#healthy lungs or whatever about it

[polarisbibliotheque]

when do u think youll be done with the we shall never surrender project??

Hi, dear! That's a great question, thanks for sending it in!

To be quite honest with you all: I don't know.

There's a few reasons for that, so bear with me a little, please "^^

1 - I'm on a sudden art mentoring program with a friend who offered it to me freely.

I've been unemployed and ill for quite a while and a 'friend' of mine literally scammed me and stole all the money I had left, so I'm officially broke. That's been stealing my nights of sleep, because I'm trying to figure something out to make some money and at least pay my credit card every month.

When I mentioned with my mentor I might try to get in the art industry, she was over the moon and took me in for training free of charge and help me as she can so I can get a job. That being said, I'm focusing 1000% on that - hence why I disappear for so long: in less than a month, I've finished 600+ drawings.

Yes, I'm crazy. But this is the only shot I've got after a long period of distress and not knowing what to do. I'm giving it all to it.

2 - I decided to use this mentoring time to improve my art and apply it to the requests of the Shall Never Surrender Project!

I always thought I could do better with the requests - I don't want to deliver something bad and half assed. This last month, I feel like I improved so much, I wanted to wait a little bit to deliver something with a better quality!

3 - My health sometimes kicks me down and so I need to choose carefully what I have energy to do.

As you guys know, I'm trying to recover from an illness and I have a chronic illness as well. I don't eat much and that means sometimes I don't have enough energy to get up from my bed.

There are days I start being productive at 3 p.m - I spend all the morning lying down, gathering energy to tank the day and taking a few naps. There are other days, I can't even bring myself to eat 'cause I feel like I'm going to pass out midway to the kitchen.

Think Vergil dragging his ass out of Hell and crumbling apart at the beginning of DMC5. That's it, literally, I'm not being dramatic.

I have to prioritize what I can do during my days, then. Usually, I prioritize my mentoring, then helping my mom with chores and running errands and then, by night, I'm already very tired. If there's any energy left, I try to write - for the blog here or the book I'm trying to write - and then work on the Shall Never Surrender Project.

It's slow. Very slow. But it's going.

4 - Nevertheless, I want to finish the requests of the Project before starting comissions.

Like I said, I'm broke. And, as you might have seen, I opened commissions to help a friend of my mom who is in a worse situation than mine and really needs some help.

I want to finish the Project requests before any commissions start coming in, because I do feel guilty for making you guys wait so long. I thought I could deal with requests of full, coloured and polished artworks quickly, but I can't.

That was a foolish overestimation of my part and I am sorry.

Even then, people don't commish me a lot. I had a few commissions some years ago, but I gotta tell ya, it's VERY rare for me to get something. Even then, I need to try. For this friend of my mom and for me, eventually.

If I'm not wrong, there are 3 requests for me to finish. I'm working on them in the order people have requested, and honestly, I hope to finish them soon.

I'm really sorry for taking so long, but life sometimes runs over us and we are caught like a deer on headlights.

I know this might feel like a sassy response, but it isn't. I'm really happy you asked and I can explain a few things/give you guys some idea of what's going on and apologize for taking so long :)

[rxkuyo]

the urge to tell this woman that she's fucking dumb in the pettiest most angry way vs. me having to calm myself down and be as friendly about pointing out things she might want to reconsider because I am trying to help this horse and telling her off in any way will just result in her shutting down and not considering my (very valid) points at all

[wildhannimal]

It's so weird, they say your lungs basically toughen to be more like the consistency of your liver during pneumonia (red and gray hepatization stages) and dawg, I can feel it when I stretch!

[twilit-tragedy]

Got blood tests and a gyno ultrasound done yesterday and yikes! I'm just barely not anemic anymore, despite the iron supplements. I got high cholesterol out of nowhere, a severe vitD deficiency and my ovaries look like a battlefield but "not concerning", apparently. Bruh.

[b1rds3ye]

hi!! this is my first time doing a request so idk if I'm doing this right haha but uh, I was wondering if you could do like. yknow the masked one you made for the 141 (I can't remember the name rn💔)? I thought of like, a sequel idea. like, what if during combat an enemy manages to take reader's mask, and so reader panics and like, rips the enemies throat out with their teeth (or if that's too violent, just goes basically rabid on them lmao) and how they would react?? if this is too violent or specific dw you don't have to!! anyways, I love your content it's totally awesome ur writing is amazing! have a good day!!

YES I LOVE THE BADASSERY AND THE UNHINGEDNESS!! If I'm your first request I'm so flattered anon pls do feel free to drop by again <333 Also just going to do general rabidness because ngl the throat thing sounds like an infection speedrun and we want our masked reader to stay nice and healthy <333

Word Count: 1.2 (it got a little long WHOOPS)

Warning: Canon typical violence, reader does get a lil sadistic and unhinged <333

Beyond Task Force 141 and Laswell, many - if not all - allied soldiers wondered about what lay under your mask. Obscuring even the eyes, your visage was more unreadable than Ghost's. Larger than life, a soldier among men.

There was a running joke that there was just nothing under your mask, perhaps an eldritch horror of sorts. You let the new recruits entertain the thought, it kept morale up as they conjured more myths of you. They said that no one has seen you without your mask. They were partially right.

It simply was that no one lived to tell the tale.

You were never one for close combat, but fighting terrorists was never smooth sailing. The chaos of battle had all of the 141 separated against the tight streets of Las Almas. How uncanny that you could not see your allies but hear their gunfire. Running out of ammo, you couldn't lament at your misfortune as a shoulder pummeling into your chest, sending you to the ground and the air out of your lungs. Head bashing against the floor you groaned as you furiously clawed up to whatever heavy weight was crushing your body. You were starting to make up the figure of a man hovering over you through the blurry haze of a concussion that filled your sight. The distant static of Price's voice through the radio, probably asking where the hell were you but you had more pressing issues at hand.

Through your struggle and flailing limbs you managed to wring the enemy's pistol off of them with a painful twist of their wrist. And they retaliated tenfold, a large sweaty hand reaching down and pressing your head back against the ground. Your adrenaline makes you writhe further, he was going to suffocate you, or worse, poison you with how fucking awful his hand smelt as the stink of burning gunpowder replaced any of your oxygen. But no, he committed a far worse crime.

A singular pull and the grating tear of fabric as your mask is pulled off of your face.

A heavy moment where your enemy looks down at you and his gaze is not like before. It's clear, it's deep. It is not looking at your facade but at you and you are no longer a soldier. You are merely a human, so fragile, so weak. One that is on the verge of death in a foreign land surrounded by bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike. One whose mythos is all but lost at the victorious and leering smirk of an enemy as they take in your face.

That simply won't do.

Pulling your knee up to create space between you and the man, you pull out your tactical knife from your waist and drive it into his torso. His smile falls only to land at settle on yours below him, just like his blood that trickles as forbidden crimson down your hands and seeps into your uniform. It's disgustingly warm. He grows heavier as he loses all control over his body and you heave to throw his figure off to the side. You stab him once again for good measure. And then again. And again. Quick, short jabs down with a sharpened blade that cuts through uniform, flesh and bone alike. You did not count how many times you drove your blade down, numbers were too complex when your mind was running faster than any comprehensible speed. There was only one goal. To make sure no one knows what happened.

A harsh grip on the shoulder yanks you back up and you swipe with your armed limb to cut your new assailant's neck but they were onto you. Catching your arm, they pull it up as they hold onto your shoulder once again with a tightening grip that digs into your uniform. But they do nothing more, no matter how much you thrash and kick.

"Wake up, Sergeant," your opponent seethes and that voice makes you still, a buoy that floats across through your rage. Deep and grounding and your captain's.

You nearly stumble back but Price catches you before you crumple to the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline was escaping your body leaving you with barely the energy to stay upright. Your head lolls back for a second before you bring it to the side to look at your direct superior, the remnants of a concussion making your vision blurry.

"You broken?" he asks.

"Negative, sir,” you respond immediately but he looks a little doubtful, a singular eyebrow raised as he inspects you. Not your body, but your face. The dilated pupils and the taut muscles told more than any wound.

"Can't say the same about your wee friend over there," Soap whistles as he tilts his head to behind you. “Christ, you did a number on him.”

You dare turn to look over your shoulder but Ghost already situated himself in front of the body. But between his feet you could already make out the indistinguishable mass of tattered fabric and discoloured flesh. Fresh blood filled the rivets between the cobblestones, the remnants of the body inching its way closer to you-

"Was it the mask?" Simon brings your attention back to him. You nod dumbly. He only dips his head in what you can only describe as understanding as he folds his arms, fortifying his stance in front of the mess you made. You weren’t going to see your handiwork, he was too kind to ever let you.

John drops his hands down to his sides as Gaz approaches you with your mask.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Kyle offers you a sympathetic smile.

"Learnt that the first day I saw 'em on duty," Johnny retorts and you instinctively smile as you take your mask from Kyle. The hardened plaster of your mask had cracked, the fabric that hugged your neck had become torn but it'll do for the remainder of the mission. Slipping the mask back on, Simon offers a nod of approval while Johnny tugged at the fabric for a few finishing touches.

Ultimately the mission was successful. The task force returns to base and although none of the boys mentioned the carnage you left, there are still whispers of it on base. You had hurried to debrief and get your mask fixed but it seemed some privates caught sight of you and that was enough to spark rumours. Your mask had gotten so fractured that a shard was left back in the streets of Las Almas and revealed one of your eyes to the rest of the world. Such a small organ but so vivid. The privates saw, and more was added to the myth that was you. There was now no question about what was under the mask. No lovecraftian horror or empty space, no monster beyond comprehension. No, what was under your mask was terrifyingly human.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[lowkeyrobin]

TREVOR SPENGLER ; you make loving fun

summary ; you, Trevor's first proper non-toxic partner shows him true love, and how great it really is when you find your person

warnings ; language, mentions of making out, talk about toxic people/exes, verbal abuse, and emotional neglect

disclaimers ; Trevor is described as bisexual, reader is a garbage fan (green flag)

word count ; 1k

I'm working on reqs rn dw guys 🙏

masterlist

Trevor knew that the second he'd met you, he'd fallen head over heels.

The only thing he was worried about, after being reassured by both his mom and Pheobe, was how you'd treat him. His last ex was terrible to him, and by that point, he felt like he was an abuse magnet.

