#white silver dial

[theluxurydirect1]

Immerse yourself in the world of sophistication as you explore the variety of styles and designs available at The Luxury Direct. Whether you opt for a classic piece that exudes timeless charm or a contemporary design that makes a bold statement, Michele Watches cater to the diverse tastes of discerning individuals.

[sugxto]

power play - eddie/volt/reader

⋆syn: Eddie only has one rule: no fucking in the bar. And of course, he finds you and Volt breaking it. He can't have that.

⋆wc: 3.3k

⋆cw: m/m/afab threesome, light dom/sub undertones, erotic electrostimulation, mentions of alcohol consumption, blowjobs, finger fucking.

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, mention of breasts, terms used include hole, entrance, cunt and clit. no spoilers for any of the routes, I suppose, but it is a more established relationship. the first 65% of this is volt/reader, with eddie/volt/reader in the later half. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” Eddie’s voice is harsh, methodical, but level. He usually only sounds like this when he’s kicking out Kristof for starting a fight, or when he notices you doing something even mildly off-kilter when fixing up the club. It’s a dangerous tone.

Neither of you speak immediately. You can't even bring yourself to meet Volt’s eyes; you’re focused solely on Eddie, and how still, how charged he is.

“Are either of you going to fucking say anything?” His grip tightens on Volt’s hair, and Volt nearly stumbles back.

power play

“Does he have to perform every night, though?”

You’re wiping down the bar, Volt expertly throwing a shaker around before grabbing two glasses for the concoction he’s crafting. The liquid fills the tumblers, and he starts to pluck out some cherries from a bowl.

���We have an open-mic policy, darling,” Volt says as he pushes a glass in your direction. Nevermind that it pulls a few drops of spilled whiskey over where you’d just run your rag over.

You sigh, eyeing Volt with annoyance, but he ignores you in favor of having a long sip from his glass. “But it’s almost like you need a sign for him,” you say as you round the bar to sit. You punctuate your words with a wave of the hand, like you’re envisioning a marquee. “Johnny Splash: The Breaker Box Residency.”

Volt downs the whiskey sour, and you can’t help but catch a glance at how his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “After that disaster of his American Maestro audition,” he says, popping another cherry in his mouth, “I think he ought to still have somewhere he can feel comfortable performing, don’t you think?”

You nod, stealing a taste of your drink. “I just hope he’s not taking space from anyone else wanting to perform, is all.”

“Aww, spark,” Volt hums, shrugging off his overcoat and pushing his sleeves up like Eddie does for work. “What a darling thing you are.” He props his arms up against the bar, leaning towards you, mischief crackling in his white eyes.

You shrug as you swallow the cherry from your drink. “Don’t worry, I’m not going soft on you two.”

“I perish the thought.” He grins like a cat who’s finally cornered the canary. “I adore when you crackle around the edges like we do.”

You bite back a grin, and reach out to the bowl of cherries for another, when your hand is smacked away.

“Hey! I was -”

“I know, darling,” he breathes, impatience on his lips. You watch his long, silver fingers procure a cherry, and red juice drips down his thumb. “Allow me.”

His lightning brows quirk expectantly, and you fight back an eye roll as you open your mouth, protrude your tongue only a hint. When he places the cherry on your tongue, your lips wrap around his fingers, tingling your mouth. Daring a glance at his eyes, you run the tip of your tongue over his thumb, ensuring no juice is wasted, before pulling away with a lick of your lips.

The ends of Volt’s hair buzz and spark, and his eyes glisten.

(You’ve noticed, between your partners, their similarities and differences - where Eddie’s steel eyes will darken with want, Volt’s dial up their shine, like a lamp when you remove its shade. It’s noticeable enough even to an untrained, unknowing eye.)

“Enjoy that, live wire?” He rubs the pads of his thumb and finger together, making the smallest of sparks.

You say nothing, just take another sip without breaking his gaze.

“Hm,” he muses, standing upright again. “Shall I make you another cocktail?”

You blink in confusion, glancing down at the half-finished tumbler. “I haven’t finished yet.”

“No matter.”

His voice tells it is most certainly some sort of matter. “Volt -”

He turns, rummaging at a few bottles before deciding on a few, putting them to the side. When you finally catch a glimpse of his profile behind his shock of hair, his smile is saccharine.

“Yes, here we go,” he mutters to himself as bottles of simple syrup, bourbon, and lemon juice appear in front of you. No shakers, no strainers, just a grin that sends a shiver down your spine.

You gulp. You know that grin. You say again, a little harsher, “Volt -”

“Now now, live wire, no need for that. I’m just going to make you a cocktail, hm?” Volt cocks his head like he’s explaining a trick to a dog, trying as he might to play innocent.

“Yes but what do -”

Your voice stops with a gasp as, quick as lightning, Volt’s fingers find your jaw and press down on your cheeks to force your mouth open. The pressure is harsh, almost bordering on painful, and Volt’s palm rests fittingly under your chin. You find, almost instantly, your breath comes easier through your nose, and it’s unsteady when it comes out.

His hair is alive, bursts of light sparking close to your skin, and his eyes are wild. “Fear not, spark.” You see him reach for a bottle, his eyes not leaving your face. “I’m just making a cocktail.”

The tip of a bottle is cool on your lips, and sweetness flows into your mouth - but not too much, no no, just enough to cover your tongue.

“Very good, darling.” Volt coos, placing the bottle back on the bar and deftly grabbing the next. This one’s bourbon, you think, and the unmistakable scent wafts to your nostrils. It mixes with the syrup on your tongue, and this time, a few drops escape from the corners of your lips. You feel them, slowly, casually, journey down your chin, your neck, down the center of your chest and between your breasts, leaving a cool streak in their wake.

Volt chuckles approvingly as he allows a few drops of lemon juice to enter your mouth, resulting in even more spillover, and you moan, pleadingly, as your jaw starts to ache.

“Impatient, are we?” He licks his lips, leans forward across the bar so there’s only a hair of space between your lips and his. “You, live wire, look delectable.”

He cuts off your moan with his tongue, intruding on your rigidly held mouth, swiping long, hungry licks over the roof of your mouth, your tongue, lapping at the mixture of liquids he poured like a man parched. You whine, you moan, you plead with the only small sounds you can make. The taste is overwhelming, the liquid dribbles out of you rapidly now, and the combination of the droplets’ wet streaks and nearby electricity elicit goosebumps along your skin.

Volt’s fingers relax as he pulls away, releasing your jaw from his grip but keeping his hand on you (always on you). He sucks at your bottom lip, and you finally have enough control to swallow the remnants of the drink Volt missed. You whine again, still physically prevented from forming words.

He stops, and you swear you can hear the buzz of his charged eyes when they meet yours, white hot with lust. His thumb pets your chin, the tips of your noses kissing. “Did you want something, darling?”

Fuck this man.

Fuck this man.

Hm. That sounds like a good idea, actually.

You lunge forward, your whiskey-laced lips starving for Volt’s, and you grab at his vest with white-knuckled fists. He lets out a growl, a sound of pure want, and you feel his arms snake around you, encircle your waist, and you’re being hoisted forwards across the bar. The stool you sat in clatters to the ground, and you allow Volt to settle your ass on the bar, you lips never separating more than a breath.

Volt’s large hands singe at your waist, a delicious burn as he grips you tightly. You loosen your grip on his vest and wrap your arms around his neck at the same moment your legs lock around his hips, pressing his warm body to you. He rocks his hips between your thighs, and you gasp at how hard he already is, straining against his slacks.

“Fuck, Volt,” you sigh when his tongue journeys down your chin, your neck, licking up the trail of his “cocktail.” Your nails claw at the back of his neck, needing purchase wherever possible. He sucks at a spot at the base of your neck, and a shock surges from your spine straight to your clit. “Oh, oh, fuck…”

His voice reverberates in your neck when he hums in satisfaction. “Live wire,” he says, strained with lust, “I have to have you. Now.” As he says it, his hands deftly find the button of your pants and tug, and they’re gone in a lightning flash, your bare skin hitting the cold wood.

Yes, yes of course, who were you to say no to such need? You need him, needed this, right now, right here on the -

Bar.

Oh no.

You two were breaking Eddie’s one rule.

Your eyes fly open, and you try, feebly, to push Volt away. “Volt. Volt, the bar, Eddie -”

“Fuck Eddie.”

You groan, and you both love and hate that his voice makes you wetter. “He says no sex at the bar -”

“Last time I checked,” Volt’s hands palm the flesh of your thighs around his waist, sparks igniting at every inch they move, “this is our bar. And you, little spark, are ours as well. So, why shouldn’t I enjoy my share, hm?”

You weren’t going to win, you knew that, you rarely ever did with Volt, and the rational part of your brain had clocked out when you locked up after Johnny left. Because yeah, the boys were yours, and they always said the bar was just as much yours now too, so…

You’d just have to be extra attentive when you cleaned up, was all.

You swallow, trying to find whatever liquid courage might remain in your mouth, and start to grab at Volt’s belt. “Fuck it.”

Volt’s grin is tiger-like as he helps you free himself, and you unconsciously lick your lips at the sight of his cock, long and curved with the faintest tinge of blue. Amps sake, how lucky were you that both of your boyfriends had such pretty, pretty cocks?

You trail your fingers along his length, watching as a droplet of pre forms at the tip. Volt hisses, and he grabs your wrist suddenly, and you look up at his white eyes, scared you’ve done something wrong.

But no anger or hurt is evident on his face, just that familiar mischief. He pulls your wrist and hand close to your face, and looks expectantly at your open palm. “Spit.”

Your hole clenches at the word, and you fight back a whimper. You gather the spit in your mouth, letting the glob drop onto your hand.

“Again.”

You don’t think twice.

Satisfied, Volt leads your hand back to his cock, and you wrap your grip around him, glazing your spit over the hot skin, coating him as best you’re able as he maneuvers your wrist. He makes a hum of content after a moment, and you rest your hand on your waist when he releases you.

There’s hardly anymore preamble before the head of his cock is pressing at your entrance, but you know Volt, and you know -

Your jaw falls open in a silent cry as Volt enters you, white hot and slick and everything you need. He gives you a moment, just a moment, to relax into the fullness, before his hips snap, and he thrusts.

So. Fucking. Lucky.

Strings of moans, strings of “yes, yes, yes, fuck yes” fall from your lips each time Volt bottoms out, and you bury your face into his shoulder, the burning heat of his skin and the cool wood a beautiful contrast.

You can hear the sparks of Volt’s hair, feel the puffs of his breath, and you hang on to every curse, every “my spark, fuck, good little spark,” that he groans.

It’s maddening, almost, just how good he makes you feel, how they make you feel. You moan something incomprehensible when he bites your neck and lick the marks. “Volt, volt, yes -“

There’s a surge, a flicker, and you’re empty, and Volt’s weight is missing.

You open your eyes, suddenly terrified from the loss, and you think to scream -

But the sight that greets you isn’t one that’s… entirely unwelcome.

Eddie’s hand has a death grip on the currents of Volt’s hair, tugging hard enough to keep Volt’s chin tilted back, unmoving.

(You think, in the recesses of your fucked our mind, that you wish you could do that, but it seemed to be a skill reserved for literal electrical conduits personified.)

You blink, aligning yourself to this new situation, to this unexpected twist, because when did Eddie -

Eddie.

Eddie.

Uh oh.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” Eddie’s voice is harsh, methodical, but level. He usually only sounds like this when he’s kicking out Kristof for starting a fight, or when he notices you doing something even mildly off-kilter when fixing up the club. It’s a dangerous tone.

Neither of you speak immediately. You can't even bring yourself to meet Volt’s eyes; you’re focused solely on Eddie, and how still, how charged he is.

“Are either of you going to fucking say anything?” His grip tightens on Volt’s hair, and Volt nearly stumbles back.

“Eddie, my darling,” Volt finally offers, trying the voice he uses to introduce the next act. The listen-to-what-I’m-about-to-say voice. “My, did we miss you -”

“Volt,” his voice is clipped, and Volt doesn’t try again. “I have one fucking rule. And you know that.”

You haven’t seen the ice that’s in Eddie’s eyes in weeks, and now it’s your turn to try. “Eddie, it was my -”

“Absolutely not.” Titanium eyes stop your words in your throat, and Eddie points a finger at you. “You are not in a position where you wanna lie to me.”

He’s right, and you know it, and you close your legs in an effort to take up less space on the bar.

Eddie turns his attention back to Volt, flexing his grip and pulling his partner’s head closer to him, turning him so their eyes meet. You feel the hum, the charge in the air that flows between them. “No. Sex. In the bar, Volt.” Eddie cocks his head, studying Volt’s strained white gaze. “Or did you not learn the last time when I caught you with Amir?”

Volt’s laugh is shakey, raising his hands in surrender. “It was only a broken mirror, Eddie, and look at me now! We’re being very careful to -”

Eddie cuts him off with a kiss you can only describe as forceful, teeth tugging at Volt’s lips, and keeping him in place as he twists his hand in Volt’s hair. You swear you hear a growl from Eddie’s throat when he harshly tugs Volt away again, and there’s a flash of something in his steely gaze as you watch his free hand start to fumble with his pants zipper.

Sometimes, you’re almost certain there are times that Volt and Eddie don’t communicate with words, that there’s something deeper between them that lets them move in a singular, tandem pace, synchronized. As Eddie unzips, and Volt placidly drops to his knees before him, you think this is one of those times.

“You,” Eddie groans, when Volt, unprompted, places a chaste, quick kiss to Eddie’s thick, angry cock, “need to shut. up.”

He says nothing more, but on instinct, Volt’s jaw goes slack, and nearly his entire cock slips into Volt’s mouth with practiced ease.

Your body tremors as you watch them, notice with interest how a small fuck falls from Eddie’s lip, and he throws his head back, steeling his jaw with bared teeth. He’s so still, letting Volt do the work on his cock, and - and you can’t help it, your thighs press together, and your nails scrap along the wood as your hands turn to firsts.

Eddie notices.

Eddie always notices.

Eddie’s eyes are nearly black with lust, hunger, and barely controlled rage. “You,” he says, voice rough in his throat. “Open your legs.”

You do, and the air is cold where your slick hasn’t dried.

Eddie reaches out his hand, extends his ring and middle finger, and lays them at the very edge of the bar. Still. Waiting.

You blink, unsure, but you’re not sure if you’re allowed to speak.

“Fuck yourself or don’t, live wire, I don’t care,” he says. “He’s - fuck - in more trouble than you. He’s not getting off tonight.”

Lucky, lucky, lucky, your mind chants, and your heart might just explode from electrocution if you’re not careful.

You scoot yourself to the edge of the bar, position your legs under you, line your entrance over where his fingers are raised and waiting. You grip the curve of the wood to steady yourself, and lower yourself down onto Eddie’s fingers, as far as you can, and your mouth falls open in a curse at the feeling of fullness finally returned to you.

Eddie only watches, his fingers knotting in Volt’s hair, trying with his entire willpower not to fuck all his fingers into your cunt. You feel so hot, so slick, and the currents racing through his cock are already dangerously close to shorting if Volt keeps his pace. He knows if he so much as catches a glimpse of those white eyes that he’ll blow like a fuse. So, he watches you, bouncing up and down as best you can, trying to grind your clit on his thumb. Angry as he is at catching you two in the one place you shouldn’t be, he has to admit, he thrives off the power you and Volt are feeding him.

You’re close, so close, and you moan Eddie’s name in want and frustration. He makes no sound, but Volt hums around Eddie’s cock, and you can’t tell whose slick, depraved sounds are whose.

Volt moans again, his grip tighter on Eddie’s hips, and you somehow know he’s warning you that Eddie won’t last long. You quicken your place, angling to find how Eddie’s thumb hits your clit. It’s just right, and you close your eyes, white bolts of lightning behind your eyelids as you climb, higher, higher -

“Yes, yes, Eddie Eddie, fuck, Eddie!” You cry as your orgasm hits like a surge, tingling and coursing through all your limbs, and your legs quiver as you force yourself to slow.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, knowing he has only seconds, and Volt only speeds up. “Fuck,” he grunts, and finally flicks his eyes down to watch Volt work, if only for a moment, but the second those knowing, loving, burning eyes meet his -

He short circuits.

Volt sucks him dry as Eddie groans, curses through his climax, even swallows him down with his nose pressed to the coils above Eddie’s shaft. Doesn’t let a single drop spill, Volt, and Eddie loves him for it.

You all are finally, somehow, able to relax, as you extricate yourselves from your slightly incoherent, slightly precarious positions. Volt, back on his feet, pulls you into his arms, hoists you up as you wrap you legs around them - none of you trust them to hold you up.

Eddie rubs his hand over your back, presses adoring kisses to your shoulder. “You alright, little wire?” He asks, in the softest voice you’ve heard him use all night.

You nod, turning your head to find his face. “Of course, Eddie. Always.”

A corner of his lip tugs up into a smile. “Good.” He plants a warm kiss on your cheek and tucks a hair behind your ear. “Like I said, you’re not in trouble. I know how dangerous Volt’s tongue can be.”

“Hey,” Volt quips, his fingers pressing into your thighs. “A moment ago you liked my dangerous tongue.”

Eddie pays the jest no mind, but still looks up at him. “You’re on close for a week. Alone. And - nope - don’t you ‘Eddie’ me. Alone. One week.”

Volt groans, and you don’t have to see his face to know he rolled his eyes too. “You already didn't let me cum, so I get the message." He, too, presses a small kiss to the top of your head. "But who’s going to keep our spark busy then, hm?”

Eddie smiles, seeing the mischievous glint that just appeared in your gaze. “Well, luckily, they have more than one option, don’t they?”

Lucky, lucky, lucky.

[thaatdigitaldiary]

LET’S GET MARRIED. | ⌗ 4.1K WORDS. | PAIGE BUECKERS.

╰ summary. paige takes you to italy for your anniversary, and not only puts a ring on your finger—she uses her own.

➺ content warnings. wnba!paige. fem!reader. sexual content. (double sided) strap usage. spit play. pussy drunk. dirty talk. nipple play. fingering. oral. BARELY PROOFREAD

➺ from ke, to you 📨. series on hold….lmfao….don’t hate me. i got TEWWW much going on to keep up with it, but ian forget!! for now just enjoy this (before i ghost yall again don’t shoot me!) but ily all and thank you for being patient!

The Italian sun was doing more than it was supposed to, dipping low over the Amalfi Coast and turning the sky into a canvas of pink, orange, and gold. Paige, who was fresh off another season with the Dallas Wings—had pulled out all the stops for your three-year anniversary. She'd been hyping up this trip for weeks, dropping cryptic little hints about "somethin' big" she had planned. You figured it was just her flexing that league money, treating you to a fancy-ass vacation.

Paige had deeper intentions, and tonight, she wanted to make bigger decisions, and do what she had to do.

-

The day had been great, the two of you kicked it off with a private boat ride along the coast, the kind of bougie shit you only see in movies. The water was crystal clear, shimmering under the sun, and Paige was emerged in the atmosphere, blonde hair slicked back, rocking a black bikini that showed off her toned, tanned arms and abs.

She'd rented out the whole damn boat, just for the two of you, and everything felt perfect. The salty breeze hit just right, and Paige kept pulling you into her lap, her hands always finding some excuse to graze your skin.

"I like this color on you, baby," she'd said, smirking as she eyed you in your lavender two-piece to match hers. Her voice had that playful undertone, but the way her fingers lingered on your hips told you she wasn't joking at all. You'd laughed it off, splashing her with water, but the heat in her blue eyes had your core tight.

By the time the sun started setting, you two were back on land, showered, and dressed up for dinner. Paige had picked this cliffside restaurant overlooking the sea, the kind of spot that needed to be photographed. Candles flickered on the table, the waves crashed below, and the air smelled like salt and fresh herbs. She had you pick her outfit—a white dress shirt hugging her broad shoulders, black slacks tailored just right, her tan popping from all that Italian sun. She’s dressed you up in a flowy sundress, tight in all the right places, and by the way Paige was staring at you, you knew she had made the right choice.

"I knew what the fuck I was doin’ when I picked this shit," she'd said, leaning across the table to brush her fingers over yours. Her voice was low, that low tone she only used when she was really taking you in.

Dinner was spot on, ordering shared plates of creamy pasta, laughing when she fed you a forkful and sauce dripped on your chin. "Messy ass," she teased, wiping it off with her thumb, but her touch lingered way longer than it needed to. She was on some extra flirty shit, licking her lips after every bite of tiramisu, smirking when she caught you staring. The wine had you both buzzing, and the tension that was slowly making you feel hotter wasn’t making anything better.

After dessert, Paige suggested a walk along the cliffs.

"Let's get outta here, mama. Moon's out, view’s hittin’.” She said, taking your hand, the metal from her rings cold on your fingers. The night air was warm, the moon full and casting a silver glow over the water. You strolled hand in hand, her thumb rubbing circles on your skin, but you noticed she was quieter now. That cockiness she usually carried was dialed back, and she kept fidgeting with something in her pocket.

