#so they cling to each other and learn to love each other and learn to grow together. but it takes a long time

[raina-at]

Manipulation

This is a prequel of sorts to this ficlet from last year, but it stands well on its own.

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Sherlock is never sure, right to the bitter end, why she does it. Why she holds on to John so desperately. Why she lies, and manipulates, and plays his insecurities like a fiddle, why she clings to him.

He would like to believe that she loves John. That she loves her daughter. That there is a part of her, however deeply buried beneath self-interest, that wants to have a genuine human connection. 

He’s pretty sure it’s not true. At least it’s not what he saw when he looked at her. When she smirked at him on the Tarmac. 

He remembers what Magnussen said. How John is his pressure point, and he is Mycroft’s. He’s pretty sure that whatever game Mary is playing, he’s as much of a pawn in it as John is. She’s holding John’s heart and his daughter hostage for her own safety, and she knows that having a knife at John Watson’s jugular is the same as having one to Sherlock’s, and Mycroft’s. 

Sherlock hates being manipulated. It’s ironic, because he’s so good at it himself, and he used to do it without a second thought. 

But he’s learned the hard way that anything you gain through manipulation—forgiveness, say, to pick a not so random example—isn’t real. 

Mary, however, has no such compunctions. She shot him in the chest, and from the moment John knew she played the victim of circumstance, and Sherlock went along, ensuring that John believed her story, believed her to have acted out of desperation, not cold calculation. He knew, somewhere deep inside, that she would kill them both if they showed any sign of seeing through the mask. 

But what she doesn’t realise, and learns too late, is that two can play this game. Three, in their case.

She sent John hundreds of texts during the time they were separated. One more manipulative than the other.

Interesting how you’re picking a psychopath who abandoned you over your wife and your child.

Do you care about your child at all?

You’re turning into a deadbeat. Just like your dad.

He doesn’t care about you, John. He never did. He’s telling you what you need to hear because he’s missing having a live-in servant. That’s all you are.

He’ll leave you again. And if you think I’ll take your sorry arse back when he does, you’re delusional.

I’ll take your child and disappear. You’ll never find us.

What she doesn’t know, what she will never discover, is that Sherlock learned from his mistakes.

That he sat John down after that evening at Baker Street, and told him everything about her. About how dangerous she is. That they looked at the memory stick, and discovered that it was empty. That Mycroft supplied them with a full dossier. That every time John texted her back, Sherlock was the one composing the text. That every word she exchanged with Mycroft in the background was shared and analysed. 

That Sherlock trusted John. That he told him the truth. That he finally said, “I love you. I need you. Come home. Bring your child. Let’s be a family. Like we were always supposed to be.”

That so many of her texts reached them as they lay entwined on Sherlock’s bed, talking, listening, kissing, touching, trusting each other. 

That every word John said to her on Christmas was a lie, a script he wrote with Sherlock.

It’s astonishing to Sherlock that she believed the Magnussen story. It makes no sense at all. He would never be stupid enough to risk his, John’s and Mycroft’s safety on a gamble that Magnussen would take a laptop. And Sherlock would never be stupid enough to shoot someone in the head in front of witnesses.

But she stays in her corner, the entire time. Magnussen’s death, his sudden departure, the Moriarty ploy, all the moves they made to scare her into getting sloppy, nothing works on her. She remains in her role as the expectant mother, the reformed criminal, the devoted wife just so glad to have her husband back.

She works on John the entire time. She loves him, she needs him, she wants to start over. She wants him to trust her again—she doesn’t know that he never did—she wants to do counselling. She starts a campaign to get John to agree to move. House in the country, better for their daughter. John sends Sherlock a summary every day, and it’s masterful, the way she plays her cards. John never had the serene, peaceful childhood she says she wants for their daughter. She even offers graciously that he can see Sherlock as much as he wants, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the baby’s schedule. 

How generous, Sherlock thinks, to offer me scraps off your table, to offer me to John like a toy, a hobby, an indulgence. 

And he sees now, with every word she says, with every indulgence she offers as a generous, gracious gift, how she managed to pull the wool over their eyes for such a long time. How she positioned herself as the gracious facilitator, how she played on both his and John’s insecurities, their hurts, their broken trust, until it seemed like she was bringing them together, when in reality, she reinforced John’s self-doubt and his distrust of Sherlock. 

In the end, it’s no use. 

In the end, her time runs out. 

The night John’s daughter is born, they come and they take her away. Sherlock doesn’t know where they’re taking her, and he doesn’t care. He hopes they throw her into a hole and lose the key. He hopes they never see her again. He hopes they can forget her. 

But he knows he can never unlearn the lessons she taught him. They won over her lies by being honest, and they won over her manipulations by trusting each other. The second he stopped manipulating and lying to John, he won. And the second he starts again, he’ll lose. 

That night, they take their daughter home. That night, he makes another vow. One he intends to keep.

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Tags under the cut as usual, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #johnlock fic #may prompts 2024 #manipulation #I hate Mary can you tell ;-)

[fushipurro]

In the Shadows of Love

Chapter 8 - Simplicity

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☆ Content: light angst, dare i say: tooth-rotting fluff

☆ Word Count: 5.8k

With the end of Megumi’s birthday comes Christmas, and you’re set to host it with the Fushiguro family.

It was actually you’re idea, believe it or not. Partially because Toji has nothing in the form of festive décor, and even if he wanted to go out now for some, every shelf in each store has already been wiped clean.

The other reason is your desire to help. Taking care of three kids as a single father is no joke, and it’s a way to repay his kindness towards you.

Following Megumi’s big day, you dug out all the boxes hoarding dust in the back of your closest. It’s not much besides a tree, lights, and various pieces, but it’ll have to do. You have plenty of other ideas in mind to spread the holiday cheer, something you yourself haven’t felt in the years prior to now.

On the eve of the holiday, you invited the kids over for one of your favorite seasonal activities ─ baking sugar cookies.

Regardless of it being the night before Christmas, Toji still has to head in to work later in the evening and could use some time to himself to rest.

You prepared the dough ahead of time, hopefully making today run smoothly. All the kids will need to do is cut shapes and put icing on the cookies, making for a much easier cleanup. Or so you hope.

Your already small kitchen is made worse with you, three kids, and a cat filling the space, but nothing you can’t handle.

“Who wants to play a game?” you ask with some popsicle sticks in hand.

Mai and Megumi cheer in unison, while Maki’s remains stoic, but curious.

The game will decide the order of which the children will have a turn with the dough, helping alleviate any stepping of toes from the lack of room. Each stick has a number written on the end, and all they have to do is pick at random to keep things fair.

Mai will be getting the first shot, followed by Maki, and Megumi last.

You give a quick demonstration on rolling the dough, that way if they want to try, they can when it’s their turn. Mai is eager, with restless hands tapping the countertop. Maki watches intently from the other side of the counter, while Megumi is just happy to have Tsumiki around his feet.

“Now just take one of these… and press it into the dough,” you instruct, using one of the many holiday cutouts you have available.

“Can I pick any?” Mai asks, holding a candy cane shape in one hand, and a star in the other.

“Use whichever ones you’d like, sweetie.” You smile, gesturing to everything laid out. From hats to trees, stockings and presents, you have it all for what is likely any of their first times baking. “There’s plenty of dough to go around so I want you all to do whatever makes you happy. These cookies are for you.”

Mai does hers one at a time, choosing only the shapes she likes rather than how her twin intends to do things.

Maki leaves little space in between each of the cutouts, going at it from an optimal approach. While not blatantly smiling, her focused eyes make it clear enough she’s at least trying to have fun.

In the few days you’ve known the twins, Maki’s been the more difficult of the two to crack. Her relation to Toji is uncanny through more than looks and it’s a shock they’re only cousins. You hope with more time spent together with her, that she’ll open up like Megumi has done with you.

While Megumi hasn’t called you mama again since that day, he has been clinging to you more often than usual. Seeing Yuji and Yuki together may have triggered something for Megumi or made him realize he wants a bond like that with you.

You’re hopeful he’ll say it again when he’s ready.

Being a mother wasn’t something you were always able to envision for your future, especially after being told by a dozen doctors it wouldn’t be possible.

You learned early on not to have dreams about it.

Adoption exists and although you’re open to the idea, finding someone that will except you for everything you are proves more than difficult.

Maki finishes her batch, stepping away from the counter. Megumi grabs at the hem of your shirt in order to get your attention. “My turn?”

“It is, are you ready?” He nods, and you pick him up and onto the stool so he’s able to reach the dough.

As soon as his eyes land on the reindeer cutout, he goes right for it without hesitation. Megumi has some difficulty pressing the cutout down due to his arms not fully able to reach.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Maki chides, a closed fist propping her head up on the counter.

“Am not,” he refutes, but Maki starts pointing to his unintentional error.

“Look, you’re missing a leg and that spot’s too thin.”

Megumi pouts. “So?”

As he shakes his hand from side to side to separate the shape from the rest of the dough, he ends up losing more than just a leg in the process.

“It’s messed up,” Maki bluntly points out, and it’s evident Megumi’s becoming frustrated.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you intervene before things get worse.

What even is the right way to scold someone else’s child? You end up going for a light approach just to be safe, hoping it works out.

“Look here.” You take the botched reindeer into your hands with the rest of the dough, rolling it back into a ball. With the rolling pin in your hands this time, you stretch the dough out properly, ensuring all sides are an even size. “If you make a mistake, we can always fix it. It’s no trouble at all.”

Megumi makes another attempt, looking to you for approval before pushing the cutter down. This time he manages to get a proper shape out of it, his eyes lighting up with joy that washes all the stress away.

“Good job!” you say while clapping, forgetting that your hands are coated in flour. It sends a cloud of white dust right into your face, sticking to your hair. The three start laughing and then trying to mimic you for fun.

So much for mess free baking, but who cares so long as they get to enjoy themselves.

