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ruershrimo · 18 hours

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take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 6: beginning

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chapter synopsis:

'“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be shy and scatterbrained, or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen, when in reality it’s just what I want to happen. But this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.”

You haven’t told her you love her too in years.'

'And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.”

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.”

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

---

You and Megumi set out to prevent an emergency involving Yuuji and a cursed object. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen. But at least everyone is fine in the end, even if it means you'll have to walk away from almost everything (or maybe it's the other way around).

You're going to be all on your own. Still, now it seems like this will hurt less now.

word count: ~8k; tws: none for now :)

17-6-2018

The two of you walk down the lane. It’s midnight. There’s a loitering silence in the air, no words exchanged between you and him, and it twists your heart in brief moments of hurt when you’re not trying to keep your mind occupied with other things. Your legs move subconsciously without you caring to think of them, the route to the hospital ingrained in your mind as if intrinsically there.

At some point, you think your hand with its sweat and its grip is going to leave imprints like a marring on his skin, but it’s of your own selfishness that you choose to hold onto his wrist anyway.

There’s a million things you could say to him right now, things you’ll forcefully push to the very back of your throat, things you’ll keep under lock and key in a mangled mix of quiet anticipation and sombre anxieties. Right now you’re holding his wrist and that’s enough for you, to have him walking behind you if not beside, to be two people near each other— not together— in silence since any conversation is not an option; any conversation could lead to the last spark needed to be fanned into the flame for it to erupt bigger and brighter than ever before.

If you asked about Tsumiki right now, or why either of them never bothered to speak to you since 2016, it could break you apart, of that you’re sure. And even without words it threatens to do so to you like a chandelier of melting wax candles hanging above you being suspended precariously from the ceiling or light lightning soon to be thrown down mercilessly from the sky.

“The turning to Sendai Hospital is on the right.”

“I know the routes better,” you let out, and rather disappointingly it sounds brasher and more derogatory aloud instead of the unobtrusive tone you were aiming for— you hope it doesn’t hurt him but then wonder why you still even cared that much about how he felt about what you said or did anyway, “I got myself accustomed to taking the one on the left that leads you through. Quick shortcut and all.”

You’re not looking back, but the light pull of his hand from the hold of your wrist seems to suggest his slight reeling back in a small sense of surprise and an equal amount of shock, as if suddenly remembering the fact you were your own person, that you had your own autonomy as one, because somehow everyone thought you weren’t.

It’s strange to look back at how you were before: meek, timid. Too shy to speak up. Too innocent to be angered by anything. Always dreaming, mind bleary as if on a cloud in blurred skies, hiding behind the backs of others like a petrified forest critter.

And now you’re this— this person who frowns and disagrees and retorts at every little thing, and as much as you have to, as much as it was nearly inevitable the way you turned out, all you can think you share with the person you were when you first met Megumi and Tsumiki was your need to be useful— and even that has been exacerbated by how you’ve grown, how you’ve become this person you grew into. And a part of you— no, just you as a whole— doesn’t like yourself at all.

Your father was right. That little girl was hopeful, obedient, kind, caring— you don’t know why even then you were dissatisfied with the way you were, or why your dissatisfaction would matter because at that time you’d cared so little about everything besides caring for people and having fun with the pair of siblings that you were so rarely bothered by it, that it was still just a slight whisper from the back of your head that could be shushed or tuned out with library visits and nights in front of the TV and the glow of old cartoons. Your father was right and this is proved even more by the fact that the whole situation just infuriates you on the surface, and just makes you feel like an empty, hollow shell left behind when you reach deeper into yourself.

That little girl had potential, potential to be useful but kind, obedient and close to the people who raised her even if it meant abandoning her own ideals. But you’d been so devoted to them, you think, that she was killed and destroyed in the world she grew up in, and now there’s a space for her that’s left vacant due to the way she wasted away. You miss her, the girl you once were, you miss being her, how easy and lighthearted everything was and how all of you felt so content in every sense of the word. But you don’t want her back. Now that’s just what makes you miserable sometimes.

Self-reflection just made you feel revolted by yourself. You keep your eyes on the road.

“It’s here,” you state, pointing at the building in front of you.

Sendai General Hospital is an institution made out of bare concrete. Its walls are yellowed and close in on its wards like a prison, coloured using old paint that hasn’t been repainted over and is as pallid-looking as the skin of the people sitting on the beds it is inhabited by. Just being in it feels like a hit to the body and the brain and the senses, too. There are old-fashioned tiles on its floors, their pale beige hue muted yet the blinding shine on them harshly mopped clean. Inside it reeks of an imminent presence of sickness or death or illnesses and conditions never to be able to be defeated and sterile sanitisers. Looking at the latex-blue curtains in it feels like a blindfold unwantedly, forcefully pulled over both your vision and your ears.

“You and that Itadori seem close.”

“We are,” you say, then you add, not really knowing why, “He’s my best friend.” Maybe you’re trying to make him jealous, rile him up a bit. But even then you wouldn’t want him to be riled up, nor would you be satisfied if he were to keep silent. Maybe you just wanted to hurt him, to hurt him back or something, if only for something small, even if you’d already resolved not to do so.

You’ll make sure not to do that again, though.

Instead he does something else, takes another route instead. “Then it seems you visit his grandfather often.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod as the two of you enter the hospital, and you have to blink a few times as always in order to adjust yourself to the light and how it reflects off the detachedly clean floor. “My mother’s here, too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry— is she alright?”

“She’s okay, I… think. She… she got sick a while back and stays here now,” you explain, “Let’s not talk about that…—I mean, I… don’t really want to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that.” It just makes people feel worse.

He doesn’t push further and you suppose that’s okay. Your chest hurts a bit, like phantom pain on a wound that’s still there. There’s not really a way to explain it but almost everything makes you feel that way these days. Everything makes you feel horrible to some degree. Maybe it’s being a girl, maybe it’s being a teenager, but it’s not quite either, you guess.

“He won’t be here for a while,” you say, “He’s either still in the room where his grandfather is or he’s buying flowers for him.”

“Then I’ll just contact them and let them know the whole situation first.”

Who’s ‘them’?

“Okay.” You turn your back on him, “—wait.”

“What?”

“Do you have any emergency contact or something? Like, a trusted adult who could help you with any of this? In case things go really bad?”

“...why would you need one?” he questions.

You roll your eyes, “Just give it to me, damn it… if there’s anything I have nowadays, it’s probably foresight for stuff like this. For emergencies.”

He gives you the number, albeit a bit begrudgingly. Why’d he have to be so pissy about anything and everything?

“Okay, thanks. I’m going to visit my mother now.”

The air and the colour from it seems distant as always, the ward she was basically imprisoned in smelling of the indistinguishable mix of sanitiser and sickness. There her body chains her to her bed, and there is little she can do besides rely on and weakly cling to the nurses who assist her, a frail shadow of what she once was.

“Hi, Mummy.”

She turns to you, and your chest constricts. Her hair, once much longer, the type that you dreamed to have as it billowed in the wind, the type that invited you caressively to bury yourself in and take in that heady scent of roses that emanated from it— that hair is now replaced with a cloth wrapped around her head. Radiation. Chemotherapy.

The wrinkles on her face make the difference between her now and her years ago all the more stark. Every visit you come back here, you’ve forced yourself to be acclimated to this new reality, one where she isn’t waiting at home no matter how tedious the fights get or how exhausting it was eating with someone who remained silent, someone who chose to continue suffering if it meant she could hurt and turn her daughter to guilt (as if that would change anything). At least she was there.

Cancer is a terminal illness, especially the type your mother is facing— regardless of how much chemotherapy she would struggle through and how much you didn’t want to acknowledge a truth so plain and conspicuously bare, she would be confined to this bed until her final days, her illness like gyves tying her limbs and forcing her earthbound; the bed a cage she could never be liberated from.

Sometimes she made it a point to you that she didn’t want to liberate herself from it anyway, and you’d never been so depressed yet irked by anything else. (You’d regret everything— not spending time with her, not appreciating her nearly enough— except for your decision to be involved in the Jujutsu world, if not as a sorcerer then as a doctor. That was, and is— your ultimatum. Your end all be all of this whole situation.”

“Hello. Where’s that Itadori boy?”

“Not here today, he’s still with his grandfather— maybe later.” You swing your bag over your shoulder, rummaging through it a while before pulling it out. “I’ve something for you, by the way.”

“Oh! These,” she exclaims, and she smiles faintly, bits of colour rushing back to her face like watercolour dots on moistened paper. “I used to make them for you, sometimes. They used to be your favourite when you were really little.”

“I know,” you explain, “That’s why I made them. I don’t like them anymore, but… I can’t remember your favourite food or if I ever asked, and I know you don’t like the food they give you here as much as… I don’t know. Your own cooking, I guess.”

“It’s not my favourite,” she states, matter-of-factly, bluntly, “But thank you for the effort. My favourite will always be my own mother’s cooking.”

Silence.

“Now that I look back at everything, there are so many things I regret. Things I should have done but never did out of fear; things I should not have done and never apologised for out of pride. I’d like it if you could be different. Your grandmother went out the same way. At least, even if you had the same illnesses as we did, which I hope the genes for which have been curbed by your father’s— at least you would not leave the world with regret,” she looks down at her hands, staring down at them solemnly like a shadow, an excluded figure. “But it was a good life.”

“...then maybe you can tell me more. While you— while we still have time. What was your childhood like? What was your mother like?” It feels strange, imposturous, maybe— to be referring to someone basically a stranger as “grandmother”, to name someone so far away from you so intimate, even if the only generation between you, tying the two of you together, was your mother’s. If you had a daughter it would be the same for her, most likely. There’s a part of you that would find honour in becoming your mother once you’d grown, but there’s a part of you that would think being such would accost you horribly, for all time.

She sighs, “I’ll tell you later. There would be so much to say, like compressing all my words into one tiny paper. The stories have weight in them the same way letters and words in handwriting can be firm and large. But if I were to start,” she begins, “I’ll say that I was born as the daughter of two very powerful sorcerers. Now, I know how much this would sound like some nonsense spouted by your mother, but I think you should listen anyway.

“My parents loved each other a lot, but my mother had come from an obscure clan whose name I can’t remember, but who had high hopes in them having a child with a powerful cursed technique as their last resort, since, if I recall correctly, there had been a crisis within the clan for it to keep surviving.

“I still remember when they found out I had no cursed technique and how terrified they were. In me I had a bit more than the relatively normal amount of cursed energy most people have, and so I was expected to have techniques as powerful as they did. They loved me and treated me preciously, like a fragile object, so long as I was quiet and demure— and I guess to some extent I still was and still am today. They wondered what they could do to run from the clan, as if they didn’t have enough power when they were supposed to protect me despite my father’s bullheaded industry and my mother’s patience-formed strength. They lacked grit to grapple against them, and only in this did they lack it, I think; only against my mother’s family did they not have the ability to resolve things whether peacefully or violently. And eventually they just gave up and thought they would just… surrender me over when I entered my adolescent years. I was their daughter. I… suppose they didn’t love me enough. I know it sounds awful— thinking that they should have always protected me, through and through—”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“—when it could have been the clan itself that would have been mostly to blame.”

“But they were still supposed to protect you! They were your parents—”

“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be a shy and scatterbrained or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen when in reality it’s just what I want to happen, but this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.” You haven’t told her you love her too in years.

“But then when I was an adult I met your father, who was a bit like a country bumpkin, but a formidable sorcerer and a kind, honest person, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with the person he was both inside and out. And for the next few years we struggled to have a child until I found out I was pregnant with you,” she continues, “Even though by that time I was well into my late thirties, we were overjoyed and decided to keep you.”

Suddenly you wish there had been more time before things were ruined. Time for you to know her better, the beginning of your existence. You would have begged her for old photos, stories, mementos of her and your father.

“And now the clan’s faded into obscurity, finally. The younger members left and the older ones passed away peacefully. Happy story, right?”

“...yeah.” It all ended well, but you don’t know if you can say the same for your mother’s. At least, you hope, when she goes away, it can be swift and peaceful like the way her relatives did.

Then suddenly there’s a buzz in your pocket. An inconvenient one, out of the blue.

“You should go get that first,” she says.

“...okay.”

You lift it up to your face and feel like crushing the damn thing. Old number. Stupid number. Number you haven’t called in months because you’d given up on that bastard— oh. The two of you were working together now.

You turn away from your mother, creeping to the edge of the room. “What’s wrong?”

“I just talked to him, but I think it would be easier if you came back and was there with him too since you know him better than I do. And he… doesn’t seem like the brightest. He may think that it’s not important enough to hand over unless you ask him to or something.”

You muffle your voice with your hand and whisper, “Hey, you shut up, you know nothing about him. He’s way smarter than people give him credit for. But I’m— I’m with my mother right now. Wait for a second. Just ask him to wait for me first; he wouldn’t need any of my help for all of this yet. Make a friend or get a life or something.”

“...fine. But you’ll have to join us later. He’s bound to ask about you.”

“Then just tell him I’m with my mother!” you snap, still whispering.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Wh— you little— oh, don’t you hang up now—”

Weird thing is, he probably wasn’t even being so infuriating on purpose. And you wouldn’t have burst out at someone for being that way anyway. It was only because it was him, specifically.

You’d sworn to put that past you.

Your immaturity strikes once again.

“If you have to go now,” your mother says, “You should. Just come back again next time. I can tell you the rest. Thank you again for the food, [Name].” She doesn’t call you ‘darling’ anymore, doesn’t she? Just your name.

“Okay. Sorry.”

You swing the bag back over your shoulder, wearing it this time instead of taking it off, easing your way out of the room.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, “Goodbye. I love you.”

“...I love you, too,” you say, but it’ll mingle with all the other sounds in the hospital, and it’ll be drowned out like a ship in the middle of nowhere, your voice soft and thoroughly soused by the cacophony of bleak noises like telephone rings and beeps from electrocardiographs outside of her deafeningly quiet hospital room.

“Hi, Yuuji,” you greet them in the dimly lit waiting area, “...and Megumi. Sorry to keep the two of you guys waiting for so long.”

“Oh, hey; it’s okay!” he goes, although in his voice it seems that there’s been some of his usual energy seeping away from him. “Didn’t know the two of you knew each other until just now or that you were a part of some magic curse society. Are you guys childhood friends who met because of all that cursed stuff or something?”

“Something like that,” Megumi explains.

“It’s a long story,” you say, not exactly denying him nor conceding his words anyway. Once again, there’s a trace of anger despite your promise to be untethered to your puerility like this. “Anyway, are you okay, Yuuji? How’s your grandfather?”

He pauses. “Oh, about that… he just passed away.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Yuuji…” you hold the fabric of his jacket (sometimes it still feels wrong to try and hold his hand— it just makes your heart ache again like a scab being clawed at) and pull him into a brief caress, patting his back as gently as you can manage.

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” he smiles as you pull yourself away, “Grandpa wouldn’t want me to be crying right now anyway. So don’t worry.”

“Okay, I won’t. But if you’re sad, just know you can always talk to me.”

He laughs, softer than the boisterous manner he usually does so in, “Yeah, I know.”

Megumi clears his throat, pointedly trying to make a sound, “Anyway. Itadori Yuuji—”

“Just call him Itadori. You don’t have to be so uptight.”

“Nah, [Name], I’m fine—”

Megumi sighs. “Anyway, we need you to give the cursed object now.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” you start, “So, Yuuji, do you have the thing that Megumi would have explained to you? The cursed object? We need it for everyone to be safe, and all.”

“Yeah! Hold on, let me get it. I told you I didn’t have it already, but here’s the box,” he says, tossing it over to Megumi.

He retrieves the box. It’s ancient and wooden, the craftsmanship behind it elite and adroit, and the paper on it has the words for a buddhist sutra written on it like an inscription. You’ve heard of it before, the kind of curse it was meant to seal, but it definitely couldn’t be—

He opens the box.

Holy shit.

“Where is it?”

“It’s empty…” Megumi panics, “Wait— hold on!”

Things are bad— as in, they couldn’t get any worse— not only was the school doomed by the loss of its cursed object, the cursed object was Sukuna Ryomen’s finger itself.

You blame your inadequacy, your inability to have stopped everything sooner— if not for that nobody would have gotten hurt. If not for that there wouldn’t even be a risk of anything happening anyway. You should’ve tried harder to sense it, and you should’ve focused more on it to keep the student body safe and sound.

It was your fault. No one else was to blame but your useless self, and even if that were wrong, you’d still have the most to be blamed for.

Megumi has a hand on Yuuji’s shoulder, keeping the other boy from moving, his breathing erratic and his eyes wide in frantic shock.

“...well, they were saying, ‘let’s open it up to see what’s inside it tonight’,” Yuuji clarifies, standing a few centimetres away from the door, “Why? Is that bad?”

Sasaki and Iguchi?

The air in the hospital feels particularly chilly tonight, gooseflesh terrorising your skin all over, and for all the kinds of reasons that would cause anything like such.

“It’s way worse than bad,” Megumi declared, fear and grim so thick in his voice they were tangible enough to be cut through with a knife. “Your friends are going to die.”

“We’ve got to go,” you rush, “Now! Quick!”

It passes by like a blur, as if you’re in that moment and out of it simultaneously. Your mind has been bombarded with and pressed so thoroughly onto the moment, like tissue on a wet surface, that it seems it’s being blanked out, while your legs continue to run despite your mind nearly forgetting, at this point, why you’re running— as if your legs moving so frantically to help them was something intrinsic, something you didn’t need your mind for.

Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger. Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger.

You didn’t know them all too well, really— just through Yuuji, and Yuuji himself wasn’t as close to the two of them, being their junior and all. And although a part of you was doing this just because you could, like the way you did when you first discovered your cursed technique, you knew that another was doing this for Yuuji. If in any way they were hurt or could not survive, he would blame himself to no end. He possessed such a kindness within him, so much that it hit the depths of your soul sometimes; shattered your heart so gently a million times over or heated it in the kindly way mothers heated pans on stoves despite the heat of it being greater than that of blue flame. If anything happened to them, no matter how much or how little he knew of them, he wouldn’t be able to live after that.

The two of them are near the barrier separating the school from the street before you (you struggle with catching up to them— one’s a star athlete and another has been training for much longer than you, you’re sure), the gates tall and enveloped in darkness. You didn’t think much of school except for when it came to your grades and being with Yuuji, thinking of these gates— the ones that you and Yuuji use when you’re running super late— in particular as just a shortcut entrance you paid little attention to, just something treated with indifference as you passed through them whenever you were late. Yet now they echoed denial, refusal, and slim chances— it was unlikely that they’d be alright, especially since this cursed object in particular was the finger of Sukuna Ryomen.

“Is that the building?” Megumi questions, “Where are they?”

“Fourth floor— guh!” Yuuji seems to come to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming into what seems to be an invisible wall. A veil.

“Yuuji!”

“I’ll handle this,” Megumi declares, hopping onto the metal wires, more directed to Yuuji than you. So even he can tell how selfless Yuuji is, even after only having just met him.

“I may not know those two that well, but—” Yuuji starts, “But they’re friends! I have to help!”

“You’re staying here,” Megumi commands, “[Name], if you could— get your father or any sorcerers you know to come here and help.”

He climbs over the gate.

He’s going away from you again. Slipping away from your grasp. And now, all you can do is watch. There’s nothing else— nothing else you can do, at all. If you went inside now, you wouldn’t be able to help except— what?— tend to their injuries? Manipulate your own cells into weapons? The former wasn’t possible with how much you’d strained yourself from running so quickly earlier, and the latter was too dangerous: you hadn’t even started with the basics of that yet, on your father’s obstinate insistence that even if he’d let you play doctor he wouldn’t let you manipulate any of the cells in your body into any kind of usable weapon. Any simple wrong move could make things turn south in the most drastically terrifying of ways. If you went in there, you’d just die, and there’d be more casualties, more trouble, more problems caused by you and you alone.

You can’t even call your father, either. That would always be your last resort— because even if you fought, you still needed him to rest. You didn’t want him overexerting himself by using his cursed technique at all.

(You were selfish. You didn’t want to lose your father. You didn’t want to have to visit not one but two parents lying sick and tired and grey in matching hospital beds.)

“Yuuji?” you start, turning to him. “You’re…deathly quiet. Are you okay?”

His lips quiver slightly, a faint whimpering noise coming out of him. Is he crying?

“Yuuji, look at me. Are you okay?” you ask, as gently and softly as you can right now, despite your ragged, unsteady, unathletic-addled breaths. You place a hand on his shoulder, slowly rubbing up and down from his shoulder and crook of his neck to his back. “It’s okay. …Megumi’s a good and… capable, strong person and jujutsu sorcerer. He’ll be okay, and they’ll be okay too. Just… just put your trust in him, okay?”

“I’m sorry, [Name], but I’ve got to go,” he tells you, “You stay here, and call for help or something. I’m sorry, but I’ve just really got to do it!”

He hugs you, quickly, deftly. And then he crosses the gate, leaving you all alone like Megumi did. You wish he’d hug you longer, that you could take care of him for a little longer— it was your last way to be useful now.

Still, there’s someone you could call, now that you remember him.

The emergency contact.

You snatch your phone out, resolute.

“Hello! Gojo Satoru speaking,” the voice on the other line says.

You’ve heard it plenty before by accident.

When Gojo and Megumi are back, Yuuji’s in the form of a figure slung over Gojo’s shoulders like he’s been reply entrenched into slumber, his body seemingly limp and his torso completely bare. There’s barely an ounce of movement in him, except for slow exhales and inhales you can see on his chest. Sasaki and Iguchi are both nearly the same, the former covered in bruises and in a deep, panicked haze, and the latter as asleep as Yuuji seemed to be while harbouring injuries he may never recover from.

The only non-roughed up one here is Gojo, it seems; Megumi has a stream of blood running from the top of his head in rivulets, staining his sweaty, scraped forehead.

“Wh— you two, what happened? Why are they all asleep? What happened to Yuuji? Are they okay? What—”

“Calm down, kid,” Gojo says, “They’ll be fine. I mean, there’s a 100% chance that your friend can be executed, but…”

“Executed?” you almost scream, “What the hell happened? You said things would be okay!”

“Uh-uh, again, calm down. I mean, we don’t even know when they’re gonna make him kick the bucket! He ate Sukuna’s finger, by the way.” He holds his arms up in faux surrender.

“Gojo you ignorant slut! Don’t you fucking dare tell me to ‘calm down!’ He ate Sukuna’s finger? Why weren’t you able to stop anything? What’s going to happen to him now? You know what— give him to me!”

“You know, it’s not like I’m scared of being hunted down by your father if you use your cursed technique— I mean, I’m leagues stronger than him— but the stuff was too strong. It’s not like you’ll be able to get rid of the finger in your little boyfriend.”

“He’s not her boyfriend!” Megumi interjects.

“Thank you, Megumi!” Your face is going hot like a campfire fanned by the wind.

“Oh?” Gojo adds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Anyway, we’re going to get him to a place where we can cover everything with talismans to surround him.”

They’re going to execute him at Jujutsu High after.

“I’m coming with you.”

“You sure?” Gojo asks, “Your father isn’t going to like you travelling so far away without telling him.”

Megumi shifts, a little sombre. “[Name], you don’t have to.”

