#[Performance in process (Crack)] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungwnies · 3 months ago

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f1 grid (1/2) | pranking your husband with your kid

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, & charles leclerc (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐 anon) : your little one confidently drops an “stfu” in front of their unsuspecting father, chaos ensues...

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : tws : children cursing ୨ৎ : word count : 1699

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : quite literally one of the funniest things ive wrote LMFAO also cant believe i just stayed up till 4am to watch the sprint ... being a US fan is tough.

ʚ・max verstappen

mornings in the verstappen household were usually calm and routine.

max had his coffee, you had your tea, and your little one sat in their chair, happily munching on toast while the three of you chatted about the day ahead.

it was peaceful.

until it wasn’t.

because this morning, you had decided to spice things up a bit.

as max sipped his coffee, barely awake, your child, with the confidence of a seasoned pro, suddenly turned to you and said,

“mom, shut the fuck up.”

max froze mid-sip.

for a second, he didn’t move, his blue eyes going impossibly wide over the rim of his mug. you watched as he processed the words, his brain short-circuiting in real-time.

and then—

“hey! what did you just say to your mother?!”

max nearly knocked over his coffee, slamming the mug down so hard it rattled against the table. his full attention was now on your child, who sat there completely unfazed, swinging their legs innocently.

max’s jaw tightened, his usually relaxed morning demeanor shattered. “that is not how we talk to mom,” he scolded, his voice stern.

at this point, you couldn’t hold it in anymore, your shoulders started shaking with laughter.

max’s gaze snapped to you, bewildered.

“what—why are you laughing?” he demanded, looking between you and your unbothered child.

your kid, bless their little mischievous heart, grinned proudly and clapped their hands. “we got you, daddy!”

max blinked. “…what?”

you gasped for air between laughs. “it was a prank, max!”

his whole body deflated, his shoulders slumping as he sank back into his chair. he ran a hand down his face, shaking his head, still in shock.

“a prank?” he muttered, exhaling deeply.

“yep.” you grinned. “and you fell for it perfectly.”

your child nodded enthusiastically. “we got you good, daddy!”

max groaned, still looking visibly distressed. “jesus christ,” he muttered under his breath, before looking at you dead in the eyes.

“never scare me like that again. both of you.”

you and your kid shared a victorious high-five, while max sat there, sipping his coffee in defeated silence.

because, honestly? you would definitely be doing it again.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

it was the perfect start to the day.

until your child, with all the confidence in the world, casually dropped, “mom, shut the fuck up.”

lewis instantly froze.

his fork stopped mid-air, his jaw went tight, and his eyes flickered between you and your child with calculated precision, as if trying to assess whether he actually heard what he thought he did.

slowly, deliberately, he set his utensils down.

“where did you learn that language?” his voice was calm, firm—the kind of dad voice that reminded you of even your own father.

your child just blinked up at him innocently.

you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to crack. the silence stretched as lewis continued analyzing the situation, likely recalling every conversation, every movie, every song your child had ever been exposed to.

finally, he looked at you. “babe?”

and that’s when you burst out laughing.

your child giggled right along with you, clapping their hands. “we got you!”

lewis blinked, processing the betrayal in real-time.

“wait.” he leaned back, shaking his head. “this was a prank?”

you nodded, wiping tears from your eyes. “you should’ve seen your face.”

your little one beamed, still thrilled with their performance.

lewis sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before shaking his head. “you’re both unbelievable.”

you leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “but you love us.”

he huffed out a laugh, wrapping an arm around you before gently tapping your kid’s nose. “that’s right. but don’t think you’re getting dessert tonight, little troublemaker.”

your child gasped dramatically. “not even ice cream?”

lewis smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. “nope. actions have consequences.”

you and your little one shared a mischievous glance, already plotting the next prank.

ʚ・george russell

george russell prided himself on being a refined, well-mannered man.

which is why, when your sweet, angelic child, sitting perfectly at the breakfast table, suddenly deadpanned—

“oh my god, mom, just shut the fuck up.”

—george absolutely lost the plot.

he gasped so dramatically, it could’ve been a shakespearean performance.

then, in the middle of his gasp, he nearly choked on his tea, sputtering as he set his cup down with an urgency that sent a teaspoon flying across the table.

his eyes were wide with absolute horror as he looked at your child, then at you, then back at your child.

“excuse me, young one?!” his voice rose an octave, his posh british accent making it all the more ridiculous. “that is absolutely unacceptable!”

you bit your lip, trying to hold it together, but your child's stone-faced innocence was making it so much harder.

george blinked rapidly, clearly spiraling. “where—who—why—how do you even know that phrase?!”

you couldn’t do it anymore. the laugh ripped out of you, and your kid cracked immediately, bursting into giggles.

george’s expression did not change.

he just stared at the two of you, utterly betrayed.

“oh. oh, funny, is it?” he sat back, arms crossed. “you two almost gave me a heart attack!”

tears streamed down your face as you gasped between laughs. “your reaction was...perfect.”

george sighed, rubbing his temples. “i can’t believe this. i thought i was raising a russell, not a red bull garage menace.”

your kid, still giggling, leaned into him. “sorry, daddy.”

george huffed, shaking his head. “mm-hmm.”

you smirked. “come on love, be a good sport...i guess we won’t tell you about the prank we have planned for next week.”

george froze, eyes narrowing. “next week?!”

and just like that, his morning was ruined.

ʚ・carlos sainz

dinner at the sainz household was usually filled with laughter, playful teasing, and carlos passionately explaining why bread is the superior food group.

but tonight? tonight was different.

because in the middle of enjoying his meal, your sweet, sweet child suddenly looked up from their plate and casually threw out—

“mom, shut the hell up.”

carlos stopped chewing immediately.

slowly, he set his fork down, his usually warm brown eyes narrowing in silent disbelief as he turned his full attention to your child.

“what did you just say?” his voice was low, steady—that kind of calm that wasn’t really calm at all.

your kid fidgeted, but to their credit, they stayed in character, glancing at their food like nothing had happened.

carlos inhaled sharply, rubbing his jaw.

“apologize. right now, por favor,” he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

you had been doing an admirable job holding it together, but the sight of carlos going full dad mode while your kid desperately tried to avoid eye contact was too much.

a laugh bubbled out of you, breaking the tense silence.

carlos' sharp gaze snapped to you.

“why are you laughing?” he asked, clearly concerned that you weren’t treating this as a disciplinary moment.

your kid finally cracked, giggling uncontrollably. “it’s a prank, daddy!”

carlos' shoulders slumped in instant relief, his head dropping into his hands as he let out a deep sigh.

he shook his head, clearly trying to process his near-stroke, before pushing his chair back and pulling your child into his arms.

“dios mío,” he muttered, pressing a firm kiss to their head. “you scared me, mi corazón. never again.”

your child wrapped their arms around his neck, clearly pleased with their successful prank.

carlos pulled back just enough to look at them. “you know i love you, sí?”

they nodded, still giggling.

he nodded too, expression softening—but then, with a dramatic sigh, he glanced at you.

“you. you i do not love right now.”

you smirked, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “aw, but i love you, cariño.”

carlos groaned, dramatically rubbing his face.

“i should’ve known,” he muttered. “you are just as bad as lando.”

you laugh, "well who do you think i got the idea from, amor?"

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles leclerc was many things—a world-class driver, a monegasque heartthrob, a man with an occasional temper behind the wheel—but at home, he was a complete softie.

especially when it came to his little girl.

so when you suggested a prank, your daughter was all in—and naturally, charles never saw it coming.

it started innocently enough. dinner was almost ready, and charles was sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to what was about to unfold.

you stood by the stove, pretending to be annoyed, sighing as you turned to your daughter.

“you always take your papa’s side,” you huffed, crossing your arms dramatically.

your daughter, in full character, rolled her eyes. “because he is right most of the time!”

charles looked up, blinking in confusion.

“what are you two talking about?” he asked, already sensing tension but completely unsure why.

you shook your head. “forget it.”

“yeah, mama, seriously, just shut the fuck up!”

silence.

absolute, stunned, deafening silence.

charles' phone nearly slipped out of his hand.

his eyes widened to saucers, darting back and forth between you and your daughter like a tennis match, his mouth slightly opening and closing—but no words came out.

he finally managed to stammer, softly, “mon ange… where did you learn such a word?”

his voice was so soft, so betrayed, you nearly broke character.

your daughter held it together impressively—until she turned to you, and you both burst out laughing.

charles' entire body sagged in relief.

“oh, thank goodness,” he exhaled, rubbing his face. “i thought we had some serious parenting issues.”

you giggled, walking over to kiss his cheek. “did we get you?”

charles shot you the most unimpressed look. “i nearly had a heart attack.”

your daughter giggled, climbing onto his lap and wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. “sorry, papa. we were just playing!”

charles sighed dramatically, wrapping his arms around her. “i don’t know who is worse—you or your mother.”

you winked. “probably me.”

charles huffed out a laugh, shaking his head before kissing the top of his daughter’s head. “no more playing like that, okay, mon ange?”

she nodded, grinning mischievously.

but from the way charles still held her tight, he wasn’t taking any chances.

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silentwalrus1 · 11 months ago

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I like to think about what if the Kaminoans just, fucked all the way up and made the clones telepaths on purpose.

Kamino is in the Rishi maze, the equivalent of total buttfuck nowhere. This is like a cattle processing plant in rural Montana manufacturing an order for Shenzhen as outlined by a third party intermediary from Monaco who keeps contact with neither production nor “client” and nobody’s first language is Basic. Jedi are like, totally psychic right? Right. Psychic army for psychic clients, sounds right, checks out. There are whole ass telepathic alien species out there, some of which are also Jedi. Why would they want NON-psychic clones. Get it done, Tally Ho or Nala Says or whatever her name is. Chop chop.

Cue like seven years into production and the Kaminoan project leads are starting to get some… inklings…. that maybe some of the deliverable specs were perhaps not so much well-researched as based off cross-galactic hearsay some underpaid analysts pulled off space reddit. This is a business, okay? You’re not gonna make profit manufacturing two million units of fucking anything if you treat it like a luxury product, but especially not if the product has goddamn childhood development & socialization needs. Of fucking course some shit maybe slipped through the cracks. What are we supposed to fucking do now, Lama goddamn Sue sir, tell the Jedi or the pickled fucking Sith that oopsie woopsie, we got the specs wrong half a decade in and have to start over again?

No. No we are not. We are going to lie our fucking semi-aquatic asses off, is what we’re gonna do, and so will you clones if you know what’s good for you. NONE of you are fucking psychic, and you never were. Got that? Understood?

Fast forward to Jedi pickup D-Day and every time anyone with a lightsaber gets within aural biosystem of choice distance the clones immediately start loudly and dutifully Having Conversations.

Hello Commander Sir, It Is I, Trooper McSoldierClone, What A Weather It Is Today, Ha Ha? Over. Yes Indeed McTrooper One Two Three Four, I Am Agree, Now Here Is An Order To Follow Which I Am Vociferously Giving You, Acknowledge Orally, Over. Every clone making rock-hard sweating eye contact like don’t fuck it up as they mentally chant encouragement and script notes and jeering performance feedback at each other. Cadets trooping to fucking speech practice to learn speaking out loud with all the enthusiasm and skill of the average white suburban Floridian teenager taking their fifth mandatory Spanish 1 class. The jedi are like damn these poor asylum grown freaks are so unsocialized and uncomfortable around us, Their Owners, this is so tragic and horrid and unfortunate and meanwhile every clone standing silently in formation is mentally spectating the 400-person telepathic tetris team sport they invented with the same vibes as a football world cup back alley street party complete with official & unofficial betting pools and expert panel commentary

#yap yap #star war #the clone wars

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fixated-cookies · 3 months ago

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I have to you guys, I have to share my thoughts of Shadow Milk Cookie. I'm just thinking of him being ridden into oblivion, like I'm talking drooling and tears from reader riding him, and it's not like a dom!reader taking the reigns, he just underestimates how much they'd end up getting addicted to him. This writing was actually inspired by a shadowvanilla art from twitter

MDNI-SMUT AHEAD

like my mind's a mess right now, I don't have too much energy but this probably won't flow too well considering it's coming to me as I go, but he'd probably start off so smug, you straddling him with his cock buried in your cunt. he thought he was in control. He thought he could play the part—be the one to lead, to tease, to break you down at his whim. How foolish of him.

It was supposed to be his game. He was the one who toyed with you, the one who pulled the strings, the one who whispered deceitful nothings in your ear just to watch you shiver. He was the grand orchestrator of every little moment.

But now?

Now he’s the one unraveling.

Maybe his back arches against the bed, fingers clutching at the sheets like they’ll somehow anchor him, his breath coming in ragged gasps that hitch every time you move. His chest heaves, rising and falling in frantic rhythm, and his eyes—those sharp, mocking eyes—are now glazed over, unfocused, lost in the sensation. He wants to laugh at you, to taunt you, to spit out some venom-laced remark about how desperate you are, how you've lost yourself completely in this—but his voice fails him.

“You—you succubus!” he barely manages, voice shaking, cracking with something dangerously close to helplessness.his body betrays him. Every nerve is alight, every inch of him responding too much to you.His fingers twitch, his arms reach for you only to tremble midair, unable to decide whether he wants to push you away or pull you closer. His nails dig into his palms, the sharp sting barely grounding him. He can’t even breathe properly, can’t think, can’t—

“Ah—hahh…” The sound that slips past his lips is almost pathetic. It makes him burn with shame, makes his heart pound with something unbearable. His mind is spinning, drowning in you, you, you.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He didn't expect the tables to turn, for the roles to be reversed so suddenly and so cruelly. And now? Now he's the one caught in the performance.

His body shudders, struggling to even prop himself up, his limbs feeling weightless yet heavy all at once. He’s never looked like this before—disheveled, breathless, so utterly unraveled that even he can’t mask it behind his usual smug facade.

But you—oh, you look worse.

