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pucksandpower · 3 months ago

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Black Widow

Toto Wolff x black widow!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and George Russell are convinced you’re trying to kill their team principal, and, to be fair, you do have a trail of seven dead extremely wealthy husbands behind you … but it’s not what they think, you promise

The soft beep of medical equipment provides a rhythmic backdrop as you sit beside the ornate mahogany bed, your manicured fingers intertwined with those of your latest husband, Reginald Worthington III.

At 89 years old, Reggie, as you affectionately call him, is by far your oldest conquest yet. His wrinkled face, now gaunt from months of illness, still manages a weak smile as he gazes at you.

“My darling,” Reggie wheezes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hope you know how much joy you’ve brought to these final months of mine.”

You lean in, your silky hair cascading over your shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Reggie. The pleasure has been all mine.”

It’s not entirely a lie. While you don’t love Reggie — or any of your previous husbands, for that matter — you’ve grown fond of the old codger. He’s certainly been the most amusing of your elderly spouses.

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a ghost of the rakish playboy he must have been in his youth. “Now, now, my dear. We both know this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I do hope I’ve provided some entertainment along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been a delight, darling. Truly.”

As if on cue, Reggie is seized by a coughing fit. You quickly grab a glass of water from the bedside table, helping him take small sips until the spasms subside. When he catches his breath, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. About the will.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face carefully neutral. “Reggie, please. We don’t need to discuss such morbid topics.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to admire the wallpaper. Now listen, because this is important.”

You lean in closer, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Reggie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In addition to the usual — the houses, the cars, the offshore accounts — I’m leaving you my stake in the Mercedes Formula 1 team.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “The racing team? Reggie, I had no idea you were involved with-”

He cuts you off with a wheezy laugh. “Oh, my dear. There’s so much you don’t know about me. Did you think I made my fortune selling denture cream?”

You can’t help but smile. “Well, I did wonder about all those trophies in your study.”

“Remnants of a misspent youth,” Reggie says with a wistful sigh. “But this, this is my crowning achievement. A 33% stake in one of the most successful F1 teams in history.”

Your mind reels at the implications. This is far beyond anything you’d anticipated when you’d set your sights on Reginald Worthington III.

“Reggie, I ... I don’t know what to say.”

He pats your hand affectionately. “You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it. I’ve always admired your ambition. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

You lean back in your chair, studying the old man before you. In that moment, you feel a surge of genuine affection for him.

“I promise, Reggie. I’ll make you proud.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, tell me about the others. I want to know how I measure up to my predecessors.”

You laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Are you sure? It’s quite a list.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkle with interest. “My dear, I’m on my deathbed. Regale me with tales of your conquests.”

With a theatrical sigh, you begin. “Well, if you insist. Let’s see ... first, there was Harold.”

“Ah, the virgin husband,” Reggie interrupts with a knowing nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”

He winks. “I have my sources. Go on.”

“Right. Well, Harold was a sweet man. A bit naive, perhaps, but genuinely kind. He left me his tech startup. It wasn’t worth much at the time, but I sold it for a tidy sum a year later.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “Smart move. Who was next?”

“After Harold came George. He was ... intense. A retired army general with a penchant for war stories and expensive scotch. Left me his collection of rare military memorabilia.”

“Fascinating,” Reggie murmurs. “And the others?”

You tick them off on your fingers. “Let’s see ... there was Joaquin, the passionate Spanish chef. He left me his Michelin-starred restaurants. Then came Dmitri, the Russian oligarch. That was ... an experience.”

Reggie chuckles. “I bet it was. What did he leave you?”

“A series of shell companies and a rather gaudy yacht. I sold the yacht, kept the companies.” You pause, lost in thought for a moment. “After Dmitri was William, the British lord. Lovely man, terrible teeth. Left me his crumbling estate and title.”

“So you’re technically a lady now?” Reggie asks, amused.

You nod. “Lady Y/N, at your service. Though I don’t use the title much. It tends to raise questions.”

“Understandable. And the last one before me?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Ah, that was Hiroshi. Japanese tech mogul. Brilliant mind, but so lonely. I think I was the first real companionship he’d had in years.”

Reggie studies you carefully. “You were fond of him.”

You nod, a bit surprised by the lump in your throat. “I was. He ... he understood me, I think. More than the others.”

There’s a moment of silence as Reggie processes this information. Finally, he speaks. “And what did Hiroshi leave you?”

You smile wryly. “His AI research company. It’s been ... interesting, to say the least.”

Reggie nods slowly. “Quite a collection you’ve amassed, my dear. But tell me, what drives you? Surely it’s not just the money.”

You’re taken aback by the question. No one has ever asked you that before. You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I suppose ... it’s the challenge of it all. The thrill of reinventing myself with each new husband, of navigating these complex worlds they inhabit. And yes, the wealth is nice, but it’s more about what I can do with it.”

Reggie leans forward, intrigued. “And what is it you want to do?”

You pause, realizing you’ve never really articulated this to anyone before. “I want to make a difference. Real, lasting change. These men, they’ve all built empires in their own ways, but they’ve been limited by their own mortality. I don’t have those limitations yet. I can take what they’ve given me and create something ... more.”

Reggie’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah, now I see why I was drawn to you. You’re not just a pretty face or a clever mind. You’re a visionary.”

You feel a flush of pride at his words. “I try to be. Each husband has taught me something new, given me tools I never had before. Harold showed me the potential of technology. George taught me strategy. Joaquin, the importance of passion in one’s work. Dmitri, how to navigate the murky waters of international business. William gave me a glimpse into old-world power structures. And Hiroshi ... well, he opened my eyes to the future.”

Reggie nods slowly. “And what have I taught you, I wonder?”

You smile softly. “Patience, Reggie. The long game. And the value of a good sense of humor in the face of adversity.”

He chuckles weakly. “Well, I’m glad I could contribute something to your education. Now, about this F1 team ...”

You lean in, eager to hear more. “Yes?”

“It’s more than just a racing team, you know. It’s a pinnacle of engineering, a testament to human ingenuity and the constant push for improvement. I think you’ll find it fits quite well with your ambitions.”

You nod slowly, mind already racing with possibilities. “I can see that. The technology, the global platform, the prestige ...”

Reggie grins. “Exactly. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find husband number eight in the paddock.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Reggie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

He winks. “Someone has to. Now, promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re surprised to find you mean it.

“When you’re accepting that championship trophy — because I know you will — wear something fabulous. Give those stuffy old men in the paddock something to talk about.”

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to shake things up a bit.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “That’s my girl. Now, I think I need to rest for a bit. But don’t go far. I want to hear all about your plans for world domination when I wake up.”

As you watch Reggie drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Sadness at the impending loss of this charming old rogue, excitement at the unexpected opportunity he’s given you, and a renewed sense of purpose.

You glance at your reflection in the ornate mirror across the room. Lady Y/N Y/L/N, soon-to-be racing magnate. It has a nice ring to it.

As you settle back into your chair, you begin to plan your next moves. The motorsport world won’t know what hit it.

***

The sleek boardroom of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team headquarters buzzes with hushed conversation. Around the polished mahogany table, team executives and board members huddle in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

Toto catches snippets of conversation as he reviews his notes for the meeting.

“Did you hear? She’s actually coming today,” whispers Bradley, the team’s financial officer.

Sarah, head of marketing, leans in. “I can’t believe Reginald left her his stake. What was he thinking?”

“Probably wasn’t thinking with his head, if you know what I mean,” chuckles Thomas, the technical director.

Toto clears his throat, silencing the gossip. “Let’s keep things professional, shall we? We have important matters to discuss today.”

As if on cue, the boardroom door swings open. The room falls into an immediate, almost eerie silence as you stride in, turning heads with every click of your Manolo Blahnik heels against the polished floor.

Toto finds himself holding his breath, caught off guard by your presence. He’s seen photos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice. Your tailored Armani suit exudes power and confidence, while your eyes scan the room with a shrewd intelligence that sends a shiver down his spine.

You take your seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite Toto. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not late.”

Your voice, smooth as silk with a hint of amusement, breaks the spell. The room erupts into a flurry of awkward greetings and nervous coughs.

Toto clears his throat again, trying to regain control of the situation. “Not at all. We were just about to begin. Welcome, Lady Worthington. We’re honored to have you join us today.”

You smile, a dazzling display that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Please, call me Y/N. We’re all colleagues here, after all.”

Toto nods, fighting to keep his composure. “Of course, Y/N. Shall we begin with the agenda?”

As the meeting progresses, Toto finds himself increasingly distracted. He’s used to being the most commanding presence in any room, but your arrival has shifted the dynamic entirely. Every time you speak, offering insights or asking pointed questions, the rest of the board seems to hold its breath.

“I’ve been reviewing our sustainability initiatives,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “While I applaud our efforts so far, I believe we could be doing more. Formula 1 has an unique platform to drive innovation in green technologies. We should be leading the charge, not just following along.”

Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “With all due respect, Lady- I mean, Y/N, implementing new sustainability measures could be quite costly. We need to consider the bottom line.”

You lean forward, fixing Bradley with an intense gaze. “And what about the cost of falling behind? Of being seen as out of touch with the concerns of younger fans? Sometimes, you have to spend money to make money.”

Toto finds himself nodding in agreement before he even realizes it. “Y/N raises an excellent point. Perhaps we should form a task force to explore more aggressive sustainability options.”

You flash him a grateful smile, and Toto feels his heart skip a beat. He quickly looks down at his notes, trying to regain his composure.

As the meeting continues, you consistently challenge the status quo, pushing for bolder strategies and innovative approaches. Toto watches in fascination as you deftly navigate the complex dynamics of the board, alternating between charm and steel as the situation demands.

During a discussion about driver development, you interject again. “I’ve been looking into our junior driver program, and I think we’re missing opportunities. We’re too focused on traditional racing backgrounds. What about sim racers? Or scouting karters from developing countries? We could be tapping into a whole new pool of talent.”

Sarah, the marketing head, perks up at this. “That’s ... actually a brilliant idea. It could really broaden our appeal, especially in emerging markets.”

You nod appreciatively. “Exactly. And imagine the stories we could tell. The sim racer who became an F1 champion or the kid from a small village who rose to the top of motorsport. That’s the kind of narrative that builds brand loyalty and inspires the next generation of fans.”

Toto finds himself leaning forward, completely engrossed. “I love this direction. Y/N, would you be willing to work with Sarah to develop a proposal for expanding our driver search?”

“Of course,” you reply with a smile that makes Toto’s pulse quicken. “I’d be delighted.”

As the meeting winds down, Toto realizes that the entire dynamic of the board has shifted. The initial wariness towards you has given way to a mixture of respect and curiosity. Even those who seemed most skeptical at the start are now hanging on your every word.

“Well,” Toto says, glancing at his watch, “I think that concludes our agenda for today. Unless anyone has any other matters to discuss?”

The room is silent for a moment before you speak up. “Actually, if I may, I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

A tense hush falls over the gathering. Toto holds his breath, unsure of what’s coming next.

You stand, your posture relaxed but commanding. “I’m aware of the rumors and speculation surrounding my ... personal life. I want to assure all of you that my presence here is purely professional. I’m not here to cause drama or upheaval. I’m here because I believe in the potential of this team and this sport. I hope that over time, you’ll come to judge me based on my contributions, not on gossip or hearsay.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, and Toto can see the effect it has on the room. Shoulders relax, expressions soften. There’s a collective exhale, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Toto says, standing as well. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we look forward to working with you and seeing what fresh perspectives you can bring to the team.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. As the meeting officially adjourns, people begin to gather their things and file out of the room. Toto notices that several board members linger, clearly hoping to have a word with you. He feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

Before he can second-guess himself, Toto makes his way around the table to where you’re chatting with Sarah about the junior driver program idea.

“Excuse me,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “Y/N, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

You turn to him with a smile that makes his heart race. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of the curious glances from the remaining board members. “I was impressed by your insights today. I think there’s a lot we could discuss further about the future direction of the team. Would you perhaps be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner?”

A hush falls over the remaining occupants of the room. Toto can practically feel the weight of their stares, but he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across your features. “Dinner? My, my, Toto. Aren’t you afraid of me? I do have quite the reputation, you know.”

There’s a challenge in your voice, but also a hint of vulnerability that catches Toto off guard. He realizes that beneath your confident exterior, you’re testing him, gauging his true intentions.

Toto meets your gaze steadily, his voice low but firm. “I don’t put much stock in rumors. I prefer to form my own opinions based on what I see and experience. And what I’ve seen today is a brilliant, passionate individual who could be a tremendous asset to this team. That’s the person I’m interested in getting to know better.”

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. You study Toto for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Toto feels a rush of relief and excitement. “Eight o’clock sounds perfect. I know just the place.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Toto can’t help but feel like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental. He’s built his career on calculated risks, on seeing potential where others see danger. Looking at you, he knows that this might be the biggest gamble of his life.

But as you turn to give him one last smile before exiting the boardroom, Toto is certain of one thing: it’s a risk he’s more than willing to take.

***

The Monaco Grand Prix paddock buzzes with excitement, a hive of activity as teams prepare for the most glamorous race on the Formula 1 calendar. Lewis Hamilton and George Russell huddle in a quiet corner of the Mercedes garage, their voices low and urgent.

“I’m telling you, mate, something’s not right,” George insists, his eyes darting around to ensure they’re not overheard. “Have you seen the way Toto’s been acting lately? It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.”

Lewis nods grimly, his usual pre-race focus replaced by concern. “I know what you mean. Ever since she came into the picture, it’s like he’s a different person. Always distracted, making decisions that don’t quite add up.”

“Exactly!” George exclaims, then quickly lowers his voice again. “And have you noticed how she’s always around now? At every meeting, every strategy session. It’s like she’s trying to learn all our secrets.”

Lewis furrows his brow, deep in thought. “You don’t think ... I mean, surely she wouldn’t actually try to ...”

“Kill him?” George finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, mate. But look at her track record. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marrying her. And now she’s got her claws into Toto.”

As if summoned by their conversation, you appear at the entrance of the garage, Toto at your side. The team principal’s hand rests comfortably on the small of your back as he leads you through the bustling workspace.

Lewis and George fall silent, watching intently as you make your way towards them. Your designer sundress and oversized sunglasses scream understated elegance, but to the two drivers, you might as well be wearing a black widow’s web.

“Good morning,” Toto calls out cheerfully. “Ready for qualifying?”

Lewis forces a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “Morning, Toto. Yeah, we were just discussing strategy.”

You step forward, flashing a dazzling smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m still learning all the intricacies of race weekends.”

George clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.”

Toto beams, looking from you to his drivers with pride. “Isn’t it wonderful having Y/N here? She’s already brought so many fresh ideas to the team. I don’t know how we managed without her.”

You laugh, a sound that sends chills down Lewis and George’s spines. “Oh, darling, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure these boys were doing just fine before I came along.”

As you speak, your hand reaches up to smooth Toto’s collar, a gesture that seems innocent enough but makes both drivers tense.

Lewis clears his throat. “Actually, Toto, could we have a quick word? About the, uh, tire strategy?”

Toto looks surprised but nods. “Of course. Y/N, would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all,” you reply smoothly. “I’ll just go chat with the mechanics. I’m fascinated by all this technology.”

As you saunter away, Lewis and George exchange a meaningful glance. This is their chance.

“Toto,” Lewis begins, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a bit concerned. About you, actually.”

Toto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Concerned? What do you mean?”

George jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just that ... well, things have been different since you started seeing her. And given her history ...”

“Her history?” Toto repeats, his voice taking on an edge. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Toto, we care about you. And we can’t help but notice that Y/N’s previous partners have all met with ... unfortunate ends.”

For a moment, Toto just stares at them, his expression unreadable. Then, to their surprise, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, boys,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I assure you, it’s misplaced. Y/N has been nothing but a positive influence on both me and the team.”

George persists, his voice urgent. “But Toto, you have to admit, the pattern is alarming. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marriage. And now she’s here, learning all about our team, our strategies ...”

Toto’s amusement fades, replaced by a stern look. “That’s enough. I understand you’re worried, but I won’t have you spreading baseless rumors. Y/N is here because she’s a part-owner of this team and because I invited her. End of discussion.”

