#i GUESS. might chicken out about the tags who can say | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emmiesoverthemoon · 3 months ago

Text

what's a little ink?

pairing: han jisung x reader

word count: 7.3k

summary: you wanted the upper hand. you came for a tattoo. you also came for him. and somehow you ended up in his hoodie, eating his eggs, and wondering how a bet turned into this stupid, soft thing you just can’t resist wanting

tags: tattoo artist au, friends to lovers, fluff and smut. porn with plot. sweet, sappy, and gross romance. enjoy

requested by @burlesquerade hope u like it honey

It all started with a simple, completely ridiculous bet. You and Han had been hanging out for hours, as you often did, swapping old stories and making fun of each other’s quirky habits. Laughter echoed around the cozy living room, the kind of laughter that was easy and natural, the way it always was when the two of you were together.

"Okay," Han said, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leaned forward, eyes glinting with that playful spark you knew all too well. "If you can beat me at this stupid game one more time, I will get you whatever you want as a prize."

You raised an eyebrow, already suspecting he might be setting you up for something ridiculous. "Whatever I want? Really?"

"Yep. No holds barred. You name it, and it’s yours," Han assured you, his tone full of confident mischief. "But if I win…" He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. “You have to let me tattoo you.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Tattoo me? Really? That’s your big gamble?”

Han’s smile grew wider. “I’m a tattoo artist, remember? It's a fair trade. I think you’re too scared to let me do it.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, your fingers tapping idly on your cup. “Scared? Please. I’m not scared of a tattoo.”

His eyes narrowed, a challenge sparking in their depths. “Oh, so now you’re saying you can handle it? Alright then. You’re on. But we both know I’m going to win.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “Big talk for someone who has no idea what they’re up against.”

The game you were playing—a mix of cards, trivia, and guessing games—was silly, and it didn’t take long for the competition to become heated. But, much to your surprise, you did win. By a narrow margin, of course, but a win was a win.

Han’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from gloating too much. You had been expecting him to be smug, but now, as the reality of the situation sank in, you saw a flicker of something else cross his features.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, trying to hide his grin. “You won. So what do you want?”

You leaned back in the chair, considering your options. There were so many things you could ask for—something extravagant, maybe—but you had been thinking about this for a while. Han had been inking people for years now, and you had always wondered what it would feel like to have him work on you.

So, you decided to go for it.

“I want a tattoo,” you said with a straight face, barely able to hide the excitement in your voice.

He blinked at you. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Totally,” you answered, your grin impossible to hide. “You’re going to ink me, Han. And you can’t back out.”

He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to make sure you weren’t joking, but then the challenge returned in his eyes.

“Well, if I have to do this, I get to choose where,” he said, his tone slightly mischievous. “No complaints, okay?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Fine. As long as I get to decide what the design is, I’ll leave the location to you.”

Han smirked and held out his hand. “Deal.”

The text from Han came just before noon.

“Hope you’re not chickening out. Studio at 3. Wear something loose. ;)”

You stared at your phone longer than you meant to, heat crawling up your neck. Chickening out? Hardly. But that stupid winking face was another story. He always knew how to push just the right buttons—just enough to make your pulse quicken, just enough to stir things that should probably stay buried.

Still, you showed up. Of course you did.

His studio was tucked into a quiet side street downtown, its glass windows fogged slightly from the early spring chill. You had been here before—countless times, really—but never like this. Never with your skin on the line. Never with your heart threatening to beat out of your chest for reasons that had very little to do with ink or needles.

The soft chime above the door rang as you stepped in. Han was already inside, hunched over a sketchpad, his brows knitted in concentration. A pencil twirled between his fingers as he tapped it against his lower lip, eyes flicking to you the moment you walked in.

And just like that, the air shifted.

He smiled, slow and crooked. “You came. I’m impressed.”

“You told me to. I don’t exactly think that counts as bravery,” you replied, trying to play it cool, even though you were already peeling off your jacket, already catching the way his eyes flicked to your collarbone with something unreadable.

Han rose from his chair, brushing his fingers through his soft brown hair. “I sketched some ideas. Wanna see?”

You nodded, joining him by the desk where several sheets were spread out. The designs were delicate—subtle, intricate things, clearly drawn with you in mind. One of them caught your eye: a minimalist crescent moon nestled inside a trail of tiny stars, the lines fine and whisper-soft.

“I like this one,” you murmured, fingers brushing the paper.

“I thought you might.” His voice had dropped a bit. He was watching you closely, as if your reaction meant something more than approval. “It’s gentle. Quiet. But it lingers.”

You swallowed.

“I’ve decided where to put it,” he added after a beat, stepping closer.

“Oh?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Do I get a hint?”

Han smiled, tilting his head just slightly as his eyes traveled—unapologetically—over your exposed shoulder, down the dip of your neck. “Upper shoulder. Right where it curves into your neck. Here.” He reached out, fingers grazing the exact spot, the barest ghost of a touch. “It’s a place you never see, but everyone else does. Intimate. Subtle. Kind of like the moon.”

You froze. It was a good idea—too good, actually. Because now, your body was responding to more than just nerves. The closeness. The delicacy in his voice. The way his fingertips lingered, resting there a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“I trust you,” you whispered, hoping it would ground you.

Han met your gaze. For once, he looked serious. “Then lie down for me.”

The chair was cold at first, the studio quiet but for the low murmur of music and the faint clatter of his tools. You lay on your side, hair pulled up and shirt slightly off one shoulder, baring the space where he would work. The air kissed your skin, but it was Han’s presence—his warmth—that you felt most acutely.

He cleaned the area with methodical care, the scent of alcohol and antiseptic somehow comforting. But it was the way his hand curved around your shoulder, the way his thumb brushed the nape of your neck, that made you hyper aware of every inch of yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Mhmm.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

You chose not to tell him that it already did—but not because of the needle.

As the machine buzzed to life, the first kiss of ink stung. You flinched, just slightly, and felt his other hand firm on your back in response. Steadying. Anchoring.

He worked in slow, precise strokes, the pressure rhythmic, hypnotic. But each time his fingers brushed your skin, each time his breath tickled your shoulder from how close he leaned—it lit something warm and aching inside you.

His voice broke through the quiet after a while, low and slightly hoarse. “You’re really still. Most people twitch like hell when it’s here.”

You exhaled, barely moving. “I think I just… don’t want to mess you up.”

“You couldn’t,” he murmured. And for a second, the machine paused. His hand stayed, resting lightly over the fresh lines. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare ask what he meant. But in the pause between one stroke and the next, the silence pulsed—thick with something fragile, something not quite spoken yet.

He resumed working, but something had changed. His touches had always been skilled, steady, but now there was a new kind of deliberateness in the way his fingers slid across your skin—slower, more lingering, more aware. The buzz of the machine became background noise to the static dancing along your spine.

Your breath came shallow and controlled, each exhale purposeful, but no amount of focus could erase the way heat pooled low in your belly each time he adjusted your position, each time he leaned in just close enough that his breath grazed the shell of your ear.

"You’re warm," he said suddenly, voice barely audible over the low thrum of music.

You tilted your head, cheek brushing the leather of the chair. “Is that your way of saying I’m sweating too much?”

A quiet laugh. "No." He wiped the spot gently, fingers spread wide against your upper back. “Just saying... your skin feels alive.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to shiver.

He paused to dip the needle again, but his other hand stayed pressed against you—thumb dragging absently along the edge of your spine. And then, as though the words slipped free without permission, he added, “It’s kind of driving me crazy.”

The machine stilled. Your eyes snapped open.

“What?”

Han blinked, as if he had not meant to say it aloud. But the corner of his mouth lifted anyway, a half-smile that was equal parts sheepish and satisfied. “Nothing. Just... hard to stay focused when you’re under my hands like this.”

Your pulse spiked. “You’re the one who insisted on choosing the placement.”

“Maybe I wanted an excuse to touch you like this. To drive you crazy”

The air between you crackled. He was close now—too close. His hand still rested against your skin, fingers slightly curled as if resisting the urge to grip tighter. You felt it in your bones: the shift from friendly banter to something heavier. Something hungry.

The tattoo needle remained idle, forgotten for the moment.

Your voice came soft, but steady. “Are you always this... handsy when you’re working?”

He leaned in slowly, slowly, until his mouth hovered just behind your ear. “Only when the canvas makes it impossible not to be.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the heat of him, the deliberate pause before he moved again—not toward his tools, but toward you. His hand slid from your shoulder, knuckles brushing the side of your throat in a line so featherlight it made your skin pebble.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You said you wanted to drive me crazy, too.”

“Is it working?” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I think you already know the answer.”

Han chuckled under his breath, but there was a tightness in it—like restraint stretched thin. Still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed a hand to your waist and guided you gently back into place, the spell not broken, only deferred.

“I should finish,” he said, almost hoarse.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Finish.”

But every second after that was charged. Every brush of his hand, every hum of the machine, every stolen glance when you dared to peek up at him—all of it thrummed with the knowledge that something had shifted. And neither of you could pretend it hadn’t.

You lost track of time. Moments bled into minutes, drawn out by the quiet rhythm of his work and the unspoken weight between you.

By the time he shut off the machine, your body felt like it had become a tuning fork—tight with tension, humming with everything unsaid.

“That’s it, you're done,” Han said quietly, voice thick.

He reached for a clean cloth, gently dabbing the inked area. The sting had dulled into a soft ache, but the way his hand moved over your skin—slow, deliberate, reverent—was what left you breathless.

He lingered there, thumb brushing just above the fresh lines. “You did good. Barely moved.”

You shifted onto your elbows slightly, twisting to catch his face. “Is that praise, or are you just surprised I didn’t faint?”

His gaze met yours. For a second, he said nothing. Then, a smile tugged at his lips—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re a lot tougher than you let on.”

You sat up, pulling the collar of your shirt gently over one shoulder. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

Han stood there, still holding the cloth, still watching you with that unreadable expression. The tension between you was no longer subtle. It stretched between your bodies like a wire, thin and tight, vibrating with things neither of you had said out loud.

You looked away first.

“Let me pay you,” you said, reaching for your bag.

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “This wasn’t about that.”

Your fingers froze on the strap. You turned slowly. “Then what was it about?”

He hesitated, jaw tight. The weight in his gaze softened for a beat—something bare flickering through, like he wanted to say everything but chose instead to say:

“I wanted something of mine on you.”

The words landed in your chest like a drop of ink in water—sinking, blooming.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence folded around you again, but it was thick, pulsing, the air saturated with all the ways you almost touched.

Finally, you smiled, small but real. “Well... now you’ve got it.”

He laughed under his breath, but it was quieter this time. A little more careful. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

You moved toward the mirror, pulling your shirt slightly aside to see the finished piece that now lay protected by second skin. The crescent moon curved delicately against your skin, soft as a secret, sharp as a wish you hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

It was beautiful. It was everything you could have asked for.

You caught Han watching your reflection—eyes fixed not just on the ink, but the shape of you, the moment of you. Like he had never really allowed himself to look until now.

And still... he did nothing. And neither did you.

Just two bodies, standing too close, tied together by a single piece of ink and a silence that spoke louder than anything else.

You turned from the mirror, fingers brushing down the edge of your collar one last time. The skin was still tender beneath your touch, but not as tender as the weight in your chest.

“I should go,” you said, voice a little too light. A little too careful.

Han nodded once, but he did not move from where he stood. “Right. It’s late.”

You moved toward the door, bag slung over your shoulder, shoes forgotten under the bench. The silence followed you like smoke—slow and curling and hard to breathe through. You could feel his eyes on your back.

But just as your hand touched the knob, you paused.

“…I’m not usually like this.”

The words escaped before you could catch them.

Han’s voice came from behind you, lower now. “Like what?”

You didn’t turn to face him. “This affected.”

A beat.

Then: “Me neither.”

You turned then. Slowly. He was closer than he’d been a moment ago. Still not touching. Still not reaching.

But close.

The streetlights from outside filtered through the frosted windows, casting soft shadows over his face—his expression was unreadable again, but his eyes were not. They were dark and warm and searching. Like he wanted to speak with his hands instead of his mouth.

“I should walk you out,” he offered.

“I don’t need—”

“I know.” A pause. Then, his voice was gentler, “Let me anyway.”

You nodded.

He opened the door, and the cool air of the hallway hit your skin like a shock—like stepping out of a dream. The clack of your shoes echoed softly as you both walked, side by side, neither of you speaking.

You reached the door to the street. The city breathed on the other side. Stillness clung to the space between you like fog.

“Hey,” Han called, just as you stepped onto the threshold. His voice pulled you back. “Wait.”

You turned, heart stuttering.

He was standing close again. Too close. The kind of close that felt deliberate. His hand hovered near your waist, fingers flexing once, like he was debating whether to touch you again.

He didn’t.

Instead, his voice dropped. “If I kiss you right now… would that mess things up?”

Your breath hitched.

The world held its breath with you.

You let the silence stretch. Let the ache of it crawl up your spine. And then you said—quietly, honestly:

“I think not kissing me might mess things up more.”

And still—still—he did not kiss you. He only looked at you like he wanted to memorize the moment, the space between your mouths, the way you had just told him everything without saying it outright.

He smiled, slow and heavy with intent. “Then maybe I’ll wait until it really ruins me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Night,” he murmured, stepping back.

And just like that, the door closed between you.

But your heart stayed in his hands.

It was past midnight when your phone lit up.

"You still awake?"

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, heart already answering before you could.

"i never really went to sleep"

Three dots appeared, then vanished. Then again.

"Me neither"

A beat of no incoming messages passed, then:

"I'm keeping myself up thinking about earlier''

Your breath caught.

"the tattoo?"

"Not exactly.."

You didn't respond right away. You didn’t have to. The air in your room had changed—thicker, tighter, like his voice might pour from the cracks in the wall's paint if you leaned in close enough.

And then the screen lit up again—this time, a call, to which you answered—not after panicking for a few seconds, of course.

“…Hey.” You whispered into the microphone.

His voice was low, rough from too many unsent words. “You looked good tonight.”

You swallowed the simmering embarrassment down. “You saw a lot of skin.”

“Not the part I meant.”

A silence stretched. Not awkward—intimate. It curled through the receiver like warm breath against your neck.

“Come by tomorrow,” he said finally. “I need to check your tattoo.”

“You just want to touch me again.”

“I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you by saying I didn't love every second of touching you. Come by tomorrow, please?”

Your skin flared at the bluntness. There was no smirk in his tone. No teasing this time. Just heat. Quiet and real.

You whispered, “Okay.”

The next day, you were back at his studio.

You told yourself it was just for aftercare, but the second you walked in, saw the way he looked up at you—eyes dark and steady—you knew you were both done pretending.

“Shirt,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat.

You sat. You peeled the fabric from your shoulder, the same stretch of skin that had sparked the night before and haunted his thoughts since. His hands were gloved, but his touch still felt like bare electricity.

He leaned in, inspecting the ink, but the space between you crackled. “Looks good,” he murmured. “You’ll heal fast.”

“So I can go?” you teased, voice thinner than usual.

He gave you no answer. Just peeled off the gloves, tossed them aside, and placed his bare hand against your back—palm flat, warm. Possessive.

“You came back,” he said. “That’s what I wanted.”

You turned your head, letting your cheek rest against your shoulder, watching him. “I did as I was told, Han. So what now?”

Han stepped around to face you. He reached up and touched your chin, tilting your face to his. The air between you shrank to nothing.

“Now I kiss you.”

And this time, he did.

His mouth was warm, unhurried, like he was tasting something he had waited weeks to touch. His fingers cradled your jaw, and you melted into it, into him, into the truth that had been aching beneath your skin for days.

He pulled back, just an inch.

“Still messing things up?” he asked, breath brushing your lips.

You smiled. “Only in the best way.”

The kiss tasted like every moment that came before it—charged, aching, sweet with restraint. His mouth moved against yours like a secret unraveling, like he had memorized the shape of your lips before ever daring to touch them.

You leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer like instinct. Like gravity. Han followed the movement without hesitation, one hand sliding around your waist, the other brushing the side of your neck—soft, reverent, as if you might vanish if he held you too tightly.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, your foreheads touched. Your eyes stayed closed.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes. “Then show me.”

The words cracked something open between you. Quickly, he sat beside you on the tattoo bed and pulled you onto his lap.

He kissed you again—deeper now, his hands no longer tentative. One slid under your shirt, fingers warm against the small of your back, the other braced at your hip like he needed the anchor. You shifted in his lap, and before you realized you had even moved, he groaned low in his throat at the feel of you straddling him, bodies pressed with no space between.

Still, he slowed. Just for a breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded, nose brushing his. “More than.”

His lips returned to the bare side of your throat—soft at first, then with the scrape of teeth. Your hands threaded into his hair as you tilted your head for him, shivering when he dragged his mouth down the slope of your shoulder.

“Han,” you breathed.

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against your skin.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said. “But not just this.”

