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chuuyrr · 5 months

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 .ᐟ

feat: dazai, chuuya, fyodor

ꨄ˙ CW(s): gn! reader, mentions of alcohol (reader is drunk)

ꨄ˙ SYNOPSIS: in which you drink too much and don't even realize that your boyfriend is your boyfriend or you might as well be drunk in love

in the dimly lit bar, the air was filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. you found yourself swirling the remnants of a colorful cocktail, the room around you blurring as the night progressed.

DAZAI sits beside you, and couldn't help but notice your flushed-pink demeanor, fueled by the drinks you had consumed, and giggles to himself.

in your tipsy state, you tilt your head, looking at dazai with a playful suspicion. the room spun slightly, and you sway on your seat, trying to focus on his face.

"you know," you slur, "you're a suspicious stranger. i bet you've got some secret agenda." you point an accusing finger at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

dazai, amused by your playful accusations, couldn't help but giggle even more, "oh, do i now? well, i'm just a harmless 'stranger' who happened to find the most adorable drunk person in the entire bar."

you raise an eyebrow skeptically, still not recognizing him, "adorable, huh? well, mr. stranger-fanger, you're gonna have to prove it." you cross your arms, a challenging smirk on your flushed face.

dazai, seizing the opportunity, wraps his arms around you with a mockingly serious expression, "see? no danger here, just a guy who appreciates adorable drunks."

you broke into a fit of giggles, melting into his embrace, "well, you're not that bad for a stranger, i guess."

completely unaware that the 'stranger' was, in fact, your boyfriend, you continued to enjoy the whimsical dance of laughter and teasing, creating a memory that would undoubtedly be cherished in the days to come.

"i'm gonna be serious though, i am your boyfriend," dazai says to you.

you blink softly at him, your tipsy-drunk state had somehow lead you to look at him as such. dazai blinks back before a grin starts to tug on his lips.

"do i have to remind my dearest? well, then. buckle up because you're in for a treat!" he says before he instantly starts peppering your face in kisses as he holds you tightly.

you immediately start to squeal and giggle as you are reminded of the constant kisses that your boyfriend would give you admist the alcohol in your system.

"osamuuu!" you say in a soft whine before he pecks your lips.

dazai grins even more widely at your cute little whine as he cups your face now, "that's more like it. goodness, such an adorable drunk you are, hmm?"

CHUUYA watches with a mix of concern and amusement as your cheerful demeanor transformed into a tipsy state.

as the night wore on, chuuya decides it was time to take you home. he gently placed his gloved hand on your shoulder, trying to capture your attention, "hey, it's getting late. how about we head home?" he suggests, his voice warm and caring.

however, in your inebriated state, you misinterpreted the situation. you gasp sharply before you squirm in your seat and whine softly, "nooo, i'm having so much fun here! plus, you can't take me home! i have a boyfriend!"

chuuya was flabbergasted, but he couldn't help but chuckle at your resistance afterwards upon seeing this, "come on, baby, i'm not a stranger. i'm your boyfriend, and I just want to make sure you get home safely."

now it's you blinking softly, looking at him with a mix of confusion and innocence, "boyfriend? really?" you giggle, completely unaware of the true nature of your relationship.

"you're being so silly right now, i almost can't with you," chuuya sighs, still laughing softly, "geez, i didn't know my baby can be this forgetful with this much alcohol."

undeterred, chuuya continued to coax you gently, his amusement growing as you stare at him in awe as you begin to pat his cheeks in your warm hands, "this pretty face is all mine?"

chuuya chuckles again, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he takes your hands in his before leaning in to press a lingering kiss on your lips and whispering, "i'm all yours, baby."

the night unfolded in a blend of laughter, warmth, and the endearing challenge of convincing you that the 'stranger' was, in fact, the person who cared for you the most, and you couldn't help but giggle even more into the kiss.

FYODOR observes your increasing intoxication with a measured gaze, a sense of concern clouding his usually composed demeanor.

as the night unfolds, you continued to enjoy the array of drinks that nikolai had generously provided you two. fyodor, recognizing the potential consequences, decided it was time to intervene. he places a hand gently on your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"dear, perhaps it's time to slow down," fyodor suggests, his voice calm and measured as he tries to get you to stop.

you looked at him with a tipsy grin, oblivious to the fact that fyodor was your boyfriend, "but nikolai is just being generous. no harm in a few more, riiight?"

fyodor's piercing gaze held a mixture of concern and determination, "i'd rather not see you regretting this tomorrow. let's enjoy the night responsibly," he insists, attempting to guide you away from the tempting allure of more drinks.

however, in your intoxicated state, you resisted his efforts, misinterpreting his intentions, "oh, come on! live a little, stranger!" you playfully tease, unaware that fyodor was the person you were romantically involved with.

fyodor couldn't help but hide a small smile at your playful antics, though he inwardly feels a twinge of sadness at being referred to as a stranger, maintained his composure.

he observes you with a subtle sadness in his eyes, a fleeting emotion that betrayed the depth of his feelings. still, he wasn't one to give up easily.

with a gentle touch, he cupped your face, making you meet his gaze, "remember, i'm the one who cares deeply for you," he murmurs with a faint smile, his eyes staring in yours.

"i may be a stranger in this particular scenario, but i am not to you," fyodor replies softly, realizing that your drunken state was proving to be a barrier. yet, he didn't relent.

the realization began to dawn on you, your intoxicated mind slowly connecting the dots, "wait a minute... you care about me? really?"

fyodor nods, his eyes holding a mixture of hope and longing, "more than you can imagine."

you blink softly, still processing the situation through the haze of alcohol. before you could react, fyodor leaned in, pressing a soft and lingering kiss against your lips. the touch was tender yet filled with an unspoken depth of emotion, an attempt to bridge the gap that had momentarily separated you.

as the kiss unfolded, a subtle warmth spread through you, and the fog of intoxication seemed to lift momentarily. the taste of familiarity mingled with the hint of sadness, creating a poignant moment that transcended the blurred boundaries of the night. fyodor then pulls away, his gaze searching yours for any signs of recognition.

there was a pause, a moment of suspended realization. slowly, your eyes widened, and a spark of recognition flickered within them. "wait," you whisper, your voice carrying a mix of surprise and clarity as you smile. "you're not a stranger, only my fedya kisses me like that!"

a soft smile tugged at the corners of fyodor's lips as the weight of being called a stranger lifted. the kiss had served as a catalyst, a bridge that connected the fragments of memory scattered in the alcohol-induced haze.

"my, my, how could you forget your fedya, dear?" fyodor sighs, shaking his head before he kisses your lips again and whispers, "traitor.."

ꨄ˙ A.N.: i feel like i might have written fyodor in an ooc-ish way, and if i did, i apologize !! haven't written for him in so long and i don't write for him as often as dazai and chuuya. this is also kinda silly i think now that i've finished writing this lol !! thank you so much for reading until the end (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

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moonsaver · 2 months

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I cant stop thinking about being a possible singer from the Iris Family?? Their family is usually responsible for the major "talent" productions that practically are responsible for the entertainment... also Siobhan as hints to what the Iris family would be like.

You were a singer.

Barely a singer, to be fair.

It was for the sake of your little compartment of a family. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and you scraped out every last bit of your talents. The one which seems to be lasting the longest, seems to be singing.

You did what you had to. You sang until your throat was raw and hurt, practiced day and night until your ears were sick of your own voice, passed through every elimination tests that were conducted – all so you could have a stabilized, bolted place in the Iris Family, if it meant you and your parents and siblings weren't kicked out.

And, you weren't the best. And certainly not as good as Robin – the gem of the Oak Family. It was ironic, but it didn't matter. Not to you. As long as it kept your family secure, you endured. The comparisons, the hushed, barely pleased audience as they only took your performance as stalling time for the "real stars" of the show, the side-glances all of your other relatives threw your way. It was fine. You told yourself so. It was fine as long as you, your parents and your siblings were secured.

Risks weren't an option for you. Not when you had too much to lose.

Sunday has learned to appreciate frequency over output.

Times where schedules had to be rearranged last minute, performances strained and announcements elongated to squeeze out any extra amount of coverage for a missing show, routine dismantled and put together in real time as the neverending perfect show went on.

In all of those times, Sunday kept a usual eye on everyone. Their names, roles, status, popularity, preferences. And most importantly – their reliability.

You were an average performer. But your reliability was notable to Sunday. Oftentimes he found himself looking for you first and foremost for an improvised concert, whenever things even threatened to go awry. He knew perhaps you obliged out of self-interest or a simple fear of upsetting The Head of the Oak Family, but you were reliable in your own way. A simple glance your way and a nod was enough to signal you for advance preparation for improvisation, repeated song lyrics at the tip of your tongue.

If you were lucky, sometimes Sunday would repay you by scheduling you for an opening performance for a small-time event, or letting you in on the recent trends, the general public opinion towards your show, or even drop some personal hints for you to improve.

That was all you were. A reliable stand-in for when there were a disarray of clarity, disagreements upon disagreements, confusion stagnating the scheduling.

Until, you became so much more in a simple moment of disillusion.

A break is in order, Sunday believes. He clicks his pen continuously, the sound echoing in the vast space of the room, bouncing off of the sterile, empty walls.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

5 times.

Click.

6 times.

Sunday's restless mind comes to a small halt when he inhales sharply, constraining his fingers. His shaking hand gently places the pen onto the flat, neatly organized desk, back where it belongs. He rests his chin on his hands. Thinking and listing everything on his agenda for the day.

A tandem of knocks resound from the smooth wooden surface of the door.

"Mr. Sunday?"

Ah. It's you.

He supposes his asisstants and servants don't realize he's noticed the recent pattern as of late. Whenever something changes in the schedule that could possibly threaten to dampen his mood or displease him, they send you in as some sort of collateral. He's gotten used to your presence enough to not mind it.

"Come in."

Short, quick clicks of your heels accompany the entering of your figure into the room. Your front is warmly illuminated by the yellow lighting of the room.

"Changes have been decided within the schedule again."

"As expected."

He gets up from the leather chair with a subtle creak, the steps of his shoes muffled by the carpet. He walks around his table, fingers trailing across the ridges of the masterfully crafted desk.

"Can I ask a favor of you, as always?"

"Of course."

His wings slightly flutter, pleased at the response. You can tell, despite his back facing you.

His fingers trail and come to a slow halt at the edge of the desk. His index finger taps on the surface.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

5 times.

Ah, you think. He's anxious.

"Mr. Sunday?"

"Hm?"

His finger stops, you note.

"I've heard guests have taken more to berry-flavored items as of late."

He chuckles a bit, softly.

"There's an uprising trend. Berry-flavored items have been on the rise, and as such, food follows."

Sunday half theorizes it could be due to the recent intreview Robin had. Strawberry flavored lipgloss was something she mentioned in particular.

"Ah. I see. So I suppose those colors may also influence the recent fashion trends?"

Sunday hums, in thought.

The moment is interrupted by an abrupt knock at the door.

"Mr. Sunday, there's a few tasks that need your approval to go ahead."

The male asisstant's voice resounds confidently through the previously quiet room. Sunday looks over at you and nods. You turn to take your leave. You can only hope it was enough of a reprieve for him.

"It seems fashion trends are inspired, aswell."

Sunday mentions, standing beside you. His eyes are watchful, analyzing the current performance from behind the curtains.

"I see."

You respond. Making conversation was not your strongsuit. Sunday smiles slightly at your awkwardness.

He continued the conversation after a few moments, talking about color palettes, scents, and general observable trends. Your usual,basic gowns and dresses will now see a noticeable change, due to Sunday's suggestions.

He admits, even at times, he looks forward to them. Sometimes, as foolish as it sounds, he slips in a mix of his own personal opinion, thinly disguised as the "general preference", which manages to then take presidence over your usual pick of gowns. He won't admit it, but he secretly does enjoy sometimes "picking out" your outfits. It's never harmed anyone in the long run, and Sunday's personal theories of whichever color would look good on you are confirmed.

"May I ask.. what this is..?"

The artificial, blue light of the Dreamscape softly highlights Sunday's face, as he stands before you with a pleased look. The same, usual smile on his face.

"I believe incorporating a few gold accents into your palette may help."

You look at the black, velvet bag; the ends of it scrunched into a closure. Your fingers gently pry it open and meddle around a bit, before they pull out a single, gold earring. It glimmers wonderfully under the soft, blue light. There's a flower at the very top with an encrusted diamond, from which a long, elegant thread of gold dangles, ending into a small golden stalk.

You curiously examine it, slightly dangling it to inspect the weight and movement of the accessory.

Sunday walks toward you with a few, short strides, and holds out his hand.

You look at his open, gloved palm, then him.

You inhale deeply, before taking off your current earrings and placing them onto his hand, and gently replacing their former stations with the new earrings. Sunday places your previous earrings into the velvet bag, and glances at your ears, then you.

"Consider it a.. company gift."

How fanciful.

"Thank you for your generosity."

Sunday's eyes linger on your ears, then trail down to the junction of your jaw. His eyes close as his smiles widens slightly.

To be fair, he wanted more.

‐

Sunday has been getting closer to you as of late.

Because you wouldn't imagine ever being this close in proximity to Robin of all people.

Her lips are glossy with a strawberry tint, and her eyes are a beautiful lake green, you note. You also take note of the fact she's much more warmer and approachable than she is appeared to be on digital surfaces.

Both of you engage in polite conversation, her taking the lead, noticing your awkwardness. She's sweet, and understanding. She discusses general things regarding singing and songwriting. You take her for a very warm individual. It's no wonder she's a well-liked popstar. Talent alone can take you so far.

What you also wouldn't imagine is her managing to entangle you within her daily affairs. She leads you to private rooms, asks for advice on outfits, practice, and all sorts of things, despite the contrast of your styles almost bizzare, you oblige anyway.

And it's almost brazenly obvious she's trying to get you and Sunday to spend more time alone outside of work.

It's of no coincidence that she suddenly has to leave and take care of a few things or shuffle around a bit outside whenever Sunday manages to pop in and check up on you two. It wouldn't have been so uncomfortable if for the fact, Sunday's eyes are always lingering on your ears.

Once, he'd taken note that you'd been wearing them more often to your performances and shows. It can't be helped – you've gained more popularity and as a result, keener eyes inspect your choice of practically everything. Including your earrings. Your fans aren't hesitant to point out how exquisite and specific the craftsmanship of your earrings are, and it's not long before your fans have understood it was gifted to you. By who, became the newest sensation regarding you. Petty rumors were incriminating, but you suppose if it brought you more fans, it was enough.

Sunday chuckles softly when you briefly touch on the subject.

It wasn't long before he'd gotten you another pair as a result.

You only worry about paying him back, more and more.

‐

There are a plethora of thorns on Sunday's side. Many, of which the public, and many members of the Oak Family aren't privy to.

One of them was currently busy darkening his doorstep;

The IPC.

Or rather specifically – Aventurine.

What he wasn't expecting, was for you to be an exclusive invitee to his mischief.

You were rather in an unlucky spot. You had always considered your luck to be rusty, having struggled so much just for average recognition and a barely tangible career that's keeping your family afloat.

On top of that, you were being heavily persuaded by Aventurine, who was persistent in his offer to you. His desperation was more than obvious, like a nervous dog waiting for the bone toss, holding you in place with a firm grip on your arm. It didn't help that he'd forced his way into your hotel room aswell.

And Sunday just witnessed the pinnacle of this forsaken deal.

...

"Aventurine."

"Mr. Sunday."

After a beat of silence, you pathetically try to step in,

"This–"

"I see you've taken to familiarizing with my employees."

Sunday's smile remains well plastered on his face. Aventurine only smiles back.

"I was actually in the middle of striking a deal. There's always opportunities in the best of places, right?" Aventurine side-eyes you. You shrink back a bit.

"My employees are unfortunately off-limits to contracts from unauthorized branches. I look for your understanding in this.. complicated form of approach."

You watch Aventurine's smile strain. Sunday continues.

"Perhaps, if you are in need of a singer, I may direct you to an appropriate employee from the Iris Family to search for someone."

"That won't be necessary. I wasn't looking for a singer. You don't think that's all they're talented at, do you?"

Sunday's eyes slightly sharpen at him. Aventurine's smile becomes more genuine.

