#CRIES AND SHOUTS AT THE SCREEN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pathologicalreid · 4 months

Note

Okay before i say my request can i be your 🐚 anon ??? that's all i ask in terms of that BUT:

hear me out- so spencer reid x bau!fem!sunshine!reader gets kidnapped outside of work and her kidnapper tortures her and the works, but the worst part is he has a live feed directed for the bau so they just have to watch the poor girl get borderline killed but she's still fighting back and so eventually he turns the feed off and they go to the unsub once they find his location but before they burst the door down they hear the reader like genuinely begging for him to just kill her and it's GUT WRENCHING. then they get him and she free and she's immediately back to her bubbly self until randomly she like shows up at his door and spence tells her it's okay to not be okay and she just breaks down RAGHHHH

i'm so sorry for writing you an essay but I got the idea and simply couldn't let it go to waste 😭

-🐚 (i hope if that's okay with you???)

epiphany | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; re: hurt/comfort content warnings: bau!reader, sunshine!reader, kidnapping, violence against reader, reader begging for it to be over, gun violence, general cm violence, exhaustion, hospitals, poor coping mechanisms and unhelpful therapists. word count: 2.92k a/n: of course you can be my 🐚 anon! this is a story in four parts, before, during, after, and epiphany! i hope you enjoy it <3 thank you SO much for requesting!

epiphany - a moment of sudden revelation or insight.

before

The horrified look on Garcia’s face couldn’t possibly be a good sign, “Uh, sir,” she addressed Hotch, “I’m being sent an encrypted link from an admin on the UnSub’s site.”

Responding with a stiff nod, Hotch looked toward the screen in the roundtable room, “Open it.”

Each team member had an instant reaction to the image projected onto the large screen. JJ had covered her mouth with her hands, Morgan had to peel his eyes away from the screen, and Spencer couldn’t get himself to do the same thing. Despite his better judgment, he kept his eyes on the screen.

“He’s killing her,” Emily observed, watching with a horrified expression as the UnSub hand his hands around your throat. You were dangling from the ceiling by your bound hands, leaving you flailing as your body begged for air.

Hotch leaned intensely over Garcia’s shoulder, “Is this live?” He asked, voice raising ever so slightly as he watched the tech analyst’s fingers work nimbly across her keyboard. As she nodded, he continued, “Can you find where he’s streaming this from?”

Parting her lips, a determined look settled on the blonde’s face as she continued to type, “It looks like he’s running it through a boatload of different proxies – it’s gonna take me a minute.”

Rossi shook his head, leaning over the roundtable, “She might not have that long.” It was the truth, a harsh truth, but the truth, nonetheless.

It had been one minute and thirty-seven seconds already, brain death would occur after four minutes, maybe five if you were lucky. Spencer didn’t want to have to take that chance. “Oh god,” Penelope cried, working through the tears that had started to stream down her face, “Okay, she’s in this general area.”

“Keep going,” Hotch ordered succinctly. “Everyone else, look at the picture. Is anything recognizable about the background?”

The lighting was dim at best, which didn’t leave the team with a lot to work with while they studied your surroundings. At one point, your attacker shouted, and Spencer’s attention moved back to you.

In the midst of your struggle, you had managed to strike him between the legs, sending him stumbling away from you, shouting expletives as space was put between the two of you. The BAU took a collective breath as they listened to you breathe, spluttering as the UnSub regained his composure. “Do you see that? The ridges in the wall?” Derek said, using his index finger to point to what he was talking about.

“It looks like a storage container,” Emily replied, furrowing her brows as she comprehended what Morgan was talking about.

Wholly focused on you, Spencer watched as the UnSub got in your face, screaming horrible words at you until you spit in his face. He swung at you, causing your face to turn with a nauseating smack until your head lolled forward and you stopped moving.

Still typing, Penelope spoke up, “Got it! Sending the address to your phones now.”

during

There was a maze of storage containers at the port, and so far, you had turned up in none of them. “Shh, wait,” Emily hissed, “Do you guys hear that?” She asked, looking over each of her shoulders, ears perked up like a bloodhound.

Straining his ears, Spencer straightened up, lowering his firearm as he focused on listening to the world around him, waiting for whatever Emily was talking about.

“Just fucking do it!” Your voice reverberated off of the surface of the numerous shipping containers. Spencer found himself torn as he knew you were alive but recognized the fear and anger in your voice. The pain as you screamed nearly stopped him in his tracks, but he found himself trudging forward.

Following closely behind Morgan, they stopped for a moment, trying to determine which direction you would be found in. Your shouts rang out into the pitch black of the night, “Stop being a coward and pull the fucking trigger!”

His steps faltered, leaving JJ stumbling into his back. “Reid,” she whispered, prompting him to shake himself out of his surprised state and continue moving. You didn’t know what you were saying, he tried to convince himself.

You couldn’t see the camera the same way he had seen it so many years ago, kidnapped and drugged against his will and hoping the team would understand the clues disguised as conversation. He had been taken from an UnSub’s property, and your apartment had been broken into – the only thing taken had been you.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar fear in the BAU, worrying about an UnSub breaking into your home, but you weren’t targeted because of your work in the bureau. You had been targeted because you fit the victim pattern.

If he never had to see the word “missing” under your face again, it would be too soon.

“Please,” you begged. “Please just kill me. Just let me die. I don’t want to do it anymore,” your voice started to grow quieter, but the team could still hear you – they were getting closer.

Emily and Morgan went to one side of the doors, leaving Spencer and JJ on the other side – Rossi and Hotch were elsewhere on the property, waiting with first responders and calling the shots via comms.

A small whimper came from the container at the same time as the click of a gun cocking. “Just pull it,” you pleaded weakly. “It’ll be so easy for you. It’ll be so much easier with me dead,” you informed him despondently.

“FBI!” Morgan called out, pulling the heavy metal doors of the container open, revealing the four FBI agents with their vests on, guns raised.

Just like it had happened in an action film, Spencer watched as the UnSub moved his hand to the trigger of his weapon. Your eyes were closed, tears streaming through the dirt that was caked on your face. Without a second thought, Spencer pulled the trigger on his firearm, sending a bullet through the UnSub’s temple before he could have the chance to kill you.

Emily went over to the body, gingerly picking up the weapon and disengaging it while looking over to you. Spencer was knelt in front of you, debating whether or not he should touch you before he decided on speaking to you first, “Y/N?” His voice was no more than a whisper as he expected your eyes to open, but they didn’t.

“His pocket,” you rasped, your traumatized vocal cords straining on every word.

Spencer hummed, “What about them, love?” He kept his voice gentle, watching you as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Sniffling, you hung your head low, “Keys,” you mumbled helplessly, unable to speak more than you already were, each word only drained you of energy you didn’t have in the first place.

Understanding, JJ crouched next to the stiff body of the UnSub and fished a keyring out of his pants pocket, handing them to Spencer.

With shaky hands, the third key unlocked the handcuffs around your wrists, and your body slumped forward, practically falling into Spencer as he tenderly wrapped his arms around your torso, “I’ve got you,” he reassured you.

It wasn’t until you were sat in the back of an ambulance that anyone got a good look at you. There was a fine layer of grime coating your skin, causing it to look at least one shade darker than it normally was, but what concerned Spencer the most was the petechiae of your eyes. The burst blood vessels were a direct result of his hands around your throat.

The paramedics looked over you despite your protests. It was non-negotiable, and that instruction came from Hotch. The strangest part of it was that you were continuously trying to wave off concern, insisting you were fine, kicking your legs off the edge of the rig while the female paramedic looked at the bruising on your cheek. “It might be a fractured ZMA, she’ll need a CT to confirm,” she continued to list even more ailments, including potential internal bleeding and extensive damage to your throat. The swelling in your neck was beginning to catch up with you, affecting your ability to talk.

Spencer rode with you in the ambulance, holding your hand while you told him, “I knew you’d find me. I never gave up.”

I don’t want to do it anymore, your pleas for the UnSub to end your life rang in his head, he’d never forget hearing you say that, and you didn’t even know he heard you.

He didn’t have any good answers for anyone while you were getting a CT. By the time you returned from surgery to repair your fractured cheekbone, he shut the door to your room, sequestering the two of you into your own little world.

The bruising around your neck had already begun to darken, and by this time tomorrow, your throat would likely be a sickening reflection of what had happened to you. Your doctor had elected to leave you intubated because they were afraid of the swelling affecting your ability to breathe.

There was nothing for him to do, nothing except sit at your bedside and hold your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb across your bloodied knuckles.

after

You were skipping - well, maybe the step pattern wasn’t technically a skip.

Spencer watched as you waltzed into the bullpen with far too much pep in your step. “I didn’t know you were coming back today,” Morgan said, being the first to greet you once you passed through the glass doors.

Waving a hand in the air, you shrugged, “I have to pass a final psych eval with Hotch, but then I’m all set to be back next week.” You were grinning as you embraced your friend, but over your shoulder, Derek sent Spencer an inquiring look. Asking a silent question that Spencer himself didn’t even know the answer to.

What was going on with you? Four weeks ago, you had been struggling to stand after being beaten within an inch of your life, and ever since, you had been nothing but smiles.

Before you could settle into the hug, you pulled away, placing your hands on Derek’s shoulders, and holding him at arm’s length. Approximately the same distance you had kept Spencer at for the past month.

As you passed behind Spencer’s desk, you left a featherlight touch on the top of his head before continuing your way up to Hotch’s office, smiling as you passed the roundtable room. The same room where the team had watched your torture as it was live-streamed to them.

“Is she..?” Emily started to ask the question on everyone’s minds, but the major issue was that no one quite knew what the question was. Had you finally cracked? Were you okay? He wasn’t sure, and it was starting to eat at him.

The only thing they could do was watch as you greeted Hotch with a chirp, entering his office and firmly closing the door behind you.

epiphany

The knock on his door was the first thing to pull his attention away from his book since he got home from Quantico. Looking down at the inside of his wrist, he frowned at the time – just past midnight.

Still, he peeled himself up off of the couch before making his way to the front door, peering out of the peephole just to see you on the other side.

Slowly, Spencer set the book on his entryway table and undid the lock and deadbolt to his apartment, swinging the heavy wooden door open to reveal his girlfriend. You were donning flannel pajama pants, not unlike the ones he had on, and an old college t-shirt. There was a crumpled-up piece of paper in your hand, but he couldn’t make out any of the words on it.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, the question slipping easily off his tongue. He didn’t wait for the answer, ushering you inside his apartment and toward the couch. He redid the locks on the front door before joining you on the supple leather.

You furrowed your brows, staring at the piece of paper in your lap, “I failed.”

Leaning over your shoulder curiously, Spencer looked at the piece of paper, quickly recognizing it as your psychological evaluation. He read over what he could see, noting the words “deflection” and “coping mechanism.”

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he observed aloud. You must’ve been wearing makeup this morning when you came to the BAU because now he could see the clearly defined dark circles under your eyes. He hadn’t seen you much over the past month, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. Spencer had spent many days sitting outside of your apartment, waiting for you to let him in. He didn’t dare use his spare key, it felt like an invasion of your privacy.

Turning to meet his eyes, you shrugged helplessly, “I haven’t been tired. I mean – I’m… I’m fine.”

Nodding gently, “That’s a deflection. You’re telling me that you’re fine when I can clearly see that you aren’t.”

Your lips parted in apprehension while he read you like an open book. “I’m exhausted,” you admitted, tearing little pieces off of your evaluation form as you grew anxious. “I get into bed, and I can’t sleep, I can’t convince myself to close my eyes,” you elaborated, watching as Spencer reached out and took the paper from you, setting it on the coffee table.

“Have you talked to anyone?” Spencer asked, tentatively taking your hand in his.

Humming, you leaned back on the couch cushions, “Like my mandated FBI therapist? No, I don’t really talk to him much. I’ve started pretending we’re having a staring contest. I usually win, but that’s probably because he has no idea that we’re playing.”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer inclined his head toward you, “You’re doing it again.”

You clamped your lips shut, shifting on the couch so that you could withdraw your hand from his and sit on your hands. “I don’t do this very well, huh? Talking about the bad stuff,” you murmured to Spencer, looking over at him. “I hate the bad stuff,” you informed him.

“But we have to talk about it eventually, sweetheart. You can’t keep all of that inside,” he told you, moving over on the couch, closer to where you were seated.

Shaking your head, you pulled your knees up to your chest, and Spencer recognized that you were trying to make yourself seem as small as possible. The UnSub had made you feel small – another reason that Spencer had to hate him. “I wish I was her again,” you whispered, a tinge of fear entering your voice.

“You want to be who again?”

Looking over at Spencer, you sighed, “The me that I was before. I want to feel good and happy and perfect and free,” you spoke earnestly.

He gave you an understanding smile, pulling at your hands so that he could hold them in his own, “Nobody expects you to be perfect right now.”

You closed your eyes, “but I want to be her again.” Small tears started to stream down your cheeks while you mourned the previous version of yourself.

“I know,” Spencer reassured you. “I know you do, but if you can’t quite get to her, I’ll still be here for the you that you are now,” he said, welcoming you with open arms as you began to lean into him. “It wouldn’t have been easier,” he murmured into your hair.

Humming, you grew content in Spencer’s arms, the only place he had wanted you over the past month. “What wouldn’t have been easier?”

Ever so slightly, Spencer tightened his grip around you, “If you had died. It wouldn’t have been easier for anyone. I know it felt like that at the time-“

“You heard that?” You asked, horrified at the thought of Spencer and everyone else hearing what you had thought were your last words.

Nodding, Spencer hummed a confirmation. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and I just needed to tell you that I understand. I don’t want you to feel guilty about what you said, and I don’t want you to feel like you need to regret it. You needed a way out, and that was the one you saw,” he told you.

You were silent for an eerie amount of time, without being able to see your face, Spencer was afraid that he had misread the entire situation. “Thank you,” you whispered, straightening up and looking over at him, bleary eyes meeting his. “I’m just… thank you,” you whispered reaching out for him, embracing him as your tears sept through the fabric of his t-shirt.

The both of you stayed like that for a while, your body was tucked into his side as his fingers lazily trailed up and down your back. “Did you want to try to get some sleep?”

You lifted your head, resting your chin on his chest, “Can I stay here?”

