rinawantstosleep

[rinawantstosleep]

𖹭༉‧°𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

(aged up!) nobara x fem reader

wc: 347

— love is all there is.

Love can be subtle.

It's in the fleeting, electrifying gazes that last no more than two agonizingly sedated seconds. The teeth-torn flesh and soul-tainting gasps of her name from your lips. Scalding grapefruit-tinged kisses. Sacrilegious, carnal violence made virtuous.

Never a high or a low; life in limbo. 

Love can be simple. 

As simple as a hammer to your heart. Auburn strands spun into gold, glistening in the solicitous glares of the sun. She stands behind you, entwines her nimble fingers into your hair - with every twist and turn, a braid is born anew. And forgive her if it hurts when she pulls too hard, because she isn't as good at it as you are. 

The weight of the world in your hands. Or maybe it's just infatuation. Love weaves in with the ludicrous. To discern the two apart would be vain. 

"That's stupid. You didn't think you'd get in trouble for that?"

"Well, we weren't thinking. Just thought it'd be funny to mess around with him."

Love doesn't have to be hard. 

It's in the way she laughs, even at your expense, head tipped back. Sun-kissed smile and eyepatch bared to the hazy, coral-sheen sky. A bond too good to be kept a secret; just lamentable enough to remain one. Face raw and red, flushed concomitantly from your presence and the beam of light hitting her. 

She could bite into your heart, and it'd be there. A beating pulse worth every sinful bead of sullied blood down her chin. It was always hers to begin with. This doesn't have to be supernatural or breathtaking, a marvel made pristine and devoted and sickly - what matters is that it's real. Easy to find peace in the tangible. 

"Learnt your lesson, now?"

"Mhm."

Chasing starry deities in her eyes. It's not a shame when the doors are closed; when there's no one but the two of you to witness it. You're both older now. Sixteen and limerant is a far cry from twenty-five and adoring. Laying yourselves bare and vulnerable after mangling one another to a point barely distinguishable.

Love is all there is. 

with 𖹭, rina!

[rinawantstosleep]

Got a Rafayel fic cooking up in the drafts hehehehahohahrharharharharhar

[rinawantstosleep]

been a while since i posted on here 😭😭

[rinawantstosleep]

𖹭༉‧°𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

about me!

karina 𝜗𝜚 she / her 𝜗𝜚 18 𝜗𝜚 nov 29

‧₊˚𓍯𓂃 . . . if you know how to be my lover, maybe you can be my baby 𖹭.ᐟ.ᐟ

♱ no.1 pathetic (fictional) men enthusiast ᯓᡣ𐭩 girlrot men dni (jk) minors dni

sfw tumblr (may include mildly suggestive content) jujutsu kaisen + love&deepspace (will expand, i promise lol) 𖹭 𖹭 𖹭 archiveofourown links! (works on there definitely ARE nsfw): zzzkarina lonelyonawednesdaynight [pseud]

with 𖹭, rina !!

[rinawantstosleep]

𖹭༉‧°𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

solo idol suguru x fem idol reader

wc: 1.7k

— fake dating one of japan's biggest idols just to cover up another one of his scandals.

"And I'm doing this because...?"

Forty-nine minutes late. You've been keeping track of the time; not that it's a hindrance to you in any way imaginable. In fact, you'd be glad if the man you're waiting for took an explicitly extended period of time to arrive. An hour or two would be nice. He's a busy idol, after all. Who knows when his schedule will clear up for a boring meeting? Plus, you'd get an opportunity to leisurely lie around in your manager's office without having to drain yourself of any of the remaining energy that you've got. After that hell-inducing choreography practice for your next comeback this morning, even the mundane task of sitting down feels like a sanctuary.

"Think of it as 'damage control', of sorts." Your manager is all too aloof when stating this. Like he's done this a million times before; so insignificant, it doesn't even deserve even the most miniscule of emotions when said aloud, never mind the briefest time of day. But you're familiar with the patterns set in place. 

