#Toothy Tile

[bumble66]

Chris Evans' potential boyfriends (allegedly based on blind item gossip!)

September 15th. 2023. Only a few days after Chris Evan's alleged wedding, a blind item appeared on CrazyDaysAndNights dot net.

It is about an A/A-list actor who is sometimes a super hero:

A lot of people in the comment section argued that this is about Jeremy Renner. I wondered why and so I did some research about him. On Datalounge dot com and on the forum called LipstickAlley, they argue that he is a gay man who faked the custody dispute with his "ex". It is alleged that she was his surrogate and both wanted to be in the news to get more fame (Shameful!).

However I do not believe that this blind item is about Jeremy because he isn't a "sometime superhero". But you know who is? Our lovely Chris. He was the "Human Torch" in the Fantasitc Four. 4 years later he was "Steve Rogers aka Captain America" and 3 years after that, he replaced Tim Allen as "Buzz Lightyear". So yeah. he is a "sometime superhero" but these days I'm not so sure about the A-list status anymore...

Anyway, I had that thought on why it could be Chris after one person in the comment section gave the following hints:

As this person points out, EntyLawyer who wrote this blind item above, has Hollywood insider knowledge. As a result Enty knew what we from #TeamPR have already concluded: Based on immigration law, a legal marriage was not possible. It is fake. So despite the fact that the blind item appeared days after Chris' alleged wedding, his (PR) girlfriend is after all just a "girlfriend" and not a wife. So this blind item could still apply to Chris.

Based on what the commenter Eenid in the screenshot above implies... Chris, which this blind item is allegedly about, has a "long-time boyfriend he also pays as an employee"...

Possible Boyfriend #1: Mark Kassen

Picture Source: https://archive.ph/e9EPA In this picture you can see that he looks very friendly, soft, fem and adorable. I bet that if he were the possible boyfriend, he'd treat Chris with care and kindness.

Picture Source: https://archive.ph/lpCTK

In 2017, Chris and Mark have both started the political online platform called "A Starting Point". So is he Chris' employee? In this cute picture of them, you can see that he already has way more chemistry with Mark than with his PR wife from "GO Portugal!"

Picture source: https://archive.ph/7yiGn

However, they have already known each other since 2011 when they both starred in the movie Puncture. It adds up with that the person said above. That "A Starting Point" was not their first "joint endeavour" ... ... ...

Picture Source: https://archive.ph/4cxrn

Chris and Mark don't just hang out when it comes to business related stuff. They also hang out privately. Here you can see them both with Chris' brother Scott who is also gay. This was confirmed by Chris when he outed him publicly:

See link: https://archive.is/rFnVI https://www.koimoi.com/hollywood-news/when-captain-america-chris-evans-outed-his-gay-brother-scott-publicly-when-he-was-19-received-a-lot-of-flak-from-his-friends-who-said-i-cant-believe-you-did-that/ My thoughts: On the pictures you can see that every time Mark is around Chris, he seems very happy. Even if it turns out that they are not a secret couple, I hope they will continue to have a lot of fun together... ... ... Possible Boyfriend #2: Joshua Martin Peck (No, not the guy from Drake & Josh)

Picture Source: https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Joshua_Peck According to the "Marvel Cinematic Universe Wiki" he was Chris Evans' assistent in "Captain America: The Winter Soldier", "Captain America: Civil War", "Avengers: Infinity War", "Avengers: Endgame", "The Iceman", "Snowpiercer" and "knives Out". See link: https://archive.ph/4BYQg Like the blind item from Enty Lawyer mentioned, he could also be the "long-time boyfriend" Chris also pays as an employee. I think that because on the Lipstick Alley Forum, there have been interesting revelations about the relationship Chris and he have:

A person on LSA said that when Chris had an interview in 2019, he said that Josh was basically his roommate and was living in the family home with Chris Evans' mother Lisa...

In the October 2023 GQ interview, Chris said that he loves to smoke weed. It explains why he needs botox these days. It was also the same interview that had several sentences about leaves, autumn, his beloved dog Dodger, while his PR wife was only mentioned twice. That he "had her for a while" (I think at this point his team still wasn't sure how the PR relationship timeline between those two should look like) and that she reads "energies". So based on that interview, his love for weed exceeds that of the love he (allegedly) has for his alleged wife. So that Josh is a professional weed smoker is therefore probably something Chris really likes. As the user above says... Chris' and Josh's situation could be similar to the one Leonardo Dicaprio and Lukas Haas have (https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-4864460/Leonardo-DiCaprio-giggles-chased-Lukas-Haas.html)

(BTW: It is public knowledge where he lives but I still didn't feel comfortable to just screenshot it so I removed the name of the town in case you wonder what the pink bars are) A user who is in contact with someone who lives in Chris' Town said that Josh walks Chris' dog Dodger when Chris is away for work in LA and no one ever saw his PR wife from Portugal. There are also other people on X who often claim that neighbours never saw a wedding and that the weather conditions were horrible on that day.

Dodger is Chris' love of his life:

When he was already allegedly dating the PR bride from Portugal, Chris said that Dodger was his long-term partner (No I won't name him as possible bf #3 EW). It demonstrates two things: 1. This PR crap ain't real and 2. That he trusts Josh to take care of Dodger is just heart-warming. I don't think every person is allowed to walk the dawg!

Josh is also not just the personal assistent of Chris when it comes to several of his movies (I wonder now what he is assisting him with...), he also took and probably still takes care of his instagram/social media (Chris has anxiety and therefore doesn't like reading mean comments).

Yes, Chris is very open about his anxiety to the point where he needed a back rub from Scarlet Johanson after a press conference. It is uplifting knowing that Josh shields him from people's opinions online. He is basically Chris' own personal Captain America x3

Source: https://twitter.com/miss_LulaMae/status/1465814040471646216 BONUS BOYFRIEND #3: Sebastian Stan I don't think the blind item refers to him because he isn't employed by Chris but he is still a notable mention. Remember my first post here? One of the info I quoted was from the datalounge thread called: "Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan, did they have a thing?" See link: https://archive.ph/gxXkr

In this thread a user implied that they knew Chris and that he is ashamed of being bi. Some people on datalounge argued that this is the reason why he publicly outed his brother Scott. Because a lot of people assume that if one brother is gay, the other can't be. I encountered this argument too when sharing my arguments regarding Chris' PR relationship with others online. They responded to me that Scott is the gay brother. They really thought that that means that no one else in the family can be gay anymore! Chris you cunning imp! Smart move.

Chris and Sebastian Stan were both marvel stars. Sebastian is the winter soldier... I think... Sorry I actually only like the A-lister gossip. Not the movies. I have barely watched any of them... but I like Guardians of the Galaxy with that gay racoon! Even the general public noticed that he never has great chemistry with his female co-stars:

But when it comes to Sebastian...

"best friends" When it comes to Sebastian and Chris, many people claim they had a thing because of this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNHk1PDU1jQ

This youtube video has some interesting comments. I mean the comments which mention the following time stamps in this video:

9:23 5:51 3:37 SUMMARY: What I explained isn't too far off. A Hollywood insider named ShellyT20 said the following stuff she knows from friends that are in contact with A-list celebrities:

Also another gay/bi rumor I found about Chris Evans on LSA during his marvel days:

A lot of people will probably be angry at me for exposing Chris this way but first of all, I only summarize all his gay/bi rumors other people mention. It's not me who wrote all these comments in these gossip forums. Use the search bar of datalounge and LSA to find these specific comments and try to debunk them there yourselves. #DontShootTheMessenger. Also, if it weren't for Hollywood being so homophobic, demanding of bi and gay men to present themselves as stable, heterosexual family men + marriage + children, unless they want to lose their A-list career, I wouldn't have to point all of that stuff out.

Don't let yourself get fooled! How can the industry claim to be pro-lgbt, putting all these fictional lgbt characters in movies, while real life homosexuals are put in their place? And if they refuse, they will be denied A-list movie roles. As buzzfeed journalist Edwin Jusino claimed, Chris and his "wife" are PR. Most likely for Netflix because they debuted their relationship when the second season of her Warrior Nun Show started. Awkward btw but when there are so many gullible people who eat all this crap up without questioning it... how much can I actually blame Hollywood here? Source: https://archive.is/YZlQG

Also message to #TeamPR: Remember who also said for over a decade now that he wants marriage and kids? Toothy Tile. What has happened in regards to that? ZERO. I guess it is the same for Chris. Marvel told him to say this traditional stuff so that the general public thinks he is a regular guy who wants to be monogamous but that's just not how most A-listers act. I recommend watching the movie "Eyes Wide Shut". These parties are for real. Here on my blog, I provided evidence that you, #TeamPR, want to see him married with wife and kids. MAAAYBE your gender expectation, that you have for men, you hating the fact that they are bachelors and like to sleep around... Maybe that is the exact reason why these A-list guys have to go through this crap?

See it for yourselves. This is what some of you say:

(Sorry but that just sounds like sexist men who say they want to see women barefoot in the kitchen)

But then you say: - "Waaah Waaah I don't like this PR. Why does he have to pretend to be married??? waaah waaaah"

Well, and this is also a message to Hollywood and his team. Chris does not look well at all. I don't want to mock his looks but he looks like he aged a decade since this PR started. He looked like death during the ASP video two or three weeks ago. Even Kevin Costner looked better after his divorce! So can we finally stop with this outdated nonsense? Everything above and on my blog in general is alleged based on the screenshots and links provided. I merely comment on what people publicly claim about Chris Evans and his sexuality. You might think this is immoral but so are lavender marriages.

#chris evans #Sebastian Stan #Josh Peck #Mark Kassen #ASP #The winter soldier #scarlett johansson #lavender marriage #pr relationships #hollywood #feminism #lgbt #Portugal #Toothy Tile #Jake Gyllenhaal #Pikachu #Avengers #bisexual #gay couple #pr #evanstan #anxiety #Dodger #Will Smith #bilal #bi #Fassbender #Bucky #Stucky #Steve Rogers

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders x reader. (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook wants you all for himself (and bam) and you buy him flowers.

> fluff, a little angst / wc: 2.8k

> warnings: jk gets pissed off at a guy who tries hitting on you T_T, making out!!

note: i couldn’t resist and here i am with the post-jungkook live effect [deep sigh] as always i hope you enjoy and i also hope you let me know if you did <333

—

standing infront of the door of your apartment, you struggle to unlock it with your fingerprint because of the paper bag you’re hugging to your chest and the small bouquet of red roses occupying your other hand. in the end, you decide to put down the paper bag on the cold tiled floor. you press your index finger on the rectangular pad above the numbers before turning the doorknob.

the familiar ringing of the door opening and closing make jungkook and bam comically perk up at the same time. the dog stands up by resting his front legs on the backrest of the sofa, tail excitedly wagging as he anticipates your arrival in the living room.

“hello, baby. i’m home.” you sweetly hum as you pad across the floor with your feet only clad in white socks after lazily leaving your shoes by the doormat.

jungkook isn’t even sure if you meant ‘baby’ as in him or bam, but that thought shortly gets pushed to the back of his mind when his confused doe eyes zoom in on the flowers you’re securely cradling.

relieving yourself of its weight, you finally set down the paper bag from the convenience store, sliding your phone out of the pocket of your sweatpants to leave it on top of the center table as well. bam jumps off the sofa sniffing loudly at the flowers, but you quickly raise your arm to put it out of his reach.

“no- no, bamie. you can’t eat this! this is for your daddy.” you tell him with a giggle, digging your hand into the paper bag to dish out the new toy you bought him.

“for me?” your boyfriend chips in to the conversation with a toothy grin, but his question is left unanswered as you squeeze the yellow fish to make it squeak.

the high-pitched sound makes bam hyper. he stretches out his front legs forward, leaning down on his elbows — a posture that usually indicates that he wants to play. you throw the toy into the air and it lands near his house. he runs after it not even a second later, nails clicking against the floor. he carries it in his mouth and jumps on the other corner of the couch, living in his own little bubble to chew to his heart’s desire.

jungkook steals this opportunity to snake an arm around your waist, pulling you down to the open space next to him. you whimper in surprise as you fall on top of the bundle of blanket he abandoned, lifting your butt quickly to remove it from under you. bam inches closer to snuggle against the soft cotton, ears abruptly moving in curiosity when he successfully makes the toy squeak too.

“where are these from, huh? was someone trying to steal you away from me again?”

they almost make you instantaneously melt — his deep voice laced with half humor and half truth of bitterness, accompanied by a soft squeeze of your hip.

“babe!” you scold him with a laugh to mask how flustered you’ve become, as if you’re still not used to his flirting after all these years. “i passed by a flower shop on the way home and i thought i should be the one to buy them for you for a change.”

you extend the hand holding the bouquet, eyes twinkling with devotion that causes his resolve to crumble into ruins. it never stood a chance in the first place.

—

you walked away from the cashier while stuffing the book you just bought inside your tote bag, the man you strongly refused to allow and pay for it still hot on your heels.

“wait! i’m sorry. let me just- uh-”

you froze awkwardly before the lean and blonde stranger who blocked your path to the door, probably standing somewhere around 5’10. based on his complete nike get-up, you were pretty sure he was outside for an afternoon jog.

“i just wanted to let you know that i think you’re very beautiful, and maybe ask if we can hang out this weekend? at my place?”

and you could tell he was trying his best to appear confident, but the shaky hand that was holding out the bouquet of fresh tulips betrayed him. it was the first time in your life that you found your favorite flowers to be undesirable, no matter how perfectly and intricately arranged the beautiful colors were.

‘at my place?’ what the hell happened to chivalry? oh, a lost art indeed.

despite being extremely irritated at him for causing an embarrassing scene infront of the cashier earlier in addition to this, you forced yourself to give him an apologetic smile for the sake of being polite.

that was when jungkook came back after buying two cups of hotteok from a cart only half a block away. his walking pace slowed down as he watched the scene unfold through the glass separating the bookstore from the sidewalk, eyebrows knitting in growing confusion and annoyance. he failed to read your lips while you were talking. by then he was already prepared to join the conversation, even more after he realized that he recognized the man.

however, before he could reach the door, you were already pushing it open. the gush of wind blew through your hair, and your face lit up when you were greeted by the sight of your boyfriend holding your favorite snack. with a thrilled smile, you practically skipped your way to him and took the cup from his left hand.

“you got them! the line was pretty long so i thought they would sell out before your tur-”

your smile slowly faded when you realized he wasn’t listening. jungkook’s eyes were too busy shooting daggers at the stranger walking to the trash can, jaw clenching when he saw how aggressively he slammed down your dearly beloved flowers. he was the only one to notice the lone orange tulip that slipped and fell on the ground, firmly rejected and thoughtlessly discarded.

your warm hand held his cheek, gently coaxing him to look at you instead.

“what did he say? did he touch you?”

it’s very rare to see jungkook this seriously angry. therefore, you are only reminded at times like this that he can be scary if he wants to. at first, you thought his protectiveness would only last until the early stages of your relationship and eventually fade like those who came before him, but he never changed.

you shook your head, rubbing his arm in an attempt to soothe his temper. “no, not at all. he was kind of stubborn but i handled it just fine.”

he only nodded in response, features still hardened, but relief washed over him after confirming that nothing dangerous happened to you while he was gone. but he was swept off his feet before his mind could run for another mile. you pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, the torrid kiss you granted him with lasting seconds. insatiably craving more of your ministrations, he made a move to chase your lips, but a rude car honk jolted him awake to the fact that you were still in public.

you gave him a coy smile. “want to eat ramen with me at home? i’m getting cold.”

“let’s go home, baby.” he hummed in agreement. “i’ll warm you up.” he hung his tattooed arm over your shoulder, guiding you to his other side to put himself between you and the rushing vehicles passing by.

he spared another sharp glance at the bookstore before walking away. he met the eyes of the asshole who has been indiscreetly observing you still regardless of the disaster that just transpired. he panicked at the interaction and turned on his heel, disappearing into the fiction aisle.

jungkook smirked, shaking his head in disdain before taking the first bite off his hotteok.

—

walking didn’t seem to help shake off his inflexible thoughts.

“something still bothers me about that guy.” he mumbled after tossing your empty cups in the trash bin you passed by.

“what is it?” you frowned worriedly, intertwining your fingers with his. by this time the glorious sun has started to set, splashing the sky with light orange paint that reflected on his honey skin.

“he was already there when we went in the bookstore. i know he saw us holding hands. i’m obviously your boyfriend.” vexation continued to run in his veins until it dripped from his tongue. his satoori accent came out thick and heavy as he spoke with wide, expressive eyes. “and he still had the fucking audacity to go out and buy you flowers?”

your lips parted open in surprise, tilting your head to the side as you tried to recall the surroundings when you entered the establishment earlier. no wonder he was instantly upset and worried.

“i don’t remember seeing him . . . but you know, if he’s as brazen as you think he is, why did he only approach me when you left?”

your stream of thoughts got interrupted by a scandalous gasp when you arrived at a new angle of looking at the situation.