Once the kids all get the hang of what to do, the rest runs smooth and easy. Megumi does however insist that his cookies must be reindeer shaped. The next time you do this with him, you’re going to have to look into some more animal cutouts.

The fact you’re even thinking about a second Christmas with the Fushiguros brings a warm feeling to your heart.

“Alright Maki, this will be the last batch, so make it count,” you tell her, and she’s silent for a moment. You almost believe she’s having trouble deciding what shape to use which is odd given how confident she was earlier.

She suddenly declares, “Megumi can have my turn.”

“Really?” He replies, shocked by her words. It surprises even you, but you guess it’s her way of apologizing.

Maki nods her head, stepping away from the counter to make room for Megumi.

“That’s very kind of you, Maki.” You smile to her, causing a rosy tint to appear on her cheeks. “Now ’Gumi, what do we say?”

“Thank you, Maki!”

Instead of going for the reindeer as expected, he chooses a gingerbread man. Not only that, but Megumi then starts reaching for Maki’s hand.

“Together.”

“You want me to help?” she questions, looking as shocked as he did just seconds ago. Megumi nods his head, further deepening her blush. “F-fine! But only ‘cause it was my turn before.”

You both know that’s not true.

With the last of the cookies ready to go in the oven, you help clean off all their tiny hands before sending them off to the couch with some snacks as a reward for their hard work.

To pass the time until the next step of this process, they decide on watching Santa Buddies first and foremost, leaving you to handle all the oven work. The movie gives you plenty of time to make sure everything’s perfect and cleaned up.

When all is said and done, and the credits are rolling, you bring the kids back into the kitchen for the best part of this whole thing ─ decorating.

You’ve already laid out several bowls filled with a combination of powdered sugar and milk, creating the perfect icing. All that’s left now is for each of the kids to add drops of food coloring, the task you’ve always enjoyed the most as an artist.

They each have their own plate of cookies to decorate, evenly distributed so no competition can come of it. It doesn’t stop them from trying to make the best decorated cookie.

Maki shoots for whatever works, regardless of whether that means Santa gets a blue hat instead of red. Mai’s cookies are color coordinated as intended, and surprisingly is kept within clean edges.

As for Megumi well… he’s having fun, that’s for sure. His reindeer appear straight out of My Little Pony with rainbows or a variety of patterns, some even having Rudolph’s red nose.

Everything except for the gingerbread shapes he’s refusing anyone to see until he’s done.

In the meantime, you’re pulled away from the group at the sound of your door, opening it to an interesting sight.

“Toji? Or should I say Santa?” you tease.

He enters your home wearing the signature hat on top of his usual gray sweatpants, black shirt combo.

“Ho, ho.” He deadpans, playfully shaking his head with a small smile. Toji walks over to the kids, peering over their shoulders. “What do we have here?”

“No peeking!” Megumi shouts at his father while trying to cover his work in progress.

“Okay, okay, sheesh.” Toji raises his hands defensively, backing off. He then turns to you, leaning against your fridge with arms crossed. “Looks like you’ve been havin’ fun.” He gestures to your hands. “Who’d you murder without me?”

It’s only then you realize how stained your hands are in red. “Oh,” you chuckle, “We got a bit carried away with the food coloring is all.”

Toji hums, unconvinced. “Is that so? Well, you better hope I don’t see your name come up on the naughty list then.” He winks.

“Hey, I’m more than happy to be given rocks as gifts ─ even coal! I’m not picky.”

“Sweetheart, you deserve diamonds, not coal,” he scoffs, putting you at a loss for words.

If one were to put rose or cherry quartz next to your face, they wouldn’t find a difference between the two.

Toji yawns, cracking his neck. “Thanks for doing all this so I could sleep, I appreciate it.” He rolls his shoulders and you’re nearly mesmerized by muscles of his arms flexing. A few more pops sound from his back.

“Y-yeah, no worries.” You swallow, realizing your throat’s gone dry. “I’m happy to help.”

“They’ve been good for you, I hope?” Toji asks, swiping one of the cookies from Maki’s plate. She doesn’t say anything in response except for a harsh glare he ignores.

Earlier issues aside, you have no complaints. Some kids would’ve turned your kitchen into a winter wonderland with flour or start a food fight with dough, but not these three.

“The best,” you reply, your words making him gleam.

Toji takes a bite of the cookie, and his eyes widen as he chews. “These are good,” he says in between bites. “What’d you put in them, crack?” You stare at him, appalled for having no filter, even in front of children.

“No, we put love in them,” Megumi tells him, using the phrase you said earlier when discussing the magic of baking.

“Did you now?” Toji smirks, side-eyeing you.

“It’s better than what you’re suggesting I’m feeding these kids.” You know he’s only teasing in his attempt to compliment you, but you’ve gotten comfortable joking back at him like this.

“You gotta admit, they’re equally addicting,” he counters, yet, he does have a point.

For better or worse, love makes you dependent, igniting a deeper craving for more. Insatiable, and your favorite drug. There is no better high than the one you get from someone who you deem your everything in life.

“Done!” Megumi cheers, raising his arms joyfully.

You and Toji come up from behind him, and the twins at either side. There’s a total of five gingerbread men lined up, each taking after everyone in the room. One of the reindeer even resembles Tsumiki in a way, if she were a colorful cervine.

He used green icing to distinguish Maki and Mai by their hair, and somehow got a darker shade when you weren’t looking for Toji and his own gingerbread hair. Their eyes are each their respective colors of green and blue, something you wonder is a trait Megumi got from his mother.

The final cookie then resembles you, from your hair to your eyes, and even the color of clothes you have on.

“Aww, ‘Gumi, these are so cute!” You hug the boy, and his expression turns bashful. “They’re so pretty, I don’t know how I’m gonna eat them now.”

His voice comes at a whisper, “I made family.”

Forget your infatuation with Toji, Megumi has stolen your heart.

“Nice work, Megs,” Toji praises, ruffling his hair before doing the same to the twins. “You too, girls.” They both look happy as well, with a rare, subtle smile appearing on Maki’s face.

When you think about all the cartoons you’ve watched as a child with episodes about Christmas lasting forever and what not, you can’t blame those who want such things.

You love this family, and if every day could feel like today, then maybe it’s worth living to the next.

The rest of the evening is spent gathered around the TV to enjoy another holiday classic, The Nightmare Before Christmas. The fresh sugar cookies taste better than you remembered and made for an excellent treat while waiting on dinner, something else you all enjoy together.

Like family.

The next morning, Megumi is up bright and early knocking on your door, Toji and the twins right behind him.

“Merry Christmas!” they greet in unison, with Megumi running up to hug you.

“Come in, come in!” You wave your hand while parting your door. “I just finished making breakfast.”

Truth be told, you were up early for once in preparation. It was hard to sleep last night, almost like you were a child again with your outfit of the day folded at the foot of your bed, ready to go.

For breakfast, you went with the tradition of cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, monkey bread, fruit, and whatever else you thought would be good. It seems like a lot, but it all comes together quickly and is eaten just as fast by kids who want to unwrap presents already.

You help get the kids seated, filling their plates as well as Toji’s all nice and full, with plenty of extras. He’s off putting gifts below your tree while you do so. With Tsumiki around, it’s a miracle it’s still standing despite her best efforts at making it her designated cat tower.

Toji returns to the table, eyeing everyone’s suspiciously full plates in comparison to yours. “Is that gonna be enough for you?” Toji asks, sitting down.

“Oh, this is plenty,” you tell him dismissively. Even if it’s not, you want to make sure everyone else gets their fill, prioritizing their needs over yours.

“Please, that’s too little.” Toji holds his plate over yours, brushing some of the food off.

“You don’t have to, I’m fine, I promise!” you say, but he doesn’t let up until you have a larger portion than him.

“Eat what you can, I can always finish what’s left.” His words are reassuring, but you hope he’s not trying to hold back for your sake. Ironic.

You mutter your thanks as you begin eating. You’re happy to see the kids all excited ─ even Maki beneath her stoic expression.

Toji on the other hand… well, you know that look of exhaustion anywhere.

It’s likely given his graveyard hours that he hasn’t had a moment of rest since the day prior but is pushing through unbothered.

Three kids are no joke. It’s a lot to shoulder, even with your help. It’s admirable how self-sacrificing he can be for his family, and you hope he knows how good a father he is.

You end up purposely leaving extras on your plate for him.

After breakfast, you all gather into the living room for the main event. Toji takes up his usual spot in the corner on the sofa, and Tsumiki immediately gets up to join him on his lap, purring loud enough for everyone to hear.

“She really likes you, ya know,” you say to him while handing the kids some presents.

Tsumiki trills when he scratches the top of her head. “More than you?” he teases with a grin to match.

“Oh please, let’s not go that far.” You roll your eyes playfully. “I’m practically her mother, she’ll always be my little girl.”

“Whatever you say Ma, but this” ─ Toji points a finger down at your cat ─ “is pretty convincin’ to me,” he chuckles.

There’s hardly a second in between for you to register the new nickname before the kids are gasping at their presents.

“You got me a camera!?” Mai squeals with joy, turning the box over onto all its sides to see. You had gifted her a polaroid in purple ─ her favorite color ─ figuring she’d enjoy it for all her modeling and acting dreams.

Maki took some more thought before you eventually settled on a skateboard. Another commonality between her and Toji is their shared love for athletics, so rather than getting her a ball or something she’d need a whole setup for, she can take this one on the go wherever.

You found one that features a red dragon painted across the deck with clouds surrounding the beast. The grip tape has some scales cut out to match the aesthetic, with black wheels to tie it all in. The overall style is something straight out of Hokusai’s famed works.

She holds the board up to the light to get a better look, and a toothy smile appears on her face. “Awesome…” she mutters.

For Megumi, you got him new games for his equally new console. All of which feature animals one way or another, with titles such as Okami or World of Zoo. Anything to fuel his passion for animals.

