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pomegranatelifethis · 2 months ago

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Naughty fur ball

Bruce Wayne

As the father figure, Bruce’s first instinct would be to protect his youngest, even in cat form. He’d be on high alert, imagining every corner of the Batcave as a potential hazard for a tiny kitten. "Stay off the ledge—Alfred, where’s Zatanna’s ETA?" he’d bark, already mentally cataloging every spell he knows to reverse this. But your naughty streak would unravel him. You’d scamper up his leg, claws digging into his suit, and perch on his shoulder, swatting at his cowl’s ears. When he tries to gently pluck you off, you’d leap onto his workbench, knocking over a tray of meticulously organized Batarangs—one lands on his foot, another triggers a smoke pellet, filling the cave with haze. He’d cough, glaring through the fog as you dart away, leaving paw prints on his case files. Later, he’d find you napping in his utility belt pouch, and despite the chaos—shredded reports, a scratched Batmobile hood—he’d soften, muttering, "You’re still grounded when you’re human again," while stroking your tiny head.

Dick Grayson

Dick, the doting big brother, would melt at the sight of his baby sibling as a kitten. "Look at you, the tiniest acrobat!" he’d coo, scooping you up and spinning you around like you’re still human. But your naughtiness would turn his joy into a frantic chase. You’d wriggle free, clawing his favorite blue-and-black suit as you escape, leaving tiny tears in the fabric. He’d laugh it off—until you pounce on his escrima sticks, batting them across the room. One rolls under the Batcomputer, and Dick’s on his knees, pleading, "Come on, little gremlin, give it back!" You’d respond by climbing the curtains, shredding them as you go, and when he tries to grab you, you leap onto his head, tangling his hair with your claws. By the end, he’s sprawled on the floor, panting, with you smugly licking your paws on his chest, and he’d groan, "You’re worse than Damian’s pets."

Jason Todd

Jason would see your kitten form as a chance to tease the baby of the family mercilessly. "Aw, the little brat’s finally bite-sized," he’d snicker, dangling a piece of string just out of reach. But you’d turn the tables—swatting the string, then lunging at his hand, leaving a scratch that makes him yelp. "You tiny demon!" he’d growl, chasing you as you dart under the couch. You’d emerge with his favorite lighter in your mouth, dropping it into a glass of water with a smug flick of your tail. Furious, he’d rig a trap with a cardboard box and a burger—only for you to knock the burger onto his boots, then climb his bookshelf and send his entire collection of paperbacks crashing down. He’d stand in the wreckage, shouting, "I’m trading you for a goldfish!"—but when you curl up in his helmet to nap, he’d grumble, pick it up gently, and let you sleep, muttering about "damn cute menaces."

Tim Drake

Tim, the sleep-deprived genius, would be equal parts fascinated and frazzled by his youngest sibling as a kitten. "Okay, let’s analyze this—magic, tech, or toxin?" he’d muse, scribbling notes while you bat at his pen. He’d try to keep you contained, setting you on his desk with a toy—big mistake. You’d knock over his coffee mug, soaking his keyboard, and when he lunges to save it, you’d leap onto his conspiracy board, claws tearing strings and photos loose. "No, no, no, that took weeks!" he’d wail, chasing you as you scamper off with a pushpin in your mouth. He’d rig a high-tech laser pointer to distract you, but you’d outsmart it, climbing his shelves to knock over his energy drink stash—cans rolling, spraying everywhere. By the time he’s mopping up, hair wild and eyes twitching, you’d be napping on his ruined laptop, and he’d collapse in a chair, muttering, "I need a vacation… or a tranq gun."

Damian Wayne

Damian, the self-appointed protector of all animals (and his baby sibling), would take your kitten form as a personal mission. "You are small, but fierce. I will train you," he’d declare, setting out a tiny obstacle course. But your naughtiness would derail his plans—you’d ignore the course, pouncing instead on Titus’s tail, sparking a barking chase that ends with a toppled lamp. Damian would scoop you up, scolding, "You must respect the pack!"—only for you to wriggle free and climb his katana display, knocking blades to the floor with a clatter. He’d dive to save them, shouting, "This is anarchy!" When you team up with Alfred the Cat to shred his sketchbook, he’d stand amid the chaos, torn between admiration and fury, finally sitting cross-legged with you in his lap, muttering, "You are a worthy adversary… for now."

Barbara Gordon

Babs would adore her baby sibling as a kitten, cooing over the comms, "You’re too cute to be legal." She’d hack the manor cams to track you, chuckling as you wreak havoc—until you find her tech stash. You’d chew through a spare headset cable, and she’d roll in, shouting, "Not the gear!" You’d dart off, knocking over a stack of external drives, and when she corners you, you’d leap onto her chair, claws snagging her sweater. She’d try to bribe you with a laser pointer, but you’d ignore it, climbing her monitor and accidentally hitting the “mute all” button during a team call—leaving the Batfamily yelling into silence. Exasperated but amused, she’d scoop you up, muttering, "You’re lucky you’re adorable," as you purr against her neck.

Stephanie Brown

Steph would be your chaos co-conspirator, thrilled to see the baby of the family as a naughty kitten. "We’re gonna rule this place!" she’d cheer, tossing you a toy to bat at Tim’s head. She’d egg you on—dangling treats to lure you onto Jason’s bike, where you’d claw the seat, or encouraging you to shred Dick’s laundry. But when you turn on her, clawing her favorite purple cape, she’d gasp, "Betrayal!" and chase you with a squirt bottle—only for you to knock over her smoothie, splattering it across the kitchen. The two of you would end up in a standoff, her armed with a pillow, you hissing from atop the fridge, until Bruce walks in and sighs at the mess. She’d grin, scoop you up, and say, "Worth it," even as you swat her nose.

Cassandra Cain

Cass, the quiet observer, would find your kitten antics both endearing and exhausting. She’d watch you with a small smile, reading your every twitch—until you strike. You’d claw her favorite scarf, and she’d blink, surprised, before gently nudging you away. But you’d escalate, climbing her leg to perch on her shoulder, then leaping onto a shelf to knock over her meditation candles. She’d chase you silently, dodging as you bat at her hair, and when you finally tire out, she’d sit cross-legged, letting you nap in her lap. Later, she’d find her stealth suit with tiny claw marks and just shake her head, murmuring, "Little trouble," with a rare grin—knowing she’d helped you prank Jason earlier by leaving his gloves out.

Alfred Pennyworth

Alfred, ever the patient guardian, would treat you like royalty at first—setting out a tiny dish of water and a cushion. "Even as a feline, you are family, young master," he’d say. But your naughtiness would test even his saintly calm. You’d knock over his silver tray, scattering biscuits, then climb the pantry shelves, sending flour and sugar crashing down. He’d pursue you with a broom, muttering, "This is undignified," as you dart off with a stolen tea bag. The final straw would be you clawing the dining room drapes into ribbons—he’d freeze, sigh deeply, and say, "I shall require a raise, Master Bruce." Yet when you curl up purring in his apron pocket, he’d stroke your fur, resigned but fond, and start cleaning the wreckage.

The Chaos

The Batcave and manor would be a disaster zone. Bruce trips over scattered Batarangs while chasing you off the Batcomputer, where you’ve activated the siren. Dick’s wrestling with shredded curtains, Jason’s buried under his toppled books, and Tim’s sobbing over a coffee-soaked motherboard. Damian’s swinging from the rafters after you knock over his sword rack, Steph’s cackling as you claw her smoothie-sticky fridge perch, and Babs is locked in with a malfunctioning system you triggered. Cass watches silently as you nap post-rampage, and Alfred’s sweeping up flour with a martyred air. When Zatanna arrives, the family’s begging, "Fix the kid!"—not because they don’t love you, but because their sanity’s hanging by a thread.

@jscrawls @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

English is not my native language

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere x reader #bruce wayne x reader #yandere dc #damian wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader #jason todd x reader #barbara gordon x reader #stephanie brown x reader #cassandra cain x reader #dc x reader

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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perhaps whimsical!reader x one of the marauders (you choose) who’s being made fun of but doesn’t realize it? And they defend you or talk to you or something?

Thanks for requesting <3

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader ♡ 745 words

Remus watches as your eyes drift out the window beside his couch.

“I think you’d like it,” James continues, unaware that he’s lost your attention as he tells you about the shop he’d gone to with Mary the day before. “They’ve got incense and crystals, all that stuff.”

When you don’t react, Remus nudges your leg with his.

You look at him. “Hm?”

“That does sound like someplace you’d like,” he tries to clue you in, “doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes.” You give James a breezy smile. He returns it with ease, not a lick of pique about him. “Thank you, James, I’ll have to go. Where is it?”

James’ thick eyebrows come together. “You know, I’m not actually sure. Mary led the way there and I just sort of followed, but I want to say it was on fourth.”

You nod, and Remus smiles at your obvious expertise on the matter. He doubts there’s a shop of that kind that you haven’t been to, but you’re humoring James just to be kind. “Right, there’s a string of them on fourth street. Maybe I can ask Mary sometime and see if—oh, the fawn is standing up!”

You grab Remus’ hand excitedly, turning in your seat to get a better view out the window. Your eyes are very nearly heart-shaped as you coo over the baby deer wobbling to its feet a few yards from Remus’ home. “Oh my goodness, it’s so precious. Do you guys see it?”

Remus shoots James an apologetic look, but his friend smiles and shrugs it off, coming to lean over the couch beside you.

“It is really cute,” he agrees.

Sirius laughs. “You’ve really got yourself a goldfish, haven’t you Moony?” You don’t pay him any mind, but Remus regards him quizzically. “She can’t seem to talk to anyone for more than two seconds before she’s distracted by something shiny.”

Now, you turn, your head tilting like a puppy’s. “It’s not shiny, Sirius, it’s a fawn. Do you want to come see?”

“It’s a figure of speech, love.”

“Pads.” Remus’ voice is hard. “Don’t.”

Your brows pucker at your boyfriend’s tone. “Remus,” you sound almost hurt, “what’s wrong?”

He wraps a protective hand around your thigh, but James speaks before he can.

“It’s nothing,” he says cheerily. His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re always squabbling like this, they’re like an old married couple. Best to do as I do and stay out of it.”

“Oh, please,” Sirius guffaws. “Like you’ve ever stayed out of anything in your life.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” James says. Remus relaxes as the beginnings of a bemused smile touches your lips. “I don’t partake in any such childish quarreling.”

It’s only after his friends leave and Remus is cleaning up his kitchen from all the snacks they’d left strewn about, that he says quietly, “Don’t mind Sirius, dove. His sense of humor can be mean, but he wouldn’t tease you if he didn’t like you.”

You pause sweeping up the floor, looking at him curiously. “What do you mean? I thought they were both really nice.”

“They are,” he says, “but I just want to make sure you understand that when Sirius was making fun of you, he didn’t really mean anything by it.”

“He was making fun of me?”

Remus swears he feels his heart fall right out his ass.

