#I can see him having a weighted blanket before he replaced it with the reader and soap.

[oreo-creampies]

“𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! Sukuna is mean, Monster fucking, breaking and entering (reader is aware he is coming), somnophilia, choking, hints of masturbation, choking, manhandling, huge huge huge size kink that swings both ways, let’s say Sukuna’s monster cock can fit cause I say so, light pain kink, degradation/taunting/hints of praise if you count being called a slut in bed rewarding (which I do but to each their own), pussy slapping, pinching your clit once, mentions of a toy that he licks once to see if it still tastes like you what can I say he is a nasty fucker,

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧! ❛ there’s so many things i wanna do to you.❜ + sukuna

Fey; monster fucking with sukuna always hits just right but when you add consented to somnophilia + breaking and entering

Sukuna slowly pulls your curtains back, the full moon illuminates you bedroom well enough. He grabs your blanket and gently peels it off, bunching it at the bottom of the bed.

The inhuman toy cock next to you catching his attention. It’s thick but yet it still pales in comparison to his’ own. It’s hot that you have something like this to occupy your time when he is away.

Did he ruin normal men for you? He hopes so. He wants your sloppy cunt to crave his inhuman cocks.

Sukuna picks the toy up and licks it, tasting your sweet cunt. Swirling his tongue around it’s tip. He considers triple stuffing you, but which hole should he shove it in?

You roll onto your back and stretch your arm out, seeking your blanket. Promptly giving up when you didn’t immediately find it. You’re in the perfect position for Sukuna to play with you.

Making quick work of his sweats, his shirt having ripped off when he transformed before he broke into your house. Something you’ll have to pay for.

He carefully climbs onto the bed, towering over you, giving him a thrill. Comparing himself to you, you’re so small, weak and vulnerable, perfect for manhandling and stuffing his cock into.

Whimpering in your sleep, “Sukunnn..” Your soft cunt quivers around his thick fingers. You’re so wet, soft and tight around him. Licking your soft clit with his hand’s tongue. Whilst slowly spreading your legs apart.

You furrow your brows, and slowly open your eyes. “Whaaann?” He bites your thigh when you try to close your legs. Using his weight to force your smaller, soft body into a mating press.

He accusing you, “You’re a brat, there wasn’t a window or door unlocked for me.” Roughly smacking your soft wet cunt.

You whine, “I know!” Another harsh slap, and he glided his thick fingers in, licking your clit. You mewl, “Nnn you can pick the lock!” His fingers and tongue is magical on your cunt. Your thighs trembles, toes curl and your cunt is soaking his hand.

Sukuna looks down at you, “You got tighter, does it turn you on thinking about me wanting your sloppy cunt so badly I’d break in for it?”

He glides his fingers out, smacking your cunt whilst crooning. “What a depraved slut!” Pinching your soft clit, smirking when you cry. You’re so helpless in his large hands, it’s so easy for him to manhandle and fuck you as he pleases.

“I’m your depraved monster cock loving slut.” Sukuna stuffs his hand’s thick tongue in your soft aching cunt. Squeezing your throat, fondling your breast, switches between sucking and biting.

He fondles your soft breasts, sucking on your nipple. “Let’s see how much my cum my cocksleeve can take before falling back asleep.” Replacing his soft tongue with his long thick fingers stretching your cunt out.

He insists, “There are so many things I wanna do to you.” He loosens his grasp on your throat. “How long do you think you can keep me entertained for?” Gliding his fingers out, smearing your slick on his cock.

“I dunno I’m sleepy, but you can keep fucking me even after I pass out.” He’s monstrous, towering over you, nudging your soft cunt with his fat cock.

You winch when he rolls his hips forward, giving you just the tip. His cock above it, rubs your soft clit. You whine reaching down, splaying your hands above his stomach’s mouth. He grabs your wrist, raising it above your head tightening his grasp around your neck.

Sukuna lifts you bed, sinking you down on his cock. Your head reaches his chest, tilting your head back Sukuna makes you look up at him.

He taunts, “Since you already had fun without me I don’t have to stretch you out right? I can have my fun, use your soft little cunt how I want.” Pressing your smaller body to the wall, you’re so helpless.

He smirks, “This is the kind of perverted shit that gets a monster fucker like you off isn’t it?” Sukuna is beating your pussy up, making her squelch and your toes curl.

You clench your cunt and his smirk drops with a loud groan. “Stupid little brat with your dumb little cunt.”

Oreo’s m.list!

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (54/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Let's stay like this for a while.

Warnings: 18+ (unprotected sex), so much fluff, Lando makes an appearance because I miss him

Word Count: 4.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: happy Oscar win! only five more chapters to go! and so much to happen! feedback is appreciated!

The world has gone quiet. 

Outside, the single fireworks that are fired after the big celebration a few hours ago begin to fade away and and are replaced with soft snowflakes that slowly drift to the ground of Monaco. Inside, the room is a warm cocoon – lit only by the soft flicker of  the sunlight creeping through the windows and the tangled hush of your breathing. 

The both of you lie on the couch, limbs wrapped around each other like vines that spend a lifetime growing toward this moment. Your cheek rests over his heart, where the rhythm still thuds with something wild, something new. And yet, somehow, it all feels ancient – like this was always meant to be. 

Charles tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, fingers trailing softly over your temple. „You okay?“, he asks, his voice nothing more than a breath. 

You nod against him, your lips brushing his skin. „More than okay.“

He lets out a quiet laugh, the kind that only comes when you realise you’re holdingt something you’ve been searching for your whole life. „I didn’t hurt you, did I?“

You shift so you can see his face, your eyes searching his like they always have – only now, everything is different. Softer. Deeper. No more holding back. „No“, you reply. „I loved it.“

Charles kisses your forehead. „Good. But promise me that whenever it gets to much or you don’t feel comfortable with something, you tell me.“

You lean into him. „I promise.“

His eyes crinkle with a mixture of relief and quiet joy, and he pulls you closer as if to imprint the memory of this promise on both your hearts. The soft hum of the start oft he day wraps around you, the gentle whisper of snow falling outside echoing the silent vows made in that tender, shared space. 

For a while, words seem unnecessary as you both lie nestled in the comfortable familiarity of each other’s arms. The couch, a silent witness to your journey from laughter-filled evenings to moments heavy with the significance of newfound love, gently cradles you both, the blanket Charles draped over you, covering your flush bodies. 

As the sunlight flickers and dances over Charles face, you trace the familiar lines, now deepened with vulnerability and the breauty of truth spoken without fear. 

„This feels like … more than I’ve ever felt“, you confess. 

„It was always more“, he whispers. „Even before this.“ He reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together like it’s second nature. „I’ve loved you since before I knew what that meant“, he says. „I just didn’t know how to say it without risking everything.“

„You didn’t have to say it“, you reply. „You’ve been saying it all along. Every time you stayed. Every time you listened. And every time you made me laugh when I was breaking.“

Your voice cracks slightly and he pulls you in tighter, burying his face in the curve of your neck. „I was so scared to lose you“, he admits. „But now? I’m more scared oft he years I almost didn’t get to love you like this.“

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle inside you. „We’re here now“, you say. „We’re finally here.“

The both of you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, hearts beating slow and full. 

„I don’t want to move“, you say softly after a while. 

„Then don’t“, he says, kissing the top of your head. „Stay right here, where I can keep you.“ When you look at him with a smile, he playfully rolls his eyes. „I’m just trying to hold to every second.“ His tone is imbued with an intensity that belied the calm of the moment. 

For a long while, you simply lie there, suspended in a world that’s both familiar and brand new. The memories of your past – the shared secrets, the endless laughter, the bittersweet days or parting and reunion – merge with the present in a way that makes every whispered breath and every quiet exhale seem charged with deeper meaning. In that soft reprieve from the world outside, you’re no longer just friends or lovers, but kindred spirits finally ackoledging the boundless dimensions of your connection. 

Charles shifts slighty to meet your gaze directly, his eyes filled with teh earnestness of every unspoken word that has ever passed between you. „I remember the night we watched Cars on this couch“, he says quietly, his voice thick with nostalgia. „I didn’t think that somewhere down the line, it would become like this.“

„I used to think it was just the comfort of our friendship“, you reply. „But now, it’s like we were preparing for this moment all along.“ The subtle tremor in your voice hints at both joy and lingering uncertainty – a hope that the transition from best friends to lovers wouldn’t compromise the delicate trust you built over the last two weeks. 

„I’ve always cherished you“, he says. „Even when I was scared that admitting it might break what we had, every look, every laugh told me that my heart was meant to be yours.“ 

His free hand gently glides over your bare back, you kiss his chest briefly. „Do you think that we’ll always be this connected?“, you ask hesitantly. Even though you’re sure that nothing on this earth could ever get between the both of you, you can’t shake the feeling that life itself can be pretty unpredictable. 

Charles looks down at you, fingertips lingering on your ribs as if to etch that moment into memory. „There will be days when life feels too heavy, when we’re battered and it all gets too much – especially when we eventually go public“, he replies. The definite possibility of everyone knowing about him and you makes your heart stutter. „But this – what we have right now – is our anchor. I think whatever life will throw at us, that we’ll always find our way back to each other. I’ll always come back to you.“

He pauses, letting the sound of your steady breath be the only answer for a moment. The soft murmur oft he world outside mingles with the quiet of your sanctuary, echoing the promise of a future where every twist and turn of life finds resolution in your embrace. 

„I promise you, too“, you smile softly, voice gentle but resolute. „No matter how far we wander or how hard it gets, I’ll always be there, waiting for you. Every detour, every challenge will be worth it if it brings me back to us.“

Charles eyes, reflecting the glow of the soft sunlight streaming through the windows, hold a depth that feels like the weight of a thousand shared memories. „Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d found you before – before everything. Before Annika. Before it all.“

You shake your head slightly. „I don’t.“ When you catch his puzzled gaze, you shrug. „I think fate knew exactly how to guide us. If it weren’t for Annika, you wouldn’t have stayed at this apartment. And I think it was good that we were friends first. Even though the start was pretty bumpy.“

He laughs softly. „It was indeed. But I wouldn’t have it any other way if it means I can hold and kiss and love you like this forever.“

For a long time, you two stay nestled on the couch, the minutes stretching into an unhurried eternity. The soft sounds of conversation is replaced by the gentle cadence of shared breaths, chaste kisses and gentle touches. 

As you sink deeper into the comforting embrace of his love, you trace lazy patterns on his chest with your fingertips, letting the silence speak volumes. Outside, the city covered in snow starts to wake up, but here, in your secluded haven, time becomes malleable. The intimacy oft he couch, once just a stage for friendly conversations and movie nights, now holds a new, sacred meaning – a testament of the journey from strangers to friendship to passionate, promising love. 

Eventually, as the minutes stretch, Charle’s hand slips from your ribs, and he sits up slowly. A smile tugs at his lips as he reaches for you, pulling you up with him. „Maybe it’s time we get up“, he murmurs, the playful tone in his voice mingling with a hint of reluctance to break the spell of the moment. 

You pout at him as he pulls you closer, knees on each side of his thighs as you straddle him. His hands slide down to your butt, keeping you in place, chests flush. „Why?“, you ask softly, your voice a blend of playful challenge and earnest longing. 

He tilts his head, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to read the silent quiestions buried in a single word. A smal, affectionate smile tugs at his lips. „Because we can’t stay here all day. We need to get back to the other apartment, mon amour.“

You let your put deepen. „I just – I don’t want to get up. The day can wait, but right now, I want to stay like this. Just for a bit longer.“

His chuckle is low and soothing. „I know“, he whispers, drawing you even closer as you straddle him. The pressure of his chest against yours, the shared warmth, feels like a comforting blanket, a promise against the chill of a day not yet begun. „I’d rather lie here with you, wrapped in this small world we’ve made, than jump into the chaos outside.“

Before you can say something, he closes the small distance between you with a tender urgency. His lips meet yours – first softly, then with a deeper passion that communicates every unspoken word. You savor the way his kiss is an embrace of all the memories you’ve built together; it’s playful yet aching with certainty.

As you both melt into the kiss, the world outside continues undisturbed, and for a few stolen minutes, nothing exists but the soft press of his lips, the taste of longing and devotion, and the whispered promise that this moment will hold until you’re ready to face the new day. His hand, still resting confidently on your ass, move you over his hardening cock, eliciting a breathy moan from you. 

The kiss grows more insistend, a delicate exploration of the intimicay that has always lived beneath the surface. You feel the warmth of his chest against yours, his heartbeat syncing with your own as he deepens the kiss, allowing each gentle, passionate press to erase the thought of an inevitable morning.

As your lips part slowly, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the quiet hush between kisses. His fingertips dig into your flesh, thumbs brushing gentle arcs against your skin as if he’s still savoring the feel of you. 

„Maybe it’s time to get up“, you murmur, repeating his words from ealier. 

He lifts his eyes to meet yours, that soft, sleepy smile playing on his lips again. „Probably“, he echoes, but makes no move to let you go. 

Instead, he shifts beneath you and, with a smooth, effortless motion, stands – hands sliding around and grabbing your thighs as he lifts you against hi schest. You let out a surprised, breathless laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, legs instinctively curling around his waist. 

„Charles, what are you doing?“, you giggle, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

„Saving us from reality“, he says, voice low and warm beside your ear. „You’re right. The world can wait. I’m taking you back to bed.“

You don’t argue. The quiet way he carries you, the stead rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, the strength in his arms, the way his fingers press into your thighs like he’s afraid you might disappear, makes you feel weightless in more ways than one.

He walks the familiar path down the hallway, the soft glow of morning just beginning to peek through the curtains of the bedroom. But in his arms, it still feels like night—like time has slowed to wrap around you both and say, just a little longer.

The air shifts, thicker now, charged with something that hums just beneath your skin. His fingers flex slightly against you as he pushes the bedroom door open with his shoulder. The soft light from the hallway spills over his bare back, casting him in a warm, golden glow as he lowers you to the bed like you’re something sacred - and his.

You land with a quiet sigh against the sheets, heart racing, legs still wrapped loosely around his waist. He leans over you, eyes never leaving yours as he crawls up the bed, caging you beneath him with that quiet intensity that’s always made your breath hitch. His hand slides up your side, slow and deliberate, until his thumb brushes just under your breast.

You shiver. He notices.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs, voice low and sinful. “All warm, flushed - already mine.”

Your fingers slide up into his hair as you pull him down into a kiss - hungry, open-mouthed, nothing like the slow tenderness on the couch. This is different. This is need. His lips crash against yours in a rhythm that quickly deepens, his hand exploring the curves he already knows but seems desperate to relearn. You arch into him, gasping softly as his mouth travels to your neck, teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothes the spot, sending a wave of heat pulsing low in your belly.

“Charles,” you whisper, breath catching.

He smiles against your skin, then trails kisses down your collarbone, his voice a warm exhale. “Tell me what you want.”

You could lie. Say you’re still sore from last night and the way he had you on the couch, or stay wrapped up in soft sheets and lazy limbs. But with the way his hand is sliding slowly beneath the covers, fingers teasing just the edge of you, you don’t want slow.

You want him.

So you pull him closer, lips brushing his as you whisper, “You.”

He groans softly at that, a sound that sparks fire in your blood, and then there’s no more waiting, no hesitation. Just hands and mouths and the unspoken hunger of two people who’ve waited long enough.

Your whisper hangs between you like a lit fuse - you. One word, and it ignites something in him.

Charles crashes his mouth to yours, and this time there’s no softness, no pause. It’s heat and want and everything you’ve both been holding back for far too long. His hand slips under the sheets, fingers grazing your thigh, dragging slowly upward with delicious intent. You gasp into the kiss, and he takes it in like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he mutters against your lips, voice low and rough now, no longer teasing - needing. “Every time you looked at me, even when we were just friends - I wanted this.”

You arch into him as his body presses fully against yours, a perfect, maddening weight. Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp, drawing a groan from deep in his chest that vibrates through you. His lips trail down your neck again, slower this time, open-mouthed kisses leaving heat in their wake as he moves lower, taking his time, savoring every reaction he pulls from you.

He lifts his head, just for a moment, green eyes locked with yours. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, breathless, voice trembling with restraint.

You shake your head, lips parted, pulse pounding. “Don’t stop.”

That’s all he needs.

Charles’s restraint snaps like a thread pulled too tight. His lips crash into yours again—urgent, hungry—his hand sliding down your body like he already knows every curve by heart. There’s nothing tentative now. It’s bold, claiming, like he’s finally allowing himself everything he’s wanted and never dared to touch.

Your fingers tangle in his hair again, anchoring him to you, and he groans into your mouth, low and rough. The sound shoots straight through you. His hips press into yours as your legs wrap tighter around his waist, instinct guiding you both in a rhythm older than words. His body is hot, solid, pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you feel the shift in him - in the way he moves, the way he kisses you like he’s falling in love all over again, in every second.

He pulls back for a breathless moment, eyes searching yours, green and blazing. “You’re sure?” he asks, the question laced with tension and tenderness, like the answer might undo him.

You don’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Something in him softens - then tightens with purpose. He leans in again, this time slower, almost reverent, pressing kisses to your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. His hands slide beneath you, one supporting your back, the other roaming, exploring, memorizing.

When he finally moves against you — skin to skin, no space left between — it feels like the earth tips beneath you. The first real movement of his cock draws a gasp from your lips, your body arching into his. He stills for just a moment, breath shaking, forehead pressed to yours. Then he moves again. And again.

