#it’s bad enough that i can never figure out whether i feel bad because i need to eat ot because i’ve eaten too much lately | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshigray · 1 month

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Hello (◍•ᴗ•◍)

I really like your work it's so good!! And i saw your request is open soooo

Can i request delinquent/bad boy sukuna x student council president reader? Like they hate each other bc reader is very strict with the rule while sukuna just break it anyway. One day, sukuna saw the reader in a party which make him confused bc reader is not the type to do fun stuff. And moments later they fuck

Sorry if this is a very detailed request. Feel free to ignore it or change it :3

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oh my, another sukuna req! things bout to get hot, hehe~

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; Sukuna and you are college seniors - blackmail - fingering (f! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - oral (m! receiving) - facials - use of a phone; sexual photography - impact play (spanking) - full nelson position - degradation (cumslut, pig, slut, whore) - humiliation - overstimulation - pet names (brat, princess, woman) - dick piercing (frenulum) - usage of drugs & alcohol - mention of drool/spit and tears.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k

Sukuna was grinning ear to ear as he marched his way toward you. “Y/n.”

You perked at your name, and your face contoured to brief shock before shifting to mild annoyance. “Sukuna.”

Running into you at a huge party was the last thing Sukuna expected to see. But it’s a situation he will take advantage of expeditiously.

College is hard enough being the top dog of the student government association and trying to juggle senior classes. It is your job to keep the school and its students in order, maintaining a pretty face as it’s been doing decently for the several years before you. The entire student body knows you take your job seriously, earning the respect they give you with every step you take and being praised by professors and faculty alike — even being invited to have dinner with the university president along your association!

But of course, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows because there are always downsides to the good — one of them being a ginormous thorn to your being.

Ryōmen Sukuna is a man you’ve been dealing with for almost four years. Known for his intimidating cadence whenever he walks the halls, the brutality of his moves as he’s the famous trump card of the school’s jiu-jitsu club, and his cold and demeaning manner of speech when talking down to others he deems beneath him, he is regarded at the campus’ “demon dog.” Someone that many can never believe is the older brother of the freshman track star sweetheart, Yuuji Itadori.

He is a person that many say is the complete opposite face when compared to you, a fact you have no choice but to agree with a twitching brow. Looking through all the disruptive students you’ve dealt with, Sukuna would be crowned King for being the most colossal nuisance of your life. Whether it be reporting him to the campus police for picking fistfights with the juniors, smoking in smoke-free zones, adding more tattoos to his face and arms, or willingly trashing places because he thinks he can, no one has been more subject to give you more grey hairs. He just doesn’t listen — he won’t listen!

And the worst part is that he enjoyed making your life a living hell. God, he’s such a fucking bastard, not wanting to deal with outside of your academic life.

…Until you two see each other from across the living room where a huge party is held in one of the off-campus apartments, perplexed crimson eyes locked on with widened ones, too shocked to take a sip of your drink from your red solo cup. You immediately turned to the group before you, hoping the sea of kids and the bouncing bass could distort your image from his vision.

Too late; the salmon-haired senior couldn’t hide the grin on his face as he slithers past people to get to where you are. Students move out of the way for him to move, the group you were hanging with gasps with wary stares, and Sukuna taps your bare shoulder.

“Never figured the student government president would be here,” his voice was chilling as always. Yet you remain a neutral face when facing him. “Something tells me there isn’t apple juice in that solo cup.”

The group you were hanging out with instantly excused themselves to somewhere else in the apartment, leaving you alone with Sukuna. You rolled your eyes, “What is it, Ryōmen?” You feel disgusted as his red eyes scan your figure, taking in the off-shoulder, long-sleeved bodycon dress you were wearing. True, you don’t wear stuff like this all the time, but you can’t expect this bastard to have any amount of decency or subtlety.

“Whatcha doin’ here, prez?” God, you hated him calling you that, knowing good and damn well what your name was — but, again, why would he bother; not respecting you enough to do something simple as that. “Isn’t this kind of thing what you’re against for and all?”

“Hmph, am I not allowed to have some fun at a party I was invited to?” You furrowed your brows and took an aggressive sip. “Besides, this is off-campus housing; the property owners are the ones who’ll have anyone’s asses if stuff breaks or cause disruption against the codes.”

“Oh, so the uptight President is off duty this time? Hmm, ain’t that something,” he leans against the wall beside you with crossed arms. Your gaze was averted to the crowd bumping and grinding rather than acknowledging the delinquent examining you. “I figured you’d be somewhere pulling your panties to some poor bastard.”

“Watch your tone when talking to me, Ryōmen,” you finally send him a glare through your peripherals. It humored him, a devilish chortle you could hear even through the loud bass. “Lucky for you, I’m only here to have a good time with some friends before heading home to assignments. So, do me a favor and don’t start shit for me to take home and stress over.”

He lifts a brow, “Is that so? Miss Prez came to let loose, huh.” You didn’t like how he said that — nor how he moved to lean closer to you. His cologne disrupts your nostrils. “Never thought you had that side of you.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Ryōmen,” you swing your cup around with a scoff. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

And you thought you’d win this round as Sukuna doesn’t say anything to you for a few seconds. However, the man goes through his pocket to pull out his phone to pull up something. And when he finds it, he flashes the screen to your direction. “You mean things like these?” You turn to look at the device, and your eyes go wide with an agape mouth. What he was showing were photos — a whole lot — of you.

“You know, I’m sure it must be hard being president of the student body; that’s why I don’t envy you,” one photo shown is of you smoking in the Honors Lounge with a few of your student government associates, an action undoubtedly prohibited within the facilities. “So, I can’t blame you when you decide to settle down and let yourself go for a minute,” he swipes his finger to pictures of you drinking liquor with some other students who smoke blunts and have weed plastered on the coffee table. “However, you really outta be careful with what you’re doing, Y/n; you got people who look up to you and expect so much from you.” Another picture shows you at some dark nightclub with a guy friend, shoving middle fingers and sticking tongues out at the camera.

Your lips quiver with every swipe, and lips quiver, “Wh…Where did you get those…”

“Hmm? I can’t share that information. Heh, plus, I like to keep tabs on those who can get on my nerves,” he stuffs the phones back into his dark jean pocket. “But I can’t lie; the more I look at those pictures and compare them to the little president that nags too damn much, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if someone were to leak these out for the whole school to see. Which would drop quicker: your presidential scholarship and accolades or your reputation?”

“You fucking asshole…!”

You swiftly throw your cup at Sukuna, but the pink-haired man dodges easily and grabs your wrist — the poor guy behind him gets drenched with your drink. “Hey!” The guy grabs Sukuna’s shoulder and is immediately met with the infamous death glare. “…My fault, bro, don’t worry about it. I’ll go dry off,” the student says while backtracking away from those fearsome eyes.

You’re trembling with vexed shakes; the hand on your wrist holds you tight with no sign to let go unless necessary. Otherwise, you know he’ll break it if you make one wrong move. “…What the hell do you want from me?“

Now Sukuna has you in the palm of his hand — his sinister grin growing as he leans closer to be inches away from your face. “My apartment is on the top floor; you have ten minutes to get your ass up there,” you don’t move a centimeter when he draws near your ear to whisper. “I’ll show you how to really get loose, Miss President.”

The words felt like sharp daggers to your throat, “You…devil.”

He snickers into your ear, “Pick your poison, and you’ll see just how much of a devil I can be.”

And with that, Sukuna straightens himself up and heads out, his frame disappearing deep into the crowd till you can’t see him anymore. Your heartbeat goes at a pace way too irregular to call ordinary, and your blood too cold as it has your skin suffer in shivers.

This was a nightmare — an absolute, horrifying nightmare. There’s no way the guy that you hate with your very guts just blackmailed you! This was not how this night was supposed to go; now your whole reputation — what you’ve built with your own two hands — is being held in front of you and is dependent on going to this asshole’s apartment. Who the hell does he think he is!?

You didn’t want to go. You wouldn’t go! Especially under the premise of that fucker, playing with your life like some toy. Your thoughts were inner turmoil, challenging your morals and conscience on what to do. Your pride was trying to pull up a good fight, holding onto whatever dignity you have to validate not going up on the elevator and seeing Sukuna for what he’s about to do to you. They’re just pictures; people will think they’re edited or question if they’re valid!

However, the fact that you spent five minutes going back and forth with this suggests those were anything but pictures. He had ammunition to bring you down — to humble and look down on you — and have everyone do the same, no matter what you could say to justify yourself. So, swallowing your ego, you exit the party and walk the hallway down to the elevator. Every floor you ascended made you feel small, and when the doors opened for you to step out and you saw him leaning on his door waiting for you, your fate had been sealed.

The same smirk he had at the party was plastered on his face. You were no longer in control of the situation; you are now in his domain — and you should follow his commands to keep up.

“Gahhh! Mmmph, Ryooo, stop—Eeek! Y’re hitting so ha—Ahhh!”

“What? You thought I was going to be easy with you? After all those times you’ve pestered me to no end? Hah, think again, prez.”

Being in the same space with Sukuna is something you never comprehended happening civilly in all your years of knowing him. Now, being laid on top of his knees as he sits on the edge of the bed is jarring in its own sentence. The skirt of your dress was pulled up, your ass and panties out for the cool air to caress. Not until Sukuna rips you off your underwear and starts giving your bare butt unforeseen strikes. The impact of his hand was so harsh that you gripped his jean-clad leg with a scream.

He goes about this for a solid five minutes, giving your asscheeks slaps – and your cries have him chuckle and do some more. And you can’t squirm out of his hold, or else he’ll dent the skin of your butt with his fingertips, piercing into the tense muscle to inflict pain like no other. God, it hurt so bad, every smack taking your breath away.

“Look at you,” he coos, rubbing his hand on the hot skin. The pain was so bad to the point of your eyes watering; simply hovering his Hand over you was enough to have you in shudders. “Whatever happened to the poised and resilient Y/n who’d always dare threaten me for my behavior? This person on me, screaming like a whore, can’t be the same Y/n.”

You grit your teeth, turning over your shoulder to express your seething glare. “Who are you calling a whore, you fucking—Deeeii! Ohhh!” Sukuna sneaks a forefinger inside your wet cunt, not bothering to warn you. “Wai—Tahhh! Take it out, take it out right—Noooh!!”

“Oh, don’t even think you’re in any position to tell me what to do, slut,” you bite your lip as he moves his finger into your vagina with such merciless vigor. “And with how you’re crying like a bitch, you sound pretty whore-ish to me.”

Oh, go fuck yourself! You could have told him that — but you didn’t because he squeezes in his middle finger to insert inside your tight chasm, both digits now rummaging inside your vaginal walls and scraping them to the point of drooling babbles on your part. You couldn’t think of anything, not when he’s still throwing smacks on your ass with his free hand. You can’t even wipe the spit that comes down your lips because he distracts you with more jabs to your inner walls and pinches to the skin of your butt. Fuck, fuuuck!!

And it gets worse when you feel his thumb dance around your asshole. “N–No, stop it, Sukuna! That’s dirty, don’t—Mmnaahh!!” He slips it inside without care; the pain of his thumb forcing inside your puckered anus almost has you shut down.

“That’s the point, prez,” he bites his lip with a pestilent snicker. “Gonna make you so fucking dirty tonight, wanna ruin that perfect image of yours that you don’t recognize yourself. He scratches your butt, resulting in you clamping onto his digits with a grip that feeds his ego. “Mhmm, just like that, princess.”

How dare he play with your ass like a toy and have the nerve to call you that? Such a sick man; the hate you have for him boils your blood to no end. “Ahhh, stoop, too fast, please, go slo—Mmmph!?”

He shoves two fingers in your mouth to stifle your cries. “That’ll keep you from squealing, fucking pig.” And he continues to toy with your slit and anus, your whimpers muffled by his thick fingers.

“Take it all in, Y/n, every single fucking inch, ya hear?…Mmmm, yeah, deep in your throat like that.”

This. Is. The. Worst! There’s absolutely no way you’re sucking Sukuna’s cock right now; this is the very last thing you’d want to be doing! He’s standing with his dark jeans and briefs on his thighs, his hand on the back of your head to make sure your mouth remains on his dick at all times. If you could, you would’ve chewed the damn thing off and made a run for it.

But you came here for a reason, so you keep your disdain at bay and begrudgingly suck on Sukuna’s glans, having the salmon-haired man purr from above you. And it doesn’t help that he holds his phone to take pictures of you and said add more to his collection. God, he’s so disgusting…

“Fhhh, fuck, that feels good,” he groans at you taking his girth. Your lips down to the hilt, burrowing his length deep into the warm, tight tunnel of your throat. “Who woulda thought the strict, by-the-book Y/n would take in dick so well?” You narrow your eyes at him as you bob your face up and down, earning a hearty chuckle from the pleased man. “That face of yours, baby, so furious with me, huh.”