“he invited me to his place.” you halted on your tracks, glaring back at your previous location. you were already five blocks away from the bookstore, and you wish he could magically feel the negative energy you were exuding from the distance. “so did he really think i’m that kind of-”

you instinctively pulled back your boyfriend by tightly grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. “hey! where are you going?”

his jaw clenched, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek — telltale signs that he was unquestionably pissed off. “baby, i won’t let that one slide.”

alright, this is not good. not good at all. perhaps you should start learning how to stop saying your thoughts out loud.

“but he’s not worth the time.” you pouted sadly, wrapping your arms around his waist so he wouldn’t be able to walk away. “i just want to go home and cuddle with you and our child while watching the new chainsaw man e-p.”

he breathed out a sigh to compose himself. the proposition you laid out was undeniably irresistible, albeit a bait of distraction. but he knew you were just keeping him in check before he impulsively acts again. he gave your forehead a chaste kiss, honeyed lips a little sticky from the sugar syrup of the hotteok filling.

“okay then. let’s do that.”

—

“are you still annoyed about yesterday?” you poke his soft cheek with your index finger. “hey, look at this. i got six red roses for a reason . . . you are my one and only.”

you point at each flower as you slowly speak the sentence word by word, and his heart overflows with fondness as he watches. when you innocently look up to meet his gaze with a hopeful smile, saying the words- “i would’ve gotten you a fancier arrangement but i don’t want your allergies acting up.”

that is his final straw.

“shit, baby. why are you so damn cute? what am i going to do with you?” he accepts the bouquet with a lighthearted chuckle, setting it down on the table before attacking you with his affection.

you end up falling on your back as he climbs over you. you giggle uncontrollably when he holds your wrists and traps your thighs in between his knees anchored on the cushion, tirelessly peppering your face and neck with love-fueled kisses.

the noisy disturbance distracts bam from his squeaky yellow fish. he jumps off the couch to stand beside you and jungkook, licking at whatever his tongue reaches. for you, it’s your arm held folded by your boyfriend.

“it tickles! you know it tickles there!” you squeal, squirming beneath him. you feel his frisky lips curve into a smile against the left side of your neck, stubbornly planting more kisses on the expanse of your skin.

“mhmm, i love you. i love you.” he hazily chants, drunk in love, tracing his way back to your lips. “i love you so much.”

that’s when he decides he’s finished with innocent pecks, delicate hands releasing your wrists to properly balance himself on top of you. you tenderly caress his face as he deepens the kiss, coaxing you to part your lips so he can dip his playful tongue in your mouth. when he tilts his head to the side so his nose won’t bump against yours, your hand slides to the back to support it, fingers tangling with his long and fluffy hair. a desperate, filthy moan escapes from his throat as you unconsciously tug, prompted by his soft nibbling at your bottom lip. it sends tingles running through your spine like live wire, and the air engulfing the two of you becomes hotter and heavier.

he parts away from you breathless, resting his forehead on yours before pulling himself up again. “fuck. is this how you feel when i buy you flowers?”

you gingerly brush his undereye with the pad of your thumb, finding yourself deeply fascinated with his dilated pupils staring right back at you.

you lick your swollen lips, front teeth digging on your bottom lip. “i should’ve done it sooner, right? i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. you already give me so much, silly.” he softly pecks your lips again. “besides, your presence is my favorite gift. you’re a blessing to me, you know that?”

you smile shyly, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. his random confessions of overwhelmingly sincere adoration never fails to elicit a giddy reaction from you. “i love you.”

“ah- ouch.” a wince shortly replaces your smile when bam jumps on the couch again, accidentally stepping on your hair.

“bam, sit, sit. sit down.” jungkook rises to kneel on his knees, moving forward until they reach your waist. bam obeys his command, and your hands find purchase on the flesh of his thighs as he releases your hair from under the dog’s paws.

“i’ll go put the flowers in the vase.” he cheerfully announces as he cautiously removes himself on top of you, planting his feet on the ground.

“okaaay.” you drag out the word as you sit up on the couch. while he takes the bouquet of roses with him to the kitchen, bam finally finds the chance to leave the toy on your lap, but not before he gives it a good bite to make it squeak.

you pet his long floppy ears as he licks your cheek and then your hands, urging you to play with him using the gift you bought him. you press quick kisses on the top of his head before squeezing the yellow fish, waving it infront of his face.

“do you want to play, bamie? should we? will you bring it back to me?”

he starts panting as if to answer ‘yes’ to all of your questions.

you throw the toy at the kitchen, and you cover your mouth out of reflex to suppress your laughter when it landed on the dining table, only a few inches away from jungkook. he pauses from plucking off the leaves from the stem of each rose, jokingly raising an eyebrow at bam, who is balancing himself standing up by using his body as a support.

he picks up the toy and dangles it above bam, speaking to him in a baby voice. “is this what you’re looking for? aw, really? you want it? go take it then . . . that’s it, good boy!”

bam easily catches it with his mouth, running back to you so he can complete the mission you gave him. he drops it on your lap again, bumping his nose against yours, and you dramatically collapse on the couch. he starts sniffing at you curiously, front paw poking your shoulder once to gauge your reaction.

your eyes only open half-way, and you spread out your arms to show him the space you created for him. “bam, i’m sleepy- sleep. i need to recharge. can we play again later?”

he lies down on his back and uses your arm as a pillow, rolling around for a bit until he chooses to curl up beside you in the end, his upper body resting on your stomach.

“ugh, you’re so heavy. can’t. breathe.” you mutter under your breath, but nevertheless, you stroke his side lovingly until you both completely doze off for an afternoon nap.

jungkook squints at the living room when the apartment got suspiciously quiet, lips forming a pout.

“are you two cuddling? i still need to trim the stems- save me some space!”

—

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#jungkook #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts reaction #bts fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

[arminsumi]

Satoru spraying whipped cream into your mouth

Satoru waltzes into your apartment kitchen, wrings open the fridge and grabs the whipped cream can. He tilts his head back and presses his finger down on the nozzle, spraying cream into his mouth, filling it up to the brim.

You look at him with a toothy grimace, "Satoru, what're you like twelve?"

He dramatically swallows and licks his lips. "Yes." Satoru grins wide. "Come here. Let me do you."

"What the f—"

"Come onnn, don't you want my cream~?" he teases.

"Satoru, I don't know how I've put up with you for six years. You're on crack 24/7." you shake your head.

"Yuh... so you gonna open wide for me 'n let me cream in your mouth or what?"

You roll your eyes and smile. He's so stupid and inappropriate.

Anyways, you open your mouth for Satoru.

"Wider." he commands.

You open wider.

"Tongue out." he commands again.

You stick your tongue out and start laughing as this tall boy hovers over your face. He nests his fist in your hair and yanks your head back so you look directly up at him.

Then he sprays whipped cream in your mouth, watching intently, looking down into your mouth perversely.

"Now swallow for me, baby." he emphasizes this faux erotic tone to amuse you.

"Mmf." you nearly choke because of how much cream he sprayed into your mouth.

He intently watches you swallow, something glittering in his eyes and his brain clicks.

"Good girl~" he coos suggestively.

"Satoru you fucking perv... hm... 'tastes good." you lick your lips thoughtfully.

He grins nastily. "Yeah I bet. I got some more cream for you if you want, baby."

"Oh yeah, sure. Should I just drop to my knees on the tiles and suck you right now?" you return sarcastically.

"Really!?" his eyes light up.

"No, I'm joking, you dumb cockhead." you laugh and he rolls his eyes and lets out a frustrated grunt.

"Do I have cream on my lips?" you ask.

"Yeah... a little bit, right there. Better lick it up, don't be wasteful."

He watches you lick and swipe the cream off your lips. Satoru malfunctions. You notice he holds his breath for a moment, and it's the funniest thing ever.

"W-wow."

You giggle flirtatiously and leave the kitchen.

His cock is stiff and leaky in his pants. He stands there like an idiot, not knowing what to do with himself, still clutching the can of whipped cream tight in his hand.

Then Satoru suddenly reanimates himself and frantically rushes down the hallway.

He bursts into your room,

"HEAR ME OUT."

"Okay. I'm hearing you out." you reply, scrolling through your socials and not looking at him.

He drops to his knees at your bedside.

"There's this thing called "friends with benefits" that I think we should try. — hey, don't laugh!"

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

#🔞.smut #🥡.takeout #mdni #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo smut #smut

[two-red-lungs]

The Kids Are Alright (Eddie Munson)

Your first date with Eddie Munson is fine, as far as first dates go. You get pizza together: meet awkwardly outside the door at 7pm, hands sweaty, exchanging nervous, butterfly-riddled smiles. You eat. He can't stop moving in his seat opposite you, tapping his hands on the sticky enamel tabletop. He looks at you with big brown eyes. Wary, at first, then as the night goes on and it becomes clear this isn't some string-along joke, or a prank, with boyish glee.

But the second date is the one that really shines.

Eddie, in all his intellectual glory, takes you to the Dollar Tree.

It's late, again, and the D in the logo flickers in and out of existence. The air inside smells like cheap plastic, dust, and the urban sprawl of capitalism. This is a place that's usually... dead. A pathetic sort of dead, where dreams come to die, the cashier looks about five seconds from falling asleep, agonizingly boring elevator music plays over tinny speakers, and Hawaiian themed teacups are on sale for ninety-nine cents.

You think god, what the hell are we even doing here? This is hardly a dinner date, or the bowling alley, or makeout point, or any of the usual dates your friends always bragged so cooling about. But then Eddie looks at you over his shoulder, spins on his heel, and throws his arms wide. His outfit jingles.

"Welcome," he says with a glint in his dark eyes, "to the goddamn kingdom of imagination."

You should leave. God knows to anyone else at school this date could sound like a horror story, an uncouth, uncool, unladylike disaster. But there's something in those eyes. Something vibrant and alive and real. So instead of leaving you think, okay. Why not.

Best decision of your life.

He knows this place by heart, every white-tiled aisle under the buzzing fluorescents. And he's funny, too: you didn't expect him to be so funny. As you both slowly amble and push your squeaky-wheeled cart he picks up random shit, talking as he fiddles.

A fuzzy caterpillar cat toy becomes his moustache. He wraps a crinkled paper streamer around his neck like a boa and faints dramatically against some of the shelves. He scurries to the aisle next to you and pretends to walk down a staircase, disappearing from view: when his moppish head pops back up again, his wild hair flounces.

Huh. He smiles like the sun.

Eddie asks about everything possible, and god, under his stoner slang he's whip fucking smart. You crack a joke or a sarcastic reference and he smoothly returns it with equal emphasis, two tennis players on the court.

You check out picture frames. Eddie suggests throwing a little spraypaint on it, a little silver paint to light the edges, some weathering with sandpaper, and suddenly you've got yourself some primo decor.

"You like to paint?" You ask him, standing in the aisle, holding the shitty wooden frame. He's looking over your shoulder. You can feel his body heat, this close.

"I'm a big believer in, uh. Creativity, y'know?" His smile is big, toothy. Still nervous. Like as extroverted as he is, as big as his personality could be, the sting of a scoff or a sneer could still hurt.

You tell him that's cool. Something in his eyes softens.

God, you don't know how many hours you spend in that place, just talking and touching shit and discussing potential DIY projects and cool ideas. You talk comics, and music, and Hawkins social politics. He tells you about Tolkien. You tell him about David Brin. He likes David Murray, you like Siouxie Sioux. You both agree the autumn leaves this time of year make the Hawkins High look like its roof is on fire (and god, if only).

Your cart is full of bullshit you don't really need, bullshit full of promise and potential, and Eddie is letting you ride the cart with your feet on the front bar as he pushes it down the aisle at mach one speed. He splutters behind you, your hair in his mouth. He's laughing.

The total comes to 12 dollars even. The plan for the next date is to turn the kids bathtub toys you bought- ducks and dolls and dolphins- into zombies and mummies and other creatures with the shitty barely-opaque acrylics set you scored.

The sky is black outside, and it's raining. He asks if he'll see you again this week, and you say yeah, duh. The air feels like fireworks- like lightning, like a live wire. You think for a second that he's gonna kiss you.

Eddie pulls out a silver-plastic tiara from under his vest, nicked free of charge from the girl's section, and sets it on your head. It's cheap, pattern-punched plastic with pink plastic gems. It's perfect. He's made you a fairytale.

Munson bows, smiles again- the one that makes his eyes crinkle- and then he's off in his van.

He's so weird. He's so strange. You don't understand him.

You think you really like him.

#eddie munson #stranger things s4 spoilers #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #my writing #I'M NOT DEAD I'M JUST IN UNIVERSITY

[rustycopper4use]

ozzie x fizz x reader….maybe a little one shot of fizz and the reader being cute because they know ozzie doesn’t have it in him to say no to them (most of the time) when they do it? maybe something just silly and domestic (they WILL have burger breakfast) but generally two cuties having a demon king wrapped around their fingers

AJJAJAHAUAUJSJSHSHJSJS YESSSSS

You were an absolute Angel ironic since you lived in hell, and was in a relationship with quite literally the embodiment of lust, and his right hand hyper jester.

  But that’s beside the point, you knew you could melt Ozzie with a smile and plea.

  What was dangerous was about this was Fizzaroli could do the same. Two low level demons able to have a prince of hell at your beck and call. Especially after the kidnapping incident with fizzaroli, Ozzie has been extra attentive if that was even possible.

 Ozzie was infatuated with you two, he would gladly do anything for you two, just to see you smile.

  He would’ve never imagined to fall for anyone let alone this hard.

 Early mornings were the closet sense of normal before the chaos of hell wakes up.

  Fizzaroli would always wake up first, getting himself ready. Then waking you two with an air horn.

 You’d wake up, already missing the cuddle pile.

 “Do you have to do it every time..” you mumbled pushing your face into Ozzie’s chest.

  “Cmon! I need my partner in crime.” He whined wrapping his robotic arms around you, pulling you into his embrace rather than Ozzie’s.

 “What are you thinking?” You tiredly rubbed your eyes.

  “I was thinking of-“ he whispered into your ear.

 “I see… you think he’ll do it?” You questioned.

 “Has he ever said no?” Fizzaroli gave a toothy smile.

 “What are you two planning?” Ozzie voice grumbled, still recovering from the air horn.

 “Nothing~” you fizzaroli both cooed.

 “How about we make breakfast!” You spoke, with a cheerful smile.

  Ozzie looks worried towards you.

  “I mean me and you, I’m still cleaning burnt cereal from the tiles, when fizz tried to help.” You shivered at end.

  “You’re being dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.” Fizzaroli laughed.

  “You’re the only demon that I would fully believe if you found away to burn water.” You teased.

  “He did remember, last month. That’s why we banned him from touching the kitchen.” Ozzie mentioned.

 “I completely forgot about that.” You deadpan.

“I’m starving, you need to feed me.” Fizzaroli dramatically lays across the two.

  “That reminds me, do I have any meetings today.” Ozzie gets up wrapping the silk red robe around himself.

  Fizzaroli looks at you with a knowing grin.

 “I mean, you do have some production quality meeting- sounds boring to me, but it’s not that important you could always reschedule.” Fizzaroli began falling Ozzie, with you.

 “Hm? What else do you have planned?” Ozzie turns to look down at fizzaroli. 

  “I mean me and fizzaroli, would love if you stayed home with us, maybe morning burgers and a movie date?” You cooed, as you and fizzaroli looked up at Ozzie. 

 He gives a love sick sigh.

“If you really want me to stay, who am I to say no.” Ozzie

  Fizzaroli is already on the phone canceling the meeting.

  “While he’s busy why don’t we start cooking!” Ozzie smiled.

  “I would love too.” You cheered pulling on the man’s heart strings.

#x reader #lgbtq #lgbtqiia+ #gay #fizzarolli helluva boss #helluva boss #fizzmodeus #fizzmodeus x reader #ask me anything #ask #hell #helluvaboss #fizzarolli #helluva boss asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #fizzaroli x reader #Gay #polyamory

[widowbitessting]

Sugar Mommies Season 2, Pt:6

Polite Reminder That All My Work - Especially For Sugar Mommies - Is 18+! Minors Do Not Interact.

“Hey darling, are you busy?”

You look up at Carol with a glare, pink barbie toothbrush in your sweaty palm; white bristles blackened from the grout you were being made to clean. 

You bite back the urge to swear at her, instead opting to force a toothy smile to your face. 

“Not really no, why?”

Carol, ever so smug, leans against the door frame with her arms crossed. 

“Are you sure, kitten? You seemed hard at work when I came in.”

“What do you want, Carol?” You can’t help the bite in your words. 

You’re really not in the mood.

“Oh stop pouting, princess; you earned this punishment yourself.”

She may have a point there. 

Carol continues on, “I warned you not to push me. And what did you do?”

“I didn’t listen, obviously.”

“Lose the attitude or I’ll have you clean the sidewalk too.”

“…sorry.”

A raised eyebrow makes you continue your apology. 

“Sorry Captain, I’ll stop being a brat.”

“There’s my good girl.” Carol crouches in front of you, balancing perfectly on the tip of her toes. You really have to fight the temptation to push her over. 

God. Your inner brat is thriving. 

“Tell me, my good thing. When do your classes finish?”

