#the expression and monotone piece of this!!!

[everrinsly]

a/n; I wish i could get a glimpse of precious suna's insta haha, thank you for reading!! this one also kind of long but it's my rambles I can't help it hahah

blurred lines, best friend vibes.

white heart with suna. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

a deep dive into suna's instagram highlights, featuring “🤍” (it's you).

more suna here! and more sugar from suna here!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐🖤📱

Suna’s Instagram is just too good.

Like, objectively. It’s irritating.

Clean lines, muted colors, photo dumps that feel like poetry—just the right balance of white space and warmth, black and tan filters that make every frame look like it's stolen from an editorial spread. 

The man doesn’t post often, but when he does, it’s always a little too perfect.

Even his stupid Highlights have a theme.

જ⁀🏐🖤📱

One for EJP Raijin—⚡—a perfect mix of sweat-slick intensity and that curated brand of cool.

It opens with dim-lit gym clips, the floor gleaming under floodlights, volleyballs spinning in slow motion. You can hear the faint squeak of sneakers, the low thud of spikes, voices echoing in rhythm. 

There’s a shot of Komori’s Super Receive—text overlaid in lowercase white: gravity’s got nothing on him—as he flings himself across the court, arms outstretched, hair a blur. 

Then comes Washio's Wall, an iconic mid-air shot where Washio blocks a spike so clean you’d think the footage was rendered. 

And of course, the post-win shots.

Suna never posts them first. He lets them sneak in at the end—blurry, slightly sun-soaked, a slow pan across the locker room with half-laughed victory shouts. Jerseys peeled halfway down chests, bandages loose on knuckles, every player glistening with sweat and smugness. 

There’s one frame that stays longer than it should: Suna leaning against the lockers, hair damp, chain sticking to his collarbone, lips barely parted in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Just enough to drive his followers crazy.

Just enough to drive you crazy.

જ⁀🏐🖤📱

The next for Fam—🏡—soft, warm, and quiet in a way that feels like a relaxing exhale. 

He rarely shows it, but you know he adores them.

There’s a shot from his sister’s graduation, her in cap and gown, Suna ducking low to fit into frame, one arm slung around her shoulder and the other holding a mini bouquet of sunflowers.

Another of his mom’s cooking—steam rising off a clay pot, and in the background, Suna’s hand stealing a piece of pork belly, caught mid-motion. 

And then there’s the rare, grainy video of him playing volleyball in the yard with his dad, both barefoot in the grass, the Aichi landscape stretching out wide behind them—golden fields, an overcast sky, the kind of silence that settles in your bones.

But your favorite, easily, is the one from his birthday.

He’s sitting on the couch, hoodie loose, hair fluffy and unstyled, and his sister and mom are on either side of him, both leaning in to press the cutest, most affectionate kisses to his cheeks. Suna’s eyes are closed, lips tugged up in the softest, sleepiest grin, like he’s trying not to melt and failing miserably.

You’re pretty sure it’s his favorite, too.

He never takes it off. It just… lives there. Quiet and safe. Like family.

જ⁀🏐🖤📱

The third is Crew—📸—the one with all the chaos.

It’s the messiest, most unfiltered highlight on his page, and somehow, it still fits his aesthetic. Warm-toned mayhem. Candid disasters. A side of faint laughter in the background. 

There’s a special brand of Miya Twin Madness—Atsumu in a yakiniku restaurant, mid-air tossing a grape that Osamu is 100% not ready to catch. The next clip? Osamu side-eying him from across the table, lips tight, the unmistakable expression of someone who’s already done with the night. 

Gin’s gym students make frequent appearances, cartwheeling across hardwood floors while Suna films from the bleachers, monotone voice narrating like he’s on a nature documentary.

Sometimes, there are glimpses of his senpais.

A low-lit clip of late-night ramen with Aran, both of them slouched in a booth, soup steaming, the table messy with napkins and empty bottles. 

A wholesome cut of Suna helping Akagi’s PE students learn how to spike, wearing a whistle he definitely stole from Gin. 

A stupid blurry selfie from an airport bathroom mirror captioned: will i get caught if i take 20 tubes of wasabi to tokyo lol @ renomimi.

(Ren later responds: Yes. Don’t call me to bail you out, @ sunarin.)

And then there’s the rarest gem of all: Suna in the countryside, visiting Kita.

The clip is quiet—green stretching as far as the eye can see, sky low and heavy with summer.

Suna’s wearing a bucket hat and glaring at his phone camera he handed to Kita to pan around. Sweat drips down his temple, sleeves rolled up, hands in the soil. 

The caption reads simply: captain said it was gonna take 2 hrs max. been here 4.5. send help.

But Kita makes sure the camera lingers just long enough for you to catch the tiniest smile tugging at the edge of Suna’s lips.

Somehow, even here—in all this chaos—he always makes room for softness. Always makes space for the people who feel like home.

જ⁀🏐🖤📱

And then there's the fourth.

Just a single emoji: 🤍

No name.

But it's you.

It’s always been you.

It's the softest highlight on his entire page—intimate in ways no one else would even notice.

A quiet boomerang of you twirling in his jersey and a miniskirt on one of his game days, shy smile on your face. The clip is cut just before you reach up to fix your hair.

He takes it that morning, right before leaving for the match.

You come out of your room wearing his jersey—oversized, soft, hanging off one shoulder—and a little black skirt that makes your legs look longer than they are. You’re fidgeting, pulling at the hem, clearly unsure if it’s too much. But Suna looks up from tying his shoes, pauses, and just stares.

Then, flat as ever, he says, “Do a spin.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Spin.”

He lifted his phone. “For science.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm, but do it anyway.

You think he deletes it.

He doesn't.

There’s a photo of you and his sister when she visited, matching sleepy grins on both your faces, your head tilted toward hers. 

It’s taken after your shopping spree—an unplanned, chaotic one that ends with your arms full of bags and your feet sore from walking half the city. His sister swipes his black card without shame, declaring, “He won’t care.”

And she’s right.

Suna doesn’t care.

How could he, when it’s for you both? When the two of you look so happy, cheeks flushed from the wind, shopping bags hanging off your arms, giggling like best friends who share secrets he’ll never understand?

He just leans against the doorframe when you both walk in, arms crossed, eyes soft, saying nothing.

Like a memory he doesn’t want to let go of.

Another clip: you laughing with your whole body when he takes you to Onigiri Miya. Your hand covers your mouth, eyes shining, and he films it without thinking, the sound tucked low in the background.

That laugh? Music to his ears. He plays it sometimes when he’s alone.

Next—your back to the camera, walking ahead of him, hair swaying with your steps. You wear that soft linen sundress he likes, the one that dips low in the back. Your fingers trail the metal railing of a pedestrian bridge, city lights just starting to blur in the distance.

He takes that photo one evening in early spring.

It’s after a late practice—he’s exhausted, sore, quiet in that way that means his mind is running faster than his body can keep up. You insist on getting fresh air, tugging him out for a walk without waiting for him to say yes. He doesn’t protest.

You wander aimlessly, sharing a 7-Eleven egg sandwich and a grape-flavored soda, your voice filling the silence while he just listens, too tired to talk but not too tired to watch. The sun dips behind the skyline, painting the world in soft golds and lavenders. And you, in that dress, in your sandals, hum under your breath as you step onto the bridge.

He lifts his phone without thinking.

Captures it in one shot.

Doesn’t edit a thing.

Posts it.

Now, it lives.

Frozen.

Like the moment never ends.

And then there’s that quiet frame no one notices unless they look closely.

Your hand resting next to his on the center console of his car. Pinkies barely touching. His rings catching the sun. Your fingers tapping twice against the leather like they’re remembering his warmth.

He doesn’t look at you when it happens—just keeps driving, sunglasses low on his nose, music humming soft through the speakers. But you feel it. That stillness. That shift. Like even though he’s not saying anything, something important just happens.

જ⁀🏐🖤📱

This sits with you for days. Weeks? Months? Years? Maybe. Most likely.

You try to ignore it, pretend you don’t think about it when you see the white heart hovering at the top of his profile. You tell yourself it’s just a Highlight, just a symbol. But it sticks stubbornly. 

You know the “🤍” has been there for a long time.

Since college, actually. Since you’re barely friends and somehow still end up sharing a dorm floor, then group projects, then late-night snack runs, then an apartment. He adds it one night without a word. You think nothing of it then.

But now?

Now it’s different.

You don’t know why it suddenly matters.

Only that it does.

And so, one quiet night, curled into the corner of the couch with your knees drawn to your chest and the TV buzzing in the background, you finally ask.

“Why a white heart?”

Suna doesn’t even blink.

He stretches out beside you, phone in hand, wrist dangling off the edge of the cushion. “It’s quiet,” he says simply, eyes still on his screen. “Soft. Easy on the eyes.”

 And then—

“It also matches my grid.”

You bite back a laugh. “That’s it?”

His lip twitches, just barely. “Not entirely.”

You glance over at him, your breath catching.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “It’s constant.” 

But then he adds, a beat softer, not looking at you, but meaning it, “Just like you.”

You freeze, warmth blooming slow and deep in your chest.

He doesn’t follow it up or elaborate—just unlocks his phone again with the most casual movement in the world. He scrolls lazily, and you swear he knows exactly what he’s doing, casually tapping his “🤍” Highlight and letting it play.

The clips loop.

Your laughter fills the room in quiet waves.

And Suna just leans back, head tilted toward yours, a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

Like he’s home.

Because you’ve always been his favorite highlight.

[daemonbrain]

Part 1 | Part 3

3.5k, cw: ghosts a pervert and stalker, readers husband is a piece of work, brief mentions of sex, explicit, not proofread

Simon Riley wasn’t one for the romantics, he was a simple man. Wake up early in the morning just as he would on base, complete his training regimen, take a quick shower, and rot away in his one bedroom one bathroom apartment until he's recalled for a mission. A mundane life for the soldier who dealt with life-or-death circumstances just as many times as he’s brewed himself a cup of tea.

But even Simon had things to look forward to. After enduring the monotonous routine of his week he’d practically sprint to the butcher's shop, not for love of the finer cuts of meat one could find, but to see his bird. 

Still the fittest thing he had ever seen, your relationship evolved from standing with your back turned to his debauched stares to you actually saying hello to him. Slowly hello turned to little conversations. By conversations, it mainly consisted of you prattling on about one thing or another while Simon grunted out a short “yeah?” or “hm.” Sometimes he felt bad that his pretty little thing who always had endless things to say spoke to him, someone who was pretty much a brick wall in conversation.

But, ah well. He couldn’t think of you banging on the headboard while he fucked you and fully pay attention to what was said in his defense.

At times he didn’t know whether to scold or praise your ability to dole out kindness to even a cold bastard like him. A stranger was what he was, and you still managed to speak to him as if he were any other man you’d meet on the street.

He didn’t deserve it, he knew that. Not with the things he has done to others. Things that would send your pretty little head toppling off your shoulders if you knew. Not with the way he prowled behind as you shakily made your way up the slippery sidewalk, plastic bag with groceries in hand.

He didn’t deserve it, but he was sure as hell certain your fuckwit of a husband definitely didn’t deserve it. That prick left you walking alone and cold the whole way home, letting you know minutes before he was supposed to pick you up from the butcher’s shop. 

That pathetic guy didn’t want to take care of his wife? Didn’t want to pay attention to his girl? Well fine, he didn’t need to. Simon would. 

As if it physically pained him to watch you have to lift a finger, he sped up his pace and loudly cleared his throat from behind.

Whirling around in fright, your tensed shoulder immediately relax upon meeting Simon’s eyes. Your body shivered from the winds, yet you beamed at him with the warmth of the fuckin’ sun. 

“Simon! What are you doing here?” You chirped out in greeting, clasping your hands together as the bag dangled from your fingers. You waited for him to stalk up to you, broody as ever. 

His pretty little songbird, who tweets out her hellos even when the frigid weather demands a more mellow tone.

In his usual unsettling manner, he stops right in front of you. “I live up this way.” He lied. 

“Really?! I’ve never seen you coming up this way.” He was so close. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at your face, cheeks and nose probably frozen from the biting wind. Your brows furrowed in what he assumed to be suspicion, and he truly wondered for the first time if you actually had a semblance of survival instinct after all.

Raising a brow, he points to a random building in the distance. He picked something far enough away from your own home to quell any unease.You lived in that reddish-brown building about two blocks away. Though you’ve never told him that.

“Just righ’ up there. Usually don’t go this way, but the other route is closed off.”

Your furrowed brows quickly correct themselves at his words and you assume your resting expression, one much softer. “Well… we might as well head up together then!” You laughed in joy and Simon felt his cock twitch for similar reasons. It seems the concept of “stranger danger” wasn’t drilled into your head hard enough during your formative years. 

He’d never dream of doing something to hurt your cheery demeanor, but he couldn’t say the same for others. People can be nasty and, if you survived this long without that bubble being burst, he’d be more than happy to tear apart the prick who’d try. Pricks like your husband.

Wasn’t it a soldier's duty to protect the peace? Something like that anyways. 

He noticed the way your poor fingers stiffly held on to the bag, the weight harder to carry because of the chill in the air. His hands itched to help.

You quirked your head to the side due to his lack of anything to say and Simon merely jutted his head towards what you carried, “Give it ‘ere.” Your mouth opens to protest, but Simon doesn’t give you the opportunity as he easily plucks the bag from your hands. “Come on,” He began to walk again while ignoring his bird’s shrill whistles of objection to his help “You’ll catch a cold out ‘ere if we don get’cha inside soon.”

Catching up to his long strides, you approach from the right and sigh. You’re inclined to tell him it’s really not necessary, but the heat that bloomed in your chest as a result of his breathy chuckle interrupted you.

You didn’t even need to ask him to help... he just did. 

You couldn’t help the way your eyes wondered about his large frame, and he was huge. You had to admit the first time you had spoken to Simon you were a bit rattled when you stuck your hand out to shake his. It was maddening the way he never made a sound, the way his steps quietly padded along the floor when he went up to the counter at the butcher’s shop to pay. 

Occasionally you felt your skin prickle everytime he stood behind you. Whenever you gathered the courage to take a peek you would be met with the sight of him tapping away at his phone without a care, hood of his jacket concealing most of his face. 

Though you could’ve sworn his phone was upside down once?

Cars whizzed past and you shook away those thoughts. Simon happens to be a quiet type, nothing to judge him for. 

“... Thank you. You know, you’re a real nice guy.” Shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, Simon slows his steps just enough to move behind you. “Simon?” You turn your head side-to-side in confusion as he nudges his way to your other side.

“Wha’?” He huffed while putting himself between you and the road. 

Odd.

The two of you got closer to the building and in a practiced stop you both pause at the entrance. About to speak again, you’re cut off by the loud ring of your phone. Looking down you see your husband's photo pop up on the screen. With a sigh, you hold up a finger to your companion and answer.

“Hey hun, is something wrong? You said you had a meeting?” You could hear the exhale of annoyance which escaped him before he responded.

“I’m working late tonight. I can’t make it for dinner. Make sure to leave me a plate before you go to bed though.” Of course. He was always late nowadays. One project or another he would say before rolling to face away when you asked him about his day before bed. 

You were his wife! You’d make time for him no matter what, and normally you wouldn’t want to be a bother, but the way tears threatened to bead your waterline in frustration caused your voice to harden a fraction.

“Again? Really? They’re working you a bit hard, don’t you thi-” 

“I have work. I’ll talk to you later.” 

You blink owlishly at Simon who looks back in silence. You hear the beep indicating the call has ended. Slowly, you pull your phone away from your ear both saddened by your husband's cold words but also the humiliation of your new friend witnessing the way you were clearly hung up on by your own spouse.

You wanted to turn heel and retreat into the privacy of your apartment. Cook up a meal which will grow cold on the counter and curl into your bed while incessantly tracking the minutes until you hear the door open.

Simon’s eyes narrowed as if he wanted to burn a hole through your phone, and he waited for you to gather yourself.

“I- um,” letting out an awkward chortle, you scratch the back of your neck. “Looks like I'm alone for dinner tonight.” You managed a disingenuous smile. Simon didn’t seem like the type to be able to pick up on subtle social cues like that, you doubt he’d think anything of your words.

“Well I better get back inside… it's freezing out here. Thanks for your help with my bags I-I just have to get started on cooking right now, so.” You reached for your groceries and saw the strange look in his eyes soften a bit. As you pivot towards the entrance, you hear a gruff call.

“ ‘m pretty hungry righ now.”

…How could you be such an idiot! He carries your bags for you, probably chilled to the point of numbness, and you don’t even invite him in for something to eat. Not even a hot drink. All because of your own selfish discomfort?!

“Oh gosh, that was rude of me. Simon, you wanna come in? I have enough to whip you up a plate if you’d like. A ‘cuppa’ as well. Is that what you say?” You asked.

Simon was a kind man. He was intimidating, but surely it was okay to let him into your personal space. After all, the only person who would object to his presence was currently holed up at his office.

“Brought it up for a reason. That’d be great, love.”

You couldn’t help the way your heart pattered in your rib cage at the endearing pet name. Kind words from a kind man. That’s all. You willed your heart to slow with images of your husband, to whom you had the utmost respect for.

The two of you made your way up to the spacious apartment. You bent over to unlace your shoes and take off your coat. It doesn’t go unnoticed how it took Simon a moment to follow suit. When he stood to his full height, a gentle warmth swelled within you when met with the sight of his broad build in the now seemingly small walls of your home. He looked as though he crowded the room more than any of the furniture.

You felt a bit hazy when you moved to the kitchen. You shouted back to Simon who stood put at the door, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable! Go ahead and sit down anywhere.”

Like a flower, you needed your fix of sunlight. You had lots of windows in your apartment to let the natural light in, a giant one looking into your living room. Simon would see you watching your silly shows, tapping away at your laptop while snuggled under a blanket in this very spot. Soon he’d show you the value of privacy, closing the blinds, locking everything before bed. 

There were shady people in the world. Those who’d feed off of your sweet carelessness like it was the best thing to touch their depraved mouths. That wasn’t fair to his bird. 

“ ‘m gonna go to the loo.” and before you even had the chance to give him directions, you watched the Brit make his way to the restroom unprompted.

It wasn’t fair, but he would make it fair. He would keep those bastards far away from you, guard your blissful paradise. Keep you ignorant.

So what if his methods were unconventional? So what if he’s followed you home dozens of times. It was to keep you safe. So what if he spent any free time he had watching you through the windows from the building across yours. 

Closing the door behind him, his lips quirked up at the sight of your things strewn about. Makeup, hair products, lotions taking up all the space on your side of the sink. In the mirror, his eyes caught on the laundry hamper sat in the corner. He had been here once before.

So what if he has come into your apartment during the late hours just to catch a whiff of your scent. Just to pull the blanket you had knocked off, deep asleep, while on the couch waiting for your prick husband. You needed someone. He could do good by you, or at least try his hardest to.

With practiced ease, he turns to open the hamper. Hands grabbing with the eagerness of unwrapping a present only to be met with a sorry sight.

“For fuck sakes”  He whispered.

You and your cleaning. The damn thing had been emptied out of all things with your lovely fragrance, tossed in the wash. With the quick roll of his eyes, he quietly puts the lid back on to the stupid thing.

He had been much luckier last time. After taking it upon himself to sneak in and close a window you left wide open, he had the urge to explore around. Fast forward to when he arrived at his treasure chest (the laundry basket) he was rewarded for his considerate act. He had nabbed a dirty pair of panties with sheer ecstacy. 

In the natural progression of things, his cock had hardened with urgency. He had stroked himself eagerly to the thought of your soft, snoozing breaths. A bead of pre-cum already poised to roll down his shaft. You drove him mad, only a few walls separating the two of you. He could walk over to you now, shove your legs apart and sink himself into paradise, in pure euphoria. He continued to jerk himself to the edge of his peak. He had taken in the sight of everything from your loofah to your robe to the pink toothbrush unobtrusively in the corner.

A shiver went down his spine as he looked at the very same toothbrush at present. He wondered how many times you had unassumingly used it since that night.

Images of his desperation flooding back, a hint of something akin to guilt. He had squeezed your panties to his face as if he was trying to suffocate himself, impatiently grabbing for anything else that could connect him to you when he felt himself begin to strain under the stimulation. He had grunted when your scent filled his nostrils, unlike how his balls emptied themselves, his release spurting all over your toothbrush.

When he came back to his senses, he had turned the coated thing over and over in his hand. You’d be none the wiser if he just… washed it off, right? No harm in something you wouldn’t know about. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than lightly run it under the tap.

“Simon! Food is ready!” You shouted. Breaking from his stupor, he steps out of the restroom and moves back to the counter overlooking the kitchen. You gave him that sweet grin while setting the food in front of him.

“Looks delicious, love. Thanks.”

You sat on the seat beside him with a plate of your own. You both tensed at the proximity for the same reason. Taking your first few bites, you look at Simon who blissfully closes his eyes and groans with satisfaction.

That warm feeling begins to simmer in your belly wrongfully so. You turn back to chew before breaking the silence. “I’m glad! It’s been a while since i’ve sat down and ate with someone… it’s a lot different to watch someone actually enjoy something you put effort into.” He didn’t miss the wistful expression you wore. He wanted to fix it, he never wanted to see that pretty mouth fighting stay curved upwards.