Each slow thrust, every drag of his body against yours, is unbearably intimate. Like a conversation spoken in touch and breath. Like he’s trying to say everything he’s never had the courage to before. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to ground you. His mouth keeps finding yours between the gasps, the moans, the whispered curses and confessions.

He says your name like it’s something sacred. Like he’s tasting it. Like it’s the only word he knows.

The rhythm builds - deeper, faster. Your nails rake across his back and he groans into your shoulder, voice rough and raw, all restraint forgotten. Your body moves with his, every nerve ending lit, every moan spilling free and answered by his own. You chase the crest together, breathless, desperate, until it finally breaks - wave after wave that leaves you shaking beneath him, eyes shut, heart wide open.

Charles follows with a low, guttural sound that vibrates through his chest. He stays inside you, forehead resting to yours, breath ragged, both of you undone and still holding on like the moment might disappear if you let go.

When it’s over, he doesn’t move far. Just enough to shift beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him until you’re tangled again, skin still warm, still humming.

You nestle into his chest, still breathless, still buzzing, and whisper, “Well. That’s one way to start the morning.”

He chuckles softly, kissing the top of your head. “Who says we’re done?”

You look up at him, your grin wicked. “Oh?”

He smirks, brushing your hair from your face with a lazy hand. “We’ve got nowhere to be.”

And just like that, the world beyond the bedroom vanishes again—left outside the door, where it can wait.

- 

A few hours later, the afternoon sun is dipping low as Charles carries the bag with your dress from last night in one hand, his other arm draped casually around your waist as you unlock the door, both of you still wrapped in that slow, post-lovemaking haze that feels like a secret only the two of you share.

The place smells like lavender and home. Your plants in the window have turned their leaves toward the last stretch of sunlight, and Charles drops the bag by the door without a word, immediately pulling you back into him for a soft kiss, like he can’t stand the idea of space between you just yet.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, “messy hair, sleepy smile - thoroughly fucked.”

You laugh into the kiss, swatting his chest. “You’re just proud of yourself.”

“Absolutely.”

You’re still laughing when your phone buzzes in the pocket oft he sweatpants he gave you. You pull it out while walking into the kitchen. The name flashing across the screen sends a jolt of curiosity through you - Lando. 

“Give me a sec,” you say, kissing Charles’s cheek and take the call.

“Hey,” you answer, breath still catching a little from how warm and perfect the morning had been.

“Finally!” Lando’s voice crackles with excitement. “Took you long enough to pick up. Did you fall off the planet?”

You grin, leaning against the counter. “Something like that. And Happy New Year to you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever“, he says with a knowing smirk in his voice. „Sorry if I’m interrupting your little love nest or whatever, but I have huge news. Like, you’re going to want to sit down for this—unless you’re already sitting down, in which case - good job.”

You laugh. “I’m listening.”

“So, you know our media guy at McLaren - Tom? Well, he’s leaving. Something about moving to New Zealand and learning how to make kombucha or whatever. Anyway -”, his voice drops into something half-conspiratorial, half-thrilled, “- they’re looking for someone new. Someone with talent. Someone who gets the soul of racing. Someone who - wait for it - takes photos like they’re straight out of a dream.”

You blink, heart thudding. “Are you saying…?”

“I pitched you,” Lando says proudly. “Sent your portfolio to Zak and the comms team. They were impressed. Like, really impressed. They want to talk to you. See if you’d be interested in coming on board. Not just freelance — officially. Shooting behind the scenes in the headquarters. Having full creative freedom.”

Your jaw drops. You sit up straighter. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” Lando says, voice a little softer now. “I wouldn’t mess around with this.“

You glance toward the kitchen. Charles has paused, watching you from behind the counter, a curious lift to his brows. You mouth Lando and he nods, a soft smile already tugging at his lips.

You’re still holding the phone to your ear, blinking in disbelief, heart racing with the weight of Lando’s words. The offer feels too big, too wild, too perfect to be real. But before you can respond, Charles catches the expression on your face and the unmistakable sound of Lando’s voice carrying from the speaker.

“- so I told them you’re the real deal,” Lando is saying on the other end. “And Zak wants to -”

Before he can finish, Charles leans over the counter and smoothly plucks the phone from your hand. You turn, startled, as he brings it to his ear, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Lando,” Charles says, all smooth confidence. “Appreciate the enthusiasm. But she’s already got a job offer.”

There’s a pause.

“What?” Lando’s voice is confused, cautious. “From who?”

“From me,” Charles replies, not missing a beat. “Full-time, exclusive. She’s officially my personal photographer now. Team Leclerc.”

You laugh, shaking your head, cheeks heating as Charles continues, his voice somewhere between possessive and playful.

“She documents my every move,” he adds. “On and off track. Portraits, race days, post-race emotions, shirtless Monaco mornings - the works.”

“Charles!” you squeak, grabbing at the phone.

Lando groans through the speaker. “You’re such a menace.”

“Correct,” Charles says cheerfully. “And she signed the contract last night. With a kiss.”

You bury your face in your hands, giggling. Charles grins and finally hands the phone back to you with a wink. You press it to your ear, still laughing.

“Don’t listen to him,” you tell Lando.

“Oh, I won’t,” he mutters. “But damn it, now I’ve got to find someone else.”

You smirk, glancing at Charles, who’s now lounging beside you with that smug, satisfied look on his face. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

When you hang up a few minutes later, Charles pulls you into him with zero resistance.

“So,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, “I know you already said yes, but that deal was before Christmas and you haven’t officially signed the contract. So, my offer’s still on the table, by the way. Full creative freedom. Access to every part of me — professionally, emotionally - physically.” He punctuates the last word with a lazy kiss to your collarbone.

You roll your eyes, grinning. “Do I get health insurance?”

“I am your health insurance,” he says, pulling you closer. “Emotional support, post-race cuddles, and the occasional bodyguard duties. Unlimited.”

You laugh, leaning in until your forehead rests against his. “Fine. But only if you promise to buy me souvenirs from the countries you win the race of. But not some boring airport magnet or hotel soap. Something real. Something that makes me laugh, or something completely random that you know I’d love. It has to be from the country where you win.”

He blinks, then laughs, shaking his head. “You want me to go souvenir shopping for you while I'm sweating and exhausted after racing at 300 kilometers an hour?”

“Yes,” you say, totally serious. “And it has to be thoughtful. Like, if you win in Japan, I expect a tiny samurai duck or a vending machine prize. If you win in Italy, I want something that smells like espresso and chaos. Be creative.”

Charles stares at you for a long second, then grins like you just handed him his new favorite challenge. “Deal. But if I bring you a taxidermy squirrel wearing lederhosen after a win in Austria, you have to display it proudly.”

You burst out laughing. “Only if it comes with a certificate of authenticity.”

“Consider it done,” he says. “Now that we’ve got the terms settled -”

He closes the distance between you as his fingers brush against your waist. You raise an eyebrow when he doesn’t stop, doesn’t say anything — just steps in closer, that familiar, wicked little smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “What?”

Charles dips his head so his lips are nearly brushing your ear, voice low and amused. “Now, do you want me to show you why I specifically bought a bed that’s hip-high?”

Your breath catches for half a second, and then you’re laughing — pushing at his chest, but not really resisting.

“Charles,” you warn, already knowing where this is headed.

“Yes?” he says innocently, even as his hands settle confidently at your hips.

“That’s not a legally binding clause in the contract.”

He grins. “No, but it is part of the benefits package.”

And with that, he lifts you off the ground like it’s second nature, already making his way toward the bedroom, your laughter echoing down the hall.

Some jobs really do come with perks.

[snail-day]

I need some comfort right now been feeling depressed lately : ( could I request some headcanons of the JJK men with a depressed reader or a reader who uses a weighted blanket to help them relax because I usually sleep with weighted blankets.

Sorry for venting a bit pookie I don't wan to ruin your mood platonic forehead smoothies for you have. Great day!

Anon-🧜‍♀️

Sorry this one took me so long, it was really just me wanting to do it justice because I know exactly how that mood feels. It's icky, you just want to be in a bubble, ugh. Not fun. Hope this makes you feel better 🧜‍♀️ anon. Remember that bad days are just days that are bad :) Get outside, do a small little hobby, even just getting up and walking around is a win.

JJK men x Depressed! Reader WC: 2.1k Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

Gojo Satoru is typically a ball of endless energy, a powerhouse of sorts. He fills rooms with his presence alone, an ever-burning sun that refuses to be ignored. But when he comes home and you don’t greet him, when your laughter doesn’t echo against the walls, when you don’t even move from your place in bed, that light dims.

The usual clatter of his arrival fades into something quieter, more hesitant. White brows knit together beneath his blindfold as he watches the still lump of blankets, the way you curl into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. He’s seen this before with Suguru. He won't let that happen to you. His steps are slow as he approaches the bed, a stark contrast to the usual airiness of his movements. He crouches beside you, a pop of his knees, long fingers ghosting over the edge of the blanket. He doesn’t rip it away, doesn’t force you to look at him.

"Hey, princess." his voice came out softer than usual, all the teasing lilt gone, replaced with something quieter. Something real.

When you don’t respond, when you don’t even stir, something in him cracks. Without a word, he climbs into bed beside you, pressing himself close. He doesn’t care if you’re curled up beneath layers of blankets; he’ll wedge himself in however he needs to, something he's rather good at. He flops on top of you like a lazy starfish at first, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck, but when you don’t laugh, when you don’t even shift to complain about his weight, his playfulness evaporates. Moving to slip his lanky arms around you, no longer just resting but holding. His fingers find yours beneath the blankets, carefully intertwining them, a firm grip but not suffocating. His warm breath tickles the back of your neck as he murmurs, "You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to move. Just let me stay, okay?"

And he does. He stays for as long as it takes, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder, letting his warmth seep into you. The usual hum of his boundless energy is dulled, reduced to something slower, softer - like a dog curling up beside its favorite person after a long day. When he finally coaxes you to peek out from the blankets, just enough so he can see your face, his heart breaks. Your eyes are distant, unfocused, as if the world itself has blurred at the edges. He reaches out, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, before gently, so gently, pulling his blindfold off.

"C’mon, sweetheart. Look at me."

It’s rare, the moments where he lets you see him like this. No barriers, no teasing, no distractions. Just Satoru. His bright blue eyes search yours, trying to find something within the emptiness. When you don’t speak, when you just blink up at him, exhausted and hollow, he doesn’t push. He only presses a few pecks to your forehead (slips in a few wet smoochies too, it's a bad habit he's trying to break), like he’s trying to press all the words he can’t say directly into your skin.

"You’re still here." His hand slips beneath the blankets, resting against your stomach, his fingers spreading wide as if to keep you close to him, as close as possible.

"You know what that means?" voice tinged with something so soft, so achingly tender that it doesn’t even sound like him. "It means you’re winning, baby." He doesn’t care if you don’t believe it right now. He’ll believe enough for the both of you.

Geto Suguru doesn’t tend to overwhelm you with words. He knows what it’s like to have nothing left to say. Instead, he gives you presence when everything feels too heavy to bear alone. When he finds you curled up in bed, buried beneath layers of blankets, he doesn’t force you to move. He doesn’t try to coax you into sitting up or pretend like things aren’t as bad as they feel. He simply sits beside you, lowering himself onto the mattress with slow, languid movements. His fingers skim over the fabric covering your back, giving a gentle rub with the warmness of his palm. He doesn’t push the covers away, doesn’t pry you from your cocoon of silence. He just rests a hand there, an unspoken reminder: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

Suguru’s hands have taken lives, crushed throats, ended countless existences with the flick of his wrist. But when they touch you, they do so with an unbearable gentleness. He brushes stray strands of hair from your face, his thumb stroking slow circles into your skin. His lips find your forehead, your temples, your eyelids. His breath warms your skin as he whispers against your pulse, "You’re still here."

He knows better than to expect an answer. So instead, he talks, filling the silence with the low, steady hum of his voice. He tells you about the morning’s errands, about the way Mimiko scalded her fingers trying to make him tea and how Nanako lectured her for ten minutes straight. He recounts little moments, the ones that don’t feel important but carry the weight of life moving forward. He doesn’t demand a response - he just offers his words freely, weaving them around you like a safety net, something to keep you tethered to the present.

Even in your silence, he notices everything, the way your lips part slightly, as if trying to form words you don’t have the energy to say. The way your fingers twitch against his sleeve, small and barely noticeable, but he notices. He always notices. So he shifts closer, wrapping you in the kind of embrace that says, You don’t have to carry this alone.

When the weight of it all becomes unbearable, when you’re too exhausted to even hold yourself up, he gathers you into his lap and cradles you against his chest. He holds you as if you are something precious, something fragile, something that must be protected at all costs. His fingers ghost over your spine, his other hand tucked beneath your legs, securing you against him like he can shield you from the weight pressing down on your soul. "I won’t let you drown, love. I won’t lose you."

And later, when your breathing finally slows, when you’ve slipped into exhausted sleep, Suguru lets himself break.

He clutches you tighter, pressing his lips to your hair, and in the dead silence of the room, a single, choked sob escapes him. He has lost too much already - his friends, his future, his faith in the world. He cannot lose you too.

"Please don’t go where I can’t follow."

No matter how long it takes, no matter how many days you struggle to get out of bed, no matter how many nights you say nothing at all, he stays. Because if there’s one thing he can still give you, one thing he can offer without hesitation, it’s time. And as long as you are still here, as long as you are still breathing, as long as there is even the smallest part of you still fighting, then so will he.

"Whenever you're ready, love. I’ll be right here."

Nanami Kento is not a man of grand gestures. He does not smother you in words or try to mend wounds with empty reassurances. He notices the shift immediately. The way your responses become slower, shorter. The way you hesitate before speaking, like the weight of forming words is too much effort. The way your once-lively eyes dim, dulled by something heavy and unseen. It’s a small thing, seemingly insignificant. But Nanami thrives on routine, and so do you. Every evening, without fail, you meet him at the entrance, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but always offering a soft, quiet "Welcome home."

Tonight, the air is still. His fingers tighten around the strap of his briefcase. He exhales slowly, composing himself before stepping inside. His gaze sweeps over the apartment, seeking you out, his heart sinking when he finds you curled up on the couch, motionless beneath a heavy throw blanket.

You don’t look up when he approaches. You barely move at all.

Nanami sets his briefcase down carefully as if any sudden movement might disturb the fragile stillness around you. He lowers himself to his knees beside the couch, resting a warm hand on the blanket that covers your shoulder. His thumb moves in slow, rhythmic strokes.

"You haven’t eaten today, have you?"

It’s not an accusation, not a demand. Just a quiet observation. You shake your head, barely perceptible beneath the blanket. He hums softly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"I see."

Nanami does not tell you to get up. He does not urge you to shower, or take a walk, or “freshen up.” He knows the weight you carry is not so easily shaken off. So instead, he disappears into the kitchen, moving with the same precision he does in everything. A few minutes later, he returns with a simple meal, nothing overwhelming, nothing heavy. A bowl of miso soup, a small plate of tamagoyaki, and a cup of warm tea. He doesn’t expect you to eat much. He doesn’t expect you to eat at all. But he sets the tray on the table beside you, within reach, and sits down next to the couch with patience.

"Just a few bites," he says softly. "It doesn’t have to be much."

There is no pressure. No frustration. Just him.

When you finally take a small sip of tea, his shoulders relax almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t praise you for it, doesn’t act as though it’s some great feat, but the subtle way he exhales tells you that it matters to him. That you matter to him.

Nanami stays with you for the rest of the night. He does not ask you to talk. He does not demand explanations. He only stays, his hand resting over yours. Later, when the night stretches on and you’re still curled against the couch, he gathers you into his arms, lifting you easily. You make a small noise of protest, but he only presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring softly, "Bed, love. You'll sleep better there."

He tucks you beneath the covers, slipping in beside you, his warmth radiating through the sheets. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you close to the warmth of his chest. His breath is steady, slow, coaxing yours to match.

"I know it’s hard," he murmurs into your hair, voice laced with quiet exhaustion. "But you’re not alone. And you never will be."

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-one —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.5k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

The last bed you laid in smelled like lemon mint detergent. It was the full bed in your sister's guest room. Everything was crisp and white. They rarely had guests besides you. Some of your clothes stayed in that closet, one of your toothbrushes stayed in the connected bathroom, waiting for your visits. You'd awaken that last morning not thinking you'd never sleep in bed for another five years. You left it unmade.

This bed smells like pine and warmth.

Ghost's room is small and dimly lit. The ceiling slants so that one end is not tall enough for him to fully stand. There's a dresser and a nightstand, leaving only a sliver of floorspace.

After the metal latch on the door clicks shut, Ghost lays the blanket down and grabs a pillow for himself. That leaves the bed to you. Springs creak beneath your weight as you silently slip under a heavy, rustic quilt. The years-embedded scent of him wraps around you like a drug-induced fog. You hesitate to move, frozen as he flicks off the light. You wonder if he always locks the door or did it for you, to make you feel safer.

Only when his moving about ceases do you allow yourself to get comfortable. You cocoon your body under the quilt and turn to your side, closing your eyes.

A thought reopens them minutes later. You roll onto your back and speak into the darkness. "Have you known about this Switzerland place?"

For a moment, you think he's already asleep. Then, from below the bed by your feet, he says, "Heard of it."

"That is what you guys talked about, isn't it?" you ask absentmindedly.

"Among other things."

