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0scarp1astr1 · 3 days ago

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Anniversary Tears

જ⁀➴ Desc: || In which your perfect anniversary was long forgotten by your boyfriend and you're tired of being last place in his life. ||

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Angst

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: Don't worry guys, I do see your requests in my inbox, and have them drafted. Solo fics take longer than the headcanons, So I am putting more content out there to hold you over. I hope you all enjoy the angst.

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Max Verstappen

When your relationship with Max first took off, it felt perfect. Not only were you a WAG with a loving boyfriend and your own career, but you were also his world—his safe haven outside the sport that constantly demanded his time, energy, and focus. After long days filled with tension, yelling at his team, and pushing for improvements they sometimes refused to acknowledge, you were his anchor. On the verge of breaking, you were the one who held him together.

But slowly, the pressure from his job started to seep into your relationship. Max grew distant, his presence increasingly replaced by postponed dinners and late nights. "Don't wait up," became more common than goodnight kisses. The bed felt colder, and the silence at night felt heavier. Still, you clung to hope. Your anniversary was coming up—it had to mean something to him. He’d always remembered before, right down to the minute. He never missed it. It was always in his phone, always marked with care.

“Don’t worry, liefje,” he said with a soft kiss. “I’ll be home before you know it.” His lips lingered just long enough to convince you he might mean it this time.

You dressed with care that evening—spritzed on the perfume he loved, slipped into the dress that never failed to catch his eye. Dinner was set. A night under the stars, just the two of you. You waited, surrounded by the hum of music, the clink of glasses, the low chatter of couples enjoying each other’s company.

But not yours.

You kept glancing at the door. Then at your phone. Finally, you called him. When he answered, you could hear him talking to someone—Christian, maybe—before he turned his attention to you.

“Sorry, liefje, I was just talking to Christian. What’s up?”

What’s up?

“What do you mean, what’s up?” you snapped, your voice brittle.

His reply was casual, too casual. “Why are you so moody? Are you on your period or something?”

That was the final straw.

“No, Max, I’m not,” you said sharply, your voice tight as you stood from the table, phone pressed to your ear. “Maybe I’m just moody because the man I love can’t even let go of a damn steering wheel for five minutes to be with me. I get it. You love racing. I know your career comes first. But on our anniversary?”

There was a pause, then a panicked, “Shit. I’m sorry! I’ll come right now—”

“Don’t bother, Verstappen.” You cut him off, eyes stinging. “Save your apology. I’m done. I can't keep coming in last place... while you sit there and celebrate every first.”

You hung up. The quiet click of your heels echoed as you walked away, tears slipping down your cheek.

Elsewhere, Max stood frozen, phone in hand, jaw clenched, eyes heavy.

When someone asked what was wrong, all he could manage to say was—

“I screwed up.”

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Charles Leclerc

You always knew Ferrari was Charles’ world. From the time he was a boy, it was his dream, his everything—and you stood by him every step of the way. He was a loving boyfriend, no doubt about that. He just had a habit of forgetting the little things—milk from the store, the eggs, the scented candles you asked for, even the specific dog food that Leo could actually stomach.

But you loved him. Loved him so much, you would sit in silence and come last, over and over again.

You were used to being his priority. Even in crowded rooms or intense conversations, his hand would still find yours—on your thigh, your back, your waist. But lately, that had all changed. Ferrari was struggling, and so was Charles. You saw it in his eyes: the exhaustion, the pressure, the desperate hunger to do better, to fight for pole position, for podiums, for anything. And in the process, you felt like discarded trash—left behind, forgotten.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He smiled. “Of course. I’ll handle today and be home.”

You assumed he knew. It was on the calendar. In both your phones. You’d dropped hints all week. He couldn’t forget this—your day. The day you two fell in love. The day you made each other yours.

When he walked out the door, your heart had lifted. You cleaned the flat from top to bottom, cooked his favorite meal, lit the candles he loved most, and carefully scattered the rose petals you bought. You dressed for the night you’d both needed. A reconnection. A celebration. A return to each other.

But hours passed.

The food grew cold. Half the candles flickered out. Leo had chewed through most of the petals. You sat in silence, staring at the clock, the night collapsing in on itself like a slow disaster.

Then—finally—you heard his keys.

His voice.

And your heart sparked, a flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—he’d remembered. Maybe he brought flowers. Maybe he had a surprise. A kiss. An apology. Something.

But when the door opened, your smile died.

Charles stepped in… with one of his engineers.

“I invited him over for dinner,” he said casually, dropping his keys on the counter. He glanced around. “What’s all this?”

Your chest tightened, breath caught in your throat.

“Our dinner,” you said quietly.

He raised a brow. “We planned this?”

You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I mean… if we did, I must’ve forgotten,” he said, walking toward the table. “Did Leo eat half of whatever this is?” he added, lightly nudging a chewed petal with his foot.

That was it.

You grabbed your keys without a word and walked out. Charles watched you go, confused, glancing at his friend—who only shrugged.

And then his eyes landed on the calendar.

Red marker. A heart. One word.

Anniversary.

His stomach dropped.

“Our anniversary,” he whispered. Panic set in as he fumbled for his phone. He called you instantly.

“Y/N,” he breathed when you answered. “I forgot—I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. We were just talking strategy all day, and I lost track of time. Please, just come back.”

You sniffled on the other end.

“I’m tired of chasing someone who’s chasing a podium,” you said. “I know it’s your dream, Charles. But am I even part of it?”

He swallowed hard, unable to respond.

“You cross the finish line, but do I even matter?” your voice cracked. “You don’t even know what to say. You can’t, because you don’t care. I ask for your time—and you have none to give. So good luck with Ferrari this year, Charles. Go chase your podium. I’m done chasing you.”

And then the line went dead.

Charles stood frozen, phone still in hand, eyes stinging with guilt and regret. He whispered, more to himself than anyone else, anger and heartbreak swirling in his chest.

“She hates me…”

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Lewis Hamilton

You were in love with a seven-time world champion.

And somehow, despite the millions who adored him, he loved you. He chose to build a life with you—and Roscoe. Nothing could break you two apart. His heart was yours, and yours was his.

He made sacrifices, hard choices in his career, and swore time and again that he'd always try to keep you first. That love—it made you feel like you were flying.

Until you crash-landed. Alone.

Lately, the clock would strike midnight, sometimes even two in the morning, and he still wouldn’t be home. And each late night, each unanswered message, made your chest feel tighter. You told yourself not to complain—he was famous, his life demanding. But still, you wanted time. His time.

“We deserve a trip,” he had said, flashing that smile, the one that always calmed your nerves.

“We do,” you agreed. “Just don’t forget the date. I even canceled vacation plans with the girls—told them I needed time with my future husband.”

He had chuckled and held up his phone. “I’ll spend an hour with the guys and come home early. I still need to pack Roscoe’s stuff, anyway.”

“Responsible,” you teased, kissing his cheek. “Go have your fun.”

And the moment he walked out the door, your heart started dreaming. You imagined quiet mornings with him, waking up tangled in each other, no alarms, no cameras. Just the two of you, off the grid. Long walks. Photos where he called you beautiful. Whispered I love yous between sips of coffee. A version of him that only existed when the world wasn’t watching.

But the clock ticked. Then again. And again.

No message. No call. Nothing.

Just silence—until you opened Instagram.

There he was. Laughing, smiling with the guys. Still out. Like he had no flight. No bags. No anniversary. No you.

He was winning in the race of life—and losing in the one that truly mattered.

He didn’t come home until hours later. Eyes tired, voice light.

“An hour I said—and then Franco dared me to—”

He stopped.

The place was too quiet. Too empty. Roscoe sat by the door, ears perked.

“Y/N?” he called, stepping deeper into the penthouse.

“Babe?”

He walked through each room, heart picking up speed—until his eyes caught the note sitting on the counter.

Lewis,

I waited. But you didn’t come. I told myself maybe you'd run late, maybe you'd rush home, maybe you'd try. But you didn't.

You missed our flight. You missed our anniversary.

So I went without you. I’m on vacation—with the girls I turned down for you.

Don’t call. Just ask yourself why it always ends up like this.

—Y/N

Panic set in. He grabbed his phone and immediately called you.

When you picked up, your voice was quiet, broken by the faint sound of laughter in the background.

“Where did you go?” he asked, breath uneven.

“On vacation,” you said simply. “You missed our flight. You know… for a seven-time world champion, I thought maybe—maybe—you’d lay it to rest just for one day. Or did you forget what this trip was even for? It was our anniversary.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’m laying off work as much as I can. You know how demanding it is. I love what I do—”

“Yeah. You love what you do. But do you even love what you have?” your voice cracked. “I’ve spent so much time loving you, accepting that you’re sweet… but never around. At some point, Lewis, you’ll wake up past forty, still chasing podiums, and realize the world kept spinning without you.”

Silence.

“And when all the other drivers are married, in love, settled… you’ll say I miss Y/N. You’ll say you miss us. You’ll wish we had more time. You’ll wish we got married. You’ll wish you treated me like more than a trophy in your case.”

You paused, breath catching.

“But I won’t be there.”

And then you hung up.

Back in Monaco, Lewis stood frozen in the middle of the room, eyes glassy, hands shaking. His phone slipped from his grip, landing with a sharp clatter on the tile.

“Fuck!” he yelled, voice raw, hands in his hair as he stumbled backward.

“How did I mess this up?” he muttered, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

“I lost her…”

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Lando Norris

When you first met Lando, you knew who he was—the party boy. The fast life, the late nights, the grin that could disarm anyone. But behind that chaos was something softer. Something real. A boy with a full heart who crumbled in your arms when the media became too cruel. You held him through breakdowns, through silence, through storms no one else ever saw. He was yours. You were his.

And for a while, it felt like nothing else mattered.

Time with him felt like being the center of the universe. Every moment was electric. He made you feel like you were more than his girlfriend—you were his constant. His peace.

But it shifted.

McLaren started winning, and suddenly, so much more of him belonged to the team. His attention narrowed, his kisses got shorter, his exits quicker. “Love you,” turned into rushed goodbyes and texted emojis. You started waiting—hours—for a message, a call, a sign.

Sometimes, you only got a thumbs-up.

He didn’t feel like your boyfriend anymore. He felt like Lando Norris, the driver. And you? Just another face in the crowd, another voice in his overflowing inbox.

It hurt. Bad.

That’s why you didn’t say anything.

You wanted to see if he’d remember your anniversary. Not because you wanted to punish him—but because part of you needed to know if he still saw you. Not as a fan, not as a placeholder, but as the girl who’s been with him through it all. The one who stayed.

You let the day unfold in silence.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d say no to clubbing. Maybe he’d surprise you. Maybe he’d say no to everyone else and yes to you—for once.

The lamp in the living room was the only light on. You sat on the couch, dressed up. Makeup perfect. Perfume light and familiar. Waiting.

You imagined him swinging through the door, smiling, dressed up, ready to whisk you away like it was year one again.

But hours passed.

Your heels came off first. Then the makeup wipes. Then the dress, now forgotten on the cold floor of your bedroom. By the time the clock struck midnight, you were in pajamas—hope deflated.

Then, voices at the door.

You looked up, heart already heavy.

“He’s drunk,” one of his friends laughed as they helped Lando up the stairs.

His head lolled to the side, eyes half-closed, a goofy, blissed-out grin on his lips.

You opened the door.

“On our anniversary…” you whispered under your breath.

Still, you couldn’t turn him away. You loved him too much for that.