Frowning, Spencer cocked his head to the side, “Yes, isn’t that what I just asked?” Maybe it was more of an implication, but he felt it was fairly straightforward.

“I mean, can I stay here for a while? Maybe for a couple of days?” You asked, pressing your lips together nervously.

Moving his head forward, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “You can stay here for as long as you want to.”

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forensicheart · 4 months

Text

You’re Drunk

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando gets a call to pick up his not so sober girlfriend

A/N: Not particularly feelings this one but hope you guys enjoy!

Laughing to himself Lando sits on the couch scrolling through his Instagram stories coming across his girlfriends, where she looks to be having a great time with her friends. He replays the video that's been shared and smiles brightly at her drunken giggles as her and her friends stumble down the street. Lando can't help but go to rewatch the video for a third time but before he can an unknown number flashes on his screen. Confusion fills his mind as the phone rings but Lando decides to answer.

"Hello?"

"Lando, hey, it's Y/f/n" This made Lando more confused as he wasn't sure why one of his girlfriend's friends would be calling him. Until he heard your voice in the background. He could hear your small cries as you complained to your friends about being hungry but refused everything option of food they offered you.

"Need me to come get her?" Lando predicted.

"Pleaseeeee, we can't deal with her any longer. She just got us kicked out of the club" Y/f/n pleaded with your boyfriend causing Lando to let out a laugh being requesting your location and hanging up.

Pulling up outside the club you'd been kicked out of 30 minutes prior Lando swore you looked even more drunk then you had sounded on call 20 minutes ago. As soon as he stepped out the car you were running towards him with a speed he'd never seen from you. But unfortunately your legs couldn't keep up with your wanted speed and steps before you would reach Lando he watched you fall flat on your face. Holding in a laugh Lando quickly moved to your aid and looked at you with sympathy as you held onto him, tears welling in your wide eyes. Turning to look at your friends Lando simply nodded as a goodbye and they all seemed to let out a sigh of relief as they knew you were no longer their responsibility.

Now Lando had delt with you on a few occasions when you'd gotten a bit too drunk to have any independence but this time you seemed a bit more reliant than usual. After spending close to 10 minutes to even get you into the car and buckle your seatbelt without you unclipping it seconds later and laughing like it was the funniest joke ever, Lando was finally able to hop into the drivers side and begin the drive to your shared house.

The drive back started peacefully, no sound but the quiet hum of the radio as you had seemed to drifted into her own world staring out the window. Well that was until-

"Aeroplan!" You shouted giving Lando a scare causing him to almost slam on the breaks.

"What was that baby?" He asked softly glancing over to see both your hands planted on the glass as you started into the night sky with a child like wonder.

"There's an aeroplan" You spoke matter-of-factly even though as Lando looked into the sky through the car windows he saw nothing but stars littering the darkness.

"I don't see anything baby, maybe it was a star" Lando suggested cautiously but the suggestion still caused you to scoff loudly.

"You must be blind, because- maccas! I want maccas Landoooo" Your interest changed as you saw the golden 'm' in the distance.

You'd finally arrived home now after a detour to not only maccas but the supermarket as well to gather some baking ingredients as you were determined to make some cupcakes in your drunken state.

"Baby!" Lando panicked as he saw flour all over the floor. He'd left for one minute to use the bathroom, the kitchen far more spotless than it was now.

"Oopsie daisy" You giggled and when you spun to face Lando he couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter. Your face coated in the white power, barely a spot of skin uncovered. Lando stepped towards you and took your face in his hands uncaring of the flour now coating his hands.

"Y/n, what have you done?" He asks rhetorically and receives a shrug in response from the girl in question but a sneaky grin never left her face.

"I want to sleep" You decided stepping back from Lando's touch and trying to make your way to the bedroom only to be stopped by Lando's hand grabbing yours.

"No, no, no. Not like that you aren't. You'll get flour all over the bed!" You groaned at Lando's words and wrapped your arms around his waist and nuzzling your face into his neck.

"I don't careee" Your words were both mumbled and slurred and Lando wrapped his arms around you humming.

"I know drunk Y/n doesn't mind but trust me I don't want to be dealing with her when she's sober and see's the mess from tonight's antics, ok baby?" You begrudgingly agreed seeming slightly more sober than you had previously.

"Good, come on let's go shower baby" Lando unwrapped you from the hug and led you to the bathroom by hand.

"Sexy time!"

Ok. Maybe you weren't that sober yet.

#writing #characters #imagines #love #requests are open #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris x reader #lando #lando norris #lando x reader

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ovinaemir · 2 years

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posting this from my new moniter crying aqnd sobbing its so fucking huge and dont fit my desk

#arthur shouts #arthur cries* this things so huge i have a headache fromit sobs!!!#also im typing from an old ass microsoft keyboard!!!!! i ordered a newer cuter one but uuugh im stuck with this #tumblr literally is taking over my entire screen its curved tooo!! its so niceof my dad to get aqll this for me but </3 overwhelming too br #too bright too big

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literaila · 7 months

Text

slip-up

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: megumi says something he's not supposed to

warnings: bit of sad megumi (same babe), gojo is a terrible comforter, reader doesn't get a lot of screen time but she's always there, a good lack of conflict resolution

a/n: the one-shot that started this series. i figured it was time to give it up

last part | next part

year four.

megumi doesn't notice the slip-up right when he says it. he's not even really paying attention to the conversation.

instead, he's thinking about the homework assignment he was supposed to turn in today--the one that gojo refused (couldn't) help him with.

"my mom usually drops us off," he's telling his teacher, trying to be polite like you taught him and not start whining (like gojo taught him). "but she's out of town right now, so gojo dropped us off instead and he gets the times confused..."

in all honesty, megumi could blame this whole thing on gojo. because it was his fault.

usually, you woke him and tsumiki up, pulling on his hair when he whined into the pillows, packing their lunches while they both sat at the table, eating cereal or tamagoyaki. usually, you reminded megumi to tuck in his shirt and helped the two of them get their books together, taking an occasional moment to shout at megumi's budget dad to get up before he was late. usually, you walked them to the door, kissing them both goodbye and watching both of them until they closed the door.

later on, you'd be there again, welcoming them home with another smile, asking about their days. forcing them into a thorough recap.

but today megumi woke up with a sore neck and gojo smiling at him, asking if he was planning on being buried in his bed.

because even though megumi heard you tell gojo that he needed to help out, step up, the mornings while you were gone, all of you should've known better.

megumi hasn't even ever seen gojo out of bed before nine-thirty.

so here he was, with his shirt untucked, his homework missing, and a bag of lollipops that gojo packed for lunch.

here he was, three hours late for school, trying to explain to his teacher that it wasn't his fault.

and here he was, accidentally calling you mom.

but megumi doesn't even realize that until his teacher smiles a little bit, telling him that she understands, asking him when his mom gets back.

megumi freezes.

the word repeats in his mind, and he finally realizes his slip-up.

sure, he's heard tsumiki call you it before--because for all intents and purposes, that's what you were. after four years of your unconditional love, the two of them knew, truly, that they could depend on you.

but megumi has never had a mom, and he doesn't now.

so it's still gojo's fault when the first tear rolls down his cheek. which megumi promptly wipes away. he's not going to cry--he's not the sort of kid that cries. he prides himself on it, actually. not needing the same sort of attention that he's seen his classmates get, never feeling things that deeply.

but he's crying now, and his neck still hurts as he turns away from his teacher, going to sit down at his desk.

and megumi isn't the type of kid that cries, but when he puts his head down, his cheeks feel a little damp.

megumi's got a headache now--another reason why he doesn't cry--and he sort of wants to curl up in bed until tsumiki gets home, and then convince her to run away with him.

but he doesn't.

when gojo unlocks the door, megumi goes through it without stopping to look around. he drags his backpack to his room--gojo watching the whole time, of course--and closes the door before the man can say anything stupid.

he can't deal with him right now. or ever, actually.

megumi sets his backpack up against the wall with a brief thought about homework and the class he's going to miss because of this, but he doesn't care enough to dwell on it.

everything about him feels stiff, like glue got between the seems of his very core.

he's ten years old. he shouldn't have to worry about anything.

he takes off his blazer, sets it on his desk with sweaty palms, and feels quite naked--even with the layers of clothes and lack of eyes. and his head hurts. megumi wants to get up and restart his day just so he can tell some version of his former self not to be so stupid.

but he knows that's just the guilt talking, so he ignores that too.

and it's only ten minutes into his glooming that there's a knock on the door, and gojo doesn't knock, so megumi knows immediately that something's wrong.

he's lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, but he leans up on his elbow when you peek your head into the room.

for a brief moment, megumi is so relieved to see you that he almost jumps up and clings to you--like some child would.

he wants to hold onto you and beg you not to leave again, because everything seems to go wrong when you’re not there. he wants to tell you that he’s scared, and that he’s not sure what to do.

but he refrains, and blinks idly, confused about why you're here, and why his heart hurts just from looking at you.

“hey, you okay?” you whisper, taking a step into the dark room. you don't look banged up, and megumi wonders what gojo said to get you to come home. he probably told you that megumi was dying, or something.

you sit on the edge of his bed, and your hand is on his forehead before megumi can blink. “you feel sick?”

megumi nods, but his eyes don’t meet yours. it's a small enough lie.

“i’m sorry. did satoru give you any medicine?”

“did you have to come home for me?”

you smile, slightly. “no, buddy, don’t worry. it was easier than they said, just a grade one. plus i kinda rushed it cause i missed you guys.” you push his hair out of his eyes, “now, medicine?”

“i don’t want any.”

“if you don’t feel good—“

“actually,” he interrupts. “can—i, um, i don’t really want to talk.”

you pause, eyes roaming over his face. “oh. okay. that’s fine.”

you remove your hands from him immediately, walls of metaphorical space flying up between the two of you. “i’ll leave you alone. just ask if you need anything, okay? i’m going to go unpack.”

he nods and you give him a little grin.

and right as you're at the door, he falters. he doesn’t really want you to go. he wants you to crawl into bed with him, treat him like he's actually sick, and let him lay with his head in your lap. he wants to ask you the same question that's been in his head since he said it, but he can't.

“y/n?” he whispers, instead, your name feeling wrong in his mouth.

“yeah?"

“will... will you get gojo?" he asks, even though it's not what he wants to say at all. "i want to talk to him.”

“gojo?” you frown, looking at him. “yeah. of course, yeah. i’ll go get him. one sec.”

and when you close the door, megumi feels like he’s said something wrong. slipped up again.

he sits there and waits, feeling incorrect in his body. he wants you to come back and tell him that it'll all be fine, but he knows that you won't. if there's one thing you're good at, it's respecting boundaries.

and megumi has a lot of them.

gojo doesn’t knock when he comes into the room, and megumi is so lost in thought that he jumps as soon as the door clicks open.

megumi’s neck flies as he looks at him, wide eyes. he's already sat up, preparing himself for an influx of anger.

“is this about your lunch?” gojo asks, immediately, words fast and smooth. “because that wasn’t my fault. i thought your school did that.”

“you bought us our lunchboxes,” megumi argues, “you made me get the weird one with the dragon.”

“do not insult dracomon like that.”

megumi rolls his eyes. “whatever.”

“so, you wanna talk to me, huh?" gojo sits on megumi’s desk chair, legs hanging off the sides. “i think this is the first real conversation we’ve ever had.”

megumi rolls his eyes again.

gojo waves a hand. "alright. what is it?"

megumi pauses. he can't ask gojo. even if he had an answer, it would be the least trustworthy version of one.

he scratches his neck, not sure how to lie about this. knowing that he's not supposed to lie in the first place.

he's doing everything wrong today.

gojo shakes his head, white hair the victim of many fashion crimes. “spit it out, kid. i just did you a huge favor, and i don’t have time for the attitude.”

“you didn’t do anything,” megumi frowns, crossing his arms.

gojo snorts. “you think they just say ‘come get your child’ when you’re crying at your desk?” he asks, rhetorically, and megumi’s face goes still. “no, they disrupted my nap, saying that you needed to be picked up and handed me a card for a child psychologist.”

“they told you?”

he nods. “and i didn’t tell y/n,” he grins, self-satisfied. “so you’re welcome.”

“why not?”

“because she would’ve freaked out, and i don’t need that, and i’m pretty sure you don’t want that…”

megumi nods immediately.

“it can stay our secret if you tell me what’s going on. i’ll edit the report when y/n asks,” then he turns, looking at the door. “even though she’s already listening in.”

“really?” megumi bites the inside of his cheek, checking the crack under the door for feet.

satoru kicks him. “no. she’s in her room. now, talk. i don’t know how long she’ll take.”

megumi swallows. he doesn’t really want to ask—not his only real question—but he’s already gotten this far.

at least it doesn't matter what he says, because no one will believe anything gojo makes up anyway.

“megumi…” gojo prods.

“do you know where my mom is?”

there’s a pause. a very long pause where megumi feels like he’s being scrutinized.

he can tell that gojo is looking at him very closely, a microscope to megumi’s cell, even though he can’t see his eyes.

“i—“ gojo pulls a strand of hair by his ear. clearing his throat. “i, um, im not sure. why?”

“no reason.”

there’s a very weird wince on the man’s face. “do you want to… talk about them? your… parents?”

“no,” megumi says immediately.

gojo sighs. “look, i’ll tell you if you really want to know—“

“i don’t care. i just… i don’t care.”

“…okay.”

“okay.”

the two of them are both lying. they have the same neck-scratching, and looking away tells. if you were in the room, you would be monitoring both of them very harshly. probably scolding them for the look on both of their faces.

gojo’s expression is so much weirder than megumi’s ever seen it. “are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“i just wanted to know if you knew,” megumi says, crossing his arms, then doing it again. “i don’t care about them. they don’t care about me.”

“well, i don’t know that��“

“no. you and y/n took us in and they didn’t care. so why should i?”

“right.” gojo nods. “right we… took you in.”

megumi nods, as a finality, and then deflates a little bit.

he doesn’t care about his mom—whoever she is, wherever she might be. he doesn’t. he just… also doesn’t want to replace her.

it feels wrong to think about. she doesn’t care about his life, so why should he care about hers?

it's a stupid sort of guilt. if tsumiki said anything like it, megumi wouldn't talk to her for a week.

but it's the sort of guilt over you, and a woman he knows nothing about. someone he doesn't really want to know about.

maybe that makes it worse.