You sit up so you can see him, but all that you can make out is a dark shadow. "Care to share?"

"Some things are on a need-to-know basis," is all he gives.

"And I don't need to know?"

"Precisely."

It stings; you don't know why. "Some team we make, huh? Or I guess we're only a team when you need me to do something for you."

You quickly realize how petulant you must sound. The shadow sits upright. "They asked me to go with them. I said no. Too far. Too many variables that are hard to predict, and she's not ready for them. Happy?"

Happy—no, but relief replaces the slight uncertainty in your gut since your conversation with Nereida. Joining them was shut down. You wouldn't tell her, but their idea sounds asinine, whether or not that commune exists. The trip will be risky at best, fatal at worst. You're tempted to ask him how many days he thinks they'll recoup here before continuing their journey, but opt for sleep instead. He seems done with the conversation, too, lying back down. Then, you have the best sleep you've had in years in his bed.

When the sun turns pink, you awaken to a room void of Ghost. He's gone. It should be expected, but you'd thought he might wake you up to train like normal. Though, the past twenty-four hours haven't been normal. You look around, the details of his room more visible now. On the nightstand, there is a stack of books and you scan the titled spines. Mostly classics. One Hemingway. All tattered and read frequently. Beside them lays a silver chain attached to a dog tag. You gently finger the engraved metal so as not to move it out of place: Simon Riley. 

Snooping through his things is more tempting than you're willing to admit. You slip out of bed, socked feet padding over to the dresser. There are mostly papers. His map with the marked circle around what you now realize is Switzerland, a notepad with scribbled half-cursive on it, and then a faded photo beneath it. You freeze, breath hitching, as if you've done something dangerous just by stumbling upon it. Curiosity is thick in your chest, difficult to ignore. Gentle fingers reach to shift it out, revealing a picture that you know right away is of Blue and her mom. Blue is a baby. Maybe one year old. A woman with light brown hair holds her up, sitting on a bench in front of a playground. She's pretty and young. There is a sadness when you wonder if this is the only picture he has of them—before her death. Then, there is another feeling. You swallow it. 

You quickly slip the photo back just the way you found it and leave the room. The living room is quiet, people still sleeping. Price and Kyle's blankets are empty, but Kyle is the only one you spot outside. He sits on a tree stump, using a knife and some soap to shave his beard. He looks at you the moment you step outside.

"Good morning." He splashes a scoop of water on his smoothed jaw. 

You tuck your hands in your pockets. "Morning."

Without the facial hair, he looks even younger. Maybe in his early thirties. He pushes to his feet and you are reminded of his above-average height, though he is not as monstrous as Ghost. His form is lean, all muscle, with much less ink on his exposed skin. It is now you notice a scar across his jaw. Thick but faded. It trails halfway down his neck.

"Do you know where Ghost went?" you ask.

"Working on that truck of his. With Price."

A glance over your shoulder confirms it; you spot some movement behind the cabin where you know his truck sits. Guess that means no training. You nod. "So, um, you were in the military together, right?"

He takes a moment to look at you before answering. "Yeah. Same unit. Price was our captain."

"I kind of figured. He is... captain-y."

"'Captain-y.' Good way of putting it."

You're ready to turn away when he asks, "I hate to pry, but I admit I'm curious how you ended up here with him."

You force a smile. "It's not a very interesting story, sorry."

"I'm not looking for entertainment."

"What are you looking for, then?" You sound more defensive than you mean to. 

He shrugs. "Just curious, is all. You're a bit young."

"I'm not fucking him if that's what you're getting at." His brows lift to his hairline, and you're almost embarrassed for assuming that is what he was thinking, but before he can speak you add, "And you're young, too. I can handle myself just as you can."

"Of course." He shakes his head, moving his hand over his chest in earnest. "I apologize if I insinuated otherwise. Though, I am older than you."

"How old?"

"Let's see. Thirty-one last November. Or maybe it's just thirty. Hard to keep track, innit?" His smile is more genuine than yours, flashing white teeth. Then, his face turns more serious and he sighs through his nose, head tilting. "Look, I understand."

"Understand what?"

"I don't know your story, but I'm sure it is a gruesome one, and you have every right to feel uncomfortable. We'll be out of your hair soon enough. I appreciate you having us, though."

You want to tell him it's not like you have a choice; you're not the host here. But he already knows that. He's trying to be nice. "Thank you," you tell him honestly. 

Kyle bends to pick up his knife, wiping it off on his shirt. "So what did you need Ghost for?"

"Oh, nothing really."

"Care to accompany me for some breakfast, then?"

You consider saying no, but you need to hunt, anyway. Besides, you don't think he'd try anything in broad daylight. In another life, you may have looked at him with a more appreciative eye. But as you wade in silence through the woods, bow cinched to your back, you study him like an opponent. He's more agile than Ghost, likely quicker. When he crests the hill, it's hard to match his strides. 

Small conversation picks up by the pond and you find yourself easing up. You learn he's from London, too.

"What part?"

"Islington. I shared an apartment with my girlfriend. The rent was shit but it was worth it. Top floor loft with a good view and this insane Turkish bakery just below us." His tone is so casual you forget where you are for a second, until he suddenly throws his knife. It pins a squirrel to one of the trees. He bends to dislodge it and carries the dead animal, blood on his fingers. 

You keep walking. "What happened to her?"

"I had to make a choice. Go to London and find her, or go with Price and get my nephew, niece, and sister-in-law."

The understanding hits with the force of a fallen tree, and you pale. 

He notices your expression and continues. "I don't regret my decision. I've come to terms with it. There was no chance of me finding her in London, not with how quickly the infection spread there and the phone lines went out. I didn't even know where to look for her. At work? Home? Up north, things weren't as bad yet. I got in contact with my sister-in-law, Ameena, and told her to meet us at the small college up there where Nereida worked."

You recall what Nereida said, about Ari's mom and sister dying, so you don't pry about them. "What about your brother? Ari's dad?"

"He died before shit happened. He was in the military, too. Different unit. Multiple gun wounds while in Afghanistan a few years back."

"I think your story is more gruesome than mine," you admit.

His lips twitch ruefully. "Not a competition. Gruesome world, gruesome stories."

A more comfortable quiet settles. He is not so different than you, you realize. Only difference is he still has his nephew to look after.

The sun is already high, enough to make a collar of sweat appear on your shirt. There is a small dirt ridge you have to climb and the effort reminds you of the still-healing bruises on your body. A skirt of movement catches your eye and this time, you act quick. You use your bow to kill a squirrel up on a branch. It falls to the ground.

"Damn." Kyle whistles, low and long, as you wriggle the arrow free. "Hell of an aim you got."

"I'm... alright."

"No need to be modest."

You straighten and wipe your bloodied hand on your shirt. The movement lifts it, and you hear him suck in a breath behind you. A hand touches your shoulder, gentle than firm, as he spins you around. You're confused, then follow his gaze to the sliver of exposed skin on your hip. It's a gross yellow. 

"Twix." His voice lowers, and his friendly eyes are confused. 

Shit. "It's not whatever you're thinking."

"I'm thinking someone has put their hands on you." He frowns and shifts closer. "I know you have no reason to tell me things, but I can tell you I am not okay with that shit, no matter who it is."

You inwardly cringe. "Ghost is not... hitting me. Well, he is—"

"Fucking hell—"

"No, no. I asked him to." The bewildered look on his face makes you palm your forehead. "Not like that. Jesus. We train together, okay?"

"Train together," he repeats, shoulders loosening. 

"Yeah, like to help me get stronger." The embarrassment remains on your cheeks. "It's silly, really."

Kyle shakes his head and grins, clearly amused now that he knows you're not being abused against your will. "Not silly. Thought you two were into some kinky shit for a second there." He continues walking over a patch of dryer land, stepping onto a small rock and chuffing a breath under his nose. "Wouldn't have been surprised."

Your fingers absentmindedly tighten around the squirrel's limp neck. Your feet are frozen for a moment as you shake off a deep blush, then call out behind him. "Did you miss the part where I said I'm not fucking him!"

He simply laughs. 

The rest of the day passes in languid warmth. 

It's weird having so many people here, but you try to continue your day like usual, skinning the kill and washing your clothes. You learn more about Nereida as you eat together. You haven't had a female friend in... a long time. Save Blue. She used to be an arts professor at a private school. Sculpting, mainly. That is how she came to meet John Price, when he attended one of her galleries, buying a piece from her for far more than the listing price. He was just looking for a way to take me out to dinner. The way she speaks of him is that of a doting wife, despite everything they've been through. She tells you they were engaged before the infection. A makeshift ceremony at their old camp was the best they could do. 

"No wedding ring, but we do both have this." She pulls up her sleeve to show you a small scar carved on her shoulder—a faint letter 'J'. Price has the 'N'.

You're not sure what Ghost needed to fix on his truck that morning, or why it was important to do it with Price, but when you returned with Kyle, something felt off. Ghost's tension was palpable. He usually seems in thought, but even more-so. When Ari takes Blue for a quick ride on the horse—apparently Cherry used to be owned by his parents on their family ranch in Newcastle—he watches for only a minute before disappearing somewhere with Price. You pretend to need something from the cabin. You sneak around the back way, finding them again by his truck, muttering in low voices. Only pieces reach your ears.

"...through the rural parts. Not a straight path..."

"...could take months..."

"Got quite a bit of those."

Then, he's showing Price something under the tuck bed's tarp where you catch sight of that kayak once again. 

"Find it?"

A low voice in your ear. You startle and turn around.

"Huh?"

Kyle raises a brow. "You said you needed something."

Your hand flattens against the side of the cabin. "Right. Um, I just—"

Boots scuffle behind you. You don't need to turn to know Ghost and Price have detected your presence, making their way over. Kyle's gaze flicks to them and you feel like a child who's been caught by her parents—embarrassment laced over your irritation. You wouldn't have been eavesdropping if they weren't so secretive.

"Everything alright?" Price's timbre is calm. Your neck prickles where you feel Ghost's stare.

You find yourself nodding. "Yes. Just fine. Sorry."

It gets cooler by nightfall. Your knee bounces slightly under the table during dinner. You listen to Blue explain the rules of battleship to Ari. You don't eat much more of the meat you caught with Kyle. With a mostly empty stomach, you enter Ghost's room after everyone else has gone to bed. His broad form hovers over his dresser. For a moment, you fear he's somehow noticed that you looked at his things earlier. But then you realize his eyes are glued to the map, and he's penciling some things on the margins.

He looks up when you close the door behind you. His brows are deeply knotted. 

"Figured you would be sleeping out there for tonight."

"What?"

"Seems like you feel just fine around them now." 

He looks away from you as if you're not even there. He places the map down and opens the top drawer. Without warning, he pulls out a clean shirt and changes, revealing his bare chest. His shoulders flex as he slips it over his head by the collar. Then, he moves toward you, eyes dully expectant.

"Being asleep near them is different than hanging out during the day," you finally respond. Mouth feeling dry, you swallow. "What's going on? I can tell that you... you've been thinking about something."

"You mean you've been listening." His brow lifts. He shakes his head before you can defend yourself. "I am always thinking about something."

"Would it kill you to not be cryptic for once? I thought that we were..."

"That we were what?"

"Being honest with each other now."

A dark, slightly amused breath leaves his nose. He contemplates your words for a moment. "It is my plan to go there," he then says. "I'm not stupid. I know she needs more than what I can offer her here. It has always been my plan. Just not now."

"Because she's not ready," you breathe.

"Because she's not ready," he repeats, chin tilting. His eyes darken, veering to the left. "Price seems to disagree."

Your nails curl in your palms. "And?"

He looks back at you. "And I am thinking of your camp. What happened to you. I can't grow complacent."

The mention unsettles your stomach. Of course, he needn't elaborate, not when the memory is more fresh than you'd like. "But going to Switzerland would take days, weeks. And they have no idea what they might run into out there. It's not like we have inside info on the state of France and—and wherever the hell else we'd have to cross through to get there. They could be worse than London."

"I'm aware."

"So what, then? You're considering it now? I thought you told them no," your hushed voice edges a bit harsher, and the pulse in your neck quickens.

You hate what you think he's saying, even if you understand it. He has his daughter's future to think of. Even if he were to try finding some safe community when she's older, the opportunity of traveling with two other military-experienced men would be gone, along with whatever weapons and supplies they bring to the table.

The contemplation is vivid in his eyes as you study them. Ghost's head lowers, dipping down at the same time that he emits a harsh breath, and you realize how close the two of you have become in this quiet exchange, keeping your voices safe from any awakened ears. So close, in fact, that his exhalation hits the space between your neck and collarbones, where a small patch of skin tingles with alertness. 

His voice emerges low and thoughtful after a drawn moment. "I haven't fully decided."

You nod with deep breath to steady yourself, taking in his answer. "Will you tell me when you do?" 

"I can do that."

And that's all he offers—four words that give a minuscule amount of comfort, because now bitter uncertainty has snuck upon you once again. Your fate lays in his decision. You can't survive on your own, not even here, so if he leaves you have to go with him. The impending doom fogs your brain. You fail to notice his hand has moved, pinching the hem of your shirt between thumb and forefinger, and beginning to carefully lift it up. A breath hitches at the top of your throat and your eyes unfurl, only to find that he is pensively looking down at your exposed stomach.

"What the fuck are you—"

You're cut off when his bent knuckles gently brush over your mottled abdomen, sweeping down the sore midline, leaving you frozen. It's a thoughtful, slow touch—calloused skin against smooth softness. His thumb traces a particularly bad one by your hip, causing your muscles to flutter as a pleasant heat blossoms. For the second time today, your bruises are under scrutiny, and you curse yourself for not applying more of that paste on them.

"They're healing well," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, and lowers the shirt back down. He steps back. Eyes find yours. "Don't get too comfortable."

You blink dazedly, then stiffen. "Um, what?"

"Sleeping in my bed. My room isn't a hotel."

The change of topic gives you whiplash. "You're the one who made me sleep here," you remind him pointedly. "I'll just take the floor tonight, and you have the bed."

"You're a woman. Take it."

"As if you give a fuck about being a gentleman."

"You're right, I don't." A dismissive shoulder shrugs, then his back turns to you. He lays in the bed before you have the chance to even move, which leaves the blanket on the floor for you.

You should've just accepted the bed.

Once the room is shrouded in darkness, you bury your head in the pillow. 

"Comfortable?" he says sarcastically above you.

"Fuck off."

Then it's silent. You don't sleep nearly as well.

[cutielando]

hold me? | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which he only wants you to hold him

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: emotional!charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader

my masterlist

It’s a quiet, overcast afternoon in Monaco, the kind where the skies seem to mirror the feelings of those under them. The rain has been falling steadily since morning, a soft patter against the windows filling the silence in your apartment. Normally, you’d find the sound soothing, but today it seems to add to the heaviness hanging in the air.

Charles has been uncharacteristically quiet all day. You noticed it during breakfast, where his usual playful banter was replaced with absent nods and distracted glances. He barely touched his coffee, something he never does, and the light in his eyes seemed dulled.

Now, he’s sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. His posture is slouched, and every now and then, he lets out a sigh that tugs at your heart.

From the kitchen, you watch him for a moment, your fingers curling around the warm mug of tea you made for him. You can tell he’s carrying something heavy, the kind of weight he’s too stubborn to share unless coaxed.

Taking a deep breath, you walk over and set the tea on the coffee table, then perch on the armrest of the couch beside him.

“Charles,” you call softly.

He glances up at you, his honey-brown eyes tired and unfocused.

“Hmm?”

You reach out to smooth the blanket over his lap, a small gesture of care.

“I brought you some tea,” you say gently, trying not to push too much too soon.

“Merci,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, almost flat.

He takes the mug but doesn’t drink, instead staring into the steam as if lost in thought.

You slip onto the couch beside him, leaning in so your knee brushes his.

“You’ve been quiet today,” you say carefully, not wanting to overwhelm him. “Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

He hesitates, his lips parting before he shakes his head slightly. But the way his shoulders slump tells you he does—it’s just hard for him to find the words.

Gently, you place your hand on his arm, grounding him.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “Take your time.”

He sighs, setting the tea back on the table before leaning back against the couch. His gaze fixes on the ceiling, and for a moment, the only sound is the rain outside.

“Racing has been... tough lately,” he finally admits, his voice heavy with frustration. “I feel like I’m not good enough. Like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough. The mistakes, the pressure, the expectations, it’s all piling up.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair.

“Sometimes I think... I’m letting everyone down. The team, the fans, even myself.”

Hearing the raw vulnerability in his voice makes your chest ache. You shift closer, sliding your arms around him without hesitation.

At first, he tenses, but then he melts into your embrace, his head finding its place on your shoulder.

“Charles,” you whisper, your fingers stroking through his soft curls, “you’re allowed to feel this way. You carry so much on your shoulders, and it’s okay to admit when it feels too heavy. But I need you to know that you’re not letting anyone down. Not your team, not your fans, and definitely not me.”

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. He holds you like he’s afraid to let go, his breath warm against your neck.

“You always know what to say,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are glistening, and there’s a vulnerability there that he rarely shows. Gently, you cup his face, brushing your thumb along his cheek.

“I know what to say because I see you,” you say softly. “Not just Charles Leclerc, the racing driver, but Charles, the person I love. You don’t have to be perfect for me. You’re enough, just as you are.”

A tear escapes, and he quickly swipes it away, giving you a small, grateful smile.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispers.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment.

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out,” you tease lightly, earning a soft chuckle from him.

