#every time I learn how to take care of my hair better I just become more powerful

[wttcsms]

angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k  synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes. 

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi. 

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked. 

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away. 

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now? 

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that?  I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” 

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

#megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #angst #fluff #one shot #drabble #smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #yakuza au #THIS IS SO OLD IM CRYING #like rereading it... omg what was i ON???

[satoruin]

➣ matchmaking or meddling?

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

word count: 1.6K

summary: you find out just how much your students have been meddling in your love life, though you can’t really be mad.

notes from lee: i’m afraid to make this look like an award acceptance speech so ill be brief. had to make a fic for the namesake of the blog and a very late hbd to boo (@2018-01-20). kinda wish i had more interactions with the kids, but i ended up w/ a lot of gojo pov also unedited

Looking back it should have been obvious what these kids of yours were up to. Yes, they were the reason you were in this god-forsaken closet with a blindfolded fool.

You’re only really aware of their meddling now as you hear their snickers from the hallway, so you can’t quite tell when their meddling started. But it makes sense that they were plotting something, but was it in collaboration with Satoru? Because it seemed like every mishap or coincidence between your two classes, Satoru took it in stride and turned it into his advantage. Just like he was taking advantage of the situation now…

Thinking back, your first clue should have been with the sticky notes. A note scrawled on a pink sticky note, in actually legible handwriting, addressed to you like a valentine. Reading, “from: Satoru ;D to: (y/n) <3; do you look this good every day or do i just not remove my blindfold enough????” It’s on top of a stack of papers handed over by the ever-stoic Fushiguro. Surely to get your guard down, and it did.

When you interrogate your fellow teacher about it later, he keeps his normal all-knowing grin plastered on his face. Now they, being the kids who orchestrated it, don’t need to do any work as every day after that there’s a new sticky note somewhere for you to see. They vary in color, most in some shade of pink, some with bad pick-up lines, others with a stick figure drawing, or the very rare ones hidden away with words that make you spit out your drink.

Or maybe another tip off should have been the ‘coincidental’ times you’d have the second years out on the training field and he just so happened to also plan a demonstration for the first years at the same time. But then again you don’t hear their snickering above your irritation at the white-haired man as he lets you jab a finger into his chest, with his annoying smirk.

But they notice you don’t care anymore that he peeks his head over your shoulder to look at your teaching outline just so he can do the ‘coincidental’ planning now.

And still the biggest hint that you fall for every time, is when they leave you at the cafe with just Satoru after begging for a weekend meetup. And again, when they ask to have team dinners, study sessions, or extra training, it's ridiculous. Your gullibility and trust in them is commendable, but it’s become laughable as you still trust in the kids to show up. And they do, just in disguise from across wherever you are as they watch Satoru come to your rescue every time.

Maybe the more ridiculous part is when the rare glimpse of their teacher’s eyes is pointed, peeking through their poorly crafted disguises, at them from across the room with a smirk.

He’s noticed for a while now that the kids are playing matchmaker, and their skills are much better than those his clan hires. And to be honest, he doesn’t mind, if anything he finds it cute that they think he needs the help. Though admittedly they do have some good ideas. Each one never fails to fluster you, in your own cute and angry way, as he takes over their schemes. His six-eyes catch the flurry of texts sent every time he does so, which he’s sure just encourages them further.

Satoru’s not quite sure when his feelings for you developed. He’s always found you attractive, especially when you were his cute kouhai (he still likes to call you that in order to annoy you until you begrudgingly call him senpai once again.). Everything he learns about you only adds to his initial interest. He’s a sucker for getting to know the little things, like your favorite dinner spot after a tough mission or what your ideal day off is. Once you accept his feelings he’ll put the knowledge you deem useless to good work.

But there’s a moment that sits so starkly in his memory as the first time he realized he was in love with you and not just intrigued or infatuated.

It was maybe around the time Tsumiki had gotten sick and though Megumi was self sufficient, Satoru didn’t feel that he should be alone. He knows he’s not the best at comfort, hell he could barely comfort himself, so he sends you.

And he’s not overly worried about you, you’re a teacher so he’s sure you’ll get through to the ever prickly Megumi just fine. Plus you’ve always been significantly better at handling emotional situations, he knows first hand. So when he comes to check on you after finishing his mission, he smiles at your success.

Megumi’s head rests on your lap, asleep, and you’re slumped over the armrest. There’s a twang of jealousy that pricks at his mind, wishing it was him in your lap instead, but all he can think about is having you greet him as he comes home and Megumi and Tsumiki sitting for dinner and that would be yours and his alone.

He’s never felt like someone that would settle down or want a family, especially given the circumstances of his status. But you, in this moment, make him want to move past the shrewdness of the higher ups and his clan, and just have you. He longs for something that is just his, not part of Jujutsu Society, the higher ups, or his clan, or even Satoru Gojo, he wants things just for Satoru, just for him.

You are that something, that someone, he wants, he’s convinced that he needs you like the air he breathes. The weird surge of emotions that have been kept bottled up since a dark day suddenly seems to make sense and it has a name, it’s love.

So when he’s reminiscing on his feelings, it really has been there all along, but it’s that very specific moment in which his love for you was defined.

And the apex of all his work in gently guiding you to realize your feelings, that he’s very sure are there, is in a closet of all places. His blue eyes glow dimly in the dark of the closet with the snickers of his students on the other side.

“Hey,” he breathes out, much less confident than he intended, but you make him nervous.

You meet his bright eyes briefly before looking away and returning the greeting, “Um, hi.”

His breath hitches and his mind blanks, every funny line or flirty remark he could make right now is gone. He can’t think about anything other than you, how cute your expression is, how good your hair looks even slightly messed up, but mainly your lips and how much he needs to kiss you before he leaves this cramped closet. “How are you?”

You blink at him incredulously, “We’re in a closet, Gojo. How do you think I am?”

He tosses his head back and groans as you use his last name, he thought he’d gotten you to call him Satoru like pretty much everyone did. “C’mon (Y/n), you know I hate when you call me that.” He whines and pouts, jutting his bottom lip out like a toddler.

He watches the guilt flash across your face briefly, surely it’s you remembering how he confided in you about hating the weight that came with his last name. “Sorry, I know. I know,” you pause and he senses your hesitancy and waits, “Satoru.”

He’s got a big shit-eating grin on his face that differs from his usual smirk as he rocks on his feet with his heart fluttering.

“You really like it that much when I call you ‘Satoru’?” You ask, eyeing up his body language with a skeptical look.

“Maybe.” He answers in a sing-song tone, he’s back to his usual self, “But you know what I’d like more?”

He leans in close and glances down at your lips. No matter how many times he does this, it always results in him pulling away with a teasing smile. So when he feels your hands wrap around the neck of his uniform and pull him closer, it’s certainly a surprise.

“You want a kiss?” You ask and he nods meekly, if possible, and you do, you kiss him. Satoru’s eyes flutter shut as his heart flutters in his stomach. His big hands reach up to cup your face and keep you glued to his lips. Gods, it’s everything he’s dreamed about and more.

When you part from him to catch your breath, he’s smiling. “I hope you know I want much more than a kiss.” He waits for you to breathe and to watch your reaction before smashing his lips onto yours again.

Satoru feels your arms wrapped around his neck and how your hands crawl through his undercut to tug at his hair. And he’s similar, the hands once holding your face have traced down your body to your hips so he can hold you close.

The knock on the door cuts your time short, your tongues and bodies having to part. Satoru watches as you smooth over your clothes and hair before he pulls up his blindfold. The door opens not a moment later to reveal the two classes waiting with bated breath to see something scandalous.

They are disappointed, fortunately for you and your image as a teacher. None of the students have the time to catch the heavy blush on his face as he slips away while you lecture them. But they do notice how flustered you are when you get a text from Satoru, “dinner 2nite?”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo #jjk #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojo x gender neutral reader #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n #! satoru gojo #[ lee's writing ] #[ + ] jjk

[ovaryacted]

Might be a bit iffy because I don’t know if this leans into the omegaverse thing you mentioned in an earlier ask, but re2r Leon with a puppy kink, being embarrassed about it because he thinks it’s weird and then him and reader just slowly easing into it…fluffy smut I guess???

Idk I just say whatever random shit pops up into my head sometimes😭 (but also just re2 Leon reminds me of a scruffy little dog and I know damn well I’m not the only one) -🐏

MDNI/18+. NSFW.

Hey, ram anon! So the omegaverse is different, involves genetic stuff with mates and the whole alpha, beta, and omega dynamics that people like to explore. Real Wattpad and Tumblr vets know what I'm talking about (that was a crazy time LMAOOOO). BUT, pet play is an actual kink that people have and I think that is what you're describing! Personally, I wasn't a big fan of pet play in a literal sense (because you live and you learn more about stuff so your opinion can change), and now I don't think it's so bad because there are many ways to mess around with kinks as a whole.

If it were up to me, pet play would be very fun, especially involving RE2R Leon. He gives pathetic puppy dog vibes and will always be at his partner's beck and call even if it comes off as embarrassing because he doesn't realize it's a kink that he enjoys. I think for him in particular, the whole dom/sub role exploration is what would get him off with the addition of a lot of praise.

It really starts with the pet names, where Leon would be praised for doing things he didn't think would actually matter. Doing a good job at work? You tell him you're proud of him. He's been doing good keeping up his routine? You remind him how good he is, and how taking care of himself makes you happy. He fucks you the way you want and makes you feel good? You praise him for doing that and call him a good boy for following your orders.

Leon doesn't realize that your ability to just acknowledge his accomplishments no matter how big and small makes him beam from ear to ear. It makes him feel good that you care about his presence in the first place, that you have this much control over his outlook on life. With every statement of validation you give him, he becomes more devoted to you, like a dog who has found their forever home. If he had a tail, it would be wagging from side to side, that's the best way to put it.

But when he finds himself more curious about why he likes your praising so much, he comes to terms with the fact that it's more than just you caring about him. To Leon, you are his escape, you keep him put together and grounded when the world gets to be too overwhelming. You have him wrapped around your finger and you know this, nor is he complaining about this fact anyway, that's what he wants, what he enjoys.

So when you come up with a proposition to help Leon figure out the best way to explore this new dynamic, he follows along, because he assumes you know best. Currently, he rests his head on your lap, your fingers running through his hair and raking through his scalp. It feels nice, better than good, and a rumble of a sigh slips out of him, reminiscent of a purr.

"That feels good baby?", you ask to him, and he can feel the tips of his ears growing hot at just the sound of your voice.

"Yeah, feels nice", he says with his eyes closed. He's trying to bask in your attention, in letting you pet or touch him however you wanted.

"Good. You can stay like that for however long you want", and of course, he's going to stay until he gets his fill. This was only the beginning of an introduction to something Leon would eventually need. Baby steps.

It takes a while to fully ease Leon into this new kink lifestyle. At first, he didn't think you'd be into it, would judge him for liking something out of the ordinary. But you're just as into it as he is, and it progresses the more you test the limits.

Now with his face in between your thighs, he licked at your cunt incessantly, lapping at it like his personal water bowl. Your hand remained in place at his head, holding him against you, and the other was curled around the leash that was connected to his neck. The suggestion of wearing a collar and leash in the bedroom would make some people raise their eyebrows, but not for you. You didn't expect Leon to be so enthusiastic about the idea, but the feeling of being yours was enough to make his body throb.

Leon's knees were planted to the floor as your legs slouched over his shoulders, his hands rubbing on the underside of them and pressing himself closer to where you needed him. The tip of his nose rubbed into your pulsing clit, his tongue caressing your inner walls as they clenched around him. Your hips moved towards his face, feeling him hum against you and whining when you pulled him away from your heat.

"How does that feel honey? Mama knows how to take care of her puppy no?", Leon looked up at you with hazy blue eyes, his tongue lolling against his plump lips and giving you a nod.

"Mhm, so good. Need more...please let me give you more", he nuzzled his face into your inner knee, placing a soft kiss to calm his own desires.

"Good boy. Make me cum and I'll fuck you after, a treat for being so good for me", the praise made Leon's cock twitch against his pelvis, your fingers pulling him back towards your dripping seam with a tug of the leash. He didn't waste any time, whimpering at the taste of your slick filling his mouth once more and his eyes fluttering closed again.

Anything to please his owner, anything to hear you praise him the way he craves. Being owned by you is where he belongs, ready to do whatever you said just so you can tell him he's a good boy, your good boy.

#ovaryacted asks #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy headcanons #resident evil #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #₊˚⊹ ♡ ─ ram anon 🐏

[jybyls]

Please

Synopsis: Work frustrated you, so you decided to take in out on your girlfriend until you let her do the work.

Warnings: Smut with no plot, g!p!jenna, unprotected sex, p in v, sub!jenna, and soft!dom!reader.

Words: 860 ~

“Please, love.” I begged my girlfriend. “You're so cute when you beg.” She teased me. “Just wait a little longer for me, baby. Plus, you look so pretty like this.” I whined but said nothing. I know I better shut up when she gets dominant because she's only like this when she's frustrated and needs to get it out on something. Me most of the time. So, in those kinds of situations, I just let her control everything.

I'm sitting on our bed, fully dressed, watching my naked girlfriend slowly, too slowly, taking my shorts off. I want to touch her so badly, to kiss her, to feel her, to hold her, to make love to her...

But she decided otherwise.

“Baby ?” I call out for her attention. “Yes, my love ?” She looked up at me with the most innocent eyes. “Can you go faster, please ?” I asked in a whisper tone, trying to get her to pity me. I highly doubt it'll work because she learned this technique. “Aww, aren't you cute ? Using my technique on me. You must be quiet deseperate, huh ?” She teased me, but I can't help but find this extremely attractive and feel my dick harden at her voice. I couldn't speak, so I just nodded at her words, hoping it'll be enough for her.

“Can't even speak, can you now ?” By then, all my clothes were gone, I was fully naked in front of her, moving around uncomfortably.

I need her. Now.

“Baby, please stop teasing. I need you so bad.” I manage to say out loud. My breath was shaky due to the kisses she left all over my body but purposly avoiding where I needed her the most. “Oh wow, a full sentence came out of your mouth.” She chuckled with the wider smirk on her face. “Should I give you what you want ?” Her hand brushing my dick.

She wants my death.

“Yes, yes, please.” I whined, not caring how submisstive and needy I sound.

Your POV:

She looks terribly hot right now. I put my hand around her length slowly, moving up and down driving her crazy, she immedatly moaned at the contact of my hand. She threw her head back as I went a little faster. “You like that, baby ?”I teased her, knowing I wasn't going fast enough for her liking.

“Ye-yes.” She moaned out. I kissed her, hovering my pussy to her cock but not sitting down on it. She groaned in my mouth at the feeling on my folds brushing against her tip. Jenna moved her hands around not sure if she's allowed to touch me, “You can touch me, baby.” I mumble against her lips and she didn't waste any time to put her hands on my hips. I feel her hands squeezing me and trying to pull me down on her length, she was becoming a whinning mess. “You want something, love ?” I broke the kiss and fully sat down on her lap, I never stop jerking her off but my speed kept slowing down, I occasionally pick up my pace which made her groans.

“Yes ! Yes... I need you.” She was struggling to keep her eyes open. “Be more specific, Jen.” I told her with a smirk on my face knowing damn well what she wanted, “Your pussy ! I need you around me, I- I need to be inside of you, please, my love, please..” She pleaded, that was far enough for me to give in.