“did someone say something at school?”

megumi frowns. “no. why would they?”

gojo shrugs. “kids are jerks,” he answers, simply, and then mutters “i would know…” under his breath, making megumi want to punch him again.

“no one said anything.”

“then why were you crying this morning?”

“i wasn’t crying.”

“hey,” gojo frowns. “crying is fine. it’s good.”

“i know,” megumi crosses his arms.

“okay, then.”

megumi doesn’t even know why he wanted to talk to gojo in the first place.

“look,” gojo sighs, his fingers tapping along the body of the chair. he whispers something that sounds suspiciously like “y/n is so much better at this,” and then meets megumi’s eyes—metaphorically, of course. everyone knows that gojo doesn’t have any eyes. “if you want to talk about your parents, we can talk about them. tsumiki asks questions every once in a while. and…” he breaks away, shaking his head. “if there’s something i don’t know, then i'll—we’ll figure it out. i’ve got eyes everywhere.”

gojo is grinning at his little joke, but megumi’s frown deepens.

"i don't care about them," he says, again, as a reassurance to them both.

"they are your parents, you know?" he holds his hands up in defense, probably from the glare megumi is giving him. "i'm just saying. curiosity is normal."

"how would you know?"

gojo sighs, tilting his head back. he looks almost hurt. "i'm wise. i've got years of experience on you."

"no, you don't."

he shakes his head. "now i'm going to start crying."

megumi stares at him. if he could trade gojo for literally anyone else in the world, he would.

and yet, he doesn't want to talk to you about this. he doesn't want to talk at all. and he does.

at least he knows that gojo won’t take any of this too seriously. that he won’t get to the bottom of the problem, like neither of them wants.

"do you think..." megumi starts, whispering. "do you ever regret taking us in?"

gojo swallows. he looks almost hesitant to answer, but megumi knows that must be wrong. gojo has never hesitated a moment in his life.

"well, you guys are pretty mean to me. but no, we don't regret it. why would we?" he asks, teasing, like always. "children are for chores."

megumi shakes his head.

"you should--" gojo scrunches his nose. "i can get y/n. she's got better answers, anyway."

"no!" megumi holds his hand out when the man begins to move from the chair, heart racing. "i don't want to talk to her."

"did something happen with you guys? you think someone might mention it to me..."

"no, nothing happened. i just... want to talk to you."

gojo snorts, but he sits back down. "whatever you did, i'm sure it's not that bad. remember that time i set tsumiki's hair on fire when she was gone? that was bad."

"i didn’t do anything. i'm not like you," megumi scowls, looking away.

"would you like a reward?" gojo asks, dryly. "most people wouldn't openly admit that. i admire your confidence."

both of them are silent, megumi considering the consequences of just saying the words out loud, nonetheless to gojo--who definitely won't know what to do with them.

after a minute, gojo clears his throat. "okay, megumi. my turn. do you regret coming here with me? instead of going with your family? you'd be clan head someday, you know."

"that place with the freaky shed of weapons you showed me?"

"yup."

"no," megumi doesn't have to think about that. "tsumiki's with me here. and i--"

i like it here, he almost slips. i love you guys.

megumi sighs. he doesn't want to say that to gojo.

but the older man looks like he already knew what he meant, a dumb smile on his face. "good. okay. well, i don't know what's wrong with you," he gives megumi a pointed look, saying that he actually does. "but i'm sure it'll all work out. you've got me here, so there's nothing to worry about. and y/n would kill me if anything happened to you, so. don't worry about your parents, kid."

megumi blinks at him. because his problems can be summed up with a quick "yeah, that's cool."

he rolls his eyes.

gojo's hand nudges his knee. "you can still ask if you want. anytime. we love you, you know? y/n more than me, but still..."

megumi shakes his head. "well i love her more than you."

"good. tsumiki's my favorite anyway."

"good. she's the only one who can deal with you."

"good," gojo retorts, like a child.

he leans in, ruffling megumi's hair as he does it. "even if you are pretty annoying, i'll still do some research for you. see about your mom."

"you don't have to--"

"i can't pick you up every time you're crying in class," gojo shrugs, so simply. definitely a joke in the words, but no teasing. "and i won't tell y/n. but you should talk to her. she worries."

"i know."

gojo smiles. "okay. as long as you know."

the two of them sit there for a while more, gojo making an awful comment every couple of lapses in silence, megumi answering with an equally sarcastic retort, and the two of them not minding at all.

and megumi still can't get the question out--are you his mom?--but there's the undeinable feeling that no one else can answer it for him anyway.

and gojo seems to know that, so he doesn't say anything about it. just lingers there, like an illness, waiting until megumi is okay, or maybe waiting for him to ask something else.

even though megumi doesn’t want to give the man any credit, he knows that gojo understands a lot more than he lets on. and, just from the weird little prideful looks he gives him every time he says something, megumi knows that he probably gets what this is about.

but if gojo isn’t going to say anything, then neither is he.

still, it’s nice to have him here.

there’s no comforting glances, or squeezing of hands with gojo. no acute words and adept gestures.

megumi has never expected gojo to overcome his tendency towards immaturity, or to become something that he’s simply not.

but there is just this. just the man who’s been there for long enough for megumi to notice. to understand that he’s not going away so easily.

and it’s nice to have you both. (megumi won’t admit that the gratitude he has for his makeshift parents is much stronger, more vehement than any worry about biology, or being left behind).

eventually, megumi's eyes begin to droop, and even though his headache is less stress-induced, it's still there, a gentle pounding at his skull.

like a reminder that things are going to change, even if he doesn't want them to. that he's growing up, and he can't protect everyone from his emotions forever.

but megumi doesn't have enough energy to think about it. so he lays down against his pillows, eyelids fluttering open and closed.

and he can just see it when gojo sneaks out of the room, whistling softly as he leaves, purposefully leaving the door open.

megumi should've gone to live with that clan.

"hey," you stand from your chair, looking not at satoru, but behind him, like the essence of their conversation is going to follow him through the door. "what'd he want? is he okay?"

you dance on your feet awkwardly, looking like you were waiting that whole time (you were).

satoru smiles, leaning on the counter to stare at you, at your nervous little lip bite. "he's fine."

"is he feeling really sick? he told me he didn't want any medicine, but if he's got a headache or something, then i could give him a pain reliever. did he seem bad? should we take him to the doctor? i can probably schedule an appointment--"

you're cut off by satoru as he nears you, crushing you against his chest in a hug so tight that it knocks the air from your lungs.

seriously, jujutsu sorcerers and their sheer amount of muscle training are ridiculous.

"satoru--" you squeeze out, but he holds you even tighter.

"it's all good," he says like it's an answer, and he sounds like he knows something that you don't. probably because he does.

but after a moment you relax into him. even if you have to bribe him with cuddles, someone's going to tell you what's going on...

next part | series masterlist

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verstappen-cult · 9 months

Text

ATTENDING THE ERAS TOUR WITH THE BOYS | F1 GRID

★ — LANDO NORRIS (4)

lando suggests you wear matching outfits because he’s seen how everyone dress up so cool to go to the concert and he wants you both to experience what it means going to the eras tour, from start to finish. he blares all taylor’s albums while you get ready and in the car ride to the stadium, he knows probably half of the lyrics but his excitement is so cute you don’t tell him how he’s singing pretty like a devil instead of grinning like a devil.

★ — CHARLES LECLERC (16)

charles doesn’t consider himself as a huge swiftie, of course he knows a few of taylor’s songs but that’s it. however, when you asked him if he’d be your date for the concert, his high rate went up to the roof. seeing the taylor swift live? for the first time ever? and at the eras tour? he tried very hard not to show how happy and excited that made him feel and he was… not too successful. he sings with you during the concert, and happily listens to you talk about your favorite part while you drive back home.

★ — OSCAR PIASTRI (81)

when oscar bought you the tickets, he was expecting you to go with one of your friends, not to hug him and kiss him and practically scream how excited you were to attend the concert with him. oscar knows nothing about taylor swift, he’s heard a few songs because who hasn’t? so a few days before the big day you sit him in front of the tv, a power point that reads ‘all you need to know about taylor swift’ on the screen. if by the end of the presentation he goes to spotify to listen to reputation, that’s his problem. he spends the entire concert looking at you, he knows taylor is a big deal to a lot of people but he couldn’t care less when he has you smiling and shouting and looking so happy by his side.

★ — MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)

you and max started dating thanks to a taylor swift song, so when he learnt about the eras tour he didn’t hesitate, not for a second, and bought the tickets. it was meant to be a surprise for your birthday but he couldn’t keep the secret and told you the same night. he’s not good at keeping secrets, okay. what’s he’s also not very good at: arts and crafts, so he simply sat down on the couch, pressed play to miss americana and watched you make some friendship bracelets. his favorite was the one you made for yourself with his racing number on it. he spent such a good time at the concert, and got to trade a bunch of friendship bracelets too.

★ — ALEX ALBON (23)

alex is a swiftie thanks to you. one day he asked you who she was, the next one he was being introduced to the whole taylor swift lore. it was only fair that he stayed up all night trying to buy tickets to the eras tour with you. alex spent the weeks leading up to the concert listening to you talk about how excited you were. and if he’s honest, he was excited too. taylor is a big part of your life together and knowing that you two share it and can enjoy it together makes him feel pretty lucky.

★ — DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)

who was more excited to go to the eras tour… you or daniel? hard to say, really. he cries during all too well, even though he doesn’t admit it, he has something in his eyes right at that moment; believe him. daniel gets a lot of compliments for his outfit and goes viral, because what is a formula one driver doing at the eras tour wearing a sparkly suit? daniel doesn’t care about anything but to enjoy with you and kiss you when she sings lover. and love story. and enchanted.

★ — MICK SCHUMACHER (47)

mick is like a puppy. if you tell him something, he’ll do it right away. he can’t say no to you, not when you have those big and pretty eyes looking at him with that look that has his heart melting. mick is very nervous the day of the concert but when you ask him what’s wrong he just tells you he’s excited. you don’t ask again because next thing you know taylor’s on stage and the whole stadium is going crazy. when taylor sings ‘he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring’ everyone around you goes crazy, and when you look to the left there he is, your boyfriend, kneeling on the ground with his pretty smile and a ring.

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 grid x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris x reader #alex albon x reader #mick schumacher x you #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine

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pseudowho · 10 months

Text

Raising You

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

When the reader is de-aged by an unusual Curse, Nanami Kento is forced to raise her, and grieve the absence of his fiancée at the same time.

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The girls (twins, affectionately nicknamed the 'Nanaminis' by Satoru) played with a painted wooden truck and other cars around your feet, hampering the already limited view you had with your bump, big and still growing. Trying to cook dinner, you were flustered with sweaty strands of hair in your eyes, overstimulated by the noise from the cars, the casual bickering of the girls, your aching back, the steam from dinner, and--

"Girls, I'm home!"

You were nearly taken out by two frantic little girls tangling through your legs to run to the front door-- "Daddy! I've got two cars but she's got three and that's not fair" -- and you smiled to hear Kento, low and reassuring, tackling toy diplomacy with your daughters.

Kento walked into the kitchen and living room, loosening his tie, still having his ears talked off by his daughters. He stepped over cars, before scooting them to the side so you wouldn't slip, and hugged you warmly from behind, peppering loving kisses along your sweaty cheeks and neck.

"Daddy, rough play!" One of your daughters cried, and the other shouted her approval, both descending on Kento with screams and tiny punches. Kento dropped to one knee, dramatically groaning, feigning a fatal wound and pretending, with his head stooped, to have been beaten.

Your daughters paused their assault, and approached Kento slowly, "...daddy?" Kento stood and roared, taking one daughter under each arm and they squeaked with terror and delight, being tossed onto the sofa. Kento rolled over the back of the sofa to them, nobly defending himself in battle.

Pausing for breath while you watched affectionately, Kento hung one daughter behind his shoulders by the ankles, jumping lightly up and down while she squealed, and the other daughter held onto his ankle, yelling.

"They're just like you at this age, you know," Kento pondered, pretending to choke slam a child onto the sofa as she laughed, completely uninjured and thrilled. You wrinkled your nose into your tea.

"You make it sound so creepy when you say it like that...cradle snatcher."

Kento scoffed at you, gravely offended, continuing to defend himself against his daughters, "Behave. You know it wasn't like that."

You smirked, memories flooding back to you.

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Seven years previously...

"So what you're saying is...she went on a practice mission with Inumaki and Gojo, and now-- she's--" Nanami Kento gaped, reeling.

"...a child, yes." Shoko took a long drag of her cigarette. Behind her, in the treatment room, came the happy squeals of children playing. Kento delicately reached towards Shoko, clearing his throat. Quietly seething, and without breaking eye contact with her, he squeezed the embers at the tip of her cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, snuffing it.

"There are children around, Shoko," he hissed, darkly sarcastic. Shoko swallowed, but smiled fondly at Kento.

"It seems the Curse preferred to hunt children," Shoko purred, "obviously easier to catch, I suppose. Gojo dispatched it, but not before it had already de-aged those two in there." Shoko flipped through a pair of charts, "They're both in good health. I imagine this will wear off within a couple of days. But in the meantime...congratulations. You have to be a daddy until then."

Kento lifted the screen covering the small window in the door to the treatment room. There you were, roughly five years old, bouncing a blown-up rubber medical glove between yourself, Inumaki, and an amused-looking Satoru. Kento was filled with dread; what if you didn't come back? What if his fiancée was...gone?

Satoru beckoned Kento in. Taking a deep breath, Kento stepped into the room. You and Inumaki stopped in your tracks, round-eyed and stunned as this man, enormous and cross-looking, stepped over the threshold. You and Inumaki both shuffled closer to Satoru, who laughingly reassured the children.

"Now kids, I know Nanamin looks scary, but he's not. At all. I promise," Satoru urged, mouthing furiously at Kento; smile, damn you! Kento caught himself, dulling his own Cursed-energy, and kneeling down to the floor. He smiled at you, crinkled eyes warm and honeyed. You gave him a nervous smile back.

