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natalianovnas · 1 month ago

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༄ `. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 — ⌗04

summary : raised in the heart of the countryside, you, Y/N Langford, has always known the rhythm of ranch life—early mornings on horseback, sun-drenched vineyards, and a quiet kind of freedom carved into the land passed down through generations. however, your father's recent colleague is interesting enough.

genre : country!au, wlw, countryside life.

warnings : smut (only in the beginning), baby talk & that's about it. (i think?)

words count : 4.4k (-ish??) || masterlist

an : this took very long to come ik and i'm sorry. writers were right about writers block not being funny. also, not nicely proofread so if this chapter doesn't make sense idk anymore T-T

𖦹 part one 𖦹 part two 𖦹 part three 𖦹 part four 𖦹 part five 𖦹

HORSES & ROMANCE:

— Sweet As Sin

📍The Langford Ranch House

Clare Valley, Southern Australia

The night air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, blooming roses, and fresh soil — a proper summer evening on the ranch.

Dinner, the usual you had every Fridays at the main house with your grandmother, your dad and now Nat joining you, had gone surprisingly well. Georges, ever the stoic cowboy type, had talked about fencing issues and cattle prices, while your grandma insisted on feeding Natasha an extra slice of peach pie she “clearly needed.”

You’d caught Nat’s eyes more than once across the table — dark green glinting with mischief every time she stole a glance down your tank top or let her boot press lightly to your ankle beneath the table.

And now, in the quiet hush of the kitchen, the others settled outside by the firepit, you were at the sink washing dishes, sleeves of her worn over flannel pushed up, cheeks warm from the wine, the heat and all her teasing.

You didn’t hear her come in.

But you felt her.

Strong arms slipped around your waist from behind, grip firm and possessive. Her hands slid just under your tank, warm against your skin.

“You know,” She murmured, breath brushing hot over your ear, “watching you being all domestic like this? Kinda drives me wild.”

You chuckled softly, hands scrubbing the soapy sponge over the porcelain plate. “Because I’m washing dishes?”

“No, because you look so damn good doing it.” Her lips grazed the shell of your ear. “That, and I’ve been waiting hours to get my hands on you.”

You leaned back into her, heart already picking up pace. “They’re right outside,” you whispered, knowing her intentions, the thrill of it crackling between your legs.

"Mm," The Russian hummed in acknowledgement. “Then keep quiet.”

Her hands slid lower, fingers toying with the waistband of your shorts, making your breath hitch in the slightest. “You wore these on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked. “You knew what they’d do to me.”

“They’re just shorts, Romanoff.”

You'd breathed out, your eyes almost fluttering close. You almost allowed yourself to get lost in the moment but you couldn't fully.

“They’re absolute torture,” She muttered, and then kissed down the curve of your neck, slow and lingering, her hands finally slipping inside — knuckles grazing over lace and skin.

You gripped the edge of the sink.

“Tasha—”

She smirked against your skin. “I’ve been thinking about something. All evening, really.”

“Mm?”

Her hand cupped you gently, just enough pressure to elicit a little whimper out of you. “What if I put a baby in you?”

Your entire body went still — except your heart, which leapt like a startled colt. You turned your head slightly, caught her gaze. She was smiling, sultry and serious all at once.

“I’m not joking,” She whispered, nose brushing against your jaw now. “I want that with you. You, barefoot and pregnant on this ranch. Belly round with our kid.”

You swallowed thickly. “You sure that’s not just the excess of pie & wine talking?”

“Nope,” She grinned. “That’s all me, love. You’ve got me so gone I wanna give you a baby and build you a damn crib from scratch.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.” Her fingers dipped lower, just enough to make your knees buckle.

You let out a quiet gasp, biting your lip hard. “Tash, my dad—”

“Is right outside,” She purred. “And you’re gonna stay put and quiet while I make you say yes to everything.”

She gently took ahold of your jaw and turned your face toward hers, lips already claiming yours in a searing kiss — her hands still tucked inside your shorts, slow and purposeful. She devoured you right there, against the sink, soft moans swallowed between kisses, until your hips rolled and your fingers clawed her shoulders, your whole body taut with the want she'd built all evening.

Outside, the fire crackled. Grandma Elise laughed at one of your dad’s dry jokes.

Inside, you came apart for Natasha — silently, breathlessly, pressed between her body and the scent of soap and sin.

And when she finally pulled back, she didn’t let go of you.

“Think about it,” She murmured, kissing your temple. “You, me, and a little one running wild on this ranch. I’d kill to see you like that.”

You weren’t sure if it was the orgasm, the wine, or the picture she painted — but the thought didn’t scare you. It made your chest ache.

And when you kissed her again, slower now, you realized something: you already belonged to her.

. . .

It had been three days since the dinner.

Three days since Natasha whispered about babies in your ear with her hand beneath your waistband, her mouth grazing your neck like a promise.

Three days since you laid in bed beside her in the quiet hours after, tangled in limbs and morning sunlight, and realized that maybe, for the first time in your life, the idea of forever didn’t scare you.

But before you could even dream of forever, you knew you had to face the man who raised you. The man who taught you to ride, to fight back when you were right, and to shut up when it mattered.

He was out by the chicken coop when you found him. Feeding the hens, straw hat shading his sun-weathered face, boots deep in the dirt. A cigarette hung from his lips, unlit — he hadn’t smoked it since your mother died, but he still liked the feel of it there.

“Dad?” You said, stepping just close enough that he glanced up from the feed bucket.

“Hey, kid,” He grunted. “You eat that leftover pie, or did Grandma sneak it home again?”

You gave a weak chuckle. “She took it. Of course.”

He nodded, going back to tossing seed like the world wasn’t about to shift on its axis.

You rubbed your hands together, nervous. “Can we talk for a sec?”

That got his attention. Slowly, he set the bucket down and turned to face you fully. His brow furrowed just a bit — not angry, just… aware.

“I’m listening.”

You took a breath then let it out.

“It’s about Natasha.”

His silence was telling. He didn’t nod, didn’t blink — but something in him stilled.

“She’s… not just a neighbor. Or a friend. We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

“And by seeing,” He said, voice gravel-dry, “you mean…?”

“That I’m in love with her.”

His jaw ticked. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

He glanced away, toward the pasture, the breeze catching the brim of his hat. You stood still, heart thudding, waiting for something to fall apart — for the silence to stretch into disappointment.

But instead…

“I figured.”

Your breath hitched. “You… did?”

He shrugged. “You’ve been smiling more. Not just the polite kind. The real one. Like your mama used to.”

You blinked hard, warmth rising in your chest and eyes at once.

“I didn’t know when you were gonna tell me, but I figured you’d get there.”

You stepped forward, a little overwhelmed. “You’re okay with it?”

“Hell,” He muttered, tugging off his hat to rake a hand through his hair, “I ain’t some fool who thinks love looks one way. All I ever wanted was for you to find someone who’d ride through storms with you. Who wouldn’t leave when things got rough. And Romanoff ? She sticks.”

You laughed, more relieved than you could ever say. “Yeah. She does.”

He looked at you then, eyes a little softer than before. “You planning on telling Grandma?”

“One step at a time, old man,” You said, nudging his arm.

“Well,” He muttered, grabbing the bucket again, “when you do, better make sure you’ve got something stronger than sweet tea on hand. That woman’s sharper than a rattlesnake in July.”

You grinned. “So you’re not mad?”

“No, sweetheart, of course not.” He said, then paused. “But if she ever hurts you…”

“She won’t,” You cut in, serious. “I trust her.”

That seemed to be enough. He walked up to you and pulled you in his arms, the grip familiar and soothing.

“You know I love you, right? I only know what's best for you and I trust you're old enough to decide what's best for you.”

“I know. Thank you, Daddy.”

. . .

You found her on the porch swing just after sundown — boots kicked off, legs curled up, her flannel unbuttoned halfway over a black tank top. The sky behind her bled peach and rose, and the fireflies had just begun blinking into the dusk like scattered sparks.

Natasha looked up from her book when you stepped out. “You’re smiling.”

“I talked to my dad,” you said, closing the door behind you. “Told him about us.”

She sat up straighter, eyes searching yours. “And?”

You walked toward her, barefoot across warm wood. “He figured it out already. Said you make me smile the way my mama used to.”

Her expression softened, just a little — like something in her uncoiled.

You settled beside her on the swing, pulling your knees up as her arm slid easily around your back, fingers spreading over your hip like she was anchoring herself.

“I didn’t know how it’d go,” you admitted. “But he was calm. Real calm. Said he just wanted me happy.”

Natasha let out a breath you hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Your dad’s a good man.”

“He is.” You leaned into her. “But you’re a good woman.”

Natasha smirked. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly, pressing your forehead to her jaw. “Mostly.”

Her lips brushed your temple. “So, how are we celebrating this little coming-out party?”

“Quietly,” you said, dragging your hand up the inside of her thigh, “just the two of us.”

The way her breath hitched wasn’t subtle.

You climbed into her lap, straddling her on the swing, your fingers running up the back of her neck and into her hair. Her hands found your waist like it was instinct — like she was made to hold you.

“You know,” you whispered, teasing her ear, “he said you stick.”

“Stick?” she repeated, amused.

“Yeah. That you ride through storms. Don’t leave when it gets hard.”

Her voice dropped to something low and smoky. “It always gets hard with you around.”

You laughed against her throat. “We’re supposed to be celebrating quietly.”

“Oh, I am quiet,” she said, hands sliding under your shirt, calloused palms dragging heat across your skin. “You’re the one who gets noisy.”

Your hips rocked just once against her, teasing, and her mouth found yours — slow and claiming and sure. No urgency. Just heat and sweetness and years of ache melting away into one soft, perfect kiss.

She pulled back just an inch, lips brushing yours. “I’m proud of you.” You blinked, surprised.

“For telling him,” she added, one hand cradling your jaw. “For letting me be seen. For us.”

You leaned in again, kissing her harder this time, until her hands were fisting the back of your shirt and you were both breathless.

“Let’s go inside,” you murmured, lips ghosting her cheek.

“Mm. We could,” she said, eyes glinting, “or I could take you right here on this swing.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, blushing and laughing all at once.

“And you like me this way.”

You kissed her again, grinning into it.

Because she was right. And for the first time in your life — with the stars rising above the fields and the air sweet with summer — it all felt right, too.

. . .

The porch creaked under Natasha’s boots as she stepped outside with two mugs of coffee. Sunlight was low and golden, catching the edges of the wood grain, the dust, the worn ridges of old family tools stacked by the side of the house.

Georges Langford sat on a rocking chair near the edge, his hat pulled low, gaze fixed out over the land like he’d been born to guard it.

“Thought you might want some,” she said, holding out one of the mugs.

He took it without looking at her right away. “Appreciate it.”

Natasha leaned against the porch railing beside him, quiet for a beat. She wasn’t always good at stillness around other people — but she’d learned that with your father, silence wasn’t something to rush. It was something to earn your way through.

They sat like that for a while. A soft breeze stirred. Somewhere out in the barn, the cows shifted.

“You work hard,” he said finally.

She glanced sideways. “I’m used to it.”

“You like it here?”

“I do.” Her voice was honest, low. “Peaceful. Good kind of quiet.”

He nodded. “That’s why I built this place the way I did. Thought maybe I’d scare the fast ones off.”

She let out a short, amused breath. “And did you?”

“Some.”

He looked at her then — not harsh, not unkind, but direct. Like a man who had carried the weight of a family and wasn’t about to hand pieces of it over without looking someone square in the eye.

“I don’t know everything about you,” he said.

She met his gaze. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“But I know the way my daughter looks at you.” He sipped his coffee. “That ain’t nothing.”

A pause. The wind rustled the trees.

Natasha shifted slightly, straightening her shoulders. “She’s the best thing that’s happened to me.”

He studied her.

“I mean it,” she added. “I’ve seen a lot. Done more than I probably should’ve. But she… she makes me want to stay.”

The man gave a quiet hum. “You’re not running from something, are you?”

“No.” She said it firmly. “I’ve already done enough of that.”

He nodded slowly. Looked back out over the fields.

“She’s my only daughter,” he said.

“I know.”

“I don’t care who she loves. But I care how she’s loved.”

Natasha swallowed, jaw ticking just slightly. “She’s loved safe. And full. And real.”

That made him go quiet.

She added, more softly, “I didn’t plan for this. But I’ll stand by her. Wherever this goes.”

He glanced at her again. “You ever think of settling? For real?”

Her mouth twitched. “Depends what you mean by ‘for real.’”

He raised a brow. “Do you want a family, Romanoff?”

She blinked. That hit a little deeper than she expected.

“I’ve thought about it,” she said carefully. “With her… it doesn’t seem so far away.”

A beat passed. He exhaled. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I can’t pretend I know everything about your past, and I won’t pretend it’s not hard for me, having my little girl in love with someone like you.” He smirked faintly. “But I see how she glows when you’re around. And how you soften when you look at her. So… yeah. Alright.”

Natasha stared at him, a little stunned.

“I appreciate that,” she said, genuinely.

He stood, stretching his back, and tipped his hat back just enough to meet her eyes again. “You hurt her, you’ll see how fast I stop being calm.”

She smiled. “Fair enough.”

Then, to her surprise, he reached out — not quite a handshake, but a squeeze to her shoulder. Solid. Approving.

“Come help me chop some wood before it gets too hot.”

She blinked. “You want me to—?”

“Consider it a trust exercise.”

Natasha laughed, taking off her flannel and rolling up her sleeves. “Alright, old man. Don’t slow me down.”

The sharp crack of splitting wood echoed through the open air, birds scattering up from the fence post as Natasha swung the axe again. Her shoulders gleamed with sweat under the midday sun, muscles flexing with every strike. Your father stood nearby, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched.

“You weren’t kidding about not slowing down,” he muttered.

Natasha leaned back with a grin, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “You’re lucky I like you.”

He chuckled, nodding toward the stack. “You got rhythm. Must’ve done this before.”

“Not quite,” she said. “But I’ve broken a lot of things.”

That earned a raised brow. Natasha didn’t elaborate. She bent, picked up another log, and placed it on the stump.

“You ever think of taking her with you to where you’re from?” he asked, almost casually.

Natasha hesitated only a second before lifting the axe again.

A swing then a crack.

The wood split clean.

She exhaled, watching the pieces fall. “Yeah,” she said, voice lower, softer. “I have.”

“You think she’d want that?”

“I don’t know.” She set the axe aside, resting her hands on her hips. “But I want her to see it. The parts of me that still live there. The city wasn’t all noise and ghosts. It was… home, once.”

He eyed her curiously. “That life still part of you?”

“Always.” Natasha looked out toward the horizon. “But so is this place. This farm, this porch, her hands in the earth. I never thought those two things could exist in the same world. But now…”

She trailed off, lost for a second in thought.

He leaned on the fence, keeping quiet.

“I want to take her,” she continued after a beat. “Not forever. Just for a few days. Let her see the apartment I used to live in. The rooftop where I used to think about running. Let her walk down the same streets I did, but hold her hand this time.”

Georges didn’t answer right away.

Natasha added, more quietly, “I’d bring her back, of course. She belongs here. I just… I want her to know all of me. Not just the version that chops wood and drives the truck.”

“You think she don’t already?”

A faint smile. “She does. But I still want to give her the whole picture.”

Another beat of silence stretched between them, filled only by the rustling wind and the soft crackling of leaves.

“She’d follow you to hell and back, you know,” he said finally. “But just make sure you’re not trying to take her somewhere to run. She was raised with roots. She ain’t built for drifting.”

“I’m not running anymore,” Natasha said. “I want to take her because I finally have something worth bringing with me.”

That silenced him. And then — with the faintest twitch of approval — he nodded.

“Go clean up. I’ll take over from here.”

Natasha raised a brow. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

He just smirked.

She grabbed her flannel off the fence rail and made her way back toward the house. And as she crossed the dirt path toward the back porch, she saw her — You, hair in a loose braid, barefoot in cutoffs and an old tee, standing by the sink through the window, singing softly to yourself.

. . .

The crickets had started their nightly song as the sun dipped low behind the barn. Inside, the only light came from the soft glow of the kitchen lamp and the flickering from the fireplace they’d left burning low.

Natasha sat behind you on the couch, legs spread comfortably as you nestled between them. She was brushing her fingers lazily over the inside of your arm, chin resting lightly on your shoulder, the scent of lavender and earth clinging to her skin after a full day in the fields.

“You tired?” Natasha asked, lips brushing against her neck.

You only hummed. “Mm. Not with you doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you touch me like you don’t know you’re doing it.”

Natasha grinned and did it again, slower now, letting her fingers trail all the way to your wrist.

They stayed like that for a while — comfortable, quiet, until Natasha whispered, almost casually, “What would you think about the city?”

You shifted slightly. “The city?”

“Just for a few days.” Natasha’s voice was smooth but unhurried. “You and me. I’d show you around. Not the tourist stuff — the real parts. My places. My past.”

Youvleaned back enough to glance at her. “Your past, huh?”

Natasha gave her a crooked smile. “Only the parts that matter.”

You studied her face, reading the weight behind the offer — the invitation tucked inside it.

“I’d take you to my old neighborhood,” Natasha continued. “We'd grab coffee from that place with the terrible service but the best damn pastries. The streetlights there buzz like bees — it’s annoying as hell, but it’s home. Was, anyway.”

You turned fully to face her now, legs folding up on the couch. “You miss it?”

“Some days.” Natasha’s eyes softened. “But it’s not about missing it. It’s about wanting you to see it. I’ve seen so much of your world. Felt it. I want to share mine with you too. Just a few days. Just us.”

Your thumb brushed against the edge of Natasha’s jaw. “You really think I’d survive city traffic and overpriced coffee?”

“I’d protect you,” Natasha smirked. “Like a good little farm girl bodyguard.”