You thanked his friends, then wrapped your arms around him as he leaned all his weight on you. He laughed—slurred and unaware—as you helped him toward the bedroom.

“Norris,” you muttered, sighing. “You forgot what today was.”

He didn’t respond.

You eased him onto his side of the bed, unlaced his shoes, tossing them aside. He collapsed into the pillows with a lazy groan.

“Four years,” you said quietly, watching him.

“Anniversary, you know?” you tried again. “Four years.”

He hummed, eyes shut. “Whatever you say… I don’t care…”

You froze.

And then, with a careless wave of his hand, he mumbled—

“I love you, Luisinha…”

The breath left your body.

Your heart split clean down the middle.

He wasn’t just drunk.

He was drunk and still thinking about her.

Luisinha.

The girl before you. The one you thought he’d moved past. The one he said he didn’t talk to, didn’t think about, didn’t miss.

But that bracelet you’d found a week ago—the one he promised he’d thrown away?

He kept it.

He kept her.

And now, with his defenses down, the truth came out. Maybe the drinking, the clubbing, the partying—it wasn’t about the spotlight. Maybe it was about numbing the space she left behind.

Your eyes welled with tears as you looked at him—peaceful, unaware, dreaming of someone else.

“For once in my life…” your voice shook, barely a whisper, “I thought someone loved me. Sober or not sober.”

You wiped your eyes, hands trembling.

“I’m last place in your mind,” you said, broken. “Always have been.”

You lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking one last look at the boy who promised you everything—but gave you half-truths.

“I hope she makes you happy,” you whispered.

And then you left.

No destination in mind.

Just anywhere that wasn’t there—anywhere you could breathe, away from the lies, away from the ache of trying to be someone’s everything when they’re still mourning someone else.

Back in bed, Lando stirred. Tossed. Snored.

And then, barely audible—

“Luisinha…”

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Carlos Sainz

Carlos was your sweetheart.

Every photo of you two looked like a still from a romantic comedy—sometimes sweet, sometimes goofy, always full of heart. Together, you’d wish fans happy holidays, post silly videos, and make even the quietest moments feel alive. Being his felt like honey: warm, golden, slow-dripping joy.

He loved to show you off. His friends knew your name. His fans knew your face. He spoke of you like you hung the moon.

And for a long time, the weight of that love wasn’t heavy—it was heavenly.

But slowly… that love began to fade. Not disappear, no. Just… retreat.

His smiles became half-hearted. His eyes darted around the room, distracted. Every dinner was cut short. Every date somehow became a double date—someone tagging along, someone stealing his laughter, his attention, his time. And you? Left picking at your food, faking smiles.

He always apologized. Swore he’d change. And you believed him, because when Carlos loved, he loved hard.

“This time, I’ll focus on you. It’s our anniversary, mi amor. I could never forget my special lady,” he teased, pinching your nose, making you laugh in spite of yourself.

“Good. I already have my outfit picked out, Sainz,” you grinned.

“Perfect, I'll meet you tonight, have to do some stuff so I can make time for just this moment and just for you," he said, kissing your forehead. It felt like a promise.

And for a moment—you believed it.

That night, you stood in front of the mirror, beaming. Your dress hugged your body just right, your makeup was soft and glowing. You did a little spin, whispering to yourself, “He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees me.”

You were ready to be his entire world for the night.

But hours passed.

The food on your plate grew cold. The candles flickered lower. And the seat across from you? Still empty.

Your phone finally rang. Your heart lifted, a flicker of hope rushing in. “Carlos?” you answered with a soft smile.

Laughter poured from the other end of the line. Background noise. Music. Clinking glasses.

“You should come to the bar!” he said, voice light and carefree.

Your smile shattered.

The silence on your end stretched, and then—

“Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro…” your voice trembled. “Do you really not know what today is?”

He hesitated. “I must’ve forgotten, because… no?”

Your throat tightened. “Our anniversary.”

Silence.

“And I have to say,” you added, voice cracking, “sitting alone at this table—alone—is humiliating.”

He exhaled. “Come to the bar. I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” You stood up, voice raising with the weight of every swallowed hurt. “You’re always sorry, Carlos! And then you go and do the same thing again. And again.”

People turned their heads, but you didn’t care anymore.

“I’m tired of being last! I’ve sucked up every ache in my body for you. I’ve swallowed my pride. For what?”

“You know how demanding my career is,” he said quietly.

You laughed bitterly. “Your career? Carlos, other drivers have relationships. They’re not out at a bar on their anniversary night like it’s nothing!”

“I’m not them,” he snapped. “Don’t compare me, corazón.”

You shook your head, heart sinking. “Maybe if you loved me the way they love their partners… I wouldn’t have to.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Maybe if you just looked at me, for one second, I wouldn’t have to beg to be seen. I made you first in my life, Carlos. First. And all I’ve ever been to you is another face in the crowd. Someone who waits. Someone who blends in behind your friends, your fans, your fame.”

He stayed quiet.

You looked at the phone, your reflection in the black screen, your makeup starting to smudge, your hand trembling.

“We’re done, Carlos,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Done.”

And with that, you hung up.

Back at the bar, Carlos stared at his phone like it had punched him in the gut.

He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing.

He slid the phone down on the counter, staring ahead at nothing. His jaw clenched. His throat burned.

One of his friends leaned over, hand on his back.

“You okay, man?”

Carlos didn’t answer at first. Then, slowly, voice cracked and broken, he muttered:

“I just lost the one woman who loved me more than the world…”

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Fernando Alonso

Fernando Alonso Díaz.

Even just his name gave you butterflies. It belonged to the man who made you laugh until your sides ached, who smothered you with kisses every morning despite your sleepy protests. His affection was playful—nose pinches, tight hugs, spontaneous dancing in the kitchen. You were his world. And he was yours.

He once told you that when he was ready to marry again, it would be you. Only you. That you’d be the last woman he’d ever love like this. That one day, he'd put a ring on your finger and call it forever.

For a long time, life with him felt like a promise unfolding. Soft, beautiful, and full of meaning.

But promises, even beautiful ones, can crack under pressure.

The small things started to slip. A missed good morning text. A quick kiss on the cheek without eye contact. Late nights with the same excuse: work. “You know how it goes,” he’d say. “Busy as always.” And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were his partner… or his afterthought.

Still, you hoped.

You wore the outfit he loved. You tried to spark memories, gently reminding him of the day you became official. He smiled—but his face didn’t light up. “I don’t really remember the date,” he said, brushing it off. “But I remember it felt magical.”

Your fake smile held long enough for you to turn your back.

Then came another goodbye. Another peck on the cheek. Another “work’s calling.”

You stayed home, holding on to hope. Holding on to him.

Evening came. Then night. Your phone buzzed.

Fernando: Don’t wait up. Working late.

That was it. No call. No detail. Just another dismissal, like you didn’t spend the day waiting, hoping he’d come home ready to celebrate you both.

You called him. Your voice trembled, trying to stay steady.

“Fernando,” you said, “I think you should check the date.”

He laughed softly. “Are you drunk, mi vida?”

“No,” you whispered. “Just check.”

There was a pause. Then, casually: “Is it important? I’m heading out with the guys. Engineers are buying.”

Your heart cracked. “Nando, it’s our anniversary.”

Silence. Then a light chuckle. “Ah… I missed it. We’ll fix it tomorrow, yeah? When I’m free.”

You swallowed hard. “Are we ever getting married, Fernando? Or is that just something you say when it’s convenient?”

He sighed. “Why would I stop racing to get married? This is my life. You knew that.”

“I’m not asking you to stop racing.” Your voice shook. “I’m asking if you even see a future with me.”

Another sigh. Dismissive. Cold.

You continued, voice stronger now, pain spilling out. “You remember everything about your career—your wins, the year you debuted, your teammates, your rivals. But you couldn’t remember this. Us. What we built.”

You wiped a tear away. “You’re forty-three, Fernando. I don’t need a perfect family. I don’t even need kids. But marriage… time together… commitment. That’s not too much.”

“I’ll marry when I’m ready,” he replied. “I’m not living a domestic life right now. I have a few more years left in me. You knew that.”

“I did. I knew what I signed up for.” Your tone softened, but the sadness deepened. “But I didn’t sign up to always come second. Or third. Or last. I thought we were in this together. I thought love meant sharing the wins.”

He was quiet. You knew that silence. The kind that said he’s made his choice.

“I’m not trying to change you,” you whispered. “I just wanted a little of your time. A little of your heart when it wasn’t being poured into a car. I wanted our love to matter as much as your next race.”

Then his voice sharpened. “If you hang up, I won’t chase you. I won’t beg. If you hang up, it’s done. So give me a moment—”

Click.

Silence.

The moment you ended the call, something shifted in him.

Fernando sat motionless, the phone still in his hand. The words echoed in his head.

“There is no reason one of us should be winning and the other losing.”

He’d spent his life chasing podiums, building a legacy. But in the quiet that followed your goodbye, he realized something:

The one person who loved him beyond the helmet, the headlines, the trophies—had just walked away.

And he let her.

A single tear slid down his cheek as he placed the phone on the table, the weight of everything he’d lost crashing down on him.

“What have I done…”

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cupidstrace · 2 days ago

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Some Assembly Required

Summary; You call your best friend to help you build IKEA furniture. Chaos ensues. He confesses mid-argument. Pairing; Sukuna x Reader

You open the door and sigh.

Sukuna’s already leaning against the frame like he’s lived here for years, with a lazy smile, too much confidence, and the kind of presence that takes up air and doesn’t apologize for it.

“You called?”

You step aside. “Don’t make me regret it.”

He slips past you and into your house like he belongs.

The living room is a disaster. Flattened cardboard boxes and screws in plastic bags and planks of wood you’ve already decided to hate. He takes one look and lets out a low whistle.

“You weren’t kidding. This is like a sadistic swedish jigsaw puzzle.”

“It’s a bed frame,” you grumble, tossing him a screwdriver.

He catches it with one hand, still grinning. “That’s what they want you to think.”

Time passes. You’re not sure how long.

You’re cross-legged on the floor, knee-deep in wooden planks and confusion. The instructions are a mess of ominous diagrams, none of which resemble the boards you have. Sukuna’s lying on the floor, half under the frame, cursing under his breath as he fits the wrong piece into the wrong place with the confidence of someone who wholeheartedly believes he’s right.

“Did you even read the manual?” you mutter.

“I skimmed.”

“You skimmed?”

“Relax. I’ve got a system.”

A bolt comes loose and rolls across the floor. You both watch it disappear beneath the couch.

You exhale. Slowly. “Your system just unscrewed the one piece of progress we had.”

“Well, maybe if your vibe wasn’t so hostile–”

“Oh my god–”

You fall back on the floor, staring at the ceiling like it might offer an insightful answer. “This is how we die. Buried beneath a poorly constructed IKEA bed frame.”

He stretches an arm above his head, fingers splayed. “There are worse ways to go.”

“Like what?”

“Like watching you alphabetize the screws again.”

You sit up, grab a throw pillow from the couch, and launch it at his head.

He catches it, eyes glinting, and lunges before you can even think of running.

It stops being about the furniture. Becomes something else. The pillow fight quickly devolves into a poorly refereed wrestling match. A laughter-choked tangle of limbs on the floor.

And then he’s on top of you.

Literally.

He’s above you, one arm braced beside your head, hair falling in his eyes, mouth a little parted.

The room stills.

“Sukuna.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re–”

“I know.”