“...I’m doing this for Yuuji, not for you.”

“You okay?” Gojo asks while the three of you are back in the hospital. (You hate this building so much.) Iguchi’s been transferred to a ward, Sasaki having woken up and insisting on staying with him. “I’ve got kikufuku if you want some. You must be really tired since it’s so late, huh?”

The whole situation is so incredulous you’re unsure of whether you want to burst out laughing or dismember someone.

“...nothing. Wait, let me see Yuuji again.”

Everyone is asleep, it seems— all except for you and Gojo. Yuuji’s been knocked out, and Megumi’s stuck in the world of his dreams.

You can’t sleep. There’s just nothing to put your mind at rest.

At least if there’s one thing you can do it’s this.

Gojo picks him up by the sides of his torso (now temporarily clothed with a spare white shirt) like a child with a heavy book. “Woah— he’s pretty heavy for a fifteen year old kid.”

You lay Yuuji face-up on the line of hospital chairs. There are thin scarlet marks right under his eyes— Sukuna’s eyelids, you’ve been told.

You should’ve done more to protect him.

Slowly, reticently, you kneel by the side of the chairs. You press your fingertips onto that pair of thin tiny lines.

Nothing happens. You can’t picture his cells being able to grow back. It’s as if there’s been a slit on his face and its outline has been replaced with brand-new skin. His cells don’t budge.

“Why don’t you help Megumi? I bet he’s got plenty of healable injuries.”

“…I don’t think I’ll be able to help much. I could faint if I try helping him now. It’s better to leave it to Dr Ieiri or something.”

“Pft,” he scoffs, “Shoko? She’s definitely not going to heal all of him. It’ll just be a waste of her time. You can just help him with the tiny scrapes and bruises first. And I’ll even tell her that you did it. She’s really fond of you, you know.”

You give him a shy, modest smile. “Thanks, then.”

It’s time to get to work.

Megumi’s skin is smooth like a baby’s just like the last time you felt it, though the frown on his face, ever-present, is bound to cause wrinkles there in less than a few decades’ time. You place your hands on him, bruised and bloody, watching in your mind and directing his cells as they work.

Once the smaller injuries have been dealt with, you stop. “I can’t really work on the one on his head, since then you’d get another fainted person to carry around, but he should be fine with some bandages and patching-up there, because I’ve already kind of catalysed the start of that area’s healing process a little. Other than that, he should be completely fine. I’ll give it, say… two weeks or so for it to get better completely.”

“Good work!” he smiles, the outline of his cheeks visible on his blindfold.

“By the way, Mr Gojo…”

“You know, I appreciate the respect you’re giving me now, but just Gojo is fine.”

“Okay, Gojo. Do you think Yuuji will be okay?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure. And I’m going to ask them to suspend his sentence. I’ll just see whether he wants that or not once he wakes up.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure if he even will.”

Gojo laughs. “Don’t worry. He was really strong, and able to switch between being possessed by Sukuna and being himself at will. We haven't seen that kind of talent in a millennia! I’m sure they’ll listen to me, anyway.”

“Thank you,” you sigh. Thank goodness. “If you need any type of payment, um… teleport to my house whenever you get inconvenient little cuts like bruises and stuff. I can help.”

“Nah, reverse cursed technique’s got me covered.”

“Oh, wait— I forgot about that— um… I can…”

“Just leave it to me! No payment required,” he exclaims, holding both thumbs up. “And for the record, the one who wanted to save Yuuji was actually Megumi.”

You wouldn’t have imagined that would happen. Megumi— pragmatic, serious, unkind when he needs to be (no matter how kind of a person he actually is— no, was— at heart), different from Tsumiki in so many ways. There was no way he would have been the one vouching for Yuuji, someone he’d only just met, to be spared.

“Really?” you ask, “I… wouldn’t have thought he was the one who would do it. I thought, maybe, you were just… really kind tonight or something…”

“Well, maybe it was because he saw how much you cared about Itadori and did it for you, or maybe he had met Itadori, liked him, and just wanted to save a good person,” Gojo suspects, “But if there’s one thing for sure it’s that your old friend saved your new one.”

“...oh.”

You’ll have to bring it up with him next time— maybe, if he’s still there tomorrow…

“I know you’re mad at him, but a lot has happened,” Gojo states, voice lower, softer like a schoolteacher’s, “Still, I won’t tell you that you have to give him a chance or any of that. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to thank him or anything. I’m sure he did it out of his own volition without expecting anything from you. He knew he probably didn’t deserve to if it were you.”

You pause. “No, it’s just… I’ll talk to him again the next time I see him. Alone, most likely. And I can figure something out. I think that would be the best way to go around things. Thank you, Gojo.”

18-6-2018

The aftershocks are still there, although you’ve come out unscathed.

Last night was a mingled mess, a blur. You’d tried your best to help Iguchi by the time Yuuji was placed in the room of talismans and you could come back to the hospital and visit, but in the end he still needed better help than that. His injuries were too large of scale for how you were at that moment, already tired after healing some of the numbers done on Megumi.

(You were useless. You couldn’t help anyone. You couldn’t prevent Yuuji from being hit with such soul-striking guilt., couldn’t help Sasaki from being traumatised, couldn’t help Iguchi enough for him to be back at school soon—)

Sasaki’s injuries were limited to bruises and scrapes, but though you could help her physically, there was nothing you could do to assist her emotionally.

You stayed with them for a few hours in the ICU and then one of the hospital wards (a floor under your mother’s), your father calling you once the sun had risen.

“Gojo Satoru told me about everything that happened.”

“Yeah. I know you’ll scold me, but… not now. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” You hang up.

For all you spoke of wanting to be useful, the night when your powers were needed the most was when you were at your most useless— you couldn’t help them, you couldn’t help attack the cursed spirits, and the only thing you could do was call for an adult’s help like a little, scared and helpless girl.

You needed to train, and train harder than you had been doing for the past few years.

There’s a knock on the door, a dot-dot-dot-dot-dot. dot dot. It’s Yuuji, you know it is. How ever could you not?

Timidly, movements quiet like the room itself, you pull the door knob, seeing him there, relatively unscathed. You sigh in relief, a moment’s respite before you return to the panic you had been living in before since you deserve the respite less than other people do— no, you don’t deserve such a break at all, you’re absolutely sure of that, not after what you pulled, how horribly and utterly useless you were, you’ll remind yourself of that again and again and again— the heart-piercing guilt and the worry and the constant need to care for the people around you, almost like a mother, maybe, but you don’t like that thought as much as you think you should. Maybe if your own mother knew, she’d disagree— maybe she’d tell you that you should be a mother, maybe she’d ignore that you were also a child at certain times— the most convenient ones, probably. When she thinks it good that you, a child, were someone’s caretaker because women should take pride in and appreciate that, she would encourage you to be one; when she thinks it bad that as a caretaker and a so-called ‘adult’ you can have your own autonomy, agency and opinions, then maybe she’d remind you that in her eyes you knew nothing of the world. But maybe, just maybe, there was also a chance that she wouldn’t be like that in any way.

But you wouldn’t put it past her.

“Yuuji, are you okay?” There are questions about to spill out of you, tears about to fall like gushing rivers, but you’re just happy he’s alive at this point.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. Your chest twinges; it hurts like an awful, intransigent little bruise. “Hi, [Name].” It feels so unignorable, the way it’s filled with such sorrow and worry that it weighs his usually loud and boisterous voice down.

“I thought that—” you start, lips trembling, “I thought there was a chance I couldn’t lose you. The only thing I could do was—” you sniffle, “Hope that they could delay it or something.”

“Yeah. I’ll explain it later,” he says, his voice sincere.

You squeeze the wrist of his sleeve. “Don’t do things like that ever again,” you plead, “Promise me that at least.”

“I promise.”

“And keep your promises.”

“I will.”

“...want to come inside?”

He walks inside, and you step back to make way for him.

“Sorry I came so late,” he says to you and Sasaki, who shakes her head in reassurance. “Hello, Sasaki,” he greets, “Is Iguchi okay?”

They speak for a while— you don’t feel like it’s much of your right to join their conversation, since you did nearly nothing at all when they were most in danger, so you leave them be for a while. It would be better not to bother them right now, anyway. They’ve both been traumatised until it reached beneath their bones within the past twenty-four hours.

When you leave the hospital, Sasaki tells you that she’s going to stay. You tell her to take care, squeezing her hand one final time.

You let her, patting her on the back. You’ll call them later— she’d given you her contact— just to check on the two of them.

“Where’s Megumi?” you ask Yuuji.

“Oh, Fushiguro? I’m not too sure, but that Gojo guy said he’ll be there soon.”

“Where, though?”

Sheepishly, in peak Yuuji fashion, he scratches the back of his neck. “Actually, another reason why I came here was also because… I mean, I know you and him weren’t close, but I’m going to the place where they’ll keep Grandpa’s ashes, and I think… you know, you could come with me. I… I don’t think I’d be able to do it really well alone, even though he had definitely made it clear he seriously didn’t want me moping around after his death and all. Gojo and Megumi will probably be there, but I thought it would be better if you were there because I know you better than those two, and you’re my friend. So… could you come with me? I know that he never really showed it, but I think he had always liked you a lot. Like, he was happy we were friends and stuff.”

“...mhm. I’ll always be happy about that,” you tell him, before pulling him into a hug. The guy must need one right now. You’ve never hugged him before. Your heart hurts.

The air is hot and humid with the breath of summer, bundles of mosquitoes bound to be breeding new ones these next few weeks. Up in the sky is the sun, bold and bright, glaring down harshly at the two of you.

“Before he passed away, Grandpa actually said something. He… kind of cursed me, if I’m being honest,” Yuuji starts. “He said I was a strong kid, so I should help people. And I’m going to do that. So that was why when Gojo asked if I wanted to be executed immediately or just eat all the fingers before dying, I chose the second option. I… I think I want to help people that way.”

‘You’ve already helped people enough. You helped me,’ you almost tell him.

You frown, because that’s the only thing you can do right now. You search for words to say the same way you do looking for dog books in libraries chock-full with those of other genres. “I’m… disappointed, I— I know I should be grateful, grateful that you’re still going to be alive and all, but… you’re still going to be in danger, and you’re still going to be executed one day. I mean, again, I know I should be happy you’re going to have more time alive and that I can still see you, but what if things don’t go as planned? What if you lose control of yourself once you reach, like, the fifth finger or something?”

You’re selfish like that. In a way, you’re just the way your mother is. You should’ve always known— you were her beloved daughter after all, and the people you know would be loved the same way she did you since the day she knew of your existence, and maybe even before that.

“Don’t worry,” he grins, wide as always. Even in an over-enveloping darkness he still manages to be the light. “I’ll be just fine. I’m a strong kid, after all. And we’ll always be friends!”

Gojo asks if he and Yuuji can talk in private for a while. You wonder if this was how your mother felt as she had to give the person she loved most away (but you will have to go away, one day), because you can briefly tell what Gojo is going to ask. You wonder if she felt this twice.

Yuuji can’t stay with you forever. In the same way you can’t remain by your mother and father’s sides for all eternity.

This won’t be the last time you’re here, you think. For a place of death, it’s quite a bit beautiful how there’s such large masses of grass and plants surrounding it.

Megumi nearly walks past you, his eyes on the old photographs of the deceased all around him.

“Megumi.”

He turns around.

“I just wanted to thank you for wanting to save my friend, even if you may not have wanted to do it for me, specifically… um… I didn’t expect that you’d still be here. Are your injuries okay?”

“I’m okay,” he answers you. “And also, I…” he hesitates, the first time he’s talked to you for something actually related to the two of you in a long time— nearly two years if you’re counting correctly, but the thoughts in your head are a bit too jumbled to count at the moment. “I didn’t really do it for you, though. It… it was for Tsumiki.”

“Oh.”

“Wait! I’m sorry, that didn’t… come out right. But I should also apologise for something else. You wouldn’t have been thrown into this world anyway if not for my own demon dogs years ago.”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault. And I would have wanted to be in it anyway. There’s not many who can heal other people and all, so I just thought… even if I can’t do as much yet, since I don’t have reversed cursed technique and the drawbacks that come from mine are really bad, I can still help people sometimes if they’re dealing with relatively minor injuries. I can, um… make things easier for people. I can be useful like that. I’d keep to it anyway, because I’m stubborn, but… yeah. It wasn’t your fault, really.”

“Okay. That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m happy to know that Tsumiki is okay.”

Silence again for a while. The air turns a little more sombre, and a lot more awkward.

“She is. And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.”

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.”

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

“I do. He’s a really good friend. If there’s something I’ll always know I know that, at least.”

“I can see that. It doesn’t seem like he loves you back in the same way, though.”

“...wow. Way to be blunt, Megumi. And yes, I do know that, too.”

“Let’s just… change the subject.”

“You’re the one who introduced it in the first place.”

“Okay. How… how are you?”

“I’m good. Wait, I think you should… go back to them. Maybe they’ll need you there right about now. He’s probably going to have to go to Jujutsu High, right?”

He pauses. “Yeah. I’m sorry, [Name].”

“No, no. That’s okay. I expected it. It’s just that I’ll miss him a lot,” you tell him, “He took care of me, kind of. You know I’ve always been a bit of an awkward or shy person, but he still approached me since I was new and we ended up hitting off as friends, kind of. We did a lot of stuff together.”

Sounds pretty familiar, huh.

“If you want I can make sure he’s safe for you.”

“...you should be able to do that regardless of whether it’s my wish for you to do so or not…” you state, “But that would help, I guess. And I’m sorry for my attitude towards you for the past few hours or so. Thank you again.”

“...I’m sorry I never spoke to you for so long, by the way,” he says abruptly. ‘By the way’? Classic Megumi…

“I could tell you were. It’s… it’s okay. The two of you kind of have a habit of doing that.”

All your rage, your loneliness, your feelings of abandonment— and this is all you can do. This is all you can say. You can only just let it go, in the end.

“I’ll explain it all one day.”

“You don’t have to if it’s hard.”

He stays. “No, I will. I promise. And I promise I’ll start to talk to you again, as well. I was just… scared of a few things, maybe.”

“That’s okay.”

The two of you aren’t quite friends again yet, but it’ll happen soon. Maybe. And even if it doesn’t, you’re finally able to say, with an open, honest heart, that that doesn’t matter as much anymore.

“I guess this is goodbye again, then.”

“Not really.”

“Oh, right— promise to keep in touch, okay? My patience is running thin with you,” you chuckle at that last part, attempting to joke and make things lighter again.

“Promise.”

“I’m going to go home now, by the way. Please tell Yuuji that I wish him the best and I’ll visit when I have my own money to visit Tokyo and all.”

“I will.”

“And help me say goodbye to him for me,” you add, “Hope that’s not too much for you to do. Sorry for the trouble. It’s just that I’d actually just about cry if I had to do it in real time right in front of him. Be good to him and be good friends, okay? Keep that promise, at the very least. That’s the one thing that I wish for the most.”

“Bye, Megumi.” You turn back in the direction opposite of his.

“Wait—!”

His hand is on your wrist. Now you’re in front of him, like yesterday, and he’s holding your wrist, albeit a bit gentler than the way he used to pull it a whole eight years ago.

His eyes are cast away from you, slightly avoidantly and in a way that’s a bit abashed. “I’ll miss you, [Name].”

“It won’t even feel like I’m not there,” you say. Though his grip is slightly tight, he loosens it as soon as you try to slide it up, as if he’d let you be free of it if you want him to.

You squeeze his hand instead, turning to face him. It feels warm. It feels like there’s blood coursing through you, the sensation more tender and tangible than it’s ever been.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, [Name]. I’ll… I’ll call.”

“Thank you.”

Now you’re the one slipping away from his grasp. You move your hand away and walk back. The door slides open.

2010. Springs, summers, autumns, winters. Hands on wrists, a back faced to your eyes, wide with innocence. Warmth and laughter and happiness and love. Days coloured with vibrant hues and time spent with dog books and in libraries. Frowns were greeted with smiles. Hesitance was non-existent. You didn’t feel a need to compensate for your uselessness. You were a child. You didn’t feel useless at all. You just felt this: a constant leaping in your heart, the corners of your mouth twisting up into a juvenile grin, braiding someone’s beautiful brown hair and tying it with a pretty cherry hair tie.

You want to cry as you walk back home.

You’re pretty sure you do.

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

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martianbugsbunny · 5 months

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Ngl I'm a big fan of those episodes where Rose, Nine, and Jack were in a low-key poly relationship

#like idk #none of them were really involved-involved with each other #but at the same time there's something very married and flirtatious about them?#please tell me y'all are seeing the vision #doctor who #ninth doctor #rose tyler #jack harkness #ninerose #ninejack #jackrose #ninerosejack #idk #bad at tagging polycules #martianbugsbunny ships

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coldflasher · 1 year

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also. there was drama afoot at this con lmaooo

i had heard the rumour that candice and danielle do not get on irl but uhhhh. it would appear that they don’t get on to the extent that they can’t even stand to be in the same room as each other... 😬

#very weird bc you would think if they had that much of an issue they wouldn't have committed to doing an event together #we were trying not to tinhat bc this is so not our business and also. there is a reason why i generally try to just focus on the characters #i have already been in one real people fandom where we as fans were waaay too up in their business #it's not a good time. my policy these days is to just focus on the characters and know as little about the actors as possible #but yeah it was sus #like i said if they hate each other that much then why agree to do joint panels/photo ops in the first place #unless there was a last min blowup that resulted in this sudden and unexplained schedule change #to be fair there may have been some other issue that we were not aware of. like scheduling conflicts or something #but. i sense mess lmao #i should stop speculating cos again. im here for the characters and not them and i REALLY don't wanna end up getting involved or invested #in some personal relationship that is none of my business #i just wanted to get my photo taken with them. was not expecting this chaos #conventures #fandom wank

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saerotonins · 4 months

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biggest scandals they have faced

ft. actor!nanami kento, fushiguro toji x wife!reader (separated)

content warnings: fluff, light angst, jjk actor au, celebrity issues, cheating allegations, divorce allegations, none of them are true, misogyny, mentions of infertility, just cruel stuff based on the issues i see online, slightly suggestive (making out), toji and wife call each other "ma" and "pa", mentions/hinting of sex, internet trolls, horrible people online, pls don't read if these issues are triggering to you, shitty article names lol

wc: 2052

note: this got too long, will do other parts for the other actors instead <33 happy holidays, everyone!

NANAMI KENTO:

Jujutsu Kaisen Star Nanami Kento Facing Trouble in Paradise: Leads to Divorce

to say he was irritated when he saw the headlines from the tabloids was an understatement, he is beyond livid. but the comments just made everything worse.

user_1: wow aren't they married for years already? maybe his wife can't conceive any babies? LOL

user_2: must be, or maybe nanami's just realized his wife is just using him for his actor money

user_3: the wife doesn't know to make a sandwich i fear

user_4: maybe he got tired of his wife's ugly face, no wonder he hides it from the internet hahaha

kento doesn't give a fuck if people were dragging his name left and right but god forbid it involves you, his loving wife who has been nothing but utterly supportive of his career. for someone who stuck by his side for years, it angers him that people immediately assume that you were the problem. he knows the news isn't true, he literally just cuddled with you last night, so to say that you were getting a divorce almost makes him laugh if it weren't how stupid this situation is.

when his manager informed him about the situation, he immediately cancelled every schedule that he has for today, he will call the lawyers to settle this later but for now, his main focus is you.

you are someone who is used to the privacy of your own space which is why you opted to keep your face off his socials and remain anonymous to the eyes of his fans. kento hates it that your peace is getting disturbed due to his stardom, so he is willing to drop everything just to go home to you and comfort you. no one knows who you really are but the way it made people talk like they do, makes him angry. no way his wife is going to be disrespected like this.

the moment kento opens the door the your shared home, he's panting, sweat evident in his forehead and worry present in his eyes as he looks at you across the living room, sitting on the couch with your phone in your hands.

"shit," he thought, he knows you already saw the news, and worse the comments. he can tell just by your body language. your eyes sunken in sadness and your lips form a frown. he doesn't see it but he knows your heart is breaking too.

"honey," kento breathes out as he walks towards you. he knows you heard him, but you stay in your position, disbelief flooding your senses. suddenly, you came back to reality when you feel kento's warm embrace, his large and quick hands getting rid of your phone before placing it on your head and immediately feeling his chest against your head.

his breathing his ragged, unstable deep breaths as he tells you, "it's gonna be okay," and a thousand apologies to go with it. you nod instead, finding yourself difficult to talk. you opt to rub onto his arm, a silent reply to his comforting and kento seems to understand your gesture. he then kisses the crown of your head as he pulls you tighter in his embrace.

"am i holding you back, kento?" you asked, your voice quite muffled as you speak through his button down blouse.

"oh god, darling you will never hold me back, if anything, you keep me moving. don't listen to them, alright? i'm happy and contented to where we are right now, don't worry about it." he lets go of the embrace and cups your face with both of his hands. he looks at you with loving eyes as he brushes your lower lip with his thumb. you close your eyes as he leaned closer, then you finally felt his lips against yours. he gives a peck, another, and then a third one before he crashes his lips onto you for the last time as he takes his time to explore your mouth.

kento knows a lot of ways to apologize, and this is one of them. he is gentle, but his love is loud as he allows his tongue clash against yours, the wet squelch filling up the room as he allows himself to be drunk with your lips.

when kento lets go, his breathing is heavy but satisfied. "i'll take care of everything from then on, okay?" he says as he caresses your face and a smile creeps to his face when you lean towards his touch with a nod. "will you be releasing a statement?" you ask.

"yeah, i'll contact our lawyer about it and then we'll see what we can do." his answer earned a curt nod from you. kento noticed pursed your lips, obviously thinking about something.

"are you still bothered by the comments?"

"no, i mean, i'm a bit upset about how people were talking about me online but i'm just curious as to where all this came from."

"hmm, yeah, we'll take care of that too, for now, just rest your pretty mind and always remember that i will never leave you. that okay?" his gentle voice makes your heart feel full, and that's you know that your husband will always be at your beck and call. "yeah." you answered as you give his lips a quick peck, "i love you," you added.

"i love you too."

not a even a day later, the JJK LABEL had released a statement and an article regarding the fake news that had surfaced.

Nanami Kento Slams Fake Divorce Article: "Don't project your problems in your love life through me and my wife."

"the article itself and the comments are horrible and people are stupid enough to believe something that came from a tabloid known to release fake news. maybe this just tells about how gullible and stupid people are for believing groundless rumors and not my relationship." the artist stated.

"to everyone involved in the release of this article, we will see you on court and i hope you have any evidence about your claim. to the people who threw disgusting comments about my wife, please worry how alone you are instead of snooping around our relationship." he adds.

that day, kento's fanbase rejoice as the tabloids finally got their karma when it was reported that their company was finally shut down.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

it was a normal day in the fushiguro household until megumi bursts in through the door with a loud and resounding—

"dad, what the fuck?"

"megumi, language, please!" you warned him.

your word goes through megumi's ears and went to his dad who is currently lounging in the living room reading his script. he paid his son's words no mind and gave him a raised eyebrow, urging him to continue.