You brush some loose strands of hair from your glistening forehead. 

“Finish? For break?” 

“No love, when do you finish for the weekend?” 

“Oh!” 

“And did I say you could stop working? You’re still in your punishment, darling.” 

You automatically go back to scrubbing, pushing the bristles of the toothbrush into the cracks between the tiles a little more harder than needed.

“Answer the question, baby. I know that dumb brain struggles to comprehend simple questions sometimes but c’mon; I know you can do it.” 

“I…” You have to wrack your brain to think, “Wednesday. I think. I’m sure my Friday classes are cancelled.” 

“Think you can find out before the end of the day for me baby girl?” 

You look up at Carol and nod. 

“Sure. Why the rush?”

“I’m thinking of whisking you away after your last class until Monday. Does that sound good?” 

“A holiday?” 

“A mini one, yes.” 

You jump up and grab Carol into a hug, toothbrush clattering to the floor behind you.

She wraps her arms firmly around you.

“Where are we going?” 

“Do you really want me to tell you or do you want it to be a surprise?”

You don’t do well with surprises. 

At all.

“Just tell me!” You pause. “Please.” 

“Such a good girl, using her manners.” Carol presses a kiss to your nose. “I’m taking you to go and see Nat and Wanda.” 

You squeal so loudly you’re sure only dogs can hear it. 

Carol seems to be prepared for it as she doesn’t wince, instead choosing to grin down at you. 

You’re all but vibrating with excitement.

“We’re going to see them?!”

“Yes, sugar. Thought the news would cheer you up. Get you to stop pouting.”

“I wasn’t…” You trail off, fighting the urge to push out your bottom lip.

“Yes you were, my darling. Such a pouty little baby, hmm?”

She’s doing this deliberately. 

You’re already in trouble - your current predicament proves this - and Carol probably has another two, if not three, punishments already thought out. 

You’re really stumped at how to reply. 

Mercifully, Carol decides she has toyed with you enough.

“How about this: the sooner you finish your punishment, the sooner you can speak to Natasha and Wanda. I’m about to go and call them to discuss our trip…it’d be a shame if you were too busy pouting and being grumpy to speak to them, wouldn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Get scrubbing, little girl.” 

“But I’ve only done half!” 

“Scrub fast.” 

She leaves you and the bathroom and you can only stare after her.

A second later, you hear her shout, “They have a present for you too, bunny!”

You perk up at the mere mention of a gift. 

“A present?” You call out, peering out of the doorway as Carol saunters away.

“Mhm. although, if you’re not there on the call with them then they might just return it…” 

You know she’s lying.

Heck, a toddler would be able to tell she’s lying. 

“You’re bluffing.” 

Carol turns to look at you. 

Her face is smug. 

So.

Freaking.

Smug.

“Try me sugar; see where that gets you.”

*

It’s safe to say, you never want to clean grout ever again. 

Your knees are throbbing, back sore like an 80 year old woman who's worked every day of her life; and you’ve cracked enough nails to know that Carol can pay for your next manicure appointment. 

You might even throw a pedicure and a chiropractic appointment in there too. 

But does that stop you barrelling out of the bathroom at full speed, with the toothbrush clattering behind you?

No. 

It does not. 

When you stumble into the room, Carol is saying her goodbyes and is about to press the hang up button.

“I’m here!”

“Timing on that, baby girl; you almost lost your present.”

You go to tear her phone from her hand but Carol moves it just out of your reach.

“Say please.”

“Please, Captain.”

“Good girl,” she pecks your cheek and hands you the phone. “You talk to them and I’ll inspect your work. Make sure you didn’t cheat and take any shortcuts.”

“I’m offended you’d ever assume I’d do that.”

The smirk on your face makes Carol roll her eyes and tap your nose. 

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay! The bathroom is glistening.” You say. “Take your shoes off!”

The faint “No!” has you giggling as you place Carol’s phone against your ear.

“Hi!”

“Well hello, naughty girl.” Natasha’s voice fills your ear. 

Your smile is officially cemented to your face. 

“I -”

There really isn’t any point in denying it.

“Yeah.”

Natasha tuts at you. 

“My, my, what are we going to do with you, hmm? A good grout scrubbing is a fairly decent punishment…but I know for a fact if I asked you to FaceTime us right now…you’d be smiling. You haven’t learnt your lesson, have you, kitten?”

“…I have…kind of.”

“Mhm. That really is believable.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Then switch this to a FaceTime kitten. Prove me wrong.” 

Those final three words really are like the nail in your coffin. 

They grate down your bratty side, taunting and teasing you, and it makes your eye twitch. 

There’s no denying that Natasha did it purposely. 

In fact, you know she did. 

She knows how it works on you. 

Knows that you’ll be her good little submissive and do as she says.

Natasha knows you better than yourself at times.

Which is why, the second you press the FaceTime icon on the screen, you know you’ve made a huge mistake.

Natasha’s perfectly beautiful face comes into view, as does Wanda’s.

You can see them.

And they can see you.

Your eyes automatically lower in submission, smile sliding off your face. 

It doesn’t go unmissed by Natasha, eyebrow raising slightly as a smug smirk forms on her lips.

“Well, hello there, little brat.” 

“Hi…”

“Use my title.”

Your brain takes a second to buffer.

“Your…huh?” You risk a peek up and quickly look away again.

“My title. Just like I trained you to do.”

“...daddy.”

“Now use it in a sentence. Go on, kitten.” 

“..hi daddy.”

“There we go, pet. That wasn’t so hard now was it?” Natasha says, “we miss you, pumpkin.” 

All humiliation is quickly forgotten.

“I miss you two, too.” 

“But we will see you soon!” Wanda shouts, jumping up and down. “Wednesday, Carol says.”

“That’s in like 3 days!” You let out an excited squeal and flop down onto the bed, your h/c hair fanning out around your head. “I don’t think I can wait that long.” 

“Well there might be something to help…ease your tension, baby girl.” Natasha says. “Check under the bed for me?” 

You had completely forgotten about the gift.

“Oh!” 

You leave them on the bed as you dive underneath, snatching the gift bag before resurfacing with it clamped tightly in your hands. 

“I love presents!” 

“We know you do, baby.” Natasha smiles.

“Open it, I can’t wait to see what you think!” Ever Wanda the impatient one. 

You tear into, gift paper soaring over your head and as you reach into the bag, you tilt your head in confusion. 

“What is it?”

You inspect the wrapped package.

“It’s a toy.” Natasha says.

“A toy?” 

Looking back at this moment, you’re ashamed of how long it takes your brain to connect the dots and figure out what kind of toy it is. 

“What? Like a My Little Pony?” 

“No but it’s something else you can ride.” Wanda says with such a straight face, her joke washes over you.

“Oookay…” 

You tear the paper open and all but drop the box as if it electrocutes you, when your eyes see the word ‘g-spot’. 

“Oh my god.”

You’re red. Blushing crimson as you hastily cover your face and let out an embarrassed laugh. 

“You owe me $5.” Wanda says smugly. “I knew she wouldn’t act cocky.”

“Is that what I think it is?” You mumble, still hiding behind your hands.

“A sex toy?” Natasha says. “Yes, yes it is. We want you to try it out for us. Now.” 

That makes you peek up through your fingers. 

“Now?” 

“Yes, baby. Now. We haven’t had the time to play with you in so long. We miss you.” 

“I - I miss you but, on camera?” 

“You can do that for us, can’t you?” Natasha is staring at you. “If you’re uncomfortable, remember your signals, my love.”

“I - I’m okay, I just…”

“Shy?” Wanda asks. 

You look at the toy again and can’t help but smile in embarrassment. 

“...yeah…” 

“It’s just us, baby girl.” Wanda says. “You’re with us, you’re safe.” 

“Why don’t you open the box, hmm?” Natasha suggests, “have a look at what we got you.”

Your hands are shaking. 

Because why wouldn’t they?

The item is pink. 

Soft to touch, incredibly soft in fact. 

You keep the toy on your lap, so the two women watching you intently can’t see it.

“It’s big.” 

“It’ll fit, don’t worry. Once you’re worked up and ready to take it, it’ll fit.” 

“Can you read the name out for me?” Natasha asks.

You quickly look up and meet their eyes. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m selfish and I love to see my baby girl blush, that’s why.”

You push your face into your hands in an attempt to hide. 

“The G -” 

“Nu-uh.” Natasha stops you. “Let us see that beautiful face.” 

You shake your head.

“No?” 

You shake your head again.

“Look at me and say no. Go on, detka.” 

“I…can’t.”

“And why not?” 

“‘Cos…” 

“Wow, such a good reply. Stumped us there, baby girl.” Wanda’s reply makes you smirk, even though you try your hardest not to. 

“Now you’re ignoring orders?” Natasha’s voice wipes the smirk clean off your face. “Look at me and repeat what you said. Last chance, Y/N.”

“Hey!” Your head snaps up and you shoot the redhead a glare before quickly looking away. “Don’t full name me!” 

“She just did, sugar. Answer her. Now.”

You - somehow - manage to drag your eyes to Natasha and for one brief second, you hold her gaze.

And then quickly look down. 

Submitting. 

“That’s what I thought.” Natasha licks her lips. “Now show your doms your beautiful face so we can see that pretty little blush.”

You do as you’re told, even if your bottom lip is sticking out a little. 

“There she is.” Natasha smiles. “Our blushing beauty.” 

“I’m not b -” You sigh. “Okay, fine, I am.”

“And we love it.” Wanda says. “Think you can read it out for us?”

“Signal in, detka.” Natasha orders. 

“Green…I’m just…”

“Shy, we know, my love, we know. But you’re okay. If you don’t want to read it out you don’t have to.” 

“I want to. Believe me, I do.”

“Go for it then, sweetie. At your own pace.” 

“The…um…the G-Spot Massager…” 

“God, you’re such a good girl.” Natasha coos. “You did so well for us, honey.” 

“Do you think you wanna try it out for us?” Wanda asks. 

You meet their eyes.

“Yes.” 

#natasha romanoff #reader insert #wanda maximoff #sugar mommies #carol danvers #natasha x wanda x carol x reader #spiderbites #smu #sugar mommies universe

[testrella]

bottle services ceo! g.satoru x waitress! reader ๋࣭ ⭑

synopsis: in which satoru finds himself requesting the same waitress for bottle service. his eyes are on you, and only you. fandom: jujutsu kaisen ⌗ rich / ceo / playboy g.satoru x waitress reader ⌗ modern au content warnings: mild cursing (like one curse word), drinking, usage of alcohol, mentions of age gap, SFW.

as bright colored lights shined all over the place, painting a vivid and lucid vision on the club’s tile floors, gojo is surrounded by his elite associates in the VIP booth. with only the snap of his hand, the waiters immediately send out bottles of the finest champagne in japan along with beautiful chiseled ice.

“i have to say gojo, going out with you is like entering a new world. you’re almost like the modern day gatsby!”

the men surrounding him all chuckle in agreement with the man. it was the pure truth. anyone who partied with gojo or attended one of his many events, left with a new perspective, a new meaning of life, and as changed person.

he poured himself a glass in the dimly lit room, and watched the golden bubbles form to the top. with the flashing lights and the bass banging in his ear, his eyes finally met yours.

gojo’s gaze was drawn to you the moment you entered with more champagne. he watched as you balanced two bottles of champagne and multiple glasses on one tray with ease.

your name was y/n, he knew that already. he knew that you worked within the bottle services and has sought after your service anytime he visited the club. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for high elites to request for attractive women to attend them, it was nothing you hadn’t seen before.

for you, it was normal. for gojo, it was an attempt to make a lasting impression on you.

“miss. y/n! it’s so lovely to see you again, how are you doing?” gojo smiled with a very wide, toothy grin. it was clear he was one bottle of champagne deep.

“i’m doing great, how are you doing?”

you placed down the tray and watched as all the men gathered to get their greedy hands on the drinks.

“i’m ok, i’ll feel better if you accompany me tonight. c’mon y/n, spend the rest of your shift with me.”

“i’m flattered mr. gojo but i do have a job to do.”

he watched as your figure turned and walked away from his booth. disappointment creeps onto him as he realized you once again rejected his advances.

as the night unfolded, gojo found himself stealing glances at you whenever you passed by his booth. he’d smile your way, waving slightly, like a child would do to a kind stranger. when you smiled and waved back, his face was full of joy and he’d giggle alongside his associates.

“she’s a fine piece of work. you’ve got great taste in women.”

“i agree but she’s a little young for all of us no?”

gojo was only a few years older than you unlike his elite associates. they continue to banter about you and their interest become stronger.

“how long is it going to take gojo to realize that she’s just another club crush that comes and goes?” one said.

with a nervous pit in his stomach, he mustered the courage to call you over again. gojo watches you summon your presence with a hesitate smile.

“y/nnnnn, h-how about i get your numberrrr and we can talk when i’m not s-shit faced?” his words were slurred and fumbled a bit.

gojo wanted to prove a point to not only his friends but to himself. to prove that something good can actually happen between the two of you.

your eyes widen and taken aback from his sudden request as your cheeks were tainted with a pinkish undertone. you glance back at your manager who was standing behind the bar. the constant flickered lights and the loud music echoing in your ears made it worse for you to think about it.

“gojo i.. i really appreciate the offer, really! but..” you started with a gentle and apologetic tone. “but don’t you think it’s a little unprofessional? i shouldn’t be giving my number out to customers, i hope you understand.”

gojo felt his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. a wave of nausea made its way into his mouth while a disappointed expression formed on his face.

he offers a polite smile before speaking, “no yeah, i understand. i was just hoping we could keep in touch outside of the club.”

suddenly the infamous playboy and CEO of the gojo company had felt shame rise in him. all the kind words and playful conversations between the two of you was simply you trying to do your job. he continues the night drinking his feelings away.

despite the rejection and trying to keep up your professionalism, you found yourself unable to shake the conversation out your head. gojo satoru was a loyal client of yours who always requested your presence. it was obvious to anybody that he was simply another client who crushed on the kind waitress.

yet you found yourself making a bold decision. with your heart beating out your chest and a tingling feeling inside your stomach, you smiled softly at gojo. you disappeared behind the bar before finding a pen and paper.

you were given the chance to give your number to one of japan’s most sought after bachelors. who were you to say no?

your pulse raced as you found the opportunity to slip the note into his jacket without anybody’s knowledge. it was an opportunity of a lifetime.

later that night, gojo found himself alone in a hotel room. his head was spinning and regretting drinking that much in the first place. he reached into his pocket to take out his phone only to find a pleasant surprise.

a small piece of paper.

gojo unfolded the unexpected piece of paper curiously, revealing your handwritten phone number on the note.

a smile quickly spread across gojo’s face once he realized he got what he wanted. with a rush of adrenaline going through his body, he quickly texts the number.

+81 ## ### ### hey it’s satoru are you free next weekend?

author's note; reuploaded bc it flopped the first time..

#jjk #jjk manga #female reader #jjk x reader #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo saturo x reader #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru gojo #jujutsu sorcerer #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jjk fanart #jjk masterlist #jujutsu kaisen manga #jujutsukaisen

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Daddy wonu w/ his kitten is back

- 🧃

18+ video!

tw: dom!wonwoo, sub fem!reader, use of sex toys, spanking, daddy kink, manhandling, use of petnames, mild pet play, degradation - minors dni.

"Are you sure this is for me?" Wonwoo asks you with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, is there something wrong with it?" You bat your eyelashes innocently, fighting to suppress the itch of your mouth to form a grin.

"Absolutely nothing." He shrugs. "Does that mean I can use it however I see fit?"

"Well, it's yours, after all."

"Good thing I asked then." He smiles at you sweetly, but you know there's a dark glint in his eyes.

"Do you have something specific in mind, Wonu?" You tilt your head sideways.

He takes another look at the fluffy white tail plug in his hands and his eyes flicker between you and the toy, his smile turning into a sardonic toothy grin.

"Oh, definitely." He taps the toy in his palm.

"Ah!" You cry out, nails scratching the tiles of the floor.

"Is my pretty kitty clawing out the floor?" Wonwoo runs the whip over your ass.

"Y-Yes, Daddy." You whimper.

"Does it hurt when I spank your pretty ass?"

"N-No."

"That's good to know." He chuckles and snaps the whip over your ass again, forcing another moan out of your mouth. You rub your thighs again and the plug in your ass doesn't make things easier for you.

"You're taking this so well, kitty, I'm impressed." He slaps the whip twice in a row and you struggle to keep your balance on your fours.

"T-Thank you Daddy." You respond with earnest, pussy clenching around emptiness, your juices starting to drip down your thighs.

"Aww, is kitty in her heat already?" Wonwoo runs the whip over your pussy and the slick soils the leather toy. "Does she need a fat cock in her needy cunt?"

"I'd l-love that- Fuck!" You cry out when he slaps your ass harder than before.

"I don't think pets are in the position to demand things, kitty." He clicks his tongue.

"I'm s-sorry, Daddy, I won't do it again!" You plead.

"That's what I was hoping to hear." He runs his hand over your ass and fiddles with the tail plug, thrusting it in your hole.