You're the scapegoat. Surprise, surprise (not really). It doesn't really come as too much of a shocker. Your company needs to sweep something under the rug? Eminently, you're their bargain chip. Does it sting that you're always being put on the forefront when they need to cover up any tracks? Acutely. That doesn't mean there can't be exceptions, however. 

Maybe you were born to bask in the limelight. There's a certain thrill that fosters itself in your heart when you're aware of just how much power you hold over the public eye. It started back when you were still a rookie. A company embezzlement scandal forgotten in the blink of an eye, all because you licked ice-cream off of your thumb during a livestream - supposedly so 'iconic' (due to the subtlety of your allure) that it took everyone by storm. Then, it all came snowballing; amassed to a point where every little movement of yours became the next 'big' thing. Virality was in your blood. 

Now, you know that your morality scatters itself all over the place in such circumstances where you're being used, in a way, to alleviate the graveness of another situation. But, come on. You're an idol. You chose this life. Bad press is still press. Besides, it doesn't hurt when your fans willingly sink their teeth into anything that you dish out. 

"Mm. Right. Well, your 'damage' has no concept of punctuality whatsoever, on top of the scandal he's got going on for himself right now."

"He'll be here soon enough."

"Maybe he's going to be a no-show," you shrug, already getting up to stand. You'll go back to your shared dorm room, gossip to your members about any ongoing affairs, and maybe order some food. Karaage sounds delectable right about now. Grabbing ahold of your jacket, you spin around to leave, when...

"Why the hurry, soda-tits? Patience is a virtue, you know?" Your most recent fiasco (an embarrassing accident that you're not entirely proud of). A member had spilt their soda on your top while filming a brand-sponsored video. Wasn't that just all the rage? Publicity follows you around like an abandoned dog.

He's finally here, words that elicit a pathetic cringe from you entering the room alongside him. Perfect timing. 

Suguru Geto. One of the entertainment industry's most prominent figures; and also the highest earning idol from your company. Ridiculously good-looking, even if you've never been one for liking guys with long hair or piercings. But, you do understand all the hype that surrounds the R&B singer - from a musical standpoint, anyway. He's got great songs, you'll admit. Some of them, you've even found yourself singing along to in the shower.

You'd passed him here and there a few times in the halls or practice rooms; it'd never feel real - the same way you'd imagine being present alongside some ethereal, supernatural deity. An air of mystique appeal. Silent, yet cool. Like a ghost; unattainably ethereal. Turns out that he's got quite the attitude (because, really, soda-tits?). Cocky, too. It must be all the fame getting to his head. He's been knocked down a peg or two on the pedestal you'd previously kept him on. 

"Watch it. I didn't volunteer to-"

"Suguru, my boy, you're here!" 

So much for trying to clap back. It's not like you were actually going to get a chance to take a dig at the company's golden boy. 

"Came as soon as I heard." Yeah, right. Who does he think he's fooling?

"Well, then, you must be busy. I won't take up much of your time. This is just to discuss the recent scandal going around about you..."

. . . 

What's worse to fans than the idea of their precious idol smoking a few cigarettes? Dating, obviously. That's where they draw the line. God-forbid there be some love in the air. It's the perfect distraction. You're the perfect distraction. Fake-dating to stir the conversation away from Suguru's former defamation. Once things go according to plan, once the initial heat has died down, you'll announce that you two have broken up, that you couldn't deal with all the eyes on you two. The public loves a story. Of course, nothing was ever genuine to begin with. 

Everything's been set out for you by the company over these past few days. A 'leaked' video of the two of you entering a hotel together. 'Fan-made' videos suspecting a possible relationship. Photos circulating online where you're holding hands. Your PR team has been working their asses off. The ball's in your court, now. 

One objective: sell it like it's the last fucking thing you do. 

"Over here!"

"Suguru!"

"Y/N!"

"We've seen the videos!"

"Suguru!"

Despite your personal success as an idol, you've never been hounded by paparazzi like this before. There's stardom for you, you suppose. Actual stardom: the kind that Suguru has. Too many flashes in your face to even discern where to take your next step. Too many voices that you swear they're imprinting onto your mind. You've resorted to hiding your face in his sleeve, arms coiled around the one he has on you. Any and all trust that you've got has been handed over to the guy, latched onto him while he guides you through the sea of capricious cameramen. You just pray that no one gets past the two bodyguards situated on either sides to trample over you. 