Thankfully, nothing was ever physical, he thanked whoever or whatever was looking over him for that, even fate itself.

Talking about past exes, his last ex-boyfriend first, he'd essentially treat him like shit and try to hide their relationship. He'd use him for pleasure and attention and then ignore him and act like he didn't know him. Trevor was always there for him, but he was never once available for Trevor. That shit ended quickly thanks to his mom convincing him to end things, plus moving away again made it easy.

His ex-girlfriend was slightly the same way.

For context, Trevor was never popular, but he wasn't ignored or bullied in school either. He was attractive enough to be boasted about, I guess, but he wasn't gathering hoards of girls to swoon over him either.

She used him as popularity points, as she was one of the half-popular girls who wanted brownie points for dating someone on a lower social level than herself. Trevor never saw it and had to deal with the consequences. The fighting, the way she'd scream and yell and argue with him over the simplest things. She treated him like a charity case.

So, he was fairly afraid to hurt himself again. He wanted to pursue you, he did. He was just fucking scared.

But, with enough pressure and reassurance from Pheobe, his mom, and new friend Lucky, he gathered the courage to ask you out. During that process, he rambled about how smitten he was for you and had to genuinely stop himself as he realized he'd never felt like this for anyone before. You weren't someone he just wanted to occasionally hold hands with and kiss. He wanted a genuine, healthy relationship with you. He wanted to be treated right, just this once.

But you, knowing about his past relationships, knew what he needed. And you were dedicated to showing him what actual loved looked like, what a real relationship felt like.

From dates at the roller-rink, to movie nights inside, you showed him that you could love him like how he needed to be loved. He needed to be shown that what he went through before wasn't normal and that you would never think to hurt him like people in his past did.

You made loving fun for him, he'd never smiled and had so much fun with someone, ever.

He loved making out with you in his new bedroom at the firehouse, and your soft kisses of reassurance when he was upset or stressed. He'd always find his stomach and lungs genuinely in pain from how much he laughed with you. He was infatuated with you, with holding your hand and caressing said hand with his thumb, with wrapping his arms around you to just hold you like that in silence.

His photos app is filled with pictures of you, over 500 through the past year. His lockscreen? A picture of you two at the county fair under dark blue neon lights.

He watches you sitting in the window, your body barely fitting onto the ledge. Thank God for bay windows, but christ, the people who made this building over 120 years ago needed some better architectural design here. What was the bay window for if not to sit in it?

He'd only woken up a bit ago, having been in the shower as you entered his room, awaiting his arrival. His family thankfully loved you, and would let you in no matter what.

"You look nice today," He comments, running a hand through his hair.

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Do I not usually look nice?"

"No, no, I mean, yeah! You always look nice!" He quickly sputters, "I-I like your shirt. Garbage, they're cool"

You lightly smile, reassured in his loyalty and kind-heartedness by his answer. "You're fine, Trev, I'm playing" You chuckle, "You've never even listened to Garbage"

You pull the sleeves of your undershirt down, feeling a cool wave hit your body like the wave of water at the beach. Your baggy jeans cover you perfectly as the sun peaks out from the clouds.

"You don't know that!" He exclaims, crossing his arms, "All your Spotify playlists are public, I can listen to whatever you are with a couple clicks"

"Okay, bud" You throw your hands up in a sarcastic annoyance. "Whatever you say, pal. I guess we gotta break u-" You quickly stop yourself, looking up at Trevor with slightly widened eyes. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry"

You quickly hop off the ledge of the window, your hands clenched into fists as you stand in front of him awkwardly, awaiting his reaction.

"I'm so sorry, that was uncalled for, I didn't mean to say that-"

"It's fine, Y/n/n" Trevor looks at you with a confused yet laid back expression. "Why are you apologizing?" He catches himself, finding the answer on his own, "Oh, well... it's not that big of a deal, it's okay" He shrugs, "It's fine"

"Sorry, uhm-"

Trevor quickly wraps you in a hug, resting his arms over your shoulders. "I love you, okay? I've never loved anyone so fun and amazing to me, joking about shit is fine"

You nod into his shoulder, "Sorry"

"It's okay" He chuckles, rubbing a hand over your back. "You're fine, it's alright"

"You're the fun one, by the way" You mumble.

"Hm?"

"You're the one who makes loving fun, Trev"

He silently smiles, his face flushing as he holds you a little tighter.

[mazeinthemiroh]

HI BABYSHYZX:))))😚I have a request🫶🏻but beforeeee I tell you, I hope you've been taking care of yourself, getting enough rest, eating well, trying to stay healthy etccccc🩷. Okay soo, straykids' reaction to you walking around your apartment half naked, and they got home early🤠? Keep in mind, you don't have to write if you're not comfortable with the topic or for whatever other reason😽, if you do though, Thank youu. I love youuddhuxxhx<333

stray kids' reaction to finding their s/o walking around the apartment half-naked for the first time

genre: general, crack, fluff

warnings: mentions of partial nudity, not proofread

please like and reblog if you enjoy <;3

bangchan

will literally look at you like 👀 and go 'oooOooooo' but tries not to embarrasses you too much. obviously he will tease you but not really to a big extent, because otherwise he would be a hypocrite. he literally walks around half naked whenever he gets the chance much to his roommates dismay so really, who is he to judge?

minho

there is a heavy silence in which he just blinks repetitively, in his usual perplexed manner. then he will hum and shrug, carrying on with whatever he is doing. inside he's probably freaking out, just a little bit. but outside he's got the same, nonchalant expression on his face, perhaps to make you feel more at ease than himself.

changbin

not a very big deal to him at all. there's nothing he hasn't seen before, hehe. he views it like... if you were at the beach, this wouldn't be an issue. but still, if, when you do see him come in, feel a little uncomfy about him being there while your in that state for whatever reason, he will get out of the room and make you something to eat or something. no biggy!

hyunjin

will make a dramatic scene about it. will most definitely scream at the top of his lungs like he has seen a ghost which deeply offends you, so he earns a tremendously slap on the arm which makes him lmeven louder and more dramatic about it ugh idk he's a whole mess. probably yells "my eyes!" like a cartoon character and covers is eyes with his fists. so supportive 🙄

jisung

his mouth is to the floor before he let's out a momentary awkward chuckle and adverts his gaze. tries to distract himself but let's face it, all he really wants to do is touch and be near you, as always. that's all he ever wants to do, to be honest, fully clothed or not. will melt if you instigate any affection towards him like this <3333 he's just down bad so have fun with that.

felix

he's super respectful. when he sees you in such a state, he covers his eyes with one hand or adverts his gaze, removing himself from the situation immediately. he's a little angel, can you expect anything less of him? he will mentally scold himself for not being more cautious and aware beforehand, feeling bad for making things potentially awkward.

seungmin

indifferent. on the out side, at least. he's as cool as a cucumber, but the moment you tell him to leave and stop observing you this was, he goes to the bathroom and let's out a huge breath. yeah he's panicking. not sure how to move or act or speak or feel. all over the place. but comes out of the bathroom like he hasn't given himself a 15 minute pep talk about the whole thing.

jeongin

the moment he sees you half naked, his whole earth shatters like damn why did he have to see you like this because now all he is thinking about is where and where not to look. wants to be as respectful as possible so just sort of stares at every inanimate object possible until you tell him it's okay to look.

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | v. {END}

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: DUB-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

A deep breath flows from your lungs as you examine your reflection in the cracked, stained mirror. It’s been in your family for years and you never had the heart to rid yourself of it, despite the object’s sorry state. Like everything in the small house, it harbors a plethora of fond memories.

You arrange a few unruly strands of your hair. Though you immediately feel silly for doing so.

It’s not like he cares what you look like. It never bothered him before. He always seeks you out, even when you are worn and sweaty after working a long day at the factory.

As you tiptoe across the room, your gaze settles on Tilly’s tiny form. Soft breaths lift her chest up and down. She is fast asleep, thankfully. Words are amiss to explain where you’re sneaking off to tonight, who you’re planning on meeting up with…or perhaps there are words for that, some you are too terrified to even fathom. Two young people secretly wandering the streets of District 8 at night to find each other and…

Your cheeks flare with warmth.

This isn’t what Coriolanus is to you. He is your tormentor. That is all. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf in the dark, your stomach threatening to drop to your feet.

One of the moth-eaten, dusty floorboards squeaks below your feet as you reach the exit door and nudge it open.

“Are we going somewhere?”

Startled by your cousin’s drowsy voice, you turn around so fast that your head spins. She blinks at you curiously as she sits up in her bed. A heavy sigh peals from your lips. Smiling from ear to ear, you approach her.

You hunker down in front of her.

“I am. You’re not, sweetie.”

“Where?”

Your stomach coils. Still, your smile remains intact.

“Just gotta run an errand quickly,” you lie while cupping her cheek. “We’re running out of your medicine. We have to make sure you stay healthy past the winter.”

She yawns and glances at the twinkling stars through the window.

“But it’s so late.”

Excuses dwindle in your head. You retreat to the authoritative older sibling tone you sometimes use to get your cousin to do her chores.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Just go back to sleep, okay?”

You tuck Tilly back into bed. Arranging the blanket over her gingerly, you drop a soft kiss on her forehead.

Your cousin nods and curls herself beneath her blanket. Relief swells within you. She is too little to hear about the purpose of your nightly trip. In fact, you plan on her never knowing a thing about it. With luck, all of it will end tonight. You’ll bow to the peacekeeper’s demands. One last time. Then you’ll bury the awful memory in the furthest, deepest recesses of your mind and never look back.

It’s what you hope will happen.

Cool winds skate across your skin when you step outside. The moon trails your quiet, anxious trek through the alleys of District 8, its silver beams lighting the cobblestoned path. Every time your feet hit the ground, the nervousness in the pit of your stomach grows. Perhaps you should have stayed home, risked his wrath. You are so painfully unready for whatever the peacekeeper has in store for you. Your wild, palpitating heart seems as if it’ll burst out of your chest any second now.

Suddenly, your tremulous walk is halted.

Familiar fingers snake around your wrist. You’re pulled into a dark corner and shoved against a wall. A stunned gasp hops from your throat. 

Coriolanus smirks at your reaction.