“You're my bodyguard now?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

You both laughed, the kind that curled under the skin like warmth. Then you rested your forehead against Natasha’s.

“I’d go,” You answered quietly.

Natasha blinked, eyes searching yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nodded. “But only if you promise to make fun of me every time I get excited over stupid city things.”

“I will mock you relentlessly.”

“And I get to see what you looked like before flannel and cowboy boots.”

Natasha grinned. “You’re not ready.”

You leaned in and kissed her — soft, deep, like sealing a promise with her lips.

And later, as you two climbed into bed, Natasha whispered, “Thank you,” just against her neck.

“For what?”

“For letting me have you — in every place I’ve ever been.”

#𓂃 ๋ ࣭ 𔘓 natalianovnas #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow #natasha smut #natasha romanoff

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barleyo · 6 months ago

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Make the Most of Freedom.

Father! Sukuna X Daughter! Reader (smut)

A/N: can you tell i'm going through a sukuna obsession right now? ^_^ he's literally my everything currently, and i love him as a father

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), slight mentions of abuse and forced marriage, sexism and heavy misogyny, oral (f receiving)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Your father was decent enough to you, as fathers went. None were particularly good, but you had recently heard gossip of a man who married his daughter off to the town's local pervert in her eighteenth year, convinced by a lump sum of silver, so, certainly your old-fashioned, stern father was a lucky draw. For all the so called "decency" your old man had, though, he had a certain distaste for women. Girls more so.

Perhaps it was when your mother died that he gained this sneering mentality on the opposite sex. Likely that being left with you, a girl he was forced to raise on his own, was what caused it. Either way, Sukuna's affections for you only ran so deep. Not abusive, necessarily. Distant was more like it. Neglectful where it mattered most, you often thought, but diligent in your personal matters.

He practically had a legion of homebound spies to keep him up to date on you.

Choices were not something you often got to make in your life. Every day seemed to be planned out down to the second for you. Servants crowded you and equated you to a pampered house pet. Practice this, say that, eat this, but definitely don't eat that. Look this way. Look there.

Do not look at him.

Boys were a nonstarter. Romance was hardly allowed to be the subject of your fantasy. If Sukuna could gain a monopoly on your mind and control your every thought, he would. Without a second thought. He could not, though, so luckily for you, you could peer around a wooden beam on the veranda and watch one of the younger servant boys walk around your father's estate.

To catch a glimpse of a boy was a rare treat with how often Uraume, on your father's order, tasked you with some type of busy work or etiquette training. Still, you enjoyed your cheeky voyeuristic moments. You savored them, knowing that the spare moments you had to yourself were your only chances at feeling normal.

Normal girls at your age had other normal girls to chat with about boys. Normal girls had suitors and gentleman callers. Normal girls' pursuers did not disappear randomly after attempting to court them. Normal girls did not have fathers who were feared across all lands. No, that was a you-problem.

Then again, normal fathers did not love their daughters as much as Sukuna loved you, despite how terribly horrid he was at showing it.

Like every other day, you were aimlessly trapped inside your home. Perhaps not trapped. There were plenty of places to go—your father owned more land than any man could reasonably need—but where else would you go? Outside to be teased by the sight of assorted servants and concubines enjoying the simplicity of their lives? Or, perhaps you could go to the servants' quarters, where Uraume would grill you on your posture and wipe nonexistent smudges off of your face. As wonderful as those exhilarating options sounded, you felt that staying inside the four comforting walls of the main house would be in your best interest.

You leaned against the sliding door parked at the entrance of the house. Trailing your fingers gently over the wooden frame, your found that the door was slightly ajar. A careless servant must have left it open, and you must have been too lost in your thoughts to feel the cool draft wheedling through the crack. Your finger pads pushed against the doorframe to slide it shut, but a familiar voice stopped you.

That boy. That wonderfully, blissfully ignorant boy.

You envied him on a few days, but desired him on most. In essence, he was free. Freer than you, at the very least. He seemed your age, but he walked with the experience of a man your father's age. You wondered if he knew things you did not. If he could teach you—touch you.

Sukuna disliked the younger boys that worked on the estate. Lazy, the lot of them. Lazy and easily rousing to the otherwise whorish women who worked with them. You assumed your father simply did not like people, with the way he had a complaint for every make and model of society.

Women were inferior sluts. Girls were stupid and vapid. Men were arrogant and audacious. Boys were impure little bastards and something you would have nothing to do with under his roof.

He made that very clear when you attempted to ask about leaving the estate with the boy. He pleaded for you to ask your father, and stupidly, you did.

Your father looked at you with what could most plainly be described as disgust. Shame, you would say, if you thought your father was capable of feeling any.

"Leave?"

You knew you made a mistake the second the words left your mouth. No phrasing or tone change could have saved you. 'Leave,' 'home,' and 'you' were words Sukuna wouldn't tolerate in the same sentence, unless of course the sentence was: 'I shall never leave home or be away from you, father.'

"For what?" he asked, clenched hands resting on the top of the table. Uraume, knowing what was about to happen from the guilt-stricken look on your face, had disappeared into the servant's quarters right after presenting dinner. "That boy?"

Such venom was spat in the word. Such degradation forced into a single syllable word. You bit your tongue for a moment, feeling offended on the behalf of your tawdry crush.

"Why, I have half a mind to lock you up. He is the one who had put these ideas into your head, isn't he?" Sukuna asked between bites of his dinner. The idea angered him to his core, but the idea of such a pathetic man-child attempting to take his only heir was humorous enough to keep his temper even enough to eat. "You probably think you love him, right? Foolishness."

He scoffed and waved his hand at you dismissively, nose crinkled. After a thick gulp of his wine, he continued, practically speaking to himself as you fumed silently in embarrassment.

"He's just a boy. Swine, really, and you—" his eyes sharpened— "are not to see him again."

That shattered any hope you had left. The small window of freedom you had, the small glimpse of a future, was snatched.

"That is not fair!"

Childishness, as Sukuna had expected. He sighed and ignored you. What he hadn't expected was the quick, flagrant backtalk you spat out.

"He isn't just a boy. He's a man, and I am a woman now," you said, voice rushing to match the pace of your furious mind. "I'll leave whenever I want to. If I want to go into the city with him, I will. A woman can choose..." you trailed off, obviously not being as experienced as an independent woman as you claimed to be.

Sukuna's expression never shifted. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—he simply stared at you, his gaze sharp, predatory. The silence hung heavy in the room, oppressive, thick with the weight of unspoken things. His eyes bored into you like a vice, until you began to regret every word that had left your mouth.

"You are a woman," he said loudly, his voice a low rumble of danger and fact, "it's what I hate most about you. Just like any other woman, look at how you turned out. Spoiled. Pampered. I'll bet a whore too," he added, peering down at your body for a beat too long, seeing the way the silks trapped your matured form. "Is that why you set yourself out to leave? Lover-boy knocked you up like some common whore?"

You could tell by his tone he didn't actually think so lowly of you, but the relentless taunts broke you. Any pretense of womanhood shattered under the embarrassment of father chiding you.

"Well, who will want you now, hm? Not a pretty, little virgin anymore. See what boys do?" Sukuna stood and pulled you up by your shoulder, forcing you to his level.

"They ruin you."

If boys ruined you, what did men do? With your father's hands digging into your hips and with his tongue attacking your rosy clit, you reckoned that they saved you.

Yes, saved. That was the word for it, when Sukuna's spit baptized your dripping cunt, you felt saved. How such a feared, demonic man could make you feel such heavenly things, you knew not, but that wasn't what was important. What was important was that you could hardly remember the name of the once tempting boy you had fought so hard to go with.

Many nights after the argument with you father, you tried to force yourself to leave. You made it to the door each time, sometimes further into the garden, before returning back to your room. Your scarce knapsack was unpacked quickly and you tucked yourself back into bed like nothing had happened.

The night that you made it to the estate gates, you ran back home as fast as your bare feet would take you. You clawed at your father's bedroom door, splintering the tips of your fingers as you cried it for him to let you in.

You would admit it. He was right. As always, regretfully. You were a stupid girl with the dreams of a woman and eyes bigger than your true appetite. As you sobbed into your father's robes, sick gratification crossed his features.

"Not your fault," he mumbled between your thighs, licking agonizing stripes through your folds. "Y'never learn. I know."

Your body laid bare before him, showing every curve and blemish, every sin clear as day, you seized and rocked on the mattress. Your blood was hot and your chest was uneven.

Inexperienced and needy, you gave into your father the second his hands slid down your panties. You let him guide you. Your shepherd, his sheep. Your white wool was his for the taking, and he harvested with interest. He took all you had to give. Ever noise you could make, every gasp, he stole from your chest greedily.

He could have you, all of you. Nobody else could match him in that moment. As your cunt melted into his mouth, he peered at you through heavy lashes with pure ownership.

How could you ever leave the man that finally made you a woman?

#cw incest #tw: incest #cw: incest #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #dad x daughter #x reader

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karikarasuno · 3 months ago

Text

part five | part six | part seven

you indeed did not fuck the next time you and law were together. but it does feel like death is sitting patiently and wickedly at your doorstep. the room you wake up in is dark. thank god. because any sliver of light makes your head throb and your stomach churn.

mistakes were made last night, for sure. you blame luffy for the shots. the little shit doesn't even drink, but at some point you were downing tequila in an absurdly foolish attempt to keep up with zoro and sanji. it was dumb. but luffy liked to instigate the two of them and somehow everyone was always roped into the mess. consequences be damned.

you remember inviting law out with you. he had just gotten off from work, but you caught him unlocking his front door as you stepped out to walk chopper. excitement shot through your veins at the sight of him. you could probably overdose on that man if it was possible.

"you work tomorrow?" you call out from your lawn. he looks over at you and smiles. you feel it all the way in your toes.

"no," he says, propping his arm against his now open door.

"on call?" you make sure to ask, remembering vividly the mishap from before.

"nope," he answers, his smile stretching into something devilish and you nearly faint. god, how you want this man.

"good, we're going out tonight," you say, not offering because he would be joining you even if you had to drag him out the house yourself.

"where to? if i may ask."

"drinks with my friends." you keep it vague on purpose because your crew could get a bit rowdy sometimes and you don't want to scare him off.

"seems a bit forward, don't you think?" you know he's joking. poking fun at whatever relationship this is that you two share.

"i almost met your family pants less, i think going out with my friends is okay," you laugh, tugging chopper back to your side when he tries to chase a duck.

"what time should i come over to get you?" it's thoughtful. reminiscent of a date. he would be the type to pick you up. maybe even open the car door for you. and the question while innocent in nature sends a thrill of something arousing down your spine. the bar for men really is in hell if this is what turns you on.

"i'll be ready by 7." he was ringing your doorbell by 6:58pm.

"someone's eager." after that the night shuffles through your head in disorganized memories. like a film reel, but some squares are black and others are just so fucking blurry.

you remember introducing law to your friends. everyone was friendly. nami and sanji grilled him in this weird good cop, bad cop schtick they randomly decided to do. but it was more bad cop, annoying cop if you were being honest.

you remember flirting with him in a booth a couple drinks in. the bar was dark so you two were pretty secluded, thankfully. you don't think you could handle your friends witnessing how willing you were to throw yourself at him.

but after that, there's nothing. you don't remember getting home and when you try hard enough a sharp pain shoots through your temple and you groan miserably into the pillow.

"someone's finally awake," law's voice pierces through the pleasant silence and dread washes over you like a bucket full of ice cold water. what the hell is he doing here? you lift the blanket over your head to hide how horribly you know you look. attempting to save yourself from further embarrassment.

"what're you doing in my room?" your words are jumbled together and you're surprised he even understands you.

"this is my room, silly," he responds with a chuckle you can barely hear over the instant surge of alert mortification that floods your nervous system.

"no it's not," you argue, hoping and praying this is just some prank he's pulling since you were the one who started this whole breaking and entering scheme.

"look around, sweetheart," he says, suddenly much closer than he was before. you peek out over the top of the comforter. four-poster bed, heather gray black out curtains, and law. he's standing above you with a prescription bottle in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. black ribbed tank top hugging his torso and a pair of sweats hanging low on his waist.

you decide that you now hate him. why the fuck does he always look so good? it's just unfair at this point.

"why am i in your room?" your voice is rough from sleep and your throat is sore from how dry it is. even blinking hurts.

"i tried to take you home last night, but you refused to give me your house keys," he explains and you cannot believe you got that drunk. you're never drinking tequila again. "you said it would be more fun if we had a slumber party."

"oh lord," you complain, rubbing your temples with your thumb and pointer finger.

"take this," law says, and you hear the pills in the bottle rattle around as he pours a few in his hand. you hold out your open palm, refusing to look at him out of sheer defiance. really you're trying to save face.

you sit up when he hands you the open water bottle and even that action is a struggle. you're going to kill your friends the next time you see them. not that this is totally their fault. still you needed to spread the blame in the hopes that you can yell at them if law decides he never wants to speak with you again.

you chug down half of the water in a few large gulps. you're so dehydrated it's physically painful. a few drops of water drip onto your shirt and you absentmindedly swipe at them until it hits you that the shirt you have on isn't yours.

"law?" you question, you gaze finally sliding over to him. he hums in acknowledgement. "who's shirt is this?"

"mine," he gives you a small, sympathetic smile.

"why am i wearing it?"

"funny story actually," his smile grows less sympathetic and more... tickled. you hate him. you really really do. "i had to wrestle it onto you when you decided it was a good idea to strip down to your underwear."

"i did not." mortification is an understatement. humiliation is nowhere near severe enough to describe the feeling that's now burning through you.

"mhm, you said sleepovers are more fun naked," he laughs lightly. you're glad someone finds this situation humorous. because you’re about to dig a hole in your backyard and bury yourself in it.

"don't make that face," law pinches your nose between the knuckles of his fore and middle finger. it's annoying how cute he is because your face immediately un-scrunches from the gesture. "i thought it was adorable."

"me in the nicest lingerie i own is adorable to you?" you argue, irritated that you wasted your matching set on a night that law didn't even get to take it off you.

"no, the lingerie was very sexy," he leans in towards you, his thumb pressing into your brow bone to relieve some of the pressure that was there from your raging headache. your stomach flips at his words, even more agitated at how awful you feel when you should be climbing him. "you're just an energetic drunk and its entertaining. you're also really handsy."

you lean into his massaging fingers that are now kneading at your temples. you don't even want to answer him out of pure misery.

"i wish i could remember how handsy i got," you grumble, mopey and disappointed. you hear a light chuckle from him as his fingers travel to the soft spot behind your ears. law's hands are so perfect you're forgetting how bad you feel.

"nothing too scandalous. perfectly pg-13." he starts massaging your neck and a sigh of reprieve falls from your lips. bless him and his long fingers and his strong hands. actually you don't hate him anymore. you hate yourself for ruining the perfect opportunity to roll around for hours in these very sheets with him. fuck it all to hell, starting today you're gonna be sober.

"oh!" you just now remember your dog. on top of being a lousy drunk, you're also a horrible mother. "i gotta walk chopper!"

you wiggle away from his magical fingers reluctantly, yanking the comforter back to jump out of bed. you don't make it far though. law's hand finds you bare thigh to keep you in place.

"he's in the lanai. i got him when i woke up this morning when i realized you weren't waking up any time soon." he covers you back up with the blanket, tucking you in. "i stole your keys from your purse."

"and you fed him?" on top of law being a magician, he's also a saint. you think about proposing then and there.

"and," he pushes you so that you're laying down again, "i fed him."

"i think i'm gonna marry you," you say out loud, and completely on accident. but without his hands on you the headache has returned full force and the pain doesn't give you the time to regret it.

"go back to sleep," he scoffs throwing the blanket over your head. "you'll feel better when you wake up."

****

you wake up who knows how long later to the sound of nami's voice. but that can't be right because you're at law's house. still in his bed. and still in his shirt-- that thought makes you giddy. it is nami, though, you’d recognize her voice anywhere.

“thanks for taking care of her. we definitely over did it last night,” she says, her voice carrying a slight note of apology. which is unlike her.

“it’s really no problem. once she was in bed she knocked out.” you can’t believe nami is even here. your headache is thankfully gone only to be replaced with anxiety in your chest. “and thanks for the dinner. how much was it? i’ve got some cash.”

“no no! you don’t have to do that!” nami declines and you can almost imagine her hands waving in front of her in that way she does when she gets nervous. law really does have that effect. “that’s her favorite hangover food. just the right amount of grease.”

“you’re gonna clog her arteries,” law says and you hear the crinkling of a bag and you assume he’s looking through it. he’s such a dork.

“oh with you around i’d worry less about her arteries and more about-” she catches herself. you’re ready to smack her but she’s right. your arteries are perfectly fine.

law just laughs though. and you feel guilty for eavesdropping when you should announce that you’re awake. but you’re nosy and actually very comfy nestled in all of law’s bedding. so you’re hesitant to get up.

“you know,” nami starts, pausing for a brief moment. “well…”

“what is it?” law asks. you’re nervous. your pulse is picking up the pace and you can feel it thump in your throat.

“she really likes you,” she says quickly. next time you see her you’re definitely going to slap her. not that you hid it very well. but as a best friend there’s certain rules to abide by. telling the man you’re sort of sleeping with that you have feelings for him is definitely breaking one of those rules. “at first i thought it was some rebound after kid and i was rooting for her because you’re tall and successful and hot so of course i approved.”

something’s wrong with her. she must have lost her mind.

“but you should hear the way she talks about you. it’s kinda gross if i’m being honest.”

“i’m not sure how i should take that,” law’s voice is a funky mixture of confusion and amusement.

“i’m just saying if this is some fling to you save her the heartbreak. the break up was hard and seeing her like that made me contemplate murder, but she’s much more forgiving than i am.”

the silence that follows has you clamming up. you’re terrified because you don’t want him to end things. you don’t care about the repercussions. you just love spending time with him. kissing him. teasing him. law just makes it all so easy. and you refuse to give it up.