Whether it be unknowingly or not, you brushed your knee against and for a moment you both paused in that position. The touch was light but it felt as though Simon’s body was overloaded with only you. Your touch, your eyes, your everything.

It took himself a second to recompose himself, but when he realized your body stayed put; his heart just about soared. Taking another forkful of food, he casually glanced at you and nudged his knee unmistakably to yours. The sound of your cutlery clanging onto the plate gives him a degree of satisfaction.

You simply kept looking down to your plate, whatever was in front of you, anything except his intense stare. Simon was a stranger. Simon was unsettling. Simon was in your home. Simon was so strong, so large he could manhandle you in ways your husband could never.

Your husband. Your life partner who you’ve remained loyal to for years. This was so wrong. You should be leaping out of your chair and separating yourself by 3 meters at least in protest.

So how come you allowed his hand to grip your thigh? You frowned, yet surrendered to his fingers which tilted your face towards him. You didn’t know Simon, but you’d be dense to miss the dark glint in his eyes as he takes in your hesitancy.

How the tables have turned. It was always you who initiated interaction with the morose giant, but as he held you firm in his clutches, you could only sit in wait for his next move. 

Testing your reaction, he slowly brought his face closer to yours. Braving his gaze, you could only recognize want. He pressed a gentle kiss to your jaw as you tilted your chin upwards. You weren’t sure whether it was to avoid his lips or grant him better access to your neck.

“No no no come back to me. Come back.” He urged you carding his other hand through your hair, tugging you back. He had to see his bird's face, commit her to memory. Would her expression be like what he imagined? Better?

With a shaky raise of your arm, you caress his face with uncertainty. He needed to fuck you. The most depraved, wicked parts of his mind demanded it. His blood went straight down south at your gentle touch. He needed you to feel him, to feel all of him. 

He would protect you from all the perversions those other tossers had to offer, with only one thing in return. To corrupt you from the inside with his own special brand filth. His fingers tightened ever so slightly in your hair.

“I wanna fuck you,” he leaned closer to your ear and nipped it “and I have a feeling my pretty bird wants the same thing, yeah?”

Simon’s words sent a jolt to your brain to sink further into the daze. Your lips parted and you turned to him with round eyes hiding the temptation swirling behind them. Your eyes wildly roved across his face, searching

He carried your things, he called you pretty, he ate your food, he talked to you, he wanted you, he wanted to fuck you, he wanted you to want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him-

His impatience got the better of him when he pulled you into a frantic kiss. His lips were warm and the feeling of his hands holding you secure and upright only added fuel to the fire. How would they hold you when he took you to your bed? Would he be so kind?

Had Simon known your phone would ring loudly moments before finally getting what he wanted, he would have broken it with his own bare hands.

Your eyes cracked open to only be met with the sight of your husband’s contact photo and all at once your guilt hurtled at you. Sensing you pulling away, Simon couldn’t help but try and keep you to him for even a moment longer. He knew it was over when you pushed at his chest to break the connection.

“I’m- oh my gosh. I… i’m a horrible person! Shit! Shit!” You spiraled as you hurriedly got up from your seat and backed away from Simon as if his touch had burned you.

“Hey, hey it’s okay-” He attempted to console you, but was sharply interrupted with a tone he had yet to hear from you.

“No, no! You need to leave. Get out, please!” You screeched in shame. As Simon once again tried to approach closer to placate you, you only put a hand up with a hard look. “Leave. We shouldn’t have done that, it was a total betrayal of trust!” 

“Okay. Okay. Don’t worry, ‘m gone.” His arms went up in surrender as he mirrored your own backward movements.

Your mind really went blank as you took deep breaths to calm yourself, Simon’s heavy footfalls receding and eventually fading from earshot entirely.

While you focused on calming yourself from your “mistaken” judgement, Simon could only think of one thing. 

If his bird couldn’t be happy because that fuckin’ asshole was still in the picture, he’d have to weed out the problem from the root.

He was a dead man walking.

[fortunegrins]

His name is Tellie Phone… because he’s a telephone

ID under the cut

[ID: A collage featuring three separate drawings of Tellie Phone, who is a red dog-like creature with a round rotary phone for a head and a cartoonish face made up of simple shapes. His tail is a black electrical wire that loops three times before ending with a plug. His paw pads and the buttons on his head are also white.

The leftmost drawing is a monotone red pen drawing on yellow graph paper. It features Tellie sitting down, facing the viewer. One of his eyes is drifting outwards. There are small flowers doodled around him.

To the right of that, and taking up most of the page, there is a much larger, fully coloured drawing of Tellie leaping into the air. He is looking at the viewer and smiling.

Beneath the big Tellie, there is a tiny monotone red doodle on yellow graph paper of Tellie leaping and looking at the viewer with a surprised expression.

The collage features: white and red checked masking tape, red masking tape with various desserts on it, a strip of red cardboard that reads “Apollo” in Japanese, a piece of a red candy wrapper with yellow stars on it, and many assorted stickers which are mostly in shades of red and green. End ID]

[ebodebo]

Ghost Garage

—mechanic!simon riley fucking you in his car garage because you couldn’t afford to pay for his services:(( MDNI ofc

“You’re lookin’ at six thousand for a new engine,” Simon says thoughtfully, scribbling a collection of messy additions in his notebook. “And if you’re lookin’ to do just one set of brake pads and rotors,” he says, scribbling some more, “lookin’ at six hundred even for those.”

Your eyes widen at his words because how the fuck were you ever going to be able to afford this? You swallow hard, pondering your following words. “Do you do discounts or something?” You’re sure you sound like an idiot, but you’re desperate.

The corner of his lip quirks at your question as his eyes stay glued to the notebook paper, still scribbling. “No. Still no discounts ere’,” he says, capping his pen, finally looking at you.

You fidget with your hands, eyes on his. “I—um…there’s no way I can…” you begin, turning your gaze away from him, feeling bashful, “…afford that.” Even though you had come to Simon’s garage before, this was just the first time you outwardly told him you couldn’t afford his services.

He leans back in his chair, the base squeaking a little. “Do ya’know how dangerous it is to drive with worn-out brake pads?” he states, placing the pen in his mouth, awaiting your response.

“Yes. I’m aware, but—” you begin, only for him to interrupt.

“But nothin’,” he calmly says, shifty in the chair, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body. You pretend not to notice even though it invokes an immeasurable amount of wetness to gather in your panties.

He can tell you’re nervous—your body language says it all. Clammy hands you wipe off on your jeans every so often, you’re avoiding direct eye contact with him, and the fact he can hear your heartbeat from where he sits.

He shouldn’t even have unholy thoughts of you come across his mind. But, shocker, he did. Every night from the time you first went to the shop all of those four months ago, he would fist himself in the shower thinking about you.

You, who always had that doe-eyed, glossed-over expression. You, who always had to bring Simon a sweet treat when you came, whether it be candy or some fresh-baked cookies you prepared. Oh, and you, who would hug him after he did your car inspections. Ya, he thought about that one a lot.

He considers your predicament. He has a solution, but it’s risky—perhaps too risky?

Eh, Fuck it. What’s he got to lose?

“Tell ya what,” he starts, standing up from his chair and grabbing the notebook paper with the numbers. “I’ll throw this ere’ piece of paper in the trash—hell, I’ll burn it,” he cocks a brow, “If you do somethin’ for me.” He hovers the small, intimidating piece of paper over a small trash can.

“Anything,” you say, desperation coating your voice. He hums, ducking his head to stare at the trashcan.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, followed by a gravelly laugh. You gulp, waiting for him to explain.

“I want somethin’ from ya,” he finally looks up at you, wiping his mask-less jaw with his hand. “Somethin’ that isn’t…money.”

You slightly confound your head. “Like I said…anything,” you amend.

He sticks his tongue in his cheek, drops the tainted paper into the trash, and then takes slow, deliberate steps towards you.

You inhale as he stands before you, unsure of his intentions. Exhaling sharply only when he brings his thumb up, dragging it delicately across your jaw, tilting it up so you are looking at him.

“I think we could figure out a way for you to get that work paid in full,” he rumbles, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “And a way I could feel that pretty pussy around me.”

Your eyes widen at his words, dumbfounded by his sheer bluntness and vulgarity. Though you admit, you feel a knot start to form in your lower stomach and more wetness pool between your thighs.

“Unless you don’t want to?” His tone his monotone, no signs of resentment as he drops his hand from your face.

“No—I do,” you affirm, even grabbing his hand and then dropping it from embarrassment. “I just didn’t think…you, uh, liked me like that,” you mutter, shifting on your feet and shifting your gaze to the concrete floor you both stand on.

“Oh, trust me. I like you like that,” he laughs lowly, stepping closer to you, bringing his hand back to the same spot to brush his finger against your pouty lip. “Can I?” He questions his gaze on your lips. You nod, standing on your tiptoes, gripping his neck, and bringing his lips to yours. You could taste remnants of cigarette smoke and the icy tang of Nicorette mint gum.

The kiss quickly became full of fervent urgency. Sloppy lips sucking your own, hands aimlessly gripping any piece of flesh it could, and teeth frantically clashing with your own.

“You do this with all your clientele?” you tease as Simon grips the bottom of your shirt and quickly pulls it off your head.

“Nah,” he coolly says, hands palming your breasts over your bra. “Just the ones I jerk off to.” You gasp at not only his hands on such a sensitive part of you but also his confession.

“You jerk off to me?” you tentatively ask, bringing your hands to grip the hem of his shirt, slipping it off his head. His lips instantly connect with your neck.

“What about it?” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his tongue from the side of your neck to your lips.

“I just…I finger myself thinking about you,” you admit in between his feverish kisses, which are apparently taking away your sense of shame. He pulls back only a little.

“You’re tellin’ me…” he reaches down to bring your hand up, grazing your fingers with his own. “You plunge these in your pussy, thinkin’ about me?” he stares at your fingers, unable to comprehend what he’s hearing. He darts his eyes to yours. “I get you off?”

“Of course you do,” you attest, dragging your hand so it rests on his cock that is tucked away in his greased stained jeans. He groans at your touch.

“Now let me see what I’ve been imagining.”

He wastes no time stripping you bare, throwing your bra and panties off to the side, before he unlatches his belt, roughly yanking his jeans and boxers down just below his thighs.

He grips the back of your thighs before hauling you over to a wood table that currently holds some pens and a toolbox. His lips connect with your collarbone, then to the fat of your breast, as you lazily stroke his cock.

“Little smaller than I imagined,” you cheekily say before Simon lightly nips at your nipple with his teeth, making you moan. He laughs against your skin, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

“And yet it still makes you fuckin’ wet,” he cockily says as his hand slips to graze your glistening cunt. You don’t even talk; you have no breath left to speak. So, you let out a pathetic noise instead—somewhere between a moan and whine.

“Let me play with ya for a minute,” he murmurs into your ribs, pointer finger brushing against your labia. You squirm at his touch.

“Simon. I just…I need you in me,” you beg, pulling him by the hair so his ear is by your mouth, rocking your hips against his finger in you.

“I’m gonna come as soon as I’m in you, Sweetheart,” he says honestly, pointer plunging into your cunt, gently touching your clit.

“I don’t care…just…just,” you rasp, unable to speak with his hand plunging into you.

“Fine, fine,” he says. He gives his cock a tug before he pokes your entrance with the head, gripping your hips before he pushes inside you a little. He grits his teeth at the sensation, and you whine at the slight pain.

“Open up for me. Come on,” he hisses, throwing his head back as he sinks deeper into you. “There she goes,” he praises, gripping one of your legs and positioning it so it lies straight up against his body. You both groan at the deeper contact.

“Shit,” you curse as Simon starts up a good pace. His cock managed to graze you in all of the right spots—reaching places you didn’t even know was possible.

You knew you both wouldn’t last long at this pace—you’re honestly not so sure he would have lasted at any pace. He was painfully hard when you hadn’t even whipped your tits out.

Though you thought the jokes were on him, as soon as he brought his thumb to stimulate your clit, you were skewing curses, tightening around his cock.

“Fuck. That’s it…that’s—” he panted out as he felt you clamp around him, hearing you yell, ‘Coming,” before he followed with his orgasm.

Once both of your orgasms have subsided, he helps you off the table to grab your clothing. You gently tug on your lip before you speak.

“Also…about the payment?” You shyly question as he pulls his jeans up.

“Consider it handled,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his jeans.

a/n: bye once again i abused the italicized button

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[gf2bellamy]

explanation — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: an officer won't stop talking to you content warnings: annoyed spencer, light flirting between reader and spencer a/n: had to write something for glasses reid also he looks so good in this gif ohymgod also this is short sorry

You forced a polite smile, though your patience was wearing thin as the police officer in front of you continued his overly enthusiastic explanation. His words blended together, a relentless drone that made it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Still, you nodded along, trying not to seem rude despite the growing urge to run away. 

What you didn’t notice was Spencer standing just a few feet away. He had been watching the exchange, his hazel eyes flickering between the officer and you.

From his position near the evidence board, he clutched a file in one hand, the papers inside creased slightly from the pressure of his grip.

His other hand, balled into a tight fist, remained at his side. 

It wasn’t like him to eavesdrop, at least not intentionally, but something about the way the officer leaned just a little too close to you made it impossible for Spencer to look away.

His jaw tightened as he struggled to focus on the task at hand, attempting to study the crime scene photos tacked to the board in front of him. 

But his mind wasn’t on the case. It was on you.

On the way you shifted uncomfortably, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you nodded at the officer, and the way your lips curved into that practiced smile that Spencer had seen you use before when you were trying to be polite but had no real interest in the conversation. 

He knew you well enough to read the subtle signs.  

He didn’t want to interrupt. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat as he took a step closer. 

“I’ve already explained it to her,” he said flatly.

The monotone delivery caught you off guard, and you turned around quickly to face him, your eyes meeting his behind the familiar frames of his black glasses. 

Spencer wasn’t typically one to interrupt, especially not in such a dry way.

The officer, clearly thrown off by Spencer’s blunt interjection, shifted his weight uncomfortably and gave a half-hearted nod. “Oh, uh… right. Well, if you’ve got it covered, then…” His voice trailed off as he stepped back, offering an awkward smile before retreating. 

You raised an eyebrow at Spencer as the officer walked away, leaving the two of you alone near the evidence board. “What was that about?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

Spencer shrugged, the file still clutched tightly in his hand. “Nothing,” he replied, his gaze darting to the board as if suddenly engrossed in the timeline pinned there. 

But you weren’t convinced. Spencer Reid was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them, not when it came to how he felt.

You noticed the way his jaw tightened, the faint crease in his brow, and the tension in his posture. 

“Spencer,” you pressed, stepping closer.

He hesitated, his fingers flexing around the edges of the file before letting out a small sigh. Finally, he glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I just didn’t think it was necessary for him to keep… explaining things to you,” he said, his words measured. "I already told you everything."

You frowned, trying to piece together the odd behavior. “I mean, he was being—” 

“He was wasting your time,” Spencer interrupted, his tone firmer now. His eyes flicked to yours, the frustration evident behind his glasses. “You already know what you’re doing. You don’t need someone like him hovering over you like that.” 

Realization hit you. The pieces falling into place.

Spencer wasn’t just irritated. He was jealous. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you watched him try to keep his expression neutral, though the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Spencer,” you said softly, a teasing lilt in your voice, “were you jealous?” 

His eyes widened briefly, and he immediately shook his head. “Jealous? No, I… I wasn’t—” He faltered, his ears turning red as he fumbled for a convincing denial. 

“Sure you weren’t,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned slightly toward him. “It’s okay, though. It’s kind of… sweet.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, realizing there was no way to argue without making it worse.

Instead, he sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

Your smile softened, and you reached out to gently touch his arm. “I’m glad you’re looking out for me. But you don’t have to worry—I’m not interested in anyone hovering over me. Unless, of course, it’s you.” 

That earned you a shy smile from Spencer, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with relief. 

And just like that, the two of you returned to the case, but not before you caught the subtle glimmer of satisfaction in Spencer’s eyes. 

[yasministration]

One of us - platonic!marauders x reader

summary: when the marauders find out you're an animagus, you're forced into the beginning of a friendship with them. wc: 1.2k+

With a piece of toast halfway through your mouth, actively listening to Evan’s story, the last thing you’d been expecting on a Monday morning was for Dumbledore to stand up for an announcement. “Will the following students please report to Professor McGonagall’s office.” The old wizard cleared his throat and Evan rolled his eyes, mockingly starting to list off the names of the marauders. “Sirius Black,” You and Evan burst into a fit of giggles at the accuracy of his prediction, listening closely for the other students’ names. “James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and,” Dumbledore paused, squinting his eyes at the slip of paper he was staring at as Evan mumbled ‘Remus Lupin’.

“Uh, Y/N L/N.” You felt all the blood drain away from your face and Evan’s jaw dropped from where he sat in front of you. You felt everyone’s eyes turn towards you and furrowed your eyes in confusion. Evan widened his eyes at you, nodding his head towards the entrance of the Great Hall. You gestured at him with your hands, expressing how you had no idea what you'd done, and grabbed the rest of your toast, sticking it between your teeth as you gathered your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

Turning around, you were surprised to find the three other students lingering in the doorway, waiting for you. You bit through your toast, catching the piece of bread in your hand as you sped up your footsteps, catching up to them. The gears in your head churned as you thought about every single rule you broke in your last seven years at Hogwarts. But why on earth would you be called to see the head of gryffindor house when you weren’t even a gryffindor? You gasped, stopping in your tracks. The three boys in front of you spun around to look at you, a panicked look on your face. “Oh, looks like someone knows what they’re in trouble for.” Sirius teased in a sing song voice, a smirk making its way on his face.

“Oh, can you tell us please! Because, we’re probably in trouble for the same thing, and we always get in trouble so it could be anything! And you, you never get in trouble.” You grimaced at Pettigrew’s little rant, debating whether you should tell them. You shook your head quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat, saying with an embarrassing squeak “I can’t tell you.” Because being an unregistered animagus was not only breaking school rules, but breaking the law. And the only reason you would be called to Professor McGonagall’s office was because she too, was an animagus, and she’d be the only Professor who would know how to deal with situations like these. You looked at the three boys in front of you, rushing past them. But if that was the case, why on earth would they be called into her office too?

You huffed, making the final turn to Professor McGonagall’s office. You put your fist up, ready to knock, but held yourself back. “Hey,” You turned your head to look at the boy speaking to you, a gentle smile on his face. “Don’t worry. If you were in real bad trouble, you wouldn’t be called in with other people.” James nodded towards his two friends, mumbling “Speaking from experience here.” You scoffed in amusement, unable to help the small smile on your face, finally knocking on the wooden door. The “Come in!” was instant. You gulped, smile instantly dropping.

The three of you entered the room in a single file line, sitting down on the four chairs lined up in front of the deputy headmistress’ desk. Professor McGonagall didn’t look up at you until you were all settled, slamming a stack of papers down on the wooden surface of her desk. “Well,” She started with her familiar croak, adjusting her glasses on her nose. “This isn’t how I thought I’d start my week, but what’s life without surprises?” You laughed nervously at her words, but you could tell from her monotonous voice and serious facial expression that you were out of order.

“Recently, a few members of staff have heard students talking about how animals from the forbidden forest are getting comfortable and wandering on school grounds.” You sucked in a sharp breath, straightening your posture as you peeked at the three boys from the corner of your eye. They were glancing right back at you. “More specifically, mentions of a stag, the grim, and a white tiger.” Professor McGonagall looked straight up at you. “Ms. L/N the dog and stag may get away with it, and no one has even noticed the rat, but a white tiger? Students are claiming they’ve made the scientific discovery of the century because white tigers are apparently inhabitants of Scotland now. Scotland!!”

You felt heat rush to your face as she said those words, reaching up to take her glasses off and folding them in front of her. You smiled nervously, rearranging the the tie around your neck as you said “Frankly, Professor McGonagall, I’m not quite sure I know what you’re talking about.” A noise of disagreement came from Sirius, who was wincing at your challenging tone. Professor McGonagall reached for her wand, and you barely had time to react before she was mumbling “Revelio” under her breath. You felt your bones shift, the familiar warm feeling of your animagus form overtaking your body. You squealed, or rather roared, your thick, furry paws sending you leaping into the air as you quickly forced yourself to take shape of your human form again.

You stood awkwardly next to the chair you’d be sat on, patting your hands down on your hair to tame it and straightening out your shirt. Sounds of amazement came from the three marauders at your animagus state, watching as you calmly sat down, clearing your throat. “Alright then.” You muttered, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “You need to sign these registration forms.” The four of you made sounds of exclamation, standing up in unison. “That’s what I thought.” Professor McGonagall continued, a satisfied smile on tugging at her lips, “Now you four be careful. If I call you up here again, know that these forms will be waiting for you.”

You all made noises of agreement, speeding towards the door. You slammed the door open, taking a deep breath when you finally escaped Professor McGonagall’s wrath. You sighed, looking to where Remus Lupin leaned against the wall waiting for his friends. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at your dishevelled state. “Moons, you’ll never guess!” Sirius brushed past you, ranting on to his friend about your transformation. “Oh my goodness, be quiet!” You snapped, spinning on the balls of your feet to face him. Remus laughed, watching as James slung an arm over your shoulders, saying how you had to transform for them again, whilst Peter went on about how soft your white fur looked.

“You know what this means don’t you?” The tall boy called out, looking at how your shoulders became stiff and you tried prying your hair out from under James’s arm. You raised your eyebrows in question, prompting Remus to go on.

