#i like how you can still see how wet and sad his eyes are

[tiredfrogclown]

My pathetic little husband

there is literally nothing hotter to me than special ghoul in that three-piece suit.

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 17. Carrots

A/N: Kinda related, kinda not, but you should watch “Hot Frosty” on Netflix if you haven’t, totally recommend it (it’s very ridiculous in the best way possible). Sorry for all the awful dialogue you are about

Snowman x fem!reader || questionable use of vegetables, temperature play (kinda), mentioned overstimulation

When your witch friend asked you to build a snowman with her, you thought nothing of it. It would be fun, the snow was fresh and everyone seemed cheerful around you as you built his round body. Your friend, though… She made hers to look a bit more realistic, less round and more angular, in a way that was giving uncanny valley vibes. But you thought nothing of it, why would you?

When she asked if you liked him, you started to suspect there was something special about him, but again, you thought nothing of it. And when she used the carrot to make a dick instead of a nose, you almost peed yourself laughing. It was just so stupid looking, all white and round but with a big carrot dick… You should have known better.

And then he showed up, alive and walking, knocking on your door and staring up and down at you like he was about to fuck you right there. His carrot dick was erected and pointing straight at you. You gaped at him as he smiled, stroking his dick slowly. You gaped some more, your eyes accidentally traveling down. That was an amazing carrot…

No. Behave, you cannot fuck a snowman, you tried to remind myself.

“Wait here,” you told the snowman, who only nodded. You grabbed your phone and dialed your friend. “Why there’s a living snowman at my door, dude?!” You screamed at her as soon as she picked up. The poor dude was looking at you as if you were his dream come true.

“Calm down, you seemed very lonely and I had a bit of extra magic lately… So I gave you my Christmas gift early. Do you like him? Have you tried him yet?”

“Have I tri- What the fuck?!” You must be dreaming, there was no way that was happening to you. You pinched yourself and blinked, but the snowman was still in front of you and your friend was still talking.

“He’s ready for you, darling. He wants to treat you like the queen you deserve to be,” she explained, almost bored. You wanted to pull her hair until she was bald.

“You did not send me a sex snowman,” you repeated, trying to make sense of what you were seeing and hearing.

“I did. Now I have to go, have fun!” She said before hanging up on you.

“We are not fucking,” you told him, your frown so deep you could see your eyebrows.

“I’m going to feed my carrot to your hungry bunny,” he deadpanned, in a tone that you supposed was intended to sound sexy. It didn’t. You struggled not to laugh, but his face was so serious you couldn’t do that to him, he looked so hopeful.

You stared at him, his hand lazily stroking his carrot once again. You felt your face blushing. You really needed to get laid, your pussy was getting wet about a snowman and a carrot… But you had more pressing matters than your wet pussy.

“One: you can’t say things like that. And two: we aren’t going to fuck.” His face fell and he stopped moving his hand, making you almost sad. Dang.

“Why not? I can smell your juices.” He could what? “You are hot for me and I’m cold for you, we should do something about it.” How desperate were you that he sounded right? You did want to fuck a snowman… Fuck, there was something so, so wrong inside of you because you were considering taking him on the offer.

“I- We- You are a snowman,” you let out, not really having a point.

“And you are a human, but my carrot is very hard for you.” You chuckled, the absurdity of it all getting to you. But most of all, your strength to hold back disappeared with that affirmation. He was made for you, and you were very horny, and his carrot looked especially delicious right now…

“Okay,” you agreed, your pussy almost clapping with enthusiasm. It had been a long time since you were properly fucked and you were feeling the need for sure.

“Okay? Are you… are you sure?” He suddenly seemed very confused about your decision, as if all his bravado died the second you agreed to fuck him. You wanted to coo at him, but you decided there was a better choice.

You walked to him and kissed his half open mouth. He was cold, but at the same time his lips felt like velvet against yours as you devoured his mouth. He gave as much as received, deepening the kiss and circling your body with his arms. You were pressed firmly against his front and your nipples instantly hardened, he was so cold in such a pleasurable way… You didn’t even know you had something for temperature play but good snowman if your pussy wasn’t quivering thinking about his hard carrot pocking your stomach.

You parted, looking at him intently, but when you didn’t find any doubt in his eyes, your choice was already made. “Fuck me, my snowman,” you almost pleaded, your voice trembling as your pussy pulsated at the same rhythm as your heart.

“Your wish is my command.” He laid you on the floor, right in the middle of your living room. “Are you ready for my carrot?” He asked, as you tried not to giggle. You nodded, fearing if you opened your mouth you would laugh and he wouldn’t give you his dick. And you needed it. You needed it so, so bad.

He entered you in one long thrust and you cried out in ecstasy. The contrast between your warm body and his cold skin was exhilarating and arousing, sending you to the stratosphere of pleasure. You didn’t know what was about to happen, but the size and shape of his carrot ended up being fantastic. The almost pointy tip played with your cervix as the wide base made your pussy clench around it, rubbing against your G-spot in the most amazing way. It was the perfect sex toy, even better, he was like a breathing sex-toy and that made your brain turn a bit fuzzy at the edges, arousal so big it was maddening.

He started a punishing pace, his dick going in and out of you so fast and hard your whole body was moving across the floor. You had to hold onto the carpet (carpet burn be damned) to be still as he pounded into your welcoming heat. He kept moaning how warm and wet you were, how good your heat felt against his cold… And you could only chant “yes, yes, yes” as he kept going.

And when you came like a tidal wave, your whole body convulsing as he kept fucking you. He didn’t stop, he fucked you through it as he used his cold fingers to rub your clit, making you ascend in your pleasure even higher. You screamed his name, pulling at his ice hair and trying to hold for dear life as you kept coming and coming…

And he kept going.

He fucked you many more times that night, his stamina endless as he kept using his clever carrot to pound into your G-spot as his cold fingers pinched your clit until you couldn’t hold back orgasm after orgasm. It was the most intense pleasure you’d ever felt, and by the time you asked for a rest, he was smirking down at you, the smugness in his face making your overused pussy twitch in anticipation.

And then you remembered… You had to thank your friend. Damn it.

[arolesbianism]

I have obtained a new oc and in the process I've already signed myself up for needing to make at least 3 new ocs for his story which he now has despite me initially Intending for him to be a side character for a different side character to hang out with. My townhouse has over 200 characters on it.

[chaepink]

can u make headcannons on sub!yan’s tendencies in the relationship?

also can i be 🉑 or 🌝 anon?

dating sub!yandere boys hcs ♡

sub!yandere boys when they date you.

wc: 1.1k+ words | masterlist

dom!fem!reader, unhealthy relationship, mention of killing/murder, both sfw and nsfw!, mention of feminization, bondage

note: yes you can be 🌝 anon!

— your yandere would be possessive of you, even more compared to when you two were just friends

— well, you thought you two were just friends. he already assumed you two were together sometime earlier during his friendship with you

— he would do anything for you in order to make sure you're happy and safe

— a friend of yours is getting too touchy with you? well the next day that friend is ignoring you and when you confront them, they look at you scared and quickly scurry away from you. did your yandere do something to them? surely not

— a weird guy keeps following you around your neighborhood? well a couple of days later you see on the news that his body has been found near a river and weirdly enough, you havent seen your yandere on the days before the guy's death

— you complain to your yandere about how a teacher gave you a bad grade on something you worked so hard on? suddenly your grade changes to a A and that same exact teacher suddenly resigns from the school

— he'll try his best to know where you are most of the time and try to follow you back home to make sure you're safe (though its really obvious, you don't acknowledge him so he thinks he's actually doing something)

— but no matter how scary and possessive they are of you, they just want to be good for you, really

— its almost as if they're a puppy for you, always there for your beck and call

— give them a simple command and they'll do it immediately, no questions asked

— ask them to buy you a snack from the nearest store? he'll return back with a bagful of others that he thought you would like

— they're super clingy and always want to be near you

— somehow they manage to have the same exact classes that you have and at the same time. maybe you guys are just lucky? little do you know that your yandere hacked into the principal's computer to change his schedule to fit with yours

— if you're sick, they would immediately fetch you some medicine and make so many bowls of your favorite soup that you're not sure you could finish them all

— they would be so sad when you're sick cause that means they can't be as close as they usually are with you :(

— in bed, nothing changes at all. rather, he becomes even more infatuated with you

— they're still so good and obedient for you, always following your commands. its cute

— like what i said with him doing it with no hesitation, your yandere is eager to do what you say

— tell him to get on his knees? say less as he's already doing so, staring up at you with such innocent eyes

— tell him to open his mouth for you to stick your fingers inside? he opens wide and sticks out his tongue in such a sinful manner, hazy eyes absolutely begging you to make him choke on your fingers as drool drips down his chin

— order him to suck your strap and get it all wet? he's quick to get in between your legs and get his hands on the fake dick, his mouth going straight to bobbing it up and down and gagging as it hits the back of his throat. he'll try to subtly grind his hard on against your foot without you noticing but you do anyways but he's being a good boy so you allow it

— and oh my god is he so shameless in public

— no hesitation in telling you what he wants you to do to him when there are people around

— you'll be at brunch with some of your friends and suddenly you'll feel a hot breath on your ear, such sinful words coming soon after

"im wearing lingerie under my clothes, your favorite set too. wouldn't you like to just ruin me right here and now? make me cry and look so pretty while you show everyone im yours?"

— safe to say that you immediately dragged him to the family bathroom and fingered him until he was gripping onto you for dear life, begging and crying out for you to stop and take pity on him (he's lying about wanting you to stop)

— when you're out with errands or just at work, he'll take such sinful pictures of himself to send to you randomly

— the pictures would include his legs spread out, a obvious bulge in his underwear, and something adorning his body whether its lingerie, a maid outfit, or rope that's tied so tightly on him

— if he's feeling like teasing you even more, he'll send whimpering audios that beg you to come home and fuck him and if you listen close enough, you'll hear some wet noises that let you know that he's masturbating

"f-fuck, [name] come back s-soon, please? i-i miss you so much! i- ah! i-im wearing your favorite outfit right now! i'll be a g-good ngh boy waiting for you ♡"

— itll end up with you rushing home after you're finished to fuck him dumb in that outfit, making it stained with his tears and cum

— he knows you can't really get him pregnant but your yandere just loves those straps with cum in them that you can just shoot inside him whenever you're fucking him fast and rough

— that'll make his eyes roll back and head throw backwards as he lets out such a loud mewl at the feeling of your fake cum filling him up

— and afterwards he'll tease you by using his fingers to push the cum thats gushing out of his hole back in before licking his fingers

— although your yandere is a good boy for you most of the time, theres times where he's a brat

— he'll talk back to you whenever you command him to do something or cum without permission

— but just some long edging or overstimulation will break him and turn him into a sobbing mess

— tying his hands to the headboard and keeping his legs spread apart whilst a vibrator is inside him on the highest setting is his favorite punishment

— your yandere thinks you don't know that since you do it all the time but you actually do know it, you just love the way his face is stained with his drool and tears while his chest and the sheets underneath him is covered in his cum afterwards

— such a slut but we love him for it

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[autumnscribbles]

take care of you | rc

pairing: mommyissues!rafe x pogue!reader

summary: after a heated argument with ward, rafe seeks comfort from the only woman in his life who’s ever stayed

warnings: wee bit of theorizing about mama cameron (death)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: hey friends!! thank you to the anon that sent this request in!! i love me a soft rafe moment who just needs to be held🥹 enjoy!! feel free to send me more angsty/soft rafe i love it!!!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

Rafe slammed the truck door shut behind him, twisting his key into the ignition. Ward stood in the doorway ahead of him, his mouth moving but his words unheard. Rafe stopped listening to him even before he decided to leave. He couldn’t listen to it anymore. The rain pelted the windowsill, overpowering the pounding sound of his accelerated heartbeat. He pulled out of the driveway, no destination in mind. He just had to leave.

As he drove, his headlights broke through the rain ahead, illuminating the pitch black road. His breathing was still heavy, trying to ignore his fight with Ward. They weren’t exactly few and far between, but this one had escalated particularly badly. He replayed it over and over, on the verge of screaming just to make it stop.

He didn’t know why he tried to hard to impress Ward, or to get his validation. Everyone is his life left in one way or another. Whether it was on their own terms, or they were taken. He clung to Ward and the fact that just maybe, he would stick around. Be proud of him. In the end, everyone gave up on him. Everyone screwed him over.

Except maybe one person.

When Rafe first met you, he didn’t like you. He never thought he could be friends with a pogue, let alone be with one romantically. You had too much confidence for someone who didn’t have very much. He admit, he thought less of you. He judged you about things that didn’t truly matter. Eventually, he began to find you endearing. You didn’t need boats, a big house, designer clothes, or anything material to be happy. You knew who you were, and he admired that.

You understood him in ways no kook ever had, and probably more than any kook ever will. You knew hardship, and you saw through his bravado. You could tell deep down, he was in pain. No money could fix what was truly happening inside. All the other kooks were shallow. Never having any conversations with substance, just rambling about bullshit. Rafe never really fit in with any of them. He pretended to be friends with most of them, to keep up appearances and his reputation. At the end of the day, he knew none of them truly cared about him. Even worse, he knew they would mock him if they knew he was with you.

Without realizing, Rafe ended up pulling into your driveway. Through the still pouring rain, he could barely see your house. All the lights were off, including the porch light. Were you home? He didn’t even know. As his mind reeled, he automatically drove here. He wanted to see you. Wanted your comfort. Before you, he hadn’t had that in a long time. Since his mom…no one had ever been there for him. No one to tell him things would be okay, no one to comfort him, or hold him. He craved it.

He hopped out of the car, jogging through the rain to your front door. He rapped his knuckles, hoping you would appear on the other side. He saw a light turn on inside, and exhaled a sigh of relief.

You opened the door, met with a dripping wet and sad looking Rafe on the other side. You were surprised to see him. You had some distance from each other recently, since Rafe told you that his friends couldn’t know about your relationship. You pulled back as he continued to hang out with them, unsure how to move forward.

Seeing him here made your heart sink. He pouted as his blue eyes bore into yours, sadness overcoming his entire expression.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “Please.”

“Of course,” you muttered. You stepped aside, letting Rafe into your empty house.

He crossed the threshold, a shiver coming over his body at the sudden change of temperature. His wet clothes left him cold, making the warmth of your house even more shocking to his system. He wiped at his face in attempt to dry it.

“Are you cold?” you asked gently. “Here let me go get you some clothes and a blanket.”

You walked away for a moment, leaving Rafe standing in your doorway. You gathered a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that belonged to your brother. He wasn’t here, he wouldn’t mind. You snatched your fuzzy blanket from your bed, scurrying back to where Rafe stood waiting. You passed him the clothes, offering him to go change.

As he took his time, you put a kettle of water on the stove. Opening your white cabinets, you rummaged through the various flavours of tea you had. You settled on chamomile. You knew Rafe liked it, even though he would never admit it to literally anyone else. You grabbed 2 mugs and placed the tea bags inside as the kettle began whistling.

You took the two steaming mugs out to the coffee table, where Rafe sat on the couch, waiting for you.

“Here,” you muttered, handing him the mug. You grabbed the blanket, placing it across his lap. “That should warm you up.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, gentle eyes looking up at you.

You sat down beside him, tucking your legs up on the couch. You both sat in silence for a moment, sipping your tea. He let out a small sigh after his first sip, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“My favorite,” he whispered. You responded with a nod.

“You take such good care of me,” he said, breaking the silence more. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Rafe,” you sighed.

He shook his head, not wanting you to deny the truth. He didn’t want you to tell him that he deserved it when he knew it wasn’t true. You were consistently there for him, exuding a kindness he’d never felt. Yet what did he do in return? Essentially tell you he’s embarrassed about your relationship. It was ridiculous, and you shouldn’t be nice to him.

“Come here,” you whispered, opening your arms to him.

His eyes welled up with tears, and he leaned over, resting his head on your lap. You tugged the blanket up slightly higher, covering his torso. You ran your hands through his hair and down his back, feeling the tension release from his body.

Unexpectedly, the tears continued to fall harder. Rafe’s breath caught in his throat as he heaved out a sob.

“You’re okay,” you cooed. “I’m here.”

He let out all the emotions he had been trained to hold back. Grown men didn’t cry. Strong men didn’t cry. This is what he was told over and over. No one ever let him express himself freely, or show vulnerability. For some reason, he felt safe to show it around you. Confident that you didn’t judge him, or view him as weak.

He didn’t realize how much he was craving to just be held. To have his hair played with, his back scratched. To be told it’s okay. He couldn’t remember a time when someone treated him so gently. He wondered if his mom was the last person who truly took care of him. Now, he felt responsible to take care of people around him most of the time.

“Talk to me,” you said. “What happened?”

“My dad,” he blurted out. He rubbed the tears from his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to compose himself. “We got into a fight, as always. I accused him of…of killing my mom.”

“What?” you asked, unable to hide the shock in your voice. “Do you really think…”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was too young, but sometimes what he says just doesn’t add up. Doesn’t matter anyway, not like anything would happen to him.”

