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celestiaras · 14 days ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ bring your baby downtown (go cheerleader!) ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. rumi (+ jinu) x f! reader — kpop demon hunters

╰₊✧ fans think you and jinu are together, and rumi is not happy about it┊1.6k words

contains: jealousy, crazy fans, hard-launching a relationship

➤ author's note: ahhh i feel like i could have executed this better and also it's a little off prompt so sorry T-T (happy last day of pride month homophobia doesn’t exist here)

“i just don’t get why fans are shipping them!” rumi shouted in frustration as she delivered a strong kick to the face of the demon. “they sit next to each other at one event to follow the seating chart, and all of a sudden, they’re the next kpop ‘it’ couple— what’s the logic behind that?!”

“okay, but are fans really shipping them together, or did you just see someone on twitter say they would look cute together? there’s a difference.”

“no, like people are really shipping them together! they have an official ship name and everything— there’s like a thousand edits of them to love songs on tiktok and like… a couple dozen fics of them on ao3…”

“god damn it!”

perhaps having this discussion while fighting underworld creatures wasn’t the best idea, being both the wrong time and place, but the vocalist needed to get this off her chest once she found out about it. it was so preposterous and wrong in her mind that she had to do a triple take before it really sunk in what she was reading.

it’s been exactly one week since that day when you met the black-haired leader of the saja boys at an event, only interacting because you both were following the seating charts and happened to be placed next to each other. there was nothing special or different about it compared to when you’re talking to other celebrities, yet in some way that she couldn’t even fathom, people started thinking that both of you would make the cutest pairing.

she was at the event as well, but couldn’t quite see what the two of you were up to from a distance aside from being friendly. when the footage came out in a better quality than her eyesight, she rewatched the footage over and over again, watching like a hawk at all the little microexpressions and doing her best to read your lips to figure out where this assumed chemistry originated from, but she came to the conclusion that it just doesn’t exist and that the fans were being straight up delusional.

that man has been the bane of her existence in every way possible ever since he entered her life. first he tries to steal her fans with his industry plant boy group, then he tries to blackmail her with her biggest secret, and now he’s trying to steal away her girlfriend! she brings up the topic incessantly every time they have their secret meetings, and no matter what he swears or how often he plays innocent, she doesn’t believe for a second that he doesn’t also have feelings for you. it’s all in the little things, how he stutters and blushes red at the mention of you and how fans thought you two were the cutest— god, she hates him!

“you do realize that people think you’re jealous of her and not him, right? they noticed you staring at them the entire time the awards were being given out and think you’re all in some sort of love triangle.”

“why would they even think that? i don’t even like jinu on a base level! he’s a demon who’s clearly trying to take advantage of our unsuspecting fans— how do people think that i’m into him instead of her?! i thought it was obvious i liked girls— my instagram profile picture literally shows me wearing eyeliner in the colors of the bi flag!”

“either way, you can’t really change what the fans think. don’t let it get to you too much, she would never pick him over you.”

mira was right. you can’t be stolen away when you didn’t have an ounce of romantic interest in him and had your heart set on her, but she still can’t help but fume like a steaming kettle every time she goes on her phone to find her entire ‘for you’ page covered photos (both real and edited) of that stupid demon next to her girlfriend with hearts in the captions.

the worst part is that you didn’t have the foggiest idea what was going on. as one of the most well-known soloists in the hemisphere, you preferred to stay away from social media and possible hate comments or crazy fans that would impact your mental health. your management took care of your social media and promotions as well as informing you about public perception, so you were fortunate enough to be able to focus on yourself, your songwriting, practicing choreography, and spending time with rumi.

rumi, who has been acting a little strange over the past few days. she thought you wouldn’t have noticed because you were busy with the debut of a new single, but you certainly did and was confused about her sudden change in behavior. she’s more clingy and possessive, yet refuses to admit that there was something bothering her. mira and zoey also wouldn’t tell you anything, but judging by their hesitance, you suspected that she had told them not to say anything either.

with the lack of mutual friends who knew about your very private relationship, you somehow ended up meeting with jinu for coffee. you aren’t exactly sure if she let it slip to him or if he managed to figure it out on his own, but either way, he knew about it and offered an outsider's perspective on what you could do about the situation.

little did you know, even though you both were wearing sunglasses and hoodies, there was someone who recognized you and snapped a candid photo of you two entering the cafe together. it’s only a casual outing between friends without a hint of anything romantic to get advice for your actual relationship, people took the picture and ran with it, coming up with their outlandish speculations of it being a date and believing that your latest song about finding true love was dedicated to him.

that was the final straw for rumi, and she soon hatched a plan on how to hard-launch your relationship in a way that left no room for interpretation. there wasn’t going to be any ‘close friends’ or ‘sisters’ theories with this, they were going to know. normally, she prefers to keep these things private, but she refused to have fans misled about who you were really linked to.

“are you sure this is a good idea? it’s gonna put everyone in a frenzy.”

“right? like this is gonna be in the history books!”

“i’m sure, it’s gonna be perfect.”

this plan was bold and possibly a bit irrational, but she knew it would work out perfectly in the end. it didn’t take too long to think of, all it needed was a single action and a ton of confidence, and the perfect setting to execute it was at one of the up-and-coming annual award ceremonies for the best musicians in the nation where you were going to be announcing the winners and nominees.

she was more nervous about this secret plan than anything, evident in how she was constantly fiddling with the hem of her dress and how her posture wasn’t as completely straight as it usually was. it made the usual jitters from all the flashing cameras and mini-interviews by photographers seem like child’s play, so she was very grateful towards mira and zoey for letting her lean on them.

out of the corner of her eye, she could see you socializing with the others in a gorgeous satin midi dress, being absolutely dazzling with that smile of yours that attracted everyone to you like bees to honey. everyone including those damn saja boys, particularly jinu who had all the cameras flashing blindingly whenever he got too close to you. the sight made her bite the inside of her cheek and pout, but she wouldn’t let it bother her even though the thought of it was pissing her off during the entire duration of the event. she’s going to keep her cool this time, and no one would be able to study her reactions and make assumptions about what she was thinking when the live recording is eventually uploaded.

“and this year’s winner for ‘artist of the year’ goes to…” you paused dramatically for special effect, opening the golden envelope to peek inside. there wasn’t a doubt in your mind who it would be, and you couldn’t help the feeling of pride that bloomed in your heart, “rumi, zoey, and mira of huntrix!”

the crowd let out a round of applause as the trio joined you on the stage, zoey doing a little skip and dance to she received the award before doing their touching minute-long speech of a lot of thanks and gratitude to their fans and those who have helped them along the way.

as rumi stepped away from the center, she took a deep breath, and instead of stepping off like she was supposed to, she pulled you in for a kiss on the lips before drawing in close to use the microphone attached to your headset, “she’s my girlfriend, by the way!”

a simple statement and a kiss, nothing too passionate, just something small and tender, but the entire audience gasped in surprise before erupting in chaos (the good kind of chaos, the one with cheering and people screaming various things in support).

you were clearly confused and laughed, “of course, i am, who else’s girlfriend would i be?”

“you’re so chronically offline, i’ll tell you about it later.”

the news was like wildfire for the next few days while you both stayed away from the public eye to let it die down. most fans had jumped off the ship of you and jinu and were happily boarding the one of you and rumi, letting it sail at full speed and pouring in all of their support of your newly revealed relationship as you both quickly took the crown as kpop’s newest ‘it’ couple.

request:

May I PUHLEASE request a Jealous!Rumi x Fem!Soloist!Reader? The reader is a well-known soloist who somehow was being shipped with Jinu despite having absolutely no interaction with him at all. And of course, Rumi starts acting up, showing subtle hostility towards Jinu for another reason other than because he's a demon who clearly means harm upon their beloved fans. Mira and Zoey, along with their many fans starts to think that it was because she was jealous of the reader. But what they don't know is behind those empty stares lies hidden affection which they only lay bare when they're alone. They've been in a secret relationship for a few years now, and they've hidden it well. But after the rumors that started about the reader and Jinu where they were supposedly seen having a romantic date, and another rumor that stated that the reader's latest song was dedicated to Jinu, Rumi finally decided to take matters into her own hands. So during an awarding where idols were to gather on stage, after receiving their award, Rumi immediately marches up to the reader, and in front of everyone, she pulls her into a searing kiss then walks away like she hadn't just staked her claim and smudged the reader's perfectly applied lipstick. It ends with the reader jokingly and shyly apologizing with: "Forgive my girlfriend's behavior. It's her way of throwing a tantrum." (I apologize if this too damn long, I wanted it to be detailed for you🥲)

#📜. her works #rumi #rumi x reader #rumi kpop demon hunters #rumi kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #huntrix #huntrix x reader

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nyrasvoid · 11 months ago

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The Cost of Duty

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: Gwayne Hightower, is summoned in Kingslanding during his wife’s first pregnancy. After giving birth to their son without him, she struggles to forgive Gwayne upon his return.

Warnings: lots of angst because our girl is alone but a good ending i guess ?

A/N: no use of Y/N and also included Daeron in the fanfic, he’s 7 yrs old and raised by Gwayne and his wife

- Word count: ≈2.9k

Your hand rests on your growing belly, feeling the subtle movements of your child. The babe is still small, just five moons along, but every tiny kick, is a reminder of the life growing inside you, a life you created with Gwayne. Yet, as the days pass, it feels like you are experiencing this miracle alone.

The door creaks open, and Gwayne steps inside, his expression tired as he pulls off his gloves. His face is lined with the exhaustion of someone who has been carrying the weight of Oldtown on his shoulders.

You watch him as he moves around the room, setting his things aside without a word. A part of you wants to let it go, to simply accept that he is busy, that he is doing his duty. But another part aches for his attention, for the warmth and closeness you once shared.

"Gwayne," you say, your voice soft.

He looks up, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks away again. "Yes, my love?"

You hesitate, trying to find the right words. "You've been so distant lately," you begin, trying to keep a calm tone. "I understand that your duties are important, but... I miss you. I miss us."

He sighs, rubbing his temple as he moves closer to you. "I know, my love. I know it has been difficult. But there is so much that needs my attention. With Father in King’s Landing, everything falls to me."

"But what about me?" you ask, your voice rising slightly. "What about our child? I need you, Gwayne. We need you."

He looks at you, with guilt in his eyes. "I am here now, am I not? I’m doing the best I can. But Oldtown... it doesn’t run itself."

You stand, unable to keep your frustration to yourself. "And what about me? Do I run myself too? I sit here every single day, waiting for you, hoping for just a moment of your time. But when you finally come, it’s like you’re not really here.”

You pause.

“You do not even look at me unless I speak to you first."

Gwayne steps back, as if putting distance between you would solve your problems. "I do not have the privilege of simply putting things aside, my dear. You knew this when we married."

"I didn’t know it would mean being ignored!" you snap, your hands trembling as you grip the skirts of your dress tightly.

He takes a deep breath. "I’m doing this for us, for our future. The child’s future. Can you not see that?"

Tears threaten to fall out your eyes, but you refuse to cry. "I just want my husband back," you whisper.

Gwayne’s face softens, and he reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away before he can touch you. “My love-"

"Don’t," you say, "Just... don’t."

He watches you for a moment, but he says nothing more, only turning and leaving the room, the sound of the door closing behind him, leaving you alone again.

Days pass, and the tension between you two only grows. Gwayne is present, but his mind is always on his duties. You feel as if you’re growing further and further away from him.

One evening, after a long day, Gwayne finally sits down beside you as you take your evening meal. You’ve been silent for most of the day, and now the sight of him so close yet so distant is almost unbearable.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence. "I have received a raven from King’s Landing today," he begins.

"And?" You replied unphased, not even looking at him.

"Father has summoned me," he says, "He needs my presence to sort out some political matters."

You place your spoon down. "King’s Landing?" you repeat, disbelief in your words. "That’s so far... and I’m already five moons along, Gwayne."

"I know," he says, his voice low. "But I will be returning as soon as I can. I won’t let anything keep me from being here for the birth."

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing. "You don’t know that. What if something happens? What if you don’t make it back in time?"

"I will," he insists, reaching for your hand, but you pull it back.

"You’re not listening to me!" you raise your voice at him, your frustration taking over. "You’re choosing to leave. You’re choosing your father over me. Over us."

He frowns. "It’s not a choice, my dearest. It is a duty. My father needs me."

"And I need you," you sob, your voice breaking. "I can’t do this alone, Gwayne. I shouldn’t have to. You are my husband before anything else."

He reaches out again, but this time you stand, moving away from him. "Please," he begins, but you shake your head.

"Don’t ask me to understand," you say, "Because I don’t."

After a long moment of silence, you hear him rise from his seat. "I’m leaving in three days time," he says quietly, his voice filled with regret. "Please, try to rest.”

You say nothing, you hear the door close behind him, and you break down crying, once again, you are left alone.

The night before he’s supposed to leave, Gwayne comes to your shared chambers, his expression softer than it’s been in weeks. He moves to sit beside you on the bed, his hand resting on your knee.

"I know you’re angry with me," he begins, his voice gentle. "But I don’t want to leave on bad terms. I love you. You must know that."

You turn to face him, your emotions a mix of anger, sadness, and love. "If you loved me, you wouldn’t be leaving."

He looks surprised, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his hand sliding up your nightgown. "Let me show you," he murmurs as he presses tender kisses down your collarbone.

But the anger and hurt are still too fresh. You place a hand on his chest, pushing him back firmly. "Not tonight, Gwayne."

He pulls back, surprise and hurt showing in his eyes. "My love..."

"I can’t," you say, "I’m still angry. I need...time."

He nods understandingly. "I am sorry," he whispers, pulling you into his arms despite your anger. "I am truly, so sorry."

You let him hold you, sobbing into his arms without saying a word.

Gwayne leaves at dawn, you watch from the window, your hand resting over your belly as he rides away. He turns once, looking back, but you don’t move. You don’t wave.

As the days turn into weeks, the loneliness only grows. Gwayne’s absence is a constant reminder of the growing distance between you. You try to busy yourself with tasks; embroidering blankets for the babe, reading, even taking long walks through the gardens. But nothing can fill the void he has left behind.

