#...now I just have to catch up with all the story...

[edensrose]

꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 LAPLACE'S DEMON

˚₊‧꒰ა nerd .ᐟ satoru gojo ﾉ mean girl .ᐟ reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

you painted a stereotyped image of the uni's nerd in your head. but ever heard of laplace's demon? you quickly found out when you pissed him off during yet another tutoring session.

broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ minors dni, uni au, no curses au, academic tropes, degradation, brat taming, dumbification, backshots, rough sex, penetrative sex, choking, pussy spanking, overstim, reader is a spoilt brat, really meantoru 𓂃 wc ⌇ 2.2k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ i really needed to see some mean nerdjo content bc as a nerd i can safely say we're very mean. art cred ⌇ gojouify (twt)

There was only one thing that Satoru hated more than opening up a fresh new collectable deck with three quarters of the cards being doubles: snobby brats.

No not the rich kind, and no not the kind that forced their heads up and put on the persona of snot-nosed, mean-spirited and a glass ego waiting to be shattered.

The kind wrapped in pink and donned in gloss. The kind that ensured every strand was infuriatingly proper. Who raised a hand full of overly decorative nails and giggled behind professor's backs. They walked the hallways as if it bended to their every whim and high heel. They smiled with pearly teeth ready to feast on the newest, juiciest gossip.

Popular girls? Nah, he's good friends with a popular girl. Shoko couldn't compare.

But popular, mean, brattish girls? They frustrated him more than a pretentious professor with a point to prove.

And you? Well, you were the worst of them all.

Aggravatingly pretty with a daggered smile and keen eyes searching for the latest story. Quirky when needed, loud when unnecessary, the perfect party girl. If gossip and copious amounts of alcohol was all that made you he might have turned the blind eye. Alas, you were the last two categories.

Not mean, but fierce. Not bratty, but spoilt. Satoru could hardly stand you. Thank whatever divine he doesn't believe in up there — at least you only have one class with him.

How the hell did you even get into the quantam mechanics class? Did you bang the professor? Doesn't seem like the case when that same man paired you with him for 'extra help'.

Satoru rolled his eyes behind your back. Of course someone like you couldn't hold yourself afloat. Too busy applying lip gloss mid-lecture to catch the calculations for your exam prep.

He attempted to deny, but the professor held firm. If anyone was going to save your pretty ass from failure it was the star student. Maybe you did kneel after hours at that podium after all. Satoru wouldn't blame the old bugger. You were gorgeous. But what's beauty when wasted on ungodly amounts of brassiness?

So you found yourself at his dorm every Friday, much to your fervid complaints about this party and that get-together.

"Everything happens on a Friday, Gojo." You way you sneered around his name twitched his brow. And his dick. "Can't we do this tomorrow? Or a Sunday."

"You'll drink enough to vomit your guts out all weekend. Then repeat the next Friday. No." He huffed and readied the study material he'd reluctantly share with you. "Just sit your ass down and quit complaining. Don't wanna be here longer than needed."

See, you might have been a popular girl. But Satoru? Satoru was a nerd. The book and pen were his bread and butter. He ate calculations for breakfast and theorised phenomena for fun. His thesis was said to be shipped off to some international headquarters. Hell he could recount every class's textbook in his sleep.

That amount of intellect doesn't come with being humble. It certainly isn't in the hands of the faint hearted. Whatever image you'd pieced together of nerds, enhanced by media and painted by your own arrogance was surely wrong.

Nerds were mean. And Satoru? He was ruthless.

If you couldn't grasp what he tried to teach you, tough luck, now you've got homework over the weekend. Your attempts at rumours fell flat — your friends laughed, but other students side-eyed. You do know that's the campus' boy genius, right? Every comment earned another that shut you up for ten minutes, and when you'd attempt to win back your pride, blue eyes would stab at you over spectacle rims.

"Do you ever shut up?" He'd sneer.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to!?" The chair skid together with your heels. You'd had enough of his attitude that rivalled yours, the endless hours bleeding your eyes into useless textbooks when you could be out with your friends. And his constant belittling?

You weren't dumb. You refused to let some nerd shame you. Who did he think he was?

"Unlike you I have a life. In fact right now I'm missing out on the bonfire of the year to be here with your sorry ass —" you pointed a sharp, manicured nail in response to his sharper glare. "Learning some stupid subject I don't even wanna —"

You heaved, tore your hands through your hair then kicked the book bag across his polished floors. Straight into the wall and rattled the shelves where more blasted books and figurines peered down at you in judgment.

"How the fuck do you live like this? I'm expected to study with some weird - boring - frankly rude—"

Heels spun and stumbled on the floor. Your back shook the shelf next. Beady blue no longer stared over specs, but down at you. Daggered. Glasses lost in his tousled white hair. Unobstructed, his eyes held the universe and every threat of the cosmos.

"Shut. Up."

Your shoulder's forced back into some figurine you were shaming a second ago. When did he get so tall? And frankly, you never knew he had such strength as he held you steady. Still, as he loomed in close.

"I'm tired of your constant bitching. You think I wanna be here helping some bimbo with more charms on her nails than braincells?"

Ow.

"You think I'm boring? Think I can't keep up with a girl like you? Because of some useless trope you keep blabbering on and on about —" His hand slammed alongside your side.

"You want some excitement? Wanna be treated like the brat you are? Fine."

Oh, that brat was nowhere to be seen once he got his hands on you. Once you let him. Never would you ever expected someone like Satoru could kiss. Not just kiss, but rob you of ever breath and render your legs shaking.

Never would you have imagined his touch to burn, bliss, demand. Excitement came in the form of fervent kisses and firm touches. A sort of confidence that made your entire personality look like a charade.

Shirt rolled, skirt hikes, panties yanked. The same desk you shoved became your only sight, your saviour. You clung tight to the wood that knocked into the wall rhythmically with every shove of your hips. Induced by the repetitive, ruthless, rude smacks pounding against your ass. By a rough arm clamped tight around your thighs, bringing you back on a cock thicker than you'd ever taken.

And it showed with the way you clenched and gushed. With your choked moans and whimpered whines. How you could barely stand and leaned over the desk with the same nails he insulted doing a poor job and clinging.

"Who knew a uni slut could be so tight?" His glower to your ear made you bite down on his bicep braced round your throat. Who knew the nerd could be so endowed?

Your response was a pitiful hiccups. Squelching walls that spilled with every slap against your throbbing folds. His plush tip hammered against a spot he found in less than seconds. Every bump, vein and ridge dragged against the entirety of your slick heat. Had you throbbing. Keening.

"Mngh — fuck, 'sssoo." He chuckled cruelly at your useless blabber. Just like your poor pussy that soaked your panties strained around your plush thighs. Useless, that's all you felt with every thrust, every mock.

The only difference was, you didn't mind.

Useless for him? Useless for that cock? To the pleasure you never knew you could feel? So be it.

"Soo what? Soo slutty? Such a whore?" The arm on your waist yanked and stuffed your puffy cunt more of him. Rapid thrusts turned to ruts. He fucked into a gummy spot that curled an arch in your spine. Drool spluttered out over his arm, over the desk littered in textbooks.

Opened and soaked, they mocked you too. Every calculation you couldn't take - not the way you're taking his dick. Not the way you're sucking him in like it's your final assignment.

"Look at you." The tightness eased from your waist. Came in a pinch and cruel swirl to your clit that had you whining. "Droolin' all over the textbooks instead 'f learning. Guess that's all you're good for huh?"

Shlap! You jolted with the smack to your clit. Three fingers flattened and rubbed messily. Not as messily as your cunt spilling and weeping from his crudeness but begging for more. Greedy, like the way you squeezed him.

"Right?" You're yanked back. Fucked into a steeper arch. His every breath fans your ear and fogs his glasses. He sprayed not only your drool, but slick everywhere. A lewd reminder for your session next week. If you managed to look him in the eye after he rearranged your guts. "Just good for takin' cock. Nothing else. Too dumb for dick, huh pretty?"

Even if it gave you butterflies, every insult wounded your pride. Bleeding pink and spilling thick slick all over. So you bit back, pitifully.

"N-Never — hngh. Never thought the - the nerd was s-. . . sh'oooo biiigg."

Was that your best jab? He had every right to laugh at you. So unlike the mean little giggle you'd shoot to those you saw as inferior. No, a spiteful, splintered laugh that would have had you teary. If your eyes hadn't bulged.

Your pussy strained. Walls stretched wider and clamping tighter. Squirting, squelching, squirming as he shoved deeper. Proving he was even bigger than you thought.

"Oh baby," Satoru crooned. His arm became a large hand clutched around your jaw. Another on your hip, fucking you into him. Taking him rougher, harder. "You thought that was all? Wanted to be nice, but since you've got so much to say."

Your eyes rolled back. Tits smacked against paper. Body smushed as his hips rammed forward. His cock drove, tip pounding your poor little cervix and fucking your whimpering cunt all the way. Making sure you felt every vein, every crevice, every inch until you were dumbly drooling and hiccuping over his desk.

"Fuck — oh god! Satoru!"

"Yeah? So you can say my name prettily."

His breaths huffed into your ear as strong arms looped around your waist fiercely. Every thrust brought you back onto him. He ground and humped on every other thrust, rutting shallowly to remind you just how big he was. How small you were. Weaker, beneath him.

He wretched himself off of your quivered form and watched your ass catch his pounds. Skirt shrivelled around your waist, pitiful like your face pressed into paper. The pool of saliva through his textbook made a bookmark to his new favourite page.

"Fuck, you're pathetic." Another huff of laughter followed by a barrage of wet shlaps! He aimed every pound to accentuate your pussy's lewd squelches. Whether for his ears of yours, you couldn't process. Not with him kissing every bundle of nerves that coiled your tummy tight.

Your lips parted with a whine. "Gonna cum again?" He beat you to it. From the angle you spotted his grin. Glasses dangled on the bridge of his nose and greedy eyes drinking you in like the image of sin.

"Gonna cum all over my cock again? Yeah?" A sting welted your ass and you sobbed as it followed on your cervix. Mouth opened in an endless, whorish moan as he fucked at a tempo that shook not only your body but the desk as well. Banging into the wall in a way that'll surely alert his dorm mate of whatever transpired in this room.

A pretty, popular brat being fucked open and creaming all over the supposed boring nerd. Laplace's demon himself.

"Still boring for you, sweetheart? Still boring when this bratty pussy's squeezing me like a needy slut?" Long fingers delved over your scalp and gripped tight. The leverage came with shattering, hard thrusts that squished you ass and sent your feet standing on the tips. You sobbed, shaking your head.

"N-No!"

"No who?"

"No Satoru - no toru—" You rasped as he throbbed heavily in you. There's your catch. "Noo toru, not boring. Fuck, cock feels sooo good - gonna cum, torruuu."

Whether in your favour or not. The name brought quick swirls back to your clit and turned his thrusts into hammering pounds that sent your eyes rolling back and maw hung in a drooling daze.

Face flushed, clothes strewn, cum squirting down your thighs and staining your heels. Fuck, a mess didn't even begin to cover it. A pretty mess laid out on his desk and dumbly moaning his name.

Satoru leaned over you. Thrusts shallowed again as he grunted and whimpered. Disolving into a bony weight of strong arms hooked around you tight and endless, mindless humps against your soft ass.

"If you weren't so busy being a bitch," he laughed, low and cruel. "Maybe you'd be able to keep those grades up." Another spank. You whimpered.

"But that's fine, sweetheart." Cold lips pressed open-mouthed kisses up your neck. Breaths quick and heaved as he proved just how exciting he could be. With heavy balls smacking your poor abused cunt and his dick splitting your bratty pussy wide open for him.

He reached for your jaw, forcing your head at an angle for his lips. Peppered all over your face and sucking on your poor, drooling tongue.

"Means I can fuck the brat outta ya like this? Fine. Be a dumb bitch. 's a better look on you anyway."

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[inseobts]

When the Sea Gives You Tangerines

shanks x fem!reader

after years spent loving each other you have many stories to tell to the strawhats.

words count: 2.2k

a/n: I got inspired by the kdrama When Life Gives You Tangerines, I just hope it didn't come out too cringy honestly...

tags: childhood friends, storytelling, bickering, comfort, fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The fire’s warm. The moon hangs heavy above the ship.

Luffy leans back, arms behind his head, grinning “So, how’d you two end up together anyway?”

You blink “Us?”

Shanks smirks, sitting beside you on a crate “You wanna tell it, or should I?”

“Like hell I’m letting you tell it.” you mutter.

Nami leans in, curious. Sanji pours wine for Robin. Zoro pretends he’s not listening. Even Usopp’s wide-eyed. They’ve heard of Shanks the Yonko, but they never thought they’d hear him laughing like this.

You sigh “It started when we were kids.”

“She hated me.” Shanks says.

You shoot him a look “I ignored you.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“She’d walk past me every day like I was just a chair.”

“You sat like one. On the dock. All day.”

“I was watching the sea! I was thoughtful.”

“You were stupid.”

Shanks grins at the crew “See? True love.”

They laugh. You roll your eyes.

You look down at your hands “We were kids in the same village. I liked books. He liked trouble.”

“She liked pretending she didn’t care.” he adds.

“I didn’t.”

“You still don’t.” he teases.

Your voice softens “He followed me everywhere.”

Shanks turns to the crew “Everywhere.”

You smack his arm “Stop making it weird.”

He grins “I’m just saying. If she climbed a tree, I climbed it. If she stole an apple, I stole two.”

“And got caught.”

“I let them catch me so that they wouldn't catch you.”

You scoff “You cried.”

“I was seven!”

Everyone laughs again, but this time it fades slower.

You rest your chin on your hand “We grew up. He left first. Said the sea was calling. I said ‘Good. Don’t come back’.”

“But I did.” he says. Quiet now.

“You always did.” you say.

There’s a pause. The kind that only happens when people are listening too hard.

Nami’s voice breaks the silence “But when did you fall in love?”

You look at Shanks. He’s already looking at you.

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe when he stopped being an idiot.”

“So never.” Luffy says.

Shanks chuckles “I knew before she did. I was always waiting.”

You swallow. Your voice is barely a whisper “I was afraid.”

“Why?” Luffy asks.

“Because he was everything I didn’t want to need.”

Shanks leans back, watching the fire “And I was just waiting for her to look at me the way I looked at her.”

Zoro snorts “That’s depressing.”

Robin smiles “It’s real.”

You toss a tangerine at Shanks. He catches it, grinning.

“You’re still annoying.” you say.

“And you still love me.” he says.

You don’t answer but you don’t deny it, either.

You throw another tangerine at Luffy. He dodges it, laughing with his mouth wide open.

“Why are you asking so many questions, huh?” you say, pointing at him “You’ve heard this story a million times.”

Luffy shrugs, still grinning “Because I love it!”

You squint at him “You didn’t even listen the first hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I remember all of it now,” he says “When I was a kid, I used to look up at Shanks like he was the sun. Strong. Loud. Impossible.”

Shanks rubs the back of his neck “Don’t make me sound too cool.”

“But when he was with you,” Luffy continues, softer now, “or talking about you… he changed.”

You blink. The fire crackles again.

“It was like you were his captain.” Luffy says.

Everyone goes quiet. Zoro pauses mid-drink. Nami watches you closely. Robin’s smile grows just a little.

Shanks doesn’t look at you. Not yet.

Luffy’s voice drops “And that always made me feel like… maybe the Shanks everyone fears... wasn’t that scary after all.”

Shanks finally glances at you. There’s no teasing in his eyes now.

You don’t know what to say to that.

Because it’s true. All those years he was off sailing, getting stronger, louder, more famous... he’d write to you like nothing had changed. Like he was still that barefoot boy chasing after you in the mud.

You hated those letters. You kept every single one.

“He never stops talking about you.” Luffy adds.

Shanks groans “Luffy—”

“No, really! He’d be telling us about a fight or a treasure, and then... bam ‘That reminds me of her’ or, ‘She would’ve laughed at that’ or—”

“Luffy!” Shanks throws a cork at his head.

You hide a smile behind your hand.

“So,” Sanji says, leaning forward, “who confessed first?”

You and Shanks speak at the same time:

“He did.”