"This is normal to you?"

"Not always to this extent, but sure. You get used to it over time." 

His lips are so close, you can feel the warmth of his soft breath mingling with yours. It's the only way you're able to hear one another: practically talking down each other's throats. You bet that's selling it. How you're blinded by nothing but white, how the shuttering sound of the cameras proportionally doubles. Oh, you're certain they're getting a nice shot of your faces so close together. 

"You know what'll be fun?"

"What?"

"Seeing these photos of us all over the internet later." Much like your manager was earlier, Suguru's way too casual about this. There must be some sort of art that one hones when reaching a point of fame so high. Desensitization? Possibly. 

By the time he's led you into a nearby café, you swear you've forgotten how to walk. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the light (you know, normal light that isn't threatening to seize your vision, permanently). Do people usually get this dizzy after having their eyes go raw from being smothered in blinding glares? You'll have to ask Suguru once you've caught your breath. For now, your utmost priority is finding anything to rest your tired legs on. 

"Those are the types of people you've gotta look out for."

Sitting down on the chair that Suguru's oh-so-courteously pulled out for you, you glance around your surroundings. However, you fail to detect anything out of the blue. The place is as ordinary as one would expect. High-end café with high-end patrons. Everyone's minding their own business. A few couples on a date, some customers with their laptops out, a group of teenagers huddling at a table. It's as serene as could possibly be. Your gaze lands upon the booth Suguru nods at. 

"A normal girl studying? It's exam season, Suguru. Unlike paparazzi, these people aren't obsessed with us. She probably doesn't even know who we are..."

"Mm. That's what she wants you to think." Your raised brow of silent judgement makes him chuckle. "Trust me. We just need to... give her some bait to bite."

 . . . 

When Suguru had mentioned bait, you weren't expecting this.

The cold emitting from his snakebites and lip-ring send a shudder through your body. The piercing on his tongue doesn't help things in the slightest. Stampeding into your heart far better than those cameramen from earlier could ever wish to, Suguru's kissing you with such unrelenting desire that you feel like you're floating; transcending into some other dimension: one filled with him, him, him, and only him. 

He coaxes your bottom lip open into a pout with his thumb while whispering praises against your flesh. It's numbingly good. Your thoughts swing like a pendulum; back and forth, never-ending. This is all fake, all a hoax to lure the media's attention elsewhere. You're not supposed to like it. In spite of that, why does your heart yearn for more? His hands that cradle your face, the soft yet pleasantly indulgent groan he lets out at the taste of your lips... it's driving you up a wall. 

Nowhere else to go, your own hands find purchase on his biceps, squeezing the firm flesh beneath your fingers. God, you don't ever want to let go. 

It's enough to send you spiraling, heart beating so fast it might just leap out your chest. If making out with the most reverent idol was on your bucket-list, you've got all liberties to cross it out now. 

"You're good at this."

Cross off being complimented for your kissing prowess, too, if it was on the list.

"... you think so?"

Abruptly, however, like all things do, the heated session between Suguru and you comes to an end. 

Flash. 

A blur speeds right past you and out of the café doors. A reporter disguised as a student, huh? It turns out that Suguru was right. Maybe he does have an acquired skill for weeding out people like these. 

"Told you she'd bite." 

with 𖹭, rina!

[rinawantstosleep]

𖹭༉‧°𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

bf satoru x fem single mom reader

wc: 1.1k

— a pair of troublemakers residing in your house; both of whom are (unintentionally!) dead-set on making themselves the death of you.

"I don't like your stupid, white hair." 

"And I don't like your boring, brown hair, buddy."

"W-well... well, I don't like your ugly, doo-doo face!"

"Your mama does." 

The two could go bickering like this for hours on end if you let them. What may seem to be a mutually digressive arrangement is actually an oddly adorable bonding in disguise. Satoru and your son put on a front of being annoyed at the other's presence, but you've never seen them apart for longer than a few minutes at a time. They've grown on each other; much like how moss grows on a statue that's been lingering out in the open. An indispensable cycle of life that's truly inevitable. 