He doesn’t move.

The silence stretches, heavy in the ribs. Your heart hammers against the quiet like it’s trying to break free. Of this moment, or of you, or maybe even of him.

“..are you planning to get up?”

He hesitates, glancing down at your lips. “No.”

“Sukuna–”

“I like you.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He grimaces like it physically hurts. “Don’t make me say it again, woman.”

You don’t.

You just lie there, stunned. Some part of you waits for a joke, or some sort of punchline. But it never comes.

“..are you seriously confessing to me while we’re in the middle of building a bed frame?”

He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder. “I know. It’s awful timing. I just.. you looked at me earlier like you trusted me with something, and that messed me up, because you’re here, and I’m in your house, and it felt like we were building more than a bed, so I figured it was thematically appropriate for me to.. whatever. I don’t know. I panicked.”

You laugh softly. “You panicked and confessed to me?”

“I panicked and confessed to you.”

You’re quiet for a while.

Then, gently, you reach for the front of his shirt, and pull him down. “Okay.”

His mouth finds yours like it’s been trying to for a long time. Like the years of arguments and half-assed insults were just placeholders. It’s clumsy and raw and real.

When he pulls back, he looks at you like he’s still trying to catch up. Like he didn’t think you’d let him get this far.

You run your thumb over the edge of his jaw, breath uneven. “You really like me?”

His voice is quieter now. “Yeah. Kind of. A lot.”

“Okay,” you whisper again.

The room is quiet. The sun has started to dip, painting the edges of the cardboard and half-built bed frame in a saffron warmth. Time feels suspended.

He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours.

“You realize we still have to finish this thing,” you murmur.

“Eventually.”

But neither of you move. Not yet.

And for the first time all day, it feels like something is finally taking shape.

Not the bed frame, though. That still needs some work.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you

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inotakumagf · 1 day ago

Text

baby of mine

✶ nanami kento x f!reader

word count ✺ 6K

summary ✺ Yuji Itadori shouldn’t have survived eating one of Sukuna’s fingers at only four years old. But he does. And with no family left, he needs someone to take him in. Gojo wants to hide Yuji’s existence from the higher ups, and he knows he can trust you and Nanami.

warning ✺ mentions of a miscarriage. there’s also an emotionally (& insinuation of physically) abusive ex. the kids are 4/5 while you & nanami are in your early to mid twenties, the jjk timeline literally does not exist to me. aka co-parenting the vessel of sukuna. also i don’t know anything about 4 year olds so if something seems impossible pretend it works ok

──────────𝜗𝜚────────── The quiet of your apartment gets so lonely sometimes. You can’t distract yourself for long with books or television or music before you find yourself sitting on your cold wooden floor, in front of the large window in your living room. Your finger traces patterns on the glass as you stare into the apartments across from yours. It’s an addiction, watching the carefree lives of non sorcerers. All their problems are so…easy. What’s a leaky sink or a shitty roommate to the never ending sacrifice of being a Jujutsu sorcerer? Easy, and yet…

You press your palm to the cool glass and imagine being in that position—slow dancing in the living room, movie nights, and even the labor of doing dishes with a partner. All the monotonous habits of being human that are tainted by your way of life. It’s usually easy for you to push that yawning need aside, but it doesn’t help the craving for it that’s burrowed deep beneath your ribs. You thought you’d had that love, once. You were stupid to think that life was an option for a sorcerer like yourself.

A soft knock at the door pulls you out of your head. You dump your cold coffee into the sink and move to answer it. Your brows rise in surprise when you pull it open to find none other than Nanami Kento. You’d gone to high school with him, but he’d avoided Jujutsu life after graduation. Not that you can blame him, after everything you all endured. You’ve tried to keep in touch with him, but it’s hard when you exist on two different planes of life. Still, he’d been one of your closest friends at school and you’re happy to see him again. The last time had been a few months ago at some shitty bar.

“Nanami,” you greet, a little confusion slipping into your voice, “this is a surprise visit.”

“Apologies for dropping by at such an odd hour. Gojo called me. He said he had something to speak to us about, and that we’d meet here. I usually ignore him, but it seemed quite serious.”

You hum. “That’s weird, I haven’t heard anything from him.”

You move to the side to let him inside your messy apartment. Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You open it to find a text from Gojo that reads, heyyyyy!! i need to talk to you and Nanami about something super serious :P!! meet at yours in a few????!!! thaaaanks :))))!

You roll your eyes, and you have to question your friend’s sanity sometimes. You invite Nanami to sit at your plush couch. “Do you want anything to drink or eat while we wait? I can brew some tea.”

“Thank you, tea would be nice.”

You pull out the kettle and pour some water in it to boil. You take time looking through your tea flavors while you consider the situation. If Gojo was able to convince Nanami to come out for something, then it must be serious. You ask Nanami about his day while you wait for the water to boil. It’s all boring, non sorcerer stuff, but you drink up every word of it.

You bring out the kettle and three delicate teacups, along with a pot of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes for Gojo’s sweet tooth. Nanami thanks you softly, pouring tea for the two of you carefully. You sip your tea and exchange small talk while waiting for Gojo to show up. For a man that can teleport wherever he wants, he does love to be late.

Finally, you hear a sharp knock at your front door. As soon as you open the door, you can tell that something isn’t right. The cheerfulness in Gojo’s text, the silliness that you’re used to is wiped from his face now. You can see the tension in his shoulders as he waves a quick greeting. You let him in, ushering him to the couch.

“I hope there’s a good reason for disturbing my quiet evening,” you threaten half-heartedly.

He takes his tea cup, pouring sugar with a side of brewed tea into the porcelain. He waits to speak until you settle onto the couch.

“I found a boy today,” he says simply. You see him pinch his mouth as he thinks of how to continue. “His name is Yuji Itadori. His family should be as normal as they come, but the squirt found one of Sukuna’s fingers. He ate it. But I can’t be too surprised, he’s only four. Even Megumi’s prone to eating things he shouldn’t.”

Your hand flies up to your mouth, and you see Nanami’s back straighten out. “Oh my god. I can’t imagine what his family is going through.”

Gojo shakes his head. “That’s the thing—he’s safe, healthy even. I could feel the cursed energy rolling off of him halfway across Tokyo. Don’t know how the little guy did it, but he ate Sukuna’s finger and he’s still alive.”

You furrow your brows. You must have misheard him. “What? He has full control over himself? Is that possible?”

Nanami hums in thought. “A vessel for Sukuna, especially from a non sorcerer family, is likely a once in a century chance. Highly unlikely, but not impossible.”

Gojo sighs. “When I found him, it was just him and his grandfather inside the house. His grandfather…it seems that Sukuna had control for a moment, no more than a couple seconds. But it was one of the most disturbing scenes I’ve ever seen.”

You exchange glances with Nanami, who looks just as sick as you feel. You shudder. “The higher ups can’t be pleased. After all this time, a vessel for Sukuna has appeared in the form of a toddler that won't be able to fight the curse’s presence in his body.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head. “Weeell,” he stretches out, and you can see him cringe in anticipation.

Nanami speaks up. “Idiot. Please don’t tell me you did what I think you did.”

Gojo raises his hands in defense. “I haven't told the higher ups. Other than you two and Shoko, no one else knows. Oh, and Ijichi.”

“Satoru,” you never usually use his first name, but your voice is stern with warning, “this is irresponsible, even for you.”

Gojo looks frustrated with the way that you two are ganging up on him. “I'm telling you not so you can judge me, but so you can help. What do you think is going to happen if we tell the higher ups? They won’t hesitate to kill him. He's four, and he just lost the only family he had. I won’t let those old geezers kill him because they don’t give a shit that he's a baby.”

You frown. “I do want to help, but if Sukuna has taken over him, what can we do?”

“That’s the thing—after the initial moment when Yuji ate the cursed object and Sukuna took over, the curse hasn’t been able to control him. Shoko and I have been monitoring him for a few days now and Yuji is still…Yuji. Even at four, he’s so strong. If he can remain in control of himself, how could we ever let the higher ups have their way?” You notice how hard Gojo clenches his fists, so much so that his knuckles turn white. You can’t read his mind, but you can guess what he’s thinking about.

Nanami sets his tea down on the coffee table. “So, what then? You will have to keep him with you to ensure his safety, and the safety of everyone around him.”

Gojo’s shoulders tense noticeably, and the air crackles with his anger. “No. Under any other circumstance I would, of course I would. but I have Megumi and Tsumiki to think of. I will not put them in harm's way, I can't.”

You pull at your bottom lip. “So, this meeting…”

“You want one of us to take him in.” Nanami finishes your sentence. It makes sense, in hindsight. You and Nanami would never betray this secret to the higher ups and, as first grade sorcerers, both of your curse techniques are strong enough to handle Sukuna in his weakened state if it came down to it.

“I wouldn't ask if I thought I had any other choice. I know you barely tolerate me,” he glances at Nanami pointedly, “but I need your help.”

Nanami opens his mouth to respond. You know what his decision will be before he does.

“I can take him,” you say before Nanami can say anything. You know Nanami, and you know his selflessness. You also know that he left a life of sorcery for a reason, and you don’t want to make him come back if he doesn’t have to.

You can see the argument brewing in Nanami. “Your fiancé isn’t a sorcerer, so you shouldn’t feel forced to put him in harm's way. I can take Yuji in. It’s just me at home, anyways.”

You grimace at the mention of your fiancé—ex-fiancé. You hesitate to tell the two men about it. After all, it's been over a year since you broke off your relationship and you’d never said a word of it to anyone. “We’re not together anymore. Yuji can stay with me.”

Nanami looks surprised, and you try to avoid meeting his gaze. He must get the message, because he doesn't ask about it. “I trust you will be able to contain Sukuna if it becomes necessary, but I can help with the boy if you need me to. Toddlers are already a handful, let alone one that’s a vessel for Sukuna.”

You smile at him. “Hm, I might take you up on that, Kento. But don’t complain if I call you in the middle of your work day to change a diaper.”

Gojo tilts his head. “Pretty sure he’s potty trained by now.”

The three of you pause, realizing just how little you know about caring for a young child. “I guess I have some research ahead of me. Maybe you can give me tips, Mama Gojo.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny the nickname.

With everything settled, Gojo and Nanami move to leave. You hug them goodbye, making Nanami promise that he’ll be in touch more before letting him go. Gojo hovers by the door, throwing an arm around Nanami and saying, “Isn’t this nice? You and Nanami get to practice being mom and dad, since you’re raising him together!”

You slam the door shut in his face, and you can hear his muffled, “Did I say something wrong?”, to Nanami on the other side.

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

You spend the rest of the week preparing yourself and your apartment for Yuji’s arrival. You’ve definitely bought much more than you need, because you want to make sure that Yuji will like everything that you have for him.

Nanami is the one who drops Yuji off at your apartment. When you open the door for them, your heart melts at the sight of Yuji tucked behind Nanami’s leg. You crouch down to greet the little boy, laughing softly when he clings to Nanami’s pants shyly.

“Hi,” you say, “I’ve heard so much about you, Yuji.”

Even when you tell him your name, he’s hesitant to say anything to you. You tilt your head at the boy. “You’re three, right?”

Finally, he steps forward. “No! I’m four!”

You let out a fake gasp of surprise. “Oh, you're right! I should have known, you’re too tall to be three.”

He grins at you and puffs out his chest in pride. You stand up straight, and your eye catches Nanami. You look down at Yuji. “Would you like to see your room?”