You try to pay him no mind, distracting yourself with the task at hand by licking one of his balls before sucking them. Your hands increase in speed when stroking him, having the man above unable to stop bucking his hips to your fist for more enviable friction.

“Shit, yeah, yes,” he throws his head back in bliss, and you can tell he’s about finished while feeling his cock pulsate under your touch. “Bring your face here.”

He does it for you – his hand on your head for a reason – and forces you close to his cock before he jerks himself for release. And his come exudes with a force, landing right on your face. You fight every fiber of your being to move away, accepting his essence to paint your cheeks, nose, and lips. It was unbelievable how disgracious he was, just plain selfish and unapologetically nasty.

You hear the phone snap, throwing another scowl at the pink-haired responsible. “Lookin’ like a real cumslut for me, prez.”

And the worst part of all finally comes around — the thing you dreaded once you stepped out of that party and into that elevator.

“—Fffaaahh! Hooohshiiit! This is crazy—Eeeee!”

“Fuckin’ shit, you’re tight as hell, woman…Khhh…! Tryin’ to milk me dry, huh, Y/n…”

Sukuna lies beneath you with his legs bent away, his arms wrapped underneath your legs, and pushing them to your chest from behind. His cock is entombed inside your leaking slit as he thrusts up to you with every second, and the sound of your ass smacking onto his thighs fills the space.

He has his hands behind your neck, demanding you to look at the union of your sexes, and your face couldn’t get any hotter than watching the obscenity. He’s been fucking you for more than ten minutes now, his cum inside you from the last round stains a white ‘o’ around the base of him, and the sticky substance so vulgar to look at it stretching with his push and pull motions. And the squelching – the goddamn squelching! – it only furthered the fog clouding your mind.

There was no point concealing your wails; your lips were forced open with every jab from Sukuna. Jesus, he was so fucking big — your poor cunt stretched to accommodate his intrusion. You clamp onto him more when he pulls, the barbell piercing his frenulum and scraping your walls from the descent and grazing your G-spot.

“Fuck, fuuuck, hsssh…!” It was hard to concentrate on anything outside of this, and you couldn’t tell if you were speaking adequately or prattling like some sex-crazed fool. You sigh with rolled eyes when he sends sporadic ruts out of nowhere, clenching onto his shaft with a tug.

It has Sukuna groan hotly, his breath steaming your skin. “Holy fuck, you really love gripping my cock, don’t you, princess?”

“I–I can’t help it! You keep ’n hit—Haishhh!” Your eyes meet the ceiling at the jab of your A-spot, the pressure making you feel full. “You—hic—…Yo’re the one m’king me like thisss…”

“Is that right?” He takes slow thrusts to draw out your pleasure; your broken howls were music to his ears. “Sounds like the to be enjoying yourself.” You hurriedly shake your head no, and he throws a bitter pound to your hypersensitive chasm. “Brat, why the hell else are you milking me like this for, then?”

“Becauseee, it feels….Mmmm,” No, you can’t say that. Don’t tell him what he wants to hear.

“Hmm? Feels what?” You can hear the smirk on his lips. You don’t say anything except muffled hums, so he probes you, “You want me to send out those pictures, huh? Show just how much of a terrible president you are, how you love to go dumb on my dick?”

Of course not! “Do—Don’t you dare…!”

“Then answer the question: how does it feel, hmm? Tell me, how do you feel being fucked by the guy you hate so much?”

Oh, damn you, Ryōmen Sukuna! It was now you shed a tear, your hands grabbing for his forearms for purchase.

“—Fucking ‘ell, it feels good,” you said it, your last bit of dignity finally thrown for the man to shred apart. “Feels ‘oo good, you make me feel—Geheehh…so damn good…!”

Oh, that was more than enough for him. Sukuna’s sneer becomes broader, and his chuckles are felt from your back. “What a dirty bitch for me, princess…”

His hips go back to an unsteady fashion, propelling his dick to his base, and the brushes of his piercing massage your walls too precisely. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to come crashing down on you with a scream, the walls of your cunt contracting around Sukuna for the third time that night. Your nails dig into his arms, and drool leaves your pretty agape mouth as he allows you to ride out your climax.

Sukuna whistles at the sensation of you fluttering on his girth. “Phew, damn, that was a good fuck. You know how to keep up with me, woman; you’d make a great pet.”

You were sick of him, gulping to wet your dry throat. “Delete…the fucking…pictures.” Your empty threat only has him click his tongue with a scoff.

“Not so fast there, prez; the fun was just getting good.” Your heart sinks to the soles of your feet. “So, be a good brat and know your place is under me tonight.

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

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monzabee · 2 months

Text

pon de replay - cl16 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Charles decide to prove to everyone that it is him that you belong to, and only him.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: smuttt, nothing but pure filth, one might even say it is pwp, unprotected sex (cover your willy don’t be silly), oral (f receiving), kinda exhibitionism?, public sex, jealous charles, possessive charles, carlos being a little shit because he’s bored, poor lando, not even sure if i fulfilled the request or not, minors dni!!

Request: “HELLOOOO! i have an idea and you don’t have to write it but it’s been rattling around in my brain and im never gonna write it (i constantly have way too many ideas to write them fr) myself so i figured i’d send it to you cause you’ve kinda restored my F1 phase with your work. basically, reader being very goofy, funny, and maybe a little bit too loud at times. just like a very silly and bubbly personality and she hangs out with some of the f1 boys (maybe because she’s famous in her own right like a dancer or something) so naturally EVERYONE ships her with lando. like hardcore, almost as bad as one direction fans ships (iykyk), and it sorta makes sense cause when they’re together it’s pure and utter chaos and they both express themselves with physical touch B U T ! she’s actually with charles. to her it makes total sense to be with charles instead of lando cause while lando is definitely attractive he’s too much like her and it’d be like dating herself whereas charles brings out a new calm side to her and she can bring out a goofier side to him. opposites attract type shit😭. maybe a little angst cause charles hates seeing all the edits and also feels a little insecure cause lando and reader DO make sense together in his mind so why’d you pick him instead? then like soft fluff/smut reassurance that charles is literally the man of her dreams, a literal fucking prince, and the best person she’s ever been with. ANYWAYS, im rambling! again, you don’t have to write this if you don’t connect with it or don’t have time i just needed an outlet SOMEWHERE for all the F1 brain rot.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i first of all want to start by saying that i’m very sorry that this isn’t exactly like the request, like at all, but it took me a criminal amount of time to actually get this finished so we’re not going to focus on that. okay? okay, great!! in all and all it was actually quite fun to work on this at the beginning, it was just kinda hard for some reason to work on the actual smut part, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Charles wouldn’t call himself a possessive person, not a chance. He might be ambitious, and competitive, but possessive? That, he is not. He’s never been the type of get jealous of his partner’s friends, whether male or female, because he likes to think that he is mature enough to understand that people have friends. It’s that simple. And he is most definitely not the type of person to comment on what you wear when you’re going out, he is just not that guy. He’s fairly certain that his mother would materialise out of thin air and give him a good beating if he were to do that. So when you asked him about the dress you have on earlier before you left his apartment, the one that clings to your body so tightly that he can practically make out the outline of your tits from across the room? He just smiled and told you to have fun tonight – because he’s there to make sure you’re not put off by anyone staring at you in it.

So yeah. He’s not usually the type to let the jealousy take over his ability to think things out rationally, but when his girlfriend is dancing her heart away in the middle of the dance floor while every red-blooded men watch her with the same look in their eyes? Yeah, it’s not easy to keep his emotions in check at the moment given the circumstances. And it’s not that he even intends to pout like a petulant child at the bar, making sure to keep an eye on you, it’s just that he is an expressive person and his face reflects what he’s feeling that well. Totally because of that. It’s scary how utterly focused he is on you, watching your every move to make sure no one is bothering you, though you don’t seem to be in need of his help as he watches you dance with one of the girls you met when you first arrived to the club – and with Lando, though he tries not to focus on that part too much.

It's fine, though, he tries to make himself believe, it’s fine as long as you’re having fun. Though that doesn’t necessarily stop him from throwing daggers into Lando’s direction as covertly as he can. The way he has a friendly arm around you is driving him crazy, and he is not above stomping over there to pull you under his arm, drag you to the nearest bathroom and– Well, maybe he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself just yet.

“They look good together, no?” He hears someone ask him from the side. He realises it is his teammate when he turns to give the person a glare.

“Who?” He asks, deciding to play dumb, but he can’t help himself as he makes a face while focusing his gaze back on you.

“You know who I’m talking about, cabrón!” Carlos exclaims, laughing as he pats him on the back and points to the two of you with a tilt of his head, “I’m glad he’s finally doing something about it rather than sulking around like a geriatric toddler.”

If he would have turned around any faster, Charles is sure his neck would actually, possibly, break. “What?” he spits out as he turns around, “Do you mean her and Lando?”

Carlos gives his teammate a confused look, “Yes,” he drawls out, “you didn’t know he had a crush on her? I thought the entire paddock knew!” Charles feels a surge of disbelief and a tinge of anger bubbling within him.

He wouldn't call it possessiveness, more like a primal instinct to protect what's his. But this revelation catches him off guard, shattering his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance. With doing his best to keep calm under the situation, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not making things up? I feel like you’re misreading the situation here.”

That receives another confused look from his teammate, and though Charles is quite the perceptive person, he misses Carlos starting to put the pieces together – thanks to his overreaction. “I guess so,” Carlos mumbles, loud enough for Charles to hear him in the loud club, “he’s always talking about her, though. The way she smiles, her hair, her dresses; did you know he even went to see one of her performances in Vegas?” Carlos feels bad, really, but there is also something so fulfilling in confirming his theories as he watches his teammate’s eyes bulge out at the mention of one of your dance shows in Vegas. Because Charles knows what those entail.

“I-in Vegas?” He stutters out, eyes moving to focus on your dancing figure again. And at that moment, he absolutely hates Lando. He hates him for having his arms around you, he hates him for dancing with you to the beat in a rhythm he never seems to be able to keep up with, he hates him for the way everybody seems to think the two of you seem to make a handsome couple, and he absolutely hates him for the way he makes you smile.

Charles Leclerc is not a possessive guy – until it comes to you, that is.

“Charles?” He hears Carlos call out his name, but he’s out of his seat long before he can hear the end of his sentence. He doesn’t mean to stomp across the dance floor to get to you. He really doesn’t. He also doesn’t mean to grab you by your arm and put a pause on your fun. And the smile you give him and the way you wrap your arms around his neck while you call him ‘Charlie’? Makes his heart stutter in a way that makes him forget why he ever came over in this first place. Because this should be normal – you, having male friends and spending time with them should not make him insecure. He should be fine with you and Lando spending time together because you both love the hustle and bustle of a club. But at that moment, he doesn’t care about what should be normal, no. He cares about the fact that someone other than him has managed to make you smile, and that he needs to remind you that he’s the only one who should be on the receiving end of all your smiles.

So when he drags you away from the dancefloor (and Lando, for that matter), he doesn’t listen to your objections. He doesn’t care about the way Carlos is watching from his place from the bar, putting all the pieces together as he shares a look with Lando. And he most definitely doesn’t care about the fact that he’s about to fuck you in the club’s bathroom. Well, maybe he does care about that last part. “Charlie,” you whine, your voice clearly scratched from shouting along the lyrics of the songs playing throughout the night, and he doesn’t miss the way you slur his name ever so slightly – which tells him that you had at least two drinks. Cosmopolitans, if he had to guess. “Pleaaase,” you drag out the word, pulling on his shirt to get his attention, “they are playing my song!”

His first mistake is to look at you, because the way your lips form a pout and the way you’re giving him puppy dog eyes is usually strong enough for him to give in. Though this is no usual situation. So instead of moving the two of you back to the dancefloor, he grabs you by your cheeks and presses his lips against you. In the middle of the club, where everybody can see him doing it. The way his lips move against yours is aggressive, and you’re definitely out of breath when he does move away. Cosmopolitans, he realises after tasting you. You've had cosmopolitans. Then, he just gives you a look, threads his fingers through yours and raises an eyebrow. Then he asks, “Are you going to be a good girl and come with me now, or should I do this the hard way and just carry you on my shoulder?”

If this was any other situation, you would totally say something bratty back. Hell, you might have actually said something rude if it meant him being rough with you, maybe spanking you a few times just enough times for you to learn your lesson. But you understand that this is no ordinary situation from his voice and the expression on his face. Charles is like that, you suppose. He’s an open book – meaning that it is very easy to understand what kind of a mood he’s in just by looking at his face, or listening to the undertone of his voice. And right now? Right now you know he’s pissed. You don’t necessarily know what you did, nor do you care. Mainly because all you want to do is make him feel better simply because of the reason that he is one of those people who’s just meant to smile at all times, not frown.