You won’t lie, none of these gifts were cheap and you’ll be begging Kento for more work soon but seeing the kids without a care in the world make it worth every penny.

Near the end of all the presents, you pull out the last gift tucked neatly back behind the tree. It’s wrapped in the same paper as all the rest ─ cats and dogs with Santa hats and other festive items ─ but there’s no name written anywhere.

“Who’s this for?” you ask Toji, raising the box up for him to see. Megumi’s eyes go wide as if he just remembered something.

“It’s for you,” he starts, “And before you say anything, Megs helped me pick it out.” Toji knew without guessing you were already planning your protest in your head. You can’t say refuse now if Megumi has some involvement.

You may have grown to not expect gifts or the like, but it certainly feels nice when you do receive something for once; that someone cares enough to bother getting you something.

“Did you now?” you muse, looking to the boy now appearing shy after being called out by his father.

You undo the glittery bow and the wrapping paper that follows. Beneath it is a velvet lined box containing a necklace in your go-to metal. It’s the perfect length, dainty as well ─ fashioned with numerous dangling stars that catch the light like a prism would.

“This is beautiful, guys… seriously, thank you both.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you think you may just start crying.

Megumi must’ve noticed, because he gets right up and stands in front of you. “Do you like it?” He’s scared you’ll say no because why else would your eyes be glossed over?

“Like it? Sweetie, I love it!” You pull him into a tight hug. Megumi cranes his neck around like an owl to Toji who’s beaming at him with a look of pride.

The necklace is a gift from them to you, a reminder of their presence in your life. You can look up at the night sky all you want, but now you know there are stars down here if you only look to your side.

“Come here, I’ll put it on you.” Toji beckons you with the curl of his finger.

You stand up from your spot on the floor, ruffling Megumi’s hair on your way to Toji’s side. You hold your hair up and off to the side for him, and even though you know it’s coming, you can’t help but react to his touch.

His fingers glide around your throat causing a sharp intake of air. He clasps the metal right over a sweet spot that ignites goosebumps down your neck. His warm breath fans your nape, sending that heat straight to your core.

“Turn around, let’s see.”

You’re even closer to Toji than you expected, causing your heartbeat to quicken like reindeer dancing on the rooftop.

His eyes drift from your necklace ─ that piece of him to you ─ and up to your still glistening eyes that seem to twinkle with emotion. When they move to settle back down, they stop over your lips. You don’t even realize you’ve parted them.

A silent invitation that expresses your burning desire.

You look to his and it’s as if you’re now bound by a force similar to gravity, like binary stars in the shape of hearts. All you can do is let yourself be pulled in.

“Snow!” Megumi’s shout interrupts the near stellar collision. He comes bounding between you both, ignorant to what just interrupted.

You and Toji separate, a feeling of embarrassment washing over you.

“Can we play outside, please?” Megumi asks with the best puppy dog eyes he’s able to muster.

And how can you say no to that?

Toji brings a hand up to his neck and exhales. “Only if you bundle up, I don’t need sick kids running around.”

All they needed to hear were the first few words before they’re off to the front door in a hurry. Toji gets up to follow, sparing a glance over his shoulder. “You coming?”

You feel his gaze all over yourself, leaving fire in its wake. You’re avoiding his face, too caught up in your own world.

You almost kissed.

It would’ve been your first real kiss with someone you admire too. You can’t help but feel disappointed.

Toji clears his throat to get your attention again.

“Oh ─ yeah, I’ll go and get ready now!” you tell him, and he makes an amused snort before leaving.

Looking around in his absence, you already miss the noise. It blurs any thoughts you might have in your mind, keeping you grounded in yourself. You’re going to be kept busy either way by the mess of things; torn paper all over the floor, dishes to clean… but that’s a task for later.

When was the last time you played in the snow without a care?

It’s Christmas. Have some fun.

You do still dump any trash Tsumiki could get into. No need for any more vet visits.

Toji and the kids are all back at your door minutes later, their eagerness as evident as rainbows cutting across blue skies with the promise of gold. A rare sight in the wintery season.

But there’s one more gift before you all head out into the cold.

“Do you mind closing your eyes for one second?” Your question posed towards Toji.

He quirks his brow but still does as you ask. “What’s this about?”

“You’ll see,” you reply, shifting your hands to give him his gift. “Alright, you can open them now.”

Toji could feel you place something around his neck, tying it into place with a gentle touch. He lifts his hands up to inspect, looking down at the simple, yet quality wool scarf.

It holds no defining pattern in the threading, instead presenting a solid shade of green. The hue is close to what you’d see on forest leaves bathed in shadows under the moon. Like two pools of jade, with onyx in the center.

His eyes.

“Can’t have you catching a cold either out there,” you chuckle, admittedly with a nervous undertone.

Shopping for kids is easy when the possibilities are seemingly endless as they grow in life. For adults, it’s all about finding smaller, more meaningful gifts they can appreciate day-to-day.

And he loves yours.

You know this when Toji’s arms wrap around your body, bringing you flush against his chest. His heartbeat throbs like yours did earlier ─ hooves pounding on snowy tiles. You close your eyes to embrace the feeling of his warmth. If this took place outside, you’d surely find a perfect circle melted in the snow around your shared forms.

“Thank you,” he says; simple, like the scarf, but the thought behind both express more than what can be made into words.

It’s all you need.

The end of the rainbow may as well be at your feet.

Several more snow days follow.

Several more days of peace beneath skies painted in violet and amber. The golden hues of the setting sun bring the snow alive ─ like fire encased by an endless glacier as far as the eye can see.

Toji wears the scarf every time he goes outside, be it work or play. Exhaustion weighs heavier on his features as the days go on, though he refuses to let it show.

With Megumi and the twins around, you eventually find out he’s been sleeping on the couch so the three can share the bed all night. It is a one-bedroom apartment after all.

It wasn’t so much a problem when Megumi was away in school during the times Toji needed to sleep, but Megumi being home each day now on holiday and Toji having to care for two more on top is taking its toll.

He would never vocalize this discomfort, not wanting to bring worry to the kids. It only makes you want help him more to lighten the burden off his shoulders.

It’s what friends do; you tell him whenever he tries to shy away and claim he’s fine. It’s exactly what you would do too if you were in his place.

A voice in your mind tells you that it’s playing house at best, the desire for something deeper. It’s a relishing feeling to be relied on by your crush, and you crave the comfort it brings.

“Aren’t you up early?” Toji says in lieu of a greeting. It’s another day of you offering your free time. The only difference is that today is a special day.

His special day.

“Kids are still sleeping, but you’re welcome to hang out,” he says with a gruff voice, yawning after.

You think sleep is a nice look for him, if only under better circumstances.

“I can watch them for you if you have any plans today,” you tell him.

Be it friends or a special someone, none of it matters at the end of the day if you can still be something to him.

Something is better than nothing, despite the close call of a kiss.

It doesn’t feel real that it almost happened. You hope it wasn’t a visage crafted through heart-shaped eyes, but insecurities are ever present in your mind.

Either way, Toji chose to stay here with you.

He could’ve spent his day catching up on his sleep while you handled everything, but instead he followed you around like a stray cat would. Though in the case of Toji, a panther makes for a better comparison.

Large, fierce, and skilled in many ways but with a soft spot at their core others tend to forget.

Take tigers for example. If a mother were to pass away early, a cub’s father will step in to raise them. Some do it from afar, offering silent protection from harm, or leading their young to meals. In some cases, they remain glued at the hip, spending day and night till their cub is of age.

You wonder if raven-haired jaguars might act the same, but isn’t it obvious?

As tired as he was, he never let it get in the way. The five of you spent some time playing outside, where Toji became a one-man army in a snowball fight against you and the kids. With a smirk plastered on his face, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Victory was a futile effort, but the kids tried again and again until their energy drained away. Toji let them win in the end, and they were quick happy to bury him in snowballs after. Luckily, they all chose to go to bed early after dinner, giving you and Toji some time for yourself before his next shift.

What better time to celebrate?

You crept towards the sofa with a cupcake in hand. You thought a sheet cake might’ve been too much, so you went with a more simple treat. With Toji being a fan of chocolate flavors, you decided to make one special with chocolate for the base, icing, and even some frozen bark wedged on top around the solely lit green candle at the center.

“Happy Birthday, Toji.”

Your necklace dances when you come into view, the amber reflections of the flames catching his eye. It’s almost enough for him to forget that he’s the star of this show when a galaxy stands before him.

His silence has you questioning whether you misjudged his preferences. “If you don’t like the flavor, I’ve made plenty more so please–“

“It’s perfect,” he says, hands engulfing your own to accept the offering. You find it hard to pull away, his warmth easily outshining the candle.

You sit at his side, and with one quick huff, the flame is gone.

“Did you even make a wish?” you tease.

“Don’t need to,” he says, mirth flickering across his features. His eyes whisper a thousand unspoken words.

Toji barely can get a bite out of the cupcake before you’re pushing a present towards him to take. “What’s this?” he asks, placing the dessert down.

You hand him a sleek black box, topped with a solid green bow. “Open it and see.”

With only nine days to prep for his birthday, finding something last minute proved to be a challenge. It was one you were more than willing to undergo just to see him smile.

The initial curiosity turns to surprise, then crests into a soft look of joy. Gentle; genuine.

The box contains a silver chain leading down to a one-of-a-kind piece of malachite encircled by the same sterling metal. A pool of green with midnight flecks. Leaves loved by moonlight.

“Do you like it?” Worry laces your words as you wait for his approval.

He holds the box out for you to take. “Put it on for me and let’s see.”

You free the chain, bringing it up around his neck. The stone has some weight to it ─ a reminder of its presence and meaning as it hangs close to his heart.

“Well?” Toji turns to face you again, one eyebrow raised in anticipation.

“It’s perfect,” you say, mimicking his words. Simple, but only at its surface.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He smiles.