He jumps up and grabs your hand. “Yes, please!”

He turns to Nanami and takes one of his fingers between his tiny fist. Waiting for you to lead the way, he bounces on the balls of his feet in excitement. You exchange shy smiles with Nanami before leading the two boys to Yuji’s new room. You let him take time to admire the room.

You picked out a red race car bed frame and a large city carpet to match. The room also has a bright painted mural of lush green hills and a smiling sun right above the bed. Yuji throws himself onto the Spider-Man bedsheets, pretending to make snow angels on it.

“How on Earth did you do all this in one week?” Nanami asks you, and you almost laugh at the look on his face.

You just shrug and tell him not to worry about it. His eyebrows furrow when he sees the disassembled baby crib hiding behind the door. His eyes meet yours, and you can see the question in them.

You shrug again. “Turns out I really had no idea how old four-year-olds actually are. Silly me.”

Yuji interrupts, which is fine, since you can’t stop embarrassing yourself in front of Nanami, “Excuse me. I’m hungry, Miss.”

“No problem, Yuji! I have dinner warmed up for us.”

You guide them both to the small kitchen table to eat, pulling out some plates and utensils and setting them down beside the pot of food.

“Will you join us?” Nanami, who’d been trailing behind the two of you, looks surprised at your question.

“Ah, I shouldn’t. I don’t want to impose.”

Yuji whines and wraps both of his arms around Nanami’s leg. “Please stay, Nanamin. Puh-lease.”

The two of you can’t help but laugh at the young boy’s antics.

“There’s plenty of food for the three of us,” you say, trying to tempt the salaryman to stay. For Yuji’s sake, of course. You know he’ll agree based on the way he smiles at Yuji and then at you. And he does, helping Yuji into his seat and then sitting down beside him at the boy’s insistence.

Yuji talks and talks through the meal, and he seems to paint the table with his food. Nanami helps wipe curry off of his cheeks. Yuji looks up at him with puppy dog eyes, and you can sense a request coming.

“Will you sleep over, Nanamin?”

Nanami sighs through his nose, and you know he’s struggling internally. You know, because you would too. “I can’t do that, I’m sorry.”

Yuji pouts and frowns down at his plate.

Nanami taps the point of Yuji’s nose to catch his attention. “But if you ever need anything, you can call me and I will always come. How does that sound?”

Yuji scrunches his face as he thinks about it. “Even if it’s silly?”

“Nothing you need will ever be silly, Yuji-kun.”

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

That first night, you wake up bleary eyed to Yuji standing shyly in the doorway to your bedroom. He clutches the wood between his fingers so tightly that you can hear the wood crack under his extraordinary strength.

“Yuji? Are you alright, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, and you turn your bedside lamp on quickly to see what the matter is. You can see tears tracking down his cheeks.

“I had a bad dream,” he says, and the crack in his voice is obvious, though he tries not to let it show.

After what Gojo told you of the scene that took place at the Itadori home, you can only imagine the nightmares that are plaguing his mind. You push your blanket off quickly so you can comfort him. “Do you want me to warm some milk for you? Or would you like me to tuck you back into bed?”

He looks up at you shyly. “May I have some milk, please?”

“Of course!”

You extend your hand to him, and he clutches your pointer and middle fingers in his tiny hand. You guide him to the kitchen, turning on the lamp for some soft lighting. Yuji refuses to leave your side as you prepare his milk. He wraps his arms around your leg tightly, resting his chubby cheek against the side of your leg.

Your heart tightens at the sight of such a small, traumatized boy. You run your fingers through his light pink hair carefully as you consider just how terrified this child is. Once his milk is ready and you’ve checked that it’s not too hot, you sit with Yuji at the kitchen table until he’s taken the last few sips of his milk.

His eyes droop sleepily and he rests his head on his tiny arms while trying not to show how tired he is. You collect his cup and rinse it with soap before leaving it on the rack to dry. Then, you focus on Yuji, who is half asleep at the table.

You lift him out of the chair. “Is this okay, Yuji?”

In response, he wraps his arms around your neck and burrows his face into your shirt. You spread your palm over his back, and you make a promise to yourself that no one will even hurt him again. Sukuna may be the king of curses, but he’ll never have Yuji’s body to control. Not even over your dead body.

You tuck Yuji into bed carefully, making sure that the nightlight is turned on. It shines light blue stars onto the wall that his bed is pressed against. Yuji stares at them with his tiny fists clutching the covers. Before you can think about leaving, he reaches his hand out to you. “Miss, can you stay? I’m scared.”

You don’t hesitate to sit beside him on the bed, letting him curl his body towards you. You run your hand through his hair and hum a melody you don't know the origin of until you’re sure that he’s fallen asleep. You frown and run your finger along one of the lines under his eyes. Your hand flies away when it peels open to reveal an eye. It must be Sukuna’s doing. At that realization, you feel anger rattle through your chest.

You lean forward and whisper, “If you ever hurt him again, I will kill you.”

The eye locks onto you, almost as if acknowledging your threat. You think for a moment that Sukuna might surface, but the eye rolls back and refuses to open again. You let out a shaky breath and press a gentle hand to Yuji’s messy hair.

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

Gojo helps you enroll Yuji in preschool, in the same class as Megumi. It was a hard decision for you to make, but ultimately, you think that he needs to grow up as a normal boy. In order to make sure Sukuna won’t be able to cause issues, you are able to take up a job as a teacher’s assistant in the class. Yuji loves school, and he’s even happier when he finds out you’re staying with him in the class.

You and Nanami do your best to give Yuji a good life and good memories. You’ve convinced Nanami to have dinner with you more often, and it helps to put Yuji on the phone and let him beg Nanami to come over. Nanami has never been able to deny Yuji, and you don’t mind the company at all. It makes you feel normal for once.

Yuji has been staying with you for a few months now, and Nanami has been an angel the entire time. Even though he doesn’t have to, he takes the two of you out over the weekend, to eat and to do different activities to help Yuji feel normal. He commits his time to you two, even though you know he’s probably exhausted from his job. So you feel like the least you can do is invite him to your place for a home cooked meal every Friday.

On one particular day at school, the students are drawing pictures of what makes them happy. You watch over them, complimenting all of their artworks. You almost burst out into a fit of laughter at the sight of Megumi’s drawing. There’s him and his sister right in the middle, with his demon dogs drawn on either side of the two siblings. But your favorite part is the tiny drawing of Gojo that Megumi’s drawn figure is standing on top of triumphantly. You snap a quick photo to send to Gojo later.

You compliment Nobara’s drawing next. She drew herself with giant muscles standing over a pile of beat up bodies. You smile down at the grinning girl. “Wow, Nobara! How creative!”

“Look at mine!” Yuji calls to you, pride evident in his voice. He holds his drawing up so you can see.

“Oh, Yuji! This is–” You pause to take in the drawing. The background mimics the mural that’s painted in his room. You recognize his figure, with bright pink representing his hair. Emotion clogs your throat when you see that he’s drawn himself hand in hand with a figure that you think is yourself. The drawing looks a little scary, but it's so sweet that you can’t take offense.

“This is wonderful, Yuji, I love it! Wow, you’ve captured my spirit so well!” He grins at your praise. You notice another figure in the background hidden behind…jail bars?

“Who’s that?” You ask, worried that it might be Sukuna scaring the boy again.

“It’s Nanamin. I drew him in his celery job.” You press your hand to your mouth to hold back a laugh and study the drawn version of your friend.

Yuji continues his explanation. “See, we’re going to save him! Can we see him soon?” He asks shyly.

You run your hand over his hair. “I’ll ask him, okay? Here, let me show him your amazing art, so he knows how much we miss him.”

you: your friend misses you

you: saving you from work is what makes him happiest

Nanami: Wow.

Nanami: He made the drawing look just like you.

you: oh fuck off

you: would you like to come over for dinner?

you: yuji reeeally misses you

Nanami: Just Yuji?

you: yes

Nanami: Oh really?

you: okay maybe we both miss you

Nanami: How about this Friday? I’ll actually be off of work at a reasonable hour.

you: yayyy!

you: is there anything specific you want to eat?

Nanami: Everything you make is delicious

you: wow, a man after my own heart

Nanami: …

Nanami: I’ll see you on Friday.

you: see you thennn :)

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

Since school lets out early on Fridays, you take Yuji with you to go grocery shopping for tonight’s dinner. Yuji helps you pick out everything from the grocery list from his seat in the shopping cart.

The last thing you expect is the rough call of your name.

When you look up from the tomatoes that you’re looking over, your stomach drops at the sight of your ex-fiancé. His eyes flicker between you and Yuji, and you can see the disgust settling on his face.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, and you cringe at the way his voice rises.

“Takuya.” You do your best to stay civil when you acknowledge him, but it feels more like calming a rabid animal. Not a lot has changed, then.

“No, it’s fine,” he turns as if to walk away, but of course he can’t walk away. He’s never been able to do that, except to walk away from your relationship nearly two years ago. “It’s just…you had all that shit to say, but now you’re walkin’ around with a kid. He's—what—five? Are you serious? Are you fucking serious?”

You place a comforting hand over Yuji’s arm and turn the cart so that your entire body is blocking Takuya’s view of Yuji. “Watch your language. You don’t get to act like this when you don’t know anything about the situation. But I guess it never matters, not when you always make up your mind before I speak a single word.”

He takes a step closer. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. You cheated, didn’t you? You hid this bastard kid and you blamed everything on me so that you could start fresh. It wasn’t fucking health issues, you killed my baby.”

He's all up in your face now, pointing an accusing finger at you. You’re not intimidated by him, you’ve never been thanks to the power you know is thrumming underneath your skin.

But Yuji whimpers, “Mama?”

You blink at the new title, looking back at the little boy. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he stares at Takuya with a curl at his lip. Sukuna’s eye twitches from its spot on his face. You maneuver your shopping cart away from Takuya.

“Don’t ever speak to me again. I won’t tolerate any of your insecure spiraling,” you tell him firmly, before disappearing down an aisle and heading straight to the check-out queue.

You pay and leave as quickly as you can, and you notice Yuji’s concern as you clip him into his booster seat. You tap his nose to get his attention. “Hey, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’d never let him—or anyone—hurt you.”

But of course, Yuji brings it up during dinner that evening to Nanami. The little tattletale drags out every excruciating detail of the encounter, talking about the scary man who screamed at you and tried to hurt you. You cringe as he somehow manages to make it sound worse than it actually was. You blame yourself for not shielding him from it better.

Nanami’s head snaps to you. “What?”

Your hand tightens around your fork as you push your food around your plate. You look over at Nanami and mouth, Later, staring pointedly at Yuji. His jaw clenches, but he nods.

After Yuji takes his bath and gets tucked into bed, you pour Nanami and yourself glasses of red wine and sit at the couch to unwind.

“What was Yuji talking about earlier?” Nanami wastes no time in asking.

You sigh and take a long sip of wine. “We bumped into my ex at the store. Takuya and I…we didn’t end things in a good place. He blamed me for the whole relationship falling apart.”

You down the rest of your wine and place the empty glass on the coffee table. You pull your knees up to your chest. “And…I guess he was right in a way.”

Nanami looks like he wants to argue, but he stays silent and lets you speak. You puff out a breath. “We found out we were pregnant a few months before he broke off the engagement. I was so happy. We both were. We were gonna have a little girl.” Your hand goes to your stomach instinctually.