You stilled, heart thudding.

“I want every version of you,” he continued. “The fire, the softness, the silence. I want the way you look at me when I'm not looking. I want the way you talk like you are not afraid but touch like you’re terrified.”

You exhaled, chest caving. “You noticed everything?"

“I tried not to.”

He leaned back to meet your gaze. His hands moved with more intent now, but still gentle—still you-first. His thumbs traced the curve of your hips beneath your shirt, and you shivered under the slow build of it.

And then, still holding your waist, he laid you back against the padded bench—carefully, gracefully—like you were something rare. Like he had dreamed of this exact moment in the quiet between days.

Your shirt came off slowly, inch by inch. His hands explored like a map he was finally allowed to touch. Every kiss was a promise: I will not rush this. I will learn you inch by inch. I will memorize every sigh.

When his mouth found yours again, the kiss burned hotter—teeth clashing gently, breath shared. You tugged at his shirt, and he pulled it over his head in one clean motion, your hands already seeking skin, already desperate to feel.

Still, even in the heat, he slowed now and then—traced your ribs with a single finger, kissed the inside of your wrist. Whispers scattered between kisses.

“I want you,” he said. “But I also want you.”

You arched into him, fingertips splayed across his back, heart wide open. “You have me.”

The second his shirt hit the floor, your hands were on him—tracing the taut muscle beneath warm skin, nails catching just enough to make him hiss. His mouth was back on yours before you could take your next breath, more forceful now, more needy. Tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your spine arch and your legs tighten around his hips.

Han groaned when he felt it—your thighs drawing him in like a vice, like you already knew exactly how this would end.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth. “You feel too good.”

“You haven’t even felt me yet,” you whispered back.

His eyes darkened.

He pulled you up in one fluid motion, strong hands gripping your thighs as he laid you down atop the workbench, your back pressed against cool wood, your skin burning beneath his palms.

He kissed down your throat, not slow anymore. Messy, greedy, open-mouthed kisses that left your pulse stuttering. He bit lightly at the curve where your shoulder met your neck, and you gasped—head tipping back, legs spreading instinctively, begging for more contact, more friction, more.

His hands slipped beneath the band of your pants, thumbs dragging over the sensitive skin at your hips.

“These need to come off,” he growled, voice thick with want. “Right fucking now.”

You lifted your hips to help, letting him tug them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. The heat in his gaze when he looked at you—all of you—bare on his table, flushed and panting, legs spread for him like it was the most natural thing in the world—

It made your stomach flip, made your core throb.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, like he was angry about it. “So fucking pretty and wet already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

And he did.

One hand pressed your thigh open, the other sliding between your legs, fingers stroking through your slick folds in a rhythm that was maddeningly light. He teased your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way your hips jerked, your mouth parted around soft gasps.

“You gonna let me make you come with just my fingers first?” he murmured, leaning close, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you grip them before I fuck you. Want you so messy I can’t think straight.”

You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—please, Han—”

He slid one finger in, slow, letting you feel the stretch. Then two. Then a curl of his knuckles that had you crying out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the edge of the table.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Grind on my fingers. Let me see how desperate you are.”

You did—hips rocking, thighs trembling, your core clenching around him as he worked you open with deliberate pressure, circling your clit with his thumb until the pressure built fast and dizzying.

“I can feel you getting close,” he said against your throat. “You gonna come for me, baby? Right here on the table where I ink people’s skin?”

“Fuck—Han—yes—”

You shattered with a cry, legs shaking, body arching against his mouth as he kissed you through it—murmuring things you could barely process, words lost in the white-hot rush.

And when you finally came down, breath heaving, he leaned back and licked his fingers clean with a satisfied smirk.

“Think you’re ready for my cock now?”

You nodded, dazed. “Please.”

He undid his belt with one hand, gaze locked to yours as he stroked himself—slow, thick, already slick from the sight of you. Then he lined up, ran the head through your folds once, twice, teasing your oversensitive clit just to watch you twitch—

And then he pushed in.

You both groaned—deep, guttural—like relief and hunger all at once. He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You were soaked. Sore. Already wrecked.

But he did not stop.

He fucked you—hard, deep, each thrust lifting your hips from the table, your hands clawing at his back, your moans turning to whimpers, then cries. His name over and over.

Your moans spilled out in sobs as your second climax hit you like a dam bursting. It was hot—blinding—your release painting his cock in pulsing waves, your entire body locking up beneath him. All the hunger, the want, the times of aching tension you had swallowed back whenever he so much as looked at you with those dark, unreadable eyes—it all came out in that moment. You clenched tight around him, and he groaned loud and low, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“God—look at you,” he rasped, voice wrecked, pride and awe tangled in every word. “So good for me. So perfect when you come.”

But then, his hips stopped to a jarring halt. He was still buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. You could feel the tension in his body—every muscle taut, his hips stuttering in that way that told you he was right on the edge, right there—

But holding back. Just for you.

You cupped his jaw, breathless but steadying. “You didn’t come.”

He shook his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanted to feel you first. Wanted to see—fuck—how tight you get when you come around me.”

Your body gave a little twitch at the memory, still oversensitive, still full. But a flicker of something else lit behind your eyes.

You kissed him—slow and deep—and then, with a sly smile, clenched around him deliberately.

He choked on a moan, arms trembling where they braced beside your head.

“Baby—don’t—”

“You always so in control?” you whispered, brushing your lips along his jaw, down his throat. “Or are you just that good at hiding when you want to break?”

He groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “Please—fuck—”

You rolled your hips beneath him, just a little. Just enough.

“You’re still so hard,” you murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Still deep inside me like you need to be. You want to come? Want to fill me up?”

“God—yes.”

“Then allow me.”

You pushed him gently, and he let you—collapsing back into the chair beside the bench, cock glistening and flushed as it slipped free, twitching with the aftershocks of restraint. He barely had time to breathe before you dropped to your knees between his legs and wrapped your hand around him—tight, slow strokes from base to tip that had him gasping and clenching the arms of the chair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmured, kissing the head of his cock, licking the slit just to taste the salt of him.

His hips bucked and he cursed—head thrown back, abs tensing.

“Sensitive already, aren’t you?” you purred.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

You took him into your mouth before he could finish the sentence—deep and warm, tongue swirling as you bobbed your head, one hand cupping his balls, the other pressing down gently on his hip to keep him from thrusting.

He was loud now, whimpering, begging, gasping your name like prayer.

And when he came—god—

It was with a broken moan, back arching, thighs shaking under your palms. You swallowed everything, licked your lips, and looked up at him through your lashes as he tried to remember how to breathe.

His eyes were glassy, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising in jagged waves.

You smiled. “Still in control?”

He laughed—wrecked, breathless. “Fuck no.”

You climbed into his lap again, your bare skin still warm, flushed and tingling, and curled against him with a quiet little hum.

He wrapped his arms around you like instinct. And then, softly:

“…Round two’s gonna ruin us both.”

You grinned against his neck. “Good.”

The studio held comfortable silence for a moment.

Only your breathing filled the space—shallow and warm, mingling with his where you straddled him on the tattoo bed again, skin flushed and shining in the low amber glow of the work light. The air smelled like sweat and sex, care, and ink—hot, heavy, and honest.

Han was still beneath you, arms slack, mouth parted. His chest heaved, his cock softening between your thighs.

You dragged your fingers along the lines of his jaw, smug and satisfied. “Speechless?”

He blinked once. Then again. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he rasped. “Just… trying not to fuck you so hard this bed breaks.”

You laughed softly—until his hands shot to your hips and slammed you down onto his thigh.

You gasped, the sudden friction making your oversensitive body jolt.

“I let you ruin me once,” he growled, voice low and wrecked. “Your turn now.”

You barely had time to react before he stood, arms beneath your thighs, lifting you like nothing. Your back hit the nearest wall—your bare skin flush to cool concrete, legs wrapped around his waist, his cock already hardening between you again.

“What—Han—”

“You think you can just look at me like that,” he snarled against your neck, grinding up between your soaked folds. “Touch me like you own me. And then walk out of here? Nah.”

You shivered. His cock pressed right against your entrance.

“Han—”

“Look at me.”

You did.

He didn't give you a warning. Just a brutal promise, growled against your skin; “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name—but still remember mine when your hands are between your legs for weeks after.”

Then he was inside you again—deep—in one smooth, merciless thrust, hips snapping forward so hard your back hit the wall with a dull thud.

You gasped—high and breathless—arms clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into skin.

“Han—fuck—”

He caught your cry in a kiss that was anything but sweet. All tongue, teeth, and desperation, lips crushed to yours like he needed your breath to survive.

Your walls fluttered around him already—sensitive from the first round, still dripping wet and raw, but ready despite the ache. He filled you so completely, so perfectly, it stole the air from your lungs.

“I felt this pussy clench around my fingers,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to slam into you again. “But it’s nothing—nothing—compared to how you grip my cock. So fucking tight. So wet.”

You moaned—helpless—every part of your body trembling as he started to move.

Hard. Fast. Focused.

Your back scraped against the wall with every thrust, the studio echoing with the filthy slap of skin on skin, the sound of your choked gasps and his rough groans.

“You want control?” he hissed, fingers digging into the underside of your thighs, forcing them open wider. “Then take it.”

He pulled out.

You nearly cried from the loss.

Then he moved you back to the table, your knees hitting the workbench edge as he turned you, bent you forward, pressed your chest flat to the table.

You barely had time to breathe before he plunged back inside from behind, the new angle making you cry out, high and broken.

“Louder!” he commanded. “Let the whole damn building know how good I fuck you.”

And louder you were when he found that spot inside you—over and over again, the pace brutal and relentless.

He gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, the obscene sound of your slick arousal growing louder with every stroke. Your legs started to buckle—nerves frayed, every inch of your skin alight.

“F-fuck—Han—I can’t—too much—”

“You can. You’re taking it like a fucking dream,” he rasped, reaching down, rubbing your clit in tight, wet circles that made your vision blur.

Your whole body tightened—shaking, clenching, desperate to come again, and again—

He leaned over you, lips to your ear, voice hoarse:

“Come on my cock again, baby. Milk it. Let me feel that pretty pussy worship me.”

And you did.

You shattered—body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream as you came hard, squeezing him so tight he cursed and slammed into you with one final, brutal thrust.

He came with a shout—loud, raw, high—hips jerking as he spilled inside you, his hands fisting in your hair, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Ruined. One tangled, sweaty, aching mess.

Then his hands softened—smoothed up your back, traced the curves of your hips like reverence.

He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“…Still remember your name?”

You laughed, wrecked and breathless.

“Remind me?" you whispered.

You did not remember collapsing—just that one moment he was still inside you, and the next, you were draped across the tattoo bed like laundry left out to dry. Your skin tingled, nerves alight, thighs sticky and trembling, your mind still floating somewhere just above your body.

And Han?

Han was slumped in the chair again, legs spread, one arm thrown dramatically over his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow. “I think I blacked out. You short-circuited me.”

You snorted, face still pressed to the cool surface of the bench. “You short-circuited me. I’m literally leaking.”

He scooted the chair to get a full view of what you were talking about, eyes glassy but mischievous. “Good. I want it dripping down your thighs next time you show up in those little skirts you wear.”

You blinked. “Next time?”

Han grinned, wicked and lazy. “Oh, baby. This is so not a one-time thing. I’m gonna put a stamp on you like a repeat customer loyalty card.”

You rolled onto your side, raising a brow. “You’re gonna fuck me five times and give me a discount on a flash piece?”

He laughed—loudly. Like you caught him off guard. “God, you’re a menace.”

“You’re the menace. Who says that shit mid-stroke?” you shot back, mimicking his earlier line with mock dramatics: “‘Forget your own name but still remember mine?’ Who writes you?”

He leaned forward, dragging his fingers up your bare spine. “No one writes me. I just improvise.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So… you freestyled your way into making me cum thrice and see stars?”

He winked. “What can I say? I’ve got bars and stamina.”

You smacked him with a rolled-up paper towel, but he caught your wrist and pulled you into his lap, arms curling around your waist like he never wanted to let you go.

Then—softer, like he almost did not mean to say it aloud:

“…I really like you.”

You stilled, looked over to him and kissed him gently, pouring every single ounce of reciprocation your being had to offer him. Because maybe he was a cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man—but he was your cocky, ridiculous, and insatiable man.

Even when he was a little bit of a menace.

The silence after pulling away was heavy—not the uncomfortable kind, more like an exhale. A shared, serene stillness, your heartbeat slowing while his lips ghosted along your jaw, your collarbone, the tender edge of your throat.

He had not moved far.

Still close. Still inside your gravity.

Then Han shifted, propping his head on one elbow which rested on the arm of the chair, eyes sweeping your face like he was memorizing something. His fingers moved before his mouth did—brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb dragging down your cheek.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “Hey.”

He hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but because this, somehow, felt bigger than everything you both had already done.

“You don’t have to go home tonight.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His voice stayed soft, careful, “I mean… you could stay. With me.”

You stared.

He rushed to fill the silence, eyes darting between yours.

“Not just for more of this—though God, don’t get me wrong, I want more of this—but like. We could crash at my place. Order food. You could steal my hoodie. Wake up and make terrible coffee together. You could see what I’m like in the morning. Spoiler: not sexy. Kind of grumpy. But you’re good with chaos, right?”

You laughed—but something in your chest ached, cracked just a little.

Because he meant it—this wasn’t just about lust anymore. Not even about proximity or chemistry.

It was a choice.

He was asking you to stay, to see him past the high, into the quiet.

You leaned up, kissed him once—slow and certain.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered.

And the way he looked at you then—hopeful and smug and so unmistakably fond—made you feel warmer than anything else that night.

Sunlight crept in like it was in on a secret, painting lazy gold across your bare shoulder.

You stirred, slowly, blinking awake to the smell of coffee and something warm—eggs?—cooking in the kitchen nook. Your body ached, in all the right places. Inner thighs sore. Lips swollen. A fingerprint or five pressed like stamps into your hips. You stretched, wincing slightly, and smiled.

And Han—God, Han—was nowhere in the bed, but his hoodie had been draped over your legs like a blanket, his scent wrapped around you like a sigh.

You slipped it on, oversized and soft, sleeves swallowing your hands, and padded barefoot across the polished concrete toward the sound of gentle humming and the clatter of a pan.

Han stood with his back to you—shirtless, hair wild and sticking up in twenty-seven different directions, tattoos flexing as he flipped something in a pan. There were two mugs of coffee already out. One black. The other just the way you liked it.

You leaned on the doorway, biting your smile.

He sensed you, because of course he did.

“You’re up,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder. And then, softer, like he couldn’t help himself: “Fuck, you look good in my hoodie.”

You padded up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face on his nape.

“You’re feeding me. You really trying to make me fall in love with you?”

He chuckled, flipping the egg once again with a practiced hand. “That was the plan, yeah. Ruin your body, then win your heart with food.”

You laughed against his skin. “Tactical.”

He turned the stove off and turned in your arms, resting his hands low on your hips, looking down at you with sleepy warmth in his eyes. You felt it then—not just the physical closeness, but the easiness of it. The comfort. The pull.

“You staying the whole day?” he asked, voice quiet now, vulnerable in that way he rarely let show.

You nodded, brushing your lips over his collarbone.

“Only if you kiss me like that again,” you teased.

He grinned.

And did just that—slow, sweet, a kiss with no agenda other than to keep you there.

Later, with your stomach full, your limbs loose and drowsy from the best kind of indulgence, you found yourself curled up on the couch—Han’s head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the messy strands of his hair.

Some terrible movie was playing on his television. Neither of you was really watching it. The remote lay forgotten on the floor. His fingers traced idle patterns on the bare skin beneath your borrowed hoodie, the both of you half-clothed, half-tangled, fully comfortable.

“This is dangerous,” you murmured.

Han cracked one eye open. “What is?”

“This. Us. You looking at me like I hung the stars and made your coffee.”

He smirked without moving. “You did, though. Kind of. That coffee was perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed anyway.

His expression softened, gaze dropping to where his hand rested just beneath your ribs. “You should let me tattoo you again,” he said after a long beat.

You looked down at him. “Now?”

“No,” he smiled, “not now. But someday. Something small. Just for me. Somewhere only I get to see.”

Your stomach flipped at the idea. You tried to play it off. “That’s a lot of trust, letting you draw on me permanently.”

His fingers slid a little lower, dangerously close to a place that still pulsed with the memory of last night.

“You already let me ruin you once,” he said with a grin. “What’s a little ink?”

You snorted, swatting at him half-heartedly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re still here,” he countered easily, nuzzling into your thigh like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You sighed contently as you carded your fingers through his hair again.

“Yeah,” you whispered, half to him, half to yourself.