As Toto walks away, Lewis and George share a look of dismay.

“He’s in too deep,” Lewis mutters. “We need to do something.”

George nods grimly. “We can’t let her hurt him. Or the team. We need a plan.”

Throughout the day, as qualifying unfolds, Lewis and George find themselves constantly distracted. Every time they catch a glimpse of you in the garage or on the pit wall, their imaginations run wild.

During a brief break between sessions, they overhear a snippet of conversation between you and one of the engineers.

“So, if something were to go wrong with the car during the race,” you’re saying, “what would be the most catastrophic point of failure?”

The engineer launches into a detailed explanation of various mechanical vulnerabilities, unaware of the horrified looks on the drivers’ faces.

“She’s gathering intel,” George whispers to Lewis. “Probably planning some sort of accident for Toto.”

Lewis nods, his jaw set with determination. “We need to warn him again. Make him see reason.”

But their attempts to get Toto alone prove futile. You seem to be constantly by his side, your hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. To an outsider, it might look like the actions of a loving girlfriend, but to Lewis and George, every gesture seems calculated and sinister.

As the day wears on, their paranoia grows. They start seeing threats everywhere. When you hand Toto a bottle of water, they’re convinced it’s poisoned. When you suggest he take a look at something in the back of the garage, they’re sure you’re luring him away to do him harm.

Finally, as the sun begins to set over the Monaco harbor, they decide they can’t wait any longer. They need to confront you directly.

They find you alone in the hospitality area, reviewing some papers. As they approach, you look up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Lewis, George,” you greet them warmly. “Excellent qualifying today. You must be pleased.”

Lewis takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Cut the act. We know what you’re up to.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in your eyes. “I’m not sure I understand. What exactly am I up to?”

George steps forward, his voice low and intense. “We know about your husbands. All seven of them. And we’re not going to let you add Toto to that list.”

For a moment, you just stare at them, your face unreadable. Then, to their surprise, you burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m here to kill Toto?”

Lewis and George exchange confused glances, thrown off by your reaction.

You lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me tell you a little secret. Those men? They were all terminally ill when I married them. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple. They got to spend their last months with a young, beautiful wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play involved.”

The drivers stare at you, speechless. You continue, your tone becoming more serious.

“As for Toto, well, that’s different. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I genuinely care for. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just what I can offer. I’m not here to hurt him or the team. I’m here because I want to be part of something meaningful.”

Lewis and George exchange uncertain glances, their convictions shaken.

“But ... all the questions about the car, the team strategies ...” George begins.

You roll your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m a part-owner of this team now, remember? Of course I’m trying to learn everything I can. How else can I contribute?”

As the truth of your words sinks in, Lewis and George begin to feel a creeping sense of embarrassment. They’ve let their imaginations and preconceptions run wild, seeing threats where there were none.

“I ... we ...” Lewis stammers, struggling to find the right words.

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright. I understand. My reputation precedes me, and you were just looking out for Toto. I can respect that.”

George rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We may have gotten a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes. “Apology accepted. Now, what do you say we put this behind us and focus on winning tomorrow’s race?”

As if on cue, Toto appears, looking between the three of you with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”

You stand, moving to his side and slipping your arm through his. “Everything’s perfect, darling. In fact, I think Lewis and George were just about to share some ideas they had for the race strategy. Weren’t you, boys?”

Lewis and George nod, grateful for the out you’ve given them. As they launch into a discussion about tire management and overtaking opportunities, they can’t help but marvel at how wrong they’ve been.

Watching you interact with Toto, they see not a black widow spinning her web, but a woman genuinely in love, bringing out the best in their team principal. They realize that sometimes, people can surprise you. And sometimes, the most unexpected additions to a team can be the most valuable.

***

The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the exclusive Monégasque restaurant in warm light, casting elegant shadows across the faces of Monaco’s elite. Grigori Volkov, a grizzled veteran of the Russian underworld, sips his vodka, his weathered face a mask of careful neutrality as he surveys the room.

His eyes narrow as they land on a familiar figure across the crowded dining area. It can’t be, he thinks, leaning forward for a better look. But there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

You.

Grigori watches as you laugh, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, distinguished-looking man. He recognizes him vaguely. But what catches Grigori off guard is the easy intimacy between you, the matching wedding bands glinting in the low light.

For a moment, Grigori considers slipping out unnoticed. But curiosity gets the better of him. He signals the waiter, ordering another round of drinks to be sent to your table.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, Grigori sees your posture stiffen slightly, your eyes scanning the room until they lock onto his. He raises his glass in a small salute, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You lean in, whispering something to Toto. The man looks surprised but nods, and together you make your way towards Grigori’s table.

“Grigori,” you greet him, your voice a mix of warmth and wariness. “It’s been a long time.”

Grigori stands, bowing slightly. “Indeed it has, my dear. You’re looking well. And who might this be?”

Toto extends his hand, his grip firm. “Toto Wolff. And you are?”

“An old friend of your wife’s,” Grigori replies smoothly, noting the flicker of surprise in Toto’s eyes at the word ’wife’. “Grigori Volkov. I knew Y/N back in her Russian days.”

You gesture to the empty chairs. “May we join you?”

Grigori nods, waving expansively. “Please, be my guests.”

As you settle in, Grigori can’t help but study Toto more closely. He’s younger than expected, vital and alert. Not at all what he’d imagined for your latest conquest.

“So, Toto,” Grigori begins, his accent thick with amusement, “how long have you and our dear Y/N been married?”

Toto smiles, his hand finding yours on the table. “Just over two years now. Best decision I ever made.”

Grigori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Two years? My, my. That’s quite impressive.”

You shoot him a warning look, but Toto just looks confused. “I’m not sure I follow. Why is that impressive?”

Grigori chuckles, taking a long sip of his vodka. “Oh, forgive me. I just meant that Y/N here has always been something of a ... how do you say ... free spirit? Never one to be tied down for long.”

You interject quickly, “People change, Grigori. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Grigori nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Indeed they do. And what of your ... other interests? The ones you inherited from dear Dmitri?”

Toto’s brow furrows. “Dmitri? I’m afraid I don’t know much about Y/N’s ex-husbands.”

“Ex-husbands?” Grigori repeats, feigning surprise. “Oh, but Dmitri was special, wasn’t he? After all, not every day one inherits a slice of the Bratva.”

The color drains from Toto’s face as he turns to you. “The Bratva? As in, the Russian mob?”

You sigh, shooting Grigori a glare that could freeze vodka. “It’s complicated, darling. And very much in the past.”

Grigori leans back, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. “Oh, come now, Y/N. Surely your husband deserves to know the truth? About your colorful past, your string of deceased husbands, your unexpected rise to power in certain ... shall we say, unofficial circles?”

Toto looks between you and Grigori, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. “Y/N, what is he talking about?”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Toto’s hand. “Toto, there are parts of my past I haven’t told you about. Not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I wanted to leave that life behind.”

Grigori interjects, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, but my dear, can one ever truly leave such a life behind? Especially when one has risen to such ... prominent positions?”

Toto’s eyes narrow as he looks at Grigori. “And what exactly is your role in all this?”

Grigori smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Let’s just say I’m an old associate of Dmitri’s. And by extension, of Y/N’s. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you still among the living, Mr. Wolff. Our dear Y/N has quite a reputation, you know.”

You slam your hand on the table, your voice low and dangerous. “Enough, Grigori. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Grigori holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course. I meant no offense. I’m merely ... surprised. After all, your previous husbands weren’t quite so fortunate. Or so young and vigorous.”

Toto’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting between you and Grigori. “I think it’s time we left.”

As you stand to leave, Grigori calls out, “Oh, but we’ve only just begun to catch up. There’s so much your husband doesn’t know, Y/N. About the power you wield, the empire you inherited. Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth about the woman he married?”

You turn back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more dangerous. “The truth, Grigori, is that I left that life behind. I found something real, something worth living for. And if you or anyone else tries to drag me back into that world, you’ll regret it.”

Grigori leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that a threat, my dear?”

You smile, cold and sharp. “Consider it a friendly warning. From one old friend to another.”

As you and Toto walk away, Grigori can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. He’d forgotten, in the years since you’d left Russia, just how formidable you could be.

He watches as you and Toto have an intense, whispered conversation by the exit. To his surprise, instead of storming out, Toto nods, takes your hand, and leads you back to Grigori’s table.

“Mr. Volkov,” Toto says, his voice steady and controlled, “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation. About Y/N’s past, about your ... association, and about how we move forward from here.”

Grigori raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Well, well. It seems you’ve found yourself a man with a spine, Y/N. Very well, let’s talk.”

As the three of you settle back into your seats, Grigori can’t help but feel a grudging respect for Toto. Most men would have run for the hills by now, but here he is, ready to face the truth head-on.

“So,” Grigori begins, pouring fresh vodka for all of you, “where shall we start? With Dmitri? With the Bratva? Or perhaps with the mysterious deaths of Y/N’s previous husbands?”

Toto takes a sip of vodka, his eyes never leaving Grigori’s. “Let’s start with the truth. All of it.”

You sigh, your hand finding Toto’s under the table. “Alright. Dmitri was my fifth husband. He was a high-ranking member of the Bratva, and when he died, I inherited his position and his connections.”

Grigori nods approvingly. “She’s being modest. Y/N didn’t just inherit Dmitri’s position — she expanded it. Forged new alliances, eliminated rivals. She became a force to be reckoned with in our world.”

Toto looks at you, his expression unreadable. “And the other husbands?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “They were all older men, all terminally ill. It was a business arrangement. They got to spend their last months with a young wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play, I swear.”

Grigori chuckles. “Oh, come now. There were rumors, whispers of poison, of accidents arranged just so ...”

You whirl on him, your eyes flashing. “Rumors started by people like you. People who couldn’t believe a woman could gain power without resorting to murder.”

Toto squeezes your hand, his voice gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

You turn back to him, your expression softening. “Because I wanted to leave it all behind. When I met you, I saw a chance at a real life, a real relationship. I didn’t want my past to taint that.”

Grigori watches this exchange with growing fascination. He’s never seen you like this — vulnerable, open, genuinely in love. It’s... unsettling.

“And now?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “What becomes of your empire, Y/N? Your power? Your connections?”

You straighten, your voice firm. “I’ve been systematically dismantling it all. Using the resources to fund legitimate businesses, charitable foundations. I’m out. For good.”

Grigori leans back, genuinely surprised. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really walking away from it all.”

Toto speaks up, his voice steady. “We’re building something new together. Something honest, something we can be proud of.”

Grigori studies them both for a long moment, then throws back the last of his vodka. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve actually done it. You’ve found a way out.”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “I have. And I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. Y/N Wolff is retired. Permanently.”

Grigori stands, straightening his jacket. “Consider it done, my dear. But know this — there will always be those who remember who you were, what you were capable of. Be careful.”

As he turns to leave, Toto calls out, “Mr. Volkov?”

Grigori pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

Toto’s voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath the surface. “If anyone from Y/N’s past tries to cause trouble for us, they’ll have to deal with me. And I assure you, I can be just as formidable as my wife when necessary.”

Grigori studies Toto for a moment, then breaks into a broad grin. “I believe you, Mr. Wolff. I really do. Take care of her, won’t you? She’s one of a kind.”

As Grigori walks away, he can’t help but shake his head in amazement. You, the Black Widow of the Bratva, settled down and in love. Will wonders never cease?

He glances back one last time to see you and Toto deep in conversation, your hands intertwined on the table. There’s an openness to your expression that he’s never seen before, a vulnerability that speaks volumes.

For the first time in years, Grigori feels a twinge of envy. Not for your power or your wealth, but for the genuine connection you seem to have found. As he steps out into the cool Monaco night, he wonders if perhaps it’s time for him to consider a change of his own.

After all, if the infamous Y/N can find redemption and true love, maybe there’s hope for an old dog like him yet.

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menagerofmischief · 15 days ago

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Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily.

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling.

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage.

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them.

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track.

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen.

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up.

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around.

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room.

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks.

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation.

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?”

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice.

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3.

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room.

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair.

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips.

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.”

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out.

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go.

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks.

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders.

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face.

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need.

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

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hxnbi · 6 months ago

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⸻ ꗃ dreaming you

₊˚❀ synopsis: their reaction to you falling asleep on them ₊˚❀ pairings: choji tomiyama, umemiya hajime, hayato suo, haruka sakura, jo togame, akihiko nirei x gn. reader (separate)

CHOJI TOMIYAMA | 兎耳山丁子 ─ ❀ °.⁺��♡

Oh? You’re sleeping? On him? Well, that’s all the invitation CHOJI needs to snuggle up right beside you and sleep with you, cuddling up as close to your side as possible. But that nap of yours would eventually come to a stubborn halt as you later found yourself opening your eyes and left fully awake with a teenage boy clinging onto you akin to a koala latching to a tree for dear life. His warmth and closeness might be startling at first—scratch that, always startling, that unpredictable oaf—but there's something endearing about his unabashed, shameless affection that you can't help but smile at his innocent, childlike need for closeness.

Choji is a master at acting innocent and harmless, whether intentional or not. Regardless, he can and he will make sure you're wrapped up snugly in his embrace, even if it means you become his personal pillow for the night. But you were already just as smitten, even if it meant you occasionally lost sleep over his enthusiastic cuddling.

HAJIME UMEMIYA | 梅宮一 ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

Meet clingy boy part two, Hajime UMEMIYA. Similar to that of the likes of Choji, his affection knows no bounds, and he’s not shy about showing it. Your relationship with Umemiya was already very affectionate to the likes of practically any passerby who was unfortunate enough to see Umemiya’s shameless PDA, but seeing you asleep brought out a whole new side of him. Umemiya would immediately whip out a cellphone and snap a quick picture before gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and watching you sleep the rest of the time you dreamt. His clinginess reaches new heights as he spends the entire day replaying the moment in his mind, cherishing the memory of your peaceful slumber.

The next day, you would glance at your boyfriend's screen and see the most unflattering picture of you asleep from the day before; capturing your drooling face and bed hair in all its glory, now immortalized as his damn wallpaper.

"How romantic," you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes and plotting your revenge with a particularly embarrassing photo of him in mind.

HAYATO SUO | 蘇枋隼飛 ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

SUO might come off as aloof on the outside, but behind closed doors, he’s a fountain, nay, a geyser of affection. He may not act like it, but he enjoys and revels in the trust you place in him, enough to be able to put down your guard to such an extent that you were able to fall asleep right on his shoulder. His calm exterior melts away almost instantaneously in private, revealing a man who takes immense pleasure in your comfort and happiness.

Suo has sharper eyes than most. His keen gaze caught the subtle shift in the rhythm of your conversation with your fingers entwined with his. He saw that you were on the verge of drifting off. Feeling the gentle slackening of your grip on his hand, he redirected his attention to you, observing as your eyelids drooped with drowsiness, beginning to have nodded off. With a chuckle and soft and gentle smile, right before you fully dozed off, Suo took off his Furin jacket and placed it over you, ensuring you were warm and cozy.

Your subconscious self then cuddled close to it, burying your face in its familiar scent. No one would or could ever lay their hands on that same jacket again. Mark his words.

HARUKA SAKURA | 桜遥 ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

The second SAKURA realizes your head is on his shoulder—or heaven forbid his lap—he explodes, both figuratively and quite literally. His face flushes a deep red, and his heart races as if he’s just run a marathon. But in all his frantic, blushing mess, his pride prevents him from moving and disturbing your sleep. In his eyes, nothing is more important than your comfort. So, instead, Sakura sits still and stiff as a statue as he waits for you to wake up. The effort it takes for him to remain motionless is comical to any passerby who has the chance to see the seemingly constipated expression on Sakura’s face. Still, he does it for you and only you, and he is not against anyone who dares to disturb this peace.

“S-Sakura-san! What are you—”

“Be quiet right now or I’ll snap your neck and sew your mouth shut.”

“Ahah… right.”