“that’s not something you have to worry about. as much as i appreciate the threat,” he pauses when nami releases a breathy laugh, “i have no intentions of hurting her. i... really like her too."

your heart soars. it flies right out of your chest. assuming his feelings were reciprocated is one thing. but knowing it-- that's an entirely different sensation. it's tingly, bubbly, fuzzy. you almost kick your feet and squeal.

you have to contain yourself when you hear nami leave the house. you have to contain yourself further when you hear law's steps approach the bedroom. you don't want to give away the fact that you've been awake the last few minutes. and that you overheard a conversation that you probably shouldn't have. you don't regret it though. especially not when law's hand finds your shoulder and gently shakes you.

"hey, you," he whispers, leaning over so that you can feel his breath fan over your cheek. "nami was nice enough to bring over some food for you, so why don't you wake up and eat something?"

you turn around, blearily looking up at him. he's smiling softly above you. his face is relaxed, his eyes are fond. and unfortunately while your heart flies, you feel yourself beginning to fall for him. it's overwhelming.

you reach out to him, your fingers fisting in his tank top and you pull him towards you harshly. he isn't expecting it. so he falls on top of you with an umph of surprise.

"you need to eat," he says as he tries to escape your grip, but it's fruitless. you won't let go. you wrap yourself around him until he lying beside you. and he's laughing at your clinginess. you feel his laugh rumble against your body and you nuzzle your face into his neck. refusing to release him even when he tries to force space between you.

"come on," he urges with a hand on your waist, rubbing gentle circles into your side. "you've been lazying in my bed all day. i'm sure you're hungry."

"just five more minutes," you plead. "stay with me like this for five more minutes, please."

his whole body finally relaxes next to you. both of his arms, strong and thick and secure, cradle you to him. he kisses the top of your head. the world fades into nothingness because in that moment law becomes everything to you.

"ok," he agrees, "but i'm only giving you five."

part eight

#ok this is sappy and i just want you to know that they will have sex in the next part #I PROMISE #don't give up on me #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #shortnsweet🍒#neighbor!law au

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valentinedrifter · 2 months ago

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Snippets with Ningning: Pink

Ningning x Eunha

~2.8k words

A/N: Prompt by @woollypoison, Thanks for hosting, much love!

Enjoy.

Yizhuo doesn’t know why the fuck you’re dating that stupid bitch.

Like, seriously? Out of everyone, you’re in bed with her? The fucking pink-haired bitch with the most kissable Goddamn lips, thighs that could pass off as fucking earmuffs, and tits she could just squeeze like lemo-

Okay, so maybe she sees what you see in the bitch, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. And what the hell does the slut have that she doesn’t?

She’s got a pretty good pair of lips that she knows could take your soul away if she ever got the chance to go down on you—nine out of ten recommended—and while her tits aren’t as big as the bitch has it, Yizhuo still has quite the set that can most definitely wow you when you get a hold of them. Oh, and her ass, her fucking ass can honest to God choke you out if she ever decides to sit on your face.

Shit, she had pink hair too for like, two months, so why didn’t you try anything with her?

If she tried hard enough, she can be the cover girl for some fashion brand out there. She has class. Standards. Self-respect, dignity if she wants to push it, not like the bitch that everyone wants to bend over their desk.

Yizhuo’s smarter than the stupid idiot that can’t even do inferential statistics to save her life. She gets As on average, and she can talk your ass off about anything that wasn’t just about getting fucked on the daily.

She helped you understand what derivatives and limits are for calculus. And where was Barbie from Temu? Getting railed in the clinic, that’s where the hell she was.

Like, damn, she can cook real food. Not the instant noodle bullshit at the local convenience store or the quick sandwich that doesn’t even count. Yizhuo can cook the good shit. Hot pots, grilled pork, she can make salmon if you were into that. Food that’s made with love. Food you damn well deserve.

So what in the fuck is she missing?

Did she need to go back to dying her hair pink just so you can notice her? Did you like bigger tits? A fatter ass? Did Yizhuo need to make you lunch every damn day?

Was it because the free prostitute won the genetic lottery, because damn if the slut didn’t need makeup to look that fucking hot.

It was bullshit. She should be the one bragging all over campus, not the dumb bitch that stole you under her nose. Stupid whore doesn’t even treat you right, because if that wasn’t enough, she’s also a toxic piece of shit.

Yizhuo knows the rumors. About how the slut sleeps with practically everyone, from the math nerd, the volleyball star, the history professor, the fucking janitor. The campus mascot even got lucky, while wearing the fucking suit. She doesn’t know how the logistics of that would even work.

Yizhuo heard from Lia that a teacher caught Pinky and the Dean with the door open. Not closed, not locked. Open. Judging from the fact that nothing happened, she probably slept with the teacher too.

There’s even that one time where the dumbass set off the fire alarm in the middle of a quickie. How the hell does that even happen?

Speaking of alarms, Pinky’s a walking red flag, a red alert, a tactical nuke type of danger that screams typhoon siren sounds out of her ass, and she wears it like a medal. Why she’s proud of it, Yizhuo will never know. She gives props for confidence though.

And don’t even get Yizhuo started on all the exes that the bitch got bored of, or cheated on, or destroyed a perfectly happy relationship for a quick fling. Bitch is playing eenie-meenie-miney-mo at this point with how high her body count is. She’s a certified cum dumpster that’s free Twenty-Four-Seven.

She’s surprised that the slut hasn’t gotten a disease from the amount of people that’s gotten in and out of her.

You know all about it when she asked—totally not because she isn’t curious as to why you would try and date the walking condom—and all you had to say was-

“I don’t think she did all that.”

What the hell do you mean you don’t believe them, Yizhuo thinks, because everyone and their mother knows about what the hell the tramp’s done. Shit, the motherfucker has most likely fucked a mother too, if the rumor about her and the librarian was true; It probably is.

Was that it? Were you into bad bitches? Did you have that ‘I can fix her’ kink that always went wrong because this isn’t some movie that gives you those silly happy endings.

Then again, you were optimistic like that. So innocent, so sweet, Yizhuo could just pinch your cheeks because of how cute you are-

Hold on, does she need to do that too? Start wearing tight tops, start fucking everyone she sees in a five meter radius, holy fuck does she need to fuck the janitor?

She sure as shit wasn’t petty about it. Nope. Nada. No ma’am. She just doesn’t understand why you would look at someone like Pinky and not like her.

She’s been with you throughout everything, the highs and the lows, the in-betweens, the break ups—which, your relationship with that bitch will definitely end up on—yet, you don’t even see Yizhuo as something more.

She’s trying to be supportive about it like she always did, but that whore is really making it hard for her to root for the both of you. But as your best friend, your confidant, she would endure.

But if she sees you with that bitch one more damn time, she’s getting a flamer somewhere—she’ll make one herself if she has too—and turn this campus into a fire hazard.

Truth be told, it needs the cleansing after everything the human fleshlight has done on every surface imaginable. Desks, doors, public benches. She probably needs to burn the statue in the middle of the main hall too.

Okay, so maybe Yizhuo’s going off the deep end, but she swears that this is an extremely reasonable crashout, cause at this point, the campus wants to be burned. After everything its witnessed, she can consider it consensual arson, and she’s just there to get it started.

It would be so easy too. That Gauel chick from chemistry made some sort of homemade project last year, and she could probably make a copy-

“Hey!”

The shout made her snap her head so fast she got whiplash. Her mind’s still mentally noting all the things she needs before it registers who called her.

You. Standing there, all cute, that cheeky smile filling your face that makes her want to squeeze your face out because of how adorable you are.

Yizhuo has to dig her nails into her notebook to stop herself from just grabbing you and shoving her tongue down your throat.

And you don’t even know that you’re using that smile as a weapon because damn does that make her filthiest fantasies overwrite everything that she was thinking of from the last ten minutes. Shit, that smile’s enough to get her in the mood when her thighs unconsciously press together.

It would be so damn easy to just, like, take you right here, in the library where anyone can hear and everyone can look. Yizhuo sees the vision forming inside of her mind.

The way you’d wrap your lips around her pretty little fingers, throating two, no, three of them down and you’d fucking take it like the throat GOAT she imagines you are.

Then she would fuck your mouth with them while you’re on your knees, and you’d have your hands on her thighs, tears and spit spilling down your chest, messing up that snug little t-shirt you’re wearing.

God, Yizhou would suck the life out of you. First with your mouth after it's been thoroughly used by her fingers. She’d explore every single inch of that mouth, and she’d get sloppy with it too. Nip at your plump fucking lips, lick the spit that’s dripping down your chin.

She’s getting wet at the thought of you moaning out her name.

She’d bend you over the table and spank that absolute dump truck of an ass you’ve got. Yizhuo wonders how much that juicy flesh would ripple every time she’d give each cheek a hard slap.

She would even get a handful of it, and she’d burn the feeling of that big, fat ass into her memory if she could.

She’d yank those jeans down your legs, give you another hard slap on that bare ass, and she’d go to town on you. But she’d go slow. Use her hands to get you all worked up, make you beg for her to use her pretty little mouth. And when she does, Yizhuo’s gonna savour the look on your face-

Wait. Since when did you have pink hair?

That threw her out of her daydreams, because last she checked, you had blonde hair. Now suddenly it’s this light pink that’s oddly similar to the slut you’re dating.

You’re still looking at her. Blinking, smiling, like you don’t have a fucking clue what was going on in Yizhuo’s mind, full of intrusive thoughts and debauchery all because of two completely different women.

“Eunha!” Yizhuo tucks a strand of hair back, giving you—her—a timid smile. “I…thought you had class.”

Jung Eunbi. Eunha, to those who know her. Yizhuo’s best friend. Also known as the love of her life.

“The prof got sick, so I got some time to kill.” Eunha plops down the chair in front and crosses her arms. “And you have been avoiding me.”

“No I haven’t.” Yizhuo lies, smooth as hell, cause she’s done this too many times in the past few weeks, fiddling with the pen on the desk that she was supposed to be using to write math equations. “Professor Roh’s been swarming us with work. I swear she’s at that time of the month.”

Eunha laughs, giving Yizhuo those tingles on her stomach that she seriously cannot be having right now. “Everyone’s swarming us with work. Even professor Myoui, and she barely gives anything out.”

For a while, it was normal again. Yizhuo and Eunha, messing around as always. No problems, no avoiding, no reminders of who Eunha was meeting at the end of the day.

Well, except for her pink hair which-

“When did you dye your hair?” Yizhuo pretends to be curious but she’s really just fishing cause she knows that Pinky’s involved in it somehow.

“Like a week ago.” Eunha’s twirling the ends of her curls, and fuck if Yizhuo really just wants to tell her that she really shouldn’t be doing that in front of her, because even though the color’s a stark reminder of the slut she’s dating, she looks even prettier with it.

And Yizhuo really shouldn’t be imagining the things that she wants to do to Eunha again.

“I would’ve asked my best friend,” Yizhuo can’t help but look to the side for that. “For help but she hasn’t been responding to my texts lately.”

“Your girlfriend might get angry.” That was the shittiest excuse she could’ve given, Yizhuo lets the stray thought cross through her mind, but she might as well commit to the bit. “I was trying to give you space.”

“She doesn’t care.” Eunha says, shaking her head, chuckling. “She knows that nothing’s going on between us. And she knows we’ve been friends for like, forever.”

It felt like Yizhuo got shot and left dead in a ditch somewhere when she heard those words. Nothing, Eunha says. Friends since forever, Eunha says. Yizhuo’s been trying to get something going but she keeps pussying out of it.

Her fault, really. She’s let so many chances slip by and now this happens. Eunha taken away from one of the worst people Yizhuo can imagine.

The bitch not caring really did sound like her, to be honest.

Yizhuo was about to say something along the lines of ‘Why she’s still with her’ again but she didn’t have to, because the stupid idiot decided to do it for her.

“Baby!”

And there she is. The Queen Bitch of the campus strutting into the library, dressed like a cheap whore. Boxy glasses that had no lens, ponytail held up to the side, the school girl outfit with the short skirt and the top that showed off how big her tits are. That same shade of pink coloring her hair, just a bit darker than Eunha’s.

Uchinaga motherfucking Aeri. Giselle, to those who know her. And everyone fucking knows her.

“Gigi!” Eunha stands up, giving Aeri—Yizhuo is not going to call her Giselle for fuck’s sake—a hug.

Aeri wraps an arm around Eunha’s waist like it was supposed to be there, like she’s done it so many times. And she has. Just not with Eunha.

Yizhuo did not feel her eye twitch.

Not at goddamn all.

“Miss me already babe?” Aeri leaves a kiss on Eunha’s temple, and Yizhuo really hates how it’s making Eunha blush.

“Just a little bit.” Eunha lets out this shy giggle that makes Yizhuo want to bang her head on the desk. “I-uhm, I dyed my hair pink.”

“Looking like a snack.” Aeri pulls back, enough to get a good look at Eunha, who’s looking down on the ground, cheeks becoming rosy. “Pink suits you.”

Yizhuo’s resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“I wanted to try something new.” Eunha replies, glancing up to Aeri, quick, hidden. That one little gesture was enough for Yizhuo to realize why Eunha dyed it.

She looks away, her own cheeks reddening from anger, shame, insanity. Were they seriously flirting in front of her? It’s like she wasn’t even there, and the fact that she feels replaced by Aeri is like a punch to the damn gut.

What she wouldn’t do to be in that bitch’s place.

And suddenly Yizhuo hears alarm bells go off.

At first, it was a glance. Aeri’s eyes move away from Eunha to her, then her entire head turns, and she hears those sirens go off louder in her head.

Because now Aeri’s eyeing her up like a snack, licking her lips, eyeing her from head to toe. It is seriously making her feel unsafe in the quiet working environment she calls her second home.

She is not thinking what Yizhuo thinks she’s doing right now. Hell no. She’s seeing things.

Aeri’s gaze stays on her, tilting her head, bedroom eyes landing on her chest. Yizhuo should’ve worn a jacket.

Please, do not let her be serious, Yizhuo is hoping, praying that any deity out there can answer her. She knows it’s useless, but it’s worth a try anyways.

“Hey, Yizhuo.” Aeri starts, lips tugging upwards, slow, predatory, unsafe. “Can I call you Ningning? Eunha always calls you that.”

No. “Sure, I guess.” Yizhuo knew that was a mistake pretending to be friends with this bitch because Aeri’s smile got wider.

She sees Eunha smile too, leading her and Aeri to sit down on the table, completely oblivious to the fact that her best friend is being eye fucked by her girlfriend. “Found Ningning here studying for Professor Roh’s exam and figured we could catch up.”

“Is she now?” Aeri drawls, hand on her chin, still giving Yizhuo that fucking look.

“Lots of things to do, you know.” Yizhuo replies, looking down at her notebook, really hoping that Aeri can fuck off. Her prayers were…not answered.

“You think she’d be down to help tutor us?” Aeri asks her girlfriend—that’s so gross to think about—but her eyes are staying with Yizhuo.

Oh fuck no, is what Yizhuo would love to answer, but Eunha, sweet, innocent Eunha, makes that response impossible.

“That’s a great idea!” Eunha beams and nods at her, excited at the prospect.

“I know, right?” Aeri grins. “I think it’ll be very educational.”

No it will not, Yizhuo thinks, but the words don’t come out. What does come out makes her want to throw herself out the window because she’s a sucker for making Eunha happy. The pout Eunha’s sending her way is killing Yizhuo inside too.

“I think I’m free on the weekends to help you guys out.”

Eunha starts going off about where they’re all going to meet up, what food they should get before studying, after studying. Yizhuo’s stomach is doing backflips at how adorable she is.

And Aeri? She’s smiling, joking, playing along, all while looking at her with this dangerous glint in her eyes. Yizhuo’s stomach wants to throw up at the idea of what Aeri actually wants to do during that day.

Yizhuo feels like she just got locked into a route inside of a dating sim. And she did not like where it was going.

Yizhuo also needs a shower. A long, cold, soapy shower.

And a very lengthy, in-depth discussion with Gaeul about fire.

#ningning smut #eunha smut #kpop smut #ningning #eunha #aespa smut #viviz smut #gfriend smut

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veroniquesboutique · 11 months ago

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A Good First Impression - Atsushi Murasakibara x AFAB!Reader

I am feral over Atsushi Murasakibara. Worms using my brain for food type of feral. Foaming at the mouth type of feral.

He is unironically my phone background type of feral.

So, uh....here's this. Personally, I feel real great about it, so I hope you enjoy it as well.

Title: A Good First Impression

Rating: Explicit

Warnings:

AFAB!Reader, Female Reader, f-receiving oral, fingering, it is genuinely only him eating you out, mention of m-receiving handjob, super intense orgasm, squirting, reluctance/hesitation about the squirting but not quite dubcon/noncon, baby used regularly as pet name, college au, fear of getting caught, getting caught after the fact, home for the holidays, parent mention

Characters & ships: boyfriend!Murasakibara Atsushi x AFAB!Reader

Word count: 2.6k words

Summary: Your long-term boyfriend is nervous about staying at your childhood home and meeting your parents for the first time for four reasons:

1 - He's tall, and people tend to comment on it. Too much. 2 - First impressions are a big deal, and what if he fucks it up with his future in-laws? 3 - He met you in college and is terrified of learning something about the you from before (spoiler: you pass the test!) 4 - He can't keep his hands off of you, and he doesn't want the embarrassment of getting caught.

18+ Minors DNI!

More explicit below the cut

Atsushi Murasakibara was nervous to meet your parents for many reasons.