"You good, baby?" you asked, nudging her with your shoulder.

She flashed that lopsided grin, the one that always made your heart skip. "Yeah, mama, I'm straight. Just... hold up a sec." She stopped at this little lookout spot, the view insane—cliffs dropping into the ocean, stars shining bright above like they were showing out just for the two of you.

Before you could say anything, Paige turned to you, her face all serious, but soft in a way you rarely saw before.

"Yo, real talk," she started, taking both your hands in hers.

Her palms were warm, a little sweaty, and you could feel her nerves for once. "These past three years with you? Best decision I’ve ever made. You my rock, my everything, and I ain't tryna do this life shit without you. You hold me down, keep me real, and I'm so fuckin' in love with you it's stupid." Your heart was pounding now, throat tight, because you knew where this was going. She dropped to one knee, pulling out a velvet box from her pocket. "So, what do you say, baby? Will you marry me? You wanna lock this down for real?"

The ring was a stunner—a sleek platinum band with a fat diamond that caught the moonlight and damn near blinded you. You were shook, tears prickling as you nodded like a damn fool. "Yes, Paige, fuck yes!" She slid that ring on your finger, her hands steady now, and popped up to scoop you into her arms. She spun you around, both of y'all laughing like idiots, before she pulled you in for a kiss—deep, hungry, her lips tasting like wine and forever. "That's my girl," she whispered against your mouth, and you were ready to combust right there.

-

The walk back to the villa was a blur, simply because the second y'all hit the door, Paige was on you. She had you pinned against it before it even clicked shut, her mouth crashing into yours like she'd been holding back all night.

"Been thinkin' 'bout this shit since dinner," she growled, her hands already sliding under your dress, gripping your thighs. Her dress shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and you were tugging at her pants, desperate to feel her skin.

"Fuck… baby, slow down," you gasped, but it was half-hearted—you wanted her just as bad. She smirked against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. "Nah, mama, you said yes. We celebratin' this shit tonight." Her hands were everywhere, rough and needy, and you were matching her energy, pulling her closer, nails digging into her back.

She hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around her waist as she carried you to the bedroom. The villa was all luxe—big-ass bed, floor-to-ceiling windows with that ocean view—but you barely noticed it. Paige dropped you on the mattress, climbing over you, her eyes dark and locked on yours. "You so fuckin' pretty," she murmured, peeling your dress off slow, like she was savoring every inch. You were down to your lace set, and she bit her lip, hands ghosting over your curves.

You yanked her down, kissing her hard, tongues sliding together as she pressed her body into yours. Her shirt came all the way off next, then her bra, and you couldn't help but stare—her abs were insane, flexing as she moved. "You're one to talk—look at you, baby." You muttered, running your hands over her stomach. She chuckled, but it turned into a groan when you tugged her closer, grinding up against her.

Paige's hands found your bra clasp, popping it open with ease, a skill she gained the first time you two hooked up. She didn't waste time—her mouth was on your chest, lips wrapping around a nipple, sucking hard.

You arched into her, a moan slipping out as her tongue flicked over the sensitive peak. "Fuck, Paige," you breathed, and she grinned against your skin, switching to the other side, her hand pinching and rolling the first nipple between her fingers. The mix of her hot mouth and rough touch had you squirming, heat pooling low in your stomach.

"Chill, mama, I gotchu’," she said, voice all smug as she kissed down your body. Her fingers hooked into your panties, sliding them off with a quick tug. She sat back for a sec, just looking at you, spread out and naked under her.

"Look at this shit, you wet already?" she teased, running a finger through your folds, slow and deliberate. You jolted at the contact, hips bucking, and she smirked. "Yeah… that's what I thought."

She slid one finger inside you, then two, curling them just right as her thumb circled your clit. "Fuck, mmph… don't stop," you whined, and she didn't—pumping her fingers steady, her other hand gripping your thigh to keep you open. She leaned down, spitting on your pussy, the wet heat of it making you gasp before she dove in, tongue flattening against your clit.

The combo was filthy—her fingers fucking into you, her mouth sloppy and relentless. You were a mess, hands in her hair, taken down and wavy, pulling her closer as she ate you out like it was her last meal.

"Shit, you taste good as fuck mama… y’know that?" She mumbled against you, the vibration sending you spiraling. Your thighs shook, and she doubled down, sucking your clit hard while her fingers hit that spot deep inside.

You came undone, loud and unapologetic, hips grinding against her face as the orgasm ripped through you. Paige didn't let up until you were twitching, oversensitive, pushing her head away with a shaky laugh.

She climbed back up, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. "You good, fiancée?" she asked, but the glint in her eye said she wasn't done.

You nodded, still catching your breath, and she reached over to the nightstand, pulling out a double-ended strap she'd stashed there. "Round two, soon to be," she said, smirking as she adjusted it, sliding one end inside herself. “Shit… went in easy.” She says with a low groan.

You watched, mesmerized, as she lined up the other end, nudging it against you. "You ready?" she asked, and when you nodded, she pushed in slow, both of y'all moaning at the stretch. She started moving, hips rocking steady, the strap filling you both up as she fucked you deep. Her hands gripped your waist, pulling you into her thrusts, and you matched her rhythm, the bed creaking under you.

"Fuck yeah, baby… harder," you begged, and she delivered —snapping her hips faster, her breaths coming in sharp pants. She leaned down, spitting into your mouth, and you swallowed it, the rawness of it pushing you closer to the edge. Her chest bounced with every thrust, and you couldn't resist—reaching up to play with her nipples, pinching them until she hissed, her pace faltering for a sec.

"Shit, mama… pussy got me soaked," she laughed, breathless, then flipped you over so you were on top. You rode her, grinding down on the strap, feeling it hit all the right spots while she watched, hands guiding your hips. "That's it, ma, fuck your fiancée good," she groaned, and you did—bouncing hard, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping and your moans mixing together.

She sat up, pulling you chest to chest, the strap still buried deep as she kissed you sloppy, all teeth and tongue. "I'm so—so close baby…" she muttered, and you felt it too—the tension coiling tight. A few more thrusts, and y'all came together, her nails digging into your back as you clung to her, shaking through it.

Paige collapsed back, pulling you down with her, both of y'all sweaty and spent. She brushed her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead out of her face, grinning up at you. "Happy anniversary, mama." You laughed, kissing her soft this time, the ring on your finger catching the moonlight. "Best anniversary ever, don’t you think?” You whispered, and she nodded, pulling you close.

Your first fuck as a fiancée.

╰ ⌗ tags : @pboogerswbb @cherryswisherz @mariahthealchemist @sierrale8ne @janaelalfysblunt @bueckersbitch @lovegalor333 @juspeaks @flipthepaige @omg-imtumbling @lilpaigeyherbo @mrsarnold @wbbgetsmewetter @lupinqs @linebg0 @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme @makethemhoesmad @ashortyluvsports @paigesbabygirl @d3arapril @slut4uconnwbb @avvwritesstufff @xoxosierralane @vamptizm @pb524830 @uwupaige @naeswrrldd @paigebaby5 @ohmybueckers @azziswrld @noisygemini777 @angryflowerwitch @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @jieysiee @forward1212 @xoxosierralane @ohbueckers @courtsidewithlani

[orphicmeliora]

Secret identity au

You're what people call a walking disaster. You walk into a room, down a street, through a building, hell, even a park bench—anywhere at all—and it's almost guaranteed that someone, somehow, is getting hurt. Maybe a potted plant falls on a passerby. Maybe a toddler accidentally kicks you in the shin with a toy truck. Maybe a scooter mysteriously careens down a ramp and knocks over a vendor's hotdog stand. Either way, pain is usually involved, and statistically speaking, it’s either you or some other poor unfortunate soul caught in your gravitational field of chaos.

The worst part? Most of the time, it’s not even your fault. It’s like the universe itself has you on speed dial for comedic misfortune. Things just happen around you—doors swing open, drinks spill, ceiling tiles fall. Some say you’ve got a black cat’s luck. Others whisper it’s your evol to attract chaos like a lightning rod. Like some sort of cosmic magnet for near-death experiences.

Enter this Lumiere guy who shows up out of nowhere every time you need help. The masked man with a heroic streak and perfect timing. He always seems to be there the second you're dangling from a balcony, caught in a runaway shopping cart, or about to be squashed by a suspiciously fast-moving food delivery drone. He’s graceful, mysterious, and efficient—like if Batman had a Pinterest board full of soft lighting and silk capes. Naturally, you’re halfway in love. Because who doesn’t catch feelings for the guy who literally saves your life every 48 hours? The mask only makes it worse, honestly. What does he look like? Why won’t he take it off? Why does his voice sound like a lullaby dipped in espresso? It's all very stressful.

Anyway, fast forward. You're back from a long shift of not dying (you tripped, a ladder fell, long story), and you’re practically vibrating with excitement over your latest Lumiere sighting. So you do the most obvious thing: call your bestie to fangirl.

You're pacing in the hallway, phone pressed to your ear, animatedly relaying every detail ("I swear, his cape glowed when the sun hit it—no, I'm not exaggerating! And then he caught me—like, full-on princess-style caught me, I thought I was gonna die, but no, he just—ugh, the way he looked down at me, I swear—") when the elevator finally dings and the doors glide open.

That’s when you notice him.

You falter mid-sentence. “Hold on, I think my neighbor wants to murder me with his eyes.”

Xavier doesn’t even blink.

He’s standing a few feet away, waiting to get past you into the hallway, staring like you’ve personally offended his ancestors. As your words trail off, he levels you with the kind of look usually reserved for gum on expensive shoes.

You lower the phone slightly. “Uh…hi?”

Nothing. Just a sharp exhale through the nose and that judgmental, soul-piercing stink eye like you’re the human equivalent of elevator Muzak.

The man is wearing a plain white hoodie and sweatpants like he walked out of a moody fitness ad, and yet he exudes the same intensity as someone plotting world domination—or at the very least, filing a very strongly-worded HOA complaint.

You step aside as he brushes past, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “loud.” The nerve.

Okay then.

You resume your call, lowering your voice only slightly. “I don’t know what this guy’s deal is. I’m not that loud. Maybe he’s allergic to joy?” Okay, maybe your voice carries, but you’re excited! You could’ve died! Again! Some people journal. Some people drink. You cope with high-volume storytelling and minor public disturbances.

And you’re just about to get over it when something weird happens. Just for a second, Xavier's hoodie sleeve slips up as he adjusts the grocery bag in his hand.

There’s a flicker of something silver peeking out from under the fabric. Thin, intricate. Almost…mask-like?

Wait.

No.

It can’t be.

Can it?

[vinylmango]

Flower Delivery crazy ex!Nicholas Alexander Chavez x black!reader

Request: Hi! Can you make a story about Nicholas Chavez being obsessed and real crazy if that’s fine!

Warnings: gaslighting and obsessive behavior, language

word count: 1.2k

Note: Fair warning this is my first time writing long form content in a while and my first request. Thanks so much for requesting and I hope you like it!

part two

part three

masterlist

You opened the shiny silver trailer door with a sigh, your eyes cutting left and right as you quickly clicked the door closed behind you. Silence enveloped you, a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle outside. Flopping down on the small beige sofa near the window of your trailer, you reached an arm out, haphazardly feeling for your phone as you tried your best not to move from your comfortable position. 

You finally grabbed your phone after a few tries, glancing at the various notifications on the screen. “Nothing important.” You mumbled to yourself as you placed the phone down on the coffee table. You glanced up at the table that was beside the full length mirror, your eyes being drawn there due to the pop of colors that screamed against the basically designed trailer that only utilized various shades of creams and whites. 

“No…wh-how?” Slipped from your lips, filling the silence as you stood and took a few hesitant steps towards the beautifully arranged flowers. A sinking feeling began to grow in the pit of your stomach, combining with a growing anger that only seemed to bubble up more the moment your hand touched one of the delicate yellow petals. 

A small white card with your name scrawled in intricately looped lettering caught your attention from beside the vase. “My (Y/n), I always knew you’d be a star. Love, Nick.” You gritted your teeth, tossing it back on the table as you rolled your eyes. “What the fuck?” You inhaled sharply. "Oh my God, what the fuck!" You repeated as you grabbed your phone once again, clicking the contact you didn’t really have to spend much time searching for, and clicking dial.

It only rang twice before the line connected. “Hi (Y/n).” You could hear the smile growing on his face already, your nails turning white around the phone that was pressed to your ear, your lips pulling into a firm line. “I take it you got my flowers?”

“I told you to stop.” Your tone was deceivingly calm as you closed your eyes and let out a breath.

“Stop what, love?” 

“Don’t call me that.” You instantly replied as he chuckled into the line. “Stop sending me things. Stop it. We aren’t dating anymore. It’s been a year, just stop.”

“I sent you flowers every week.” A chill ran up your spine as his tone switched from the lighthearted one to a much more serious and strangely calm one. You could picture his face now, devoid of emotion and dark eyes staring straight at you with a calculating look as if he were assessing you.

“Well we aren’t together. We haven’t been for a year.” You reminded him again as you heard him scoff. 

“You didn’t know what you wanted. I know you (Y/n). We’re better together. Just trust me.” 

“No.” You shook your head, although he couldn’t see you. “You don’t get to do that anymore. You have no idea what I want or need because you’re a fucking psycho!”

“Don’t be so dramatic (Y/N). You’re confu-”

“I know what you did with Sam.” You cut him off. “He showed up at my place last month going on about how two-faced I supposedly am. How he was so lucky some ex of mine told him that I’m a serial cheater, that I cheated on him too. Then the ex told him that I’ve been sleeping with him since before I even met Sam, let alone started dating him, because I’m still in love with my ex.” A humorless laugh left your lips at the absurdity of it all. “I know it was you and you know none of that is true."

"Hm." He didn't say anything, neither confirming or denying your accustation. But you both knew the truth, it hung heavy in the air.

"He broke up with me." You could picture the look of satisfaction that crossed his face. "This is the third time, Nicholas."

“He’s not good enough for you. He’s a douche and a scumbag and he's been that way since high school. He uses people to social climb.” Nicholas brushed it off. “You think I’d allow him to hurt you? Damage your reputation? Make you another one of his conquests? I was protecting you.”

“No. You don’t get to do that! You don’t get to decide who I can and can’t talk to!” Your voice raised as you messed with your hair, a nervous habit that you didn’t realize you did until Nicholas pointed it out one time when you were over for a movie night. “And you need to stop showing up at my place. You’re scaring Mrs. Mills.” You added referring to your elderly neighbor who was the one that told you sometimes a car would come by late at night and park in front of your home then leave after 30 or so minutes. Always the same car. 

“That woman doesn’t even know what day of the week it is most of the time. You really are going to believe her over me? That's insane. She's damn near senile.” He sounded offended now, his tone short and tense.

“Nick, I'm done, seriously. Loose my fucking number.” You said finally, hanging up and immediately blocking his contact. You jumped as a loud knock sounded from the other side of your trailer door.

That couldn’t be him. Could it?

You opened the trailer door just enough to stick your head out. 

“Are you alright (Y/N)? You look like you saw a ghost or something.” It was just one of the studio interns coming to get you from the filming break. She laughed lightly, her blue eyes shining almost as much as her dark glossy hair in the sunlight. You let out a forced laugh, your mouth rising into a smile that did not reach your eyes, and frankly looked more like a grimace than anything close to a smile. 

“Sorry. I-I was just lost in thought.” You tried to cover for your awkward reaction as she nodded, looking you over once again before the smile returned to her face. 

“They’re ready for you on set again.” She told you as you nodded and grabbed your phone off the table before following her out and towards the stage. You should’ve grabbed those flowers and thrown them in the dumpster that was on your way to the stage from your trailer. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t.

You glanced back once, worried you may have forgotten to lock your trailer, you couldn’t remember if you had or hadn’t. Your foot caught on your shoelace as your eyes locked with the all too familiar dark brown ones that had once made you smile. 

He watched you stumble, his eyebrows raising as a hint of a smile appeared on his lips at your blunder. You gasped, looking around to see if anyone else was seeing the man who was not supposed to be on set or if this really was a figment of your imagination. 

“Are you okay?” The intern spun around and asked, concern written all over her face. “I’ve been trying to tell people on set about that hole. They really need to repave this. You aren’t hurt are you?” She was talking a mile a minute as you blinked at her and simply nodded, glancing back in the direction of your trailer to find nothing there. No Nicholas after all.

Maybe it really had just been your imagination.

“Uh…Ye-yeah. I’m alright.”

[ataliagold]

you're the only one who knows, you slow it down

For @astrangersummer week 13 prompts 'cat' and 'farmers market'. Title from Look After You by The Fray. And yes, I watched A Quiet Place Day One and was obsessed with Frodo...

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T

W/C: 1791

Tags: Modern AU, No Upside Down, First Meeting, Steve has PTSD, Steve has a service cat, Steve wears glasses, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, panic attacks, Eddie takes care of Steve, referenced child abuse, autistic Steve (not overly relevant here but still)

Summary: Eddie's at a farmers market when he's approached by a very determined black and white cat. On a whim, he follows him to a young man having a panic attack in the woods.

___

Eddie’s browsing the little jewelry stand at the far end of the Farmer’s Market, glancing over hand-made leather bracelets and cheap silver rings while the old lady behind the table watches him hopefully. Over a blare of emergency sirens from the street in the distance he can hear Wayne behind him bartering with someone who’s wanting to buy one of his plants, the plants Eddie had been roped into carting there from the van in boxes that were too fucking heavy and he’d been drenched in sweat almost immediately under the summer sun.

He looks up briefly, regrets it immediately because the vendor’s eyes light up and fuck now he’s gotta buy something…

He’s interrupted by something soft brushing against his ankle.

Hanging up a black leather band, he looks down. Blinks a few times, confused.

There’s a black and white cat butting its little head against his leg. The cat stares back up at him with yellow eyes, wide and imploring.

“Uh….hi?” Eddie says, moving his leg away a bit because he doesn’t really do cats, has never interacted with them much before to be fair, other than the feral ones that hung around the trash in the trailer park and those weren’t exactly…friendly.

This guy is far cuter and cleaner than those cats ever were, though.

He’s got a maroon collar with a tag attached, and a red harness with a loose lead trailing behind him.

The cat steps closer to Eddie. Insistent now, shoving his face into his ankle again, then lets out an imploring meow.

“Where’s your owner?” Eddie asks to no one in particular, swiveling his head and surveying his surroundings. He sees fruit stands with enormous oranges, a honey stall, someone selling flowers off to his right, a small crowd browsing the wares but no one that looks like they’ve lost a black and white cat.

The cat meows again.

Eddie stoops down, gingerly reaches for its collar, reads the tiny writing on the tag in hope of some owners’ details.

Frodo - service cat

And Eddie had heard of service dogs, sure, but a cat?

A great name though, he admits.

He squints at the phone number etched below the name. Pulls out his phone, dials it. All the while Frodo meows at him, slams his head more forcefully into Eddie’s shin.

The call rings out to a voicemail, a guy called Steve in the message.

Eddie hangs up. Sighs, carefully pats the cat with a single finger on his head.

“You’re kinda cute, huh?” Eddie murmurs. “Someone’s missing you, for sure.”

He stands up again. Frodo moves several steps away, stops, stares back at him.

A lightbulb goes off in Eddie’s head.

He takes a step towards the cat. Frodo squeaks out a noise that seems happy to Eddie, and he steps even closer.

Frodo turns tail and trots off away from the market, and Eddie follows, Frodo glancing back every now and then to check Eddie’s still with him.

And so, the cat leads him towards a little copse of trees on the far side of the park. It’s pretty deserted out here, with most people busy browsing the market instead of taking their morning walks.

But as they get closer to the clearing in the middle of the trees, Eddie hears it.

Light gasps, panicked breathing, someone trying to suck in oxygen that just won’t come.

He quickens his step towards it. Frodo speeds up too, breaking away from Eddie now and bounding into the trees.

There’s a young man sitting in the dirt.

His knees are pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, and he’s rocking back and forth a little. His cheeks are wet, eyes clenched shut behind crooked glasses.

Eddie drops to his knees beside the man, hand hovering above his shoulder, not sure whether or not to touch because he knew a thing or two about panic attacks, knew this was what he was seeing, didn’t want to frighten the man and make it worse…

Frodo presses himself up against the man’s side, trills quietly. The man shifts, blindly reaches for the cat, unfolds himself a bit and hauls the animal into his lap, burying his face in warm fur.

“…hi,” Eddie says quietly, barely audible, clears his throat and tries again. “Hi. I’m…I’m Eddie.”

The man goes still. Freezes, noticing Eddie for the first time. He peeks out from behind Frodo’s head, blinking up at Eddie, eyes red and sore-looking but also honey-brown and soft. He’s got moles dotted across his cheeks, hair long and mussed and falling across his face.