“She did.”

The crew erupts.

“What?!”

“Liar!”

You point at him “You kissed me first. And you were obvious since you were 6.”

“Yeah, but you said it first.” he counters.

“Only because you were dying.”

“I wasn’t dying!”

“You had a spear in your shoulder!”

“A tiny spear.”

“You fainted.”

“I was tired!”

Nami shakes her head “You two are a mess.”

Robin sips her wine “A beautiful mess.”

Luffy lies back on the deck, hands behind his head again “I just knew you two would end up like this.”

“You weren't even there... But yeah,” you say quietly as you look at Shanks, and he’s already watching you “I think deep down… I always knew too.”

“So you didn’t join Shanks on the sea from the start?” Usopp asks, still wide-eyed like he’s listening to a bedtime story.

You snort “No. I didn’t want to.”

“She followed me anyway.” Shanks says, puffing his chest like a proud idiot.

You roll your eyes “I studied. For years. Maps. Languages. History. Ship mechanics. All of it. I worked harder than anyone.”

Robin tilts her head “So you could sail?”

You pause “So I could stand next to him without being a burden.”

Shanks turns to you, slower now, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment “You never told me that.”

You pick at the edge of your sleeve “Yeah, well. You never shut up long enough to hear it.”

The crew laughs, but it’s gentler now.

“You know what’s funny?” you say, turning back to Luffy “The first time I met you, you looked at me like I was your mom and Shanks used to make fun of me.”

“What?” Luffy blinks.“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did,” you say “You followed me around, asked if I had snacks, and called me ‘Miss Cool Pirate Lady’ for three days.”

Shanks throws his head back, laughing “I remember that!”

“You sat in the corner and drew me with a sword,” you add “And then said I was cooler than Shanks. And you called me mom by mistakes multiple times.”

“I WAS FIVE!” Luffy yells, red in the face now.

You smirk “Still true though.”

Shanks puts a hand over his heart “He used to blush like crazy everytime he realised he called you mom.”

There’s a quiet moment as the waves lap softly against the ship.

“Going back to that question... I didn’t plan to go to sea at first,” you admit “I wanted a small, quiet life.”

Shanks smiles, listening.

“But then he left,” you say, eyes on the stars “And I couldn’t stop wondering if he’d die without me.”

“That’s romantic,” Sanji says, dreamily.

“No,” you shake your head “That’s just the truth.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Shanks says softly.

“No,” you nod “You didn’t have to.”

You turn back to the Straw Hats “I joined the crew two years after he left. I showed up with a packed bag and told Benn, ‘Don’t make a big deal’.”

“And I immediately made a big deal.” Shanks grins.

“You tripped running down the dock.”

“I was moved, okay?”

“You fell into a crate of bananas.”

“It was an emotional day!”

Everyone’s laughing again. The air is full of warmth now, wine and fire and stories wrapped around the mast like wind.

Luffy lies on the floor of the Sunny, staring up at the sails “You two were the first people I ever saw who felt like family.”

You go still.

He says it so easily, like it’s always been true.

“I didn’t understand it then,” Luffy goes on, “but… when you were together, it felt safe. Not boring. Just… safe. Like home.”

You glance at Shanks. He’s not smiling now, not in the big, cocky way. This one’s smaller. Quieter. Like he can barely hold it.

“I guess I raised two idiots” you mutter, wiping your nose.

“You did,” Shanks says “And somehow, we both turned out okay.”

“Debatable.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours “Speak for yourself. I’m perfect.”

“You’re loud.”

“You love it.”

You don’t answer.

You just lean into him, just enough.

Luffy’s snoring now. Flat on his back, mouth open, arms spread like he owns the whole ship.

You nudge him with your toe. Nothing. Just louder snoring.

“I guess storytime’s over.” you say, standing and brushing off your pants.

Shanks stretches, groaning a little too dramatically “Guess that’s our cue to go.”

“Yeah,” you nod, already turning to leave “Let’s let the kids sleep.”

“Wait—WAIT.” Nami’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You freeze “What?”

“You’re not leaving yet,” she says, standing with her hands on her hips “You haven’t told us the best part.”

You sigh “Oh no.”

“How did he propose?” she grins.

“Oh no...” you repeat.

Usopp leans forward “Did he cry?”

Sanji fans himself “Was it romantic?”

Chopper is bouncing now “Did you say yes right away?!”

Franky still crying over your romantic stories.

Robin smiles “You must share. We’re invested now.”

You turn slowly toward Shanks.

He looks like a man standing in front of a cannon.

“We were supposed to not to tell anyone” you whisper.

He grins sheepishly “I didn’t!… Yet.”

You groan into your hands “You’re a menace.”

“But a charming menace.” he adds, winking.

“Don’t wink at me. I’m still mad.”

You face the crew with a deep sigh.

“Fine,” you say “But it wasn’t romantic.”

“Yes it was!” Shanks says.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“I tried to make it romantic.”

“You proposed during a storm.”

“It was dramatic!”

“We were sinking.”

“That’s memorable!”

Robin’s eyes sparkle “Please continue.”

You sit back down, crossing your arms “Okay. So. We’re in the middle of this horrible storm, waves taller than the ship. I’m tying down barrels, he’s yelling commands, the usual chaos.”

“And she looks amazing.” Shanks adds.

“Drenched.” You glare at him “Hair stuck to my face, one boot missing, and I’m yelling at the crew.”

“Very commanding... and sexy...” he says dreamily.

“And then,” you continue, ignoring him, “this idiot climbs the main mast with a ring in his mouth.”

Gasps around the fire.

“You didn’t...” Nami whispers.

“I did.” Shanks says proudly.

“And he screams... screams ‘WILL YOU MARRY ME?!’ while lightning is literally striking the ocean behind him.”

“You said yes.” he grins.

“I said, ‘GET DOWN BEFORE YOU DIE, YOU LUNATIC!’”

Robin is laughing quietly now. Chopper is wide-eyed. Usopp is trying not to cry while Franky is bawling.

Sanji puts a hand on his heart “That’s the most pirate thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zoro raises a brow “So when did you actually say yes?”

You sigh “Two days later. Calm seas. Clear skies. I was brushing my hair.”

“She just looks at me and goes, ‘I guess I’m stuck with you now’.”

“And then I threw the ring at him.” you say.

“You missed.”

“I aimed for your face.”

Everyone laughs again. The fire’s burning lower now, but no one wants to move.

Shanks wraps an arm around your shoulders, casual. Warm.

“And you still married me.” he says.

You glance up at him.

“You forgot the ring at the wedding.”

“It was in my other coat!”

“You don’t have another coat.”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you’re smiling now. Soft. Quiet. Real.

“He’s a disaster.” you say.

“She’s the reason I survive it.”

The fire’s nothing but glowing coals now.

Luffy’s curled up like a kid. Most of the Straw Hats are asleep, heads resting on arms, backs against barrels, dreams thick in the night air.

You and Shanks sit side by side, knees almost touching.

He’s quiet now. Not laughing. Just watching the waves.

You look out too.

Then he says, softly, “You never really wanted this life.”

You don’t look at him “I didn’t.”

“You wanted quiet.”

You nod “I wanted peace. Soft mornings.”

“And you got storms. Blood. Chaos.”

You smile, just a little “And you.”

He swallows “Sorry.”

You shake your head “Don’t be. I said yes.”

Shanks looks at you “Even after everything?”

You finally meet his eyes “Especially after everything.”

The ship rocks gently.

“You know,” you whisper, “when we were young, I thought you were the kind of boy who would burn the world just to see what was under it.”

“I was.” he says.

“And I thought I’d spend my life trying to stop you.”

He smiles faintly “Did you?”

“No,” you say “I ended up helping you light the match.”

You both laugh, soft and low.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a candy.

Shanks raises an eyebrow “You still carry those?”

“I always do, they're my favourite.” you say. You hand it to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything. He just leans into you, warm and steady.

And in the quiet, in the dark, with the sea all around you and stars blinking like old friends overhead, you think:

No, I didn’t get the life I planned. But I got the one I chose.

And more importantly, I got him.

[theycallmecholemiri]

Headcanons about each Huntrix member

First up, our leader Rumi 💜

-She is the most followed member on all social media platforms

-barley post cause her phone overheats from all the likes

-Last time she tried to do a live on Insta it crashed the app and her phone

-Her hair routine is a government-level secret; Zoey still hasn't figured out what she uses

-keeps every fan letter she ever received(yes even the one from 2019 with sparkles)

-writes poems about Jinu in her notes app at 3AM and refuses for anyone to see them

-is no longer allowed to drive ANYWHERE for personal reasons

-Is actually the oldest (23), but no one ever guesses that—everyone assumes it’s Mira 😭

Next up is our choreographer Mira 💖

-Been dying to get a tattoo but hasn't because the record label said "absolutely not"

-is a world-renowned model and has been in too many fashion shows to count

-showing up to the Met Gala with a sleeping bag was planned, she just didn't expect for it to go viral though

-hates when people lie, she would much rather get mad at the truth instead

-Sometimes joins Zoey insta lives to cause more chaos(then pretends that she wasn't on live)

-has a burner account on insta that she swears no one knows about(both Rumi and Zoey follow her on there)

-somehow the best cook out of all of them

-Is the certified driver if they have to go anywhere

-She’s 21 and absolutely the “calm older sister”—until she isn’t.

Finally, our Maknae Zoeyyy!!💛

-she posts the most on her social media

-usually gets in trouble for going live at terrible moments like when mira and rumi argue

-does rap battles for fun with her fans

-has a drawer full of half-used notebooks, including:

Mira quotes that deserve an Oscar, and ‘Number of times Rumi cried over Jinu this week (updated daily)

-Does TikTok's dances with Bobby and somehow they usually go viral

-Also not allowed to touch the steering wheel, Mira usually just goes "zozo belt on now" in the coldest voice ever, which always works 98% of the time

-Hosted a fake "late night talk show" on her IG stories called “Zoey After Dark”

-She may be the youngest (19), but she has random moments of wisdom that hit like a truck

Group headcanons (cause I said so) 💅🏽

-The girls all have a self-care day that includes lots of face masks, gossip about other K-pop groups, and catching up on K-dramas

-Their group chat name changes every week: ➤ Zoey STOP Going Live → Huntrix Anonymous (We’re Not Okay) → Jinu Said WHAT Now??? → and most recently: Please No One Flirt During Dance Practice 😭

-If one of them cries, all of them cry. Once it happened on stage and they had to take a 5-minute intermission(blame a surprise fan project + Jinu smiling at Rumi in the VIP section)

-Rumi and Mira get weirdly competitive during photo shoots (Zoey records everything and adds TikTok music)

-There’s a “Who’s the Most Famous Today?” whiteboard in their penthouse. Mira wins when a Vogue article drops, Rumi when a quote goes viral, Zoey when she sneezes on TikTok.

-They once had a “no romance for a month” pact. Rumi broke it in 2 days when she blushed at a Jinu post. Zoey documented the downfall in a TikTok trilogy.

-Rumi leaves the group chat every time Mira and Zoey tease her about Jinu. They always add her back in. Every. Single. Time.

OKKKKK that's all I have for now. Keep streaming the movie and a03 writers, PLZ UPDATE UR FANFICS. I'm on my knees. OK BYEEEEEE(in Eda voice) 🩷💜💛.

[yasministration]

crossover episode - marauders, criminal minds

summary: after a long case, you're happy to find your husband and two best friends have taken a short trip to come pick you up from work. but your coworkers are more than shocked to discover you're not only married, but have a child too. wc: 1.4k+ this fic came to me in a dream. you can read it as a marauders fan or as a criminal minds fan, or both

The parking lot was cold this late at night, despite the coat you wore over your outfit. The conversation between your coworkers was almost non-existent, having spent the past four days together on a case, and the last three hours on a jet, talking until there was nothing to converse about anymore, instead all lulling into a dreamless sleep.

You readjusted the duffel bag hanging onto your shoulder, scanning the entrance to the parking lot, where you silently stood with your coworkers. Aaron’s expression was nearly identical to his usual one, but his eyes were weighed downwards, as though they would shut at any moment. You didn’t bother taking a look at anyone else, already predicting what they each looked like.

Then, as you fished for your car keys in your pocket, you heard a call of “Oi, Potter!” Your head snapped towards the sound of your last name, a smile immediately making its way onto your face at the sight of three familiar figures. You heard Emily echo the name, testing it on her tongue. She, and all your coworkers, only knew you by your maiden name. Which was, to say the least, not Potter.

As though your body had taken control, your legs carried you towards the three men: James sat in the front seat of the car, door open, but his back faced the steering will, his eyes glancing towards something in the back seat ever so often whilst Remus and Sirius stood outside the car, huddled around your husband. As you got closer, you broke out into an excited run, watching as your husband slipped out of the car, arms opening wide just in time to catch you, who had thrown yourself into him.

From the parking’s entrance, Emily glanced back towards the rest of the team, mouth agape with shock. Derek, still staring at you, put a hand on Emily’s shoulder, silently pointing towards you. She gasped at the sight of you shared a passionate kiss with James before slipping out of his arms and greeting your two friends with quick hugs.

“Is, where’s-?” But your question was cut off by a quiet “’s that mama?” Your eyes went wide, features softening as you dropped your bag on the floor, moving to open the car’s back door. “Hi Harry.” You said to your son softly, leaning forward to press a kiss onto his forehead. Harry extended his arms towards you, repeatedly calling out different variations of ‘mama’.

You unbuckled the seatbelt of his car seat, pulling him out of the car and into your arms. “I missed you.” You whispered to him, brushing his hair out of his face.

Now, Spencer was definitely surprised seeing you kiss a man across the parking lot, but watching as you pulled out an entire toddler into your arms? One who immediately began animatedly telling you a story about his day, wildly gesturing with his arms? Well, that was an entirely different story.

“Is that?” He spluttered, eyes glued to you. “She has an entire child?” Continued Emily, head bobbing forward in shock. Rossi shrugged from behind them, lighting up his car from where he stood, pushing past them. “I don’t now why you’re surprised. She’s a very motherly person.”

“She’s, she’s like 20!” Argued Derek, placing a hand on his bald head in shock. Hotch chuckled at the statement, also making his way to his own car, leaving your three closest friends staring at you in disbelief.

“He’s got to be at least three years old.” Said Emily, crossing her arms over her chest. "That would make sense," Began Spencer, "She joined the team only two years ago." The three of them watched silently as James shut the car door, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, a hand placed over the one you had on your son’s back.

“It’s really late, you guys. You didn’t have to come.”

“We wanted to. Got bored sitting around doing nothing.” Explained Remus with a shrug of his shoulders.

“And Harry couldn’t sleep. He missed his mum.” You furrowed your eyebrows, pouting softly. You hated being away from Harry, away from James too. You glanced down to look at Harry, still in your arms, his head now resting on your shoulder as he slept, having spent the last of his energy telling you about how he chose his own outfit this morning.

“He felt better knowing that we were coming to pick you up. And you know how he immediately sleeps when we drive around for a bit.” You took a step forward, prying yourself out of James’s arms so you could around, pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss.

“And we got takeout on the way!” Added Sirius, causing your eyes to light up. “Of course, we got you your favourite.” You threw your head back with a groan, mumbling “I love you guys so much.”

“Not more than me, right?” James asked, and you giggled, kissing him softly once more. “No, not more than you.”

"I think your friends are a little surprised.” Remus added suddenly, and you slowly turned towards the parking lot entrance, surprised to see Spencer, Derek and Emily still stood there. For a moment, you forgot that they didn’t know the fine details of your private life.

You smiled, balancing Harry on one arm so you could wave at them with the other. It was comedic, the way they all raised a hand unanimously in a wave. “I don’t believe it.” Emily whispered under her breath. “I have to tell Penelope.”

“She’s really not gonna like this.”

“Or she’ll take one look at the kid and forget she never knew about this.”

They nodded in agreement, watching as you nodded your head over for them to come meet your friends. “Don’t be mad.” Was the first thing you said when they were close enough, but you were smiling. “That’s my husband James, and that’s Remus and Sirius.”