"No, she doesn't! She doesn't! She likes... sof- sofis... sofistogated guys."

"You mean sophisticated?"

"Shut up!" 

You'd been terrified that your little one wouldn't have a father-figure to rely on anymore after you divorced your husband. However, it was something you had to do for his sake. The child deserved to live in an environment that wasn't always reeking of alcohol, where he wasn't subjected to the constant, drunk yelling of a pathetic excuse of a father who couldn't get his shit together and lazed around at home all day while you did all the work. If that meant that you'd have to raise him on his own, then so be it. At least he'd be raised properly. Signing those papers was, by far, the easiest decision you'd ever made. 

"I'm not shutting up because a kid in clothes too big for him is telling me to."

"You... you're the one always wearing tight clothes around the house to impress my mama."

"No, that's because I'm ripped. Gotta show off what I've got. And your mama loves that." 

"Oh, yeah? That means you show off your... your - um... ugly, doo-doo face!"

Would you regard it a miracle that Satoru just so happened to stumble into your life around that very time? Well, relatively. Meeting him wasn't something you'd planned, nor anticipated. The kind stranger who offered to pay for your order at a café a year ago has somehow, thanks to quite a romantic sequence of events, turned into your boyfriend; a rock to lean on for when you need the support. And, also, someone that your little one can look up to (with the fun, bonus benefit of the pair getting into silly, childish quarrels nine times out of ten). What is Satoru if not a three-hundred-and-thirty-six-month-old toddler, too? Puts your five-year-old to utter shame with the way he acts. 

"Enough. Baby, we've been over this before. Behave."

"But, mama, he's being a meanie!" "But, babe, he's acting all pretentious." 

The responses come simultaneously: one is high pitched and whiny, and the other is your son. Sometimes, you have to pause and ask yourself how you haven't gone insane yet. It's the love that keeps you from falling apart. How could you ever harbor any other feeling for these two, except for wanting to cherish them? You just... need to work on a pet name that doesn't apply to the both of them at once.  

"I don't want to hear it. Sweetie, finish your lunch. And, Satoru?" 

"Yes, honey-who-loves-me-and-my-'ugly, doo-doo'-face?" He's smirking, snickering, while saying this, the sly bastard. When will the pair ever relent on trying to one-up the other? 

"Why have you got one of my hair ties on your wris- never mind. Don't forget to change the sheets in our room. I'd do it myself if not for the meeting I need to get to in an hour." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Cue a tiny gasp. 

"But, mama..." The voice of your little one breaks the peaceful silence at the dining table once again. His legs start kicking back and forth - a sign that he's growing restless - from the chair they're dangling off of. He's got a protest already forming up in that head of his. "Toru said he'd take me to the skate park today. And he promised to get ice cream after."

Toru, huh? That's new. You can't help the smile that paints itself on your lips. The two have been getting along pretty well, it seems, contrary to all the bickering they do. That's always nice to know. It's amusing to see the dynamic they've built. One second, they're riling each other up to no end, the next, they've already formed a secret alliance to go out and have fun together. How cute. "Is that so?"

"Mhm! So that means we need to leave riiight after I finish my lunch. Don't get mad, okay?" 

It's the small things like these that warm your heart. Some sacrifices can be made if it's in regards to this adorable (step, even though you haven't married Satoru yet)father-son moment. The sheets are insignificant right now. "Awwh. Of course I won't get mad, baby. It's good for you to want to spend more time with Satoru. Isn't he a fun guy?"

"... maybe." 

. . . 

"Just make sure he's safe out there. Helmet and gear on at all times, no big ramps. And don't let him eat too much sugar. He'll get hyper. Once the rush dies down, he'll get cranky -"

Satoru's arm wraps around your waist before you can finish your sentence, pulling you overwhelmingly close to his frame. Instinctively, your arms move to wrap around his neck, just the way Satoru likes it. Oh, how he wants to just throw everything else out the window and drag you to the nearest room with a lock in place.