First, his height. This was the first time he was meeting your family, and your parents weren’t exactly short per se, but he was a towering 6’10”. He hated new people having to crane their neck up to look at him, he hated the same three questions and two jokes that every person tells when they meet someone as tall as him, and he hated that he was going to have to learn the careful layout of your childhood home since it was likely not designed with someone of his towering stature in mind. It was always so embarrassing when he’d bump his head on too-low ceiling fans or when he had to bend too far to reach the sink. No one really realizes how weirdly isolating it feels to be at least a head taller than everyone around you, and that’s if he’s lucky. It definitely makes the first impression game much harder.

Second, the holidays. For some reason, instead of meeting your parents for the first time at a low-stakes dinner or briefly in public, he agreed to stay for a week for the holidays at your house. It wasn’t ideal, but they lived in the countryside, and a hotel would have been so inconvenient, so you two decided to stay with your parents. He even sat through the awkward conversation where you all had to figure out if he was sleeping in your room or on the couch. Your parents weren’t exactly the most conservative people in the world - they knew you lived with him now for God’s sake, so it’s not like they had no idea what you two got up to - but everyone was deeply uncomfortable with the suggestion of anything happening under their roof. That being said, none of their couches could handle him - re: the aforementioned height problem - so they made the disgruntled decision to let you two room together. Just no locking the door.

On top of it all, he wanted to bring them gifts, but he had no idea where to even start with holiday gifts for future in-laws he’d never met. You insisted that he didn’t really have to get them anything and that they’d be thankful for anything he put thought into, but that didn’t ease the burden of deciding if your dad was a beer guy or if he was a tool guy or if he was a sports guy or a grill guy or a music guy. The options made his head spin, and that’s not even touching all the possible gifts he could get your mother. This was it - THE first impression - and if he didn’t get it right, he was afraid of a rocky relationship with them forever.

Third, your childhood. He didn’t know you before you two met in college, so everything about you before you moved to the city is a complete mystery to him. His worst nightmare was discovering something about you that he would never be able to unsee. He had always hated the vulnerability in this moment in all of his previous relationships, and it had soured more than one relationship well before its expiry date.

The night you arrived, you showed him to your room, and he held his breath as you swung the door open for him. He walked in, looking around, waiting for the weird childhood shoe to drop, but…it didn’t. The room was fairly normal. It looked like it could be a teenage room in a movie. It seemed stale, set in time, but it didn’t give him the same feeling of ick throughout his body. Carefully, shelf by shelf, he investigated your knickknacks and decorations and memories, and everything he saw made him love the small piece of you that he knew more than the last. By the time he had overturned every stone in your room, his heart was beating harshly in the rhythm of your name.

“You look like you were expecting something crazy,” You laughed at him, having watched him snoop through your past.

He looked at you, his eyes full of warmth. “I was. I didn’t find anything.”

And then he snuck a kiss.

Fourth, the final most important reason he was nervous was you. Well, to be more specific, he was nervous because he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, and this trip wasn’t going to change anything.

He was nervous because he didn’t want to get caught.

“Ah-Ah, ‘Sushi!” You moan, high pitched and trying to keep the volume low as you wiggle in his grip in an attempt to free yourself from the intensity of his tongue between your legs. Your wrist is pressed against your lips to dampen the sound. He tightens his grip on the back of your thighs, pushing your legs further apart and against your body, opening you up for him, and his tongue continues roughly sliding against your sensitive, buzzing clit.

“They aren’t home. You can be loud,” He grunts against you before wrapping his lips around you and sucking you into his mouth, and you can’t help it as you throw your head back and cry out at the feeling.

“They could be home any second!” You hiss, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face, and in response, he moans deeply, sending tingles through your body.

“Then cum before they get back.”

Biting your lip and panting, nearly winded, you stare down at him, meeting his eyes watching you just over your pelvis, and when his tongue dips into you and presses against your trembling walls, you moan loudly with a furrowed brow. Your fingers tangle through his messy purple strands, pushing his face against your core harder.

He slurps the messy wetness dripping out of you, the sound lewd enough to make you blush. “God, you taste so good,” He groans into you, his tongue desperate. “It’s been too long.”

“It’s been three days!” You laugh breathlessly, body convulsing at the small nudges of his nose against your clit as he drinks you in.

“And that’s three days too many,” he complains, shaking his head and smearing his face against the slickness between your legs. “I can’t wait like that. I need you all the time.”

You pant in response, unable to form words when his tongue finds your clit again, brushing against it at a punishing pace. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your stomach spasming, and he finally releases one of your legs from his controlling grip just to slide it up your needy slit and dip one of his long fingers into you. You nearly cum then, your back arching so aggressively that you hit your head against the wall, and he can’t help the small laugh that rumbles against your nerves.

“Careful, babe,” He mutters, curling the single finger inside you, and the feeling is such a warm, pleasurable tightness in your core.

“I’m going to cum,” You whisper, dropping your jaw open in pleasure, and you feel his smile in response.

“I’m not done yet, so if you cum now, you’re going to have to handle it when I keep going.”

You whimper, lip quivering and body shaking. Breathing, you attempt to stave off the orgasm that has you dangling off the edge of sanity. He slows his movements, watching you closely as he wrings you of cute little sounds and moans and shivers, and it helps when you suck in air, huffing through your nose to stop the trembling in your lower abdomen.

“Y-you said cum before they get back,” You counter, hissing the words through your teeth as you lean up, your toes curling tightly. His tongue helicopters against your throbbing clit, and he takes the hand that was on the back of your other thigh and places it atop your pelvis, pressing down as the finger still deep inside presses up, and you feel the telltale tightening in your core that makes you panic a little.

“You can choose to cum now and be overstimulated, or you can choose to cum later at the risk of your parents hearing you,” He looks up over you with a smile, a second finger suddenly pushing into you to meet the other. “I’m a believer in autonomy.”

As his two fingers now press into the gummy sweet spot in you, you confirm the tightening is definitely going to cause many, many more problems than he’s considering. You bring your hands to grip the bedding below you, trying to wiggle away again. “’Sushi, I-I, wait, I’m going to-” You frustratingly cut yourself off with a groan as his mouth finds your clit again.

“Going to what, babe?” His voice rumbles against you, and there’s a soft wash of pleasure moving through you like waves against a shore. You can only think that it’s going to be a pain to clean after this.

“It’s going to-I’m going to-”

“Aw, baby, I need you to use your words,” He teases, batting his eyelashes innocently when you shoot him a glare.

“I’m going to make a mess,” You grunt through gritted teeth, raising your eyebrows in hopes of him understanding the euphemism, and when it clicks in his brain, his eyes go bright and wide.

He hums darkly, pressing his fingers into you deeper and earning a surprised squeal out of you. “You’re going to squirt for me, baby?”

“God, I hate that word!” You yelp, involuntarily grinding your hips down onto him and panting out in tight, restrained pleasure. “You-you gotta stop now, I-”

“I wouldn’t dare waste this opportunity. You know I love making a mess of you.” His voice is dark, his eyes still teasing as he draws circles around your clit, and between the stretch of his now scissoring fingers, the pressure on your pelvis from his large hand, and his unrelenting pace on your sensitive spots, you’re seeing stars.

Falling back, you groan again, the feeling of uncomfortable tightening worsening deep in you. “The bedding!” You exclaim, arching your back, “I can’t-ah, fuck, I’ll mess up the bedding.”

“Your parents have a washer.”

“The bedding was from my grandmother,” You groan, scrunching up your face and writhing, closing your thighs around his head when it gets too intense. Hyperventilating, you press the side of your face into the pillow, bringing your hand to your face to bite down on your hand to quell the rocking of pleasure inside you now.

“Pity,” He mumbles, distracted too much by the sounds pouring from your mouth, the clenching of your pussy, the taste of your arousal coating his tongue, the slick sounds of his fingers deep in you, and the promise of even more to come (literally and figuratively). “We should’ve put a towel down, huh?”

You groan, frustrated by his lackadaisical demeanor but unable to communicate it as the feeling of pleasure floods your body. You can feel your eyes go a little hazy, and moments later, you call out, your orgasm hitting you like a wall of bricks. It feels like an electric shock through your body, every muscle in your body tensing with a tight zap as the dam breaks inside of you. You squirt, gushing and coating the bed and, effectively, Atsushi’s face, and the only thing that cuts through the absolute sensory overload of your pleasure is his praise that he groans against your skin.

“That’s it, baby, that’s so good. Feel it, c’mon, you can breathe. You taste so good, thank you, baby, thank you.”

With your heavy pants and soft, whimpering moans as aftershocks of the orgasm reverberate through you, your pussy pulses and throbs in time with your heart, and when he softly pushes into you one last time to wring the rest of it out of you, you squeak out a last whine as the final wave of your cum rushes out of you and over his hand. He chuckles at the sight, pulling out of you and dragging his tongue up his fingers while making dark, teasing eye contact with you. Watching his tongue work to lick all of your cum off his skin, your body trembles with both your world-shattering orgasm and the sudden impending need that pulses through you yet again already.

“Kiss me?” You breathe softly, lips barely parted, and he cracks a wide smile, laughing like he’s disbelieving of you.

“You’re going to be the death of me, baby.” His voice is tense and dark with desire, and he crawls up your body slowly, and he meets your mouth with his extended tongue. You lick against it, tasting yourself, and he moans out loud, his hips pressing against yours. His length, hard and impressive, rubs against you, and the friction makes you cry out. You’re too sensitive and overstimulated, but he just smirks against your lips. “I told you to choose carefully. I wasn’t done with you.”

His hand drags down your body, feeling your curves with a hint of possession in his grasp. When he reaches his waist where his hips are pressing into yours, he grips his belt, pulling at the buckle, ripping it through the belt loops on his pants -

The front door opens. The sound of rustling bags floats up to your room. The floorboards creak.

Your eyes go wide in panic.

“Sweetheart?” Your mother calls up the stairs. “We’re home! Atsushi and you should come down and help us with dinner.”

“Get up, get up!” You mutter under your breath, gently batting at his shoulder as he frantically slides off you and off the bed, fixing his belt and helping you by pulling your bedding off. You’re searching for clothes, quickly pulling them on your legs.

The stairs whine as someone climbs step by step.

Your face burns at the impending embarrassment. Atsushi is struggling to hide his arousal with his clothes, and you’re struggling to wipe the slowly drying slick from between your thighs. Your bedding lays in a crumpled, suspicious ball on your mattress.

“Sweetheart?” Your mother asks again, her voice much closer than before.

The doorknob jiggles against the lock.

“C-coming!” You call back, pushing your fingers through your hair as Atsushi wipes his hands down his face to clean up any mess left behind.

“Your door’s-”

You cut off your mother’s inquiry about the locked door by swinging it open. “Sorry, force of habit,” You laugh, opening the door wide enough that she can see Atsushi sitting at your desk with his phone in his hand. He nods a greeting at her.

Her eyes flit to your unmade bed, back down to you, and back over to Atsushi. A slight blush covers her cheeks. “We…we brought groceries for dinner. Would you two like to come help?”

You look over your shoulder at Atsushi who meets your gaze. After a moment, he shrugs and nods. “Sure, we’d love to.”

“Great…come…down when you’re ready,” Your mother says awkwardly, quickly excusing herself back down the stairs. Once you hear her shoes click into the kitchen, you shut the door again, pressing your back to it as you finally let the air in your lungs go in a long sigh. You look up at Atsushi who is trying to bite back his laughter.

“Do you think she noticed?” You wince, knowing the answer.

“Oh yes, absolutely. She knows everything,” He stands, lumbering across the room towards you. He kisses your nose, his hand meeting yours on the doorknob. “Let’s go help with dinner.” He thinks. “And maybe later you can pay me back with a handjob in the shower.”

You groan, the thought of the blush on your mother’s face making your embarrassment burn brighter. “Absolutely not.”

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gatorbites-imagines · 3 months ago

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Any ViltruWives crumbs to spare? 🙏👀✨️

Heres me rambling about old men, cuz god... I LOVE old men, so much.

Fake old man lovers could not survive me.

I know it probably wouldnt hit any of the viltrumwives, cuz they're supposed to be all, you know. Greater beings who don't have the weaknesses humans do. But my god... old men with erectile dysfunction. The only one of them I could even imagine having anything like that would be Conquest, as he's the oldest out of all of them.

Speaking of old. I could see all four of them feeling a bit out of it because they're just... old. Especially if you are human, then they would be so so much older than you. It's even funnier if you somehow still have more experience than them. Big chance you do, since viltrumites are so duty bound, unlike us humans, who can just do whatever.

I think they all dress like old men too, like, polo shirts, khaki pants, socks and sandals, those shades that dads wear when grilling. Nolan dresses the best when it comes to human clothing, since he's been here for so long and knows the ups and downs.

Only one out of them that knows how to cook is Nolan, but I feel that Kregg would easily pick up on it when needed. Conquest would try his best, cuz I feel he would get something out of creating instead of destroying. Thragg doesn't cook.

All four of them love a good backrub. You can't actually massage them or work out the kinks in their backs, because of viltrumite muscle and all that, but they love it anyways.

I feel all of them would love if you grew a moustache too. It's not a necessity, but they would find you extra handsome with one.

Speaking of moustaches and beards, you end up with a lot of beard burn, anywhere and everywhere. I can see Conquest as the type to rub his face against you like a big cat, where Kregg, Thragg, and Nolan are more obvious with their affection.

Thragg is the kind to nip at your chin and neck as he bares his teeth, playfully growling. Only when you guys are alone though, he will not show weakness like that around anyone else.

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zylokv · 2 months ago

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LOST IN TRANSLATION — J-LINE TWICE

" that whole ‘i wanna touch’ thing… we’ll save it for next time. "

synopsis — it’s 3 a.m. in los angeles when you step into an elevator with momo, sana, and mina, unaware that they’re members of TWICE. while they joke about your height and looks in japanese, you stay quiet, until..

notice — i don’t speak japanese, so any japanese phrases used in this story were translated using reverso/google translate and might not be 100% accurate. please forgive any mistakes—and feel free to gently correct me if needed! this is all just for fun and vibes. pairing — sana x mina x hirai momo x reader. disclaimer ! this is a work of fiction. while TWICE is a real k-pop group, the characters in this story are fictionalized based on their public personalities. i do not own TWICE—i only own the story and original character(s). this was written purely for entertainment purposes, with respect to all individuals involved. genre — oneshot.

the streets of downtown los angeles looked like they were holding their breath.

3:07am.

los angeles at 3am was a different kind of quiet. not empty—but softened, like the whole city had exhaled and gone still. the distant hum of traffic was a low pulse in the background, and the air, warm from a lingering spring day, still carried the faint scent of car exhaust and jacaranda trees in bloom.

you were already regretting your decision to hit the gym this late, but there was no turning back now. the oversized hoodie hung loose over your frame, the sleeves hiding half your hands. your gym bag thumped lightly against your hip with each step. you had your headphones on— no music yet, just the silence that came before the rnb playlist started.

insomnia had won again. and when sleep didn’t come, movement did. the gym in the basement was open twenty-four hours, and the thought of hitting the bag for an hour seemed better than staring at your ceiling for the third night in a row.

you hit the button for the elevator with your knuckle, yawning into your sleeve.

ding.

the moment the doors slid open, your brain short-circuited.

three girls were already inside, laughing. loud. barely holding onto their food as they turned around mid-conversation. the scent hit you first—soy sauce, grilled meat, something fried and sweet, maybe donuts. it was like walking into a late-night food truck festival.

they looked up in unison.

one had dumplings in her mouth. literally. mid-bite. the second had strawberry milk in one hand and a chicken sandwich in the other, her expression stuck somewhere between surprise and delight. and the third—hood up, sleeves over her palms—blinked slowly like she hadn’t quite caught up yet.

you stepped in, the doors closing behind you.

the silence was immediate.

momo swallowed first.

“背の高い”

(tall.)

you heard it. clear as day. but you didn’t react. just lifted your water bottle to your lips, watching the elevator numbers tick down.

sana leaned in toward momo, stage-whispering like she wasn’t absolutely audible. " まって、LAの人ってこんなにストイックなの？”

(wait, are people in LA really this intense?)

“たぶん。” momo smirked, eyes dragging from your shoes to your hoodie to your face. “でも、めっち��タイプ。”

(maybe. but they’re totally my type.)

you kept your face neutral, eyes forward. the air smelled like sesame oil and seaweed snacks and something caramelized. there was a crunch—sana tearing into what looked like a fried chicken sandwich with absolutely no shame. mina stood closest to the elevator buttons. she glanced at you, then down at the floor. then back at you.

“アメリカ人ってああいう感じかな。” she mumbled, half to herself. (i guess americans look like that.)

“ああいう感じってどんな感じ？” momo asked, nudging her.

(what do you mean ‘like that’?)

“なんか…かっこよくて静か。” mina replied.

(like… cool and quiet.)

“それもあなたの好みですか？” sana teased, nudging mina’s arm.

(is that your preference too?)

“彼らはあなたの言うことを聞くことができません、さあ。” sana elbowed her, snorting. “ここアメリカよ？絶対わかんない。”

(they can’t hear you, come on. we’re in america. there’s no way they understand.)

mina turned pink.

you bit your lip, just barely hiding the smile tugging at your mouth.they didn’t know. they really thought you couldn’t understand a word.

“わたしがタイプって言ったのに。” momo muttered, fake-offended.

(i already called dibs.)

“じゃあジャンケンで決めよう。” sana offered, mouth full.

(rock paper scissors for it, then.)

“餃子があるから無理。”

(i’m holding dumplings, i can’t.)

you finally moved—shifted your gym bag onto your other shoulder. the elevator made a soft ding. one more floor.

the scent of sesame oil and fried chicken filled your nose. momo’s shoulder brushed yours as the elevator moved. her arm stayed close. too close. you could feel the warmth through your hoodie.

“彼らの腕を見てください” momo whispered to sana, thinking she was being slick.