"your name is all over tabloids because of a forum post. look," megumi says as he faces his phone screen to toji's face. to say that he's horrified to what he just saw is an understatement. so, with a worry mind, you go behind toji's lounging chair and read what's on the screen.

Acting Veteran 'T' Caught in An Affair!

At the night of Tuesday, Actor 'T' is caught leaving a hotel with a seemingly younger woman clinging on his arms. The two are being lovey-dovey in their Shibuya rendezvous. Actor 'T' is currently married with a child which makes everything even more scandalous. What would actor 'T'’s wife and child think about this? Seems like the man really took a liking towards sneaking away with younger women.

Actor 'T'’s identity will be released by [MM/DD/YY] so stay tuned! For now, let us know your thoughts below.

user_1: actor veteran and the code is T? must be toji then?

user_2: this is definitely toji lmfao he looks like someone who would fool a younger woman

user_3: his wife must be so rusty now so he's running to the younglings LOL

user_4: respect for having the balls to cheat on his wife after this long, ik his ass is itching

user_5: @user_4 LMFAO should've done it sooner! bet he doesn't want to pay child support so he's staying 😂

user_6: NOOOO the GOAT got caught damn we were rooting for u 👑

"what the fuck?" both you and toji's voice were erupting in the whole room. out of shock? anger? rage? megumi is not sure but there is one thing he's sure of, both of you are being scary right now and the red in both of you and husband's eyes are almost showing due to the high range of emotions you were both feeling right now.

despite knowing that toji is utterly in love with you and he was actually with you that day, it scares him that his father is facing this kind of scandal. people are horrible out there trying to ruin his father's career that he worked hard on and this is the proof.

toji might be used to having false rumors spread about him all over the years he is in the acting industry, but what he can't take is people talking shit about his wife and thinking less about her. the comments that he just read just woke up the rage inside of him.

"mom?" megumi had called you since it's been minutes when you had gone quiet. the sight before him broke his heart.

your eyes are trying not to let your tears fall, but the comments are too hurtful to ignore, too cruel to set aside. even though you know that it's covered with a codename (barely), you exactly know it's your husband that they are talking about. you're hurt about the comments but you're most scared of your husband's career coming to a screeching halt.

you suddenly feel your husband hug you so tight and you let it all out. his shirt might get damped but toji doesn't care, comforting his wife comes first. he then tells megumi, "call our lawyer, tell him what we just saw, they'll know what to do," megumi frantically nods and gets out of the house to do what toji had said.

"come on, ma, let's go and get some rest." toji had urged you to go with him.

"pa, this is so ridiculous, i know you know how to deal with these but this is just too much, they're targeting our family now." the sadness in your voice and the tears that flow through face break toji's heart. you don't deserve this. these assholes needed to be taught a lesson, and he knows he won't be nice about it. "i'll take care of this, 'kay? i love you and megs so much, angel."

toji's voice somehow calmed your senses and you let yourself cry in his arms until you're left with no tears. "i'm sorry, i'm too old to cry like this." you said as you try to wipe the remnants of your tears from your face.

"no one's too old to cry, darling," toji coos, glad that you're finally able to calm down, and caresses the back of your head. then, a sly smirk forms on his lips, "you know what else we're not too old for?"

genuinely curious, you look up to him, "what?" you asked.

toji leaned down and whispered, "another child, think we can give megumi a sibling?" and gave you a mischievous look.

"toji!" you exclaimed as you smack his chest, flustered of his words.

"gross, get a room, and is now really the time for this?" you suddenly let go of yourself from toji's grasp the moment you heard megumi back in the living room. toji chuckled, "i got it all covered, both of you rest up and i will deal with all of this." toji walked towards where megumi is standing and gives his head a gentle pat, "no one's gonna ruin us, alright?"

the conviction in toji's voice made it clear to both of you and megumi that he already has a plan in mind, and you trust him enough to believe him. he has never let the both of you down, after all.

the next day, news break out the the person who posted the rumor on the online forum is caught with other criminal charges aside from the defamation he just attempted to do. the horrible comments also seem to magically disappear.

Fushiguro Toji Busts Down Anonymous User, Other Criminal Charges Involved

"I hope this serves as a lesson to everyone else. I'm not backing down until everyone gets what they deserve for ruining the names of the people I care about. I will not let go until every single horrible person who rises their tongue against my family is punished." Toji stated.

"Be careful what you read and comment online, please don't forget that the people you talk about are not just subjects, but real human beings." The veteran actor added.

the fake news spreader should have really known not to deal with a veteran who is powerful enough to protect the people he cherishes.

edit: i just noticed that i wasn't able to add the ending to toji's part 😭 my apologies, i fixed it now!

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gothy-froggy · 8 months

Text

Astarion Headcanons

Fluff dating headcanons

This man deserves it. Astarion x Gn! Reader

(Bg3 Astarion spoilers?) + not proofread

As we know that Astarion is not used to this kind of treatment or care. For 200 years he used his body to lure people for his master. And was treated poorly on top of that. This is something he isn’t used to.

Small physical touch

A simple squeeze of the arm, putting a hand over his, Astarion craves for it.

They’re so simple, yet, holds so much meaning.

Such pure and innocent intentions behind them. Intimate, not sexually. Just so much emotion and such a strong connection from a simple touch.

He likes it.

Even a simple, quick or a lingering kiss is just so nice. Astarion has kissed, slept, and held many, but not like this. It’s quite exciting.

The feeling of his beloved’s finger softly running through his hair got a sigh of content out of Astarion. His eyes fluttered closed. The way the their fingers goes through his curls, barely scratching his scalp. It was peaceful.

This was peaceful.

“Star.” They whispered. Astarion opened his eyes. He sat up from laying on their lap, facing his partner. A shaky breath aired out as his eyes shut as they placed their hands on his cheeks, brushing along his jawline. No words were exchanged. None had to.

Their feelings, thoughts, and love for each other were so loud despite not one opened one’s mouth.

No words could describe how much they cared for another.

Astarion grew to return such acts with the intention and his feelings being present. It was difficult at first. It was…odd for him. It was either awkward in his mind, or the spiral to disgust and the feeling of tainted leaking through the cracks of his heart and mind, perhaps his soul at well.

But the reassurance from his lover always pulled him back.

Nicknames

The nickname given to him? Star. It was definitely a shock to him hearing that as his nickname. He can’t help but be a little flustered.

He loves it. Astarion would live for it. Astarion loved it even more once he figured out the reason why his lover calls him Star.

Of course, he calls his dear, love, treasure, other sweet pet names, but the one his love gave him doesn’t seem to be defeated.

The night was chilling as the stars twinkled, dancing in the moonlight. Astarion sat on a big rock with his lover. Their gaze focused on the balls of light in the dark sky. Astarion’s was locked onto them.

“Do tell, my dear. Why ‘Star’ as my nickname?” He would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. Their eyes meets his, a small, gentle smile appearing on their face.

“Your name has star in it. A-s-t-a-r-i-o-n. Stars twinkle, they’re beautiful , like you.” Astarion let out a huff. Perhaps a small scoff.

“Well, I am beautiful.” A charming smile plastered over his face. His lover laughed, placing a hand over his as they leaned forward.

“You’re my star.” They whispered, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. Astarion paused, processing their words and the simple touches.

“You really are full of surprises.” Astarion whispered.

‘Their Star.’ He thought. It brought swirls of warmth inside his chest

Astarion’s love for the pet name Star becomes addictive. He gets slightly annoyed and disappointed when his partner doesn’t call him Star.

Hell, his treasure could even make him beg to be called Star if they wanted to.

It honestly irritates him how much he enjoys the silly little pet name. They really don’t hold much value or worth anything…or is that him and enslavement to Casador for centuries?

Nether the less, his love is here to show him what real is. What true love really is.

Perhaps the pet name is a spark of light for him.

His comfort (lover’s scent and warmth)

Nothing is more precious than holding someone with such passion. True passion.

Astarion struggled most on this. Surprising as it is, but the comfort involves holding someone. Being so close to their body with trust, letting your guard down,

But getting comfortable with having comfort is the most troublesome.

The fear of it being taken away becomes dread.

His nightmares are over, but they still plague his mind, making it hard to break through and open up. After a while, he did. He regrets not being able to break through before.

Whether it was a nightmare, or the utter crave of affection and his comfort, he always gets it. Astarion creeps into the tent, sliding an arm under his love’s, wrapped around their waist and pulling them close.

He presses his face into their neck, taking a slow and small sniff. Just smelling their scent, not just their blood, brought so much warmth and comfort. The warmth, the feeling of their body made all his stress move away. Astarion smiled to himself, pressing a lingering kiss on his lover’s shoulder, before whispering:

“Wherever you go, wherever you are..” Astarion paused, hesitant to continue as the fear and feeling of disgust creeps back in. Trying to pull him back to what he knows. Yet he fights it. The arm around their waist caused a small squeeze as he took a shaky breath before continuing.

“Is forever my home.” He whispered, forcing them out and choking over his words out.

“You are my true home.”

Maybe, just maybe, the fight for something new is worth it.

#fan fic writing #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 astarion #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion headcanons #bg3 x reader #fluff #astarion fluff

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distantdarlings · 3 months

Text

TRY THAT AGAIN // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.7K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* Pansy finds out that a group of Gryffindor girls has had a lot to say about you and your relationship with Theodore Nott. They think you won’t do anything about it, but you prove them wrong.

+ WARNINGS - Fighting, depictions of a fight, punching someone in the face, bloody nose, wound descriptions - very brief, language, gossiping, fem reader, not proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

IDGAF - Yeat

(Sorry I used Lavender as the 'mean girl,' she's just who I chose! I'm sorry if you like her :'))

---

The Great Hall echoed with hundreds of voices, each one rattling the glasses on the table. You caught yourself zoning out, staring in the general direction of the Gryffindor table. You blinked and shook your head slightly, knocking yourself out of your miniature daze.

As you came back to yourself, you noticed a group of Gryffindor girls with judgemental expressions printed on their faces. You realized they seemed to be looking right at you. You glanced around, trying to see if there was anyone else around you who might be warranting such a reaction from them. There was no one.

You waved gently—your eyebrows furrowed confusedly together. Once you did so, one of the girls sitting the closest to you rolled her eyes and turned back to her group of friends. Her long dark hair caught the reflection of the sun and flashed as she turned. You were taken aback at her behavior. There was always the possibility that she and her friends hadn’t been looking at you, but it seemed unlikely.

A sigh left you as you turned back to your group of friends

“Did any of you guys see that?” you asked. Pansy, Enzo, Mattheo, and your boyfriend, Theo, stopped their chatter and looked over at you.

“See what, baby?” Theo asked.

“Those girls over there at Gryffindor—they just glared at me like crazy,” you said.

“Those girls at the edge of the table?” Pansy asked, pointing.

“Yes, do you know them?”

“Not really, but they’re just plain drama,” she explained. “Getting involved with them practically ensures you’ll be dragged into something by the end of the week.”

“Why do you think they were looking at me?” you asked.

“I have no idea,” Theo interjected. “But if they’re “drama,” they’re likely going to try and involve anyone, no matter if they’re as sweet as you.” He flashed you a charming smile. You rolled your eyes in response, giggling a bit with Pansy.

“Do you have any plans for after dinner?” Enzo piped up, leaning into the table a bit.

“Not really,” you said. “I think Pansy and I are gonna have a bit of a girl’s night, though!”

She smiled widely and agreed. The two of you tried to get together and chat and paint each other’s nails every once in a while—just to keep each other up to date. She was your best friend after all—well, one of them.

“Yeah, and none of you are invited. It’s girl’s time only.”

The three boys sitting in front of the two of you rolled their eyes simultaneously. You both laughed in response.

When your group of friends had completed your meals, you all agreed to head your separate ways with you and Pansy headed back to your dormitory and the boys headed to Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer.

The two of you made your way out of the Great Hall and began to head down to the Slytherin common room.

Pansy pushed her short hair behind her ears as she turned to you. “Actually, I think I did see those girls staring at you earlier.”

“You did?” you asked. She nodded and began to fidget with the straps of her backpack.

“Yeah, when they came in. I’ve kind of been keeping an eye on them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I, erm…” she trails off, turning her head towards the floor.

“What? What is it?” you asked, coming to a stop in the middle of the empty hallway. She paused as well, staring at you with a bit of concern in her eyes, almost like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Pansy Parkinson, you tell me what—”

“Alright!” she exclaimed. She blew air through her lips, sending a few strands of her bangs flying into the air. “So, the one girl in Gryffindor…that’s Lavender Brown…”

“Okay…” you asked, pressing her on.

“Lavender Brown has an enormous crush on Theo,” she said, pressing her lips together awkwardly.

“Theo who? My Theo?” you asked. She paused for a moment and then gave a brief nod. You considered laughing. Why on earth would you be threatened by some random Gryffindor girl who had a crush on your boyfriend? Number one, of course, they did. He was Theodore freaking Nott. Number two, he was your boyfriend. He was taken, and he was loyal. You weren’t concerned with the possibility of Theo cheating on you at all. He was a spooky Slytherin boy from an old money family. And if there was one thing that spooky Slytherin boys from old money families valued more than being the best, it was loyalty. Theo would not cheat.

“Ha, I get her,” you snorted. “I have a crush on him, too.” Pansy stared at you blankly. She said nothing for a moment, then smiled nervously. You could tell something was very off.

“Look, all I’m saying is Lavender Brown has a bit of a track record around Hogwarts,” she shrugged. Your eyebrow quirked. “A track record of…home-wrecking, if you will.”

“Please, I’m not going to let some desperate Gryffindor bitch take my man from me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “How pathetic.”

The two of you began walking again, headed down to the dungeons.

If Lavender Brown thought she could give you the slip, she had another thing coming. You didn’t care what people thought of you or how they viewed you as “Theo’s girlfriend.” But one thing was for certain, you weren’t about to get fucking played.

The two of you rounded the corner and jogged down the steps. The Slytherin common room entrance stood before you, awaiting the password. Pansy and you tittered on about the little quirks of Lavender and her friends. However mean that was, you didn’t care. If she could glare at you and act like you knew her at all for absolutely no reason, you could talk shit about her with your best friend. It was girl code. Basically.

Pansy spoke the password, and the two of you walked through the entrance, arms looped in each other’s. If there were one person in the whole world you’d share your entire life story (secrets included) with, it’d be Pansy. She knew you better than anyone—except maybe Theo.

Pansy slid her robe off of her shoulders and set it on the back of the lush green sofa set before the fireplace. It was already lit and crackling comfortably as you took your seat next to her. You loosened your tie and set your feet up on the small table before you.

“So, out of curiosity, when you say ‘homewrecker,’ what exactly do you mean?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Well, do you remember Alaina and Joseph from fourth year?”

“Yeah, they were together forever.”

“Exactly,” Pansy said. “Until Lavender got involved.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I heard was Lavender developed a crush on Joseph and started flirting with him,” she started. “Well, on the realization that he couldn’t be worked away from Alaina, Lavender decided to take matters into her own hands. She started spreading a rumor about Alaina.”

“You don’t mean the Alaina cheating thing was spread by Lavender?” you gasped, pressing a hand over your mouth.

“Yes, I do mean that. Because she’s the one that started it.”

“I always had a bad feeling about that,” you sighed. “Alaina definitely didn’t seem like the type to cheat.”

“Yeah, but Joseph still broke up with her. He definitely believed the rumors. But when Lavender went to pursue him, he wasn’t interested in a relationship.”

When Pansy was done with her story, she sighed and glanced over at you. Your lips were slightly parted in shock as everything came to a climax. You couldn’t believe that someone would actually do that to a person over some dumb crush. When it was obvious that Joseph didn’t reciprocate Lavender’s feelings, why didn’t she just back down? But most importantly, would she try to do that to you and Theo?

“Ah shit, do you think she’s going to try and do that to me?” you ask, nervously nibbling on your bottom lip. Pansy shrugged. That was all the answers you needed.

“Fucking bitch!” you shouted, abruptly getting to your feet. “I can’t believe she would try that with me. How fucking embarrassing. Nobody’s interested in you, so you waltz around, screwing up other people’s relationships for a few minutes’ attention from a boy. Ew. She’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pansy agreed. “And nobody ever does anything. Alaina got kicked out of her own relationship. I don’t want to see that happen to my best friend.”

“Aw, Pans,” you sighed, smiling a bit. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, returning your smile. She opened her arms wide, and you fell comfortably into them, wrapping yours tightly around her waist.

“I still can’t believe her,” you said. “That’s like a bad movie plot. She’s actually pathetic.”

“I know!”

The two of you continued to chat until the sun outside had set far below the horizon. Students had walked past the two of you, back and forth, for the majority of the evening. But when the traffic had finally stopped, the two of you realized that it was probably getting really late.

With a few stretches and yawns, the two of you followed the other up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories and slipped into your beds. After the evening you’d had so far and the shit you’d talked, you were exhausted and ready for bed.

You collapsed against your pillow and crossed your hands over your stomach. The green canopy over your head shimmered beneath the moonlight.

Despite, how tired you are, you kept going back to what Pansy had said. That Lavender had lied and spread rumors about Alaina, that she’d ruined her relationship and might try to do it to yours. The thought of Theo thinking you had cheated on him and hooking up with Lavender later made you sick. You had to roll over to avoid the thought. Surely, he’d know better, right? You weren’t sure. How would you react if someone had told you that Theo had cheated on you? You groaned and pressed one of your pillows over your face.

Everything within you was saying to quiet the nerves in your head as quickly as you could and to fall asleep. These sorts of thoughts were doing nothing but making you panic. Imagining Theo with another girl made you panic. You couldn’t stand the thought of it. Especially if it was Lavender Brown—certified homewrecker. You didn’t think you’d make it.

As the thoughts of anxiety and jealousy swirled through your head, you found yourself drifting further and further off. The light of the moon was becoming dimmer by the second as you lay there. It wouldn’t be much longer until you were out like a light. You figured it was going to be a rather peaceful sleep despite your current worries.

Your eyes shut, and you were asleep.

x x x

The next morning, your eyes opened just before your alarm. Besides the fact that that never happened, you had a strange feeling in your gut, like something was different today. You didn’t know what exactly, but it made you nervous. You made a mental note to ask Theo if everything was okay as soon as you got downstairs for breakfast.

You tossed a robe around your pajamas, not bothering to switch into your school uniform yet. There was still around an hour before classes started, and you figured you’d have plenty of time to change. In fact, you thought, you might just run down and grab a quick nibble of something to eat. You’d talk to Theo as soon as you could.

The stone floors were cold as you slid your feet into a pair of woolen socks, then a pair of personal boots. As small as your dorm room was, you’d imagine that the firepit in the center of the room would do more for the temperature. But, you always found yourself freezing in the mornings as you were preparing for first period. Maybe it was just you—

“Good morning, friend,” Pansy said lowly, her voice still raspy from sleep. She jogged over to you from her bed on the opposite side of the room.

“Good morning,” you returned. “Wanna grab some breakfast?”

“Sounds good to me,” she yawned, looping her arm through yours. You found that she was always the one who initiated that small show of affection, but it felt good. The fact that you had a female friend who genuinely cared for you made your heart light up. With all of the worry over those girls last night, it made you realize how truly grateful you were a friend not involved in drama. At the thought, you flashed her a smile, to which she returned with a goofy expression.

The two of you giggled a bit as you turned the corner and climbed the main staircase, headed directly for the Great Hall. You could practically smell all of the food from here. On second thought, maybe you would stay for a full meal. If there was one thing you truly loved about Hogwarts—besides the obvious—it was the food.

As the two of you made the final walk down the grand hall, you noticed something. Perhaps it was all in your head or had something to do with the odd feeling you had when you woke up, but you felt like everyone was staring at you. It felt like every face you glanced at already had eyes directed at you. You broke the contact awkwardly each time, trying to ignore the strange attention. Whatever was going on, you really were not a fan.

“Pansy, is everyone staring at us?” you whispered, nudging her side with your elbow. She glanced around.

“It kind of seems like it, doesn’t it?” she said. “Hold on.”

She pulled away from you suddenly, leaving you to stop in the middle of the hallway. She approached a small group of girls gathered in the corner just before the Great Hall. You watched from where you were standing, trying to overhear what she was saying. She tapped one of the girls’ shoulders and began conversing with them.

You thought you recognized a few of them—some Slytherin girls from your Potions class.

After a few moments of you loitering awkwardly in the middle of the hallway, Pansy finally jogged back over. Her face was flushed, and her eyebrows were drawn tightly together. She looked as if she was deep in thought.

“Pans, what is it?” you asked, grabbing her arm.

“That bitch from yesterday…” she trailed off. Lavender Brown?

“What about her?” you asked.

“It seems like she has a bit of an issue keeping her mouth shut.” She pointed toward the wide-open doors to the Great Hall. You glanced over at the huge room. Your stomach sank a bit at the feeling of being involved in drama. Sure, you and Pansy chatted about drama around the school all the time, but you didn’t want to be involved in it. Was that bad? You didn’t know. A sigh left you.

You clenched your fists, feeling pops ripple through the knuckles. You were going to handle whatever was going on right now. There were thousands of things way more important than some stupid girl trying to disrupt your life. And, the worst of it was, she hardly knew you. What was her fucking problem? The thoughts ramped up your anger, but you pushed it down. You were just going to talk to her.

You walked through the doors of the Great Hall and quickly surveyed the room. Still, it felt as though everyone was staring at you. You tried to ignore it as you spotted Lavender and her group of friends. They stood around the Gryffindor table, with her sitting on the edge of it with one leg crossed over the other. She appeared to be telling them each something, but how she sat up straight and glanced around so often gave you a bad feeling. You swallowed thickly and calmly walked over to her.

As you came within a few feet of her, her friends began to notice and alerted her to your presence. Her eyes found yours, and she immediately shut up.

“Hey, Lavender,” you said politely, forcing a smile. Each of her friends gave you a different type of glare.

“Hey,” she said bluntly. Her expression was very hesitant.

“Can I talk to you?” you asked. She said nothing. “Alone?”

“Anything you need to say to me, you can say around my girls,” she said, a bit of an attitude shining through. She pursed her lips.

“Okay, well, what I have to say is for you, not your ‘girls,’” you mocked. Her eyebrow quirked. With every word that left your mouth, her friends reacted in some way. It seemed they were only egging her on.

“I think I’ll stay right here,” she said. You refrained from rolling your eyes.

“Alright, well, have it your way. I’ve just heard a bit of a rumor flying around. A few people have told me that you’re saying some…rude things about me, and I wanted to ask why. I mean, I don’t even know you.” You chuckled slightly. A few of her friends rolled their eyes.

“I’m not concerned about that,” she said. “I’m concerned about something else.”

“Then why are you saying things about me?” you asked. She sighed and got to her feet, closing the distance between the two of you a bit. You took a small step back. The last thing you wanted was for her to be right in your face. Her friends gathered behind her a bit.

“Um, because I can do what I want,” she said, crossing her arms. “Free country, right?”

“Sure…but I really would like you to stop,” you explained. “It’s upsetting me and my friends.”

“I don’t really give a fuck,” she said. Her friends laughed a bit at your shocked expression. You were struggling to wrap your head around why she would have a reason to talk about you if you’d never even had a conversation with the girl.

