that the particular atmosphere surrounding the two of you would certainly never arise again. He had to do it now.

“- The day you left, I came to say goodbye at the airport, remember ?”

You nobbed. How could you not ? He had engulfed you in a big hug that made you want to stay, and left you with teary eyes as you got on your flight.

“- I never told you what I did after. I drove off to the park we always played at when we were kids, and I cried on the swings for maybe two hours because all I could think about was that you were not with me. And it felt so wrong.”

Your right hand found purchase on his cheek, forcing him to look down at you as he consciously avoided your eyes since he started to tell you his little story. But your soft smile was the only reassurance he needed.

“- It felt wrong being away from you too. I missed you so much Cheol…

- Me too…”

And just like that, you both leaned in at the same time, your lips meeting in between and suddenly, everything felt right again, as if it was where you were supposed to be - in each other arms.

“next time i’m squeezing myself in your luggage, i don’t want to spend another night without you in my arms.”

JEON WONWOO - SIMPLE

i don’t know how to explain it, but I’m sure you’ll get it when I say that this man is the definition of soft.

he’s so cozy, every one of his hugs feels like a warm cocoon (that’s why you always find an excuse to get a hug).

very good at giving advice, and a good listener, he’s always there when you need a shoulder to cry on.

you were friends with the other members at first, but slowly, you started to grow closer when he discovered how sweet and lovely you were.

the more he talked with you, the more he found himself hooked.

literally has heart eyes for you (everyone and their mothers know about his crush on you) and would drop everything if you need him.

of course, he’ll be more than happy if you agreed to play video games with him, it doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not

it’s even better if you never played, he’ll have an excuse to make you sit on his lap while he teaches you how to use the controller.

but in the end, he’s a simple guy, and he doesn’t see the point of hiding his crush for too long, but he also wants his confession to be meaningful.

The boys had organized a big party for your birthday this year, and surprisingly, they succeeded at keeping it a secret until tonight. And the past months spent trying to perfect every little detail was worth it when they saw the big smile on your face and your teary eyes when you recognized your friends and family as you walked through the room.

And even if Wonwoo couldn’t be more happy than seeing you wander around, laughing and smiling non-stop, he felt a weight on his heart. He wanted to steal you away from all these people, have you all for himself and finally tell you how he felt about you, finally tell you how glad he was to have you in his life. But he couldn’t, and he would never do that. He was just waiting patiently for your eyes to meet in the crowd, and for you to smile brightly at him. Every time you did that, his heart beat faster.

“- Finally ! I’m so happy that everyone came, but I’m exhausted !

- I can imagine, you’ve been running around the whole night.”

You sighed dramatically as you seated yourself on the couch next to Wonwoo, resting your head on his shoulder. Like a habit, he put his arms around you, bringing you closer to him, just because you were so comfortable around each other that everyone else thought you were already dating.

“- It’s the best surprise of my life. You guys are my favorites. Thank you for doing this for me.

- You deserved it, that and all the presents we prepared for you.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him with a sparkle of curiosity in your eyes.

“- And what’s yours Wonwoo ?”

He had planned to do it later, when everyone would have left, when he’ll have a moment alone with you. But if this wasn’t a sign that he had to do it now, he didn’t know what it was.

“- It’s not something material. It’s more… Spiritual I’ll say.

- It’s intriguing, tell me what it is.

- My heart. I’m offering you my heart, because you already have it, you did for a long time now, and I wanted to let you know, just in case you were feeling the same about me.”

Wonwoo knew how emotional you could get, but he didn’t expect you to cry from his confession. Still, he wiped your tears away, waiting for you to calm down with a soft smile on his face.

“- I feel the same, I’ve been feeling the same for so long. You have my heart too.”

“I’ll take care of it, I promise. I’ll always protect you.”

KIM MINGYU - JOYFUL

100% golden retriever energy

you would often tease him along with the members (because we all know that seventeen ultimate goal is to make fun of mingyu)

partner privilege : would not get as pouty as with his members, all it takes is a smile from you and you’re forgiven.

however, when you tease him about how being so muscular but so afraid of everything is a shame, he’ll be like a child throwing a tantrum.

pouting until you compliment him (and cannot stop blushing once you do, he’s so cute someone help me).

tries to impress you all the time by flexing his muscles, showing how strong he is.

he’s so obvious please, this boy cannot hide his love for you.

follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, just in case you need him (he’s adorable).

he feels so comfortable around you because beyond all the teasing, you’re very understanding and kind.

you’re always here to remind him how amazing he is every time he doubts himself.

and because he feels so comfortable around you, his confession would slip like it was the most natural thing ever.

Mingyu always had a tendency to show off his skills whenever you were in the same room as him. Yes, he felt an incredible ego boost when you complimented him about his muscles, but what he took real pride in was how much he was able to make you laugh. He always feared that his jokes were lame, or just not your type of humor, but every time he cracked one, you bursted into giggles. And by the way you were beaming, there was no way that you were faking it.

And he always managed to make you laugh in all types of situations, chuckling and resisting the urge of kicking his feet like a teenager everytime you hitted his shoulder playfully as you tried to contain your own giggles. Mingyu was addicted to the way your eyes were glowing with joy everytime you just smiled. However, he discovered that the easiest way to get you to laugh was to tell you all the stupid things his members did. Like now, as you were crying from how funny you found the story of Seungkwan volley ball.

“- He really only discovered it when he saw that video ?

- Yeah, really ! You should’ve seen the betrayal in his eyes, it was priceless !”

And you were laughing again, your head thrown back, tears almost spilling out of your eyes. But Mingyu wasn’t laughing anymore, too lost in his contemplation, because you were literally a work of art to him. Every single detail about you was perfect, the more he discovered, the more he wanted to be yours.

“- Your smile is so beautiful, gosh… I love you so much…”

The melody of your giggles died as soon as you registered the meaning of his words. Silence enveloped the both of you as you stared at him as if you were trying to enter his mind and find all the answers to your questions. And Mingyu was forcing himself to keep his mouth shut, and not embarrass himself further, already cursing himself in his head for being so careless.

“- Wha- What did you say ?”

Mingyu was too focused on his overthinking to notice the little grin spreading on your lips. Of course, you already knew that he had a crush on you. Of course, you had a crush on him too because who doesn’t ? And of course, it was very cute to watch him stumble over his words with red cheeks.

“- I-I said that you have a beautiful smile…

- And after that ?

- Don’t want to tell you.”

You giggled as you leaned in to peck his warm cheeks, restraining yourself from going in for his pouty lips too.

“- Well, just know that I love you so much too Gyu.”

“see, you heard it perfectly ! but i’ll tell you a hundred times if you want me to.”

CHWE HANSOL - BRIGHT

he’s so random, like one minute he could joke along with you and the other he’s asking you the most existential question possible, fully serious about it.

like we say vernon is just vernoning in the most vernon way possible.

he's very chill about pretty much everything so it's really soothing to be around him.

he's your go-to person when you want to isolate yourself from the rest of the world because you could spend evenings just watching tv and not saying a word to each other

there's also times where both of you end up talking about your lives until the early hours of the morning.

your relationship feels like it's all natural, there has never been an awkward state, only comfort.

it's like hansol had known you for years because he felt so at ease every time you were with him.

you made him feel like he was special and normal at the same time, and even if he doesn't show it often, he really appreciates it.

you two liked to stay inside so it was rare for you to go out somewhere, but it was always unexpected and when it happened.

hansol knew that you liked to be surprised, and often showed up on his days off to take you somewhere without telling you.

that's why you weren't shocked when he picked you up at 5 in the morning, on a random Sunday.

“- Can I at least choose the music ?

- Go on.”

Hansol handed you his phone which was connected to the speakers of his car, letting you put on whatever song you wanted. He owed you this with how early he forced you to get out of bed on one of your days off. But he really wanted to take you to this spot he loved. He played it off as one of his random wishes, but he planned this in his mind for a long time, not all the details, but he knew he wanted to bring you there to tell you how he felt.

He watched with a small smile on his lips as you opened the window, one of your favorite songs playing as you let the wind hit your face and make your hair fly all over your face. Hansol quickly focused on the road again, seeing that he was near your destination, he asked you to close your eyes.

“- Are we there ?

- Almost.”

The rest of the way was quiet, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. When you finally felt that Hansol had stopped the car, you heard him go out of the driver seat to get to your side and help you get out too, ordering you to keep your eyes closed. He pushed you to take some steps forward before he finally authorized you to see what was in front of you.

“- You took me to the ocean ?”

You didn’t even turn around to look at him, too entranced by the sight in front of you. And all Hansol could do was smile when he saw how parkly your eyes were.

“- I guess that I wanted you to see the sunset.”

You were rather speechless as Hansol got a blanket out of his car, leading you to the beach for you two to watch the sunrise on the horizon. He contemplated you as you ran around, touching the water to see if it was cold or not before finally sitting down beside him, your head finding his place on his shoulder, and his arms around yours.

“- Thank you for bringing me there… It’s beautiful…

- I wanted to make it special.”

Before you could even ask him what he was talking about, Hansol leaned in, his eyes fixed on your lips, and yours on his. Basking in the warm light of the sunset, he kissed you for the first time but certainly not the last, a smile spreading on his face as he rested his forehead against yours.

“i think i could get used to this.”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

svt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lil-kpopstan @hann1bee @iraisswiftie

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zeroseuniverse · 13 days ago

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please give haneul's dad a love life 😔🙏 he's miserable, I can hear him sighing all day and night and I don't even live nearby. please help a young nurse be well fed with fluffy warm pancakes in the morning 🥹🥞

please make a silly old anonymous reader happy by writing a part 2 of "My Dad is Single!" ☝️

You ask and you shall receive my darling Asks are my number 1 priority so I typically try to only take 2-3 days in writing them, I enjoy providing what my readers want so I hope this came out in a timely manner for you!

My Dad Is Single II

S.Coups had no idea how he ended up here.

One moment, he was just a devoted single dad trying to survive his six-year-old's chaotic antics. The next, he was standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes while Nurse Pretty—sat at his dining table, chatting with Haneul like they were old friends.

Haneul had orchestrated this whole thing, obviously. After her legendary text message, she had laughed it off but agreed to come over—"just for pancakes," she had said. But from the way she kept smiling at him over her coffee, he knew she was enjoying his flustered state way too much.

"So, Haneul," she said, resting her chin on her hand. "Tell me—why are you so determined to find your dad a girlfriend?"

Haneul sighed dramatically, like this was a burden only she could bear. "Because Appa is so lonely."

S.Coups groaned from the stove. "I am not—"

"He sighs all the time," Haneul interrupted. "Like, so much. And he watches sad movies at night."

She smirked. "Ah, the sighing. You told me about that before."

"Right?!" Haneul threw her hands up. "It’s a problem."