"Oh, you've positively ruined the mood. I guess it's just not my lucky day, and it looks like I'm not getting a deal with you anytime soon."

Aventurine's eyes hone in on you. You stand stiffly, your arm tense from the uncertainty your body feels physically.

His grip loosens, languidly. You'd think he was doing it slowly on purpose if not to tick off Sunday more.

"I'll take my leave, then."

Aventurine breezes past Sunday, rounding the corner of the door. He casts one last glance to you as the turns.

His footsteps echo down the hallway. As soon as they fade, Sunday's smile drops slightly.

"Are you perhaps.. unhappy with your current circumstances?"

‐

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satoruxx · 7 months

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pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: best friend!satoru is everything to me, fluff, teeny tiny bit angsty, but only bc of pining (my favorite), here to add to my simp satoru agenda, he’s trying his best but reader is oblivious (same), pls notice him rheya’s note: i cant stop thinking about best friend!satoru so i’m here to share this silly little blurb LMAO that’s it enjoy !! part 2

if satoru had known that being your best friend would be this difficult, he would have turned away from you when you said hi to him on your first day at jujutsu high.

it's not that he doesn't care about you. no, quite the opposite actually. he's always cared about you more than he'd like to admit. he can remember the way he used track the eyes of fellow students trailing you when you walked by. he can remember the sting of his nails as they dug into his clenched palms, and how suguru would pat his shoulder sympathetically when he noticed. he was sixteen at the time.

back then it seemed like he would grow out of his teenage crush, after being dismissed as your good friend for so long. but no, just his luck that these stupid feelings would grow and grow until they were tangled up around his very soul. a vice-like grip.

and now almost seven years later, nothing has changed.

"and he told me that if i wanted to be more interesting i should learn to fence, like he does!" you rant, throwing your hands up as you pace the length of his kitchen. satoru leans against the counter, arms crossed as he watches you vent your anger over yet another failed first date.

"uh huh." he acknowledges, trying to stay focused as you continue your annoyed speech. his fingers flex against his biceps, a thinly veiled attempt at controlling his frustration. whether he's frustrated with you or the man you were with, he has no clue.

"then he asked me where i was from, and then said i didn't look like it!" you rage, face hot as you finally unload the frustration you've been carrying all evening.

satoru huffs in mild irritation, trying hard not to roll his eyes. but you hear it and turn to him, half ticked off and half curious. "what was that?"

he clicks his tongue.

"you do this all the time. you always pick guys who treat you like shit. i'm not even surprised anymore." he snaps, a bit more forceful than he intended to be.

there's a silence that follows, and satoru’s unlucky enough to catch the mildly surprised look on your face. he tongues his cheek, brows pinched as he watches your expression fall. an ugly feeling that reminds him suspiciously of guilt rolls around in his stomach.

"you’re right…" you sigh, shoulders slumping as you cross your arms with a defeated shake of your head. "it's just tiring, you know?"

he turns his back to you, reaching across the counter to start slicing up an apple, trying to keep his hands occupied because they're itching to touch you. but he can't keep the bitterness out of his tone when he answers with a clipped, "yeah i know."

he can practically feel your confused stare on his back. but then you chuckle in amusement, mirth clear in your tone. "what do you mean you know? you literally get attention from random people on the street. you can have anyone you want." you laugh.

"are you serious?" he asks, eyes wide with disbelief as he spins around to face you again. you only blink at him, expression so annoyingly clueless it makes him sigh. he turns away from you once again, going back to cutting the apple.

"what?" you cock your head, not understanding why he's so forlorn about it. "most people would jump at the chance to date you. everyone wants you, you know?"

"not everyone. not the one who matters." he mutters bitterly as he places the apple slices onto a plate. you said all of it so casually, like it's supposed to be obvious, but all satoru feels is an overwhelming wave of disappointment wash over him.

"you…never mind." he relents, biting his tongue. "it's not important."

he hears your sharp intake of breath as you gasp, curiosity no doubt brimming in your barely concealed grin.

"ooh interesting! are you telling me you have a thing for someone, toru?" the teasing in your tone is palpable, and satoru feels his stomach flip pleasantly when you say his name. he turns around to face you, letting his shoulders drop as a helpless smile stretches across his face.

he walks up to you, pushing an apple slice past your lips and chuckling quietly. you're still giving him those curious little eyes as you chew, and he tries to swallow down the overwhelming wave of pure affection that threatens to burst from within. clearly today wasn't the day you were going to realize what kind of feelings he's been keeping a secret for so many years.

that's okay. he'll wait as long as you need him to.

he flicks your forehead gently, before reaching down to tug on your cheek. "don't worry your pretty little head about that, sweet thing. you'll figure it out soon enough."

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tojjist · 2 months

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𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 ↳ r. sukuna

in which: the king of curses left you the moment you announce your pregnancy to him. but after nearly losing you... he might be having a change of heart contains: very slight objectification of reader, reader is a half-curse, mentions of injury and near-death experience, reader is pregnant, slight mention of pregnancy sex, sukuna is really ooc tbh A/N: yall really wanted soft sukuna lmao. i js wanted to write something more in my own style instead of the tumblr style. It's all over the place really, also obv trueform! sukuna. w.c : 1.6k

“Sukuna-sama?” Your voice comes out a breathy whisper, barely audible.

“Do– ugh,” The pink-haired curse sighs. “Don’t call me that. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

You haven’t known Sukuna to be tender. Actually, scratch that. You used to genuinely believe he mistook the adjective for an affront. He probably still does, despite the sheer softness of his actions. His mind is a marvel far beyond your, or anyone else's, comprehension. And if Sukuna hasn’t always been complicated, his sudden switch of behavior recently has rendered unriddling the complex being that he is even harder.

“What do I call you then?” There’s confusion in your tone; confusion fused with unadulterated innocence. His eyebrows crease further. He loved how naive and ingénue you are. Such a simple, sheepish thing. Easy to lead one, easy to use, easy to hurt. But as of late, he’d come to hate it.

He hates that he hates it. He shouldn’t care.

“I don’t fucking know,” he snaps back. It’s enough to bring you silence, the somber tone he uses coming with a sense of finality.

Rough callouses are surprisingly gentle against your flesh—callouses that slap, bruise, grope, but never caress. Despite that, he pulls your underwear up your thighs with utter care. If you didn’t know any better, you might even dare call his actions delicate.

“Does it hurt?” He reminisces. Curious digits stroke your lower abdomen and across the swell of your belly, where an ugly scar sits. It decorates your skin with a long, uneven line of dried blood cells.

“It’s not too bad,” You assure, daring to test your luck by bringing your own hand to his hair. It causes the king of curses to pause. His ember eyes continue to stare at your scar, unable to swat your hand away for some reason. The wooden floor beneath him feels too cold. Or he feels too hot. He’s unsure.

In the dimness of the room, there is no light but the flickering glow emitted from the fire, ensconced within a cage of brick—a fireplace, by name. Yet, the warmth that enfolds you does not excrete solely from the flames. It originates from within, a pulsating heat that comes with the beat of your heart as a large palm finds your shoulder, urging you forward with an urgency that seems to echo through the very fibers of your being.

“What about this one?”His intense glare persists, averting your demure gaze. Never before have you witnessed him in such a state, making you wonder whether this demeanor is a consequence of recent events.

“It’s fine, I promise,” Your whispered words cause his gaze to harden even further, his thumb tracing over another, deeper cut nestled in the valley between your breasts. This one could have been fatal. The realization sends a shiver down his spine, unsettling him to his core. Sukuna, the ancient and ruthless curse, has borne witness to countless horrors in his long existence, inflicted unspeakable cruelty upon countless souls, but none have shaken him to his core quite like seeing you teetering on the brink of death. The memory stirs within him an unfamiliar sense of disquiet, a realization that his desires may have consequences far more profound than he ever anticipated.

The brawny curse grunts in response, opting to continue examining the scar. He’s careful to not stretch it as your human flesh would hurt.

Sukuna’s agenda never included leaving a child within you. It never even crossed his mind. Such muses were not to be entertained, especially not with you.

You. Yeah, you who doesn't try to kill humans simply for the pleasure it brings. You who takes life so lightly, as if you have several souls to spare. You who accepts every word Sukuna says as an indisputable fact, every order executed before he has a chance to reconsider.

You, who has shared your bed with the strongest curse more times than he cares to count, always intrigued him—an enigmatic subject for his manipulations. You, who confided in him the startling revelation that your half-cursed body now nurtures a growing fetus.

At first, Sukuna swore he'd never visit you again, adamant in his belief that he wanted no involvement in your pregnancy, leaving you to navigate the situation alone. Despite his capability to end your life without hesitation, he chose to spare you. Sukuna granted you a reprieve under the condition that he never crosses paths with you or whatever child you carry. He told himself time and time again that you would be a rather boring kill, not worth the effort. But it wasn't about the difficulty of ending your life—it was an excuse. He'd never admit that he doesn't want your blood staining his hands

Sukuna swears he’s not soft, that he doesn’t care for you at all.But the notion of being the one who brings you to your end does not enthrall him in the least.

He doesn’t care for the inferior likes of you, he reminds himself. That’s absurd. It’s laughable. It’s offensive, even. He doesn’t ‘care’, It’s simply curiosity that keeps him around. Curious of what kind of child the one you carry would come out to be. To see if they’d be worthy of being called his kin or not.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is dulcet, a melody that cuts his train of thought smoothly. Unlike anything he’s ever heard before. There’s a pleading tone, a need so urgent it's almost painful. He finds pleasure in that. Your perpetual longing for him, your unwavering loyalty even after his defeat by sorcerers the first time around—you kept him close like a devoted guardian to a fallen hero, even when you knew is anything but a hero. It's a power unlike any other—staying but not out of fear, it's a choice. A strong belief.

Balancing on his knees between her parted legs, he reaches out, his fingers finding purchase on the edge of the bed. His grip tightens instinctively, fingers slipping beneath the hem of the sheet as he steadies himself. With a controlled effort, he pushes upward, leveraging the bed for support as he rises to his feet

“Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?” He muses, his towering frame looking down at you. The flickering flames of the fire, their orange hues swirling and weaving a macabre tapestry around his countenance, lend him an aura of terror that would instill fear in any who behold him. Yet, unlike others, you find his presence strangely comforting. Despite the aura of terror he exudes, you've grown accustomed to it, finding solace in his formidable presence now more than ever before.

Your only reaction is to chew on the inside of your cheek, careful to not bite the fiber too hard. There’s an ambivalent air to him, remaining motionless as he towers over you. It seems as if he’s looking for something. Anything. He wants a reason to stay, but he can’t seem to find one satisfying enough.

He owes you nothing. But when you look at him like that… He’s never been one to falter at your pleading face, but perhaps he’s changing little by little. He staunchly refuses to acknowledge this change still, for him to do so would be an admission of vulnerability, a humiliation he cannot bear, even to himself. How he yearns for the willpower to end you, to push you away so you never obstruct his way like this again.

The worst part of it all is his acute awareness of why he feels so strongly now. He knows that it’s all him, and not at all you. He can pinpoint the exact moment he regret leaving your side. The memory is seared into his very core.

He wishes he could forget, to erase the haunting image of you, wounded and bleeding, from his mind.

It was when he came back a few days after his departure, for reasons he can’t recall, only to be greeted by the sight of a malevolent curse looming over you, hungry and poised to make you its next meal. He shouldn’t have intervened. It's the natural order—a relentless cycle where only the strongest survive, preying upon the weaker. He knows he's no exception. Nor are you.

But seeing you sprawled out on the floor, barely intact, with his child inside of you.

He gulps at the memory, feeling an overwhelming urge to touch you once more, to make sure you’re not some figment of his imagination. To keep you from harm. You’re so stupid, so goddamn naive. He doesn’t know what to make of you. Other than a fucking headache.

“What is it? What do you want, brat?” He hopes to catch some semblance of his normal attitude. “Get it over with.”

“Please stay,” You plead, fingers gently gripping the open kimono he had thrown on once finished with you. “Please, Sukuna-sama.”

He sighs. You’re so obstinate.

Perhaps it's his lack of understanding that breeds hesitation within him, or perhaps it's his inherently fierce nature. A thing like you deserves to be treated with the utmost delicacy, cherished and nurtured. Sukuna, with his staunch commitment solely to his ideals, can never be the one assuming such a role for you.

“You’re doing things to me, you know?” Sukuna gets down, kneeling between your parted legs again, placing a warm palm in either side of your hips and seizing you within.

Maybe… staying with you tonight wasn’t such a ludicrous notion. He’s the king of curses; he has all the time in the world to fret the trivial details.

#arabella writes #jjk #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #sukun x reader smut #ryomen sukuna smut #dividers by benkeibear

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reiding-writing · 5 months

Note

Idk if u ever write this or not but... i've been thinking abt this lately....... spencer and reader debating about "kissing is a lot more hygienic than shaking hands" and they just suddenly kiss afterwards AHHHH I DONT KNOW IF YOU GET MY POINT but thats that

acceptable greetings [ s.r ]

Summary:

Spencer is an avid believer that kissing is a better greeting than shaking hands. You’re not convinced at his notion of it being ‘completely acceptable’, and in attempting to prove him wrong, you end up proving something else.

WARNINGS: n/a

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: 100% fluff

wc: 1.5k

masterlist!!

a/n: here is my immediate apology for the sheer amount of angst in my last fic i love you guys please don’t hate me 🫶

“Kissing is so much more hygienic than shaking hands,”

Spencer’s expression matched his statement, confident in his assessment and unwilling to back down on his stance of not wanting to shake hands with other people.

“It’s unhygienic,” He would say, “There are hundreds of undiscovered bacterial colonies that live on people’s hands,”

“That doesn’t change the fact that kissing somebody is not an acceptable greeting Spencer,” You arbitrarily turn your swivel chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot, rolling your eyes as you lean your head over the back of your chair.

You’d been talking about this topic for almost half an hour, your file assessment of your most recent case forgotten on your desk as you debate with Spencer as he sat directly opposite you.

“Several European countries use kissing as a customary greeting,” Of course he had a rebuttal to your comment. “It actually dates back to the Romans, who, as my original statement supports, used it as a way to stop diseases from spreading between people during social greetings,”

His face told you that he was singing his own glory in his head, victory written in the small wrinkle in his eyebrow and the quirk of his smile.

If he wasn’t so cute when he looked at you like that you’re sure you would’ve found something else to say. Something to continue this debate of yours and satisfy the competitiveness riddling your brain.

But instead you opt to let him revel in his ‘victory’, rolling your eyes as a soft “Whatever,” rolls off your tongue.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were going to prove your point.

You might think Spencer is perfectly sweet and innocent in his ways, but that didn’t stop that tiny voice in the back of your head that told you that you could win that debate you were having the day before.

You entered the bullpen with an agenda. You walked out of the elevator with your head held high and your eyes fixed on the fluffy brown mess decorating the back of Spencer’s head.

You clear your throat when you meet him, and he turns around with that perfectly innocent expression on his face, echoing a soft “Good morning,” at you that only amplifies his perfectness and makes you want to prove him wrong even more.

You don’t consult him before you lean in to press your lips to his face.

It’s a short, chaste kiss that’s pressed to the apple of his cheek.

It lasts less than a second.

And yet Spencer’s face immediately flushes a bright red that would make anyone passing by think that you’d suggested the two of you strip naked in the middle of the office.

“I- What was that for?-” His voice wavers like he was catching his breath from running up a flight of stairs, blinking rapidly at you like clearing his vision was going to provide him with the answer to his question.

“Not such an acceptable greeting after all hm?”

It takes him a second to realise what you’re talking about, but your smug expression and the way you cross your arms over your chest sends him back to the conversation he was having with you yesterday and his face turns from confusion to begrudging acknowledgment.

“It is a perfectly acceptable greeting when both parties are aware it is going to happen,” He sighs along with his response, mirroring you as he crosses his arms to try and resemble having some sort of composure.

He intentionally left out the part where even if he knew you were going to kiss him he would still flush red like a traffic light.

That his palms would still sweat and his vest would suddenly become uncomfortably hot on his torso.

But that was because you were- well, you.

So his point still stood.

“God you really do have an answer to everything don’t you?” The slight tilt of your head and the still very apparent smile on your face told him that despite your words you weren’t angry or annoyed at his response.

