#we talk... cry... laugh.. scream... whatever later

[theoniprince]

My comfort cakes for KdE *^*

HAPPY SPATORT!!!!

(Mango-Yogurt-Mousse with raspberry core)

[torubeetle]

⟡ ⌢ getting his baby's ears pierced somehow hurt satoru more than it hurt her. ⊹︰₊ fluff ⊹︰₊ angst if you count satoru being a crybaby

he was apprehensive to begin with, but he let himself be swayed by his wife’s reassuring smile and her steady hand on his face, telling him — promising him — it would be over and done with in seconds and that she wouldn’t even be in much pain.

“i got my ears pierced as a baby,” you’d explained, rocking the topic of conversation back and forth on your chest at the time. “i don’t even remember it! she’ll be okay, honey.”

“she cries when i leave the room!” he had whined back, his hand gently rubbing up and down his daughter's back as the 6-month-old had begun to fall asleep on you, “how is she gonna be “okay” with a needle through her ears??” satoru seriously needed to learn how to say no, though, because you’d convinced him in the end.

bouncing the pudgy infant on his knee and making faces to keep her entertained, he looked around nervously, watching you talk to the piercer with a polite smile. he just sighed, still a little bitter he’d been so easily talked into letting this happen to his sweet baby girl.

“daddy’s sorry for letting mommy talk me into this,” he mumbled in dramatic defeat, like he’d failed her and didn’t deserve to live. his daughter was oblivious and too preoccupied trying to shove her fingers into her mouth to try and make sense of whatever he was saying, and all he got was a garbled “baah!” in return.

“okaaayy, pumpkin, are we ready?” you came back over cooing. her small body wriggled as satoru begrudgingly repositioned her in front of the young woman about to shove holes through his poor princess’s ears. making a point to ignore your husband’s glare, you helped hold her still. the young woman, also nervously avoiding your husband’s hole-dwelling stare, cleared her throat awkwardly and gave the 3-second countdown, holding the piercing gun to her tiny left ear before it clamped down with a sharp clack.

you and satoru held your breath and checked her over. it took a long moment, long enough to give you the false hope that maybe your baby was one of the ones that didn’t cry, but eventually, inevitably, her doughy cheeks began to puff up and redden, her nose scrunched and her big eyes spilled over with tears. then came that gut-wrenching wail.

“daddy’s sooorrryyy.” satoru immediately coddled her, looking ready to start crying himself. “ohh, daddy’s sorry, princess, i know, i know…” his lip jutted out in a sympathetic pout. “mean mommy for making you do this.” he swatted at your hand when you reached to comfort your baby, glaring through his own glossy eyes as he had to hold her still again so she could get her second one over and done with. he knew he had to let it happen, but the tears and the pouty lip felt like they could cleave his heart in two.

another sharp clack!, and her wailing turned into the screams of a banshee. satoru cuddled her closer onto his shoulder, as if he could just smother the crying away, and rubbed her back, 1.) so his daughter wouldn’t see him crying, because he WAS crying, and 2.) so he could attempt to take her mind off of what he could only assume was the worst pain she'd ever felt since birth. he quickly shooed the poor woman away from his daughter, his eyes visibly wet with tears. you couldn't resist a quiet, sympathetic laugh, but he ignored you.

“oh, i knowww, i know,” he sniffled, rocking the wailing infant back and forth. “‘m so sorry, baby girl, daddy’s sorryyy…” he didn't put his daughter down at all that night. he massaged her tiny ears whenever she started to cry, distracted her with toys and kisses.

“she’s literally never doing that again,” he told you later that night, watching her sleep on the monitor. he shook his head when you chuckled. “i’m serious, my heart can’t go through any more of that. she can get them pierced again when i’m dead.”

𐔌 ۪ ઈઉ ᩙ a/n:: i feel like those people who feed birds like when they sprinkle the seeds on the ground except i only feed you guys every 6 months or so lmao

[lac4ygal]

request!

can you please make a Jungwon smut where he is an idol and they are havjng a concert. He was horny that time and y/n were at the backstage mid concert just using her phone. Then Jungwon snuck backstage to fuck y/n? please make it long! add some scenarios too, up to you, author! Thankyouu!

FAN MAIL?

─── turns out winning the raffle was the least lucky thing to happen OR four years of watching him perform — and he spent the whole night making sure you’d never forget who you were on your knees for.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

pairings idol!yang jungwon x fangirl!reader

content warnings oral sex (giving), deepthroating, crying/tears, hair pulling, spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, stretch kink, praise kink, daddy kink, dirty talk, choking, bruising, penetrative sex (PIV), multiple positions, overstimulation, creampie, size kink, dumbification

word count 2.9k / 2,954

laceys note this has been in my drafts for ages so im finally posting it this is filthyyyy, I hope it’s close to the request above! enjoy ☺️

The raffle had been a joke.

You’d entered it half-asleep at two in the morning, phone screen too bright, telling yourself it didn’t matter because you never won anything. Three weeks later you were standing in a queue of twenty-three people outside an arena in Seoul with a lanyard around your neck that said WINNER — VIP BACKSTAGE ACCESS and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The concert itself had been — there weren’t words for it.

You’d been a fan for four years. You knew every line, every note, every choreo transition. But nothing prepared you for the reality of him under stage lights. Jungwon, center stage, moving like the music lived inside him, his jaw sharp and his eyes darker than any photo had ever captured. You’d screamed yourself hoarse and cried twice and your friend would never let you live down either of those things.

But the last two performances — something had been off. Not to the general crowd, maybe. But you’d watched enough lives and studied enough fancams that you caught it. A timing slip in the second song. A note in the bridge that didn’t land where he wanted it. The way his expression had shuttered slightly, professional mask snapping back into place.

You knew that look. You’d seen it in interviews. Jungwon was a perfectionist to his core, and he was unhappy.

—

The backstage room was nice — long tables with food and drinks, the other winners milling around talking excitedly, staff members guiding everyone through. You were still buzzing from the show, accepting a drink someone handed you, trying to look like a normal functioning person.

Then the members came in and functioning became significantly harder.

They were still in their stage clothes, hair slightly damp, the kind of beautiful that shouldn’t exist in person. Sunoo found your group first, immediately warm and bright and making everyone laugh within thirty seconds. You drifted toward him naturally — he had that gravity.

“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, he was asking the group but his eyes landed on you.

“It was incredible,” you said honestly. “The production on the third act especially — the lighting changes were perfect.”

Sunoo looked pleasantly surprised that you’d noticed something specific. “Right? We worked on that transition for weeks.” He smiled, full and genuine. “You know your stuff.”

Jay appeared at Sunoo’s shoulder, equally effortless, falling into easy conversation about the setlist. You were laughing at something Jay said about a quick-change that had nearly gone wrong when you felt it.

The quality of being watched.

You glanced sideways.

Jungwon was standing a few feet away with another winner, nodding along to whatever they were saying — but his eyes were on you. Dark and direct and assessing in a way that made your stomach drop clean out of your body. When he saw you catch him, he didn’t look away. Just held it for one beat, two, before returning his attention to the person in front of him.

You turned back to Jay and Sunoo and willed your face to behave.

It didn’t work very well.

He made his way through the room gradually, the way a leader did — attentive to everyone, making each person feel seen. You tracked him in your peripheral vision.

He reached your small cluster eventually. Up close he was worse. Better. Both.

“You’ve been talking to my members for long enough,” he said, and his voice was the concert voice, low and unhurried, but quieter. For the group but somehow aimed at you. “I’m Jungwon.”

“We know,” someone in your group said, and there was laughter.

He smiled — polite, idol-smooth. His eyes cut to you. “You were at the barrier. Left of center.”

Your heart stopped. “You noticed that?”

“I notice things.” A pause. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Genuinely one of the best nights of my life,” you said, and you meant it without any performance. “You were—” You stopped yourself from saying something embarrassing.

“Go ahead.”

“You were extraordinary,” you said. “All of you. But you especially. The way you held the second act — the control you have, the stage presence. It was flawless.”

Something shifted in his expression. Small, subtle — but you caught it, the same way you’d caught the slip earlier. Something loosening slightly behind his eyes.

“You’re kind,” he said.

“I’m honest.”

Another pause. He looked at you for a moment like he was recalibrating something. “Who’s your bias?”

The group made a collective oooh sound. Your face went warm.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, and his mouth curved just slightly. He already knew. You could tell he already knew. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“It’s—” You pressed your lips together. Looked at him. I mean. Look at him. “It’s you. It’s been you for four years.”

“Four years,” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

The question surprised you — not aggressive, genuinely curious. You considered lying or deflecting and then decided against it. “Because you care so much. You’re never coasting. Every performance like it’s the only one. You’re—” You shook your head slightly. “You hold yourself to an impossible standard and you almost always clear it. That’s rare.”

The almost landed. You saw it land.

He looked at you for a long moment. Then he said, very quietly, “Almost?”

“Tonight,” you said, equally quiet. “But the recovery was immediate. Most people didn’t see it.”

“But you did?”

“I pay attention.”

Something in his jaw tightened. Not at you — at himself. That perfectionist core, the thing you’d recognized from three years of watching him, pulling taut. And underneath it, you realized — underneath the composure and the idol-smooth surface, he was frustrated. Genuinely, quietly furious at himself.

The room kept moving around you. Conversations, laughter, cameras clicking. He leaned slightly closer. “What’s your name?”

You told him. He repeated it once, low, like he was filing it somewhere. Then he said, “Come with me for a minute.”

You probably should have hesitated.

You didn’t.

He moved through the room with practiced ease, pausing once to say something to a staff member who nodded, and then a door and a corridor and the noise of the backstage room faded behind you. He led you down a quieter hallway — equipment cases stacked against the walls, the distant bass of the venue’s post-show music — and then into a room. Small. A green room, someone’s, a couch and a vanity mirror and a rack of clothes and the door clicking shut behind you.

The noise disappeared entirely. He turned to face you and up close, away from the crowd and the performance of it, the frustration was more visible. His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark and working through something. They moved over you slowly.

“You’re very pretty,” he said, low and plain, like it annoyed him. “Did you know that when you walked in there?”

“I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“I was.” His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face up. His thumb traced your cheekbone. “Four years you’ve been watching me. Paying attention. And then you walk in looking like this.” His grip tightened slightly. “Problem.”

“I’ve been told,” you said softly.

“I had a bad night.”

“I know.”

“I need somewhere to put it.” His eyes stayed on yours. “You’re going to let me.”

Not a question. Still — “Yes,” you said. “Sir.”

Something shifted in his face. Settled. Like a decision made.

“Good girl.” His mouth came down to yours and it was nothing like gentle.

He kissed you like he was taking something, his hands moving over you with focused precision — one at your jaw tilting you where he wanted, one fisting in your hair, and you made a sound against his mouth that made him pull back just enough to look at you.

“Again,” he said.

You made it again and his grip in your hair tightened and he walked you backward until your knees hit the couch.

“Down,” he said.

You sank to your knees between his legs as he sat, looking up at him, and his expression from above was dark and satisfied and still burning with that frustration looking for somewhere to go.

His hand came to your face — thumb tracing your lower lip, pressing in slightly. “Open.”

You opened. He looked at you for a long moment like he was deciding how much of himself to lose, and then his fingers curled into your hair and he guided you forward.

You took him into your mouth slowly, learning the weight and size of him, and your jaw stretched immediately and your eyes watered slightly at the corners and his exhale above you was sharp and rough.

“There,” he said, low. “Look at me.”

You looked up.

His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on you, and he held that eye contact as his hips rolled up — not all the way, not yet, just testing. Feeling. Your hands went to his thighs to brace and he looked at them there and something in his expression darkened further.

“Hands behind your back.”

You moved them. Locked your own fingers together at the small of your back.

“Good girl.”

He set the pace gradually — not merciful about it, building from slow to something that had you gagging slightly around him, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes and spilling, and he reached down and wiped them with his thumb, almost tender, before gripping your jaw and tilting your face up further.

“You’re doing so well,” he said roughly. “Taking it so well. Such a good girl.” His thumb stroked your wet cheek. “You’re crying and you’re still not tapping out. You want it that badly?”