And so you nod gingerly, squeaking out a thimble, “Yes.” You finally meet his eyes as you wrap yourself around his arm, pushing yourself closer to him in the crowded club. “I’ll be good.”

This thumb does that thing where he caresses your knuckle, and he starts moving you through the crowd again. This time, however, you try to stick to him by matching the speed of his steps rather than trying to stay back. You told him you’d be good, you intend to keep your promise. He’s quiet all the way to the bathroom, and he’s quiet when he motions you to get inside, and he’s quiet when he closes to door and promptly locks it behind your back. You think for a moment you’re just there for a chat, maybe about that something you might’ve done, but Charles takes you by surprise as he grabs your waist and pushes you against the door, causing your eyes to widen with realisation of what you’re about to do in that bathroom.

“Charles, what’s wrong?” You try to ask, but he shuts you up with another kiss. And if you thought the previous kiss was aggressive, this one absolutely consumes you. He doesn’t even give you a fighting chance as his tongue quickly dominates yours, and he is relentless as he nips at your lower lip. You can’t help the mortifying moan that leaves your lips, and you push him away to inhale deeply. “What has gotten into you?” You ask, eyes wide due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, “What happened?”

“You, happened.” He growls. And by that, you mean that he actually growls. His voice is a few octaves deeper than his usual voice, and you can see that he’s snappy. There is this dark look in his eyes that would otherwise scare you if you didn’t know him, but you do. Because he’s your Charles.

And you know this because the quickly leans into your touch when you bring one of your hands up to cup his cheek, giving him a confused look. “Did I do something?” You ask, voice soft amidst the humid bathroom. “Oh my god, is it my dress? Is it too short?” Your eyebrows draw closer as you start properly spiralling. “I knew I should’ve worn the shorts, why didn’t you say something?”

Your mini monologue about your party attire must have struck a chord because Charles suddenly exhales heavily, his forehead resting against yours as he closes his eyes. “No, non, it's not about the fucking dress,” he lashes out, his voice strained, and lace with something else that you can’t quite catch. “I don’t care what you wear, though I do appreciate the easy access.”

“Easy access?” You repeat, testing out the words as you come to a realisation. “What?” You exclaim, quickly taking your hand away from his face to lightly slap at his chest. “No! We are definitely not doing that here, are you out of your mind? You pulled me away because you can’t keep it in your pants until we’re home?”

“And why not?” He asks, and this time, you can see the unbridled rage behind his look. “Would you rather go back to Lando out there? You looked quite happy in his arms after all.”

And the realisation dawns on you right then and there. That this isn’t about your choice of dress for the evening, no. It is about Lando. Though you don’t get that part, since he’s both of your friend, so why is Charles being like this? And you would ask him, of course. But the look he gives you indicates that he doesn’t want to be tested in that exact moment.

So instead, you attempt to calm him down, by dragging your hand gently down his chest and wrapping your arms around his middle. He is like that, your Charles, sometimes he just wants to be held to see reason. “Charlie,” you call out, voice soft as you give him a pleading look, “why don’t you tell me what this is about, hm?”

You think he’s going to finally give in for a moment, but then he just gives you a blank stare. “I don’t want to talk,” he grunts, pulling you flush against him by the hands he has on your waist. His lips are on your neck faster than you can say anything, working his way towards your collarbones. The faint whimpers that come out of your lips bring a small smile to his lips knowing that he’s the one causing them, not Lando or any other guy.

“Charles,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips trail along your skin. Despite the confusion and frustration swirling within you, you can't deny the way his touch ignites a fire deep within you, consuming your thoughts and leaving you breathless with desire. But as much as you crave his touch, you know that there are unresolved issues between you, issues that need to be addressed before you can fully give yourself to him in this moment. “Charlie,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper as you gently push against his chest, urging him to stop. “Stop, we need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” He asks, all breathy and with a wild look in his eyes. You can see that he’s trying to hold himself back, but at the same time his hands keep moving on your body in a way that makes you want to let him lose control and perhaps even join him. He successfully ignores your attempts at pushing him away, sliding his hands down on your body to grab the hem of your dress, clenching the material in his hand while dragging it upwards on your thighs until he reaches the soft skin of your stomach. “I have a thing in mind which might help me feel better.” Unable to take your eyes off of him, you take a stuttered breath as you watch him slowly get down on his knees, his lips pressing kisses starting form your sternum continuing down your body over your dress until you feel his lips on the exposed skin of your stomach. His kisses stop once he’s met with the top lining of your underwear, looking at you with a mischevious glint in his eyes as he nips at the nimble lace adorning the top. You call out his name in a weak whimper – though it is not clear to you, nor him, whether you’re asking him to stop or go on. Charles decides to go with the latter. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

You don’t really need his reminder, you realise, but it is a welcome one. Your cheeks blush even further when you feel his gaze on you as he lowers his face towards your core, leaving a sweet kiss onto your clit through the fabric of your thong. Suddenly, you want nothing more than to just rip to whole thing apart so there is nothing separating you from him, but you know the game, and you especially know that the ending is sweeter than what you could ever imagine at that moment. And so you wait – you wait until he eventually makes his move and gives your slit a generous lick through the fabric. Watching you is equal parts thrilling and painful, mainly because he wants to drag out his teasing as long as possible just to see you falling apart for him. It’s second nature to you, the way your hand threads through his hair to move him the way you want to, but it is of course not an option because it’s Charles who is in charge.

He makes this known by the way he pulls away, ignoring the way your hands scramble to guide him back to where you want him to be. He nips at the skin of your thigh in a warning manner, pulling a whine from your lips as he fixes you with a look, “You’re not in control tonight, mon bijou, I’ll stop if you try to take over. You got that?” It’s sobering to see him take control in such a way, you sweet little Charles. Usually, he has no problem just laying back and letting you take all the control, or even just making you believe you do. But now? With the way he’s looking at you with such hunger? You know you’d be soaking through your underwear if you weren’t so wet for him already. All you can do is offer him a meek nod, with your lips hanging open in shock, but he is not satisfied with your answer. No, he needs to hear you say the words. So, being the initiative person that he his, he tips at your skin again, this time earning himself a whimper along a grumble about how he’s being unreasonable. He isn’t, but that’s a topic to discuss another time, he decides. “I said, you got that?”

“Yes! Fine, yes!” You whine, grabbing your dress even tighter with your fist that isn’t buried in his hair, “Please just make me come.”

“See?” He asks, flashing you a sweet smile as he lowers his face back onto where you need him the most, “It wasn’t that hard now, is it?” The grumble about how he’s about to be the hard one, makes him chuckle to himself, the rumbling from it making you moan his name as he finally gives you what you want. His tongue works fast as he laps on the wetness through your underwear, soaking the material even more without a care in the world. If you weren’t wet before, you’re sure you’re definitely wet as he drags his tongue through your slit and back onto your clit to suck it through the fabric, causing you to let out a string of moans, each getting considerably louder as he works on your cunt.

The breath is knocked out of your lungs as the moments pass, as you become closer and closer to your impending release. You don’t even notice the fact that you’ve started to move your hips to match the rythym of his tongue, seeking something more to make you tip over the edge. You’re also very aware of the fact that Charles is letting you what you want to do, and though you’re scared out of you midn that he’ll stop like he threatened to do before, the little nod he gives you when you give him a pleading look assures you that he also wants you to come undone on his face.

Or so you’ve thought.

Because he knows your body so well that jus as you’re about to come he pulls back, leaving you high and dry, and even has the nerve to chuckle when he hears his name coming out of your mouth in a high pitched whine. You’re so lost in the moment that you almost miss the way he gently grabs your hands and removes them from his hair, pinning them above you and pushing you against the wall. “Why?” You whine, lips pushed out in a pout as your voice gets gradually whinier, “I was so close, Charles.”

“Oh, baby,” he cooes, “I know you were, I could feel it too.” He starts peppering your feverish skin with kisses, as if to say sorry for leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, and you find yourself arching your neck to expose more of your skin to his skillfull lips. You should stop him, some part of you screams to you in your head, because with the way he’s disguising the fact that he’s marking you with hickeys, but you don’t care at that moment. Your every breath and moan seem to motivate him to work faster, and harder, and when he eventually pulls back to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. A smirk finds its way onto his lips as he gives you an eyeing down, taking in how breathless you look. “Don’t worry, mon bijou, I’ll fuck you now, okay?”

You don’t even realise the nod you give him, too lost in his eyes to put words together to form a proper sentence. He’s gentle with you as he lets go of your hands and positions you the way he wants. With one of your legs wrapped around his hip he has better access to your soaked underwear, his fingers working quickly to pulling it aside. You don’t know when he managed to get himself free from his pants and underwear, but that doesn’t stop you from letting out a loud moan when you feel the tip of his cock circling your clit. “Please, please, please,” your voice cracks as you frantically beg him to do something more. You’d love nothing more than to scold him for the way he shushes you condescendingly, but any complaint you had evaporates when you feel him nudge your entrance. “Please,” you breathe out again, giving him pleading looks as you try to pull him closer somehow, “You promised me you’d fuck me.”

That manages to pull out a beathy chuckle for him, and as if he’s trying to console you, you feel his fingers gently caressing the skin of your hip. “Why don’t you do it yourself, hm?” A grin widens on his lips when you give him a look of confusion, and he leads one of your hands between your bodies for you to wrap it around his cock. “You want me inside you, right?” He rewards your tentative nod with a series of kisses down the column of your throat, “Come on then,” he mumbles into your skin, “put it in, pretty girl.” Exhaling a shaky breath, you keep your eyes on him as you guide him through your entrance. A gasp is torn from your lips when you feel his tip entering you, the initial stretch being more overwhelming because of the fact that you’re standing up. But Charles is quick to soothe you with his kisses down your neck, letting you control the rhythym and how further he can move inside you at first. With your hand making its way down to his hip, pressing him close to you, he quickly gets the message that you’re ready for him. “You’re ready?” He double-checks, raising his head to fix his eyes to yours.

“I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now–” Your words are interrupted when you feel him move his hips back, just enough to have his tip inside you, and then he snaps his hips forward to thrust back in, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. It doesn’t take very long for you to become a moaning mess, in fact, you’re more than ready to fall apart for him then and there, but you know he won’t let you until he gets his point across.

“Look at you, mon bijou,” Charles darkly chuckles, hips matching the rhythym of the song playing outside at the dance floor, “what would people think if they saw you being such a mess for me in a club’s bathroom?” And the whine you let out in response to his question nothing if pathethic, but you can’t find it in you to care because of how good he’s making you feel. “Yes?” He prompts you, mocking the whiny ‘Yes’, that leaves your mouth before you start begging him to let you come. But he doesn’t, because he knows you can hold it until he’s ready for you too, and he tells you just that.

“So good, Charlie, so good,” you can’t help the broken moans you let out as he fucks you to the brink of an orgasm. But that is not enough for him, no. He needs everyone to know the two of you are together now, needs to get out all of his pent up frustrations out.

So when the opportunity presents itself with Lando knocking on the door asking if you are okay? A knowing smirk find its way onto his lips, and you try to silently plead with him with your eyes. “You want to cum?” He whispers in your ear, his thrusts becoming faster. “Say my name if you want to come, baby.”

“Please–” You gasp, hands grabbing the shirt he’s wearing. It’s no avail even if you try to keep your voice down. Because when Charles finds a way to slither his hand down between your legs and starts rubbing your clit in firm circles? You know there is no way you can stay quiet through your orgasm. “Why?” You manage to get out, “God, Charles please.”

“Tell me who’s making you feel so good, pretty girl.” He encourages you, his rhythym now almost brutal as he tries his best to make you come for him. “Come on, tell me who you belong to.” He chuckles darkly when he sees you shaking your head. “It’s not Lando, it’s me. You hear that?” Uh-huh, is the only answer he receives in return, but he is of course not satisfied with it. So, he gently pinches the inside of your thigh. “Tell me who’s going to make you come, or I’ll stop.”

“N-no!” You exclaim, too overwhelmed to see that his threat is an empty one, because he would never actually do something like that to you. “Please, please don’t stop.”

“Come on,” he cooes, the sweet words he whispers into your skin making you more and more malleable to his request. “Say my name baby, let me hear you.”

“Charles,” your loud moan cuts the heavy air in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed, breath unorganised and with that wild look in your eyes? There’s nothing Charles wouldn’t do for you. With every move of his hips, you moan his name louder, eventually tipping over the edge as he feels you squeezing his cock so tight that he almost loses himself then and there.

That’s not to say he doesn’t, of course. Because just as you’re about done with your orgasm, you feel him come inside you, chanting your name alongside mine, mine mine. It takes a long time for the both of you to get back to your senses, but he’s extremely gentle with you as he helps you down and fixes your underwear. You find yourself snuggling up to him when he eventually takes you into his arms after fixing his own clothing, nuzzling your nose to his neck. “You know, I think I like the jealous side of you.” You mumble, leaving a few kisses across his jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he cradles your face with both of his hands, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You nod, giving him a small smile, “But I need you to take me home, please, I can feel your cum dripping down my leg.”

“Oh baby,” he coos, tutting as he slides his hands down your body to grab you by the waist, “we’re not going home, it would be rude to leave our friends by themselves. Don’t you think so?” The flabbergasted look that you give him makes another chuckle come from his lips as he slowly turns you towards the door. His lips find the junction between your neck and shoulder again as he announces, “We’re going to go back out there, and we’re going to dance. We wouldn’t want you to miss your song now, would we?”

And when he opens the bathroom door and you hear the first words to a Rihanna song you love? You know it’s going to be a long night ahead of you.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff

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rileyslibrary · 10 months

Note

pretty pretty please 🩶

imagine ghost is forced to speak at a school’s career fair because he’s out on medical, and reader gets sent with him to chaperone. (i.e. make sure he doesn’t scare any kids to 💀. and also maybe to feed him some slightly manipulative praises so he stays in a good mood lmao)

———————————————————————

You’re both standing in the principal’s office. The school was kind enough to offer you a private room since kids are a little rowdy today, and Ghost isn’t very fond of tiny hands tagging at his uniform and asking him “how many people he has killed”.

You’re holding two balaclavas; one is black, while the other is a deep shade of army green.

“It’s either this one or that one.” You say while raising both to his eye level.

He pushes your hands down and points to his skull mask. “No.” He states. “I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

You frustratedly shake the balaclavas to your sides. “Come on, Lieutenant,” you plead, “you’ll scare the kids.”

“Have you seen kids these days?” he asks, raising his hands. “These fuckers are not afraid of anything!”

“Oh god,” You wince and toss the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. You shake your index finger at his face like a teacher disciplining a misbehaving student. “Don’t you dare to swear in front of them!”

“Have you heard, kids—”

“—these days.” You cut him off with a flick of the wrist. “Yes, but there’s no need to reinforce bad behaviour.”

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on his waist. He begins pacing around the principal’s office, swearing under his breath. You’re trying to figure out whether he needs to let it all out before his big speech or if he’s cursing the moment he has agreed to do this.

He pauses in front of a painting hanging next to a window overlooking the school’s playground. He slouches and places one hand on his lower back, rubbing his injury.

You approach him from behind and gently grasp his forearm.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies sternly. “Never mind.”

“Are you in pain? Please talk to me.”

“I’m not in pain!” He protests. “In fact, I wasn’t in pain to begin with, when the medics decided that I was,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “temporarily unfit for duty.”

You place a palm on his lower back and begin rubbing it. He relaxes at your touch and puts one hand on the wall to support his weight.

“You talk about not reinforcing bad behaviour,” he murmurs, “but I’m not the best role model either.”

“Bullshit!” You scowl.

“Seriously,” he insists, “I highly doubt I’d be here talking to kids about their future if I hadn’t been injured.”

He’s correct, but he doesn’t need to know that, especially now, as you wait to enter a classroom full of kids. Any other team member would be far more qualified for this role. Gaz is such a cool guy that most kids would deem him a god. Price feels like the father you wish you had when he talks, and Soap can adapt to anyone he speaks to. Even you would be a better fit for this year’s career fair. But, Ghost? No, not at all.

“Come on, Simon,” you say as you continue rubbing his back. “It’s less about ‘being a role model’ and more about relating to them.”

“How am I supposed to relate to them?” He wonders, “My childhood was nothing like theirs.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at you and motions towards the window. “Look at them,” he says, “they’re full of life.”

“Not all of them are like that, Ghost; some are putting on a show.” You explain, and he turns to look at you again. “They look all jolly, but they might struggle at home or school. Worse, they can’t admit what’s happening behind closed doors because they’re either ordered to remain silent or not understand it themselves.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Now I can relate to that.” He murmurs.

“See? You need to spot these kids and indirectly talk to them.”

“Spot?” He asks. “How do I spot them?”

“You mean to tell me you’re trained to spot targets from miles away but can’t see when a child suffers in silence?” You ask back. “Plus, it takes one to know one.”

He nods. “And what should I communicate to these kids?” He asks. “How do I help them?”

“By showing them that there’s something better waiting for them out there.”

“Don’t be naive, Y/N. How is what we do better than what they’re going through right now?”

“It’s not about the military, Simon.” You elaborate. “It’s about giving them another chance. They deserve to know there are options other than turning into their drug-addicted mother or alcoholic father.” You lean forward so he can meet your gaze. “Someone gave you a second chance, right?”

He closes his eyes and ponders your words. You tilt your head at him, trying to predict what he’ll say next so you can respond quickly.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he straightens up and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he begins, “I gave one of those speeches to a school a few years ago.”

“Oh!” You cheer and pat him on the back twice. “Did you, now?”

“Lysychansk, Ukraine.” He recalls, “I was being held hostage with a bunch of kids.”

“Tell me more about it,” you say, sitting on the principal’s desk and playing with a pink highlighter. He begins narrating his story, and you can tell he’s becoming more confident as he realises he’s spoken to children before, albeit in a very different context, but who cares? What matters is that he is becoming more at ease with his “previous experience.”

You, in turn, try to give him your full attention, but now that his doubts have subsided, your primary concern is that mask of his. He needs to take it off.

“See? You’re far more experienced than any of us!” you shout. “And in that setting? My god! None of us would have been able to do such a thing!”

He chuckles and looks proudly out the window at the children playing in the school’s playground. He seems to be looking forward to it now.

“Hey, um, sir?”

He shifts his focus to you.

“Your mask, sir; It’s dirty,” you say as you point to his cheek.

He puts his hands on his mask. “Where?” He yells.

“It’s right….” You get up from the desk and take a step closer to him, inspecting his mask. You raise the marker and draw a bright pink line across his cheek, “...there.”

He immediately places his hand on his cheek, looks at the highlighter in your hand, and then back at you.

“You... motherfucker...” he murmurs.

You move away from him and stand behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go out with that mask on; the parents will be furious.” You point to the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. “You do, however, have two other options! Take your pick, and I’ll see you in class in 5 minutes!” And with that, you rush out of the principal’s office and into the school’s corridor.

You enter the classroom and greet the kids with a smile, trying to hide your nervousness. Walking towards the back where the parents are seated, your mind starts racing; Is he trying to choose a mask, or is he cleaning up your mess? What if he’s so furious that he doesn’t show up, leaving you to give the speech? Worse, what if he enters the classroom and takes his anger out on you?

But, the door opens, and Ghost walks in. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. He’s not wearing any mask. Not the black one, not the green one, not the skull—with the pink streak—mask on. Nothing.

You observe him moving around; despite his lack of disguise, he maintains his composure. He greets everyone in the room, smiles, waves back at the kids and stands next to the teacher. You let out a relieved exhale through pierced lips. This is going well, thank god.

As the teacher introduces Ghost to the class, you turn to give him a thumbs up, and his eyes lock with yours. There’s a faint smirk playing on his lips, and your heart skips a beat as he silently mouths something in your direction: “You’ll pay for this.”

———————————————————————

A/N: YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, ANON! I was forcing myself to take a break from writing, only to be slapped by an inspiration wave. Hope you liked it, though; I had fun making it.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod

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eihoons · 1 year

Text

kissing their cheek when they're mad ✮

enhypen x reader , fluff , kissing their cheek when they're mad ( note: lowercase intended , thank u so much for the notes omg 😭 )

❝ heeseung ❞

he got a little mad since you came home a bit late than usual, and you promised to give him cuddles but you said you were too sleepy

you knew he was upset and you told him you'd talk to him in the morning since you were tired

but, he still slept on the same bed, except he isn't hugging you like he would every night

he did feel sorry but tried to keep the frown on

when morning came, you woke up alone so you got up and tried to look for heeseung

as he noticed your presence, he tried his best to ignore you but deep inside he wanted to hug your small, sleepy, and soft-looking figure : (

you went towards him and gave him a small peck on his cheek

"good morning," you said, and as you recalled the events from last night you asked him, "are you still upset? i'm sorry,"

you gave him a hug, and he could never stay mad at you so he hugged you back and placed a soft kiss on your forehead

"no, i'm not mad, i love you,"

❝ jay ❞

jay was upset since you somehow forgot you had a special date yesterday, and he had been planning this for a while now but you forgetting this broke his heart :(

so, as a consequence, he ignored you the whole day and not even sparing you a glance

you tried to keep apologizing but he kept replying with it's fine or it's okay but his expression says otherwise

you also wanted to talk to him but you knew it would lead to another argument and you knew it was your fault this time

by now, it was already nighttime and you were getting ready for bed

you decided to wait on the bed for jay but minutes were turning into hours and you knew he was probably sleeping in the other room tonight

so, you got up and went to him because it felt cold without him

but the only reason he was sleeping in another room was because he was afraid of accidentally raising his voice on you again

you snuggled onto him and pecked his cheek and whispered, "i'm sorry, you can get mad at me in the morning but i need to be with you right now,"

and that kiss alone was enough for him to let his guard down and he knew he had to forgive you because he felt really bad so he finally wrapped you in his arms

❝ jake ❞

tbh i don't think he can ever stay mad at you

but in this case, he was mad because of how he disliked you being fine with a friend getting all touchy with you

and you thought he was just being a little too overprotective and this may have lead into an argument

so, you were both ignoring each other but you knew this was quite immature so you were thinking about talking about it with him, carefully this time

you then went to him but as soon as you were getting close, all those apologies just vanished and you didn't know how to approach him properly

instead, you just tugged on one of his sleeves and gave him a kiss on the cheek and tried to walk away out of embarrassment

but before you could even go, he tightly engulfed you in a hug

"i'm sorry, baby, i'm not mad, i– i just–"

you cut him off with a kiss and hugged him tightly

then, you both promised to not fight again because it literally breaks his heart and he fr cannot stay mad at you

❝ sunghoon ❞

you just came home and you were welcomed by a frowning sunghoon

you changed your clothes and prepared for dinner but you noticed that sunghoon was a little quiet

you were trying to talk to him but all he responds with is either a hum or a nod

you were annoyed with this behavior of his so you confronted him and asked why he was acting this way and why he was so mad with you

he scoffed, "so now you're asking me why, huh?"

"but i didn't even do anything wrong!"

a couple minutes later, this lead into a small argument

you both continued to ignore each other but you were feeling sleepy

you were deciding whether or not to say good night to him but you couldn't resist him

so you went to him and kissed him on the cheek and told him good night but before you went away you turned to him once again and asked what have you done to upset him this much

so he finally answered, "why didn't you say you love me this morning, before you left,"

but he was too shy and embarrassed to look at you while saying this, and a blush was evident on his cheeks

you found it adorable and you pulled him in a hug and said, "sunghoon, you know i love you so much but although i forgot to say it, i hope you know that i always will love you, okay?"

he finally embraced you and gave you a kiss

❝ sunoo ❞

according to him you were being "annoying" today

so, he slowly avoided you and ignored you, but this will not stop you >:)

you went to him and he avoided your gaze

"sunoo, when will this stop, i already apologized,"

"just go away,"

having enough, you held onto his waist and pecked his cheek

he loved it but didn't admit it and a blush grew on his cheeks

you thought he hated it so you turned away

but, before you could even walk, he pulled your arm back and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek

"okay, i'm sorry too, i love you."

❝ jungwon ❞

he can never stay mad at you

you realized he was mad so you tried to give him some space and wait until he's ready to talk

but he wanted things to go the other way, he wanted you to talk to him and just give him a hug or a kiss; basically just pay him attention

he was so sad because he thought you were scared of talking to him

you two met in the kitchen, yet still no talking

you wanted to comfort him but you were too scared of the wrong words that might come out

instead, you gave him a peck on the cheek and a soft smile

he immediately pulled you into a hug because he felt really bad

"i'm sorry, i'm not mad. please talk to me now."

❝ ni-ki ❞

he was so pissed because he thought you were cheating on a game you were playing together

but you, on the other hand, found it funny because he simply could not accept his defeat

and, because of this, he got all mad and decided to ignore you

you were now sad and decided to approach him for the last time

"hey, are you really gonna ignore me for the rest of the day?"

still not getting an answer, you pecked his cheek and said, "i'll be in the room if you need me, okay?"

he tried to keep an "angry" face

he felt so bad seeing the frown on your face

not even an hour later, he entered the room holding two controllers in his hand

"i'm really sorry, y/n. can we play again and be fair this time? and.. can i have a kiss again?"

m.list

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munson-blurbs · 3 months

Note

Headcanon: Eddie is a boob man. Best friend Eddie would one day notice your boobs (maybe in a bathing suit or a low cut top or something) and they become his new obsession hehe

Us? Projecting? Never.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unwanted boners, semi-public masturbation (m), Eddie's a perv but he's not thrilled about it, Reader has boobs but no size is given (Eddie loves all boobs, let's be real)

WC: 1.3k

Divider credit to @saradika

Stupid D20.

Stupid Dustin for tossing it so far across the table.

Stupid low-cut shirt that exposes your chest when you lean over to collect the die, giving Eddie a stupid boner in the middle of Hellfire Club.

“Hey, Ed!” Gareth calls out impatiently, snapping his fingers in front of the Dungeon Master’s face. “You wanna tell us if we defeated the demogorgon, or are you just gonna stare off into space?”

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry. Right.” He tries his best to proceed with the campaign as usual, but all he can think about are your boobs and how grateful he is to be sitting down right now.

When he adjourns the meeting, he’s still too hard to stand without someone noticing. “I’m just gonna, uh, hang back and brainstorm for a few,” he lies as smoothly as he can.

“Can’t wait to see what sadistic shit you come up with,” Mike says. The rest of the guys slap him five in agreement as they clamor out the door.

The only people left in the room are you and Eddie.

Of course.

“You don’t have to stick around, Sweetheart.” He tries not to sound too dismissive, plastering a smile on his face.

“You’re my ride.”

Shit. “Oh. Right.” He hedges a nervous laugh. “I’ll be ready in five.”

You nod. “No worries. I’ll run to the girls’ room while I wait.” Before reaching the door, you notice that Lucas’s character sheet has fluttered to the ground. You reach down and scoop it up, revealing the tops of your bra-covered breasts.

“Sinclair owes me,” you chirp, placing the paper back on the table, remaining utterly oblivious to the way Eddie is straining against his zipper once again.

To Eddie’s credit, he tries to stop thinking about them. He really, truly does.

You’re his best friend. He doesn’t want to constantly think about your boobs, or the way they’d feel pressed against his bare chest, or whether your nipples would harden if he sucked on them, or—

“Mr. Munson!” Ms. O’Donnell’s shrill screech snaps him out of his breast-induced stupor. “Is there a reason why you can’t be bothered to listen while I’m trying to teach?”

“N-No, ma’am.”

She huffs out an irritated sigh. “Since you must know everything already, why don’t you come up and solve the problem for us?” She taps the piece of chalk against the blackboard, leaving tiny white dots in its wake.

Eddie shakes his head, feeling his cheeks burn red. Humiliating himself when he can’t figure out the value of x will be bad enough, but to fail while his sail is at half-mast? He’ll never recover.

Fortunately, the old bird relents and turns back to the board to continue her lesson.

Crisis averted.

Except…is it?

Because the only thing—things, rather—on Eddie’s mind are your tits. And he isn’t supposed to be imagining himself caressing them while you’re bouncing on his cock, moaning his name, saying that only he can make you feel that good…

He’s racing out of his seat the moment the bell rings, making a mad dash for the Hellfire room, relieved to see that it’s unoccupied. The door barely closes behind him before he’s ambling towards his DM throne and frantically tugging down his jeans and boxers.

“Fucking Christ,” he whispers, inhaling sharply as his cock is free of its denim restraint. He wraps his hand around it and squeezes in his desperation for an ounce of relief. Pre-cum already leaks from his red, angry tip, and he knows from experience that this is not going away without some…intervention.

Eddie reluctantly lets go of himself and spits into his open palm. He bites his lower lip to stifle a burgeoning moan as he slowly works his shaft, fingers tightening to simulate what he imagines to be the way you’d feel.

“Thassit, mmmf, feels s’good.” He closes his eyes and rests the back of his head on his chair. He needs you underneath him so he can watch your breasts jiggle with each snap of his hips.

“Bet you want my cum, huh? Where do you want it?” Eddie keeps his voice low, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Want it on those pretty tits of yours? Yeah, you fuckin’ do.”

His fist flies over his hardness, choked whimpers escaping his lips. He feels pleasure begin to build and moans your name to bring himself over the edge.

“Yeah?”

Eddie’s head snaps forward, taking a moment to let reality seep in. He’s not buried deep within you; he’s jerking off in a dark room where he plays Dungeons & Dragons, and you’re standing in the doorway.

“Eds? You okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. ‘M fine,” he lies, silently brainstorming ways to tuck himself back into his pants without you noticing.

You arch a disbelieving brow. “You sure? Lucas said he saw you running down the hallway—”

“I’m fine!” He insists louder this time. Shaking his head, he bites his lip and attempts to collect himself.

The two of you have been friends for too long; you know that he’s far from fine when he raises his voice. You walk to him, determined to figure out what’s wrong.

And then you see it.

Eddie says nothing, fully focused on covering himself as best he can and avoiding eye contact.

It doesn’t take long for you to put the pieces together: semi-hard cock in his hand, sweat beading on his forehead, the pleading mentions of your name.

“Eddie.” You let your fingertips brush against his shoulder. “Did I interrupt?”

He only nods in response.

“What were you thinking about?”

Eddie exhales a long breath before answering. “You,” he finally answers. “And th-that shirt you wore yesterday.” His cock twitches at the mere reminder of it.

You grin knowingly. You’d bought it at the mall specifically because of its low-cut neckline, hoping it would catch Eddie’s attention.

Apparently, it very much had.

“You liked it?”

“Loved it.” He starts stroking himself again, almost unaware of his own movements. “Want you to wear it every damn day,” he adds with a hoarse chuckle.

Swiping your tongue over your lower lip, you lean in and whisper in his ear, “What if I didn’t wear one at all?”

With that, you lift your shirt over your head and unhook your bra, letting them both fall to the ground unceremoniously. Eddie’s eyes widen, gazing at your exposed chest.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, his free hand reaching out to touch them. His thumb grazes one nipple and he gives your breast a gentle squeeze. “Baby, they’re perfect.”

You smile, using your hip to nudge the table away and get on your knees in front of him. “Keep going, Eds.”

He nods again, shifting forward a bit so you’re between his legs. “Gonna…gonna cum all over these perfect tits,” he grunts. “Please. Please, I gotta…”

“You can cum on them, Eds.”

And, fuck, does he. Thick ropes spill out of his cock, painting your chest in a sticky film. He’s crying out your name as he does it, milking every last drop.

He floats down from the high, staring at your chest and admiring the way he’s claimed you. “That…wow,” he manages, laughing nervously. “Let me clean you up.” He reaches for the tissues, wiping whatever is still leaking out of him before sopping up the mess on your breasts.

“I don’t know where we go from here,” he admits sheepishly, wadding up the Kleenex and tossing it into the trash. “Like, do I take you on a date? Bend you over the table?” He says the second option teasingly, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t turn you down if you agreed to it.

You re-clasp your bra and shrug on your shirt. “We could try a date,” you say as casually as you can.

“Dinner and a movie?”

“I’ll wear that shirt.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #smut #requests

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sparkrls · 3 months

Text

girl uncle

MASTERLIST

Summary: in which Harry becomes an uncle and has a bad case of baby fever

Author’s Note: congratulations to Gemma, i’m so happy for her and the entire Styles family. if this sucks, it's because babies scare me and i tried to write a fic about baby fever... not my smartest move

Word Count: 1k

···

“Baby? You okay?” Y/N murmured, brushing the hair out of Harry’s face. His lower lip trembling as he stared at the rose-flushed baby.

Harry shook his head, the first tear trailing down his cheek. Y/N could never stand to see him weep. It made something inside of her shatter as he lost his composure.

Y/N wrapped her arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close. He leaned his head against her shoulder, tears trailing down his face and onto her shirt. His eyes never left the baby.

Gemma laid fast asleep in the bed behind them. In a little while, the nurse would come in to check in on the baby and Gemma. But for now, Harry and Y/N were left with a sleeping Gemma and a baby to gaze at.

Harry had been stressed out of his mind when Michal called to tell them Gemma’s water had broken and they were headed to the hospital. He had fussed over every detail, and Y/N had been the one to grab the car keys and usher him out of the house. She knew he wasn’t in any mental state to be driving.

The time in the waiting room had been spent by Y/N helping Michal with all the paperwork and Harry pacing in circles. She’d gotten him a tea and ordered him to sit down. As he sipped on his tea, his face still in an anxious frown, she’d pressed a notebook and pen in his hands. Y/N had cupped his face in her hands and instructed, “Everything on your mind, write it down. All the anxious overthinking- lay it down on the page.”

Harry had done so, filling a worrying amount of pages with all that was on his mind. She had skimmed it and found he kept repeating certain thoughts, a clear sign he was just in a spiral of overthinking.

Y/N sat down next to him and simply hugged him until the tension in his muscles dissipated and he relaxed- not completely, but enough to soothe her worries.

When they’d finally been let into the room to see an exhausted Gemma, grinning Michal and a fussy baby, Harry had been handed the baby to hold. He rocked her lightly in his arms, smiling down at her.

“You’re a girl uncle,” Y/N had said teasingly. Harry grinned nonetheless.

That had led them to this, a day after the currently unnamed baby was born. The sun had long set on the horizon, and dark flooded the streets with lamplights turned on.

“We’re adults now,” Harry whispered lowly, as to not rouse the sleeping figures in the room. He sniffled. “I can still remember being kids and climbing trees. How Gemma cleaned up my knee when I scraped it learning to ride a bike. And look at her now.”

A warmth spread in Y/N’s chest, somewhere between happiness and an indescribable satisfaction at knowing they’d made it this far. And a melancholic feeling thinking about how they used to worry about whether their parents would let them go out to the park with their friends or not. Now, they would soon become the parents themselves.

Harry sighed, and she wiped his tears away from his cheeks. Y/N placed a tender kiss on his forehead and said, “You’re an uncle now.”

Looking up at her as if she’d been the one to freckle the sky with stars, Harry said, “Uncle Harry. Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

A soft chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips. “Definitely.”

“Dad would sound even better,” Harry whispered, pressing himself close to her and nuzzling his nose against her neck. “Don’t you agree?”

Eyebrows raised in light surprise, Y/N asked, “You want to…?”

Harry nodded. “Wouldn’t it be nice?” He whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had that soft look in his eye he always got whenever he talked about their future. “Maybe a ring on your finger before… and then a baby in your belly.”

“You’ve got baby fever,” Y/N groaned quietly, turning her head away from him. Her gaze landed on the baby again, wrapped in a light pink blanket. For a moment, she imagined that being her baby. And a rush of affection swelled in her chest, a pinch of fear tingling on her fingertips.

Fuck, maybe she had baby fever as well.

They certainly did look adorable, faces all scrunched up, skin a rosy pink and fingers all chubby.

“Is that a no?” Harry prompted quietly.

Y/N sighed as if she were exhausted by him. They both knew her every word was laced with affection, “How’d you go from crying ‘cause your sister’s a mom now to begging for a baby?”

“Marriage and a baby,” Harry said, matter-of-factly. “Get your facts straight.”

Holding back a laugh, Y/N said, “Begging for marriage and a baby.” She took one good look at the man beside her, with brown curls and green eyes that looked almost a forest green in this light. “I never could say no to you.”

“That’s a yes?” Harry asked hopefully, leaning in close.

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately. "It means be patient. We'll see how things go." She gave him a playful glare. "But we are having a wedding before a baby. Got it, Styles?"

"Got it, baby,” Harry confirmed with a grin. He knew he was going to get what he wanted. Maybe more in the future, he would spend an obscene amount of money on a Tiffany engagement ring and a Vivienne Westwood wedding dress. But for now, those plans were stowed away in Harry’s mind. They would come to fruition eventually. It was just a matter of time.

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jiminrings · 3 months

Text

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

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gojossocks · 2 months

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We can't be friends

Gojo x Reader Summary: You decided to erase Gojo from your memory.

“Who is Gojo Satoru to you?”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, before giving the doctor a tight-lipped smile. “W-we were together for 6 years.”

He’s no one important really, just the love of your life.

There has been an on-going trend all over the world— technology has upgraded enough that you can erase someone entirely out of your memory, as if they’ve never existed. If they do, it wasn’t like how you knew them.

You weren’t sure what dragged you in this clinic with all of the most important things that remind you of him. Maybe it was the way he ignored you like the plague, the way the familiarity in his eyes disappeared just earlier last week when he spoke to you so freely like you’ve never been together. It was clear that he got his memory of you erased after that incident. You were just another colleague. Perhaps, the pain in your heart is too much to handle.

You don’t remember the way to the clinic that much. It was a surprise you even got there in one piece considering you were sobbing the whole way there. So even if you aren’t entirely sure whether you’re ready to let go of Satoru, you signed the consent form anyway.

If he’s got you erased completely from your life, then what’s the point of living in hell remembering him? You didn’t want to mourn for someone alive and well.

You never really understood why he left because everything was just working out between the two of you. Satoru provided you with no explanation and packed up his things to leave you behind to your own devices. You almost wanted to back out when you started reminiscing vividly of everything you once shared with him.

You remembered falling in love with him, how it feels like the first day of spring, how his kisses taste like daylight. How he squeezes your hand three times before you part ways for a mission. How he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world. How it was always you and him against the world, him making you laugh while you tended to his wounds. He would tell you that everything would be okay because he has you and only you.

The bad outweighed the good that you had forgotten that loving him and being loved with him is something that you never wanted to forget, even if your relationship with him crashed and burned. You don’t want him to be a stranger you can’t recognize anymore.

But it had already been done and everything faded into nothingness as you try to grasp with whatever you have left of him.

-.-

You have been working with Gojo for quite some time now, maybe about six years. But you’ve never directly initiated conversations with him outside work. He’s the only one you don’t know much about in Jujutsu High. Today is no different as you’re waiting with him in the clinic for your mutual friend Shoko.

“That’s a beautiful necklace you have there.” He acknowledges you for the first time since you got there. Even if you’re just a few meters away, he doesn’t talk to you. You find that a little bit weird because everyone tells you that he’s obnoxious and loud. Somehow with you, he’s always quiet.

You didn’t remember much of how you got the necklace. You figured that the reason why Gojo’s asking about it is because it matches the color of his eyes. There was a hazy memory though— you were crying, telling a doctor to ‘let me keep it, please. Just this one.’ but you didn’t think much of it. Maybe it was all a dream.

You responded with a laugh before toying with the pendant of the necklace. “Yeah, It was a gift to me.”

“Oh?” He looked at you through his glasses, his intense gaze making you feel a little nervous. “Mind telling me who?”

“I forgot.” You replied, slowly relaxing in your seat while looking around at Shoko’s clinic. He nodded at you, a small smile adorning his lips and he didn’t say anything more.

You missed the way his eyes linger on you for a moment before putting back his blindfold on or the apologetic look that Shoko gave him before he leaves.

“So, who’s Gojo Satoru to you?”

“He’s the strongest of course.”

But to him, you’re still his everything—because he didn’t really remove you from his memory. Maybe if he was braver, you’d remember him.

a/ n: part 2? :0

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo fic #gojo angst #gojo x reader angst #jjk angst #jjk fanfic

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nyaagolor · 5 months

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Ranking the Ace Attorney main cast on whether or not I think they'd be a narc

I was making a more coherent, serious post about the different approaches to justice each of the characters have and how that is shaped by their backstory... and then I realized a funnier question is what they would do if they saw you eating a weed brownie so I made this post instead

Phoenix: In the trilogy era, yes. He trusts people, but believes that trust has to be built on pursuing justice and always accepting the harsh reality. He'd be sad about it, but a narc nonetheless. In his Beanix era he's making his money through "totally legal gambling" and on the hunt for questionably legal evidence so I have no doubt in my mind there's a pot farm under the WAA for supplemental income. He gives up his narc ways and for that I salute him

Apollo: If I were to pick a single member of this cast who is NOT invited to the rotation it would be him. He had zero hesitation throwing Kristoph to the wolves after working for him for years so I know he has absolutely zero qualms about ratting out his friends or coworkers. Loyalty means nothing in the eyes of justice and it means nothing to him. He's a narc.

Athena: She's gonna lecture you and look all sad about it, but she's no snitch. She's been through the rounds with Simon so she gets it. Having to know you hurt her feelings is enough of a punishment in her eyes

Edgeworth: He's not a narc but he IS obsessed with being right, so if you don't immediately fess up with exactly what you're doing he's going to send your stoned ass to the chess dimension and honestly I think that's worse

Franziska: Unfortunately she is a cop. Narc.

Godot: Diego-era yeah he's a narc, but after the coma? I feel like he has better things to worry about, he would just ignore you. He has some soul searching to do and some grief complexes to unlearn he doesn't have the time to be a lil snitch. Post prison I think he's stoned somewhere in Kurain and chillaxing, as is his right

Klavier: Don't let his rockstar attitude fool you he's a narc and extremely annoying about it. The gavinners tour bus is dry as hell and it's all Klavier's fault. Daryan offers him a line and he gets all uppity and says "the only LINE i want you doing is the third line in the prechorus, you keep messing up the syncopation" and that's the end of that discussion

Simon: He's been in prison so he knows what's up. Not a narc. Might glare at you until you share though

Nahyuta: He's a narc and will lecture you so long about it you're tempted to turn yourself in to get out of earshot. He also never forgets and never forgives. Datz is trying to reform him but it isn't going well

Sebastian: Yes, but I think the idea of him having to turn in someone for it would make him cry so they end up comforting him instead. Kay thinks he needs to try a weed brownie

Maya: I want you to look at me and tell me she doesn't smoke weed. Not a narc

Pearl: I think if she found out that her big sister figure smoked weed she would have a heart attack. Def a narc

Trucy: I can say with absolute certainty that if you really wanted weed she could find you a dealer faster than anyone in the cast. Trucy is a magician and has grown up around a variety of people involved with some seedier institutions, she knows better than to snitch. Has not been and will never be a narc

Kay: Will help you shoplift. Not a narc

Gumshoe: A narc on principle, but would feel really bad about it and would probably let you off with a warning if you started crying or acting upset because I think he's a softie. He's not unreasonable

Ema: If you think she has even the tiniest sliver of respect for cops you're lying to yourself. Not a narc and will actively help you evade police out of principle. A homie, honestly

Fulbright: Not only is he a narc but he definitely runs the DARE program at the local highschool and is printed on half the posters they put up in the precinct. I'm also like 80% sure he doesn't actually know how weed works

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impactedfates · 19 days

Text

Letters Unsent - Genshin + HSR Boys x GN! Reader

★ Summary: After their death, you find a letter. A letter he wrote. A letter he wrote for you, a letter he wished he could’ve given to you personally. A letter describing his feelings.

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Diluc, Wriothesley, Cyno, Argenti, Jing Yuan + Gepard

★ Genre/Trope: Angst + Hurt/No Comfort

☆ Warnings: Major Character Death (Not the Readers)

★ Extra: Angst is fun, angst is nice :)) // Might make another part with different characters if this does well // Not fully proof read // Motivation came back cuz of sad tunes/hj

He said he'd be back, that it'll be quick. Despite your worry, you knew he was strong, so he'd be able to protect himself right? So you trusted him. Trusted him so much that when his co-worker showed up to your door with an expression you couldn't exactly read, you were confused. It was about him but...he was fine right? Then why were they telling you he had passed? The injuries he sustained was...to much for his body to handle? The healers couldn't help him? But...he said he'd be back...you were snapped out of your thoughts when they handed you a letter with your name on it. "I think he knew he wouldn't be able to make it...so...he wanted you to have this...even if he couldn't hear your answer"

"To My Dearest,

If I'd ever be lucky to even call you that. Although this isn't ideally how I wanted to do this. I believe I can only get these things on paper, it's much too difficult otherwise. I was never good with words so I hope this alternative is alright for you.

Ever since the day I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were different. Not in a bad way. It took me way too long to figure out the reason for this was due to the fact I loved you.

I loved seeing your smile.

Hearing your laugh.

Loved the small talk we had that would end up with me taking you home. You made me feel something I didn't think I would ever feel, and I'm unsure if I even deserve it.

If I even deserve you.

Whether or not you feel the same way, I hope we can stick together as long as time allows us.

Sincerely

Diluc."

"To Y/N

Hope you're doing well, life in Meropide is still as dull as ever. Well, unless you decide to visit, you really do light up the room when you come by don't you? Or maybe that's just for me.

Anyways, preferably I would be telling you this in person, but more work has piled up. That's also why our little tea sessions have to be put on hold for now. Don't worry, as soon as this all clears up and I investigate this one area, then we can go back to the usual.

I have this one blend I think you'd really like!

Anyways, enough beating around the bush.

I like you.

Like like you.

I love you.

So much.

I can't even begin to describe how much I love you, and even if I did I feel you'd be gagging at how cheesy I was being haha!

But really, I love you so much. I want to be with you, of course I understand if you don't feel the same. But Sigwinnie would have my head if I postponed this confession any longer.

I hope to see you again after my work.

Yours Truly

Wriothesley"

"Hello Y/N

I never thought I'd be writing this kind of letter in my free time. Unfortunately for me, it seems as though fate likes making things harder for me and whenever I want to even try to talk to you about this, it's much more difficult than it was when I practised in the mirror.

Or...

Well...

Practised to Tighnari.

We can ignore that for now though as I'm still trying to put this all together in words.

I would let you borrow my TCG set, you can use it as you please and I'd even let you touch my limited edition cards.

If that's not making any sense then how about a joke?

How does a fruit confess?

They say "Olive You"

Get it, because an olive is a type of fruit, and olive sounds like "I love"

I love you"

"My beloved rose

As much as I'd love to tell you all these words in person, my search for Idrila is still ongoing and I am unsure when I'll be able to see your beautiful face once again.

Ever since my eyes laid on your beauty, I thought I had found Idrila herself, but once I got to know you. Even if you weren't the Goddess, you could almost rival her.

The sparkle in your eyes.

The pretty little smile.

Your wonderful personality.

All those things you think are flaws? I love each and everyone of them. They are not flaws to me and it pains me knowing you think of yourself like that.

Once we meet again, I want to make sure you know how deserving you are of these words, how your 'flaws' aren't flaws and how much I love every bit of you.

Though I am aware I find many things worthy of praise. I want to let you know that you're different.

I don't just want to praise you, compliment you. I wish to love you, hold your hands and protect you with my life, no matter what it takes.

I love you so much, and if I could be so lucky to call you mine. Well, I think I'd be the happiest man alive.

I will return soon,

Signed

Argenti"

"Morning, Afternoon or Night

I'm not too sure when the Cloud Knight will give this to you, or when I'll give this to them. Whatever the case, I won't beat around the bush too much.

I love you.

Nothing could compare the feeling in my heart when I see you.

The smile that will never fade as long as you're there by my side.

You are just amazing. In all my years of living, never would I have thought to have met someone as perfect as you.

Even Fu Xuan herself can see just how enamoured I am for you, although for her. She's been using it as an advantage to do work.

'If you finish now you can see them quicker'

'How would they feel knowing that you're not working?'

'Stop dozing off or they won't come to see you ever again!'

I must admit, they all do work. Even if in hindsight, not only would I still see you even with work uncomplete, I'll see you plenty of times and more to come but I don't think you care all too much about my sleep.

But I digress.

I hope this letter finds you well, take as much time as you need to consider my words and think about your own feelings.

I'll be waiting where I always am.

Jing Yuan"

"Dear Y/N

Aeons this is embarrassing. But it would be even more embarrassing if Serval kept teasing me about this. I've been putting this off for so long, worried about how you'd react.

Your answer.

And if this would change your view on me...but you're not that kind of person. I know you're not. And after a bit of thinking, to save me from stumbling on my words. I decided to write a letter.

Serval should be the one giving this to you, so I hope she didn't say anything to you, I would nearly die of embarrassment if she did. Anyways!

So...I know it's probably not much hoping Serval wouldn't say something actually, knowing her, she gave it away with one sentence but...

I like you, a lot. More than you could ever know.

And I'm more than happy to talk to you about this in full once I'm back from my mission.

I can only pray you feel the same, but even if you don't.

I hope we stay friends.

Until next time,

Gepard"

WOOO FINALLY GOT THIS DONE AFTER FOREVER.

Sorry if any characters are OOC, I tried my best with writing what I think they'd write in a confession letter, but I hope you enjoyed this anyways!

#Diluc x Reader #Diluc x You #Wriothesley x Reader #Wriothesley x You #Cyno x Reader #Cyno x You #Argenti x Reader #Argenti x You #Jing Yuan x Reader #Jing Yuan x You #Gepard x Reader #Gepard x You #hsr x reader #Genshin x reader #hsr imagines #hsr x you #genshin x reader #honkai star rail x you #genshin impact x you

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rookiesbookies · 5 months

Note

mischievous COD ideas😈

Heavily pregnant reader knowing that her hubby doesn’t want to be rough in the slightest with her due to her pregnancy and refrains from punishing her, so she abuses that fully to be a brat

To my sweet sweet brat reader, Im sorry if this is not all you hoped as I am a resident good girl. The one time I was a brat I got degraded (“such a good bitch”) and cried. I hope I do a good job portraying the relationships, if I dont let me know and I will edit it or rewrite sections that dont fit. You also didn’t specify so imma write for my usual set of lovelies. (Im also added Krueger because I’ve recently fallen in love with him a lil bit and he kinda fits thi)

The boys with pregnant brat wife

Price

This man is too worried about helping you get your shoes on. “You’re pregnant, isn’t not being able to see your feet punishment enough?” He’s not going to do much other than pinching you. Whether it’s your ass or your arm, and they’re hard “i had to discipline Soap subtly and im a dad” pinches. He’ll also use pressure points. Give the back of your arm the good pinch and twist. He’s just trying not to take it personally.

Soap

He’s googled what positions he can put you in. He’s googled if its safe for the baby. He has googled what he can and cannot do. He has spoke with your doctors about it, as embarrassing as that phone call was. And for certain punishments, its a long game. Like holding your ice cream you crave hostage until you learn. If he can’t make it sexual, he’ll find other ways.

Ghost

Like Price, he’s also using pressure points. Not the ones that knock you out but the ones that feel weird or make you got “ow”. Cannot get hard and it’s not because you’re not hot its bc he literally gets more flaccid than a limp noodle at the thought of possibly hurting that baby. He’s also very good at holding grudges and every time you brat out and walk all over him, he’s making a note on his phone for later.

Konig

Oh but he just got you to whine and cry you admit you want his cock. He knew eventually he could wait out your little game. “You acted out and now you must wait until I want to give it to you. You ask so nicely though, keep trying. I like when you beg.” He’s so mean, he’d make you wait until after you gave birth and however many times you acted out is how many weeks (or months depending on how he’s feeling) after you have to wait to get any pleasure from him.

Keegan

your toys aren’t doing it for you anymore? Nope. He’ll keep fluttering his fingers over you figure and let you use that tiny dildo he got you that cant even stretch you like he can. That’s all you get. His hands wont even go lower than your waist. They wont even touch close to your nipples. This is real torture. Every orgasm is so unfulfilling. I feel bad for you really. Hope this teaches you.

Gaz

He’s a doormat anyway. I don’t see him punishing anyone. He’s too much of a gentleman. I do believe he’d pull orgasm after orgasm out of you casually when you act up with his hands. Never giving you his dick as much as you beg. Pleading, crying for it, he wont budge. No you can deal with the consequences of your actions while he sits here and watches this movie. “Why aren’t you watching, love? You picked the movie. No, no, stop your whining, just sit and watch.”

Krueger

Sebastian doesn’t care. He’ll find other ways. Like right now you’re legs spread and hands flat against the wall as he spanks your ass, every time he does you have to say thank you and apologize for snapping at him. He knows you’re hormonal, but he’s going to make you apologize. Oh and he’s kissing away those tears and asking you if you understand what you do wrong while running you a nice bath and all the rubs and lotion for your poor butt.

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

#cod x reader #call of duty #captain price #john price #konig call of duty #konig x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz x reader #simon riley x you #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish #keegan russ x reader #keegan p russ #cod krueger #krueger x reader #sebastian krueger

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homunculus-argument · 7 months

Text

It's actually kind of funny how much brain space you can free just by adopting the principle of "if it's not hurting anybody, it's probably fine". If you don't know whether you should or should not do something, pause and try to figure out who's going to get hurt if you do that. If you struggle trying to come up with any imaginary hypothetical person who would be harmed by whatever you're doing, you're probably not going to benefit from listening to that doubting voice telling you that you're not allowed to do that.

Once I learned how to make friends and started finding people who actually liked me and supported me, my family started warning me about surrounding myself in toxic echo chambers that uncritically affirm and validate whatever I'm telling them, and believing whatever they say. Of course the people who have only heard my side of the story would believe whatever I'm telling them and side with me, they haven't heard their side of what happened. That it's unfair of me to poison people against them by telling people how they make me feel, when they aren't there to argue in their own defense. That family needs to be there to tell you the hard things about yourself and criticise the things you're doing, because strangers don't love you enough to tell you to stop doing ugly and cringe things, and correct you when you're being embarrassing.

That losing yourself into uncritical echo chambers of blind support and affirmation, without being held back by the leash of the critical eye of your family is bad because.... Yes, why? Who is being harmed if I do so? Am I being harmed by being surrounded by people who are utterly delusional in their opinion that I am fun and likeable? Who don't tell me when I am acting sickeningly wrong because they don't have the decency to smack me for doing that? Who never make me cry by telling me about every single thing that I am always doing wrong?

Who is harmed by my happiness? Why is it wrong to surround myself with people who are utterly delusional in their belief that I'm not a bad person? Why not entirely lose my grasp of reality as my family sees it, and believe them?

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souliebird · 7 months

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 7]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

When you escaped your parents’ house and moved into the city for college, you already knew the basics of cooking. Since you had turned fourteen, it had been your responsibility to feed yourself. 'You are old enough to figure it out' was what your parents had told you. Living in the dorms didn't give you much opportunity to cook and when you finally had your own kitchen to really play around in, you didn't have the money to afford a full pantry. It was hard, but it never deterred you and you learned a couple of good recipes.

When Minnie came along and you were able to figure out her likes and dislikes, you made a few changes - you could finally afford to get all organic produce and bread not made from ninety percent sawdust and you started cooking even more because your little one didn't like things from a can.

And despite what the experts and people online say, you give in to every one of Minnie's food whims. You don't want to force her to eat things she doesn't like. Your parents never listened to you, even if the food made you sick - you ate what was given to you or not at all. You are not going to do that to her and the rules you have come up with are she at least has to try something. If she doesn't like it, she doesn't need to eat it, and the past few months she's been pretty good at telling you why she doesn't like something. You don't always understand her reasoning, but you accept and tell her that she can try it again when she's bigger.

Her favorite thing that you make is lasagna. You make it from scratch and she usually loves to help you and will spend all day excited for ooey-gooey cheese.

Usually.

Today is not a usual day. Today your daughter is an upset little banshee. As soon as she woke up, she was in a bad mood. She didn't want to be touched at all and getting her dressed was a nightmare. Lots of 'no's and crying about how all her clothes were itchy until you finally allowed her to just wear her swimsuit. It was the only thing you could get her to stay in. You didn't even try with her hair, running your fingers through it to get out some knots, but that only lasted a full five seconds before she was running away from you.

You are trying to be patient with her - you know that something must be upsetting her, whether it be waking up on the wrong side of the bed or she's starting to get a cold and not feeling well. She doesn't know how to express herself beyond crying and you don't blame her. You want to cry when you don't feel well.

That doesn't mean it isn't stressful for you. The back of your skull is throbbing from her screams and your own mood is sour because you don't know how to help. Hearing her so upset breaks your heart.

Matt is supposed to come by, thus the homemade dinner, but part of you wonders if you should cancel. Minnie isn't going to calm down anytime soon and you would feel bad having him come over just to witness a tantrum. On the other hand, tantrums are a part of having a child.

You decide to leave it up to him and send him a text letting him know Minnie is having a bad day. He quickly responds he still wants to come, so you return to working on your tomato sauce as quietly as you can.

Mouse has hidden herself under a throw blanket with her tablet and her plushies on the couch. You don't worry about her doing anything she shouldn't be - the tablet is child locked to hell and back - but it is a little hard to tell what she is doing since she's muted the tablet. There is an eerie purple glow coming from under the blanket, so you can guess she's playing one of her games. You've found a few that don't require sound that she enjoys - a few dress up games and matching things.

Occasionally you hear her sniffle or mumble but she doesn't call for you, so you let her be. She didn't really nap today, so you're trying to avoid another meltdown. You are hoping when you remind her Matt is coming, it will help her mood. You're a little jealous he is obviously her new favorite person, but also you are so happy for it.

Your original idea of taking things slow has been adjusted based on her reaction. You wanted to start talking to her about family today and build her up to the idea of having a dad, then have Matt over so she starts that association. That obviously is not going to happen.

You finish up your prep and start to assemble the lasagna, laying sheets of pasta down before adding sauce and cheese then repeating the process until the pan is full. You made a little extra, with the intention of sending Matt home with leftovers. He had mentioned in passing that he doesn't get to cook much and living off take out is not ideal.

The baking pan gets put into the oven and the timer is set, then you aren't sure what to do with yourself. It will take about an hour and Matt is scheduled to arrive then.

You could do some cleaning, but with how Minnie is, you don't want to set her off. You know when she gets like this, any little thing can trigger her, so the best you can come up with is scrolling your phone.

Still, you want to be with your baby, so you make your way to the couch. You keep your voice just above a whisper, knowing she's been itching at her ears all day, "Mouse, can I sit with you on the couch?"

You know she heard you based on the way the blanket moves. It takes a moment before you hear a tiny 'okay'.

You tuck yourself into the opposite corner and take out your phone to bring up something to look at. As soon as you start scrolling your feed, the glowing blanket mound starts moving towards you and you are easily overtaken by it. Minnie gets herself into your lap, still hidden away, then flops against your chest. You can feel her tablet against your thigh and you're pretty sure Scooby is jammed into your stomach, but as long as she's good, you're good.

You keep an eye on the time as you flick through your phone. A majority of the news sites you follow are filling your feed with stories about the explosion in Connecticut. An uneasiness fills your stomach when you see the word 'attack' being thrown around. The headlines say they have determined the destruction was intentional and not an accident, though no one has claimed responsibility. Tony Stark gave some sort of press conference, so his face is all over your phone.

You don't need this today, so you switch over to browsing some online shops. Minnie is getting too big for her winter coat, so you definitely need to get her one before the weather changes and prices go up. You'll have to get her approval before you make a final purchase, but it's good to check what is in the market.

About twenty minutes before you are due to take the lasagna out of the oven, Matt texts you to let you know he is on his way. You confirm that you got his message, then gently run a hand over the mound in your lap, "Hey, sweetie. Dinner is almost ready. Do you remember what I said about dinner tonight?"

The blanket gets tugged and moved until Minnie can poke just the top of her head out. She squints at you, like she is judging you, before mumbling out, "Mister Matt is coming?"

You give her a soft smile, trying to comfort her in any way you can, "That's right, baby, Mister Matt is going to come over and have dinner with us."

She squirms in your lap, before flopping herself forward again and declaring, "I want juice."

"Okay, sweetie."

You manage to gather her, her blanket, her tablet, and some plushies into your arms and get Minnie on your hip to carry her to the kitchen. You're an expert at doing things one handed and it only takes you a minute to make up a sippy cup. Once that is in her little hands, you deposit her into her seat at the dining table. You let her keep her blanket and toys, setting up Scooby and Pig so they are in the seat next to her and her tablet is on the table in front of her.

She is indeed playing a dress up game and as she nurses her juice, she looks at each dress option for the character she's dressing. As she does that, you start to set the table around her. You can tell that despite the cuddles and quiet, your Mouse is still in a grumpy mood. You really, really hope that Matt will help her smile a little.

Once everything is set, you check on the lasagna. It smells and looks delicious to you, and you take the sheet tray out a little early so it can start to cool. That gets Minnie's attention, and you can see her watching you out of the corner of your eye. She's stuck her fingers in her mouth, sucking on them as her eyes follow you around the kitchen.

You are so busy watching Mouse watch you, you don't keep track of the time and when there is a soft knock at the front door, you jump.

You scurry to answer, putting your hand over your heart and telling yourself to chill out. You know who it is and why they are here, and you don't need to panic over it. It's just Matt, you tell yourself.

It's just Matt.

You open the door and your breath catches.

It is just Matt, but Matt is Matt, and he makes your heart pound in a different way.

He's come right from work, so he's in one of his crisp, fitted suits. His hair is fluffed up, like he's run his fingers through it too many times, and he's got that permanent five o'clock shadow. He looks like some GQ model, standing in your doorway.

Embarrassment runs through you. You're not nearly as dressed up as he is. Even on his casual days, he looks so fashionable and cool, and you are wearing biker shorts and a black T-shirt. You look by no means raggedy, but maybe you should have changed. Just because Matt can't see what you are wearing doesn't mean you can be a slob.

"Hi," you eventually choke out and Matt's face lights up.

"Hey there," he says back, then he's holding up a bottle of wine and smiling so sweetly, "I thought I'd try contributing this time and I figured you might need a glass."

You can't help but flush. Today has been rather long and a glass of wine sounds amazing. You don't drink often, but he is right and a glass to unwind sounds perfect.

"You're a saint," you praise, and step aside so he can come in. "How was your day? Oh, you can put your jacket and bag to your left. There's hooks about chest level."

Matt thanks you, then reaches out to feel the wall. He finds the hooks quickly, then hangs his saddle bag before starting to remove his coat, "it was good. We were able to wrap up a few smaller cases - sometimes it just takes someone getting a lawyer for others to cave and do the right thing. Cheaper to just do the right thing than get sued and having to do it anyways, plus all the pay outs and fees."

"That is good," you hum, very much meaning it. You're glad those people got the help they needed. "You mentioned having a handful of cases, so that frees up your plate a little bit, right?"

Matt laughs a little, smile still wide, "A little bit. It's a nice change of things - we aren't hurting for paying clients, so we are going to try to take on a few more pro-bono things. We're getting into a nice groove - or so Foggy claims. He's leading that charge - making sure we aren't over working ourselves."

"I'll have to send him a thank you card," you tease, surprising yourself with it.

"He'd like that, he'd get to lord it over me," he replies. Then he turns to you and steps forward, reaching out and finding your arm. He ghosts his fingers up until he oh-so-gently wraps them around your bicep and steps forward until you're a breath away from each other and you have to look down at his chest, so you are not staring at your own reflection in his glasses. His voice drops to something quiet and intimate, and you can barely hear him through the pounding of your heart in your ears.

