#and even if you keep confusing them a little: keep doing it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writeriguess · 22 hours ago

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Can you write me a MHA fic where reader and Katsuki have been crushing on each other for ages but both are denying it and Katsuki is really mean to her, and reader is really mean to Katsuki. One day, Katsuki's friends trick them and get them to go on a blind date, they have a huge fight but end up making out.

Like Hell I’d Fall for You

"God, he’s insufferable."

You slam your locker shut with a little more force than necessary, scowling like the world personally offended you. Which, to be fair, it kind of did. Or more specifically, he did.

"Bakugou Katsuki is the human embodiment of a stubbed toe," you mutter under your breath.

"Funny," says Mina from behind you, “because I just heard him say you were the reason birth control was invented.”

You whip around. “He said what?”

She raises her hands innocently. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. Though, to be fair, didn’t you call him a sentient Red Bull can last week?”

“That's generous,” you scoff. “Red Bull gives people wings. Bakugou gives people migraines.”

Meanwhile, in the opposite hallway…

"She’s fucking unbearable," Bakugou growls, kicking his locker shut hard enough to dent it.

“She’s literally the only person who can keep up with your bullshit, man,” Kirishima replies, biting into an apple like this is just another episode of their weekly soap opera. “That kind of energy? It’s flirting.”

Bakugou’s eye twitches. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. She calls you a dumpster fire with legs, but she also stares at you for ten minutes during training.”

Bakugou turns his glare on him. “If I stared at a fire for ten minutes, it’d be because I wanted to burn it out.”

Kirishima just smiles knowingly. “Right.”

This, of course, has been going on for months. The entire class is in on it. The professors? Probably too. It’s hard to miss the sheer voltage of tension between you and Bakugou.

You mock him, he scowls at you. He mocks you, you threaten to shove his gauntlet up his ass. Everyone pretends not to notice that neither of you ever backs down. It’s exhausting. And weirdly entertaining.

Which is why Mina, Kirishima, and Kaminari decide to intervene.

By lying to you.

Friday, 6:30 PM – Somewhere in a trendy Tokyo café

You’re dressed like a liar. Because you were told this was a casual coffee meetup with Mina and Momo. So you showed up in a cute dress, makeup on, hair nice.

Which is exactly why, when you see Bakugou at the other end of the café looking just as confused and wearing a crisp black button-up (that you refuse to admit fits him way too well), your stomach drops.

“Oh hell no.”

He spots you. His face does a weird thing. You think it might be pain. Or fury. Or indigestion.

You both start walking toward each other like you’re about to duel at high noon.

“What the hell is this?” you hiss.

“I was told this was a Kirishima thing,” he growls.

“Well, Mina’s dead to me now.”

He crosses his arms. “Like I’d go on a date with you.”

“Oh please. Like I’d want to.”

And yet, neither of you leave.

You’re both seated. Begrudgingly. In utter silence. Until the barista drops off two drinks Mina apparently pre-ordered under the names “Queen of Spite” and “Lord Explosion Murder.”

Your cup has a little heart on it. His has a middle finger doodled on the side.

You blink. Then laugh. “Okay, that’s actually kind of funny.”

He snorts. “Idiots.”

Silence again. Then:

“You look good,” he mutters.

You glance up, startled.

He immediately scowls. “I mean, like. For you. Not—whatever. Fuck.”

You smirk. “Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment. Who are you and what have you done with the snarling porcupine I know?”

He glares. “You look like you’re going to a damn gala.”

“Oh, so now it’s too much?”

“You’re fishing.”

“I don’t need to fish for compliments from you, Katsuki.”

“You just did!”

“Oh my god, do you even hear yourself?!”

You’re both standing now. Not yelling, but close.

“You think I wanna be here?” he bites out.

“I know you don’t. You’d rather die than admit you like me.”

He goes still.

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

You freeze too. A beat of silence. Then:

“I—what?” you stammer.

His mouth works like he wants to say something, but can’t.

Then he does.

“Of course I fucking like you.”

Your heart slams into your ribs.

“I’ve liked you since second year,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes. “When you beat the shit outta that third year who said my quirk was all boom, no bite. You called him a discount sparklers pack.”

Your jaw drops.

“I've tried everything to stop. You drive me insane. You talk back, you’re loud, you fight dirty—”

“So do you!” you shout.

“Exactly!” he snaps. “You’re like... I don’t know! A natural disaster. A pretty one. With teeth.”

You blink.

“Oh my god.”

And then—

You launch across the table.

He catches you halfway.

Mouths crash. Teeth knock. Someone knocks over a latte. It’s chaos. It’s electric. It’s inevitable.

Your hands are in his hair. His hands are on your waist. Your body feels like it’s on fire and your heart is trying to punch out of your chest. It's a fucking moment.

Somewhere behind the counter, a barista stops mid-pour.

“Holy shit,” says the newer one. “Should we... call security?”

The older barista just watches calmly, chewing gum. “Nah. This is like a nature documentary.”

The new guy blinks. “What?”

She jerks her thumb toward you and Bakugou, still aggressively making out.

“Predators. They fight, then they mate. Give it a minute.”

You and Bakugou eventually stumble out of the café, breathless and flushed, hand-in-hand like you didn’t spend the last year trading death threats.

“So,” you say, looking up at him. “Was that the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

He grins, wide and wolfish. “Nah.”

“I mean, you did spill my latte.”

“You tackled me.”

You smirk. “So we’re even?”

“Not even close,” he growls, pulling you in again. “I’m gonna spend the rest of the damn week making up for lost time.”

And he does.

Much to the horror (and secret delight) of everyone at U.A.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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ggukivrse · 12 hours ago

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THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 04

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, i want them to fuck already sigh, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 5.2k

notes: i actually managed to get this one out early as promised yipeee!! this was very hastily edited cuz i wanted it out by today, but tysm to j @tranquilreign for beta reading!! idk what i’d do without u pooks :’) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are very very appreciated! enjoy reading my lovies <333

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⤷ chapter four — halley’s comet

i was good at feeling nothing, now i’m hopeless / what a drag to love you like i do

Jungkook used to call you sunflower in the summer.

Not because of the flower itself — he never cared much for metaphors like that. But because every time the sun was out, you’d tilt your head back, eyes closed, face tilted towards the sky like you were trying to soak up every last drop of light. He’d tease you for it — call you predictable — then press a kiss to your forehead like it was instinct.

You tilt your head back now and the sun kisses the same spot. His lips don't.

And for some reason, it's the only thing you can think about now as the warmth bleeds across your skin, soft and steady. The boat rocks gently beneath you, the scent of salt lingering in the air. Laughter bubbles up from the other end of the deck, and you open your eyes behind your sunglasses, squinting toward the sound.

"Hyung, I still can’t believe you actually pulled this off," Namjoon says, nodding at Seokjin, who’s standing at the front of the boat.

Seokjin doesn’t even try to hide his smug grin. "Please. When have I ever let you down?"

"Should we make a list?" Yoongi mutters from his seat, but his tone is lazy, not sharp. He’s nursing something with ice in it and hasn’t moved much since boarding.

The engine hums beneath the conversation. You’re all sprawled out across the deck, sipping on melting drinks and soaking in the sunshine.

Somewhere behind you, Hoseok curses as a gust of wind nearly steals his hat. Haeun laughs too loud. Taehyung’s lying flat on his back with his eyes closed, Yasmine tracing lazy shapes on his chest with her finger.

Ari shifts beside you, adjusting the corner of the towel you’re both lying on so that it doesn’t bunch beneath her back. Her arm brushes yours, warm from the sun, and you feel her turn her head toward you even before she speaks.

“You guys okay?” she asks, soft and easy, like she’s just making conversation. Like she isn’t cracking open the air between you and Jungkook with three simple words.

Your body stiffens — not visibly, not enough to draw attention — but your fingers freeze mid-swipe against the condensation of your cup. You don’t answer right away. You can’t. Your brain rushes to catch up.

You glance toward the other end of the boat. Jungkook’s there, laughing at something Jimin just said, the wind catching at the hem of his shirt. Too far to hear you. Too busy to notice.

You look back at Ari.

“Huh?” you say, feigning light confusion, buying time. “What do you mean?”

She lifts her sunglasses slightly onto her head and looks at you more directly, less playfully now. “You and Jungkook. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

You blink at her. Then shake your head, too fast.

“No,” you say. “No, we’re fine. Why?”

Ari shrugs one shoulder, almost like she regrets asking. “I don’t know. You just feel... off. A little.”

You exhale through your nose and angle your face away from her, pretending to squint at the water. “We’re not off. We’re just... tired, I guess.”

“Okay,” she says, but it’s not full agreement.

You finally glance back at her, trying not to let anything show. “Do we really seem that weird?”

She hesitates, then gives a small, knowing smile. “Not weird. Just a little different.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Different how?”

“Dunno,” she says, settling back onto her elbows. “Usually you guys are either glued together or trying to beat each other at whatever game’s going on. Now it’s just... less of that.”

You almost laugh, but not because it’s funny.

Ari doesn’t push. She never does. She just lets the silence sit for a moment before speaking again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it a thing. It’s not a big deal.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I get it.”

She glances toward the others. Jungkook’s crouched by the drink cooler now, talking to Hoseok about something. You look away before he catches you watching.

“You know,” Ari says after a beat, “it’s not like people expect couples to be perfect all the time.”

You swallow. “We’re fine, Ari.”

She holds her hands up. “Okay. I believe you.”

And you think maybe she does. But she’s still watching you with the kind of look that says she knows something’s sitting underneath. Something you’re not saying.

She lies with you for a few more short minutes in silence before slipping away with a soft pat to your leg, joining Kiara and Haeun near the back railing.

You let your head fall back against the towel with a quiet sigh. The sun blurs through your lashes and your drink is nothing but sugar water now, flat and warm. You swirl the straw absently, trying to shake off the weight of that conversation.

It’s not like she was wrong.

You just wish she didn’t see so much.

The spot beside you shifts slightly, and you glance over just in time to see a cold can held out toward you.

“Figured you'd want something actually drinkable,” Jungkook says, nodding toward your cup as you take the drink from his hand.

You lift the can to your forehead before cracking it open. The cool metal soothes your skin. “Thanks."

"No problem." He lowers himself onto the towel next to you, close enough that your arms brush when you both move to get comfortable. You don’t move away. Neither does he.

You tap the can against your thigh, condensation already dripping down your leg.

Jungkook stretches his legs out beside you, arms behind his head, gaze on the sky like he’s trying to read something in the clouds. The silence between you is comfortable, but your chest still hums with the residue of Ari’s voice. You tap your can against your thigh again — once, twice — then let the words tumble out before you can second-guess them.

“She asked if we were okay,” you say, not looking at him.

Jungkook turns his head slightly, but doesn’t speak.

“Ari,” you clarify. “She asked if we had a fight.”

He lets out a slow breath through his nose. “What’d you say?”

“I said no.”

A pause.

“And then?”

You shrug. “I said we’re just tired.”

Another silence, thicker this time. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, steady and searching. You refuse to look at him.

“She didn’t buy it,” you add after a beat. “Not completely.”

Jungkook sits up slowly, arms resting over his knees. His tone is quieter now, more careful. “Think anyone else noticed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not. Ari’s always been... observant.” You finally glance at him. “She wasn’t pushy or anything. Just— curious," you say with a shrug.

Jungkook simply hums in response.

You watch the side of his face. There’s a faint shadow along his jawline, the kind you used to trace with your thumb when you thought no one was looking. You shake the thought loose before it sticks and take another sip of your drink.

“I mean, what do they want us to do?” you mumble. “Make out on the boat?”

Jungkook chokes on a laugh — not the soft kind, but the genuine kind that comes out sudden and loud, like it caught him off guard.

You glance at him. “I’m serious.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning. “You say that like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.”

“It is,” you deadpan. “You want to traumatise Yoongi? That man hasn’t moved in an hour. You think he’s got the energy to witness that?”

That makes Jungkook laugh again, head tipping back. For a second — one small second — it’s just him, sunlight caught in the strands of his hair, smile easy and unguarded like it used to be. You look away.

He leans back beside you, bumping your arm with his in the process. “Okay,” he says. “So, no making out on the boat.”

“Glad we’re setting boundaries.”

He gives you a sidelong glance. “We just have to... I dunno, turn it up a notch.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He shrugs, still watching the clouds. “Be a little more couple-y. You know. Lean on me sometimes. Laugh at my jokes.”

You scoff. “You think me laughing at your jokes is what’s gonna sell this?”

“Absolutely,” he says, deadly serious. “That’s the most unrealistic part of our relationship now. If you start doing that, everyone’ll think we’re closer than ever.”

“Right,” you deadpan. “Because this all hinges on me fake-laughing at your stand-up routine.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

You shoot him a look, but there’s no heat behind it. “So what else? You planning on feeding me grapes next?”

“I could,” he says, suddenly thoughtful. “But someone might throw themselves overboard if I do.”

Your mouth twitches before you can stop it — not a full laugh, but close. More breath than sound. You shake your head like you’re trying to brush it off, but the smile lingers for just a second too long.

There’s a beat of silence. A shift in tone that’s almost invisible, but not quite.

“Maybe just... ease into it,” he says. “We don’t have to overdo it. Just the little things.”

“Little things like what?” you ask, suspicious.

He shrugs. A breeze moves across the deck and a strand of hair falls across your face, sticking to your lip.

Before you can reach for it, his fingers are already there — brushing it back behind your ear.

You freeze.

Not too dramatically. Not enough for anyone to notice. But inside, everything stills.

Jungkook doesn’t pull away immediately. His fingers linger for a second longer than necessary — maybe two. Then he draws his hand back like nothing happened.