I smiled at her, leaning down to peck her lips. “Good girl.” I sank down on her dick, taking her in one time, which made the both of us moaned loudly. I got closer to her ear to whiper the words that I knew would make her switch. “Fuck me, Jenna.” The next thing I know I was on my back with Jenna on top of me fucking me like her life depends on it. Her face was buried in the crock of my neck, she left sweet kisses every now and then, sucking on the skin of my neck every time she can. My hand was grapping her hair thighly oulling her impossibly close to me.

I know the woman has a hair pulling kink.

She was groaning in my ear, moaning whenever I'd squeeze her. I was trying to hold back my moans, but she just kept speeding up, making me become a moaning – actually a screaming mess under her. Not that she was any quieter. Her thrusts were rentless, not that I'm surprised. I know she needed a release.

“Fuck, y/n/n, I'm close.” She whimpered against my skin, I know she was asking for my permission to cum. “Cum inside of me, Jen.” That's all it took for her to release her load inside of me, but she didn't stop thrusting, wanting to make me cum has well.

“Please, baby, cum on my cock.” She cried out, feeling how hard I was squeezing her. I came after a few thrust, screaming her name.

Let's just say the neighbours know her name.

Wrote this 3/4 mouths ago in class and now ashamed 🫣

Have a good day/night. Love ya gays <33

#jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #oneshot #jenna ortega imagine #g!p jenna ortega #g!p!jennaortega #Spotify #jybyls' writing

[igotanidea]

More than blood: batboys x bat!sister

Dick was not the first one who was adopted by Bruce.

Y/N was.

And if you talk about the eldest daughter complex she was the perfect example of it.

Y/N was so much like her adoptive father. Quiet, observant, seemingly emotionally cold yet charming and enticing when circumstances called for it. Smart like hell. She knew exactly how to take care of herself, and yet, Bruce being himself was always hesitant to let her out into the streets of Gotham at night. But she fought for it. Hard. She had no natural talent for fight, but she was fast, flexible and imperceptible in the shadows. Slowly, but steadfastly she gathered enough strength and skills to become the very first Batman’s sidekick. She was not a fan of a traditional way of training. Boxing, weight lifting and throwing punches wasn’t exactly her style, but she was extremely good with skates and rollerblades and all the moves that involved a bit of dance-like moves. So that was how Bruce trained her. Three-turns, brackets and rockers just came naturally to her, both on ice on the ground and she was soon the best of the best. When she was ready to come on patrol,  Bruce created the most cliche name for her.

Batgirl.

Which she instantly refused, instead choosing to go by the name of Cover. After all, that was what she was doing. Covering.

At first, it was only Bruce and Alfred she was taking care of.  Never pushing anything but always finding a way to make sure they did the right thing. Listening carefully to their every word, getting her head around any possible situation and just being there when they needed her. She was not a people pleaser and definitely wasn’t going out of her own way for them (and that was the hot spot between her and Bruce), but in times of need and crisis she was the best possible support. Unwavering. Strong. Persistent.

And then, Dick came in. Of course, having younger brother (even if there was barely half a year age gap) put a lot more pressure on her shoulder. So she did her best to connect with him. It was hard, no denying. Dick has just lost his parents and he was harsh and murky and  a bit unpredictable. But she did not give up making sure he will finally warm up to her. And maybe Bruce.

“What are you doing?” one day, after particularly rough training with Bruce he came across her while she was working out

“Oh, you know. I was never good with all those flips” she lowly lifted herself from the floor, rubbing sweat from her forehead, her hair being a total mess. “Bruce insisted I learned some, but I was always better with my speed, skate figures and fast-thinking than actual acrobatics. However” she raised an eyebrow at the boy “I heard you are the master in the field. Care to show me a few tricks? Unless you prefer to sulk in the corner….” She smirked

And so they connected. Creating a lot of inside jokes during the year, being the support for each other. Of course, as older sister Y/N had no problem in literally smacking his head when he did something stupid and as younger brother he had no inhibitions in scaring her potential boyfriends away, but yes, they were close.

And then, Jason came in. The rowdy kid from the Crime Alley and she had to figure out another way to reach him. It didn’t take a lot of time to notice he was interested in literature, so she started leaving books around in the manor. Mostly classics, like Jane Austen and Shakespeare, but from time to time she risked more modern writers. He always took them from the place they were and returned a couple days later. He was a fast reader. One night, when he returned from patrol, all fuming and on the verge of breaking, he noticed a light coming out of her room and due to some crazy feelings took a few steps towards there.

“Hello, Jason” he might have been quiet, but she was the first trained by Bruce, so the poor boy has no chance not to be noticed.  She turned in her chair and smiled lightly “It’s good to see you.  So it happens I got tickets for a midsummer night’s dream. Two tickets. Would you maybe ….”

“Yes. Yes, please, take me with you.” his eyes was glistening with so much hope she would choose him, it made her want to cry and laugh at the same time. Pushing aside the urge to hug Jason (it was too early for that and he would not appreciate) she just nodded. And there was the connection.

And then, there was Tim. The Brainiac. Coffee addict. Sleep deprived. Constantly working, cracking cases. And being quite successful at it, even if sometimes he took the long road instead of connecting the dots to create the shortcuts.

“How’s the case going?” she asked at breakfast one time, noticing Tim’s tired eyes and disheveled hair. He wasn’t sleeping well that night, but what’s new.

“It’s not.” he groaned pecking at his food not really eating any of it “and stop making fun out of me because of it!”

“Fun?” she almost choked on her toast “Really, Tim? I’m not happy at all that you are missing the most obvious piece of the puzzle.”

“The most ob….? You were compromising my work?!”

“I was …. Checking your work” now, she had to be extremely careful with words “And what I found out is that you definitely have a criminal mind. But” she raised a hand stopping him before he could say a thing “you are also awfully messy, Tim. You splattered some coffee on the sheets and blurred the numbers. And that is why you couldn’t reach the conclusion.”

“I…. What!?”

“Hate to break it to you, champ.” She shrugged taking a sip of her own coffee “but apart from that, you did a really good job with the task.”

And with a couple more cases like this they got into real sibling relationship.

Damian was the hardest one. Trained by the assassin, treated like a threat and a menace, far more tough than Jason, cruel and with no moral compass. Not by his fault. He was the one who needed some soft care most of them all, but would never accept. So there were two options, get to him with fighting skills or by using his art adoration. She couldn’t just leave art supplies for him like she did with Jason and books, but she got one more idea, which required a bit of Alfred’s help.

‘Rough night miss y/n?” the butler asked when the girl emerged from the batcave, covered in bandages and patches.

“You have no idea, Alfred” she yawned “At first B had me running around the streets creating some sort of diversion for him, since none of the Robins where available “ a quick glance towards her three brothers “and when I got back I got lost into my latest painting…..” she trailed waiting for Damian’s reaction. Seemingly nothing has changed, but she looked carefully enough to notice his eyebrows lifting slightly and his body shift towards her to hear better. Gotcha!

“The castle?” Alfred asked, curiosity in his voice

“Yes. I’m almost finished  and I think I will need some help in hanging it in the living room soon. Will you be so kind with it Alfred?”

“Of course, miss Y/N.”

A couple days later, the painting did hang on the wall and some Sunday afternoon she found Damian standing in front of it and looking it up and down.

“I could have used a bit more blue on the edges.” She said stopping by his right side.

“Not just blue.” He retorted

“Nighttime blue?” she asked

“Nighttime blue” he said at the same time and their gazes met.  She tilted her head slightly while Damian’s face showed a bit of surprise. He was so young and so wrongly treated it was almost unfair.

“I know, but it’s too close to the color of Dick’s suit. He would never let me live it through.” She let out a laugh and Damian smirked.

“I got an idea of how we can improve your next painting if you ever were to create another.”

“Oh, you think you are better than me in the art field?” she gasped grabbing her heart in fake hurt

“I know I am.”

“Wanna bet?”

And so he warmed up to her as well. It seemed like all of the batboys were prone to her silent charm. But obviously there were times when she had bad days. Being the one with the longest training, seeing most of the violent things and crimes and living thought her own tragic events sometimes, in the times of greatest stress she was just becoming completely silent. Not able to say a word, getting through the days like a ghost, wanting to disappear, getting lost inside her own head. Usually, it lasted up to four or five days, and it was normal. Just a sign for Bruce to put her off the patrol so she can get through whatever was going on inside her head. He wasn’t the one to actually talk a lot about feelings and emotions, but even Batman had to be alerted after two weeks of radio silence on her part.

From the little intel he had on her since she left the manor he learned that for the last days she wasn’t eating properly, struggling with her work, looking tired and worn out even though she was sleeping a lot. Something was off and the only people who could actually be of help would be her brothers.  Dick was in Bludhaven, Jason was running around the Crime Alley, Tim was busy with work for Wayne Enterprises and Damian, well…there was no way of figuring out what he was up to. Bruce groaned not really sure how to call the boys for rescue but it was about Y/N so he just used the unofficial channel and simply called all of them. He did not expect that they would gang up and show at the manor at the exact same time. Those stone walls haven’t; heard that much of a banter and silly fights for a while and despite everything, deep, deep inside Bruce was glad they came.

“Let’s be clear. I’m here only because of Y/n.” Jason stated bluntly “nothing more”

“thank god, I thought Red Hood was getting soft” Dick punched his arm playfully and was surprised with how hard his little brother’s muscle were.

“If you want me to show you…..”

“Where exactly is Y/N?” Tim interrupted his brothers fight, focusing on the most important matter

“And where are her paintings?” Damian frowned looking around.

“She moved out some time ago and took her works with her.” Bruce hissed. It was somewhat …. painful to admit that she left.

“Where?” Jason hissed

None of them cared that it was the middle of the day and their sister was probably at work. They had their own methods of getting inside the building unnoticed and years of training came extremely useful in that case.

Poor Y/N. Work was hard, as usual during the last couple days, she was tired and sad and dealing with a lot of thoughts. Even her usual way of blowing steam off while skating or rollerblading wasn’t helping.  She might have left her vigilante persona behind, but old habits die hard and when she climbed up the step to her apartment she could not fail to notice shadows on the floor and almost inaudible voices coming from the inside. Her instincts immediately kicked in when she put the bag down, bracing herself and busted through the door. Her first, perfectly aimed punch met with Tim’s stomach and the half-turn kick got Damian falling onto the ground. It took both Dick and Jason to stop her from making any more damage.

“Calm down Y/N! It’s just us” Jason calmed her down smirking, surprised with her skills that wasn’t gone.

“Will you behave?” Dick added making sure she wasn’t going to attack them again and only then letting her go

“What the hell?!” she hissed getting free of her brother’s grip “what are you four doing here?!”

“since when do you know how to punch?” Tim groaned “I thought that wasn’t your style?”

“I expanded my skill set. Out of everyone here you should be the one to appreciate it, Tim.”

“I would esteem it better if it wasn’t aimed at me.”

“Right. Sorry. But the question remains. What the hell are you doing here?! You know, I;m used to one Robin, or former Robin, come around from time to time, but this?”

“Father called upon us. He was worried something was off with you.” Damian spat getting off the floor, embarrassment visible on his face.

“Bruce was worried?” she laughed ironically “Right. Sure. He was the reason I left the manor. Should have taken example from you Dick and run the hell away ten years ago.”

“It was five….” Dick tried to chime in but she did not let him

“And now he’s so worried he won’t even visit me by himself. Instead he just send a rescue party?” she turned around and  slumped on the couch

“Y/N…..” Jason tried to reason with her “come on, tell your favorite brother what happened”

“For once I agree with Todd. Tell your favorite brother what is wrong. I mean, me, of course in case someone does not get the clue” Damian hissed taking a spot next to Y/N before anyone else could do it.

“Cut it guys, everyone knows I’m her favorite. I know her the longest of us all and I know everything about her.” Dick objected, crossing his arms with a wide smile, being so sure no one could threaten his position

“Everything?” Tim scoffed “You have no idea about half of the things she likes. I learned them. By myself.”

“Yeah, by spying on her. You call that a good relationship?”

“I do not spy!”

“Cut it, replacement. We all know the most bonding thing are inside jokes. And we have plenty since we read the same books. You wouldn’t even get half of our quotes!”

“Let me get my gear and I’ll show you how half of a quote look like. Art is what connects people and you all are just nonentity in that area. Not like me. Besides, I was training with her the most, so…..” Damian interrupted and at this moment all four boys were just shouting at each other while their sister was sitting on the sofa watching the scene in front of her eyes without any word.

“Get out.” She finally said. Quietly, but they heard her and stopped immediately “All of you. Get out. Now. “

“Y/n….” Dick was first to notice his sister’s pale skin and shaking hands “Please….”

“No.” she shook her head “I;ve had enough. This is exactly why I was always making sure you won’t show up at my place at once. You just can’t seem to fight who’s better or stronger or smarter or more skilled. It’s been like that all our time together. You just try so hard to outdo one another. “

“Well, I mean, she’s not wrong” Jason smirked running a hand through his hair and was instantly met with four pairs of reproachfully eyes “sorry….”

“Is that what bothers you?” Tim asked silently bending down to look into her eyes.

“What? No. Hell no. Why do you think something bothers me?” she stood up abruptly heading to the kitchen to grab herself a glass of water. Shit, Tim was always the one to crack her faster than others.

“You have cuts on your forearms.” Red Robin pointed and she tried to cover them quickly

“And a bruise on the neck.” Damian added following her

“Those kind of traces that does not come from skating.” Jason poked at her skates thrown on the floor in the corridor

“And that means you….I mean, Cover, has been active again.” Dick finalized. “Why?”

“Oh, come in….” she was getting more and more nervous with every minute “is this an interrogation now?”

“No. This are four brothers concerned about their sister well-being.  Does that sound better.”

“Vaguely.”

“Why did you put on the suit again?”

“Because I wasn’t feeling enough!” she spat and immediately covered her mouth to stop the sob coming next

“What?!” Jason hissed and grabbed her hand which made her flinch “oh, so you hurt your hands as well.  Not so much about expanding your skills in punching, hm?”

“Shut up.” She hissed back at him, sticking her tongue out

“That’s a very mature behavior for the oldest one” Damian pointed “but Grayson’s question is still on. Why did you pick up the mantle again? You said you were done?”

“I was. Until one night I heard the weeps and screams of my neighbor being beaten by her boyfriend.”

“Y/N….”

“And the other time, when I heard on the news how Nightwing got beaten while protecting people who were trapped in the fire….”

“I did not…..”

“Oh, and that one time when some little bird brought the news about Red Hood getting in trouble in the Crime Alley and almost dying? Again.”

“ok, it wasn’t even half as bad…..” Jason tried to defend himself

“And then, Red Robin and Robin. Running loose without batman. Dealing with criminals on their own accords and getting involved in the shooting?”

“It was Drake’s fault!” Damian cried out and Tim just punched him lightly

“Stop it.” Red Robin hissed at his younger brother “let her make a point, because it’s not it.”

“Then what is?”

“Come on, sis, tell us” Jason crouched next to her and squeezed her hands lightly

“I…. I can’t”

“Of course you can. There’s no shame in anything. Safe space. And as your big brother, I have duty to make sure you are all right.”

“You are younger than me, Dick.”