"I told them. About you. About Minnie."

You find yourself smiling at the news. That makes it more real, doesn't it? It isn't just the courts acknowledging Matt is Minnie's father - it's the real world. It's Matt wanting her - wanting to show the world he wants his daughter.

That's all you want.

You step just a fraction closer, and to keep your balance and let Matt know how close you are, you place your hand in Matt's chest. Almost instantly, his free hand goes to your waist, and you feel steady.

You bite your bottom lip, then ask, your curiosity so much bigger than your ability to keep your mouth shut, "What did they say?"

He huffs and lightly shakes his head, "After yelling at me for keeping it a secret? They want to meet you, properly. If that is okay. I told them I'd ask you before confirming anything." He hums, then drops his voice even more, "Karen got me magnets so I could hang all the work I got up on my fridge at home."

"You're going to need a lot of them," you whisper back to him. "I ordered popsicle sticks and puff balls so she can make 3D things."

"I can't wait. Karen got me a bulk pack of magnets."

You giggle at that, but before you can reply, a needy little voice calls out from the dining table, "Mommy!"

You pull away from Matt, his fingers tracing down from your bicep to your wrist before he drops his hand, and turn to walk towards your daughter, "Yes, Mouse?"

"I'm hungry!"

She's poked her head out from under the blanket and is now wearing it like a cape and her chubby little cheeks are pulled down into an upset frown. You have a feeling a tantrum may be close - there's nothing worse than a hangry toddler.

You take a breath, then smile at your daughter, "Okay. Mister Matt is here so we can have dinner now. Do you want to tell him what we are having?"

Matt taps his way into the main living space, and you know you should give him a quick tour, but you think if you delay dinner at all, Minnie is going to start crying, so you tell him instead where the table is.

Minnie doesn't seem to want to engage, stuffing her fingers back into her mouth. Luckily, Matt isn't dissuaded by that. He sets the wine bottle down before taking the seat across from Minnie.

"It smells like we're going to have lasagna for dinner. Is that what we are having?" he asks, voice soft and gentle.

Your little one rocks side to side, keeping her fingers in her mouth before nodding. Normally, you would remind her to use her words, but you don't want to push, so you relay her message to Matt, "She nodded."

Matt hums softly in response. He tilts his head slightly, brows knitting together, before leaning forward just a fraction, "Do you want us to leave you alone until you eat?"

You are surprised by the question then even more surprised when he gets the tiniest, 'yes' in reply. Matt's face softens at that, and he nods to Minnie.

"Okay. Can I still talk to your Mommy, or do you want us to be quiet, too?"

You stand, dish towel in your hands, ready to bring the lasagna to the table, watching your daughter interact with her father. He's being so gentle and understanding with her and you can tell he's being genuine. You can hear the care in his words, how he's giving her choice and not pushing her to talk to him.

You'll gladly eat dinner in silence if Minnie doesn't want either of you to talk. You don't know how it will work, but you'll try.

Your little one doesn't answer the question right away. She looks between you and Matt, before pulling her fingers out of her mouth to speak, "You can talk to Mommy."

"Thank you, sweetheart. We'll be quiet, okay?" Matt promises.

You quickly parrot him, giving your own soft smile, "Thank you, baby. We'll keep it down."

Minnie snuggles herself tighter into her blanket and you take that as a sign to get yourself into gear. You carefully pick up the lasagna pan and bring it over to the table, setting it as far as possible away from your little one.

Matt tilts his head towards you, and the food, "That smells delicious. Did you make it yourself?"

You go back to the kitchen to get your serving utensils and answer in the softest voice you can muster that isn't whispering, "Thank you, I did. I found an all organic, from scratch recipe online and have been using it ever since. It's even fancy, way too expensive, cheese. I, uh, made extra. For you to take home, if you want."

Matt licks his lips, and you can tell he's trying to hold back a big smile. It makes your insides turn in a funny way - his kindness and appreciation. You are, as sad as it is, not used to such treatment and for whatever reason that, combined with Minnie's attitude, and Matt being in your apartment for the first time kick starts your anxiety. You are definitely very aware of your heartbeat, and it feels like someone dipped your heart into ice water before it disappears into a hollowness.

This feeling isn't new to you, so you try to push past it, not let your sudden panic ruin things, because despite your little one's sourness, things are okay. You tell yourself things are okay.

Your tiny bout of distress goes unnoticed, as it lasts the blink of an eye. Matt leans back in his chair, letting his smile start to crack through, "You didn't have to do that, but I will definitely take you up on it. I can't turn away a home cooked meal."

You force yourself to smile and cut out a slice of lasagna for Matt, before leaning over to place it on his plate, "Guests first."

"Thank you," Matt practically cooes, "I don't think I've been this excited for a dinner in a long time."

The praise does all sorts of things to you, so instead you focus on cutting out a little slice for Minnie and serving it to her. As soon as the food is in front of her, she stabs her fork into it and shovels a piece into her pouty mouth. You don't blame her at all.

"Would you like a glass of wine…?" You ask Matt. Minnie has her sippy juice, but you haven't set out any other drinks.

He gives you a soft, "Yes, please," and you go to get the two wine glasses you have and a cork screw. You bring them back to the table and set down the glasses before going to open the wine. You haven't done it in such a long time it takes you a minute of struggling to pop it. Matt turns his head towards you, a little grin on his face until you start pouring.

You give Matt his drink, then finally make your own plate before sitting beside Matt. Minnie is still angrily stabbing at her dinner and you feel so bad for her. Even with her favorite dinner and good company, she's not having it. You expect when you put her down, either she'll try to fight you or be asleep the moment she touches the covers. You very much hope for the latter.

Matt, on the other hand, looks completely enthralled with his plate. You can tell his eyes are closed and he's clearly enjoying what he's eating.

You don't press for conversation - instead reaching for your wine. It's a deep red and delicious on your tongue and you can't remember the last time you've had a good wine. You can feel your shoulders starting to loosen.

Which of course means, everything needs to come crashing down.

One moment everything is okay, then the next, Minnie is absolutely screeching. Her face is screwed up in pain and you scramble to get out of your chair to get to her.

"Minnie! What's wrong?!" You try to ask her over her wailing.

Instead of any sort of answer, she grabs for her fork, which is stabbed into her food, and throws it as hard as she can. You watch in horror as the fork and a large chunk of lasagna still attached to it flies over the table and smacks right into Matt's chest. Panic surges through you as he also bends forward and covers his ears with a distressed face, ignoring the food staining his shirt.

You try to grab Minnie from her booster, but she does not want it and instantly starts to try and fight you, flinging her arms and legs everywhere.

"Minnie, please," you beg as she kicks you in the hip, "What's wrong, baby?!"

The only reply you get is upset screaming.

"Cover her ears!"

Matt is very suddenly beside you and clapping his hands over your baby's ears. She fights it, squirming to get away and smacking at his arms with all her might, but he doesn't budge. You stare, not understanding what is going on, what set her off, and you don't know how to help.

You don't know how to help and that sinking feeling in your chest is returning and you're scared.

Matt says your name again, then almost barks at you, "Her headphones! Get her headphones, the strongest ones!"

You don't understand why but it's something you can help with, something you can do, and you rush to the bedroom and grab her sleeping headband. Minnie has always told you this one works the best, despite the reviews of the others. You run back to the dining area and nearly stumble upon what you see.

Matt has somehow gotten Minnie out of her booster seat and into his arms, and she is octopus clinging to him. Her face is pressed into his neck, one ear on his shoulder, while he keeps his hand clamped over the other. He's lightly bouncing her in his arm as she cries against him and part of you becomes extremely distressed at seeing someone else comfort your child.

You push that away quickly to hurry forward and hold up the headband, "I've got it."

Matt nods, then turns his focus back to Minnie. He noses her hair, and you can just barely hear him over her, "It's okay, baby, Mommy has your headband. We're gonna make it quiet. I know it hurts, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry."

You hesitate before stepping towards them. Minnie doesn't flail or pull away as you maneuver the headband and get it over both her ears. It feels so awkward to do as she cries and once it is on her head and over her ears, she reaches up and yanks on it until it is in place. Then she flops back down into the crook of Matt's neck, still crying but somehow not as urgently.

You are unsure of what to do, but everything in you screams to touch your child, so you shuffle close to Matt until you can put a comforting hand on her back.

"I'm right here, baby, it's okay," you whisper, gently rubbing a small circle along her spine.

Matt shifts slightly, and the hand that was covering Minnie's ear drops and he instead wraps it around your waist and pulls you closer, so you are flush against him, with Minnie between the two of you.

That seems to help with whatever has upset Minnie so much. She stays clinging to Matt while he oh so gently sways you back and forth. Her screeching dies down to tired-upset crying and you know she's going to keep going until she passes out.

To your absolute amazement, Matt doesn't seem deterred at all. He keeps his nose buried into his daughter's hair, talking quietly to her as she sobs, "It's okay. Shhhh, shhh. Feel my heartbeat, sweetie. Focus on that. The bad noise will stop soon, I promise. Just listen to your Mommy and I."

You have no idea what he is talking about - what the bad noise is - but it's calming Minnie down, so you let him keep going. You keep your hand on her back, gently doing your own 'shhh'ing, trying to encourage her to calm even more.

"That's my good girl," Matt hums, before giving her the briefest kiss against her temple. "Do you want to go to Mommy now?"

You don't hear Minnie respond, but she must in some way because soon enough she is being transferred into your arms. She clings to you loosely and you can feel her little body starting to droop. She must be close to wearing herself out.

She makes a little upset whine between her huffing and puffing, and you instantly take up gently bouncing her like Matt has been doing. Matt stays wrapped around both of you, taking over your role of rubbing Minnie's back.

You don't know how long you stay there, curled together and soothing Minnie, both of you whispering little words of love and comfort to your daughter.

You think you are past the worst of it, but of course that isn't the case.

Minnie starts squirming and fussing, reaching up and pressing at her ears over her headband. You look up to Matt, to see his reaction and your heart runs cold and fear spikes in you.

He looks absolutely murderous.

He's lifted his head and it is turned towards your living room, his brows scrunched and a scowl on his lips. You instinctively hug Minnie tight to you, but you quickly realize you have nothing to fear.

He stalks across your living room to your open window and yanks it shut. Right away, Minnie loops her arms back around your neck and settles with a sleepy sniffle. You press your face into her, rocking her a little more.

"I've got you, Mouse. It's okay. Mommy's right here."

You don't jump when Matt's hand brushes along your back and he once again wraps you in his arms. You allow yourself to turn ever so slightly and tuck yourself closer, lowering your head so it leans just barely against his shoulder, with Minnie hidden between your bodies.

You feel safe in that moment. You're confused why Minnie got so upset so suddenly and you're confused at how Matt knew how to handle it, but you feel safe, and even more so when Matt's arms tighten around you.

"I've got you both," he practically breathes against you. "I won't let anything get you. I'm here now. I've got you."

You close your eyes as the panic and adrenaline washes away from you and the exhaustion of your day starts to catch up to you. You very much understand how rubbing Minnie's back helps her sleep - Matt's started to drag his fingers up and down your spine and you know it could lull you into Dreamland.

Minnie's cries turn into sniffles and then quickly turn into quiet snores as the minutes pass.

You stay still until you are one hundred percent sure she's gone to the world before pulling back just slightly, and whisper, "I should go lay her down."

Your face is so close to Matt's you can practically taste his breath and your heart starts to pound at the realization of it.

You don't know if it is on account of your words or if he was also aware how tangled up the two of you were, but Matt drops his arms and steps away from you, nodding, "Yeah, she sounds pretty sleep now."

You chew your lip, not liking how your arms are suddenly chilly, but don't acknowledge it, "I'll be right back."

You turn and grab Scooby and Pig, knowing another tantrum will happen if your daughter wakes up alone, and head towards the bedroom. It is surprisingly easy to get her to let go of you and you deposit Minnie into her bed. You place her toys beside her and tuck her in, careful to not jostle her. You dare to kiss her forehead before pulling away.

As you turn to leave your bedroom, your window catches your eye. It is closed, but in front of it is a little table.

Just like in your living room. There is a table under the window, with more than a few knick knacks on it.

Your brow furrows and you return to the main living area. Matt has found his way back to the table and is drinking his glass of wine.

"Is she good?" He asks, setting down his glass and turning to face you.

"She didn't wake up at all, I think she's down for the count," you say, glancing towards where your window is before looking back to Matt. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," is his instant reply. You take a moment to look him over, from his fluffy hair, to the tomato sauce now on his shirt, to his fancy loafers, before returning to his handsome face.

"Matt…how did you know where the window is?"

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two-unbeatable-beaters

#soulie writes #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil #and then i met you

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