You nodded silently, knowing he was right. Even if Ward had killed her, no justice would be had. You knew Rafe grappled with the loss of his mom. Rose wasn’t exactly a replacement. She was cold, unkind. Rafe was in a constant battle with Ward. Trying to impress him, get his validation. Rafe grew up wanting his dad’s success, but most of all he just wanted his love. His acceptance. He didn’t think he would ever have a real family. That possibility only came into view when he met you.

“I’m so sorry, Rafe,” you consoled him. “I know how tense things can get with your dad. My arms are always open if you need a break, or need to talk.”

He sat up from your lap, facing you. His eyes were bloodshot from his previous tears. His usually hard features had softened, his eyes still carrying a deep sadness that you knew you couldn’t fix.

“I’m going to tell everyone we’re together,” he told you. “You’re…you’re perfect. You don’t deserve to be hidden. I don’t deserve you in general.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “When you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” he nodded. “I think…I think you’re the only person who actually cares about me. Who listens and…sees me.”

Your eyes welled up slightly. You weren’t expecting Rafe to say something so vulnerable like this. His rough edges were beginning to soften around you.

“I see you, Rafe,” you told him. You reached out and cupped the side of his face, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

He leaned forward, his warm lips crashing onto yours. The kiss was desperate, yet gentle. You didn’t realize how much you had missed this. When you pulled away, Rafe’s eyes were glistening once more.

“Everyone in my life leaves, or screws me over,” he told you, repeating his previous thoughts. “Please don’t leave me.”

You pulled him towards you, wrapping your arms around him. He melted into your touch, safety and warmth encompassing his entire being.

“I’m here, Rafe,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You heard his stomach gurgle, making you let out a quiet chuckle. “Hungry?”

He nodded into the crook of your shoulder. You laughed once more as he pulled back, a smirk on his face.

“Let me make you something,” you told him. You planted a kiss on his cheek before standing up, placing the blanket over his carefully. “You just sit here and relax, okay?”

“I love when you take care of me, baby,” he murmured as he rested his head on the arm of the couch.

You smiled down at him before going into the kitchen to make him some food. He felt safe with you. You had to admit that your heart soared at the thought that you were the first person he came to after a fight with his dad. The first person he opened up to about his mom, to try in front of.

You didn’t even realize it would always be you. You would always be the first person he would run to, even in a crowded room.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When They Call You Clingy So You Distance Yourself PT. 3 | Hyungline

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Suicide

Pt1, Pt2 Maknaeline

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BANGCHAN|

You ran your fingers through your hair as you walked up to your front door.

The past week had already been stressful enough. After arriving at the airport, you realized that somewhere between you getting off the plane and getting to your parents' car your phone had fallen out of your pocket. You had to attend a funeral, your flight home had been pushed back by a day, and you still had a shit ton to do before you moved. Not to mention it ate at you the entire week that you were gone all you could think about was the argument you and Chris had.

Overall you felt absolutely shitty and you just wanted to crash.

You unlocked your door and slipped your shoes off and walked into the kitchen and set your purse down. You had left your luggage in the foyer, and were contemplating how nasty it would be just to leave your things in there until you unpacked at your new place.

You made your way into your room and flicked on your light and gave out a quiet yelp when you noticed someone in your bed.

Your heart slowed slightly when you realized that it was Christopher in your bed, hugging the bear he bought you in Europe when he was on tour.

He was curled in a fetal position, and knowing his nature, you knew he must have been staying in your room the entire week you were gone.

Your heartbeat sped up as you walked over to him, knowing what confrontation awaited.

He whimpered quietly in his sleep. Sadly.

"Christopher." You whispered, shaking his shoulder slightly. He whimpered again and you could swear you heard him say your name.

He must be having a nightmare.

"Baby." You said shaking him awake, harder this time.

Chris startled awake and looked at you. He stared for a moment as if you weren't real.

"Y-Y/N?" He asked quietly.

"Hey-"

His chest collided with yours as he pulled you into an embrace, and you immediately felt his tears wet your shoulder.

"I-I'm s-sorry b-babe. I didn't m-mean any of it- I didn't pl-please d-don't l-leave me. I'll do any-anything. I'll qui-quit wo-working so I won-won't be stressed an-anymore. A-Anything I-I mean it-"

"Love, shhh. I'm not leaving you." You said as you stroked his hair. It felt gross, and he smelled a little stale, and he looked worn out overall. You could tell that he probably hadn't moved much all this week.

"Did you really stay in my bed waiting for me to come back?" You asked quietly. He let out a whine into your shoulder refusing to let you go.

"Chris, I promise I'm not leaving you."

"But the boxes..."

You chuckled and stroked his hair again. "I'm moving, yes. But not away from you. The neighborhood I live in isn't the safest, and I figured you would like it better if I moved closer to the dorms, so you didn't have to travel as far in the opposite direction of your home." Chris still held onto you, and you could feel the downturn of his lips pressed into your shoulder like a soft kiss.

"You didn't answer my calls...I thought you broke up with me..."

You sighed and pushed him away from you slightly and you could see his heart sink a little until you kissed the edge of his lips, his slight stubble exfoliating your own.

"While I will admit, what you said wasn't very kind of you...I know that isn't you." You murmured, caressing his cheek. His brown eyes were wide and sad but filled with hope. "I understand you were stressed, and I understand I can be clingy at times, but that's only because I have so much love and affection for you, I have to get it out in a physical way. Or else I might actually explode." You giggle as you pinch his cheek.

His eyes widen slightly, and he opens his mouth to speak but you press your finger to his lips.

"Let me finish. I didn't answer your calls because I lost my phone at the airport when I went home. My cousin's spouse took her life so I went to go attend the funeral. I wasn't informed until a few days before, so I went to the studio to tell you I was leaving." You let out a breath. "I also wanted to ask you while I was there is you could help me finish packing since I have to be moved out in two days."

Chris looked at you. "I'm sorry for your loss, baby. I'm also so-"

"Shhhhhh." You said placing a quick yet super soft kiss on his lips. "Thank you for your condolences. But don't apologize for snapping at me Chris. I already forgave you the minute you did it."

His bottom lip trembled, and he started to cry, little hiccups coming through as he still apologized, even though you knew he meant it when you said he didn't. He repeatedly apologized.

"You're too good for me." He said once he calmed down, his quiet sniffles and hiccups infrequent.

"And you're too handsome for me." You said as you kissed the tip of his nose.

"You're beautiful though. Way more than me." He said staring holes into you. "When we get married and have kids I want them to look exactly like you."

You laughed and shook your head. "They need your smile though, which I have yet seen you give since I arrived." Your voice held mock sternness as you tried to look serious but ended up letting out a loud chuckle.

He was finally able to give you and actual smile, and his adorable little giggle finally peeked through. You poked your pinkie in his dimple and he giggled again.

You ruffled his hair once and then made a face.

"You need to go shower, love." You said your nose wrinkling.

He pouted and wrapped his hands around you, laying his head on your stomach. "Mmmm, just a couple more minutes. Let me hold you."

You sighed, a smile on your face as you looked down at the boy you knew you would spend the rest of your life with. You scratched his head affectionately.

"Who is the clingy one now?"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

MINHO|

"Y/N!" Minho had been running around for almost an hour. His voice was hoarse and the wind was biting at him through his coat as he ran. Knowing your stubborn ass you had probably only left the hotel in a thin jacket, with one or two layers at most.

He took a second to catch his breath and looked around. "Y/N!"

He was about to start off in a different direction when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Did you find her?" Minho asked when he picked up a call from Jisung. All the members of both Stray Kids and TWICE were looking for you.

"Sort of? She asked me to go pick her up from in front of the Louvre - she said she lost track of time but she's too scared to-"

Minho started running again. "Thank you! I'll call you when I have her-" He hung up and felt his legs move faster than he thought was humanly possible.

Please God...Universe...whoever please just please let her be okay.

He arrived and he looked around for you. When he didn't see you he started to panic until he noticed your figure swamped in one of is hoodies hunched over on a bench dozing off.

"Y/N!"

You perked your head up and saw your boyfriend running towards you, his long coat nearly flying off his shoulders.

He stopped in front of you and you braced yourself for him to start yelling at you after he caught his breath.

But instead of yelling at you his pants turned into desperate weeps.

"Minho-"

He fell down on his knees and you quickly joined him on the ground.

"You-you scared me I tho-thought..." He couldn't even look at you.

"I'm sorry Minho, I didn't mean to...I..." Your voice was wobbly. You hadn't ever seen Minho cry before in the entire time you had been together. You didn't know how to comfort him, or what to say to get his cries to stop.

It made you want to cry how vulnerable he sounded. How weak and broken.

"Its not safe here. Anywhere. Thats why I was so scared." He whispered looking up at you, his eyes rimmed red. "One of the girls said they couldn't find you and I panicked. I've been running around for almost three hours."

You felt a pang of guilt strike you in your heart.

"I-I'm so-sorry..." You began to tear up as the pain of being mad at Minho seemed to hit you like a ton of bricks. You missed your boyfriend. "I'm sorry for being clingy too. I thought you wanted to be alone so I hung out with the girls...but I felt like maybe they'd think I was clingy too so I thought I would just spend today alone-"

"Y/N stop. First off the girls will never and I mean never find you clingy." He wiped his face and chuckled, a small smile forming on his face. "We were in a meeting last week and they were playing rock paper scissors over who gets to marry you. I told them that you were mine and Tzuyu said 'did you guys hear something?'"

He licked his lips and took a breath. "Secondly you don't need to apologize, Jagiya...all of this...this was my fault. I shouldn't have called you clingy. Because your clinginess...its something I love. Adore even. You know how to respect boundaries when needed as well. But it's obvious I have work to do on that, because I crossed a line I never should have crossed. So I am so, so, sorry Y/N. I'm sorry that I can't manage my frustrations in a way that won't hurt you. And I'm sorry that I'm horrible at communicating. I'm sorry that I say things that never should come out of my mouth."

You look at your boyfriend and the sincerity in the words his is saying. You swallow as he continues.

"I'm sorry that I cause more trouble than it's worth sometimes. That I make things a little more stressful than they need to be as well. I'm sorry that I can't express my love in the way you need either." He takes a shaky breath and he looks at you; your hear thumping in your chest at his apology.

"I love you. I love you. So much, Y/N. But I struggle to express that love and affection properly...which isn't fair to you." He lets go of your hand and you instinctively reach out for the warmth of it again. He lifts up one of his knees from the ground.

"So please be patient with me. Be patient with me so you understand the depth of my love for you. It is going to take a long time...if I had to guess..."

He pulled out a navy blue velvet box from his coat pocket. You watched as he opened it and a dainty but elegant ring was placed in there.

"It will the take the rest of my life to be able to show you." His voice trailed off and he trailed his eyes up to yours as he waited for you to say something...anything.

"I love you Y/N L/N."

You shook your head. Minho felt his heart start to shatter until you giggled and wiped away your tears.

"You idiot, it's Lee. Not L/N. Lee." You held your hand out and Minho slid the ring on your finger, his own trembling.

"I'm sorry I ruined your elaborate proposal."

Minho cocked his head as he helped you up, pulling you as close as humanly possible to his side so he could wrap you up in his coat as well.

"How did you know about that?"

"Jisung told me when I called him earlier..."

Minho chuckled as you guys walked along.

"Thats why we should probably wait to tell him about our engagement." You admired your ring with a bright smile.

Minho shook his head. "I'm gonna tell him when we get back. Because I want the world to know."

You looked at each other and immediately bursted out laughing because you both had the same thought.

"And that will be the quickest way for them to know."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

CHANGBIN|

Changbin had sped past three red lights to get here.

He would not lose you. He couldn't. The past couple of weeks had been grueling for him.

Your presence was something he was missing in his life. And that furthermore showed him how much he needed you.

How desperate he was to keep you.

He pulled into the lot illegally and ran into the small coffee shop. All the memories he had with you flooded his mind, since this was you and his favorite coffee shop. He had just been so busy that you guys never had time to come here anymore. It was more than half an hour away from your house and his dorm. And even further from the studio.

He scanned the small area and almost immediately pinpointed you with another person. A guy.

He was in a nice outfit as well. Very clean and put together. Lean and tall.

He watched as you both got up and hugged each other and watched as you smiled brightly at the guy and laughed at something he said.

"Alright I'll see you Wednes-"

"No! You will not see her Wednesday!" Changbin said as he pulled you from the guys embrace. "Listen, I don't know who you think you are but I'm her boyfriend! And she hasn't properly broken up with me yet so you can't have her! And if even if she did I wouldn't allow it!" He stared the guy down. Or rather up.

Damn he's even taller than he looked.

"Y/N-ie did you not tell-"

"I'm the only one who can call her that! Well...me and the guys but you're not the guys so you can't." Changbin mumbled angrily like a frustrated toddler.

"Changbin! Quit being such a fucking dumbass!" You said smacking him above the head lightly. You turn to guy and apologize profusely. "I'm sorry, Bin is a little...possessive." A nervous laugh escaped you. "Like a Chihuahua...but not the kind quiet sweet ones more like the ones who have a bark bigger than themselves." You said looking at your boyfriend with frustration in the lines of your face.

He looked down as you apologized to the guy once more.

"It's okay Y/N-ie...I think this is a memorable meeting. I'll definitely bring it up in my speech when you guys get married." He laughed. "I'm Justin Kim. Y/N's brother-in-law." He held his hand out and Changbin looked between the two of you. Justin had a smile on his face while you were looking at Changbin with annoyance.

"Ah! I'm so sorry...uh..."

"I think I'm older than you but I didn't grow up using honorifics so you can just call me Justin."

Changbin bowed and apologized, but held his hand out to shake.

"My wife and I are moving here settling down here soon. She's back home but will be here next week with the last of our things. She was stationed here for a little bit when she was in the military and loved it and since her only sister found love here and doesn't have much time to come see her since she's dating an idol, she thought it would be nice to move here. I agreed since it is beautiful, and this where our family is." He motioned his head towards you.

"Although she might be a little upset that I met you before she did. Especially since she'll be entrusting you too take care of her little sister...although I feel like its more so because she's quite a big fan of you guys. Ever since Y/N-ie said she was dating an idol she's been keeping up with culture and your band, so she can better understand."

Justin smiled and looked over at you. "I'll uh...let you guys talk though. Y/N-ie I'll have your sister call you when I get home. She might be a little flippy floppy though because she went through the stock of pregnancy cravings I bought her." He hugged you one last time and pulled Changbin into a hug as well before walking off.

"Changbin are you really that idiotic?" You looked at your boyfriend and he tried to sputter out a response, but you interrupted him befroe he could form coherent words. "I think you are, I fear." You let out a defeated sigh as you slunk back into your chair. You looked tired.

"Jiwon, can you grab me my usual. And do you remember Binnie's?" Changbin turned to see a barista nod at you and start to prepare your order. He sat down across from you and quickly realized that he was mistaken about a lot of things.

"Binnie I would never break up with you. I may break your head open because sometimes my God I want to slap you upside it so hard, but I would never break your heart." The sigh you let out was deafening. "If you were so jealous about me talking and hanging out with Minho so much why didn't you tell me? You really think flirting with a barista to make me jealous is a good idea, babe? Really?" Jiwon placed two drinks in front of you guys. "Chan told me. I think he spotted it pretty quickly, and noticed how you were turning down her advances when I wasn't around. Also, rather rudely too apparently - because Seo Changbin what do mean to tell me when Chris said you made a gagging noise at the poor girl!"

Changbin's eyes widened, and his lip popped out in a small pout. "I'm sorry Y/N."

"It's okay Binnie. But there isn't a need to be jealous baby. I'm not leaving you for Minho, he's just an extremely close friend. I'm not leaving you for anyone else period. And I'm sure as hell not going on any dates. I had to dress nicely because we were doing a photoshoot." You gestured to the cafe you guys were currently sitting in. "Justin and I are going to be co-owners. I thought it would be nice to have a location closer to where we live so we can go more often, and that one little restaurant closed down so I thought it would be a good opportunity." A soft smile painted your face. "And it's partially selfish reasons...I can't help but think of us when I think of this place."

Changbin's heart swelled with affection. So much affection that it hurt him.

"So while I have been upset with you for the past three weeks I'm over it Binnie. I miss you so much." Changbin got up and moved next to you.

"You mean it?"

You chuckled and placed a kiss on his lips. "100%." You said connecting them again, a little bit more passionately, but pulling back when you felt a mass amount of messages come through your phone, and then it immediately started ringing. Changbin pouted as he stared at your lips as they turned into a nervous grin.

"Although...you might have a shit show in store when it comes to my older sister."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

HYUNJIN|

You sat with Hyunjin the couch as you two watched your favorite series together. Today was your yearlong anniversary. You had been in bright spirits for the occasion as you guys went out and did things together.

Hyunjin slowly ran his long fingers through your hair, and he felt you slowly dozing off.

"Baby..." Hyunjin whsipered, "Are you sleepy?"

"Hmm, just a little..."

"Can we talk?" Hyunjin paused the show, not giving you a choice.

You sat up and you felt your heart thump in your chest.

"Yeah we need to."

Hyunjin nodded. "You go first."

"No you"

You both spoke at the same time.

"Marry me-"

"We should break up-"

You looked at Hyunjin dumbfounded and he looked at you with utter digust.