They greeted each other with little words, causing your teammates to blink slowly. Emily was the one to ask, her brain short-circuiting “You guys are British?”

“Not by choice.” Derek chuckled at Sirius’s comment, but his eyes were glued to Harry still. “Oh, this is Harry. He’s asleep, but…”

“He’s yours.” You glanced up at Spencer, nodding “He’s mine.”

“Wow, Rossi really was right.” You laughed, confused expression prompting her to continue. “Said we shouldn’t be surprised because you’re so motherly.” James seemed to like those words, his hand on your waist silently claiming you as his. The mother of his child.

“No, I really am offended, you know?” Derek said, placing his hands on his hips. “I thought we were your closest friends.”

“You guys are my closest friends.” Derek raised his eyebrows, pointedly glancing at Sirius and Remus, who were both very much away of the fact that you were a mother.

“They’re my family, Derek. You guys are my closest friends.” Emily huffed, not knowing what to do with her hands. “I really want to give you a hug but I don’t want to wake the baby up.”

“Em, he’s hardly a baby anymore.” But still, James slid his hands around Harry’s waist, lifting him from your arms to take him from you, giving your shoulders a rest. Instantly, Emily launched herself into you, whispering to you “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Em.” When you separated from the hug, Spencer and Derek were immediately lining up for their own hugs, Spencer mumbling under his breath “This one’s for Penelope.”

It was silent for a long moment, your eyes trailing away from your mini audience so you could take a glance at Harry, so effortlessly being carried by James, who swayed from side to side in an attempt to keep him asleep. “Um, I think we’re gonna go.” Your coworkers nodded, standing still whilst staring at you, Harry and James. “It was nice meeting you guys.” James said opening the door to the backseat and placing Harry back into the carseat.

You handed Remus your car keys, and he and Sirius began making their way over to your vehicle so you could drive home with your husband. They said their goodbyes, and just as you were about to climb into the middle seat to sit next to Harry, Emily grasped your hand, tugging you back to tell you “Very attractive husband, by the way.” You laughed, and she winked, closing the car door behind you.

“Did you just call her husband hot?” Derek asked as you drove away.

“He is hot.”

“Emily.” Spencer scolded, a smile on his face nonetheless.

“What? I’m a lesbian. If anything, he should be the worried one.”

“This is a new low, hitting on a married woman with a child.”

Emily rolled her eyes, dialling Penelope’s number to tell her the news. Of course, the technical analyst did not pick up. She was fast asleep, and you were driving away into the distance with the family no one new you had.

Apart from Rossi, apparently.

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover, @animalcrossingshameless, @azure-drag0ness, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @cakiebleh, @slytherin-princess-x, @daydreamandforget, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @5sospenguinqueen, @aouoo, @spider–girl, @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx,  @dearlizzies, @tiaajosephin, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @fandomhoe101, @selenewowww

[sixosix]

a/n so i took the whole "aether is an alien" thing and ran away with it (aka aether has a strange way of expressing interest and you just think he's weird)

aether x reader, ayaka&reader&yoimiya, plus my yoimiya bffs w paimon agenda

special feature: earthtooz beta reading the fic, “aether you're so weird back tf up.”

"This is from... Miss Ying'er, you said?" Ayaka turns the bottle in her hands, her grip careful, deliberate—with the grace of a princess. Like she's trying to recreate the procedure in her head.

Yoimiya holds her perfume by the neck and inhales a lungful. "Wow, this smells amazing! Are you sure I can just have it?"

You laugh, amused as Yoimiya dabs it all over her body enthusiastically without even waiting for your reply. "Yeah, don't worry. She just offered me a bunch of samples. You like it?"

Ayaka nods approvingly, still fixated on the miniature vial. She seems endearingly fascinated. "This scent is phenomenal. I might have to ask you to deliver me a box of this next time you go."

You busy yourself with teaching them the best points to apply the perfume, the scents heightened by the dewy atmosphere of the forest. As you sit in a circle on the grass, you share laughter and stories from your extended trip to Liyue. Nothing could ruin this relaxing moment. Yet just as Ayaka offers for you to try on her perfume, Yoimiya gasps and sits upright.

"Oh, oh! I just remembered—Aether is coming over today!" Yoimiya claps eagerly, buzzing with energy. "It's been a while since he's visited Inazuma."

You frown. "Oh."

Ayaka gasps lightly. "He returns today? We should welcome him back."

"Honestly, he should be at the city right now." Yoimiya gathers herself, dusting off blades of grass as she rises to her feet. Without warning, she reaches for your wrist and begins pulling you off the ground.

"Wait, wait, wait." You pull away from Yoimiya's grasp. "I never said anything about joining you."

"Why not?" Yoimiya mirrors your insulted expression. "Hold on, do you have beef with the Traveler?"

Ayaka's fingers press to her mouth, eyes alight, like she's just heard the gossip of the century.

"No, no, it's nothing like that!" you burst out frantically. "We're just not close. Like—um, how you guys are with him, I assume."

"Did he do something?" Yoimiya asks, seriously concerned.

"He's just a bit strange."

"Hm." Ayaka taps an index finger to her chin. "I'd say he's more polite than strange."

Your nose wrinkles involuntarily, memories of your first impression of him flashing back. "Polite?"

Yoimiya exhales dramatically. "Alright. I don't know what's going on, but we're not leaving you here—not after it's been months since we last saw you! You're coming with us."

You turn to Ayaka for help, but she already has her gaze casted away as if expecting it. Accepting defeat, Yoimiya cheers, hooking an arm under yours as she hauls you off before you could sag to the ground. Ayaka follows after, smiling as Yoimiya practically drags you back to the city, her trail smelling like freshly-picked Liyue-exclusive flowers.

It doesn't take long to find the Traveler's whereabouts—practically everyone is gushing about his presence and how lucky we are to catch him before he goes! You three discover them walking around the streets of Tenryou, lugging a cart full of street food and packages of what you could only assume are gifts handed by the locals.

"Hi, Yoimiya, Ayaka!" The little floating creature next to the Traveller waves her hands around excitedly. "It's been a while!"

"Hi, Paimon!" Yoimiya exclaims, doubling the energy and stretching her arms for Paimon to barrel towards her chest with a thud.

As you and Ayaka watch the two spin around like separated sisters with fond smiles, you don't notice that Aether has pretty much snuck up behind you until you can practically feel his presence.

You damn near shriek, jumping away as he grins and crowds your space like it's not entirely improper.

"We meet again," he says cryptically.

"Archons," you mutter, terrified.

Yoimiya smacks her fist to an upright palm, as if she's just solved a year-long agonized riddle. "So you have met!"

"You didn't believe me—"

"Yeah! We met Y/N before!" Paimon whizzes over to your personal bubble as well, circling around your head a few times. "Back when we were in Liyue before we left to Sumeru, the Traveler wanted to strike up a conversation."

"Seems like it was very one-sided," Ayaka muses, unforgivably entertained by your distress.

"Yeah, Y/N was a little…" Paimon said with a grimace, missing the way you inch away as Aether eyes you, like he's fascinated by seeing you in a completely different environment.

"Anyway!" Paimon claps once. "What were you guys doing? Not to be weird, but, Yoimiya, you smell so different!"

Yoimiya waves her hand dismissively, appearing coy. "Oh, please."

"No, seriously, you smell like Liyue," Paimon says. "Like you rolled around Silk Flowers. It smells really good, though!"

Ayaka giggles. "Y/N brought home a box of perfume handmade by Miss Ying'er from Liyue, that must be why. We were trying them out."

"Really?" Aether pipes up, not even bothering to address Ayaka directly.

It feels as though your face erupts in flames as Aether angles close enough to dip his head close to the side of your neck.

Your brain seems to have melted out of your ears, warmed his proximity. "Hey—"

"Smells good to me," Aether says, the words holding the same warmth one would give to a five-star meal. Like Ying'er was awaiting his approval.

Yoimiya shares a confused glance with Ayaka. "Y/N's... not wearing any perfume."

Aether doesn't appear deterred by that, unashamed and virtually all over you the same way he was when he found you bored, eating alone at one of Liyue's outdoor stalls.

"Aether is acting weird again," Paimon sighs, like it's an everyday occurrence. "Paimon swears he acted like that last time, too—like giving a dog a bone. Can't snap him out of it."

Yoimiya and Ayaka conceal their laughter behind their palms, though fruitless by the curve of their eyes.

"Must be an alien thing," Yoimiya says, not sounding pitying in the slightest. "Poor thing."

a/n hi guys i swear i didn't get weird while i was gone this has always been my niche </3 i haven't played since natlan update but i still adore these characters, so i thought why not ease back into it with the sixosix favorite: aether

[groovyfrenzypantheon]

This was me on my birthday yesterday. I wondered if you would care if you found me dead in the bathtub from pills or slitting my throat. And I thought about how you might just laugh and tell the guy from the very beginning that I'm finally not a problem or in the way anymore.

And I won't let you have that satisfaction. You're not worth losing my life over. Or catching a charge for because he wants to fight me for your amusement.

I fucking loathe you. I want to dig my long fingernails into my eye sockets and yank down as hard as I can until I fucking scream from the pain of my eyes coming out of my head. I feel fucking ugly and stupid. I ignored so many 'friends' on Snapchat that were ex's or fuck buddies. Ignored the video of you sucking a guy too within the first month, and now you tell me he gave you a ride shortly after we started dating too? Just to piss me off? You're a fucking cunt. And I'm glad I hit on your sister and your best friend's hot MILF mom after all that. Even they want nothing to do with you. Or your mother. And your father is dead and would be ashamed of the slut with daddy issues you became. You literally showed me you wanting to hook up with older men on Craigslist and other apps before you met me, saying you were in a 'kinky hoe phase'

But now you're just gonna tell everyone at our job half of the story, crush on the manager you complained at home to me about that you written up, accuse me of having an affair with a coworker and now you're best friends because you told her bad shit about me.

You're the worst bitch I ever knew in my life. You told me that you added Jaison on Snapchat because you got mad I was asleep when the landlord came with your mattress at 8:00pm instead of 9:30, and you woke me up screaming on the phone to go downstairs.

So that makes you want to add the guy you sucked off on video when we started dating? The video you 'forgot' about? And you think I didn't expect you to hit him up again? Out of the four dudes the one you had sucking on video is probably gonna be the one you hit up. I just didn't think your 'reasoning' would be that lmao.

Yeah. I wish I was dead. I got gaslit and manipulated into supporting someone for years. While being treated like shit and being held to hypocritical standards and living like roommates but not allowed to break up. But when the rent is cheaper because we move and you get mad about me taking a nap before a delivery for your free mattress from the landlord... You hit that dude up?

Yeah you're fucking nuts dude. That's some mental gymnastic.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (31 - Paradise Calling)

Chapter Summary: After several weeks of looking for her, you do eventually find Wanda Maximoff after she leaves Westview, but not in any way you ever imagined.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: violence, mention of blood and injury

A/N: The story continues in the aftermath of Wanda’s release of Westview. I’m still debating whether to stick with the canon concept of Billy and Tommy’s souls being real but bodiless since I started this story long before Agatha All Along entered the picture. Also, there might not be an update next week as I'll be out of town. Thanks to everyone who still continues to follow this story :) You guys are awesome. P.S. can you guess which mutant attacked y/n? :P // More author's notes here. // gif

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Hex dissolves completely at midnight.

By then, more and more of Westview have become accessible, its walls shrinking like the last breath of a dying storm. Throughout the wait, Monica’s order remains ironclad, which is that no one who isn’t a Westview resident is to step across the boundary.

It turns out to be the right call. Letting Wanda end it on her own terms—without pressure, or interference—is the last mercy anyone can offer. So they wait at the edge of town, in the solemn dark, while those inside slowly begin to come back to themselves.

And when the last of it winds down, Monica gives the signal. The military moves in, not with weapons this time, but with medics in tow. People stumble into the streets, dazed and hollow-eyed, like toys winding themselves up after years on a shelf. Some of them rush to scoop their children into their arms, while others just stand there, holding each other, staring at their hands like they’ve only just remembered what it means to move on their own.

It’s harder than anyone on the rescue team expected. Because how do you assess damage like this? These people aren’t injured in any conventional way. Their minds weren’t broken so much as hijacked. Puppeted. Made to smile and speak and move without their consent. It’s not madness, and it’s definitely not grief that they are experiencing. 

It’s something more…alienating. Locked in the backseat of your own body, watching your hands move and your mouth speak, knowing none of it is you. It’s the kind of trauma that leaves even seasoned therapists unsure where to begin. So the medics do what they can. Blankets for the cold, water for the dry-mouthed, and a hand on the shoulder for those who can’t seem to stop shaking. 

And you—you stay rooted at the edge of the ground where Wanda’s house once stood, silently taking in the aftermath. It’s the first time you’ve really looked at the lot you bought on a whim five years ago. It feels larger than you remembered, and standing here now, it stirs more regret than pride.

“There’s no sign of her,” Clint says as he approaches. He glances between you, Monica, and Darcy. “She’s gone.”

Monica exhales sharply. “Of course she is,” she mutters.

Agent Woo’s already packed up and gone too, reassigned mid-crisis to another urgent matter. Those left behind are burdened to help pick up the pieces.

“I guess she escaped?” Darcy offers.

You wince. “Don’t say ‘escaped.’ She didn’t—” The sentence stalls, the logic collapsing halfway out of your mouth.

Monica catches it and shrugs. “Yeah, maybe ‘escaping’ wasn’t her plan.” Then, more pointedly, “But what did you think was gonna happen? That she’d stick around? Turn herself in? Like you did, Y/N?”

Right. You’re still technically a prisoner. Still walking around on borrowed time, under a conditional release that’s quickly running out, especially now that Wanda’s vanished, and no one has a clue where she went.

You’d been hoping for a moment—just one—to talk to Wanda alone. And now, you’re starting to think your presence never mattered at all. The other you, her you, was the one who got through to her, who helped her bring down the Hex.

All you’ve ever done here was make it harder for Wanda.

“And her children?” you ask quietly, turning to Clint, your voice stripped down to worry.

Clint just shakes his head. “No sign of them. Or your copy.”

Everyone’s face falls at that. They’d all felt so real, the idea that they simply blinked out of existence is hard to swallow even if the theory always seemed to suggest that direction.

Darcy breaks the spell. “Shame, really. I kinda liked that Y/N.” She shoots you an apologetic grin. “No offense to the original, it’s just... we never got our moment.”

You manage a weak smile. “None taken.”

Monica claps her hands together. “Well, I guess… that’s it.” 

You turn to her slowly, frowning. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”

Monica’s hands drop to her sides. “I mean… she’s gone. The Hex is down. Everyone who was trapped is free. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Clint gives a weary shrug. “Sometimes disappearing’s the only thing a person has left.” You shoot him a glare, but he honestly seems oblivious that his words just struck you straight on.

Before you can argue further, a young S.W.O.R.D. tech jogs up, tablet in hand.

“Uh, Director?” He gestures vaguely at Monica. “We found a vehicle just outside the old perimeter. Abandoned. Figured you’d want to take a look.”

Monica glances between you and Clint. “Yours?”

You shake your head no.

“Color?” Clint asks.

“Deep maroon,” the tech says. “Old Volvo wagon. New Jersey plates.”

Clint lets out a low whistle. “That’s Wanda’s.”

You’re already moving before the words finish leaving his mouth.

“Y/N—” Monica calls after you, but you don’t look back.

Clint mutters a curse and follows. Monica and Darcy hang back, letting you go.

You’re desperate for any sign of Wanda, anything that might tell you where she went. You haven’t run this far or this fast in years, and your lungs are burning from the effort. But the thought of her out there, alone and possibly hurt, keeps your legs moving, pushing through the ache.

Soon, just past the edge of the boundary, you spot the Volvo.

You slow as you approach, heart thudding in your chest.

Clint catches up beside you. “That’s definitely hers.”

You nod, already reaching for the handle. It shouldn’t open, but it does. The door gives with a soft click, swinging open without resistance. You slide into the driver’s seat and glance around. 

“She didn’t even lock it,” you murmur.

“The keys?” Clint asks.

You check the ignition. Nothing. Then the cupholders, under the seat, the center console. Still nothing.