You made a sound around him that meant yes and his head dropped back briefly before snapping back down to watch you.

“Desperate,” he said, like the word satisfied something in him. He pulled you off slowly — a string of saliva, your wrecked expression, the state of you on your knees — and he looked at you for a long moment.

“Up,” he said quietly.

He stood you between his knees and his hands moved over you efficiently — your top gone, your bra unclipped — and then he looked at you, really looked, and his hands came up and cupped your breasts with firm, claiming pressure before he groped them roughly, squeezing until you gasped, and then one sharp light slap that made you yelp and your thighs press together.

“Sir—”

“Too much?”

“No,” you breathed.

His hands smoothed over the sting immediately, palms warm and firm, and he pressed his mouth to the curve of your breast and then looked up at you through his lashes and the contrast — the roughness and then that — made your knees weak.

“Turn around,” he said. “Brace on the vanity.”

You turned. The mirror showed you both — him behind you, still mostly dressed, composed and controlled; you flushed and undone and waiting. His hands worked your skirt up and your underwear down and then his palm came down once, sharp, against the soft of your inner thigh and you jolted forward into the vanity.

“Stay still,” he said.

“Yes, sir—”

Another slap, lighter, directly against your centre and you made a sound you’d never made before in your life, broken and desperate. His hand smoothed over the heat immediately.

“Look at that,” he said, low and almost reverent. “Look how much you want it.” His fingers slipped through your folds and his exhale was rough. “You’re soaking. This is all for me?”

“All for you,” you managed. “Please—”

“Please what.”

“Please, sir, I need—”

“I know what you need.” He pressed two fingers inside you without ceremony and your head dropped forward and you watched his hand in the mirror, watched his expression — focused and dark and entirely in control. He worked you with the same precision he gave everything, and when you clenched around him his jaw tightened.

“Big,” he said quietly, like he was narrating. “You feel how big my fingers are?” He crooked them and you gasped. “You think you’re taking my cock after this?” He added a third finger and stretched you slowly, deliberately, and the slight burn of it made your eyes roll. “Going to have to work for it.”

“Please,” you said again. “Daddy, please—”

His fingers stilled.

The room went very quiet.

Then his free hand came around and gripped your jaw, tilting your face up to see him in the mirror, and his eyes were dark.

“Say that again,” he said.

Your heart was hammering. “Daddy.”

A slow exhale through his nose. “Good girl.” His fingers resumed. “You’ve been waiting three years to say that to me, haven’t you? Naughty girl.”

You hadn’t known you were. But yes.

He worked you open until you were shaking and barely holding yourself up on the vanity, and then he removed his fingers and positioned himself and pushed inside you and oh—

The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, the size of him splitting you open slowly, inch by inch, and your mouth fell open on a silent sound, fingers white-knuckling the table edge.

“Breathe,” he said, behind you. Watching your face in the mirror.

You breathed.

He pushed the rest of the way in and the sound you made was wrecked and undignified and he made a low satisfied sound against your neck.

“There,” he said. “There she is. You feel that? You feel how deep I am?”

“Yes, daddy, yes—”

“Good.” He pulled back and drove forward and your whole body rocked into the vanity. “Good. Watch the mirror. I want you to watch.”

You watched.

You watched him take you apart in real time — the roll of his hips ruthless and deep, the way your expression kept slipping further from coherent with every stroke, the way he watched your face instead of his own reflection, cataloguing every flicker. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and he didn’t apologize for it.

“Taking me so well,” he said roughly. “Look at you. Look at you, taking every inch like a good girl.” His hand came around to your throat, not squeezing, just resting — possessive and grounding. “You’re going to think about this every time you see my face on a poster.”

He drove into you harder and the sound that left you was embarrassingly loud. His hand muffled it, coming up to cover your mouth.

“Quiet,” he said against your ear, amused and merciless. “There are twenty-two other people just down the hall.”

When your legs stopped reliably functioning he moved you to the couch — lifting you with irritating ease, turning you, arranging you — and then your back was against the cushions and he hooked your legs up over his shoulders and looked down at you.

From this angle he was enormous.

“Daddy—”

“I know,” he said. He pushed inside and the angle made you see white. “I know. You’re okay.” His hand smoothed up your calf, almost gentle, while his hips set a pace that was anything but. “You’re so good. You’re taking it so well.”

He watched your face go slack with the focused intensity of someone studying something important. When your eyes started to lose focus he made a rough sound of satisfaction.

“There she is,” he said quietly. “There she is. Going dumb on my cock.” His hand came to your face, tilting it up so he could see you clearly. “Look at me. Stay with me.”

You tried. You genuinely tried.

“Daddy,” you slurred.

“I’m here.” Deep stroke. You whimpered. “I’m right here.” Another. “Good girl.”

His thumb found your clit and worked it in tight circles and the sound you made against his palm was desperate and high and he drove into you deep and held there pressing against something inside you that made your whole body shake.

“Come for me,” he said. Low and certain. Like a decision you both knew you were making. “Right now. Give it to me.”

You did. Completely. Your whole body clenching around him in waves, his name and daddy tangled together and leaving you in a wreck, tears at the corners of your eyes again that he wiped away with his thumb — that same tender gesture against all the roughness.

He worked you through every tremor and then his pace picked up — chasing his own now, losing some of that ironclad control for the first time, hips driving into you with a desperation he hadn’t shown yet.

“God,” he breathed, rough and low. “I want to — I should—”

“Inside,” you managed. “Please, daddy, inside—”

“You’re sure—”

“Please—”

He buried himself deep and the groan that left him was quiet and wrecked and entirely real — nothing performed about it — and you felt the warmth of him and your body clenched around him again drawing it out and he shuddered against you.

The room went very still.

His forehead dropped to yours. Both of you breathing. His hands, which had been so controlled, were shaking slightly where they braced beside your head.

He looked down at you — at the state of you, thoroughly undone — and something softened in his expression. His thumb stroked your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

“Extraordinarily good,” you managed.

His mouth curved. That real one — small and genuine and slightly tired. He pressed a brief, unexpected kiss to your forehead and then pushed up, straightening, the composure already resettling around him like a coat.

He fixed himself. Helped you find your footing when you stood, steadying you with a hand at your elbow when your knees expressed their opinions about the evening.

He looked at you. You looked at him.

“You were extraordinary tonight, by the way,” you said, and you meant the same thing you’d meant before, in the room full of people. “The almost doesn’t define it.”

He held your gaze for a long moment.

“Come back,” he said. “To the next show.”

“Are you giving me tickets?”

“I’m giving you my number,” he said. “The tickets come after.”

PERM TAGLIST @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @yumi-yearns @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @abbyssful @yandere-stories @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza just ask to be added to perm taglist lovelies)

[moonlightproblems]

Hello! I absolutely love your work and I hope you're doing well! 🤗

I would like a Kimi x reader fic where their relationship is kinda new (just a few months) and she's been to a few races and is genuinely loved and liked by everyone.

So one race Kimi is doing something and she's seen walking with George in the paddock (or outside or whatever) and a bunch of fans ask them for photos and they ask how she's feeling about the race or being at the Grand Prix and since she's chronically online she knows about the "Kimi is the child of George and Max stuff" so she's answering something like "oh I'm so glad to be here, especially with my mother in law", gestures to George and the fans freak out, and George is confused.

And then maybe later she's taking a picture with Max and posting it on her story with a caption like "with my father in law" or something!

If you want to ad something you're free to do so!!

🫶🫶🫶

Family Resemblance

Kimi Antonelli x Girlfriend!reader

Synopsis: You joke that George is your “mother‑in‑law” and Max your “father‑in‑law,” leaning into the fandom meme about Kimi’s “parents,” and the paddock — plus your boyfriend — spirals into chaos.

Moonlight Radio: you really went into detail with this one 😅

PATREON: Exclusive Content

ʙᴇ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴇᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜱ ʙɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ♡

You’d only been dating Kimi for a couple of months, but somehow the entire paddock had collectively decided you were a permanent fixture. You didn’t know how it happened — maybe because you were friendly, maybe because you actually listened when people talked, maybe because you brought snacks to the mechanics once and they acted like you’d delivered gold bars.

Whatever the reason, you walked into the paddock and got greeted like you were on a world tour.

“Morning, sweetheart!” Toto called from across the hospitality area.

“Hi, Toto!” you waved back, pretending you didn’t see the way the Mercedes social media intern mouthed she’s so cute behind him.

Kimi had disappeared for a media block, leaving you with a kiss to the cheek and a soft, “I’ll be quick, wait for me, okay?”

You’d nodded, because of course you would. You’d wait for him anywhere.

But then George Russell appeared out of nowhere like a very tall, very polite golden retriever.

“Lost your boyfriend?” he asked, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on, grin bright.

“He abandoned me for Sky Sports,” you sighed dramatically.

George laughed. “Come on then, I’ll walk you to the garage.”

So you walked — chatting about the weather, the track, the fact that Kimi had apparently grown three centimeters since last month (“He’s still growing?!” you’d gasped, and George had nodded solemnly like it was a tragedy).

You were mid‑conversation when a small group of fans spotted you.

“Oh my god, can we get a picture?” one asked breathlessly.

“Of course!” you said, stepping closer.

George leaned in too, smiling for the cameras.

“How are you feeling about the race?” a girl asked you. “Are you excited?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “So excited. I love being here.”

Another fan giggled. “You and Kimi are so cute together!”

You grinned — and then the chronically‑online gremlin inside you took over.

“I mean, how could we not be?” you said sweetly. “Especially with my mother‑in‑law here.”

You gestured directly at George.

The fans screamed.

George blinked. “Your— sorry, your what?”

“My mother‑in‑law,” you repeated, patting his arm like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

George looked at the fans. The fans looked at George. Someone whispered, “Oh my god the lore is real.”

“What lore?” George asked, bewildered.

You smiled innocently. “You know. The whole ‘Kimi is the lovechild of George Russell and Max Verstappen’ thing.”

George’s jaw dropped. “I— I’m sorry, the what?”

The fans were losing their minds. One was already typing furiously on her phone. Another was crying laughing. A third was saying, “I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT.”

George looked at you like you’d just told him he had a secret second family.

“I— I don’t— how— why—” he stammered.

You patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mum. You’re doing great.”

The fans shrieked again.

George covered his face with both hands. “Kimi is going to kill me.”

---

Later

You found Kimi in the garage, helmet off, curls messy, cheeks flushed from practice laps. He lit up the second he saw you.

“There you are,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug. “I was looking for you.”

You kissed his cheek. “I was with your mother‑in‑law.”

Kimi froze. “My what?”

Before you could answer, George walked past, muttering, “I’m not talking to either of you.”

Kimi stared after him, confused. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” you said, far too quickly.

Kimi narrowed his eyes. “You did something.”

You kissed him again to distract him. It worked. It always worked.

---

Even later — the real chaos

Max Verstappen found you near the Red Bull garage, leaning against a barrier while scrolling through your phone.

“Hey,” he said casually. “You’re Kimi’s girl, right?”

You nodded. “Hi, Max.”

He gave you a small smile — the soft, rare kind he only gave to people he liked. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is,” you agreed, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Want a picture?” Max asked suddenly. “For him?”

You blinked. “Uh— yeah, sure.”

He slung an arm around your shoulders, and someone from the Red Bull media team snapped a photo.

It was cute. Like… really cute.

So you posted it to your story.

A nice, normal picture.

With the caption:

“with my father‑in‑law ❤️”

You didn’t think much of it.

Until your phone exploded.

Notifications. Mentions. Reposts. Chaos.

You opened Twitter.

The top trending topic:

KIMI ANTONELLI FAMILY TREE

The second:

GEORGE RUSSELL IS THE MOTHER??

The third:

MAX VERSTAPPEN CLAIMS PATERNITY

You choked laughing.

Then Kimi texted you.

Kimi:

what did you do

You:

nothing :)

Kimi:

george won’t look at me

max said “son we need to talk”

WHAT DID YOU DO

You were still laughing when Kimi found you in person, cheeks pink, eyes wide, looking like a man whose entire understanding of the universe had been rewritten.

“You told people George is my mother,” he said flatly.