"First off... that is utterly disgusting that you would even consider breaking up with me? What are you some sadist? Deriving pleasure from my pain and humiliation?" He said putting a hand to his chest dramtically.

You looked at him with wide eyes. "W-Well are you some sort of crazy person?! What the hell do you mean marry me?!"

Hyunjin pouted. "Well you can call me crazy all you want I'm being serious." He ran a hand through his brown bangs. "We've been together a year. And I know I want to be with you for the rest of my life. And I know for a fact you do because how the heck could you not want to marry me? I mean we'll quite literally be the most beautiful couple God has ever put on this earth." He said rolling his eyes in a joking manner.

You didn't see amused, rather your lip was shaking slightly and your eyes watering.

Hyunjin bit his cheek and pulled out a little ring from his pocket.

"It's a little cliche, I know. And some will probably say too soon. But I know what I want." He said quietly.

He took a breath and spoke slowly, switching to his native language.

"Cling to me Y/N. For the rest of your life. Ask me how you look. Let my eyes cling to you when I admire you. Let my words cling to you when I say just how beautiful you are. Cling yourself to me every night before we fall asleep, and let me cling to you every morning when we wake up. Let yourself cling onto me when you feel like you aren't enough, and let me cling onto you so I can show the world that you are enough-that you are more than enough; and you will always be more than enough. Let me cling to you in the times where I feel you need reassurance, and I'll let you cling to me the times where you feel like I'm not sufficient enough. We may not be perfect but Y/N no couple is. I don't care what people think about us. We can be perfectly imperfect together. I'll let you cling to me so those hateful words have no room to stick. I'll let you cling to me so everyone around us knows that I am not me without you. That you're the one who completes me. Cling to me so tightly that if God forbid you ever leave you would take everything of me with so no o that no one else could ever cling to me. Because I won't let anyone else do that. No matter how much they claim to know what is best for me, they don't. Because if they did, they would know that it's you. And it will always be you. Thats why I'm so sure of this."

He slid the ring on your finger, as you watched him admire it on your hands. He didn't look up as he murmured quietly.

"Cling to me Y/N...I'm begging you."

You looked at Hyunjin and felt a few tears fall onto your hand as he held it with both of his own.

"You...you knew?"

Hyunjin shook his head. "Not when I said what I said. But Y/N I swear I didn't mean it in a mean way." He looked up at you helplessly. "In retrospect now I realize they meant it in a vicious way but...I genuinely thought that clinginess was a good thing. Isn't that how it's supposed to be when you love someone? Aren't you supposed to want to be with them?"

His brown eyes searched your face. "Because that's how it is for me. How it will always be. I don't want it to be any other way."

You felt your eyes prick up with tears.

"Did you really mean it when you said you want to break up?" He whimpered.

You shook your head aggressively. "No, Hyunjin no- I was just feeling insecure. I see how everyone reacts at us and sometimes I feel like I'll never be accepted as being your girlfriend."

"Fiancée." He corrected. "If they won't accept you as my girlfriend then I'll make them accept you as my fiancée. And if they want to be asses after that than tough luck because if anyone dares to not accept you as my wife than I'll find a way to deal with them." He said in complete seriousness.

You couldn't help but laugh as you moved your hands to cup Hyunjin's cheeks.

"Hyunjin I haven't said yes." You said quietly.

He gives you a determined look. "But you will say yes..."

He waited patiently for you to say yes.

"Jagiya. Three letters. Y-E-S. You just have to move your mouth to say it." He said stubbornly.

You shook your head.

"I'm not going to say yes Hyunjin."

His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest but instead you kissed him lightly, resting your forehead against his own.

"You won't say yes?" He whined.

"Nope."

"Why not...do you not want to say yes? Can you give me a straight answer Jagiya? Because I won't accept it until you say no. Until then I'll assume you are just being stubborn."

You smiled as your eyes met. Hyunjin looked at you waiting for you're answer. Which was so much more than a yes.

"I'll cling to you Hyunjin. Always. As long as you promise to do the same."

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@hardladytale @yaorzu-blog @viola-celine @jiminssluttyminx @pearl-monkeys @wave2ivy @keshet2k @dreammix88 @mysticalhumano @hannahlolo @periodpoops @m1rroh @seungmyynie @beebee18 @theodorenottgf @qrstarz @xocandyy @stay-tiny-things @vixensss @bo-fairykim @conwunder @parisanmorovati @lovesunshinefelix @hyunjins-dimples @ka0ila @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @chuuyaobsessed @dollschan @katexstay @lisunny2 @abovenyx @adrisiwiris @dontwannaexist @minsungsthirdwheel @ray0magdalene @maaayytyroshka @ddiidi

(if I missed you I'm so so sorry <3)

[asilentsongbird]

Neuvillette pines for you.

Furina learns to avoid him simply so she doesn't have to hear about whatever thing you've done lately that Neuvillette is obsessed with.

The ache is so deep in his soul it almost hurts.

The rain comes in a downpour sometimes. To match the wetness on his cheeks. Though sometimes he can't tell if it's the rain or his tears on his face.

You find him like this one evening. An umbrella tucked under your arm as you find the Chief Justice on the shore, head bowed and completely soaked.

"Monsieur Neuvillette?" you ask softly, coming up behind him. Your umbrella is just big enough to protect him from the rain. "Are you alright?"

He turns to you with shock on his face, tears still running down his face. A thousand thoughts race through his head, everything from did you see him crying to why in the world are you out in the rain?

A soft, gentle hand touches his cheek. It takes him a moment to realize it's your hand, the softest thing he's felt. Instinctively, he wants to lean into the touch. So he does.

"Are you crying?" your voice is soft, concerned, without the barest hint of judgement he so easily passes on to the players of his court.

The umbrella is shoved into the crook of his arm, and another hand reaches up to join the other. You cup both of his cheeks, though he has to bend slightly to allow you to do so, which he does so easily.

"There," you murmur, brushing your thumbs under his eyes. Your smile is so soft, even softer than your touch. "You have beautiful eyes, Monsieur Neuvillette. I hate to see you so sad."

The rain stops suddenly, as though someone has turned off a switch in the sky itself. His cheeks are dry and the sky is clear, and before he can say a word, you're looking up at it instead of him, still smiling.

"The rain stopped." You sound so happy about it, he almost feels bad for making it rain. You press the umbrella further against his hand.

Your touch feels warm. Inviting, and soft. Everything about you feels soft to him.

"Keep it for next time, okay? I'd hate to stumble upon you wandering through the rain again. You could catch a cold!"

He clears his throat softly, trying to figure out words. He's pretty sure words didn't exist before you started talking to him, and now he's floundering over them like a child.

"Allow me to walk you home," he finally manages, as though he didn't stumble over words for the first time in his life.

You smile, and link your arm through his own when he offers it. The sky above you two hasn't been this clear and blue in ages.

Perhaps, after he finishes walking you home, he can figure out how to finally ask you to dinner.

But who knows, really. After all, if he cries again, will you touch him as softly as before?

There's only one way to find out.

[darkbluekies]

In the hands of a madman 2024 ver

Doctor!yandere oc x reader

Summary: a doctor is very peculiar about his favorite patient, and senses a threat once they disobey him.

Warnings: yandere, poison, murder, cuff restraints

Word count: 2.4k

You gag.

“Yes, yes, I know”, he coos, grimacing and removes the wooden stick out of your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

You're left with a bitter taste in your mouth. Why does he always stick that thing as far down your throat as humanly possible? You thank heavens that it’s not one of the needles extracting blood from your arm, although you’re sure that’s what’s waiting tomorrow.

“Still nothing?” you ask cautiously. 

He meets your eyes and you know immediately. You sigh heavily. Your heart sinks to your stomach. 

Every three months, he’s doing all sorts of tests to see if you’re getting better — or what’s what he’s saying. Every three months, Dr Kry has to check every vital sign on you to make sure that his sickness isn’t getting out of his control. But you don’t like them. They hurt. Badly.

“Will I ever get to go home? I want to.” 

Dr Kry sighs and sits down on his rolling stool, coming over to your bed.

“I know you do, but you that’s not possible”, he says apologetically. “You know that too.”

“Yeah, because you keep reminding me”, you mutter. 

“That’s better than giving you false hope, isn’t it? Wouldn’t that drive you insane?”

It would, but you don’t say it out loud. Doesn’t need to.

“I want to go home!” you say again, louder this time. 

“Saying it louder won’t make you better or me change my mind”, Dr Kry says. 

You sigh and press your palms to your eyes, trying to press the tears back into your eyes before they escape. You’ve been here for too long by now. You’ve been isolated for so incredibly long. ALl you want is to go home. You know no one, talk to no one beside him. The proper, sophisticated man who’s stiffer than a stick. Dr Kry sighs and moves closer. 

“I know that you’re disappointed”, he says and puts his large hand on your shoulder. “But this is for the best. “I don’t want you to get worse.”

“I hate these fucking tests! They hurt.”

“I know.”

He glances towards the white air purifier on the shelf beside the bed. The poisoned air purifier. He’s always making sure it’s not too much, not too little. Just the exact amount to keep you where he wants you — weak and vulnerable, dependent on him. 

“I know it’s hard”, he says encouragingly. “I know that you’re in pain, but you’re doing so good. You can always call for me if you need me, okay? I’m available all day and night for you.”

You press forward a smile, but can’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you. Why did this happen to you? Where did you go wrong to end up here? How could a sore throat get you bed bound in a hospital room? If only you knew. 

“Let’s get you tucked in again”, Dr Kry says and helps you lie down in bed. “You shouldn’t be putting to much pressure on your body.”

He pushes up your pillows, having you lie in a 45-degree angle. It helps you breathe at night. He always tucks the blanket close to your body, as if you were a butterfly in a cocoon. He gives you a small smile before standing up. 

“Please don’t go”, you whisper. “I don’t want to be left here.”

The man looks at you, studies you carefully before nodding and sitting back down. He wipes your lonely tear with his finger. He looks at his wet finger, thinking. 

“I feel helpless”, you admit. “I don’t think I’ll ever get well again.”

Little do you know that’s exactly what he wants. 

“It’s okay, Y/N”, he says. “I will take care of you. I will stay with you until you’re well again.”

He has to force back a smile. 

“I don’t want to do these anymore”, you say monotonously. 

“I know you don’t, but you have to”, Dr Kry says apologetically and moves closer to the bed on his rolling stool. “They’re important.”

“They hurt …”

“I know, but you’re doing so good, okay? I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a small, painful smile. 

“I’ll sit here until you fall asleep, don’t worry”, he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes slowly. He fades out. 

He takes blood tests the following day. Needles, pain.

“Now, you need to take a nap”, he says and tucks you in. 

The daily afternoon nap. You hate it, but he insists. While you sleep, he’s out taking care of other patients that are not you. He hates it, hates wasting his time and skill on people that aren’t you. Those patients are one time patients that are there for surgeries, consultations or checkups. No long term patients that have to stay in the hospital. Everyone gets to leave after he meets them. Everyone but you. You stay. 

You keep your eyes closed until Dr Kry leaves the room. Quickly, you sit up and get out of bed. After all these fucking tests, you’re deserving of something else than the tasteless cardboard Dr Kry gets you. Just one brownie. Something that has sugar. And maybe some coffee for caffeine too. 

Quietly, you sneak out into the corridor. There’s something about these sterile passageways that makes the hair on your back stand on its end. Is it the dehumanized area or the fact that you’re never allowed here? Is it nerves or excitement? Whatever it is, you decide to speed up your steps and hurry towards the elevators before anyone sees you. They’ll tell him. Just as the doors are about to close, someone stops the doors. A boy dressed in a similar hospital gown as yourself forces his way into the elevator. He gives you a rushed, apologetic smile. 

“Sorry”, he says sheepishly. “I am in a hurry.”

“What happened to you?” you ask and smile halfly. 

“I escaped from the therapist. A real pain in my ass.”

You can’t help but giggle. The young man licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Have you met her?” he asks. “The therapist?”

“No”, you say. 

You haven’t met anyone but your stiff and proper doctor. 

“Don’t”, the young man advices you and leans his back against the wall. “She’s mental. I honestly think she should be the one getting interrogated — not me.” He looks at you, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Do you meet others?” you ask. 

“In the lounge. Have you been there?”

You shake your head and lower your eyes. 

“Did you just arrive?” the man asks. 

You shake your head again. 

“How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

The elevator stops and the doors open at your floor. 

“Are you going to the cafeteria?” the man asks. 

“Yes”, you reply. 

“I’m coming with you. Maybe you can help me blend in.”

“Okay.”

The boy seems frantic, but happy. Running on adrenaline and excitement. Together, you walk through the hospital to the cafeteria and realize that you don’t have any money. Your shoulders fall. Did you come here for nothing? 

“Aren’t you going to order something?” the young man asks. 

“I don’t know”, you reply quietly. 

Before you have the time to come up with a lie why you can’t order anything, you recognise something in the corner of your eye. A blonde man dressed in a white robe. You feel your blood run cold. 

“What do we have here?” Dr Kry asks and you have a hard time reading his tone or facial expressions. “What do you think you are doing out of bed?”

He walks over to you and grabs your shoulder. You flinch. His grip is … tight. Painful. 

“You’re supposed to rest”, Dr Kry says shortly.

He looks at the young man. His eyes seem to go right through him. 

“Where are you supposed to be?” he asks. 

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry gives him a cold gaze before grabbing your upper arm in a tight grip. He doesn’t say anything as he starts to pull you with him. His steps are quick, steady. Angry. 

“Doctor …”, you try.

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry pushes you into the elevator and presses the button. He doesn't let go of your arm.

“Doctor, I’m sorry”, you say. 

He still doesn’t answer. You barely dare to look at him. There’s something about his face that scares you. It's stoic, unreadable. But he oozes anger. Like a dark cloud.

The elevator stops, the doors open. His tight grip remains as he drags you back into your room.

“Lay down”, he instructs shortly.

You do, too scared to disobey. Dr Kry walks past you, to the drawers by your bed. He rips out two leather bands that look like belts for dolls. Before you're aware of what he's doing, he's strapped one of your wrists to the bed railing.

“Wait, doctor-”, you blurt out.

“Be quiet.”

He locks your other wrist to the other railing. You tug at the restraints, and find them secure.

“Are they too tight?” Dr Kry asks, still with that short tone that sends icy needles down your spine.

“Doctor, what are you-?”

“Answer the question. Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He turns to his desk, ignoring you.

“Doctor, I'm sorry”, you say.

“You broke my trust”, he says without giving you any attention. “It's important, for your healing, that you do not deceive me. I need to be able to trust that you do as I say. How many times have you done this?”

“Only this time, I promise.”

He doesn't answer. You feel how your eyes fill with tears. Your body is in such a vulnerable state that your body betrays you. You didn't want to upset him, didn't want to put your own health at risk by doing this. 

“I'm sorry, doctor”, you sniffle. “I didn't mean to break your trust.”

He sighs and turns his head to look at you. His blue eyes soften and he rises from his chair, coming over to your bed. He can't stay mad at you, not when you're clearly dumb. You don't understand, he can't be mad at you for not understanding. He should — and is — mad at himself for not foreseeing these situations and making sure you don't do it.

“You know that I only want what's best for you, don't you?” he asks and wipes your tears with his hand.

“Yes”, you reply.

“In that case, I want you to never repeat this mistake. Mistakes are forgivable, but they should be minimized, do you understand that?”

“Yes. Do you forgive me?”

He has to force back a smile. You're so unbelievably cute.

“Yes, I do forgive you”, he says. 

“Can you take off the restraints?”

“No. I might forgive you, but I need you to know what happens once mistakes occur. This is the consequences that follow. If I can't trust you to be where I want you to be, I need to take precautions to make sure you are.”

You lower your gaze.

“Who was that, by the way?” he asks. “That young … man. Why did you speak to him?”

“I don't know, he took the same elevator as me.”

“I don't want you to speak with him again. If he's the one they're looking for, I don't want you getting influenced by his reckless ideas.”

“I don't get to speak to anyone, anyways.”

“And that's how it should be. We don't know why you're sick, and you shouldn't contaminate someone else.”

“What about you, then? You can get sick too.”

“I'm ready to take that risk.”

He's too nice, you think. All he wants is to take care of you and you put his selfless risks to hell when you decide to disobey him. How horrible of you.

“Now, you need to take that nap for real”, he says. “I will sit by my desk. If you need something you can just let me know.”

He walks back to his desk and sits down, starting to file some paperwork. You tug at the restraints. You're not going anywhere.

When you’ve fallen asleep, Dr Kry makes his way through the hospital. They’ve captured that young man and put him back into his room … and Dr Kry wants a talk with him. He opens the door quietly. The young lays in bed, sleeping. Dr Kry circles around him, taking a good look at him. Did you find him cute? Hot? Did you like talking to him? Did you think that he was better than him? Did you enjoy those ten minutes with him more than these months with Kry? Do you want to meet with him again? He glares at the sleeping man. Dr Kry walks over to the supply closet, an identical to the one in your room, and takes out one of the spare pillows. Silently, he walks over to the bed, lifts the pillow and presses it over the young man’s face. He widen his eyes, pulled out of his slumber. He screams against the pillow, his voice getting muffled in the fabric. 