“See,” he says, “this is why Ari’s catching on. You’re a terrible actress.”

You blink, caught between five different emotions. “Excuse me?”

He huffs out a laughing breath. “You didn’t even flinch the other day when Taehyung almost touched a jellyfish, but this? I tuck a little hair behind your ear and you go full statue.”

“Because it’s weird!” you protest, flustered now. “You don’t just— touch me like that anymore.”

The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, and there's a pause.

Jungkook goes still. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, and for a second, you think he might actually say something real — something raw.

But then he exhales through his nose, masking it with a crooked half-smile.

“Right,” he says, voice lighter than it should be. “My bad. Next time I’ll just let it smack you in the face.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but your mouth twitches like it wants to smile.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You’re trying not to laugh,” he says.

“I’m trying not to shove you off the boat,” you correct.

“Same thing.”

He lets your words hang in the air, smiling in that way he does when he knows he’s gotten to you, just a little. It’s not smug exactly. It’s softer than that. Like he’s letting himself enjoy something small, something fleeting — and trying not to ruin it by pointing it out.

You shake your head and look back toward the horizon. The water is endless, all shifting blue and gold, and the sun is starting its slow descent, softening everything it touches.

Jungkook sits up, arms resting on his knees. You don’t look at him, but you can feel the shift — the way his attention settles on you in full.

“I meant it,” he says after a moment.

You glance over. “Meant what?”

He shrugs one shoulder, careful. “That it’s the little things. That’s how people believe it.”

You arch an eyebrow, sceptical. “People? Or you?”

There's humour laced in your words, but your smile falters when he meets your gaze.

“Both.”

The breeze picks up again, brushing against your skin, tugging gently at the edge of your towel. You catch it with your elbow, more for something to do than anything else.

You’re the one who looks away first — not because you’re uneasy, but because if you don’t, you might say something you can’t take back.

The silence stretches, and eventually you lie back, arm draped over your eyes to shield them from the sun.

“I’m still not fake-laughing at your jokes,” you murmur, voice flat but quiet. “Just so we’re clear.”

Jungkook laughs, but it’s lighter this time. The warmth that usually comes with the sound isn't quite there.

“Fair,” he says. “But maybe... maybe don’t flinch like I’ve slapped you every time I touch your arm.”

“I make no promises.”

He smiles. “Didn’t expect you to.”

The room is quiet except for the occasional hiss of steam from the bathroom and the soft swish of fabric as you move. The sun is lower now, casting long shadows across the floor, and the salty breeze sneaks in through the crack in the door.

You’re barefoot, crouched beside the dresser in a black satin dress that fits cleanly at the waist and skims your frame like it was made to. It’s simple, elegant — the kind of thing that photographs well even when you don’t try. Your hair is mostly curled, but the last roller is still clipped near the crown of your head, half-forgotten.

You’ve been retracing your steps for the past ten minutes. First calmly. Now a little less so.

“Come on,” you mutter, pushing aside a pile of folded clothes with the back of your hand. “Where the hell are you…”

You wore the earrings all day. You remember clipping them in this morning before the boat ride, the pearls small and elegant, the kind that sat just right against your jaw. They’d survived volleyball, swimming in the pool, even lying half-asleep by the sea. But now, just when you're supposed to get dolled up for one of Yasmine’s “sunset glam” photoshoots, one is gone.

And of course, it's your favourite pair. A gift from your mom the day you turned twenty.

You crouch next to the bed and run your hand along the rug for the fourth time. No glint of metal. No satisfying clink. Just a couple stray bobby pins and a sock that might be yours, might be his.

The bathroom door opens behind you with a quiet click. You hear it before you see him.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out. “Have you seen my—”

He stops.

You glance up from your crouch to see him standing just outside the doorway to the bathroom, towel-drying his hair with one hand. He’s in sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his waist, and nothing else. His skin is still damp, a faint sheen catching the last of the light. His hair sticks up in unruly spikes, and there’s a crease from the towel pressed into his shoulder.

He pauses when he sees you on the floor in your dress, face flushed with frustration, one roller still pinned in your hair.

You straighten up. “I lost my earring.”

Jungkook blinks once. Then twice.

You don’t wait for a response. “The pearl ones. I wore them all day, I definitely had them on earlier. I think I might’ve lost it on the boat or something, or maybe at the beach, I don’t know. Fuck— if I dropped it in the ocean, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You brush past him towards your bag, and start digging through the little zip pouch where you sometimes toss jewellery when you’re tired. “And Yasmine’s going to have a meltdown if I’m not ready in five minutes. I mean, not a real meltdown, but she’ll definitely give me that disappointed look. You know the one.”

You don’t know why you’re rambling. Maybe to fill the silence. Maybe to ignore how he’s still standing there, towel now slung around his neck, jaw ticking like he’s trying very hard to keep his expression neutral.

He steps back into the bathroom without saying anything. You hear the low rustle of a drawer opening. When he re-emerges a few seconds later, he’s pulling a plain black t-shirt over his head, the fabric catching slightly against damp skin. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just crosses to his side of the room and scans the floor near the nightstand.

You risk a glance at him, then look away quickly. “It’s fine,” you say, quieter now. “You don’t have to help. It’s probably gone.”

He crouches down anyway, lifting the corner of the rug with one hand.

He doesn’t look at you or ask any questions. Just scans the floor like if he stares hard enough, it’ll reveal something.

You sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. “I just really liked those earrings.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

You glance back at him.

He’s sitting back on his heels now, hands braced on his thighs. There’s a faint crease between his brows, like he’s still somewhere else.

Then he says, without looking at you, “You look good.”

The words are soft, sincere even, but they catch you off guard.

When you don’t respond right away, he clears his throat and stands, walking over to the dresser and running his hand along the edge, like the earring might have magically perched itself there.

You swallow. “Thanks,” you say finally, voice low.

He nods once, then double taps on his phone screen to check the time. “They’re probably waiting.”

You nod too, even though you still haven’t found the earring. The one that made you feel just a little more like yourself. The one that matched.

You take one last look at the floor, then straighten slowly. You adjust the roller in your hair without thinking, but your fingers move sluggishly now.

Jungkook’s already at the door, hand resting on the knob like he’s waiting for the right moment to say something. He glances over his shoulder.

“I’ll tell them you’ll be a minute.”

"Thanks."

He shuts the door behind him softly, and you let out a quiet sigh, turning toward the small jewellery box on the nightstand.

You sift through it with practiced fingers and pull out another pair — not the ones you wanted, but good enough.

As you clip them in, your hands move on instinct, your thoughts somewhere else entirely.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind you, the sound too sharp against the stillness of the room.

Your skin is clean, warm, dewy from the last step of your skincare routine. You pad across the floor and let your body fall onto the bed softly. The air leaves your lungs in a long, tired sigh as your legs dangle off the edge, your hair still damp from the quick rinse you took after coming back. The mattress dips beneath you, then settles.

The room smells faintly of clean cotton and the trace of your conditioner — the kind you only use for special things, because it costs a little too much and reminds you a little too much of before.

Your dress from earlier lies draped over the back of a chair, the earrings you ended up going with still sitting in your palm. You set them down on the nightstand without much care.

You’d smiled for the camera. You’d posed, you’d laughed, you’d tilted your head at just the right angle. It was fun in the moment and everything had gone well. The pictures were probably beautiful.

But you’re annoyed. And tired. And the kind of restless that only comes when something small goes wrong and you know it’s not about that small thing at all.

You sit up just enough to grab your laptop from the side table and the camera from the dresser. Yasmine had given it to you after begging you to upload the pictures onto your laptop since she didn't bring hers.

The familiar beep of it powering on is strangely comforting, and you scroll through a few thumbnails before plugging it in. A progress bar creeps across your screen as the files transfer. Slowly, of course. Nothing ever moves fast when you want it to.

You stretch out again, laptop resting on your stomach, and start clicking through the images as they load.

At first, they’re all from today.

Yasmine behind the lens, as always. The golden hour light is flattering. Everyone looks sun-kissed and effortless — mid-laugh, mid-step, mid-spin. You see yourself in frame: eyes half-lidded, wind teasing your hair, smile tugging at your lips.

There’s a shot of you and Kiara, and one of Ari piggybacking Haeun into the water. A blurry one of Jimin striking a ridiculous pose mid-jump while Taehyung points in mock horror. They'd come to join in at the end, both more than a little tipsy.

You click through them slowly, deleting a few accidental ones and some you don't think are the best.

Then, without meaning to, you scroll a little too far.

Today bleeds into yesterday, and yesterday into the last few years. One second it’s this trip, and the next it’s pictures you'd uploaded from your own crappy little camera. A party in someone’s dorm. A night spent crammed onto a too-small couch. A table cluttered with takeout boxes and half-empty cups.

You didn’t even remember some of these being taken.

Your face in mid-yawn. Jungkook blurry in the background, reaching for popcorn. Yoongi asleep on a beanbag with a party hat sliding off his head.

You find yourself smiling as you click through them all, before your finger comes to a still.

A thumbnail catches your eye. One of a video with no further label or context.

You pause, cursor hovering, before double clicking on it.

The video starts with a shaky frame — the camera shifting as you adjust it, then settling as you hold it up with both hands.

Jungkook stands in front of a claw machine, sleeves pushed up, jaw set with quiet determination. The glow of the machine paints him in soft neon blues and reds. There’s a Totoro plush front and centre, slightly tilted, half-buried under a heap of other prizes.

Your voice comes from behind the camera, already amused. “This is a lot of pressure, baby.”

“I’ve trained for this,” he says, without looking at you.

“You’ve failed three times.”

“That was just a warm-up.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s what you’re calling it now?”

Jungkook moves the joystick with purpose, eyes narrowed like this is life or death. The claw slides left, then back, then hovers over the plush.

“This is it,” he says.

“I believe in you,” you deadpan. “I mean, statistically, you have to get it eventually.”

The claw descends. You both watch as it surprisingly manages to grip the Totoro. Not perfectly — it's a little too far to the side — but it lifts nonetheless.

“No way,” you breathe.

It swings. Wobbles. Then drops cleanly, right into the chute.

There’s a second of stunned silence from you behind the camera.

“No fucking way," you laugh, genuine disbelief laced in your voice.

Jungkook bends down, reaches into the machine, and pulls out the plush. He turns toward you, holding it out with a smug smile.

“You actually did it! Oh my god— wait, let me see— he’s so cute!”

The frame swings back up, catching you reaching out for the Totoro, turning it in your hands, squealing softly like you can’t believe it’s real.

And Jungkook — he’s looking at you.

The camera somehow manages to catch it perfectly.

He’s not laughing or gloating, just watching you. A soft smile pulls at his lips, dimples making an appearance against his cheeks. His eyes are steady but a little dazed, like he’s taking in more than just the moment. Like he can’t help it.

You don’t see it in the moment — too distracted as you hug the plush to your chest and start thinking of what to name it — but the camera does.

“Can't believe that you actually managed to get it," you say, shifting the camera to show the plushie properly.

“Course I did,” he says. “You wanted it.”

You giggle, mumbling "Cheesy fuck." But the smile is clear in your voice, and Jungkook simply laughs before the screen cuts to black.

You stare at the screen for a while, fingers still resting on the keyboard, frozen in place like even they know you’re not ready to move yet.

There’s a warmth spreading low in your chest, starting at your ribs, curling in your stomach, settling somewhere just under your collarbone.

You’re still smiling. Just a little. That soft, involuntary kind you used to get around him when he said something dumb on purpose. Like when he tried to teach you how to play some impossible game at the arcade and kept losing so dramatically you suspected he was doing it just to make you laugh.

You thought that part of you had burned out. Gone cold after the breakup. But sitting here now, wrapped in soft clothes and the hush of this room, staring at a frozen screen where his laugh used to be — you realise it didn’t.

It just went quiet.

And now it’s creeping back in through the cracks, blooming in your chest with a stubborn sort of gentleness.

Because the truth is, you remember that night. You remember how he looked, focused and determined and weirdly proud of himself over a claw machine. You remember the weight of the Totoro plush in your hands. You remember walking home with him, the two of you talking about what you’d name it and him insisting that if it was going to live in your bed, he should get visitation rights.

And you remember how easy it was to love him.

Not in a dramatic way, but through the small things. In the way he listened. In the way he noticed when your shoelace was untied before you did. In the way he always, always looked at you like that — like you were it.

And not just the way he looked at you, but the way you felt looking back. Because even after everything, even after the silence and the distance and the effort you’ve poured into pretending you’re fine, the truth is that it never really went away.

That warmth tightens in your throat, a little too full to swallow. You blink down at the laptop, like maybe it’ll help. Like maybe if you just sit still enough, breathe slow enough, you can keep the feeling contained.

The screen has gone to sleep now, casting the room in a dim glow. Outside the window, you can hear the ocean, its soft waves rolling in and out quietly.

You close your eyes, just for a second.

But the quiet moment is interrupted when the door opens with a small click.

You sit up just enough to slam the laptop shut, a little too fast, the sound echoing louder than it should in the soft hush of the room. Your pulse jumps. You don’t even know why. Reflex, maybe.

Jungkook pauses in the doorway.

“Oh,” he says, voice low and a little slurred. “Shit. Thought you were asleep.”

He’s leaning on the doorframe, one hand still on the handle like the room is swaying more than it is. His top is slightly damp around the collar, and his hair’s a mess.

You blink at him. Say nothing at first.

He squints toward the laptop on your lap. “You working on something?”

“No.” You slide it aside, shake your head once. “Just… photos.”

He nods like that’s a satisfying answer, though you’re sure he didn’t really hear it. His attention shifts to the bed, and then without warning, he pushes off the door and flops onto the mattress beside you.