“Barely younger. And still, the oldest brother. “

“Come on, Y/N. Just spit it out.”

“Fine. Fine. Just quit looking at me like that. It’s creepy. I… I might have gotten into a bad relationship…..

“WHAT?!”

“Calm down, Damian. It wasn’t that serious. I kicked his butt first time he came at me….”

“WHAT?! I’m gonna find him. I’m gonna find him and…..” Dick caught his younger brother before he could get out and really find and eliminate the guy.

“It’s in the past. But you know, all that got me thinking. About who I was in the past. The cover. And how you guys were always out there, putting your lives at risk while I was just sitting at home, watching and doing nothing…..”

“so you thought it would be good idea to just go out on patrol by yourself.” Tim threw his arms in the air in frustration “Y/N, you know better than that.”

“Come on, what was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. Call me….” Jason said, but corrected himself due to Damian poking him in the ribs “I mean…. Us.”

“How could I?” she rolled her eyes.  “You guys have enough on your plates without me.”

“This is unbelievable” Tim scoffed

“You never patrol alone and we would never let you do it” Damian added

“What do you mean without you?” Dick narrowed his eyes at their sister “do you think you are some sort of burden?”

“Well…. I…. um…..”

“Are you insane?” Jason was the first one to burst. “Are you insane?”

“You do realize we are family, right?”

“This is a pretty crazy family.”

“Sure, but at the end of the day we watch each other’s back and that’s why we are all….alive.”

“Ekhem….”

“Sorry, Jayson, but we are alive. Some of us get to be alive more than once, but still.”

“I hate you, Dickhead”

“Look Y/N, no matter what you need to know you are important. You were the one to always take care of all of us, so, just for once, let us do the same.”

“But isn’t that what the eldest sibling of the family is supposed to do?”

“Since when do you care about supposed to do?”

“Never did. But I care about you guys and…..”

“Let us help Y/N. You are not alone. “

“I know. “

“So why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying!”

“You are!”

“Stop it! It’s just …. Nice, to know someone cares about you, all right? That is… new.”

“Come here, you silly one.” Dick crushed her in a bear hug to the point where it was nearly impossible to breathe “you’re not doing it again alone, you hear me?”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

“I’m thinking.….. just for the sake of all times…. A little night patrol with all your crazy brothers?”

“Dunno. Is Red Hood ready to work with the bats?” she smirked at Jason.

“Just this once. And we stay out of the Crime Alley.” He shook his head in disapproval but his words were contradiction to his action.

“How about our little Robins?”

“I’m not little!” Damian yelled

“Neither am I, but still I’m down. It’s been a while and I’m wondering if you really did enhanced your fighting skills.” Tim smiled

“So, it’s settled. Everyone meet me here at the dawn?”

“You sure you can handle four vigilantes in your tiny apartment?”

“I’ve been doing it my whole life. And I can always ground you. Big sister privilege.”

She smiled at her brothers and despite their protests she was now feeling so much better. Just knowing that she had someone (more than one) to rely on made her feel valued and cared for. This family was more than blood and they were protectors of each other as much as of Gotham.

#batboys x reader #batboys x batsis #batfamily x reader #batsis #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #timothy drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin dc #batboys x y/n #batboys x you #batfam x you #batfam #batfamily

[myanmy]

Ownership

This is my first time writing smut, so be kind please. :)

Summary: Rick and you are in the CRM and you both need a stress relief.

Word count: 2095

Warnings: oral (male recieving), degradation, hickeys, dom/sub, begging, teasing, spanking.

I haven't seen The Ones Who Live yet, I'm not mentally prepared. I created this based on gifs and edits, so haven't mentioned anything specific about the show and there's no spoilers. (Rick has both his hands)

As soon as the man came in you found him insanely hot. He was older, obviously more experienced in every field, the beard and the hair, the muscles that creeped through his shirt every time he moved, what sane person wouldn’t want to spend at least one night with him? 

You didn’t have a lot of friends in the CRM, at most they were colleagues. You had learned that in this world it was better to not be close to anyone, you had once and now they were all dead.

The situationship you created with Rick worked perfectly fine. You didn’t remember exactly how or when this started, you just know that you love it when he comes late at night to your house and takes all his frustration out on you. You both silently had agreed to no kissing, not once had your lips touched and while you unconsciously wished they did, you knew better not to, afraid that a deeper feeling would start to form. 

Tonight was one of the nights you knew things would be a lot rougher than usual. He was on a mission for a few days and was returning today, on times like these where he would go days without having any type of release was when he went completely off on you. You had prepared yourself, dressed in clothes that you didn’t care a lot about because you knew he would just rip them and decided to go with no panties, you were almost running out of them because of him.

You couldn’t stop the hairs on your arms from standing up when you heard loud knocks on the door of your house. You took a deep breath before gathering the courage to start walking downstairs and when you got to the last steps a few other angry knocks sounded through your house. “I’m coming.” You said, afraid that if he continued he would break the door down. 

You let out a gasp, his hand around your throat as soon as the door was slightly opened. He pushed you forcefully against the door, your back colliding with it. His hands were all over you, his lips on your neck, sucking the skin there so hard you were sure there would be a large purple hickey in the morning. 

“Rick-” You gasped only to be cut off by two of his fingers entering your mouth.

“Shut up.” He growled and god his voice did things to you. You could already feel the fabric of your shorts clinging to your thighs because of the wetness between them. “On your knees, now.” He ordered and you went down as soon as the words left his lips. You could see his hands having a hard time opening his pants, so you pushed them away and started undoing them yourself, earning a low chuckle from him. “Open.” He whispered when you managed to pull his cock out and fuck, it was hard with precum already spilling out, the sight making you even wetter than you thought possible.

He wasted no time before shoving it between your lips and with one deep thrust forcing his cock to the back of your throat, earning a low growl from him. You gag and tried to pull away, still not used to his girth and size, only to have both his hands on the back of your head, tugging on your hair as he began to thrust, not caring about your gagging. You braced your hands on his thighs, helping yourself stay still while his hips met face. “That’s it, take it like a good fucking whore.” He mumbled, continuing to meet the back of your throat. You could feel your throat getting sore, a moan making its way out of your mouth, his deep moan following yours right after. His thrust started to become wobbly, so he started to push your head towards him, causing you to gag even more and have to tap his tight for a break. 

“Can’t take my cock?” He chuckled sarcastically before dragging you to your feet, his hand on the back of your head as he led you up the stairs and towards the bedroom. He aggressively pushed you onto the bed, your face falling on the pillows as he climbed on top of you, sitting on your thighs. You yelped when he strongly smacked your ass.

“Rick-” You tried to speak again only to be cut off again by another hard smack on the same place.

“I told you to shut up, didn’t I?” His hand kept spanking you, your ass cheeks growing red with his hand prints on it, only making his cock even harder. Even though you two were nothing more than fuck buddys, he had a thing for marking you in many ways, with his mouth leaving hickeys all over you, his hands leaving angry red marks on your ass, thighs and breasts or shooting his cum all over you, your belly, your face, your back and his favorite, inside you. Soon enough you heard the fabric of your shorts being torn up and your wetness being presented fully to him, a shiver running through you. “So fucking wet for me.” He grunted seeing the wetness covering your thighs. His fingers traced the outside of your lips before finally touching you, making small circles, but not entering. You let out a moan and pushed your hips towards him, needing more, only to gain another harsh slap. His fingers left you and you heard him moan, curious you look behind you to see him licking his fingers, the sight making you go crazy. 

“Rick please…” You beg, tired of the anticipation.

“Please what? Use your words.” He says before he starts to adjust himself, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it somewhere in the room. His hand moves towards his cock and he starts pumping himself a few times at the sight of you.

You groan, needing to feel him inside you. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but god you missed his cock so fucking much. “Use me, please.” And just when you said it he was inside of you, with one hard thrust he was balls deep. He pushes your head into the pillows as you let out a scream, not being prepared for the forceful entry.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He grunts, burrowing his face in your hair as he stays still, giving you a few seconds to get used to him. Soon enough he starts to fuck into you, his hip meeting your ass, making lewd skin sounds echo through the walls of the room. You bury your face into the pillows, clutching the sheets tightly as tears make their way out of your eyes. You gasp when Rick pulls your head back by your hair, forcing you into all fours, making his thrust even harder. “Let them hear you, let them hear how good I fuck you.” His hands clingled to your hips, forcing you to meet his thrusts.

“R-Rick, slow down.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm already arriving. You felt somewhat embarrassed, you had tried touching yourself to the thought of him, only to be completely dissatisfied, your fingers felt nothing like his and couldn’t make you feel good like he had.

“No.” He said pulling his cock out and a displeased groan left you, a scream following right after as he started to slap your clit. “You don’t cum unless I tell you to, understand?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry.” You sobbed at the loss of pleasure.

His hand started caressing the red marks he had left on your ass earlier, enjoying the sight of them “Look at you, letting me use you like my fuck toy. You love this, don’t you slut?” 

“Yes, I love it. Please Rick…” You pushed your hips back, hoping he’d just stick his cock inside you again. You shouldn’t have been surprised when he turned you around easily and within seconds he was between your legs. He started rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, loving to see your eyes begging for him to shove it in and claim you, but soon his own patience ran out and he pushed it in as he grabbed your throat, squeezing it slightly while forcing you to keep your eyes on his. 

“Tell me, did you let someone else use this pussy while I was out?” He asks, pouding into you, the thought of someone else fucking you doing strange things to him. You couldn’t seem to be able to form words, so instead you shook your head. “Why? Only I can make you cum like a bitch in heat?” He whispers in your ear and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Yes, yes, yes…” You answer, your voice weak from the squeezing of your throat. Immediately after you answer he chuckles, seeing how cock drunk you are for him and he loved it.

He slaps your cheek, enough to hurt, but not enough to leave a mark. “Look at me when I fuck you.” And with that his thrust became ruthless, his cock feeling like it was hitting your organs. You tried to beg as you felt your climax arriving again, but no voice came out as he kept pounding into you. “Are you close again baby?” He growls, his hand squeezing your throat a little harder while his other hand holds one of your tits through the shirt he hadn’t bothered to take off of you. Once again, you couldn't speak, so you held onto his bicep, squeezing it. The nickname hadn’t escaped you, he would sometimes let somethings slip, especially when he was getting closer. “Hold it.” He grunted, feeling his own climax arriving. He let his weight drop on top of you, his arms now circling around you as he kept thrusting. You followed him, your own arms wrapping around him as your nails dug into the skin of his back, your legs circling around his waist, making his cock hit an even deeper part of you. 

“Please.” You manage to whimper, feeling your orgasm so close and you stopping yourself, awaiting for his order.

“Cum for me, cum around my cock.” And you did. Stars seemed to have taken over your eyes, bright lights shining as your whole body trembled, you hand pulling his curls while you bit on his neck, trying not to scream. “That’s it, good fucking whore.” He grunted against your ear, feeling your pussy tightening around him as he fucked you through your orgasm. Soon enough you felt his thrust start to become wobbly, his grunts more persistent against your ear and his hands holding you tighter. With one final thrust and a loud growl from him, you feel the warm liquid filling you up, only this time it was a lot more than normal.

After long minutes of staying in the same position, both of you trying to catch your breaths, Rick moves and supports himself on his arm, looking down at your still joined parts and you do the same. You gasp, seeing that you were right and there’s a lot more than there usually is. Has he not touched himself all these days? You thought to yourself, but didn’t say it out loud.

“Shit, that’s a lot.” He remarks, picking some up with his fingers. “Open.” He ordered before pushing them in your mouth, the taste of both of you invading your tongue. You close your eyes, moaning while sucking, unaware of Rick’s eyes watching you closely. He pulls his fingers away and when you open your eyes you see this strange look on his, he starts getting closer and for a second your lips brush against each other, only for him to turn away and move to your neck instead, sucking the skin right below your earlobe. 

“No, Rick.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to pull him away only for him to pull your hand away and pin it above your head. “Rick…” You moan his name, enjoying how his mouth felt. With a loud pop he pulled away, looking down at your neck with a smirk on his lips. “Fuck, people will see that.” You say, knowing that that part of your neck was impossible to cover with clothes.

“Good, they’ll know that I own you, that this body is mine, this neck is mine to mark and this-” He pushes his cock deeper into you. “-this pussy belongs to me.” He growls in your neck.

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes x you #18+ content #mdni #smut

[lixzey]

Monster Among Men

wc: 3.4k

September 1, 1977

It was a well-known fact that Y/n Potter and Regulus Black despised each other. The two had been at each other's throats since the day they met on the Hogwarts Express. Y/n and Regulus were like fire and ice. They were polar opposites and hated each other with every fiber of their being.

Their rivalry began with petty insults and minor jinxes, but over time it grew into a deep-seated hatred for each other. They were competitive in everything they did, from Academic success to Quidditch, and their constant feuding had become notorious among the rest of the student body. No matter how much the two of them attempted to avoid one another, somehow their paths always ended up crossing with one another and it would usually end up with Y/N screaming and prefects pulling the two away from each other before anyone got hurt—meaning, the bystanders who often got hit by stray hexes and jinxes. That being said, everyone knew better than to be in the way when Y/n Potter and Regulus Black were both in the same room. 

Platform nine and three quarters was bustling with students as it was every first of September. As a sixth year student, Y/n should've been used to it by now. But every time her eyes met with the scarlet steam engine train, she felt like a little first year, eager to learn magic on her own. Like every other student on the platform, her parents were fussing over her, making sure that she had everything that she needed for the whole term. 

“Yes, Mum. I have everything in my trunk, and yes I'll keep out of trouble. Honestly Mum, you should reserve this speech for Jamie. He's head boy, he can get away with everything now.” Y/n chuckled as her mother ruffled her hair. 

“Well, can I at least expect you to keep your brothers in line?” Euphemia asked her daughter, casting a look at James and Sirius—who is now an honorary Potter since Christmas of 1976.

“You know Jamie and Sirius, Mum. They're bloody menaces.” 

“Language, young lady.” Fleamont chuckled, “But, you're right. Just….make sure they won't do anything reckless?” 

“I'll try, Dad. But I'm not liable for anything.” Y/n giggled as she hugged her mother. 

“James! Sirius!” Euphemia called for her sons, “Take care of your sister, alright? It's your final year with her.” 

“Of course, Mum! I'll keep an eye out for tiny Potter.” Sirius chuckled as he put his arm around Y/n, earning a glare from the petite witch. 

“Yeah, we'll make sure no one messes with my baby sister. Any boy who'll ask her out will go through us.” James grinned at his little sister, who rolled her eyes at him. 

“Honestly, Jamie.” Y/n shook her head. 

“No boyfriends until you're thirty, baby sis.” James smirked. 

“James, let your sister have some fun.” Euphemia chuckled as tried to flatten James' hair, which didn't make any difference. 

“I agree with James. No boyfriends for you until you're thirty years old, my little angel.” Fleamont hugged his daughter tightly. 

“Let the girl live, Monty. She won't be a little girl forever.” Euphemia glared at her husband, “You too, James, Sirius.” 

“Fine.” All three men huffed, earning a giggle from both women. 

“Go on, my darlings. Get on the train,” Euphema chuckled, wrapping her arm around her husband's waist,  “be sure to write!” 