You more looked like you’d been presented with a freshly scrambled rubix cube to solve and add to the collection on your desk.

And that look on your face only proved to crack his composure even more.

“Well- I have done extensive research on the subject, so I therefore have had chance to form a fully educated opinion of the matter,”

True to form, his explanation was smart, logical, mixed in with that adorable awkwardness as he continued to reel from his earlier flustering.

Your chuckles grace his ears with no objection, and he soon find himself smiling softly alongside you as your attitude rubs off on him.

“You’re so cute,”

But when you call him cute, Spencer Reid finally, fully cracks because that is the sweetest goddamn thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Spencer’s smile reaches his eyes, the flush on his cheeks returning with a vengeance at your words and causing him to feel hot once more despite the AC blowing at a comfortable cool temperature.

You hold up a finger in front of you that his eyes follow with a confused knit in his eyebrow, and then you’re jogging back towards the elevator with his confusion only growing at every step you make.

His eyebrows continue to furrow as you walk back towards him again with that determined look that paints your face whenever you’re knee-deep in a profile, and he raises and eyebrow as you come to a stop in front of him once more.

“Good morning Spencer, i’m going to kiss you as a greeting now,”

Spencer’s face relaxes at your words as he understands what you’re doing. That you’re trying to prove his previous statement untrue by declaring your intentions beforehand and still having the interaction be unsuitable as a greeting.

He thinks he knows what you have planned, and he prepares himself for your lips to press against his cheek, to suppress the kaleidoscope of butterflies that would inevitably stir in his stomach at your contact so that he could hold his ground.

He thinks he knows what’s coming.

But oh is he wrong.

Your lips miss the apple of his cheek by a large margin, landing square on his mouth and causing his eyes to fly wide open at the new sensation.

If your lips weren’t pressed to his he’s sure his jaw would’ve fallen slack.

And that’s exactly what happens when you pull away from him a few seconds later, a delicate flush on your cheeks that contrasts the bright red covering his face like a warning sign of his shattered composure.

You stifle a small chuckle at his expression with your hand, tilting your head in a exaggeratedly innocent way. “What’s wrong Spencer? I thought kissing was an acceptable greeting when ‘both parties are aware it’s going to happen’,”

You reiterate his own words back to him, mimicking his tone in your explanation as you watch him blink at you with a blankly flabbergasted expression, completely shut down in every sense of the word.

An IQ of 187 slashed down to 60 as Emily would say.

His astoundment lasts for a whole 20 seconds before he brings himself back to reality through a series of rapid blinks, doing nothing more than leaning it to finish the space between you once more.

It’s times like this where Spencer is glad that the two of you were both chronically early to work.

That he wouldn’t have to deal with the ramifications of his actions through his coworkers.

That he didn’t have to endure Morgan’s teasing as he stood there with his hands holding either side of your face and his lips pressed against yours with a gentle but insistent pressure.

You were more than happy to accept his advances, internally singing your own praises at finally finding an excuse to kiss those perfect pink lips of his, and have him return it no less.

He breaks the moment after a few seconds, his hands still securely cupping your face towards him as he stumbles out a half-assed explanation for his actions.

“It’s- It’s polite to return somebody’s greeting with one of your own-”

You nod with a suppressed smile against the hold of his hands.

Maybe kissing your coworkers was an acceptable greeting after all.

Or, at least for the coworker you’d been pining after.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #asks 🫶

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frenchkisstheabyss · 5 months

Text

🖤 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖆𝖓 🖤

🖤 Pairing: ex boyfriend!choi san x chubby!fem!reader (mingi's spoken about but doesn't appear)

🖤 Genre: angst/fluff/smut

🖤 Summary: You make a living stepping on men's necks, literally and metaphorically speaking. Men spend every dime they have for the chance to be your lapdog. You are their weakness. Your dirty little secret? You have a weakness of your own, one you've tried your hardest to leave in the past, but you've managed to make him jealous and, oh, I think he's knocking on your door right now.

🖤 Word Count: 2.3k-ish

🖤 Warnings: reader works as a dom so she does qualify as a ✨sex worker✨ & it's treated as a positive cause slay queen, jealous /possessive San, unprotected sex, fingering, nibbling, scratching, reader for sure has a lil praise kink, this man does not pull out, San's giving dom vibes & reader's quite subby for him, pet names (baby, my girl, good girl) & that's all darlings

🖤 A/N: My chubby girl smut agenda continues with this fic as it will with all others and the best part is, no one can stop me. Mwahahahaha. No, but really, I hope you lovelies enjoy reading it.

Also a big thanks to @anyamaris for test reading everything my brain throws out all of the time. Love of my life, truly.

Your night routine is sacred. Never more so than on nights like tonight when you take extra steps to make it particularly romantic for yourself. You treat yourself like a lover, running a nice warm bubble bath and preparing your favorite fruits to snack on while you soak in it. You don’t rush to cover your body afterward, instead taking the time to find pleasure in every stretch mark and every curve as you massage rich tropical oils into your skin.

The rain is your companion, singing to you in the form of raindrops patting at your window. Candles burn on your windowsill, tiny lanterns reflecting shadows in the darkness of this place you call home. Crawling into your bed, you slip beneath your freshly washed sheets and scroll through your phone to find the right song. It doesn’t take long to find it. You hit “play” and close your eyes, ready to be swept away by the sweet notes emanating from your phone.

This is serenity. This is heaven. This is—

“What the actual fuck?” you shout, shaken by an unexpected knock at your door. The knocking is impatient, the agitation of the person on the other end undeniable. You jump from your bed, the sheet still clinging to your figure, and cautiously approach the door. You specifically didn’t schedule any sessions for tonight and your clients know better than to pop up unannounced.

“Whoever you are, go away! I have a gun!” You do. You have to. In your line of business being able to protect yourself is a necessity. It’d be silly not to have one and if ever there were an example why, this has to be it. The knocking stops. A brief moment of silence passes and then—

“You have a gun?” San asks, more confused than he is threatened. You don’t notice until now that you’ve been holding your breath this entire time but at the sound of his voice, you can miraculously breathe again. “San? What are you doing here?” you frown, cracking the door enough to get a good look at your ex.

The look is, in fact, good. Better than good, it’s wonderful. For all of this mysterious frustration he seems to be carrying, he still manages to be the most handsome thing you can imagine finding in your hallway near midnight.

San pushes past you, marching into your cozy studio apartment as if it were his own. “We need to talk. Now.” You roll your eyes, holding back laughter as you close the door behind him. “Someone’s sassy tonight” you tease, watching as he removes his wet boots and coat. He places them exactly where they’re meant to go.

You smile to yourself, finding it sweet that he still remembers how things go after nearly a year apart. “Don’t patronize me.” “I’m not patronizing you,” you say, approaching him with a hand outstretched to stroke his cheek, “Sannie—”

San takes a step back, the darkness in his eyes intensified by your attempt at affection. “And don’t call me that!” “Lower your voice! This is my home. You can respect me in it or get out.” Seeing you upset cools him down a bit. Enough to question the emotions that led him to drive over here to begin with.

He shouldn’t be here. He has no right to confront you. To care what you do or who you do it with. But it’s been eating him up inside for days, plaguing his every waking thought. Some part of him is still tethered to you and that’s why, against his better judgment, he’s here.

“Are you…” he stutters, the anger bubbling up once more at the thought of what he’s about to ask, “How long has Mingi been coming to you?” “Ah,” you gasp, fully realizing the awkwardness of the situation. Dodging eye contact, you head for the kitchen, busying yourself with the tea kettle. “You want some tea? We should have tea.”

Raking his fingers through delicate strands of pitch black hair, he approaches the kitchen and lets himself, for the most fleeting of moments, enjoy seeing you like this again. He’s missed you making him tea late at night. This would be everything he ever wanted under any other circumstance than this. “I don’t want tea. I want you to answer my question. How long?”

“A few weeks” you sigh, abandoning the kettle on the counter, “We ran into each other at the club one night and we started talking then, I mean, I don’t know, it just sorta happened.” In an instant, he’s on you, fingers squeezing your wrists as he presses you against the counter. “Things like this don’t sorta happen!” “Oh, come on, San. I have bills to pay. If I don’t take on clients, who’s gonna pay them? You?” “Haven’t I before?” Something about being reminded of before makes you as breathless as he is. “That was a long time ago.”

A long time ago but why does it feel like yesterday when he last had your body pressed against every wall in this apartment? So many hours were spent using your fingertips to traverse every exquisite muscle on his body. There are new ones now, you see them flex when he readjusts his grip on you. How good they must feel to touch. God bless the gym.

Shaking yourself free of your lust fueled daze, you break your wrists loose from him. “If that’s all you can go.” Why are you doing this? Why are you so stubborn? You don’t want him to go. Your body—your heart—begs him to stay even if it’s just to argue for the rest of the night.

“Fine, I’ll leave, but not until you tell me one more thing. Does he touch you? Like I did?” he asks, his expression cold as he tries to contain his jealousy. “Touch me like you did?” you giggle, reaching to stroke his cheek again. This time he doesn’t step away. He lets you touch him, your soft hand warming the cool raindrops on his cheek. A fire ignites in his eyes, not unlike the flames dancing atop the candle wicks. It’s distant, buried somewhere deep, but you see it and it makes you smile.

“I never let anyone touch me like you did” you whisper, “Mingi just wants someone to boss him around. I happen to be good at that. There’s nothing sexual. I could…” San tugs the sheet tightly around your body, gathering the two loose ends at your hip where his knuckles just barely graze the plush of your thigh. You let out a sound that’s almost a moan but not quite. He smirks, bringing his other hand to your side to massage the softness of your love handles. You're so cute when you’re flustered.

“I, uh, I…” you stutter, watching as his lips grow nearer to yours, “I could stop seeing him if you want.” “You’d do that for me?” San asks, teasing your lower lip with his. “I would do anything for you. You know that.” This is what he does to you and this is why you broke things off with him. San’s love brings you to your knees. You fold for him in a millisecond. You’re supposed to have every man in the palm of your hand yet you find yourself, delicate and fragile, nestled in his.

“Will you do something else for me?” “Like what?” “Kiss me.” And you do. No hesitation. No time for second guesses. Anything for him. A rush hits you, threatening to knock you off of your feet. San only holds you closer, his tongue tangling with yours, indulging in the taste of you. A craving much overdue to be satisfied.

“Do I still have to leave?” he pants, his voice a low rasp as he kisses his way down your chin. He buries his face in your neck, his kisses growing more passionate with each passing second. You smell good enough to eat and he almost does, nibbling at your neck sharply enough to send chills down your spine. You shake your head, wrapping a leg around his waist to grind against him. The simple act of kissing you has him hard enough that not even the few layers of fabric between you can suppress his need.

“Fuck, baby” he groans, his eyes nearly rolling back from the rhythm of your hips. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him back up for another kiss. “Don’t leave me, Sannie. Please.” You’re prepared to beg more, as much as he wants you to, but your words turn incoherent at the sensation of his thumb stroking your clit. His other fingers dance dangerously close to your entrance, happily collecting the juices dripping from your core.

You look down to find that the sheet barely clings to your body, except for a small corner stuck between you and the counter. Everything has fallen away leaving you completely exposed. San’s favorite way to have you. “You’re so wet for me. My girl” he coos, easing two fingers deep into you, “Still my girl? Hmm?” You’re trembling, gripping his shirt as you ride his fingers in time with the flicking of his wrist.

Only he could do this. Make you feel this unbelievably good with just his fingers. "Always your girl. Always—ah” you moan into his mouth before he’s kissing his way down your neck again. The way your back is arched makes your breasts sit so deliciously that he has to taste them. San needs to feel the weight of them in his hands as he captures your perked nipples between his lips, circling them with his tongue.

His mouth is so full of you that every moan that leaves him vibrates through your chest making sure that you never once underestimate the intensity of his longing. Your thighs are soaked, your pussy dripping—pulsing—clenching around his fingers. Your little squeaks and moans are too pretty. Too addictive. San picks up speed, his only mission to make a complete mess of you or to make you make a complete mess of yourself. Either or both. Definitely both.

“Sannie. You’re gonna make me—fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you cry, feeling the pressure build within you. “Mmm,” he hums, releasing your nipple but not without taking one last lick of your overstimulated bud. You didn’t need to tell him. You never do. He knows when you're close, down to the second, which is why his timing is perfect when he pulls his fingers away leaving you hanging on the edge of oblivion.

You whine at the unexpected loss, your clit twitching and your walls greedy for something to hold onto. San moves out of reach, taking his time to shed his clothing. “Not on my fingers, baby,” he says, flashing that devilishly handsome smile of his, “On me.” He disappears around the corner and you trail behind him like a bright eyed puppy who wants more than anything to be the object of its owner's affection.

San sits on the edge of the bed, admiring the way your body jiggles as you skip over to him. He takes you by the hand, lowering you onto his lap, and the skin to skin contact sends a shot of adrenaline coursing through both of you. “I could just look at you all night. So beautiful” he muses, palms slapping your ass. His fingers dig in, keeping your hips raised enough that the tip of his cock almost presses at your slit.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, kissing him on the bridge of his nose, “You can look at me all you want.” One of San’s hands disappears beneath you, stroking his length as he lowers you down onto him. He stops at the tip, letting your arousal run down his shaft. “All I want because you belong to me?” You bite down on your bottom lip, eager to take him. “Yes,” you mewl and he feeds you another inch. A reward for being his good girl.

“No more Mingi?”

“No more. I swear.”

Another inch and your heart skips a beat. This is evil. “No more anyone else” he demands, taunting you with one more inch before taking it back, “I’ll take care of you, my sweet girl. Only me.” “Only you” you promise, unintentionally batting your eyelashes in the most innocent way. San grabs your hips, slamming you down onto him, “Good now cum for me.”

Being stretched by him, full of every thick rigid inch of his cock, is intoxicating enough. But the feeling of handing over control, of letting him have you completely, has you buzzing. San bounces you in his lap, kissing you everywhere his lips can access, whispering every praise he’s saved up for you over time.

Precious. Perfect. Never letting go. Love you. My everything. My world. Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Sannie—” you draw a breath in. A flash of heat hits you and you’re lost to pleasure. Your body explodes and implodes. Heavy and weightless all at once. You gush down his length, every inch of him drenched with your juices. San doesn’t stop, not even when your nails dig deep into the skin of his shoulder. He only goes faster and harder, wanting to break you, his precious girl, and put you back together then do it again.

But his body’s as sensitive as yours and he can’t hold back, spilling into you to the point of overflow. There’s so much warmth and fullness. It’s comforting, soothing you as you gradually float back down. Lying back on the bed, San cradles you in his arms, not wanting to be anywhere else than right here with you.

You rest your head on his chest, feeling his love for you in every breath he takes. How you ever pushed him away you can’t understand but you know, as he softly kisses your forehead, that you never will again.

#choi san x reader #choi san x you #choi san angst #choi san smut #ateez x chubby reader #ateez x female reader #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst #chubby reader #plus size reader

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yeahspider · 3 months

Text

nonviolent communication

Ve’s note - yes this is another spider han post and no i will never stop pushing this agenda . he IS peter parker in another universe . and i have a whole theory chart to prove it . bestfriends to lovers ? this work is sfw . just a lil angsty/ hurt / comfort but maily fluff with a happy ending .

“just one second!” he almost begged as he tried to pull himself together. you couldn’t see him like this again. the last time you caught him battered and bruised after a mission you panicked.

"jisung what is wrong ? Is everything alright? why are you always coming over with bruises? and disappearing at random times? you know you can tell me anything right? nothing could change my love for you . " he hears you call from the other side of the door. getting out of his suit was proven a struggle with his battered ribs. a groan slipping out his mouth as he took an arm out.

"Are you hurt? ji let me in please," you say in tears. he hated being the cause of it. he ignored you as he continued to undress little by little. you couldn't catch him in his suit. This was the only way he knew how to protect you. but the suit was not coming off without causing more damage, he needed your help. so with a defeated sigh, he walked to the door.

"promise not to freak out okay?" he said bottom lip between his teeth. hearing an okay from the other side he unlocked the door and took a step back to let you in. With closed eyes, he waited for you to start screaming at him. keeping a secret this big from you was a just cause in his mind for you to leave him.