“Glove box,” Clint says, leaning in through the open door.

You press the latch. The compartment drops with a soft thunk, and something slides forward: a single manila folder, edges crisp, your name penned in Wanda’s looping cursive across the tab. Your breath catches. Carefully, almost like it might break in your hands, you lift it. It feels like it holds everything you’ve been chasing.

Inside, everything is heartbreakingly familiar. The property deed you mailed Clint weeks ago. Photographs you never had the courage to burn when you first became convinced that Wanda wasn’t coming back. Letters and notes you randomly wrote to Wanda throughout the years she was gone. 

And resting on top of it all, catching the faint moonlight—

Your wedding ring. The one you gave her. The match to the one you still wear around your neck.

With trembling fingers, you turn the band over between thumb and forefinger; it’s still warm, as if she’d only just set it down.

“She left this car here,” you whisper. “Because she wanted me to find this.”

Clint drifts a few steps back, giving you space but not leaving. He folds his arms and waits, giving you time to come to terms with Wanda’s clear response at having found out you lied to her. And it’s not pretty.

After a long, brittle silence, he clears his throat. “So… what are you going to do now?”

It’s the same question everyone’s thrown at you all day, and you still don’t have an answer.

Instead of answering, you whisper, “Did I make a mistake, Clint? Walking away back then, leaving her to sort through the rubble alone, was that when everything started to fall apart?”

He exhales and lowers himself onto the curb beside the car. “We all made mistakes,” he says, rubbing a thumb over a scar on his knuckles. “But no one could have known it would lead to this. We were careless, sure, maybe blind to how much she was really hurting. But this,” he says, nodding at the folder in your lap, “this was Wanda’s pain. Her choice. Not something you could have predicted.”

“I should’ve seen her slipping. I asked you to look after her and—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “And I’m sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t there for her like you asked. I was drowning in my own mess, trying to keep my family together once we got them back… I missed the signs.”

You nod slowly and slip the ring into your pocket. Then, flat and quiet, you say, “I’ve still got about a decade of my sentence to serve.”

“I can buy you more time,” Clint offers. “Tell them Wanda escaped. Technically, this whole thing isn’t over.”

You huff a humorless breath. “It won’t matter. I don’t want to go back.”

Clint studies you for a long moment, brow furrowed. “You mean that?”

You nod again. “The second I saw her… I wanted to take it all back. The deal. The surrender. All those years I spent trying to convince myself that moving on was the right call.”

He sits with that for a while, then says, quiet and honest, “You know I can’t turn myself in either.”

You glance over at him. “I’m not asking you to.”

“I’ve got my family back,” he says. “I’m rebuilding. I can’t walk away from that.”

“I know,” you reply. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

He gives you a sidelong look. “Then what are you thinking? You planning to go back on the run? Because you remember what it was like after the Accords, right? We didn’t end up in the Raft, but we weren’t free either. We were always looking over our shoulders.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Wanda was with me back then.”

He raises a brow, watching you carefully.

“And somehow,” you add, voice soft, almost to yourself, “that made all of it bearable.”

After a long lull, Clint asks, “What were you hoping for, Y/N? When she saw you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a shrug. “Maybe that… that she’d recognize me, at least.”

“She probably did,” Clint says. “That might be why she destroyed the Hex herself.”

You shake your head, hard, unwilling to accept that. “I doubt it was that simple.” 

The idea feels impossible. You remember the look on Wanda’s face: hurt, disappointment, the unmistakable sting of betrayal. You have put that look there before, but this time it was different. This time, that betrayal caused her this guilt she now carries with her for something she’d done out of her mourning you—

When she never should have had to mourn at all.

—

With Clint’s quiet blessing, you slip into the night, becoming a fugitive once again, determined to reach Wanda before the authorities do. It isn’t enough that Wanda released the town willingly; the damage is already done. Westview’s residents remain traumatized and disoriented, and dissolving the Hex doesn't absolve her actions. This is exactly what Tony always fought for—the idea that even heroes, even Avengers, must answer to laws meant for everyone, not just hide behind the duty of saving the world.

You don’t blame them for hunting her. You just don’t trust them to understand her.

So you go first.

You swap your jacket for a plain coat, leave your comms behind, and start reaching out to contacts you haven’t spoken to in years. A woman like Wanda can’t move without leaving a ripple, and eventually, you learn to follow a pattern: unexplained power surges in rural areas upwards north. Clint checks in with you every now and then, but you don’t expect anything more. He’s busy these days—a civilian fully occupied with being a father. 

The first few weeks blur together. Deep down, you keep hoping Wanda will be the one to find you—not because she misses you or wants to forgive, but because she finally wants answers. Isn’t there at least one question she needs to ask? Maybe she hates you too much to bother. Maybe she hates you enough to stop caring about your reasons altogether.

That thought hurts more than you’d like to admit. Still, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve put her through. You don’t know how you’ll face her when the time comes. All you know is that she’s hurting—and a hurting Wanda Maximoff isn’t just a danger to the world. She’s a danger to herself.

Late one evening, while tracking rumors of strange sightings in the forested mountains of Vermont, you feel unease settle in your gut. The trees grow denser, their branches knitting overhead, and the pale yellow moon offers little light. Shadows slither and shift across the narrow trail. You stop, breath misting in the cold air, certain now that you’re not alone.

You hold still and listen. Over the thud of your own unsteady pulse comes a faint rustle in the undergrowth. It’s too careful, too deliberate to be wind or wildlife.

“Who’s there?” Your voice is brittle, an uncertain challenge.

In the dark forest, you know you shouldn’t make a sound. But if it’s Wanda—

A low growl answers, so deep and guttural it sends a chill racing down your spine. You spin, eyes straining through the gloom, just as a shadow barrels toward you. The movement is fast, smooth, and completely inhuman.

It slams into you with brutal force, all muscle and claws—definitely not Wanda—knocking you hard to the ground.

You scramble to your feet, breath ragged, eyes sweeping the darkness in search of your attacker. The figure rises slowly, towering and hunched, its skin a sick, mottled gray. Its limbs are grotesquely stretched, ending in claws slick with fresh blood (yours).

Its face—

No. That can’t be right. Tony’s snap wiped out all of Thanos’ army. This thing shouldn’t exist. So how is it standing here? How did it survive?

“What the—” you gasp, stumbling back.

It lunges again, jaws gaping open with teeth glinting sharp and savage. You swing your arm wildly, and your fist connects with its jaw. The impact jars painfully up your arm, but the creature barely reacts, snarling viciously as it swings one massive clawed hand toward your face. You dodge by inches, claws slicing the air with a sharp hiss.

You stagger back again, trying to regain your footing. Your breath comes out in uneven bursts of fogged air. The creature circles slowly, blocking any clear route of escape. You study it, desperately searching for a weakness, but its movements remain erratic, unpredictable. 

Your combat skills are still there, but you’ve aged some, and it’s not as easy to fall back into your old rhythm and speed, especially when facing such an aggressive foe.

“Stay back,” you warn weakly, your voice trembling despite your attempt at bravado.

It snarls louder, head twitching, neck muscles spasming unnaturally as it stalks closer. You backpedal and your foot slips on wet leaves, throwing you off-balance. You hit the ground hard, skull cracking sharply against something hidden beneath the foliage. Stars burst in your vision.

As you struggle to sit upright, the beast approaches slowly, enjoying this, you realize sickeningly. It flexes its claws, taking its time.

“Wait,” you choke out, tasting copper as blood fills your mouth.

It stalks towards you leisurely as if hearing nothing. It snarls again, lips peeling back to reveal teeth sharp as blades. It raises a hand for the final blow, claws poised high—

And all you can think is how ironic it is. That this is what you craved, once.

Back when you were Ronin.

When death felt like the only honest language left, and violence was the only thing that could answer it.

You spent five years chasing this moment. And now? Now, with Wanda back in the universe. Now, when for the first time in years, you actually want to live.

Now is when death decides to show up?

Of course it is.

You laugh, or try to, but it comes out as a choked breath through blood. The creature roars, the sound tearing through the trees. And as the snow drifts down and your vision begins to fade, you manage one last word, soft as a prayer.

“…Wanda.”

—

You wake slowly to warmth, a fire crackling nearby. Every part of you feels bruised, sliced open, and carefully stitched back together. Bandages wind tight around your ribs, your shoulders, your arms. Your throat burns dry, but you're breathing. Miraculously. 

You push yourself upright, careful and slow. The world sways around you as the blanket slips from your shoulders.

Blinking up at the slanted ceiling overhead—wooden, rough-hewn, beams exposed, nothing familiar about it—you realize you’re still in the forest. The earthy, damp scent of pine needles teases your nose. There’s no electricity, just lanterns, candles, heat from flame and old wood. The furniture is simple, hand-built, and worn from use.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet sinking into a rug so soft it draws a quiet sigh from your lips. You have no idea how long you’ve been unconscious—hours, maybe even days.

Unsteady, you find the hallway, one hand trailing the wall for balance. You pass a small kitchen, simple but well-stocked. A kettle rests near the fire, still warm, like it was used not long ago.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the front door slightly ajar, a narrow strip of gray light slicing into the room, dust suspended in its path.

You drift closer.

Outside, there’s Wanda.

She sits on the porch steps, wrapped in a thick sweater, her back to you. Her hair falls in loose, tangled waves, longer than you remember. Despite the biting cold, she’s barefoot, her arms draped over her knees as she stares into the woods.

You stop at the doorway, saying nothing at first. 

She looks so… peaceful. 

“Wanda,” you say at last, barely above a breath.

She doesn’t move.

You try again. “Wanda.”

Still nothing. You can’t tell if she’s ignoring you, or if your voice is simply too weak for her to hear.

Of course it was her who found you. Of course it doesn’t mean anything’s been forgiven. You take a step back, and the door eases shut behind you with a quiet creak.

You head deeper into the cabin. It’s not large, but in your condition, it feels like a maze.

At the end of a narrow hallway, you find a door left slightly open.

Something pulses beyond it—low and red and constant. Your fingers graze the frame as you nudge it open. 

The hair on your arms rises.

Wanda’s there, too.

She’s floating a few inches off the ground, legs crossed. Her eyes don’t blink. They don’t move. Just glowing red, unwavering and endless.

She’s reading. The book in her hands is anything but ordinary. Its pages shift and shimmer, symbols rearranging themselves the moment you try to make sense of them.

You open your mouth, but your voice doesn’t come. You’re frozen.

Slowly, like she already knew you were standing there, she lifts her head.

Her gaze locks onto yours.

The book snaps shut.

[sereia4skz]

a house we build | chapter 2: gene pool entanglement

pairing: established!Minsung x fem!reader

< previous chapter | next chapter >

⋆｡°✩

word count: 1.4k

warnings: MDNI, smut, creampies, unprotected sex (duh)

You move in on a Thursday.

You don’t bring much with you. It feels more like a retreat than anything else, quiet, sprawling, strangely peaceful for a home owned by two world-famous idols. The property is surrounded by trees and tall gates, but the inside is warm. Wooden floors, wide windows, the smell of something sweet simmering in the kitchen. 

The guest room isn’t a guest room at all. It’s yours now, with a full closet, a brand-new mattress, blackout curtains. There’s a card on the nightstand written in Jisung’s handwriting. Welcome home (for now, unless you want to stay forever lol).

Jisung carries your suitcase in and promptly trips over the threshold. "Sorry," he mutters, face flushed. "Bad omen, right? Should I try again?"

Minho rolls his eyes and plucks the bag from his hand. "You’re going to scare her off."

You smile, small and genuine. "No, it’s okay. It feels… nice. Just strange."

"Strange is fair," Jisung says. "Weird and nice can coexist. That’s, like, our entire marriage."

Minho snorts. "Speak for yourself. I’m extremely normal."

"That's not what you said in 2 kids room" you laugh. It feels too easy, dangerously easy.

Jisung's the one who shows you around the house, too. He talks with his hands, bumbling through stories about the different rooms, the backyard garden, the espresso machine Minho doesn’t let him touch unsupervised.

Minho walks behind you both, quiet and sharp-eyed, the way he always is. He doesn’t speak unless he has to. But when you reach for the banister going upstairs, he’s the one who steadies you with a hand on your lower back.

The night moves slow after that.

There’s takeout and tea. A movie no one watches. Your things sit unpacked. It’s strange, like everything else: not romantic, but intimate. Like a sleepover you shouldn’t be at. Like a marriage you were dropped into halfway through.

It’s not discussed again, not explicitly, the arrangement, the act.

It just… happens.

⋆｡°✩

The night is strange. No one says it, but it hovers thick in the silence. This is the part that’s supposed to be clean, quick. Just biology. But there’s no doctor. No equipment. Just you and them. And nerves, humming sharp and high under your skin.

They give you time to shower. You come out in a robe someone left folded at the end of the bed, soft, fresh. Your hands twist in the fabric, and Jisung stares at the floor like it might swallow him whole.

“This is so weird,” he mutters.

Minho’s mouth twitches. “Weirder things have made families.”

“I guess.” Jisung looks up at you. “But also… kind of perfect?”

You nod. Something catches in your throat. There’s no plan. You end up in Minho’s room, bigger bed, darker curtains. The air smells like cedar and sage. No one moves at first. 

Jisung kisses you first. His lips are warm, a little dry, but sweet. Gentle. Shaky. You feel his nervousness in the way he keeps breaking away, like he’s trying to check your face for fear, for hesitation. His hands come up to cradle your face, then immediately drop like he doesn’t trust himself.

Minho doesn’t touch you until you’re already in bed, but when he does, it’s decisive. One hand curls around your waist from behind, pulling you closer to where he’s kneeling. He presses his nose to your hair, breath warm against your neck.

“You’re sure?” he murmurs.

You whisper yes.

Minho is focused. Deliberate. Everything he does feels intentional, like he’s not just trying to get you pregnant but trying to make you feel good, trying to remember every part of it. He kisses your throat, your shoulder, your breast, then leans back to look at you fully bare.

"You’re doing something beautiful," he says, fingertips ghosting over your stomach. "Let us make it feel that way."

Jisung exhales like he’s been holding it in all day.

He’s more nervous than Minho. His hands shake when he pushes your legs open. But he never stops talking, praise tumbling out of him like it’s the only thing grounding him.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers, sinking to his knees. “You smell so good. You’re gonna take us so well, aren’t you?”

You whimper when his tongue brushes you, and he groans against your folds like it’s too much for him. He eats you out with something close to worship, slow, messy licks, his nose nudging your clit just right. His hands stay on your thighs, trembling, then stroking, then gripping.

Minho watches from behind you, running his fingers down your spine like he’s memorizing the shape. You can feel his erection pressed against your hip, hard through his sweats, but he doesn’t move yet. He just whispers, "Relax, Jagi. You’re safe here."

It makes you tremble.

Jisung pulls back, chin wet, lips swollen, he smiles, bashful, but cocky. “She’s ready,” he tells Minho. “I got her nice and soft for you.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “That’s not how anatomy works.”

“Shut up, I’m being romantic.”

You giggle through your haze of arousal.

Minho presses a kiss to your shoulder, then reaches down to guide himself to your entrance. He goes slow, achingly, carefully slow, but even so, you feel the stretch, the unfamiliar fullness. His hips press flush to yours, and he just… stays there for a moment, trembling with restraint.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re-” He stops himself, jaw flexing. “First time I’ve ever…”

You turn your head. “With a woman?”

He nods, kissing the shell of your ear.

“But I’ve fucked Ji before,” he says softly, pulling out halfway before sliding back in.

“Hey,” Jisung huffs from where he’s propped on an elbow beside you. “You don’t have to tell all our secrets.”

“You’re loud when you come,” Minho murmurs, deadpan.

Jisung flushes pink and grins anyway. “You like it.”

You’re moaning through the pressure now, the fullness of Minho rocking into you. He moves deep and slow, gripping your hips like he’s holding on for dear life. His cock drags inside you thick and careful, each thrust brushing that soft, needy spot that makes your toes curl.

Jisung kisses you again. His hand slips between your legs, fingers circling your clit. “We’ve got you,” he breathes. “We’re doing it right, right?”

You nod, dizzy.