For the rest of the afternoon, you stay like that, tangled together on the couch. At one point, he shifts to rest his head in your lap, and you run your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He lets out a content sigh, his body fully relaxed for the first time in days.

When he drifts off to sleep, you stay still, watching the way his lips curve into the faintest smile. The rain outside begins to let up, but the calm in your heart remains, knowing that, for now, he’s at peace, and that you’ll always be there to help him find his way back to it.

No matter what.

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[supi-wupi]

Babysitters - OT13

members: OT13, joshua is dating reader tho synopsis: 13 men. 1 (slightly injured) Nie. And no supervision. After a minor injury, you’re stuck at home on doctor’s orders. The members take turns “taking care of you” — but each one has a wildly different idea of what that means. Chaos (and cuddles) ensue. wc: 2.5k genre: fluff, comedy warnings: none <3 a/n: some fluff before i put out my angst fic i’ve been working on…

PROLOGUE

It started with one clumsy step and a triumphant, “I bet I can carry all the groceries in one trip!” It ended with a twisted ankle, three bruised egos (Jeonghan definitely laughed first), and doctor’s orders to stay home for a week.

You’d expected Joshua to take care of you — boyfriend privileges and all. But with SEVENTEEN on a semi-break before their comeback and Joshua insisting “You deserve rest, and I deserve revenge for that ‘falling mid falsetto’ comment,” the boys proposed a rotation system.

You agreed. You were wrong.

—

DAY ONE: The Incident It was a simple slip on the wet kitchen tiles. Nothing dramatic. No cinematic slow-motion fall. Just you, a mug of hot cocoa, gravity, and betrayal. The result? A sprained ankle and strict doctor’s orders: “No weight-bearing activities for two weeks.”

You hadn’t even texted the SEVENTEEN group chat before Joshua burst through the door with wide eyes and a plastic bag of your favorite snacks.

“Nie,” he said, scandalized. “You’re not allowed to get injured. That’s my thing.”

“Pretty sure it’s Jeonghan’s thing.”

“Exactly. This is throwing off the group dynamic.”

You were about to tell him he was being dramatic when he kissed your forehead, tucked a blanket around you like you were a human burrito, and whispered, “The others will be here soon.”

You blinked. “The what now?”

—

Case File 01: S.COUPS (Code Name: Commander Dad)

Objective: Establish order, ensure safety. Possibly overcorrect. Notes:

Y/N is not to move. At all.

Any and all movement must be approved by me or God.

Installed three baby gates. Unsure if necessary but effective deterrent.

Hid their phone to prevent “sneaky” late-night scrolling. (They found it in 12 minutes.)

Made them soup. No one mention I used too much garlic. We’re all fine.

—

“You’re treating me like I’m three years old,” you protested as Seungcheol carefully adjusted a cushion behind your back.

“Three-year-olds aren’t this stubborn,” he muttered, tucking the blanket around your feet again.

“You’re doing the blanket tuck for the third time.”

“Because you keep kicking it off like a rebellious teen. I saw your foot twitch.”

“...It was itchy.”

He sighed, lovingly exasperated, and handed you a spoon. “Eat your garlic bomb soup.”

—

Case File 02: JEONGHAN (Code Name: Chaos Nurse)

Objective: Provide emotional support (and chaos). Notes:

Told Y/N I’d take care of them. Immediately spilled juice on their shirt.

Brought tarot cards. “To spiritually cleanse your ankle.”

Replaced pain meds with jelly beans as a prank. Got scolded. Worth it.

Said, “Pain is temporary, being babied by thirteen men is forever.” May have accidentally started a war over who gets the next turn.

—

Jeonghan arrived with a velvet pouch and too much enthusiasm.

“We’re doing tarot.”

“I don’t need spiritual guidance,” you said. “I need an ice pack.”

“This is spiritual guidance,” he insisted, dramatically laying down a card. “The Fool. That’s you. For thinking you could walk unsupervised.”

You threw a pillow at him.

He caught it, placed it behind your head, and winked. “See? Still helping.”

—

Case File 03: JOSHUA (Code Name: Shuji, Ult Boyfriend, Certified Overthinker)

Objective: Provide attentive, balanced care. (Also low-key compete with the others for “Best Caregiver 2025.”) Notes:

Made a color-coded care schedule. Gave everyone laminated copies.

Y/N said “You’re being extra.” I said “You used to call this thoughtful.”

Played soft guitar songs to lull them to sleep. It worked. I cried.

Almost kissed their ankle better. Stopped. Questionable boundaries.

Jeonghan says I’m “doing the most.” He’s not wrong. I just love Nie.

—

Joshua tiptoed into the room with a tray of cut fruit shaped like stars and hearts.

“Breakfast in bed,” he said, placing it gently on your lap.

“Joshua,” you deadpanned. “You carved that apple into a rose.”

He sat beside you, beaming. “You deserve beauty even when you’re cranky.”

You stared at him. “Are you trying to win a boyfriend award?”

“Is it working?”

...Yeah. Kinda.

—

Case File 04: HOSHI (Code Name: 10:10, Tiger Carer Supreme)

Objective: Keep spirits up! Distract from pain using performance! Notes:

Performed a one-man musical titled “The Ankle Who Lived.”

Included backup dancers (DK and Dino). They didn’t agree to this.

Made a healing chant. Was told to “sit down” after two verses.

Reenacted “Romeo and Juliet” with sock puppets. Called it “Toe-meo and Ankle-et.”

Y/N smiled. Mission success.

—

You blinked as Hoshi burst into the room in a cape made of bath towels.

“Presenting: The Legend of the Brave Ankle!”

You covered your face. “Soonyoung, I will throw this pillow at you.”

“No one silences art!” he cried, launching into a song about ligaments.

By the time he finished, you were laughing so hard it hurt.

Worth it.

—

Case File 05: MINGYU (Code Name: Golden Retriever in a Lab Coat)

Objective: Cook. Clean. Care. (Try not to cry if Y/N calls me ‘sweet.’) Notes:

Made four different meals. Burnt the toast. Panicked. Apologized five times.

Did laundry. Folded their socks into perfect balls. Felt proud.

Almost cried when Y/N said “thank you” and patted my head.

Accidentally knocked over their crutches. Panicked again.

Tried to knit them a scarf. It turned into a pot holder. Still gave it to them.

—

Mingyu nervously peeked into the room. “Hey, I made soup… and also lasagna… and also gimbap… I didn’t know what you’d want.”

You blinked. “Gyu, are you stress-cooking again?”

He set the plates down sheepishly. “Nooo. Maybe. A little. I just want to be useful.”

You tugged on his sleeve. “You’re literally the most useful.”

He beamed so hard you were afraid his dimples would break the space-time continuum.

—

Case File 06: WOOZI (Code Name: Jihoon, Ankle Security Analyst)

Objective: Monitor Y/N’s recovery through sound-based methods. (Also protect their ears from Hoshi’s musicals.) Notes:

Created a playlist of healing frequencies and lo-fi beats.

Banned clumsy members from approaching the ankle within a 1-meter radius.

Accidentally made a sad ballad titled “Ligament Lament.” It slaps.

Y/N cried. I panicked. We’re okay now.

I’m not babysitting. I’m health-auditing. There’s a difference.

—

You were listening to one of Woozi’s playlists when he walked in holding a tablet.

“I’ve made adjustments to the sonic environment of your room.”

“…You mean you turned the bass down?”

“It’s optimized for tissue recovery,” he deadpanned.

“…You just didn’t want me to hear Hoshi’s toe-based musical again.”

He didn’t respond. But you saw the smallest smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.

—-

Case File 07: DK (Code Name: Dokyeom, Certified Sunshine™)

Objective: Infuse vitamin DK into recovery plan. Make Y/N laugh at all costs. Notes:

Sang every time I entered a room. Including “Hello.”

Brought my karaoke mic. Held mini concert. Setlist: “Can You Feel the Ankle Tonight.”

Made Y/N laugh-snort juice through nose. 10/10 victory.

Got too into character pretending to be a nurse. Gave myself a name badge: “Dr. Smile.”

Accidentally wore two different socks. Claimed it was “an ankle sympathy statement.”

—

DK poked his head in with a glittery mic. “Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior: healing?”

You groaned. “If you sing one more pun about ligaments—”

“🎵 LIGAMENT ME LOVE YOUUU 🎵” “SEOKMIN.”

You couldn’t help laughing, even as you flung a pillow at him. He caught it. Bowed. Took a dramatic exit. He came back five minutes later with a full lightstick setup. You gave up.

—

Case File 08: SEUNGKWAN (Code Name: Diva Caretaker, Chaos Concierge)

Objective: Keep Y/N emotionally regulated. Monitor hydration. Judge everyone else’s methods. Notes:

Took away their phone for 20 minutes so they’d nap. Y/N called me a tyrant.

Replied “You're welcome” when they said “You're annoying.”

Made them rate my babysitting on a scale of 1 to 17. Got a 15. Fuming.

Threatened to revoke my services unless I got a perfect score.

Y/N raised it to 16.8. Victory.

—

“Drink water,” Seungkwan ordered, placing a bottle on your chest.

You squinted. “You’re not the hydration police.”

“I am when you’re convalescing with the enthusiasm of a wilting fern.”

“Stop using SAT words on me.”

“You’re the one who said I was ‘overqualified to babysit.’”

You held the water like a white flag. “…Only because you’re secretly my mom.”

“Thank you. Now drink.”

You did. Begrudgingly.

—

Case File 09: VERNON (Code Name: Vernon, Ankle Philosopher)

Objective: Provide chill environment. Reflect on pain as a temporary construct. Notes:

Said “That sucks” when I heard what happened. Profound.

Brought snacks, all beige. Beige foods are comforting.

Played video games next to them. Said it’s “healing adjacent.”

Forgot their injury for 2 hours. Y/N had to remind me. Felt bad. Got them ice cream.

Said “Pain is part of the human condition.” They threw a grape at me. Fair.

—

Vernon slouched in a beanbag next to you. “Want to watch a documentary on time perception?”

“…What happened to cartoons?”

“I figured we could reflect on the impermanence of pain.”

“…Hansol.”

“Yes?”

“I have a sprained ankle. Not a midlife crisis.”

He nodded, completely unbothered. “Still applies.”

—

Case File 10: JUN (Code Name: Junhui, Caretaker of Vibes)

Objective: Provide holistic ankle healing through mystery, magic, and mild confusion. Notes:

Brought incense. Told Y/N it was ankle cleansing smoke.

Said I summoned the “Spirit of Bounce” for ligament flexibility. They told me to go home.

Slid in wearing a silk robe. Said it was for the “ritual.”

Fed them fruit by hand. Called each piece a “health gem.”

Y/N didn’t stop me. Possibly enjoying this.

—

Jun glided into the room, humming a nonsensical melody.

“Behold. The Ceremony of Recovery begins.”

You blinked at the bowl of grapes he held.

“…You just want to hand-feed me again.”

“I’m helping your healing energy flow. It’s very advanced.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even massaging my foot.”

“That’s phase four. We’re in phase two: fruit fusion.”

You popped a grape in your mouth. “Carry on.”

—

Case File 11: THE8 (Code Name: Minghao, Zen Guardian of Rest)

Objective: Maintain peace. No one disturbs Y/N unless spiritually justified. Notes:

Set up a meditation zone around the couch. Used salt lamps. Y/N approved.

Made tea. Wouldn’t let them drink it until they’d done 3 deep breaths.

Gave them a sketchbook. Said art helps pain leave the body.

Threatened to exile anyone who brought loud snacks. (Looking at you, Seungkwan.)

Whispered “Rest is sacred” before every nap. They started whispering it back.

—

You stretched on the couch under the softest blanket you’d ever felt.

Minghao approached, wordlessly handing you a warm mug of tea.

“Is it chamomile?” you asked.

“It’s balance,” he said, completely serious.

“…You made that up.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he placed a small sketchpad in your lap.

“Draw your feelings. And if you draw Seungkwan yelling, I won’t stop you.”

—

Case File 12: DINO (Code Name: Maknae on Babysitting Duty)

Objective: Prove responsibility. No injuries under my watch. Keep things cool. Chill. But Responsible. Notes:

Arrived with a clipboard. Felt powerful.

Told them I was “Head Babysitter.” They laughed. Slightly offended.

Played calm board games. Avoided Monopoly. Not safe.

Made a healing dance. Showed them. Got embarrassed. They clapped. Felt better.

Might’ve called my mom for babysitting tips. Confidential.

—

Dino plopped onto the armchair across from you, clipboard in hand.

“I have logged your water intake and screen time. You're doing great.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Chan… are you tracking me like a baby Sims character?”

“I’m just being thorough,” he said, proud. “Also… did you like the dance I showed you?”

“It was cute.”

He turned red. “I was going for cool.”

“Cute is cool.”

He looked away, smiling into his clipboard.

—

Case File 13: WONWOO (Code Name: Enigmatic Reader, Silent Protector)

Objective: Provide calm, bookish presence. Protect Y/N’s peace. Say little. Do much. Notes:

Brought three books: one for them, one for me, one “just in case.”

Sat beside them reading for two hours. Neither of us spoke. 10/10 hangout.

Made them tea. Didn’t ask if they wanted it. Knew.

Helped set up ankle pillow fortress without a word. Y/N said “thank you,” I said “mm.”

Y/N said I’m the “most relaxing babysitter.” Noted.

Didn’t realize they fell asleep leaning on me. Stayed still for 40 minutes. Didn’t mind.

—

When you opened your eyes, Wonwoo was exactly where you left him — beside you, book in hand, glasses perched on his nose, your head resting on his shoulder.

You blinked blearily. “How long was I out?”

“About forty minutes.” “You could’ve moved me, you know.” “You looked comfortable.” “…You’re really good at this.”

He glanced at you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Joshua said to take care of you. So I did.”

—

Case File 14: JOSHUA (Code Name: Shuji, Original Penpal, The Boyfriend™)

Objective: Leave Y/N alone for one week so they can rest. Enlist the members to help. Regret everything immediately.

Post-Mission Debrief:

Initial plan: Assign one member per day. Easy. Simple. Low-maintenance.

Reality:

Soonyoung tried to bubble wrap their entire apartment.

Jeonghan tricked them into taking medicine with a Bet You Can’t challenge.

Seungcheol turned it into an intensive recovery boot camp.

Jihoon brought a decibel meter.

Seungkwan accused someone of poisoning Y/N with over-seasoned soup.

Dino somehow… choreographed a “healing dance”?

Jun… who told Jun he was allowed to build a pillow kingdom and declare himself ruler?

The8 may or may not have reset their chi by smacking their knee with flower petals.

Vernon tried to explain Renaissance-era injury recovery theories??

Mingyu cooked a seven-course meal, shattered a plate, then cried.

Dokyeom sang to them like they were dying.

Wonwoo said six words all day. One of them was “tea.”

Conclusion: Y/N was cared for, coddled, fed, emotionally damaged, spiritually blessed, and possibly mildly concussed from the Dino “Trust Fall of Healing.”

Would I do this again? Absolutely not.

Did they look like the happiest human in the world when I picked them up and they handed me a folder titled “Seventeen’s Babysitting Adventures: Please Publish Posthumously”? Yes.

…Worth it.

—

You were curled up on the couch, blanket tucked around your legs, when Joshua finally sat beside you, a smug smile on his face as he slid a binder onto the table.

“Is this… a mission report?” you asked, eyeing the sticker-covered folder labeled ‘CASE FILE 17: COMPLETE’.

“Every operation needs closure,” he said with faux seriousness. “Also, Seungkwan tried to submit a formal complaint about Vernon’s healing playlist. This needed documenting.”

You flipped through pages filled with member notes, post-it stickers, and doodles. “Wonwoo literally just wrote ‘tea.’ That’s his whole entry.”

Joshua laughed. “Yeah, and it was the most effective one.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Thanks for mobilizing an entire group to take care of me. That’s probably not in your job description.”

He tilted his head down to kiss your temple. “You’ve taken care of me for twenty years, Nie. One week of chaos was the least I could offer.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “Next time, though…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe just… fewer flower petals. And less yelling. And no more anatomy lectures from Vernon.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

—

Epilogue Note (Handwritten by Joshua): If you’re reading this, Y/N has officially survived Operation: Babysit the Love of My Life. If they’re still alive, they deserve a prize. If they’re not, check under the couch — Mingyu probably dropped a lasagna tray.

Mission Success. Penpal safe. Heart full. End report.

masterlist ♪

[thegettingbyp2]

Can you do one where jasper hale and the reader are doing the deed and Carlisle and Esme walk in on the thing happening. Thank you ❤️

Also fem reader plz

DRINK WATER thanks love ya

Caught

You whined softly as Jasper’s hips pushed gently into yours again, one of his hands firmly planted on the bed next to your head in order to keep his weight off of your body as his other hand trailed softly along your body. Jasper was getting better with understanding that you weren’t going to snap if he held onto you a bit tighter, but when it came down to sex, he was still terrified of hurting you. Your whine caused Jasper to stop suddenly as he looked down at you, bringing his hand up to your cheek.

‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, worry filling his eyes.

‘No,’ you replied, running your hands up his chest, gripping onto his shoulders as you pulled yourself up, pressing your chest against his. Jasper brought his arm around your waist to keep you against him as he buried his head into your shoulder, kissing your skin gently. ‘Jasper you’d never hurt me. If you wanted, you could go faster, you know, harder?’ you continued, your cheeks heating up, suddenly glad that he wasn’t able to see your face.