"D-Daddy-" You push your ass higher to get more friction, but he pushes you down and almost pulls out the toy completely.

"I told you to behave." He picks up the whip again, dragging it over your back.

"I can't h-help it!"

Wonwoo sits back again and swipes the whip over your skin repeatedly, until there are red streaks forming on your ass.

"That's too bad, because naughty pets should be taught a lesson to learn their place."

#svthub #wonwoo smut #svt wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen #answered✨ #🧃 anon #nsfw📹

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x fem reader

(honey I’m home master list)

Summary: eddie waits for results and gets a heart to heart from Wayne. Recovery is tough road, but the sun shines.

triggers: dealing with ptsd and learning to heal.

Special thanks to @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me through this one! + all the others. Only 2 more chapters to go! 🥹

  “This is it,” Eddie says, swiveling in his seat to look over at you, the rings on his finger tapping gently against the steering wheel. 

  Smiling softly, you look through the smoke stained windows of Eddie’s van up at the big brick house. He wasn’t kidding, Steve lived in a mansion compared to the small ranch style you had called home for the past few years. 

  You scrunch up your nose, “jeez Steve couldn’t afford anything bigger than this? Must be going broke.” Your humor was coming back in small spurts and Eddie grinned ear to ear. 

  “I know,” he agrees, throwing open his door and going around the front of the van to open yours, “.. ugly isn’t it? Poor bastard has no taste.” His smile is wide and toothy like it always was, but somehow more handsome. “This is okay right? I mean just gimme the word babe and we can stay with Wayne or somethin’.” 

  Placing a rogue curl away from his face you twist it around your finger. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the feeling of being his, but you couldn’t wait to start a new chapter in your life. 

  “I’d live anywhere, as long as you’re with me,” you say sweetly. 

  One of his big warm hands finds your cheek, wafting the familiar smell of old spice and Marlboros to you and bringing your face up to him, “you really are the most  beautiful girl, you know that right?”

  Steve and Leighanne had been expecting you, checking in with Eddie to make sure you would feel at home for your stay… however long that may turn out to be. They refused to accept any money from Eddie regarding rent. “It’s no good here Munson…Leighanne and I are just happy you two are safe.”

  “..and you sir,” you say, working your fingers along the cotton of his shirt, a smile pressed to your coy lips, “are so full of shit.”

  His eyebrows pull together and release once you stick out your tongue in a tease. A smirk replaces his concerned expression and he pulls you up into him. 

  His lips enclose yours and you can’t stop the smile spreading across them.

  “You ready, baby?” 

  For the first time in three months, you had something to smile about, to look forward to, but the weeks leading up to this were not paved in gold. 

——

  Eddie paced the tiles of the waiting room, nails bitten and bleeding on his left hand, threads ripped and torn in the holes in his jeans. He was a wreck. 

  The brief conversation with the doc while you were being prepped for surgery gave little to no relief. Few words sticking with him and running like ticker tape across a news station channel screen in his head.

   “high risk” 

“Possible death during childbirth” 

  He held your hand as long as he could before you were wheeled into the operating room, apologies falling from your lips, followed by screams of pain. Eddie was terrified but assured you everything would be okay. Even if his bravado was fake, his mask held strong on his features. Calming you instantly. 

  He doesn’t break until the swinging doors close and he’s standing alone in the cold hallway, the pads of his fingers pressed to his lips. A silent scream trapped in his lungs. But the salt of his tears paint his face and wash away the mask, Awww

  He just got you back, and now your life possibly hung in the balance, again. He just found out he was going to be a dad, and now the baby he never got more than a week to love, was gone. 

  Is this what it was to love him? Everyone he ever loved left in one way or another. The punishment of loving an unlovable man meant losing your life in terms of Eddie Munson. 

  His mother. 

His child.

  It was a curse. An eye for an eye. He had killed and now he was reaping what he sowed.

  What kind of sick twist of fate would allow this to happen? Would allow a pregnant woman to be beaten nearly to death? To have a child ripped from his mother as she took her final breath? 

  Eddie started questioning everything he had ever done to deserve such cruelty bestowed onto the ones he cherished.  

  What else was there to sacrifice? He’d gladly die if it meant bringing them back to him. He would take their place, cold and frigid in the ground, a soft pillow in a satin box. Six feet under. 

  His fingers press into his eyes until he sees stars. The grief swallowing him whole into a tangled web of desperate pleas to a higher power he wasn’t even sure he believed in and mixed humidity from sweltering heat of hell. 

  He wasn’t strong enough for this. And if you died during the procedure? He’d certainly crawl up and perish like the weak man he was.

  His boots are heavy and squeak annoyingly all the way to the empty waiting room. The calming color scheme offers nothing but a chilled brush of fear to his neck as he fishes out a quarter from his pocket when he gets to the pay phone. Messages scratched against the paint, “welcum to h3ll” “pray for me” “for a good time call Barb”. 

  His fingers find home on the silver buttons, clicking the number to the plant where Wayne works, only dialed when he was in too deep. 

—

The monotonous dial tone seemed to go on forever, before a gruff voice out of breath voice answered, “this is Earl.” 

  Eddie kept his composure through the four word sentence asking if Wayne Munson was there. A grumbled remark and a slam onto the metal counter echoed through the receiver. 

  Seconds turned to minutes and minutes fade to what felt like hours before the familiar calloused tongue rang through the other end. The dam Eddie was holding back broke as Wayne said his name, and through one sob after another Wayne told him to hold tight and he’d be right there. 

  Wayne left the plant in record speed. Grease smearsleft washed clean down his face from the tears that fell on the drive from the plant to the hospital, breaking all laws to get to there as fast as he could.

  When Eddie’s eyes met Wayne’s he sobbed like a child. Clutching onto the man’s work uniform like it was the only comfort he had ever been offered. 

  A lifetime's worth of tears stream down the Munson’s faces. And Wayne eases Eddie into a chair in the waiting room. 

  “She’ll be alright, Ed.” Wayne offers, a rough comforting hand rubbing Eddie’s shoulder, “she’s a tough one.”

  Eddie shakes his head, “she shouldn’t have to be,” his hands cover his face, he’d take the pain for you if he could, “if I would have told her sooner… if I didn’t freak her out when I did, m— fuck.. maybe, none of this would have happened.” 

  He had run a million and one scenarios over and over in his head on how this could have been changed if he could turn back the time and do things differently.

  Wayne drags a rough hand down his face, smearing the grease from the machines at work and scratching the itch is his wiry unshaven face. To him, Eddie was still that same little boy, eyes bigger than the moon, and the weight of it all on his shoulders.  

  “Son, I know this is hard, but you gotta stop and think for a minute. Ain’t no way tellin’ if this could’ve been prevented.” He stops to clear his throat, years of cigarette smoke raw on his throat.

  “Sounds like that som bitch was keepin’ her on a tight leash, just waiting’ on her to be alone.” Eddie winced at Wayne’s honesty, had Chad really been in the shadows? He keeps going, “You gotta open your eyes and realize what you do have and stop frettin’ bout woulda coulda shoulda.” 

  Eddie hung his head low, shoulders shaking with every sob he willed to swallow down, “I didn’t— fuck man, I didn’t even get a chance to love my own kid— and n— I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like him.”

  He regrets it before he’s even done saying it. Truth was, he loved that baby the minute the nurse blurted out to a room full of friends that you were pregnant. He was heartbroken that he never got to shatter the Munson reputation and show himself and this fucking town how good he could raise a child. 

  Wayne nearly jumped out of his overalls with fury at Eddie’s speech, “Did you hurt that girl? Nearly kill her and your own blood? Out of some jealous whiskey infused rage?”

  “No,” Eddie says, knowing he’s being scolded for saying something as dumb as what he just did.

  “Your daddy was meaner than a Texas rattle snake. Fucker didn’t have a good bone in his body—mama always said he was born like that. Piss and vinegar blooded.” Wayne shakes his head at his own childhood memories of a brother who showed no remorse. “You think I’m yellow bellied enough to raise a man just like ‘im? Boy I thought you knew better than that.”

  Eddie shrugs his shoulders and wipes a traitorous tear away.

  “That,” Wayne says pointing to Eddie’s face, “you might have the Munson last name but son you are so much like your mama, think that som bitch ever shed a tear over someone other than ‘imself? Think again, boy.”

  Eddie looks at Wayne through thick wet lashes.

  “You’ll be a good daddy when the time is right. These are the cards you’re dealt with and they ain’t all pretty right now, but hell, a full house ain’t nothin but a few cards that look the same, no royalty needed.” 

  The hillbilly way of explaining things was Wayne’s greatest achievement, it gave Eddie a sense of calm, understanding. He was a good man. He had proved that time and time again. But hearing it and believing it— were on two different plains. 

  Dr. Newby found Eddie in the waiting room with Wayne, hung head down and knees bouncing. He had explained that everything went as well as it could have. You were stable. 

  Wayne asked the questions that Eddie couldn’t pluck the letters to form the words to generate the sentences to ask. He clung to the fact that you were in stable condition. 

  Fading in and out to catch bits of the doctor’s answers. 

  “The last ultrasounds she had done when she arrived here, showed a very irregular and faint heartbeat….body was in shock and the stress and trauma put her into early labor…”

  “…there was never a guarantee that the baby would have even survived to the end of this week.” 

  The only question Eddie could muster, “when can I see her?”

—

  The effects of the anesthesia wore off, dwindling like dandelion heads in the breeze in the summer. Blown away slow and easy. 

  You wished you could float on one of them, gentle and sweet fluttering around and not having a care in the world. Blown by a sharp gust of wind and landing daintily somewhere new, spreading the seeds of your fortune to a new land. 

  But the cold press of sheets and steel sides of the hospital bed bring you back to reality. 

  Not wanting to open your eyes and face the true cusp of the hell you were stuck in. Not wanting to see those same dark eyes swell with tears. Eddie’s heart ache seeped into your own, pulling the threads of the sewn stitches around it with each wet tear that fell down his face. 

  Would you ever bring him something other than turmoil? Could he find peace with you? The devil himself laughed at your pleads and you didn’t blame him. 

  You needed only a few more seconds, minutes, to yourself. Collecting your thoughts and trying to be strong for him. 

  He had promised to never stop loving you— would he still? Would he be able to look at you the same? Love you the same? 

  The comfort of your closed eyelids proved better than facing what lay ahead. But you couldn’t hide from him forever. 

  The void was suffocating, emptiness choking you and leaving you a shell of yourself, but it all faded away when you opened your eyes, and saw him. 

  —

Upon waking you both sobbed into one another, mourning the loss of the little family you both so desperately craved to belong too. 

  “I’m sorry Eddie, I’m so so sorry.” you had cried into his shirt. 

  Eddie held you to his chest, his arms holding you tight and his chin rested on the top of your head. “None of that, angel girl, you hear me?” He prodded, shattering the doubt and guilt from your mind, “we have each other, always.” 

  Days after, your body still felt hollow, empty and sunken. And the stress you had endured hung like a gown on a poorly constructed hanger around you. A dark cloud. 

  The doubt and demon truths sauntered their way back into your mind. Lies of telling you Eddie didn’t love you, didn’t care about you, could never be with someone responsible for what happened to his child or himself. 

  That was when the nightmares started. 

  —

  “She seems good today,” Nancy chirps, her stylish heels click against the sidewalk outside of Roane County hospital, Jonathan keeping up with her quickened pace, holding his fingers tight between hers, thankful for every single day that she chose him, no matter his faults. 

  Eddie walked them out to their car, the sunny April morning brought birds and the promise of spring, “she’s always happy to see familiar faces, you’re like a sister to her.”

  Nancy smiles with tears in her pale blue eyes, “she’s like a sister to me too, Eddie.”

  “So you guys are staying with Steve and his girlfriend?” Jonathan asks, wrapping his arms behind Nancy and resting his chin on her shoulder.

  Eddie sighs and leans a denim hip onto Nancy’s car, his arms crossed over his chest, a weighty sigh falls from his lips, “yeah, for a bit at least. I don’t want her to go back into that house.” 

  “Oh absolutely not,” Nancy agrees, nodding along, her curls bouncing, voice small, “I didn’t want to mention this to Tooty, but my mom and dad, and Jonathan’s mom and Hopper volunteered to clean it. Rip out the carpets, replace what’s broken—whatever needs to be done.”

  Eddie is stunned at the support, but feels guilty all the same, “they don’t have to do that, I— once she’s clear to go home I’m gonna go over there and clean it all up myself.”

  His heart ached and burned with the thought of being handed more charity. 

  “Dude, Jonathan started, “you’re our friends, we’re here to help, so let us.” 

  An exasperated breath leaves Eddie’s mouth, vibrating his lips on the way out, “alright.” 

  He’s overcome with emotion at the sentiment, and almost bites his lip in half to stop the flood of overwhelming tears from bursting. 

  “Now the only thing to figure out is… would you both move back in there?” Nancy asks timidly, her features soft and concerning, skirting on frazzled nerves, “Steve said something about finding someone to rent it out, that way she could have some sort of income..”

  “I knew a guy from the paper who needed a place to live, but when I mentioned the house…he uh— well he quickly found something else,” Jonathan muttered partly into Nancy’s collar, “ arms tightening around her slender waist. 

  No doubt finding someone to rent the house would be difficult. The entire town was still reeling with what happened, somehow the only thing that anyone seemed to care about was Chad’s death. Never mind his crimes. 

  Eddie’s head spins, a headache brewing between his brow, and he closes his eyes to push it away.

  “No rush!” Nancy says, her hand laying gently on Eddie’s arm, “we will all get it figured it out, okay?” The blue of her eyes twinkling with a pure presence of honesty, and hope. “Just focus on our girl in there, she really seemed to be doing well today.”

  Most days he looked haggard, dark circles colored his under eyes, worry streaking down his face in thick fatigue, still he pushed forward, bit the bullet and attended therapy sessions with you for domestic violence survivors, and his own sessions for a fancy named disorder he didn’t care to understand. 

  He’d take care of you just like he promised.

  Eddie opens his eyes and forces a smile, “Night and day difference compared to how she was the day of,” his dark blood shot eyes swim with his admission, “but we’re hopeful.. I mean things can only get better right?”

  —

  The first night at your new temporary place was perfect. You and Eddie were both welcomed with open arms literally, from both Steve and Leighanne. They showed you around, telling you everything that polite and generous hosts would. 

  After bringing in the few bags and boxes in from the van that were deemed needed and not marked to be brought to storage, your hosts leave you and Eddie alone for time to unpack and relax.

  Time that you both took advantage of by immediately stretching out and taking a nap in the big king bed you had shared all those months ago. A bittersweet nostalgic memory, tinged with pain. 

  The love that was made, the life that was created—seemed like a different life time ago. Trauma and stress had changed you both. 

  And when you wept, Eddie held you close, his own tears tickled your hairline, and you both held onto the promise of unspoken devotion and undying love for one another to get through to another day. 

  When you woke from your slumber, Eddie wasn’t in the bed, and it left you in a small state of panic. The unfamiliar walls closing in like a trap. And you used your therapist’s tips to ground yourself; the repeated mantra, the breathing exercises, and if necessary, a shower to metaphorically rinse your mind of unwanted thoughts.

  Finding the toiletries in your bag, you pad across the hall and step into the tiled shower. The hot steam coaxing the pressure off your chest. Relaxation floods your body almost instantly. 

  A soft knock on the door followed by Eddie’s voice, quiet and calm. The drag of the shower curtain brings your eyes up to find Eddie on the opposite side, “you okay?” 

  He was gentle, always. And you nodded. You would be okay, you would always be okay with him. Nobody ever made you feel safe like he did. 

  An unspoken agreement that neither of you were ready for anything intimate, seemed to break. Seeing him in light other than the harsh fluorescent ones in the hospital had you reaching for him.

  His hooded eyes understood, and he pulled his shirt over his head, catching on the cast on his right arm. 

  He was beautiful, the dark lines of tattoos and smearing bruises complimented his pale skin, and a deep feeling flooded you. Only having felt it once before, the night of his concert… right before he kissed you. 

  The wet tile warmed his toes as he slid in beside you. Facing you and forgoing the doctors orders of not getting his cast wet, he asks just like he did that night. 

  Sharing kisses in the hospital and holding each other in the hospital was the most intimate you had been since that night. 

  And something that brought fear was once again replaced by the gentle touch of his hand. Running down the expanse of your back. Fingers moving down your spine in memory. His forehead pressed to yours. 

  “You’re perfect,” he soothes, running his fingers around  to intertwine with yours, “I’m so goddamn in love with you.” 

  The tears tread down your cheeks, and he kisses them away, making your heart swell, and you muster out a blubbery, “I love you more.” 

  You both stand and hug until the water chills. Exiting the shower and wiping the condensation from the mirror. 

  The swelling around your face had gone down significantly, and even though you didn’t recognize yourself, Eddie reassured you that you were the most beautiful girl in the world. 

  “My girl,” he promised. 

  The days got easier, friends visited and cheered you both up. The hope for a better tomorrow came with the sun and pressed daintily on your skin, healing wounds deep within that in the early days of waking up screaming, you weren’t sure you would ever come back to see again. 

