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lemonlover1110 · 1 year ago

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𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀…

Sukuna

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Sukuna comes to terms with the idea of having a daughter with you.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, double penetration, creampie, pregnancy, slightly ooc but still a misogynist, fluff at the end

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“What the hell are you doing?” Sukuna squints his eyes, looking down at you as you knit something for your baby girl. There’s no way of actually knowing the sex of your baby, but something tells you that you’re expecting a daughter. Sukuna negates the thought, assuring you that you’re carrying a son. He can’t possibly have a daughter, he’s always saying something along those lines.

“Just making a little something for our child.” You inform him, and Sukuna frowns. Your child is not going to wear something so pink because they’ll be a boy, Sukuna is sure of it. He snatches the cloth out of your hand and tosses it.

“Why pink? Are you saying we’re having a girl?” Sukuna questions, and you cross your arms. You look up at your husband, mad that he's tossed your hard work to the side.

“You have pink hair, Suku… Are you a girl?” You cock your eyebrow, and he’s not amused. He crosses both pairs of arms, rolling his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t associate colors with a certain gender because you are right, he does have pink hair… But he also knows that you’re making a pink blanket because you think you’re having a girl.

“Make a blue one.” He orders, and you glare at him. You shake your head in response, you’re not making a blue one. He grits his teeth, grabbing the blanket that he just tossed to the side and shredding your hard work to pieces.

“Keep an eye open tonight, because when you least expect it, I’ll strangle you.” You warn him, and you’re dead serious. It’s clear that you’re carrying his child, you’ve never threatened to kill him before.

“If you even come close to it, I think I’ll fall more in love with you.” He chuckles, walking away, leaving you alone with your own anger. You let out a yell, cursing at him because the twinge of fear that you had for him completely faded a couple of months ago.

He holds no threat to you anymore. Sukuna wouldn’t have done anything to you anyway, since he hates that he loves you so dearly, but the realization that you carry his child and he’ll do no harm to you really gives you much more power and comfort. Sukuna finds humor in a very nonthreatening person, threatening to do something to him; especially when he knows that you can barely lift yourself up anymore.

He knows that you won’t even come close to succeeding in hurting him, and he laughs in amusement at the mere thought. But you’ll get him back, you know you will.

“I thought we were going to spend the day together?” Sukuna asks as he watches you get ready to go out. You never invited him anywhere, so he was shocked to hear that you weren’t at home. He isn’t well liked in public, there’s just something about being huge, having four arms and being extremely scary that people don’t like. Sukuna can kill anyone without a second thought.

“I thought so too before someone ruined the blanket that I was making for my daughter… So I had to get the materials to make it again.” You tell him, and Sukuna nearly gasps when you drop the d word. You’ve always refused to call the baby your daughter since you have no idea what the sex is, but it seems like you use it to piss him off. You click your tongue when you notice his reaction, “What? You’re so overdramatic. You’ve killed for fuck’s sake, why is saying daughter so scary to you.”

“Because we’re having a son!” He yells, getting defensive about it. You don’t understand why he gets upset at the mere suggestion that he’s having a daughter. Before you got pregnant, Sukuna never seemed to care about the gender of a hypothetical baby– Although you shouldn’t be shocked since your husband isn’t exactly the most fair when it comes to different sexes… Sukuna is a misogynist, that’s what you’re trying to get at. He treats all humans with the same disdain, but particularly women. It seems that you’ve forgotten because he doesn’t treat you the same way he treats everyone else.

“Sukuna, we’re having a daughter.” You reiterate, and you watch his eye twitch. You’re doing it to piss him off, he knows it, yet it’s working. “You wanted a baby, Sukuna. You knew there was no guarantee that you’d be having a son, but you still decided that you wanted one. You can’t cry about having a daughter.”

Sukuna takes a deep breath, surprisingly managing his anger well. He decides to leave the room, leaving you alone to do whatever the hell you want. You fuel his anger even more, yelling at him, “And don’t come back until you fix your attitude!”

You stare off into the distance, your hand resting on your bump. You begin to wonder what Sukuna will actually do, and you can’t do anything but hope that he’ll come around to the idea because you know Sukuna. He isn’t good whatsoever, he won’t hesitate to hurt her, even if she’s his own flesh and blood. You’re not sure you could stay by his side if he were to do anything, but you wouldn’t really have any other option either.