The Potter siblings along with Sirius stepped onto the train, waving at their parents as the train departed. The trio then walked to their compartment, which the Marauders claimed at the end of their second year. 

“Hey Moony.” Y/n smiled as she entered the compartment, “Where's Pete?“

“Not sure,” Remus shrugged, “Haven't seen him yet.” 

“I bet he's with that Hufflepuff bird.” Sirius said as he sat across Remus, “Wormtail's been pining after the girl for a year.” 

“Well, if he is with her, good for him. He got the girl, unlike Jamie here.” Y/n chuckled, sitting beside Remus. 

James rolled his eyes at his sister as he sat beside Sirius, “Mark my words, Evans will be mine by the end of the year.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Prongsie. You've been telling us that for the last six years.” 

“Good luck, Jamie. You're gonna need it more than ever.” Y/n giggled, patting her brother on his cheek.   

“Evans will love me, I just know it.” James sighed contentedly.

“Yuck,” Sirius playfully cringed, “You look like a lovesick puppy again.” Y/n burst out laughing, almost falling out of her seat. 

“I hate you guys.” James huffed playfully.

“You love us.” Sirius grinned cheekily. 

“You boys go ahead and talk…..boy stuff. I'm going to find Lily before the Head's meeting.” Y/n said as she got up, fixing the muggle clothes, flattening out any wrinkles, making sure she looked a bit presentable. “I'll be back in a bit.” she smiled at the boys before stepping out of the compartment. 

“Pitch in a good word about me to Evans!” James yelled from behind her. Y/n kept on walking, a smile on her lips. Her brother was hopelessly in love with the feisty redhead, Lily Evans.

Y/n walked down the long corridor of the train, scanning each compartment for her  red-headed best friend. Suddenly, the smell of sea salt, eucalyptus, sandalwood, and firewhiskey invaded her nostrils, and before she was even aware of its presence, Y/n collided with something hard. 

“You should watch where you're going, Potter.” His voice was as deep as the atlantic and emerald eyes locked into her hazel ones, as if he was staring into her soul. It was Regulus Black, the person she hated the most. Despite hating the Slytherin, Y/n couldn't help but notice changes in him. He didn't look like that boy who pushed her aside years ago. Y/n would be daft if she didn't admit that Regulus Black was drop dead gorgeous. His hair was much shorter than what she last saw, his curls framed his face better unlike the slicked back style he wore for the past five years. He looked like Sirius, though Regulus' aristocratic features were more defined—his jawline sharper than his older brother. The only thing left from the boy was his perpetual scowl. 

Y/n scoffed, snapping out of her thoughts, “You bumped into me, Black.” 

“Still not paying attention where you're going huh, Potter? Strutting around like you're some kind of goddess.” He sneered, looking her up and down.

“I do not strut, Black.” Y/n snapped. 

“Oh, but you do, my dearest Potter.” Regulus spat as he glared at the smaller witch in front of him.

“You, you, pompous, arrogant git!” 

“Ah, we're back to the petty insults?” He smirked, “Of course, it's practically tradition at this point.” 

“You insufferable prat,” Y/n spat, “get out of my bloody way.’’ 

“Gladly.” He pushed past the little witch, shoving her slightly to the side. 

Y/n let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. She then stormed back to the compartment, Lily would have to wait. As soon as she opened the doors, she immediately sat beside her brother, in an effort to calm herself down. 

“What's got your knickers in a twist, tiny Potter?” Sirius asked tentatively. 

Y/n shot him a dirty look before sighing, “Your fucking brother.”

“Just ignore him, Y/n.” Remus sighed, closing his book. “He's not worth it.” 

“What did he do this time?” Sirius snickered while James snorted. Y/n didn't understand they found her misery funny. Every time that Y/N complained about the younger Black, they'd find a way to make it hilarious. 

“He bumped into me, again. Told me I was strutting!” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Reggie is a prat, tiny Potter. He's mummy's little boy, a spoiled git at best.” Sirius laughed.

“I don't care. If he crosses me again, I'm going to break his pretty little face.” 

Remus raised a brow, “Oh, so you think he's pretty?”

Y/n's eyes widened, “W-what? No! I don't think—”

Sirius smirked, “Pretty face, huh?” 

“He looks like you, Padfoot! Of course, he has a pretty face.” Y/n insisted, her cheeks flushing. 

“Oi, quit teasing my sister.” James huffed, “She doesn't fancy your brother, Pads. Y/n/n despises him, more than we hate Snivellus.” 

“Well, the blush on her cheeks says otherwise, Prongsie.” Sirius chuckled.

“I do not and will never fancy Regulus Black!” Y/n snapped, shooting a threatening glare at Sirius. 

Regulus Black was the leader of the prats, according to Y/n Potter. It was nothing new, for everyone else, seeing them bicker almost every day. There was no way in hell that Y/n would like him, she would rather drown in the black lake. He was an insufferable git for all the years that Y/n knew him and she'd rather punch him in the face. 

“Enough of that,” James stood up, offering his hand out to Y/n. “We need to get to the prefect's carriage.” Y/n's scowl turned into a bright smile. “Oh, right! I'll just go and change into my robes. Now, all of you, get out.” James and Remus chuckled, while Sirius pouted, “Oh come on, tiny Potter, grace my eyes-” James hit him on the head, “Pervert.” 

The trio stepped out of the compartment, giving the younger witch privacy. After a few minutes, Y/n stepped out wearing her Gryffindor robes with a shiny prefect badge pinned onto the left side robes. 

“Authority looks good on you, Y/n,” Sirius grinned, “You can boss me around and I'd-” 

“My sister, Padfoot!” James growled. 

“Oh please, Prongsie, can't blame me for appreciating tiny Potter's beauty.” Sirius smirked, earning him a smack on the head from a protective James Potter. 

Y/n rolled her eyes at the sight of a pouting Sirius Black, before she took hold of Remus' hand. “Take me away from the idiots, please.” she chuckled, tugging on his arm. 

Remus chuckled, “Gladly.” 

The walk to the Prefects carriage was in perfect silence—aside from the huffing from Sirius, which Y/n chose to ignore. Remus had been a Prefect since his fifth year, along with Lily Evans. Y/n had been made a prefect as replacement for Lily, who is currently taking up the post of Head Girl. Y/n was ecstatic when she received her badge, she had been dreaming of becoming a Prefect since she was a first year—much like her friend, Lily. As soon as they approached the carriage, Y/n stepped aside, allowing Remus to open the door for her.

“Such a gentleman.” Y/n chuckled as she walked in first, James following her and finally Remus. Sirius stayed back, flirting with fifth year Ravenclaws. 

Y/n looked around, scanning the faces of each appointed Prefect. There was Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom, the other two prefects from Gryffindor. Florence Bell, Amaryllis Abbott, Francis Fawley and Christopher Gideon from Hufflepuff. Emmeline Vance, Julia Boot, Gilderoy Lockhart, and Dirk Creswell from Ravenclaw. And finally her eyes landed on a certain Slytherin. Regulus Black was standing besides Severus Snape, Pandora Rosier, and Dorcas Meadowes. Regulus Black had his lips curled into a sneer as his eyes settled on her. Y/n scowled at him and walked to the furthest seat away from the younger Black, Remus trailing behind her. 

“Why the hell is Potter here?” Severus Snape sneered at James. Y/n smiled cheekily, knowing that it would rile him up. “Which one?” 

“You know what I mean, Potter.” Snape sneered.

“Oh, you didn't know?” Y/n smirked, feigning innocence. “Jamie's Head Boy.” Snape scowled, but kept his mouth shut when Lily Evans glared at him. The redhead sighed, before muttering, “This is going to be a long year.” 

“Patrols will be done as pairs. Professor McGonagall is aiming for unity between houses, meaning each pair shall be from different houses. Here is a list of the pairs,” Lily smiled, passing one parchment to a Hufflepuff prefect on the right and the other to a Ravenclaw prefect on the left, “please note that these pairings were chosen by Professor McGonagall. I had nothing to do with this, same with the Head Boy.”

“I hope I'm partnered with you, Moony.” Y/n smiled, playfully nudging the older boy beside her. “You and me both, Y/n.” Remus chuckled, ruffling her hair. 

“Here you go.’’ The fifth year Ravenclaw smiled brightly, passing the parchment to Y/n. Muttering a quick 'thank you', she grabbed the piece of parchment, scanning it for her name.

Remus Lupin and Florence Bell

Amaryllis Abbott and Gilderoy Lockhart

Dirk Cresswell and Pandora Rosier

Severus Snape and Julia Boot

Francis Fawley and Alice Fortescue

Frank Longbottom and Emmeline Vance

Christopher Gideon and Dorcas Meadowes

Regulus Black and Y/n Potter

Y/n's eyes widened, “Oh, no, no, no.” Her hands gripped the parchment in horror. Her partner was none other than Regulus Black. 

“Who'd you get partnered with, baby sis?” James asked as he approached his sister with a warm smile, wrapping his arm over her shoulder. He peeked over the parchment, eyes widening at the name beside his sister's name. A teasing grin spread across his lips, “Good luck, you're gonna need it, more than ever.” James chuckled, using his sister's words against her. 

Y/n wanted to hit her brother, but she stood frozen, her eyes glued to the parchment in her hands. She let out a shaky exhale, before her eyes darted across the room, locking with emerald green that belonged to Regulus Black. 

“Please, please, try to remember that you all are Prefects. And as Prefects, you are not only representing your own respective Houses but the whole school in general as well. Please do not abuse the authority bestowed upon you, being biased shouldn't be taken into your duties as Prefects.” Lily informed with a pleading look in her eyes as her gaze turned to the Slytherin prefects. She took a deep breath before turning back to face everyone else. “I know the previous Head Girl and Boy were a little…..nonchalant in terms of being authoritative figures, which frankly in my opinion, is utterly careless, having multiple bullying cases from last year. I fully plan on making sure each and every one of you are treated fairly, none of those biased opinions.” Lily turned to James, who was making his way towards her after clapping his sister on the back. He ran a hand through his hair, making it messier as it regularly was. He stood right beside the redhead, flashing her a grin, which Lily rolled her eyes at. “As Head Boy, Potter, do you have anything else you'd like to add?” 

“Please, just try to be civil with one another, despite who your partners are, alright? They will be your partners for the whole year, better not start on the wrong foot, yeah?” 

Lily clapped her hands, “Now that we have the patrol partners settled, please go to your respective partners. As part of the Inter-house unity, you must get to know one another.”

Y/n did not want to spend her nights for the whole year with Regulus Black. She would rather jump off the astronomy tower, than be his partner for the whole year. As everyone walked up to their respective partners, Regulus Black and Y/n Potter stood still in their places. Y/n had her arms crossed over her chest as she blatantly refused to walk up to Regulus, much to Lily's annoyance. 

“If you two don't get your stubborn arses together right now, I will body bind the both of you together.” Lily threatened with a sickening sweet voice that made Y/n wince. 

Y/n huffed, before walking towards Regulus. She stood beside him, still making sure there was enough distance between them. The two stood in silence, not bothering to look at one another. 

“Oh, for the love of God.” Lily muttered as she saw Y/n and Regulus standing back to back. “Talk!” she yelled, making Y/n jump. She rolled her eyes, before turning to face Regulus, who was smirking at her. 

“What the fuck are you smirking at?” 

“So hostile, Potter.” Regulus rolled his eyes, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” 

“Arrogant git.” 

“Annoying bitch.” 

Y/n gasped, “You did not just call me a bitch!” 

“You started it, Potter. Don't act so offended.” Regulus smirked. Y/n scowled at him, wanting to punch the smug look on his face. 

“I hate you.” Y/n spat.

“Glad the feeling's mutual, Potter.”

After a few more reminders from Lily, the meeting finally ended—much to the pleasure of Y/n Potter. One by one, the Prefects stepped out of the room. Leaving Lily, James, Y/n, Remus, a sneering Severus Snape, and Regulus Black, of all people. 

"It's preposterous that after everything you've done over the last six years, Potter, the old codger made you, of all students, Head Boy.” 

Y/n's head immediately snapped at his direction, “You honestly thought it would be you, Snivellus?” Y/n laughed humorlessly, “Don't make us all laugh, you greasy git.” 

Snape clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing at the female Potter, stepping towards her. “No one asked you for your opinion, Potter.” Snape spat, “You're just as insufferable as your brother.”

“For your information, Snivellus, my brother deserved getting appointed as Head Boy. Have you seen him lead the Gryffindor quidditch team into victory? Oh wait,” Y/n feigned ignorance, “everyone else in Slytherin were too busy complaining about losing every single year to even see Gryffindor's talent.” Y/n spat, glaring daggers at Snape who in turn snarled at her, stepping forward into Y/n's personal space. As expected, Remus instinctively stepped beside Y/n, ready to protect the youngest Potter from Snape. Lily tried to step in, but Y/n's threatening low vice stopped her tracks, making her sigh and shake her head—though still on her guard, gripping her wand in case. 

“If you don't get out of my personal space, Snape, I will make sure you'll regret being born.” 

James, who strangely didn't come to his sister's rescue and kept calm despite what was happening, cleared his throat loudly. “If you don't mind, Snape,” James stood beside Lily, “Evans and I have work to do.”

Snape scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Drop the act, Potter.”

“I'm just doing my job and trying to get through it without causing a problem.” James insisted calmly—which was hard enough to say the least. 

“He doesn't deserve that badge, and you know it!” Snape spat angrily.

Snape turned to his former best friend, “Lily, you can't possibly  think he's changed!”

The redhead rolled her eyes, before standing up straight and walking up to James. “Please excuse us, Snape. We have jobs to finish before we arrive at Hogwarts.” Lily said flatly. 

“One more word about my brother I swear to Merlin-” 

“Or what?” Snape taunted, glaring at the little witch in front of him. 

“I'm going to shove your wand far up your arse until it comes out your abnormally large ugly nose!”

“Back down, Snape.” Regulus Black's icy tone echoed in their ears, their heads snapping towards him. Snape scowled, “You can't possibly be defending Potter.”

“I am not defending anyone, I'm doing my duty as Prefect. Evans,” he jerked his head towards the redhead witch, “has made it clear that biased opinions are not to be brought in situations like….this.”

Snape scoffed, “Potter's being a bitch! You can't-”

“I said back down, Snape!” Regulus hissed, “If you cannot be civil, take your objections to McGonagall or Dumbledore! You are acting like a child.” He growled at the older Slytherin, his green eyes flashing with annoyance. 

Lily, James, and Remus fell silent. Did Regulus Black really defend Y/n? Meanwhile, Y/nbscowled at the two Slytherins—not paying attention to the door that suddenly opened. Sirius poked his head in, a grin plastered on his face. 

“Wow, the air here is thick.” Sirius eyed his friends, before his gaze fell on his brother—he scowled, before quickly looking away before anyone could notice.

“Anybody got a knife?” Sirius said cheekily, which made his friends plus Lily groan. “One can easily cut the tension with it.”

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @thebetawolfgirl @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif

#regulus x reader #regulus black fanfiction #regulus black imagine #regulus black x reader #regulus black fanfic #regulus black #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #regulus x you #regulus x y/n #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #lily evans #fanfic #fanfiction #insert reader #the marauders era #the marauders #marauders era

[ideas-4-stories]

Cross Guild romance AU -

Buggy makes his own explosives, which doesn't sound all that important until you sit back and think of the ramifications and knowledge required for that. Buggy is damn good with chemistry, math, physics, and I bet he was the brain to Shanks's brawn on the Oro Jackson; he'd probably have been all over Crocus whenever he could to learn more about anything and everything.