"jisung... you're hurt badly. let me help. tell me what hurts." you say as you take a step closer to him. scanning his injuries for the best way to treat them.

Jisung was shocked. why weren't you mad at him? why weren't you screaming at his face calling him a liar? a coward?

"Earth to ji hello? tell me what hurts," you say with a frown on your face.

"You're not mad at me? you do see what I'm wearing right? You're not upset i didn't tell you?. he said. confusion lacing his voice as he observed you observing him. he couldn't figure you out.

"I'm only mad you didn't let me in sooner so I could help you. As for the Spiderman thing I already knew. I was just waiting for you to tell me." you said with a soft smile on your lips.

"what- HOW DID YOU KNOW?l" he was beyond shocked.

"Well, I mean I've never seen you and Spiderman in the same room so you know the possibility was always there."

"...until now"

"right until now," you commented with a smile on your face. you were glad he was able to still joke even in pain

" and I mean you missed a lot of bio classes and you LOVE bio so that was the biggest tell really. jisung let out a relieved laugh that caused the pain in his ribs to fla back up and for him to lean into you. he can't believe you've known this whole time.

"and you don't hate me? for all the lying and the disappearing?

"I could never hate you jisung. now let's get this suit off and you can tell me all about how it happened."

#stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids headcanons #stray kids fluff #yeahspider #han jisung fanfic #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #han jisung fluff

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lokideservesahug · 1 month

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Against All Odds

Pairing: Sergio 'Checo' Pérez x wife!reader

Warnings: Mentions of crashes, children, swearing, slightly suggestive towards the end.

Notes: I'm not the most confident with this but I really hope I did this request some justice...

Request: Could you do fic for Checo Perez with wife reader? It was when he was at Racing Point when he won his first race at the 2020 Sakhir GP. She was worried when there was a crash and he was involved. But she was quickly assured that he was fine. He wanted to win that race for his wife and their children. So, he decides to fight his way through. Just something for his first win. You decide how it goes. Thanks!! :)))

°•°•°•

Summary: What happens after a driver crashes? They retire right? Well a certain Mexican driver may have a different agenda to the average pilot...

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

You had never understood people when they said that their heart stop but when you saw on the big screen the racing point car hit the wall, you sure felt it. It was an accident, sure you know that but when the Renault behind him knocks his back end, you can't help but feel a brief moment of restatement towards the Frenchman that hit your husband. Your thoughts are still working in overdrive when you hear a few mumbles about lack of response. Shit. Checo hasn't responded yet. You squeeze your sons shoulder ad he grabs your leg, clearly worried about his father.

You just stare at the screen, waiting. Hoping. Praying. You can't even feel yourself breathe until... "I'm ok" the grunt of your husband made the entire mood of the garage shifts to be slightly less sombre. You can't even focus on your surroundings but when you see your husband pull back onto the track you grow slightly confused. "He's continuing?" You turn to the nearest crew member you can find. He nods his head and says something about Checo insisting on continuing to race and you can't help but smile and be proud if the sheer drive (no pun intended) of your lover.

He makes some truly amazing overtakes after the crash. And when Checo begins to come closer and closer to George you can feel yourself become short of breath for the second time today. The 63rd lap comes and goes but on the 64th lap, he completes the most glorious overtake (at least to you) and begins to lead the race. You can't stop yourself from smiling as everyone else in the garage jumps and cheers at his current P1 standing. You all continue watching on the edges of your setas as the laps race by. 70. 75. 80. 85. And by the time it reaches the 86th lap, the atmosphere in the motor point garage is buzzing. Nothing is for certain yet and anything can happen in a sport as unpredictable as Formula 1 you all know that but with Checo strongly keeping his lead for the past 22 laps and with Estaban being quite a bit behind, you're very confident in Checo's ability to keep his lead for the last lap.

You feel like electric with how much excitement you are feeling from those around you and also from your own excitement. You can't help but wonder how your children are reacting to the current predicament. Yes they are Young but that doenst mean they aren't their father's #1 supporters. They've only just become old enough to actualy form their own opinions about F1 and you can't even begin to explain your husbands excitement when they decided to support their father (even when you gave them a choice to support any driver they wanted). You turn to look at them (your son having gone to sit down next to his sister a few laps ago) only to see your son and daughter staying staying the screen in awe, with big smiles on their faces. You take a photo to show to your husband later.

And you don't even register Sergio Cross the finish line before you are being hugged by someone and then pulled to hug another person. The excitement is overwhelming and a huge grin splits open your mouth when you relapse what has just happened. Checo has won. For the first time ever, he's come out victorious. He ended lap 1 in last place, got crashed into earlier and still managed to win. Holy shit, this is unrealistic. The somehow rowdy garage manages to silence itself when your hisbands voice filters over the team radio but as you hear your husband speak his mither tongue and request that your son is watching. You can help but tear up at the sudden reality of the situation. He's really has done it.

You run out to the pit wall with the mechanics to congratulate the race winner and when he catches sight of you, he runs towards you and pulls you into his arms. The sheer happiness radiating from every direction causes him to well up and you just look at him and can't help yourself from crying. He just continues to hold you as the mechanics surround you and continue to hug and cheer for him. Your children run out, aided by a few crew members and Checo just scoops them into his arms and holds you all closely in a large family hug. You can near a few sniffles as he places his head on your shoulder but you don't have time time comment on it before he is being taken away to go to the podium.

You're at the front of the barriers with your son on your shoulders and your daughter in her little SP11 cap and pink ear defenders (which make her way too adorable) in your arms. The applause is almost overwhelming but when Checo come sout and stands on the top step, you let a few tears fall at the same time as your husband as he looks up to the sky. The Mexican national anthem fills your ears and you can help but grip your children slightly tighter to stabilise yourself and assure both them and you that this moment is real.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Unsurprisingly, there are many post race celebrations especially for his maiden win. But when your husband returns to your hotel room and changes into his pajamas. You can't help but feel like this is one of your favourite moments of the day. Your husband sat on the bed with your two children sat next to them as he reads them a book before bed. Your daughter falls asleep with her head resting on her fathers bicep and you take a photo of the cute moment and csopp her up, putting her in the room adjacent to yours. Your son grabs his fathers hand and demands that the current champion pays him to bed which causes the both of you to smile. You gently shut the door when you turn to your husband. "Why did you do it?" "Hm?" He turns and looks at you curiously, surprised that you didn't follow him straight to the large ning sized bed. "Do what mi amor?" You settle next to him in bed and he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you until your he'd is lying on his chest. "Retire after the crash." There's a brief moment of silence but clearly bot one of thought as he confidently replies "Because I ahd to for it for you all. I knew I could do it and I wanted to show to you, mis tres amores that you mean the world to me." You can't even begin to think of a response so yo just look u at him and softly bed your lips over his. He muemers in appreciation of your gesture but before he can deepen the kiss, you pull away. "As much as I would love to celebrate tonight, you deserve to rest Mr Champion" He grins at the title but pouts at the former words. "Not even a quick one?" You turn away from him. "No. Your rest is more important." You hear the rustling of sheets behind you and feel his arm wrap around your waist. "Are you sure I can't convince you sweetheart? Oh and who are you to deprive the champion of his reward?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @minkyungseokie

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #sergio checo pérez #checo perez x reader #checo perez #sergio perez x reader #sergio pérez x reader #sergio perez #sergio pérez #ldah's writing

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year

Text

Clothes make the man

AN: There is no plot here. This is just porn. I have nothing to say for myself other than this is Kai's (@lovelyhan ) fault, and this outfit has haunted me for three years now. I had to get this out of my system. I resisted with the Daddy kink this time around but, this is still me largely pushing my 'Joshua is kinkier than I feel like people give him credit for' agenda so. Now I'll disappear in shame and embarrassment *finger guns.*

Synopsis: You don't expect to feel so strongly about one of Joshua's stage outfits.

Heads up: Joshua Hong x Fem! Reader, established relationship, Dom! Joshua, Sub! Reader, mentions of previous thigh riding, Reader mentions boot humping in passing once, scent kink if you squint, hand and arm kink of sorts (Reader is really into Josh's hands and arms), praise (f. receiving), pet names, Reader has an oral fixation, Reader sucks on Josh's fingers, hints of a size kink, dirty talk, mirror sex, nipple play (f. receiving), degradation (f. receiving), risky sex/public sex (they fuck in Josh's dressing room and are vaguely worried about being caught), vaginal fingering (f. receiving), mostly clothed sex, me pushing my big dick! Josh agenda, unprotected piv sex, Reader sucks on Josh's fingers post fingering, it's insinuated that Reader is a masochist, rough sex, dacryphilia kink, creampie and Reader being plugged afterwards.

Word count: 3499

I will block you if you are a minor and have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

The cool air from the air conditioner prompts you to tug your cardigan closer to you as you continue to catch up on your scrolling for the day while you wait for Joshua. He texted you that he'd likely be finished with his group shoot for the day in the next half an hour or so and, that you could just wait in his dressing room before the two of you head home.

He finds you completely engrossed with your phone when he does eventually finish up for the day. His lips ticking up in amusement since you still haven't registered his presence.

"Is what's on your phone really more important than your precious boyfriend? I'm hurt," he says with a faux pout to catch your attention. Leaning against his dressing room door.

You pointedly choose to ignore his chuckle when his voice quite literally causes you to jump in your seat. You turn to face him sheepishly, "Hi, Josh. I'm sorry I didn't realise-"

The words die on your tongue in an instant when you take in what he's wearing.

His shirt accentuates his shoulders in a way that is wholly unnecessary. Worse still, his arms are on full display for you to drink in. Muscles flexing and veins visible while he stands there with his arms crossed. And god, his pants. They all but force your eyes to focus on how they flatter his thighs, and you're suddenly hit with a barrage of memories. Memories of Josh flexing them underneath you while you hump them in an attempt to cum. An amused gleam in his eyes as he watched you because you both knew you'd never cum the way you wanted to.

Is it horrible to admit that even his boots are so attractive? In the very deep, private parts of your mind, you think he'd like the idea of watching you grind against them to get off. Maybe if you ever find the courage, you'll ask him.

"Are you okay?"

You're broken out of your thoughts by Joshua's concerned voice. Blinking, you focus back on him only to find his handsome face twinged with confusion and worry. The way his inky hair sticks to said handsome face isn't helping your conundrum, but you do feel guilty for worrying him when you're spiralling over him in one of his stage outfits.

"Yeah, I am. Sorry, I just got a little in my head there."

"In your head? About what?" Dread coils in your gut at the question. You're determined to look anywhere but, directly at him. Fiddling with your phone in your hands while your mind races to think of a half decent answer.

"Um- just school. You know, this semester's been pretty busy. Plus, I have a few assignments due in the next month, so I've been trying to figure out how to schedule my calendar around them. Then it'll be the holiday, but you know never too soon to start preparing -" You're rambling. You know you are, and so does Josh, but the words continue to tumble out of you.

"You're a terrible liar," he interrupts, and you can hear the smirk in his voice clear as day. To your absolute horror, he's moving closer to you until he's intimately in your personal space. Oh, this is worse. So, so much worse. Because his scent invades your senses too and, embarrassment warms your face when it dawns on you that you're wet.

His large, warm hand cups your jaw and gently nudges your face up until you meet his intense gaze. His thumb strokes your cheek gently when and, you so badly want it in your mouth instead, but your mouth feels as though it's been stapled shut.

Dread, anticipation and desire form a lethal concoction in your veins when Josh's face shifts from concern and confusion to understanding. The corners of his plump lips lifting up in way that muddles your mind further and causes more of your wetness to trickle onto your panties.

"Oh, I get it now," he rumbles with a laugh that's far too amused, "If you wanted me, you could've just said so." You suddenly find his face mere centimetres from your own with hold on your face keeping you from shying away. Even after being with him for all this time, you still find it difficult to meet his gaze head on occasionally. Maybe you're afraid he'll see just how truly far gone you are for him. Maybe his eyes will finally devour you whole and, you don't know if you'd ever be able to come back from that.

"Where'd you go? Come back to me," he coaxes gently, his face softening momentarily while his thumb drags along your bottom lip. Blinking up at him you finally find your voice again and the words rush out of you, "I'm here. I-I want it. Want you."

Kissing Josh is perhaps one of your favourite activities to partake in with him. His lips are so soft and, even as his tongue teases its way into his mouth, he takes his time. Determined to rile you up just with his mouth and his firm grasp on your face. Your hands reach up for him, feeling like you'll be driven to madness if you don't touch him somehow, somewhere, anywhere. Your hands find purchase on his massive biceps. Hisses pressed against your lips when your nails bite into his skin.

A whine leaves you before you can stop it when he pulls away from you, looking down at you through dark bangs and lidded eyes. "Can we go home?" You ask, your panties starting to cling to you uncomfortably just from this godforsaken outfit and some kissing. You're not sure how much longer can take not having him.

"What's got you so riled up?" He asks instead, genuine curiosity colouring his tone. You elect not to give him a direct response, "Can't I just think my boyfriend is hot?"

"Oh, you absolutely can and, while I'm flattered, we both know me being just hot doesn't get you nearly this worked up," he retorts, leaning down once more to lightly kiss along your neck. His hands shoving your cardigan from your shoulders until it pools around you. You bite back the whimpers that so desperately want to fall from you with every brush of Joshua's lips against your sensitive skin. Your thighs rubbing together in search of any semblance of relief.

"Come on, be a good girl and tell me," he mutters, one of his large hands dragging down your body until it rests a little too high on your upper thigh. "Or do you want me to get it out of you another way?"

"Your outfit," you blurt out immediately, you know Josh's mind is always coming up with frighteningly inventive ways to punish you and, you don't think you could handle that today. Not with how you're barely keeping it together as it is, "You- You look good. Really, really good."

That makes him take pause, "Really? That's it?" He doesn't sound judgemental or as though you just told him the most idiotic thing the world. Just... genuinely surprised.

"Yes," you whine, "Now can we go home please?"

You nearly choke on your spit when he resumes his assault on your poor throat, and his hand finds itself between your thighs, automatically spreading for him because of course they do. Something guttural and from the depths of his chest hit your ear when his fingers brush against your slick panties. Prompting your hips to chase the friction, tightening your hold on him as well.

"Fuck. Fuck, you weren't kidding," he breathes as though you've completely knocked the wind from him. However, he's gone from your body in instant, "Shua, where are you-"

Your question is answered when you see him lock the door only to stock back over to you, his erection testing the durability of these pants and somehow making them look more appealing. Saliva pooling in your mouth while your walls clamp down borderline painfully around nothing.

"My poor baby. I don't think you'll last until we get home," he says, his thumb dragging along your bottom lip. His eyes darken further when he eases it into your mouth, and you suck immediately. Just happy to have anything occupying your mouth.

"I'll just take care of you here. Up," he commands, stepping away from you to give you space to rise to your feet. You blink up at him but when you're only met with an eyebrow raise, you stand up immediately. Letting your cardigan, phone and bag rest on the chair as your boyfriend looms over you. The intent in his eyes more than enough to quicken your heartrate and stiffen your nipples under your casual dress.

"So you do know how to listen," is all the warning you receive before you're all but, shoved against his vanity. One of his hands fondling your breast over your dress while the other drags you by the hip until there's no space between the two of you. His erection burns against your stomach even through the layers of your clothing. Just as heavy with intent.

You moan into his mouth with every brush and squeeze of his hand over your breast, electricity shooting straight down your spine to your clit with every one of his touches but, it's not enough. You want to feel him.

Before you can comprehend what's happening, Joshua has always had a knack for being six steps ahead of you, you find yourself facing your reflection in his mirror. You already look like a mess. Eyes glazed and a little watery with your lips bruised from how thoroughly he's been kissing you. The straps of your dress barely cling to your shoulders, and your breasts jiggle with every heaving breath you take.

A gasp flies from your lips and you hold onto his vanity when Josh presses himself, more specifically his erection, against you once more. You think you may lose your mind if he doesn't just fuck you. You're sure you're more than wet enough to take him by now. You're not quite sure whether you want him to keep his clothes mostly on or, touch his soft skin.