You spend time with Daeron, Gwayne’s youngest nephew, who has been staying in Oldtown under your and your husband’s care since he was born, and he had now seven years of age.

One afternoon, as the two of you sit beneath the shade of a large tree, Daeron looks up at you sadly.

You reach out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “What’s on your mind, sweetling?”

Daeron glances up at you, his blue eyes filled with a sadness. “Auntie… will you and Uncle Gwayne forget about me when the babe is born?”

The question catches you off guard. You shift closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a gentle embrace. “Forget about you? Never, Daeron. Why would you think such a thing?”

He shrugs, trying to appear indifferent, but his voice trembles as he speaks. “Because the babe is your child. He’ll be important, and I’m just… I’m just your nephew.”

You tighten your hold on him, your heart breaking at the thought that he feels so insecure. “Daeron, listen to me,” you say softly. “You are not just our nephew. You’re as much a part of this family as the babe will be. Gwayne and I love you dearly, and nothing will ever change that.”

His eyes fill with tears. “But… he’ll be your real son. Won’t you love him more?”

You shake your head. “Of course not, sweetling. I will love both of you equally, just as if you were both my sons. I promise you that. You and the babe will grow up together, and I will raise you both as brothers. Nothing will change how much I care for you.”

Daeron’s lip trembles, and he finally allows himself to lean into your hug, resting his head against your shoulder. “You mean it? You won’t forget about me?”

You press a kiss to the top of his head. “I mean it, Daeron. You are very dear to me. The babe will be your little brother, and he will look up to you, just like you look up to Gwayne. I’m sure you’ll be the best big brother anyone could ask for.”

He sniffles but nods. “I will teach him all the things I know. How to ride a horse, and how to climb trees…”

“And how to be kind and brave, just like you,” you add with a smile.

Daeron smiles a little. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

You hug him tighter. “I know you will, Daeron. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

He pulls back slightly, looking up at you with determination. “I’ll be the best big brother ever.”

You smile, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I’m sure you will be, my love. And the babe will be so lucky to have you as his brother.”

The boy’s expression softens as he looks at your belly. “Do you think he’ll be just like uncle Gwayne? Brave and strong?”

You hesitate for a moment, the thought of Gwayne filling your mind with sadness. “Perhaps,” you say gently.

Daeron nods, then his face brightens again as he looks up at you. “Can I help you pick out a name for him?”

Your smile widens at the offer. “Of course. Do you have any ideas?”

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. “What about Maelor? It’s a strong name, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head, considering the name. “Maelor…” you say slowly. “Yes, it is a strong name.”

Daeron smiles, clearly proud of himself. “I can’t wait to meet him, auntie. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

As the months drag on, you begin to feel your belly grow heavier each day. Letters from Gwayne arrive frequently, filled with words of love and concern, but you don’t care to answer them.

You feel alone, as the weeks turn into months and the baby gets more active. Every kick is a reminder that the time is running out and you can only hope that Gwayne comes back in time.

But as your belly grows, so too does your anxiety.

One evening, you feel a sharp pain. You clutch at your belly. It’s too soon, you think. Gwayne isn’t here. He promised he would be here.

The pain intensifies, and you know without a doubt that the babe is coming. Your maids rush to your side, their faces filled with worry as they help you to your bed. The midwives and the maester are summoned.

You grip the sheets, your knuckles turning white. “It’s too soon,” you gasp, tears streaming down your face. “Gwayne isn’t here… he isn’t here…”

The midwife shushes you gently, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Breathe, my lady. Focus on the baby. He’s eager to meet you.”

The labor is long, painful, and each moment is filled with fear.

At one point, you feel that you can’t go on, the pain too much to bear. “I can’t,” you cry out, “I can’t do this…”

“You can, my lady,” the midwife insists. “You’re strong. Your baby needs you.”

The room is full of faces, of whispers and encouragements, of hands holding yours as you push with all your strength.

Hours pass, and just when you think you have nothing left to give, you hear it. A loud cry that fills the room. The midwives wrap the tiny babe in soft blankets before placing him in your arms.

Tears stream down your face as you look down at your son cry. He’s perfect, you think.

“Maelor,” you whisper, “my sweet Maelor.”

Days pass, and the babe grows stronger, his cries filling the empty chambers that once were filled with silence. Daeron is overjoyed to meet his new brother.

“Can I hold him?” Daeron asks one afternoon, his eyes wide with excitement.

You smile, carefully placing Maelor in his small arms. “Support his head,” you instruct gently, watching as Daeron cradles the baby with surprising care.

“He’s so small,” Daeron whispers. “Will he be strong like uncle Gwayne?”

You nod, your heart filled with pride. “He will. But he’ll also have your kindness, Daeron. He’ll need you to show him how to be a good man.”

Daeron’s face lights up, and he nods eagerly. “I will. I promise.”

You watch as Daeron gently rocks Maleor, your heart warming at the sight. For a moment, the loneliness fades, replaced by the joy of watching your sons together.

But as the days turn into weeks, Geayne sends letters, each one more desperate than the last, asking about Lucerys, about you, about your health. But you can’t bring yourself to respond, the anger still too fresh.

Maelor grows, his tiny fists curling around your fingers, tugging at your hair, his eyes beginning to focus on your face. He’s beautiful, perfect in every single way, and yet every time you look at him, you’re reminded of Gwayne’s absence.

Two months pass before Gwayne finally returns. Word reaches you that he is only an hour away, but you remain in the nursery, rocking your son in your arms as you sit by the window.

Despite knowing Gwayne is coming home, you make no move to greet him at the gates.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later the door to the nursery swings open. Gwayne stands there, his eyes searching for you immediately. He takes a step inside, his gaze falling on you and the child in your arms. “My love…”

You do not look up, focusing instead on Maelor. Gwayne approaches you, dropping to his knees beside you. “Please, look at me. I am so sorry…”

You remain silent, unwilling to let your emotions show. Gwayne reaches out, placing his hand on top of yours. “I know I’ve hurt you. I never meant to be away for so long. I didn’t think it would be so… difficult.”

You glance up then, your eyes meeting his.

“I needed you,” you say quietly. “I went through the hardest moments of my life without you, Gwayne. And now… now you come back and expect everything to be as it was?”

“I do not expect that,” he says, “I know I’ve done wrong. And I can’t change what’s happened… but please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to be here for you, for our son.”

You look down at your son, your heart aching. “Maelor is already two months old,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “You’ve missed so much, Gwayne. His first smile, the way he grabs my finger when he’s hungry… you weren’t here.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and he finally touches Maelor’s tiny hand, his fingers trembling as they brush against the babe’s soft skin. “I know,” he whispers. “I am truly so sorry, my love. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. Please… let me be here now. Let me be the father he deserves, the husband you deserve.”

“We’ll see,” you say quietly. “For now, all that matters is that Maelor is healthy and safe.” You pause and take a deep breath, “But… I want us to be a family, Gwayne. For Maelor and Daeron.”

Gwayne nods. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your son’s forehead. “Thank you for giving me a healthy son, my dear. I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right.”

You watch as he cradles the babe in his arms, the sight filling you with joy.

PS: I know I have to start writing for other characters, I just love this man so much 😔 So just a reminder that my requests are open 🥰🥰

#gwayne fanfic #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne imagine #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd x reader #ser gwayne hightower #hotd season 2 #hotd #hotd s2

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valleydolli · 2 months ago

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Only You | Chapter Five

CW 𝜗𝜚 MDNI, Stalking, Obsessiveness, Controlling Behaviour, Love Bombing, Murder, Fluff, Kidnapping, Smut, Toxic Sukuna, Yandere Sukuna? Readers a sweetie, (Touch her you die… like actually…)

𝜗𝜚 Series Masterlist

𝜗𝜚Chapter Four | Chapter Six

𝜗𝜚 WC: 3.5k

It has been exactly three months, thirty days, 23 hours, and 45 minutes since Sukuna met you. In fifteen minutes, it will be exactly four months and a Saturday, too. The very day you two met.

Today is the day. Today, Sukuna will finally ask you to be his girlfriend.

Officially…

He may already be telling people that he has a girlfriend. Said girlfriend being you, of course.

He’ll even pull up a picture of you, flaunting you, making sure these girls who try their utmost best to get him, never will. So, you don’t really have any choice in the matter; it’s either yes or yes!

He’s decorated his place with rose petals trailing from the front door of his penthouse to his living room. There’s the same bouquet of peonies and roses he bought for you the first time he came to your apartment months ago. He’s also written a letter and bought you a Cartier Love bangle with his and your initials engraved on the inner side.

Extreme?

Maybe in a loveless person's eyes, but in Sukuna’s?

Hell no.

He never realised that he, Sukuna Ryomen Itadori, could be this much of a romantic sap. But it had to be in him all this time, he just needed the right girl to come along. And that girl will always be… you.

God, this will be such a beautiful story to tell your kids in the near future. He wonders when the appropriate time to propose would be. In fifteen minutes, you would have been seeing each other for four months, so maybe if they wait another four or even three, that would be acceptable, surely.

You guys have yet to do anything sexual together, aside from kissing, and a little bumping and grinding now and then, but it’s okay. He’ll wait for you to be ready, his… not so virgin Mary. He’s driven to your place to bring you over to his. You’ve spent the whole of August busy with the mini summer school your work had organised, so you asked him if you could chill at his and watch some movies, or maybe have a picnic with him, Jin, and Yuji. He chose the first option. He’s not sharing you with Jin; Yuji is already enough.

He’s sweating bullets on the way back to his penthouse, but you don't suspect a thing. Your head is leaning against the window, eyes closed, feeling the beam of the sun on your skin. You’re talking about work and how cute next year's students are, “They’re nowhere near as cute as Yuji, though.” You turn your head towards him, smiling. “I’m excited to have my own one day.”

Don't scream

Don't scream, Sukuna.

Do. Not. Scream.

She wants kids with you.

Okay, maybe he can ask you to marry him next week? Yeah, next week.

—

“I need you to trust me, okay?”

Sukuna places his hands over your eyes, blocking your vision as you set into his apartment. Only to make sure everything is up to standards.

“Okay, you ready?”

“Yes! Lemme see. What did you do?” He slowly takes his hands off your face, revealing your surprise. You freeze. Eyes wide, turning to Sukuna to see him standing nervously behind you.

“What is this…?”

“Follow the trail.”

You slowly follow the trail of petals into the living room, finding the same beautiful bouquet that Sukuna first bought you sitting on his coffee table, paired with a red Cartier box and an envelope. You turn to Sukuna, as if you’re asking him for permission to get closer and open your gifts. He grabs your hand with his sweaty one, leading you to sit next to him on the sofa. He hands you the envelope first. You open it carefully, peeling the sealed wax he placed on it. You stare at him again before reading it.

It’s a love note. He’s confessing his love to you. He might be the most romantic guy you’ve ever shared your time with. You’ve never had a boyfriend; you've dated, but they never went further than sex, sadly. Even though you would set that boundary for yourself. You would fail, over and over again, falling for their manipulative tactics. Sukuna, however, he’s different, really. He hasn't pressured or tried to convince you into sleeping with him once. He’s patient with you, and that’s what makes him attractive to you… Also, his looks, his voice, that boyish smirk— You get it. It’s as if the heavens dropped him right into the palm of your hands.

“Is this why you’ve been so nervous all day?”

“You uh noticed?”

“Kuna, your shirt is drenched. It’s hot, but it’s not that hot,” you giggle.

“So,” he starts before picking up your present, holding it open as if it were an engagement ring. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

He’s holding his breath waiting for you to respond. It’s only been three seconds since he asked, but it feels like three days.

“I will, Kuna.”

He lets out the deepest sigh of relief, grabbing onto you, hugging you tightly.

“Lemme put your bracelet on you.” He opens the box, revealing its contents to you. “I have one too, but a different colour, this colour wouldn’t suit me. I’ll keep this key and you keep mine.”

“I love that. It’s like we’re in charge of each other's hearts; a key to each other's hearts, right?”

“Yeah… my heart is yours and yours is mine. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, angel. I mean it.”

Sukuna pulls you right against him, kissing you passionately, sucking on your bottom lip. God, he’ll never get over how sweet you taste; he bets your cunt is just as sweet.

He moans into your mouth thinking about tonguing your pussy, thrusting in and out and in and— fuck, he needs to stop thinking about it before a repeat of his first kiss with you happens again.

“Kuna, can we… I want to do more… with you,” you shyly express.

“D-do more like what?”

“Anything, I just—I’m not ready to have sex yet; want it to be special.” You rub your nose against him, the same way he did the first time you kissed— well, the first time Sukuna kissed you.

He lays you down on the sofa, shuffling off your panties. His heart rate is rising with each kiss he plants on your leg. When he kisses his way to your cunt, he wraps his lips around your swollen bud, choking a moan out against it. The vibration of his moan causes you to let out a soft mewl. He can’t stop moaning, he’s not even touching himself, but it feels like he’s going to explode.

“Mmph, mmphhhhh, mmm.”

“Ku-Kuna? Suk— ohh.” You throw your head back once you feel Sukuna’s thick fingers inside of you. Pulling on his pink hair, grinding on his tongue. “Please, Kuna, please go faster.” His body listens to your plea, almost right away, quickening the pace of his tongue and fingers. “Cum on my face angel, please. For me? Need it. I need it, fuck.” Your cunt spasms around him, cum oozing out of you and down his fingers. He pathetically laps at it, hoping more will come out of you.

More.

He needs more of you, now.

He lifts his head from your cunt revealing his face twinkling from your cum. He fumbles at his belt frantically pulling it off pulling out his aching hard cock. Your mouth falls open. He’s fucking massive.

“Wait!” You sit up and go to push him back by his stomach, but he stops you.

“I’m not gonna put it in, I’m just gonna— ooh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Sukuna slides his cock against your soaking cunt, pulling your legs together imitating the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him. Only the whites of your eyes are showing. You’re so fucking sensitive right now. He’s flush against you, tightly hugging your legs. He ploughs into your thighs, babbling to himself, not loud enough for you to hear. “Lov-love y-you, fuck I love you.”