You nodded.

“And Max is my father.”

You nodded again.

Kimi covered his face with both hands. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist. “But you still love me.”

He sighed, leaning into you helplessly. “Unfortunately.”

You grinned up at him. “It’s okay, baby. You have two very supportive parents.”

He groaned. “Please stop.”

You kissed him.

He kissed you back.

And somewhere in the paddock, George sneezed like someone was talking about him.

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

ɪᴛ’ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ, ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ.

[chuulyssa]

please hurry leave me i can't breathe ⸺

SYNOPSIS the blue lock boys reacting to this tweet you put out on your main accidentally

STARRING isagi, rin, shidou, sae, bunny x f!chubby!reader

tw : ed!!! mentions of starving, comfort and fluffff a/n : so hahahahahhahaa imightbelowkenuinelydelvingintothedeepdarkwatersofeatingdisorders haahahahahahhahaa ijustwannabeheld hahahahaha

isagi yoichi

you wake up to 47 missed calls from isagi and your notifications exploding.

he's already at your door at 7 a.m., still in training sweats, hair messy from running over after morning practice.

he doesn't even say hi — just pulls you into a crushing hug the second you open the door.

"why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" his voice is muffled against your shoulder, shaking a little.

"i thought… i thought we talked about everything. that friend? she's just chigiri's sister. i didn't even notice— fuck, i'm so stupid."

you mumble apologies, embarrassed, but he pulls back, cups your face, eyes intense like he's on the pitch reading an opponent's move.

"no starving. no skipping. we're eating breakfast right now. together. and you're telling me every time your brain does this shit so i can shut it down."

he kisses your forehead hard.

"i love every part of you. every. part. don't you dare try to change for anyone — especially not some random comparison."

he spends the whole day glued to you: cooking, forcing bites, soft forehead kisses every time you hesitate.

by night he's tweeting a vague "my girl is perfect, don't test me!!!!" with a pic of your intertwined hands — just in case it was those chronically online fuckers who made you insecure.

itoshi rin

rin sees it during cooldown stretches. his phone buzzes once — he ignores it. then the group chat (isagi + teammates, in his mind) starts spamming screenshots.

he goes dead silent for three hours. you get a single text: "come to my place. now."

when you arrive he's on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the wall like it's offended him.

"you think starving fixes anything?" voice flat, but his jaw is clenched so tight you see the muscle jump.

you blink in confusion before your eyes widen. stupid twitter update changed the logout settings! you try to explain — accident, private vent, insecurity flare-up — but he cuts you off.

"delete the tweet." pause. "no — don't. let everyone see how stupid it is." he stands, towers over you, and you're pouting, before he unexpectedly pulls you against his chest.

his heartbeat is racing under your ear.

"i'm yours. i chose you. not her. not anyone skinnier, taller, shorter whatever. if you starve, you're hurting what's mine. don't do that again."

he doesn't say "i love you" — he never does it easily — but he doesn't let go for the rest of the night.

makes you sit on his lap while he reviews match footage, hand firm on your thigh like an anchor. later, in bed, he murmurs against your neck: "next time you feel like that, wake me up. i'll remind you who you belong to until you believe it."

shidou ryusei

shidou retweets it immediately with "LMaOOOO baby nOOO 😭🔥" and a string of crying-laughing emojis + fire.

then calls you screaming-laughing: "yo you juSt Exposed your ed arc oN main? anD my ASShole friends are quoting it with thirst traPs of stupId skinny models Cuz — m gonna kill em."

he's at your place in under 30 minutes, bursting in with takeout bags from three different places: burgers, ramen, ice cream, onigiri — chaos food.

"starve? over my dead body." he shoves a fry in your mouth before you can protest. "look at me — i'm built like a goddamn tank and i eat like one too. you think im not gonna miss the way your ass jiggles every time i hit it or what :( i want my girl thick OK."

he pulls you onto the couch, straddles your hips reverse-style so you're facing him, and force-feeds you bites while ranting

by the end of the night he's live-tweeting (on a burner) "my gf tried to starve bc of some stick figure — joke's on her, i'm feeding her back to thicc status AYAYAY 🍔💪" with pics of you mid-bite, looking mortified but smiling.

he doesn't let you skip a single meal after that. ever.

itoshi sae

sae doesn't tweet. doesn't call. doesn't text.

he just… shows up at your apartment at 2 a.m. (he has a key you gave him "just in case").

you're half-asleep when the bedroom light flicks on. he's standing there in his coat, expression blank but eyes sharp.

"get up." voice low. "kitchen."

you follow, confused. he starts pulling ingredients — rice, eggs, veggies — and cooks silently. perfect tamagoyaki, miso soup, grilled fish. places it all in front of you.

"eat."

you stare. "sae—"

"eat." firmer. "then explain why my girlfriend thinks disappearing is an option because of someone irrelevant."

you break down mid-bite — the accidental post, the insecurity, how you thought he wouldn't see. he listens without interrupting, arms crossed.

when you're done he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose.

"you're an idiot." softens immediately after. "but you're my idiot." corny ahh mf

he reaches across, tucks hair behind your ear. "i don't care about skinny. i care about you being healthy enough to keep up with me. on the pitch, in bed, in life."

he stays the night. feeds you the last bites himself.

in the morning he posts one story (rare for him): a photo of two empty plates and your hand in his, captioned simply "her."

no explanation. fans lose their minds. message received.

bunny iglesias

bunny's chilling after training when his phone pings — a mutual follower dms the screenshot with "bro your girl ok??"

he reads it once. twice. then bolts upright.

next thing you know your door's banging. you open to bunny in full kit still, hair sweaty, eyes wide and frantic.

"¿que cojones es esto?" (what the fuck is this?)

he holds up his phone, so baffled that his voice keeps switching between spanish and english. "starve? tomorrow? over a friend? mi amor, no."

he's on you in seconds — picks you up bridal-style, carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing (he's 191cm of pure muscle after all!)

"no. no no no." he sets you down gently but doesn't let go, cradles your face. "you think you're not enough? for me? poor ol' me?"

he presses kisses all over your face — forehead, cheeks, nose, lips — rapid-fire.

he pulls out his phone, films a quick video (in spanish at first, switches to english): "escuchen, todos — my girlfriend is perfect. if you make her feel less, we have problems. gracias." posts it publicly. EMBARRASSING AHH MF

then spends the night cooking paella from scratch ("real food, not starving food"), feeding you bites, whispering in your ear how beautiful you are, how lucky he is.

by morning he's got you laughing again — and a promise

NAHH WHYS THIS SO ASS

© chuulyssa 2026 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[deadpoolps]

♱ Made You Love Me — Chapter one.

>> After your grandparents passed, your parents dumped their old, rotting manor on you with zero help. “You’re broke, so deal with it,” they said. Reluctantly, you move into the isolated, creepy estate alone, expecting dust, leaks, and maybe some rats.

pair ; dom!lara raj x g!p!reader

tags ; blowjob. handjob. nipple sucking. praise.

-> ‘MYLM’ masterlist.

—

“No. Absolutely not. I’m not staying there.”

You cross your arms tight across your chest, staring at your parents like they’ve lost their goddamn minds.

The three of you are standing in the middle of your tiny apartment kitchen, the one with the leaky faucet and the rent that’s two weeks late again. Your mom’s holding a thick yellow envelope with your grandparents’ names on it. Your dad just looks tired.

“Sweetheart, it’s not like we’re asking you to move to Antarctica,” your mom says, trying to sound reasonable. “The manor’s been in the family for generations. Your grandparents left it specifically to you.”

“Yeah, because they were creepy as hell,” you mutter under your breath.

Big mistake.

Your mom’s eyes go wide. “How dare you.”

Your dad sighs like he’s aged ten years in the last thirty seconds. “Watch your mouth. They raised me in that house. Show some respect.”

“Respect?” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Grandpa used to talk to the walls at night. Grandma collected dead butterflies and told me they were ‘watching me sleep.’ I had nightmares for weeks every time we visited. That place is straight out of a horror movie.”

Your mom slams the envelope on the counter. “They’re dead, Y/n. Gone. And they left everything to you. The house, the land, all of it. Do you know how lucky you are?”

“Lucky?” Your voice cracks as you gesture wildly around your sad little apartment. “I’m broke, Mom. I know that. You don’t have to rub it in my face every five minutes. But I’d rather sleep in my car than live in that creepy ass mansion in the middle of nowhere.”

Your dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re not helping you with rent anymore. We told you that. You’re twenty-three. It’s time to figure it out.”

“So your solution is to ship me off to a haunted house? Real supportive parenting, guys.”

“It’s not haunted,” your mom snaps. “It’s just old. It needs some cleaning, some love. You’ll be fine.”

You stare at them, heart pounding. Part of you wants to scream. Part of you wants to cry. But the worst part? They’re right.

You are broke.

Your job barely covers food, let alone rent, and your savings account is laughing at you. Moving back in with them isn’t an option — they made that crystal clear last month.

So here you are. Cornered.

“I hate you both right now,” you say quietly, voice shaking.

Your mom softens just a little, reaching out to touch your arm. You pull away. “You’ll thank us later. The manor’s paid off. No mortgage. You can finally breathe.”

“Yeah. Breathe in eighty years of dust and dead people vibes,” you mutter.

Your dad hands you the keys. They’re heavy and cold in your palm, old-fashioned iron ones that look like they belong in a museum. “The movers already took your stuff this morning. You just need to drive up there.”

“Today?” Your eyes widen. “You’re kicking me out today?”

“We’re not kicking you out,” your mom says, but she won’t meet your eyes. “We’re giving you an opportunity.”

You snatch the envelope and keys, shoving them into your backpack with more force than necessary. “Whatever. I hope the place is actually haunted and the ghosts eat me. At least then you’ll feel bad.”

Your mom looks genuinely hurt..

The drive is long and quiet. Hours of winding roads that get narrower and narrower until the trees start crowding in like they’re trying to swallow your car.

By the time you pull up the long gravel driveway, the sun is already setting, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges.

The manor looms.

It’s bigger than you remembered. Three stories of dark wood and stone, ivy crawling up the walls like veins.

Some of the windows are cracked. The front porch sags a little. The air feels… heavier here.

You kill the engine and just sit there, gripping the steering wheel.

“This is insane,” you whisper to yourself. “Completely insane.”

You force yourself out of the car anyway. The gravel crunches under your shoes as you drag your suitcase toward the front door. The key sticks at first, like the house itself doesn’t want you inside. When it finally turns, the door creaks open with a sound straight out of every horror movie ever made.

Inside it smells like old wood, dust, and something faintly sweet. Like flowers that died years ago.

You flick on the lights. A few bulbs buzz and flicker before staying on. The foyer is massive, with a chandelier hanging way too low and a grand staircase that curves up into darkness.

“Home sweet home,” you mutter, kicking the door shut behind you.

The sound echoes.

You spend the next hour dragging your stuff inside and wandering room to room, flipping on every light you can find. The kitchen is ancient but huge. The living room has furniture covered in white sheets like ghosts. Upstairs there are way too many bedrooms, all of them cold and untouched.

By the time you collapse onto the dusty master bed (the one your grandparents used to sleep in), you’re exhausted. Mentally. Physically.

And spiritually.

You stare at the ceiling, the old wooden beams staring back.

“Ugh, I hate this,” you say out loud, just to hear a voice in the silence. “If any ghosts are listening… do me a favor and stay away.”

A floorboard creaks somewhere down the hall.

You freeze.

Probably just the house settling. Old houses do that.

Right?

You finally drifted off somewhere, too drained to even change out of your clothes.

Slow, heavy footsteps dragged across the dusty wooden floor, getting closer to the master bedroom. The door that you swore you closed was already halfway open.

Sophia stood in the doorway.

Tall and imposing, her skin carried a deep red undertone with small dark horns curling from her forehead. Her eyes glowed faintly, one completely black, the other a burning ember.

A long, thin tail swayed lazily behind her, the tip occasionally tapping against the floor. She wore an old, tattered black dress that clung to her frame, the fabric looking singed at the edges.

She stopped at the edge of the bed and just… stared at you for a long time. Head tilted. Breathing slow and low.