"You're distracted again," he tuts against your shoulder before pressing featherlight kisses to all of the skin he can reach there. A stark contrast to the way his hands roughly tug down the straps of your dress, your breasts free and goosebumps rising when they're met with the cool air of his dressing room.

He meets your gaze in the mirror as he touches them once again. A choked whimper gracing his ears when he barely drags the tips of his fingers over your nipples, "Maybe I'm doing a bad job keeping your attention," he pouts but, that look is in his eyes. Your knees nearly buckle when he tugs on them more harshly this time, soothing them with gentle rubs that make you feel dizzy.

"Is this why you didn't wear a bra today?" The drop of a few octaves in his voice significantly worsen how empty you are in this very moment, "So I'd touch and play with your tits?"

"What a slut you are."

His words coupled with his stupid, stupid, skillfull hands force a drawn out mewl from your throat. Your foggy mind desperately trying to find any words to respond to him.

"Josh- Shua, no I- I didn't think I'd take long to pick y-you up. So, I didn't wear one," you whimper in response after a particularly harsh tug. He puts on a show of humming in thought as though he's not still pinching and toying with your nipples, tears building in your eyes with ever minute he's not inside of you.

"I don't know," he drawls, the air in your lungs stopping as one of his hands snakes its way down your dress until it reaches the apex of your thighs, "Something tells me you didn't wear one so I'd just have to bend you over and fuck you."

If everyone could only see their sweet Joshua now. Spilling filth against your skin while his hand assesses how wet you are and his hips shallowly grind against the swell of your ass for a bit of friction. They'd likely have an aneurism.

A moan far louder than you intended bounces off the walls of his dressing room when his fingers find your clit over your ruined panties. His eyes shutting briefly as if to collect himself before he continues drawing steady circles. You've never been more grateful for the table in front of you because you're sure you would've collapsed into a heap on the floor if you didn't have it to support you.

"Not too loud," he mutters into your skin with a self-satisfied glint in his eyes. His hand slipping into your panties to touch you a directly, his throaty groan combining with the moan that you couldn't quite bite back in time when as his fingers tease your wet folds. Your eyes screwing shut as they shallowly dip in and out of your neglected hole.

His hands still, and that prompts you to open your eyes, confused as to what made him stop. "None of that. I want you to see. I want you to watch," he says, his reflection holding your gaze once more. His other hand drifting to hold your jaw in place. Not too harshly but, with enough pressure that you know better than to move.

Whether as a reward or because he simply wants to, eventually sinks a thick finger into you. The stretch prompts a jumbled mess of gasps and whimpers from your chest. Your eyes barely remaining open with the relief of finally having something inside of you.

"There you go," he groans against your neck, his teeth ghosting over your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake, "That's my baby."

The angle is a little awkward but, your hips chase the curls of his finger regardless. The need to shove down all of your noises of pleasure becoming increasingly challenge with every exploitation of your weaknesses Josh uses against you.

You don't receive much of a warning this time when he eases a second finger into you, this time the stretch is a little more than you can handle, "J-Josh," you choke out, your wetness dripping down his palm.

"My slutty girl you're doing so good," he coos, kissing the back of your neck while he grinds his erection against your ass, "Taking my fingers so well. Can't wait to feel you on my cock."

That causes a more visceral reaction from you. Your walls clamping down on his long fingers as one of your hands grabs his forearm, "Please. Pl-Please. Shua please. I-I want it please," you couldn't feel embarrassed if you tried. Joshua tended to have that effect on you.

He rests his head against your shoulder briefly, "Gimme a second," he says, the dip of his voice sending shudders down your spine. You cringe a little when he pulls his fingers out of you, your wetness coating them generously. You watch him unbutton and unzip his pants with baited breath, "Can you- can you keep your clothes on?"

Joshua meets your gaze with his eyebrows raised before that knowing look returns to his face. He laugh would sound beautiful if you his cock wasn't minutes from being inside of you and you weren't dripping onto his dressing room floor, "Sure."

Your gratitude comes out as a strangled whimper when the fat head of his cock prods at your slick entrance, "I don't know if I should be offended that you're this wet because of some clothes and fingering," he mutters. You couldn't respond to him even if you tried. Your mind just occupied with the idea of finally being filled by him.

"Cock drunk already huh?" He muses, meeting your gaze briefly before glancing down to watch himself split you open. His quiet moans being drowned out by your much, much more vocal ones. You're not sure you'll ever quite grow accustomed to his first thrust. Especially given the rush and your impatience, his slow push into you stings a little bit more more than usual but, the pain only fuels your arousal.

"Fuck," he groans and you're inclined to agree with his sentiment, "Always so wet and tight for me." If you could find the words you'd tell him the reason you're so tight is because of how big he is but, you're too preoccupied with trying to remain standing.

He's nestled so deeply inside of you when he finally bottoms out. His hips flush against yours and his tip kissing your cervix, quieter whimpers leave you with every throb and pulse of him inside of you. "Open," he grits into your ear, his fingers still slick with your wetness resting on your bottom lip. You open your mouth without much of a second thought, the slightly salty taste of your wetness flooding your taste buds and you realise very quickly why Joshua shoved his fingers into your mouth.

He pulls back only to thrust back into you without much mercy, your moans fortunately being muffled by his fingers. His heavy, lidded gaze takes in the way your drool around him, some of it dribbling past your lips while he continues to fuck into harshly and quickly. He's not sure how much time he has left before someone comes knocking so, he'd rather make this quick. He can take his time with you when you're at home.

You gag around his fingers slightly when he angles his thrusts marginally, smirking when he hits that spot inside of you that causes you grip him like a vice and nearly go limp in his arms. Joshua supports you through it all. Hitting that spot over and over again until overwhelmed tears trickle down your face and you're sure you could cum from this alone and, his muffled groans and grunts with every unforgiving intrusion.

"You know what your tears do to me, baby," he moans hoarsely, his thrusts stuttering slightly when he drinks in the combination of tears and spit smeared on your gorgeous face. All you can do is nod hurriedly. Telling him without telling him that you want it. You want him to cum.

"My precious cumslut of a girlfriend," he laughs breathlessly and without much humour, his pace picking up considerably and the sounds of your wetness and his heavy balls slapping against you ringing out obscenely throughout the room. "Always so greedy for my cum," he moans against your shoulder, his other hand hurriedly reaching between your thighs to rub frantic circles against your neglected clit.

Now you really are happy he had the foresight to make you gag on his fingers. You're not sure you could've silenced yourself even if you tried your utmost. The symphony of your choked noises of pleasure and Joshua's muffled ones join the increasing noises echoing throughout the room. Your walls tighten around him viciously, your toes tingling and even more tears springing forth from your eyes.

Josh cums first. A throaty groan of your name and a few curse words your only warning before you feel him pulse inside of you. Ropes and ropes of his warm cum flooding your awaiting pussy, his hips jerking into you sporadically and his hold on you almost bruising. His attempts to keep rubbing your clit proved fruitful because it doesn't take you long to tumble over the proverbial edge along with him. It takes a significant amount of conscious effort not to bite down on his fingers as your orgasm rocks your system. Josh moaning again as your walls spasm and clamp around his softening cock.

Once you'd ridden out the more intense parts of your climax, Josh removes his fingers from your mouth. Your shared, laboured breathing the only sounds that could be heard.

"If I knew you'd react like this to my outfit, I would have worn it sooner," he says with a chuckle that sounds far too full of himself. Not that he doesn't have a right to be but still. "You just look really good okay, god," you mutter once your voice finds you again. Cringing both from the scratchy quality of your voice and, Joshua slowly pulling out of you. Quickly putting your panties back in place. A surprised gasp flying from your lips when he pushes the fabric into you with two of his long fingers.

"Wouldn't want you to waste it," he says, his eyes heavy with want once again when they they find yours, "After all you worked so hard being my little cumslut. Who knows, maybe if you manage to not leak a drop I'll fill you up again."

You resent the way your body shudders but, you nod all the same, "I won't spill a drop, Shua."

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

#joshua hong smut #joshua seventeen smut #seventeen joshua smut #hong jisoo smut #seventeen smut

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purinfelix · 6 months

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reader being spooked by a spider and calling joao over to kill it and he’s teasing her 🥹 just super fluffy

your hero ₊˚⊹⋆

pairing: Joao Felix x reader summary: your boyfriend saves you from an unwelcome pest warnings: none! (unless you're afraid of spiders ig) w/c: 577

a/n: HAHA i love this req tysm anon !! i will continue to push my 'joao felix as a boyfriend would be a little shit' agenda 🙏

You’re trying your best not to fall off of the kitchen stool you’ve scrambled up on, hugging yourself as you tremble slightly. Your heart beats, loudly, quickly, and heavily, in your chest as if it’s trying to escape. The eight-legged monstrosity scurries across the floor before stopping right at the foot of your stool, almost mockingly.

A soft jingle can be heard from the other side of your apartment door and you do your best to crane your neck towards it, a struggle considering you’re paralysed in fear. Your boyfriend pokes his head through the entryway, his confusion at how silent the apartment is evident by his furrowed brows.

“Baby?” you hear him call, and you do everything you can to stop yourself from letting out a piercing shriek.

Instead you settle on a shaky, hushed, “In here!” as you listen intently for his footsteps as he nears the kitchen. He looks genuinely concerned when he spots your unusual position, until his gaze drifts down to the reason for it - a furry huntsman spider not bigger than his hand. Worry melts from his face and is replaced by an amused smirk as he holds back a laugh, which does little to settle your fear.

“Made a new friend I see,” he jokes, setting down his keys and bags on the kitchen table as he reaches for an empty glass you’ve left on the counter.

“Shut up,” you huff, “Just get it.”

He scoffs, but does as you say, approaching the spider as carefully as he can. Suddenly though, as if rekindled by a burst of energy it begins to run circles around the kitchen and your boyfriend can only try his best to chase after it. You get the perfect view of this scene unfolding from atop your kitchen stool and even in your fear-stricken panic, you can’t help but let out a small laugh before Joao finally manages to catch it under a glass.

He lets out a relieved sigh, grabbing a nearby envelope from the pile of unopened mail the two of you have amassed and sliding it gently under the cup. You’re amazed at how easily he can do this.

“He’s sort of cute, maybe we should keep him as a pet?” he teases, holding the spider up to you. You shrink back almost immediately, the disgusted expression on your face serving enough of an answer as he laughs at his own sick joke. He turns to let the creature that tormented you for the past half an hour outside and finally, you can unravel yourself from the protective ball you’ve formed on top of your kitchen-stool-haven.

“What would you ever do without me?” you hear your boyfriend chime as he comes back inside, setting the glass and envelope down on the counter before reaching out a hand to help you. You take it graciously, wobbling a little as you step down from your stool.

“Probably spend a lot more on bug spray,” you tease, patting his chest as a smirk spreads across your face.

“Good to know I serve some purpose around here,” he sighs sourly.

“I’m only kidding baby,” you chuckle, “you’re my hero.”

You watch as his expression softens into an almost embarrassed smile and his cheeks glow proudly. You can’t resist peppering his face with kisses in a silent 'thank you' for saving you.

#joao felix #joão félix #joao felix x reader #joao felix x you #joao felix fluff #joao felix oneshot #joao felix fic #fanfic #football #oneshot #fc barça #fc barcelona #jet writes ★#purinfelix #jet answers ✧

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hisunshiine · 10 months

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—it’s the way that you can ride [3/7]

Part 3 of 7 of the Seven Days Series ↣ series masterlist

🗓️pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️au/genre: non-idol au, brother’s friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut 🗓️rating: M 🗓️wc: 4,622 🗓️warnings: emotionally constipated pairing, reader is older, adult worries, growing older, dating younger, time passing and not hitting milestones everyone else is, second-hand embarrassment, enter Kim Seokjin as an antagonist, Jungkook is so hot but his feelings are too big, angsty cliffhanger explicit sexual content: unprotected sex, light bondage, talks of a safeword, oral (m & f receiving), discussion of safeword, Jungkook is whiny, positions of 69, face riding, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, and jack-hammer, biting, multiple orgasms, creampie. 🗓️an: part 3!!! I apologize in advance for the ending cliffhanger, but hey, it's the angst that makes the story, amirite? 😭 🗓️summary: “It’s the way that you can ride, it’s the way that you can ride…” Picking an outfit for a wedding is hard enough without your friends with benefits turning you on. Especially when he makes a tie look so sexy, you can’t help but use it to get him right where you need him to be. Ties make great reigns, and Jungkook is willing for you to be the leading lady, in more ways than one.

Taglist: @sizzlingfestpeach @mochminnie @jungkooksmytype @kookslastbutton @taebangtanbabe (if joining the taglist, please think about reblogging with tags/leaving feedback!)

The smell of antiseptic cleaner might be pungent to some, but for Jungkook, it’s non-existent. He sits in the hallway of the unit, typing away at one of the portable computers used to write up notes on patients. He picked up a shift to help balance the few days he plans to take off for Yoongi’s wedding, and once he gets off at 2 PM, he plans to head straight to your place so he can figure out an outfit formal enough to wear to the wedding.

“Hey, Jungkook, you finished your DAR notes fast. In a hurry? It’s a little early for you to be rushing off to get your fix,” Dr. Kim Seokjin teases him as he approaches, scrolling through a tablet.

“Actually, I am headed there, but not for what you’re thinking, nosy.” Jungkook puts the finishing touches on the last patient’s notes. He’s proud to say he carried out all of his assigned responses to patient action plans Dr. Kim assigned, and once his relief shows up, they’ll reap the benefits of all his hard work on day shift. “I have to finalize my formal outfit for Yoongi’s wedding.”

“You don’t know what you’re wearing yet? I’m surprised you aren’t wearing matching outfits with a certain someone…actually, I’m waiting on when it will be her walking down the aisle to you.”

“Seokjin, fuck off.” Jungkook knows he’s being sensitive, but right now, he’s confused and stressed about this wedding.

“Listen, you guys need to come clean to Yoongi, and then come clean to each other. It doesn’t take a doctor to diagnose you both as lovesick.”

“Seriously, hyung. It’s…complicated.”

Jungkook is about to elaborate, but just then, another voice chimes in.

“What’s complicated? Do you need help?” SoHee bounds into view from behind Seokjin, her hair braided and scrubs a soft pink to compliment the light blush dusting her cheekbones.

“Nothing.”

“Jungkook here’s thinking about bringing a plus one to Yoongi’s wedding. Hey, you’re going aren’t you?” Seokjin spills, making Jungkook huff out an angry exhale.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be there!” SoHee shares. “Yoongi invited quite a few of us from the school. To be honest, I think it was to get a larger haul of wedding gifts. I guess if I bring a plus one, we could split the gift…”

Seokjin laughs, but Jungkook just chuckles, feeling a little awkward.

“Well, maybe you can go to the wedding as Jungkook’s date?”

“Hyung.” Jungkook shoots a burning stare at Seokjin, but he ignores it, continuing to push the agenda.

“You’re not going with anyone yet, and SoHee here is a perfect option. Unless you have someone in mind?” Seokjin gives Jungkook a challenging stare.

“I mean, I would love to go with you, SoHee,” he answers, looking to her eager face, “I just have to make sure of some things. I’ll let you know, though, okay?”

“Of course, Jungkook! I look forward to hearing from you.”

A page sounds off over the speakers on the floor, and Jungkook glances at the clock, seeing he’s free to escape Seokjin and his terrible attempt at prescribing a cure for his diagnosis. He bids farewell to SoHee, but Seokjin follows him towards the staff lounge. Once they’re alone, Jungkook rounds on him.

“Are you insane? Now SoHee is going to expect me to take her on Sunday!”

“And? I thought you liked her?”

“I do, but it's complicated, like I said.”

“Just…think about it. SoHee is totally into you and willing to take it to the next step. I know you’re enjoying your sexcapades, but don’t you want more?” Jungkook just shrugs before pulling off his scrubs to change back into his street clothes. Seokjin sighs, shaking his head as he turns to leave. “I can prescribe something for your emotional constipation if that would be better?”

“Fuck off, Jin!”

Music plays loudly as you search your closet for something to wear. You bought a few formal pieces, making sure to keep the tags on until you make a final decision on a dress, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you know exactly why you have yet to make a decision. The sound of your door opening as Jungkook lets himself in with his spare key (because who wants to get up out of a comfy bed every night to let in a horny muscle bunny just to get back into said bed?) reminds you to stop being honest with yourself and continue to lie; it’s easier that way.