“Aah, mm-fuck, ‘m sens—.” Unable to finish your sentence, you let out a silent scream, squirting onto your boyfriend. While said boyfriend continues to erratically slide his dick against your soaking cunt, still babbling to himself. You have no clue what he’s saying. He’s in some sort of trance. “More, I want more, I—”

His hips stutter, as cum spurts out of his angry red tip, all over your pussy, slowly dribbling down to your hole.

Heavy breaths leave his lips, still hugging your legs. You remove your legs from his tight grasp, sitting up on your knees to hug him. You smile, cupping his cheeks, softly kissing his pouty lips.

“Thank you.”

His heart skips a beat.

A shy smile tugs at the edge of his lips.

“I want you to meet my friends; my family, too, at some point, if that’s okay?”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I told my friends all about you, but not my parents… I’ve never brought a guy home as my boyfriend. Well, my neighbour met them once. You know, Satoru?”

Satoru.

Fucking Satoru met your parents before him?

Not only did you fuck him, but he met your parents?

Did you love him or something?

“I would love to meet them.”

“Well, Himiko’s family hosts a yearly gala. She’s stinking rich, the place is gorgeous. You’ll love it, I promise.”

No, Angel, he’s not going to love it. He had a feeling Himiko was a familiar face, because it is. She’s a spitting image of her fuckass mother who happens to be friends with his mother. They’ve been hosting this stupid gala for years. Sukuna just never attended because he hates how snobby and stuck up the people there are. Including his own parents. How long have you been friends with her? Or are your parents attendees too? He couldn’t find much on them, but he knows damn well you’re not a broke college student. The clothes you wear, the little condo you live in. No average Joe would own these things. But he seriously cannot find anything about who your parents are. Even Toji, and he’s the one he gets most of his information from. Should he tell you his parents are going to be there too, or should he avoid them at all costs?

“So, will you come with me? I think my parents will be there too! So we can kill two birds with one stone.”

“Yeah, of course I’ll come with you.”

—

Pulling up onto his parents' estate makes him tremble slightly. Honestly, he hasn’t been back in this area since he killed Jogo. And he hasn’t physically seen his parents since Yuji’s birthday party in March, almost 5 months ago. He can already hear the earful his father has waiting for him.

He reluctantly puts his key into the lock, slowly opening the door.

“Darling, is that you?” He hears his mother yell from the dining room. He throws his head back, groaning into the palm of his hands.

Just go in there and get it over with.

It’s just dinner.

It’ll be over before you know it.

He walks into the room, finding his mother and father sitting at opposite ends of the table. His mother's head turns towards him as soon as she hears him murmur his “Hello.”

“My son! Oh gosh, why are you still getting so big? Mari, make Sukuna’s plate smaller!”

Good God.

“Dad.” He nods his head at his father before placing himself right in the middle between his parents.

“So, you’ve decided to visit us. Do you need money?”

Sukuna scowls at his father, “I have a job, I don't need your money.”

“So what do you want?”

“I-I have a girlfrie—.”

He’s cut off by his mother's squealing.

He can’t be mad. She hated Yuji’s mother before they met. So, even though she hasn’t met you yet, this is a good sign. A really good sign. But honestly, he wouldn’t give a rat's ass if his parents didn’t like you. You’re the love of his life. No one could come between that.

“What’s her name? What does she look like?”

“She’s beautiful… I’ve never seen anyone like her.”

“Well, when will we meet her?” his father chimes in.

Fuck.

The gala.

“She’s gonna be at the gala, with Himiko…”

His mother's face grimaced.

“She’s friends with that brat? Does she act like her, too?”

Sukuna is quick to defend you, “No—no, she’s an angel. Not even close to having the same personality.”

“Poor girl, she should surround herself with better girls than that.”

“Well, what’s her name? I know Himiko's friends. I see a few of them when I visit her mother.”

If he tells her your damn name and she knows you he might flip the table.

“Y/N… L/N…”

“Oh! We know that girl, she’s a sweetheart! I’m friends with her mother, too! She’s also Yuji’s teacher, right?”

Sukuna was this close to flipping the damn table. Not only did Jin and Yuji know you but his fucking parents too?!

Does he live under a damn rock?

“I don't know why she wastes her time teaching, her parents are loaded. Just as much as us.” His father says.

He had an inkling that you were well off, but on par with his family? No offense, but his family is loaded. So this is crazy to him. Man, if you paid more attention in the years he could have possibly met you.

Actually, you’re 8 years younger than him, so maybe the timing is fine.

“Sukuna… honey, we know how you get sometimes when you’re… attached to something.” He hears his mother say.

“What?”

“She’s right, don’t get so attached to her before you start acting manic. We know you better than you know yourself. We made you. You would act crazy over your best friends in school, or those stupid toys we got you. Can’t imagine how you'd act over a girl you like.”

Sukuna doesn’t say a word. If only they knew what he’s already done for you.

They’d flip.

“Sukuna.” His father says, pulling him out of his head.

“Do not get attached to her. Control yourself.”

—

You tell Himiko that Sukuna will be accompanying you to her annual gala, but not only that, that he’s officially your boyfriend.

You can tell she’s not the happiest about it, but she puts on an incredible fake smile. Your other friends, however, were happy for you. They know how much of a hopeless romantic you are. They are also aware of how Himiko would express hatred for all the men you would become close with. So, they’re glad you finally put your foot down, stopping her antics.

For the gala, Sukuna sent you an entirely new outfit to wear. You’ve been to many of the events the Suzukis have hosted. So, you don’t care too much about what you wear. Your mother, however, believes you should always look your best and never be seen in the same outfit. Especially at events like these.

The gown is gorgeous; you feel gorgeous. You’re excited to go to the Suzukis for once.

You assumed your parents weren’t attending. You thought they’d still be away on vacation, but they got back just in time to attend.

You’re worried about how they’ll react to Sukuna. And him being your boyfriend at that. Will your dad give him his blessing? Will your mom trust him with you?

So many questions.

Gosh, you’re so nervous you’re breaking a sweat.

Sukuna’s taking his sweet time getting here.

“Ugh!”

You plop down onto your sofa, shutting your eyes, resting a little before he gets to your place.

Until…

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“You in there?”

Satoru.

You open the door with a displeased look on your face. He’s also knocking on your door at the worst times. Like when Sukuna came over for dinner, for example.

Bad timing.

“What do you want, Satoru?”

“You’re not happy to see me? And no more ‘Toru’?” he asks as he strolls in with no approval.

“Satoru. It’s Himiko’s gala today. I'm leaving soon, you need to go.”

You stay standing by the door waiting for him to get out but of course, his stubborn self stays, pouting like a baby.

“I miss you, you know?”

“I’m right here, Satoru.”

“No, I miss… you,” he mutters as he steps towards you, cupping your face.

“It’s been months since we—.”

“Because Satoru,” you start, removing his hand from your face. “I don’t want to be a quick fuck for someone. I’m more than that, and you don’t treat me as such. I have a boyfriend. We’re done. We’ve been done for a while now. So find some other pathetic girls. It’s not me anymore.”

“Please, I’m sor—”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Satoru is cut off by a raging Sukuna.

He grabs him by his shirt, throwing him to the floor.

“Why the fuck are you touching her? Why the fuck are you in her house?”

“Sukuna, it’s fine.” You place your hand on his heart, feeling it beat rapidly. He hasn’t been this mad since… that one night.

“Hey, calm down, he wouldn’t hurt me, okay? I swear, Kuna.”

Kuna.

“Get out.”

Satoru stands up, brushing himself off before getting in Sukuna’s face. They’re almost the same height, but Sukuna is still a few inches taller.

He eyes Sukuna, then switches his eyesight to you.

“You’re dating a fucking lunatic.”

He shoulder checks Sukuna as he walks out of your door.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even let him in.”

“I swear to God, do not speak to him again. Ever. I mean it. You got that?”

“I—.” You carefully scan his face.

He means it.

He's never used this tone with you before.

It scares you.

You nod your head.

You don’t need to speak.

Just agree with him.

And smile.

“Let’s go,” you place your hand in his, stroking his arm, hoping he’ll calm down.

Once you're seated in the car, he doesn’t start it. He throws his head back, sighing, tightly gripping the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry, angel, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. I just don't like him. And I don’t want to see you around him.”

Does he know about you and Satoru? No, he can’t.

Impossible.

Should you say something?

You would want him to be honest with you, too.

“It’s fine. I understand.” You flash him a reassuring smile.

“But, I’d like to tell you. Satoru and I. We used to… sleep together. That’s what he came over for. I told him I had a boyfriend. I swear, Sukuna.”

His grip on the wheel tightens.

You grab his hand, kissing it softly. “Kuna, I— We were never a thing. Ever. He was just there for me… a lot. I grew some sort of attachment to him, b-but it will never be on par with how I feel for you.”

You whimper out a “Please,” waiting for him to break the silence. You feel your throat closing in. You want to cry. For the 4 months you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him so mad. It feels like you’re a little girl again being scolded by your father.

“Why would you even let him in? Do you want him to fuck you is that it? You miss the way he touched you, don’t you? Two weeks in and you’re sick of me already?”

“No! No, no, I’m not. I’m stupid. I’m so stupid. I don’t want him, I want you. Only you. I’m sorry.” Tears finally fall down your cheeks. You sob like an infant, hoping you’ll be coddled.

Sukuna pulls you into his lap, letting you cry into his shoulder.

He knows what he’s doing; that’s why he’s saying nothing. He saw exactly what happened. He has cameras inside and outside of your damn condo. But seeing you like this? So broken and upset that he’s mad at you.

He loves it.

“I think you should be closer to me, angel. How am I meant to keep you safe, hmm? The world is a bad place. And guys like him want to take advantage of sweet angels like you.”

You stare at him with doe eyes, still sniffling as your tears die down.

He pets you, smiling sweetly.

“My Angel… hmm?” he whispers softly.

You nod.

“You’d be safer with me, don’t you think?”

A quiet yes slips from your lips.

“You should live with me. I can keep you safe.”

It doesn’t sound like he’s asking you to live with him. He is telling you, you’re going to live with him.

“Yeah… you can keep me safe.”

His breath hitches.

His eyes sparkle.

You want this just as much as him. You’re going to live with him.

He‘s going to wake up to you.

Every day.

He’s going to cook for you.

Every day.

He’s going to watch you.

Every.

Single.

Day.

“I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too, Kuna.”

𝜗𝜚 Authors Note: okay so if you’ve watched ‘You’ then you should know Himiko is supposed to be Peach. her rich snobby friend. and you know how peach helps beck sometime with her financial struggles? yeah well as long as i write these fanfics NONE of my readers will be struggling. YOU HEAR ME? WE SHALL BE RICH. AND WE SHALL HAVE GOOD RELATIONS WITH OUR PARENTS. like sorry but Sukuna is about to put her through hell. why would i make her broke too?!! sorry i’m ranting i just feel bad for her 😔 welp the next chapter is the gala ooooo. OMG ALSO LOL IM YAPPING BUT IDC you may have noticed i finally used… Y/N and omg i couldn’t stop crying i can’t not hear the tiktoks of Y/N and the aot cast 😭 okay im done sorry bye i hope you like this chapter! ♡

𝜗𝜚 Chapter Four | Chapter Six

#only you 𐙚 #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #daddy sukuna #modern sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #yandere sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna smut

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moonstruckme · 4 months ago

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hii i was wondering if you could write something for poly! jily? i have reynaud syndrome which means times in the past my fingers have started going black when im really cold but i will always refuse to wear gloves (they make my hands itch), maybe a little bit of angst of them arguing over reader needing to take care of herself better and her not really understanding what the big deal is as she’s had it all her life,

love your work so much <33

Thank you for requesting gorgeous!

cw: reynaud's syndrome/hints at gangrene

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“—cause it’s dangerous, lovely.” Lily hears the upset in James’ voice as soon as the door opens. “It’s scary.”

Yours is low and soothing to balance it. “I can barely even feel them.”

“That’s the scary part!”

Lily sets aside her novel, turning around on the couch to see you both. James has two grocery bags in one hand and your hand in the other. He holds it close to his chest protectively.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

Your eyes go to hers with a familiar our boyfriend is a nutter look. “Nothing,” you say.

“Stop that.” James is shocking in his sternness. “Can you move them?”

“I can move them fine, Jamie. It’s okay.”

“Let me see.” Lily’s known you long enough to put together what this must be about. She sits up on her knees, reaching over the back of the couch for your hand. Frowning, James releases it into her care. “Oh, sweetheart…” She cradles your discolored fingers. Irrationally, she’s afraid they might break if she’s not careful. “Let’s run some water over them, okay?”

You both let her lead you into the kitchen. James looks terribly uneasy, a concern in his soft brown eyes that Lily sympathizes with. She turns the tap on, letting it get warm before drawing your hand underneath.

Your expression twinges, but you don’t complain. “I’m really fine,” you mumble, uncomfortable with all the worry being directed at you.

“Just wiggle them around for a while,” Lily murmurs in reply. James is watching the water run. He still hasn’t set down his bags. “Jamie, the groceries?”

“Right.” James’ voice is clipped. He lifts the bags onto the counter. Takes a couple of steps backwards, starting to unwrap his scarf. “I’m just, I’m going to…”

You turn to watch him disappear into your bedroom. For all the insouciance you’ve projected, now your expression is worried too.

“I don’t think he’s ever been so angry with me,” you say.

Lily steps closer to you, putting her hands under the stream of water with yours. She begins gently massaging your cold fingers. It is rare for James to be so upset. It makes it scary when it happens, not because of his response but because you know you must have done something very grievous to provoke it.

“He loves you a lot,” she says after a moment. Pressing her shoulder to yours. “I love you a lot, too.”

“I love you,” you murmur, shy.

“I think it scares both of us when you let yourself be hurt. I know it doesn’t feel like a big deal to you, but it does to us.”

You bite down on your lip as she coaxes blood back into your fingers. Lily’s heart twinges, but she knows it’s a good thing. It hurts as you’re getting better.