“I–I didn’t know that my uterus was broken.” You spit the word out like it’s poison. “I lost the baby in the second month. I thought at first it was my curse technique, maybe it saw the fetus as a threat. But no, it was just genetics. So pathetic.”

Nanami has his arms around you and he’s wiping away tears you don’t remember shedding. “Don’t say that, sweetheart. You are not broken. And no matter what that asshole says, it is not your fault. I’m sorry that you had to go through it alone.”

You sniffle into his shoulder, pressing into his comforting hold. “It was so hard, not telling anyone. But I felt so weak, and I was too much of a coward to face any of you.”

Nanami pulls back to look at you. He cradles your cheek in his hand. “You are the strongest sorcerer and the strongest woman I have the pleasure of l– of knowing. A difficult situation does not make you weak.”

You let out a wet laugh. “Don’t let Gojo hear you say that.”

Nanami doesn’t hesitate. “It’s the truth. I’ll scream it from the rooftop so he can hear me if you like.”

You shake your head. “I just hate that Yuji had to hear all of it. Takuya saw him and he…he just exploded. I guess he assumed Yuji was biologically mine, and he figured that I lied about not being able to have kids so that I could break off the engagement without it being my fault. He scared Yuji really badly.”

Nanami's jaw tenses. “Did he lay a hand on either of you? Because I swear, I’ll–”

You shake your head. “No, I made sure he didn’t. Actually, I was more worried that Yuji would use Sukuna’s cursed energy to wipe him off the face of the earth. He–” you smile at the memory from earlier. “Yuji called me Mama. Can you believe it?”

You lay your head against Nanami’s chest. He pets the back of your head gently. “He really loves you.”

You lift your head to look at him. “He loves you too. It always feels so incomplete here without you. Like…like a piece of this puzzle is always missing when you’re not around.”

You notice then that your face is really close to Nanami’s. Your eyes drag from his lips up to his eyes, only to find him already staring at you. You lean forward a few centimeters, and that small bit of movement snaps Nanami out of his trance. He untangles your bodies quickly, clearing his throat. Your heart drops in disappointment, and you’re embarrassed that your desire made you act so irrationally that you would make him so uncomfortable.

“We shouldn’t,” he says softly.

“Sorry,” you mutter, blinking rapidly. “I…I don’t know why I–”

Nanami murmurs your name, but you absolutely cannot handle that right now, so you change course. You stand quickly and collect both of your empty wine glasses to leave in the sink for tomorrow.

“I… I should go.” Nanami says, but he doesn’t move yet.

You turn away from him so that you’re facing the sink. “You can stay the night. It’s well past midnight, and I know you’re no lightweight but you had a bit to drink earlier.”

He hesitated for a moment, but when you turn back around to face him, he nods in agreement.

You think on autopilot. “The couch pulls out into a mattress, but you can have the bed if you want. I think Takuya left some sweats that might fit. I–I’ll go find those.”

Nanami calls your name, but you turn away. Coward. “Don’t, Ken.”

You find a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that looks large enough. You lay them on the pulled out mattress alongside a pillow and a thick blanket while Nanami is in the bathroom. You go to bed quickly after that, just taking a moment to check on Yuji in his bed. He’s fast asleep, and the sight of him helps you relax slightly.

The next morning, you opt to make pancakes for breakfast. Nanami joins you silently while you cook. He starts a pot of coffee and takes over cooking the turkey bacon and eggs while you cut fruit. Neither of you say a word.

You clean up the dishes in the sink while you wait for Yuji to wake up. Nanami dries while you sponge and wash. Once you’ve cleaned the last dish, he turns off the water and dries his hands on a towel before handing it to you.

He whispers your name, in the honey-smooth way that he always does. Does he know that you’d do anything he asked with just a single word? His fingers tilt your chin so that you’re forced to look at him. His eyes flicker down and then back up to meet your own. He moves forward a centimeter before pausing and pulling back his hand slightly.

Your heart jumps, and you frown. “You’re a cruel man, Kento.”

His thumb caresses your skin. “I…I’ve wanted you for so long, and I don’t want to ruin this balance. What if it doesn’t work out? How will it affect Yuji?”

“Kiss me,” you beg him, leaning forward to brush your nose against his jaw. “For once, don’t think, Ken. Please,” you whisper into his ear.

His hand cups your jaw firmly and he leans his head forward to mold his lips against yours, pressing deliciously into your desperate mouth. Your hand drags up his undercut, scraping your nails against the back of his head until your hand digs into his longer strands of hair. You feel his hands travel down until they wrap comfortably around your waist, as if they’re meant to fit there.

He lifts you up suddenly onto the counter, causing you to laugh against his mouth. His large hands wrap around your knees, kneading up gently into the plush of your thighs. His nose travels from your rapidly rising and falling chest to your neck to the corner of your mouth, until he can press destinationless kisses anywhere he can reach.

“I’m leaving my job,” he mutters into your mouth.

You pull back to stare at him. “You’re…what?”

He dips his head into the crook of your neck. “I talked to Gojo about it. I’m going to be a sorcerer again.”

Your heart stutters, and even though you know Nanami is more than capable of doing so, you can’t help but worry for him. “Oh? Why now?”

“I want to be around more, and I want to protect you and Yuji. I hate sorcery as much as I hate being a salaryman, but at least I’ll be able to help people more than I do now.”

You drag your hands through his hair, watching him shut his eyes and tilt his head back. You hum, staring down at him. “Hm. I can get used to seeing you here all the time.”

He peels his eyes open and stares at you through lidded eyes. There’s a soft smile on his face. “Yeah?”

You laugh giddily, holding his cheeks between your hands. “How could this ever ruin us?”

He hums. “Right as always, dear.”

“Mama?” You pull your face away from Nanami quickly.

Yuji is standing in the kitchen’s doorway, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Nanami helps you down off the counter without a word. You meet Yuji halfway, lifting him up and swinging him around happily. Nanami places the plates of food at the center of the table.

“Yujiii! Look at the funny face me and Nanamin made for you out of pancakes and fruit!”

You sit him into his seat, watching his face light up in delight at the plate Nanami places in front of him.

He gives each of you a look of suspicion, narrowing his eyes. “Does that mean you’re gonna get married now?”

You stutter. “Yuji!”

He looks at you bashfully. “Gojo-san said you’re gonna be married soon.”

You sigh. “Oh, honey. Gojo likes to tease us all a lot, hm?”

Yuji pouts and grasps your hand. “Oh, please marry Nanamin, Mama. Please, please, please.”

You laugh, glancing over at nanami who shares your mirth. “Maybe one day, Yuji.”

He cheers and looks over at Nanami. “And then can I call you Papa?”

Nanami looks stunned. He looks to you for guidance, and you smile encouragingly. He places his hand on Yuji's shoulder gently. “If you like, Yuji-kun. You can call me Papa whenever you like.”

Yuji grins, showing off his gap-tooth smile. He lifts his hands in the air. “Pa-pa-min! Pa-pa-min!”

Nanami’s hand covers your own through the rest of the meal, refusing to lose contact with you for even a moment. It takes almost a full minute of feeling his touch against the back of your hand to notice that he’s absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb along your finger right where a wedding ring would be.

You sigh, happier than ever. Yeah, you can get used to this kind of life.

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

#nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x you #nanami x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x y/n #nanami x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #nanami kento fanfic #nanami kento fanfiction #nanami fanfic #nanami fanfiction #nanami kento fluff #mywriting

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holdinsteddie · 1 day ago

Text

prompt: dress

(originally posted on my bluesky here)

The first time Eddie caught Steve wearing a dress, he hadn’t been sure how to react at first.

Hellfire had finished early, and he’d decided to surprise Steve with some takeout from the cheap Chinese place downtown.

He’d walked into the trailer to hear ABBA blasting from his room, and with a fond roll of his eyes, he’d gone down to his room to greet Steve, only to stop short.

Instead of his usual polo and jeans combo, Steve was wearing a dress.

It was a short-sleeved pastel thing, with the hem going to just below Steve’s knees, and a collar and buttons going down the front.

Steve must not have heard him come in because he hadn’t looked away from his reflection in Eddie’s mirror, bottom lip caught in his teeth.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Steve?”

Steve jumped about a foot in the air, turning to look at Eddie with so much terror in his eyes that Eddie’s heart broke.

“Fuck! Eddie, I— it’s not— please don’t—“

Eddie didn’t hesitate to cross the room and cradle Steve’s face in his hands.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, Stevie, it’s okay. Just take some deep breaths for me, Darling, everything’s okay, I promise.”

“Eddie,” Steve pleaded, gripping Eddie’s wrists like a lifeline. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t—“

Eddie cuts Steve off with a kiss to his forehead. “Stevie, baby, don’t apologize. Don’t apologize, okay?” Tears have started leaking out of Steve’s closed eyes, each one giving a viscious tug to Eddie’s heartstrings. “Baby, can you look at me? Please?”

It takes a moment before Steve sniffs and opens his eyes, more tears dripping down his cheeks as he looks at Eddie with trepidation. Eddie wipes them away with his thumbs as he murmurs, “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” Steve croaks back.

Eddie gives him a gentle grin. For a moment, Eddie doesn’t say anything else, just continues to hold Steve’s face in his palms and wipe away the tears that continue to fall. Steve looks less terrified now, but there’s a sort of sad resignation taking over his expression that Eddie absolutely hates.

Eddie makes sure to keep his eyes locked on Steve’s, meaning every word as he says, “I think your dress is really pretty, Stevie.”

A million and one expressions flash across Steve’s face in the span of a moment. “What?”

“Do you think it’s pretty?”

Eddie watches Steve search his expression like he’s trying to figure out what the right answer is supposed to be.

“Eds,” Steve starts, “I’m not supposed to—“

“Ah ah ah, nope,” Eddie cuts in. “I don’t give a fuck about ‘supposed to’. I give a fuck about you.” Eddie presses another gentle kiss to Steve’s forehead. “So tell me, and be honest, baby — do you think the dress is pretty?”

Steve’s hands are shaking where he continues to hold on to Eddie’s wrists. “Yes,” he whispers.

“And do you like wearing it?”

Steve closes his eyes and nods like the admission is a death sentence.

“Then that’s all that matters, baby,” Eddie promises, tucking Steve’s face into his neck and pulling Steve into a tight embrace. He uses one hand to cradle the back of Steve’s head and uses his other arm to wrap around Steve’s back, rubbing a comforting hand up and down his shaking back.

“If wearing dresses makes you happy, then I’m gonna buy you all the dresses you want, okay? Gonna have the prettiest baby in all of Hawkins.”

Steve makes a wounded noise, and Eddie holds him tighter, not letting go until they’re both tired of standing. Even then, he only detaches long enough to get Steve comfortably situated in his bed before he’s once again wrapping himself around Steve. They stay the night like that, takeout long forgotten as Eddie whispers reassurances until they fall asleep.

Two weeks later, Eddie hands Steve a shopping bag with a quick “got you something” and watches with his heart in his throat as Steve pulls out the yellow dress Eddie found for him at the discount clothing store. The moment he’d seen it, it had immediately reminded him of Steve and his favorite yellow sweater, and he’d bought it for Steve without even thinking about it.

Steve hasn’t really moved since he realized what he was holding, just stared at the dress before slowly rubbing the white lace trim with his thumb and pointer finger.

Eddie is so scared of messing this up, of having already messed it up, that he chokes back the avalanche of words trying to spill out of his mouth.

After another long moment of silence, Steve finally says something.

“You meant it?”

“Huh?”