Not the far side. Not right on you either. Just… close.

You instinctively scoot half an inch back.

“Whoa,” he mutters into the pillow, one arm sprawled above his head. “This mattress is nice as fuck.”

You glance down at him. He’s half on his side now, eyes on the ceiling, a faint smile tugging lazily at his mouth.

“Why didn’t you come down?” he asks, sudden but not sharp. Just curious.

“I was tired,” you say.

He hums — thoughtful, but not convinced. “Lame excuse.”

“I’m allowed to be tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

You exhale, not quite a sigh. “You’re always drunk.”

That pulls a muffled laugh from him. He turns his head toward you slightly, cheek pressed into the pillow. “Not always.”

You glance at him. “Tonight?”

“Not my fault,” he mutters. “Jimin dared me to match his shots. Dumb fuck.”

You shake your head — not at him, but at the image of it in your head. “Sounds like him.”

Jungkook shifts again, rolling fully onto his side to face you. His arm stretches out across the blanket, fingers dragging idly over the fabric between you like he’s drawing invisible lines without thinking.

The air dips quieter. Softer.

“You smell good,” he mumbles, almost absently.

You reach up, brushing your hair off your face. “Shampoo, probably.”

He hums again, eyes heavy-lidded now. “The one you always stole from me.”

“I didn’t steal it,” you say, casually.

He smiles into the pillow. “Right. Borrowed forever.”

You shake your head — more amused than you’d admit out loud — and look away, toward the open window where the breeze has picked up just enough to shift the curtains.

"You looked really good too. In that dress. I mean— not that you don't look good without it. Not like without it, without it, just— y’know, you always look… pretty."

You can't stop the quiet laugh that tumbles from your lips despite the heat spreading across your cheeks. "Go to sleep, Kook."

He hums in response, and it doesn't take long for his breathing to settle into something slower.

You pull the blanket up over your lap and lean back against the headboard, trying not to think too hard about the warmth pooling between you.

You shift slightly, pulling the blanket higher.

The laptop is still balanced on your legs, almost forgotten now. You reach over and place it on the nightstand, careful not to knock over the earrings still sitting there. One catches the light and glints for just a second before going still again.

“Can you move?” you murmur, nudging his leg with yours. “I need the blanket.”

Jungkook groans dramatically, but rolls away from you, flopping flat on his back with one arm thrown over his face. “You’re so demanding.”

“You’re in my way.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

The words slip out so fast and so soft you don’t have time to react before he’s already tugged the blanket down to your waist with one hand, helping, not thinking.

You lie back slowly, head against the pillow, trying to keep to your side. Jungkook moves around beside you — one knee bent, one leg stretched out. His foot brushes yours once, unintentionally.

His arm loosely drapes across your waist as he gets comfortable. You glance down, but say nothing. He’s already half-asleep, breath evening out, face turned toward you like he’s forgotten where he is.

You don’t move his arm, though, you don’t lean into it either.

You just let it be.

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elanorpam · 2 days ago

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has anyone suggested Untamed/Modao Zushi? it's wizards but they're chinese and instead of wands it's swords. Also the gay is canon and it's not just some old guy who was outed in an interview after dying. the gays are young and hot and there are a whole bunch of them. you can do a 4 houses thing with the Clans/Sects if you want, except instead of being picked by personality traits as a little kid it's all unvarnished nepotism and no one is pretending otherwise.

Cool People Clan (Jiang, built on rivers/lakes) where everyone is kind of a rebel, even the uptight ones. Especially the uptight ones

Autism Clan (Lan, on top of a scenic mountain) where they have 3k+ rules written on a cliff face, most of which are to keep the peace between different levels and expressions of autism (don't wear jewelry that goes click-clack! don't laugh too loud! don't say things you don't mean! Modulate your voice, Jingyi)

Jock Clan (Nie, on a scary fortress) where everyone is big and tough except for the boss' little brother, a confused twink who should be at the club

Fire Nation Clan (Wen, on a volcano) where everyone is scary and evil, except not because this is a story about shades of gray and it turns out no population is a monolith

1-percenter clan (Jin, middle of a big city) who are filthy rich and have a bee in their bonnet about not having any other noteworthy characteristics. somehow they popped a single autist, who is tragically undiagnosed in the middle of sensory hell (gold foiled mansion full of people who don't say what they mean)

there's also all sorts of smaller clans and you can even come up with your own! and the black magic is way cooler. there are zombies

"the best way to screw jkr over is by making her characters queer!" actually. The best way to screw jkr over is to stop engaging with the property she still profits off of and read a different fucking book

#harry potter #mdzs #sorry if it's all a little incoherent #puppy is trying to eat my fingers while i type

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womanofwords · 2 days ago

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Darling Demon (Part 4)

Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse

Alfred served you toast while the rest of your family ran around like headless chickens. Bruce was making lots of calls, Dick was fretting about you being raped by a demon, and Damian was avoiding you. Jason was lugging heavy-duty tools over to you.

"OK, slugger, those restraints must be heavy," Jason said. "Luckily for you, I have what you need."

"Can't you just let me have it? I'll ask Azrir to make them removable later," you said.

"You shouldn't trust that demon. He's openly made plans to assault you." Jason didn't look at you as he talked, searching for the perfect tool to cut off the metal around your wrists.

"Azrir said he was waiting for my agreement. He or she was going to wait until I became ready."

"Shut up, you idiot!" Jason was about to shake you, but remembered how Azrir treated Damian and decided against it. "Azrir cannot marry you! Now let me take these off!"

Jason took the biggest bolt-cutter in the bag and tried to hook it under your bracelet. Far too big. He tested out different metal cutters until he got to one that could go under the bracelet while still being big enough to do damage. He kept his hand steady, clamped down on your new bracelets . . . and the metal cutter broke.

"Oh." The metal cutter came away from the bracelet, its teeth snapped clean off. "So I can keep it?"

"Until we find a different method to remove them," Jason sulked, storming off. You continued to eat your toast.

"Master Y/N, allow me to extend my condolences about your situation," Alfred said. "Rest assured your father is doing everything in his power to ensure that you are not harmed."

You snorted with disbelief. "What's he going to do? Bribe Azrir to marry another human?"

"He has contact with a Mr John Constantine, who can potentially get your 'marriage' annulled. You do not need to worry about . . . consummating anything."

"Alfred, would Azrir really be so bad?" you asked. "At least he noticed me. Even with the blatant talk of consummating the marriage, I still felt more important than I had ever felt in my life." Already, you were developing a crush. "They even defended me. Nobody ever does that."

Alfred looked at you with concern. "Your family can defend you."

"I know they can. I also know that they won't."

"Your siblings are worried about you. They aren't going to let that demon take you away."

"They've been wanting me gone for ages. Why does this upset them? Damian should be partying. He can be the only biological son with me gone."

"GONE?!" Dick rushed in, terror personified. "YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE! NOT HELL, NOT ANYWHERE WITH THAT DEMON RAPIST, NOT EVEN OUT OF THIS HOUSE! YOU ARE STAYING WHERE WE CAN SEE YOU!"

You stared at him with blank, confused eyes. "Um . . . what?"

"We need to put some new things into your room." He led you away from Alfred to show you a box full of crosses. "Nothing too serious, just some crosses and holy water. You'll be rid of him soon enough, little wing."

You continued to look at your eldest brother with dead eyes. "Dick, do you know where my room is?" you asked.

"Um . . ." Dick chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "No. But I can figure it out."

"Of course you don't," you groaned.

_*_*_*_*_*

"Why is everyone so religious all of a sudden?" you asked. "I'm not even Christian. Why are there rosary beads in my room?"

Dick ruffled your hair. "Just trying to protect you, little wing."

You've never protected me once, you thought, but you kept that little idea to yourself.

Your room was filled with enough religious paraphernalia to make most religious cults think you were overdoing it. Dick relaxed into your bed to admire his handiwork, only to sit up with shock. "Why is something sticking me?" he asked.

"Oh, that's just one of the springs. My mattress hasn't been replaced since I got here," you said.

"Oh, I see," Dick said. "I'll tell Bruce for you. This can't be comfortable."

"It isn't, but that's never been anybody's problem but mine."

Dick's stomach churned with guilt. His butt ached with pinpricks of pain from your mattress. You lived like this right under their noses? Azrir could probably track you down from your deplorable living conditions alone. "Little bird, you'll be safer rooming with me. It won't be comfortable in this room while we're refurbishing," Dick said.

"Is this my birthday present or something?" you asked.

"Um . . . partly," Dick said. "Just . . . stay with me. You can take your blanket with you."

You were taken to Dick's room and led towards his bed. "Do I have to be here? You usually prefer to be alone."

"No, that's Jason. Why would you think that about me?"

"You just never seem like you want to talk to me."

"Oh. Right. Well, I suppose this is as good a time as ever to bond." Dick's arms dragged you into his bed. "No demons in here, little one. Just your family."

"Same difference," you muttered.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @c4xcocoa, @darkmoka.

First

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #batfam #batfamily x neglected reader #romantic yandere

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seen-the-stars · 2 days ago

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my love, my baby, i think buck deserves 2 or 9 from tommy ^^

babe, i think youre absolutely correct. i went with the first one for now but keep your eyes peeled bc i might add a second part later :] (This fic is sponsored by my 10 year old knee injury that still acts up every now and again and annoys me to no end) 2. "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention."

Buck is having a day.

He woke up with a slight limp, which isn't too unusual. His leg still gives him trouble whenever the weather changes, or when he extends himself, or sometimes simply because it wants to make his life a little more difficult.

It's annoying, but it's not the end of the world, and he doesn't want to whine about it too much. It could've gone much worse, all things considered.

Dreaming about the truck should have been the first warning sign, because it doesn't really happen all that often anymore, especially not unprompted. So when he woke up this morning drenched in sweat and shaking slightly, he should have known where things were headed.

Foolishly, he'd just shaken it off and burrowed closer into Tommy's chest until they were both ready to wake up; and then, maybe just as foolishly, he'd shaken off the slight twinge in his calf as being a little sore.

He gets through the morning easily enough. It's a slow affair, him manning the coffee maker while Tommy makes them breakfast, and they lounge around for a bit after that. When Buck goes to do the dishes ("It's only fair, Tommy, you cook, I clean"), Tommy waves him off, tells him not to worry about it. Buck tries to protest, but Tommy fixes him with a look, and he lets himself sink back into the couch.

They go grocery shopping, because it's less crowded this time of day, and Buck notices the pain in his leg getting sharper the longer he puts weight on it. So he offers to push their cart around and uses it to support his weight, determined not to ruin their day.

When he starts putting the things away into the car, Tommy kisses him and pushes him into the passengers seat. Buck pouts at him, but he can't deny that sitting down makes it easier to breathe, so he stays put.

On their way home, Tommy looks at him out of the corner of his eyes and asks, "Do you want to get take-out for lunch?" The question confuses Buck for a second, because they just went grocery shopping, and he tells Tommy as much.

"Just offering. I don't want you to be in pain just to make lunch." And, well. It's a good point, and it's also just so considerate, it makes Buck want to burst into tears.

Because the thing is, the more he thinks about it, the more dreadful standing behind the kichen counter for an hour sounds right now. His leg is throbbing, and it's annoying, and it's making him a little grouchy.

Tommy knows, and has probably noticed his mood shift long before Buck was even aware of it, and it's…yeah, it's really nice to be known like this.

"How do you do that? Knowing exactly what I need before I even do?" he asks, a little befuddled and a lot in love, and Tommy chuckles low in his throat at the question.

"I pay attention. And I love you," Tommy replies, resting his hand on Buck's thigh and massaging it gently.

"I love you too," Buck says, resting his hand atop Tommy's.

#feuervogel writes #pain prompts #gay firefighters #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 fic #ficlet

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deansbeer · 10 hours ago

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simon gets jealous seeing you talk to another guy at the bar.

♡ ⋮ minors do not interact.

simon’s hand is tight around your wrist as he practically drags you out of the bar, not saying a word. you barely manage to grab your clutch before he’s pulling you through the crowd, past soap who’s too drunk to notice his best friend manhandling you toward the exit. the cold air hits your bare legs like a slap when you stumble outside, your little dress doing nothing against the cold.

“simon, what the hell?” you protest, trying to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. his jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping, and his grip hasn’t loosened even slightly. “slow down!”

he doesn’t answer until you reach his car, parked in the darkest corner of the lot where the streetlight doesn’t reach. then he spins you around, pressing you back against the passenger door. “who was that?” his voice is low, dangerous, accent thicker than usual. “the bloke you were chatting up at the bar?”

“chatting up?” you blink at him, genuinely confused. “i was just being polite. he asked where the bathroom was and then we talked about—”

“talked,” he cuts you off, leaning in close enough that you can see the fury in his dark eyes. “is that what we’re calling it? saw how he was looking at you. saw how you laughed at whatever shit joke he made.” his hand comes up to grip your jaw, not painful but firm. “you wearing this fuckin’ dress, lookin’ like that, and then letting some random bastard think he has a chance?”

“si, you’re being ridiculous,” you breathe, but your body is already responding to his proximity, to the possessive edge in his voice. “it was nothing. you know i’m all yours.”

“do i?” he growls, and suddenly he’s spinning you around, bending you over the hood of his car. the metal is freezing against your palms and you gasp at the shock of it. “because from where i was standing, looked like you forgot who you belong to.”

his hands are rough as they yank your dress up to your hips, and the cold air on your bare cunt makes you whimper. you’d foregone underwear tonight, wanting to surprise him later, but now you’re exposed in the parking lot where anyone could see.