“This has always happened,” you say, wiggling your fingers as if to demonstrate. “I can’t avoid it, it’s been like this my whole life.”

“You could wear gloves,” Lily points out.

Your mouth twists. “They itch.”

Lily fights the urge to roll her eyes. You’ve had this argument a dozen times before; it’s a pointless battle.

“We’d just worry less if you did.” She kisses your cheek. “How do they feel?”

“Okay.” You’re grimacing, the circulation returning. “Almost back to normal.”

She releases your hands, drying hers on a tea towel. “Keep them there for a few more minutes, please? Just to be safe. I’ll check on James.”

Lily unloads a few groceries before she goes, ensuring everything that needs to be refrigerated goes in. Your fingers are nearly back to their normal color by the time she steps out.

James is sitting on the edge of your bed. He hasn’t removed his scarf or his coat. His shoulders are slumped. When James is upset like this, he droops. Like a plant that’s full of too much water, like his body is suddenly too heavy to hold up on his own. He leans, he slouches, he finds something else to bear the weight.

Lily smiles commiseratively. “Hi.”

He looks up, eyes big and tired. Droops further when she steps between his legs, hugging him.

“Hi,” he says.

“Are you in a fight?”

“No. I don’t think so.” James’ arms come around her middle, squeezing. “I sort of thought you’d be in a fight once we got home, honestly.”

Lily laughs. “Guess I’m not in the mood.”

“Caught you at a bad time?”

“Something like that.” She uses her nails to scratch lightly between his shoulder blades. “She’s alright.”

A deep sigh. “She carried one of our bags most the way home. I didn’t even think about how she couldn’t put her hand in her pocket with it. And of course she didn’t have gloves.”

“It’s not your job to think of it, love.”

“I know it sounds loony, but I really thought her fingers were going to fall off.”

Lily rests her chin on his shoulder. “I had a similar thought,” she admits.

“She’s alright now, though?” James’ voice is fretful.

“Yeah. She’s alright.”

When they return to the kitchen, you’re still holding your hand under the tap.

Lily smiles. “I think you’re alright,” she says. “Thank you.”

You turn it off, watching James nervously as you flick water off your fingertips into the sink. He goes over to you, and your expression melts with relief as he wraps his arms around you. You go up on your toes to hug him back, damp fingers pushing into the curls at his nape.

“I need you to take better care of yourself,” he says, voice soft but not thin.

“Okay,” you agree readily. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

James hugs you tighter. Your face turns in towards his neck. “I’m sorry for being so harsh.”

You and Lily both laugh. She boosts herself up onto the counter, crossing her legs and watching the two of you with a fond ache in her chest.

“Jamie, your harsh is everyone else’s mild.”

“I was harsh,” James argues. “I didn’t say I love you all the way home. I do, by the way.” He pulls back to look at you, urgent. “I love you so much.”

You roll your eyes, but a good deal of the acerbity is lost when you smile. “I know.”

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n0vazsq · 8 months ago

Text

Pretty Boy | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!artist!reader

summary . . . While you're sketching a drawing of Lando, you notice that something's off with him. Then, you remind him that he's much more than what people think of him

request . . . no!

word count . . . 759

warnings . . . none! just one use of 'damn'

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . first lando fic!!! a bit short but i hope you guys like it <33

. . . The room smelled like salted caramel and the leather of the couch you were currently sitting on. Lando sat across from you, sat on the arm of the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly. The glow from his phone lit up his face every few seconds, softening the sharpness of his jawline, but it didn’t hold his attention for long. He set it down after scrolling aimlessly, leaning back with a sigh.

"You know," you started, stretching out your legs, "you really need to learn how to sit still. You’re stressing me out."

He flashed you that damn grin, the one he knew you hated for how effortlessly it made you forgive him for everything. "You sound like my engineer," he laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Maybe I should be," you shot back, holding up the sketchpad in your lap. "You’re not exactly making this easy for me."

His eyes flicked to the page, and he tilted his head, squinting slightly. "That’s me?"

"Who else do you think I’ve been sketching this whole time? Your mum?"

Lando grinned, leaning in closer to get a better look. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower he’d taken earlier, and you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo as he hovered over your shoulder. "Not bad," he said with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. "You almost got my nose right."

You turned your head, glaring playfully. "Almost? You’re lucky I even attempted that ski slope you call a nose."

He pretended to be offended, leaning back dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Ski slope? That’s rich coming from someone who-" He cut himself off, laughing at your raised eyebrow.

"Go on," you urged, smirking now.

"Nah," he said, still laughing as he settled back into the chair. "You’re not worth the fight."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Lando had this way of lighting up a room without even trying, of making you feel like the only person who mattered when he turned that adorable charm your way. It was infuriating, really.

But tonight, something about him seemed quieter. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, and the edges of his grin didn’t reach as far.

"What’s going on with you?" you asked, setting the sketchpad aside.

He shrugged, looking down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About....?"

He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally meeting your gaze. "You ever feel like… I don’t know. Like people only see what they want to see when they look at you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Where’s this coming from?"

He shrugged again, more defensively this time. "It’s just… I don’t know. Everyone’s always saying stuff, you know? About me. Pretty boy this, golden boy that. Like that’s all I am."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "You know that’s not true, right?"

"Isn’t it?" he countered, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

"My beloved Lando." You said his name like it was the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. "You’re so much more than what people say. You’re brilliant, and kind, and funny, annoyingly so, actuall. You care about the people around you more than you probably should."

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you with this look that made your chest tighten.

"I don’t see some ‘pretty boy,’" you continued. "I see you. The real you. And if other people don’t, that’s their loss. But just saying, you are pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re too good at this whole therapy talk thing, you know that?"

You smirked, leaning back against the couch again. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep your ego contained."

He laughed then, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through a cloud. And when he looked back at you, the spark in his eyes was there again, faint but unmistakable.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being… ," He took a deep breath, arms raising and falling, like he was trying to cut the air. "You.”

Your smile softened, and you shrugged. "Someone’s gotta put up with you."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lucky me, huh?"

And in the glow of the room, with the soft hum of the music in the background, you thought maybe you were the lucky one.

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fushiguro-megloomy · 7 months ago

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request: [modern au] headcannons for childhood friends to lovers pairing: viktor x gn!reader tags: nothing bad, very sfw, fluffy notes: ill be so for real with you i feel like i'm very weak at doing headcannons ;-; but i tried. i hope this is what you were looking for anon <3 divider from enchanthings-a

You’d known Viktor for as long as you could remember, his house across the street from yours. As a curious kid, you’d often linger while he tinkered with small projects, asking questions. Your friendship really solidified one summer when your bike broke, and Viktor fixed it with surprising enthusiasm. To repay him, you let him ride on the handlebars while you scooted him around the neighborhood.

He's absolutely critiquing your work before the teachers even get their hands on it. Sitting beside you at your desk clump, thick eyebrows pulled together and scribbling little “???” or just straight up “no” in the margins of your handwriting. You always glare at him but you're secretly grateful.

He's observant, if you were hungry or tired he would wordlessly slide snacks onto your desk. He's not the best with social queues, but he knows when you're upset and he'll hover around you awkwardly until he blurts some random fact or sarcastic comment meant to distract you.

He's easily jealous, but in the way that he gets pouty, throwing himself into projects and denying anything is even wrong.

Definitely getting into squabbles all the time bickering like an old married couple

He's always gave you something handmade for your birthday. You still have it all. He's not big on his own birthdays but you always bring him a homemade cupcake.

This is not an original thought but he's definitely a gossip, ESPECIALLY as you grow into teen-hood. Not outwardly, but still he would unleash all his unfiltered opinions onto you, and his face definitely gives him away when he's silently judging someone. Mans got a wicked side eye.

Viktor had taken over his parents’ garage as his workshop, and it quickly became your second home. Most of your free time was spent perched on a stool, watching him work or pestering him with questions. You fell asleep there so often that he eventually squeezed a secondhand couch into the tiny space, insisting you needed somewhere more comfortable to crash.

You're each other's first kiss, but it doesn't happen until senior year. You're in his garage, complaining about never having kissed someone and he's like alright so let's kiss??? Things spiral from there.

“I mean, what kind of tragic story is that?” you grumble, tossing a pillow at him. “Eighteen and never kissed anyone. I’ll be the cautionary tale for future students.” Viktor chuckles softly but doesn’t look up from his work. “I don’t see what the rush is. It’s not as if it matters.” “It matters to me,” you insist, sitting up. “Don’t you want to at least know what it’s like?” He stared at you for a moment, then let out a sigh, setting his tools aside. “Alright, then.” You blinked at him, confused. “Alright what?” He stepped closer, hands slipping into his pockets as he looked down at you. “Let’s kiss.” Your heart skipped a beat. “What?!” “You’re complaining about it, so, we kiss, you stop worrying about it, and we both move on. Simple.” His voice was steady, but the faint pink rising to his cheeks betrayed him. “You’re serious?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Unless you’re too scared.” That did it. “I’m not scared,” you snapped, standing to face him. “Good,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for you to feel his breath against your lips. “Then stop talking.” Before you could come up with a retort, his lips pressed against yours, soft and careful. It was brief but left you reeling, your heart pounding as he pulled back. “Well?” he asked, tilting his head. “That should suffice, no?” You stared at him, dumbfounded, before bursting into laughter. “Yeah… yeah, I guess it’ll do.” He smirked, turning back to his workbench, though the tips of his ears were unmistakably red. “You’re welcome.” It was just a kiss, you told yourself. But as you sat back down, touching your lips absentmindedly, you couldn’t help but wonder why your heart was still racing.

©lilsworks 2024

#viktor x reader #viktor headcannons #reader x viktor #arcane x you #viktor x you #friends to lovers #viktor arcane #viktor #arcane #arcane viktor

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luveline · 2 years ago

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could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her

tysm for requesting, 1k

Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence.

You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign.

You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it.

Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup.

What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed.

Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.

She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no.

What if you're forcing yourself on him?

You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it.

Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks.

"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.

Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside.

"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap.

The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said.

Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal.

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks.

"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says.

"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?"

"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done."

"Don't rush it for my sake."

Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should."

Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.

You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else.

His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder.

"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"

You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it.

"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down.

"What?"

"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea."

"What's not a good idea?"

You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth.

"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield.

"I don't want to torture you," you say.

Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection.

Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist."

You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask.

He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes.

"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone.

Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty.

And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things.

"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?"

You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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sashaisready · 10 months ago

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Starting Over: Chapter 2 - Broken

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

I'm sorry, part 2 got a little out of hand in length so I've decided to split it up into different chapters! There should only be one more part after this (maybe??!) Hope you enjoy! This is more of Bucky's POV and gives some more insight into what happened. Thanks for all your engagement with this series, as always comments and reblogs are appreciated! Unfortunately I no longer use taglists.

💔

Your phone sat on Bucky’s desk as he stared at it blankly. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, maybe that you’d call it, or it would magically reveal some sort of answers to the many questions he had. But it didn’t. It just laid there, about as useful as a rock. A ‘babe, how are you?! we need to hang out soon!’ notification from Natasha had lit up the screen an hour or so before, but otherwise it just continued to sit silently – an insulting prompt that mocked him with your absence, the clock on the screen taunting him with how late it had become.

He'd had a glance at the checking and credit card accounts he’d set up for you, but they hadn’t been touched. In fact, nothing had been touched. None of your clothes had moved, your toiletries remained in the bathroom. You hadn’t even appeared to have taken any shoes with you. Natasha’s casual check-in text suggested your friends were unaware of what had happened. You’d just…vanished. A ghost in the night.

He felt nauseous, his gut churning. He’d tried to find the CCTV footage of you leaving, but the image was grainy – he could hardly make you out. The cameras had been acting up lately, he needed Steve to get them fixed. He kept thinking about you wandering out into the night by yourself, no money, no plan, how he’d forced you out into the cold. The one person he swore to protect, to keep safe.

His guilt was eating him alive.

But then he thought of the recording. Your voice so clear, laughing with the fed – mocking Bucky, calling him names and sneering at his gullibility. He could hardly believe it all at first. Not you? Not his doll, who had opened him up to love in ways he could have never imagined. Surely it couldn’t have been you, who had uprooted his life for the better, who had hit him like a whirlwind, changing his very being forever in all the best ways?

But he’d checked in with Banner who ran the tech and had confirmed you had been there. Your phone had pinged the cell tower in that exact spot they’d tracked the meeting point to. They’d even found a CCTV clip of you getting in a strange car that day, despite telling Bucky you were having Wanda over for a girl’s night. The audio was delivered by his own men, verified by their informant. The evidence was overwhelming.

‘It was so easy’ you had giggled cruelly on the clip, the words burned into his memory, ‘I just fluttered my eyelashes a few times and he was asking me to move in after a few weeks. I barely lifted a finger yet he swallowed everything I gave him and asked for more. Now I know how his whole operation works…but I need more time on the Stark deal. Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything after a few more ‘I love yous’ and dirty fucks. I promise...’

Of course he’d seen red. How could he not? He’d always been hot-tempered (passionate, his mother used to say), and the recording had destroyed his entire world in a matter of seconds. Aside from the betrayal, the pain, he felt humiliated. He’d finally been vulnerable with someone, shared intimacy in ways he’d never experienced with another person – only to find out it was all a lie. A trick. A joke. It affirmed his biggest fear – that he had been correct to build those walls, to protect himself from anyone who would use his feelings against him. Love could be exploited as a weakness, and he’d turned up to the fight unarmed.

In his mind, he’d not thrown you out – not sweet, beautiful you. Not you who held him close in your sleep and nuzzled into his chest, not you who traced his scars with her fingers and encouraged him to take off his prosthetic when you were intimate if he wished to. Not you, who stayed up late on his birthday just to present him with a homemade cake when he came home after an exhausting meeting – insisting he blew out the candles. Did she ever even exist? He’d always joked you were too good to be true. Now he’d accidentally manifested that into reality.