Steve swallows visibly. “When you— when you said it was okay that I liked—“ Steve takes a fortifying breath. “That I like to wear dresses, and that it’s okay if it makes me happy.” Steve finally looks at Eddie, eyes full of shock and hope. “You meant it?”

“Of course I meant it,” Eddie promises. He finally lets himself move, striding forward and tucking Steve against his chest. “Stevie, baby, I love you so much and I just want you to be happy.”

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s back and squeezes so hard that it hurts, but Eddie doesn’t say anything. Just keeps holding Steve until Steve eventually pulls back, surreptitiously wiping his eyes before leaning his head on Eddie’s shoulder and looking down at the dress resting in his lap.

“The yellow is really pretty,” Steve murmurs.

Eddie hums in agreement. “Made me think of you the moment I laid eyes on it.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Eddie presses a kiss to Steve’s temple, letting his lips linger there as he murmurs, “my pretty little sunshine.”

send me a 📝 and a one-word prompt and i will try and write a lil microfic for you!

#steddie #steddie au #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #crossdressing #i just think that steve should get to wear pretty dresses if he wants to #this queue slays dragons

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lunarlilacmoon · 1 day ago

Note

first I want to say I ABSOLUTELY LOVE Your stories and I have a request for Larissa and fem reader basically just smut with minimal plot and this takes place in her bedroom 😭😭

Smut with minimal plot is my favorite flavor!! Here you go lovely!!

Belong to Who?

Larissa Weems x reader

Warnings: literally like no plot just porn, mommy kink, heavy overstimulation, eating out (both), pussy slapping, dom Larissa, sub reader. Not proof read so sorry for any misspelling and apologizes if I forgot any warnings.

Summary: Larissa had an administrative meeting in the board room after the school day and you just couldn’t wait that long.

God knew how much longer her meeting would be and after everything she did to me this morning besides finishing me was making time drag longer. I’d been miserable all day waiting for her and what do I get at the end of the day!? A fucking sticky note on her desk when I walk in that said she’ll be in a meeting and she doesn’t know how long!

So here I am in our bedroom and I keep eyeing the bottom night stand drawer going back and forth. Larissa’s warning ringing in my ears.

“Your pussy belongs to me. I don’t ever and I mean ever want to catch you fucking yourself without my permission.” She growled while eating me out.

The thought of her eating my out had me digging in the drawer for the vibrator. It’s only been 30 minutes she surely would be there at least ten more!

I turned the vibrator on high and pulled my pants off. I placed it on my clothed clit and gasp out immediately imagining it was Larissa. I laid back on her pillows so her scent would surround me.

“Please Rissa!” I gasped and my hips bucked already chasing an orgasm.

I let myself come undone a few times before turning it off panting.

“Who said to stop?” Larissa’s voice came from the door and I let out a short scream.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” She huffed.

I scrambled to sit up tossing the vibrator a few inches from me.

“I-i um see I-”

“Broke a rule?” She answered with a raised brow.

“You got me so worked up this morning and I waited all day for you and you were gone when I got to your office! I wasn’t sure how long you’d take and I just- I couldn’t wait any longer.” I whined rubbing my thighs together.

“Oh so now it’s my fault, huh? A rule breaker and can’t even take accountability for it!” She let out a short laugh closing into the end of the bed.

“No! No, that’s not what I meant Rissa and you know that!” I scrambled.

“I don’t think I do darling.” She cocked her head to the side.

“Rissa-”

“Keep going.” She said flatly smirking.

“What!”

“Did I stutter? No. Pick up the vibrator and keep going.” Her smirk never left her face.

With a shaky hand I grabbed the vibrator turning it on. I looked back up at Larissa who just looked at me expectantly.

This was embarrassing! I mean sure she’s seen me in literally every position but something about have her full attention while I did all the work, she could see everything fully.

“Ris-”

“I didn’t ask for commentary.” She spoke coolly.

I whine before laying the vibrator softly on my clit. I let out a light gasp hips bucking. I was already a little sensitive from my previous play.

“Rissa please!” I begged wanting her hands on me.

I pressed the vibrator harder against my my core, my elbows buckled and I landed on her pillow arching my back. I was close.

“Stop.” Her voice cut through my euphoria and I looked at her shocked.

“Wha-”

“I said stop. Now.” She growled reaching forward and pulling the vibrator from my hands.

“No! No,no,no,no! Please no!” I whined reaching unsuccessfully for the vibrator.

“Oh yes, yes, yes, yes.” She mocked.

“Now go again.” She threw the vibrator back at me.

- - -

About and hour had gone by of her forcing me to teeter on the edge before she ripped it away.

“Mo-mommy please!” Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Aww you’re so pretty when you cry though.” She teased.

“Please please!” I begged.

Suddenly two of her finger thrusted into me and I came instantly.

I shrieked body convulsing and cum spraying.

“M’ sorry.” I sobbed from the orgasm.

Without speaking she took the vibrator from my hand and pressed it against my clit harshly.

“OH FUCK!” I screamed back arching.

My hands flew to push her away but it was no use. She rubbed the vibrator on my clit while she thrusted inside of me mercilessly.

“FUCK!” I came again.

“Yeah there we go pretty girl! Since you want to be such a slut let’s see how much you can take? Huh!? How much can my little slut take before I break her completely?”

She didn’t change her pace or pressure after my second orgasm and my body was squirming to get away from her.

“Oh no you don’t,” She smirked before pulling away briefly to pull her panties down her legs. She straddled my face, creamy thighs on either side of my cheeks. “You’re going to eat me out until I cum and maybe I’ll stop making you cum after. Maybe.” She said before plunging her fingers back into my pussy. I was expecting the vibrator as the buzzing was loud in my ear but suddenly her hot mouth was on my swollen sensitive clit. Her tongue swirling circles on it.

“OH SHIT! FUCK! PLEASE! FUCK NO! I-”

“Better start using that mouth for something more useful cause I won’t even think about slowing down till I cum.” She hissed between my lips.

I whined and I dove into her pussy. Her moan vibrating against my clit making my hips buck. I placed my hands on her hips and started licking and sucking on her clit the way she liked. I moved to put my fingers in her but she scolded me.

“Work for it pretty girl.”

So I dove in like a woman starved. I laid kitten licks against her clit before sucking harshly. Her hips rolled against my face and I knew I was doing good.

“MM’ M!!” My moans were muffled in her pussy as I came again.

Her tongue moved from my clit to my whole lapping up my juices. I couldn’t take another orgasm so I started moving my head side to side quickly to get a quicker friction on her clit.

“Oh shit!! Yeah fuck!” She moaned grinding herself on my face.

She sat up using the bed to hold her weight as she rode my face.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum all over your fucking face!” She screamed landing quick slaps to my clit.

I screamed into her pussy not stopping my licking and she screamed out cuming all over my face from the extra vibrations.

“Oh fuck darling! That was so fucking good!” She panted. “I’ve worked up such the appetite and I’m sure a needy slut like you wouldn’t mind.” She laughed before her mouth landed back on my clit and I started sobbing.

#lesbian smut #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #wednesday netflix #wlw smut #larissa weems x y/n #reader insert smut #dommy mommy larissa

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visualtaehyun · 1 day ago

Text

TNP EP.9 language annotations & novel extras ✨

This one got so long that I put most of it under a Read More 🥴

As always, I'm making my previous annotations (EP.1, EP.2, EP.3, EP.4, EP.5, EP.6, Ep.8) required reading for explanations of pronouns and expressions so that I can just skip over them here 🙂‍↕️ Pronouns presented in a format such as ผม/คุณ /pom, khun/ are meant to be understood as "I/you".

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

Duty vs. Love

นอกจากตัวนินแล้ว อย่าเชื่อใจคนอื่นเกินไป แม้แต่พี่ /naawk-jaak dtuaa Nin laaeo, yaa cheuaa-jai khohn-euun geern-bpai - maae dtaae phi/ = Aside from yourself, don't be too trusting of/put too much trust in other people - not even me.

Nin: ถ้าสักวันพี่ต้องเลือกระหว่างนินกับหน้าที่ พี่ก็คงไม่เลือกนินใช่ไหม /thaa sak-wan phi dtaawng leuuak ra-waang Nin gap naa-thee, phi gaaw khohng mai leuuak Nin, chai mai/ = If one day you had to choose between me and [your] duty, you probably wouldn't choose me, right?

- Ran: นินมั่นใจได้ยังไง ว่าพี่จะปกป้องนินได้ทุกครั้ง พี่ยังไม่ไว้ใจตัวเองเลย /Nin man-jai dai yang ngai? waa phi ja bpohk-bpaawng Nin dai took-khrang? phi yang mai wai-jai dtuaa-ehng loei/ = How can you be certain? That I'll be able to protect you every time? I don't even trust myself. - Nin: 'เป็นห่วง' ยอมรับมาเถอะว่าพี่เป็นห่วงนิน /'bpen huaang'. yaawm-rap maa thuh waa phi bpen huaang Nin/ = [You're] worried about/care about [me]. Just admit that you're worried about/care about me!

Ran: รับด้วยเกล้าพ่ะย่ะค่ะ /rap duay glaao pha-ya-kha/ Wasin: น้อมรับด้วยเกล้าพ่ะย่ะค่ะ /naawm rap duay glaao pha-ya-kha/

-> this isn't the first or last time ด้วยเกล้า /duay glaao/ shows up, I just wanted to mention that it's very similar to กระหม่อม /gra-maawm/ in that เกล้า /glaao/ literally means 'head' -> ด้วยเกล้าด้วยกระหม่อม /duay glaao, duay gra-maawm/ = with utmost respect

The king talking about Earl Grey tea again is similar to a scene from the novels, though it plays out quite differently: The day after RanNin's first time (which is the art room NC scene from the upcoming episode actually, so this might be an unintended spoiler again 🤡), they both return to the palace because the King urgently summons Charan. Here's that scene from Ch.36 - if you'd prefer to skip it for potential spoilers or for length, it starts and ends with this same divider:

Charan met the king in the tea room, a familiar atmosphere, except for a different feeling this time. Perhaps because Charan had never broken any rules or done anything behind Thipokbowon's back, he now felt like someone with a guilty conscience... "Sit down," the elderly figure permitted after Charan respectfully greeted him. The table in front of them was devoid of tea cups, snacks, or the usual almond cookie jar. "Thank you, Your Majesty." "Khanin went to study art at Morpheus, didn't he?" Thipokbowon didn't waste time. The king got straight to the point, and just the first question made the listener feel strangely guilty. "Yes, Your Majesty... Last Night, there was a storm, so I had Young Master stay at Pitakdeva. I apologize for..." Charan intended to apologize, but the king didn't wait for him to finish. [...] "It seems that during the times when I'm not well, someone has changed." "..." "I don't want to interfere, but it seems the atmosphere in the palace has changed a bit lately." "Do you mean..." "I just want to make sure that you're still the same person I know." "I'm still the same person, Your Majesty," Charan replied softly, his eyes dropping to his lap unintentionally. His demeanor made the observer narrow his eyes. Despite his age, the ruler's gaze remained as sharp as ever. "If you are the same person, then answer me clearly... Are you and Khanin truly in love?" Charan believed Thipokbowon had known this for a long time but chose not to speak directly. In this country, no one associated with the Assavadevathin could escape the watchful eyes of this great tiger. "Yes, Your Majesty," the young man didn't take long to think. He looked up and answered without hesitation, meeting the eyes of the person in front of him, waiting to hear what the other wanted to convey and figuring out how to prepare. "I'm not trying to stop you, but I want you to be aware of one truth..." Charan followed the wrinkled hand of the person who'd raised him since childhood. Thipokbowon used his hand to signal someone nearby. Shortly, two maidservants walked in with two cups of tea and placed them in front of Charan. "..." The young man watched the maidservants carefully pour the tea into both cups. The faint aroma indicated the type of tea in each cup. Usually, when he had a private audience in this room, Charan would have to prepare the tea himself from home, waiting for orders from the ruler. If it was Oolong tea, it meant a mission was to be carried out. If it was Chamomile tea, it meant there was a casual conversation. But this time, the tea served in front of him was prepared by the king himself. Chamomile and Earl Grey tea was now left for Charan to choose from. Once, Earl Grey tea meant an order to bring someone back from England. So, this time, it probably meant the same person. Earl Grey tea was Khanin...