Crocodile and Mihaw don't really put the two together, given that they see Buggy primarily as an idiot and coward. It's when an epidemic spreads on the island that some odd things click into place-

Buggy has forgone the big costume, is in comfy and sturdy clothes. His face is painted minimally, hair tied into a tight bun, bandana on, and he's working side by side with the medical professionals. He's elbows deep in checking vitals, organizing charts, and even synthesizing medications. More members are sick than not, and they go under a near-quarantine lock down to handle the illness. Between working in the medical tents and taking care of his people, Buggy has also had a hand in organizing for resources to be sent and delivered.

Neither Croc nor Hawk had even considered some of the balls Buggy has gotten rolling. They both have very strong immune systems, so they rarely face or think of illness or sickness as something to prepare for or to account for, but this just exploded one day seemingly without warning, and the clown had a plan in motion by eevening.

It's at this point that they begin to wonder if maybe there's something more to their Chairman than they first thought...

((Bonus points, they catch Buggy coming back from a long shift at the medtent, sent off by the other's to get some rest, so he's just at that sweet spot of tired enough to lose filter. They ask about the medicines, and Buggy goes on a mini infodump about chemicals, hormones, enzymes, antioxidants and antibiotics, mentions that he and a few others already have a few batches baking, and sleepily chuckles about how "the simpler ones seem to work well so far, thank goodness. I was worried... *yawn* that I'd have to dip into my supplies for my testosterone... *falls asleep at the table*.

Croc just becomes the Spiderman meme of "TRANS???" when Buggy wakes up))

I LOVE this is an understatement, this is so good!!! I love Competent!Buggy so much!!! Why can't the clown be a fucking genius while being clown-failure babygirl he is?

Buggy having a plan by evening is because he has so much anxiety, I mean, look at the poor clown! It's always the things that he didn't think of that happens that gets him in trouble. But this, he can do this. I also love the headcanon, that Buggy learn a lot of things from Crocus, so he has this in the bag!

It would be funny if Buggy could be fine in a really bad pandemics, but the flu and whatever the happened near Laugh-Tale is his biggest sickness problems. What am I saying, back to this cool ask!

Buggy being competent because he doesn't want his crew to die or get really ill, not because he needs them to work, but because he wants them healthy and happy. Buggy forgoing the pillow onesie for something better, and not taking that much time on his makeup is so good, that just shows how he priorities his Nakama before himself is so cute! I have a headcanon that Buggy has a least a Field Medic degree or a Nurse one. Mihawk and Crocodile watching at the sidelines is what I see them doing, because like the clown's being competent and they see there's not much they can do in this.

Yes, on Buggy rambling on and on about things he does, I want Buggy to infodump so hard. Like really really hard, Buggy could go on and on about things that interests him for a while.

Buggy is every gender and nothing at all to me, and the spiderman meme with Crocodile is the only one pointing at Buggy while Buggy is confused and sleepy, while Mihawk is just there on the sidelines. Is really funny to me.

#one piece #cross guild #cross guild polycule #buggy pirates #buggy the clown #sir crocodie #dracule mihawk #buggy the star clown #buggy the bombastic clown #hawkeye mihawk #mr. 0 #buggy the genius jester #buggy x mihawk #buggy x crocodile #buggy the flashy fool #crocodile x buggy x mihawk #crocbug #hawkbug #captain buggy #red haired shanks #ideas~4~stories says #ask

[cordeliawhohung]

js discovered ur blog recently and i am FED. im gobbling up the writings ur brain has created god bless🙏🏻

what do you think of mafia!price reacting to his wife being insecure about her stretch marks from her pregnancy/postpartum?

ive been so worked up over my stretch marks cause ive been gaining weight recently😭😭 btw, its totally cool if u dont wanna do this...

remember to take care of urself ya :3👍❗️❗️🔥🔥🔥

thank you so much!! and oh my god i have THOUGHTS about this. i gained 40ish pounds in the span of a few months and my stretch marks are so deep i can run my fingers over them and FEEL them and it took me a while to learn that it's natural and to accept them as a part of myself, but god is it freeing. anyway. story.

mafia!141 masterlist

warnings: body image issues, slight postpartum depression, hurt/comfort, fem!reader

You don't look in mirrors anymore.

Before you had your beautiful bundle of joy, your reflection had never bothered you. Really, there wasn't really anything you felt at all when you looked into one. All a mirror had been was just a tool. Something to guide your hands when styling your hair or to ensure you had cleansed the makeup from your face.

So quickly had that tool become a weapon.

Wretched and cruel, all the mirror seemed to reflect those days was everything you tried to ignore. The stretch of your skin, those atrocious lines that plagued your stomach and thighs; your eyes were magnetized to them every time you looked at yourself. Most of all, it reminded you that the day you gave birth to your daughter, you had become more than just a mother. You became a spectacle.

It's why you started wearing baggy clothes around the house because if you could muddle the shape of your body, maybe you could blur the crevices that shredded your skin. So when your darling husband snuck up behind you while you worked on folding laundry in the bedroom, your immediate instinct was to push him away. Despite how warm his arms felt around you with large, thick hands smoothing over your stomach, you were terrified he'd feel the parts of you that were broken.

"Everything alright, love?" John asked softly at your rejection. His fingertips slowly slipped off of your body but lingered as if he regretted the movement, and they seared as if he had dug claws into you, refusing to let go.

"Yeah," you answered, but you hated how broken you sounded, even to your own ears.

Your lie was obvious, not just in the tone of your voice but in the posture of your body. How sweaty hands held a half folded shirt against your stomach as if you could hide away the shame that ate away at you. Stepping to the side, John slowly lowered your hands away from you body and turned you to face him where you were met with the watery hue of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he questioned, all but ripping the answer from your mouth.

You hated the way your lip trembled, how your shame crashed against you with such overwhelming force you nearly suffocated. There were countless times when you had been bare in front of him, laid out perfectly in bed or on top of him with a sweaty body and quickened breath. So why did you feel more stripped in that moment than any other?

"Do you... still think I'm pretty?" you choked out.

John's expression didn't change much after those words left your mouth. It was as if he already knew what ailed you. In a way, he always seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.

"Do you think you are?" he countered.

"Not anymore."

He had expected that answer too, and yet still couldn't hide the way he nearly winced. You braced yourself for his rebuttal, for the string of words telling you that you were beautiful, that you were crazy to think otherwise. Your whole life, self deprecation was always met with stern correction, because god forbid you ever felt a little insecure.

But it wasn't that way with John.

Instead, he sunk to the ground until he was on his knees, and when he took your hands into his it felt as if he was proposing all over again. The love in his eyes, the way his thumbs ran over your knuckles, it was all so intimate, so raw, and your throat grew tight at the sight.

"You brought a beautiful, perfect girl into our lives," he said softly. His eyes didn't stray from you for even a moment. "Carried her for months. Nourished her; still nourishing her. I think it's a little unfair to expect yourself to stay unchanged. Doesn't make you any less beautiful. You're still my wife. My girl. The mother of my child."

It was impossible to stop the tears from spilling, and they only fell harder the moment John leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against your stomach. So tender, as if embracing an open wound and healing it all in the same motion. It was so kind, too kind, and it forced all of your thoughts and held back words to dissipate in the back of your throat.

"Darling, you're the love of my life," he said in a near whisper, "don't ever forget that."

#mafia!price #mafia!141 #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #f!reader

[fatuismooches]

I'M BITING MY HANDS I NEED MORE ZANDIK AT THE ACADEMY.

I love the little zandik at the academy, I love webttore, I love the grown-up dottore with gray hair and a little wrinkles. Ohh I can't😣😣

I NEED THEM ALL.

Cooked up some more Akademiya Dottore hcs for you anon...

Whenever he wore the Akademiya's hat with his uniform, you'd always steal it and he'd get mad, but eventually he gave up and let you hog it. It's probably a little big on you and as revenge, he'd make fun of you for looking dumb. Same with his clothes, for some reason you'd wear his Akademiya uniform to sleep sometimes? Zandik doesn't understand but every time he tries to pull it off of you, he's been unsuccessful, so he'll just let you be a strange little human since it seems to be working for your productivity... Centuries later he's learned to deal with a few shirts going missing and then you returning them after a while because they 'lost his scent.' (He wears the same outfit anyway, no big deal).

Thanks to you, there were quite a few times the professors actually listened to him. Other peers pretty much never vouch or stand up for him so it does make them think a bit when a student such as yourself does do it so vehemently. Zandik says you don't need to waste your time on it since he doesn't really care what they think, but he did manage to get a few more research opportunities thanks to you. In the beginning, he was pretty much clueless on how to express some sort of gratitude since he couldn't force out the words 'thank you' for the life of him. It was very funny for you to watch.

Group projects become so much better once the two of you get comfortable with each other. Both of you have been victims of doing all the work. You were quite excited to work with someone like him because you know of his intelligence and how he gets down to business. Meanwhile, Zandik was quite skeptical and annoyed to work with you in the beginning because he thought you were just another person who would end up leeching off him again.

However, he was surprisingly yet pleasantly proven wrong. He's especially impressed with your writing in the reports/essays, but he's never going to admit that. At least not now. The synergy between you two and your minds is something he doesn't know how to deal with at first, having dealt with so many of the opposite situations, but it's one of the biggest things that Zandik grows to be appreciative of.

When the semester is over, all students need to leave/clear the dorms until the next semester begins. Most return to wherever home is, but of course that's not something Zandik has, so most times he manages to rent out a place for a while. When you met him in the beginning he would just disappear to Archons knows where and then come back as if nothing happened next semester.

It takes a long time for him to tell you. When he does, he claims that he regrets it due to how often you show up to bother him, but in reality, he finds himself lonely without your company. As even more years go by, eventually he "invites" you to live with him. ("Invites" as in he never directly says it. Just drops subtle hints so you would ask him first instead). You're just happy to be able to cook for him more often (and 24/7 cuddles!!) (Just me trying to push my domestic Zandik and Reader agenda).

Just frequently being with each other but not needing to interact with the other. Both of you just do your own things in the peace of knowing the other's there.

Doesn't like when you ask others for help when he's literally right there. Please ask your genius scholar bf first. It doesn't matter what the problem is. Just ask him otherwise he'll get huffy and glare at you. No, you're not wasting his time by doing so. Rather, you're wasting both his and your time when you decide to go to other people first!

Coming home from expeditions. For some reason despite how tired you are, you want to feed stray kitties. It becomes a sort of tradition for you two.

This one was said a while ago, but I'll bring it back again (x, x, x) but you needing to wipe Zandik's hands because he keeps breaking pens and splattering ink everywhere. Whenever you see he gets a little too excited, you swipe the pen and start writing light-speed so he doesn't try to steal it from you for being 'too slow.'

#smooches talks #dottore love notes <3 #glad im not the only escher simp around once again #this is such a safe space #but ouhh yess... akademiya zandik is my beloved #he would make the college experience so much better #(speaking as someone who was excited for college initially but it ain't that great 💀) #some of these are a tiny bit 🤏 self indulgent for me

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 12)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven

“We have one month, that is all. After that, two of us are back in the arena and we need to be ready.”

This meeting of district twelve’s victors is called to session a bit earlier than Haymitch would like. Not that any of them have been sleeping anyway.

“So you want us to do what, exactly?” Haymitch cocks his head to the side.

“I think we need to train, all of us. Everyday.” Peeta says, pointedly.

Haymitch huffs a laugh.

Y/N squeezes her husband’s shoulder, “I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

“You’re gonna start deadlifting until this kid comes flying out of you?” Haymitch rears back in perturbed amusement.

Y/N shakes her head. “There are things I can still do. Brush up on my skills, learn a new one.”

“I could teach her to shoot,” Katniss offers.

Y/N shrugs, “she could teach me to shoot.”

“And you could teach us how to throw knifes.”

“We’ve all won the games.” Peeta reminds Haymitch in particular. “We can all learn from each other.”

————————————————————————

A couple weeks later they sit down with the kids, unsure how to broach the topic of tonight’s discussion. But the whispers around town are loud, better they hear it from their parents than someone else.

“Do you remember when we talked about the Hunger Games?” Y/N begins.

Everest nods, they talk about it in school too. “If you win, you become a victor.”

“Right,” Y/N leans across the table a bit more.“This year is a Quarter Quell.”

“That means a special games, like Daddy’s.” Arista adds.

“This year…” Haymitch hesitates, “it means that only victors can go.”

“They can’t do that,” Everest interjects.

“But you’re victors.” Arista says, a look of realization dawning over her features.

“Let’s talk through this.” Haymitch attempts to calm his children. “I know you both have a lot of questions.”

“No, they can’t do that. It’s not fair!” Everest’s little hands ball into fists.

“Honey-”

“Are you gonna die?” He cries, angry, hot tears cascading over his cheeks. “Katniss? Peeta? What about our friends? Cashmere, Gloss, Finnick, Mags? Who’s gonna take care of us if you’re both-”

Arista’s breathing picks up and she abandons her seat, crawling into her mother’s lap, though there is not much room. “They can’t make you play with a baby in your belly.”

“Shhh.” Y/N rocks her gently. “I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“So that’s it? We just give up?”

“No,” Y/N locks eyes with her son. “We’re not giving up, we’re gonna fight. Every victor, all of us, to try and stop the games.”

“Maybe you can stop it.” Arista nods, against Y/N’s chest.

“Maybe we can,” Y/N agrees, “but if we can’t, just incase, we need to talk about-”

“Is Aunt Madge gonna take us?”

“That’s the very last resort.” Haymitch admits, “we don’t know whose names they’re gonna call, even then, someone else could volunteer. Ideally, one of us will be able to-”

“So what you’re saying is that after this two weeks we might never see you again?”

“We’re going to do everything we can.” Haymitch promises.

“But it’s possible?” Everest is confused, outraged.

“Yes. It’s possible.”

The days run together, between training and spending as much time with their children as they can. On that last night, the children sleep between them, Y/N on one side and Haymitch on the other, clinging to this moment.

Cruelly, inevitably, the sun rises. Madge is at their door and Y/N comes to answer, while Haymitch and the children ready themselves.

Her sister says not a word, pulling Y/N in for a hug.

“Thank you for coming.” Y/N breathes, smoothing down the younger woman’s hair.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Madge wishes she could do more. “I’ll do my part here and wait for you to come home.”

“They need you, Madge. Now more than ever.”

Madge only holds her tighter. “I love you.”

“I love you so much.”

Peacekeepers are sent to collect them, marching the four victors to the justice building. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen trail closely behind Madge and the Abernathy children, one clasped in each hand.

“Welcome, welcome,” Effie begins her speech, “as we celebrate the seventy-fifth anniversary and third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games.”

From his place on the stage, Haymitch can see his children. The boy, that squawked like a bird the first time he was placed in Haymitch’s arms, reminding him that the world might not be such a terrible place. The girl, that had him wrapped around her little finger before she could speak and gave him reason to dream. They look to him in fear now. Fear that they will lose their mother, fear that they will lose him.

“As always, ladies first.”

Y/N reaches for Katniss’ hand. There is nothing to hope for, no favorable outcome.