No. He’d thrown out her. The woman who had been gathering intel on him since the moment the two of you had met. The woman who exchanged kisses for information. The woman who had laughed about all of this as she gleefully ratted on him, delighting in her prowess over the foolish, lovesick mob boss she’d so easily toppled. The woman who’d callously worn the mask of someone who loved him. She was thrown out of his house, out of his embrace.

Unfortunately, the two versions of you were one and the same.

But at least he knew better, now. He’d go back to casual sex and pretty girls hanging off his arm. Easy. Fun. Uncomplicated. The walls would go back up and they wouldn’t come down again. Deep down he’d always known that men like him weren’t meant to be loved, that they weren’t worthy of genuine affection. Not all voids could be filled. People like you, or at least who he thought you were, were not for him. They deserved better. You’d always deserved better. He’d had a brief taste of happiness, but that was all he deserved. The universe would continue to punish him for his many bad deeds.

The only thing left to do was finally go to bed, but a solemn knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. He could tell it was Steve.

“Steve?” he called, checking his watch. It was late, he’d assumed his second in command had already gone home.

Steve entered looking sullen. He was tensely holding his phone, and someone appeared to be on FaceTime with him. He cautiously extended it to his long-time friend.

“I’m sorry, Buck”, he said gravely.

“Steve..what?” Bucky asked as he gingerly took the phone from him. Sam looked back at him from the small screen, his solemn expression mirroring Steve’s.

“Bucky…I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly in that same tone, filling Bucky with a sinking dread.

Something was very wrong here.

“What is it?” He fired angrily at Sam, “just spit it out…”

Sam flipped the camera around to face what looked like a heap of old rags on the ground. He appeared to be in a parking garage, surrounded by nothing but concrete and darkness. It was hard to make anything out.

“What am I looking at here?” Bucky squinted at the camera as he tried to focus the image. Steve silently observed over his shoulder.

“Tell him what you just told us,” came the sound of Sam’s furious voice off-camera.

Bucky watched with confusion at the screen as Sam's boot suddenly kicked out at the heap, and the heap moved.

And then he clicked.

The ‘heap’ was a man.

The man groaned and cried out as Bucky realised the ‘rags’ were ripped, bloody clothes. He rolled over in obvious pain as Sam manoeuvred the camera to get a better look. As the man turned over, Bucky recognised his face.

It was one of his own.

“Rumlow?” Bucky asked with confusion.

Behind him, Steve moved closer and leaned forward to watch the screen. “Just watch, Buck” he said sombrely.

Rumlow looked up at the phone, blearily staring into the lens as he squinted at the phone light. His face was bruised and bloodied. Someone had given him a good going over.

“It was me. Alright? I did it,” Rumlow groaned.

“Did what?” Bucky sneered, still not entirely clear on where this was going – but already feeling his anger mounting.

Rumlow sighed heavily and Sam gave him another swift kick to the ribs to encourage him to continue.

He moaned out in pain and closed his eyes. “Aaargh. Alright…I did it! I did it okay! I made the recording!” he spat.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as comprehension of the situation unfolding began to take hold. His fist tightened around the phone screen. “Which recording…Rumlow?” He asked, his voice sinisterly calm.

Rumlow paused and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Bucky recognised the look of fear building in the man’s eyes, he’d seen it many times before. Rumlow was stalling to delay the inevitable.

“Tell me!!” Bucky roared at the phone, holding it so tightly in his fist that the screen might crack.

He watched Rumlow wince as he turned away from the screen, dropping his head in defeat.

“Of your girl…talking to the police…it wasn’t her-uh-it wasn’t even real. I used AI. From…from recordings of her voice from old security footage…I’m sorry…I just-”

But Bucky was eerily composed. Rumlow took his silence as the cue to continue.

“I hacked into the security system and planted the clip of her getting in the car. And I stole her phone for a few hours when she was at the house with a friend, planting it at the meeting point then driving back with it. She didn’t even notice it was gone…I’m sorry I…”

Bucky cleared his throat. He tapped a single contemplative finger over his lips as his eyes glazed over.

“Sam?” he asked, his voice void of emotion.

Sam flipped the camera back to face himself. He looked grimly into the lens. “I’m sorry Buck…we had no idea…I caught him on the phone with the feds about the shipment – he thought I’d already left and-”

“Keep him warm,” Bucky interrupted, his voice cold like ice, “I have more urgent matters to attend to first, but I will deal with him”.

Sam merely nodded. Just as he cut the call, Bucky heard Rumlow wail and beg in the background. He’d be doing a lot more of that soon.

In a sudden fog of anger, Bucky pelted his phone hard against the wall. He roared with rage, lobbing his scotch glass at the window – shattering both. He flipped his desk, the chair, the bookcase – leaving a tsunami of destruction in his wake. Steve merely watched on, patiently. He knew Bucky needed to vent whichever way he could.

Eventually Bucky slowed, panting with exertion as he took a second to try and slick back his hair, now unkempt and messy from his outburst. He pulled back his shoulders as he attempted to regain his composure.

“We’ll find her, Buck”, Steve told him unwaveringly. “She can’t have gone far on foot. Then you can explain everything and apologise”.

Bucky shook his head as he ran his hands through his hair. Toeing the pile of debris that now cluttered his office floor he sighed heavily. “She told me she didn’t do it, Steve. And I didn’t believe her…”

“The recording was very convincing,” Steve clamped a sympathetic hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, “it sounded just like her – and had all of us fooled. Not to mention the phone location evidence…the CCTV of her leaving…before I came up here, Sam told me that this AI is brand new tech, far more advanced and convincing than what the masses have access to…”

Bucky bleakly shook his head, “Doesn’t matter. She’s my girlfriend and I’m supposed to trust her. Believe her. When I heard her voice on that recording I just…”, he trailed off sadly, “…it tapped into my worst fears…”

Steve nodded sagely. “Let’s just find her first, and you can talk to her. And then we can deal with Rumlow”.

Bucky grimaced, “I knew he was a risk to take on…with our shared history in HYDRA’s organisation…but I never thought…”

“Let’s just find her for now,” Steve repeated, always calm in a crisis. He pulled out his phone, making calls to various members of their group, sending out texts and kicking off various communication chains. In mere minutes, they’d have entire squads of their men scouring the area with a fine-tooth comb.

Bucky stood amongst the wreckage – the room’s physical ruins a glaring reminder that this wasn’t the only mess he’d made tonight. He pulled his own phone from his jacket pocket, opening his photo album as the pings and buzzes from Steve’s device filled the room. He flicked through the pictures of you: your face cheesily grinning at the camera, your lips sweetly planted on his cheek, a candid shot of you cooking in the kitchen – caught off-guard, your mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. You’d asked him to delete it as you thought you looked dumb, but he insisted he keep as he like the way your eyes sparkled in it. It was one of his favourites. Looking at the pictures helped him calm down, his breath evening as he remembered what was important here. He ran a finger over the image of your face, “I’m sorry, doll” he whispered, “I promise I’ll do anything I can to fix this…”

A couple of miles away, you slept deeply in the tear-stained hotel sheets – completely unaware of the organised efforts to track you down. You didn’t dream, you didn’t stir, you just slept - grateful to give yourself over to oblivion.

💔

There had only been a few places you could have gone on foot.

Bucky’s men had worked quickly despite the late hour. The local police force, already firmly in Bucky’s pocket, loaned him a few law enforcement bodies to assist with the search, no questions asked – as was standard. Sheriff Bodecker always played ball. They collected the CCTV from local businesses, doorbell cam footage from local residents (who weren’t particularly happy to be woken to do so, but didn’t have much choice), swept the area on foot and in vehicles. It was faintly possible you had hitchhiked and thumbed a ride into the city, but Bucky knew this wasn’t likely, so they put that option on the backburner – although it hadn’t been entirely ruled out.

The gas station staff hadn’t seen you, but their CCTV did catch a blurred figure passing in the road opposite the camera. A faint outline of your route started to emerge as the puzzle pieces came together. Eventually, Bucky was sent the security footage of you checking into the Holiday Inn. His heart pulled as he watched you looking lost at the reception desk – your eyes round like saucers as you produced crumpled dollar bills, head turning left to right as you surveyed your drab surroundings. He could only imagine how lost you must’ve felt, how hurt and betrayed. Exiled by the man you loved, you trusted, and having to hunker down in a shitty roadside hotel. Part of him was impressed by your ability to pick yourself up and keep going even in the toughest circumstances – it was one of the many reasons he loved you. But mainly, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d pushed you to this, that he’d failed you in so many ways.

Bucky inhaled deeply as he closed the hotel clip on his phone, nodding to his driver and stepping into the dark SUV.

I’m on my way, doll.

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #starting over fic

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ghostedgwen · 1 month ago

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marauders band au, hear me out: established relationship with Remus - he writes her a song they were first dating (band is not that known yet) then fast forward to years later (band is now famous), he uses same song when proposing to reader

fade to nothing | r.lupin

note : FINALLY! omg Gabi ilysm I wanna keep writing for band au marauders after indulging in this one holyyy, thank you thank you for this amazing request! I had the best time writing 4.8k words of this absolutely amazing plot

warnings : some angst and falling out, breakups, situationships almost, fame and all the angst that comes with it, angst with comfort, hurting and healing, a happy ending

You were there from the beginning and Remus happened to lose sight of you and everything that mattered when fame came and the songs played louder, but surely if the love is strong you can fix what isn't entirely broken?

You find him backstage after the set, crouched on a flight case, tuning the same string on his guitar for the third time. The venue's still buzzing behind the curtain - voices raised, laughter echoing, cheap beer sloshing in plastic cups - but Remus looks like he’s somewhere else entirely.

He doesn’t look up when you call his name, so you try again, a little softer this time. "Remus."

His head lifts, slow, like he’s wading through a fog, and when he sees you, the line of his shoulders eases just slightly. "Hey."

You sit beside him. The flight case creaks under your weight, and he shifts his guitar to make room. The body of it knocks gently against your knee. You let the silence settle between you. It’s familiar by now - actually comfortable, in that uncertain, almost-there kind of way.

The set had gone well, you thought. Not perfect - James missed a cue in the second verse of their opening number, and Sirius got too excited with his distortion pedal halfway through the closer. But the crowd had been decent, the applause warm, and no one had stormed off stage or broken anything vital. By the Marauders’ standards, that was a win.

You glance over at him. His hands are still on the strings, but he's not really playing. Just touching, like he needs something steady to keep from drifting.

"You alright?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Yeah. Just tired."

It's not a lie, not exactly. But it's not the whole truth either. You know him well enough by now to hear the things he doesn't say. The tension in his jaw. The way his foot taps against the floor, subtle and uneven.

You nudge his arm gently. "You were good tonight. The new bridge on ‘Smoke Signals’ worked. People liked it."

He exhales a soft laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "You think?"

"I know."

Another beat of quiet. Then, with a sort of resigned breath, he sets the guitar aside and runs a hand through his hair. "I, uh... I have something. If you want to hear it."

Your eyebrows lift. "Something?"

He nods toward his worn-out rucksack, half-zipped and slouched against the wall. "It’s not finished. Just a rough demo. I haven’t even played it for the others yet."

You wait, unsure.

Remus has always been the most reserved of the four. James is bold and loud, Sirius even louder, and Peter - well, Peter tries. But Remus hangs back, watching, writing, always half somewhere else. His songs come out of nowhere sometimes, all tension and feeling and quiet devastation.

And he never shares them unless they matter. So when he pulls a battered cassette recorder from the bag, your heart skips.

He presses play before you can say anything. Just static, then the soft scrape of fingers on strings.

It starts tentative. A delicate picking pattern that feels like it could fall apart any second. His voice enters like he’s afraid to hear it back - low, fragile, like something said in the dark.

You walked in like a whisper / I wasn’t ready to be seen / In a room full of noise and flash and smoke / You looked right through the screen.

You blink.

The song is quiet and quite simple. But it holds a weight you feel inyour chest.

I’ve been running half a lifetime / Hiding all the parts I hate / You didn’t ask for pieces / But you stayed, anyway.

He doesn’t look at you while it plays. He stares at the floor, hands in his lap, thumb twitching.

The song winds through verses that feel like journal entries, private and unpolished. There’s a moment in the middle where the guitar falters, like he nearly lost the thread. But then he finds it again, voice steadier.

So if I fall apart tomorrow / And I can't find my way through / Just know there was one clear moment / When everything felt true.

And then the refrain, soft like a promise:

I think I found something real / In the middle of the noise / In the quiet after the soundcheck / In the tremble of your voice.

When it ends, the silence feels heavier than the music.

You don’t say anything at first, and neither does he.

It’s like something raw hangs in the air, and touching it might make it vanish. You could almost feel your heart melt out of your chest and spill to the floor.

He clears his throat. "It’s not done. Still needs work."

You shake your head. "Remus."

He glances at you, eyes guarded.

"That was..."

But you don’t have the word. Stunning? Moving?

He waits. "You wrote that? For me?"

His mouth quirks, nervous. "Yeah. I mean. I didn’t know if I should. Or if it was weird. But I couldn’t stop thinking about... that night after Camden. When we walked back to the station. And you said you didn’t know what we were, but you didn’t want to stop finding out."

You remember it was raining. You shared an umbrella, not hands. You both pretended it wasn’t a moment. You look at him now, the real him, sitting there with his heart practically in your hands. And it hits you how rare this is. How brave.

"It’s beautiful," you say. "And it’s not weird. It’s... it means a lot."

He heaves a sigh, it was long and relieved.

"I’m not great at saying things straight," he murmurs. "But I meant all of it. I think you know that."

You do. Which is probably what makes this so much more magical, because you understood him so well like he was made for you to decipher, a poem just for you to get.

You reach over, lacing your fingers with his. His palm is calloused from strings and stress. He grips you gently.

"So what are we, then?" you ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at your joined hands like they might vanish if he breathes too hard. Then: "We’re figuring it out. Together."

It’s not a love song, not really quite there yet, but it’s something real. And in the backstage quiet, long after the music fades, it feels like a beginning.