He’s fucking gorgeous, Eddie’s brain supplies.

He forces that thought away – it’s not exactly helpful right now.

“Are you Steve?” Eddie guesses.

A small, singular nod.

“I found your cat,” Eddie supplies. “Or…he found me, I guess. Led me here. He’s pretty clever.”

“He’s the b-best,” Steve croaks, his voice raspy and rough and broken. “He’s a service cat. But you can…you can go, s’fine.”

Eddie frowns, shakes his head. “I’m thinking he came and got me for a reason, huh?”

Steve looks away, shrugs.

Eddie waits, gives him time to answer, but Steve doesn’t speak again. He hugs his cat to his chest, still lightly trembling all over.

“How about…I sit here for a few minutes, and you take some deep breaths, huh? I’m thinking you’ve had a panic attack, and those suck – trust me, I know – but you need to get your breath back, ok?” Eddie reaches for Steve, hand ghosting over his shoulder now.

Steve flinches lightly, but doesn’t pull away.

Frodo purrs away calmly in Steve’s lap, letting his owner squeeze him close.

And Eddie sits, and waits.

He remembers his own panic attacks as a kid, after he’d wake up from a nightmare about his dad – where he swore the stench of alcohol was in his room, when his dad was surely just outside his bedroom door, all tension wound tight and clenched fists and ready to unleash a barrage of abuse at him. His uncle Wayne would step quietly into his room, would gather him up and hold him tight, would talk to him quietly about everything and nothing all at once until Eddie drifted peacefully back to sleep.

As the minutes tick by, Eddie starts to talk.

“I don’t know much about cats, but yours is pretty clever,” he murmurs, rubbing circles across Steve’s broad back, over the soft yellow sweater he was wearing. “He came right up to me, no idea why he picked me out of a crowd of nice old ladies at the market, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer, he insisted on getting me to you. I guess that’s his job, right? Just like how some service dogs are trained to go and get someone if their owner is in trouble? I used to have this neighbour, this girl called Max, she had some disabilities after a car accident, and she had a dog who was trained to do that sort of stuff. But you’ve got Frodo.”

Steve’s breathing is evening out, his shoulders untensing slightly as Eddie speaks.

“Badass name, by the way,” Eddie continues, chuckling a little. “I’m guessing you’re a Lord of the Rings fan, then. So am I. In fact, it’s probably my favourite -”

“Not a fan,” Steve mumbles.

Eddie pauses mid-sentence. “…oh,” he finishes lamely.

Steve shifts a little, the tiniest smile twitching at his lips.

Eddie’s heart thumps in his chest at the sight of it.

“This kid I used to babysit, his name’s Dustin, he picked the name,” Steve clarifies, his voice a little clearer now, a little less forced. “It just kinda stuck.”

“It suits him,” Eddie assures him, reaching a hand out to the cat. He quickly snatches it back, remembers Max telling him over and over that you weren’t supposed to pat a service animal when they’re working. “Sorry,” he says quickly, “I didn’t mean to…well. He’s working.”

Steve smiles, wider now.

Eddie blinks slowly at him, feeling stupid and warm and weak for this man.

“You can pat him,” Steve says quietly, just above a whisper. He unfolds his legs, loosens his grip on Frodo just a little, giving Eddie room to reach across to the cat.

Eddie grins as his fingers find soft fur. He traces over Frodo’s head and the cat purrs louder, pressing back into his hand.

Steve watches, tears drying on his cheeks. He lifts his glasses, rubs at his eyes, then straightens them again.

“It was the sirens,” he says, a little choked up still.

Eddie nods slowly, continues to pat Frodo.

“Over on Main Street, I think, I was walking past and they were really loud, and then more and more started and then there was that fire engine too and all the flashing lights and…”

Eddie heard it earlier, too. Some crash near the park, the ladies at the market had gossiped amongst themselves.

“…and I tried to move away, but they were everywhere so I went into the trees and that was a little better but I could still hear them, and I know it’s fucking stupid but some stuff happened to me a few years back and now every time I hear them…” Steve trails off, snaps his mouth shut. Runs his hand rhythmically down Frodo’s back, almost meditatively now. “Sorry. S’dumb. But…I’m ok now, I think.”

Eddie splays his free hand across Steve’s back. Thinks about how much he’d like to pull Steve to his side, bundle him close, wrap himself around him…but they’ve only just fucking met.

He needs to calm down.

“It isn’t dumb,” Eddie insists gently, “I used to get them too. Panic attacks. I get it, ok? I’m just glad you’re ok now.”

Steve smiles at him, wobbly and weak but there.

“Thanks,” he says softly, “for following Frodo. And for…staying.”

Eddie returns his smile. Reaches for the man’s hand, clasps it, helps him to shaky feet.

Steve doesn’t let go of his hand.

They linger there, under the shade of the red maple trees, neither saying anything for a long moment.

Frodo sits at their feet. Blinks up at them, meows eventually.

Steve picks up Frodo’s lead, one hand still in Eddie’s, fiddles with the red canvas cord.

Eddie’s heart beats faster.

“Do you…wanna come and look around the stalls?” he asks quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not held securely in Steve’s, thinks he’d be happy if he could never use that hand again, so long as Steve kept a hold of it.

Steve smiles again, bright as the sun, and nods.

Slowly, he follows Eddie out of the clearing and back into the light of the day.

___

[etherealeowyn]

Can't Take My Eyes off You - Johnny Storm x Reader

Word Count: 2,418

I really liked how this story came out, and I'm contemplating writing a second part for this piece! Let me know if you want part 2!

Johnny dialed Y/n’s number on the rotary phone, and held it up to his ear, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself to ask the woman out.

He had only talked to her briefly earlier in the day, but he could tell that this girl was special, so much so that he wasn’t about to leave the café where she worked without getting her number.

He stared at the small, lined piece of paper in his hand, adorned with her nice handwriting, hoping she had given him her real number instead of a fake one.

“Hello?” a voice asked on the other line, and Johnny couldn’t stop a smile from forming when he recognized her voice.

“Hi, this is Johnny, the guy from the café earlier,” he spoke, his voice slightly shaky from nerves.

“Yes, I remember you,” Y/n spoke with a little laugh, finding his nervousness cute.

“Haha I’m glad, I got tickets to see Frankie Valli tomorrow, and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me. I understand if you can’t, but I have a feeling I’d enjoy myself a lot more if you were there with me,” he responded, letting a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth.

“In that case, I would love to go with you,” she replied, and it was obvious she was smiling just by hearing the tone of her voice.

“Perfect, just give me your address and I’ll pick you up at 6,” he excitedly said, writing down her address on the other side of the paper he held.

The two exchanged information before he placed the phone down and hung up, letting out a deep sigh of relief knowing that everything went exactly how he wanted it to. He fell back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, letting his mind run rampant with thoughts about tomorrow, and how pretty he knew Y/n would look.

Y/n on the other hand, wasn’t as relaxed, she frantically ran over to her closet and began pulling out a series of different dresses, in an attempt to find one she believed would look the best. She’d slip one on and then immediately tear it off after she deemed it wasn’t the best option.

That was until she pulled on a pastel yellow chiffon dress that was fitted around her torso and flared below her waist. It was poofy, but not too much, and it fell to just about knee length. It was elegant, but at the same time, it was playful. She deemed it to be perfect.

She hung it up in her room and pulled out a pair of heels that matched perfectly, and in her opinion made her legs look stunning.

The second she picked everything out, she happily jumped up and down, unable to contain her excitement for tomorrow.

It took her forever to fall asleep that night, and it felt like an eternity waiting for the morning to arrive. But she managed to get a little sleep, just enough to make sure she had enough energy for the day ahead of her.

Johnny began to get ready, slipping on a pair of grey dress pants and tucking in his white button-up shirt. He grabbed a tie from inside his dresser drawer, and wrapped it around his neck, leaning closer to the mirror as he adjusted it. His tongue partially stuck out of his mouth in concentration, and his body had become tense, yet all that stress drained from his body when he managed to get everything to look right.

He looked down at his silver watch and saw that it was about 5:15, so he grabbed his keys and began to walk to where his car was parked. Johnny turned the key into the driver’s side door and opened it before jumping in and adjusting the radio.

He left a little bit early so he could stop at the flower shop to pick her up something because he wanted to do everything in his power to make sure Y/n would enjoy this date. To be completely and utterly honest, he was overwhelmed when he saw the variety of bouquets that lined the store, but he ended up getting a mixture of yellow, orange, and pink roses.

Setting them gently on the passenger seat, he looked at the address written on the lined piece of paper and headed to her house.

The house was well-kept, and Johnny could tell there was a sort of warmth radiating from it. It seemed like one of those houses where good memories were made, and it made him hope one day that he could have something like that for himself.

Walking up the pathway, he held the flowers and adjusted his tie one more time before he rang the doorbell. His throat tightened from nerves as he waited for someone to answer the door, and every second that went by felt like an eternity.

He composed himself one final time when he heard the door unlock, and he couldn’t help but smile when Y/n appeared in front of him. Johnny stood there for a moment in awe of the woman standing in front of him, because her dress clung to her body perfectly, and he loved the way that her hair was down, yet it curled up at the ends.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” Johnny started, “I got you these, I wasn’t sure what your favorite flower was, but I tried to pick out something that was pretty like you.”

He couldn’t stop a rosy blush from appearing on his face when he handed her the flowers. Y/n eagerly took them, and pulled them towards her nose, closing her eyes as she inhaled the fresh scent.

“Thank you, I love roses,” Y/n excitedly responded, looking up at him gleaming.

“You can come in for a second while I put these in water,” she continued, motioning for him to enter with her free hand.

Johnny stepped inside, as Y/n closed the door behind, and immediately he could smell the sweet aroma of baked goods fresh out of the oven. She didn’t take a very long time to put the flowers in a vase, but as he waited, his eyes followed her every move.

He watched as her delicate, manicured hands gently unwrapped the flowers and placed them in the crystal glass. Y/n smiled as she carefully arranged the roses to make sure that they were all situated properly, and Johnny felt like his heart was going to burst right there on the spot.

He hardly knew the woman, yet he was already so undoubtedly infatuated with her that he wasn’t sure what he would do if she didn’t like him.

“Johnny, they look absolutely gorgeous, thank you so much,” Y/n told him, as she set the vase on the counter in front of him, so he could admire the purchase he made.

“Of course, you ready to go?” Johnny asked, holding out his hand for her to take/

She grabbed it before replying, “Definitely, I’m so excited,” and letting her lead her to his car.

Y/n couldn’t help but find his car to be stunning, she loved the baby-blue color of it, plus it was obvious that he kept incredibly good care of it. She watched in admiration as his hand pulled open the passenger side door, and he sweetly smiled at her, waiting until she was inside and situated before closing it for her. He walked around to the other side of the car and hopped in, before starting the ignition and pulling out into the street.

The entire way there, the pair didn’t shut up, it didn’t matter what the topic of conversation was. It was especially nice because both felt more comfortable in the presence of each other by the time Johnny pulled up to the venue.

Y/n could see people waiting outside, but there wasn’t a super long line, which was surprising to her because Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons were pretty big at the time. Their music was playing on the radio practically all the time.

Johnny got out of the car and handed his keys to the valet, before letting Y/n out of the car and taking her straight to the door of the venue, instead of waiting in the line.

“Hey Johnny, have a nice night,” security spoke, as he pulled back the velvet rope blocking the entrance.

Once they got far enough away inside, Y/n questioned, “How’d you know that guy?” surprised by their quick entry.

She noticed that people were staring at them as they walked by, but she just figured it was because they cut the line, now that she thought about it, it was odd because no one looked angry. Rather, they looked more shocked than anything.

“Well, you see, I kind of have an important job,” Johnny responded, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his free hands, he was nervous to tell her about his powers, but at the same time, it was refreshing that she didn’t know who he was. Mostly because it prevented her from having any preconceived notions about him.

“Oh yeah? What do you do?” Y/n asked sweetly, holding onto his arm and turning her head to look at him.

“Uh, I’m part of the Fantastic Four, I have these… powers,” he said, and he expected her to have a drastic, expressive reaction, but she didn’t. However, that didn’t stop his heart from frantically pounding in his chest.

“Why do you look so ashamed, that sounds incredible,” she replied slightly furrowing her brows, as her eyes lit up in some sort of astonishment.

“I guess I thought you’d think I’m some kind of weirdo or freak,” He scoffed, staring down at the ground in front of him.

“I certainly don’t think you’re a freak, and who cares if you’re a weirdo, I consider myself one,” Y/n laughed, “And to be completely honest, it sounds like you’re a hero, which I deeply admire. I could tell you have a good heart.”

Johnny was mildly taken aback by her comment, mostly because he didn’t ever truly think he was a hero. Yes, he did heroic things, but he was much too humble to call himself a hero. But the way the words rolled off her tongue, and the admiration behind her gaze made him feel good. People had told him he was special before, yet the genuine nature of Y/n’s words made him believe it.

His face felt hot as a blush overtook his features, and for a second, he was speechless. The only thing he managed to do at that moment was smile, as he hastily scrambled to come up with a sentence.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this flustered before,” Johnny replied, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’m not used to getting complimented so sincerely, especially by a woman as beautiful as you.”

“Aww thank you, if it makes you feel any better, you look incredibly cute when you’re all flustered,” she giggled, grabbing a drink for him and herself off the tray of one of the bartenders walking around.

He took a sip from his glass before responding, “I’m glad you think so, if I was any redder, I think I’d turn into a tomato.”

“Don’t worry, you’re far from looking like a tomato, to be completely honest, I’m kind of jealous because when you blush it makes the color of your eyes pop,” she joked, though she wasn’t lying one bit, his eyes did look extremely blue.

Their conversation was cut short though when the lights dimmed, and a man walked on stage announcing that the concert was about to begin.

“Would you rather sit down at one of the tables, or go dance?” Johnny whispered, leaning in close to the woman’s ear. He was content regardless of what her answer was because honestly, he just wanted to be close to her.

“I’d love to dance with you,” Y/n responded, looking at the man with a smirk on her face.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he spoke, holding her hand and walking her over to the dance floor where couples were already beginning to congregate.

Johnny’s hands softly held onto her hips, as Y/n’s arms draped around his neck. The two swayed with one another as the band began to play a slowed-down version of Can’t Take My Eyes off You.

You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off of you

Y/n’s head was tilted up slightly, just enough so that the two could maintain eye contact. Though they didn’t say a word, it was clear that both were enjoying themselves, just by the way their eyes were gleaming.

You'd be like Heaven to touch I wanna hold you so much

“I know this might be forward, but can I kiss you?” Johnny asked, studying the woman’s face for an answer before she even said anything.

“Absolutely,” she responded, her eyes that were once staring into his, now lowering until they were fixated on his lips before fluttering upwards once again.

He removed one of his hands from the woman’s waist and used it to cup the side of her cheek, leaning towards her until his lips connected with hers. The kiss was urgent, yet at the same time tender, and within a couple of seconds, Y/n stepped closer to the man limiting the space between them.

At long last love has arrived And I thank God I'm alive

When their lips disconnected, they pulled away slowly, letting their eyes slowly flutter open. Seemingly still lost in the trance of the kiss they shared.

Johnny’s hand lowered back down to her waist, and he pulled Y/n closer to her body until it was pressed up against his. Her head found comfort lying against his chest, listening to his heartbeat almost in time with the music. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head, before smiling to himself as he looked down at the woman in his arms.

He hadn’t been this happy in a long time, and he was savoring every second of the feeling. Johnny didn’t say a single word because he was afraid that he would ruin the moment, so instead, he simply held her tighter and desperately hoped this was going to be the start of a new chapter in his life.

You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off you

[nakidoriii]

In the Middle- Part 3

GeGo x Reader Mini Series

Warning: smut, squirting, cumming inside, male/male blowjob, threesome. || MDNI

Parts 1 and 2!

Art: Pintrest (if you know the artist feel free to tag.)

“Y/N, you didn’t…..” Utahime sighed.

“Oh, she did…” Shoko says while exhaling cigarette smoke.

You and the girls were sitting by the fountain in the courtyard. It was the day after your spontaneous endeavor with Gojo and Geto. You had just told the news to Shoko and Utahime. You didn’t want to tell anybody but you had to tell them.

“So let me get this straight… you let the snowman hit?” Utahime clarifies.

“Well, not exactly….. just my mouth.” You mumble.

Shoko lets out a laugh while Utahime covers her ears.

“I don’t want to know the details but thanks for telling us.” Utahime admits.

“Yea, we had a feeling that Geto liked you. He’d always ask us about you but we told him you weren’t looking to date. We had no idea about Gojo though.” Shoko also admits.

“I’m honestly glad it happened the way it did. I think it was just a one time thing.” You say.

“Oh it definitely won’t be, knowing them.” Shoko says as she starts walking away.

“What do you mean by that?” You say as Utahime starts following her.

“I don't really need to explain! Keep us updated though!” She yells as she walks off with Utahime to their next class.

You start walking to the food court, thinking about whether or not you should text the boys. Would that be weird? Is that clingy? It hasn't even been 24 hours yet.

“Y/N!”

You quickly turn your head to see Gojo with his usual toothy grin. You look him up and down taking in his outfit. He had on baggy cargo jeans and loose fitted graphic tee and silver accessories. These pieces were definitely out of Geto’s closet. He had a pep in his step as he walked up to you…more than usual of course.

“Heyyy.” You sing in response.

He casually throws his arm around your shoulders and starts walking with you. Almost every girl in sight has their eyes burning through you. I’m sure they are curious to know when this happened.

“How’s my favorite girl? You sore at all?” He asks loud enough so that only you can hear.

You laugh and say, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would, that’s why I asked.” He pouts, sighs and says, “I never got a turn yesterday.”

“Ahh, that’s why you’re shouting my name across campus. Yea, that makes sense.” You say sarcastically.

“Oh, my bad. Are we keeping this a secret? That’s no fun.” He teases.

“Your fangirls are already staring holes into me just because you’re touching me.” You say under your breath.

Gojo’s hand slides down your arm and onto your waist, pulling you closer to him as you two walk. He’s trying to get a rise out of these girls.

“I’m hoping it motivates you to come over. Is it working?” He says as he flashes you his pearly whites.

“Maybe a little.” You laugh at his sheer dedication to get into your pants. “What about Geto though?”

Gojo stops you in your tracks and lets out a, “Hmm” as he thinks. He bends down, placing his glossed lips next to your ear and says, “He wouldn’t mind if we got started early.”

Those words send sparks down to your center, causing you to clench your legs together as you stand in front of him. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about how Gojo is in bed. All you two did was give each other head and that was mostly because you couldn’t last another round.

“Under one condition.” You state.

“Anything.” He pleads.

“Since you’re derailing my whole day, it’s gotta be worth it. I’m cumming multiple times, got it?” You demand.

Gojo bites his lip in anticipation. Now you’re speaking his language.

“Yes ma’am. Let me call Suguru so I can let him know what will be waiting when he gets home. Ugh! Just thinking about you both is making me really excited.” He says giddily as he dials his best friend's number. “Suguru, meet us at the apartment. Y/Ns gonna be there. We’re getting started without you……. Yes, I’ll be gentle…..She said she wanted to multiple times…….Hahaha, yea I’ll snap a couple photos, you know me……See you soon.”

He hangs up the phone and starts leading you to his place. Gojo couldn’t keep his hands off of you during the whole walk. He would stand directly behind you knowing you’d feel his bulge on the small of your back. He’d whisper sweet nothings directly in your ear on the train. He wanted you soaked by the time you got to his place, calling it the “foreplay before the foreplay.” The moment you get to his front door, he pins your back to it. One of his hands is already sliding past the waistband of your panties, the other unlocking the door.

“G-Gojo, let's get inside first.” Your protest grows into a moan as his finger glides past your clit.

He opens the door, causing both of you to scuffle into the apartment. He uses his free hand to close the door. Articles of clothes get flung to different areas of his shared apartment as you two make your way to his bedroom. You crawl into his bed wearing only your bra and panties. He grabs your ankles and pulls you back to the edge of the bed. You squeal as he pries your legs open.

“Your panties are soaked.” He admires his work before he pulls them down your long legs.

You run your hands through his unpigmented hair as he licks up and down your folds. His hands pressed on the back of your thighs, lifting your legs up so he could have full access to your most sensitive parts. Gojo loved getting a reaction out of you and he planned to get so much more than that out of you.

“Satoruuu!” You moaned as he sucked on your clit.

This jump started Gojo’s pulse. He had never heard you call him by his first name, it kinda just slipped out. He spits on your puffy lips and slides two fingers in you. Your lips part from the new feeling inside you.

“Ugh, I love that! Say it again, baby. Who’s making you feel this good?” He says in between your folds.

“Mmmhnn, S-Satoru!” You moan as you throw your head back.