Effie draws the name, clearing her throat before announcing. “Y/N Abernathy.”

Madge lifts Arista into her arms, hushing the little girl as best she can, but she is distraught. Her hiccuping sobs causing the crowd to shift uncomfortably. Prim scoots in to rub her back.

Everest does not move. He does not blink and he does not cry. Forever ingraining this image of his mother in his mind.

Y/N can’t risk a glance at Haymitch. She knows how deeply the knife is buried in his chest, how the guilt will twist it, now and for years to come.

Katniss jerks her back almost forcefully, “no.”

“It’s ok,” Y/N whispers.

“I volunteer.”

“Katniss, please don’t do this.” Y/N pleads, but they are out of time, they are out of good choices.

“I volunteer as tribute.” Katniss announces, with more certainty the second time. Pulling her hand from Y/N’s to stand beside Effie, at the center of the stage.

“Wonderful.” Effie swallows down her sorrow, the show must go on, “and now for the male.”

Y/N’s head is light, spinning as if she might faint. Her lungs burn, perhaps she has stopped breathing.

“Haymitch Abernathy.”

“I volunteer as tribute,” Peeta says, without hesitation.

“I can’t let you do that,” Haymitch stops him, with a hand to his chest.

“You can’t stop me.” Peeta narrows his eyes.

“Peeta-”

“Let go.”

Haymitch has no choice but to obey. Sending their victors back as tributes, erasing all they’ve done.

“Very well,” Effie sniffs, hoping to regain some composure, “the tributes from district twelve; Katniss Everdeen…and Peeta Mellark.”

The entirety of their district raises three fingers in solidarity. They are not alone in this sadness; this defeat. Among the crowd, Y/N finds her mother, who has not been coherent enough to attend a reaping since her own.

She’s never blamed her mother, not for her absence or her addiction, nor the inability to move past Maysilee’s untimely death. Y/N cannot imagine losing her little sister, part of her would die too.

The idea that maybe she could talk to her before she leaves, maybe her mother has some divine words of wisdom or comfort-

Commander Thread takes Katniss by the arm, robbing her and Peeta of the chance to say goodbye. Y/N and Haymitch are carted away shortly after. Straight to the train station.

The ride is silent for a long while; eventually the four of them find each other, dutifully seated in the blue velveteen chairs. Drawn together like magnets, though there are no words.

Haymitch slumps down in his chair, extending his free hand to Y/N.

She takes it, the same way she always has, with a love and understanding that Haymitch is sure he will never deserve. But that is the problem with love; with life, really. So rarely does anyone get what they deserve.

Y/N continues preparing her presentation for the morning, detailing the participating victor’s strengths and weaknesses. Hesitating at each name she knows well.

Cashmere and Gloss, district one…

The train car doors open and Effie joins them, “before we begin, I’ve had a thought.”

“You don’t say.”

Effie gives Haymitch the side eye, pressing on in spite of his remark. “Katniss has her gold mockingjay pin, I have my hair.” The swirling golden updo. “I’m going to get the three of you something gold.”

Y/N finally looks up.

“And why is that?” Haymitch wonders, sipping at his teacup, containing a bit more than leaves.

“A token! Show them we are a team, and they can’t just-”

“Thank you,” Katniss says, taking Effie’s hand.

Peeta’s gaze softens. He’s accepted his fate, the only thing to do now is make sure Katniss is happy, keep her alive.

————————————————————————

No expense is spared for this very special Quarter Quell. A new training center and tribute living quarters are waiting to greet them in the Capitol.

“I want you to forget everything you think you know about the games.” Haymitch cuts through the silence. “Last year was child’s play, this year you’re dealing with all experienced killers.”

“Ok. What does that mean for us?” Peeta asks.

“It means you’re going to need some allies.”

“No.” Katniss shoots him down.

“Do it your own way, but we know these people and if you go it alone their first move will be to hunt you down.”

“Katniss, I know it’s not easy for you to trust them,” Y/N understands how difficult this all must be. “So you’re just gonna have to trust us.”

“Fine, show me.”

Y/N makes for her tablet, dimming the lights as her slideshow is put to the big screen.

“This should be good.” Peeta relaxes farther into the loveseat beside Katniss.

“Cashmere and Gloss. Brother and sister from district one, they won back to back games, Capitol favorites, lots of sponsors.”

“This is your first choice?” Katniss nearly chokes on her own saliva.

“Well,” Y/N swipes to the next screen, “they’re careers so they are extremely lethal. A few other positive attributes would be strength, agility, very intelligent. They offer protection, opportunities for better sponsors-”

“Despite some favoritism and general bias on her part,” Haymitch motions to Y/N, “this a strong choice.”

Katniss nods, she’ll consider it. For Y/N.

“From district three, Wiress and Beetee. Not fighters, but brilliant and…weird, real tech savvy.”

“We chose them because they offer a unique skill set-”

“Yes.” Katniss agrees, surprising even Peeta.

“O-ok,” Y/N moves to the next contender. “This is Finnick, from district four.”

“He won his games at fourteen, youngest ever. Don’t let that fool you, he’s incredibly humble.”

“You’re kidding.” Katniss scoffs.

“Yes, he’s a peacock, a total preener,” Haymitch does not mince words, “but he’s the Capitol darling, they love him here, lots of sponsors.”

“Very skilled in combat, especially in water.”

They carry on like this for some time, through Johanna in seven, Chaff and Seeder in eleven. Leaving Peeta and Katniss much to discuss as they retire for the night.

“You think she’ll come around?” Y/N dares to ask.

“You want me to be honest?” Haymitch tosses wayward hair from his eyes.

“Yes.”

“It’s gonna take a miracle.”

————————————————————————

Watching Haymitch’s games is a necessary evil, giving them some insight into the craftings of a Quarter Quell arena. The landscape is nothing short of paradise. Vibrant colors, beautiful creatures and a feast, complete with candy, weapons, anything a tribute could ask for; right at the cornucopia.

But the food is poison and the wildlife is deadly, in the games nothing is ever as it seems.

Though Haymitch does not fall prey to the gamemarker’s trap, many tributes do. He goes it alone for a while, ending up head to head with a pack of allies. He fights, better than Katniss imagines anyone could without experience; managing to take down two out of three opponents, before the knife is held to his throat.

The girl who spares him looks familiar, in a way that Katniss can’t place, sporting the same gold mockingjay pin she was given at the hob. “We’d live longer with two of us.”

“She looks like Madge.” Peeta voices this before Katniss can.

“She’s my mom’s little sister,” Y/N explains.

And then it all makes sense, or none of it does. Another layer to their mentor’s great ‘love story’ for Katniss and Peeta to attempt dissecting, in a bizarre form of pillow talk.

Haymitch has found the edge of the arena, Maysilee wants to turn back and he doesn’t. “We should say goodbye now. There’s only five of us, don’t want it to come down to the two of us.”

“Ok,” Haymitch lets her go.

Her screams follow not long after, the bubblegum pink birds begin tearing through her throat with razor sharp beaks.

Y/N remains glued to the screen, though the ending never changes and she cannot raise the dead.

In the end, Haymitch puts the force field to good use, leading the last career and her axe to the cliff side. Holding intestines inside his body with one hand, he waits for the weapon to ricochet; burying its blade in her skull.

“That was smart.” Katniss purses her lips.

“Too smart,” Haymitch bites out in warning, “do not attempt it. That move got my family killed.” He leaves without a word.

Y/N doesn’t go after him. Sometimes Haymitch needs to be alone and if she chases him, he won’t run. He’s too good a man and he loves her too much. He would stay, even as every cell in his body yearns to go.

————————————————————————

Haymitch returns, after a bottle or two and a very interesting talk with Plutarch. There is a plan, one to extract the victors from the arena, all they have to do is stay alive until then. He searches the tribute living quarters for Y/N, finding her already asleep in their bed.

He is determined not to wake her, flipping off the forgotten light overhead and changing out of his suit.

She stirs as he draws back the covers. “Haymitch?”

“Shh,” he climbs in behind Y/N to cradle her belly, “sleep.”

“Is everything ok?” She reaches back, stroking his hair.

“Everything is fine.” He finds her hand, kissing at her wrist and fingers, before gently lying it back on the bed.

Y/N nuzzles farther against him, “ok.”

“You know I’m always coming back, right? No matter what.” Their child shifts under his palm.

“I know,” she nods.

“If anything ever happened to you-”

“Haymitch, you don’t need to say it.”

Yes I do. “When I lost my family, I kept going. Out of spite, or insanity, whatever it was that kept me going, I did it. But if you were gone…if our kids were gone; I couldn’t. I need you safe. I need you.”

“You have me.” Y/N breathes, “right here. Just you and me.”

Part 13

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating

#thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch x reader #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy x yn #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #peeta mellark #moves & countermoves

[inklore]

love lies

premise: the love you have for your fiancé is a farce that you’ve perfected for three years that has gone unnoticed by everyone, except her.

pairing: villanelle x (f)reader

word count: 1.7k

contents: cheating, fingering, choking, sort of knife play, getting off to the talks of blood and murder, dirty talk-ish, they’re both a bit unhinged but that’s ok.

note: this is an au obviously so take v’s character as you will and not as what’s canon ok, but cheers to my gay ass finally writing for her!

haunted hoedown day one.

The fake smile that you know has to be hurting the blonde’s face from being held for the entirety of the night makes something in your stomach curdle. 

Makes your nerves sit on edge at the agitation, the secrets, and the lies that the smiles hold. That the owner of it is hiding. She deserves applause for keeping up with the act. The nice neighbor. The befriending of the nice couple who just moved in next door, getting close to the soon to be wife who left all her friends and troubles behind to move to Paris with her fiancé. 

A move you agreed to. 

A move you imagined would bring you and your fiancé closer. Would change that pit in your stomach that has since become a gaping hole every time you planned for the wedding. Planned to spend your life next to this man you only seemed to love when he was suffering. 

When he was vulnerable. Brow pulled down in sadness. A cut done by a kitchen knife while he was cutting vegetables that you pushed down on harder than you needed to while cleaning it. When you accidentally put the wrong salve on it, just to watch him wince and squirm. 

That look in his eyes when you were on top of him and you wrapped your fist around his throat to watch that sheen in his eyes question if you were going to let go. The last hitch in his lungs before you cut the air flow off completely. 

“I just get really into it, I'm sorry.” You had told him when he asked about it after the first time, and who was he to take away from the pleasure of the woman he loved? 

His ignorance was bliss. 

But it was also tiring. Creating that gaping hole that the love he poured out to you ran through endlessly where it should have made you whole. Full. Better. 

And yet you agreed to wear the ring he saved up to get you. Followed him across the ocean. 

Your ignorance was a farce you didn’t know how to get out of. A farce that you’ve perfected for three years. That has gone unnoticed by everyone.

Except the blonde to your left. 

The blonde, who had almost lost her touch on pretending to care about whatever was coming out of your fiancé’s mouth the longer the night went on. The longer her eyes caught yours. The longer her knee had pressed into your inner thigh after leaning herself further against the table—giving a look of fake eagerness—the more she pushed her legs between your open ones. 

Your look of warning made her fake smile twitch into her real one—devilish, mischievous. 

But now both smiles are gone and the two of you are standing in your kitchen, and you’re thankful for the dishtowels in your hands that are keeping them busy with drying because you know her resistance is running thin. 

The patience she’s had all night that has threatened to come out in the possible slip of her false accent—the accent you only found to be fake when she cornered you in the entryway of your flat, her lips against yours, your name sounding better in her rigid Russian accent than her fake French one. 

Your hands had gone from being in her hair to pushing at her shoulders, removing her from your body not because of the lie but because you needed the excuse to stop this, where every part of your being was sighing in relief from finally giving into the tension. To finally being touched by someone you actually desired. 

You may not have loved your fiancé, but starting a torrid affair with your new neighbor didn’t seem like the right way to get out of your current situation—something you eventually learned was the exact opposite. 

“I’ll be your dirty little secret, if that’s what you’re into. If it makes this easier for you. We both know he’s not your type.”

And if there was an award for reading someone completely through to their core and being right, Villanelle would win, and you’d be the loser.

“He is a very annoying chewer.” She breaks the silence, “did you know this when you accepted his proposal?” Your silent raised brow is enough for her to put her hands up in defense. “It was just an observation.” She sighs, picking up another dish, “a very annoying observation.” 

Your mind scatters to scrounge up something that sets your nerves on edge about Villanelle. To what? Stick up for the man you don’t love? Or to try and prove to her that you actually do have feelings for the man who’s in the next room carrying on with his night happily, thinking he just had a great dinner with his soon to be wife and their hospitable neighbor who’s definitely not fucking his fiancé? 

But there’s nothing to prove to the woman who can read right through you.��

Who’s gotten off at the palms you’ve both wrapped around each other's throats. 

You can’t disguise yourself in front of the queen of them. 

It’s a losing game.

A game you’re not interested in playing, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself to. 

A game you should play. To resist this woman and the detrimental feelings she brings up. The feelings that fill the void inside of you with the toxic waste of your shared fucked-upness. 

Your eyes catch the glint of the knife in Villanelle’s hands. The way her fingers run along the blade to clean it. The tight grip she has on the handle. The confidence she has in knowing she’s not going to slip and cut herself—like she’s held worse in her hands and done worse with it. 

The sight—the thought—makes you swallow harder. Makes those dark feelings and thoughts light something deep in your stomach that has you aching. That has your eyes looking up through the doorway towards the room where you know your fiancé is. 

“I could do it, you know, quick, painless. He wouldn’t feel a thing.” Her accent is thicker when she’s whispering. When she’s this close, leaning into your side, breathing against the shell of your ear. 

Her words make your grip slip, the glass in your hand tumbling into the sink, making you jump; making your thighs press together, your lungs forget how to take in air as you envision the blood that would stain your rugs, that would stain Villanelle’s skin. 

“Everything okay in there?” 

His voice is like a cold shower to the heat burning through your nerves like wildfire. 

“Yes!” Villanelle pipes up in her fake French accent, “just a case of slippery fingers.” Her laugh is short and looks misplaced with the lack of smile on her face. With the fire that’s burning in her eyes when you look up at her, that glint of something you’ve yet to see but know is within her. That you know is within you. That has always been within you if you’d just dived deep enough to face the inevitable instead of letting her touch, kiss, fuck it out of you. 

He’s still talking, saying words your ears—and your mind—refuse to register as Villanelle grips your waist and pushes you against the counter. 

The knife still in her hand, the tip pressed to your breast bone, more distracting. More worth focusing on. Stealing all your attention and breath, even as she’s replying to him. As she’s keeping up with surade like her eyes aren’t burning through you. Like you can’t see how heavy she’s now breathing. How the sheen in her eyes is the complete opposite of someone who is weak, and it turns you on even more. 

“It's worse when I push it through slowly.” Her breath ghosts over your lips as she whispers, as she leans forward, the tip of the knife presses further into your skin, making your breath catch at the sting. “I would do it so he would have already bled out before he knew what had happened to him.” The edges of her mouth rise in a soft smirk, “or would you rather me show you? So you can understand how it feels and do it yourself. You would look so good doing it.” The arousal in her voice that leaks through in the rough kiss she presses to your mouth is just as intoxicating as her words. 