JO TOGAME | 十亀条 ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

TOGAME is genuinely shocked when you show him even an ounce of affection, so to have you, locked hands, sitting alone and peacefully on the bench, resting your head on his shoulder, leaves him utterly speechless. Togame nails the intimidating exterior yet is incredibly sensitive, kind, and loving on the inside. His heart races as he slowly takes your body in his calloused, bigger hands and gently places your head on his lap, careful not to wake you. Your body was hardly even moving, and yet he felt warmer than ever when at his side. Perhaps this was what true love felt like…

And so, he sits there, his heart pounding, cherishing the moment of having you so close to him. It didn’t matter if he would feel sore later. All he was concerned about at that moment was you being peacefully asleep right there at his side and no one elses.

AKIHIKO NIREI | 楡井秋彦 ─ ❀ °. ⁺ ♡

NIREI is the polar opposite of Togame when it comes to handling affection, frantic both inside and out when he sees your head resting on his shoulder. If, at that moment, there were an Olympic event for internal freakouts, then Nirei would win first prize in a landslide. His mind races, wondering what he did to deserve such a divine being, choosing him of all people as your significant other. Nirei’s flustered reactions are a mix of disbelief and overwhelming joy. Thus, still in his panic, Nirei remained tense and blushing furiously, afraid to move a muscle in case he woke you, but in his mind, he was running laps of pure happiness and disbelief, wishing that this moment would last forever.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

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yoru-no-seiiki · 6 months ago

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tagging @onyanjune and @h0ly-l3mb for giving me the idea/motivation to do this lol

link to original post here

tw/cw: MDNI or you WILL be blocked, DDDNE, (skip for spoilers) yandere! reader, mentioned non/dub con, mentioned filming of said non/dubcon.

yan! cool kid has two siblings, your upperclassman and underclassman respectively. and it hella irritates him how close you are to the two.

ofc yan! reader’s intentions have and will always be depraved yearning. they only befriended the pair for the sake of “getting close to the in-laws.” after all you wouldn’t be a good future spouse if you weren’t somewhat involved in the family side of things.

but your tunnel vision sort of . . . backfired.

“quite a bunch of lunches you’re packing.” he mumbled, raising his head from his arms after a thorough nap through class. he had already studied everything that subject had to offer and thoroughly memorized it thanks to his notes that were covered in photos of you.

“oh these? these aren’t just for me, silly.” you answered. he already knew what you were planning, and you already knew that he knew, but keeping this façade of normalcy was a game you two liked to play, “you haven’t been bringing food to school recently i’ve noticed. so i made some more to share.”

“just one?”

you blinked at him, confused. laughing after you realize where his eyes were focused on. you explain that the rest will be going to his siblings, since you thought it may be a household / financial problem.

soon after that you took off, trying your best to hide the giddy feeling in your body threatening to spill unto your facial expressions.

yan! cool kid stares at his brand new lunch and wonders if you also cut out heart shaped potato for their curries, planning out ways to torture yan! loser later

yan! loser who’s yan! cool kid’s younger brother. they look so different, their demeanors even further apart. the only way you knew they were related was cause you stalked the latter on his way back home and almost killed the former before you found out.

you dropped by his class with a smile. his classmates staring at you with wide eyes as those in higher levels rarely ever go to this section of school.

“i hope you don’t mind, but i made lunch for you. is that okay?”

“is ThaT okAy?” he parroted back at you, his voice cracking, nerves on edge at all the people staring at the situation. he was going to eat lunch alone in the bathroom again like always but was occupied with erasing the marks left by his bullies on the table.

you laugh at his response, and set the lunch you prepared on his table.

you stare blankly at the brutal remarks written across. silently you walked outside before coming back with a spare table. you frown as the food you left remained untouched.

“you should eat first. lunch won’t last forever.”

you pat the poor boy’s back and left.

one last delivery til you were done.

you breathed in, knocking the door to the student council’s room. “mr. president, it’s me.”

“come in.”

yan! school president doesn’t even raise his head to look at you. his focus remaining on the papers in his hand and table. “leave the lunchbox there.” the bespectacled man points to your table in the room.

you set it down obediently and walked out. at least, you tried to until he stops you. “before you go, tell me why i shouldn’t report your actions to the faculty.”

you don’t turn around from the door, but still you answer, “hm, actions?”

“you, using school funds to pay for my youngest brother’s harassment.”

“…mmm…” you turned around, placing a hand on your chin in feigned deep thought “because . . . you love love love me?”

yan! president sighed. you hear paper shredding.

“you may go.”

you giggled. stepping outside of the stuffy room to go finally see your beloved again in class.

you put a hand in your pocket and fished out your phone. briefly smiling at the home screen wallpaper of yan! cool kid and quickly tapping out the password.

you then delete the video of yan! president tying you up as his unclothed hips slammed into yours. your skin covered in bites and slap marks all over. your eyes converging fear as tears fell and your mouth was gagged and unable to voice the feeling. the once prim and proper man man groaning in ecstasy and yelling words of degradation as he defiled you.

but you could only cringed at the words “i love you.” escaping his lips.

“a little reward for mercy i suppose.”

you stuff your phone back into your pocket. wondering if you should also warn him about the laxatives.

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zalayni · 1 year ago

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🌆 LOVE U 3000┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pairing: earth 42!miles morales x reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: your life is always interesting now that you're dating the one and only miles morales.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ author's note: the discord server for atsv fans between 13-16 is still open so hmu if you wanna join 😝😝

he cups his hand under your mouth whenever he feeds you food so it won't fall on your clothes.

“here Mami try this” miles cupped his hand under her chin and gently blew in the soup that he had in a spoon so it wouldn't burn your mouth.

your his shadowboxing victim whenever his friends aren't around

he doesn't mind being his nerdy self around you

miles punched the air and faked dodge a nonexistent punch before turning towards you as you sat on his bed with your phone in your hand. “do you think I can defeat batman?” you rolled your eyes and chuckled at him. “Miles he's like twice your size.”

you two obviously play fight for fun. he never once hurt you for real

he gets too lazy to type out his messages sometimes so he resorts into sending you voicenotes instead

deadly ass side eye whenever you jokingly insult him

“that purple hoodie you have on makes you look like grimace” you said with a hand on your mouth to stop the laughter that was about to burst out of her. Miles stopped in his tracks slowly turning his eyes towards you, side eyeing your laughing figure. “you play too much.”

he has the receipt tucked into his wallet from your guy's first date which was at the arcade.

has his lockscreen and wallpaper saved as a picture of you two. he changes it atleast once a month because he adores taking pictures of you.

a bright flash disturbed you from doing your skin care routine. you turned your vanity chair towards the source only to find Miles smiling down at his phone. “did you just take a picture of me?” “um maybe."

you two love to post eachother on your instagrams

bro does not know how to swim 😭😭 if you're able to swim then he'll ask you to teach him but if you can't that still won't stop the two of you from going swimming especially when it's summer

stares at you whenever you're doing your makeup, hair, or even your skincare.

“Morales you're staring.” you joked seeing him stare at you from the corner of your eye. this made Miles scoff “so what?”

he wears a chain with your initial as the pendant and he wears matching bracelets with you.

whenever he sleeps with a bonnet on he wakes up with the end of it hiding one of his eyes.

“what are you laughing at?” he croaked still obviously half asleep. “did you turn emo miles?” you asked before pointing at his bonnet that slipped down, hiding his left eye.

really wanted to get his ears pierced and when he finally got them he was squeezing the blood out of your hands once they held the needle against his hear

you winced at how tight Miles's grip on your hand got. You saw him shut his eyes tightly when the needle went through making the hole for the piercing. Once it was all done he looked down at your hand noticing how red it is which made him laugh. “sorry Mami.”

“five more minutes” warrior. that man refuses to get up early even if you two need to be somewhere on time.

he has a habit of turning towards you with the "did you just see that?" look whenever he sees someone doing something embarrassing.

he'll ask you to come over just so you two can bake together. his mom thinks the two of you are adorable

he has a PC set up with a his gaming chair and right next to it is your set up and chair that he had bought so you two can play together

“do you like it?" Miles said while uncovering your eyes to show you his hard work on setting everything up. the whole setup was based on your favorite colors. “how much did this cost?” you asked making Miles shut you up with a kiss. “don't even worry about it.”

you two danced in the rain once thinking it was a good idea but the both of you ended up sick afterwards

he gifts you a promise ring since you two are too young to get married just yet

has a habit of turning his head so his lips could reach your hand whenever you cup his face

has a whole board filled with pictures of you two either from a polaroid or photobooths

over all gentleman towards you (and his mom ofc)

actually loves physical touch

you were standing up making yourself a sandwich for a late night snack until you felt someone snake their arms around your waist and rest their head against your shoulder. you didn't have to look over your shoulder to figure out who it was. “hey, you hungry?” miles hummed against your shoulder, tightening his grip on your waist. “yeah.”

when you two take the subway he has his arm wrapped around your waist while resting his hand on your hip as his free hand was holding onto one of the poles. he does this no creep comes your way and so you won't fall as the subway can be pretty rough at times.

pulls out his phone whenever you two aren't together in person.

“miss you :(”

“miles I literally just left like a couple minutes ago”

he knows whenever you feel down even if you don't say anything about it

“hermosa, look at me.” he lifted your chin with his hand making you stare up at him. “what's wrong? you're not your usual self.”

respects your boundaries and leaves you alone/drops the subject if you don't feel comfortable talking about it at the moment

“sorry, I just. I just don't wanna talk about it right now.” Miles smiled at you before kissing the top of your hand that he was holding. “it's okay mi niña hermosa, talk to me when you're ready."

#across the spiderverse #atsv #miles morales #atsv imagines #earth42 miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n

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starzshopoflove · 1 year ago

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Worlds biggest snoop

Soap is nosy as fuck and drags poor Gaz into his nonsense, Ghost just misses you.

Notes: fem reader! sfw mostly ,size kink if you squint, literally just me projecting onto reader, Soap is nosy, drabble! (WC:936)

Okay, it was bound to happen eventually. Simons on deployment and his poor little civilian girlfriend is left all alone in her little bookshop while he's away on base. Of course he told you before he left and, you both made sure to spend plenty of time together on dates (and in bed)

You send him off with plenty of hugs and kisses reminding him to call whenever he has time and not to forget to take care of himself. Simon would probably keep a few photos of you in his gallery in a locked album that he looks at every night before sleeping once he’s called you.

This man is so paranoid, he even changes his wallpaper. It was a photo of you holding a pie you both made together ( he stood on the side reading the instructions while you did all the work bc you were to scared he would mess with the dough, this man has lived off of mre’s and meat his ass can NOT bake) with a little ghost dough shape baked on the top. Now its just a picture of a pile of books with your glasses on the top of the stack. Easy enough to pass off as a nice photo and still something to remind him of you.

He makes sure he has no trace of you on him once he's on base. Save for the one picture he has of you both holding a big bouquet of flowers side by side, he's staring at you stare at the camera like a love sick puppy, while you're smiling so wide your eyes are shut. That's the only thing he will keep on him, if he dies on the field he wants the last thing he sees to be you. Other than that he risks nothing.

Plain clothes that don't have your smell, none of the fancy lotions you’ve forced him to use, none of the little trinkets you slip in his pocket, none of the little letters you've slipped in his bag (He saved those to read when he came back).

Nothing.

But he was bound to fuck up eventually no?

Soap was the first to get nosy. His LT was never this calm or relaxed on deployment. He rushed a little more to get to his office each night. What was even weirder is he would lock the door this time, he never locked the door.

So of course he started taking matters into his own hands. Standing behind Ghost when he was sitting down on his phone, once he even saw him scroll past the locked album. He didn't open it of course. He never opened that unless he was alone, but he scrolled past it and Soap could see the album title.

Your Initial with a heart next to it.

This is when all the bells actually went off in his head. At first he thought Ghost finally went to therapy (LMAO NO) or maybe picked up a hobby (DOUBLE NO), but heart emojis? What on Gods green earth had moved thee Ghost to using a heart emoji

Soap was sticking like glue to Simon, reluctantly he tolerated this. Except of course when 9pm rolled around and he was kicking him out of the office.

“Come on Lt, what you gettin 'rid ‘f me for? Not like yer gonna wank in the office yeah?”

“Get out”

“Aw come on can't spare ya favorite sargent a couple hours to entertain?”

Soap was whining at this point just being an annoying little shit to try and break him.

“Out”

Ghost just dragged him out by the collar like a misbehaved kitten.

Making a show of it Johnny walked down the halls wailing about how Ghost must hate him and that their friendship means nothing, while Simons just watched him tumble around dramatically wrapping his arms around Gaz.

Once he hears the click of Ghost's office door locking he instantly straightens up, face locked on like he's on a mission and arm wrapped around Gaz like iron.

Gaz the poor boy, is verily confused watching this interaction, more confused as to why Soap is dragging him to their Lt’s door.

"C’mon”

Soap hisses pressing his ear on the door motioning Kyle to do the same.

“Fuck is you doing?”

Gaz is looking as Soap like a child who's about to get a shot, lips pursed tightly, eyes narrowed up. Course Johnny just pulls him to press up too.

Price probably just walks past them mumbling some nonsense about kids these days ignoring it, the less he knows the better

The 2 stand there in silence for a good moment until they hear the classic dialing of a number and the shifting of what sounds like Ghost taking off his mask.

Then, the sound of a woman's voice?

“Well you look awfully tired”

Oh my god Lt’s calling a woman

Your voice is chirpy and bright probably since you’ve got the night shift and had enough sleep to run the shop for the night. You little chitters of how your day went and questions of concern filled the room soothing Simon's nerves of whatever he was worrying about that day.

Soap and Gaz are jaw slacked behind the door staring at each other listening to this. Lt’s bird chirping through the little phone speaker and him actually replying in full sentences in a soft warm tone they didn't know existed

The 2 scatter before the call ends giggling to each other, well Soap giggling Gaz trying to process how Lt got a girl before him

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h-haunted · 7 months ago

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starlight

jujutsu kaisen

megumi fushiguro x reader headcanons

gender neutral

sfw

→ megumi loves being close to you. the way you cling to him and how you speak in his ear; he just turns to putty in your arms. he’ll deny it, but he knows it’s true. there’s nothing he loves more than resting his head on your chest while you stroke his hair and whisper all his worries away.

“mmm… five more minutes…” the boy grumbles, his arms only contracting tighter around your waist as you attempt to get up from underneath him. no matter how many times you told him you had things to do, he didn’t budge.

“we’ve been laying like this for two hours!”

“…fine. three more minutes.”

→ he ADORES your eyes. the way they shine, the way they light up when you see him, it all drives him crazy. he could get lost in them. sometimes he does.

“megs, are you even listening to me?” you ask, raising your eyebrow. you had been ranting about something for a few minutes, but megumi didn’t seem to be paying attention. the boy was too busy staring into your eyes, even adoring the way they look when you’re angry. he was snapped out of his trance when you snapped your fingers in front of his face.

“hm..?”

“are you listening to me?”

“yeah, yeah, totally.”

→ he gets jealous really easily. he doesn’t like it when you give other people attention. a lot of the time, he gets pouty and clingy after seeing you happy around someone else.

“who was that?” megumi asked, his arms snaking around your waist to hold you against his body.

“just a friend i haven’t seen in a while,” you shrug, leaning into his touch.”

“…oh…” the boy’s hands grip your waist as he buries his face deep in the crook of your neck. he just stands there for a moment, breathing in your scent. “just a friend..?”

“just a friend.”

→ he hates it when you’re left alone with gojo. his father figure tells you all kinds of stories about him when he was younger. everything from embarrassing pictures to things he drew, you’ve seen it all.

megumi had only left for five minutes at max. the two of you were sitting at the table having coffee, and he needed to go do something real quick. in that short amount of time, gojo had stolen his place at the table and was telling you all kinds of tales from when your boyfriend was younger.

“gojo!” megumi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. gojo just chuckled.

“c’mon, i’m just telling them about you!”

“stop. just… stop.”

→ not only does megumi get jealous of other people, he also gets jealous of his dogs. he always says they’re for fighting, not petting. that you’ll just spoil them and they won’t listen to him. yet, every single time you ask, he lets you see them.

megumi watched with a blank face as you showered the dogs with affection. the white one was licking your face, and the black one was rubbing its head against your palm. the boy grumbled, his eyes narrowing slightly. why couldn’t you give him all that attention? it wasn’t fair. though he was jealous, he couldn’t help but smile. you looked happy, and that was (mostly) all he cared about.