They’re not perfect, they’re clumsy, awkward, a little too tender, but it’s overwhelming in the best way. Like... Like a beginning.

Minho loses rhythm first. You feel it in the way his hips falter, the way he groans against your neck and presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“I’m close,” he mutters. “I’m gonna- fuck!”

“Do it,” you whisper. “Come on. Come inside.”

He moans, one deep, broken sound, and thrusts in hard one last time. He stills deep in your cunt and spills with a shudder, thick and hot and pulsing.

You clench around him without meaning to.

Jisung groans at the sight. “My turn?”

Minho pulls out, slowly, and you feel his spend drip out before Jisung’s already moving between your legs.

“Shit,” he breathes. “That’s so hot.”

He doesn’t tease, he can’t. He’s already leaking when he pushes in, a wet squelch of cum and needs making him hiss through his teeth, you whine at the overstimulation. He fucks you faster than Minho, less patient, all desperation and want.

You pull him in by the neck and kiss him hard. He whines into your mouth. “Gonna knock you up,” he babbles. “Gonna be so fucking full of us.”

You tighten around him, and he shudders, breath hitching.

“Fuck- fuck! I’m coming, baby, I’m-”

He jerks forward and spills deep inside you, twitching and gasping as he fills you to the brim. His hips keep moving, little aftershocks, and his arms curl around you so tight it hurts.

You lie in silence.

Your thighs are sticky. The air smells like sweat and sex and something bigger.

Minho kisses your hair. Jisung’s fingers trace lazy circles on your belly.

You fall asleep like that, tangled, aching, full. In the morning, you don’t talk about what it meant.

Three weeks later, you throw up into the sink and cry at a cat video.

You call the clinic and schedule the test.

And one baby, healthy, growing, none of you ask who the father is.

Because it doesn’t matter.

They both look at you like it’s theirs. Like you’re theirs.

Jisung hugs you too tightly when the doctor confirms it. Minho touches your stomach like it already means something. And even though the process is barely beginning, you already feel it in your chest.This isn’t just a job.

series taglist: @rougegenshin @imagine-all-the-imagines @Imma-much-happier-person @Jisungs-iced-americano @Seungminthesnail @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @straykid2004 @geni-627 @Numberonedefendorpenguin @codex-12 @skzbiasot8 @Skzlover143 @jeonginsbaee @rekussk @bahngarang @mareuxkala @wwwtxao @katchowbbie @Alondra601 @ateez-atiny380 @nanaluizam @littledeadleaves @iluvluvfictionalmen @Whitejuliana1204 @tsukiloveskitties @Chasinghxran @mocharacha @channiesbighugs @kpop-trash-03 @stvrryl0ve @lillymochilover @aemondsb1tch @kwanniehae @Kjinwoon

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss

[hearts4hughes]

https://www.tumblr.com/hearts4hughes/786738253259816960/exbf-rafe-is-breaking-me-especially-reader

I hear what this anon is saying

But

I like ex!Rafe 🤷

Ex!Rafe finding out reader’s out with a guy who Rafe sees as a danger to her. Like idk the guy drives his bike without a helmet and Rafe catches reader and this guy going really fast and neither are wearing helmets. So Rafe, rightfully so, loses his shit at how reckless this man is being with reader

he shouldn’t be checking. it’s pathetic—he knows that. it’s the kind of behavior he’d mock if it belonged to anyone else. but rafe’s thumb moves anyway, thoughtless, practiced. tap, scroll, tap. your profile loads like muscle memory, like something god designed to live under his gaze.

you haven’t blocked him. though, you unfollowed him, obviously. but your account’s still public, and tonight you posted. his heart starts racing faster. he prays it’s a photo of you smiling. maybe candid. something to remind him what you look like happy. instead, it’s a video. some shaky clip from someone else’s story, reshared to yours. it’s short, grainy, barely visible. it’s loud with motion…wind…and you—

on the back of a motorcycle.

your bare arms are wrapped around someone else. someone taller, broader, clad in a leather jacket. he’s helmetless. that’s when rafe realizes that you are too. the speed at which the motorcycle moves, it’s not freedom, it’s a death wish. the kind of recklessness rafe is all too familiar with.

the video clicks off and he watches it again, and again. luckily you forgot to turn your location off. his jaw tightens. breath caught like smoke in his chest. he doesn’t think, just grabs his keys and slides into the porsche like it’s an exhale.

~

you don’t see the headlights at first. you’re smiling too hard, windblown, and dizzy from the ride. everything smells like late june and gasoline, and there’s a part of you that liked pretending you weren’t the kind of girl who used to fall asleep to rafe’s quarterly earnings calls and wake up to his cologne on your sheets.

then he’s there. almost like he never left. he’s pulling up fast, aggressive—like always. his windows are down, engine of the car you used to love purring with a threat. your stomach drops.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” rafe says, stepping out of the car like a storm in black sweatpants—gray hoodie, hair wild, eyes darker than you remember. darker than they have any right to be.

the guy on the bike blinks. he looks between the two of you and laughs. “can we help you, bro?”

rafe doesn’t even look at him. his gaze’s locked on you like he’s trying to burn a hole clean through your chest. “get off the bike.”

your heart jumps and your cheeks fill with color. “rafe-“

“now.”

the guy scoffs. “you her dad or something?”

“no,” rafe says flatly. “but i know what her skull looks like on a CT scan. do you?”

the silence that follows his deafening. the guy clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. you swing your leg off the bike slowly, grounding your heels like it might keep the earth from shaking. “it was just a ride.”

rafe laughs. it’s not a nice sound. “yeah? just a ride on the back of a stranger’s death machine with zero protection while he weaves through traffic like he’s trying to impress you?”

“he’s not a stranger-” you begin. your knees start to buckle, lip quivers.

“you don’t know him,” he snaps. “you don’t know what he drinks, if he takes pills, if he texts while driving,” he inhales deeply. “you don’t know who’s holding your fucking life in their hands and you’re smiling like it’s a goddamn music video.”

you flinch. the guy shifts behind you, arms folding. “hey, man, maybe take it down a-”

rafe rounds on him. “shut the fuck up,” his tone leaves no room for debate. “don’t talk to me. don’t talk to her. don’t look at her.”

you don’t speak. not yet. your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek, adrenaline sharpening everything, the taste of regret already forming behind your tongue.

rafe turns back to you, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to shake sense into you. “what were you thinking?” his voice breaks. not loud, but raw. “you think this proves something? that you’re free? you’re not. you’re just-” he swallows and looks away for half a second. “you’re just lucky i saw it before the morgue did.”

you hate how your throat tightens. how the shame tastes so familiar. how his worry still lives on you like perfume that won’t wash off. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

“you didn’t scare me,” he lies. then, softer he murmurs, “you gutted me.”

you look down. gravel crunches under your shoes as you shift your weight. “i don’t belong to you anymore, rafe.”

“you never stopped,” he says, almost too quiet. then he opens his passenger door before you can argue. he doesn’t say anything, but the disappointment in his eyes bores through you like a laser. you start to walk forward and the guy behind you scoffs before taking off. tears well in your eyes as you slip onto his leather seat.

the door clicks open as he gets in the driver’s seat. he turns his head, gaze softening now that you’re with him—safe. “if i catch you pulling shit like that again,” he pauses to regain his composure. “i’ll bury whatever asshole you’re with.”

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey

[leesleelee]

hiii,first of all i wanted to say that I LOVE the way you write and i'm a huge fan of your works, and also I'm so glad you write x male reader because I love this kind of fanfics but they're so rare to find.

I wanted to request a Steve x male reader where steve doesn't know how to first approach the reader, oh and also i'd like the reader to be the cool dustin's brother (it would be awesome for them to interact).

i don't know if I was clear but enflish is not my first language i'm sorryyy.

anyways i don't actually care that much if you take my request as long as you pubblic a new fanfic because I NEED it.

thank you anyways

Atlas <3

p.s. I thought it would be cool and romantic to put my name at the end lol

Mixed reviews.

Steve Harrington x Henderson! Male reader.

Steve Harrington never expected to catch feelings for Dustin’s older brother — cool, calm, and completely unreadable. With help (and heckling) from Robin, Eddie, and Nancy, Steve tries to figure out how to make a move… without totally embarrassing himself.

CW: Slow burn romance, light swearing, identity exploration, Dustin.. being Dustin, soft and emotional vulnerability.

Word count: 3,414

Steve Harrington’s having one of those weeks.

Eddie wants to brainstorm a new campaign and keeps calling him “Himbo Bard” like it’s a compliment. Robin’s insisting he needs to stop flirting with girls he doesn’t actually want to date. And Nancy—well, Nancy has been giving him these little looks, the kind that make him wonder if she still sees parts of the old him.

The lost, trying-too-hard version. He doesn't like that.

So when Dustin asks him to pick him up for Hellfire after school, Steve jumps at the chance. Something easy. Something familiar.

He pulls up in front of the Henderson house right as the afternoon heat starts to melt into golden haze.

Hawkins is sticky this time of year—quiet, bugs humming, the air heavy with that particular scent of cut grass and nostalgia.

The kind of day that feels like a movie just before something changes.

Steve taps the steering wheel, sunglasses on, waiting.

The front door swings open like a storm. Dustin comes charging out with his bag half-zipped, curly hair frizzed up like he’s been running around since lunch. He's shouting back into the house, voice high-pitched with indignation.

“I told you, I don’t need a jacket! I’m not gonna freeze to death in a temperature-controlled room, Mom!”

Steve leans out the driver’s side window. “You fightin’ the entire climate again?”

Dustin flips him off without looking. “I’m fightin’ oppression.”

Steve chuckles. “Well, tell oppression to zip your backpack before it explodes.”

But Dustin isn’t listening anymore. He’s already shouting again, this time toward the side of the house.

“Y/N! You coming tonight or what?”

Steve leans forward a little, curious. He’s heard Dustin mention his brother in passing—a few stories here and there. You were older.

Did something with music. Liked “weird art films” and refused to help Dustin cheat on his algebra homework even when begged.

But he’s never actually seen you.

Not until now.

You’re perched at the edge of the porch, a slim book in one hand and a can of soda sweating in the other. You’ve got sunglasses on even though the sun’s already starting to dip.

Your legs are kicked out in front of you, ankles crossed lazily, and there’s a pair of over-ear headphones hanging around your neck, one side still slightly playing a muted drum beat.

You don’t look up right away. You just keep reading, flipping a page with your thumb.

“Y/N!” Dustin yells again, hands on his hips like a mom at the end of her rope.

Finally, you glance up. Slowly. Like you’re weighing whether it’s even worth the energy.

“Didn’t Blake bail on work again?” you ask, voice quiet but distinct. Calm. Kinda raspy, like you’d just woken up or maybe didn’t care enough to pretend.

“Probably!” Dustin calls back. “But you said if he flaked, you’d come!”

You sigh like you’ve already regretted making that deal. “I said maybe, not promise. There’s a difference.”

Steve watches the whole exchange with mild amusement.

There’s something about you that’s... unbothered. The kind of cool that isn't about clothes or cliques—it’s just baked into how you move, how you don’t move unless you want to.

Dustin gestures toward the car. “Steve’s here! Just ride with us!”

You finally turn your eyes to Steve.

He feels it. The click.

Even behind your sunglasses, he swears you’re looking right through him. Not in a mean way. Just... curious. Calm. Like you’re deciding if he’s worth your attention.

Steve’s mouth is dry.

You give a small, two-finger wave. “Hey.”

It’s not shy. It’s not warm, either. Just simple.

Steve clears his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

Dustin walks toward the car, oblivious. “This is Steve. You probably know him from, like... every girl’s locker in 1985.”

You snort.

Steve flushes a little.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you,” you say, still looking at him.

“Oh.” Steve shifts, suddenly aware of how he's leaning too hard on the door. “Good things, I hope?”

You shrug. “Mixed reviews.”

Dustin howls with laughter as he gets in the passenger seat.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek and forces a smile. “Tough crowd.”

You smirk. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He opens his mouth to reply—but you’re already putting your headphones back on, lifting the book, retreating into your little bubble of calm again.

Steve stares for a second too long. Then snaps out of it.

He gets in the car, trying not to let his face give him away.

Dustin’s still grinning. “You totally froze up.”

“I did not.”

“You did, dude. You were, like, blushing.”

“I was not blushing—”

“You want me to introduce you again next time? Maybe say you’re single and emotionally available?”

Steve throws the car into gear a little harder than necessary. “Keep talking and I’ll make you walk.”

Dustin laughs so hard he snorts. “Oh, man. This is gonna be good.”

---

As they drive off, Steve glances in the rearview mirror. You’re still there on the porch, book in hand, but your head’s tilted just slightly—like maybe, just maybe, you’re watching the car pull away too.

---

It starts with a song.

Steve doesn’t even realize it’s one you were humming the last time he saw you until it comes on the Family Video speakers, some dreamy B-side from The Cure, just after closing. Robin’s in the back pretending to organize tapes but mostly just slapping labels on things that don’t need them.

“Did you put this on?” Steve asks.

Robin peeks her head around the aisle, eyebrows arched.

“You’ve worked here for a year and still don’t know how the rotation schedule works?”

“No—I mean—” Steve waves vaguely at the speakers.

“This song. Just reminded me of... never mind.”

Robin narrows her eyes. “Reminded you of who, Harrington?”

“No one,” Steve says way too fast.

She walks around the counter, crossing her arms. “You are being weird lately.”

“I’m not being weird,” Steve says. “I’m just... thinking.”

Robin snorts. “I’ve seen you think before. It usually involves staring into the middle distance and chewing on a pen cap. This is different. You’ve got that soft crush energy.”

Steve’s face burns. “I do not have soft crush energy.”

“Oh really? Because yesterday, when we were at the arcade, and Dustin mentioned his brother might show up, you whipped your head around like a golden retriever on espresso.”

Steve glares at her. “I did not.”

Robin leans on the counter, chin in hand. “Is it the hair? The voice? Is he older and smarter than you? That’d make sense.”

“I don’t even know him,” Steve says, flustered. “He barely said five words.”

Robin hums. “Must’ve been five very hot words.”

Steve groans and buries his face in his hands.

---

It gets worse later that night...

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and the scene keeps playing in his head.

The slow wave you gave him. That effortless, unreadable smirk. The way you sat on the porch like you weren’t waiting for anyone, like time moved around you.

He thinks about how your voice dipped when you said, “Mixed reviews.”

And the way you looked at him—really looked.

He swears you knew.

He rolls onto his stomach, face in a pillow.

God, he’s so obvious.

---

Saturday – Eddie’s Garage

Steve’s sprawled on a beat-up couch in Eddie’s garage while Eddie tunes his guitar and complains about Mike screwing up another campaign.

“I mean, he’s a good kid,” Eddie says, twisting a knob, “but you miss one session and suddenly everyone thinks they’re the dungeon master.”

“Right,” Steve mutters, barely listening.

Eddie glances up. “You alright, man? You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you pretend to listen but you’re secretly spiraling inside.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Steve lies.

“Uh-huh. Is this about Nancy?”

“No.”

“Robin?”

“No.”

“...Dustin’s brother?”

Steve freezes. “What?”

Eddie grins, smug. “Bingo.”

“I don’t even know his name,” Steve says defensively.

Eddie shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen that look on your face before. You’ve got the ‘I think he’s hot and he intimidates me’ stare.”

Steve leans back and groans. “He just—he’s so—calm. Like, he’s not trying. And when I talk, I feel like I’m in a middle school play.”

Eddie chuckles. “You’re not used to being the awkward one, huh?”

Steve mutters, “It sucks.”

Eddie flicks a pick at him. “You’re fine, Romeo. Just don’t try too hard. You’ll crash and burn.”

---

Sunday – Wheeler’s House

Steve and Nancy are in the living room with Dustin and Mike, sorting through board games that somehow migrated into the garage.

Dustin is holding court, naturally.

“So Steve’s been acting super weird,” Dustin says, like he’s announcing global news.

Steve snaps his head up. “No I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have,” Mike says. “He showed up early to pick me up. He’s never early.”

Nancy looks up from the game box. “Is this about Y/N?”

Steve nearly drops the Clue board.