"We should introduce ourselves," Kento spoke softly, "I'm Nanami Kento, and I'm your-- I'm..." Kento swallowed thickly, trying not to cry, "I'm your mum and dad's friend. They've had to go away for a few days, and asked me to look after you." You stared at Kento, uncertain, tearing up.

"So, I was wondering," continued Kento, "could you help me do my shopping today? We need to make a list. You see, I don't know what treats you like, and I'm not sure what to make for dinn--"

"Eggs," you chirped, "I like eggs. Can we have eggs with dinner?" Kento smiled, heart melting, delighted by you but missing you desperately at the same time.

"Eggs. We can do eggs. And maybe we can bake something tasty to eat after?" You were warming to Kento now, your eyes sparkling, becoming more animated. You were dressed in just an adult t-shirt, all that Satoru could find in his locker, and Kento realised that he suddenly needed...everything. He had nothing child friendly in his house.

"Nanamin?" You asked him, tugging on the front of his shirt, "I've got an important question." Kento raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

You continued, "When we do baking, can I lick the bowl?"

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The old women in the supermarket were full of delighted whispers for this tall, handsome man doing the shopping with his cute daughter. Kento overheard them all, trying not to blush, as you chattered to him, stood in the trolley. Nobara had taken her mission seriously, and you were now very much appropriately dressed, albeit in very designer clothes, Nobara having taken full advantage of Kento's generous card limit.

You had, in your hand, a pen and some paper, and had written a shaky-lettered shopping list. You pointed down aisles, directing Kento.

"Eggs!" You commanded, a little dictator, "Flour! Sugar! Chocolate! Sweets!"

"Those last two definitely aren't on the list, young lady, nice try."

You huffed, dramatic and pouting, giving Kento the side-eye. Kento raised his eyebrows at you, gently chastising. Continuing round the shop, Kento had left you in charge of the barcode reader. Twice, he had needed to wrestle it off you and put items back on the shelves-- adult incontinence pads, a large bottle of bleach-- and once, he had had to stop you from trying to scan an old man, hastily apologising to the man and putting you back in the trolley.

He had allowed you to push the trolley, full of regret as he knelt, rebuilding a mountain of cans of beans-- "I'm sorry Nanamin, it was an accident, I'm sorry," you had sniffled, wiping your snotty nose on your sleeve before Kento could get to you with a handkerchief. The shop assistant supervised Kento's efforts with a tapping foot.

You had disappeared for five minutes, and Kento couldn't find you, panicking so badly for a moment that he considered knocking all of the shelves over to make it easier to spot you. Kento gave a description of you to several women, charmed by this flustered father, when you reappeared with a toy; "Nanamin, can I have this?" and Kento knelt, one hand on his chest and the other on your shoulder as his panic fizzled away.

At the tills, you packed the bags haphazardly as Kento hurriedly tried to correct the bags and be polite to the cashier and pay for the shopping and keep you from disappearing again and--

Back in the car with a sigh, Kento sat, head hitting the head rest hard, flicks of sweaty hair looping forwards over his brow. Frazzled, he let out a slow breath, until your little voice piped up in the back.

"Nanamin. You didn't do my seatbelt. The police will get you in trouble."

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"So you tap the egg here-- not there-- here-- GENTLY, gently...ahhh." Kento slapped a dishcloth to his cabinet doors as egg dripped sadly down them. You looked to him for answers, hands covered in crushed shell and raw egg. Lifting you to the sink under one arm, he washed your hands off under the tap. Putting you down, he washed his hands.

"-- then the eggy goes in there--"

"Yes, the eggy goes-- NOT THE SHELL--"

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"Make sure you eat the broccoli too."

"No. Don't like it."

"It's tasty. And it's good for you. Eat up."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Kento sighed, a deep, weary sigh. Rubbing his fingers against his temples and counting to ten, he looked back to you with a smile.

"I'll give you some chocolate if you eat it."

Kento had never seen broccoli disappear so quickly.

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"IT'S IN MY EYES, IT'S IN MY EYES--"

"Calm down, it's not in your eyes, I'm washing it out--" Kento tried to hold you, naked and wet and thoroughly uncontrollable, still, as he poured water over your head. You stamped, spitting water away dramatically, and Kento considered he may as well have just got in the bath with you, his shirt now drenched.

"Come on," Kento huffed, trying to sound upbeat but feeling absolutely exhausted, "let's get you out and brush your teeth--"

"--I don't want to brush my teeth--"

"Well you've got to brush your teeth--"

You ran, streaking away out of the bathroom as Kento stumbled, reaching for you and missing, then chasing you down with a towel and a toothbrush.

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You padded to Kento, damp and pyjama'd as he stripped his wet clothes off and got dressed into his own pyjamas. Your teeth now brushed, and your hair neat and tidy, you looked mollified, a new book under your arm.

"Can you read?" You asked Kento suspiciously.

"I-- of course I can read."

"Good," you stated, chin out, "we can do my bedtime story then."

You plodded away to the spare room, while Kento placed both hands over his face and screamed into the void for a few moments.

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"Was the bear hungry? Or did he just want to be friends?"

Kento pondered, closing the book thoughtfully, "I think...he just wanted to be friends. He was lonely in his cave."

"Or hungry."

"Or hungry," Kento agreed, "but if he were that hungry, he'd have run faster, don't you think?" He asked, tickling under your chin as you squirmed and kicked, giggling.

You rolled over to face Kento, your little hand on his cheek. He rolled over to face you, taking in your little nose, round cheeks...all you, but so far away from the you that he was in love with, and so unable to share that burden with you, that he felt his nose sting with tears again.

"Nanamin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Ah, "I do. We're going to get married soon."

"Ooooh!" You squeaked, your hands coming up to cup your own cheeks, before your little face dropped. Kento peered at you, one eye open.

"But where is she?"

"She's...away working at the minute. But she'll be home soon. I hope."

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The next morning, the sunlight glinted in past the curtains, the room warm and comfortable. Kento slept the sleep of an exhausted parent, never quite enough to catch up. You were draped uncomfortably over him, head in his armpit and legs stretched out across his tummy.

Kento woke, a warm feeling spreading over him as he reached out a sleepy hand, patting you on the head. This was a really warm feeling, a bit wet--

"Nanamin. I've had an accident."

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The days had ticked by, and you seemed a little bigger every day, growing up at an accelerated rate. Kento settled into this bizarre, unwilling parenthood, wondering where this left you as a couple once this was all over. Fear twisted like thorns in the pit of his stomach, wondering if the romantic love you'd shared would be sullied by this paternal love he had been forced to convert to.

Kento met often with Satoru, now inadvertently raising a tiny Inumaki, talking-shop together as unlikely new fathers. Aside from Satoru having to occasionally put out fires caused by Inumaki's Cursed-speech, the playdates were soft, sweet even; babyccinos-- "marshmallows please, Nanamin!"-- in little cafés, pushing-- "higher, Nanamin, higher!" -- on swings, teaching-- "like this? Or this?"-- you both how to control your Cursed-techniques.

It was only at night, when you were asleep, and Kento was decompressing from the eternal labour of mealtimes, laundry, and emotional regulation, that Kento allowed himself to cry. Your little voice called out in the dark. Kento wiped his eyes, fixing a reassuring smile on his face, as he went to resettle you-- "It's alright, you're safe. I'm here."

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The days turned to weeks. The curse was wearing off, but slowly. By Shoko's estimation, you were about thirteen years old now. You had been raised by the motley crew of Jujutsu High-- being taken to theme parks by Yuuji and Nobara, running through the woods with Maki, helping Shoko organise her medical equipment-- around Kento's work days. He went to work now with new trepidation, having you to consider if he was injured, or killed, and overtime was a thing of the past. Kento's tie only ever came off when he walked through the door to your warm welcome.

Shoko kept thrice-weekly checks on your growth and progression, reassuring Kento constantly that you were on your way back to yourself. You both did and didn't retain memories of the previous days and weeks. Some days you treated Kento as if you didn't even know him, a stranger to you, wondering where your parents were. Some days, you seemed to recall events from days (years?) previously where Kento had cooked something special for dinner, or bought you a new outfit. Some days, you seemed haunted by memories that were yours, but not, too big for a child of your age to handle-- losing friends in battle, fighting Curses and Curse-users, failing tests and exams-- and Kento reassured you through your screams and cries in the night.

Raising you had been a confusing, tender whirlwind. Now that you approached your teens, you would see fit to argue with Kento over the barest of insults or inconveniences, pushing boundaries and being hurtful without true intent or realisation of its effects. Kento stayed outwardly calm throughout, an unshakeable presence in the turmoil of your bizarre second childhood.

When Satoru had suggested you come to live in the Jujutsu High dorms and attend classes, as you would have done at this age the first time, Kento found himself bitterly protective.

"No missions, Gojo," he threatened to Satoru one day on a park bench, you and Inumaki swinging and chatting idly in the play area that you both suddenly seemed much too big for.

Uncharacteristically serious, Satoru agreed immediately, "I wouldn't do that to her, Kento, you know that. The way I see it, these two," he gestured to you both, sipping his coffee, "are...recovering from injuries, I guess. But Inumaki's nearly caught up to where he should be...she's got a bit further to go. Shoko can watch her more at Jujutsu High. She can have peers. And maybe you need a bit more separation as she gets closer to your version of her."

And so, you went to Jujutsu High. Kento dropped you off like a concerned father, carrying your suitcases to your room, helping you unpack and put up shelves. His heart clenched with fear, waving you off, and you acted as if it was nothing, making it so much worse for him. He loitered by your room, in case you called him back...but you didn't.

At home again, Kento folded and packed away little clothes, smoothing them over with his big warm hands, musing how you really had only been tiny, what felt like yesterday. He gave you some distance, but gave Shoko none, her phone pinging at all hours, asking for updates, asking her to check on you.

Within a few days, Inumaki fell asleep. When he didn't wake after 24 hours, he was carried to the treatment room. Kento hung around the corridors of Jujutsu High when he heard, hungry for news of Inumaki's condition, deeply concerned about how you would be at the same stage. Shoko was cool and collected, certain that Inumaki would wake up his own self again. Kento worried he wouldn't wake up at all.

Shoko, as always, was right. Inumaki woke as if from a long dream, after two days. Kento visited him, bringing gifts of manga and sweets, while Inumaki recounted his odd half-memories of having been raised by Satoru, alongside his true memories of his first childhood.

Fighting the urge to go and see you, knowing that you were traversing your teenage years again in a way that was too intense for him to offer help with, Kento swallowed down his guilt, his longing to see you, and left. He passed your room reluctantly, his gut wrenching as if caught on your door handle, and remaining there, stretching, pulling, as he walked away from it.

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Another week passed. Shoko was sure your long sleep was close. She recounted tales of you to Kento, seeming excited that her old friend was nearly back to the her that Shoko knew. Kento's voice seemed tight and reluctant as Shoko suggested he come and see you. He declined, feeling awkward about seeing you in almost the form that he knew you.

Passing through the ground of Jujutsu High, ready to drop off a report to Yaga, Kento rounded a corner and bumped into a young woman, reaching out to grab her wrist before she fell to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorr-- Nanamin!" Kento stuttered, flustered, resisting pulling an eighteen year old you into his arms. Before he could step back, you threw yourself into his arms with a happy squeak, hanging on around his neck, flush against him and clinging for dear life.

"Oh Nanamin, it's been so long," you breathed, flushed and excited. You gripped his hand, somewhere between a little girl and the you he was still madly in love with, "come on, let's go and get coffee! My treat." You pulled Kento's hand, bright eyes full of delight.

"As if I'd let you pay," Kento grumbled, straightening his suit and tie with one strict hand, his other still clasped by you. Reluctantly, trying not to blush, Kento took you for coffee. He was done-for within thirty minutes, reminded of exactly why he had fallen in love with you in the first place. He restrained himself easily, remaining kind and fatherly, but...distant, in a way you found confusing.

You looked at him through new eyes, wondering how you had ever seen him as a father-figure as a child, lost in thought as to how he still looked so young. His huge, warm hands, the way he was built, so much of a man beneath the confines of his suit, and you felt something stir in you that you never had before, an alluring obsession, a delicious agony of needing to know him differently. Kento's stoic distance was magnetic.

When he drove you back to Jujutsu High, you were full of blushes, unable to take your eyes off his hands smoothly turning the wheel, the sharp cut of his nose and jaw in profile, the stretch of his tan trousers against his thick thighs.

Kento had bricked a stone wall around his affections rapidly. You remained, to him, a little girl under his guardianship. You were the girl he had fallen in love with, but not the woman he was in love with now. His mathematical mind found separating the two of you easy. Grown men did not fall in love with little girls.

As he walked you back to your room, he asked you if there was anything you needed. He pulled you in for a gentle squeeze. He kissed you on the forehead. He bid you to call him for anything. He waited until you were safely home before he left. You were besotted. Completely smitten.

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Kento sat in the staff room, legs crossed, reading his newspaper. The door clicked open, and he heard a satisfied "ah!" as you slipped in, locking the door behind you.

Kento looked over his glasses at you, eyebrows raised in questioning. You smiled at him, demure, curious, before idling over to him. As you sat beside him, Kento felt a strike of dread through him like ice, and he tensed, frowning at you.

You made light conversation with Kento, thigh to thigh on the sofa, your heart fluttering with anticipation. You spoke about the news, his insight so mature and informed, and you hung onto every word, desperate to be closer and you leaned against him, pretending to read the newspaper with him. He remained sincere, measured, neither pushing you away nor pulling you closer.

Kento turned to you, your face centimetres from his now, and you leaned in eagerly, his lips brushing against yours as your fingers grazed his jaw--

"No." Kento grabbed your hand, turning from you and pushing you gently away by the shoulders.

You froze, stunned. Cold embarrassment crept through you as if you'd been kicked in the stomach by Kento's immediate, categorical rejection. Kento folded his newspaper, standing and putting distance between the two of you. His back was to you, one hand clasped over his face and mouth as he sighed. Was he angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? You couldn't tell.

Hot tears of rage and mortification rushed down your cheeks, your vision blurry. Your hands twisted together in your lap. You heard Kento clear his throat lightly, and looked up to see him knelt in front of you, his face smooth and unreadable. He gently pressed a neatly folded handkerchief into your hand, and clasped his hand firmly around yours to close it.