→ he has hundreds of pictures of you between his camera and his phone. you’re even his wallpaper. you’re just so perfect, he can’t stop. he makes sure you’re okay with it too, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“smile.” megumi says, pointing his phone at you. the moment you curl your lips up, he takes a picture before tapping the little heart icon at the bottom to add it to his favorites. you slide over to catch a quick peek at the way the picture looked. your brow furrowed.

“hmm, that one looks a little weird.”

“i think it’s perfect.”

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killsaki · 8 months ago

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aspirations ☆ your boss doesn’t understand why you let unimportant things hold you back when you can do better.

prohero!bakugou katsuki x f!sidekick!reader

3.8k words | old commission <3 | minors dni

cw / tw : cheating (not on reader), toxic relationship dynamics (not w/ bkg), fingering, blackmail, power dynamics.

this is… awkward.

bakugou katsuki feels awkward.

even in his pro-hero status, even with his usual lack of care for others and their affairs, standing at the door of his office, hearing you cry just outside of it... it’s the first time in a long time that he’s been made so… uncomfortable.

you’d come halfway across the country to work as a sidekick at the agency he ran with his old classmate, you were a promising upcoming hero who would surely do numbers once you got the right exposure and the right training. that’s the reason you picked up and moved so damn far from your hometown, from your life, from your boyfriend. at least that’s what you’ve babbled on about to bakugou while the two of you were on patrols.

you were under the impression you’d be working under deku at first and when you’d found out you were going to be working alongside dynamight you’d nearly pissed yourself and gone home, you admitted while slapping his shoulder with a laugh. something which you instantly apologized for and smoothed a hand over where you’d hit as if you’d caused the tank of a man any harm and needed to soothe the pain. you’d admit that he was far from the personality he portrayed for the media and that you’d come to enjoy being around him.

that’s why this was so weird for him. you were always so positive, a clumsy sort of happy. you were always shining, continuing conversations with him even as he shrugged you off, always laughing and tossing some kind of witty remark after he’d tell you to shut up. you were annoying at some point, but you’d pulled your weight during missions and you were a shoulder for him to lean on when he got injuries too severe to keep himself upright. you made the halls of the agency a friendlier place than they’d ever been, even with the kind and smiling hero working just on the other side of the building.

so, who could make someone like you weep like a child?

“you know i get paid in a few days, i can send it back to you.” you speak through a shaky breath and bakugou can’t help but lean closer to the thin wood that separates the two of you. “it’s not like that!” you hiccup, “you’re the one who asked if you could keep my car until i can help you get yours fixed.” the white in front of him blurs as he sorts through his thoughts, who could you possibly be having to explain yourself to? “toru, please. i just want to go to sleep, today was hard enough already.” the boyfriend. “so you really won’t pay for my uber because you’re mad about a picture of me and my boss? a picture of us doing our–”

bakugou doesn’t know why he does it, why he swings the door open and stares at you with such an annoyed expression. but he’s already doing it before he realizes and he regrets it when you jump, cutting yourself short.

“sorry,” you stare at him for a moment, taking in short breaths before you quickly wipe your face, and turn away from him. sniffling as the voice over the other end starts to become intelligible to the hero. “i just wanna get home, i’m just.. i’m sorry.”

there’s a short reply given and then, silence. it takes you a minute, and bakugou stands there waiting the entire time before you pull your phone away from your ear. the screen displaying your wallpaper, signaling that the other person had ended the call.

“i didn’t know you were still here.” you look up at one of the only fluorescent lights left on, blinking away the remnants of water in your eyes.

he sighs, checking the time on his watch before looking back up at you who has yet to spare him another glance. the trains had stopped running long ago, he didn’t need to check the time to tell him that. no, he was just checking to see how fucked up your boyfriend had to be to leave you walking on the streets at the hour, or in the hands of a stranger to get home. and it’s not that you weren’t capable on your own, more so that the guy didn’t understand how much danger it’d be if someone picked up on that pattern and took advantage of you being so tired from a full day's work. he wonders if even you have thought about that. or if that’s what you were thinking about now, as you stand in silence in a way that he’s never witnessed you do before

“i can give you a ride.” he offers and your eyes fall shut, a deep breath making your chest puff slightly and the blonde can’t help but pick up on your relief.

“i’d appreciate that.”

it’s a long, awkward walk out of the agency’s building to where he’s parked his car nearly a block away. the wind is blowing and he couldn’t imagine having to walk home himself like this.

“why don’t you park at the agency’s lot?” you ask arms wrapped around yourself. your voice is still soft but he doesn’t comment on it.

“safer for me not to, i change parking spots every few weeks.” he shrugs.

“you sure do think about everything, don't you, dynamight?” you tease, and it’s like you’re recovering bits of yourself that he can recognize.

“guess so.” he shrugs instead of lecturing you about how you should do the same, another thought too busy working it’s way from his mind to his mouth. “so why are you paying to fix his car while he uses yours?” bakugou lets his thoughts fall off his tongue, and answers your wandering mind that he did overhear most of your conversation.

“i have the job that pays more.” you reach for the seatbelt, buckling it before looking over the console and catching the red eyes that watch you so intently. “why? you looking for a cause to donate to?”

he sucks his teeth and buckles himself in, instructing you to put in your address on the car’s screen. you say something that makes yourself laugh as you lean in to do it, but it goes in one of his ears and out the other. it didn’t make any sense for you to be with someone who didn’t support you fully, someone who didn’t trust you. sure bakugou didn’t know all the details of your relationship– maybe you’d offered it up to him one day when he was too focused on how your eyes lit up to pay attention to what you'd been saying to him. but he wouldn’t know that now.

why would you of all people put up with that?

“are you gonna take me home or should i be fearing for my safety?” you raise your eyebrows to exaggerate a skeptical look, something that the blonde’s face twists up and makes you laugh. but the thought of your tears streaked face earlier appears back in his mind and he decides to let you off without a remark of his own.

“you could’ve just asked for a ride.” he glances over at you once he rolls up to a stop light and his heart feels like, just for a moment, that it stops. the sight of you under such soft red light, lips still swollen from the way you’d bitten them as you calmed yourself from crying, it does more to him than he’d like to admit. it takes everything in him to tear his gaze back to the road once the traffic signal turns green.

“if toru found out i was alone with you outside of work, let alone in your car,” you huff out an unamused laugh and it sounds awful in comparison to the sweet, hearty one he’s grown used to. “he would have a fit.”

“sounds like a real perfect guy.” bakugou doesn’t look at you as he follows the gps and turns the next corner, but he can feel your eyes on him. how they trace from the neons shining off his wristwatch up his toned arms that are littered in pink scars, can feel the heat of your stare when it’s guided to his chin where he wonders if you can see the stubble he didn’t care enough to shave away this morning.

“he’s alright.” you finally respond and it makes the prohero next to you feel ill. “my high school sweetheart and all… i’m sure it’s just a rough patch.”

“right.” it wasn’t his place to meddle into whatever you have going on in your personal life. but you were one to look at the brighter side of things, he wonders if that was something you’d always done or something you forced yourself into. “a rough patch.”

the time of arrival for the destination keeps creeping closer and bakugou doesn’t know why it’s bothering him so badly.

“thanks for the ride home, mr dynamight, sir.” you salute him and he just blinks, making you giggle as you gather your things from his car.

“bakugou,” he takes your cup from his console, despite the passing thought that the colors look nice against the ones of his car’s interior. “calling me bakugou outside the workplace is fine.”

you hesitate before taking the cup, and he hates the smile that creeps up on your face when you finally do grab it from him. why the hell would he say something unprofessional like that?

you skip off with a “goodnight, mr. bakugou, sir.” and head up to your front door without catching the sight of how dramatically he rolls his eyes, or the slight lift of his lips when he thinks about how your voice sounds addressing him as something other than his trademarked name.

and from there, it’s a slippery slope, he comes to realize.

one ride turns into twenty and soon enough he’s sitting in his office chair every night waiting for you to come to tell him that you’re ready to go home.

he finds the same kind of habit forms around your shared lunch break when the two of you are working in the office rather than on the field. you’d always walked past his office, but after a comment on one of those drives to your place, you’d started to welcome yourself into his office to compare lunches. and now he can't seem to bring himself to take a bite until you’ve wandered in and finished your bit.

like now, he sits with the same lunch he’s been eating since monday because he meal prepped this week, and he needs you to come in and tell him how boring it must be eating the same thing over and over. his fingertips pad impatiently at the wood of his desk, you're always in here by now.. now that he thinks about it, you hadn’t come to ask if his coffee was bitter after getting it for him this morning.

his phone buzzing in his slacks pulls him from the thought and throws him into another one.

deku: hey, i know you’re being kind to the sidekick and all… but didn’t you say her boyfriend would be mad if he knew you were giving her rides? you should think about how that would affect her working here.

the blonde sighs and he doesn’t even want to respond to the message. he’s already on edge after starving off his lunch, plus the fact you’re not being normal today, why is midoriya suddenly interested in how your professional relationship affects your at home life?

bakugou: would you rather some villain stalk her schedule and kidnap the sidekick that you requested to come out here?

he types out, and he’s right. he knows he’s right, he’s keeping you safe by picking you up and dropping you off from his car's undisclosed location.

deku: that’s not what i meant

bakugou taps the side of his phone as the three dots come and go as midoriya no doubt types up a paragraph that bakugou will most likely not read. where the hell are you?

bakugou: i’m just making sure she gets home alright.

he sends, hoping it’ll be enough to end the conversation. he locks his phone and places it on the table next to his meal, the meal that, after eyeing the door once more, he starts to dig into. it’s a few minutes before he gets the next notification, but when he reads it, he’s stuck staring at the chair you’re supposed to be in while he finishes eating.

deku: are you sure that’s all it is?

—

the two of you have grown close. that much is obvious to everyone who witnesses you by his side. he wouldn’t call himself fond of you, but he knows it’d be a lie to say he hates your presence, or that he doesn’t mind the absence of it. what he doesn’t understand is why the feeling in his chest is so intense when you walk in for your routine ride home with a blank expression and a single piece of paper in your hand.

“what is this?” he accepts it as you offer, and he’s half expecting it to be some stupid printed-out meme, or maybe even you showing off an email about a magazine cover that you landed. but instead, it’s formally addressed to him as–

“my letter of resignation.”

to say bakugou is confused is an understatement.

“i enjoyed working by your side. it was an experience i am sure will forever remain unmatched in my career.” your voice is shaking. the blonde tries to focus on the words in ink in front of him but nothing seems to register even as he eyes them over and over. “i’m very thankful for the time i was allowed to spend here, please don’t think otherwise. i’ll be sure to thank mr. deku as well for giving me the opportunity since–”

“why are you leaving?” his words come harsh, his face twisted up in a way he’s never shown to you and he’s not surprised when even then you don’t finch much.

“i need to go back home.” is all you let out, looking everywhere but at him.

he sits on it for a moment, that feeling in his chest starts to swell as he realizes the motives behind your actions today, behind this damn resignation letter.

“don’t you wanna be a big name pro?” he discard the paper on his desk as he pushes himself out of his chair to approach you. “so why are you throwing away your best chance— your only real chance at that for some small-town boyfriend?”

your eyes go wide as they tear from the back of his computer monitor to look into his own. the look of offense on your face is prominent but it’s nothing in comparison to the offense bakugou feels.

“it’s so much more than just my boyfriend.” you scoff, eyebrows knitting together. “what would you know?! you’re just my boss, you have no idea what my relationship is like.”

he’s never seen you mad before, you look… good.

“i know you’re sending money back home to cover his expenses. i know you’re paying for everything you have here all on your own.” he steps towards you with each sentence, making you take a step back in time with his strides. “i know he doesn’t check to see if you make it home safe, i know you’ve slept on the floor because you can’t afford furniture and food.”

you might not have told him much about your boyfriend, but he does know that he doesn’t deserve you... not the way that bakugou does.

“i never told you any of that..” your hand feels for the arm of the couch you’ve been backed into.

“you’re obvious.” he shrugs and it’s now that you start to breathe in short pants, your eyes dart to the door— unlocked but closed. then to his chest— he’s big, much bigger than you, stronger than you. “the last thing i would do is hurt you.” he tilts his head and your breathing clams, if only a little.

“sorry, i don’t know what i was thinking.” you whisper, you bring a hand to your forehead as you fall to sit on the arm of the couch. “today has just been... it’s been too much.”

bakugou nods. he hasn’t seen you cry since the first time he cared to listen to you speak. he doesn’t want to see that again, but he’d be bitter if the chance of it was taken away from him altogether.

“but you’ll stay.”

“i– i can’t stay. i’ll lose toru, i’ll lose the house,” you start gesturing around at nothing, voice sounding hollow. “i can’t stay bakugou.”

“if you go there’ll be nothing waiting for you.” he shrugs, grabbing your hands when they freeze. “i have toru’s information already. i’ll send him one of the many pictures you’d decided to take on my phone, while you were in my car.” the words taste awful off bakugou’s tongue but he doesn’t stop speaking them.

“why would you?” he can’t bring himself to look at your expression anymore.

“i wouldn’t even need to say anything then, i think that’d be enough.” you make a choked sound and he’s sure there are tears in your eyes. “so you’ll stay here.”

“that’s not fair.” your hands fall limp in his hold and he finally looks at you, the tears stream down your face and bakugou doesn’t even know what he’s doing anymore.

“your boyfriend’s in the way of your dream.” he swallows, convincing both you and himself but his sure tone never falters. “you can’t do anything for yourself if you go back to him. you can’t accomplish anything unless you’re here,” you blink away the tears, big eyes staring up at him. “unless you’re with me.”

you take in a shaky breath through trembling lips but nod all the same. you lean forward to rest against bakugou’s hard abdomen, your hands falling from his hold as you move. he has to stop himself from letting out a smug chuckle at the way you instantly come to him for comfort, to think you’d almost slipped through his hands.

“i’m tired of thinking about this.” you hiccup and throw yourself back on the cushions with one arm thrown over your eyes. parts of yourself that bakugou could recognize returning once again, only the way your head rolls to your shoulder and the look in your eyes as you peek up at him is something he’s never seen from you before. “help me?”

what you’d been alluding to is made clear when you reach out a hand for him, one that he doesn’t hesitate to take. he doesn’t even bother to speak any other word before he’s pressing his lips into your own, strong arms maneuvering you on the uncomfortable faux leather so quick it makes a loud noise as your skin rubs against it. he nearly moans at the way your arms wrap around his neck, the way they tangle into and tug at his hair while he slots himself between your legs.

the instant you press your hips up against him, he realizes how wrong he’s been. bakugou does favor you, he favors everything about you. he favors the way you talk shit to him, the way you laugh, the way you roll your eyes, how differently you act in interviews versus in his office, and he favors more than anything how you feel pressed up against him.

he all but tears your shirt off of you, and then your pants, both thrown to a grave somewhere on the rugged floor. his hands are rough as they glide down your body. his pads press in between your collarbones down between your breast, round your ribs, and down to squeeze at your hips.

“hurry up,” you whine, bringing your heel up to push at the waistband of his pants.

“always rushin’ me.” he sucks his teeth, but his voice is soft as he speaks.

he shivers at the sounds you make from his fingers gliding along the seat of your panties, barely damp, likely from your nerves— but bakugou can fix that. kisses are pressed to your neck, something much sweeter than anyone would expect, aside from of course you. you, the sweet little thing who saw past the hard shell everyone else encased him in, though he didn’t do much to prevent it.

his thumb finds its way to your clit, pressing circles on it through the fabric and your head falls back against the cushions, small gasps and whines following his every movement. it’s not until you start to push against him that he finally pulls your underwear to the side.

your sounds easily double in volume when he finally makes contact with your heat directly, a few more wet shapes rubbed into your clit before his fingers trail down to your entrance and you pull him by his hair from your neck, forcing him into a kiss while he presses a single thick digit into you. he rolls his wrist, hoping to stretch you a bit more before adding another, but your desperate hands wind into his shirt and he can’t help but give in.

he adds another and scissors them inside you, prodding to find that spot that had your lips parting, mind and body have given up on being able to kiss him as the pleasure takes over you. you’re dripping down his hand by the time you start babbling nonsense, and it’s all he can do to fuck his fingers into you despite the way you claw at his back, how your legs squeeze around him, and your pussy clamps down on him.

and when his name tumbles out somewhere along your nonsense as you cream down into his palm, for the first time in a long time, bakugou feels warm inside, something beyond the heat between his legs.

he lets you hold him while your breathing settles, even keeps his fingers inside you as you come back down to earth. he wants so bad to fuck you right now, to have you cry his name again and again as you make a mess on his cock this time... but he also wants to never let you move from under him, to keep himself wrapped around you at all times.