“no panties?” his voice is pure gravel, fingers sliding through your wetness. “fuck me, darlin’, you really were planning on being a slut tonight, weren’t you?” he delivers a sharp slap to your bare ass cheek that echoes in the empty lot. “this what ya wanted? to drive me mental? to make me show you who this pussy belongs to?”

“baby, please,” you gasp, pushing back against his hand. the cold is making everything more intense, every touch electric. “someone could see us—”

“let them,” he snarls, and you hear his belt buckle clinking. “let that asshole from the bar see who’s about to fuck you dumb. let him see what he’ll never ever fuckin’ have.”

you feel the blunt head of his cock at your entrance and then he’s pushing in with one brutal thrust, not giving you time to adjust. “fuckin’ hell,” he groans. “so tight. even when you’re being a little tease, this pussy knows who she belongs to.”

he sets a punishing pace immediately, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other tangles in your hair. “this what you needed, love? needed me to remind you?” each word is punctuated by a harsh thrust that has you seeing stars. “needed me to fuck you like the slut you were acting like?”

“i wasn't—” you try to protest but he pulls your hair, arching your back at an angle that has him hitting even deeper.

“wasn’t what? wasn’t flirtin’? wasn’t gigglin’ at his pathetic attempts?” he leans over you, his weight pressing you harder against the car. “could see it from across the room, love. the way you smiled at him. the way you tucked your hair behind your ear.” his teeth find your neck, biting down hard enough to mark. “those are my fuckin’ smiles. my fuckin’ girl.”

the car rocks with the force of his thrusts, and you have to brace yourself against the hood to keep from sliding. the position is filthy, degrading even, and exactly what you both need. simon when he’s jealous is a force of nature, all that controlled violence focused on reminding you exactly who you belong to.

“baby—” you moan, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly fast. the combination of the cold, the feeling of being exposed, his filthy words and brutal pace has you right on the edge.

“thas’ it,” he growls in your ear. “say my name. let everyone in that fuckin’ bar know who’s making you fall apart.” his hand slides around to find your clit, rubbing harsh circles. “gonna fill this cunt up, send you back to the party dripping with me. see if anyone wants to chat you up then.”

“fuck, simon, i’m—”

“go ‘head, come,” he commands. “come on my cock like the good girl i know you are. my good girl. mine."

you shatter, crying out his name as your orgasm crashes over you. he fucks you through it, chasing his own release, and when he comes it’s with a guttural groan of your name. he stays pressed against you for a moment, both of you panting in the cold air.

when he finally pulls out, he immediately tugs your dress back down, spinning you around to face him. his expression is softer now but still intense as he cups your face. “you’re mine,” he says simply. “yeah?”

“always,” you assure him, and he kisses you hard, tasting the truth of it.

“good,” he murmurs against your lips. “now let’s go back inside. want to introduce you to some people as my girl. make sure everyone’s clear on that.”

you laugh shakily, legs still wobbly. “possessive bastard.”

“your possessive bastard,” he corrects, taking your hand and leading you back toward the bar. “and don’t you forget it.”

#‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ִ ‎ ݀ ̫ ܸ scribbles! ִ ❞#simon riley #simon riley x female reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley ghost #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon riley call of duty #simon smut #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n

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chock-and-bates · 2 days ago

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I wonder if you had any interest in writing a fic about the soul exchange of Charles after the 2019 Austrian GP and Charles after the 2025 Spanish GP as he is about to see the stewards？Just imagine that Max in 2025（hoping to accept a soft understanding）must face an angry little Charles，meanwhile the Max in 2019（excited to have a fight with Charles）is so confused to hear Charles saying things just like“oh it's nothing special.I can understand Max.”

English is not my native language, I hope I express myself clearly.

i am obsessed with this idea and have, yet again, been baited into writing a rambling 1k word response, a borderline ficlet 🫠 (and your English is great!)

it’s such a fun idea. i took what you said and thought it would be extra hilarious if max and charles were in a relationship by 2025 and then suddenly dealing with the younger, volatile, secretly pining version of their partners 😂

if i was to write a fic, it would go like this-

After the meetings with the stewards, it didn't take either pair very long to understand something was wrong.

2025!Max would be so upset and frustrated, because he was stuck with the prickly, angry demon he had to spend ages convincing to give him a chance, and he is desperate to get his Charles back. Especially when he’s trying to comfort him and 2019!Charles keeps shrieking at him to “stop telling me to calm down, and stop calling me baby.”

But, of course, 2019!Charles is not-so-secretly freaking out because he's always had a lot of confusing feelings for Max but now this older version of him is so soft with him despite being obviously annoyed, and he’s being so comforting but most urgently, he's so hot Charles doesn't know what to do with himself 🥵

On the other hand, 2019!Max is having the time of his life because 2025!Charles doesn't hate him, in fact he’is being so sweet as he explains the situation and asks if Max can help, which he immediately agrees to. Then, he absolutely blows Max’s poor mind when he admits that they’re together in the future, and Max suddenly feels like he could die from happiness.

And, to be honest, 2025!Charles is also having the time of his life as he lets this bizarre situation bring out his inner menace. He decides if he's in this situation he's going to have some fun, because obviously he knows that Max liked him back in 2019, so he decides to reward the younger version of his boyfriend for being so helpful by giving him a taste of the future- by flirting with him, cuddling with him ("Please, Maxy, i miss my Max so much, can you just hold me until i feel better?"), running his hands through his hair, maybe even giving him a few kisses on the cheek because this younger Max is so cute when he blushes and stammers, oh my god.

Only then, when they find out what they need to do to swap them back, 2025 Max and Charles are surprised when 2019 Max and Charles do not want the swap to happen.

2019!Charles would be crying these angry tears as he begrudgingly confessed to 2025!Max that he makes him feel safe and secure, and he doesn't want to go back to a time when he feels so alone, when it's like the pressure of his first season at Ferrari is going to suffocate him and all his Max cares about is beating him and probably isn't even interested in him romantically yet, because why would he, when he's already so impressive and Charles feels like he’s nothing-

2025!Max is flabbergasted that this little demon actually likes him in the first place (he decides to forgive his past self for not noticing, because what the fuck?), but then he gently explains that 2019!Max was absolutely interested in him like that, he just needed time to figure out how to show him in an appropriate way.

And then, of course, 2025!Charles realizes he probably fucked up with all the flirting, because 2019!Max is absolutely despondent. Like 2019!Charles, he's also crying, but his tears are more heartbroken instead of angry, because how is he supposed to give up Charles when he finally had the chance to have him, when he got to feel how sweet he could be and how good it felt to hold him? It feels unthinkably cruel to have this amazing thing ripped away from him, especially when his Charles absolutely despises him.

So 2025!Charles also has to do his own consolation. He promises 2019!Max that 2019!Charles doesn't really despise him, he's just jealous and confused about his feelings. He tells him that they both just need to grow up a bit, but they'll find each other. And he tells him that he’s so grateful he got to spend this time with Max because he really is so amazing and lovely, and he wishes he had seen that sooner.

After the pep talks, the 2019 versions both beg for a kiss goodbye and both are turned down by the 2025 versions, because they know it wouldn't be right.

The swap back happens and 2025 Max and Charles are immediately tangled together and kissing frantically and babbling to each other-

"Don't you ever do that to me again."

"It wasn't my fault, mon cœur! As if I would ever leave you on purpose."

Once they calm down a little bit, they talk about their younger selves-

"You were a fucking menace to deal with, baby."

"You were so sweet! And so cute too!"

And they both agree that they hope they'll be all right and figure things out sooner than their present selves did.

Meanwhile, back in 2019, both Max and Charles are miserable for the first hour after the swap. They immediately separated once it was done, unable to look each other in the eyes, and headed back to their apartments to sulk quietly.

But then Max hears a knock on his door, even though he didn't allow anyone up, and when he cautiously looks through the peephole to see who it is he's shocked to see Charles, so he rips open the door without another thought to see his rival staring back at him, wide-eyed and frantic.

"Did he tell you...," Charles asks, trailing off with a choked noise.

"That we are... that they are together," Max asks, hoping his voice masks how terrified he's suddenly feeling.

Charles makes a small, hurt sound at that, before blurting out "He wouldn't kiss me goodbye."

"He didn't kiss me either," Max responds just as quickly.

They stare at each other for a long, breathless moment-

They'll argue forever about who moved first, but in the blink of an eye they're all over each other, kissing desperately, so sloppy and eager as their hands frantically latching on to one another to hold tight.

This is what they really wanted all along.

And then Max is pulling Charles into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them as he moans at how amazing it feels to have Charles' sucking on his tongue and he's blindly leading them to the bedroom, so fucking excited to finally have his Charles in his arms.

They don't leave Max's apartment until it's time to travel to the next race- they spend the time bickering and fucking and laughing and talking and realizing how right this already feels.

In only the course of a few days, it is suddenly so obvious to them why their 2025 selves were so desperate to reunited- because there is no giving up someone that can make you feel like this.

—------

This was so fun, thank you for the little prompt! ❤️

#asks #lestappen #1633 #writing tag #my fic #ficlet

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leriexoxo · 3 days ago

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SKZ HEADCANON SERIES (18+)

Chapter 7: Seungmin — The Snarky Co-Host

OT8 SERIES MASTERLIST

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It started as a joke—two opposites hosting a podcast together.

You were the straight shooter. Seungmin was all sarcasm and smug wit. Your dynamic was volatile from day one, and that’s exactly why the fans loved it.

They called it “comedic tension.” You called it barely suppressed rage.

He always had a comeback. Always one step ahead with his dry remarks, raised brows, and maddening smirk. He’d interrupt your point just to throw you off, tilt his head like he was genuinely confused by your logic, then twist your words into something ridiculous before you could defend yourself.

And the worst part?

He was good at it.

Infuriatingly sharp. Charismatic in that cocky, boyish way that made people lean in closer. You hated how easily he disarmed everyone—including you.

Every episode ended with you storming out of the studio and him saying, “You’re welcome for the ratings.”

You’d give anything to wipe that smug little smile off his face.

⸻

It was supposed to be a harmless segment.

A “fan dare” roulette. Spin the wheel, fulfill the challenge live on air. It was goofy, unserious. Until the wheel stopped on:

“Almost kiss your co-host. Hold it for 5 seconds.”

You froze. Seungmin laughed. The crew held their breath.

You tried to wave it off, but he leaned in before you could even form an excuse, one hand bracing the desk, the other lightly curling around the back of your neck.

“Let’s not disappoint the fans,” he said under his breath.

Your noses brushed. Your lips were so close, you could taste his breath—mint and danger. The silence stretched. The tension snapped.

Five seconds passed. You didn’t move.

You were both wide-eyed, flushed, visibly shaken as you pulled back like you’d touched fire. The video went viral within hours.

Too close to be fake.

The tension is REAL.

When will they just fuck already?

You thought the heat would die down.

It didn’t.

⸻

The next recording was hell.

Every touch of his knee under the table. Every time he licked his lips. Every smug glance like he knew you were remembering how close his mouth had been.

You could barely focus. The moment the episode ended, you yanked your headset off and turned to leave.

But Seungmin was faster.

He caught your wrist just before the studio door. His voice dropped—quiet, but sharp.

“Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours—hot, commanding, devastating. He kissed like he debated it for days and finally snapped.

You gasped, and he used it—tongue slipping past your lips, his hand sliding up your spine to twist into your hair, keeping you close like he meant to leave you dizzy.

You pushed back, not to stop him—but to bite. Teeth clashing with his bottom lip, making him groan low in his throat.

“Still mad?” he murmured against your mouth.

You gripped the collar of his shirt, yanked him back in. “Shut the fuck up.”

Clothes hit the studio floor fast.

He spun you into the padded wall behind the sound booth, hands everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding under your top, squeezing your ass like he was laying claim.

“Always so mouthy,” he growled, grinding his hips into yours. “Bet I can shut you up real easy.”

Your hand slipped into his waistband and he gasped—a raw, desperate sound. His cock was already rock hard, twitching against your palm.

“You were saying?” you smirked, stroking him slow.

His jaw clenched. “Oh, I was gonna be nice.”

Then he was shoving your thongs aside and sinking to his knees.

His tongue was ruthless.

Broad, hot licks up your slit, slow flicks over your clit, then he sucked—hard, rhythmically, just like he knew you were about to lose it. And when you did—when your hips jerked, and your hands flew into his hair—he looked up at you with that goddamn smirk.

“Bet you don’t hate me now.”

“Fuck you,” you panted.

“Oh, you will.”

He stood, shoved his pants down, and lifted you effortlessly onto the narrow desk.

You barely had time to curse before he was inside you, stretching you wide, slamming in deep with a grunt that rattled the walls.

“Louder,” he hissed, thrusting harder. “Let the crew outside hear what that smart mouth sounds like when I ruin it.”

You screamed his name, legs locked around him, nails down his back.

It was fast, filthy, relentless.

He fucked you like he hated you. Like he couldn’t stand how badly he wanted you. Like every sarcastic exchange had been foreplay for this exact moment.

And when you clenched around him, crying out, his hand gripped your throat lightly—just enough to hold you in place as he spilled inside you with a growl.

⸻

You sat on the floor, hair wrecked, legs trembling, both of you still breathless.

Seungmin leaned back on his elbows, bare chest rising and falling.

“Guess the fans were right,” he said, voice wrecked but smug.

You glanced at him, exasperated. “You’re still a smug little shit.”

He grinned. “Yeah. But now you come because of it.”

You rolled your eyes, already thinking of how you’d explain the bite marks next episode.