Your eyes raise from the gem to that smile. There’s no arrogance or amusement, only a gentle tug of adoration. The tethers of an unseen force pull at you again.

Golden hues spill into the room ─ more vibrant than before ─ but easily eclipsed by his body before you.

It’s perfect, for what other light could you possibly desire? Violet shadows are as much his color as the greenery of trees on a midnight walk. If you have him by your side, you’ll never lose your way in the dark.

“Can I?” he asks quietly, one hand smoothing along your jaw. You find yourself leaning his touch, nodding against his palm.

Toji moves with confidence ─ hunger even, when his lips connect with yours. A stellar collision, with no others stars to stop its fate.

Sweetness coats his lips from the residual chocolate, his taste better than any dessert. It ignites a sensation deep in your body that leaves you craving more. An insatiable thirst, and all you needed was one to get you hooked.

When he pulls away, you can’t help but lean forward to follow, missing that lifeline of affection already. Toji’s laugh rumbles deeply and thick, like he’s fresh out of bed.

He kisses you again, forcing you backwards until his weight becomes a blanket over you. The burning feeling from before only grows stronger, like wildfire in need of relief but all you truly want is equivalent to fuel.

“Toji–“

His head falls deeply into the side of your neck, and you feel him relax. From the gentle breaths against your skin, you realize that he’s fallen asleep.

A kiss from Prince Charming may wake a sleeping princess, but from you to your knight in shining armor, it offers peace and serenity.

You let him stay like this. A sense of pride filling you that Toji was comfortable enough in the first place to let himself be so vulnerable with you.

Your hand moves through his hair lovingly, in a way one would pet a cat. He sighs in his sleep, arms coiling in a near possessive manner. You think maybe you aren’t alone with your desire for affection.

And before you know it, you’re following after him.

For the first time in countless nights, your thoughts are quiet as could be, silenced by the presence and warmth that clings you better than any blanket could.

When you come to next, it’s only you who remains.

Toji’s nowhere to be seen, his body replaced by a thick throw. It’s heavy ─ securing, but at the same time, it isn’t him.

One of his pillows now props your head up, providing you his scent at the very least. It flows around you in a way that makes you think he hasn’t even left. The smell is comforting, alluring, and all Toji.

On the table next to you is a note weighed down with one green candle, the letter containing an apology for leaving so soon. It’s too bad he had work otherwise he’d still be here, but you’re glad you got to spend this time with him.

Toji may not care for his birthday, deeming it just another day on the calendar of life, but this year was different.

You made certain of that.

☆ Notes: read a tojikuna fic the other day called “in lieu of” (which I highly recommend btw) and was inspired to try and more metaphors to my work. Idk how good they came out cause honestly I question whether they actually make sense or if I’m just talking out of my ass. Dialogue is hard enough as if for me being autistic wondering if it’s stuff others would say or just me/cringe/lacking/etc. That aside, I hope you guys enjoyed this peaceful chapter cause things are gonna ramp up soon :)

Please don’t be afraid to comment or shoot me an ask about anything really, I love to yap!!! it helps keep me going especially when I have thoughts about quitting whenever I’m feeling insecure about my writing

#jjk #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen #toji zenin #jjk au #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x female reader #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen toji #megumi fushiguro #maki zenin #mai zenin #jujutsu kaisen x reader #model!reader

[horrorknife]

babe, this wouldn't be the first time it will not be the last time there's no parasol that could shelter this weather

#chainshipping #saw #adam faulkner stanheight #lawrence gordon #saw 2004 #saw franchise #saw movie #song is oil and water by incubus #'chainshipping is a healthy relationship' EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER #post bathroom theywould be the most dysfunctional and horrible couple and i think thats awesome and sexy of them. #adam is spiteful and angry and lawrence is obstinate and bitchy. they live in two extremely different worlds #i just wish more ppl would willingly explore the wildly antagonistic nature of their relationship bc its intoxicating to me #to me they are like insanely possessive of each other but they have these idealized versions of one another that dont fully live up to the #person in their head #they are riddled with problems and issues but at the root of it all they care for each other and understand each other in a way no one else #ever will #so they cling to each other and learn to love each other and learn to grow together. but it takes a long time #and akgdmfglf i have such a Specific Vision for apprentice adam in my head like . most of my chainshipping ideas involve apprentice adam bc #i just love the concept too much #anyway apprentice chainshipping goes absolutely crazy. you should try it sometime #if youve read all these tags im kissing you with tongue. #my art

[meredithbeckham]

i will meet you on another planet if the plans change

be on your own way, daughter.

#the100edit #the 100 #bellamy x octavia #bellamyblakeedit #octaviablakeedit #blake siblings #* #octavia and bellamy going from all the other has in the world #and each in their own ways fighting that and clinging to it in equal measure #to octavia choosing peace and her family on skyring with the desperate hope that one day she will see bellamy again #and the faith that if nothing else he will know she was happy and know what he meant to her and that will bring him peace #bellamy letting octavia go in s1 even though it goes against everything he is and trusting he will see her again #how desperate each of them are at the end of s4 to see each other again and begin to repair what was so horribly damaged #bellamy losing octavia just when he had her again #the parallels in this relationship the extremes #the letting each other go and finding each other again #learning to love and extend that fierce blake loyalty to other people and each of them being better for it #how even still there is always a part of them reserved for the other and they can never be truly free of each other #there's just nothing like them you know????

[dykedivorce]

if any other bitch in konoha had been gay apart from sasuke none of this would have happened to my son naruto.

#pussy from the turbotron edgelord 3000 and his whole life went up in flame. NOT worth it #no but fr it's insane how he bamboozled every fan into thinking he was so interesting and cool and badass when . #at the point im at in shippuden hes by far the least interesting of the main characters. one track mind (vengeance) and no depth beyond that #like the other characters rn : sakura coming in to her own ; finding her path and her strength + sharing a connection so deep with naruto #over their common loss that they both just Know although they absolutely cant talk about it #yamato: the only survivor of orochimaru's monstrous experiments on children; kakashi's stand in thats so different from kakashi #it makes you wonder what it would have been like with him as their teacher from the start; #a mystery thats clearly trying his best but whose mission truly is A Lot #SAI: A BRAINWASHED SPY A PAWN FOR A SECRET ORGANISATION WHO CLINGS TO HIS HUMANITY NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES HES BEEN PUNISHED FOR IT #WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH NARUTO FOR MAKING HIM REALIZE HOW DEEP THINGS COULD BE FELT AND HOW DEEP RELATIONSHIPS COULD RUN #WHO HAS BEEN DRAWING A BOOK FOR HIS DEAD BROTHER FOR YEARS EVEN IF HE'S FORGOTTEN WHAT HIS BROTHER LOOKS LIKE #WHO DECIDED TO SPARE SASUKE BECAUSE HE'S LOVED. WHO JUST WANTS TO LEARN HOW TO LIVE A HUMAN LIFE. #MOST AUTISTIC CODED CHARACTER OF ALL TIMES HAS NEVER SUCCESSFULLY MASKED A DAY IN HIS LIFE. #sasuke: sasuke #anyway. im not touching on naruto because i could be here for days #BUT while sasuke on his own so far is very whatever. the narusasu dynamic is truly one for the ages #bc i just saw the ep where sasuke manages to see kyuubi inside naruto and wooshes him away and it's very like. #oh so hes literally seeing naruto's demons and banishing them even as hes telling naruto they dont matter to each other anymore. #oh ok cool cool cool cool this feels normal and not something to obsess over #jesus christ why am i typing all this. who here cares #naruto thoughts

[ardate]

Came home from my futuristic LARP and I'm not getting over it, emotions are still brewing so loud. Wish I could go back, and had had more time,,

#misc #just me rambling #larp #you don't understand i'm going thru it #my character was a big capitalist asshole with a softer side #and i grew attached to this jerk. playing out his subtle evolution was so satisfying #and their relationships with the other characters were so fun to play out #especially their hate and deep love with the outspoken anti-capitalist of the spaceship #literally everything was seperating them but they still fell for each other somehow. and somehow it was good #when you're clinging to life in a stranded dying ship in outer space and learn to let go of the illusion of control

[saturnsorbits]

Thinking about sleeping with Gojo because it’s the only way either of you can be close to Geto anymore…

#You can almost see it sometimes… #In the way Gojo smiles… Something casual and laid back; a cry so far from who he is that there’s no question who he learned it from. #Or the way he says your name: soft; with rounded consonants that make you squeeze shut your eyes and think of another. #You know he does it too… #See’s the subtlety of Geto’s politeness’ in your tone and tries to remember- #clinging onto the tiny pieces of the man who abandoned you both. #He’s still there - you see… #Scattered between you in the way you are… #So ingrained in who you’ve become that sometimes it’s hard to distinguish… #Hard to tell he’s gone at all. #But he is… #Gone. #And all you have left is the bruises of his love and the subtle flickers of a person you no longer know - #reflected in someone who isn’t him. #You don’t love each other - Gojo and you… #But what choice do either of you have

[shisurus]

this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.

as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.

and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.

but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.

so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.

but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.

so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.

#im listening to fmab sad soundtrack while writing this im gonna die actually #dungeon meshi #laios touden #falin touden

[temporarytemporal]

cling to me

I know I said I was going to distance myself from this piece of media because of all of its terrible connections, but these two characters seem to have taken root in a permanent place in my heart, and I can't let them go.

Anyway, here's some character design notes below the cut for the one person out there who's obsessed with these characters as much as me.

Early DSMP: the era of childhood innocence

Bandanas: They sport each other’s bandana’s (they’re hidden in the design for every era). I love character designs with complementary colors (and I love how red and green are also cranboo’s colors)

Disks: Early on, cat and mellohi represent the peaceful moments ctommy shared with his favorite people, but they went on to be a symbol of victory and independence from the people who have hurt him.

