#but he is not standing and instead crouching down

[bpmiranda]

The Bodyguard III |l. howlett|

A/N: slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, bodyguard!logan x original character, 21 y/o f!reader, flirtationship, organized crime, mentions of death

The Bodyguard The Bodyguard II

There was a need for Mercedes’ skills again today and Logan had to seek her out at the clinic where she worked. It was a shabby minute clinic with a full waiting room and understaffed medical support. The nurses ran around frantically while the doctors sipped coffee at their discretion. “Looking for Mercedes.” He told the receptionist who nodded and immediately went to retrieve her from the back.

Her eyes widened when she rushed out and spotted him in the waiting room. “Logan?” He simply gave her a nod and cocked his head towards his car which she could see parked outside. “Mierda.” (Shit) She whispered underneath her breath as she quickly gathered her things.

It was incredibly awkward having to excuse herself early from work without being able to give her supervisor a legitimate reason, and she knew there would be consequences later on. “We gotta run.” Logan said, ushering her quickly into the passenger seat and hurrying behind the wheel.

“What’s going on?” She asked, her heart beating fast as Logan basically sped all through town to get her to one of the safe houses in the outskirts.

“One of Emilio’s guys got shot.” He told her, taking a particularly sharp turn which made her slide in the seat toward him and she stopped herself by grabbing onto the dash. “Put your seatbelt on.” Logan scolded, reaching around her and handing her the buckle which she clicked immediately.

When they arrived at the safe house, Mercedes was surprised to find one of Emilio’s cars there. “He’s here?” She asked in surprise as Logan opened her passenger door and led her inside without a reply. Her breathing was shaky as they weaved through the house and to the kitchen where she saw Emilio standing over his second in command, Gomez. Her brother looked over at her and he quickly grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her towards the table where the man was straining to breathe. “Por fin!” (Finally!) Emilio exclaimed urgently. “Take the bullet out.” He ordered and Mercedes carefully moved the bloodied shirt up enough to see the wound was on his right side, just below his ribs. “Que esperas?” (What are you waiting for?) Emilio demanded and she gave him an exasperated look.

“Emilio, look around,” She snapped. “I need more equipment. Better yet, he needs to go to a hospital.” Emilio shook his head. “Hermano, por favor.” (Brother, please.) She pleaded. “I need more than what I have in my bag. I need something to dig the bullet out with, it needs to be sterile, and I need him to be sedated because this is going to hurt like hell.”

Angrily, Emilio looked around at his men as they were watching the two of them and he threw his hands up in the air. “You heard her!” He yelled at them and they quickly scrambled to find the items she listed.

Mercedes turned to Logan anxiously and he quickly shook his head as he approached her to place his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t,” He told her, crouching down to be at eye level with her teary eyes. “Don’t cry right now. Cry after, okay?” Mercedes sniffed, but she nodded, blinking the tears away as she took in a deep breath. “Do you need anything from me?” He asked, one hand softly caressing her cheek. A gesture that did not go unnoticed by Emilio.

“Yeah,” She nodded as she motioned to Gomez who was coming in and out of consciousness. “I need to take his shirt off so I can clean the wound.”

Logan let his claws protrude and he carefully sliced Gomez’ shirt off, watching as she gently peeled it back as it stuck to his skin from all the blood. Her hands were shaky and he wondered if she would be able to get through this. More importantly, what would happen if she didn’t. Mercedes offered Gomez something to bite on and he wearily refused, instead asking for a shot of tequila from the one of the few bottles they had lying around. Logan brought it to him, lifted the man’s head to let him swallow the shot. “Gracias.” Gomez said hoarsely before he looked back at Mercedes who was shaking a bottle of disinfecting alcohol. “I trust you, doctora.” (doctor)

Gently, she poured the alcohol over his wound and her brows turned up anxiously as he groaned in pain. “Lo siento.” (I’m sorry.) She said as she lightly dabbed the blood away so she could better see the bullet entry hole. Emilio was watching from a few feet back the way the bodyguard was so attached to his sister and Logan noticed, forcing himself to give her some space as she continued cleaning the wound until her brother’s men returned with makeshift equipment that she could only hope would work for her needs.

It took almost two hours to extract the bullet. Mercedes had fallen quiet as she focused on not hurting Gomez, not digging too deeply, not pushing the bullet any further into the wound. Emilio and Logan were watching from across the kitchen. Emilio had an arm crossed and a fist pressed to his mouth as he kept an eye on the procedure. Logan was leaning against the empty fridge, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her desperately easing the man through this subpar procedure as he teetered the line of between consciousness and death.

Finally, the bullet was out, but Gomez didn’t make it.

Emilio called his men to take care the body before he reassured his sister that he wasn’t upset and he knew she did everything she could. “Logan, ven conmigo.” (Logan, come with me.) Emilio said as Mercedes silently washed off her hands at the kitchen sink. Logan made sure no one else was in the kitchen with her as he followed Emilio out into the living room. “Is there something going on between you and her?” He asked Logan who stared at the drug lord for a moment before shaking his head.

“No, there’s not.” Logan said.

Emilio clearly didn’t believe him. “You know what happens to the guys that want to mess around with Mercedes?” Logan says nothing. “They disappear. They go away. You know why?” Emilio shoves a finger into Logan’s chest. “Because she doesn’t need that shit and neither do you, entiendes?” (Understand?) Logan nods. “No distractions, Logan. You do not need no fucking distractions.”

“There’s nothing going on, Emilio.” Logan says again, not afraid for himself, but simply wanting to return to the kitchen and make sure Mercedes is okay.

“Take her home.” Emilio says after staring him down for a moment.

Logan returns to the kitchen where he finds her leaning over the sink, staring at her blood stained hands with a quivering bottom lip. “‘Cedes?” He asks as he places a hand softly on her back, her whole body is shaking. Mercedes looks up at him with teary eyes and she shakes her head.

“It’s not coming off, Logan.” She whimpers, her hands are trembling and he touches them, feels how cold they are before he tests the faucet. “I can’t wash his blood off.” She choked out, sobbing, and it made his heart ache for her.

“There’s no hot water.” Logan says, moving her away from the sink and grabbing her medical bag. “We gotta get you home. It’ll come off, sugar. I promise.” He said as he led her out of the safe house and to his car. Emilio caught his eye outside as he was discussing Gomez with another employee and they shared a curt nod while Logan opened the passenger door for his sister. Distinctly, he heard the man Emilio was with say something about ‘el lobo’, but he decided to worry about it later on. “It’s going to be alright, yeah?” He said, peering at her through the window after closing the door. Mercedes nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at her hands in her lap. With a sigh, he patted the car’s roof and walked around to the driver’s seat.

It was a long night. Logan could hear her sobbing in the bathroom over the shower that was running, his sensitive hearing picked up every sniffle, and he felt awful not being able to do or say anything. While he knew that Gomez was most likely going to die from the shot itself anyway, he also knew that wasn’t something that was going to make her feel better to hear. It was Emilio’s fault. Gomez should’ve been taken to a hospital like Mercedes said, but what could be done now? When he heard the shower shut off, he wondered what he could do for her right now. How could he possibly make her feel better after a man died in her care?

“Logan,” Mercedes found him in the living room where he was standing almost apprehensively as they locked eyes and she sniffed, reaching her hand out to him. “Can you come to bed with me?” She asked in a shaky voice. His heart softened at her request and he found himself nodding as he took her hand and let her guide him to her bedroom. Logan closed the bedroom door behind him as she crawled underneath her covers and he removed his boots and his jacket.

It didn’t feel odd or inappropriate, Logan was comforting a friend that had just witnessed what was perhaps her first death. One could argue this was within the lines of consolation. “You okay?” He asked as he laid down next to her, welcoming her into his arms as she laid her head on his chest.

“No.” She whispered, her voice was wavering and she inhaled his scent quietly, letting out a trembling breath as she closed her eyes. That comforting aroma of his cigars and his familiar cologne grounded her a little better and she found herself able to drift into sleep. But Logan couldn’t sleep with her this close to him. Emilio’s vague threats crossed his mind, but it didn’t really bother him. Nothing could upset him at this moment.

In the morning, Logan found himself still in her bed. His arm was wrapped around her, her back pressed into his chest, his nose buried in her hair. He should’ve gotten up, he should’ve removed himself from the situation, but when she began to stir awake, he wanted her to know he was still here with her. Her body turned in his hold, a hand came up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, and those deep brown irises looked like pools of honey as the sunlight caressed her face. God, she’s gorgeous, he thought to himself. “Hey,” Mercedes whispered, shyly covering her mouth with her fingers as she smiled at him. “You sleep okay?” Logan nodded.

“How about you?” He asked and he saw the reminder of last night dawn on her face. “It wasn’t your fault.” He told her, lightly caressing a strand of her hair out of her face. “You did everything you could, ‘Cedes.”

Her eyes closed and she nodded, a small tear fell from the corner of her eye and she sniffed before looking back at him. “Thanks for staying.” She said, her hand wrapped around his waist and he kissed her forehead as he lightly scratched the back of her head, stroking her soft hair.

“I had to,” He murmured, caressing her cheek softly. Her face grew warm and she tucked her face into his chest. Logan smiled to him as he held her close. “Your bed is uncomfortably small, but you know, it’s fine.” He teased making her giggle.

Her hand fiddled with the chain around his neck and her eyes held a different look in them as she looked back up at him that Logan had not yet seen from her - it was submissive. “You’re just big.” She said in a timid voice, her hand gently tugged on his chain and her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips. This was a drastic change from her usual forward personality. Logan caressed her back softly and he found himself leaning in until there was a knock on her apartment door. Mercedes let out a small sigh before she got up to answer the door and Logan expelled a deep breath as she left the bedroom. His hand rubbed over his face in frustration as he tried to collect his thoughts.

When Mercedes opened the door, her eyes widened at the sight of her sister in law standing in the hallway, a smile plastered on her face. “Buenos días!” (Good morning!) Clara grinned brightly as she let herself into the apartment, walking past a still surprised Mercedes who leaned back against the door to close it. Her eyes were glued on the bottle blonde as she walked slowly around the apartment, as if looking for something, or someone. “Are you just waking up?”

“Uh, yeah, I had a long night.” Mercedes answered, her eyes darting to her slightly ajar bedroom door where Logan was still lying on her bed. “What’re you doing here?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest as her mind spun to prepare a lie.

Clara turned to Mercedes with a small smile. “Emilio sent me to check on you. He wanted to come on his own, but you know he is just so busy.” Her nostrils suddenly flared as she inhaled deeply and she chuckled. “Does it usually smell like Logan in here?”

Her heart nearly dropped into her stomach. Emilio didn’t send Clara to check on her, he sent her to check on something else. “He’s my bodyguard, he’s here a lot.” She shrugged, her heart was beating fast as Clara gave her a small nod, a tiny smirk on her lips as she slowly backed into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Clara.” Her tone was almost warning and her brother’s wife laughed.

“Por favor, Mercedes, no soy una idiota.” She laughed lightly. (Please, Mercedes, I am not an idiot) “His car is parked outside. Why must you complicate things for yourself?”

“Nothing is happening, Clara.” She almost snarled at the older woman who rolled her eyes as she looked at her with disbelief. “Why is it your business? Emilio can’t take two seconds to call and ask me himself if I’m fucking my bodyguard? Why would it matter anyway? I’m an adult.” Her chest felt tight as she had to defend herself, as she had to stand here and have this conversation with possibly the last person she wanted to see in the world right now. The last thing she wanted was an interrogation about who is in her pants, a man had just died. Did no one but her care?