And somehow, you couldn’t wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar

#skz imagines #straykids x reader #skz smut #seungmin headcanon #kim seungmim #seungmin angst #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #seungmin drabbles #seungmin smut #seungmin stray kids #skz seungmin #kim seungmin #enemies to lovers #skz headcanons #smut headcanons

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fushiguruuzzzz · 6 hours ago

Text

know my name, know my face.

megumi is sick and tired of you being so formal. he is silent in his feelings until one day, when something as simple as a little shop and your eagerness about a keychain tips him over.

just a really silly fluffy fic. canon verse. was supposed to be a drabble but I yapped too much so I formatted. megumi yearns and longs and broods and- you get it. a mix between a drabble and a short fic kill me. no beta we die like everyone in the jjkverse. word count of 1046.

masterlist

although he loathe to admit how deeply he is being affected by this whole situation, the truth is that megumi is getting fed up with you.

not you, per se, but the way you seem to view him. he feels more distant to you than the others; you seem more personal with them, more friendly. even though you choose to spend more time with him than anyone else and speak to him more fondly and overall express more affection for him, he feels out of place. when you call upon the other first years, his name rolls off your tongue differently. it leaves your lips akin to that of a stranger.

you see, there is yuji and nobara and then there is fushiguro.

(he recalls the early days of your friendship with the group. your voice had been so sugary, lined with honey as you asked “is it okay if I call you yuji?” and, “you don’t mind nobara, right?” …you had not even asked him. he had looked straight ahead and pretended to feel less invisible.)

it meets his ears and makes him wince internally every time. it is soft and sweet as it always is, but that does not change the facts. you refer to him as a classmate rather than a companion. he wants to grab you by your shoulders and make you repeat the syllables of his first name until it is engraved in your mind and vocals alike — his ears too. maybe, if he were feeling really desperate, he would fall to his knees. however, he does neither. he simply gives a nod and lets the sound ring through him, lets the echo of it beat against his insides and leave welts big enough to have him crumpling to the ground. he greets you back like he is neutral, keeps his knees steady. he calls you by your last name also.

perhaps he is being dramatic. perhaps he is irked by it more than he should be, but he cannot help himself. what is it about him that is so alien? he had always been different from other people, but jeez.

he is silent in his brooding, quiet in his troubled inquiries. they fester in his mind and do not pollute the air. until one day, his mouth betrays him.

your feet have the gravel crunching beneath you as you bound up to him, a smile on your face. the others were not in sight—the three of you had gone off into another part of the shop whilst he lingered in a different isle. you had returned to him alone. it made him feel seen, even as he schooled his expression to indifference.

you hold a keychain out to him. “look, fushiguro! isn’t this cute?”

the warmth in him flickers, fading into a dull ember. he gives a short nod, hoping you would not notice the way the corner of his lips tugged downward. a long, silent exhale leaves his nose, eyes focused a little too intently on the trinket than necessary.

you pause, because you noticed, as you always did. you saw him. but unfortunately, you only saw fushiguro.

“fushiguro?” you questioned tentatively.

that was the final straw; the words escaping him before he could will them away, “why do you do that?”

a pause. the meaning of the cryptic statement is somewhat lost on you, he quickly realized. the tips of his ears heat up as he continues, “speak to everyone so personally except for me. we aren’t strangers, you know.”

tilting your head, your brows furrow, not because you are still confused but because it was so ironic. not one person at jujutsu high called him by his first name save for gojo, who was met with the meanest scowl every single time. you would much rather be left out of his wrath, therefore did not bother pushing him for it. your eyes flicker oddly for a moment and he is left to drown in the silence.

“everyone calls you fushiguro.”

he averts his eyes completely. the tips of his ears are turning pink, but you can only see if you look very closely. “what makes you think you’re just a part of everyone?”

“well, when we met. you stared at me deadpan and introduced yourself with it’s fushiguro, point blank.”

his cheeks warm further. he scowls, both because of your horrible impression of him and because of the recollection. he did do that, but… that was different. that was a long time ago. that was before you had become so close to his heart that you could touch it, feel it beat against your palm and speak his first name in morse code for you. now is now.

“that was different.”

“so… you want me to call you megumi?”

the sound of his first name hits him like a punch to the gut. his heart speeds up, fingers twitching at his sides. finally, he thinks. after multiple months and a bit of mild mortification, you had done it. his soul eases and sinks contently back into his bones. he shrugs, though, despite his entire conscious screaming yes. “do whatever you want. I was just asking.”

you chuckle. he is a bit of a terrible liar when it comes to these things, you have learned. you choose to humour him. “okay. i’ll call you megumi, then.”

he nods. silence falls again, but it is different this time. easy. transparent. it does not settle thickly and add to the weight on his shoulders, instead lifting it, if even a little. then, “I don’t sound like that, by the way.” his voice is a low grumble.

“you totally do, don’t lie.”

“shut up.”

“okay, whatever, megumi.”

despite himself, he smiles. he would let you torment him so long as you eased the sting with the soothing balm that was his name on your lips. hell, you could curse his entire existence and he would forgive you if it was followed by the gentle whisper of megumi against the shell of his ear. it is a scary thought, but he accepts it with surprising ease.

as long as you called out to him like he was a little more than a stranger, he was anything to you. he was yours.

tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @xianji @cinnamxnangel @sickpatientt @megapteraurelia @scoutings @anotherwriternamedclara @spookypeacesandwich @titititititixo @wizzzierr @jadeyaps @whoevenisjessica @nishislcve @rustymind @grndz3r000

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theegyal · 2 days ago

Text

FADED, [Annie X Smoke] FANFICTION, SINNERS (2025)

Emotionally charged Chapter. Intimacy, angst, unrequited love

3K words

Sorry for grammatical mistakes and syntax. I asked reverso to correct sum but you never know.

Use Google translate for the Haitian Kreyol. Since it’s not my language. If you’re Haitian please be free to correct me, I love me some creole/cajun black people 😌🤲🏾

CHAPTER 8

"Don't let them in!"

She lunged for Annie's hand, gripping it tight enough to bruise.

"Pa louvri pòt-la, Annie. Yo pa moun yo sé bagay mò."

(Don't open that door, Annie. They're not people. they're dead things.)

Smoke reached to calm her down, but Annie held up a hand, eyes narrowing.

"Lottie," she said quietly, "look at me, girl. Ki ou wè? What did you see?"

Lottie stared, breathing like she'd been chased by demon. "Yo pa vivan. Mwen santi yo. Li frèt. Tout frèt. Tankou lanfè k'ap mache sou de pye."

(They ain't alive. I feel them. It's cold. All cold. Like hell walking on two legs)

Annie's face turned grim. Her fingers twitched, thumb rubbing against the wooden necklace under her dress like counting beads. She closed her eyes a moment and felt it too—the air wasn't right.

Lottie grabbed her again, voice rising.

"Yo pote lanmò. Yo pa ka rantre si nou pa louvri pòt-la. Tanpri, Annie!"

(They bring death. They can't come in unless we open the door. Please, Annie!)

"They need invitation to get in." Lottie continues, trying to get up.

"I know," Annie muttered. Her eyes flashed toward Smoke, Stack, and the others.

"You hear me now, all of you. Don't even speak to them. Let shut the door."

Slim touched his knife. Mary, confused. made the sign of the cross again.

Smoke, now close enough to see Remmick's face in the low light, whispered, "Lottie's right. That man ain't good."

Annie didn't take her eyes off Remmick.

"And he ain't alone."

On this line, the big boned guards close the entry door. Running inside.

Charlotte, still in awe, searched a wall to lean on. World spinning around her, vision blurred and then blackness.

"LOTTIE !"

It was Stack's voice, tearing through the whole room. His boots clashing on the floor so hard even Smoke flinched.

He dropped to his knees, sliding next to her. "Charlotte? Hey, Lottie—"

His hands were shaking as he pulled her up from the floor, cradling her against his chest.

"No, come on, girl, don't do this—look at me. Look at me, Miss Ma'am."

Lottie didn't answer. Her head lolled back. She was ice cold.

"She saw him," Annie said, hurrying toward the kitchen.

"These people outside. They're not human, nor even possessed..." she paused, grabbing a giant bowl of garlic. "They're vampire."

Stack brushed Lottie's face, his thumb trembling as he ran it along her temple.

"I'm right here," he whispered, voice cracking. "It's Eli, you hear me? You come on back now. Don't leave me now."

"She still here," Annie yelled from the kitchen. "But certainly not for too long. We must keep them afar." She added sea salt to pouches and headed back to the saloon.

"I will give every one of you a pouch of sea salt and garlic. Place them at every corner of doors and windows. We gonna stay there until morning."

Folks started whispering, drunkards began getting violent, and young men and women were cursing, trying to leave.

And among them, Mary raise her voice out:

"I'm sorry to be that kind of person but... Can you think about this a second differently? Maybe these people outside only want to play music and dance?"

Smoke didn't say a word when Mary opened her mouth. He didn't need to.

His eyes alone did the work—burning hot, narrowed into slits, cutting straight through her sweet little peacekeeping plea like a blade. His jaw twitched once. Then again. He held his tongue the way a man holds a blade behind his back: with full intent.

"You outta your mind," he said, real quiet. "That what you think they are ? A traveling band?"

Mary blinked, taken aback. Her gaze darted to Stack, who was still crouched over Lottie, rocking her gently like a broken thing he couldn't glue back together. Something about that image cracked her composure. The way Stack held her, like she mattered. Like she'd always mattered.

Mary felt her stomach curdle.

She moved toward them, her boots clicking sharp across the floor. "She ain't even conscious, Stack. She don't know who she talkin' to, could be talkin' nonsense, tryna rile folks up."

Stack didn't answer. Didn't even glance at her.

Instead, Annie burst back into the room, pouches swinging from her hands. Her eyes locked on Lottie—and her face dropped.

"Give her here."

Stack hesitated.

"I said give her to me, Stack."

His arms tensed, clinging to Lottie a second longer than necessary. But when he looked into Annie's face, he saw no room for argument. She was her sister, and the fire in her eyes said she'd fight God himself for her blood.

He gently passed Lottie over, and Annie held her tight against her breast, murmuring something in Creole only the spirits could understand.

"I'm takin' her to the storeroom," she said, already moving. "Ain't no windows there. No door leading outside…"

Smoke stepped aside for her, barely breathing as he watched Lottie disappear through the saloon hallway, limp in her sister's arms.

Behind them, panic grew. Folks jostled, pushing toward the exits. Pearline held onto Sammie, muttering prayers. Even Cornbread had gone pale.

"She overreactin'," she muttered, voice tinged with venom. "Always did run hot when she didn't get attention."

The juke joint buzzed with fear and confusion, folks trying to find corners to sit, lie down, pray, or drink enough to forget what they'd heard.

Annie back to the dance floor, rejoined Smoke behind the bar whispering

" if it comes to it,and we don't have any choice left, we would have to kill them" she added grimly, "A stake right through the heart."

Smoke didn't argue. Just nodded and stirred up on his cigarette.

Meanwhile, Mary watched from the edge of the room, arms folded. Her gaze flitted from Stack's bowed head at the bar to the clutter of people still murmuring about demons and death.

She didn't believe it. Couldn't. Monsters weren't real—just superstition wrapped in too many hot nights and too much liquor.

And Stack... he needed help. The juke needed money. These people outside might just be misunderstood musicians.

While the others fretted and prayed, Mary quietly slipped out through the side corridor, heels silent on the wooden floor. She waited in the shadows near the kitchen until the noise shifted, then eased the door open just enough to slide into the night.

Outside, the air was filled with the buzz of insects and the night's cold winds

"Hello?" she whispered.

The figures stood in the tree line One stepped forward.

"Good evening dear'," came the smooth voice of Remmick, gliding over the grass "Are you lost ? Or can we finally get in and all be a great family ? "

Mary opened her mouth—to flirt, to talk, maybe to negotiate. But she never got the chance.

In a blur, he was on her, teeth sunk deep into her shoulder, the world going cold and quiet except for the awful sound of her heartbeat hammering slower... slower... slower.

Hours later, Mary regained her consciousness, sat up slow, and took her face in her palms. Her body felt light, too light, her skin frigid, yet burning of desire.

She wasn't breathing anymore.

But she was alive.

Sort of.

She stood, swaying a bit, then turned toward the warm glow of the juke joint. Around the back, a man was grumbling to himself, fumbling with a pouch of garlic at the back window.

"Marcus" Mary cooed, stepping out of the darkness.

The man nearly jumped. "Damn, Mary—you scared me."

"Sorry darling. It's cold out here. It was hot inside, wanted some fresh air but I had enough." She laughed before pointing toward the window. "Do you think... you could pull that garlic down so I can get back in? I can't stand the smell. I might be pregnant, who knows..."

The man hesitated.

"I'm not a vampire, if that's what you're wonderin'," she said with a wink.

The dumb Marcus chuckled. "Alright, alright," and peeled the garlic away, lifting the latch.

Mary stepped inside. Her smile never reaching her eyes.

In the saloon, Stack was still sitting across the bar, his whiskey glass full, eyes red and a painful expression on his face. Lottie was still unconscious and she certainly hate him . It's hard to imagine their last interaction was so tense and chaotic.

Mary's boots clicked on the boards.

He turned, surprise flashing through the fog of his grief.

"Babe ?"

She didn't answer. Just walked straight to him and grabbed his collar, pulling his mouth down to hers in a hungry, unrelenting kiss. Her hands moved fast, tracing his chest, his sides, curling around his belt, stroking his rising bulge.

Stack didn't resist. Couldn't. He was a sinner. And needed carnal redemption.

She whispered against his mouth, "Let's go somewhere quiet."

He followed. No matter what Mary had for him in stock, he was about to buy it.