“And I'm here to stay.”

drops this in your hands and runs off into the sunset

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325

#emmiesoverthemoon #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #han jisung skz x reader #han jisung skz #han jisung stray kids #han jisung stray kids smut #han stray kids #han skz #han skz x reader #han skz smut

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stickyspeckledlight · 6 months ago

Text

Yandere!Caleb Thought (well, more like it’s just Caleb because he’s literally a canon yan rofl)

Tags: Kidnapping, imprisonment, hey sir I promise I am cool too you can lock me up if you want—

Note: A drabble for the man. Guess who’s been really into LADS lately…all of the guys are like, cringey and silly but in a hot way y’know, but Caleb is the hottest bc now he’s given me my dream of seeing like, a high production yandere, also his VA could read me the entire Bible and I wouldn’t be bored.

Also LADS cock blocked me from progessing the first part of the story bc of hunter rank so I ended up playing Caleb and sylus’ chapter without all that context, hehe…so maybe something I write here will be completely wrong later when I read thru the story proper

“What’s that you’re lookin’ at, pipsqueak?”

To your chagrin, you let out a squeak befitting the nickname as you’re pulled flush against his chest. He softly chuckles, finding your hand and intertwining it with his own. His other arm is secure around your waist, deceptively ironclad.

“C-Caleb,” you stammer, “I thought you were still—still working.”

“Got off early,” he dismisses. You’re almost annoyed by how casually he says it, and perhaps a bit concerned about the workings of the Fleet’s leadership qualifications.

Or. Or it wasn’t a coincidence?

If it wasn’t, you can’t tell from how Caleb’s currently acting. Right now he’s just being…well, Caleb. Not “your” Caleb, but “Caleb, Colonel of Farspace Fleet.”

Colonel “Caleb” is a deceptive creature. When it’s just the two of you, he’s one-for-one “your” Caleb. It’s all playful teases, genuine care, and bribes of braised chicken wings.

But Colonel “Caleb” does other things, too. His touch sears, pulsating with heat even after he’s long gone. His words dance and play, but at the drop of a hat—at any mention that you could be any better off without him; at least, whenever he thinks you imply it—they fan over your skin like hail, and it’s like you’re tied to a chair for interrogation. And his eyes…

You might just hate this eyes the most. They’re the perfect essence of Colonel “Caleb,” to you. Because it always seems like no matter what, even when he started to grow taller and taller, start to gather bulk, start to become a man, his eyes always stayed the same. There were also warm, soft, and rounded with a seemingly infinite supply of adoration. Always, always, always.

But there’s more the Colonel “Caleb’s” eyes than that. Of course there is.

Sometimes, when they look at you, you gulp at the vast emptiness in them. You freeze at the looks of intense, nearly rabid hunger. You nearly cry, even, when they look at you with sorrow like an iceberg; because you swear, every time you see it, that it edges closer and closer, that every time, the water recedes more and more, and you know just how deep Colonel “Caleb’s” agony goes. It’s almost enough to make you treat him like “your” Caleb.

But sorrow doesn’t exist in isolation. Sorrow, the stubborn thing, exists in harmony with other things, too. It exists within every faucet of emotion and thought, in fact. So for as much as you see that deep, deep sorrow, you also see just how deep everything else his. How endless his hunger is, and how much he truly, truly, truly doesn’t know; doesn’t know what to do, without you.

“The Colonel’s blowing off work, just like that? What sort of work culture does the Fleet pride itself on?” You hope he doesn’t feel your heart beat; or you hope he can excuse it for something…more agreeable, in his mind. Something you don’t want to really confront for yourself.

“Backstabbing, maggot-calling, endless laps and drills, and bland food,” Caleb says breezily. Falling into an old, familiar rythem of mutual poking and prodding. Pretending that this isn’t anything but normal.

“Sounds awful. Maybe you should get a vacation before they work you to the bone.”

“Is that worry I hear?” You can hear the grin in his voice, “Or is someone missing their personal chef?”

…But damnit. Because in the face of Colonel “Caleb,” you always want to go back to “your” Caleb. Want to go back to life with “your” Caleb, and pretend none of…this, ever happened at all.

“I can cook on my own, you know,” you pout, turning around to face him, face full of mirth, “I’m not as short sighted or greedy as you treat me as.”

“Caleb” cocks his head to the side, like a little, innocent puppy, “What’s wrong with that? I’ve never complained before, and I’m certainly not going to start to,” his smile softens, and he leans down to ruffle your hair, letting go of your hand, “And that’d make me a bit of a hypocrite, no?”

“…” you scan his smiling face, and frown. Your chest twinges.

He still smiles. It grows tighter, but still, he smiles at you endlessly.

“Hey,” he softly says, “Are you worried I won’t keep my promise?”

“…No,” you truthfully say, “You’ve never broken your promises.”

“That’s right,” he says, warm and soft, “So why do you keep testing them like this? Test me like this?” He taps the window and leans in, forcing your back to it.

Your heart drops to your stomach. “What are you talking about?”

His smile finally drops at that, but it’s just…it’s just…“your” Caleb’s face. He only raises an eyebrow, frowning at you like he would whenever you’d do something stupid and inevitably get hurt doing it.

Suddenly, an object thuds against the window sill. You look down and freeze, terrified of the bag threatening to be crushed by his Evol.

He frowns with a hardened glare, “Of course I’d notice you packing all these things, trying to leave me. Do you really think I don’t care about you enough to notice what you do?”

You jump, “Caleb—”

Your wrist is seized, “Even after all of this, you’re still trying to leave me?” He almost wheezes, like a pained animal, and you can almost believe that when he looks at you, you look at “your” Caleb, inextricably hurt.

Your lips draw into a thin line, “You can’t just—just keep me locked up like this, forever—”

“And I won’t,” he breathes. But his breathing starts to grow erratic, “I promised you that I wouldn’t. I promised you that we’d go outside this weekend; I’ve promised you that I’ll build you the most beautiful home you’ve ever seen; I’ve promised to you that I’d rid the world of any storms that’d get in your way—” his breath shudders, and he heaves like a starving man, “I’ll always stay by your side, [Name]. You know I don’t break my promises, so why? Why do you keep trying to make me break them?”

In this desperation, you both are practically flush against the window, and each other. Colonel “Caleb” looks like he might just cry, and maybe it’s because he still looks so much like “your” Caleb now, but you almost want to cry with him too.

But this isn’t “your” Caleb.

“I don’t think you need to lock me up to keep your promises,” you hiss, “And…and “my” Caleb made those promises, not the Colonel in front of me!”

“This? Again?” His mouth twitches, and a wide, open mouth smile of mania spreads, “How many times do I need to tell you? I’ve always been like this. I’ve told you about the cat, I’ve told you about the attic, and now I’ve done this—just when are you going to get this through your thick skull?”

. . .

(He’s right, but you don’t want to believe it. You can’t believe it.)

You must not say anything, because in the next moment, you can feel your body crash into the couch. “Caleb’s” Evol keeps you trapped in the soft cushions, and he lays on top of you, resting his head over your heart.

“You know…I did say I didn’t mind you being greedy,” he sighs, in someplace between content and sorrow, “And that’s true. If your hunger is a bottomless pit, I’ll still do anything to satiate it. I’ll let you devour and devour anything and everything endlessly, for the rest of your life. Whether you want to live quietly in the country, simply back in Bloomberg, or have the whole world at your feet…I’ll give it to you, like I’ve always done.”

His head lifts to meet your eyes. Your mouth is a twitching, bitter line, as you fight to hold back tears. You shake your head at whatever he wants to say; you don’t want to hear it.

But Colonel “Caleb” is a selfish, selfish, selfish beast.

“Anything, and I mean anything, is yours,” he promises, “But only when I’m by your side. And if you don’t want me by your side…” a sardonic smile alights on his face, “Well, I’ll just have to keep you right by my side,” he says like it’s a tease, says like he’s “your” Caleb, and not the stranger known as “Caleb.” “Safe, sound…and happy, even if it’ll take time. Even if it might take a long, long time.”

Your mouth finally stops twitching, etched into a frown, and agony jolts throughout your body as Caleb comforts your tears and sorrows.

#yandere lads #yandere #Yandere lads x reader #Yandere Caleb lads #Caleb lads x reader #yandere love and deep space #yandere love and deepspace

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floretteluv · 9 days ago

Text

LET ME LOVE YOU.˚ ☾⭒.˚ h. haddock x reader

summary : too bad, you just broke up with your ex. that's fine, he was a piece of yak dung, anyway. well, at least Hiccup's there to keep you company. . . and maybe to do a little more than that.

word count : 2.20k words

tags : oneshot, fem!reader, breakups, teen content, use of alcohol, inebriated!reader, post-httyd2!hiccup, drunk make outs, heavy petting, implied sex, reader has an unnamed lousy ex-bf, morally ambiguous!reader, hiccup might be too but nvm that, no use of y/n or (name)

a / n : hiccup can literally eat me out whole he is so hot omg

The meadow where Hiccup said he found Toothless was a surprisingly relaxing place to get away from all the noise and chatter of the Village's people.

You sit on the ground, leaning on a large rock, just thinking about your life choices.

It felt weird to you; you just broke up with your boyfriend, yet you're not getting misty-eyed and sniffling, or feeling that gut-wrenching feeling of sadness and pity.

You suppose that's why you wanted to get away, to think about it.

You broke up with. . . What was his name again? Wow, you can't even remember. Maybe you're just too heartless to remember his name, or maybe it was the mead getting to your head.

But maybe it was well deserved. A year of lousy dates to the Great Hall and a handful of mediocre gifts later (seriously, who gives their girlfriend a chicken leg for their 9-month anniversary?), you guess it was inevitable.

But then you remember his face. Probably a bad time to try and remember faces when your mind distorts what you think of, but you try your best to remember his.

It made you feel bad, yeah, but not sorry.

He looked sullen when you told him that you broke up in front of the Great Hall's doors, the hustle and bustle of the dampened clamoring slightly muffling his sniffling as he cried in front of you. Gods, he even called you a heartless witch when you didn't react.

Maybe you really are the problem.

Then a call to your name had snapped you out of your thoughts, craning your head behind you.

It was Hiccup.

The same scrawny boy you knew since you were children, except now he's grown into himself more, now a full fledged adult, his features chiseled.

You looked around the brunet boy's vicinity, seeing his other half no where to be found in sight.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, walking up to you.

"Where's Toothless?" Your head having to raise to follow his eyes, his standing figure now next to you.

"I let him have some fun in the Dragon Nip field," He crouched down, sitting next to you. Funny, if you just scooched a little bit closer, you'd be touching.

. . . How is that funny?

"Anyway, what are you doing here?" He repeated his question, looking into your eyes, then down to your half-filled cup.

"Shouldn't you be with, y'know. . .?" He trailed off, looking over to the direction back to Berk.

"Oh, well, funny you should ask because we just," You feigned a small laugh, before weakening your voice. Now really wasn't the time to try and jest.

"We just broke up. . . An hour ago."

"Oh. . . I'm uh, sorry for that," He looked uncomfortable, to say the least. He's never been in this type of situation before.

"Thank, but don't be." You waved him off with smile, then looked up at the sky, leaning back on the rock.

"I wasn't even that into him, anyway."

"Oh."

For you, this is just Hiccup trying his best to stop and end this uncomfortable conversation, but for him? As much as he doesn't want to acknowledge it, he just felt his heart go a little faster.

You were never that into him? So, does that mean you're into someone else?

You take a good swig of your mug, the bittersweet liquid going smoothly down your throat.

"Maybe I really am just a heartless bitch like he said." You shrugged, wiping off the excess liquid pooling from your lips.

"He called you that?" His eyes widened in shock and amusement, smiling mischievously.

"Mmm, not really sure if he called me a witch or the other, I couldn't really tell from his incessant sniffling." You joke, looking at him to see him scoff out a laugh, to which you smile at.

You're not sure if it's the moonlight hitting Hiccup's face in all the right places, or the fact that there's a barrel's worth of alcohol flowing in your system, either way, it's making you feel really weird right now.

Hiccup's laughing with you, looking up at the constellations that litter the sky. The way his head is positioned makes you see how handsome he is.

Well, you always thought he was cute when he was younger—cute enough to have a small childhood crush, but that's worn off now. . . Right?

". . . What?" His slightly worried voice makes you click yourself out of your thoughts, you had been staring at him for this whole time you zoned out. Great.

Blinking almost robotically, you shake your head at his question.

"Nothing,"

He does nothing, only smiling back at your languid state.

"You have some. . ." He nodded to your lips, making you swipe your hand over your lips, trying to wipe off what he was trying to gesture to.

"Sorry," You say, a habit of yours you'd hope you'd stopped.

"No, you didn't— let me just," He leaned in to your proximity, your faces near each other as he held your face, swiping the stray drop of alcohol with his thumb.

"Got it."

". . .Yeah,"

You guys just. . . Stayed there. His hand pulled away, but you were still close to his face, seeing every detail on his face.

He looked a little nervous, you could tell—but he didn't pull away.

Maybe it was the liquid courage filling your veins, or maybe it's 'cause Hiccup looked too good not to be kissed right now, but you leaned in.

His eyes widened, but as you closed your eyes and moved your lips with his, his eyes fluttered closed too.

What were you doing? You just broke up with your boyfriend, for Thor's sake!

And maybe Hiccup thought of it too, as he pulled away from you, your body almost ready to straddle him.

"Wait, we can't. . ." The brunet boy looked down at himself, then at you.

"You just broke up with—" He ran a hand through his hair, probably thinking of what he just did, overthinking it.

"That's exactly why we should," You adjusted your sitting position, your posture more relaxed.

"We're both single, we aren't hurting anyone." You reasoned.

Hiccup couldn't utter a word, and you hesitantly straddled onto his body.

"If you don't want this, tell me now."

Hiccup should've said 'no, we're going to ruin the friendship', but curse the damn alcohol, making his head spin. The mead had made him more pliable under your words.

After a few seconds of silence, with only both of your breathing being the only thing you could hear, he answered.

"No. . . keep—" He shook his head, looking at you now, placing his hands against your steady hips.

"Keep going."

"Okay."

Without another second, you leaned in to capture his lips again, moving your body against his, unknowingly grinding against him.

He whimpered at the unexpected contact, but welcomed it anyway, moving himself against you.

You were surprised at how easy this came to him, and how you accepted it—like this was how it was supposed to be.

Your hand made its way to his hair, scratching it idly. You didn't know, but Hiccup just had chills go down his spine.

It probably was the alcohol making you move more fluidly, though.

You pulled away, looking into his green eyes, hooded from the heated situation and the mead.

"Do you. . . Want to keep going?" You said, in between your bated breaths.

Please say yes.

And all you got was a desperate nod, and another kiss to your lips, his hands roaming on you everywhere, then lower.

This was going to be a long night.

The sun hit your eyes, making you flutter them open.

You look up at the sky, then widen your eyes as you remember what happened last night.

Fuck.

You scooch yourself to a sitting up position, seeing Hiccup and yourself fully clothed—Thank Odin—but moving kind of hurts. Everywhere.

Well, not everywhere—just your legs.

You nudge Hiccup on the shoulder, sleeping peacefully on his back until he woke up.

"What the. . ." He rubbed his eyes, still tired—but then he looked at you, then at himself, before finally looking at his surroundings.

He wasn't in his peaceful hut where his comfortable bed was, no, he was in the sunken meadow next to you, both of your clothes rumpled and hair a mess.

"I— uh," He didn't know what to say.

Did he fuck it up?

He stood up quickly, almost stumbling from the morning vertigo, before putting his hands up in surrender.

For fuck's sake, he's going to throw away his friendship with you for just one night of debauchery. He seriously should never drink again.

"I— I'm sorry," He started to apologize in a panic, to which you stand up to the best of your ability and scurry to his figure.

"I didn't mean to—" Before he could say anything else, you leaned up to him, grabbing both sides of his face, kissing him softly.

"Mmm," He hummed into the kiss, almost melting in your touch.

You pull away from his lips, to which he sends a silent complaint, his eyes looking at yours to do it again, but you didn't.

"You didn't ruin anything, okay?" You place your hands on his shoulders, for support.

"I liked last night." You said.

"You— you did?" He repeated, in which you nodded, a smile on your face.

"Mhm."

"That's. . . That's good," He let out an awkward laugh, now more comfortable putting his hands on your body, putting them in their rightful place on your hips.

"So, if we're done with your apology," You let out a shy giggle, then gesture to your legs.

"Can you help me get back to the village? My legs feel kind of like jelly."

"Oh! Uh, yeah. Let me just call Toothless," He lets out a dragon call, alerting the Nightfury of its owner.

In only a few seconds, the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself had come running through the dense forest, excited to see his other half.

Hiccup helped you get on Toothless' back first, pushing you up by your backside to help you. You aren't really sure if he was really trying to help or just trying to cop a feel, looking at him throw you a cheeky smile afterwards.

As you fly over the forest, your hands hugged snugly over Hiccup's torso, you can only imagine what would be left for you and him in the future.

"Hey, you okay back there?" He craned his head to say it more clearly, in which you just nodded to him.

"Just keep flying, dragon boy." You quip.

He sighs, a smile making its way to both of your faces.

"Yes, Ma'am."

BONUS ｡𖦹°‧

"Where were you last night?" Astrid had asked, the dim lighting of the hall illuminating your face.

"Hmm? Oh! Uhm," You jolted from your seat on the long bench, your eyes darting to the blonde Viking, Hiccup, then the others.

"We were looking for you everywhere, you just disappeared." Fishlegs supported the girl.

"I was. . . at the Twins' hut."

What kind of shitty lie was that?

"You were?" Ruffnut queried, looking to her brother, who was also shocked.

"Yep. I think I was too drunk to find my hut, and I just went in to the nearest one." You shrugged, picking up your bowl to eat and hiding behind it.

"I mean, I guess that checks out. . .?" Fishlegs shrugged, looking to Astrid, who seemed to be a little more suspicious.

Everybody hummed in agreement, going back to their food.

She was your best friend, and she could see through any of your lies like glass.

"And where were you, Hiccup?" Astrid asked, her voice interrogative, like she was trying to check something.

You suddenly looked to him in silent panic, his eyes meeting everyone's, then yours.

You shake your head vigorously as subtly as possible, Hiccup taking the hint.

"I was at home." His curt reply making the others confused.

"Really? You weren't there when we checked." Snotlout had spat, Hiccup's mind slightly scrambling for another excuse.

This time, his explanation was a half-truth.

"That's 'cause I was at the meadow, me and Toothless wanted to just go down a trip to the ol' memory lane, y'know?" He let out an awkward laugh, to which no one gave a laugh to.

Everyone thankfully went back to their food, in which you found a small opening to give him a look, one that's cheeky, telling you that you got away with it.

He only gave you a teasing smile, before going back to his food, before anyone could see.

But someone did see.

Astrid.

She looked at you, making you slow your roll on eating.

She gave you a furrowed brow, her expression stern, making you pause.

You knew that look.

We'll talk about this.

You sighed in defeat, shaking your head in surrender, continuing to eat your food.

She saw that look you exchanged with one another, and she'd be happy to interrogate you all about it later.

okay this is my last oneshot for this week i promise 🙏🏻

did u like the fic? drop a note and don't be afraid to tell me what you think!

thanks for reading ~ !

#hiccup haddock x reader #httyd #httyd 1 #httyd 2 #httyd rtte #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #hiccup x reader #hiccup #httyd hiccup #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup and toothless #hiccup horrendous haddock x reader #♡ — hiccup haddock !#𓂃🖋 — lynn writes !

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setmeatopthepyre · 5 months ago

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tidbit tuesday tagged by two people currently working on fics that are making me go insane, aka @rcmclachlan and @leashybebes

from pothos | pathos (back towards an earlier part of the story again, so not skipped as far ahead as what I shared sunday) [previously shared: pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 | pt 8 | pt 9]

Jee-yun holds up another string of beads for him, one end tucked in each tiny fist.

“Is that one finished too?” Buck asks, gingerly taking the carefully arranged creation from her and holding it up to examine it. When she nods enthusiastically, he asks, “Is this one for you? It might be a little big.”

“No!” she says in that tone that suggests he’s the world’s biggest idiot for asking.

“Alright,” he laughs. “For who then? Mommy?”

“No-ho!” she says again, flailing her hands a little.

He hums, tapping his chin in thought, really hamming it up for her. “Hm, how many guesses do I get?”

Apparently the answer is zero. “For mister Tommy,” she says, exasperated, and Buck’s heart does a pathetic little flip, partially because Jee’s new-found tendency to call every grown man she meets who isn’t her dad or her uncle mister firstname - thanks to her pre-K teacher Mister Matt - is adorable, and partially because apparently just hearing Tommy’s name still does ridiculous things to Buck’s insides.

“Oh, well, I’m sure mister Tommy will love it,” he says and decides to dedicate his entire focus and attention to tying the two ends of the string together to form a bracelet, and definitely not think too hard about the intended recipient. When he attempts to hand the bracelet back to Jee, she shoves at his hands. “Do, uh. Do you want me to give it to him?” he asks, very much in spite of the fact that the thought of handing Tommy a friendship bracelet that matches his own makes him both want to crawl into a hole to die as well as run straight to his ex’s house right at that very moment.

Jee-yun fixes him with another one of her are you kidding me?-looks that she could’ve picked up from either of her parents, then giggles and tells him “Yes!”

And Buck has never been able to tell his niece no, so he obediently pockets the bracelet. Then, remembering his tendency to forget to check his jeans when he puts them in the wash, thinks better of it and slips the bracelet onto his wrist instead. It slides into place next to his own, his wrist a colorful cacophony of unconditional Jee-yun love.

The sight causes something bittersweet to catch and burn in his chest and in an attempt to do something with all that feeling, he scoops Jee up into a hug, burrows his face into her hair, makes her giggle and squirm as he showers her with as much affection as he can express.

Later, when he’s back home, alone in his apartment and considering if he’ll ask Eddie to give Tommy the bracelet or if he should hold off until he runs into Tommy on a call, Buck remembers the sticky note. He wonders if Jee-yun remembers that it was Tommy who gave her the bracelet-making set in the first place, wonders if that’s why she wanted him to have one. He wonders if Tommy knows Jee still thinks of him, still refers to him as Mister Tommy, if Chimney tells him any of that.

He should, Buck decides. Tommy should know how much he was a part of their family, even if-- even if he decided it wasn’t worth it, in the end.

It’s important that he knows.

Buck pulls up their text thread on his phone. Scrolls back, as always, to the last few messages they’d exchanged. Looks at the unanswered texts he’d sent after that first call since the breakup, back when he thought - no, knew - he’d seen some of his own heartbreak reflected on Tommy’s face. Back when he’d had hope.

He’d been so convinced, and now…

He tries to put it out of his mind, scrolls back down. Types, Jee-yun made something for you and I promised to make sure you got it. Sends the message before he can chicken out. Thinks about adding, I still have some of your stuff. Decides against it. Instead, types out, I can give it to Eddie? Then, unless you want me to drop it off myself. Hesitates. Types, I don’t mind. Sends that, too.

Tommy never replies.

no pressure tagging @ambernotember @sugarpenchant @trombonechurchill @queermccoy @agentpeggycartering @emphasisonthehomo

+ tag list for those who requested tags for this fic under the cut ↓

@fiyaerrigan @bisexualbrainrots @leashybebes @louuieferrignojr @rubydaiquiri @teabroomsandbooks @crimsonwildcat-blog @sweaters-and-silly @nochance-noway @manifestingchaoticvibes @hyperfocusthusly @frogsinflannel @beanarie @rcmclachlan @sad-girl-hours23 @ambernotember @apartmentsmoke @bidisasterevankinard @agentpeggycartering @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @daughterofscotland @chococara25 @jujuberry136 @alejaan91 @ferrigno @detectivehorror @a-mel0n @tommysdaddykink

#tell me all your thoughts I love to hear/read them #a lil more than a tidbit here #dropping in halfway through a scene yippee #i swear this fic has a chronological order but I am Not writing in it #pothos | pathos #pothos fic #phosphorescence fic #my writing #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #911 fic #kinley fic #tevan fic #wip

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viola-verse · 4 months ago

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SUCHWITA: EP 02 - 드디어 우리가 다시 만났다 (Finally we meet again)

Warnings: talks of ghosts, mentions of alcohol, past injury, gets angsty, gets fluffy, Korean might not be accurate. I had to look it up. For the anon who asked if Viola was going to be on Suchwita.

Wordcount: 2,743

Requests: Open.

Remember this is a work of fiction. Let me know if I should add a comments part.

Guest Starring Viola Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Send a request | Tag List Form

Yoongi starts the video with his introduction before sitting down and picking up the tablet propped up on the table for him to read from. “Today’s guest wrote she's a best friend of over 10 years, professional ghostbuster and full time cat lover, part time idol,” Yoongi reads from the tablet in front of him, trying to keep his smile small, as he goes over everything she put on the small form that his team has his guest fill out for fun. "She does love cats," he chuckles to himself. "Professional ghostbuster," he muses, tapping his finger against the screen of the tablet. "I don't think she's ever seen a ghost," he mutters more to himself. "Alright, let's bring her out!" he says standing up to greet his friend turned secret girlfriend. "Viola!" he calls out, a hint of playful anticipation in his voice. He extends his hand, and a moment later, a figure walks into frame.

"Yoongi-ah!" Viola grins, her eyes smiling as she greets him, a paper bag in her hand. She's in a nice blouse and a pair of light denim blue jeans; her hair has been cut shorter into a bob that reaches her shoulders. It's a change from her long hair and something she hadn't told him about wanting to surprise him. "Thanks for having me," she adds with a light laugh.

"You cut your hair," Yoongi says, a surprised but pleased look on his face as he sits back down. "It looks great! Come on, have a seat. What's in the bag?" he asks, gesturing towards the chair opposite him and then eyeing the paper bag with curiosity on what alcoholic beverage she might have brought.

“Just my favorite,” she smiles pulling out a bottle of Bacardi white rum and hands it to him. “I also brought a couple bottles of coke.”

“I should have guessed,” he smiles, taking the bottle and opening it, pouring some into two glasses as she opens one of the bottles of Coca-Cola that has the label taken off. He sets the bottle of rum aside as she pours the coke, mentioning the menu of food that they have that she can pick from.

Once the drinks are poured and the food is ordered and spread out in front of them, they clink their glasses together and take a drink as they get settled into the interview. Y/N can feel her mouth watering at the sight of the spicy fried chicken, tteokbokki and a few other of her favorite Korean dishes.

"So, ghostbuster, any recent paranormal activity I should be aware of?" he teases, a playful glint in his eyes as he takes a bite of his food.

"I haven't had any since I moved out of the dorm room the girls and I were in," she replies, after taking a bite of chicken, she chuckles, wiping her hands on a napkin and taking a sip of her drink. Her ghost story from their trainee days is well known amongst her fans. She's talked about it multiple times. From how her things would disappear and reappear somewhere else. The seven other girls she shared the small dorm room with were adamant that they hadn't touched her stuff. It happened to two of the other girls too. Then there was the cold spots and the chills, the faint whispers and slightly touches when no one else was in the room. The scary stories and rumors about their dorm didn't help either. Viola was 100% certain that their room was haunted, and she can attest to the many nights she snuck into one of the training rooms or the boy's dorms to get some undisturbed sleep. She shudders slightly as a chill goes down her back thinking about it, "That dorm room was cursed for sure."

Yoongi nods in agreement. "I remember when you used to come to our dorm trembling and asking if you could stay with us."

"Jin oppa would get so annoyed," she says, guilt washing over her as she remembers all the times she did it before she was caught out by one of their trainers.

"He didn't mind," he assures her. "Taehyungie loved it though. He liked having you there."

"Yeah, Tae always made room for me," Viola laughs.

Yoongi smiles, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Any new ghost stories from your current place?" he asks, even though he knows there isn't. What their fans and the public don't know is that they've been living together for almost a year now, their relationship starting back in 2021. Neither of them or their company is ready to make it public yet, especially with Yoongi's military enlistment approaching and the clashing of their separate schedules.

"Nope! Thankfully," she says with a relieved sigh. "If there was, I'm sure my roommate will chase it away. He's not easily scared by ghost stories."

He chuckles, flattered by the hidden compliment. "Your roommate," Yoongi says, a playful smirk on his face as he glances at the camera. She also looks between him and the camera when she realizes she called her 'roommate' he, knowing full well that some of the audience might piece things together, especially their fans who have been shipping them since they started getting to see them interact.

Yoongi takes this moment to change the subject, shifting it to her solo debut. "So, 'Welcome Home' is doing really well! Congratulations, Viola-ssi!" he says, a proud smile on his lips. "Everyone is loving it. How does it feel to be performing again?"

"I've missed it so much," she says taking another bite of food and a drink from her glass. "I didn't realize how much I did miss it until I started preparing for the comeback. I haven't danced or sang this much since I broke my ankle and the Le Fleurs disbandment. It feels really good to be doing it all again and seeing how many fans I still have. That was pleasantly surprising," she pauses, thinking for a moment as he listens intently to everything she is saying. They've had this conversation behind closed doors when she was considering coming back to the spotlight. "It's definitely a different experience being a soloist though. It's a lot more work but it's also a lot more rewarding. I have more creative control, and I get to really express myself in my music." She pauses, again thinking back to her Le Fleur days. "I still miss my girls though. It's definitely not the same without them."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Yoongi says sympathetically. He knows how much Le Fleur meant to her. He was there when they debuted, when they won their first award, and she broke her ankle which is when they ultimately disbanded. He was her shoulder to cry on through it all. "But you're killing it as a soloist! I've had 'Welcome Home' on repeat for weeks now," he says showing his pride for her in his eyes and resisting the urge to reach across the table and take her hand in his.

Viola blushes, pleased by his praise and bows her head. "Thank you, Yoongi-ah. That means a lot, especially coming from you."

"Speaking of your music," Yoongi says, leaning forward with genuine interest, "I've been wondering, is there a particular song on the album that's the most personal to you? Or maybe one that was the hardest to write?"

"I didn't really struggle with writing any of the songs on this album, but I think that's mostly because I never stopped writing them. I have a laptop, and notebooks filled with songs I would love to release eventually," she says recalling her process that went into making her solo debut album. "The hardest part was deciding which songs would go on the album. Of course, Welcome Home made it to my debut song which is very fitting considering it's about returning to a place that feels like home. If I had to choose a song that's the most personal to me," she pauses biting her bottom lip as she thinks about her songs and tries to decide which one it would be. "I think it would have to be my ballad 'Silent Years'. People think it's about my years I spent not being an idol, it's actually about lifelong friends finding a certain special kind of love for each other. I actually wrote the song with someone, so it's not a song I wrote on my own. I can't take full credit for it."

"Oh, really? You wrote it with someone?" Yoongi asks, not wanting to give it away that it was him who wrote it with her and produced it for her. Even though if anyone looked into the credits for the song, his name is there.

"Yeah," Viola says, a soft smile playing on her lips. "It was a collaboration. We worked on it together for a while before we finalized it. It was a really special experience." She looks at him, a silent message passing between them, a shared memory of late nights spent hunched over lyrics and melodies, their voices blending together in perfect harmony. "It was unfortunate I couldn't get their vocals on the song."

Yoongi nods, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Well, whoever you wrote it with, they did a great job. It's a beautiful song," he says sincerely, taking a sip of his drink. She bows her head slightly, thanking him again. "Should we take a listen to it?" he asks, and she nods, pulling out her phone.

Viola unlocks her phone and goes through it until she finds the song. She lays her phone on the table and presses play. The soft melody of "Silent Years" fills the room, the sounds of a piano accompanying Viola's delicate vocals. Yoongi watches her as she listens, her eyes closed. He can almost see the memories playing out in her mind – the laughter, the tears and the quiet moments together that had woven their friendship into something more. The song speaks volumes about their relationship, a secret confession hidden in plain sight. He feels a surge of pride, knowing he helped bring her song to life.

When the last note fades, a comfortable silence settles between them. Viola opens her eyes, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "It still gets me every time," she admits softly, glancing at Yoongi.

"You really poured your heart into it," he replies, his voice equally soft. "Let's talk about something a little lighter. You're dancing again. How's that been going?" He asks, hoping to steer the conversation away from the more personal aspects of her music, at least for the sake of the cameras.

Viola visibly relaxes at the change of subject. "The choreography has been intense, but so much fun!" she exclaims, her eyes lighting up again. Dance will always be one of her greatest passions. For the longest time she didn't think it was possible to dance again on the level she was at before her broken ankle. A lot of it had been fearing that she will injure it again, leading her to never being able to dance again.

"I saw some of your fancams and dance challenges," Yoongi says with a grin. "You've improved so much."

"Thank you," she smiles before asking, "Do you want to do the dance challenge with me? Hobi, Jimin and Tae have done it."

He looks hesitant for a moment, it well known he isn't the biggest fan of dancing despite it being one part of what makes him an idol. He also isn't a big fan of participating dance challenges. "I'm not sure I can keep up with you," he says with a chuckle, knowing full well that she's ten times the dancer he is, her being on almost the same level as Hobi. But also, how can he say no to her, especially when she's looking at him, her lips slightly pouted and eyes sparkling with hope. Yoongi sighs dramatically, but a smile plays on his lips. "Okay, okay," he relents, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "But if I embarrass myself, I'm blaming you."

Viola claps her hands together excitedly. "Yes! Okay, let's clear some space," she says, moving to the open space in front of the cameras.

"Alright, show me what you got, dance teacher," he teases, standing up and stretching his arms.

Viola grins, pulling out her phone again and finding the part of the song that's being used for the dance challenge. She starts demonstrating the first few moves, her body flowing effortlessly to the music. Yoongi watches her intently, trying to mimic her movements.