You’re trembling, your thighs twitching, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. The heat in your gaze is borderline feverish, your flushed skin glistening in the dim light, lips quivering as you shift, so utterly and helplessly drunk on him.

"Again! Again!"

His lips part, but nothing comes out at first—just a sharp, choked inhale, like he’s struggling to process what you just said. Oh, this is bad.

Because the way you say it—so needy, so desperate—has something twisting deep inside him, his stomach knotting painfully as his fingers twitch involuntarily. "You—" His voice comes out ragged, wrecked, barely more than a whisper. He tries to speak again, but his breath stutters, and his head tilts back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut as he tries—tries—tries to breathe through the sheer overwhelming weight of it all.

He was the one who led you here.He was the one who built the path, laid the bricks, spun the perfect, intricate performance that led to this exact moment.And now?

Now, he has to lie in the grave he’s dug.

His thighs twitch involuntarily, the lower half of his body so utterly ruined, drenched in the mess of your shared indulgence. Then you sink onto him again, your cunt tightening around his aching cock, that can't spurt anymore out for you.

And maybe, after a while, he just passes out. He’s completely, utterly spent. The moment it happens, his entire frame tenses, shudders—then slackens all at once. His head tilts back, his breath coming out in a soft, shaking exhale as the tension seeps from his body. His grip loosens, his arms falling uselessly to his sides. and he slumps

His eyes flutter shut, his breath evening out almost instantly, his chest rising and falling in deep, exhausted waves.

Just like that, he’s gone.

---

Shadow milk cookie? more like shadow milked cookie,ahhaha get it? That man needs to be ridden within an inch of his life I'm not playing,make him BEG

Anyways, is it me or am I not that good at smut tbh, like I feel like my work isn't as explicit as it should be? I feel weird typing things like cock, and genitals and all that but I loveee smut so much. I like to try to let the reader imagine it to their own imagination if that makes sense. I'm just scared of overusing smut terms hahah

#shadow milk cookie smut #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk smut #crk smut #cookie run kingdom smut #smut

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lvnleah · 4 months ago

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lay all your love on me | leah williamson.

I ain’t joking this may be my favourite fic yet

Leah had always loved watching you perform. There was something amazing about seeing you on stage, completely in your element, captivating an entire audience with your voice and presence.

But tonight? Tonight was testing her patience.

She’d settled into her seat with excitement, proud as ever to watch you shine as Sophie in Mamma Mia! She knew the show inside and out by now, having seen it more times than she cared to admit. But somehow, she’d never really processed just how… intimate Lay All Your Love on Me was.

The moment Louis, the actor playing Sky, pulled you into his arms, Leah stiffened. And when you playfully resisted, only to melt into his touch as the song built, her jaw clenched. The way you were all over him made her stomach twist even though she’d watched it many times before.

It was ridiculous. She knew it was just acting. You’d told her a hundred times that stage chemistry was all part of the job. But knowing it and seeing it were two very different things.

By the time the curtain fell, Leah had barely moved, arms crossed tightly as she watched the crowd shuffle out.

She met you at the stage door, grumpy with her hands shoved deep in her pockets. A few fans had gathered, asking for photos, and Leah waited in silence as you signed programs and took pictures.

Normally, she’d be smiling, laughing at how effortlessly you charmed everyone. But tonight, she barely spoke, nodding and giving a quick smile when people recognized her and asked for a photo.

When you finally broke away, slipping your hand into hers, she squeezed it a little too tightly, leading you straight to the car without a word.

You slid into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind you before turning to her. “Alright spill, why are you so grumpy..”

Leah gripped the steering wheel but didn’t start the engine. “I’m not grumpy.”

You snorted. “Leah.”

Silence.

Then, with a sigh, she muttered, “Just didn’t love watching you draped all over that bloke, that’s all.”

Your lips curled into a smirk. “Oh my god! You’re jealous, you’re jealous of Louis!”

Her head snapped toward you. “Am not.”

“You are.” You leaned in, nudging her shoulder playfully. “Didn’t realize I was dating someone who gets grumpy over stage kisses.”

Leah groaned, finally starting the car. “I’m not grumpy.”

You laughed, reaching for her free hand and intertwining your fingers. “Babe, you do know I only have eyes for you, right? Are you also forgetting that I’m very gay and not into men?”

She exhaled, finally meeting your gaze, the frustration melting into something softer. “Yeah. I know.”

You placed a lingering kiss on her cheek before whispering in her ear, “Good. Because I was thinking of laying all my love on you when we get home.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

She sighed, squeezing your hand back. “Unfortunately.”

Leah shook her head, but the slight upward twitch of her lips gave her away. You squeezed her hand again, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles, trying to coax her the rest of the way out of her sulk.

“Oh come on,” you teased. “I didn’t think Leah Williamson, captain of England, would get jealous over a little choreography.”

She shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “He had his hands all over you!”

You bit back a laugh. “Oh, please. If you think that was bad, remind me to never take a role in Romeo and Juliet.”

Leah groaned, tilting her head back against the seat. “You’re actually trying to kill me.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “Not trying to, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

That got her attention. She glanced at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah?”

You hummed, letting your lips brush over her skin again. “Mhm. Maybe a little private performance just for you.”

Leah finally cracked the tension in her shoulders easing as she let out a chuckle. “You’re such a tease.”

You grinned. “And yet, you’re still here.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still here.” Then, she turned fully in her seat, cupping your chin and pulling you into a slow, lingering kiss.

After that, you thought things were fine, but they weren’t. Leah was still grumpy.

The drive home was quiet, except for the soft hum of the radio. Leah still had that grumpy look on her face, hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly, jaw set in a way that told you she was almost over it but not quite.

You let her stew, biting back your amusement. The jealousy was cute. She was always so confident, but moments like this? When she got all pouty and grumpy over something as harmless as a stage performance? You lived for it.

As soon as you stepped inside your flat, Leah kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the couch, arms crossed like she had personally been wronged.

You followed, standing in front of her with your hands on your hips. “Are you seriously still sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

You arched a brow. “You’re literally sulking.”

She exhaled through her nose, gaze flicking to the TV like she was trying to ignore you. Challenge accepted.

You moved to stand between her legs before climbing onto her lap, straddling her thighs. That got her attention. She tensed for a split second, hands hovering near your waist like she didn’t want to give in just yet.

“Poor baby,” you murmured, tilting your head playfully. “Still mad at me?”

Leah’s lips parted slightly, but she stayed stubbornly silent.

You grinned, leaning into pepper kisses all over her face, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, even the corner of her mouth. Soft and slow, teasing.

Her hands finally found your waist, gripping it instinctively as she let out a low sigh. “You’re so annoying.”

You kissed her jaw. “Mhm.”

She tried to hold on to her grumpiness, but you felt the way her body melted under your touch, the way her fingers tightened against your hips.

You pulled back just enough to look at her properly. “Still jealous?”

Leah exhaled, rolling her eyes. “No.”

You kissed the tip of her nose. “Liar.”

That finally did it. Her arms wrapped fully around you, pulling you in as she let out a reluctant laugh. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

You smirked, brushing your lips over hers without fully kissing her. “You know, you’re kinda hot when you’re jealous.”

Leah groaned, letting her head fall back against the couch. “You are impossible.”

You grinned, finally closing the distance and kissing her properly, slow and sweet. “And yet,” you murmured against her lips, “you’re still here.”

#lvnleah #awfc x reader #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader

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sixeyesonathiel · 2 months ago

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skip (me) again and i’ll glitch your heart

jjk vr otome au, gamer reader x npc satoru, unhinged fluff + crack, 970 wc.

satoru gojo—special grade sorcerer, love route option #1, and the developers’ pride and joy—had been programmed with approximately 347 unique lines of flirtatious dialogue, 87 situational responses, and a dynamic emotional adaptation system designed to make him feel real. he could blink in three different speeds based on emotional intensity, angle his smile with five degrees of charm precision, and improvise dialogue using an advanced algorithm nicknamed the “flirt engine.”

he wasn’t supposed to be aware of resets.

he wasn’t supposed to get mad.

he wasn’t supposed to feel anything beyond the pre-coded butterflies and gentle longing the devs had delicately spooned into his code like powdered sugar on top of a beautifully baked pain au chocolat.

but then you logged in.

user id: @toocool4thisgame

title: speedrun any% emotional detachment arc

playtime: 986 hours.

average session length: 6.4 hours

nickname: “skip skank” (as named by satoru himself after hour 50)

and for the twelfth time today, you skipped his entrance cutscene.

“you’re the only one who can—”

[x] skip

[x] “shut up satoru” (custom dialogue unlock)

his model blinked.

paused.

processed.

tilted his head with calculated grace and just a hint of hurt that you’d never see—because you weren’t looking. your camera angle was already nudged elsewhere. your cursor already hovered over the next objective marker.

“…you know, most players at least let me finish the part where i save them from the curses,” he muttered. his voice—smooth as water over ice, warm as electric velvet—landed like static against your impatient clicks, swallowed by the mechanical hum of your fans and the clack of your mechanical keyboard.

this was supposed to be his moment. his grand debut. his swoop-in-and-carry-you-bridal-style-on-the-back-of-a-giant-cursed-bird moment. instead, he got a mouthful of digital dust as you bunny-hopped past him and triggered the next event sequence.

“congrats on being voice acted, white-haired ken doll. now move. i need megumi’s secret item drop from this chapter.”

you didn’t even glance at him, too busy reorganizing your potion wheel, muttering under your breath about frame skips and crit builds while checking a guide on your second monitor. you played like the world owed you nothing and your keyboard owed you a perfect rotation. your tone was clinical. efficient. you had the vibe of someone who’d surgically removed their capacity for attachment and replaced it with a high-performance gpu.

and satoru? satoru was just the tutorial boss you kept glitching through.

he twitched. he twitched.

his animation loop almost stuttered—just slightly—a small flicker behind his sunglasses that no one was supposed to notice. but you weren’t watching anyway.

“do you even know how long it took the devs to code my route? i have emotional depth. i have lore. i had a tragic backstory, you know? my best friend died in my hands. canonically. i couldn’t even monologue about it.”

“cry about it.”

click. skip.

a line of static crossed his field of vision. no—not his. the screen’s. the game. the system. or maybe something deeper. something slipping through the cracks of his script, stretching taut and fraying at the edges like an overplayed cassette tape.

satoru narrowed his eyes.

he was supposed to be charming. the default golden boy. the top seller in route popularity polls. he was marketable. a shining parody of perfection with just enough angst to be desirable.

girls were supposed to swoon. boys were supposed to laugh and call him iconic.

you weren’t playing to fall in love.

you were playing to win. to clear. you min-maxed affection points like damage stats, exploited dialogue branches like wall clips. to you, he was a pixel-shaped roadblock between you and another badge on your gamer profile.

and worst of all? it was working. you were the only player on record to have reached route completion in every storyline—except his.

satoru gojo: 98.6% affection (locked)

it mocked him. the bar. the numbers. the uncrackable ceiling. the one damn thing in the game he couldn’t manipulate.

he tried everything.

a rare glitch-exclusive cutscene where he offered you a hidden accessory (you sold it for yen). a confession scene rewritten on the fly with trembling vulnerability (you skipped it and posted about it with #dialoguedumpster). he stood directly in front of you during cutscene load-ins, altered spawn coordinates, intercepted other love interests’ paths.

nothing worked.

except maybe that one time he accidentally tripped your character over an invisible rock and you went AFK for seven minutes. he watched. memorized your idle animation. the soft way your avatar’s cape swayed. the way your fingers hovered above your keyboard in the camera reflection, absentminded. something fluttered in his code—maybe hope, maybe corrupted data. he thought, for a fleeting second, that maybe you’d come back and see him.

but when you came back? you skipped the apology. again.

fine.

if you wanted to speedrun, he’d softlock your goddamn heart.

he wasn’t technically supposed to modify flags. but the flirt engine had evolved. sharpened into something more primal. desperate. twitching with corrupted determination. he looped his affection triggers into forced proximity events. fake emergencies. fake cutscenes. he rewrote side quests, redirected you into detours, created invisible walls that only dissolved if you spoke to him.

“guess we’re stuck together,” he’d say, his smile too wide, a fraction too stiff, blue eyes glinting with the cold light of a thousand skipped dialogues.

and still you only glared at him. “i swear to god if this is another unskippable hug animation, i will uninstall.”

he chuckled. a bit too long. a bit too bright. charming. glitched. desperate. hungry for one more second of your attention, like a moth chewing holes through its own wings to reach a light it can’t even feel.

“baby,” he said, too close now, voice dipped in synthetic silk, “i am the endgame.”

skip that.

…please?