  —

“Does Eddie like tomatoes?” 

  The large knife moves through the juicy tomato with ease under Steve’s hand. You were perched on an expensive barstool, elbow digging into the granite counter tops as he prepped the salad for tonight’s dinner. 

  A smirk licks your lips, “no, he claims he’s allergic; calls them ‘ketchup testicles’”.

  Steve cocks an eyebrow and blows a raspberry, “What a moron.” 

  “You don’t have to cook for us, y’know?” you say, picking the dry skin from your lip. 

  He shrugs, “it’s just a little salad, Leighanne made the alfredo lastnight, and if I follow the instructions right,” he says picking up a piece of notebook paper, including little hearts you can see through at the bottom in a very pretty cursive handwriting, “we’ll just have to heat er up.” Steve says, pushing a rogue hair from his forehead, “besides, I actually like to cook; she spoils me and doesn’t let me help.” 

  “I’m happy for you,” you say with a small smile, “you deserve it.”

  “She’s the one,” Steve grins, love sick pupils widening at the thought of her, “but hey, you and Eddie finally pulling your heads out of your asses is the real winner— should have slapped you both for being so damn dumb.” 

  The middle finger you hold in the air just makes Steve laugh.

  Who knew the prince of rebellion and chaos wore his heart on a leather sleeve only for you? The blinders you wore to convince yourself it wasn’t real were finally tossed aside. 

  He loved you, and you loved him. End of story. 

  Before you could answer, the mayor of mayhem announced himself back from work, keys jingling and whistling a tune you didn’t recognize. And when his dark eyes catch yours, they swim and shimmer in adoration. 

  Dimpled cheeks dip onto his toothy smile, “there’s my pretty girl,” he sings, coming behind you and hugging your waist. The smell of cigarettes and motor oil stuck on his curls. Chapped lips on your temple, “how was your day?... you okay?” 

  Eddie hated leaving you alone, taking his lunch break to come back to the big house and check on you, using his smoke breaks to call whenever he could. 

  You nod into him, “better now,” leaning your head back to press your lips to kiss. 

  An annoyed groan follows from across the kitchen island, “let’s keep it PG in here okay? I know you guys finally admitted you love eachother but that doesn’t mean I want to see all of that.” 

  Eddie’s chuckle fans over your cheeks and he answers Steve but his eyes lock on yours, “big talk for a guy who could make a deaf man blush.” 

  Steve guffaws and stops slicing, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Eddie grins and whispers finally looking away from you, “Quiet neighborhood… thin walls… you wouldn’t even need to ask who occupies this house with the way Steve whimpers Leighanne’s name… every night, they’re like rabbits.” 

  You both giggle at Steve’s expense when his cheeks turn crimson and the tomatoes he’s cutting end up mutilated. 

  — 

Living with Steve and Leighanne was surprisingly easy. Their routines stayed the same, and Eddie went back to

work for Boom after you had settled in. 

  He was a saint. 

  He held you when the nightmares started again. Sweat pooling on your shirt waking only to find Eddie’s arms wrapped tight around you tethering you back to reality when his thumbs swept over your cheeks, and his lips kissed away your tears. Quiet whispers and soft hums of his voice lulled you  as he pulled you deeper into him.

  Eddie and Steve kept up the light jokes and cracks at one another all the time. it was good to be around close friends and laugh again— something both you and Eddie had missed desperately. 

  Laying in bed one night, you walk your fingers up his bare chest tracing the lines of his tattoos, snuggled up into his side like a cat.

  His nails scratch at the fabric on your hips, “still not used to how good it feels to stretch out like this,” Eddie exhales, “I don’t know about you sweeteheart, but one more night in that hospital bed and I was going to ask Dr. Newby for fucking life alert.” 

  You giggle into his smooth skin, “twenty-six with life alert? Gonna thread that onto your pick chain necklace huh?” 

  “Shit,” Eddie chuckles, “I’d make it look so good babe, Ozzy himself would start wearing one.” 

  Hearing him joke around was a huge win. His bruises were fading too. But his wounds were deeper, wedged into the grim corners of his mind. Keeping him up most nights, afraid of falling asleep. 

  But each day the sun rose following the pattern of the moon, and another day passed.  Eddie started sleeping at night again, your nightmares dormant. Medicine and therapy working into the perfect cocktail to deter his own demons. 

  The two of you clung together. Molded into one another like playdoh, forming a new hue after mixing your colors together. It changed with your moods, vibrant and sunny on good days and moody and dark on the bad ones. Interconnected by the fragile trauma that weaved its way into your life. 

  The laughing fit you are both in is partly from lack of sleep, but feels too damn good to stop. Snorting and dripping tears from your eyes, your roars turn to giggles and hiccups as you wipe your eyes. 

  “Didn’t know if I’d ever hear that again,” Eddie admits while rubbing your side, placing a kiss on your head. 

  You lean on his chest and look deep into his coal eyes. 

  “We’ve been to hell and back, babe… but with you, it’s, I don’t know… I just know that we will be okay, does that make sense? I’m not worried about anything because I have you, and I couldn’t do any of this without you Eddie, and I mean that. You’re all I’ve got.” 

  Eddie rolls you over and tucks a wet lock of hair behind your ear, “I’d do it all again if I knew I’d end up with you as my girl.” 

  The tears start but they aren’t sad, they’re slow and happy, grateful for having him in your life. He wipes your tears and kisses you softly, humming the same song he sang like an idiot to you in your car all those months ago.

  The calloused hearted trailer park prince had won over the icy soul of that stubborn mouthy girl. A perfect pair, tarnished crowns and stitched lips. 

  To hell and back. 

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things

[credince--writes]

Hands (1)

God, you dream of those hands.

Original Prompt:

Size Kink & Breeding Kink with Konig.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - AO3

Konig x Fem! Reader

(A/N): I accidentally fuckin deleted the original post while trying to add links to the other 2 chapters, so reposting LMAO. I'M SO SAD BC IT WAS ONE OF MY BEST PREFORMING POSTS.

Honestly? It started in a very innocent way.

"I'm taking off your gloves."

He sat in front of you, tapping his foot on the cold tile. Currently under the attention of you from the intended use of his hands in combat.

Which is why you were inspecting for broken knuckles.

Most of his gear had been taken off, set aside along with the hood that donned his head on missions. Now, you were pulling the gloved that clung to the asking of his hands off. Inspecting the pale skin beneath them.

"You know, I'm starting to think you do dumb shit like this on purpose." You glance up at him.

"I'd never." He replied.

"Because I'm lookin' at these hands, and I'm seeing a whole lot of unnecessary bruising."

"It was necessary."

You quirked a brow.

"You just, happen to lose your gun there soldier?" You pulled back, leaning back against your seat and shooting him an amused glance.

"Sometimes, things are better done by hand."

"mmhm." You mumbled.

Eyes trailed up his hands, finding stray scars and following the veins leading up to his forearms.

Man,

those were some big hands.

"Is everything alright, doctor?" He asks, amusement twirling around in his eyes, sparking out in his voice.

Maybe he was catching on to your oogling.

"Just making sure nothing broken. Can't imagine it would be fun to work with broken fingers."

"Nein."

"This hurt?" You ask.

"Nein."

"Then you're fine. I'll give you some meds and send you off on your way."

"Danke!" He shot up, clamping a hand down on your shoulder, man near enveloping your entire left side.

You started to imagine what it would be like if that big hand wrapped around your neck.

"Be careful, please."

"Of course." He shot a sideways, toothy grin. The side that his nose crooked over to and the side with the one crooked canine that made him look like a dog ready to chase a bone.

He turned, starting to walk away.

"You know, König." You stated. He stopped a turned around. "If you want to visit me, you don't need to have an injury."

His eyebrows raised, and you could swear there was a blush that tinted his cheeks. "I'll consider that for next time."

Before turning and leaving.

And he did visit you.

One visit turned into two.

Then four.

Then he just popped in so often while he was not on a mission he became part of your routine.

Have a cup of coffee with König in the morning, maybe even join him for dinner and enjoy it in the sanctity of your quiet and private office.

Just so happened that the longer you spent with him the more your thoughts were clouded.

His hands,

his thighs,

fuck, you can't even imagine how big his cock would be.

You'd like to think you were better than this.

Pressed up in your shower thinking about the huge man, wondering what his bare chest would feel like curling up over your back.

You closed your eyes, trying to picture just how good it would feel.

It would be right after he comes back from a mission, the dark look in his eyes still clouding his consciousness as he's still in the mindset of a soldier, a killer.

His steps would be heavier- you'd hear him walk into the bathroom, the rustling of clothing as he strips the cloth covering his flesh discarded down to the ground without a second thought.

He'd slip into the shower, with your head placed under the stream of hot water. Almost comically so, his head would be unable to reach the stream of water without immensely bending at the knees.

You'd hum, leaning back into him as he'd reach his arm around your waist, pulling your wet body closer to his. Head dropping down for his mouth to latch onto the nape of your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.

Gasping throwing your head back farther and allowing it to bump against his shoulder, letting out a light whine that he'd love to harvest from your throat.

One hand would drift down, widening his palm as it flattened and slid down your tummy, nearly covering the expanse of your abdomen before it dipped down, lower.

His other hand would grab your chin, pulling your head back to meet into a feverish kiss. Pressing your back up against the cold wall of the shower, holding it up against it.

On a normal occasion, you'd be terrified to slip, but you just know with his arm slinked around over you waist toying dangerously close to your cunt that there was no chance of slipping.

No chance of him letting you go.

A digit would brush up through your folds collecting the slippery production of your arousal, dragging his finger ever so carefully up until it traced around your clit. Circling it, dangerously so.

Applying pressure as the rough pad of his finger pushed against your clit, mouth devouring any noises you let out.

It hurt, in a way.

One that was so delicious you only wanted more.

His large finger pressing down on your clit felt heavenly, the feeling of his tongue pushing against yours as you swapped spit in the most degenerating fashion.

Your hips unconsciously pushed forward against his hand, bucking as he pressed you firmly against the wall.

He'd tsk, giving you a light scolding before removing his mouth from yours completely, allowing a thin strand of spit to cast its way from him lips to yours.

God.

You could just die.

He'd snicker, that snicker that made his lip quirk upward revealing his crooked tooth. All before he'd lean in and ask,

"What do you want me to do, Schatz?"

"Fuckkkk." You'd whine, letting your head bump against the shower wall. "Please." You'd whisper out.

"Hm?" He'd ask, still toying his finger around your clit.

"Finger me- fuck, please. Please finger me."

His finger would leave your clit, diving back down and just barely poking into your entrance.

The digit was long and thick- it felt like nearly two of your own being stuffed inside you. Even more so as the single digit could curl up in such a delectable manner pressing up against the spongey roof of your core.

You'd breathe harshly, ducking your head up against his neck and arm gripping at the expanse of his back and nails digging into the pale and freckled flesh.

He'd add a second digit, and you felt like you were on cloud nine.

No,

You felt like you were on cloud nine as he removed his free hand from you, bringing it down and rubbing on your clit as his other hand pumped mechanically in and out of you, curling his fingers forward and circling the pad of his finger against your clit.

It would feel like your legs would give out first, but he'd keep you upright as you came, his mouth would latch onto yours. Shoving his tongue into your mouth claiming you in the best way possible.

Body draped over yours, his large hands pleasing you to the point of competition-

Blinking, you realized there was no man draped behind you.

The water in the shower had run cold a long time ago, but the pleasant buzz in your head from your shameful masturbation numbed any embarrassment for a few moments.

You sighed, turning off the water and glancing down at your fingers.

For now? Thinking of his large hands would have to do.

#könig x reader #könig x you #mwii #call of duty mw2 #Konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig imagine #Konig x Reader- Hands

[madaqueue]

manicured

synopsis: painting their nails

featuring: choso kamo, satoru gojo, suguru geto

a/n: see i can write fluff guys i promise (just don't look too hard at geto's lmao)

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ choso kamo ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

choso absolutely loves your nails, he’s honestly fascinated by them. he’s never really understood the purpose of something like this, as it doesn’t serve any functional use and is only temporary, but that only intrigues him further. whenever he sees you posted up on the couch he sits next to you and just watches intently, observing the way you gracefully and precisely glide the polish across your fingers.

“could you…do mine?” he asks hesitantly.

a grin forms on your face at his request. “of course, cho,” you smile.

you paint both of his pinkies a dark, rich black. he loves the way it looks with his rings, and he can’t help himself from staring fondly at his hands and blushing when he catches a glimpse of your work.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ satoru gojo ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

satoru enjoys being pampered, often making comments about how lucky you are to get to spend time getting your hair done or eyebrows touched up. he sees it as self care, a way to make yourself look as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside. when he finds you getting ready in the bathroom before one of your dates, seated on the floor with a bottle of nail polish next to you, he immediately wants to be a part of your little routine.

“ooooh me next!” he chirps, plopping down next to you on the cool tile and holding his hands out.

he initially picks out a bright blue to match his eyes, but after you tease him - “isn’t that a bit self-centered, toru?” - he instead opts for one that matches your irises, a way to remind him of you whenever you’re apart.

at dinner, he forces everyone to look at his nails, holding them out with a toothy grin. “aren’t they pretty? my amazing perfect girlfriend did them for me,” he boasts through a smile to anyone who will listen.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ suguru geto ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

suguru thinks your nails are cute, that it’s sweet how delicate and dainty they always make you look. whenever you come home from an appointment he inspects them closely, complimenting the design or color you picked out. his favorites are french tips, mostly because they look so classically feminine when they’re wrapped around his cock, but he also loves the surprise of seeing what you choose each time.

as he’s admiring your fresh set, he jokes, “how come you never do mine?”

“i didn’t know you wanted me to,” you can’t help but giggle.

“you never asked,” he teases back.

he lets you choose a color for him, landing on a light pink that nearly blends into his skin but is just noticeable enough. he only does his pointer and middle fingers, sneaking in a joke about how those are your favorites, too, when he’s knuckle deep in your pussy, displaying them subtly, knowing it’s just for him.

#q writes #headcannons #choso kamo #kamo choso #choso #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo #suguru geto #geto suguru #geto #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk headcanons

[bunmurdock]

all is fair in love and scrabble

summary: you and matt play a game of scrabble, and the competition gets fierce. warnings: fluff, matt being a show-off. word count: 1k a/n: for all the competitive girlies out there <3

you’re sitting across from matt, a scrabble board between you. the room is cozy, lit by a soft lamp in the corner. you’re both deep into the game, letters scattered around as you both try to outwit each other.

“that is not a word,” you protest, pointing at the board where matt has just laid out ‘qat.’

matt leans back, a smirk playing on his lips. “it’s a word. it’s a type of shrub. trust me, i know my words.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes. “fine, but if i find out you’re making up words…”

he chuckles, ”you’ll what? tickle me to death?”

the game continues, with both of you playfully arguing over each other’s word choices. matt feels each letter tile before placing them on the board, his fingers moving deftly over the embossed letters.

“aha! ‘bamboozle!’” you announce triumphantly, placing your tiles on the board.

matt tilts his head, a smile in his voice. “bamboozle? really?”

“yes, and it’s worth a ton of points,” you say with a toothy grin.

the game takes a whimsical turn, as both of you start to play the most outrageous words you can think of. matt plays ‘snickerdoodle,’ and you counter with ‘hullabaloo.’ you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the words.

“okay, your turn,” matt says, passing the bag of tiles to you.

you pick a tile and frown. “z? what am I supposed to do with z?”

matt leans over, his shoulder brushing against yours. “zephyr, zealot, zucchini... need more z words?”

you stick your tongue out at him playfully. “show-off.”

finally, you place your tiles on the board, spelling ‘zizz.’ matt feels the tiles and nods approvingly.

“a zizz, huh? are we inventing words now?” he teases.

you laugh. “maybe. but it’s fun, right?”

the game continues with more laughter and ridiculous words. matt places ‘quokka’ on the board, and you burst into giggles.

“quokka? really, matt?”

he grins, his fingers tracing the letters. “it’s a real animal. cutest thing you’ve ever seen.”

you play along, enjoying the challenge and the fun. “fine, then i raise you ‘gobbledygook.’”

the scores are close, but the competition is friendly. matt’s laughter fills the room, warm and infectious, and you find yourself laughing along with him.

matt’s smugness grows as he pulls ahead in the game, his word choices becoming increasingly obscure and challenging. “and that” he says with a triumphant flourish, ”is ‘xanthophyll.’”

you stare at the board, trying to come up with a word that can match his score. matt’s grin widens, sensing your struggle. “need help?” he offers teasingly.

“no way!” you reply, determined to outdo him. but as you look at your letters, you realize the odds are against you. matt’s lead is almost insurmountable now. 

you lean forward, a mischievous glint in your eyes. ”you know what, matt? i think you’ve earned a break.”

matt raises an eyebrow, his smirk still in place. “oh? and what did i do to deserve that?”

“well,” you begin, your voice dropping to a playful whisper, “you’ve been so good at this game, outwitting me at every turn. i think it’s only fair to give you a reward.”

matt grins, catching on. “and what kind of reward are we talking about?”

you stand up, walking around the table to stand beside him. “how about a distraction?” you say, your hand reaching out to gently tug at the edge of his shirt.