Dustin squints. “Wait. What about Y/N?”

Nancy blinks innocently. “Oh, I just figured. He’s been kinda... watching Steve lately.”

Silence.

Steve’s face goes blank. “Wait. What?”

Nancy smiles slightly. “You didn’t notice?”

Steve is spiraling.

Dustin looks from Nancy to Steve and howls. “OH MY GOD.”

Steve rubs his face. “No. No no no. Don’t start—”

“YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON MY BROTHER!”

“Dustin, I swear—”

“This is disgusting! I’m telling Mom. I’m telling EVERYONE.”

“You are not—!”

“Do you wanna MARRY him?! Are you gonna be my brother-in-law?!”

“Dustin—”

Nancy’s laughing softly behind a hand while Mike looks vaguely horrified.

“Wow,” Mike mutters. “Now I can’t unsee it.”

---

Later that night – Steve’s House

Robin’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding a grape soda.

“So let me get this straight. You’re crushing on Dustin’s older brother, and Nancy thinks he might be into you, and Dustin wants to exile you from Hawkins.”

Steve sinks into the cushions. “That about covers it.”

Robin pats his leg. “You’ve had worse weeks.”

Steve sighs. “He’s just... different.”

Robin tilts her head. “Different how?”

Steve shrugs. “He doesn’t try to be cool. He just is. And when I talk to him, it’s like... I don’t know. I forget how to be a person.”

Robin hums. “That’s kind of sweet. And tragic.”

Steve kicks at the rug. “I don’t even know how to start.”

She pauses. “You know, he works at Vinyl Alley, right?”

Steve looks at her slowly. “How do you know that?”

Robin grins. “Please. I’ve had a crush on him since junior year.”

Steve nearly chokes. “WHAT?”

“I’m over it. Relax,” she says. “I mean... not totally, but I like chaos, so I support this.”

Steve groans. “I need help.”

Robin clinks her soda can against his knee. “You need to just talk to him.”

Steve mutters into his hands. “Yeah. Right. Easy.”

Robin smirks. “Or, you could keep making puppy eyes from twenty feet away. That’s a solid long-term strategy.”

Steve throws a pillow at her.

---

It’s just past six when Steve pulls up to the Henderson house, thinking he’ll grab Dustin for movie night with Robin and Eddie.

It’s supposed to be a distraction. Keep things light. Keep his brain from looping around the way you looked at him a week ago—half bored, half curious, all center of gravity.

He hops out of his car, slicks his hair back once out of habit, and jogs up the driveway.

No sign of Dustin.

He knocks once. Waits.

No answer.

Then the screen door creaks open, and there you are.

Leaning against the frame like you’ve been there for hours. Barefoot, with a loose T-shirt that hangs perfectly, sleeves rolled a few times.

You’ve got a ring of condensation around your hand from a lemonade can. There’s music playing low from somewhere inside the house—Mazzy Star or maybe Cocteau Twins. Steve doesn’t know, but it fits you.

Your gaze is easy, slow-moving, like you already clocked him before the car even turned off.

“Dustin’s not here,” you say.

“Oh,” Steve says, heart immediately catching in his throat. “I—uh—he said to pick him up?”

You shrug, stepping onto the porch. “Probably got caught up at Lucas’s. He’s been biking over there after dinner a lot.”

Steve blinks. “Right. Yeah. Cool.”

You glance at the street. Then back at him. “You drove all the way here?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Thought we were gonna watch Predator or something. Eddie said he had this whole commentary planned.”

You hum. “That sounds... unbearable.”

Steve laughs, more at himself than anything. “You’ve met him.”

“I’ve survived him,” you reply, lips twitching into a smile. “Wanna sit? Porch’s not that exciting, but it’s better than standing there sweating.”

“Sure,” Steve says, a little too fast.

You sit first, folding into the wooden chair like you belong there. Like you’re part of the furniture, part of the air. Steve chooses the chair beside you, not too close.

The space between you hums a little louder than it should.

It’s quiet for a while. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

You crack your can open again. The fizz breaks the silence.

Steve tries not to stare at your fingers.

“So...” you say, almost lazily. “You’re the guy who picks Dustin up like clockwork.”

Steve chuckles. “Somebody’s gotta keep him alive.”

“True,” you say, eyes half-lidded behind the dying light. “He listens to you more than he listens to me.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“No,” you agree. “But still.”

More silence.

Steve wants to fill it. He wants to ask you if you’ve always lived in Hawkins, what kind of music you like, whether you’ve ever felt like you were supposed to be somewhere else—someone else.

Instead, he says, “What’re you listening to?”

You tilt your head slightly, like the question caught you off guard.

Then you reach for the portable cassette player on the table beside you, flip it around so he can see the label.

“Red House Painters – Rollercoaster.”

He nods slowly. “Never heard of it.”

You give him a sideways look. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Steve laughs under his breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got... radio taste,” you say. “Like, safe taste.”

He smiles. “You’re not wrong. I was more of a Top 40 guy.”

“And now?”

Steve shrugs. “Trying to listen to other things.”

You lean back, one knee bouncing slightly. “Trying to impress someone?”

That hits.

Steve looks at you, eyes flicking to your mouth and then away. “Maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

He pauses. “Am I trying too hard?”

“No,” you say easily. “Trying too hard would mean you’re saying things you don’t mean.”

Steve looks at you again, slower this time.

“And I don’t think you’re doing that,” you finish, voice quiet.

The cicadas buzz louder in the trees. A neighbor’s sprinkler clicks on across the street. Somewhere inside, a clock ticks.

Steve swallows. “You don’t talk like other people.”

You huff a soft laugh. “You don’t either. You just think you do.”

He looks down at his shoes, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Robin says I act like a golden retriever when I have a crush.”

Your head tilts, just slightly. “Do you?”

“I didn’t think so,” he says, shrugging. “But lately? Kinda feels like it.”

He looks up.

You’re watching him now. Really watching.

The smirk you wore earlier is gone, replaced with something more grounded. Thoughtful.

You shift a little in your seat, angling toward him.

“That’s the thing with you, Harrington,” you say, voice just above a whisper. “You don’t hide things very well.”

Steve’s heart thumps loud in his chest. “That bad, huh?”

“No,” you say simply. “That honest.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. And for once, he doesn’t feel like he has to.

The two of you sit in the warmth, the kind of quiet that stretches like a yawn.

The song from inside fades into another one—slower, sadder. Steve doesn’t recognize it either, but it makes his throat tight.

You lean forward to grab your drink again, and your knee brushes his.

Neither of you moves.

Steve feels electricity crawl up his leg, warm and searching. He doesn’t look away from you. And you don’t look away either.

Eventually, you sit back.

“You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you say casually.

Steve grins. “I get that a lot.”

You smile. Real this time. Not cocky, not distant. Just there.

Before Steve can say anything else, the distant sound of wheels on pavement echoes from around the corner.

Dustin.

You sigh through your nose. “Saved by the little brother.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, barely hearing it.

You stand slowly, stretching, the hem of your shirt lifting slightly.

Steve catches a glimpse of the soft curve of your waist, a hint of ink near your ribs. He looks away before he stares.

As Dustin’s bike screeches into the driveway, yelling something about Lucas being the worst teammate in D&D history, you nudge Steve lightly with your elbow.

“See you around, golden retriever.”

He freezes.

You smirk.

And just like that, you’re back inside, the screen door creaking shut behind you.

Steve watches it swing until it stills. And even when Dustin’s hopping in the passenger seat, still ranting about Mike and Eddie and his dice rolls, Steve’s brain is still on you.

And that quiet moment on the porch.

That brush of your knee.

And the smile you didn’t let anyone else see.

---

It happens again a few days later.

The air is thick with leftover heat, that sticky summer cling that hangs around after the sun dips below the trees. Streetlights flicker on like they’re yawning awake, fireflies blink lazily in the shrubs, and somewhere down the block, a lawn sprinkler ticks in time with the chirp of crickets.

Steve’s car rolls up quiet in front of your house.

It’s not planned. He tells himself he just happened to be driving by.

But the way his palms are sweating against the steering wheel says otherwise. He parks and sits for a full minute, watching your porch light glow through the screen door.

He could leave.

He should leave.

But then the door opens—and there you are, stepping out barefoot again, holding two bottles of orange soda by their necks.

You see him and smile like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You just gonna lurk there, Harrington? Or you want one of these?”

Steve laughs, shaking his head as he gets out of the car. “Do you read minds or something?”

“No,” you say, handing him a soda. “You’re just predictable in a charming, lost-puppy kind of way.”

Steve flushes but doesn’t argue.

You sit on the steps this time, not the chairs.

He drops down beside you, leaving a sliver of space between your knees. It’s quiet except for the bottle caps hitting the porch and the fizz of carbonation as you both take a drink.

After a long silence, you speak first.

“Rough night?”

Steve exhales slowly. “Just been... thinking.”

You nod, slow. “Dangerous habit.”

He smiles weakly. “Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say something,” he finally admits.

You glance at him, brows raised slightly.

“Something I haven’t really said out loud before,” Steve continues, staring straight ahead.

“I’m listening,” you say, voice gentle now—none of the teasing from before. Just there with him.

Steve fidgets with the label on the bottle.

“I’ve always been good at liking girls. Or, like... thinking I liked them. It was simple. Easy. You get a girlfriend, you hold hands, people nod at you in the hallway like you’re doing something right.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t look away.

“But lately...” Steve trails off, then huffs out a breath. “It’s not that I don’t like girls. It’s just... they don’t make me nervous the way you do.”

That makes your mouth quirk just slightly. But you stay still. Let him keep going.

“I keep thinking about you. Not just the porch stuff. Just... how quiet you are. How you look like you’re always hearing things no one else can. How you talk like you’re choosing every word on purpose.”

He finally looks at you, full-on, eyes searching.

“I don’t even know if this is anything,” he says, voice low. “I just know I don’t feel like this around anyone else.”

You let the words settle.

There’s a warmth behind your ribs now. A slow, uncoiling understanding.

You set your soda down beside you. “You’re allowed to like things you didn’t expect.”

Steve watches you carefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean back on your hands, letting your knee brush his again. This time, it lingers.

“You don’t have to label it,” you say. “Or explain it to anyone. Especially not me.”

Steve laughs quietly. “I don’t think I care about anyone else knowing. Just kind of wanted you to know.”

You nod once. “I know now.”

You both sit there a moment, letting the air fill the space between words.

The porch light buzzes overhead. A breeze picks up, rustling through the nearby trees. And in that space, something clicks into place—not like a dramatic kiss, not like fireworks. Just… gravity realigning.

Steve bumps your shoulder. “You still think I have radio taste?”

You grin. “Definitely. But I can work with that.”

He smiles. A real one this time. Open. Grateful.

You glance at him, a little softer now. “You’re better when you’re not trying so hard.”

“I’m not used to that.”

You shrug. “Start practicing.”

Steve lets out a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Would you ever wanna—” he clears his throat, face flushing, “—hang out? Just, like... you and me? Sometime?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “That depends. Are you gonna keep saying weird, vulnerable stuff?”

“Maybe.”

“Then yeah,” you say, lips tugging into a crooked smile. “I’m into that.”

Steve lets out a short laugh, head falling forward. “Thank God.”

You chuckle, nudging his knee. “Easy, Harrington. Don’t faint on my porch. You’re too pretty to pass out.”

He looks up, eyes wide. “Was that—did you just call me—?”

You stand, grabbing your soda, and walk inside without answering.

The screen door swings closed behind you.

Steve stares at it for a long time, heart racing like he just ran a mile uphill.

Then he grins.

Yeah. This is definitely something.

---

Days pass..

It’s a late Saturday afternoon, the kind where Hawkins glows like it’s been dunked in honey — warm and slow, shadows long on the sidewalk.

Robin convinced everyone to meet at the old picnic area near Lover’s Lake for what she dramatically titled a “mental health gathering.”

Translation: snacks, sarcasm, and watching Eddie yell at squirrels.

Steve pulls up in his car, and you’re already there — sitting against one of the wooden tables with your headphones around your neck, sipping from a bottle of cherry cola, ankles crossed, calm as always.

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas are halfway through setting up a game of Uno on a folding table.

Nancy is adjusting the battery in a small portable radio she brought, claiming “someone needs to curate the vibe.” Eddie’s lying in the grass, eyes closed, pretending he doesn’t care.

Robin is mid-sentence when she catches sight of Steve walking up behind you. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she watches the way he doesn’t just walk — he drifts toward you like gravity’s involved.

You tilt your head back, see him coming, and give the tiniest smile. Just a flick of the mouth. But it lingers.

“Hey,” you say, like you were waiting for him.

Steve sits next to you, just a little closer than necessary.

Robin raises a single eyebrow. Nancy notices too — her lips press into a barely-there smirk. She nudges Robin with her elbow.

Dustin, of course, doesn’t notice a thing. He’s too busy triumphantly slamming down a +4 on Lucas.

“You absolute traitor!” Lucas yells.

“You played yourself,” Dustin shrugs.

As the chaos unfolds, Steve leans in slightly, speaking under his breath.

“You always drink that stuff?” he asks, nodding to the cherry cola.

You glance sideways, smirking. “Maybe I like sweet things.”

Steve blinks once.

Then twice.

You take a slow sip and don’t elaborate.

Robin almost chokes on a carrot stick from the snack bowl.

Nancy raises an eyebrow and murmurs to her, “They’re doing the thing again.”

“The what?” Eddie asks, rolling over lazily.

Nancy gestures subtly to you and Steve, who are in your own quiet little orbit at the end of the table, barely touching, barely talking — but fully locked in.

Eddie lifts his head, squints. “Are they—?” His voice drops. “No.”

Robin grins. “Oh yeah.”

Eddie sits up like someone just poured soda on his boots. “When the hell did that happen?”

Dustin looks up. “When did what happen?”

Everyone freezes for a split second.

Steve tries very hard to look like he’s not mentally collapsing.

You, cool as ever, just stretch your legs and say, “Hey, Dust. You ever figure out why your Uno strategy sucks so bad?”

Dustin squints. “Deflecting, are we?”

Eddie snickers.

Robin leans back on her elbows, grinning like she’s watching a live TV reveal.

Dustin’s eyes narrow. He looks at Steve. Then at you. Then back.

You’ve seen this look before — it’s the face he makes when he’s putting together a scientific theory or sniffing out secrets with Erica.

He squints harder. “Wait a damn minute.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest—too late.

Dustin stands up, hands flat on the table. “YOU’RE DATING MY BROTHER?!”

The birds scatter from the trees. Mike nearly drops his cards.

Steve lifts both hands like he’s under arrest. “Dustin—listen—”

“Since WHEN?!” Dustin yells, looking back and forth between you both like he’s witnessing a crime scene.

You sip your soda. “A while.”

Robin’s snorting with laughter now, face buried in Nancy’s shoulder.

Eddie says, “I knew something was weird! The night at my place, when Steve said your name and then immediately forgot what year it was? That makes so much sense now!”

Dustin starts pacing like a lawyer delivering his closing argument.

“Steve Harrington, you told me to brush my teeth last week! That’s like — a big brother thing! You can’t do that and be—you can’t date my actual brother! That’s betrayal on two fronts!”

Steve runs a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to lie—”

“You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d react like this!”

“I mean,” Steve admits, “a little, yeah.”

Dustin glares at you. “And you! You just let him into the house like it was no big deal!”

You lean back lazily. “He already had a key to the house... metaphorically.”

Robin shouts, “OH MY GOD.”

Eddie drops backwards into the grass again, wheezing.

Nancy smiles, folding her arms. “I think it’s sweet.”

Dustin groans like someone just stabbed him in the heart with a +4 card.

“No. Nope. I refuse. Steve is like my divorced dad and my annoying uncle combined! This is gross!”

You tilt your head. “Would it be better if I dumped him and dated Eddie?”

Eddie perks up. “I’m flattered.”

Steve blurts, “Please don’t.”

Robin collapses into laughter.

Dustin dramatically falls into a lawn chair, hands over his face. “God. I have to change schools.”

Lucas pats him on the back. “You don’t even go to school right now.”

“College, then!”

“You’re not in college.”

“I’LL SKIP STRAIGHT TO RETIREMENT.”

Nancy kneels beside him, voice dry. “Dustin. Breathe.”

---

As the sun begins to dip—

The group slowly reassembles. Uno resumes. Robin and Eddie still throw teasing looks at Steve, who can’t seem to stop looking at you.

You’re laid out on the blanket now, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping your soda and watching the clouds change color.

Steve lies down beside you, not quite touching, but close.

Dustin eventually calms down. He throws a single potato chip at Steve’s head in a weak display of dominance. It bounces off harmlessly.

“Don’t break his heart,” Dustin mutters.

You glance sideways at him. “I won’t.”

“You better not,” Dustin grumbles. “Because then I have to pick sides. And you know Mom would make me take the couch.”

Steve smiles faintly at that. Reaches over and gently brushes your knuckles.

You let him.

And the sun melts into the lake, quiet and gold and perfect.

No grand gestures. No declarations.

Just this.

Two people who didn’t plan on anything, finding something that feels like home.

---

Authors note: hii Atlas!, thank you so much for requesting this. I enjoyed writing it so much and I had overall a great time making it ☺️ I'm so glad you enjoy my writing!! And thank you so much again🩷

Credits: my steve border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[puck-luck]

hi, could i get a mocha with whipped cream: dom quinn/ sub reader with quinn hughes, thank ya happy 1 year!!

good news to you all!! i conglomerated this ask with another so i have an IDEA of an extended cut, but i'm currently pretty happy with the ending of this blurb. in future weeks/months, i MAY create a part two (or copy-paste these 700 words into a new doc and continue building the story) as a full fic.

i now present: brat tamer!quinn hughes.

Once upon a time, you heard a story in which your sweet, perfect, loving boyfriend Quinn ripped the braces off his brother’s teeth because Jack was bothering him on the ODR. It’s been a goal of yours ever since to make Quinn snap.

You don’t act like this often. At least, you don’t act like this often enough for Quinn to notice that you’re playing a game without his knowledge. The situations are so isolated that Quinn has no idea. He seems to think that you get into moods where his calm girlfriend disappears and his testy brat appears as the replacement. 

When Quinn left to make his tee time, he kissed his good girl goodbye. He returned home to an indifferent wedding planner with little patience for her boyfriend’s wandering hands. 

“Baby, stop ignoring me,” Quinn groans, stretching out on the couch like a cat and putting his head in your space. He’s trying to get his big ol’ cranium on your lap, but that’s currently occupied by your whirring computer. You have a billion (seven) tabs open, running shopping sites and spreadsheets and checklists for a friend’s wedding in several months. You need to buy a bridesmaid dress and you need to consult the requirements your friend listed and the links your other friends pasted in so that no one buys the same dress. 

In other words, you’re busy.

“I’m not ignoring you, Q,” you say absentmindedly, scrolling to the next page of dresses and letting your eyes wander over the styles. Nothing is quite you. “I’m just prioritizing things that matter.”

Quinn shoots up into a seated position, whipping his head around to face you. “‘Prioritizing things that matter?’” he repeats incredulously. “So you’re saying I don’t matter?”

“No, baby, you matter,” you tell him, although you don’t even look his way when you reach over to pat his thigh. “Think of it like this– you had to leave me for your round of golf, and now I have to shop for my friend’s wedding. It’s just priorities.”

“Are you mad that I left for golf?” Quinn questions, frowning deeply. “It was only for a couple of hours and I promised I’d be back before dinner. I’m back extra early, the guys wanted to grab a couple of beers but I turned them down.”

“Aww, I’m sorry. You should’ve gone with them,” you say. “I’m going to be doing this for a while.”

Quinn must catch the smirk tugging at your lips. He deadpans, “You’re messing with me.”

“No, honey, I’m not messing with you. I’m trying to get this done.”

Quinn snatches your computer from your lap and closes it. “Get it done later.”

You finally turn to look at him, holding your hands out for him to return your computer. 

Quinn shakes his head, raising an eyebrow and setting the computer aside. 

You lean forward to take it and Quinn seizes your wrists and overpowers you, laying you back on the couch with your hands above your head. His face is inches from yours, body solid on top of yours.

“It’s cute how you think you’re intimidating. Keep trying,” you tell Quinn. “Maybe I’ll even flinch.”

“You’re pushing the wrong buttons, little miss,” Quinn warns.

“The wrong buttons?” you laugh. “Maybe to you. I think I’m playing with you perfectly.”

“Oh, you’re playing with me, huh?” Quinn shifts your wrists into one hand and brings the other to your chest, pinching your nipples through your soft cotton t-shirt. There’s a bit of force behind it, a spark of pain, and you lean into it. Quinn smirks.

“Mhm, you’re like a broken toy,” you quip, mirroring the curve of his lips. “Still fun to mess with, just not useful.”

Quinn’s eyes flash with something dark, your words hitting a part of Quinn they haven’t before. He takes your words as what they are: a challenge, not the truth.

“Not useful?” Quinn muses, showing his teeth when he smiles next. “Is that so?”

Your skin starts to crawl with anticipation, with excitement. “That’s what I said.”

Quinn’s eyes bounce between your eyes and your mouth. “Not useful,” he repeats, a breath of a laugh making his right cheek twitch. “Let’s get you tied up and I’ll show you how useful I can be.”

[meadowfics]

hiding from rage

kang dae ho x f!reader

warnings: threats, angst, enemies to lovers, homicidal rage

based off of this request linked here

SPOILERS FOR SQUID GAME SEASON THREE BELOW -> DON'T CLICK 'KEEP READING' IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS!

don't say I didn't warn you.

the starry night maze stretches before you, full of brick and gravel walls that seem to pulse under the eerie glow of a moonless sky.

you're surround by the kind of air that clings to your skin and makes every rustle of feet sound like a threat.

you’re a seeker on the red team, so there is no threat for you.

your heart is pounding not just from the game but from the festering wound of betrayal that’s been eating at you since the escape plan fell apart.

daeho, your daeho, screwed it up.

no ammo.

no way out.

just you, him, and a group of survivors left to fend for themselves and survive even longer in this hellhole because he couldn’t deliver.

you can still hear your own voice screaming at him, the fight that tore through the camp like wildfire. you wanted to leave, to escape this nightmare, but he failed you.

worse, you’re terrified of losing him.

that fear twists inside you, a psychosis that’s turned your mind into a broken record: 

his fault, his fault, his fault.

the hide and seek game is your chance to make him pay.

your knife gleams in your hand, its weight a promise of retribution.

the rules are simple: find the hiders, eliminate at least one before the timer.

for you, it’s not about the game...it’s about daeho.

you’re not just hunting; you’re hunting him.

the red team’s objective burns in your mind, but the blue players? they’re nothing.

you barely register them as you stalk through the maze, your boots crunching against the gravel, your breath sharp and ragged.

some blue players stop and run from you, not realizing that you are not chasing after them.

all you see is daeho’s face, his lies, his failures.

the mantra in your head grows louder: 

his fault, his fault, his fault.

you move like a predator, your senses sharpened by rage.

the maze is a tangle of dead ends and sharp turns, the brick walls cold and unyielding under your fingertips.

you hear whispers of movement, the faint scuffle of feet, but you ignore them or hope that it is him that will pop up.

blue team hiders are irrelevant.

except for one.

the shaman.

you spot her first, her silhouette darting behind a wall, her long hair catching on a jagged brick. she’s quick, but you’re quicker.

your knife finds her before she can scream, and she crumples to the ground, a blue team casualty.

you don’t even pause to look at her.

she’s not daeho.

she’s not the one who broke you.

you just needed a kill in order to get out of this game alive.

just incase you couldn't go through with getting daeho.

your mind is a storm, a whirlwind of anger and fear and something deeper, something you don’t want to name. you’ve always been scared of losing him, even before this mess.

daeho, with his silly promises, made you believe you could survive this place together.

he lied.

he lied about being a marine, about having the skills to get you out.

you could tell, even back then, that something was off...his stories didn’t add up, his confidence too forced.

you trusted him anyway.

now, because of his lies, people are dead.

good people.

people who counted on him, on you.

the guilt is a blade in your gut, but you turn it outward, let it fuel your hunt. 

his fault, his fault, his fault.

you round a corner, and there he is.

daeho.

he’s crouched behind a low wall, thanks to an ankle injury that led a blood trail right to him.

the blue blends into the "sky" above.

you know him too well...his broad shoulders, the way he tilts his head when he’s listening for danger.

your heart lurches, a traitor to your rage.

you don’t hesitate. you charge, your knife glinting as you leap over the stairs and tackle him to the ground. he hits the gravel hard, a grunt escaping his lips as you pin him down, your knees pressing into his chest.

you straddle him, your knife raised high, its blade catching the faint starlight.

you’re shaking, not from exertion but from the storm inside you as he holds your wrists to stop you from stabbing him.

“you bastard,” you hiss, your voice trembling.

“you lied to me. you lied to all of us.”

daeho’s eyes are wide, but not with fear.

there’s something else there...regret, maybe, or something softer.

it only makes you angrier.

“y/n, stop it! listen—”

“no!” you snap, the knife trembling in your grip.

“you don’t get to talk. y-yo-you don’t get to make excuses. you said you were a marine, daeho! you said you could hep us get out. now they’re dead. they’re dead because of you!” your voice cracks, the weight of those losses crashing over you.

you see their faces... your old friends, your allies, gone because daeho couldn’t deliver the ammo, couldn’t hold up his end of the plan.

“i could tell you were lying about that stupid tattoo and being a fucking marine,” you continue, your words venomous, “i knew it, but i let myself believe you. now look at us. look at this.”

you gesture wildly at the maze, at the blood on your hands, at the knife poised to end him. your chest heaves, your vision blurring with tears you refuse to let fall. 

his fault, his fault, his fault. 

the mantra is deafening now, urging you to bring the knife down, to make him pay for every mistake, every life lost.

he’s looking at you, and there’s no defiance in his eyes, no fight.

just… him.

“y/n,” he says, his voice low, steady, cutting through the chaos in your head.

“i’m sorry.”

you laugh, a bitter, broken sound.

“sorry? sorry doesn’t bring them back. sorry doesn’t fix this. you lied, daeho. you lied about being a marine, about knowing what you were doing. you got us into this mess, and now you’re hiding like a coward.”

he winces, but he doesn’t look away.

“i know,” he says, and there’s a rawness to his voice that makes you pause, “I am one. I lied. i wasn’t a marine. i… i wanted to be someone you could rely on. someone who could protect you. i screwed up, y/n. i know i did and i’m sorry.”

daeho's words hit you like a punch, but they don’t soothe the rage. they stoke it.

“you think an apology fixes this?” you scream, leaning closer, the knife still raised as his strong hands stop your wrists from plunging the knife into his chest, “you think saying sorry makes up for the blood on your hands? for the people we lost? i trusted you, daeho. i trusted you, and you let me down. you let all of us down.”

he doesn’t flinch, even with the blade inches from his throat.

“i know,” he says again but softer this time, “i know i failed you but y/n, listen to me. please. i never wanted to hurt you. i never wanted any of this. i lied because… because i love you and I wanted you to think better of me.”

the world stops.

the maze, the game, the knife in your hand.

it all fades, leaving just you and daeho and those three words hanging in the air.

your breath catches, your grip on the knife faltering.

“what?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“i love you,” he repeats, his eyes locked on yours.

“i’ve loved you since the moment we got stuck in this nightmare. i lied because i wanted to be enough for you. i wanted to be the guy who could get you out, who could keep you safe but i messed up, y/n. i messed up bad, and i’ll carry that for the rest of my life. but i swear, i never meant to hurt you.”

your mind reels, the mantra stuttering.

his fault, his fault— no.

it's not.

that broken record is weaker now, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. you want to scream at him, to tell him he’s lying again, but you can’t.

you see it in his eyes, the truth he’s been hiding all this time.

he loves you.

whoever above help you, you love him too.

you always have, even when you were screaming at him, even when you were terrified of losing him.

that’s why his betrayal cut so deep because he’s not just anyone.

he’s everything.

“you don’t get to do this,” you say, but your voice is shaking, the knife lowering slightly.

“you don’t get to say that now, after everything. you don’t get to make me feel this way.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel anything,” he says, his hands slowly moving to your hips, not to push you off but to ground you, to keep you there with him.

to others, this position might look suggestive.

“i’m just telling you the truth. i love you, y/n. and i know i don’t deserve you, but i’m begging you...don’t do this. don’t let this place turn you into something you’re not by killing me.”

you want to hate him.

you want to drive the knife down and make him pay.

fortunately, his hands are warm on your hips, his eyes so painfully honest, and you feel the fight draining out of you.

the tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and angry, and you drop the knife.

it clatters against the gravel, useless now.

you've already killed the shaman, you didn't need to kill another person to survive.

you collapse forward, your hands fisting in his jacket as you sob, your forehead pressing against his chest.

“i was so scared,” you choke out, the words spilling out in a rush, “i was so scared of losing you. and then you lied, and you failed, and i thought… i thought i’d never forgive you. i love you, daeho. i love you, and i hate you for making me feel this way.”

daeho's arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you closer but being mindful about the door behind him which leads into the cliff.

“i know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair.

“i know, y/n. i’m so sorry. i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, i swear.”

you lift your head, your eyes meeting his, and the world narrows to just the two of you.

the maze, the game, the blood... it all falls away.

you’re still angry, still hurt, but you can’t deny what’s between you.

you lean in, or maybe he does, and your lips crash together in a kiss that’s all fire and desperation.

it’s not gentle; it’s raw, full of everything you’ve been holding back...anger, fear, love.

you’re still straddling him, your hands tangled in his hair, his fingers digging into your sides as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, your foreheads pressed together.

“we’re not done fighting about this,” you warn, your voice low but fierce, “you don’t get to just kiss me and make it all go away.”

he nods, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips.

“i know but i’m not going anywhere, y/n. not unless you tell me to.”

you stay like that for a moment, the weight of everything settling between you.

after a minute, you climb off him, offering a hand to help him up.

he takes it, his grip warm and solid, and you both stand, brushing gravel from your clothes.

the game is still ongoing, but you don’t care.

daeho’s alive, and so are you, and that’s enough for now.

you make your way to the main room, the heart of the dorms where everyone alive regroups.

the other players are there, some nursing wounds, others whispering about their own hunts.

shit, you discovered that your closest friend gave birth during the maze game!

you and daeho sit in a corner, away from the others, your knees brushing as you face each other.

the air is heavy, but it’s different now...less like a storm and more like the calm after.

“we need to talk about this,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest, “about your lie. about what happened.”

he nods, his expression serious.

“i know. i… i made up the marine thing because i thought it would give you hope. i thought it would make you trust me and like me. it was stupid, and it cost us. i cost us. im a coward.”

“you cost lives,” you say, and the words are sharp, but there’s no venom in them now.

just truth.

“people died because we didn’t have the ammo, because you didn’t know what you were doing. i can’t just let that go, daeho.”

“i don’t expect you to,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

“i’ll carry that guilt forever. but i’m going to do better, y/n. for you. for us. i swear.”

you study him, searching his face for any hint of another lie.

all you see is daeho...flawed, human, and yours.

“you’d better,” you say finally.

masterlist

[bluebnny]

Can u make a luffy x reader smut friend with benefits?

monkey d luffy x reader

contents: luffy fucking you in the storage room at your work :) – reader has a vagina, but gender is not specified

warnings: smut, P in V sex, maybe slight voyeurism?, MDNI

a/n: yes, anon, yes i can :) thank you for the request! I didn’t make reader a pirate, as i always find that dynamic to be a little more interesting. Also, sorry if you wanted me to get more into the "friends with benefits" aspect of it. This is more focused on the smut than their specific relationship. Anyway, hope you like it! <3

(Dividers made by me)

word count: 1.020

Luffy is the same in every area of his life: messy, spontaneous, and carefree. But he is also the most enthusiastic person you know, burning with an intense passion that shines through in everything he does.

Even if that “thing” is you.

“Ahh- fuck. Luffy, more, please…” Here you are, in the storage room of the bar you work at, with your face pressed up against the wall. You’re doing your very best to keep your moans under control, trying to end the night with both your job and dignity intact. But he is not making it easy.

“Sure you can handle more?” Even when he’s breathless and panting, he somehow manages to joke around, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s grinning.

Luffy snaps his hips roughly into yours, mesmerized by the way your ass and thighs shake with every harsh thrust. He’s impossibly deep now, using so much force that his hips still for half a second before pulling back again. You feel him pressing himself all the way inside, and the way it hurts so deliciously has your eyes rolling back in your head.

He goes on for what feels like forever and at the same time not long enough to your dizzy mind. All you know for sure is the pleasure building inside you, making you let out a string of whines and whimpers at the intensity of it.

He’s ramming himself into you from behind, keeping a steady pace. One hand is on the back of your head, the other on your hip to keep you from squirming away, his feet firmly planted on the ground.

You’re a whole different story. Hair messy and mouth half open, you’re barely able to contain your whimpers of pleasure. You have a hand on the wall, trying – and failing – to steady yourself, as your shaky legs are not helping much at the moment. Your other hand is placed on Luffy’s abs, whether to make him slow down from the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you, or to ask for more, you couldn’t even say yourself. All you know is that you’ve been craving this ever since you heard this morning that the straw hats had docked at your town again.

You and Luffy had met not too long ago but quickly considered yourselves friends. However, it didn’t stay like that for very long, as your friendship had swiftly evolved into something a little… more.

It had happened on a drunken night a few months back. Luffy and the straw hats had visited your island for a quick stop to restock and have some fun on land, going to your bar for a few drinks to catch up with you. You had joined them, seeing as you were off work that night. One thing had led to another, and you had found yourself under him on his ship, just about coherent enough to pant and moan out as the breath was repeatedly being knocked out of you by none other than the captain himself.

Ever since that night, you were addicted.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tightly.” He groans into the back of your head, bending over a little from the delicious feeling.

You honestly couldn’t tell anymore from how blissed out you are, no longer in control of your body. Retaining just enough sense to be aware that your boss is tending the bar on the other side of the door, and remembering that you were trying not to be too loud.

But Luffy gives a particularly hard thrust that has you gasping out despite your best efforts. You’re beyond grateful for the deafening music playing throughout the establishment. Without it, you’re sure everyone would hear exactly what you two are up to.

“Careful, or everyone out there will hear you.” He teases.

“I- I can’t.” You breathe out. How the hell are you supposed to keep any sense of control when he’s making you feel this good? But the mortifying thought of someone catching you like this sends a shiver down your spine and you clench down harder around him.

“Fuck, you like that?” He’s chuckling, but it’s coming out a little choppy from his rapid movements.

“Luffy… I’m close. Ah!” You let out another squeak when his hand moves from your head down to your clit and he starts rubbing it in tight circles that have you breaking on the spot.

Your mind is reeling from the orgasm crashing through you, your entire body shaking and convulsing from the intensity. Both your hands are now planted against the wall from the effort of holding yourself up.

Your pussy is helplessly spasming around his thick cock, which Luffy is still slamming into you. But you can tell he must be close from how desperate his thrusts are getting. It doesn’t take much before he’s cumming too. With a groan, he releases into you in thick spurts, his pace slowing down for the first time.

You both start to come down from the intense sensation, and you feel like you might actually fall now. Your legs start shaking even more violently as the tension leaves your body. But just as you’re about to collapse, you feel Luffy’s steadying grip around your middle, and he helps you sit on a spare chair in the corner of the room.

“You alright?” He asks you after a moment, his mind clearly still reeling from everything.

“Yeah. Just got to regain my breath.” How the hell was he already so energetic again? You feel like you’ve just run a marathon. At least your legs do.

“Yeah… fuck that was hot!” Is all he says, and when you look up to se his characteristic smile back on his face, you can’t help but mirror it.

“It was. Alright I’m good now I think.” You search for your pants which are somewhere on the floor of the storage, meanwhile hoping that your hair doesn’t look too much of a mess as you don’t have a mirror to check. But judging by how Luffy looks, your hopes are not too high.

Thanks for reading! And thank you so much for the request! Also uhhh this one doesn't have a title. It's midnight here and i am in no state to think of a good one lol.

(This is my fic, don't repost or use in any AI training programmes! Reblogs are always appreciated <3) Here are my rules, and my masterlist.

[atangledfate]

The sheep stepped forward to catch the wolf to make sure they didn't fall over or get hurt. Yet her eyes were on the outline of surge as she bolted away. She couldn't help but feel like it would matter more coming from her. To hear her side of that story, to feel that emotion coming from the victim. It felt wrong what happened to her and continued to happen to her.

" ... Damn it Surge... just once i wish i understood what was going through your head... "

She muttered before turning to the wolf.

" Wish i could tell you more about the Wisp, that i'm afraid is a story for Sonic to tell... or perhaps Mr. Prower... i'm as clueless as you are. I was in the command center when it appeared, but they seemed ot be helping Sonic so... that's always a good sign "

================================================

Sonic came to a screeching halt when Kit came closer and made his demand. On the one hand he was really afraid Surge might get angry at him for spilling the beans. Truth was the only one who knew everything was Whisper he only knew bits of it, but he supposed enough to tell him---still damn if he wasn't being put between a rock and a hard place here.

" You aren't making this easy on me are you? "

He said with a soft tone as he placed his head into his hand.

" Fine i'll be straight with you. I only know what Surge said and that wasn't much... she went to this place, and is getting her memories back or maybe she has them back. I don't know... Whisper knows more but she's with Tangle.. an probably will be for a while... "

" I figure she hopes seeing this place will do the same for you... and that's all i know... i've never been out here before... well passed by it maybe... but yea that's it that's all i know..."

===============================================

Miles crossed his arms and listened to blaze as he was glad to hear she had a limit of some kind. So phasing herself was maybe natural for her but having to phase things outside that was difficult maybe, even draining. Well it wasn't much of a weakness but it was something. If he had a scan of that ability up close maybe he could work out a way to counter it. But for now it was best they avoid a confrontation with this warrior.

" Belle i don't doubt you... or Belle Bot... your skills are incredible. I just worry that we are up against foes we don't know the full capabilities to yet... i just want someone three to... back you up... that's all"

He didn't want her to feel like he was coddling her, just that he didn't want her on her own just yet. Not until this mess blew over...

" But if Blaze thinks Odessa is the right call and doesn't mind her being away for awhile. Maybe its best if we keep her away from lupus in the time being... either way we should get you out of the base, and someplace off site for awhile. "

" I agree with miles even if its just until this blockade is over... i don't like that they wanted Belle ... it was so oddly specific and when i refused i could see the president was a little frustrated by it... i would feel better as well if someone was with you... "

"Me flapping my gums about my cry baby backstory ain't going to do anything. It's not like most people at The Restoration already know what happened with Starline, and I'm sure you'll get a lot of people telling other's once this shit is over and done with. Weather I want to or not, people are going to find out. I just don't care. I'm gonna do what I'm gonna do, regardless of what people think about me." Surge had her style and wasn't going to change it for anyone.

"You're talking to an avid G.U.N hater here so you don't gotta convince me of anything. Though I think I'd like to get a statement about the giant mega Wisp that was flying overhead earlier. If you know anything about that." He was one of the many that got spooked seeing that Wisp appear out of nowhere. At least they were friendly and moved the ship crashing down somewhere else. It still wasn't something he expected to see today.

"You have fun with that, I gotta go get arrest," Surge said, shoving the canine out of the way almost knocking him over as she stormed off. "Drippy is already off the base so no need to delay this shit anymore."

===========================================================

Kitsunami gets closer to Sonic. "Either you tell me the truth or I'm going back. I'm not asking for details, just if Surge got her memories back. I'm only trying to piece everything together." The fennec didn't want to be sheltered from the truth anymore, and even if he wasn't perfect he's gotten better at just blindly following what Surge tells him and making his own choices. This was one of those times.

===========================================================

"We won't have to worry about the one who assaulted Amy for the day. I'm unsure what fully happened, though I believe they overload themself with their ability to avoid my attack." Something that still irked Blaze as she would've stopped them from fleeing if they hadn't managed to phase the entire plane to prevent it from being damaged. "They were clearly struggling to keep their power in check after that."

"I'll be fine on my own Tails, though I think I'll just stay inside Belle-Bot until everything calms down. I haven't field tested it yet, though as I said, I did design it to hopefully stand against Metal Sonic." Belle wasn't going to go out of her way to find out, though if Metal Sonic caused problems and she was able to help she would.

"I'd say that all depends. It's a rare sight for me to see Odessa so angry, and this General Lupus got under her nerves rather swiftly. Best to avoid them interacting today if we can help it, least she attempt to challenge him." Blaze knew the reason why. Odessa having strong morals and need to protect the weak. Something G.U.N wasn't doing much of right now and they were one's who were supposed to do just that.

[moonchild9350]

For A Kiss

summary: mornings with Felix are your favorite.

pairing: Felix x gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.0k

warnings: none

notes: i love this photoshoot with sunshine boy :)

please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2025)

Masterlist

You loved early mornings, the kind where the sun is beginning to peak out from the clouds, the sun rises bathing the sky in hues of yellow and orange. The air is cool and crisp, comfortable before the heat of the day. It was one of these mornings and you had a coffee cup in hand and your book in another, savoring these quiet moments before the rest of the world wakes up.

The birds are chirping, scattering to and fro as they catch their breakfast. A bunny scampers across the grass, stopping every now and then to pick at the ground, in search of something only it knows. Your eyes scan the page in front of you and your find yourself feeling excited, the feeling rising in your chest as the protagonist makes a stand; a development you’ve been waiting for for over one hundred pages.

Bringing your mug to your lips, you take a sip of coffee, a smile slowly gracing your face as what you’ve been waiting on finally makes place. Just a little more…just…a…little…

Pop

You startle in your seat at the cold liquid that just popped in your face. Recoiling in disgust, your hand reaches up to drag a finger through the sticky goo. Bubble residue. That could only mean one thing.

“Felix!” You shout playfully, turning to see your boyfriend in a fit of giggles, holding a large bubble wand in his hand.

“Gotcha baby!” He exclaims, reaching over to brush some of the residue off of your face.

“You did but now I have to start this page over,” you whine. “Lola was just about to stand up to Victor!”

Felix eyes you with amusement, tickled that you’re so caught up in your book. He loves when you get like that, stuck in the pages of your story, letting your imagination soar.

“Well, get back to Lola and Victor, I’ll be here…all alone,” he replies with a pout.

You giggle at his hysterics, finding his pout and shining eyes adorable. His freckles are more prominent today, as his skin is sun kissed after spending the last few days outside with you. You narrow your eyes at him in which he stares at you in confusion in turn.

“Did you put sunscreen on?” You asked, wanting to make sure he did as he loves to forget that he has to protect his fragile skin from turning into a tomato.

“Of course baby!”

You chuckle and watch as he turns in his chair leaving you to your reading. Settling in, you begin to read, easily getting lost in the words that breeze by. The anticipation builds once more, slowly, creeping up like a predator stalking its prey until finally Lola tells Victor to….

Pop Pop

You snap your head around to glare at Felix. More sticky residue coats your cheek and one more bubble that survived still floats in front of your face. You reach a finger up and stab it through the multicolor blob, smirking when it gives a satisfying pop. Felix just stares at you with big eyes, his hands frozen in mid air as if he was about to let out another round.

“Felix!” You shriek and he lets out a yelp as he tries to hurriedly screw the cap back on the bubbles.

You quickly set your mug and book down and tackle the man, your hands tickling him wherever they land. You giggle as Felix lets out a loud laugh, his hands trying to stop you from attacking the bits of skin that are now showing. Before he can react, you trap his hands against his head and straddle his legs, smiling down at your boyfriend triumphantly.

“Gotcha,” you say with a smirk and you chuckle as you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly.

“I’m sorry baby,” he pleads, jutting out his bottom lip, but this won’t save him now.

“Na uh, pouting won’t do. I’ll forgive you for a kiss.”

Felix considers your offer, pretending to think long and hard about it. He smoothly laces his fingers with yours and stares into your eyes causing your breath to hitch. Your eyes roam his face, taking in each freckle that’s there, to his pouty, heart shaped lips. Your heart feels like it will explode as he continues to stare at you with such love in his eyes.

“Okay, kiss me,” he murmurs, finally making his decision.

You smirk before pressing your lips to his, sighing at the familiar plushiness that takes your breath away every time. You begin to pull away, but Felix unlaces his hand with yours and holds you close as he slots his lips with yours once more. It’s sloppy, yet precise, the kind of kiss that brings you to your knees and the thought causes you to let out a whimper.

Felix grins against your lips and gently nips at them before letting you go. “There, I’m forgiven.”

You merely nod your head, feeling dazed and flushed, the feeling you only get when you’re with your boyfriend. You shuffle to get off of him and make your way back to your seat. You lay back in silence, your focus distracted, so much so you don’t see that Felix is now standing in front of you.

He snaps his fingers in front of your face and you startle, shaken out of your reverie.

“Now that you’re done thinking about how great of a kisser I am, come blow bubbles with me,” he says, handing you a spare package.

Grabbing it, you get up and follow him aways from your seats. You can hear Felix pumping himself up, mumbling to himself about how he’s going to win. However, at the word, you let a mischievous grin grace your face and you jog to catch up to your lover.

“You’re on bubble boy,” you tease, snickering at the hysterics pouring out of his mouth as you run away.

Yes, you definitely love these mornings best of all.

divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @armystay89 @palindrome969 @ivydoesit23 @slut4hee @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @my-neurodivergent-world @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @katsukis1wife @hanniebaeee @hwanghyunjinismybae @channiesrightasscheek @skzdreamer13 @lezleeferguson-120 @hwangjoanna @hyunjincanraptoo

[rafesyangel]

Rafe comes home to reader crying from tummy pain:(

You didn’t even make it to the couch.

You were curled up on the floor, hands gripping your stomach so tightly your knuckles had gone pale, sobs catching in your throat as waves of sharp pain twisted through your abdomen. It felt like your body was trying to fold itself inside out. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. All you could do was cry

You didn’t even hear the door open. Didn’t hear the keys jingle or the heavy boots step in

“What the hell—”

A pause

“Baby?”

Rafe didn’t even get to take his shoes this sight alone making him panic

You didn’t have the energy to answer, Rafe immediately dropped to his knees so fast his phone clattered onto the hardwood. He was supposed to be the cold one. The sharp one. But his voice cracked when he saw your tear-stained face and how your lips trembled like a scared child’s

“Hey, hey. Look at me. You breathing?” His voice was filled with concern and anxiety

You nodded weakly, barely

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t yell. He just scooped you up with one strong arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your back, like you weighed nothing, like you were some fragile little thing he had to protect with his whole life. You clung to his hoodie, hiding your face in his chest as he carried you to bed like he was afraid you’d break in his arms

“Shhh, I got you now. You’re okay. You’re safe,” he whispered, over and over. Like he needed you to hear it. Like he needed to believe it too.

He laid you down gently and knelt by the bed, brushing your sweaty hair from your forehead with a hand that once held rifles, now trembling just to see you cry.

“Where does it hurt, baby?”

You just cried harder, unable to form words.

“Okay, okay.” He didn’t push. He ran to the bathroom, came back with pain meds, a warm towel, and a water bottle he’d microwaved to make a hot compress. He pressed it to your stomach with his big, calloused hands, and you whimpered.

“I know, I know,” he muttered, voice low and full of guilt. “I should’ve been here. You shouldn’t be alone like this.”

You were barely conscious, your body weak from crying and the pain. But you heard him

“Rafe…”

He leaned in, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re my girl—you don’t hurt alone, ever again. You hear me?”

You nodded, finally calming just a little under his touch.

He stayed like that all night. Stroking your hair. Wiping your tears. Whispering stories about when he was a kid and how he used to get stomachaches too, even though you knew he was lying just to make you feel less small.

“Go to sleep, kid ” he murmured, pulling the blanket up to your chin and kissing your temple. “You rest. Let me be the strong one tonight.”

And you did—safe, warm, and completely wrapped in the only arms that had ever made you feel like you were something precious