“Normally, I’d make this easy for you”, Dr Kry grunts as the man starts to fight against him. “Out of pity, but you don’t deserve that mercy.”

He screams in confusion, fear. Dr Kry can make out words. What. No. Help. Stop.

“Just give in and give yourself that mercy”, Dr Kry continues. “If you continue to fight against me, you’ll be in more pain.”

The man cries. Dr Kry breaks out into a smile. 

“You’re going to die either way, you can choose to end it quicker.”

The young man doesn’t seem to get the memo. He continues to fight, cry, plead. He drinks it all in. The horror, the helplessness. The dear in headlight. He has seen the light in people’s eyes disappear multiple times during his job as a doctor. To see the moment someone becomes just a piece of flesh. He has never enjoyed it as much as now. The man stops moving. Dr Kry removes the pillow and takes a step back, looking at the lifeless body. He breathes out. Finally, he can calm down. 

And now, all he needs to do is to make sure he can not be traced back. 

He finds you sleeping soundly as he comes back to your room, wrists still locked to the sides of the bed. You make his heart ache. He sits down beside you, brushing his fingertips over your cheek. 

I control your life, my little one. You’re going to say with me and I’ll take every repercussion to make sure you don’t disappear. 

[katsu28]

rain, rain, (don't) go away

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: you put your trust in a handsome stranger in the midst of a bit of bizarre wet weather. what could go wrong? (4.6k)

warnings: minimal swearing

a/n: not quite the summer lando series i've been working on but the idea for this came to me in a dream a while ago lmao

It doesn’t often rain in Monaco. Especially not during the summer. 

So when you feel a drop splash against your forehead, then another, you’re wildly unprepared. You squint up at the rapidly darkening sky like it's personally wronged you, and you’re met with another raindrop, this time in your eye. 

Part of you wonders if you could try and make it home before it starts to pour. The other part knows it would be an impossible feat given your lack of a car and how far you’d have to run in such a short amount of time. Even as you ponder the thought, the occasional drops turn into a heavy drizzle. 

You barely make it under the nearest awning before it really starts to come down. All around you are people scrambling to get out of the rain and somewhere dry, caught off guard by the unexpected downpour like you are. 

“Crazy rain, huh?” You startle at the sound of a voice from next to you, gaze snapping to your left to see a man huddled under the same awning, most likely having come up with the same idea you did. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologizes, holding his hands up in surrender. “I take it you weren’t expecting rain when you left the house today either?” 

You scoff, chuckling. “Was anybody?” 

You tear your eyes away from the sky to look at him once more, and to say you’re pleasantly surprised is an understatement. 

Your awning buddy is awfully attractive, and looks to be around your age too. A form-fitting black sweater stretches across broad shoulders, paired with baggy blue jeans that might not have worked for everyone, but definitely suits him well. He’s smiling at you too, a lopsided grin that has you intrigued by him. “The one time I didn't check my weather app before I headed out.” 

“You actually check the weather app?” He chuckles, tilting his head. 

“You don’t?” 

“Can’t say that I do. Usually I just trust the vibes when I look out the window. Didn’t really work out today, though.” He holds his palm out from under the makeshift shelter, letting the rain pool in his hand before dumping it on the ground, flicking his fingers to rid them of the excess drops with a scrunched nose. “Is this your first time in Monaco?” 

You shook your head, smiling softly. “I live here. You?” He bobs his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s never rained like this though, especially this time of year.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I reckon it’ll stop soon. It’s usually pretty quick—” 

A bolt of lightning flashes through the sky right at that moment, followed by a clap of thunder not five seconds later. If it continues on like this, you might be stuck here forever. 

“Huh! Maybe not.” The man sounds amused, aiming a sympathetic smile at you. You can’t help but chuckle, and you notice it makes him perk up a bit, looking pleased with himself. “Hope you don’t have anywhere to be.” 

“Honestly? I don’t. But I’d rather not be standing under this awning til the storm lets up. Could be ages, by the looks of it.” 

A stream rushes its way down the street, carrying a sad swirl of leaves down the storm drain at the corner along with it. It seems everyone else has come to their senses and found somewhere warm and dry to wait out the sudden storm because when you look around, the two of you are the only ones still outside. 

As if the man can sense what you’re thinking, he speaks. He’s smiling hopefully at you, head tilted invitingly. “There’s a cafe down the block that was open before it started to rain. Care to join me?” 

Normally, you’d be wary about a handsome stranger inviting you to an unknown location. This seems like one of those situations you’ve been warned about, but right now you can’t find it in yourself to care. It’s about time you put yourself out there, take a chance for once. You’re pretty sure he won’t try to kidnap you. 

“I’d love to.” You reply. You peer out at the dreary grey sky again, lips twisting into a grimace. “Is it just me or does it seem to be raining harder?” 

“I say we make a break for it. Run like hell on three.” He says firmly. You nod and he does the same, holding out his hand. You slip your fingers through his without a second thought. “One, two, three—go, go, go!” 

You both take off in a wild sprint down the sidewalk, splashing through puddles on your way. He giggles the whole time, peals of laughter bouncing off the cobbled street that sound gleeful. You’re laughing too, because who would’ve ever thought you’d be running through the rain hand in hand with a guy you’ve only just met?

He tugs you along, leading the way to your destination confidently. Well, as confident as one can while being half-blinded by a torrential downpour. 

You nearly slip as you make a poor attempt at a sudden stop when he finally slows, and you probably would’ve ended up flat on your ass if he hadn’t grabbed you by your forearms, steadying you with an infectious grin that you can’t help but return. 

The bell above the door rings when the two of you stumble inside, soaked to the bone even in the very short time it took to get down the road. But you know what they say, when it rains, it pours. 

He shakes the rainwater from his hair not unlike a dog would shake out its fur, and in the process splatters you with the droplets. Normally you wouldn’t be too happy about it, but you’re already drenched and he’s very cute, so you don’t mind. 

The place is pretty much empty when you look around, save for a handful of other patrons doing their own things. It’s cute though—cozy and warm, the smell of coffee beans and something sweet floating through the air. You never noticed it before, but it’s exactly the kind of cafe that you love. 

The man seems to notice that you’re still holding hands, because his cheeks turn pink and he drops it, smiling rather bashfully. 

“Sorry. I’m Lando, by the way.” He introduces himself softly, rubbing the back of his neck. You tell him your name and he repeats it, testing it out on his tongue. You’re not ashamed to admit you like the way it sounds when he’s the one saying it. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too.” 

“I’m gonna go order something so they don’t think we’re loitering. Preferably something hot, because I’ve got water in places water definitely shouldn’t be.” He shudders, pulling his soggy sweater away from his torso as proof. “Do you want anything?” 

You ponder for a moment before responding. “A latte sounds amazing right now. I’ll pay you back, of course.” 

Lando shakes his head, backpedaling towards the counter. “My treat. You just sit there and look pretty.” You roll your eyes playfully at him, but smile nonetheless. “Oh look, you’re doing great already!” 

That makes your cheeks grow hot. You’ve just met Lando and he’s flirting with you, and you don't mind at all. In fact, you have half a mind to flirt back. 

He finds you at a table soon after, balancing two cups and a concerningly large paper bag. You pop to your feet, carefully grabbing the bag to ease the load, and peer into it. There’s at least five different pastries inside, all of them looking absolutely mouthwatering. 

“I hope you’re hungry. Got convinced to buy a few things by the lovely old lady at the counter.” Lando says sheepishly, sliding into the seat opposite you. “Very persuasive, she is.” 

You shrug. “I could eat.” 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, chatting with each other like you're the only two in the world. It’s surprisingly easy to talk to him too. He’s funny and quick-witted and he talks very animatedly with his hands, you notice. You find it cute. 

Lando tells you about himself, asks about you and your life story, and you find yourself settling in nicely with his friendly nature. This isn’t a date by any means, but he makes it feel like one by the way he truly pays attention to you and what you're saying, nodding along closely with rapt attention. As far as listeners go, he's a fantastic one. 

You’ve also learned a lot about him. He was born and raised in the UK, but moved here a few years ago for work. What exactly did for work, he wasn’t too forthcoming with, but you don’t pay it any mind. You’ve just met, after all. You’re not expecting him to tell you his whole life story. 

But it also doesn’t feel like you’ve just met. You aren’t sure why, but Lando has this way of making you feel like you’ve known each other for ages, of making you feel comfortable and at ease with every word out of his mouth. 

Your clothes and hair have just started to dry out a bit, and you’re having a great time. Such a nice time, you don’t even notice the girl approaching your table. Lando sees her before you do, and he smiles politely. 

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you guys, but are you Lando Norris?” She asks hopefully. She looks young, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Her eyes flick to you, and you can tell she’s nervous, so you smile back. You’re confused to say the least, but you remember what you were like at her age. She reminds you a bit of yourself. 

Lando nods. “I am, yeah. What’s your name?” 

“Valeria. But everyone here just calls me Val. I’m the owner’s granddaughter, so I work here all the time.” 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Val.” 

She looks positively starstruck now, hands trembling as she holds up her phone. “Would you mind if I got a photo with you? You can totally say no if I’m interrupting something, I—” 

“You’re alright, love, don’t worry.” Lando stands, moving into selfie position next to her. The poor girl’s arm shakes so much you’re positive the photo won’t turn out clear at all, so you slide out of your seat too. 

“Here, let me.” You take the phone gently, motioning the two of them to scoot closer to get them in frame with each other. 

Val looks a combination of relieved and grateful, while Lando gives off nothing but a cool, albeit reserved, confidence. The same kind of confidence a celebrity might have when approached by a fan of theirs. But certainly Lando couldn’t be famous…right? 

You shake away the idea, snapping a handful of photos before passing it back to her, figuring there can never be too many to choose from. She beams bright, hugging him quickly, then to your surprise, gives you a hug as well. 

“Thank you so much! I’ll get out of your hair now. Enjoy your food!” With that, she hurries away with a bounce in her step, disappearing into the kitchen. 

You turn to Lando with arched brows. “That was interesting.” 

“So interesting.” He echoes, but his tone makes it sound like he doesn’t quite agree. 

“What are you, famous or something?” You mean it as a light jest, but Lando looks guilty for some reason. He beckons for you to take your seat again, sliding back into his own before offering you a sheepish smile. 

“Um, there might be something I haven’t told you yet.” 

“Shit, are you actually famous?” 

“...Yeah, kinda.” You arch a curious brow, and he sighs, but not in exasperation. “I’m a Formula One racing driver. For McLaren.”

Formula One…racing…it all sounds slightly familiar, but you can’t quite place it. Then it dawns on you. 

Lando isn’t just a local celebrity—he’s literally world famous. 

You’ve heard your friends talk about the races before, a few of your relatives who keep up with the sport, but you’d never paid it any mind. It just wasn’t something you could see yourself being interested in. That really famous race that takes place here in the streets every year that makes traffic an absolute fucking nightmare the whole week, Lando drives in that race, and countless others around the world, if you recall your limited knowledge correctly. 

He’s…cool. And he’s sitting right here with you in a tiny cafe, and you had no idea who he was. 

“Oh my god, you must think I live under a rock or something! This is so embarrassing, I—” 

“No, no! I’m not—I don’t go around expecting everyone to know who I am, I swear. It’s just that most people usually do recognize me, and it saves me the whole ‘having to tell them I’m famous’ thing, which always just makes things really awkward, and…yeah.” 

“Things don’t have to be awkward.” 

“No?” 

“No. We don’t even have to talk about it.” 

“We don’t?” He sounds a tad wary, but when you nod, the tension in his posture melts away. Relief floods his features at once. “Thank you. It’s actually quite nice to meet someone who has no idea what I do. Makes me feel normal for once.” 

“Glad my lack of sports knowledge makes you feel like a regular guy,” You joke, nudging his foot with yours under the table. He gives you a light kick in return, infectious smile back in full bloom once again. You quite like it when he smiles. 

You’ve just moved on to a new topic that has nothing to do with Lando’s job when his phone buzzes, making him jolt in surprise. He digs it out of his pocket, and when he sees the name flash across the screen, his eyes go wide. 

“Sorry, hang on. I’ve gotta get this.” He says, hitting the answer button. It’s a quick phone call, and you try your best not to eavesdrop, but whoever is on the other line has Lando worked up when he hangs up. 

“Everything okay?” You ask lightly. Lando bobs his head quickly. 

“Yeah, it’s—I, uh, I’ve gotta go. I forgot about a work event, apparently. That was my press officer, wondering where the hell I am and how fast I can get there.” He sounds disappointed, smiling almost sadly. “So much for feeling normal.” 

You try your best not to let your face fall when you nod. “I should get going too. Get home before the next freak summer rainstorm.” 

It’s nice when you step outside. You tilt your face up towards the sky, feeling the sun warm your face. This is the Monaco you know and love. Though if it hadn’t rained, you would’ve never met Lando. 

He turns to face you, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for the nice afternoon. I had a good time.” 

“Me too.” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” 

“Maybe you will.” 

“I certainly hope so.” He says softly. You shift slightly on the balls of your feet, suddenly feeling awkward. You’re not sure how to leave things with him, and it looks like he feels the same by the way he mirrors your actions. “Um, I really should leave, so…goodbye, I guess?” The look on his face tells you that leaving is the last thing he wants to do, but he has to. 

“Bye, Lando.” 

“Bye.” He echoes, one more time before turning away from you to head down the street. 

You can only bring yourself to wait a few seconds before you call his name again. He turns around instantly despite his hurry, meeting your gaze. You want to say something to him that’ll make him remember you, because chances are you’ll never cross paths again. If you were brave enough, maybe you'd even ask him for his number. But you’re not, so you don’t. Instead, you just smile at him. 

“Thanks for the latte.” 

If he’s disappointed, he hides it well. He smiles back at you, warm and bright like the sun beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. “Of course.” 

You watch him walk away, fighting that pesky little feeling in your gut telling you that you’re making a mistake by letting him go. It’ll go away soon, and you’ll go on with your life like you’re meant to. 

-------

You find yourself going back to the same cafe often, whenever you're out and want a little treat before you go home. The pastries are always still as delicious as the first time you had them, and you’ve become well acquainted with the staff as the time goes on. 

Oh, and that feeling you had when you let Lando leave without a word? 

It never went away. It’s still here, worming its way into your thoughts every chance it can get. 

You’re a little embarrassed to admit that every time you walk into the cafe, you hope you’ll see Lando. It’s wishful thinking more than anything, hoping he’ll be there when you go. He’s probably busy doing his thing anywhere but here, busy racing around in the world to the tune of thousands of screaming fans. You’re not sure if he even remembers you, or the afternoon you’d spent together. 

Why would he? In the world of Lando Norris, world famous Formula One driver, you’re probably just a speck of dirt in his rearview mirror. 

The thought gets pushed to the back of your mind as you step up to the counter to order. Val beams at you from behind the register. 

“Hey, Val,” You greet the young girl warmly, returning her smile. You’ve become quite fond of her and her youthful energy, and she always brightens your day. “How’s business going?” 

“Oh you know, same old.” Val waves an absentminded hand in the air as she keys in your usual order with the other. Her smile turns mischievous at the same time, like she knows something you don’t, and you narrow your eyes at her, already knowing what she's going to ask. “Have you heard from Lando?” 

“No, I haven’t. How’s summer school going?” 

She makes a funky face at you, rolling her eyes. “Boring. Way to change the subject though.” Before she can press any more about Lando, someone calls her name from the kitchen. “Ugh, I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfy, wait for your order, you know the drill!” 

You chuckle to yourself, heading straight for your usual table by the window to wait for your name to be called. 

You like to sit while you enjoy your food and drink, watching the people and cars go by outside. The streets of Monaco are always busy and bustling, but being in here feels like a pocket of peace. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

Your brow crinkles at the sudden voice, because you know for a fact there are at least four or five other empty tables available other than the one you’re currently sitting at, but this person chose to to ask you. 

Pocket of peace…disrupted. 

You let out a short sigh through your nose, turning your head from the window to politely tell them to find another seat, preferably at a table that isn’t yours, and that’s when you see him. 

Lando is grinning at you when you look over, lopsided and endearing just like the first time you met him. 

“Oh fuck!” You can’t help the expletive that falls from your mouth at the sight of him, even though there’s a thousand other things you’d told yourself you’d say to Lando if you ever saw him again. He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, and he’s rocking on the balls of his feet slightly like he’s nervous as he waits for you to do something other than curse at him. “Lando! I—you—hi.” 

“Hi,” He echoes, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. All you can do is stare at him, wide eyed in disbelief. “Mind if I sit?” 

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, you can sit.” You fumble over your words like you’re not used to speaking, feeling your cheeks flame embarrassingly hot. Lando just chuckles, sliding into the chair across from you. “Um, so how’ve you been?” 

He rubs at the back of his neck, bobbing his head. “Good! Bit busy. We had a triple header the last three weeks, so it’s just nice to be home again.” 

“Oh, I bet. I don’t think I’d be very good company if I couldn’t sleep in my own bed for three straight weeks.” 

“That’s fair. Though to be honest, I’ve gotten scarily good at falling asleep anywhere. If it’s a flat surface, I can nap.” 

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.” 

“Impressed would be mint. Otherwise I just sound like a dumbass.” 

You laugh at that, and in this moment, you realize just how much you’ve missed Lando. No matter how many times you’ve tried to convince yourself to forget about him, to convince yourself that there was no point in pining after someone you’d only spent a few hours with, it all came back to this. You missed him because you like him. 

“I need to tell you something.” He blurts suddenly, bracing his elbows on the table. 

You nod, expression turning thoughtful. Whatever thoughts you’re having about liking Lando can wait. “Sure, go ahead.” 

“This is gonna sound unbelievably weird and maybe even a little bit creepy, but I need to get it off my chest or else I think I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Lando looked nervous. The bouncing of his leg you can feel under the table and the way he plays with his fingers supports your theory. 

You cock your head at him, reaching across the surface to steady his fidgeting with a hand over both of his. His gaze snaps down to your touching hands, and you can see him visibly gulp. 

“What’s going on? Are you okay, is something wrong?” 

He shakes his head quickly. “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything is…the opposite, really. Everything is right. Meeting you, finding my way back to you—here of all places. I don’t believe in fate or anything like that, but this sure feels like something along those lines.” 

“Lando, I—”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that afternoon. I tried everything. Nothing worked. I couldn’t get you out of my head.” He confesses. His fingers curl around yours gently, thumb stroking over the ridges of your knuckles. “If I’m being completely with myself, I think it’s because I didn’t want to get you out of my head. And I just got off the plane an hour ago, but instead of going home and passing out like I usually do, I came here, hoping that somehow, you’d be here too.” 

“Can I say something now?” You ask lightly, stifling a giggle. 

His cheeks flush an embarrassed pink, and he motions for you to go ahead. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. I talk too much when I get nervous. I’m working on it, I—fuck, sorry again. You go. I’ll shut up.” 

“I still think it’s cute.”

“Is that the only thing about me you still think is cute, or…?” 

That gets another laugh out of you. You chuckle, giving his hand a squeeze. “Not at all. I still think all of you is cute, and…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either. We haven’t known each other long, but I really like you, Lando.”  

“I could kiss you right now.” 

“What’s stopping you?”

You don’t have time to second guess your newfound confidence before he’s leaning across the table, sliding a large hand over your jaw and pressing his lips against yours. Lando kisses you softly—gentle, like he’s worried you’ll pull away if he’s too forward with it. 

You’re fully aware that you’re smiling like a madman against his lips, but in your defense, he is too. His eyes open slowly when you pull away, almost tentatively as if he’s not quite sure what just happened actually happened. 

He leans back just enough to study you, letting his gaze flit around your face, taking in every detail he possibly can. All while he grins larger than Cheshire cat, like he’s a kid whose parents just told them they could get whatever they wanted at the candy shop, instead of kissing you for the first time. 

“I was gonna be nice and bring you your order, but it looks like you’ve already got something sweet.” Val’s voice cuts through the moment, and when you look over at her, she looks over the moon. 

“Lando, you remember Val, right?” 

“Uh huh,” Lando hums, holding out his hand for a fist bump that she happily gives him. “Thanks again for the heads up.” 

“Hold on, what? What heads up?” 

The two of them share a look, like they’re debating whether or not to tell you their secret. Then Lando sighs, giving her a go ahead nod, and she squeals, setting your food down. 

“Okay, so you know how you come in here all the time after work? Well me, being the keenly observant, brilliant young mind I am, noticed a pattern. You come on the same days, at the same time, and you never stray.” She explains excitedly, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet. You aim a questioning glance over at Lando, who just gives another amused nod.

Val continues excitedly, “So I’m expecting you today, right? But then the door opens and guess who walks in? Lando! He asks me if you’ve ever come back here after that one day and I’m like oh my god, you have no idea! So I tell him to wait a half hour for you, and now you’re both here and my matchmaking skills can be put to rest.”

“Are you being serious right now? Really, I can’t tell.” 

She tilts her head, popping a hand on her hip. For the same girl who’d been so nervous to meet Lando just weeks ago, she’s got a surprising amount of sass in his presence today. “Why would I not be serious? I’m basically a genius, and I expect to be invited to the wedding. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

“Alright, that’s enough, cheers, Val!” Lando blurts, shooting her a pointed look. 

“Can I get paddock passes for making this whole thing happen? Preferably Monaco but I could probably make it to Monza too. Imola is a little far.” 

Lando blinks at her for a few moments, probably seeing if she actually means it. When all she does is raise her eyebrows, he concedes. “Maybe. I’ll make some calls, see what I can do.” 

“Fantastic. Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone!” 

You both watch as she all but skips happily off, then turn back to each other. 

“She’s…definitely something,” You sigh, shaking your head. Secretly, you owe her everything. 

“Eh, I dunno. Kid’s growing on me.” He reaches across the table, lacing his fingers through yours with a fond twinkle in those pretty eyes of his. 

“How serious are you about those paddock passes?” 

“I mean…she did help me out massively. I’d have missed you if it weren’t for her.” Lando shrugs, rubbing an absentminded thumb over yours. “I hope you know I would’ve come back until I found you again. Everyday, if I had to.” 

“Me too.” 

If you���d told your past self that a bizarre summer rainstorm in sunny Monaco would’ve led you to where you are right now, you wouldn’t have believed it. But now, as you sit here with Lando, smiling at each other like complete and total idiots, you’ve never been more grateful for a bit of unexpected rain.

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[joelscurls]

I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers. 

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?” 

You sniff again. Nod. 

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself. 

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.” 

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath. 

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face. 

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?” 

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him.  Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch. 

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim. 

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull. 

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours. 

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you. 

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox. 

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all. 

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense. 

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him. 

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.” 

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.” 

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward. 

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet. 

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him. 

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head. 

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now. 

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated. 

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush. 

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours. 

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. 

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears. 

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?” 

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes. 

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle. 

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.” 

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.” 

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy. 

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?” 

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from. 

Sheila is home. 

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. 

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea. 

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?” 

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.” 

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip. 

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used. 

“You sure?” 

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise. 

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you. 

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length. 

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx. 

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop. 

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him. 

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat. 

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” 

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in. 

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. 

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep. 

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile. 

Do you hear that?  Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you. 

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp. 

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast. 

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar!  We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted. 

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt. 

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle. 

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth. 

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air. 

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?” 

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

[rainintheevening]

They're his children of course. Richard still recognizes them; it's only been two years.

And yet...

Peter is a man. Still six months shy of his draft papers, but he stands, walks, sounds like a man. He always has a pocket knife, he tips his hat to all the females, he sings in a baritone that will only get deeper and richer. The tea he makes is decent, but sometimes he drinks coffee now. He talks about horses and crops and reads Augustine. He can drive a car. He gives orders, and expects them to be followed.

They all look to him, to Peter. Helen calls him to open a jar, Susan questions how her hair looks, Lucy runs to him in tears. As for Edmund, he and Peter are curiously joined, they turn to each other with their laughter, their thoughts, their books and newspapers and letters. As often as his family swirls around him, Richard sees them swirl around Peter, a habit, he knows, born of necessity, but that doesn't prevent it from being strange. Even painful.

Peter moves to take the head of table, catches himself. They both start to say grace, stop, glance at each other. Peter takes the newspaper over breakfast, and is a page in before he remembers. And every time he apologises. Each time he smiles at his father, and it is warm, glad, even benevolent.

One of the first nights, shortly after Christmas, Peter finds him sitting in his old armchair, staring into the fire, after everyone else has gone up to bed. "Dad?" comes the question, and he looks up blinking at the tall man, lamplight crowning him in gold, blue eyes deep and dark with knowledge and certainty.

"I'm not who I was," Richard says, a confession, the kind a father shouldn't burden his son with he thinks immediately, but then Peter is down on one knee, reaching for the mangled hand, tender with the three fingers as he clasps strong calloused palms around them.

"Neither am I, Dad. None of us are." Peter's gaze is earnest, bright. "But you are still my father. And I will always be your son. I am forever grateful for that."

It is as if a great burden rolls off of his shoulders, and he finds no shame in leaning on Peter's hand to rise.

When the holidays end, and the four go back to school, Peter says I love you to each of them at the station.

If Peter is a man now, Susan is a lady.

She sits straight, she walks gracefully, she can cook anything as well or better than her mother. She reads the newspapers with Peter, she scolds Lucy for coming home with twigs in her hair and a tear in her stocking and wet shoes.

She talks less than her father remembers, and there is a woman's sadness in her gazing out the window or into the fire. She is also very admiring of the boys in uniforms, and Richard requests her arm on the way out of church with a father's righteous sense of protection.

But she is also gentler than he recalls, she does not shy away from his injured hand, she takes care of him without making him feel as if he needs care. She sits on a cushion by his feet as she braids her hair in the evenings, leans on his knee as she reads aloud, and Richard thinks, Not my little princess, but a queen now.

At the train station, she kisses him goodbye, and he hugs her close, and there are tears in her eyes as she says I love you.

Edmund is the closest to unrecognizable, the once-obvious four year span between he and Peter seemingly halved. He greets his father wordlessly, all shining eyes and bright smile, and his face is so close to Richard's own it makes his heart break a little.

Ed is no more little boy, he is tall, slim, oddly graceful, but his handclasp is strong. He holds himself the same way Peter does, with squared shoulders and lifted head, but he wears that nobility in a quieter fashion. He's quick to see, quick to hear, quick with a wisecrack that makes Peter laugh out loud. He plays the violin now. He returns the family Bible to the living room with an apology for having kept it since the summer holidays. He reads Agatha Christie as a personal challenge, whispers to Susan in French, and his chess games with Peter are fierce battles of strategy that Richard cannot keep pace with.

In discussions of the war and its movements, he is sober and considerate, he meets each of Peter's moods with a balancing counter, he has a way of phrasing questions that pull out stories Richard had never planned to tell.

A few nights before the children return to school, Richard sits up in bed, certain he has heard a faint cry, and he slips away from his exhausted wife to check on his children, remembering how Edmund had suffered from night terrors as a child, imagining little Lucy inflicted with some dark dream.

But all he finds is shadows in the boys' room, and quiet whispers—Peter's apologies, Edmund's reassurance, and allusions to things Richard has no context for. He lingers by the door, an outsider in his home, until silence falls, and he returns with morning light to find them curled together in Peter's bed, Pete with an arm over Ed, and the father's love is bittersweet.

They have fought their own battle over here, on the home ground, Richard reminds himself. In their own way they have each faced terror and learned to conquer or be conquered, but perhaps he can meet them somewhere in between. Only time will tell.

On the train platform, Ed hugs his father tightly, gives him a smile, tells him to keep out of trouble.

Lucy is the least changed, though she too is taller and stronger, and her eyes are deeper. She still sings, still dances, still tries to make friends with all the animals, still smiles and speaks kind and stares dreaming at the Christmas tree.

She still gives fierce hugs, still climbs into her father's lap, though her head comes up higher on his chest, on his shoulder.

But then he finds gaps in his library, and Lucy returns the medical books with a winsome apology, she asks questions about his practices in the field, she winces but does not shy away from the blood and broken things he speaks of.

Then she recites long poems, words spinning off her tongue until they become half song; she dances swift and graceful, she and Peter laughing and stepping and clapping and spinning in intricate patterns to the swing song on the radio; and it is she who, breathless, quotes Byron: "On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined!"

Her comfort is both generous and thoughtful, and she strokes her father's hair with a motherly hand that makes his eyes sting, and he kisses her fingers, looks up at her to whisper, "Don't- don't grow up quite so fast, my darling."

When she hugs him on the platform, Susan waiting for her, the boys already gone, she doesn't want to let go, and there are tears on her cheek, that he wipes away gently. "Be careful, Daddy," she whispers. "Get strong. Take care of Mummy."

"Yes, little mother," he smiles back.

And then they are all gone, and he takes a cab home, weary of his still-recovering body.

He will have to learn his children all over again, he thinks. But he is proud of them still. That has not changed.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

He’s Not A Machine!

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: when dean collapses from exhaustion, it takes everything in you not to beat the shit outta john

pairing: (stanford era) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 4.0k

warnings: hurt/sad dean, language, john being a terrible father, john being an asshole in general but what else is new

pairing note: reader washes/brushes her hair

author’s note: hiiii me again after many moons of zero contact with this lovely website. sorry for taking so long, hopefully i’ll stay a while this time lol.

It’d been nearly four weeks of back-to-back hunts. This was the seventh motel you and the two Winchesters had been at this month and you were almost ready to call it a night. 

“I’m gonna wash this wraith stench off of me,” you told Dean. You then added quietly so John—who was sitting at the table and cleaning his guns—wouldn’t hear; “Would you like to join me, handsome?”

“More than anything,” he whispered before he bent down and kissed you. John coughed loudly, and you weren’t sure if it was just a perfectly timed accident or a purposeful guilt trip. It was most likely the latter. “But… I think it’s better if I don’t, sweetheart.”

You smiled sadly with a small nod; “Next time, then,” you assured him. You looked up into his eyes and noticed the tiredness laced with the usual burden he carried. He blinked unusually slowly as if he was trying his damndest to stay awake, and you furrowed your brows. “How about you head to bed, you can shower after you get some sleep.”

“It’s alright, I’m not that tired,” he said.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” you asked him, barely above a whisper so that John wouldn’t hear.

John didn’t like you. He didn’t really trust your intentions with his son, and he thought you were just a distraction that would end up getting Dean killed if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t like how easily Dean would get ‘all giggly’ when he was near you, and he didn’t like that his son kept his guard down when he was with you.

He didn’t like the matching rings you wore, or that you too often referred to the other as husband or wife when a stranger would ask. You weren’t married, you were his fucking girlfriend and John fully believed you wouldn’t still be together by the time Sam finished his first four years at Stanford. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, matching your quiet tone. “I’ll shower right after you so don’t use up all the hot water, okay?” There was a teasing smirk on his face which made your worries subside temporarily.

“I promise to leave you some,” you said before you kissed him once more.

**

“Dean are you okay?” you asked, seeing the far-off look in his eyes when you left the bathroom.

“Yeah, I uh…” He rubbed his eyes as he tried to again focus on your face. He looked over at his dad, who raised a brow at his eldest son. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

You followed his line of sight and pursed your lips when you saw John.

“Dean says he’s fine, drop it Y/n,” he told you.

Against your better judgment, you decided not to ask Dean again. With your hair still wet from the shower, you took the brush from your bag and started fixing it. 

“Aren’t you gonna shower, babe?” you asked Dean, who hadn’t moved an inch.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. He started to kick off his shoes when he tripped and fell straight to the floor, his cheek now pressed against the carpet.

“Dean!?” you exclaimed and hurried over to him. You fell to your knees and took him into your arms, shaking him gently in hopes he’d just wake up. “Dean? Dean, honey, please? J-John he’s not waking up!” You pressed your lips to his temple; “C’mon, Dean!”

John had left his spot on the couch and was now hovering over you, as you looked up at him desperately.

“Is he breathing?”

“Yeah,” you replied, tears slipping down your cheeks. John helped you lay Dean down so he could check his breathing.

“He seems fine,” John deduced. “Is there a wound we missed or something?”

“W-We need to call an ambulance,” you said and rushed to grab your phone off the nightstand.

“Y/n, Dean wouldn’t want us to call the cops,” John replied. He seemed a little too calm for your liking, so you weren’t about to let him call the shots regarding Dean’s wellbeing.

“I don’t care, we’re getting him to the fucking hospital,” you said as you dialed and made your way back to Dean. “Now hide your goddamn guns before the paramedics get here—I need an ambulance at the Rosebud Motel room 302, my husband just collapsed unexpectedly.” You ignored the look John gave you when you called Dean that. The operator asked questions and you answered each one; “Yes, he’s breathing… No, no bleeding… He’s twenty-five… Uhm, I’m not sure…” You pulled the phone from your ear; “Has he had anything to drink yet tonight?”

John was putting away the guns and paused to think before he shrugged; “I dunno, I wasn’t watching.” 

Your eyes widened and your teeth clenched, the fucking audacity. Looking at the table you saw three opened beers so you made an educated guess when you answered the 9-1-1 operator.

“He might’ve had a beer or two, but he’s not a lightweight, he’d never pass out after two beers… Yes, his dad is in the room with me… Yes, I can stay on the line.” You took in a shaky breath as you brought his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. 

“Just stay calm, ma’am, help is on the way.”

“I’m trying,” you replied, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kept his hand pressed to your lips. “Th-This isn’t like him, he’s–he’s always okay.”

**

You bounced your leg anxiously as you sat next to John in the waiting room. As you absentmindedly played with the ring on your right ring finger, you couldn’t help but think of the time when Dean had told you how much you truly meant to him almost three years ago.

* flashback *

“I got you a present.” His smile was adorable as he sat next to you on the couch. He saw your face light up and felt the need to downplay the gift; “It’s nothing much, don’t get too excited.”

“Dean, you could give me a dirty sock and I’d love it,” you teased, placing a quick kiss on his pink lips.

“Well… this is like one teer above ‘dirty sock’, I think.” He smirked and handed you the small velvet box. 

You opened it and your jaw fell open; “Oh my god, Dean!”

“I know how much you like mine,” he said quietly.

“I do like yous,” you took his right hand in yours and kissed the ring on his finger, “I love yours, Dean.”

“Well, this one is exactly like mine.” He smiled. “Except it’s in your size, obviously, so we can… you know… match.” You took the ring out of the box and admired it for a moment. You were about to put it on but he stopped you; “May I do the honors, sweetheart?” he asked. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips as you nodded and he took it from you. He slipped the ring onto your right ring finger before he kissed your hand. 

“I mean this in the most genuine way possible; this is by far the best gift anyone has ever gotten me, Dean! Ever!”

A sheepish blush was forming on his cheeks as he leaned over and kissed your lips; “I love you so much.” He pulled away so he could look at you; “And, I want you to know this isn’t a regular gift.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your smile growing. 

“Yeah,” he replied and kissed you again. When he pulled away again he chickened out a little and didn’t say what he was going to. “You’re twenty-one, which means you can now legally drink in all fifty states.” He stood up, pulling on your hand gently so you would follow him to the kitchen. He took two beers out of the fridge and put them on the table. He used the ring on his finger to easily open one then handed the other to you. “Why don’t you give it a try.”

It took you a few tries but you managed to open the beer using the ring he just gave you; “Okay, now that’s awesome!”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Dean said and you clinked your beers together before you both started drinking them. As he brought the bottle down from his lips, he watched as you kept drinking and smiled to himself. He suddenly felt the courage he felt when he bought the ring and decided to tell you his thoughts; “You know you’re the only girl for me, right?” You nodded with a smile. “I don’t just mean ‘for now’ I mean like forever. That’s the real meaning behind the ring, I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.”

You couldn’t help the happy tears beginning to sting your eyes as you looked up at him; “Forever?”

“Forever.”

* end of flashback *

You were shaken back to cruel reality by the sound of John’s voice beside you; “What’s taking them so long? We’ve gotta get back on the fuckin’ road.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you scoffed and looked at him. “Dean might be in serious trouble, and you’re thinking about the next hunt!?”

“Dean’s gonna be fine.” He rolled his eyes.

“We don’t know that,” you replied. You again started fiddling with the ring Dean had given to you.

“You know that ring doesn’t make you two husband and wife,” John commented. 

You stood up abruptly, not wanting to say what was running through your head; Yeah, and Dean being so fucking perfect doesn’t make you a good father.

“Dean Smith’s next of kin?” the doctor asked. 

“I’m his wife, this is his dad,” you said. “H-How is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” she replied. “He has a very minor concussion from when his head hit the floor, but he just needs some rest.”

“What happened?” John asked. 

“He fainted from over-exhaustion, he’s gonna be okay.”

“Over-exhaustion?” You furrowed your brows, placing a hand over your chest. “B-But he’s been eating fine? A-And sleeping as much as me, I think?”

“Actually,” John interrupted, “he’s been helping me with research at night, he doesn’t sleep as much as you.” 

Never in your life had you wanted to knee John Winchester in the balls as badly as you wanted to at that moment.

“How many hours a night are you sleeping, hun?” the doctor asked you.

“Like three to five… every other night,” you admitted. “And that’s always been enough! If it wasn’t, Dean could’ve just taken a nap he didn’t have to—fuck.”

“Can we see him?” John asked.

“He’s still asleep but yes, you can go and see him,” she replied.

On the way to Dean’s room, you kept wondering how this all happened—how did Dean get so fucking tied he collapsed!? If he was staying up at night, why didn’t he just sleep in the car? You would’ve happily driven Baby, and it’s not like you hadn’t done that before—Dean’s love language was sharing that fucking car.

“This hasn’t ever happened before, right?” you asked John. 

“Never,” he replied. “Guess Dean’s just not as strong as he used to be.”

“Excuse me?” you seethed and stopped in your tracks, pulling John to a halt as well. “Dean is a fucking hero but he is not a machine, he’s a fucking human being who’s been treated like a soldier since he was six-fucking-years-old!”

“If you wanna say something, fucking say it!” John exclaimed. 

“Oh, I am saying it! How fucking dare you work him so hard that he lands in the fucking emergency room!”

“We all know in this line of work, we have to do what we have to do!”

You slapped him hard across the face and your eyes widened when you realized what you did. 

“Dean is your son,” you said, quickly changing your facial expression back into one of pure rage. “He is your fucking child and you’ve been treating him like shit for far too long. He deserves better, he doesn’t deserve to be so fucking exhausted that he collapses.”

You walked away and into Dean’s room. Seeing him lying in the hospital bed made your heart break as tears welled in your eyes. 

“Oh god,” you mumbled. “Dean.” You quickly pulled up a chair so you could sit next to his bed and patiently wait for him to wake up. John did the same, though he seemed annoyed by the fact Dean was still asleep. 

You weren’t sure how long had passed before John got fed up; “Can you press the button for the nurse so we can ask when he’s supposed to wake up?”

“I think we should just let him sleep, don’t you?” you whispered, not knowing if Dean had been sedated or if he was just resting like normal.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, I told you to call the damn nurse,” he said, raising his voice which caused Dean to stir awake.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean said groggily, his eyes half-hooded as he brought your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles. He then dropped your hand and rubbed his eyes to wake himself up. “This isn’t the motel,” he realized. He noticed John sitting at the other side of the bed and he sat up a little, trying to somewhat compose himself. “Wh-What happened?”

“I’ll fill you in,” John said. “Y/n, why don’t you go grab us some coffee so I can talk with my son?”

All your instincts told you not to leave the two Winchesters alone but what choice did you have? You didn’t want to start another fight with John, you were tired too, and you didn’t want Dean worrying.

“Yeah, sure,” you said. You took the time to bend down and place a loving kiss on Dean’s forehead, causing him to smile. “No coffee for you though, you need more sleep,” you told him before you left the room. 

About ten minutes later you walked back in and the sight practically made your eyes bulge out of your skull as your jaw flew open. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked and placed the two cups to the side. 

“Dad said there’s a hunt,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “I can sleep in the car or something, let’s go.” He started to stand up so you pushed him back down. 

“How fucking dare you!” you exclaimed at John, who stood on the other side of the bed. “How dare you tell him to suit up right now! He is staying here in this hospital, and he is getting some goddamn sleep!”

“That is not your decision,” John replied. “If Dean says he’s fine, then he’s fine.”

“You realize those are the exact words you said to me before your son collapsed, right?” you scoffed. “Dean lay back down now,” you told him as you began taking his boots off. “You are staying here for the night, you understand me?”

“Don’t you boss him around!” John exclaimed. “Dean and I are leaving here now.”

“You can leave if you want to, but Dean is staying put!” you replied, matching his tone. 

“No, he is not!” John yelled. 

You’d never fought with John like this, usually yelling and getting yelled at made your eyes tear up in the most inconvenient way. But this? Dean’s health? You were not about to back down. Not one single tear dared to appear in your eyes as you looked at John with such anger you wanted to slap him across the face… again.

“Why don’t we get a third opinion?” you suggested.

“Yeah, Dean, do you wanna sit here like a pussy or do you wanna go save some fucking lives?” John turned to look at him.

“Don’t answer that,” you said quickly. “I meant, let’s call the nurse and see what they have to say about it.”

Before John could protest, you walked over and pressed the button. It took half a minute—during which you and John stared daggers at each other—but soon the nurse walked in.

“How is everyone?” she asked, noticing the tension in the room.

“Do you think this young man here can leave yet? He’s doing fine and wants to go home,” John said. 

“Let me check his chart,” she replied before doing so. “I would have to no, he should definitely stay here and get some much-needed rest.”

“Is there a doctor—” John started but you stopped him.

“Goddamn it John!” you scoffed. “He is not leaving!” 

“You are not his fucking family!” John shouted, much louder than before. “I am! You aren’t his wife, you aren’t his sister, you aren’t his fucking mother—you are just his current girlfriend, and believe me that’ll fucking change in a heartbeat. You are not in charge of what Dean does, you are not family.” There was a short pause as your eyes brimmed with tears yet you refused to let them fall. John sighed and continued; “I am Dean’s father, I know what’s best for him, and I say he’s packing his things and getting the hell outta here.”

The nurse looked absolutely shocked, her jaw hanging open. The look John gave her made her hurry out of the room.

“Dad,” Dean said, seeing the tears in your eyes. “Dad, you can yell at me all you want, I’m your kid but…” He exhaled shakily as John turned to look at him with a frustrated look. “But you can’t talk to her like that, you just can’t. You might not think of her as family but that’s on you, she is a part of my family, Dad. And yeah, we might not be legally married or whatever but she’s not just my current girlfriend? She basically is my wife, we’re not just… dating?” Dean looked at his father with a sense of desperation, John just had to apologize and you could all drop it. Of course, John, being a stubborn bastard, held his ground and crossed his arms authoritatively. “I-If you aren’t gonna take back what you just said to her y-you can go on this next hunt alone.”

“Excuse me?” John scoffed. 

“You heard me,” Dean replied. “She’s everything to me and I can’t sit idly by while you talk to her like that.”

“So you’re talkin’ back to me now? Like Sammy?” John asked. “Refusing to take orders?”

“This isn’t about me, Dad!” Dean said, his face twisted with guilt. “You know I follow any orders you give, that I’m quick to obey. But you saying Y/n isn’t family? I-I’m sorry but I can’t let that slide, Dad.”

John huffed and abruptly left the room.

“I’m sorry,” you said to Dean the moment John was out of earshot.

“Me too.” Dean smiled sadly as you both wiped your eyes quickly.

“Why don’t we get these jeans off of you so you can be more comfortable?” you suggested patting his shin.

His brows shot up; “Really? Here? Now?”

“Dean, no!” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I meant comfortable so you can go to sleep!”

“Oh…yeah, that makes more sense.” His trademark cocky smile was back and that made your own smile return to your now tear-stained face.

“I’m serious about you staying put, you know.” You nodded toward his pants and he got the message. 

“You can be real stubborn, you know that?” he laughed as he hurried and slipped his pants off. You folded them up and put them on the chair along with his belt. He shrugged off his jacket and you tossed it on top of where the pants sat. 

“Get under the covers,” you said. He rolled his eyes playfully but he obliged nonetheless. 

“Happy?” He smiled when he was comfortable in the bed. 

You nodded; “I love you, Dean.” You leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips, causing his smile to turn more genuine. 

“Hey,” the doctor interrupted as she walked into the room, “Nurse Roberts just told me about the little outburst… everything okay in here?”

“Yeah, just a little misunderstanding is all,” you replied. “But it’s all settled—Dean’s staying the night.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said with a smile. “I’ve gotta be honest I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, clearly anxious about her statement.

“I just meant that your husband is very healthy,” she assured you; “I’ve never seen a young, healthy man like him just collapse from over-exhaustion.”

“First time for everything I guess,” Dean laughed nervously.

You glared at him; “Not funny, babe.”

“She’s right,” the doctor backed you up. “Now, whatever you’ve been doing recently that caused you to lose this much sleep, get this stressed you need to quit it right here, right now.”

“It’s our job, we can’t just… quit,” you said. “But I will definitely keep a closer eye on him from now on, make sure he’s getting enough sleep.”

“You can’t put this all on her, you understand me, Mr. Smith?” She looked at Dean before he nodded shyly. “Mrs. Smith you need to fix your own sleeping habits as well — if you both don’t smarten up and take better care of yourselves, you will definitely be right back here before the end of the year. You got that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said. 

“Good.” She nodded. “Now, I’m gonna give you a small dose of a mild sedative to help you fall asleep, alright?” She said as she made her way over to Dean’s IV bag to give him the sedative. “You ripped this out the second you woke up, didn’t you?” She asked him when she realized the needle was no longer in his arm. “You two, I swear!” She started preparing to simply inject Dean with the sedative but you stopped her.

“Is there maybe like a pill equivalent to what you’re giving him? He doesn’t really like needles,” you said. 

“There is, would you prefer that?” she asked Dean, and he nodded vigorously. “Alright, I’ll go and grab that for you then. Mrs. Smith the chair in the corner folds out into a small bed if you two don’t want to share one.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I’m not tired,” you said. 

She gave you a look; “Seriously? Hun, what did we just talk about?”

“I get that, but I know Dean’s not gonna sleep properly if he doesn’t feel safe.”

“This is a hospital, it’s safe,” she said. 

“Sorry,” you said with a small shrug, and again she sighed.

At that moment, John decided to walk back into the room, making your breath hitch a little before the doctor left to get the meds for Dean. 

“It’s alright, you two get some sleep; I’ll keep watch,” he said as he made his way over to the chair and sat down. 

“You sure, dad? I thought you said there was a job nearby?” Dean asked. 

John looked at you and smiled ever-so-slightly. Maybe it was something you had said to him, maybe John didn’t want you being alone with Dean while he was so weak, or maybe there never was a job and he didn’t have anything better to do than stay with his son. 

For whatever reason, John Winchester sighed and answered; “You’re more important, Dean. Your safety is more important. Now quit whining and get some sleep.”

Dean pulled the covers back, silently asking you to join him in the bed and, of course, you obliged. You gave him a quick kiss on the lips before getting comfortable in his arms.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your temple. 

“I love you more,” you replied, making him let out a soft laugh. 

“You always gotta one-up me, huh?” he chuckled. 

“Uh-huh,” you giggled. His arms tightened around your frame as he tucked your head under his chin. John couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for treating not only you but his own son so poorly. Every time John saw Dean be this relaxed and happy, you were always the cause. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

By the time the doctor got back about seven minutes later, you and Dean were both fast asleep; the latter letting out snores that gently moved your hair with each breath. She smiled a little at the sight and decided to duck back out of the room so as not to wake you two.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO SATORU x FEM READER

Gojo “my girl is mad at me I hope I die” Satoru

wc — 600

tags — fluff, companion piece to modern intimacy so you’re also married in this one, love as annoyance 

Gojo looks like he tried to drown himself in the shower. 

If you hadn’t just mopped the floor, you might be tempted to give in and beckon him over to cuddle. As it is, your annoyance is only mildly tempered by how adorable he is. You suspect this was his plan all along. 

“Go dry your hair,” you tell him coldly, hardly even giving him a glance after his first step into the room. 

He pouts, which you were expecting. He should really learn some new tricks at this point. You make a shooing gesture at him to drive home the point. 

Instead, he clambers down next to your feet, all six feet and two inches of him compressed down to fit his head into your lap. Gojo’s so lanky it gives you the impression of a Jenga tower collapsing in on itself to watch him get on his knees. 

“But you’re mad at me,” he whines. Chilly droplets are seeping into your thighs. 

“I’ll be madder if you keep getting my pants wet. Go on, you’ll catch a cold.” 

“I deserve it.” 

“Gojo.” 

You say it as if you’re short of patience, when really, you’re far from it. You’re enjoying this way too much. 

He turns his head so he can look up at you. His hair falls into his eyes, making him look like a sad, wet puppy, shivering at your feet for mercy. It’s an act, of course. 

He’s the strongest man in the world. Still, you feel your heart melting as you would for any poor abandoned creature. You brush his bangs out of his face, trying to hold onto your weakening resolve. 

He knows he’s got you. It’s just a matter of time. 

“I can’t live with myself,” he says. “If you’re going to be mad at me, you should just kill me. It would be easier-“ 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you say, but that’s when he strikes the killing blow. 

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just looks at you with eyes that are suspiciously shiny, his pretty pink lips in a soft frown. You sigh and put the book you were trying to read down. 

“Go get the hairdryer.” 

Gojo perks up immediately. You stay on the sofa. He sits on the ground between your legs as you run your hands through his hair, moving section by section. It fluffs up as hot air moves over it. 

“Are you still mad?” 

“Want to take a guess?” 

He turns around so fast he almost hits himself in the face with the hairdryer in your hand. 

“I’ll never do it again, I swear.” 

“You swear?” You’re teasing. 

Gojo places one hand over his heart and raises the other like he’s making a pledge. You’re the only nation he’d ever devote himself to, anyway. “You know my motto is happy wife, happy life.” 

“I don’t know, actually.” You laugh. “Did you just come up with that?” 

“Now you’re just being mean,” he says. 

“I’m glad you picked up on it,” you say dryly. 

You like him pathetic. It appeals to your worst nature, the one that kind of wants to pinch him just to see him cry. You don’t know when you developed such feelings, and you’re certainly not sadistic towards anyone else, but Gojo just provokes you. It’s what he does. He’s good at being annoying. 

But you love that part of him, just as much as you love the part of him that can’t live without your attention. 

“You really learned your lesson?” You ask. “You won’t do it again?” 

“And go through this again? You kidding?” 

You pinch his cheek in annoyance, but he just laughs and wraps his arms around you, ignoring the way you try to wriggle away. 

“Your hair isn’t dry yet!”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, rubbing his cheek against yours. His shampoo smells good. “Happy husband, happy wife.” 

He knows you too well for you to disagree. 