It was getting hard for you to keep your legs open as he fingered you, moving his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion. He pried your legs open with his free hand as he continued eating you out, making that knot form in your stomach.

“Mmm.” he moaned as if he was receiving pleasure from this.

He picks up the pace knowing that you're close.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cuumm!” You say as you push his face deeper into your folds. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as waves of pleasure crash over you.

He held you down as you rode out your orgasm, moaning his name the entire time. He slides his fingers out of you and starts kissing all over your body. Before you could open your eyes, you felt two more hands on your body.

“You did so good, Satoru.” Geto says right before slipping his tongue into Gojo’s mouth.

You don’t think you could ever get used to watching them kiss like this. It turns you on more than anything. The way Geto teasingly bites Gojo’s lip or how Gojo smiles during their kisses, it’s really fucking hot to you.

“She tastes so good, my God.” Geto moans as Gojo kisses his neck.

You sit up and start unbuttoning both their pants as they make out and feel each other up. You couldn’t take your eyes off them as you pulled their boxers to their knees. You spit on both their dicks and start stroking.

“What a good girl.” Gojo moans as both their attentions shift to you.

You take Geto down your throat as you continue to stroke Gojo with your hand. You look up at Geto as you moan with him down your throat. You take Geto from your throat and replace it with Gojo’s throbbing member, going back and forth between the best friends.

“How should I fuck her, Suguru?” Gojo asks as he caresses your jawline.

“I think she should be on top. I wanna see both of your pretty faces when you cum.” Geto states.

Gojo smirks as he lays down on his bed. He grabs onto your hips as you position yourself on top of him. You line up the tip of his dick with your entrance and slowly lower yourself down on his hard member.

“Shit.” You say under your breath.

You couldn’t believe how tight you were considering Geto had fucked you out yesterday. Gojo’s lips were slightly parted as your walls adjusted around him. You start to grind your hips back and forth, feeling the tip of Gojo’s dick rubbing against your cervix. He grinds his hips back towards you making you squirm. His fingers were pressing into your hips making sure he had control of your movements. You pick up the pace and start bouncing on it.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show Suguru how good you ride my dick.” Gojo moans.

Suguru chuckles at this statement. He undresses fully as he watches his best friend slide in and out of you. Gojo was making direct eye contact with Geto as he slapped your ass, almost like he was luring him in. Geto saunters over with his dick in hand. You watch as Geto runs his hand through Gojo’s hair, making Gojo look up at him.

“Be a good boy and show y/n how you suck me off.” Suguru's voice weighed down with lust.

Your eyes grow wide at Geto’s statement. Gojo opens his mouth with his tongue out. He looks up at his best friend with pleading eyes, begging Geto to put his dick in his mouth. Geto slides his hard member between Gojo’s lips as you ride him. You throw your head back and moan, “Fuuck, I can't get enough of you two.”

Geto shifts his attention to you while Gojo pleases him. You start running your hands up and down your breasts and body as you ride Gojo. You wanted to entice him.

“You like watching me ride your best friend's dick?” The question slides off your tongue like silk.

Geto bites his lip and says, “Yea, but I wanna watch you cum on it.”

He places his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you into a heated kiss with him. Gojo moans on Geto’s dick as he watches you two make out. You couldn’t help but to moan into Geto’s mouth as your tongues caressed each other. His hand slides down your stomach and goes to your clit. He starts rubbing tight circles on it, making you pull away from the kiss.

“Hah!- Suguru!!” You moan as he gives your clit the attention it was looking for.

Geto was dominating both you and Gojo, at the same damn time. Gojo sees this and starts bucking his hips up into you at a faster rate. He couldn’t let Suguru be responsible for the orgasm you were getting close to.

“Satoru, fuuckk!! Oh my god, I-I’m so close.” You whine. Your walls clench around Gojo’s cock which caused him to moan on Geto’s dick. All three of you were so close.

“Make us cum, Satoru. Ugh, fuck! We’re so close.” Geto says as he presses his forehead up against yours.

Geto was not letting up on your clit. The amount of pleasure both of these men were giving you was sending you over the edge. You felt an unbelieve amount of pressure in your lower abdomen.

“Suguuurrruu!! Fuck, Saattooruuu!!” You screamed as you squirt.

The moment your juices got on them, both Gojo and Geto were pushed over the edge. Gojo busted first, painting your walls with thick warm ropes of his cum. His aquamarine eyes were rolled to the back of his head as his cheeks grew pink from the amount of pleasure. Watching this caused Geto to paint Satoru’s blushing face with his thick ropes of cum. All three of you were out of breath, over stimulated, and covered in each other's cum.

Taglist: @boopjuice  @thatmf-jay @whiter4bbitcorner @sukunaslilsocks @zombiiegrlx @candiceiscrazy @jinjen @arminsxseashell @tokyolhtl @vertigoswan @nazzysworld13 @zinflo @rllytiredrn @stinkmf @lnette04 @princess-bblgm @ovela @fiercedeception @arabellasolstice

This is the final chapter to ITM! Thank you all for reading! My submissions are open so feel free to put in some requests :) Comments and Reblogs are appreciated!

Masterlist

Please do not alter or steal my writings.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Prettiest Damn Thing: Russell Shaw x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @claymoresofinfamy23 @mqdhvtter @bribow010 @encounterthepast

Companion piece to:

The War Correspondent - A mysterious phone call from a retired War Correspondent leads Russell on a journey he doesn't expect.

Home - Russell comes home to you after a rough day.

When Russell was working for Horizon, he used to call you from payphones on the road. He’d find an excuse to leave his team, usually a supply run and then head out to one he’d reconned earlier.

“Hey beautiful.” He’d always begin. “Just checking in.”

That feeling he’d get in his chest when he heard your voice, it gave him something to live for, especially on the darkest of nights, the ones where the job almost killed him.

After every call he’d dial a random number, usually a restaurant he’d clocked on the way through town before asking their opening hours and hanging up. It was another precaution, another way of keeping you safe because Russell, he’s never trusted Horizon and he certainly didn’t trust those assholes he worked with.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, interrupting his thoughts and Russell tilts his head towards you.

You are just the prettiest damn thing, sitting in the passenger seat of the convertible, wearing that white, lace dress. There’s flowers threaded through your hair and you’ve stolen a pair of his shades you from the glove compartment.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful bride.

“That payphone back there, it made me a little nostalgic.” He says, his gaze fixing on the road once more. The silver ring on his finger glints in the light from the sun as his grip tightens on the steering wheel, the way it always does when he thinks about his time with Horizon.

“Do you miss it?” You ask him and Russell shakes his head.

The months apart, the secrecy, the paranoia. Always looking over his shoulder, always worrying about the fall out. No, he doesn’t miss a damn thing.

“I like what we have.” He tells you, his hand reaching for yours across the gear shaft. “The security firm we’ve built, it gives me that adrenaline without the PTSD.”

After what happened with Doug he couldn’t stay with Horizon so he’d defected. The two of you had taken a trip out of the country for a while, spending a little time on a beach while he recuperated. Those few weeks had given him the space he needed to take a beat, to reevaluate his options.

“I have an idea.” You had said one evening when you were curled up on a hammock together. He’d been half asleep, listening to the sound of the ocean and you’d been draped across his chest, his fingertips combing through your hair. “Come work with me.”

“Honey, I think you get to boss me around enough as it is.” He’d mumbled against your hairline. “Besides it’s a little too domestic for me.”

The truth is, he worries about getting bored. The way he was raised, the life he’s led, cheating spouses and lost cats are not going to be enough for him. He’s an adrenaline junkie at heart, he needs something that challenges him, that gets his heart racing.

“Russell.” You say, tilting your head up towards him with that knowing smile of yours. “You have no idea the shit I get up to when you’re not around. Think less creeping in the bushes and more Magnum P.I.”

You can’t be serious he thinks, it can’t be that exciting but it is. It’s reclaiming stolen paintings, breaking into restricted spaces to detect security flaws, it’s tracking down a cult because they’ve been disappearing people and the police can’t help. The two of you work together just like one of his black ops teams and Russell enjoys every single moment of it.

Which leads him to where he is now, in the convertible with his new wife racing towards a DOD black site because his brother’s gone completely off the reservation.

“Colter’s gonna like me right?” You ask, your fingertips tapping a rhythm on the car door, your gaze fixed firmly on the road.

“Honey, we’re about to break him out of one of the most secure facilities in the country on our wedding day.” Russ tells you as he shifts gears and puts his foot down. “Trust me, he’s gonna love you.”

Love Russ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse, grief, and loss, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Mild Violence, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Suicidal Ideation, Depression.

A/N: Welcome back to this emotional rollercoaster, besties. We’ve got everything: cursed pregnancies, emotionally constipated men, and Sukuna trying to out-sass Megumi (spoiler: he succeeds), slow-burn tension finally snapping, emotionally broken men flirting with self-destruction, and a moment that might make you scream into your pillow (I’m not responsible for broken furniture). Warnings for angst, trauma, and me absolutely wrecking your heart while you laugh. If you’re here for a lobotomy, grab your scalpels—it’s about to get messy. Proceed with caution, tissues, and maybe a therapist on speed dial. Also, Megumi in this fic is maybe around mid-20s, and the reader is a few years older than him. He has mastered all his Shikigami's (yes, the 'with this treasure' one too) & is physically a Toji Hybrid. I have added links to show what he looks like. You are welcome. One Reader - Do you accept Cunt-structive Criticism? Me - No, I only accept Cash.

Previous Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.4) - Fractured Tides

Japan

The news reached Gojo and Nanami through an anonymous tip—a voice crackling over the phone, sterile and detached.

“The fetuses didn’t survive,” the doctor confirmed. “The pregnancy... it was unlike anything ever thought possible. The details are in the report.”

Gojo’s hand trembled as he gripped the receiver, his knuckles blanching as the plastic creaked under the pressure. When the receiver finally snapped, shards scattering across the floor, he didn’t flinch. His vibrant arrogance—the trait that had once made him invincible—was gone, stripped away in an instant. His eyes, previously so full of light and mischief, stared blankly, reflecting nothing but the hollow void inside him.

Nanami stood nearby, his posture rigid, his knuckles white as he clenched the report. The paper crinkled audibly, but his grip didn’t loosen. His jaw was so tightly locked it seemed his teeth might shatter.

“How’s this possible?” He rasped, finally putting it down, his voice horse under the weight of his self-loathing.

Gojo didn’t respond. His silver tongue, always ready with a quip or a plan, was silent. The crushing tide of guilt drowned every thought before it could form.

The hospital report was worse than they could have imagined. The chimeric fetuses were described in clinical detail, every word a knife to the chest.

“Genetic abnormalities beyond comprehension,” it read. “The combination of heteropaternal superfecundation and double fertilization created anomalies incompatible with life.”

The accompanying images were worse than they had imagined.

The boy’s elongated limbs twisted unnaturally, his spine arching grotesquely, like a question mark formed from pain. The girl’s fused fingers curled inward, her malformed face locked in an expression that seemed almost accusing.

Their shared split-colored hair was a mockery—a cruel reminder of the selfish desires that had created them.

Nanami turned away, bile rising in his throat. “They never had a chance,” he whispered, his voice hollow and brittle.

Gojo slammed the folder shut, his chest heaving as if the act of breathing had become insurmountable. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a way to fix things.

They tried to reach you. Desperation bled into every call, every text, and every voicemail. Every call went unanswered. Every message was read and ignored.

“Please,” Gojo had whispered into the receiver one night, his voice breaking. “Just... just let us explain.”

Nanami heard him through the door but didn’t offer comfort. The weight of his guilt pressing him further into despair. His gaze was fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, as if it held the answers he sought.

The quiet became their enemy. In the stillness, the thoughts crept in, unbidden and relentless.

Nanami found himself walking along the Rainbow Bridge , which connected to Odaiba, late one night. The icy wind bit at his skin as he gazed out at the dark waters of Tokyo Bay. It was calm, inviting, a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind.

He imagined what it would feel like to let go—to sink into the cold embrace of the water. The thought brought a fleeting sense of relief.

Gojo had begun lingering at the Shinjuku-gyoemmae station, his sunglasses hiding the exhaustion etched into his face. He stood near the edge of the platform, the sound of approaching trains vibrating through his bones.

It would be quick, he thought. Easy.

At home, the pills in Nanami’s medicine cabinet whispered promises of peace. One bottle, one night, and it could all be over.

But neither of them acted.

Every time they came close, the thought of you stopped them. They couldn’t leave without seeing you again, without explaining, apologizing, begging for forgiveness.

But the shame at what they’d done to you, to the babies, kept them from coming to you in person. So they stuck to calling and texting, each unanswered attempt another nail in the coffin of their hope.

They lived in limbo, caught between the unbearable weight of their guilt and the faint, flickering hope that one day you might pick up the phone.

---

The moon cast a faint silver glow over the balcony, its edges softened by a thin mist that clung to the chilled air. You sat on the couch inside, barely illuminated by the warm, dim light of the apartment. A blanket draped over your shoulders, shielding you from the cold but not from the hollow ache in your chest.

Your eyes were glassy, unfocused, fixed on nothing as your fingers absently traced the edge of the blanket. The faint hum of the city below was a distant whisper, meaningless and detached from the void swallowing you whole.

The faint scuff of shoes against stone pulled at the edges of your awareness. A shadow moved across the street in front of your house. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink. Your mind was elsewhere in a memory.

His hair was jet black and damp, clinging to his forehead in unruly spikes, his jawline streaked with dirt and exhaustion. He wore a plain black shirt, torn and damp in places, and dark jeans that looked as though they’d seen weeks of wear. His piercing blue eyes were scanning the building before they landed on you.

He didn’t hesitate.

In one smooth motion, he climbed the window ledges on the floor below, then stepped up to the balcony railing and swung himself up, his movements eerily reminiscent of someone—fluid, predatory. He landed soundlessly on the edge, stepping inside with a casualness that belied the weight of his presence.

But this wasn’t the boy you’d known. This was a man carved from desperation and resolve, his presence filling the room with an intensity that felt both familiar and foreign. He looked older than you remembered—taller, broader. His hair was wild, falling in dark, uneven spikes over eyes that glinted like steel. He was dressed in plain clothes.

He frowned, stepping closer, his shadow falling over you. When you still didn’t react, he crossed the room in two strides, crouching down in front of you, his features softening with something close to pain. His hands hovered over your shoulder before finally nudging it.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice low and rough, carrying the weight of months spent in pursuit.

You didn’t respond.

His brows furrowed as he stepped closer. “Hey,” he tried again, softer this time.

Still, you didn’t move.

His roughened fingers reached for your cheeks, his touch hesitant, a mere brush against the skin. “It’s me.”

Nothing.

His throat tightened, frustration flickering across his face He tilted his head to catch your gaze. “I’m not going anywhere until you say something,” he muttered, his voice edged with exasperation.

When you still didn’t react, he reached out again, this time giving your shoulder a firmer nudge.

Your eyes flicked to him at last, but they didn’t really see him. You stared through him, your expression glassy, as if replaying a memory too distant to touch.

The silence stretched taut and heavy.

His hands curled into fists as he rose to his full height, frustration and worry flickering across his face. He glanced toward the balcony, then back at you. The thought of leaving you like this wasn’t an option.

Then, from behind you, a presence surged forward—dark, commanding, and lethal.

Sukuna.

He appeared as though conjured from the shadows themselves, his crimson eyes burning with a dangerous gleam. His shirt hung open at the collar, his tattoos stark against his pale skin, and his lips curled into a predatory smirk. His crimson eyes burned like embers, and his lips curled in a snarl as his gaze stayed locked onto the man, narrowing with instant suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?” Sukuna’s voice was low, his tone dripping with menace as he stepped forward, placing himself between you and the intruder.

The man’s expression hardened as his stance shifted, one foot sliding back as though preparing for an attack, his eyes meeting Sukuna’s with the unyielding force of a man who’d long since stopped flinching at power. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Careful, brat,” Sukuna growled, his head tilting, his grin widening in warning. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

The tension between them snapped taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit. Sukuna took a step forward, his fingers twitching as though itching for a fight. The room seemed to darken as his cursed energy spiked, the air thick with its oppressive weight. But the man didn’t flinch. His hand flicked upward, and with a snap, shadows began to writhe at his feet.

“Neither do you,” the man said, his voice sharp. His hands twitched, and the faint shimmer of cursed energy began to gather around him.

“Hey…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking under the strain of its first use in days.

Neither man noticed.

Sukuna’s smirk widened as he cracked his knuckles, his cursed energy flaring brighter. “I don’t care who you are, but you’re about to regret—”

The floor beneath you trembled as the man’s hands moved in a familiar pattern, his fingers forming seals too quickly to follow.

The air shifted, a deep, guttural hum vibrating through the room. The shadow behind the man darkened, twisting and expanding.

“No!”

Your voice cut through the tension like a blade, startling after months of silence. Both men froze, their eyes snapping to you.

You stood, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you moved to place yourself in front of the man, shielding him from Sukuna. “Please don’t. You both are not threats to me,” you spoke, your voice trembling with frustration.

You turned to the man, your voice rising. “I told you to stop doing that!”

“I thought he kidnapped you. I think that justifies it’s use.” The man muttered, pretending to be annoyed, but immediately moved to hold you.

Sukuna barked out a laugh. “Taken her? Kid, I’m the one keeping her safe from idiots like you.”

You awkwardly reciprocated.

Sukuna raised a brow, his gaze darting between you and the man. For a brief moment, his smirk softened, a flicker of something tender crossing his features as he watched you—you, alive and animated for the first time in months. That’s the most you’ve said in months —he thought to himself. He continued eyeing the spiky-haired man, wondering who he was and if he was a threat, but the way you were comfortable around him, Sukuna deduced he wasn’t connected to your idiotic husbands.

The man, however, frowned, his jaw tightening. “He—”

“Not a threat,” you said lowly. “Mahoraga isn’t for solving your problems with people who talk back.”

Sukuna folded his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe but watching Megumi like a hawk. “Kid’s got issues,” he muttered, his voice tinged with amusement.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back without thinking, letting go of Megumi and turning on Sukuna with a glare.

He blinked, then grinned, a warmth in his crimson eyes that made his smirk almost fond. “Fair point, princess.”

“You don’t look normal.”

“I’m fine,” you and Megumi both ignored Sukuna, though your voice cracked on the lie. But Sukuna didn’t correct you right now.

Megumi’s gaze kept searching your face for something—anything.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though no one in the room believed it.

"Princess, I need to leave.” Sukuna had said, glaring at his phone. “Will you be okay for a few days? I have arranged for Choso and Yuji to be here within a few hours.”

“I’ll be fine. Megumi is my best friend; he will keep me safe.” You reassured him, while Megumi looked at him smugly with his arms now folded, muscles flexing.

“Call me if you need anything or if there’s an issue.” Sukuna told you, contemplating how mad you would be if he broke Megumi’s jaw.

You nodded as he turned to leave, answering a call. “I’m on my way, woman. Stop irritating me!”

Your heart sank.

He was going to meet a woman?!

Were you in love with him?

But how long would he wait for you?

// Playlist

After telling Megumi everything, the house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the windchimes. He sat across from you on the couch, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly as if they were the only thing grounding him. His features were softened by the dim light, but the weight in his eyes made him look older than his years.

You sat opposite him, knees pulled to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. The blanket draped over your shoulders felt like a shield, though it did little to protect you from the storm inside.

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

“You were right,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Megumi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“I was wrong,” you said, your gaze fixed on a crack in the marble on the floor. “About everything. About them. About leaving you behind.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, the guilt in his expression enough to cut. “You don’t have to say that.”

“But it’s true,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “You warned me. You told me what they were like, what would happen, and I didn’t listen. I was so convinced I could handle it on my own that I pushed you away.”

Megumi let out a shaky breath, his hands flexing as if trying to grasp the weight of his emotions. “And I shouldn’t have said what I did. At the airport, I—” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking under the strain. “I was angry. Hurt. But that doesn’t excuse it. I said awful things to you, and I’ve hated myself for it every single day since. I was a coward, too afraid to reach out to you when you needed me most.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued, the pain evident in every word. “Then what happened at your HQ... They were live streaming it on the news, and I was terrified, praying you’d make it out alive. But when they said you weren’t there, my heart dropped. No one knew where you had gone. I felt so helpless, so lost. I’ve been searching for you ever since, haunted by the fear that I might never find you again.”

The words hung between you, raw and heavy.

“I think...” you started, your voice trembling. “I think we both thought we were doing the right thing. You wanted to protect me, and I wanted to prove I didn’t need it, too blinded by what I thought was love.”

Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glinting. “I should’ve been there. When it all fell apart, when they—” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “I should’ve come sooner.”

“And I should’ve called you,” you said, your chest tightening. “But I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to see how far I’d fallen.”