"You -" A quick peck to your lips, followed by a nibble on your bottom lip. "- worry -" Another peck. "- too -" Another. "- much." Then, an unexpected bite on the shell of your right ear. "I'd never allow myself to let that little demon get hurt; or hyper."

Large hands wander across the curve of your back, resting firm on your butt. Satoru doesn't want to expose your son to the way he's squeezing your plush flesh with his long digits, so he shifts to have your back pressed against the wall. A perfect opportunity to kiss you - which the man can't help but seize. What else is a smitten boyfriend to do while waiting for your son to get ready and come down from his room upstairs? Lips against lips until one of you pulls away for air. "He's safe with me, okay?" 

"Okay." 

"Atta girl. Now, you go to that meeting of yours. And, tonight, after we both get back- oww."

"Groooss! Don't kiss my mama, or you'll make her ugly! Like youuu!"

"Baby, no. Don't kick Satoru's ankles-"

"I'm saving you, mama."

with 𖹭, rina !!

[rinawantstosleep]

𖹭༉‧°𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

rafayel x fem reader

wc: 560

— a little tipsy and very much in love, rafayel's having some difficulties discerning what's what.

"Baby, are you drunk?"

"No." Yes. If the reeking smell of alcohol emitting from the man's mouth or his clumsily bovine stupor wasn't enough of an answer, he's gone ahead and bumped into a wall just for confirmation. "Owww. Watch where you're going, man."

With a roll of your eyes, you have to put down the book you were engrossed in to aid the poor thing. If not, he'll probably initiate a fight with the inanimate entity. Oh, but don't underestimate Rafayel. Never underestimate Rafayel because he's already shoving at the wall and mumbling out (what he believes to be) threatening curses to it. There's even the repeated jabs of his index finger to the presumed 'chest' of the sturdy, upright structure. 

"Okay, that's enough, Raf. Come on, we're going to the kitchen to get you a glass of water to sober up." 

The man clings to you almost immediately, nuzzling his face into your hair. Ah, sweet paradise. Forget about boring, old water. This is all he needs to sober up; ahem, not that he was even 'drunk' in the first place. "Just a second, baby. 'm gonna... mess this guy up real bad for bumping into me. And then... then you can cuddle me on the couch. No water."

What other response are you supposed to give to that, aside from a sigh? A laugh, maybe, but Rafayel tends to get all sulky and pouty when you poke fun at him during one of these inebriated states. Don't bite off more adorableness than you can chew. You're better off letting the tides ease themselves down on their own. 

"He said he was sorry, baby."

"Really?" It comes out in a slur. Surprise, surprise. The alcohol's kicking in more than ever. Booze behind the wheel, running the vehicle. 

"Mhm. Look, he's on his knees, apologizing right now."

You don't expect him to actually fall for that. As stupidly (and also endearingly) gullible as the guy is when he's drunk, there's no way you'd be able to convince him that a literal wall is kneeling at his feet in atonement. That'd just be sill-

"Oh, yeah. Guess - mm - guess I was too tough for him. Smart guy; knew when to... back out."

- Never mind. What was that thing about never underestimating your boyfriend, again?

"Alright. Come on, to the kitchen."

"I don't want water, though."

"And I don't want to deal with a drunk in my apartment. Guess what? We can't always have things go our way."

"But 'm not drunk."

"No, of course not." 

There's no time to make further assessments, though, because Rafayel swoops you up into his arms with no prior notice, sauntering over to the couch. "Swear I'm not drunk, baby. Only... had a few glasses of wine because I couldn't focus on my paintings."

If that isn't him fessing up to his crimes, you don't know what is. The cat's (don't mention it aloud or else he'll get jittery) been let out of the bag. It's safe to say that Rafayel probably isn't paying attention either way, with how he's already got you on his lap.

Gentle kisses to your neck, hands on your midriff. God, he could get lost in this. You're too good to him. It's something Rafayel knows he'll never take for granted. "Mm... swear I only had... a bottle... or two."

with 𖹭, rina!