“Yes, sweetheart, but like I said, he was only teasing.” He gives you a small smile, but at your puzzled look, reluctantly clarifies, “You remember when he said you were a goldfish?”

You nod.

“That was it, dove. That was the joke.”

“Oh.” You smile funnily, one side of your mouth quirking up more than the other. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I’d love to be a goldfish.”

A little laugh startles out of Remus. “Really?” he asks.

You nod happily, resuming your sweeping. “They can see more colors than humans, did you know? And they’re really very pretty.”

It’s all Remus can do to keep from crossing the kitchen to squish you in a hug. He’s grinning ear-to-ear. “Well,” he says, trying to match your serene tone, “then it suits you, dove.”

“I think so,” you say lightly. “You should be a goldfish too, Remus. Or actually, I think I see you more as a seahorse. We could both be seahorses, if you like.”

“Don’t seahorses mate for life?”

“Mhm. Suits us, don’t you think?”

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synity · 12 days ago

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Us, Under One Moon

(Lee Jihoon x FemReader)

*Slice-of-Life, Domestic Fluff, Girl Dad Woozi, Found-Family Warmth*

Lee Jihoon didn’t know he could cry that fast.

He hadn’t cried when he debuted. Not when he won his first award. Not even when he broke down from overwork behind the locked doors of a studio. But the second his daughter arrived into the world eight pounds of perfection, lungs strong, fists tiny his composure shattered like poorly tightened drum strings.

He stood beside Y/N, his wife, her forehead dewed with sweat, exhaustion painting shadows beneath her eyes, and yet, still glowing. Her hand gripped his weakly, but it was her eyes that anchored him eyes that silently said, This is ours.

And so he looked at his daughter. Her name would be Areum meaning beautiful, fitting for someone born with the moonlight resting on her skin and a soul that made the sterile hospital room feel like home.

Seoul, 6:04 a.m. Sunlight seeped through the gauzy curtains and stretched across the king‑size bed like warm honey. Somewhere outside, a sparrow chirped an over‑enthusiastic scale almost as if auditioning for SEVENTEEN. Inside, the master bedroom of the Lee household was quiet… until a five‑year‑old whirlwind padded in on sock‑clad feet.

“Appa…” The whisper was soft but determined. Tiny palms pressed against Lee Jihoon’s cheeks, squishing them together so his lips puckered like a goldfish. “Wake up, you promised heart pancakes.”

Jihoon’s eyes cracked open; the night’s leftover exhaustion evaporated at the sight of his daughter’s bed‑head curls. “Morning already?” he croaked. His voice a producer’s prized instrument sounded more like crumpled sheet music.

From the other side of the bed, Y/N shifted, a sleepy smile curving her lips. “Your turn, superstar. My stage call isn’t until eight.” She reached out and brushed a stray curl from Areum’s forehead. “Mommy will taste‑test later.”

Areum’s face lit up, cheeks dimpling. “Appa, pancakes. With strawberry sprinkles. And chocolate eyes so they can see us eat them.”

Jihoon surrendered, sitting up in a tangle of blankets. His daughter squealed triumphantly and launched herself into his arms. The oversize T‑shirt he wore as pajamas sported a faded Going Seventeen logo; Areum fiddled with the hem as he scooped her close.

“How about a grand entrée?” he suggested, carrying her princess‑style toward the kitchen. “Heart‑shaped pancakes, blueberry smile, chocolate‑chip freckles, and a syrup moat.”

“Don’t forget the whipped‑cream mountain,” Areum added. “Mount Whipmore!”

Behind them, Y/N laughed into her pillow. “Remind me to trademark that.”

The Lee kitchen was equal parts homey and high‑tech: an espresso machine that hissed like a cymbal, a refrigerator plastered with preschool art, and a magnetic whiteboard where Woozi’s to‑do list battled stickers of cartoon tigers.

Areum wiggled onto her step stool painted lavender with silver stars, courtesy of Uncle Hoshi and donned a child‑sized apron. Jihoon tied the strings and grabbed the mixing bowl.

“Flour,” he announced, sliding the container over. “Half a cup careful.”

A puff of white dust clouded the air as Areum over‑enthusiastically dumped the flour. “Oops.”

“Creative expression,” Jihoon said, scooping the excess back in. “Next: milk, eggs, vanilla.”

As they whisked, Jihoon hummed a simple melody four bars looping like sunlight on parquet flooring. Areum matched pitch, her tiny voice threading through his bass notes.

Y/N appeared in the doorway, phone camera rolling. “Your morning duet is going to break Twitter,” she teased.

“Exclusive pre‑release,” Jihoon joked, flipping the first pancake with a practiced wrist. It landed perfectly; Areum clapped like it was a magic trick.

They decorated: strawberry‑slice hearts, chocolate‑chip eyes, whipped‑cream mountains so tall they threatened avalanche. Areum drizzled syrup until rivers formed around each cake. Jihoon pretended to launch tiny gummy‑bear boats down the syrup streams; Areum’s giggles filled the kitchen like cymbal crashes.

They plated three masterpieces. Jihoon carried the tray back to the bedroom where Y/N sat cross‑legged, laptop open, reviewing fabric swatches for SEVENTEEN’s next concept. She closed it at once, face lighting up at the spectacle.

“Mount Whipmore in all its glory,” Jihoon proclaimed.

The family tucked in. Syrup stuck to Areum’s chin; Y/N dabbed it away with a napkin. Jihoon cut bite‑sized pieces for them both before eating his own.

Between mouthfuls, Areum launched rapid‑fire questions: “Appa, why is a piano called a piano? Umma, can we visit the Han River today? Does whipped cream melt in space?”

Jihoon fielded each inquiry with professor‑level seriousness, eyes twinkling. Y/N chimed in dramatizing every answer.

By the end, pancakes were gone, plates licked clean, laughter echoing off the walls. Jihoon pressed a gentle kiss to Y/N’s temple, another to Areum’s syrupy cheek.

“Best breakfast concert I’ve ever headlined,” he declared.

Areum threw her arms around his neck. "tomorrow again?”

“Every day, Moonie my life’s favorite encore.”

And as the family shuffled toward the living room Jihoon to the piano, Areum to her crayon kingdom, Y/N trailing with her sketchbook the sparrow’s song outside seemed to harmonize, as if the whole neighborhood had tuned in for the next movement of the Morning Symphony.

Jihoon’s studio had evolved with the seasons of his life. What was once a solitary space for instruments and stress was now a shared sanctuary.

There was a low corner table with chunky crayons and pink post-it notes, some scribbled with Areum’s critiques:

"Appa, this one made me sleepy, good sleepy"

"More sparkle sounds please."

Y/N had claimed a shelf near the window for her brushes and fabric samples. She’d design mock outfits for comebacks right next to her daughter’s Lego cities.

Sometimes, while Jihoon layered chords, Y/N would be painting the concept poster for a new Seventeen unit. Areum, meanwhile, orchestrated her stuffed animals into a chorus line.

“Appa, make the teddy bear sing!”

“You’re the composer, Moon. You show me.”

She’d tap random keys until a melody emerged, laughing when Jihoon would nod and say, “We have a hit.”

Every Sunday was sacred.

Matching outfits hand-sewn by Y/N. They wore pastels or neutrals depending on Moonie’s mood. Today, lilac hoodies with tiny crescent moons stitched over the heart.

They picnicked near Han River. Jihoon’s old guitar in tow, their portable speaker playing soft ballads, Areum racing between trees with a disposable camera. Y/N sprawled on the mat sketching them both.

After eating, Jihoon sang. His guitar gentle, voice lower than stage level, private.

Areum twirled beside him, feet bare in the grass. Y/N harmonized with soft hums.

A security guard walked by, recognized them, but simply tipped his hat and walked on. Even idols deserved to be Appa, Umma, and Moon.

They stayed until the sun kissed the skyline and Areum yawned against Y/N’s lap.

Woozi could produce a ten-layer synth harmony but braiding hair? That took dedication.

He’d practiced with a doll Y/N bought him until he got it right.

Now, every school morning he braided Areum’s hair into twin plaits. She sat on the bathroom stool, chattering about her day ahead.

“Appa, we have to bring a family photo. Which one should I use?”

“Let’s take a new one,” he said. “Today. Just us three.”

That night, after brushing her teeth and jumping under her space-themed blanket, Areum held out a book.

“This one, Appa. The one where the bear finds home.”

Jihoon read with one arm around her, the other hand in Y/N’s. He gave every character a different voice. When Areum finally drifted off, he didn’t move.

“She’s growing so fast,” he whispered.

Y/N kissed his shoulder. “She’ll always need her Appa, no matter how tall she gets.”

On tour, Jihoon missed them like oxygen.

Time zones couldn’t stop them, though.

Every day, Y/N and Areum sent voice notes. Jihoon responded with lullabies recorded backstage. He wore a charm bracelet with three beads A, Y, and J.

After his solo stage, the staff handed him an envelope. Inside: a crayon drawing of him on stage, a crowd of hearts, and a stick-figure Areum holding a mic beside him.

“So I can sing next time too.”

He cried in the dressing room. Again.

Ten years old.

Y/N decorated the house with moon motifs. Jihoon wrote a song just for her, layered with lullaby melodies and harmonies in the background. They recorded it secretly for weeks.

They premiered it at her birthday party in the living room. Lights dimmed, projector on.

Areum’s eyes filled with tears by the second verse.

“Appa, Umma... this is my favorite song. Forever.”

He held her tightly.

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder.

And the music played on.

Now 16, Areum was taller. Her hair now dyed a soft rose gold. She danced like her uncles, wrote music like her Appa, and had her Umma’s eye for detail.

One evening, Jihoon passed her studio room and paused.

She was recording.

The melody was familiar. The same one he wrote years ago.

“Appa,” she called softly. “Come sing with me?”

He entered, heart full, and sat beside her. She passed him a mic.

And just like that, the lullaby became a duet.

Areum, Jihoon, and Y/N still orbiting, still in harmony.

Under one moon.

Forever.

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xoami · 10 months ago

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I SEA YOU, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 jelly fish vs. goldfish

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Jungwon realizes he loves you far more than the oceans he studies. PAIRING. marine bio major bf!jungwon x painting major gf!reader GENRE. fluff, friends to lovers WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing

ren note ୨୧ this was incredibly cute to write.

─────────

Journal Entry O1: July 3rd

There’s something quietly cinematic about the way Jungwon moves through the world, his sneakers worn, frayed laces dragging against the ground, and his sea creature t-shirts thin and faded from too many washes clinging to his skin. His fingers are always curled around the strap of his camera, the weight of it a comforting presence on his chest. A worn tote bag slung over his shoulder carrying scribbled journals and books on marine life., and a different marine creature hangs from the strap on a keychain. His quiet eyes—cat-like and sharp—seem to study everything around him with an intensity he doesn’t speak aloud.