In the storeroom, Charlotte's breath got caught in her chest. Her head ached, her limbs were hard as stone, but she could hear, distant footsteps, two voices muffled, whispering honey and fire...

Then closer: a door slammed.

Not the storeroom.

Somewhere else.

Then, at this instant Lottie eyes slowly opened.

Shifting to the said pleasure room. Stack was laying vulnerable on the wooden bed, Mary topping him, her dress slightly hitched up past her thighs. The brunette was riding his cock, starved, feeling all the strokes inside her womb.

" Damn Mary"

Stack moans, grabbing her hips tight, rythming her ups and downs hungrily.

The woman spread her legs suggestively, arching her ass and bend her chest over his face. Closing the gap to his neck, fangs growing out from her mouth, the newly vampire was stopped instantly in her preying endeavor.

"Stay away from him !"

The vampire woman received a full splash of holy water on her bare back. Her skin sizzled, then blistered, burning raw. She let out a high, inhuman wail and tore herself off Stack, stumbling back, smoking, her flesh peeling as she crashed against the wall.

She turned and fled, running as fast as the twins truck.

Lottie stood in the doorway, her dark skin shimmering with a fine sheen of sweat, the empty holy water bottle still clutched in her hand.

Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow, the world spiraling too close. Stack was still splayed on the wooden bed, naked, vulnerable, his eyes wide and stunned.

The air in the small pleasure room vibrated with the acrid smell of burnt flesh and semen fluids, something cloying and intimately wrong that still clung to Stack's body.

Her gaze flickered, drawn unwillingly to him, to the sight of his muscular body, exposed and lowered to the erected stone between his thighs. A sharp, physical ache bloomed in her chest, a familiar pain now laced with a bitter, searing newness.

She wanted to look away, desperately, but her eyes, wide and heavy-lidded, seemed to betray her, catching on the raw, open surprise on his face.

"Lottie... God, Lottie, she... she wasn't—" Stack pushed himself up on his elbows, his voice a choked whisper.

Lottie flinched, pulling her gaze away, focusing instead on a splinter in the doorframe, anywhere but him. Her hand trembled, the bottle rattling faintly.

"Don't,"

she murmured, her voice barely audible, infused with an emotion she didn't want to name, let alone show.

She took a single, hesitant step into the room, her movements stiff, as if her limbs were made of lead. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Stack fumbled for something to cover himself, his movements slow, his eyes fixed on her.

"I... I didn't know," he stammered, his voice filled with a desperate confusion. "I thought..."

Lottie didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the floorboards between them, seeing not the wood, but the vivid, burning image of Mary, riding him, touching him with hands, monstrously bold. She could feel the shame radiating off Stack, but beneath it, she felt only her own heartbreak.

She was here to save him, but he had been there with someone else, chasing a release she could only dream of offering. The room, once a place of fleeting pleasure, now held the agonizing silence of her unrequited love.

"You—need to go upstairs with your brother and the others. We must all stick together until dawn..." she said searching something in the pocket of her torn

velvet dress "Take this. It's — I well— did it before getting back here—it's well. You can wear it or dump it."

She put the mojo bag on a nearby table then concluded "I'm sorry. I should have given you that earlier. Mh— yeah"

Charlotte turned her back to the alley from which she came through.

Laying on the bed, his naked body half covered by the sheets, Stack's heart skipped a beat.

He got up and wandered his hand close to the table where she displayed the mojo bag. It was a grayed pouch,within it sage, santos wood and some roots he did not really know... His brother had similar ones he received from Annie.

It sometimes made Stack wondered how it felt to be love to such extend.

"This is crazy" he murmured before putting the mojo around his neck.

Deep back the kitchen, Smoke was sharpening a stake, following Annie's orders. The woman was quite concentrating on the garlic water she was making, dripping all her knowledge into the liquified weapon.

The water readymade, she hurried upstairs to her shrine. Hearing her footsteps upside, Smoke abandoned his doing and trailed her.

The priestess mixed her cowries and crystals, blew a dark smoke over the herbs, pleading with the gods for answers.

Smoke appeared right behind her, holding her waist and folding his face to her neck. Annie turned to face him. Lifted his head and said :

"Elijah..." her voice scattered, breaking the rhythm of her heart "I want you to promise me something..."

She snatched the stake the man brought up and held it toward her chest.

"If I get bitten.I beg you to release me"

His whole body stilled. "No," he said. "I'll get you out. I'll carry you home safe. Don't talk like that."

"The gods never lie Elijah." She smiled painfully, her heart tight

Smoke's throat worked around silence. He gripped her tighter, like he could hold back fate itself.

"I rather fight the god themselves to have you by my side...Annie"

Annie looked up at him, the candlelight dancing against the sheen of tears unshed in her eyes. Her breath caught, and her fingers trembled against the stake. But she didn't let go. Not yet.

"Elijah..." she breathed, her voice more prayer than plea.

His name in her mouth undid him.

Smoke leaned in, slow and reverent, like a man approaching a sacred fire. His hands found her waist again, rough palms grounding her as if to say I'm still here. I'll stay. Annie met him halfway, her lips brushing his, tentative, aching.

Then — the kiss deepened.

It wasn't sweet.

It was raw, made of salt and smoke, a collision of fear and longing. Her hand curled behind his neck, pulling him closer like she could kiss the war out of both their bones. Smoke pressed her against the altar, the stake dropping from her hand and landing between them, forgotten for now.

Their breaths tangled. Her fingers slipped under his shirt, tracing the scars along his ribs like talismans. He groaned low in his chest, one hand cupping the side of her face, thumb brushing under her eye — as if trying to memorize her alive.

"I'm still here," he said again, against her lips. "You hear me, Annie? You're still here too."

Smoke kissed her like he'd been holding his breath for years.

And maybe he had.

Annie's fingers gripped his shoulders, her body softening under his touch. The moment wasn't rushed. It was earned—pain-wrung and holy. They sank down onto the floor before the altar, their shadows long and flickering against the walls, wrapped in candlelight and ghosts.

His forehead pressed to hers, breaths shaky.

"I should've buried her right," he whispered.

Annie's eyes fluttered closed. She didn't need to ask who.

"Our baby girl," he said, voice cracking, breaking the words like brittle bone. "I let grief turn me into stone. Let you carry all of it."

Tears slid from Annie's lashes. "We lost her... and I lost you right after. Like y'all both got taken."

"I wanted to build you a house, Annie," he murmured, lips at her temple. "Big porch. Cypress out front. Chickens out back. You in the kitchen hummin'... Her in my arms."

Annie sobbed. It cracked out of her like a river bursting a dam.

Smoke kissed the corners of her mouth, her tears, her neck. "You still want that?" he asked. "A new start? You marry me after all this? We try again? Raise something good in this world, even if it's just each other?"

She nodded fiercely, holding his face in both hands. "I never stopped wantin' you. Never stopped prayin' you'd come back whole."

Their lips met again—slower this time. Softer. Their fingers clutched fabric and flesh like anchors in a world unraveling.

But just as Smoke began to lift her dress, the air shifted.

The door banged open.

"ANNIE!"

Lottie.

Both of them froze. The spell shattered.

Annie scrambled upright, wiping her face. Smoke stood and grabbed the stake again, jaw tight. The moment was over.

But the promise lingered—in tears wiped on sleeves, in kisses still warm.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt."

Lottie stood just past the doorway, her dress torn at the hem, the flask of holy water swinging loosely at her side. Her voice was strained, like it had run through fire to get here.

Annie rushed toward her, hands reaching, palping her sister's face, checking for fever, blood, bite. "You okay? Talk to me, baby, look at me."

Charlotte flinched, flustered under the warmth of her sister's touch. Then, she gently pushed Annie's hands away, steadying her voice.

" I don't know the circumstances but Mary stepped outside. She somehow get back in, totally transformed, and try to eat Stack's—"

Annie gasped.

But Smoke didn't wait for the rest.

He was already gone—bolting down the stairs with the stake in hand, his boots pounding like war drums, voice a broken shout echoing off the juke's old bones:

"STACK!"

A/N : what did you think of the chapter ? I spent days making it. I trapped myself with that Remmick plot twist ngl. Still have the idea of their common story with Lottie but it gonna wait !

TAG LIST : @bigjh ; @boonoonoonus ; @saralance03 ; @stormynovashambler ; @lsc72 ; @prettyisasprettydoes1306 ; @unholyxthoughts ; @lizbehave ; @tadjoa @queenofklonnie22 @katezy2x @m0netm0netxo12 @prettygirl2800 ; @thefutureemmywinner ; @atomicearthquakemusic7 ; @thelifeoflagab @irefusetobeacasualty @anafricandaydreamer,

#sinners #annie x elijah #smoke x annie #annie sinners #stack x annie #elias stack moore #fanfiction #smoke sinners #black authors #stack x mary #stack x oc

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hischiershoe · 15 hours ago

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ooooo 02. "actually, we're leaving early, we have something to get to." "no we don't- oh, okay fine i'll call you guys later." + clayton keller please 💗

tysm for sending in!! i’m a little nervous for this since i’ve never written for him before but i hope you like it <3

warnings: i changed the prompt up a teeny bit and just a bit of jealousy but that’s it!!

Clayton was trying to not to let it get to him. Really, he was, but the longer he had to watch your new coworker inch closer and closer to you until he couldn’t even see space between you, the more frustrated he got. Of course he trusted you and he knew you would never knowingly put him in the position he’s in now, but he also knew you had a habit of mistaking blatant flirting for friendliness. It was something he never faulted you for, he never would, and he tried to keep his cool when it came up.

However, it was only a matter of time until his resolve had dissolved entirely.

When you walked into the bar with Clayton and a few of his teammates, you hadn’t expected to run into a few of your coworkers. The two of you had gone to the bar a dozen times before and you’d never seen anyone you knew, so of course you jumped at the opportunity to briefly infiltrate their group before you went back to your boyfriend. You had no intention of spending too much time with them because while you did like the ones who were there, you already spent 40 hours a week with them and you would much rather be with Clayton.

“You should come out with us more often,” Cameron, one of your newer coworkers, suggests as he leans against the table and looks down at you with a friendly smile.

“Maybe,” You lightly chuckle, your gaze sliding across the sea of people until you find Clayton.

He’s already looking at you, though you know he probably hasn’t looked away from you since you broke away from him, and he looks… Not mad, necessarily, but he doesn’t look happy, either. The expression etched on his face is something you rarely saw, but it made heat crawl up your spine and to your cheeks all the same. You only break away from his stare when he starts walking towards you, and you shift your focus back the people in front of you.

“At least hang out with us now,” Cameron gleefully calls out, “You’re already here, may as well stay a while.”

“Actually,” Clayton’s voice smothers your own, placing a protective hand on your hip and tugging you into his side, “We’re actually leaving. We’ve got somewhere else to be.”

“What? No we don’t—,” You feel him gently pull on your body and your feet are moving away from your coworkers, “Okay, well, I’ll see you guys at work!”

Clayton’s hand moves from your hip to grasp your hand in his own as he guides you out of the bar, not even sparing a fleeting look in the direction of his teammates. Though you do, and you don’t miss the amused and smug looks a few of them toss in your direction. You wordlessly follow him out to his car, only casting a curious glance at him when he holds the passenger door open for you. He slips into the drivers seat and leans over the center console to place a small kiss to your lips before he’s reversing out of the parking spot.

“So,” You draw out, lip pulled between your teeth and eyes trained on Clayton’s face, “What was that about?”

“What was what about,” He mumbles, though you both know he’s playing dumb.

“We weren’t even there for thirty minutes,” You point out, “Why didn’t we just go back to the guys?”

Clayton takes a deep breath before his focus briefly shifts towards you, “Didn’t want to have to look at whatever-his-name-is all night, or him to look at you.”

“Who,” Your brows furrow in confusion, your hand moving to grasp his that was placed on your thigh, “Cameron? Why would he look at me?”

“He was flirting with you the whole time you were over there,” He groans, like speaking the words make him physically nauseous, “Even Kess said something about it. Didn’t like it.”

You purse your lips as you think about what to say next because you didn’t think he was flirting, but you’d never been the best at picking up on things like that. Even when you had first met Clayton, he had to drop the act of subtly and be upfront with how he liked you because you always mistook him for just being friendly.

“Well,” You start, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, “Even if he was, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve already got the guy I want and I don’t intend on getting rid of him anytime soon, even if he gets a little jealous every once in a while.”

“I was not jealous.”

#you just got a letter! 💌#from: unknown #clayton keller #clayton keller x reader #clayton keller blurb #abby writes 💻

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thethronezone · 2 days ago

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Just read your negative parenting trait primarch list, and it's sad how accurate I believe it is. So, to balance things out (and if you're interested), I'd like to ask:

What are the most positive parenting traits of each primarch?

Mortarion - Fosters independence. Sure, if his kid needs help then Mortarion makes sure they get it but he also makes sure that they watch and learn so that they can do it themself next time. He wants them to be able to take care of themself, to not just depend on others.

Fulgrim - Loves sharing experiences with his child and bringing them different places. Theaters, galas, museums, gardens, forests and whatever he thinks might interest them. To Fulgrim, it's important that his child experiences all the world has to offer and to become a cultured person.

Angron - Teaches his kid to take no shit and to stand up for themself, no matter what. He tells them from an early age that it's never wrong to stand up for yourself and to fight for what you believe in. Also teaches them that to get somewhere in life, you've got to work for it.

Magnus - Can listen to his child rant for hours. Seriously, if his child has a special interest and randomly decides to info dump on him, then Magnus will listen with rapt attention and even ask follow up questions or for clarification. Genuinely finds it interesting.