“Last time I’m going to ask, or I’m going to the Headmaster’s, Lavender,” you threatened.

“Do what you want—I’m not fucking scared of you,” she challenged, crossing her arms. “It’s not like you’re actually going to do anything.” Your fists clenched.

“Lavender, I’m asking you nicely. Stop talking about me, or I’ll make it a problem.”

“Ooh,” she teased, her friends tittering along. “What are you going to do? Are you going to run to the Headmaster’s just like you always do? ‘Oh, Professor Dumbledore, please help! There are students who are being mean to me—”

“Shut up, Lavender,” Pansy said, appearing behind you. “You’re fucking pathetic.”

A shock of pride flew through your chest at the bit of backup Pansy provided. You were feeling a bit outnumbered with Lavender’s posse.

“Was I talking to you, bitch?”

“Hey! Don’t fucking call her that!” you said, your voice raising a bit.

“Aw, I don’t think I’ve ever even heard you say a bad word,” Lavender mocked you. “You know, considering you are such an insufferable loser. Theo must be so fucking embarrassed of you.”

“What the hell did you just say?”

“I said, your boyfriend—” she took another step closer to you; you were practically chest to chest—“is embarrassed of you, little girl. Maybe he should try a woman on for size.” She laid a rough poke to your chest. Your arms rippled at the feeling.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“What, like this?” she poked you again, her false nails digging into your flesh. Before she could drop her hand away from you again, you’d turned and swung a violent punch at her.

Her friends screamed loudly as she crumpled to the ground, her hands pressed to her face. She shrieked at the top of her lungs, quieting everyone in the Great Hall. Per usual student behavior, groups of the Hall’s occupants raced over to try and get a glimpse at you beating the shit out of Lavender Brown.

Her friends fell away from her quickly as you dropped down on top of her, thighs straddling her chest, and wailed on her. So much for them standing by her. Punch after punch landed on her dumb fucking face. You were at the point now where the pain in your fists was hardly detectable anymore.

Jeers of encouragement erupted around you as fellow students circled the two of you—Pansy had been pushed back in the midst of the commotion. As you glanced around for your friend, the girl below you managed to shove her fist upward and land a lucky strike right to your nose. Your head snapped back at the motion, your hands coming up to cover the blood that spurted from each nostril.

You tasted metal and sweat as you leaned back down and continued your assault on her face.

“Not so confident now, huh, bitch?” you shouted in her face, laying a swift slap across her cheek.

Suddenly, you felt rough hands beneath your armpits as you were yanked backward. Despite the resistance, you fought against the unknown person, trying to get back at Lavender.

“Yeah, you fucking cunt, you wanna fuck with me?” you yelled, thrashing against the person behind you. “Wanna try it again? How about any of your fucking friends?”

“Hey, stop, stop!” Theo grabbed your wailing fists, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. He yanked you away from the crowd just as a few professors began to arrive. Enzo and Mattheo were hung back along the Ravenclaw table, waiting for their friend. Amused expressions were pulled across their faces.

“Merlin!” Enzo shouted, a smile printed on his lips. “That was bloody brilliant.” You refrained from laughing.

“Fuck, baby, I must be rubbing off on you,” Theo chucked. “You’re fighting just like your boyfriend.” A swell of pride flowed through you. He selected one of the fabric napkins from the table behind him and began pressing it beneath your nose.

“Whatever,” you said, hiding a smile. “I’m just tired of people walking all over me because they think I won’t do anything about it. And I didn’t touch that bitch until she mentioned you and touched me.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Theo laughed. “But I don’t think you have to worry about anyone messing with you anymore.”

The three boys before you smirked darkly at his words.

*Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx (if you would like to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, dm me, or send me a message in my inbox. Thanks!)*

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #oneshot #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin #harry potter smut #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott smut #pansy parkinson #fem reader #request #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #mattheo riddle

2K notes · View notes

star-sim · 4 months

Text

"nooo! she's taken!" ☆ enha maknaes

☆ non-idol! bf! enhypen maknaes x celebrity! fem! reader ☆ summary: you are a very well-loved celebrity, and your relationship is finally revealed to the public. ☆ genre: fluff, another poor attempt at humor, it's very silly ☆ warning(s)? none! lmk if you'd like to see this w the hyungs! hyung ver.

sunoo ☆

so youre a famous actress

you have your official instagram account

and then your personal one, that you only allow family and personal friends to follow

sunoo, your bf, also has an account on instagram

since most of you friends and family know him, it's not uncommon for him to take your phone and post on your personal account

one of those "hai guys i stole her phone 🤭"

all in good fun

so one night, you and sunoo and cuddling

it was one of those vibey nights

the lights were dim, candles lighting up the room with their orangey hue, light music playing in the background

laying on you and sunoo's shared bed, his face buried into the crook of his neck while you run your fingers through his hair

its honestly so soft and warm and comfy :]

the two of you aren't really talking to each other, just basking in each other's presence

and eventually you begin to doze off

at first sunoo was like "baaaaabee!! why did you stop touching my hair"

but then he realized you were asleep

so after givng your cheek a soft peck, and tucking you into the soft blankets

sunoo physically goes >:]

he takes your phone and decides that he's going to spam your personal account

because tbh he does this a lot and it's funny for everyone involved

sunoo takes very silly pictures of you and him

pictures of you sleeping, ones at very silly angles (ik he takes the most FOUL 0.5s)

on your story he posts them with also very ridiculous captions

theres one of you sleeping with the caption "mimimumuimuiu"

another fisheye lens one of sunoo with the caption "hai i stole [name]'s phone 😈"

but he also posts some sweet ones

like one where you're dozing off in his arms w the caption "she's so cute"

sunoo gets mushy at some point

like his captions go from funny to "im so happy that i get to call myself [name]'s boyfriend, i feel so lucky to be with such a beautiful and talented woman"

that's great!

really!

that's wonderful!

but.

there's just one problem

one

teeeeeeensy

weeeeeeeeeensy

problem

he was using the wrong account.

he was posting all this on your official, business, 7.8 million follower, instagram account.

and not your personal account.

!!!!!

😱😱😱

he doesn't notice until 20 minutes later his phone blows up with articles and text messages

and when he notices

sunoos like OH SHIT

he shakes you awake

and poor boy is so apologetic :(

"baby i'm so sorry i didn't mean to out our relationship like that i should have been more careful-"

but when he explains it to you

you kinda just laugh

and go back to sleep

HELP

sunoo deletes the stories but people already screenshotted them

yeah... so this blows up

i feel like they would become memes

like the ones of you sleeping become reaction memes or even worse part of those tiktok meme slides LMAOAOAO

a lot of people think it's adorable

and you do too

but sunoo is so embarrassed

poor boy

he was writing out entire think pieces on your instagram story oml

OH MY GOD I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHING TERRIBLE

there's definitely articles that come out about this

and yk how on articles theres a title page with images

one of the images is of you ofc

all these news outlets use your super professional HD MODEL pictures of you

like ones where youre a goddamn SMOKE SHOW, the "who is she?" ones, the ZOOWEE MAMA ones...

and then they use one of the foul images that sunoo takes of himself that are like 3 pixels

like the 0.5 lens ones 😭

nevertheless, there is a happy ending

everyone thinks its so sweet

including you

and when people bring it up on interviews you're able to just laugh about it

jungwon ☆

we joke abt jay and sunghoon and sunoo having mad side eyes

but i think we forget the FATHER of INSANE SIDE EYES

YANG JUNGWON HIMSELF

you're a singer/artist

and you just released a new EP!

on tiktok, you're making promotional videos to promote your new songs

looking like a cutie, popping off, as you always do!

anyways in many of them

you're in front of a glass door

or a mirror

so as youre being an absolute cutie promoting your song, in the background in the reflection you can see jungwon making faces

NOT BECAUSE HE'S MAKING FACES AT YOU

but bc sometimes there's ppl walking by and being judgy

jungwon is giving them mad stink eyes and it's caught in the reflection of your videos

i don't think a lot of ppl notice it until someone points it out

and when they do

theyre like

WHO TF IS THAT 😭

ppl are making tiktoks simply zooming into his face LMAOAOAO

and then a few days later

the paparazzi released pictures of you walking with jungwon, holding hands and on a date

and when ppl see it

theyre like

hmm...

that guy looks a lot like the guy in the reflection...

and then the dots connect

like sunoo, i think jungwon is embarrassed

everytime someone brings it up jungwon hides his face in your neck

and he wears that cute little bashful grin

but honestly it's cute

so just hug him and kiss his lil cheeks and he'll be okay

it kinda becomes viral on tiktok

so you make a few video stitches about it

you stitched the og video that pointed out jungwon's face in the background

your stitch was just a video of jungwon being embarrassed and freaking out

like bro was on the floor, hands in his hair

jungwon was in the trenches sorry 😭

there's another stitch where jungwon explains himself

he's dressed in a suit and tie and speaking so formally like he was making an apology video or something

"i would like to address a recent clip of me making inappropriate facial expressions-"

"babe you don't need to be so formal, it's a tiktok"

"you shant say that, i must do this for this is my will"

BRO WAS FIGHTING FOR HIS LIFE ☠️☠️☠️

#freejungwon

riki ☆

youre an actress that's very popular

except some ppl hate you bc they think hating popular people makes them interesting *eye roll*

safe to say.... riki is your NUMBER ONE DEFENDER

like he is the ring leader to all of those [name] stan twt group chats

he's the one leading those discord raids on your hate groups OH MY GOD 😭

he has multiple accounts and he fights every person that dares tarnish your name

twitter is his battlefield and the keyboard is his sword

anyways one day riki is so deep into an internet fight that he GETS DOXXED 😭😭

like it wasn't even graceful

i think he'd make fun of one of your haters

and the hater goes "wanna see something funny? :)"

and BOOM

ADDRESS

IP ADDRESS

FULL NAME

PERSONAL EMAIL

PHONE NUMBER

dont actually dox people guys its not funny

when riki gets doxxed they get his full name right

and the hater, his assailent, and their little posse start searching his name on social media to further dox him

and BOOM #2

THEY FIND HIS INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT

now riki isn't stupid

so his ig acc is private

however.....

the profile picture of his acc is a selfie of you and him kissing

they also did research on him and found out that you and him went to the same high school...

in fact they found miscellaneous pictures posted online of you and him a few years back... holding hands n shit....

SHIT

this goes viral over night

its so bad that even news headlines are covering it

"TWITTER USER @[NAME]LUVER1209, HOT ACTRESS [NAME]'S MOST NOTORIOUS INTERNET DEFENDER, IS REVEALED TO BE HER BOYFRIEND 😱😱😱"

i feel like the public's reaction to this would be really light-hearted

like i think mst ppl would be cheering riki on

"he's so real"

"oh my god i think i was mutuals with @[name]luver1209"

"this is what true love looks like"

you have super loyal fans and riki's mutuals so they support you too

except i do think theyd be in shambles, but in good fun

"i just found out [name] has a bf im going to flush myself down a toilet"

"i can't believe she chose @[name]luver1209 when his fancams are so shit... THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!'

"i've been here waiting in line for three years and this random @[name]luver1209 swoops in and takes my woman..."

riki's stan account gains a lot of followers

and so with your permission

he posts a selfie of you and him

probably with a cheeky caption like "KISS MY ASS!!!!"

i feel like people go back and watch old talk show interviews and stuff

and if you zoom in

you'll see riki in the front rows cheering the loudest 😭

bro is everywhere

in the future there's def a moment where like

you're at a live talk show

and the host asks you about the fiasco

and you can literally just point to him in the audience like

"yeah my boyfriend's right there-- hi baby!"

and riki from the audience, behind his phone that he's using to record you like its a fancam, is like "hi baby!" back

i dont think the media even calls him riki, he's stuck as @[name]luver1209 forever

not that he minds

😭😭😭

hyung ver.

2K notes · View notes

rubiehart · 3 months

Text

thinking about how childhood!best friend trope for jj is just perfect for him

ೃ༄*ੈ✩

obviously he has this deep rooted belief from his dad that he’s unlovable and he’ll never be worth anything more than any other maybank before him, so whenever a girl would inevitably fall for his charming personality he might just per-sue it for one night, ending in pleasure for both parties but then pushing her away when he’d receive a text asking to meet up somewhere for a casual date after ushering her out of the chateau at early hours in the morning, making up excuses or just straight up ghosting the poor girl because he truly believes nobody could ever love him so he’d rather just not suffer the heartbreak of losing someone and just not even try.

this is how he ends up with his reputation of being a ‘heartbreaker’, girls not wanting to get involved with someone like him at risk of being heartbroken by his reckless behaviour, the only person that would truly understand him is his childhood best friend, having seen everything he’s been through his whole life.

always being the first to comfort him after an unpleasant altercation with his dad, always the first he goes to for advice about girls;, swinging head to toe in the hammock as the sun sets over the horizon sharing a j, legs tangled together, both of them focusing on ignoring the life long tension between you, but it was never awkward, nothing could ever be awkward with each others, you knew everything about one another so there really was nothing to hide.

he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you were, despite knowing you pretty much his whole life, you’d really grown into your looks and he’d argue you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, but he’d never actually admit it, he wasn’t about to risk such an important friendship for something that wouldn’t be fail proof, love just wasn’t his thing and he wasn’t planning on changing his opinion any time soon, so he casts his gaze away from your lips, tuning back into whatever you were rambling about.

on particularly hot summer days in the banks, all the pogues gathered together like normal on the hms pogue, you sat on the bow, legs slung over jj’s lap, ray-bans he got from who knows where perched on his head, pushing back his blonde mop in a way that made his freckled nose stand out on the beaming sun, occasionally stealing sips of his beer, bringing the glass bottle to your lips and sucking, an innocent act but it meant much more to jj, especially with your tits pressed together deliciously by the triangles of your new red bikini, the thong so small that if he looked long enough he could make out the outline of your chubby cunt, the thought making his dick twitch in his swim trunks.

but it didn’t mean anything, right? that’s what he told himself that night when he had his right hand gripping his cock desperately, other hand gripping the sheets as he tried to conceal his groans, the mental image of your lips wrapped around the bottle and the way your tits pressed together perfectly in your bikini spurring his orgasm on. after he came he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thoughts of you consuming his mind. but it didn’t mean anything, none of this meant he was in love or even liked you in that way at all, you were his best friend and no matter what he was keeping it that way.

he told himself this continually, anytime he felt his heart pang when your touch would linger on him for a little longer than the other guys. it’s because you’re best friends. anytime it was him you’d go to for guy problems, spilling your sex stories to him when you had even a drop of alcohol in your system. it’s because you’re best friends. she just trusts you. he told himself this when his first instinct after any fight was to run to you and break down in your arms and let you clean his wounds because he felt safe with you, knowing you wouldn’t judge him for the way he felt, the only person in the world who understood him. it’s because you’re best friends, no other reason.

he told himself this until the answer to his feelings was staring him in the face, literally. your naked frame splayed out on the same bed he’d busted to the thought of you on multiple occasions. he realised it then, he loved you, but he had loved you long before that, long before the lingering touches, long before you grew into your beauty, long before the jealousy of other guys getting to touch what was now finally his, he’d always loved you, before he even really knew what love was.

689 notes · View notes

sp0o0kylights · 4 months

Text

Steve’s mother was the black sheep of her family.

Stella hated the snow, and the isolation of the small town she grew up in. Hated the bright colors, and sheer friendliness of the neighbors. How everyone was always involved in each other’s business, at all times--and how getting involved meant sharing.

Giving up your time for the greater good.

‘We’re one big family!’ Her father had told her, and hadn’t understood why she found the concept utterly revolting.

Just like she couldn’t understand why they never agreed with her ideas. Things would run so much more smoothly with more rules, better regulations. They didn’t need to rely on magic when they had spreadsheets.

Who cared if some people were upset? If some of the workers where put out of jobs, or “hurt” by her changes?

That was how evolution worked.

The strongest survived, and the business world demanded only the strongest of leaders.

She didn’t regret leaving.

Didn’t look behind her for a second, all too happy to go to college and find herself a rich man to make miserable.

Even had a child, though they were never her favorite things. Her Steven of course, would be so much different from the children she’d grown up among or the ones she helped oversee for her father's work.

He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t shriek or scream or make demands of busy adults. Steven would know his place, and he would stay in it until he had grown into a reasonable adult.

No unrealistic expectations, not from her son.

And absolutely, 100%, no magic.

(Unfortunately for Stella Harrington and her relationship with her son, magic does not obey the whims of one person.

Particularly not that kind of magic, one far older than Stella could comprehend.)

See: Steve knew where he came from. Would never say it of course, outright refused to put a name to it.

Knew better, even when he was young, than to speak it aloud.

Though his mother had long abandoned any powers given to her, Steve was still born with his. When lonely, he often found he could wander into a different kind of woods.

One absolutely covered in snow.

Steve should have been cold in those woods, but he never was, not even the first time he stumbled into them at the tender age of seven.

These trees never scared him. Not like the ones in his backyard sometimes did.

The whole place felt rather welcoming in a way his own house had never been, and as Steve had stumbled along following the faint glow of lights, he found himself feeling more relaxed.

Happy.

Even at seven, Steve was smart enough to know he needed to turn back, after a while. That his mother would be furious with him if he caused her to miss the meeting she needed to go to.

That he had a responsibility to be where she put him.

He hadn’t crested the hill yet. Hadn’t quite figured out where the glow was coming from, when he realized he needed to go home--but his trip wasn’t wasted.

A baby reindeer distracted him.

It peeked around a tree, and upon seeing him, came dashing his way.

Steve should be scared, would have been scared, but something in him told him this creature was his friend. He held out his hands and greeted it as such.

He was right.

A few more little reindeer came up over the hill, running around him, and together he played what felt like a game as he walked back in the direction he thought his house lay.

Said his goodbyes when the snow started to wane and made promises to return.

Found, sadly, that he wouldn’t get another chance too for almost a full year. He was too busy, signed up for multiple sports, handed over to tutors and taught life skills by a parade of nannies, none of whom ever stayed for long.

He dreamed of the snow.

The gentle way the woods felt.

It was what made him tell the lie that let him go back.

Steve was eight by then, and smart to how his parents and nannies worked. That some of them overlapped their stays when his parents went away.

So it was easy to tell Mary that she could go.

That it was okay, really. Carla had just called, she was on her way.

Just like it was easy to tell Carla that his parents' plans had changed. Let her know she wasn’t needed after all.

What harm would it do if he was alone for a night? His father kept telling him he was a big boy. Soon he’d be on his own anyway.

The snow found him faster this time, when he went for his walk in the woods.

Delighted, Steve kept an eye out for the reindeer, fingers skittering across tree bark as he looked around, once again tracking the soft glow that came up over the hill.

It was a long walk to that light, but Steve didn’t mind.

Not until he heard the crying.

“Hello?” Steve called, voice prim and proper as always. It was a little high--Tommy teased him endlessly about it, but he had been assured it would deepen.

The crying didn’t stop, but things got quiet for a moment, in the way that happens when someone was trying hard not to be found.

(Steve knew exactly how that felt, not wanting to be found. Wanting to cry for a moment, without someone telling you to toughen up, be a man, ‘God Steven you’re too old for all this--’)

“It’s okay!” Steve rushed out, trying to locate where the muffled sounds were coming from before they ran away. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

Which is right about when he almost tripped over the other kid.

He was hunched against a tree, knees drawn into his chest with brown hair hanging into his eyes. His clothes were a odd--a little like how his teacher had made Steve dress when they’d done a play about the middle ages.

“Who’re you?” The boy asked defensively, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“I’m Steve.” He said, before kneeling down himself. “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” The boy sniffled. After a moment he added; “M’ Eddie.”

His eyes were large, and reminded Steve of a puppy he once saw. All cute and round and shiny.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” The boy said and it wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t friendly.

“I’m not from around here.” Steve told him. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

It was kind of hard to know, given Steve wasn’t sure where here was, exactly--and absolutely knew better than to ask his parents.

“Well then you should go home.” The boy sniffled again.

Steve wasn't put off by it. Tommy had been a lot meaner than this after all, when they'd first met.

Given their parents made them play together anyways, Steve felt he he could get this kid to like him too.

"I'm gonna, later. I'm looking for something right now though--you wanna come?"

Which he felt was a pretty nice offer. Might distract Eddie from whatever was bothering him.

(Steve liked distractions, when he was upset. It made it a lot easier to swallow down the bad feelings.)

“You shouldn’t hang around me.” Eddie said suddenly. His nose was as red as his eyes, and he refused to look Steve in the eye as he hunched further into himself. “I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad.” Steve told him.

He got a glare for it.

“How would you know?”

“I dunno.” Steve stopped, brows furrowing in thought. “I just--kinda do. I always have.”

Which was true. Steve was awfully good at identifying who was good and who was bad, from adults to his fellow classmates. It had gotten him in trouble before his mother had sat him down, and told him he just had a good business sense.

That he needed to keep to himself who was good and who was bad, especially the adults, because it wasn’t his place to say such things.

(‘But it’ll serve you well in the future.’ His mother told him, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind his ear. ‘Particularly for business deals.’)

“Well you’re wrong then, because I was born bad.” Eddie scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. “Everyone says so!”

It was dramatic as hell, and Steve couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him.

“I’m sorry!” He said immediately, when Eddie’s face flushed angrily. “I’m sorry it’s just--you look kinda silly.”

He mimed Eddie’s stance for a moment, including a dramatic little huff of breath. It unbalanced him, and Steve ended up dropping on his butt, which made him to laugh even louder.

“No one who does that can be bad.” He said finally, through the giggles.

“That’s--stupid. You’re stupid.” Eddie said, except he was clearly trying to hide his own laugh at Steve’s antics.

“I’m not stupid--and you’re not bad. I promise.” Steve said, before reaching out a hand, one pinkie extended. “I’ll swear on it.”

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asked him, but he didn’t sound sad now. More curious.

Curious Steve knew, was a lot better than sad.

“You wrap your pinkie finger with mine. Then it’s a pinkie swear, which is like--unbreakable!”

That’s what Carol had told him at least, and so far it had held true. Steve figured it must work doubly so, in a place like this.

Cautiously, Eddie reached out, entwining his pinkie with Steve’s. Like any minute Steve would snatch his hand back, and tell him it was all a joke.

Instead, Steve bobbed their hands up and down once, before letting go and asking; “Do you wanna go find that light with me? I wanna see what it is.”

He pointed up the hill, toward the glow that had haunted his dreams.”

“Oh that’s boring.“ Eddie told him, but he had a grin on his face that felt infectious. “It’s just the town. I’ll show you something way better!”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, and let Eddie snatch his wrist, launching to his feet and bringing Steve with him.

In doing so his hair blew, revealing that he had pointed ears.

Steve stared at them in awe as Eddie tugged him further into the trees, until they burst into a clearing filled with gingerbread houses. They ranged from teeny tiny, to large enough that Steve and Eddie could walk in them, and it wasn’t long before the two started a game of tag, broken only by laughter.

In retrospect, this was his downfall.

Because the little gingerbread houses were really cool, and Eddie was a lot of fun. It was easy to play with him--like the two of them had been made for each other.

Steve had never connected like this with a person before. Never had so much fun with someone before.

Not even with Tommy and Carol, his very best friends.