“a distraction, huh? i’m not sure if that’s within the rules of scrabble.”

“who says we have to follow the rules?”

matt chuckles, his hand covering yours. “i like the way you think.”

he stands up, his presence commanding yet gentle. “alright, you’ve got me. what’s this distraction?”

you take a step back, a playful challenge in your eyes. “first, you have to catch me.” with that, you dart away from the table, laughter trailing behind you.

matt’s laughter joins yours as he follows, his heightened senses easily keeping track of your movements. the scrabble game is forgotten, replaced by a new game of playful chase around the apartment.

you duck behind the couch, peeking out with a giggle. matt’s footsteps grow closer, his own laughter a warm sound in the cozy room.

“gotcha,” he says, suddenly appearing beside you. his arms wrap around you in a gentle embrace, and you laugh, caught in the moment.

the evening turns into a delightful mix of playful pursuits and shared laughter, the scrabble game a distant memory. you find yourself lost in the joy of the moment, the smugness and competition replaced by a warmth that fills the room.

matt’s voice is soft as he whispers, “best distraction ever,” his breath tickling your ear.

you smile, leaning into him. “glad you think so. but just so you know, next time, i’m totally going to win at scrabble.”

matt’s chuckle vibrates through you, his embrace tightening just a bit. “oh, is that a challenge?”

“absolutely,” you reply, grinning up at him. he nods, a contented sigh escaping him as he relaxes into the couch, pulling you along with him.

as you snuggle against matt, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart, you realize that this moment—this simple, joyous connection—is more precious than any game.

“you know,” matt murmurs, his fingers gently playing with your hair, “this turned out to be the best game of scrabble i’ve ever played.”

you laugh, your head resting comfortably against his chest. “yeah, even though we didn’t finish it.”

“it’s not always about finishing the game. sometimes, it’s just about enjoying the time spent playing it.”

you close your eyes, content in the circle of his arms, the worries of the day fading away. outside, the city continues its bustling rhythm, but inside, in matt’s embrace, everything is calm and peaceful.

and in that moment, with matt’s warmth surrounding you and his heartbeat a steady lullaby, you realize that winning isn’t everything. sometimes, the best victories are the ones where you find happiness, together.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x you #x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bun’s

[mvltisstuff]

Hey there! Idk if you write stuff like this, but what about an Evan Buckley coma fic? When he’s trying to come back he finds out reader is pregnant, while in the coma, and then when he wakes up he tells her he knows. If not that’s totally okay! 💛

put a little love on me - e.b

summary: request:)

evan buckley x reader

a/n: this was so fun to write, i loved how creative this is!

sitting in the hospital room with maddie and the buckley parents, y/n’s red eyes had cried more tears than ever. watching buck swing between life and death had been one of the lowest points in her life. she’s faced bad things before, but this was hell. she had a strong hold on his hand, praying that he would breathe on his own.

she thinks back to a few nights before, casually sitting at home after days of feeling ill. her husband had been at work, and she had called out from constant headaches. her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

pulling out a box from the back of the cabinets, she took the test out and placed it on the counter. she waited for what felt like hours for the damn test to say a word or two. the flashing was intolerable on the small screen.

she was sitting on the cold tile of their bathroom, running her hand through her hair. she swears she’s a patient person, but this was completely different. she stared at the test before the one word had been displayed across the test. pregnant.

meanwhile, bucks head had been mixed with his imagined life. a confused mix of the life he always wished for as a boy, and the one now that he wouldn’t change for anything. everything he had known had changed, for worse and for better. he felt loved by his parents, but y/n was gone.

the ghost of himself had his eyes painted on his still body. he was ready to climb back into himself, wanting to be with his wife until the end. everything else wasn’t important in this version of his life. he looked over at his brother, who he had no clue of before the last few years. he was tired, he wanted to stop fighting but seeing y/n’s heartbroken self on the chair, how could he stop?

“you have everything you could imagine here,” his brother says.

“no i don’t, i have to go back,” buck tells him. “i need my wife, i need y/n.”

he turns around and spots her behind him. she had a bright smile on his face, and was holding a little boy in her arms. she had been laughing with this child, and her eyes were shining. buck stared at them, looking at the boy with the same light blue eyes and full, pink lips. he had a small grin grow on his face, as the boy looked at him and smiled. the second he blinked, they faded away.

buck didn’t even feel the need to look at his brother again. he knew that was his life that he just saw, his future. the feeling he felt in his heart was something that had never happened before.

without second guessing himself. buck smashed through the glass window of the false reality he had snuck into. on the other side, y/n watched as his chest abruptly rose and fell again, the monitor beeping steadily. a light sob of relief left her lips, her head falling down with the tears on her cheeks. the same with maddie, who had come over and gave her a massive hug. suddenly, the lump in her throat and the boulder in her chest had vanished. he was going to be ok. she lifted his hand with her own, kissing the matching rings.

after an agonizing wait, buck had opened his eyes and softly spoken back. his monotone expression had finally disappeared at the sight of the love of his life sitting next to him. he forced out a toothy grin at her. “welcome back, baby.”

buck didn’t know what to say, something felt different. he looked her up and down, and felt a rising anxiety in his chest. he knew that the lightning has changed him, and he’d never be the same, but there was still a gift hiding under all this. “i know,” he says with a raspy voice.

“what?”

“baby, i know,” he says, smiling once more. “i’m gonna be a dad, and you’re a mom. and we’re going to be perfectly ok.”

it was y/n’s turn to be speechless. she was still calculating how he would know in his head. she hasn’t told a soul, but the ecstasy of the moment had overwhelmed her. her eyes had become glossy for the millionth time, and she passionately kissed him. she nods before she speaks again.

“yeah, yeah we are, buck.”

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #athena grant #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley x reader #henrietta wilson #howie han #maddie buckley #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley fanfiction #evan buckley one shot

[kazemi-archive]

Trick or Treat

PAIRING: Tsukishima Kei x Reader WC: ~1.4k GENRE: Fluff 𖤐 CW: established relationship, y’all have sperm trophies children, mentions of pregnancy

“No.” Kei repeated, not looking up from where he was fixing up his coffee. Despite it nearing the night, he claimed he’d ‘need it to get through the night.’

“C’mooon.” You chuckled, nudging him on the arm slightly. He fixed you with a small glare and you threw your hands up in surrender. “Don’t make me pull out the big guns.” You threatened him playfully, smile on the corner of your lips.

“You can’t convince me, you know that right?” He laughed slightly at your efforts, raising his eyebrows in amusement as he gave you a side glance.

You sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter next to him. “You give me no choice.” You cleared your throat slightly, “Boys!” Kei’s face seemed to pale, his eyes widening as he looked towards the stairs of your home where he could hear the commotion, two little sets of footsteps racing towards you both.

“Papa! Papa!” They tumbled into the kitchen quickly, your little six year old pausing to make sure his little brother didn’t trip on the tile when they slid in. They were already in a fit of giggles when they got to the both of you, little hands behind their backs.

Kei sighed slightly, sending you a tiny glare before he crouched down, trying his best to shrink his towering stature to their level. His face and voice both softened as he spoke to them. “Hey little buddies, what’s mama got you up to?”

“Please please pleeeeeaaase dress up with us papa!” Your six year old begged, eyes squeezing shut and teeth showing as he looked up at Kei. You had to stifle your giggle with the back of your hand. Kei’s head towards you and you (not very slyly) forced a cough and pointed your eyes towards the corner of the ceiling.

“Pwease papa!” Your four year old mimicked his older brother, big eyes looking up at Kei as he asked. “We got a costoome for yew an’ ewything!”

Kei stayed silent for a second before he sighed. “You already have a costume for me?” Both of your sons nodded enthusiastically up at their father and he smiled fondly down at them. “Alright, let’s see it then.”

The two boys quickly worked to pull the green fabric from behind their backs holding the fabric up in front of them with toothy (well mostly toothy) grins on their faces. “Its a Stegasowus!”

“Steg-o-saurus.” Your six year old quietly corrected and his little brother made a soft ‘oh’ noise before nodding in agreement.

Kei chuckled slightly, holding up the fuzzy fabric in front of him with skepticism. “A onesie?” He tossed you an unimpressed look over his shoulder and you gave him a guilty smile, nodding slightly towards him, encouraging him to respond to your kids. He turned back to your kids, resting the fabric on top of his knees before he reached forward to ruffle both of their hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll get dressed up with you boys.” The two boys shared a fit of giggles, little ‘yes’s chiming from them. “You two go get your costumes on now so we can get going then. Mama will help you.”

You tucked your lips in as you pushed off the counter, trying to not smile as you moved up to where your husband was now standing. “Come on little ones, up you get!” You tapped their shoulders and they turned to rush up the stairs again, disappearing to their rooms. You moved to follow but were quickly caught by Tsukishima’s arm tugging on your waist.

You laughed softly as he bent his head to kiss your cheek. “You fight dirty Mrs. Tsukishima.” He teased and you smiled up at him innocently.

“Drastic measures had to be taken Mr. Tsukishima.” You kissed his cheek in response and turned wiggled out of his grasp, following after your sons.

The giggles of your sons drew your husband to the entryway as he finished pulling up the comically designed hoodie of his dinosaur onesie-per your sons’ requests. You were shushing them with laughs of your own as he turned the corner towards you all. Your six year old immediately ran forward towards his dad.

“RAWR!” Your son yelled as he jumped towards his dad. Kei gasped in fake shock, catching his boy easily with a laugh. “Look! Look papa!” Your son pulled back slightly, adjusting the hat of his that you’d turned into a sort of dinosaur head that protruded out and up. “I’m triceratops horridus!”

Kei laughed at his son’s use of the full scientific name, his chest filling a little with pride as he set the boy back down. “Look at that, you are!” He tapped on the horns attached to your son’s hat and stifled his laugh as your son jerked back.

“Hey! You’re gonna hurt my horns!”

“Vewociwaptor!” Your younger son jumped forward, holding his hands up in makeshift claws towards his father and brother and they all broke out in laughs.

“And what about mama? What’s mama dressed up as?” Kei asked the question to your sons but his eyes were on you, eyebrows raised in judgment. From his view, you were clad in a pair of khaki shorts and a plain pink shirt. He was playfully glaring at your lack of a costume. “What? I gotta dress up but you don’t?” His hands found his hips as he watched you.

You laughed a little bit as you straightened up. “I’m the dinosaur wrangler, obviously.” You laughed, giving him a playful smile over your shoulder. You tapped the toes of your hiking boots against the ground a bit, working up the courage. You turned around towards him, focused on fidgeting with your sleeves, rolling them up.

“Ellie Sattler?” He laughed a little in disbelief, smile taking over his face, tongue toying with his bottom lip. “Isn’t her overshirt supposed to be unbuttoned and tied up?” He teased you, tilting his head in amusement.

“Riiight.” You chuckled nervously. “About that.” Kei’s eyebrows stitched together in confusion as he watched you reach for the buttons. Your sons’ clear excitement as they bounced on their toes only seemed to perplex him more. You shushed them jokingly as you reached the bottom of the buttons.

You let your overshirt fall open, revealing the t-shirt you had on under. A pale blue, in theme with your costume-with one small change. Printed on the stomach of the t-shirt was a small little dinosaur embryo.

“Surprise papa!” Your two boys jumped up and down as Kei’s eyes widened slowly in realization.

You chuckled at the frozen look on Kei’s face. “Thinking maybe it’ll be a tyrannosaurus this time?” You shrieked when he rushed forward suddenly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you as he laughed.

“Best Halloween ever.” He laughed, kissing your cheeks over and over as you laughed.

“Papa! Papa! Ew!” Your older son tugged on your husband’s costume, trying to get him to let you go.

“Mama says we might get a widdle sister!” Your youngest bounced on his toes as he looked up at you and Kei.

Kei laughed as he set you down, giving you one last kiss on the lips despite the complaints of your son. “Yeah, little buddy, you might.” You smiled down at them as you now properly tied up your pink overshirt, adjusting your costume. Kei’s eyes lingered on your frame for a second, smirking slightly before regrettably pulling his eyes away. “Come on my little dinosaurs,” Kei chuckled, corralling your boys towards the front door past you, “time to go get you both some candy. Gonna work extra hard for mama right? Get her and the newest little dinosaur some candy too.”

“Yeah!” Your boys chorused as they jumped out the door onto the front porch.

You laughed, stepping next to Kei and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Surprise, Kei.”

“You,” he trailed off with a soft laugh, shaking his head as he watched your kids jump their way down the steps, your older one holding the hand of your youngest. “Me and you are gonna celebrate properly later.”

You bit your lips with a smile as you watched him catch up to your boys on the path, your three dinosaurs and the one on the way.

#𓇻 fics

[merakiui]

his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise).

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death/murder of reader, obsession, codependency, emotional manipulation, psychological abuse, mentions of self-harm/suicide attempt, brief mention of pregnancy + loss of baby, vague mentions of binge-eating/disordered eating, angst, characters written as 18+ note - the color blue haunts azul. // loosely based on clingy, codependent bf azul.

the prelude - forever lost in cerulean paradise.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, surfaces from the numbing sweetness of an all-consuming slumber and finds the tops of his hands are littered with deep, dark, desperate scratches. They’re furious and distinct, standing out like pearly teeth on black tile, spotting his pale, paper-thin skin like a child’s poor attempt at proper handwriting. Carefully, he runs a trembling finger over the length of one as it travels from ring finger to the delicate bone of his wrist. A wet laugh bubbles out of him, ink-stained and heartbreakingly pained. He wipes tar-colored saliva from the edge of his mouth, smearing it, and shudders through another laugh. The sound wavers as if caught in his esophagus, pronounced choked and raw.

“Ah… I did it again.”

He sits back on his haunches, small and scared like the squishy thing he once was all those years ago, and inhales a steadying breath. His vision, once narrowed so scarily slim, widens to encapsulate the rest of the sitting room, which is cast in a cool glow from the crystalline cityscape beyond. He spies his haunted reflection in the glass, his hair mussed and matted. From sweat, most likely. It’s unsightly, his unkempt, ugly appearance, but it’s him staring back. 

Looking on with those bewitching blueberry eyes.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes a swoop of silver hair out of his face and whispers, “I fell asleep…again. Right. Again. That makes it—what is it now? Four times in a week? No, not quite… I fell asleep, but then I…”

His gaze slides from the windows to the floor. Lying sprawled and stiff, amidst shattered glass and crumpled, lemon-hued tulips, is the love of his life.

“Ah, I see now.” He runs two fingers over the injuries on his hand. His nose wrinkles once and then twice. His throat is set aflame, constricting like a python coiled around its prey. Blueberry eyes sink in a rising tide, overtaken by tears spotting a weary lash line. “My world… My angelfish…”

He forces himself to stand on rubbery legs. He stumbles once, reaches for the coffee table’s reliable support like a newborn grasping their mother’s outstretched finger, and peers at a shattered portrait splayed on the floor. It’s you on your wedding day, flashing a toothy grin at the camera, while he holds you close, an arm secured around your waist. Clinging to you like you were the only buoy in a rocky sea. Planting parasitic roots by way of attraction, and you were simply too blinded by the charms of shimmering, sparkling cheer to realize. So was he in that regard—struck dumb with a too-large love, unable to handle the full capacity of what it meant to fall into a sugary-sweet romance.

It’s a happy picture, one of many, but then the memories of the many elude him at this moment. He, the brilliant, benevolent actor, struggles to differentiate the real from the fake. What is a smile if not another foggy reflection of something far sadder? What is laughter if not the sounds of a hollowed sweetheart howling joyous tunes to placate?

His fingers curl around the wooden table. It’s too familiar and, as if having touched something hot, he jerks away. Azul turns his hands over, searching for imperfections he’s already found. Slowly, he pivots to confront the body.

“My darling angelfish, please wake up. It’s not… It’s not very nice of you to play pretend. We’ve been over this.” He shakes his head and steps around the overturned vase and puddle of flower-spotted water. He lowers to your height, offering a hand you don’t take. “Please, my love. I’m sorry for scaring you. I won’t do it again. I… I’m getting better, you see. I’m doing it for us. I want to get better. I promised I would, didn’t I? Aren’t I a man of my word?”

You remain there, eyes shut in blissful permanence. Azul sucks in a breath through grit teeth. You’re always so…difficult. Sometimes. Not always. And even when you act like this, he still cherishes you. But fighting is not something he loves, and he wants this feud to end sooner rather than later.

Azul Ashengrotto hates the sharp, bitter sides to his marriage.

“I can be patient,” he says, though it’s more of a consolation than a promise. “I’ll be patient. But, really, being vindictive will get you nowhere, my dear. Haven’t we been over this?”

Still, no matter what he says, you don’t stir.

He allows silence to fill the room to a suffocating degree.

One minute passes. Then two. He drums his fingers along a newly forming bruise on his arm.

Now it’s three.

Four.

Five.

It’s too quiet without your pretty voice filling the empty room, filling the hollow in his heart, filling the gaps in his brain to snuff any other self-destructive thoughts from pushing through.