“No need to be scared, birdie. It’s just me,” he whispers, balancing his arm above your head in a way that makes you feel caged.

“Coriolanus.”

He seizes your chin, cobalt eyes drinking you in. His voice is almost soft.

“You really thought I’d let you walk on your own at night? It’s not safe.”

He parts from the wall. His hand wraps around yours. He tugs you along and you have no choice but to follow.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll recognize it.”

Indeed, you do. To your utter despair. After strolling through a vertiginous amount of dank alleyways and narrow stairs, you and the peacekeeper end up in front of a place that bears a daunting familiarity.

As the neon lights of the brothel fill your sight, your apprehension skyrockets.

Snippets of memories of what occurred the last time you were here lurk inside your mind. Your insides clutch.

Coriolanus sighs. His thumb sweeps across your palm, almost tenderly.

“It won’t be like last time. I promise. You can trust me.”

The same beautiful woman welcomes the two of you. Once again, there’s a flirting lilt to her tone, one the peacekeeper ignores. Coriolanus asks about a room. His questions about it fade amidst the uproarious drumming of your heart inside your ears. You’re a jittery wreck behind him, your gaze bouncing from wall to wall.

His deep voice yanks your attention back to him.

“Birdie?”

“Y-Yes?”

The corner of his lips quirks upward.

“Come with me.”

You nod. Is it too late to make a run for it? Though you’d rather not find out how much worse this could get, how mean Coriolanus could turn. He didn’t even hesitate to have you on your knees before, simply to make a point. He’s in good spirits now, nicer than he’s ever been to you, even humming a light tune to himself. Maybe you should aim to keep it that way. Tread the path of least resistance, as much as you loathe yourself for surrendering to him so easily.

You enter the room. Your heart leaps when you hear him lock the door behind you. The inside is nicely decorated. Candles around the canopy bed at the center of the room provide a soft, intimate light. 

Red and white rose petals are scattered over the silk sheets.

Your heart skips a beat when his breath ghosts over your neck.

“It’s pretty, right?” His hands settle over your hips, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I had it decorated specially for us.”

He shifts you so you’re facing him. Fingers sneak below your chin, tilting it upward. Your stomach flutters as you get lost in his blue eyes. They burn into you like coals in the swaying candlelight.

“Has anyone ever done something this nice for you?”

You remain silent for a while, fiddling with the scarf around your neck, the one he gave you.

“N-No,” you eke out after an eternity.

He starts pulling on your scarf. When it hits the floor, exposing your neck to his gaze, you already feel incredibly vulnerable. You tremble as Coriolanus begins to circle around you. As he does that, more articles of clothing join your scarf on the floor, turning into a growing heap at your feet.

First he unbuttons your shirt. When it’s loose on your frame, he pulls on it lightly until it slides off you. Next he unlaces your skirt. Coriolanus is slow, digits dragging over your quivering flesh as he peels every layer of fabric off you. Eventually, you are bare before him. Goosebumps peek under your skin as he spends a torturous minute simply appraising you. Lust swells his pupils, nearly drowning the blue in his eyes.

“Have you ever done this before?”

You shake your head. He seizes your jaw, angling your face upward.

“No miners? No factory worker? No one before me?”

Heat rushes to your face. Still, you shake your head again, faintly wishing you could sink inside the earth and disappear.

Satisfaction illuminates his features.

“So I’m your first.” He caresses your arm. You will yourself still, despite the itch to run away searing through you like a hot knife. His voice lowers to a husky whisper. “I wish you’d see I’m not your enemy, birdie.”

He then shocks you. Layer by layer, Coriolanus starts to shed every part of his peacekeeper uniform. Every piece of clothing falls into a heap on the floor that melds with yours.

When he peels off his boxers, your throat dries. He’s thick and long, just as you remember. Apprehension settles within you. His eyes lock with yours. “Do I look like your enemy right now?” he mumbles. Your pulse picks up as he approaches you. Your gaze drifts everywhere and nowhere, your breath caged in your lungs.

“I don’t know.”

“Do I scare you?”

“Yes.”

His mouth slants crookedly.

“But not in the way you wished, right?”

You gawk at him, wide-eyed and dry-mouthed.

The courage to answer never finds its way into your heart. Coriolanus’ lips however find their way onto yours. At first, the kiss is soft and firm. Cradling your face, he sweeps his mouth over yours without haste. Meticulously slow. As if he wishes to commit your taste to memory.

He nudges you backwards onto the bed. When your back collides with the mattress, his mouth turns more ravenous. His tongue explores the roof of your mouth while his hands wander lower, kneading at your curves. Your head spins. You keen against his tongue as a sick twinge of something you won’t name flickers in your core.

When his mouth parts from yours, you’re both equally breathless, his warm breath mingling with yours. You find yourself almost longing for the heady feeling. Almost. The blond smiles down at your dazed expression.

He traces your jaw with his thumb.

“You can scream as much as you like, you know? No one will come to your rescue.”

“I won’t scream,” you say, defiance igniting your gaze.

“Oh but you will,” he replies with confidence. His mouth ghosts over your earshell. “You’re all mine tonight, pretty bird.” His mouth tugs upwards. “And I plan on making you beg for it before the morning comes.”

As if to emphasize his point, he slithers down your body. The entire time, he corrals your gaze, his blue eyes shimmering in the darkness. He wedges himself between your thighs, meeting only meek resistance as he pushes them apart. 

Coriolanus appraises your slick folds. He drags a finger alongside your slit, mirth lighting up his face. 

“Already so wet for me, birdie,” he says.

Your face heats. You could try to contradict him but the evidence is right there between your legs. Impossible to escape or deny. You are sinfully, embarrassingly wet in front of the peacekeeper.

“I-”

Brazenness melts off your tongue when he presses his lips to your core. He feasts on your weeping folds, his unyielding fingers keeping you placid and open. His tongue teases your tender nub, drawing torturous patterns. Your muscles tighten. The air in your lungs rushes in and out faster as Coriolanus’ tragically skilled tongue sends zings of shameful pleasure through your spine. 

Meticulous and slow, he takes his time to taste you. Every second he spends unraveling you is the most sensual torture.

Your trembling fingers claw at the sheets, your eyes rolling back. You glance down. A peculiar tingle dances through your belly when you catch sight of the blond’s head bobbing between your thighs. Despite your center aching for release, you fight the urge to buck your hips into his mouth and seek more of the delectable contact. He sucks your swollen clit between his lips, pushing his tongue between your folds. You gulp down a sharp scream. Waves of pleasures sweep through your frame. Your lids flutter as your stomach tightens. A painful tension settles in your limbs, heat gathering in your core.

For a long time, you try to stay quiet. You bite yourself hard enough to draw blood as you muffle every whimper and moan struggling to break past the confines of your lips. 

Coriolanus makes his way up your body, his index and middle finger replacing his tongue. Quick exhales burst from your chest as you peer at him through your hazy vision.

“I want to hear you, birdie,” he rasps, his fingers catching on your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open. He sinks a finger inside you. Your chest lifts, brushing against his. When the digit hooks between your slick walls, grazing against your sensitive spot, you unleash a loud squeal.

The blond smiles.

“There. So much better.”

He sneaks another finger inside your core, stretching you even more. Unused to the feeling, you whine and grip a fistful of the sheets. He pumps inside you, finding a steady rhythm that has you twitching beneath him. The broken moans spilling from your tongue mingle with the wet sounds your cunt makes as he explores you with his fingers.

Embarrassment is slowly nudged aside by the storm of delectable sensations growing inside you.

The heel of his hand keeps grazing against your swollen button, eliciting spikes of pleasure through your flesh.

His forehead rests against yours, his feathery lashes falling to half-mast as he whispers,

“Come for me, birdie.”

Your breathing accelerates, his words propelling you closer to your peak. You clench around his fingers. Your legs tense. Warm tingles swirl across your flesh as your back arches. 

A lightning bolt of pleasure passes through you, quick and intense. For a few seconds, not a thought occupies your mind. You are nothing but a million nerve endings on fire.

Your boneless frame crashes over the sheets.

“Good girl,” he praises, his smile expanding. His fingers pull out of you and he brings them to his lips. You watch, sickly fascinated as he dips them into his mouth, reveling in your taste. He hums in appreciation. Your face warms. He then places those same digits over your own lips, forcing you to taste yourself. He bends over you, peppering sluggish kisses in the crook of your neck. His hand splays over your heaving chest, his thumb rubbing your nipples until they pebble under his touch. His lips trail lower on your body. 

He pauses, looming over you. Hands on each side of you, Coriolanus lines his tip with your entrance. Your eyes widen in surprise. You squirm and try to scoot away, panic rushing through you. 

He yanks you back on the bed with ease, his body pinning yours onto the mattress. When you reach for his face, hoping to land a blow, he snatches your wrists and slams them above your head.

He scoffs, “So feisty, even to the bitter end.”

Your breath falters when his thick tip stretches you open. Even that single inch of him feels like too much. Rapid breaths burst from your fluttering chest.

Tears quiver beneath your lashes.

“It hurts…”

He pushes until he’s halfway inside you. Pain shoots through you as you sob.

The tears spill. He releases one of your wrists to fondle your cheek.

“Shh, it’s okay, pretty bird. I’ve got you.” 

He shoves inside you until he grazes your hilt. Your lips part in a quiet scream, your vision flickering. For a while, Coriolanus remains still, giving you time to accommodate his thick girth. He starts moving, his thrusts slow and deep. The longer he fucks you, the more the pain morphs into something else. Something not entirely unpleasant, albeit a little terrifying. The aching stretch becomes tantalizing, your wet walls clinging to his length every time it drags against your soft spots. Little whimpers leave your throat as you cling to his bicep.

Coriolanus’ hand wraps around your jaw.

“Focus on me and only me,” he instructs.

Your eyes dive into his. Flames dance in his cobalt orbs. He smiles, his thumb sweeping  over your bottom lip.

“Such an obedient girl.”

“How does it feel now?” he grunts. You note the sweat glistening over his bare muscles, dotting at his brow. His exhales are more strained now, matching yours. 

You keen at a sharp snap of his pelvis into yours. He picks up the pace, bending one of your thighs against your chest to thrust as far as his cock will go. Your toes curl, blissful shivers creeping their way up your spine. 