But today, like every day you’re near, his gaze rises — he notices you. You sit on a sun-warmed bench, sketchbook balanced on your knee, your hand lost in a flurry of movements. Y/N, a painting major, a dreamer. You wear flowy skirts that swish gently with the breeze, intricate crochet tops that speak of warmth and softness, your belly piercing always peeking out under the sun. You were always surrounded by a halo of color — paint smudged on your hands, your cheeks, even a few streaks on your pretty clothes.

Today, you were sketching jellyfish. And today, Jungwon feels the courage, unlike most days to approach. Without thinking, shy and hesitant, yet driven by something he doesn’t quite understand.

“Jellyfish actually have...,” his voice is soft as his finger hovers over your sketchbook., correcting a tiny detail with a shy shake of his head. You pause, you blink, and you smile too, wide and beautiful. A beautiful, full smile that makes Jungwon’s heart stumble in his chest. You change the drawing without hesitation, based on his correction, like it mattered to you.

You think he’s cute. Jungwon thinks You’re breathtaking.

⋆｡°✩🪼

Journal Entry O2: July 5th

You cross paths again, in that unintentional, serendipitous way two people bound by an invisible string tend to do.

In the bustling hallway, Jungwon notices you first, again — catching sight of the familiar sway of your lacy skirt. The soft yellow paint smudge on your cheek standing out like a tiny splash of life in the world around you. You notices him too, this time, catching sight of the new little keychain that hangs from his bag. A dolphin.

You say nothing at first, only stare at him until he feels your eyes on him. With the gentleness of someone handling glass, he reaches out and brushes the paint off your cheek with the pad of his thumb, pulling away just as fast. He doesn’t say a word. He never does. He never knows what to say, but your smile says enough for the both of you. Your eyes drop to his bag, noticing the dolphin keychain.

You exchange no words, but in that quiet moment, Jungwon feels a connection forming, like the pull of the tide. His eyes seem to soften, studying you not as something distant, but something he could grow closer to.

⋆｡°✩🐙

Journal Entry O3: July 7th

“Tell me an ocean fact.”

Your voice comes with the breeze, fluttering toward him as he sits alone on the stone wall, camera resting in his lap. Jungwon lifts his eyes, squinting against the sun, startled, and just… stares. His mouth opens, then closes. He can’t seem to find any words. The moment lingers awkwardly, but you just laugh, a light sound like wind chimes, and walks away with a wave.

He feels embarrassed, even hours later, as the memory of your request gnaws at him. He should have said something. Thinking of all the ocean facts he knows, which would you find the coolest? He wanted to be cool to you.

The next day, as you leave your class, Jungwon catches you by the sleeve.

“Squids have three hearts…” His words are rushed, awkward, but earnest, and he holds up three fingers as if to demonstrate.

You’re stunned. He’s scared. His chocolate orbs were blown wide, studying your reaction with nervous intensity. Your eyes light up, and you find it adorable that he remembered to tell you a simple fact — and that he had chased you down to share it.

Before walking away, he reaches into his tote bag and pulls out something small. A squid keychain. It dangles from his fingers, delicate and clear.

“For you,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed as he hands it to you. You take it with a soft thank you, attaching it to your own bag immediately.

When you look up, he’s gone again.

Jungwon feels something warm unfurling in his chest.

⋆｡°✩🐬

Journal Entry O4: July 9th

Jungwon doesn’t talk much, but he begins to open up to you, little by little.. You talk enough for both of you. Your stories spill out like paint from a tube, vivid and chaotic. But somehow you're still always charming.

And he listens, smiling quietly to himself as you walk across campus, or when you walk together after class, the squid keychain now dangling from your bag. He likes listening as you speak with your hands. Your hands always smudged with paint, your sketchbook always bulging with papers and doodles. You always lead the conversation with ease.

Always…

One day, as you sit together on the grass, Jungwon notices that you smell like lavender and something sweet, while you notice that Jungwon smells faintly of citrus, and that his soft sandy locks catch the sun in a way that makes your heart stutter.

You like the way he stares out at the world, thoughtful and observant, always just a little bit removed but never distant. Jungwon likes the way your lips curl when you laugh, full and soft, your joy infectious. He likes the way your hands are always working on something creative, bringing beauty into the world with every stroke of your pencil or brush.

He finds himself wanting to be part of your world, even if it means just quietly standing by your side.

⋆｡°✩ 🦀

Journal Entry O5: July 10th

The aquarium was Jungwon’s idea, though he mumbled the invitation, unsure of how to ask.

“Want to go to the aquarium?”

The question came unexpectedly one afternoon, as you parted ways after class. His voice is small, barely there, but you hear it. You always hear him… You say yes. He’s surprised you said yes.

You wander the quiet halls of the aquarium. You walk in silence at first, but it’s the comfortable kind, your pinkies brushing every so often until, near the shark exhibit, Jungwon’s fingers finally curl around yours and you both look straight ahead into the glass covered ocean before you.

Later, under the glass bridge, where the ocean swirls above you, Jungwon kisses you, soft and hesitant, his lips barely brushing yours before he pulls away, cheeks burning. You blush too, but he chases your lips for another taste, a quiet desperation in his eyes that makes your heart leap.

Even later, you kiss again in secret, more firm this time, hidden by the dim light of the jellyfish tanks, your glowing forms casting an ethereal light on your flushed faces.

Jungwon decides he likes kissing you.

You decide you like being kissed by Jungwon.

⋆｡°✩ 🐠

Journal Entry O6: July 12th

Your dates are small and sweet. You bring him to the museum, where you explain the brushstrokes of paintings with the same enthusiasm Jungwon has for sea creatures. Jungwon listens, his eyes always observing, always studying you as you talk, as if memorizing every detail of your face.

In turn, he takes you to the beach, where you roll up your skirt and Jungwon, his pants, splashing through the shallow waves like kids. You kiss in the sand, salt on your lips and in your hair, your head resting on his chest as you lie under the vast sky.

One afternoon, you visit the pet store. A tiny goldfish catches Jungwon’s eye, its golden scales glittering under the light. You watch him, the way he presses his hands to the glass, his eyes wide with wonder. Without thinking twice, he buys the fish, and you bring it to his home together, its little bowl nestled in Jungwon’s arms.

⋆｡°✩ 🦑

Journal Entry O7: July 14th

In his new apartment, you spend afternoons tangled together on his mattress on the floor, you doodle little fish on Jungwon’s arm, your pen gliding over his skin in lazy strokes while he lies back on the thin sheets, watching you with soft eyes. The fan whirs above you, your thin clothes sticking to your skin as the summer heat seeps through the open window.

“I believe in mermaids,” he whispers one day, his voice barely audible over the fan as he rests his head on the plushness of your thighs, staring up at you like the stars in the sky.

You turn from the window, head down to look at him, curious.

“I think you’re a mermaid.”

Your lips part in surprise before breaking into a grin. And for the first time, you lean down to kiss him, with all the gentleness of the tide washing over the shore, your hand cupping his cheek. Jungwon’s heart swells in his chest…

Jungwon loves you.

And you, you love Jungwon too.

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newtkive · 1 year ago

Text

confectionary clash - carmen berzatto

pairing: carmen berzatto x afab!reader (established relationship)

summary: carmy's girl is the human embodiment of a sweetheart. that is, unless it's that time of the month and richie provokes her.

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, fighting, weaponized incompetence from richie but we still love him.

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble but turned into 3k words. so it's written kinda like a drabble?? (hence the lowercase i can't be arsed to change) but just... long. idk hopefully its entertaining. also, i don't mean to demonize richie, he's my favorite character i think,, i just love writing him as problematic lmao cuz he's so funny. anyways, enjoy!

as carmy’s confidant and girlfriend, you were always the voice of reason. with just a string of words, you’d be calming him down after a hectic work day, giving him a fresh perspective on his work dilemmas since you were outside of the restaurant circle. in the time he’s known you, he hadn’t seen you do as much as barely raise your voice. maybe the occasional snap, but you always follow it up with swift apologies and big watery eyes.

that is, unless you’re in pain. specifically cramps. the sight of you 180ing from a sweet girl with a bright smile and even sweeter words, to an evil sorceress with spells rolling off your tongue, inflicting curses onto anyone who irritates you is jarring. a bit dramatic, sure, but that’s what you were during that time of the month—dramatic.

carmy tries best to dote on you. you would never ask him to go out of his way for something, unless it’s grabbing a heating pad or water, but carmy wants you to. it takes prying to hear your desires and cravings after asking a million times, and you begrudgingly give in with no expectations. nevertheless, you end up with exactly what you asked for, or something close to it, and you’re endlessly grateful.

on days when you stop into the restaurant when you’re feeling down, carmy enacts this same routine. if it’s food, he’ll cook it for you; desserts, he’ll grab any extras marcus has (or marcus happily makes it from scratch if they're not busy, claiming he needs the practice). if you want snacks, he sends his right hand man richie out to grab them despite your protests.

richie does it often whenever you stop into the store, and he acts like it’s a chore sometimes, but everyone has a hunch that he really loves it. come on, twenty dollars to get a few items for you and pocket the rest for himself? plus a break from work? done deal.

richie wouldn’t admit it, but he liked taking care of you too. you were always a sweetheart to him, but it wasn’t in his personality to be as sincere as you, so this was a little act of service to show his love. besides, the year and a half you’ve known him has definitely earned you the title of a friend, and you’d agree.

now, you don’t ever want to seem ungrateful, but when you ask for a specific treat, you get disappointed when you don’t really get it. maybe it’s the fluctuating mood talking, but you always end up snapping at richie due to his poor choices. if you ask for one thing, he’ll get you the next, and you even suspect he does it on purpose sometimes. pulling reactions from people is his specialty.

it’s not like you’re a complete bitch about it, because he took his time out to go get you something, but richie has a problem with weaponized competence even with his new and improved attitude. you know he can get you the jolly ranchers you suggested, but he chooses to grab goldfish because it’s closer to checkout. it was annoying, but you never really brought it up to carmy. it's not like you needed to, it wasn't a huge deal. you figured richie could use the little break, and you don’t hate the snacks he brings.

except on days like this.

you were at the restaurant on a slow day, dragged yourself out of bed despite your cramps just to see your little grumpy boyfriend and hide in his office. even as you entered the establishment through the back you glared at richie (who sweetly waved) in passing, side eyeing a few of the newbies who ran in front of you despite their apologies. none of your usual bright smiles and cheery greetings. the bee line straight to the office was a clear enough explanation for how you were feeling.

upon entering, carmy looked up in a panic, which quickly melted into a soft smile at the sight of his girlfriend. “hey, baby.” he cooed softly, immediately scooting back from his desk to reach out to grasp at your waist. you let him, but pushed down the irritation, not favoring touch at the moment. however, his rough hands sliding a little under your shirt to grasp at the flesh of your hips calmed you down, earning a small quirk of the lips from you.

“whatcha doin’ here, love?” he asks, bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss softly, still looking up at you.

you shrug, squeezing his hand, face a bit stoic. you’d been like this for a couple of days so he wasn’t surprised by your lack of friendliness. knowing you this long, carmy became accustomed to your monthly mood swings, and he felt privileged that you didn’t feel the need to put up an act for him.