"I'm sorry you feel this way about me, and I'm flattered. But I don't feel this way about you, and you shouldn't trust any man my age who pursues a girl your age."

Anger coursed through you as you stared furiously at him, still crying; "I'm not a girl," you snapped, standing and tossing his handkerchief to his feet. Kento sighed, collecting his handkerchief, rising from the floor beside you.

"I thought we had something-- I thought we were--" you stammered, your throat thick and constricted with humiliation. Kento nodded, understanding.

"You are special to me, and always will be," he assured you, the unspoken words remaining apparent as he shattered the pretences of any romance between you. You seethed with embarrassment.

"Like this fiancée of yours?" You shot, cruelly, with intention to wound, "You told me about her years ago. Where's she, all of a sudden? Did you shove her away, too?"

Kento's stern face gazed down at you, impassive, unreadable, and he spoke to you with measured coolness, "I appreciate you're upset. I don't believe my fiancée has any further place in this discussio--"

"Well I doubt she's coming back!" You spat, furious tears still threatening to overspill, "And I'm not interested in you either. Stay away from me."

You rushed from the room without looking back. The door slammed, a sudden waft of air ruffling the pages of Kento's newspaper. Speechless and devastated by how he had failed you, Kento sank onto the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his fingers sinking into his neat hair.

Kento sat like this until the sun went down, oranges and reds glowing like embers against his suit as the day died away.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento threw himself into work immediately. Working overtime for any distraction, his days were long, and whiskey soothed him to sleep as it had before he had fallen in love with you. Another week passed, a blur of Curses and liquor. He sprayed your perfume onto your pillow. He had kept your pyjamas, unwashed, sleeping with his nose in them and terrified as the smell of you slowly faded away. He still cooked for two, just in case you were to come home, fearing you never would.

It was late, when Kento received the phone call. He was already three large drinks deep.

"Hello?" His voice blurred with exhaustion and drink.

"Nanami. She's...asleep. Has been for nearly two days now. Why haven't you answered your phone?" Shoko chastised. Kento swirled the glass in his hand, the smooth amber roiling in the glass like a little whirlpool. Kento couldn't answer, his throat constricting with unspoken fear- because what if she never wakes up? What if she does wake up, and doesn't know me? What if she does wake up, and doesn't love me?

Kento swallowed thickly, and opened his mouth to talk, words failing him. He heard Shoko sigh.

"Just...come. And bring her some clothes."

A click and a dial tone as Shoko hung up. Kento's hand shook as he laid down his glass, and dialled for a taxi.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Inumaki is exactly as he was before this Curse," Shoko pressed, walking with Kento to the treatment room, "and she will be too. I mean it." Kento looked tired, dishevelled, grieving. His tie hung loose, his shirt partly unbuttoned, smelling of whiskey and unwashed from his day's work. Shoko walked him into the treatment room, and pressed him down by the shoulders into the chair beside your bed.

Kento laid eyes on you, drinking you in, hope trickling into him as he studied you, looking exactly like you had when you had left for work that day, just a month ago but feeling like so much longer. With a trembling hand he reached out for yours, examining your hand in his own. He stayed this way until you woke up.

"...Kento?" You woke from your strange, long dream to your fiancé, bedraggled and teary-eyed, and smelling like a dirty bar, looking at you like you were a gift made just for him. Kento's shoulders heaved with sobs, the dam breaking as he gripped your hand in his and pressed it to his eyes.

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You curled on the sofa with Kento, warm and familiar, as he finished recounting the events of the previous month. Stroking his hair the whole time, with his head in your lap, you felt like this was therapeutic for him, and you leaned down to kiss his forehead. His eyes drifted closed, reaching a hand up to keep your lips against his forehead for a little longer.

Pulling himself up, Kento grunted as he felt something hard press into his back. Reaching past the sofa cushions, he pulled out a painted wooden truck. You laughed, embarrassed and charmed.

"Did you actually keep everything?" You asked, touched. Kento hummed to himself, rolling the truck's wheels, his trauma still bearing faintly whimsical overtones.

"I did. I just...couldn't bring myself to get rid of them."

"Well, that's good. It will probably come in handy, one day."

"Really? Why--...oh. Oh," Kento bent over you, blushing and delighted, leaning into your love and promises for the future that he had missed so much.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento sat up, swinging his legs deftly out of his daughters' bed, and left the room, pulling the door closed to a pair of soft snores. He made his way to the living room, passing a dresser covered in photo frames. His eyes paused on an image of one sunny day seven years ago, a smile crinkling his eyes as he passed by on his way to you.

He hadn't yet explained to his daughters, who this other girl was who looked just like them, feeding the ducks with their daddy, one fine summer's day.

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#jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #nanami fluff #jujustu kaisen #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x reader #jjk fluff #satoru gojo #jjk inumaki #inumaki toge #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #jjk angst #nanami kento angst #pseudowho

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thinemoonshine · 3 months

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⋆𐙚₊ 𝐚 ‘𝔀𝓮’ 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 ‘𝓾𝓼’ ˚⊹♡

downbad!enhypen maknae line x fem!reader content(s): fluff, slight angst in noo’s (he cries :c), enhypen being down bad, like whipped for (y/n), (y/n) is sassy and sulky, enha being so cute i want to chomp, petnames (honey, kitten whiskers—it’s not serious pls believe me) type: oneshot

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ synopsis: in which (y/n) doesn’t call them her boyfriend because they haven’t officially asked her to embark on an official courtship˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

⋆˙𐙚 K.SUNOO 𐙚˙⋆ "...pretty please. pretty, pretty please?"

“(y/n)-ah~” he sings as he enters her room from the living room. it’s supposed to be a stay-at-home date at her apartment and yet, here she is, laid on her stomach on her bed and leaving him alone outside. “what are you doing~?”

“nothing. just playing with my phone,” she casually answers, lackluster, without a single glance to the blonde boy who pouts.

he sits beside her, legs criss-crossed as he watches her scroll. and the anxiety bubbles again. he feels nauseous. it’s been more than a week since she’s been acting this way. she was so sweet and loving before—clinging onto him just as he does with her, showing him her ootds and him gushing at them, and both of them enjoying sweet little lunch dates at school—so what happened for all that to go away?

and as if fate too is against him, he looks at her screen right when she likes a post of jungwon and his heart shatters.

since when? since when were she and jungwon mutuals on social media? as far as he can remember, (y/n) didn’t follow any guy except for him and as much as sunoo said he didn’t mind it if she wanted to follow other men, he can’t help but feel relieved and prideful knowing that he has that specialness to him—something that only he has, and no other guy does.

his mouth dries and throat tightens, brows knit and eyes already feeling hot from the emotions threatening to spill. “is…is something wrong with us?”

“what do you mean?” (y/n) asks and still, she doesn’t look at him.

sunoo bites his lip, chewing on the rosy nub for a second and gulps. “i feel like you don’t want me anymore…”

“HUH?” the girl’s mouth is wide open as she nearly shouts her response—sitting up and turning to him promptly. “of course, i want you! why would you think i—oh…oh, sun…”

her voice quietens to a soothing whisper when she sees him all flushed in the cheeks and nose as his eyes brim with tears. she cups his face—smooth, milky skin pressed warmly against her palms and he lets out a shaky breath.

“th-this was supposed to be a date,” sunoo says sulkily, trying to keep his composure by acting petulant and yet the hot, fresh globules that cascade past his lower lash line down to her hands belie his attitude. “but you don’t even want to look at me.”

“sunoo,” (y/n) starts and lets out a breath. “this is stupid. i should’ve just said it.”

“what do you mean?”

“the reason why i’m acting distant and all is because it dawned onto me that we haven’t made things official. we confessed but there was no follow-up or anything, we just started going out but we didn’t really like…officiate things,” she explains and sighs guiltily when she sees his glossy foxy eyes staring at her with surprise. “i’m sorry. i was being petty. i mean, not everyone does things traditionally anymore at this generation. if i wanted it so bad i should’ve been the one to as—”

“let me be your boyfriend,” sunoo blurts out, effectively shutting her up and she gapes with confusion while his hands raise to hold her wrists. “let me be your boyfriend…please. pretty please. pretty, pretty please?”

with his lips jutted and head tilted into her palm, he blinks at her with those beautiful honey eyes of his and she thinks she has to be completely insane not to submit. she giggles and the melodic sound perks him up instantly—searching into her eyes frantically for her confirmation and the sight of her single nod, he engulfs her into his arms.

“thank you, my girlfriend! the most beautiful girl in the world! the most sweet, most loving, most gorgeous, most warm, most kind—!”

it’s now her turn to shut him up by pressing a surprise kiss, lips molding into each other’s as his widened eyes slowly flutter shut. his arms loosen and body melts as they fall onto the mattress together.

(y/n) pulls away and is positively amused at the sight of her boyfriend’s glowing face—his eyes half-lidded as they trace her features with a lovesick gaze.

gosh, she’s beautiful. she’s so, so beautiful and so, so dangerous. the fact that a singular person can cause such havoc within him is concerning.

but gosh, it’s times worse to lose her. he was already eyeing the window behind her in case she was to reject him earlier. thank goodness, he didn’t have to proceed with giving himself a concussion, or worse.

“sunoo?? why are you crying? was the kiss bad?” (y/n) asks, worried, when heavy tears suddenly flow sideways on his face and onto her sheets as they lay together and he shakes his head.

“no, i’m just—so happy,” he chokes out, accompanied by a giggle as he sniffles and wipes his eyes but the stream doesn’t cease. “i thought i’d lose you.”

“oh, honey,” the other coos, touched by his sensitivity, and the endearing term only makes his cries to thicken, now wailing entirely as he tries to hide into her pillow and under her blanket.

but with the help of (y/n)’s tickles, the room is then filled with his shrieking laughter and ends with a happy pillow fight and cuddle session.

“by the way…since when did you follow jungwon?”

“oh! just a few days actually. it started because i wanted to ask him about you. you know, consultation and stuff.”

“oh…okay.”

“do you…want me to unfollow him?”

“…no, it’s fine! it’s completely fine.”

“you’re pouting.”

“am not.”

“…i’ll unfollow him.”

“oh! you will?? :D i mean!! you don’t need to but, do whatever you want :>>”

“…you sly fox.”

⋆˙𐙚 Y.JUNGWON 𐙚˙⋆ “i love you”

he’s mature and responsible just as he is playful and mischievous. but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be able to maintain his sangfroid all the time—especially when his loved one is acting as if they’re just friends.

jungwon’s fidgeting in his seat, unable to sit still as (y/n) sits across him around the circular table, surrounded by the other members of the club.

when the club first announced that they’re gonna have a lunch together, he was excited—thinking that it’s the perfect opportunity to declare his relationship with (y/n). they’d sit side by side and act all lovey dovey, subtly of course, but people would have to be blind to not get the hint that they’re together.

but against his expectations, (y/n) finds herself a seat away from him and to make matters worse, she’s sandwiched between two of their flirty, pesky male members.

his hands clench under the table as jaw tightens when one of them leans closer to (y/n) to ask about the menu, her being too engrossed in choosing her own meal that she doesn’t seem to notice.

“hey, you good? you seem a little tense,” one of the members ask him and he puts on a strained smile but enough to show his dimple.

“yeah. just hungry,” won says and eventually the ordering process follows when the waiter arrives.

jungwon’s eyes almost never leave (y/n)—staring at her while she lists out her order, staring at her when he’s listing his order and even after they’re done, his cat-like eyes are transfixed on the girl who’s slowly starting to get nervous under his intense gaze.

“i’m gonna go to the restroom,” she excuses herself and escapes but just right after she enters the corridor, away from people’s eyes, her wrist is captured in another’s hand—making her turn with eyes wide and lips parted in mild shock. “jungwon?? i—what are you doing?”

“why aren’t you sitting next to me?” he asks directly, wanting to resolve whatever issue there is as soon as possible.

her brows knit as lips pull to a smirk, amused yet incredulous. “do i have to? we didn’t agree on anything beforehand.”

“then i’ll sit with you,” the other declares, loosening his grip around her wrist to lower it down to her hand—entangling their fingers together. his mien is nothing short of conviction but at her silence, his knitted brows soften as his pupils shake slightly. "...if you let me."

his abrupt polite meekness makes her smile, finding him oh, so deadly adorable that she just wants to chomp on his cheek.

"of course, i'll let you, wonnie. what makes you think i won't?" (y/n) sounds, the cadence in her voice compelling him to remove his stare from his shoes and to her eyes, only to gulp and shy away after. "hm? oh no, did the cat's tongue finally get caught instead?"

jungwon's feline eyes widen in surprise when she pulls him by their joint hands—him stumbling over but before he can fall flat on his face on the floor, she spins him to the wall, one hand pressed on his chest and the other still intertwined with his.

it's always like this. he thinks he has it all figured out, he thinks he has the upper hand and that he'll lead everything to its rightful place. but then, she comes in and all his objectives, his points and control comes crashing down to smithereens.

and unlike him, she doesn't even need to try. she just has that power on him and although he'll never admit it publicly, his actions prove it all. despite his cuddly appearance, he's this figure of authority and he's proven that time and time again. he's meant to lead, and yet the moment (y/n) comes in, he turns to mush—both brain and body.

"i just...well, i noticed that you seem a bit distant," jungwon brings up and he hangs his head down, too bashful and flustered to meet her gaze that strikes into him in a way it seems to uncover his deepest secrets. "and i thought that i may have upset you. i'm sorry."

(y/n) tilts her head and brows lift. "you do know that i'm not a fan of apologies when people don't know what they're apologising for, right?"

jungwon snaps his face up with eyes round. "i-i—i know that. but i can't think of anything. i've wrecked my brain, i've thought of everything and still! i can't seem to figure out what it is. please, tell me. i'll fix it! i promise, i can do better. hm? hm, (y/n)-ie?"

his bottom lip sticks out as he pitifully blinks his sparkly doe eyes to her and she knows he's trying to get her to surrender using his beauty privilege. and darn right, she will. that's one of the things she loves about him, his mischief hidden under an angel face.

"you're so sneaky," (y/n) scoffs but the smile that forms on her face acts as a sort of assurance, an agreement, and jungwon's own grin appears.

he still takes cautious steps though—gently prodding on her crown with his nose, then to her forehead and to her nose. at her stillness, his smile widens and eyes shut, relief taking over as he buries himself into the crook of her neck.

a few giggles sound from her and he only nuzzles more at them, wanting to be graced by her joy time and time again but then a worry crosses his mind.