“Awful,” you wheeze out. 

He snickers. “You’re a horrible liar, birdie.”

You sense him nearing the cusp of his pleasure. His cock twitches between your walls and you plead, panicked, “Corio…Coriolanus…not inside, please.”

A crooked grin spreads on his lips. 

“But wouldn’t it be wonderful, if I left you something to remember me by.”

You shudder, shaking your head. “No…”

He slips his fingers between your joined bodies, drawing a long moan from you when he starts rubbing your pulsing clit. He plays with your tender bud until you cry out. You come apart around him, slick walls hugging him snugly as he shoots his thick seed inside you. 

Dread settles in your bones, piercing through the haze of delight. You tremble as the stickiness trickles alongside your walls.

He lets out a throaty sigh, trapping you underneath him so you can’t move. 

“Yes,” he breathes out, burying his head in the crook of your neck. Your mouth opens in shock as another tear traces a blazing path down your cheek. He scatters bruising kisses along the column of your neck. His cruel words sear into your flesh. “That way you can never forget you were mine before anyone else, birdie.”

You awake with a start, bruised and sore, in the massive bed. Your glance darts around, confusing filling you as you tuck the blanket against your frame. Your shoulders sag. You note faint sunlight pouring through the crimson curtains. All the candles from last night have been blown out. 

It’s the next day. You are alone. You shiver at the sight of the rumpled sheets, glimpses from the night before seeping through your mind. Coriolanus kept true to his word and made you sing for him the entire night. He was relentless and didn’t stop until you passed out from pleasure. In fact, you were so exhausted, you can’t pinpoint the moment he left. You simply recall him cooing soft praises in your ear as he had his way with you for the last time. 

For a moment, you held some fear that he would never leave, since he was so hellbent on making you come around him as many times in a row as he could.

What terrifies you most however, is that last night wasn’t terrible. Not entirely. Or not in the way you pictured at least. Heat creeps up in your cheeks at the thought. 

You clamber off the bed, wincing at the aching stiffness of your limbs. You collect your clothes and begin to dress. You’re eager to leave the room. It stinks of sex and shameful mistakes. 

As you climb down the stairs, the madam greets you with a wiggle of her fingers. You bristle, shame glowing inside your chest. 

She bends over the wooden handrail, her cleavage threatening to spill out of her dress.

“He said you were free to stay in the room to rest for the entire day if you wished. Paid in full before he left.”

“I don’t want to stay.” 

You hasten your pace to reach the exit faster.

She stops you in your tracks, a mischievous grin dancing on her lips.

“So the pretty boy didn’t tire you out then?” She tilts her head and pouts. “Pity. I imagined him to be a more…zealous lover.”

Your cheeks flame as you rush out of the brothel. You can’t get back home fast enough. 

You need a shower expeditiously. Never before have you longed for the freezing cold spray to hit your skin so badly.

You return home to at least a month’s worth of supplies and medicine in several bags. 

There’s even candy for your cousin, the same he brought her last time. Your cousin’s overjoyed, of course, but you remind her not to overindulge. 

Nothing else accompanies them. No letter. No card. You should feel happy at that, you surmise. Finally, you are free to live life on your own terms, return to your routine. 

Part of you is a little stunned by it however, and perhaps expect the peacekeeper to not be truly gone. For days, you keep wondering if he’ll materialize from a dark corner or surprise you as you stroll down a dank alleyway. 

None of that occurs. Still, it takes weeks for your blood not to chill anymore at the sight of a peacekeeper. After a month of tranquil, humdrum days, you’re forced to admit it. Coriolanus has granted you the peace he promised.

Your chest is a little lighter as you head to the factory everyday. You even start smiling again, which Yara and Tilly keep teasing you about.

But you can’t help it. No more feeling scared or confused. No more eyes trailing your every move. You’re relieved, happy. Life in district 8 may sometimes be uncertain but, at least, you hold your destiny in your hands once more.

Blessed freedom. Finally.

So you let yourself relax. Over time, the terror gripping your gut melts away. The tightness in your chest eases. 

Your mind is so at ease that you don’t notice the shadow creeping behind you on your way out of the factory. It’s too late when you do. 

A black cloth is shoved over your head as you turn a street corner. You’re hauled off your feet and dragged into a dim alley. Your heart races, panic flooding you as you’re tossed into the back of a vehicle. 

The engine roars to life. Every question you ask is ignored, your kidnappers frustratingly silent. You wonder if you’ll die or be sold off to traffickers. You’ve heard of district girls disappearing sometimes, the kind no one will miss or ask too many questions about. 

They often end up in sordid places. You’ve heard the stories. Some could end up in the mines, in shady brothels or even wind up as an Avox maid with their tongues cut off. Chills swirl over your skin. 

Is it to be your fate? Being carted off to some hellish place and worked to death? 

The car stops. Your pulse soars. Quick breaths pour from your mouth as you’re roughly carried to some other place. You struggle, trying to kick your assailant. You land a blind strike and hear a curse. You make a run for it, your blood singing wildly. 

It’s pathetic the swiftness with which you’re caught, as if your attempt meant nothing. 

You’re shoved into a box. As the slamming of a hammer surrounds you, sealing your fate, you begin to sob. You used to think you were just born in the wrong place, unlucky, like so many others. Now you’re starting to believe you are cursed.

Shivers wrack your frame as the box is lifted. Your stomach lurches. The entire trip is a nightmare. Dread grips you tight as questions crowd your mind about who’s taking you and why. After a while, you realize you’re on a train. Your terror swells. 

You’re being moved out of District 8. You haven’t left your district since birth. For better or worse, this was your home.

After an awful, rambunctious journey, the box is finally opened. You hear grunting above you as the lid of the box is pried open. 

The bag over your head is removed and you take in a lungful of clean air. Strong arms hoist you out of the box. You clumsily stumble to your feet. 

You whirl. 

An audible breath skips off your tongue as you take in who stands before you. He looks so different. No more peacekeeper uniform. No more buzzcut.

“Coriolanus?” you gasp.

He smiles. “Hi, birdie.” A wave of snow engulfs your veins.

He sweeps a hand over his silver curls, sounding almost bashful.

“Do you like it? I’m trying to grow it out again.”

Ignoring him, you peer at your surroundings. The white room has a vaulted glass ceiling that allows sunlight in. The pearly marble tiles are pristine. Other than that, you only find one opening. A small door on the other side. You scuttle across the room to reach it. 

The door knob shakes but doesn’t give. Still, you insist, your desperation growing. Your heart sinks as you glance down at the tiny keyhole in the door. 

Coriolanus’ deep voice approaches from behind you. 

“This is a locked cell, pretty bird,” he explains. “And I’m the only one with the key. Dr. Gaul uses it for her more…feral experiments. But she’s granted me permission to use it for an experiment of my own.”

You whip around. “Dr. Gaul?” 

You feign interest, hoping to distract him, having noted the tiny golden key dangling from his neck. Coriolanus catches you looking at it and smirks. “My mentor. Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through everything. I’m sure you’ll fit right in over time.”

He inches closer and you stagger backwards. 

“W-Why am I here?”

Instead of being offended by your attempts to shy away from him, the blond seems mildly amused, studying you as he paces around the room.

“I couldn’t let my sweet bird wither away in a filthy district, of course. I belong in the Capitol, and you belong to me.”

You gape at him. While you knew him to be some entitled rich kid from the Capitol, you never imagined he’d take it this far. Steal you away like you’re some shiny object that struck his fancy at the marketplace. Not a person with a life and desires of their own.

“You’re insane,” you hiss.

His mouth twitches, marking the first hint of displeasure at your reaction.

“We’ll have to work on that coarse mouth of yours. It will not stand here.” His tone grows chillier. “Here in the Capitol, we have discipline, order.”

“Let me go,” you shout, lunging yourself at him. You attempt to tackle him and grab the key from his neck. Unleashing a sigh of annoyance, Coriolanus seizes your wrist and twists it with hardly any effort. The sickening sound of bones snapping lands in your ears. He throws you on the floor, kicking your side for good measure. You keel over the tiles, cradling your throbbing wrist against your chest.

Coriolanus shakes his head as he considers your curling frame on the floor.

“Look what you’re making me do, sweet bird. As I’ve said, your uncouth District wench ways will not stand here. You’re going to behave…” He hunkers down before whispering, “Unless you never want to see your cousin again.”

Your head snaps up, tears filling your eyes.

“She needs me. Coriolanus, please-”

“She will be cared for. There’s a very nice orphanage south of the Capitol, one for all the children who lost their homes in the war.” He beams at you. “She’s being transported there as we speak.”

“Oh my god…”

“You want to see her again? It’s all up to you, birdie.” A slow, wicked smirk blooms on his lips. “...Or perhaps she would fare well as the District 8 tribute for the 11th Hunger Games. She may be a little young…but at least she’d increase viewership.”

“You can’t do that,” you protest, your lip quaking as tears skip over your cheeks.

A dark chuckle leaves him.

“I can and I will. You see, birdie, the world isn’t fair.” He cocks his head. “No one cares about innocent children dying. Hell, I was kicked, beaten and starved so many times during the war, I lost count. No one cared.” His blue eyes turn icier as they meet yours. “The world…it’s an arena. You’re either a predator, or you’re prey.” He lifts his hand to cup your cheek. A gesture that’d be almost tender if the words spilling from his mouth weren’t so cruel. “It’s best to just embrace your role.”

He caresses your tear-stained cheek.

“So will you be my sweet, obedient girl?”

As you sink in his empty blue gaze, a sense of defeat cloaks your frame. You come to realize, you were never meant to come out unscathed from meeting Coriolanus Snow, never meant to win. The fire in his eyes is the kind that burns all standing in its path.

There is no getting away. If you survived him, you’d be lucky.

Your chin trembles as you reply meekly, “Y-Yes, Coriolanus.”

His lips brush over yours before he gets to his feet, satisfaction glowing on his handsome features.

“Wonderful. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone, birdie.”