S.Coups turned around, pointing a spatula at his daughter. "You’re making me sound like a tragic drama lead."

"You are a tragic drama lead," Haneul said, dead serious. "But don’t worry! This is the episode where you find love again."

She burst out laughing while S.Coups slumped against the counter, defeated.

"Unbelievable," he muttered for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You say that a lot," She teased, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Because this keeps happening!" He gestured at Haneul, who was happily munching on a pancake like she hadn’t just thrown him under the bus.

She just smiled. "Well, I have to admit—this is probably the most unique way I’ve ever been asked out."

S.Coups nearly dropped the plate he was holding. "Wait—was this… an ask out?"

she tilted her head, pretending to think. "Well, I was invited to your house. You cooked for me. There’s a cute child who’s very invested in our future. Sounds like a date to me."

S.Coups blinked, completely thrown. "I—uh—what—"

Haneul leaned forward and stage-whispered to her , "He’s shy."

she grinned. "It’s cute."

S.Coups groaned again. "I am not shy!"

"You’re blushing," Haneul pointed out.

He pressed a hand to his face. Oh my God, I am.

She reached for a pancake, her smile softening. "Relax, S.Coups. I’m just teasing. But… I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. If that’s something you’d be open to."

S.Coups stared at her, completely caught off guard. He hadn’t expected this. At all. And yet, with Haneul beaming up at him and her looking at him with those warm, patient eyes, he found himself… considering it.

Slowly, a small smile crept onto his face. "I guess… I wouldn’t mind either."

Haneul exploded into cheers, nearly knocking over her juice. "YES! Finally!"

she laughed, and S.Coups couldn’t help but chuckle too, shaking his head.

"Unbelievable," he muttered one last time—but this time, it felt different. Lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, his little drama lead moment was turning into a rom-com after all.

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opbackgrounds · 9 months ago

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This scene with Sanji is one of his most important moments in the series, and in my opinion also one of the most difficult passages in the manga to interpret, because to completely understand it you have to look at the manga holistically rather than this scene by itself.

The big question that needs answered is why does Oda let Zoro "win" here by having him be the sacrifice instead of Sanji. Both are equally willing and both are identified much later on as the Wings of the Pirate King, implying that they have similar importance (although vastly different roles) within the Straw Hat crew.

If we go back to Sanji's introduction on the Baratie, his big flaw was that he lacked the "spear of spirit" to pursue his dream. Since he's been a boy he's wanted to find the All Blue, but even when he had the opportunity to go after that dream he chose to stay on the Baratie out of a feeling of obligation to Zeff. Sanji put the continued existence of the restaurant over his own life, something Luffy rightfully called him out for at the time, and even at the end of the arc had to be pushed away by Zeff and the other chefs before he finally set sail for good.

On Drum, Sanji once again almost died protecting Nami and Luffy during the avalanche, resulting in a broken back that required surgury from Dr. Kureha. Luffy again calls him out (note the English translation here isn't entirely accurate, see here for a breakdown), and with his power there's a good chance Luffy could have gotten them all out of trouble without all the dramatics by Sanji.

Something similar happens on Skypiea, when Sanji puts himself in the way of Enel so that Usopp and Nami can be saved. This case is perhaps more justifiable given the extreme situation they were in, but nonetheless he was still quick to throw his life away.

Then on Enies Lobby Nami--while not criticizing his chivalry--calls out Sanji for simply not running away from Kalifa, instead just accepting that he's going to get the shit beat out of him, and possibly die.

So there's a pattern of self-destructive behavior. Sanji repeatedly puts his life on the line when he doesn't need to in order to preserve the lives and dreams of the people he loves. Even him constantly simping over Nami and Robin falls a little into this category, because if either of them told him to take a long walk off a short pier I have no doubt he'd comply. It's that same extreme willingness to sacrifice anything and everything for the people he cares for that we see in Baby 5, except Sanji was fortunate enough to not be surrounded by people that encourage these worst impulses of self-destructive behavior. As he says here in Thriller Bark, he's just the cook. Luffy can always just find someone else.

(The glory of Whole Cake Island being Sanji realizing, no, Luffy can't, and he won't).

And it is finally on WCI that get to the heart of why Sanji is like this with yet another episode of putting his own dreams and happiness aside for the sake of others, and not until Wano that we finally see him take the first steps toward asking others for help instead of passionately throwing his life away when he doesn’t need to.

When Zoro first offered his head to Kuma, the prominence of his dream was first and foremost. Notice that Sanji never mentions the All Blue. One Piece is a series that places the pursuit of one's own ambition above all else, even if that ambition is selfish. Sanji hasn't yet learned to be selfish, so Zoro knocks him out and ends up being the one to accept Luffy's pain. Sacrifice isn't sacrifice if the person doesn't value what they're giving up, and right now Sanji clearly doesn't value his own life compared to the rest of the crew.

Next chapter Oda will speak through Brook to confirm that Sanji's willingness to give himself up wasn't foolish or stupid. It's just that he's missing a piece of the puzzle, and that's not something he'll have for a long time yet.

#opbackgrounds #one piece #ch485 #themes threads and throughlines #sanji #characterization #character development #character analysis #god tumblr's search function sucks finding all those links was a nightmare

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reverie-starlight · 9 months ago

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{the proposal- kuroo}

on today’s episode of “rev accidentally disregards the polls she made”, we have this fic :3 I actually adore this one, it was so fun to write!! hope you enjoy <3 also… thank you sm for 1k followers 😭🫶🏻 that’s huge, I appreciate everyone sm 🥹

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff. alcohol mentions, drunk reader. dialogue heavy at the start.

“You need to propose to me.”

Kuroo, who is enjoying his drink, begins to choke. “I what?”

You roll your eyes with a barely concealed smile.

“Not for real, silly, just a fake one.”

He looks at you like you’ve gone insane. “I’m not following.”

“We’re broke university students, do you really think we can afford to pay for more than two drinks tonight? If you propose, I bet people would make a drunken mistake and offer to buy us a celebration round.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him as he continues to give you that same incredulous look.

“That’s-“ he cuts himself off before he can finish that thought and starts with a new one. “I doubt that would work. I mean, maybe at a restaurant with free dessert, but a bar? Really?”

“I’ve seen it done in stranger places!” You defend yourself. “Besides, you’ve been sipping on your drink for the past 25 minutes. If the ice had poison in it, you’d be dead by now,” you lean back and cross your arms.

Your boyfriend just shakes his head. “Your mind is a very interesting place. Alright, fine. We’ll do it, but if it doesn’t work that’s going to be really embarrassing. Hand me your ring, I’ll do it when more people are around.”

You only have to wait another ten minutes before a group of business men having a meeting a couple of tables over appear to be drunk enough to invest in young love.

Your boyfriend nods once to signal that he’s going to do it and soon enough he’s on one knee, fake tears forming at the corners of his eyes and a dusting of pink on his cheeks that make you want to kiss them.

(Your heart jumps that the thought that he could do this for real one day).

“You’re the love of my life,” he begins, and you make a mental note that he either has a bright future in acting or his drink really is too strong, despite his insistence that he could handle it earlier.

A lady one table over gasps and draws more attention to the performance in front of the customers.

“And I absolutely adore every single thing about you. I had a whole plan for this, but with the way you’re looking tonight, I can’t wait a second longer. We’ve managed to get many years together already, and I’d be honoured to spend the rest of our lives just like this. Will you marry me?”

You’re genuinely touched at his words and the sincerity in his tone almost makes you forget it’s fake.

Not wanting to make your audience wait much longer, you make a big show of nodding your head and jumping into his crouched form with a loud “yes!”

Drunken cheers are only background noise while you press against his chest. His heartbeat eliminates the chance of you focusing on anything but him.

Kuroo tips his head down to whisper, “think we pulled it off?”

You nod against him and start to get up. He looks over to see one of the drunk business men coming over to greet you.

“Congratulations on your engagement! Let us buy the happy couple some drinks!”

The man’s face is flushed and he gestures to his table. “Order whatever you’d like, it’ll be put on our tab.”

You fake surprise. “Oh my goodness, that’s very generous of you, but we could never take advantage of your kindness like that!”

Beside you, your ‘fiancé’ stifles a laugh but the man doesn’t notice. “No, I insist! You should celebrate.”

This time Kuroo takes over. “Ah… well, thank you, sir. Rest assured we won’t go too crazy.”

The man laughs and claps him on the back. “What a polite couple of kids you are! Reminds me of me and my wife,” he winks before heading back to his table, whistling some tune.

You spin around and look up at your boyfriend with a smug grin. “So what are we getting first?”

A couple of hours later, you’re both stumbling into your campus apartment, giggling and trying to shush each other despite not having any other roommates.

You somehow manage to get through your night routines and fall back into your bed soon after. You’re a far more wasted than Kuroo is (he always drinks less than you to be able to take care of you), so he tries to get you to sip on some water.

He watches you with a silly grin as you fiddle with your “engagement” ring. You’ve since slipped it back onto your index finger where it originally was this evening, but you move it back to your ring finger and fiddle with it.

“I think…” your words are slightly slurred and laced with sleep. “I mean, I know… that I don’t want my real engagement ring to be diamond.”

His grin widens so much his cheeks begin to hurt. “No? So what will it be, baby?”

You form your own smile. “I’m sure I’ll love whatever you come up with. You know me best after all.”

He forces you to take another sip of water when your words don’t get any less coherent. While you drink he thinks of the ruby ring tucked away somewhere at Kenma’s house. You’re far too good at sniffing out clues and he’s never been good at keeping secrets from you.

You’re still in university, it’s far too soon to get engaged for real- you’ve both always said you wanted to wait until you’re done with school- but he’s been saving up for that ring since high school. he’s always knows you would be the one for him.

So when the time comes he’ll be ready. With a speech much better than whatever he said tonight.

“Alright, let’s get some sleep. You’re going to have the worst hangover tomorrow, you haven’t had that much to drink in a while.”

You tug at his wrist before he can shut the lamp off. “Wait, don’t you want to celebrate our engagement?”

“Sleep, baby.”

You pout a bit. “Don’t you think we celebrated enough tonight?”

You stare at him and he sighs. “There’s plenty of time for celebrating our fake engagement some more tomorrow,” he shuts the lamp off and wrangles you down with him. “Now it’s time for sleep.”

“‘m not tired,” you mumble, obviously lying. “I could go all night.”

You settle onto your pillow and he strokes your cheek. “I know, sweetheart, you’re a fighter.”

You nod as you begin to doze off.

He notices the ring still on your finger and he smiles softly.

The hangover you’ll be sporting tomorrow will definitely have been worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ty for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed <3

tagging: @emmyrosee @luvring @dira333 @tetzoro

#kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader fluff #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader fluff #haikyuu x gender neutral reader

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attapullman · 1 year ago

Text

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

If you liked this, you may also enjoy on our syllabus Bob From Pi Kapp.