You don’t have time to mourn the loss of the blade at your chest when she moves it to press the two of you closer, to grip the sides of your neck to keep your lips on her mouth. To give her easier access to lick and bite into and against your open mouth, willing—needing—all she is giving to you. 

When her hand slips up your dress, your thighs spread to give her access to where the both of you need her to be. To the cotton of your underwear and past the elastic band, to that ache that has you wet and warm and throbbing against her palm and fingers. 

Her middle finger presses against your clit, your gasp concealed by her lips, your fingers digging into the side of her shirt. 

“God, you’re so wet.” Her finger leaves your clit, the heel of her palm flush against it as she pushes a finger inside of you. “Is this all for me or for wanting him dead?” She teases and smirks when you can’t answer because you know you’ll do it too loudly. 

When you both know the answer already. 

If the two of you were alone, if you weren’t trying to be quiet—to stop the inevitable of your fiancé finding out or worse happening to him—you’d want Villanelle to keep talking. To coax you to your orgasm with her teases and remarks. To drop down to her knees and bury her face between your thighs until you were begging her for more, and then begging her to stop when she gave you too much.

But you’re not alone, and there’s only so many gasps and pants she can swallow down. Can lick out of your mouth with her tongue, thanks to her skillful fingers. 

Thanks to the palm around your throat and the thumb pressing against your pulse point. 

“One day I will kill him, and you will be mine.” 

And as you come with her name breathed into her satisfied smirk, you believe her.

You want her to. 

You know she will.  

#villanelle x reader #villanelle x you #villanelle smut #killing eve fanfic #villanelle one shot #villanelle fic #villanelle fanfic #killing eve one shot #villanelle imagine #killing eve fanfiction #oksana astankova #oksana astankova x reader #villanelle x y/n #villanelle astankova #hauntedhoedown

[sashi-ya]

ishida ryuuken x f! reader tw: suggestive language, not entirely nsfw. reader is of course a grown up. wc: 589 masterlist 🌱

OLDER, COLDER. “It doesn’t matter how old you become; you will never learn Uryu. You are a fool, son”. “Same goes to you, Ryuuken!”

You listen to them argue, as probably every time you’ve seen them together. Your best friend and his father… his absolutely attractive, troubled, and cold as snow father.

Uryu lays, once again, in a bed of his own hospital. He has gone too far and ended up hurt one more time. And yet again, despite the years and being an adult now, gets treated by his father, Ryuuken Ishida.

You, waiting right by the entrance, hope for Uryu to calm down. You don’t want him to feel embarrassed that you’ve witnessed -in words of Ryuuken- one of his “tantrums”.

However, it isn’t for you to decide.

“Come on in, (Name). Perhaps your presence will make this kid calm down” Ryuuken says, knowing too well you were there. He can sense your spiritual pressure, after all he is still a Quincy.

Hearing your name being called by him makes your insides shiver. Yet, how immoral it feels… your best friend’s father, a widower… a man you’ve known since you were a little girl.

And a man you desire, a man you lust for.

“Ah… yes. Hi. Ishida-kun, are you ok?” you ask, seeing your friend bedridden but well enough to be shouting at his father. Probably, it was just a minor injury made in battle, but still needed to be taken care of. That, or maybe Ryuuken’s only way of showing him affection is by curing his wounds.

“I’ll leave you two alone, I got work to do” Ryuuken says, placing his heavy hand on your shoulder. He squeezes just enough to -at least in your mind- assert dominance over you too.

You can barely breathe. But you nod. Trying to focus on your friend, trying to ignore that man’s crushing presence invisible squeezing your neck.

Soon, you relax. And Uryu does too. It doesn’t take much for you two to engage in pure nonsense and some hours of “tik tok” watching. The time, in fact, escapes your track and soon the sun sets on a cold winter day of Karakura town.

By the time you realize it’s too late even for a calm little city like yours, Uryu has finally fallen asleep peacefully and soundly. He needed it, rest is mandatory to get better.

As the soft cycle of breathing of your best friend fills the room, you walk slowly towards the big window ahead. It doesn’t really surprise you to see heavy snowflakes falling, but it does seeing the state of the road.

“Oh… fuck” you murmur, soft almost inaudibly not to wake up Uryu. You know exactly this will mean no coming home tonight; by the time you’ve walked two blocks you would be buried under a white coat of ice.

“I thought you’d left earlier. A snowstorm is coming tonight” a deep, still soft voice whispers behind you. His hand lands on your waist, pulling you slightly against him.

“I wasn’t aware…” you sigh, turning around to see a white coat as white as his hair. You bite your lip, with your belly pressing against his… his hand squeezing you tightly….

A dimmed white light coming from the hall outside filters and shines against his glasses, but his body covers almost it all. You are left in the dark, right in front of him and next to his son’s bed.

“Come to my office, doll. We won’t be able to go back home tonight” “Yes, Ryuuken-sama…”

#mini scenarios series 🌱 #ryuken ishida #ryuken x smut #bleach x reader #bleach ryuken #ryuken ishida x reader #bleach #sub character #bleach smut #bleach anime #bleach imagines #bleach fanfiction #bleach fanfic #bleach fanart #sashi ya

[shangrila11]

Songs of the dragons // Dragon! Dan Heng (HSR) x reader [AU]

Bold = Draconic language

Content warning // Brief implication of death

(Y/N) stepped outside, a grin on their face. Sunlight shone down on them and a cool breeze touched their cheeks -- the perfect weather for going out and tending to the crops. They grabbed a hoe and started weeding the field, pausing every once a while to wipe the beads of sweat trickling down their forehead.

Just then, (Y/N) heard something that sounded like singing. What was more, it was in a language that they had never heard of. They looked towards the source of the sound and saw a group of dragons high up in the sky. (Y/N) watched in awe as the sky gradually turned down and rain started pouring down. They closed their eyes, enjoying the beautiful, haunting melody and the rain on their skin. Their eyes snapped open before widening. That was perculiar. The words to the song were slowly but surely becoming less intelligible to them...

"...And that was how I first understood and learn your language. Apparently, when I was little, I came down with a fever. Fortunately, my parents happened to find a dragon scale which was said to have mystical properties according to us humans. They grounded it and used to make medicine," (Y/N) concludes. The dragon beside them hums thoughtfully.

"I see," he replies. He winces as (Y/N) applies some antiseptic on his leg. The human apologises, saying they are already being as gentle as they could.

"There's no need to apologise. You did warn me earlier, did you not?" the dragon assures them.

"Right," (Y/N) laugh sheepishly. After they have finished applying the antiseptic, they carefully wraps a bandage around the wound.

"There. All done," they declare with a smile. The dragon slowly lifts his injured leg. It feels a little better already. He thanks (Y/N) for treating his wound.

"You're welcome! Be careful not to get caught in fishing nets next time," they answer. They bow and introduce themself. The dragon dips his head.

"I'm Dan Heng. It's a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N)."

xxx xxx

"Dan Heng?" (Y/N) gasps, staring at the male in front of them. He is gorgeous, with long, black hair and piercing turquoise eyes. He wears a white sleeveless shirt -- reminsicent of the colour of the dragon's scales -- with long, unattached sleeves that are accented with teal and gold, as well as black pants

"Yes, it's me. I figure I should adopt a human form so that it's easier to interact," the male nods. He frowns. "Is... something the matter with my appearance?"

"No, not at all!" (Y/N) hurriedly replies. "It's just that... you look really pretty and majestic, both as a dragon and as a human." They flush.

"O -- oh. Thank you," Dan Heng stammers, his expression mirroring (Y/N)'s. "I -- I'm flattered to hear that."

"A -- anyway, would you like to come with me to the village? I think you will like it there," (Y/N) offers, desperately trying to change the subject before things get awkward between them.

"Are you certain? Humans tend to... keep their distance around me and my kind. I don't think that this disguise will be able to conceal my true nature from them since I speak another tongue," the male frowns. In fact, (Y/N) is the first human who approach him without much nerves.

"Good point," (Y/N) agrees, frowning as well. Dragons, being able to perform various feats like summoning the rain, are revered by the people. Some people even feared dragons, not wanting to face their wrath. "That's even more reason to come with me. If people see you spending time with me, they will know that you are approachable. So what say you?" They give Dan Heng an encouraging smile.

"... Alright. I'll give it a try," he relents. A small smile makes its way across his face seeing (Y/N)'s smile widen and their eyes twinkle. Eagerly, (Y/N) takes Dan Heng's hand and leads him to their village.

As anticipated, the people in the village dare not to approach Dan Heng upon hearing him talk in his kind's language and because of his aura. (Y/N) reassures him that it will take a while for the people to get used to his presence and that in the meantime, he just has to be himself. Dan Heng decides to take their word for it, trusting them. For now, he turns his focus on simply enjoying the sights and company. It is interesting to observe how humans lead their lives this close. (Y/N) is also pleasant company, explaining to him their customs and sharing some interesting tidbits and their home life.

After the tour around the village, (Y/N) invites Dan Heng to visit their home. Dan Heng is a little hesistant at first but the human assures him that it will be fine. Their parents have been wanting to meet him, after all. And so the male caves in. Together, the two of them heads to (Y/N)'s home.

"Mom! Dad! I'm home!" (Y/N) announces cheerfully as they enter their home, with Dan Heng awkwardly trailing behind them. Their parents warmly greet them before turning their attention to the male.

"And who is this young man?" their mother asks, smiling. (Y/N) introduces Dan Heng and their parents to each other.

"Ah, so you're the famous Dan Heng that my child has been talking about non-stop," Mr. (L/N) grins. "It's great to finally meet you." (Y/N) quickly translates what their father has said to Dan Heng.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. and Mrs. (L/N)," Dan Heng bows. Once again, (Y/N) translates what Dan Heng has said.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?" Mrs. (L/N) smiles.

"Yes, please do join us for dinner! My mum makes the best (favourite dish)," (Y/N) grins.

"... Very well. Thank you for the invitation," Dan Heng nods. Beaming brightly, (Y/N) guides Dan Heng to sit beside them while their parents sit across the two of them. The meal is delectable. Besides, conversing with (Y/N)'s family (with (Y/N) acting as their translator) fills Dan Heng with a sense of warmth so similar yet so different from that he feels with his family. While his parents mean well, they can be a little strict with him due to his... position.

Perhaps dragons and humans are not that different after all...

xxx xxx

(Y/N) places the di zi* to their lips before blowing into it. Crisp, beautiful notes emit from the dizi, stringing together to form a tune. Dan Heng is by their side, appreciating the melody. He quietly admires the concentrated look on his companion's face, as well as the graceful way their fingers glide across the finger-holes of the instrument.

"What do you think?" (Y/N) asks after they are done.

"It's... lovely," the dragon turned human compliments them.

"Why, thank you. Glad to know that my years of practice aren't in vain," (Y/N) beams, a faint blush blossoming on their cheeks. "Speaking of music, you dragons sing, don't you? However, I haven't heard you sing before." They look at Dan Heng, silently asking if they can hear him sing.

"Er... well..." Dan Heng stammers, averting his gaze away from them. A look of understanding crosses (Y/N)'s face. They gently pat his shoulder.

"It's alright. Some other time. Only if you want to, of course," they smile affectionately. Dan Heng's heart flutters. How can one be as warm and radiant as the sun?

"Thank you," he replies. He pauses for a moment before continuing, "I may not be comfortable letting you hear me sing but we can go flying. That is, if you would like to."

"I would love to," (Y/N) beams, their eyes sparkling. Dan Heng returns their smile with a small one of his own.

"Alright then," he nods. He closes his eyes in concentration. A stream of water materialises, surrounding him. When it clears, he stands before (Y/N) in his natural form. He bends down, asking them to get on him. With a grin, the human climbs on him. After making sure that his companion is securely mounted on him, Dan Heng soars into the air. (Y/N) lets out a whoop of delight as they feel the wind on their face. They wrap their arms around the dragon, resting their chin on him. They look around. Everything looks so small from up there, including their village which appears as specks.

"Wow. What a view," they breathe.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Dan Heng remarks, sounding quite pleased.

"I am," they grin. "We should do this more often." Dan Heng nods, humming in agreement. (Y/N)'s smile soften.

"Thank you for this, Dan Heng," they whisper.

"My pleasure. It's the least I can do for being unable to agree to your request," the dragon replies softly. The two of them then go silent, enjoying the flight and each other's company.

xxx xxx

Dan Heng's eyes scans through the texts, his eyebrows creased into a focused frown. Words in the language of the dragons are inscribed on the scroll, describing the history of the dragons.

"For centuries, dragons have served as guardians of rivers, protecting the creatures living in and near them. The High Elder play an especially key role in leading the dragons, lending their aid to dragons in need and making big decisions on behalf of the dragons..."

"I see that you are taking your studies seriously," a deep, stern voice remarks, interuptting Dan Heng's reading. He looks up from his scroll to meet the gaze of another man. He looks similar to Dan Heng, except older.

"Father," the younger male bows. "Yes. I wouldn't neglect it or my training."

"Very good," Dan Feng nods. "As the next in line to be the High Elder, I expect a lot from you."

"I promise to not let you down," Dan Heng answers. His father makes a sound of approval before his expression turns serious.

"On another note, what is this I hear about you mingling with a human?"

Dan Heng flinches. However, he quickly recomposes himself. He tells his father about his human companion and how they come to know each other.

"I appreciate them helping them helping you when you accidentally got your claw stuck in a fishing net and they seem like a decent human being," Dan Feng answers calmly. "With that said, you know why I disapprove getting close to humans." Dan Heng nods solemnly, an image of him standing by (Y/N)'s gravestone as he grieve over them flashing through his mind. A pang of sorrow hits him but Dan Heng decides to not think about it further. (Y/N) is still with him. And that's all that matters. He looks at his father firmly.

"Father," Dan Heng begins. "By distancing ourselves from humans, we are denying ourselves opportunities to forge new ties, to learn more about each other. After spending time with (Y/N), I realise that dragons and humans are not so dissimilar. We share the same joys and sorrows that life brings, have hopes and dreams and can carry out both good and bad deeds. (Y/N) has broadened my horizons and I... have grown fond of them. So please allow me to stay by their side for as long as they will let me." The younger dragon bows. Dan Feng goes silent for a moment before nodding.

"Very well. I shall respect your choice."

"Thank you, father," Dan Heng dips his head. His father gently patted his shoulder.

"Dan Heng! Dan Heng!" a familiar voice calls just then. The voice then mumbles, "That's how it's pronounced in their language, right? I hope so."

"Mr. (L/N)?" Dan Heng's eyes widens. He sounds anxious. The dragon feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Could something have happened?

"Who could that be?" his father asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

"It's (Y/N)'s father," Dan Heng explains. "I ought to go. It seems urgent."

"Of course. If you require any assistance, do not hesitate to let me know," Dan Feng replies. Sending his father a grateful look, Dan Heng teleports to where (Y/N)'s father is.

"Mr. (L/N). Whatever's the matter?" Dan Heng asks as soon as he appears before (Y/N)'s father. He tries to keep his tone even though his heart is racing. Mr. (L/N) jumps in surprise but quickly relaxes when he sees that it is one he is looking for.

"Dan Heng! Thank goodness you're here," he exclaims, relief in his voice. "(Y/N) they... Oh, sorry. You probably don't understand what I'm saying, do you? Let me repeat what I said in your language." Before he can do so, Dan Heng gently cuts him off.