She leaned down, close enough that her warm breath brushed your neck. Her nose hovered near your collarbone, then your hair, taking you in carefully. Curious.

Her fingers — warmer than they should be — hovered over your arm but didn’t quite touch.

After a minute she straightened up again, satisfied, and turned to leave the room.

She didn’t get far.

Right outside the bedroom door stood a tall figure completely covered in a white sheet, two big black holes cut out for eyes.

Sophia startled, one hand jerking up. “Yoonchae… you scared me.”

The sheet ghost tilted her head, then two small hands reached up and lifted the bottom of the blanket just enough to reveal Yoonchae’s face — soft curious eyes, and messy dark hair sticking out everywhere.

“Sorry…” Yoonchae whispered, voice quiet and a little shy. “Who was that…?”

Sophia’s expression softened immediately, the faint glow in her eyes dimming. “Our new guest. She’s sleeping.“

Yoonchae peeked around Sophia’s side, trying to get another look into the bedroom without getting too close. Her eyes were wide with quiet wonder. “She looks tired.”

Sophia nodded slowly, glancing back toward you.

Yoonchae pulled the sheet a little higher around herself, almost hiding again. “Do you think she’ll be nice…?”

“I hope so,” Sophia murmured gently. She reached out and lightly adjusted the sheet on Yoonchae’s head, making sure it stayed in place. “We’ll watch over her for now. Let her rest. And don’t bother her yet. Lara will probably want to call dibs on the first prank anyway.”

Yoonchae gave a small nod, still looking toward the bed with quiet interest. She stayed half-hidden behind Sophia, the edge of the white sheet dragging softly along the floor as they both stood there for a little longer, watching you sleep.

You stirred slightly in the bed, mumbling something about the stupid manor before turning over and pulling the blanket higher.

The two of them stayed quiet, not wanting to wake you.

A few hours later, you jolted awake at exactly 3:07 AM, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted out.

The nightmare was already fading — something about shadows crawling up the walls and cold hands grabbing your ankles — but the fear stayed stuck in your chest.

“Fuck this place,” you muttered, rubbing your face. Your voice sounded too loud in the dead silence.

You grabbed your phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up and hurting your eyes. The battery was still decent.

You opened the browser, typed in the usual site with shaky fingers, and scrolled until you found something that looked decent. A girl getting railed hard, loud moans filling your headphones as you shoved one earbud in.

Your hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts. You were already half-hard from the dream adrenaline and the video. Fingers wrapped around your cock, stroking slowly at first, breath getting heavier as you tried to lose yourself in it.

Thud.

Something heavy fell somewhere down the hall.

You froze, hand still down your pants. The moan in your ear suddenly felt stupid. You yanked the earbud out and sat up, listening.

Nothing.

“Probably just the house settling,” you whispered. But your pulse was racing again. You waited another minute, then shook your head. “Wait… I’m not a pussy. This is my house now.”

You pulled your hand out, fixed your shorts, and stood up. Shirt rumpled, barefoot, you crept out of the bedroom and headed downstairs, phone flashlight on.

Every creak of the stairs made you wince. The living room looked the same — sheets over furniture, dust floating in the beam of light. You swept the flashlight around.

Nothing moved. No broken shit on the floor.

“See? Nothing,” you said, trying to sound brave. “Just old wood doing old wood things.”

Then you felt it.

A presence right behind you.

Before you could turn, a loud crash exploded to your left — a glass vase or ornament smashing against the wall, shards scattering across the floor.

You whipped around. “What the actual fuck?!”

No one there.

Panic hit hard. You bolted, feet pounding on the dusty floor. Your foot caught on the edge of a rug and you went down hard, slamming into the ground with a grunt. Pain shot through your elbow and knee.

When you pushed yourself up, groaning, there she was.

Floating a few feet away was a girl in a long black nightgown, dark skin almost. Her dark hair floated slightly like she was underwater. Big, playful eyes looked down at you with fake sympathy.

“Aw, poor you…” Lara said softly, tilting her head. Her voice was light and teasing, like she was holding back a giggle.

Your brain short-circuited. You stared at her, mouth open, trying to process the floating girl in your grandparents’ manor at 3 AM. Then everything went black.

You passed out cold on the floor.

Lara drifted closer, lowering herself until her bare feet hovered just above the ground. She crouched down beside you, curious.

Your shirt had ridden up during the fall, exposing a strip of toned stomach and the waistband of your shorts. She blinked slowly, taking in the way your body looked — surprisingly fit under the baggy clothes you’d worn for the move.

Her fingers hovered over your stomach, not quite touching, feeling the warmth radiating off your skin. A small, interested smile tugged at her lips.

For a second you thought the whole thing was still part of the nightmare — until you tried to sit up and a sharp pain shot through your elbow.

Yeah. Real.

Your heart was still racing like crazy. The flashlight from your phone had rolled a few feet away, casting weird long shadows across the room.

You blinked hard, trying to shake off the dizziness, and that’s when you saw her again.

She wasn’t floating anymore.

Lara had shifted. The ghostly glow was gone. Now she looked… Human. And stupidly, unfairly gorgeous.

Her dark hair fell in loose waves down her back, a few strands framing her face. Warm brown skin that looked smooth under the moonlight, full lips, and big expressive eyes that watched you with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

She wore a simple black slip dress that hugged her body in a way that made it hard to look away — even though every instinct in you was screaming to run.

You scrambled backward on the floor until your back hit the wall, breathing fast. “What the fuck… who are you? What are you?”

Lara tilted her head, that playful little smile still on her lips. She stayed crouched for a moment longer before slowly standing up, moving with this light, graceful energy that didn’t quite match the heavy old house around her.

“You fell pretty hard,” she said softly, voice gentle but clearly entertained. “I didn’t mean for you to knock yourself out like that.”

Your brain was struggling to keep up. She looked real. She sounded real. But people didn’t just float. And normal girls didn’t appear in abandoned manors at 3 AM wearing nothing but a thin black dress.

You pushed yourself up a little more, wincing. Your shirt was still halfway ridden up from the fall, exposing your stomach, and your shorts… fuck.

You were still half-hard from earlier, the adrenaline and leftover arousal mixing together in the worst possible way. The bulge in your shorts was obvious if anyone was actually looking.

And she was looking.

Lara’s eyes flicked down for a second, lingering. Her eyebrows raised just a tiny bit, a spark of interest flashing across her face before she met your eyes again. She didn’t say anything about it, but the small smirk that tugged at her lips told you she definitely noticed.

You didn’t even register it yourself — too busy being terrified, blood pounding in your ears. All you could think was ghost, demon, monster, run.

“I—I’m losing my mind,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your forehead. “This isn’t happening. You’re not real. I’m going back to sleep and when I wake up—”

“You’re not crazy,” Lara cut in, stepping a little closer. She moved carefully, like she was approaching a scared animal. “And I’m very real. Well… real enough now.”

She glanced down at her own hands, turning them over like she was still getting used to the solid form. “It’s been a long time since we had someone living here who could actually see us. And touch us.”

Us.

The word made your stomach drop.

You tried to stand but your legs felt shaky. Lara watched you the whole time, that gorgeous face calm but clearly amused by how freaked out you were. Up close she was even prettier — sharp jawline, long lashes, the way her hair contrasted against the black dress.

She looked like she could’ve stepped out of a magazine if it wasn’t for the faint, unnatural shimmer around her edges when she moved.

“You threw that glass,” you said accusingly, voice hoarse. “I heard it. I saw it.”

Lara shrugged lightly, biting back a grin. “I got excited. Sorry. I’ve been waiting for someone fun to show up.” Her eyes drifted down again for half a second, taking in the way your body looked — the exposed skin, the obvious shape in your shorts — before flicking back up. “You’re… warmer than I expected. And stronger looking under all those baggy clothes.”

You tugged your shirt down quickly, face burning. “Stay back. I don’t know what you are but—”

Before you could finish, another set of footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Lara glanced toward the staircase and sighed, almost like she was annoyed at the interruption. “Sophia’s coming. She’s gonna be mad I scared you first. I think.” She looked back at you, eyes sparkling. “Don’t pass out again, okay? We’ve been lonely.”

You pressed harder against the wall, heart hammering, trying to process the fact that this beautiful girl in front of you had just thrown a vase with her mind and was now casually talking about “we” like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Lara’s smile softened a little, like she was trying to be friendly. “Y’know what? Let’s just chat. I promise I won’t throw anything else. You look like you have questions and—”

Nope.

You didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. Pure panic took over. You bolted, feet slipping on the dusty floor as you sprinted toward the nearest hallway.

“Hey!” Lara called after you, voice losing its playful tone. “Don’t run!”

You didn’t listen. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst. You rounded the corner, breathing ragged, and spotted the first door you could find. You shoved it open, practically falling inside what looked like an old study or library — tall shelves, covered furniture, one big window letting in moonlight.

You slammed the door shut and dragged a heavy wooden chair over, jamming it under the handle with shaking hands. Your back pressed against the door as you tried to catch your breath.

“Okay… okay, calm down,” you whispered to yourself. “This isn’t real. None of this is—”

A soft shimmer appeared right in front of you.

Lara stepped straight through the wall like it was nothing, that white slip dress flowing around her body. Her expression had changed — no more cute playful smile. Now she looked irritated, brows furrowed, full lips pressed into a thin line.

You stumbled backward. “What the hell—?!”

Before you could get another word out, Lara moved fast. She grabbed both of your wrists and slammed them against the wall above your head with surprising strength. The impact made you gasp. She had you pinned — her body pressing close enough that you could feel the cool-but-not-cold energy radiating off her.

“Stop. Running.” Her voice was low, annoyed, a little breathy. Those big dark eyes stared right into yours, inches away. “I’ve been stuck in this house for decades and the first living person who shows up decides to sprint away like I’m going to eat them? Rude.”

You were breathing hard, chest rising and falling fast. Your wrists ached a little where her hands held them firmly against the wall. She was taller than you expected in this form, and way stronger.

Her warm brown skin looked flawless up close, long dark hair falling over one shoulder. She really was stupidly gorgeous — the kind of pretty that made your brain short-circuit even while you were terrified.

Lara’s gaze dropped again, lingering lower. Your shorts were still tented, the outline of your half-hard cock even more obvious now that you were pinned and breathing heavily. She licked her lips slowly, deliberately.

“You’re scared…” she murmured, voice dropping an octave, “but your body isn’t.”

She leaned in closer. Her nose brushed along your jaw, then she dragged her tongue slowly up the side of your neck — hot, wet, and teasing. A shiver shot straight down your spine. Your cock twitched hard in your shorts, now fully hard and pressing uncomfortably against the fabric.

“Fuck—” you hissed, trying to pull your arms free, but she held you there easily.

Lara hummed against your skin, licking another slow stripe up your neck before gently sucking on the spot right under your ear. Her body pressed flush against yours now, soft breasts brushing your chest through that thin dress.

One of her thighs slid between your legs, pressing lightly against your bulge and making you groan despite yourself.

“You’re warm,” she whispered, lips brushing your skin with every word. “So warm… and hard already. Even though you’re shaking.” She rolled her hips once, grinding against your thigh while keeping your arms pinned. “I like that.”

Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud. Part of you still wanted to scream and run, but the feeling of her tongue on your neck, her body against yours, and the way she was looking at you — like she wanted to devour every inch — was making it really fucking hard to think straight.

Lara pulled back just enough to look at your face again. Her cheeks were slightly flushed now, eyes darker. She looked less irritated and more hungry.

“Tell me your name,” she said, voice husky. She rolled her thigh against your cock again, firmer this time, drawing a shaky breath out of you. “Or I can keep guessing while I taste more of you…”

Her tongue flicked out again, tracing your collarbone this time, dipping lower toward the neckline of your shirt. She was taking her time, savoring the way your body reacted even when your mouth was still trying to protest.

You were trapped between fear and heat, cock throbbing against her thigh, wrists still pinned above your head by this gorgeous ghost girl who definitely wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she murmured, voice low and husky. “Not until I get a better taste.”