It takes a few tries, and there's a lot of laughter and playful banter, but eventually, Yoongi starts to get the hang of it. He's still a bit stiff and awkward, but he's definitely trying his best. Viola cheers him on, offering encouragement and corrections with a smile, the opposite to what he's use to with Hobi.

"You did it!" she exclaims, after they manage to get through a small portion of the dance without messing up.

They continue to practice for a few more minutes, giving the everyone a glimpse into how well the two work together. Even the camera crew can't help but smile at how well they work together. Finally, they decide to film a short clip of them doing the challenge together.

"Okay, everyone ready?" Viola asks, looking towards the person filming the challenge for them. "Three, two, one, go!"

They launch into the dance. Yoongi stumbles a few times, but he keeps going, determined to finish strong. Viola laughs, but she doesn't miss a beat, guiding him through the steps.

When the clip ends, they both collapse into their chairs, breathless and laughing. "We did it!" Viola exclaims, high-fiving Yoongi.

"I think I pulled a muscle," Yoongi groans, and leans back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "Everyone is going to love it," he says confidently. "Especially seeing me embarrass myself."

Viola playfully hits his arm. "You weren't that bad," she says, but she's grinning. "Besides, it's all about having fun, right?"

"Right," Yoongi agrees, his gaze lingering on her. "And I definitely had fun." He looks at the camera. "Okay, ARMY and Violette's, please be kind. I tried my best!"

"If you ever have a dance challenge, I'll return the favor," she smiles. "I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to it," he tells her, fully intending to make sure she keeps that promise.

As the interview winds down, they finish their last drinks. "Before we go, is there anything else you'd like to say to your fans?" Yoongi asks her, giving her the opportunity to express her gratitude.

Viola takes a deep breath and looks directly at the camera, her eyes filled with gratitude. "To anyone who's ever doubted themselves or their dreams, never give up. Believe in yourself and never stop chasing your passions and dreams. And to all my Violette's, thank you for your unwavering support. Your love and encouragement mean the world to me. I promise to keep working hard and creating music that you'll love."

Yoongi nods, impressed by her heartfelt message and closes out the episode with a few more words.

The video then cuts to them, removing their microphones as their playful banter continues, unbeknownst to Viola, one of the camera's is still recording the scene like Yoongi had planned. They're soon interrupted by a visitor, calling out the nickname they use for Viola, "La-La."

Her eyes widen as she spins around to find Taehyung standing there with a small cake, "What's this?"

"Congratulations on your solo debut," the younger man, beams.

Yoongi watches them, a fond smile on his face. He knows how close Viola and Taehyung are. They've always had a special connection, a playful and supportive friendship that he admires. From the moment they met, Viola took him (and the others) under her wing. Having three younger brothers, she has a natural instinct to nurture, care for and protect them. They quickly became her honorary brothers.

She takes the cake from him and gives him a quick hug thanking him.

As they continue to chat and enjoy the cake, the camera continues to roll, capturing the genuine warmth and affection between them. It's a moment of pure happiness, a glimpse into the real friendship they have, away from the spotlight and the pressures of fame.

©️2025 @viola-verse & @dancinglikebutterflywings - Do not copy. modify and/or repost anywhere.

@forever-atiny - @carattinymoa - @rainyday-daydreamer - @kpopdramaficrecs - @lezleeferguson-120

@kpopficrecs143

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sinsolstice · 8 months ago

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GIRL DAD ⭑ 02 CROSSING PATHS.

miguel and his daughter are grocery shopping on one weekend, and he didn’t think he would run into you in the grocery store.

❥ pairing ⤑ single father! miguel o'hara x teacher! reader

❥ tags ⤑ friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual romance + smut.

❥ word count ⤑ 2,250

previous chapter ✧ masterlist ✧ next chapter

Miguel knows that it's that time of the month for grocery shopping. It isn't his favorite thing to do, but he understands it's a necessity. He finds himself in the supermarket with Gabriella on one of the weekends. He’s buying the essentials for himself and his daughter: food, something for himself, and anything Gabriella might want. While the world around him buzzes with people, Miguel focuses intently on his shopping list, eager to check off each item.

He's not alone on this trip; his good friend Jess Drew is with him. She has her own list, shopping for groceries for her growing family. They always help each other out, supporting their families. Without Jess, Miguel doesn’t think he could manage as a single father, and he’s grateful for her presence. There are things Miguel feels inadequate discussing or understanding when it comes to Gabriella’s needs. Sometimes, he makes mistakes with his daughter, but he tries his best to be a good father.

“This brand is good for chicken broth,” Jess says, holding up a package to show him. He glances at the brand’s name, taking note. “Have you also thought about what type of chicken you’re planning to cook with?”

Miguel thinks for a moment before answering, “A mix of thighs and drumsticks. I might throw in some wings too.”

“Chicken wings cook faster than thighs and drumsticks, so don’t be surprised if the wings break into pieces,” Jess advises.

“Daddy,” Gabriella calls, and he turns to look at her. She holds out a cereal box with labels like ‘delicious,’ ‘nutritious,’ and ‘cravingly good.’ He hasn’t seen this type before, but he can guess she’ll ask if he can buy it. “Can we try this?”

“Of course, mija. It can go in the trolley,” he says, taking the box and placing it in the shopping cart. Gabriella skips ahead happily.

Alongside Jess, Miguel continues gathering items from his list while keeping an eye on Gabriella. He ignores the side glances from mothers and women who pass by, noticing their interest in him.

“Hey,” Jess says suddenly. “Gabi, isn’t that one of your teachers?”

Miguel hadn’t processed her words when Gabriella yells a little louder down the aisle. Her voice catches the attention of people by the fridge section, who glance between her and him. He looks up to see Gabriella running ahead towards someone he doesn’t recognize at first. When they turn around, his eyes widen.

“Miss [Last Name]!” Gabriella exclaims, waving in your direction. Confusion on your face turns into a bright smile as you recognize her. You embrace Gabriella in a hug, nearly stumbling backwards from her enthusiastic greeting. “Gabi, hi! I’m glad to see you here.”

Miguel watches Gabriella break away from the hug and hears her ask, “Do you come to this Target store often?”

“I do,” you nod. “I needed to buy a couple of things before heading home.”

In that moment, you lift your gaze and lock eyes with Miguel. He doesn’t register what Jess says when he spots the smile forming on your face. Gabriella calls for him again, breaking his attention momentarily. “Daddy, look who I found!”

“Hi,” Miguel greets, letting go of his cart and walking towards you and Gabriella. His mind buffers a bit as he takes a good look at you; you're in leggings, workout sneakers, and a seamless fitness jacket, with your hair pushed back neatly.

If he hadn’t met you before, Miguel wouldn’t have believed you’re a middle school teacher; you look so different compared to the casual yet professional outfits he remembers. He can’t tear his gaze away and prays he doesn’t appear to be gawking. “It’s been a while.”

“Hi,” you say, your eyes finally meeting him. “It has been a while, almost three weeks, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Miguel nods. He’s been counting the days since he last saw you, and three weeks feels like an eternity.

“I’m so glad we bumped into you,” Gabriella says with a wide smile, her brown eyes shining with excitement.

You smile at his daughter and playfully ruffle the top of her head. When your eyes meet Miguel’s once more, his throat tightens as he suppresses a hitch. “How have you and Gabriella been since we last spoke?”

“We’ve been doing well,” Miguel replies, his eyes lingering on you. You look almost unrecognizable and well—great, in fact. His mind fills with thoughts of what your life might be like outside of school—a life he isn't aware of but believes must be beautifully content. Which might explain why he thinks your face glows when he looks at you.

“Hey, girl!” Jess says suddenly, approaching you. Miguel watches the two of you embrace in a tight hug. “You look real good, lovely.”

A sheepish smile appears on your face. “Thank you. Just got back from the gym,” you say, glancing between Jess and Miguel. “Are you two doing grocery shopping together?”

“Daddy is planning to make the food Auntie Jess always makes for me after school,” Gabriella explains.

He nods. Miguel considers himself a decent cook, but now that you know he’s preparing a meal, he can't help but show off a little about his culinary skills. He presses his lips together at the sight of your intrigued eyes, noting how your mouth curves into a smile. “I’ve always wanted to try and make your recipes, Jess.”

“Only if you trade me some of your delicious baking treats,” Jess counters.

“I’m altering the marble cookie recipe next week with a new cocoa brand,” you say. “I’ll give you a free sample.”

Jess grins and glances at Miguel before looking back at you. “Have you tried Mexican food before?” she asks. “I can’t remember if you have.”

“Oh,” you look at Miguel with a smile. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had the chance.”

“Mexican food is the best!” Gabriella exclaims proudly.

“You know, if you’re interested in trying some, Miguel is your guy,” Jess says, grinning knowingly at Miguel. He realizes she’s up to something. “He makes amazing Mexican dishes.”

“Oh, really?” you turn to look at Miguel.

Miguel nods, almost stammering—he never does, but he nearly slips up this time. “I can. Let me know your preferences, and I'll do my best to make a dish for you.”

“We can trade,” you say, your eyes lighting up with joy. “You cook a Mexican dish, and I’ll bake something for you.”

“That sounds like a good proposal,” Miguel smiles, his mouth curving into a grin.

Your gaze holds his, creating a moment of calm despite the busy retail environment. You look at him in a way that makes him pause, his chest thumping, and throat tightening, but not unpleasantly. He can’t get over how different you look. How good you look on this mundane Saturday afternoon. His eyes inadvertently trace the curves of your hips and waist, hidden behind the shade of his glasses.

“I should get going; I have another commitment,” you say apologetically. You step back, snapping Miguel out of his thoughts. “But it was nice to see all three of you, especially you, Gabi.”

Gabriella smiles at you despite the conversation ending sooner than Miguel had anticipated. “See you at school, then, Miss [Last Name]!”

“Bye, Gabi,” you smile and wave at her. “And goodbye, Jess, Miguel. I hope we run into each other again.”

“See ya later, girl,” Jess says with a wave. Miguel is so deep in thought that he doesn't notice Jess’s departure until he feels a light nudge on his forearm.

Blinking behind his dark shades, he quickly recomposes himself and nods in your direction. “Hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so too,” you reply, beaming at him and waving one last time.

Miguel watches you walk away from the aisle. Gabriella chatters about your baking and how excited she is to try a new recipe from you. You're still on his mind when he turns to Jess. “She loves baking?”

“Her baking is to die for. The marble cookies she makes are my favorite,” Jess sighs contentedly. “I hope I get to eat some before I deliver the baby next month.”

Miguel lingers at the spot where you stood, your presence like a vivid memory. The thumping in his chest settles, yet he can't shake off the sensation. You're still in his thoughts when Gabriella calls him to come down the shopping aisle. He hopes to see you again because, after all, the third time’s a charm, right?

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

It’s Monday afternoon, and you're in your classroom when Jess Drew stops by as she waits for Gabriella to finish her soccer practice. You feel the tiredness settling in after a long, hard day of teaching and looking after your students. Even though school hours have ended and most of the students have gone home, your workday isn’t over. You still have papers to grade, a classroom to tidy up, and lesson plans to prepare for tomorrow.

“Oh, thank goodness for these,” Jess says as you place a Tupperware of freshly baked cookies on your desk. It always makes you happy to see a smile on someone’s face when they enjoy your baking. “Thank you so much.”

You hear the Tupperware open and know that Jess is taking a bite of your cookies. A contented groan fills the classroom. “You always know the way to a person’s heart.”

Her comment makes you smile sheepishly. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Jess.”

Jess continues to enjoy the cookies, groaning softly with each bite and calling them ‘perfect as always.’ While she treats herself, you reorganize the paperwork piling on your desk. Your plan for the rest of the afternoon is to grade the students’ papers before heading home, avoiding bringing work into your personal time.

“So… tell me. What did you think of Miguel O’Hara the other day?”

“Miguel?” You look up from the papers to Jess. Pressing your lips thoughtfully, you say, “He’s a good father. I can see why Gabi looks up to him so much.”

Jess hums, “Anything else?”

“Nothing else,” you reply, a little unsure of what she means but suspecting the direction of the conversation. Her growing smile makes you chuckle nervously. “I just think he’s a good person who loves his daughter very much.”

“Miguel isn’t seeing anyone, by the way,” Jess adds, raising her hands when you give her an unamused look. “I’m just saying.”

“Jessica,” you sigh, a nervous smile forming. “I won’t take it as a chance just because he’s available.” You wonder if Miguel had been married before, but quickly dismiss the thought. “I care about Gabi too much to risk making her uncomfortable or hurting her feelings.”

“I understand,” Jess smiles kindly. “But I don’t think you could upset her. She looks up to you a lot, you know? You’re one of her role models. I think she loves you as if you were one of her guardians.”

That brings a smile to your face, thinking about Gabriella. Teachers shouldn’t have favorite students, but you can’t help yourself with her. She’s the sweetest girl you’ve ever met. A bright, beautiful child who will grow up to be an amazing young woman. Miguel is fortunate to have such a wonderful daughter. “Well, I do my best to set a good example for the kids.”

“You are a great example,” Jess adds. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

You smile and return to grading the papers. It’s not just her words that make you think about the O’Haras. You recall the unexpected encounter at the store and Miguel. It's been three weeks since your first meeting, and a small part of you hopes the universe will bring another chance to see him again. Yesterday was unexpected, but you’re not complaining because, well, the universe listened to you, didn't it? Even though you were a bit self-conscious about possibly smelling of sweat from exercising, the way his eyes followed you is a thought you can’t shake off—you swear he was checking you out behind his sunglasses.

“He is handsome, isn’t he?” you admit, a smile curving at the corners of your mouth. “With his shades, I mean. Although, I have seen his eyes before. They’re brown, right? But they looked lighter under the lights—almost red when I first met him.”

“He is your type,” Jess grins, laughing softly when you call her out.

“I’m not going to lie, I think so too,” you say, shaking your head, amused by the conversation. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to pursue him.”

“You think he’s your type? Girl, he is exactly your type,” Jess insists.

Groaning, you playfully hide your face in your arms on the table, grumbling shyly at her teasing. Miguel O’Hara stays in your mind throughout the afternoon. Even when the topic shifts, your thoughts keep flickering back to the single father of your student.

thank you for reading!

#˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆written by sin #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #the miguel effect #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099

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grimm-writings · 1 year ago

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can i request chilchuck making reader their favorite dish when they get back to the surface? like inviting them over for dinner to try and confess properly :3

the secret ingredient

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, post-canon, senshi being wise

…wc! 949

…notes! this is so cute… what da hell… enjoy your meal 🥺

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

The half-foot is running around the kitchen of his home like a headless chicken, which is coincidentally what he’s holding over his head rushing from the oven to the hob, and back to see if things are stable.

The one who remains perfectly calm and still, stirring a little pot of gravy is Senshi, glancing to look over at Chilchuck trying to stir some vegetables.

“...You forgot the–”

“I know I forgot the salt!”

With clear agitation, Chilchuck shrilly screams the words back at Senshi as he scavenges the cabinets around him for the salt. Senshi already showed disdain for how disorganised Chilchuck’s kitchen is. At the time, he had simply dismissed it, but now it’s biting back when he clearly doesn’t know where things go and how they got there.

Chilchuck tries not to overflow the vegetables with salt as he mutters to himself. “They’ll be here in an hour, we don’t have an hour to fix all this up – Senshi can you hurry the gravy up?!”

Giving his friend a sidelong glance, Senshi keeps stirring, as gravy shouldn’t be left alone. “No can do, Chilchuck. This takes time.”

“We don’t have—”

“Were you not prepping this all beforehand?” Senshi looks around at the already made meals. “I love food myself, but… this might be a bit…”

Chilchuck’s glare once Senshi turns back at him could kill. “What? Much? You think it’s ‘a bit much’?” He throws his hands in the air. “They deserve the best meal I can make for them! Aren’t you always talking about the best way to bond is through food?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“Listen, Senshi,” Chilchuck slaps his hands down on Senshi’s shoulder. “This… This needs to be perfect. I can’t go and confess to them if it isn’t.”

The dwarf takes in Chilchuck’s worries, before pointing behind him. “The chicken is–”

“SHIT, THE CHICKEN IS READY!”

Senshi turns down the heat of his part of the hob as Chilchuck runs off, and begins pouring the gravy into a jug. “I thought you’d know more than anyone that quality should be favoured over quantity,” he muses.

Chilchuck, upon retrieving the chicken from the oven, grumbles incoherently. He sighs. “I guess I don’t want to disappoint them…”

“I’m sure they’d love even just one portion of their favourite meal with you,” Senshi advises, patting Chilchuck’s shoulder. “Even with all of this food, you’re missing the secret ingredient.”

With confusion etched into his features, Chilchuck looks at Senshi. “What?” He flatly responds. Did he miss something?!