(listen, seriously look at their arms.)

sana giggled. “触りたい”

(i wanna touch.)

“私たちはそうすべきでしょうか？” momo asked, completely unserious but somehow entirely serious.

(should we?)

then your phone rang.

you picked it up without a word, answered with the calmest voice you could muster.

“兄さん、今ジムに行くの。”

(brother, i’m going to the gym now.)

dead silence.

it was instant. you didn’t even have to look to know their eyes were huge. but you did. you turned your head just enough to see them in the mirrored elevator wall—wide eyes, open mouths, and a dumpling midair in momo’s chopsticks.

you continued, casually. “エレベーターの中で面白いことを聞いたばかりだちょっと面白い”

(just heard some interesting stuff in the elevator. kinda funny.)

a strangled noise came from behind you.

“日本語…？” mina blinked.

(japanese..?)

“彼らは完璧にそれを話します..” sana whispered, scandalized and thrilled.

(they speak it perfectly..)

you hang up the slight sound evident. you turn your head slightly.

sana was slack-jawed, strawberry milk and chicken sandwich forgotten. momo was wide-eyed, mid-bite again. mina looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

you gave them a slow smile—lazy, just a little smug. “ありがと。ちなみに、私はそれらの賛辞を早く聞きま��た。”

(thanks. i heard those compliments earlier, by the way.)

“やっば…” sana whispered, covering her face.

(oh no...) mina made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. or a squeak. maybe both. also looked like she wanted to disappear into her hoodie forever.

you took a step toward the door. paused. let the silence simmer. “君たち3人でゲームを決めよう。” you said, smiling. “誰が勝っても私は地下室にいるよ。”

(you three will decide who win. whoever wins ill be in the gym basement.)

ding.

you stepped out as the doors slid open, tossing a glance over your shoulder.

“「触りたい」ってことは…次回に取っておきましょう。”

(that whole ‘i wanna touch’ thing… we’ll save it for next time.)

the last thing you heard before the elevator doors closed?

“なぜ彼らはあなたのタイプだと大声で言ったのですか!？”

(why did you say out loud that they were your type!?)

"サナ、あの人に触れたいって言ったでしょ!"

(sana, you literally said you wanted to touch them!)

“やめて…” (please stop...) — mina.

kino's note — your sleep deprived writer is back! (sort of) missed my pretty girls and i got this inspo while out on a run at 6am

#kino's file #kino.#zylokv #kpop girls #mina imagines #twice mina #twice sana #mina x reader #myoui mina #myoui mina x reader #twice #twice oneshots #oneshot #zylokv files #kino's archives #twice momo #misamo

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nanamineedstherapy · 4 months ago

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The Cruelty of Time

Nanami Kento x F!Reader, Gojo Satoru x F!Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader

Summary: Nanami/Gojo/Sukuna always know when something is wrong. He gives you space. He waits. But patience only lasts so long when the woman he adores refuses to speak. If words won’t do, he has other ways of making you talk. (All men get their separate parts & have different readers, but the plot is connected, so it's recommended to read all.) Trigger Warnings: Fluff & SMUT (MDNI), Porn with feelings (because he cares), Four-Armed True Form Sukuna, Someone taps out mid-sexy time, Mirror show-off moment, Enthusiastic consent, Sukuna’s a menace, not a villain, Someone is possessive but in a feminist way, Sexy age crisis, Slow descent into madness (yours, not his), Nanami is the firmest soft dom, Gojo is fleeing for his life, Canon-typical patience, canon-untypical restraint, You won’t talk? They have other methods, Nanami & Gojo are problems, Gojo & Sukuna are societal threats. Kinks: Praise, Choking, Voice, Spanking, Manhandling (effective, controlled, ruining-you edition), A/N: Listen. There are two types of people in this world: 1. People who read JJK men's fics because they appreciate the depth of the character. 2. People who read JJK men's fics because they want to be handled. This fic is for the latter. As always, the reader can be hallucinated as any race or body type, no explicit descriptions have been used, but all men have different readers, and no, you are not allowed to double time them. I, too, am just a girl, standing in front of a fictional salaryman, begging him to fix me with violent backshots. Enjoy responsibly. Or don’t. I support all life choices here.

Nanami Kento x F!Reader

The sound of the front door clicking shut was soft, barely disrupting the quiet hum of the kitchen. But Nanami noticed immediately.

He didn’t look up right away, finishing the precise cut of the knife against the cutting board before setting it aside. The scent of miso soup and grilled fish filled the air, warm and inviting.

Yet, something felt off.

You hadn’t come running to him like you usually did.

He wiped his hands on a towel, finally turning toward the entrance.

Standing in the doorway, your shoulders slightly hunched, the usual brightness in your gaze absent. You didn’t even remove your shoes right away, just lingered there, fingers toying with the strap of your bag.

Nanami set the towel down.

“Welcome home,” he said, his voice steady, but his sharp gaze didn’t miss the way you avoided his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

You hesitated for just a second—so quick an average person wouldn’t have caught it—before forcing a small, practiced smile. “No, it’s nothing. Just… a long day.”

A deflection.

Nanami exhaled silently, slow and measured, before stepping toward you. His presence was grounding, solid, and when he reached out to cup your face, his touch was warm, his thumbs grazing your cheeks with quiet insistence.

“Tell me.”

Your lips parted, and for a moment, he thought you might actually say it.

But then you shook your head, slipping from his grasp with a tired laugh. “It’s nothing, really.”

Nanami didn’t believe that for a second. He knew you too well.

But he let you go—for now.

However, Nanami Kento was nothing if not patient.

He watched you carefully.

During dinner, he served your plate first. When you barely picked at the food, he refilled your miso soup, watching for any reaction.

You still wouldn’t talk.

On the couch, he pulled you against him, resting a hand on your thigh, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. Your body melted into his, but you were quiet, too quiet.

Fine. If you weren’t going to tell him, he’d make you.

Nanami played his last card when you were pinned beneath him, his body braced above yours, his eyes searching yours with quiet, unwavering intensity. The weight of him was grounding, solid, leaving no room to escape. His fingers traced up your arm, slow, deliberate.

You cracked.

“A 14-year-old called me ‘aunt’ today.” Your voice wavered, as if the confession itself made the words more real. You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. “Kento, am I… old?”

Nanami stared at you, processing your words.

Then, to your utter horror, he chuckled—a deep, quiet sound, barely more than a breath but unmistakable. “That’s what’s been bothering you?”

Your mouth fell open.

You slapped his chest, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he murmured, and that rare, faint smile of his appeared, brief but devastating.

You groaned, cheeks heating. “You’re terrible.”

“Hardly,” he said, voice still laced with amusement, but his expression was already shifting, darkening. His fingers traced a slow line down your side, over the curve of your waist, before gripping your hip in a way that made heat pool low in your belly. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“If you really need a reminder of how desirable you are, I can oblige.”

The change in the air was instant.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Nanami flipped you onto your stomach. The movement was smooth, practiced, possessive.

A gasp escaped your lips, your pulse spiking as he pressed his weight against your back, his breath ghosting over your ear.

“Take off your clothes.”

His voice was calm—but absolute.

A shiver ran down your spine, anticipation coiling hot in your stomach. Your fingers trembled slightly as you fumbled with the button and zipper of your pants. He didn’t help—not at first. He just watched, letting the tension build, his fingers grazing over your wrists as if testing your obedience.

When you finally rid yourself of them, he took over. His hands—broad, warm, possessive—skimmed down your thighs, taking his time. Then, with no warning, he smacked your ass—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you jolt.

Your breath hitched.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now stay just like that.”

Nanami never rushed.

And tonight would be no exception.

His touch was deliberate, exploring every inch of you, his fingertips mapping out the places he already knew by heart. He traced the curve of your spine, following it with his lips, leaving a path of heat that made your stomach tighten.

Then his hands found your breasts, locking them firmly in his broad forearms. The warmth of his palms, the slow drag of his fingers over sensitive skin—it was intoxicating.

You arched instinctively, but his grip only tightened.

“Stay still,” he murmured. His voice was low, gravelly, commanding. A quiet promise of what was to come.

A sharp contrast to the way he leaned down, pressing his chest against your back, his body so warm, so solid behind you. The heat of his skin bled through the thin fabric of his unbuttoned shirt. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, his breath slow and controlled, sending another shiver down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” His voice was husky, confident. “All spread out for me.”

There was a smirk in his tone, but beneath it—something darker. Something that made your stomach coil tight with anticipation.

His hands slid lower, tracing the dips and curves of your body, learning you all over again.

He was taking his time, savoring the moment, building the tension until you were left trembling beneath him, aching, waiting, wanting.

And Nanami Kento never left you wanting for long.

His fingers trail between your thighs, slow, deliberate, teasing the sensitive skin there. The warmth of his touch lingers, each stroke purposeful as he explores the softness of your inner thighs, coaxing shivers from your skin.

Then—contact. A jolt of pleasure snaps through you as Nanami's fingers find your slick folds. He starts gentle, the press of his fingertips measured, exploratory, before circling your clit with practiced precision. His strokes grow more confident, more insistent, like he's testing how much you can take before you unravel.

“K… Ken…” Your breath shudders as you moan his name, eyes fluttering shut when he pushes a finger inside you, slow. The stretch is just enough to make your thighs clench, your body arching into his touch.

His lips brush your ear, his voice a low murmur laced with quiet control. "You're so wet… so ready for me."

You don’t know if it’s ovulation or if he’s using his technique, but your body responds like you’ve been set alight. The heat is unbearable, a raw, urgent need that coils tight in your core. By the time he adds a third finger, you're trembling, barely able to keep yourself upright.

"Come on, baby," he coaxes, his tone rough with restraint. "Let go. Let me make you feel good."

His fingers move faster, precise and unrelenting, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. His other hand finds your chest, rolling and flicking your nipple between his fingers, sending sparks of sensation straight to where you need him most. His mouth follows, lips dragging over your neck, sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his. His soft blond hair falls over his forehead, half-shielding the dark intensity of his gaze.

The world beyond him dissolves. There's only his touch, his voice, the deep, aching need he ignites in you. And then—you're falling. Your body tightens, pleasure cresting and breaking in waves so powerful they leave you shaking.

Nanami doesn’t stop. He rides out your high, drawing every last pulse from your body until you slump forward, spent. But you barely have time to catch your breath before his fingers start moving again, slow but purposeful, building you up all over again.

This time, it's brutal—your second orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body wrung dry from the intensity of it. Your moan is near-silent, choked by the sheer force of pleasure as you convulse around his fingers.

His arms wrap around you before you can collapse completely, holding you firm against his chest, his voice a quiet, reverent murmur. "You're so beautiful when you come." His hands slide up your trembling form before he tilts your chin, forcing your gaze toward the large mirror in front of you. "Look."

Through heavy-lidded eyes, you see yourself—your skin flushed, lips swollen, body still trembling from his touch. And behind you, Nanami watches with dark, unreadable eyes, his presence imposing even in his quiet control.

“I could watch you all day.” He smirks against your skin.

The sharp click of his belt unbuckling cuts through the heavy silence. Your breath hitches. He moves unhurriedly, the rustle of fabric deliberate, almost taunting. Every sound, every movement is calculated restraint, meant to drive you mad with anticipation.

And then—you feel him. Hard and insistent against your hips, the heat of him searing even before he presses against your entrance.

His hands grip your hips, firm, grounding. The weight of his body blankets you, keeping you caged, controlled. The blunt pressure of his tip has your breath catching in your throat. He doesn’t push in—he waits.

"Tell me you want this," he murmurs, voice dark, edged with command.

Your fingers dig into the couch armrest, knuckles white. "I want it," you breathe, trembling. "I want you, Kento."

That’s all he needs.

His hips roll forward, pushing into you with devastating slowness. The stretch is exquisite—just shy of overwhelming—but you take it, back arching as you adjust to the fullness of him.

Nanami groans, deep and guttural, his hands tightening on your hips as he sinks in fully. "So tight," he mutters, voice strained. "Like I don’t stretch you open every night."

His first thrust is measured, testing, but the next is harder, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips. His hands slide up your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades as he leans over you, chest pressing flush against your back. When his lips find the sensitive spot where your neck meets your spine, he bites down, leaving a mark that has you gasping his name.

"Kento," you cry, voice breaking as he angles deeper, hitting that spot that makes you see white. "Please—"

“Please what?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against your ear. He knew exactly what he was doing, his thrusts becoming more purposeful, each one driving you closer to the edge. “Tell me.”

“Faster,” you begged, your nails digging into the fabric of the couch. “Harder.”

He obliged without hesitation. One hand fisted in your hair, the other pressing between your shoulder blades, shoving your face into the couch cushions as his pace turned brutal. The force of his thrusts sent shocks of pleasure rippling through you, each movement deliberate, punishing, like he was staking his claim all over again.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, obscene and rhythmic, punctuated by the ragged gasps you barely managed to choke out and the low, guttural groans spilling from his lips. His hands slid back to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, holding you in place as he fucked you like he needed you to break for him.

Then the angle shifted—deep, perfect—and the pleasure was blinding. You cried out, body convulsing as he found that devastating spot inside you, his pace relentless.

“You feel that?” His voice was thick with control, rough with need. His fingers dipped between your thighs, circling your clit with ruthless precision, making your legs quake. His free hand slid up, wrapping around your throat, tilting your head back just enough for his lips to graze the shell of your ear.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice dark, velvety, commanding. “Let go for me.”

You couldn’t hold back if you tried. The pleasure coiled and snapped, tearing through you with a force that left you boneless. Your body clenched tight around him, pulling him deeper, and the curse of a man above you groaned, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he recovered, his grip tightening, dragging you through every last pulse of your orgasm.

But he wasn’t done.

He set a relentless pace, his thrusts deep, deliberate, designed to unravel you. You were lost to sensation, barely able to form words. Every nerve in your body burned with overstimulation, but Nanami was merciless, pushing you higher and higher, refusing to let you fall too soon.

“Kento—” Your voice broke, a plea tangled in your breathless moans. “I—I can’t—”

“You can.” His growl rumbled through you, dark and certain. “And you will.”

His grip on your hips tightened as he pulled you back to meet each thrust. You sobbed his name, your body trembling as he dragged you to the edge over and over, refusing to let you fall until he decided you were ready. The pleasure was unbearable, exquisite, a slow, torturous build that left you on the brink of madness.

Then, finally—he let you break.

You shattered, your body seizing around him as another orgasm crashed through you, this one harder, more intense, leaving you trembling, gasping, undone.

Nanami wasn’t far behind.

His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, more desperate as he chased his own release. His breath turned ragged, his grip bruising as he buried himself to the hilt, a guttural groan spilling from his lips as he spilled inside you, the heat of it sending another shudder through your already-wrecked body.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air. Then, slowly, Nanami leaned over you, pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips warm, reverent.

He pulled out, a sharp exhale leaving him as he collapsed beside you, gathering you against his chest before you could even think to move. His arms locked around you, his presence solid, grounding. Against your back, you felt the steady thud of his heartbeat, slow, measured, as if he had all the time in the world to hold you.

“You’re not old,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “And you’re certainly not an ‘aunt.’” He tilted your chin, making sure you were looking at him. “You’re beautiful. And you’re mine.” His fingers brushed over your cheek, his touch achingly gentle compared to the way he’d just wrecked you. “Don’t ever forget that.”

A sleepy, satisfied smile tugged at your lips. “You’re just saying that because you’re biased.”

“Maybe.” His lips twitched into that rare, fleeting smile—the one only you ever got to see. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, utterly spent, you couldn’t help but think—maybe, just maybe, being called ‘aunt’ wasn’t so bad after all. Not when Nanami Kento was there to remind you exactly how wanted, how completely his you really were.

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

The front door clicked shut. Soft, nearly imperceptible under the hum of the TV and the distant rustling of Gojo Satoru digging through the pantry like a gremlin.

But he noticed immediately.

Not because he had superhuman reflexes (though, yeah, he did), but because you didn’t call out to him.

Usually, you’d beeline straight for him, drape yourself across the couch with a dramatic groan, and demand cuddles or snacks—sometimes both, depending on the severity of the day’s atrocities. But today?

You just stood there, fingers toying with the strap of your bag, expression unreadable.

Gojo poked his head out from the kitchen, a bag of chips in one hand and a smug grin already forming. “Baaaaabe,” he drawled. “Did you know that if you stare into the void long enough, it starts staring back?”

Nothing.

No laugh, no eye roll. Not even a scoff.

His grin faltered. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said immediately. Too immediately.

Gojo narrowed his eyes. “That’s suspicious. That’s weird.”

You huffed, kicking off your shoes with more force than necessary. “I’m fine, Satoru.”

“You’re lying.” He was on you in an instant, looming at full height, his ridiculous socks skidding across the floor as he stopped right in your path. “I always know when something’s wrong.”

He bent forward, tilting his head to meet your eyes. His infinity wasn’t even on, but it still felt like there was no space between you. Just him—his scent, his warmth, the weight of his attention, all-consuming.

“Tell me.”

You pushed past him. “No.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like you’d shot him. “What do you mean ‘no’?! I’m your husband! Your best friend! Your confidant, your one true love, your designated carrier of heavy objects—”

“I said it’s nothing,” you repeated, brushing past him to drop your bag onto the couch.

Gojo flopped down beside you, head immediately landing on your lap, limbs sprawling like a crime scene outline. “Fine,” he said, draping an arm across his face. “I’ll just die then.”

You ignored him.

For the next hour, he tried everything.

Subtle tactics (brushing your hair back, murmuring “soft little baby, tell me” in that unbearably sweet voice).

Not-so-subtle tactics (poking your cheek repeatedly until you looked at him).

Absolute war crimes (pulling out his phone and putting on the loudest, most obnoxious COD edits, even though he hated when you watched those).