Eddie seemed to feel the same way, and not even an hour into meeting him, Steve knew he would remember this for the rest of his life.

Remember Eddie.

Steve ended up losing track of time. Stayed so long that his lie was discovered.

The person who came looking for him wasn’t his parents, but looked weirdly like his mom--if his mom were a boy.

He introduced himself as Steve’s Uncle Nick after he called the two boys to him, hands on his hips in a way Steve kind of wanted to mimic.

Steve knew it to be true, in the same way he knew how to find the forest, and if someone was good or bad. A feeling inside him he could tap into, warm and fuzzy in a way that, should he ever be pressed, he might admit to feeling like magic.

“Now how did you get here?” Uncle Nick asked him, like Steve's presence was a surprising little puzzle.

Knowing better than to lie, sensing that his Uncle would be able to tell if he did anyways, Steve told him the truth.

It got him exactly what he expected, which was an upset adult.

Unlike his mom or dad however, his Uncle didn’t yell at him, or grab Steve’s hand in a punishing grip. No nails dug into his skin, no harsh words were hissed. Uncle Nick simply pinched the tip of his nose, before giving a sigh that shook his massive frame.

“Your mom is going to be very upset.” He said finally.

Like Steve didn't know.

“I just wanted to see the lights.”

“The lights--oh.” Uncle Nick glanced over his shoulder. “Could you see them from your house?”

Steve shook his head.

“No but I could feel them.”

Like a pulse in his chest. A compass, or--a guide.

“He says he can tell who's naughty or nice.” Eddie chimed in, oddly quiet for how loud he had been. “He says I’m good.”

This was said as a challenge, and Steve eyed his new friend out of the corner of his eye. He’d never dared speak to an adult like that, and was both a little in awe of Eddie doing it, and afraid for him.

Something his Uncle seemed to sense.

“Edward, go home.” He said, firm but kind. Not like how Steve's mom was when she was mad, or his dad when he had a bad day at work.“I’ll come talk to you later. Come on Steve, let me walk you back. I best explain this in person.”

Then he took Steve’s hand in his, while Steve called out a goodbye to Eddie over his shoulder.

“You’ll come back and visit, right!?” Eddie yelled back.

Steve shouted an affirmative, even knowing it wasn’t likely he’d be allowed.

(Wished with all his heart, that he'd be allowed.)

“Eddie is really good, you know.” Steve said once he no longer could see his new friend, because it felt important to tell his Uncle that. Necessary, for some reason.

“I know.” Uncle Nick replied gently. “But let’s not worry about him right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then they were back in Steve’s woods, the ones that were sometimes unfriendly. In his backyard, and up to the door, and even from here Steve could hear his mother and father screaming at each other, in a tone that made his stomach curl.

“Come on kiddo. Time to face the music.” Uncle Nick told him, and Steve found he really didn’t want to let go of his Uncle’s hand.

He did though.

He was a big boy, and well trained. He didn’t flinch from his parents. Didn’t disobey when his mother demanded he tell her exactly how he got to the fun place, with all the snow--and listened further still when she demanded Uncle Nick take it out of him.

Take what Steve didn’t know--not until his Uncle lost the argument.

Reached into Steve’s chest and did something to him, something that killed that warm and fuzzy thing that had always lived inside Steve.

He cried harder than he ever had before that night. Cried and begged for Uncle Nick to put it back, that he was sorry and he wouldn’t ever use it again if they just let him keep it.

(He promised, he promised, he promised-!)

Sank to his knees and told his parents that it hurt.

They didn't listen, and they didn't put it back.

His father told him to get up off the floor, and then pulled him up when Steve found he couldn’t.

Hauled him to his room, even as his Uncle warned his mother that he couldn’t get rid of it. That he could only suppress it, the same way she suppressed hers, but those words didn’t really matter to Steve just then.

Not when he was hurting, and tired, and found himself wishing for his new friend.

(His mother told him he’d feel better in time.

Steve never did.)

xXx

The hole in Steve’s chest had never filled.

It kept him up at night. The yearning for something just out of reach, tormenting him with a feeling of being hollow.

He didn’t know how his mother could stand it.

Steve stopped fussing about it though--or rather, he stopped the first time his father had slapped him over his complaining.

“Enough, Steven! You’re perfectly fine. Now start acting like it, for fucks sake!” He’d roared, and shocked as he was, Steve had still done what he’d been taught to do.

Toughed it out. Sucked it up. Got over it.

Dumped his entire life into basketball and swimming and other parent-approved activities, even if he felt empty.

He was eight, then ten, then fourteen and soon Steve wasn’t healed, but he'd adjusted.

Got aloof to the pain as his popularity skyrocketed, and his parents left him on his own while they chased the almighty dollar.

(Secretly, Steve tried to fill the void in his heart with parties and people, alcohol and even the occasional drug, though most just left him feeling worse than before.

It was perhaps how he ended up acting as he did.

Turning from the sweet boy who was always helping others, to someone who was fast with their insults. Popularity was a sharks game, and though he refused to participate in the bullying his friends enjoyed, he made sure everyone knew who the biggest fish in the pond was.

Because the hole was always there, in the back of his mind. The thing inside him that was missing, that made him crave the snow, and the lights, and the boy with pointy ears.

He might be able to force himself to forget about all of that, if only the hole in his heart would allow him.)

xXx

Five days before his fifteenth birthday, some random guy showed up in Steve’s yard.

This wasn’t unusual--Steve invited a lot of people over.

Tommy and Carol both had a standing invitation to use his pool and Steve often used it to curry favor with the upperclassmen--but even underwater, Steve didn’t recognize the teenager leaning over to watch him swim.

Plus it was a little weird for someone to pop up on a Sunday.

Refusing to be intimidated, Steve surfaced right under the guy, head whipping up to make sure he splashed him in the face.

Laughed as the other guy sputtered.

“Can I help you man?” Steve drawled, hooking his arms on the lip of the pool.

“I’m looking for someone. Steve Harrington?” The guy told him, glaring as he wiped water off his face.

His hair just touched his shoulders, in that awkward stage of growing out that made him look like a pageboy.

Steve tucked that little observation away for later, in case he needed it.

“Congratulations, you found me.” He said, eyeing him over.

Black jeans with holes in the knees, wallet chain and a black shirt with a faded logo of some band Steve had never heard of proudly displayed. A checkered plaid shirt topped the whole outfit, with a red guitar pick dangling around his neck from a chain.

Like the guy thought he was some kind of rockstar, and not in bumfuck Indiana.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Though I think you’re in the wrong place. The audition for the new town jester is being held at the high school.”

He got a frown, like the guy knew he was being insulted but didn’t quite want to believe it. “I’m not here for an audition.”

“You sure? Cause you’re definitely dressed the part.”

“Okay, you are definitely not Steve.” He said, arms crossing his chest. He had a ring on each hand, catching the light as he clutched at his arms. “Steve wasn’t this much of a dick.”

Which wasn’t the first time Steve had been called out for his behavior--but it had never been by the people he was supposed to care about.

Those people, the people his parents liked?

They loved it.

“Times change.” Steve told the stranger. Kept his tone light and playful, the way that always made girls giggle at him and guy’s listen.

Well the ones he wasn’t making fun of, anyways.

“People do too.”

He rearranged himself, planting both palms flat against the concrete, bouncing once to build energy before rocketing out of the water.

Stood, and watched with interest as the new guy’s eyes raked over his naked torso, before his whole face flushed red.

How he looked away, like he suddenly couldn’t bare to look at Steve.

“You shouldn't have changed that much.” He muttered, but Steve already had his number.

"Why were you looking for me anyway?” Steve asked as he went and grabbed a towel. Wrapped it around his waist, but kept his upper body shirtless.

Idly scratched at his hip and watched as the guy acted like Steve had practically stripped naked in front of him.

Weirdly enjoyed the little spark it gave him, to watch this guy appear so affected by his bare chest.

Defensive, the stranger bit out; “We were friends. I haven’t seen him in a long time, I was just checking up on him.”

That made Steve pause.

Really look over the guy standing before him.

The fidgeting, the blushing, the way he avoided Steve’s gaze.

He opened his mouth, an odd urge to draw this out guiding him when the hole in his chest pulsed.

Like a convulsion, a miniature seizure that took Steve entirely by surprise.

It had been a long time since it had done that, long enough to throw Steve off his game.

Make him feel unsafe, unmoored.

Abandoned.

“Yeah?” He wheezed, before covering himself and the flood of wrong/want/need with a harsh cough. “Well now I know you’re definitely barking up the wrong tree. I’d never be friends with a fucking queer.”

At that, the guy’s mouth dropped open, head whipping around to stare at Steve in shock.

"Don’t deny it, I can tell. You’re practically drooling over there.” Steve smiled with all his teeth, even as he struggled to keep his breath even. “It’s disgusting.”

“You know what, fuck you. I thought you were different and you’re not.” The stranger spat, with far more venom than Steve was prepared for. “You’re the same as all the rest.”

He scoffed, before whirling on his heel, middle finger high in the air as he stormed off into the woods.

“Have fun with your sad, beige fucking life!” He yelled, voice a little choked up.

“I will!” Steve yelled back at him, oddly heated.

Rubbed his chest when he was gone, before sitting down to try and figure out what the hell just happened--and why the hell his chest hurt so much.

xXx

Steve’s life remained completely and painfully normal--until Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy and her smile, Nancy and her reminder of what it felt like to be loved.

She didn’t fill the void inside him, but what she did came close.

Felt similar.

Steve found he’d do anything for her, looking at life once again through the lens he had back when he was seven.

It was great.

Better than great--it was the best he’d ever been.

Then Barb went missing.

Shit hit the fan so fast that in retrospect, Steve still doesn’t understand it. There was Jonathan and his camera, with the background of his missing little brother. Tommy and his insults, grabbing Steve up by the collar. Nancy being weird, Nancy ducking him to hang out with the guy who took photographs of them having sex.

Steve's brain tracks it all in little snapshots. The way he realized that maybe Nancy was right--he was way more of an asshole than he thought. How he decided to clean the theater, and then apologize to Jonathan.

(Creepy shit or not, Jonathan’s brother was gone. Steve had never had a brother, but he understood how it felt when something important was taken from you.

How it made you act after.)

There was a shift inside him. Not coming from the void, but from how Steve dealt with it.

And then there was a fucking monster coming out of the ceiling.

This is how Steve learns the magic he once had wasn’t special. That it’s not the only supernatural thing that exists in the world.

Only unlike the snow and gingerbread house and boy with pointed ears and an Uncle that looked a hell of a lot like Santa Clause, this version came with evil government laboratories, the Upside Down and his girlfriend holding a gun.

It was kind of a lot, really.

Particularly because his parents weren’t home.

(They still came home of course, but it wasn’t with the same frequency as it used to be.

The business trips went from once a month, to every other week, to long stretches of away periods. Long enough that Steve spoke to them over the phone more than he did in person, and knew more about business mergers than he ever cared too.

Also his fathers love life, courtesy of his drunk mother.)

Steve didn’t exactly handle it well.

Doesn’t think any of them handled it well, really, even if Nancy blamed him for trying to pretend he was okay. But right as their relationship blew up in Steve’s face, shit started happening again.

Flickering lights and freaky monsters. A group of kids Steve found himself in charge of, who were doing their level best to commit suicide.

(“We’re helping El and Will, idiot!” Mike Wheeler protested in the back of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro when Steve brought up that this was not what being benched meant, and Steve let him have that one given the way the world was spinning.

God that asshole hit like a train.)

Another snapshot, full of fear and fury, and things were over once again.

Steve was telling Nancy it was okay. She could go with Jonathan, that he could tell it was what she wanted.

It hurt him to do it, but he wasn’t going to be like his own parents.

Realized with a weird amount of clarity, that he wanted to be the very opposite of his parents.

Late in the night, feeling every ache and pain in his body but knowing everyone was safe, Steve finally started the long trek home.

He didn’t have his car (he hoped that was still at the Byers place) and he didn’t have his keys (no clue where those went but he was praying it wasn’t in the freaky tunnels) and was well into the middle of his walk when his chest started acting weird. Really weird.

Steve ignored it.

He kept ignoring it, focused on getting back to his bed, and his bed alone.

(Maybe he had been thinking more than that. About how the last time he had truly been happy wasn’t with Nancy, but with Eddie. That he’d give anything to go play in the gingerbread houses again.

Maybe he was even thinking of how warm his Uncle had been, the way he was so gentle when he held Steve’s hand.

How he’d argued against Steve’s parents, when no one else ever did.

It was probably just the head injury.)

Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on who you asked later--the weird feeling didn't stop.

It grew and grew, until it felt like something was breaking out of him.

Like a cough you’d long suppressed that crawled forcefully up and out of your throat, it both hurt and felt amazing, a pang echoing out through his very core--

Then suddenly there was snow on the trees and Steve was stumbling into a teenager with fluffy hair.

“Sorry.” He muttered, right before he went down on his knees.

“What the hell---” Fluffy haired guy said, spinning around and looking at Steve like he was a ghost. “Oh shit, are you okay!?”

“I’m fine.” Steve lied, even as he gave in and laid down.

Man, this snow was nice.

Comfy and soft, and cold on his face.

There was a string of curses coming from above him, and Steve made the effort to twist his head so he could watch fluffy hair kneel frantically next to him.

“ What happened!? How did you get here!?”

“S’long story man.” Steve slurred, feeling bad and looking worse. His head fucking hurt.

“Don’t suppose there’s a guy named Eddie around? He has uh,” Steve fumbled, hands trying to point to his ears. “Pointed. You know.”

He gestured to his own ear again.

(Figured he might as well ask, given all the snow.)

The Fluffy Hair pulled said hair back at that, revealing his very own pointy ear. “Dude you’re in the North Pole, all us elves have pointy ears.”

The North Pole.

The words Steve had only ever dared to think, and never said out loud.

“Cool.” He said instead, not really feeling like he was inside his own body.

“Just--stay there, okay? My name's Gareth I’m gonna go get someone.” Gareth the elf (an elf, wasn’t that a trip. Did that mean Eddie was also an elf?) said, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, before he darted off, out of Steve’s sight.

“Can you get Eddie?” The question came out in a whine, the hurt in Steve’s chest overtaken by the pain in his head.

He didn’t get an answer.

Which was okay, he thought.

He didn’t really need one.

He had the snow, and the woods that weren’t straight out of a fucking nightmare, and, he could just sleep right here…

“Steve!”

He blinked, and found he must have passed out.

“There you are. Stay with me.” A blurry face was saying. A couple more blinks brought it into focus, and Steve knew this person, even if he couldn't put a name to a face.

The hair was longer, and there were more rings on his fingers, ones Steve could both see and feel as a hand ran along the back of his head.

Worried doe eyes met Steve's own, and just through the curtain of curls, he caught the outline of a pointed ear.

“Ed--ie?” He croaked, unsure.

“Yeah Stevie, it's me. You're okay, we brought you back to my place. Gareth is getting help.”

He was trying to sound reassuring but he mostly just sounded worried.

Not that Steve cared, because he finally figured out why older Eddie was familiar.

“Oh.” He managed, the words feeling like he had to push out. “It was you. By the--pool.”

“What?”

It felt like eons ago. The weird guy, asking after him. Back when Steve had been doing anything he could to fill the void his magic had left behind, and turned into a raging shithead as a result.

“M sorry.” Steve slurred, voice cracking in its honesty. “I was--asshole. M'sorry.”

The look Eddie gave him was wild. Like he couldn’t believe Steve was here, and definitely couldn’t believe Steve was apologizing.

Which was fair. Until last year Steve wouldn’t have ever apologized, to anyone, ever.

“Yeah you were, but we can talk about it later. Right now I just need you to stay awake.” Eddie said instead. It was gentle, a lot more gentle than Steve felt he deserved.

It made him want to explain, more than anything, what had happened.

“I was tryin to fix…the hole. Inside.” Steve needed Eddie to understand. Needed it more than breathing, just then.

“I know, big boy.” Eddie soothed, and his hands were back in Steve’s hair.

It felt nice.

“S’not an excuse, promise it's not. I was hurt--hurting, and--I was mean.” Steve continued. It was getting harder to think, the world swimming in and out of focus, but this was important.

Perhaps the most important thing he’d done in a long time, sans saving the kids from the demodogs.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I didn’t get it back then but I understand better now and…”

He might have said something more. Steve thinks he was, but then Eddie was shaking him harshly, and Steve realized he might have tried to pass back out.

“Come on Stevie, sweetheart, you can’t sleep right now. You have to stay awake for me, okay? Steve?”

Steve tried to shake his head and hissed when he found out how much that hurt. Breathed in and out through the pain, before his brain connected back to what he’d been trying to say.

“Not jus’ to you.” He panted. “Wasn’t mean just to you.”

That was important too. That Eddie knew he hadn't been targeted. That Steve was a dick to pretty much anyone he came across.

“I know. I've uh, been watching you, from here."

“Yeah?”

“We have this giant globe. Like a crystal ball, but it’s set deep into the floor so you can only really see half of it. It can also connect to snow globes, and it can let you see places. Watch people.”

Eddie’s voice was soothing, the deep timber of it echoing through Steve’s chest. Belatedly he realized his head was in Eddie’s lap.

That felt nice too.

“I was real mad at you but the Bossman--uh, your Uncle, he kinda showed me you once or twice and then I started watching you myself. Sorry I know that’s weird--”

“Least you didn’t take pictures.” Steve wheezed and then tried to grin because that was very much supposed to be a joke.

(He definitely had felt more put together when he dropped the kids off in Billy's Camaro--so what the hell was happening? Had the shock worn off? Adrenaline?

Fuck maybe he should have just driven Billy’s stupid car back to his house, instead of leaving it at Max's house.

Asshole deserved to not know where his car was anyway.)

Then suddenly there was a lot of noise and light and fuck did that all make his head hurt. Hands went all over him, people barking orders, and a girl Steve was pretty sure was his age was peering at him.

“Steve?” She asked, but it sounded distant. Echoey and unclear.

“I can’t keep him awake!”

That from Eddie, who sounded much clearer, if not utterly panicked.

“It’s okay, I’ve got him.” The girl said, tight but professional in a way that typically belonged to someone used to medical emergencies. “You can let him go now.”

“Are you kidding me, Buckley you’re an apprentice medmage-!”

Steve frowned at that, but found something was drifting over him. A weight, like an invisible blanket pressed down gently, and he had a second to recognize that this too, was some kind of magic before sleep tried to take him.

He fought it for a moment as a thought occurred.

One last thing he needed to say.

“You’re still good. Eddie. You’ve always been--”

The magic took him away.

xXx

It smelled like cinnamon.

Cinnamon and sharp hints of peppermint, the kind that tickled at Steve’s nose as he slowly rose back into consciousness.

Steve winced as he sat up, head itching like ants were crawling all over it. Idly he tried to scratch at his forehead and found himself touching a thick bandage, at about the same time his body seemed to catch on that he was awake.

It reminded him that he had had a hell of a night in the form of an onslaught of aches and pains.

His fingers traced the edge of the bandage as he took in the cheerful red walls surrounding him. The room was the exact kind of kitschy his mom hated, little twirls of white here and there making the place look like the inside of a candy cane.

The center piece was the full size window, taller than Steve was and twice as wide. Fat, fluffy flakes of snow drifted lazily outside it, some sticking to the window panes as they floated on by.

It was a little like being knocked out and waking up in the Wonka factory, but given all the shit that he had been through the past twenty four hours, Steve didn’t mind it.

Snow was infinitely preferable to the weird ash that came out of the Upside Down.

As if sensing he was awake, the door opposite the window swung open. A tray came through, positively stacked with a stupid amount of pancakes and oozing with maple syrup, the type Steve could smell.

“I,” Eddie announced, head just visible above the good, “had a very embarrassing meltdown when they tried to take you away from me. So suck it up Harrington, because you’re stuck with me now.”

Steve stared at him, mildly concerned he was a hallucination.

“I brought you pancakes.” Eddie added, pausing as he approached the bed like he hadn’t actually thought through to this point.

“I see that.” Steve said, just to fill the sudden, awkward silence. “There’s…kinda a lot there, man.”

So much so it was threatening to escape the confines of the tray and drip down onto the carpet.

“You play sports things don’t you?” Eddie defended, making the executive decision to put the tray down on the bed. “Kinda thought you’d need like, a lot, especially if you're healing."

Steve snorted, but didn’t bother to hide the smile that crept onto his face.

Even if it hurt.

Dragged his gaze from the pile of pancakes now laid before him, to the man fidgeting awkwardly by his bedside.

Realized belatedly, that Eddie hadn’t changed much.

Not since Steve had last seen him, though he never in his life would have thought one of Santa’s elves would wear so much black.

(Frankly Eddie looked just like every other teenage metalhead Steve had ever met, sans the pointed ears. One of which was now pierced and had little metal hoops threaded through it.)

Eddie realized Steve was looking, and bashfully twist a strand of his hair in front of his face.

It was cute.

It made him look cute.

“You might as well sit and help me with this, it’s way too much.” Steve told him.

Which was the truth--Eddie had brought him a shit load of pancakes and Steve wasn’t exactly sure he could chew all that well right now, considering his left cheek was so puffed out it felt like a chipmunks.

Didn’t want to turn down a gift though--or rather, turn down a gift from Eddie.

Who he absolutely still needed to apologize properly too.

“I guess I should start off with a thank you.” Steve began, as Eddie dropped onto the bed. “I think you might have saved my life, though I swear I wasn’t doing that bad off before I got here.”

“Robin said the shock wore off.” Eddie told him. He didn’t wait for Steve to dig in, grabbing a pancake and rolling it up like a sausage before stabbing one end in syrup. “She also said you had a hell of a concussion, two cracked ribs and a literal boatload of scratches,”

Which sounded about right, considering.

“Still though.” Steve frowned, looking at his hands. “I mostly just fought off Billy, the demodogs never got me.”

Something he was incredibly thankful for, given the sheer amount of teeth.

“I think you’re downplaying your injuries here, handsome, you gave Robin a hell of a fright. She cursed in four languages." Eddie talked fast, just like the little boy Steve remembered him as.

It made him grin.

“Handsome, huh?” Steve teased, and regretted it the second it slipped out of his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to call attention to it. Not just yet anyway. Wanted to work his way up to his apology and then the things he had kind of realized on his walk home (and possibly before that, though he thinks he might have…repressed it.)

Given the way Eddie froze, Steve figures he’s got about two seconds to talk himself out of it, before Eddie rightfully shut him out.

“I like it. The nicknames.” He said, which is also not what he intended to come out of his mouth and God he was really blowing this, wasn’t he?

“Steve,” Eddie started, sounding a little strangled and nope, no, he was going to fix this dammit!

“I’m sorry.” He said honestly. “I know I was an ass when you came to check up on me, and I know I said some terrible things to you. I regret it. I regret it a lot, and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“You weren't wrong.” Eddie cut in, twirling a ring on his finger, eyes firmly on it. “I am gay. I am flamingly gay. And I understand if after today, you don't want me here.”

Which apparently answered the question about whether or not elves gave a shit about such things.

(Or maybe they did, and it was humans who cared, and Eddie was giving him an out for it.

Steve figured he’d ask later.

After he had finished groveling.)