Perturabo - All Primarchs have perfect memories but Perturabo makes a subconscious effort to really remember everything about his kid. Their likes, dislikes, people they know, where they've been, what they've told him etc.. He always keeps this in mind and as such, he knows his kid pretty darn well.

Alpharius - This kid grows up knowing how to plan for stuff and how to prepare other alternatives/options in case things go wrong. They going somewhere? They know exactly what to pack. Planning an activity. Great, here's the exact date, time and location.

Lorgar - Super devoted father who's always ready, and willing, to put his kid above all else. Will put everything else aside for his child, to be there for them. But that doesn't mean he spoils them rotten. In fact, Lorgar makes it a point to raise them into a modest and well-behaved child.

Horus - The best at making them laugh. He somehow always knows what to say to bring a smile to their face and turn even the biggest frowns upside down. Be it with a joke or bringing them some place where they can just relax and have fun, Horus knows how to bring them joy.

Konrad - Actually really good at comforting his kid and calming them down when they feel upset. He talks to them on their level and he sympathizes with them, validating their feelings while at the same time talking about them in a way that doesn't escalate the situation.

Sanguinius - Undying love. No matter what his child does, even if they turned traitor and plunged a knife into his neck, Sanguinius would never stop loving them. He could never bring himself to hate them. He could feel sad or disappointed by their choices, but hate? Never. Forever and always, until all the stars burn out, he will always love them.

Corvus - While Corvus is not particularly talkative, when him and his kid do talk these conversations are deep and very fulfilling. Corvus also talks to his kid on a very genuine level where he makes it clear that he values their input and opinions.

Ferrus - He encourages free thinking and for his child to find their own solutions. He doesn't want them to be a perfect little soldier that follows his every word like gospel and who's incapable of thinking for themself. Ferrus wants to see them think, analyze and come to conclusions based not just on what others tell them but also what they feel is right.

Rogal - When his kid has a question, he answers that question, each and every time. It's never "It just is" or "Because I said so". No, Rogal explains his reasoning because he feels like it is their right to know. He would never leave them in the dark or purposefully confuse/mislead them. Honesty is his biggest strength.

Vulkan - Loves spending time with his kid! Loves being a parent and being involved and active in their development. Genuinely always looks forward to seeing them and loves to hear what they have to say. Also gives the best hugs.

Lion - Fiercely protective. Lion might not show it, might even appear uncaring at times, but the moment his child is in danger? It's like the beast within him awakens as pure animal instincts pushes him to act before even his superhuman mind has time to think.

Leman - Knows when to be fun, goofy dad and when to be serious. He can tell when his kid needs to have a real talk, when the situation gets real and there's no time for jokes. But he also knows just when to have fun with it, how to enjoy being a father.

Jaghatai - The Khan's kid can tell him anything and they know him. He might get disappointed or even upset but he would never let it cloud his judgement or overwhelm his rational thinking. He's reliable, especially when his child needs some good advice.

Roboute - Problem solver nr 1 over here. If his child has a problem and needs a solution or just some advice on how to best handle a situation, Roboute can provide all the answers. Sure, his solutions might be very logic-driven and not always account for the emotional aspect but they tend to work out pretty well.

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fayes-fics · 3 days ago

Text

When The World Is Free: Il Fait Bon T'aimer

MASTERPOST

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Summary: Benedict teaches his new wife a new skill.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex teaching, blow job, masturbation, swallowing, orgasms. Romantic, I guess? idk.

Word Count: 3.0k

Author’s Note: One-shot (requested by🪴anon, see next post) set during Ch 12 of When The World Is Free. This scene is briefly referenced in the fic in a non-explicit manner. Hold onto your hats; here’s the detailed version lol. At this stage of their marriage of (in)convenience, they are already hopelessly in love but in denial. Fic title is another Edith Piaf song. Thanks to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta and for assuring me this is worthy of the WTWIF universe. Enjoy! 🫶

On your first night at Aubrey Hall, Benedict sneaks into your room in the early hours while everyone else is asleep. Crashing into each other, he hauls you off the ground into his arms, your legs winding around his hips as you kiss greedily, hungrily—stolen, secret moments together so very precious.

Half an hour later, you are staring at the ceiling, panting, utterly sated as he once again used his mouth to bring you to a shaking pinnacle, your cries muffled into a pillow.

“We must find somewhere private,” he sighs, his face resting on your belly as you card your fingers through his thick hair. “I like to hear you scream…” His wistful, cheeky addition makes you gasp, and you swat him gently on the shoulder. He laughs heartily and crawls up over you on all fours. “We can steal away somewhere on the grounds where no one would find us,” he assures, eyes shining in the low lamplight.

“I shall keep you to that promise, Mr Bridgerton,” you threaten softly, pushing his shoulders until he lies on his back, you hovering over him now. “Do you think you are capable of being as quiet as I was?”

“Why do you ask?” a flicker of confusion over his face, until your hand slides down his flat stomach and lands upon the warm bulge in his pyjamas.

“I would like to return the favour…” you offer, as his breath hitches beautifully. “I have never used my mouth as such, but you will teach me, won’t you? Tell me what you like?”

His groan is like music as you shuffle lower over his reclining torso, looking up at him with fluttering eyelashes as he stares down with utter devotion.

Pitching forward, you rub the tip of your nose over the warm bulge in his pyjamas. He makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat that is so enchanting. So you do it again, inhaling through the thin material. Your nostrils fill with that wonderful scent his skin has, but richer here, a little muskier. It makes your mouth water.

You open your mouth and kiss the mass there, and he exhales shakily as you allow your tongue to run the length of his cock through the silk, enjoying its heat and solidity. With his uneven breathing, you know your instincts are right so far.

Feeling bolder, you tap his hip and start to tug down on the waistband, signalling that you wish him to remove them. You sit up a little to allow him the room, and demurely, he yanks them down and tosses them aside.

“I have seen you naked before,” you murmur soothingly as he lays flat again.

“Please don't feel you have to do this…” A sheepish mien as he touches your chin briefly, even as his demeanour screams that he very much desires you to.

“I want to,” you reassure. “I am already aroused by the mere thought.”

There is a light groan at your confession; you lower your face again, his cock radiating warmth as it arcs upright over his body, fully erect and slightly red at the tip. You nuzzle there timidly.

“Guide me, Benedict….”

With a shaky exhale, he whispers. “Anything is frankly wonderful… but umm, maybe use your tongue? Like you did before?”

This bashful version of your new husband is so very endearing.

Starting at the very tip, you trail your tongue slowly down his length, as he suggested, just as you had through the silk, but this time mapping his flesh, its heat and contours. You don’t stop until you encounter his root, his taste strongest there, right by his balls. You swipe a lick over that flesh, fascinated by the different texture of his skin there, rougher, puckered, and he groans loudly.

“Shhh,” you chastise playfully, even as you glow with pride, already addicted to how powerful this feels.

His hand flies to his mouth, expression both comedic and apologetic all at once. It’s so adorable you can’t help but share a giggle, his eyes shimmering with affection. Your smile slides into a smirk as you unfurl your tongue, slowly retracing the path back up his cock, glancing up to see his eyes now rolling as you use a hint of pressure.

“What else?’ you ask quietly, eager to learn so much more.

“Kiss the tip,” he rushes out, reaching to brush your cheek. “Then take me into your mouth a little…. Please…” he quickly appends.

You follow his direction, wrapping your lips around the end of his cock, letting him slip into your mouth a fraction, smooth and hot.

“Yes, that’s it,” he breathes. “Just like that…”

Following his guidance, you spend a few moments sucking lightly on the end, your tongue running over the slit there, which has him inhaling sharply. The only other man you have been intimate with, Stanley, well, his cock was very different. Not that you ever did this for him; you only used your hands. But he was circumcised, whereas Benedict is not. There is a thin, moveable layer of skin enclosing his cock head, and you are keen to learn how to treat it.

“What do I do here?” You question, running your fingers over the ring of flesh.

“You can roll it down gently,” he advises, nodding when you wrap a hand around his shaft.

Delicately, you roll down his foreskin so all of his tip is exposed. It is flushed a very dark pink, especially where it tapers. Wrapping your lips around him again, making them into a tight ring and sinking, taking the whole of his head into your mouth, running your tongue around the exposed groove, him emitting a quiet moan as you do.

“Perfect…” he sighs.

You glance up at his face to see his lower lip caught between his upper teeth; he looks so handsome. So you keep exploring little licks and flicks of your tongue here and there. Experimentally, you kiss his exposed frenulum, then suck lightly upon it. He mutters a curse under his breath as a bead of liquid pools at his slit. You swipe it with your tongue, pausing at its salty, bitter taste.

“Sorry. I know it's not very pleasant…” he blurts out, looking contrite.

You make a noise of reassurance that it’s okay, not a delicious taste, but not terrible and continue to suckle on his head, moving up and down slowly. More familiar now, you glance up at him, wanting to see him in the full flush of arousal, his lips stained darker, a vein in his neck pulsing.

“Use some suction…please…” he entreats softly.

So you suckle harder, closing your eyes to concentrate, using your lips as a tight seal, your cheeks hollowing as you take rhythmic draws—his breathing changes, shallow and staccato. A hand landing in your hair, and you find you enjoy the weight. It’s not pressure, just guidance, his blunt nails mildly grazing your scalp. Above you, he makes little huffing noises.

After a few moments, you take a breath, seeking reassurance: “Is this okay?”

“More than…” he gushes. “Are you certain you have never done this before?”

“No. I’ve never even wanted to… Until you…”

Something about those words lights a fire in his gaze.

“Please take more of me,” he pleads, a tinge of urgency in his tone, “whatever you can manage.”

You hunger to give him everything, to try to take all of him into your mouth, but you will need time and more practice for that. Still, a large part of you burns to do so. A yen to be the best he has ever had, to make him addicted to you, his new wife, and what only you can do for him.

So this time, you sink a little lower, swirling your tongue once around his head, then pressing it to his underside as you take more of him into your mouth, a fullness that has you hollowing your cheek around him, suckling deeply.

A surge of victory in your core as his hips jolt, his fingers clutch your hair, the coolness of his wedding ring dragging against your scalp. His touch is merely a discreet guidance; you respond intuitively to the flex of his digits. Mirroring the pace he provides: following when to draw up, when to sink down. Guiding you like a conductor as he stifles his moans.

Your own arousal is slick between your legs, throbbing for him, yearning to crawl up and sit upon his cock, ride him until you are both screaming into each other's palms…. but you also want him to come from this alone. Excited by the prospect of him unravelling in your mouth, ideally breathless and needy, clinging to you.

Seeking more range of motion, you pause and softly pump him in your grip. “May we rearrange?”

His eyes fly open. “Yes… Anything…. What do you need?” He chatters, constantly so accommodating.

Instead of explaining, you drop off the side of the bed onto your knees, still pumping his cock loosely as you signal for him to twist and sit up; place his legs on either side of you.

He groans when you draw his head back into your mouth while holding his gaze, your eyes wide and unblinking, needing him to see you like this: naked on your knees, your lips stretched around him. Deducing it as a fantasy come true for him.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful….” he praises breathily, him brushing a strand of hair that has fallen over your face, tucking it behind your ear.

That little act of tenderness has you suddenly feverish for this, for him, a craving to have him utterly at your mercy and writhing with pleasure. Maintaining eye contact, you pulsate your tongue against his shaft, teasing him more. His Adam's apple bobs with a heavy swallow, his lower lip snagging under his incisor as he quells another curse.

Shuffling closer so your knees are under the bed, you break the heated stare, grasping his slender hips and rocking yourself further onto his cock. At this angle, you are more comfortable experimenting with taking him deeper into your mouth. Each pass takes a little more, sucking and swirling, letting your saliva drip down his shaft, lubricating your path lower; something so primal about the thought of him glistening with your fluids.

You sink to the lowest you've ever been, his tip nudging your soft palate. His touch is gone from your hair, grasping the sheets around him in his fists, emitting a guttural groan.

“Shhh!” You pull up quickly to chastise him again, your fist taking over with a slow pumping action.

“I cannot…” he whines, almost sounding defeated, his fuzzy, muscular thighs rippling slightly from the curl of his toes into the rug on either side of your hips.

”I want you to come in my mouth, but we risk being interrupted if you are too loud…” you remonstrate logically.

His cock pulses heavily in your hand as he stares down at you slack-jawed, having seemingly lost the power of speech.

“What?” You shrug, feigning innocence.

“Y-y-you want that?” He finally stutters, disbelieving.

“Of course I do,” you answer, twisting your wrist slightly, maintaining a light tease with your palm. “I have done so upon your tongue, haven't I?”

“Yes… but…”

Another bead of pre cum leaks over your knuckles as he flounders; you squeeze him gently in an upwards sweep. Instinct takes over; you dip down to lick your fingers. A strangled moan from him as your tongue swipes through the slightly viscous drop. That tartness blooming on your tastebuds is somehow sweeter than before.

You return suckling upon him, a new determination in your movements, more courageous with each passing moment. Using your grip at the base of his cock to add extra sensation. That thrumming dampness between your legs makes you want to frottage something, your hips flexing without you cognisant of such.

“Are you okay?:” he huffs out, perhaps concerned that your movements are borne out of discomfort.

“More than,” you assure, garbled around him.

“You are squirming….”

His sweet concern has you reluctantly release his cock with a wet pop and looking up at him, beguiled by his flushed cheeks.

“This arouses me, Benedict, very much,” you confess quietly, unable to be anything but truthful with him.

His nostrils flare; his face a picture of desire, his blown pupils glittering. “Touch yourself, please, y/n… fuck… touch yourself…” he stumbles, looking at you so intensely you could blister.