"still...you were upset, weren't you? will you tell me why?" he asks quietly, muffled by her shoulder and he instinctively presses soft, warm pecks on the exposed skin up to her neck.

she shudders pleasantly at the fuzzy feeling and lets out a gentle exhale. "nothing...i was just throwing a tantrum, i guess. i mean, you haven't asked me to be your girlfriend and i got sad. kinda. i don't know."

jungwon suddenly grapples her shoulders, not roughly of course, but enough to allow him to detach her from him as he looks at her with his jaw slack open and eyes twice their size. "i haven't...? i haven't! oh my gosh! i'm so sorry, honey! (y/n), i know this might be late but will you be my—"

"yes, wonnie," (y/n) chuckles out at his panicked and frantic gestures before abruptly seizing his lips into a kiss—sucking the air out of him as his eyes flutter shut.

jungwon's heart jumps, knocking itself against its cage as it too seems to want to kiss (y/n) by itself and his head falls to the side slightly to deepen their link. his hand flies to tenderly cup her cheek while his free arm clings around the back of her waist to pull her closer.

and at that moment, his senses are numbed to all but her.

safe to say that when they came back to the table, everyone already knew about jungwon and (y/n)'s status—well, at least they knew of won's feelings first. they're surprised that his stare hasn't actually lasered through her skull from the intensity of it. and much to jungwon's delight, he gets to have (y/n) all to himself right beside him, and not sandwiched in between two dirty, flirty and intrusive flies.

and now, instead of thinking about his laser eyes, people are wondering when his face will break from how wide his happy, giggly grin is—dimples deep like blackholes as he practically buzzes gleefully with (y/n) so close to him.

“i love you,” he whispers at her and (y/n) smacks his thigh softly from under the table, reminding him of the presences of other people to which he just snickers at—boba eyes shooting hears at the side of her face as she tries to focus on her food.

⋆˙𐙚 N.RIKI 𐙚˙⋆ “hush, kitten whiskers”

“thanks, riki!” (y/n) chirps before ruffling the younger’s hair—a gesture he’d usually welcome, if it isn’t in a way where one rewards a young child for practically anything.

he pulls a feeble smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes and watches as the girl enters her lecture room with her bag that he carried for her.

it’s not an unusual thing, to have her ruffling his hair or cooing at him since he is after all, younger than her. but after they confessed to each other, those gestures lessened and instead, she treated him more of like a boyfriend, a man, rather than some junior who needs to be taken care of and guided by a senior.

and riki loves that. the fact that she trusts him to be reliable. but then after a while, she reverted back to how she was acting before—reminding him of their ranks of senior and junior, of older and younger, baby and babysitter.

and oh, does he hate it.

not (y/n). never (y/n). but the way she’s back to babying him is making him pull on his hair and smash his head into a wall.

he’s capable, responsible, dependable. he can be her pillar.

‘i’m not a child,’ he thinks as he stares at her taking a seat before he retreats.

hands in his pockets, he tries to think what must’ve happened to make her go back to how they were before. and that’s when it hit him.

if he wants (y/n) to treat him like a man, he has to show her how truly manly he is. a smirky grin forms on his face at the realization and just like that, a wonderful(?) plan is concocted.

(y/n)’s finished with classes? oh, riki’s already waiting outside—leaning against the wall with one leg in front of the other and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

the girl halts in her tracks as a soft furrow forms at the other’s model pose. “uhh, riki? what are you doing?”

“oh, (y/n). done already?” he’ll sound, feigning ignorance as he pushes himself off the wall. “pass me your bag. i’ll carry it for you.”

she’ll slowly do as he asks, partly cautious, due to his odd behaviour and he’ll then dangle it over his shoulder—effortlessly lifting it with a hand.

(y/n) wants to buy something? riki will pay.

“but this is supposed to be my treat,” (y/n) insists as she looks up at riki who’s adamantly shaking his head with plump lips pursed. “riki, as your senio—”

“hush, kitten whiskers,” he’ll cut her off with a finger pressed on her lips, effectively silencing her before internally cringing at himself. “i should be the one spoiling you.”

“ri—”

“here’s my card,” the young man will say as he passes the object to the cashier with style—flashing his striking right side profile to (y/n) for more charm points and deliberately ignoring the face of disgust and incredulity worn by the girl.

(y/n) needs help getting something off the high shelf? don’t worry, riki will spawn in the area.

“you want this one?” he’ll ask lowly, deep bass voice rumbling through his chest and making the girl shudder as she feels the vibrations against her back. he’ll smirk at the reaction before pulling out the book.

(y/n) turns and lifts her chin to meet his face, blinking rapidly as her fluster fills at the proximity. “yeah…”

riki’s lips curve upwards at her bashfulness, especially so when he flickers his gaze between her own. “here you go.”

she accepts it as he slips it between their figures—not wanting to step away from her just to revel more at her shyness, her timidity towards him. finally, she’s getting it.

he’s a strong, mighty man. not just a junior, or a guy who’s younger than her. he’s capable. he can be her knight in shining armour. she understands now.

“thanks, ki!” (y/n) exclaims and her hand reaches up to pat his head, ruffling his hair slightly before she walks away—completely oblivious to him turning to stone before shattering to dust then being swept away by the janitor and ending sadly in the bin.

she hasn’t gotten it.

however, nothing shalt stand in between him and his journey for justice and love!

which is why he’s now sitting on the couch of (y/n)’s living room while she’s in the kitchen, making some drinks for them both. he’s restless, fingers tapping on his knees before he stands to his feet.

how can he tell (y/n) not to baby him? how can he ask her to look at him differently? as an equal standing and not of hoobae and sunbae? as boyfriend and girlfriend like what they actually are?

CRASH!

his legs move quicker than he can think—carrying him across rooms and to the kitchen as his eyes frantically search around.

“(y/n)! what happened??” he asks and gasps at seeing her kneeled on the floor to pick up shards of a broken mug.

“ah, riki! the water was just hotter than i thought so i lost my grip,” (y/n) chuckles nervously but the other can only frown as he watches her hand hover a shattered piece.

he promptly strides towards her, crouching right beside. “let me.”

“no, you’ll get hurt.”

“i’m not a kid,” he declares and stares her straight in the eye. her lips part and breath hitches at the fervor in his gaze to which he then repeats, “i am not a kid. i can do stuff like this. let me take care of you.”

he keeps the eye contact a little longer, ensuring that she won’t try and pick the pieces up herself before finally pulling away to do it for her.

he does it swiftly yet precisely, not letting a single sharp edge graze his skin before wrapping the broken parts in a tissue to safely toss them to the bin. then, grabbing a cloth he starts wiping up the spill and finishes with washing and drying his hand.

through all this, (y/n) only watches from the side. riki has always been good looking and attractive in each and every way, but seeing him like this—so capable in a domestic way, in such a solicitous manner in her own home is…different. a good different.

“and this, this is the bare minimum, (y/n). this is nothing. i am capable of so many things. i can take care of you in so many ways—not just how i do in school. if you just let me show what i have to offer,” riki says with conviction as he saunters to the girl before resting his hands on her smaller shoulders. he exhales through his nose as lips pull to an endearing smile at her awed expression. “i am your boyfriend, after all.”

unlike his expectations—in which (y/n) will end up blushing and hiding into his chest—she instead smirks as her previously rounded eyes relax to a more siren-like sharpness and head tilts.

“are you, though?” she asks with a teasing lilt and question marks float above the other’s crown. “when?”

“when what?” riki queries back, now confused and slightly worried at her rejection.

“when did you ask—to be my boyfriend?”

the younger scoffs in amusement. “when we confessed!”

“oh, did you?” (y/n) sings and the doubt in the other’s head heightens, evident from his faltering smile and rapidly blinking eyes. and that’s when she understands. “don’t tell me…the reason why you’ve been acting extra weird and hard these days is because you think i look at you as a kid?”

riki clears his throat. “were you not…?”

“ki, no!” the girl laughs out loud, almost doubling over but instead stops with her head hitting his chest. riki thinks he might be going insane to be feeling all fluttery for someone when that someone is literally laughing at him. “the reason why i’ve been treating you that way is because i’m treating you the way i did before we confessed—as junior and senior.”

“b-but why?” he argues, coming out whinier than he expected as lips jut and making her giggle.

“because you haven’t asked me out yet. i mean…i can be the one to ask you but i know how you love taking the lead so—”

muah!

her eyes widen at his abrupt peck on her lips and at her surprised mien, he repeats the gesture—peppering kisses all over her face until she’s a giggling mess.

“so, my picky princess,” he teases which earns a joking glare but he quickly diminishes it by pulling her in by the waist and bending forward—literally sweeping her off her feet as she almost dangles from his arm. “would you grace me the honour of embarking in an official courtship?”

(y/n) snorts, amused before grabbing his face in her hand, making his lips pucker. “wow, expensive words, huh? what a noble guy.”

“i try,” he chuckles and lowers his forehead to meet with hers. “so? what does her majesty say?”

“hmm~ if you promise to never call me kitten whiskers again, i’ll accept,” she emphasizes and he laughs.

“i thought you like shrek??”

“yeah? but not kitten whiskers!”

“mrow!”

“STOP!” ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hyung line ver.

𝜗𝜚 ngl not really much of a fan at this one but yeah :/ motivations just went ZIP! along the way :(( but if you still 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 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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its-avalon-08 · 2 months

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why did you leave me (cl16)

part2!

multipart story! prev || next

summary : charles and y/n have always been best friends. but y/n has been in love with him forever. when charles starts dating a new girl, out of respect y/n distances herself. but how much is too much?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Y/N sat alone in her room, the soft glow of her laptop screen casting shadows across her face. She had made the decision to distance herself from Charles, but the weight of that choice pressed heavily on her heart. She opened her photo gallery, scrolling through the countless pictures she and Charles had taken over the years.

The first photo she stopped on was one of them as children, covered in mud after a day of playing in the rain. Charles' bright green eyes sparkled with joy, and Y/N's face was lit up with a wide grin. She remembered that day vividly.

"Come on, Y/N! Let's see who can make the biggest splash!" Charles had shouted, his laughter infectious.

They had spent hours running through puddles, completely carefree. Y/N wiped a tear from her cheek, her heart aching with the memory of simpler times.

The next photo was from their high school graduation. Charles had his arm around her, both of them wearing their caps and gowns, faces beaming with pride.

"We did it, Y/N!" he had said, his excitement palpable. "We’re finally free!" He hugged her and spun her around as Y/N giggled.

"Yeah, we are!" she had replied, feeling a mix of happiness and sadness at the thought of their lives changing.

She continued scrolling, each photo bringing back a flood of memories. There was the picture of them at his first major race win, where she had jumped into his arms in celebration. Another showed them sitting by the campfire during their family camping trip, the warmth of the flames reflected in their eyes as they shared stories late into the night.

Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as she relived each moment. Her silent sobs wrecked her delicate frame. She came across a photo from the night they had celebrated her birthday. Charles had surprised her with a cake, a beautiful pendant and they had spent the night dancing and laughing.

"Make a wish, Y/N/N!" he had said, holding the cake in front of her.

She had closed her eyes, silently wishing that they would always stay as close as they were then. The irony of that wish now felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, Y/N began to sob openly. The realization of how much she loved Charles and how much she would miss him was overwhelming. She was losing her best friend and it was all her fault. Her tears glistened and she tried to silence herself but all the memories came rushing back. Every hug, every time Charles made Y/N feel loved, every fight, every milestone. Her large golden retriever, Elvis, sensing her distress, jumped onto the bed and nuzzled his head into her lap.

"Oh, Eli," she cried, wrapping her arms around the dog's neck. "I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know how to let him go."

Elvis licked her face, his warm presence offering a small comfort in her despair. Y/N buried her face in his fur, her shoulders shaking with the intensity of her sobs.

"I love him so much, Eli," she whispered. "But I can’t stand the thought of being so close and not being able to tell him. I don't want to hurt their relationship. She is so lovely and he is so happy. They deserve this and here I am, making this about me. But I can't do it. I can't stay close because it just hurts too much."

She looked back at the screen, her vision blurred by tears. The next photo was one Charles had taken of her when she wasn’t looking. She was sitting by the water, lost in thought, with a serene smile on her face.

"He always captured the best moments, Elvis," she said to the empty room, her voice breaking. "He always know how to make me feel special."

Max whined softly, pressing closer to her, and she stroked his fur, finding some solace in his loyalty.

"I wish things could be different," she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "I wish I had the courage to tell him how I feel. But he’s happy with Camille, and I can't ruin that for him."

As she scrolled further, she found the last photo they had taken together, just a few days before he told her about Camille. They were sitting on his couch, watching a movie, their heads leaning against each other. It was the last time things had felt normal, the last time she hadn’t felt the crushing weight of her unspoken love.

"I’ll always cherish these memories Charles," she said, her voice trembling. "But I have to let you go. It’s the only way I can protect my heart."

With a final sob, she closed her laptop and buried her face in Elvis's fur, letting the weight of her decision wash over her. She knew it would take time to heal, but for now, all she could do was grieve the loss of the closeness they once shared.

taglist : @hiireadstuff @starz4me1 @f1fantasys @aundercover @ohthemisssery @ggaslyp1 @hadids-world @matcha---matcha @f1luvUr @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @timmychalametsstuff

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x female!reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #y/n #best friends #ava speaks #charles leclerc fanfic

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determinate-negation · 8 months

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The end result is an audacious film, formally experimental and with an almost clinically detached point of view. Mainly shot on hidden cameras, it concentrates on the domestic life of the Höss family (Rudolf, his wife, Hedwig, and their five children), whose house stood just outside the perimeter of the concentration camp, the horror within suggested in glimpses of smoking chimneys but, more disturbingly, through an almost constant ambient soundscape of industrial noise and human shouts and cries. It is an unsettling film: a study in extreme cognitive dissonance. It stayed with me for weeks after I watched it, so much so that I attended another screening to try to decipher its uneasy merging of almost clinical observation and moments of abrupt and jarring experimentalism – the screen turns blood red at one point. On both occasions, it fulfilled Glazer’s aim “to make it a narrative that you, the viewer, complete, that you are involved in and ask questions of”. […]

[Glazer] first started thinking about The Zone of Interest when he read Martin Amis’s novel of the same name not long after its publication in 2014. Having secured the rights with his producer, Jim Wilson, the pair began what would become several years of intense and meticulous pre-production preparation. “Our reading actually took us away from the book and deep into Amis’s primary sources,” he says, “The more fragments of information we uncovered about Rudolf and Hedwig Höss in the Auschwitz archives, the more I realised that they were working-class people who were upwardly mobile. They aspired to become a bourgeois family in the way that many of us do today. That was what was so grotesque and striking about them – how familiar they were to us.”