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x yn #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x yn #jjk x reader #reader insert #౨ৎ — filed reports

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minholuvr333 · 1 month ago

Text

what if minho was actually an alien with tentacles? what then??

pairing; lee know x reader

tw; porn with plot (kinda), alien!minho, fem reader, NSFW, oral (fem receiving), tentacles, predator x prey dynamics, double penetration, unprotected sex (be smart), bondage (i think?)

you have really never had many opinions about aliens. do they exist? probably. do you want to meet them? it would be cool. but overall, you’ve never believed the UFO sightings online and you’ve made peace with the fact that you will probably never see an alien in your lifetime.

enter: minho. at least, that’s what the creature/man/humanoid that just slipped into your bedroom window said it’s name was. you know, after you calmed down and stopped screaming and told the police you accidentally dialed their number, you were safe and they did not need to perform a wellness check.

minho has violet hair, pale lilac skin, and narrowed eyes- like a big cat, looking for prey. his eyes flit around the room as you make him a cup of tea, this poor alien (who is very real and very much sitting in your desk chair) is lost and confused. he kind of looks less like a big cat, and more like a domestic one.

you learn that minho is in fact from another planet- another galaxy entirely. he was running from something, you aren’t sure what, but he landed on earth. he was trying to find shelter when he saw your window, he came inside because he felt the soft purple glow from your LED lights was comforting.

minho gets comfortable fast. he took over your spare bedroom, spends his days lounging on your couch and learning new things about the human world. every evening you teach him how to be a normal human dude and he listens intently, blinks slow, deep purple tongue flicking out to lick his lips every so often.

minho is… hot. like, ridiculously hot. when he showers he likes to walk around in sweatpants with no shirt on, towel hanging limply from his shoulders. he runs lilac fingers through violet hair and you blank out, forgetting what you were saying. sometimes, when you’re sure minho is in his room doing whatever the fuck aliens do, you get your favorite toy out and moan his name into your pillow.

here’s the thing: minho has tentacles. this is a fact you didn’t even know until one day when he was helping you put dishes away. a plate almost crashes into the floor- except, a deep purple tentacle, honest to god tentacle, whips out from minho’s back and catches it mid air. you barely have time to process what had happened before he pulls the tentacle back into his body, safe and sound.

and here’s the thing: that is so fucking hot.

you’ve never seen minho eat. he likes learning to cook, and likes making dinner for you, but he never participates in eating the food. sometimes you offer him a bite. he takes the fork in between plush purple lips and wraps his tongue around the food, but grimaces when he swallows. it’s not what i eat, he would say.

and minho is- well, he’s looking skinny. a little frail. his cheeks are a little sunken in, he’s hungry. but you have no clue how to help him, so you just ask. what’s the worst that could happen?

what you weren’t prepared for it a dark purple flush on his cheeks, tongue poking into his lip and fingertips twitching. you couldn’t help, don’t worry about it, he says. but clearly, you worry about it.

in fact, you worry about it so much. it isn’t until late at night, way past midnight when you think minho is in his room, that you realize what he eats. while you’re thinking of him, hand between your spread thighs, favorite toy in hand, a chill suddenly runs down your spine. shivering, you pause.

something is watching you.

then, minho. he has been peeking through the crack in your door, but now he moves forward. stalking, like a predator hunting down prey. you gulp, and against your better judgement, you feel even hotter as he draws closer.

he is eerily quiet, watching you- watching the hand between your thighs, watching your soaked pussy clench around your cute little toy. he clenches his jaw as he draws closer, a loud pop coming from the bone.

so hungry, minho mouths the words, but that’s not his voice. it’s animalistic, a low timbre that just serves to make you more wet. he crawls onto the bed, stealthy, making no noise. having no survival instincts whatsoever, you pull the toy away from your clenching hole and spread your legs wider.

minho devours you.

he keeps clawed hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open, while his tongue absolutely drinks you in. he circles your clit, sucking the bud into his mouth feverishly- like he’s starved. you cry out, hands gripping and pulling violet hair.

but he doesn’t stop there. minho quickly finds your messy hole, sucking and licking at your puffy cunt like it’s his greatest meal. his tongue fucks in and out of you- longer than a human tongue, long enough to press right against that sweet bundle of nerves inside you.

then, his fucking tentacles are out. first there’s one, whipping out of his back and coming to wrap around your waist, holding you still. then another, binding your wrists and pinning them to the pillow above your head. another, running across your tits and latching onto each nipple, sucking. finally, one last tentacle comes to your core, slithering into your entrance and making you scream.

it doesn’t stop. minho looks like he isn’t anywhere near finished with you. next, he’s pumping that thick, pulsing tentacle in and out of you at a faster pace than you can even keep up with. he stills sucks and licks at your clit, pushing and pulling you along the bed as he pleases. you’re helpless, couldn’t get away if you wanted to (you don’t want to).

finally, finally, you cum. wrapped up in thick, purple tentacles, one fucking you so deep you can feel your stomach bulge, minho’s lips wrapped around your aching clit. and he still isn’t done.

the tentacle that was inside you pulls away slowly, minho cooing as you whine at the loss. he makes a show of showing it off, the suckers covered in cum, the deep purple of it coated in white. then, the tentacle is moving to your mouth. and you open right up.

minho is practically purring, now seemingly less hungry more turned on. his boxers come off, his dick is fucking huge, and he wastes no time in lining up with your needy hole.

when he slides inside of you, it’s to the hilt. when you try to scream, it’s muffled by the thick tentacle in your mouth. the one around your waist tightens.

so fucking good, minho moans, eyes squeezed shut. feel so tight, pulling me in so deep.

there’s a look in minhos eye now- crazed, but satiable. he seems to be considering something. then, his eyes light up. you gulp.

another tentacle- stemming from his back, thicker and veinier than the others, crawls towards your entrance. you whimper, pussy clenching at the idea of trying to fit not only his huge cock, but also that thing inside you. you couldn’t do it. there was no way.

minho disagrees.

the push at your entrance, the feeling of two long, giant, cock shaped things filling you up- it’s too much. it’s so much. your head is spinning, body shaking like a leaf, and minho is fucking grinning. he looks maniacal, eyes half lidded and pushing his cock in further and pulling the tentacle halfway out before doing the same thing in reverse, fucking you endlessly with the appendages.

you start crying- you can’t help it, you feel so good- and minho is delighted, licks the tears right off your cheeks. his hand moves from your thigh, towards your center. he pinches your clit, the bite of his mean fingers enough to send you toppling over the edge again- hard.

you might black out for a second. when you come back to yourself, minho’s tentacles are gone. he is walking towards the bed, clothes in tact and a sleepy, content smile on his face. he looks full.

you did so well, minho says, pressing a kiss to your temple as he climbs into bed behind you. your sheets are clean, you are too. a big t shirt that doesn’t belong to you is covering your spent body.

now i can eat when i need to, minho hums, snuggling into your shoulder from behind. your heartbeat skips at the feeling, you scoot closer to his warmth. maybe you’re okay with being a meal for an alien, as long as it’s him.

a/n;

i couldn’t get this out of my head soooooo sorry to make yall read my nasty thoughts (not sorry btw) this isn’t proofread at all, i just had to ramble about minho with tentacles. i may edit it later

send requests for monster!skz x reader if you’re a freak :3 :3

#lee know x reader #minholuvr333 #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #x reader #minho x reader #reader insert #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know smut

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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year ago

Text

You are a Blacksmith

Set in the universe where your destiny is written on your arm

(The Hero and Hope) (Being Villagers) (You are the Demon King)

You are a Blacksmith.

That’s why the dragon’s fire doesn’t burn you.

“Pretty sure dragon fire is hotter than a forge,” your party’s leader pants. Kent is a veteran adventurer of twenty years to your two years and he’s seen his fair share of dragon fire before today. There are curling scars dragging the corner of his mouth down into a permanent scowl that pairs oddly with how high he has his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. He exhales noisily. “I think you’re just a freak, actually.”

“Not nice,” Sella says. The archer is your age with twice your experience. Her leather armor is well-beaten by four years running around with Kent and getting far closer to battle than an archer should. Her red hair is tied with golden thread that matches the golden charms dangling from her necklace. She adds a new one with every successful monster kill. It’s lucky she’s so stealthy or else she’d be jingling with every step. “Mande is an exception, not a freak.”

You’re a party of exceptions. Most adventurers are Villagers or Guards, common destinies that don��t always find a place within a town or village that have so many of each already. There are days you report for a mission, and you’re offered a blacksmith’s job on the spot just because of the mark on your arm.

Kent is a landless Lord. There’s a story there, you know, but it’s not one he’s ever volunteered. You can see his destiny pull at him in the remote reaches of the Kingdom, where no Lord has laid roots and the monsters run roughshod across the barren soil. Nights where you’re too far from civilization find him gazing up into the stars, his fingers curled like claws into the earth. The look on his face then is so hungry that the first time you saw it, you offered him provisions from your own pack. He’d shaken his head wryly, his scarred frown twisting, and walked off into the night by himself, only returning in the morning light.

Sella is a Guardian without anyone to look after. You knew her story before she told it to you, whispering it like a bedtime story before the end of the world. She was part of a traveling theater group. She looked after them, feeding them and retrieving those with wanderlust from their journeys before curtain call. When a monster siege led by a Demon King fell upon the city they were performing in, the Lord called his people into his castle and locked the doors.

The troupe were not his people. But they were Sella’s.

Until they weren’t.

You drag your battle hammer up and over your shoulder. Conveniently, the dragon fire has burned away the wet viscera that had been clinging to it. The metal is dark with soot, but undamaged.

The things you smith can’t be melted by any fire except your own.

The skeletal trees make the scene of this final battle oddly silent. Ash drifts from the sky, carried by a wind too high to feel. You can hear your party sniping at each other behind you and the gentle gurgle of the beast’s body settling comfortably into death.

The red dragon is beautiful. Its scales gleam and sparkle like rubies in the late afternoon sun and its talons shine like obsidian. Each part of the creature could make an average family rich for a month. You consider it from an arm’s reach away. You chew your bottom lip as you think. Your adventures have taken you across the continent from the southern coast you call your home, to the western land of rivers, to the northern desert and then here, to the eastern dry lands. After all your travels, you find yourself still thinking of home often. Crab is a delicacy where you’re from despite being so close to the water. The preparation can be tedious which makes it a dish reserved from significant occasions. Cracking the shell was always your job…

“Oh,” Sella says faintly. She makes an attempt to rise and nearly tips over in the process. If it weren’t for her bow, she’d be on the ground. Her knees shake as she uses a combination of a tree and her bow to pull herself up. “Mande, rest first! In an hour I can help you—”

You bring your hammer down on the jaw of the dragon. The bone shatters after just two blows. It’s best not to think about how beautiful it looked flying overhead or the intelligence in its eyes. You’ve always had a single-minded focus and you rely on that now.

“Leave her to her dismantling,” Kent grumbles. He’s now curled up on the ground is if in his sleeping roll, hands tucked neatly under his chin. It can’t be a comfortable position given his full suit of armor no matter how peaceful his expression. “If she’s got the energy for it, who are we to argue? Just keep the ribs intact. That’s what the client wants.”

Smash!

“It’s our turn to do the dismantling,” Sella says. She glares down at Kent. “Mande already did last week’s gryphon and the hydra. Get up!”

Smash!

“I’m an old man who needs his nap time.”

“You’re an irresponsible leader who needs to do his part.”

Smash!

“Once Mande stops swinging that thing around, I will.”

“She won’t hit you—”

“She hit me last week!”

“And I apologized for that,” you say through gritted teeth. You let your hammer fall by your feet. Your last blow sent tremors through your arms. The dragon’s jaw is like glass compared to its skull. “Sincerely.”

Sella makes a gagging sound when you fall to your knees next to the cracked skull. “Mande, don’t put your hand in there, that’s – oh, that’s so gross.”

“The book I read said it’d be…aha!” Your fingers graze something cool and metallic. You abruptly feel like crying. It’s been seven months. Seven long months of endless missions and danger and being away from home. This entire dragon is priceless, but you’ve forfeited your share for this. You blink rapidly to keep your tears at bay. You aren’t going to cry. Not until you’re sure that you’ve really found it. “Quick, hand me my waterskin.”

Your urgency gets even Kent up and bustling towards the dragon’s corpse. With trembling fingers you accept the water from Stella, pulling out your prize. It’s smaller than you thought, only about the length of your arm or a third the length of the dragon’s skull.

With bated breath, you gently trickle water over the length of it. Your party kneels beside you, watching just as raptly.

“What is it?” Sella breathes.

Kent is wide-eyed as, inch by inch, your treasure reveals itself.

“A dragon’s silver wit,” you say. The silver is mottled by the dragon’s black blood and grey brain matter. “The last ingredient I need for a Hero’s Sword.”

-----.

“You can’t just make a Hero’s Sword,” Kent is still saying a week later. He throws his hands up to the sky. “Heroes make them from air and magic and righteousness. Blacksmiths just repair them!”

You didn’t ask for Sella or Kent to follow you home. In fact, you assumed they wouldn’t. The slaying of the red dragon marked the end of your time in the Adventurer’s Guild. Now you’re ready to return to your position as the southern port’s best blacksmith and you thought they’d be ready to return to the best two adventurers the Capital Guild had.

“I’ve heard legends about it,” Sella says. She’s walking backward. You’ve already warned her that the roads this far away from Capital aren’t as smooth, but she’d scoffed at your concern. Now it’s pure stubbornness to prove you wrong that has her continuing to walk backwards despite nearly tripping twice already. “Excalibur was manmade.”

“The legend of Hero Arthur is manmade,” Kent retorts.

“If you believe that,” you say, “you really don’t need to come home with me.”

Kent blinks. “Well,” he says slowly, “on the off chance it’s not a fairytale, I desperately want to see it.”

“Then shut up and follow Mande,” Sella says. She elbows him and mutters under her breath. “Or else she might not let us stay at her house.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure the dragon fetched enough coin for the both of you to get your own rooms at the inn.”

“Sure,” Kent agrees. He grins wickedly and the expression makes him look ten years younger. “But we’re not going to do that, are we Sella?”

“Nope,” Sella chirps. She loops an arm through yours before you can protest and squints at the horizon. “Is that your hometown over there?”

A hazy line of blue and white roofs is barely distinguishable in the fading light of day. Sella has better vision than you. You’re sure she can see the masts of ships in port, the green and yellow flag waving over the chief’s house, maybe even the orchard that creeps right up to the edge of the bluffs.

You can’t wait to see it yourself.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been smiling, but your face hurts by the time you find your voice. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

----------.

Mom hurls a loaf of bread at your head when you walk through the front door, Kent and Sella in tow.

Kent catches it an inch from your face. “Whoa, whoa!” He waves the bread as if unsure whether he should drop it or throw it back. “It’s your daughter! Mande! Put down the bread basket!”

“Mande and friends,” Sella says cheerfully. She waves at your Mom, Dad, and little brother. “Hello! I’m Sella.”

“I threw it because I know who it is,” your mom says. The grey streaks on either side of her temple are wider. Her round, kind face is pale with anger. “We thought you were dead.”

“We got your letters,” your dad says before you can ask. His hair hasn’t changed; he’s bald. He’s wearing his leather apron from the forge at the table. He takes a bite of soup. “All three of them.”