Almost under a spell, you do as he tutors, burrowing between your legs, fingertips sliding into a pool of wetness as you return to your ministrations, your lips sealed tight upon him.

The friction against your engorged clit has you moaning, him stuttering a curse at the responding vibration around his cock. You discern he is holding back, a tremor in him that is both excitement and muzzled restraint, a simmering urge to thrust a little, to buck into you.

You are sucking him earnestly now, moving up and down his shaft in determined draws, running your tongue tip into his slit as you reach the head. In your peripheral vision, you watch him scramble and grab his discarded pyjama top, wadding a bunch of navy silk into his mouth and gagging himself. He swears and babbles into the silk, the sounds now muffled, his moans louder and more insistent, his hand in your hair again. The twitching in his being and his heaving breaths - all his tells from when you rode him before - give you the sense he is approaching his peak.

You plead for him to break, your words unintelligible as you drool around him, your mouth full, your lips tingling, a slight ache in your jaw. You don’t want to stop, craving for the moment he breaks, utterly undone by you. Fingers sliding over your clit urgently, spiralling yourself high too.

“Look at me…”

It’s a ragged, almost frantic plea, slightly hoarse, as he yanks the material from his mouth.

Every fibre of his being is on a precipice while you gaze up at him. His skin flushed a deep pink, his neck corded, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple from his hairline, his pupils blown, encased in a cerulean ring, panting hard. That captivating sight is what catalyses your second orgasm, your pussy clenching in waves, craving his cock as you redouble your efforts to bring him to completion with you. Even fuzzy with the pleasure races around your body, you fight to keep going, allowing your moans of completion to reverberate loudly around his cock. And it works that carnal call and response too strong for him to resist.

“I…I am coming,” Benedict warns staccato, eyes screwed shut, his face contorting in rapture, all his little motions ceasing, his thighs constricting either side of your body.

His hand falls from your hair, likely expecting you to pull your mouth away, but it just spurs you on. Sinking, taking more of him, a strong pulse up his length, he nearly howls, hunching forwards over you and stuttering your name and so many words, some not even English, as he floods your mouth. All while you stay still, fighting the urge to cough, to take a breath. His taste is so much more than the preview. Salty, bitter, sweet, acidic. And copious. So much so that the reflex to swallow much of it kicks in before you even realise it.

His fingers lace with yours as you unwrap your grip from around his cock. With a gentle kiss to his tip, you withdraw, resting your head on his thigh to gather your breath, his taste strong in your mouth, and a lightness bubbling inside that you were able to give him this.

“Did you…?” He stumbles, and you instantly know what he is asking, so you just nod.

“You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” you assert, letting him haul you back up onto the bed.

He surrounds you in an embrace, his body flushed warm, a little dewy.

“That was…” he trails off, again lost for words, his lips hot on your temple as he crushes a fervent kiss there. “Thank you,” his inflection so sincere it makes your heart melt.

“It was wonderful for me too, Benedict,” you assure, nuzzling into him. “I came too,” you add quietly, that reflex to always be honest with him kicking in as ever.

He grabs your chin, staring deep into your eyes with an intensity that seems to strip your soul as bare as your body. He may not even realise it, but the fingers of his other hand trace over your wedding ring as he keeps scrutinising you, as if reading all your layers. Unspoken words seemingly dancing on the tip of his tongue. He finally draws you into an earnest kiss that telegraphs what he cannot voice—tingles down to your toes. Even as you squeak in surprise when he is unphased by the taste of his release, perhaps even enjoying such.

Settling together, you lay entwined for untold moments, the ticking of a mantel clock and your shared breaths syncopating the only sounds, lulling you into drowsiness.

“I may need to be gone before anyone awakens,” he points out reluctantly after you stifle a yawn. “But that doesn't mean I don't wish for you to fall asleep in my arms…”

With a sated smile, you wordlessly burrow into him, your nose lodged into his neck, his heartbeat strong under your skin, his fingertips tracing soothing patterns on your flank, and his breath warm in your hair.

That, indeed, is how you fall asleep: in the arms of your new husband, already knowing this new dynamic will be impossible to resist.

WTWIF masterpost • masterlist • wips • taglist

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaani @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @fern-reads @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @hanji-emo-blog @sya-skies @urfavnoirette @mmontgomeryb

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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donvampiro · 19 hours ago

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hii ! this is my first time making a request>< I've been super fascinated by law recently ( just finished dressrosa arc !) and I thought of a scenario that might be cute ? or super weird depending on how you see it . what if reader/yn has insomnia and listens to asmr to help them sleep, however it's specifically medical/doctor personal attention rps. how would law react to finding out this little detail and realizing that is why reader is always so excited to come to the monthly examination checkups on the ship?

hi Anon! hope you're doing good and congrats for your first request :D i like this idea! listening to asmr to help you sleep is so relatable lmao thanks for your request Anon. hope this lil scenario will meet your expectations! Love <3

MASTERLIST - Welcome

***

'Sweet dreams'

Trafalgar D. Water Law x (insomniac) gn!reader

“Open your mouth.”

– “Sure!! Aah~”

Law slightly tilted his head, his brows furrowed in confusion as he still held the small lamp between his fingers.

“Why do you sound so excited about this.”, he deadpanned. “I’m literally looking at your tonsils.”

Keeping your mouth open, you didn’t answer, but your squinting eyes betrayed a widening smile. Law didn’t ask for more, just sighed and shook his head, silently continuing the routine checkup. After a few seconds of observation, he turned off the lamp and threw the small wooden stick he had used to press your tongue into the trash.

“Do they look hot?”, you asked teasingly, drawing another confused sigh from him.

– “Do you even know what tonsils look like?”

– “Well, if they’re mine, they must look hot anyway.”

– “If they’re hot, that means they’re inflamed”, he simply corrected, unfolding the armband to take your blood pressure. “Which is everything but a good sign.” he gave you a small nod. “Now give me your arm.”

You extended your arm to him without flinching, still with that mischievous smile of yours. For some reason, you were always so enthusiastic about getting examined. Not that Law was complaining — it was always better than terrified or whiny patients — but it was just odd.

You never asked any real questions that might have shown any particular interest in medicine, so he didn’t really understand what you could possibly find amusing. Routine exams like these are important, but boring because they’re repetitive. Law knew that perfectly well. Yeah, really, your attitude was… enigmatic. And it made the consultations surprisingly more personal.

He unclasped the armband from your arm and, when he noticed that you were about to speak again, he immediately raised his index finger to your mouth.

“Don’t”, he commanded. “No more cringey remarks.”

He then began to put away his various things, and you pursed your lips so as to stifle a giggle as you slid off the auscultation table.

“Okay Doc”, you eventually replied.

– “I said— … ugh, whatever.”, he mumbled, without looking at you. “You can go now. Guess you have a month to learn more about tonsils.”

You only hummed in response before leaving the room. The medical examination always went by too quickly for your liking. Yes, how nice it was to have someone give us their full attention, examine us gently, focus on our good health and well-being. These were quiet, restful moments — just what you needed, as rest was often difficult for you due to your insomnia.

So, you seemed to enjoy this kind of situation, but you'd been careful not to mention it to Law until now. It wasn't that you didn't like him, or that you didn't trust him, it was just that... well, you already had an idea of how he'd react. And you could tell it would be an awkward moment, to say the least. The medical check-up was always a pleasant moment for you, as paradoxical as that might seem. So you didn’t want to make it too awkward or come across as weird.

So you kept all of this to yourself as you headed towards the kitchen to grab your plate, before noticing Penguin gesturing wildly for you to come sit next to him. He patted your shoulder energetically as you plopped down on your seat.

“Hey (y/n)”, he greeted as he continued to devour his own food. “Back from the medical checkup already?”

– “Yup”, you simply nodded before starting to eat. “Went good.”

Penguin kept eating greedily for a while before abruptly placing his plate back on the table, making you jump a little.

“Figures”, he grinned. “You’re always smiling from ear to ear when you leave the consulting room. Makes me wonder if it’s really medicine that’s being practiced there.”

– “What— Penguin!”, you instantly replied, turning towards him and punching him in the arm, but he didn’t budge and just chuckled, proud of his remark.

Not coming across as weird. Not coming across as weird. Not coming across as…

… but, if other crew members besides Penguin already had these kinds of ideas in mind, it wasn’t going to make things easy. What was so bad about not being afraid of the medical examination? About enjoying this moment of attention, this moment when you could finally let go, rest while someone checked that you were okay? You’d like to see them all there if they were in your shoes. Sigh. You looked away, pouting as you absentmindedly twirled your fork in your plate.

“C’mon, (y/n), m’just messing with you”, he smirked. “s’good if you’re not afraid of examinations.” He went back to eating while you also tried to finish your plate without worrying too much about what the crew might or might not think. Once Penguin had swallowed all the food in his mouth, he turned to you again, and his tone was different. “By the way— you look less tired than usual. Have you found anything to help with your insomnia?”

– “Kind of”, you conceded thoughtfully.

Your insomnia was no secret to anyone on the ship. The “cure” you found, though…

Without thinking about it anymore, you continued to twirl your fork around your plate, taking a bite every now and then while Penguin kept staring at you, waiting for you to finish your answer. You didn’t; he therefore allowed himself to ask.

“That’s good to know! ‘Cause it’s often quite hard to get rid of insomnia… So, what’s your magic recipe?” he questioned, his tone progressively becoming more bawdy. “... is it the time spent with the captain?”

– “You’re so annoying,” you sighed heavily. “I just listen to some ASMR. It’s relaxing. Helps me sleep.”

Penguin simply nodded, his lips pursed in a small, approving yet intrigued pout.

“And how does that thing work?”, he asked before a deeper voice answered him.

– “ASMR means ‘autonomous sensory meridian response’. It is a technique based on different sensory stimuli to help you relax naturally.”

You and your crewmate suddenly shuddered, then abruptly turned to face… Law.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked doubtfully. Faced with you and Penguin’s silence, he shifted his gaze to yours. “I didn’t know you listened to ASMR. It must be for your insomnia, right?” You nodded, and he nodded back. “Mmh. It helps me too.”

With a brief gesture of his hand, Law indicated that he wanted to sit next to you, so you shifted slightly as he took a seat.

“What type of ASMR do you listen to?”, he questioned lazily, his sharp eyes not missing the confusion that ran through your body, your face, your gaze.

– “Nothing special”, you blurted out. “Regular ASMR I guess, you see?”

– “No, I don’t.”, he cut short. “For example, I regularly listen to rain ASMR. What about you?”

You raised your eyebrows. What was this sudden interest? Law wasn’t one to open up about what he did in his free time, what he might enjoy, or whatever, as far as you were aware. What was he looking for? Had he seen right through you? How? Or was he actually genuinely curious about it? You stared at him for a moment, and he arched an eyebrow at your stunned reaction.

“Oh, and why does it interest you so much? ~” you retaliated in a smirk, your tone playful to mask your inner panic. You didn’t know what kind of reaction Law might have if he found out what type of ASMR you preferred. And it was… disturbing.

– “I’m just curious”, he replied flatly. “What’s so bad about having shared interests?”

This guy…

“Well, I have no reason to indulge your curiosity. It’s my private life.”

— “I see”, he nodded with a smirk that made you frown in frustration. Penguin remained flabbergasted. “Guess you must be listening to strange things.” Your captain shrugged. “I understand why you want to keep this heavy secret to yourself…”

— “Stop it!” you roared, banging your fist on the table and rattling the dishes as you felt your cheeks heat up. His smug smile was unbearable, so you decided to make things happen yourself. It didn’t matter what he thought in the end, as long as he stopped making fun of you. “Alright, I’ll show you, since you’re being so whiny about it. But promise me this will stay between us, okay?”

Law had only been trying to tease you; he hadn’t thought it would bother you so much. But now it had somehow fueled his curiosity about it. He simply nodded, silently.

You shoved your hand into one of your pockets in a scowl, finally pulling out your phone and opening the app. You could feel your cheeks burning as you tentatively passed your phone to your captain.

“If you say anything, you’ll have me to deal with.”, you warned.

He didn’t reply. Law stared at your phone screen for a moment, his expression impassive. He scrolled through the playlists, each with… interesting… names, but always with similar concepts. His silence was deafening, and you just wanted to disappear. A smirk eventually crept across his face, and it was too much for you.

“So, are you done?”, you spat, flustered, before snatching your phone out of his hands.

– “Yes, and I get it now,” he agreed, closing his eyes as he stood up. “Thank you”

Penguin cocked an eyebrow.

“Uh? What are you talking about?” he asked in confusion.

– “Nothing special”, his captain replied playfully, paraphrasing your earlier remarks with sarcasm, before walking away to grab a plate and go back to his consulting room.

You were stunned by Law’s nonchalance facing all this, and it made you boil with frustration. You didn’t know what he would think of you now— so you needed to sort this out. Without further thought, you stood up abruptly and went after your captain, calling out to him determinedly until your eyes met.

Law didn’t seem particularly affected by what he’d just learned. His expression remained the same as he looked at you, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. You bit your lower lip.

“What is it, (y/n)?”

“About the type of ASMR I listen to… uhm, you… didn’t you find it too w—”

— “Am I supposed to think anything of this?” he mumbled, cutting you off. His tone was the same as always, somewhat flat and disinterested, but you could tell he was focused on what you were saying by the way he stared at you. “If it helps with your insomnia, that’s all that matters. You can listen to whatever you want.”

Oh.

A wave of relief washed over you, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips as Law resumed his walk to his consulting room.

“Don’t forget to brush up on tonsils for next month,” he said without turning around.

It was quite flattering that you appreciated this kind of attention. And Law wasn’t entirely against giving it to you next time.

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