“i don’t wanna sleep on the floor anymore,” you whisper, and the blonde wonders how your boyfriend would feel if he knew that forcing you to turn in a resignation would lead to you being putty in his hands.

“come sleep at my place.”

you nod against him and, slowly, he helps to clean and dress you before you let him drag you off the couch.

“you’re always so helpful, baku’.” you rub your eyes as you lean against him, mindlessly following him to the car you’d been mistaken to get months ago.

but bakugou will later reiterate his intention were just truly just to help. just like when it came to officially end your relationship with toru, which would happen tonight after bakugou sends the loser a picture of you fast asleep in the same bed as pro hero dynamight—right where you should be.

#bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha x you #bnha x reader #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #my hero x reader #my hero smut #boku no hero smut #boku no hero x reader

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mrchiipchrome · 9 months ago

Text

The Museum

W.C. - 5.2 k

this is so the 'pookie looks absolutely fire' tiktok couple coded

thank you to the anon that requested this, much love to you:)

-------------

The skittles made a crunching sound as your molars bit down on them, it was an every day snack for you, tasting the rainbow more often than not. It was a relatively new habit, but when your ex had broken up with you, you promised yourself to become a better person.

It obviously had to be you who had something wrong with them, otherwise she wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone else and out of love with you. Quitting smoking was the first thing on your agenda, hence the skittles.

The next thing was to get away from the small southern town in Texas, move so far away that you left the country entirely. The only thing you’d taken with you on the plane was a carryon with 2 changes of clothes, your cowboy hat and a dream of bettering your life.

The third thing you bettered was your health, going out for a run every morning through the streets of London, going to the gym after work, doing push-ups before bed. It worked wonders, the tips you got from the ladies at the bar where you worked were simply incredible.

The fourth thing you wanted to improve was your cultural knowledge, the exact reason why you were standing in the middle of a museum, old renaissance paintings in every corner of the large room. It was something you appreciated, none of that modern bullshit where people just taped a banana to a canvas and called it art, it was back from when people actually painted.

Your hand slipped down your body into your jacket pocket, fetching another piece of candy, although a voice speaking up from your right startled you nearly enough for you to drop it back into the bag.

“You’re not supposed to eat in museums, you know?” The woman had a foreign dialect, just like you. You guessed it was from somewhere in the middle of Europe, maybe Germany or any of the neighboring countries.

“It’s not a problem if you don’t tell on me, no one has to know.” She seems just as startled by your accent as you were by her speaking to you, her cheeks dusted with a light pink at the wink you sent her.

“What are you going to do if I tell them? Take me back to your ranch on your horse?” The mystery woman teases, obviously making fun of the accent and the cowboy hat sitting perched on your head. In response you laugh under your breath, shaking your head in amusement.

“I’m afraid that I left the ranch back in Texas, Miss. All I have here is a small one bedroom apartment.” She looks up at you through the side of her eye, her half smile distracting you more than you’d like to admit. Her brows knit together when she notices a security guard eying the two of you curiously and her elbow digs into your ribs when you once again reach for the skittles in your pocket.

“Nice hat, my friend would be jealous.” You nod in agreement, plucking the stetson off your head and turning it around in your hand. In a brief moment of stupidity, you place the cowboy hat on the pretty stranger’s head, it falling down the front of her face to cover her eyes. It’s frankly adorable, the way she brings her hand up to push it back to the crown of her head.

The reassuring smile on her face tells you that she approves of your action, a relief to your entire being. She takes her phone out of her back pocket, turning it on and snapping a picture of you both, the cowboy hat still perched on top of her head.

In response, you snap a picture of her alone, the woman posing like a cowboy would for you. She was going to be the wallpaper of your phone for a while, even though you didn’t even know her name.

“So, do you have a name or am I just going to have to call you mine?” The cheesy pickup line just slips out, not at all consciously, it was like instinct took over, a pretty girl was to be flirted with.

“I wouldn’t mind being called yours, but for now you can call me Lia.” The woman doesn’t seem uncomfortable by your advances, in fact she embraces them, teasing smile telling you that she found it amusing how worried you got over a simple pickup line.

“Lia, a beautiful name for an even more gorgeous girl.” She gains her pink tint back, the compliment likely the cause of her blush. It wasn’t like she never got complimented, it was just the attractive zing your accent put over the words that made them feel more sincere.

“And how about you? A name attached to that pretty face?” Now it was your turn to blush at the other woman’s words, her lips splitting into a full toothed smile.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” You imitate Bond to introduce yourself, sticking your hand out for her to take, a firm handshake and the tip of an imaginary hat letting her know who exactly it is you are.

“Good to know my future last name.” She winks at you and the blush that’s already covering your face deepens significantly. The insinuation that you were to marry the girl beside you too much for your poor little heart to take.

She starts to walk away from you and towards another section of the room, looking back over her shoulder when she realizes that you weren’t right beside her, walking. Waving her hand in a “come here” motion, you quickly catch up with the older woman.

“So, why skittles? Is there not any other sweet you’d rather have?” She asks as you match her slow rhythm of steps, your hands shoved in the pockets of your coat with your arms forming loops. Lia threads one of her arms through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder, standing still all of a sudden to look at a painting. It didn’t feel like you’d just met, like you’d just introduced yourselves to one another, it felt like you’d known each other for decades, easily slipping into being comfortable with each other.

You gaze at her as she looks at the painting, making sure to map out all her gorgeous features and commit them to memory. She was like a breath of fresh air in a world of polluted oxygen.

“First of all it’s called candy, not sweets, candy. Secondly, they’re amazing for when you want to stop smoking.” Her cheek smushes against your shoulder as she turns her head to look up at you, her eyebrows scrunched together adorably.

“You were a smoker?” You feel the strong urge to place a peck atop her lips, soft and warm against your own. But in the end you resist, you’d only just met the woman for god’s sake, you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Her eyes hold so many emotions that you just can’t read.

“Yeah, only for about a year. My ex stressed me out so much that I felt it was the easiest way to deal with it. But when she broke up with me, I decided to get my life back together, moved here, got a job at a bar and that’s it. That’s why I’m here.” Lia listens intensively at the story you’re telling her, the way she looks at you suggests that she’s hanging off your every last syllable.

“So no more smoking at all for you?” You puff your chest up, proudly displaying the grin on your face and your now discolored tongue. Lia looks on in amusement at your actions, a grin that could light up an opera house on her face.

“Nope, I’m never picking up a cigarette again.” The amusement turns into a sort of profound proud feeling, a feeling that she definitely shouldn’t be feeling for what is practically a stranger. A stranger that in the matter of a mere hour had worked their way into her heart and made themselves home.

“Good, I’m really happy for you.” The softened look on Lia’s face makes you blush, it was the way most people looked at their loved ones. You couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to be one of her loved ones, how it would feel to see her first thing in the morning, to gaze into her tentative eyes and try to read her like a book just because you know exactly how it is she acts, how she feels at that exact moment, what she thinks.

At your faraway look Lia nudges you in the ribs, giggling at the embarrassed expression that occupies your face. Her giggle could only be described as a ray of sunlight, lighting the glum room up in seconds, giving it a golden glow.

The older woman doesn’t miss the fondness in your gaze as you watch her laugh, your own lips splitting into a smile and soon after a loud belly laugh bubbles up in your chest, welling out of your mouth like water out a dam.

Only moments later the both of you are doubled over in laughter, tears slipping down your cheeks and arms crossed over your stomachs. Some scattered guests give you two dirty looks, as if you were peasants in a house full of royals, but they are counter effective because it only makes you and Lia laugh harder.

The security guard from earlier approaches you both as you drop down to the floor with a loud thump, Lia bursting out into an entire new fit of laughter as you try to catch your breath.

“Y/n, I’ve already let you get away with a lot today but this is your last strike. Up you get, I’ll escort you and your lady companion to the exit.” He speaks through his thick mustache, his round beer gut bobbing up and down with every word like he needed every fat covered muscle of his stomach to get the words out.

Small giggles escape you both as Lia and you are led out of the building by a firm grip around both of your arms. You both watch in amusement as the fat man gets winded walking back up the stairs he just led you down, bending over for a brief second at the top before disappearing back behind the door.

“So, I take it you know the security guard then?” She sounds a little out of breath as she speaks to you, flyaways sticking out of her bun, your hand itches to reach up and smooth them out, undo her bun and run your fingers through her hair. But you don’t.

“Yeah, he’s my regular. Comes in every day and buys a pint after work, a good friend of mine he is. He lets me get away with eatin’ in there every time I come.” You stand right in front of the brunette, hands again in your pockets as you smile at her tentatively. Her hand comes up to rub at your arm, and you feel as though you were going to pass out at any moment, the electric feeling of her ring covered fingers touching your arm overwhelming in a good way.

“Ah, a museum nepo baby then.” You can tell that she’s joking by the way her eyebrows raise all the way up to her hairline, and you imitate her by doing the same thing. Another fit of giggles ensues, Lia looking directly into your eyes, holding eye contact for a prolonged amount of time.

It makes you nervous, her somewhat challenging gaze locking on your face for a moment longer than necessary. When she grasps your hands in hers you finally look back at her, meeting her tender gaze with your own.

“I really enjoyed today, I was hoping we could do it again sometime.” The older woman looks at you sheepishly, nearly nervously. You’re mesmerized by her gorgeous simplicity, simple smile grazing her lips as you nod, a recognisable warmth behind the hug she gives you, the quick kiss she places on your cheek haphazardly before walking away, not looking back to see your rose tinted cheeks.

It’s only when Lia has disappeared far behind the horizon that you realize that you have no way to contact her AND that she essentially got away with your favorite cowboy hat. You aren’t as distraught about your hat as you are about not getting her number, it was a dumbass move from you.

You drag your feet all the way back to your apartment, not knowing that only moments after you left the museum, the girl of your dreams ran back all the way to get your number. And like you, she dragged her feet all the way back to her apartment, sulking and questioning her own intelligence.

Arriving at the bar that evening was strange, you felt almost empty without the girl you’d met earlier that day, no light brown cowboy hat perched atop your head nor a beaming smile. It was weird to everyone around you, you always had that damned hat on, but now it was a completely different one, black with a few white accents.

“What happened to you? It looks like someone ran over your dog.” Your co-worker and best friend Marla asks, placing her hand on your shoulder softly as if you were to break if she did it any harder. Shaking your head, your other friend and co-bartender Jason comes up to rub your back softly, the comfort from both of your best friends loosening you up significantly and soon after you spill everything that had happened up to that point.

They were both smirking at you when you finished up the story, knowing that despite only just meeting the woman in the museum you were already in love.

“So do you have a picture of this goddess who’s making you drop to your knees?” Marla asks you, looking knowingly at your other best friend, who in return wiggles his eyebrows at her. You knew something would happen between them soon, and you’d rather be in hell than to watch it.

“Yeah, just give me a quick sec.” Pulling out your phone, you quickly unlock it and enter the photo app, not needing to scroll as the most recent photo was of her, Lia.

“Girl, are you fucking with me?” You look at the dark skinned girl in confusion, her eyes widening as she realizes that you had no fucking clue who it was you had met. She looks to her ‘boyfriend’ quickly in shock, who looks back at her equally appalled.

“Are you telling me you don’t recognise her?” The moment you shake your head is when the green eyed boy facepalms, not believing your stupidity. “Not at all? You haven’t seen her before.” When you once again shake your head the man sighs in disappointment, all faith in your intelligence practically gone.

“Girl. That is Lia Wälti, you know one of the best midfielders in the country? Arsenal Women’s player.” Now it’s your turn to look shocked, not at all knowing that she was a footballer. All the times you’d gone over to Marla’s house to watch footy, she’d probably been injured.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I didn’t even recognise her.” You lean against the door, sliding your body down until you’re sitting flush on the floor, head in your hands. Jason places his hand on your shoulder, smiling softly at you as he tries to reassure your overwhelmed mind.

“Hey, man, it was probably a good thing that you didn’t recognise her. She knows that you’re not some crazed fan trying to kill her, eh?” Marla’s hand plucks your cowboy hat from your head and runs her fingers through your hair, your shared shift started in mere minutes and yet they were there, comforting you.

“I’m okay, just a bit shell shocked.” They both laugh, pulling you up by your hands and bringing you into a group hug, patting your back before Marla gives you your hat back, smacking both you and Jason’s asses before disappearing out to her office.

“You know, we have an extra ticket to the Arsenal game on Sunday, so I mean if you want to see her again then you’re welcome to join.” You smile at the man’s kindness, telling him that you’ll definitely take him up on his offer. You didn’t have a shift at the bar either way that day so spending it looking for your … well you didn’t really know what it was she is to you. All you know is that you wanted to see her again.

Two days later you find yourself sitting as close to the pitch as you possibly can, waiting for the North London derby to start.

Lia is in the starting lineup, looking determined as she waits for the whistle signaling the start of the game to sound. The shrill noise cuts through the air and the game starts.

It’s physical right from the start, loads of pushing and shoving coming from both sides, red and white. There are a few times where you nearly jump to your feet as Lia gets pushed but the fact that your friends sat there right beside you made you choose not to.

At half time the score is the same as the beginning, nil-nil. Despite not knowing much about football you join in on analyzing the first half of the game, mentioning all the times Lia went down. Marla makes some ‘innocent’ comments about how you’d much rather have her ‘go down’ somewhere else. The blush that overtakes your face is enough for you to blend in with your jersey, the red of the Arsenal shirt the same shade as your face.

When the second half starts, you’re basically on your feet all the way through, cheering loudly when Alessia scores, meaning that the gunners were up one-nil.

It’s particularly hilarious when Lia finally notices you, a pause in the game meaning that she had the time to look around at the fully packed Emirates Stadium. When those eyes you love to gaze into meet yours for the first time since Friday, her face split open in a smile, a smile reaching all the way up to her eyes.

It looks like she has to physically restrain herself so that she doesn’t run over to you, her body shaking slightly as she calmly inches her way towards you, the cheers of the fans around you becoming louder as the player comes closer. Lia tunes them all out though as she looks at you, the only thing cutting through her trance being the whistle signaling the freekick being awarded.

Lia looks back towards you as she walks in the direction of the group of players and you wink at her, even though she’s far away it seems like she saw it, the deep tint of red dusting her face definitely more than exertion from the game.

When the three loud whistles sound throughout the arena, it explodes in cheers as Arsenal manage to keep their one-nil lead and in doing so make London red again. But you don’t even acknowledge the win when there’s a speeding Lia Wälti heading straight in your direction.

She only starts to slow down as she reaches the barrier which separates the fans from the pitch and players, with you standing up behind it to watch her come closer and closer with every quick step she takes.

Lia throws her arms around your torso when she comes close enough, the way that she had been longing for your touch had been driving her crazy in the days since you first met. She also knew that it wasn’t smart to do it all out in the open, fans and professionals alike were probably going to know everything about you within a few days. You didn’t seem to mind though, content with having her in your arms again.

Pulling away from her, you quickly take her face in your hands, looking her over to see if her face was scratched up from all the times she’d met the ground in the game.

“Shit, darling, I think you spent more time on the ground in this game than on your feet. You ought to be more careful.” Your southern drawl is especially thick when you speak to her, the worry you’d experienced the entire game bubbling to the surface.

“I’m perfectly fine, I think you’re forgetting that I do this for a living.” She smiles at you reassuringly and you calm down fully, her hand placed on your arm a sure factor of it. Lia’s head turns to your side, looking directly at your friends who both send her starstruck looks.