[…] When he first visited Auschwitz, Glazer went to the Hösses’ house and, to his surprise, found it inhabited by a Polish family who had lived there since the end of the war. “I saw the remnants of the garden, and its proximity to the camp, and the wall, and it was chilling,” he says quietly. “Afterwards I entered the camp and looked at the wall from the other side, trying to imagine what the prisoners must have heard. There is no doubt that they would have heard happiness and gaiety as the Höss children laughed and splashed around in the pool. The film became about the proximity of the horror and the happiness, how one person’s paradise is another’s hell.”

#not the guardian desperately trying to get him to connect this to october 7 at the end and him not really responding #mine #zone of interest

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all4aoki · 5 months

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⠀⠀ ☆ ░ ִ⠀ׂ NOW PLAYING . . . Hype Boy (250 Remix) NewJeans

your boys love your instagram almost as much as you do . . . enha x f!reader, poly!enha, enha8thmember

wc . . . 2.7k , warnings ! none, just fluff!

You were very proud of the image you’d built yourself. It was the perfect mix of your authentic self, the sensitive and shy, with the personality HYBE had wanted for you, borderline hyper feminine and maybe a little more energetic than you usually were. But nonetheless, the soft, princess-y aesthetic you now exuded was something you thoroughly enjoyed. Fans did too, and that made sharing your life with them all that more enjoyable.

“Are you sure I’m centered?” you asked Sunoo and he shuffled backwards a bit at your question. “Sun, that’s not an answer.”

“Calm down, princess, I'm just trying to get your whole outfit in the frame,” he said, eyes glued onto your phone screen. Finding places to take Instagram pictures at music shows was difficult. Not to say you weren’t a fan of the infamous pink wall of MBC, or the stairs from KBS, but you were a perfectionist and could only take so many pictures in front of them. So, after finding the prettiest spot by a large set of windows that showcased the beautiful weather that day, you couldn’t help but stop to snap a few pictures for a future post or photo dump.

You were just lucky that you had the most amazing boyfriends to help you take pictures.

“Woah! Did I just die and go to heaven?” You continued posing as Heeseung and Jake walked by, deciding to join you and Sunoo.

“Get out of here, Heeseung-hyung. She doesn’t need you distracting her–” Sunoo’s jaw dropped a bit as you changed the way you were standing once again. “Yah, what did they put in your water today?”

You giggled, feeling your face heat up at the compliments being thrown your way. “Stop!”

“So pretty!” Jake cheered as the three boys smiled at your fluster. “Gorgeous! Amazing! Wonderful!”

“Ahh!” you cried, covering your face with your hands to try and hide the pink that’d joined the makeup blush on your cheeks. You had a love-hate relationship when your boyfriends would watch you take photos. It was adorable with the way they fawned over you, shouting praises and fighting over who was holding the camera. But whenever they were around, you always ended up having too much fun instead of taking your tasks seriously.

That, and they had a rather cruel enjoyment of teasing you.

“Cute!” Heeseung joined Jake’s encouragements, using a tone that was similar to when he spoke to cute kids or animals.

Sunoo ignored them, but a small smile still remained on his lips. Anyone could tell that he was simply enjoying the sight of you. “Turn your head to the left a little,” he instructed and you did as he asked. And as you smiled for the camera, their small gasps of awe and tiny cheers continued. The three boys couldn’t believe you were real. The way your hair flowed effortlessly and how your makeup had been applied that day only added to your natural beauty. And the way the rhinestone decorated skirt clung to your hips and the matching top wrapped around your torso made you appear almost dreamlike. But they figured it made sense that someone so beautiful on the inside was also unbelievably stunning on the outside.

It was the little moments like these that they took to bask in their love for you. Watching as you act so naturally was like watching the sun break through the clouds on a rainy day, giving them spurts of happiness through the stressful times of promotion. When you shyly accepted their words of affection, that relaxed, blissed feeling of everything being at ease spread through each of them.

“Okay, okay,” you said suddenly, running up to Sunoo to grab your phone. “I’m done now.”

“What?” Sunoo said, turning his body so your hand missed the electronic. “But I didn’t even get any with you!”

“I didn’t know that you wanted to take any!” you laughed, trying to swipe for your phone again. Sunoo nodded his head as he maneuvered his arms so they were wrapped around you.

Jake took the phone from the younger, “I want some too.”

You sighed, walking back to the spot by the window as Sunoo clung onto your back. “Heeseung-oppa I’m guessing you’ll want some too?”

He grinned, “Of course.”

“Ok. Can you kiss me first?” Sunoo asked, interrupting Heeseung. In response, your hands found their way to the soft skin of his cheeks and Sunoo tilted his head over your shoulder so you could reach him. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jake angling the phone with a few words of help from Heeseung. Sunoo nudged your head with his, drawing your attention back to him, “Kiss me.”

Without wasting another second, you did just that. Your fingers trailed along the skin of his neck as he pressed his lips against yours again and again. The faint sound of the iPhone camera shuttering being the only thing keeping you from losing yourself in the love you had for your boyfriends.

After you had satisfied the three’s need for pictures with you, you all quickly carried on with the day. The hours were long when it came to Music Shows. The actual recordings were over faster than you could’ve originally guessed, but the time spent waiting for the winners to be revealed tested your patience no matter what mood you were in. So, in order to distract from the mind-numbing boredom and the longing to sleep, you always turned yourself over to the rest of the group. And usually, they had no trouble keeping you entertained.

This day was no exception.

Riki was more than happy when you waltzed over after cooling down and motoring the performance, plopping yourself down onto the couch before cuddling up into his side. He didn’t hesitate to brush your hair out of the way so it wouldn’t be pulled on and blissfully helped you get comfortable on his lap.

“I need your opinion,” you said, suddenly shoving your phone screen in front of his face. He took the device from you, discovering the pretty photos of you in your outfit from the day’s stage. “Which ones should I post?” you asked and he began to swipe through them. Riki’s chin fell onto your shoulder, resting on it as he looked over the pictures. Your scent infiltrated his senses, and he melted a bit at the comforting sensation.

Riki clicked his tongue after a moment, tilting his head so it was resting on the side of yours. “I don’t know if any of them are good.”

Your head snapped to the side, looking behind you at what he was seeing and ultimately pushing his head off yours.

“What’re you…” Oh. On the screen was one of the pictures you’d taken with Sunoo, your cheeks pressed together as he smiled and you were halfway through a laugh. “Ah Riki-san,” you giggled as he resumed going through the pictures, getting to the ones of you and Jake. “Did you want some pictures with me?”

His full lips pushed out into a pout. “No– Wow, with Heeseung-hyung too?” You slapped his chest softly in protest.

“You were getting ready, Ki. I didn’t want to interrupt you,” you explained and his warm brown eyes turned to you, gaze gentle with admiration. “Hmm?” you questioned after a moment of silence. His head ducked down to kiss your cheek.

“Let’s take some now.”

“I thought you didn’t want any?”

He opened the camera app, “Well, I want to be featured in your Instagram post.”

At the words ‘Instagram’ and ‘Post’ Jay, who’d been sitting in a chair near the couch Riki and you were snuggled into, abruptly found interest in what you both were doing. Deciding to disregard how the older was now staring at you both, you made a half heart with your hand and held it up to Riki’s cheek.

“Can I do a heart pose with you?”

Riki rolled his eyes, but the hints of a smile gave him away. “Fine.”

You let out a small ‘Yay’ as the two of you got situated. He angled the camera and took a few pictures with the pose you’d requested before he delicately grabbed your face, maneuvering it closer to his so your cheeks were touching and your lips were almost on his.

“Riki-san–” your voice was muffled as his fingers squished your cheeks together.

“You don’t have to post these, but you should send them to me, princess.” Your heart trembled at the nickname that the younger was so fond of using.

The corners of your lips brushed, but Riki pulled away before you could actually move to kiss him. His expression read expectant, “Of course I’ll send them to you, Ki.”

He gave you a quick peck. “I think Jay-hyung wants a picture now.” It was true, Jay had gotten up from his spot on the chair and was now standing awkwardly by one of the gray plastic tables in the center of the dressing room. You pretended to groan as Riki assisted you in getting off of his lap, thighs brushing yours and making your face feel warm.

“You guys have never shown this much interest in my Instagram before,” you said as you pranced over to your older boyfriend. His hands found your waist instantly, and before you could process what was happening, you were being lifted off the ground and into Jay’s arms.

Riki, like the photography geek he was, had been snapping photos while Jay pulled you up so he was holding you bridal style. “We are, I don’t think you’ve ever noticed before, though.”

“It’s an honor to be on your feed,” Jay added, and you tried to not focus on how he was gripping your legs. No matter how long you’d been dating all of them, they still had the ability to make those butterflies erupt in your stomach and your heart race with love.

You wound your arms around his neck and made eye contact with the phone that was pointed at you and Jay.

“It’s an honor that you guys want to be on my feed.”

Jay’s thumb rubbed against your leg comfortingly, “Of course we want to be included with everything you do. We’re in love with you.”

You cooed faintly at his words, “I love you.”

“I love you too!” Riki called, taking one more picture before getting up himself and bringing your phone over to you. Jay refused to put you back down as you reached for the youngest. So you settled for caressing Riki’s cheek with your hand after taking back your phone.

“Love you, Ki.”

“Yeah. And since you love me so much you should be posting me today.”

The urge to take off your makeup had never been so strong before. You were exhausted, but the day of promotions was finally over and it was time to head back to the dorms. All you longed to do was throw yourself onto the large couch in the main room and cuddle with your boys. Maybe watch an old Disney movie too. Sangmi definitely would appreciate that.

The chatter from the other members as they got ready to leave fell as white noise onto your ears as you got your things around. One of your least favorite things was when you would accidentally leave things behind at music shows, therefore a new habit of yours that quickly formed after your debut was double and triple checking that everything you brought ended up right back in your bag.

Mentally, you ran through your list as you shuffled through the light pink My Mum Made It puffer bag. Phone charger, vitamins, perfume, hair clips–

“What is this I’ve heard about you taking pictures with everyone but me today?”

“Hello to you too, Hoon.” His arms slipped around your middle from behind and he peeked over you as you made sure you had everything.

“Can I have one too, baby?”

You leaned back to leave a kiss on his neck, “Of course. I just need to find my water bottle first. I don’t know where it went.”

“It’s on the vanity over here,” Sunghoon said as he tilted his head towards the left.

“Thanks, Hoon,” you replied as you took his hands to free yourself from his grasp. He didn’t let go of your hand though. Instead, he gripped onto you even tighter, your fingers feeling small as they clutched onto his thumb, and you pulled him along with you to grab the last thing you needed.

Swiftly, you grabbed the metal water bottle and moved to head back to your bag before he stopped you. “Mirror selfie?” Sunghoon offered.

“Ooh, yeah let’s do it.” You checked over your hair and makeup for a moment, deciding that while the style had fallen a bit flat and the makeup had begun to wear off, you still looked presentable. Both you and Sunghoon had changed out of your stage outfits, you wearing the brown skirt you’d shown up in today, with one of Heeseung’s white long-sleeved shirts on your top half. Sunghoon was wearing dark brown, almost black, slacks with a beige sweater that had a button-down white shirt underneath.

You turned to face him, and hugged him tightly, foot popping up behind you as you winked at the camera through the mirror.

Sunghoon chuckled, “Okay, now do a serious one.”

He let his own free arm fall to rest around your hips as you dropped your leg and smiled gently at the phone. After a minute, he decided that was enough and pulled up the pictures for you to check.

“Wah, we look so good!”

Sunghoon grinned at you, “I think it’s impossible for you to look bad.”

All you could do was tuck your head and giggle into his chest. Trying to hide your giddiness was never easy, especially when it was one of the things Sunghoon always searched for.

As soon as you had gotten into the car with Jungwon, Jay, and Sunghoon, you had fallen asleep.

Jungwon’s wide shoulders were just too comfortable to resist, and with the feeling of safety and happiness in your heart, as well as sleep pushing your eyelids closed, you were quick to drift off. You didn’t dream of anything, though, and as soon as the car began to approach the dorms, Jungwon shook you awake gently.

“Hi, dolly,” he said sweetly and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You kept your head on his shoulder as the car slowly wound down the road towards the dorm. The feeling of his hand rested on your own and you blinked heavily, enjoying the feeling of relaxation. Until you saw your phone in your boyfriend’s hand, your Instagram account pulled up on the screen.

“Hey, Yang Jungwon-ssi, what’re you doing with my phone?”

He leaned forward at the same time as you did, refusing you of your device.

“He posted for you,” Jay said from the seats behind you where he sat with Heeseung. “Really cute. ENGENEs are loving it.”

You glanced up at Jungwon, suspicious, “Let me see.”

The three boys laughed.

“Jungwon-oppa what did you post!” you laughed nervously and Jungwon shook his head. With him distracted by your reaction, you tugged his arm closer to you so you could look at it.

The first picture was one of the ones you’d taken by yourself, a cute one of you holding your skirt and laughing. Still not believing that the boys had posted anything skeptical of your relationship, you continued looking through them. There was a picture of you and Sunoo (the one that Riki had pointed out earlier) and the one with Jake where you were leaning onto his chest. The one with Heeseung standing behind you, his chin propped up on your head and one of each of the pictures you’d taken with Riki and Jay. There was your mirror picture with Sunghoon and…

One of you sleeping on Jungwon, your mouth open and a string of drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth.

“YAH YANG JUNGWON!” You finally tore the phone out of his hands, “What is this?” you cried.

The three of you boyfriends only laughed hysterically at your reaction. “Don’t you look so cute?” Jungwon asked.