“It means you’re one of us now.”

[serejae]

they dont know about us | c.hansol

pairing : vernon x reader

WHAT ! - being the only person able to read vernon is a strange concept to others, i guess your relationship is unique (in which, your the only person able to read vernons expressions

warnings : kisses, petnames, mentions of the other svt members, mention of dead people, slight skin ship, not proof read, established relationship au

-

WHEN HE HAS A ATTIUDE

seungkwan, vernon, and you were sitting in the middle of seungkwans living room playing uno. things were getting heated since vernon gave you 3 plus 4 uno cards in a row. so in return to help you out, seungkwan gave you a swap card to swap his stack with yours so you could win

“hey, youre suppose to give the stack to me if your gonna place it down” vernon said, to anyone else his tone would be monotone and blank, but to you, you could hear the slight disappointment in his tactic of teaming up on you.

“my house, my rules” seungkwan replied rolled his eyes at vernon protest as he put down a plus 4 card on vernon. vernons mouth slightly opened in shock, after a few seconds of processing he looked over at you.

to the normal eye this wouldve been a man looking over at someone, but to you this was vernons attitude come in. you could read him perfectly, being able to read anything his face shows from visibly to hidden. no matter how he presents his emotions it seems like you could always tell what hes feeling

“dont give me that look just because you wanted me to lose” you yelled slightly, he laughed and shook his head knowing he was caught

“what look?” seungkwan looked up

“you didnt see the reaction on his face after you put down the plus 4?”

“yeah the face of a dead person, he didnt make a face it was just…blank”

“yeah i didnt make a face” vernon teased making you groan

“he did make a face! he was giving me attitude” you defended yourself to a lost seungkwan and a happy vernon

“you both are so weird”

-

WHEN HES SAD

“i dont know where it could be” vernon ran his hand through his hair as he sat down on the couch frustrated, right now, he thinks he has his eyebrows furrowed, a pout and a slight redness to his cheek. but in reality hes just blanked out. like a mannequin, just sitting there with a blank stare

“its fine you could always buy another” dino said sitting on the floor eating off the coffee table in front of vernon.

vernon sighed as he slumped himself into the couch even more. “yn bought it for me, i cant replace it”

“i mean they could always buy you another one”

“but its not the same”

just then you walked in through the door saying hi to dino and vernon. as your eyes drifted to vernon you see him slumped on the couch with a very (in your eyes) big pout on his face. sitting right next to him you caressed his cheek “whats wrong? whats with the look on your face?”

“what look?” dino said as he chewed his food puzzled

“you dont see the big pout on vernons face?” you turned to dino

“no”

“its right there” you pointed at vernons lips where the pout evidently laid

“i think youre seeing things yn”

-

WHEN HES SCARED

vernon had his arm around your shoulder as the movie wrapped up. you could feel the gentle grip he had that tighted at times a jump scare came up.

when the movie finally ended, vernon got up and gave you a hand to help you up, as you held his hand you looked over and saw his scared face, automatically you busted out laughing making dokyeom and joshuw look over at you two

“whats so funny?” dokyeom asked smiling in amusement as he put a piece of popcorn in his mouth

“look at vernons face, hes so scared” you laughed

dokyeom moved his head to look at vernons face and furrowed his eyebrows while looking over at joshua, joshua was just as confused raising his eyebrow.

“yn, vernon does not look scared at all” joshua chuckled observing vernons expression closer

“what do you mean? you dont see his lips quivering?” now it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows

“i think thats your eyes moving really fast…i dont think its his lips” joshua said making dokyeom laugh

-

WHEN HES IN LOVE

all the members sat around the dinner table with their partners at the house party you and vernon were hosting. vernons finger caressed your thigh in a comforting way letting you know he was there. you laid your hand ontop of vernons fingers and whispered to him

“lets go start on the dishes as they talk”

he nods and lets you get up first before following you to the kitchen. the kitchen gave a view of the dining room to you both as well to everyone else. he washed dishes as you dried them, but something about vernon doing dishes in a basic t shirt with his hair down was doing something to you. you stared at him with your pupils dilated as he looked at you with his brown eyes. at this point vernon probably wss scrubbing the same spot 50 times but that was the least of his priorities

“vernon ah, yns looking at you with love and youre looking at her as if she crashed your car” hoshi joked making you and vernon look away

quick to defend him you spoke up

“what do you mean? he was looking at me with love?”

“that isnt love, thats him turning you into stone” scoups laughed

“i swear you guys have to be able to see the expression on his face”

looking around you see no one siding with you

“is vernon gaslighting you?” jeonghan questioned

looking back over at vernon, he was already staring at you just as confused, he shrugged his shoulders and you both continued washing the dishes.

-

WHEN HES VULNERABLE

“i dont get it, why cant they see the emotions on your face like i do?” you complained slightly annoyed as you laid on his chest

vernon hummed as his fingers ran through your hair. “i dunno

but i kinda like it”

“you do?”

“yeah” he replied simply

“it reminds me that youre special to me, that we have a special relationship. youre the only one who can read my emotions, the others cant and dont understand me like you do.

they dont know about us,

i like that its your special superpower

i dont want them to be able to read me like you can

just a me and you thing”

as you listened to his words you looked up at him and could see it in his face that he meant every word. how he cherished each special interaction you both had that no one else understood. because he liked being different, he liked how no one could get him, but he liked it even more how you were the only one who could

so maybe his friends cant read his emotions on his face and maybe they find him weird , but you can and dont

and thats all that matters to him

[servicpop]

kinktober week 4 — impact play vallen ( ceo oc ) x bttm male reader

ⓘ riding crop use , basically pain kink , punishment , short

It started with dinner, you accidentally spilling red wine on Vallen's navy suit, — though he wasn't mad at all, he could easily afford five more if he wanted to — breaking a cup while trying to make yourself a drink, and then your overly clingy behaviour in his office while he was trying to finish paperwork for the night. Your audible groaning didn't help the countless pages of useless but important information he had to hand write.

You were draped over the couch Vallen had against one of the walls in his office, your head laying off the armrest turning your vision upside-down. Per usual, Vallen was sat at his desk with a pen in hand, quietly scribbling whatever he needed onto one piece of paper before moving to the other.

“Vallen, I'm so lonely can you please pay your boyfriend some attention?” There it was again, your whiny tone and your pouty lips chirping off about something Vallen didn't even care to listen to. But, just hearing your voice again broke his last straw.

Vallen abruptly pushed himself away from the desk, standing up with his back faced to you. From the absence of words, you knew he was pissed, and that was enough for you to sit up properly and fix up your posture. You heard the scraping of wood against wood as Vallen pulled open the bottom drawer from his desk, pulling out a long black stick with a fanned out edge.

The moment you saw him slap the edge against his palm, making that crackle noise, you realised that he was holding a riding crop.

The CEO turned around to face you, striding towards the couch where you sat with each footstep accompanied with the clack of his shoes against the polished wooden floors. There wasn't a frown on his face, nor did he have a monotone expression; Vallen wore an unsettling, sweet smile.

“Sweetheart I'm sure you're aware of how busy I am,” he cooes, carding his fingers through your hair, tucking back any fly-aways behind your ear. You shudder from the oddly soft touches despite the vein thats straining on his forehead. He brings the black riding crop to your cheek, gliding the leather along your skin.

“All you've done today was annoy me, isn't it time I teach you a lesson, hm?” His voice was dangerously smooth, like faux fur on an expensive coat. You don't have the heart to reply so you just swallow your words.

“Lay down across my lap,” Vallen drops an octave and the smile drops from his face. He leans back against the velvet couch, a knuckle pressed against his cheek as he waits for you to bend down. He looks down at you as if you were a tiny mouse and he was a cat with sharpened claws.

You would be a fool if you didn't obey, so you did, almost instantly laying down over his knees. He brings your hands behind your back, slipping off the tie he was wearing to bind your wrists together in a tight bow. You were just like a present on Christmas, bound with a little bow and waiting for Vallen to tear apart.

His fingers slid underneath the back of your pants, brushing against the small of your back before he pushed them down all the way to your ankles. He didn't bother fully taking them off.

He brought the riding crop to the mound of your ass, caressing your skin with small circles before he brought it up and slammed it down on your tender flesh. A surprised yelp tumbled out of your mouth as you flinched upon impact, wincing at the sting.

“Count, prince,” He corrected, using his free hand to slip down the crack and to your puckered hole. “Use your words.”

The tips of his fingers nudged at your opening, pushing past your tight rim to slip one finger in. He brought the crop up again and smacked it down, sending ripples through your now reddened cheek.

“T—Two,” you manage to choke out between whimpers. The sting made you squirm, instinctively trying to apply pressure to the 'wound.' As your hands attempt to wriggle out of its confinements, Vallen smacks your wrists with the tool, earning another pained gasp from you.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment while his fingers push up against your pelvic bone, sinking his finger into your tight channel.

“You're getting so red,” He chuckled hollowly, tracing the red marks on your skin with the leather, “I told you, it really is your color.”

Vallen leaned his head down to kiss your wrists before he moved the crop over your ass again. He delivered another smack, the sound piercing through the otherwise silent room. Your knees instinctively bend up as your legs squirm from the pain similar to a burn under your skin.

Vallen takes the opportunity to slip a second finger inside, his ring finger accompanying his middle. He doesn't move them, he keeps his fingers completely still inside of you, letting your muscles contract and clench down on them with each hit to your sensitive skin.

“Three,” you sob out, tears brimming your eyes as the pain builds up. His fingers are tormenting you, buried so deep that just a slight nudge of his fingers could get you writhing in pleasure. Vallen sets the riding crop down for a minute, sliding his fingers under your adams apple to lift your face up.

“Poor boy, let's switch it up.” Vallen's voice is full of sugar, like molasses dripping off his tongue. It made your throat clog and your stomach ache as if you really did eat something overly sugary.

He hoists you up by your torso, letting your knees bend and your calves press against the back of your thighs in a sitting position. He marvels at your pink cock flush against your lower stomach, letting out a small condescending chuckle.

“Why are they closed, dear?” he tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly as he places a hand on each of your knees, delicately pulling them apart. He fishes the riding crop from the couch, holding it firmly in his palms; he doesn't do anything with it just yet. His free hand makes it's way to cradle your cheek, dipping his thumb past your pink lips and into your mouth. You're sitting taller than him at the moment due to the fact that you were on your shins while he had both feet flat on the floor.

Vallen lets you suck his finger for a second and he can feel your warm, wet tongue over the pad of his thumb. He looks up at you with such bedroom eyes, dipping his head down to press a quick kiss to your chest covered by the thin fabric of your shirt. Your body tenses up at the light touch to your now hardened nipples, and Vallen takes advantage of the distraction.

He brings the leather of the riding crop to your tip, thwacking it with enough force to get you to whine and flinch but not enough to wholeheartedly hurt you. He lets the crop linger on the slit of your cockhead before he lifts it up slowly to peek at the underside of it.

“You're making such a mess” he muses, observing the dampness of the flap from the pre-cum bubbling from your urethra. It's smeared all over the material, creating a sticky mess all over yourself and the tool.

He uses his index finger to slide along the slit, gathering all the fluid on his finger before he shamelessly wipes his fingers clean on your stomach.

“How many is that now?” he questions you while pulling your shirt up and above your head, revealing your perky chest, untainted with red as of now.

“Four,” you hiccup, the pain made you fidgety but the pleasure kept you grounded. You saw the gradual color change from a lighter pink to red on your skin. You let out a choked moan when Vallen smacks your dick with the crop again, sending shockwaves of pain through your veins.

It hurts so bad that it's good.

Vallen's non-dominant hand seemed to be contradictory to the one holding the tool. He gently caressed and patted the supple skin of your chest, soothing you with honeyed touches. Vallen leans his face in closer to your skin, littering small kisses over your clavicle and latched his mouth onto one nipple.

“V—Vallen, don't,” you whine out, struggling with your restraints as you attempted to try and push him back. He knew you were weak where your chest was, and it was confirmed with the way your breathing elevated.

Your words fell to dead ears nonetheless, his hand gingerly twisting and flicking your buds while he kissed the other. The riding crop in his hands dragged up from the bottom of your stomach all the way to the nipple Vallen's mouth was previously tormenting.

He places the flap flat along your pink bud before hitting it harshly. Your body instinctively jerked back and a pained cry punched out of your throat as your chest slowly reddened.

“Too harsh? Is it too sensitive up here?” He feigned concern, cooing at you like a child. He moves his hand to rub your nipple soothing before delivering a lighter smack to it again. It was all raw and achy; you'd definitely need to place bandages over it for the next few days from how sensitive it'll get.

The dragging of leather down and up your length so teasingly was undoubtedly kindling a fire in the pit of your stomach. The cold leather slicked with your own fluid was so erotic, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin from the ticklish feeling.

“Val— wait, wait–!” Your words are all chopped up as Vallen slaps the area where your balls meet the underside of your cock, the hit sending ripples down your spine, making you bend forward and slam your legs shut. The tingling sensation was enough to pull you off the edge and you could feel your thighs convulse and that familiar feeling of an orgasm well up in your balls.

“That's my good boy,” Vallen's seductive tone rings through your ears and you're wriggling in the tie wrapped around your wrists, letting out a muffled whine through your throat. Your eyelashes flutter rapidly before your body can't hold it in anymore as you empty out your load.

The weight lifts from your balls and leaves you panting, body slumped and aching. The afterfeeling of the slaps started to sting and tingle.

You can't even bring your mind to realise the mess you made on Vallen's clothing, white splayed out across his thighs. Through dazed eyes you see him move his hands behind your back, untying you from the grasp of his tie.

“You won't bother me while I'm working again?” he asks, and he expects you to reply with a 'yes.' He slips a hand to your cheek, wiping away any stray tears that escaped from your tear ducts.

“I've learnt my lesson,” you mumble against the warmth of his palm, nuzzling into the affectionate gesture.

“Good.”

[jojojoy1]

Hey!! can you do a lando x driver y/n. Your writing is amazingggg! <3 have a good dayyy

I'm sorry I won - Lando Norris

Lando Norris x reader

You climbed out of your car seething with anger. There was only one word you could think of to describe that race: shit. You'd been leading the race for Every. Single. Lap. Until you weren't...

You'd managed to hold off the McLarens up until the last lap, when you hit a piece of debris on the track. The papaya cars flew past you, leaving you in P3. Not a bad result, but not what you wanted.

You stormed past all the reporters after getting weighed. FIA and team personnel ambushed you, pushing you to do the post-race interview and podium.

Lando watched as you argued your way to the exit. There was no way you were going to talk about that shitshow. So you didn't. No interview. No podium. You just left.

Everyone knew of your relationship with Lando, so everyone knew how tense the next few days would be. He wanted to run to you after the race. He wanted to apologise and comfort you. Tell you it wasn't personal, just racing. But he had duties, the same ones you ignored. So he couldn't.

When he finally got back to the hotel, he could feel the argument brewing. He opened the door slowly, hoping you were asleep and trying not to wake you. You were laying somewhat peacefully in bed, but you weren't asleep.

"Fuck off. Find a different room to sleep in tonight." Your monotone voice made Lando feel like he was being stabbed with your words. You didn't look at him, facing the wall with your back to him.

"Baby, please, don't be like this. I'm so-"

"Don't say you're sorry. You won. You were very fucking happy, and you should be. Well done." It was the blandest 'well done' ever. No joy in your voice. You didn't sound proud of him, not that he expected you to. He knew how angry you could get sometimes when it came to racing. "I don't hear you leaving."

"The hotel is packed, they definitely won't have an extra room for me to stay in just because you're mad at me." Lando didn't want to say too much, not knowing what might set you off.

"Well you're not sleeping in the bed," Finally, you rolled over to face your nervous boyfriend. "You can sleep over there." You gesture towards the tiny leather sofa on the other side of the room.

"Seriously?" He questioned, his slightly annoyed expression quickly changed with the sharpe glare you sent him. "Fine. If that will make you happy."

"Winning would have made me happy."

"No need for the sass, y/n. It's not my fault you hit that debris." You didn't respond to that, just rolling over again to ignore him. "And seriously, you're the only person that ever holds anything that happens on track against me. Everyone else just brushes it off because that's racing. You know I love you but you also know I can't just go easy on you because I love you. So I'll sleep on the sofa tonight but you need to let this go. I'm not sleeping on the sofa when we get home."

"Ugh..." You roll back and sit up, looking at your boyfriend. "I'm sorry, you're right. It's just racing and I should leave it on track." That response shocked Lando. He expected you to blow up at him. Screaming and shouting, so an apology is not at all what he had prepared himself for.

"Does that mean I can sleep in the bed?" Lando asks, hopeful. You consider it for a moment.

"Fine. Come cuddle me, mister winner." Your arms outstretched to welcome him for a hug. Lando flops into your arms as if he'd just turned to liquid.

"How much trouble were you in for skipping everything?"

"Oh so much."

[b1eedthefreak]

Boyfriend Bootcamp

daryl x girly!dramatic!reader

warnings: none! just fluff :3

⸻

It was laundry day in Alexandria, and while the rest of the community used it as an excuse to wear the same pair of cargo pants for the third day in a row, you treated it like a runway show.

You’d carefully picked out the cutest pair of jeans you owned—the ones that hugged just right—and a light pink tank top you’d found months ago but saved for a special day. Your hair was brushed, tied up in a pink ribbon you stole from Judith’s toy chest, and your lip gloss shimmered like you were about to star in a Y2K music video. You even dabbed on a little perfume you’d been rationing, because the apocalypse might’ve ended the world, but it wasn’t gonna kill your sense of fashion.

You stepped out of the house like it was the Met Gala of Alexandria, hips swaying, confidence radiating. And there he was. Daryl, standing with his arms crossed outside the mess hall, chewing on beef jerky like it had personally offended him, looking like a dusty Southern model in his sleeveless flannel and cargo pants.

You strutted right up to him, stopping in front him with a proud twirl.

“Well?” you asked, flashing him a dazzling smile.

He blinked. “Well what?”

You gasped, dramatically clutching your chest. “Daryl! Are you seriously not gonna say anything about the vision of beauty standing in front of you right now?”

He blinked again. “…You get a new belt or somethin’?”

You smacked his arm. “Oh my God. No! Daryl! I’m literally glowing right now. This outfit is a ten! I need you to act like I just stepped off a red carpet.”

He furrowed his brow, his gaze trailing down to your outfit like he was just now realizing it was different. “You look like you always do.”

You stared at him. “…Excuse me?”

“I mean—like, cute. You always look cute. S’why I didn’t say nothin’. Didn’t realize you were fishin’ for compliments.”

“I am not fishing!” you cried, throwing your hands up. “I’m requesting the bare minimum of boyfriend behavior!”

Daryl mumbled something under his breath and looked away.

You squinted. “What was that!?”

“I said… you look good. Real good. Pink suits ya. Makes ya look… y’know.”

You tilted your head. “Makes me look what?”

“Like my girl,” he muttered.

Your heart melted. Just a little. But still, you were a drama queen. And he deserved to suffer.

“I should make you do a boyfriend bootcamp,” you muttered, folding your arms. “Lesson one: when your girlfriend is clearly being the most beautiful gif you’ve ever seen, you tell her. Immediately. No hesitation.”

He huffed. “Ya spun around like a ballerina. Didn’t know what the hell was goin’ on.”

“I twirled…” you corrected. “That’s fashion drama, Daryl. You’re supposed to gasp and say something like, ‘Damn baby, is that outfit for me?’ Or be like, ‘I’d kill a man for you right now.’ Something hot and delusional!”

Daryl gave you a look. “I already would kill a man for you.”

You paused. “…Okay, true. But I want you to say it sometimes, too. For the vibes.”

Later that night…

You were brushing your hair out on the porch when Daryl came out with a blanket in one hand and a weirdly thoughtful expression on his face. He tossed the blanket over your shoulders and sat beside you, pulling you into his side.

“What’s on your mind Dixon?” you asked, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

He shifted a little. “I was thinkin’… maybe I could practice. Y’know. Bein’… more boyfriend-y. The way you like.”

You grinned immediately. “You mean dramatic?”

“Yeah. That,” he muttered. “So I, uh, wrote somethin’.”

Your jaw dropped. “You wrote a speech?”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, and started reading with the flattest expression you’d ever seen.

“Damn, baby,” he read, monotone. “That outfit is so cute I forgot what day it is. I’d kill a man for you right now. I’d fight a bear. A real one. With teeth.”

You burst out laughing.

“Don’t laugh…” he huffed, crumpling the paper. “I worked on that with Carol.”

You choked. “CAROL HELPED?!”

“She said if I didn’t say somethin’ soon, you were gonna start gettin’ your compliments from Aaron instead.”

You were crying laughing now, burying your face in his chest.

“I love you so much,” you gasped between giggles. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard!”

He grumbled something under his breath but wrapped both arms around you and kissed your hair.

You looked up at him. “Wanna hear my dramatic line now?”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Do I?”

You leaned in close, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “You’re the hottest man in the apocalypse. Even when you forget to compliment me….”

He huffed. But the corner of his mouth twitched.

“…Still think pink’s your color,” he murmured.

You beamed. “See? That’s all I wanted.”

⸻

a/n: i hope you guys love girly reader x daryl as much as i do!!