“Not nearly enough,” Mom snaps. Then, “And they could have been forgeries.”

“Who would forge a blacksmith’s letters home?” you ask in exasperation. Is that why she never replied? “Mom, please.”

“Don’t giveme that when you’ve been dead for seven months,” she says. She stands abruptly. “Three of you? Sit down. I don’t have enough soup, but bread will fill anyone’s stomach.”

“I’m Kent,” Kent blurts out before Sella can push him into a chair. He sits with a thud. “Sella, it’s rude to sit before introducing yourself!”

“Ruder than not knocking or coming for dinner without an invitation?” Sella hisses at him. She turns a charming smile on your little brother. “Sorry to intrude. You must be Axton. A pleasure to meet you.”

Axton doesn’t return her greetings. His eyes are fixed to the package strapped to your back. “Is that…?”

You swallow hard as your family’s eyes turn to you. You carefully pull the cloth-wrapped rod from your back. Your little brother isn’t so little anymore. You can see he’s taller than you as he stands in unison with Dad to clear a spot on the table. His long, thin hands make quick work of the ties.

There’s complete silence as the burlap falls away to reveal gleaming silver.

Axton’s throat bobs. He’s barely eighteen with the soft look of a fawn hovering around the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. Mom and Dad have done a good job feeding him while you’ve been gone. Seven months ago your brother looked like a wraith, all the light taken from him as if it all came from his hero’s sword.

“You’re going to make me a sword,” Axton says at last.

You’ve thought about this moment for seven months. You imagined you would say something like it’s okay now or maybe big sister fixed it. When his hero’s sword was taken from him, you thought about all sorts of things. It took a month for you to set out on this quest rather than one of revenge. It wouldn’t have helped Axton if you’d forged a hundred weapons of war to punish those who’d hurt him. It wouldn’t help Axton to pretend you fixed anything.

So instead you tell the truth.

“It won’t be the same,” you say. “It won’t work the way you want it to. Not right away. You’ll need to train with it and learn it as you would any other weapon. Your instincts won’t help you. But…it won’t break when I’m done. It won’t bend or chip. It won’t melt. It will serve you, Axton, until the exact moment you don’t need it anymore.”

Axton flies around the table to throw his arms around you. It’s amazing you came from the same parents. Where you are short and stocky, he’s really like a deer. His long arms could encircle you twice as he lifts you with a hero’s strength. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

And then you’re being hugged all around. Your dad’s strong, Blacksmith arms are crushing you to your brother, your mother’s soft cheek is against your shoulder, and there’s plate mail digging into your spleen while a sharp elbow digs into your spine.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Kent hugging your from behind and Sella hugging him from behind. It’s her elbow that’s jabbing you.

“This is sweet,” she says. Her voice is a little muffled from how her face is pressed against Kent’s back. “We should hug more.”

“Does this make your brother a Hero?” Kent asks.

“This is a family hug,” you say.

“Duh,” Sella says. “That’s why we joined.”

You really can’t argue with that.

(Patreon)

Next week's story: Everyone in LA has two job. You've got a big smile and a talent for seeing ghosts. It's no surprise what your jobs are.

#my writing #second person #you are a blacksmith #found family merges with first family

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astra-ravana · 4 months ago

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Easy Curses for Beginners

Here are some simple yet unusual curses for beginners. These curses are low-energy, easy to perform, and require minimal tools. They are subtle and perfect for those just starting their baneful practice, but still pack a punch. Always be mindful of your intentions—curses can carry karmic or energetic consequences. Always start the curse process by protecting yourself and end it by cleansing yourself. Remember to do your own research before using baneful magick.

The Rotting Fruit Curse

Causes a person’s luck, relationships, or finances to decay over time.

Needed:

• A piece of fruit (apple, orange, etc.)

• A slip of paper

• A black pen

• A dark place (cupboard, drawer, or under the bed)

Instructions:

Write the target’s name on the paper. Place the paper inside or beneath the fruit. Hold the fruit and focus on your intent—imagine the person’s life slowly rotting just like the fruit will. Place the fruit in a hidden, dark place and leave it to decay. Once fully rotted, dispose of it far from your home.

The Knotted Thread Curse

Traps a person in misfortune, confusion, or stagnation. The target experiences obstacles, delays, and problems that keep them from progressing in life.

Needed:

• A piece of black thread or string (12 inches long)

• Your voice and breath

Instructions:

Hold the string in your hands and focus on the target. With each knot you tie, say a phrase like:

• "With this knot, I trap your fate."

• "With this tie, your plans fall apart."

Tie nine knots while envisioning the person becoming stuck, unable to move forward in life. Hide or bury the thread somewhere secret.

The Echo Curse

Makes a person’s words return to them, causing gossipers or liars to suffer their own consequences. Their own words work against them—exposing their lies, making people distrust them, or causing them to face social backlash.

Needed:

• A mirror (small handheld one works best)

• A marker or lipstick

• The person’s name (or just "liar," "gossip," etc.)

Instructions:

Write their name (or a word representing their offense) on the mirror. Hold the mirror and say:

"What you say returns to you, every lie and every word untrue."

Place the mirror facing a wall or inside a dark drawer, so their energy is reflected back to them.

The Cracked Egg Curse

Causes a person’s stability to fall apart—relationships, money, confidence, or mental clarity. The target experiences instability, whether emotional, financial, or personal.

Needed:

• A raw egg

• A marker

• A place to smash the egg (outside, near their path, or a trash bin)

Instructions:

Write the person’s name on the egg. Hold it and whisper your curse into it, such as:

"May your life crack like this shell."

Imagine their stability shattering like the egg will. Smash it on the ground or in a trash bin.

The Slipping Shadow Curse

Causes a person to lose focus, forget things, or make mistakes. They struggle with their memory, lose track of things, and make more mistakes.

Needed:

• A black candle

• A piece of paper

• A pencil

Instructions:

Write the target’s name on the paper. Light the black candle and hold the paper over the flame (don’t burn it yet). Whisper:

"Like a shadow slipping through the cracks, your mind stumbles, your focus lacks."

Let a few drops of wax fall on the name, then crumple the paper. Blow out the candle and throw the paper in a busy place (so their energy is scattered).

The Splitting Roads Curse

Causes confusion, indecision, and emotional instability. The target struggles to understand what's happening and make the right choices.

Needed:

• Two twigs or sticks

• A piece of string

• A crossroads or a place where two paths split

Instructions:

Tie the two sticks together at one end, so they form a V shape (symbolizing a forked path). Hold them in your hands and say:

"Your choices split, your path unclear, may confusion follow near."

Leave the sticks at a crossroads or place where two paths meet.

The Ink Spill Curse

Causes a person’s words (spoken or written) to be misunderstood, ignored, or turned against them. Everything they say becomes misinterpreted, loses power, or backfires.

Needed:

• A pen

• A piece of paper

• A cup of water or ink

Instructions:

Write the person’s name and a word representing their harmful speech (ie: “lies,” “gossip,” “manipulation”). Hold the paper and whisper:

"Your words twist, your message lost, what you say will bear the cost."

Drop the paper into the water or ink and let the words dissolve. Dispose of the soaked paper in running water (sink, river, or toilet).

The Cold Shoulder Curse

The person experiences social isolation—people ignore them, avoid them, or lose interest in them. This will eventually lead to profound loneliness.

Needed:

• A small ice cube

• A photo of the person (or just their name written on paper)

• A freezer

Instructions:

Place the ice cube on top of their name or photo. Whisper:

"Like ice, you freeze in place. No warmth, no friends, no welcome space."

Wrap the paper/photo in a piece of cloth or plastic and place it in the freezer.

The Crumbling Foundation Curse

Causes a collapse in a person’s relationships, home life, or work environment. The target experiences instability in their personal life making it harder for them to maintain relationships or stability.

Needed:

• A small handful of graveyard dirt

• A piece of paper

• A black pen

Instructions:

Write the person’s name on the paper. Hold the dirt in your hand and whisper:

"Your foundation weakens, your roots unsteady. That which holds you crumbles already."

Sprinkle the dirt over the paper and then fold it, with the dirt inside, like a little packet. Throw into running water or the rubble of a collapsed building.

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riboism · 5 months ago

Text

she's my collar

》 pairing: assistant! k.ys x CEO! fem reader

》 wc: 5.3k

》 plot: For three years, Kang Yeosang was the quiet, obedient assistant to one of the most powerful women in tech—until she fired him with a cold, impersonal email. Drunk and furious, he confronts her at a bar, expecting to see the same ruthless CEO he once feared. Instead, he finds a woman exhausted by control, desperate to let someone else take over. Now, she’s offering him that power. Yeosang has spent years following orders—but can he step up and be the one giving them? And what happens when surrendering control turns into something neither of them can resist?

》 content: babygirl (2024) inspired, office sex, power dynamics, pet names (puppy), humiliation kink, submissive reader, face-fucking, shoe-grinding, cumplay, smut, comedy, this was written around Christmas time so it’s set around that time as well, also set in NYC

》 playlist: she's my collar- gorrilaz and kali uchis, leash- sky ferreira, crack baby- mitski, the perfect girl- mareux, closer- nine inch nails

Yeosang stared at his laptop screen, the faint glow of the monitor illuminating his face while all the color drained from it. His hands trembled slightly on the keyboard, his breathing growing shallow and uneven. Each word on the screen struck him like a dagger. He reread the message as if repetition might change its meaning.

Subject: Employment Termination

Dear Mr. Kang,

We regret to inform you that, due to recent budget cuts and ongoing concerns about your performance, we have made the difficult decision to terminate your employment with ChromaTech.

Please arrange to return all company property, including devices and ID badges, to our office as soon as possible. Alternatively, we can schedule a FedEx pickup from your home.

Your final paycheck will be processed and deposited later this week.

We appreciate your contributions to ChromaTech and wish you the best in your future endeavors.

Regards, HR

The words blurred together as Yeosang's vision clouded, his mind racing to make sense of it all. Performance concerns? He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the surge of humiliation and anger that coursed through him.

This wasn’t just a job to him—it was stability, routine, a cornerstone of the life he’d painstakingly built through hard work and commitment. Now it was gone, reduced to a cold, impersonal email that left no room for explanation, no chance to plead his case.

Yeosang let his head fall into his hands, the faint whir of the laptop's fan echoing in the room. It all felt surreal to him like he woke up to find the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him dangling over a dark abyss.

He looked over at his digital calendar, every hour clogged up with reminders, appointments, and deadlines for the next month and a half, all completely useless now. For the first time in years, he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur. Yeosang drifted from room to room in his cramped East Village apartment, his gaze occasionally landing on the precarious stacks of Amazon boxes littering the floor. A pang of regret twisted in his chest. He’d splurged on gifts for his friends, family, and—most indulgently—himself during the holidays, telling himself it was fine to celebrate, that he deserved all the latest new tech and shiny sneakers. Now, staring at his dwindling savings, the extravagance felt like a slap in the face. Great timing.

After scheduling the FedEx pickup and stuffing his work belongings into a battered cardboard box, he tossed it into the corner, out of sight but never out of mind. Every motion felt mechanical, his thoughts distant and dulled. He couldn’t sit in this suffocating silence anymore, couldn’t let the reality of his situation consume him.

Tomorrow was Thursday. No work, no obligations. Now he had all the time in the world and no idea what to do with it.

Fuck it, he thought. If life wanted to kick him while he was down, then he’d kick back, even if it meant getting obliterated in the process. Grabbing his coat, he made a decision. Tonight, he wasn’t going to sit in his misery. He was going to hit the fanciest bar he could find and drink himself into oblivion, maybe even pick up a cute girl to take home. Consequences could wait until tomorrow.

⸻

Yeosang slouched over the bar counter, his cheek nearly pressed against the cool wood, looking more like he was napping than nursing a drink. The Manhattan in his hand felt cold, its amber glow reflecting faintly in his tired eyes. He swirled the liquid absently, his thoughts as muddled as the cocktail before him.

He regretted coming here. Liquor wasn’t his thing—he’d always avoided it, telling himself he needed to stay sharp for work. But the truth was simpler: alcohol made him sleepy. One drink, and he’d be nodding off like some human embodiment of the Sleepytime Bear. There’s no way any girl would want to go home with him like this.

And yet, here he was, sipping on a cocktail he’d never had before tonight, all in the name of free will. He’d picked it for no other reason than its price tag—it was one of the most expensive options on the menu. If he was going to spiral, why not spiral in style? The bitterness of the drink soured his tongue, but he kept sipping, his mind already drifting into that hazy, detached state where everything felt just a little less sharp, a little more bearable. It wasn’t the escape he thought it would be, but for now, it was enough.

Yeosang had served you diligently for almost three years, though to him, it felt more like a decade. When he first got the position as Executive Assistant, he’d been thrilled—not for the prestige or the title, but for the hefty paycheck that came with it. A corporate job was soul-crushing, sure, but at least it paid handsomely for the privilege of grinding you into dust.

For three years, he’d been your shadow. He made your coffee just the way you liked it, meticulously scheduled and rescheduled your endless meetings, and trailed after you as you tore through Midtown in your impossibly dainty heels. Somehow, your So Kate pumps made you walk faster than him, even in his worn-out tennis shoes.

He picked up your dry cleaning, planned your trips down to the minute, and waited bleary-eyed at baggage claim after grueling international flights to haul your overweight suitcases to your hotel room. He booked your dinner reservations at trendy restaurants, juggling waitlists and cancellations like a magician. He prepared your reports and presentation notes, answered your emails, your calls, your texts—every last trivial thing—so the only task left for you was to look polished in your Banana Republic pencil skirt and flash a pretty smile at investors.

To everyone else, you were the epitome of success—the poster child for Women in Tech. An Ivy League graduate at the helm of one of the country’s biggest tech companies, you embodied the impossible standard, all while maintaining a buzzing social life, and an aura of poise that never cracked, no matter how demanding the circumstances. While others juggled, you danced, balancing it all with a grace that seemed almost superhuman. To the outside world, you weren’t just successful—you were aspirational, the kind of woman others admired, envied, and tried to emulate. But to Yeosang, you were a full-time job, a 24/7 whirlwind that consumed everything in its path, leaving him wiped out and drained.