"Khanin can't leave the Assavadevathin. He must be the heir."

"..."

"And if that's the case... for you to stay here by Khanin's side means you can't abandon the Pitakdeva family either." What the king said was entirely true. Those with royal blood were born with responsibilities and duties that could never be avoided.

Thipokbowon had never interfered with Charan's life choices. The supreme ruler had given him one mission, which had been successfully completed.

Once the competition was over, Charan would be free, unbound as he'd always dreamed.

He wanted to get far away from Pitakdeva, away from his mother's position... to avoid the painful memories associated with her.

However, loving Khanin was disrupting Charan's life plan.

"..."

"I never intended to hold you back, but this time, I must speak to you directly. If you want to stay with Khanin, you must force yourself not to abandon Pitakdeva."

At nearly thirty years old, Charan knew his life had never been easy. The heavy feeling, like a large stone pressing down, made it hard for someone with responsibilities to breathe.

"..."

"But if you choose to leave, then leave everything here."

"..." Charan stared at the two cups of tea in front of him with discomfort. The immense pressure was too much to bear. His hands clenched tightly as he though. The young man remained silent, waiting for some words from the person in front of him before the other stood up and left.

"You don't have to decide now, Charan. We still have plenty of time until the competition ends. But once you choose, you must accept the consequences."

Thipokbowon was right. Khanin was the heir, and Charan couldn't be just an ordinary person...

'I'll protect you just like you protect me. No more Assavadevathin or Pitakdeva, just Charan and Khanin... do you understand?'

Khanin's words from that night were still etched in Charan's mind. [...]

-> เสรีภาพ /seh-ree-phaap/ = liberty

In their conversation on the balcony, they stick to ราชาศัพท์ /raa-chaa-sap/ and how Nin should speak as a royal:

- Ran: ฝ่าบาท... /faa-baat/ = Your Royal Highness... - Nin: เราหนีมาสงบสติอารมณ์อยู่คนเดียวเล่าอะ /rao nee maa sa-ngohp sa-dtee aa-rohm yuu khohn diao a/ = I fled here to calm down alone! - Ran: ท่านชายทรงทราบดีอยู่แล้ว [...] /than-chaai sohng saap dee yuu laaeo/ = Your Royal Highness is well aware/knows full well […]

...until Ran makes a choice:

ถ้านินอยากจะรู้ งั้นพี่จะหาคำตอบมาให้ /thaa Nin yaak ja ruu, ngan phi ja haa kham-dtaawp maa hai/ = If you want to know then I'll get the answer (for you).

CalvinJay

Nin: เจ้ชายคาลวินรู้จักกับเจย์ด้วยหรอ /jao-chaai Calvin ruu-jak gap Jay duay raaw/ = You're acquainted with Jay, Prince Calvin?

เรามีเรื่องรู้สึกผิดกับเจย์ /rao mee reuaang ruu-seuk phit gap Jay/ = There is something I feel guilty about regarding Jay.

Nin: เรื่องแบบนี้อะ ปล่อยให้คนที่เรารู้สึกพิเศษด้วยรู้จากคนอื่นไม่ดีหรอก /reuaang baaep nee-a, bplaawy hai khohn thee rao ruu-seuk phi-seht duay ruu jaak khohn-euun mai dee raawk/ = In matters like this, letting someone you feel special about/have special feelings for find out from someone else isn't good.

Calvin's mother: อย่าทำอะไรที่ไม่สมควรอีก /yaa tham a-rai thee mai sohm-khuaan eek/ = Don't do anything inadvisable again.

-> ไม่สมควร /mai sohm-khuaan/ = improper, unbecoming, unseemly, inappropriate, unbefitting, unsuitable

แต่ผมรู้สึกดีกับคุณมาก ๆ /dtaae pom ruu-seuk dee gap khun maak maak/ = But I really do have feelings for you.

-> รู้สึกดีกับ(ใครสักคน) /ruu-seuk dee gap (khrai sak kohn)/ = lit. to feel good with/about (someone); to have (good) feelings for (someone)

ถ้าทำให้เรื่องของเราสองคนชัดเจนขึ้น คุณจะว่าอะไรไหม /thaa tham hai reuuang khaawng rao saawng khohn chat-jehn kheun, khun ja waa a-rai mai/ = If [we/I?] made things clearer between us, would you mind?

คุณไม่คิดว่า.... ผมจะเป็นห่วงคุณบ้างหรอ /khun mai khit waa... pom ja bpen huaang khun baang raaw/ = You don't/didn't think... I might be worried about/care about you?

Ramil's fury

with the traitorous guard: กู/มึง /guu, meung/

with his father, while on hologram call: กระหม่อม /gra-maawm/ + พ่ะย่ะค่ะ /pha-ya-kha/

with Thipokbowon: กระหม่อม/เสด็จปู่ /gra-maawm, sa-deht bpuu/ + พ่ะย่ะค่ะ /pha-ya-kha/ (Thipokbowon: ปู่/หลาน /bpuu, laan/)

จะให้ไว้ใจคนอยางมึงได้ยังไง /ja hai wai-jai khohn yaang meung dai yang ngai/ = How could/why would [I] trust someone like you?

Rachata: ไอ้เฒ่ามันกำลังป่วยอยู่พอดี /ai'thao man gam-lang bpuaay yuu phaaw-dee/ = That old geezer/that damn old man happens to be sick at the moment.

-> nothing new here, Rachata routinely calls the king the equivalent of an old fart and refers to him with the impolite 3rd pers. pronoun มัน /man/, I just wanted to point it out once

ในเมื่อเราก็รู้ดีอะ ว่ามันเป็นฝีมือของไอ้พวก— อัศวเทวาธินทร์ /nai meuua rao gaaw ruu dee a! waa man bpen fee-meuu khaawng ai'phuuak— Assavadevathin/ = When we know full well that it's those damn— Assavadevathins' doing!

Nin's fury, or: Truth and Trust

Nin: ไม่ตอบแปลว่า จริง ใช่ไหมพี่รัณ /mai dtaawp blaae waa jing, chai mai, phi Ran/ = No answer means it's true, right, P'Ran? Nin: แม้แต่อัศวเทวาธินทร์เองนินก็ไว้ใจไม่ได้จริง ๆ /maae dtaee Assavadevathin ehng Nin gaaw wai-jai mai dai jing jing/ = Even Assavadevathin itself I can't really trust.

Nin: ถ้าเสด็จปู่ว่าเช่นนั้น หลานก็เข้าใจแล้วพ่ะย่ะค่ะ /thaa sa-deht bpuu waa chen nan, laan gaaw khao-jai laaeo pha-ya-kha/ = If you say so, Grandfather, then I shall understand.

Thipokbowon: [...] ทำตามที่เราบอก /tham-dtaam thee rao baawk/

-> using the royal เรา /rao/? this is King Thipokbowon speaking, not Tharin's father 🫠 he also calls Tharin เจ้า /jao/ instead of his usual แก /gae/ in this conversation, which is starting to look like shorthand for 'I'm the authority figure here', he does so with Ran and Nin too sometimes

google search: Assavadevathin mine, dead (people) twitter search: lung cancer, Assavadevathin mine ↳ Joylife - "[I] confirm/assure that it's true. Someone close [to me] has lung cancer and is close to dying because of working here." + picture: "Dust" from operating the mines has resulted in more people suffering from lung cancer ↳ Bibifern - "My relative went from being a healthy person to someone suffering from lung cancer. Who's gonna take responsibility?" ↳ Undersea - Good people have to get sick, close to dying, because of those in power who are only out for themselves ↳ Meenagirl - Even [as] someone not related to [this] family, [I am] furious! Do [we] need to wait for everyone to die or what?! ↳ newworld - Feeling so down seeing this. How many more have to die?

When Nin bursts into the room unannounced, both him and the king are still on familiar terms, meaning Nin uses หลาน/เสด็จปู่ /laan, sa-deht bpuu/ and Thipokbowon refers to himself as ปู่ /bpuu/ as well. That changes when Nin suggests that Assavadevathin, and by implication the king, are being dishonest:

Thipokbowon: เจ้าเป็นอัศวเทวาธินทร์นะคณินทร์ /jao bpen Assavadevathin na, Khanin/ = You're an Assavadevathin, Khanin! - แต่เจ้าไม่เชื่อไม่ไว้วางใจสายเลือดเดียวกันอย่างพ่อเจ้างั้นเรอะ /dtaae jao mai cheuua, mai wai-waang-jai saai leuuat diao gan yaang por jao, ngan ruh/ = Yet you don't believe in, don't put your trust in [someone of] your own bloodline like your father, is that so? Nin: กระหม่อมเพียงต้องการตรวจสอบความจริงให้แน่ชัด— /gra-maawm piiang dtaawng gaan druaat-saawp khwaam-jing hai naae-chat—/ = I only wish to ascertain the plain truth—

Nin: ทนฟังความจริงไม่ได้หรือพ่ะย่ะค่ะ /thohn fang khwaam-jing mai dai reuu pha-ya-kha/ = Can't bear to hear the truth, Your Majesty?

Miscellaneous

I talked about this here when I first sat down to try and write up this post 💀 but the dessert is likely ขนมโค /kha-nohm khoh/. Visually, it could also be ขนมต้ม /kha-nohm dtohm/ (they're similar but alas we're not shown the filling up close) but since ขนมโค /kha-nohm khoh/ is a Southern Thai treat and Meenanagarin embodies the South, I'm inclined to believe that's what it is.

Tharin: ลูกสนใจอยากจะไปเที่ยวชมงา��ไหม /luuk sohn-jai yaak ja bpai tiaao chohm ngaan mai/

Khanin and the word เที่ยว /thiaao/ (= travel, a trip, going out):

tumblr

Next episode though...

นินอยากให้พี่รัณวาดรูปนินให้ครับ /Nin yaak hai phi Ran waat ruup Nin hai khrap/ = I would like you to paint a portrait of me.

#the next prince #ข้ามฟ้าเคียงเธอ #charankhanin #zeenunew #calvinjay #netjj #charan phithakthewa #khanin assavadevathin #ramil bhuchongpisut #domundi #local woman harps on about tnp #local woman harps on about linguistics #local woman harps on about znn

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writingdarling · 2 days ago

Text

Jealousy Is a Sin

Jealous V is the best V I would never lie

V (Killer Chat) x GN!Reader

Content Warning: Mentions of violence (past)

this is, once again self-indulgent

apologies if ooc >.<

V doesn’t get jealous.

That’s a fact of life, as true as the statement “Ronin is a psychopath”.

People could be actively flirting with you in front of him and the only thing he would do is pull you closer to him, shielding you from their eyes, only one simple sentence falling from his lips.