“missed you.” you finally sighed, scooting closer so you stood between his knees. palms found both sides of carmy’s face and tilted it upwards a bit so you could study his appearance. stressed and tired. however, he seemed to glow at the mere admission of you missing him. it took a few seconds for his brain to rewire, looking up at you like you created the cosmos. the only reason you heard his soft, shy, ‘missed you too’ was because of the stagnant silence.

“hungry?” carmy asked, beaming from the attention. you shrugged again, allowing him to tighten his grip on your sides and tug you onto his lap. whining a bit in protest, you reposition yourself, legs falling over his lap and arms around his neck. your faces were closer now, and carmy looked at your sad eyes with a little pang in his chest. brows furrowing, he tilted his head and snuck a hand under your chin. long, tattooed fingers tickled at your chin, and before you knew it you were giggling and grinning while batting his hand away.

“cmon, i know you must want somethin’.” your grin was infectious and laced in his soft words. you hummed, already cheered up, and tapped a finger against your chin to make a thinking face. carmy chuckled, brushing a lock of hair away from your eyes and patiently waited.

a thought crossed your mind and you met gazes again. “i might go grab some little debbie snacks from around the corner.” you decided and nodded to yourself as if solidifying your decision.

as you started sitting up more, carmy’s grip tightened on your waist. “ah, ah, no. stay here.” he protested. soon enough he was calling out ‘cousin!’ and richie came bounding over, opening the office door.

richie’s face used to contort in disgust at any visual sign of affection exchanged between you and carmy, but he was used to it now. “what’s up, cousin?” he asked, almost seeming out of breath, eyes flickering between the both of you.

a short exchange between the two occurred: carmy asking richie to run to the corner store, handing richie a twenty, and richie asking you precisely what you wanted. you made it simple and easy, something he could remember: oreos and ho-hos, a midwestern's guilty pleasure.

“ight, cap’n, i’ll be back.” richie says, saluting you two before heading out. both you and carmy exchanged an amused smirk, knowing the only reason richie went was to get himself some cigarettes and hot fries he would scarf down on the walk back.

in the twenty minutes richie was gone, the kitchen had gone to shit. the newbies had been running the wrong food to tables, online orders were filling the tablet nonstop due to a discount glitch, and carmy was close to losing it. sitting in the office, now alone with the muffled sound of your boyfriend yelling, you were more grumpy than before. arms crossed, you snapped your head to the side once the door creaked open. in walked richie with a plastic bag, inside of it holding your hope for a better day.

"what took you so long?" you frowned up at him, but sat up straighter in anticipation. you eyes almost shone as you looked at corner store logo on the bag.

"went the long way." he mumbled, digging in the plasic. the skeptical look on your face didn't leave as he pulled out an item and set it on the table. your frown deepened further as you noticed there was nothing at all you asked for, only met with a crushed sleeve of crackers.

“where are the oreos?” you sighed out, lips pursed in a bit of a pout.

“didn’t find any, so i got you some peanut butter crackers.” he mumbled, digging around the bag again, as if he didn’t just break your heart. if it was anyone else you'd believe them, but with richie you figured he just got bored of looking.

your jaw fell slack and you gaped like a fish for a moment, waiting for him to pull out more treats from his bag. but that time didn’t come, as he fished a pack of cigarettes out instead. “and the ho-ho’s?” your voice was hopeful.

richie perked up at that, putting the cigarettes down next to the crackers. the next second he presented you with a smushed mountain of brown and white concealed in a plastic wrapper sitting atop the palm of his hand. eyes flicking between the disappointment before you and his face, you frowned in disbelief.

richie only managed to emote as much as a ‘yikes’ face before placing it on the desk. “got smushed in transit, but tastes the same!” he gave his best attempt at a smile. your brows grew taut together and anger bubbled up in your chest. you were sure your face was quickly turning red.

“carmy gave you twenty dollars, and you come back with this?!” you hiss out, daring to look at the dry crackers and smushed up dream of a ho-ho. the sight only made you become angrier. this was something a senile old person would give you, not a competent 40-something-year-old man. his lack of care was clear, and you were boiling.

richie just scoffed—he had the nerve to scoff.

“no, not just that! i got a sprite and a few pack of cigs for myself and the guy.” he waved around one of them to prove his point. if you thought you were mad before, you reached a new level of anger. usually, you’d deal with the disappointment and thank richie for even going—aside from a smart alec remark.

however, the demon conducting your period for this month did not make your rational decisions seem clear nor enticing. as you shot up from carmy’s chair, you only knew you wanted to make richie as upset as you were in this moment.

with one finger poking his chest, you began raising your voice. as soon as you started talking, richie's eyes turned wide as saucers, exactly like a deer in headlights. a string of curses snuck into your tirade, between phrases such as “you always fucking do this richie!” and “are you fuckin’ dumb?! did you get dropped on your head?!”. you only figured he didn't fire back right away because he was so stunned.

outside of the office, the kitchen was calmer now. things were finally falling into order but still required carmy’s supervision until the sudden rush ended. the only disturbance was you. now, it was your voice yelling behind closed doors and not carmy’s.

the chef—in the middle of helping sydney plate a dish—just about gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned around to look at the barely cracked door of the office. there was the telltale muffled yelling, but what shocked him was it was clearly you yelling.

turning back around, carmy gawked at sydney who silently shared the same look of surprise. it was only until they heard richie start yelling back that sydney silently pushed him toward the door. it didn’t take more than a second for carmy to snap out of his surprise and march over to the office.

throwing the hand towel he was using over his shoulder, he yanked the heavy door open before all but body slamming his way into the room and slamming the door closed. the yelling was suddenly clear, as if carmy was being pulled out from underwater.

“YOU GET ME WHAT I ASKED YOU, OR GET ME NOTHING AT ALL!”

“THEN YOU’D BITCH ABOUT THAT TOO—“

“OR NOTHING AT ALL!”

“hey, hey, HEY!” the two of you were too busy at each others throats to even hear carmy enter, until his voice brought you both to a halt, heads turning towards him.

carmy’s eyes were immediately glued to you, not paying the least bit of attention to richie. your arms were stiff as boards to your sides, fists and jaw clenched, brows taut, and race beet red. the man had never seen you look like this before, and his instinct to comfort you took over. turning to richie with a look that could kill, carmy finally spoke. “what did you do?”

“what did i do?! except take precious time to get your girl shit she didn’t even want?!”

an offended gasp left your mouth, and you retorted instantly. “oh please! because a crushed up sleeve of crackers and a mountain of mushed up cake is just what i asked for!”

“you’re ungrateful.” richie pointed a finger at you now. carmy launched forward and slapped it down. he knew richie would never hurt you, and you knew it too, as you just rolled your eyes in response, but carmy’s instinct’s took over. richie didn’t even look phased, just irritated. carmy stood in front of you and forcefully turned richie around by his shoulders to send him to the door. if carmy didn't have half of a sane mind, he would’ve kicked richie's bottom with his shoe for good measure.

“go take a break chef! or do whatever the fuck, i don’t care.” carmy shouted after richie, and the man left with a slam of the door.

you simply watched the scene unfold with arms crossed and that same deep set frown. carmy turned around to face you as the air settled, a hand running through his hair. blue eyes raked over your tense form and carmy decided he would give you a little space to calm down. however, the second he saw your bottom lip wobbling and eyes grow watery he threw that thought to the wind

“hey, no, no, don’t cry.” carmy extended his arms and collected you into them. the tense posture you held relaxed into his slouched form as he held you close; one hand in your hair, and the other rubbing circles on your back as you sniffled.

a pit of guilt burned in your stomach and spurred you into attempting to bury yourself into carmy. blue straps of his apron rubbed against your cheek as you shuffled impossibly closer. usually, carmy would love this, but right now he'd do anything to not see you so out of it. shushing you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

there were a few beats of you hiding away before you decided to pull back a bit to face him again—and boy did you look pitiful.

the same cheeks previously bright with anger were now flush with embarrassment and stained with tears. a tattooed hand found itself sitting on your cheek, thumb rubbing under your eye to collect a fallen tear. at the touch, your eyes fluttered closed, and carmy’s heart broke at the sight.

“you gonna tell me what happened?” your boyfriend asked, trying not to make you feel even more guilty. his full attention was on you. exhaling slowly, your eyes fluttered back open and were met with those bright blue ones that always calmed you down.

“i dunno, i just-“ you shook your head and carmy waited patiently, “it wasn’t even a big deal, but richie just really set me off for some reason.”

“yeah, may as well join the club.” carmen’s words were light, not at all sarcastic, but aiming to ease you and bring out a smile. it worked, your lips turning upwards and carmy mimicking the half smile. he looked down at you with such love, head tilted to follow every time yours moved, and thumb caressing your cheek as he took in every expression.

your smile finally faltered as you glanced back at the office desk. “i feel so awful. he went out and got me stuff and i just yelled at him.” you sputter out.

carmy followed your gaze over his shoulder to finally see what started all of this. at the sight of the crackers and ball of what looked like mush, carmy scoffs in both disbelief and amusement, because of course richie would bring you that. turning back towards you, the chef finally gets it.

“baby, if someone brought me that shit while my insides were shedding i’d kill them.” he chuckled.

“really?” you asked hopefully, smile forming again.

“yes, really. even if i wasn’t goin’ through that i’d actually kick his ass.” carmy mirrored your smile.

nodding, you let yourself chuckle along with him. strong arms found you again and you were wrapped in a tight hug, allowing his squeezes to take away some guilt you were feeling. a moment passed and you knew carmy had to get back to work. with a sigh, you pulled back.

it was your turn to reach up and cup his cheek. guiding his face close, you met him halfway and pressed your lips to his in a kiss. lips moving against his, your noses brushed, and after a moment you let the kiss dissipate; lips slowly falling away from where they were molded together. one last peck was placed on carmy’s lips, as if saying, ‘thank you for being so attentive’. that earned an appreciate hum.

you both beamed, faces still close as you came back down to earth. “you gotta get back to work, and i gotta apologize.” you murmured and carmy nodded obediently.

with apprehension, carmy let you go, arms floating in the air for half a second as he walked backwards towards the door. “don’t go easy on him, though. richie lives for a fight. that was probably his anger management for the day.” carmy smirked, grasping the doorknob.

you just shook your head, eyes narrowed teasingly. before he turned to leave, you called out to him. “thank you, carmy.”

the man just gave you a confused look, chuckling. “don’t thank me, you're my girl.” with that he was back to work and you were left to your own devices. with one more glance at the monstrosity on the office desk, you left the room and went on a search for richie.

thirty minutes later, carmy was due for a smoke break and approached the back door. he slowed his tracks, lighter and cigarette in hand as he cracked the door and heard giggling. the sight before him was drastically different than before: you and richie sitting on a ledge next to each other, giggling and bumping shoulders. carmy breathed out a laugh at the sight and fully walked out. this caught both of your attention, grinning ear to ear as you clearly made up.