[pearlescynt]

𝓛𝓸𝓯𝓲 𝓛𝓾𝓼𝓽 ♡

{ Pairing } - Producer.bf!Jisung x afab.gf!reader

{ Genre } - NSFW; s/f/d(dark)*, PWP, established relationship

{ Synopsis } - Your boyfriend doesn't know any other method of stress relief, other than creating music. He can get so consumed by it, it can become the stressor. So you decide to present him with a new method. That's how you found yourself walking down the street in nothing but lingerie and a long coat.

{ WC } - 2.9k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, *forced orgasm/slight dubcon if you squint, everything is consensual but there is begging for more when reader might be at her limit so that's why I'm including dubcon (for those who may find it triggering)*, use of pet names (baby, angel, mine, my love, good girl & Ji), very lowkey needy/soft dom & romantic sub dynamic, worshipping reader, oral (f. recieving), squirting, overstimulation, unprotected piv (do as I say & not as I write, pee after sex too!), creampie, cum feeding & eating, fingers in mouth, pussy worship, I may just have gotten carried away with oral fixations okay? FORGIVE ME.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - I originally was going to post a Hyunjin oneshot next, but I wanted to finish this one in time for Jiji's birthday! It's 2 am on the 14th where I am heheh. Hopefully you all like it. Han producing music will always be hot asf for me personally lmao. Barely proofread.

The air was cool, seeping underneath your long wool coat. In any other circumstance, on a late fall night, the coat would be enough to keep the chill out. Today however, it wouldn't. But you still kept walking, determined to make it to Jisungs studio. 

You focused on the clicking of the heels on the boots you wore. And the sound of the wind picking up, signalling a blustery night ahead. The small sounds calm your nerves. 

You were anxious about Jisung's reaction, he was in one of his moods again. You understand, you truly do. Juggling everything he has to on his plate, it was no easy feat. There were times he'd just let that dark veil take over, and shut everyone out without even meaning to. 

You knew he was in that state again when you hadn't seen or heard from him in three days. It wasn't for lack of effort on your end either. Every phone call sent to voicemail, every text sent by you was met with the same response;

'At the studio, I'll text you after, angel'.

You knew it was time for intervention when Chan texted you that he was only coming home, at 2 in the morning no less, to shower and change. No eating, no resting, just back to the studio afterwards.

This had happened twice before in the almost year you've been dating. Each time you remember talking with him afterwards, he always said the same thing;

'making music is my stress relief.'

That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that he is also a workaholic. One who easily gets lost in the creative space he has built a career off of. And once that diligence sets in, it's hard to shake off. 

So here you are, ready to try a new approach. Ready to offer a new kind of relief. An alternative. 

You and Jisungs sex life was far from boring. Far from infrequent, you'd say too. But it surely was more... monotonous. You'd never complain about it, and neither would he. There was nothing wrong with it. It just happened at the 'perfect' times in your relationship. 

Before bed, after date nights, on monthly anniversaries, to express massive amounts of love, etc. 

It was never to celebrate happiness, calm anger, or comfort sadness. Never to relieve stress. 

You were determined to change that. There was no reason you could not help him in any way you could. And in this aspect, you knew you could. 

Still, you were nervous. This would be new, he never did well with new. 

Your footsteps stopped, leaving only the sound of the wind in your ears. Until you pressed your badge against the card reader, listening to the beeps, to the gears unlock. 

Once inside the lobby, the clinking of your heels against the vinyl tile filled your ears. Each step matches the thumping in your heart, you find yourself speed walking.

 You smiled and gave a little wave to the staff in the lobby, and they returned it. 

In the elevator, the sound of its melodic music filled your ears next. The whirring background noise the machinery made, stopped, as you reached your desired floor. 

There was silence when you stepped off. The flooring is carpeted now, and soundproof rooms lined the hallway leaving the night quiet. 

You took a deep breath and made your way to the door you knew was your boyfriend's. It was unlocked, thankfully. 

You let yourself in, seeing the silhouette of your boyfriends back facing the door in the blue lighting. 

He was all about ambiance in this facet of life, having LED's lining the ceiling. The only source of light in the room, besides the glowing screens of his monitors. 

He was sat in his chair, headphones on, hood up, head nodding in tandem with his fingers tapping. 

You took the opportunity to slide your boots off. Opting to keep your coat on, you brushed your hair over one shoulder. You took your badge from around your neck, and tossed it on the leather couch that was against the wall. 

Padding your way over to him, you place your hand on his shoulder lightly. He tenses under your touch, and turns his head. He's frowning when he first faces you, eyebrow furrowed together. 

When he sees you though, he softens. The corners of his mouth slightly upturning to a small smile. 

"Baby..." He whispers, sliding his head phones off. Soft lofi music is filling the room from them. 

He grabs your hand off his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. He's pressing soft kisses to your palm, and placing it on his cheek. 

"It's late my angel, why are you here?" He says in a husky voice with more volume. 

Your heart flutters at his gentleness, and you bend down to press your own lips to the top of his head. A musky, yet spicy vanilla scent fills your nostrils. His scent. 

"I'm here to help you baby." You murmur to him softly. 

That caught his attention. He fully swivelled around to face you, taking both of your hands in his. He gazed up into your eyes, a curious look on his face. 

You smiled down on him, feeling nothing but love for this man. You'd relax him in any way you can. You placed a hand on each side of his face, bending down again. No more words were said as you kissed him. As your hands slid down his neck, his found themselves on yours, pulling you closer to him. Matching your eagerness.

You let your hands fully slide off him, and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Your trembling fingers were working the buttons on your coat. One by one, releasing the fabric from your bare skin. 

You stood up, letting the coat fall from your shoulders.

Jisung lets out a soft gasp, and licks his lips. 

Exposed to him, was his favorite lingerie you owned. It was a bra and panty set, satin and lace. Revealing. 

All white. 

Your boyfriends favorite part. He always said that the contrast against your melanated skin was a work of art. He joked about commissioning Hyunjin, if he didn't have to see you essentially naked.

So here you stood before him, presenting yourself to him. Silently willing him to do as he pleases. To take your body and use you to decompress. You were too nervous to say it.

He traces the swell of your breast with a finger, curving around the delicate lace. It's a simple touch, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps blooming on your skin. 

"So sexy." He mumbles, eyes roving your whole body. 

He stands up, kissing you desperately, and walking you back to the couch. Your knees hit the back of it, and you're forced to sit. Lips ripping away from his, panting at the desire in his eyes. 

All your nerves were gone. New or not, it would never change the fact that Jisung craved you as much as you craved him. 

He held himself up with his hands on the back of the couch, and hovered above you for a moment looking you in the eyes. 

Then he was sinking to the ground, on his knees, between your legs. His hands smooth over your thighs, making them pliant with soft kisses, before he spreads them open. Your pussy is glistening behind the lace, and he licks his lips again. 

His hand glides from your thigh, to your heat. Thumb brushing against that sensitive bud, the friction eliciting a whine from you. 

His eyes snap up to you, and he holds your gaze as his tongue licks a stripe up your clothed core. The tip of it flicking deliciously against your sensitive clit. 

"Mmmm..." He groaned at the taste of you, "All for me?"

You moan at his tongue swiping against you again, and again, "All for you, my love." 

His fingers hook underneath the band of your underwear, and he peels them off you. He's whimpering, watching as strings of your arousal stick to them. The cool air is hitting your sex, before puffs of hot air from his mouth is. And you're shivering again at the sensation. 

A gasp escapes you when his tongue slides between your folds. Lapping up your juices, and suckling at that bundle of nerves. You listen to the wet sounds his mouth is making against you, along with the broken melody coming from his head set. You get lost in it. 

Your hand finds his hair, and you're grinding against his mouth. He's whimpering and moaning with you, one hand palming at his bulge. The other has fingers teasing your entrance. 

You let out a loud moan when two fingers push into you, and your grasp on his hair loosens. He takes the opportunity to get air, panting, mouth hanging open. His cheeks, chin and lips all shine in the dull blue light. 

His fingers continue to pump into you as he watches your face contort for him. He's smiling with lidded eyes, basking in the fact that he's making you feel so good. 

"Ji..." You moan, needing more.

"My beautiful baby, let me worship you a little longer." And he's diving back down.

His tongue focuses on your clit, and fingers coaxing that gummy spot inside you. He's pulling moan after moan from you, making out with your lower lips, bringing you closer to the edge. Your thighs start trembling around his head, and he has to grip the fleshy part of one of them to stop you from squeezing him before he's finished. 

You're spilling over the edge, body alight and your release coating his fingers, and face. He's lapping up every little bit, determined to taste your pleasure on his tongue. Only when you start to whine from constant overstimulation does he stop. 

He's kissing his way up to your lips, leaving a wet trail behind him that you couldn't bring yourself to care about. 

You're not sure when he managed to discard his pants and boxers, but you feel his hard, bare length pressing against your inner thigh. 

He's rubbing his member against your pussy now, letting your slick and his saliva cover him. Kissing your neck as he's rocking against you, he whispers, "Angel, do you have another one for me?"

Of course you did, you knew you did. You needed to feel him, you needed to please him. So you started nodding fervently, eyes rolling in the back of your head when he sucked lightly near your ear and jaw. 

He had a grasp of his cock now, dragging the head through your folds with added pressure. Each squelch of your juices sounds like music to your ears, anticipation building in your body.

"'Gonna make you feel s'good." He's whining into your neck. 

He has your legs around him now, as he fills you slowly, both of you savoring the sensations it brings. Your pussy spasms around him, and it has him grunting. 

"Always feel so good squeezin' me..." He mumbled, letting you adjust, "...exactly what I needed..." 

Then he was pumping into you, and you felt it. All the frustrations he was holding onto, all the stress, all the vexation. He was translating it into the energy he used to pleasure you. Letting go of it all. 

You couldn't hear the soft lofi music coming from his head set anymore, instead the slapping of skin and heavy breathing mixed with moans were filling the room. You'd never be more thankful for a soundproof space. Neither of you were holding back. 

Your moans only being interrupted by quiet curses, and his being peppered in between praises of how good you feel for him. He made it known he was chasing your high before his, begging you to cum for him. 

"Please angel," he whispers against your lips, "need to feel you cumming on my cock."

His pace became quicker as he kissed you, and his hand slithered down to play with your clit. Your back arched off the couch at that, angling him deeper inside you. He groaned, and his thrusts faltered for a second indicating he was close. 

Regardless he was determined to finish you, and his tone grew more demanding, "Be a good girl... cum for me, angel."

And that was all your body and mind needed to let go, legs locking around him and body shaking. Your hands slid under his hoodie, and nails dug into his back. It was the kind of intense orgasm, that your moan got stuck in your throat, instead a rough growl coming out. 

You sounded absolutely feral for him, and you were. 

That was what pushed him over the edge, a slew of curses leaving his mouth as his hips stuttered. With a final harsh thrust, he cums deep inside you. All of the negativity has dispersed from his body, and he collapsed back to his knees. 

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. You jolt when you feel his fingers in your folds, over sensitivity taking over yet again. He's spreading you open, hypnotized by the way his cum is drooling out of you. 

"So perfect, fuck." He says as he drags his finger through it. 

He's bringing it up to your lips, and your mouth opens instinctively. You're sucking his finger into your mouth, his essence salty but familiar on your tongue. 

His eyes are locked to yours as you work his finger, licking it clean. He slips a second finger in your mouth, letting you cover them in your saliva before he dips back down for a taste himself. 

You're whining around his fingers when his tongue glides against your clit, and your hips try to retract into the couch. Quickly, he has both hands on your hips, securing you in place so he can continue tasting you. 

"We taste so good together, my love..." He's mumbling against you. 

His words will never fail to coax submission out of you.

Your hand flies back to his hair, as good as it feels you're trying to pull him away. He's just burying his face deeper, tongue dipping into your entrance to make sure he's tasting everything. 

"Ji... s'too much... I can't-" You're pleading, even though you feel yourself succumbing to the overwhelming brushes of his tongue.

He hisses when you finally succeed in pulling him off you, "Please angel," He's begging again, "Just one more. I know you have one more for me." 

"Fuck, Ji, I-" 

He silences you with his tongue flat against you, another lick up to your clit "Please, need to hear you cumming one more time for me." He whines and starts leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your pussy. 

You always knew he was more of a giver. That even though it was you who had cum twice, and he only once. He preferred it that way. Even if he was the one needing the release more, he thrived more on your pleasure.

"Just be gentl-" You try to say, but cut yourself off with a groan. 

He's eagerly slurping at your core. Lost in the moment, all he has is your pussy on his mind now. Messily licking and lapping at every inch. He's shaking his head and moaning into it, keeping you pinned in place by your hips. 

You feel another orgasm starting to build quickly, clenching around nothing. He risks you bucking your hips roughly into his face, and takes a hand off your hip. He's pushing two fingers into you yet again, and you're seeing stars. 

His fingers curl, and his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly. You feel your release slip away from you, and your cumming on his face again. Yelling his name. He only grows more determined.

He leans back so he can watch the beautiful, writhing, mess he reduced you to. The thumb of his other hand is replacing his mouth, continuously flicking your bud. He doesn't slow his movements as you ride out your orgasm, instead picking them up. 

Your world turns white, and you feel yourself squirt on his hands. He's watching you in awe, whispering more praise for you as your juices spray over him. 

"So fucking sexy, my good girl."

"That's it, let go for me, let it all go."

"Knew you had one more in you, all for me."

"My perfect angel."

It's when you start to slip into that floaty space that he finally stops. He doesn't want you too gone, he's limited in the care he can provide here.

He's positioning you to lay on the couch, and he's laying behind you. You're both wet and sticky, and heaving for air. Yet, it's blissful. 

You lay there for what could've been minutes or an hour, you weren't sure. You were content in each other's touch. Your arm reaches back to caress his head, fingers combing through his hair. He's humming. 

"I love you." You finally murmur. 

"I love you more, angel. Thank you for this." He says, and kisses your shoulder. 

"You caught on quickly to my idea." You giggled.

He laughed with you, "I caught on halfway through it, actually. I was just beside myself with desire for you." 

You blushed at that, and you were thankful he couldn't see it. 

"I mean you showed up in my favorite set..." He whispers and starts toying with the lace on your bra, his finger slipping underneath to flick your nipple, "In ONLY my favorite set. How could I not show you how much I admire you." 

You felt his length harden against you again, and he rolled his hips slowly as he gripped your hip. 

You knew the night was far from over. 

As for how you were both going to escape and clean up? Well that was a problem for future you. 

Taglist:

@eczlipse @sailor--sun @maisyyyyyy @jupire @prettiichocolateprincess

@meowmeowminnie @joyofbebbanburg @adieu-lisette @sleeping-beau-tay @staytinyluv

@lookitsjess @majorlymismanaged @kpopsstuffs @helloimacalumgirl @bbokarimenu

@bubblepop-stay @mauvemelon @ohhlittlegirl @ang4lheart @spnwinchestersd

@adieu-lisette @loud-minhoe @juwire @anylady-fics @antisocialties

@nebugalaxy @wowitsafemale

As always, please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist. And if you do, pretty please interact with my fics besides liking (ie; replying/commenting/reblogging). Although I will always appreciate liking as well! Feedback is always cherished! ♡

But again, please be gentle in your criticism! I am but a sensitive soul.

[sparklingchim]

game on | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.2k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warnings: koo gets scolded for sleeping around 🥺, playboy jk <3, hints of a threesome 🫢, oc fights w a laundry machine

summary: jungkook is in desperate need to polish up his playboy image, and naturally, he turns to you for help.

a/n: hii my pretty besties!!!! it's my bday😋 so i wanted to share this silly piece i've been having so much fun writing!!! love uuu n treat urself to smth nice for me today <3 mwah😙

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jeon Jungkook is a charming man – and he is well aware of the fact. He plays that card effortlessly.

Most of the time, it works in his favour. Gets him what he wants, opens doors, soften blows.

But sometimes, it backfires. Spectacularly.

Which is why, right now, he’s standing in front of his fuming manager, who is radiating enough anger to fill the entire office.

The sight isn’t foreign to Jungkook. He wouldn’t say he is used to it, but he has found himself often enough in this situation to recognise the signs of deep trouble.

It’s not just Jungkook’s charm that’s making things complicated. It’s also the fact that he is famous.

He doesn’t flaunt it – never brags, never name-drops. That’s not his thing. But he’s not stupid either. His name (dare he say it) carries a bit of weight, and he’s learned how to use it. Quietly. Casually. Just enough to make things go his way.

Bending the world to his will... until the world pushes back.

And right now, it’s pushing back hard.

One thing Jeon Jungkook does enjoy about being a pro footballer, though, is the way women obsess over him.

He knows they love him – sees it in the comments they leave on his ig posts, sees it in the DMs flooding his inbox daily, and experiences it firsthand at public events, where hordes of fans scream his name. Jungkook thrives on that attention.

However, something he doesn’t love, and what he was never prepared for, is the media. The way they scrutinise his every move, how his face ends up on every headline anytime he does something remotely noteworthy.

And now, thanks to his latest shenanigan getting caught by the press, here he is. Getting chewed out by Taesung, his manager, while Jiwoo from PR watches with that tight-lipped expression that always means bad news.

Jungkook’s eyes are downcast, bracing himself for the scolding that’s already begun.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Jungkook.”

His manager speaks in a flat, monotonous voice, void of even the slightest hint of disappointment, as if he’d long since given up expecting anything different.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up the mess you leave behind?”

A sense of guilt creeping up on Jungkook, even though he knows if he were just a regular guy, none of this would matter at all. And he finds it a bit unfair.

But to survive in this business, you can’t complain about unfairness.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Taesung barks.

Jungkook remains silent. He forces himself to.

“If there was more involved than just alcohol-”

“No! Nothing like that,” he denies, his response firm and immediate. “It was just alcohol – and, well, just good vibes because we won the last match, and with the World Cup being next, everyone was just really excited.”

If he had known what kind of trouble a simple, innocent celebration of his team’s win at a club would bring, he would’ve gone straight home yesterday. He would’ve skipped the rounds of drinks, the flashing lights, the loud music, and definitely the attention. But hindsight was useless now.

“Good,” his manager says. “I’m glad you were happy.” Mock sympathy drips from his voice. “Perhaps the last time you are going to be happy this year.”

Jungkook nods, accepting the gravity of the situation. No more clubs, no more parties, no more girls.

At least, not for a while. His reputation had taken a few hits recently, and this latest mess wasn’t helping. He could almost hear the whispers: reckless, irresponsible, unprofessional. The kind of things that could ruin him if he didn’t get a handle on it.

He clenched his jaw. No more distractions. From now on, it was all about the game. He needed to remind everyone why he was Jeon Jungkook — the best on the field, not just the headlines.

“You’re no longer in for the World Cup. You’re out.”

His head snaps up at that. Did he hear that right?

“What?! What do you mean?”

“Myungbo doesn’t want you on the team anymore.” Taesung’s words sound heavy and final.

Jungkook’s heart pounds in his ears.

His world tilts. The room seems to spin, the edges of his vision darkening. This wasn’t just a setback — it was a disaster. The World Cup was everything to him, and now it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The crushing weight of the news settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe. One silly night is all that happened.

He can’t believe that a single photo of him leaving the club with two girls clinging to each arm has cost him his spot on the national football team. He went home with two girls – so what?

But he doesn’t voice his frustration. He knows better than to add fuel to the fire. Speaking his mind now would only escalate the situation and make things worse. Jungkook knows from experience.

He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm. His pulse is still racing, but he takes a deep breath, focusing on controlling his emotions. He has to keep a level head if he’s going to find a way to fix this.

“There has to be a way to fix this.” His eyes move to Jiwoo, his PR agent. “Right?”

His manager fixes him with a stern glare. “Jungkook, remember the promise you gave everyone a few months ago?” Taesung reminds him.

Jungkook cringes. When he made a promise to avoid actions that might damage his reputation, he didn’t think it’d be that serious. He cut back on going out, made the effort to play the role of the “good boy” but really – come on. He can’t maintain that facade for an eternity. Especially after a triumphant victory like yesterday’s.

Taking away his spot on the national football team? He didn’t think that was possible.

“How many more times do we have to fix your problems, because you don’t care enough? How many times do we have to repeat this scenario?”

“I promise I’ll better myself,” Jungkook pleads desperately, looking back and forth between the two of them. Someone has to believe him, help him.

“Do you genuinely believe this country wants to be represented by a 20-year-old boy, who can’t keep his personal life under control?” Taesung asks, eyebrows deeply pinched together. “This isn’t just about you, Jungkook. It’s about the team, the fans, and the nation. They need a role model, not a scandal waiting to happen.”

“I know. I know.” Jungkook scrambles for something convincing to say, desperate to sway their decision. This can’t be it. He won’t let his career take a hit because of something like this. “But – but this isn’t too bad. This is fixable. I can fix this.” His voice quivers with a desperation he barely recognises as his own. “Jiwoo.” Jungkook turns to her with pleading eyes. “You always know what to do. Please, help me?”

“I did propose an idea but-”

“We’re not doing that,” Taesung cuts in. “It’s off the table.”

“What is it?” Jungkook’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. “I’ll do anything. This is – this is everything to me. You have to give me a chance.”

Taesung scoffs. “A chance? As far as I know, you have been given countless chances.”

Sweat coats the back of Jungkook’s neck.