But you were a fortress, a damn vault, giving him nothing but the occasional glare.

That was fine. Gojo loved a challenge.

He ramped it up—followed you to the kitchen, caging you against the counter with his arms. Then to the bedroom, sprawled across the bed, legs kicking like a toddler. Then the bathroom, where he straight-up sat on the floor outside the door.

“Y’know,” he said through the wood. “Consumerism has ruined women’s self-confidence. It’s criminal. Devastating. Society has—”

“Satoru, I swear to God—”

“Six-foot-three, by the way.”

You whipped open the door and smacked him with a towel.

“Hey!” he laughed, shielding himself. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes!”

And still, he persisted.

It wasn’t until he had you pinned against the bed, his weight pressing down, his hands bracing on either side of your head, that you finally cracked.

“A kid called me auntie today.”

Gojo blinked.

You stared up at him, mouth pressing into a thin line. “A 14-year-old kid, Satoru.” You swallowed hard, voice a little smaller now. “Am I… old?”

Gojo’s face went blank.

Then—

He wheezed.

Laughter exploded out of him, so sudden and uncontrollable he practically fell off you, rolling onto his back, clutching his stomach.

“Oh my God—”

You sat up, glaring. “Satoru—”

“Babe—” He gasped for air, wiping at his eyes. “Oh, babe, no—”

He didn’t get to finish.

You were already off the bed, marching to the kitchen.

His laughter died real fast when you returned with a wooden spoon, gripping it with murderous intent.

“Wait—WAIT—”

But you were on him, swinging with the precision of a seasoned warrior (Yaga).

Gojo scrambled, dodging like his life depended on it, flailing as you chased him around the apartment.

“You think this is funny?!” Smack.

“OW—BABE—” Smack.

“Satoru, I swear to GOD—” Smack.

“SORRY BABE, PLEASE—”

Somewhere between the third and fourth swing, Gojo finally caught the spoon, twisting it from your grip and flipping you onto the bed.

The air shifted instantly, thick with tension.

His weight pinned you, trapping you beneath him, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He leaned in, breath warm against your ear, his voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper. “You wanna know what I think?”

You swallowed, body burning from the chase—and now, from something else entirely.

“I think,” he murmured, fingers trailing down your sides, slipping beneath your shirt with a tantalizing slowness, “that you’re fucking gorgeous.”

A shiver ran through you as heat coiled low in your stomach, intensifying under his touch.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart with infuriating ease, hiking your skirt up just enough to send your heart racing. “You drive me insane.” He kissed you—deep, dizzying, swallowing your breath as he rubbed against you. “And I’m gonna make you forget you ever cared about some dumbass kid’s opinion.”

As he leaned in closer, his mouth brushed against your clit through your soaked panties, igniting a spark that shot straight to your core.

With a flick of his wrist, he tore the fabric apart, the sound making your breath hitch in your throat.

Electricity shot through your body as his tongue began to circle, teasing and exploring, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. His mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue lashing against your clit as he devoured you. You felt yourself melting, your body trembling as he worshipped you, his hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin, anchoring you as if he couldn’t bear to let you escape.

“Tell me how it feels,” he breathed against you, voice low and commanding, coaxing you to let go.

You felt yourself building towards a climax, your body shuddering in response to his relentless assault. Gojo's tongue was a master, coaxing you closer to the edge. “Please…” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on.

His mouth continued to devour you, each stroke of his tongue sending you tumbling over the edge. You cried out, the sound echoing through the room, but Gojo didn’t relent.

His mouth never leaving you as he pushed you toward another climax, his tongue swirling and teasing. You felt yourself spiraling, completely lost in the sensations, your body quaking beneath his expert touch.

When you came for the fifth time, your body began to tremble, muscles weakening. Gojo's grip only tightened, fingers digging deeper as he held you in place, his mouth still working you through the waves of pleasure.

Then he climbed on top of you, his body pressing against yours, and you could feel the weight of him—the solid strength that grounded you amidst the chaos. He pulled his dick out, sliding into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

He fucked you senseless, like he had something to prove, like he needed to burn every insecurity out of you until there was nothing left but him—his touch, his voice, his name tangled in your gasping moans.

With every thrust, he filled you completely, and you felt yourself drifting, consciousness fading as Gojo’s touch sent you tumbling into oblivion. His pace was steady and deep, pushing you closer and closer to that edge where nothing else existed.

Your vision began to blur, your body going limp beneath him as pleasure washed over you. You felt yourself being pulled under, losing yourself in the intensity of what he was doing to you.

As you lost consciousness, Gojo’s mouth finally left your mouth, lips brushing against your jaw, trailing up to your ear as he whispered, “You’re so beautiful when you’re coming apart.”

His hands gripped your hips, fingers holding you firmly in place, his chest pressing against your breasts.

You were unaware of anything, your body limp and unresponsive as Gojo cradled you, lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “I’ll catch you when you fall.”

And with that, everything went black.

Gojo felt a rush of exhilaration as you surrendered beneath him, but that thrill quickly turned into a knot of worry in his gut when he realized you had gone limp. His thrusts slowed, confusion washing over him as he looked down at your unconscious form.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the realization hit him like a cold wave: you were out. Your body was limp beneath him, your chest still rising and falling, but your face—your face was blank, eyes closed. He pulled out, pulling you into his arms.

For a split second, panic gripped him, his heart leaping into his throat. “Shit… did I—?” He froze, running his hands over your body, as if searching for any sign that you were still there. His breath hitched in his chest, his mind spiraling into a dark panic.

What the fuck had he done? He just—he couldn’t have—he had to stop, had to check, but you were still warm, still breathing, and—

He sat up on his knees, shaking you gently. His fingers shook as he gently cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Hey… hey, wake up. Come on, babe…”

He watched, heart racing, as the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. He’d never meant for it to go this far. All that confidence he exuded melted away, leaving only a frantic concern.

What if he had crossed a line? What if you didn’t wake up?

Just when Gojo was ready to call for help or just fall apart in full-blown panic, you stirred.

A groggy, muffled groan slipped past your lips. Your eyelids fluttered, slowly opening, and you blinked, looking up at Gojo, still above you, his wide eyes full of concern.

You furrowed your brow, rubbing at your face as you came to.

“What happened?” You mumbled, your voice thick.

He breathed a sigh of relief, the tension releasing from his shoulders as he watched you blink up at him. “You passed out. I thought I broke you!”

The confusion on your face slowly faded into a lazy, disoriented smile, and you let out a small chuckle. “Toru…” You blinked again, still half-dazed, your voice soft and slightly slurred. “Your dick’s not that destructive.” You teased, “more like a wrecking ball of pleasure, maybe.”

Gojo froze, his hand still hovering over your face. For a second, his heart stopped from relief, but then the corner of his mouth twitched into a grin. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, leaning back as he chuckled nervously, trying to hide the anxiety that had been coiling in his chest.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he admitted, voice low, yet with a touch of laughter still lingering. “I thought I’d killed you there for a second. You passed out like... like I just—”

“Relax, Toru,” you interrupted, now fully awake, though still giggling. “You didn’t kill me.” You smirked, your gaze sharpening with a mix of teasing and exhaustion. “But maybe next time, try not to knock me out with your sex skills, alright?”

Gojo’s face flushed a little, but the nervous tension eased from his shoulders. He let out a breath of relief, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try not to be so... intense next time.”

But there was a spark in his eyes, a mischievous glint that suggested maybe, just maybe, he liked the chaos just a little bit too much. “But I gotta say, seeing you pass out from that? Damn, babe. I really am that good.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips never faltered.

“No. We are not doing this.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah.”

After a beat, he continued, “I was seriously worried I’d have to explain to everyone that I killed my girlfriend with my—uh, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, scratching his chin. “I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed. Next time, maybe don’t go all ‘strongest’ on me?”

“More like a generous lover who cares about your well-being. You did just faint from pleasure, after all.”

“Generous, huh?” You teased, raising an eyebrow.

Gojo’s lips brushed over your forhead and asked, “still worried?”

You couldn’t even remember what you were mad about.

He chuckled, smug. “That’s what I thought.”

You scoffed.

“You loooove me,” he crooned, nuzzling your neck. “And admit it—you’re way hotter than me.”

“You wish.”

“I know,” he said, grinning against your skin. “But hey—” His voice softened, just for a second. “If some brat calls you ‘auntie’ again, I’ll just tell them you’re my sugar mama. Problem solved.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously young-looking,” he corrected, laying back down with you on his chest. "Now, c’mon—let’s make decisions we’ll regret in the morning. Let’s order and eat pizza in bed.”

When you woke up the next morning, sore and thoroughly ruined, there was a sticky note on the nightstand.

“Still hot, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes.

But you kept the note.

Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader

You pushed open the front door, the soft click echoing through the dimly lit apartment. The moment you stepped inside, a heavy tension seemed to settle over you, wrapping around your shoulders like a cloak. Your mood had been off all day, and you were desperate for some comfort.

Sukuna, sprawled on the couch with his two arms crossed behind his head, lazily chucking dry squid chips into his tummy mouth. His crimson eyes flicked toward you the moment you walked in, that intense gaze igniting a flicker of warmth in your chest—despite the gnawing sense of dread that often accompanied it.

“Welcome back, brat,” he said, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips as he set the chips aside. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tummy mouth licked it’s lips and grinned up at you like you were the next snack.

You sighed, sinking into the plush cushions beside him. “More like I’ve had a long day. I just... I don’t know.”

Sukuna tilted his head, his interest piqued. He leaned closer, those four arms shifting to wrap around you, drawing you into his embrace. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating, and despite your earlier mood, you leaned into him.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone low and smooth, coaxing you to share what weighed on your mind. “What’s bothering you?”

After a moment of hesitation, you glanced up, meeting his gaze. “A kid called me ‘aunt’ today. I mean, am I old, Ryo?”

Silence.

Then—

Sukuna, from his throne of squid chips and self-importance, slowly turned to look at you.

He blinked once.

Then twice.

Then—

He lost his shit.

A low, rumbling laugh tore from his chest as he sat up, four arms crossed, grinning like a menace. “If you’re an aunt, then what does that make me? A fossil?”

From his stomach, Tummy Mouth cackled, too.

You glared at him, gripping a couch cushion. “This is not funny, Ryo.”

“It is absolutely hilarious,” he shot back, still grinning like the world’s worst boyfriend.

You could feel your soul leaving your body.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “You thinking about getting one of those old lady shawls? Maybe some knitting needles?”

You grabbed another cushion.

“Start saying stuff like ‘back in my youth’?”

Second cushion, loaded.

“Want me to help you cross the street next time?”

Projectile launched.

The bastard caught it with one hand.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be mad,” he drawled, leaning closer. “It’s kinda cute, y’know. You. My little ancient relic.”

You scowled. “I will shove you off this couch.”

But before you could, he grabbed your wrist, his smirk vanishing completely.

His gaze darkened.

“Hey.” His voice dropped, dangerously smooth. “You’re not actually upset about this, are you?”

You hesitated.

You hadn’t meant to let it show, but he always saw through you.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, one hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “You really think I’d let some brat’s words get to you? You're not some washed-up relic waiting to be put in a museum.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It just hit me, okay? I’m not a sorcerer like you, Ryo. I’m not going to live as long as you.”

For a brief moment, his teasing faded, replaced by an unreadable seriousness.

Then—

He stood up.

You blinked. “What are you—?”

“Tell me what he looks like.”

You stared. “Excuse me?”

Sukuna was on a mission.

A dumbass, completely unnecessary, unhinged mission.

But a mission nonetheless.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re not a sorcerer. But that doesn’t mean you get to let some kid make you feel like you’re less than you are. We’re going to find this brat, and I’ll make sure they know how ridiculous they are for calling you that.”

You shook your head, trying to quell the surge of embarrassment. “I don’t need you fighting a kid for me.”

“So you want to fight him?”

You had barely managed to get the words “No fighting a kid” out of your mouth before he had already decided that a 14-year-old was his next sworn enemy.

His sharp eyes gleamed with the kind of excitement that should’ve been reserved for actual battles, not... minor conflicts with prepubescent boys.

“Oh, we’re fighting him,” Sukuna declared, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up for a boss battle.

“No, we are not.”

“You’re right,” he said, nodding solemnly before grinning. “I am fighting him.”

You groaned, attempting to drag him back toward the house, but Sukuna didn’t budge. Obviously. He was 7 feet tall, built like he bench-pressed elephants for cardio, and had extra arms just in case one got tired mid-rampage.

You had exactly zero chances of stopping this.

So, five minutes later, you found yourself standing in a local park, feeling deep shame as Sukuna zeroed in on a child who had been minding his own business.

The kid was hanging out with his friends, chewing on the end of a bubble tea straw like he was plotting someone’s demise, when Sukuna stormed over like a final boss, making his entrance.

“Hey, kid!” Sukuna’s voice boomed, causing several pigeons to take flight in sheer terror.

The child glanced up, blinking at the literal demon king before him. “What.”

Oh. The kid had attitude.

Sukuna grinned, baring fangs. Good. He liked a challenge.

“Why’d you call her ‘aunt’? As far as I know, your ugly head is not related to my bloodline.” Sukuna folded his arms across his chest, all four of them, making a point to flex. His sheer size cast a shadow over the kid, an obvious ‘I eat kids for fun’ aura radiating off of him.

The kid took a sip of his drink, unbothered, and stared Sukuna dead in the eye. “Bro, why you built like Goro Majima on steroids?”

Sukuna’s grin twitched.

You choked on air.

One of the kid’s friends snorted, muttering, “Nah, fr. Why he got that Elden Ring DLC boss stance?”

Another one nodded, whispering, “Lookin’ like a JoJo stand.”

Sukuna’s eyebrow twitched again. The menace had met his match.

“You got a smart mouth for a child,” he said, voice low, deadly.

The kid took another sip, slowly. Unphased. “And you got four hands but still can’t pull more bitches than me.”

Your soul left your body.

Sukuna just stared, blinking once. Then twice.

He had met his match.

And his match was a boba-drinking, TikTok-brained, 14-year-old with no sense of self-preservation.

The kid blinked up at Sukuna, utterly unbothered by the seven-foot, four-armed, literal curse king looming over him.

Sukuna, meanwhile, was malfunctioning.

His eye twitched. His jaw clenched. His tummy mouth growled.

You knew that look.

He was one insult away from punting this child into the next dimension.

And, naturally, the kid was more than happy to provide.

“You good, grandpa?” The kid took another slow sip of his boba, raising an eyebrow. “Need a cane? A hearing aid? Maybe some dentures?”

You choked on air.

Sukuna’s entire soul left his body.

This little bastard.

Sukuna cracked his knuckles, stepping forward like he was about to commit a war crime.

Finally, the kid sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Lemme guess. She thinks I called her ‘aunt’?” He turned the screen toward you, showing you an Instagram story he had posted earlier—a blurry picture of his actual aunt standing in the background, captioned: “Auntie bought me boba today 🤝”.

Sukuna squinted.

You squinted.

Your soul came back just to leave again.

Sukuna’s fists clenched.

“I WAS TALKING ABOUT MY AUNT,” the kid said, exasperated, dragging a hand down his face like this was somehow your fault. “Damn, y’all are so old, your ears don’t even work anymore.”

Sukuna was already raising his hand to use his technique to ‘dismantle the kid.

“Ryo, no—”

“Lil bastard, you got one more smartass comment before I send you to the next life—”

And that was the exact moment you had to physically throw your arms around him, dragging him away from the child before he violated several laws of human decency.

“Ryo, you are not fighting a child!”

“He has no fear of death!” Sukuna snarled, arms flexing like he was debating whether yeeting you off would be worth it.

Meanwhile, the kid, still untouched, just smirked and waved. “Stay mad, grandpa.”

You had never seen Sukuna closer to homicide.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted.

Sukuna was still seething as he threw himself on the couch, arms crossed, muttering about “bratty little shits who needed discipline.”

You pulled out your phone, firing off a quick text to the group chat with your girlfriends—Gojo’s wife and Nanami’s girlfriend.

You: False alarm. The kid didn’t call me old.

Gojo’s wife: Wait, what?

Nanami’s girl: So he called ME old?

You: No, he called HIS OWN aunt.

Silence.

Then—

Gojo’s wife: Oh my god. Were we all fighting for our lives for no reason?

Nanami’s girl: No. No, I cannot face the world. I will be passing away.

Unfortunately, their husband/boyfriends saw the texts.

From over their shoulders.

You weren’t there to witness it, but you knew exactly how it went down.

Nanami’s girlfriend, upon realization, had immediately buried herself in the nearest closet.

Nanami, standing in the doorway, was hunched over, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

Gojo, meanwhile, had been cackling so violently that he had collapsed to the floor, actually wheezing.

And naturally, Gojo’s wife did the only rational thing.

She picked up the nearest wooden spoon and started chasing him.

Gojo, still laughing, booked it. “BABE, PLEASE—”

You could practically hear it through the screen.

Sukuna, still fuming, looked over at your phone.

“...So, what I’m hearing is, we ruined that kid’s entire afternoon for nothing.”

You met his gaze, sighed, and collapsed onto the couch next to him.

“Yep.”

A long silence.

Then—

Sukuna grinned, sharp and feral. “It was fun, we’ll be doing it often.”

“Ryo No.”

“Ryo Yes.”

A/N: If someone called you auntie/uncle/older sibling out of nowhere, how fast are you filing for emotional damages? 1. IMMEDIATELY. Suing for emotional distress. 2. I’m pretending I didn’t hear. Never happened. Gaslight gatekeep girlboss. 3. Accepting my fate and investing in anti-aging skincare immediately. 4. Laughing it off but dying inside. Drop your trauma in the comments. Nanami is here to hold us all. 😌

All Works Masterlist

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saeun · 8 months ago

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ꪆ୧ ── REAP WHAT YOU SOW ┊ LOVE TO LOSE ﹑ JJK. ⤿ starring: gojo satoru x fem!reader.