“hey, cousin!” richie grinned, and you both waved. figures.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear imagine #carmy berzatto imagine #x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

2K notes · View notes

m1rotics · 3 months ago

Note

I wrote you such a profoundly delicious hard thought earlier but tumblr decided it wasn’t going to push it through like a true cockblock so now I’m writing it again but with less creative vocabulary because I have the memory of a goldfish cracker.

Cult Leader! Hongjoong in all his glory, brutal and downright cruel, ravishing his beloved obsession on an altar of marble in front of his most devoted followers (the other Ateez members). Maybe they just stand and watch, hidden behind masks or veils as Hongjoong peels away every layer of his dearest lambs soul. Or, perhaps they touch themselves, each other, but never their prophet’s prey. Nobody comes between a beast god and his favored meal ambrosia. 🙂‍↕️

Eat me alive (swallow me whole)

cult leader! hongjoong x fem!reader

a/n: TYSM FOR REQUESTING. I went ham with this and it got so insanely self-indulgent, so I hope you don't mind that too much. like it has everything you suggested but then I added everything I'm high-key into. sorry not sorry.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: pwp, rough unprotected sex, creampies, biting, he technically spits in your mouth, everyone helps undress you but nothing really happens, pussy inspection, you get bathed and lotioned and shaved, exhibitionism, voyuerism, hair pulling, weirdly possessive hongjoong, you get to refered to as little lamb a few times, and called a whore explicitly and implied like once or twice so there's degradation in this

the room is neat, grayscale themed.

a mild smell you can't really place, but still enjoy. knick-knacks on the dressers and books sorted on the shelves. their bed is made. if the situation were different you'd describe it as comfortable. cozy even. whoever's room this is clearly keeps it tidy. however, you can't appreciate it because standing in front of them is unnerving. your palms are sweaty and your stomach aches. you want to hurl over and pass out. probably choke on your tongue and die while you're at it.

it's so quiet. you can hear the sound of their breathing. pin-drop silence.

they're just looking at you, observing. like some kind of fidgety animal, or a new, shiny toy.

it feels like the world is paused. stand-still. nothing but strings holding your entire body up. the ground about to crumble away and swallow you whole.

hongoong purrs, low in your ear, “they're gonna get you ready for me. prepare you for what's to come.”

you gulp, and hongjoong presses his cheek to yours. his hand comes to grip your chin, keeping your head forward, keeping your eyes locked with seonghwa, the only other person you know. barely, but you recognize him.

“isn't she pretty?” he murmurs, nosing your temple and you can feel him smile against your skin. his question sits heavy in the air, unanswered but heard. hongjoong doesn't mind, it's not like they were really meant to respond anyways. he pushes you forward, and you flounder, barely catching yourself from falling to your knees.

“be nice to her, okay?” he warbles, lilts, if you listen hard enough it sounds almost like a warning.

you hear the door open then shut. suddenly, the room feels so much smaller. more suffocating. you've never been in the same room as them without a buffer, without hongjoong.

they move quickly, each a unit. someone takes the back, pulling your shirt up and above your head. the prettiest man you've ever seen comes to stand in front of you, unbuttoning your pants. his brown hair curtains his cherubic face, and he has the smoothest skin you've ever seen.

you're shell-shocked, open-mouthed. your brain yet to catch up with what's happening around you.

when one moves, someone is taking their place. the man in front of you is tall, so tall. you have to look up a bit to meet his gaze. his eyes are dark and intense. his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. you shudder, blinking up at him. his hands groping at your chest through your bra.

“don't get too handsy, mingi,” the man behind you says, too light and carefree to be a true scolding.

your breath hitches, and the man— mingi —chuckles. deep and syrupy. you don't know who's behind you, and you don't make an effort to look— already too knocked sideways.

“look at her, she's practically begging to be fucked,” a finger traces up the length of your spine, stopping at the edge of the clasp of your bra and pulling away. you gasp when your bra strap hits your back, jolting from the flash of pain. he unclasps it after, and mingi helps slide it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a thud.

a man with a lazy grin saunters up to you next, black hair tickling his neck, his hands settling on your hips, thumbs pressing into your stomach. he squeezes.

“she's so soft,” he murmurs, eyebrows furrowed and pouting, “I'm getting jealous.”

seonghwa clicks his tongue, “that's too bad, woo. hurry up and don't do anything stupid.”

the man —who you now know as woo — guides you to bed, pushing you down until you’re laying on your back. you hear a groan, low and throaty, fingers latching onto the band of your underwear. he drags them down treacherously slowly, but he does manage to get them off at some point. he inches forward, but seonghwa wrenches him by his hair before he can get too close.

“hwa,” he whines, “please i–”

seonghwa shoulders him out of the way with ease, slotting himself between your legs.

“yun, hold her legs,” he says, and then large hands are holding your thighs apart. seonghwa brushes a thumb over your pussy hair. he pauses for a moment, mutters something to himself. then his finger is swiping through the lips of your pussy. it comes out damp, and he hums, amused. you twitch, thighs flexing as you attempt to close them.

the man above you smiles and shakes his head. you gasp when seonghwa spreads your pussy open. your slick folds on display. he simply looks from a moment, inspecting something, but he doesn't say anything so you think he didn't find what he was looking for. his finger taps your clit and you whimper, hips trying to find more friction. if it bothers him he doesn't tell you so you assume you're good. he runs a finger through the slick dribbling down from your hole, and you keen.

“sensitive,” seonghwa notes, and sinks a finger in. you gasp, and you hear someone titter, then a whisper somewhere in the room. it slides in easy, and your back arches when he curls his finger.

the pleasure is plucked away as fast as it's given.

“everyone out, i'll do do the rest myself,” seonghwa declares, rising from his knees.

someone groans, and there's a plethora of muttered curses. they complain all the way out. seonghwa ignores them all the while, and you feel vulnerable under his probing gaze.

“come,” he says, curt.

you clamber off the bed and onto your feet, following after him like a lost puppy. he doesn't go far, opens one of the two doors in the room

seonghwa leads you to the bathroom, and you assume the other must be the closet. white tile flooring that's so cold against your feet. a porcelain tub in the middle, a sink to your left with a marble counter, littered in various products— body washes, lotions, oils, shaving cream.

“is this your room?”

he gives a noncommittal hum, ignoring you to begin filling the tub with water. he pours in the soap and some type of oil, permeating the air with the scent of roses, swishes his hand through the water and gets it all foamy.

“get in,” he says, still perched on the edge of the tub.

“you're going to watch me bathe..?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “I'm going to bathe you.”

you nod, slowly, resigning yourself to your fate. he's already seen so much of you. this isn't that bad.

gingerly, you dip your feet into the water, and it's the perfect temperature. not too warm, but not too cold. it reaches your chest when you're fully submerged. it goes by quickly, seonghwa being surprisingly through. he even washes your face, being mindful of getting soap in your eyes. he hands you a towel when you step out, and gives you a moment to dry off.

“hop up here,” he pats the free space besides the sink, grabbing one of the bottles from the counter. you listen, propping yourself up. it's chilly against your bare ass. you hope he doesn't mind, but you think you deserve grace because he hasn't handed you not one piece of clothing.

seonghwa lotions you, from the soles of your feet to the skin of your neck. gently, almost massage like in nature.

“you're really good with your hands,” you murmur, and the smallest hint of a smile graces seonghwa's face. he doesn't respond, but you're too busy admiring him to mind. up close, he's so unbelievably pretty. high cheekbones and honey-gold skin. a nose bridge you want to trace your fingers along. nice plump lips.

you're thrusted back into reality when seonghwa rubs something warm (did he warm it up for you?) on your cunt, slathering you in shaving cream. he doesn't miss the inside of your thighs, the crease between your cunt and your thighs.

“spread your legs,” he instructs, and you do. seonghwa sinks to his knees to get a better view, and you spread your legs wider to give him more room. the first swipe is smooth, starting at your mound. he pulls the skin to make sure he doesn't nick you. he gets in the creases, the lips, your lower tummy. dunks the razor in between, forms a routine. a few strokes, dunk, and continue.

he's careful. methodical.

his tongue poking out in concentration, eyebrows pinched together.

it's a bit intimate, how much care he's putting into this. despite the tenderness, you can't help but preen under the attention. the thought of something being so close, but not getting any relief. has you straining to keep still, and you're getting wetter by the second, dripping down and pooling on the marble. nearing the edge.

if it gets in the way seonghwa doesn't bother to mention it, and you won't acknowledge it unless forced. seonghwa breath blows on your clit, and you flinch like you've been burned, but he continues like it didn't happen, so you relax against thinking it was an accident. you miss the glint of mischief in seonghwa's eyes at your reaction.

after he finishes up, he wipes the rest of the shaving cream off with a damp towel.

“stay here.”

you nod, lightly swinging your legs. he comes back with a white translucent robe, and you hop down to let him slip it on you.

he sent you to hongjoong like that. bare-foot and dazed. hongjoong kisses you silly while you wait for them.

now, you're laying on the stone in nothing but a sheer silk robe. hongjoong at the base of it, peering down at you. it's embarrassing being so exposed in front of them, and they're looking at you so intently like there's nowhere they'd rather be. nothing else they’d rather to see. goosebumps prickle at your skin. not just from the cold but from all the attention. it'd be impossible not to, even if all you can see is their eyes. the bottom half of their faces are covered by black masks, only their eyes visible. all seven are almost always at hongjoong's side, and they don't stray too far when they aren't.

such as now, standing by your side, watching you. they all wear the same black getup– long sleeves with black leather pants– and it leaves you flustered to be the only one naked.

it's still odd to see all of them so quiet, stock-still, statuesque in their silence. your lids flutter, dazed. you squirm under the scrutiny. your hands lay at your sides but you wonder if you reach out would you be able to touch them? if they'd cross that line first.

hongjoong's hands are hot when he touches your skin, settling on your knees— warm like freshly spilled blood, staining your skin, permeating your body. you melt under his palms.

he pushes them apart to slot himself between your legs, his hands sliding down to your inner thighs. you twitch from sheer anticipation.

hongjoong looks nothing short of saintly, tan skin and coffee brown eyes, blonde hair so close to white. a string of light hitting him perfectly, over the soft swell over his pectoral and down the smoothness of his stomach. his white robe hanging off his shoulders.

he looks like god made corporeal.

hongjoong leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. he doesn't bother to move the fabric yet, but it's so thin you feel it. his lips are so soft and warm. ticklish like your skin is being brushed by clouds. the kisses are chaste, short and sweet, peppered on your stomach and between your breasts. blunt nails running up and down your sides just to make you shiver.

hongjoong doesn't start getting mouthy until his lips are latched onto your nipple, flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue. you're panting, arching your back to press into the heat of his mouth. you gasp when his teeth sink into the fat of your breasts, and hongjoong pops off with a smile, kneading the other with his free hand.

you're trembling already, so pent up from nothing.

hongjoong giggles. a boyish, fleeting sound.