Taesung understands just how much Jungkook has fought to secure his place on the national team. He’s well aware that it’s one of Jungkook’s greatest dreams, a pinnacle of his career that he’s poured countless hours of hard work and sacrifice into. That’s why, each morning, when he wakes up to the latest news of Jungkook’s escapades, he feels a deep sense of disappointment, texting Jungkook with a dejected shake of his head to visit his office first thing in the morning.

When it’s all he wants, like Jungkook claims, why doesn’t he act like it?

“If the head coach won’t give me a chance now, he’ll never do. This is my last opportunity to change his mind, make him rethink. I need to at least try.”

Jiwoo looks at Taesung, waiting for his approval. He nods.

“Very simply put: you need a girlfriend,” she says.

For a second, Jungkook is at loss for words.

“A girlfriend? How’s that going to help?” Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. This is not how he thought Jiwoo was going to save him.

“You need a girlfriend to help polish up your image as a player. It’ll make you appear more like a gentleman, softer and nicer. We need to completely shift public perception and counter the negative image they’ve formed about you. It’s all about changing the narrative,” she explains.

“And that is not something we can easily achieve,” Taesung interjects. “Rebranding your entire persona is not feasible at this stage. You’ve been projecting what kind of boy you are to the media for the past two years. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to make a sudden shift look genuine.”

“No! We — I can make it seem real. This is my only chance,” Jungkook insists, his voice gaining a hint of determination. For a moment, breathing feels a bit easier again. “The World Cup is just two months away. That’s enough time to shift public opinion and prove I’m worthy of representing the country on the team.” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he speaks, clinging to the belief that he might not have to bid farewell to his biggest dream after all.

But Taesung doesn’t look as hopeful as Jungkook feels.

“How are we going to find a girl who will agree to this? Someone who isn’t an obsessive fan, understands this is purely professional, and can keep quiet? You won’t be able to pull this off.”

“I was actually thinking-” Jiwoo starts, but she’s cut off.

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between them before speaking. “Actually... I think I already have someone in mind.” His voice is more measured now. “That’s not the issue.” Jungkook doesn’t need to think twice.

Taesung sighs while Jiwoo looks at Jungkook apologetically.

“You can’t rebrand your entire persona from a playboy to a lover boy within a month, Jungkook. This is over.” His manager shakes his head, a sense of finality glimmering in his eyes.

One thing that Jungkook forgot to mention is that he is an extremely competitive man, too.

~

“This is ridiculous.”

You kick the laundry machine in frustration, but all you end up doing is yelping and clutching your aching foot.

“That’s the third time this month,” you mutter under your breath. “What did I even spend all that money on if it’s just going to break down whenever it feels like it?”

You shoot a death glare at the machine, teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

“Guess I’ll have to use the public laundromat again,” you sigh, grabbing the overflowing laundry basket filled with your and your roommate's clothes, and heading out of the bathroom with a huff.

On your way to the front door, the doorbell rings.

Please, you think. You were hoping for some quiet, uninterrupted time to deep-clean your dorm on this peaceful Sunday with no one around.

But when you peek through the peephole and see Jungkook standing there, your frustration melts away. You swing the door open, the laundry basket tumbling to the floor beside you in your haste.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “You’re timing is perfect! Can you please fix my laundry machine again? It’s been acting up, and I’m getting frustrated.” You groan annoyed.

Jungkook doesn’t share the same excitement upon seeing you.

You grow smaller and take an indecisive step back.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, noticing the tension in his features. “Did you lose the match yesterday? I couldn’t keep up because I had too much cramming to do last night.”

While studying medicine had always been your dream, the reality is less exciting. Right now, it means sleepless nights and relentless pressure. You know that pursuing this path will offer you many privileges later in life, but you have to suffer first.

“I need your help.”

His dark eyes, usually bright and full of energy, seem clouded with worry, and his hair falls messily over his forehead, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration.

“Are you okay?” You study him closely, scanning his face for any signs of injury. Physically, he seems fine — still tall, muscular, and as fit as ever. But something is clearly off.

“You need to do something for me.”

“I can help,” you reply, your voice soft with concern. ‘But what is it…?”

“Don’t call me crazy for it.”

“Just tell me.”

“Can you be my girlfriend?”

You blink, repeatedly.

“Huh?”

You start giggling when he doesn’t add more. You expect him to clarify or laugh along, but Jungkook stays serious, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his. You look down at them, then back up at his face, utterly bewildered.

“You’re silly, Jungkook. If someone on the team made you do this, tell them you did the punishment and quit acting so weird.”

It’s too early in the morning for Jungkook’s nonsense.

“No, ___, you don’t understand.” He squeezes your hands when he feels you trying to pull them back. “I actually need you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fake date me.”

[inseobts]

Katakuri makes me blush fr 😳🫣 he’s such an underrated cutie.

If you could, I’d love a story about reader being selected by big mom to be arranged to marry him. Maybe he’s indifferent at first but falls unexpectedly hard for you.

Thank you thank you as always ❤️❤️

The Arrangement

charlotte katakuri x reader

a/n: here we are, bestie!! this came out longer than I thoughts but I really hope you'll like it ^3^

words count: 8.6k

tags: forced marriage, arranged marriage, fairy reader, slow burn, romance, first meeting, indifference to affection

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You never expected to be here.

The massive, ornate ship sways gently beneath your feet as it cuts through the sea, heading toward the most notorious pirate crew in the world. Big Mom had made her demands clear. She had decided you were going to marry her son, Katakuri. No arguments, no room for negotiation.

A fairy from a distant land, you were nothing more than another creature in her endless collection. When she had set her sights on you, you hadn’t stood a chance. Her powers were not to be underestimated, and her threats were even more so “Refuse, and I will take everything away from you. Your home, your people, everything.” she had said, the coldness in her words making you shiver.

So here you are.

The ship docks at Whole Cake Island, and you are escorted off in silence by Big Mom’s guards. As you step onto the land, you see the grand palace in the distance, an intimidating sight made only more daunting by the knowledge that you would be living here now. You’re led through its massive halls, until you reach a set of grand doors.

Without a word, the guards open them, and you step into a lavish room. Your breath catches. And there, standing by the large dining table, is the one person you’ve been dreading meeting.

Katakuri.

His presence is overwhelming, even from across the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a stern, emotionless expression in his eyes, that could freeze anyone in their tracks. He doesn’t move or speak as you enter, his gaze settling on you briefly before returning to the floor. There’s no warmth, no welcome. Just an unfeeling silence.

“Ah, there you are!” Big Mom’s voice booms behind you, making you jump. She’s a force of nature, towering behind you like an ever-present shadow “Katakuri, this is Y/N. Your bride-to-be.”

Katakuri doesn’t react. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. His gaze remains on the ground as if you were nothing more than another piece of furniture in the room.

You stand there awkwardly, not sure if you should speak, but Big Mom’s attention is fully on her son “Isn’t she lovely?” she asks, her voice dripping with pride “I’ve collected quite the rare one for you, Katakuri. A fairy—one of a kind.”

Katakuri’s eyes flicker up to you, but only for a moment before he returns to his silence. His lips barely twitch. He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted” Big Mom announces, walking toward the door “You’ll have plenty of time to bond. I expect this marriage to happen soon, Katakuri.”

The door slams shut behind her, leaving you and Katakuri alone. The silence is deafening.

You clear your throat, trying to steady your nerves “So… I guess we’re supposed to get married.”

Katakuri doesn’t answer, still not looking at you. You can feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment. This is absurd. You don’t want to be here. You certainly don’t want to marry him. You want to leave, to fly far away to your own peaceful island, where your only worry is the breeze.

After what feels like an eternity, Katakuri sighs, finally breaking the silence. His voice is low and monotone “I don’t know why I’m being forced into this.”

His words are strange to you. They don’t sound like they’re directed at you. He’s speaking to no one in particular, but his admission stirs something in you. He doesn’t want this either.

“You don’t?” you ask, surprised by his honesty “Then why don’t you… just refuse?”

He looks at you for the first time since you entered the room. His amber eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes you swallow hard “It’s not that simple” he mutters, his voice laced with a cold frustration “My mother is… insistent.”

You nod, understanding all too well. Big Mom doesn’t give anyone a choice, least of all her children.

The tension thickens, and you find yourself staring at your feet. The reality of this situation is too overwhelming. You want to scream, to demand answers, but something tells you that doing so will only make things worse.

Katakuri is still watching you, his gaze unwavering. He sighs again and then, almost imperceptibly shakes his head “I don’t expect anything from you. Just… stay out of my way.”

His words sting, though you know they’re not meant to be cruel. He’s just as trapped in this as you are.

You take a deep breath, standing tall despite the crushing anxiety in your chest “I’ll do my best” you say quietly.

Katakuri doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns, walking to the far side of the room and disappearing behind the heavy curtains. The weight of the silence returns, but now, it feels more suffocating than before.

You let out a shaky breath, wishing you could leave. But there’s no escape. Not now. Not yet.

It’s a quiet morning in the palace, and you’re wandering the halls, lost in thoughts. The previous week have been heavy with tension, both from your forced marriage to Katakuri and the overwhelming silence that surrounds you whenever you’re in his presence.

As you turn a corner, you notice the door to Katakuri’s quarters is slightly ajar, and through the crack, you see him.

He’s standing before a mirror, his back to the door. At first, you think he’s just inspecting himself, but then, you notice something that sends a shock through your system. Katakuri is removing his scarf.

You’ve never seen him without it. It’s something that’s as much a part of him as his personality, something that has always been there, hiding his face from the world. You never questioned it, but you’ve always wondered what he looked like underneath.

Before you can stop yourself, you inch closer, drawn to the moment. You stand there, just outside his room, watching him in a kind of trance as he carefully untangles the fabric, his hands slow and deliberate. Then, for the first time, Katakuri reveals his face completely.

It’s… not what you expected.

He’s just as imposing as before. He’s far more vulnerable without the scarf, but it’s a vulnerability that’s strangely captivating.

Before you can pull yourself together, your breath catches in your throat. You’ve been staring too long, and it’s only when Katakuri turns around and when his eyes locking onto yours, that you realize you’ve been caught.

You freeze, wide-eyed and panicked.

“Why are you here?” Katakuri’s voice is low, almost cold, though you can hear the surprise in his tone. His hand instinctively reaches for the scarf, like he’s trying to shield himself from your gaze.

You stumble over your words, feeling the flush rise to your cheeks “I… I didn’t mean to… I just… I didn’t know you’d...”

But then you stop yourself. You don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, but you can’t lie either.

“You look good” you blurt out before you can think better of it.

Katakuri blinks at you, and for a split second, you see a flicker of disbelief in his eyes “What?” His voice hardens, though there’s a small quiver in it “You’re making fun of me.”

You shake your head quickly, your heart racing “No! I swear, I’m not. I think you look… different, but it’s not a bad thing.” You hesitate, trying to find the right words “You look… human, not some monster people make you out to be.”

Katakuri seems to recoil slightly, his eyes narrowing, as if he’s trying to gauge whether you’re mocking him or telling the truth. His hand grips the scarf tighter, like he’s about to throw it back over his face to hide.

You take a tentative step forward, speaking more softly this time “I’m serious. You’re… really not what I thought you’d be like without it. I think you look…” You pause, the word just slipping out “Cute.”

Katakuri stiffens, his expression darkening in an instant “Stop it.” His voice is strained, like he’s unsure if he should be angry or confused “You think I’m... cute? Is this a joke?”

You immediately realize how your words might’ve come across, and you rush to correct yourself “No! I’m not laughing at you.” You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself “I just… you’ve always been so guarded, and I never really got to see you, and now I do, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I just… I think you look nice.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them.

There’s a long, awkward silence, and you feel your stomach twist. You want to disappear. You want to run. But something in Katakuri’s gaze has shifted. There’s still hesitation there, but it’s not the same cold, dismissive look from before. Instead, he’s… uncertain.

He finally lowers the scarf, letting it fall loosely in his hands “You really mean it?” he asks, though his tone is still guarded.

You nod quickly, smiling awkwardly “Yeah. I do.”

He stands there for a long moment, studying you. Finally, his lips twist into something like a small smirk, just the faintest hint of a smile “You’re strange, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat “I—what?”

Katakuri shakes his head slightly “I don’t think anyone has ever said anything like that to me.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips “Well, I’m strange, am I not?”

Katakuri doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he just gives a slight nod, as if acknowledging something he hadn’t considered before. Then, without another word, he walks past you, his gaze still soft, but not as guarded.

The next day, things are… different.

Katakuri starts acknowledging your presence more. When you pass him in the hallways, he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t avoid eye contact like before. There’s a subtle shift, something you can’t quite put into words, but it’s there.

The next time you sit down for a meal, you’re surprised to find a small plate of your favorite fruit sitting in front of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, but this time, it feels more personal.

You glance at Katakuri, who’s sitting across the room, his attention seemingly elsewhere. You don’t say anything at first, just quietly eating the fruit. It’s exactly what you like, sweet and juicy, just like you remember.

As the meal progresses, you catch Katakuri looking at you out of the corner of your eye. You meet his gaze, and he raises a brow “I thought you’d like that” he says, his tone casual but with an edge of something else, something that’s not quite indifference.

“I do,” you reply, smiling “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything more. He just nods, his usual stoic expression still in place. But this time, there’s something warmer about it, a small but significant change.

From that day on, the dynamic between you and Katakuri shifts. He starts bringing you your favorite food regularly, always with a quiet confidence, like he knows what you need without you having to ask.

He still doesn’t say much, but there’s a new understanding between you two now. Something softer, something more genuine. You don’t know where this will lead, but for the first time, you feel like you’re not just a pawn in a game.

The morning feels calm, and you’re in your usual place, sitting at the grand dining table. Your thoughts are on the small pastry that’s just been placed in front of you. It’s a delicate little thing, a flaky, buttery pastry with a filling you can only describe as perfect, exactly how you like it. Your favorite. The exact flavor you had mentioned once, in passing, a while ago.

You glance up and find Katakuri standing at the entrance, his usual impassive expression in place. In his hands is a small, wrapped plate. He walks toward you, the quiet shuffle of his steps almost drowned out by the clinking of the cutlery on the table. You can’t help the smile that stretches across your face when you see what he’s holding.

“You...” Your voice catches for a second, almost in disbelief “You remembered.”

His eyes briefly meeting yours. His gaze softens, just a fraction, and he nods once.

“Of course.” His tone is as flat as ever, but there’s something… different in it now.

You reach for the pastry, immediately taking a bite. The taste is just as you remember, warm, sweet, and decadent. It’s perfect, and for a moment, you close your eyes, savoring every bite.

“This is...” you murmur with a smile, taking another bite “This is so good, Katakuri. Thank you.”

He watches you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, and you wonder if he’s waiting for some kind of reaction. You can’t help but notice that, even though he’s quiet, he seems… proud.

As you eat the pastry, your gaze shifts around the room. The guards, as usual, are standing at attention, watching over everything. They’re always here, always watching. It’s suffocating, and for once, you can’t stand it.

You stand up, suddenly feeling the urge to speak “Excuse me” you say, your voice more commanding than usual, “Could you all leave for a moment?”

There’s a pause. The guards exchange confused glances, and you can feel the tension thickening in the air. One of them steps forward, looking at you with a raised brow.

“We don’t take orders from you” the guard replies firmly, his voice cold.

You freeze, taken aback by the response. You’ve never been this forward with them before. But before you can speak again, you feel a shift in the atmosphere. Katakuri, who has been standing silently by the table, turns his gaze toward the guards. His eyes narrow, and without hesitation, he speaks.

“Leave.” he commands, his voice as firm as the weight of his stature.

The guards hesitate, their eyes darting between Katakuri and you. But, to your surprise, they obey. Slowly, they begin to file out of the room, one by one, until the only people left are you and Katakuri.

The silence that follows is thick.

Katakuri looks at you, now sitting at the other side of the table, a flicker of confusion in his eyes “What was that about?” he asks, his voice low.

You smile, a sense of relief washing over you now that it’s just the two of you. You take a moment before answering, then take your chair and your pastry and slowly walk past the giant dining table, toward where he is.

“I just wanted to be alone with you” you say, your voice softer than before. There’s a hint of playful mischief in your tone now, and you can see his eyes narrowing as he watches you approach.

You place the chair next to him and sit down, unceremoniously placing your plate with the pastry between you both.

Katakuri’s eyes widen at your actions, and for a moment, he looks as though he’s unsure whether to back away or stay. But he remains where he is, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

“What are you doing?” he asks confused.

You glance at him, smiling mischievously “You’re going to eat this with me.”

Katakuri raises an eyebrow “I’m not hungry.”

You shake your head, leaning slightly closer “No, you have to taste it. I want you to see just how delicious this pastry is. You’re not leaving until you try it. You have to.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind, but there’s no mistaking the flicker of amusement in his eyes “You’re being… strange again.”

“And you’re being stubborn” you tease, nudging the pastry toward him “Come on, Katakuri. If I can eat this with you, you can eat it with me. No one else is here to judge.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you. He doesn’t say anything, but his gaze softens just slightly and you watch him give a small sigh.

“Fine” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. He reaches out, carefully picking up the pastry with one hand and putting his scarf down with the other hand.

You smile, your heart racing as he takes a bite, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you feel like time stands still as you watch him chew, waiting for a response.

Katakuri doesn’t immediately speak. He looks down at the pastry for a moment before meeting your gaze again “It’s… good” he says, almost as if he’s surprised by how much he’s enjoying it.

You grin, clearly pleased by his reaction “Told you.”

There’s a long pause between you both, a quiet tension hanging in the air. Katakuri shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking down to the scarf. It’s a subtle thing, but you catch it, and you see how his fingers twitch like he might be considering removing it again.

“You can take it off, you know?” you say softly, the words light, but sincere.

Katakuri looks at you, his brow furrowing slightly “What?”

“You don’t have to hide behind it,” you say, your tone warm but serious “You’re already exposed enough to me. I think… you can trust me. You don’t have to keep it on all the time.”

His eyes flash with uncertainty. For a long time, he doesn’t move, his gaze dropping down to his scarf. The moment stretches. Then, slowly, he places the scarf down beside him, fully revealing his mouth once more.

You watch him carefully, and for the first time, Katakuri seems to let down his guard, just a little. There’s something almost fragile in the way he exposes himself, like he’s testing the waters.

You smile softly, your voice gentle “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Katakuri doesn’t respond, but there’s a hint of something more honest in his eyes.

The quiet stretches between you, but it’s no longer filled with tension. There’s no coldness, no distance. There’s just… a soft connection, a shared moment between two people who are, for the first time, truly alone.

And as you sit there, side by side, eating your pastry together, you realize that things have shifted between you two. Something real is beginning to form. Something unexpected.

Maybe, this arranged marriage could turn into something more.

The day of the tea party arrives. Big Mom’s excitement is palpable as she commands the preparations to be just perfect. It’s not a celebration of love or any true emotional connection, though. No, this is just a public display to solidify the future marriage between you and Katakuri, something she believes will benefit her family, her status, and of course, her vast collection of “special creatures”. She doesn’t care whether you get along with Katakuri. The only thing that matters is the power this union will bring.

The grand dining room is filled with chatter and laughter, as well as the elegant clinking of porcelain cups and saucers. The table is set for dozens of guests, some familiar faces, lots of strangers. Everyone is seated, except for you. You glance around, taking in the scene with a mixture of excitement and dread.

You know what this is: a performance.

Big Mom catches sight of you as you enter the room. Her eyes gleam with a kind of satisfaction as she waves you over “Ah, my dear! Come join us!” she booms, and the room goes silent for a moment.

You approach, giving her a polite smile. Your gaze flickers to Katakuri, and you can’t help but feel a little thrill when you spot him. He’s sitting near the far end of the long table, looking as impassive as ever.

You’re assigned a seat at the opposite end of the table, as far from him as possible.

A knot forms in your stomach. You can feel the heavy gaze of the guests on you. You force a smile, but your eyes betray the discomfort you feel.

The seat they’ve chosen for you is almost insulting. The distance between you and Katakuri feels too much for you.

You don’t even think twice before turning to find a solution. You take your assigned chair, a giant, ornate one, and you begin to slide it across the floor. It’s heavy, and the room is quiet enough that everyone can hear the slight screech of the chair as you push it.

You’re determined.

But as you reach the middle of the room, your efforts come to an abrupt halt. The chair is simply too large and cumbersome to maneuver around the other chairs, and you can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you as you struggle to get closer to Katakuri.

You glance toward him, half-expecting him to be looking away as usual. But instead, his eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, there’s a flicker of understanding there. He knows what you’re doing.

Before you can take another step, he stands up from his seat. The sound of his movement draws the attention of the entire room.

You stop, unsure of what’s happening, and watch as Katakuri approaches you. He’s as composed as ever, but there’s a quiet amusement in his expression.

“You really are persistent, aren’t you?” he says, his voice low but carrying in the silence of the room.

You look up at him, surprised by his calm demeanor “I just wanted to sit next to you.”

Without a word, Katakuri reaches down and effortlessly takes the chair from your hands, his large frame towering over you as he positions it right beside his own, and you can’t help but smile. You walk over and sit down, settling comfortably next to him.

The entire room is silent, eyes wide with shock, especially Big Mom. She stares at the scene with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. It’s not something she expected to see, and certainly not something she had planned.

The guests, too, are stunned. The whole room seems to hold its breath as they try to process the unexpected turn of events.

Big Mom, never one to show weakness, clears her throat with an exaggerated cough “Ahem. Well then, it seems my son and my future daughter-in-law are… already making themselves comfortable” she says, her tone forced “Isn’t that lovely?”