She leaned in again, not a kiss but her hot tongue dragging slowly up the side of your neck. A long, deliberate lick that made your whole body tense. Your cock throbbed painfully hard in your shorts, the bulge pressed against her thigh as she kept you trapped there.

With her free hand, Lara tugged at the collar of your shirt, yanking it aside and tucking the fabric over your shoulder so more of your neck and collarbone were exposed.

She hummed in approval, then gave you another long, wet lick from the base of your neck all the way up to just below your ear, savoring the way you shivered.

“Mm… salty,” she whispered against your skin before latching on, sucking hard enough to leave a hickey. She did it again, then again, marking a trail down your neck.

Your breathing was ragged, hips twitching involuntarily into her leg.

Lara pulled back slightly, eyes scanning lower. Without warning she used her free hand to tug down the thin strap of her own black dress, letting it slip off one shoulder.

Her full brown breast spilled out, nipple already hard in the cool air of the room. The sight made your mouth go dry.

She smirked at your reaction.

“Look at you… staring even while you’re scared.” She grabbed the back of your head with her free hand and pushed your face forward, pressing your mouth right against her bare breast. “Suck.”

You hesitated for half a second, but the way she rolled her hips against you again made you give in. Your lips wrapped around her nipple, sucking gently at first, then harder when she let out a soft pleased sound. Your tongue swirled around it as she held you there, guiding your head.

“Good…” Lara breathed, her head tilting back a little. She kept your wrists pinned with one hand while the other stayed tangled in your hair, encouraging you to keep suckling. “Keep going. Use your tongue more.”

While you worked on her breast, she returned to your neck — licking long stripes across your skin, sucking more hickeys into the freshly exposed areas. Every time her tongue dragged over you, your cock jumped against her thigh, leaking a little into your shorts.

Lara shifted, pressing her bare breast firmer against your mouth, smothering you slightly as she ground down harder on your bulge. The friction was driving you crazy. You moaned into her skin, the sound muffled.

She laughed softly, low and breathy. “You’re so hard...” Her hand finally left your wrists, but only so she could slide it down your body, palm dragging over your chest and stomach before cupping your bulge through your shorts.

She squeezed once, firm, making you groan louder around her nipple.

“Fuck, you’re big,” she muttered, almost to herself. Her fingers traced the outline of your cock teasingly before squeezing again. “I want to feel it properly soon…”

She tugged her dress lower on the other side too, letting her second breast spill free. Then she pulled your head over to the other one, pushing your face in. “Don’t stop. Suckle.”

Your hands were finally free, but you didn’t try to run this time. Instead they landed on her waist, gripping the black fabric of her dress as you obeyed, sucking and licking at her other nipple while she continued marking up your neck and shoulder with her tongue and teeth.

The room was filled with the wet sounds of your mouth on her breasts and both of your heavy breathing. Lara’s hips kept rolling against you, grinding on your thigh while her hand stroked your cock over your shorts, slow and teasing.

She was clearly enjoying how overwhelmed you were — flushed, marked up, desperately sucking on her tits while your cock strained for more attention.

Lara leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as she whispered, “You’re not scared anymore, are you? Not really… You like this.”

Her hand squeezed your cock again, thumb rubbing over the head through the fabric, spreading the wetness that had soaked through.

Her hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding you, while her other hand kept slowly palming your cock through your shorts. The fabric was already damp from how much you were leaking.

After a minute she gently pulled your head back, her breast slipping from your mouth with a wet pop. Her eyes were darker now, breathing a little heavier.

She looked at you for a second — flushed face, hickeys already blooming on your neck, obvious bulge straining in your shorts.

Without saying anything, she slowly sank down to her knees in front of you, the black slip dress shifting around her thighs. Her hands slid up your legs, then hooked into the waistband of your shorts and underwear, tugging them down just enough to free your cock.

It sprang out, heavy and fully hard, the tip glistening. Lara’s eyes widened slightly, a small genuine smile tugging at her lips as she wrapped her fingers around the base.

“Wow…” she murmured, almost under her breath. “You really are big.”

She leaned in and dragged her tongue slowly from the base all the way up to the tip in one long, wet stripe. Then she did it again, slower this time, tasting you properly. Your hips jerked forward on instinct and she pressed one hand against your stomach to keep you still against the wall.

Lara glanced up at you through her lashes. “Relax… I’ve got you.”

She circled her tongue around the head, licking away the precum before wrapping her lips around just the tip and sucking gently.

The wet heat of her mouth made your knees feel weak. She took her time, bobbing her head little by little, taking more of you with each slow movement while her tongue pressed flat against the underside.

One of her hands stroked what she couldn’t fit yet, twisting lightly at the base. The other hand rested on your thigh, squeezing every time she sucked a little harder.

You groaned, head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. Your hand instinctively moved to her hair, not pushing, just holding on. Lara made a soft approving sound around your cock and took you deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she worked you.

She pulled off for a second, breathing warm air over your wet length as she stroked you steadily with her hand. “You’re shaking,” she said quietly, almost teasing. “Still scared? Or just really sensitive?”

Before you could answer she dipped back down, taking you into her mouth again, deeper this time. The wet, filthy sounds of her sucking filled the quiet old study. She hummed around you, the vibration shooting straight through your cock and making your thighs tense.

Lara’s head moved faster now, smooth and confident, her dark hair swaying with the motion. Every so often she’d pull back to lick long stripes along the sides or swirl her tongue around the head before sliding back down.

She was clearly enjoying herself — the way she kept looking up at your face, watching every reaction you gave her.

Your breathing was getting messier, hips twitching whenever she sucked particularly hard. Lara noticed and pressed you firmer against the wall with her free hand, keeping control. She took you even deeper, until you could feel the back of her throat, then swallowed around you.

“Fuck—” you choked out, fingers tightening in her hair.

She pulled back with a wet gasp, a thin string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. Her hand kept stroking you, fast and slick.

“You taste good,” she whispered, voice a little rough. She licked her lips and went right back to it, sucking you with renewed focus, hollowing her cheeks and working her tongue along every sensitive spot she could find.

The pleasure was building fast. Between the fear from earlier, the adrenaline, and how insanely good her mouth felt, you knew you weren’t going to last much longer. Lara seemed to sense it too.

She moaned softly around your cock, the vibration making your toes curl, and doubled her efforts — head bobbing quicker, hand stroking in perfect rhythm with her mouth.

She pulled off just long enough to murmur against your slick tip, “Go ahead… I want it.”

Then she sank back down, taking you as deep as she could, eyes locked on yours as she waited for you to fall apart.

You came hard with a broken groan, hips jerking against her face as thick spurts filled her mouth. Lara didn’t pull away. She swallowed around you, taking everything you gave her with soft, wet sounds, her throat working as she milked you through every pulse.

Even after you finished she didn’t stop right away — she kept sucking gently, tongue swirling to clean every inch, licking up the mess that had dripped down your shaft. When she finally pulled off, she gave one last long, slow lick from base to tip, making sure she got it all.

A small satisfied hum left her as she wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb and licked that clean too.

You slumped back against the wall, chest heaving, legs shaky as hell. Your head was spinning — fear, pleasure, confusion all crashing together. You tried to catch your breath, eyes half-lidded, barely able to focus.

Lara stood up slowly, graceful as ever, her black slip dress still hanging off one shoulder, breasts exposed. She looked at you with a soft little smile, brushing her hair back like nothing crazy had just happened.

For a second everything felt almost… calm.

Then her face changed.

Her eyes went completely black — no whites, just endless dark voids. Her smile stretched too wide, unnatural, showing teeth that looked sharper than before.

The temperature in the room dropped instantly.

Her head tilted at a wrong angle, hair floating slightly like she was underwater again. The beautiful girl from moments ago was gone.

This was something else.

Something so fucking terrifying.

You froze, heart slamming against your ribs.

“What the—”

Your words died in your throat. Pure primal fear hit you like a truck. Your vision blurred at the edges, knees buckling.

You passed out cold for the second time that night, sliding down the wall until you hit the floor in a pathetic heap.

Lara’s scary expression dropped immediately. Her eyes returned to normal, the sharp teeth disappeared, and she blinked a couple times like she just realized what she’d done.

“Woopsie daisy…” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

Then she started giggling. Quiet at first, then a little louder, the sound light and genuinely amused as she looked down at your unconscious body slumped on the dusty floor, shorts still pulled down, neck covered in her hickeys.

She crouched beside you again, tilting her head curiously. Her fingers hovered over your cheek for a second before she gently poked it.

“You’re really dramatic,” she muttered fondly, still giggling under her breath. “It’s cute though.”

Lara stayed there for a moment, watching you breathe, the playful ghost energy back in full force now that the scare was over. She fixed the strap of her black dress, covering herself again, and glanced toward the door like she was wondering if the noise had woken anyone else up.

—

[satoruinthehouse]

· taking care of their gf w pcos on her period ft. gojo, yuta, megumi, itadori

⊹ warnings: fem!reader, mention of period sex

gojo satoru

• gojo’s approach to caregiving is a mix of chaos, unlimited resources and limitless affection. since he can perceive things on an atomic level with his six eyes, he is hyper aware of your physical and mental state

• he absolutely skips meetings. if the elders call, he 'accidentally' drops his phone into a pond

• if you’re feeling down because of hormonal shifts he becomes a total clown. he becomes purposefully annoying in a way that is actually therapeutic. it's his way of making sure the dark side of your hormonal effects don't swallow you completely

• he puts on your favorite romcoms and provides a constant stream of hilarious, biting commentary just to keep you laughing, he does bad 'magic tricks' with his techniques and he tells you the most scandalous secrets about the jujutsu world just to keep your mind occupied, making fun of the elders until you’re giggling

• gojo is impossible to offend because of his massive ego and power so your anger doesn't scare him—it just makes him feel protective

• if you snap he doesn't argue back. if you yell at him he just stops talking, doesn't interrupt you or try to defend himself, he just lets you get it all out

• depending on what comes next he either uses a bit of humor to show you that you haven't pushed him away with your anger attack

"wow! my infinity didn't see that one coming! you've got a deadlier ct than sukuna when you’re on your period."

"my, my! someone’s spicy today. i like it but let’s get you some cookies before you decide to execute me."

• or if your nervous system is really on fire he gets behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. he uses a tiny bit of his ct to literally pull the heat out of your skin if you’re flushed from anger. he holds you firmly, in a way that says 'you can scream all you want, i'm not moving'

• if he sees that you’re actually on the verge of tears after yelling he just holds up his hands in a surrender gesture and softly say something like

"okay, okay. i'm the worst. i'm a big, annoying idiot. what do you need me to do? leave the room? stay? throw this tv out the window for you?"

• if you yelled because he was being too much (too loud, too clingy, too annoying) he actually listens and he transitions into 'silent satoru' mode. he sits on the corner and just stays there like a loyal guard dog, doesn't make a sound but he brings you food and makes sure you're comfortable, showing you he heard your need for space without actually leaving you alone

• he doesn't make you feel guilty later. if you try to apologize an hour later when the mood wave passes, he just waves his hand dismissively

"apologize for what? being a human? don't be boring babe. besides, you looked kinda hot when you were yelling at me. very authoritative."

• if you cry, he drops all the act immediately. the second he hears your breath hitch or sees a tear he stops whatever he is doing. because of his six eyes he sees the cortisol spike, the physical exhaustion take over and the way your body is curling in on itself from the cramps without having to ask you what happened

• he reels you into his space. if you’re sitting on the couch, he slidea behind you and pulls you back against his chest, or he liftsy you entirely into his lap like you weigh nothing. he uses his height to wrap around you, tucking your head firmly under his chin. he creates a pocket of space where it’s just the two of you

• if you break down and start crying he doesn't tell you to calm down, he actually encourages it. he treats your crying as a necessary biological release. he rubs slow, heavy circles into your back, letting you sob until the hormonal wave finally breaks

"there we go. get it all out. my shirt's dry clean only anyway. let's see if we can ruin it."