Flowers: Ctubbo collects flowers and tries to memorize the meanings and symbolism tied to each type of flower. He also collects them for his bees.

L’manberg: the era where children became soldiers

Horns: Ctubbo’s horns start to grow in here.

Pogtopia: the era of an exile and a secretary of state / spy

You can tell I joined the fandom at the end of this era because I don’t have many notes here or for the l’manberg era.

Exile: the era of an exile once again and and a president too young

Hair: Ctommy’s hair starts to grow longer as he neglects taking care of himself.

Clothes: Ctommy’s clothes are tattered; one shoe is destroyed and he took to wearing cw-lbur’s (f-ck ccw-lbur btw!!) trench coat.

Bandages: Ctubbo’s wrapped in bandages from his recently earned firework burns. He’s gone blind in his right eye, and he’s missing the ring and pinkie finger on his right hand.

Compasses: They share their matching ‘your tommy’ and ‘your tubbo’ compasses

Hog Hunt: the era where one sought to kill the blood god while the other sought refuge there

Stolen goods: Ctommy’s has his antarctic empire outfit plus all the goods he stole from ctechno like the turtle helmet, golden apples, and the axe of peace.

Bedrock: Ctommy wears his counterpart piece matching techno’s from his ear.

Prosthetic: Ctommy’s right foot had to be amputated after he loses it to frostbite in the trek to cemeraldduo’s cabin. Ctechno gives him a simple prosthetic.

Disc Finale: the era of mended relationships and a final stand

Headband: Ctommy begins to wear a devil headband to fit in more, as he’s one of the few humans on the server. The devil horns were chosen to resemble ceryn’s real ones.

Patchwork: Ctommy learns to sew, and he fixes his tattered clothes from exile.

Post Revival:

Devil horns: Ctommy’s devil horns (plus a tail) become real after revival, and he gets a white streak in his hair.

Prime cross: The bad things that have happened to them both that they survived strengthen ctommy’s faith in prime, whereas they weaken ctubbo’s faith.

Sweater: Ctommy makes himself a sweater from friend’s wool.

Mechanical inventions: Ctubbo pursues his passion for engineering more as he makes mechanical bee drones and studies nuclear physics. He also makes himself prosthetic fingers, and he upgrades ctommy’s prosthetic foot.

Marriage ring: Ctubbo marries cranboo platonically and wears the ring on his horn. He also founds snowchester so he can have a place to protect his loved ones and raise his son. He grows out his hair to avoid eye contact for cranboo and to cover his scars.

Body type: Ctubbo gets chubbier and gains some muscle as he gets a bit happier in life.

Post DSMP:

The prison break and everything after it never happened. These are my OCs, and I make the rules because every actor/writer who played a part in their creation either abandoned them or turned out to be a terrible person. Cbenchtrio live happily ever after and begin their journey of healing while cdream rots in prison forever.

#dsmp #ctommy #ctubbo #tempo art

[eilidh-eternal]

“Single mom x Johnny” this, “single mom x Simon” that.

I want single dad Johnny/Simon and the single reader next door who is helplessly in love with them and their kid.

18+ MDNI

You never wanted kids. You’re convinced you would turn out to be just like your parents. That’s probably why you don’t have a ring on your finger or any sort of boyfriend or partner to speak of.

You never wanted kids.

Until Johnny goddamn MacTavish.

You’re in love with the man who always walks his little girl to school every morning, crooked pigtails flouncing with each too-big step she takes to keep stride with his long legs.

Madly in love with the way he smiles down at the tiny girl, even tinier hand held firmly in his as she dodges cracks in the pavement, and the shriek of her laughter when he lifts her by the arm, swinging her through the air to the next chunk of concrete.

Hopelessly in love with the broad shoulders he hoists her up on, little legs swinging with arms wrapped tightly around his neck and her chin resting on top of his head, blowing stray hairs of an overgrown mohawk out of her face.

Dangerously in love with the way he lets her cling to his front when it rains, like a little koala wrapped around this tree of a man who holds an umbrella in one hand and has a firm hold on her with the other.

Happy. He looks so happy with her. Like she’s the sun he orbits; the star that lights up his world.

You’re just a comet who occasionally passes them by.

——

Johnny never thought he would be doing this alone.

He’s so far out of his depth. Never even had the chance to dip his toe in the water before he was shoved into the churning ocean.

He still remembers every life-altering detail of that day. The phone call after the 16 hour flight back to base. The frantic drive to the hospital. The impossibly tiny, wailing little girl, all alone in the social workers office.

She’s all he has left of her. Of them.

His best friend. His partner in crime, for more years than he can remember. The person who understood better than anyone who he is, saw him through his darkest moments, and loved him with her whole heart.

Gone.

But he smiles for her. Because of her. Isobel is the light in the abysmal darkness that he’s drowning in. The buoy he clings to when he can no longer hold his head above the surface. She’s everything. His past, his present, and his future. And she’s sitting at the table refusing to eat her dinner.

“’s not right.” Her little nose scrunches, turns up at the meal, and she pushes the bright green plastic away, matching miniature fork sent skittering across the table by the force of it

Johnny lowers his own fork and swallows his frustration with a sigh. “‘s yer favorite. Wha’s wrong with it? ”

Her brows knit together as she studies the tray, little creases forming between them and she slumps in her booster seat. “Mommy didn’t make it.”

No. She didn’t.

Johnny was never the cook in the family. That was all her. She’d chased him out of the kitchen after he’d burnt one of her expensive pans and he was thus forth relegated to chopping, and occasionally peeling, duties.

“I know.” His chair scrapes against the floor when he pushes back from the table, moving to crouch down where she sits beside him so that he’s at eye level with her, and he pulls the fork and tray back towards her. “But mommy wouldnae want ye to go to bed hungry, aye?”

“I wan’ somethin’ else.” He watches her little bottom lip jut out, brows still pinched and face twisting into a stubborn pout.

“Wha’d’ye want?”

“Quesadilla.” She drags out the ‘ee’ sound, emphasizing her clumsy command of the foreign language in her already thick Scot’s accent.

He enjoys Mexican food. Loved the tacos Alejandro and Rudy shared with him and his team during his time in Mexico. She’d learned how to make them for his birthday.

Nowhere in Glasgow made anything like it. Not then, and not now.

“I cannae make a quesadilla, leannan.” Her little lip wobbles, eyes turn glassy, tears already welling up in the corners and threatening to spill down chubby cheeks. She sniffles, drags the backs of her hands across her eyes, and Johnny feels what’s left of his heart splinter, another little piece of it withering away to nothing with each fat tear that rolls down and collects at her chin. He unbuckles her from the booster and gathers her into his arms as he stands up, taking her with him to sit in his own chair at the table.

Her little shoulders shake, hiccuping with each muffled sob against his shoulder and tiny fingers fist the material of his shirt. “Miss ‘er,” she warbles, and his arms tighten around her small frame.

“Ah know, leannan.” More hiccups. More tears that seep through his shirt and brand his skin.

You should be here. You’re supposed to be here. With her. With him. With them.

“How ‘bout we go down to the shops? Ye can pick whatever ye want for dinner. Dinnae think they’ll have quesadillas, but I’m sure we can find somethin’ ye like.” She lifts her head from his shoulder, tips it back to peer up at him with bleary eyes and sniffles. Wipes her hand across her eyes again.

“Cheesy noodles?” It’s thin and reedy, poor little throat still tight and full of grief that he knows feels impossible to speak around.

“Aye, we can get cheesy noodles.” He brushes an errant strand of hair away from her face, tucking the unruly curl behind an ear where it probably won’t stay. Just like her mum’s. So much like her mum. She considers him, his offer, and toys with his shirt.

“And sticky pudding?”

“Whatever ye want, leannan.” She really shouldn’t have something so sugary right before bed but he doesn’t have it in him to deny her. Is just glad the tears have stopped. That she’s willing to eat, even if he has to bribe her with junk food and sweets. He sends her to put her shoes on while he cleans up in the kitchen and grabs his own shoes and keys.

——

He’s there.

He’s standing in the pasta aisle with his little girl in the buggy, smiling at the way she makes grabby hands at the dismal selection of boxed macaroni, and he pulls one down from the shelf to hand to her. She inspects it, turning it this way and that way, pointing to something on the packaging and saying something that makes him laugh.

You’re frozen in place, jar of pasta sauce halfway to the basket in your other hand, and you can’t move because the sound of his laughter causes something in your brain to misfire. Causes the electrical signals between neurons and synapses to jumble together and sets your nerves alight. You think you might really be frozen, body unwilling to move an inch away from where you stand now, by your beautiful neighbor in the middle of a goddamned Tesco, until a little voice is addressing you.

“Hi miss neighbor!” Johnny’s head whips around and when his gaze lands on you it feels like your stomach’s turned to lead. “We’re havin’ cheesy noodles f’r dinner!” She holds up the box in her hand and kicks her feet excitedly.

You’re currently kicking yourself for making what you’re sure is an expression closely resembling that of a fish out of water. Mouth agape, brows raised and eyes slightly widened in surprise. When your mouth finally remembers how to move you smile at the little girl waving her box of noodles and powdered cheese in the air. “Hello, Isobel. That sounds like a lovely dinner.”

His brows knit together, one of them quirked at a curious angle. “And how d’ the two of ye know each other?”

Isobel’s foot connects with his thigh and his head jerks back around. “She’s our neighbor. She gave me the tablet,” she whispers a little too loud, cupping a small hand in front of her mouth. He turns back to you with the same jaunty brows and a quirk to his lips.

“So ye’re the one responsible for the wee heathens late night sugar-induced marathon.”

“M-marathon?”

“Aye, she was bouncin’ round the house all night, the little devil.” He ruffles her hair and she swats at his hand.