Her words do little to hide the surprise in her voice, but she quickly shifts her gaze back to the guests, trying to regain control of the situation.

You can feel the tension in the air as the tea party resumes, but you and Katakuri remain almost entirely removed from the spectacle. You glance at him, and for a brief moment, his eyes meet yours. He doesn’t say anything, but his presence feels somehow different.

You smile, the warmth in your chest spreading. This is more than just an arrangement, it’s a small victory for both of you.

Katakuri, for the first time in front of everyone, allows his walls to come down just a little more. He’s not pulling away from you. He’s not staying distant. He’s with you.

The tea party continues, buzzing with idle gossip and exaggerated politeness. But peace doesn’t last long in this family.

From the far side of the table, one of Katakuri’s older sisters, Smoothie, sharp-eyed and smirking, leans slightly forward, eyeing you like a piece of bruised fruit.

“So,” she starts, swirling her tea “This is the little creature Mama dragged in for Katakuri?”

The room grows still.

Another sibling chuckles under their breath “Mama really is collecting anything these days.”

Big Mom doesn’t stop them. In fact, she laughs loudly “Well, she’s cute enough, I suppose. Couldn't find anything better but that's enough. But delicate things don’t last long in this family, do they?”

There it is. The words land like sharp stones against your chest.

You lower your gaze, hands folding tightly in your lap. You want to speak but your throat tightens. The laughter around the table swells just a bit more. You don’t say anything.

You feel Katakuri shift beside you. When you glance his way, his jaw is clenched ever so slightly, and there’s a flicker of something stormy in his eyes as they scan your face. He notices it immediately, the drop in your posture, the silence where your brightness used to be.

He says nothing at first. Just moves.

From the middle of the table, he silently reaches for the fruit platter, selecting each of your favorites. He adds pastries too, the little chocolate cakes you once said reminded you of home. All of it placed carefully on a plate, which he sets before you.

You blink at the offering. The table still chatters on, but you notice the silence growing around your side of it.

Katakuri leans in slightly, not looking at you, but watching the table as he speaks low and calm “Don’t listen to them.”

Your heart skips.

Then he turns, motioning a guard over. He whispers something, low enough that not even you can hear, and the guard bows and disappears from the room with urgency.

You glance at him, confused.

A few minutes pass in tense silence. You pick at the fruit, more out of habit than hunger, but when you taste the sweetness of it, it brings a small comfort.

Then the guard returns. In his hands a fresh bouquet of wildflowers. Pale yellows, soft blues, and blooms of pink and violet. Carefully picked and not from any of the gaudy arrangements decorating the party.

He hands them directly to Katakuri.

Katakuri doesn’t even glance up. He takes one flower from the bunch, a delicate purple one, and turns toward you.

You go still.

And then, carefully, he tucks it behind your ear, fingers grazing your cheek for the briefest moment. He sets the rest of the bouquet into your hands.

The table falls into stunned silence.

You stare at him, eyes wide, unsure whether to cry or melt “Katakuri…”

He finally meets your gaze fully “They don’t get to decide what you’re worth.”

Your breath catches.

Across the table, Smoothie’s smirk falters. Big Mom eyes the scene with something unreadable in her expression. The rest of the guests shift in their seats, unsure of what just happened.

But you don’t care about any of them.

All you see is the mountain of a man beside you, the one who once avoided your eyes, who now shields you not with threats or violence, but with fruit, flowers, and a quiet understanding.

You smile. Truly smile.

And the flower tucked behind your ear feels warmer than sunlight.

The days blur together after the tea party, but something has changed. The palace is still opulent and overwhelming, but the tension in the air shifts every time Katakuri enters a room.

He still avoids crowds. Still slips away from the chatter and the noise.

But not from you. With you, he’s different now. Softer. Quieter in a way that means he’s listening.

You share food in silence some mornings. He brings you sweets without a word, he always remembers your favorites. He asks you questions now, even if clumsily. Your favorite colors. Your memories. The places you’d go if you weren’t trapped in this gilded palace.

And then one morning, he says it.

“I don’t want you to marry me if you don’t want to.”

You almost drop the spoon in your hand “What?”

He looks away, jaw clenched “You didn’t choose this. Mama thinks she can own people. That you’re just another thing for her collection.”

You study him for a long moment, your heart both aching and fluttering.

“I’m not forcing you to stay,” he continues, quieter now “I won’t be the reason you lose your freedom.”

You want to say something. That maybe, you’re starting not to mind being here because of him. But the words tangle in your throat.

Katakuri stands, the decision already written on his face “I’ll talk to her.”

It takes three days before he does it. Not because he’s afraid but because she is unpredictable. Big Mom doesn’t hear “no” often, and when she does, it usually ends in chaos.

He finds her in the singing hall, surrounded by sweets and chaos and servants. Her eyes widen with interest when she sees him approach.

“Katakuri, my sweet son! Isn’t it a beautiful day for wedding planning?” she cackles “I’ve already chosen the cake layers! And the centerpiece will be a spinning sugar fairy! Just like her!”

He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t smile.

“We need to cancel it.”

The music stops.

Big Mom’s eyes narrow “Cancel what?”

“The wedding.”

Her laugh is sharp and loud “Nonsense. You’re both perfect. And I already sent invitations to half the Underworld.”

“She didn’t choose this,” Katakuri says, voice low “You made the decision for her.”

“And so what? You know I did that for all your sibilings. That's how it works.” Big Mom snaps, rising from her seat “She’s a rare little creature, isn’t she? Sweet. Magical. Exactly the kind of wife a son of mine deserves. You deserve.”

“She’s not a collectible, Mama.”

The air chills.

“You’re starting to sound like you’re in love.” Big Mom growls, stepping down from her throne of frosting and ribbon “Which is cute. But love doesn’t matter. Power does.”

Katakuri doesn’t flinch “You once said family is everything.”

“It is” she snaps.

“Then don’t build it by breaking her.” His voice softens “Let her choose.”

Silence falls. Big Mom stares at him for a long, unsettling moment. The tension in the room coils like a storm, and Katakuri stays still as a statue, waiting. Then, slowly, she laughs. A deep, throaty cackle.

“Ohhh, Katakuri. My most perfect son, and now you’ve gone soft for a fairy girl.”

He doesn’t respond.

Big Mom’s laughter echoes through the hall. She leans back, crossing her arms, as if victorious in some way, her eyes glinting with a certain self-satisfaction.

“You think you can just break the rules of this family, Katakuri?” Big Mom’s voice grows darker “You have a duty, and it’s time for you to understand it.”

Katakuri’s gaze hardens, but he doesn’t back down “I’ve made my decision.”

Big Mom narrows her eyes, her lips curling into a sneer “So be it, then. You want to protect her? Fine. But I’ll have you know, I’ve already made arrangements.” She pauses, letting the words sink in, her expression cold “I’ve already secured a marriage contract for you before the fairy girl. A real lady, from one of the strongest families around. She offered herself as a suitable match, and I’ll bring her here. You’ll marry her instead.”

Katakuri’s face remains stoic, though his fists clench slightly.

Big Mom’s voice turns casual, almost dismissive “A sweet girl, I’m sure. Not quite as ‘magical’ as the little fairy here, but… she’ll do.” She waves her hand dismissively “Don’t worry, it’s an arrangement that benefits us both. She’s young, and she’ll be a great addition to the family.”

Katakuri’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his face flickering. But he doesn’t argue. His eyes flick to the floor for a brief moment before he nods.

“If that’s what you want, Mama.”

Big Mom smiles in satisfaction, her fingers tapping against the armrest of her throne “Good. You’re learning, Katakuri. And when the time comes, you’ll have your own family to worry about. In the meantime, this one’s done. I'll call the girl's family and let her come here before the wedding, which you know it's in two days.” She gestures toward the farthest part of the room, signaling that the conversation is over.

Katakuri stands tall, his expression unreadable, and without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving the hall with the unmistakable weight of his decision hanging over him.

You don’t hear Katakuri approach your room, but when the door opens, you look up, startled to find him standing in the doorway. His usual mask of indifference is gone, replaced with something softer, a trace of uncertainty in his eyes.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands there, his posture tense, as if waiting for you to say something.

You stand, your pulse quickening in your chest “What happened?” Your voice feels tight, though you try to keep it steady “Did you talk to her?”

Katakuri nods, his eyes falling to the floor “I did.” His voice is quiet, but the words hit you hard, and your heart sinks with each syllable “Mama said I have to marry someone else… She’s already found a girl, and the arrangements are set.”

Your stomach twists “Who?”

He hesitates, but only for a moment “I didn’t ask for her name but apparently she offered beforehand.”

This isn’t the future you imagined for the two of you. Not like this. Not like that.

You swallow hard “And you agreed?”

Katakuri looks up, his eyes searching yours “I agreed because… I didn’t want to trap you here with me, Y/N.” His voice softens, and for the first time, it breaks “You deserve your freedom. If you were to marry me, it wouldn’t be your choice. It would be my mother’s choice. This other girl offered, so that would be her choice.”

You don’t respond immediately, the weight of his words settling over you like a storm cloud. It feels like something has slipped away from you, something you were just starting to grasp. The vision of a future with him, the quiet bond that had begun to form, it’s all slipping through your fingers.

Without warning, something snaps inside you, and before you know it, you’re storming toward the door, a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling over. You don’t want him to marry someone else. You don’t want this arrangement to define your life. But you don’t want to lose him.

“I just wanted the freedom to choose” you say, your voice cracking as you finally turn to face him “I wanted the freedom to choose you... but not because someone told me I had to.”

Katakuri’s eyes widen in surprise, but before he can respond, you turn away from him, the hurt threatening to overwhelm you. You make your way to your room. You need to be alone. You need to process everything.

But even as you sit there, the silence settling around you, there’s emptiness. A void where your hope used to be.

The rest of the day passes slowly as you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling. You can't stop thinking, you're trying so hard to find a solution, but it doesn't seem to be any.

You cry a lot. Out of sadness. Out of madness. You're sad, mad, and tired of this whole situation.

You're free to go away, to go back to you island, to you family and friends.

"Then why am I feeling this way?" you say to no one, as if the ceiling could answer your question.

Night comes and the anger that has been simmering inside you boils over as you storm out your room and through the halls of Big Mom’s palace. The silence of the corridors is deafening as you make your way toward the grand hall where Big Mom typically is at this hour. You feel a surge of resolve in your chest, the weight of your decision pressing you forward despite the fear that’s trying to claw its way up your throat.

You reach the door with determination, and before the guards can stop you, you fling it open, not caring about the consequences anymore. Inside, Big Mom is sitting on her throne, surrounded by a sea of sweets, papers, and half-eaten treats. Her gaze flickers up, and the surprise on her face is unmistakable. She hadn’t expected you to come charging in like this.

“Well, well, well, look who’s come to join me for a chat” she says, her voice dripping with amusement but with an edge of irritation underneath “What is it now, little fairy? Why are you even still here? You should leave before the wedding, I don't want people to see you.”

Your heart races, but you stand tall, your voice sharp and unwavering “Don’t let Katakuri marry that girl” you demand, stepping forward with purpose “I’ll stay here. I’ll stay as long as you need. But do not force him into that marriage.”

Big Mom stares at you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing in surprise, almost as if she’s trying to decipher your words. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as she leans forward ever so slightly.

“You’ll stay here?” she repeats, voice dripping with incredulity “So you want to sit quietly in the corner of my palace while my son marries someone else?”

You don’t back down, even though her words feel like daggers “I’ll stay here” you say again, more firmly “But don’t make him marry someone else. I won’t let you make that choice for him.”

The smile on Big Mom’s face falters for a fraction of a second before she bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the room, almost as if the entire situation is some grand joke. She leans back in her chair, shaking her head as if trying to regain control of her amusement.

“You really think staying here will solve anything, little fairy?” she asks, her voice cold now “I’ve already planned everything. The wedding, the cake, the guest list. Everything!” She sneers, clearly annoyed at the thought of changing her plans at this point “The wedding is tomorrow. You’ve made your decision. Katakuri made his decision to marry that girl. So, either you accept the reality or stay here as a prisoner for my collection for the rest of your life.”

Her words sting, but you hold your ground. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you’re done running “I’ll marry him.” you snap, your voice trembling but defiant “I’ll marry Katakuri. That other girl can come to the wedding. I invite her to my wedding with Katakuri, okay? I’ll marry your son!”

The words hang in the air like a challenge, and Big Mom’s eyes widen as she takes in the audacity of your declaration. For a long, long moment, she says nothing, her expression unreadable. You can see the wheels turning in her head, but you don’t dare look away. You can’t.

Finally, Big Mom stands up from her throne, her imposing figure looming over you. The room feels colder now, the air thick with tension.

“You… you would marry my son?” she asks, her voice suddenly low, dangerous “After all the things I’ve said, after all I’ve done to force you into this position, I gave you the freedom to leave, and you would still marry him?”

You nod, your heart pounding in your ears “Yes. I would. Because I want to. I want to be with him, not because you told me to, but because I chose him.”

Big Mom stares at you for another long moment, and then, without warning, she bursts into laughter again, though this time it’s more strained, almost bitter.

“Well, it seems I’ve underestimated you” she says, her tone sharp and final “Fine. You want to marry him? You can marry him.” Her eyes flash with a dangerous gleam “But make no mistake, you will not change the plans. This wedding will happen as I say it will.”

You don’t flinch, though every part of you is screaming with tension “I don’t care how it happens” you say, your voice steady “Just let me marry him. You’re right, I didn’t choose this. But I’m choosing him now. That’s what matters.”

Big Mom’s smirk softens into something more calculating “We’ll see, little fairy” she says, her voice laced with dark amusement “We’ll see how this plays out. But don’t forget… family always comes first.”

Without another word, she turns and walks toward the back of the room, leaving you standing in the center, breathing heavily. The room feels oppressive, but you hold onto your resolve. This is your decision now. You’re no longer going to let Big Mom decide your fate. You’ll marry Katakuri, not because of her, but because of what you feel for him.

The tension of the moment settles in your chest as you stand alone in the center of the room, but you can already imagine what’s to come.

You don’t know exactly what you’re hoping for when you knock on Katakuri’s door, but the moment your hand touches the door, you know this is the only thing left to do. You can’t hide anymore. The silence between you two has been stretched too thin, and tonight, before everything happens, you need to see him.

When Katakuri opens the door, his expression flickers with surprise. He’s wearing his usual expression, but there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes when he sees you standing there, so late at night.

“Y/N?” he says, his voice low, a touch of concern lining it “What’s wrong?”

You take a breath, your words almost caught in your throat. This is it. There’s no going back now “Take me somewhere beautiful out there” you say, your voice steady but soft.

His brow furrows, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’ll refuse. After all, there’s so much at stake, and who knows what he must be thinking. But then, his eyes soften, and he nods, the quiet trust between you unspoken.

“Alright” he replies, his voice warm but distant, as if he already anticipates what this might be. He thinks this is a goodbye.

Without another word, he leads you through the winding corridors of the palace. The moonlight spills in through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor as you walk side by side, the silence enveloping you.

Eventually, he leads you outside, to a small garden at the edge of the palace grounds. It’s quiet here, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves and the distant crash of the ocean against the cliffs. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting a serene glow across the scene. The air smells fresh, calming, a place far from the drama and chaos of the palace.

You sit together on a stone bench, the world feeling vast and quiet around you. For a moment, you don’t speak. Then, you take a deep breath and reach into the bag you’ve been holding.

“Here” you say, offering him a small, carefully wrapped box. His brow furrows in confusion, and then, as he opens it, his eyes widen slightly when he sees the donuts inside.

“These are for you” you say quietly “Your favorite.”

Katakuri looks at the donuts for a long moment, as if he’s trying to read the meaning behind your simple gift. And then, he meets your gaze. His eyes are filled with so many emotions, and you see the weight of it all. He’s not saying it, but you can feel he’s expecting you to say goodbye. This is the moment where everything changes, and it’s too much for him to bear.

But that’s not why you’re here.

You reach for one of the donuts and gently hold it up to him, urging him to eat it. He hesitates for only a moment before taking it from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he does. The simple act of sharing this moment with him is everything. It’s your way of telling him that, despite it all, you care. That you didn’t want things to end this way.

“I’m not leaving” you say, your voice barely above a whisper “I’m not leaving you, Katakuri.”

His eyes widen, a slight tremor running through his hand as he sets the donut down “What… what are you saying?”

“I’m marrying you...” you continue, the words tumbling out faster now, your heart pounding in your chest “Not because of Big Mom. Not because I have to. But because I want to. I want to be with you. I’ve already made my choice. I don’t care about the wedding or the plans your mom has. I care about you, Katakuri. And I want to stay with you.”

His expression softens, disbelief and relief battling in his eyes. It’s like he’s searching for something, some kind of confirmation that this is real.

You don’t give him time to respond. Instead, you gently reach for the edge of his scarf, the one that has always been such a mystery between you two, and slowly, carefully, unwrap it. The fabric slides from his neck, revealing his bare skin beneath, and you feel his muscles tense slightly at the touch.

But you don’t stop. You let the scarf fall away entirely, your fingers brushing his skin as you tuck it aside, focusing solely on the moment, the closeness between you.

Katakuri’s breath hitches, his eyes locked onto yours. You move closer, your heart thundering in your chest, and then, without thinking twice, you lean in. Your lips meet his, tentatively at first, like a question asked in the silence. His lips are warm, soft against yours, and for a heartbeat, everything else in the world fades away.

When you pull back, you’re both breathless. You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips “You’re cute” you whisper, teasing him just a little, the affection in your words unmistakable.

He doesn’t respond at first, still processing the whirlwind of emotions you’ve thrown his way. But then, his hand finds its way to your cheek, and he gently caresses it with a tenderness you’ve never seen from him before “You’re cute too” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

You lean into his touch, your heart swelling “I’ve always thought you were cute” you add, smiling even more “And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying it.”

Katakuri chuckles softly, a rare and beautiful sound, his gaze softening as he looks at you, the walls around him crumbling just a little more. For the first time, he truly lets himself be vulnerable in front of you, and it’s a gift you’ll cherish forever.

“You don’t have to do this for me,” he says softly “You don’t have to stay just because of me.”

But you shake your head, your smile unwavering “I’m staying because I want to. And because I want to be with you. And... I already talked with Big Mom about it." You continue as you sigh as if all your problems just left your body "I was about to shit myself, you know? She's always so scared, I don't even know how I found the courage to storm in there, even the guards couldn't stop me. Ah... The things you make me do, Katakuri.”

He's surprised to know you did all this for him. His expression is shocked in a way you never saw before, which makes you laugh, even out of relief.

The night is calm, and the world feels right in this moment.

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace. The storm inside you has passed, and all that’s left is the quiet promise of tomorrow, whatever it may bring.

And with that, you close your eyes, savoring the simple joy of being here with him, right where you belong.

The day of the wedding arrives, the atmosphere of the palace tense with anticipation. The air is thick with the scent of flowers, the sound of busy footsteps echoing down the halls as servants prepare for the grand occasion.

You stand before the mirror in your room, taking in your reflection. The wedding gown, simple yet elegant, is draped across your body. It feels like a dream, and yet, this is your reality. The reality you’ve chosen. The reality with him.

You hear a knock at the door, and before you can answer, it opens. Standing there is Katakuri, dressed in his ceremonial attire, his expression calm, but there’s something different about the way he looks at you today. The usual walls are gone, replaced with an openness that you’ve never seen before. His eyes search yours, filled with an emotion you can’t quite name, tenderness, maybe. Vulnerability.

“You look beautiful” he says softly, his deep voice carrying the weight of all the unsaid things between you two.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t find the words. You glance at him, feeling the surge of emotions rising up inside of you “You don’t look too bad yourself” you reply, your voice teasing, but full of affection.

Katakuri steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he’s memorizing every detail of the moment. He reaches for the bouquet and he gently tucks a bloom behind your ear. The same purple flower he had placed there all those days ago.

A soft smile plays at the corners of your lips “You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding… but I’m glad you’re here” you whisper.

“Me too” he responds, his voice hushed, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he steps closer and places a hand over yours, holding it gently but firmly.

You don’t speak anymore. You don’t need to. The words have already been said, the vows you made to each other without ever truly speaking them aloud. This moment, this wedding, isn’t for Big Mom or the world outside. It’s for you and him, and nothing can take that away.

The ceremony starts. Big Mom watches with her eyes narrowed, but she says nothing. She might not have gotten the extravagant show she wanted, but at least you’re marrying her son. That’s enough for her, for now.

As you and Katakuri stand before the priest, the weight of the moment settles on your shoulders. There’s no grand declaration of love, no long speech about fate and destiny. It’s simpler than that. It’s a choice. A decision made in the quiet of a garden, in the soft exchange of donuts and flowers, in the quiet moments where your hearts have learned to understand each other.

“I do” you say, your voice steady and clear.

Katakuri’s gaze doesn’t waver from yours, and he speaks just as simply, just as truthfully, “I do.”

The ceremony ends, the crowd politely clapping, but in your mind, all you hear is the sound of your hearts beating in sync. Katakuri takes your hand, leading you down the aisle. There’s no fanfare, no celebration for show. Just the two of you, finally united in the way that matters most.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, between congratulations, polite smiles, an exchange of vows in front of a grand table, but you don’t notice any of it. All that matters is the hand in yours, the quiet bond you’ve built together. The two of you are no longer bound by the expectations of others. You’ve chosen each other, and that’s all that matters.