[runariya]

YANDERE! JK whose a psychiatrist AND reader who is mentally well but was made to believe otherwise because jk started liking her

(yandere) part of the prompt game pairing: psychologist!Jungkook x f!reader genre: yandere, dark romance warnings: yandere, feeling of being watched, doctors who don't really help, helplessness, obsession that causes paranoia and manipulated thoughts, lmk if I forgot smth (I hate writing warnings ugh) word count: 2.149

a/n: okay, I'm just about to hit 'post' and realised I've been writing about a psychologist instead of a psychiatrist JK because...I'm an idiot who apparently can't read properly...sorry about that...I'll just change the pairing now...yeah...🙂🔫

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You are healthy. 

Or at least, you had always thought so, in the steady rhythm of your days, in the mundane details that make up the hours and the moments, until that phantom—the one you can't see, but feel, like a hand hovering just above your skin—begins to press more insistently into your mind. 

You feel it at first like the gentle breath of a ghost trailing behind you. A curious thing, a thing you brush off as silly paranoia, the kind of absurdity that creeps up on a person too invested in late-night thrillers, or perhaps, if you're honest with yourself, one too many sleepless nights.

But soon, it no longer feels like the innocent remnants of poor sleep. The feeling grows heavier, sinking into your bones, blooming behind your eyes in long hours of hypervigilance that leave you restless and agitated, constantly glancing over your shoulder, wondering if the air behind you has really shifted or if the eyes boring into your back are real.

It follows you everywhere—the sensation that there is something, someone, just at the edge of your awareness, observing you with an intensity that makes your lungs constrict. You carry it with you to work, on the train, through the streets bathed in the pale morning light, and even to your home, where the walls that once felt safe now seem too thin to protect you from whatever it is that haunts you, watches you. 

And it's absurd, surely, it's just stress—life, after all, is an insidious thing that wears you down in invisible ways. You're certain of it at first, convinced you can rationalise it away, as though it's merely a fleeting anxiety that will dissipate if you ignore it long enough. 

You tell yourself this is nothing out of the ordinary, perhaps an accumulation of fatigue, of too many restless nights and too little time to catch your breath. But the feeling doesn't leave, and no matter what you do—how many times you lock the doors or close the curtains tightly at night—there’s always a part of you that is aware of it.

Eventually, your concerns lead you to doctors who listen to you with patient faces and half-hearted nods, while you describe the sensation that gnaws at your peace. They wear the professional masks of sympathy, of understanding, and yet their dismissals are almost clinical in their detachment. 

They tell you it's just stress, just the byproduct of modern life, their voices smooth and rehearsed. They offer suggestions—meditation, yoga, perhaps a temporary prescription, all the usual platitudes that barely touch the surface of your growing unease. You leave their offices feeling no lighter, no more reassured, and the burning of that gaze—always unseen, always just out of reach—remains.

But then, on a rainy Saturday, when the grey skies press low and the city feels submerged in a kind of melancholic stillness, you stumble across a flyer. It seems unremarkable at first, just another sheet of paper stuck to a lamppost among hundreds of others—of lost cats, of yoga classes, and of flatshares. But something about it catches your eye. It feels...personal, somehow, as though it has been placed there just for you, amidst the drizzle and the low splashes of the streets. 

‘Dr. Jeon Jungkook,’ it reads in neat, almost delicate handwriting, though the letters carry a subtle darkness to them. ‘Psychologist specialising in anxiety, paranoia, and delusions.’ 

Beneath that, a phone number, handwritten as well, as though it’s not meant for just anyone. You hesitate for a moment, feeling the flutter of something indefinable in your chest, a strange overwhelming sense of dread and hope. It's peculiar, how desperate you’ve become, how this small, simple thing feels like a lifeline now. Perhaps...perhaps this is it. Perhaps Dr. Jeon will listen to you, truly listen, in a way no one else has.

You call, and he answers almost immediately, his voice deep, rich with warmth that flows through the receiver like honey meant as bait for bears. There is a brief exchange of pleasantries, an odd kind of relief settling in your chest as you speak to him—he doesn’t sound hurried, doesn’t cut you off, and most importantly, he doesn't dismiss you. 

It feels like you hit the jackpot, that perhaps, this is the one person who will take you seriously, who will understand. When you mention your availability, expecting an appointment weeks away, he surprises you by offering you one for later that same afternoon. The coincidence is too perfect, but you brush that thought aside—how lucky you are, after all, that he has a slot open just for you. 

The hours until your appointment crawl by, each minute making you more anxious but somehow optimistic too, thinking this might finally be the help you desperately need. 

And then you find yourself at his office—a small, elegant building tucked away on a quiet street, its windows large and clear, spilling soft light onto the pavement. Inside, the waiting room is tastefully minimalist, a neutral palette of greys and whites, the scent of lavender and cedarwood filling the air, calming your racing mind for a while. 

And then there he is—Dr. Jeon, who appears younger than you’d expected, his dark eyes bright yet somehow secretive, a glint of something you can’t quite place shining beneath his pleasant exterior. He is handsome in a way that feels almost illegal, like he’s meant for a stage, the sides of his head buzzed short, piercings, tattoos and jewellery adorning his tall built. His smile is gentle, though there is something about it that feels slightly... off, as though the corners of his mouth hold a secret only he knows. He invites you into his office, and there’s an undeniable grace in the way he moves, the way he gestures for you to sit, the way he folds himself into his own chair with an ease that seems almost rehearsed.

"Tell me," he begins, his voice low, soothing, yet there’s an intensity in his gaze that makes you feel as though you are laid bare before him, as if he knows more about you. "What has been troubling you?"

And so you speak, halting at first, unsure of how much to reveal, but soon the words come tumbling out—every anxious thought, every fleeting glimpse of movement in the shadows, every sensation of being watched. 

You tell him how it has consumed you, how it has twisted your life into something almost unrecognisable, and how no one has believed you. But as you speak, he listens, truly listens, leaning forward ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. There is no interruption, no dismissive remarks, just the feeling that he is absorbing every word, every emotion, every fibre of your being, with an almost predatory focus.

"You're not imagining it," he says softly, once you've finished, and the words strike you like a physical blow, leaving you panicking, trembling, silently gasping for air. "What you're feeling is real."

The relief that floods you is overwhelming, calming your panic attack in an instant, almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. Finally, someone who understands, and you dismiss the feeling that there’s something more beneath his words, something darker.

"You’re not well," he continues, his voice almost a caress, soft and soothing in ways that should leave you suffocating. "But I can help you. I’ve worked with many patients like you—people who are misunderstood, dismissed by others who cannot see the truth of what they’re experiencing."

There is something about the way he says *truth* that makes you shift in your seat, though you cannot quite place why. His eyes flicker, almost imperceptibly, with something you felt while being watched, something possessive, as though the knowledge of your vulnerability excites him in some way. But you push that thought aside, chalking it up to your overactive imagination, to the paranoia that has been eating away at you for weeks.

Dr. Jeon leans back slightly in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his fingers steepled in front of his lips as he watches you with that same intense focus, as though you are the most fascinating puzzle he has ever encountered. 

"You’re going to need more than just this one session," he attests, his tone gentle, but leaving little room for argument. "This… condition of yours, it’s complex, deeply rooted. It will take time—many more sessions, in fact—for us to work through it properly."

His words are like a binding contract, though you don’t remember agreeing to anything. There’s an undeniable pull in his voice, an authority that you find yourself drawn to, even as a small, quiet part of your mind screams for caution. But you want to believe him. You *need* to believe him. And so you nod, agreeing to the additional sessions without fully understanding why.

He smiles again, that same unnervingly perfect smile, his eyes softening with something almost affectionate as he watches you. There’s a lingering pause, as though he is savouring the moment, as though he is drinking in the sight of you, fragile and desperate for help, his help. 

"Don’t worry," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I’m the only one who can help you. No one else will understand you the way I do."

There’s something unsettling in the certainty of his words, in the way he speaks them as though they are an undeniable fact rather than a simple reassurance. But you find yourself nodding again, agreeing because there is no alternative, because the weight of his gaze makes you feel as though you have no choice.

As you leave his office, there is a strange sense of both relief and unease swirling within you. Relief, because finally someone has validated your fears, someone has told you that you are not losing your mind. But unease… unease because there is something about Dr. Jeon that doesn’t quite sit right with you. Something in the way he spoke to you, in the way he looked at you, as though you were not just a patient, but something more. 

You shake the thought away, convincing yourself that you are simply overthinking it, that this is just another symptom of your paranoia. You tell yourself that you are lucky to have found him, that he is the help you’ve been searching for all along.

But as the days pass, and the sessions with Dr. Jeon become more frequent, more intense, you begin to notice the ways in which his presence seems to have seeped into your life. It’s subtle at first—small things, like the way he always seems to know exactly what you’re thinking before you say it, or the way he seems to anticipate your needs before you even voice them. 

There is a strange intimacy to your sessions now, a closeness that feels almost suffocating, and even after weeks, you can’t quite place why. He never touches you—never crosses that professional boundary—but there is something in his eyes, in the way they follow you as you speak, that feels almost...obsessive. 

And then there are the coincidences—those strange, inexplicable moments where you see him in places he might but shouldn’t be, not in this frequency. 

Once, you caught a glimpse of him in the crowd at the supermarket, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment before he disappeared into the throng of people. 

Another time, you swore you saw him in the park, watching you from a distance, though when you blinked, he was gone. It feels as though he is everywhere now, as though he has somehow become the very thing you consulted him for.

But whenever you bring it up to him, he smiles that same calm, reassuring smile and tells you that it’s all in your head, that your paranoia is playing tricks on you. And you believe him, because you want to believe him, because he is the only one who has ever taken you seriously, the only one who has ever made you feel understood.

Yet, little do you know, that understanding is your undoing. Little do you know, that his presence in your life is not coincidental, that he has been watching you long before you ever picked up that flyer, long before you ever knew his name. 

Little do you know, that Dr. Jeon Jungkook’s obsession with you is not born out of a desire to help you, but rather to possess you, to draw you deeper into his web until there is no escape. 

Little do you know, that each session, each soft-spoken word of comfort, is another step towards him, until you are utterly, irrevocably trapped, thinking that you need him to get better, ignoring that…

You are healthy. 