“I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…” You don’t really know what you’d been thinking when you’d given her the Tupperware full of sugary confections to take home after she’d spent the morning helping you root around in the flowerbeds in front of your home. She’d been watching out the window for hours until she was suddenly right next to you, asking what you were digging for.

“‘s alright. Ye’ll just have to make up f’r it.”

It’s your turn to pinch your brows and tilt your head in confusion. “Make up for it?”

His lips part in a full, genuine smile, like the ones he gives Isobel, and your leaden stomach suddenly feels like it’s lodged in your chest, full of butterflies and other fluttering things you don’t dare to name.

“Oh aye. Reckon ye owe us a dinner since ye’ve skipped right to dessert.”

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #soap x reader #soap x you #cod #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod au #call of duty au #neighbors au #cod mwii #cod mw #cod mwiii #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #call of duty mw19 #call of duty soap #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mwii #can of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2

[arieslost]

MIAMI | ln4

summary: lando won for the first time and i have so many emotions i have to write something I’M SO FREAKING HAPPY

word count: 834

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you feel like you’re in a dream. walking on sunshine. on cloud nine. all the good, amazing things in the world.

lando has won his first ever grand prix. his first career win. right in front of your eyes.

in all honesty, it feels like you’re floating. you can’t imagine how he must be feeling as the team comes rushing out of the garage to meet him as he parks the car in front of the first place banner.

“come with me!” zak says the moment he catches up to you from the pit wall, immediately reaching for your hand so he can help you navigate your way through the crowd. “he needs to see you front and center!”

you don’t think that’s necessarily true, that he would certainly rather see the team and catch up with you afterwards, but you’ve learned not to argue with zak. you just hold on tight and allow him to guide you to the front of the barrier separating everyone from the top three finishers and their cars.

your throat quickly grows hoarse from cheering as he proudly stands atop the car, and you can’t even hear yourself over the cheers of everyone else around you and in the grandstands.

you would happily go deaf in this moment, because the sound of hundreds of thousands of people cheering for your boyfriend would be the last thing ringing in your ears. if you dreamt this moment up, it wouldn’t even sound this good.

you’re quick to take out your phone and record as lando gives himself a running start to leap across the barrier entirely and into the waiting arms of the mclaren team, who immediately swarm around him, hugging him and patting him excitedly. at some point he gets flipped around, everyone’s hands supporting him from below so the world can see the beaming smile on his face.

you don’t know when they started, but you can feel the tears on your cheeks as he’s placed back on his feet on the other side of the barrier. he’s pulled into enthusiastic hugs by a few more team members, and then he starts calling your name, eyes frantically searching for you amongst the sea of papaya.

“lan!” you yell as loudly as you can, pressing yourself right up against the barrier and leaning forward.

he spots you from over zak’s shoulder as they embrace, his smile somehow growing impossibly wider the moment your eyes meet. your happy tears begin to fall even faster after he hugs andrea and immediately makes a beeline for you.

all the words you want to say to him get stuck in your throat as you throw your arms around his neck. he’s sweaty, but so are you, courtesy of the miami heat, and neither of you care. you yelp in surprise when you feel his arms go around your waist and lift.

“what are you doing?!” you laugh, clinging onto him with all your might regardless.

“i’m not gonna have a fucking barrier between us when i do this,” is all he offers as an explanation before he’s kissing you, cupping your face with one hand and holding the other above his head, his pointer finger extended up to the sky.

you don’t see it in the moment, of course, but you’ll see plenty of pictures of it later.

you kiss him back with equal fervor. it’s definitely not the most perfect kiss; you’re crying and he can’t stop smiling so your teeth knock together a couple times, but that doesn’t dim the passion between you both as you hold each other. the crowd chanting his name fades into background noise when you break apart for air and he rests his forehead against yours.

“i love you,” he says, over and over. “i love you, i love you. i’m so glad you’re here with me.”

“lan, i’m so proud of you,” you’re in hysterics, laughing as tears continue to fall down your face even while he gently wipes them away. “you deserve this. every single second.”

“i love you so, so much. thank you for not giving up on me,” he says, his words so sincere that you could fall to the ground right here and now.

“stop making me cry more!” you exclaim, hands covering his as you reach up to wipe your eyes. “don’t you have the top step of a podium to get to?”

“can i bring you with me?”

“absolutely not,” you giggle, pulling him into another tight hug.

“alright, but i told will to get you on his shoulders so i can see you perfectly while i’m up there.”

it doesn’t click in your head why he would bother telling you that until you’re on will’s shoulders and lando is spraying his champagne down at you from the top step with surprising accuracy. and when he finds you after it’s all over and kisses you again, you decide that champagne is your new favorite taste in the whole world.

note: i don’t even care that i’m posting this late or if this sucks it doesn’t matter it needs to be posted today i am so happy for him i’m still crying oh my gosh I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I’M SO HAPPY LANDO NORRIS IS A GRAND PRIX WINNER

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dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy @vintagefucksstuff @piastorys @jisungstuff @personwhoisther @bernelflo @ahgase99 @ferrarisfailedstrats @levidazai

#blurb #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris #formula 1 #lando norris fanfic #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #ln4 fic #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #formula one #ln4 #formula one x reader #formula one fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula one x you #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1

[incognit0slut]

Just honestly anything with husband/dad!reid

(Fluff, Sexual innuendo) Dad!Spencer x Mom!Reader. 1.1k

You’re flabbergasted at how much your son resembles your husband.

-

The resemblance was uncanny. You'd like to think that after nine months of carrying your child, he would at least look a little something like you. Sure, there were your eyes, and Spencer never failed to mention his adorable nose resembled yours. Yet beyond those traits, he was undeniably your husband's little doppelganger.

You watched in awe as they nestled together on the couch, engrossed in one of Spencer’s documentaries. Though you knew you’d seen it before, your attention wasn’t fixated on the TV screen, but on the sight before you.

How could they look so much alike?

It wasn’t just the matching mop of curly brown hair or the glasses resting on their noses; it was their shared mannerisms that truly struck you. From the focused furrow of their brows to the way they leaned in attentively, it was as if Oliver was a miniature version of his father.

You saw Spencer leaning forward, gesturing toward the screen. "See, magnets have north and south poles, and opposite poles attract each other while like poles repel. It's all about the magnetic field they create."

"Opposites attract?"

"Opposite poles, like north and south, pull towards each other," Spencer explained, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "While poles that are the same, like two norths or two souths, push away. It's all because of the magnetic field they generate."

Oliver nodded eagerly, taking in the information. "So, it's like they're drawn to each other because they're different?"

"Exactly," Spencer agreed, giving Oliver a proud smile. "Just like how sometimes, people with different personalities or interests can be drawn to each other because they complement each other."

"Like you and mom?"

Your husband smiled. "What makes you say that?"

Oliver shrugged. "Well, you like books and learning things, and Mom loves art and cooking. You're different, but you're together."

Spencer chuckled. "You know, you're absolutely right. Your mom and I might be different, but we complement each other very well."

"Are you guys talking about me?"

The two of them whipped their heads as they saw you enter the room.

"Mom!" Oliver cheered, jumping off the couch to tackle you with a hug, wrapping his small arms around your legs. You laughed as his embrace nearly knocked you off balance, returning his hug with warmth.

“Hey there, buddy.”

"You’re back,” Spencer greeted from the couch. "How was girls day out?"

"Amazing, Aunt Penelope took me to the spa," you replied. "It was so relaxing, very therapeutic... until I realized how much I missed you both."

Spencer's smile widened at your words. "We missed you too.”

“What’s therapeutic?”

Spencer turned to Oliver, his smile growing as he considered how to explain. “Well, therapeutic is when something makes you feel calm and relaxed, like the spa did for Mom.”

Oliver nodded, absorbing his words with interest. “So, like when I play with my Legos and it makes me feel happy?”

You grinned, ruffling Oliver’s hair affectionately. “That’s right, doing things you enjoy can be very therapeutic for your mind and body.”

Your son, who was still clinging to your legs, looked up with bright eyes. "Can we have a movie night now that you’re back? I think it can be therapeutic.”

You chuckled at Oliver’s suggestion, feeling a surge of affection for his sweet innocence.

“A cozy movie night with my two favorite guys? Now that’s what I call therapeutic,” you replied, giving his head another gentle ruffle. “But first, why don't you put these in the kitchen?"

His eyes widened with curiosity as he peered at the plastic bag in your hand. "What's in there?"

You grinned, holding up the bag for him to see. "Some snacks Aunt Penelope packed for us. Why don't you take them to the kitchen while Dad and I set up the movie?"

Oliver's face lit up with excitement as he eagerly took the bag from you. "Sure thing, Mom!" he exclaimed before dashing off to the kitchen.

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. "His enthusiasm is contagious."

You nodded in agreement as you walked over to him. "I wonder where he got that from."

Spencer grinned playfully, wrapping an arm around your waist as you joined him on the couch. "Hmm, I wonder."

"That boy resembles you more each day."

Spencer’s grin widened at your observation, a hint of pride shining in his eyes. “I suppose he’s taking after his old man.”

“He definitely has your enthusiasm and curiosity,” you remarked, your gaze drifting fondly toward Oliver as he bustled about in the kitchen.

“And your appetite for food, it seems,” he added, nodding towards the snacks Oliver had eagerly pulled out from the bag.

You laughed, the warmth of his embrace filling you with a sense of contentment. “He’s got good taste,” you quipped, leaning in for a kiss. "Ask me what else I did today."

"What else did you do today?" Spencer asked with a playful grin, his arm still around your waist as he pulled you closer before pressing his lips on yours in a sweet, innocent kiss.

You smiled against his lips, savoring the tender moment before pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. "Well," you began, your voice soft, "I booked a wax appointment."

His grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of mild surprise. "Oh?"

"Yep, do you wanna see it later?" Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly and you chuckled. All these years of marriage and he still managed to get flustered whenever you tease him. “Aw, look at you blushing.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“It’s adorable,” you teased, giving his cheek a playful pinch before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his nose.