You decide to go to sleep, because thinking about it further won’t really help you in any way. You delude yourself, thinking that he’ll come around to the idea.

A large pair of arms wrap around you, waking you up from your slumber. Sukuna does it to try and be romantic, but he nearly suffocates you. You slap his arm, telling him, “Loosen the grip–”

He loosens his grip, which lets you know that he wasn’t trying to kill you. Thankfully. Sukuna would never do anything to harm you, but sometimes you swear you don’t know him much. It’s very rare when you get a heart to heart with Sukuna where he actually talks about him, he usually prefers to listen to listen, and to threaten anyone in the stories that offend you in the slightest.

“Can I say something without you getting mad?” You begin, still half asleep. Sukuna furrows his brows. Due to his lack of answer, you decide to speak, “You’re overreacting.”

“I just don’t know what I’d do with a daughter.” He confesses. He doesn’t know how he’d handle her, how to treat her fairly, how he would– He doesn’t know how he would do anything. He doesn’t know what being a woman entails so he won’t know how to teach her anything. He wants to teach her how to do everything.

“Everything you’d do with a son.” You reply. You really doubt that your child will be raised to have great morals, so there’s no point in really raising them differently. “Sukuna, how will it be different?”

“How will it not be different?” He sounds offended. There’s nothing similar between men and women. Sukuna’s hands go to your bump, his hand caressing it. “But for my heir, I guess I can make an exception.”

“Is that your way of telling me that you won’t make a fuss over the possibility of having a daughter?” You ask him, and his silence gives you an answer. Yes, Sukuna is fine with it, as fine as he can be at least.

His hand goes under your nightgown, caressing your thighs. You feel Sukuna kiss the back of your neck, and you squeeze your thighs, his large hand stuck between them. The man rarely touches you nowadays, seeing you as fragile as ever. You don’t know about the sudden change, but you certainly don’t mind.

“What changed in you?” You ask him as his hand goes up to your panties. He pushes them to the side because last time he tore something of yours, you got too mad at him so he’d rather not risk it. His fingers run through your folds before going to your clit, and you bite your bottom lip due to pure excitement.

“Was thinking about how I’d be nothing without you.” He confesses, letting you know that he didn’t come to terms with having a daughter– Sukuna is a man that fears nothing, at least that’s what you thought up until now. He fears losing you. It’s your issue… You’ve never paid attention to the love in his eyes when he speaks to you or about you. Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you mean to him. “Then I remembered how gorgeous you look carrying our son.”

“If you say that again I’ll–” You begin but Sukuna is two steps ahead of you. He pushes two large fingers inside of you. You can’t help but moan, covering your mouth immediately. One of his hands pulls your hand away, even in the dark he knows what you do. After all, you’re not just getting to know him, but he’s getting to know you too.

“Did I tell you to be fucking quiet?” He asks through gritted teeth. You have to be quiet at other times, like when the baby gets here and you risk waking them up. Now, if any of the servants hear, that’s their fucking problem. “Be loud, my love. Remind everyone who you belong to.”

“They know.” You tell him, which is quickly cut off by a moan as his fingers move faster. You feel his thumb graze your asshole, teasing you before he pushes it in. “Suku–”

“You’re not going to be able to stay quiet.” He ends up laughing. You never do because he’s just too much for you to handle. He curves his fingers so they hit your sweet spot. You shut your eyes, quickly succumbing to pleasure. You’ve missed this feeling so much, and he refuses to give it to you.

Sukuna loves when you turn into putty by his touch. It takes practically nothing to work you up, and you begin to squeeze around him. He smirks, knowing that it takes nothing for you to be practically screaming his name. Sukuna speaks into your ear, “Already so excited for me? Do you want more?”

“I need more.” Your voice sounds so demanding and Sukuna laughs. Another hand goes under your nightgown, his fingers focusing on your clit. You loudly moan his name as it all gets too much for you to handle.

“Is it too much?” He mocks you as your orgasm builds up, until you finally reach your peak, your legs shaking. Sukuna takes his fingers out, shoving the fingers that were in your cunt into your mouth, making you gag.