His gaze snapped back to yours. “You don’t have to hide from me. Ever. You never did. Sure, I’d yell at you or even tell you I was right, but I’d never not help you.”

The words broke something inside you, and for the first time in months, the tears came. They fell silently at first, then harder, your shoulders shaking as the dam burst.

Megumi moved without hesitation, closing the distance between you and pulling you into his arms. His grip was strong, grounding, and you clung to him like a lifeline. “I should have stayed in touch with you even if I didn’t agree with the decision in case you ever needed me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry, Megumi,” you whispered against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for not listening, for abandoning you, for never trying again, for not honoring your dad.”

“I’m so sorry for the... the babies.” He spoke low as if he were blaming himself.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you cried harder, clutching his shirt.

---

// Playlist

Japan

Gojo sat on the edge of the couch, his white shirt wrinkled and stained, hanging loose on his frame. His eyes rimmed red, their usual brilliance dulled. His hand clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing as he tipped it back.

Across the room, Nanami stood by the kitchen sink, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He stared at his hands under the running water, scrubbing them long past clean, as if the act could erase the guilt embedded in his skin.

The silence between them was broken only by Gojo’s muttered curses as he took another swig.

“You should eat,” Nanami said finally, his voice hoarse.

Gojo snorted, the sound bitter. “Coming from the guy who hasn’t touched his plate in days.”

Nanami didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he shut off the water.

Gojo leaned back, his head resting against the couch, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Do you ever wonder,” he said, his voice slurring slightly, “if it would’ve been better if we’d never...” He trailed off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Nanami turned slowly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Gojo shot back, his voice rising. “Say what we’re both thinking? That we—”

“I said don’t,” Nanami snapped. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white.

Gojo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think not saying it changes anything? They’re gone, Kento. And it’s our fault.”

Nanami flinched, the words hitting him like a blow. He turned away, his shoulders stiff as he gripped the edge of the counter. “I know that,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “I know that every second of every day.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of their shared guilt pressing down on them.

//

Later that night, Gojo sat alone on the balcony, the cold biting at his skin. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air like a ghost. He hadn’t smoked in years, but tonight it felt like the only thing keeping him grounded.

Nanami appeared in the doorway, a glass of scotch in hand. He didn’t say anything as he stepped outside, sitting on the opposite end of the balcony.

They didn’t look at each other, their gazes fixed on the city below.

Gojo’s sudden laugh was hollow, a broken sound that made Nanami’s chest tighten.

“I keep seeing them,” Gojo murmured, his hand tightening around the cigarette. “Every time I close my eyes. I see their faces. Their hair. Their... their little hands.” His voice cracked, and he fell silent, his shoulders trembling.

Nanami’s grip on his glass tightened, the faint clink of ice against glass the only sound he made.

“They didn’t even get a chance,” Gojo continued, his voice thick with emotion. “We robbed them of that.”

Nanami’s expression unreadable. “Every time I close my eyes, they’re there. And her. The way she looked at us... or didn’t. Like we weren’t even worth hating.”

Gojo turned to him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then why are we still here, Kento? Why are we still—”

“Because we don’t deserve peace,” Nanami interrupted, his voice harsh. “Not yet. Not until we’ve done everything we can to make it right. Even if she never forgives us.”

Gojo stared at him, his chest heaving as he tried to process the words.

They sat in silence after that, the weight of their guilt hanging heavy between them. The city lights blurred into a haze, and the distant sounds of life carried on, oblivious to the two broken men on the balcony.

Neither of them moved, each lost in their own spiral, but for the first time in weeks, the silence between them felt less like a void and more like a shared burden. A small, flickering reminder that they weren’t entirely alone.

---

// Playlist

The days passed in a haze. Choso and Yuji were sunshines around Megumi’s age, who moved to the lower floor, but you didn’t have much energy to interact with new people. Sukuna called you every few hours.

Megumi stayed with you. He didn’t leave, didn’t push, just existed in your space like a quiet force of nature.

He cooked meals, both your favorites growing up, and sat with you while you ate, even if it was just a few bites. And when the nightmares came, he was there, his hand steady on your shoulder, until the panic subsided.

A few days later, Sukuna returned and obsered it all with narrowed eyes, his irritation barely concealed.

One evening, Megumi was trying to coax you into taking a walk. “Fresh air,” he said, standing by the door with his arms crossed. “It’ll do you good.”

“I’m fine here,” you muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

“She doesn’t need to go anywhere,” Sukuna cut in from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “She’s safe here.”

Megumi turned, his eyes narrowing. “Safe doesn’t mean healthy. What would you know, old man? You probably can’t walk at your age with your arthritis.”

“I’m not old, brat. I will fight you!” Sukuna shot back, his tone mocking.

“With what? Your walking stick?!,” Megumi snapped, his voice rising.

You couldn’t help it—the sheer absurdity of their bickering—it pulled a laugh from your chest. It was small, tentative, but real.

Both men froze, their eyes snapping to you.

“Did she just—” Sukuna started, his eyes wide.

“She laughed,” Megumi confirmed, his tone somewhere between disbelief and triumph.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, the sound foreign even to you. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice muffled.

“Don’t be,” Sukuna said, his smirk returning as he leaned against the wall. “If I’d known it was this easy, I would’ve let him insult me sooner.”

“I’d do it for free,” Megumi said, looking at you, fingers twitching to pat himself on the back.

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Of course, it’s not like anyone would pay to watch you.” He fired back at Megumi, still looking at you.

You laughed again, the sound freer this time, and the tension in the room shifted.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest lightened.

After a beat, you calmed down and said, “I’d like to go back to work.”

Both nodded.

//

After that day, it became their unspoken mission to make you laugh as often as possible.

One afternoon, Sukuna conjured a miniature version of himself—barely six inches tall—who stomped across the coffee table, shouting, “Fear me, mortals!” in a voice far too high-pitched to be taken seriously.

Megumi, who was seated at the kitchen island, raised an eyebrow. “That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna shot back, gesturing dramatically toward Mini-Sukuna. “At least I’m creative.”

Without missing a beat, Megumi summoned a tiny shikigami—a shadowy cat with glowing eyes—that pounced on Mini-Sukuna and promptly sat on him.

Meanwhile, you sat at the dining table, trying (and failing) to hide your laughter behind a mug of tea.

//

Another day the apartment was quiet except for the sizzling sound coming from the kitchen. Sukuna stood near the couch, holding a plate of food that looked… edible, but only in the way emergency rations were. His expression screamed confidence, as if he’d just solved world hunger.

In reality he was just jealous that Megumi had overtaken cooking since arriving, and he wasn’t able to feed you.

On the other side of the kitchen island, Megumi was frying something in a pan with the kind of intensity usually reserved for life-or-death surgeries. His sleeves were rolled up.

“You’re going to eat this,” Sukuna declared, stabbing the air with his fork.

“Like hell she is,” Megumi shot back without looking up, flipping whatever he was cooking with the ease of someone who’d spent years perfecting it. “She deserves something decent. Not whatever cursed sludge you’re trying to pass off as food. I’m making her comfort food.”

“She hasn’t touched your so-called food in days. She’s barely eaten anything. Mine’s nutritional,” Sukuna growled, stepping closer to the island.

“It’s an insult to taste buds,” Megumi countered, grabbing a plate and dishing out his creation—a simple, golden-brown omelet.

From your spot on the couch, you sighed, leaning your head against your hand. You weren’t sure what was worse: the fact that they were arguing over who got to feed you or that they seemed genuinely ready to fight about it.

“Hey,” you said, your voice flat, “I’m right here. I can feed myself.”

Both men ignored you.

“She hasn’t eaten properly in days,” Sukuna said, his crimson eyes narrowing. “I’ve been keeping her alive.”

“Barely,” Megumi muttered, sliding the plate across the counter. “She used to like this when we were younger.”

“She’s not a kid anymore, brat,” Sukuna sneered, taking a bite of his own creation as if to prove its worth. “She needs real food.”

“And you think that is real food?” Megumi shot back, nodding toward Sukuna’s plate. “It looks like you scraped it off the floor of an incomplete domain.”

“It’s better than whatever bland crap you’re making,” Sukuna retorted, leaning closer.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Seriously, you two—”

“Stay out of this,” they both said in unison, their voices sharp enough to make you blink.

You were trying to hide a chuckle at how serious they both were about their cooking.

Megumi crossed his arms, smirking. “Look, she’s laughing at you.”

“Watch it, brat,” Sukuna growled, his energy crackling faintly.

“Oh, please,” Megumi said, rolling his eyes. “You’re just mad she liked my cooking better.”

“She hasn’t even tried your cooking,” Sukuna snapped, his grip tightening on the fork. “And she won’t, because it looks like a toddler made it.”

“Better than your attempt at weaponized nutrition,” Megumi shot back.

The bickering continued, insults flying back and forth with increasing absurdity. By the time Sukuna accused Megumi of “summoning Mahoraga to chop onions,” you were doubled over, tears streaming down your face as you laughed harder than you had in months.

//

Your employees had welcomed you back with open arms while you still chose to work remotely. But the lack of light in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

But instead of bombarding you with questions, they took matters into their own hands.

During a virtual meeting, your CTO appeared on camera dressed as a game character, complete with poorly made props and a monologue.

“Fear not, boss,” he declared, brandishing a foam sword. “I shall vanquish the deadlines!”

The entire team erupted into cheers, clapping as he pretended to fight off invisible enemies.

Another time, your marketing manager created a meme slideshow of your company’s latest release, complete with captions like, “When the servers crash but the players still think it’s part of the game.”

Even Sukuna got in on it, lurking just off-camera during a meeting to mutter sarcastic commentary loud enough for you to hear.

“Do they always sound this unhinged?” he asked during a particularly chaotic brainstorming session.

“Yes,” you replied, your lips twitching into a small smile.

During a virtual meeting, one of your lead designers appeared on camera wearing a cardboard replica of a game console, complete with buttons that actually lit up. “Presenting the latest in gaming technology!” he announced, spinning in his chair.

“Is that a fire hazard?” you asked, unable to stop the corner of your mouth from twitching.

“Probably,” he replied, grinning.

Your PR team wasn’t any better. They sent you a PowerPoint presentation titled, Why Our Boss Deserves to Laugh More , which included memes of your favorite characters, clips of game glitches they’d purposely caused, and an oddly heartfelt slide featuring a stick figure version of you labeled, The Coolest CEO Ever .

---

Megumi stayed for as long as he could and then had to return to take care of his mom and his company once you started to feel better.

The air buzzed with the familiar hum of distant conversations and the faint echo of footsteps on polished floors. Megumi stood by the entrance, his duffel bag at his feet, his shoulders tense despite the calm mask he wore.

“I’ll come back in a few days with Mom, okay?” he said, his voice softer than usual as he pulled you into a hug. His arms were strong, grounding, but there was a hesitance in the way he held you, like he wasn’t ready to let go. “She’s been worried sick since you stopped talking after leaving Japan. She asks about you every day.”

You nodded against his chest, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Tell her to video call me. I miss her.”

“I will,” he murmured, ruffling your hair in that infuriatingly fond way he knew you hated. “The moment I land.”

You stepped back, your eyes darting anywhere but his. “Take care of yourself, Megumi. And her. She doesn’t listen to anyone but you.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, his dark eyes flicking over you like he was cataloging every detail. “You should talk, hypocrite.”

Your snort was half-hearted, but it was enough for him.

This goodbye was nothing like the one all those years ago. Back then, his anger had burned through the distance between you, his words cutting deep enough to leave scars you both carried. Now, there was only understanding—an unspoken truce built on shared pain and quiet forgiveness.

Megumi’s gaze shifted to Sukuna, who stood a few feet away, arms crossed and clearly bored. With a tilt of his head, Megumi motioned him over.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “What now, brat?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approached.

You watched them from a distance, your old DSLR— Megumi had brought back with him—in hand. The click of the shutter was oddly comforting, a rhythm that let you focus on something other than the ache in your chest. Yuji and Choso hovered nearby, pestering you with questions about aperture and lighting. You answered absently, your eyes never leaving the two figures standing just out of earshot—the most important men in your life. So important, your very essence was tangled with them, unlike the way it used to be with someone else.

//

“What do you want?” Sukuna muttered, his tone dripping with disinterest.

Megumi’s voice was steady; he was smiling, all friendly and unsuspecting. The way he smiled while threatening people—oddly reminiscent of Toji on an adult Megumi. “Keep her safe. Or I’ll gut you alive.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh, loud and sharp. “Bold, brat. But I’m not an idiot like them.” His grin widened, his crimson eyes gleaming. “I don’t take my eyes away from the destination for snowflakes.”

Megumi’s eyes narrowed, his posture shifting slightly, like he was ready for a fight. “She’s not a prize, Sukuna.”

“No,” Sukuna agreed, crossing his arms. “She’s everything. That’s why I won’t screw it up.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “But don’t tell me you’re in love with her, brat. You’re already pathetic enough.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, his face a mask of calm, but the faintest flicker flashed in his eyes. Before he could respond, Yuji’s voice rang out from behind you.

“Stay in touch, Megumi!”

Megumi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sukuna chuckled.

Yuji had stuck to Megumi like pollen ever since they’d met. Whenever he walked out of your floor to get anything, or even went to the balcony for air, Yuji would immediately pounce on him like an overbearing puppy, talking like they had always known each other.

“Your fan club’s waiting,” Sukuna teased, stepping back with a mocking wave.

Megumi shot him a cold look before turning on his heel, his suitcase rolling behind him. He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder at you, still clicking away with your camera.

“I’m getting late,” he said, his voice louder now, directed at no one in particular. “See you around.”

And just like that, he was gone, his silhouette swallowed by the steady flow of travelers.

You lowered the camera, watching the space he’d left behind. Sukuna sauntered over, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Miss him already?” He drawled.

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “Shut up, Ryo.”

He chuckled, his gaze flicking to the camera in your hands. “Better get my good side next time. Wouldn’t want the brat to outshine me in your collection.”

You let yourself mock him. “He’s my best friend; of course he’ll shine.”

“Here I thought we were at least friends by now,” Sukuna shot back, his grin widening as he dragged you back to the car while also wrangling Choso and Yuji.

But nothing could have prepared you for the spectacle unfolding in front of you. Yuji stood precariously on a luggage cart, holding what looked like a security baton he must’ve stolen from somewhere.

“Onward, noble steed!” Yuji bellowed, jabbing the baton forward.

Choso, pushing the cart, sighed heavily. “Yuji, this is dumb. You’re going to fall, and I’m not paying for the damages.”

“You don’t pay for anything anyway!” Yuji shot back, wobbling as the cart veered dangerously close to a potted plant.

“Not my fault you’re the one with no sense of balance,” Choso deadpanned, shoving the cart harder.

“Balance is for losers!” Yuji yelled triumphantly—right before the cart hit a bump and sent him tumbling onto the floor with a loud thud.

You burst out laughing, clutching your camera as you tried to steady yourself. Sukuna groaned.

“Do these idiots have a death wish?” He muttered, glancing at you. “Why do I let them out in public?”

“They’re grown adults,” you replied between fits of laughter, wiping a tear from your eye. “Well... Technically. Have been for a few years.”

Yuji scrambled to his feet, rubbing his ass with an exaggerated pout. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Choso!”

“I was until you called me a steed,” Choso replied, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw you into that plant.”

“You’re just mad because I’m faster,” Yuji shot back, grabbing the cart again.

“Faster at what? Hitting the ground?” Choso said, raising an eyebrow.

Sukuna snorted, his crimson eyes narrowing as he gestured toward the two. “You know what? Let him break something. Maybe he’ll finally learn.”

“Doubt it,” you said, grinning.

Yuji, undeterred by his earlier failure, climbed back onto the cart. “Round two! Let’s go!”

Choso sighed again, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he grabbed the handle. “Fine. But if security catches us, I’m blaming you.”

“You always blame me!” Yuji whined, holding on tighter this time.

“Because it’s always your fault,” Choso replied, shoving the cart with a bit more force than necessary.

As the cart barreled down the terminal, narrowly missing several unsuspecting travelers, you and Sukuna watched in bemused silence.

“You should film this,” Sukuna said, his lips curling into a smirk. “Might go viral. ‘Local lesbian and his Itadorki.’”

You doubled over laughing while Yuji and Choso glared at Sukuna.

//

Later that evening, the chaos of the airport was a distant memory as you and Sukuna sat together on the couch. The quiet was comforting, the kind of stillness that didn’t feel heavy for once.

“Thank you,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Sukuna turned to you, his expression unreadable. “For what?”

“For… everything,” you said, your cheeks heating under his gaze.

He smirked, leaning back against the cushions. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. The weight on your chest lifted just a little, replaced by something warm and unfamiliar.

//

But the mornings still clawed at you like ghosts, dragging you into the suffocating reality of what you’d lost. The ache in your chest wasn’t a dull pain but a jagged wound, raw and unrelenting. But Sukuna was there, always.

Without fail, he brought you breakfast in bed, the tray heavy with whatever he decided you needed to eat that day. You’d protest, pushing the plate aside, focusing on pending work, and he’d glare, the kind of glare that made it clear he wouldn’t leave until you took at least a few bites.

When he walked with you in the park, his hand brushed your lower back, a gesture so casual yet grounding it left you disarmed. He didn’t say much, but his presence filled the empty spaces in ways words never could. Slowly, painfully, the walls you’d built began to crack, the light seeping through despite your efforts to hold it all together.

// Playlist

A couple of weeks later, one evening, the two of you sat on the balcony of your new home, the air heavy with the scent of cigarettes and rain-soaked concrete. You rested your chin on your knees, watching the city lights blur into a smear of orange and white.

“You’re not as awful as you pretend to be,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Sukuna chuckled, the sound deep and rough. He lit a cigarette with practiced ease, the glow illuminating his features. “Don’t ruin my reputation, princess,” he drawled, exhaling smoke like a dragon.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest. It felt foreign, but it didn’t hurt. Not this time.

You reached for the cigarette, plucking it from his fingers. Taking a slow drag, you coughed, the burn familiar but unwelcome after years away. “You know,” you started, voice quieter now, “I never wanted kids. I even got a hysterectomy, but... I think their RCT might’ve worked on me.”

Sukuna leaned back, smirking as if the universe amused him. “Good thing I hate brats too,” he said, his tone laced with mockery but softened by something genuine. “But I’d be fine either way you lean. I care more about you than any kid.”

You tilted your head, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “So confident I’d end up with you, huh?”

He nodded, the movement slow and deliberate.

The words spilled from you before you could stop them. “But I’m sure. I don’t want any more kids. I’m done.”

His grin widened, sharp and wolfish. “Great. Then I’ll have you all to myself,” he said, plucking the cigarette from your hand and taking a drag as if the conversation hadn’t just carved open a vulnerable piece of you.

You watched him for a moment, the question heavy on your tongue before you gave in to it. “Why are you still here? I mean... you’re attractive, Sukuna. You could have anyone. Why’d you help me?”

He exhaled smoke slowly, his gaze cutting to yours. “You really want to know?”

You nodded, feeling the tension coil in the air between you.

“The first time I saw you was at that dingy grocery store near our building in Norway. You were glaring at a Norwegian label like you could burn it into understanding if you stared hard enough.” He smirked, the memory vivid in his mind. “Then some store employee came over, and you covered your belly like you’d fight him if he even looked at you wrong. You were scared—hell, I’ve seen fear before, plenty of it—but yours was different. The kind I’d seen in survivors—the kind that said you’ve been through hell and still haven’t given up. There was this stubbornness in your eyes, like you’d fight to your last breath even knowing you’d lose.”

His voice dipped lower, his eyes locking onto yours. “That’s when I knew I wanted to know you more. Then you walked past me like I didn’t exist. You didn’t even glance my way. I knew right then you weren’t a sorcerer. You were oblivious, but your fear begged me to protect you. Practically dared me.”

A laugh escaped you, soft but real. “Or maybe you just couldn’t handle a woman not noticing you,” you teased, though your gaze lingered on him, soft and awed, like he’d hung the stars just for you.

His grin sharpened, dangerous yet intoxicating. Without warning, he flicked the cigarette over the railing, his hand shooting out to grab your waist. You gasped as he pulled you flush against him, his heat burning through your defenses.

His lips crashed into yours, the kiss anything but gentle. It was raw, demanding, and devastatingly sensual, as if he was trying to claim every fractured piece of you. Your hands instinctively found his chest, but instead of pushing him away, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing you into a rhythm that left you breathless. Your head tilted back as his hand tangled in your hair, the other anchoring you to him. The world blurred around you, the city’s hum fading into nothingness.

When you finally broke apart, your chest heaved, your lips tingling from the intensity. His crimson eyes bore into yours, a smirk playing on his lips. “Still think I’m not worth noticing, princess?” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you smiled, leaning into him, the ache in your chest momentarily quieted by the storm he’d stirred in you.