“Hi, I’m Lia.” The footballer smiles in their direction and they both remain in their seats, completely unmoving. She looks back to you concerned and in response you just laugh, they were apparently not expecting her to actually greet them. “Are they okay?”

“I think they’re just a bit starstruck.” Gesturing towards their gaping mouths, Marla quickly slaps your hand away from her face, biting at the air to show you that she wasn’t afraid to bite.

“Oh okay, well do you think they want anything signed? I can ask the team, or maybe if you want we can go meet them?” Lia sounds unsure of herself, apparently doubting that her first impression on your friends was good.

“I think that they’d love that sweetheart. But judging from all the looks we’re getting from that same team, I do think they want you back.” You glance towards the women gathered in a clung in the middle of the pitch, all of them staring at you and Lia interacting. She sighs at their slightly invasive culture, but alas there wasn’t anything that she could do about it. When you smile and wave at them, you’re thoroughly amused when every single one of them repeats your actions back to you, some in confusion and some in amusement.

“A guard is going to tell you to follow him, just do as he says and we’ll meet again soon.” By that point the stadium was almost empty, everyone wanting to go home and brag about their team’s win over the archrival. So as Lia walks away from you, you’re totally free to stare at her ass, only stopping when Marla slaps your arm harshly.

“Did that just happen?” Jason asks shakily, running his hand down his face in embarrassment.

“You’re damn right it did.” You laugh at their stupid expressions, their embarrassment clear on their faces. “Well look on the bright side, y’all are going to meet the team.” With that their embarrassment turned into excitement, meeting their favourite athletes quickly turning their mood around.

“Y/n Y/l/n? Come with me and take your friends with you.” Walking around the labyrinth of slinging hallways and narrow paths, you appear in front of the locker room in no time, the loud music escaping the door a clear indicator of the Gunners good match.

“Now just wait out here until they come out, they’ll probably be out in a few.” The guard tells you unbothered, not caring at all that he’s leaving people he doesn’t know outside of the locker room.

“Yes sir.” You speak up clearly, mock saluting him as he disappears down the hallway with a sigh.

“I can’t believe that you’re 28, you act like a 12 year old.” Marla tells you jokingly, leading to you pushing her away from you. In the span of a few seconds both you and Marla find yourselves on the floor, engaging in a wrestling match. It only gets broken up when the sound of the door opening echoes through the hallway, both you and your best friend quickly getting on your feet.

“Nah what’s going on here?” A very amused Irish accented voice escapes the player exiting the locker room, one Katie McCabe staring at you and Marla.

“It was her fault.” You point at Marla so as to gesture that it was her who started it, the woman vehemently denying it.

“So I’m guessing you’re Lia’s cowboy then?” Katie completely ignores the blame game currently going on in front of her as she talks to you. Blushing at being called Lia’s, you quickly start to stutter out an answer.

“I- uhm yeah, I think so?” Laughter coming from behind the Irish woman makes you glance in the direction of the sound. Seeing Leah Williamson of all people is not what you expect, a bit starstruck yourself.

“Of course it’s the cowboy you buffoon, who else would wear a cowboy hat in London? You have to tell me where you bought the one Lia brought home, I need a new one. Mylie-moo chewed mine to filth a couple days ago.” Leah throws her arm around your shoulder as if you’d known each other for years, the woman clearly having heard a thing or two about you.

“Oh well I’ll be sure to bring you one next time I go back to Texas, my buddy Carl, he’s 72 and he makes the most gorgeous hats you can imagine. Last time I visited him I made him an instagram page, I’ll send you the link if you want?” You speak enthusiastically with the England captain, her arm still resting around your shoulders casually. Both Marla and Jason are in a conversation with Katie and Lotte, who just got out of the locker room.

“Important question, so answer me truthfully now, do you like country music?” She looks at you skeptically, trying to deduce if you’re being truthful or not. The question itself makes you roll your eyes playfully, but alas it didn’t surprise you. It was widely known that Leah was quite the country fan.

“Ma’am I grew up in Texas, yeah I’m a country fan. I’d be disowned if I wasn’t.” Leah looks at you like you’re her hero, it was clear to you that she accepted you. The hinges of the door squeak as a few other players exit, namely Lia.

“Lia please let me steal her, she’s perfect.” Leah says jokingly, holding onto your arm softly like she was a little kid. Lia looks at her weirdly, but quickly catches on to the joke, walking over to the two of you.

“I know, that’s why I want to keep her.” Lia wraps her arms around your waist tightly, her newly washed hair curling up into adorable curls, head placed on your shoulder.

“Sharing is caring.” Leah is on the verge of laughter as she talks, the statement a shocking one for sure. It was hilarious though so you also had to keep from laughing.

“I mean I wouldn’t mind-” Lia shoots you a mean glare at your half serious words, and even though it was like being glared at by an adorable kitten, Lia already had you wrapped around her finger. “Actually I’m taken so I don’t think that would work.”

All it takes for you all to break character is a shouted ‘WHIPPED’ coming from one of the players watching the interaction like it was a soap opera, the three of you laughing like it was the last thing you’d do.

“Alright, anyone want a drink? Not to brag but I can make a mean cocktail.” The women all cheer as you ask them, everyone rushing out to get into their cars and get to the bar. Just as you’re about to follow them, someone takes hold of your collar, making it so that you can’t go.

Lia looks back when you don’t follow her but you just wave her off, telling her to go on without you. Turning back, you’re met with all the ‘scariest’ Arsenal players, looking like they’re about to beat you up.

“Listen carefully now, because this will only be said once, if you hurt a hair on her head, do anything to hurt her emotionally, if you do anything wrong that makes her sad, we will not hesitate to take your knees.” It’s Katie that speaks, all the others just nodding intimidatingly, glaring at you.

“I’m going to try my best to make her happy, I know that she deserves the world.” They let up the facade of intimidation at your words, patting your back and pushing you in the direction of the car park. The conversation as you all are walking out of the building is pleasant, when you arrive at the parking lot there are just a couple of cars left.

Both of your best friends had left you to carpool with one of the remaining players, Lia called dibs though the second she looked at you, so it was with her you went.

“They weren’t too scary with you right? I know how they can be.” Lia says over the soft music being played from the radio, some Tyler, the Creator song. You look at her face, she was in deep thought and absolutely adorable.

“Nah, it’s like being threatened by a pair of teddy bears. Let’s just say that I’ve had worse shovel talks.” She giggles as you start to tell her about all the weird shovel talks you’d gotten back in Texas, everything from being threatened with Chinese water torture to being hung upside down from a tree for simply speaking to a girl that wasn’t her.

When the bar comes into sight you see that multiple people have parked their cars right in front of it, telling Lia to just park on the curb.

“Y’all are such dickheads.” You laugh, slapping both Marla and Jason’s heads hard, they left you stranded.

“Well you’ve got a girlfriend now who can drive your broke ass.” Marla shoots back, rubbing her head in pain. You roll your eyes at her dramatic actions, the slap wasn’t that hard.

“One-nil to me then, at least I have someone.” The sibling like banter was normal between you two by now, she was your best friend after all.

“C’mon cowboy, let’s sit down for a little.” Lia’s hand rests on your stomach as you both sit down on the booth, the place to sit being suspiciously small, to the point in which Lia had to throw her legs over your lap to get enough space.

It was nice to sit and talk with the team, they were regular people just like anyone else and it made you glad to see them just relax after a match. The atmosphere was calm, so calm in fact that Lia managed to fall asleep on your shoulder, quiet snores escaping her mouth.

Only moments later you fall asleep too, after having fought sleep for as long as possible. Your head rests on top of Lia’s and the girls think it’s absolutely adorable, some of them taking pictures of you both to send to their group chat.

“I knew being friends with her would pay off.” Jason jokes, thinking naïvely that you were fully asleep, getting a few laughs from the girls in the room. They get startled though as you utter a quick;

“Hey!” In protest, everyone soon laughed at your dramatic reaction to his joke.

Who knew that going to the museum would result in you getting a date?

#woso #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #lia walti #lia walti x reader #woso imagines #woso fanfics

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safination · 9 months ago

Text

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.” “Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?” You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” [Or after a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles.

Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes. Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this . . . uh . . . like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ears. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum ring. Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found.

The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh . . . well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says. “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to do that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology. (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means. “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now.?

“Yeah . . . ?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“ . . . Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting.

He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns.

You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair. His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs.Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle.

Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic. You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus.

You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date.

Although . . . those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA.

The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears.

The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just . . . a small . . . single moment.

. . . On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

Huh? The feather on your hair preens. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light. You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That . . . that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖̖͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ “Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management. You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “ . . .Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The . . . uh . . . the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are . . . difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve . . . almost . . . almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.” You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such . . . er . . .interesting decorations around. . . . May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well . . .we . . . we certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me . . . and . . . hmm.” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes,” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor . . . I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh . . .There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

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euniexenoblade · 2 months ago

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Choose Your Own Smutty Halloween Adventure - Round One

"Hi there dear readers! This is technically a sequel, the prequel being here. Go read it! It'll introduce you to the characters! Or don't and read the actual smut. Up to you!"

"Who are you talking to?" The naked Delilah questions from the stage.

Mordred walks up to Delilah, leans down, and whispers in her ear. Delilah gasps in horror. "So, you gonna be quiet while I do my show?" Delilah nods. "Thank you."

"Welcome back to The Fucking Game!" A mysterious studio audience cheers. "Thank you, thank you! Last time on the show, I introduced you to our lovely contestants, and the fuck toy to be, Delilah!" More crowd cheers. "Well, now, let's see how everyone voted!"

"So, the fan picked winner was non other than The Demon Queen herself, Lilith!"

Audience applause and cheers are heard.

"And now my dear readers, here is Lilith's date with Delilah!

A curtain falls, blocking your view of the set. Shuffling is heard from behind it. When the curtain finally rises again, the game show set is gone. No chairs, no chains, no yellow wallpaper, no traces left. Instead, what you see is a room of rock and fire, as if you were in a cave that has flames spreading all around. But, in the center of this room, is a slab of rock, and on this slab of rock sits Delilah, coming to as if she had been asleep. As she shifts you can see that a pentagram has been painted on the rock slab. She is an offering.

Delilah groggily speaks out, “Where am I? What’s going on?” Her naked body sweats from the heat of the flames that surround her. She would run, but the fire is trapping her in place.

And then, Lilith walks into sight, walking up to Delilah and runs her hand through Delilah’s hair. Delilah begins begging, “Please let me go, please, please, please-”

“Now, why would I allow my new soul go? You’re mine. Given to me.”

“Please, please, please let me go-”

Lilith begins to slide her black panties down, slowly revealing her red cock. Delilah slowly watches this confused, her cock is way bigger than those panties could have hidden. Lilith takes her panties by two fingers and hangs them over Delilah, and suddenly they are set ablaze. The panties morph, slowly becoming a black liquid dripping onto Delilah’s back and neck. Like hot wax it burns Delilah’s skin, causing her to squirm and whine.

“Please, please-”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Lilith watches with a smile as she slowly burns her toy. A slow agony that feels like eternity, finally the panties are gone, and finally Delilah knows some form of relief. “Please let me go…”

Lilith uses her right hand to lift Delilah’s chin so she’s looking right into Lilith's eyes. “Oh, sweetheart,” Lilith’s left hand starts to run through Delilah’s hair slowly, “Do you truly not want what I have to offer? What you want is important…”

Delilah is about to ask to leave, but Lilith’s left hand penetrates her head, almost phasing through. She can feel Lilith’s nails pierce her brain. Her mouth moves on it’s own, “Please fuck me, please use me like I’m nothing, destroy all the humanity I have left, make me drown in your cum!” Delilah is shocked at what her own voice said.

Lilith laughs as she pulls her hand out of Delilah's head. “Well, if that’s what you want, fuck toy.”

Delilah doesn’t understand, that’s not what she wanted to say. “Mm, fuck me please, ruin me~” Delilah would never say that! Her body moves against her will, crawling on her hands and knees in a circle until her butt faces Lilith, and then she pushes her ass in the air, presenting to her. “No no no this isn’t right” Delilah thinks. “Please fuck my ass, my Queen.” Delilah says.

Lilith grabs Delilah by her hips. “If that’s what you wish!” Lilith lifts her cock and rubs the head on Delilah’s hole. Delilah lets out a slight moan. “Please, please, please, please let me go” is what she thinks, but “Please, please, please, I need your cock!” is what she says. Lilith, not one to disappoint, pushes her cock in, nice and slow. Delilah moans long and slow as Lilith’s huge cock forces its way into her. Once Lilith’s crotch finally hit’s Delilah’s ass, she pulls it out, all the way. And, then she forces her way back in, all the way. Delilah is moaning in pure ecstasy.

From the other side of the room, another person walks out of the shadows. It’s also Lilith. A second Lilith, cock and all. “Look at you, you were born to be a hole!” The second Lilith laughs. The second Lilith begins to undo her bra, revealing her huge, red tits and holds the bra above Delilah with two fingers. Just as the panties did, the bra catches on fire, and becomes a black liquid that slowly drips onto Delilah’s back. Delilah let’s out an agonized cry as the hot liquid hits her while Lilith speeds up how fast she fucks her. Drip. Drip. Drip. Lilith fucks her faster. Drip Drip Drip. Faster. Drip. Drip. Drip. Faster. Delilah is having a hard time knowing what to feel. Pleasure from the anal. Pain from the liquid. It’s getting fused together in her head, both hurt, both please.

Once the bra is completely gone, the second Lilith wastes no time to lift her cock and force it into Delilah’s mouth. Delilah feels it force her way down her throat, though only momentarily, as Lilith then begins to thrust back and forth, slamming the cock into Delilah’s throat again and again. Both her holes are full of demon cock. No matter how much she resists it, she can’t escape it. She is nothing but a toy for the Demon Queen.

Both Lilith’s moan as they finally let go inside Delilah. Delilah doesn’t even notice Lilith cum in her ass, because she’s preoccupied by Lilith cumming in her mouth. There’s so much cum, and Lilith is still fucking her throat. Lilith keeps cumming and cumming, it’s all Delilah can taste, it’s all Delilah can smell, Delilah can’t breathe. There’s so much cum, air can’t get in. She’s choking on it. She’s breathing cum. And, then, when Delilah thinks she can’t take it anymore, she blacks out, drowning in Lilith’s cum.

A curtain from nowhere falls, blocking the scene of Delilah’s deflowering. When the curtain rises, we are once again met with game show set, all five contestants sitting in their chairs, Delilah laying stomach down on the ground her wrists chained to the wall. As Delilah regains consciousness, she begins to cough, cum coming up her throat that she spits out. A studio audience laughs.

The host, Mordred, walks back on screen. “Wasn’t that just lovely?!” A studio audience cheers. Mordred walks up to Lilith, sitting in her chair, “So, Lilith, how did you feel about your date with the lovely Delilah?”

Mordred moves the microphone over to Lilith’s mouth, “Well, I’d say it was a lot of fun! I think Delilah and I still have a lot that we can learn from each other. But, whether I win or lose, her eternal soul is mine!” The studio audience laughs.

“Well then!” Mordred says looking directly at you, the reader, “The night is young, and The Fucking Game is just beginning! We will once again take an audience poll to decide who else gets a chance to fuck Delilah in round one!”

The audience cheers.

“But, this time, it’ll be a flash poll! Only a one day vote, not a week long one!”

The audience gasps with surprise.

“After this next date, we will have another poll to decide who is the first contestant eliminated from The Fucking Game! But, for now, who is Delilah fucking tomorrow?”

#long post #cyosa

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steddie-island · 5 months ago

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Long Haul

Written for day 2 of @stevieweek | Companion piece to Wallpaper Rating: G | WC: 1,150 | Tags: Eddie Munson POV, Coming out, MTF Steve Harrington ao3 | Divider credit

If Steve and Robin both have to be there to break this big news to Eddie he knows it must be something really bad.

That's how it always goes, bad news. He's told to sit down and listen while the grownups talk at him. Not to him, no, he didn't get anyone actually trying to talk to him until Wayne.