“Oh my goodness, my idol image.”

“You don’t even look bad, princess, you just look adorable,” Sunghoon said.

You huffed out a breath of air, pouting and leaning even further onto Jungwon. “You guys are going to be the death of me.”

Jungwon pointed at something on the screen, “At least we made the caption cute.”

dollerina ENGENEs aren’t the only ones obsessed with me💕😁

마리셀의 노트 , newjeans release more music puh-lease!😭 I miss you

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luvacookie · 5 months

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୨୧ thru ur phone.

connie leaves his phone unattended.

❥ warnings : cheating, threats, intended useage of lowercase, fem blk coded reader

❥ cookie for ur thoughts ? : sorry guys was in an angsty mood so i wrote an angsty drabble </3 but i am considering writing a follow up to this !

“the fuck is this connie ?”

he stares at his game, the lighting from the screen highlighting the contortion of his face.

“what’cha on about..” he says dazed, groaning as he gets killed again.

you throw his phone on top of his desk harshly, the device landing face up. he jumps at the unexpected, loud noise, his eyes finally cutting away from the screen and to you with a squint.

“what the fuck ? i’m in the middle of s’mthin’ ‘nd you throwin’ shit in my face,” he says with a huff, unaware of what almost hit him.

“ion give a fuck about your dumb fucking game ! who the fuck is that and why is she texting you about how she misses you in her fucking bed constance,” you shout at him, your hands fidgeting in annoyance.

his face drops at that statement, suddenly sitting up straight and realising that it was his phone that you were holding.

he snatches it up quickly, scrolling through all the notifications.

“the fuck you going through my shit for y/n—” he says annoyed, looking up at you with a scowl.

“don’t play that card with me right now, i’m so close to beating the living shit outta your ass !” you yell, the fidgeting turning into mild pacing.

he watches you move up and down with narrowed eyes, the words on his tongue struggling to find an exit. “it’s nobody, stop stressin’ over it.”

“ ‘nobody’ my fucking ass constance ! you think ‘cus you named the bitch ‘work’ in yo’ phone means i’m fuckin’ dumb ?” you snap at him, standing in one place.

he stands up out of his gaming chair, attempting to cross the room to you.

“don’t fuckin’ come near me connie. i swear to god, i will put hands on your scumbag ass—” you spew, taking steps backwards.

“y/n talk to me, we can talk about this,” he tries, his hands reaching for you.

you scoff. “fuck tha’ and fuck you. get your shit and fuckin’ go.”

he looks taken aback, not expecting those words out of your mouth. “huh ?”

“i’m not fucking repeating myself, find somewhere else to be ‘cus i do not want to see your fucking face right now,” you say firmly, watching him.

his eyes scan over you in mild disbelief. he tries to step towards you again and you step back, your mindset clear and decided. he stops and looks around for a brief moment before disappearing into your shared bedroom.

you exhale a shaky breath and the tears, that you didn’t know you were holding, start falling. you hold your mouth to silence the sounds of your cries, opting to move into the living room and sit on the couch as they continue to slide down your face.

you try to slow your heart rate and your breathing, desperate to keep your composure so that when he walks into the room you can keep your head held high.

you’re texting your best friend, informing her of the situation when connie appears in front of you from a distance, holding a duffle bag with a few random items in it and his shoes.

“i- i’m sorry y/n, i am,” he mumbles, rocking back and forth on his feet like a child.

“sorry isn’t fucking good enough,” you reply.

he opens his mouth to say something but decides not to, choosing to put his shoes on and unlock the front door.

he turns to look at you before leaving, the chain rattling as the door shuts.

when you feel confident enough that he’s out of range you start sobbing, the tears flowing consistently.

there’s nothing you can do but let the heartbreak consume you, ignoring the sound of his car racing down the street.

#🍪: alexies cookie crumbs.#connie springer x reader #connie x black reader #connie springer #aot x reader #aot x black reader #aot smut #x black fem reader #i have been prod so many drabbles gosh

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deerlino · 4 months

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DENYING THE OBVIOUS

— “i'm not falling in love,” he says, while he's actually falling the hardest. minho's in such deep denial, it's like he's drowning in the nile.

words ༯ 0.8k / pairing ༯ lee minho x gn!reader / tags ༯ best friends to lovers (kinda), childhood friends, mutual pining, fluff, humor, teasing & banter, arcade games, unspoken feelings, slice of life / content warnings ༯ fluff and more fluff !

a/n ༯ eh, this one's not my top-notch work, had a few bumps and hiccups, but hey, it's alright. took me ages to write tho. 😭 wanted to really nail that denial part, but i guess it's decent enough. hope you still got a kick out of it ! <3

“I’m not falling in love,” he says.

You stare at Minho, half-smirking, half-annoyed. He’s sprawled out on your bed, flipping through one of your old comic books, pretending he’s way cooler than he actually is. His hair is a mess—he’s too lazy to even run a hand through it properly. You roll your eyes.

“Sure, Minho. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you say, tossing a pillow at his face. He barely dodges it, laughing. It’s that laugh that makes your heart skip a beat, but you refuse to admit it.

“Why would I be falling for you?” he teases, grinning. “You’re like... my best friend. And you’re a pain in the ass.”

You snort. “Right back at you, loser.”

He sits up, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “Let’s be real. If anyone’s falling, it’s definitely not me. I’m the epitome of self-control.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, right. You cried watching Toy Story 3.”

“Hey, that was emotional!” he protests, eyes wide in mock offense. “Andy grew up, okay? It’s relatable.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, shaking your head. You grab your phone and plop down beside him, scrolling through your messages. He leans over, way too close, trying to peek at your screen.

“Who’s texting you?” he asks, curious.

You nudge him away. “Nosy much? It’s just my mom.”

“Tell her I say hi,” he says, leaning back on his elbows.

You do, and your mom’s quick reply makes you giggle. “Tell Minho he’s still grounded for breaking my favorite vase last year.”

“Mom says you’re still grounded,” you say, showing him the message. He laughs again, this time falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach.

“Man, your mom’s got a long memory.”

“Yup,” you agree. “So, Mr. Epitome of Self-Control, what’s the plan for today?”

He sits up, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint you know all too well. “Let’s go to the arcade. I bet I can beat your high score on Dance Dance Revolution.”

“You wish!” you exclaim, jumping up. “You couldn’t beat me if your life depended on it.”

As you both head out, the playful banter continues. At the arcade, it’s as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s just you, Minho, and the flashing lights of the game machines. You watch as he concentrates intensely on the dance mat, his tongue sticking out slightly. You can’t help but think he looks kinda cute like that. Not that you’d ever tell him.

“Ha! Beat that!” he shouts, pointing at his score. It’s higher than yours by a mere point. You roll your eyes.

“Beginner’s luck,” you mutter, stepping up to the mat. He watches you, that goofy grin still plastered on his face. You nail the moves, one by one, beating his score by a landslide.

“Told ya,” you say, smugly.

He pouts, crossing his arms. “Okay, okay. You win this time. But next time, you’re going down.”

As you both leave the arcade, he drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It’s a casual gesture, something he’s done a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels different. Warmer. More... significant.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asks, steering you towards the diner down the street. It’s your usual spot, a place that holds countless memories. As you slide into your favorite booth, Minho immediately starts teasing the waitress, who’s known you both since you were kids.

“Two milkshakes, please. Extra whipped cream for her because she’s extra,” he says, winking at you.

You stick your tongue out at him. “And fries. Don’t forget the fries.”

When the food arrives, you both dig in, talking about everything and nothing. It’s easy, comfortable. But there’s an undercurrent of something more. Something unspoken.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asks suddenly, looking at you with those deep, thoughtful eyes.

You pause, a fry halfway to your mouth. “Sometimes. Why?”

He shrugs, looking away. “I dunno. Just wondering what it’ll be like. If we’ll still be... like this.”

“Like what?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He fiddles with his straw, avoiding your gaze. “You know. Best friends. Hanging out all the time.”

“Of course,” you say, nudging his foot under the table. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

He finally looks at you, a soft smile on his lips. “Yeah. You’re right.”

You both finish your food, and as you walk home, the silence between you is comfortable. His hand brushes against yours a few times, and each time, your heart skips a beat.

Back at your house, you sit on the porch, watching the stars. Minho leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, looking up at the sky.

“Thanks for tonight,” he says quietly.

You glance at him, surprised. “For what?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eyes. “Just... for being you.”

Your heart flutters, and you find yourself smiling. “Anytime, Minho. Anytime.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it’s as if the world stands still. Then he breaks the gaze, looking embarrassed.

“Okay, seriously, I’m not falling in love,” he insists again, more to himself than to you.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Keep telling yourself that, idiot.”

But as you both sit there, the night wrapping around you like a warm blanket, you know the truth. And maybe, just maybe, he does too.

© deerlino (est. 040624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

#lee know x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #lee know fluff #minho x reader #minho fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz imagines #lee know x you #stray kids x you #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #lee know fanfic #*writing

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lundenloves · 1 year

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CHAOTIC RILEY HOUSEHOLD

{✧} dad!simon, everyone’s favourite dilf.

{✧} this is just a short thing of like a morning? (duh wtf) i mean if bro has three kids you already know he’s physically there but not mentally. and this was like? a depiction of that. it’s literally just one or two words on a screen. *trips on a curb after speed walking away*

taglist | dad!simon masterlist | masterlist | request info

↳ no warnings | 1k | dad!simon

The chaos of the morning always felt extreme to Simon Riley. He had never imagined them to be so busy and full of life, full of emotion, loudness and laughs. Having a full house did that. Having three kids did that. And that was something he would’ve never imagined for himself, period.

Yet — here he was. Stood leant against the kitchen counter, piece of toast in his hand with a cup of earl grey on the counter behind him. His oldest argued with his middle, the last drop of orange juice teasingly drank down right in her face. The youngest cried loudly, protesting going to school by pushing her shirt over her head and screaming whenever anyone took a step near her. Plates were everywhere, half finished food was on said plates and you looked like a shepherd trying to herd her sheep.

Simon didn’t move from his position against the counter. It was like a vantage point, being above everyone in height, yet stood still and seemingly blending into the background of family mess.

That was until he was pulled from his peace, abruptly at that. “Dad, tell her.” The oldest had dropped her arms to her side in a teenage strop, gesturing to her sibling who scowled.

“Hmm?” He stared absently, blissfully unaware of the chaos before him. You squeezed past him, your hand on his bicep with the movement, the youngest clung to his leg and the middle began shouting about getting ‘dad involved.’

“She’s just drank all the orange juice, there was enough for two.” Simon shrugged, taking a bite from his toast and waving a hand of dismissal, as if her biggest problem of the morning wasn’t a flake valid. “Mum!” She tried instead.

“Simon, any day now?” You gestured toward his leg, silently telling him to deal with it. His eyes fell down to his youngest, still clung to his calf with force, half-dressed and crying. Loud. He rubbed at his temple, shoving the toast into his mouth and lifting his leg and her with it much to your fear.

“What’s wrong, eh?” She wiped her nose on her arm, looking up to her dad with wet eyes. “Kid.”

“School.” She mumbled, kicking away from him and attempting to run away before he had picked her up. She hit his chest, small hands trying to lift herself from his biceps. “Daddy. Stop.” Her demand only made Simon shrug.

“You’re going.” His hand pushed hair from her face.

“If she’s staying off, I'm staying off.” The middle chimed in, loosening her school tie and leaning back on her chair.

“No one is staying off.” He reprimanded, nodding toward the chair. “You’ll fall if you do that.” She shrugged and he manually pulled the chair back down, holding his palm on the back edge. “Go and get your bag.”

“What about her?”

“I’m about to sort her out,” His youngest landed a slap to his neck, trying to kick out of his grasp once more. “Just— do it. Thanks.” And there came a long groan that followed her up the stairs, the oldest reaching to finish her orange juice in the short absence. Simon sighed.

“I want everyone out in ten.” You shouted above the kitchen chaos, handing him small shoes that had been kicked off in a strop. He set her down on the table, holding her legs still to slide the shoes back on much to her physical protests.

“I don’t want to go.” She cried, crossing her little arms over her chest with a frown once he had fixed the shirt and jumper back on.

“No one wants to go.” The oldest chimed from the table, standing up and kicking her chair back in while absently scrolling on her phone. “I’m leaving.” She shouted to you, sending Simon a salute before walking backwards out the room and to the door with an accidental slam. “Sorry!”

The middle came humphing back downstairs and kicked her bag to the door, leant against the wall and glaring at her sister. You took your youngest from Simon, balancing her on your hip after pulling a jacket on. “I’ll see you when I get home, Si.” He nodded, mug of tea back in hand, brows frowning for a moment.

“Did you get her food?” His index and forefinger lacklusterly motioned to the counter, nodding his head upward in acknowledgement once you had shown him the lunchbox. “Did you get your food?”

“I’ll just buy—“

“Can we go.” Came an extended scoff from the hall.

“Buy something today.”

“You need money?” He cleared his throat, taking your brief kiss before setting back against the counter. His eyes landed on the toddler in your arms, stern gaze unchanged for her own glare sent his way.

“What five quid? No.” You rubbed his arm affectionately, taking the small raincoat for your daughter and pressing one last kiss to his cheek before walking down the hall. “Remember and sort out those shelves today. If you forget I'll be mighty impressed considering you’re doing fucking nothing.” You rambled while shoving your shoes on, letting your youngest daughter down and watching with a sigh as she sat on the floor.

Simon let out a string of “Mh-hm’s” for your list of requests, each one becoming less patient and edging a grin from you.

“Right.” You took your daughter's hand, picking her up from the floor. “The shelves, Simon.” A pointed finger of warning was sent his way and he merely nodded, seeing you out the door.

And once the house had finally fell to a stilling silence, he blew a raspberry to himself, hard knuckles rhythmically tapping on the kitchen counters. The mess a Monday morning created was something he could and would never get used to. But, it was home. Any drop of silence was his bread and butter, therefore the pin drop quietness pushed a groan of relief from him. Heel of his palms pushed into his eyes.

Home. Or something like that.

i’m still in my block this isn’t a redemption.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox

as always, reblogs and comments are mighty appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then i’ll sit in a hole.

↳ requests are open for dad!simon stuff although see the masterlist for more info.

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