꒰ heart to none ﹢ if only he knew karma would come back to bite his ass a few years later. now he misses his ex while she's moved on.

𖧷 · love, ‘su: nothing much!! just moments of him suffering

co-parenting with satoru truly isn't all butterflies. as reserved and respectful as he is (to a selected few), satoru never hesitated to taunt you whenever you mentioned going on dates.

“a date? hmm, good luck with that.”

“if it happens to kick off, good for you, but i don't want him near my child.”

“how exciting! i hope it fails.”

those are just some examples of his behaviour. he's vocal about disliking you and the idea of sharing you. had he known beforehand he'd become slightly possessive, he would've avoided you and relationships altogether.

loving someone his mind hates but his heart longs for isn't an experience he'd wish upon his worst enemy — it's too much. the wretched feeling in his chest deepens whenever he's with the kid; scenarios of you being beside him at that very moment flashes before his eyes, but his pride's too high to crash whatever you're doing.

that doesn't stop him from texting, however. he never had an issue with double—triple texting you. if he had something to say (which is never anything important), he'll say it.

satoru: hey.

satoru: did you forget you have a family at home?

satoru: my child's asleep btw, we had fun all day.

you: my* child. not yours.

satoru: so what am i, an elf on babysitting duties?

you: sure if that's what you want. now stop texting my phone.

satoru: what if i'm dying?

you: i'd pop some champagne. throw something on the grill. light up a cigarette, even.

satoru: you don't even like cigarettes.

you: exactly. now bye i'll be there for six.

yeah, there's no doubt that you'll never entertain him again. he, too, wouldn't entertain himself if he was in your position. sure, he was an ass in the relationship but— you're both older and wiser. maybe you can put the differences aside and come together? a flat no is what you'd answer.

satoru doesn't even hear from you often; most of your activity reports come from your child who excitedly tells their father the details, wishing he was there.

“you guys had fun. i wish i was there too, bub.”

a sentimental tone settled in his voice. he's suffering the consequences of his actions, and he desperately needs you to help him through it.

just like old times: you'd be there for him, going along with whatever he needed to calm down. whether it's wanting to be in you or on you— as long as your arms were wrapped around him.

but it's all a memory now. a bitter one.

do you show your vulnerable side to the guys you date, too? do you hold them the way you held him? do they even know what you like? do they know you the way he knows you?

jealousy, regret, longing— everything mixes in his mind. his stomach aches. it feels as though his insides are hollow.

he adores your child. they look mostly like him, but the personality stems from you. the attitude, tantrums, even the way they hold things — it's all you. he guesses the kid's observed you and eventually picked up your habits. satoru relates; after all, he still has some of your habits he picked up.

as the clock ticks on, his fingers hover over the keyboard on his phone. somehow, he found himself in your pinned chat— debating whether he should text or not. he's been typing and deleting for the past ten minutes. unless you're not on the app, there's no way you didn't notice the ‘typing...’ under his contact name.

satoru: i've been thinking.

(message deleted)

satoru: fuck your date let's get back together.

(message deleted)

satoru: or whatever you're doing right now. let me apologize — it's been years. our baby's four now.

(message deleted)

satoru: hey.

you: what's with these deleted messages?

you: are you okay?

he wonders. is he okay? would you come over if he said no? are you going to be mad if he re-sent what the deleted messages said?

satoru: uhhh yeah. everything's fine.

satoru: i'm bored that's why.

satoru: you should totally come over.

you: no.

you: talk to you later.

satoru: please? i'm serious.

you: fine.

satoru: might as well spend the night.

(message deleted)

satoru: thanks.

(message delivered)

“well fuck...” he sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. he doesn't have anything to say nor do with you. actually, he does — he has quite a few, but he wouldn't push your buttons. he'd love to, but the chances of him receiving a slap is high.

#. ae-generated: jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk scenarios #jjk drabbles

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flavorcountry · 1 year ago

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I got a cold and watched that Jenny Nicholson video about the Star Wars hotel (it's very good) and fully lost my mind: even after experiencing a comprehensive four-hour deconstruction of why it didn't work for Star Wars, I still think a version of this would absolutely work for Star Trek. Take my hand and walk with me on my journey into madness, where I have infinite money, talent, and team to make it all happen!!

Overall vibe

If you want to make a hotel/resort experience that takes place inside a fake spaceship, I still think Star Trek is the way to go: so much of Star Trek takes place on ships, and we've seen the rooms are pretty nice!! Like the Star Wars one, my Star Trek hotel is also a simulated starship, but with better rooms and more fun stuff to do.

Are you ready for this shit

Can you tell I drew this myself

You'll arrive at Farpoint Station,* where the concierge checks you in and your luggage gets whisked away by station staff. Gift shop's also here. When you're checked in and ready to head to your room, you're brought to one of several transporter rooms. If you never went to the Star Trek Experience at the Vegas Hilton when it was active, I am truly sorry for you, because they had a ride whose boarding process included getting beamed away: you and your pals were herded into a zone where you were clearly meant to board a run-of-the-mill 20th-century simulator ride, and then there were jets of mist and a sound and suddenly you were in a transporter room on board the goddamn USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D. It was fucking magical and I never, ever want it explained to me. Anyway, that's what happens to you at my Star Trek hotel: you step onto a transporter pad and get beamed from Farpoint to a Galaxy-class Federation starship. Exit the transporter room and walk down the ship's corridor to take the turbolifts to Cargo Bay 1, where a "temporary muster point" has been set up (this is where the guest services desks will be), or just follow the lit-up companel signs to your cabin. Yes, it will look like guest quarters aboard the Enterprise-D, more or less — maybe a little smaller — but it'll have the carpet, the plant, the glass coffee table, and most importantly a window that looks out into space.

Or!!! If you booked the resort, keep heading down the hallway and take another turbolift to a different section of the ship where the holodeck entrances are. The holodecks, naturally, are running a Risa program, so you walk through the doors and under the arch and suddenly you're outdoors looking at a beautiful landscape with a pool and whatnot, plus the resort accommodations where the more conventional fancy rooms are, and also the restaurants and entertainment venues, all themed. There's a Quark's. There's a Klingon bar and grill. A Bolian salon/spa. Talaxian arcade?? Nausicaan axe-throwing pit?!?! Come on!!!!!!!!!

Here, have a floor plan

Key learnings

Two things stuck out to me that the Star Wars hotel fucked up that I think the Star Trek version can do better:

🤷‍♀️ LARP too complicated: Give 'em credit where it's due, the Star Wars hotel fucking swung for the fences trying to make a multi-hero story guests could integrate with, but it just didn't work. Technical failures! Possible conceptual flaws! Too much stuff packed into the schedule!

The fix: Just make it mostly a hotel most of the time. One or two weekends a month, there's a two-day fully-immersive LARP adventure that people explicitly book separately, and it's more expensive (more on that later). But at all times, hotel staff will be in uniform with division colors that make sense: concierge and guest relations in red, support and janitorial in gold, teal for any medical personnel. I think that means the people working in food services have to wear that plaid/vest combo the Ten-Forward staff have on, but there are certainly worse outfits.

🌴 No resort: The food at the Star Wars hotel was good, but there was no pool and no other luxury resort type stuff to do. It didn't sound relaxing.

The fix: Putting an actual resort in the Star Trek hotel under the guise of a permanently-running Risan holodeck program. The sheer elegance of it!! When the weather is bad, hotel staff in gold uniforms can make apologetic comments about how the sim's malfunctioning.

Roleplay though

People are going to want to stay onboard the ship. That's good! The thing about the ship cabins is you can build them in maybe two semicircular layers (the rooms will need to be curved because these are quarters onboard the saucer section, naturally) and just bury them underground. They don't need real windows — you're putting screens in that'll show a space view, especially when the ship goes to warp and you can see those rainbow trails. Inside the semicircle there's a lot of space where you can put the other, bigger sets: the bridge, main engineering, Ten-Forward, etc. None of those have real windows either, and also I don't think it matters where you put them physically: just stick a pretend turbolift in front of all the entrances and make guests take those whenever they need to go there! One thing we're also doing is putting little hidden speakers everywhere that put out a small amount of shipboard white noise; it may not even be noticeable on a conscious level, but it'll be there and it'll be soothing. This speaker network is also a great way to make an actual announcement if there's a real park emergency.

During most of the month, I think the bridge and main engineering are mostly just photo ops — maybe you have to book a timeslot? Just so you're guaranteed some time with just you and your buddies? But I also think there should be opportunities for what I'm going to call mini-LARPing: you and your pals can book an hour-long session and the staff trains and then runs you through a short scenario. If you've ever played Artemis or the actual Star Trek VR bridge crew game they put out a while ago, you know where I'm going with this: for however long, you and your friends are now the crew of a genuine-ass Federation starship trying to survive a battle! It's fuckin' Kobayashi Maru time, motherfuckers!! Everyone gets their own station! Lights flicker! Mist shoots out of stuff! The whole bridge shakes! There might be a warp core problem — better call down to main engineering! Whoever's down there gets escape room-style minigames and puzzles to work out and help their shipmates. At some point — and this will happen in every run of every scenario — there'll be a very mist-forward "coolant leak" near the warp core that forces whoever's in the room to duck and roll beneath a descending garage-style blast door before heading up to the bridge to activate their station up there; bonus points if the player can work in a "We lost a lot of good people down there, Captain." Maybe there's an actor in makeup who menaces the crew on the main viewer from time to time (pick beforehand from a list of villains! want to fight Klingons? Romulans? a rogue Borg tactical sphere? etc). Can you see it? I can see it, and it fucking rules.

I must at this point mention that in my world, you can buy an add-on where a camera crew joins you, and they cut up the footage afterward to make you and your pals your very own mini-episode. Yes the editing and post-production are expensive and time-consuming; I'm creating jobs here!!!! Maybe …… okay, hear me out: there's an array of hidden fixed cameras and microphones built discreetly into the set, and also players are issued a combadge with an individual RFID tracker that pings the cams and mics, so they only save footage when a player comes close. After the players are done, a machine algorithm uses the data gathered to assemble a rough timeline of each player's material and create a draft movie that a human editor can pick up and fine-tune. Yeah?? When you check out, you get handed a USB drive that looks like an isolinear chip with your mini movie on it, and maybe another one with all the raw footage just in case you're feeling ambitious!!!!

For one or two other weekends during every month, there's a heavily advertised, much more involved, and way spendier LARP for people who really want to get into it. It takes place over two days. There are lots more actors portraying characters necessary for the plot/gameplay. Don't bother packing for the daytime: all players are issued a uniform they get to keep afterward. Do I have any details on the scenario or RP? I do not. But I fully believe it's possible to construct something you could run over the course of a weekend that would keep a hundred paying guests occupied, amused, and delighted, provided you have a truly ridiculous amount of money and people, which I do because this is utter fantasyland.

Also it probably won't cost six grand. Probably??

Let's gooooooooooooo

The rest of the time — and I cannot stress this enough — the Star Trek hotel is just a very heavily and specifically themed all-inclusive resort that has nice, fancy rooms and luxury amenities plus bookable ship cabins and opportunities for photo shoots or quick one-shot roleplay adventures for the real heads. You don't ever have to enter those latter parts if you don't want to! You can just hang out at the resort and have fun with all the themed entertainment, which I must stress is going to be both in-universe plausible and great, with something for everybody. Yes, there'll be a daycare, and yes, Flotter will be there in some capacity to entertain the kids. The food hall is my favorite part by far; I could pitch you Trek restaurant concepts all day. Romulan gourmet soup stand. Gummi candy store staffed by Ferengi where all the offerings are shaped like alien bugs. A vending machine where you can get a jumja stick or a three-pack of those nutrient pucks Picard and his new friends kept getting in "Allegiance." There will be an entire plant-based food vendor with a wide variety of delicious options for all meals, and it will be run by Vulcans.

A word on the gift shop

Question for you: have you ever watched a Star Trek show and seen a Starfleet officer pull on a jacket or shoulder a duffel bag that had the words "STAR TREK" on it? If so, then friend, I want to know where you get your hallucinogens because I want to experience this exactly once. All of the gift shops on my hotel grounds sell responsibly sourced, highly thought-out, well-made items that would be in-world plausible and have no obvious branding. Of course you can get a hand-carved horga'hn, but let's go bigger. Why not a light-up Tox Uthat for your nightstand? Ressikan flute for you, queen? How about a whole-ass knife store that's nothing but various kinds of Klingon cutlery? There will absolutely be an entire tailor's shop whose whole job is to put you in the Starfleet uniform of your choice; there may or may not be a Cardassian managing the place who's got a 50/50 cheerful/menacing vibe going on. There'll be not one but two stores that sell little models of ships: the regular ones and the gold ones. Don't tell me you can't picture it!!!!!

I think that's about it

Thank you for coming along with me on this bespoke journey into 100% insanity; now can somebody put me in touch with the Star Trek licensing people and also give me a billion dollars to build all this? Okay, thanks a lot!!

For timeline purposes and because it's fun, I'm positing a version of Farpoint that got built after the events of the TNG premiere where the Denebians got their act together and just built a normal surface base without suborning an interstellar lifeform.

#star trek #we need this #you know it would work

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blackhairedjjun · 1 year ago

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thoughts on food truck chef!yeonjun x office worker!reader

meet cute, gn!reader, warnings for food and overwork

unfortunately one day, you forget to bring the lunch you packed to work. fortunately, a new food truck selling burgers and fries has decided to park a few blocks away from your office building.

at first you don't think much of it: you stand in line with a few other employees in front of you, then a gruff middle-aged man takes your order, then you wait for a few minutes for your burger to be grilled. when your name is called, however, your order is served not by the same gruff man but by a handsome young man about your age. he smiles at you when he hands over the wrapped burger and you suddenly feel dizzy from the way he looks at you.

it soon becomes routine for you to visit the food truck during your lunch break at least once a week - maybe you order a burger because you "forgot" your lunch at home, or maybe you just order some fries or a drink to go with the food you already have. the cute cook always smiles and chats with the customers, including you; he asks about your day, if you enjoyed your last order with him, how you spent your last weekend. even if you've ordered nothing more than a soda, he still takes the time to talk to you.

and when you ask him how his weekend was and how his day's been going, he breaks out into shy laughter, his ears turning pink.

you learn that his name is yeonjun, that he lives in the same apartment building as his four closest friends, and that he likes to take photos or do dance covers when he isn't busy with his job at the food truck. he starts peppering his conversations with little flirtations, each one making your heart flutter, but you tell yourself that it's nothing. he likes being cheeky with all his customers.

one night you find yourself going home late after an incredibly long overtime shift. you have a client who wants a rush project, and that means more hours at your desk; the first step outside your office building feels like entering paradise. you don't expect anyone else to be out as late as you, yet when you pass by the food truck you find yeonjun all by himself locking it shut.

he overslept and arrived past the lunch rush hour, he explains, and to make up for it his boss made him clean up by himself.

he's headed to the same train station as you and is even taking the same line, just with a different stop, so the two of you head home together. he tells you that he overslept because he stayed up editing a video of his dance covers, a little passion project of his. you rant to him about your new client and he frowns, worrying that you're working yourself to the bone. "you're too precious to be stressing out over a client who doesn't really care," he says.

you turn away from him so that he doesn't see you blush.

on the train home he shows you a draft of his dance cover video on his phone. you've never seen this side of yeonjun before: he is completely in his element, moving perfectly with the music, expressing just how he feels with his body. you gasp and shower him with compliments, and all he can do is let out nervous giggles and mumble shy "thank you"s. you love this side of him and you wish that you could see it more.

his stop is before yours, and before he gets off he looks at you then opens his mouth. nothing comes out. he closes his mouth then opens it again, then croaks out: "can i... have your number?"

you heartbeat is ringing in your ears as you exchange phones and type in your contact details, but you're smiling so much that you can feel your cheeks ache. "text me when you get home," you say, your voice just as shaky.

"i will," he says just as train pulls in at his stop. "you too, okay?"

"okay. take care, yeonjun."

"good night."

he takes one last look at you before he exits the train, his ears still red. you watch his figure as he goes, then press your hands to your cheeks as if to stop yourself from blushing so much.

let this be only the beginning, your heart tells you.

omg i don't know what came over me... the clips of burger cook!yeonjun from the concept trailer took over my mind he looked soooo good lksdjfklsjf i just had to write sth about it so i wrote all of this in one go. maybe if i have the energy i'll turn this into a proper fic...? idk

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt drabbles #yeonjun drabbles #txt soft thoughts #txt soft hours #txt imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun soft thoughts #yeonjun soft hours #bhj: violet's works

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aixeko · 10 months ago

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-`♡´-≐ “ IF THE WORLD WAS ENDING, I'D WANNA BE NEXT TO YOU ” ≐-`♡´-

| Starring | Soft!Arlecchino x Harbinger!Reader

| Setting | Genshin universe

| Scenario | [ SHORT FIC ] FLUFF! Soft with a hint of angst. Pronouns are not used. A bit fast paced. Not proofread.

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× This is so mid and I refuse to reread. I’m so sorry if the quality of the fic is not up to par with the others. × Fluff is so boring I'm sorry, It's not my cup of tea.

[ Word count: 2034 ] | Art credit: Blufyrein on Twitter & Instagram

August 20 XXXX…

“The house of the hearth has been blazing with activity ever since the children heeded the upcoming anniversary of my birth. Even with my reluctance, they insisted on celebrating this occasion, one in which I won't prevent seeing the amount of effort and enthusiasm they are collectively putting into this yearly ceremony.

It has been some time now since you last celebrated with us; in fact, it was four years ago exactly on this day, August 20th. Four years in which you had left for your mission issued by the Taritasa to Natlan, and four years since we last heard of your welfare. The children, in spite of the low possibility of attendance, still persist in accounting for your awaited arrivals, and I too bide my time for the day you return home to us.