[sanjisprincesswifey]

romance alphabet ⋆ black leg sanji

summary: what it's like to fall in love with sanji

a ⋆ affection; how affectionate is he? how does he show his affection?

very. from the moment you wake up to the second you fall asleep sanji is showering you with his love. he’s always wanting to kiss you and hold you, even small touches are enough for him. he loves holding your hand all the time, interlacing your fingers together and rubbing circles on your skin. 

sanji enjoys praise too. both giving and receiving. he’ll always compliment you, even on the littlest details that you may not even notice yourself. and don’t be shy to praise him too, he’ll become even more gushy the second you do. 

b ⋆ best quality; what's his best quality as a romantic partner and why?

sanji cares about you. he’d put his life on the line for you anytime it be necessary. he would protect you to the ends of the earth even before you begin dating. 

he’s also incredibly genuine with you. he’ll never let you doubt that he loves you. sanji tries his best to be honest from the start and show you how just much of himself he wants to give to you. he wants you to know if there is one thing you can count on, it is his love. 

c ⋆ confession; would he confess his feelings first? if so, how would he confess?

of course he would. but in class sanji fashion, he proclaims he’s in love with you before he actually is. you’ll receive the doting/loving affection from him just as nami and robin do, but it’ll always be a bit…more. it’ll feel more special, more meaningful if you will. your stares last a little longer, his touch hovers a bit more, and you both keep yourself up at night thinking about the other. 

sanji determines to make the moment meaningful, well-thought out to prove how much he truly cares. maybe a candle lit dinner or a picnic on some island, but he’ll ask to get you alone and somehow manages to tell you how he feels without a nosebleed. 

d ⋆ dating;  what is it like to date him? how is he as a romantic partner?

loving sanji is similar to living in luxury. anything that you desire, sanji would provide. had you so chose, you’d never have to lift a finger with sanji around. 

he’d take over your night watch duty even if he had his just last night, he’d hand over his allowance just so you could pick out whatever you’d like at the next island, so on and so forth. 

sanji wants you to know that he’d give you absolutely everything he could; that his love is limitless. 

but like most of his traits, this is one of his biggest weaknesses. sanji doesn’t know how to properly behave as a romantic partner, unaware of the idea that relationships are suppose to be a 50/50 divide.

you will most definitely have to explain this concept to him and show him the reigns. because sanji never learned what proper love or a healthy relationship looks like, he has no idea how to function past giving all he has to you. 

though, if you’re willing to teach him, he’s eager to learn anything with you! 

e ⋆ emotions; how emotional is he with you? does he show his emotions right away or does it take time for him?

there are two answers to these questions. sanji is extremely emotional in the that he’ll cry, be happy, excited, all the basic emotions right off the bat. 

however, he does have some walls built up especially regarding his insecurities and fears. sanji will cry because of how pretty you are or scream his lungs out proclaiming his love for you, that’s a given. but, when it comes to expressing how terrified he is to lose you or you discovering just how broken of a man he is, sanji is extremely closed off. 

sanji doesn’t want you to see how ugly he thinks he is and is terrified that if he shows his real emotions that you’ll come to feel the same way that he feels about himself. 

poor baby boy is so traumatized, he’s a lot to through, but he has good intentions, he promises! 

f ⋆ flirt;  how good is he at flirting? does he flirt well or often?

incredibly! sanji is such a smooth talker, he is aware that he could sweep you off your feet without even meaning to and that is why he’ll flirt with you any chance that he gets. 

g ⋆ gifts; is he a gift giver? what kind of gifts does he enjoy giving you?

you already know the answer to this one. 

most of his gifts are cuisine offerings, which is to be expected. a drink, a special snack, something that is perfectly constructed just for you. it’s always different from nami’s and robin’s helping in some way. maybe different plating, a garnish perhaps, and you think you’re crazy for it, but you swear you could taste the extra amount of love he put into it. 

h ⋆ hugs; does he hug you a lot? what are his hugs like?

you know those videos of a baby animal and their mamas and the baby is clining to the mom? yeah, that’s you and sanji. he’s the baby, of course, and anytime he’s not busy in the kitchen, he has his hands on you. 

his head rests in the nuzzle of your neck, arms tightly snug around your waist and his body weight slugs against yours. the usual heaviness that sanji carries with him is released once he’s in your arms.  the way the calloused pads of his fingertips dig into your skin, he knows your hugs are the only thing keeping him safe, grounded to reality, and he’s letting you know it too. 

sanji’s hugs feel like a sweet release, like a weighted breath he can finally get off his chest. 

i ⋆ i love you; does he tell you that he loves you first?

yes. next question. 

j ⋆ jealousy; does he get jealous a lot? if so, for what specific reason?

see, the thing about sanji is that his jealousy is derived from a place of not feeling good enough, not necessarily his capabilities as a boyfriend. 

he honestly thinks he’s a pretty good boyfriend, he’s confident in that, but the second he sees someone offering you something that he values important in your relationship, he starts to doubt himself. 

most likely, it could be something as small as someone else making you laugh or as big as being offered a drink or food, but it’s not possessiveness that’s driving him, it’s fear. fear of not being enough for you or that you could be offered more by someone else, it’ll definitely make him jealous. 

k ⋆ kisses; what part of you is his favorite to kiss? how often does he enjoy kissing you?

back of the hands, your shoulders, and your lips, obviously. 

sanji tries to kiss you at least once every hour, MINIMUM. he would go out of his way to make sure you’re getting kissed and thoroughly adored every single day. 

l ⋆ love language; what’s his love language?

considering the abuse and torment he has received as a child, sanji responds best to words of affirmation. he responds incredibly well to praise and feels most valued when you’re telling him how good of a boyfriend he is. 

it might be handy to keep one of those gold star sticker sheets with you. 

m ⋆ memories; what memories of you two are the most precious to him? why does he treasure them?

sanji has a plethora of answers to this question, too many to count, not enough hours in the day to explain them all. 

the main ones that come to mind are when he first falls in love with you, when he realizes how much you love him too, and when the moment he knew he wanted to marry you. 

each of these memories remained special, not just because of the general romantic significance, but because of how you made him feel. how each moment felt like the light of hope he had been missing, the warmth after being left out in the rain. 

sanji cherishes these moments so much because you loved him, unconditionally, for who he was and everything that came with him. 

not because he would (and probably has) begged for you to, but because you wanted to. you chose to. you chose him, and all sanji’s ever wanted was for someone to want him the way you do. 

n ⋆  nicknames; what nicknames does he prefer to call you, if any at all?

my love, my swan, darling, mon ange, mon coeur. the french ones are his personal favorites! 

o ⋆ on cloud nine; what is he like when he's in love? how different does he act when he's in love?

physically, his actions don’t seem to differ much from before. he’s loving, doting, obsessed with everything about you just as before, but it feels genuine now. 

he’s not pathetically crying as an act of desperation, he’s telling you how pretty or smart you are because he’s being sincere. 

sanji sees you for your feelings, your brain, your heart instead of your physicality alone. 

but don’t worry, he’ll still appreciate all of you every second he can. 

p ⋆ pda; does he openly express pda? how affectionate is he in public?

sanji most definitely loves pda more than anyone could. 

showering you with affection is his way of thanking the universe for you, showing his appreciation and proving that you are being loved and adored just as you should be. 

being affectionate with you in public is an act of worship. when he kisses the back of your hand or captures your lips in a sweet and swift kiss, he’s simply praising the universe for its most beautiful creation. 

q ⋆ quirks; what are some things you’ve learned about him since being in a relationship?

despite how much he loves having you in the kitchen, he can kind of be a backseat cook. but he’s super nice about it, just a bit critical from time to time. with his sickly sweet tone, you honestly can’t tell though. 

he also can't help but make faces whenever he tastes something that's a bit off. his nose scrunches up, his curly brows furrow and his tongue pokes out from his lips only slightly. he had no idea he even did that until you thought it was cute and pointed it out.

r ⋆ romance; is he a romantic partner? is he cliché or creative?

the first question is rhetorical in his so i don’t even need to answer it. 

but, sanji is a very fine line between cliche and creative, he’s a little of both but in the best way! he’s kind, extremely thoughtful, and makes you feel as if you were in a 90s rom-com. 

s ⋆ smooch; what was your first kiss like? where did it happen and was it planned?

your first kiss with sanji happened after he first asked you to be his. it was a quick, eager kiss that was pure adrenaline; when he heard you agree to date him, the excitement was too much to bear and he just had to kiss you. 

after he realizes what he did, he’ll apologize profusely and say something along the lines of you deserving better. he’s a pretty good kisser though so you don’t mind it either way. 

t ⋆ true love; does he believe you were destined to be together?

of course, he does, but he’d honestly say that about anyone he was dating...

u ⋆ ultimatum; what is a dealbreaker in his relationship?

for a long, fruitful relationship, sanji needs you to genuinely care about him. the only dealbreaker he could ever think of is if you don’t and that is all. 

he doesn’t like himself enough to turn anyone who was willing to be with him away. sad, i know. 

v ⋆ value; how important is the relationship to him? what is it worth in comparison to other things in his life?

your relationship is so incredibly important to sanji that it’s just about equal with being the strawhats cook. 

w ⋆ wild card; a random relationship headcanon!

sanji is one of those boyfriends who likes to celebrate the silly anniversary dates. it could be by month; first month, second month, etc. or by event. so like anniversary of your first date, first kiss, first i love you, that sort of thing. 

he also would offer to put his jacket on top of a puddle for you after it rained, though you deem the idea ridiculous and would gladly just step around it. 

has a 10 step skincare routine and loves when you join him. 

x ⋆ x-factor; what drew him to you?

in classic sanji fashion, he began worshipping you the second he knew you. you’re pretty and that was enough in the beginning. 

but what drew his feelings beyond his basic affection was how compassionate you are. you cared for the whole crew the second you joined the strawhats, but the attention you gave him was definitely the icing on top of the cake. 

you always offered to help him wash dishes after meals, asked about his day, and listened to his stories about his mom even when it wasn’t warranted. you were genuinely interested in knowing who sanji was, not seeking mindless gab to pass the time, and that is what had sanji falling for you before he even knew it. 

y ⋆ yearning; when does he find himself missing you?

every second you aren’t together, sanji misses you. the air always feels cold, a distant chill that nips at his skin until your return.

he hates it and he knows that if he didn’t spend so much time with you, it wouldn’t hurt as bad when you were gone. but he’d be a fool to stop spending every second he could with you, he just loves you too much. 

z ⋆ zzz; what is his favorite sleeping position? is he the big spoon or the little spoon?

sanji loves the front to front sleeping position, he loves holding you while also being able to see your face. 

when he has the occasional nightmare, it’s comforting to not only be holding you but being able to see your face brings him back to reality. your relaxed features always soothe him, letting him know that he’s okay without any verbal confirmation. 

on the occasion that either of you do want to spoon, sanji doesn’t have a preference of being the big or little spoon. you both take an equal role, it simply depends on the day. 

ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ like this post? request other characters now :)

[rixsjwb]

smokey geto, university au

at around 2 p.m., you wake up to the smell of smoke, specifically from a cigarette.

as you feel the sleepiness in your eyes seemingly never going away. You don't fully register what's going on until you eventually sat up. to find yourself sleeping on sugurus bed, while he sat right next to you while satoru played video games with shoko. sukuna and toji scrolling on their phones occasionally showing each other funny videos.

it was weird seeing them not throwing insults at each other and wanting to commit mass murder on one another, as you laid flat on your side, you used your arms too supporting you upright, you couldn't even full take in where to place your hands and you just put it anywhere you could, while doing so your hand lands on something solid and you hear a groan emit from the object.

it was suguru.

your hand had landed on his lower abdomen when trying to sit yourself up, "m'sorry." You say muffled tiredness still lingering in your voice. Your eyes start to see the hazey looking air, thinking your eyes are playing tricks on you, you waft the air in front of you while rubbing your eyes.

you feel yourself come crashing down when the energy you had left, left your body. your head coming in contact with the soft mattress, but you could see suguru in your view of looking up at the ceiling. you could feel his hand running in between the strands of your hair, almost lulling you back to sleep.

but the smoke in the air that starts to go down your lungs caused a violent cough to erupt out of you, drawing most of your friends to check up on you.

"You okay?" satoru asked, the cigarette limply slaying out of his mouth now, gone, as he held it between his index and middle finger. you mumble something that was intelligible, dragging the warm blanket with you too the living room to get more sleep, as the room was pretty much a widefire once the flames were put out, so much smoke.

you never liked when your friends did smoked. not only for their heath but yours too, obviously you don't want to force them too stop, I mean, shokos have been smoking since freshman year, do you really think they'll stop smoking on your request? probably not. Who knows?

as you snuggled up on the couch, the silent aura carried around the living room. You hear the soft click of a door opening and soft footsteps coming closer to you.

you grab the blanket and throw it over your entire face so not a limb is outside of the blanket, but when you feel a hand rest just above you, the blanket acting like a barrier, you start to tug and shove the person throwing their weight on you. you chuckle at their attempt to rip the blanket off you. but eventually, you remove it from your face to see who exactly it is.

"What are you doing here?" You ask tone muffled and quiet even with nothing covering your mouth, "m'wanted peace n' quiet." his baritone voice rumbles as he spoke, sounding a little more raspy than usual, probably from the smoke.

"hey ghetto, how come you always smoke?" you ask a genuine question, you wonder. you watch as he makes a face at the name you jokingly give him, but you both bath In the solitude of eachother.

silence.

"m'dont know, just do, I guess. don't like the smell of the smoke?" he said, you feel hesitant to nod your head, you don't wanna upset him because you don't like the choices he makes, but again it's his body so he can do whatever he'd like.

"yea, aren't you afraid of the lung diseases coming to get you?" You say it's a serious saying, But you can't help but chuckle a little. "You're too young and handsome to spend your days in a hospital." You say, hand stretching out to play with the ends of his long, straight, healthy looking hair. it had gotten longer than you'd remembered.

suguru stays quiet almost in Ponder about what your saying,"and plus not only are you killing you but your killing me cause I have to breath that shit whenever I'm around you, we'll be leukemia twins." Your chuckle sets a vibration in your chest.

you start to play with his hands in the silences, you start to think your words may have come off alittle aggressive and rude, but before you could say anything he beat you too it.

"Don't worry, yr'pretty mind, I promise I'll stop from now on." it takes you by surprise by how quickly it took for him to consider your words.

"You sur-" "Yes, I am. don't want you breathin' in these harmful chemicals."

you decide to joke around with him abit "can I try?" You point to the cigarette in between his fingers, " no silly, it's bad for you." You laugh at the irony of the situation

you watch as he smothers the ciggar into an ashtray, and you can already see the smoke clearing up. he opens the windows to seemingly air out the house before he makes his way back too you, laying his body weight on top of you.

"Get your sleep." he says Ina low tone, his hands drawing soft repetitive shapes on your skin, and he snuggles into your stomach enough to lul you back to sleep.

[smutstationchoochoo]

A little John Price x FemReader drabble because I think about John Price far too often for it to be considered healthy and my mind always comes back to this: he always seems so in control. Not just of his people, or whatever environment he is in, but of himself. He’s cool calm and collected and honestly?- I don’t think that aspect of Price would shift too much during sex. Actually, I think it would kick into overdrive. I think that cool calm collectedness would shift into a calculating tenderness.

You see, he knows you. Knows how you take your coffee in the morning, knows what makes you laugh, knows your favorite movie, he even knows what kind of toothpaste you prefer. And he knows what makes you shake and cry and beg and plead beneath him.

John Price has had you pressed into his bed for what feels like an eternity now, one of his strong arms holding your hips down as the other is busy working two thick fingers in and out of you as he eats you out not like a man starved but like one who knows how to savor a good meal, how to taste a fine whiskey, how to suck in the smoke from a cigar and discern every single note.

Your legs are trembling, your hands grip onto the back on his head and you try to grind your hips against his molten tongue, chasing the release he has denied you since kissing his way down your body and planting himself between your legs. He of course pulls away, as he has done every single time you finally got close to falling over that edge. Price prides himself on his patience.

Your throat is raw from the sounds he has been wrenching from you and your mind struggles to catch up from another stolen orgasm yet you still try to form his name though it comes out slightly slurred as you lift your head to look down at him.

He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh, running his rough bearded cheek against the soft skin before glancing up at you. His hair stands up at all angles from your hands desperately clutching at it. His eyes glint like sharpened steel but crinkle beneath a lazy warm smile spread out over reddened cheeks. He blinks at you, your hair wild, a sheen of sweat glistening across your body, and offers a low rumbling hum as if deep in thought.

“What’s that, love? You need to speak up.”

His eyes never leave yours, your gaze just as locked beneath him as your body in his arms. You drag in a breath, trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as you can muster and you begin to beg.

He patiently listens to your pleading, nodding his head with your every demand, that grin on his face never wavering, until you are finished.

He shakes his head and sighs, “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

And god bless him, he lets go of his hold on your hips and moves his looming frame until he is kneeling on the bed just below you.

His huge thighs shuffle until they are flush with the backs of your own. His cock is flushed a vicious red, precum glistening from the tip, as he takes it in hand and rubs himself against your clit. You shake, your body body a live wire of pleasure beneath him, and your fingernails dig into his thighs.

“Look at you,” he huffs with a smile.

When he finally lines himself up with your entrance, you can feel your arousal dripping down between your cheeks and creating a small wet spot on the sheets but you don’t have time to care as John’s huge rough hands grip onto your waist and pull you onto the hardened length of himself as he pushes in. You’ll never get used to it, you think for a split second, before the stretch of him inside of you catches up to your brain making your back arch off the bed so harshly that you grit your teeth in pain.

Those hands of his soothingly rub your hips and one slides up to cradle the small of your back.

“There we go,” he praises, his voice low and sticky in your mind, “Such a good girl for me.”

This has you clenching around him so hard that your vision nearly whites out, and even gets you a little huff from John as he closes his eyes and relishes in the feeling of you around him. Then he begins to move.

John’s thrusts are not fast but they are not gentle either. He grinds into you, cock hitting a spot that has you gasping, clawing at his arms as he watches you. He watches as you fall apart beneath him, that smile still there, though his mouth now hangs slightly open in awe. His eyes are hard and focused as he completely gives himself over to the task at hand. Tears begin to gather in your lashes, slipping down your temples, as you blink up at the man breaking you apart. It’s only when his hand shifts to where the two of you meet, and his thumb begins an onslaught of circles against your clit do you begin to grasp the enormity of the cliff you are about to fall over. You sob out his name, the sound of it wretched from your chest, and you shake your head as your hands try to push him away, or drag him closer you have no idea which at this point.

“C’mon, just let go for me,” he urges, “I want to see it.”

And you do. You immediately fall over that cliff and you let go. You can’t even cry out his name, the ability to form any words seemingly lost as you grind yourself into his thrusts and brokenly sob incoherent nonsense as pleasure ricochets through your body electrifying every nerve in your system.

“There it is,” his voice comes to you amongst the waves of your orgasm, proud and praising, as he continues to grind into you, carving himself into your pleasure until he finally gives one last thrust, burying himself deep, before emptying inside you.

You stay there like that, him inside of you, as you try to will yourself back into your own body, listening to the sound of his breathing.

The feeling of those hands softly rubbing against your thighs helps bring you back, eyes blinking up at him. He grins back at you, all tousled hair and flushed faced, before leaning down to kiss you. You sigh into his mouth, but then you feel him twitch inside of you.

“Now give me one more.”

[aetherdoesthings]

can i request straw hat members luffy zoro sanji nami robin with a kid like how they are around children thanks!

elo anon! ahhhh the ideas i had for this

forethoughts: excuse my absence, life is hard. also is it about time i create a masterlist for all my work? idk. also this hc request gave me an idea of a new fic i wanna write, so look out for that!

notes: fem!reader in mind, but still gn! i suppose.

Luffy

Here’s the thing. Out of the bunch, Luffy is the one you go to to have fun and get that adrenaline rush every child wants to have. But he’s also the one you spend the most time with least, because the other Straw Hats are deliberately trying to make sure you don’t spend as much time with Luffy for the sake of your safety and adulthood. It’s not the first time Luffy accidentally left you in the middle of a dangerous battle between the marines to beat some admiral up, or throwing you to the side and throwing some stuff on you and ordering you to stay still. While Luffy loves playing with you and having fun around the Sunny, yeah no Nami ain’t gonna let that happen. Luffy’ll still do anything to entertain you and make you have a fun and stressless childhood, and even if he does forget he’s babysitting sometimes and children are less durable than adults, you still love him like he’s your big brother.