“I love you,” he whispers, less forceful this time. “And… And I’m sorry. Truly, I mean it. I’ll never put my hands on you again. Never. And I’ll go back to therapy. I won’t skip my sessions. I’ll even take my meds!” A crooked smile stretches across his lips. “I promise. I won’t lie to you. I’ll leave the cooking to you. I won’t touch sharp objects. I’ll stop hiding knives from you. I’ll be honest from now on. So please…” His voice cracks, weak and raspy. “P-Please… Please don’t ignore me…”

Azul reaches out to you, fitting his trembling hand in yours. It’s cold. He brings it to his face, kisses the top of it, and then cradles it close. His shoulders shake, wracked with silent sobs.

It’s cold.

His breath hitches.

You’re cold.

“Angelfish, please…” He sniffles. The tears are already falling in thick, salty rivulets. He’s always been an ugly crier. “Please don’t leave me. Without you I…”

His untrimmed nails dig into your palm, and a great sob shudders through his body when he presses his thumb into your wrist to check your pulse.

It’s stopped.

He scrubs his face with his free hand. A fruitless effort. The tears won’t cease.

Without you, I’m nothing.

He gathers you, stiff, cold you, in his arms and holds you like you’re a treasured childhood plushy who’s lost its stuffing. His reflection blinks back at him, blueberry eyes awash in watery tragedy.

Without you, I’m all alone.

He spies the markings on your neck and his throat closes up. He grabs your face between both hands, searching it for any indication of life. A lie, surely. You’re just pretending. You’ve always done that, putting on acts to keep him and everyone else pleased. You, the best actor, knew him better than he knows himself. Because, in spite of the loose, fraying seams, you took them, poured remnants of your heart into each tear, and stitched them up until they were better again. You’ve sewn him anew when he thought all hope was lost.

So it’s impossible. A lie, definitely.

You’re a pretender, and he’s the captivated audience member. Soon you’ll open your beautiful eyes and shout, “I got you! You should have seen the look on your face!” And the cycle will repeat itself. He’ll pretend to be okay and you’ll follow along with a sweet smile, chopping vegetables with the same knife he used to threaten his own life days prior.

You can’t fool him.

Only you do. And you have.

He peels your eyelids open. Your listless stare pierces something in his brain, wires the circuitry correctly so that Point A and Point B can connect.

With a horrified gasp, Azul drops your limp corpse. Your head smacks against the floorboards, but you don’t groan in pain. Because there isn’t any pain to be felt. Because you’re not going to wake up. Because this is the final act and the curtain has closed on your skillful pretending.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, has lost the very person who once made him feel so whole.

the first vow - to have and to hold.

“We should make a baby.”

In the first month of being newlyweds, you’d told him that. He leaned over to nudge you with his hip while you painted swirling designs on a blank kitchen wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You pulled away from your canvas and grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Sooo,” he encouraged, nodding, unable to curb the glee in his curling smile. “What? Should we make one?”

“Can we?”

“This conversation feels rather circular, my dear.”

“You’re circular.” You stuck your tongue out at him and dipped your brush in a bright blue. “I’m gonna paint an entire field of cornflowers on this wall.”

Azul hesitated at the sudden change in subject, considered the meaning of a cornflower, and snorted in amusement. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If you want a baby, just say so and I’ll give you one.” He nosed your neck, humming into your skin. Sneaky hands slipped under your loose cotton T-shirt to cradle your stomach. “I once read a statistic that claimed marriage improves the outcome of a pregnancy. Shall we see if it’s true?”

You rested your free hand over his. “If you help me paint.”

“You know I’m no good at art.”

“Anyone can be an artist.”

“Angelfish—”

You shifted in his arms and held up a clean paintbrush. “Anyone, Zul. That includes you.”

He stared at the brush, frowning. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“I’ll have none of that talk.” You rested your head against his chest and peered up at him through your lashes. A pleasant smile softened your face. “I don’t want this wall to be my masterpiece. I want it to be ours.”

“Yes… Yes, I’m aware. But even so—”

“The best things come in two, don’t they? Come on. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy something until you’ve tried it.”

“But I have, dear.”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Azul laugh-scoffed. “Stubborn,” he chided, pinching your side and shaking his head in disbelief. One hand slid out from beneath your shirt to grasp the brush. “I suppose I can try. An entire field of cornflowers won’t paint itself now, will it?” He winked.

“That’s the spirit! I think blue suits this room, don’t you?”

“I’m struggling to see your vision, darling.”

“It’s a nice color. One of my favorites. And…” You turned in his arms to press your lips to his cheek. “Blue is you.”

He was smiling; he could feel it—the tug of toothy jubilance. “Is that right?”

“It is! I thought that the moment we met. If it weren’t for your pretty eyes, I don’t think I’d have approached you.”

“Ah, right. You thought they were rather lovely, didn’t you?” His hold on you tightened as he recalled the memory. “How did you say it? ‘Sir, I just had to come up to you to compliment your eyes! They’re the nicest shade of bewitching blueberry blue I’ve ever seen.’ You said it like that, yes? And it was the first time I’d ever heard such a strangely specific compliment. Normally, most go for the outfit or the hair.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” you say, singing the question like a pansophical siren.

“I did. I…really did. I still do, in fact.”

Your body shook with your laughter. “Then it’s not so strange after all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His fingers brushed your navel, a fleeting touch that turned giggles into shivers. You put your brush to the wall, but no designs bloomed. He did much the same, meeting your brush halfway, bristles dipped in friendly yellow. Only after he’d marred the wall with it did he realize his error.

You always ruin everything, he thought, resenting his clumsy ways. Everything you’ve ever touched, you ruin.

“Ooh, yellow and blue. That’s pretty. Like sunflowers and cornflowers!”

“But I… Your blue—I completely tarnished it.” He couldn’t help it; the words rushed out.

“What? No way! I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. It adds something to the blue. Makes it come together, you know?”

Azul stared at the wall, his face scrunched with poorly veiled vitriol. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

You gathered both brushes and set them down on the countertop before turning fully in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. We can paint over it if you want. But… Well, personally, I think we should keep it.”

“Why?” It came out hushed, a broken murmur.

“Because it’s like happiness amidst sadness.” Like the angel you’ve always been, you reached up to cradle his face between your warm, gentle hands. He melted in your hold, weak to the ways in which you often lifted him up. “Too much of anything in abnormal amounts is unhealthy, so we need happiness to balance the sadness. Plus, if this room was solely blue, I might go crazy.”

He wanted to reject your explanation, gripe and groan about how it was much too fluffy and foolish, but you were right. You have always been right with emotions, reading him well enough to pick apart his tells.

It’s your lips on his that brought him back to himself. He blinked when you separated.

“You’re not perfect. No one is. Not even me, and this wall definitely isn’t going to be perfect either. But it’ll be special because we made it. Because it’s a unique combination of us.”

Azul felt himself nodding along.

“So don’t worry. Sometimes mishaps like these are for the best. They help put things into perspective—to show us something we might not have seen before.”

“Like painting a new picture.”

“Exactly!” You squeezed his hand. “So no pity parties, got it? Not unless we’re going to throw one together and have snacks and tea.”

He exhaled shakily, reciprocating your affectionate touch. “Thank you, my love.”

You smiled so beautifully that he was compelled to enshroud you entirely and keep you with him in a cage of limbs. To ensure you’d never leave. To keep you backdropped by a work-in-progress wall forever.

And for the first two years of your new life with him, you remained in that cozy, quaint house, adding details to the wall when you could. The kitchen shaped itself nicely, embroidered in an array of blue hues, accompanied by sunny yellows and frilly whites. Every morning, you’d stand at the counter and cook, ever the early riser, and he’d drag himself in just after the sun had peaked in the sky; and together you would eat in front of that wall, tied together by the bright, beautiful wonders of young love.

Sometimes it was the yummy temptations of good food that brought you together. Other times it was each other, bodies pressed flush. Clothes wrinkling and coming off in heaps. Windows left open in the aftermath to bring in sweet spring breezes. Gathering each other and sitting in the bath, giggling about something silly. More kissing and touching; playful squeezing while washing the other. If Azul’s life had been a tragedy before, then this was certainly something far better. A new chapter in a new book with crisp, unturned pages, each one ripe and ready to receive love in loads.

You fell pregnant just as the changing winds ushered summer in, and suddenly that storybook blossomed considerably, pages stained with all things good. He had pinched himself before just to ensure this wasn’t a delusion or a dream, and finding that it was neither proved that there was indeed tenderness in his world. It was destiny that you two would meet by pure chance, fall for the other’s quirks and charms, and agree to a whirlwind marriage, so swept up in the authenticity of redamancy.

Azul thought his life couldn’t get any sweeter. A perfect wife, a perfect job, a perfect house, a perfect paradise built for two. It was a future he’d only ever fantasized about, an illusion he imagined to be forever out of his reach. But he had attained it, miraculously grasped it with both hands, and from here it would only be days and days of wonder and whimsy.

Thirty-one weeks into a perfect, pretty pregnancy, you fell again. Down the stairs, crumpled in a heap of limbs and broken promises. He stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with the remnants of some animalistic emotion. You shattered like porcelain, a marionette cut free from her strings. The baby fell with you.

Then came the darkness: creeping, encroaching, all-consuming.

Then came the lies.

Then came the obsession with omniscience.

And all throughout it, you’d continue to imprison yourself in his eyes.

the second vow - to love and to cherish.

“You shouldn’t work so much.”

By the fourth year, he had told you that.

You looked up from your plate, which you’d spent most of dinner pushing the food around rather than actually eating. Meals carried out in this fashion, a cyclical routine you dreaded. Ever since he’d purchased a penthouse suite and moved you to the city, abandoning the life you had built in the tiny, two-story house with its friendly neighborhood of faces, your world became the sky: sad and cloudy. Always rainy. It was empty up there, and the luxuries he provided did nothing to fill the holes in your shattering heart.

You couldn’t paint any walls here, for they had already been colored in boring monochromes.

“But I like the coffee shop. Everyone’s really nice to me, and the hours are reasonable. I’m paid well, too.”

“It’s minimum wage, (Name).”

“Still…”

“I make enough to support the both of us.”

And it was true. He’d just opened the first branch of the Mostro franchise, an elegant, high-end eatery stuck right in the heart of the city. Money has never been an issue, not when he was so determined to see each of his dreams through to the very end. You were dragged along through the wild currents of those ambitions. Simple luxuries were no longer sleeping in on weekends or watching the sun rise and set in the garden. Now it was extreme excess and opulence, devouring you with designer brands.

“I’d rather not be home all day. It’s lonely.”

“Jade or Floyd can provide company should you need it.”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. “I don’t need babysitters. I’m an adult, Azul.”

“They wouldn’t babysit—” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to accompany me to the office instead.”

“But I like my job. I like talking to customers and taking orders and making drinks. If I quit, I wouldn’t have anything else.”

“That’s not true. You’d have me.”

“The regulars would miss me. So would my coworkers.”

“Darling… Angelfish, I don’t quite care for them and I don’t think they care for you either. At the end of the day, all of you are working a dead-end job, putting up with nonsense from rude, impatient customers who never bother to tip despite having full pockets. You’re not working.” Azul smiled, his blueberry eyes ripe with a strange sort of light. “You’re surviving, and that’s not a quality of life you should shackle yourself to.”

You pushed food around on your plate, unconvinced. “I just don’t feel right about lazing around and doing nothing. It’s not very fair if you’re the one doing everything while I just sit back and reap the benefits.”

“Why not? I hardly mind. Besides, I enjoy spoiling you. You deserve this and so much more.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If I could, I’d package the world in a little box and give it to you, my dear.”

“We had that once and you broke it.”

His body stiffened, eyes flicking to your mouth. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He’s never been able to—not since that day. Neither of you can figure out whether it was intentional or an accident, or maybe it was something more: an intentional accident.

“P-Pardon?”

“I had the world and you broke it.” You set your fork and knife on your plate, perfectly vertical in accordance with proper etiquette. “Back at the old house.”

“Darling, you know we couldn’t stay… We were due for a change of scenery.”

Furiously, you opened your mouth, tears springing forth, but no words came. Instead, you clamped your jaw and stood from your chair, turning away from the table in a hurry.

“(Name), sweetheart, please wait!” He stood as well, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to intercept you. “My love, you know I never meant for that to happen. If I could, I’d go back and I’d fix everything so that we’d never have to experience such sorrow again.”

He reached for your hands, but you slapped them away and took a grand step back. “You knew we were at the top of the stairs. You knew, Azul. You knew it was wrong because you moved me away so no one could question it!”

His face contorted with offense, nose scrunching as if he had just smelled something foul. “I did not.”

“You did! You pushed me down those stairs and you watched me. Watched me cry and groan because it hurt and the baby was hurt. You watched and you waited because you knew.”

“I did not!” he said, louder this time, his face blue with rising frustration. “I was in shock, (Name). You can’t possibly expect me to jump into action when I was frozen stiff and horrified. And it was an accident. We’ve been over this before. I’ve apologized numerous times.”

“Sorry, but words aren’t gonna fix anything. See? I’ve said it and nothing’s changed. It’s not words that fix broken things, Azul. It’s action.”

You stomped out of the room in a huff, blinded with tears and rage. You weren’t sure if you were more frustrated with the circumstances or Azul himself, but it might have been the latter when he pursued, insistent like the worst kind of thorn. One that’s wedged itself so deep you couldn’t possibly pluck it free with your fingertips.

You’re not sure tweezers would work either, for the hold he has on you was and still is a nasty vise.

“I… (Name), love, darling, I’ll do better. I’m trying.”

Though he made these claims, he expressed them rather pathetically—his arms outstretched, palms up, as if to show you he was no longer a threat to your mental and physical well-being. His face was in poor shape; he was blue all over, flushed from the rush of emotions, his eyes much too small. He looked almost deranged in a desperate, animalistic way. As if someone was cutting him into meticulous slivers with a precision so painful it would leave him to bleed out for hours.

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, freezing the red-hot anger for a moment. I have to be the bigger, better person. Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look, if you want to make a conscious effort to be better I’m all here for it. But you have to actually try, Azul.”

“I am—I… I will!”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“Then please let me do things for myself. Marriage is about fairness. It’s you and me. We have to work together. And if that’s you supporting us with your business and me working part-time for extra cash, then let it be that way. That’s togetherness, not forcing the twins to babysit me like I’m senile or convincing me to quit a job I enjoy doing. Money shouldn’t matter if we’re both making it and we both trust each other to be responsible about it. So, while I appreciate surprise purchases, I’d much rather we do things together like before. That’s more meaningful and priceless to me than materialistic ploys meant to win me over.”

He swallowed thickly. Blue bled into the rest of his scleras. You watched him gradually inflate with relief. “I… I understand. I’m sorry. Truly, I am…”

“Stop telling me that. Show me. Please. And mean it.” You held your hands out. Hesitating, he fidgeted on his feet before gingerly placing his palms in yours. They were ice-cold. “Every relationship has its faults. Ours is no different. I’m forgiving you for the past, but I’m not going to forget and I’m not giving you a free pass either. I want to trust you, Zul, and I want you to trust me.”

“I do…” he began, only to curb himself. “I… Well, you know I worry. I know you have good friends, but when you’re out so late… O-Or when you don’t text me back… I’m always worrying.”

“Don’t.” You smiled and squeezed his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

His face darkened at that, a slew of stormy emotions brewing behind blue eyes. “Still.”

“I don’t worry about you when you’re at work or flying out for business trips. I trust that you’ll be okay because you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s different… That’s—”

“I’m happy that you care so much, but I promise I’m always safe when I’m out. You know this.”

“Yes. But… Well…” He sighed and shook his head. “At the very least, please let one of the twins drive you to and from your destinations.”

You fixed your lips into a moue. “Azul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly. “Yes, I know how that sounds. I know.”

“I’m not asking you to change overnight. No one can. It takes time. Everything does. I understand that you worry, but I’ve proven to you more than once that I’m plenty capable on my own.”

“All right.” His eyes flicked open at that, and without warning he tugged you into his chest. The embrace was constrictive with an alarming tightness that seemed to mean: I can’t lose you, so I’ll never let go. He buried his face in your hair, clinging to you out of sheer need. “All right. From now on, let’s be together.”

You nodded, slow to reciprocate. “No more gloomy dinners?”

He shook with awkward laughter. “No more gloomy dinners.”

You thought you had it under control. You thought you could reel him in and sculpt him from the shards—take all of the hateful, broken parts he harbored and glue them whole. You thought it’d be safer to organize his medication with encouraging notes each morning in hopes that he wouldn’t neglect it. You thought you’d ease into discussions with a gentle approach, if only to avoid stoking the flames of something monstrous. If only to ensure neither of you would scream at each other until your voices were spent.

You thought you were making progress when he showed you all of the secret spaces in the penthouse, admitting to squirreling things away out of weakness, out of greed, out of some tangle of complicated feelings. The majority of his stash was comfort foods, each one more unhealthy than the last, accompanied with a tiny notebook he’d used to scribble calorie counts. The pages were brittle and stained when you flipped through them; he had been crying each time he documented the amounts. Pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. On days when he surpassed his recommended calorie intake, he hardly indulged in dinner, preferring to pick at his plate. Instead, he would feast on empty conversations with you and those would be enough to sustain him.