If it isn't an inconvenience for you, please do not let their hard work wither into nothingness; perhaps even a response letter would be utmost appreciated by the children.

The hearth is set ablaze, anticipating your safe homecoming; the children miss you."

Two days have passed since Arlecchino sent her most recent letter to you, and the day of her birthday has arrived with the expected ghosting from your side. Her hands focused on providing perfection to the barbecue, moving on their own like a second conscious being, while her gaze stared blankly at the grill, her mind stuck in deep thoughts.

Arlecchino is not one to sugarcoat or disprove the factuality of a situation, but with the lack of responses, or rather no response, over the past four years, the overwhelming, woeful truth has become more prominent than ever.

Her grip on the tongs tightened; with the amount of pressure she was applying, it could bend the steel into a useless apparatus. Furrowed eyebrows follow along with a frustrated sigh and a shake of her head. No, impossible. How can a Harbinger who is soon to be awarded the ranking just below her fall victim to the accursed consequence of life, such as death? It's impossible; the odds are practically none unless you have run into trouble with the almighty archon of Natan; then that is the only possible outcome that can lead to your ultimate demise. Even the mere thought of that possibility is unbelievable; the person whom Arlecchino has married is not one known to be the hostile type despite ranking as a highly potent Harbinger. To hell and back, your personality is enough to make even the devil himself view you as a passive mortal being; you are not married to a woman such as Arlecchino herself for no good reason.

"FATHER!" A young adult male screamed out in horrorstruck desperation.

The sound of her being called awoke Arlecchino from her trance; her head snapped to the young man, whose skin, once flawless, was now bruised, with short ash-blond hair and wearing magician-like clothing that was now dirtied with his own blood. The apron wrapping around her, along with the tongs in hand, was thrown onto the ground as she rushed to her bloody child. The other children near the area hurried to their brother, their expressions sharing concern and anger at the sight.

Arlecchino catches him once his body gives up; desperate, inaudible cries escape his mouth, with the only few words being coherent: Lynette—everyone—hurts!

Those words are enough for her X-shaped eyes to light up to a color akin to flame. Arlecchino's face visibly darkened at the announcement; from its tone, the situation was a lot direr than she could have expected. She gently but hastily lowered Lyney to the ground, her voice booming with command to the children to aid him while she raced to where he had come from. The children who specialized in combat rather than the medical aspects hurtled with Arlecchino despite not being in their Fatui attire; their bodies, enraged, moved on adrenaline alone.

Another one of the children who is limping sees the reinforcements approaching and points in the direction of the ongoing battlefield onslaught. Distant screams are heard, and Arlecchino has no time to properly bring her children to safety; thus, some of the others take charge in retreating the injured to let her focus on eliminating the source of the massacre.

Once she arrives at the cluster of her heavily wounded children and spots the suspect, who's draped in a dark cloak covering their whole body, Arlecchino takes no time transforming into her stronger form.

Arlecchino's scythe bolts at the infiltrator in synchronization with her body, whose speed could be described as quick as lightning. Arlecchino is left with constricted pupils as the mysterious figure dodges the attack with absolute ease, like they have just vanished into thin air.

"It seems like the great supreme Knave has gotten weaker."

The unrecognized tone of a whisper against her ears has her swinging her scythe at a 360-degree angle; this action causes the person to leap backward with a laugh. Arlecchino stands poised, her eyes scanning the figure to make out some sort of recognizable appearance. By the sound of their voice, Arlecchino feels a sense of familiarity coursing throughout all 206 of her bones, yet she can't place her finger on why the stranger is able to invoke such a feeling.

"You made a grave mistake daring to step forth against the House of the Hearth."

One of Arlecchino's hand ignites in a surge of power, and with that, she leaves no time for a response as her scythe hurls at the figure, with a burst of multiple flaming sword-like shapes surrounding the weapon.

Arlecchino's hand snaps out, catching the leg hurtling at her head. Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and full of mockery: "Too slow."

"Not bad!" laughed the person as they disappeared once more, causing a tsk of irritation to be emitted from Arlecchino.

Arlecchino figured that enough was enough and unleashed various attacks all at once, and not a single one landed; it was like this stranger had already calculated and understood every single little detail about her fighting style. The fact that they didn't actually attack but rather used dodge gave Arlecchino a bit of insight; they were playing a game of speed while she was playing a game of strength.

The gleam in Arlecchino's eyes intensified, sparking with otherworldly vigor. Her hand rose, mirroring the spark within as she muttered, "So be it." Her voice breathed life into a realm unseen by mortal eyes, with only an unlucky few witnessing its crimson moon.

The unidentified figure struggles in their stance, proving to be immobile. Play as you like, but to challenge a Harbinger of her standing is nothing to be confident about; daring to try to manipulate the outcome to your desire against another manipulator is pathetically laughable.

Or so Arlecchino thought, because what she didn't expect was for the stranger to be able to move of their own free will, but also to strike her domain as useless and nonexistent with a familiar style.

Her eyes narrowed once back to the real world, for there had only been one person who was informed about how to elude her realm, and based on the dependence on speed rather than strength, it was already a giveaway. Moments later, her suspicion proves true, yet not as anticipated as she presumes as she sees the stranger dashing towards her—well, not a stranger but the one who swiped her caged heart away into a loving shelter, you. You sprint towards her, shedding your cloak through the stride. In a heartbeat, you jump onto her, embracing her tightly with your warmth for an unexpected reunion, but one with no complaints.

"Peruere!"

Arlecchino freezes momentarily at the sudden action, but once recognition dawns, she returns your grip with an equal amount of fierce.

"You're home."

"I'm home!" You grin and draw back to study the face you longed for and missed for the past four years.

Her eyes, no more did they fume with fury; rather, in replacement of it, there radiated a tenderness shown to a small selected lucky few. A rare softness graces her features, an expression reserved only for children and, more intensely, for you.

"Happy birthday—"

You're interrupted by a peck on the lip; honestly, if it weren't for how unexpected it is for the likes of Arlecchino, it would have completely flown past you as some sort of dust.

"I figure the odds of you arriving today would be little to none, but nonetheless, welcome back home, my dear," she paused. "Although that little stunt of yours is not one easily forgiven or overlooked."

Arlecchino glances at the gathering that has formed all around her, more specifically at the young man who is hiding behind his twin sister with a nervous smile.

"Still as stone-hard as ever, I see, but I do admit my twisted plan for a reunion could have been alternated for a sweeter one," you give her an apologetic smile. "My sincerest apologies, Peruere."

"Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" Arlecchino asked, turning back to look at you and settling you down to your feet to your dismay.

"I did!" you perked. "It just seems like Natlan is a horrible fit for communicating with letters since, somehow, it keeps getting lost and burned to ashes in the lava."

"Your face betrays you, darling." Arlecchino's fingers danced through your hair. "Your face says it all; it's a given that you know there is no hiding anything from me. Don't lie to me; you didn't know I had sent you letters."

"Haha... Look, in my defense, my mission was a mess, and doing anything is a whole other disorder; I'm thankful that the Captain is taking over because that region is a headache to deal with."

Arlecchino places a hand on your waist, pulling you close as her lips make contact with your head. "Setting everything aside, let us use our time together again to celebrate instead of bickering."

The children cheered at the public display of affection between their parents, and the one who was "tending the wounded" was, in fact, actually bringing the barbecue from the House of the Hearth to the large field.

"The children miss you," Arlecchino whispers into your ear, her head pressed against yours.

You wanted to laugh at the children's excuse; she really had not changed much in the past four years, still playing off a cold demeanor to hide the soft shell hidden beneath it, one you had already melted through.

Your eyelids lift, catching her smile, which reveals her pearly white teeth. Your gaze softens. In reality, many things have changed since you first met her, yet she refuses to give herself credit for it. She was once only known as Arlecchino or by her Harbinger title, The Knave, but over the past years, the facade has lowered greatly to divulge the true identity of Father, The Knave, Arlecchino to just Peruere.

"I miss the children too."

For the rest of the day, that smile didn't leave; no, it was displayed for the whole world to see and ravish in. Nor did she leave your side once, insisting on even public displays of affection in spite of being surrounded by the children, and in her own words, "It's to make up for all the time that has been lost."

If only she knew that in the far future, when all of her hair turns white, with yours matching hers, she would realize it was the worst lie she had ever spoken.

If only she knew that in the future she had accidentally made an unspoken oath with herself to spend the rest of her time loving you to make up for the other half of her time that was spent hiding how much she loved you.

The smile, unbeknownst to both of you, would be a permanent fixture. It would endure through your remaining years, brightening each day until your final moments together, when life's inevitable decline finally claims you both.

Even when the world was ending, at least you both would be next to each other, dying with a smile stretching across your features.

#erise short #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x y/n #arlecchino x you #arlecchino fluff #arle fluff #arlecchino genshin impact #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin wlw #genshin impact #peruere #the knave #genshin arlecchino #peruere x reader

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joelswritingmistress · 7 months ago

Text

Neighbors with Benefits: Chapter 14 (Joel x reader)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2000

Your mother was busy getting all the side dishes ready for the picnic while your dad packed coolers of beer, soda and water outside and prepped the grill.

“I'll bring these out,” you offered, repeating what felt like a thousand times, “What else do you need?”

You knew your mother had a thousand things to say, and maybe a hundred questions after that. Still, she remained cordial and attempted to seem normal on the surface. You knew by her tightly wound mannerisms that she wasn't even close to portraying that - at least not to you. She might've fooled a coliseum full of people with her mask, but not you.

When everything was set up and less than an hour remained until guests began to arrive, you tried to excuse yourself.

“Okay, I’m going to shower.” You scampered toward the stairs but your mother called you back.

Fuck. You had almost gotten up the stairs, but without stalling made your way back to where your mom stood in the kitchen.

“Do you need any more help?” You tried to butter her up a bit by offering your aid and pressing on a smile, but your mother wasn't having it.

“You need to consider what you're doing, (Y/N),” she warned, “I'm saying it for your own good.”

“Okay,” you halfheartedly agreed.

“I mean it,” your mother went on. “I honestly don't know what other advice to give you. He’s a man. He's married.”

“He's not with Cecille,” you insisted, “Do you really think I'd get involved with a married man? I mean, I guess legally he is but they haven't lived together for awhile and they're getting a legal divorce.”

“You're twenty-three.”

“And I'm able to date who I want to date,” you said without trying to sound confrontational. “Mom, I know on the surface this looks bad. But I'm going to feel this out and see where it goes. If I get my heart broken, it's on me. I have feelings for Joel and he has feelings for me. I’ll deal with the consequences, whatever they might be.”

She stared at you for a long moment before saying quietly. “Okay.” Her white flag was waving and, if nothing else, she was done fighting you on it - for the moment.

A temporary victory. You knew this meant your mother wasn't going to tell your father; not yet. And so you silently thanked her with a closed-mouth smile and took the stairs to take a shower.

***

The picnic had dragged. You checked your phone again and again and again. Joel, you guessed, was refraining from being the one to initiate conversation. You couldn't blame him, and you hoped that was all it was - him being cautious.

What if it's over? You wondered. What if that's it? What if all this scared him off?

Your anxiety got the best of you and you wandered around the side of your house to text him. Your thumbs danced on the screen as you asked how his day was going, if he got in touch with Tommy and if later was still good to meet up.

You chewed on your thumbnail and rounded back into the picnic. It was much to your relief that Cecille hadn't shown up. As the hours ticked by you grew more hopeful that she wouldn't swing by. Still, seeing her car in the driveway next door made your insides twist with a concoction of feelings.

Ding! Your phone sounded off and your head was pulled down like a magnet toward the screen.

Text me a time, Joel texted back to you, remember how to get to the fishing spot?

You typed back without hesitation: Yes. I'll let you know when I'm done here.

All you wanted was to be back with. You wanted to take in his body language, hear his words. You wanted to know that despite what had happened that morning, that everything was alright.

You glanced around the backyard at the scene you would have typically enjoyed. There was a four on four volleyball game going on, two people were playing cornhole, others were talking and laughing around the tables you'd helped your parents set up. Regardless of the smiles, the music, the laughter and the sun shining down on everyone, your smiles were forced and fake.

By the time the last of the guests were waving goodbye, you couldn't wait any longer.

Seven o'clock? You typed to Joel, while helping your parents clean up.

You folded a table in half and began lugging it toward the open bay of the garage. When your phone pinged, you set the table down on the driveway so you could check it.

I'm addicted, you acknowledged. Fuck.

Being head over heels for someone was more than you bargained for. You truly felt addicted to Joel Miller.

I'll be waiting, Joel wrote back.

His words out more pep in your step, and you hurried to lug in the cornhole boards and a second table. Inside, you helped your mother wrap up some of the leftovers and wipe down the countertops before finally hurrying to retrieve your keys and a backpack you prepared.

“Are you going to be home tonight?” Your mother asked. She held your gaze and you shook your head.

“I don't think so “ you told her honestly, “But I'll let you know for sure.” She added, “Is that alright?”

“Like you said, you're twenty-three.” She shrugged. “You can do whatever you want.” Your mother turned toward the sink. “Be careful. And text me.”

“I love you.”

She turned and met your gaze. Despite her outward, quiet concern for the situation she said honestly. “I love you, too.”

On a completely opposite and oblivious note, your father high-fived you by the front door as he entered after putting some things in the garage.

“See ya later, kiddo!”

You smiled to yourself, relieved by his nonchalant demeanor. “See ya later, Dad. Love ya.”

“I love you, too.”

You were out the door a few seconds later, speeding off into the night to meet Joel at your secret location. You needed to see him in the worst way. Despite his agreement to meet, there was doubt that plagued the back of your mind.

What if, what if, what if…

Your foot hit the gas a little harder as you drove from back road to back road until the park came into view. You had to really think to remember a few of the last bends in the road but soon you recognized the wooded area that led down to the lake.

Where is he? Where is he?

Relief filled your core when you saw Joel’s truck in a small clearing. Your stomach filled with butterflies as you pulled up beside him. Joel turned from where he sat in the driver’s seat and he flung his door open almost immediately.

Oh, no, you thought. He has something to say.

Joel looked like a man on a mission. You prepared yourself for the worst. You prepared yourself for the heartache. The other shoe was about to drop. All of a sudden you were scared to get out of the car. Joel's face was too serious. If you just sat there then you wouldn't have to hear his let down.

Stop! You scolded yourself.

You popped open your door and let yourself as Joel rounded the front of your car.

Fuck, he looks good.

Joel was all you thought all about all day - not that that was anything new. He stared at you down with jeans a snug fitting white t-shirt. It hugged his rugged upper in all the right places and your former anxious thoughts were replaced far different ones.

“Hi,” you said to him, folding your hands in front of you.

Joel didn't immediately say anything. He appeared as if he was studying you. You were sure he was far better at it than you were.

He walked the rest of the way to you and you went to speak again.

“Joel, I-” You were cut off when he grabbed your face and kissed you firmly on the lips. You kissed him back, letting your guard down completely in his embrace. Almost immediately it grew heated. Your hands began to wander. He began to snake your shirt up over your head and before you knew it you were nearly naked in the bed of his truck with his body blanketing yours.

“Joel,” you finally choked out, “I want you.”

“I love you,” he voiced in a gruff whisper against your lips before devouring them once more.

“I love you,” you whimpered back. One of your legs hooked around his naked waist and Joel groaned into your mouth.

Everything about the moment was feral and raw and right. Being apart all day amidst the uncertainty and the angst made you needy for one another. As bad as you wanted Joel, you wondered if he wanted you more. It felt impossible, but the way he approached you that evening without even saying a word left you breathless.

Darkness had fully taken over the world when the two of you finished. Even long after your lovemaking was through, your lips touched, your hands explored one another and Joel kissed along your collarbone, neck and shoulders.

Being out in nature completely nude and basking in the afterglow of perhaps the most tender, emotional sex you had ever had was an experience you wouldn't soon forget.

“I was afraid you were going to break things off with me,” you said quietly, kissing Joel’s neck as he closed his eyes beside you.

“I could never do that.”

“Never?” You let your teeth graze his neck as you continued to kiss him there.

“Mmm..” Joel moaned out loud, “Never.”

Laying face-to-face you linked your arm up under his and rested your palm on his shoulder blade. You pulled him close and kissed him. There was no getting enough of Joel. You slipped your tongue past his lips and he eagerly reciprocated. As you made out you felt him harden again against your upper thigh.

“I want you again,” you practically begged, pulling him closer. “Please.” Your hand drifted down to his lower back and Joel rolled his body back on top of yours with your encouragement.

His kiss was smoldering. You pawed your arms around him and tangled a hand in his thick, dark hair. When Joel’s lips parted from yours he kissed down your neck to the tops of your breasts before separating himself from you.

“No,” you begged, pulling him back with a smile as your teeth caught your bottom lip.

Joel satisfied you with a sloppy, closed-mouth kiss. “I'm just reaching inside for some blankets,” he explained, whispering against your lips. Joel pried open the back window on his truck and grabbed a small stack of blankets from the back seat.

You adjusted so he could place a few down on the truck bed and then laid back down flat and pulled him back to you.

Your bodies connected immediately as his lips crashed back against yours. When your lips finally parted to take a breath, you gasped out the words, “Don't leave me.”

Why was this such a problem for you? Even Joel, himself, saying he would never leave wasn't convincing enough. You were too deep into it emotionally and it was making you a wreck inside.

Joel, patient as ever, brought his lips to your ear. “You're mine.” His teeth latched onto your ear lobe and he swirled his tongue around the area. “All mine.”

Your head dropped back in pleasure and you dug your fingers into his back.

New kink unlocked.

CLICK HERE FOR NEXT CHAPTER

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