Still, Eddie tries not to look like he's ready to throw up while Steve and Robin stand in front of the couch. The way their hands are clasped together, and with how straight and tense they're standing, Eddie can't help but think of the fucked up twins from The Shining.

The thought makes him laugh, but the laughter only heightens his anxiety– which is then heightened even more when Robin shoots a Look at him that he can't quite figure out.

"Stevie… sweetheart, I can't read your mind. If this is bad news, I'd really rather you just tell me." Eddie shifts uncomfortably. The fingers of his right hand fidget with one of the rings on his left, spinning it around and around. "I can take it, whatever it is."

The look Steve gives Robin drops a bowling ball right into the center of Eddie's chest. Steve has tears in his eyes, and he's shaking, and fuck . This is very fucking bad.

Eddie wracks his brain, tries to think back on what he said or did. Maybe there was something he didn't do that he was supposed to do and now Steve is dumping him over it. Really, it was only a matter of time. Steve is good, so fucking good, and Eddie never deserved him in the first place.

And of course Robin's going to be here for it, because Steve dumping him as a boyfriend means Robin is dumping him as a friend. They're a package deal, you don't get one without the other.

"Eddie!" Robin's voice breaks through his mental spiraling.

Eddie clears his throat, drops his hands between his knees again and looks at the two of them. "Sorry. Sorry, yes. I'm here."

"Did you hear… any of that?" Robin asks.

Eddie flushes, opens his mouth, digs for anything that one of them might have said.

Steve takes pity on him, and Eddie is graced with one of those patient smiles. It’s that soft smile that got him through the hell that was physical therapy. "We're making him nervous, Rob."

"You're nervous, too," Robin reminds him. Still, she gives Steve's hand a squeeze before stepping to the side. It's one on one instead of two on one, which does help the knot in Eddie's chest loosen a bit.

"I can take it, Stevie," Eddie says with a small smile. "Whatever it is, just… lay it on me."

Steve glances at Robin, then back at Eddie. His hands have that fine tremor to them again, so he wraps his arms around himself and tucks his fists against his sides.

"I've been thinking… and I've talked to Rob, and… I don't… I'm not…" Steve stops, has to take a few slow breaths.

This is it, the death blow. The last glimpse of the sun before it gets snuffed out, removed from Eddie's life forever. Eddie wants to close his eyes so he doesn't have to watch, but if this is his last sunrise he doesn't want to miss a second of it, either.

"Eddie, I'm not… I'm not a boy." Steve shifts on his feet and swallows loud enough for Eddie to hear it. "I don't want to be a boy anymore. I think— no, I know I am — I'm a girl."

Eddie can only blink up at her while Steve explains it, explains lip gloss and nail polish and old girlfriends. She talks about how she's given this a lot of thought, really, and if Eddie doesn't want to be with her anymore she understands.

Eddie's listening, really he is, but the relief is so instantaneous that he can't help but start laughing, quietly at first and then louder.

Steve stops talking and looks at Eddie like he's lost his mind. "What? What is it?"

"No, no, baby, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you." Eddie rubs both hands over his eyes, wiping away unshed tears. "I promise, this isn't about you." He reaches out for Steve's hand and pulls her around the coffee table to sit down on his lap.

"Why are you laughing?" Steve asks. The hurt in her eyes has Eddie sobering up immediately.

"I thought you were breaking up with me." Eddie brings a hand up to tuck Steve's hair behind her ear. "I thought that was why you brought the reinforcements. Maybe you were afraid I would lose the rest of my mind or somethin'."

"What?" Steve shakes her head and touches the jagged scar on Eddie’s jaw. "Why would I be breaking up with you? I love you, Eddie."

Eddie catches Steve's hand, pulls it to his lips to kiss over her knuckles. "Because you're the best person on the goddamn planet, and I don't deserve you."

"Eddie—"

"I'm serious, Stevie." Eddie wraps an arm around her waist to pull her that much closer. "You're amazing. You're smart— don't try to deny it, I've seen that beautiful brain of yours in action." He gently, so fucking gently, taps in the middle of her forehead to emphasize his point. "You're funny, you're so goddamn brave. You have the biggest heart in the world." He cups Steve's cheek, and she leans into the touch. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I still can't believe how lucky I am."

Steve's lower lip trembles just a little, and Eddie can't help but brush his thumb over it. "Even now?" she asks. Eddie hates the uncertainty in her voice. Steve Harrington isn't ever uncertain, unless it's about D&D or Lord of the Rings or some other nerdy shit that the kids try to throw at her.

"Are you kidding?" Eddie brings his other hand up, to hold her face between his palms. "Yesterday morning I woke up with the most gorgeous guy in Hawkins in my bed, and tonight I get to go to sleep with the most beautiful girl. That's… amazing ." He shakes his head and brings their foreheads together. "I love you, Stevie. No matter what you do, no matter what you change, I'm in it for the long haul. You're it for me, baby."

"Fucking sap," Steve says wetly, but she's smiling when she says it, when she leans in to kiss Eddie again.

It's a kiss full of love and hope, that speaks of a future that stretches out in front of them, just waiting for them to decide what they want to do with it.

It's a kiss that has Robin murmuring "Dinguses" under her breath before sneaking out the front door to give them privacy.

#stevieweek24 #transfem Steve Harrington #Steddie #Steddie fic #Steve Harrington/ Eddie Munson #MTF Steve Harrington #kintsugi_kid ao3

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seeingivy · 6 months ago

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middle name

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends older brother fic

previous part linked here

all you can do is stare.

there’s the smallest hint of gray hairs mixed in with his natural color. his hair is longer, but it’s still the same color. he has the faintest smile lines near his eyes and that small wisp of a beard that he used to always sport is long gone.

he looks younger. what you assume is his youngest daughter is wearing a sparkly green bracelet. green was always sammy’s favorite color. they both seem to have his nose – though that’s really the only resemblance they bear, since they almost entirely take after the lady at their side.

she had to be younger than him, a willowing black dress clinging lovingly to her figure. she had the same smile lines and that short haircut that you find young moms always sported, with three stacked silver chains and a glittering diamond on her finger.

you wonder if she smells like vanilla like your mom does.

“don’t react.”

you turn to your left to find sammy at your side, sukuna and yuuji hovering in the background with matching hazel eyes filled with concern. you shake your head – throwing away the image of their picture perfect smiles – as you focus on sammy, mostly on the fact that her upper lip is trembling.

sammy was always the favorite.

“what did you say?” you ask.

“don’t react.” sammy repeats.

you pause, mulling over the thought.

“okay.” you respond.

“yeah? because we can’t give that asshole the satisfaction. he has no right barging in here the way he just did.” sammy seethes.

you give her a nod, before she takes her side next to you on the wall, the four of you leaning against the wallpaper. sukuna slithers his hand into yours, offering you a smile that you don’t return, before focusing back on the four of them in the living room.

it annoyed you – that you didn’t have enough time to really consider what the best course of action would be. not reacting, you suppose you could understand the appeal. of showing him that you were above him, that he didn’t even warrant a response.

but deep down, you wondered if that would bother you the day after next. if you would be standing in the shower, rinsing the soap out of your hair, and somehow come up with the right thing to say, that would perfectly encapsulate whatever it was that you were feeling.

though you suppose that’s easier said than done. you can barely put words to whatever it is that’s forming in your chest.

you watch as he talks to sukuna’s old basketball coach. so loudly animated as he chats – about how the property values are better two towns over and how the school district is better for the girls. you wonder if the coach thinks it’s offensive. you wonder if he ever considered that you and sammy needed to switch to a better school too.

and it happens in a split second – your dad catching the sight of the four of you – before lifting off the couch and closing the distance between you. yuuji shoots you a weary glance as he gives the four of you a bright smile, before clearing his throat.

you catch a slight whiff of the lemon smell as he walks up, though the lingering scent of smoke you remember gone all together.

“sukuna. is that you?”

you look over at sukuna, watching as he swallows hard, before clenching his jaw.

“yes.”

you watch as he frowns, before pressing one of his hands to his chest.

“i’m so sorry for your loss, kid.” he states.

“sure. thanks.” sukuna responds, rather stiffly.

you can tell that your dad finds the situation uncomfortable – being treated so blandly by the kid he watched grow up, a kid that he knows could surely be more expressive than that – as his eyes flicker over to you and then back to sukuna.

“your dad told me you studied abroad in europe. is this a pretty girlfriend you brought back?”

you bite down so hard on your cheek that all you taste is metallic blood pouring out of the side of your mouth. the implication makes all of you seethe.

that he still talked to people in town. that sukuna’s dad had known his whereabouts, probably for years. and worst of all, that he didn’t recognize you.

“what?” sukuna hisses.

your dad turns over to you, eyes bright, as he holds his hand out. you can feel a sensational burning in the back of your eyes.

“he always used to brag about how his son was studying with the greats. i’m mr. l/n. i’ve known sukuna since he was little.” he states, holding his hand out.

you swallow down the lump of bile, before extending your hand out to him, unsettled by the freezing cold feeling.

that was in no way what mr. itadori said. and he didn't know sukuna, only briefly, when he was little, before he ran away. and you know exactly who he is – far too well.

“nice to meet you.” you mumble.

“take care of this one, okay? he’s a tough one, but we all need a little love sometimes.” he jokes, lightly tapping sukuna on the shoulder.

you watch as he gives sukuna a lingering smile, before shuffling over two steps to where sammy is. sukuna places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes boring into yours – like he’s trying to beckon for your attention – as you watch the two of them.

“hi sammy girl.” he whispers.

you watch as sammy’s eyes water. sukuna watches as you clench your jaw.

“hi dad.” she whispers.

so much for not reacting.

you wonder if you would have broken just as fast if he recognized you. though you suppose you’ll never know, because he didn’t.

it’s a long list of things you’ll never know. the questions that bother you at night – the ones that expose that deep rooted rot that festered in your brain – seem to come to the surface for the first time, in broad daylight.

when did he fall out of love with your mom? when was sukuna going to fall out of love with you? why does he have such a distaste for you? if you were more polite like sammy, would he have stayed? if you screamed a little louder, would the begging have worked?

“i wanted to tell you something.”

you watch as he slings his hand around sammy’s shoulder, squeezing hard, before pointing to the two little girls that are seated on the couch, the two of which were making a mess of mrs. itadori’s coaster set. you wonder what she’d think fo all of this, if she wasn’t so preoccupied.

“those are my girls. claire and molly.”

you watch as sammy scrunches up her nose, her fists clenched into little balls at her side.

“molly was born a year ago. she’s a little shy, but she loves music. but claire, claire’s the exact opposite. headstrong, strong-willed. exactly how a big sister should be.”

“so?” sammy asks, her voice dripping with attitude.

he shakes his head.

“what i mean is that my girl claire reminds me of you. my first girl. so much so, that…well. claire and molly are real special to me. but you, my sammy girl, are always going to be the person who made me a father. that’s why i made claire’s name claire samantha.”

you watch the tears spill from sammy’s eyes, the most bitter contempt in her eyes, as she turns to him, wiping away the stray.

the questions return. what festers in someone to breed such cruelty? what horrors could you and sammy had exacted in your past life to deserve it? how much pressure does it take before something cracks?

would sammy ever get over the fact that she had basically, for all intents and purposes, been replaced? which one is worse – not warranting recognition or just enough to be traded out for the shinier new model?

“thanks dad. that’s real kind of you.” she mutters, crossing her hands over her chest before leaning back against the wall.

you watch as his face falls, albeit halfheartedly – the clear inclination that he didn’t really mind that the statement didn’t land as he intended – before he turns back to the three of you and gives you an awkward smile.

“family stuff.” he mutters.

he disgusts you.

“well, i’ll take my leave. molly’s about to start fussing. i’m very sorry for your loss again, boys.”

you watch as he walks off, retreating back to the couch and picking up claire – claire samantha – before you feel sukuna’s lips on your temple, his hands rubbing circles into your side. yuuji’s at sammy’s side, offering her his pocket square which she takes.

“oh shit.” sammy mutters.

“what?” you ask.

“he’s going to the patio, where mom is.”

you clear your throat, turning on your heel to move, before sammy reaches for your elbow.

“it’s better if you stay here. you don’t want to make things worse when he realizes it’s actually you.” sammy responds, before walking off towards the direction of the room.

sukuna watches as you step back, cursing the fact that sammy, for the most part, always seemed to have a horrible way with words, as he reaches for your hand.

he knows what she meant. that whatever reaction your mom was going to warrant would get infinitely worse when she realized that your own father wasn’t able to recognize you at first glance.

but she didn’t need to say it like that, sinking words placing the blame on you.

“she didn’t mean it like that.” yuuji states.

sukuna watches as you look over at yuuji, face blank, as you nod. he can see that you’re picking at the scab from the shot glass a few days prior on your hand, but you sidestep too fast before he stick his hand in between yours and make you stop.

“i know.” you respond.

it stings.

“i’m just going to take a minute. i’ll be back.” you respond.

you drag your feet as fast as they can take you to sukuna’s room, before shutting the door behind you, quick and fast breaths heaving out of your chest as your vision blurs. sukuna’s voice is quiet, muffled by the wood.

“hey. i’m on the other side when you’re ready for me, okay pretty girl?”

you sit in sukuna’s room for two hours, watching the sun sink down into the horizon from his window, watching as people trail in and out of the front door from below. it’s a pretty sunset – a vibrant mix of purple, blue, and pink – with the clouds swirling beneath.

if sukuna’s dad was a different type of guy, you’d almost think it was a sign from him. that sweet solace that people felt – seeing their loved ones in the beauty of nature.

though, you’d figure he’d be more of a hurricane or a tornado, wrecking havoc to everything he touched, as opposed to a pretty sunet that shed light.

sitting at the windowsill is the first time you realize that from sukuna’s vantage point, he’s always had a perfect view of your bedroom window. it’s not exactly level, so you assume that he was probably never able to see much, except for if your light was on or off and if your curtains were pulled.

you wonder how often he stared at it.

you find one of his sukuna’s old hoodies and pull it over your dress, before climbing into his sheets and pressing your face into his pillow. it smells faintly of his shampoo, the smell so sweetly comforting, as you feel your eyes swell up, the choking feeling in your throat unbearable.

the sounds that leave you are embarrassing, but luckily, you’re the only one who can hear them.

[sammy]: mai came to get me. let’s talk tomorrow okay?

the typing bubble appears, before disappearing. and after a few minutes, a second text followers.

[sammy]: i love you.

you wonder if that complicated, infected part of your brain that seemed to always cultivate some type of disgust for sammy, even when nothing really happened, was a part that you got from your dad.

you’re almost positive that it is. and it bothers you that it somehow feels like it’s something so fundamental, almost biological, that she’ll always rub salt into a wound that you can’t even heal.

you turn your phone off instead.

“are you okay? your mom mentioned that you went upstairs pretty abruptly, said you needed a minute.”

sukuna looks up to find your mom standing there, two ice cold bottles of water in her hands, before she plops down on the carpet next to him, hiking her knees to her chest. the usual picture of perfect hair is astray, the front stands pulled out, and sukuna absentmindedly wonders if you get your hair pulling habit from her.

he doesn’t respond. only because what he said was a lie.

not entirely at least. it was true that he needed a minute, it was just an obstruction of truth that he really needed to take that minute for you.

sukuna notes that she doesn’t mind the silence that much – not only because it’s something that she was well versed in, the mere fact that sukuna didn’t really like to talk when it came to things like this – and instead changes the subject.

“has she come out yet?” she asks.

“no. did yuuji tell you what happened?” sukuna responds.

she smiles, leaning her head back against the rungs of the stairs.

“you missed quite a show downstairs.”

“what?”

she laughs, before reaching up to mess with the ends of the strand closest to her ear.

“he walked out onto the patio with his wife, cindy he said her name was, because he wanted to offer his condolences. your mom responded by slapping him across the face.”

sukuna wishes he was there to see it. or do it himself.

“he was about to start yelling but that’s when sammy came out. i got the gist of what happened before, because sammy basically dragged him out on his ear, giving him a choice set of words about how he can’t gives his new daughter the same names as his old ones, and that he wasn’t her father, no matter how much he deluded himself into thinking that he was.”

sukuna watches as she pauses, taking a shaky breath.