---

Japan

// Playlist

The apartment was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the refrigerator. It had been months since Gojo and Nanami had received the news, but the weight of it hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had grown heavier, pressing them into themselves, into the shadows of their shared space.

Gojo sat in the darkness of their penthouse, the glow of the city outside mocking him with its indifference. The blinds were drawn just enough for the neon lights to cast fractured shadows across the floor. His sunglasses sat abandoned on the table, forgotten. His eyes—once impossibly bright, reflecting the limitless sky—were bloodshot and hollow, the kind of emptiness that no amount of sleep could fix.

His phone buzzed on the table, a cruel reminder of the hundred unanswered messages he’d already sent. He stared at it for a moment, his hand twitching toward it before falling back to his lap.

He chuckled, the sound sharp and bitter. “Why bother?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his unkempt hair. The white strands fell limply, no longer carrying their usual defiance.

Across the penthouse in your old office, Nanami sat with the glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside untouched. He stared at it, his reflection distorted by the curve of the glass.

He thought of the twins. Their faces haunted him—not as they were in the sterile images of the report, but as they could have been. A boy with Gojo’s wild grin and his own steady gaze. A girl with your sharp wit and quiet strength.

He raised the glass to his lips but hesitated, the smell of alcohol turning his stomach. With a quiet curse, he set it down, the sound of glass on wood too loud in the silence.

//

The train station was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there. Gojo stood near the edge of the platform, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. The sound of the approaching train grew louder, the vibration humming through his feet.

He stepped closer, the yellow line glaring up at him like a warning.

Just one step.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration jolting him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, the screen lighting up with another name that wasn’t yours.

Yuta.

He hesitated before answering, his voice cracking as he said, “What?”

“Sensei?” Yuta’s voice was hesitant, like he was trying to gauge how far Gojo had fallen. “I just... wanted to check on you. You’ve been... quiet. We heard you were suspended.”

Gojo let out a dry laugh, stepping back from the edge. “Quiet’s good, isn’t it?”

There was a long pause on the other end. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Gojo replied, ending the call before Yuta could say anything else.

The Rainbow Bridge stretched out before him, its lights reflected in the dark waters below. Nanami gripped the railing, the cold metal biting into his palms. The wind whipped through his hair, tugging at his jacket like it was trying to pull him over the edge.

He leaned forward, staring down at the waves.

He thought of you. Of your smile before everything went wrong. Of the way you used to laugh at his dry humor, your head tilted just slightly.

The phone in his pocket felt like a lead weight. He pulled it out, his thumb hovering over your name.

What could he even say?

The words felt heavy, impossible. Instead, he stared at the screen until it dimmed, the reflection of his hollow face staring back at him.

//

At home, Gojo stared at the bottle of pills on his nightstand, his hand hovering over the cap. His reflection in the nearby mirror caught his eye—he barely recognized the man staring back.

“You’re pathetic,” he muttered, the words slicing through the silence.

Nanami sat on the floor of his bathroom, his back against the wall. The report sat beside him, its pages wrinkled and stained with spilled whiskey.

“They never had a chance,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Both men lived in the silence, haunted by memories of what could have been. The world moved on around them, but they were stuck, trapped in a purgatory of their own making.

The only thing keeping them tethered to this existence was the faint hope that, one day, you might pick up the phone. One day, you might let them explain. One day, you might forgive them.

But for now, they waited, drowning in the unbearable weight of their own guilt.

A/N: And that’s how we turn pain into comedy and back again. I know you’re emotionally damaged (same). Who do you think was the woman Sukuna went to meet? (Hint: It's not Urame, so use your critical thinking skills). Meanwhile, Gojo and Nanami are one bad day away from booking permanent balcony seats in purgatory. Next chapter, we might actually let Nanami catch a break—or not. What do you think? Should Gojo finally punch Sukuna for calling him a ‘failed Barbie’? But seriously, next chapter—more tension, more heartbreak; maybe someone actually admits how they feel and SUMT (don't expect too much; I'm not very good at it).

Next Chapter 9 (alt ending 1.5 Final Part) - The Shadows We Bury - (Tumblr/Ao3)

Also I have a seprate fluff series going on which can be read as part of this AU - Bubble Butt Problems - Nanami X Reader X Gojo - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz

Taglist Open - If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

[kafkasapartment]

Gold Double Dialed Astronomical Calendar Watch with Geocentric (having or representing the earth as the center of the universe) Planetarium, C. 1790.

Movement: gilded full plate with going barrel, cylinder escapement, plain three-arm balance• Dials: first: white enamel, the edge with Arabic numerals for hours running twice from 1-12 in black and 1-12 in pink, four subsidiary dials for minutes, date combined with month, regulation, seconds combined with days of the week, aperture for winding, gold hands, the hour hand with an additional steel support carrying a square for rapid resetting of the calendar • second: light blue enamel geocentric planetarium dial decorated with gold stars and an outer month ring, various lines of the ecliptic zodiac marked in black, with three concentric hands of steel mounted with the earth, a gold sun and moon, the entire dial revolving once per year, the ecliptic line shown by a polished steel band attached to the engraved silver dust ring• Case: plain gold moulded bezels.

[glassmermaids]

kinktober day five: threesome with art donaldson/tashi duncan (29/01/25)

a/n: we're literally in the new year lmao I'm so sorry

It feels like your brain is turning into mush. Everything feels too much, dialed up to one hundred, yet you still find yourself wanting more. Maybe that's you're just greedy like that, but it's hard to resist when it's being presented to you on a silver platter; the opportunity to overindulge, to take as much as you want without much repercussion.

A particular swipe of Tashi's fingers on your throbbing clit has you moaning obscenely, head dropping down into the crook of her shoulder, her hair tickling your face and the sweet scent of magnolia and citrus invading your senses in the most overwhelming way. It all feels like too much, so you try to run away from the intense feeling settling deep in the pit of your lower belly. Tashi's not having that, obviously, and her hand almost immediately stills, softly chastising you for your apparent disobedience.

"Lift your head," she says softly, voice sweet like a siren's but an unmistakable underlying authority. "Art can't see your face, baby."

At her words, your attention is brought back to Art and you lift your head to meet his eyes, sitting idle on the armchair facing the bed, stripped down to just his boxers as he intently watched the scene unfolding infront of him. "Look at how hard he is," Tashi speaks into your ear, making a shiver run down your spine.

To no one's suprise, his boxers are tented, and a pinkish hue overtakes his entire body, hands gripping his upper thighs in a way you think might leave marks. He's so pretty, you think to yourself, watching him as he watches you, giving him a small smile in the hopes that it looked somewhat flirty.

Her fingers start moving on your clit once your attention is back on Art, and you watch the way his fingertips and knuckles turn white with the force he's gripping his upper thighs with, lower body lifting from the chair in a futile attempt to find some kind of relief.

Your mouth hung slightly open in a silent moan, instead a punched out gasp makes its way past your lips. His reaction mimicks yours, face struck with pleasure, even if he isn't doing anything to get himself off, per his wife's demand request. His eyes drop down to Tashi's hand that's still languidly playing in the witness of your pussy, other hand too occupied pulling and twisting at your exposed nipples.

He watches the way his wife's fingers dip down to your entrance to collect some of the wetness there, her wedding ring glittering in the white light of the hotel room. His eyes drift up the expanse of your body, watching your breasts heave with every quick breath and how the thin sheen of sweat makes your body glisten. The way he looks at you, really looks at every exposed detail of your body has you growing hot, orgasm suddenly so close you could taste it.

She works you through it as you cum, praising words spoken next to your ear that are unintelligible to your fucked out brain, but appreciated nevertheless. A kiss is placed to the side of your head, before Tashi's retracting herself from behind you. Your frazzled mind takes a little longer to process everything, but you see Art stand up from the armchair and makes his way to the bed, mattress dipping with his weight.

Your head drops down to the pillow below, and you feel Art's weight on top of you, pressing kisses to your collarbones and up the expanse of your neck. "You okay?" he asks against the spot just behind your ear, kissing and biting there as he speaks. "Mhm," you hum in confirmation, legs wrapping around his strong waist, encouraging him to press closer to you so you could really feel him.

Next to you, Tashi's ridding herself of her underwear before she presses next to you, the sight of her naked body leaving you clenching around nothing. "You gonna help me out now? Make me cum?" she asks almost coyly, and you nod without hesitation, making her smile. Art moves to sit upright, pulling off his boxers as Tashi moves her body until she's hovering on top of your face. Just as Art slowly starts pressing against your entrance, rubbing himself against the wetness there until he's rubbing the tip against your still sensitive clit, Tashi slowly lowers herself until she's planted on your face.

Her voice is airy and sweet with her moans as you start to softly lick up the seam of her cunt, just as Art starts slowly easing inside of you untill his hips are pressed right against you. When he slowly starts pulling out just to push back in again, reaching that special spot inside you on the way, you moan, and the vibration goes straight to Tashi's cunt, making her moan as she unconsciously rubs herself harder against your tongue.

You know you're already dangerously close, and you know Art is, too, if his sped up thrusts and heavy breaths are anything to go by. It's all too much — it always feels like too much with them — and all you can really do is bask in the heavenly feeling as they both use you to get off.

[forhappysake]

Safe With You

A/N - Another random quick piece, not edited (whoops).

Summary - Spencer comes home from a tough case. Reader tries to figure out what's bothering him with help from another team member.

Warnings - spencer x fem!reader, BAU level violence, a small lover's spat, a little white lie, fluff at the end, maybe some implied smut

Spencer was a good man. He’d had his fair share of difficulties, more so than the average person. However, he carried it well most of the time. Almost every time he came home from a case, he was relatively calm. He’d take a shower, fall asleep in bed, and forget about this case so he could focus on moving on to the next one. 

However, after he came home this evening, you could tell he was struggling with something. He paced around your shared living room, occasionally digging the heel of his hand into his eyes as if trying to wipe away some bad thought. You let it go at first, hoping he would join you on the couch. However, after ten minutes of his constantly shuffling back and forth, you decided to put an end to it. 

You rose from the couch, walking slowly over to him. Spencer had stopped at the edge of his desk, leaning over the hard oak surface to skim over some papers scattering the desktop. You gently placed your hands on his shoulders, a soft reminder of your presence. Almost immediately you could feel his shoulders drop as he released some tension into your touch. Without a word, you gently massaged the knot you felt forming at the base of his neck. 

“Don’t you think it’s time to go take a shower, honey?” you prompted gently, not wanting to upset him any more than he already was. 

Though he had leaned into your touch, you could feel him tense up a bit at the suggestion. Spencer looked down, checking the silver watch he wore on his wrist. He let out a soft sigh. He’d already been home for over an hour and had yet to settle into his typical routine. 

“Maybe so,” he mumbled. He slipped out from between you and the desk, making quick work of crossing the living room and entering the bathroom where he promptly shut the door behind him. 

You frowned at his inability to confide in you, knowing you wouldn’t be able to rest until you got to the bottom of what was going on. You looked over the files on his desk, looking for any sign of what might have upset him. He was particularly set off when cases involved children, all of the BAU were. But from this file, it didn’t seem like there was anything out of the ordinary that would make him act this way. You slunk away from the desk, feeling defeated before a thought crossed your mind: Penelope Garcia. 

You padded over to the kitchen counter to grab your phone. Scrolling through your contacts, you quickly dialed the blond computer genius and your favorite of Spencer’s many coworkers. Something about her was always so kind, so welcoming, and you knew she would be more than happy to help you figure out what was bothering Spencer. 

The phone rang once before a bubbly voice spoke from the other end of the line, “Penelope Garcia at your service,” she chided. 

“Hey, Penelope. I need help with something,” you said, not wanting to take up any more of her time than you needed to. Aside from that, you’d hate to find out what Spencer would say if he found you out here trying to get information from his coworkers. 

“Of course! Is everything okay?” she asked, concern seeping into her voice. 

“What? Oh! Yes, e-everything is fine,” you stuttered as you tried to listen for any sign that Spencer might be coming out of the bathroom. “I’ll have to make this call quick. Do you happen to know why Spencer came home so upset this evening?” 

Penelope’s end of the line was silent for a moment as she thought. “Actually, I might have an idea,” she hummed. You could hear her clacking away on a keyboard in the background, and you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of amazing multitasking skills this woman had. “This last case was pretty routine,” Penelope said, “except for the victims, in Spencer’s case.” 

You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean?” you asked. 

“They were very… similar to you, in a lot of ways. Eye color, hair color, even height. The bad guy was some jilted lover, after women who looked like the lady who’d done him wrong. Spencer, of course, thought of you nearly immediately when we saw the victim profiles. Really, we all did. He took it pretty hard.” 

Your frown turned into a grimace at the implication of Penelope’s words. “Oh but Penelope, that’s ridiculous. That case was a thousand miles away. Spencer knows I was safe here the whole time.” 

You heard Penelope tsk on the other end of the line. “That may be so, deary, but that can’t stop his genius mind from running a million miles a minute. JJ said she hadn’t seen him so worked up in a year.” 

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. You knew Spencer was protective, but you didn’t know he could get so upset over something so far out there. You shook the thoughts away from your head as you heard the shower shut off in the bathroom. “Well, I’d better go before he gets out of the bathroom. Thank you for the information, Penelope. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t sweat it, mi amor. Good luck with boy genius.” With that, Penelope’s end of the line went dead and you were left with nothing but a cell phone in your hands as Spencer walked out of the bathroom. 

“Who were you talking to?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. His t-shirt clung to his damp frame as he ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. Spencer knows you have an aversion to talking on the phone. Something about texting is just so much more convenient. 

“Uh-” you tried to think of a quick lie. Anything but the truth would be perfect at this moment. “JJ. Michael couldn’t sleep. He wanted to know if you could tell him a bedtime story on FaceTime, but I told her you seemed pretty worn out and said you could do it tomorrow night instead.” That wasn’t a terrible lie. Michael had always loved Spencer’s stories, and at least once a month Spencer was bound by his godfather-duties to provide a new bedtime story. 

Spencer nodded, a strand of wet hair falling in front of his face. “I guess I’m due up for another one, aren’t I?” he asked rhetorically. He turned from you, heading down the hallway to the bedroom. You couldn’t help but wonder why, if Spencer was so worried about you, he didn’t seem to want to talk to you. 

You left your phone on the counter and followed him to the bedroom, slipping in the bedroom door and shutting it. By the time you reached the edge of the bed, Spencer had already slipped into his side and turned off his bedside lamp. You sighed. Maybe it was best not to push him. Surely he’d open up with some time. Right?

Defeated for the evening and confused by your boyfriend’s actions, you tucked yourself into your side of the bed before turning your light off. The darkness consuming the room only reminded you of the lack of his body pressed against yours as you drifted off to sleep.

***

When you awoke only two hours later, you immediately rolled over, expecting to be greeted by Spencer in the bed next to you. However, you were instead met with an empty space. The covers were messily left at the bottom of the bed as if he’d left in a hurry. You felt a small panic rising in your chest. Had he left for a case and not even told you? 

You hopped out of bed and quickly left the bedroom, nearly jogging down the hallway to your living room. You could see that Spencer’s desk lamp was on, and thankfully his silhouette was visible behind the light. He looked up when you entered, only to look back down at the papers on his desk when it was clear you were looking for him. 

“What are you doing?” you asked. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said shortly. If you’d been frustrated by your boyfriend’s actions earlier, his tone now was enough to spark a small anger in your chest. 

You took a deep breath, deciding on a plan of action. You decided to start simple, hoping it would get you somewhere. “Spence, what’s the matter?”

He didn’t look up to acknowledge you, instead choosing to flip through some more files on his desk. “I told you, I couldn’t sleep. Go back to bed.” That’s enough, you thought, his attitude making your jaw clench. 

“Look at me, Spencer,” you said pointedly. The sharpness of your voice surprised even you. Spencer nearly jumped, and you could see the guilt pooling in his eyes as he slowly made eye contact with you for the first time since arriving home. 

“Thank you,” you said. You approached his desk, perching yourself on the edge. “Do you care to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me since you got home?” 

Spencer sighed, closing the file in front of him and looking up at you. He scanned your face as he calculated a reply. “I had a bad case,” he said frankly. He wasn’t being dishonest, but you could tell he was holding something back. 

“Okay,” you said, noting your acceptance of this half-truth. “Why was it a bad case?” 

Spencer shrugged. “Anytime people die it’s a bad case, Y/N.” 

You let out a bitter laugh as you stood up from the edge of the desk, walking over to the sofa. “I get that, Spencer. But usually when you say its a ‘bad case,’” you made air quotes with your fingers, “something specific really bothers you. I want to know what it was.”

You looked back up at him, noticing that he’d closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. If he wasn’t being so stubborn, you’d have happily climbed in his lap and appreciated his beauty, but now wasn’t the time. You’d nearly given up on getting your answer. You thought about turning away from him and going back to the bedroom, but it was then that he spoke. 

“They all looked like you,” he said bitterly. 

“Who?” you asked. 

Spencer cleared his throat, grimacing as if a bad taste entered his mouth. “All the victims. They looked just like you. I couldn’t stop… I couldn’t get it out of my head.” He spoke quietly, but honestly, and you felt relief flood you as he finally told you the truth. 

“Spencer,” you walked over to him once more, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m safe here. You know nothing is going to happen to me.”

He whirled around in his chair quickly, eyes wide. “I don’t know that! Especially when I’m halfway across the country. Why doesn’t anyone get it?” he stood up from his chair, running a hand through his messy hair as he began to pace again. 

“Help me understand,” you pleaded, sliding down into his desk chair. “I can’t help you if I don’t understand.”

“It’s just-” he took a deep breath, planting his feet flat on the floor to keep himself still as he started talking. “It’s just that everyone kept telling me ‘Nothing like this could ever happen to her!’ They don’t know that. I’ve seen terrible things happen to people ‘nothing could ever happen to.’” 

You fell silent, looking down at your hands folded in your lap. Spencer had seen a lifetime of trauma in his thirty-some years. You knew Spencer worried for you. You only wished you could take the burden away from him. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. 

“No-” Spencer shook his head. He walked over to where you sat in the desk chair, getting down on one knee so the two of you were at eye level. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry I was rude to you. You didn’t do anything, and it was unfair of me. Just know it’s only because I care.”

“I know you do. But, I do have to apologize. I lied earlier.” 

Spencer pulled back from you, a small frown painting his face. “Lied? About what?” 

“I was on the phone with Penelope. I wanted to know why you were upset. She filled me in.”

Spencer’s formerly furrowed brows relaxed as your words sank in. “Oh Garcia,” he sighed, “what would any of us do without her?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know,” you said truthfully. “What I do know is that I love you, and I need you to know that I’m as safe as I can be with you.” 

Spencer met your eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes seemed glazed over, nearly teary. “I love you too. You know that?”

You nodded, reaching for him as he wrapped his arms around your waist. The two of you stayed like that for a minute, appreciating each other’s warmth, when you felt yourself suddenly being lifted off the chair and into the air. 

“Hey! Where are we going?” you asked, a small laugh leaving your lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“To bed,” he said into your shoulder as he walked you both towards the bedroom. “I’ve been neglecting my girlfriend for the past four hours. I think she deserves a good night’s rest.”

You pulled back from him, arms resting gently around his neck as he carried you into the bedroom. “I can think of a lot of things I deserve,” you joked. 

Spencer smirked mischievously. “Thank god I don’t have work tomorrow,” he said as he shut the bedroom door behind him.

[dee-writes-anime]

IM SO SORRY FOR SPAMMING REQUESTS!!!! I have so many good ideas

So im a biiig redbull and monster fan (the energy drinks) and currently on gojo brain rot rn-

So imagine if reader is a teacher like gojo, special grade sorcerer. And is a littleeee younger (last tike i checked gojo is 28? So can reader be 25?) and reader is training with yuji , inomaki(?) , panda, megumi and maki

Gojo decided to watch them train, and reader is very VERY hyped up from the 10 redbulls she’s had, and gojo noticed and calls her out for it. 😭

She’s embarrassed and gojo chucks a water bottle at her and then decided to spar with her, and it goes on for a loooong ass time, and all the students are entertained, and reader pulls a power move on gojo as he tries to hit her while sparing, and pulls a similar move maki did in the jjk 0 movie but instead kicks out gojos legs out and slips him up and wins the spare

So later shes calmed down and in secret they’re dating :0 (SUPRISEEEE) and he scolds her for having so many redbulls and just hugs her while doing so as she comes down from the rush???

Soooo fluffy!!!! For our baddie 🤩, im loving that word, and i may or may not be high on redbull rn

MONTY! Eat sleep drink

Rockin' Redbull

FEATURING Satoru Gojo x Reader

SUMMARY You're hyped up on caffeine and Gojo decides to show his worry by sparring with you

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff!, reader is absolutely CRACKED OUT, worried gojo, jujutsu high students being actual students (!!)