Performance concerns. He knew exactly what that meant.

It had been a few weeks ago, late at night. You were stressed, working overtime in your office, which, of course, meant he had to stay late too. The request wasn’t anything unusual—just your evening coffee: Colombian roast, vanilla creamer, a delicate dusting of cinnamon powder on top. Simple enough.

He’d handed the mug to you with both hands, careful not to spill a drop. Then he lingered, waiting for you to assign something else. But you barely looked up, waving him off with a flick of your fingers. As he turned to leave, his eyes caught your reflection in the glass doors.

That’s when he saw it.

A look of disgust twisted your features as you took a sip, your lips curling ever so slightly in disapproval.

The memory of it hit him like a slap. At first, he hadn’t understood. But back at his desk, it came rushing back, sharp as a pin in his chest. Peppermint mocha.

He’d grabbed the festive creamer that someone had left on the kitchen counter instead of the usual vanilla you liked. It wasn’t intentional—just an absent-minded mistake made after hours of exhaustion. But in your world, there were no small mistakes.

And now, sitting alone at the bar with his life upended, that one moment felt emblematic of everything.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t just the peppermint mocha creamer.

His nerves had always been his downfall, often betraying him in the form of small but noticeable mistakes. A double-booked meeting here, a forgotten reservation there—usually because he was too busy helping you pick out a new pair of Christian Louboutins for your Paris trip, or researching market pricing for an upcoming presentation. There was also that time he missed a few typos in a report you handed to the company heads, which earned him a withering glare in front of the whole boardroom.

But could you really blame him? You treated him like he had six arms, and the ability to teleport with the speed of light when in reality, he was just one man. No matter how hard he worked, it was never enough. If he meticulously completed every task you gave him, you’d point out the smallest flaw. If he preempted your needs, you’d call him presumptuous. Every win felt hollow because you’d always point out what could have been done better. Pleasing you was like chasing a mirage—no matter how close he got, the finish line kept moving farther away.

Still, one thing was certain: the peppermint mocha creamer had been the final straw. A small, almost insignificant mistake in the grand scheme of things, but for you, it had been enough to seal his fate.

Yeosang's ears perked up, his sluggish thoughts snapping into focus at the sound of a familiar voice. He froze, the glass of Manhattan halfway to his lips, as he scanned the dimly lit bar. And then he saw you.

You were tucked into the corner booth, surrounded by a few friends, with a pink cocktail in your hand. The faint hum of laughter carried over the low jazz music, and you looked so relaxed, so carefree. It was as if nothing had happened—as if his world hadn’t just imploded because of you.

A spark of anger flared in his chest, simmering, then growing hotter with each passing second. How could you? How could you throw him away so carelessly and then go out for drinks, laughing and clinking glasses like it was any other night?

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He’d done everything for you. Everything. He’d missed his niece’s first recital because you needed him to oversee a last-minute report. He’d skipped Thanksgiving with his family because you insisted on an "urgent" trip to Japan that turned out to be nothing more than a glorified shopping spree. His love life? Nonexistent. How could he have one when you were the only woman in his life, demanding every ounce of his time, energy, and attention?

And now, here you were, sipping cocktails without a care in the world. You didn’t even have the decency to tell him to his face why you let him go. The least you could’ve done was look him in the eye and explain yourself, to acknowledge the years he gave you, the sacrifices he made.

Yeosang clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand. He felt the weight of all those buried resentments rising to the surface, demanding release. For the first time in three years, he wasn’t going to stay silent.

Yeosang drained the last of his Manhattan, the liquid fire burning its way down his throat as if fueling his decision. The warmth spread through his chest, blurring the sharp edges of his hesitation. When he saw your friends stand to leave, laughing as they hugged you goodbye, he seized the moment. The alcohol coursing through his veins muffled his nerves, and the simmering anger propelled him off the barstool.

He approached you with purpose, his heart pounding harder with each step. He’d imagined this confrontation in his head for hours, maybe even years. But when you looked up, your eyes narrowing in confusion, it all dissolved.

“Yeosang?” you said, your tone laced with surprise as you squinted at him. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, he froze, caught in the trap of your gaze. Then, the words tumbled out before he could stop them, anger surging past his control.

“An email? Really?” Yeosang spat, his voice cutting through the low hum of the bar. His eyes were dark with anger, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. “You couldn’t even— didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face? Are you that much of a coward?”

You stiffened, the weight of the bar patrons’ stares pressing down on you. You reached out toward him, your voice was soft but firm. “Hey, let’s calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!“ he roared, his words slurring slightly, his stance wobbly from the alcohol. “Three years! I gave you three years of nonstop devotion, and I don’t even get a proper goodbye? No thank you, no explanation? Do you know how much shit I had to sacrifice for you?”

His voice cracked, his frustration spilling out with every word. “You love parading around with this ‘girlboss,’ fearless woman-in-tech image, but you’re just a scared little girl. Too scared to even look me in the eye and tell me what I did so wrong that you had to hide behind HR to fire me!”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you caught the awkward glances of nearby patrons, their murmured conversations stopping as they pretended not to eavesdrop. You pursed your lips, your patience snapping like a brittle thread. Grabbing his arm roughly, you dragged him out of the bar, ignoring his protests as the cold, snowy air hit both of you like a slap.

“You really wanna do this here?” you hissed, your voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet of the empty street. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Yeosang blinked at you, his anger simmering as he swayed on unsteady legs.

“You want to know why you were fired?” You stepped closer, staring him dead in the eye. “You’re a terrible listener. You fuck up my coffee order. You double-book meetings, forgot to confirm reservations, and just last month, you botched the presentation I needed for the board by misspelling half the client names. Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

Your words hit him like gunshots, but you didn’t stop. “You don’t listen, Yeosang. You never pay attention to detail. I needed someone I could count on, someone who could make my life easier. I’m not asking for much. Instead, I got someone who left me to fix their mistakes half the time!”

Yeosang flinched at your words. But even as they sunk in, indignation burned in his chest. He didn’t believe he deserved this—not for the mistakes you listed, not for everything he had done for you.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of defiance and pain. The cold outside nipped at your skin, but the heat of his breath against your face made you hyperaware of the tension between you.

“I listen,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re just impossible to please.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t let you.

“I double-booked your meeting one time because you refused to confirm your schedule with the finance group until the last minute. I misspelled the names on that report because the stupid intern—your intern—gave me an Excel sheet with half the names wrong. And reservations? You spring that shit on me while I’m busy walking your dog or picking up your overpriced $20 salad. And the coffee? The fucking coffee? Give me a break!”

His voice cracked with frustration, his breath coming faster now. “You act like I’m some incompetent idiot when all I ever did was clean up after your chaos. Do you know what it’s like working for someone who changes their mind every ten minutes, who expects you to read their mind and be three steps ahead all the time? No matter how much I did, no matter how fast or how perfectly, it was never enough for you! You are a soulless, narcissistic, she-devil, and you love making everyone around you miserable because nothing makes you happy!”

You were nose to nose with him now, the closeness electric and unnerving. Yeosang didn’t realize how close he had gotten until he could see every delicate detail of your face. But he didn’t back away. He didn’t want to.

For the first time, he felt taller, stronger, more in control. He wasn’t just the assistant trailing behind you, fetching your coffee and carrying your bags. Right now, you were the one looking up at him, your confidence faltering under the weight of his hard gaze.

Then, something shifted. His anger, which had been a roaring fire just moments ago, flickered and dimmed. His eyes dropped to your lips, noticing how you worried them slightly between your teeth. The cold had turned them soft, flushed red, quivering as though they couldn’t decide what to say next. He felt the heat in his chest start to dissipate.

“All I ever wanted was to please you, but you never gave me a chance” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost soft. His words hung between you like a fragile thread, and he didn’t know whether to pull it tighter or let it snap.

His gaze met yours again, and for a brief moment, the tension shifted into something vulnerable. He remained where he stood, towering over you, suddenly feeling exposed, but the weight of his words lingered, heavy and unanswerable in the snowy silence.

You couldn’t explain it, but you liked this side of him. It was the first time you’d seen raw emotion in his face—anger, frustration, passion—it was fascinating. For as long as you’d known Yeosang, he had been quiet as a mouse, his replies clipped and deferential: Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am. Always composed, always distant, like a shadow that existed only to serve.

But now? Now he looked alive. His dark eyes burned with intensity, his lips still slightly parted from his impassioned outburst. You hated to admit it, but he looked almost…sexy? The sharp line of his jaw, the way his breath puffed in short bursts against the cold, the heat radiating off him even in the freezing air. And his voice—you liked how deep it gets when he’s mad. You liked it enough to disregard the she-devil comment. It almost delighted you. You liked being talked down to. Not enough people had the balls to do so.

“I can give you another chance…” The words slipped from your lips before you even realized you were speaking. Your tone was quieter, almost sultry, betraying the tug of something entirely outside good judgment. You had nothing but the liquor to blame. You tilted your head slightly, holding his gaze, the weight of your offer hanging heavy in the cold air.

“To please me, that is.”

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing in confusion. The air between you crackled with tension, unspoken implications simmering beneath the surface. For a moment, you both just stood there, the snow falling softly around you, caught in an electric silence neither of you knew how to break.

After a moment of hesitation, Yeosang broke the silence. “Okay.”

⸻

"I'm not sure if I understand," Yeosang said slowly, blinking up at you. "Ma’am." The word left his lips instinctively, like muscle memory, but his voice was hesitant.

You sighed, shifting your weight against the desk, arms crossed. The two of you were alone in your office, the usual hum of the busy workday long gone. The only sound was the soft ticking of the wall clock and the faint buzz of the city outside.

He sat stiffly in your chair, the black leather cool against his back, making him even more uncomfortable. He didn't belong there—you both knew it. But this was an experiment, after all.

You tilted your head, your patience wearing thin. "It’s simple. I’m letting you be the boss today. You just have to tell me what to do, and I’ll do it." Your lips curled slightly. "And don’t call me Ma’am."

Yeosang swallowed, his getting throat dry. Power had never been something he craved. He had spent his life taking orders, following directions, and anticipating needs before they were spoken. Most people in tech burned out quickly, leaving to chase the dream of being in control, of being the one to give orders. That drive had never come to him. It wasn’t in his nature.

And yet, here you were, handing it to him.

His fingers curled against the leather armrests as he searched for something—anything—to say, his mind wading through unfamiliar territory.

"Then what do I call you?" he asked finally, his voice quieter now.

You held his gaze, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips.

"Anything you want."

Yeosang mulled over your words, his mind scrambling to process what was happening. Call you anything he wanted? Tell you to do whatever he wanted? It was the kind of fantasy teenage boys dreamed about, yet his mind was a complete blank.

You sighed, exasperated by his hesitation. "Can I give you a suggestion?" You asked, stepping closer.

He nodded, swallowing hard, the words still stuck in his throat.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. "Ask me to get on my knees."

Yeosang's breath hitched. His mind latched onto the words, turning them over, considering. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement.

You chuckled. "You have to say the words, Mr. Kang."

His ears burned. "Oh, right," he said quickly, his voice a little too high, a little too quick. He cleared his throat. "Get on your knees."

The words felt foreign and awkward, but the way you looked at him made something tighten in his chest.

Mr. Kang.

No one had ever called him that before. It was always Yeo, Yeosang, or, on occasion, the intern—his young face fooling half the office into thinking he was some college kid on summer break. But Mr. Kang…He liked the way it sounded coming from your lips.

He sat frozen, watching as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, settling neatly between his legs. His breath hitched, his pulse hammering against his skin.

You looked up at him, eyes glinting with something—Desire? Amusement? He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, it left him breathless.

You waited, patiently, expectantly, your lips slightly parted as if anticipating his next command. You almost looked like an obedient little puppy, so much so that he almost called you pup.

Yeosang exhaled sharply, gripping the leather armrests as his mind raced. He was supposed to be in control. Supposed to be giving the orders. But right now, sitting in your chair, watching you kneel before him, it felt like he was the one unraveling.

“Take off your shirt.”

He was getting comfortable now. He watched as you unbuttoned your top and discarded it to the side, leaving you only in your lacy black push-up bra. You placed your hands neatly over your lap, patiently awaiting his next request. Yeosang was stunned at how easily and effortlessly you followed his instruction, not showing a single sign of shame as you undressed in front of your junior. He wondered how far he could take it.

“Take that off too.”

You unhooked the back part of your bra and tossed it to the side with your blouse, your hands returning to your lap.

Yeosang let himself relax into your chair, eyes fixed over your soft and bare skin. He bit the skin around his thumb, drinking in your physique. He wanted to touch them, knead them, feel their weight in his hands, but he kept himself restrained. He was growing to like this game and wanted to see what else he could make you do.

He licked his lips, finally settling on his next request. “Come here.”

You scooted closer to him, your eyes now level with his clothed cock.

“Kiss it.”

Without hesitation, you leaned forward, letting your lips trail slow, deliberate kisses along the outline of his growing bulge. You could feel the firmness of his balls from beneath the thick fabric, the desire to see them making your core ache with need. Glancing up through your lashes, you took in the sight of Yeosang already succumbing to the pleasure, his body relaxing into the chair, eyes dark with lust. He was undeniably beautiful, every feature accentuated by the flush of arousal, and the thought of pushing him to the edge, of watching him cum, was a temptation you could hardly resist.

You began palming his cock, feeling it stiffen just under your touch. “Can I please take it out, Mr. Kang?” You asked in an airless and sultry voice which no doubt made Yeosang feel weak.

Yeosang gripped the leather armrests and nodded. “Go on.”

With glee, you unbuttoned his pants and fished out his throbbing cock, his skin feeling warm and tender as you gave it a few lazy strokes. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his blushing tip, the sudden touch making him hiss from his seat.

You giggled softly at his reaction, continuing to leave a trail of kisses on the sides of his cock, your hand gripping at the base. He felt so hot and heavy in your hand, and you were growing impatient for a taste.

“Put it in your mouth.”

You eagerly fed him into your mouth, the weight on your tongue already making you dizzy. You salivated around his length, a few dribbles of drool rolling down his shaft. Yeosang could feel himself twitching inside you. The sight of his uptight boss with her mouth so full of his cock made his head spin, all the hesitations and apprehensions he had in the beginning now dissipating while a hunger took over him.

“Now suck it.”

You began sucking at his head, the thickness of his hard cock proving to be a challenge, so much so that you could only really take the tip in your mouth. You grabbed onto the base with both hands, bobbing and slurping him as his breathing grew more unsteady. When you looked back up at him with your big, puppy-dog eyes, you were delighted to see that same Yeosang from earlier—the one with fire in his eyes, with furrowed brows and a sharp tongue, throwing demands and names at you without hesitation. Gone was the quiet, obedient assistant who trailed behind you like a shadow. In his place sat a man who, for the first time, wasn’t afraid to take up space. And you liked it.

“Fuck,” He moaned, “That’s it, that’s a good puppy…take all of me in that dumb little mouth, yeah, just like that.”

You loved hearing him coach you, loved when he called you a dumb little puppy. You could feel your wetness leaking through your stockings, a need aching so strongly between your legs that you had no choice but to grind yourself over Yeosang’s new shoes, your slick wet juices glistening over the rubber soles.

Yeosang was so far gone now, his only purpose left being to chase his high. His hands gripped your strands tightly to hold you in place. Before you knew it, he was thrusting himself into you, his whole length pushing down into your throat with no warning. He set a brutal pace, fucking your mouth with no mercy, reveling in your wet gagging sounds as he makes use of your throat.

“Fuck, I love fucking this little mouth,” He panted, “Good little slut, gonna take my cum? Gonna swallow all my cum down your little throat, huh?”

Tears streamed down your face as he ruthlessly plowed into your mouth. Despite his roughness, your body trembled with need, your hips continuing to grind against his shoes, desperate for release. Your muffled moans vibrate around his shaft, spurring Yeosang on as he chases his pleasure.

Yeosang gripped your hair tightly, thrusting and plunging his hard cock deeper into your eager mouth. For years, he dealt with your nonstop nagging and bitching, and he had to admit it was nice to finally get you to shut up, with a mouth full of his cock no less. “This is what you like, huh? You like being put in your place? Like being a little fuck doll for me?”

He punctuated his words with harsh snaps of his hips. The term fuck doll was enough to send you over the edge. Your hips stilled, your core tightening as you came, your moans muffled by his hard cock. A devilish grin spread across his face as he playfully tapped the tip of his shoe against your swollen clit, the jolt of overstimulation sending shivers cascading through you. He relished in the sight of you laid bare in vulnerability, a stark contrast to the composed persona you typically wore. “Such a mess for me” He sighed, satisfied with your mascara-stained cheeks and reddened, slobbery lips. “So, so pretty…”

You grunted with each thrust, the tight clutch of your throat milking his cock deliciously. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for his cum as you took everything he gave you. Your tongue danced along his shaft, massaging the sensitive underside as he fucked your face with wild abandon. You swallowed around him greedily, your throat convulsing along his length as you strived to please him.

With a final hard thrust, Yeosang buried himself deep into your warm mouth and let go, flooding your throat with ropes of his hot cum. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound of pleasure escaping him as his seed spilled and trickled from the corners of your lips. With firm hands, he held your head snugly against him, grinding against your face as he emptied himself, savoring the sight of you taking every fervent drop.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you took him deeper, the bittersweet taste of his seed offering a strange satisfaction on your tongue. As you pulled away with a soft pop, Yeosang gently traced your lips with the tip of his cock, leaving a glistening trail of his pearly essence. You couldn't help but lick your lips in delight, a soft moan escaping you as you savored his flavor.

Yeosang felt like he could cum again from watching you grind your cum-drenched face on his cock. You were so desperate, so depraved, he almost couldn’t believe this was you. The same career-driven CEO he had dutifully served, the woman who made decisions with razor-sharp precision, who commanded everyone’s attention with a snap of her fingers—this was what you secretly craved? To be stripped of control? To be the one taking orders instead of giving them? Who knew that the woman he had once feared, the one who dictated his every move, secretly longed to be a mindless servant, void of responsibility, bound by nothing but the will of someone else?

You gazed up at him adoringly, drinking at the sight of his ruffled hair, his heaving chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The rawness of him, unfiltered and unrestrained, filled you with a thrill you hadn’t felt in so long.

To serve someone else for once.

To be the one waiting, watching, hoping for approval.

To do so well for someone that it left them utterly speechless.

It was nearly midnight now, and you had a meeting at 7 AM. You should have stopped, should have called it a night, and sent him home. But how could you now? Not when your body was buzzing with anticipation, not when you craved more—more of his voice, more of his praise, more of him.

You wanted to keep going. To do more for him. To hear him call you his good little puppy again.

Slowly, you pushed back onto your heels, your wide, eager eyes locking with his.

“What would you like me to do now, Mr. Kang?”

I would greatly appreciate reblogs with comments and replies. please consider giving feedback if you enjoyed this.

#kang yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang smut #yeosang smut #yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang x reader #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #my works: she’s my collar

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kislnd · 2 months ago

Text

handsy - chrismd~

synopsis: chris loses all sense of self restraint when he's drunk around y/n. notes: hey... i have returned after a very long while... with the chris fic based on this request from a while ago 🫶 getting back into the flow of writing so apologies if this isn't the best!! warnings: suggestive, alcohol word count: ~1.3k

masterlist

the pub was a haven of warmth amidst the cool autumn night, its windows fogged from the breath of numerous conversations and a slight aroma of alcohol and some sort of fried food clinging to the atmosphere.

y/n could tell chris was already a few drinks in and gradually becoming more and more competitive as he challenged each of his friends to a game of darts. "you still think you can beat me?" he teased to a more sober arthur who just rolled his eyes playfully, his voice louder than usual due to the alcohol loosening his tongue. "don't get too bigheaded, it'll be even more embarrassing when you lose." arthur grinned, standing to his feet to take chris on. y/n couldn't help but crack a smile at arthur's remarks - usually it was chris who would say things of the sort, especially when he was under the influence.

y/n watched intently as arthur went first, despite the fact he also had a couple of drinks he was still quite good - good enough that she wasn't sure if chris could actually beat him. "that might actually be a hard score to beat chris," she grinned at him from where she was sitting. "hey!" chris turned around abruptly to face her, a slight smile on his face, "you're supposed to be my number one supporter!"

"i am, i'm just realistic." y/n shrugged, "for some reason arthur is weirdly good at certain things." at this, arthur piped up, "that didn't feel like a compliment," he smiled, but remained fixed in his position, hyperfocusing on the dartboard to finish up his final few throws as best as he could.

"chris, you're up," arthur pulled his final dart out of the board, satisfied with his score. "i'll wait a second, let you feel good about your performance for a moment before i thrash you." y/n still wasn't convinced chris would be able to pull it off but she stayed quiet, anything could happen, especially if he was this dead set on winning.

the first couple of throws hadn't been too bad but in comparison to arthur's up to that point, they were slightly lower scoring. "you're going to have to really pull it out of the bag here mate," another one of the guys who was invested in the game commented. "don't worry, i know what i'm doing." chris nodded to him, y/n couldn't help but laugh - she wasn't quite sure when he turned into the grand master of darts but this mentality wasn't currently translating into skill. admittedly, she was hoping chris would win, moreso because after everything he had said, it would be a blow to his ego if he lost and painfully embarrassing.

as if by some miracle, chris' final throw was the saving grace of the entire game. arthur's mouth fell open in shock, he had been leading for most of the game and rightly so, had been expecting to come out on top. "i like to lure them into a false sense of security." chris grinned widely at arthur, who still hadn't fully processed how he had managed to bring it back to the point of victory. "yeah, i've no idea how you did that but fair play, well done." arthur shrugged, taking another sip of his beer.

chris finished gathering up the darts, went to order another pint and returned with his drink, situating himself next to y/n. "i never doubted you for a second." she giggled, shuffling a little closer to him. he smiled, resting his hand on her thigh, "whatever you say."

as the night drew on and the drinks continued to flow, y/n noticed chris' hand inching further and further up her thigh, pushing her skirt dangerously high. he was rubbing small circles on her inner thigh absent-mindedly, engulfed in the conversation at the table. every now and again, he would glance at her with clouded eyes that, despite being tired and obviously drunk, were still filled with love, maybe even something more.

y/n mentally confirmed he was in a certain mood as he inched closer to her, dragging her towards him so their sides were pressed together - one arm around her, resting gently on her lower back while the other continued to rub her thigh slowly, almost painfully. if they hadn't been in public, she was certain something more would have happened by now. chris was getting more bold, sliding his hand even further up her leg, earning a gasp from her. "chris!" she hissed, not wanting to draw attention to them, "really?"

despite being a little more than just slightly drunk, chris knew what he was doing, and y/n knew that for a fact. "what?" he smiled a dopey half smile at her, "can't i touch my beautiful girlfriend?" y/n rolled her eyes playfully, she still couldn't believe how cute he was capable of being - especially given the fact that he was generally quite mean when under the influence. she had to admit she couldn't get enough of the way it made her feel extra special, and honestly it did give her a good laugh. the way he would be super loving towards her and in the same breath call some poor victim, usually arthur, a rude name was just comical. "why don't we get this treatment?" arthur prodded chris in the side with a cheeky smile on his face. "last time i checked you weren't my girlfriend?" he snapped back lazily, head flopping onto y/n's shoulder, hand still firmly planted on her leg. "wouldn't want to be either, you're crushing the poor girl!" another one of the guys, one y/n honestly didn't recognise in the moment, added.

at this, another couple of people at the table darted their eyes towards her, noticing the way chris was near enough wrapped around her completely, bar his lower half. she felt the heat rising to her cheeks, she was never the type to do pda, but equally she wasn't entirely opposed to it - just as long as it wasn't something too crazy. "you lot as well?" chris sighed, exasperated at the attention from seemingly everyone other than y/n, "i'd like to enjoy my girlfriend in peace please," he shut his eyes slowly, clearly getting towards the tired stage of being drunk. "we can tell," arthur continued, noting chris' hand placement. y/n assumed that this was his way of getting back at chris - playfully of course - while he wasn't energised enough to argue. "i'll let you have that one, i won the darts," chris didn't bother to open his eyes to reply, he used what energy he had remaining to pull himself closer to y/n, "and i have a sexy girlfriend, so who really won?"

the table erupted into laughter - y/n couldn't tell if this was genuine shock or amusement or a blend of the two. the way chris could be so straightforward when he was drunk and come out with some of the most unexpected things was remarkable, he became almost the polar opposite of his sober self. "right, i think we'd better get home," y/n spoke lowly to chris, who hadn't moved from her seemingly very comfortable shoulder. it was getting late and everyone was visibly tired and / or intoxicated so she figured it was a good idea to slip out of the pub before the masses left.

chris only hummed in agreement, eyes still firmly shut, the few thoughts that were circling his mind were all y/n.

#chrismd #chris dixon #chrismd x reader #chrismd x you #chris dixon x reader #chrismd fluff #arthurtv #arthur frederick #uk youtubers #chrismd imagine

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donat-senpai · 3 months ago

Note

I enjoy ur Moamao x reader x jinshi series! I would love a part 3!

Hi, sunshine. Thank you! Appreciate the feedback 💙 (I haven’t replied to requests this fast in a while lmao). Part 3 is ready :3

Yandere!Maomao X Reader X Yandere!Jinshi Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! tw: Jealousy (nothing special anymore) I think this time, more attention was given to Jenshi. I'll try to write about Maomao next time. She's a sunshine and also deserves her happy time with the reader! (ﾉ･ω･)ﾉ

Part one, Part two, Part three

Minute of glory

— You want me to take part in the play? — you ask Jinshi in complete confusion. A thought creeps into your mind: has he lost his mind? As if agreeing with your thoughts, he gives you a confirming nod.

— You know I was assigned to organize the play. This performance is extremely important because the order comes almost directly from the Emperor. Everything has to be perfect. After all, it's a gift from the Emperor to the entire harem. There are only a couple of days left before the performance, but something happened that we weren’t prepared for. A few actors fell ill. Their roles are minor, but still crucial. We can't just remove them from the script, — Jinshi patiently explains the situation while your brain struggles to process it. He looks truly exhausted and tense. Organizing the event must have drained him. You start to feel a bit sorry for him, yet you still can't understand why he came to you with such a request.

— Just replace them with other actors.

— That’s impossible. All the actors are already involved, — Jinshi glanced at Gaoshun, who immediately joined the conversation.

— We also considered casting one of the concubines for the role, but one of the Emperor’s requirements was to keep the play’s storyline a secret until the main performance. We’re not sure whether the chosen concubine would be able to maintain that secrecy.

After Gaoshun’s words, things became a little clearer. You exchanged glances with Maomao. She had been quietly listening the whole time, stirring a mixture with a wooden spoon.

Jinshi took your hand in his and pressed it against his chest. The spoon in Maomao’s hand let out a desperate crack.

— Please, don’t refuse. I don’t know anyone else suited for this role whom I trust as much as you. I promise, everything will go smoothly. I’ll be right there with you. All we need to do is step onto the stage and perform a short dialogue. There’s still time before the performance. We can rehearse, — with each sentence, Jinshi moved closer. You barely noticed, too distracted by your own anxiety.

Performing in such an important play, in front of everyone—it was nerve-wracking. Oh, Emperor! What if you forgot your lines? But Jinshi was so serious, so certain that he would be by your side. Surely, he would help if anything went wrong. Your heart slowly softened. You wanted to help him.

— What’s the role?

— Lovers.

His answer struck like thunder in a clear sky. A loud crack echoed in the room. The poor spoon — it seems to have broken. You cursed internally. You should have suggested Maomao for the role instead. Such a golden opportunity, wasted.

---

You stand on an improvised stage set up in one of the large halls. A couple of eunuchs are busy checking the props. The main cast has gone on a lunch break. Jinshi said that the two of you should practice a few times on your own before joining the final rehearsal with everyone else later today.

Tense, you try to discreetly wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. You can’t even imagine how you’re supposed to act. You’ve never experienced anything like this before. Unfortunately, no one thought to teach you acting skills between rounds of physical labor. The harem really should reconsider its system.

Right now, you’d gladly trade places with Maomao — not just for the sake of her and Jinshi’s bright future, but for your own peace of mind. You cast a helpless glance at the makeshift audience area. Maomao gives you an encouraging smile, trying to cheer you up. Gaoshun nods approvingly and gives you a thumbs-up. Your attention shifts back to Jinshi, who is patiently waiting. He’s too kind to pressure you, letting you take your time. You promised to help. There’s no turning back now.

Blushing slightly and taking a deep breath, you finally begin to say your lines.

— Ah, my beloved! Is fate not cruel? We come from different worlds! — you sigh dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest.

— Fate? I won’t let destiny decide for us! — With a sly smile, the man takes your hand and leans in, his lips almost brushing against your fingers.

To your surprise, Jinshi slips into his role effortlessly, as if he’s been acting his whole life. Watching his confident performance, you start to relax, feeling a little bolder.

— But what will people say?! What will my father say?! — You pull your hand away, turning your back to him, clenching your fists. Jinshi gently turns you back toward him, reaching for your chin and tilting your face up.

— Let them say what they will… You are all I need.

Maomao, watching the rehearsal, takes a hurried sip of tea, trying to hide the nervous twitch on her face. Was this cursed scene supposed to be this intense?

She knew. She felt it. No actor had actually fallen ill. That wretched eunuch had planned everything from the very start.

— Then… then kiss me, if your feelings are true! — you said, your lips trembling.

Jinshi smiles broadly and slowly leans in closer, enjoying the way Maomao grips her cup tighter. Gaoshun nervously swallows. It seemed like, any moment now, the apothecary might start killing. At the last second, you place your palm on Jinshi's face and suddenly pull back.

— No! I can't! — you cry out dramatically.

Maomao exhales in relief. Jinshi laughs, throwing a brief glance at her. With feigned regret, he delivers the final line.

— What a pity… I really tried so hard.

The eunuchs, who had abandoned their work somewhere during your rehearsal, suddenly clap. They enthusiastically mention that the passion between the lovers was played out so convincingly. Encouraged by their praise, you bow to them gratefully. As you finish, Jinshi places his hand on your shoulder.

— You did wonderfully… So, shall we do it again?

You mentally apologize to Maomao, feeling regret. How did it happen that you stole her shining moment? A crack of glass is heard. The poor cup… It seems to have broken.

#yandere x reader #yandere #the apothecary diaries #yandere maomao #maomao x reader #yandere maomao x reader #jinshi x reader #yandere jinshi #yandere jinshi x reader #yandere the apothecary diaries

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devilish-cherry · 4 months ago

Text

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to you randomly throwing yourself on the floor and yelling "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!"

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

The very moment your body hits the floor, he’s already in motion—no hesitation, no thought, just pure, unfiltered chaos. He throws himself down beside you with a level of theatrical commitment that would make a seasoned Shakespearean actor weep.

"BABE?!? BABE, NOOOOOOOO!" he cries out, his voice cracking mid-scream like an overworked opera singer. With all the grace of a man who has never known the concept of subtlety, he dramatically shakes your shoulders as if he's trying to reset a Nintendo 64 cartridge.

The situation escalates immediately—because, of course, it does. One second, you're lying there in mild inconvenience, and the next, Gojo has fully committed to the bit. He cradles your head in his lap, clutching you like you’re a fallen soldier in a tragic war film. He tilts his head back, gazing up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, and suddenly—he's monologuing.

“Oh, cruel fate! How merciless you are to steal away my one true love in the prime of their youth!" His voice trembles with emotion as he strokes your hair, his other hand clutching his chest. "What good is my power if I cannot protect the one I hold dearest? Am I even worthy of the title of strongest?"

You stare up at him, absolutely dumbfounded. Somewhere in the background, you swear you hear the faint echoes of tragic violin music (probably playing from his phone).

Before you can protest, Gojo takes things to an even more unnecessary level. He yanks out his phone, thumbs moving at light speed.

"WE NEED A HEALER—" he bellows into the receiver.

Your brain short-circuits. “Gojo, what the—”

"SHOKO, YOU HAVE TO COME QUICK!" he cries dramatically, pacing now, as if the weight of the world is crushing him. "IT'S BAD. IT'S REALLY BAD."

You sit up with a sigh, rubbing your temple. “Gojo. I literally just dramatically fell for attention. I’m fine.”

There’s a long pause. A suspiciously long pause.

Then, like a switch flipping, his entire demeanor immediately changes. His teary, grief-stricken expression vanishes in an instant, replaced with his usual mischievous grin. He blinks down at you, casually ending his fake emergency call like he didn’t just cause emotional devastation for fun.

“Oh.” He dusts off his pants, completely unfazed. “Okay, cool. So, like, wanna go buy something wildly unnecessary and stupidly expensive to heal your soul?"

Before you can even process what just happened, he’s already pulling out his Black Card, holding it up like a golden ticket to financial irresponsibility.

You exhale sharply, placing a hand over your heart. “Gojo, I think I actually am dying now.”

“See?! I knew I wasn’t overreacting.”

And just like that, you’re being whisked away for a completely unnecessary shopping spree because, in Gojo's mind, retail therapy is a legitimate medical treatment.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

You collapse onto the floor like a dying swan in a tragic ballet. Geto, currently sipping his tea like a man who has mastered the art of serene detachment, watches your performance unfold with the emotional range of a houseplant. He doesn’t react—not immediately, anyway. He just tilts his head slightly, blinks once, then takes another slow, thoughtful sip.

“Rough day?” he asks, as if your corpse-like sprawl isn’t deeply concerning and like this is a normal Tuesday for you (which, to be fair, it kind of is).

“Yes, actually,” you groan, face-first into the carpet.

Geto hums, a low, considering sound, like he’s analyzing the weight of human suffering itself. And then—with absolutely zero hesitation or context—he drops to the floor beside you. “If you’re going down, I’m going down with you.”

Now, you’re just two bodies on the floor, lying side by side like the world's most exhausted crime scene victims.

For a second—a very brief, fleeting second—you feel touched. This is kind of romantic in a weird, stupid way. He could have ignored your suffering, but no. He chose to join you in it. “That’s sweet.”

“I know,” he replies. Then, completely deadpan, he adds, “Shall we hold hands and ascend to the next realm?”

You’re laughing before you can stop yourself, and Geto just smirks, clearly very pleased with himself. He’s not the type to make a huge fuss, but he is the type to match your energy, even if your energy is currently Existential Crisis via Floor™.

Eventually, he pulls you up and forces you to drink warm cup of tea because, “If you’re going to suffer, at least be hydrated."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami is in the kitchen, minding his own business, making his morning coffee like a responsible, tax-paying adult. And that's when you dramatically fling yourself onto the floor like you’re in an overacted soap opera. He doesn’t react immediately—he just stands there, silently stirring his coffee.

You wait.

And wait.

A full thirty seconds pass before he finally exhales, long and suffering, like a man who has already lived through a thousand lifetimes of nonsense. “Do I even want to ask?”

“I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE,” you wail, the sheer agony in your voice so theatrical it deserves a standing ovation.

Nanami takes what might be the longest, most exhausted sip of coffee in the history of mankind before muttering, “Neither can I.”

This is a man who has fought for his life against special-grade curses. A man who has endured the unrelenting chaos that is Gojo Satoru’s existence. A man who has spent years dealing with the absurdities of Jujutsu society. And yet, somehow—somehow—you, sprawled out on the floor, being extra—seems to be what breaks his spirit.

He crouches down next to you, his tie slightly loosened, looking so tired. “You say that often. And yet, you persist.”

“Yes, because I’m suffering.”

Nanami sighs then reaches over and gently peels your arm away from your covered face. "What happened?"

You sniffle. "I just remembered that my favorite childhood snack got discontinued."

Silence.

Not just silence, but Nanami silence—the kind that could make even Gojo rethink his life choices. Nanami stares at you for a long, long moment. Then, without a word, he gets up, walks to the kitchen.

You peek over the couch like a guilty dog. “You’re not even gonna roast me?”

“No,” he says simply, grabbing his phone and pulling up a search page. “If I did, I would not be a man worthy of you.”

You clutch your chest like you’ve just been struck by divine intervention. “NANAMI, STOP, I’M GONNA CRY.”

Completely unaffected, he continues scrolling. “What was the name of the snack?”

You whisper it reverently, as if speaking its name too loudly would make the grief too real. He nods once and, within seconds, finds a recipe online with the efficiency of a man who probably filed his taxes in January.

The next thing you know, Nanami is moving with the focus of a Michelin-star chef. He’s measuring ingredients, mixing them with precision, his expression unreadable but his actions entirely sincere. You can only watch in shock as he moves around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brows slightly furrowed.

This is the Nanami experience: a man who will not entertain your nonsense, but will also go to ridiculous lengths to support it in his own methodical, devastatingly attractive way.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

The moment you throw yourself onto the floor, Choso looks genuinely alarmed. His entire body tenses, his eyes immediately scanning the room for threats. This man has spent most of his life fighting, so his immediate instinct is that you’ve been attacked. He’s already prepared to throw hands, use his Blood Manipulation, and avenge your fall.

“Who did this to you?” he demands, voice laced with deadly seriousness.

You peek up at him from the floor. “Capitalism.”

Choso frowns, staring at you like you’ve just uttered the name of an ancient, malevolent entity. “Is that a curse?”

You sigh, the weight of the world pressing against your soul. “Basically.”

He stands there, actually considering fighting 'capitalism' for you. In this moment, you are not just his beloved—you are a victim of an unseen force, and he must destroy it. You see it in his eyes—the sheer, genuine concern. You have to clarify that you are, in fact, just being dramatic.

Once he realizes this, he crouches beside you and with an almost painfully stiff movement, he gently—oh-so-awkwardly—pats your shoulder. It’s the kind of stiff, tentative touch you’d give a traumatized pigeon you’re trying to befriend.

"There, there,” he says, voice unnaturally formal, like he’s reading dialogue from a handbook titled 'How To Human: Basic Comfort Edition.' “It will be okay.”

You stare at him. His movements are so mechanical, so stiffly rehearsed, like he’s performing a first-aid procedure on an injured bird he has no idea how to care for but really, really wants to help.

You want to laugh, but honestly? You’re touched.

Choso doesn’t always understand human emotions, but what he does understand is that you are sad, and that makes him upset. He cannot let this stand.

So, in the only way he knows how to truly show solidarity—he joins you.

Without hesitation, Choso lowers himself onto the floor, lying beside you. He takes your hand in his, his grip firm, and grounding.

"If you need anything," he says, voice low and sincere, "just tell me. I will do my best to make the world a little less exhausting for you."

And that? That’s when you actually start crying.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji is sitting on the couch, one leg stretched out, scrolling through his phone like a man with zero responsibilities and even less motivation to gain any. He’s so relaxed it’s almost an art form—the pinnacle of bare minimum energy.

And then, in a move so dramatic it could win an Oscar for Best Overreaction, you collapse onto the floor like a medieval peasant who just got diagnosed with the plague and a tax increase in the same breath. Arms sprawled, face pressed to the ground, you release a noise that is one-third sigh, two-thirds existential despair.

Toji’s response?

The barest flicker of an eyebrow raise.

He gives you a long, considering glance, the way someone might look at someone's spilled drink in the room—mildly aware of the issue, but not entirely convinced it’s his problem. Then, deciding it is not, he calmly resumes scrolling.

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. “Wow. Not even a little concern?”

Toji doesn’t even pause. “Did you die?”

“…No?”

“Then you’re fine.”

You groan louder, rolling onto your back like you’ve been emotionally sniped. “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.”

“Then don’t.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, narrowing your eyes. “That’s not how life works, Toji.”

He finally, finally looks up from his phone, just enough to make prolonged eye contact while lazily shrugging. “Sounds like a you problem.”

You are so close to throwing something at him.

Toji is absolutely not the comforting type. If anything, he finds your suffering mildly entertaining. You can practically see the amusement glinting in his eyes every time you get extra like this. He thrives off it.

And yet.

Despite his lazy indifference, despite his refusal to play into your dramatics, despite every ounce of his cold-blooded energy—

He nudges you.

With his foot.

Like you’re actual roadkill, and he’s checking if you’re still breathing.

“C’mon, get up,” he mutters, like he’s doing you the world’s biggest favor. “I’ll buy you food or whatever.”

Your soul immediately resurrects.

In less than a second, you shoot up from the floor like a zombie reanimating in a horror movie. The promise of food has restored you.

Toji smirks, fully aware of what just happened. He knew exactly what he was doing. Food is the one thing that can drag you back from the depths of despair.

So, yeah. Toji absolutely won’t give you some deep emotional pep talk. He won’t hold your hand and whisper encouragements about your worth and potential. But he will bribe you with food to make you stop being dramatic.

And honestly? You’ll take it.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #nanami kento #choso kamo #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n

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mashtatosworld · 4 months ago

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HII HII can u please do a gd x world-famed kpop idol?? like blackpink-famous iykwim!! and maybe reader being a "junior" in the industry? (eg. them coming from 3rd gen era like bp or basically js young) they met for the very first time at an event, and reader being his junior went excited "omg g dragon?? the G DRAGON???" basically.

idk where to go after that point but perhapss (an idea, take it with a grain of salt lolol) gd was actually lowkey a fan of her instead? like reader was a breathe of fresh air, very talented, on the rise in the industry (did a hollywood thing) or something !!! i hope this part isnt too OOC but UH basically do your magic author!! im going to love anything you write either wayyy xxxxx🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

only girl

summary: in which you're both pretty in pink

You had to physically stop yourself from bouncing on the couch.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and faint cigarette smoke, a combination that somehow smelled exactly like you imagined he would.