Senshi smiles – or rather Chilchuck learns that when his cheeks puff and his eyes close that he’s likely smiling – and chuckles slightly.

“Love, o’ course.”

Chilchuck looks like he is losing brain cells in real time. “Love,” he repeats, in slight disbelief.

“Yep.”

“Love.”

“That’s it!” Senshi takes a step back. ��Do ya happen to know their favourite dish?”

Chilchuck can’t believe he’s about to learn some moral about love at a time like this. “...Yeah, why?”

“Let’s scrap all this. I can hand them all out to families around the place,” Senshi graciously offers. “Instead, make a two-portion meal, their favourite, for your dinner. And sprinkle in some love.”

The wink Senshi gives him results in Chilchuck’s skin going hot in embarrassment. Really? That’s his suggestion?

“I wanna impress them,” he says, quieter.

“I know ya do, but you can’t do that rushing around doing the bare minimum of cooking.”

The silence of the kitchen fills Chilchuck’s ears, and suddenly he’s aware of the heat of the room, how sweaty he is, and how tired he feels.

He really has been going overboard from stress, huh?

The half-foot takes a deep breath, grounding himself in this reality again and meekly nods. “Yeah. Fine. You can give all these meals away to the townsfolk.

Together, the dwarf and half-foot put the meals in appropriate containers and bags. Right before Senshi was about to leave, Chilchuck stops him.

“Hm?” Senshi turns as his attention is grabbed. He knows Chilchuck isn’t the best with his feelings by now, but as his friend, he feels it’s his duty to at least help him.

The half-foot doesn’t look him in the eye when he says, “thank you,” cheeks flushed.

Senshi perks up at Chilchuck’s gratitude. “Not a problem,” he returns, leaving the home.

Now alone, Chilchuck checks the time. You’ll be arriving in 45 minutes.

…Sure, he can make one meal by the time you show up. With his secret ingredient he can.

It takes a strenuous amount of precision on Chilchuck’s part, but with his line of work there’s nothing that he can’t do. His love is poured into the meal, from how he stirs the mix from how he gently places a little stick of parsley on the top.

‘Tis finished, the little Senshi in Chlichuck’s head heaves a sigh of relief.

Right on time too, considering the knock on the door. Chilchuck wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead and rushes to welcome you in, before noting he needs to get dressed into something nicer.

When he comes back, you smile that wonderful grin. “Thank you for making dinner for us, Chil.”

His secret ingredient shines through for you, from how he presents the meal to how he returns your smile, the lines under his eyes crinkling. “Really, the honour is all mine.”

He offers his hand out to you, and you accept. Even if you’re somewhat surprised, Chilchuck has always been quite a gentleman around you.

Chilchuck thinks that, maybe, he is able to confess with just his confidence and love alone. There’s no need for frivolities.

Just one secret ingredient seals the deal.

#✮ grimm's fics!#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi imagines #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon #delicious in dungeon imagines #delicious in dungeon x reader #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #chilchuck imagines #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims imagines #chilchuck tims x reader

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miscfandomwrites · 1 year ago

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A/N: This was supposed to say "Bad day" but whoops. I'm tired. anywho, this seriesis inspired by some other authors with their own 'Sunshine series' yet my main take was wanting a main character who is a housewife ish and is fed up with their shit. They're all scared of this rabbit shifter because she's put up with them for this long. There's a whole backstory and lore and such if you want me to get into it, but for now here's 'Bay day' lol

Pairing: (Shifterverse) 141 + Keegan + Konig x Rabbit Shifter! Reader

Warnings: Lots of language, mentions of bodily harm.

Words: 1.3k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

Nothing seemed to be going right.

First, it was a downpour all day, meaning I couldn’t even drive to the farmer’s market since they had announced that they were going to be closed for the weekend since the weather was so severe.

It also meant that I had to rush outside to the garden in my new, clean, white sundress, getting mud all over it as I hustled the chickens and ducks back into the coop, and ran around gathering all the tomatoes I could find before they split from the excess rain, some of them already splitting as I gathered them into my dress, staining it red and coating it with tomato seeds.

They boys were all on base today, yet weren’t coming home anytime soon both due to the weather and due to the paperwork they were getting held up with from their last couple missions.

And today was a Sunday, meant to be a relaxing, self-care, pampering day for me, yet here I am, running around like I lost my head.

I had just started to dry my hair with a kitchen towel before I remembered that there were sheets hanging outside on the line to dry - one of the perks of living with a team I guess, is that even with an industrial washer and dryer, it still didn’t cut the amount of laundry this house went through during the week.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I yelled as I ran back outside, skipping putting on the rainboots and just decided to go barefoot, easily hopping the small gate that kept the animals on the fenced side of the yard. My ears twitched as the rain hit them, and I flattened them against my head as I muttered curses to myself as I tore the sheets off the drying rack and ran back inside, about to toss them into the dryer before I realized my dress had covered them in mud.

I opened the washer, expecting it to be empty, yet was greeted with the sight and smell of Soap’s mildew-y clothes that have definitely been sitting in the washer for the last two days, unswitched.

“Motherfucker.” I hissed as I dropped the sheets on the floor and grabbed a laundry pod and some scent beads, throwing them into the washer and starting his clothes on a hot, heavy washer since half of it was his workout gear.

I shook my head as I felt some of the water starting to reach my inner ears, causing them to twitch and me to wince and I quickly grabbed a spare cloth and quickly cleaned them out, hating the feeling of water in them.

I could faintly hear my phone buzzing from upstairs, and I jogged up there only to be greeting with Price’s contact, wanting a voice call.

I answered as I opened the dishwasher, realizing I forgot to start it before I went to bed last night, the pod door still closed tight.

“Hey love, looks like we might be running even later tonight, there’s a new recruit….” He started as I held the phone between my shoulder and head and tried to start the dishwasher again.

“What time should I have dinner on the table then?” I interrupted him as he was telling me about how they were going to be training not just one but several new recruits, causing them to be home around eight pm at the earliest.

“Oh, uh, probably around nine or ten then?” He questioned.

I just shut my eyes and sighed for a moment, before nodding.

“I’ll get some stew in the crockpot then, today’s not going too great so I doubt I’ll be up that late.”

“That’s alright dove, we can just pick up food on the way over.” I heard Ghost’s voice, causing me to pause for a moment.

“Am I on speaker?” I asked softly.

“Yeah, we jus’ got out of a meetin’ “ Soap replied. Sounds like everyone was there.

“I’m implementing a new rule: Set a fucking timer on your phones for your laundry. Next batch that grows mildew in the washer will go into the burnpit.”

A hushed silence answered me, before I heard a smack! and Soap yelling out.

That was definitely Gaz. He’s the only one who actually takes care of his laundry on time.

The washer beeping from downstairs gathered my attention, and I said my round of ‘be safe’ and ‘don’t kill the newbies’ before I hung up and tossed my phone on the couch, only for it to slide off and land on the wooden floor, landing screen-first.

“Oh that definitely fucking broke.” I sighed, padding over to it and picking it up, wincing as I saw shards of glass left behind on the ground.

A slew of expletives left me that would’ve left Soap blushing, and I set it face-up on the coffee table and headed downstairs, switching over laundry and starting half of the sheets in the washer before heading back upstairs, and cleaned up the mess my phone made.

It was around three at this point, so I gathered some thawed meat out of the fridge and some vegetables and went to work putting together and stew for the boys that could be left cooking for the next several hours. Halfway through chopping up the carrots, the dryer buzzed, scaring me enough that I accidentally sliced into my finger instead, causing me to yelp and immediately hold it to myself, using my dress as a pressure dressing as I rushing into the bathroom and yanked out the medkit from under the sink. Only to find it fucking empty.

I hissed at finding this, heading back into the hallway and pulling open the doors and finding the spare medkit things, disinfecting and wrapping up my fingers. (Turns out I nicked two, not just one.)

I didn’t bother putting away the items since I knew I needed to refill the medkit anyways, leaving the bloody wrappers and roll of gauze on top of the box.

I headed downstairs, switching laundry again, and set up the drying lines we had in the laundry room for the sheets, carefully setting them up, not noticing spots of blood getting on the edges from my fingers.

After switching laundry I headed back upstairs, my phone buzzing with an incoming call from Soap, which I didn’t even bother touching as I was not about to get shards of glass into my fingers.

I finished making dinner, setting it up in the crockpot on medium heat, and didn’t bother cleaning up the kitchen as I collapsed on the couch, about ready to cry my eyes out.

Instead, I fell asleep, my body exhausted, and about jumped out of my skin when I heard the door open and several voices.

About thirty minutes had passed, leaving me groggy as shit, blinking sleep out of my eyes as they shuffled inside, dropping off bags of something on the counters as Price made his way to me.

“I know we’re a little early but-holy fuck, what happened?” He started, causing everyone to immediately stop and head my way, causing me to be crowded by everyone. I could barely keep the tears out of my eyes, explaining that today was just horrible.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of that dress and into something warm, bun.” Gaz spoke softly to me and Price starting giving instructions to the rest of the boys: Konig and his crew were to take care of the animals and check the perimeter, Ghost was to help with laundry, Soap was on dish duty, Price was going to finish up with putting away the groceries which I later learned were from them going to the farmer’s market ass-early in the morning before the sky opened up to make sure I got what I needed for the week. Keegan took it upon himself to restock the medkit, and helped rebandage my hand as I sat on my bed, Gaz sitting behind me, softly brushing my tangled mess of hair.

This. This is what a pack was like.

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ninapi · 1 year ago

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°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ Better Half ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

Premise: Nobara forced Yuuji to stop by a food stand every time they came back from a mission. The girl working there always entranced the youngster, causing his teammates to tease him more than usual. An odd encounter brings her a little too close to Sukuna who ends up just as smitten as his counterpart with the young beauty. Which half will get her heart? Only time will tell.

Word Count: 2381

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Old sweet Nobara…

She might be a good friend, sweet, loving teammate, yeah all that and more…but Yuuji had reasons to hate her, as much as he had reasons to love her.

Nobara loved the colorful streets of Tokyo more than anything in her life, she lived for the very little time she had to indulge in the magic of the alleys, though, every time they came out of a particularly tough mission, she would beg her loving teammates to stop by her favorite crepe stand.

“Oh c’mon! Like you don’t like going there as much as I do…More even…”

“I beg to differ…” Megumi plopped on a near by bench hoping that would stop her from walking any further.

“Ok, maybe you don’t. Cuz you’re a grandpa. But Itadori is a different story, isn’t it mate…?” her suggestive smirk made Yuuji uncomfortable to say the least.

“I mean…their crepes are really nice…so fluffy…and…flavorful…” his voice was low, so much more than his usual boisterous one, it was comical.

“Oh yeah, fluffy…definitely…” this made his cheeks turn crimson, his fidgeting getting in Megumi’s nerves.

“Gotta pee or something?”

“NO!”

“He’s just eager to see his lovely crush.”

“So he does like her, huh? I guessed as much to be honest...” heaving a defeated sigh, he got up from the bench being the one leading the team now on their way to the delicious smelling food stand.

“W-where are you going Fushigoro?!” Yuuji trailed after his friends that were currently sharing a mischievous grin like a lost little baby duck.

“Kinda hungry, man…”

“You should try the chicken one, it blew my mind…”

“GUYS! Can you stop for a second?”

“Of course not.”

The sigh that left the pink haired male made them burst into a flush of evil laughter, his sad puppy eyes and frown making him look adorable which just made it all worse for him.

“Aw, baby Itadori needs a hug. Shall we communicate his needs to the cute lady crepe chef?”

“Her name is (Y/N).”

“What? How do you know that Fushigoro? Do you like her too?”

“Too, huh? She has a name tag you moron…”

“Oh….really? I mean…”

“You mean to say you haven’t even glanced at her boobies? Wow, this is worst than I thought, I think he’s in love~” Nobara skipped her way over to the stand, dramatically moving her hands as she was a maiden in distress.

“I hate her…” his puppy eyes turned watery as he shared a look with Megumi.

“Nah…you don’t. Let’s catch up before she really tells her to hug you-“ he hadn’t even finished his sentence when Yuuji was already behind Nobara, a desperate look on his face.

“Ugh, HI!” a high pitch little scream left him, making him even more flustered, your cute giggles making him feel ridiculously happy for some reason.

“Hi~ You want the usual?” He had a usual? He realized he’s never really ordered anything, he just stares at your face from the moment he arrives until he leaves.

“Sure! It’s the best flavor ever!”

Nobara looked up with a raised eyebrow as she adds his order on the screen, “Strawberry cheesecake?”

Is that what he always ate? It was certainly good, girly as hell, but good. “Yeah, I mean is so fluffy, you should try it too, Kugisaki.”

“If you say so, I’ll get one of those then. How about you, Fushigoro? Chicken?” he just nodded, staying silent in the background assessing the situation from afar. He noticed how you’d smile at Itadori a tiny bit brighter than you did to Kugisaki, your pretty eyes sparkled so much that it made him blush, and that, was weird.

Your hands brushed Yuuji’s when you handed him his crepe, then placed the other two in a carrier and gave it over to Nobara. It was very unnecessary, yet you seemed to know how he’s always so hungry and eager, like you knew he wouldn’t wait until he arrived at a place to eat it peacefully, as if he was dying to bite onto it as soon as possible.

And right you were, his first bite was something else… his nose ended up full of wiped cream and that dorky smile of his full of crumbles.

You didn’t have to do anything about it, but you did. You leaned over the counter window and got it off his face with a wet tissue, the adoring smile you had on your face not easily missed by both of his friends.

“Sorry to break the lovey-dovey moment, but Gojo-sensei is waiting for us. We must eat them before he finds out we’ve been eating sweets without him.” she grabbed onto Yuuji’s elbow, dragging him with her like a dog on a leash.

“Ugh…(Y/N)! Thanks! It’s as good as always and I’m so clean now! Feels great! You're the best, your boss should give you a rise or something!”

“Oh for fuck sakes…shut up Itadori…you're embarrassing...”

He was now being dragged away from you by both of his embarrassed friends. His smile though, never leaving his face, just like yours didn’t for the rest of the day.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

“You went where??” Gojo was pacing back and forth in the classroom, lack of sugar being pretty evident in his current behavior making them feel even guiltier.

“We just made a little pit stop on the way, gotta eat too, you know?"

“You didn’t just make a ‘pit stop’…you went to my favorite crepe stand…and didn’t bring me anything….you’re such a soulless bunch of brats…it’s unbelievable…I’m so good with you all and you just…” his sulking increased even further, making Nobara giggle.

“You’re such a drama queen, sensei…”

“King, you mean. King of the world~”

“Ugh, I’m out of here…”

“So what’s wrong with Itadori?” stealing the last bit of his defenseless student’s crepe, Gojo sat on his chair, feet resting on his teacher desk.

“He’s in love…with an older woman…”

“She’s not an older woman!” the little snarl he gave Nobara was one that would rival a feisty tiny chihuahua, but it gave Gojo a pretty good idea of how serious this whole thing was.

“So, who’s this older woman?”

“The crepe stand girl.”

“Oh, ok Itadori’s right, she’s not an older woman…maybe a couple of years older than you at most. She’s a part-timer I believe.” the look in Yuuji’s eyes changed immediately, turning into a soft dreamy one.

“Though, you might want to keep yourself at bay, Itadori. Must I remind you the king of curses lives within you? Just thinking of sweet little (Y/N) being in danger makes me feel sick…” his words were harsh and made Yuuji recoil, he knows this, all too well, but there was no need to worry as much, is not like he was planning on confessing or something.

Without giving as much as a reply to his superior, Yuuji just left the classroom and hid himself in his own room for the rest of the day.

It was so frustrating to him how he couldn’t even have a crush, how much this curse has affected his life and how much he sometimes wished he would get to be a normal teenager once more.

To make things worse, Sukuna has been listening all this time…

Falling in love made Yuuji weak, his defenses were slowly disappearing and his mind was just somewhere else, the perfect timing to go for a little ride.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Another mission came along the next day, it was an easy reckoning one, over after an hour or so, there was no excuse to go for crepes and for that Yuuji was grateful.

However, Sukuna himself had other plans.

Yuuji’s depressed aura as they walked past the street you worked at was the final push necessary for him to take full control of his host’s body.

“Itadori, how about we get some ice crea-

Itadori?

Fushigoro…Itadori’s gone-“ looking around desperately there was no sign at all of their teammate.

“What? What do you mean gone?” turning around just as desperate, all he could see was a dust cloud, proof he had been there not long ago, but not just of that, but also of the fact that he had left at an incredible speed.

The amount of cursed energy coming from down the road overwhelmed the young sorcerer, his face paling instantly. “Kugisaki….Sukuna…he’s…he’s here…”

“Tch, of course, he loves coming out when Gojo-sensei isn’t here…What do we do now?”

Megumi’s face was worrying her, he’s not someone to show fear easily, it also meant he had no clue of what to do next and she wasn’t great at this sort of impromptu life saving plans.

“What’s wrong, Fushigoro? Is he going too far this time?”

He just nodded, swallowing his anxiety down, “The crepe stand…”

Now that was playing dirty…he would for sure harm you if that meant getting full control of Itadori’s body, the perfect token for blackmail.

With a frown and unshared words, both ran towards the direction emanating the ridiculous amounts of cursed energy.

Though, what they found at the scene was beyond their expectations.

You were leaning on the window, like you usually do to get closer to Yuuji, like if nothing was out of the ordinary, like he didn’t have a completely different appearance and voice, making Megumi frown with distaste.

While he was fully concentrated on your safety, Nobara had her eyes on Sukuna. Saying his demeanor was odd, would be an understatement.

His smirk was wide, his eyes mischievous, his elbows were leaning on the same windowsill as you were, his face inches from yours. “My lovely angel, would you be willing to go to the depths of hell with me? I mean, hypothetically of course…” his words made you giggle and blush.

In all honesty, you did notice the change, though you didn’t question it much, is not like you had knowledge of curses, therefore the idea of your crush being possessed by an evil curse never crossed your mind.

“Is hell a nice place?”

“It isn’t. But I would make it comfortable for you if you do agree to come with me…”

Megumi’s blood ran cold and without thinking much he grabbed Sukuna by his elbow pulling him away from you, “Itadori…you’re scaring (Y/N)…”

Truth is, he wasn’t though.

You had a delighted face while talking to him and the flirting has been mutual the entire time.

While Yuuji’s real and sweet persona made your heart skip a beat with his cute shyness, Sukuna’s assertive and even commanding self made your knees weak.

You didn’t really understand his change in demeanor and you even considered him having double personality, but the truth was simple, you liked both sides equally, and didn’t mind one bit if he indeed had it, he at least seemed to remember you in both states.

But you went along with Megumi’s act, as he looked quite disturbed and worried, he did know him better than you after all.

Megumi’s words seemed to stir something inside Itadori, his eyes switching from a harsh scowl to a soft worrying misty look. He was struggling to gain control back since he really didn’t want to harm the woman he loved and he knew very well what Sukuna was capable of.

“What are you talking about, brat? You like this side of me much better, don’t you gorgeous?” his playful wink made you swoon, causing Itadori’s stomach to sink just a bit.

“I like every side of you. Though, why the face painting? Are you guys performing art students?”

“Something like that…now If you excuse us, we won’t be getting any crepes today, we need to take him home, he needs a bit of…ugh…rest.”

“Think about it babe, alright? If you so wish to, I’ll make you my queen.”

After his last statement, Yuuji finally managed to wake up and gather his bearings, he felt like crap and had no energy left within his body. With an arm around each of his friends, he was able to get back to the academy in one piece, though, his heart had taken a harsh blow.

You liked Sukuna…but you also liked him?

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Masterlist

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undertalebabbleblog · 8 months ago

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UTDR Holiday Newsletter Musings

Heya, Pup here, and I'm back again to talk about how Toby Fox has once more driven me insane.

Usually the newsletters have a black background and white text, but the background is white this time! Thematically appropriate, I suppose.

*glances outside at the warm summer morning*

Or, well, it's thematically appropriate if you don't live in the southern hemisphere lol.

Toby has a Bluesky account now, apparently.

...Yep, that belongs to Toby, alright.

And he even made an archive of the roast chicken posts "in case Blueski flies away". Excellent, those are exceedingly important, we wouldn't want them to be lost.

(Skipping over the stuff about the GameMaker updates and bugs because while it's interesting it's not what I'm here to talk about.)

*(...) *(...Pup slowly puts down the microwave they were holding and steps away.) *(All the settings on the microwave say 'spaghetti' anyway. It's unsure if that would work on frozen dogs.)

But in all seriousness, the reviews Toby shared seem pretty solid, and we are definitely, 100000000000% getting chapters 3 and 4 in 2025. I am incredibly excited and can't wait to see what the new chapters have in store.

(I wonder when they'll come out...? Place your bets, everyone! My money's on Undertale's 10th anniversary, since Toby has a habit of releasing and announcing important stuff on or around the anniversaries.)

We also have some text from chapter 4 that has been translated into Japanese. I cannot read Japanese, so unfortunately I don't have anything to say on that part, but I do have some things to say about some of the bits I can read!

"Inferno,&Inferno!" We don't have any context on who's saying this or what it might be about. My first thought is Dante's Inferno, given how much religious symbolism is in these games, but I'm probably wrong lol.

Lancer: "Susie, can you enrich my enclosure?" Susie: "Uhh, I can punch a hole in drywall and hide toys inside." Lancer: "Thank you. Someday, I will do the same for you..." This COULD just be about Lancer's room. Or it could imply that Lancer gets trapped somehow? Idk.

"To by, or not to by?" I don't have much to say here. But it's a Shakespeare reference, so I'm legally obligated to point that out.

Berdly: "Listen. It disgusts me to say this, but... as an ACT. OF. CHARITY. I will let you... Be the breeze under my wings. You... Me. Festival." My guess is that he's saying this to Susie. If so, Noelle is going to FLIP and I can't wait to see it lol. I'm very curious about this festival, too... I feel like something big's going to happen.

...wait.

WAIT.

Jevil's fight was in a carousel. Spamton's was on a rollercoaster.

...am I overthinking this, or are the secret bosses somehow foreshadowing the festival???????

Elnina: "Did it hurt when you fell? Your tag says you're... um, the moon." If I remember correctly, Elnina is one of the weather forecast themed enemies. Since this is chapter 4 dialogue, my guess is that this text is from Castle Town after you recruit them.

Chapter 5 is in development! Yay!

I was going to make a post about some of the new merch before the newsletter came out. Now I guess I'll just include my thoughts on it in this post.

SO. We have a Kris shirt.

Following the trend of the Frisk merch, Kris isn't named. All Frisk's merch refers to them as 'the human', and now Kris' shirt is the 'Important Person's Shirt'.

Here's all the text I've found describing it, from both the newsletter and Fangamer.

Listen. I am going insane over this. I have far too many thoughts and I don't know how to put any of them into words. BUT I'M GONNA TRY.

Okay. So.

Firstly, the love thing.

We already know that LOVE = Level of ViolencE. But while that adds an interesting layer, it's not primarily what I'm going to be discussing here.

Kris and the player have a connection, obviously. Their love will become yours - the love they receive from their mum, their dad, their friends, isn't meant for us. Yet it feels like it's directed at us, because we are Kris. Your love will become theirs - we decide their actions. If we express love for another character, we're expressing it through them, which means that the other characters are seeing it as their love instead. Us and Kris are separate entities, and yet we have an undeniable connection that makes us difficult to separate.

Also, I'm not entirely sure how this relates, but my first thought when I read this was about the default options for the vessel. The game records your choices in the vessel creation sequence. However, if you start a chapter 2 save file without continuing from chapter 1, the choices are automatically set to the first option of each question, except for the gift, which defaults to Mind. It also has default options for all the choices in the game, which all seem to follow what we know of Kris' characterisation. Essentially, if we haven't played chapter 1, Kris seems to play through it for us. In the vessel creation sequence, the question 'HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR CREATION? (IT WILL NOT HEAR.)' has 'LOVE' as the first option. I don't know how this might relate and it might be entirely unrelated but in my head I feel like some dots have been connected and it's driving me crazy. TOBY FOX YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME.

(Please picture me with one of those conspiracy theory boards with the red string and pictures and scribbled notes. That's the most accurate depiction of me right now.)

The mask thing seems important too, but I can't think of what it might be referring to. Maybe something to do with how the actions you choose for Kris aren't how they're really feeling?

There's also a Seam plush, which I wasn't originally going to talk about, but then the newsletter happened.

Firstly, look at it. Look at this battered old wizard cat. I want it.

Secondly, we get a sort-of-canon Seam design! So that's cool.

...dusty magic. Broken dreams. No tail, torn off by cruel and loving hands. The tail in your mind should be stronger than anything I show you.

THERE IS SOMETHING HERE RELATED TO THE DARK WORLDS AND DREAMS AND IMAGINATION AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY ABOUT IT BUT IT'S THERE.

If they keep releasing merch, my entire house is going to be UTDR themed. I can feel my wallet getting lighter and lighter each time they release something new, and I haven't even bought any merch yet.

And finally, if you click on this antlered snowman at the bottom...

You get a message...

DESS LORE DESS LORE DESS LORE

She called Noelle 'Elly' I'm gonna cry -

More angel Noelle... and "I wish it could snow whenever I wanted"... kind of ominous given the Snowgrave route and the whole Angel's Heaven thing.

AAAA I'M SO EXCITED TO SEE WHERE THIS GOES IN THE GAME

I actually missed the snowman link at first, so obviously I'm going to be clicking everything in all future newsletters just to be sure lol.

Uhhhh... yeah. That's all.

See you next time, and happy holidays!

#undertale #deltarune #undertale newsletter #undertale / deltarune newsletter #utdr #utdr newsletter #babble #rant #ramble #rose's rambles

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theawesomerocket · 2 months ago

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OC Tag Game

@dudewheresmynug oh my god I'm finally responding to the tag game you tagged me in after *checks notes* 90 days!! oh lord this is long over due lmao

As promised, I'm responding with *BOTH* my veilguard ocs :)

OCs: Endo Mercar & Anya Aldwir

(preface for how I'm doing formatting, I'll first speak on Endo, then Anya, and then maybe what they have in common where applicable. They'll be separated by '|')

GENERAL:

Alias: "Edie" (only their daughter calls them that and sometimes Anya), "Trouble" (guess who lmao) | don't give Anya a nickname she will cut you | both go by "Rook" (it's complicated, alternate timelines I won't go in to)

Gender: transfem nonbinary | woman

Age: 32 | 38

Spoken language: Common, Tevene (for both)

Sexuality: pansexual polyamorous | aromantic bi-lesbian

Occupation: Worked at their mom's construction business so idk they do a little carpentry, a little masonry (actually their access to building floor plans is kinda what got them involved with the shadow dragons..) | former academic, runs a bookstore before joining veil jumpers

FAVORITE:

Color: red(any shade or hue!) | emerald green

Entertainment: board games, specifically chess | bird watching (once she gets out of minrathous, she just can't get enough of them)

Pastime: Reading, mostly non-fiction about really mundane shit like "the architectural trends of bridges built through the ages", or "a catalogue of mechanisms employing planetary gears and their uses" etc. Endo also has a huge collection on ichthyology (they just love fish you guys :') | Anya gardens. When she has the space for it, she's very into crossbreeding her plants (can you tell I was influenced my Poison Ivy when I came up with her?)

Food: grilled fish | chicken curry

Drink: fruit juice (I need everyone to imagine them whipping out their battered canteen that everyone thinks has hard liquor in it and its just apple juice) | white wine

HAVE THEY...

Passed university: Nope | Yep (probably idk whats the education system like in the DA universe/specically minrathous??)

Had sex: yes, let's just say they're quite the romantic type (and very desperate not to end up alone in their late teens/early 20s, they've calmed down considerably on that front) | yes, she's mostly unimpressed with the people she's slept with, they were all kind of losers | bonus: they have slept with each other (once)

Had sex in public: Yep | Nope

Gotten tattoos: yes, mostly of fish, they're covered head to toe (I joke that in another life they would have been with the lords of fortune lmao) | yep, just the one on her forehead, Anya doesn't really like it anymore, she got it when she was way younger and it brings back bad memories

Gotten piercings: Endo tried getting their ears pierced once and it immediately got infected lol | sure, i'd imagine Anya has her belly button pierced as well as a medusa piercing (the piercing over the lip)

Gotten scarred: Endo has a lot of minor scars on their hands and face from tavern brawls, and they have massive burn scars all over their torso, arms and legs | Anya has minor burn scars on her hands | (yeah guys it was from the same fire)

Had a broken heart: sure loads of times, they'd been in a lot of relationships and they mostly all failed spectacularly (Endo is a very emotionally intense person..), also when their daughter was born they cried a lot when they saw how small she was :') | Anya was a little more than heart broken when she realized she couldn't save her younger siblings from her toxic family life and she had to abandon them to save herself. Also when she has to see the way her daughter misses Endo when they're gone

ARE THEY:

A cuddler: both are :)

Scared easily: I'd say no for both, though Endo might be a tad bit more jumpy than Anya

Jealous easily: not so much 'jealous', Endo gets mad FOMO when they aren't included in an activity, they don't really get self conscious or vindictive about it, they just get all soppy and sad usually remedied by hanging out with the people they're missing | Anya doesn't get jealous, she'd say she's got better things to do than to worry about what other people or getting up to

Trustworthy: I'd say they both meet a high baseline of trustworthiness in terms of their intentions (good at keeping secrets, reliable etc) though Endo is kind of a loose canon and sometimes they do things meaning well that have wild unforeseen consequences

FAMILY:

Siblings: Endo is a middle child, parents have four children including themself, they're the second youngest. They got along well with their siblings when they were younger but they drifted apart as they got older | Anya is the oldest child of three, her siblings don't speak to her anymore

Parents: Dad is apart of the Tevinter military, mom (her name is Cam) runs a construction business (long time family business). They got divorced when Endo was like 15, Endo chose to stay with their mom while their other siblings went with their dad (yay divorce :) | Anya's parents are Tevinter magisters. She hates them and disowned them lmao. They struggled to keep up appearances after she left, would keep tracking her down asking to at least pretend to be on good terms with them for show

Children: So I've not so subtly alluded to this but yeah Endo and Anya have a daughter together. Her name is Crete and she's about 8/9 years old by the time of Veilguard. Endo's mom helps them with her. She's loud and excitable and curious. She sneaks the news paper when her parents aren't looking. Crete was born missing her left arm so when Endo brings a certain Docktown detective into her life, well shes a bit enamored (and Endo is kicking themself because now she won't stop talking about wanting a snake shaped arm prosthetic lmao)

Pets: no pets for either of them though Crete really wants a kitten so it's only a matter of time :)

Welp. I did it :) not tagging anyone in this, but this was super fun to write out and think about. Thanks again for tagging me in the first place dudewheresmynug <3

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age rook #tag game #so glad i finally did this #it was sitting heavy in my conscious #oc:Endo #oc:Anya

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patchwork-oil · 2 years ago

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❧ "Blue Hour”

Chapter 1/?

Pairing: Karkat/Reader (Gender Neutral) Word count: 2,101 Warnings: strong language

Summary: You and your roommate Karkat have a somewhat typical Friday night.

Author’s Note: First x reader I'm posting! Kinda excited :3 dunno if I'll continue this but it was fun to make regardless. I know x readers don't tend to be in first person, but it's my favorite way to read them so :,) you're stuck with that.... The whole theme of my writing is that it's hugely self-indulgent. since like. the homestuck x reader tag is super dead askhjfd

It’s blue hour isn’t it? I can hardly tell if there are clouds in the sky right now. Looking up between the buildings feels as though I might be about to fall into a deep, dark pool. The street below looks like it’s underwater, the lights from all buildings nearby look… tired? Like I’m looking back at the past through an old, sad movie.

The front door jingles and opens.

Oh, Karkat’s home. What the hell was I doing just now?

I could have sworn I was doing… something on my laptop. Oh, right. Just watching some YouTube. But, I paused it? To look at the clouds? I’m really out of it right now, I guess.

Unconsciously I shake the distraction out of my head. It hasn’t been that long since I got back from my job at the grocery store, I must have spaced out trying to relax to some videos. Whatever, there are much more important things to think about at a time like now.

“Karkaaat-” I announce once I open the door to the living room, drawing out his name as long as I could.

“Fucking hell! What!” He grouched something about just getting back home, a single moment of peace would be nice. He hides his startled jump by trying to put his coat on the rack by the door.

“You said you’re cooking tonight,“ I accuse, “and I have never been more in the mood for chicken than I am in this moment right now.” I point a finger at him like I’m in a courtroom and my last name is Wright.

Karkat makes a look like some sort of wince. “Uh huh. And I’m the unfortunate slob who has to do something about that.” It was almost phrased like a question. He exaggerates every move as he closes the door and steps inside.

“You are!” I nod “When you lost the chess match with John yesterday, you also made your roommate look like a loser, remember?”

“Yes, I get it, I get it. You’re annoying and I have to pay for it.”

“I’m just saying we both know John is going to ridicule me for even thinking about supporting you at the tournament so you should be the one who has to pay the medical bill for the… embarrassment. In the form of food. Tonight. As dinner…” He looks up at me from taking off his shoes, not amused and highly confused. “I’m losing my train of thought. You said you’d make dinner anyway! Why am I trying to convince you?”

“I didn’t even say anything,” he chuckles, “that was 100% you.”

“I picked up chicken and broccoli from the store today!” As I walked past him to the fridge, I hit him on the arm.

“Fucker,” he spits.

“And I’ll do the dishes like usual.” Placing the chicken on the counter, I reach for the broccoli-

“Just sit your ass down! If I have to deal with your sniveling prongs making a mess all over the meal block, (Name), I swear to God we are not having a repeat of pasta night.” He starts to make big shooing gestures, ushering me out.

“You really suffocate my creative spirit, KK,” I playfully sigh, knowing full well I shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen with my track record of spilling anything that can be spilled. Sometimes even things that can’t be spilled.

“Last time I checked, we don’t need ‘creativity’ over an open flame.”

“You may be right.” I giggle. “Thanks for cooking though.”

He mumbles some affirmation and gets to work. My gaze lingers on his back for just a moment before going back to my room to grab my Switch. I’ll always feel guilty about not helping out but I know that even if I were more graceful in the kitchen, he prefers to have control over everything. I will, however, be within earshot if he needs an extra hand. Starting up something casual on the Switch, I plop down onto the couch.

Maybe there was something in those clouds today. I can’t stay focused on one thing for too long. I’ve abandoned the game, still holding it my hands while its quiet soundtrack plays. Every time Karkat uttered a curse over the food, I caught myself looking up, watching him for a while, then looking away.

We’d been roommates for ages now, since the last year of college. We quickly clicked, which was super fortunate for me. There was no way I wanted to live on my own after school, and as luck would have it, he wasn’t opposed to staying as roommates either. He, for the most part, enjoys cooking, I clean the dishes since he says he hates doing that, he doesn’t mind to remind me when I forget to do a chore around the house, and I’m not bothered by how he gets loud on calls with his friends. It’s such a ruminating day today…

“Hello? Do you have slime in your hear ducts?”

Eh? Ruminating over.

“Earth to (name).”

“I’m here! I’m awake,” I jostle suddenly.

Karkat just started putting everything on the table—the nice one we worked together to buy so we had somewhere to play his tabletop games. Though, it also takes up the majority of the small apartment.

“Sure you are. You weren’t even looking at the game, you looked like you were undressing the meal vault with your mind.”

A surprised laugh escapes from me as I get off the couch.

“Food’s ready.”

“Yay! Thank you again, it smells really really good.”

“Mhm.”

We squeeze into the chairs and dig in, it tastes just as good as it smells. I’m honestly pretty lucky Karkat is cool with cooking for me. We used to eat in our rooms, both because of the lack of a table but also because we both preferred eating alone. It’s likely we’re only eating here to get our money’s worth, but there’s still something satisfying about a warm homemade meal over a nice table.

“Kar?”

He only looks up in response, food’s probably keeping him from his usual yelling.

“I got a new game if you want to play with me tonight,” I swallow and continue, “since it’s Friday and whatever.”

He sighs loudly once he’s done chewing.

“Cooking for you and entertaining your screen addiction? Seriously, (Last Name), have I been put on this planet, cursed by the twisted gods who hide their sorry asses among the stars where they know my mortal wrath can’t reach, to be the player 2 at your beck and call?” Despite his long-windedness, his voice is softer than usual, making me smile before I even process what he said–a good sign he’s totally up for a game.

I perk up, “It’s called Heave Ho, I’ve watched other people play it so I got it myself. I think you’ll really like it.”

“If it wasn’t Saturday tomorrow I wouldn’t even think about it.”

“Yay!” I kick him under the table and he kicks me back just as hard. “This is super fuckin’ good by the way, I’d eat this every night.”

“I only followed a recipe, you don’t have to slobber all over my bulge about it.”

“Gross, in front of my chicken?”

_________________

“Could you! Fucking! Hold on for one second! Do you think you’re capable of doing that?”

“Hahah-I’m trying, I’m trying! I swear to god the button is unpressing its-hahaha-elf!”

“It’s not ‘unpressing’ itself you’re CLEARLY letting go–just fucking–HOLD ME UP!”

“I AM! What! Pfft bahaha-you don’t think I’m doing everything I can?”

“You’re swinging in the wrong direction–(NAME) YOU–AGH-”

A short “splat” noise follows and I erupt in laughter. Karkat throws his head backwards on the couch and groans sounds of anguish into his hands. I can’t help putting down my controller, my character dying as a result, and holding my sides to try and keep them from splitting.

“You thought I would like this game?! You thought, no–” he turns so he’s facing me on the couch, “(Name) you thought,” he grabs me by both arms, which I don’t really process because I’m still laughing “You thought there was some way in ever-loving Hell we could play this game without me bursting a fucking blood vessel and dying here in this room right now?!”

“Sto-op!” I can only manage to squeal between gasps at air in my laughter. “I can’t–I can’t,”

“Literally the most hopeless display at cooperative gameplay I’ve ever fucking seen and you make me play every damn game you buy.” He lets go of me and I fall backwards onto the arm of the couch, still giggling away. Distantly, I can hear him also laughing. It fills me with accomplishment, knowing I chose a game he would enjoy. I knew this game would be ragey, but it’s also primarily skill-based. As long as he knows I’m trying, which he can trust from how often we play together, he’ll have a good time.

Finally I can manage one big gulp of air before I’m back in position. He was holding his head up with one hand, massaging the bridge of his nose, surely trying to hide the sharp-toothed grin he can’t shake. I knock my shoulder into his to snap him out, and after collecting himself he retaliates with enough strength to nearly push me off the couch. I rebound and get comfortable again, sitting cross-legged with one leg over his.

“We. Just-“ I giggle “-need to regroup.”

“Oh really? Oh really, is that all?”

“Stop it—I’m being so real Karkat I might piss if you make me laugh again don’t even test me. Pick up the controller, we can do this.”

“No, we have to do this. We’re going to beat this level.”

“YES! That’s the spirit.”

We muse over our plan a little more. Deciding how exactly we should angle our characters to achieve the perfect toss—right into the goal. A couple more failed attempts go by calmly, “all part of the plan” I repeat like a mantra.

A calculated silence falls over the apartment. Blue hour is far from over and the windows we forgot to close display a full dark scene of a quiet cityscape. Some bright apartments far away are blinking sleepily.

“FUCKING-“

“No no no, focus-“

Our characters swing, the game music hums idly, our characters stare blankly back at us.

We launch ourselves at the goal.

Everything is still.

A successful note starts to ring.

“YES HOLY SHIT!”

“Oh my god!”

We both start to pump the air with a wave accomplishment washing over us. Confetti in the game starts to fall and I turn to look at Karkat-

-at the same time he turns to look at me.

Both our smiles drop to surprise and a beat goes by. I push myself off of him and he takes his hand off from my back—

“I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize I was so close-” I start.

“No- you’re fine, I didn’t… Notice. I wasn’t paying attention, sorry.”

We both nervously laugh. The soundtrack went quiet, briefly, before it automatically moved onto the next level with a funny sound effect.

What.

The FUCK–why was I–I had somehow managed to get myself half on top of Karkat while we played–and then when we looked at each other we were so close- and what the fuck he stared at me I think? How long did we look at each other? What the fuck was that? And his arm, I can’t-

“Oh man! We left the blinds open, let me just close them really quick.” I stand up, speeding without really thinking about it, to the window.

“(Name)?” Nope. Ignoring that.

I prop myself up by two arms over the back of the couch, moving so rigidly it nearly hurts.

“We beat the level! That’s pretty cool! So. Maybe it’s about time y’know we call it a day. Right? Yeah.”

He still doesn’t say anything while I start to pull the switch out of the dock and lock the joycons back in place.

“Um? Sorry, again, I’m just gonna go back to my room. So um! Goodnight!” I robot over to my door.

“What the- (Name)!”

“Oh, and for the food! Thanks again!”

And slam it shut by accident. I don’t hear anything from the other room for a moment, not for the minute or two I strained myself to listen. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding and slump against the door.

Ever so slowly, I ghost my hand over my mouth.

Why am I freaking out so much?

Next Chapter

Author's Note: Yay! Hope you enjoyed :) I will mayyybe write a second part, bc this is definitely not finished haha. I dont know the best x reader tags! if you're willing to help me out id love to know :3

#homestuck x reader #karkat x reader #po writes #karkat vantas x reader

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super-luna-fic · 23 days ago

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Camp Justice - Chapter 8: The Kitchen Incident

Week 2

The sound of a bell was heard throughout the camp on the intercoms to indicate it was time for lunch. The campers all rushed to the newly refurbished cafeteria to fill their empty stomachs like a pack of feral animals. The teens watched them in disgust but couldn't lie that they too felt the need to viciously push through the crowd to get some food. They were finally able to make it to the front of the line after a good fifteen minutes of waiting. The delicious aroma of paneer tikka masala, basmati rice, vegetable samosa, and tandoori chicken filled their nostrils and made them salivate a little. They were able to find an empty table close to the kitchen and sat down to stuff their faces.

"This food is so good I could cry," Wally said with a mouth full of food.

"Agreed, though you should try not to talk with food in your mouth. You might choke," Kaldur added.

"Or maybe you should to finally give us a break from your blabbering."

"You are so lucky I'm too hungry to do anything bird boy or I'll make you eat those words."

"You can try but I guarantee you won't get very far."

"Whatever, " Wally said as he licked the plate. "You know this food tastes so familiar. Like I've had it before."

Cal looked at him in disgust, "You literally just said the same thing twice and you've had Indian food before so of course it tastes familiar."

"You know what I mean and for your information, my grammar is top tier."

Cal rolled her eyes refusing to amuse his comment, however, she couldn't shake the feeling that Wally was indeed right. While yes, she's always eating Indian food due to her heritage, this meal tasted exactly like something she's had before. Ingredients and everything down to a T, and there was only one person who came to mind, but that would be impossible, right?

Cal's thoughts were disrupted by a couple of campers walking past her table who were whispering amongst themselves.

"You know I heard that the chef is a total babe."

"I heard she's dating one of the Justice League members."

This piqued Cal's interest as she was aware of their dating history (Don't ask how and why, she just knows) and figured they wouldn't be dumb enough to bring their significant other to a secret location, unless....

She called out to them, "Hey!"

The two boys looked at her in confusion, "Yes?"

"Which League member did you say it was?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't act dense you know what I'm talking about."

They stood there in discomfort not sure whether they wanted to share this piece of information but since she asked.

"You should know since it's supposed to be Batman."

"Yea, and I heard he's in there right now with her making out or whatever."

Cal and Dick looked each other wide-eyed and in disbelief as the two boys walked away.

"Do you think..." Dick started before Cal cut him off.

"He wouldn't dare."

Cal tried not to let anger fill her but the feeling of betrayal was fueling it and it took every ounce of strength not to act out.

Dick and Cal abruptly got out of their seat to go see for themselves but needed to decide which poor unfortunate souls to take with them.

"Roy you're coming with us."

He looked at them over his drink, "I don't think so."

They huffed, "What, why not?"

"You're not roping me into your little pin-brained scheme. Besides, you can just ask him about it later."

"You know good and well he's not going to tell us."

"Well then I guess you're out of luck because I'm not going anywhere."

They pouted but still looked around the table for other volunteers. Everyone avoided eye contact and opted to stare at their food. Well everyone except for Wally, Heron, and M'gann.

"I'll go if you don't mind my company," M'gann said.

"Same here, though I'm insulted you didn't ask me first." Wally chimed in.

Cal looked at Heron with hope that he'd tag along too. As much as he knew the amount of trouble he would get in if they got caught did not equate to quenching his curiosity, he found himself unable to say no to her.

He nodded his head," I'll go to."

Cal found herself smiling in satisfaction at the little team they conjured up and Heron's involvement. Though slightly disappointed by Maria's lack of participation, she knew her cousin was not the stealth type and would rather for her not to get caught.

"Well then I guess that settles it. You three are coming with us but we need to come up with a plan to be able to get to the kitchen. This place is crawling with League members and if were not careful we won't even make it to the door. Plus you heard what Superman said earlier," Dick puffed up his chest to mimic the Man of Steel, "The Kitchen is off limits to non-League members and if you get caught in there the consequences will not be in your favor."

The group giggled at his impersonation.

"So what's the plan?"

"Don't get caught."

The four looked at Dick with a deadpanned expression, "I'm sorry, what?"

"The plan is to not get-"

"Yea, yea we heard what the plan was we're just not understanding how that is even considered to be one."

"One day you'll understand my madness once I'm the leader of this team."

"Being delusional isn't healthy you know. I think you need to see Black Canary."

Dick narrowed his eyes at Wally, "I'm ignoring you on the count of us needing to hurry up and get this over before lunch is over. Now let's head out."

The rest at the table wished them luck on their 'mission' and the small group made their way to the kitchen. Since there was no official logical plan they had to use their surroundings to blend in and not get caught. Fortunately for them, there was a spill in another part of the cafeteria that caught the attention of the League members by the kitchen making entry easier than they thought.

"Maybe luck is on our side." Wally bragged as they walked through the doors

"Don't jinx this for us and keep your voice down. Are you trying to get us caught."

He lifted his hands to feign innocence. The group lowered their stance into a crouhcing position to not get seen and crawled to where they believed Batman and his female companion were suposed to be. However, that was harder than intended since they've never been in this kitchen before and they were beginning to get frustrated.

"Miss M isn't there something you can do to see where he is?" Dick asked.

"Yes, but then my Uncle would know I'm in here and then our cover would be blown."

"Noted."

"Well then what are we supposed to do, this kitchen is huge and we'll never find them at this rate before it's time to go."

"You're right for once Wallace," Cal said as she tapped her chin to think.

"We'll just have to take a chance and pick a door out of the rest two to go through and hope for the best."

They thought for moment beofre agreeing that would be the best option. Dick and M'gann agreed on door number one while Cal, Wally, and Heron chose door number two. The team then started crawling towards the door number two (in the back of the kitchen) hoping the right decision was made and to their relief they heard the voices of two individuals coming from behind it and some other strange noise. They looked through the door and saw a man and woman who were not paying attention to the door. They took the opportunity to sneak in through it and hide behind the closest counter.

They then peered their head over the counter to get a good look at the couple and realized that the rumor was true. Batman was the League member everyone was talking about, and he was indeed kissing a mysterious women. It was hard to confirm it was him since his mask was in the woman's hand behind his head and his face was hidden, but it was him none the less.

Dick and Cal were ready to pounce, however, they needed to confirm who the woman was which was hard to do given the position. They were only able to tell when she shifted and saw her brown skin tone, voluminous reddish-brown curls, and the engagement ring and wedding band on her now exposed ring finger.

They both sighed in relief now, knowing Batman was indeed not cheating on their mother. Unfortunately, their sigh was a little too loud and noticed Bruce's steel blue eyes staring at them through a reflection on one of the shiny stainless steel pans as his lips were still interlocked with his wife's.

The teens quickly ducked down in hopes Bruce did not see them.

"Oh crap, you think he saw us."

"No, there's no way. I mean, how do we even know he was even staring in our direction." Heron asked, fear laced deep in his voice.

"Maybe we should leave just to be sure."

They started to make their way back to the door when all of a sudden they saw the shadow of a dark figure standing right behind them. It stopped them in their tracks. Their bodies were stiff as cardborad because they knew just exactly who was standing behind them.

"What part of off limits did you not understand?" The caped crusader growled.

But instead of answering, they did the only thing possible in that situation.

"SCATTER!" Cal screamed.

They all started to make a beeline for the exit. Some faster than others given their previous position and since it was Cal and Dick in the front earlier you can already guess who got left behind.

The exit was so close and Heron, M'gann, and Wally were already through the door but before Cal and Dick were able to taste sweet freedom they were grabbed by the neck of their shirts.

Batman then proceeded to drag the two behind him as he walked back to the room where his wife was waiting.

"This is so not cool."

Silence

"I swear we had good intentions."

"Yea! We were only trying to make sure you weren't cheating on mom."

This seemed to hit a nerve with Bruce as he had tightened his grip and remained silent. Cal knew it was a low blow now that she thinks about it and that he would never do something like that. She was told not to let her emotions cloud her judgment and clearly, she wasn't practicing that.

"We're really sorry we doubted you, can you please let us go and think about our actions? Preferably not in the presence of mom."

Batman paused, looked down at them, and with a smirk said, "I'm going to enjoy every minute of this."

They looked at him in horror before he continued dragging them until he reached the door and kicked it open. His wife was standing at the counter the group was hiding behind a few moments earlier with her arms crossed. A look a disappointment on her face.

Bruce dropped them in front of her and stood by the door to make sure they didn't try to escape.

Cal and Dick refused to look her in the eye as they looked at everything but her. But they knew they it wouldn't last as their mother had a way to get anyones attention no matter the situation. They just hoped by the time that happened her wrath would have subsided. But if not she's not the one dishing out punishments, so they wouldn't have to worry, right?

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the DC characters or universes. The only characters and universes I own are the ones I create.

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A/N: This was one of my favorite chapters to write and I'm not even sure why but maybe it has to do with Cals mother being introduced🤷🏽‍♀️ Anywho there might just be an author reveal this weekend....maybe :)

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