Zoro

I’d imagine Zoro tolerating you and treating you like how he treats Chopper. He’d reluctantly play with you, doing whatever you want, but oftentimes he’s just asleep, and you’d have to wake him up if you wanted to play with him. But if you fall asleep on him or next to him, be sure you’re either going to wake up in his arms or in your bed snugly tucked in. He’d also be the one to randomly find you under a pile of rags and clothes on the ground after getting lost in the battlefield, and pick you up and bring you to the Sunny to safety. Everyone was of course overprotective of you, but Zoro was high up on that list. Lord have mercy on whoever tries to ask you out when you grow older. 

Sanji

Sanji would give you prince/princess treatment 100%, making you extra food each meal with all the nutrients you need to grow strong and healthy, whilst teaching you how to cook and ramble about the All Blue. He had even stopped smoking regularly for your lung’s sake, and the only time you could see him smoke was at night during his shift of watching over the Sunny. He would berate Zoro if ‘he was too rough with you’ or Luffy if ‘he was being too reckless with you’, but then proceed to roundhouse kick anyone he sees getting near you, which definitely was a good influence to your little kid mind. 

Nami

Nami was your big sister to you, always taking you out on shopping sprees, dressing you up in clothes she bought for you. You were always either with her or with Robin when the Sunny docked, as Nami bought anything you wanted to have. She’d also beat and scream the living soul out of any man or person that stares at you for far too long, giving them a good whack with her clima tact. Nami also doesn’t charge you any money or have a tax when you ask for money from her, since she’s buying everything for you willingly anyways. Every night, you, her and Robin would make a little fort in your room, and talk about the day and what you liked and didn’t. Nami was just your big sister you could go to for anything.

Robin

MOMMY ROBIN 100%. You are now her child, and she is your mother. Robin was the one who’d berate Luffy if he did something that could potentially harm you. She’d scold Sanji for smoking in front of you, Zoro if he cussed. She made sure you would have a safe and healthy environment around you as you grew up on deck, seeing that life on ship wasn’t like life on land. She would teach you academics and all that, making sure you would keep up with your academics and won’t slack. When the crew was getting loud and rowdy, she’d always keep you close to her, letting you put your hands around her shoulders as you tried to sleep under the noise, or just feel Robin’s presence next to you. At night, she’d personally tuck you in, read you a bedtime story, give you a little kiss on your forehead before leaving. Robin was, if not, the most overprotective of you amongst the rest. She saw you as a copy of herself when she was younger, and she was determined to give you the childhood she did not have.

[stqrgirlie0]

⋆toxic!theo⋆

now we’ve all hear of theo in a healthy and loving relationship, however in a toxic one? Probably the worst. Things would start off good, you guys would be all over each other, all the time. Everything would be great, unit it wouldn’t. After a few weeks, theo would grow bored and tired of you. He’d talk to other girls right in front of you, on purpose. And then when you’d confront him about it he’d get all defensive, make you think that you’re the one who’s wrong. He’d accuse you of being controlling and that he’s allowed to have ‘friends’ who are female. Despite being emotionally done with you, he wouldn’t break up, because he lovees getting you all riled up to the point where you are so mentally exhausted with his mind games, that you just give up. You give up, and you let him win, again and again and again. You guys would argue every single day, and it would always be in his dorm- because there’d always be something to go confront him about, no where other than his dorm. Leaving a toxic relationship isn’t easy, and when it’s with theo-it’s even harder. All your friends say to get out of it before it’s too late, but you’ve already ran out time. Confrontation doesn’t affect him, all the more reason for you to not leave him just to accept the challenge of making him care- just once. You would be screaming your lungs out and he’d just stand there, with a stupid smirk on his face as watches you pace around the room while shouting, and wonders what your thighs would look like locked around his head, your hands brushing out his fluffy curls and your mouth chanting out his name instead of whatever you were saying right now. Eventually the previous becomes a reality. It was almost like an indirect apology, yet theo had no intention of apologising, he just wanted to keep you hooked on for the next few days until he would do it again. suddenly everything’s fine. Well it’s not, but that’s how he’ll be pretending it is for the next few days. It’s this and his love bombing that made it so hard for you to leave, you hate it but you don’t. It’s a tricky one, but the cycle goes on, and on, and on. And oh my god this man is so stubborn, he cannot and will not change himself for you. During the honeymoon period of your relationship, his smoking didn’t really bother you, he wouldn’t be smoking all the time, maybe once every two or three days (sounds very unlikely I know). But after things got a bit more strained, he’d smoke multiple everyday- maybe even finishing the whole pack in a day. It was horrible. You hated the smell, and the worst thing was that it was everywhere. on nights when you and theo would supposedly ‘make up’, every corner of you would be infested with the scent, lingering on your clothes for the next few days. on the other nights when you’d go back to your dorm, alone and crying, you’d toss and turn in your bed. The scent would arise, from your pillows, duvet, hair, clothes, and it’d remind you of him. Shamefully you’d admit that sometimes the smell mixed with his signature cologne, would automatically drop you to your knees (don’t worry girl, me too), not that he minded. Honestly he loves seeing you from above, it just engraves the power dynamic between you two into his psychotic little brain, inflating his ego more than it already is. god he hated you, but oh how he was in love with you even more, infatuated and obsessed- feeding his desire of seeing you crying your pretty eyes out because of him, shouting with your pretty voice at him, pulling at your pretty hair because of him. Yeah, he’s (very much more than) borderline insane, but girl, as soon as you learn the rules of his games, he’ll wish he never started it.

a/n: guys if your s/o reflects any behaviour above- LEAVE. this is not meant to be normal!! This piece is not in any way condoning toxic behaviour- just a little writing task seeing what I can come up with

#something I started ages ago and decided to finish #YALL IM SORRY BUT IM GON HAVE TO HOLD OFF PART 4 FOR A BIT LONGER #work is killing me and I have easter break to catch up😭😞 #pls take this as a peace offering🙌🏼🙂

[riacte]

some thoughts about some ren ships:

ren/martyn: it's fine and it's cool until springtime comes and there's a melancholy in the tepid, humid air that clings to your skin and clogs up your lungs. and it's really fine until you start planting carrots again in the way he did and you realise all the small moments in your life have been defined by those few months you spent with him. there's a before and an after. his influence has melted so casually in your daily life that you don't realise it. it takes years for the intensity and absence to sink in even though it's always been there. and you finally understand. what you felt on those carrot fields was love. (note the past tense. note that you're a liar.)

ren/doc: words cannot describe what happened in that damned van. they're not husbands, they're FREAKS. they almost wish they did romantic shit like stargazing and going on dates but it's just a lot of being cooped up in the tiny van and the intimacy of repairing each other's prosthetics and lying in the same bed and staring at each other for hours while listening to nothing but the hum of the air conditioner and each other's breathing. because they're "bros".

ren/cleo: they practice "on and off platonic smooching". whatever that even means. physically affectionate to the point of being disgusting. they can stop and start back again at any time but somehow it's healthy. despite all the intense pda and cuddling and shit, no one emerges emotionally devastated. their dms are just spamming heart emojis.

ren/false: he's been lowkey crushing on her for so long he's genuinely forgotten about it. from her point of view, he's been acting this way around her since forever so she's also forgotten about it. they exist in this miraculous and meticulous limbo in which no one crosses a line because they don't think about it. they have the keys to each other's bases and water each other's flowers. one day they wake up and make each other breakfast and look out at their beautiful mess of a shared garden because it's their sixtieth day of accidental cohabitation and go "how did we get here again".

ren/iskall: i know it's long gone and the magic's not here no more and we can't go back to who we were. maybe i'll joke about "wrong person, right time" but that feels like stabbing myself in the chest with a dull knife. i look at you and from the bottom of my heart, i feel love. regardless of what kind of love it is. when i see you smile, i can still feel it against my lips. so maybe we still wear each other's clothes. so maybe you still drink from that ugly mug i got as a gag anniversary gift. so maybe you still consider sending me a love letter as a joke. best friends to lovers to neighbours. jokes and casual flirtation and even more casual declarations of love. i love you and you love me but we both know it's not the same anymore. still, it was good. for a while, we were good.

[lichenes]

Hi!! I want to request for Alcina x reader where R is like lost in the forest getting chased by Lycans and somehow she ends up in castle dimitrescu. It's your decision how their first meeting would go^°^

-🥀

Unfortunately not my greatest work... tried my best tho ;_; Hope you like it lovely <3 And thank you for the ask 🥀!! CW: Alcina beginning to be possesive, reader being chased wc: 376

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Your lungs were burning. Your legs were close to giving out. Tears were streaming down your face, but you had to keep running. You could feel the lycan's breath on your neck. His demonic wheezing creeping closer and closer to you showed you how utterly helpless you were against the creature. 

You prayed whatever god was listening would show their mercy. Your redemption was to come soon enough. 

You smiled widely when you saw the castle on the horizon. Not believing your own luck you ran up to the door and with your last breath cried out for help, banging weakly on the castle doors. 

You must've passed out because the next time you opened your eyes your surroundings weren't ones of rotting houses and  lurking at every corner but distinguished and more… elegant. Definitely way less deadly than a rabid animal. Whatever happened next couldn't be worse than what you'd have experienced outside… right?

Up until now you could hear faint conversations of what you assumed to be maids of the castle, possibly the owners, it was hard for you to tell. You stood up, walking closer to the door to gather some information. The steps that followed the end of the conversation startled you enough to quickly sit back down. 

When the door opened your eyes fell upon who you would come to know as Lady Dimitrescu. She was wearing a white, not too ornate, dress with a gorgeous black rose pinned to her chest. She had to bend down to cross the threshold which made a small bell of excitement start ringing in your head. 

“Hello pet…” She said keeping a healthy distance. “I'm glad you've stumbled onto my doorstep.” She got closer to you. “Alone and…” Alcina put her hand on your cheek. “Scared…” 

You weren't sure if you wanted to lean into her palm or recoil. The goosebumps on your flesh weren't making you any less sure about which option you should choose, so you remained still. “What's your name.?” 

Your voice got stuck in your throat but you managed to squeak out your name. She tested how it felt on her tongue and after saying it she knew, you'd be stuck with her, regardless if you wanted it or not.

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