[rinawantstosleep]

"Hot stuff!" Megumi giggles, the palm of one tiny, lather-covered hand pressing against the tip of your nose. The little one has recently been learning to speak, and, consequently, he's been picking up on the words said around him in the house. Most of those words come from Toji, who unabashedly calls you all sorts of pet names under the belief that Megumi's far too young to understand the context behind them. Apparently, he was wrong. But, really, he should've known better than to go around calling you 'hot stuff' in front of someone so tiny and impressionable.  

"What did you call me, baby?" You have to ask, a lilt of an amused laugh in your voice. Your eyes flicker momentarily over to Toji, who's leant against the doorframe of the bathroom, lips pursed in an attempt to prevent himself from howling out in laughter. He gives you a teasing shrug, one that's so lazy and effortless. 'Oops. My bad,' it says - even if he secretly finds this hilarious. 

Megumi squirms around in the bath for a few seconds, grabs two handfuls of suds, and then pats them onto your bare shoulders, trying to dress you up. Eventually, when the bubbles just end up cascading off of your wet skin, he lets out a small huff, bottom lip trembling and jutting out before he wraps his arms around your shoulders and snuggles up to you in the bathtub. 

"Hot stuff. Papa call you that." It's a small, adorable little mumble. Judging from the way you keep smiling, Megumi assumes he's said something right. Even his papa is now laughing. That must be a good thing, right? So, Megumi erupts into another fit of giggles, now pulling back and letting his little hands mess up your shampooed hair. Bath-times with his mama are the best! 

"Does he, now?"

Megumi nods his little head. He does! He can even name all the times he's heard Toji call you that name. It'd be too much to count one by one on his little fingers, but he knows there have been a lot of instances. There was that one time in the kitchen when you were feeding Megumi his breakfast. Toji had come up right behind you, one hand pressed firm against your belly and the other resting against Megumi's high-chair. 'You won't spoon-feed me breakfast, too, hot stuff?' To which you'd laughed and turned back to give Toji a little peck on his cheek.

Or, or! Megumi even recounts the time the three of you were cuddled up on the couch for movie-night. He'd been sitting on his papa's lap, just like he mostly prefers to, and eating the popcorn out of his little bowl. 'Pass me a napkin, would you, hot stuff? Baby's gonna get popcorn grease all over the couch at this rate.'

While cooking dinner together, while snuggling in bed together, while out in the garden picking little flowers to decorate the small vase on the dining table with. All of these times, Megumi's heard some form of endearment slip past Toji's lips - voice so absolutely smitten as his hands latch onto you. 

"Papa call you that all the time. Why?" His head tilts in confusion. As far as the three-year-old knows, you're mama. Your name's mama! He doesn't know why his papa would call you anything but. 

You have to stifle a laugh, cooing at his innocence. Even Toji can't resist the sight, and he's come up to the two of you, kneeling down next to the bathtub and combing a hand through Megumi's soaked, green apple-scented, shampooed locks. "Well, I love your mama too much, and that's how I show it."

That seems to be enough of an answer for Megumi. He loves you lots, too. So, the fact that his papa does things for you because he loves you is a concept well-grasped by the little one. Even Megumi does a plethora of things for you out of love. Drawing little doodles of you to hang up on the fridge is just one example of that. "Oh. But I love mama more."

That earns him a little ruffle of his hair from Toji, making the little one squeal out in glee as he kicks his feet around in the water. "Of course you do. You're her little sweetheart, aren't you? But don't go around calling mama 'hot stuff' again, okay? That's only for me to do."

Megumi looks at you, almost like he needs confirmation from you that only his papa is allowed to call you that. Obviously, he's a well-behaved kid and knows to listen to what his parents tell him to do, but when the two of you are present, he needs the dual assurance. 

"That's right, baby. Only papa can call me... that." 

"I not allowed to?"

"No, baby. You're not."

Megumi pouts for a few seconds, hating that he's been left out of this fun little name-calling thing that his papa is allowed to do. However, all of that completely erases itself from his mind as soon as he feels a hand playfully sloshing the tub of water he's in, creating even more bubbles. 

"Ah, papa! No do! You make a mess! And mama hafta clean it!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .