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jungwnies · 1 day ago

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F1 GRID | taking away their food - tiktok trend

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (comment if you'd like to see other drivers or feel free to drop into my inbox!) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested) : taking away their meal while they are still eating to see their reaction...

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 3490

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : when i tell you i love these tiktok trend requests, i love them...! <3

ʚ・max verstappen

you and max were on vacation at a beautiful beachside resort. unlike max, who preferred to stay offline, you were chronically online and had seen the recent trend of taking away people’s food while they were eating. what better way to have some fun than to try it on your husband?

max had a relatively short temper, but he was always patient with you. that’s why you couldn’t wait to see his reaction when his food was suddenly taken away…especially in an expensive restaurant.

after placing your orders, you excuse yourself. “i’ll be right back, babe, just have to use the restroom.”

instead, you hurry over to your waiter, who isn’t too busy at the moment. slipping her a generous tip, you ask, “while he’s eating, can you take away his food?”

she laughs, immediately catching on. “i’ve seen the trend! i’d love to do it—especially to max.”

trying to contain your excitement, you make your way back to the table, casually setting up your phone to record. the food arrives, and you both dig in.

as you eat, you casually chat about the upcoming f1 season. “are you excited?” you ask between bites.

“yeah, but testing is gonna be interesting. new regulations could change a lot,” max replies, focused on his food.

then, right in the middle of a bite, the waiter swoops in and takes his plate away.

max freezes. you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“what the hell?” you say, feigning confusion.

max blinks before his expression shifts. “yeah, what the hell? i want to speak to their manager. what are they, fucking idiots?” his voice rises, his irritation clear.

that’s it—you can’t hold it in anymore. not wanting the staff to get in trouble, you call the waiter back, who quickly returns with his dish. “my apologies,” she says, trying to keep a straight face.

before max can get another word out, you burst into laughter. “it was just a prank, my love. an extremely funny one at that.”

max sighs, shaking his head. “you know i was hungry…”

you roll your eyes. “we had a snack before coming here. don’t lie.”

he huffs, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching. “you’re lucky you’re my wife and not another driver.”

you grin. totally worth it.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“are you excited to see the family again?” you ask lewis as you adjust your dress, glancing at him through the mirror.

lewis nods, holding out his tie. “always excited,” he says, smiling as you step closer to help him fix it.

you both make your way to the family dinner, where you're greeted warmly. everyone loves lewis so much that they always prepare a vegan-friendly meal just for him—without making a fuss about it.

at the gathering, you and lewis naturally drift apart. he’s with your father and uncles, deep in a discussion about sports, while you join the women in the kitchen, chatting and catching up.

your cousin pulls you aside, giggling. “have you seen that tiktok trend where you take their food mid-meal just to see their reaction?”

you smirk, already plotting. “oh, i have an idea.”

once everyone is seated and eating, conversation flows easily. then, mid-meal, you casually get up, walk over to lewis—who’s completely engrossed in a conversation with your uncle—and, without a word, take his plate away.

you turn on your heel and walk straight to the kitchen, leaving him staring after you, utterly speechless. the entire table falls silent. the women bite their lips, trying not to laugh, while the men exchange confused glances.

lewis clears his throat, placing his napkin down. “if you all will pardon me for just a second.”

he follows you into the kitchen, where he finds you at the sink, rinsing a plate. his brows furrow, but there’s amusement in his voice. “love… what are you doing?”

you don’t turn around just yet, keeping up the act. “what do you mean? i thought you were done.”

lewis tilts his head, his expression both concerned and affectionate. “darling, i’d barely even touched my food.”

you finally turn to face him, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “i know,” you admit, pulling his plate out of the microwave with a grin. “i just wanted to see your reaction.”

lewis exhales a deep sigh, crossing his arms. “and what exactly did you think was going to happen? that i’d sit there, starving, while you pranced around with my dinner?”

you shrug innocently. “honestly, i thought you’d be more dramatic. maybe throw a little fit, demand justice, give a speech about how a man’s meal should never be taken from him.”

lewis raises a brow, lips twitching with amusement. “oh, so you expected a whole performance?”

you nod. “at the very least, i thought you’d stand up on your chair and make a passionate plea for your food’s return.”

lewis chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

you hand him back his plate with a cheeky smile. “and yet, you married me.”

he takes it, setting it down on the counter before pulling you into his arms. “mm, don’t remind me. i think i should’ve put ‘no pranks’ in the vows.”

you gasp in mock offense. “excuse me? that would’ve been a dealbreaker.”

lewis laughs, resting his forehead against yours. “then i guess i really am stuck with you.”

you grin. “lucky you.”

he shakes his head, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before picking up his plate. “lucky me, indeed. now, if you’ll excuse me, i’d like to actually eat my food before you come up with another ridiculous idea.”

you smirk, watching as he walks back to the table. “no promises.”

ʚ・george russell

george loves your home-cooked meals. after a long day of racing and testing, he always comes home with an empty stomach, ready to devour whatever you’ve made.

and lucky for him, despite spending most of your day rotting in bed on tiktok, you still managed to cook one of his favorite meals. so, when he walks through the door, you greet him with a warm smile, already setting the table.

“smells amazing,” he sighs, dropping a kiss to your forehead before heading off to freshen up.

once he’s cleaned up and comfortable, you both sit down and start eating. conversation flows easily as he tells you about his day—mostly car talk that you only half understand but love listening to anyway.

then, mid-meal, right when george is in the middle of a big bite, you casually grab his plate and stand up.

“i’ll just be right back,” you say nonchalantly, walking toward the kitchen.

george freezes, fork in midair, watching you disappear with his food. at first, he just blinks, processing what just happened. then, he calls after you.

“love?”

you stay silent, waiting.

another second passes.

“babe?” his voice is a little more confused this time.

still nothing from you.

now you hear his chair scrape against the floor as he gets up, followed by hurried footsteps coming toward the kitchen. you grab a spoon and take a big, dramatic bite of his food just as he walks in.

he stops in the doorway, hands on his hips, staring at you like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal.

“love,” he says, slow and measured, “what are you doing?”

you make a big show of chewing, eyes closing as you hum in satisfaction. “mm. wow. this is really good.”

george blinks, looking between you and his stolen plate. “yeah, i know. that’s why i was eating it.”

you sigh, shaking your head. “honestly, i don’t think you appreciated it enough. i just had to double-check how good it was.”

he folds his arms. “by eating my dinner?”

you nod, taking another bite just to test his patience.

george lets out a long, dramatic sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “after everything i’ve done today—hours of training, media, testing—this is how you treat me?”

you smirk. “think of it as a lesson in patience.”

“oh, i’m very patient,” he argues, stepping closer, eyes narrowing. “but i will be getting my food back.”

before you can react, he lunges for the plate. you try to dodge, but george is quicker. he snatches it back, holding it above his head like a trophy.

“ha!” he exclaims victoriously.

you pout. “that was rude.”

george smirks, taking an exaggerated bite right in front of you. “oh wow. this is really good.”

you gasp. “now you’re just mocking me.”

he winks. “just had to double-check how good it was.”

you groan, swatting at him as he laughs and walks triumphantly back to the table, plate in hand.

“love you,” he calls over his shoulder.

you huff, crossing your arms. “yeah, yeah. enjoy your stolen dinner.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos thought of you as a saint—you could do no wrong in his eyes. and honestly, you could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten mad at you… actually, scratch that. it’s zero.

this man loved, and he loved hard.

one of your favorite things to do together was cooking, but nothing beat grilling outside when the weather was hot. it became a little tradition—firing up the grill, making burgers, and just talking about the most random things.

today’s topic? trying to convince carlos to leave formula one so he could stay home with you every day.

“mi amor, that sounds like a great idea, but…” he gestures dramatically toward your beautiful backyard, “we would not have a home if i did that.”

you sigh dramatically. “we could live a simple life. maybe raise some chickens, grow our own vegetables…”

carlos gives you an amused look as he flips a burger. “you scream when a bug lands on you. you think you’re ready for farm life?”

“fair point.” you nod solemnly, making him laugh.

once the burgers are ready, you both sit outside on the deck, enjoying your food and the warm evening air. conversation flows as usual—lighthearted, full of teasing and laughter.

then, mid-bite, right when carlos is at peak burger enjoyment, you casually reach over and take the burger straight from his hands. not the plate. just the burger.

you don’t even wait for his reaction before standing up and walking into the house, taking a big bite as you go.

carlos blinks, completely caught off guard.

“amor?” his voice is laced with confusion and betrayal.

you don’t answer. you just keep walking.

then he snaps out of it.

“amor!” he calls louder, pushing his chair back as he stands. “come back here!”

you hear his footsteps on the deck as you disappear into the house, stuffing another bite into your mouth just as he reaches the doorway.

“oh, you’re in trouble now.”

you sprint toward the kitchen, but carlos is faster. within seconds, he wraps his arms around you from behind, tackling you onto the couch as you let out a squeal.

“no! carlos! it’s mine now!” you laugh, trying to take another bite, but he pins your arms, shaking his head.

“i trusted you,” he says dramatically, his face hovering inches from yours.

“and you love me,” you counter, mouth half full.

he sighs, looking at the last pathetic remains of his burger in your hand. “that was my best one yet…”

you pat his cheek, swallowing. “it was amazing, really.”

carlos groans before flopping off of you, lying on his back on the couch with a pout. “now what am i supposed to eat?”

you sit up, stretching. “i guess i could make you another one.”

he side-eyes you. “you guess?”

you grin. “fine, fine. i will make you another one.”

carlos huffs but follows you back to the kitchen, watching as you start grilling again. after a moment, he walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles.

you smirk. “i know.”

carlos laughs, kissing your cheek before finally getting his fresh, non-stolen burger.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles leclerc is the definition of polite. he treats everyone with kindness, never raises his voice unnecessarily, and avoids causing a scene at all costs.

so he definitely wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen to his dinner—at his favorite restaurant, no less.

before walking to your table, you quietly slipped the waiter a generous tip and explained your plan. the waiter grinned, fully on board, and assured you they’d pull it off perfectly.

by the time you sat down across from charles, you had to bite back a smile.

as you waited for the food to arrive, conversation flowed easily. you leaned in slightly. “do you think i should start traveling with you during the season?”

charles’ eyes lit up. “of course,” he said immediately. “i would love that. and we could bring leo too—he’d love it.”

you laughed. “leo on a private jet, living the life.”

charles nodded. “exactly. he’s already spoiled, but this would make him impossible to deal with.”

the food finally arrived, and as always, charles looked delighted as he took his first bite. you chatted here and there, but you were mostly just waiting for the moment.

then, just as charles lifted another forkful of food and put it into his mouth, the waiter swooped in and—without hesitation—took his plate away.

charles froze mid-chew, blinking in confusion.

you clenched your jaw to keep from laughing as his brows furrowed, his eyes following his plate as it disappeared.

“amore,” he exhaled, swallowing his bite as he turned to you. “what the hell just happened?”

you shrugged, pretending to be just as confused. “i have no idea.”

charles sighed, rubbing his forehead before muttering something in french. you caught bits of it—something about karma for not finishing his meal last time.

still holding back your laughter, you watched as he looked toward the waiter, debating whether or not to say something. charles wasn’t one to cause a scene, but this? this was testing his patience.

“excuse me?” he finally called out, voice still polite but definitely stressed.

you couldn’t hold it in any longer. letting out a laugh, you waved the waiter back over, who immediately returned with his plate.

charles looked between you and the waiter, realization dawning. “no…”

you grinned. “oui.”

the waiter set his plate down. “désolé, monsieur leclerc, but it was a request.”

charles turned to you, eyes narrowing. “baby…”

you beamed. “it’s just a prank!”

he stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, exhaling through his nose. “you…” he pointed his fork at you, squinting. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you leaned forward on your elbows. “i know.”

still mumbling in french about betrayal, charles picked up his fork again and resumed eating while you giggled, already thinking about what prank to pull next.

ʚ・lando norris

lando loves eating out with you—especially at small, lowkey urban spots where no one bothers him and the food is always good.

tonight was no different. after placing your order, you both slid into a booth, and lando immediately started rambling about something completely random.

“so i was thinking,” he said, gesturing animatedly, “if we ever get, like, really lost somewhere—like, no signal, no gps—do you think i’d be able to navigate us out just by looking at the stars?”

you snorted. “lando, you can’t even navigate a grocery store.”

“that’s different,” he argued. “they put all the good stuff at the back on purpose. it’s a scam.”

before you could argue further, your food arrived—a fresh, steaming-hot pizza.

“finally,” lando sighed happily, grabbing a slice immediately.

you both started eating, chatting between bites, until suddenly, just as lando reached for another slice, the cashier you tipped earlier casually walked over, picked up the entire pizza, and walked away.

lando froze, mouth slightly open, staring at the now-empty table.

“hey, i was eat—” he started, but before he could finish, the guy was already gone, disappearing into the back.

his head turned slowly toward you, utterly confused. “what… just happened?”

you glanced down at your own half-eaten slice, pretending to inspect it. “do you think they took it away because the pizza was bad?” you asked, struggling to hold in your laughter.

lando frowned, tilting his head. “i mean… maybe? but we already ate some. wouldn’t they have warned us first?”

you shrugged. “maybe they realized it too late—maybe it’s, like, radioactive or something.”

lando blinked, deep in thought. “well… i feel fine. for now.”

then, shaking his head, he pushed his chair back. “i’ll just go talk to them—”

before he could stand, the cashier reappeared, grinning as he placed the pizza right back on the table. “enjoy your food.”

lando just stared at the guy, then at the pizza, then at you.

“were we not already…?” his brows furrowed.

that was it. you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach as lando continued to sit there, completely lost.

“what?” he asked, blinking. “what’s so funny?”

still laughing, you managed to get out, “i—i told them to do it. it was a prank! for tiktok!”

lando’s jaw dropped. “you set me up?”

you nodded, still giggling.

he exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “wow. betrayal. right in front of my pizza.”

“i had to,” you grinned. “your face was priceless.”

lando grabbed his slice, taking a big bite while still glaring at you playfully. “i hope tiktok enjoys this, because i’m not sharing my pizza with you anymore.”

you gasped. “lando—”

“nope.” he turned away, holding his slice protectively. “find another victim.”

you just kept laughing as he ate, shaking his head at you—but deep down, you knew he’d totally get you back for this.

ʚ・oscar piastri

there’s nothing better than a good pasta, so while you and oscar were in italy, you decided to have some fun. recently, you’d been seeing the tiktok trend where waiters take food away mid-meal, and what better place to pull it off than in the land of pasta itself?

tipping isn’t really the norm in italy, but you still managed to sneak the waiter a little cash. using your very broken high school italian, you did your best to explain the prank. it wasn’t easy—your italian was atrocious—but thankfully, after showing him the tiktok, he got the idea. with a knowing grin, he agreed.

when you and oscar sat down, you could barely contain your excitement. the pasta finally arrived, steaming hot, and you both eagerly dug in.

as always, conversation flowed easily between the two of you. oscar was rambling about something—probably a weird f1 fact or a debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza—when you glanced at the waiter and gave him a small, knowing smile.

that was his cue.

without hesitation, the waiter swooped in, grabbed oscar’s plate, and walked away.

oscar froze, fork still mid-air, a single strand of pasta dangling from it. his eyes followed his plate as it disappeared into the kitchen.

“did… did my food just get stolen?” he asked slowly, turning to you with the most genuinely confused expression you had ever seen.

you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. “maybe… do you think something was wrong with it?”

oscar frowned, looking down at the pasta still on your plate. “but we’re eating the same thing…” he blinked. “was mine poisoned or something?”

you shrugged. “maybe they realized too late and saved your life.”

oscar squinted at you. “so they just left yours?”

you bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing. “maybe they don’t care if i get poisoned.”

his jaw dropped. “that’s messed up.” he started shifting in his seat, glancing toward the kitchen. “i should probably go—”

just as he was about to stand up, the waiter returned, placing his plate back down in front of him with a grin. “buon appetito.”

oscar looked at the waiter, then at you, then back at his pasta. his face was priceless.

“wait, what?” he looked genuinely lost. “was i… not supposed to have it? were we not already eating?”

that was it—you burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

“oscar,” you wheezed between laughs, “it was just a prank! for tiktok!”

he blinked. once. twice. then, realization hit.

“oh, my god.” he groaned, rubbing his face. “you set me up? in italy?”

you wiped a tear from your eye. “yes, and it was so worth it.”

oscar shook his head, sighing dramatically before twirling some pasta onto his fork. “unbelievable. i thought i was actually banned from eating for a second.”

“you should’ve seen your face,” you giggled.

he rolled his eyes, taking a bite. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you smirked. “i know.”

oscar chuckled, pointing his fork at you. “but just so you know, you will pay for this.”

you shrugged, twirling your own pasta. “looking forward to it.”

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noodlemoondle · 2 days ago

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Promise Me You Won’t Cry Anymore

Zayne x Reader

word count: 800

summary: just a lil blurb about how Zayne reacts to accidentally making you cry

tags: not proof read!!, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of medicine. just zayne being a worried doctor really

authors note: hello again guys! ੭ ᐕ)੭*⁾⁾ I fully wrote this on a whim rn in like 10 minutes so pls take that into account lolol. (also it’s another hurt/comfort lolol it’s my fav tag and i don’t have any ideas for anything else) i also wanted this to be like a rlly short blurb but i think im genuinely unable to write anything that isn’t like around 1k words (´；ω；｀) i don’t really have anything else to say besides i hope i get motivation to write one of the million fic ideas i have saved in my notes soon.

as always hope you enjoy!! ✧*。٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*。

Zayne is a strong man. Emotionally strong that is. The countless years he spent both studying and working in the medical field gave him thick skin and it made it difficult for things to truly get to him. It takes a lot for something to hit him in the heart and truly bring him down.

However, the one thing he absolutely can’t stand is you crying. Something about it he doesn’t truly know what. Something about the way your eyes tilt downwards with your head soon following, the small tremble of your lips he knows you’re fighting to keep still, the tear-glazed distant look in your eyes that just shows how hard you’re fighting back tears, nothing breaks his heart more.

Zayne knows, he knows he can be oh so overbearing when it comes to your health and safety, but god he can’t help it. Nothing worries him more than your, in his opinion fragile, wellbeing. Everyday on his drive to the hospital he prays to whatever god is out there that will listen to him that he won’t see you during his shift, at least not you being wheeled in through the back doors, completely unconscious on a gurney. He can’t even handle the thought of it.

It leads to his constant nagging over you. His constant worry. His constant lectures and scoldings whenever you even slightly overlook your health.

Which led to here. Another conversation that began as an overbearing reminder to take your medicine, only for Zayne to quickly discover you haven’t been taking recently. You’ve already had a tiring and stressful day and didn’t have any energy to fight back at him. So instead, you just stood there in front of him. Only looking at him as he continued his scolding on how important it was to take your medicine, why you need it, and never forgetting to remind you of just how fragile you truly are.

All you could do was look back at him, and just take everything he had to say without a fight. Not like you had the energy to speak anyways. To be honest, you didn’t even have the energy to think, or to even listen to him in that matter. All you really heard is just his upset voice, saying what?You’re not really sure, but his tone was enough to make you feel inferior.

Zayne didn’t notice. He honestly couldn’t. He was too caught up in his worries and imagination of what could possibly happen to you to be able to properly see you, but in the middle of his rant he did. He saw the look on your face that absolutely breaks his heart and makes him want to fall to his knees. He saw your head hung low, you fighting your trembling bottom lip, your downcast, distant eyes, that had tears in the brink of flowing through your pretty eyelashes and falling onto those darling cheeks he loves; especially when he sees them rise and round out whenever you smile.

And when he sees it, he stops. Instantly.

There is a quick moment of silence where he hesitates. Where he hears your uneven, haggard breathing and mentally scolds himself, grimacing at his actions.

He takes a few steps over to you and leans down to hold your face in his hands. Lifting it up so he can see you properly, however your eyes don’t follow and remain locked onto your fuzzy-socked feet. His gentle hold, contrasting his previous tone made it so difficult to keep it together. Just as he noticed a tear welling up to fall from your eyes he gently kisses it away before it could reach any further than the corner of your eye.

He softly rubs the apple of your cheek trying to coax you to bring your eyes up to him.

“Look at me… Please?” Zayne says ever so gently.

You knew if you did you wouldn’t be able to hold back your tears anymore, but the soft rub of his thumb brings your eyes up to look back at him. The moment you do, his eyes soften in guilt and regret, a slight frown forming on his lips when he sees your eyes welling up with more tears.

He slightly stands up, just enough to place a soft, delicate kiss on your forehead as he whispers against it.

“I’m sorry.”

Then you can’t hold it anymore. A soft gasp for air leaves your lips as tears begin to flow from your eyes. Zayne slowly pulls you into his chest, holding your head and running his fingers up and down your back in an effort to comfort you. In an effort to get you to forgive him. In an effort to get you to stop.

Guilt spreads throughout his whole body as he listens to your sobs and feels your tears wetting his shirt. He whispers apologies to you, offering soft kisses on the top of your head in between each one.

He’ll make it up to you. He doesn’t know exactly how yet, but he will. He’ll do anything. Whatever it takes to stop the flow of tears and broken sobs. Whatever it takes to see those darling, rosy cheeks rise up with the sweetest, brightest smile he’s ever seen. He’d do it in a heartbeat; because there is nothing, nothing Dr. Zayne can’t stand more than you crying.

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leaderwonim · 9 hours ago

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THE WORLD NEVER ENDED | JACK HUGHES

pairing. jack hughes x fem!reader (ft. platonic quinn & luke hughes x fem!reader + male!oc x fem!reader)

genre. childhood best friends to lovers, ANGST, fluff, hurt to comfort, reader & jack are both 18-19 in this!

synopsis: Y/N and Jack Hughes have been inseparable since childhood, spending every summer at his family’s lake house—until his hockey career takes off and leaves her behind. As Jack’s life moves forward and Y/N tries to do the same, the distance between them grows in ways neither of them expected. But when their paths cross again at a breaking point, they’re forced to confront everything they never said and the feelings that never really went away.

The lake house never changes. It still smells like pine and sunscreen, the same old dock creaking under your feet, the same late summer breeze curling through the trees. But this time, you’re the only one here.

You let the beer bottle dangle from your fingers, the glass sweating against your palm as you stare at the still water. It’s late. Too late to be out here alone, and your mom would probably kill you if she found out you were underage drinking, but you’ve been doing this since you were kids—sneaking down to the dock past midnight, toes dipping into the water, whispering about everything and nothing at all.

Except this time, Jack isn’t here. Not really. Not anymore.

The last time you saw him was months ago, after another whirlwind season, after Team USA, after everything. He’d come back, same easy smile, same stupidly messy hair, same Jack. And yet, he wasn’t.

He moved too fast, talked too much about things you weren’t a part of, laughed at jokes from teammates you didn’t know. He had an entire life outside of this town, this lake, this dock. A life that didn’t include you.

It wasn’t his fault though, you couldn’t blame Jack for being excited about this whole new chapter in his life, not when he’s worked his ass off so he could secure a spot in the NHL in the future.

You took a shaky breath, watching as the wind blew the waters back and forth, your thought raced with Jack, Jack, Jack. It wasn’t anything new; you had been in love with him since you had learned what the word love even was, when Ellen and your mom teased you two endlessly after your eighth birthday, declaring that you’d two get married when you were older.

And then he left, at age fourteen to go train at some hockey camp over the summer and you started seeing him less and less. Then he left again for USA Hockey, and all that was left of him was the little times he’d pop up on your screen for a FaceTime, or a quick selfie.

You never told him that it felt like the world had ended whenever he left.

❥

The first time you met Jack Hughes, he was seven years old, standing knee-deep in the lake, grinning like he had owned the world.

“You scared to jump in?” he teases, squinting up at you from where he’s splashing around.

You cross your arms, standing barefoot on the dock, the sun burning hot against your skin. “I just don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

Jack laughs like you just said the funniest thing in the world, and before you can react, he launches a handful of water in your direction. It splashes against your legs, cool and shocking, and you gasp.

“You jerk!” you shriek, but Jack’s already laughing, already diving into the water, swimming just far enough out of reach that you can’t get him back.

You don’t know it then, but that’s how it starts.

The Hughes family’s lake house becomes your second home. Your parents are close friends with Ellen and Jim, and summers are spent tangled in sunburns, mosquito bites, and the smell of bonfires. Jack, being just a few months older, quickly becomes your shadow—or maybe you become his.

You race bikes down dirt paths, climb trees until your hands are covered in splinters, and stay up late whispering under blanket forts in the Hughes’ living room, trying not to wake Luke and Quinn.

“You think we’ll still be best friends when we’re older?” you ask one night, voice sleepy, cheek smushed against your arm.

Jack frowns at you, like you just said something ridiculous. “Duh. Who else am I supposed to hang out with? My brothers?”

You grin brightly, shoving him. “You promise?”

He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

And that’s that.

As you both get older, things don’t really change. Not at first.

Winters are spent at the Hughes’ house in Michigan, watching Jack skate for hours at the rink, your fingers numb from gripping a hot chocolate too tight. Summers are still for the lake house, where the days blur together in a haze of sun, water, and laughter.

Jack is your best friend. The one who sneaks you extra s’mores when the adults say no. The one who ties your skates when your fingers are too cold. The one who always picks you first for street hockey, even when Luke complains about it. The one who knows everything about you.

And you know everything about him, too.

That he gets grumpy when he’s hungry. That he has to listen to music before every game, or else he feels off. That he’s already dreaming about the NHL, about Team USA, about everything that seems so far away but somehow already feels like it’s coming too fast.

You don’t realize when things do start changing.

Maybe it’s when Jack turns fourteen and starts spending more time away at tournaments. Maybe it’s when you turn fourteen and realize your heart speeds up whenever he looks at you a certain way.

Maybe it’s the summer you turn fifteen and see him talking to a girl from town, and something ugly coils in your stomach. You don’t say anything, though. You can’t.

Jack is your best friend. That’s all. Even if you wish it wasn’t.

When Jack is sixteen, everything does change.

It’s the Fourth of July. The lake house is packed, fireworks already popping in the distance. You and Jack sneak away from the party like you always do, climbing onto the dock and lying side by side, watching the sky.

“You excited for the USA team?” you ask, your voice light, like the thought of him leaving doesn’t make your chest ache.

Jack turns his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda nervous, though.”

You smile a little, the same smile that had reassured Jack every time he saw it. “You’ll be fine.”

He shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. “You think so?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “You’re Jack Hughes.”

He laughs, but it’s softer this time, almost hesitant. The air between you feels different, thicker, heavier. His fingers twitch on the dock beside yours, and for a second, you swear he’s about to reach for your hand.

But then he exhales sharply, sits up. “We should get back.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You stare at the fireworks exploding in the sky, feeling like something inside you is breaking.

Jack leaves for Team USA at the end of the summer.

And you don’t know it yet, but nothing will ever be the same again.

❥

At first, you still talk all the time. He calls after practices, FaceTimes you from hotel rooms, sends you stupid selfies from road trips. And for a while, it almost feels normal. Almost.

But then the calls get shorter. The messages come slower.

You see his name on headlines, hear people at school talking about him like he’s some distant star instead of the boy you grew up with. And suddenly, he feels… far away.

Not just in distance. In everything.

And then one day, you realize you don’t remember the last time he called.

You don’t text him, either. You figured he was too busy anyways—too busy with hockey, with interviews, too busy for you.

His absence leaves a hollow space inside you, one you don’t know how to fill. So you try.

That’s how you end up with him.

Aiden West. Star quarterback. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile and dimples that should make your heart flutter.

You meet at a party—one you only went to because your friends dragged you out of your house, tired of you spending your nights holed up in your room, pretending you weren’t waiting for a text that never came.

Aidan’s nice. He’s funny. He buys you drinks and calls you baby and kisses you like he means it.

You tell yourself this is good. That this is what you need.

But when he holds your hand, it doesn’t feel the same. When he kisses you, you don’t melt the way you think you should. And when you close your eyes, it’s not Aidan you see.

It’s Jack. Always Jack.

Quinn comes home in December.

You’re not expecting to see him, not really. Ever since he was drafted, he spent all his time in Vancouver, busy with his own life, his own team. But one night, you walk into the Hughes’ house, and there he is, sprawled on the couch like he never left.

“Quinn?” you blink.

He smirks, sitting up. “Hey, kid.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “You’re, like, a few years older than me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” he teases, but then his expression softens. “How’ve you been?”

You shrug. “Good.”

He gives you a look, like he can see right through you. Because of course he can.

Quinn has always been quieter than Jack, more observant. He was the one who bandaged your scraped knees when you and Jack were too reckless, the one who ruffled your hair when you had a bad day, the one who watched you grow up and somehow always knew what you were feeling before you even said it.

And right now, you can tell he knows you’re lying.

“You still talk to Jack?” he asks casually.

You stiffen. “Not really.”

Quinn nods, like that’s what he expected. “He’s been busy.”

“I know,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’s fine.”

He studies you for a moment. Then, his eyebrows furrow. “You dating that football guy?”

You hesitate. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Quinn tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “You like him?”

You swallow. “He’s… nice.”

Quinn leans back, crossing his arms. “You know, I’ve seen you happy before.”

You furrow your brows. “And?”

“And that’s not what you look like right now.”

The words hit deeper than you want them to. You look away, staring at your hands.

Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. If you like the guy, great. But don’t force something that isn’t real just because—” He pauses.

You glance up. “Just because what?”

Quinn meets your eyes, and for the first time, his voice is gentle. “Just because Jack hurt you.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say.

Because he’s right. And maybe that’s the worst part of all.

❥

Aidan is kind when he breaks up with you.

That almost makes it worse.

You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while. The way he exhales before he starts speaking, the way his hands stay tucked into the pocket of his hoodie like he’s afraid if he moves too much, you’ll see how much this is bothering him.

“You’re not really here, Y/N,” he says, voice steady but laced with something bitter, something tired.

You don’t argue, because you know he’s right.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I like you. I really do. But I deserve someone who looks at me like I’m the only one they’re thinking about.”

Your stomach twists.

“Aidan—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, forcing a small smile. “I knew. I think I always did.” He swallows, glancing away before meeting your eyes again. “It was never gonna be me, was it?”

You want to tell him you tried. That you wanted to feel something more, something real. But the truth is, no matter how hard you tried, he was never Jack.

And that was never fair to him.

So instead, you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He nods, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Yeah. Me too.”

A few days pass, and you still feel hollow, like you’re floating through life without really being in it.

You don’t know why you still go to the Hughes’ house. Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s because it still feels like home, even when things don’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe it’s because, deep down, you just need someone who knows you.

Luke opens the door, and before you can even say anything, his face twists in concern.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

You pause. “What?”

Luke steps aside to let you in, closing the door behind you. “You have your sad face on.”

You frown. “Luke Hughes, I do not have a—”

“You totally do,” he interrupts, flopping onto the couch. He gestures for you to sit next to him, and after a moment, you do.

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Quinn told me everything.”

You freeze. “Everything?”

Luke gives you a knowing look. “Yeah. And I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at Jack since we were kids.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Luke sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Look, I know he messed up. Jack is kind of known for that. And I know you’re hurt. But…” He hesitates. “You still love him, don’t you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Luke—”

“Just be honest,” he says gently.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

Luke nods like he already knew that was coming. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

You frown. “What’s this?”

“Tickets,” he says simply.

You blink. “Tickets?”

“To Jack’s game against Finland.” His voice is casual, but there’s something behind it—something careful, like he knows he’s walking a fine line. “I was gonna go, but I think you should instead.”

Your heart stops.

“Luke…”

“Don’t overthink it,” he says quickly. “Just go. See him. Talk to him.”

You stare at the tickets in his hand, your pulse pounding in your ears.

This is a choice. A chance.

And to be completely honest, you aren’t sure if you’re ready.

❥

You end up deciding not to go until the last minute.

The plane ticket burns in your hands, Luke’s voice echoing in your head: Just go. See him. Talk to him.

So you do. You land in Finland, stomach in knots, trying not to think about what you’ll even say to him. If he’ll even want to see you.

But then the game happens. And Jack loses.

The scoreboard tells you everything—3-2, Finland. A brutal, heartbreaking end.

Jack stays on the ice, shoulders hunched, wiping his face as the Finnish players celebrate around him. You can see the way he’s blinking rapidly, how hard he’s trying to hold it together.

It doesn’t work.

By the time he’s in the tunnel for postgame interviews, it’s like the weight of everything finally crashes over him. The cameras capture everything; his red-rimmed eyes, the way his lips tremble when he speaks, the way his voice wavers when he says, “I feel like I let everyone down.”

Your heart cracks wide open. You don’t think. You just go.

You push through the lingering crowd, through the halls of the arena, heart racing. And then—there he is.

Jack is leaning against the wall, head bowed, gripping a water bottle so tightly his knuckles are white. His shoulders shake slightly, like he’s trying to get a grip, but he’s losing the battle.

You inhale sharply, willing yourself forward.

“Jack.”

His head snaps up, eyes widening. And for a second, he just stares.

Like he doesn’t believe you’re real.

“Y/N?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You nod, stepping closer. But before you can say anything else, Jack clears his throat and quickly swipes at his face, straightening up like he’s trying to compose himself.

Then he blurts out, “How’s Aidan?”

You freeze.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, looking down. “Quinn told me you had a boyfriend,” he mutters, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I—uh, I’m happy for you. You deserve that.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening. “Jack—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, still not looking at you. “I always wanted you to be happy.”

He sniffles, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. He looks exhausted. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen before.

And suddenly, it’s too much.

The space between you. The months of silence. The fact that he still doesn’t know the truth.

You move before you can stop yourself, closing the gap and wrapping your arms around him.

Jack stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath.

But then—slowly, so slowly—it’s like something inside him gives in.

His hands grip your back, his face pressing into your shoulder, and he melts.

You feel his shaky exhale against your neck. The way his fingers curl into the jersey you’re wearing with his name on the back, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel whole again.

“I don’t—” Jack’s voice cracks. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t. Just just let me be here.”

Jack exhales shakily, nodding against you. “Okay.”

Despite your reassurance, he still feels like he’s falling.

The weight of the loss, the pressure, the expectations, it’s all crashing over him, relentless and suffocating. But in the middle of it all, there’s you.

And when you pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, he realizes you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your hands stay on his face, thumbs brushing against his damp skin, and there’s something in your expression, something soft and certain that makes his chest ache.

Then you move closer, tilting your head, and suddenly, suddenly—your lips press against his.

Jack stills.

Then, all at once, he melts into you.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. Your lips are soft, warm, familiar, but new at the same time, like something that was always supposed to happen but never did.

It feels like breathing again. Like finally getting it right.

But then, Jack realizes and he blinks, something clicking in his mind as he pulls back abruptly, still holding onto you but panting slightly.

“Wait,” he says, voice hoarse. “Aidan.”

You shake your head quickly. “We broke up.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You exhale, your hands sliding from his face to his wrists, squeezing lightly. “Jack, I tried to move on. I tried so hard.” Your voice wavers. “But it was never him. It was always you.”

Jack’s lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

Then, suddenly, he laughs—a broken, disbelieving sound before his face crumples, his eyes shining again.

And just like that, he’s crying.

He presses his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut as his grip on your waist tightens.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you to say that,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

You smile softly, brushing his hair back. “I think I do.”

Jack lets out a shaky exhale, his hands fisting the fabric of your jersey, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. But you don’t.

Because after everything—after the distance, the silence, the missed chances—you’re still here.

He sniffles, pulling you into another tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder.

❥

Later, when the chaos dies down and the arena empties, you end up in Jack’s car.

The heater hums softly, filling the silence, the city lights casting faint shadows across the dashboard.

Jack sits in the driver’s seat, head tilted against the headrest, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You’re next to him, legs curled up on the seat, leaning against his shoulder.

It’s quiet.

Not awkward. Not heavy. Just comfortable.

Jack sighs, nudging his cheek against your hair. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

You smile faintly, reaching for his hand. “Me neither.”

He squeezes your fingers, his grip warm and sure. “I thought I lost you.”

You shake your head, squeezing back. “You never did.”

Jack exhales, his body relaxing against yours, and for the first time in a long time, hfeels whole again.

❥

The lake house feels the same the next summer.

The scent of pine and sunscreen still lingers in the air, the dock still creaks under your feet, and the water still glistens under the late afternoon sun. But this time, Jack is here. And this time, he’s yours.

He had turned freshly nineteen last month, but still was the same annoying boy you had known since you were seven.

You sit on the old wooden dock, legs stretched out, the warm breeze tangling your hair. Jack is lying beside you, one arm draped lazily over his forehead, his other hand resting on your knee, tracing absentminded patterns over your skin.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the occasional laughter from inside the house, where Quinn and Luke are probably chirping each other over something stupid.

Jack sighs, turning his head to look at you. “I missed this.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his. “Me too.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes soft, warm, completely yours. Then, without a word, he tugs you down so you’re lying next to him, your head resting on his chest.

“You know,” he muses, fingers trailing up and down your back, “last summer, I thought I’d never get this back.”

You inhale slowly, letting his heartbeat ground you. “Me too.”

Jack tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But we made it.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, smiling. “We did.”

He grins, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat, then flips you onto your back, hovering over you with that look—the one that reminds you he’s still the same Jack, the same boy who used to splash you in the lake, who used to steal your s’mores when you weren’t looking, who used to be your best friend before he was everything.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Luke’s voice echoes from the house, and you both groan.

Jack turns his head, scowling. “Luke, I swear—”

Quinn’s voice cuts in. “Let them be, Luke. They suffered enough.”

You laugh as Jack rolls his eyes. “I hate that he’s right.”

You shake your head, pulling Jack back down. “Just kiss me already.”

He smirks. “Gladly.”

And as his lips meet yours, the sun dips below the horizon and the lake glistens around you, making you realize everything is exactly the way it’s meant to be.

It isn’t until Luke pretends to fake barf that Jack removes himself away from you, opting to chase down his little brother.

“Boys, am I right?” Quinn says, giving you a grin.

You wrap your arms around him, never feeling as whole as you did now.

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infinitatis-ink · 2 days ago

Text

Made With Love

Gojo x Reader - Ao3 Link

Summary: After giving your coworker the obligatory Valentine's Day chocolates, he insists on giving you a return gift. Little do you know that his gift has his own special and personal touch to it.

A/N: Happy belated Valentine's Day! I'm a little late lol, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Other Notes: In Japan, giri chocolates are chocolates given by women to male coworkers or friends on Valentine's Day to express friendship or gratitude.

Content Warnings: Implied obsessive behaviour, implications that Gojo's been stalking you, Gojo feeding you his cum without your knowledge, bodily fluids, Gojo being creepy towards you, female reader.

MDNI. MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

“Oho, a gift for me? This really is a holiday!”

“Just take the chocolates, Gojo.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you hold out a small bag of chocolates to Gojo. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have stalled until the end of the day to give Gojo his share of giri chocolates. At least you could’ve avoided seeing his dramatic declarations of thanks with excuses of work if you’d done it in the morning. Now that it’s just the two of you in the school's offices, you doubt Gojo's going to let you go with just a “thank you.”

“If you insist!”

Gojo plucks the bag out of your grasp with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. His fingers linger against yours, pressing into them, and you’re parting your lips when he pulls away with a satisfied smile. Pinpricks bloom in the spots his fingers had touched yours as you watch him pull down his blindfold and delicately cradle the bag in his hand. He takes out a chocolate, gazing at it before popping it into his mouth with a loud hum.

“Delicious.” Gojo licks his lips. “And homemade too?”

His eyes are shining too. You've seen that look before, in the way Gojo only follows you on missions, in all the times he keeps getting you to help him provide “hands-on demonstrations” while he’s training his students, in how he always finds you outside of work, your paths crossing too many times for you to call it a coincidence anymore. It’s tinged with hunger, like you're his target for something you can’t seem to name.

“Yeah. I wanted to try making everyone’s chocolates this time,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “I’m glad you liked it too.”

Gojo’s smile flickers.

“Is that so?”

You furrow your brows. Gojo’s never reacted like this when you gave him chocolates before. Ieiri always gave him giri chocolate too, and he’d never made…a show of receiving and trying her chocolates on the spot.

An awkward silence engulfs the room. Gojo's still gazing at you intently, as though he were expecting you to say something more. Against the setting sun, the shadows on his face grow sharper, deeper.

The room suddenly feels colder.

“Um, I’m heading out then. Night,” you stammer out, hastily grabbing your stuff from your desk. Relief washes over you as you make your way out of the room. Now that you’d gotten that out of the way, you could go home and—

”Wait! There’s something I wanna give you too.”

You stop, a few steps away from the door, willing yourself to turn and face him again.

“What is it?”

Gojo grins and reaches into his jacket pocket. He takes out a small white box topped with a blue bow, the same shade as his eyes, and offers it to you with a flourish. “I made some chocolates for you! As a thanks for the ones you gave me all these years.”

This is new. You raise an eyebrow.

“White Day isn't for another month.”

“Yeah, but you know me.” He shrugs and flashes you a cheeky grin. “I've never cared for tradition.”

“I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to—”

“C'mon,” Gojo half-whines, pouting. “I stayed up all night to get it right!”

He offers you the box again, giving it an insistent shake this time. He gazes at you expectantly, his pout hardening into a pursed frown the longer you hesitate. Something heavy crackles in the air, like a gathering storm.

You dry swallow and stiffly hold out your hand.

“Thanks, Gojo.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Gojo look so pleased as when you accept the box. To be honest, you’d half-expected a more unusual gift. Something like a souvenir he’d picked up on one of his missions, or dessert from one of the cafes he keeps trying to get you to visit with him. Handmade chocolates feel too friendly for what's supposed to be a return gift from a coworker.

“Wanna try one?” he asks eagerly. The edge in his tone only leaves room for one answer.

Your fingers are cold and numb as you open the box to see large white chocolates shaped like hearts and drizzled with brown icing lined up in neat rows. They look professionally made, like something you’d find in a luxury goods store. It’s a lot of effort put into what’s supposed to be a return gift for giri chocolates.

Too much effort.

“They look nice,” you comment politely. “And well made.”

“That’s because I made them with my love!” Gojo chirps, clapping his hands. His smile is painfully wide and uncanny. “I used your favourite flavours too. You’re a fan of fruits, yeah?”

A knot forms in your stomach. You don’t think you’ve mentioned to him what your chocolate preferences are. Maybe he guessed it from your reactions on White Day, but you’ve never been picky about what you got. Despite his antics, he’s always been an observant person too, so there was that, you suppose.

“…I am, I guess,” you reply. You pick up one of the chocolates, turning it over with your fingers. Gojo’s only asking you to try one piece. You could play along for a little longer, couldn’t you?

Before you could regret your decision, you take a bite of the chocolate. It’s sweet and milky, with a smooth coating that melts away when you bite into it. You wonder how much time Gojo spent on this, because it has to have taken more than a night for him to—

A sharp, strange taste suddenly assaults your tongue, and you almost choke. It's salty and bitter, like the filling has gone bad, and every instinct in your body screams for you to spit it out, but you force yourself to swallow because Gojo’s still watching you. The bitter taste clings to your mouth and throat, drowning out everything else until it’s all you can breathe in too.

You look down at the half-eaten chocolate still in your hand. Filling drips out of the shell, thin and cloudy white, trickling down your fingers in droplets.

You wish the ground would swallow you up whole.

“What did you put in them?” you rasp. Your voice sounds alien to your own ears and you don’t know if you want to hear the answer anymore.

Gojo’s eyes bore into you, his gaze threatening to swallow you whole. His smile turns hungry, almost feral. Too late, you see the walls closing in on you.

“Like I said,” he says simply. “They’re made with my love.”

#momo writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #cw implied obsessive behaviour #cw bodily fluids #cw implied yandere

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revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

Hi, hello!! Hope you are having a lovely day. Could you give me a Valentine's headcanon for Es megatron? ^^

Valentine’s Oneshot- Earthspark Megatron

Megatron x Reader

• Landing and transforming he slips into his hidden home far from Ghost’s prying eyes, and his optics immediately find the shape of you. Watching you sitting crosslegged on his berth, bent over a datapad, little sheets of paper all around you. Not even noticing his entrance as you reference the datapad and then make a note. “Still trying to learn Cybertronian glyphs?” And why does that make his spark warm. Liking that you’re interested in him. In his language and history. Head lifting, your frown eases into a genuine smile. “Dorothy told me today’s a holiday,” he adds. Carefully removing the things from subspace he’d had Dorothy get for him, he wishes he’d been able to pick them out himself.

• Watching him step up on the berth with you and mass shift, your breath catches as he offers you candy and flowers. That’s right. Today is Valentine’s Day. You’d forgotten all about it, lost most of your sense of time living with him here. The real world seeming more like a dream now. Megatron reality. Stomach fluttering, you take the gifts from him and he reaches to cup your cheek, servos gently brushing your hair from your face, his touch achingly intimate. “I don’t have anything for you,” you whisper, feeling guilty as he presses a kiss against the top of your head.

• “You’re more than enough, little one,” he says as your face reddens and your head ducks, toying with the petals of your flowers. Embarrassed and so skittish. What would you say if he just admitted that it’s killing him to recharge every night with your warmth draped against him. To be able to touch you and unable to just tell you what he wants because he doesn’t want to frighten you off. He’d sworn to be your shield. Shouldn’t expect or want anything more than to keep you safe.

• Never knowing what to say when he says stuff like that, you can’t meet his optics. Stuck in the awkwardness of liking him more than as a friend. Of having a crush on him. Those big, gentle hands and his growling brogue spreading warm through you. Every night going to sleep lying on him listening to the hum of his spark, feeling a big hand draped across you and realizing you’re a little more in love with him every time you close your eyes.

• You still won’t look at him and he curls an arm around you, content to hold you. To guard and care for you even though you don’t feel the same way about him. “Come, let’s share a meal,” he says, forcing a smile like your silence doesn’t hurt. Knows that some day you’ll want to go back. Be among your own and leave him behind. That he can’t keep you here with him forever. There was a time when he wouldn’t have let you escape him even if you’d begged. Keeps telling himself he’s not that mech anymore, but when he thinks of you asking to leave him, he’s not so sure.

#earthspark megatron #megatron x reader #transformers x reader

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wendichester · 3 days ago

Note

Hi! I just found you and love your stuff!

Can I request a dean x reader where she desperately needs to get out of the motel and dean comes up with something for them to do for the day? it can be fluffy or angst i don't care xD

⋆｡˚ ⋆ drivin,

summary. you’re going stir-crazy in the motel, and dean knows just the cure.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 403

notes. thank you lovely! spending time with dean is always so--🩷

You groan, flopping onto the motel bed dramatically. “Dean, I’m losing my mind.”

Dean barely looks up from his gun, methodically cleaning it at the rickety table. “That time of the month?”

You grab the nearest motel pillow and hurl it at his head. He catches it with a smirk. “Kidding, sweetheart. What’s up?”

“I need out,” you grumble, throwing an arm over your face. “I can’t spend another hour staring at these ugly-ass wallpapered walls. I’ll go nuts.”

Dean chuckles. “It is pretty ugly.”

You peek at him. “So let’s do something. Anything.”

He leans back, considering. Then he grins, that lazy, mischievous smile that makes your heart stutter. “Alright. Let’s take a drive.”

You frown. “A drive? That’s your grand plan?”

Dean stands, tossing the gun cloth aside. “Trust me.”

—

Turns out, you should always trust Dean Winchester when it comes to drives.

The Impala eats up the road, classic rock humming through the speakers, the windows cracked just enough to let the breeze roll in. The stale motel air is replaced with the scent of pine and gasoline, and for the first time in days, you breathe.

Dean glances over, smirking. “Feeling better yet?”

You stretch your arms above your head, smiling. “Getting there.”

The road winds lazily through the countryside, and somewhere along the way, Dean pulls over at a roadside diner, buying burgers and milkshakes for the both of you. You eat in the car, parked by a lake, the sun glittering off the water.

“This was a good idea,” you admit, licking chocolate shake off your straw.

Dean winks. “Told ya.”

After lunch, you walk along the shore, skipping stones and letting the cold water lap at your ankles. Dean’s hand brushes yours once, twice—then he just takes it, lacing your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

When the sun starts dipping, you pile back into the Impala, and Dean drives aimlessly, both of you comfortable in the quiet, just being.

And when he pulls into the motel parking lot, cutting the engine, you sigh dramatically. “Back to reality.”

Dean leans over, kissing your temple. “Yeah. But at least you’re not nuts anymore.”

You smirk. “Debatable.”

He laughs, shaking his head, and when you step out of the car, you realize—maybe the walls of a motel don’t feel so suffocating when you know you’ll always have him to pull you out.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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thetxtdevil · 2 days ago

Text

Thinking about less experienced Kai and his sexual journey with you...

MDNI / SMUT: cunnilingus, begging, and praise

The first time you two had sex you surprised him with the best suck of his life (his first) and proceeded to fuck him dry (out of very few). You worship his body, making blush tint his cheeks every time you touch him innocently or not. All he can think about is returning the favor. ♥️

One night, there he was holding onto you like you were a life-size teddy bear, snuggled under the blankets, and out of nowhere he blurts out, “I want to eat your pussy out.”

Heavy eyes, now popping out of your head, “So you can’t say one curse word during sex but you can say ‘pussy’ out of nowhere?”

“Please, you’re so good to me, I want to make you feel good.” He says in a whine, lifting his head out of your pillowy breasts to look at you. You pout not wanting to admit you were seconds away from falling asleep.

“Please” he pecks your nose.

“Please” pecks your cheek.

His lips trail kisses from your lips to your neck, leading up to your ear to say again, “Please.”

He hovers over you, chasing your diverted glance until you finally give in making eye contact. Kai's beautiful brown eyes sparkle with love and a little bit of determination. He gives a small smile before scrunching his nose as a cute gesture.

Smirking as you lift your hips taking your shorts and panties off, “Do what you want.”

Kai sighs out of relief, kissing your lips deeply. His big hands graze your body, putting them under your shirt, playing with your nipples, massaging your tit while doing so. The stimulation already had you riled up, naked thighs squeezing together. Kai slowly trails his kisses down your body. Shivering, feeling the tip of his nose brush against your skin.

Finally, he was underneath the blankets, head just a few inches from your cunt. "You're so beautiful." Long fingers barely brushing against you. Cool breaths puffs against your warm folds causing your back to arch. He places light kisses on your inner thighs passing the spot you really wanted.

After minutes of torturous teasing, you were beginning to suspect something. "Do you know what you're doing?" Kai's cute little pecks stop and his grip on you loosens. You roll the blankets off the man to see his bashful face. Now his eyes diverted from yours, "I-i uh don't know where to start." So you tell him.

Letting him take his time, sinking his fingers deep within your cunt. Lining every little crevice, exploring you up close. Telling him to give small kitten licks that he had just touched with his fingers. Your commands quiver when Kai tries a flicking motion of his tongue. Finding your clit, softly sucking then flicking the nib had your thighs shaking.

Brain going mush, you had so much to tell him, but his experimenting was just enough for tonight. Kai's tongue drags from your lips into your pussy, then focuses on your clit as his fingers enter your hole. He hums in response to your moans. Pleasure filling up your body thoroughly. Your back arches, grabbing your tits, getting lost in the spark building up in between your legs. Breathless huffs flow down your pussy, Kai's nose squishing into you.

With a drag of his fingers, pushing into a sweet spot in your gummy walls, "Shit right there!" Kai pauses for a millisecond figuring out what he had just done. He felt so hot listening to you, turned on by the fact that he was doing this to you. Long fingers thrusting into you, tongue lapping up all your juices. "I'm cumming" you scream as your grip on his hair tightens. Your pussy pulsates against the man's tongue having him smile against it.

Kai slowly backs away from your spent cunt, sitting on his heels watching your folds clench. Your chest bounces with each big breath, getting yourself back to reality. Blinking at the ceiling, you look back at your handsome boyfriend. His sweet bashful gaze wasn't there anymore, instead, his eyes were dark and predatory. "That was a good trial run, can I try again?"

"Please"

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

PS. Happy Valentine’s Day ♥️

taglist: @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman, @incogrio, @blue-moon-514, @izzyy-stuff, @biteyoubiteme

#txt devil #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt smut #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #hueningkai imagines #huening kai imagines #hueningkai smut #hueningkai x reader #huening kai smut #huening kai x reader #hyuka smut #hyuka x reader #huening kai hard hours #huening kai hard thoughts

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gpcwsl · 19 hours ago

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Maybe something for wally where she gets a small injury and gets frustrated with the fact that she had so many lately. R takes care of her, makes sure she looks after herself and follows the doctors/physios orders and reassures her she'll be fine, some angst and some fluff at the end

Lia Wälti x Reader

- You don’t get it -

WC: 905

MasterList

Warnings: injury mention? Short?

The sound of Lia’s hiss as she sinks into the couch makes your stomach twist with worry. You can see the way her jaw tightens as she gingerly props her foot up on the cushions, her frustration palpable even though she hasn’t said a word since you left the training ground.

The injury isn’t serious—just a slight sprain, according to the physios—but it’s enough to sideline her for at least a couple of games. And for Lia, that feels like the end of the world.

You sit down beside her, handing her the ice pack you’d wrapped in a towel. “Here. Keep this on it for a while.”

She takes it silently, pressing it to her ankle with a little more force than necessary. You watch her carefully, noticing the way her eyes are fixed on the floor, her brow furrowed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask gently.

She shakes her head, but the tension in her shoulders says otherwise.

“It’s just a small setback, Lia,” you continue, hoping to draw her out. “You’ll be back on the pitch in no time.”

That’s when she snaps. “You don’t get it!” she blurts out, her voice sharp enough to make you flinch. “It’s not just this one. It’s all of them. I feel like I’m constantly getting injured lately. It’s like my body’s falling apart, and I can’t… I can’t keep up anymore.”

The anger in her voice cracks at the end, giving way to something far more vulnerable. She’s not just frustrated—she’s scared.

“Lia…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“What if this is it?” she asks, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “What if my body just can’t handle it anymore? What if I can’t play the way I used to?”

You hate seeing her like this—so defeated, so unlike the steady, composed Lia you know. But you also know that pushing her to look on the bright side isn’t what she needs right now.

Instead, you reach out, placing a hand on her knee. “Hey,” you say softly, waiting until she meets your eyes. “I know it feels like everything’s piling up right now, but this isn’t the end. It’s a sprain, Lia. It’s going to heal, just like all the others did.”

She looks away, her jaw tightening again. “But what if the next one doesn’t?”

You shift closer, your hand still resting on her knee. “Then we’ll deal with it. Whatever happens, you’re not in this alone. You’ve got the team, the physios, the doctors—and you’ve got me.”

Her eyes flick back to yours, and you can see the sheen of unshed tears in them. “I just feel so useless,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not useless,” you say firmly. “You’re one of the most talented, hardworking people I know. And taking a few weeks to recover doesn’t change that.”

She doesn’t respond, but the tension in her shoulders softens just a little.

“Now,” you continue, trying to lighten the mood, “you’re going to follow the physio’s orders, take it easy, and let yourself heal properly this time. No rushing back before you’re ready, okay?”

She arches an eyebrow, a hint of her usual sharpness returning. “Are you planning to supervise me?”

“Absolutely,” you reply without missing a beat. “Starting with making sure you don’t sneak out to train when you’re supposed to be resting.”

Her lips twitch, and for the first time since the injury, she almost smiles.

Over the next few days, you take your self-imposed role as Lia’s caretaker very seriously. You make sure she sticks to her physio’s regimen, even when she grumbles about it. You bring her snacks, water, and anything else she might need so she doesn’t have to get up unnecessarily.

At first, she’s resistant—too independent to fully embrace being looked after. But as the days go by, she starts to relax, leaning on you a little more, both physically and emotionally.

One evening, as you’re helping her adjust the ice pack on her ankle, she speaks up.

“You know you don’t have to do all this, right?” she says, her tone soft but serious.

You glance up at her, surprised. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

She hesitates, looking down at her hands. “Because it’s a lot. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden, Lia,” you say firmly, taking her hand in yours. “You’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

She looks up at you, her expression unreadable for a moment before it softens. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

“Always,” you reply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

By the end of the week, Lia’s mood has improved significantly. She’s still frustrated by her limitations, but the spark in her eyes is starting to return, and she’s even laughing more often.

One night, as you’re sitting on the couch together, her head resting on your shoulder, she lets out a contented sigh.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she murmurs, her voice drowsy but sincere.

You smile, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out.”

She chuckles softly, the sound warming your heart. And as you sit there, holding her close, you know she’ll be okay—and so will you, as long as you’re by her side.

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lemonlover1110 · 2 hours ago

Text

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 9] Yuuji

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

The nightmares stop, he notices. Once you have the stupid baby by your side, it seems like all of your ailments disappear. There’s a look of joy on your face whenever he sees you, something that he had never seen before.

Sukuna won’t admit that he’s nervous, but he can’t help but wonder if you’ll actually treat his sons with the love and nurture that a mother is supposed to give. What if you love a random baby more than his own blood? Sukuna doesn’t like to think of that thought, but it’s not something that he can control. This is why he doesn’t like to associate with humans– How can he control their feelings?

How will he ensure that you love his sons more than the random baby that you hold in your arms? How will he make sure that this random baby that smiles at you won’t steal the spotlight from his heirs?

“Who’s a beautiful boy?” You’re putting on a baby voice, making the baby laugh in your arms. His beautiful brown eyes stare back at you with pure joy. But the joy in his eyes doesn’t even come close to the ones that reflect from yours. He’s your baby. Your little companion while you’re stuck with Sukuna.

“Not that baby, that’s for sure.” Sukuna tries to joke, but it falls flat. You know he’s being honest. He earns a glare from you before your gaze softens as you look at the baby. He rolls his eyes, wondering how a stupid little human has a greater priority than him.

Sukuna stares at you for an interminable five minutes, watching as you cuddle the baby that you’ve taken under your wing. His plan worked, but also it’s fired back.

“Why do you care for him so much?” Sukuna speaks up, curious because you’ve taken quite a liking to a stranger’s baby. You’re not related to it in any way, so why do you take your time to hug and love the baby?

“I think I should name him.” You ignore the question. You’ve come to the realization that you have yet to give him a name. You just call him baby, but he’ll grow and won’t be a baby anymore. In due time, he won’t be the only baby around.

“Hmmm.” He hums in response. He isn’t mad that he’s been ignored, at this point he’s used to it with you. You only answer when you want to, he guesses he’s rubbing off on you.

“Yuuji.” You smile. Sukuna won’t comment on the name, as long as it’s not his sons that suffer from the stupid name.

Sukuna watches the smile on your face fade away in a matter of seconds, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath. He steps toward you, moving the hair out of your way and asking, “Are you okay?”

“Hold him.” You hand Yuuji to Sukuna, who reluctantly takes the baby into his arms. You ensure Sukuna holds him right before a cry escapes your lips.

“What is it with you, woman?” Sukuna raises his voice, making the baby cry in his arms. He watches you touch your stomach, and his eyes widen at the action. Worry consumes him until he notices that there’s nothing wrong.

“The babies are kicking.” You tell him, something that he noticed on his own. One of his hands goes to your bump, trying to feel his babies as he subconsciously bounces the baby in his arms.

“They’re strong.” He comments, a hint of excitement laced in his voice. He tries not to let it show, but you hear it. It’s a shame that his excitement comes with your misery.

“Uraume! Come here!” He yells, his hand rubbing your stomach, following the feet of his baby. When Uraume is in the room, he hands the baby to them. Uraume doesn’t need to be told twice, they simply walk out of the room to calm down the baby as Sukuna indulges in his excitement.

“Sukuna! What are you doing?!” You’re caught off guard when he begins to get you undressed. He shushes you, acting as if your voice will make the babies stop kicking. A wicked smile comes to his lips as he sees the trace of their feet.

“They got jealous.” He comments, almost laughing to himself. They don’t like to share, and that’s understandable. Sukuna isn’t a big fan of sharing either. His calloused hand rubs your bump, exciting the active babies.

“Sukuna, stop.” You have to order, cutting off his excitement. His hand freezes while he makes direct eye contact with you.

“What?” A frown comes to his face.

“It hurts.” You share, and he takes his hand off your stomach, tying your garments again. You expect him to immediately become stoic once again, but there’s a slight sparkle in his eyes– Something you’ve never noticed from him. You’re almost shocked, though you shouldn’t be. The whole reason that you’re by his side is because he wants an heir, he’s bound to get thrilled.

“Uraume–” He begins, but you put your hand over his huge mouth; that’s when the frown comes back to his face. His hand wraps around your wrist, and as gently as he possibly can, he removes your hand from his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Yuuji can stay with the servants for a bit.” You tell him. “Why don’t we take a nap?”

“Have you ever seen me sleep?” Sukuna questions, and a mischievous smile comes to your face. In that moment, Sukuna realizes that letting you keep Yuuji was his best idea because he’s never seen you react like that with anything he’s said. Your relationship is improving.

“I’ve caught you a couple of times.” You confess, making him scoff.

“Like hell you have, woman!” He yells, and you end up chuckling.

“Right, when you’re not sleeping you’re with–” You begin, before a moan escapes your lips. His babies will be the death of you.

“Lay down, come here.” Sukuna tells you, wrapping his arms around you and helping you on your back. He stares at you… Almost adoringly as he lays down beside you. He watches you take deep breaths as his babies continue to kick.

“They’re strong.” You comment, but it’s not shocking to him, instead his mind goes to what you were about to say.

“You were going to bring up Kyoko.” He says as you shut your eyes. The last thought in your mind at this moment is that woman. Your babies decided that your joke wasn’t worth telling, which is why they started to kick again.

“It was stupid.” You respond, making him roll his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave her?” He asks, and you begin to laugh.

“Even if I did, you wouldn’t do anything about it.” You argue, and he remains quiet.

You stare at the ceiling in total silence, while he stares at you. You turn to look at him, and he looks perplexed. You don’t know what overtakes you, but before your body can process it, you kiss his cheek. He raises his brows, caught off guard by the kiss.

Did that just happen? He won’t question it, he’ll gladly accept it.

You sheepishly smile at him before saying, “Let’s take a nap.”

Sukuna wakes up before you do, and he gets this weird feeling… He wants to pick up Yuuji. He takes the baby from Uraume’s hands, and orders them to keep watch over you as Sukuna takes a moment with the baby. It’s easy to like a thing if it makes his wife like him– He’ll convince himself that’s not the reason he wants Yuuji in his arms though.

He needs to learn how to deal with a baby since it’s a matter of months before his heirs are born. If he can’t handle one stupid human baby, how will he handle two of his kin?

“Why does she like you so much?” Sukuna frowns as he stares down at the baby. It’s ironic that he puts the baby on the dinner table; it’s a good thing that the little guy has no idea what’s going on.

The baby stares back at Sukuna with wide eyes, trying to eat his own foot. Sukuna’s actually amazed that the babies are so flexible, if he tried to suck on his own toe then… He won’t even think about it. Uraume would be put in an awkward position if Sukuna ever got adventurous.

“All you do is drink her milk, shit in your clothes, and cry.” Sukuna lists, as if the baby understands anything. “You aren’t even her kin, yet she loves you more than me.”

Sukuna grabs the baby’s arm, ready to inspect it. There must be something about this darn baby that you adore. Yuuji grabs Sukuna’s index finger, which makes Sukuna immediately retract. Yuuji laughs at Sukuna’s expression.

“Is it because you laugh at anything?” Sukuna frowns. He picks up the baby, and spins the thing around. So small and fragile… If he were in your shoes he’d understand but he can’t. He doesn’t understand the attraction and fawning over something that can’t fend for itself. “I’ll make sure my babies laugh at anything.”

The little arm reaches out to reach Sukuna’s face; an action that no reasonable adult would do. He guesses that’s the fun thing about babies, they fear nothing. It’s why he refuses to eat them, there’s no fun in easting something that won’t fear him.

“Yuuj–” Sukuna begins, but the idiot puts his tiny hand in Sukuna’s mouth. Sukuna won’t eat him, but it seems that the baby wants to be eaten. Sukuna restricts the baby's hands so Yuuji won’t get any more weird ideas. “I guess you’re my son. That’s what she wants.”

He doesn’t know why he speaks to someone that can’t answer. He’ll admit that it’s fun. He’s having a conversation, something that he rarely gets to do.

“Don’t get any ideas, Yuuji. You’ll never be as important as my actual sons.” Sukuna narrows his eyes as he stares at the wide-eyed baby. A stupid warning.

“My king.” Uraume announces themselves from outside the room, not wanting to cut into Sukuna’s very special time with Yuuji. He hums in response, making Uraume speak again, “Lady Kyo–”

“Tell her to go to hell.” Sukuna responds before Uraume can even finish the sentence. Sukuna made up his mind about something. He doesn’t know when he decided, but he guesses it’s when you abruptly kissed his cheek– Or did the idea come to him beforehand?

“I’m getting rid of her.” He says, something that’s meant only for his ears. And Yuuji’s as well since the baby rests in Sukuna’s arms.

A weird sound leaves Yuuji’s rear, quickly followed by a foul smell. Sukuna’s nose wrinkles, and even though he’s smelt some foul things, nothing compares to this. He nearly gags.

“Uraume, take this thing away from me! Bathe him!” He yells, counting down the seconds in which his servant takes the baby from his arms. Uraume comes rushing, taking the baby from the monster.

“The things I do for that woman.” He comments, motioning Uraume to leave as fast as possible.

#[bonds of fruition]#ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna x you #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna

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mejaemin · 1 day ago

Text

˚　✦　.　　. 　 ˚　.　. ✦　˚　　. ★⋆. 　. ˚　　* . ✦　. ˚ . ✦ ˚ 　.　˚ .

untitled - yoon jeonghan

wc: 0.7k summary: jeonghan always knows what you need, and won’t ever hesitate to give it to you warnings: being v sad, being comforted + taken care of an: crazy how the only time i write for my main ult is when i myself need comforting…

˚　✦　.　　. 　 ˚　.　. ✦　˚　　. ★⋆. 　. ˚　　* . ✦　. ˚ . ✦ ˚ 　.　˚ .

you walk in the front door, and jeonghan’s eyes light up from where he’s sitting in the living room. it warms your heart, truly, seeing the way he goes from all sunken into the cushions right into perfect posture, full of joy. you give him a half assed smile, too lazy and unmotivated to give him anything better. you can’t see it when you reach down to remove your shoes, but his expression softens and he’s on his way over to you to take your bag and help you.

when you stand back up, he’s got a hand on your shoulder, and all he needs to do is give you a look, silently asking do you want to talk? and it’s so sweet, seeing how much he cares to avoid even prompting a conversation when you’re not ready, you shake your head softly, immediately letting your head fall into his shoulder once the tears come.

he pulls you into him, a hand rubbing your back while the other runs over your head. “you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, voice deep and comforting against your body. “i’m here.”

your patience has been tested many times today, people yelling at you and overall disturbing your peace. you’re good at keeping your cool, letting yourself fall numb to these daily occurrences, and essentially going on autopilot for the entire work day. you were still in that mindset when you got here, but seeing jeonghan, so sweet, treating you with such fragile care, it brings you right back to earth and all that frustration falls down to nothing but tears, your vulnerability coming through. there isn’t even anger anymore, just a feeling of being tired.

you pull your head away, wiping at the wet spot on his shoulder. he chuckles, holding your face in his hands to wipe at your tears with his thumbs.

“come,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you into your bedroom. your feet drag, hurting and tired, yet he stays patient, matching your pace until he can finally push the door open and sit you down on the bed.

he sits next to you, letting out a little ‘oof’ as he does so. with calm, gentle hands he helps remove your clothes, gently lifting them over your head. it might be simple, but for every movement you make to help him in the process earns you a kiss on the cheek. words of praise fall from his lips all the way until your done, left in your underwear. wordlessly, you turn your back to him, and his cold fingers leave goosebumps on your arms as he unclips your bra. his eyes stay up as he grabs your discarded clothing, putting it away before grabbing a shirt for you. it’s one of his, on the baggier side.

he slips it on for you and it’s baggy enough to cover some of your legs and feel comfortable. with a gentle nudge he leads you to lay down, pulling the blanket over you before turning to shut the light off. when he comes back to bed, he gets on his side, covering himself with the blanket. he brings you close, draping an arm over your stomach, and eventually his breathing evens. you try to fall asleep too, but there’s too many thoughts plaguing your mind to let you do so.

“hannie..?” you speak up, voice tiny and hoarse due to being silent for so long.

after a beat of silence, you hear a ‘hmmm?’ come from beside you.

“can you..” feeling too exhausted to speak, you just tug on his arm, dragging him a little closer until his body is partially on top of you.

eventually he gets the message, picking the blanket up to scoot over, until he’s finally on top of you, he gently lowers his weight down, nuzzling his head into your shoulder. it’s a common occurrence to have him lay on you, the weight extremely soothing and healing to your mind. he’s more than happy to do it for you at any time, i mean, he’s not exactly one to complain about being held and cuddled every once in a while. finally, you relax, the pressure on your torso allowing your body to finally release its tension and sink into the mattress. jeonghan presses a few soft kisses into the crook of your neck before they finally still, resting against your skin as he sleeps. you’re right there with him, your arms tight around his body as your mind finally calms and you succumb to your own fatigue.

˚　✦　.　　. 　 ˚　.　. ✦　˚　　. ★⋆. 　. ˚　　* . ✦　. ˚ . ✦ ˚ 　.　˚ .

perm taglist: @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

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nanamineedstherapy · 14 hours ago

Text

Seven Minutes in Heaven (Final Chapter)

F!Reader x Gojo Satoru

Previous Chapter 2 (Tumblr/Ao3) This chapter's (Ao3)

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal frat party. Just a stupid game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Just him, king of never taking anything seriously, getting shoved into a closet for a dumb dare. And yet. Now, he can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t stop thinking about you. And one by one, his friends are starting to realize— Whatever happened in that closet? It never really ended.

Satoru didn’t know why he went back.

The frat had been sealed after that night.

Too many rumors, too much fear.

No one wanted to be near the closet, let alone open it again.

But he had to.

It was past midnight when he found himself in front of the door, his fingers numb despite the warmth of the hallway. The dorms were eerily quiet at this hour—silent, abandoned, the kind of quiet that made footsteps sound too loud and shadows stretch too long.

He exhaled slowly, forcing down the tightness in his throat. ‘This is stupid.’

And yet—

He stayed.

His fingers brushed the handle. Cold. Unnervingly so.

“Hey, princess,” he murmured, voice softer than usual.

No response.

A flicker of something twisted inside him. His hand hovered over the door handle.

"I know who you are now."

Nothing.

The air was still, heavy. His breath came out in a slow, unsteady exhale.

"I know what happened to you."

A whisper of wind stirred through the empty hall.

Then—

Faintly.

A breath against his ear.

"…You came back."

His pulse stuttered.

You were there. Real.

A shadow at the edge of the dim light. Barely visible, flickering like a dying candle.

Satoru let out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Of course I came back. You stole my first kiss, remember?” His voice was light, playful. But his grip on the doorframe tightened.

You stared at him.

You didn’t smile.

Your head tilted slightly, hair shifting like mist over your shoulders.

"I thought you would leave."

The words were soft. Almost hollow.

Something in his stomach twisted.

Had everyone left you? Had no one ever come back?

His throat worked around an answer. "Yeah, well…” He exhaled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’m stubborn like that.”

A slow, tired smile crossed your lips.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, cautiously—like he might scare you away—he reached out.

His fingers hovered over your cheek.

There was no warmth. No softness. Just a whisper of cold air, the ghost of a touch.

Still—

He smiled.

“You’re real to me,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

And for the first time in a hundred years—

You cried.

The first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another.

They fell soundlessly, like drops of ink on parchment.

Satoru didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

Watched as something long dead cracked open inside you, spilling out in uneven breaths and trembling shoulders.

And then—

The world around him shifted.

Click.

His head snapped up.

The hallway stretched. The doors warped. The air thickened, damp and stale.

His stomach lurched.

The scent of old wood, dust, and perfume clung to his skin. The overhead lights dimmed, replaced by the flicker of oil lanterns, their golden glow casting long, eerie shadows.

Then he heard it.

Heels.

Slow. Deliberate.

Coming closer.

He turned.

The corridor extended endlessly. The doors on either side weren’t the ones he knew—these were old, carved wood with brass handles, student nameplates etched in curling script.

His chest constricted.

This wasn’t his university anymore.

It was yours.

The past was bleeding through.

The footsteps drew closer.

Laughter echoed—distant, distorted, bleeding through the air like radio static.

"She truly believed we were her confidants."

"Such a flawless little princess."

"Let’s see how sweet she remains after this."

Satoru swallowed, his fingers curling into fists.

This wasn’t like the horror movies Suguru made him watch, where ghosts dragged people under beds or whispered from mirrors.

No.

This was wrong.

His breath came out unsteady. “Okay, whatever game this is, I’m not playing.”

But his voice sounded smaller than before.

The figures at the end of the hall flickered.

Not just shadows.

Them.

The ones who had locked you away.

But their faces—

Gone.

Blank, featureless voids.

Something crawled up his spine.

A whisper curled against his ear.

"Run."

His breath hitched.

He turned—

And you were behind him.

But you weren’t the girl who had kissed him that night in the closet.

You weren’t even the girl who had cried moments ago.

Your dress was in tatters, hanging from your frame like a funeral shroud.

Your hands—bloodied, torn, broken—from where you had pounded against that door, begging to be let out.

And your eyes—

Hollow.

Shadows bled down your cheeks like ink, lips trembling as if you wanted to scream but had forgotten how.

Satoru felt his stomach turn.

Then you moved.

Not a step. Not a shift.

But the air itself warped—twisting, bending, the space around you cracking like glass.

Too fast.

Too wrong.

Then—

Your hands were on his chest.

Cold.

So cold.

Pressing.

Pushing.

The figures at the end of the hall stepped forward. Their laughter—warped, inhuman—grew louder.

Satoru’s breath came out in shallow, uneven gasps.

“Satoru.”

Your voice.

No longer soft.

Wrong. Distorted. Rotten.

“You should have left.”

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—

The door behind him slammed open.

A force yanked him back, and suddenly—

He was falling.

The moment his back hit the floor, everything stopped.

The dim hallway lights buzzed overhead. The dormitory walls stretched back into place.

His chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven gasps.

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Then—

A voice.

A sigh.

“Fucking idiot.”

Satoru blinked.

Kento stood over him, arms crossed. Toji leaned against the wall, shaking his head.

“Should’ve let the spooky grandma keep him,” Toji muttered.

Satoru swallowed, forcing himself upright. His hands still shook. His pulse still thundered.

The closet door stood open.

Empty.

Like it had always been.

Like none of it had ever happened.

But his chest burned where you had touched him.

Where you had pushed him away.

His fingers curled into fists.

He swallowed, throat dry.

And stared at the dark, empty closet.

You weren’t there.

But somehow—

He knew you were watching.

---

A Few Days Before Satoru Would Find Out the Truth About You

They did it behind his back.

Satoru didn’t know.

Would never know.

Because if he did—if he ever even caught the scent of it—he would never forgive them.

Not that it mattered.

They weren’t trying to save themselves.

They were trying to save him.

Suguru wasn’t sentimental.

He wasn’t a believer in the supernatural, either—not like Haibara, who refused to walk past this hallway after sundown, or like Shoko, who swore she once heard breathing coming from the closet. He wasn’t even like Kento, who refused to acknowledge the weird shit happening in this house, like a man plugging his ears against a scream.

No—Suguru was logical. Rational. Practical.

Which was why he was here.

Because Satoru was losing his fucking mind.

Obsession wasn’t a new look on him. He had a habit of locking onto things—winning, digimon, the next high.

But this was different.

He wasn’t fixating.

He was unraveling.

The late-night pacing. The hollowed-out eyes. The way he forgot to eat, forgot to sleep, forgot them—unless it was to talk about her.

A girl who should not exist.

So now, at the godforsaken hour of midnight, Suguru stood outside the closet door with nothing but a lighter and a headache, stomach curling at the weight pressing against his ribs.

He lit the flame. Let it flicker. Watched how the glow barely reached the cracks in the old wooden door.

“You’ve got my best friend wrapped around your little dead fingers,” he said, voice casual, tone flat. “And while I’m sure that’s fun for you, it’s getting old for the rest of us.”

Silence.

Nothing moved.

But something shifted.

Not the air.

Not the room.

Him.

Like an invisible hand had curled through his ribs and squeezed.

The lighter flickered.

Then—

𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬.

Out.

Suguru frowned, thumb pressing against the metal wheel.

Nothing.

The air behind him went thick. Full.

Like something else was standing there.

“You don’t have anything to say?” he tried again, rolling his shoulders, forcing himself to stay loose. “Figures. You just like the way he looks at you, don’t you?”

Silence.

His lip curled.

“He’s beautiful,” he said, eyes narrowing. “We all know it. I bet that’s why you won’t let him go, huh? You like how obsessed he is.”

Still nothing.

He exhaled, pressing his palm against the wood. Ice-cold, like touching winter itself.

“Look,” he tried again, voice dropping low, coaxing. “I don’t give a shit about ghosts or hauntings or whatever tragic horror movie backstory you have. But Satoru? He’s human. He’s alive. And whatever this is? It’s sick.”

A pause.

Then—

𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳.

Low.

Amused.

“Is it?”

A slow, curling dread slithered down his spine.

Holy fuck, you were real.

His mouth went dry.

“Yeah,” he said, steeling himself. “It is.”

“But didn’t you want him to look at you that way?”

His breath caught.

The air behind him suddenly felt too close.

“Didn’t you hate that he never did?”

His throat went tight.

No.

No, this was stupid. He wasn’t playing this game.

Suguru clenched his jaw and turned his back on the door.

But the second he did—

Something brushed his cheek.

Soft.

Gentle.

Cold.

And a voice—

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

His stomach dropped.

His hands curled into fists, but his arms felt heavy.

“You wanted him to need you, too.”

The words dripped from the ceiling.

From the walls.

From inside his own head.

His breath turned ragged.

His foot landed wrong.

Something shifted beneath him—

A loose floorboard.

One that shouldn’t be loose.

Like it had come undone from another time.

Another year.

Another century.

“You thought you were better than him.”

His heart pounded.

The slow, creeping realization took shape in his chest, curling like rot.

The weight of his own self-hatred.

His breathing turned ragged.

“That’s why you could never leave, isn’t it?”

A whisper—

𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦.

𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

“Because Satoru is your ghost, too.”

A breath against his ear.

A touch at his wrist.

Suguru ran.

He had come in thinking he was the main character—cigarette dangling from his lips, lighter flicking like some noir detective. Thought he’d just say some cold, logical, therapist-coded shit and leave unscathed.

You took one look at him and cracked his spine open like an old book.

By the time he stumbled out, he was a hollowed-out husk of a man, staring at his hands like they were covered in blood, mumbling about how Satoru was his ghost too, like some poetic loser.

Didn’t even make it ten minutes.

The drunk dumbasses laughed at Suguru, beat their chest and went in next.

Shoko had two beers in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and a misplaced sense of invincibility holding her together.

Haibara, golden retriever energy personified, was just happy to be included.

“We got this,” Shoko slurred, throwing an arm over his shoulder.

“She’s just a little dead girl, how bad can it be?” Haibara added.

They walked in, already shit-talking you.

Bad move.

“Yo, how does it feel knowing you died before Snapchat was invented?” Shoko cackled, her voice bouncing off the walls like a stray bullet.

Haibara snickered. “Bro, no offense, but, like, you ever thought maybe you’re the problem? Like, statistically?”

Their laughter echoed.

No response.

Nothing but the steady hum of the dormitory’s ancient radiator.

They exhaled, relieved.

Then—

Click.

The door they walked through locked.

Shoko froze mid-drink. Haibara’s smile faltered.

The air changed.

The room didn’t get darker. It just got… wrong.

Like a house that had shifted an inch to the left, just enough to make you dizzy.

Shoko turned, already annoyed. “Okay, very The Conjuring, very I’m a tormented soul, but—”

Then you breathed in her ear.

Slow. Deliberate. Ice-cold.

Shoko didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

But her cigarette burned all the way down to her fingertips, and she didn’t even feel it.

“You pretend you don’t care about anything,” you mused, voice curling like smoke around her throat. “That you’re just watching everyone else lose their minds, like you’re the only person in the world who has it all figured out.”

She scoffed, chugged the rest of her beer. “And?”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Silence.

That unsettling, crawling silence that wraps around your ankles like it’s trying to pull you under.

“If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t be.”

She exhaled slowly, like it wasn’t getting to her, like she wasn’t suddenly acutely aware of how much time she spent orbiting around Gojo’s chaos, how her entire college experience was just one long, casual third-party observation of people who actually felt things.

“If you weren’t scared of what your life would look like without them, you wouldn’t be standing here, trying to prove you’re braver than a dead girl.”

Her fingers twitched around the cigarette.

“You’re not better than them, Shoko.”

No smirk now.

No biting comeback.

Just the slow, creeping realization hit.

She wasn’t watching the tragedy.

She was part of it.

The cigarette dropped from her fingers.

Shoko left without finishing her drink.

Then you turned to the kind of guy who made you feel like the world wasn’t a dumpster fire for five whole minutes.

So you shattered that.

“Tell me, Yu, what’s it like being a placeholder?”

He blinked, surprised. “A what?”

“A placeholder. A temporary happiness. A nice little buffer between the bad things in their lives.”

He frowned. “That’s—”

“Why do you think everyone loves you? It’s not because they need you. It’s because you make them feel better about themselves.”

His throat bobbed.

You smiled.

“Suguru’s nice to you because you remind him of a version of himself he barely remembers.”

His brows furrowed.

“Satoru keeps you around because you don’t ask for anything.”

His stomach twisted.

“They love you. But if you disappeared tomorrow? If you stopped smiling, stopped being easy, stopped being safe?”

You leaned in.

Soft. Close. Everywhere.

“They’d drop you.”

And he knew it was true.

Knew that if he wasn’t fun, wasn’t light, wasn’t the one thing in their lives that didn’t demand effort—

He’d just be another ghost in the hall.

Haibara left quietly.

They both didn’t even tell anyone what you said.

Didn’t need to.

But when they left, Haibara chugged a beer in dead silence, and Shoko smoked an entire pack without speaking.

They lasted fifteen minutes.

Which, to be fair, was a new record.

The “Unkillable” bastards rolled their shoulders and cracked their necks next.

Toji, who people were pretty sure had failed at least three years, rolled up with Shiu and Sukuna like they were about to fistfight a literal ghost.

“Easy,” Toji scoffed, cracking his neck. “If Satoru can survive this, it can’t be that bad.”

Satoru would not survive this.

“You’re gonna die first,” Shiu predicted, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You scream ‘beaten by an eldritch entity in the first act.’”

Toji ignored him.

They went in.

It started fine.

Then it got not fine.

The lights dimmed. Not all at once, not like a dramatic horror movie flicker. More like something was breathing, exhaling, pulling the warmth out of the room in slow, dragging inhales.

Sukuna, ever the arrogant bastard, leaned against the wall and smirked. “What’s a little ghost gonna do? Make me reflect on my childhood trauma?”

“Yes.”

He scoffed. “You think you scare me?” He smirked. “I am the scary thing.”

Somewhere, something shifted.

The walls groaned.

Then—

A laugh.

Soft. Too close.

“Oh, Sukuna.”

A whisper in his ear.

“You don’t even like yourself.”

His grin flickered. Just a little.

“You love the idea of yourself, but the actual you? The real, empty, nothing version of you?”

His jaw tightened.

“You don’t even know him.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“Then prove me wrong.”

A pause. A long one.

Too long.

“Tell me what you like. And don’t say sex, don’t say drinking, don’t say winning.”

His teeth clenched.

“Tell me what makes you happy.”

More silence.

“Tell me who you are—without the fight, without the performance, without the ego.”

The room creaked.

Something cold curled around his ribs, something deep and guttural and wrong.

It wasn’t touching him.

But it could.

And then, when he didn’t answer—

He left without another word.

Eight minutes later, Sukuna was outside with his head between his knees, breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

Shiu was cocky.

Came in expecting to win.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “My parents already traumatized me worse than you could.”

Said, point-blank, “I’ve already seen the worst parts of myself. Nothing you say can touch me.”

So you didn’t say anything.

Just waited.

And the longer it stretched—the silence, the weight, the knowing—the more his own thoughts started gnawing at him.

Then, finally—you spoke.

“But have you?”

The words curled around his spine like fingers.

Like something just behind him, just out of sight.

His breath hitched.

He turned.

Nothing.

But the feeling remained.

And then—

A whisper.

Right at his ear.

“Look down.”

And Shiu, against his own better judgment, did.

And in the dim, humming dark of the room—

His own shadow wasn’t his.

It was wrong.

The limbs too long. The head tilted too far. It wasn’t mimicking him.

It was watching.

Shiu left ten minutes later.

Looking ten years older.

Didn’t tell anyone why.

Then there was Toji.

Real tough. Hard, unshakable. The kind of guy who treated his own suffering like a joke, like it wasn’t real if he laughed at it first.

So you made it real.

“You should have been something else.”

His shoulders stiffened, jaw locked.

You smiled.

“Doesn’t it bother you? That there’s a version of you—somewhere, in another life—that didn’t just survive?”

His fingers curled into fists.

“A version that thrived?”

His pulse quickened.

“A version that finished school—that wasn’t stuck in this pathetic cycle of running and failing and drinking and fucking and wasting every chance he ever had?”

His chest ached.

“You could have been someone.”

“You should have been.”

Something clicked.

Not in his head. Behind him.

Like a jaw unhinging.

Like something getting ready to swallow him whole.

A breeze curled around his throat.

Not air.

Breath.

Something was leaning over his shoulder.

And its voice, soft, softer than a prayer, whispered—

“He is watching.”

Toji turned—

But there was nothing.

Just that crawling, wrong-feeling dark.

He left.

Mr. “I Fear Nothing.”

Mr. “I’ve Seen It All.”

Mr. “Shaking Like a Chihuahua After Twelve Minutes Inside.”

Didn’t even talk when he came out. Just stared into the distance, haunted.

“Yo, you good?” Shoko asked, flicking ash at him.

Toji blinked. “I need to drop out.”

The Lover Boy & The Soft Boy were next.

Kashimo and Choso walked in side by side—one radiating rizz, the other radiating empathy.

Kashimo smirked at the darkness. “A beautiful woman from another century haunting a frat house? That’s, like, peak sexy.”

Choso, soft-spoken and gentle, tilted his head. “I think you might be misunderstood, actually.”

Kashimo was competing for Where’s My Hug At Uncle, “You tryna make out or what girl?”

You didn’t even respond.

You just let Kashimo marinate in his own weird-ass thoughts.

The silence got to him.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his stance, trying to out-sexy a ghost.

“You know,” he tried again, brushing his hair back, “you ever get lonely? I could—”

“Didn’t you spend three hours crying over your ex last night?”

The temperature dropped.

Not supernaturally.

Just for him, frozen wasteland.

Choso looked at him, betrayed. “Dude.”

Kashimo swallowed. “I was drunk.”

“You called her fourteen times.”

The betrayal deepened.

Kashimo left immediately.

Choso turned back to the dark. Sat down. Crossed his legs. “I get it.” He sighed, staring at the floor.

He wasn’t scared of you; he just didn’t want to make you feel weirded out like Kashimo because what if you were an introverted or socially anxious ghost?

The two of you just talked.

No fear. No malice. Just an understanding that neither of you belonged here, but here you were.

Choso was quiet. Thoughtful. More self-aware than the rest.

“You think it’s your fault, don’t you?”

His throat bobbed. “What?”

“That you’re the reason they all fell apart.”

His breath hitched.

“That you could have done something.”

He looked away.

“You’re not their glue, Choso.”

His fingers trembled.

“You’re just the last one standing.”

A pause.

A deep, aching silence.

“I know,” he whispered.

He looked up to see you sitting in front of him smiling, looking like what he assumed you would have looked like today if you weren’t dead.

Twenty-five minutes later, he left looking sadder but stronger.

Because unlike the others—

He already knew his ghost.

No horrors. No psychological torment.

Just an open therapy session at 1 AM.

The “Too Drunk for Fear, Too Sober for Law-Breaking” duo was next.

Yuki and Hiromi barely made it through the door before they gave up.

“Bro,” Yuki sighed, staring into the dark abyss that had psychologically destroyed people tonight, “you want him? Take him.”

Hiromi nodded, swirling his suspiciously green drink like a man contemplating stock investments and not the potential of dying at the hands of an angry spirit. “He’s pathetic.”

“I mean, look at the material,” Yuki continued, waving vaguely at nothing, taking a sip of her questionable beverage and burping loudly. “Dude’s been losing sleep over a ghost. Cringe.”

You were sitting on top of the closet, but they were too drunk to notice.

Hiromi adjusted the nonexistent collar of his T-shirt, took another sip of his neon-green abomination, and squinted into the darkness like it personally owed him money. “Legally speaking, you are a hundred and ten years old, bro, and he’s like a child compared to you—”

“In her time, they married nine-year-olds, bro.” Yuki corrected, nodding sagely.

Hiromi exhaled, rubbing his temples like he was about to file a lawsuit against history. “Fair point.”

“Technically, I’m still a student.” You pointed out, mildly offended, that this entire conversation was not about the fact that you were a literal vengeful spirit but about legal precedents.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Yuki gestured wildly, sloshing her drink. “Like, what are we gonna do? Sue a ghost?”

Hiromi sighed deeply, the weight of his unfinished law degree heavy on his soul. “I can and I will.”

“Objection,” you deadpanned.

Yuki snorted. “Sustained.”

A slow, agonizing creak echoed through the room. The temperature dropped. The shadows shifted. The air thickened like something was pressing in from all sides, closing around them.

A shadow moved in the corner.

A whisper curled against their ears.

Something—

Yuki took another sip of her drink.

“Yeah, nah,” she decided, turning on her heel. “Good luck, girl. He’s all yours.”

And with that, she grabbed Hiromi by the arm and left.

You blinked.

They didn’t even close the door behind them.

Conclusion:

Satoru Gojo?

Absolutely fucked.

Analyst Went in Last.

Because Kento always went last.

Because when things got bad—when things got impossible—when Satoru was spiraling, it was Kento left standing, exhausted but steady, cleaning up the mess.

And Kento had tried. Really tried.

Tried to reason with Satoru.

Tried to convince him it was just stress. Lack of sleep. Anything but this.

But Satoru had gripped his arm, eyes too bright, too wild, voice cracking as he whispered—

“Please, Kento. She’s hurting. She’s so alone.”

So he had come.

Stepping past the threshold with the weary patience of a man who had done this a thousand times before, maybe in another life.

He expected the cold.

Expected the suffocating silence.

Expected the unsettling, crawling sensation of being watched.

What he didn’t expect—

—was how personal it felt.

Suguru had walked out of here shaking, white as a sheet, looking like he had seen himself for the first time and hated it.

Kento had never been afraid of that.

Until now.

“Nanamin.”

Satoru’s voice was hoarse.

But this wasn’t Satoru’s voice.

Kento exhaled through his nose, already exhausted. He took off his glasses, shoved them into his hoodie, and pulled up his sleeves, then shoved his hands in his joggers.

He saw the dates carved into the wood—1914, clawed in jagged strokes.

The second the door shut behind him—

The world changed.

The warmth of the hallway bled away.

The air grew thick, heavy, expectant.

It felt like stepping into a memory that wasn’t his own.

A whisper against his ear.

Soft. Cold. Curious.

"You’re not like the others."

Kento did not flinch.

He knew you were real because, as much as he didn’t believe in ghosts, he believed Satoru.

"You don’t believe in me."

He exhaled. “That’s not important.”

"But it is."

The voice curled like smoke around him, shifting from side to side, never settling.

"You took your time."

He ignored the way the fine hairs on his arms stood on end.

Kento Poker faced it. “Show yourself.”

The laughter came again, closer this time. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye—a girl in a tattered dress, your face half-rotted, hair matted with dried blood. You were there for a heartbeat, then gone.

“You don’t want to see me,” You hissed, voice now a chorus of whispers.

Kento clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. “I’m here to talk. That’s all.”

“Talk?” You sneered, voice dripping with mockery. “You’re here to save him. To prove you’re better than the others. But you’re not, are you?”

Your words struck a nerve, but Kento didn’t flinch. He couldn’t afford to. “If you know so much about me, then you know I’m not leaving without answers.”

The air shifted, the shadows in the room deepening. The ghost materialized before him, your form flickering like a dying flame. You were beautiful and grotesque all at once—your face half-rotted, eyes hollow, but your smile was soft, almost sad.

"I thought you might never come."

Kento remained still. Waiting.

"Tell me, Kento, did you hesitate because you were afraid?"

“No.”

"Liar."

“I had to make sure it was worth my time.”

A laugh. Soft. Amused.

“Is that what Satoru is to you? A waste of time?”

His jaw tensed.

Nothing moved.

Nothing stirred.

But the weight of your presence settled around him like smoke.

“You’re cruel,” he stated, adjusting his sleeves. “But I expected that.”

Silence.

“You say that like you’re not.”

His brow twitched.

The voice came from behind him.

Then beside him.

Then everywhere.

“You think that means you’ll win?” Kento asked, unbothered.

A low, lilting laugh.

It rattled against the walls.

“No.”

“It means you’ll break the most.”

Kento’s fingers twitched.

Not from fear.

From anger.

“You’re a selfish woman,” he said simply.

Then—

Soft.

Gentle.

Dangerous.

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

A pause.

Then—

“Would you like to know what I see in you, Kento?”

He remained silent.

Then you started.

And Nanami Kento was not ready.

You took him apart.

Piece.

By.

Piece.

A scalpel to the ribs, a whisper beneath his skin, a laugh curling around his spine.

"You think you're here for him.”

“To be the hero.”

“But you’re here for yourself, too."

"You don’t want to lose him."

The words curled around his ribs, settling deep in his gut.

But Kento was not Suguru.

He did not waver.

Did not question himself.

He already knew.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said simply.

"And it hurts, doesn’t it?"

"You don’t even like the way he loves because he loves like fire."

"And you have always loved like stone."

His jaw clenched.

"You think he needs saving."

"You think you’re the one to save him."

"But really—"

A whisper against his skin.

"You just don’t want to be left behind."

His fingers curled into fists.

It got worse.

"You were always outside their door, weren’t you?"

A flicker of laughter.

Suguru and Satoru, golden and untouchable, light spilling through the cracks in the doorframe.

The warmth never quite reaching him.

"Always the last to be thought of."

"Always the first to clean up the mess."

His chest ached.

"Tell me, Kento," you whispered, her voice curling around his throat, "When was the last time someone picked up your pieces?"

His heart sank, but he didn’t show.

"Has anyone ever?"

His pulse pounded.

"No?"

A soft sigh. Almost—mocking.

"How tragic."

Then you found it.

The wound he had spent years ignoring.

The quiet, unbearable grief of loving someone who would never need him the way he needed them.

"You love him."

Not like Suguru.

Not with fire and passion and wild, reckless devotion.

"You love him like stone loves the earth."

Quiet.

Steady.

Unseen.

His heart was racing.

"And it hurts, doesn’t it?"

Her voice curled like a blade beneath his ribs.

"To love someone who will never love you the same way?"

Kento squeezed his eyes shut.

“Stop.”

You laughed.

"Suguru is his sun, and you were just…"

A pause.

"There."

His throat closed.

"Always outside the door."

"Always picking up the pieces."

Then you whispered the worst thing of all against the back of his skull.

The one thing even he had never admitted to himself.

"If you could take Suguru’s place—"

His lungs locked.

"—would you?"

His head snapped up.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—

You hummed. A quiet, knowing hum.

"I thought so."

He exhaled.

“You’re making this personal.”

“It is personal.”

The voice came from above him now.

He didn’t look up.

“You want to be his friend.”

“But you want to be his keeper more.”

For the first time in years, Kento wanted to run.

But there was nowhere left to go.

You kept him there.

Held him in the dark, pinned beneath the weight of his own grief.

You dragged out everything he had buried, set his ribs apart, made him bleed.

It went on for an hour.

And when he finally reached his breaking point—

He surrendered.

Kento’s hands clenched into fists. “You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I?” You whispered, voice suddenly soft, almost tender. “You’re just like me. Alone. Forgotten. Desperate for someone to see you.”

The walls of the closet shifted, the shadows twisting into shapes that made Kento’s stomach churn. He saw flashes of your life—a girl with kind eyes, mocked by her peers, dragged into the closet, her pleas drowned by laughter. He saw her die, alone and forgotten, her anger festering into something monstrous.

And then he saw himself—standing outside Satoru’s door, always watching, never seen.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” you whispered, voice now a broken sob. “We both loved someone who couldn’t love us back.”

Kento closed his eyes. “Let him go.”

“Why should I?” you hissed, voice sharp with anger. “He’s the first person who’s seen me in a century. The first person who’s cared.”

“Because he’s not yours to keep,” Kento said, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his throat. “And because... I’ll stay.”

The room went silent.

The ghost materialized before him, your face a grotesque mix of beauty and decay. “You would die for him?” You asked, voice trembling with something like hope.

“Yes,” Kento said without hesitation.

You stared at him, hollow eyes searching his face. For a moment, you looked almost human—a girl, not a monster.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, but there was no conviction in your voice.

“I’m not,” Kento said. “I’ll stay. You won’t be alone anymore.”

The ghost trembled, form flickering between corpse and girl. For a heartbeat, Kento saw you—truly saw you—not a monster, but a girl abandoned.

"Why?"

“Because someone should’ve stayed for you.”

The air fractured.

A sob, sharp and sudden, rattled through the closet. Your form flickered—half-rot, half-1914, shifting between the girl you had been and the ghost you’d become.

“You know he will never stop coming back.”

His chest ached.

“I do.”

Another silence.

And then—

Soft. Almost tired.

“What a shame.”

The closet door creaked open. Warmth bled back into the room, the shadows retreating like a tide.

“Thank you,” you said, voice breaking.

And then you were gone.

The weight of your presence lingered, pressing against his spine like a hand between his shoulder blades.

On Kento’s cheek, a frostbitten kiss lingered.

"Tell him… I’m sorry."

When he turned, the dates on the wall were gone.

Kento stepped out.

He found Sukuna waiting.

The second their eyes met, Sukuna froze.

“…She let you go?”

Kento hesitated.

Then, finally—

“No.”

Sukuna’s brows furrowed.

Kento exhaled.

“She let him go.”

And for the first time in his life—

Nanami Kento knew what it felt like to be left behind.

---

Kento was keeping an eye on Satoru when he was kicked out by you.

After a long time, Satoru gave up when he never saw you again.

Like everyone else, Kento never spoke of what happened.

But sometimes, in the quiet, he would touch his cheek—where your parting touch had lingered—and wonder.

If forgiveness smelled like old roses and dust.

And in the closet, beside the carved date of 1914, a name had been added, as if exhaling its final breath.

Kento Nanami.

It was your way of remembering him, not that you forgot anyone when no one had remembered you.

A/N: Haha made you read plot instead of smut. Loser. Go touch grass.

All Works Masterlist

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chxmpagneprxblem · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter Four - Third Thing

Tough Love Masterlist

“Third date, huh?” Leah asked. She was sprawled across your bed, her usual spot when she was at your house rather than the other way around.

It had been a while since you hosted the Thursday sleepover but Bella hadn’t had a nightmare in such a long time. It had been a peaceful night, the usual movie and take out.

But now it was Friday afternoon and you were curling your hair at your vanity while Leah put a voice to your anxieties.

“Yeah, third date.” You sighed and looked up at her in the mirror. You knew the expectations around the third date and you knew Paul’s past reputation.

It wasn’t like you were a blushing virgin or afraid to sleep with him. You just didn’t know if you were quite there.

You and Paul had made out a little on the first date at his house. Your second date had been in a bar in Portland to see some underground band you liked. You had gotten a little handsy in his truck after.

But this was the third date. He was making dinner and had something to discuss. Which was also making you feel more and more nauseous as the day wore on.

“You think he expects you to sleep together? Maybe he’s gonna ask you to be his girlfriend.” Leah rolled over so she was on her belly, hands propping up her chin.

“Isn’t three dates a little early? For either of those things?” You asked her desperately and she shrugged. “I mean three weeks ago I was glaring at him in the diner.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Leah reminded you and you sighed, shoulders tensing up by your ears. You curled the last piece of hair and switched the curler off.

“If I say no to either it looks bad. Things won’t be the same. What if he doesn’t like me anymore?” You asked and she sat up on the bed. You turned on your stool to face her.

“The he can fuck off. If he’s gonna treat you differently for not wanting to sleep with him yet then I’ll go down there and make sure he can’t sleep with anyone anymore.” You smiled at how heated she got, her hands shaking.

“Relax Lee, he hasn’t even done anything wrong. I’m just, you know, what if?” You sighed and Leah clambered off the bed to come over and kneel in front of you.

“If he’s the right guy then he’ll choose you. Just like I keep choosing you over and over again. You’re the winning choice, always.” You nodded, pursing your lips and inhaling deeply through your nose to keep the tears at bay.

“Once you keep choosing me then I’ll be okay.” She smiled and leaned up to wrap you in a hug.

///

Paul pursed his lips when you answered the door and shook his head. “How’s a guy supposed to keep up when you look this good?”

Roses, store bought this time, were passed into your hands and you smiled, inhaling from them and then without looking, you passed them back to your father who got far too much joy out of annoying you.

“You know-“

“I’m going to go joy riding in the cruiser and leave it somewhere you’ll never find it if you finish your sentence.” You warned your laughing father. You grabbed your jacket and ushered Paul out the door. “Thank you for the flowers.”

“No problem, Sunshine.” He helped you up into the truck and you rolled your eyes at the stupid nickname that seemed like it was sticking.

When he got in on his own side his hand found yours, which had become customary. Paul drove a manual truck and still held your hand between gear shifts.

Paul was consistent in the small gestures that showed you how much he really cared. It was beyond fascinating to you that you had internalized so much contempt for him when he was this sweet in person.

“How was your sleepover?” Paul asked, tapping his thumb against your hand to draw your attention back from where it had drifted.

“It was good. Leah got that new Cheaper By The Dozen movie on DVD.” You told him, turning to watch his side profile while he drove.

“The one with Hilary Duff?” You scoffed, attempting to pull your hand free. He only laughed, holding tight.

“Of course you’d know she’s in it. You’re such a guy.” You rolled your eyes, accepting that you weren’t getting your hand back.

“Nah, I only got eyes for you baby.” He laughed and you only turned your face away. “Hey now, you’re way prettier than Hilary Duff.”

“I’m sure I am.” You muttered, trying to hide your smile from him. “Pity you ain’t as hot as that Tom Welling guy. You know the older brother?”

Paul only laughed at you, squeezing your hand and shaking his head. “Whatever you say, Sunshine.”

“Whatever.” You pursed your lips, still trying to hide your smile.

“But if we’re talking hall passes then-“ you pulled your hand from his, smacking him while he laughed.

///

“So you cook, you have your own place, you bring me flowers and you do all the clean up too.” You were sitting on the counter by the sink, glass of wine in hand, right where Paul had put you while he washed the dinners. “Why are you still single?”

“Well, I mean am I technically single if we’re dating?” He asked, wiping his hands on a towel to dry them. “Because I don’t count myself as single.”

“Besides me. Before me.” You sighed, parting your legs when he slipped between you. He stole the wine glass from your hand and you let your arms rest over his shoulders.

“I haven’t ever done this for anyone. I don’t bring people into my home. I don’t cook them dinner. I don’t let them sit pretty while I wash the dishes.” He shrugged and your arms shifted with the movement. You curled one hand around the back of his neck, scratching your nails through the hair at his nape.

“I’m sure I’m the first.” You laughed and then frowned when Paul did. “Paul I know you got around. I’m not bothered by it.”

“I mean technically, yes. But I didn’t date them. I didn’t bring them over here. I’m not treating you like this because I want to sleep with you.” He sighed and you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek to draw a smile from him.

“So why me?” You asked him quietly. He hummed, tilting his head into your hand massaging his scalp. He was like a puppy, basking in the comfort.

“Well, I’ve known since the first moment I really looked at you that I wanted you. I want to date you. Do it properly.” He admitted and you laughed.

“Oh yeah, you knew that three years ago in Jared Call’s bathroom?” You asked and his brows scrunched together in confusion. “You and Jenna Fuller were getting off but I had a puking Leah do I kicked you out of the bathroom.”

“I don’t remember that so it doesn’t count.” He argued and you laughed at his petulant pout. “I meant that day in the diner. You looked at me like you wanted to string me up by my own intestines and what can I say? I was kind of into it.”

“That’s oddly sweet.” You laughed and pressed a short kiss to his lips. “Who knew you were so soft? You better be careful or everyone will know.”

“I don’t care who knows once you do.” Paul chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’ve got something I’d like to talk about with you.”

You swallowed and nodded against his forehead before pulling back. This was it. He could only possibly want to talk about one of two things. Sex or a relationship.

“Go on.” You urged and he smiled at you softly again. He hesitated and it was your turn to smile. “Best rip it off. Like a band aid.”

“I’m a Spirit Warrior Wolf and I imprinted on you.”

Or maybe a third, very different topic. Like your almost boyfriend being stuck in a psychosis.

#paul lahote #paul lahote x you #paul lahote blurb #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote series #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x swan!sister #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote drabble #paul lahote twilight #the twilight saga

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 13 hours ago

Text

Mrs. R Part Two

Part One

Notes: Hi welcome to part two okay love you bye

Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close.

“You got any more lightbulbs in here that need changing?”

You lean in the doorway of the living room, watching Robby unscrew the old bulb and toss it onto the couch before lifting his hand to screw in the new one.

“I don’t think so. Unless you wanna go around and change a few preemptively.”

“Think we’ll just stick with this one for now.”

You bite your lip, glancing down at your bandaged hand and picking at a stray strand.

“How was the rest of your shift?”

“Oh, fine. You know.”

But you still don’t. You bite your lip, fighting back the argument as you pick at another stray strand.

“How’s the hand feeling?”

“Oh, fine. You know.”

You shoot him a coy smile at his sidelong glance. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the light, fitting the fixture back over the bulb. He climbs down from the step ladder, folding it, and leaning it against the bookshelf.

“Where was that, anyway?” You ask, nodding toward it.

“In the basement.”

“Ah. I don’t go down there much.”

“Yeah, the film of dust gave that away.”

Your smile widens at the tease, then falters as he turns away, dusting off his hands.

“Alright. I should head out.”

Your stomach twists as he straightens, heading for the door, and where he left his bag.   “Oh?” You fight to keep your tone even as you straighten up. “I ordered pizza. Should be here soon if you’re hungry.”

“You’ll have leftovers.”

“Sure! Sure.” You tuck your hands into your back pockets, wandering after him as he reaches for his bag. “I could just um…Wrap it in foil…Stick it in the back of the fridge…Forget it’s there for a few days until I inevitably remember that it’s in there on Friday. Nuke it, gobble down a couple of slices, give myself food poisoning, and then I’ll, uh…” You smile as he turns to face you again. “I’ll see you back in the ER.”

“Does it bother you that they still call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Mrs. R.”

You catch the slight delay in his movement, the pause in raising his beer to his lips. His eyes stay set on the tv, and you watch the flash and flare of the screen's glow lighten and shade his face. For as long a day as he’s had, it should be easier to read his expression—or maybe you’re more out of practice than you realized.

But you know that he heard it. It’s not as if he can pretend that he didn’t hear Evans or Langdon say it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when they’d had though not for lack of trying.

“Why would it bother me?” He finally asks.

 “Because we’re not married anymore.”

“You change your name yet?”

You turn back to the tv as Robby’s head turns. It’s your turn to fall silent, to take a sip from your beer.

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” It’s the lamest of excuses. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the entire truth, either. You hear Robby huff a soft laugh through his nose, and you can’t help the embarrassment that pulses through you. You push the feeling down, leaning forward and setting down your beer.

"You want that last slice?” You glance toward him and find his lips pursed. He wants to say no, but you’re positive he barely had anything to eat that day.

“You wanna split it?” You correct, already taking up a knife to cut it down the middle.

“If you really want it, you can—”

“Oh, shut up and eat the slice, Robinavitch,” You lean back, holding it out and raising your own slice to your mouth.

“Half slice.”

“You’re way too particular for this late in the day. Did you get all hangry on the ducklings?”

“...Not on the ducklings.”

Your brows rose at the admission as you tore off a piece of the crust, popping it into your mouth.

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked after a moment.

“Nope.”

Figures. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be wholly disappointed. But he’d come over, he’d changed your lightbulb. He’d stayed. Months of not seeing one another and now this. It felt like two steps forward and one step back…Though, for what it was worth, that was still one step forward.

You chalk it up to muscle memory. A late-night hazy wake up, an infomercial droning on the tv, and Robby's head in your lap. You manage to nudge him up, shut the television off, and find his hand to lead him to your bedroom. He doesn't gripe or grumble. His movements seem as automatic as he strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed with you, each on your own sides.

You think, as you sink into the pillows, that you’re almost glad Robby is too tired to gripe or argue that he should be going back to his place.

And you think, as sleep takes full hold of you, that you feel his hand curl around yours under the sheets.

You wake up to the steady thump of Robby’s heart beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his belly beneath your arm. You don’t open your eyes for a few moments—you don’t dare. You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close.

For the last few months of your marriage, the two of you hadn’t slept in the same bed, and with the separation and divorce that had followed, your physical connection had ceased to exist.

The closest the two of you had gotten was when he’d bandaged your hand at the ER the day before.

Of course, that same hand is now throbbing.

You wince, wiggling the fingers a little and holding back a hiss of discomfort. Damn, you should’ve taken some Tylenol before you went to bed last night. You just hadn’t been thinking about it. You reluctantly push yourself up, sliding out of bed as gently as you can, wary of waking him.

You freeze as he shifts, watching him roll closer to the warmth you left behind and pressing his face into your pillow. You relax as he settles, and turn to your closet, sleepily fishing out your favorite hoodie and tugging it on over the PJs that you hardly remember changing into.

By the time you hear Robby coming down the hall, you have 500mg of Tylenol in your system, and coffee has nearly finished brewing. You glance back in his direction as he comes into the kitchen. You’re chagrined (but not surprised) to find him fully clothed.

“Morning,” You greet. His answer is to take two mugs down from the cabinet, setting them by your wrist on the counter.

“Sleep okay?” You prod. Robby leans against the counter beside you, and you glance up, watching him scrub his hand across his eyes.

“Yeah,” He finally admits. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

“Sure,” You shrug. “My fault, anyway. I talked you into staying for pizza.” You pick up the coffee pot, filling both mugs. Robby mutters his thanks as he takes one up, drawing in a sip. You let the silence settle back in, but you can only handle it for so long: “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About whatever it is that’s been fucking with your sleep lately.”

“Do you wanna talk about why you haven’t changed your name yet?”

It catches you off-guard, and you whirl around to face him.

“I told you, it’s a shitton of paper work—”

“If you’d started when we filed for divorce, it would be done by now.”

“Well if it bothers you that much, why didn’t you fucking say so last night?”

“I didn’t say it bothered me, I just find it weird—”

“It isn’t that weird—And how the fuck did we get on to me? We’re supposed to be talking about you.”

“We don’t have to talk about me.”

“Yeah, we fucking do. Something is off with you, Michael. You’re not sleeping, you’re snapping at people—I get that you’re under pressure—”

“You don’t get it.”

“Alright, maybe I don’t know how it feels, but I can see how much it’s fucking messing with you—”

“Forget it—”

“Mikey, c’mon, just talk to me—”

“Let it go!”

The snap and bark of his voice startles you, and you unthinkingly take a couple of steps back. You become more aware of the way your face is crowding with heat, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn away from him, shoving your hands in your pockets and curling your good hand into a fist. You’re not gonna cry, not when he’s right fucking there. He’s going to leave, anyway.

You hear him push out a weary sigh, chased by the sound of him putting the coffee mug down. He’s going to put his hoodie on and just fucking go—

“Hey.” His hands curl around your shoulders, and he sighs again as you shrug him off. You step away, turning back to your mug and taking it up. Maybe you can take a big gulp and pretend that your eyes are tearing because the coffee’s so hot.

You feel the heat of him as he crowds up behind you, his hands landing on the counter and caging you in. You open your mouth to tell him to back off, but fall silent as he gently nuzzles his temple.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

“And I know you’re a closed book, so why do I fucking bother.”

Robby inches closer, curling his arms around your middle.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take this stuff on.”

“I don’t feel like I have to, Michael.” You turn in his arms, meeting his eyes despite the tears lingering in yours. “I’ve only ever asked because I want to, because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” Your throat grows tight as you admit it, and you blink rapidly as more tears well up. You drop your chin, closing your eyes as you shake your head, fighting to steady yourself.

Robby lifts a hand to cup your chin, thumb sweeping tenderly over the apple of your cheek as he tips your head up. You sniffle as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours.

“You shouldn’t still worry like this.”

“I know.”

Robby tips his head, nose gently nuzzling against yours. You can’t help but chase the touch, a few tears escaping and slipping down your cheeks. You each go still as your lips brush, then stop just a hair’s breadth from one another’s. Robby’s breath puffs warmly across your mouth, and you feel his chin tip up just a touch more.

“Don’t,” You breathe, then hurry to explain—”Don’t do this if you’re just trying to fix it.”

For a few harrowing moments, neither of you move; you hardly breathe. And then Robby’s hand lifts to cup your other cheek, thumbs gently disrupting the few tear tracks. He brushes tender kisses to your closed eyelids before his mouth descends tenderly on yours. You shiver, curling your hand in the fabric of his shirt and drawing him closer, until he’s pressing you fully against the counter. Your lips part and your tongue teases gently against his, his beard brushing pleasantly against your skin.

The kiss breaks slowly, with Robby stealing another two languid pecks before resting his forehead back against yours, his hands smoothing over your shoulders again, fingers rubbing across the familiar fabric.

"...Couldn't find that last hoodie, huh?" He asks knowingly. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking into a guilty grin.

"Misplaced it."

Robby hums knowingly before he dips his head, giving you another tender kiss.

"How's that hand feeling?"

You grunt, raising it and wiggling your fingers.

"Better now. Hurt like a bitch when I woke up, so I took some Tylenol."

"Good." Another peck before he draws away, and you reluctantly let him go. You expect him to head into the front hall, to grab his backpack. But he goes into the living room, taking up the stepladder. You frown, straightening up.

"Where are you going with that?"

"To check the other bulbs."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ;

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ;

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry

#Mrs. R #Michael Robinavitch x Reader #Michael Robinavitch x You #Doctor Robby x Reader #Doctor Robby x You #Dr Robby x Reader #Dr Robby x You

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