‘(Y/N), I don’t think I’d be able to control myself, I barely have it together at the moment,’ he said, chuckling into your shoulder, his chuckle turning into a groan when he felt you clench around him.

‘I trust you,’ you said, pulling his head up until he was looking at you. ‘You won’t hurt me, please Jasper, it feels so good.’

Jasper looked at you for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours. ‘You tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?’

‘I promise,’ you said quickly, nodding your head as he lowered you back down against the bed. You shivered when you felt his grip tighten on you ever so slightly as he thrust into you again, a cry being torn from your lips at the force. Jasper continued to pick up the speed of his thrusts until he had a gasp falling from your lips every time his hips met yours. Dipping his head back down to the column of your throat, your breath stuck as you felt him graze his teeth along your skin, silently wondering what if would feel like if he sunk his teeth into you.

He was so lost in you that he didn’t hear the sounds of Carlisle and Esme coming back home from a hunt. Carlisle and Esme heard the sounds of your cries and instantly ran up the stairs, following the sound to Jasper’s room, afraid that their newest son had lost control while they had been away. When the door opened, Jasper’s gaze shot over to the movement and, upon seeing who it was, pulled out of you and wrapped your naked body in a blanket before you could blink.

‘You’d gone out,’ Jasper said, panting slightly, his body hovering protectively over you.

‘We had, but then we came home,’ Carlisle said, a small smile appearing on his lips.

‘We heard (Y/N) and thought,’ Esme trailed off when he saw the look of sadness and guilt that passed across Jasper’s face.

‘You thought that I’d lost control and hurt her,’ Jasper finished for her. ‘I’m getting better and - ’

The combination of your hand coming to rest gently on Jasper’s cheek and Carlisle’s words cut him off before he could start to get worked up. ‘We know, son. But with a human in a house full of vampires, that’s the first thing that comes to mind when,’ Carlisle gestured in front of him, his shoulders shaking with supressed laughter. ‘But we can go back out, let the two of you, you know,’ he said, smirking slightly as he wrapped his arm around Esme’s shoulders and led her back downstairs, closing the door behind them.

‘You know, for someone with amazing hearing, you probably should have heard them come in,’ you teased, trying to cheer Jasper up. It worked as a small smile replaced that sad frown that had taken over his features and he turned his attention back towards you.

‘Well sorry ma’am if I was a bit distracted,’ he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. ‘I am getting better though right, being around you?’

‘Baby,’ you cooed, tugging him down until he was lying next to you and you curled your body into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. ‘You’re amazing, you didn’t need to get better at anything, you just had to get used to being around me. And based on what was interrupted, you’re definitely used to me being around,’ you said, unable to hide the smirk on your lips.

[leighsartworks216]

Business Trip

Zayne x gn!Reader

This has absolutely no relation to Zayne's card of the same name, I just had no idea what else to call this and I'm too tired to think of anything different lol

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, phone call, sleepiness

Word Count: 569

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADS Masterlists

AO3

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Zayne knows right away it's you calling from the ringtone alone. Yet he still checks the screen before he answers. His eyes are bleary, head heavy with information, body ready to collapse. The phone beeps as he accepts the call.

"It's two in the morning, you should be asleep."

You giggle sleepily on the other end. "Hello to you, too."

A small smile finds his lips. Even so far away from him, you so effortlessly break the aloof outer shell he lives with; slipping past Dr. Zayne and finding him, just Zayne. His voice is softer when next he speaks. "Hello, my love. Why are you up so late?"

"Wanted to hear your voice," you tell him. He can just picture your face as you yawn. Nose scrunching up, mouth gaping wide. Unflattering, perhaps, but he loves it so. "You said the conference would be over around one. So I stayed up to say goodnight."

He shakes his head, though you can't see it. "I just got back to the hotel. You could have called closer to one."

"Well, I was gonna, but..." Another yawn. "But I might've dozed just a bit..."

"You shouldn't fight to stay awake. Go back to sleep. You can call me again tomorrow when you wake up."

"How d'you know if you'll be free then?"

"I know because my train leaves in the afternoon. I don't have to be at the station until 3."

He can hear shuffling on the other end of the phone. The speaker scrapes against something, muffling the call for a moment before it clears again just as you go to speak. You must have snuggled further into your blankets. How he wishes he could hold you now. "Nnn, when'll it get here?"

"Around 8, and I'll be home by no later than 8:30. Does that suffice?"

You hum, slurring your words. "Yeah, 's good..."

He speaks quieter. "I'll stop by the dessert shop and pick up some of your favorites."

"Mhm..." You're no longer processing anything he's saying. He can tell. Your breathes are evening out, barely audible through the phone.

"I love you," he whispers.

His response comes in quiet snores. He leans against the wall. Closes his eyes. Just listens. Follows the steady sound of your breathing. Lets it sink into his aching, tired body. It lifts away the weight in his head, replaces the exhaustion in his eyes with something softer. He smiles.

He would stay there for a whole hour if he could, but he also needs his rest. He still has to shower and go through his nightly routine before he can go to sleep. He's only been away for a day, but he misses the familiarity of flitting past each other as you go through your respective routines. Him, standing behind you in the mirror, brushing his teeth and smiling around the brush while you wash your face and tell him the gossip from work. Drying your hair for you while he tells you about his own day. Laying side by side in bed, facing each other, caressing cheeks and combing through hair, sharing soft kisses. Perhaps he clings to that for the next few minutes he listens to you sleep, reminding himself of how much longer he needs to wait to have that again.

Eventually, he whispers as softly as possible into the phone, "Goodnight, my love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one @always-just-red @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @burningtrashgentleman @nothankyew @nezuswritingdesk @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @m0onfl0x @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @leiakitty @loliesaregreat @flamedancer13

[marksbear2]

Hi if you are taking requests please can u write a lestat x sick reader fic. I saw your sick so i thought it might be fittings. I also want it for comfort because i’m in the same boat rn hah.

Hope u feel better soon :)

Lestat De Lioncourt x Sick male reader

Not much to warn about just fluff and a tiny bit of stubborn reader.

The faint glow of moonlight spilled into the room, casting pale silver upon the disarray of blankets and dampened sheets. You stirred weakly, body weighed down by the oppressive ache that illness had so cruelly bestowed. Fever had painted your skin with a sheen of perspiration, and even the act of breathing seemed an arduous task.

The air shifted before you heard him. That was Lestat’s way—he moved like the wind, unnoticed until his presence was inescapable. He emerged from the shadows near the window, his golden hair catching the dim light as if it burned with its own fire. He was breathtaking as always, a cruel contrast to your frailty.

"You look dreadful," he remarked, his tone as light as it was sharp. The words could have stung if not for the undercurrent of concern that lingered beneath. His violet eyes, so unnervingly bright, softened as they drank in your form.

"I feel dreadful," you rasped, the effort of speaking leaving your throat raw.

Lestat crossed the room in an instant, his movements unnaturally fluid, like a predator finally closing in. He knelt beside the bed, his cold fingers brushing against your burning skin. The relief was instantaneous, and you exhaled shakily, leaning into his touch despite yourself.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this ill?” His voice had lost its teasing edge, replaced by something far heavier.

"I didn't think you'd care to see me like this," you admitted, closing your eyes against the flood of emotions his presence always brought. Shame, longing, and something deeper you dared not name. "Besides, it’s nothing. Just a fever."

“Nothing,” he repeated, his tone flat. Lestat’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. Then, as though coming to a decision, he spoke again, his voice softer. “You truly don’t understand how unbearable it is to see you like this, do you?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his unflinching gaze. There was something in it that stole the breath you didn’t have to spare. He reached for you again, this time cradling your face in his hands. His skin was icy, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you leaned further into the touch, grateful for the reprieve it offered.

“I’m no stranger to suffering,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “But this… watching *you* suffer? It’s intolerable. Mon cher, I’ve lived through centuries of horrors, yet this—the sight of your pain—cuts deeper than I thought possible.” "Lestat…" Your voice cracked, overwhelmed by the raw sincerity in his tone. “Let me help you,” he implored, his thumb tracing gentle circles along your fevered cheek. “There are ways. You know there are.”

You knew what he meant. He didn’t need to say it aloud. The offer hung in the air between you, a tantalizing promise of freedom from pain and frailty. But you also knew the cost, the weight of eternity that would come with accepting it.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head weakly. “I can’t… not like this.”His expression darkened briefly, disappointment flickering across his features before it was replaced by an uncharacteristic tenderness. “Then I’ll stay,” he said simply. “Until you’re well. Or until you change your mind.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Hush,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. “You’ll exhaust yourself with all this arguing. Besides, where else would I be? There’s nowhere more important than here, with you.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite the heaviness in your chest. Lestat shifted, settling onto the edge of the bed and pulling you gently against him. His cool embrace enveloped you, soothing the fever’s relentless heat. As sleep began to pull you under, you felt the press of his lips against your temple—a fleeting, tender gesture that spoke of emotions he rarely dared to voice.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his words a promise and a warning all at once. “And I won’t lose you. Not to this. Not to anything.”

With Lestat’s arms around you, the darkness of your illness seemed just a little less suffocating. For the first time in days, you let yourself rest, knowing that no matter what came next, he would be there.

THE END

[raekensluver]

Hi! Can you please write something about George and his girlfriend getting into a huge argument ( over what I have no idea🤣) but George gets really mean, they give each other the silent treatment for a while ( not months like a couple of days) then George apologises.

🤣🤣 I hope this makes sense

contains: angst/comfort, established relationship, arguing

george clarke x fem!reader

it had been one of those days. a day that started off with small annoyances and ended in a heated argument neither of you had expected.

it wasn’t even something that should’ve been a big deal. at least, that’s what you told yourself as you stared at the closed door to george’s room. he was still in there, and you were sitting on the couch, arms crossed tightly over your chest, feeling the weight of the words you’d thrown at each other.

it had all started with something stupid. maybe it was the fact that you had asked him to help with something—something you thought was simple enough—but he hadn’t even looked up from his computer. or maybe it was the way he had brushed off your feelings when you were venting about something that had been bothering you. either way, it had spiraled.

you had tried to explain, tried to tell him how his actions were affecting you, but instead of hearing you out, george had gotten defensive. his tone had sharpened, and before you knew it, you were both yelling.

"i don’t get why you’re so mad," george had said, his voice rising. "it’s not like i didn’t hear you."

"that’s not the point!" you had snapped back, your own frustration bubbling over. "i’m just asking you to be there for me, george. that’s all."

and that’s when things had gone too far. george had said something that had stung deep—something that cut right through the thin layers of patience you had left.

"well, maybe if you weren’t always nagging me, i’d actually have time to do things!" he’d yelled, a bitter edge to his words.

those words had hit hard, far harder than he could’ve realized in the heat of the moment. your eyes had filled with tears, but you refused to let him see. you stormed out, slamming the door behind you. and that was it. the silent treatment began.

for the next couple of days, neither of you spoke. george spent most of his time in his room, streaming or working on something—anything to avoid the tension in the air. you busied yourself with distractions, trying to find some way to get the words you wanted to say out without fighting. but there was something blocking you—something that felt like a brick wall between the two of you.

you missed him, and you hated the distance that had suddenly settled in. but you were stubborn. you weren’t the one who had started this mess, after all.

finally, it was george who broke the silence.

it was late one night, when you were curled up on the couch with a blanket, scrolling through your phone, trying to ignore the emptiness in the apartment. the door to the living room creaked open, and you looked up to see george standing there, his usual easygoing expression replaced by something more vulnerable.

“hey,” he started softly, almost hesitantly. “can we talk?”

you didn’t say anything immediately, unsure of what to say. you had been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, the words seemed to stick in your throat.

“look,” he continued, stepping further into the room, “i’m sorry. i was a dick the other day. i shouldn’t have said what i did. i was frustrated, but that’s no excuse.”

you met his eyes, and for the first time in days, there was a softness in his gaze that made your heart ache.

“i never meant to hurt you,” he added, his voice quiet. “i’m sorry.”

you swallowed hard, the emotions you’d been holding back threatening to spill over. you had missed him so much, but that hurt was still there, lingering. “you really hurt me, george,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “you don’t get how much those words stung.”

he nodded, his expression regretful. “i know. and i wish i could take it back. i didn’t mean for it to go that far, but i should’ve known better. i should’ve listened to you. i’m sorry.”

you sighed, letting the silence stretch between you for a moment. part of you wanted to hold onto your anger, to keep the wall up. but another part of you—your heart—just wanted him back. you wanted to feel close to him again, to feel like you mattered to him the way you always had.

“it’s gonna take some time for me to get over it,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his again. “but i’m willing to try.”

george stepped forward, kneeling in front of you so that he was eye-level with you. he reached for your hand gently, his touch warm against your cool skin. “i’ll do whatever it takes,” he promised, his voice full of sincerity.

you nodded, your heart finally starting to soften. “okay,” you whispered. “but we need to communicate better, george. i need you to listen to me, really listen.”

he smiled, a small but genuine smile, and nodded. “i will. i swear. i’ll do better.”

you gave a small sigh, feeling the weight of the last few days start to lift off your shoulders. you weren’t fully healed yet, but you could feel the cracks starting to form. you didn’t know what the future held, but you knew that, together, you’d figure it out.

“i love you,” george said quietly, squeezing your hand. “i’m so sorry for everything.”

“i love you too,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “just… don’t forget how much i care, okay?”

“i won’t,” he promised, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly. “i won’t forget.”

and just like that, the tension started to fade, and the space between you two began to close. it wouldn’t be easy, but it was a start. and sometimes, that’s all you needed to find your way back to each other.

[s4kura-tr3]

Hiya! Back, back again >:)

I was thinking about JJK men with an anxious reader? (I’ve personally been super anxious cause I’ve been sick and get SUPER anxious while I’m idle, especially with the ADHD simply- not letting me, so I’ve been thinking about it :P)

If you do this, thanks so much!! If you don’t, that’s totally cool too!! Have a fantastic day/night!! :D <3

(Sorry for the slow post, school has been kicking my butt..🥲)

Gojo satoru — You sat at the corner of the café, the soft hum of conversations and clinking coffee cups around you doing little to quiet the buzzing thoughts in your head. Your fingers tapped against the ceramic of your untouched drink, and your leg bounced under the table as your eyes darted around the room.

“Are you waiting for someone?” a familiar, cheerful voice chirped from above you.

Your head snapped up, startled. There he was—Gojo Satoru, all six feet three inches of him, leaning over the back of the chair across from you, his trademark sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose to reveal his brilliant blue eyes.

“I—I didn’t think you’d come,” you stammered, your cheeks flushing.

“Didn’t think I’d come? I wouldn’t miss a date with you for the world!” He grinned, sitting down without invitation. “Though, I’m offended you underestimated my charm.”

His playful teasing made you smile, even as your heart continued its anxious rhythm. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought…maybe you’d have something better to do.”

Gojo’s expression softened, his usually smug demeanor replaced with something more sincere. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, close enough that you could see the faint scar just beneath his glasses.

“Better than hanging out with the most captivating person in this city? Nope,” he said, his voice gentle now. “Besides, I promised you last time that I’d be here. I don’t break promises, you know.”

You swallowed hard, glancing down at your cup. “I just…sometimes I think you’ll realize I’m not worth it. I’m not like you, Satoru. I’m not confident or fearless. I overthink everything, and sometimes I can’t even breathe because it all feels like too much.”

Gojo’s hand reached out across the table, covering yours. His touch was warm, grounding. “Hey,” he said softly, “first of all, you’re allowed to feel like that. Life can be overwhelming, and I get it. But don’t ever think you’re not worth my time. You’re worth everything, okay?”

Your eyes widened, and he continued, his thumb lightly brushing the back of your hand. “You don’t have to be like me. You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. And if your brain gets too loud sometimes, that’s okay. I’ve got the loudest brain ever, so I know how it feels.” He grinned, trying to ease the tension.

A small laugh escaped you, and he beamed. “See? There’s that smile. You’re braver than you think, you know. Just showing up here today? That takes guts. And lucky for you, you’ve got me to help when things feel heavy. You don’t have to do it alone.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, chasing away some of the weight in your chest. You let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Thank you, Satoru.”

“Anytime,” he said, leaning back in his chair. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, “Now, let’s get some cake. You can’t be anxious when there’s cake. It’s scientifically impossible.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

“For you? Always.”

Geto Suguru — The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness that made your thoughts louder than you wanted them to be. You sat on the couch in your small apartment, knees pulled to your chest as your mind raced with worries—about work, about people, about things that didn’t even make sense anymore.

The knock on your door startled you, and you hesitated before standing. You didn’t need to check to know who it was. He always had this perfect timing, as if he could sense when you needed him most.

When you opened the door, there he stood: Geto Suguru, dressed in his usual black robe-like outfit, his long dark hair tied neatly behind him. He held a small bag in one hand and gave you a gentle smile.

“I figured you hadn’t eaten yet,” he said softly, stepping inside as you moved aside. “So I brought your favorite.”

You blinked at him, warmth blooming in your chest despite the anxious haze clouding your thoughts. “You didn’t have to—”

“Shh.” He held up a finger, his expression teasing but kind. “I wanted to. Sit down, and I’ll set it up for you.”

You followed his instructions without protest, sinking back onto the couch as Geto moved around the kitchen like he’d been there a thousand times before. The smell of the food he brought began to fill the space, grounding you in the present.