He sighed dramatically, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his mock annoyance. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You grinned, feeling a rush of affection for your husband. “And you’re lucky you married me,” you retorted. “So, what do you say to a nice, warm bubble bath and one of my awesome massages with a happy ending?”

“You know I can’t say no to that.” His gaze then fell to the length of your body. “Do I get a preview now?”

Your head fell back as you laughed. “Spencer Reid, your kid is in the next room.”

“Our kid,” he corrected gently.

"Dad!" Your son's voice suddenly echoed through the house. "I can't reach the plates!"

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly as he realized your son was within earshot, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze flickering to you with a sheepish smile.

You shared a knowing look with him before turning your attention to Oliver. “I’ll help you out, sweetie,” you called back, already moving towards the kitchen.

Spencer followed close behind, his arm wrapping around your waist. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

You shook your head in amusement. Parenthood certainly had a way of interrupting even the most romantic of moments, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/n: i’m sorry this is bad i wrote this half-conscious (i’m sick)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble

[arminsumi]

I want to kiss you / キスしたい

G. Satoru

NOTE: i recently started learning to write in japanese for not much reason other than to occupy my mind with something new. this little daydream came to me and i can't stop thinking about it, i think falling in love despite a language barrier is one of the purest and sweetest ways to fall in love.

WARNINGS — it might be fem reader idk, kissing 👍, ur married w him at the end, not proofread lol i'm snuggled up in bed ok

Satoru cant speak english and you cant speak japanese; Suguru is the translator friend. You met him online years ago, who knows how. But you hit it off, and four years of friendship rolled by.

Satoru heard all about Y/n and saw you many times when Suguru facetimed or called you. You and him had many cute, playful interactions, ranging from making hearthands at each other to flipping each other off and laughing about it. Sometimes Satoru would be sat off-camera, overloading Suguru with things to translate, because he had a lot to say to you. One time, Suguru left for a few minutes to get a pizza delivery, and then Satoru got very quiet and the two of you blinked at your screens.

"Hi."

"Hi."

And then you two for some reason started laughing with your whole chests, Suguru walked in with a confused smirk. He joked, "Sooo... what did you and Satoru talk about while I was gone?" He asked, gentle accent coming through in soft waves. "The mysteries of the universe." You replied. Satoru was already diving into the pizza box, but he still listened to you speak; he wondered what you had said, maybe you used some fancy words to say that you liked him? He'd be lying if he said he didn't memorize variations of "i like you" after that. He was paranoid that he could miss you saying that you liked him.

You managed a slow, meticulously-pronounced nice to meet you in Japanese when you finally visited Tokyo. It was at the airport. You and Suguru had shared many hugs — good grief, you'd seen height comparisons many times but none painted a real idea of just how big these boys were. But Satoru? He was loudmouthed on a screen and surprisingly shy in person. Eventually he hugged you and didn't let go. He even got so comfy as to hang and cling to your body like you saw him doing with Suguru in countless photos and videos.

Though you could barely pronounce the little Japanese that you picked up, Satoru felt giddy to hear your pretty voice in his language. He listened to you like you were reciting love poetry to him, fists under his chin and eyes starry. But you were just saying basic phrases, boring things — nothing that articulated your thoughts properly.

He was far too embarrassed to try and speak any English when he first met you, even though after developing a crush on you he did start learning some English on the side. He knew quite a bit, but listening was so impossibly difficult it frustrated him like nothing else. He was also self-conscious of his English accent, though Suguru tried to assure him that he sounded very cute and almost oddly British.

So often instead of attempting to speak tiny phrases to you, Satoru threw a lot of hand motions and signals your way which got the two of you and Suguru laughing — poor Sugie, he was always translating even the smallest things you said even if you muttered them under your breath, because Satoru was eager to know every little thought and expression you had, even if you were simply commenting on the weather.

Once you commented that it was so hot, you were visiting during a heatwave-filled summer. Satoru raised his brows at Suguru expectantly, and you heard a familiar translation;

暑い。

It's hot.

There was such a frustrating language barrier between the two of you, it became more evident when you had finally flown over the sea to meet them.

Yet you and satoru fell in love silently and beautifully, your love flowing like a river in the most unexpected directions. You felt his affection emanating from his irises. You and him joked around, and talked — though you had no idea what the other meant most of the time. Sometimes the two of you gave up and you talked in English, he responded with Japanese, and it went on like that very comedically until Suguru came back to bridge the gap.

Lots of time was spent putting your heads together over your phone, reading translations of what you wanted to say to each other.

One day, when Suguru left the two of you alone in his apartment kitchen so that he could hop to the convenience store, Satoru typed something into the translator and let you read it. Your face warmed up.

キスしたい。

I want to kiss you.

He looks at you expectantly.

You type back to him.

Then kiss me.

それからキスして。

He blushed and hesistated, the two of you making electric eye contact for a while before he boyishly pecked your lips to test if you liked his kiss, but oh that's all the two of you needed to realize just how much you liked each other. You melted into each other like your bodies were made for nothing else but to embrace and be one. He shook a little, tentatively gliding his lips over yours. His hands nervously cupped your cheeks. With the way he handled you so carefully, you'd think you were made of porcelain.

Your reciprocation meant everything to him. His confidence flourished. The soft smacking, wet sounds got louder when he kissed you more passionately. Those gentle hands found their way to the back of your neck, and he softly pressed you closer to him as if he was scared you would pull away. What if you changed your mind mid-kiss? He was overthinking and you wouldn't have even guessed it, because you thought he was in the same blissed out dream state as you were. So high on kissing that the world fell away.

The two of you started smiling embarrassedly, grinning so hard that you couldn't continue kissing. Then the two of you just giggled against each other's faces — a subconscious realization swept him; laughter and kissing are their own languages.

Yes as years passed and you visited time and time again, your Japanese improved and his English improved. When you moved to Japan, eventually you adopted a messy mix of Japanese and English with Satoru. He liked showing off how perfectly he could pronounce things, and you liked showing off that you could write very neat kana.

Years and years and years passed and when you and him were married in your own little apartment, starting a life together, a very fluent Satoru reminisced about how the two of you fell in love despite barely speaking to each other.

"It was your eyes for me." You said.

"Oh really? It was your voice for me. I didn't know what you were saying, but it sounded nice." He said.

"Mmm I liked your voice, too." You said, snuggling your head on his shoulder. He basked in the attention, though it was common, it always felt special for him. The smallest hand touches and wrist kisses made his heart lurch.

"Remember when I always nagged Suguru to translate every little thing you said?"

"Yeah, you worked him to the bone." You chuckled.

"I just wanted to know what you were saying. I had such a crush on you, looking back now it was even ridiculous how much I liked you considering the barrier and all."

"Ooh, did you?"

"How is this surprising? We're married??"

"Oh yeah."

#🗑️ — trash #♥️ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 #gojo #gojo satoru #fluff #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x fem reader #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo

[talaok]

But Daddy I Love Him

summary: You and Joel shouldn't be together. According to the people in Jackson, he's a bad, cruel, crazy man, and yet... he's all you ever wanted.

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v), angst, blood, physical fight (?), happy ending (cause of course)

a/n: ive been obsessed with this song since it came out, please just go listen to it

Now I'm runnin' with my dress unbuttoned Screamin', "But, Daddy, I love him I'm havin' his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces I'm tellin' him to floor it through the fences No, I'm not coming to my senses I know he's crazy, but he's the one I want

— — —

"fuck"

"god"

His breath, his hands, his beard, his mouth, his cock

Him

He was all you could feel, he was all that existed,

nothing but him and his intoxicating aura, his manly mist, his sweaty body his strong arms,

Him

Joel Miller

The man you should not want, the man you should be terrified of, that you should run and hide from, 

the terrible, crazy, Joel Miller 

The same one everyone told you to stay away from, your friends, your family, strangers, the entirety of Jackson

And yet he was the only man you ever really wanted, really needed. 

"I missed you so much"

Even your own voice was nothing, it was a phantom of something that existed long ago, something that stopped living every time he was near, every time he would make everything dissipate into thin air with just his presence.

"I missed you too baby girl" he grunted,

oh how he grunts, how he groans, how he moans

nobody does it like him

"missed you so fucking much darlin'"

His voice felt like a prayer, like a sweet invocation to the sky up above, to whomever would listen,

one that countered completely what he was doing, the nothing but sinful way he had you up against the wall, his hands gripping your waist as he thrust his cock in and out of you so fast you might just break.

The bed was right beside you, but that didn't matter, that's how you were

You and Joel, 

like animals, like soulmates, like desperate, desperate lovers

Your minds didn't work the same when you were near, they didn't work at all, one could argue

But isn't that was love is after all?

"oh my god" you moaned, hiding your head in the crook of his neck as one particular deep thrust made you see stars

"I know darlin'" he cooed, only going faster, deeper "I know"

"Joel" you cried, biting down on his skin "f-fuck"

It had only been two weeks since you last saw each other, but it might as well been decades.

They had sent him away.

Nobody liked him in Jackson, not once they'd learned his story, the terrible things he'd done

And when they found out about you... not even his own brother could protect him.

So they'd exiled him. 

But they couldn't keep him away forever, not when he had something to come back for.

"god fuckin' damnit babygirl- you feel so fuckin' good"

Your moans only got higher, your nails clinging to his back like a rabid cat.

"perfect lil' pussy" he growled, his hot breath on your sweaty neck pulling shivers from your body "Perfect fuckin' girl"

"oh fuck" you whined, tightening your legs' hold onto his waist 

"you feel so good too Joel" you promised, breathing heavily in synch with him "You and your perfect cock"

He groaned so loud he sounded like an animal

"might want to keep that pretty mouth shut if you want this to last, sugar"

You didn't know where you found the strength to laugh, but you did

"you're gonna come too soon, old man?"