“Sorry, but they're already mine.”

Even Ronin, who you know he hates with the burning power of a thousand suns, can’t elicit a jealous reaction from him.

Protectiveness ? Of course ! Anger ? You’re surprised that he hasn’t gone gray yet with how much he loses his temper. Jealousy ? Never.

Which is why it’s all the more confusing that he’s currently staring down your ex with a murderous expression.

One could argue that this isn’t jealousy, rather a noble display of protection.

But V has never gripped you like this when he’s protective.

“V ?” You look at his face, watching the frown lines disappear, if only slightly as he looks down.

“Sorry, dearest. Were you saying something ?”

He turns to you, no longer glaring like your ex had just eaten one of his pets right in front of him.

“You….good ?”

V shoots a terrifying look to the general area where your ex is. A girl who looks at him at the wrong moment pales and runs off. V doesn’t notice.

“Terrific. Shall we move away ?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, gently tugging you through the crowd, closer to where all the tables are set up.

V had brought you along to a charity ball, one of the rare instances that you are reminded that, oh yeah, you are dating a multi-millionaire who moonlights as a vigilante.

He pulls out your chair and you sit down. He sits next to you, his hand immediately moving to rest on your thigh as he scans the perimeter.

“One exit to our right, another straight ahead…”

You’ve long gotten used to his mutters of potential escape routes if things ever got messy, especially after that one time where-

“You remember that ball we went to where that mafia gang had that shootout ?”

You pipe up and V’s eyes lose their focus.

“Sorry love, what did you say ?” He’s incredulous. Good, you’re distracting him.

“That mafia shootout, you know the one where you threw me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes-”

“Why are we discussing this dear ?”

V looks at you, half amused.

“Remember how I asked you what was going on, you didn’t tell me then I almost got shot.”

This sentence of yours holds a small prick of venom. V straightens.

“..Yes ?”

You level him with a stare.

“So, you wanna tell me why you’re glaring at my ex like he tried to crowbar me ?”

V grimaces.

“You noticed ?”

“I think the whole room noticed how cold you got. It practically dropped to below freezing temp !”

V sighed, squeezing your thigh as if asking for moral support.

“You are certainly sharp my love. That’s exactly what I admire about you.”

Despite your attempted scolding, your ears turn red anyways because he’s looking at you so fondly and he’s touching you so softly and-

V removes his hand from your tight before you totally lose the plot and pushes his hair back from his face, sighing.

“It….what’s the word ? It just….pisses me off.”

He mumbles, so quiet you almost don’t hear. Maybe he didn’t want you to hear.

It’s so rare that he’s ever this shy with you so you’re stunned into silence.

“He….I suppose it’s idiotic of me to forget that I am not your first. My pride immediately assumed that, just like how you are all of my firsts, I would be yours as well.”

He reaches for your hand and you let him take it, enamoured with the way he gazes at you ever so softly.

“I should apologize for that first and foremost.”

“You don’t have to..” You mumble, starstruck almost.

Huh, you supposed he was right. V has told you previously that he had never had a special someone before.

In a way, it was cute.

V was cute.

“It’s cute actually.”

For some reason, your usual brain to mouth filter isn’t working so you just spit out exactly what you were thinking.

V’s cheeks redden, something that no one else would’ve picked up.

But you aren’t everyone else.

A smile curls its way onto your lips.

“Trust me V, my relationship with that scumbag? It was basically like a free trial for a useless and annoying app.”

You squeeze his hand tight.

“All my firsts, the firsts that matter ? All of those are with you.”

V inhales. Exhales. Presses his other hand to his mouth and you can see the way his cheeks get even darker with how furious his blush is.

“.....You should consider writing a romance book beloved, I’m sure it’ll fly off the shelves.”

You giggle and act like you're twirling your hair.

“You think sooo~”

V hits your hand softly while you laugh, the previous slight tension now dissipating into nothingness.

And if later, V grabs you and kisses you until you’re breathless, coincidentally right in front of your ex ?

Well, that’s nobody's business except your own.

WAHHHH V MY SHAYLA

Anyways did y'all see that one tiktok post where it has like V n Ronin in the bg and a tumblr post about homoerotic enemies ?

......I'm polyam so

I'm sorry y'all r getting Ronin/V/Reader rahh

#killer chat x reader #killer chat v #killer chat v x reader #killer chat #ambrosia writes

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preemptivejustice · 1 day ago

Text

The subject answered, and once again, it wasn’t what Arthur expected. Nothing about this ever quite had been; the being was unique, that much was pointedly so. Not like an adult, but not like a child, either; like a being with an understanding of things adults understood, with the mental maturity of an adult, but… inexperienced.

There was no defensiveness, no hostility. No scripted response, either - just a quiet apology, offered as if it were from someone who hadn’t realized they’d committed a social misstep. It struck Arthur, how earnest the apology was - there was no manipulation here, no desire to placate or win favor. There was only recognition, a course correction; and Arthur found himself feeling more like he was talking to someone who wanted to do right rather than a program that wanted to be right.

He watched every microgesture. The way the subject’s lip curled between his teeth, the indecision; the inhale and exhale as he thought, seemed to really think - he didn’t mean to be rude. He claimed that, and Arthur believed him. It felt like the truth.

The subject’s explanation came out in slow, careful fragments, like a mirror being held up to its own pieces. He didn’t ask questions because he hadn’t considered that he could. He hadn’t asked if this was allowed, but only because no one had told him if it wasn’t. It was a familiar framework, an unfortunate mental trap - but it was telling. Very, very telling.

The subject had never been taught that he had agency.

Arthur’s brow furrowed again, a twitch of concern that he made no attempt to hide. Not pity or fear, but just a worried thoughtfulness. He was a doctor, one who had helped people before taking this job - one who had spent too long studying how people were shaped by their limits. Invisible instructions were typically given when being raised, growing up and absorbing without thought; where could they have come from, in this?

It was fascinating.

“You’re not being rude,” he said at last, voice low and even. “You’re behaving like someone who was never really invited to participate.”

Arthur supposed that he was at fault in that, at least some; re-framing helped it feel more like that was a truth. He should have been more mindful, at least in the foods; should have made it more clear that the subject had options.

“You’re not wrong,” he continued. “Most people are taught, whether explicitly or not, that they are supposed to… wait, for permission. That they need to prove something, before they’re allowed to take up more space - typically that’s good behavior, intelligence, usefulness. Things of that sort.”

His eyes stayed on the subject, though they softened once more. “But you’re not waiting for that. You’re waiting for… something else.”

He didn’t say what he thought that was, or even try to see if he was right; he just leaned back slightly, still letting his elbows rest on his knees. He pulled his leg back in again, trying to keep the ache out of it, the poor ache in the muscle.

“You said that you ‘look like someone who once was, but isn’t anymore’,” he mused. “That tells me things I know about you - understanding, loss, identity. Displacement, even.” Recurring themes, with the subject. Arthur almost felt like he had the being boxed out, already - mentally mapped out, at least.

“Do you think that, just because you look like someone who died, that you’re not allowed to feel anything about this? That you shouldn’t be confused, or curious, or angry? Have you ever been upset with everyone around you, for how they’ve reacted to your existence?”

It wasn’t an accusation, or even a challenge to the invisible rulebook around him; it was just a genuine question. Wanting to know if he had ever been upset, if he had ever found this unfair - or if he didn’t mind it because it was logical. Because it made sense for everyone to treat him cruelly, considering the situation. Did that make it ‘okay’, in his mind?

It felt like he already had the answer, just from observation; but he wanted to see how the subject took it. If it was, again, something he just hadn’t considered.

The offer to change out meat for something else - fish, just to give it a try to see whether Kane might enjoy that one more than what he'd had so far - is noted, acknowledged, appreciated even; A pair of dark irises flicks up briefly, meets the ones in front of him, accompanied by an expression that's a bit softer at the edges - not quite a smile but close to the concept of it, a subtle curl of a lip - before that gaze returns to where a circle is currently growing, pieces stacked on top of each other, balanced out.

Dr. Harrow doesn't like to eat meat either, he says - he doesn't eat any products made from animals. He calls himself Vegan; It must be the respective term for humans who decide to not consume any animal products, Kane assumes. Is he himself vegan as well, perhaps? Unsure. So far he hadn't felt very fond of most of what he'd gotten served - always preferred the vegetables, especially when they weren't covered in some kind of overwhelmingly flavorful sauce. That slice of bread was nice though, just a little soggy - he would prefer to have that one dry next time.

---A blink, with Kane realizing his thoughts are trailing a bit too far there.

"I don't think they've served me fish just yet." A thoughtful reply, soft, but also curious, while hands continue to fumble with the puzzle pieces. "---I would like to give it a try."

A piece falls all of a sudden, takes another one with it, and Kane lets out a small breath at that - something akin to a tsk, accompanied by a knit of those dark brows - before he picks both back up, then attempts to stack them again... and succeeds this time. They stay where he wants them to be, to which something almost a little smug tugs at the crows feet around his eyes.

But it's gone relatively quickly, replaced by his usually rather blank, neutral - but certainly not unfriendly - expression.

More silence stretches, one that does not bother him, not much. He's used to it, to the quiet hum of electricity that he listens to whenever that light above him is turned on, his own breath, the soft rustle of him shifting on the bed. Right now Kane also listens to the noise those pieces of wood make then he stacks them on top of another - subtle, barely there, but existent.

---Dr. Harrow speaks again, however, and what he says actually causes Kane, not-Kane, to pause, to stop the movements of his hands - his gaze flicking back up again, brows lifted ever so gently, something close to an unspoken question now existing within his irises that did not show any of that shimmer so far today.

And he blinks once, then glances to the side, thinking, before his eyes are on the other for a second time - looking, taking in the sight, considering things. Sucking a lip between his teeth, biting it, before letting go.

"---I apologize for that. I ... didn't mean to be rude." Definitely not. And no, Kane doesn't think that he's not caring, neither does he know what's happening - at least not in great detail. He's aware of the fact that he's being monitored, that this is about him being different, yes, but... he just---

Another moment passes, and he's thinking again. His lips open, then close, then open up again just to close immediately after, but no word comes out at first; He inhales, exhales, shakes his head for a brief moment, shrugs---

"...I think that I didn't... consider it, to--- ask questions." And it feels odd, in a way, to realize that it's the case. Kane did not really focus on it, at all - he'd just existed, he'd woken up in here, and... that's what it is. What it has been for a while. "I know why I'm being watched. I'm looking like someone who once was, but isn't anymore, yet here I am; It must be confusing, so is the entirety of me, I assume." Different, yes, definitely. "Should I have asked questions? Am I expected to? ---Am I allowed to? I don't know. No one ever told me."

No one told him to... behave a certain way. That it would be okay to inquire, to ask for something. Perhaps Kane also never really asked himself any questions, as the concept of existing is so new to him that he has to figure it out still.

He simply doesn't know that his life is potentially made of something else than what this is. All he'd ever gotten to know was Kane, Lena, this facility, this room, and Dr. Harrow. The people bringing him food. And he doesn't exactly know any of them - just... being familiar with everything now. That's it.

There's something almost a little sad appearing there, on his face, as he swallows - then looks back down and avoids the other's gaze.

#\\ arthur: yo its really fucked up that youre trapped in here huh. like this is fucked up #\\ arthur: anyways about the veganism #offdxty #𓁹 || What Remains Repeats \\ Private Verse [ Dr. Harrow ]

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