“so needy,” he drawls, low and languid, dipping the tip of his finger into your dripping slit. you keen, trying to press yourself into him, push his finger further in. hongjoong kisses his teeth and yanks his back.

“patience,” he hisses, and you whisper an apology; a genuine one, his reprimand has shame bubbling within your gut. hongjoong skims over your sides, pushing your robe to fall over the sides of the marble slab. it leaves your body on full display, stripping you of that thin boundary. his hand trails back down and he sinks a finger into your cunt. you gasp, writhing, hongjoong clasps a hand around your hip to hold you firm in place.

he keeps his place slow, his finger crooked enough to graze that spot you so desperately want him to hit but not enough to truly satisfy.

“joong,” you whine, “please.”

“please what?” he hums, brushing your clit with his thumb. it's barely there, a feather-light touch, that sends a bolt of pleasure through you.

“i– i need–” you start, but the words ebb away when you catch sight of the audience watching you. embarrassment washes over you. white-hot humiliation rushes through your veins. their eyes have lost their curious edge. that distant, observing look giving way for something far more predatory to take its place. they look like a starving pack of dogs; drooling and itching to eat. hongjoong’s finger curls, and you let out a pitiful moan.

“need what, lamb?” he asks, taunting, forcing your attention back to him. you blink at him, already bleary-eyed and dumb. your mouth parts but your eyes glance to the side, causing the words to stall in your throat, hongjoong smiles. sharp at the edges.

“don't tell me you're getting shy now. you don't want them to see how pathetic you are for me? you don't want them to know how little it takes to make you beg?” another brush to your clit, another pathetic whimper tugged out of you. your hips jolt.

“I can't have that,” he says, almost dismissively. his finger comes to a halt, and you whine. throaty and high-pitched. your eyes clamping shut with a pout. you don't know what to do with your hands, if you want to touch and pull him closer, but you don't because you want to be good. your fingers twitch at your sides.

“so, beg for it. you know how to ask for what you want.”

his finger slips out easily. it's mean –cruel, even– but it works because suddenly you're scraping for words that don't come swift enough. when they do they fall off your tongue in a rush; rabbit-quick and barely thought through.

“joong, please,” you mewl, “need you. need your fingers. want you to fuck me on them. want you to make me feel good, please.”

hongjoong frowns, his finger running up and down your soaked slit. it's distracting, mind-numbing.

“only my fingers?”

hongjoong doesn't make any real effort to hide his teasing despite the hurt look on his face. his voice still holds that playful lilt. still, you're cloudy thoughts latch on it, and you panic. you're not ungrateful– you never are. you just want him, and you repeat that like prayer. shaking your head so fervently that it starts to give you a headache.

“no, no, no– I just– I want you. I just want all of you,” the words spew out. easier than air, as true as your name.

hongjoong grins, and his hand cradles your jaw, pushing your head to look at the hungry eyes watching you. “c’mon, show them how pretty you are when you beg.”

you shudder when your eyes meet, and if your thoughts were less frayed at the edges, you would've tried to soak in details. see who's sanity is slipping through their fingers the most, but you can't. you can't think straight, can barely focus. you can't notice anything besides the fact that they all seem ravenous. eyeing you like a slab of decadent meat– raw and bloody. you feel debauched, so lewd and shameful, but your mouth doesn't stop moving, “please, joongie, want you. want all of you– your fingers, your cock, your mouth. i want it all.”

“there you go,” he croons, and plunges two fingers into your cunt. your vision blurs, whites. you cry out, bucking into his hand, fucking yourself on his fingers. hongjoong motions for something, and then someone places a glass in his hand. deep red wine swirling around in it. hongjoong tilts his head back, and just like that half of the liquid is gone. he leans in, mouth pursed and taps you cheek.

your mouth parts, and then he's spitting it into your mouth. some of it spills from the sides of your lips, dribbling down your cheeks, and hongjoong happily laps it up. dragging his tongue up your cheek and over the seam of your mouth. he leans back to pour the rest from the glass, and you sputter when he rolls your clit under his thumb. wine rolls down your chin when you jolt.

hongjoong leans back with a pleased grin, snapping his wrist with more effort now. scissoring his fingers, pinching your swollen clit. your orgasm stuns you. you stiffen, freezing, your entire body going rigid as the pleasure racks through you. struggling not to choke. you gurgle pathetically around your mouthful, slowly gulping it down, choking back moans.

“such a messy lil' thing,” he tuts when you're done, pulling his fingers out to hold your face, smearing slick on your cheek, “you're getting me all dirty.”

“you'll clean it up, won't you?” he coos, sugar-sweet; voice light as créme. you nod. one, twice. quickly and eagerly, a good girl.

his fingers latch into your mouth, pressing on your tongue. your lips close around them, sucking softly. you can taste your release on his skin, and you whine. hushed and dulcet. his thin fingers slide out, fingertips tracing over your lips, now slick with spit, and thrust back in. surprised, you gag. your eyes turning dewy. he does it again, deeper this time. your throat protests, convulsing around his fingers. a wet click following every thrust of his fingers. tears gliding down your cheeks.

hongjoong works your throat with almost mechanical precision. in and out, in and out. pushing as deep as his fingers will reach. deep breaths and obscene mewling fill the air. the odd sounds of your throat making room for his fingers. hongjoong is fuzzy in your vision. uncharacteristically soft. his lips rosebud pink with red-tinted cheeks. his coffee-black eyes trained on you. it's dreamy, untouched by reality. some make-believe fantasy brought to life, prayers made reality. a saint in all their ethereal glory. your flesh made holy by his touch alone.

hongjoong replaces his fingers with his mouth. it's wine-warm and sweet. his lips velvety and soft. the kiss is gentle, intimate. his mouth tastes like salvation; deliverance. like being bleed out so gently, you don't even realize you're dying. finally, you allow yourself to reach out and touch. a hand cupping his round cheek, another on the firmness of his arm. he's hot to the touch. molten gold. bleeding sun.

hongjoong leans back slowly, lips kiss-swollen and wet. cheeks rosy. his hand wraps loosely around his cock. pre-cum beading at the tip, rolling down the underside. ruddy and aching. his hips jerk, and he gives himself a few pumps, shaky exhales escaping him.

he's a sight for sore eyes, a sight for your eyes. something for only a select few, not for everyone else. something to share between the nine of you. because hongjoong is for everyone. the safety he provides, the guidance, his care— but this. this is just for you.

(well, at least for now. for today.)

hongjoong presses the head of his cock against your pussy, rolls his hips, coating the underside of his cock in your slick. the tip bumping your clit at every pass. he does it with painfully slow and deliberate strokes. each thrust aiming to keep you on the brink but never give you enough.

“joong,” you hiccup, tears blooming on your lash line, “please.”

your voice breaks at the end, dissolving into a mewl as you attempt to rut up against him.

“oh, baby,” he coos, jutting his lip out in a faux pout, “tell me what you want. tell me and i'll think about giving it to you, how about that?”

“want you to fuck me,” you cry, tears trickling down your temples. hongjoong presses a kiss to your open mouth.

“one more time,” he breathes. nearly reverent. a touch desperate.

“fuck me, please,” you wail, sniffling, and hongjoong with a surprising amount of strength flips you onto you knees, cheek smoshed into the slab. a dull pain radiates from how hard you hit your knees, but it's over-shined by how needy you feel, how empty your hole is. he forces his cock in with one harsh stroke. the stretch still aches, but it feels so good. you're so full, stretched to the brim, and the angle. fuck, he's so deep.

your eyes clamp shut, and hongjoong hand buries itself in your hair, the other on your shoulder forcing you to keep the arch.

“open your eyes,” he snaps, “look at them while i fuck you.”

your eyes peel open, and you blink away the tears obscuring your vision. the force of his thrusts jerk you forward, and you think you might be drooling.

“show them what you look like after I've ruined you, little lamb.” he snarls, snapping his hips with more fevor. the sound is disgustingly wet— the squelching of your pussy, the echo of your desperate moaning, his deranged mumbling, his balls hitting your clit. you might look like a proper whore.

hongjoong hips slow, and then come to a stop, and you panic, trying to push yourself up so you can fuck yourself back on him to no avail because his hands keep you firm in place.

“come closer.” he orders.

the sound of their boots hitting the floor is deafening, but you can barely focus on it while begging hongjoong to keep going. they're so much closer now, you don't even have to stretch to reach them. less than a foot away. now you can see the clear imprint of their dicks straining against their pants, their balled up fists, some of their ears dusted pink.

“isn't she the perfect whore?” he asks, voice thick, “taking my cock so well.”

your cunt clenches around him, at how vulgar he is, at how he talks about you. the praise turning into molten liquorice in your blood. pure saccharin. your teeth ache.

“jus’ for you, all for you,” you babble, slurred, dribbling drool.

“that's right,” hongjoong purrs, snarls, his hips drawing back to slam back in.

“you're mine. you're all mine.” he punctuates each word with a thrust, knocking the agreements of your mouth. reducing you to a whining, whimper mess. you're truly fucked dumb. you can't think, can't breathe. your lungs struggle to heave in air, all of it getting knocked out of you. this will definitely leave a mark. you don't mind one bit.

hongjoong fucks you like he has something to prove, like a well-oiled machine, like something feral has taken over him. something rabid and carnal crawling out of his skin. he reaches down, and rubs your clit, and you blubber.

the pleasure increasing ten-fold. you scramble against the marble, nails scraping against it. crying out like a wounded animal, trying to run from the pleasure, from the intensity of it all. trying to shed your skin into something more honest, completely let go of your mortal flesh and become something more.

your orgasm pierces through you, splits you in half, spatch-cocked. the force of the sob makes you quake, full body shaking. cataclysmic, the world disintegrating around you. your brain fried, scrambled, bouncing around in your empty head. lights on but nobody's home.

hongjoong doesn't stop, he fucks you through it, until you've gone limp and dumb. completely boneless. nothing but twitches and mewls. a pathetic little thing, bruised fruit. ripe for the taking. his fingers are still clumsily pressing against your clit, but you're too gone to protest the overstimulation. too weak to tear his hand away.

hongjoong curls over you when he gets close, trapping you in, teeth in your neck, huffing from his nose. his thrusts devolving into bunny humps and grinding his cock into your cunt. he's grumbling something, but it's muffled into your skin. he cums like that, with his cock burrowed inside you, filling you to the brim. possessive to the very end. he stops biting your shoulder a few moments later, “there, you're truly mine now. all mine.”

he doesn't let go until his breathing evens out and that gnawing urge to be close to subsides. you slump when he lets go, collapsing, leaking fluids.

hongjoong presses a wet kiss to your cheek, “don't worry they'll clean you up. i take care of what’s mine after all.”

#fics (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)#ateez x reader #ateez smut #kim hongjoong x reader #choi san x reader #i need him desperately #ateez fic #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #jeong yunho x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #yeosang x reader #ateez hongjoong smut

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kurogane2512 · 4 months ago

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Quick and short Cantarella drabble cause yeah, I'm crazy about her she's so fine. Unsure of her characterization rn so may be ooc.