When he finally joined you, he placed the neatly arranged meal on the coffee table, but his focus remained on you. “Rough day?” he asked, his voice as calm as always.

You bit your lip, your hands twisting in your lap. “It’s just…everything. I feel like I can’t keep up, like I’m always messing something up, and it just won’t stop.”

Geto’s brows furrowed slightly, but his expression wasn’t pitying—it was understanding. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before letting his hand rest lightly on your shoulder.

“I know how that feels,” he said quietly. “When it feels like the world is closing in, and you can’t catch your breath. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

You nodded, surprised at how easily he seemed to understand.

“But,” he continued, his thumb tracing comforting circles against your shoulder, “you don’t have to face it all at once. It’s okay to take things slow. One step at a time, one thought at a time. And if it gets too overwhelming, you’ve got me. I’ll carry as much as I can for you.

Tears prickled at your eyes, but you blinked them away. “Why are you so nice to me?”

He chuckled, leaning back slightly. “Because you’re important to me, that’s why. I care about you. And I’ll do whatever I can to remind you that you’re not alone, even when your mind tries to tell you otherwise.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight on your chest easing just a little. “Thank you, Suguru. For being here.”

“Always,” he said with a soft smile. Then, his eyes lit with a playful glint as he gestured toward the food. “Now eat before I have to feed you myself.”

You laughed, the sound surprising even you. As the two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm—him making jokes to distract you and you letting yourself be pulled into the warmth of his presence—you realized just how much lighter the room felt with him there.

Nanami kento — The soft click of the front door closing echoed through the quiet apartment. You sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. The weight in your chest felt immovable, like no amount of deep breaths or distractions could lift it.

“(Y/N), I’m home,” Nanami’s steady voice called from the entryway. His tone was the same as always—calm, measured—but there was an undercurrent of concern beneath it.

“In here,” you managed to reply, your voice quieter than usual.

It didn’t take him long to find you. He stepped into the room, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. When his eyes landed on you, his sharp gaze softened instantly.

“Rough day?” he asked, crossing the room and crouching in front of you so you were eye level.

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as your fingers twisted the fabric of the blanket. “It’s…a lot. Everything feels too much. I don’t even know why.”

Nanami tilted his head, studying you for a moment before he reached out to take your hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding you in the present. “You don’t have to justify it,” he said simply. “Sometimes things feel heavy without a clear reason. That doesn’t make your feelings any less valid.”

Your breath hitched, the calm conviction in his voice making your throat tighten with emotion. “I feel like I’m drowning, Kento. And I’m so tired of feeling like this.”

Nanami’s thumbs rubbed slow circles against your knuckles, his steady movements as comforting as his presence. “You don’t have to face it alone,” he said softly. “I’m here. We’ll take it one step at a time, together.”

You let out a shaky breath, finally meeting his eyes. The weight in your chest didn’t disappear, but the tight knot loosened ever so slightly under his steady gaze.

“Let’s focus on the basics,” he continued, his tone practical but kind. “Have you eaten today?”

You shook your head, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.

“Then we’ll start there,” he said firmly, standing and offering you his hand. “Come on. I’ll make something quick, and we’ll sit together. No pressure to talk if you’re not ready.”

You hesitated, but the look on his face—warm, patient, unwavering—made it hard to resist. Taking his hand, you let him guide you into the kitchen.

As he moved around with practiced ease, slicing vegetables and boiling water, he made quiet conversation, nothing too heavy. He told you about a coworker’s antics at the office and how the new bakery he passed had a line around the block. His voice was calm, steady, a soothing balm to your racing thoughts.

When he finally placed the bowl of food in front of you, he sat beside you at the table, his hand resting lightly on your back. “Take your time,” he said, his tone as soft as his touch.

You took a bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you like the comfort of his presence. “Thank you,” you murmured, glancing at him.

His lips curved into a small, rare smile. “You don’t need to thank me. Just remember, no matter how heavy it feels, you’re not alone in carrying it.”

Toji fushiguro — You sat curled up on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. The TV was on, but the sound was muted—just background noise to fill the heavy silence in your apartment. Your chest felt tight, and no amount of shifting or deep breathing seemed to make it better.

The sound of keys jingling snapped you out of your thoughts. The door opened with a quiet creak, and Toji stepped inside, his broad frame instantly making the small space feel smaller. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, his sharp green eyes flicking to you almost immediately.

“You’ve been like this all day, huh?” he asked, his voice low and gruff but not unkind.

You glanced away, embarrassed. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your voice cracked on the last word.

Toji let out a short, knowing laugh. “Yeah, that’s convincing.” He walked over, dropping onto the couch beside you with a heavy thud. His body heat radiated toward you, and though he didn’t touch you yet, his presence alone was grounding.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he asked, leaning back and draping one arm along the back of the couch, his tone softer now.

You hesitated, staring down at your hands. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Everything just feels…wrong. I can’t stop overthinking, and it’s like no matter what I do, I can’t calm down.”

Toji’s brow furrowed as he watched you, but he didn’t rush you to say more. After a moment, he let out a low sigh and reached out, his rough hand resting on your knee.

“Hey,” he said, his voice steadier now. “First of all, cut yourself some slack. You’re allowed to feel like this. Nobody’s got it all figured out, not even me.”

You glanced at him, raising a skeptical brow. “You sure about that?”

Toji smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m serious. You think I’ve never had nights where I felt like ripping my own damn hair out? Life’s messy, and sometimes it gets too loud up here.” He tapped his temple lightly.

His words caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to open up, even a little.

“But,” he continued, giving your knee a gentle squeeze, “you don’t have to deal with it on your own. You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere. Got it?”

Your throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I just feel so stupid sometimes. Like I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

Toji’s expression darkened slightly, his tone firm. “Stop that. Your feelings aren’t stupid, and you’re not a damn burden. If it matters to you, it matters. Don’t let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise.”

His words struck something deep inside you, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight on your chest was still there, but it felt a little lighter with his steady presence grounding you.

“Feel like getting some fresh air?” he asked after a while, his voice low and rumbling. “Sometimes a walk helps. If not, we’ll come back, and I’ll make you something to eat. Or we can just sit here, your call.”

You nodded against his shoulder, his straightforwardness cutting through the fog in your mind. “A walk sounds nice.”

Toji stood, pulling you to your feet with ease. He grabbed your coat and handed it to you, his lips quirking into a small grin. “Good. And if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll take care of it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his dramatic threat, the tension in your chest easing just a little more.

With Toji by your side, the world didn’t feel quite as overwhelming.

Sukuna ryomen — You sat on the floor of your room, back pressed against the wall, trying to breathe through the crushing weight in your chest. Everything felt wrong—your thoughts raced, your heart pounded, and no matter what you tried, the panic refused to let go. You buried your face in your knees, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

“Oi.”

The familiar deep voice cut through the haze in your mind. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Sukuna. His presence always carried an undeniable weight, like the air itself bent around him.

You didn’t respond. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d leave.

“Are you seriously going to sit there like that?” he said, his tone sharp but lacking its usual venom. You could hear his footsteps as he crossed the room. “You’re better than this.”

You finally lifted your head, glaring at him through tear-filled eyes. “Better than what? Feeling like this? I can’t just make it stop, Sukuna.”

He crouched down in front of you, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Tch. No one said you had to ‘just make it stop.’” His voice was quieter now, almost calm. “But you’re not going to get through it by curling up and letting it win, either.”

You scoffed, turning your head away. “Why do you even care?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he shot back without hesitation. His words were blunt, but his tone softened slightly. “You’re mine. If you think I’m going to let some invisible nonsense bring you down, you’re wrong.”

Your breath hitched, his declaration catching you off guard. Sukuna, of all people, wasn’t exactly known for kindness or concern. Yet here he was, crouched in front of you, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“You don’t have to fight this alone,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, more controlled. “But you do need to fight it. Let it scream all it wants. Let it throw its punches. Then stand up and remind it who you are.”

His words struck something deep within you, and tears began to fall despite your best efforts. “I don’t know if I can,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Sukuna sighed, leaning back slightly but staying close. “You can,” he said firmly. “And even if you stumble, I’m here. I’ll drag you back to your feet if I have to.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred with tears. “You’d really do that?”

He smirked, but it wasn’t as sharp as usual. There was something softer in the way he looked at you. “Of course. Can’t have my little human breaking apart, now can I?”

A shaky laugh escaped you, and Sukuna’s smirk widened slightly. He extended a clawed hand toward you, palm up. “Come on. You’re not staying on the floor all night.”

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip was warm and surprisingly gentle as he pulled you to your feet. He didn’t let go immediately, his hand lingering in yours for just a second longer than necessary.

“Better,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You don’t need to be perfect. Just keep moving forward, little one. That’s enough.”

You nodded, his words settling in your chest like a spark of light. With Sukuna beside you, the weight on your shoulders didn’t seem quite as heavy anymore.

Megumi fushiguro — You sat at the edge of your bed, gripping the fabric of your pants as your mind spiraled. Your chest felt tight, and your breaths came shallow, no matter how hard you tried to slow them. You hated this feeling—this overwhelming, suffocating anxiety that left you frozen in place.

A knock at the door broke through your haze

“Hey,” Megumi’s soft, steady voice called from the other side. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated, debating whether to send him away, but before you could answer, the door creaked open just enough for his head to peek through. His dark eyes locked onto yours, scanning your face with quiet concern.

“Thought so,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He didn’t say anything else right away, just walked over and sat beside you on the bed, leaving a small but comforting distance between you.

You stared at the floor, ashamed to even look at him. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, though the tremble in your voice gave you away.

Megumi let out a quiet sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to say that,” he said, his voice calm and even. “I can tell you’re not.”

You bit your lip, feeling the tears start to build. “I hate this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hate feeling like I’m stuck in my own head, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Megumi glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t have to figure it out alone,” he said after a moment. “I know it feels like you’re drowning, but you’re not. I’m right here.”

His words made something in your chest ache, and you let out a shaky breath. “I just—I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Megumi said firmly, finally turning to face you. “Don’t even think that. Everyone needs help sometimes. Even me.”

You blinked, looking at him in surprise. “You?”

He gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “Yeah. You’ve seen how I can get—shutting people out, trying to deal with everything on my own. It doesn’t work.” He hesitated, his voice softening. “You’ve been there for me before. Let me be here for you now.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and Megumi didn’t hesitate. He scooted closer, his hand reaching out to gently rest on yours. His touch was warm and grounding, steady in a way that made your chest feel a little less tight.

“Breathe with me,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Just focus on my voice.”

You nodded, following his lead as he guided you through slow, deep breaths. His voice was calm, his presence unshakable, and gradually, the suffocating weight in your chest began to ease.

“Better?” he asked after a while, his tone gentle but hopeful.

You nodded again, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “A little,” you admitted.

Megumi gave you a small smile, the kind that was rare but always genuine. “Good. It doesn’t have to be perfect right now. Just one step at a time.”

He stayed by your side, his hand still resting over yours, and for the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe again. With Megumi’s quiet strength grounding you, the storm in your mind didn’t seem so impossible to face.

Yuji itadori — You sat on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the floor. Your chest felt heavy, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t untangle. Everything felt like too much, and no matter how hard you tried to calm down, nothing seemed to work.

The sound of the door opening barely registered in your mind.

“Hey, I’m back!” Yuji’s cheerful voice echoed through the room, followed by the sound of a bag hitting the floor. “I got your favorite snack—” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw you. “Wait…what’s wrong?”

You didn’t look up, trying to blink back the tears threatening to fall. “It’s nothing,” you murmured, though your shaky voice betrayed you.

Yuji was by your side in an instant, crouching in front of you with a concerned expression. “Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Don’t say that. If something’s bothering you, it’s not nothing.”

You shook your head, burying your face in your knees. “I just… I don’t know how to explain it. My head won’t stop racing, and everything feels like it’s too much.”

Yuji sat down on the floor in front of you, crossing his legs and resting his arms on his knees. “Okay,” he said gently. “Then you don’t have to explain it. But you don’t have to deal with it alone either, okay? I’m here.”

You peeked at him through watery eyes. “I don’t want to ruin your day, Yuji. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

He frowned, his face softening as he reached out to rest a hand on your knee. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re never ruining my day, okay? You’re important to me. If you’re feeling bad, then I want to help.”

His words broke something in you, and a tear slid down your cheek. Yuji’s expression didn’t falter. Instead, he smiled, soft and reassuring. “You know what we’ll do? We’ll take it one step at a time. No pressure, no rush. Just little steps until it feels better.”

“How?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“First, we breathe,” he said, shifting to sit beside you on the couch. “Come on, match my breathing. In for four, out for four.” He exaggerated each breath, making it easy for you to follow.

You mimicked him hesitantly, the steady rhythm of his breathing drawing you out of your head little by little.

“See? You’re doing great,” he said, beaming at you once you both settled into a calmer pace. “Now, do you want to talk about it? Or do you just want to sit here for a while?”

You glanced at him, his warm smile easing the tightness in your chest. “Just…sit here for now.”

“Okay,” he said simply. Without hesitation, Yuji wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you gently against him. “We’ll just sit. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his breathing grounded you in the moment. With Yuji by your side, the weight pressing down on you didn’t feel quite as heavy. He didn’t need to say anything else—his presence alone was enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

[formiito]

poetry in motion ; dazai osamu

dazai osamu + gn! reader — a conversation by the sea. a morning of quiet contemplation.

author's note: was feeling mentally ill at 2am while listening to lana del rey unreleased and shat this out. can be read as both platonic and romantic! this is set between odasaku's death and dazai's departure from the mafia. i hope i portrayed pm dazai well enough. listen to some ocean sounds while reading for ambience. read on ao3 here. wc: 2930 words.

The foaming blue waves roll softly on the docks, the wooden boards of the pier damp and rotted over the years, silently standing against the ocean currents. The dock workers shuffle through the shipment yard in the early morning hours, sun risen but obscured by heavy clouds. The cold, salty breeze pricks the cheeks of the brunet, leaving a pink hue wherever they gently brush. He was here to watch the sunrise, took you with him, but the hours have already passed and he couldn't tell when the inky black of the night disappeared and was replaced by the greyish blues he sees now. It's always possible to miss things even when they are in your sight the whole time— everything slips past his fingers too easily.

You are still here beside him, wires tangled between the two of you, sharing earpieces; he's never been a fan of your tastes in music, but he's beginning to get used to it. The same way you've made your way into his life; unpredictable, unwelcome, yet needed. Puffs of fog hang around the two; winter's over, but it's still very much cold. Atleast, that's what he thought when he put his coat over your shoulders. It doesn't fit him, it doesn't fit you. Instead, it hangs off the edges of your shoulders like a heavy weight, meant for someone else to bear. Not him, not you.

The song repeats over and over, but he does not feel like clicking to the next one. The endless loop of songbirds, crashing waves, featherlight melodies; there is something comforting in familiarity. Even if it is merely temporary. The sky is empty and grey, so he naturally looks down below. The spot he chose for the two of you was perfect the night before, when everything shrouded in the cold blanket of the midnight hours, playing games and laughing about silly anecdotes to distract yourselves. Even as the both of you were covered in dried blood and sitting with trembling hands from the action of the evening before; it was absurd, but ignoring reality made everything a little bit easier, if only for the little pockets of time you both had. Anything that kept you both sane, wasn't it what you both wanted?

But now the night is gone and he can look at the drop down below, legs dangling off the edge; there's a vague feeling of disappointment somewhere under his skin. It's another day under the sun where nothing ever happens. The thrill of being on the edge of death will creep again at night, but daylight hours were largely sleepy affairs; everything that was worth happening only did once the sun went down. Atleast he has the solace of being around someone he actually likes the presence of. Your eyes flit over the scene down below. The shuffle of life looks distant from this height and when you strain your ears the garbled, vague voices of dockhands reaches your ears, but it's all so far away. There's always a quiet temptation that pulls on the mind; to leave this little bubble of fragile, short lived peace and join the waking world again, to cross this height and meet life where you can feel its signs. For there's no life in the dull chocolate brown gaze that you can feel affixed to the side of your face. Still, you like his company. He's easy to be around, even if he goes out of his way to be troublesome for certain people, like a specific ginger boy you're both familiar with. There is something deliberately performative about it, however; his dramatics are for his amusement, but there is a layer of irony so subtle in his excesses that sometimes, it feels like a mockery of something. Of what, you cannot tell. Your gaze doesn't meet his, mind consumed by the tides below, edged white with seafoam and painted a muted blue by the sky. It's not because you feel uncomfortable holding his gaze, like certain other people do—in truth you've always found something unique in it, because it's only natural that when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back. Right now, however, you felt like any eye contact could ruin this moment, and once that happens, you both will begin the same loop that has defined this life for the two of you.

You're tired by this point. He can tell how you yawn every few seconds, and he knows he's kept you here for too long, but he's not one to ever feel satisfied when it comes to things like this. "Tired?" He asks flicking open his box of cigarettes and handing you one. That might just make you more sleepy, but you didn't seem to care when you took out cigarette from the box and flipped open your lighter. The blue flame lit the stick in his mouth first, then yours, and was shut with a flick of your thumb. "Kinda. You know, maybe we shouldn't have stayed up playing games all night. I think I'm gonna pass out and I can't even sleep in today, man."

"Your fault for asking for rematches for six straight hours. Your win-lose ratio is hilarious."

"I am not a quitter."

"That's right, you're a loser instead. So much better!"