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head.

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action.

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?"

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester.

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed.

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg.

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse.

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily.

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester.

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!”

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch.

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house.

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare?

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face.

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats.

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest.

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe.

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?”

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them.

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself.

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher.

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder.

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.”

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you.

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent.

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good.

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind.

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right.

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands.

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses.

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out.

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light.

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

Want more Frat Cowboy Bob? Hang out with Bob From Pi Kapp!

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m4rv3l-girl · 3 months ago

Text

Yours, Always

Bucky x Y/N

It’s just a thought. A fluffy one.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff.

Bucky Barnes stood in the middle of the living room, the telltale furrow of concentration etched into his brow.

On the coffee table before him lay an array of snacks—some haphazardly arranged, others more intentionally placed—as well as a stack of Y/N’s favorite books, a soft knit blanket, and two steaming mugs of hot cocoa. He adjusted one of the mugs for what felt like the hundredth time, muttering under his breath.

“C’mon, Barnes,” he said to himself. “It’s just a normal night in… totally normal. Not like you’re about to do something life-changing or anything.”

The light clink of keys at the door made his head snap up. Bucky took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to appear casual, leaning against the arm of the couch—though the stiffness in his posture betrayed him.

The door creaked open, and Y/N stepped inside, shrugging off her coat. She looked exhausted but radiant, her cheeks pink from the November chill. Her eyes lit up as they landed on Bucky, her lips curving into a soft smile.

“Hey, Doll,” he said, his voice warm and smooth as honey.

“Hi,” she murmured, crossing the room to him. She leaned up on her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek, her cold fingers brushing against his neck. “What’s all this?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug, though the corners of his mouth twitched with a smile. “Figured we could use a night in. Just you, me, and no interruptions.”

Her eyebrows rose in curiosity as she looked around. The small touches didn’t escape her—the stack of her favorite books, the blanket she always stole from him, the perfectly made cocoa. Her heart swelled, and she turned back to him, tilting her head.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one to spoil my girl?” he teased, his metal hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She rolled her eyes playfully but couldn’t hide her smile. “Alright, what’s the catch?”

Bucky chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “No catch, Kitten. Just wanted to spend some time with you.”

The way he called her Kitten made her stomach flutter, as it always did. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but the warmth in his gaze melted her resolve.

“Fine,” she said, resting her forehead against his chest. “You win. But I’m going to get marshmallows.”

Bucky kicked himself for failing to think of that.

Y/N was rummaging in the kitchen cupboards, muttering about how they always seemed to lose things.

“You know,” Bucky called from the couch, not bothering to look up from the book he was flipping through, “for someone who alphabetizes her spices, you’d think finding some marshmallows wouldn’t be a national emergency.”

She froze, turning to glare at him, her hands on her hips. “Are you saying I’m too organized?”

He smirked, finally glancing up at her. “I’m saying if there was an Olympic medal for organization, you’d probably frame it and then make a spreadsheet tracking how often you dust it.”

She grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and launched it at his head. “And yet you’re still alive. Miraculous.”

He caught the pillow easily, laughing as he set it aside. “Hey, Doll, don’t blame me for pointing out the obvious. You’re the one who set the bar.”

Her exasperated eye roll didn’t fool him. He could see the corner of her lips twitching, and he knew he’d won that round.

They settled onto the couch, with Y/N curling up beside him as they started an episode of Friends—a show they’d watched countless times before but never seemed to get tired of. Bucky’s arm rested comfortably around her shoulders, and every so often, he’d drop a kiss onto her temple or mutter something about how much he loved her laugh.

“Okay, be honest,” Y/N said suddenly, shifting slightly to look up at him. “Which character do you think you’d be?”

Bucky smirked, looking down at her. “You mean which one I am, or which one you think I am?”

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s a difference?”

“Definitely,” he said, chuckling. “I’m obviously a Ross.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, and she let out an exaggerated gasp. “You think you’re a Ross?!”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with Ross?”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Oh, nothing. Except you’re so not a Ross. You’re like… Chandler.”

“Chandler?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes at her in mock offense. “I’m not that sarcastic.”

“Bucky, you invented sarcasm,” she teased, poking his side.

“Fine, maybe I’m a little Chandler,” he admitted, grabbing her hand to stop her poking. “But you’re definitely a Monica.”

“Monica?”

“Yup,” he said, grinning. “You’re bossy—”

“Excuse me?”

“—in the cutest way,” he added quickly, leaning down to kiss her forehead before she could protest. “And you’re crazy organized. Plus, you’re competitive as hell.”

She crossed her arms, pouting slightly. “I feel like I just got roasted.”

“Never, Doll,” he said, pulling her closer. “I mean, if it helps, Monica ends up with Chandler. So I guess it makes sense.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Okay, fine. Maybe we’re Monica and Chandler. But if you ever call me ‘bossy’ again—”

“Noted,” he said, cutting her off with another kiss.

As the episode continued, Bucky couldn’t help but glance at her every few moments, marveling at the way her face lit up when she laughed. When she caught him staring, she smirked.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just love you, that’s all.”

She blushed, her smile softening. “Love you too, Chandler.”

He groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Her laughter filled the room, and he decided he wouldn’t mind hearing that sound every day for the rest of his life.

But as the night went on, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up. Bucky was fidgety—his metal fingers tapping softly against his thigh, his gaze flickering to the coffee table more often than usual.

“Okay, spill,” she said finally, pausing the show. She turned to face him, crossing her arms. “What’s going on?”

He blinked at her, his face a mix of surprise and nervousness. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting weird all night. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” he said quickly, but the crack in his voice betrayed him. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

“Bucky,” she said, her tone softening. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He sighed, running his free hand down his face. When he looked at her, his eyes were soft but serious. “You’re too good at this, you know that?”

“I’ve had practice,” she teased gently, squeezing his hand. “Now talk.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he collected his thoughts. His heart was pounding, but the way she looked at him—patient, loving, completely hers—gave him the courage to speak.

“Doll,” he began, his voice quiet but steady. “I’ve been through a lot in my life. Seen things I wish I could forget, done things I wish I could take back. And for a long time, I didn’t think I’d ever get a shot at… this. At happiness.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as she listened.

“But then you came along,” he continued, turning to face her fully. “And somehow, you made all that noise in my head quiet down. You gave me a reason to hope again, to believe that I deserved something good.”

“Bucky…” she whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as he opened it to reveal a simple but stunning ring.

“I’ve never been good with…this stuff, but I know one thing for sure,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my everything, Kitten. My reason for fighting, for living, for wanting more. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me.”

He slid off the couch and onto one knee, holding the ring up to her. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

For a moment, she was too stunned to speak. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared at him, her heart racing.

“Yes,” she finally choked out, nodding fervently. “Yes, as if I’d say no.”

Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a wide grin breaking across his face as he slipped the ring onto her finger. He stood, pulling her into his arms and spinning her around as she laughed through her tears.

When he set her down, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “You’re stuck with me now, Darling.”

“Good,” she said, her voice trembling with happiness. “Because I don’t want anyone else.”

He kissed her then, slow and deep, as if trying to pour every ounce of his love into that moment.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, kisses, and whispered promises. And as they lay tangled together on the couch, the ring glinting on her finger, Y/N couldn’t help but think that this was everything she’d ever dreamed of—and more.

Because with Bucky by her side, she was home.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed!

Requests Open!

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky fluff

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fatecantstopme · 2 months ago

Text

Picture Myself Happy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Follows the story line of episodes 17-21 of season 5. Lisa doesn't exist, instead it's (Y/N).

Warnings: canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (F and M receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), face sitting, light dirty talk.

"Dean? You okay?" you asked softly.

The look he gave you more than answered your question, but he responded anyway. "I'm about as far from okay as I possibly can be."

"I think we all are."

Dean shook his head. "My decisions have an impact on the entire world, (Y/N)--the world! And I'm sitting here denying fate. Where's that gotten me?"

"What are you trying to say?" you asked softly.

He buried his head in his hands. "I don't know...It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

Dean looked back up at you, face full of pain. You were certain he was going to say more, but his reply was cut off by Sam's voice calling his name.

"We've got an insane amount of demon omens in some tiny ass town in middle-of-nowhere Minnesota."

"Great," Dean mumbled as he stood up, face once again an impenetrable mask. "Guess we should get rolling."

You stood up too, but Dean cut you a look and shook his head. "Not happening."

"Dean, come on. I'm more than ready."

"Absolutely not. You almost died not that long ago. You need to rest."

"I've been resting for weeks. I feel fine," you insisted.

"Maybe she's right, Dean," Sam cut in. "We could really use the help."

"I'm the oldest and I say it ain't happening--got it?"

"Actually, I'm the oldest," Bobby quipped as he wheeled into the room. "Now, what exactly are we fighting about?"

"(Y/N) thinks she's ready to hunt again," Dean answered.

"Because I am."

Bobby's expression softened as he looked at you. "As much as I hate to say it, I think you should sit this one out (Y/N/N). Besides, I could really use your help here. You're better at research than either of these knuckleheads."

You were about to protest, but decided against it when you saw the worry in Bobby's eyes. He'd always been good to you and you owed him your life--you didn't wanna worry him more than you needed to. "Alright, alright. I'll sit this one out."

Dean nodded, seemingly pleased. "I'll call you when we get there--let you know we're safe."

You sighed, but nodded your agreement. You hated watching the boys leave to go on a hunt on their own--especially these days. End of the world and all that.

You watched in silence as Sam and Dean gathered their minimal belongings and piled into the Impala. You waved goodbye before coming back inside, expression clouded with a variety of inexpressible emotions.

The last two years had been a whirlwind for all of you--drawing all of you closer together. You cared very deeply for the Winchester boys and for Bobby, and they cared for you.

You were the same age as Sam, so the two of you hit it off with ease, but the elder Winchester was a little less trusting. The fact that Bobby trusted you meant a hell of a lot to Dean and went a long way in getting him to trust you enough to help on a couple hunts. You were a great hunter and before long, the three of you were almost inseparable.

You counted all three men as family and you knew they felt the same way about you, although you wished Dean's emotions aligned with your own. You weren't sure exactly when it happened, but you realized your feelings had changed one day during a particularly brutal hunt where you almost lost Dean. Somehow, in the midst of the shitstorm that was your lives, you'd managed to fall in love with the most emotionally unavailable man alive.

To make matters worse, you could never tell him for fear of damaging the little family unit you'd created for yourself. Instead, you stood on the sidelines, watching him flirt with every woman with legs and take more of them to bed than you'd cared to count. It made your chest ache, but you hid it well--even from Sam.

Loving Dean Winchester had never been a part of your plans, but you couldn't stop it from happening anymore than you could turn those feelings off now. Every time he walked out the door, you were terrified it would be the last time you would ever see him. You knew he was strong, but you also knew how self-destructive he could be.