As night falls and the festivities settle, Katakuri pulls you aside, away from the prying eyes of the guests, and you find yourself in the garden where everything began. He takes a deep breath, his eyes still searching yours, and you smile softly, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

“This is just the beginning, isn’t it?” you ask, your voice light but full of meaning.

Katakuri nods slowly, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly “Yes,” he replies “It is.”

And for the first time, with all the weight of the world behind you, you feel the promise of a future that’s truly yours. No longer defined by anyone else’s expectations, but by the quiet bond you’ve built with the person who sees you. And with that, you take your first step into the future. With him by your side, you know there’s nothing you can’t face.

The wedding may have been a formality, but what lies ahead is real. And as you walk hand in hand into the night, you realize that you’ve already found what you were looking for... each other.

[humaling]

Two Victors, One Closet.

pairings: finnick odair x victor!reader

summary: you hid in a closet to escape from a fan—but what are the odds of ending up in the same closet with the capitol's darling?

warnings: none!

word count: 3k

author's note: my fav piece so far. i love forced proximity guys

You’d rather be anywhere but here—at another Capitol party, suffocating under the weight of excess and expectation. If your presence weren’t mandatory, if Snow weren’t holding a noose over your loved one’s neck, you’d be in bed, sleeping soundly—something you’ve only managed to do since winning your Games a few years ago.

This party is no different from the others you’ve endured. It’s loud, obnoxious, and mind-numbingly monotonous. People parade around in the most hideous outfits imaginable, calling it fashion simply because it defies normalcy. You can think of a few who would look far better in something simple, yet they insist on prancing around in walrus costumes or altering their features to resemble wild animals—an attempt at beauty that, in your humble opinion, makes them more unsettling than presentable.

If you earned a dollar for every person you’ve avoided tonight, you’d have at least a hundred—enough to buy yourself a decent meal at that small diner on the outskirts of the Capitol, where the people, at the very least, seem a bit more human than the ones inside this party.

You uncomfortably shift in your dress, flattening out the creases that start to form. The fabric, though luxurious, clings to you in a way that feels suffocating, a constant reminder of the expectations woven into every stitch. A pink cocktail sits in your hand, glittering under the dim glow of the chandelier, the ice clinking softly as you tighten your grip around the delicate stem. Your expression remains composed—sweet, practiced, effortless—as a Capitol couple manages to sneak up behind you, their voices dripping with familiarity as they greet you like an old friend.

“My! You would look so much better in my dress than the one you’re wearing,” one of them gushes, grasping your arm with manicured fingers. The scent of artificial roses wafts off her in waves, sickly sweet and overpowering.

You glance at her outfit, taking in the bold choice of material. Classic. A long cocktail dress, its bodice clinging to her frame, the skirt draping in soft, deliberate folds—made entirely of tiger fur, the stripes catching the light with a golden sheen. Authentic, of course. Anything less wouldn’t be worth parading.

“You flatter me,” you reply, forcing a light laugh, though your stomach twists at the thought of slipping into something like that.

“Oh, but I mean it! Just the other day, Vera Juno—you know her, don’t you? The one with the most divine peacock-feather corset—she was saying how dreadfully plain fur looks on me, but I told her, ‘Well, darling, it’s not the fur, it’s the person wearing it!’” She giggles, waving a hand as if dismissing the very idea that she could look anything less than stunning.

Her husband, draped in a garish emerald suit with diamond-studded cuffs, takes a long sip from his flute of champagne before sighing dramatically. “Speaking of Vera, did you hear? She’s on her third face this year. Third! I told her she had to slow down, but she’s obsessed. I mean, honestly, she’s starting to look like a bad painting.”

You hum in amusement, nodding along as if this is the most fascinating conversation you’ve ever been part of, when in reality, you feel like you’re suffocating. The weight of their words, their extravagance, their sheer detachment from anything real—it presses down on you like the bodice of your dress, too tight, too constricting.

“I simply must introduce you to my designer,” the woman continues, taking a sip from a martini glass filled with some unnaturally blue liquid. “She does custom work—one of a kind. None of that tacky, mass-produced nonsense. Oh! And she works with the rarest*materials. I swear, she had a real mockingjay feather last season, but she used it on some nobody—can you imagine?”

You force a gasp, widening your eyes just enough to appear engaged. “A real mockingjay feather? That’s practically a historic artifact.”

The husband scoffs. “And wasted on a girl who doesn’t even appreciate fashion.”

You smile, tilting your head in interest, all while subtly scanning the room. You need an escape. The dance floor? No, too crowded. The bar? No, you’d risk them following you for another round of terribly important Capitol gossip. Your fingers tighten around your glass as you spot an avox disappearing to an empty hallway. Perfect.

“Oh! Is that—excuse me, just one moment,” you say, flashing them an apologetic smile before slipping away, weaving through the sea of elaborately dressed socialites. You exhale softly, relief washing over you as their voices fade into the background.

As you step into the hallway, a voice calls out your name. Your breath catches, and you pick up the pace, scanning your surroundings. Hide. That’s the only thought in your head. You can’t handle another meaningless conversation with another obnoxious Capitolian. You’d rather lock yourself in a dark, windowless room than entertain their exhausting chatter.

Your eyes dart around until they land on a cabinet door, slightly ajar. There’s no time to hesitate. You slip inside, pulling the door shut behind you, swallowing yourself in darkness.

Pressing your ear against the wooden surface, you listen. Muffled footsteps. The sound of your name again. You recognize the voice instantly, and dread coils in your stomach. Him. The man who runs that ridiculous website about you, documenting every move you make as if you’re a spectacle rather than a person. He’s practically built an archive of your life, shoving every scrap of information he can find onto the internet for Capitol citizens to obsess over.

You hold your breath, remaining perfectly still, listening as his footsteps shuffle past. He calls your name once more before, finally, mercifully, they start to fade. You wait a few beats, making sure he’s really gone before exhaling a slow, relieved sigh. Your forehead rests against the wooden door as your grip on the handle loosens.

But the moment of peace is short-lived.

A voice murmurs behind you, low and bemused.

“Uh, sweetheart?”

A yelp escapes your throat as you whirl around, arm swinging wildly to hit whoever’s behind you. But your hand meets nothing but air before it smacks into the wooden wall with a sharp thud.

A soft cry leaves your lips, pain stinging through your knuckles. Before you can recover, there’s a faint click beside you. A dim light flickers on above, casting a warm glow over the cramped space. You squint, your eyes adjusting, and then they land on the bronze-haired man standing at your side, sea-green eyes blown wide in surprise.

You freeze, recognition settling in.

“Finnick?”

His lips twitch before stretching into a slow, easy grin, flashing those infuriatingly perfect teeth. He leans against the wall, one hand still resting on the light switch, head tilting slightly as he peers down at you.

“Fancy meeting you here, sweetheart.” His voice is laced with amusement, a smirk playing on his lips as he extends his free hand toward you in mock politeness.

You glance at it, scoff, and cross your arms instead. “What are you doing here?”

Finnick sighs, slipping his hand back into the pocket of his dress pants. “Hiding. Obviously.” His tone is dry, like the answer should be obvious.

You exhale sharply, pressing your back against the door as you try to compose yourself. Of course, he’s hiding. He’s probably avoiding some desperate Capitol sponsor or an overzealous admirer. People cling to Finnick Odair like moths to a flame, and he plays his role so well.

“Well,” you mutter, shifting slightly, “I was here first.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and amused. “So territorial. What, do you want me to step out and expose both of us?”

You narrow your eyes. He has a point. If either of you leaves now, you’ll draw attention, and the last thing you need is to be caught crammed into a cabinet with Finnick Odair. That would be another scandal for the Capitol to sink its teeth into.

You sigh, rubbing your temple before glancing up at him. “Fine. Just—don’t talk.”

Finnick hums, tilting his head slightly. “You sure? I think we could have a very productive conversation in here.”

“Finnick.”

“Alright, alright.” He grins, leaning back against the shelves. “Silent as a clam.”

You roll your eyes and shift in place, trying to find a comfortable spot without knocking anything over. The cabinet wasn’t made for two people. Your arm brushes against his chest, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him, his breath ghosting against your hair.

“Will you move?” you hiss, trying not to bump into the precariously stacked cans of paint, cleaning supplies, and tools surrounding you.

Finnick lifts a hand in mock innocence. “Well, honey, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s pretty cramped in here with all this stuff.” He gestures lazily to the shelves around you.

You glare at him. “You clearly still have space behind you.” You poke a firm finger against his chest. “Move.”

Finnick glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you with an exaggerated frown. “There’s a vacuum.”

You stare at him. “Are you serious?”

“It’s taking up, like, all my space.”

A slow, frustrated breath pushes through your nose as you shift your weight. It’s hot, cramped, and you’re stuck here with Finnick Odair.

He watches your struggle with barely concealed amusement before offering, “Well, I could just step out and—”

“Don’t you dare even think about it!” you whisper-yell, eyes sharp as daggers.

His smirk widens. Infuriating.

Finnick’s smirk deepens, his sea-green eyes glinting in the dim light. “Oh, honey, you wound me,” he drawls, placing a hand over his chest like you’ve personally offended him. “You think I’d sell you out just to stretch my legs?”

You scoff, crossing your arms despite the cramped space. “Yes.”

His lips twitch. “Fair enough.”

You huff, shifting against the wooden door, trying to create some semblance of distance between you and Finnick, but it’s impossible. The small storage cabinet wasn’t designed to hold two people, let alone a six-foot-tall Victor with broad shoulders who takes up way too much space. His arm brushes against yours, and you feel the warmth radiating off him—annoyingly distracting.

Finnick exhales dramatically. “You know, if you wanted to get me alone, you could’ve just asked.”

You whip your head up, glaring. “I will knock you out, Odair.”

He grins. “With what? Your tiny fists? Oh, sweetheart, you’re adorable.”

Your nostrils flare. Infuriating. Absolutely insufferable. You have half a mind to elbow him in the ribs, but knowing Finnick, he’d probably enjoy that too. Instead, you sigh sharply, tilting your head back against the door.

Silence settles between you, save for the muffled sounds of the party outside—the distant laughter, the clinking of glasses, the upbeat music that feels worlds away from the stifling little closet.

Then Finnick speaks again, voice quieter this time. “So, who are you hiding from?”

You hesitate. You don’t owe him an answer. But there’s something disarming about Finnick, something that makes people spill their secrets before they even realize they’ve opened their mouths.

Still, you settle for a vague response. “Someone annoying.”

He hums. “So, not me?”

You shoot him a look, and he chuckles, clearly entertained.

“Let me guess.” He taps his chin, pretending to think. “Overzealous sponsor? Jealous socialite? Deranged fan?”

You shift uncomfortably. Close enough.

Finnick notices. His smirk softens into something less performative, more genuine. “C’mon,” he coaxes, tilting his head. “Who was it?”

You exhale through your nose, deciding to humor him. “That guy who runs the website about me.”

Finnick’s brows raise, then his face twists in sympathy. “Oh, him? Yeah, I’ve got one of those too. Talks about me like we braid each other’s hair at sleepovers.”

Despite yourself, a snort escapes your lips. “Right? He acts like he knows everything about me. It’s creepy.”

Finnick grins. “Well, at least you haven’t been shipped with half of Panem. I swear, if I had a coin for every time someone claimed I was secretly in love with some random socialite…” He shakes his head, mock exasperation in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And who are you secretly in love with, Finnick?”

His smirk falters for half a second—so quick you almost miss it. But then it’s back, all charm and mischief. “Wouldn’t you like to know, sweetheart?”

Your lips press together, and before you can stop yourself, you mutter, “Not really.”

Finnick places a hand over his heart again, gasping. “You wound me twice in one night? Unbelievable.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. The frustration you felt earlier has dulled into something else. Something lighter.

Still, you don’t let your guard down. “Just don’t get too comfortable,” you warn. “The second I think it’s safe, I’m out of here.”

Finnick smirks, leaning back against the shelves. “And leave me all alone? In this cold, dark closet?” He sighs dramatically. “How cruel.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You groan, lifting a hand to shove Finnick back.

It happens too fast.

You push him a little harder than intended. His legs catch on the vacuum behind him, throwing him off balance. His arms flail as he tries to grab onto something—unfortunately, that something is you.

You barely have time to react before gravity does its job.

A loud thud echoes through the tiny storage room as you crash into Finnick. Your foreheads smack together, sending a sharp jolt of pain through your skull. Finnick, caught in the most ridiculous position imaginable, hangs awkwardly midair—his back pressed against the wall, legs still half-propped on the vacuum. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist, holding you in place.

You wince, lifting your head slightly, your free hand pressing against your now-throbbing forehead. “Ow,” you mumble. His skull might as well be made of steel.

Finnick lets out a breathy chuckle beneath you, though it’s slightly strained. “Y’know, sweetheart, if you wanted to be on top, you could’ve just asked.”

Your hand immediately smacks his shoulder.

Before he can get another word out, the door creaks open.

“Is there someone in h—oh…”

Finnick’s head snaps up—only for your forehead to slam into Finnick’s again.

“Ow!” you both groan in unison.

You don’t even hesitate before slapping his arm again. He muffles a grunt.

Meanwhile, the woman standing in the doorway is frozen, gloved hand covering her mouth, eyes wide with realization. “Oh my! ” she gasps, face flushing. “Are you two all right?”

Her words barely register as you rub your forehead, still disoriented. A gloved hand touches your shoulder, and you glance up to see her looking between you and Finnick, brows raised.

“Yes, we’re fine,” you mutter automatically, nodding mindlessly.

That’s when you see it—the look on her face. The way her eyes flick between you and Finnick, her lips slightly parted as if processing something. Then it clicks.

Oh. Oh no.

Finnick, still beneath you, shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to the side. His tongue pokes at his cheek, barely suppressing a smirk.

The woman’s face shifts from surprise to intrigue.

“Oh,” she says again, but this time, there’s understanding in her tone. As if she knows exactly what she just walked in on.

Your stomach drops as you realize exactly what she is thinking. She doesn’t just assume she walked in on something—she is convinced of it. And worse, she looks absolutely thrilled.

“Oh,” she says again, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “Oh my.”

You scramble to push yourself off Finnick, but in your flustered state, you end up pressing your weight further onto him instead. His breath catches for just a second before he exhales a soft chuckle.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Didn’t know you were so eager.”

You smack his shoulder, but it only makes him grin wider. “Will you shut up and help me?” you whisper harshly, still trying to push yourself up without making the situation worse.

Finnick sighs dramatically, as if this is somehow an inconvenience for him, before placing his hands on your waist and lifting you off with frustrating ease. Once you’re on your feet, you try to brush yourself off and compose yourself, but before you can say anything, the woman gasps and claps her hands together.

“This is so lovely,” she gushes. “And here I thought the rumors were just speculation! But to think I’d witness it firsthand—oh, this is wonderful.”

You frown, not entirely sure you want to know what she’s talking about. “What?”

She gestures between you and Finnick with an almost conspiratorial expression. “Your little secret romance, dear. You don’t have to pretend with me. I won’t tell a soul.”

You open your mouth, then close it again, completely at a loss for words. Meanwhile, Finnick leans casually against the shelf, watching with clear amusement.

“That’s very kind of you,” he says smoothly, flashing his most charming smile. “We’d hate for anyone to get the wrong idea.”

You whip your head toward him, glaring daggers. Do not encourage this.

The woman giggles, as if she is witnessing something out of a Capitol drama. “Oh, don’t worry. I understand. A little forbidden rendezvous? How thrilling!”

You let out a strangled sound of frustration. “It’s not—we’re not—”

She raises a hand, silencing you with a knowing smile. “Say no more, dear. You have my discretion.”

Finnick hums approvingly. “Much appreciated.”

You feel your blood pressure rise. He is enjoying this far too much, and it’s obvious by the way his lips twitch as he glances at you. The woman sighs wistfully as if she is witnessing the most romantic scandal in all of Panem.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, winking before disappearing down the hallway.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the empty doorway as your brain struggles to catch up. The silence is thick, filled only by the distant hum of the party outside.

Then, slowly, you turn to Finnick.

He is smirking, arms crossed over his chest. “Well,” he drawls, amusement thick in his voice. “That went well.”

You inhale deeply through your nose, trying to rein in the urge to strangle him. “You absolute—”

Finnick chuckles and tilts his head slightly. “Careful, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want people to think our lover’s quarrel is anything serious.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. You can already hear the whispers spreading through the Capitol. By tomorrow morning, there will be headlines, theories, and most likely an entire fan club dedicated to the two of you.

And Finnick Odair, the bane of your existence, is going to love every second of it.

part two

[thinemoonshine]

⋆𐙚₊ 𝐚 ‘𝔀𝓮’ 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 ‘𝓾𝓼’ ˚⊹♡

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ in which (y/n) doesn’t call them her boyfriend because they haven’t officially asked her to embark on an official courtship

downbad!enhypen hyung line x fem!reader content(s): fluff, enhypen being down so horribly, terribly, bad, like whipped whipped for (y/n), (y/n) is sassy and loves to tease, pet names, one profanity, alcohol type: imagine

⋆˙𐙚 L.HEESEUNG 𐙚˙⋆ “…you’re gonna be the death of me!”

“don’t you think this would look good on us?” heeseung asks as he lifts up a pair of couple-y beanies and looks at (y/n) expectantly.

(y/n) shifts her gaze between the two before she brings it down. “don’t they look too couple-y?”

“yeah, i mean that’s the point, righ—wait, what do you mean ‘too couple-y?’” the realization hits him late and (y/n)’s already walking out the store, bells hung on the door chiming behind her.

heeseung hastily puts back the beanies, panicky, before he runs out to follow her. “(y/n)! (y/n), wait! what do you mean by that?”

“by what?” the girl monotonously responds.

“there’s nothing wrong with wearing matching stuff, right? aren’t we a couple? or do you not like it?” heeseung worriedly bombards her with questions as he sticks behind her like a tail—almost stumbling entirely when she stops abruptly.

“we aren’t, though.”

“huh?”

“we aren’t a couple,” (y/n) corrects him and his eyes widen as lips gape—frantically moving to stand in front of her when she budges in the slightest.

“are you breaking up with me? please, (y/n). i-i don’t know what it is but i’ll make it up to you! please not like this, no. i don’t want to lose you,” heeseung pleads as his hands shakily grab her shoulders—much too soft to actually say he even put force but the way his fingers curl, securing onto her show that he’s more than ready to latch on for his life. “tell me. tell me what i did wrong.”

(y/n) stares at his face, the desperation and concern paint him so clearly and a guilty sigh leaves her. “we can’t break up if we weren’t together in the first place.”

now confusion settles over him. his brows knitting and doe eyes searching into hers. “what do you—oh.”

and finally putting the pieces together, a loud laugh escapes him while his not-girlfriend frowns, a small pout playing on her lips.

he coos while his thumb brushes over them. “aww, is that what this was all about?”

“heeseung, you—”

“(y/n),” he interjects with his voice laced with so much charm she just can’t refute. an endearing smirk threatens to appear on his face as he cups her cheek—looking down at her with the most tender and sincere gaze. “will you let me be your boyfriend? please?”

the air’s knocked out of the other at his soft little voice that instantly extinguishes any sort of fire in her as she instead, melts into his arms that magically made their way around her waist.

she clears her throat. “yeah, i guess. yeah.”

he finally lets the smirk form as he swoops down and pecks her forehead, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her and he chuckles at her expression. “now let’s get those couple-y beanies to celebrate our official first day as a couple, hm?”

“…yeah,” the girl bashfully replies with cheeks tinted in a shade of pink.

heeseung’s chest tightens at how cute she is to the point it’s hard to breathe and he squeezes her against him—pressing her face into his chest as he resists the urge to just gnaw at her head. “you’re just so—gosh, you’re gonna be the death of me!”

“hee, my makeup!”

the way his nickname rolls from her tongue so casually is music to his ears and he bites his lip, shutting his eyes as his head falls back. “i’m the luckiest person ever to have you as my girlfriend.”

⋆˙𐙚 P.JONGSEONG 𐙚˙⋆ “silver or gold?”

there’s something off. he can’t quite put his finger on it—but there’s something terribly wrong. and it’s not just because of his and (y/n)’s cuddle sessions with her hugs too short to even be called cuddles, or the lack of kisses from her and hesitant acceptance of his or even the way she sometimes cringes at the pet names he uses on her.

but also because of the way she treats him in general. she’s still affectionate—greeting him with the biggest, most beautiful smile, going out for lunch dates with him and paying for his order because “last time you paid for everything” which, in his perspective is mortifying because why?? would she?? do such a thing??

it’s his responsibility—or so he claims—to spoil her as much as possible. he wants to be the one to feed her, buy her all her silly little trinkets and take her out on shopping sprees and carrying all her bags so why?? it breaks him to see her act the way she is.

but at the end of the day, it’s still affectionate, isn’t it? as much as he can’t comprehend it, he sees it as his girlfriend wanting to treat him every once in a while to show appreciation or something—a self-hypnosis, one might say so he doesn’t fall into hysteria.

despite his suspicions however, he says nothing and lets things flow as he takes the opportunity to observe her more, in hopes he can at least make a small conclusion so he won’t upset her by asking the wrong thing.

and today’s the perfect time for it since they’re having another one of their lunch dates. he sits anxiously at their table as he watches (y/n) who’s still at the counter—having bumped with her friend and now she’s accompanying her as she orders.