Clara only sighed and shook her head. “See, that is your problem right there,” She said as she took a few steps towards Mercedes whose eyebrows furrowed in anger. “You think everything is about you. Logan is more valuable than you or any of Emilio’s men combined. Emilio doesn’t give a damn who you bring into your bed, cariño,” (darling) Clara pointed to her bedroom door. “But it can’t be him.”

“Scared he won’t care all that much about the organization that keeps you all comfortable and blonde if I fuck him?” Mercedes asked with a smirk. “I’m flattered you think I have that effect on men.”

Clara was silent for a moment before saying, “Don’t think you have any type of upper hand here, cause we will do what we have to in order to keep Logan’s head where it needs to be, got it?”

Once Clara left, Mercedes let out a shaky breath and she held onto the edge of her counter as she heard Logan come out of her bedroom. Their eyes met and she gave him a small smile. “Thanks for letting me handle that.” She said as he stood in front of her, gently pulling her into a hug. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she nuzzled her face into his chest with a deep sigh.

“Would Emilio hurt you?” Logan asked.

For once, Mercedes wasn’t sure that she could confidently answer that question.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12 @shybluebirdninja @iamburdened

[anniebeemine]

sawyer and spencer- s.r. x fem!reader

spencer has no idea how to take care of your son, but he'll try

Spencer stood in the living room, watching as you gathered your things near the front door. He had heard you earlier, casually mentioning that you were heading out for a few hours, but it hadn't really sunk in until now. He glanced over at Sawyer, your son—his soon-to-be stepson—who was standing at the coffee table, gripping it with his small hands, a binky in his mouth.

The little boy wobbled slightly, teetering as he practiced his new standing skills, and Spencer's heart thudded in his chest. He adored Sawyer—he really did—but parenthood still felt like a foreign language he was struggling to understand. He wasn’t sure when to step in, when to let things go, or how much he should be doing. The boundaries between being your partner and Sawyer’s stepfather still felt blurry.

"Are you sure you're okay with Sawyer for a few hours?" you asked, turning to him with a questioning look as you slipped your shoes on.

Spencer straightened up, pushing aside his internal doubts and offering you a quick nod. "Yeah, of course. We’ll be fine," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

You gave him a warm smile, walking over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. I won’t be gone too long. Just a few errands."

Sawyer babbled something unintelligible, his binky bouncing slightly in his mouth as he looked up at Spencer with wide, curious eyes. Spencer stared back, feeling a mix of affection and panic swirl in his chest. This was the part of parenthood that scared him—the responsibility of being someone this small’s entire world for a few hours.

As you headed out the door, Spencer gave a little wave, still trying to keep the calm facade. Once the door clicked shut, he turned to face Sawyer, who had now plopped down on his bottom, his little legs splayed out in front of him. Spencer swallowed nervously.

"Alright, buddy," Spencer said, walking over and crouching down to Sawyer's level. "It’s just you and me. What do you want to do?"

Sawyer blinked up at him, the binky still firmly lodged in his mouth, then gave a little giggle as if Spencer had just told the funniest joke in the world. Spencer couldn’t help but smile back, his heart softening a little at the sound of Sawyer’s laughter.

“Okay,” Spencer muttered, running a hand through his hair. "How hard can this be?"

Sawyer suddenly reached up, his tiny fingers grabbing for Spencer’s sleeve, and pulled himself up to a wobbly stand again. He wiggled, still holding onto the coffee table for balance, his eyes focused intently on a toy car that was just out of reach.

Spencer watched, his instinct to help warring with the knowledge that you always encouraged Sawyer to figure things out on his own. He wasn’t sure when it was appropriate to step in, or if he should let Sawyer try it on his own.

After a moment, Spencer decided to sit back and watch, his hands hovering near Sawyer, ready to catch him if he fell. "You got this, Sawyer," he encouraged softly. "You can do it."

Sawyer glanced at Spencer, then back at the toy. With a determined little grunt, he let go of the table and took one wobbly step toward the car. Spencer held his breath, heart racing as Sawyer lifted one chubby foot, then the other. He swayed dangerously for a second, and Spencer’s hand instinctively shot out, hovering just behind his back—but Sawyer didn’t fall.

Instead, he reached the toy car and plopped down, triumphant, grabbing the car with a delighted squeal. Spencer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a mixture of relief and pride flooding through him.

“You did it!” Spencer smiled, his nerves easing slightly as he sat down next to Sawyer. "Good job, buddy."

Sawyer looked up at him with a grin, his binky hanging half out of his mouth, and Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle. For the first time that evening, he felt a small surge of confidence. Maybe he didn’t have this whole parenting thing completely figured out, but in this moment, it was okay. They were figuring it out together, one wobbly step at a time.

"Alright," Spencer said with a soft smile, picking up a second toy car and gently rolling it across the floor. "Let's see what else we can do before your mom gets back."

Sawyer clapped his hands, clearly excited, and Spencer felt the knot of anxiety in his chest start to loosen. Maybe he was still learning, but moments like this? They felt just right.

Spencer spent the next hour on the floor with Sawyer, rolling cars back and forth between them. The more time he spent with Sawyer, the more his nerves began to settle. He even started to enjoy himself, finding the little boy’s infectious giggles and curiosity charming. It was a stark contrast to the chaos Spencer usually faced at work, but this calm, domestic moment had its own challenges—and rewards.

As the afternoon wore on, Sawyer started to get restless, his attention shifting from his toys to the kitchen. Spencer recognized the signs—his soon-to-be stepson was getting hungry. He’d seen you go through the routine before, so he stood up, dusting off his pants, and carefully scooped Sawyer up into his arms.

“Alright, I think it’s snack time,” Spencer said, smiling down at Sawyer, who was already trying to squirm out of his arms to reach for the refrigerator door.

Spencer opened the fridge, glancing around for something he could prepare quickly. His eyes landed on a bowl of pre-cooked oatmeal you must have made earlier. He grabbed it, setting Sawyer down in his high chair and microwaving the oatmeal until it was warm.

When it was ready, Spencer stirred in a little bit of milk to cool it down and then pulled up a chair beside Sawyer. He grabbed two spoons—one for himself and one for Sawyer—then sat back with a sigh. This was another part of parenting that felt odd to him. He never would’ve imagined himself sharing a bowl of oatmeal with a toddler, but here he was.

Sawyer reached for the spoon, his little fingers curling around it awkwardly. Spencer helped guide the spoon to Sawyer’s mouth, then took a small bite himself, smiling at the surprised look on Sawyer’s face as he tasted the oatmeal.

“It’s not so bad, right?” Spencer asked with a chuckle, watching as Sawyer made a happy little sound and reached for more.

They ate together, Sawyer taking messy, enthusiastic bites while Spencer cleaned up any stray oatmeal that dribbled onto the high chair. It was a simple, quiet moment, but there was something soothing about it.

After a while, Sawyer started to slow down, his bites becoming more sluggish as he leaned back in his high chair. Spencer recognized the familiar signs of fatigue—his eyelids were drooping, and his movements were less coordinated.

“Are you getting tired, buddy?” Spencer asked softly, standing up to wipe Sawyer’s hands and face with a damp cloth.

Sawyer let out a small, whiny sound in response, rubbing his eyes with his chubby fists. Spencer carefully lifted him out of the high chair and held him against his chest, his heart softening as Sawyer instinctively nuzzled into him, his small body fitting perfectly in Spencer’s arms.

“There we go,” Spencer murmured, swaying gently as he carried Sawyer over to the couch. He sat down carefully, still holding Sawyer close as the little boy snuggled into him, his head resting against Spencer’s shoulder.

Sawyer let out a sleepy sigh, his hand clutching a fistful of Spencer’s shirt as his eyes fluttered closed. Spencer felt a rush of warmth as he looked down at him, the weight of Sawyer in his arms suddenly making the anxiety of the day fade away. He hadn’t overstepped. He’d taken care of Sawyer, and it had been okay—more than okay, actually.

Spencer continued to rock gently, resting his cheek against Sawyer’s soft hair. The little boy’s breathing became slow and steady, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the quiet, intimate moment they were sharing. For all his fears about parenthood and being unsure of when to step in, right now, with Sawyer asleep in his arms, everything felt right.

When you finally returned a couple of hours later, you found Spencer still sitting on the couch, cradling Sawyer in his arms. The sight made your heart swell with affection. Spencer looked up at you with a soft smile, his eyes full of warmth and pride.

"How did it go?" you asked quietly, not wanting to disturb Sawyer.

Spencer smiled down at the little boy, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "We had a pretty good afternoon. Shared some oatmeal, played with cars... and now, I guess it’s nap time."

You leaned down and kissed Spencer gently on the forehead, whispering, "Thank you."

Spencer met your gaze, his earlier doubts nowhere to be found. "I think we’re going to be just fine," he said softly, his arms wrapped protectively around Sawyer.

And in that moment, you knew he was right.

[eggyrocks]

GET BACK CHAPTER FOUR

step four: impress her

masterlist

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE

goatkuto (07:34:23): GAME DAY GAME DAY GAME DAY goatkuto (07:34:49): ARE YOU PUMPED? GET PUMPED goatkuto (07:35:14): LISTEN TO MISS THEE STALLION AND GET PUMPED

She doesn’t look at Bokuto once. The whole time she’s there, her eyes never leave Hinata.

Through the cheers of the crowd and the echo of the announcements, all she can focus on is him. He’s not the same as he was in high school. It’s different now, everything about him. There’s a precision and a confidence in his movements that didn’t exist before. Whether he’s crouching for a receive or soaring for a spike, everything is natural, like his body is meant to do this.

Brazil was good to him. She admits that, however reluctantly.

She’s grateful for his focus, for the seemingly immense distance between him on the court and her in the stands. She doesn’t want to explain herself to him, why she can’t, even for a second, look away from him as he plays. Why she can’t focus on anything but him. Why when Akaashi reaches down to take hold of her hand and squeeze it slightly, she can’t even feel it. It doesn’t even make sense to her.

And when the match ends, something catches in her throat. It feels nostalgic to watch Hinata throw his fist up in victory, a yell escaping his chest. At it’s that same bout of nostalgia that makes her feel like she needs to rush the court and leap into his arms, like she used to. To kiss every inch of his face and ignoring the sweat that makes his uniform cling to his skin. To push the strands of orange hair out of his forehead and squeal as his arms squeezed around her middle. To listen to him call her his good luck charm.

Instead, she squeezes Akaashi’s hand in return, choking down her tears for later, and acknowledges that it was a mistake to come.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

She tries to give Akaashi and Bokuto their space and their privacy, standing outside of the gym, awkwardly holding her jacket in her arms and turning her head to avoid seeing an embrace that’s not meant for her to see. But Akaashi’s her ride home, so she lingers.

“Hey.”

When she hears his voice, it’s not unexpected. She was preparing for this outcome, but still, her heart leaps when she looks up and sees Hinata there, gym bag thrown over his shoulder and ends of his hair still dripping from the shower. She swallows. She’s not sure if it’s the sadness or the nerves that account for the irregularity. “Hey,” she replies.

Hinata stares at her, but keeps his distance, leaving a healthy few feet between him. Like he’s afraid of getting his head bitten off if he gets too close. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Just waiting for Keiji,” she says, head gesturing back slightly to where Bokuto and Akaashi are, tucked around the corner in the back of the gym, away from prying eyes. “Ride home.”

“Oh, okay.”