"It's fine. (Y/N) taught me your language and I did some study on my own as well. So if it's easier for you, please speak in your tongue."

"Oh, that makes things simpler," Mr. (L/N) answers. "Anyway, as I was saying, something happened to (Y/N). They suddenly fell and began writhing in pain. They felt hot to the touch too. My wife and I tried asking doctors for help but they couldn't do anything. We then thought of you and figured you may be able to help."

"I see," Dan Heng, frowning. "We must hurry then if it's as serious as you've said. Please stay close to me. I shall teleport us to your house." Nodding, the other man does as told. Dan Heng closes his eyes. In the blink of an eye, they disappear.

The two of them appears before a frantic Mrs. (L/N) and a barely conscious (Y/N). Mrs. (L/N)'s expression quickly becomes delighted, even relieved to see the two males. Dan Heng's heart sinks seeing the state that (Y/N) is in. He kneels down next to them.

"D-dan Heng?" (Y/N) whimpers

"Yes, it's me. I'm here," said male whispers, squeezing their hand gently. (Y/N)'s expression relaxes a little despite the pain.

"Please help (Y/N), Dan Heng," Mrs. (L/N) pleads

"Not to worry. I'll do everything in my power to cure them," Dan Heng promises. Shutting his eyes, he holds (Y/N)'s wrist, trying to pinpoint the source of the ailment.

"What's the matter with them?" Mrs. (L/N) asks worriedly.

"(Y/N) ate a dragon scale when they were younger, did they not?" Dan Heng inquires. Their parents nod.

"The dragon's qi** from the scale is incompatible with their own qi and hence their body's system is thrown into a disarray as the two qis fight to balance each other out," the dragon explains. "If something is not done, I'm afraid their body system may collapse or even worse..." He stops himself. No. (Y/N) will be fine. He has made a promise to their parents and he intends to keep it.

"But (Y/N) has always been fine so why is this happening now?" (Y/N)'s father asks.

"Since they only ate one scale, the effects are gradual," Dan Heng replies. He frowns. "I apologise. I should have realised it much sooner when they mentioned that they ate a dragon scale."

"What's done is done. What is more important is saving (Y/N)," (Y/N)'s father pats Dan Heng's shoulder. The dark-haired male goes quiet for a moment before nodding.

"You're right," he agrees. He looks at (Y/N)'s parents in turn. "I need some space to treat (Y/N). Is it alright if I bring them somewhere else?"

"Of course. Just please return with them in a better state," Mrs. (L/N) answers. Thanking them, Dan Heng teleports (Y/N) and himself to a secluded, open area near the river he resides. Grasping the human's hand, he takes a deep breath before beginning to sing. His voice is quiet yet powerful as he conveys his feelings through the song. He grimaces, feeling a throbbing pain in his body but he pushes on.

"Dan Heng?" (Y/N) murmurs, feeling the pain subsiding. Their eyes widen when they see the dragon turned human in pain. "Dan Heng! Whatever you're doing, please stop!" Dan Heng shakes his head and squeezes their hand, quietly assuring them that it is alright. After the song ends, the black-haired male lets go of (Y/N)'s hand and drops to the ground, morphing into his true form as he does so.

"Dan Heng! Are you alright?" (Y/N) asks worriedly, inspecting him.

"Yes, I'm alright," Dan Heng assures them, albeit weakly. "Just exhausted from transferring half of my qi to you."

"You silly dragon," the human mumbles, tears pricking the corner of their eyes. They put their forehead against the dragon's. "That was risky. You could've --" They hold their tongue, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"I apologise for worrying you. This is the only way to stabilise the two qis in you," Dan Heng replies. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

"I feel great so far," (Y/N) smiles, backing away a little while wiping their tears.

"That's good," Dan Heng heaves a sigh of relief. "Nevertheless, we should monitor your condition for a few days."

"Ok," they nods. They pause for a moment before continuing, "Thank you, Dan Heng. For saving my life and for that lovely song."

"My pleasure," Dan Heng answers, averting his gaze from them. "As long as you're alright, nothing else matters."

"Except you matter," (Y/N) chides him gently, poking his snout. "So please don't endanger yourself for my sake again."

"I've already apologised, have I not? There's no need to repeat yourself."

"Just wanted to emphasise my point."

"... Fair enough."

The two of them sit side by side, with (Y/N) leaning on Dan Heng's body. They turn to look at their companion. His eyes are shut and he has a peacful look on his face. (Y/N) smiles fondly, glad that the both of them come out of the predicament unharmed.

*Di zi = Chinese flute

**Qi = Vital energy

(Image does not belong to me. Credit goes to owner)

(Inspired by the #8 Imaginative idea found on the writer's respository blog)

#x reader #fluff #oneshot #dan heng #honkai star rail #romance #reader insert #dan heng x reader #alternate universe #hsr x reader #dan feng

[mvrtaiswriting]

The man. x Roronoa Zoro ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :

I  love him. that’s it. this is relatively short but it’s cute and i definitely think it’s worth it!

warnings: mention of zoro scars but it's super fluff

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.

A part of Zoro hated the scar on his eye, the way it cut right through his face. To an extent, it made him proud; he looked scarier and more intimidating than ever. He guessed his enemies took him more seriously, since his body showed scars that should have killed him - instead, he survived, and got stronger. On the other hand, however, he thought his scar took his charm away - and although it wasn’t a problem at first, now it mattered. Losing his eyesight didn’t worry him, but the subtle fear of you not liking him anymore crippled in his heart every now and then. 

Staring at himself in the mirror, Zoro observed his reflection. Running an hand on his cheeks, he felt his newly regrown beard tickling the palm of his rough hand. He appreciated his strong features, the way his hair was starting to become greyer on his temple. How could this be the face of the man you fell in love with? You were so beautiful, you felt almost unreachable at first. So when you confessed your feelings to him, he was truly surprised. He was aware of his flaws, physical and non - he would come across as a brute sometimes, he thought himself as someone who was only capable of pushing people away by simply existing. And when that didn’t happen with you, he didn’t know how to process it; maybe his brain wasn’t wired for this type of things. He had to gradually learn what it meant to be loved and understand that feeling butterflies in his stomach was a good sign, not something to worry about. 

With you, for the first time, Zoro learnt what fear was. He never truly cared about all the risk a battle could comprise, he would simply jump in - he had faith in his crew mates and knew they’d be just fine. And he trusted you, too - but for some reason, it was different with you. He wanted to protect you, using his own body as a shield, ready to fight and take whatever damage. He hated to see you fight, there was no reason for you to be so exposed to danger.

Memories of the first time you got seriously injured in a battle were still vivid in Zoro’s mind; he remembered the way Chopper cried while trying to rescue you, the sleepless nights Zoro spent next to your bed hoping you would open your eyes. Losing you was his biggest nightmare, the simple thought of it hunted him continuously - and there were so many ways in which that could have happened. You were his most precious treasure, his one piece. For all he knew, this could have been the biggest treasure to ever exist - love. You. What could have been more valuable than this? 

Zoro was called back to reality when your arms wrapped around his torso, your face now resting against his muscular back. 

“Appreciating art?” you smirked, leaving a kiss on his shoulder. He only sniffed in response, letting his hand reach yours, intertwining his fingers with yours. He looked at you from the reflection in the mirror, a small smirk appearing on his face. 

“Art?” he repeated sarcastically, lifting one of your hands to his lips and leaving a soft kiss on your knuckles. You nodded in response, moving in front of him. Easily lifting you up, Zoro made you sit on the border of the sink, your figure now blocking him from seeing his reflection on the mirror. 

“That’s a better view.” he weakly smiled, leaving a kiss on your forehead. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, placing your head on his naked chest, running your fingers along the scar on his torso. 

Surprised by your touch, Zoro’s muscles stiffened for a second. It didn't bother him when you touched his scars, but the sweet coincidence made his heart skip a beat for a second. Moments before he was focusing on the way his scars ruined his image, worrying whether you found him attractive regardless of them, fearing his appearance could make you slip between his fingers. And now you were there, delicately touching his scars with love - as if they were a masterpiece that needed to be handled with care.

“It’s nothing.” Zoro leaned towards you, brushing his nose against yours. “Really.” he added, looking at you with his only good eye. It always felt like Zoro could see right through you, staring at the deepest meanders of your soul. 

“Is it something we can fix spending the rest of the day under the covers?” you asked again, finally kissing him. You felt Zoro’s smile through the kiss, already lifting you up and making his way to your room. 

“Oh, definitely..” he whispered in between kisses. 

“The man you are, Roronoa Zoro..” you smirked, closing the door behind your back, shutting the rest of the world outside. 

#roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro fanart #straw hat zoro #zoro fluff #zoro x y/n #zoro roronoa #zoro roronoa x you #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa #ronoroa zoro #straw hat pirates #straw hat crew #straw hats x reader #pirate hunter zoro #zoro headcanons #zoro fanfic #zoro #zoro one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece art

[yelenasdiary]

Kate Bishop x Reader. Taking place during Episode 2. Reader is a young surgeon and Kate's girlfriend. Kate returns injured with Clint. Reader may be Clint's daughter and doesn't know his daughter is dating Kate.

Secrets Out

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Surgeon! Barton! Reader

Summary: Treating your girlfriend wasn’t how you thought you’d be spending your Sunday afternoon at work.

Tiny Angst | Fluff | Mentions of Blood | Medical Talk | Slight Language Warning | 1.2K | 

AC: Thank you for sending this!! Although I have only seen Hawkeye once, I loved the idea and there needs to be so much more Kate fics! I hope you enjoy this x 

As part of your studies to become a surgeon, you had to do some volunteer work at the local hospital to help put what you've learned so far into practice. Of course, given you're only half-way through your second year of med school, you weren't expected to do any major operations like a heart transplant. You would scrub in on operations like that and watch as the surgeon did their magic and other times you'd help out in emergency. 

Tonight, was exactly that, a few hours in the emergency room helping out the nurses. You never knew what injury would walk through those big sliding doors. "Alright, Mrs Anderson, take it easy for the rest of the week, okay?" you smiled softly at the elderly woman who had slipped in her kitchen while making dinner. She required a few small stitches. 

"Thank you, doc!" the woman smiled before you showed her out. With her cart, you placed it in the filing system at the front desk before taking a much needed mouthful of your soon to be cold coffee when your eyes locked onto the next patient who walked into the ER.

"Dad?" you questioned as you wandered over to him, "are you okay?!" you asked in a worry. Your eyes scanning every part of him for any injuries or signs of blood.

"It's not me honey" he assured you, "it's Kate" he added. Your heart sunk as you saw your girlfriend standing behind your father with a soft smile and a large gash on her forehead as she mouthed "I'm sorry" when you raised a concerned brow at her. 

"What happened?" you asked. 

"I slipped" Kate lied which only made you tilt your heard at the dark-haired woman.

"Take a seat on bed four, I'll be with you in a moment" you replied, giving your girlfriend a non-impressed look. Your dad, Clint, followed Kate to the bed where they both waited for you to return with fresh instruments to stitch Kate's forehead up. It was hard for you to keep your worries to a minimum when your father was yet to know about your relationship with his crime fighting partner. 

You returned with everything you needed and began to clean up the blood that made a river down the side of Kate's face. She would see the worry in your eyes and knew she'd be getting a talk when she was home alone with you. Clint offered to get some fresh coffee as it would take a while for you to make sure Kate could leave in be better condition she arrived in. 

"What happened?" you asked as you jabbed her with some lidocaine to numb the area before giving the woman stitches. 

"It was just a little fight; you should see the others! I think they'll need a lot more than stitches" she replied with a chuckle. You didn't find it funny though. 

"Baby, I already worry about my dad out there fighting aliens and whatever else, now I have to worry about you as well and somehow, I'm more worried about you than my dad" you explained as you prepared the stitches. Kate gently placed her hand over your blue gloved hand, making you look at her once more. 

"I promise you, I'm okay" she assured you. 

"Honey, I'm about to give you 4 stitches, I wouldn't exactly say that's okay" 

Kate didn't want to make you worry any more than you already were, "what can I do to make this up to you?" she asked. 

"You could be more careful? Maybe not throw yourself into fights?" You raised a brow at her once more. Kate raised your hand to her lips and kissed your covered knuckles as she looked up at you, "your wish is my command" she smiled softly. Her cuteness was more than enough for you to forgive her and make you blush, you chuckled, "now I have to change my gloves again" you playfully rolled your eyes before taking off the now contaminated gloves. 

As you turned around to get more gloves, you were met with the very protective look of your father who had just seen everything. He moved slightly to the left and made eye contact with Kate while instantly gulping and sloughing in hopes it would hide her from the glaring look from your father. 

"So, which one of you is going to explain this?" he asked, placing the two take away coffee cups in the bin before crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Dad, not here, not now" you tried to keep professional as you grabbed a fresh set of gloves. 

----

You would've had Kate stitched up and out the door by now if it wasn't for the glaring stare your father was giving the two of you. Not a word was spoken as you stitched up your girlfriend's gash while your mind tried its best to not think about the talk you're going to have to have with your father. 

It was safe to say that your dad has always been extremely protective of you, you're his eldest child and nobody would ever be good enough for his little girl. Even through high school, anybody you dated not only got a talking too from your father but also his friends, the avengers. 

"How long have you two been dating?" Clint asked, breaking the silence. Kate looked at you as she chewed the inside of her cheek, it was clear she was slightly scared of what your father and her mentor might think of her dating you. 

"A few months" you replied as you began to finish up Kate's stitches. Your father's eyes looked direct at Kate as you backed away from her and removed your gloves once again. "Remind me again my number one rule, Bishop" he spoke sternly. 

"Not to flirt with your daughter" Kate confessed. 

"Lucky you because it was me to who flirted with Kate" you turned to your dad who wasn't impressed. "Why? I mean, you can ha-"

"Dad!" you interrupted him, "I know you love me, and you care about me but, so does Kate. She's amazing, she's respectful, she's funny, she's smart and beyond beautiful, she makes me happy and for once, please, just give this one a chance. No talks from your or the others, if I didn't think Kate would be good for me, I wouldn't have asked her out myself" you explained, slightly unloading some built up feelings. 

Clint took a moment to think about what you were saying, his eyes drifted back to Kate before he sighed in defeat. "Can I just say one thing?" Your father asked, you nodded. 

"You hurt her in anyway a-"

"I know, you'll kill me and then most likely the Avengers will kill me and for some reason I feel like you'd kill me again" Kate interrupted, chuckling nervously at her own words. You couldn't help but shoot your dad and unimpressed look before he opened his mouth again. 

"You best come to dinner Friday night then, Laura is going to want to know about this" he replied. Your dad won't admit it but he couldn't have picked anybody better for you to date. He knew Kate would never hurt you and that she would treat you with nothing but love and respect, it just meant now he had to really make sure that she wouldn't get hurt on the job.

Taglist: @red1culous | @bentleywolf29 | @kiwiana145  | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok |  @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145  | @valiantmugcowboyscissors | @observeowl | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @musicinourlips | @apollo2907 | @marvelfan98 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @fluffyblanketgecko | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @natashamaximoff69 | @a-dorkier-book-keeper | @hehehehannahthings | @blue-serendipityy | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok | @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @scarsw1fe | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @katiemay-025 | @boredandneedfanfics | @wandamaximoffspuppup | 

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop #hawkeye #marvel #fanfiction