“he told sammy that he wouldn’t really want to be their father anyways, which is why he left, and yuuji punched him in the face.”

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose.

“i really did miss a show, didn’t i?” he mutters.

“nothing we aren’t used to. i’d think hell froze over if there wasn’t some type of drama at this thing. though, i’d expect violent dramatics from you, not yuuji.”

sukuna shakes his head.

“he came up and talked to all of us before you. he didn’t even recognize y/n, he…he thought she was some girlfriend i brought home from studying abroad. and i’d almost understand it – she was really little when she left – but there’s no excuse. she looks the exact same.” sukuna offers.

sukuna looks over, seeing the same bridge of your nose mirrored in her face, before looking back at the faded paint chipping off the wood of his bedroom door. he wished that he had yuuji’s horrible habits of hoarding snacks in his room, just so that you weren’t sitting in there crying.

“do you have the key?”

“what?”

“the key to the door.” she states.

sukuna bites at his lip.

“i’m not going to open it. or give it to you. she’ll come out when she’s ready for me.” sukuna mutters.

he watches as she laughs, full bellied and warm, before reaching forward and tangling the matted mess of his hair off of his forehead.

“have i ever been one to force you to do anything?”

sukuna sighs, slumping against the wall, before shaking his head.

he had heard the sentiment before, the first time he carried his tired and bleeding knees to the porch, after being kicked out of his house for the first time.

he nearly beat his knuckles bloody from knocking on the door loud enough before she came down, tired and weary eyes that were instantly snapped awake at his crying. and he can’t exactly remember what it was that he said, though he assumes that it wasn’t short of rudeness.

when he begged to stay. and when she let him in without a second glance, he said it quietly.

“you can’t force me to tell you what happened.”

and the response was always the same – the seventh, eight, and ninth time – before he finally got a understood.

have i ever been one to force you to do anything?

“do me a favor, sukuna.” she states.

“okay.”

“let me take care of your mom.”

sukuna looks over at her, taken aback by the sentiment. he was half expecting the half hearted lecture that sammy gave him months prior, about being careful and gentle with her sister, and was expecting a tougher version of that to come from what he knew was a very opinionated and defensive woman.

“what?”

“the worst part is over. i appreciate you picking up slack with me where you could and i’m sorry i couldn’t help more.”

sukuna shakes his head.

“she was basically debilitated. you had to stay with her.” he offers.

“and you sicked my daughter on your brother. but his boyfriend has got him for the rest and i’ll be with your mom for the foreseeable future, like i always have been.”

“i don’t think –”

“you’re leaving here tonight. and you’re taking my daughter with you.” she states.

sukuna shrugs.

“i can’t just leave her. she’s my mom and…and she’s been so fucking fragile for the past few days. you saw how she acted when –”

“and you’re her son. that’s not your job.”

she pauses.

“you step back and take care of my daughter. and maybe more importantly, let my daughter take care of you.” she whispers, raking her fingers through his hair again.

sukuna feels a shiver down his spine, before shaking his head. he can’t just leave.

“no.”

“sukuna.”

he shakes his head again, this time more fervently.

he can’t just leave. he can’t just pawn his own mother off to her and his brother to megumi and walk away.

“you know that godawful, shitty dining table downstairs that your dad picked out? the one that we gave to goodwill when he left for his trip to new york?”

“yeah.”

he remembered the fight that followed after when he realized it was gone. and sometimes, he wondered why his mom would pick a fight over something so trivial as a table.

“it was really heavy. seeing it every day irritated her to no end – that this was her house and her space and that he had taken over it another time. it pissed your mom off so much that every night, after they fought, she’d try to push it out of that damn room on her own. ”

sukuna snorts.

“i remember that.”

she smiles.

“i remember it too. watching her try to push it out of that room on her own, barely making a dent in moving it the merest inch. i think sammy even took a picture of it with that shitty disposable camera i bought her.”

sukuna rubs his palms together.

“okay.”

“i ended up helping her. carried one side and we were able to move it a few more inches. it didn’t really do much, so i got that piece of shit down the street, to help us too. and the old guy who used to live next door, the handyman. your dad was on a three day trip and it took five of us to push that god forsaken table out of the house.”

sukuna feels her pull him closer, wrapping him in a hug. it makes his chest pang, eerily similar to the feeling of being sixteen and sitting on the fact that he was going to leave without saying goodbye.

“my point is that there’s just some things you can’t carry alone, son.”

sukuna feels his throat dry. his eyes water, as he understands – the embarrassing and pitiful question spilling out as a byproduct.

“what if it’s too heavy for her? what…what if i can’t hold her up?” he asks, shaking his head as his voice cracks.

what if sukuna breaks his lifeline? an even worse fate than you dying – being the one responsible for killing you.

she smiles, before gesturing to her left, where sukuna sees yuuji standing.

“you’re more than capable, sukuna. you always have been. and there’s always an extra set of hands to help you lift.”

the thought comes an hour later.

maybe his mom did get to meet the love of her life. and maybe it just wasn’t the person he was expecting it to be.

the second one that follows makes even more sense.

of course the love was always going to be there between you and him. it was destined before you even got here. genetic even.

you make it back home around two in the morning, to three plastic wrapped plates of dinner and megumi asleep on your couch.

it feels a little bit like intruding, but the two of you can’t help but stare as yuuji lightly nudges megumi to wake up, the latter of whom literally bolts up at the sight of him, arms quick on his face before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

you look over at sukuna, gesturing for him to turn around with you, as sukuna unboxes the closest package – the replacement of the broken mug from your birthday – as you hear the two of them retreat, a quiet goodnight whispered to the pair of you.

“which mug do you want?” he asks.

“we can just share.”

there’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he wraps his hands around your wrists, his touch warm as he pulls you forward, tucking you straight into his arms and resting his chin against the top of your head.

and you’re not sure when it starts, but it’s not long before he’s quietly weeping, his frame shaking under you as you bury yourself closer to him, his heart pounding under your ear as you run your hands up and down his arms, quietly whispering into his ears.

he doesn’t stop. he makes no inclination of stopping and it sends a shiver down your spine.

you pull back, cupping his flushed pink cheeks, and wiping away the wetness from his eyelashes before locking your fingers together behind his neck.

“you took my jacket.” he whispers, voice strained.

“it was cold in your room.” you respond.

he nods, before leaning his forehead against yours, quietly trying to steady his breaths in pace with yours, before he abruptly pulls away, and leans against the granite.

“what’s wrong?” you ask.

he gestures his head to the left, where yuuji is standing, before quickly wiping the wetness from his face and pouring the warm milk into the mug. you give him a nod before retreating over to where yuuji is standing, his eyes glued to sukuna.

“yuuji?”

yuuji looks over at you, shaking his head.

“sorry. i wanted to take a shower. do you –”

“i’ll get you a towel, yuu.”

yuuji watches as you retreat, socks sliding on the tile, as he runs his hand through his hair, a deeply sweltering hot regret in his chest.

he had you pegged all wrong. both of you, written off the second he found out about it.

yuuji had the tiniest glimpse of it the other day. the way you so freely ranted to sukuna, watching as he quietly attended to you by braiding your hair to stop you from pulling at it, really – exuding a quiet comfort he didn’t even know he possessed.

but this was worse. because while you were being exactly who he knew you to be – maybe just shocked that you were able to do it with someone else – what he just saw in the short amount of time – sukuna freely crying, or more importantly, openly humbling himself to let someone in to help him crawl out – it was foreign.

unheard of. yuuji was almost positive that sukuna hadn’t even done it before, being so vulnerable with someone.

and he had been giving him a hard time for it

“here’s your towel.”

yuuji grabs your hand as you hand it over to him, squeezing hard as he looks up at you, teary eyed.

“thank you.”

for loving my brother.

“of course. get some rest.” you respond, giving him a smile as you watch him retreat back to the room.

sukuna’s crying has ceased when you make your way back to the kitchen. there’s a steaming cup of hot chocolate with a godawful amount of marshmallows and whipped cream, that he passes over to you for the first sip.

“i’m back.” you respond.

he nods, as he place the cup in your hand hand. and it’s a searing warmth in your cheeks as sukuna lifts his hand, wiping the whipped cream residue from the top of your lip.

“real cute.” he responds, before licking the excess off his own fingers.

you shrug.

“i try.”

he smiles, taking the mug from you.

you’re confused by what happens next – because it looks like he’s going to say something, even going as far as opening his mouth to start talking, before he clamps it shut, with something steaming behind his eyes that you can’t really understand.

and he does it a few times.

“are you okay?”

“yeah. yeah, i just…was trying to figure out how to talk.”

“how to talk?” you ask.

“you know. about all the stuff.”

you hum in response, before looping your arm around his torso, watching the marshmallows slowly dampen under the warm liquid, the smallest amount of steam still leaving the glass.

“it’s probably a lot.” you murmur.

“you have no idea.”

“how about you pick one thing? and we’ll do one thing at a time.”

sukuna nods, heaving a deep sigh, before tangling his free hand into your hair.

“my dad was a piece of shit.”

one of the marshmallows sinks down into the cup, the curved waves of the whipped cream disintegrating with it.

“i mean…my dad was a piece of shit. he died a piece of shit and now he won’t ever be anything else.”

you nod.

“do you…do you know those lifetime shows? where people go on the news and talk about how…how different things changed their lives? like families getting out of horrible financial situations and being happy or people finally getting time to put the work in to better themselves?”

“yeah.”

“i had this really, really crappy thought that i held on to when i was a kid. that some day, that prick would just wake up, and realize what really mattered. that he’d put in the work, that i’d watch my mom get what she deserved, and…and he’d come to my wedding.” he murmurs.

sukuna shakes his head, before clenching his jaw.

“knowing him, the last thing he probably said about you was shitty. and not because he was some vile, sick asshole filled with hatred for you – but hatred for me. for yuuji. for the fact that you were fine with yuuji just as he was. liked me just as i am.”

the steam from the mug is gone.

“that stupid asshole died just as he was. a homophobic, misogynistic prick. he won’t ever change.”

you lean your head against his shoulder.

“still hurts, doesn’t it?” you ask.

sukuna nods.

and thanks his lucky stars that you had that in you, to parse out what he really meant. that his dad died just as he was and now sukuna knows that whatever it was he lost out on is something he won’t ever be able to get back.

grief for what was never going to be.

“more than you know.” he responds.

sukuna pauses.

“what do you think about it?” he asks.

you look down at the mug.

“that it’s his loss.”

“what?”

“by some turn of fate, your dad was very undeservingly blessed with two very loving children. it’s his loss that he’s died without even getting to feel even an inch of that. and i get it, that on paper, his legacy, his career – it’s seemed so worthwhile to people at your house. that even though he died young, he lived a very full life.”

you push the mug over to him.

“to me, it always seemed like he was chasing something. a better title at work, a bigger party he could throw to show off, anything that made him feel like he was larger than life. and i feel sorry for him. he’s had two boys that give the word love meaning under his roof for all these years and it’s embarrassing for him that he never got to feel it.”

you shrug.

“you won’t ever get to have the dad you wanted. but he won’t ever get to reap the benefits, the good love, of what he already had.”

sukuna leans forward, gentle hands on your cheeks, before locking his lips with yours, the kiss mixed in with his quiet tears.

the best kind of kiss he could give you – affectionate. devoted. and bare. you felt like the smallest parts of him were in the palm of your hand, to cherish and preserve.

“your turn.” he whispers.

you snort.

“do you have short term memory loss? i just told you what i thought.”

sukuna shakes his head, wiping the wetness on the back of his hand, before clearing his throat.

“i gave you three hours in that room. it’s your turn.”

you elbow him in the side, before lifting the mug with your hands.

“i gave you a week.”

“you’ve always been more patient than me. i nearly broke the door down.”

you roll your eyes.

“i know you have a key.”

“and i’d never use it.” sukuna affirms.

you smile, seeping in the warmth of the ceramic mug, as you look down at the flowery print, a mottled mess of liquid swimming from everything you had mixed in the cup.

“some part of me thinks that i’m rotten.”

sukuna watches as you set the mug down, reaching for the ends of your hair as you twirl them in your fingers.

“what?”

you sigh, warm tears in your eyes.

“i always thought that there was something wrong with me. there was always a rotten part of me, deep down, and everything i was doing was to keep it from getting out. like…like an infection or something.”

“okay.” sukuna whispers, his tone in his voice beckoning for you to continue.

“he’s vile. he’s vile for showing up to your dad’s funeral. for not even saying a word to yuuji when he was there the day he was born, for trying to sweet talk on your behalf like he knows you or something. having a new family, two new girls, not even sparing a second glance to what came before.”

you pause.

“and he’s my dad. he’s vile and sometimes i feel like he’s…he’s in my head. that some part of him is always going to be intertwined with me and deep down, running through my blood, and that’s why i won’t ever win.”

sukuna reaches forward, cupping your warm cheeks in the palm of his hands. and you look up at him, warm brown hazel eyes so washed in concern for you, and it makes your chest hurt.

“i look at you and all i can think about is that one day, it’ll be the last time you’ll look at me like that. because you’ll leave. you’ll realize that it’s just lipstick on a pig, or…or too much and you’ll take your leave for something better.”

sukuna wishes that he was the one who got to punch him instead of yuuji.

“what do you think?” you ask.

sukuna drops his hold, lifting your hands against his lips and pressing a kiss against your knuckles.

“that i wish i punched him instead.” he states.

“what? someone punched him?”

sukuna smiles.

“my mom slapped him. and yuuji punched him. everyone got to have their cake except for me.”

you snort.

“i wish it was me. because i think he’s sick in the head.”

typical. sukuna was never one to really mince his words.

“i think it’s absolutely disgusting that he left without a trace and that the one person he talked to when he left was my dad – though i suppose that’s fitting.”

sukuna pauses.

“it’s been criminal to watch your mom suffer when she’s one of the first people who gave me a lifeline…and when she brought my second lifeline into this world.”

you smile.

“i think any bit of harshness or judgment i’ve passed on sammy is unfair, because i think i’d be immeasurably cruel at times too if the one person who was required to love me felt that i was special enough to deserve a replacement, but not enough to be the one who was actually loved.”

you sigh..

“and i think it’s batshit insane that he was unable to recognize you when most of the time, you’re the only person in the room with me. it’s entirely unbelievable to me that the one person he gave no recognition to is probably the only person who would ever deserve it.”

sukuna looks down at you and frowns.

“you’re a considerate daughter, a compassionate sister – maybe even when you shouldn’t be – and the warmest friend that my brother has ever had.”

sukuna leans forward, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

“you’re a beautiful girlfriend, so painfully kind-hearted towards me that i’m half convinced you’re god with the way you’re able to fix everything with just your hands. you’re everything good and every part of you is worth acknowledging and appreciating. it’s humiliating for your dad that he’s part of the reason you’re here – and that he won’t ever be able to realize that his greatest accomplishment is you.”

you lean forward, tucking yourself into his neck, and it makes sukuna shiver – the cold tears running down his neck as you quietly sob, your voice muffled against the fabric of his jacket.

“you think i’m god?” you sniffle.

sukuna rolls his eyes, unable to contain his smile.

“of course that’s what you take away from it.”

you lean back, looking up at him and the smile on his face. and you commit it to memory – the laugh, the love in the silence, and how it persists in the pain.

“people worship gods.” you clarify.

“and i worship you.”

you curl your nose in disgust.

“ew, sukuna.”

“you’re not saying ew when i’m doing it. it sounds a lot more like –”

you wrap your hand over his mouth, before shushing him.

“your brother is in the next room over.”

“he’s always such a thorn in my side.” sukuna mutters, earning you a laugh from him.

the two of you retreat after the fact. you wash sukuna’s hair in the shower. he insists on doing your skincare for you. and the sun rises on the two of you the next day.

next part linked here

an: LOL. ok I write dream girl now I just wanted to get that out of me.

edit: someone left an ??? upset? or like...idk the word for it comment on ao3 about the fact that it's kind of toxic that sukuna calls her god at the end. pls know that it's JUST a metaphor and he's just trying to compare her to something that's really important and being hyperbolic 💌

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