He'd been different in recent months and you saw it more than anyone else did. For some reason, Dean chose to confide in you--perhaps because you listened quietly without judgment. You wanted nothing more than to see him find his way back to himself again and you hoped you were there to witness it.

"You gonna come back in or just stare off into the distance all night?" Bobby called to you from inside.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," you grumbled. "I was just lost in thought."

Bobby gave you a knowing look, which you chose to ignore. "Don't you have some research you need help with?"

He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. He handed you a book and muttered, "Get to reading."

**********

"Dean's gone."

"What the hell do you mean he's gone?" you yelled into the phone.

"I mean he literally took off, (Y/N)!" Sam yelled back. "He killed the Whore of Babylon--which should have been impossible--and then he took off!"

"He...Sam, that's not possible."

"I was there--saw it with my own eyes."

"I, too, was there," Cas said in the background.

"Only a true servant of heaven can kill her," you said, bewildered.

"Exactly," Sam said, voice much softer than before.

"No," you whispered, disbelief lacing your words. "No--he wouldn't."

Sam understood your meaning. "I don't know anymore, (Y/N). I just don't know."

"We have to find him."

"I have a few ideas of where to find him, but I know he's going to come see you first."

"Why me?"

"To say goodbye," Sam said softly.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you could feel tears pressing against them. "I'll call you if he shows up here," you whispered.

Bobby rolled up behind you as you hung up the phone. "What's wrong?"

"I think Dean's going to say yes to Michael."

Bobby's expression perfectly matched the way you were feeling. A mixture of horror, disbelief, pain, and unbridled terror.

There wasn't much more to say after that--you were both just left to wait. There was nothing left for you to do but wait and see if he'd come home.

**********

The next day, there was a quiet knock on Bobby's front door. It was early in the morning and the older man was sound asleep in the middle of a pile of books on his desk.

You went to the door and peered out to find Dean's face looking back at you. You tugged open the door with more force than you'd intended to and stepped out onto the porch.

"Where have you been?" you snapped. "We were so worried."

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)--I should have called."

"Yes, you should have."

"I--uh, well I can't stay long, but I wanted to come see you."

"Dean, please tell me you're not going to do anything stupid."

He smiled weakly. "Now when have I ever done anything stupid?"

You didn't acknowledge his teasing like you normally would--too worried about the truth hidden behind his sarcasm. "You can't say yes," you whispered.

He gave you a pained smile. "I don't really have a choice, (Y/N/N)."

"Of course you have a choice, Dean! We always have a choice."

"If I don't--the whole freaking world burns! Do you have any idea what it's like to carry that weight on your shoulders?"

You shook your head. "I can't imagine the burden--nor can I imagine losing you to some asshole with wings."

He chuckled softly at that. "None of this matters right now--this isn't what I came here to say."

"Then what did you come here to say?"

He stepped forward and took your hand in his. You were surprised by the gesture, but you didn't pull away.

"You know, our lives are messed up. They're complicated and full of pain and darkness and death. There's not much happiness in our lives--especially not before you came into mine."

Tears filled your eyes as you listened to his words.

"When I picture myself happy, it's with you," he whispered. "I just wanted you to know that."

You inhaled sharply and the tears began to flow freely. "Dean, don't--"

He brushed his lips against your forehead, silencing your pleas.

"Don't worry, (Y/N/N). You'll be fine--I'll make sure of it. They're not getting what they want from me without meeting some conditions first."

"Dean, please don't do this. Just come inside and we can talk about it," you begged.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly. "I have to."

As you opened your mouth to respond, Castiel appeared directly behind Dean. You knew there was a possibility he would never forgive you for this, but you couldn't let him say yes. "I'm sorry too."

He looked confused for a moment until he heard Cas's voice from behind him. "Hello Dean." As soon as the hunter turned around, Cas used his grace to knock him unconscious.

Cas looked up at you with a surprising amount of sorrow on his face. "I will carry him inside."

You watched as the angel picked up the much larger man and walked towards the door.

"Did Bobby call you?"

"He overheard at least part of your conversation--enough to know Dean was here."

You nodded and followed him inside. "Good," you whispered.

**********

"Out of all people, I thought you would understand," Dean growled at you.

"You know what? I do understand! I understand your desire to self-destruct at every turn! I see the pain and the guilt and the utter emptiness inside you every time I look into your eyes, so don't you think for a second I don't understand."

He was taken aback by the anger in your voice--he wasn't used to you yelling at him with such intensity.

"It's for the greater good!"

"Screw the greater good, Dean! What happened to stopping the devil and saving the world, huh?"

"This is the only way!" he roared.

"I refuse to believe that," you said in a much more mannered tone. "I can't believe that...if I do, then it means everything we've done has been for nothing."

His expression softened. "No, (Y/N), wait--that's not--"

You held up your hand to stop him from talking. "I can't do this."

You walked away, leaving Dean alone in the panic room to stew with his thoughts.

"He still being an ass?" Bobby asked when you came back upstairs.

"Maybe you'll have better luck," you say to Cas. Both you and Sam had struck out.

"I will try." Instead of taking the stairs like a normal person, Cas zapped himself downstairs and stepped towards the panic room.

You had gone upstairs to get something from your room when you heard Sam yell your name. You came racing down the stairs, only to find the younger Winchester looking upset.

"Where's Cas?"

"Zapped to Oz," Sam fumed. "Dean's gone too."

"Great," you mumbled sarcastically. "Go find him. We'll watch Adam."

You were sitting in a chair, watching Adam sleep--in the least creepy way possible. You felt bad for the kid--it was a shitty life to be dragged into, especially after he was already in heaven.

Just as these thoughts were crossing your mind, Adam disappeared right before your eyes. You blinked a couple times, but the cot remained empty. "Bobby!"

**********

"What the hell do you mean he's gone?" Sam snapped at you.

"As I said before, he literally disappeared," you snapped back.

"Probably Zachariah," Castiel said as he appeared, holding a beaten Dean against his side.

"Dean!" you gasped. "What happened to him?"

"I did," Cas answered.

You were surprised, but you understood the angel's anger. After all, he'd believed in the Winchesters--in Dean--so vehemently that he rebelled against heaven--against everything he'd ever believed.

Cas tossed Dean's body onto the now-empty cot while you gathered some first aid supplies. You began to clean him up, listening wordlessly to the discussion happening around you.

"I think Dean should come," Sam said suddenly.

"Are you insane?" Bobby exclaimed.

"That is a terrible plan," Cas agreed.

Sam looked over at you for input, hoping you would be on his side. "What makes you think that's a good idea?" you asked gently.

"I have to believe he'll do the right thing."

You looked down at the still-unconscious man and sighed. He was the bravest and most loyal man you knew, but you also knew he could be stubborn and self-righteous to the point of aggravation. However, you believed in him too--maybe not as much as Sam, but it was there.

"I think it's highly likely he'll walk in there and say yes without a second thought--especially if it means saving you and Adam," you said honestly. "But I have to believe that in the moment, when it really matters, he'll do the right thing."

Sam gave you a small smile and a nod of gratitude.

"Now until then, could someone please move him down to the panic room?" you asked.

After Sam had talked to Dean and told him the plan, the two of them came upstairs to prepare to leave.

"Sam mentioned you agreed with him," Dean said softly, so only you could hear.

"There's no one I believe in more than you, Dean Winchester," you admitted. "You'll do the right thing."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you," you said simply.

He shook his head. "I'm gonna say yes, you know."

"I'm sure you will," you murmured. "But in that moment--the moments before you decide--I want you to remember one thing."

He waited breathlessly for your next words.

"Only you get to decide your destiny."

Surprise lit up his handsome face. Out of all the things he'd expected you to say, that hadn't been on his list. "(Y/N), I--"

"Time to go, Dean," Cas interrupted.

You offered him a gentle smile. "Go--and remember what I said."

Sam, Dean, and Cas disappeared before your eyes and you felt the familiar terror wash over you. This time was so much worse than all the others--this time you really did believe he might not come home.

**********

"Hey (Y/N/N)," Dean said softly as you opened the front door. "Did you miss us?"

The brightest smile he'd ever seen lit up your face and you jumped into his arms. "Dean..." you murmured against his shoulder.

He held you tightly before gently setting you back down on the ground. You gave Sam a hug before the smile fell from your pretty face. "Cas? Adam?"

Sam just shook his head and you sighed sadly. "Well come in. Bobby will be glad to see you both."

The boys explained what had transpired in California as you and Bobby listened quietly. You were glad Dean hadn't really said yes to Michael. You couldn't help but stare at him more than usual, eyes seeking some kind of change in him.

You waited until a lull in the conversation to ask the question that had been eating at you. "So why didn't you say yes?"

Three sets of eyes fell on you, but the only ones you cared about were the mossy green ones.

"Sammy believed in me, even when I didn't deserve it--even when I didn't have the same faith in him. He was stupid enough to take me with him because of that faith...I couldn't let him down," Dean answered honestly. "And, well--I remembered what you said."

You offered him a small smile. "Well I'm glad you did."

Dean held up his beer in a mock 'cheers'. "Screw destiny. I think it's high past time we make our own."

"I can get behind that," Sam agreed.

"That'll work for me," you murmured.

"Well not to put a damper on our middle-finger-to-destiny party, but we still don't have a good plan to defeat Lucifer," Bobby chimed in.

"Buzz kill, Bobby," Dean grumbled.

"We'll figure something out. Somehow, we always do," you added.

**********

You were standing in Bobby's living room trying to find a specific book in the overwhelming piles stacked everywhere, when your phone started to ring.

You answered it without looking at the caller ID. "(Y/L/N)."

"Uhh, am I in trouble? It's Dean."

"Oh shit," you said quickly. "No, nothing like that. I just didn't look at the screen before I answered. What's up?"

"We hit some sort of freak storm coming back, so we're staying the night at a motel we happened to pass. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn't worry."

You smiled even though he couldn't see you. "I appreciate the heads-up. Both of you stay safe and enjoy a nice night off."

"Thanks, (Y/N/N). You too."

It wasn't until Sam and Dean returned from the trip the next day that you learned of the events that had transpired the night before. Several old Pagan gods had gathered at the motel to discuss the end of the world and of course Sam and Dean just happened to be there too.

Apparently the intent was to use the boys as bait to lure Lucifer to the hotel and kill him--at least until Gabriel showed up and told everyone how terrible of an idea it was. Unfortunately, Lucifer had already been summoned by one of the gods and he ended up killing most of the other gods, as well as his brother Gabriel.

In positive news, Gabriel had given Sam and Dean the information needed to stop this whole showdown between Lucifer and Michael. Essentially, they needed all four Horsemen's rings in order to open Lucifer's cage and throw him back into it.