The nights blur together. A haze of rehearsals, takeout containers littering the floor, cheap beer, and the low hum of amps that never fully shut off. Sometimes you're there with them in the thick of it - perched on the arm of a threadbare sofa while Sirius knocks over mic stands and James tunes his guitar by ear, stubborn and sharp. Other times you're in the background, notebook in hand, watching Remus quietly untangle melodies the way other people breathe.

Your role in The Marauders was more behind the scenes than on-stage with them. You helped get their name around, found gigs for them and even helped get them together at times. You were almost the anchor that held the band together, without them even declaring it, they knew. So did you.

Your relationship with him unfolds not in declarations, but in passing touches, exchanged glances, the brush of his shoulder against yours when he walks past in a narrow hallway. It isn't defined, not in the way others might need it to be. But you know the shape of it, and so does he.

Sometimes you sleep tangled in his sheets, half-covered in lyrics scribbled on the backs of setlists. Sometimes you fall asleep to the scratch of his pen, the low murmur of him humming a chorus to himself. There are no promises made, just moments. But they were more than enough.

The Marauders are starting to pick up steam.

Small shows turn into bigger ones. The crowds are still half friends and drunk uni students, but there’s talk now. About their sound, about the way James can work a room. About Sirius, magnetic and manic on lead guitar, playing like his life depends on it. Peter holds it together more than he doesn’t. And Remus - Remus writes like he's bleeding onto paper.

You catch Remus late one night, alone in the tiny kitchen of the shared flat the band uses as a crash pad. He’s nursing a cup of tea that’s gone cold, staring at the yellowing wallpaper like it just told him a secret only he can unfold.

You lean on the doorway. "You okay?"

He startles. Then gives a tired smile. "Didn’t hear you."

You cross the room, brush your fingers over the back of his neck. He leans into the touch without thinking. "You're in your head again," you murmur.

He shrugs. "Just thinking."

"About?"

He hesitates. Then, "About what happens if this actually works. If we make it."

You frown. "Isn't that the goal?"

He nods, but there's something unreadable in his eyes. "Yeah. But you don’t get to stay invisible when it happens. People look closer at everything."

You know what he means. About the scars that don’t fade, the nights he still wakes up clawing at himself. About the part of him he’s always tried to keep hidden beneath dry wit and harmonies.

You slide into the chair next to him. "You’ve never been invisible. Not to me."

He looks down, smile faint. "I know."

You rest your head on his shoulder. "Then what are you scared of?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: "That I’m not built for this. That if they see too much, they’ll leave."

You sit with that for a while, letting the softness of the silence wrap around you two. Then, just as softly, "They won't. Not if they have any sense."

He huffs a laugh. "You always think the best of me."

"I know the best of you."

He kisses your temple and whispers a thank you he probably doesn’t think you hear. But you do, you just smile through it as you knew he never needed to thank you.

A week later, you catch him slipping the demo cassette you remember into his pocket before rehearsal.

You arch a brow. "Finally going to share it?"

He looks caught. Then shrugs. "Maybe."

You grin. "Do it. You know it’s good."

He gives you a look like you’ve just dared him to jump into fire. Still, that night at the studio (more like the Potters’ spare room they never use), when the rest of the band is messing around with ideas for their next set, Remus clears his throat.

"Got something new. If you want to hear it."

Sirius pauses mid-riff, James turns down his amp, and eter puts down his half-eaten sandwich. Remus slides the tape into the player. Hits play and your song - his song, your song - fills the room.

No one speaks until it's over.

James is the first to break the silence. "Shit. That’s... damn."

"That chorus," Peter breathes. "It got me, mate."

Sirius whistles low. "Didn’t know you had that in you."

Remus looks stunned. Maybe a little terrified, but he nods. You catch his eye, and then you smile. It felt good to be someone’s muse, to have art made just for you that you knew would mean so much to you than anyone else could possibly understand.

Later, when you’re walking home under the quiet sky, his fingers brush yours.

"Thanks," he says.

"For what?"

"Pushing me."

You squeeze his hand. "Any time."

It starts small, that song. Tucked into the middle of a chaotic setlist. But people start to notice, and even ask about it. The quiet one, they say. The unusually quiet and comforting love song that was a nice surprise to end their sets on.

Remus hears that and flushes pink. You hear it and just smile, it was always your job to talk to people while the band either prepared to start or to leave. Remus always claimed you had a way with people and perhaps he was right.

You often find yourself chatting with the audience as they enjoy the show the band put on. They’d ask you about the band, about the members and you’d entertain them all. You even got the boys gigs as you made your rounds through the night.

James swears you are the best addition to the band, without actually being in it. He would go as far as to sar you are also a Marauder, as much as they are and you’d laugh, heart swelling with joy.

You were the one who sent the emails, made the calls, chased the bookings. You built their early buzz from scratch - wrote press blurbs at midnight, talked your way into indie zines, begged that one radio host to give them a spin. You did it because you believed in them. Because you believed in him.

And it worked.

One day, the email came. A scout from a mid-size label. He’d caught a set at one of the East End dives and saw something. A few meetings later, they had a deal.

Everything shifted after that.

More shows. Bigger venues. Studio time, and even interviews. The rush of something real, finally. You should’ve been thrilled. Part of you was. But the rest - the rest started to feel like a background player in a story you used to help write.

The label brought in producers. Real ones, with real opinions.

They listened to the demo, the song. Your song.

Then they tore it apart. “We need more drive.” / “Strip it down, rebuild it with a cleaner hook.” / “This bridge isn’t radio-friendly.”

Remus was quiet during the meetings. Didn’t fight them, not really. You tried. Brought up the emotion. The intimacy, claiming it was the point and tried to plead your case that the audiences back in their smaller gigs loved it.

One of the execs waved you off. “It’s got potential. But the personal angle - it doesn’t scale.”

You could see it on Remus’ face. The way his shoulders hunched in. The way he stopped meeting your eyes, and then the new version hit the speakers. Louder and way shinier. But hollow.

You didn’t say anything. Not then.

Tour started two weeks later.

You were there at first. Helping with the logistics. Keeping things steady. But there were new people now - tour managers, stylists, publicists. The chaos turned professional. Your place among the crew grew uncertain. No one asked you to leave but no one asked you to stay, either.

Remus was always moving. Always being pulled to the next thing. Photoshoots, interviews, soundchecks.

He kissed you when he could. Touched your hand when he passed. But the quiet space you’d shared - those slow nights and whispered mornings - vanished under flashing lights and back-to-back obligations.

The night of the London gig, it all boiled over.

They played the reworked version. The crowd loved it. Cheered like mad. You stood in the wings, watching Remus smile, watching him hold the mic like he was born for it. And all you could think about was the first time he played it for you, nervous and raw and perfect.

Backstage was a blur of congratulations. Champagne flowed in celebration. Flashes from press cameras. Laughter was overlapping as the cheers and applause echoed in the background.

You waited until the others filtered out before catching him in the hallway, breathless and golden with adrenaline. “You didn’t even look at me during the set,” you said.

He blinked. “What?”

“The song. It used to be ours.”

His smile faded. “Don’t do this now.”

“Why not? Because we’re backstage at a real venue, and you’ve got an image to keep?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No? Because I fought for you. For all of this. I believed in that song when no one else did.”

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “And now it’s out there. Isn’t that what matters?”

You stared at him. “You didn’t write it to be out there. You wrote it for me.”

It was deafening silence after that. You could feel the cracks appear in the glass then, how the quiet settled between you to make you realize of the distance that had been there. He didn’t deny it, but he didn’t step closer either.

You nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You walked away before he could answer, and for the first time since this all began, he didn’t follow.

Tour season continued with a vengeance. Venues booked back-to-back. Interviews, press junkets, photo ops. The Marauders were no longer the scrappy underdogs playing pub basements. They were headliners, and it was loud, so loud it drowned out everything else.

You made your choice before the second leg kicked off. You weren’t going to follow this time. Not because you didn’t care. But because somewhere along the line, you’d forgotten how to care for yourself.

You took the foundation you’d built - the networking, the hustle, the branding knowledge - and pivoted. Found work consulting for other rising acts. Wrote press copy, coached new managers, ran social strategy. You had your own projects now. Your own calendar. Your own name in someone else’s liner notes.

But some nights, you still kept tabs. You’d see grainy photos in tabloids. Headlines swirling with speculation.

Remus Lupin spotted leaving afterparty with model—sources say they’re close.

Band tension? Lupin’s emotional ballad scrapped from upcoming single release.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you knew him better than some column in a glossy rag. Still, it stung. He never reached out. Neither did you, and the rift between is ever growing.

You got the call on a Thursday, you had been buried deep in some paperwork for another small band you’d found playing at the pub where you used to watch the boys play. You answered without thinking much of it.

Sirius, voice clipped and shaken. "It’s Remus. He collapsed after soundcheck in Amsterdam. Exhaustion, they think. Maybe an infection. He’s asking for you."

You were on a plane within hours.

The hotel suite was quiet when you arrived. Dim. Sirius nodded at you in the hallway, eyes rimmed red. James gave you a tight hug. Peter, leaning in a chair near the wall,greeted you with a small smile, but murmured a low, “He’s down the hall.”

You found him in bed. Pale and almost flushed from the fever. The IV line taped to the inside of his elbow looked wrong. Out of place. You stood in the doorway for a long time before he opened his eyes.

"You came," he said, voice dry and cracking.

You sat beside him. “Of course I did.”

He stared at you, too tired to pretend. “I fucked everything up.”

You brushed sweaty hair off his forehead. “You ran too fast, too hard. Doesn’t mean it’s over.”

He closed his eyes. “It felt easier when you were around.”

That confession broke something between you, like a glass wall that you’d both build around each other. Too stubborn to bring it down and yet you can see each other through so clearly. Your hand stilled at his words.

“I needed space, Remus.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just didn’t know how to keep going without making it worse.”

You watched him breathe. His breaths came in slowly and they were shallow.

“I read the articles,” you said finally.

He opened his eyes again. “They weren’t true.”

You nodded. “I figured.”

“I missed you,” he said. “Not just at gigs. All the time. In the quiet moments when I had no idea what the hell I was doing.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

The space between you was heavy. But not empty. He shifted, wincing as he reached for his bag beside the bed. From the front pocket, he pulled out an old, battered cassette. The label was peeling. Your handwriting still faintly visible.

“I kept it,” he said. “Even when they made me change it. I couldn’t throw this one away.”

He reached across to the small player on the side table, you watched him through his struggle knowing he wouldn’t want help. You swallowed thickly as he pressed play.

That same raw demo from all those nights ago filled the room. Slightly warped now with age. But still clear. Still beautiful.

Still yours.

You listened in silence, your eyes were glossy but tears didn’t actually form. When it ended, he looked at you.

“I never stopped meaning it,” he said.

You reached for his hand.

“I know.”

It didn’t fix everything. But it softened the break.

Sometimes, that’s the first step back.

Post-tour life moved slower. The kind of quiet that felt almost foreign.

Remus came back to London two weeks after they all finished the last two remaining cities from the tour. You opted out of accompanying him, you still had work back home. You met him at the airport, holding a homemade sign that said Marauder Down: Emergency Recovery in Progress. He laughed, tired and soft, and leaned into you like he remembered how to breathe.

You weren’t together again. Not officially but you were… something. Enough to share Sunday mornings and late-night tea. Enough to talk without something heavy hanging in the air for the first time in months.

You sat on the floor of your flat one evening, records scattered around you both.

“I don’t know if I want all of it,” he said, finger fidgeting the sleeve of a Bowie LP. “The touring. The cameras. The curated answers.”

“You don’t have to take it all,” you said. “Just take the parts you want.”

He looked at you then, eyes clearer than you’d seen in ages. “And what if the part I want the most is sitting right in front of me?”

You didn’t answer. You just reached for his hand.

He started spending more time in the small spare room of your flat, hunched over a borrowed acoustic guitar. Said he was just noodling. Said it wasn’t important, but you heard the chords through the wall. The same gentle cadence. The same fragile beginnings.

You didn’t push.

Meanwhile, James invited you to dinner - just you. Which was odd enough to be suspicious. You and James were close as much as you were close with the other boys from the band but you were never out alone with just one of them.

Other than your thing with Remus, you were pretty much a whole group.

“They’re planning something,” he said between mouthfuls of curry. “The next album. It's going to be different.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Less polish, more truth. Remus is writing again.”

You tried not to let your heart leap.

“But he’s hiding something,” James added. “He’s cagey. Won’t show anyone the arrangement he’s working on. Not even Sirius. That’s when I know it’s serious.”

You smiled, just a little. “I might have an idea.”

The invitation to the televised performance came two months later. BBC special. A full set, plus an interview. Their first major appearance post-tour. By now they have about two to three songs in the top 10 charting and blasting on radio stations.

Remus was quiet the whole afternoon before. Not anxious, just… internal. Backstage was a blur. Techs running lines, makeup touch-ups, nerves buzzing like power lines.

Then it was lights, camera, cue. The band opened strong. A new track. A crowd-pleaser. Sirius was electric, James radiating joy. Peter was somewhat cool and poised. Remus… centered. Like he’d found something he thought was lost.

Then came the last song. He stepped up to the mic alone, guitar slung across his chest.

“This next one’s an old one,” he said, voice steady. “Most of you haven’t heard it like this. Not the way it was meant to be.”

The lights dimmed. Just a single spotlight on him, it felt like the world had slowed down as you heard those first few strum on the delicate guitar strings.

He played the original. Your song. Unchanged, untouched, like that first night he ever let you hear it. When it was quieter, when you were both unsure and the world wasn’t yet looking.

You felt yourself choke up, hearing that song again like it was a promise being remembered. You couldn’t help the tears from flowing out of you. When the final chord faded, he let the silence sit.

“I wrote this before any of this,” he said, gesturing around the stage. “Back when we were barely getting gigs and figuring out who we were.”

You could almost throw up from the anticipation.

“And I never would’ve kept going if it weren’t for one person. Someone who believed in me when I didn’t. When I couldn’t. Everything I’ve become, everything this band has achieved - it started with her.”

The camera cut to you in the front row. You felt your heart stutter. Remus stepped forward.

“I used to think love had to be earned. That I had to prove I was worth the risk. But she never asked me to be anything other than myself. She just stayed. And helped me find the way back.”