“I want you here.” He said, as seriously as he’d ever said anything. “I think the real question is why you would want to help me?”

It was the one thing that didn’t add up. Why Eddie had been so nice, when he’d shown up.

Sure it was one thing to be a good citizen or whatever, help out a guy who was passed out on the ground, but Eddie hadn’t just gotten help.

He’d stroked Steve’s hair. He’d kept him awake.

Hell he called Steve sweetheart.

And now he was here again, right by Steve's bedside, checking up on him.

You didn’t do that for the guy who was a downright douchebag too you, even if it had been a few years.

Eddie bit his lip, before he chanced a look back at Steve, up through his bangs. “Because you said I was good Steve. You were the first person who ever said I was good.”

Quieter he added “And because we were friends once.”

“I'd like to still be friends.”

“Even if I'm gay?”

Steve took a deep breath, and let out a truth that he’d maybe been ignoring for almost as long as he’d tried to forget about the hole in his heart.

“Cards on the table Eddie, I’m not sure I’m not gay Or whatever both is."

He'd heard the word once from Chrissy, but hadn't cared to remember it.

(Regretted that a little bit.)

He got a mighty frown in response.

“Don’t do that. Don’t--joke, like that.”

“It’s not a joke.” Steve said slowly, feeling the words as he spoke them. “I think this is part of the stuff I always just--ignored. Didn’t want to deal with it, because my--”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to say magic, and so, aborted the sentence entirely. “I couldn’t deal. So everything connected to this place, to the rest of my family, to you, I just pushed aside. Pretended it didn’t exist.”

Pretended that he was normal.

Just like his parents wanted.

Then he’d met Nancy.

Realized what he felt about her, he’d always felt about Eddie. That the way she looked at Jonathan wasn’t the way she looked at him--and even then, in the love he had for her, Steve hadn’t looked at her like that either.

Steve had been attracted to her for her yes--but initially, maybe, because she’d looked a little like someone else.

Admitted to himself that he the reason he could clock Eddie so fast back when he was fourteen, wasn't because he was that good at reading people, but because he recognized what it looked like to get caught checking out a guy.

“But I could never forget about you.” Steve added because well. “I’ve never been able to forget about you.”

He’d already said cards on the table, hadn’t he?

Might as well reveal his whole hand.

“You were the last thing I thought of, when I was trying to get home. I wasn’t thinking about my house, or my parents. I was thinking about you. I’ve never been able to come back here, not after Uncle Nick,” He cut himself off again, frustrated that he couldn’t just fucking it, but made himself take a breath.

Continue.

“--but I could, last night. I could get to you.”

Technically he’d gotten to Gareth, who Steve probably also owed a thank you too, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Gareth had found Eddie anyway, in the end.

“I absolutely get if you want nothing to do with that, considering I think I’m just now accepting this about myself but. I wanted you to know. You’re important to me, Eddie. You always have been.”

It was weird--Steve should have felt laid bare. Vulnerable now that he’d laid out all these things he’d suppressed, that he thought taken away alongside his magic.

Instead he felt lighter than air.

Like the weight had finally been lifted and he could breathe deep once again.

For a long moment no one said anything and Steve figured this was it, he’d gone too far, when Eddie darted in, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He pulled away just as fast. Wide eyes searched Steve’s face, as though expecting Steve to change his mind.

If anything, it just solidified it.

Steve reached out slowly, gently grabbing on of Eddie’s hands. Brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, while maintaining eye contact.

Enjoyed the way Eddie’s face went bright red.

“You’re important to me too.” He managed, voice awed. “You’ve always been important to me. Stevie.”

Finally feeling like he knew where he belonged, Steve grinned back.

xXx

Bonus

“When I said let him sleep Munson, I didn’t mean with you!” Someone screeched a few hours later, jolting Steve awake.

“He was awake when I came in!” Eddie protested, shoving himself up onto his elbows when the women from yesterday--Robin, Steve thought her name was--stormed in. “We fell asleep together after Robbie, I swear!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hi.” Steve said with a little wave, before the two of them could screech some more. “I’m Steve.”

“I know, Dingus.” Robin told him, eyes narrowed in fury. “You’re a member of the Clause family, everyone knows who you are.”

“Oh.” Steve said, though it felt less cool and more weird that someone had finally said it out loud.

That he, Steven Harrington, had an Uncle, and that Uncle was Santa Clause.

‘Dustin is gonna freak.’

“I’m sure Mega-Idiotson here hasn’t told you, but I’m the medmage that saw you last night. Or kinda--see I’m an apprentice medmage, but my teacher was kinda out with the Boss seeing someone a town over and time was tight and we couldn’t exactly wait--”

“Breath, Buckley. In,” Eddie teased, before demonstrating a deep breath on himself, hand sweeping into his chest before he loudly exhaled. “and out.”

“Shut up, Eddie, I’m working up to something here!”

“What is it?” Steve said, feeling like if he didn’t interject Robin would take a while to get to the point.

“I might have accidentally undid whatever was on your magic?” Robin rushed out, so fast Steve nearly didn’t catch it. “Like I can tell that’s the Boss’s magic, and that he did--whatever that was, but I couldn't figure out how to heal you with it there and it was kinda already leaking out so I just--took it off?”

Steve gaped at her.

“You fixed me?” He managed after a moment, hand darting out to squeeze at one of Eddie’s.

“Um. Yes?” Robin cautioned, like she wasn’t exactly sure that’s what she did.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” Steve laughed, then felt absolutely stupid for not checking in with himself.

Because Robin was right.

The hole was gone--and his magic was back.

How had he not noticed that his magic was back!?

“Eddie, Eddie she’s right--I have it back!”

He turned in bed, dropping Eddie’s hand so he could cup his face and kiss him instead.

“Okay, I don’t need to see this--” Robin complained, but Steve didn’t care.

Could only laugh delighted into Eddie’s mouth, before Eddie deepened the kiss.

(“Guys seriously I am still right here! Can’t you at least wait until I’m gone!?”

“No. Now get out Robin, you’re ruining my moment!”

“It’s okay, Eds. I’ll give you as many moments as you want.”

“Ew, ew, ew-!” )

This whole ass thing on A03 if you'd rather read it there!

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lucysarah-c · 18 days

Text

Criminal Record

A young cadet from the survey corps began dating one of the higher-ups. What others did in their personal lives was none of Levi’s business, but in the comfort of your shared room, as each of you focused on your respective piles of paperwork, the brand new hot topic of the regiment felt like fair game.

“Did you hear that John and Grace are dating? I heard it from Erwin this morning,” you broke the silence, attempting to start a conversation with your long-time boyfriend.

“How could I not? Everybody is talking about that shit,” he replied, not even looking up from the opposite side of the desk, as he filled out forms.

“I think they look cute together, but I hope they can handle the attention during meals,” you said, taking a sip of your hot tea and leaning back in your chair.

“She's too young for him, just a damn brat,” your grumpy boyfriend replied, leaving you torn between laughter and concern.

You continued sipping your tea, reclining in your chair with your eyes fixed on your boyfriend's raven head as he wrote. A mischievous smile crept onto your face.

“Levi.”

“What?”

“Levi~”

“What do you want?” This time, he raised his bullet-gray eyes from his work to see why you were being so annoying. “What’s so damn funny for you to have that stupid smile on your face? Go back to work; we're not even halfway through.”

“I was younger than her when we first slept together.”

Your words filled the room like a sermon about sins.

You were having the time of your life, while your boyfriend… well, he seemed to be having a mental breakdown.

Later, the next day.

“Erwin, do you think Grace is too young for John?” You asked him directly, already sensing Levi's discomfort.

“Huh? Well, she is young for him. But who am I to tell them who they should spend their time with? Even if I think it’s a little inappropriate,” Erwin replied, continuing to read one of the many reports he had.

It was just another morning for the six of you (Mike, Erwin, Hange, Moblit, Levi, and you), making sure all the assignments were in check.

You could hardly contain your laughter at his response.

“Did you know that I was younger than her when Levi and I started dating?” You omitted the sexual reference for the sake of your embarrassed boyfriend.

Hange spat out some of her tea and burst into laughter, while Mike simply chuckled.

Levi, on the other hand, kept his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands.

“Oh really? What do you have to say in your defense, Levi?” Erwin was, of course, poking the bear, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised his blue eyes from the paper to look at his friend.

“Oh my god! You even said the other day that she was too young!” Hange said, almost screaming between laughs. They were probably going to tease him about this for a while.

“Shut up, four eyes,” he replied before, probably, considering his next reply. “In my defense?” He echoed, confirming Erwin’s question. “In my damn defense, I used to kill people for money and be involved in drug deals as a thug in the underground. Sleeping with someone underage is the least of my sins; just add it to my long list of criminal records.”

This was my first one-shot ever. It's such a shame that somehow Tumblr erased some of my old posts out of nowhere, and I couldn't find it. It holds a special place in my heart because of that. But, well, I decided to rewrite it and post it again because I really want to keep it in my masterlist. Here is the link to part 2, but be careful, it was written a WHILE ago. Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @@feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @@kikarouflames Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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leclerc-hs · 24 days

Text

tachycardia! pt. 1 - cl16

pairing: doctor!charles leclerc x nurse!reader (alpha/omega au) summary: in which you don't always get along with the arrogant alpha doctor warnings: LIGHT a/b/o dynamics, angst??, none really (yet!), badly translated french, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 1.7k author's note: hi so this is the first part!! I'm thinking about turning this into like a "blurb" series, like i'll do a bunch of parts with them but they won't be toooooo long. emphasis on the LIGHT a/b/o dynamics because i am STILL leaning all about it but I'm sure the more I write the better with it I will get. I def will discuss more about it during smut scenes. let me know what you guys think and what else you would like to see happen between them!! don't be shy!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN’T HATRED, per se, but more so the fact that you both knew how to get under each other’s skin so easily.

The amount of time it took for Doctor Leclerc to make some sort of asshole comment as you entered the doors of the hospital was little to none. It was almost a predetermined ritual at this point. So common that you should’ve been more concerned with the premise that he might’ve memorized your schedule just so it’s his face you see first thing every time you arrive to work.

You had made a solemn vow to yourself long ago never to become romantically involved with a doctor. Any doctor for that matter. The allure of dating a doctor might have seemed appealing in theory, but they tended to exude an air of pretentiousness, rudeness, and arrogance that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Doctor Leclerc was what you would consider the living embodiment of this, a constant reminder of the vows you made in the first place. Yet, the fact that he was probably the hottest fucking man you have ever seen, made it hard to not want to blur the lines sometimes. His chiseled features and commanding presence were sometimes a magnetic force, no matter how much he annoyed you.

So, you wonder why, even as you’re leaned against the nurse’s station with an elbow propped on it, you can’t help but stare at the muscles of his back poking through his scrubs and white coat, as he pours a cup of coffee into his mug. His massive shoulders rising and falling as he picks the coffee pot up and places it back down.

“Did he say something to you?” You ask as you press a tissue into the hands of one of your co-workers, April. You didn’t know that well, but nurses stuck together regardless.

“I’m fine,” she says, but the tears welling up in her eyes, made you know better. “I just need to stop being so sensitive.” The words hang in the air, a fragile façade masking the turmoil within, and you recognize the weight of her emotions despite her attempt to downplay them.

“He must have been a proper douche,” you remark, the water from the bathroom sink running over your hands as you meet April’s gaze through the mirror. “What did he do?” Your tone carries a mix of concern and frustration.

Her hesitance to disclose wasn’t rooted in desire to withhold information, but rather in a reluctance to escalate the situation unnecessarily. Aware of your tendency to stand up to Doctor Leclerc, she treaded cautiously. You turned back around to face her, an eyebrow raised as if you’re saying spill the beans already.

“Well,” she begins, her grip tightening on the crumpled tissue in her fist, “all I did was ask if the symptom the patient was experiencing was a common side effect of the medication we prescribed her, just to be sure.” You cross your arms over your chest, you can feel the agitation growing in your chest. “He wasn’t mean in front of the patient, but he pulled me aside after and told me how unprofessional it is to be questioning in front of a patient.” Her voice wavers with a mix of frustration and hurt.

Your lips press into a thin line as she recounts the encounter. “He then told me that I should’ve paid better attention in school and then maybe I would know the answer,” she emphasizes, tinged with a hint of bitterness. The word “maybe” lingers in the air, weighted with insinuation, as if Doctor Leclerc’s implication stung deeper than mere criticism.

“What an alpha asshole!” you exclaim, your frustration evident in the forceful wave of your hands. “Don’t listen to him.” You offer her comfort, a smile of reassurance accompanying your words, a silent vow to stand by her side.

April’s lips curl upward into a small, grateful smile, her eyes softening as she murmurs a heartfelt “thanks”. In that moment, her expression speaks volumes, conveying both appreciation for your support and glimmer of relief.

You saw him before he saw you.

As you step through the doorway into one of your patient’s rooms, a pang of exasperation washes over you, accompanied by the silent question of what you did to deserve this particular form of punishment. It feels like a cruel twist of fate to find Doctor Leclerc attending to one of your patients, whom had just recently had a coronary angioplasty and a stent placement. Despite the urge to roll your eyes, you summon all your professionalism and force one of the biggest smiles onto your face. It’s a façade of warmth and cooperation, masking the internal tension brewing beneath the surface.

There he stood, a figure of authority on the opposite end of the bed, his arms folded across his chest as he chuckled at whatever anecdote your patient shared with him. His laughter, though genuine, seemed to echo with a hint of superiority. You can’t help but notice the subtle flex of his jaw muscles as his head tilts back briefly. The sight of his scruff and the contours of his muscular neck send a tingling sensation coursing through you.

You need to snap out of it! You repeat to yourself, a silent mantra echoing in your mind. You were so preoccupied with convincing yourself that Doctor Leclerc wasn’t unbelievably attractive that you failed to notice the scrutiny of two pairs of eyes now fixed upon you. The sudden realization jolts you back to the present, and you redirect your focus to the patient.

You didn’t need to glance at Doctor Leclerc to sense the presence of a smirk tugging at his lips; it was almost palpable, a silent acknowledgement that he had caught you staring at him. Distracted by him.

“Glad you can join us, mon lapin.” My bunny.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a flicker of irritation igniting within you. That forsaken nickname—he just couldn’t resist. Ever since your first day, when you innocently showed up with a tote bag adorned with colorful bunnies, he had taken great delight in teasing you with it.

“Ne m’appele pas comme ça.” Don’t call me that.

The patient looked up at both of you, eyes full of delight in entertainment.

His verdant eyes look at you for a few seconds, contemplating something, before looking back at the patient. “I’ll make sure you’re out of here in no time,” he assures the patient, his voice full of warmth. “I just need to check your vitals, and hopefully we can have you out here in a few days.” His words are reassuring, delivered with a blend of confidence and empathy that contrasts with the earlier tension in the room. Despite your reservations, you can’t deny that he provides great care for his patients.

“How has your medication been? Still uncomfortable?” You inquire, while Doctor Leclerc listens intently to your patient’s chest with his stethoscope.

“A little bit,” your patient murmurs in response, pausing between deep breaths as instructed by Doctor Leclerc.

“I’ll make sure you get another dose of aspirin to help ease the pain.” You promise with a tight-lipped smile as Doctor Leclerc removes the stethoscope from his ears.

“I think we need to reconsider the dosage,” you assert, meeting Doctor Leclerc’s gaze.

“We don’t want to risk any adverse effects.” His eyes, a much darker hue of green now, narrow at you, like he can’t believe you’re telling him what to do. “I’ve already adjusted his medication. It’s within the recommended for his condition.”

He shifts his focus back to the patient, the darkness and annoyance that once clouded his eyes now dissipating. “Everything is looking great! I’ll check on you tomorrow morning,” he reassures the patient with a warm smile before bidding his farewells. As he turns to you, nodding toward the doorway, his demeanor shifts, and a lethal glare meets your gaze. Without a word, you follow him out the room, bracing yourself. You refuse to cower, meeting his glare with a steely resolve of your own. Each step you take alongside him is a silent assertion.

His touch on your elbow sends a jolt of tingles to your stomach as he swiftly turns you around, your back now pressed firmly against the wall. His gaze pierces through you with a lethal intensity.

“Que pensez-vous faire?” What do you think you’re doing? He pinched the bridge of his nose in between his pointer finger and thumb, with his eyes scrunched as if he got a splitting headache in the span of one second. Like he was in pain. Did you know how strong you scent was? He wondered mindlessly, almost forgetting why he was so mad at you in the first place.

You thought nothing of his actions, too busy feeling the anger swell in the pit of your stomach.

Your eyes roll in exasperation, and your eyebrows knit together in annoyance at the audacity of this man.

His eyes meet your again and can’t help but think how beautiful you look, even when angry. How he would just love to bend you over his knee and remind you who is in charge.

“Je veille sur mon patient.” I’m looking out for my patient.

He rests his hands on his hips, stealing a glance at his beeping pager before fixing his gaze back on you. His eyes, nearly black, pierce through you. “Non, tu essaies juste de provoquer une dispute comme d’habitude,” You’re just trying to start an argument as usual. He grits through clenched teeth. “His medication is completely fine, et tu le sais!” And you know it!

So, maybe you were trying to start an argument with him. Especially after April’s crying face came to your mind.

He’s so close that you can hardly think around his scent. It’s almost intoxicating.

“Don’t ever make April cry again.” You jab your finger into his shoulder, reminding yourself why you’re here in the first place.

He blinks, and you catch the glimmer of recognition spreading across his features. “Elle n’a aucun courage” She has no spine. He remarks before continuing, “She should learn from you. You probably have spare spines.” He steps back from you before striding down the hallway in opposite direction of the nurse’s station.

No matter how annoyed you were, you couldn't peel your eyes off his muscular back until he was completely out of sight. You scoffed at yourself. How pathetic am I? You questioned yourself repeatedly until you take in his last words to you.

Did he just make a joke?

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine

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roseykat · 3 months

Text

TITLE: Play Tight

PAIRINGS: Bang Chan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Reader and Chan divulge their ‘excuse’ as to why they couldn’t make it to hot pot and barbecue dinner with their friends.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with me, my work, or page whatsoever.

TAGS: smut, porn with plot, swearing, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampies, fwb, some pillow talk (ish)

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

🏷️ LIST: @chillichillicrabcrab23 @broken-glowsticks @ihatemen55 @boi-bi-ahaha @galamxy @weareapackofstrays @anglerfishiey @elizalabs3 @fr34k4c1dr41n @stayconnecteed @imnotjjini0325 @twinklix @meilix @livsposts @dawn-iscozy @princejisung @valibals @oiikaro @im-sinking-in-mud @aalexyuuuhm @baby-yongbok @/leftkittenface @20minsat180degrees @itsthatbri (if you want to be removed or added to the tag list, please lmk!) ⭐️

A/N: if you don't know what a refractory period is it's essentially about the ability of most women to cum back to back or one after the other in a short span of time between one orgasm and the next. Therefore, if it seems as though I've written about reader having multiple orgasms within quick succession, that's because she is and Chan is making the most of it. Also I really pushed the time limit with uploading this part bc I spent the last few hours trying to get the fan club which took fucking ages...

Hot pot and barbecue with friends - now that sounded fun.

You saw the group chat messages from earlier, and the plan to all meet up at half past six. Had you not orchestrated other arrangements, you would be sitting with them right now enjoying nice meals and chats. Instead, your body remains to be railed thoroughly, right into the bed that belongs to none other than Chan. The owner of very capable hands who had just finished fucking you on his couch earlier on.

He too missed dinner with everyone for the same reason. Selfishly being, to get laid.

Chan presented half of a lie to the group chat, saying that his family was back in the city - which was true, and that he was going to visit them, so he couldn’t make it - not true. You on the other hand conjured the only fib you could think of and told everyone that you were going to be working past six.

Both of you felt relatively guilty for ditching the dinner. However, it would’ve looked ten times more suspicious if the two of you suddenly changed your minds at the same time and decided to show up.

But why would anyone suspect anything? Nobody knew Chan was rearranging your guts every other night. Or so you thought. That dirty, slutty little secret was only kept hushed between you and Chan. These past couple of months you’ve spent at each other's houses, tainting the very last remnants of innocence either of you had.

You wouldn’t have realised it at first until you experienced it for yourself, but Chan is and can get really horny. Before him, there was no such thing as ‘hard-paced’ or ‘nasty’ sex. It was fairly vanilla, which there’s nothing wrong with from time to time. But at the minute, that wasn’t the cup of tea you fancied. No. It was something much dirtier and riveting, something that makes you feel like you’re very much alive.

Chan was able to achieve that in less than half an hour after you both hooked up one time after a night out. Sure there might’ve been alcohol involved, except neither of you were drunk enough to completely forget what an amazing time you both had. So much so that you and Chan decided to hook up again. And again, and again, until it became a weekly event.

In saying that, there were a few layers as to why you and Chan started seeing each other regularly. You needed the de-stressor from work that had been hounding you for months, and among other things, there is nothing like a good dick down to make just about make every worry in your mind disappear.

As for Chan’s situation, it wasn’t as light. Having been cheated on by his long term partner, Chan entered what you refer to as his ‘hoe phase’ to which he was rather embarrassed to learn that it’s something that people tend to go through when they’ve broken up with their significant other.

Nonetheless, you and Chan unexpectedly found each other in a way friends wouldn’t typically, and it was only limited to that. No strings attached, still remain good friends, and the best mind blowing sex.

“Fuck - yes, right there!”

Chan’s hips ram unforgivingly into you from behind. Creating godly, euphoric waves that ripple throughout your body each and every time he does. His fingernails clutch themselves into the soft flesh of your hips, allowing him to use that small bit of traction to pull your body back onto his cock or for him to thrust forward mercilessly.

This was way better than dinner with friends.

“W-Wait,” you reach behind to the side of your body, trying to tap his arm and prompt him to slow down so you could get your message across without having it fucked right out of you. “Ride…lemme ride you.”

Chan swallows and nods, taking a short breather, “yeah, yeah okay.”

Whilst you’ve learned a lot of things about Chan since you’ve started sleeping with him, he’s also learned some stuff about you. Like discovering throughout your secret sessions with him that you seem to cum the hardest when you’re riding him. He doesn’t entirely see the appeal of it since he doesn’t mind picking up all the slack just so you don’t have to do any of the work. At the same time, however, nothing feels as good as fucking his frustrations into you.

But he also doesn’t mind them getting fucked out of him. It easily added to one of the reasons why he found it so hot to watch you ride dick.

As he gently slides his cock out of you, moving into the next position where he now gets to lie back against his pillows. He watches you straddle him first, then take his length in hand before aligning it with your hole. Slowly, you sink down onto his cock.

The ‘o’ shape in your mouth enlarges when the entirety of his length vanishes inside you. He’s big. Something you can’t always grasp every time you sleep together. The silver lining in that however is that the foreplay is amazing.

“Christ,” you breathe out, lifting your hips up and down a couple of times, groaning as the pleasure already built up from before starts re-taking its effect to its highest extent. “Fuck, make me feel so full.”

“So you keep telling me,” he responds with a cocky grin as his hand reaches up to one of your tits and gropes ravenously. “But that’s what you like isn’t it? Having a big cock inside you, yeah?”