Wuthering Waves || Cantarella x gn!reader || Fluff, slightly suggestive

You don't know how you ended up in this position, but your body refused to move now. Being pinned under the Head of the Fisalia Family, Lady Cantarella, was not something you had in mind when you received an invitation for afternoon tea with her. Was this a bane or boon for you? Perhaps you'll find out soon.

"Are you okay, almighty Rover? Was the tea not to your liking?~" Cantarella mused from above you, her fingers stroking your cheek.

"It wasn't ordinary tea, was it?" You replied with a glare.

Cantarella chuckled and lowered herself further, "Hmm, there was merely an additional effect in it. Something to make you.... submit~" She smirked and moved her gaze to your lips.

"What do you want from me? I don't think harming me would be a good move from the Fisalia family, especially from their head."

"Relax, I have no intention to harm you. I'm simply curious about you as a being, can you truly blame me for that?~"

She then stood up from you and fixed her dress before extending out her hand, gesturing you to hold it. You contemplated for a moment then stood up while holding her hand and were immediately pulled forward by her. Your body floated up as she pulled you and you realized she was sitting atop a jellyfish, somehow effortlessly pulling you along. Cantarella smiled and summoned a jellyfish under you as well and made you sit close to her.

"Comfortable now?~"

You averted your gaze shyly feeling the close proximity with her, "Y-Yes, it is fine...."

She smirked and slid a finger down your cheek, tracing your jaw intricately.

"Oh, you are adorable like a goldfish.... Those eyes of yours shine bright like a star in the darkest of nights, quite fitting for someone like you~"

You blushed at her praise, "What are you trying to achieve here? You should know I don't think highly of the Fisalia family."

She smirked and leaned closer to you, ghosting her lips over yours.

"And do you suppose I could change that?~"

"By doing wh—"

Your words were caught in your throat as you watched her part her lips to stick her tongue out, a familiar engraving drawn upon it. It was your first time seeing a Tacet Mark on a tongue, and somehow you couldn't take your eyes off of it. Cantarella took the chance to close the gap between you two and pressed her lips to yours, initiating a gentle kiss. Your eyes widened at the sensation of her soft lips, automatically kissing her back. You wanted to pull away, but you couldn't, not when her lips felt so right on yours.

Her hands grabbed your collar to pull you closer, her ample breasts pressing against yours now. Seeing how you didn't pull away, Cantarella decided to go to the next step. You panted when she released the kiss once, then were instantly overwhelmed as her tongue licked your lips and slipped inside your mouth. The feeling of her tongue was immensely different due to the Tacet Mark, not to mention how skillfully it moved in your mouth.

"Mhm....C-Cantarella~" you moaned into the kiss, fueling her desire further.

She shifted closer and straddled your lap, wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing even deeper. Your tongues danced together, moving to a revery unlike anything you experienced before. Sighs and moans echoed between you two, her tongue eager to explore every inch of you. She pulled away when she felt you becoming breathless, drawing out her tongue and keeping it hanging as a string of saliva connected you two. Your face flushed after the intense kiss, but Cantarella remained unfazed— or actually more devious than before.

"Mmm, you have an exquisite taste, as expected. I'm eager to dive deeper in your mystery and learn more~"

She licked her lips to take in the last bit of your taste, lips curling into a smirk once again.

"We shouldn't.... I can't do this." You stated with hooded eyes, making her chuckle.

"Oh my, are you so loyal to the Montelli family? Did little Carlotta charm you so much? I must admit, I'm quite impressed by that. She's grown up exceptionally~"

She hummed while caressing your cheek then leaned closer, her warm breath brushing past your ear.

"But, you should know you are already in my domain....and I don't plan to let you leave before I have drained you completely~"

And with that, she pushed you down to make you lay back and climbed on top of you once again, straddling your lap like before.

"Don't be scared to dive in deep with me, dear Rover. Let me feel your warmth, the caress akin to waves along a shore....or perhaps you prefer it rougher, like a tsunami?~"

She held out her tongue once again, her Tacet Mark glowing now as she lowered herself and approached you. All you did was close your eyes and prepare for the incoming flood....

#kuro's thoughts #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuwa #cantarella #wuwa cantarella #wuwa x reader #cantarella x reader

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vampirequsa · 2 months ago

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"Silent Fireworks"

Some things don’t need words to be said. Some feelings speak just fine in the hush between explosions.

TW: None, it's pure fluff!!

────୨ৎ────

The summer festival lights cast a soft glow over the streets of Kyoto—strings of lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze, laughter bubbling through the stalls, the scent of grilled mochi and candied apples thick in the air.

It’s the kind of night that wraps around you, warm and nostalgic, like a favorite childhood memory you don’t remember making.

You came with the rest of the Jujutsu Tech crowd—Yuuji already screaming about goldfish scooping, Nobara dragging Megumi toward the mask stalls by his sleeve, Panda arguing with Gojo about yakisoba portion sizes.

And Inumaki?

He’s just there, a silent figure among the chaos, his pale yukata patterned with little onigiri, hands tucked behind his back as he walks beside you.

He hasn’t said much—not that he can. But the way he glances at you, subtle and quick, the way he slows his pace to match yours, lets you know everything you need.

You stop at a stall with little paper charms—foxes, bells, lucky cats—and reach for one shaped like a tiny rice ball.

You turn to show him, beaming. “Hey, look! It’s you.”

He gives you a flat stare and taps the corner of the charm.

You read the tiny print aloud. “For unspoken wishes.”

You pause.

Look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

Expression unreadable.

Face pink at the ears.

The festival crowd shifts, and without a word, Inumaki gently takes your sleeve between his fingers—barely a touch, barely pressure at all—but enough to steer you toward the shrine path that leads to the hill behind the venue.

Away from the noise.

Away from everyone else.

The path is quiet except for cicadas and the soft crunch of gravel underfoot.

The two of you find a spot at the top of the hill, overlooking the town and the sky. Below, lanterns flicker like stars fallen to earth.

Inumaki sits beside you, close but not touching. You can feel the warmth of him—just there, just enough to pull your attention in like gravity.

He pulls something from his sleeve.

A small paper bag.

You peek inside and laugh softly. Dango—your favorite kind.

He tilts his head like it’s no big deal.

But his shoulders are a little too straight.

Like he’s hoping it is.

The first firework goes off with a low thump and a burst of gold.

You both look up.

It blooms like a flower in the night, trails of light curling down toward the trees.

Another follows. Blue this time. Then red. Then white.

You sigh, soft and full of wonder. And when you glance over— Inumaki isn’t watching the sky. He’s watching you.

You blink. “You’re missing the fireworks.”

He tilts his head again, slow and deliberate.

Am I?

You don’t need him to say it. You feel it.

Something stutters in your chest.

And then he reaches into the folds of his yukata again, pulling out a tiny charm wrapped in thin silk paper.

He holds it out to you.

No words.

No need for them.

You open it slowly.

It’s another rice ball charm—but this one’s hand-painted, the white carefully shaded, the seaweed a soft green.

But that’s not what makes your breath hitch.

It’s the inscription in tiny, brush-painted strokes:

“For the one I wish beside me."

Your hand curls tight around the charm.

And for a second, neither of you move.

The sky lights up with another explosion of color.

Red washes over his pale hair, gold dances across his cheeks, and you realize he’s holding his breath.

Waiting.

Hoping.

You reach out, slow and certain, and slide your fingers into his.

Not tightly. Just enough.

He flinches like he’s been struck by lightning—then relaxes.

Lets out the softest, smallest breath you’ve ever heard.

His hand tightens around yours.

Fireworks bloom.

And somewhere below, the world keeps moving.

But up here?

It’s just you and him.

Silent, warm, and full of everything that never needed to be said.

────୨ৎ────

#jujutsu kaisen #fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #inumaki toge #inumaki x reader #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #jjk inumaki #hell yeah #gojo satoru #fushiguro megumi #yuji itadori #panda jjk

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sam24 · 1 year ago

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String Beans and Goldfish - Part 1

Summary: Defending someone who everyone hates is hard. Especially when you're standing in front of a bunch of gang members and Mr. Serpent Hottie won't stop staring at you.

Pairing: Sweet Pea x fem reader

Part Two

*****

As soon as you walked through the door, you felt the piercing gaze of 20 something pairs of eyes on you. There was only one that truly mattered, but you pushed down your weird volatile feelings and cleared your throat, stepping up to Jughead.

“What are you doing here?” He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were into gaming.”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff. “Sorry Jughead, I’m not here to join this fun little club you’ve got going on here. I’m here to talk to you guys.”

“See Jughead, she’s probably here to tell us how stupid our club sounds. Literally who’s going to believe this.” Fangs whined.

You avoided looking at Fangs, because you knew exactly who would be standing right next to him.

“Honestly, I don’t give a shit about your club. I just need to talk to you guys about Reggie.”

You heard a collective groan among them at the name of Riverdale High’s star athlete, infamous among the Serpents for being a complete asshole.

“Why? You here to defend that dick? You his girlfriend or something?”

Shit.

You looked to where the voice came from, although you knew exactly who it was. You made eye contact with him, his eyes, cold and proud, staring into you intently, waiting for an answer. There was an emotion rippling through his body that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Anger? Jealousy? Both?

Sweet Pea remembered the first time he saw you- the drag race. You were leaning against the truck Reggie was sitting on, your elbow resting on Kevin’s shoulder, looking annoyed as you squinted in the sun.

You had taken a sip out of Reggie’s red solo cup, making a disgusted scrunched up face before shoving the drink back into his hands.

Sweet Pea almost smirked from his place on his motorcycle next to Toni, but remembered he wouldn’t be caught dead smiling at a Northsider.

He couldn’t help but steal glances at you the whole time, and he for sure as hell could see you looking back at him.

The second time he saw you was on the Serpents’ disastrous first day at Riverdale High.

You were standing off to the side behind Kevin, trying your best not to cringe at Veronica’s enthusiasm and Archie’s uncomfiness. Sweet Pea wasn’t even listening to whatever Veronica was saying, instead eye-flirting with you the whole time.

You didn’t say anything when Cheryl and Reggie made their dramatic entrance down the stairs, apart from an audible groan and an eye roll. But, he did see you pull the sleeve of Reggie’s jacket back when he tried to storm up to Sweet Pea, a glint of warning in your eyes. Reggie immediately backed down, and Sweet Pea scowled at the sight, a string of jealousy pulling in his stomach.

He later learned you were in his World History fifth hour class. You and Cheryl walked in late, accompanied by Principal Weatherbee. Cheryl holding a rag to her bleeding nose, and a bruise forming on your knuckles, and your seat was coincidentally the one right next to the one he sat in.

”Damn you must be one hungry chick.” Sweet Pea watched as you pulled out yet another pack of goldfish.

“Thanks, string bean.” You smiled, trying your best to cover up the rapid beating of your heart. “It’s one of my best qualities.”