“Babe, I’m here and I have, like, seven different tie options. Help.” Jungkook appears in your bedroom doorway with a vinyl-zippered garment bag and another small bag clutched tightly in his hand.

“Seven options? They had that big of a variety when looking for eucalyptus and sage?” You reach for the smaller bag, guessing correctly that it held various ties in the shades mentioned. “Wow, color me surprised.”

“No, go color yourself eucalyptus or sage so we can make sure these tie colors are suitable.” Jungkook orders you back towards your closet while he begins to shrug off his hoodie.

“What color suits are you debating between?” you call out as you step into the silky sage dress. It’s a little too frilly for your liking, making you feel younger than you like. 2004 is calling and they want their clothing back.

“I have a navy blue, a black, and a grey suit,” he responds, and you tell him to try them on one at a time, sans tie, to see which one looks and feels the best first. Then you’ll help him narrow down the tie options from there.

Stepping out of the closet, you hug your dress to your chest and ask Jungkook to zip you up. He does so, but his response to the dress is just so-so. You knew before you put it on that you probably were not going with this one, and his reaction only solidifies that. The navy blue tuxedo on Jungkook is nice, but upon close inspection, the jacket button sits a little too high, making his torso look shorter than it is.

“Okay, let’s see the black one. This one is a little too tight now that your chest has grown.”

Shimmying out of the dress, you return to grab a floral print dress with shades of lichen green sprinkled all throughout. It’s body-con and knee-length, and missing that umph that you want in a formal dress, but you didn’t have many options in the colors Yoongi chose.

“That’s better than the sage one.” Jungkook appraises you, but you can tell this one is not right for you either.

“I have a few more, but I think I know which one will work best.” Eyeing Jungkook’s black slacks, you stop him before he puts on the jacket. “ No. Definitely not. The pants are high-waters, did you get that thing when you were in high school?”

Jungkook’s ears turn red as he ignores your question, and you realize you hit the nail on the head.

“I mean…maybe?” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact.

“Okay, last suit. Hopefully it fits, or we’re running to the mall.” Back in the closet, you reach for the hanger of the dress you really love. It’s a eucalyptus-colored floor-length gown, with an A-line cut, spaghetti straps, and a thigh slit. You try to zip up the dress as far as you can, but you don’t want to ruin the presentation by walking out just yet. “Jungkook, can you zip me in here, please?”

His slippered feet shuffle along the carpet as he steps into the dim closet, fingers warm where they skim your back as he closes the dress. You shoo him back out into your well-lit bedroom before gracefully walking out on tip-toes. Jungkook lets out a wolf-whistle.

“Damn, you have to wear that. You look like a goddess.” You can tell he’s not lying or offering flattery for no reason. His eyes are a portal into his true thoughts and he’s shit at lying. A giddy feeling fills your chest, reminiscent of puppy love. “Okay, now me.”

You look up at him and the soft grey of the suit complements his honey-glazed skin well. You have him spin in a slow circle, and despite the pants being slightly snug, you know that’s not something you can fix without a tailor on short notice—the man has a nice ass and with his slim waist and long legs…It looks good.

“Perfect.” Your voice is almost a whisper as you step into his orbit, hand reaching for the ties to see which one looks best. Jungkook is still, letting you color match his suit and he thinks you’re also subtly seeing which one matches the color of your dress as well. He wishes for the umpteenth time that he could just…convince you to say what you’re thinking at this moment. Why don’t you tell him that you want to match? That you want to be his plus one? He’s sure that’s what your actions mean. So why don’t you ever tell him?

“Are you sure? Maybe I shouldn’t wear this color, you know?” Jungkook asks timidly, testing. “Your brother really wants us all in his wedding colors?”

“Yes, he explicitly said we had to wear the colors. They won’t have bridesmaids or groomsmen—you know Yoongi and his minimalist agenda, but his fiancé still wants to have wedding photos with all of us, so we have to coordinate.” You pout as you answer him, fixing the tie as you finish the last loop and pull through. “Why? You don’t want to match with me?” The way your eyes look at him, all wide-eyed and lovey-dovey has him backpedaling.

“Babe, you know I do, I would choose to match with you even if we didn’t have to.” Jungkook finds himself admitting, and kicking himself in the ass if he could, for revealing way too much about how he feels about you, without anything in return. Well, the way the furrow between your brows disappears and your pout turns into a cute smile is definitely a reward, but it’s not the same.

You turn, asking him to unzip you again, and then you shuffle back into the closet to disrobe from the dress. He wishes he could see you wear it for a little longer, because you look so gorgeous in it, but he knows that this isn’t his last chance. He shucks off the suit, carefully placing the pants and jacket back into the garment bag. Lying it down flat, he leaves it open so he can still add the shirt and tie. He admires the color of the fabric, a soft but bright green that compliments his honey skin well, the satin pinched between his fingers.

“Let me.”

Jungkook turns back to face you at the sound of your voice, freezing when he sees you’re only in your strapless bra and thong. Not that he’s in any better of a situation; he’s in boxer briefs and a white button-down shirt.

You tug at the tie, gently pulling the longer piece to allow it to slip off from around his neck, Jungkook ducking his head to help you guide it free. Dropping the tie on top of the suit jacket, he feels the way your fingers, warm and light, touch his stomach as you undo each button, starting from the bottom of the shirt. Your eyes never leave his, and he swears he barely blinks—you’re like a siren calling to him, keeping him in place.

“You bought all of these ties, Ggukkie. And only that one will be used.” You nod towards the garment bag, hands finally reaching the collar of his shirt. “What will you do with the rest?”

“I-uh, I think I’ll save them. Can use them for other formal things. You know?” Jungkook can’t think of any other occasion that he would wear a tie, other than another wedding (his to you, perhaps?) or possibly his funeral—the look in your eyes is like you want to eat him alive, and he’s more than willing to go out that way.

“Hmm, I can think of a few uses for them.” Your hands slip under the shirt where it sits on his shoulders, gliding the sleeves down his arms. His tattooed arm slowly reveals itself, a sight he knows you enjoy seeing.

“Oh yeah, like what?” Jungkook knows he’s going to like your idea. You work in a school, and teachers are always pretty creative; this isn’t his first time letting that beautiful brain of yours run wild with him. He can feel his boxer briefs tightening in a specific area as his excitement grows.

“Let me show you.” Jungkook follows your lead, allowing himself to be placed in the center of your bed. You climb off briefly to pull two ties from the bag and pop off their tags. You make sure to choose two of a softer satin fabric, since he can’t return them now. You climb back on and return to straddling him. Your core is warm through the thin cotton of your thong, and Jungkook can’t control the slight jump of his dick when you settle on top and lean forward.

“Hand.” You kiss each of his fingers delicately before pressing a kiss to his palm. Placing his hand against the headboard, you thread the tie through the cutouts and secure his wrist in place with a bow. “Other hand.” Jungkook’s doe eyes are wide as he watches you follow the same routine on this hand, hitching him so he sits like a scarecrow against the frame.

“Let me know if at any time it hurts and you want to stop, okay?” Your hand rests on his cheek, cupping it gently as your eyes search for any signs of fear or wanting to back out.

“I know, babe. Safeword is Velveeta.”

You giggle, climbing off of him so you can move his garment bag a safe distance away. “I can’t believe you chose that as the safeword.”

“Have you heard the way you sound when you get super wet? It’s like Velveeta mac and cheese, you know?”

“And why is that what you equate to a safeword?”

“Because, when I want to feel safe or need comfort, I need to be inside you.”

Jungkook watches your reaction, the way your footsteps falter momentarily as you return back to the bed where he’s sitting patiently, waiting for you. You don’t say anything more, you just pause at the edge of the bed, your hooded eyes only on him.

Your hands reach behind you, undoing the clasps of your bra so that it falls to the carpeted floor. Your thong drops next to join it in a scant pile that you leave behind to climb back on the bed. Returning to straddling him, you press your chest against his as your hands frame his face. You run your nose along his slowly, bringing your lips to his forehead in an act of closeness so much deeper than sexual—at least to Jungkook it is.

He strains his hands against the ties, already seeking to touch you, hold you, secure you to him. He tilts his head up, seeking your lips instead and you kiss him fully, several pecks before it deepens into a wet, tangle of tongues. Both of you moan; you rock your hips over his clothed cock and he wants to cry because he can’t feel you the way he wants to. Not yet, at least.

“I’m gonna taste you, yeah?” you breathe out into his mouth, and he nods, eyes blown as he watches you lower your body until your head hovers over his lap. He can see the sheen you left behind on the black fabric, a thin oval shape that glistens from your fresh arousal. You pull at the waistband, hands cheekily grazing his cheeks as you reveal him.

He’s somewhat hard, naturally, and pants in anticipation as you make yourself comfortable between his thighs. He’ll never get over the feeling you give him when you admire his length. He’s sure he’s told you before, but no one cherishes his cock the way you do. He feels all but one muscle relax as your mouth envelops his tip, all soft and wet, warm and comforting like your pussy—a great alternative, he thinks.

If the first moment you taste him relaxes him, the moments ensuing are the opposite, causing his muscles to expand and contract as your sinful mouth glides up and down along his shaft. It’s low-key infuriating for Jungkook that you make him feel this good and he can’t even touch you.

The headboard creaks slightly and you narrow your gaze in warning, mouth stuffed full of his length and unable to reprimand him. Jungkook lets out a series of chuffs at the scene spread before him: you, naked and drooling into his lap with eyes cutting into his soul for the simple fact that he wants to reward you with touches for the way your throat, mouth, and tongue treat his prized possession.

“Please, babe, wanna touch you too,” he whines out, hoping to appeal to your nurturing side. And it does work. Kind of. He watches (he can’t do much else) as you pop off his cock with that lewd sound he so enjoys hearing your lips make against the tip, and crawl back up his body. Your chest is heaving slightly as you fill your lungs, but you ignore all attempts by Jungkook to nip at you with his own lips.

“Scooch down,” you demand, and he listens well like a pupil as you guide his wrists and ties down to the bottom edge in turn. You have to get off the bed to go to the end, wrapping your soft hands around his ankles and pulling him so he slides across your sheets, arms mostly extended. “Only because you’ve been good, and I don’t want to risk you breaking my headboard.”

Jungkook is a little confused at how laying flat is a reward, as it makes it harder for him to watch you, until you climb back onto the bed facing the opposite direction. “Fuck, yes,” he practically sings, but you just shake your head with a smile as you grip his hard-on in your fist.

“Let’s see how well you keep your focus, baby.” It’s a taunt that you pair with a shake of your hips before lowering your glistening pussy lips to his waiting mouth. Jungkook loves how turned on you get just by sucking his cock, wants to taste the arousal created just for him, by him, and loves a good challenge.

His mouth is open when you nestle yourself against him, tongue out and lips ready to make out with you. You squeeze him in your palm, a whimper as your back arches from the heat of his mouth and Jungkook has to lift his head a bit to chase your movements. “Don’t run, wanna make you feel good, too.”

He hears you take a deep breath, breasts rubbing against his lower abdomen as you lick at him before dropping your hips once more. Jungkook resumes his feasting, spurred on by the little sounds you make as you rock back and forth on his face. He loves that you’ve split your knees on either side of his shoulders; he can’t use his hands to hold you wide, but you do a great job keeping your pussy open for him to tease with his tongue.

The switch between who is dominating who is fast—he knows that you must’ve been aching and throbbing between your thighs before letting him touch you, and now you’re closer to climax than he is. It’s also Jungkook’s specialty; what can he say? He likes to eat.

When you catch your rhythm on his face, you lose your rhythm with your mouth, instead using your hands to stroke him as you sit up higher and higher. Your left hand grips his thigh, right hand stroking him in time as Jungkook groans from below you. He loves when you do this: give in to the pleasure and suffocate him, and almost whines in despair when you lift up to check-in.

“Can you breathe? Am I killing you?”

“If you don’t sit back down on my face and let me eat this pussy—mmphh.”

Jungkook doubles down his efforts, dropping and raising his chin in order to lick you from top to bottom and when you adjust slightly so he can access your clit, he gently suckles it as your thighs shake and you cry out his name.

“Fuck, Jungkook—holy fuck!”

You collapse onto him, laying your head on his pelvis as your body shivers from the aftershocks.

“And you thought I would lose focus,” he jokes, but you seem to take it seriously.

“Ah, you’re right. You didn’t get to finish. I got you.”

“Hey, you know I never have to cum, just making sure you get off makes me feel good.” Jungkook hates that you might think this is just a sex exchange, needs you to know it’s more than that. You sit up and shift around, body moving to align with his.

“And I like knowing I made you feel good.” You kiss him deeply with tongue. “We’re perfect that way, huh?”

Jungkook wishes more than once that he could say what he wants to say. That you’re perfect for each other—probably soulmates—bets he’s met you in another life. Instead, no words come out of his mouth as you face away from him. You throw a mischievous smile over your shoulder before you spit in your hand and grasp him, moving to hover over his pelvis.

“You’re actually mean for this,” he says, watching as you sink onto him, and he’s able to watch your lips part around his cock, stretching to fit his girth until you bottom out. Your cute ass hides the view until you lift up again, revealing the glistening trails of cum that decorate his veins and he can’t stop himself from pulling at the ties. Jungkook just wants to help guide you, wants to put his hands on your cheeks and spread them apart so he can see the stretch of your pussy as you ride him, maybe even press his thumb to your puckered hole, watch as that shiver runs down your spine in ecstasy.

“Safeword?” Your concern shows in your tone and the way you slow your movements.

“Don’t need it, just wanna fucking touch you.” He would hate how whiney he sounds if he didn’t know you thrived off it—can feel it in the way you clench for him.

“If you use it, I’ll release you from your shackles…” you counter, and how dare you giggle at Jungkook, knowing using the safe word gives him what he wants, but he’ll never use it with you. How can he when he feels his safest right now, balls deep.?

“It’s fine,” he grits out, bucking his hips to get you to move again, ride him again, but you don’t. Instead, you rise up, keeping just the tip in until you are able to rotate around and face him. You look torn, teeth worrying your bottom lip about whether to untie him or not, safe word be damned. “Don’t do it unless you want to.”

Jungkook watches the debate swirl in your eyes, before you reach up and tug at the bow ends, letting him free from his confines. Instantly, his hands move to your body, fingers wrapping around your ribs as his thumbs settle under your breasts before moving down to trace the outline to your hips. With a firm tug, he seats you once more, a groan of curse words slipping out. You’re still so wet from the mixture of his spit and your own orgasm spread along his shaft that he slides into you like a glove, nestled tight between your walls.

Small hands press to his chest, and your thumbs rub circles around his nipples as you begin to ride him, pussy walls quenching the thirst for you as he fights to keep his eyes open so he can watch your tits bounce in his face.

“That’s it, baby, ride my cock,” he encourages, “only you ride me this good, fuck—so good for me.”

You smile at his praise, moving to lay chest to chest so you can really roll your hips, sheathing and unsheathing him in rapid succession. The clapping of your skin against his fills the room, creating a harmonious sound paired with the heavy breathing and sweet murmurs and whines. Jungkook feels his control slipping as his hands grasp your cheeks and spread them, allowing him to reach deeper inside of you. He feels the flutters that let him know you’re so close to a second orgasm, so he plants his feet into your mattress and begins to jackhammer up into your aching cunt.

Your teeth press into his shoulder, cries muffled, but he keeps going, even after he feels you contract and release, wetness pooling below his belly button as he gets closer and closer to joining you.

“Jungk—shit, shit, I’m—”

He’s not expecting you to cum for a third time, didn’t realize his repetitive stroke to keep him in your pleasure longer would catapult you, so when you do—and hard at that—it takes him as well. His cock throbbing from how hard he fills you up, cum milking in spurts that leak out around his cock as he fucks you through the best of it until neither of you can take anymore.

—————

Jungkook’s left hand plays with the strands of your hair as you sleep on his chest. His cellphone’s brightness is turned all the way down so as not to disturb your beauty rest. Not that Jungkook thinks you need it. His smile from the thought of your beauty fades as he focuses back on his phone. There’s a tightness in his chest under your head that isn’t stemming from the pressure of your body.