AUTHORS NOTE Gojo is a parasite that lives in my brain. That's it. That's the note. Side note: King and Queen have been highlights in my verbal rotation these days. "get it King" is a proud example of this.

The sun was blinding—high and sharp and merciless, like it had a grudge against everyone beneath it. The rooftop training field shimmered under the heat, the concrete warm enough to fry an egg and the breeze almost useless. It was the kind of afternoon where everyone wanted to be anywhere but here.

Then you arrived.

You didn’t walk onto the field. You rocketed onto it like a chaotic comet of cursed energy and carbonation, half-jogging, half-skipping, hoodie sleeves bunched at your elbows, a mangled Red Bull can in one hand and what was probably your eighth or ninth of the day tucked under your arm.

“LET’S GO, BABY SORCERERS,” you shouted, skidding to a dramatic halt. “TIME TO GRIND!”

Yuji fist-pumped like he was born for this moment. “YEAAAH! I’m so ready!”

Inumaki glanced at you with a calm “Tuna mayo.”

Panda clapped once with the rhythm of a sports chant. “Someone’s overclocked again.”

Megumi, already stretching in the shade, didn’t look up. “Why are you like this.”

“I’m dialed in,” you declared, popping open the next Red Bull with a fzzzt that sounded suspiciously like doom. “Fully optimized. Mentally turbocharged.”

“You’re going to rupture something,” Megumi said flatly.

“Like a brain cell?” Yuji asked.

“She doesn't have any left,” Megumi deadpanned.

You took a long sip from the can. “I have become caffeine, destroyer of self-control.”

Maki leaned on her practice staff, raising a brow. “You realize this is a sparring session, not an MMA title fight, right?”

You grinned at her, jittering like a kicked beehive. “It is now.”

Panda tilted his head. “How many of those have you had?”

You blinked. “Define ‘had.’”

And then, as if summoned by sheer dramatic timing, he arrived.

Gojo stepped out onto the field like a model strutting into a battlefield. He wasn’t even pretending to hurry—just strolled up in his black uniform, blindfold half-lowered so you could see the faint curve of amusement playing on his mouth. His silver-white hair glinted under the light like it had its own gravitational pull.

The moment he saw you, he stopped walking.

Then blinked.

Then slowly turned to the rest of the students. “You let her drink how many Red Bulls?”

“She didn’t let us stop her,” Maki muttered.

“She threatened to fight a vending machine,” Panda added helpfully.

Yuji nodded. “It was kind of impressive.”

You struck a pose mid-field, vibrating like a hummingbird with an attitude. “Nothing can hurt me! I’ve surpassed mortal limitations!”

Gojo raised a brow. “You’re going to vomit on your own shoes in about twenty minutes.”

“Then I’ll vomit with honor!”

He sighed, like a man used to being surrounded by lunatics. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your face flashed hot, and before you could even think of a comeback, a cold bottle of water came flying at your head.

You caught it just barely. It thudded into your palms with icy finality.

“Hydrate,” Gojo said, looking deeply unimpressed. “Before I put you in a holding cell with the cursed corpses.”

Yuji gasped. “She’s getting detention?”

“She’s getting intervention,” Megumi muttered, still stretching, still over it.

“I’m not that bad,” you protested.

You cracked open the water and poured some over your head dramatically like it was a baptism.

Gojo tilted his head, studying you with a smug, unreadable smile. “You know what? If you’ve got all that energy to burn…” He paused. “Why don’t you spar with me?”

The entire rooftop froze.

Panda’s eyes went wide. “Wait. For real?”

Maki blinked. “He’s serious?”

Yuji let out a full-body gasp. “OH MY GOD YES—”

You paused mid-sip, water dribbling down your chin. “You wanna fight me?”

Gojo smirked. “Unless you’re too scared, Red Bull.”

You grinned, eyes shining, blood singing, muscles buzzing with cursed energy and terrible decisions.

“Oh, you’re so on, Snowflake.”

The heat was still clinging to the rooftop, but it wasn’t the sun making the air shimmer now.

It was cursed energy.

Gojo stood loose and unreadable in the center of the training field, rolling his shoulders back with deliberate, relaxed movements. His blindfold was off now, folded and tucked into a pocket—those eyes sharp as cut glass and fixed on you with a slow-burning curiosity. He wasn’t smiling.

Not yet.

You were still coiled with caffeine and adrenaline, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet. The tremor in your limbs wasn’t nerves—it was fuel. Unstable, wild, and stupidly potent. The Red Bull rush was peaking, and Gojo? He was standing in your line of fire with that smug, infuriatingly calm look on his face.

“You sure you’re ready?” he asked, tilting his head.

“I’m fueled by science and bad decisions,” you replied, cracking your neck. “Let’s do this.”

The students scrambled back instinctively, creating a wide circle around the sparring ring. Yuji practically vibrated with excitement. Panda pulled out a bag of popcorn from God knows where. Inumaki sat down cross-legged, eyes locked on the center. Maki stood still, watching with her arms crossed, the glint in her eye the closest thing to amusement she ever allowed.

Megumi just sighed and crouched beside a stack of water bottles. “If either of them levels the building, I’m not helping clean up.”

Gojo raised one hand lazily, fingers curling in that taunting “come on” motion. “Show me what that energy of yours is good for.”

You didn’t wait for a countdown.

You moved first.

One heartbeat you were standing still, the next you exploded forward—curse-enhanced speed cracking through the air like a bullet. Your fist came in fast, low, aimed for his side, but Gojo slid out of reach with impossible ease, feet barely whispering against the ground. The aftershock of your strike cracked a chunk off the tile floor.

“You’re fast,” he said mildly, turning on his heel. “Not faster than me.”

You spun, grinning. “Guess we’ll find out.”

You closed the distance again, throwing a feint left before twisting low into a sweeping kick. He stepped clean over it, countered with a flat-handed strike toward your shoulder. You blocked with your forearm, the impact reverberating down to your teeth.

“You’re holding back,” you said through clenched teeth.

Gojo tilted his head, stepping into your space again. “So are you.”

For a moment, everything sharpened. Your bodies moved around each other in precise, blinding rhythm—strike, block, twist, pivot. It was like dancing with knives. Your cursed energy pulsed with each movement, bright and erratic, while his remained cool and impossibly smooth, flowing around him like he didn’t even have to try.

Yuji had stopped cheering. He was just staring, slack-jawed.

“They’re insane,” he whispered.

“They’re insane and reckless,” Megumi muttered, arms crossed. “Great combination.”

“Pass the popcorn,” Maki said under her breath.

Panda whispered, “This is way better than class.”

You threw a series of sharp jabs, ducked under his counter, then spun around behind him—but he was already there, waiting for you. He grabbed your wrist, twisting it with just enough pressure to warn you, not break you.

“You’re gonna crash soon,” he murmured.

Your eyes flashed. “Then I better end this fast.”

You twisted free, body bending back in a full arch to slip under his arm before launching yourself into a jump kick aimed at his shoulder. Gojo caught you midair—of course he did—and shoved you backward with a palm to the chest that sent you skidding across the ground.

You crouched low, breathing hard, grinning wide.

He wiped dust off his uniform and gave you a look.

A real look.

Curious. Challenging. Like he was finally seeing what you could do. Like he wanted more.

You surged forward again, ducked one swing—then dropped your center of gravity, pivoted, and swept his legs out from under him.

Your heel cracked against the back of his knee with a satisfying thud. Gojo’s eyes widened—not in pain, but in surprise—as he lost balance. You didn’t hesitate. You moved into a spin, rose up just enough to plant your foot on his chest as he landed flat on his back, winded but grinning up at you with his hair a mess and one arm thrown lazily over his head like this was the best day of his life.

You stood over him, panting, one knee bent, hair falling into your eyes. “Who’s crashing now?”

He blinked up at you. “You just Maki’d me.”

“I learned from the best.”

Gojo let his head fall back into the cracked tile. “Incredible. I’ve been publicly humiliated. I might retire.”

“I’ll send flowers.”

“You better.”

Across the field, the students erupted in shouts and laughter. Yuji threw both fists into the air like you’d just taken down a final boss. Inumaki nodded approvingly. Panda was filming. Maki smirked faintly, just once, before returning to her neutral stance.

Even Megumi… cracked the smallest grin.

You stepped off Gojo’s chest and flopped beside him, your body still trembling from adrenaline and caffeine, heart jackhammering in your chest. Your arm brushed his.

Gojo didn’t move right away.

Then, softly—just for you—he muttered, “That was hot.”

You didn’t answer. Just smiled at the sky and let yourself breathe.

The hallway lights buzzed low and warm, and the lounge was nearly empty.

You were curled up sideways on the couch like a cat that had tried to fight God and won—barely. The hoodie you’d half-stripped during training was back on now, draped messily over your shoulders like a blanket, your body half-wrapped in a throw someone had left behind weeks ago. Your head throbbed dully. The caffeine high had cracked apart hours ago, leaving behind a sluggish ache and the unmistakable fuzz of dehydration and regret.

You were still clutching the now-empty water bottle like a lifeline.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t bother lifting your head. “If it’s Ijichi, tell him I’m dead.”

Gojo’s voice answered, dry and amused. “What a coincidence. I was just about to say the same thing about you.”

You cracked one eye open.

He strolled in like he owned the damn room—his uniform jacket slung over one shoulder, collar loosened, hair damp from a recent rinse. No blindfold. Just those too-bright eyes focused solely on you, filled with that familiar gleam of smugness… and something softer buried beneath it.

“Still alive?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of the couch.

“Debatable.”

“You look like someone who tried to fistfight a vending machine and lost.”

You squinted at him. “I won. I got the Red Bulls.”

Gojo clicked his tongue. “Ah, yes. Victory through organ failure.”

You groaned and slumped deeper into the cushions. Your voice dropped to a mumble. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Tough. You’re gonna.”

He dropped his jacket on the armrest and sat beside you, shifting until you could feel the warmth of him just barely brushing against your side. He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached over and pulled your hood up gently, letting it fall over your head like a soft reprimand.

“Ten cans?” he murmured.

“Thirteen,” you corrected automatically. “But one was sugar-free, so it doesn’t count.”

Gojo sighed, leaned back, and tilted his head to look at you. “You know you don’t have to kill yourself to prove something, right?”

You closed your eyes. “I was just trying to keep up.”

“With who?” he asked, genuinely confused. “You wiped the floor with me. And I’m the strongest.”

You snorted softly.

But he didn’t let it go. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced, and said—quieter this time—“You’re already good enough. You don’t have to run yourself into the ground to be impressive.”

There was a silence that followed that. Thick, honest, uncomfortable.

You didn’t say anything.

So he moved first.

Gojo leaned over, and before you could process it, you were being pulled into his lap like you weighed nothing. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand settling low on your back, the other resting against the crown of your head.

You let yourself collapse into him—bone-tired, brain-fried, and strangely at peace. His chest was warm beneath your cheek. His scent was clean, bright, familiar—like soap and sun and something electric that only belonged to him.

“You scared me,” he said against your hair.

“I sparred you,” you mumbled, eyes closed.

“Exactly,” he whispered. “You sparred me while chemically unhinged. I had flashbacks to Suguru’s cooking.”

You laughed—low and rough.

He held you tighter.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” he said. “I get it. You want to be strong. You want to keep up. But you can’t protect others if you’re wrecking yourself in the process.”

You went quiet for a while. Not because you disagreed. Just because it was hard to hear when it came from him—from someone who had made self-destruction look like an artform.

“…I’ll cut back,” you said eventually.

Gojo hummed. “One can a day.”

“Two.”

“One and a sip.”

You sighed into his collar. “Fine.”

His hand moved gently along your spine. “Good. ‘Cause I happen to like you with functioning kidneys.”

“You like me?” you teased weakly.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your hood. “Don’t push it, Red Bull.”

[scary-noodlesblog]

Soulbound

Castiel x Fem! Reader

Lazarus Rising Part 1

Soulbound Masterlist

3rd Person POV:

Dean Winchester wakes up in a dark place after being in Hell for four months, or forty years in Hell time. His voice is hoarse as he slams his hands against the top of his coffin, dirt raining down on his face.

"Help! Help! Help!" He screams, the wood starting to give way, allowing him to start digging to the surface. His hand reaches the fresh air above him as he breaks through, crawling his way up to the top of the dirt.

Dean gasps and pants as he lays there for a few minutes, the sun too bright for someone who's been in darkness for four months. The hunter walks his way down the empty road in search of civilization before he finds an abandoned gas station.

"Hello?" He calls out to nobody as he pounds on the door. Dean takes off his outer shirt and rolls it around his hand, breaking the glass. After he gets inside, he gets a water bottle and starts chugging it, gasping. Dean finds a newspaper, reading September 18th.

"September..." he says in disbelief. In the gas station bathroom, Dean washes his face in the dirty sink. He lifts his black t-shirt, exposing his chest, now free of scarring or any damage he received in his career as a hunger, as well as the claw marks from the hellhounds.

Dean frowns and turns his left shoulder to the dingy mirror. He lifts the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a raw, branded handprint on his shoulder.

He leaves the bathroom, grabbing snacks and drinks, shoving them in a grocery bag. A smirk creeps on his face as he walks up to the magazine stand, thumbing through a 'Busty Asian Beauties' magazine. Dean then goes to the cash register, getting it open and looting the cash. As he is doing so, the tv turns on, showing only static.

He furrows his eyebrows and shuts it off, only to have the radio turn on to white noise. Dean quickly goes down an aisle, getting salt and pouring it methodically on the windowsills and in front of the door.

A loud, high-pitched sound reverberates through the gas station, making Dean clutch his left ear as he continues to pour salt. The sound persists, Dean dropping the salt and crouching on the floor, groaning in pain. The window above him shatters, raining glass on the floor.

~~~~~~~

After the sound stops, Dean dials his brother's phone number at a phone booth, only to get an alert tone and an automated voice that says the number has been disconnected. He hangs up, putting in another coin and dialing Bobby Singer's number.

It only rings once before Bobby picks up, "yeah?"

"Bobby?" Dean asks, hope in his tone.

"Yeah?" The older man says again.

"Its me."

"Who's 'me'?"

"Dean..." As soon as Bobby hears that he hangs up, only making Dean redial his number. "Who is this?" Bobby asks, getting more irritated by the second.

"Bobby, listen to me..." Dean begins, only for Bobby to cut him off.

"This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya." Bobby grumbles.

Dean sighs and hangs the phone back on the receiver, turning around and seeing an old, beat up white car. His eyes light up as he hotwires it, driving in the direction of Bobby's house.

~~~~~~~

Your POV:

"Who was that, Bobby?" I turn the corner from the kitchen, I had been staying there since Sam went off on his own.

"No one, just a solicitor..." Bobby gave me a small, reassuring smile. I return the grin, returning to the kitchen to finish lunch for us. It was the only way to make him eat since Dean died, he felt bad if he didn't eat what I made for him.

A few hours later, Bobby was back to researching and drinking while I tidied up his books a little, just putting away unused ones. A pounding sounds on the front door, setting off alarm bells in my head. I glance at Bobby for a moment before grabbing his shotgun while he picks up his silver knife.

I point the gun at the door, hidden from the doorway as Bobby opens it. I can't see who's at the door, but a familiar voice speaks up, "surprise."

I lower the shotgun and stand behind Bobby, "D-Dean?" My voice comes out breathless, my tone full of disbelief.

Bobby stutters and looks at Dean, surprised, "I-I dont..."

Dean walks in the door, turning towards both of us, "yeah me neither, but here I am."

Bobby grunts and lunges at Dean with the knife, making me go to try and break them up, the shotgun clattering to the floor. "Bobby stop!" I yelled as Dean twists Bobby's arm, trying to make him drop the knife. An elbow is swung, not sure whose, but it hits my chest, knocking the wind out of me as my back hits the wall.

Bobby backhands Dean across the face, making Dean yell out that it's really him. "My ass!" Bobby shouts back, advancing on Dean once more. I stand back up straight again, a hand on my chest as Dean pulls a chair out, putting it between him and Bobby.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Dean pants softly, "your name is Robert Steven Singer! You became a hunter after your wife got possessed and...you're about the closest thing I have to a father. And that's (Y/n) (M/n) Singer! Your surrogate kid, you found her on a demon hunt! Bobby. It's me."

Bobby and I both step towards Dean, my eyes slightly watery. Bobby puts his hand on Dean's shoulder before lunging at him again. I gasp and grab Bobby's arm, struggling to get the knife from him. "Bobby stop! He's not a shapeshifter!"

"Then he's a Revenant!" Bobby yells back before I disarm him, holding the knife out of his reach.

"Alright, if I were either, could I do this- with a silver knife?" Dean takes the knife gently from my hand and rolls up his sleeve, wincing as he cuts his arm, showing no burning.

Realization and disbelief crosses Bobby's face, "Dean?"

I smile softly at them, as Dean comes up and hugs us both. "That's what I've been trying to tell you." Dean mumbles into my shoulder.

As Dean pulls away from us, Bobby looks at him, "it's...it's good to see you, boy."

"Yeah, you both too." Dean gives us a weak smile, which I return.

"But...how did you bust out?" I ask, tilting my head at him and crossing my arms over my chest.

"I don't know. I just, uh, I just woke up in a pine box..." Dean looks down at his feet.

"That was Sam's-" I get cut off as Dean looks up, Bobby splashing holy water in Dean's face. Dean sighs and spits the water out onto the floor. "I'm not a demon either, ya know?"

Bobby shrugs, a small apologetic look on his face, "sorry. Can't be too careful."

We move further into the house. I hand Dean a towel and he dries his face. "But...that don't make a lick of sense..." Bobby's eyebrows furrow in thought.

"Yeah, you're preachin' to the choir," Dean sighs. I cross my arms again and shift my weight to my right leg. "Dean your chest was in ribbons. Your insides were slop. And you've been buried for four months. Even if you could slip out of Hell and back into your meat suit-" Bobby begins, Dean cutting him off.

"I know, I should look like a 'Thriller' video reject."

"What do you remember?" I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

"Not much," Dean looks down at the floor again' "I remember I was a hellhound's chew toy, and then...lights out." Bobby sits down out of the corner of my eye as Dean continues. "Sam's number isn't working. He's, uh, he's not..." He trails off, not wanting to even think that Sam is dead.

I shake my head quickly, "he's alive as far as we know."

Dean lifts his head and looks at me, "good. Wait, what do you mean, as far as you know?"

"We haven't heard from Sam in months," Bobby sighs.

"You're kidding. You just let him go off by himself?" Dean looks between Bobby and I, his gaze filled with disbelief and anger.

"He was dead set on it Dean. After your funeral, I helped him with a couple standard demon hunts, then he dropped me off here, saying he would be back. That was almost four months ago." I sigh, giving Dean an apologetic look.

Dean turns his head to look at Bobby, "Bobby, you should've been looking after him."

"Its not his fault," I interject, furrowing my eyebrows.

"I tried. These last few months haven't been easy, ya know? For him, (Y/n) or me. We had to bury you." Bobby huffs.

"Why did you bury me anyway?" Dean glances between us again.

"We wanted you salted and burned. Ya know, the usual drill," I lean off the wall, putting my hands on the table in front of me. "But, Sam wasn't havin' it. I tried to tell you that before somebody so rudely splashed you with holy water." I raise an eyebrow and look at Bobby who shrugs.

"Well Im glad he won that," Dean huffs a a laugh, making me nod and smile softly.

"He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow. That's about all he said." Bobby said.

Dean's features twist slightly, showing his suspicion, "what do you mean?"

Bobby shrugs again, "he was quiet, real quiet. And then after he dropped off (Y/n) he just took off. Wouldn't return our calls. I tried to find him, but he didn't want to be found."

"Oh dammit Sammy," Dean grumbles, rubbing his forehead.

"What is it?" I tilt my head again.

"Oh, he got me home okay. But whatever he did, it is bad mojo." Dean explains, worried that his brother made a deal.

"What makes you so sure?" I ask him.

"You should've seen the grave site. It was like a nuke went off. And then there was this...this force. This presence. I don't know but it, it blew past me at a fill up joint. And then this..." Dean stands up, taking off his over shirt and pulls his sleeve up, revealing a brand on his shoulder in the shape of a hand.

Bobby stands up as I mutter, "what the fuck?"

Dean looks up at us, "it was like a demon just yanked me out. Or rode me out."

"But why?" I ask.

"To hold up their end of the bargain," Dean grumbles, pulling his sleeve back down.

"You think Sam made a deal?" Bobby questions.