His hold on your waist pulled you even closer, as you raised your head to look him in the eyes

God, he was handsome

"just might, if you keep saying stuff like that"

but before you could tell him how it wasn't fair, how he did it all the time and you couldn't do it even once, his thumb was on your clit and your eyes were to the back of your head.

"no" he stopped you before you could hide your face from him again "I want to see you"

And as warmth filled your chest and your forehead fell to his and pressure built in your belly, he murmured:

"good girl- come for me, just like that- Jesus Christ-"

And so you did,

You came and moaned and cried, and it didn't take much before he was doing the same, pumping you full of him until he'd given you every single drop.

And then you kissed, he kissed you slowly and gently and in the same exact way that made you fall for him the very first time.

"god I missed you so much" he breathed once you leaned away

A smile from ear to ear took over your face and all you could do was kiss him again

"me too baby" you murmured, as he helped you to your feet

You both smiled like silly idiots as you dressed again,

but neither of you could resist being in each other's arms, so you didn't.

He pulled you closer and wrapped his arms around you, kissing the crown of your head once you rested it on his still bare chest.

You didn't get how anyone could hate him,

You swore they wouldn't, they wouldn't if they only got to meet him, the real him, not the idea of him they had painted in their minds.

And so you hummed, breathing him in, clinging to him as he clung to you

Up until the very moment it all went to shit

Again.

"hey honey I just got back I-"

It was sad really, the fact you'd seen this scene before.

The disappointment in your dad's eyes, the fear turning into primal rage inside his iris, his fists tightening, Joel taking a step back

A deja-vu had never felt quite so devastating

"Arthur" Joel tried to speak, but your dad was already on him, his fist had already connected with his cheek

"What did I tell you!?" another punch "Last time was just a fucking warning!" and another

Joel was on the ground

He wasn't going to fight back.

This wasn't how he wanted to handle things

Not this time

Not with you

"I'll kill you this time you fucking disgusting pervert!" you swore you heard Joel's cheekbone crack with another hit "How dare you!?" your dad growled, Joel's bloody face beneath him "In my own home- how dare you take advantage of my daughter you fucking- pig!"

Your eyes were overflowing with tears, the top buttons of your dress were still unbuttoned, and Joel's chest was rising and falling too slowly, much too slowly

"dad"

But he kept going

"dad stop!"

you grabbed his wrist, and the moment his eyes met yours it felt like the word stopped, like it had frozen over.

You caused all that anger, all that pain

But if he just would listen to you...

"y/n"

"dad" your voice trembled as much as your fingers "dad I love him"

You saw his heart break. For all the wrong reasons,

for his poor daughter who was taken advantage of, for the naive, innocent daughter he couldn't protect. For the daughter that didn't exist. Because that wasn't you, that wasn't how things had gone.

"you don't know what you're saying"

His voice was harsh, cruel, cold.

"But I do!" tears ran down your cheeks as you glanced down to where Joel lay, to the cuts and blood coating his face "I love him dad, I really really do"

"You don't know who this man is" he said "The things he's done..." he said with a snarl, as if disgusted, as if the rage was surging from his chest all over again

"I know" you whispered "I know everything- He told me all of it dad, please" you begged "Please just let him go, let him talk"

"I don't need to listen to a word that comes out of this fucker's mouth"

"but dad-"

It was like a bomb went off

"HE'S 56!" he yelled, his grip on Joel's neck tightening "he's fifty fucking six y/n! You just fucking turned 21!" his voice bounced off the walls like thunder, "You're not even half his age!"

"who cares!?" you screamed too now, only your voice was interrupted by sobs 

"I DO!" he roared "Your mom would!" his eyes were wide with urgency, and although he was mad you could still hear the care behind his words "He might have made you think this is ok, that he loves you, but trust me none of it is true" he sighed "He's using you honey, I know it's hard to understand right now, but you- you're young- you don't know-"

Your hand left him, shaking as it went to wipe your tears.

"dad" you said more firmly now "I might be young but I'm not stupid"

"y/n-"

"no" you stopped him "Dad this is the first time I've ever felt this way, like I cannot breathe when he's not close, like I need him more than I need air" you swallowed thickly "And I know- I know it's hard to understand, I know it's easier to just go with the narrative in your head, of the fragile little girl and the big creepy guy, but this-" you took a shaky breath as you glanced at Joel again

His eyes were barely open, he was barely conscious

"This isn't like that" you promised "I- I love him, and he loves me"

"Honey-"

"I'm not done" you stopped him again "I'll never forgive you dad" you shook your head, simply stating the truth "I'll never forgive you if you do this, if you don't even give him a chance to explain, to tell you how things really are"

You saw the conflict in his eyes, the searing pain caused him to hear such words from his daughter, to hear her beg and threaten and speak up all at once,

and yet... yet he couldn't shake off the honesty, the hope lacing your words, your voice, sparkling from your eyes

And so he did the only thing he could,

he agreed, he agreed to hear the full story.

___

That was two years ago now,

and sometimes you wondered if it all was just a bad dream, if your imagination had tricked you into believing some silly made-up story,

but the glares from the people in town always seemed to refresh your memory.

And yes, maybe you would have liked to live a life without people whispering ugly things about you behind your back every day... but then maybe, maybe it was all worth it

For this.

For the child growing in your belly, for the veil on top of your head, for the sound of your dad stifling his sobs beside you, 

for the image of Joel waiting for you at the end of the aisle, for the tears in his eyes, for the smile on his face,

for him, 

for you,

It was all worth it,

Yes, yes it definitely was.

— — —

Now I'm dancin' in my dress in the sun and Even my daddy just loves him I'm his lady And, oh, my God, you should see your faces Time, doesn't it give some perspective? And, no, you can't come to the wedding I know it's crazy, but he's the one I want

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us #joel miller x fem reader #but daddy i love him #taylor swift

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

#han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #han x reader #han smut #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids x you #han jisung x you #han jisung #stray kids #k-labels #*writing #*oneshot

[princessbrunette]

˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊

let’s go back to my roots. let’s talk about girly, prissy, spoiled bunny!reader with rafe.

you’re untouchable, kook royalty just for your attachment to the cameron’s but you don’t even care about all of that. all you care about, is rafes time money and attention.

he loves you a lot, but more so — he puts up with your shit. whilst you don’t have much of an attitude, soft in all corners of your life, you can still manage to be a nightmare. you clutter his sink with your makeup and skincare, decidedly a maximalist when it came to your self care and beautification rituals. he plucks a clump of mink eyelashes from the side of the sink, something he nearly mistook for a spider and sets it aside— only calling out a “jesus chr — bun, told you to clear out your shit. my bathroom looks like fuckin’ sephora. in here, now.” before he hears the soft padding of your feet come tottering along, happy to do as your told.

if that’s not making him huff and puff — it’ll surely be the outfits, moreso scraps of fabric you parade around in. expensive, according to his black card, for items of clothing that cover so little — and he can’t say you don’t get your moneys worth, toddling around in strappy powder pink dresses that leave nothing to the imagination or white mini skirts that cling to the fold of the bottom of your ass cheeks, giving not only the chumps at the country club a good look — but his closest friends too. his life had become a sequence of tugging down your hem, manhandling you to be decent. “you—y-you think i need my fuckin’ friends getting an eyeful of your pussy each time you move? are we gonna have to have another talk about what’s appropriate, bunny girl? huh? or maybe the belt will help you learn a valuable lesson. fuck.” he sulks, stomping around after his threat. you’re clung to his bicep with a dazed smile only five minutes later because his mean treatment usually flew through one bedazzled ear and came out the other. soft and dopey as ever.

back to him ‘putting up with you’, there’s a ton of reasons why that is. like aforementioned, he does love you a lot. you’re his little prized possession, his trophy. you were soft in all the ways that mattered and understanding, always listening when no one else would, even if he was admittedly in the wrong. that, and you really did fuck like a bunny rabbit.

you had a libido that was constantly set to high, all hours of the day. you were a chronic pillow humper when rafe wasn’t available to sate you, the man often times walking in to find you teary eyed with a white lacy thong binding your spread knees, pulled down just enough to grind your messy, glossy pussy against the fluffed white pillow from his side of the bed. because really, you were a chronic rafe humper— but you were well behaved enough to know that sometimes he had to handle business and didn’t have the time to feed your greedy cunt.

you’d grown accustom to taking him in any position too, whether it was in doggy style — waving your plush ass in the air, pointing that fluffy pink bunny-tail butt plug straight at him as you mewl into expensive pillows, or you’re crouched on his lap on the couch, feet planted either side of him, a high pitched whimper punched out of you each time you slam your hips back down on his cock, mushroom tip thumping your cervix. you said you liked the pain, liked when it bruised, liked when you could still feel him the next day when you missed him. reminded you of how grateful you are to have a boyfriend who dicks you good.

you had a little obsession that was serving as a problem though— having to give you plenty of ‘sit down talks’ when he talks to you real slow like you’re stupid because you keep begging him to breed you. it seemed no amount of “sweetheart, i’on know how many times i have to say this to get it through that head, but you are too young for a baby. i—i gotta get my shit together first, alright? promised you as many babies as you want after i secure tannyhill did i not? i…i really need your patience… okay?” would stop you from bouncing on his cock with a feverish and determined look in your eye, or locking your legs around his waist when he’s about to nut— babbling tearfully as you beg “please daddy, please gimme a baby. please want — want your babies!”

you’re lucky he was so much stronger than you, often wrestling you down to straddle your face and aim his cock at your mouth before he blew his load, gritting out a spiteful “well you’re gonna have to fuckin’ swallow them ‘til the time comes. fuck.” through gritted teeth as you mewl miserably (but lap it up nonetheless)

you gave him trouble, but nothing he couldn’t handle. he wouldn’t trade his spoiled bunny girl for the world.

˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊

#rafe cameron prompt #bunny!reader