[pure-smut]

infatuated.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: college!Sukuna, size kink, Sukuna has a huge dick (obvs), riding, obsessive behaviour from Sukuna at the end

note: all characters are aged up to 18+!

word count: 1.8k

series: 1. infatuated | 2. obsessed | 3. addicted | 4. toxic | 5. feral

masterlist

MDNI | 18+ content

Ryomen Sakuna is well-known around campus – big, brutish, the most arrogant man to walk the planet. But if whispers amongst the girls were anything to go by, he’s also a damn good fuck.

It’s why you, fresh off the anti-climactic evaporation of a sub-par situationship that had no right to make you feel as glum as you do, have the sudden desire to fuck Sukuna.

You’re in a club, drowning your sorrows with your friends, when you lock eyes with him across the room. It’s not hard – he’s a head and a half taller than everyone else. But he doesn’t look away. And, you realise, neither do you.

Yeah, he might be a walking red flag. Yeah, you might be bitter and sad over a failed not-relationship. But it’s not like you’re fucking his personality, right? Just one good night. Just one really, really good fuck. Then you can wake up tomorrow, satisfied and ready to move on.

You down your drink and stalk over to him. Time to put those whispers to the test. *

Okay, maybe there’s some truth to the rumours.

One quick drink and a cab ride later, Sukuna has you on his lap, straddling his thighs as you make out on his sofa. He’s so big your legs are basically spread for him already, slotted on either side of his thighs as his hands grope your ass shamelessly.

He didn’t say much to you when you asked him to come home with you. Only a grin played on his lips as he grabbed your hand and said, “No. You’re coming to mine.”

You hadn’t expected him to be such a good kisser though. Your hands card through the pink hair at the nape of his neck as he slides his tongue over yours. Even with you on top of him, you know he’s actually the one in control. He dictates the pace, the speed, everything. Where your previous situationship had demanded that you do all the work, this relinquishing of control feels good. Freeing. You melt into it and into him, pressing your chest against his.

When Sukuna feels you relax, he pushes your dress up past your hips. One large finger hooks onto your panties from behind, pulling them to the side. Without breaking the kiss, he dips his free finger between your folds, checking how wet you are. You gasp at the sudden feel of his calloused finger but Sukuna quickly swallows it. At the feel of your slick arousal, his cock throbs.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, pulling his mouth back only slightly. “Just from kissing?”

Your cheeks burn but you’re distracted by a thick finger prodding your entrance. You gasp lightly and push your hips back, seeking more. Sukuna chuckles.

“I knew you were needy when you threw yourself at me tonight but still…” He grins. “You really do need a good fuck.”

“S-shut up,” you manage to stammer out but Sukuna only laughs.

He withdraws his hand and you have to supress a whine. Instead he undoes his jeans and pulls his cock free. It slaps against your stomach, hard and hot. When you look down at it, your eyes widen. Sukuna smirks – he always loves the look a girl gives him when she sees his cock for the first time.

“I don’t… I don’t know if it’ll fit.” You swallow past the lump in your throat. It’s so big, you want to say but you don’t want to feed his ego any more than necessary.

“That’s why you’re on top, baby.” Sukuna gives an easy grin. “You probably won’t be able to take it all so just do whatever you can.”

His condescending tone makes you frown. You jut your chin out defiantly. Oh, I’ll take it all, you think to yourself. Smug bastard.

You raise your hips, hovering over his fat mushroom tip. You’re already wet but he hasn’t even fingered you to prep you so you know you need to go slow. But determination courses through you. Sukuna watches you, one eyebrow cocked in amusement, as you look down in concentration. Slowly, you sink down onto his cock.

Your nails dig into the thick muscle of his shoulders as you leverage yourself. The stretch is immense but it’s delicious too – a heady mix of burning pleasure. Sukuna puts his hands behind his head, a self-assured smile on his lips as he watches you. He loves this part – loves watching girls struggle to fit him inside them. It makes his ego swell as much as his cock.

You manage a few inches before you have to stop, sweat already glazing your brow. You reach down to play with your clit, making yourself as wet as possible. Sukuna bites his bottom lip as he watches you play with yourself, a third of his cock buried inside you. You feel him throb and it only spurs you on, your pussy drooling around him, stretching to accommodate him.

“You look pretty fucking hot like this,” Sukuna admits, bringing one hand forward to grope your tit. “You need some help, baby?”

You’re too busy concentrating to speak so you give a short nod. Sukuna tweaks your nipple, rolling it between his fingers in a way that shoots sparks through your whole body. You tip your head back and gasp, feeling yourself tumbling closer to an orgasm. Even though he’s not fully inside you, his cock is managing to rub against your walls in a way that makes your eyes rolls back.

Sukuna has to admit he’s enjoying himself. The sight of you making yourself cum on his cock is pornographic and your pussy is squeezing him so tight. He has to fight to urge not to thrust up. Instead, he roughly plays with your tits, enjoying the way your nipples stiffen under his touch. Your body is so responsive to him, so ready for him. Your gummy walls massage his cock in a way that makes him want to go feral. Every muscle in his body is taut as a bowstring, restraining himself.

You open your eyes to see the hunger in his face, a notch between his brows and his lips slightly parted, eyes intense. A thrill runs up your spine. You want to see him hungrier.

Still rubbing your clit, you lower your hips and sink further onto his cock. This time, you’re able to take a few more inches, your pussy enveloping him tightly. Sukuna can’t stop himself from moaning this time, your plush walls hugging him. His hands drop to your hips, holding them with an iron grip.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s good, baby, you’re doing so good.”

You’re taking him better than he thought you would. You’re two-thirds down, your lips gripping him as though you don’t want him to leave. Nevertheless, you slowly bob up and down, never fully withdrawing. The sensitive head of his cock rubs a euphoric friction against your walls, making you both moan contentedly. Sukuna half wants to stay like this forever, never leaving the hot, soft grip of your sweet pussy. The other half of him wants to pin you down and make a mess of your insides, painting your pussy white with his cum.

Your fingers pick up speed against your clit. The combination of Sukuna’s girth stretching your hole and your fingers rubbing your sensitive bud are bringing you close to the edge. You’ve nearly taken him all and you know you can do more – you just need to cum first to loosen up.

“Ah, fuck, that’s it,” Sukuna groans, his grip on your hips tightening to stop himself from bucking his hips. “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.”

And so you do. You bounce up and down until your legs cramp, but even then, you ignore it and keep going. You rub tight circles on your clit, the way you know you like, and throw your head back in an silent scream.

“Fuck… fuck!” you squeal as your orgasm rushes through you, curling your toes and arching your back.

Sukuna watches you, his eyes flicking down to your pussy to watch your juices run down his cock. He’s almost painfully hard, teased to the brink of his own orgasm. When girls can’t take him all, he usually waits for them to finish on him before getting them to suck him off, bringing him to a finish in their mouth.

But you…

When you come down from riding your high, there’s a spark of defiance in your eyes. You plant your hands on his shoulders and, locking eyes with him, you sink your hips down until your thighs meet his.

Sukuna’s eyes widen. His breath hitches. He looks down to see you joined together, his cock fully buried inside you.

You’ve taken all of him.

“Fuuucck.” Sukuna groans long and loud, the new sensation of his cock being fully enveloped almost making him cum right then and there.

You grin, a sense of accomplishment spurring you on. Your legs are still sore so you grind against him instead, leaning forward to suck sweet kisses on his neck.

“Holy shit.” Sukuna buries his fingers even deeper into your hips, encouraging you to grind harder. “That feels so fucking good, baby.”

Your pussy is addictive. Sukuna wants to live here like this, fully sheathed inside you as your soft, hot walls milk his cock. He’s never known this sensation before, this delicious heat as your bodies fully connect. Your plush ass nestled against his thighs, your clit rubbing against him as you grind, your lips wrapped around him to the base of his cock. Fuck. You’re incredible, he thinks.

“Cum inside me, Sukuna,” you whimper in his ear.

You don’t need to tell him twice. Sukuna growls animalistically, burying his face in your neck as his cock throbs once. Twice.

You feel him explode inside you, hot, sticky cum coating your walls. You keep grinding until he’s done, milking him for all he’s worth. It’s only when you make to move away, to pull your puffy pussy away from his cock that he hardens his grip on you again.

Before you can ask him what’s wrong, he captures your lips in a deep kiss. It’s a surprise but a pleasant one – you didn’t take Sukuna for someone who kissed after sex. You make out for a while, his cum leaking out around his softening cock. It’s only when your thighs are slick with both of your juices that you pull away again.

“Thanks, Sukuna.” You smile at him. “I needed that.”

You hop off his lap, satisfied. To you, the plan worked. You’re content and ready to move on from your shitty situationship.

But Sukuna has never cum inside anyone before. Never been able to. Never met anyone who could take all of him. He watches you pad away to the bathroom to clean up, humming happily. You might be going home tonight, content and oblivious, but something dark stirs inside Sukuna. He knows he’s never letting you go.

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[calmcoldevening]

Santa Art the clown || SMUT

Tw: nsfw, adult content, no minors, babe. Just missed this boy

It's been quite a while since you last saw your boyfriend Art. The collision with the girl Sienna did its job. But you had a strong feeling that he was about to come back to you, you were sure of it.

Your body spun easily around the house as you continued to decorate the rooms for the approaching Christmas. And although you were still sad in your heart, you intended to spend this holiday with your family or friends to fill the void of longing and pain. All this time you couldn't find the strength to find another partner, Art was too dear and irreplaceable in your life with all these oddities and habits.

You were standing in the kitchen making chocolate chip cookies. Even if you no longer believed in the good old Santa, you still cooked this sweet as you once did in childhood. Something akin to tradition. Having already memorized the recipe by heart, you expertly quickly and carefully prepared the dough and began to add chocolate chips. Finally, you put the future cookies in the oven and set the timer with a satisfied smile. Suddenly, you felt two hands with cold palms hugging your waist. You instantly shuddered, convulsively remembering how you could not close the front door. But then your gaze slid over the stranger's gloves and hands, and an obvious supply of blood hit your nose. You instantly relax and lean back against the man's chest. His chest is shaking with silent laughter.

"God, babe. You scared me to death.."

When awareness fills your frightened brain, you turn around in the clown's tight grip to face him and hug him tightly in response, burying your nose in a warm sweater.

"I missed you. I missed you so much," you mumble like a desperate mantra, his hand finds your hair and starts stroking it slowly in a soothing manner.

Despite his demonic nature, you can say with some certainty that he missed you too. Maybe it's his calm demeanor, or maybe the tenderness in his touch. You don't know. You just feel it.

Art leaned back possessively on the back of the sofa, legs wide apart. You can already imagine how long it will take you to wipe the blood off the upholstery of your favorite sofa. But it doesn't matter now. You slowly crawl up to him on all fours and settle between the man's legs, gently squeezing the soft fabric of Santa's costume in your hands. The clown's face curves into a sadistic smile and he shakes his hips slightly, watching you with obvious glee in his eyes. With eyes trembling with anticipation, you unbutton his belt and slightly lower the pants of the suit, releasing a hot cock. You softly wrap one hand around his penis and gently run the tip of it over your lips, mixing precum and blood from previous victims with your saliva. You literally feel like a starving man at the sight of his throbbing length. Not long, but thick enough to make you see the stars.

Finally, you lean forward and take his cock as deep as possible into your throat, feeling the gag reflex from not using your mouth for a long time. Your chin rubs against the pleasant fabric of a soft red suit, and shiny tears appear in the corners of your eyes. But pain at the same time brings you a strange perverted pleasure, you already feel how your thin, delicate underwear gets wet.

As your movements accelerate, you feel Art's hips begin to move towards you, his fingers burrow into your sweat-soaked hair. A painful mumble escapes from your throat, and you already feel an unpleasant burning sensation from swallowing. His precum slowly flows down your throat while the throbbing head continues to hit the back of your throat, causing unpleasant spasms. Your free hand finds his balls swollen with semen and begins to slowly massage the places that you know he loves. Art's head falls back in a silent groan.

Finally, his movements become more frantic and animal, your jaw aches from his massive cock, you start to suffocate. The feeling of someone else's blood leaves an unpleasant gnashing on the teeth and a taste of metal. Art's fingers dig into the skin of your head when you get into his particularly pleasant place. He enjoys seeing your face covered in tears, cum and blood. Finally, he cums with a silent scream, pouring a generous portion of hot sperm down your throat. His cock twitches in your mouth, rubbing against your swollen tongue. Art is breathing heavily, looking down at you, and slaps you on the cheeks a couple of times, checking if you've swallowed his Christmas present. When you obediently open your empty mouth, he grins sadistically and pulls his cock out of your mouth, leaving traces of sperm on your lips and chin.

With one sharp movement, Art pulls you onto his lap, squeezing your juicy thighs in his hands. He forcefully presses your clothed warmth to his penis, which was still wet from your saliva, which was slowly starting to harden again.

The man leans forward and grabs your lips in a nasty hungry kiss. You moan with pleasure, finally feeling the familiar sensation of his heavy tongue in your mouth. Your senses are filled with his musky scent and the taste of blood on his lips. His movements are full of pure animal hunger.

Without warning, Art grabs you by the hair, throws your head back and exposes your throat to his perverted desire. His painted face is decorated with a sadistic smile. He looks at your stained and swollen deer eyes. His free hand wanders over your body, quite caressing your soft breasts and sides. He leans closer and begins to leave quick, careless kisses on your throat. Your skin is slowly covered with traces of saliva and black lipstick. His lips stay on your pulse point for a particularly long time, circling your artery with obvious pleasure. His hand slides over your thick thighs, squeezing this flesh he loves, and finds the edge of your panties, starting to massage your throbbing clitoris with unprecedented skill. A pathetic meow escapes from your lips and you bite your lower lip. Art giggles soundlessly and grabs your mouth in another clumsy wet kiss, wanting to take every sweet moan of yours just for him. His fingers slowly sink into your welcoming wet warmth, and his thumb continues to expertly massage your clitoris. Your pussy instantly squeezes his fingers into a vice, which makes his eyes roll in pleasure. His fingers begin to lead in and out of your hungry pussy with a perverted squish, sliding over the wet folds with undisguised glee.

Finally, he pulls away from your mouth, and his fingers come out of your pussy, leaving you whimpering because of the sharp feeling of emptiness. Art giggles silently, enjoying this hot sight.

With one sharp movement, Art rips the fabric of your panties, pulling out a surprised sigh from you, and impales your pussy on his proudly standing cock. You desperately shout his name with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Your hands squeeze his shoulders and you bite the inside of your own cheek until it bleeds. Art's mouth opens slightly and he begins to breathe rapidly, enjoying the long-awaited feeling of the wet warmth of your pussy. God, he missed that feeling. Art squeezes your hips in his hands and starts moving slowly, his massive balls slapping hard against your ass. Your face is blushing in obvious anticipation of how his suit is going to be damn wet with your juices running down your thighs.

He pulls you closer to him and begins to slowly kiss your neck and shoulders, his overgrown nails digging painfully pleasantly into the flesh of your ass. You whine softly, silently begging him for more. Art grins sadistically, speeding up the pace. The wet slaps of his body against yours fill the room, interrupted by your voluptuous moans. Gripping your hips tighter, he leans into that perfect spot inside, enjoying the way your inner walls contract and pulsate around his throbbing length.

Reaching down, he lock his hands together behind your back, lifting you nearly upright as he continue to hammer into your dripping cunt. Your tits bounce wildly with each forceful thrust, pale flesh jiggling obscenely. He feels your inner walls clamping down on him in a vice-like grip, your pussy quivering on the edge of a toe-curling orgasm. With a final, particularly vicious thrust, he bury himself to the hilt and still inside you as he feels your cervix ripening, your womb clenching in eager anticipation. He holds you in that perfect position as a tsunami of pleasure crashes through you, milking his shaft for every last drop of semen.

Finally, the pleasure subsides and you go limp in his strong embrace, feeling fuller than ever. You mumble softly, hugging his neck and burying your nose in the warm fabric of his Santa suit. Art pulls you closer, still breathing heavily, and pats your trembling back.

[namjooningera]

Hii can I request any yandere JJK men with a reader whose on a hunger strike or refuses to be handfed by them? Ty ^.^

Yandere JJK react to y/n refusing them/not eating

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, (NEW) Sukuna (king ver of Sukuna)

AN: just reader being a lil bratty (real) also I just added Sukuna as a new character tehe. Tell me how it is 👀 however since he’s a yan I am making him softer towards y/n (but insaner towards other ppl yk?) also he’s a king in this one so

TW: starving, SLIGHT physical violence, threats, force feeding, tiniest bit of infantilization (gojo & Nanami)

Gojo:

No he won’t allow it.

He won’t allow you to act like a child and refuse to eat or drink. At this point he’s worried because you won’t do anything. Like a dead doll standing as still as possible to not be caught moving.

Nothing scares him. But you do.

So he took matters into his own hands and tied you up in a chair, hands to the armrests, legs to the feet of the chair, chest binded and rope littered all around the rest of your body tied to the helpless chair.

You screamed since you couldn’t kick, bit since you couldn’t hit, tried to refuse and refuse and he just didn’t know what to do. Seeing you hurt yourself, not eating as a protest to your involuntary stay, god it was torture to him. Like his own punishment.