"Small problem with that plan," Bobby stated as the boys finished their explanation. "We only have two rings and we have exactly zero idea where Pestilence or Death is."

"You always manage to find the silver lining, Bobby," Dean said sarcastically.

"He is right though," you said gently. "And it's technically not the only problem. Even if we magically find the other two rings, we still have one very large problem. How the hell do we trick the devil back into the cage?"

"Shit," Dean mumbled. "I hadn't exactly thought that far ahead."

"That's why you have me."

"I guess (Y/N) and I will work on a way to trick the devil, while the two of you look for Pestilence," Bobby stated with a tone of finality.

**********

"This is an absolutely terrible idea," you said angrily. "Out of all the harebrained schemes you idiots have come up with over the years, this one takes the cake. Not only is he a demon, but he screwed us once already. Do you really think working with him is a good idea?"

Dean sighed and ran his hands over his face. "I don't like it anymore than you do, (Y/N/N), but he's the only lead we have."

"Besides, I'm completely trustworthy," Crowley commented as he appeared in Bobby's kitchen. "Well, at least as long as our interests are aligned."

"Fine, but the two of you aren't going alone with him," you said firmly.

"(Y/N), we'll be fine. You should stay here with Bobby."

"I don't need a damn babysitter, Dean," Bobby snapped. "(Y/N)'s better off with the two of you idjits--at least she'll make sure you don't come home dead."

You gave Dean a mirthless smirk and he grumbled in annoyance. "Fine."

"Nice digs," you said sarcastically as Crowley led you to the ramshackle house he'd been staying in.

"No need to be rude," he said in annoyance.

"Okay, what's the plan?" Sam asked.

"The plan, Moose, is for you and the girl to stay here, while Dean and I go to get the Horsemen's stable boy."

"Absolutely not!" you and Sam yelled at the same time.

"I'm not letting my brother go alone with you," Sam added.

"And I'm not letting you come with me," Crowley snapped back. "First of all, you keep trying to kill me, and secondly, I don't like you."

"Fair enough, but why do I have to stay behind?" you asked.

"Someone has to make sure little Sammy here doesn't do anything stupid."

Sam lunged for Crowley again, but you stepped in front of him, effectively blocking his assault. "Cool it, Sam."

Dean sighed, clearly not pleased with the whole situation, but you could see the resignation on his face. You knew what he was going to say before the words even came out of his mouth. "I'll go with Crowley. You two stay here."

"Dean--" you began.

"I'll be fine, (Y/N)."

It was your turn to sigh and nod in quiet acceptance. You looked at Crowley. "If he's not back in one piece, I will hunt you down and rip your heart out."

Crowley threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Understood."

You and Sam watched the two other men walk out the door, concern etched onto both of your faces.

"I don't like this," Sam muttered.

"Well that makes two of us."

"What did you miss about 'one piece'?" you snapped at Crowley when you saw the blood and bruises on Dean's face and torso.

"He's alive. Besides, I had nothing to do with it."

The look Dean gave him said otherwise.

"Technically," Crowley clarified.

You sighed. "You okay?" you asked Dean softly.

"It hurts, but I'll be fine."

Sam started to enter the room where Crowley and Dean had stashed the stable boy (aka Brady), but his entrance was blocked by Crowley.

"What are you doing?" Sam growled.

"Stopping you from mucking this up and ruining any chance we have at finding Pestilence."

"What's he talking about?" you asked.

"Sam--" Dean started.

"Get out of my way," Sam snapped at Crowley.

The demon grumbled, but stepped aside, allowing Sam to pass.

"Sam, just wait a minute," Dean called after him.

The next twenty minutes was a blur of trying to prevent Sam from killing Brady before you could get the information you needed, Crowley going and murdering a bunch of demons, and all of you being attacked by a damn hellhound.

As the five of you raced away from the hellhound fight, you muttered lowly, "Sometimes I really hate this job."

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed.

**********

"Why exactly do I need to sit this one out?" you asked in annoyance.

"Because," Dean started as he threw another weapon into his bag. "I don't like the idea of you going up against a Horseman, okay? It's dangerous."

"Everything we do is dangerous, Dean," you countered.

He sighed. "This is different."

"For the record, I don't like the idea of the two of you going up against Pestilence either--especially without backup."

Dean threw his bag into the trunk of the Impala and slammed it shut. "This whole mess is our fault, which makes it our problem to solve. I've never wanted to involve you in this hell."

"I know, Dean," you said softly. "But like it or not, I'm involved."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Just--stay here with Bobby, please. For me."

His voice was as close to begging as Dean Winchester ever got, so you sighed deeply and nodded, biting the inside of your lip to keep from saying anything else.

Dean pulled you into a tight hug, holding you a little longer than would be typical of a friendly hug. You tried not to notice or read into it--after all, just because Dean had told you he'd pictured himself happy with you didn't mean he wanted to be with you. He hadn't brought it up since, but you supposed there really hadn't been time.

"Be safe," you whispered as he pulled away.

"I always am."

You knew he was lying, but there was nothing you could do about it. Instead, you gave Sam a hug before watching them climb into the Impala and pull away.

When you walked back into the house, Bobby sensed your mood immediately. "You alright, kid?"

"I just don't like the idea of them going after Pestilence alone."

"I know you care about them, but they're tough boys, (Y/N). They'll be alright."

You gave Bobby a sad look. "I think we both know I care too much."

The older man sighed and nodded. "I don't think you can care too much," he said gently.

You understood what he meant, but you were too worried to respond. This was the reason why hunters didn't have families--love was a weakness that would only cause you more pain in the end.

**********

"No, no, no. Absolutely not."

"If it's the only way--" Bobby tried.

"I said no," you growled.

"Then we might as well accept defeat now," Crowley said. "Without the spell, we'll never find Death in time. Without Death's ring, we can't put Lucifer back in his cage, and the end of the world is back on."

"I'm not letting you sacrifice your soul, Bobby!"

"I'll give it back," Crowley insisted. "It's a temporary loan."

"You're a demon, Crowley," you deadpanned. "Trusting you would be insanity."

"I don't see another option," Bobby said quietly.

"The only other option I can see," Crowley mused, "is using (Y/N)'s soul."

"Over my dead body," Bobby seethed.

"If I won't let Bobby do it, why the hell would I give you mine?"

"I didn't think you would. I was simply offering up the only other option."

"(Y/N)..." Bobby said gently.

"I don't like this," you murmured.

"I know. I don't like it either, but it's our best shot."

You closed your eyes. "It's your soul, so it's your choice."

Bobby looked up at Crowley and nodded. "I'll do it."

When the boys returned looking a little worse for the wear, but alive, you were relieved to see them. Especially since they had Cas in tow.

You hugged the angel, eyes scanning over him for any obvious injuries before looking at Dean and Sam. "All three of you look like hell."

"It has not been a fun day," Castiel commented.

You patted his arm gently. "I'd imagine not."

"We got the ring, though," Dean stated. "So that's really all that matters."

"We, uhh--well we managed to find Death's location while you were gone," you said, hoping they wouldn't notice the worried look in your eyes.

"How?" Sam asked.

"With my help," Crowley stated. "And some assistance from Bobby, of course."

There was something in Crowley's tone that made Dean uncomfortable. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, addressing Bobby.

"It's not a big deal," Bobby said.

"It only cost him his soul," you said lowly, worry lacing your words.

"What? Bobby, come on! You sold your soul?" Dean yelled.

"It's my damn soul, boy!"

"Technically it's on loan. I fully intend to give it back," Crowley interjected.

"Then give it back!" Dean snapped.

"I will, once Lucifer's back in his cage and we all go back to hating each other."

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled.

You stepped in, grabbing Dean's arm to hold him back. "It was Bobby's choice, Dean. We needed the information and it was going to be his soul or mine."

Dean's expression sobered. He didn't want Bobby's soul to be at risk, but he was beyond terrified of losing you. It would kill him if your soul was damned to hell. "If you don't return it, so help me god--"

"I already threatened him," you said softly. "Repeatedly."

"With torture, I might add," Crowley put in.

Dean almost looked proud. "Good."

"Now that's all settled," Crowley began. "We'd better get to Chicago before the storm of the century wipes the Windy City off the map."

**********

Sam pulled you and Dean outside to chat before preparing for the next mission. "I wanted to talk to the two of you alone."

"Is everything okay?" you asked softly.

"I was thinking about what you said--about getting Lucifer into the cage," Sam responded. "And I think I have a plan that will work."

"Okay, let's hear it," Dean prodded.

"So I already talked it over with Bobby and he was telling me how, when he was possessed, he managed to regain control of himself long enough to keep from killing Dean and stab himself--"

"I can see where you're going with this, and I don't like it," you interjected.

Sam ignored your interruption. "I think I can do the same with Lucifer."

"I'm sorry--what?" Dean exclaimed. "Are you suggesting saying yes to Lucifer?"

"Just long enough to get him into the cage," Sam admitted. "I don't see any other options."

"Absolutely not," Dean snapped. "No way--no way in hell."

"Sam," you said calmly, "this is Lucifer! Not just some low level demon. The amount of sheer force of will you'd need to overcome him is--well it's damn near impossible."

"I know that," Sam said softly. "But I think it's worth a try."

Dean was about to say something else when Crowley appeared with a newspaper in his hand. "Read the headline."

Sam took the paper and began to read, "Swine Flu Vaccines to be Shipped Nationwide by Niveus."

The three of you looked perplexed, causing Crowley to groan. "Niveus? Ring a bell, anyone?"

"Wait," you began, "Isn't that the company Brady worked for?"

Crowley nodded. "At least one of you has a brain. Brady was the senior VP of distribution, to be specific."

"Oh fuck," you muttered.

"Please don't tell me--" Dean started.

"Pestilence had a bigger plan. Swine flu was just the beginning," Sam stated.

"The vaccine is phase two," you whispered.

"Exactly," Crowley added. "And it's full of Croatoan Virus."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"You've gotta admit, it's an effective way to infect more than half the country all at once," Sam said quietly.

"We have to stop the distribution," you announced. "When do the trucks roll out?"

"Tomorrow," Crowley answered.

"Great," Dean said sarcastically. "So all we have to do is save Chicago, take Death's ring, and stop the mass spreading of the Croatian Virus to the entire U.S....all in one day."

You sighed deeply. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's us."

Dean looked over at you, a proud smile on his face. "That's my girl."

You blushed and looked away, unaccustomed to hearing him call you 'his girl'. Sure, he called you 'sweetheart', but he called most women that. This felt different, and you weren't sure how you felt about it.

"Let's go save the world," Sam muttered.

**********

You hadn't wanted to separate from Dean, but you knew Sam, Cas, and Bobby would likely need your help more than Dean and Crowley did. You still didn't trust Crowley and you hated the idea of leaving him alone with Dean, especially when they were facing an apocalyptic storm and going up against one of the oldest creatures in creation--Death himself.