"It's what I would've done," Dean sighs.

~~~~~~~

Dean calls Sam's cell phone provider, trying to locate him as I look up any cases nearby he could be on. "Yeah, hi, I have a cell phone account with you guys, and uh, I lost my phone. I was wondering if you could turn the GPS on for me. Yeah. Name's Wedge Antilles. Social is 2-4-7-4. Thank you."

Dean hangs up the phone and walks up behind me, looking at the laptop screen over my shoulder.

"How'd you know he'd use that name?" I ask, looking up at him.

"You kiddin' me? What don't I know about that kid?" Dean chuckles, "can you type in Arc Mobile?"

I nod and search the phone company as Dean looks around the room. Dean picks up one of Bobby's empty bottles that I hadn't tossed out yet. "Hey, Bobby? What's the deal with the liquor store? What, are your parents out of town or something?"

"Like I said. Last few months ain't been all that easy." Bobby sighs, "(Y/n)'s been trying to clean them up, but I replace them faster than she can tidy."

Dean holds his gaze on Bobby for a moment, "Right." The laptop beeps and shows a blue arrow, pointing at a star on a city map.

Phone Location:

263 Adams Road

Pontiac, Illinois.

"Sam's in Pontiac, Illinois." Dean leans back, standing to his full height.

"Right near where you were planted." I point out.

"Right where I popped up. Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?" Dean asks, his voice full of suspicion.

~~~~~~~

I follow Dean and Bobby down the hall of the Astoria Motel, supposedly where Sam is staying. We stop at a door that says 207 inside a red heart, knocking on the door. A pretty woman opens the door and looks at the three of us expectantly.

"So where is it?" She asks, confusedly glancing between us

Dean looks at Bobby and I with an eyebrow raised, "Where's what?"

"The pizza... that takes three people to deliver?" She questions, the tone in her voice says 'you should know that'.

"I think we got the wrong room." I give her a nervous smile and try to apologize when Sam steps into the light. He looks down at her then up at us. "Hey, is..." he trails off and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Dean. He swallows, shocked, his eyes flicking between Dean, Bobby and I.

Dean tears up a little, his voice full of emotion, "Heya, Sammy."

I could see Sam looking in disbelief as Dean walks into his brother's room, followed by Bobby and me. We ignore the woman as she steps aside to let us in. As Dean walks up to his brother, Sam pulls a knife and lunges at Dean, giving me deja vu from Bobby's house. The woman screams as Bobby holds Sam back, I stand between the brothers, my hands out in front of me towards Sam, my back to Dean.

Sam struggles against Bobby, screaming, "who are you!?"

"Like you didn't do this!?" Dean yells back, making me yell at him to shut up for a second.

The younger Winchester looks confused for a second, "do what?!"

"It's him. It's him. (Y/n) and I already went through this, its really him," Bobby reassures Sam, who slowly stops struggling. I move to the side, out of the way of the brothers. "What..." Sam starts.

Dean cautiously approaches his brother, "I know, I look fantastic, huh?"

Bobby let's go of Sam, who has tears in his hazel eyes as he walks up to Dean, hugging him desperately. I smile softly as I watch the exchange, happy for them both, my own tears spilling over. Bobby also watches tearfully, but his don't fall.

The woman raises an eyebrow at the Winchesters, "so are you two like...together?"

I fight off a gag and turn to look at her in slight disgust, "ew what the fuck!? They're brothers!"

Sam looks at the woman like he just remembered she was there as she gathers her things, "uh...got it. I-I guess. Look, I should probably go."

"Yeah. Yeah that's probably a good idea. Sorry." Sam gives her a slightly apologetic look.

Her and Sam change their clothes, Sam now in a white button up, and her in a blue plaid shirt. Sam opens the door for her to let her out. "So, call me." The woman says with a sly smile.

"Yeah, sure thing Kathy," Sam gives her a gentle smile.

A look of offense and hurt crosses her face, "Kristy." She corrects him.

Sam continues his polite smile, "Right." The woman leaves and Sam shuts the door.

Sam goes and sits down, Dean and Bobby crossing their arms and standing over him, suspicion all over their face. I lean back against the wall, glancing between the men, literally feeling the overwhelming testosterone.

Dean speaks first, "So tell me, what'd it cost?"

Sam smiles at his brother, "The girl? I don't pay, Dean."

The older Winchester scoffs, "That's not funny, Sam. To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?"

"You think I made a deal?" Sam looks at Dean like he just grew a second head.

"That's exactly what we think." I interject, crossing my arms over my chest as well.

"Well, I didn't." Sam retorts with his signature sass.

"Don't lie to me." Dean grumbles.

"I'm not lying." Sam says truthfully.

Dean advances towards his brother, "So what now, I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this."

Sam stands up furiously, "Look, Dean, I wish I had done it, all right?"

"There's no other way that this could have gone down. Now tell the truth!" Dean yells, grabbing Sam by the front of his shirt.

"Dean!" I scold, walking up to the brothers before things escalate. God, I feel like their mother.

Sam's voice breaks, full of emotion as he tears up again, "I tried everything. That's the truth. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, all right? You were rotting in Hell for months. For months, and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right? Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean let's go of Sam's shirt, so I back up a step or two, "It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize, we believe you." I say softly.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm gladdened that Sam's soul remains intact, but it does raise a sticky question." Bobby says matter-of-factly.

"If he didn't pull me out, then what did?" Dean sighs. Well it looks like we have some research to do.

~~~~~~~

Dean and Bobby sit on the couch while I sit on the edge of the bed. Sam hands us each a bottle of beer and sits next to me. I open my beer and take a sip as Dean speaks, "so what were you doing around here if you weren't digging me out of my grave?"

Sam sighs, "well, once I figured out I couldn't save you, I started hunting down Lilith, trying to get some payback."

Bobby's eyebrows crinkle together, his tone accusing, "all by yourself? Who do you think you are, your old man?"

"Seriously Sam? I could've helped you?" I give him an angry look, feeling dejected.

Dean frowns as he sees something, crossing the room to see what it is. "Uh yeah, I'm sorry Bobby. I should've called, I was pretty messed up. And (Y/n), I couldn't have you getting hurt either. After Dean, I couldn't do it. Plus your dad would have my head on a pike." Sam defends himself, chuckling a little at the end.

I roll my eyes but crack a small smile, he only spoke the truth, "well I'm gonna have your head on a pike if you pull that shit again." Dean picks up a pink, flower patterned bra and holds it up, making me raise my eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, I really feel your pain," Dean teases.

"Anyways, uh, I was checking these demons out of Tennessee, and out of nowhere they took a hard left, booked up here." Sam shrugs, tapping his finger on his beer bottle.

"When?" I ask.

"Yesterday morning." Sam takes a sip of his beer.

"When I busted out." Dean mumbles.

"You think these demons are here 'cause of you?" Bobby glances at Dean, his eyebrow raised.

"But why?" Sam asks.

"Well, I don't know - some badass demon drags me out and now this? It's gotta be connected somehow." Dean shrugs.

"How you feelin', anyway?" I ask Dean, sipping my beer.

"I'm a little hungry." He chuckles.

"No, I mean, do you feel like yourself? Anything strange, or different?" I narrow my eyes slightly at the older Winchester.

Dean scoffs, "Or demonic? (Y/n), how many times do I have to prove I'm me?"

"Yeah. Well, listen. No demon's letting you loose out of the goodness of their hearts. They've gotta have something nasty planned." Bobby says.

"Well, I feel fine." Dean states and sips his beer.

"Okay, look, we don't know what they're planning. We got a pile of questions and no shovel. We need help." Sam huffs.

"I know a psychic. A few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking." Bobby shrugs and takes a long swig of his beer.

"Hell yeah, it's worth a shot. You talkin' about Pamela?" I perk up, Pamela is always nice to me, she's a good lady.

Bobby nods and pulls out his cell phone, "I'll be right back."

Bobby leaves the room and Dean stands up, intending to leave as well. I also stand up, followed by Sam. "Hey, wait. You probably want this back." Sam reaches into his collar and pulls out a cord, Dean's amulet. He places it in Dean's hand. Dean smiles at his brother and puts it back on. "Thanks."

"Yeah, don't mention it. Hey Dean, what was it like?" Sam asks with a small head tilt.

"What, Hell? I don't know, I, I must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing." Dean raises an eyebrow, I could tell he was lying through his teeth, but he was sparing his brother of the details.

Sam nods, mostly believing Dean, "Well, thank God for that."

Dean gives him a weak smile, "yeah."

~~~~~~~

Bobby leads us outside and down the stairs. We walk up to the Impala and Bobby's car. "She's about four hours down the interstate. Try to keep up." Bobby gets in his car.

"I'm assuming you'll want to drive," Sam says, digging the keys to the Impala out of his pocket and tossing them to Dean, who catches them.

Dean chuckles and runs his hand over the car lovingly, "hey sweetheart, did you miss me?"

I roll my eyes and giggle, "damn Dean, are you gonna drive it or get it pregnant?" Sam laughs next to me. Dean gives me a bitch face and gets in the car, Sam getting in the passenger seat and I get in the backseat. "Goodbye passenger seat, I'll miss you." I mumble, settling in behind the brothers.

Dean looks at the iPod Sam plugged into the stereo, glaring at Sam and the device. "What the hell is that?"

"That's an iPod jack." Sam says with a grin.

"You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up," Dean sneers.

"Dean, I thought it was my car," Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean huffs and starts the car, 'Vision' by Jason Manns playing over the speakers, making Dean glare at Sam harder. "Really?" Sam just gives him an innocent shrug. Dean rips the iPod out and tosses it next to me in the seat, making me chuckle.

~~~~~~~

"There's still one thing that's bothering me." Dean says, breaking the silence as we drive to Pamela's house.

"Yeah?" Sam asks as I hum in acknowledgement.

"Yeah, the night that I bit it. Or... got bit."

Dean chuckles at his own joke. "How'd you make it out? I thought Lilith was going to kill you both."

"Well, she tried. She couldn't." Sam explains.

"What do you mean, she couldn't?" Dean presses for answers.

"She fired this, like, burning light at me, and... didn't leave a scratch. Like I was immune or something." Sam says, genuinely unsure of why.

"Immune?" Dean asks.

"Same here. I mean, I'm not the psychic one, I have no idea why I was spared." I shrug, leaning my head on the door to my right.

"Yeah. I don't know who was more surprised, her or us. She left pretty fast after that." Sam continues.

"Huh. What about Ruby, where is she?" Dean questions warily.

"Dead. For now." I answer him, crossing my arms over my chest.

Dean hesitates before asking Sam, "So you've been using your, uh, freaky ESP stuff?"

"No." Sam answers quickly, a little too quickly.

Dean looks skeptical, "sure about that? Well, I mean, now that you've got... immunity, whatever the hell that is... just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you've got going on."

"Nothing, Dean. Look, you didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish." Sam says, "and (Y/n) was immune, and she's not like me."

"Yeah, well, let's keep it that way." Dean grumbles.

~~~~~~~

We knock on the door to Pamela's house, the brunette opening the door with a smile, "Bobby! (Y/n)!" She hugs Bobby tightly before turning to me and hugging me with the same strength.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," I smile at her as she pulls away from me. Pamela backs up a little and eyes Sam and Dean, and I could see Dean is eyeing her as well.

"So these the boys?" She asks Bobby and he nods.

"Sam, Dean, this is Pamela Barnes. Best damn psychic in the state."

Dean greets her flirtatiously while Sam says hi awkwardly. I nudge Sam's arm, "she's not gonna bite, you'll be fine."

"Not unless he wants me to," Pamela winks and smirks at Sam, before turning to Dean, humming. "Dean Winchester, out of the fire and back into the frying pan huh? Makes you a rare individual."

"If you say so," Dean grins at her and Pamela lets us inside.

~~~~~~~

"So you hear anything?" Bobby asks Pamela as I glance around, the house not changing much since the last time I was here.

Pamela shakes her head, "well, I Ouija'd my way through a dozen spirits. No one seems to know who broke your boy out, or why."

"So what's next?" I ask while tilting my head a little.

"A séance I think. See if we can see who did the deed," Pamela explains and I nod.

Bobby furrows his eyebrows, "you're not gonna summon the damn thing here?"

Pamela shakes her head with a small smile, "No. I just want to get a sneak peek at it. Like a crystal ball without the crystal."

We all agree and Pamela starts setting up her stuff to get this séance started. She spreads a black tablecloth out and crouches down to grab a couple things from a cabinet. I look at Dean as he reads her tattoo, seeing 'Jesse Forever'. "Who's Jesse?" Dean asks her, making me roll my eyes.

"Well it wasn't forever," Pamela laughs.

Dean shrugs and smirks, "his loss."

Pamela stands up, holding several candles in her hands as she stops in front of Dean with a grin, "might be your gain."

She walks over to the table as Dean turns towards Sam and I, "dude I am so in."

Sam scoffs, his hands in his jacket pockets, "yeah, she's gonna eat you alive."

Dean holds out his arms slightly, "well, I just got out of jail, bring it." I groan and rub my face as Pamela walks by again, addressing Sam with a wink, "you're invited too grumpy."

"You are NOT invited," Dean points at Sam and grins.

~~~~~~~

Later, we sit around the table, the candles lit. I sit between Bobby and Sam as Pamela instructs us to hold hands. Once our hands are joined, Pamela teases Dean again, "now I need something our mystery monster touched." She reaches down and squeezes Dean's thigh, making him jump.

Dean lets out a nervous chuckle, "whoa. Well he didnt touch me there."

I chuckle as Pamela says, "my mistake." We close our eyes as Pamela begins to chant, "I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.

I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.

I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle."

I hear the television turn on, making me jump slightly, Sam squeezing my hand reassuringly. I take a breath and I hear a name. "Castiel..." I hear almost like a whisper, my eyebrows crinkling.

Pamela continues her chanting, "I invoke, conjure, and command...Castiel? No, sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy." My confusion grows, wondering if Sam, Dean and Bobby can hear the whispering too.

"Castiel?" I hear Dean question.

"Its name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back." Pamela explains as the white noise and static continues, the table shaking. "I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face."

I hear more whispers, the same voice warning her to stop, that its dangerous, my anxiety building up more and more. The white noise picks up more, getting louder. "Maybe we should stop." Bobby says, his voice nervous.

"I almost got it.I command you, show me your face! Show me your face now!" Suddenly the candles flare up several feet in the air and Pamela begins to scream. Her eyes fly open and are filled with a white-hot flame. She collapses; the rattling, white noise, and flames die out.

Bobby and I catch Pamela, lowering her to the floor as she screams. Bobby yells out, "Call 9-1-1."

Sam rushes into the next room to a phone as Dean kneels next to Pamela with Bobby and I. She's conscious, but bleeding and burned. Her eyelids open, revealing empty, burned eyesockets. She sobs, "I can't see! I can't see! Oh God!" I can hear Sam on the phone with the 9-1-1 operator in the next room.

[yena-enha]

𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 (𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬)

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Warning - Angst, heartbreak, emotional damage, unrequited love, unresolved feelings, mentions of vomiting

Note - SFW CONTENT

Genre - Angst, Emotional Realism, Romance

Pairing - Ni-ki x Fem!Reader

Song Inspiration - "Love Scenario" by iKON

Word Count - 1.9k words

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You met Ni-ki in early spring, when the cherry blossoms hadn’t yet bloomed and the skies stayed gray. He stood in the middle of a crowded crosswalk, hood over his head, headphones in, completely oblivious to the world around him. And somehow, even then, your eyes found him.

And somehow, even then, he looked up and found you too.

---

It started small. A shared umbrella during an unexpected downpour. Late-night phone calls that stretched until sunrise. Fingers brushing too long when passing coffee. And then, suddenly, all at once—love.

You fell in love with Ni-ki the way most people learn to breathe. Naturally. Inevitably. Painfully, once you realized you wouldn’t know how to live without him.

He was your first in many ways. First love. First heartbreak. First time you truly believed someone could see all of you—and still choose to stay.

Until he couldn’t.

---

You gave him the bracelet the night before he flew to Tokyo.

It wasn’t fancy—just a black braided cord, handmade and clumsy, with a small silver plate you had carved his initials into. You’d pricked your fingers twice while making it. He never knew.

You handed it to him quietly, scared if you spoke too loudly, he’d vanish.

“I know it’s not much,” you mumbled. “But maybe when you wear it… you’ll think of me.”

Ni-ki had stared at it like it was made of gold. Like it was sacred.

He slipped it on and pulled you in, forehead resting against yours.

“I’ll think of you even when I’m not wearing it,” he promised. “You’re in everything now.”

You cried that night, in his arms, afraid of losing a future that hadn’t even begun.

---

A week later, your birthday arrived. You didn’t expect anything. Time zones and distance had already begun carving gaps in your conversations. But a small package arrived, with no note—just a necklace.

A thin gold chain. A single star pendant.

You FaceTimed him immediately, tears already burning your lashes.

“A star?” you asked softly.

Ni-ki smiled from across the world. He looked tired. Paler.

“Because you’re my constant,” he said. “No matter where I go… I’ll find my way back to you.”

---

But he didn’t.

Because love, you learned, wasn’t always enough.

Not when time demanded sacrifices. Not when dreams started pulling in opposite directions. Not when life hardened the softest parts of you.

You fought to keep it alive.

He tried too, in the beginning.

But one night, everything fell apart in the silence between words.

“I love you,” he said, brokenly. “I love you so much. But I can’t keep doing this. I’m not who you need right now.”

Your throat had clenched, heart pounding like it was trying to escape.

“I never asked you to be anything,” you whispered. “I just wanted you.”

He cried then. You could hear it over the line.

“I’m sorry.”

Then nothing.

Just a dial tone.

---

You wore the necklace every day after that. You didn’t take it off when you showered, or when you slept, or even when it tarnished over time.

People told you that you’d move on. That time heals everything. That someone new would come along.

But they didn’t understand.

You never fell out of love.

So how could you fall in love again?

---

Years passed.

You built a life. A small, quiet one. You wrote, you read, you worked a job that paid the bills but never lit your soul the way he had.

Every year, on your birthday, you touched the pendant and thought of him.

And every year, you wondered if he ever thought of you too.

---

Then came the wedding.

You weren’t invited, of course.

But mutual friends posted photos. They never meant harm—they just didn’t know.

He looked beautiful.

A crisp white suit. That same shy smile.

And beside him, the woman he chose.

You noticed two things immediately.

Her dress was perfect.

And his wrist was bare.

No bracelet.

You threw up in the bathroom that night and didn’t eat for three days.

---

You never married.

Not because no one wanted you—people tried. You even said yes once, just to see if your heart could pretend.

It couldn’t.

You called it off a month before the date, crying into the same pillow he once held you against.

Because how could you vow forever to someone else when a part of you still belonged to someone who let go?

---

Then, one Sunday in late autumn, you saw him again.

You were in a bookstore, your hands wrapped around a paperback you wouldn’t end up buying, when the doorbell chimed.

Ni-ki walked in like he hadn’t shattered you years ago.

And yet—your heart still fluttered.

He looked older. Taller. More grounded. But his eyes? Still held that same fire.

And when they found yours, they widened.

He walked over slowly, almost like he didn’t believe it was real.

“Hey,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Hi,” you whispered, the necklace suddenly heavy against your skin.

His eyes dropped to it instantly.

“You still wear it.”

“I never stopped,” you replied.

He exhaled shakily. “I looked for the bracelet. Before the wedding. I wanted to wear it.”

Your chest tightened. “Did you find it?”

He shook his head. “No. Maybe that was the point.”

You said nothing.

He did.

“I tried to forget you. I thought time would do that.”

“Did it?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He looked at you—really looked at you. Then, almost too softly to hear:

“No.”

---

You walked through the city together after that.

He told you about his job. His travels. His quiet regrets. You told him about your apartment. Your writing. Your empty bed.

He didn’t mention his wife until you asked.

“She’s… kind,” he said. “Good to me. She deserves someone who loves her entirely.”

Your heart cracked.

“And you don’t?” you asked.

Ni-ki looked at you with eyes that had loved you once, and maybe still did.

“I don’t know how to love anyone the way I loved you.”

---

When the sky turned gold and the evening crept in, you stood beneath a streetlamp, like the universe had paused.

“In another life,” he said, voice trembling, “I would’ve stayed.”

You looked up at him. The boy you once loved. The man you still did.

And with every broken piece of yourself, you smiled.

“In another life,” you whispered, “I would’ve been enough.”

He reached for your hand but didn’t take it.

Instead, he stepped back.

And walked away.

Again.

---

You stood there long after he disappeared, the cold biting at your skin.

When you got home, you opened your jewelry box.

The necklace sat heavy against your collarbone.

You didn’t take it off.

You couldn’t.

Because some loves never leave you.

Some ghosts don’t fade.

And some hearts? They only ever belong to one person.

Even if that person never comes back.

Even if they marry someone else.

Even if the love becomes something quiet. Something sacred. Something that lives in silence and solitude.

You never married.

You never moved on.

Because your heart still whispered his name when the world got quiet.

Still ached when it rained.

Still reached for the boy who promised you the stars.

And even now—

Even years later—

You still loved him.

Not because he was perfect.

Not because he stayed.

But because he was almost everything.

And you were almost his.

Almost.

Always.

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«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» @strxwbloody

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