“is that all you’re having?” (y/n) asks her friend who nods and right after, the former passes the cashier her card—surprising her friend to which she assures her it’s all fine. “no, i insist! after all, last time you paid for everything.”

jay who has been a loyal, attentive audience this whole time instantly feels himself being washed over with dread. small lips parting and hand resting on the left side of his chest as it dawns on him.

all this time…(y/n)’s been treating him like a friend. not a lover. it all makes sense now. the distance she put between them and the affections shown that are always in border between friend and lover but never more to the latter—he sees it now.

“jay? what’s going on?” (y/n) asks from her seat facing him. “you’re zoning out. hello?”

he just had a short circuit and her saying “jay” so simply is only rusting his gears from overtime working.

“‘jay?’”’he echoes with a small frown on his face. “why jay?”

his question baffles her and she emits a small confused yet amused scoff.

“that’s your name? what else am i supposed to call you?”

“baby, bae, darling, honey—” he starts listing out loving pet names and making her gape at his eloquence. she’s not sure if being so knowledgeable in this subject is really useful at all but it’s impressive. “there are so many you can use! just not just my name as it is. we’re not friends…right?”

ding ding ding! finally, the man gets it and (y/n) lets a mischievous smirk play on her lips.

“i’m pretty sure we are, though,” she teases and her date’s jaw detaches, crashing to the floor along with his heart in shards. she giggles and the sound itself revives him, now looking at her with eyes wide and lips pressed expectantly. “i mean, i don’t recall being asked to be someone’s partner so…”

an audible gasp leaves him before he reaches out to hold her hands in his as they rest on the table. “my love, i should’ve known. i shouldn’t have left things be unclear between us. so, silver or gold?”

his question confuses her. “huh?”

“for our couple rings. i’m using it to propose to you to be my girlfriend later. so, silver or gold? actually, diamonds will be best, right? you only deserve the best.”

“wait, slow down—”

“how many carats?”

“jay!”

“‘jay???’”

“…sweetie? babe??”

“so much better <3”

⋆˙𐙚 S.JAEYUN 𐙚˙⋆ “i can even be your doormat!”

it’s not a secret that sim jaeyun is sometimes the embodiment of a human puppy. so it’s not surprising to see him literally following (y/n) around like a tail—even before they professed their love for one another.

the only difference now is that he’s much braver in initiating skinship to show his affections like fixing her hair, or cupping her cheeks, drawing circles on whatever part it is that he’s touching on her and even cuddling with her to the point that he’s practically sandwiching her onto the couch with his face buried in the crook of her neck.

but he notices something: it’s always been one-sided. and that’s weird. because as far as he knows, one of (y/n)’s love languages is physical touch. but it’s not like she rejects any of his advances, she accepts them all. maybe she’s just not very keen on starting it, but is always up for it.

so he lets it be.

until at one point, it starts to bug him and eat him from the inside out, leaving him shriveled like a wilted flower lacking every single form of nutrient and water—and all the sun’s doing is just drying up every bit of moisture and drawing the life out of him.

“(y/n)…” jake croaks weakly as he crawls to his phone that he previously threw onto his couch, now only a sliver of the man he once was with his cheeks hollow and lips chapped as his sickness riddles him. a terrible sickness caused by (y/n) deficiency.

the other end of the call rings a few times before the voice of his beloved sings through, instantly energizing him. “hello? jake?”

“(Y/N), I NEED YOUuUuUu~” he howls and (y/n) has to pull her phone away from her ear. “i’m SICK.”

concern fills her quickly after. “sick?? what happened? do you have a fever?”

she’s bombarding him with questions as she hastily puts on her shoes near her main door, ready to leave right after. the pitiful sob from him that follows after only heightens her worry.

“i’m sick…of missing you,” he finishes and (y/n) nearly trips over air just as she’s about to step to the door. “please come over and cuddle…please…?”

his desperate whimpers are just so adorable that it nearly shatters her resolve of playing hard-to-get. nearly.

squinting her eyes, crossing one arm under her chest and hooking it to the other that holds her phone to her ear, she then hums questioningly. and gosh, does jake feel like every second is another hour taken from his life span.

“no.”

nevermind. he’s dead now.

“wh-what? what do you mean ‘no?’”

huzzah! he’s been resuscitated. he wants justice.

(y/n) captures her lip between her teeth—holding back her amused chuckles at his cute confusion. “that sounds like a very boyfriend-girlfriend activity, jake. and we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend…”

beep! beep! beep!

he…hung up??

(y/n) gapes and calls him.

“the number you’ve dialed is unreachable…” the automatic machine answers.

again.

“please leave a message after the beep!…”

again.

still no answer.

worry creeps in again as (y/n) slips in her foot back into her shoe which she took off mere minutes ago. just when she stands however, a persistent ringing of her door bell freezes her momentarily.

swinging the barrier between her and the source open, she’s met with surprise to see sim jaeyun, the man himself, down on his knees as he looks up at her with doe eyes glossed over.

“jake! wha—”

“we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend? what did i do? tell me, i’ll fix it!”

“you didn’t do anything!”

“i didn’t? the-then, why?”

(y/n) opens her mouth to answer when she suddenly realizes that him not doing anything is exactly the problem—and her momentary hesitation is enough to have him clasping his hands together in desperation.

“please please please, don’t throw me away! i love you so much, i won’t be able to live without you! please please, pretty princess? PLEASE!”

the girl’s eyes widen at his sudden pleads and she anxiously looks at the other doors in the corridor, hoping her apartment neighbors will disregard the chaos occurring. “jake! jake, stand up! stop doing this!”

“NO! you’re mad at me! i don’t know why but…still! is it because i’m too clingy? because i asked you to come over? sh!t! i should’ve been the one to come over not you! i’ll be better, i promise!”

“what?? no! there’s nothing wrong with that just listen to me and get—”

“NOOOO!! i’m not getting away! i’m not leaving! just keep me by your side! i’ll do anything! i-i can even be your doormat—here! right here!”

the sound of a rattling doorknob triggers (y/n)’s fight or flight and she seizes jake’s wrist that’s conveniently raised—thanks to his howls and pleads of “you said you love me!” and “love me backkkk~” respectively—and she hauls him into her apartment.

jaeyun’s eyes widen at the abrupt motion and he stumbles onto the floor of her house but before he can say anything, a pair of soft lips smash against his—ridding him of every thought as his hands instinctively reach up to cup her cheek and nape.

he limps backwards, now completely against the floor while (y/n) hovers and his vision darkens as his eyes shut—reveling in the addicting sweetness of her taste.

a small whine sounds from him when she pulls away and he chases after her lips—wanting nothing more but to relish in her essence endlessly yet her hand that gently pushes him down by the chest halts him.

she giggles at his dazed expression—his breaths shaky, eyes blown out and half-lidded as he peers up at her. “i do love you, jakey. i just said we weren’t a couple because you haven’t asked me out yet.”

“i haven’t?” he slurs like a drunken man, still on cloud nine from her kiss and his gaze casts frequent glances onto her glistening, rosy nubs. “must have been in my dream then.”

“yeah, must be,” (y/n) chuckles and sits on his lap before hauling him up—instantly getting engulfed in an embrace with his arms coiled around her waist and nose buried in the crook of her neck. feeling ticklish, the girl elicits a few titters which makes him smile against her skin.

“i can’t believe i let my princess feel so frustrated for so long,” he muffles into her. “but don’t worry, i’ll ask you now.”

“i’m all ears.”

“will you marry me?”

“HUH??”

⋆˙𐙚 P.SUNGHOON 𐙚˙⋆ "love me, please"

sunghoon is more emotional of a person than how he seems. he just hides himself well and even when others try their best to push him to the edge, he will never lose his grip on his thread nor walk the plank—able to pull himself up and return to the safe shores.

of course, he’s still human and thus, will never be completely impenetrable. one common weakness among those with strict discipline? alcohol.

“i don’t know why…she doesn’t love me,” sunghoon sobs into his arms as he’s hunched onto the counter and almost slipping off his stool. jake looks down at him before a sigh escapes. he was amused seeing his usually stoic and smiley friend act so sappy at first—but that was 3 days ago and he’s still being it since.

jake pats the other’s pack. “why don’t you ask her? i thought you guys confirmed your feelings for each other?”

sunghoon nods against his arm as a low groan rumbles through him. “we did…but then i overheard her saying to her friends that we ‘aren’t together’ and are just ‘two people who share mutual affections.’”

“maybe you misheard?”

a wail akin to a whale’s call sounds from the drunken lad and jake looks around frantically, embarrassed, and is for once thankful for the blaring DJ remixes that burst people’s ears.

“i didn’t. i heard clearly what she said, that’s why i ran away… i left her there… i screwed up our lunch plans… she’s gonna hate me more! it’s my fault! why did i just—WAAaaAaA!”

once again, his friend finds himself in a fluster, scared that someone’s going to think that a marine creature’s been illegally smuggled into the establishment—causing him to haul the taller lad onto his shoulders and out of the place of business.

“there you go. stay,” jake huffs as he laboriously drops his friend onto the bench outside before pulling out his phone. dialing a number, he then puts the gadget to his ear. “hello? sorry for calling you so suddenly but uh, sunghoon’s kind of in a situation i know you’re the only who can save him from. oh, no! it’s not anything dangerous! it’s just, well…”

after hearing his explanation, it doesn’t take long for the girl to zoom to the club and there, she meets a passed out sunghoon on a cold wooden bench and jake sitting on the edge of his seat—not having enough space due to the drunkard.

“hey, thanks for coming,” the slightly older male says with a smile and nods with gratitude at her. she reciprocates.

“so…you say he’s been doing this for 3 days straight—since he overheard me?” (y/n) confirms and jake’s affirmation elicits a long sigh from her. “dummy hoon. thanks for accompanying him, jake. i’ll take over from here.”

bidding goodbye, (y/n) then approaches the sleeping young man. her heart flutters at his delicate yet sharp visages that simply steal her breath away even when he’s doing something utterly mundane such as sleeping. her hand lifts to cup his cheek, flinching at the coldness of his skin. “sunghoon, wake up. hoon?”

she nearly has a cardiac arrest when the man’s eyelids shoot open and he springs to a sitting position before facing the blanched girl.

“(y/n)!” he exclaims cheerily with the most radiant beam before engulfing her whole against his figure—muscly biceps securing around her frame as she squeaks from the sudden embrace. she chuckles, adoring how he’s still able to be so gentle with her even whilst drunk. “hi, my love~”

the nickname brings a blush to her face that’s already mantling from the cold. “come on, let’s get you to the car.”

as soon as he’s in the passenger’s seat, (y/n) bends down slightly in front of him to secure his seatbelt but pauses when sunghoon’s head drops onto her shoulder—rubbing his forehead against the fabric covering her skin.

“(y/n)…you’re so warm,” he murmurs, eyes shut and lips parted. “if only you were really here.”

his words make the girl’s brows knit. ‘does he think he’s imagining me?’

click! the seatbelt connects and she shuts his door before going to the driver’s seat.

the drive is mostly quiet with sunghoon being drowsy and (y/n) busy with trying to get him home safely but the tranquility is broken by an unexpected monologue by the former.

“i do this again and again just to see you… and you’re always there. but i wake up and you’re gone…always gone,” sunghoon murmurs in his sleepiness, and (y/n)’s fingers tighten around the wheel at his confession—feeling her heartstrings getting tugged. “i love you so much, it hurts.”

(y/n) glances at him, feeling a surge of guilt and swallows dryly. “if the real (y/n) was here, what would you tell her?”

“i’d apologize for canceling our lunch date again. and tHeN! i’d apologize again and tell her i’ll do wAyYyYY better! i’ll be the BEST MAN she’ll ever have!” sunghoon exclaims in an inconsistent rhythm—bursting on some words and calm for the others. “the LAST one too! she’s going to end up with me, i’ll make sure of it.”

his drunken confession affects her more than she thought—butterflies erupting and tickling her from the inside out with their soft, rapid wings.

“oh, really?” she teases, an amused grin worn as she faces the road which isn’t unseen by sunghoon.

his sudden quietness confuses her but soon feels his scrutinizing gaze prickling at the side of her cheek—her peeking at him from her peripheral.

“woah. you’re the best version of (y/n) my brain’s made. you feel and look real…so warm and pretty like how my (y/n) really is… my gorgeous, gorgeous girl… hihihi…” his lovesick bashful giggles from his own comment instantly beats all her favourite music and artists, defeating all her playlists and reigns the throne.

his eyes upturned in a blinding eyesmile as cheeks and nose glow a bright red from both the alcohol and the lovey dovey, giggly mood he’s brought to himself. he’s so cute. a cutie pie.

by the time they arrive at his home, he’s onto his reason number whoever knows on his list of ‘why my-not-but-still-my-girl aka.(y/n) is the best girl.’

he flops on his bed when (y/n) drops him with a large grunt before joining his side in exhaustion. big mistake.

because now she’s caged within sunghoon’s beefy arms and as much as she loves nothing more than to stay in them—suffocate in them even, but he’d never let—she has to go home.

“sung—oof! sunghoon!” she grunts and wriggles in his unbudging grasp and just when she tries to slip through by sliding down vertically and off the edge of the bed, he nuzzles into the side of her head—drawing figures in her hair with the tip of his nose.

“love me, please,” he whispers and that instantly shuts down her motor—now completely still as she slowly turns to him. her eyes dance across his face that’s slightly scrunched and she can tell it’s because of what he overheard her say. he’s thinking about it again.

“i do love you, hoon—so so much that it physically squeezes the air out of me sometimes. i only said what i said because i realized we never made it official and whenever i hinted at you, you just acted like it was nothing. just going with it without accepting or denying anything,” (y/n) explains in a whisper as her finger moves up to trace his features.

freezing suddenly when she reaches his mouth and the corners begin to curl up.

“so i just need to make things official and we won’t just be ‘two people who share mutual feelings together?’” he asks with clarity. the lack of muddled mumbles and dragged words instantly tell the other of his sobriety.

she looks up, taken aback to see him already staring down at her with the most endearing of gazes—shifting between her eyes constantly before letting it dance across her face and back to melting their gazes together.

“i guess so…” she mutters, flustered and belatedly shy from the proximity.

sunghoon catches his bottom lip between his teeth, finding the sight before him simply too adorable and presses a kiss on her forehead. “then, just as i am already yours, will you be mine?”

his concise offer makes her heart skip beats but it still doesn’t compare to hoon’s that’s running a mile a minute, vigorous thumps almost blending into one another and she feels it from the way he hugs her tight.

so much for mr.cool guy act.

“it would be my honour, hoon,” she replies with a cheeky grin and a second later she’s squealing from getting bombarded with butterfly kisses—unknowing of his struggle to keep himself together and not just crush her every bone from the cuteness aggression, finding her to be the loveliest ever. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ maknae line ver.

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog—they give me some motivation, ya know? but please do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[cyrki]

Hannibal x Reader

...who refuses to eat after finding out what animal the meat they're being served actually comes from.

CW: Force-feeding, captivity, slight (unintentional, can be seen platonically) Hannigram pairing

You haven't always been aware of it, but it eventually grew to be extremely obvious—Incredibly, eating had become a rather gruesome task. Just gazing at the food made your stomach churn and following each bite was a dreadful feeling of repulsion. The once innocent and innate act of eating exempt you from being a victim. Reversely, it made YOU the culprit, to a considerable extent.

—

You knew it.

Each swallowed mouthful was a new lump in your throat.

Hannibal Lecter was a rather cunning murderer; You were his, and apparently Will's, hapless little victim.

—

You couldn't quite comprehend the truth. To be fair, it was indigestible, both literally and metaphorically. Being held captive was one thing, but human flesh and organs existing to be the sole source of your intricate meals was just... bewildering.

"Y/N." Hannibal spoke, in his usual monotone tone of voice. He glanced at your almost untouched plate of food before averting his gaze back at you, in a slightly demanding manner.

"I cannot help but make note of your forbearance." He remarked, putting his carefully crafted metal fork down and intertwining his slender fingers together.

Truly, his statements were nothing more than politely-worded and conscientiously constructed commands. You knew him well enough to be able to recognise them with ease.

"I'm sorry." A mere apology was all you could utter before tentatively picking up your cutlery and eating.

—

Ever since that night, Hannibal has seemingly noticed the changes in your eating patterns. How you ate less and less, eyeing him guiltily, hoping he wouldn't say anything regarding the matter. Thankfully, you were rather... Obedient.

He couldn't, however, help but wonder what exactly gave rise to this peculiar behaviour. At first, he attributed it to unwellness. As displeased as it made him, he understood that being held captive can have quite the toll on one's mental well-being. Be that as it may, your otherwise passive and compliant attitude disproved his theory.

Perhaps it was your way of rebelling, almost slightly adorable. Almost.

Eventually, he figured it out—How absent-minded you were, under the ridiculous belief that he was unaware of the unquantifiable guilt that washed through you with each bite. Of course, he couldn't allow this unacceptable habit of yours to continue.

—

Friday, evening

Given the day, the manhunter invited Will over for dinner. Naturally, you were to be present at the table.

You barely touched the meat contents of your intricately cooked lunch. When inquired, you excused yourself with a rather simple and straightforward lie.

"I'm not in the mood for meat."

In that moment, you could swear Hannibal's lips curved upward to a knowing smile. Before you could even take a mental photograph, he adopted his characteristic stoic expression.

Something was off.

He was looking at you the way a hedonist seeks sensation.

The way a dog waits for a piece of meat.

The way a spider methodically and patiently ceases for the perfect moment to ambush its helpless prey.

Will was already sat at the dinner table when you came down from the attic. His eyes were full of disdain. Pity; Warning you of whatever was to come.

The two men were conversing, but you could barely make out what they were saying, due to their continuous use of indiscernible metaphors, as if they were codifying the contents of their dialogue.

The main dish; "Braised Roast" meat baked in clay with marrow, and lady apples on the side.

You inhaled deeply, grasping your shiny fork so hard your knuckles adopted a snow-white shade.

"What are we waiting for?" Hannibal smiled, his deep brown eyes initially landing on Will before eventually finding their way to you, where they lingered for a bit longer than they should've.

You felt an uncanny pressure watching both of them clear their plates. Each moment he stopped to chew he meticulously used to eye you.

"It's unfortunate you're not eating." The psychiatrist exclaimed, obviously referring to you and how your food remained unconsumed. You awkwardly chuckled - Approximately a billion excuses ought to travel to your lips, yet each and every single one got stuck in your throat.

"You know I cannot condone this behaviour any longer; It truly pains me to see you abstain from eating everything I cook." He berated you with plastered concerns. Will simply nodded, only looking at you from the corner of his eyes. Hannibal was now ogling at you and impatiently waiting. It was made clear that you expected to finish everything on your plate.

Yet you didn't. You just gawked at the contents in front of you intently, trembling.

"That's no good. I was hoping not to get my hands dirty tonight." Hannibal sighed as he got up from his seat. Your grasp on your chair only tightened, your brows knit together with uncertainty and untainted fear as he approached you.

His large hands abruptly grabbed both of your wrists before aggressively pinning them down on the wooden armrests of the chair you were sat on. You winced in pain for no longer than a second, at which he he unlocked his jaw to speak once more.

"Do not struggle. There is no need to make things harder than they already have presented themselves to be." He calmly requested as he applied more pressure before eyeballing Will, who consequently got up from his seat and placed his own colder hands right where Hannibal's previously were, just long enough for Hannibal to skillfully tie rope around all your limbs.

With both his hands now free, he could now do as he pleased. His left hand violently held your chin up, his perfectly round fingernail digging in your soft cheeks deep enough to leave a temporary mark, while his right picked up your fork.

He stabbed it in the meat, before bringing it centimeters away from your lips.

"Open up." He ordered. You stubbornly kept your mouth shut.

"...or don't." He painfully opened your teeth, forcing the food down your throat before making you chew and swallow. A horrifying sensation washed over you as you felt the food travel down to your previously empty stomach.

"There. It's not that bad, is it?" He smiled as he dug in the plate. Your eyes began to well up as he continued to force-feed you what was once a human-being.

About halfway through, you felt everything climbing back up your esophagus - However, gagging was seemingly not permitted. If anything, it encouraged him to continue.

And just when you thought it was coming to an end, when there was not a single crumb left, he excused himself only to bring back another plate just as full of tender meat.

Your stomach was very obnoxiously full by that point, and Hannibal was well accustomed to that. You were being reprimanded, after all. Punishments shall not lack the aspect of pain, or else they're not effective. All you could do was pathetically plead for him to stop between each excruciating mouthful that was forced down your throat, which he appeared to find rather irritable.

He left just enough space in between each bit to allow you to pitifully gasp for oxygen. You were long out of tears, but the pleading look in your eyes was more than enough to satiate Hannibal.

Your stomach grew to be rock-hard and bloated, as it excruciatingly pressed against your pants, the buttons of which were barely holding up against your full gut. Once you were finally done, Hannibal gently dragged his thumb against it, gingerly enough to soothe you yet firm enough to cause you pain. He unbuttoned the top button of your pants, giving you a very short-lived feeling of serenity.

"I forbid you from going to bed hungry ever again. Understood?" He instructed, untying the ropes that constrained you before placing a tender kiss on the top of your head.