• since he doesn't cook (he’d probably blow up the kitchen trying to make toast) he uses his wealth and speed to feed you

• he brings you high end wagyu (the best iron source) and organic berries that cost more than a car and ridiculously delicious mochis for your sugar crawings

• if the cramps get bad he uses his rct to generate a perfect, steady heat and transmits it to your body by resting his hand or head on your lower stomach or abdomen

• with the six eyes, he sees your blood flow changing so if a hot flash is coming, he activates a tiny blue to pull the heat away from your skin, acting like a human air conditioner

• if you wake up in the night cramping he is awake the moment he senses your discomfort. he scoops you up entirely and pulls you into his lap like you weigh nothing

• he starts talking in a low, soothing hum, telling you ridiculous stories about his day or gossiping about the school. he rubs your stomach in slow circles with his large hands, using his cursed energy to create a sensation of warmth. he peppers your face with tiny kisses until you crack a smile, even if you’re annoyed

"oh honey, no. is it the internal cursed spirit again?"

"rest easy babe i'll protect you even from your period."

"do you know what yuji did today at school? you couldn't IMAGINE-"

• if your cramps reach a point where they leave you unable to breathe or hyperventilating he doesn't panic because he can't afford to, he becomes the air you're missing. he is used to being the strongest person in any room but seeing you unable to catch your breath triggers a rare, dead serious side of him

• he immediately clears the room. if there’s noise, he shuts it off. if the lights are too bright, he flicks them down. he creates a literal void of sensory input so your nervous system can stop firing

• he pulls you into his chest so you can feel the rise and fall of his ribs against your spine, he makes you feel or listen to his own breathing and heartbeat. deep, slow, and steady. he uses his six eyes to monitor your vitals, knowing exactly when your heart rate starts to dip back to safety

"listen to me breathe, okay? just me. nothing else. you're okay, i'm right here."

"feel the way my heart beats. see? it's beating for you, yeah. you're safe. i got you."

• if you’re overheating from the pain induced panic, he uses a flick of his cursed energy to drop the temperature of the air around you, providing a cooling sensation to help shock you out of the hyperventilation

• once you can breathe again, the cocky attitude stays gone for a while. he tucks your head under his chin and whispers

"that was a scary one for the both of us, princess. nothing is getting to you now. just keep breathing for me."

"there we go... see? you're back. i'd never let you go anywhere."

• since he is a massive cuddler, gojo never takes his hands off you. he wraps his long limbs around you like a literal human cocoon. he likes it when you hide your face in his neck

• even if he is playing a game or he is on his laptop, he has his leg hooked over yours or a hand resting on your ankle. he needs to be touching you to monitor your status—making sure you're still okay

• if you’re feeling insecure about skin flare ups or bloating, he looks you dead in the eye with those mesmerizing six eyes and admire you

"you know i can see everything, right? i see the way your energy moves, the way your heart beats... and let me tell you baby, you’re glowing. if i can’t find a single flaw with these eyes, then they don't exist."

• since pcos fatigue can feel like your brain is completely shut down, he handles all the 'thinking' for the day—ordering food, handling any calls, and filtering out any noise. he takes your phone and puts it on the highest shelf

"you are on pause. if it's really important, they can call me."

• when the pcos depression hits he doesn't spread toxic positivity. if you can’t get out of bed, he gets into the bed, sliding under the covers with you and just stays there until you wanna get up

• he puts up a curtain around the house. no noise from the street, no sunlight if you don't wanna see it and absolutely no intruders. he creates a safe, silent bubble where the world cannot reach you

• if you can't function by any means your boyfriend strongestoru scoops you up and carries you around the house, washes you with expensive soaps and shampoos, dresses you up in his oversize hoodies

• he wraps his entire 6'3" frame around you. he lets you feel or listen to his heartbeat. it's his way of grounding you when your mind is drifting into dark places

• if you spiral and start overthinking he gives you firm but loving reassurances

"listen. i'm the strongest. nothing is a burden to me. not a skyscraper, not a special grade curse and definitely not the woman i love. you aren't difficult to take care of, you're what makes my days better. so stop trying to do my thinking for me, okay?"

• when it comes to sex during period, gojo is the definition of zero taboo. he can't be grossed out under any circumstances, he is the type of guy that defends the idea that 'the sword of a warrior must have blood on it.' in fact, he sees period sex as a tactical advantage for managing your pain

"princess, i've been covered in the blood of special grade curses for ten years. you think a little bit of yours is going to scare me? if anything, it’s just proof your body is doing its thing. now, come here."

• since he can see through you with his six eyes he can tell instantly when your libido rises. he slides his hand under your shirt or the waistband of your shorts. if you try to pull away hinting at the bleeding he just pulls you closer

"i know. and i can feel how much you want this, too. don't try to hide it from me."

• he treats it like a mission to help you relax. he focuses entirely on your pleasure knowing that the uterine contractions during an orgasm can actually help lessen the cramps

• he prefers positions that give the maximum intimacy and don't put pressure on your abdomen

• he doesn't bother to put a towel on the sheets he just buys new ones

• he is gentleman enough to make offer to 'put a stop on this period thing for 9 months'

• gojo treats aftercare like a grand production. he doesn't want you to move a single muscle once you've finished

• he carries you into a pre drawn bath and washes you like you're the most fragile thing in the world while joking about stuff. once you're back in bed he sprawls out all over you and stays like that for a while

okkotsu yuta

• the most empathetic and emotionally attuned caretaker you could evet ask for. since he is hyper sensitive to the weight of emotions because of his past and immense cursed energy he doesn't just see your pain, he feels the shift in the air when you’re hurting. so for a person with pcos yuta is not just a boyfriend—he’s a protective sanctuary

• he absolutely stays home. he is a naturally anxious person when it comes to the safety and well being of those he loves so the idea of you being home alone and in pain while he is on a mission is a nightmare for him. he checks in with gojo or maki to say that he is staying with you

• he keeps the house dim, puts on soft music and makes sure it lacks loud noises that can trigger a headache

• he prefers playing cozy games together while his arm is wrapped around your shoulders or watching funny and 'so bad that it's good' movies of early 2000s and 90's since they're more comforting than high brow cinema in times like this. he makes soft jokes about the plot holes or the fashion choices

• if you snap or yell at him his approach is total de-escalation

• he gets a little closer to you, not away from you. he doesn't flinch or look offended. his shoulders usually drop, and his expression softens into something weary but infinitely patient. he lets you finish. he understands that pcos driven irritability feels like a physical pressure that needs to come out. he doesn't interrupt you

• once you’re tired of the anger attack, he doesn't say something like 'are you done?' instead he reminds you that your attitude hasn't drawn him away and he is there for you

"i'm sorry you’re dealing with all this, love. i'm not going anywhere. if yelling at me helps even a little bit, then keep going. i can take it."

• since he knows that anger can turn into guilt immediately after, he acts like nothing happened. if you try to apologize he smiles and offers you a gentle touch

"i know it's a hard thing to manage. you're allowed to let it all out. i'm not mad at you, i promise."

• if you cry, this is where yuta's protective instincts go into overdrive. seeing you cry because you're exhausted, in painnor just feeling everything all at once makes him move with a very specific, quiet urgency

• since he is a very physical comforter he pulls you into his lap or wraps himself around you from behind and lets you feel his heartbeat. he wants you to feel the physical weight of his presence as an anchor

• he presses his forehead against yours or bury his face in your neck to ground you. he matches your breathing to his by slowly deepening his breaths until your heart rate starts to follow his lead

• he cuddles you or entwines his fingers with yours and keep them locked there for hours while you watch a movie as a distraction

• he is careful about what he feeds you, he makes iron rich or anti inflammatory food and teas that can possibly help ease the cramps or your blood to flow more smoothly. if you crave something specific it magically appears in his hands

• when the cramps get bad he uses rct to target the inflammation in your pelvic floor and the muscle tension in your lower back and abdomen while cuddling you and talking about his week to distract you

• he is very observant of your body temperature. if you’re having a cold flash, he turns into a human blanket and wraps himself around you. if you're too hot, he opens a window or the ac and

• if you wake up in the middle of the night cramping he instantly wakes up, looking a bit worried with his eyes soft and full of concern. he pulls you into a tight embrace, murmuring apologies as if he is sorry he can't take your pain away for you

"i'm so sorry, love. i know it hurts so much. if could take this pain for you i'd do it in a heartbeat. i hate that i can't fix this for you... but i'm not leaving your side for a second until it stops. i've always got you."

• if the cramps get you unable to breathe or hyperventilate his reaction is visceral and empathetic. you can actually see pain in his eyes because if you're hurting he is hurting too

• he gets right in your face. not to crowd you but to catch your eyes. he takes your hands and press them flat against his own chest, making you feel his heartbeat

"look at me. look right into my eyes. you're okay. can you feel my heartbeat? it's gonna pass."

"you're safe, i'm right here, love. nothing can get to you while i'm here, okay?"

• once that sharp gasping phase starts to soften into shaky, regular breaths yuta's posture relaxes, but his focus remains entirely on you. he doesn't pull away and leans his forehead against yours, his own breath hitching slightly in relief

"i'm so sorry it hurts this much. i'm right here. i'm holding onto you. i won’t let go until you’re completely steady."

• while you're struggling for air, he uses his thumbs to rub the pressure points in your palms or the back of your neck. it's his grounding technique to force your brain to process a different sensation than the abdominal pain

• he puts his hand on your abdomen and whispers assurances while playing with your until you fall back asleep. he doesn't sleep for a while just in case until he is sure that you're comfortable and watches over you to make sure the pain isn't returning, he silently holds you

• when the fatigue and brain fog hits he steps in to handle the thinking so your brain can rest

• since yuta knows that brain fog makes simple decisions feel like impossible problems he switches to offering two options, narrowing everything down to simple choices

• he remembers things you're likely to forget and reminds or does them without you realizing. he also handles the calls and texts coming your way if you don't have the energy to do it

• he touches you all the time even in subtle ways to reassure you that he is there.

• absolutely cuddles you. he is the ultimate big spoon, he tucks his knees behind yours and wrap his arms around your stomach while you're cuddling

• he kisses your forehead, your face, your temples and the palms of your hands. he makes you feel like you are something fragile and precious that he’s been tasked to guard

• when the pcos depression breaks you down yuta becomes a human shield. he blocks everything that makes you uncomfortable or might make you spiral even more, he puts himself between you and the rest of the world

• he doesn't try to fix your depression with logic. he lets you be and he silently accompanies your mood

• if you stop functioning entirely, he functions for you. he picks you up and carries you wherever you wanna go in the house, he decides the menu, washes you and brushes your hair

• if you enter an overthinking spiral he doesn't just listen to you, he absorbes your anxieties. since he is an empath by nature he senses the negative energy of your thoughts before you even speak

• when he notices the distant, distracted look in your eyes his first instinct is to ground you. he gets closer to you. he gently takes your hands and brings them to his lips or pulls you into his lap, burying his face in the crook of your neck and just breathes with you

"i know what your brain is telling you right now. it's telling you that i'm tired of this, or that you're too much to handle. but it's lying. you aren't a task to be completed, you're the person i love. being with you is all i want, no matter how tired you are."

"we'll figure everything out together. you don't have to worry about it all by yourself, love."

"i've been through the dark parts of my own mind too. i know how it is to be alone there and i'm never going to let you be alone in yours. if you’re lost in the fog, i'll stay in the fog with you until it lifts. i'm not going anywhere. i love you, all of you. especially the parts you’re afraid of and don't like."

• if you feel unattractive he looks at you with such genuine, watery eyed devotion that you can't help but to believe in the things he says

"i see how hard your body is working for you. it's beautiful to me. you're the strongest and the most beautiful person i know."

• he is in favor of period sex if you wanna, the blood doesn't phase him at all. if anything he seea it as a way to manage your pain and show you how attracted he is to every possible version of you

• yuta never assumes. even if you usually have a high drive during your period, he asks every single time with zero pressure while cuddling

"i know you’re hurting, but imalso know you said this helps sometimes... do you want to try? we can stop the second you feel a cramp."