"Shut it, mummy boy." You scoff, tapping him lightly on his arm with the cigarette in retaliation. It doesn't connect, but he doesn't spare a second before gasping. Though, it wouldn't exactly be the first time either of you have tried putting out cigarettes on each other. As a joke, of course. Punchline unknown.

"That hurt!!"

"I didn't even touch you."

"It's the principle of it!" He complained, resting his chin on the heel of his bandaged wrist.

"You're ridiculous, I swear. Next time, I'm gonna win."

"Wanna bet on that?"

"…No."

"Thought so." He huffed, exhaling smoke.

Petty things like this mattered little to you anyway. Even during the mundane minutes where nothing seemed to happen, you never bothered to cure your boredom anywhere else. Even when it would be so easy to point out that you really had no one better to be with, he never taunted you with it. There had grown a silent understanding between the two of you that he'd rather keep it that way. It's not that you had very few friends from a lack of trying either, but friendships in the mafia were mostly superficial. After one point, you had begun to retreat into yourself, at the very least, emotionally. It was simply the nature of things. Even when you tried to reach out to someone else and connect, it felt wrong. There was something unfit and dishonest about it, like trying to find love in a brothel.

Still, for the better or worse, you both were close friends, whether you both said it out loud or not didn't matter because where he is, there's always you not too far away.

When the silence falls again, the acrid smoke curls around the both of you in silence, dissipating into the morning air as you both watch. Once the wind begins to pick up, Dazai adjusts the lapels of the coat draped on you a little. A mundane gesture, but you appreciated it. Still…button ups and bandages couldn't be enough. "Aren't you cold?" He responds with a noncommittal hum. "Kind of, but it feels good." The ocean draft was cold, but soft. A feathery touch.

However, you'd rather not risk him getting sick, even if he would love the excuse to skip out on work. You shift the coat so that it is draped upon the two of you, the black trenchcoat enveloping the two of you. It fit better this way, you think, the weight of it not as heavy when shared. Dazai, despite his earlier nonchalance, does take the lapel on his end and pull it tighter on his shoulder. His bandaged fingers no longer tremble as much, fiddling with the beaded bracelet on his wrist instead, and the crab charm hanging from it. It's silly, but it hasn't left his wrist in years. Or yours. Underneath bandages, shirt cuffs and heavy black coats, the weight of childhood presses down with a gentle reminder. Don't forget who you were.

After all, people don't simply become anew when they grow up; rather the years build upon them like successive shells. The way nacre builds around pearls. But it always seemed to you like your shell was never hard enough for this place; every day felt uncertain, like being thrown into the deep end of a pool for the first time. Then there were the times where you felt like you could almost forget all of that, the little pockets of normalcy within the chaos. Normalcy with him. It wasn't enough, but it was enough to remind you that sometimes, it was worth it to be alive. You were only afraid that one day, it will no longer be enough. That there would be a day when your soul will be steeped in the same loneliness as his, the same mafia black that painted his life in broad strokes.

Still, you had your solace in the fact that Dazai too, seemed to be changing, even if it was in a way that was subtle for most people. He didn't seem to throw himself into death's welcoming arms as often anymore, or with the same passion. Something had changed, but you couldn't tell what it was. You didn't know how to ask, but you already knew that he wasn't going to answer. There was no explanation for it. You just knew. Looking down at the ledge, legs hanging off it, you wonder if his attempts had any merit. That perhaps you were simply desperate for any reason to hold on when you should've just given up and let go.

The port town is a little more lively in the morning now and the sounds that characterize this life still ring in your ears, though it is distant. Painfully so. When you look down at the drop below, gaze over the wooden dock and the turbulent waves, there is a strange thought in your mind. A sort of distressing temptation, some sort of a call that makes you want to close the distance that separated you from the rest of humanity. It appears out of nowhere, but stays in the back of your mind. A siren call to the ground that you don't dare answer. You pull your legs up and rest them on the concrete, slightly away from the ledge. His eyes follow the movement, but he says nothing of it. There was no explanation for it. He just knew. He does the same, placing his legs on the ledge instead of letting them dangle, an arm around your shoulders. "Dazai, can I ask a question?" Your tone was softer, less aggressive than it was during your banter. "Yeah, what is it?"

You extinguish the lit cigarette on the concrete. "You ever get that weird feeling? A temptation to fall? Not wanting to, but the thought feels…"

"…Compelling, yeah. Why do you ask?"

"I don't really know. I don't think I want to die. Sometimes I'm not sure of that either."

Dazai hums, a noncommittal sound. You've been changing lately too, this he knows, but not yet enough to truly consider such a solution. He knew you, how you seemed to still have some sort of a hope for living; a meaning that seemed to be lost on both of you but very much there. He had thought that the nature of death and unbridled vice that gripped the mafia would be enough to give him a reason to live, but some days, he feels a sort of unfounded jealousy towards you. That though you seemed to not know your reasons, you never realized the futility of your existence. Not in the same way he did. In that sense, your presence here felt out of place, discordant; sometimes he thinks if he shouldn't have dragged you down with him.

Eurydice, after all, is not supposed to follow Orpheus to hell.

But this story is all upside down and inside out, wrong in its very nature; meant to evoke a certain disgust in whoever witnessed it.

Even God would turn away.

"It's just a thought. You don't want to die." Dazai remarks, uncharacteristically sincere for once.

He wonders, how long will you hold onto that dying light in your eyes?

"Yeah. I mean, I don't think I do. It's just… living is so exhausting."

"And it's so easy to die, isn't it?"

You nod quietly, but don't agree with him entirely. It is easy to die, especially in the mafia, but you won't willingly seek it. The permanence of death still terrifies you, and you're not that courageous. You don't want to face the devil you know. You'd rather sit here on the ledge with the one you do.

"Maybe. But sometimes it feels worth it to be alive. And I don't want to miss that."

"Even if it's tiring and meaningless?"

"… For now, yes."

The look in his eyes has changed, softened to one of resignation, and it scares you. Even when you are looking straight at him, you can glean nothing from his eyes. You could vaguely guess what a person usually thought of by their expression. But he was different, he always was different; the times when you could tell what he felt merely off a glance were gone a long time back.

"I guess we can't see eye to eye on it, then."

He wonders if there would ever be a day where you start seeing what he sees; if there would be a day you'd come home with your hopes crushed and he'd be able to say something stupid like, I told you so.

He didn't know if he wanted that day to come.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you observed his far off expression for a few more seconds, before looking away. The question that leaves your mouth feels jarring, without any proper forethought that can soften how rough it feels on the tongue. But it's not your fault there's only one thing you could think of at the moment.

"…Do you think people who can't understand each other can be friends?"

"Understanding or relating? They're different things."

That threw you in for another loop. The worst part was that you didn't even know. You know your friend's sorrows, you know the emptiness that runs through him more than anyone— yet you could never truly piece where it started and where it'd end, nor could you feel it in yourself. No matter how much you wished you could. "Either."

"I think… people should atleast be able to understand each other when they're friends, no? You can't really care about someone you know nothing about. Relating isn't that important, though."

"… Are we friends, then?"

The moment's silence is heavy between the two of you as Dazai thinks over your words. Were you his friend? Here, in the morning light, under the same coat, wearing matching crab bracelets? Maybe you are his friend, but he wonders if he knows what friends are even supposed to be like. You're not like Odasaku or even Chuuya, though with the latter he has a complicated relationship, yet could still call his friend sometimes. You two were close, but he was not blind to the very fundamental differences between the two of you. The chasm of hope that separated you. A space that'd only grow wider once he leaves, and he knows he has to. Still, for some reason he feels compelled to take your hand and hold it lightly in his. Are we friends, then?

"Yeah, I think we are." He answers, with a small smile on his face.

Ultimately, he didn't think any of it mattered. For the better or worse, after all, the both of you were together. Your faint, content smile at the confirmation makes him feel like it wasn't wrong to say it.

"Really? Well, that's good enough for me."

He had the urge to retort back with another quip, something that would derail the conversation and steer it back towards the usual banter; something familiar and easy between the two of you. However, this time, he doesn't follow through with it, instead stewing in the temporary discomfort that comes with sincerity. For once, he feels like being honest with you, even if it means not punctuating this heavy silence. Letting the sounds of the waves and the faint music in the shared earphones be the only voice in his ears. You seemed content with the same, still sitting by his side and sharing the coat, pinky fingers interlinked loosely.

Perhaps you did not need to understand his sorrow or feel it as your own, and he does not have to understand your exhaustion and hope for the future. Everyday is all anyone can ever have, and if these days were a little more bearable like this, there was no reason to deliberately cut this off. There is a passing thought; that perhaps in the coming days, when he finally decides to leave this teenage wasteland for good, he could take you with him. After all, where he was, you weren't too far away. If fallen angels exist, so do risen demons, and perhaps this time, Eurydice will make it back to the surface; for this story is all wrong, and that's alright.

[cruel-seduction]

Hello! I was hoping I could request one where reader helps Eddie/Venom during a fight and gets hurt and they have to save her, lots of angst but a happy ending? Thank you very much!

Heyyy sorry it took a while. But I tried my best to write this. Hope you like it.

Shadows of Regret

The city was drenched in shadows, the alleyways pulsating with a darkness that seemed to wrap around you like a suffocating blanket. The distant hum of traffic echoed against the bricks, but you hardly noticed. Your heart raced as you stepped into the alley, the harsh, flickering light from a nearby streetlamp casting an eerie glow on the cold pavement. Clad in your favorite worn leather jacket, faded jeans, and scuffed boots, you felt a mix of adrenaline and fear. You had insisted on coming to help Eddie, even after he had urged you to stay behind. “You don’t understand what’s at stake,” he had said, his voice raw and pleading, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he turned away from you.

But you did understand. You understood the depths of his pain and the darkness that clung to him and Venom like a second skin. You couldn’t just stand by while he faced the chaos alone. You needed to be there for him, to remind him he wasn’t as lost as he believed.

When you arrived at the warehouse, the musty smell of metal and decay hit you like a wall. You could hear the distant growls and snarls of Venom as he clashed with the gang that had been terrorizing the city. Eddie’s gruff voice broke through the noise, tinged with anger and desperation. “Get out of here! You don’t belong here!” He didn’t see you, his back turned as he fought, but you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you.

“Eddie!” you shouted, your voice barely rising above the chaos. You stepped forward, heart pounding, your instincts screaming at you to turn back. But you couldn’t. Not now.

In that moment, Eddie spun around, eyes wild, his breath coming in harsh gasps. When he saw you, a flicker of shock crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by fury. “I told you to go! You shouldn’t be here!” His voice was a thunderclap, reverberating off the warehouse walls. The venomous edge in his tone cut deeper than any physical blow.

You recoiled slightly, hurt flashing across your features. “I’m not leaving you,” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady. “You need me.”

But Eddie’s expression hardened, and you could see the internal battle raging within him. He stepped toward you, fists clenched, his body taut with tension. “You don’t get it! I can’t protect you if you’re here! I won’t let Venom hurt you. You have to trust me.”

A deep ache settled in your chest as his words sank in. You knew he was right to worry, but you also knew that pushing you away was tearing him apart. The guilt that shadowed his every move was palpable, and it stung you to see him like this, so raw and broken. “Eddie, please…” you began, but before you could finish, a loud crash echoed through the warehouse, pulling both your attention away.

Venom’s monstrous form loomed in the dim light, a twisted amalgamation of muscle and shadow, his white eyes glowing with a fierce intensity. He was strong, fierce, and ready to fight, but you could see the flicker of concern in those glowing orbs as he watched you.

“Get back!” Eddie shouted again, panic rising in his voice as he stepped in front of you, a shield against the chaos. He was imposing and protective, but the fear behind his eyes was unmistakable. “I can’t lose you too!”

You felt your breath hitch, a mix of hurt and determination swelling inside you. “Eddie, I can handle myself!” you insisted, pushing past him, refusing to cower. But the moment you stepped forward, the atmosphere shifted, a palpable tension crackling in the air.

Venom roared, lunging at the gang members, a mass of dark tendrils and fury. You turned to see the fight erupt, but the chaos quickly descended into a blur of fists and snarls. Suddenly, one of the attackers broke free, rushing toward you with a wild look in his eyes, and in that split second, everything changed.

The air was thick with tension as Eddie and Venom fought side by side, a chaotic whirlwind of violence and desperate energy. You stood there, torn between fear and the desire to help, watching as Eddie threw himself into battle. Every part of you screamed to turn away, to run and get out of harm's way, but you refused.

"I’m not leaving you," you whispered under your breath. You wouldn’t run, not after everything he’d already sacrificed. You refused to be another person to abandon him when he needed someone most. But in the instant you stepped forward, trying to close the gap between you and Eddie, the world shattered.

One of the gang members—a hulking figure whose face was contorted with anger—saw the opening. His eyes locked onto you, and before you could react, he lunged. You instinctively tried to dodge, but your foot caught on a loose piece of debris. Time seemed to stretch in that split second as you felt your body stumble, your knees buckling under you.

The pain was immediate. His hand clamped around your wrist like a vice, jerking you into the air before slamming you against the brick wall with a sickening thud.

"NO!" Eddie’s voice rang out, filled with raw terror, but you couldn’t hear him clearly over the buzzing in your ears. Your vision blurred, and your breath hitched as your side exploded with pain. The air was knocked from your lungs, sharp and searing. The wall scraped against your skin like jagged glass, sending an icy, fiery sting through your entire body.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You couldn't think. Your body burned with the sensation of the world falling apart.

"Shit!" Eddie's voice, desperate and filled with anguish, reached you just as the air around you felt suffocating. His figure, all tension and fury, collided with the gang member. The force of the impact sent the man crashing backward, but Eddie didn’t even hesitate—he turned back to you in a heartbeat.

“Stay with me,” he begged, his voice breaking. His eyes were wide, frantic. The moment his gaze met you, it was as if he saw everything he'd been running from. His face contorted in fear, the protective mask he'd worn for so long slipping, revealing the broken man beneath.

You wanted to respond. To tell him you were fine, that it wasn’t so bad. But your body was betraying you, the pain spreading like wildfire across your ribs, your lungs. You gasped for air, but all that came was a pained, shallow breath. Your vision spun, and you could feel the sharp heat of blood pooling beneath you. The world around you dulled as your consciousness began to fade.

Eddie reached you before you could slip into unconsciousness, his hands trembling as he cradled your face. “No, please don’t do this,” he muttered, his voice jagged with desperation. “Don’t you dare leave me… I can’t… I can't lose you.” His words seemed to echo, thick with a vulnerability you’d never seen from him before.

Venom raged inside Eddie, a furious entity locked within him, but even Venom—powerful, violent, and untamed—seemed to share in Eddie's fear, his sense of helplessness. "Stay with her, Eddie," Venom growled, his voice like a thousand serpents hissing in the air. "You can't lose her. Not like this."

Eddie’s hands moved over you like he was trying to hold your brokenness together, his fingers grazing over the bloodied side of your body. “You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay,” he said, more to himself than to you. His voice was trembling, shaking with a fierce, raw energy. But his touch, frantic as it was, wasn’t enough to stop the blood that stained your clothes and soaked into his hands.

He looked at you again, his breath coming in desperate pants, his face pale. His eyes, usually sharp with intensity, were now wide and filled with terror, as if every bit of him had unraveled in an instant.

“I told you to stay back,” he choked out, his voice breaking, full of blame, guilt, and grief. “I told you… I told you it was too dangerous.”

But you hadn’t listened. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him.

And now, seeing you so fragile, so hurt, Eddie felt like he was crumbling. He tried to push the guilt down, tried to focus on you, on getting you to safety. “I should’ve… I should’ve kept you safe.” His hands shook as he tried to stop the bleeding, but the blood kept coming, your life slipping away with every passing second.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” he muttered, the words coming out jagged, broken. “I never wanted this for you.”

Venom’s voice cut through the storm of Eddie’s thoughts. "Eddie, don’t—" The symbiote’s voice softened, a rare moment of calm in the midst of the chaos. "She chose to be here. She chose you."

Eddie swallowed, his breath uneven, and for the first time, he looked at Venom as though he’d never truly understood the weight of his own feelings. “I—no, I can’t lose her, Venom. I just can’t.”

Tears welled up in Eddie’s eyes as he pressed his palm to your side, trying to steady you, trying to hold onto you. “Please don’t leave me. I need you… I need you to stay.”

But your body was growing colder, your breath coming slower, and as much as Eddie tried, as much as he wished, he knew he couldn’t control everything. He couldn’t stop what was happening to you.

"Don't go, don't leave me..." Eddie repeated over and over again, each word a fragile thread he clung to as though it were his last lifeline.

Eddie’s frantic voice echoed in the stillness of the warehouse, as he tried desperately to keep you with him. The panic that had initially gripped him began to take on a sharper, deeper edge—the weight of everything pressing down on him. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not after everything he’d done to keep you safe, only for you to be hurt because you refused to leave his side.

The blood was still coming, staining the fabric of your clothes and soaking his hands as he tried to staunch the flow. The fear in his chest was suffocating. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to you or to himself when he muttered, “Please, don’t leave me... please...”

His heart hammered against his ribcage, and he was on the verge of losing control. “You can’t leave me,” he said again, but his words felt hollow, too desperate, too broken. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry I told you to go. I should’ve let you stay. I should’ve trusted you.” The words were coming out in a rush, tumbling from his mouth as he clung to you, his hands trembling on your bloodied body. The guilt felt like it was suffocating him.