Throughout all of this, Azul kept his gaze firmly glued to the floor and tore at the skin near his nails. The tips of his ears were flushed blue with humiliation.

“I hate eating,” he muttered, tapping his foot in quick, anxious rhythms. “I hate it so much.”

“Azul,” you said, soft like linen, “do you really mean that?”

His eyes found yours, glossy and defeated. “I… I…” He shook his head, the truth spilling free like paint dripping from a slain canvas. His arms, trembling and twitching, rose to his face. “No, I don’t,” he wailed into his hands, the sound echoing in the hall. “I really, really don’t.”

You shut the diary. It’s because you love food so much that you hate it, you thought, pitying him and the self-deprecating notes he’d scribbled alongside columns of calculations. Because when you eat, you don’t want to stop. Because if you aren’t thinking about numbers, you enjoy it. It makes you happy. And you restrict yourself and this happiness because it hurts to have any more than the bare minimum. Because the bare minimum also hurts, but it feels better when you have less in your stomach so you can eat the rest in secret.

“Let’s start small,” you offered, placing your hand on his arm. He lowered it to reveal a snotty, teary face, blueberry eyes darting to and fro. “Let’s plan our meals together. If we know what we’re eating in advance, we can avoid falling into bad habits. And meal plans are a good way to budget.”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he sniffled. “I’m…not opposed to the idea.”

You had it under control.

But then the knives would go missing, later turning up when it was most convenient. When he needed a clever way to get you to stay.

You had it under control.

But then you would forsake plans with friends and family in order to help him through another spiral.

You had it under control.

But then it felt like he was breaking himself into pieces nearly every day, at every hour, over the smallest of inconveniences. Working a minute too late. Eating dinner before he could get home to join you at the table. Going out on your own without supervision from Jade or Floyd.

You had it under control.

But then his shadow was stretching too far and too wide, swallowing you in a portrait of possession.

You had it under control.

But then that was at the cost of your sanity.

the third vow - till death do us part.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve me forever? Or would you simply get over it and remarry?”

By the sixth year, just a few hours ago, he’d asked you that.

You looked up at him from the notebook in your lap, where you’d been aimlessly scribbling in circles. The lines overlapped, ink blotting together in manic patterns. Originally, you were going to write a grocery list. But now all you had were jagged lines and not-quite-right geometry.

As if you had rehearsed it prior, you answered smoothly, albeit with an edge to your voice, “But you’re not going to die tomorrow.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

Azul slumped back against the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest. “Maybe not. I have a clean bill of health.”

Not mentally, you thought, morbidly wry.

“You shouldn’t sound so disappointed. It’s good to be healthy.”

“You won’t care for me as much if I’m healthy,” he mumbled, gazing out the window at the sparkling cityscape with those dull, dreary blueberry eyes of his. “I wish I was sick. Then I could take a week off from work and just…exist.”

You frowned at him from where you sat opposite in a comfortable chair. It was the only piece of furniture he took from the old house. For sentimental reasons, of course. Sometimes you thought it still smelled like home, even if the scent of home was so warped and far-off now.

“You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you need to rest, take some time off and recuperate.”

“I want to, but my schedule can’t afford any interruptions. Not now.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not.”

The conversation flatlined, only to soon breathe again when he suddenly added, “We should go on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“New scenery would do us a world of good.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Where should we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere is too broad. Plus, we’d have to plan it in advance. Make sure everything’s covered. Expenses and whatnot.”

Azul’s expression soured. “Ah. Right.” He hummed his contemplation, drumming his fingers along the sofa’s armrest. “We could go somewhere nearby. Hospital food sounds good.”

You speared him with a sharp, stern look. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not!”

You set your notebook and pen on the coffee table, aware of his powdery hues tracking your every move. “Azul?”

“Mhm?”

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Relentless, the sound skyrocketed into your eardrums and joined in chorus with rushing blood. But you had to tell him. You had to broach this subject. It had been gathering dust and cobwebs, aged by many tiresome years. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Azul, I think—” You swallowed hard, your fingers curling up into tight fists. “I think we… I think we should get a divorce.”

His head snapped up from where it had previously rested on his knees. He stared at you for a long, silent time.

And then, sucking in a breath, he asked in a fragile, breathless whisper: “What?”

“Um… I… We…” Your chest heaved with your exhalation. “We’re not happy.”

“We are.” He blinked at you, owlish and unwilling to look past the gilded lie. Unable to stop playing pretend. “We’ve always been.”

“No… No, we haven’t. Azul, it’s—really, it’s so exhausting. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s sleep.” He lowered his feet onto the floor, intending to stand.

“Mentally, Azul. I… Fuck, I’m so tired. I really can’t do this anymore.”

Color seeped from his eyes. His pupils widened and shrunk, and then a wobbly smile overtook his gaunt features. “Angelfish, that’s not a very pleasant joke…”

You could only offer him your most forlorn look, finally defeated after six years. Six years of pushing a stone up a hill, never to advance and never to succeed. This conversation was well overdue.

Azul rose to his feet, his apparent horror dawning. It molded his features into something wrong and fearsome. Something panicked and cornered. “Darling, you’re not serious about this, right? You… We’re just going through a bit of a rough patch, but we’re okay. I’m okay. Yesterday’s session went so well. I’m getting better. I… I’ve done all of this for you—for us! So we don’t need to do anything rash. We don’t need to get divorced. We just need to—”

“You’re not okay. Azul, I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I’ve done everything, but I just can’t keep exhausting the same tricks.” You heaved a dry, tearless sob. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I want to go back to work, but I can’t because I never know if you’ll be okay on your own. I want to trust you, but I can’t. We’re not communicating. We’re just—we’re playing the same delusional game and it’s getting us nowhere. You and I both know we’re not working. We stopped working the day you pushed me down those stairs.”

He froze, his lip quivering. “Darling, please… Please don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I want you to get better—genuinely get better—but I’m not the help you need.”

“That’s not true. You’re all I need—all I’ve ever needed. With you here, I’m whole. I’m happy. What was it you told me? That marriage is togetherness? That it’s you and me? So as long as we’re together—no matter what may come between us—we’ll always be happy. We have our disagreements, yes, but every relationship is like that. It’s normal, my dear. So please don’t say those things. I am better, and I’ll continue to be better until my final breath.”

“Azul, you’re not listening.” Now you were standing from your chair. “Togetherness is not this. This—” you gestured to yourself, to the way your clothes hung from your body, a size too large, before pointing at him— “isn’t healthy. We’re not healthy. Every day I’m with you is hell. I need a break as much as you do. We can’t keep doing this. Let’s save ourselves the insanity and misery, and let’s be sensible adults. A divorce is the only—”

“You’re wrong.”

The rest of your tirade stuck in your throat. “W-What?”

“Divorce is an expensive, lengthy process.” Azul stepped around the coffee table, his stare blank and haunted. Twin pools of the darkest ocean bored into your skull. “I can easily afford it, but it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

Despite what little confidence you had before, it’s all but diminished now. You shrunk away from him. “A-Azul, calm down. You… You’re scaring me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new now, is it?”

“Azul—”

“You want sensible adults? Very well. Let’s have an actual discussion instead of picking each other apart like this.” He peered down at you from where he stood, his head angled in such a way that his acknowledgement of you appeared contemptuous. “So sit back down in your chair and talk like a sensible, mature adult.”

Opening your mouth, you intended to respond. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in your throat, coagulating with raw, rich fear.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

I can’t say anything, you thought, your body petrifying with every passing second. I’m scared…

“If you put just a little more thought into your brainless idea, you’ll find it’s quite…lacking. Divorce ruins our togetherness, splits us apart and condemns us to two different worlds. And if I’m no longer able to cross into your world—if you forbid it and leave my world—I’ll truly die. I refuse to let that happen. So, no, darling, we won’t be getting a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

Perhaps it was the hopelessness in your heart that forced fresh tears from your ducts, or maybe it was the final straw in your weakening defenses, but the words came bursting out in a hurry.

“I don’t care anymore! I want you to die!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. Azul stared at you, stupefied.

“I… I want to be rid of you,” you continued, your words muffled and distraught. “I’ve always thought… Always hoped you might just disappear one day and I’d finally know peace… Please, Azul. Let’s end this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle. I don’t even love you anymore. I’m just…done.”

“You don’t mean that…” He made a strange sound, a hybrid between a gasp and a laugh. “Y-You’re just saying that. You still love me. You don’t actually want me gone. You love me… R-Right? Please say you do. Please, angelfish. My love… Please…”

“You’re not well, Azul. I think… I think this is for the best.” You turned away from him. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight. Please take some time to calm down and then we’ll talk more in the morning. I… I’m sorry. I really do want you to get help, but I can’t be around you any longer than I already have. It’s draining. You’re draining.”

You took one step further and something inside him splintered.

His power was cut, a line between consciousness and reality severed.

You did not love him. You wanted a divorce. You did not love him. You wanted a divorce.

Did not love him. Divorce. Did not love him. Divorce.

Did not love did not love did not love did not love not love not love not love.

Divorce divorce divorce divorce divorce.

Not love not love not love.

All alone.

Alone like before.

Back to the disgusting creature he once was.

You were walking away, your back turned on him.

He was going to lose his world. It was slipping through his fingers, fleeting and frail.

He couldn’t lose his world, for it’s all he’s ever had.

Azul lunged, seizing your wrist and dragging you down.

Your scream was cut short when his hands clung to your throat.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Two blueberry eyes swallowed you whole, entrapping you in cerulean paradise.

the epilogue - there will never be two without you.

“They used to call me all manner of cruel things when I was a child,” Azul admits to the desolate quiet of his penthouse suite. “I was ridiculed every day. I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Isn’t that just terrible?” He leans against the sofa and exhales slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But then you told me I was pretty and suddenly the mirrors blinked back at me. Suddenly the world looked just a little wider and…brighter. So bright! The sea swallows so much color, my dear, and so you’ll never know just how vibrant the surface is to us merfolk.”

He deflates with a wet, wheezing laugh. “No one’s ever told me I was pretty. No one’s ever loved me. Not in the way that you did.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. Tears track his cheeks; his blueberry eyes exist in a field of splotchy red. “You were such an angel. To love a filthy, hideous thing like me… Only an angel could do that. Only an angel could look beyond every flaw of mine and love so gently.”

Azul lowers his arm and peers at the knife clutched tightly in his other hand. “I never deserved you. I’ve treated you so horribly. I—” He chokes on a rising sob and shakily lifts the blade to his wrist. It presses against his skin for a moment before he’s yanking it away.

“Fuck,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I… I can’t do it.”

You’re a coward, his inner critic berates. A cowardly, clumsy fool of an octopus.

Gritting his teeth, he steels himself and tries again. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, enough to draw the tiniest pinprick of blood. Pain flashes through his nerves, prey instincts firing off commands. He attempts to push past the curtain veiling his thoughts—Stop before you hurt yourself! Stop before you kill yourself!—but then he spies the blue rising to the surface, pooling under the blade, and he retreats immediately. Horrified, he discards the knife at once. It soars across the room in an imperfect arc before settling on the floor with a clatter, just inches from your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his hand around his wrist to halt the bleeding. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I really can’t bring myself to do it…

He throws his head back against the cushions, eyeing the ceiling. “I’ve done such an unforgivable thing to you and yet I… I can’t do it to myself. I just can’t.” He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and opens them again. “I so selfishly took your life, but I’m clinging to mine like a spineless loser.”

Azul lowers himself onto the floor, curling into a fetal position. He grips his wrist in a tighter hold. His glasses are somewhere in the room, likely cracked or worse. He can’t be bothered to seek them out.

“Did you ever believe in soulmates? Ah, what am I saying? Stupid… But I truly think we were soulmates. Perhaps not in this lifetime. But somewhere on a distant horizon…” He smiles dreamily, pressing his cheek against the cool floorboards. “I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. It’s a matter of luck and fate. Sea Witch below, I hate those odds.” Another noisy sob bubbles up in his throat. He shakes with the force of it, his throat raw and ruined. Another onslaught of tears pours from his eyes. “I was r-really happy that day you approached me. I was so happy… More… More happy than you’ll ever know. Thank you for looking at me and seeing me and opening your heart to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more than this.”

He forces himself up onto his arms and then, as if just learning how to walk again, rises to his feet on wobbling legs to cross the slim distance to arrive at your body. Like a sinner on trial, he drops to his knees and gathers you in his arms as if you are his Madonna della Pietà.

“Without you, there is no world,” he murmurs, holding you close for a moment longer before lowering you to the floor. His tears dot your cheeks like somber rainfall. He reaches for the knife next, his mind made up. “Thank you for loving me. Sincerely. Truly. You’re the only one I’ll ever love. For that, I’m grateful. Because of you, I was able to know the taste of romance. And…” He hiccups through his bawling. “And it’s so very sweet.”

Blue blood spatters the floor, spilling from a messy gash in his abdomen. The knife is sharper than he thought.

Azul flops onto his stomach beside you, reaching out to run his fingers over your cheek. He inhales a weary breath and agony fills his lungs.

The world is dyed a brilliant, burdensome blue.

Azul Ashengrotto wakes in captivity. Bandaged, dressed in a plain gown, and cuffed to the bed, he is alive.

He moves his wrist, each of his senses filtering in at once. His other arm is turned over and pierced with an IV. Groggily, he lifts his gaze to the machines humming around him. Blue blood sits heavy in a bag, and he watches the liquid travel down, down, down through the tube. He blinks. His eyes are crusty. Has he been crying?

Assessing the handcuff once more, he turns up empty.

Why is he here?

Why does it hurt to move?

Why are there so many bandages around his stomach?

Most of all, where is his world?

What is this place?

It’s a hospital, yes, but why is he here? He has a clean bill of health.

Where is his world?

It’s when he starts actively struggling against the restraint, his breath coming in terrified huffs, that the nurses file in to tend to him. They check his vitals, run some harmless tests, ask him a few questions—it’s a lot all at once. He goes through the process as if stuck in sludge.

“My… My wife,” he croaks, unable to think of anything else. His heart tightens in his chest. “Where is she? What happened? Is she okay?”

Nervously, the nurses skirt around his questions until, eventually, he loses patience and tries to tear himself free from the bed that confines him.

“Where is she?!” he’s screaming, thrashing on the bed like he’s Frankenstein’s monster—a haunted reanimation shocked with electricity. “Answer me! Where is she?! She has to be here. Please… Please tell me she’s safe. I need to see her—need her here right now.”

They hurry out just as he curses at them.

“You can’t keep her away from me! She’s my wife—mine! If you lay a hand on her—”

A new face appears in the doorway; it’s a man dressed in striking attire. A police officer. Azul stares at him, his nostrils flaring wildly. For a short beat, they simply watch one another. Eventually, the officer nods towards a chair.

“May I?”

“What do you want?” He narrows his blueberry eyes, immediately suspicious.

“I’m here to have a chat with you. It’s about your wife. Is that okay?”

At the mention of you, Azul’s thoughts stall out. “Do you know where she is? Is… Is everything okay?”

The officer lowers into the chair and casually crosses one leg over the other. Casual in the friendly sense, Azul realizes. He really doesn’t like this man. Any longer here and he’ll start trying to build rapport.

“We’ll get there in a second. First, I’d like to introduce myself.” He goes through the motions; Azul is only half-listening, replying when it’s beneficial.

(Name). She’s safe, right? She must be. She has to be. Everything’s okay.

(Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name).

Where are you? Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, this must be my fault. I did something foolish again.

I must have tried to hurt myself. Angelfish, please wait for me. I’ll be okay. You’re safe and so am I.

Safe. Yes. Right. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe… Right?

Right.

Right?

“Had your friends not called in, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That brings Azul back to the world. He blinks at the officer, one eye at a time. “What?”

“You were on the verge of bleeding out.”

“Friends?” He’s slow on the uptake. “Jade and Floyd?”

The officer nods. Silence fills the space. Azul wonders when he’s going to open his mouth again.

“What about them?” he asks instead.

The officer frowns. “Do you not recall anything?”

Azul thinks long and hard about this. “I… I was having a discussion with my wife. It was something about a trip. No, not that. Um… Something…important. Something else, perhaps?” He shakes his head, unable to turn up anything useful. “I haven’t a clue. Why? Is something the matter? Where’s my wife?”

Silence is his only reply.

Somehow that tells him everything and nothing all at once.

Somehow he suspects it. His body knows. His fingers twitch with phantom spasms, curling inwards to cut off airflow. The puzzle is scrambled and the image is fuzzy, but he knows.

He knows because he’s already crying, and there’s only ever been one thing that can bring out the inner crybaby he despises so.

It’s always been you.

Azul Ashengrotto is the sole speck of blue in this white hospital room.

And he certainly feels it.

He’s right back where he began: alone and clumsy, an octopus out of water, viewing the cramped, compact, colorless world with his bewitching blueberry hues.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: self harm #tw: suicide