He reached into his pocket, time that was slowing completely stopped. A ring, you could see the stone on it glisten from where the spotlight shining on Remus hit it.

“Come up here,” he said.

Your legs moved before your mind caught up. The stage felt impossibly bright. The crowd quieted. You could hear your pulse as some of the stage crew guided you up, their smiles so wide at you.

When you reached him, he took your hand.

“I don’t need the spotlight. I just need you. Always have.”

You blinked back the blur in your vision. “I’m not asking for perfect. Just for forever. Will you?”

You didn’t even let him finish. You kissed him first. The crowd erupted. It was almost uncharacteristic for someone as reserved as Remus to propose so publicly, but you could see the reason behind it.

He had spent some time too deep in his own head to truly appreciate you, what you meant to him and you both wasted time pretending like you mattered less to one another. With this big, grand declaration of his love, he will silence everything else.

All the doubt, all the whispers. He will close all the distance that had been in between.

Later, offstage, as the noise of the moment faded and the two of you curled into each other in the green room, he whispered: “I kept the song for you.”

You kissed his jaw. “I know.”

It was a beginning. A beautiful one, despite everything it took to get there. He had grown into this person that was no longer the Remus you first knew but you have changed as well, you both have.

Now the rest of your lives will be spent getting to know the new versions of yourselves.

The venue buzzed with the final echoes of the crowd, lights slowly dimming as roadies hustled to pack up gear. You stood just behind the curtain, swaying slightly as the adrenaline of the set faded. Remus walked offstage, guitar still slung over his shoulder, shirt damp with sweat and a wild, boyish grin tugging at his mouth. His eyes found you immediately.

“There’s my girls,” he said, kissing your temple first, then brushing his lips over your daughter’s forehead. “How are my girls?”

He looks at your daughter, all curls and oversized headphones, sat on your hip - wide-eyed and sleepy. “Tired,” you answered with a soft laugh, shifting your daughter to your other hip. “But we loved the show.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, me more than her.”

Behind him, Sirius bounded over and swooped your daughter into his arms dramatically, practically stealing her from you. “There’s my favourite groupie!” he declared, spinning her gently while she squealed.

James wasn’t far behind, ruffling her hair and pulling a face that made her giggle again. “You know, I think we’re the reason she has such great taste in music,” he said to you with mock seriousness.

“You’re the reason she knows how to headbang,” you quipped back, rolling your eyes fondly.

Peter approached a moment later, slightly out of breath from the encore. “Hey,” he greeted you warmly. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I always do.”

He smiled. “Wish you could keep touring with us.”

“I’d love to,” you said honestly, “but I’m not hauling a three-year-old from city to city every other week.”

Remus laughed and nodded, wrapping an arm around your waist. “She’s got a point. I miss having you out here every night, but this one needs a consistent bedtime.”

“She’s got better tour stamina than you did at twenty,” Peter joked, nudging Remus.

Remus mock-glared. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t drink whiskey like water.”

Your daughter yawned against Remus’ shoulder now, tiny arms curling around his neck. The chaos of the crew and lights blurred around the six of you, like white noise under a melody that only the band - your makeshift family - could hear.

end. masterlist

#remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin #young remus lupin #young remus #marauders x reader #hp marauders #marauders #marauders era #marauders band au #band au

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prettygirl-gabi · 6 months ago

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Chapter 2: Caught on Camera

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Fandom: Women's basketball

Paring: Paige Bueckers x ! Photographer fem reader

Summary: is this thing still on?... I hope not....

Welcome to chapter 2 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸... if you wanna be added to the tag list let me know!

Avoidance was becoming a bad habit of mine. After the incident with Paige and my shattered camera turned into an internet meme, I couldn’t bring myself to face her—or the team, for that matter. Every social media platform I opened featured the clip: Paige’s epic block, the ball ricocheting, and the destruction of my beloved camera. People had even started adding exaggerated sound effects and captions like, "When life hits you hard…literally."

To make matters worse, Paige addressed the incident during a post-game interview, her sheepish smile making me squirm every time I replayed it in my mind.

“It was an accident,” she had said, laughing softly. “I feel really bad about it. Y/N’s an amazing photographer, and I hope I haven’t scared her off for good.”

Her words made my chest ache, but I still avoided the team practices. I stuck to photographing games with my new camera, keeping my distance from the players—especially Paige.

That’s where KK came in.

“Y/N, you can’t avoid us forever,” KK said, sliding into the seat beside me in class one afternoon. Her tone was light, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes that I didn’t trust.

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” I replied defensively, keeping my gaze on my notes.

“Right,” KK said with a smirk. “That’s why you haven’t shown up to practice all week.”

I sighed, slumping in my chair. “It’s just… easier this way.”

KK rolled her eyes. “You know Paige feels terrible, right? She keeps asking about you.”

My stomach flipped, but I quickly pushed the thought aside. “I’m fine. She doesn’t have to worry about me.”

KK didn’t say anything for a moment, and I thought I’d won the argument—until she spoke again, her voice casual.

“Hey, can you stop by the gym tonight? Coach wants to see some of the practice shots you’ve taken for the project.”

I frowned, suspicious. “Coach? Why would he need to see them now?”

KK shrugged, her expression unreadable. “I don’t make the rules. Just swing by, okay?”

That’s how I found myself at the gym later that evening, camera in hand. The space was eerily quiet, the faint hum of the overhead lights the only sound as I stepped inside.

“Coach?” I called out, my voice echoing.

Instead of Coach, Paige emerged from the shadows, her expression a mix of surprise and apprehension.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice soft.

I froze, my grip tightening on my camera. “Paige? What are you doing here?”

Before she could answer, the gym doors slammed shut behind me, and I turned to see KK waving through the glass window with a wide grin.

“You two need to talk,” KK shouted, her voice muffled by the door. “I’ll let you out in the morning!”

“KK!” I yelled, rushing to the door, but it was locked tight.

Paige let out a small laugh, drawing my attention back to her. “Well, I guess we’re stuck together.”

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I excused myself to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. When I returned, Paige was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the court, my camera in her hands.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Paige glanced up at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I figured I’d record something for you. An apology, I guess.”

Before I could respond, she pressed a button, and the red recording light blinked off—at least, I thought it did.

“Can we talk?” Paige asked, setting the camera aside.

I hesitated before nodding, taking a seat across from her.

“I’m sorry,” she began, her voice sincere. “About your camera, about everything. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“I know,” I said quietly, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “It’s just… hard. That camera meant a lot to me, and now everyone’s laughing about it like it’s some big joke.”

Paige’s expression softened, and she scooted closer, her knee brushing against mine. “I get it. I’d hate being the center of a meme, too. But you’re more than that clip, Y/N. Your work is incredible, and I’ve seen the way you capture the game—like you see things the rest of us miss.”

Her words made my chest tighten, and I looked away, feeling vulnerable under her gaze.

“Thanks,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

Paige reached out, her hand resting lightly on mine. “I mean it. You’re amazing.”

I glanced up, meeting her eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed

to fade away. Her gaze was steady and warm, filled with an honesty that made my heart stutter.

“Paige…” I started, but my voice faltered.

She gave me a small, lopsided smile, her fingers brushing over mine. “I know I messed up, but I want to make it right. Not just with the camera—but with you. Can we… start over?”

I hesitated, the weight of everything between us making it hard to breathe. But then I saw the earnestness in her expression, the vulnerability she rarely let show.

“Okay,” I said softly, nodding. “We can start over.”

A small laugh escaped her, almost a sigh of relief. “Good. Because I really don’t want you avoiding me anymore.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I lied, though we both knew the truth.

She smirked, leaning back slightly. “Right. You just conveniently disappeared every time I was around?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Fine, maybe I was avoiding you. But only because I didn’t know how to face you after everything.”

“Well,” Paige said, tilting her head, “now you’re stuck with me until KK decides to let us out. So, no more avoiding.”

I chuckled, the tension between us easing slightly. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

We spent the next few hours talking—about basketball, photography, school, and everything in between. Paige was easy to talk to, her laugh infectious and her stories captivating. For the first time in weeks, I felt at ease.

At some point, exhaustion caught up to us, and we ended up lying on the court, our heads close together as we stared up at the ceiling.

“Do you ever think about what’s next?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Paige turned her head to look at me, her expression thoughtful. “All the time. The WNBA feels so close, but at the same time, I’m scared of what it means to leave everything here behind.”

I nodded, understanding her fear. “Change is scary. But you’ll do amazing—you always do.”

Her gaze lingered on me, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I replied, my words steady.

We fell into a comfortable silence, and before I knew it, I drifted off, the warmth of Paige’s presence lulling me to sleep.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of muffled laughter. Blinking against the light, I realized Paige and I were still lying on the court, her arm draped over me in a way that felt impossibly natural.

“What do we have here?” KK’s voice rang out, teasing and triumphant.

I sat up quickly, my face burning as I saw KK and Azzi standing near the gym doors, their grins wide and mischievous.

“Did you two have a good night?” Azzi asked, raising an eyebrow.

Paige groaned, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. “Seriously, KK? Was this really necessary?”

KK shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Hey, you two needed to work things out. Mission accomplished, right?”

I glanced at Paige, my embarrassment fading slightly as she gave me a small, knowing smile.

“Yeah,” she said, her tone light but sincere. “Mission accomplished.”

As we stood to leave, I grabbed my camera from where it had been resting on the sidelines. A sinking feeling hit me when I noticed the recording light still blinking.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, quickly stopping the recording.

Paige looked over, her eyes widening as realization dawned. “Wait… was that on the whole time?”

I nodded, mortified.

KK burst out laughing. “Guess we’re gonna have some very interesting footage to review!”

Paige and I exchanged a look, equal parts embarrassed and amused. Maybe this wasn’t the worst way to start over after all.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza .... (more to be added)

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hoeforalbedo · 1 year ago

Text

Dolly (Pt 2)

Human Alastor x Housewife!Reader

Pt 1, Finale

Tw: Murder, Forced Cannibalism, reader is described as a woman, dumbifying reader, mention of pregnancy, pregnancy.

Note: I guess I’m making this a series? I really want them to meet in hell. Also I really haven’t made it obvious bc I don’t want to erase Alastor being aroace. The way I see it, he’s kinda just toying with reader and grew obsessed once reader became a murderer.

———————————————————————

The morning after your delightful meal, you found yourself puking your guts out. The food did not agree with you at all. You wonder how Alastor’s body did not reject your food. Maybe it was all guilty’s conscience, but you’re not guilty for what you did.

Alastor holds your hair back, rubbing small circles on your back. “Oh my, what a way to start the morning. It makes me wonder if you’re perhaps pregnant.”

You shoot him a look, “Please do not say that, I beg of you.” No, you’re not pregnant, and Alastor knows you’re not pregnant. But if you are. . . That means you’re all to himself. You will have no choice but to depend on him even more. Even if you decided one day to leave him, you can’t. Nobody other man wants a tainted woman with children. Maybe one day he should get you pregnant.

Oh he absolutely knows that his dear wife has committed something awful and he’s proud of you, although he won’t admit it, yet. For now, he’s here to support you through the aftermath of your actions.

He could even recall his first kill, it was messy and uncoordinated, and the gore did not sit right with his stomach. But he hopes that his wife does not meddle in the business no longer. All you must do is sit pretty and be the doll you are. The sweet wife who cleans the house and cooks for him and cares for him dearly while being oblivious to the fact that your husband is out and about, killing many people.

But he’s curious. You might be just like him and the thought of that makes him want to grasp you in his hands tightly. To keep you all to himself and keep you away from anything that could take you away from him. At the same time, he wants to test you, push you further into insanity until there’s no more turning back and you’re addicted to the feeling of blood on your hands.

You’ve made a decision, you’re going to confess to Alastor. You can’t just keep him the dark about what you’ve done. “Alastor dear, so about Linda. . . I’ve. . .”

“No need to say more, ma cheri. I know.” He says, acting sympathetic towards you. He pulls you into a hug and you can’t help but burst into tears. He pats

“My dear, you’ve had such a bad morning so I believe you should go out and treat your pretty self with something,” He hums, combing your hair back.

“But-“

“I insist dear. Allow me to tend to the home and when you get back, you’ll be treated to a nice meal. How does that sound?”

Your lips pursed in thought. “Fine, but only because you insist.”

The phone rings.

“I’ll take that, mon cheri. Now I’ll allow you to get yourself all pretty and I’ll get you some money for you to spend.” He kisses your head and leaves you be.

———————————————————————

An outing is just what you needed, although it was not to relieve your nerves. You only felt guilt for having stained your hands with red. That matters not, anymore. Alastor says to relax and enjoy your outing and that is what you’d do.

Now that you’re out, Alastor prepares to go out. He puts his gloves, “I should prepare a freshly cooked meal for my dear wife. It’s about time I went hunting.” He hums to himself and leaves the house.

———————————————————————

The sound of chopping is heard through the kitchen. Chopped vegetables are put aside and Alastor is seen kneading a sort of meat. After he’s satisfied, he chops the meat and sets it aside.

“Let us see,” He says, squatting down to the body by the kitchen island. He reaches inside the abdomen, a squelch being heard as his hands move deeper. “Ah, there it is!” He says cheerfully as he cuts out the intestines.

After squeezing the contents out of the intestines, he looks up at the clock. “Oh dear me! It’s about time my dear Y/N comes home!”

It’s already 5 and he expects you to be home in about an hour.

He continues to grind away the other organs and meat before stuffing the intestines, making the sausages for the jambalaya.

After an hour has passed, you are back home. As you were about to reach for the handle, the door opened, revealing Alastor. “Welcome home ma cheri!” He greets you with a smile, pulling you in for a hug. You reciprocate and kisses his cheek. “What have you got there?” He asks, motioning to the bags.”

“Oh I’ve only bought a few dresses. Nothing out of the ordinary,” You shrug, putting the bags down.

“Then I should expect a show from you then, is that correct? Give me a little twirl in each dress?” His voice deepens as he tilts your head up to look at him.