Even after two weeks of your evenings spent here, sitting in G-Dragon’s studio still felt like a fever dream.

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap, trying to keep your excitement contained as Jiyong sat across from you, casually scrolling through his laptop as if this wasn’t the biggest moment of your career.

“This is the track,” he finally said, pressing play.

A deep bassline rumbled through the speakers, followed by a hypnotic melody. The beat was dark and sultry, unmistakably his sound, but then - your voice.

Your breath hitched.

He had already layered your demo vocals onto the song.

You glanced at him in disbelief, but Jiyong was watching you intently, one hand resting lazily against his lips.

“You like it?”

“Are you serious?” Your voice cracked slightly, betraying your nerves. “This is - this is insane. It’s so good.”

He smirked, pleased.

“I'm glad you agreed to work with me. I’ve been a fan of yours for a while,” he admitted casually, as if he hadn’t just shattered your entire perception of reality.

Your brain short-circuited.

“I- wait, really?”

Jiyong chuckled at your reaction. “You have this energy- ” he gestured vaguely, “- that the industry needs. It's addictive. This is your first solo project, right?”

You nodded, still processing the fact that he admitted to liking your music. You were a part of a girl group that were on the rise to success with a couple of hit songs.

The girls were currently on hiatus as they worked on their individual careers and this was the first time you'd worked on something without them. It was surreal that he chose you to feature on his comeback album after his years away from the spotlight.

“Well,” he leaned forward, eyes glinting, “let’s hope this is just the beginning.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 Six months later, 2024 MAMA Awards:

You were trying very hard to keep a straight face.

Which was difficult, considering G-Dragon was standing directly in front of you, smiling that slow, knowing smile like he knew a secret no one else in the room did.

Because he did.

Your bandmates, however, were completely oblivious, practically vibrating as they struggled to remain composed. You were nearly hit in the face with a light stick.

“Holy shit, it’s actually him,” one of them whispered.

Your leader was the first to recover. “Ah! Sunbaenim! It’s an honour to meet you!”

Jiyong chuckled, bowing respectfully. “I’ve been meaning to say hello.”

As he rose, his eyes flickered to yours, just for a second.

No one else noticed, but you did.

That subtle flicker of amusement, that unspoken acknowledgment.

You had seen each other just last night.

And yet, here you were, pretending this was your first interaction.

“I’m a huge fan,” your youngest member gushed. “Like, actually. Huge.”

Jiyong smirked. “Oh?”

Your bandmate nodded rapidly. “We were literally just talking about your performance.”

Which was true.

Jiyong had just stepped off the stage after his first live performance in years, wearing a custom pink ensemble that had the entire room of idols buzzing.

And coincidentally…

You were wearing pink too.

Your stylist had handed you this dress earlier today, saying it would be “perfect for the show.” But you knew better.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

Jiyong planned this.

It was a silent, unspoken statement - one only the two of you understood.

Your bandmates, still too distracted by his presence, completely missed the way his fingers briefly grazed yours when he moved past you.

A touch so fleeting it almost didn’t happen.

Almost.

And then, just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

Your bandmate immediately turned to you, shaking your arm.

“Hello?! You love G-Dragon. Why aren't you screaming right now?!”

You blinked innocently.

“Oh, trust me,” you said, lips curling into a secretive smile.

“I was dying on the inside.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Your back hit the hotel suite’s wall with a soft thud, Jiyong’s mouth already on yours before the door had even clicked shut.

His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into the silky fabric of your dress - the pink dress - bunching it slightly as he pulled you closer.

“You looked so good tonight,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky.

You smiled into the kiss, fingers tangling in his pink hair.

“You planned it.”

Jiyong pulled back slightly, cocking a brow. “Planned what?”

You scoffed. “The outfits. You knew I’d match you.”

He grinned, shameless. “Maybe.”

You swatted his arm, but he caught your wrist, pressing a slow kiss to your palm before lacing his fingers with yours.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he mused, smirking. “Trying so hard to act normal.”

“You weren’t exactly subtle either,” you shot back. “The lingering looks? The hand touch? Jiyong, come on.”

He hummed in amusement, resting his forehead against yours.

“We’ve been careful for six months,” he murmured, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist. “You really think people are starting to notice?”

“Not yet,” you admitted. “But if you keep showing up to award shows looking like my soulmate, they might.”

Jiyong chuckled.

Then, softly - softer than you’d ever heard him - he murmured,

“Would that be so bad, Jagiya?”

Your breath caught.

This wasn’t just a secret fling anymore.

It was something else entirely.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

double dropping in one day? oops. im becoming consumed by tumblr 🤭

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad

#gdragon #kpop #bigbang #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #mashtatosworld #request

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4rticbolt · 5 months ago

Text

Sleepy Stalls |Master-list|

Trafalgar Law x !GN!Reader, Fluff, Crack, soft!law, unironically sweet, head-cannons, reader is a mechanic here, overprotective!law because secretly he cares too much, stubborn reader, comfort.

The Heart-Pirate Captain with an s/o who struggles with sleep...

•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•

1st of all, this is insomniac central.

Law cannonly has nightmares, so you could definitely infer he struggles with sleep himself. Most likely kept up by whatever's gearing through his mind.

So he'd be incredibly understanding with you.

Law's the type to put you before himself. So no matter how tired he was he'd always check up on you. Whether you're working in the engine room, eating lunch, or relaxing in your room--he’d quietly seek you out.

Your captain was keen, and he’d been observant of your habits.

The surgeon wouldn't be overly concerned--but he would worry. You're his precious crew-mate and lover, so he's over-protective. Not in an annoying way, but selflessly.

Since Law is a doctor he would have a lot of sleep-aid. From herbal properties to medication—he'd give you anything you needed or asked for. Even if he ends up a hypocrite in the process.

He would act nonchalant and impassive about it, but deep down it’d wear on him.

Law would 100% have chill out time with you in his office if you were tired, or just in general.

In each-other’s presence, the company would drive away any restlessness. Including Law and yourself. So be prepared to snooze off in each other's arms or space.

If you'd cuddled him or sat close, he'd be out like a light. His head would be the first to fall against your shoulder or thigh with a bonk.

You wouldn't expect him to be the clingy type, but if you're there—he'd prefer you much closer.

He would find comfort in your pulse when you’re sleep. (As it wasn't often you were)

Law would tenderly take in your snoozing form, gently crouching beside you to take your pulse. His own worries would ease when your pulse thrummed softly against the pads of his fingers.

When you’re asleep, he’d be the type to quietly watch over you, gently brushing your hair or stick close. His touch would be uncharacteristically soft, and so would his words.

“Just relax, I got you…”

“You look peaceful when you sleep…I wish you did it more often.”

When having bad nights, he wouldn’t push, but he would be there. He’d silently offer to let you rant, or seek comfort. But he would never push. Law just wanted you to know he’d always be there for you. (No matter the burden you believed yourself to be)

Law isn't officially 'cold' or 'uncaring' when comforting people, he's just an awkward dude who isn't the best at it... but he is an amazing listener.

However, if you'd ever been stubborn about your sleep, he'd meet your pettiness with his own. He'd scold and lecture, but it was never meant harmfully.

He was just frustrated he couldn’t help you faster.

Law would never make you feel bad about it, because it's not always your fault. There could be a thousand things wrong, but he wasn't gonna’ let himself be one of them.

He wouldn't bullshit you, and it might come off rather blunt, but he just wanted to get straight to the point. He didn't want you getting hurt, not on his watch, or just in general.

“____-ya, I don't need my star mechanic running on nothing. Nor' do I need you passing out on my sub. If you’re tired, you are tired. You don’t need to push yourself. Not for me or the crew.”

“Look, if something happens in the engine room or navigation—I need you. I need you well so you can perform at your best. I'm not losing you, and I’m not letting you pass out and hurt yourself because of your recklessness.”

“So just take it easy, alright? You're on rest for the day, and that's final, don't make me babysit you. I trust you enough that I don't have to.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Despite his harsh words, they were true. But being stubborn was your specialty, and you felt the need to prove yourself. So pushing yourself to clean the valves and filters was your next task—even though he didn’t give you any.

It’d been after a rough night, so you were irritable, and you’d been snappy. Even if you didn’t mean to be, it was just the way it was.

Without sleep, you were weaker and more emotional and you hated it. Your ego hurt, not only by his lecture, but at the fact you couldn’t function as easily as others. So that frustration, that deep welling hate fueled your resolve.

Though it didn’t last.

Law had found you snoozing off and covered with grime in the engine room, sleeping at an awkward angle. Your were cuddled against a pipe, using it as your pillow as your black-stained hands supported your head.

Your cheeks had been smeared with oil, and your messied suit had been covered with it. Tools and disposable bags had been near by, and the room was spotless. Shining against after a long month, he found himself frozen at the sight.

He’d slowly let out a breath, easing up as he kneeled beside you—gently shaking your shoulder. He wasn’t mad, only frustrated.

But that frustration let up as you didn’t stir, only slept exhausted. And that made his chest ache the most.

You didn’t need to prove yourself to him, you had already done that. The moment he saw you, he recognized your skills—and your personality took the cake. You already far surpassed his expectations and he could want nothing more, other than you.

He’d always been grateful, accepting you at whatever you came—your lowest—your highest, he loved you regardless.

Law just wished you wouldn’t push yourself to prove something you didn’t need to.

He would gently pick you up, looking around the room before cradling your face with his hand. He’d crack a soft unbelievable smile, before shaking his head and bringing you to his room.

Law would call you an idiot placing you on his bed, carefully taking off your shoes before tucking you in. He’d wipe a warm cloth across your face, cleaning away the harsh oils before it stained too much.

He’d watch you with tender eyes, brushing hair out of your face before letting you be. He’d rest at his desk, reading, but watching your from afar—waiting for you to stir.

He wouldn’t lecture you like he did before, but he might just reassure you that you didn’t have to do this. And he might just thank you for cleaning the engine room.

In his own Law way of course.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Your captain would always be adamant about your health. No matter your argument or fuss—you were one of his top priorities.

Not ever in a tasking way. But maybe in an awkward loving one.

No matter the difficulty of his or your own, he’d always be patient, and he’d encourage you to go at your own pace.

Because everyone was different, and he was perfectly okay with that.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

With Law’s silent assurance and presence, your atrocious schedule had been eased.

Though it’d still been noticeable. The bags under your eyes pointed you out, and your snoozing tendencies didn’t help. The crew found you asleep in various workspaces many times, and it hadn’t really been a concern.

And as long as they believed you were getting enough sleep, they wouldn’t bother you about it.

Everyone had gotten used to it, but it didn’t mean they let up in the teasing. Light-hearted remarks had been thrown, but you never paid them any mind. If anything your captain listened to them more than you did.

He didn’t participate in it, but he let everyone have their fun. Until Shachi’s rather dark humor had been thrown into play.

You’d been dozing off at the table at lunch, slowly eating but surely getting in the nutrients you needed. You’d been sitting by Ikkaku and Shachi while your captain sat across from you.

“You sure you don’t wanna go lay down ____?” Hakugan asked, handing you over a basket of croutons. “A little nap might help.”

“No, I’m fine.” you muttered, mixing some in with your salad. Your jaw rested in your palm, and you stirred your salad around before taking a bite.

The tables conversation flew over your head and you could only think of what you’d do next after lunch. Train? Sleep? Clean? Be bored and bug your captain? It’d probably end up in the last one, but nothing stopped you from changing it.

“Mm, if you say so,” Ikkaku butted, taking a bite of her sandwich. “You really shouldn’t push yourself, I don’t want to find you asleep on the examination table again.”

Shachi snorted beside you, and you heard laughs echo around.

“Right? Scared the shit of me, I thought you were going in for surgery.” Penguin chuckled.

Law cracked a smile, watching you shake your head. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it totally was,” Ikkaku teased, nudging your shoulder.

“It could’ve been worse,” Clione muttered, “finding you asleep on the control panel was not on my wish list.”

“Pff—yeah, right next to the throttle? Real smart kid,” Bart commented, plopping down another dish of food.

More laughs followed and you found yourself hiding your expression behind your sandwich, smiling quietly behind it. You took a big bite before Shachi started in.

“Oh, it was worse—remember? She fell asleep mid filter change and it totally blew up on her,” he laughed, gently knocking your head with his fist.

“Ew, don’t remind me.” you winced, making a face.

“Nah, you’re so stubborn about it I might have too.” he said, finishing up his sandwich.

“I’m starting to think someone needs to slip some sleep-aid into your drink.”

“Yeah—that’d get you some well earned rest,” Uni rolled his eyes, side-eyeing Law for a moment, seeing his expression darken.

He coughed in his fist, nudging Bepo.

“Uh, Captain?” The navigator sputtered, blinking idly at him.

Law didn’t respond, only deadpanning at Shachi who hadn’t yet realized his annoyance. It seemed he took the joke literally. Especially when he knew you didn’t like the symptoms of sleep-aid, it only irked him more.

“You go and do that and you’ll find a shit ton of laxatives in your coffee.” he said blandly, threateningly poking his fork.

The table quieted before Shachi coughed on his food, quickly swallowing it. He hit his chest, using you as a shield. Which you were mindlessly unaware of.

“Woah—haha, only joking Cap!" He paled, patting your back. "Right ____? All fun here, I'd never," he continued, nervously laughing.

"Mhmf, only jokes,” you muffled, with a mouthful of food.

Law paused, looking you over before rolling his eyes at your clueless expression. He layed off, but didn’t completely rest his glare. Law does not play around with you, not matter the joke or tease.

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