• he is focused completely on the sensation it creates on you. he watches you carefuly and stops at the very moment he feels like you're uncomfortable

• prefers positions that don't put pressure on your abdomen so it doesn't worsen your pain

• his aftercare is deeply emotional and extremely tender. he doesn't let go of you even if he is looking for a towel to clean you up. he stays tucked into you and plays with your hair while whispering soft thing into your ear

fushiguro megumi

• megumi doesn’t see your period like a problem to be solved or a burden to endure, he treats it like a shift in weather

• he stays home if he doesn't have a very urgent mission or if there's someone else available for it instead of him

• he prefers low energy bonding like reading together, rewatching comfort movies and sometimes he summons one of his shikigamis (the demon dogs mostly) just to distract you or give you something soft to pet

• if you snap or yell at him he adapts the stoic wall strategy. his first instinct is to freeze and observe. he doesn't interrupt you or shout over you. he just stands there, hands likely in his pockets or crossed over his chest. he listens and tries to figure out the source of the outburst

• once you finish your vent he usually responds with a very quiet, level headed question but not meant to be condescending, he genuinely wants to know if there is a logic based problem he needs to fix

"are you done?"

"do you really mean that or are you just hurting?"

• if he feels the air is too tense he silently walks out of the room but not like he is storming off, just giving you the room to breathe. he goes to the kitchen to prepare food or check on the dogs, returning ten minutes later as if nothing happened

• he isn't the type to demand an apology. he reappears with your favorite snack or a drink you like in his hand. it's his way of saying 'i'm not mad at you and i know you're struggling.'

• if you start to cry, megumi's reaction is a mix of slight panic and immediate, protective focus. he is not the most emotional person so he doesn't give you a long, poetic speech but he is entirely devoted to making the crying stop

• when your eyes get watery, for a split second he freezes. he has a deep seated instinct to protect the people he cares about and sadness is an enemy he can’t fight with a cursed technique. he blinks, his expression softening from his usual stoicism into something more vulnerable and concerned

• he moves into your space quietly. if you’re sitting he sits next to you, shoulder to shouldernso you don't feel observed while you're vulnerable. he offers a grounding touch. he rests a hand on your waist or offers you his shoulder to lean on. if you reach for him, he immediately pulls you into his lap or chest, holding you with a surprising amount of strength

• since megumi is a man of few words, he is an excellent listener. he doesn't tell you to 'chill' or 'it's not that bad' he stays silent and lets you sob it out. he understands that sometimes the pain (physical or emotional) just needs to vent

• if he feels like he is not enough to comfort you, he might cheat and bring in backup. sometimes a divine dog suddenly appears and rests its heavy head in your lap. megumi knows their fur is soft and their presence is soothing in a way humans can't always replicate

• he is health conscious so he makes iron rich meals and anti inflammotary teas but if you crave something specific he immediately goes out and gets it

• when the cramps get bad sometimes he summons a divine dog to lay across your mid section or he hugs you and rests his hand (which is surprisingly warm) on your abdomen if you want him instead. he also tracks the timing of the painkillers and appears with a glass of water and a pill when he senses your discomfort

• megumi is a light sleeper so the moment you shift or let out a small gasp of pain, he is awake. he doesn't bolt upright, he just opens his eyes and assesses the situation instantly

• he reaches out a hand to find yours under the covers, checking your grip strength to understand how much pain you’re in. he doesn't ask if you're okay because the answer is obvious. instead he whispers to wait there and he appears again with a glass of water and a painkiller in three minutes

• he plays with your hair or trace absentminded patterns on your skin while letting you listen to his heartbeat until you drift back off. he doesn't sleep until he's sure you're sleeping comfortably

• if it gets to the point where you can't find a position that allows you to breathe or start hyperventilating, megumi doesn't panic. his voice remains a low, grounding hum, the kind of tone that cuts through your internal panic

• he lays behind you or pulls you into his chest, still leaving room for you so you don't feel trapped. he holds you gently but firmly, making you feel or listen to his heartbeat either by placing your hand on his chest or leaning your head against it

"hey, hey... look at me. focus on me. we're gonna breathe, okay? slowly. i'll count to four."

"focus on my voice. just my voice. i'm right here, i'm not letting you go. just keep focusing on my voice."

• the second he feels your heart rate start to dip and your lungs relax, the tactical edge in his voice softens into something much more intimate. he leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes in a brief, silent moment of relief and stays still for a while

"there... that’s it. you're okay now. just stay still, don't move yet."

"i wish i could take that struggle off your hands. it's frustrating... seeing you have to fight that hard just to breathe. you're incredibly strong, you know that?"

• or he presses a lingering kiss to the back of your neck and keeps his hand resting firmly on your hip or stomach until he feels your muscles finally relax and your breathing evens out

• when the pcos fatigue hits megumi steps in as your external processor. he doesn't find it annoying, he finds it a logical problem to solve

• if you’re mid sentence and lose your train of thought, he doesn't rush you or finish your sentence in a way that feels condescending. he waits a beat, then gently offers a prompt or a word

• since brain fog can make even small choices feel monumental once he realizes the glassy look in your eyes he doesn't ask you questions like 'what do you want?' he switches to binary choices or directly takes the lead

• he silently takes over your mental load. if you have things to do and he can do them, he handles it

• if the pcos depression hits he just lets you be because he knows it's not something to be fixed

• he doesn't ask why you're sad because he understands the answer is often 'my hormones are imbalanced.' instead, he just accepts your mood as a current fact. he brings his work or a book into whatever room you are in. he doesn't force conversation if you don't wanna talk. it's his way of letting you know that your depression hasn't driven him away

• if you get to a point where you lose the motivation to do even the basic things megumi steps up. he carries you to the bathroom, washes you, brushes your hair, dresses you and tucks you in, brings your safe foods

• if you explore body image issues he looks you dead in the eye and say something simple but heavy with truth

"you're still the most beautiful person i know."

• he becomes more physically affectionate in a steady way, holding your hand or resting his head on your shoulder to prove he still wants to be near you regardless of how you feel about yourself

• if the overthinking phase hits he becomes an anchor. he holds you gently but firmly as he offers simple but effective reassurances

"i'm not going anywhere, okay? your brain is lying to you but i'm telling you the truth. you're enough."

"i chose to be here. i know exactly who you are, even on the days you don't recognize yourself. i'm not going anywhere so you can stop trying to push me away with those thoughts."

"taking care of you isn't a difficult, it’s what i wanna do. it's one of the few things in my life that actually makes sense. so when you feel bad for needing me, you’re being sad for giving me a reason to stay. don't. just let me be here."

• he is up for period sex if you wanna do it. megumi is not the slightest grossed out since deals with messes on daily basis. your bleeding is just a natural, biological process of the person he loves

• megumi usually starts with a very functional, caring gesture that slowly melts into something more. he rubs your lower back or your stomach while you're laying against him and he pays close attention to your reaction. he whispers into your ear

"do you wanna rest instead or am i continuing?"

• or if he sees that look on your eyes he doesn't even ask. if you bring it up or if things start getting heated and you stop to warn him just looks at you with a steady, neutral gaze

"i don't care about that. it's nothing but your body doing what it's supposed to do. if you're comfortable and you're not in too much pain, then i'm fine."

• he pays extreme attention to your reaction and is focused entirely on practicality of the sex and your pleasure, he prefers positions that you'd be comfortable in. if he senses muscle tension, hears your breath hitching or ses that you're in pain he stops instantly

• megumi's aftercare is about efficieny and grounding. his actions are incredibly loud

• he is the first to move but only to take care of you. he returns with a glass of water, painkillers just in case and a towel so he can gently clean you up. if he needs to go to the kitchen to get food he summons kon so he doesn't have to get out of bed and leave you

• he wraps himself around you and gently rubs your back

itadori yuuji

• yuji is essentially a human golden retriever with a high powered heater built in so he is the absolute gold standard for a person with pcos

• he stays home without a second thought. he checks in with megumi and gojo before you can even finish the sentence that hints him you aren't feeling good

• he puts on a bad movie marathon with funnier reactions than the movies themselves. we're talking about things like dramatic gasps on the things he didn't see coming, getting super excited during certain parts or he plays stress free games with you

• if you end up snapping or yelling at yuji, his reaction would likely be the most disarming thing in the world. he is not the type to get defensive or yell back, he has an incredibly high emotional IQ and a very thick skin

• he just blinks, tilts his head, and lets the words wash over him. he doesn't take it personally because he knows it's the pain and the hormonal exhaustion talking, not you. instead of arguing back, he waits for a beat and says something that hints he gets you

"whoa, okay. you're really feeling it right now, huh? i'm sorry, i didn't mean to get under your skin."

• he is very intuitive. after you snap, he tries to gauge what you actually need

"i hear you. if you need some total yuji-free time i'll go in the kitchen and prepare food but just call me out if you change your mind or want anything, deal?"

"do you want a hug or should i stay on the other side of the couch?"

• one of the best things about yuji is that he doesn't keep score. when the anger washes off you still find him where he already was, ready to hand you favorite drink or show you a funny video. if you attempt to apologize he just waves his hand and gently smiles at you

"we all have our moments hun. i know you're dealing with a lot, you don't have to apologize for being a human in front of me."

• if you start crying because of hormonal imbalance his first instinct is physical comfort. he immediately drops whatever he is doing and comes to you. he knows it's the hormones so instead of asking he wraps his arm around you in a firm, bear hug. his voice drops into a low, steady tone he uses when he is being serious and protective

"it's okay angel. you've been holding in a lot today, haven't you?"

• yuji is an excellent cook. he does a quick research of what your body lacks during period and what might ease your symptoms, then he gets to work

• when the cramps hit bad his cheerful caretaker attitude shifts into a very focused and protective one but he doesn't panic. since he is a walking heater he lays down and spoons you, putting his hands on the area that's cramping

• if you wake up at night cramping he wakes up instantly with you, he instinctively reaches for your stomach, his large hand acting like a heating pad to try and soothe the muscles

"hey, hey... you okay? is it the cramps again?"

• he keeps an emergency kit of painkillers and a glass of water at the nightstand, he gives you a pill if he can't help you

• he talks about school, the missions and his week to distract you, he only sleeps when he is sure you drifted off first

• when the brain fog hits and even deciding what to wear or what to eat feels like solving a complex equation he takes the executive function off your hands

• he decides the menu, handles the chores, puts the items you might need like your laptop, phone or charger in front of you so you won't have to look for them. if you're struggling to find your words he doesn't force you to communicate. he encourages you to let your phone blow up if you don't feel like dealing with people

"your body is working ten times harder than mine right now just to keep things balanced. of course you're tired, hun. you have every right to be."

• yuji's one of greatest strengths is that he doesn't need you to be 'on' for him. if you’re stuck in a depressive episode where you can’t get out of bed or stop crying, he doesn't look at you with disappointment, he matches with you. he takes over the executive part of the day with actions such as climbing on the bed with you and quietly bringing your safe foods

"you don't have to be happy today. you don't even have to talk if you don't wanna. i'm just gonna hang out here with you, okay?"

• yuji's view on period sex would be defined by his trademark combination of high emotional intelligence, zero squeamishness and an intense focus on your comfort. as someone who has spent his life around blood, injuries and the physical realities of being a sorcerer, he is not grossed out by natural bodily functions

"it's just blood, honey. i've seen way worse just a few days ago. if you’re feeling up for it, I’m definitely up for it."

• not 'can we?' but 'is it gonna help you?'

@/satoruinthehouse's work do not translate/copy on other apps and platforms

[supernovafics]

𝐖𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k words

summary: in which eddie is always there when you need him 

warnings: eddie's pov, explicit language, mentions of alcohol/drinking, smoking weed, angst, unrequited feelings (allegedly), pining

author’s note: me writing an eddie fic? so crazy, i know. this is very inspired by the song who’s your boyfriend by royel otis. enjoy<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to say no to you. And he also wasn’t sure if he’d ever even want to. 

You would come knocking on his trailer door in the middle of the night and he’d always answer. Maybe he could even admit that sometimes he was anticipating your three quick knocks; waiting for them. 

This night was no different. You were at his door a little after midnight, and he could tell that you had just come from a party; the short black dress you were wearing made it obvious. 

You smiled at him when he opened the door. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Eddie said, returning the smile while also pretending that he wasn’t so deeply affected by the way you looked so happy to see him. “Should I feel concerned that you’re here right now, or just happy?”