Hinata doesn’t want to leave. She can see it in his posture, how he’s leaning in towards her without actually taking a step closer. For as much as he’s changed, grown into himself and matured and aged, he’s still the same. Bold and nervous at the same time. Awkward and forward. Honest about what he wants but embarrassed about it.

She throws him a bone. “You played good today.”

He takes it, perking up immediately. She can see it in his eyes. “Really? You think?”

She remembers this, from when they were dating. How hard it was to stay mad at him when they were fighting. He was always so well-intentioned, always desperately wanting to please her, impress her, earn her praise. Remembering hardens her resolve. “Yeah, you must’ve learned a lot in Brazil,” she comments. “Seems like it was worth it.”

She can see the implication hit him. Hinata’s face falls, and he breathes out her name in a way that makes goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. He takes a step forward, remembers himself, and then steps back again. “Please let me apologize for-“

“Can I ask you something?” she interjects, tilting her head slightly. Hinata nods his head. “Did you think I’d just be waiting for you this whole time? That my life would just stop until you got back?”

“I was waiting for you,” is his answer, earnest and immediate. She inhales sharply. “It never crossed my mind to do anything else. This whole time, you’ve been the only person I’ve ever…”

He trails off. Hinata’s unsaid words hang limply in the space between them. And she doesn’t know what else she was expecting from him.

Her name is called from behind her. She whips around to see Akaashi standing behind her, waiting expectantly. She doesn’t look back at Hinata as she turns on her heel to join him. Underneath the jacket in her arms, her hands are shaking. It was a mistake to talk to him, too.

extras!

yn has pushover tendencies

akaashi goes to every game he can and he always tries to bring someone along to cheer for bokuto with him

it was probably halfway through the match when he realized the error of his ways

but bokuto (hinata loyalist) asked him to bring her and akaashi (simp) couldn’t say no

this chapter is short but i just wanted to get it out while i had the motivation

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @guitarstringed-scars @ahdbodhr @nbcvs @garfieldissocool @shoyobub @iheartpinky @choerry-picking @mollyrolls @stoopidbruh @yogurtkags @yuminako @rockleeisbaeeee @Lisoozi @michivrse @19calicos @sawyersloanie @bailey-reeds @staileykout @kitskasoboring @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @enervante-cochon @loveelylacey @atsumuenthusiast @qualitygiantshoepsychic @alpha-mommy69 @acowboykisser @milesmoralesluvs @Himbo_joestar @kinsies-blog @3lectraheart @1lovestrawberrymilk @dailyakira @lvtilzs @miliondollagirl @strxwberri-s @kokoblep @muskratlove @honeyfewr @paulaaaa-b0 @keeboismine @miiyas @s1ckntw1st3d @s777athv @itsdragonius @t5ukishimakeis @primaverx

[xoxoavenger]

Poison Hearts

pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Apollo!Reader

summary: When Y/N's poisoned, she doesn't recognize Luke, which leads to a physical fight that hurts both of them.

word count: 2116

warnings: fighting (physical and verbal mentioned), angst with a happy ending :)

masterlist

Y/N was pretty sure she was dead.

She felt like it; extreme pain, delirium, exhaustion. It's how she imagined death, anyway. But it had more to do with poison coursing through her veins. She was put on a quest by her father, Apollo, to find some moonlace. She thought that the legend had told her it was only on Calypso's island for lost heroes, but she couldn't get there. The Oracle had told her that she wouldn't have to venture far, but it would be difficult to get back to camp. She wasn't sure what that meant until the monster she somehow attracted on her way back had flung a stinger into her unprotected shoulder. She thought it was fine until about twenty minutes ago, when she started to feel the effects of what had to be poison.

She wanted to throw up just looking at the hill, at how far away Thalia's tree was. She was hauling her bag, full of the moonlace she had found on the High Line in New York for some reason. It felt like a weight in her arm, and all she could think was Luke. She hoped that somehow, he would know she was there.

She trudged up the hill, praying to her father through whispers. She made all sorts of promises, but she knew he didn't care. She had gotten the moonlace for him, and if she died it wouldn't affect the moonlace. He'd still have it at the end of the day.

"Father, please. Apollo," She whispered, cresting the hill. She saw how far away the Big House was, and she knew she couldn't make it. "Thalia," She said as she came up to the tree, hand scraping against the bark.

She dug deep, trying to lift up the last of her strength. But she took one step and fell to the ground, rolling down the hill and into Camp Half-Blood. It hurt, she could feel the pain through her daze. And then she felt something else.

She stood, the poison feeling strong again in her veins. The world changed around her, and suddenly she was in New York City. She was fighting a monster, one she had never seen before. It lunged at her and she reached for her sword, but she didn't have it. It seemed to be missing. She knew she was going to die if she didn't fight, so she lunged.

She didn't even think about the fact that she had just been in Camp Half-Blood.

~

Luke heard a scream and ran, glad that he had been outside the Big House. He had been yelling at Chiron and Dionysis for sending Y/N on her quest without any help.

"It doesn't matter what the Oracle said! You know the ancient rule of three!" He had been saying when he heard it. A loud scream, one he knew. He ran without a second thought.

Y/N was standing at the base of the hill. She had sticks in her hair, dirt smudged on her cheek and her shirt. He remembered when she picked the shirt out, how excited she had been to go to the city. Now, it had mud streaked across it and a hole in the side.

He had begged her not to go when they found out she wouldn't be able to bring allies, when the Oracle had told her she must go on her own. She had gotten upset, told him that not everyone gets hit by a dragon on their quest, some people can watch their own six. It had hurt him, and though she tried to apologize she had to leave for her quest before he told her he forgave her. Watching her now, with the vacant look in her eyes and pale skin. She was starting to sweat, and he knew she was poisoned.

"Come on, we've gotta get you to the med cabin." He moved toward her, but she looked at him with fear. He stopped in his tracks, watching her crouch slightly and reach for her sword. She didn't pull it out, however, instead readying herself to fight. "Y/N," He said quietly, hand out and trying not to frighten her.

She lunged at him, catching him so off guard that she landed a hard punch on his cheek. She hit his scar, which while it was fully healed he still felt the pain across his whole cheek. He was so shocked he allowed her to kick his chest and bring him to the ground, knocking the air out of him. She landed on top of him, hand closing around his throat.

"Y/N!" He gasped, hands on her wrist. She was angry, but she was warm, sweating and shaking. She screamed, pressing harder, and Luke's vision swims. He knows he has to do something before he passes out, and he can hear Chiron approaching finally.

Luke bucks his hips, turning to flip her over. She keeps her grip, so he has to take her hands and put them over her head. She screams and writhes, and he uses all his strength to keep her in place.

"Get off me, you monster!" She screams, gasping for breath. He struggles, and she screams again. Even though he knows she can't even see him, he can't help the hurt from spiking inhis heart at her words.

"It's me! It's Luke!" He yells at her, not sure what to do. He won't fight her, but he doesn't exactly know how to get her away from the poison.

"She's been poisoned." Chiron says from behind Luke, who can't help himself when he says, "Yeah, no shit!" He knows it was wrong but all his energy was being used to keep Y/N from trying to kill him. Pain was still blooming on his left side, and his neck was hurting. He was starting to shake with exertion from Y/N fighting him, and he knew he couldn't keep her down for long. The poison was making her adrenaline surge and she was going to outlast him.

"What do we do?" Luke asked, but Y/N's arms were getting slippery with sweat. She got one arm free and backhanded him, her only piece of jewelry which happened to be a ring catching his right cheek and catching him off guard. He sucked in a sharp breath at the pain that blossomed across his cheekbone, but he didn't have time to think about that because Y/N was clawing at him. She scratched his throat, but he caught her arm in time for her to only make a couple red marks that would be fine before this was even over.

"She needs to be sedated so we can treat her!" Chiron tells her, and Luke watches Y/N as she screams at him once more.

"How?" Luke asks, but he realizes what he has to do. He feels bad, but he has to. "I'm sorry." He whispers as he shifts to restrain Y/N with one hand, making him have to put all his weight on that hand to keep her in place. She wiggles and almost gets free, so he has to tighten his legs around her torso. She lets out a scream of frustration until he puts a hand around her throat. He squeezes her sides, hoping it won't leave bruising. She wiggles even worse, crying out, and a hand gets free. She scratches his left hand around her neck, this time drawing blood. He can tell his cheek is bleeding now, can feel the blood drip down to his chin. His hand hurts, but he can't pull away, can't give into it. He has to look away, because he can't handle the look in her eyes as she gasps for breath. She reaches out to grab his face, but this time it's soft. She's brushing a tear he didn't know had fallen from his eyes. When he looked at her, as her eyes hooded and began to fall, he thought maybe she could actually see him. He let go, but she was already closing her eyes, tired from fighting.

Luke was on his knees above Y/N, making sure not to put any weight on her anymore. He surveyed her, breathing hard. She had a light red mark around her neck, but Luke had made sure to be gentle with that to avoid bruising. Her wrists however had bruises on them, and her skin was a sickly color that scared him. She was shivering, her skin damp with sweat. Her shoulder had blood on it, and there were drops of blood on her nice shirt. When another one fell on her shirt, he realized it was from his own face. He reached up, feeling the cut made from her ring. His throat was sore, and his scar was burning. Another drop of something darkened her shirt, and for a moment Luke was angry, because he thought he had wiped all the blood away. He realized after a moment that it was his tears. He was crying.

"Luke," Chiron started, coming closer.

"I didn't want to." Luke said, staring at Y/N. He was shaking.

"I know." Chiron told him. "Get her on my back and we'll go to the clinic." Luke wanted to scream, but he knew Chiron was right so he grabbed her limp body and together with Chiron she was hauled up.

~

Y/N woke up in the clinic, which was strange. She spent so much time here that she recognized it immediately, but she'd never been laying on the bed.

"Thank the gods," Someone said to the side of her. She turned, probably too quickly, and felt dizziness rush behind her eyes as she sits up. "Luke was ready to go find whatever poisoned you and kill it. He was here until we kicked him out, and even now he's arguing with Chiron and Mr. D." One of her siblings was speaking way too fast for her, and she just shook her head slightly as to not disorient herself worse.

"What happened?" She remembered going the quest and trying to get back, but her head was hurting a little bit and everything was foggy.

"You were poisoned when you went on the quest. You came back, and you didn't know where you were. You thought Luke was a monster, so you started fighting him." Daphne is telling her, and Y/N's brows furrow as she realizes what this means.

"Did I hurt him?" She asks, guilt creeping up. Daphne frowns, grabbing Y/N's hand.

"Yes, but he's fine, don't worry. He refused treatment, but it wasn't that bad. I'm more worried about his mental state, since he had to choke you to get you to stop." Y/N's eyes widen as her free hand goes to her neck. She feels fine, because her siblings are great healers, but that couldn't have been good for Luke's mental health.

"Could you please go get him for me? I think we can put Chiron and Mr. D out of their misery." Y/N forces a smile, and Daphne nods before squeezing her hand and leaving. It's only a couple minutes that Y/N's alone before Luke shows up. She wants to throw up when she sees the bruise on his cheek, right over his scar. There's a mark where she knows her ring must've caught his face, and a faint mark around his neck.

"Y/N," He breathes, and she wants to cry. She hurt him.

"I'm so sorry." She whispers, and Luke shakes his head as he comes to her and wraps her in his arms.

"It's not your fault. You were poisoned. You didn't even know it was me." He tells her, thumb rubbing her back.

"For what I said before, about your quest." Her voice is quiet, but he still hears it. 

"That doesn't matter, okay? I was worried, scared, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I pushed you to that point." She appreciates that he's owning up to his faults, but she just can't let her own mistakes go yet.

"I hit your scar." She pulls back and gently cups his face, and he just sighs.

"I had to choke you to get you to stop." He can't look at her, so she uses the hand on his face to angle his gaze.

"I think we can both forgive ourselves, yeah?" She says, even though she feels guilty. She doesn't remember the fight, but she doesn't want to. She wants to forget all about this horrible experience.

"Only if you do it first." He says, pressing their foreheads against each other as he slides closer, now in between her legs.

"Deal." She lifts her lips for a kiss, and Luke would never turn one down.  

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler

[thirtysomethingloser92]

If you don't take requests that's so fine please ignore me but if you do can I request a plus size reader/ Gambit. I'm just feeling a little insecure today and i feel like he would be a thick person enjoyer. Thank you, you're my inspiration

My Darling I'm so sorry you're feeling like that today. I hope this cheers you up.

You stared at your reflection, frowning as you tugged at the hem of your shirt for the hundredth time. No matter how much you adjusted it, it still didn’t sit the way you wanted. The fabric clung to your stomach, revealing every curve and bump you didn’t want to see. Your jeans, which had once been your favorite pair, now felt too tight, pinching at your waist and making you feel like you were bursting out of them.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked the shirt off entirely and tossed it onto the pile of rejected clothes on your bed. The mirror reflected your bare skin now, and you couldn’t help but notice the way your stomach rounded, the way your thighs touched, the fullness of your hips. All of it felt too much. Too much body, too much space, too much of everything.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if you could shrink away from your own reflection. It was one of those days where nothing felt right. The clothes that usually made you feel confident and comfortable now felt like costumes, ill-fitting and awkward. The little voice in the back of your mind, the one that whispered cruel things about your body, was louder than ever today.

"Why did I even agree to go out?" you thought, staring at the mess of clothes around you. Remy had asked you out earlier that day, suggesting a casual dinner in the city—just the two of you. He had looked so excited, flashing you that irresistible grin of his, and you had agreed without hesitation. But now, standing here in front of the mirror, you felt like it had been a mistake. You didn’t feel like yourself. You didn’t feel worthy.

Another sigh escaped your lips as you sat down heavily on the bed, burying your face in your hands. You loved being with Remy—he was charming, kind, and always made you laugh. But sometimes, it was hard to quiet the voice that told you he could do better. That he deserved someone who looked like the women he’d been with before—slender, toned, effortlessly beautiful.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts.

"Chère, y' ready?" Remy’s voice was warm, but there was a hint of curiosity in it. "We gon' be late if y' don’t hurry."

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t want him to see you like this—not when you felt so exposed, so vulnerable. A part of you considered pretending to be sick, making up some excuse not to go. But you knew that wouldn’t fool him. Remy was too perceptive for that.

"I… I don’t think I’m going to go," you called out, your voice shaky despite your best efforts to sound casual. You hoped he’d drop it, that he’d understand without asking too many questions, "Maybe we can just do something here?"

There was a long pause, and for a moment you thought he might have walked away. But then the door creaked open, and Remy stepped inside. He shut the door behind him quietly, his eyes immediately scanning the room before settling on you. His brow furrowed slightly in concern.

"Now, what y' talkin' 'bout, chère?" he asked, his voice soft but firm. "Why y' don’t wanna go?"

You avoided his gaze, staring at the floor instead. "I’m just… not feeling up to it, that’s all."

Remy wasn’t a man easily fooled, and you could tell by the way he crossed the room to stand in front of you that he wasn’t buying your excuse. His eyes flickered to the pile of clothes on the bed, and then to the way you sat hunched over, arms crossed protectively over your body.

"Somethin's botherin' ya," he said quietly, crouching down so that he was on eye level with you. His red-on-black eyes, always so intense yet gentle, searched your face. "Talk t' me."

You swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill over. You didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t want him to know how insecure you were feeling, how much you hated what you saw in the mirror today. But the weight of it all was too much to carry alone.

It had been building for a while, this gnawing pit of self-doubt that seemed to grow larger whenever you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You couldn’t remember exactly when it started—maybe it had been creeping in for years, little comments here and there, comparisons to other women who seemed to glide through life effortlessly, their bodies molded to perfection. Or maybe it was something deeper, an old voice that had always lingered in the back of your mind, whispering that you weren’t enough.

And today, that voice was louder than ever.

Your chest felt tight, your throat constricting as you tried to hold it together. The last thing you wanted was for Remy to see this side of you—the side that felt small, fragile, and vulnerable. He was always so confident, so sure of himself, and you didn’t want to burden him with your insecurities. You didn’t want to be the one who cracked under the pressure of something as trivial as your reflection in the mirror.

But gods, it didn’t feel trivial. Not today.

Every time you looked at yourself, all you could see were the things you wished you could change. The way your clothes hugged your body a little too tightly, the way your stomach wasn’t flat, the way your thighs touched. It was as if every part of you was magnified, exaggerated, and you couldn’t escape it. You had tried—tried to brush it off, tried to focus on the things that you liked about yourself. But those thoughts were drowned out by the louder ones, the ones that told you that you weren’t enough. That no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you would never quite measure up.

And the worst part? Standing in front of Remy, with his eyes on you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he must see it too. He had to. How could he not? He was gorgeous—dangerously handsome—with that smirk that could weaken knees, and a body that looked like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. He had been with women who were stunning, women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers, and here you were, feeling like you didn’t even belong in the same room.

The thought made your chest ache, the tears stinging behind your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You didn’t want to break down and tell him how ugly you felt, how unworthy you felt. The shame of it was too heavy, too raw. But it was getting harder to hold it in, harder to pretend that everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

For a moment, there was silence between you. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes fixed on the floor as if it could somehow swallow you up and save you from having to confront the truth. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, though—steady, patient, waiting. Remy wasn’t the type to push if you weren’t ready to talk, but you knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t let this go. Not when he could see how much it was hurting you.

And that was the thing—Remy always saw you. He saw you in ways that you sometimes wished he didn’t. He saw past the walls you tried to put up, past the bravado you sometimes used to hide your insecurities. He was always watching, always noticing the little things, the things you thought you were hiding so well. And that scared you, because it meant you couldn’t pretend with him. Not for long.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy in the air, and you felt the dam starting to crack. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to admit how deeply the insecurities had burrowed into your heart, how much they weighed you down. But the burden of carrying it alone was suffocating, and Remy was standing there, waiting, offering you a lifeline without even saying a word.

"I…" Your voice broke, and you hated how small it sounded, how fragile. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the tears were dangerously close now, and you knew there was no holding them back. "I don’t feel good, Remy. With me."

It was such a simple sentence, but it felt like you had just ripped open your chest and laid bare everything you had been trying to hide. You could feel the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes now, and you quickly turned your face away, not wanting him to see. You hated how emotional you were getting over this, hated that you couldn’t just shake it off like you thought you should.

But you couldn’t. Not today.

You felt Remys hands on your thighs, his thumbs drawing small circles on the skin, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a protective shield. He didn’t say anything at first, and for a moment, you wondered if he even understood. Maybe he didn’t get it. Maybe he couldn’t. How could someone like him—so effortlessly confident, so sure of himself—understand what it felt like to look in the mirror and hate what you saw?

But then you felt his hand, warm and gentle, on your arm. His touch was so soft, so cautious, as if he knew exactly how fragile you were in that moment. He didn’t try to pull you into a hug or force you to look at him. He just crouched there, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin, grounding you with his presence.

"Chère," he said softly, his voice like a soothing balm. "I’m right here."

And that was all it took. The dam broke, and the tears spilled over, silent but heavy as they slid down your cheeks. You felt your shoulders shake with the effort of holding it all in, but it was too much. The weight of your insecurities, the fear of not being enough, the shame of feeling this way—it all came crashing down at once.

Remy didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just stayed close, his hand never leaving your arm, his presence a steady, unwavering comfort. He didn’t try to fix it or offer empty reassurances. He just let you be, let you feel what you needed to feel, and somehow, that made all the difference.

After a few moments, when the tears had slowed but the ache still lingered in your chest, you finally found your voice again, though it was shaky and weak.

"I just… I look in the mirror, and I don’t like what I see," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I don’t… I don’t feel like I’m enough."

Saying it out loud felt like admitting a terrible secret, something you had been holding onto for too long. But the moment the words left your lips, a strange sense of relief washed over you. It was out now. The truth was out, and you couldn’t take it back.

You half-expected Remy to brush it off, to tell you that you were being ridiculous, that you were beautiful and didn’t need to feel this way. But instead, he was quiet for a moment, his hand still resting gently on your arm. Then, he stepped in front of you, his gaze soft and unwavering as he looked into your tear-filled eyes.

His brow furrowed even more, and he reached out to gently take your hands in his, uncrossing your arms. His touch was warm and reassuring. "What y' mean by dat, chère?"

You hesitated, biting your lip. The words felt heavy in your mouth, but you forced them out anyway. "I don’t look like the other women you’ve been with. I’m… bigger. And today, I just… I don’t feel good about it. I don’t feel good about me."

There. You said it. The ugly truth that had been gnawing at you all day. You braced yourself for his reaction, for him to say something dismissive or to tell you that you were overthinking it. But instead, Remy’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, and he pulled you gently to your feet.

"Come here, chère," he murmured, his voice soft as he wrapped his arms around you. He held you close, his chin resting on top of your head as he stroked your back soothingly. "I been waitin' t' say this for a while, but y’ve never given me the chance."

You blinked, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. "What do you mean?"

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down into your eyes. His expression was serious, more serious than you were used to seeing on his face. "I don’t care 'bout that. I don’t care 'bout what other people think. Y' beautiful, cherie, jus' the way y' are. And I need y' to believe that."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that he didn’t understand, that it wasn’t that simple. But he silenced you by placing a finger against your lips, his eyes soft but unwavering.

"I know y' don’t always see it, but I do," he continued, his voice low and sincere. "Y' think I’m wit' y' because I want someone who looks like everybody else? Non, chère. I’m wit' y' because y' one of a kind. Ain’t nobody else like y', and that’s what I love 'bout y'."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they weren’t from sadness. They were from the overwhelming warmth of his words, from the realization that he truly, deeply meant what he was saying. You had always known Remy was kind and compassionate, but hearing him say these things to you, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, made your heart ache in the best way.

"But I don’t always feel beautiful," you admitted, your voice shaky. "I don’t always feel like I’m enough."

Remy’s expression softened even more, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that had fallen. "Then let me remind y', every day if I have to. I’ll tell y' a thousand times if that’s what it takes. Because y' are enough. Always have been, always will be."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, soothing the raw edges of your insecurities. It wasn’t as simple as snapping your fingers and feeling better, but with Remy’s arms around you, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"You’re too good to me," you whispered, resting your forehead against his chest.

"No, chère," he murmured against your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I’m jus' tellin' y' the truth."

For a moment, you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside your room fading away. Remy’s presence was so grounding, so steady, that you felt the storm inside you begin to calm. The insecurities were still there, lingering in the background, but they didn’t feel as loud anymore. Not with him here, reminding you that you were more than enough.

After a while, Remy pulled back just enough to look down at you again, his signature roguish grin returning to his face. "Now, how 'bout we go out, eh? I promise y' gon' have a good time. An' if not, we can come right back home, no questions asked."

You managed a small smile, the warmth of his words still lingering in your chest. "Okay," you said quietly. "Let’s go."

Remy’s grin widened, victorious but gentle. "That’s my girl." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before stepping back and grabbing his coat from the chair. "An' for the record, chère, y' look damn good."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at your lips. "You’re unbelievable."

"Maybe," he winked, shrugging on his coat with a flourish.

As you followed him out the door, hand in hand, you couldn’t shake the warmth that spread through your chest. The insecurities were still there, lingering at the edges of your mind, but they didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore. Not with Remy by your side, reminding you that you didn’t have to be anyone else. You were enough, just as you were—and that was more than enough for him.

[sugarcarnation]

love love love how similar these two panels are. makes me insane

[quietwingsinthesky]

in the amelia pond au, amelia’s aunt does still send her to therapy between doctor adventures, but since amelia is now secure in the fact that he’s Definitely Real since both rory and mels have also met him and because she lost a tooth last week from tripping on the stairs of the tardis, she doesn’t bite any therapists this time around. and besides, her therapist is a very funny lady. she reminds amelia of her doctor, with how her voice will flip and jump in volume and accent and tone on a whim, with how she’ll talk to amelia like they’re conspiring together. she keeps the pictures amelia draws of the doctor and their adventures for her, even hangs one or two on the walls. she listens very intently to every detail, which no adults in amelia’s life do save the doctor himself and river song, whenever she’s around. and best of all, whenever she tells amelia’s aunt that amelia is doing just fine, don’t you worry, she’ll grow out of this, she winks at amelia so that amelia will know her therapist is only playing along to wave away her aunt’s suspicion.

it is a little odd, though, that she insists on only being called Missy. but amelia is quite used to odd by now.

[luna0713hunter]

Walking to your apartment,you don't expect to see Sukuna down on his knees,with a baby Yuji sitting on his back.

The man gives you a flat look,as Yuji tugs at his identical pink hair,and babbles something.

"don't even dare-"

You burst out laughing.

In your defense,its not often to see your boyfriend,CEO of his own company,one of the scariest man alive, crawling on his hands and knees to please his nephew. Its not often to see Yuji happily tug at his hair more,only to make Sukuna crawl towards you.

"oh my god-"

"i said dont-"

"he has you wrapped around his tiny finger!"

You giggle and wipe the tear from your eye; already feeling the exhaustion of the day long at work fading away. You sigh,and crouch down to Yuji's eye level on your boyfriend's back,and pinch his chubby cheek.

"look at you go! making scary uncle Ryo kneel for you!"

Yuji giggles happily and wraps his tiny fingers around yours. The sight makes your heart soften and you lean to press a gentle kiss to his chubby cheek over your boyfriend's head. When you hear him grumble under his breath,you chuckle and kiss Sukuna's forehead as well. He glares at you,and it makes you press another loud kiss to his cheek.

"stop that, woman!"

"or what?" You tease and brush his bangs from his eyes, "you're gonna make me sit on your back too?"

"oh baby," a sudden dangerous glint takes over his red eyes,and you feel yourself growing hot under his hungry gaze, "i can think of more entertaining ways to punish you, we both know that."

You huff,and try to ignore your burning cheeks.

"not in front of Yuji. Behave, Ryo." You stand up from you position,and move toward kitchen, "did you guys eat anything?"

"i could eat you, instead-"

"Ryo!"

And even though he doesnt understand a word,Yuji lets out a loud laughter over your banter. You just have to pray to all the gods above so he doesn't pick up anything from his uncle as his first word.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. toji witnesses his son’s first steps and it nearly makes the grown man cry.

wc. 1k

tags. dad!toji x female reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘mama.’ life if gege just gave us what we wanted. ending is a bit rushed if you couldn't tell.

“gumi, look here,” you coo at your child who’s sitting in his playpen. you’re laying against some stuffed animals, too tired to move after doing all kinds of chores. the baby looks up at you with curious eyes and you take your chance to make a silly face.

megumi giggles and responds by throwing a small toy your way. it accidentally hits your head, though luckily it isn’t anything too heavy.

toji, who laid lazily on the opposite side of the playpen, watches the scene unfold. he grins once he sees you rub the spot on your forehead, “oi, megumi, careful with y’r mama.”

you chuckle, dropping your dramatic act. you ruffle megumi’s hair a bit before standing up. a yawn escapes your lips and you stretch your arms above your head—clearly in need of a break.

“i’m gonna take a quick nap, honey,” your eyes meet toji’s. your husband nods and sits up with a groan. he’s also sleepy, but he knows that you did most of the work today. he’ll gladly watch over megumi while you rest and regain your energy.

megumi starts to fuss the moment you step out of the playpen. his tiny hands reach out to you—the little boy clearly too attached to his mother. toji shakes his head and effortlessly picks his son up and puts him on his lap, “naw, y’re stuck with me buddy. mama’s gotta rest.”

megumi squirms around and whimpers. he’s clearly not interested in his dad at the moment. toji sighs and tries his best to keep the baby still, but to no avail.

“mama! mama!” the baby’s cries for you breaks your heart. you stop a a couple steps away and turn around with a pout. you notice how megumi is kicking his legs, thrashing around in toji’s arms in attempt to free himself.

you sigh and crouch down, “gumi, mama’s sleepy. . papa’s gonna play with you, okay?”

megumi, of course, does not understand what you mean. he thinks you’re leaving him alone and it causes him to wail loudly. you’re about to console your son, but backtrack when you notice how megumi’s starting to stand up on his own.

his chubby legs are barely holding his body weight up. the balance is hard to find for the baby, yet he still does his utmost best. he nearly trips from just standing.

even toji looks on with wide eyes and a hint of a prideful grin on his lips. he’s silently encouraging his son in his head.

“ma..ma,” megumi babbles. he almost topples over, but toji’s quick reflexes come in handy. a big hand keeps the baby standing straight. the dark-haired man carefully lets go again, however keeps his hand near his son’s body. just in case.

neither toji nor you could believe what was happening. you both watch in awe as megumi’s left foot moves forward—the right one copying that same movement.

your precious boy, taking his first steps right in front of you both to witness. it’s a heartwarming sight. you hold your breath and toji’s lips part slightly. your husband has yet to grasp why this scene in front of him makes him feel so. . . giddy on the inside.

“c’mon! come to mama!” you squeal excitedly and open your arms, encouraging megumi to your best ability. the tiny boy giggles and moves his limbs as fast as they could go. his chubby hands flail around as he quickly walks over to you.

toji stares at his family and that’s when it hits him; how much he loves this peaceful life. his son just achieved another great milestone that he had the honour of witnessing firsthand. it made him happy that he chose this path instead of the more ‘darker’ one.

it also nearly causes your husband to shed some tears from pure joy. but, toji didn’t want to seem too ‘soft’. even if he secretly is for his wife and child.

toji coughs subtly. totally not to get rid of the irritating lump in his throat. a ghost of a smile appears on his face while he got up, immediately moving towards megumi and you.

“good job, kiddo,” toji says as he puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. he stares down at megumi in your arms—the little boy getting drowned in kisses and compliments.

your ears twitch. there’s no denying it; the faint crack in toji’s voice. you give your kid a break from your overwhelming affection and tilt your head back. your eyes meet your husband’s.

you grin when you see how he quickly avoids your gaze. something he never does unless he’s. . . “gonna cry?”

toji rolls his eyes at your question. he ignores your teasing by trying to change the subject. he focuses on megumi who’s still going absolutely wild in your embrace—cutely demanding more praise and kisses.

“daddy can also give ya some kisses, y’know,” toji pokes megumi’s cheek, fascinated by the plush fat. the baby stops babbling the moment his dad talks to him. he looks up at toji and then back at the finger still prodding at his cheek.

megumi opens his mouth and doesn’t waste a single second. he goes for a playful bite, though his little baby teeth do no real damage, “yumm.”

you giggle at the way megumi frowns at toji, his teeth holding tightly onto toji’s fingertip. it’s time for your husband to take over the dramatics now.

“hey, that ain’t so nice now,” toji hisses and leans forward until his face is right in front of megumi—a similar frown on both the dad and son’s faces. they really do look alike now that you see them both from up close again.

megumi only bites down more on the finger in his mouth and toji reacts to that by feigning his anger. it’s amusing to see how neither of them gives up first.

but, it’s also rather cute to see how the father-son dynamic plays out in cozy family moments like these.

your eyes focus back on toji’s face and you can’t help but smile to yourself. he’s a good husband and father; always there for the both of you. his own way of showing support for megumi’s first steps is rather heartwarming. plus, the playful banter between the two never fails to make any moment all the more precious.

[bookishdreamer28]

Height difference

Idk Mattheos actual height but let's imagine he's really tall here ✨ I hope you'll like it 👐

Mattheo is obsessed with the way his body is towering over yours. He has found himself thinking of how you'd perfectly fit in his arms many times and he can't help but feel his whole body getting hot at the very thought. From the very first moment Theodore introduced you to their group, he was instantly besotted. He was entirely mesmerized by you.

Every time you wanted to grab something that was out of your reach, he was standing closely behind you just to help you, but in reality all he wanted was to feel your small frame against his. And when you look up at him all puppy-eyed, with those eyes, he knew he was down bad already. And he knew he had fallen deeply for you.

He loved teasing you cause your reactions to his teasing were absolutely worthwhile. Seeing your flustered face was something he adored.

-

"How you're doing shorty?" He said in his baritone voice and it took everything in you not to punch the smugness off of his face.

"Stop calling me shorty" you tried look mad and scary with your angry expression but Mattheo wanted to just grab your face and kiss the shit out of you.

"Ok then how about...pixie-"

"NO!" You exclaimed and walked away from him, not being able to stay any longer around his presence but one thing you didn't notice, was Mattheo laughing quietly behind you because he found your walk absolutely adorable.

-

When he gets to hug you, that's when he feels like his heart will burst out. It's the way you snuggle your head in his chest, the way your arms are wrapped around his waist, and the warmth that instantly engulfing him when he feels your heart beating against him. Everything about this feeling is perfect. You just fitted perfectly.

-

His most fave thing about your height difference, is when you tip toe every time you want to kiss him. He's just standing there, the corner of his lips curving upwards displaying a cheeky smile on his face as he watches you struggling while you're trying to give him a kiss.

"You know you can lean down a bit right? I can't do all the work here" you frowned as you looked up at him. He pinched you cheek softly and traced his thumb in soft circles there.

"Yeah but you have no idea how adorable you l- ouch!" You slapped his hand.

"Now, don't make me bend your head down here by force"

"I would gladly let you love" he chuckled and you smirked as you placed your forehead on your palm, sighing.

"Enough with the teasing Riddle, now kiss me" you looked up again, waiting for his lips to finally crush on yours. He felt his heart pounding like crazy against his chest.

He laughed and instead of leaning his head down, he crouched down and scooped you up into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist and he placed one hand under your thigh and the other around your waist. Kissing you was earth-shattering. The fieeling of your soft lips locking with his, was something he has been craving for so long.

Once you pulled away, you expected him to put you down but he still held you tight against him.

"Will you put me down now?" You tried to fight back a smile as you felt his hold becoming a bit tighter, his locked on you the whole time.

"Nope, I love having you like this love" he murmured against your lips and you giggled as you once again captured your lips together in a kiss which caused your eyes to flutter close and enjoy the feeling.

Thank you for reading!!

[sugume]

SNAPING AT THEIR KIDS — Jujutsu Kaisen

( CW ) f!reader, children, tantrums, lots of tears  

FEATURING: Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Choso Kamo 

Authors note: the way Choso’s son refuses to eat dinner when you all sit down, he just huffs and puffs and you eventually have to give in and buy him Taco Bell, so he doesn’t go to sleep on an empty stomach. And Gojo’s son knew what he was doing when he hit him hehe. 

☾GOJO SATORU 

“Daddy, I wanna go to the park.” His twins yell for what feels like the thousandth time today. Satoru whines, throwing his arm over his eyes when one of the twins points flashlights in his face. “I said no, Daddy doesn’t feel well today—we can play in your room, how about we build a fort?” Satoru answers again—just like he did the last time and the time before and the time before that. “No Daddy! Wanna go to ‘park!” His girl screams before his son hits him square in the dick with the flashlight. He jumps up, howling in pain. “I said not today!” He snaps and instantly regrets it when he hears the venom in his voice. How holds his throbbing dick before looking up and his babies. They both stare at him with frowns. His little girl looks about ready to start sobbing and his son looks like he wants to hit him with the flashlight again. “Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell,” He apologizes, flinching back when little tears slip out their eyes. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry, don’t cry. How ‘bout we go to the park okay? Daddy didn’t mean to yell, oh don’t cry, baby.” He whispers, reaching out with big hands to grab them and pull them into his lap. “Park?” “Yep, park.” They look at each other before breaking out in a scream. 

☾GETO SUGURU 

“Daddy?” His daughter pulls the end of his long hair. “I'm busy, baby.” He answers as he scrolls through his emails on his work computer. “Wanna see.” She whines, trying to climb onto her father’s lap. She just slides off, unable to pull her body weight up with small arms. “In a little bit, go play with Mommy baby,” he says, trying to convince his daughter who just huffs and holds her arms up to him. “I wanna work too!” She whines and Suguru grumbles before lifting her onto his lap. He sets her in the nook of her arm. She snuggles into Suguru's content for a few minutes. “My turn Daddy.” She stands up on his lap and reaches over to touch the computer. She fails, instead pushing the cup of water he had been slipping on. The cup tilts over and pours all over Suguru’s computer. “Dammit D/n!” He growls out and though he doesn't yell his deep voice is enough to cause his daughter to jump in fear. “Sorry, ’m sorry.” She cries, trying to crawl out of her father's lap. “Shit--It’s alright baby. Hey, it’s okay sweet girl.” “I didn’t mean to.” “I know. Let’s clean up our mess, okay?” He kisses his daughter's forehead and carries her to grab a towel. 

☾CHOSO KAMO 

“I don’t want your ugly food.” His son screams at him. “Well, you aren’t getting Fast food.” He mutters. “I want Taco Bell!” He screams, but Choso just ignores him and continues to stir the food. “I said I want Taco Bell!” He throws himself on the floor, kicking and rolling around Choso’s legs. Choso tries to ignore the temper tantrum his son is throwing but after several minutes it starts to get unbearable. Anything he says just goes in one ear and out the other. “No Fast food!” He eventually snaps. S/n immediately stops rolling on the floor when he hears his father yell. Choso turns the stove on low before walking over and crouching in front of his son. “Daddy doesn’t wanna yell baby, but you gotta understand that you can’t get Fast food every day. It’s not healthy for you alright?” He explains to his son. His son just glares up at him. Choso smiles back which prompts the little boy to grumble how stupid and ugly his father looks. When they eventually come to an understanding, he picks him up and lets him help him cook.  

☾NANAMI KENTO 

Nanami’s loud voice echoes through the living room, and you race to the living room in worry. Once you turn the corner you see your daughter looking at him with wide tear-filled eyes. She’s never seen this side of her dad; you can’t think of one time her dad raised his voice at her. “Kento? What’s going on?” You glare at him as your daughter comes running into you. You hold her little body to you. Kento stands there with a shocked expression on his face. He didn’t mean to snap at his little girl, he just had a bad day at the office and brought that attitude home. “Daddy’s mean.” Your daughter cries out, wrapping her small arms tighter around your legs. “Princess,” Kento whispers as he cautiously walks towards you two. “I didn’t mean to yell at you princess, I’m so sorry.” He chokes out, crouching down to her level. When she hears the familiar softness in her dad’s voice, she slowly peaks around you. Kento holds his arms open. She doesn’t hesitate and jumps into her father's arms. “s’ok I forgive you, Daddy.” She sniffles into his neck. Nanami squeezes her tightly, whispering out apologies on how he’ll never do it again. You can tell by the look in his eyes your daughter will be getting extra spoiled in the next few days.  

[clockwayswrites]

Die Screaming, Live Laughing

Danny/Tim, Cyan, Wind through tree branches/Windchimes @wisteriavines @darkstarsapocalypse (I saw you before you changed that! Twins!)

cw:bar parent fentons, more temporary character death, bones

The faint, mechanical whir under his fingertips as he spins the camera lens comforts Tim. The fiddling is familiar from the years of following Bats and crime across the city. The rooftops of Gotham are an environment that he’s far more familiar with than here. Here is nothing but endless trees and leaves.

Well, somewhere here is also the campgrounds and Bernard, Ives, Steph, and Cass; but that’s far out of sight and almost out of mind. It’s easy, as he listens to the wind rustle through the trees, to feel like nothing exists but the trees and Tim and his camera.

He spins the lens again.

Ostensibly, the four of them are in these woods to find Mothman. Which would be cool! But even Tim, who proposed this whole thing, knows that it’s just an excuse for the four of them to do something away from Gotham. To do something to make actual use of their summer between high school and college.

If Tim went to college, that is.

He’d been accepted, sure, but he… he just didn’t know if he wanted to. It felt like there were more important things to be doing than college. College was sitting in a classroom and listening to someone drone on about a subject that Tim could crash course himself on with the right library access in a month. It also meant new people and new noises and maybe even a new home. None of that sounds great, really. Moving in with Bruce to Wayne Manor had been enough change, thank you very much.

Tim’s foot catches on something and he does a half step to keep his balance. He expects to see a tree root when he glances down. It’s bone instead. That’s not… unexpected. They had already seen deer in the woods, the creatures got stupidly close to the campsite. It would make sense that with the big rains the few weeks before, there could have been old remains uncovered. But there’s something…

The dirt brushes away easily from the surface of the bone and, with a little digging, Tim is able to pull it free of the earth.

This isn’t a deer bone.

Tim knows this shape.

This is human. A femur.

“You have to be careful where you’re walking out here.”

Tim stands and spins, the femur held like his staff would be.

The speaker is leaning against a tree several feet away. The golden, setting sun backlights them, making them look almost angelic with how they’re wreathed in light. They’re hard to look at.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim says, plastering on a nervous smile that was only half for show. How did they sneak up on him? That should have been impossible with the leaves and branches scattered across the forest floor. “Do you run into animal skeletons a lot out here?”

“Not really,” they say with a shrug before they start forward towards Tim. Their steps are silent. “I don’t really get around. And also, that’s not an animal skeleton.”

“No?” Tim’s grip on the femur tightens. “How do you know that?”

“How? Well, that’s because it’s mine!”

Tim swings.

The femur goes right through the stranger.

“Sorry! Little intense, I get it!” They back up a step and raise their arms. The dappled sunlight shines right through their hand. Shines right through them like the stranger is just made out of gossamer. “I get it, but be careful with that, please? It’s my arm! Or leg? No, leg.”

“Leg, it’s a femur,” Tim says, his mouth running without him as his brain works.

“Leg. Ancients, I miss having legs. And arms… and, well, anything solid really,” the stranger sighs. “I am sorry for scaring you. Just… it’s hard not to get a little intense when someone is holding one of my bones, you know?”

“Oh shit! That’s right, sorry,” Tim stammers as he hurries to put the femur back down on the disturbed earth. “Do you— I mean, should I rebury it? Did the rains washing away the earth, um, wake you up?”

“Kinda?” They tilt their head as they crouch down next to Tim.

It’s clear now, as they move a bit out of the light, how transparent they are. It’s like in the shadow they lose tangency. Their hair is still just as blinding, being bright white in a way that’s really beautiful. They reach out to touch the femur but stop short.

“I’m tied to my bones. It’s why they dumped them all the way out here. After they killed me, I mean, all the way killed me, I haunted the fuck out of them. And yeah, sure, they could hurt this form of me too, but I always found a way out and then it all started again. Burying my bones was the only way to get rid of me, and those fuckers didn’t even scratch me a headstone in the tree or anything. Some parents, huh?”

“Holy— yeah,” Tim says. Looking back down at the other partially exposed bones he has to swallow back a wave of sadness. “Is that a yes to covering them up?”

“Actually… I’d like you to dig them up. I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll get justice or whatever, but I’d… I’d like to be somewhere proper and under my name.”

“What is it? Your name?”

“Danny.”

“Okay, Danny,” Tim gives a little nod and starts digging. “My friends and I will get you somewhere you feel safe. I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Danny doesn’t help dig. He can’t, he explains as Tim and him talk. While his bones are buried, he’s not able to interact with them or else he would have gotten them out of there a long time ago. They learn together that as soon as the bones are free and set gently aside that Danny can touch them.

Tim never thought he’d see someone so emotional over a tibia, but Tim can’t blame the guy. Tim figures he’d be emotional over his own bones too.

The big bones are the easiest. The ribs Tim is extra careful with. The fingers are weirdly like peanut shells in his hand. (He’s not going to eat pb&j for weeks now.) Danny chats the whole time, asking Tim about the world. Tim feels wholly inadequate to catch someone up like that, but when conversation turns to technology Tim settles into a rhythm.

It also lets them figure out that while Danny died just shy of nineteen, he’s apparently spent almost two decades in the ground. He still looks just shy of nineteen. He looks like he should be in the forest for the same reason that Tim is, celebrating the end of one era and the start of the next. Danny should be looking to the future, not mourning it.

It makes Tim pause when he finally unearths Danny’s skull. What would it have been like to see Danny smile? To hear him laugh without that faint echoing quality that he has as a ghost? To touch him?

“I’m sorry,” Tim says and holds out the skull. Danny’s skull.

“Thank you,” Danny whispers. His hands tremble as he reaches out towards the skull. He crumples forward before he can touch it, a sob tearing through him.

“I’ll make sure you’re somewhere nice.

“Thank you.” Danny lets out a breath he doesn’t have and sags forward the last inch. His forehead bumps against the skull.

Then he keeps going forward.

The world explodes into light.

-

“Tim?!”

“Are you sure he’s still alive?”

“You can see him breathing, Bernard.”

“Pulse.”

“Tim!”

Tim gasps awake and blinks rapidly to clear his vision. His friends and sister stand clustered above him. It has gotten dark and their flashlights are blinding.

“You okay?” Cass asks.

“Ow.”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Steph sighs. “Hey Tim, who the fuck is that?”

“Wha—” Fuck his head hurts. Who the fuck is who?

Oh, the person laying in his arms. The person who’s solid and warm and alive.

Tim starts laughing.

“Okay, maybe a little not okay,” Steph amends.

“Is he ever?” Tim hears Ives mutter.

“Guys,” Tim interrupts them discussing his status once he can breathe again. “This? This is Danny.”

“Being alive again hurts,” Danny mumbles against Tim’s neck and Tim can’t help it, he just starts laughing again.

Being alive does hurt, but fuck if that isn’t wonderful sometimes.

---

AN: So this one got away from me a little but, uh... tada? I was planing to have it all explained more, but once Danny didn't purposefully do it, that didn't fit. Basically all if his frankly absurd powers and as a ghost got jump started by his skull and Tim's lifeforce and tada? 100% pulled some from Tim's Gotham Knights character where he's an awkward little bean who is so not neurotpyical. Him and Bernard taking a vacation to hunt Mothman is from that too.

Anyways, stay delightful, darlings!

[anniebeemine]

morning rush

warnings: none :)

Spencer bolted upright, eyes snapping open to the glaring red numbers of his alarm clock. 7:20 AM. His heart pounded as he realized just how late he was running. The bus came at 7:45.

In a rush, he scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the pile of laundry he’d meant to fold last night. He quickly grabbed his toothbrush and furiously scrubbed, half-wishing he could teleport between the bathroom and his closet. He didn’t have time to properly fix his hair, so he pushed it out of his face with a haphazard hand, knowing it would probably fall back into place at the most inconvenient moment.

Eliza. His heart sank a little as he hoped today wouldn’t be one of those mornings where getting her out of bed was a battle. If she started crying about not wanting to go to school, they’d both miss the bus.

With a grunt, he slid into his slacks, leaving his belt unbuckled in his hurry. He was halfway through struggling to put on his socks when he paused, mid-hop on one leg. From down the hall, he heard the soft sound of running water and a tiny voice—Eliza’s voice.

He peeked into the bathroom, and his heart melted at the sight. There she was, standing on her little stool, gazing into the mirror with a determined look on her face. She was doing her affirmations, the ones they practiced together every morning.

“I am brave. I am smart. I am kind.”

Spencer watched her reflection as she brushed her teeth with fierce concentration, occasionally dribbling toothpaste down her chin. She didn’t seem to notice or care, too focused on the task at hand. When she finished brushing, she reached for the hand soap—*the hand soap,* Spencer noted with a smile—and lathered it up before washing her face in tiny, circular motions.

Her hair was in a lumpy, uneven side ponytail, with strands sticking out in every direction. She wore her favorite pink sweater, a little too big on her now, and paired it with purple leggings covered in stars. They clashed horribly, but that was Eliza—colorful, bold, and unapologetically herself.

He could have fixed it. He could have brushed out her hair, made it smooth, put her in an outfit that matched. But he stood there, frozen, watching as she proudly stepped down from her stool, checked herself out in the mirror with a satisfied grin, and marched out of the bathroom.

Spencer followed her quietly, still in awe, as she made her way to the front door. She sat down on the floor and began the process of putting on her shoes. She fumbled a bit with the laces, her little fingers struggling to make the loops work, but she was determined.

Eliza looked up at him with a huge grin, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her untied shoes half on her feet. “Daddy! I got myself ready for school today!”

Spencer’s heart swelled with pride. She was so proud of herself, beaming from ear to ear. He could see the small imperfections—the mismatched clothes, the messy ponytail, the untied shoes—but none of that mattered. Her spirit was shining so brightly, and he knew he couldn’t bring himself to correct her, even though every fiber of his parental instincts wanted to smooth things over.

Instead, he smiled back, walking into the kitchen to find something quick for breakfast. He grabbed a banana and a granola bar, hoping it would be enough to keep her full until lunchtime.

“You did amazing, Eliza,” he said, handing her the banana. “Let me just help you with those shoes, okay?”

She gave a little giggle as he crouched down to tie her shoes, her small hand resting on his shoulder for balance. When he stood up, she gave him a quick hug, wrapping her arms around his legs before bouncing back to grab her backpack.

As they headed out the door together, Spencer couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. He looked down at his confident, colorful, determined little girl and knew that, messy hair and mismatched clothes aside, she was perfect just the way she was.

[shushmal]

The latest Family Video customer is barely through the door before Eddie explodes, "Ugh, Tyler."

Beside him, Steve scoffs in agreement, nose wrinkled with distaste. He's so hot. "Yeah, exactly, uugh."

"That should be his middle name. Ugh," Robin chimes in. Eddie's so glad they're in agreement about the bleach-spiked punk guy that graduated three years ago but is still bumming around Hawkins. "Steve, I can't believe you dated that guy."

Seriously, Tyler is the worst— Wait, what—?

"Wait," Eddie says, gaping at Robin. "What?"

"You could barely call it dating," Steve huffs.

"You were together for a month and a half," Robin says. She's got this evil grin on her face and is pointedly not looking at Eddie who is very desperate for Robin to look at him right now, please. "You drove that bum to Indy every weekend. He broke up with you on Valentine's day."

Eddie's weak "Tyler? Tyler Teaks?" gets completely ignored.

"I—" Steve says with haughty emphasis. "—broke up with him on Valentine's day. Don't get it twisted, Buckley."

Robin snorts and finally glances at Eddie. "Steve only broke up with him because the guy blew him off. On Valentine's Day. Which is basically getting broken up with," she tells him, and ignores it when Eddie whimpers at her.

"Yeah, but I'm the one to ended it!" Steve insits.

Eddie, finally, finds his voice, and says, "Tyler Teaks?! Harrington!"

"Ugh," Steve says, slumping against the counter. "I know." He cuts a glare over at Eddie after a moment. "I blame you for this."

"Me?!" Eddie shrieks, incredulous. He's pretty sure he's stepped into another parallel world. Perpendicular world? A world where Steve apparently dates guys—and guys like Tyler Teaks, no less. Eddie's sure he's gone completely batshit insane. "What the hell did I do?!"

Steve stands, cocking his hip the side, and looks down his handsome nose at Eddie. "You wouldn't be my New Year's kiss at Tina's party," he says. "So I had to settle for Tyler Teaks instead."

"What the fuck?" Eddie says, completely lost. "What—? You—? Tina—? KISS—?!"

Beside them, Robin is grinning, laughing, eyes going back and forth between them, munching on a stolen back of skittles—her own personal dramedy on stage before her.

"Yep," Steve says, popping the P. He looks distinctly bitter. "Pulled my best moves on you, and you turned me down."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. He reaches out, places both hands on Steve's shoulders, intent. The eye contact he forces Steve into is desperate. "I don't even remember getting to Tina's New Year's Party." He takes a deep breath. "I woke up in her mom's pantry the next morning with no shoes and no memory of how I got there."

Finally, Steve cracks, a big smile stretching his face. Robin cackles. "Yeah, I kind of figured as much," Steve sighs, wistful now. "You told me, and I quote, 'Steve Harrington, you are very beautiful and I want to have a summer wedding because you'd look beautiful-er with sunflowers'—"

"Don't forget the 'you look so hot in that sweater' part."

"—'But actually, I am a very straight man. So very super straight.' And then you crouched down on the floor and crawled away." Steve is biting his lip now to keep from laughing. Robin is not so nice. "Like I couldn't see you, and the handkerchief flagging in your pocket."

"Oh my god."

"Don't worry, it was really cute," Steve says, grinning. "But, I still needed a New Year's kiss, and unfortunately for everyone involved, Tyler was my only willing choice."

"Oh my god."

"Totally duped me though, he was super sweet the entire night," Steve sighs. His mouth is twisted into genuine regret now. "Plus, the next week, you acted like you'd never spoken to me before, so—"

"OH MY GOD."

Steve and Robin give him twin grimaces. Robin's is a lot more sympathetic. Steve's is confused. "Listen, man," Steve tries to soothe. "I'm sure that's pretty embarrassing, but it was a cute story! No hard feelings, I promise."

Robin's sympathetic grimace deepens.

"No," Eddie says, standing up straight. "I refuse. There is no way I turned down Steve Harrington for a New Year's kiss. There is no way."

"Wait—"

"Eddie, where—"

Eddie marches for the door, digging his keys out of his pockets. "Good-bye friends, I must go see a supergirl about time travel."

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

TW: nsfw, dubcon, kidnapping, virginity loss, curse!reader, succubus!reader, severely clueless virgin reader, born hot yesterday reader

fem reader

“Feels like you’re luring me into some trap.” He keeps his back hunched and his hands shoved down his baggy pant pockets, sighing heartily—Satoru having a surprise never bodes well.  

“Oh, come on—” named white-haired boy exclaims, in much enthusiastic contrast to his cynical counterpart—slinging a lanky arm around his slumped shoulders. “Have a little faith, birthday boy. You’re gonna like this.”

Suguru sighs again, “Somehow, I doubt it…”

The two make their way down Jujutsu High’s hall, walking past the dorms until stopping before Satoru’s door. Suguru reconsiders then—whatever it is, it can’t be so bad if he’s keeping it in his own room. And yet, the grin on his friend’s face is never something to take lightly.

He unlocks the door but holds off on opening it, instead standing before it with a grip on the handle—looking over his dark glasses at his waiting friend with a certain giddy twinkle in his eyes. “You ready?”

Suguru doesn’t know the answer to that. Part of him doesn’t care what’s behind the door, while the other part is confident he won’t like it, and yet, there’s still some soft spot inside him that tells him to go along with it anyway. Sighing a third time, he raises his hands from his pockets. “Sure…”

Satoru snickers, “Alrighty then,” and opens the door, creaking on its hinges. “Tadah—lookie what I found.”

Suguru stands before the doorway for a moment. As it had opened, a faint surge of cursed energy had waved over him—nothing to fear, yet odd nonetheless. He spots the source right away. Something on the bed. A figure. Human-like, yet not.

It’s obvious what it is, and still, he finds himself asking, “What is that?”

Satoru lumps against his back with his chin on his shoulder, “It’s your present, of course,” then pushes him inside.

He locks the door again behind him and redoes the veil, keeping their activities hidden from passersby.

“What exactly are you thinking, Satoru?” The other boy asks, apprehensive with his black eyes fixed on you—the curse on the bed, tied up with seals, squirming while looking up at the two of them. You’re no threat, but still, the question remains—why are you here?

“It’s up to you, Suguru. It’s your birthday,” the asked answers nonchalantly once returning. He gestures in the air with his hand. “You can wrap it up into one of your marbles and eat it like a birthday cake or…”

Suguru’s eyes snap to his at the suggestive tone, teetering on coquettish—no, not teetering, definitely coquettish—but no matter how shameless he is, he can’t possibly be proposing they do something like that with a curse.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Suguru,” the blue-eyed one defends with a pout. “I mean, look at it—have yah ever seen a curse so...” he continues but falls short. He chuckles lightly and deems any explanation unnecessary. “Well, you have eyes, so don’t deny it.” 

Both black and blue orbs fall back on you, one still with an uncertain gaze and the other with a heavy, unashamed leer.

Suguru’s throat grows tight, and he swallows thickly to replenish, then asks, “And after?” He looks back at his friend. “You plan on just killing it?”

Satoru gives it a thought, thumbing his chin with a pout before revealing, “Maybe… Or keepin’ it…” He laughs again, taking a step closer to the bed before crouching down—his blue eyes wide and visibly terrifying to you, if the way you shuffle away is any tell. He doesn’t let it deter him, reaching out his hand to touch you anyway. “I wouldn’t mind havin’ an exotic pet. Depends on how fun this is—”

He's stopped. Hand waiting mid-air as a heavier one grabs his shoulder.

“I thought it was my present,” Suguru states from behind him.

Satoru looks up at him for a moment—first kind of annoyed, but then quickly amused. He smiles, “Well, excuse me—it sounded like you didn’t want it.” He stands up with an animated sigh. “Besides, thought you might share with your best mate since I went through all the trouble.” 

He’s got this sheepish beggar’s look painted upon his face—totally unconvincing by Suguru’s judgment. Still, he caves—not so much out of sympathy, but rather because there's no way he’s doing this all by himself—in such crimes, it’s better to be accomplices in order to share the shame. And, suppose he can admit it’s more fun with the white-haired freak around…

“Fine,” he mutters for the second time that night, hoping he won’t regret it.