Venom surged within Eddie, the symbiote feeling the devastation pouring through him, but the anger and frustration were twisted with a strange, painful sense of helplessness. “Eddie,” Venom growled softly, his voice trying to ground Eddie through the chaos. “We have to focus. Stay with her. We will fix this.”

Eddie’s grip tightened on you, his eyes locked on your face as though willing you to respond. The world around him seemed to blur, and all he could focus on was you, the person who had refused to leave him no matter how many times he told you to go. His heart ached in a way that words couldn’t describe. You were slipping away from him, and he couldn’t stop it.

But then, just as the darkness started to close in around the edges of your vision, you felt a warmth—slow, steady, like a flicker of life trying to push back the cold. A faint pressure on your side. You could feel Eddie’s hands trembling on you, but there was something else. Something deeper, stronger, as though the bond between you and Eddie was pulsing, alive, trying to fight back.

You didn’t know how long it had been, moments stretched into infinity, but the warmth you felt began to grow, spreading through your body, igniting something inside you. With effort, you forced your eyes open, the dim light from the broken windows above casting a shadow on Eddie’s face. His expression was a tortured mess, eyes filled with unshed tears as they locked onto yours.

"Eddie..." you whispered, the sound rasping from your throat, but just the act of speaking, of breathing, was enough to bring a glimmer of hope.

His name was a strangled sob. He leaned down, his forehead touching yours as though you were the only thing that mattered in the world. “You’re awake... You’re awake.” His voice cracked, the rawness of his emotions spilling out in that single sentence. “I thought... I thought I lost you.”

He was shaking now, barely able to breathe, his hand gently cupping your face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...” Eddie repeated over and over, as though he could make it all better if he just said it enough. His lips trembled as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. The love and pain mixed in that kiss, raw and unfiltered.

“I couldn’t... let you leave me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I need you.”

Venom’s voice rumbled from deep within Eddie, but it wasn’t filled with fury this time. Instead, there was a strange warmth in it, almost as if the symbiote itself had recognized the gravity of the moment. “You’re both stronger than you think, Eddie. Together.”

Eddie’s hand slid down to your side, gingerly pressing to the wound, but this time, the blood flow had slowed. The bleeding had stopped. Venom, in his own way, had reached inside, using his healing abilities to stitch the torn pieces of your body together. The symbiote worked quickly, trying to make sure you were stable.

You could feel the pull of Venom’s influence, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was healing. It was saving you.

The moment dragged on, but slowly, you started to feel your strength return, your breathing becoming less shallow, the dizziness ebbing away. You looked up at Eddie, who still hovered above you, his eyes wide, watchful, never leaving your face.

“I’m… okay…” you whispered hoarsely, though you knew it wasn’t completely true. But the warmth spreading through your body, the steadiness returning to your breath, gave you hope.

“Okay?” Eddie repeated, his voice still cracked, but there was disbelief in it, as if he couldn’t quite accept that you were truly waking up, that you were going to be okay. “You’re... you’re gonna be fine. I swear to God, I’ll make sure of it.”

For a moment, it felt like the weight of the world had lifted just a little. Eddie’s hands were still on you, but this time, it wasn’t frantic. It was tender, caring, almost as if he couldn’t believe you were still there, still alive. Venom’s presence—once something terrifying and alien—now felt oddly comforting, like an anchor, steadying Eddie and allowing him to focus on the most important thing in that moment: you.

Your body was exhausted, but the warmth of Eddie’s touch, the bond you shared with him and with Venom, was enough to make you feel like you could hold on.

“We’re not leaving you, not now,” Eddie promised, his voice fierce but filled with relief.

You nodded, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you reached out with shaky hands to pull him closer, needing him more than you had ever needed anyone. “I’m here, Eddie,” you whispered, your voice soft but determined. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Eddie let out a deep breath, his tension easing as he pulled you into his arms, his body cradling yours protectively. Venom was there too, a steady, comforting presence within Eddie, assuring that they would both protect you—no matter the cost.

“I promise,” Eddie murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll be okay. All of us. Together.”

As the night pressed on, the city still echoing with its distant sounds, the three of you remained, bound together in a way that felt unbreakable. Whatever the future held, whatever dangers awaited, you knew that you’d face them side by side.

[custom-fic-studio]

Keigo Takami x female reader

Love Me, That’s All

The door clicked open with a sluggish push of his shoulder.

Keigo barely registered the sound of it shutting behind him. Every muscle in his body screamed, aching from the brutal mission that had dragged on for two days longer than planned. Cuts lined his arms and torso beneath the ripped hero suit. Dried blood caked some of them—nothing fatal, but enough to sting with every step. He hadn’t even gotten around to seeing a medic. Not yet.

He didn’t have the energy.

His wings dragged low behind him, heavier than they’d ever felt. The usual lightness in his stride had long since vanished, replaced with the quiet shuffle of someone barely holding himself together. The moment his eyes locked on the couch, his body decided for him.

Just get to the couch.

He collapsed face-down into the cushions with a groan, half on, half off, arms limp at his sides. He didn’t remove his boots. Didn’t bother with the straps of his gear. The morning message he sent you—short, apologetic, full of longing—was the last time you’d heard from him. He hadn’t even sent a “home safe.”

He meant to. He wanted to. He missed you so much it physically hurt.

You’d both had long days—you, probably still recovering from your own mission. He knew that. That was what stopped him from calling the second he stepped in. You deserved your rest too.

But Keigo Takami hadn’t made it ten seconds before sleep took him. Phone still in his hand. Draft message unsent. His final thought was of you.

I miss you.

…

The scent of something warm and familiar stirred him from sleep.

Keigo’s eyes fluttered open slowly, still hazy, still tired—but no longer cold. There was a blanket draped over him. His boots were off. His hero gear, which had clung to him like dead weight earlier, was nowhere in sight.

And the couch? It felt… comfortable. Like someone had shifted his position, made sure his limbs weren’t bent awkwardly, tucked him in with care.

He blinked toward the soft light pouring in from the kitchen. A figure stood by the stove, stirring a pot. The smell—rich, savory stew—wrapped around him like a second blanket.

His lips parted in a whisper. “… Y/N?”

You turned at the sound of your name, smiling the moment you saw him sitting up, dazed and blinking.

“Hi, honey,” you murmured with a tender smile, your voice warm and soothing. “How was your nap?”

He rubbed a hand over his face and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I didn’t even make it to the bed.”

“I noticed,” you teased, walking over to turn the flame down beneath the stew. “Now, would you like to eat first? Or take a bath—I can run one for you. Or… I should probably address your wounds before either.”

He blinked up at you, heart tugging in his chest. “You’re really here.”

You chuckled, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and nudging him up. “Come on. Sit at the table. You’ll feel better upright.”

He let you guide him without resistance, limbs sluggish but obedient, settling into a chair with a grateful sigh. You padded back over to the stove and left the stew on low before turning back to him. On your way to the cabinet, you retrieved the small first aid kit you’d seen him use before, popping it open on the table with quiet familiarity. You began laying out gauze, antiseptic, and ointment, your touch gentle and practiced.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, voice raspier now but full of affection.

You dipped a cloth in warm water and carefully began cleaning the dried blood from a scrape along his arm, your motions slow and soothing. You worked in silence for a moment, focusing on the tender spots and carefully applying ointment to the worst of them.

You tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “Maybe thirty minutes after my shift ended. I knew you had a long day, and I thought it’d be nice to cook you something warm… the meal you’ve been wanting for a while.” You hesitated for a second.“You didn’t answer when I knocked or called, so I used my key. I hope that’s okay?”

Keigo looked at you with a quiet smile, like just seeing you made everything in his world feel lighter. “Of course it’s okay. That’s why I gave you the only other copy I had. I want you to use it.”

You blushed, eyes dipping away for a moment before clearing your throat. “Well… anyway. I came in and saw you completely knocked out on the couch. I figured it’d be better to let you rest. You looked… peaceful. Really peaceful.”

You glanced down at his arm, giving one last gentle press to the bandage before pulling your hands back. “I think that’s all the wounds on your arms—for now. We can take care of the rest after we’ve had a bit of dinner.”

He leaned back slightly, arms draped over the back of the chair, looking at you with something unreadable and tender in his eyes. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

You cut him off gently, leaning forward. “I wanted to,” you said. “Because I love you.”

His chest swelled with warmth—fierce, protective, soft all at once.

He stood up slowly and closed the space between you with two quiet steps, hands finding your waist as he pulled you in. His lips found yours—slow and grateful, full of the things he hadn’t been able to say over text or calls or through bloodied hands on the battlefield.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your lips.

But you pulled back just enough to smile, your thumb brushing under his eye.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” you said, grinning now, so full of light he could barely take it.

“You just have to love me.”

Keigo’s lips curled into a slow smirk as he leaned in, voice low and warm against your ear.

“Oh, I plan on doing a lot more than just loving you.”

He leaned in even closer, his breath brushing your skin as he whispered exactly what he intended to do to you.

Your breath hitched as your face lit up in a rush of heat, eyes wide. He chuckled softly at your reaction, pressing a kiss to your temple with all the affection in the world.

And oh—he did. With everything he had.

…

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[gremlinmodetweeker]

Seeing all this stuff on Cat König and Horangi being complete assholes just makes me wonder how they’d act if they saw their caretaker just..genuinely upset..like when they’d usually be yelling at König for eating all the food or at Horangi for being a little destructive goblin their just nowhere to be found, and of course they get confused because come on..the person who’s always yelling just goes silent out of nowhere? So when they look for them they find them just in their bed, completely covered up, not moving, and that just makes me wonder how they’d react, would König go for the sit on them till they suffocate and have to move..Horangi with the constant baps..or would they actually try to give them little head buts or just lay by them? I don’t know it just seems like an interesting scenario to me ever since I kept seeing all this stuff on this topic.

I think Horangi would be the first to notice, but König would be the first to actually check on the reader. Not that Horangi doesn't care, it's just when he notices what's going on he feels so bad that he doesn't know what to do. When König notices, he makes a plan.

König would be eerily silent. Normally he's so anxious that he always has his claws out, making little tippy taps as he scurries about. For this one moment, he's calm and prepared.

He ever so gently lays down beside you as close as he can to you. Maybe he might lay on you if he thinks that would be good for you, but I see him more as the type to lay down by your side and lay his chin on his paws. He'll swish his tail over top of you and press in close.

It takes a second for you to notice. At first, you're too miserable to move, but you remember your therapist told you to pet animals when you're distressed, so you figure you might as well.

As soon as you start petting König he lets out the most glorious purr. For a cat with such pathetic crackly mews, the purr he lets out is so deep and rich you'd think he was replaced by a fake. He rolls into you and burrows into your arms. He tries to rub his face against yours and tries to pull you in close to his side.

As soon as Horangi notices that König hasn't been punted to the other side of the room, and rather that König's actually helping, he's in on it too.

He comes up to your other side and curls around you too. He's purring too, bright and comfortable. He's a bit more playful and energetic in his affections. He's rolling over to let you scratch his belly, but then he grabs you with soft paws and licks your hand. He's a giant sweetheart about it all. Unlike König, who's all snugggles, Horangi likes to lick your fingers, hands, your face if he can get close enough.

If König isn't there to give Horangi the ques, it takes him a bit longer to figure out that he needs to get out of his own head and help out. He's scared to reach out. You can't blame him. I know you might want to, but he's scared to make it worse.

He can't leave you to suffer forever though. It isn't that long before he's trepiditiously padding over to your side. He sits by your head and just watches nervously for a moment. He hesitates, but he does do the little nervous batting. He tries to get your attention as carefully as he can.

When you turn over, his heart breaks. If König were here, he'd know what to do. Horangi tries his best to figure out what he can do.

Soon, he's pulling a König move, something Horangi never does. Horangi's an independent cat. He doesn't like being picked up, he doesn't like being held. You can hold König upside down, but Horangi doesn't really like to be touched too often.

When you're sad and broken, he pushes all his pride aside and crawls up to sit on you. He's not a crushing weight like König, he's just a warm little blanket. He sits on top of you and he purrs.

It doesn't make everything go away, but feeling Horangi reach out to you first, it melts your heart. You can't help but smile when you reach up a hand and Horangi shoves his face into your palm. He's desperate to see you smile just a little bit more.

Both cat hybrids genuinely care about you. They can be menaces, but they're good men. They love their owner (König a bit more possessively than Horangi) and both of them want to see their owner happy. They'll do what they can to make you smile when you're feeling down, no matter what.

[irisintheafterglow]

Hey there!

Saw your requests were open (if it isnt,just ignore this)

But i just love your satoru x reader and co parenting megumi????and i would KILL to see like, something bad happening to reader (like a mission going wrong,she passing out or getting sick or all) and boys just panicking cause satoru loves reader,and megumi sees her as his mother???

Sorry,im a sucker for hurt/comfort trope

Lots of love!!! you're amazing!

aww this is so cute, thank you for the request anon <3 wrote it as sick fic instead of injury since i,,,, have written like 3 things with that trope recently so let's do a fluffy sick fic instead lol. hope you like it :))

cw/tags: established relationship (pet names babe, baby, sweetheart), gn!reader, some explicit language, mention of eating

"the kid thinks you're gonna die," your boyfriend says as he enters your room, setting a grocery bag on your desk and digging around for the bottle of orange juice. "you're starting to worry me too, honestly."

"i'm not gonna die, babe; i think it's just the flu," you groan, propping yourself on an elbow and attempting to sit up. you're unsuccessful, the throbbing in your head and the chills in your arms too overwhelming. you fall back against the pillow with a less-than-ceremonial thump. satoru crouches in front of you, eyebrows drawn and forehead wrinkled in concern. he pulls down his blindfold and you're met with the bright blue eyes you loved so much.

"yep. looks like you're dying soon," he declares with a curt nod and you scoff, a chuckle turning into an aggressive fit of coughing. satoru is lightning-quick, grabbing a new bottle of water and snapping off the cap before holding it up to your lips. "here, drink." you push his hands away, wordlessly insisting that you can drink on your own while still hacking relentlessly. "nuh-uh, just let me help you." with a frown, you let him tilt the bottle toward you and take a few careful sips. "you are frustratingly stubborn," he sighs.

"i have to be if i need to deal with you all the time," you joke hoarsely, sips of water becoming gulps.

"yeah, but you love me for it," he finishes and you agree with a shrug. "easy, there," he warns as you keep downing the water. "don't want you choking again."

"i'm fine, satoru."

"you've been working yourself too much, you know."

"hypocrite," you counter and he frowns, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. you were right, even though he didn't want to admit it. satoru was always the first one to say that someone was working too hard, just to take the burden for himself. it was a red flag, you said a few weeks ago over convenience store sushi; you also noted his 'concerningly inflated ego, lack of spatial awareness, and general disinterest in things that could be momentarily unpleasant.' you'd finished it, though, with a long-winded comment about how his red flags, in all their scarlet glory, made satoru himself. maybe it was just his melodrama, but he'd cut off his hand if it meant you were able to joke like that again.

"i'm serious. i think your body's shutting down because-"

"because i've been away too long, i know. i don't need a lecture right now, satoru." you swallow the last of the water and settle back onto your pillow, grumbling when you feel the side of your bed sink with your boyfriend's weight. "baby, you're gonna get sick, too."

"that means i get to take a day or two off," he points out, fitting his face into the divot between your shoulder and neck. despite your complaints, he throws off the comforter and replaces the blankets with his arms. "don't grrrr me, babe. you need to burn off your fever and i run warmer than any of these sheets."

"aren't i sweaty and stinky and yucky? how can you be touching me when i'm all gross?"

"you mean, how can i love on you right now when you're just being a human?"

"mhmm. you don't find it gross?"

"of course not, sweetheart," he reassures you with a kiss to your shoulder. "i'd be a real dickhead if i only loved you when you were feeling 100%."

"yeah, you're only half a dickhead for other reasons," you murmur into the pillowcase and he laughs, the sound reverberating against your back. before your eyes settle shut, you catch the door of your room opening and vaguely make out a messy head of black hair peeking around the corner. "megs?"

"oi, adults only," the other occupant of the bed threatens, pulling you closer and attempting to flip you to your other side to face him. you unbuckle satoru from around you, though, and manage to sit up. megumi pads carefully into the room, like you'd crumble into sand if his steps were too loud. "come in, i guess," your boyfriend says dramatically with a wave of his hand.

"satoru, i swear-"

"sorry, baby. shutting up." satoru flops back onto your bed and you reach out to megumi, who stares at your hand for a moment before rushing into your arms. "hey, megs. since you're here, you mind grabbing me a soda from the breakroom?"

"i thought you were shutting up, satoru," you remind him, voice poisonously sweet. he echoes your reminder in a mockingly high-pitched voice. "i'm gonna kick you out of my room if you don't stop, mister."

"you wouldn't dare," he gasps.

"oh, i would."

"yeah," he concedes. "you definitely would, but i love you for it." with satoru temporarily placated, you return your attention to the small child in your arms.

"you doing okay, megs?" he nods, eyes shut against your chest and holding you tight. "i'm not gonna die, buddy. i promise." you rub your hand up and down his back, combing your fingers through his hair when you're abruptly swung backward onto the bed. "jeez, satoru, what are you-"

"get the kid, it's nap time," he mumbles with finality, resecuring his body around yours and motioning for megumi to climb in. he does, and you drift off sandwiched between your boys, feeling a little lighter for the first time in days.

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