He knows he hasn’t done anything wrong, in fact—he’s very much within his rights to do whatever he wants, with whoever he wants, but the only person he wants to do things with is you. It actually makes him a little irritated that he shouldn’t feel guilty. He wants a good reason to turn away any and all advances women (and even some men) make on him.

When everyone knows you’re single, it’s a bit harder to say no to dates with people. Especially if it’s someone Jungkook might’ve been interested in at one point in time. How does he explain that he can’t give someone else a chance because he’s holding out for you? That he’s too busy building his own courage to tell you that he wants you, to let another person (like the girl texting him) into your spot?

He scrolls through the messages SoHee left him while he was busy fucking you into the mattress during round two after a break to rest and refuel with Korean BBQ takeout and a Netflix movie.

stay tuned for “so break me off another night” coming 8-10-2023!

#bangtansorciere #bangtanbathhouse #clubzerooclock #bangtanwhq #btscreaturescoven #btsafterdarknet #bangtantheatrenet #thebtswritersclub #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook au #jungkook writings #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #seven days series

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peterparkouryo · 1 year

Text

rebound ii | ✧.*

✧.*

prompt; After Peter ends your relationship after admitting to being in love with someone else, you're a mess and very very miserable.

warnings: semi heavy angst, fluff if you squint

word count: 4.7k

part one part three

It's been four days since your birthday, and your break up with Peter.

You were sad, no you were miserable since that day and you cried every chance you got. It's not because it was on your birthday, if it was any other day you'd probably be just as worst.

Today was Monday, which meant today was also another dreadful, long and dragging, boring day of school. You'd rather be in your bed, eating ice cream as you cried watching a rom-com that was just as bad as your life.

When you got to school, you went straight to your locker, put your things inside and got all needed accessories for your upcoming class. The first class you needed to be at was social studies, which thankfully didn't have him in it, just your friend Betty and his friend Ned.

"Hey, Happy belated birthday!" Betty quickly exclaims the moment you walk into the class room, a couple students glancing at you or her in curiosity.

You send a grateful and albeit, weak smile as you slowly but surely make your way to your assigned seat which just so happens to be right next to her.

"Thanks." You softly mumble just as you sit next to her, the blonde haired girl excitedly turning towards you with too much anticipation.

"So, how was your birthday?" She asked.

"Also, sorry I couldn't be there." Betty quickly added before you could answer.

You wanted to tell her that it was fine, that you enjoyed your birthday with just you and your mom but the last final hour of your birthday was truly the worst part of that whole 24 hour day.

"It's fine, umm, I guess it was okay." You tell her, leaving out the very heartbreaking details you so badly wanted to tell her.

"Did Peter shower you in presents? Did he take you on a date!?" Ohh, did he give you that necklace that you've been ogling for the past few months?" Betty asked, question after question.

Now, you had no other choice but to tell her, and quite frankly, you did not want that to be the agenda for the day, but curse Betty and her curious, bubbly personality.

"Actually, we broke up." You tell it how it is, not sparing to glance at her bewildered expression.

"Broke up?" She repeated in disbelief.

You hum in response, digging into your backpack next to you and pulling out your notebook to jot down the notes on the board, completely trying to block out Betty and her confusion.

"When?" Betty quizzed, her eyes switching back and fourth from your notebook and your side profile.

"He broke up with me, on my birthday." You tell her, looking back down to your notebook, now scribbling nonsense.

Before she could even respond, you continue.

"Apparently, he was in love with Michelle, you know the girl from our math class? The whole entire time. Well, I don't exactly know when he fell in love with her, but it certainly was during our relationship." You rambled, holding back the frustration and tears that threatened to break through.

days you've been going through for the past few days. You still think it's your fault for why Peter broke up with you, he probably found you boring and you didn't give him the attention he needed, which is why you strongly believe he fell for someone much better than you.

You didn't hate Michelle, you actually genuinely liked the brown curly haired girl, she was quiet and observant and super smart, so you can see why Peter liked her a lot. She could also be dark at times from what you remember, and sure it confused you of how and why Peter liked that but maybe you didn't know your ex as well as you thought.

"Y/N, I am so sorry." Betty said, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder, which you didn't shrug off because you honestly needed some sort of comfort from the past few days.

"It's nothing, I'll be fine." You lied, turning your attention away from her to look at the board once again as the teacher finally decided to teach the class.

It was finally lunch time, and normally you'd sit with Peter and Ned, but that was a no go. Well, it would've been a no go if the other tables weren't full and if Ned hadn't invited you to sit next to him. And who were you to decline an invitation from the nicest boy ever?

So, you made your way to the table that was made for awkward moments, only seeing Ned sit there happily eating his lunch.

"Oh, hi Y/N." Ned greeted you just as you sat directly across from him with your lunch tray in hand.

"Hey." You greeted back, showing a smile.

You knew you were going to regret sitting here, given the fact that Peter is bound to sit here as well and there's no doubt that Michelle would be sitting here also, but you tried to ignore that initiated gut feeling and focus on anything and everything else.

Maybe if Peter saw that you were trying to move on, he'd believe that you did, though all of that is complete and utter bullshit.

"So, you know how in our science class we have that upcoming project about disparities?" You hear Ned's voice ask, glancing at him just in time as he shoves a salty fry into his mouth.

You nod, playing with your food instead, the anxiety slowly creeping into your body.

"Well, I was thinking since you and uhh...you know what never mind. Do you want to be my partner?" Ned questioned quickly, eyes filled with hope.

"Are you only asking me because I'm the smartest in that class?" You tease, narrowing your eyes at him in amusement.

Ned lets out a whole-heartedly chuckle, but before he could joke back a voice you very much expected interrupts you both.

"Sorry, the lunch line was really long..." Peter says defeatedly, tossing his friend a bag of chips as he sat down next to him.

Okay, so maybe you should've declined Ned's offer, but he was sort of your friend and you didn't have lunch with Betty anymore, plus sitting alone would probably be just as miserable as sitting here with your ex, who was in love with someone else.

You're sure you hear Ned respond to Peter's apology, but you're not quite too sure since your brain and ears are filled with anxiety, your head feeling fuzzy at Peter's presence. You could sometimes occasionally feel Peter's glances, probably curious as to why you're sitting here, but you wanted to make a point that you're over him and you didn't sit here because you cared about him still (which was a lie), but because Ned invited you and he was your sort of friend.

"Michelle's in the library today, since she's not really a people's person." Peter informed Ned after his question as of where the brown curly haired girl was.

You were thankful for that, you didn't think you could handle much more of misery.

You're not one hundred precent sure if they're dating now, but if they are you failed to notice, and maybe Peter is just deciding to take things slow since the boy did just get out of a relationship, with you.

The boys continue to make small talk, you ate in silence, or played with your food in silence until the lunch period was over.

And as soon as the bell rung, you hurriedly got up from the table, threw away your lunch and made a bee-line for the cafeteria doors, shoving and squeezing your way through the herd of students.

You sighed in relief as you made it into the hallway, holding a hand to your chest, almost, just almost crying right then and there but you remembered that you were in public, and at school too.

Just as the students that once littered the busy hallway made their ways to the next class that they had, you heard your name being called in the now shallow hallway.

You turn around hesitantly since you already know that voice all too well.

It wasn't Peter, but Michelle, coming from the library doors.

You always knew somehow god wasn't on your side.

"Hey, uh..." The girl started as soon as she approached you, a clad of books stuffed in her right arm.

"Hey.." You mumbled awkwardly, sparing glances at a few students who walked by to get to their next class.

Michelle was as awkward as you were, it was very obvious in the way that the tension around you surfaced rather quickly. You both knew why, it was an unsaid understanding.

"I think I owe you an apology." Michelle states, her eyes never leaving your face as you slowly trailed yours to look into hers.

"For what?" You dumbly ask.

You knew why, you just needed to hear her say it.

"I never meant for Peter to fall in love with me, and to hurt you. I honestly didn't think you two were a thing until a week ago." She admitted, and you could sense how nervous her voice was with that confession.

You knew you had a reason not to hate her, she was just as confused as you.

"It's fine, really." You lie, showing a rather obvious fake smile.

"No, no, it's not. I know he broke up with you on your birthday which is a really shitty thing to do, and I also know that it's not fine. If I could take back his feelings for me and give them to you, I would." Michelle concluded, her aura anything but foulness.

It was really reassuring knowing that the girl felt guilty for your now ex's feelings for her, her showing you the unexpected sympathy, something you thought would be the last thing you would receive from her.

But it was always really confusing how if she has feelings for Peter as well, why feel sorry for you? You did want him to be happy, and if it wasn't with you, so be it. You didn't want to be the reason Peter's unhappiness wasn't fulfilled.

"Michelle, listen." You started, standing up straight to look at her.

"I may be going through a lot with this, but I don't want to be the reason Peter is unhappy. That's the last thing I ever want for him. So, if he wants to be with you..." You trailed off with a shrug, hoping she understood where you were going with this.

Instead of answering the girl just stares at you, her eyes confused, as well as her facial expression, the features slowly falling into a more understanding expression, something you wanted her to see.

"Are you sure? I didn't want to get in the way of any unsaid closure..." She says, pressing her lips into a straight line.

Closure. The word only used to resolve problems. You didn't think breaking up with Peter needed closure.

"Oh, right...closure. I guess we do need to talk." You sigh.

"I would before he decides anything else. I mean that is if you're ready, it's only been four days." Michelle tells you, pushing up her books more into her arm as they were slipping.

You knew she was right, you did say yourself you wanted Peter to be happy, even if it was in a short amount of time.

"I'll just text him and ask him to meet me in the library after school." You tell her, hearing the bell ring, signalling the final warning to get to class.

"Good idea, tell me what he says." Michelle says with a nod before walking past you, mumbling a soft 'bye', and you too decide to make your way to your next period.

You unfortunately kept true to your word to Michelle, and as soon as your last period was over you texted the last person you wanted to see, asking him if you two could talk and to meet in the library after school.

It only took him maybe five or six minutes to respond, saying a quick 'okay'.

So here you were, really nervous, scared, maybe even sad for obvious reasons, waiting at a table that was way in the back of the library, not wanting to be disturbed by any teachers or students that lingered around in the book filled room.

You silently played with your fingers, your entire body on fire with anxiety. You sort of wished he would hurry up so it can get over and done with.

To be quite honest, it reminds you of the time he admitted to having a crush on you. You both were nervous for two totally different reasons. You, being nervous because you thought he was going to tell you he didn't want to be your friend anymore (and rightfully so because of how he was acting during that time), and him, because he of course liked you.

Any oncoming thoughts were caught short as your gaze was met with a familiar head set of curls, and compelling brown eyes coming your way, in a dazed state.

"Sorry, I uh...was busy." Peter mumbled, setting his backpack (the third one you saw that week), onto the library floor next to the seat he pulled out to sit down at.

"It's fine." You shrugged off, your hands now in your lap, keeping your distance, something you hope he didn't notice.

"So, what is it you wanted to talk about?" He asked, looking at you expectingly.

It took a lot of will power to keep your composure.

"Well, I talked to Michelle.." You trailed off, watching his every movement, seeing his pupils dilate just tiny bit.

"Oh?" Peter questioned, slightly biting his lip nervously.

"Yeah, she said we needed some sort of closure before you decide to get into a relationship to her." You told him, looking down at your fiddling hands in your lap.

Peter took notice of how truly nervous you were, and he couldn't help but feel bad, knowing he was the main reason for this.

He also noticed the lack of sleep, due to the much obvious under bags in your eyes, something he had a feeling also had to do with him.

"Right, closure." Peter nodded, clearing his throat.

There were a load of questions you had for him, many that probably would help you better understand how, when and why he fell out of love with you the moment he spent more time with Michelle.

His distance from you during the upcoming end of your relationship put you in a spiral of thoughts, the kind of thoughts that kept you up at night. It also didn't help that you were already an over thinker and the thought of messing up your relationship with Peter always scared you.

Most people would say that dreams come true not nightmares. It wounded you more than anything that you biggest fear did in fact come true.

You didn't really care if he was going to end up dating Michelle, it was bound to happen anyway. You just wanted to know the when and why. You wanted to know what you lacked during that time so in future relationships, you'd be able to avoid it.

"Before we talk, I, um, bought you this." You hear Peter say, the boy reaching inside of his backpack, digging in it before retreating it with an item, holding it toward you.

You reluctantly look up from where your eyes were practically trained on your lap, your hands still shyly there.

It was a small box decorated in your favourite colour, purple.

"What's this?" You curiously asked, taking it from his expecting hand.

"Just a late birthday gift." Peter shrugged, obviously not aware of just how inappropriate and inconvenient his timing was.

"Oh." Was all you said before stuffing it in your pocket.

You'd open it later.

As the day went on, the awkward tension build up, rarely anyone now was in the library, a few ongoing studiers, parents with their kids, or just advocate readers. You wanted some sort of miracle to happen so you wouldn't have to go through this uncomfortable situation.

It was clear neither of you knew how to start this conversation. You had no idea what to say or how to approach the topic of the closure you needed.

You couldn't tell if Peter noticed how miserable your appearance was, both mentally and physically, but you knew he must have known somehow.

"I'm really sorry I broke up with you on your birthday, had I known...I'd probably would've waited." Peter finally speaks up, with a heavy lump down his throat.

Your hands bare on the table as you shuffle in your seat, preparing on a proper response.

The thought of Peter going to break up with your regardless if it was your birthday or not makes your heart feel heavy with a forlorn weight.

"It's, I, it's okay, I guess." You murmur, blinking rapidly for effect.

Another silence settled, and this time you did nothing (like you were before) to speak up and stop it. You thought the more quiet, the less talking and you wouldn't get hurt anymore if either one of you even tried to utter a word.

"I know I hurt you," The boy started, and you look up, waiting for him to continue. "But, I can't say that I, you know what, never mind." Peter waves off, struggling to find the write words.

"And you're barely saying anything makes this a lot harder than it should be Y/N." He says in defeat, reaching out to clasp his hands onto yours.

There was nothing on your end, nothing to be said, nothing you wanted to say. Though you needed closure, you really had no idea what to say. How do you tell someone that you clearly still had feelings for that you love him?

Peter of course, had no idea you even loved him, he of course knew you probably still harboured feelings for him, but he didn't know you had stronger deeper feelings for him. Had the boy not broken up with you on your birthday, you probably would slipped the L word, which probably wouldn't make anything better if you're being honest.

"I'm sorry, I just....don't know what to say." You admit, the warmth of his skin on top of yours sending a wave of shivers from your arms through your entire body.

"Start by telling me how you feel." Peter suggested, and that might not had been the brightest of ideas.

You felt like shit. There hadn't been a day that went by after your dreadful birthday where you didn't.

You squint your eyes at him, slowly removing your hands from his grasp.

"I feel like shit." You tell him, giving the boy a timid look, watching him nod slowly in understanding.

"Right, probably should've guessed that." Peter said shyly, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Sorry." He adds on.

"You say that a lot, but do you actually mean it?" You ask him quietly, watching his pupils dilate at your request.

"'Course I do!" Peter almost exclaims, his eyes now wide.

"I-, listen I know I hurt you bad, but the last thing I want is for you to hate me." He stated, pouting slightly.

You didn't hate him, and you think that's even worse.

"I don't hate you, don't think I ever can." You say, pressing your lips together.

It'd probably be a good thing to tell him you loved him, but you were in public and it would hurt even worst if he neglected your love (which would most likely happen) in such a public area.

Maybe you should wait till later, or just honestly get it over and done with, the sooner the better, you thought.

"If I'm being honest Peter, I think-" You begin, your heart pounding wildly against your chest. Your head screaming at you not to do it, but when have you ever listened to your head instead of your heart?

"I think I love you." You whisper at your quietest volume, and hopefully god was on your side,. Hoping maybe Peter didn't hear it, but you lacked the knowledge of knowing Peter's secret abilities.

Either time froze or Peter was stuck in place for whatever reason (you were sure you knew) it was. Things seemed to have frozen around you, the people you were once aware of now gone, just you and your ex in this moment. And was it such a vulnerable one.

You watch as the boy's mouth fell open and closed, trying to conjure up something, anything to say at your sudden confession.

Your heart fell deeper into your stomach as the silence grew, you wished this time it wasn't so evident, the lack of ventilate from him bothering your head.

After a two minutes of silence Peter quickly gets up from his seat, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder almost clumsily.

"I-, I havetogo, sorry." The boy swiftly says, stumbling over his words before nearly tripping over a few chairs.

You figured this wouldn't happen, which might have been ten times worst than him actually saying something in return.

You had wiped the falling tears from your face, the mirror in front of you mocking your actions, but no matter what, the wet substance from your eyes would still fall down a lot heavier.

You sniffled before exiting the bathroom, making a beeline to your bedroom, closing the door and cuddling up into the bed.

After your conversation (if you'd even call it that) with Peter at the library, the minute you got home, you were hit with a wave of saddness. You cried more than you did on your birthday, and now you wish you hadn't told your ex boyfriend you loved him, didn't matter anyway.

You were grateful your mom had a late shift tonight, you couldn't bare the thought of her seeing you at your worst, questioning why you were the way you were. You lacked to even tell the woman you and Peter were no longer dating. You figured you'd wait a few weeks then drop the bomb on her, hopefully she'd spare Peter, but given her personality, you truly doubt it.

The crying hadn't really stopped, so when your face hit your soft pillows and more tears that got more intense as the night went on, you weren't all that surprised.

What did surprised you was the obsessive knocking at your bedroom window.

You didn't bother to wipe your tears when you sat up from your bed, aiming your direction at the window, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion when you saw your neighbourhood superhero instead of some sort of bird.

"Spider-Man?" You questioned bewilderedly as you approach your bedroom window, opening it from its handle.

You knew of him from the news, and it was really shocking to you that him of all people were here at your window at something at night for whatever the reason was.

"What are you doing here?" You ask him again, watching the hero crouch on the railing of your fire escape.

"Believe it or not but I heard you..." He says steadily, and you rose an eyebrow at him.

"Not that I was you know listening or anything, but I was near by and my senses can pick up things from far away." Spider-Man quickly says, holding out a hand in defence.

"Oh." You say, tilting your head as you wiped your tears.

"Seemed like a damsel in distress sort of thing..." He trailed off, expectingly waiting for your response.

You had no reason to tell this stranger your secrets, you both knew that, but something inside of you wanted to. You hadn't even known the hero for five seconds and yet you were ready to tell him your deepest darkest confessions.

"It's nothing." You settled for, having some moral ground.

"Sad movie?" Spider-Man suggested.

"Yeah." You nod, sniffling a bit.

Maybe he thought you were in some sort of trouble, but the more you thought about it the less sense it made to to tell a stranger about your conversation with your ex at a public library.

What advice could he possible give that would make you feel better? You don't know if he's ever even gone through something like that.

"Oh, well hope you feel better." Spider-Man offered. "Just doing my part of the 'friendly neighbourhood' motto." He adds, making you chuckle.

"Thanks." You smile.

You couldn't pin point it, but he seemed oddly familiar, maybe it was because he was so nice to you after your horrible day, week even, but you really appreciated his kind gesture.

"I-" He started, unravelling himself from his crouching position to stand on your fire escape.

"Y/N." Spider-Man says, and your eyes widen marginally.

Had you told him your name? You couldn't remember, but never the less even if you didn't, you wondered how he knew in the first place. Maybe you slipped it out from habit or he was some stalker type of hero.

The hero seemed to have noticed your confused state, the vigilante quickly ripping off his mask to try and calm your nerves, but you recognize his face all too well, instinctively going to shut the window, but unfortunately for your his senses way too quick for yours, his strength inhumane.

"Wait!" Peter cried out as you still tried to close the window but to no avail.

Peter easily slides the window up, causing you to let go repulsively, backing up from it as he slowly climbed in.

Every bone in your body was telling you to run, but where would you go, who would you tell? Now you never would tell anyone about your ex being the Queens superhero, but you don't think you can bare having this secret known to you so suddenly.

Peter being Spider-Man is a surprise, of course, and him using his alter ego just to talk to you in some sense after quite literally running away from your confession was making your mind fuzzy to say the least.

You started to shake your head for no particular reason, watching the boy close your window before turning back to you, his hair wild most likely from the mask, and a evident pout on his face.

"You-, you love me?" Peter asked, his voice cracking.

You couldn't conjure up the right words, your mind blank with empty thoughts. It was still shocking to you that Peter of all people was the spiderling you only ever seen on the news.

You never paid much attention to Spider-Man, and if you did, you'd probably would have figured out that Peter was him if you connected the dots properly.

"Y/N, please answer me." He pleaded, breaking you from your train of thoughts. You were sure you looked like a deer caught in headlights at this point.

"I don't know..." You whispered, fiddling with with your fingers as sweat trickled down your forehead.

"But at the library you said-" Peter starts.

"I know what I said." You tell him, meeting his brown eyed gaze.

You blinked back tears, Peter approaching your figure, and you would had backed up to get away from him but you were stuck in-between him and the bed. Fortunately he placed his mask on top of your bed, releasing it from his brutal grip, you two now in close distance.

You were getting deja vu, the boy staring at your face, perfecting every angle he could before closing his eyes and exhaling a breath he had been holding in.

"You really shouldn't had told me that." He whispered, and you bit your bottom lip, nervously nibbling on it.

Peter reopens his eyes, greeting you with the honey colour you were familiar with, his pupils getting smaller as it adjusted to the light, you felt bad for the sad expression that was held on his face.

He slowly brings a hand up to your face, wiping a tear that had unknowingly fallen down your face before pushing some of your hair behind your right ear.

It's been a long time since he's showed you this kind of affirmation, the last time he ever did something remotely similar was the time he had broken up with you. You had no clue what he was thinking, was he going to kiss you, or scold at you for expressing your love for him when he clearly loved another? The possibilities were endless like the ocean, and so you wished he'd only say his motive so your anxiety wasn't so obvious.

Peter's eyes dip to your lips before glancing back to your eyes, him silently asking for permission. You give the boy a nod as your answer, mirroring his actions when he closes his eyes and leans in.

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker angst

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cookierunauprompts · 5 months

Note

This is super self indulgent buuut I like to think that shadow milk used to worm his way into the kingdoms he manipulated by being a jester or as an advisor so imagine this with a reader insert! Shadow milk just doing his thing when he sees the reader (could be anyone maid,princess etc) and thinks they are a perfect source for information but slowly starts to fall in love with them! And by the end he makes the reader watch as the kingdom they live in falls. Anyways hope you have a great day!

Requested Prompts #6 - 💓✙

TW - Mentions of violence, cannibalism

Everything was going perfectly, nobody knew him as more than the Court Jester, nobody could even guess that it was him stirring up the discord within the royal court. They only knew Blueberry Milkshake Cookie, the silly court jester who always kept one of his eyes covered. He was much, much more than just a Court Jester though. And he could tell that you knew that. So, his first thought was to get you... Out of the way. He quickly reconsidered that after seeing you behead an assassin cookie with your own bare hands. So, then came plan b, using you as a source of information. As the next in line to be Crowned in this kingdom of secrets, then surely you would hold some rather valuable information that he could use to further his own agenda. But of course, even then you were holding back on him. You were a locked treasure chest of secrets, and he was trapped in a room full of keys trying to find the one that was just right. Shouldn't he have abandoned this by now? Well, he hated to admit it, but he'd fallen in love with you. Hard and fast like a blazing meteor on a crash course into the planet. And then, came the day you revealed one of your secrets to him. " I hate this kingdom," You had said bitterly, bringing a surprised look to his face. " Hating your own kingdom, my liege?" He teased with a sly grin, not having believed you at first. " My apologies, but I thought that I was supposed to be the jokester here!-" " Blueberry Milkshake Cookie," You said sternly, and he watched as you turned to glare at him. " I'm being serious." He shut his mouth, these were your secrets, he'd finally found the key and gotten you to open up to him. Surely he wouldn't have to deal with this... love he'd developed for you after, right? " This kingdom is built upon lies, but I'm sure you knew that already." You walked up to him, hands finding their way under his arms to lift him up off his feat so the two of you could be at eye level. " Haven't you ever wondered why myself and my family are this powerful?" His heart was doing loop-de-loops, such as it always did when you showed off like this. " I have, yes." He answered. " It's because we eat other cookies, and I hate the fact that we do." You hissed out, biting your tongue to keep quiet and hushed. " You know those private executions? They're taking those Cookies to a slaughterhouse, some of them haven't even done anything wrong and yet they're being slain like livestock." You crouch down so his feet are touching the floor again while you get on your knees. " I despise this castle, my family, and everyone who let this continue to happen. I wish that my kingdom would be completely and utterly destroyed so that nobody will have to know what suffering went on here." Oh, he didn't expect that. He could see the tears of anger brimming in your eyes, he didn't like that expression on your face. So why not replace it with one of your better ones? Such as your elusive smile? His own expression twisted into a gleeful grin. " Aw~ Don't worry my dear, I'll be sure to make your wish come true~" He cooed, wiping your tears of frustration away with a wave of his hand. " What do you mean?" You had eventually asked him after a moment of silence. The confused expression on your face- not what he was going for, but he'd take it anyways- was just so adorable~ " Eheh he he he heh~ Oh, you'll just have to wait for my last performance, the one in three days time." He chuckled, slipping out of your hold and walking towards the door. " However, I do advise you get yourself out of the kingdom before then, Reader Cookie~ Ta ta for now~" On the inside, he cackled wildly... Not out loud of course, that'd get him found out. He hoped that you would head his warning, after all he didn't want you getting crumbled in the cross fire.

....

Might make a a part 2 for this one, mainly in Reader Cookie's POV about finding out that Shadow Milk was blueberry all along.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #cookie run au prompts #crk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #cr kingdom #cannibalism tw #I hope you don't mind the twist i put on it. I felt like sprinkling in a bit of horror #also strong af reader cookie my beloved.

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kitashousewife · 1 year

Text

FUZZY BRAIN

an: im distracting myself but i haven't stopped thinking about this idea. so thought i would give it a spin. super super loosely based on my interpretation of fuzzybrain by dayglow!

pairings: timeskip!kuroo x fem!reader

warnings: slight angst, stress mentions, eating and drinking mentions, kuroo needs a nap :/

"how's your day going?"

"no, i don't need a receipt."

a very confused barista stares back at kuroo, who blinks back at her.

"wait, sorry," he grimaces and shakes his head. "my day is alright, how is yours?"

she responds, but he isn't really paying attention. lately, he hasn't been able to focus on much of anything. he grabs his coffee and heads back to the office, forgetting the embarrassing conversation before sitting down.

spring had finally arrived in japan, bringing an onslaught of responsibilities along with it. like the blossoms floating in the wind, different tasks and deadlines seemed to float their way onto kuroo's plate. his planner is full, daily agendas scribbled into whatever room remains. nothing seems to slow down. each item he crosses off is replaced with a new one in a matter of minutes.

he's scatterbrained.

"remember, we have that marketing meeting at five kuroo-san," one of his colleagues pats him on the back while sneaking behind his desk.

"oh, that's right," kuroo mumbles, flipping through the pages of his planner, finally reaching today's date. staring back at him, among the six other important things due today, is the meeting. highlighted, circled, and underlined. "see ya then."

he leans back and groans.

at this point, the due dates and deadlines aren't bothering him. he's almost numb, but comfortably so. he's found comfort in the hustle of it all, avoiding having nothing to do. his mind craves being busy.

his body disagrees.

kuroo's aching fingers rub at his eyes, preparing himself to stare at his computer monitor for the next few hours. dark circles have formed underneath his eyes, unmoving. his head throbs, but when is it not lately?

"kuroo-san, ushijima wakatoshi's manager called just now and wants to speak with you," one of the department's secretaries taps her palm on his desk, causing the mound of papers to slide slightly. his typing continues, and kuroo doesn't even notice.

"kuroo-san?"

his head shoots up. "sorry, did you say something?"

she gives him a sad smile.

"no, it's nothing. i'll tell them to call back."

as she clicks back to her desk, kuroo's brows furrow, before he cringes. just like this morning.

he's not sure how he got to this point. kuroo's always prided himself on his quick wit and problem-solving skills, as well as his hard work. he wouldn't have been able to imagine himself like this. overworked, exhausted, brain full of fuzz, and eyes bloodshot.

he doesn't recognize himself sometimes.

the day trudges on, the phone ringing constantly along with a steady flow of messages in his inbox. he crosses things off on his list, finally reaching the end. he smiles, with relief or pride he isn't quite sure. soon enough, it's time for his meeting, which means it's almost time to go home.

kuroo stumbles out of the door of his building, quickly brought to reality by the honk of a taxi and the shuffle of other commuters. he sighs, beginning the walk home.

it's times like these when he's thankful to live so close to work. all he wants is to get home, shower, and sleep. he smiles again, so close to being in the comfort of his own space, when his stomach growls.

then he frowns.

kuroo groans for what must be the tenth time today when he realizes that despite all of his meticulous planning and record keeping, he's forgotten to get groceries this week. at this point, he's past all of his regular takeout places. closing his eyes with sigh, he crosses the street to enter the small neighborhood market.

his fingers rub against his tight neck, sliding around to loosen his tie before grabbing a basket. he wracks his brain, attempting to come up with any dinner ideas for the evening. nearly walking into the door, kuroo tries to remember what's in his fridge at the moment.

"welcome in!"

"you too," he half waves at the cashier, their own waving hand slowly falling in confusion. kuroo remembers the chicken in his fridge, and finally begins to form a menu. he grabs a few veggies, an extra bag of rice, and heads into the last isle. his hand grabs a bottle of oil, and he stops.

his brows pinch together, staring down the bottle in his hand. why did i grab this?

he shakes his head. his mind races, trying to remember any sort of thoughts he had before grabbing this. he blinks, running recipes through his mind before letting out an irritating huff.

"what is this even for?"

"frying things, usually,"

"what?"

you blink up at him, grabbing ingredients of your own for your basket. his eyes widen.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry. i don't-" he cuts himself off. "i'm so tired."

confused at his sudden raw honesty with a stranger, he scratches the back of his head.

"don't worry about it," you reach for a bottle of your own. "i've been there."

his fingers tap the side of his basket.

"how did you cope?"

you smile at him.

"it's okay to take a break. i mean i don't know what you do for work," you gesture towards his tie. he looks down at it and chuckles. "but everyone deserves to rest."

he nods. he could cry, honestly. this is the first real, non-work-related conversation he's had in weeks.

"making something good?"

he laughs. "i can't remember."

your wrist spins your basket at your side. you do feel for this stranger. the second you walked into the aisle, you noticed how tired he looked. the vacant stare and slow blinks said it all.

"you need to eat."

he snorts. "i don't think i have the energy to cook anything. i'm trying to talk myself out of swapping all of this for a frozen pizza,"

you smile, holding up your basket, displaying just that.

"nothing wrong with that!"

every second kuroo spends talking to you in this too-crowded aisle is melting the stress from his shoulders. he's tired, so tired but he doesn't want this to end.

"i want to see you," he slides the basket further up his arm, patting his pockets with his palms. "again i mean. i want to see you again. can i?"

you look up at the handsome stranger again, smiling when you notice a grin of his own.

"s-sure. need a pen?"

"if you've got one. i don't think i'd be able to remember a phone number tonight."

you dig in your purse for a pen, flipping an old receipt over to scribble your name and number down for him. after you hand it to him, he repeats your name.

"i'm kuroo, kuroo tetsuro. sorry for not introducing myself earlier," he mumbles, suddenly feeling a little shy. his vulnerability catching up to him at last.

"well kuroo, i hope you remember to call." you place the frozen pizza in his basket and walk towards the check stands. "cause i would love to see you."

kuroo smiles wide, the words he was going to say dying on the tip of his tongue.

while he enjoys his frozen pizza that night, still in his work clothes on the couch, he calls you.

he decides before the sun even sets that he's calling out tomorrow. he's going to sleep in, as long as his body allows. and he's going to see you. but this time he will give you his full attention.

kuroo's not a believer in fate, but you just might make him one.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader fluff #kuroo tetsuro x reader fluff #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo imagine #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #hq fluff #hq x reader #hq x reader fluff #kuroo tetsuro #tetsuro kuroo

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