At first he let it go. Tried to hand feed you your favorite snacks and placed a cup of cold water at your lips. And everytime you smacked it away from you. He watched your favorite snacks hit the floor and soil the carpet. The water spill and create a wet mess on the floor boards.

Why couldn’t you just be good and eat? Drink? Please stop refusing. At one point he almost started begging you. Hands at his chest, put together, eyes wide and sad, his mouth profusely spitting out begs and whines of how he just wanted you safe and healthy.

You didn’t listen.

You probably should’ve, or at least acknowledged his damn presence, because what he did next what’s unpredictable.

Tying you up in that chair and force feeding you. He made you your comfort food in hopes you’d actually want to eat it on your own. You didn’t. Which is fine. It just means he had to take extra precautions. His hand swirled the spoon of food around in the air, blowing raspberries as he said,

“Here comes the airplane!” As if you were some stupid child not wanting to eat your greens.

The spoon flew to your mouth but you moved your head to the side the only thing you could move, avoiding the spoon and it’s food.

His smile dropped just the tiniest bit but he continued his ministrations.

“Babe! Here comes the airplane Kay? Say ahh!” He announced once again in that awfully positive attitude, nudging the spoon at your lips, which you kept sewn shut.

“Come on babe, just open up~” but you didn’t, and he was getting impatient. “Babe?”

You didn’t look at him, didn’t dare open your mouth or even glance his way.

He snaps, grabbing your jaw and pinching your nose. You gasped, not being able to breathe, and without a second thought, that spoon of food was shoved into your mouth. He let go of your nose, and scooted his chair closer to yours.

“It’s good right? I added extra flavoring just for my girl. I know you like it that way.” He giggled, as if he didnt force the food down your damn throat.

“Here comes the choo choo train!” He whistled, and you realized that he enjoys babying you the way he does, even if it meant going against your will.

Geto:

This man does not play around either.

Coming home to you after a long day with what he calls “monkeys” just to see the untouched food still sitting on the table from when he made breakfast. He had brought take out- just to find out that you haven’t been eating in the first place.

He made that for you, took time out of his day to cook, make breakfast for you, the time where he’s normally busy. But alas, he cleans the dishes and runs up to your room and knocks on your door. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want him in he’ll come in anyway.

“I noticed you didn’t touch your plate. From this morning. It’s night now.”

Your stuffed into the sheets, messy covers over your body and head in your pillows. You don’t answer. You don’t think he deserves one.

“You haven’t eaten all week.”

He shuts the door behind him and storms towards you. It’s obvious that your silence is making him angry. Normally, you ignoring him doesn’t make him upset, he understands how you might feel…uneasy in this kind of situation. But hurting yourself? That’s not something he’ll allow or even tolerate.

He grabs the sheets and tugs them off of you, revealing your drained form. You groan and cover try to tug the sheets back to cover your body but he throws them to the floor and glared at you.

“You know why you’re so drained? It’s cause’ you won’t fucking eat.”

You don’t answer, you don’t want to answer. You just want the bed to swallow you whole, and the ground to open up so that you may fall into the abyss and disappear.

“I don’t want your fucking food.” You say, instead.

“Why not? Is it not to your liking?”

You grumble and glare up at him, finally lifting your face from the pillows.

“You’re not to my liking- Suguru I wanna go home-“ “enough!”

He cuts you off quickly, shutting you down almost immediately, which causes you to stuff your head back into the pillows.

He groans seeing this and slowly shuffled onto the bed with you. His mouth came down to your ear where he whispered

“If you don’t at least try to eat, I’ll make you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, you knew he wasn’t fibbing. You slowly got out of bed but he was quicker then you, pulling you out by your arm and sitting you up against the bed post.

He brought the takeout food and opened the bags of food on the bed, handing you a plate and utensil. You took it hesitantly and kept it on your lap. Not opening the food.

“Well?”

You shook your head. This was your way of protest, against him holding you captive, running a cult, being a damn curse user-

“You’re going to eat.” He demands, and you just shake your head and look to the side of you, away from him. You know he’ll force you- but you can’t help but refuse him anyway.

And without a second thought, he grabs the food then you, hoisting you into his lap without a single chance for you to fight back. One arm caging you in by your chest and arms, stopping any movement from you, the other bringing a spoon to your mouth.

“Eat, darling, or it’ll get worse from here.” A smile adoring his lips and licking the tips of your ear.

You finally take a bite of the food, his arm that basically were bruising your ribs to stop your movement finally unclenched around you and gave you a second to breathe.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Now open up.”

Toji-

“Yer’ not eating your food.”

You’ve slumped down on the chair in front of him in the dining room, swirling around the water in your glass cup, the food in front of you untouched.

“I’m talking to you, doll.”

But you ignore him, watching the whirlpool or water in your cup, ignoring his very obvious angry presence.

“You haven’t eaten in days. You know what’s’ that gonna do to you? You’re gonna faint.”

You again ignore him and sigh, head resting on your hand that rested against the table.

“I’m talking to you.”

You don’t look up. You know it’s a lousy way to protest this invuluntary stay but you can’t think of anything else. He’s basically taken away any other form of protest you could ever possibly have, he’s controlling and fuck is he actually smart. His protectiveness on the kind of level where he made sure you could never fight back or hurt yourself in the process.

As your dazed, zoned out in your own thoughts, you don’t see him get out of his seat and grab you by your arm, forcing you up and off the seat and the floor.

“Didn’t yeah hear me?”

You wince at the fact your arm is being held above your head and you’re practically hanging from it.

“I heard you okay.. I’m not hungry.”

He huffs and puts you down. “Not hungry? It’s been days, doll. Days.”

You just shrug, rubbing your sore arm from being hanged up by it.

“If you don’t eat, I don’t mind feeding you like a baby bird. I’ll eat it up then force into your mouth with mine.”

“Y-you’re so crude, Toji..” You almost whine, disgusted by the thought.

“I’m not kidding.”

You sit back down at your seat, his eyes watching you pick up the fork and start to stab at your food.

“What did I say?”

“Okay okay.” You whine, finally sticking the fork in your mouth, making eye contact with him as you do, glaring at him.

“Tastes bad.” You whine.

“You little-“

Nanami-

Nanami is quite the patient man. You don’t want to get out of bed? Fine. You don’t want to shower? Fine. You don’t want to touch him? Fine. But you don’t want to eat or drink? That’s fucking pushing it.

When he first took you, he made sure you got all the proper nutrients you need, took care of your hygiene and made sure you were perfectly physically healthy.

He’s been putting down food at your nightstand for every meal, sometimes snacks in the middle of meals as well. He feeds you such a good amount that’s supposed to keep you full for every second of the day. Keep you satisfied. And pantries filled with your favorite snacks (the healthier versions, however), and a mini fridge with your favorite zero-sugar healthy drinks. With water, of course.

But you haven’t touched any.

He notices that every meal he puts down at your nightstand is untouched. You lay still in bed, so still he thinks you might be dead. Well you might be, with the absence of food eating at you.

And the pantry is untouched so is the mini fridge, and all the snacks he left for you in the middle of the days start to pile up.

At first he didn’t mind it. He got it, you might be nauseated or feel sick at the fact your away from home. That’s fine. He’ll give you time.

But then days go by.

And he just gets so worried about your health.

He encouraged you as much as he could but wouldn’t push it, he didn’t wanna scare you away. But at this point, it was just ridiculous. He watched from work, on his phone with the app that connected all his security cameras, watching as you hovered around the kitchen. He knew you were hungry. So why torture yourself?

At this point it was torturing him, not you. Well maybe that was the point to it. But he couldn’t take it anymore. He felt like a terrible caregiver. He was supposed to take care of you and protect you as your lover- that’s the damn reason he took you in, in the first place. So why couldn’t you see that? Why couldn’t he help you?

But Nanami is a good man, with zero bad intentions. So he decides first he can try bribing you. He makes your favorite dishes, the smell wafting in your room and up your nose. He places it at your nightstand, with your favorite cold drink next to it. The perfect combo. He does this for a while. No matter how hard the food is to make, whatever bullshit combination he needed to construct, however simple or complicated, he made it.

And yet you didn’t eat it.

He tried buying you material things, giving you extra little privileges like time in the garden or extra TV time, but you don’t even use them. You don’t even care.

And he can tell that you would, if you had the strength to. But you don’t, you’re weak. Probably because you’ve gotten so weak. But your hoping, your begging, that maybe he’ll see your weak body and finally get you some help. Maybe he’ll realize this is hurting not helping you, and he’ll let you go. You know the Nanami you’ve always known is deep down beneath the insecurity of his yandere self. You just need to find it right?

He got home that night. Late. His mind buzzed with work, eyes tired and body sore from constantly staying in his office chair, clicking the keyboard and staring at a screen. He’s been looking into a job for jujutsu sorcerers- but he thinks that’ll take too much time away from you.

He dragged his body into the house, closing the door behind him and quietly yelling out, “Sweetheart, I’m home.”

He hoped you’d flock to the door and he’d feel your warmth- but obviously that was just a dream to him and you never did so. Staying hidden away in the your room or wherever you were.

He decided to prepare a late dinner for the both of you, hoping some time together could encourage you to eat.

He dragged his body to your room. He just needed you, needed your warmth, your kindness, your loving presence and any kind of physical and emotional attention you could give him.

But as he opens the door to your room, he sees the breakfast he left on your. NIght stand, still left untouched.

“Sweetheart. This has gone too long. I respect all your decisions, and that you might be upset with me, but I need you to eat.”

Your wrapped up in the sheets, ignoring him, face stuffed in your white pillows.

“Honey, dear. Please, look at me.”

You can hear the desperation in his voice, the almost begging in his timid voice that almost makes you choke.

You look up at him, soft dead eyes staring up at his concerned ones.

“I made your favorite meal again. I know you don’t want to eat, but can you at least come sit at the table with me?”

You know this is his soft way of trying to convince you. And you also know that he wants you to sit at the table so he can feel like you two are an actual couple not one from hell.

You get up, which makes him sigh of relief. Thinking that you’re giving him a chance. Obviously, that’s not your idea, but you’ll let him think so.

He gently takes your hand, leading you downstairs to the dining table. You see he decorated, putting candles on the table, brought out the fancy silverware and china, the wine glasses and table cloths that matched the fabric of the silk pillows on the cushioned chairs.

“Sit, my love.” He pulls your chair for you, with a gentle smile. You can see the relief in his eyes when you sit, and he pushes you in.

You’d be flustered by such a gentlemanly move if it wasn’t for the situation you were currently in.

He sits in front of you and pops open the white wine, the insanely expansive white wine, pouring some in both of your glasses, he raised his up to yours, in which you ignored, and he clinked his glass with yours.

“Ready to try? I simply perfected the recipe-“

You place a spoonful of food in your mouth, before spitting it out right at him, shocking him and making yourself laugh for the first time in so long.

You soiled his expensive blouse, the shock of your behavior making him spill his wine, his eyes wide and looking down at his ruined blouse, then to you, then to the spilled wine, then to you.

You just giggle, smirking in victory at his dazed response and how you won’t let yourself be pushed around by him.

But what you don’t expect, is for this extremely caring gentlemanly man to slam down the cloth from on his thighs down at the table, getting up as he unloosed his tie.

“I’m done.”

And your smile drops in a way that makes you realize you won. He’ll let you go, he’s finally done with you he’s gonna let you go-

“If you want to act like a child I will simply treat you like one, until you can behave like an adult.”

Your eyebrow raises at that. What? Wait what?

He throws his tie off his neck, grabbing your hands and tying them up. You try to fight him off you but he’s strong, he didn’t even try.

He leaves, and your relieved, a little scared that he left you tied but at least the mad man is gone. But then he comes back with a toddlers seat. A fucking child booster seat.

Your eyes widen as you realize what he meant. “N-no no way! I’m not sitting in that- I won’t even fit-“

“You know I bought this.. I bought this hoping our first child could use it..” he sighs. “But I guess you can be the test drive..”

“N-no! Your crazy! Your insane! I won’t even fit in it I won’t!”

“You don’t have a choice.” He cuts you off. “I’m tired of watching my love kill themselves off just because you’re upset. You can be upset just don’t hurt yourself.”

He places the child’s booster seat next to you, at the table.

“You either eat, or fucking sit here and I’ll feed you. Well? Do you want a baby bottle too?”

Sukuna:

Catching the eye of someone so murderous and evil is just the most hell filled unfortunate thing that can happen to you.

And it did.

You found yourself being coddled and “loved” by a monster. He’s pure evil, and you’re his. There’s no denying it. You’re the chosen one.

As his maids touch up your hair, give you a manicure, clean your face of the tears and blood from biting your lips, you stare at them with desperation in your eyes.

Save me.

You think, but they won’t. They’re loyal.

Sure, Sukuna hasn’t done anything actually bad to you, but he’s locked you up, like a princess in a tower. You hope that your prince in shining armor will save you, that he’ll come running with his horse and sword, armor and shield in hand.

But he never does. And if he did, you’d never know because Sukuna probably killed him before he even got a chance to get a glimpse of your pearly eyes.

A maid brushes your hair. You think. He’s taken away all your forms of protest.

When you stopped taking care of yourself, that was fine, he ordered his maids to wash your hair and clean your body, do your skincare and paint your nails. Even go as far as to brush your damn teeth.

They’d use expensive amounts of creams and moisturizers, the kind even the bourgeoisie couldn’t afford. Perfumes from across the land and hair oils from different kingdoms.

All these things, just for you.

When you didn’t want to get out of bed, see the sun, he made sure you were made to get that vitamin D every morning, a small stroll before and after breakfast in the garden, with of course, the guards watching you.

He pampered you, without even being there. Made sure you were healthily entertained with your favorite books and games, all your devices you humans use to take up time. He even brought a festival worth of people to greet you when he took- when you came. Circuses, fire crackers, acrobats, all those to welcome you into his palace.

And you took it all with a grain of rice.

You didn’t want to be here, you didn’t mean to pique his interest. But you did. And now your stuck. You even heard the townspeople whisper of how the man who forced everyone on their knees to worship him is now worshiping you. A mere boring human.

So you decided to find your own way to protest, something he can’t force you to do or make other people do for you.

Eat.

You sat at the large dining table, him on the long other side, watching as he ate, watching him with no love or adoration in your eyes. While he would hold the stars for you. He’d bring them down for you if you asked.

“Well? Is it not to your liking?” You hear him slur from his side of the table.

“No.” You know this is dangerous. The cruel king, he could have your head.

“What’s not to your liking? I’ll have it changed.”

You shove the plate away from you. “It’s all bad, I don’t wanna eat.”

Maybe you should’ve used different words, different wording to your protest because Sukuna simply didn’t understand it was a form of protest.

“It’s that terrible? Very well. Servants, carry the chef who decided to cook my woman this rechid food and have him publicly executed.”

Your eyes widen with dismay and shock and you look at him. “What? Executed?”

“What? What did you expect, woman? Anyone who feeds my soon to be queen something not up to par, they shall be ridden with shame. With, or without their head.”

He says it with such a nonchalant attitude, as if he isn’t talking about death.

“I-I no. It’s not bad, actyally. Hah. I just meant.. I wasn’t hungry.” You try to solve this mess you accidentally dragged others into.

“Your dramatic show of disgust was simply because you aren’t… hungry?”

He looks at you almost confused, the big plates of foods surrounding him. He had a surplus of hunger, the kind of hunger only you can satisfy.

“I… I apologize.” You think about giving up on your plan, you don’t want to drag people into this, have them hurt because of you. “I just.. actually prefer your food.” You lie.

“My food?” He smirks. The maids and servants look around in fear, some even annoyance, expecting your head to fly off and blood to soil the floors after you basically asked to share food-his food, with you.

“Very well then. You may sit close and satisfy your belly with my food.”

He pats the seat close to him, different from the seat your sitting at now, far from Sukuna. Everyone stares at you with bewildered shock, that the cruel Sukuna is willingly sharing his meal with you, that he hasn’t offed you or anyone else in his vicinity for your request.

You waddle over to him, sitting next to him, and he watches you try a piece of meat, lamb, off one of his large family plates, as if asking for your approval, to see if you like it.

You hum, the food is actually prepared amazingly well, a lot better then the streets of the poor sides of town you had to buy your meat from.

He nods at you, and continues to finish his meal as well, practically clawing and savagely ripping apart the food at his hands, like some animal.

Everyone’s always been afraid of the way he eats, as if he’s ripping apart someone’s flesh and bones, but to you it’s kind of pathetic. Like a little puppy and its chew toy, slobbering over its bone. Instead of saying this however (which he’d have your head for), you go for taking a small folded table cloth napkin and wipe the blood from the flesh of his food off his cheek, cleaning off the smeared gore that he doesn’t seem to notice.

He looks down at you, huffing as a sign of appreciation at your small sign of affection, and you look back up at him with the same look.

You hate this cruel man, the man who’s killed hundreds and hurt people and hurt you. Who stole you.

But as you look up at him, the folded napkin in your hand still poking at his dirtied cheek, you can’t help but think that perhaps the cruel king and the prince in shining armor are the same person.

And that’s Sukuna for y’all 😈😈🔥 guys why did I accidentally make his fluffy what