"You just gonna sit there?" Crowley asked Bobby, drawing you out of your thoughts.

"No, I'm gonna river dance," Bobby quipped back.

"I suppose if you wanna impress the ladies," he teased. "You know, you can really make these contracts work in your favor, for instance adding your legs as part of the deal."

Everyone stared at Bobby in silence as he slowly began to move his legs for the first time in what felt like eternity. You gasped in shock when he stood up to his full height and took a step forward.

The joy was short-lived, given the tasks you were about to complete. There were a couple hugs before everyone sobered up and finished preparing to leave.

You were about to get into the van with Cas, Bobby, and Sam, when Dean approached you and called your name.

"Dean? You okay?" you asked.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering against your cheek for longer than it should have. "Just--just be careful, (Y/N/N). Please."

You smiled gently and nodded. "You too, Dean."

He pulled you into a tight hug, placing his lips into your hair, gently kissing the top of your head. "I can't lose you," he murmured so softly you almost didn't hear.

When he finally let you go, your eyes had begun to water--emotions bubbling up inside of you despite your best efforts to conceal them. "Come back to me," you choked out.

He gave you a sad smile as he stepped away. You saw him close his eyes as he swallowed thickly, clearly experiencing some complicated emotions of his own.

"Dean!" Crowley yelled. "Let's get a move on."

Dean groaned and his normal impassive mask slid back into place. "I'm coming, quit your whining." He gave you one last look before walking away from you.

Your heart ached in your chest, an overwhelming feeling of fear embedding itself in your bones. You watched him get into the driver's seat of the Impala before you managed to shake yourself out of whatever trance you were in and get into the van with the others.

"You good, (Y/N)? Bobby asked as you shut the door.

"All good," you lied. "Let's roll."

**********

"Have I mentioned how much I hate Croatoan Virus?" you grumbled as you shot yet another infected person who was charging your way.

"Maybe once or twice," Sam shot back.

"We should have known they would infect people before we got here," Bobby commented.

"Yeah, but at least we've stopped the shipment. Now we just gotta kill some Croats," you said with a smirk as you shot another one.

You and Sam traveled farther into the warehouse, following the sounds of people yelling for help. Cas and Bobby stayed up front to make sure no Croats escaped.

You were certain you had to be nearing the last of the infected people, but as you rounded a corner, one got the jump on you, tackling you to the ground. You fought with him, desperately trying to get him off of you so you could shoot him, but he sent your gun flying, leaving you defenseless.

You were starting to lose the battle, the Croat's teeth close to sinking into your flesh, when you heard a yell from behind you. The Croat looked up just in time to see Sam pull the trigger, bringing the terrifying moment to an end.

He helped you up and you retrieved your gun. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for the save."

He smiled. "Any time."

The two of you started moving back towards the front of the building. You heard a sound down one of the aisles and you started in that direction. You nodded for Sam to get back to Bobby and Cas, confident you could handle the situation on your own.

You cleared the aisle, but didn't find anything. You started heading back when you heard Sam yell and you started running. You arrived just in time to see Castiel shooting a Croat in the head to save Sam.

He looked slightly pleased with himself, gazing down at the sawed off in his hands. "These things can be useful."

You chuckled and Bobby just shook his head.

Sam got up and clapped Cas on the shoulder, a silent thank you for saving him. "Alright, let's blow some stuff up," he said with a grin.

"This has always been my favorite part of the plan," you declared with a grin of your own.

When the four of you returned to Bobby's, you were pleased to learn Dean and Crowley's mission had also been a success. Not only had they saved Chicago, but Dean had managed to secure Death's ring and learn how to use the rings.

"How old do we think Death is, exactly?" you asked.

"He told me he was as old as God...maybe older, but neither of them could remember," Dean responded.

"Holy shit..."

"Yeah. He didn't exactly strike me as the forgiving type, so I doubt he'll appreciate me lying to him," Dean commented.

"You lied to Death? About what?"

"I told him I was okay with Sam saying yes to Lucifer."

You sighed quietly, not wanting to admit which side you fell on in this particular argument.

Thankfully, Bobby did have something to add. "You and I have always treated Sam like he's a kid, despite the fact that he's one of the toughest people I know. He's been running into burning buildings since he was what, 12?"

"Pretty much," Dean replied.

"I saw him today, Dean. We both did," Bobby said, looking over at you. "He's not that little kid anymore. He's strong--stronger than any of us give him credit for. I think we should have a little more faith in his abilities."

Dean looked over at you, silently asking for your input. "I've always believed in Sam," you said honestly. "I'm not gonna stop now."

Dean nodded, a look of resigned acceptance crossing his features.

**********

You'd just gotten out of the shower when you heard a knock on your bedroom door. "Just a second!" you called.

You quickly threw on pajama shorts and an old faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, before throwing open the door without checking to see who it was.

"Dean," you gasped in surprise.

"Hey," he murmured awkwardly. "I, uhh--I was hoping we could talk."

"Oh, umm, sure." You stepped aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Everything okay?" you asked worriedly.

"I'm just thinking about what's going to happen in just a couple days and I--I don't want to leave things unsaid."

"Dean, we don't have to--"

"I need to, (Y/N/N)," he interjected. "Just in case."

You didn't want to think about the very distinct possibility that one or both of you might not survive the coming fight. Your heart ached at the mere thought of losing him, and to your surprise he felt the same way.

"I don't know if we'll make it through this--all I know is I'm terrified of losing you," he admitted.

You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to say.

"I'm not used to being afraid," he whispered. "It's not a feeling I'm accustomed to experiencing and to be honest with you, I kinda hate it."

"You don't have to be afraid for me," you reassured him. "I'll be fine. You know I can take care of myself."

"In every other fight? I'd agree completely...but this isn't any other fight. This is Michael and Lucifer--it's the biggest fight of our lives."

"I know," you murmured. "But I have to believe that at the end of this, we'll all be okay."

He nodded, but you could see the emotions clouding his normally bright green eyes. "I wish I had that same faith."

You gave him a teary smile. You understood where he was coming from, especially given his past experiences.

"Any chance I can convince you to stay back?"

"There's no way that's happening, Dean. If you're facing two archangels, I'm coming with you."

He sighed. "I figured you'd say that." He exhaled deeply, clearly preparing himself to say something else. "Things have been so--intense--for the past few weeks and we haven't really had much of an opportunity to talk. We've been dancing around our feelings and I don't wanna keep doing that--I can't."

You swallowed thickly. "I don't know if I can..."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to say anything if you don't really mean it. You're scared and honestly, so am I. This might be the end, Dean--the end of everything. I just don't want you to say something you think I wanna hear because we might die, or something you don't really feel just because you don't wanna be alone for the end...I can't handle that."

Dean stood up and reached out to you. You'd finally let the tears fall during your speech, and he couldn't stand to see you cry. He reached up slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him. When you didn't, he cupped your face in his hands, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"I don't want you to ever think I'm choosing you because of some misguided desire to not be alone. I meant what I said, sweetheart--you're the only person I can imagine myself being happy with. It's always been you--I've just been too scared to tell you."

You sniffled softly as he finished wiping the last of your tears. "So why now?"

He continued to gently rub his thumbs on your cheeks, almost afraid to let go of you--as if you would simply disappear. "Because I'm tired of pretending I'm not in love with you. If this really is the end, I don't wanna go out without telling you the truth. If you don't feel the same, I understand, but I needed to--"

You leaned in to press your lips gently against his, silencing the rest of his sentence. He returned your kiss, one hand sliding into your hair to pull you closer to him.

You pulled away from him to suck in some air, leaning your forehead against his as you caught your breath.

"So does that mean you might feel the same?" Dean murmured softly.

You laughed lightly. "Maybe just a little bit."

He grinned as he slipped his arms around your soft waist and pulled you closer. "Just a little?" he teased.

You giggled as his fingers gently tickled your sides. "Or a lot."

"Yeah?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah...there's a strong possibility I feel exactly the same as you."

"Oh, baby, I don't think that's possible."

You looked at him in confusion.

"I love you more than anything--I don't even have words to express how I feel about you. 'Love' just doesn't cut it."

You practically melted in his arms, a warm, teary smile gracing your face. "I don't think I can compare to that, but I do love you, Dean--so much."

Dean was one of the most deeply emotional people you'd ever known and the way he loved was no exception. He was incredibly passionate and he loved with a kind of fierceness that almost frightened you. But at the same time, you felt incredibly honored to be loved by such an amazing man--a man who was loyal, brave, strong, and sensitive (even if he would deny it).

Dean kissed you deeply, holding your body tightly against his own. You could feel his arousal stirring against your stomach and you moaned softly.

"I could kiss you all night," he whispered against your lips.

"Why don't you then?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, a small smirk playing on his lips. "How would you feel if I kissed every square inch of your body instead of just your lips?"

You inhaled sharply, his words sending a shock wave of need straight to your core. "Please," you begged softly.

"Oh baby, you're in for a treat." He grabbed you and spun around, tossing you onto the soft bed.

It didn't take long for you both to be completely naked, Dean's head between your legs, bringing you closer to blissful release with each passing moment.

Every movement of his lips and tongue had you moaning in pleasure. You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails scrapping against his scalp as he continued to drive you wild.

When your orgasm finally hit, your hips began to buck wildly, causing Dean to lay his arm across your abdomen to hold you in place. He continued lapping up your juices and teasing your clit until you dragged him away, whimpers of sensitivity leaving your lips.

He breathed heavily as he hovered over you, licking his lips in contentment. "I didn't wanna stop."

You smiled. "I could tell."

"So I can go back down and finish--" he started moving lower and you grabbed him to keep him in place.

"No!" you said, laughter filling your voice. "I'm a little too sensitive for that right now, Dean."

He groaned in displeasure. "Fine," he mumbled. "Later then."

He leaned down to kiss you and you giggled softly against his lips. His antics always made you smile, so you weren't surprised to find the experience continued in the bedroom.

As he deepened the kiss, you felt his cock brush against your core, a sharp hiss leaving your lips at the contact.

"Sorry, baby," he murmured.

"I'm not," you said lightly.

He looked down at you quizzically, but didn't have time to comment before he found himself lying on his back looking up at you.

You grinned down at him, clearly pleased with yourself.

"Whatcha doin' sweetheart?" he drawled.

"Taking what I want."

Your meaning was quickly made clear as you kissed slowly down his chest and abdomen, stopping only to make a soft sound of appreciation when you came upon his throbbing cock.

You wrapped your hand around it and licked slowly from the base to the tip, giving a flick of your tongue against it to collect the precum.

Dean moaned softly, green eyes watching you intently as you took his cock into your mouth, slowly lowering yourself down until you couldn't fit any more.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, hand reaching for your hair to tangle his fingers in it.