Your hand claps right on top of his, the other stabilises your body on his chest as you start riding at a pace comfortable enough to build some momentum. It doesn’t take long until every part of your body feels like warm flames are tickling your skin, leaving tingly traces in their wake.

“Yes, love it so much,” you pant breathlessly. “Love it when it makes me cum.”

Chan is glad to hear that. Then again, he knows. He’s fucked you long enough to know what you like, what you don’t, and what type of pleasure can turn your mind inside out. With that in mind, and one hand still groping you, he uses the other thumb to find your clit and rub generously.

“F-Fuck, oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you plead in anguish as you start to feel your orgasm shift into sight.

It’s right there. The utmost pleasure and ecstasy at its apex swells from the pit of your stomach, to your toes, all the way into the crevices of your brain. Every part of you - physically and mentally, just seems to melt into Chan. His cock, which feels like it was made for you to use like this, glides frictionlessly until his tip kisses your g-spot so lovingly. Each time it hits, Chan earns extra centimetres of long red scratches down his abdomen, marked up by your fingernails.

“Cum,” he demands through gritted teeth. “Fucking cum all over me.”

Brainless and vacant as you were in trying to respond to him, your actions seemed to speak for themselves. As Chan continues to move his thumb consistently over your clit and you bounce yourself still on his cock, your eyes suddenly screw tight shut - shuddering before a surge of relief gushes from between your legs.

Chan grins sickeningly.

The untapped pleasure squeezes and strangles moans out of your throat, yet, in the few spare moments when you had come back down to earth, your stomach felt like it dropped at some point along the way. The minute you open your eyes, breathing hard and heavy, your attention catches on to the mess you’ve made.

Most of Chan’s abdomen is soaked with your juices, his taut torso gleaming with your cum. Droplets of it roll down his side and seep into the sheets below him. From there, the humiliation is quick to ensue. Chan even sees the panic fill your eyes.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” you whine apologetically. “I don’t know what happened! I was - I was caught up in-“

Chan ceases your babbling by grabbing the undersides of your thighs and just about throws you on your back as he moves to top you. His sudden movements catch you off guard, wondering for a moment what he was doing until he started fucking you again.

“Chris!” you cry out, latching around his back.

His head buries into the crook of your neck, “wanna feel you do it again. Wanna see you drip down my cock.”

At his words of request, you knew it was possible with the way that his dick hits deeper, pressing against those sensitive spots inside you that have been milked of pleasure. It’s not difficult to feel it building up again. There’s zero refractory period, allowing you to cum in an uninterrupted procession. At this stage, Chan could just whisper dirty things in your ear and have you become a squirting mess on his bed for him to watch. He wondered if that was actually possible.

After watching and making you cum an extraordinary amount of times this evening, Chan was about to witness another, this time, mixed with his own release of pleasure. He can never ignore that dense pressure stacking up in his cock, like a blocked pipe that’s about to burst with the help of the tension from your contracting walls.

One hand at a time, he places each beside your head to lift himself up while still trying to maintain a consistent pace. Then he coils back, grabbing the undersides of your thighs again and leaning some of his weight down so that he can press deeper.

Tears are pricking your eyes - not from any pain but from pleasure you’ve never felt. It’s so intense and has nowhere in your body to escape that the longer you hold it in, the more explosive it’s going to feel. As your emotions exude the ferocity of another orgasm, Chan absorbs your expressions, giving him a very clear estimate of when you’re about to cum.

“Gonna give me another one?” he asks even though you’re in no state of mind to give him a verbal answer. “Gonna be a good girl and get my dick wet one last time?”

You shake your head but only because you’re unsure if you can actually take that pressure that’s about to blow. Regardless of how high he has built your orgasms for you, you always take them well. It has you sobbing - screaming and clutching onto his bedding as you whimper that you’re about to cum. Chan could only just hear you over the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“You can do it,” he reassures you. “You always do.”

At that moment, as if he just flipped a switch inside you, Chan had you gushing in an instant. Your upper body contorts to the left and stiffens as he fucks you right through it, right until his own orgasm slaps him on cue. Grunts mixed with whimpers force their way out from the base of Chan’s throat. His cock uncontrollably spurts his hot white cum, coating liberal amounts on your walls with a few hard, deep thrusts.

"Fuck, oh my god," he groans through gritted teeth, satisfaction seeping through into his blood.

He pulls back to sit on his heels, looking down as he grabs the base of his cock now slicker than usual with milky, almost transparent liquid rings of white. The fact that both of your juices have mixed together does something to a sick part of Chan’s brain. His lower half is still dripping with your cum, forcing you to shy away into the bunched up sheets when you realise you’ve made another mess on him.

Too weak to speak up about it, Chan had no trouble reading the room and caught onto your emotions. He was right to assume that you were embarrassed for it but fuck if Chan could experience it all again, he would. That then strikes an idea as he massages your inner thighs with the palms of his hands.

“That’s never happened before,” he comments with a little bit of surprise, making you turn with embarrassment, all the while trying to ease you back down from your high. “So fucking hot.”

His thumbs rub into your wet skin, inching closer to your pussy. Before you know it, the backs of his fingertips are brushing over your hole where his cum is leaking out of you. Semi sticky strings of it attach onto him when he pulls away and goes back in to smother it all the way up to your clit. He thumbs softly over the sensitive bud, setting fire again to the muscles in your lower half.

You shudder a little bit from the faint stimulation, and finally muster the energy to talk, “yeah…d-don’t know how. Usually it’s - mm, just cause’…maybe you were hitting the right spot.”

Chan doesn’t meet your eyes, and by the preoccupied look on his face, it was clear that he had another agenda as his thumb continued to rub mindlessly. Although, he did hear you as he smirked and shook his head.

“Nah, that was all you,” his mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where his fingers begin to disappear.

“Chan…”

“I reckon you could give me one more,” he predicts as he starts to finger you slowly. “Just one more.”

“Please, fuck...” You whine loudly throughout the room. “D-Don’t think I can…please.”

Chan moves to the side of you just a little bit, placing his other hand on your lower belly to apply just a little bit of welcoming pressure while he ignores you, “yes you can pretty. Only one.”

His fingers curl deviously inside you, forcing an automatic bodily response for your eyes to roll to the back of your head and back to arch clean off the bed. As he strokes over the spongy area, your fists are clenching on the duvet. Your body is beyond sensitive and squirms uncontrollably at the faintest of his touch.

“Chris!” You sob, tears now leaking down the sides of your face from the euphoria.

This was the closest replica to being high. It’s like the pleasure picked up where it left off from the previous orgasm Chan brought to you and nearly doubled in intensity to the point where you thought for a moment that you were going to black out. But it hits you harder than before since his fingers have a bit more precision to find and hit your g-spot rather than making you feel fuller.

“That’s my good girl,” he says encouragingly.

There and then, as Chan detects the tell-tale signs that you’re about to cum, he finger fucks you at a generous pace that doesn’t let up on the time your insides have to try mitigate the pleasure. It goes into overdrive, sending a bunch of all the right signals straight to your brain.

“C-Cum…cumming…I’m-”

Chan appreciates the fact that he’s reduced you from crying and screaming his name to a silent, overstimulated mess. Alternatively, you’re surrendering entirely to the ecstasy which sweeps you under like a current. Chan doesn’t need to hold you in place for you to take what he’s giving you with his fingers. He just gives and gives, and gives until for the third time, he has you squirting.

“Oh yeah, look at that,” he grins excitedly, watching his palm and all the way up to his forearm become completely drenched in your juices. “What a good girl.”

By that point, Chan was successful in running your body dry. His pace slows down, now gently stroking inside you. Your quiet, strained moans die down, along with a reserve tank of energy you had left. You were limp and helpless, a gorgeous mess on the bed for him to admire.

Chan slowly takes his fingers out, gently massaging around your sensitive pussy, “fuck, so good."

You turn onto your side, processing all of that. For a few moments before, it felt like you had had an out of body experience, and maybe you were. Everything was so consuming and powerful that for a second you didn’t feel like yourself. But that wasn’t a bad thing, nor did you think of it that way. It’s just a new experience that you welcomed, one that made you feel good multiple times.

Chan hops off the bed and kneels beside you onto the floor as he strokes and pats your head, “you okay?”

You nod then go to sit up, “mm, just out of it. Give me a few minutes.”

“You - you shouldn’t move so much, not now at least,” Chan warns, then quickly spots the uncomfortable expression on your face as you realise that everything beneath you is wet and sticky.

“Your duvet,” you say to him, looking down and around at all the large damp areas.

“What about it?”

“Well it’s all ruined-”

“They’re not ruined,” he says defiantly like a stubborn child, almost like he was offended you even made that sort of comment. “It looks…fucking hot.”

“Hot,” you repeated with an airy chuckle.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” says Chan, bewildered.

“Neither could I to be honest,” you agree wholeheartedly. “It was really…intense and...strange.”

“Strange?” He retorts.

“Not a bad ‘strange’, just something I’ve always heard of, but never managed to do with someone else before,” you reply.

Chan smiles to himself, looking at his bed before that grin drops off his face, “never managed to do it with someone else before? As in, you’ve done it before, just…on your own?”

You blink up at him, quickly changing the subject, “reckon the others are still out?”

“I’d imagine so,” he says, still thinking about what you said previously.

“Hot pot and barbecue sounded so nice too…” you trail off, eyes going in and out of focus. Your body is starting to catch up to you.

“Well, luckily we live in the era of food delivery, right?” He responds confidently. “Let me clean you up first, then we can hop in the shower. After that, I’ll order it in for us, sound good?”

Sometimes when you’re with Chan, you forget that at the end of the day, he’s one of your good friends and still acts like it after you sleep with him. He knows when to be your fuck buddy and when to be your mate. None of it is awkward or weird and nor does he strive to make it that way.

Potentially it’s because of his nature to be a gentleman inside the bedroom just as much as he is outside, hence why you had a considerate amount of gratitude towards him for not being an ass like some of the people you’ve hooked up with or seen casually in the past. But that could never be the two people you slept with a few weeks back.

Not Hyunjin nor Jisung, whom you’ve thought about ever since that night at his apartment. Although it was truth or dare that led you all to the events that unfolded, you would’ve still slept with them anyway without the game. Just thinking about the two of them makes you miss them. Makes you miss the way that they touched you.

It was a different feeling to how Chan normally touches you. With him, he’s a friend with benefits. Someone who can call you or you can call him whenever either of you need each other. As a result, there isn’t going to be anything fond or loving between the pair of you - which you’re more than happy with. You made that clear to Chan at the start that you weren’t looking to enter into a relationship with him at any stage if that’s what he was thinking.

Thankfully, he wasn’t either.

But when Hyunjin and Jisung touched you, it was surreal. Almost natural, like they were meant to feel you that way and only them. That was the difference between them and Chan, not that you were comparing them since you saw them in separate positive lights.

There was just something about those two that left a strong imprint on your brain, something you can’t scratch without them…

I strictly forbid and do not permit ANYONE or any user on any platform to copy, re-upload, translate, remake, or pass off any of my work here on Tumblr or to any other online platform whatsoever. Doing so will result in having your account suspended, deleted, taken down, and or permanently banned.

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader

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auroreliis · 8 months

Note

pls we need more father-daughter moments with bruce because almost all of the yandere batfam fics i’ve read in tumblr always focuses on the bros 😭😭

Platonic Yandere!Bruce Wayne

Summary: Your father protects you from your brothers.

CW: mention of bugs

(not edited or proofread)

Rapid footsteps echoed through the manor. The quiet treading belonged to you and the more audible stomps were from your brother, Dick. Your panting was not missed by the individual chasing you. It was clear that you were getting worn out.

Currently, you were attempting to avoid getting hugged by Dick, who, being as touchy as he is, did not appreciate you steering clear of his squeeze. He had hugged all of his siblings and none of them were as resilient as you, so why did you have to avoid him like this?

You darted past all possible hiding places, since you were sure it would only be a matter of time until he found you, instead opting to run. Your knees bent slightly as you were rounding the corner, in order to be able to push yourself forward with a little more power.

What you couldn't have expected, was that you would run directly into your father's chest. The sudden blockage caused you to stop and look up at him, before remembering that you were on the run. Your head turned and you saw Dick getting closer to you. Out of panic, you hid behind Bruce, who raised a brow at your eldest brother.

Dick came to a halt directly in front of Bruce, who had crossed his arms by now.

"Richard, would you explain the situation to me? I don't quite understand why your sibling is running from you", he said, not mentioning the fact that your nails were digging into his back.

"They've been running from me every time I try to even touch them. I don't want them to distance themselves, they need to be involved more", said Richard, distressed by your sidestepping.

Bruce hummed in thought. "I'll talk to them", his tone signaling that Richard should leave.

Dick huffed before stomping away.

Your father finally turned to you and waited for your explanation.

A sigh escaped your lips and you dropped your head, "Sorry, I just...felt overwhelmed. I'm not really fond of physical contact, but I'll work on it, I promise." You did slightly cringe at your own words, but by now you had learned that complying with their wishes was much more rewarding than disobeying them.

You kept your head low, waiting for his acknowledgement, when a hand landed on your head. You looked up at him, eyebrow raised in confusion, but he just looked at you. He gave your head two light pats before smiling and walking away.

Looking around, you remembered that you had escaped Richard without giving in to his affection.