“Definitely just happy,” You told him. “Everything’s fine.”

He wasn’t sure if he fully believed that, especially when he noticed your slightly puffy eyes. “Were you crying?”

“Yeah, but it’s stupid,” You said as you shook your head and wiped haphazardly at your cheeks. “Really, really stupid.”

“What did he do this time?” Eddie didn’t hesitate to ask. 

Hearing that made you give him a small smile, and it was a smile that Eddie loved getting from you. “You don’t think it could be me that did something wrong?”

“Not really, no,” He answered, and right after the short statement left his mouth, he wondered if those three words said everything. If they said how much he liked you, and how, in his eyes, no, there was nothing that you could do wrong. He wondered if you could see all of that subtext to his words, and he continued before you could potentially look that deep into them. “Considering his track record.”

“Well, you’re right,” You said with a quiet sigh. “He was an idiot tonight, and honestly, I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Wanna smoke?” Eddie asked, and you didn’t hesitate to nod. 

“Now that sounds like a great idea.”

Thirty minutes later, you two were sitting at the foot of Eddie’s bed, going back and forth taking the last few hits of the joint that he expertly rolled for you two, and then you were standing up and starting to wander around his cluttered room. 

One of the first few times you and Eddie got high together, he noticed how curious you got; asking whatever random questions came to mind and always exploring whatever space the two of you were in— most of the time it was his room. 

You looked at the Corroded Coffin poster that hung on his wall. “When will you let me come to one of your shows?”

“Once we build somewhat of a following, and I’m certain that it won’t just be you in the crowd,” He was mostly joking with his words, but he could inwardly admit that there was some truth to the statement.

“I hope you know that I’d scream and cheer you guys on so loud that it would feel like the room was full of at least fifty people.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d actually love to see that.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just surprise pop up at The Hideout one Tuesday night,” You said as you went to his bed again, lying down so that your head was at the foot of the bed. 

You stared up at the ceiling, and Eddie’s eyes were on his messy floor. He should’ve suggested watching a movie or listening to some music. Nine times out of ten, that was what he would do, and you’d sway one way or the other depending on what type of mood you were in. But suddenly, there was a question that was racking his brain, and in this moment, he couldn’t think of anything else. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” He asked, taking a quick glance at you. “And feel free to tell me to fuck off if you hate the question.”

You shook your head at him as you let out an amused laugh. “I could never tell you to fuck off.”

Your words sounded honest, but Eddie wondered just how true they were. “Why are you with him?”

You were quiet at first, and Eddie immediately thought that his question was too much, that it crossed the imaginary line that sat between you and him and offended you entirely. However, before he could backtrack and say a quick, “Never mind, forget I asked that,” you were speaking. 

“Sometimes he kinda sucks and we disagree about stupid things, but he also just, I don’t know, he makes me really happy too,” You answered, and there was a small smile on your face that Eddie couldn’t look away from. “You know that kind of, like… giddy feeling you get when you see someone you really like?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded simply at your question. “I feel that way with you,” was what he wanted to add, but he didn’t; he couldn’t. 

“That’s how I get with him.”

It was Eddie’s turn to get quiet for a moment, even though he definitely should’ve seen that response coming. 

“That’s nice,” He ultimately responded when it felt as if he was quiet for way too long. 

“And disgustingly sappy,” You rolled your eyes at yourself. “I know, I know.”

“No, it’s sweet,” He told you, which was true. Sadly, that was probably one of the sweetest things he’d ever heard. 

“Thank you for not making fun of me,” You responded with a soft laugh and then shifted on the bed so that you were lying on your stomach and looking up at him. “Hey, can I change into something of yours? I really wanna get out of this dress.” 

He didn’t hesitate to nod and went to grab a t-shirt and shorts for you and then you headed into his bathroom to put it on. Eddie sat down on his bed again and he let out a quiet sigh as he leaned back against his pillows. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing anymore, and that was actually being generous because he wasn’t sure if he ever knew what he was doing when it came to you. 

The first time you two talked— at a party that he was selling at— the conversation lasted for hours. You’d gotten into an argument with your boyfriend, something that Eddie quickly learned was a typical occurrence, and he found you sulking in the backyard. He considered just leaving you be, but then he was asking if you were okay, and you answered with a halfhearted shrug. He then asked if you wanted to talk, and you gave him another shrug, but didn’t say no. You two ended up smoking weed while sitting on the curb next to his van and talking about nonsense until a friend came to drag you home. But not before he told you where he lived and said that if you ever wanted to talk again, you should come by. 

A sort of routine formed from there. You’d knock, and Eddie was always there to answer; most times, he and you would smoke as you two watched a movie in his home or listened to music, but sometimes you’d end up just talking about whatever came to mind.   

Eddie liked spending time with you, and he knew that he shouldn’t look into all of your late-night hangouts as more than simply just that. But sometimes it was hard not to. 

“He forgot my birthday,” Your voice broke through Eddie’s thoughts.

He turned his head, looking at you standing in his doorway, and his brows furrowed. “What?”

“That’s why me and him fought tonight,” You started explaining as you leaned against the doorframe. “I thought he was planning this whole thing for my birthday because he wasn’t talking about it, and then he mentioned going to this party tonight, and I was convinced that he had set something up. But then we literally did just go to a stupid party and he completely forgot about my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?”

“Well, technically, it’s over now since it’s one in the morning, but yeah, it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie rushed out. “I forgot too.”

You shook your head at him, and a quiet laugh fell from your lips. “You can’t forget something that I never even told you about.”

“Still,” Eddie said as he stood up from his bed. “Wait here.”

He walked past you and headed into the kitchen, going into the small pantry and grabbing one of the Hostess cupcakes from the box that Wayne always bought, and then he managed to find a stray candle in one of the drawers. He unwrapped the cupcake and put the candle in it, and then pulled the lighter out of his pocket and lit the candle once he was standing in front of you. 

“Eddie,” You said, shaking your head, but there was a smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You deserve some sort of fanfare for your birthday.”

“Thank you,” You told him softly. You blew out the candle and then pulled him in for a hug, which surprised Eddie, but he didn’t hesitate to hug you back. “Thank you a lot.” 

His arms circled your waist, and he gave you a tight squeeze because he could tell that you needed it. “Yeah, of course.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was two days later when Eddie heard from you again, and it was in the form of a phone call, which was rare. 

“We’re having a party,” You told him, referring to you and your roommates; Eddie still wasn’t entirely sure how the five of you made it work in what you told him was “such a small house.” “And I want you to come just to come, and they want you to come to sell. Feel free to tell me to fuck off if you already have plans tonight.”

“I’d never tell you to fuck off,” Eddie responded, mimicking your words from a few nights ago. “I’ll be there.”

You were the one who opened the door for him when he showed up to your place an hour into the party. You smiled as you pulled him in for a quick hug the moment he stepped over the threshold.  

You still had the same happy smile on your face when you pulled back and met his eyes. “Come find me when you’re done with your rounds.”

Eddie nodded at your words, and then you were off, heading toward the kitchen because someone had called your name. 

He found you thirty minutes later. You were outside, leaning against the railing of the back porch and staring out into the small backyard.  

“Hey,” Eddie grabbed your attention, making you turn, and the smile that took over your face made his heart practically constrict in his chest. “I saved something for you.”

He pulled out a joint from his jacket pocket and was about to hand it over to you, but you shook your head. 

“I’ve decided to only do one bad thing tonight.” You pointed to your cup that was sitting on the wooden railing. “Plus, sometimes I just wanna talk to you. We don’t always have to smoke while we do it.”

“Oh, I thought that was a requirement,” Eddie joked, and you playfully swatted his denim-covered arm. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

You took a sip of whatever was in your red plastic cup, and when you set it back down on the railing, it was then that Eddie could tell that you were a little drunk. There was a slight sway to your movements— not worryingly so, just like you were having a good time. And then there were your next words that confirmed your slight inebriation. 

“You’re kind of like my best friend,” You told him, voice soft, which contrasted the sound of the loud music inside that you two could faintly hear through the shut back door. “Sometimes it feels like I can only talk to you about certain things.”

Maybe Eddie wasn’t giving you enough credit, and you would’ve also admitted this to him if you were sober. Either way, he nodded at your words. “I feel the same way.”

He decided against calling you out on the fact that it would’ve probably made more sense if you felt that way with your literal boyfriend. Instead, his eyes traveled downward a little and noticed the necklace you were wearing. Eddie could tell that it was new because it looked that way, and it also looked expensive, and he had never seen you wear it before. 

“Nice necklace.”

“Thanks,” You said as your fingers came up to touch the silver chain and the small red heart pendant that hung from it. “He got it for me to make up for the whole birthday thing.”

“That’s good,” Eddie responded. “You forgive him?”

“Yeah,” You nodded and then shrugged. “Too hard to stay mad.”

The only thing Eddie could do was nod at that, and then he looked away from you and stared out into the dark backyard. He was going to ask you where your boyfriend was tonight; was he somewhere at this party? However, your sudden squeal broke the brief quietness instead. The sound was startling, and Eddie looked at you, and then his unasked question was answered. 

Steve had his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he was lifting you with the widest grin on his face. You seemed to quickly recognize it was him because the scared look on your face dropped after a moment, and you let out a shocked laugh. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” You said when he let you down, and you turned to face him. There was a small frown on your face, but there was no animosity behind it, and you still pushed up on your toes to pull him in for a hug. 

Steve laughed as his arms circled your waist. “That was the plan.” 

A conversation played out between the two of you that Eddie tried his hardest not to listen to, but it was kind of hard not to— you asking Steve what he was doing here because he was supposed to be at Robin’s college for the weekend, and him answering with, “She ditched me for a date, so I got to leave early,” which made you laugh in response. 

“Hey, Munson,” Steve said as you settled yourself into his side, like you were meant to be there. “I hope you’re not up-charging her for weed.” 

“I give her the friend discount,” Eddie said, and he didn’t feel the need to specify that that meant that he’d give you everything for free. 

“He always gives me the friend discount. And we’re not even smoking right now, I’m only drinking tonight,” You told Steve, and then noticed that your drink was gone and that it must’ve gotten knocked over and fallen into the grass when he surprised you. You detached yourself from Steve and went to peek over the railing. “You murdered my drink.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new one,” He said, and you looked at him again. You pressed a quick kiss to his lips and then watched him head back into the house. 

Eddie knew that this was his cue to leave— he’d actually felt his cue the moment he saw Steve with his arms around you, but even he could recognize that it would’ve been weird to slip away when you and Steve fell into your initial conversation and not say any sort of goodbye to you. 

“Hey, I’ll see you later,” Eddie said, grabbing your attention. “I’m gonna head out.”

You immediately gave him a sad look. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He was very sure, and he was glad that you didn’t ask him why.

“Okay, well, at least let me be a good party host and walk you to your car,” You said, and Eddie didn’t argue with you on that.

You guided him out through the backyard instead of through the noisy house. He took the lead once you two were on the sidewalk, pointing in the direction of his van, and you two started walking down the street; right at the corner was the only place he had been able to find a spot. 

“I’ll be around tonight if you need to talk,” Eddie said. It was obvious, but he still always felt the need to remind you— if you needed him, he’d be there. Always. 

You nodded at that. “Thank you.”

Before he opened the door and got into the driver's seat of his van, your voice stopped him. 

“And it works both ways, you know,” You told him. “You can talk to me too. Knock at my door in the middle of the night and tell me your problems that are probably a lot less silly than mine. You can tell me anything.” 

That was the thing, though. He couldn’t tell you anything. Because if he did, it would probably break everything you two had. Everything that was easy and simple and nice and comfortable. 

But he couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t think about being honest with you, that he didn’t think about saying the words to just see what your reaction would be. Just to see how things between you two would change. 

“I know,” Was what he ultimately responded to you with, though.   

You smiled and gave him a quick nod. “Good.”

Seeing that sweet smile on your face struck something inside of him. There was suddenly a part of him that wanted to say “Fuck it” and just finally tell you the truth.

“I should head back before Steve wonders where I went,” You said before Eddie could admit anything to you. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded because it was the right thing to do; the only thing to do. “See you soon.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333