You hummed happily and began to move, bobbing your head up and down in a pleasurable rhythm. Your hand wrapped around what you couldn't fit into your mouth to ensure his entire member was receiving pleasure.

Dean's hips jerked slightly each time you made a noise or a particularly pleasurable motion, and his grip on your hair tightened considerably.

You made it very obvious you were enjoying yourself, which seemed to only increase his pleasure. You very gently caressed his balls, massaging them in your soft hand as you continued to suck his cock.

Dean's moans and curses had increased in both volume and frequency, signaling he was nearing his peak. You flicked your gaze up to look at his face, meeting his dark, lust-blown eyes.

You held eye contact as you continued your motions, soft moans vibrating against his cock.

"Holy fuck," he whispered. "Gonna cum, baby."

You hummed, signaling your desire for him to let go. You continued to hold his gaze, but you switched your focus to the head of his cock, using your hand to rub the rest.

Moments later, Dean came with a low groan of your name, hips stuttering upwards as you swallowed every drop he gave you.

Just as he'd done to you, you refused to stop until he literally pulled you off his cock, aftershocks shaking his body.

"That was incredible," he breathed.

You smiled down at him, appreciating the praise.

"I wanna taste you again," he begged softly.

Your eyes widened a bit, but you couldn't deny the ache in your core. You wanted to feel him inside you so badly, but you knew he'd need some time to work back up to it.

"I suppose you can have a little taste," you murmured teasingly.

You started to get off of him, but he grabbed you to hold you in place.

"Where ya going?"

"To lay down..."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Did I tell you to lay down?"

You inhaled sharply. "No..."

"Didn't think so, babe." He shifted so his head was flat against the mattress. "Come on up and sit on my face."

"I'm sorry--do what?"

He laughed softly. "Sit on my face."

"Umm...you sure?"

He lifted his head to look at you. "I've never been more certain."

You bit your lip and considered his words for a moment. You'd never sat on anyone's face, but you'd heard it was an enjoyable experience.

"Alright," you agreed, pulling yourself up to hover over his mouth.

"Lower, please," he said.

You lowered yourself down, but remained hovering.

"(Y/N)," he said harshly. "Sit."

You lowered yourself as much as you could without putting your full weight on him.

"For the love of god," he growled, tugging down on your hips and forcing you to actually sit.

You heard his groan and what sounded like a muffled "Fuck yes", before his tongue slipped between your folds and the assault began.

If you'd thought he was good with his mouth before, it was nothing compared to the incredible feelings you were currently experiencing. You had to press your hands against the wall to hold yourself upright and your thighs were pressed tightly around his head.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were loud enough to wake the neighbors, but you couldn't be bothered to care.

You could feel his tongue pressing into your channel while his nose bumped against your clit with every movement. The combination was amazing and your hips started to move on their own, seeking more friction to push you over the edge.

Dean's grip on your hips tightened and he started to move your hips more forcefully, letting you know it was okay to ride his face.

You took the hint and completely let go, allowing yourself to truly enjoy the experience. Dean's moans vibrated through your body, which only served to increase your pleasure.

Your thighs began to shake and your moans had turned to cries of his name as your hips made one final thrust before you fell apart. The orgasm that crashed through you was easily the most incredible one you'd ever experienced--the high both better and longer than ever before.

You lifted yourself off Dean's face as the pleasure became too much, but your legs were no longer able to support you, so you fell onto the bed beside him. You were both breathless, but Dean wasted no time in rolling over on top of you and pressing open mouthed kisses to your heated skin.

When you finally caught your breath, you murmured, "I've never felt that good in my life."

Dean smirked, pride evident on his face. "I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart."

You bit your lip and looked up into his handsome face. "Is that a promise?"

He groaned softly and his cock pressed against your core. You both inhaled sharply and he lowered his face down to kiss you deeply. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"I hope not," you whispered back.

He smiled and placed another sweet kiss to your lips. "You ready?"

You nodded--you'd never been more ready in your life.

He gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance, pressing in slowly to give you time to adjust.

You whimpered at the feeling, his cock stretching you in ways you didn't know you could be stretched.

"You okay, baby?"

"Mhmm," you hummed. "Keep going."

He waited another moment before continuing to push forward. By the time he was fully seated inside you, you were both breathing heavily and a light sheen of sweat graced your face.

Dean pressed soft, sweet kisses all over your face as he waited for your breathing to normalize. "Let me know when you're ready," he murmured.

After a few more moments, you took a deep breath and said, "You can move now."

Dean's hips began to move slowly, his thrusts languid and gentle at first. As your grip on his cock tightened and the soft sounds you made washed over him, his pace began to increase.

"You're so goddamn tight, (Y/N/N)," he groaned softly. "So warm and wet--fucking perfect."

You pulled his face down to yours to kiss him passionately. "Feels so good, Dean," you moaned.

He knew he wasn't going to last very long...which wasn't common for him. You just felt so incredible and he knew he was going to lose control.

He'd be damned, however, if he came before pulling at least one more orgasm from your sweet body.

Dean grabbed your legs and folded them towards your chest, flexing your body almost in half. This position allowed him to get even deeper inside you and the head of his cock pressed against your sweet spot with each thrust.

"Dean!" you gasped in surprised pleasure. Not very many men had managed to find your g-spot, but Dean wasn't exactly most men.

You dug your nails into his biceps--the only part of him you could reach, and your moans turned into an unending song of pleasure.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't love every part of it. Every noise was like music to his ears--a soundtrack he could listen to forever. The sharp pain of your nails in his skin only heightened his pleasure and the look of pure bliss on your face was an image he wanted to sear onto his brain.

He was desperate to watch you come undone--to see your beautiful face in full view as you fell apart for him. He was certain it would be an image worthy of an art museum.

"You gonna cum for me baby?" he asked lowly.

You nodded rapidly, unable to form a verbal response.

"Can feel you squeezin' me so tight."

He sped up just a little more and a sharp gasp left your lips. He knew you were seconds away--and honestly, so was he.

"Need you to cum for me sweet girl," he begged. "Wanna feel it so bad."

His words sent you over the edge, your third orgasm of the night washing over you and throwing you into pure ecstasy.

Dean held back his own impending orgasm just long enough to ask, "Can I fill you up, baby?"

"Please!" you cried.

Dean came with a loud shout of your name, hot ropes of cum filling your pussy to the brim. His thrusts slowed as you both rode out your highs and his cock began to soften as he pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside you.

"That was--" you began.

"I know," he finished.

You turned to look at him and giggled softly. He grinned widely and let out a warm laugh along with you.

"Who woulda thought we'd end up here?" he asked.

"On the brink of the end of the world," you added.

"There's no one I'd rather be with," he admitted.

You rolled onto your side to face him completely. "Same here, Dean."

He offered you a small smile tinged with sadness. "I love you, (Y/N/N)...and if we die tomorrow, then at least you'll know how I feel about you."

You closed your eyes and sighed. "I love you too. But I want a life with you, so let's try to make it through tomorrow, okay?"

He smiled warmly. "Alright, sweetheart. I'd like that."

"Good," you whispered as you nestled in close to him, laying your head against his chest and sighing softly.

Dean wrapped his arms around you tightly as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let go. You fell asleep like that, one last moment of peace and contentment before the final battle.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #supernatural fanfic #supernatural smut #dean Winchester smut

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ginnsbaker · 3 months ago

Text

All Of Your Pieces (3 - The Neighbor)

Chapter Summary: Agnes sees the perfect opportunity to stir up some trouble while Wanda deals with her jealousy toward your work assistant, Geraldine. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 2.8k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: I really have nothing to say except that I enjoyed writing Agatha in this chapter // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The team has been at a standstill, figuring out who’s behind this, or how to communicate with anyone trapped inside the town. Every drone they've sent in morphs into something entirely different, thwarting their efforts to gather any useful intel. The people sent underground to scout a safe route through have gone dark, their communication cut off. No one else volunteered to attempt approaching the perimeter after that.

The broadcasts they've been tracking are erratic, cutting out for hours with no warning, making it hard to keep a consistent eye on the town's odd behaviors. But it's during one of these quiet periods when something clicks in Darcy's mind.

“I think I have something,” Darcy blurts out to Jimmy. They’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel, running out of faces to identify from the snippets of life in Westview they caught on screen.

“Yeah?” Jimmy gives her a tired look, only half-listening. He can't remember the last time he managed more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep. Even if he could find the time to rest, the bizarre situation they're in won't let his mind relax.

Darcy sighs and leads him outside the tent.

“So, you’ve seen that radio on Wanda’s kitchen counter, right?”

Jimmy only nods.

Darcy continues, “The next time she’s washing dishes, or whatever—which by my count—happens about once an episode, barf, we’ll shoot a signal to that little guy.” She leads him to a set of computers set up behind a pickup truck. Jimmy doesn’t understand what’s going on with these systems, but he’s hoping Darcy really is onto something.

“This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast,” she pauses to catch her breath in the cold and to give him time to catch up with her science. “And if my theory is right, it will allow us to speak to her.”

She cuts off any chance for Jimmy to comment and assures him, “This is definitely going to work.”

–

The annual Westview Harvest Festival is in full swing. The town square is packed with booths overflowing with baked goods and fresh fall produce. A small stage is set up for the local band playing tunes from the 70s, while kids dart around in all directions, their faces painted with fanciful designs. Billy and Tommy are with their preschool teachers, who are keeping them and other children their age occupied with arts and crafts that involve tumbleweeds—a material no one seems to think is entirely safe for five-year-olds to play with.

In hindsight, it’s the ideal setting for introductions and mingling. However, everyone here already knows each other—everyone, that is, except for Wanda. She makes an effort to blend in, but apart from a few interactions with the planning committee, which weren’t particularly fruitful, she often remains secluded at home. This makes you, the only one in the household who heads out daily for work, the more socially connected of the two. It’s both amusing and slightly anxiety-inducing to watch you interact with the townsfolk who are essentially strangers to you and to Wanda, if only you knew. You and Wanda never had the opportunity to live a normal life, to settle in a typical city, surrounded by neighbors who could have become integral to the life you might have built together.

Seeing you interact with these people, she’s realizing it’s harder than she thought to share you with others. Or maybe she’s just as selfish as she’s always been, never really outgrowing it. When you were both part of the Avengers, it was like living in a bubble, surrounded by only a few familiar faces every day. Now, outside that controlled environment, it’s challenging her expectations and stirring up feelings she thought she had under control.

It becomes particularly tough when she sees Geraldine heading towards you, sporting that perpetual, dazzling smile full of perfect white teeth. Wanda's fingers curl into a fist, tiny wisps of red energy leaking from them. You quickly cover her hand with yours, and the effect is immediate—she relaxes slightly, letting you intertwine your fingers with hers, anchoring herself by your side where she feels secure.