A radiant smile lit up your face as you scurried off to your room.

~~~~~

"Oh come on! It won't hurt you, will it?", shouted your brother, Jason, as he chased you through the manor, cockroach in hand, ready to be shoved in your face.

He had found it in his helmet and you immediately expressed your repulsion and highlighted the fact that he must be very filthy.

Jason, offended by this comment, decided to make you filthy too, by rubbing a bug on your nose, or at least attempting to. You bolted out of his room at a speed that would put The Flash to shame, but he caught up with you and promised that he wouldn't leave you alone as long as you were clean.

You barely paid attention to your surroundings as you ran through the halls and turned every nearing corner, yet you somehow ended up in the kitchen, where your father was currently conversing with Alfred.

"DAD HELP!", was all you needed to say to have Bruce step between you and Jason, taking on a protective stance.

Jason saw this and stopped, not even having entered the kitchen yet.

Both of them stared at each other silently before Jason turned around and left, presumably deciding that he had better things to do than getting scolded by Bruce.

He muttered a few curse words under his breath and for a moment you feared that you would wake up to him at the foot of your bed, holding a handful of bugs.

"Why was he chasing you?", your father's question brought you back to the situation at hand. "Uh..", you weren't sure how to phrase this without making Jason seem nefarious, "He wanted to show me a bug, but I didn't want to see it, so I ran!"

Bruce inhaled, as if he was about to talk, but you beat him to it, "But! You saved me, thank you!" You hugged him and smiled innocently, praying he stops asking questions.

It seems that he noticed your reluctance to elaborate, so he left it at that and you disappeared within seconds.

This wasn't the first time your father had saved you from your brothers and it most certainly won't be the last.

It was kind of funny how you always seemed to run into him when you were in trouble.

Perhaps it was fate guiding you to your saviour.

It matters not.

All that mattered was that you were thankful for your father's help and understanding, even if his timing was suspiciously accurate.

#bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne #dick grayson #yandere dick grayson #jason todd #yandere jason todd #dc comics #platonic yandere #platonic batfam #yandere batfam #batfam #x reader

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fire-lizard-ro · 16 days

Text

Ratio as a dad (kinda). Written for my dear @pix3lplays (they already saw this when I initially wrote it).

CW: none it’s all fluff (kinda)

Reader gender: no use of pronouns (as far as I remember) but AFAB

Writing under the cut (SFW):

So when you tell him, he doesn't know how the hell to feel. You guys never really had the children talk, but you could tell that he wasn't really ready for that because of a mix of being too busy, not really understanding children, and never really thinking about it.

To him, children are snot-nosed, loud, emotional little gremlins.

But he never thought about children in the context of you and him. A child born of your flesh and blood. Something you have made together through the miracle (or simple science, as Veritas would say) of procreation.

It would take him a while to think of it that way.

Initially, since this is in the scenario where you're already married, I think that he would be fine with it so long as you're happy with it. He does his logical reasoning and thinks, "Oh. I have the means to raise a child and she wants it." So he doesn't really see a problem with it besides perhaps the stress it will inevitably put on you and having to deal with the messy and emotional rollercoaster ride that is children.

At some point while laying in bed with you after weeks of reading prenatal care and child rearing books, he begins to get curious. Curious about what it would really be like to father a child that the both of you made. That's how things start. Curiosity.

Would the child look like you? He would like that if they could resemble his lovely spouse.

Would they look like him? He would also like this as there would be no doubting who the father of your child was. A reminder of how the two of you were undeniably together.

Would they look like the both of you? He would enjoy this outcome the most as it would be the best of both options.

Would they have his intelligence that he prides himself on? Your smile that he loves, even if quietly?

Because of this process of beginning to be curios and thinking about the child yet to be born, it's not hard for him to subconsciously relate good feelings (and chemicals like dopamine and serotonin, he'd think) to the child themself.

You're happy when you talk about the child and what you'll do for them and how you'll care for them. He's happy when you're happy. He's pleased when thinking about how people will be able to see a physical manifestation of your love and belonging with each other. You're happy to be having his child. He's happy about that, too.

While your feelings regarding the child is like a warm spring day or a cup of hot tea just boiled, his are more mild, still. Like your tea, already cooled, or a warm blanket. There are positive feelings involved now, and even he cannot deny it (at least to himself).

He takes care of you well, following the advice of the books and experts to the T. Perhaps a little too closely because it's a bit overprotective. You're his. Which also means it's in his obligation to take care of you well.

But when the child is born... I think there's at least a spark there. I'm not sure it's enough to light that flame quite yet, but now... He realizes that this really is his child. His and yours. He has your pretty eyes but with his color. The curl of your hair and the slope of his nose. Oh. Oh...

This child...

As the years go on and he spends time caring for the child and spending time with them, he begins to find all these little endearing things about them. How they'll seek him out even in sleep. How they'll smile at him happily, the slant of it so much like yours. How they'll crawl and eventually waddle their way to him when they begin to cry... Even just the fact that he spends time with them is enough to grow this bond. And at some point, they're off to school and it's clear they did, indeed, have his intelligent mind. But they're far more soft around the edges. Much more susceptible to the inherent loneliness, boredom, and ridicule, even, that comes with such intelligence.

But... he gets it. He never really thought anyone understood him at that age and for him? It was lonely but he was irritated by it more than anything. He had thicker skin than his child at that age.

So when they come to him about it all, he can only try his best to let them know he gets it even if he doesn't know how to express such a thing.

Ever heard the saying, "Even a beast will love its child?"

He’s not a nice person. His personality is rough and no one would ever think he could be suited to something as delicate as fatherhood.

And yet…

While he's not one for grand gestures, I think the kid would be able to see he cares.

It's in the little things for him.

Talking about the things they're interested in at school.

Telling them about his work and the things he researches. Being patient with them unlike how he is with his students. ("They are grown. But you are not," he would say with a short pat to the head before going back to checking over their homework with care.)

Rewarding them for their achievements, even if it's with something small.

All sorts of small things.

(He'll never admit it, but you have a picture of the two napping while the kid was sprawled against his side, head tucked into his neck.)

Anyways ofisjgeo yeah-

Hopefully this isn’t too delusional goodbye- I was trying to make him a Relatively Good Dad for Pix while also making sure he was still mostly in-character. OTL

#Roro writes #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dr ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #gn reader #afab reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader

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lunarw0rks · 9 months

Note

Hello! I just found your blog and I just started reading everything I saw 😅. Can I request 141 + König + Alejandro with a pregnant reader? They don't know yet and when the reader will break the news they are really stressed with work and end up taking it out on the reader, they end up getting into an argument and saying they hate the reader and that their life would be so much better without the reader in it (😈). The reader takes this seriously and leaves when they are asleep... Months later they meet again when the reader is on her way to the hospital to give birth (😈). Angst to fluff pls. If you don't feel good about writing or it's too big, that's fine. Have a nice day and thank you so much for all the time you spend writing to us.

The Things We Say // 141 Drabble

Summary: You're expecting, but it's not good news. To him, at least. Your relationship takes a hit, but once he meets your child, he's swallowed with regret for how he treated you.

Warning(s): angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of premature birth/complications, mild injury/blood, strong language, established relationship, fem!Reader, no use of y/n

A/N: I was hurting my own feelings---but, there's fluff after the angst, so don't get too upset besties<3 Hope you don't mind anon, I took some creative liberty because I didn't want them all to have the same plotline. | Word Count: 5.9k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

SYNOPSIS; he had been in the thick of it lately, sometimes more overwrought when at home with you than in active combat, it seemed. Conversations were either abrupt, crude, or nonexistent—often just building on top of the tension building between the two of you. Relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty, but you felt you were carrying the burden of the whole percentage. That’s why the news couldn’t have come at a worse time—you, staring at the two lines instead of one. No matter how long you stared, double-checked the diagram, the answer was the same. Pregnant. So, now you knew two things for certain, you were expecting, and most heartbreaking—the other one responsible was at his worst. To break the news to him, it took every fiber of your being.

⋘ » ☆ « ⋙

AFTERMATH; nine months of hell. That’s how you would answer if someone asked. Few people did though, even at work or out on the street. There was the occasional boy or girl, how are you feeling. But they were being polite, or taking pity on the pregnant woman without a ring on her finger. The pregnant woman with bags under her eyes, the one who winces with each step because she’s ready to pop. None of it meant anything to you, because the other half of this responsibility had been left in the dark, and not for much longer. You weren’t raising this child alone, no matter how irate he was going to be when you contacted him.

Price

One of John’s many talents; stewing on his feelings, keeping them suppressed for an unnatural amount of time.

Often so long that he forgot about the source of his anger once he had time to catch up to them. That is… Until his work was involved. Then he was an entirely different man, often spending his time deep in a bottle and with a nose deep in paperwork, with little regard for anyone else around him.

His control, it was typically so consistent, that he knew not to bring his professional problems home. But lately? It’s been anything but typical. He wasn’t what you would call mean, but there was definitely a negative word to describe it. Cold? Apathetic? Perhaps even unwelcoming?

The bickering, if you could call it that, had droned on for several minutes now. Though, it was mostly you venting your frustrations to an uninterested Price. ❝I know it’s not good timing, John. Why the fuck do you think I’m in here trying to reason with you? Are we just supposed to ignore this until we can’t anymore?❞ You hissed, tempted to rip the paperwork from his grip to get him to pay attention.

He always wanted children, but not right now. Naturally, that’s when it happened. He felt like he was drowning, at first only professionally, but now personally too. The funds weren’t a problem, the kid had two parents, but… you and him—nothing was working.

❝Sweetheart, I’m in the thick of it right now. Please.❞ He didn’t need to raise his voice for you to see how irritated he was. Perhaps at the baby, you, himself, or all the above. ❝I have a meeting.❞ He stood up from his workspace, steaming coffee in hand.

John walked away from you like you were a pestering soldier, not the mother of his child. Enough was enough.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

He thought he was slick, only giving you physical checks to see your face, to ensure that you were indeed alright. It was often the coffee shop within equal walking distance of your two separate homes. John would always slide the amount you needed across the table, a look of remorse on his face. Each monthly meeting, your stomach would grow in size, as did your drained expression.

But you wouldn’t talk to him. You would only text him the amount, nod when he asked questions. It was the worst torture you could put a man like John through—one that needed the approval of his loved ones. It just couldn’t happen, not yet. The wounds of how he treated you, they were too fresh, even after nine months of this routine.

To be truthful, you debated on even calling him when you went into labor. You could do it alone, right? With just the support of the delivery nurses, and most of all your baby girl as the reward? Perhaps you could wait until after, give him the respect to at least meet his daughter. For someone not carrying a child, he looked just as beat; sunken eyes, less tidy facial hair than usual, and somehow even more tobacco on his breath.

John was clawing himself from the inside out, begging for something other than a “yes” or “no” from your lips.

—

❝I can’t do this,❞ you repeated it about fifty times, tears streaming down your cheeks from both the pain and the distraught feelings. That plan you had to not call him, it was falling through quite quickly. This level of agony? You needed someone other than a doctor. You needed the father, as much as it pained you to admit.

❝Yes, you can dear, women have babies everyday.❞ Bless the nurse, she was trying her best to keep you calm, but it didn’t work.

What if something went wrong? If somehow you didn’t make it but your baby girl did, she would be alone until he got here… That couldn’t, no—wouldn’t happen. He needed to be there, right beside this bed to hold her in case you couldn’t.

In between your pained grunts, you finally spit out what you’d been trying to tell her, finding a split second of sensibility during all this distress. ❝Call… John. Please, call him!❞

—

The doors swung open faster than any of the personnel, his gaze softening when he saw you breathing in a patterned fashion. The nurse beside you gave him a nod, freeing your hand for him to take her place. John wasn’t going to miss this, and frankly, he was irked that he almost did. But he wasn’t irked at you; he was irked at himself for taking this for granted.

His soothing voice talks you through each contraction, a soothing hand dabbing away the sweat and tears streaming down your face.

❝I got you, sweetheart. You’re almost done pushing.❞ Though he looked gruff on the outside, inside he was distraught. You had maintained the cold shoulder throughout the pregnancy, but you still called him here? You were more than he deserved in his eyes.

The last round of pushing, and they were close together now. You had about thirty seconds to say this, before you were screaming again.❝I’m glad you’re here.❞ Despite all the pain you were in, you gave his hand a squeeze, staring at him with a glossy expression.

His eyes nearly watered; the first sentence you had uttered to him in months, and it was clear you meant every bit of it. You needed him and so did your daughter, right here right now. He pressed a kiss to your temple, a soothing massaging your shoulder.

John kept his tone firm on purpose, to emphasize how deeply he cared for you right now. ❝I’ll always be here for you, love. Always.❞

Simon

Simon loved deep; hated even deeper.

It was one of the features that drew you to him in the first place, how blunt he could be, how his broodiness contrasted your personality in more ways than one. His cynical behavior could be humorous, could be reassuring, but most of all—bitter. To add stress to the equation, to bring it home? He was an explosive disaster waiting to happen.

❝Simon,❞ you approached from behind, holding the test in your hands, because you knew the first question he would ask when you told him; is if you took one. Well, if he wasn’t actively cursing under his breath, he would’ve.

Instead, he merely flicked his eyes over for a brief moment, as if you were a stranger on the street that said excuse me. ❝Simon.❞ Your tone grew firmer, clutching the stick with more apprehension.

❝Bloody Christ, what?❞ He shifted in his seat, bloodshot and hooded eyes that only twisted the knife further. You couldn’t tell him now, not with the pressure of being on the spot. The right words just wouldn’t come out, prompting you to put the stick behind your back. ❝Goddamn nuisance.❞ He muttered under his breath as if it was only supposed to be an internal thought.

Though, he didn’t look all that remorseful about it—at least on the outside.

He had never said anything like that before, at least not to your face. It seemed, all the weeks of tension and cold shoulder, it was enough. You were done and out the door the second he’d dozed.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Simon made a few futile attempts to reach out, but his own stubbornness prevented him from ever being face-to-face. He beat himself up so badly, and from his side of things—he’d only lost one person, not two.

It pained you to ask the delivery nurse to call him. You wanted to shove the crowning newborn right back inside and hold off, to go find him yourself and smack sense into him for putting you through this agony. But you couldn’t. Quite literally couldn’t get up, and didn’t want to. Resulting in pettiness and venom would make you worse than him because you would be using this child as a pawn.

He said nothing, but his eyes said enough. The nurses put a sterile drape over his shoulders, but he paid them no mind. His amber eyes remained on you; a bulging belly and an expression of pure agony. Had he missed something, a crucial chapter of your new life post-breakup? Most of all, why did you call him?

❝Hold my hand.❞ Simon found the side of your bed, allowing you to dig your fingernails into his forearm until there were imprints. He had few words, but the countenance of concern and guilt said it all. If this wasn’t his… you would’ve done this alone, or the father would be here. Then it dawned on him; it was his.

—

Hours passed, and he still hadn’t mentioned the obvious. Nine months without his support—financial or moral. You needed rest, as did the baby girl—so you were getting it, first and foremost. The adult matters would be better talked about when you weren’t still freshly recovering.

Simon tapped his foot against the tile, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was unsure of who to keep an eye on more; the newborn swaddled in her own crib, or you, exhaustedly sleeping in your hospital bed. Though he’d held the girl, it felt forbidden, like he was only a placeholder until your body recovered enough to do it yourself. It was shock preventing him from feeling, not cruelty.

You stirred awake, a sigh of contempt when you laid eyes on him. The labor was a blur your mind had already shut out, and you truly didn’t recall the nurses contacting him. Your eyes were glossy with dark circles underneath them. ❝I’m…❞ It was like the night you tried to tell him but couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come out.

Simon saw that look in your eyes; the fear that he would explode, or storm out and leave you with the child forever—but he wasn’t. All the years of trying to not relieve the same mistakes his own father made, it would be useless if he did that. And he couldn’t, seeing that look of desperation on your face, how you looked as if you were going to burst into tears at the sight of him. That look, it was the same one that gnawed at him during those months apart, how he found you and your belongings gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. ❝Shh… Don’t apologize. Ever.❞ He was hovering now, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Whatever you decided when you were healed enough, he would take it like a man, because he had the audacity to speak to you like a man who wronged him.

Soap

Soap was… a complicated man to say the least. Usually, he was sweet, charming, with the right amount of cockiness. His ability to make you laugh drew you into him in the first place. But it was dwindling—at least during the past few weeks. Now, all that remained was smugness and bitter mutters under the breath.

❝Don’t be a child about this, we’ll figure it out,❞ He says, slamming his car door behind you. The first time you two had been out to dinner together in weeks, spoiled because you finally broke the news to him. You teared up in the restaurant because his reaction was anything but accepting, and frankly, he found it embarrassing.

He hadn’t meant it that way—that’s just how it came out.

He truly did want to figure this baby thing out, but it was the worst possible timing; an all-time high of stress at work, bickering with you constantly. And now, a third added to the dynamic with only months to prepare? It was too much. ❝Oh, I’m acting like a child?❞ You walked into the house, taking off the jewelry you had on to look nice for him.

The bickering that ensued—it was nothing nice, nothing you’d care to remember.

❝I don’t want you to go, lass. Don’t do this.❞ You had already made up your mind. Perhaps it was your emotions clouding your judgment, that instinct you felt being a few weeks along… It didn’t matter, you couldn’t be here. Not with him, not right now.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You were about to pop, literally any day now. You knew that meant you would have to talk to the father, and interact with him for about eighteen years—at least be civil. But the rationality of it, how you would have to co-parent with him, didn’t ease your anxieties. Of course, he was adamant about checking up on you and being more of a parasite than the fetus taking half your energy.

You closed the car door with your hip, a slow waddle up the pavement. Where the hell your keys were, that was another story—something you would deal with once you rolled yourself up to the door.

❝What the hell are you doin’?❞ The voice nearly made you drop all the grocery bags in your grasp, a jumpy shriek coming out. When you whipped around, it was Soap, a look of upset on his very expressive face.

Once you started to recover from the scare of a lifetime, an unintentional one at that, a scowl formed on your face. It was like he had a sense of the absolute worst time to show up and annoy you, especially now that you were swollen and extra agitated. ❝A phone call would’ve worked, Johnny. Or, I don’t know, maybe a ‘hey I’m right behind you, lady’!❞ You attempted to mock his accent out of pure frustration, but he didn’t find the humor in it, at least not right away.

He yanked the bags out of your grip, stomping up the steps of your porch. ❝You shouldn’t be carryin’ these.❞ You really should not be doing that, he was right, but the thought of him being your grocery boy—showing up even more? ❝Keys.❞ He held out his free hand, the other one swimming in bags. It was ridiculous, apparently, you weren’t allowed to twist a key now, either.

You shove past him once he’s turned the key, squeezing past and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, he starts putting away anything and everything you bought. Some are nutritious, others purely to feed your cravings. ❝Don’t start.❞ You pointed a finger at him when he picked up a family-sized bag of candy, a smart-ass comment daring to escape his lips.

❝God, I can’t believe you, Johnny. Sneaking up on me like that, I could’ve fallen.❞ You put an instinctive hand on your stomach, still irked by his presence.

❝No, you would’ve fallen carrying all those bags yourself. I have a right to be worried, it’s my bloody kid too.❞ He retorts, a hand on his hip. He’s done all he’s obligated to now; carrying and putting away your groceries.

You tighten your lips into a line, fighting the urge to start a full-blown argument. ❝Yeah, you remind me every day, so thanks for tha— Shit.❞ It seemed, raising your voice counted as exerting yourself because there was a sudden cramp in your stomach, a trickle down your pant leg.

Soap’s eyes widened, seeing you go from scolding him to hunched over and holding your stomach. You had forced yourself into labor, now standing on knees about to buckle. ❝I’ve got you, now get going woman, before I put you over my shoulder.❞ He felt he had never moved faster, a tight fist around your forearm to keep you standing as he led you through the door you had just walked in.

—

It seemed there was little time between being admitted to actively pushing. This kid wanted out, and right this second. You let out a shriek as the back of your head slammed against the pillow, sweat trickling down your brow as you cursed and wailed. ❝I know it hurts, love, but you got this.❞ He allowed you to clamp down on his hand, to dig your fingertips until they drew blood.

❝Oh, you know do you?!❞ You snapped at him, finding it hard to be nice when you felt like you were being ripped in half.

❝If I wasn’t,❞ you grunted in between words, face scrunched and labored breathing, ❝stuck in this damn bed, I would so… hurt you right now, Johnny.❞ He fought the urge to snicker just a little bit, masking it with his concern for you. Seeing you in agony, even when you were actively snapping at him, it didn’t please him one bit.

Well, you were arguing with him, so he knew you weren’t actively dying.

If you used enough of that anger, it would help you literally push through the pain, just like how it caused the kid to want to come out right this second. For once, his pestering and sarcasm were actually helping.

With one final wave of it, your back arched off the bed and finally, the loud cry of an infant filled the white-walled room. Soap nearly fainted, if he was being honest—he was awfully squeamish for someone who dealt with blood daily. But it was your blood and… fluids, things that made him shiver when he pictured how painful that could’ve been.

The doctors were speedy, cleaning off and checking vitals. All he could do was stare at the newborn—his baby boy. And then he looked at you, choked up and stared in awe at the baby set on your chest. ❝Jesus…❞ he leaned down, placing a gentle hand on yours as it held the child’s head.

All the fighting, all the bickering, even the late-night candy runs—they were well worth it. He had a second chance now, to make things right with you, and to be a decent father.

Gaz

Gaz could be hotheaded, sometimes downright blunt, especially when he’s passionate about something to do with his work. The night you were going to break the news, nothing was going right. He came home in a huff, not bothering to take off his boots before plopping on the sofa. Kyle had a right to be stressed; look at what he does all day. But he didn’t have a right to be cruel to you because of it.

You took a seat beside him and set the positive test down on his thigh. A silence followed by a scowl, and then he finally spoke. ❝You can’t be serious.❞ It nearly gutted you right then and there. His leg began to bounce anxiously the longer he glanced at the life-changing test results.

❝Kyle, I—❞ you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say either, not that he gave you a chance. ❝I don’t have time for this, babe. I really can’t do this right now.❞ He put his head in his hands, a flustered groan escaping his lips.

❝Are you saying you don’t want this? That we shouldn’t have done this?❞ You were suddenly standing, eyes wide and watering. You felt like you had just been dumped on the street, despite his unclear tone.

He peered up, lips in a blunt line. ❝Maybe we shouldn’t have.❞ You could’ve crawled into a hole and died right then and there, but you merely nodded. Nodded and then left the room, leaving him to his moodiness. No, it wasn’t the best timing, but that didn’t give him the right to brush you off, to treat you like a distasteful afterthought.

It wasn’t just you anymore, it was you and the baby.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

It was one of his few days off—though he wasn’t feeling much relaxation. You were still hot and cold with him, now about halfway through your third trimester; thirty-two weeks to be exact. It was nearing that point, where he had prepared a spare room for the baby, began coordinating plans for labor, etc…

But he still didn’t feel ready, or like he deserved you after how cruel he was that night. Kyle was only helping you to help you and the baby.

His phone buzzed, right when he had begun relaxing for the evening. 10:32 PM; and it was your number. The second he heard the voice of a nurse on the other line, not yours, his feet were halfway out the front door.

—

❝I’m fine, Kyle. I’m fine…❞ It seemed no matter how many times you repeated it, he didn’t seem to believe it. From the minute he entered your hospital room to now, he had at least one hand on you, a thumb grazing the cuts and bruises on your body. You had been in a car accident—mild for you, life-threatening for a preemie. ❝You’re not fine.❞ he said firmly, eyes darting towards your clothes bagged in the corner—bloodied and with windshield pieces still embedded.

Kyle was more worried about you at first, but you were solely concerned about your baby—left alone in the NICU being poked and prodded by personnel. You had to be induced, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past the front doors. Now, he was too weak to be visited, too small and vulnerable to be held by his own mother yet. It was gut-wrenching; hours without a solid answer, because his chances depended solely on him making it through the night.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait, perhaps see your baby through a glass box if you got lucky.

—

❝He’s perfect,❞ Kyle peered down at the preemie in his hands, a baggy blue cap on his head. There were small babies, and he was somehow smaller. What once was the scare of a lifetime, it was now a passing memory to remind Gaz of what he could’ve lost. He would never make the mistake of talking to you like that again, even if the two events didn’t correlate.

What if the night you left, you got into an accident then, and it was much worse? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, plain and simple. ❝It’s cheesy but, he does have your eyes.❞ You whispered from the nursing chair you were sitting in, still healing and fatigued from the ordeal. The picture in front of you; Kyle looking at your son with such love—it was irreplaceable and forever stuck in your memories.

❝Correct. But he has your scowl, babe.❞ Gaz flicked his eyes upwards, feeling you gently nudge his shin at the sound of the comment.

It didn’t matter the things he said months ago, as long as he cherished this new life with you as much as you planned to.

Alejandro

Alejandro always had passion for the things he cherished; you and his work, nothing else mattered more. Passion led to intense feelings, intense feelings turned into misplaced bitterness. It wasn’t your fault that you were expecting, no more than it was his, at least. He knew that and had he just taken a breath and thought more carefully about his phrasing, this whole mess could’ve been avoided.

❝Do you think I wanted to interrupt you, Alejandro?❞ You hissed, standing in the doorway of his office with the positive test in your hands. He had just looked at you with such distaste as if you were the root cause of his stress and not his work.

What better way to stir the pot, than to match his wrath? Well, it certainly did that, though seeing him rage was the last sight you wanted to see. Alejandro always had trouble with his anger, often finding himself with all these feelings he had no clue how to control.

❝You always do what you want!❞ There it was, him blowing his fuse. He’d thrown his hands in the air, face tightened into a scowl. He couldn’t leave it at that, either, not when his rage came in such intense waves. ❝You’ll do what you always do—bleed me dry!❞

You couldn’t speak, despite how vicious you felt only seconds before. It seemed too truthful for your liking like he had been waiting for an excuse to spill his guts. ❝As long as you have enough to amuse yourself, I’m nothing to you, right?❞ He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his mocking tone was enough to tear at your heartstrings.

Had he seriously played that card with you—the man always insistent on taking care of you, financially, physically, emotionally? Now, of all times? The argument ended with you slamming the front door behind you, something he would’ve done.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You spent weeks ignoring him, and throughout the pregnancy, it was dry texts or brief calls. His only sign that you were even alive was the notification that you had used his account to purchase necessities. The irony of it made Alejandro nauseous, how awful he made it sound that you were doing what he told you to; to let him take care of you. The fact that you didn’t drain the funds, only bought what you needed, spoke volumes.

❝I’m not upset at you, amor—I wasn’t upset with you.❞

Alejandro reached a hand across the picnic table, a firm but loving grip on your forearm. You looked beat; hair a different length than before, exhausted eyes that were brimming with tears, and most of all a growing stomach. It was all his fault; the reason you didn’t want to face him like this, in fear that he would cut you and the baby off for good. Only, he was there to see your face, not for confrontation or another spat.

It didn’t matter what you said, if you screamed at him right now, or said nothing. Alejandro had made up his mind the night you left. ❝I’ll come to every appointment, parenting class, anything.❞

—

Of all the nights for you to be in labor, it had to be during a wicked storm. You had gone over to his house to make civil conversation over dinner, to at least attempt at repairing things. He had slaved over the stove, cooking his favorite for you. For most of the meal, things were… surprisingly tranquil; even romantic.

You were heavily pregnant, were you supposed to refuse a warm meal? Not a chance. You were too full, too swollen to get up out of the dining chair once the meal finished. And looking out the window? There was no way in hell Alejandro was going to let you drive home in this; droplets whipped down, trees and waste bins flew away from the force of it, and the rain was icy. Well, you were exhausted, and he had a bed he was willing to give up. Your back and feet practically sighed in relief when you laid back in his bed, the one you two once shared. It was a nice feeling, being there again and knowing Alejandro was trying his hardest to plead forgiveness.

About an hour into your much needed-slumber, you felt a pool in the sheets. Instinctually, you figured it was the fetus pressing on your bladder—a downright embarrassing thing you’d have to wake up and explain to him. But… it was clear it wasn’t that. You were in labor and stuck here.

The shriek you let out when you got a violent contraction; Alejandro dashed quicker than he ever did when dodging bullets. His fumbling fingers dialed 911, yanking the comforter off the bed to get a better view of your dilation. Fortunately, he was trained on how to deliver a baby when stranded, or in a country without medical support. But this was his baby and your life was in his hands. If he didn’t do this correctly, if something went wrong, he would never forgive himself.

The ambulance wouldn’t be there for an hour—you didn’t have an hour to spare, this baby was coming now. ❝You can do this, amor, we’re doing this together.❞ One hand clenched yours, the other kept an eye on the crowning baby. Just how you hadn’t woken up sooner, neither of you knew. Perhaps you had gotten so used to cramps and pains, that you thought it was just another sleepless night courtesy of the little one.

—

The moment your wails went silent as his baby girl finally came, Alejandro felt his heart drop. He had to make the worst decision; focusing on the newborn first. He wrapped her in one of his shirts, wiping the fluid and blood from her small face. As he cradled her, a quick hand fingered for a pulse, a loud sigh escaping his lips when he felt one. You had only passed out from the pain—probably doing you a service, considering he didn’t have the proper medication to numb your pain.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the wailing child, still with gritted teeth. But your baby was there—and her lungs were very clearly working. Alejandro set her down on your chest, allowing you to hold your daughter for the first time. ❝You did so well, cariño. Look at her.❞ He was merely distracting you with the baby on your chest, to not divert your attention towards the state your body was in as he cleaned you up.

Somehow, he had pulled this off with both his girls safe, soon to be checked out properly at a hospital. When you first broke the news, he thought he knew the meaning of being so suddenly thrust into fatherhood, but that took on a whole new meaning after tonight.

König

There had once been a line he didn’t cross, but he did that night. König never yelled at you. He saved that stern side of him for his work because it was acceptable there. But in the weeks that his work had bled onto you, spoiling the relationship, his values seemed to loosen. Though he was a complicated man, a man uncertain of himself and his appearance, he maintained a hardness about him. Ruthless in the field and immensely protective of anyone that had come to love him.

You approached him as he worked, placing the test on the desk he was sitting at. ❝König, I need to tell you something.❞

With his head facing the paperwork, he merely shrugged at you. Until he saw what you’d placed there, his eyes going wide. But it wasn’t shock or excitement; it was disdain for the fact that this baby was just another interruption—you were just another interruption. ❝I have no time for this, Schatz, you know that.❞

He didn’t need to raise his voice for his words to sting, his bitter tone was more than enough. But he surely hadn’t meant it like that, right? He’d meant he didn’t have time for this right now… right?

❝Why don’t you go rest, then?❞ He asks, picking up the folder that he was reading previously. It wasn’t a request made out of concern, König was patronizing you. His glare was typically enough to make a soldier scramble, but you just stood there for a few seconds, biting back the urge to choke.

How you left that night, it wasn’t dramatic or emotional, it was dry. König tells you to think clearly about this, to sleep on it. But you couldn’t—and you weren’t going to be a verbal punching bag.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

König only called you weekly for appointment updates, or to let you know he had sent you a check. Other than that, words dripped with tension and the urge to say so much more. But you were too stubborn for your own good, and so was he. You were more concerned with hosting life than playing games with a father who treated you like a wimp.

He’d only seen you once, during the second trimester when he showed up at your apartment. You protested, but he showed up anyway, saying he needed “proof” that you and the fetus were safe. The voice on the phone wasn’t enough, in his eyes.

Of course, when you needed him most, screaming and keeling over in the kitchen, he wasn’t there. It was a neighbor that called an ambulance for you because they knew they had a pregnant tenant next door. In fact, it was such a close call, you nearly didn’t make it to the delivery room before the newborn came out wailing.

The only plus side? While the paramedics were deterring you from pushing, you’d sent a text—probably unintelligible—but a text, nonetheless. He knew your due date, how today was only a few days off, and he was in his car before he could grasp the severity of this new life stage.

—

❝I’m here, schätzchen. I’m not going to hurt you again, or him.❞ He hunched over the bed, eyes in a perpetual state of disbelief as he watched you soothe the whining newborn. Clarity hit him like a truck when he heard your screams during delivery, and then he was all in. Not that he had a choice, this was his doing too.

He had given you the financial support to get proper nutrition for you and the baby, to pay for the appointments, but that wasn’t enough—not in König’s eyes. He needed to snap out of his self-pity and be a support system. Whether you wanted to co-parent or work on repairing the relationship, you were not under any circumstances taking care of this newborn alone, at your apartment.

He placed a hand in your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. ❝We can clear out the spare room, hm? There’s more than enough room for the two of you.❞ He was already picturing it, how he was going to pull an all-nighter and get to work on the room, going to your apartment and moving the baby supplies from yours to his.

König didn’t need to state the obvious, that you weren’t bound to any type of relationship besides the one concerning the child. Whether you wanted to move out once the baby hit a certain age or not, he was going to keep an eye on the two of you.

Two of you, not just the newborn you were rocking. It was either both of you, or neither, and he was intent on it being the first option.

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