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “It’s actually Sweet Pea.”

“Well, Sweet Pea, maybe you should take me to Pop’s one time and I can show you much I can eat in one sitting.” You said with a wink, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

And before Sweet Pea could flirt back, Reggie stormed over, narrowing his eyes at Sweet Pea, threat clear in his eyes. Before he could throw out an insult, the teacher interrupted, loudly telling Reggie to sit down.

He grudgingly did, but he spent the rest of class glaring murderously at Sweet Pea. And of course, Sweet Pea flirted with you even more because of that.

And now you were here, at an undercover Serpent meeting trying to defend him.

That filled Sweet Pea with rage.

“Look, string- Sweet Pea. I’m not trying to make up excuses for him. I’m just trying to show you his side.”

“Those sound an awful lot like excuses, sweetheart.” Sweet Pea sneered.

You tried not to choke at the nickname.

“Look, Pea, I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever sexual tension is going on between you two, but how about we hear what she’s gotta say.” Toni tried to reason.

“Thank you.” You sent Toni a warm smile, ignoring the first part of her sentence, before facing the rest of them.

“Okay look. I know, Reggie is an asshole. But deep down . . . he’s actually still kind of an asshole- you know what, I have no clue where I’m going with this, lemme start over.” You said with the wave of your hand. “Reggie’s going through a lot right now. His dad- let’s just say he isn’t the best father.”

You paused, thinking how to phrase your thoughts. “He’s going through a lot of shit at home, and-”

“So? That gives him a right to treat us like shit? Tell Reggie to get over himself. Other kids get abused, doesn’t mean they go around acting like dickbags.” Sweet Pea snarled, venom dripping from his voice.

You narrowed your eyes at him, getting defensive. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying- honestly I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling stupid. You kicked at the tile, your converse skidding on the floor.

“I’ve known Reggie for a long time, and what I’ve accumulated over all this time is that Reggie is terrible with feelings. When he’s mad, he’s angry. When he’s sad, he’s angry. When he feels like shit, he’s angry. It may not seem like it, but he’s really hurting inside. So he thinks the solution is to take it out on other people. And you guys are the perfect target.” You got quieter, the previous anger in your voice turning into sadness.

Sweet Pea suddenly felt guilty for yelling, which was a feeling he rarely ever felt.

“Look, guys. If you want to beat him up, go for it, he honestly deserves it for being so terrible.” You took in a breath. “But try not to kill him, please. He’s my best friend.” Your voice went down to a whisper at the end.

The kid next to Sweet Pea rolled his eyes. “Please. Save the acting, bitc-”

He was quickly silenced by the thunderous slam of Sweet Pea’s palm onto the desk.

“Nevermind.” His jaw clenched.

Sweet Pea’s eyes stayed on the desk, but he caught the slight smile on your face. He was too proud to tell you that he’ll try to go easy on Reggie, just for you, but you understood.

And that was what made you special.

Before anyone could say anything, Reggie’s voice echoed in the hallway, calling your name.

“You should probably go before your boyfriend gets mad.” Sweet Pea muttered angrily, falling even deeper into the dark pit called jealousy.

You turned to walk out the door, but not before looking Sweet Pea dead in the eye.

”He’s not my boyfriend, string bean.”

#riverdale #sweet pea x reader #jealousy

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cameronsbabydoll · 1 month ago

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what’s in puppy!reader’s bag?! .ᐟ.ᐟ "૮₍ ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა

featured:

hello kitty hand sanitizer – it smells like strawberries and has a squishy cover with a charm hanging off

tiny pink hairbrush – covered in glitter and probably has a few of rafe’s hoodie strings tangled in it

body spray / perfume – cotton candy, vanilla cupcake, or something equally sugary and juvenile

sparkly lip gloss – and she reapplies it every five seconds, even when she’s not going anywhere

her collar – in case rafe wants her to wear it later, duh! wrapped in a little silk pouch like it’s fine jewelry

compact mirror – smudged with gloss fingerprints

silly putty / slime – pink, scented, and stuffed into a cupcake-shaped container she fiddles with when she’s overstimulated

puppy phone case – probably 3D with ears, tail, and paws — hard to fit in her pocket but too cute not to use

wired headphones – tangled in four different bows because bluetooth gives her anxiety

candy – melted gummy bears, sour straws, smarties — tossed in like loose change

lollipops – half-unwrapped and stuck to random receipts, but she insists they’re “totally still good!!”

goldfish crackers / teddy grahams – in a ziploc bag she keeps crinkling in quiet places

juice boxes – capri sun, honest kids, or the fancy organic kind rafe rolls his eyes at

hair ties + scrunchies – in every color possible, most of them stretched out

sticker sheets – animals, food with faces, sparkly bows. sometimes she puts them on rafe’s arm just to see if he notices

pop it / fidget rings – pastel colors, or shaped like clouds and stars. sometimes she gives one to rafe when he’s being grumpy

not featured in the photo:

crumpled love note from rafe – it just says “stop being annoying” but she folded it like origami and treasures it

a pacifier she doesn’t use but keeps anyway – just in case. just because. just for comfort.

#puppy!reader ♡#girly talk ୨୧ #what’s in my bag #rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx

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taetr4ck · 1 year ago

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Can i request a drabble about how skz will treat you like a princess as their s/o?

Also, can i be "💌" anon?

and all these little things —

he who loves, dances upon the tapestry of stars.

skz!hyung line x reader, 1.1k words overall, brief mention of struggling with food (nothing descriptive) — fluff, comfort, a sprinkle of angst. maknae line here

a/n : hi of course my love !!! the moment i received this ask i never opened my laptop this fast LMFAOOOOOOOOO and yes of course, you can be 💌 anon! welcome to my blog, and i hope you enjoy this request !! ily <3 and pardon me for breaking this into two parts ,, i’ve been itching to post this 😭 my attention span is actually comparable to a goldfish 😞 but the maknae line is almost finished! just need to sprinkle some spice here and there

bang chan who acknowledges your inner child —

A promise — a promise Chan swore to himself that he would love every inch and aspect of you, including your inner child that was once abandoned and neglected. He never failed to make you feel loved, a love one can’t find anywhere else – a love that was made for you. He’s lovely, he’s lovely. His affection makes your whole being buttery, smoothly melting in his touch. His love is different from anyone else’s – it’s as if your heart bloomed with flowers that smell like him, and the surroundings suddenly light up when he enters the room.

He never neglected you. Not even once. His gaze is always fixated on you every time you talk – your voice is a sweet melody to him as if every word you say is coated with honey.

Tap, tap, tap. The gentle taps of his finger on your skin when you feel like the world is deceiving you give you a sense of comfort – accompanied by an arm wrapping around your defeated, exhausted body, keeping you safe and understood. The familiar gesture and warmth seeping into your skin keep you grounded amidst your sobs, those sobs that never fail to make his heart shatter every time you surrender your tired soul to him. He whispers sweet mumbles in your ear, as if his only goal is to protect you. He is love, he is solace itself.

He is the aurora that loves in what in you is unfinished, the aurora that embraces the little child in the shackles of your healing heart. The world may be against you, but you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine; he’s always here.

lee know who cooks a hearty meal for you —

There was never a day when Minho didn’t cook for you. The living space is always surrounded by the aroma of his cooking – making your stomach growl with anticipation. He smiles as he hands you a bowl full of your favorite food, looking at you with stars in his eyes. The simple gesture is enough to make your heart flutter, tugging at every string. Eating the meal together that he wholeheartedly made is enough for him to die a happy man – for him, it’s more than enough. Sharing a meal together is a love language, his love language.

When he’s away, he sends you recipes for you to make on your own. It reminds you of the times he always cooked for you – your arms wrapped around his waist, leaning on the circle of his back. His warmth may be absent at the moment, but his love and familiarity still permeate through the quiet shared space. You will see him soon, just wait a little longer.

In times when eating isn’t an option, silently working at the desk in your shared bedroom, Minho is always here to remind you to eat. He knows the feeling of working on an empty stomach, and he doesn’t want you to experience the same agony. From hourly fruit snacks to full meals delivered right to your table, he never fails to make you feel as if you deserve to be cared for. You deserve to be cared for. It’s as if he’s an angel in disguise, destined only for you to pamper and nurture. In times when you can’t take care of yourself, he does it for you. He plays the role he chose, to cherish and love you as a whole.

changbin who never lets you lift a hand —

The living embodiment of chivalry, as they always say about him. Changbin never lets you lift a hand – not even a finger. The door of his car, the door of your favorite restaurant, the bags of groceries with a cute backstory – Changbin giggles and smiles at you every time you pick something from the grocery shelf, red hearts evident in both of his eyes, showing how lovestruck he is – completely captivated by you.

Changbin goes to the extent of even carrying your things – your pretty handbag, your school or work backpack – he doesn’t want you to strain even a fiber of your muscle. Heck, he’d even carry you if he wanted to. Whatever it is, he got you.

He loves to serve you, and he's sworn to be devoted to you. Love always has a center, and it’s you who centers his heart and his whole being. You’re his princess, and he is the knight. The knight who’s willing to do anything, ready to carry it all – he’s willing to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders if that's what it takes to be with you. He doesn’t want anything in return; he just wants you to stay by his side and let him take care of the rest. He adores you more than you'll ever know, and he surely knows he was made for you.

hyunjin who notices every detail —

He who notices everything — your hair, your perfume, the shade of your new lipstick – everything. Nothing can escape Hyunjin’s loving gaze, as if his eyes were made to look at you – to worship every inch of your skin, to tell you you’re beautiful, beautiful that he can ever endure. He looks at you as if you were the only thing that matters to him. You’re beautiful. He looks at you like you are more than the pain you’ve ever endured. You don’t understand why, but he never fails to make you feel things – tugging heartstrings every time he utters his worship, your skin heating to the feel of his feathery touch – his touch that feels like home, his kisses that feel like a sanctuary.

“You’re so beautiful,” those are exactly the words he always says. Every time you wake up, gaze still unsteady; every time you two go out for a date, every time you’re stressed – hair disheveled, dark circles evident under your eyes. And even when you’re in slumber – whispering his never-ending devotion beside your sleeping figure, full of content and peace. His tone is full of sincerity, making your heart flutter with tenderness and adoration. His love makes you overwhelmed, but that’s only because his love is always honest.

Hyunjin spent most of his life running away from love until you gave him the courage to try. It’s like you’re the rose that suddenly bloomed in a garden full of camellias. After a long time of suffering from longing and madness, love was finally bestowed upon him. The first bite of your pure and genuine love seemed to have taken him aback; each bite overwhelming to the core. Your sudden entrance into his life silenced the monsters in his mind – ceasing every inch of darkness surrounding within. He didn’t prepare, he was never prepared. You’re his light, providing love and sunshine with no end. He’s a hopeless romantic, after all. Except that it’s not hopeless anymore.

taglist: @agi-ppangx @skzstarnet / taglist form

⋆ taetr4ck, est may 2023. / requests open

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