“It's so nice to see you outside of the office, just being one of us for a change,” Geraldine says, though she seems to be wearing the same uniform as at work. Not that you're judging, but it does make you wonder why she hasn't changed.

“Definitely beats being stuck behind a desk,” you reply, your attention briefly wandering. Only then do you notice that Wanda has subtly withdrawn her hand from yours, now exploring a booth with homemade apple cider. You hadn't even noticed the exact moment she let go.

“Hello, Wanda!” Geraldine greets her warmly.

Wanda musters a tight-lipped smile that’s convincing enough, as Geraldine appears quite taken with it. Just then, Geraldine spots Agnes standing a little away from the crowd, lingering behind Wanda with a look that borders on suspicion or disdain.

Geraldine steps up to her while Wanda continues to busy herself with whatever else is being showcased in the booth. “Hi, I'm Geraldine. Isn’t this a wonderful evening?” She extends her hand to Agnes.

Agnes eyes the offered hand but doesn’t accept it. Instead, she sizes up Geraldine with a quick once-over and nods, foregoing any introductions. Geraldine's smile falters briefly, but she quickly shakes off the slight, tossing a brisk, “See you around, Y/N!” over her shoulder as she heads back to her table.

You wave back and let out a sigh, relieved that you’ve just sidestepped what could have been the most awkward moment of your life. Wanda’s jealousy towards Geraldine seems more serious than you’d realized. You know Wanda can be possessive; it's just been a long time since it's manifested this way. But then, it's also been a while since you've both been in a crowd of strangers like this. Since…

Since when, exactly?

“Y/N, honey?” Wanda’s voice snaps you out of your fog.

You blink. “Hm?”

“I’m thirsty.”

Just like that, you’ve forgotten about your lapse of memory, replaced by a desire to tend to your wife's needs.

“I’ll get us some refreshments. What would you like?” you ask.

“Just some water, please.”

“Water here, too,” Agnes calls out, unsolicited.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. It's great that Wanda's making friends in the neighborhood, but did it really have to be Agnes O’Connor? Ever since you and Wanda moved into this quiet suburb, Agnes has made it her personal mission to be involved in every aspect of your lives. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than the apparent nosiness of your neighbor.

As you head over to get the drinks, Agnes sidles up to Wanda, her eyes gleaming with an opportunity to stir some pot.

“Geraldine seems quite taken with your wife.”

It’s not like Wanda doesn’t know what Agnes’s doing, but she finds herself nodding in agreement anyway. Your new assistant does appear smitten with you, and while Wanda gets the appeal—you are, undeniably, crush-worthy—she can't say she's thrilled about it.

“Y/N is her boss,” Wanda murmurs, more to herself than to Agnes.

“Oh, honey,” Agnes laughs condescendingly. “Do you even go to the movies? That's how the steamiest affairs start, you know.”

Wanda bristles at the sound of that endearment from someone other than you. But she keeps herself together—barely.

“I trust her,” Wanda forces out.

As you're getting drinks, Geraldine joins you, picking up a soda herself. She lets out a light laugh at a joke from the bartender, and you find yourself chuckling too, oblivious to the piercing look your wife is drilling into your back.

Meanwhile, Agnes sees her opening and swoops in, linking her arm through Wanda's with a bit more force than necessary.

“Of course, you trust her, dear,” she murmurs right by Wanda's ear. “But do you trust her?” She points subtly with her chin towards Geraldine, her lips pursed. “You know what they say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer…”

Wanda's shoulders tense, her entire frame stiffening. As you return with the drinks, Agnes steps away, leaving Wanda visibly shaken, like she’s teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

“Everything okay?” you ask, handing her a drink. You've noticed before how Wanda's demeanor changes around Agnes; she’s clearly a source of stress for her. It’s going to be a difficult conversation, but it might be time to tell Wanda what you really think about the neighbor.

Wanda takes the water you offer, her fingers trembling slightly as she does. For a moment, she appears distant, disengaged, as if her mind is elsewhere. Then, with a sudden shift, she flashes you one of those smiles that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I'm fine,” she declares, a little too brightly. Then, seemingly out of the blue, she asks, “Is Geraldine here with someone?”

You stop short, realizing you really don't know much about Geraldine beyond work. “I didn’t see her with anyone,” you say.

Wanda nods thoughtfully. Her next suggestion catches you by surprise.

“Maybe you should invite her over to our table.”

Did you hear that correctly? Had Wanda just done a complete 180 regarding your assistant and was now interested in getting to know her? You shoot a suspicious glance at Agnes. Had she said something to Wanda to change her mind?

“Are you sure?” you ask, puzzled by her abrupt change of heart.

“I am,” Wanda affirms. “It might be nice to make a new friend.”

–

Back at the response camp, Darcy and Jimmy are huddled around the small, grainy television, waiting for the moment Wanda’s in her kitchen so they can send a message through her radio device. However, the usual domestic scenes are conspicuously absent, replaced by static and sporadic cuts to the ongoing Harvest Festival.

“Come on, come on,” Darcy mutters under her breath, shoving her glasses back up her nose. They've been slipping a lot lately, probably because she's been hunching over her work more than usual these past few days.

“It's this festival,” Jimmy says, squinting at the screen. “I think the whole town's out there tonight. I don’t think we’re going to get the chance.”

Their attempts to contact anyone inside the Hex are dwindling, and Hayward's interest leans more towards studying the energy barrier encasing the town rather than resolving the anomaly itself. His latest directive to launch another drone into the barrier feels like a brute force attempt to crack the problem. Jimmy thinks it’s a waste of time—and resources.

“Yeah, and you know what’s worse?” Darcy grumbles. “I have a bad feeling about Agnes. Every time she's around, things just seem to... escalate.”

As they watch, the screen cuts to a shot of Agnes at the festival, linking arms with Wanda, whispering something that makes Wanda’s expression tighten. “See, what did I tell you?” Darcy exclaims, pointing at the screen. “Who’s this Agnes again in real life?” she asks.

Jimmy swivels in his chair, his gaze sweeping across the expansive pinboard filled with photos of Westview residents. Agnes’s face is not among them.

“No idea,” he says flatly. He had already run a search in the database, but it came back empty.

“So, we've identified Y/N, Monica, and Agnes as outsiders in Westview,” Darcy explains, tallying them off on her fingers.

“That’s correct,” Jimmy confirms.

“And then there’s Wanda’s sons. But again… we haven’t seen any other children in the show besides the twins.”

Jimmy thinks about it for a while. It had never really occurred to him before. “Maybe they’re bound to show up at some point?”

“Smells fishy to me,” Darcy huffs. Her thoughts circle back to Agnes. “How do you think Agnes ended up here?” she asks, their list of unanswered questions growing daily.

Jimmy shrugs. “She could’ve just been visiting.”

Darcy considers it. It's a possibility, but somehow, it doesn't feel quite right—too simple, too convenient for someone as vibrant and prickly as the character Agnes portrays.

–

It's as if Wanda's animosity toward Geraldine just magically went away.

They’ve been chatting for almost an hour. Initially, Wanda made sure to include you in the conversation, but as time passed, she and Geraldine started connecting over topics that didn’t involve you as much. Feeling somewhat left out but also at ease that the problem between your wife and your secretary has apparently resolved itself, you decide to check out the festival booths.

This is where Agnes finds the perfect opportunity to get you alone. She starts her approach—to your surprise and discomfort—by acknowledging the elephant in the room.

“I know you don’t like me very much,” she says with a knowing smile. “Maybe we can change that tonight?”

You eye her with suspicion, easily seeing through her blatant attempts to flirt her way into your good graces.

“How exactly are we going to do that?” you ask, crossing your arms in front of you.

Agnes simply laughs off the cool reception you’ve given her. If anything, she revels in it.

“By getting to know each other, obviously,” she says.

“Right.”

She takes your elbow, and you swear she can feel you recoil at her closeness, yet she doesn’t seem to care. She urges you forward, dictating the pace. Her grip is unexpectedly firm, as if to say you have no choice but to listen—like leaving isn't an option.

With you literally in her grasp, Agnes sets her plans into motion. “So, how did you and Wanda meet?” she asks.

You deliver the narrative precisely as it plays out in your memory, exactly as Wanda implanted it in your mind. “We grew up next to each other. Best friends since we were kids.”

“How cute,” she says, in that smooth, supercilious tone that usually makes your skin crawl. But this time, with the memories of Wanda filling your head, you hardly notice.

“Yeah, I remember when I first saw her,” you continue, gazing into the distance as if the scene you speak of is right there before your eyes. “It was almost Halloween, and my mom had baked a pumpkin pie to welcome them to the neighborhood. She sent me to deliver it. Wanda answered the door.”

“Love at first sight?”

“More like the opposite,” you say, throwing Agnes a good-natured smile, something you’ve never done before. “She couldn’t stand me, and I felt the same way.”

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Agnes drawls before accompanying it with a short chuckle. “Who knows? Maybe there’s hope for us yet. You might end up not hating me so much after all.”

“Maybe…” you say, the smile reaching your eyes this time.

“Good, good,” Agnes says. “I can’t think of anything more romantic than growing up with the person you’ll be with for the rest of your life. Almost like it’s… sketched out, no?”

You nod at her, not sure where she’s going with this, but you appreciate the sentiment. You consider yourself lucky to have known Wanda most of your life.

“So, you've lived in Westview your whole life?” Agnes asks.

“Yes,” you nod without hesitation.

“And you've only ever been to Westview?”

“No, of course not,” you laugh, ready to list off places you've been, but suddenly, you can't name any. The cities and trips that should come easily to your tongue just... don't materialize.

Not a single one.

Agnes watches you struggle with a blank expression. A second later, she begins throwing out suggestions, as if trying to help.

“Canada?"

You shake your head.

“California?”

Another shake.

“New York?”

No. This time, your eyes sting with the frustration of trying to pull something from the haze, realizing there’s nothing there.

Have you really never been anywhere but Westview?

“Eastview, maybe?” she offers with a bit of sarcasm as she names the town next door.

“I—”

“How strange,” Agnes muses, driving home the final nail in the coffin of your crumbling peace.

You jerk your arm away from her grip and take a few instinctive steps back. “I need to pick up the twins,” you blurt out, seizing the first excuse that comes to mind. “We should be heading out soon.”

Without waiting for her reply, you start walking away, driven by a sudden, intense need to be with your boys, with Wanda. To hold them close, to find some stability. Because right now, you’re petrified by a fear you cannot name.

“I heard Australia’s amazing this time of year!” Agnes calls after you.

The idea of not having been anywhere but Westview—it’s possible, right? Some people spend their entire lives in one place. But if this feeling—the one that's been gnawing at you lately—is real, if the world outside of Westview is truly non-existent, then what does that say about your life here?

What does it say about you?

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #oneshots #fic request #wandavision #monica rambeau #darcy lewis #jimmy woo #All Of Your Pieces #AOYP

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