“If that’s what my dear husband wants,” You say, almost as if you’re purring.

Alastor hums in approval and pulls your lips into a kiss. His arm around your waist, pulls you in, pressing your body against his. “Oh my pretty doll, you’ve got me all distracted.”

“And it is my fault?” She chuckles.

“Yes dear, it’s your fault for being so gorgeous, however I cannot complain about that. Come now, I’ve made jambalaya. Let us eat before it gets cold.”

You follow him immediately to the dining room. “How I love jambalaya. I’m grateful you’ve introduced me to one of your favorites.” You smile as you sat down. “You didn’t put shrimp?” You ask.

“I’ve decided to add some meat instead,” Alastor says, placing some food on your plate.

“Well anything you cook is delicious. I’ll enjoy every bite!” You beam.

The two of you continue to eat and chat. While doing the dishes, the door bell rings. “I wonder who that might be?” You say confused, not expecting any visitors.

Alastor goes to the front door and opens it with a smile. “Hello, how can I help you fine gentlemen?”

“We’re with the police, I’d just like to ask about your neighbors.” One of the officers say.

“Well of course!” Alastor remains to smile, however he is irritated, not that anyone notices.

“Who is it Alastor, dear?” You say, walking behind him. “Oh! Well hello officer!” You immediately put a bright smile. Alastor wraps an arm around your waist.

“Yes, you must be this fine gentleman’s wife. We’d just like to ask if you folks know anything about Mrs. Linda and perhaps Mr. Connor?” The officer asks.

“Connor? Well what could have possibly gone wrong?” Alastor says in confusion.

“Well officer, last night we got a call from dear Connor and just earlier before that, I believe during the afternoon, Linda paid me a small visit,” You answer.

“Is that so? Well ma’am, did she enter the home?”

“Yes she did. Just for a couple minutes though.”

“Anything in particular happened? Arguments, anything?” The officer pushes on.

“Oh of course not! Linda and I may only be acquaintances but I do not harbor such ill feelings for her.”

Alastor squeezes your waist, “You see, my dear wife is far too good for her own good. Far too oblivious to the world, but who can blame her. She’s a doll after all.”

You smile at the officers, looking very innocent.

“Why, I see why you married such a beautiful lady,” The officers chuckles. “Well did she say anything before she left?

“No sir. . . Well she did complain about how she suspects her husband of have a mistress,” You answer.

Alastor adds, “The couple do tend to have a tendency for infidelity. There’s neighborhood rumors of one of the kids not even being Connors’! It’s no surprise though. They say Linda sleeps with other men.”

You gasp, “You mean that man she was with that one day-!”

“Oh no need to worry your pretty little head about it. That is not our problem,” Alastor says.

“And the call you received from Mr. Connor?” The officer asks.

“Oh he just called to thank my dear wife for her generosity. She was kind enough to bake the family a pie. She’s a rather good cook,” Alastor answers with a smile.

“Well you see, both of the couples are missing and have left their kids unattended.”

“Oh that’s awful! Are they okay?” You ask with worry.

“They sure are. If you happen to hear anything about them, please do give a call, thanks for your time,” The officer nods and leaves.

After Alastor closes the door, you immediately broke into a sob. “They’re out to get me Alastor! They’ll get me!” You cling to him.

“My dear you won’t, I promise you they won’t. I’d do anything,” Alastor says in a hushed voice.

“I-I’m the last to have seen Linda and Connor! Now Connor is gone too! What if they think I am the one who killed him!” You cry hysterically.

“My dear, have you not seen yourself? No one would believe that a small thing like you could have possibly killed someone,” he reasons.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course dear.”

———————————————————————

“Must you really go, Alastor?” You plead, grabbing his hand.

“I’m afraid I cannot skip out on work today, mon cheri. But what if they get me? What if I can’t see you again?” You say with worry.

Alastor chuckles. Your clinginess used to be something that annoyed him but not finds adorable. “Remember what I said last night?”

You nod.

“So you’ll let me go right?”

You nod and let go of his hand.

“Good. Now I’ll be back later, my dear.” He kisses your forehead and walks out the door.

He in fact did not come home that night. He was found dead, a bullet to his head. You never landed on the suspect list, as Alastor was found to be the serial killer of New Orleans.

#alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin x you #hazbin x y/n #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor

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kkayyerr · 2 months ago

Text

Childhood memories.

Summary: Little!reader gets anxious after a stressful day at work, so Spencer decides to cure her with the old known method

Warnings: Age regression, slight angst.

Usually, the soft blanket on your shoulders was the only thing that you craved after a long and stressful day at work. Your coworkers knew it, so by the time you were set on the couch, you were already covered in your favorite blanket. But today it wasn’t enough for you to calm yourself down.

You weren’t a fan of regressing in front of people, especially the one that you work with, but today’s case had clearly messed with your mind a little too much for you to stop yourself from slipping in.

„Is she alright?”

You heard Reid’s asking, and your grip on a blanket tightened. You absolutely despised the idea of them having to take care of you or even seeing you in such states, no matter how bad you actually needed to be taken care of.

You saw Derek whispering something to Spencer and then quickly turning around to leave two of you alone in the room, probably hoping that Reid would be able to deal with your current state better than anyone else.

“’M okay.”

You mumbled softly, forcing Reid into giving you a long, focused stare. He didn’t say anything, instead just picking up one of his books from a table and coming closer to you. He knew that you were lying, and you knew that as well. You just weren’t ready to tell the truth or ask for something, even though there was so much that you needed right now.

You were waiting for him to say something, but instead he just nodded, sitting next to you on the couch and putting his book aside for a moment. He glanced at you once more before gently putting his hand on your trembling shoulder.

„You’re really not okay, and it’s totally understandable.”

Your eyes widened when you heard his words, and you turned your head in his direction just to see a soft smile playing on his lips. You weren’t similar with someone being so understanding towards you, especially with things like that.

„You can trust me; I just want you to let all of those thoughts go, okay?”

You gave him a suspicious glaze, not really wanting to show your weaknesses to him.

You moved away from him, trying to suppress your need for comfort.

Trusting was always hard for you, especially in moments like that.

Reid nodded once again and then did the unexpected gesture.

„Pinky promise?”

He asked, as his little finger was now waiting to connect with yours. You blinked a few times before letting out a loud sigh and finally agreeing by locking both of your pinkies together.

When the pinky promise was made, Spencer picked up his book again and opened it on the first page.

„You know, I was an anxious kid. I was always worried about things that weren’t worth worrying about. And when I would tell my mom about those worries, she would just read me a book.”

To your surprise it wasn’t some boring book about psychology or psychics. It was a fresh copy of one of your favorite fairy tales. Your eyes almost started sparkling when you saw that there were also pictures in it.

Reid smirked softly at your happy glance.

„It’s my favorite book!”

You said, making him chuckle a little at your surprised reaction. You always knew that Reid was pretty observant, but you never knew that he also had paid attention to such small things.

Especially to the small things that were relevant to you.

„Would you like me to read it to you, darling?”

You nodded, tracing your finger along the lines of the picture and feeling like your brain chemistry had already started to change. Once he started reading, your breathing had become much calmer, and you were even comfortable enough to rest your head on Reid’s lap.

Surprisingly, he didn’t push you away, even though he wasn’t a touchy or affectionate kind of person.

Spencer kept on reading up until your eyes were closed and your mind was at peace. Once he was sure that you were asleep, he closed the book, still not wanting to take your head off his lap.

#criminal minds #age regression fic #little!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #age regression #spencer reid x little!reader

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leighsartworks216 · 5 months ago

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You're Not A Burden

Zayne x gn!therapist friend!Reader

Based on my own experience as the therapist friend and my struggles with being genuine about my emotions with people close to me ✌️

Warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, childhood friends, crying, nightmares

Word Count: 1,517

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Zayne has seen this same pattern ever since you were little; the weight of being the person everyone dumps their problems onto, rants to, leans on no matter how small you may be. It's happened for so long now, he can't remember a time you weren't the one stepping up to bear the brunt of someone else's troubles.

He remembers so vividly one day during recess. Your friend was crying because one of the teachers was being mean and unfair. You held them close, let them cry into your shoulder and blubber about their troubles. And then you went into class with that same teacher, experienced that same cruelty, and held your tongue. It was never about being stronger than anyone else, or that admitting anything was wrong was a weakness; only that admitting anything was wrong would place your troubles onto somebody else.

One time, when his parents were away, he slept over at your house in a pillow fort in the living room. He woke up before you, and you had dry tears on your cheeks.

You take the burdens as easy as you take in a breath of air. Even now, in the middle of your quiet night in, your friend called to rant about their job, their relationships - anything they needed to get off their shoulders. You smiled apologetically at Zayne, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the bedroom to finish the call without disturbing him further.

He understands, better than most, how difficult it is to watch someone suffer, physically or emotionally. How many times had he gone out of his way to ease the burden of his patients outside of medical care? Trying to get a plushie from the arcade for a girl who was too sick to get it herself. Playing chess with a lonely old man, even when it cut into his lunch breaks. But even he has limits to the burdens he carries.

He listens attentively for your voice through the closed door from his seat on the couch. Quiet hums to show you're listening. Muffled words of advice and support. The call goes on for some time, an hour or more, but not once does he hear you talk about your own struggles. Yet, he knows work has been more demanding lately, you haven't been sleeping or eating well, and you were really looking forward to an uninterrupted night in with him - information gathered through observation, more than not.

Not a single word of complaint.

He can't focus on his book, so he sets it aside in exchange for his laptop. The soft clack of keys fills the silence. It nearly drowns out your voice entirely; the typing pauses every now and then to listen when you speak. His work isn't as efficient, so focused on listening for you, but he manages to get through a few emails and a report or two.

When the door opens, he perks up like a dog whose owner just came home. His fingers are still on the keyboard as he watches you come out from the hallway, smiling apologetically once more as you tuck your phone away with a final glance.

"Sorry about that," you murmur as you sit back in your spot on the couch. He closes his laptop and sets it aside. "Lisa's been having a lot of guy troubles lately and just got back from a bad date."

He hums his acknowledgement and turns his body to face you. Cool hands grab yours, holding them in his lap as his thumbs massage into your palms and work out the tension in your fingers. "You didn't say much."

You laugh lightly, as though it's completely normal. As though it should be completely normal. "I didn't want to bother her with my own problems - she has enough of her own to deal with."

"What problems would those be?" he questions. You tense up, like you want to pull away. You don't, but you stare at the ministrations of his hands with a shake of your head.

"It's nothing."

"But if they're problems," he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze, "shouldn't I know about them?"

You glance at him with a grin that doesn't quite meet your eyes, and a slight downturn in your brow. "You're not on duty right now, Dr. Zayne."

He lifts one of your hands to kiss your palm. Your fingers brush his cheek. He leans into them without thought. "I didn't think I had to be to listen to my partner's issues," he shoots back, shooting down your deflection. His voice grows softer. "It's unhealthy to keep negative emotions bottled up. I am always here to listen should you need to let them out."

Something stirs in your eyes. Discomfort, at being called out and exposed. Worry, and fear. You look away again. "I don't want to bother you with that stuff."

"Who said you would be bothering me? I want to hear about the issues you have, however minor they may be." He releases one of your hands to cup your cheek. He directs your face back to him, leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, stealing your ability to look away. Your eyes remain lowered, staring at his nose. "You always carry the burdens of others. Allow me to carry your burdens, before you collapse under the weight."

You're silent. He shifts his fingers slightly, resting his middle and ring finger over your pulse point just under your jaw. Your heart is beating wildly. It stutters, jumps, skips. You inhale softly.

"You..." You shake your head slightly, nose brushing his. Your free hand fiddles with your pant leg. "You don't tell me about the issues you have, either."

He smiles slightly, wryly, as though you've just started trying to deal with a shrewd businessman who can't resist haggling.

"I had a nightmare last night," he admits softly. That draws your eyes up to his, finally. "When I woke up, it felt like I was still in the dream."

"What was it about?"

He gives you a pointed look. You frown. Your hand clenches around your pant leg, like admitting anything about yourself is agonizingly painful.

"I... I haven't been eating lunch during my breaks."

It's barely admitting anything, but he hums his approval nonetheless. "I was in the hospital, but the corridors were dark. I heard your voice echoing down the halls..." Your heart skips a beat in time with your concerned look. "Why aren't you eating lunch?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, hiding from the inevitable disapproval on his face. "I haven't been sleeping well, so I've been sleeping in my car during my breaks... I... passed out once, at my desk, because I was so tired... I don't want to concern my coworkers like that again." You wait a few seconds before cracking your eyes open. Sure enough, it's his turn to frown with worry. He knew you were tired lately, but he hadn't heard anything about you passing out at work. He can only be grateful you weren't out on the field at that time. "What happens next?"

"... I can't find you." His frown deepens, eyes flickering down your face, taking you in. "No matter where I look, you're not there. And when I wake up, it takes a moment for my mind to catch up and realize you're right there beside me."

Neither of you speak. Your pulse is calm now. The dark bags under your eyes concerns him more than ever now. The daze in his eyes when you woke up this morning to find him looking over your face flickers back into memory.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "We'll take our lunch breaks together," he tells you, leaving no room for argument. "The next time you feel faint at work, or too tired to keep going, please tell me."

You nod slowly, silently sealing a promise with him. "The next time you have a nightmare like that, you have to tell me, too."

He nods in return. "I will."

You blink, pausing, waiting for something that doesn't ever come. Waiting for him to decide your burdens are too heavy to bear, or become disillusioned with you now that you're no longer this infallible beacon of strength and dependency. But it never comes. Instead, Zayne strokes your cheek with all the tender patience in the world, rubs his nose purposefully against yours in semblance of a kiss, sits quietly with you with no expectations.

Large drops of water begin to form in your waterline. You swallow, fighting the starting tremors in your lungs. He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him, helping you sit in his lap where you hug him around his neck and hide your face in his shoulder.

He kisses the side of your head as your body cries with a practiced silence, rubbing his hand in soothing motions against your back. "You're not a burden for having problems, or for sharing them with others," he whispers. "You don't have to carry everything alone anymore."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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