“Sweet,” Satoru cheers in turn. “Never had a curse before—this’ll be interesting.”

He returns to you and pulls the seal off your lips. You flinch and hold your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Your bound wrists and ankles are also freed, and still, you don’t move from where you’re huddled up in the corner of where the bed meets the walls—as far away from them as possible.

After getting a closer look at you, your obedience doesn’t surprise Suguru. Flecks of cursed blood splatter litter your skin and clothing—there must have been others before Satoru made a show of himself—no wonder you’re so scared.

“Can you talk?” said show-boating sorcerer asked.

You carefully peel your eyes open again. Lips warbling unsurely. It sort of looks as though you want to speak but don’t exactly know how. It’s to be expected with a weak curse like you. 

They hadn’t expected as much, so they figured it was all the same until, “Yea-yes.”

You stutter, but still, you speak.

“That’s surprising��you’re not all that strong,” Satoru expresses. “But I guess it’s a good thing.” 

Suguru can only guess what motives he has for saying that, and still, he’s quite sure he knows why—he’s always been partial to the louder ones, after all.

“My name’s Satoru, and my friend here is Suguru,” he introduces with gestures. “Don’t forget it, okay?” His eyes give warning as much as his words, no matter his playful tone. “You’re gonna do what we tell you, or I’m gonna paint the wall with you just like I did all your other friends, understand?”

Your lip trembles, and you clutch yourself closer, looking to hide yourself but recognizing you’re trapped prey for two much stronger predators. You nod your head.

“If you can talk, then say it,” the white-haired one demands—tone brisker than before, making your stomach fold and heart flinch.

“Yes, sa-Satoru.” It’s all foreign on your tongue, yet you manage—like how animals learn to swim when thrown upon the open waters.

It makes him smile, and you feel some relief in listening to him coo, “Perfect.”

The vision of your fellow curses getting squished like trampled grapes haunts you. You can tell this new sorcerer is just as strong. You don’t know what they’re after, but you know it’s best if they’re happy with you—so you aim to keep it that way.

The one asking you questions looks away toward the other one.

“Wanna do the honors, birthday boy, or should I?”

He seems to be contemplating something before calmly deciding. “I’ll eat it first. Then it’ll be bound to me and won’t struggle.”

“Smart—though that is some of the fun,” your original capturer responds with lackluster, then shrugs. “But it’s your birthday, you decide.”

The raven-haired one raises a hand, energy building within his palm. “I have. So don’t pout—”

Eat it? Do they mean you? You feel the pull of something sucking you from your safe spot. “Wah-wait! Don’t—don’t eat me, please!” you squeal with lifted hands, first flat with sprung fingers in surrender, then clasped together as you take a deep bow with your forehead buried in the plume. “I-I’ll listen! I’ll be a good-good curse, I promise! Please!”

Both sorcerers’ are stumped by the display. It’s an odd declaration for a curse. Of course, you could be a ploy, yet they sense absolutely zero hostility.

Satoru looks at his friend with puppy-dog eyes, whispering to him in low and needy little whimpers, all laced with awe, “Oh, come on, Suguru. Can’t it wait? You can always eat it after, right? Look at it—it won’t fight.”

Suguru grinds his teeth, but even he can’t deny he’s curious now. He huffs and lowers his arm, “Fine. But if you fail to obey even a single command, I won’t hesitate to eat you on the spot.”

You raise your head, pretty grateful tears in your eyes—an even odder sight from a curse. “Oh-okay… Su-Suguru… thank you.”

It’s utterly embarrassing and even somewhat horrifying, but the way his name trembles off of your tongue all sweetly like that is enough to make him blush. He steals himself in spite of it. You’re still a curse—nothing worth going easy on.

“Strip,” he commands.

You tilt your head at the word, eyes round and brows cinched. “Strip?”

Satoru comes to the rescue—overwhelmed with your cuteness as he’d been since he first saw you, unable to harm even a hair on your head. “It’s just a wittle curse, Suguru—you can’t expect it to understand everything you say. We gotta use simple terms.” 

If he could, he’d like to undress you himself, but he agrees that there’s some pleasure to be found in watching you do so for them. 

He gives you a reassuring look and a somewhat kind smile. “He means take off your clothes.”

“Oh... okay.” You light up upon understanding, hoping not to anger them. You don’t ask why. You just listen, balling your dress at the hips and lifting it up and off over your head—leaving you bare.

“Is that what I think it is?” Suguru utters, eyes zoned in on your lower belly and the pink markings there—swirled symbols mocking the shape of a winged heart right atop your womb.

“It sure looks like it,” Satoru whistles in turn. “How lucky are we, huh?”

Their conversation goes over your head—just as most of what they say. Part of you is still wary that they’re going to eat you—undressing would make that easier for them, wouldn’t it? Maybe you’d just fallen right into their trap…

You blink when spotting them getting undressed, too. Maybe it’s some type of ritual? You wouldn’t know…

Once they’re both naked, your throat tightens, and your gut stirs with an ache of sorts—you wouldn’t know why as to that either, but you rub your thighs together in hopes it would soothe it. But no, it blooms instead into a hunger the more you look, and the black of your eyes bleed out into a pool deep enough to get lost in. You don’t even notice you're drooling. All you know is that they’re getting closer, and your skin simmers for their touch.

And still, you’re confused once you’re on your back with the raven-haired one looming above you. Breathing heavily, you gasp with the spring of a moan once his fingers trace the pulsing glow of your pink marking. You’ve never seen it do that before—it’s a little scary.

“Ah—what—what are you doing?” Half of you wishes to nudge his hand away—it’s so sensitive—and yet, the other half wants nothing but to succumb to it, plead for more. It’s confusing.

“Oh? How can you be a succubus and not know?” he asks calmly, teasingly now with a sympathy he lacked before.

You’re so hot—you’re burning—something’s wet—between your thighs—it pulses on time with your mark. His hand moves down toward it—the feeling intensifies, and your breath flares, quickens, and stutters in your chest. It feels good, but it also feels…

“That feels weird—” you protest with no amount of conviction, rather just in a statement.

“But you like it,” he argues, also more in a statement. Nursing you through the doubt with sweetly slow strokes.

It’s good that he took the reins before Satoru—he wouldn’t be this considerate.

“Don’t worry, pretty curse,” he soothes, sliding his digits through the wet, then slipping two within—inside you—into some spot that makes your toes curl. “I’ll help you find your purpose.”

“Ah!” you squeal—wide swivel-eyed and panting, staring at his ministrations—where he pumps you on his knuckles and how you weep with fluid. What’s going on?

“How does that feel?” he purrs and presses a thumb down on the drumming pearl crowning the mouth—as though it were a button to push and have you unlock.

Suguru watches as your eyes morph—pupils going from round black to glowing pink hearts.

It feels… it feels… “Good… so good—please, give me more.”

You don’t have to beg them twice.

You know heaven for curses doesn’t exist, but you think you’ve just stumbled upon a loophole. 

“I can’t believe she’s taking us both—” Suguru stutters as he jerks his hips up into the downy softness of your ass, burying himself deep alongside the other.

“Well—she’s made for it, ain’t she?” Satoru whimpers in turn.

They both hold your thighs up, having you folded in half, lifted between them—your back resting against the broad warmth of Suguru’s chest, with Satoru in front of you—both stuffing your gushing hole as one.

“More—more...” you blubber—heart eyes half-mast and mouth apart in dewy breaths.

Satoru knows you’re a curse, but he can’t help himself, feeling your hands cling to his back, holding on tightly—he knows you’re a curse, but he leans in and kisses you anyway.

And it’s sweet—sweet like candy. Your spit and your tongue—his new favorite syrup. He can’t stop—feeding you the entire length of his tongue in need to explore your mouth, drink you up—feeling desperately parched without it.

The sight makes Suguru’s gut fizzle. It’s so wrong, yet it feels so right. He thinks he’ll cum soon, but he doesn’t want to—he wants to keep going.

“I’m gonna—” Satoru whines as he breaks for air.

“Me too—” Suguru groans in turn.

They jitter, spines aligned and pulsing with each other—filling you up with a mixture of both.

It’s a feeling like none other for all three of you—euphoric and transcendent—you think you might die from the pleasure, feeling the crushing weight of paradise dawn on you in rapids.

You all collapse on the bed next to each other, you in the middle. They don’t take themselves out, and you prefer it that way—you fear the loneliness if they would. Right now, it’s warm. You’d like to stay there forever.

“I’m sorry…” Suguru apologizes suddenly—much to your confusion until you see him raise his palm like before. “But this is for the best.”

Weakened, you’re warped into the pretty confines of a pink marble within just a second. He holds you for a moment, feeling somewhat guilty, but doesn’t waste long before swallowing you up—down his throat until settling neatly in the prison of his stomach.

Satoru doesn’t look surprised. After all, Suguru’s right—it is for the best. He can’t exactly keep you in his room forever without discovery. This way, you’re kept safe from other sorcerers as well as just a call away from them whenever they wish to see you.

“What’ she taste like?” he asks nonchalantly. 

The birthday boy licks his lips and then smiles. “Like cake.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ GETO SUGURU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[inkskinned]

okay if you're really cool about things, i can be honest with you. before you read further, decide if you're a girl's girl. if you're cool and actually cool or like not cool.

men don't talk in my book because i was fuckken tired of the way they're the center of every fucking story. i was tired of how every story takes a moment to let them talk. men can shut up for literally one fucking book.

unfortunately not everyone is cool. professionally what i usually say is i didn't want to add violence to the world. the only men in my book are abusers, so they don't get to talk. they don't get to take up space. they ruined my life, they don't get to have their words echo anymore.

because like, yeah! you find practically any story about a person surviving trauma and... there's a man at the center. men are often rescuing us from these things. a "good man" is always standing around, being a good man, proving to the victim that good men are the real men. that her experience was unique rather than universal.

the redacted text has not been taken well by all of my early readers. there is this weird, crouching growl that keeps occurring with men-of-a-certain-age. why don't we hear his side of the story?

when i sat down to write everything that happened to me, i couldn't look at the frank brutality of my abuser's words on a page and think to myself: i actually let him speak like that. i had to redact his words from the manuscript. i then left it redacted. no victim is going to read this book and hear the person who hurt them. it is a book for the victims to speak. abusers shut up challenge, forever. for eternity.

my father once told me, chuckling, i should just have a page of redaction where i let the man just finally talk. it is funny to joke about how we should make a whole page in my book about a man that hurt me. this was not the only time someone commented - it feels like you're hiding things. how do i know you're actually a victim if he doesn't get to speak?

there are books where women aren't even present. i even genuinely like some of those books. like, who doesn't like the hobbit?

i keep running into people defending this imaginary man. the default narrative is so true to some people that they will defend any man, just by virtue of the assumption - "if he's acting like that, you had to push him." certain people need definitive proof that you didn't accidentally make your partner into an abuser. they need to decide if you deserved it, because they want to be able to judge you.

which makes sense, i guess, from a hind brain perspective. if you can figure out "why" someone was cruel, you can protect yourself against it. if you defend the bully, the bully might side with you. i don't really know their explanation for feeling this about a character in a book. trust me, i wrote the guy. he is not going to protect you.

i guess i just - there was a time in my life where i desperately wanted anyone to defend me. where i could have really used someone saying holy shit are you okay instead of what did you say to make him act like that to you.

instead, over dinner, a friend-of-a-friend i just met is pouring herself wine. i heard you wrote a book, she says. she gives me the kind of chilly smile i associate with knives. i heard it's unfair to men.