Sukuna lights a candle, providing some light in the room. You sit up, getting on top of him, undoing his robe. Your body yearns for more, and he smirks since he knows it. You lean down, your lips going on his, your tongue entering his mouth and pressing against his own. When you pull away from the kiss, you mutter, “I’ve missed you.”

You raise yourself, aligning the cock on the top with your pussy before slowly pushing yourself down on it. You take a moment to adjust to him since it’s been a while since the last time you’ve fucked her. You begin to bounce on him, and Sukuna spits in his palm, grabbing the cock on the bottom and teasing your asshole with the tip.

Sukuna holds you down when he begins to push the other tip in your asshole. Even though you’re expecting a child together, you’re still loud when he fills both of your holes. It’s too much for you to handle at first, but throughout the time you get used to it.

“Tight little cunt–” He groans, and he never thought that he of all people would end up touch deprived. But then he got too scared to hurt you in any way when you knew you were expecting, so he stuck to… Nothing. To suppress his dirty thoughts.

“Move.” You order, too tired to continue. Sukuna begins to move for you, thrusting slowly in and out of you. He continues at the pace you had set.

“Is it good? You’re making a fucking mess.” He says as he picks up speed. You throw your head back, one hand going down to play with your clit as he thrusts in and out of you.

“It’s so fucking good–” You answer. You’ve been needing this every single fucking night, and you’re lucky to be receiving it now. He’s finally giving into your cravings.

“You just love being filled up like a little slut, don’t you?” Sukuna’s hand goes up from your bump to your mouth, shoving two fingers into your mouth again. He feels the vibration of your moans through your tongue before you begin to twirl your tongue around his fingers.

Sukuna loves the way you take in his cocks, smiling at you at how well you take him– Of course he wouldn’t tell you though. Your hands go to his chest, using it for support as well as subconsciously digging your nails into his skin. It stings for him, but he can’t help but love it.

Sukuna does you a favor, his fingers rubbing your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head,

A second orgasm overtaking you. Sukuna feels you squeezing on both of his cocks, feeling himself get weak.

“Suku–” You loudly moan as you reach your second orgasm. Sukuna mocks you for it.

“What? Can’t handle it?” He asks, your nails digging deeper into his skin. He’s losing control, his thrusts getting sloppy. It’s been so long since the last time he did this– And when he finishes, he fills both of your holes with so much cum, and you swear you’re in heaven because there is no better feeling than this.

When he takes his cocks out, so much cum drips out of you. You end up falling on his chest, him wrapping a pair of large arms around you while another fixes your clothes.

“This is a nice way to apologize for misbehaving.” You comment, and Sukuna scoffs.

“Who said I was apologizing?” Sukuna is frowning, and you lightly smack his face which pisses him off more. He holds your hands so you don’t try to do anything more with them.

“I’ll take it as an apology.” You tell him. Sukuna wants to laugh, but he manages to keep a poker face. He grabs you up by your hair, putting his lips on yours.

“It was not an apology, woman. Shut your mouth.”

Bonus:

You swear that hell is freezing over because what the hell is the scene you’re witnessing. You’ve never seen Sukuna like this… You don’t think you are supposed to see him like this.

“Who’s a headstrong girl?” Sukuna is putting on a baby voice for fuck’s sake. For a daughter that he didn’t want. Your baby girl laughs, and he falls in love all over again. She’s just so fucking perfect– With her little eyes, her little nose, her little mouth, her four little arms, her soft pink hair. She’s everything to him.

“Do you need anything, Sukuna?” You approach them, but Sukuna pays little attention to you. He keeps looking down at his daughter who lays on your bed. She’s in need of a nap but Sukuna doesn’t like putting her to bed because she’s boring then.

“Yeah, how do I order another one of these?” He asks, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“Of what?” You respond, wondering what the hell he talks about.

“Another daughter.”

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna smut #jujutsu sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna ryoumen smut #sukuna x reader smut

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lambilegs · 2 months ago

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ᯓ ᥫ᭡ SEVIKA x FEISTY!READER HEADCANONS (PT. 2)

contains: both reader and sevi being assholes, kinda toxic at times, mentions of sevi and reader visiting brothel (not actually, though, but mentioned sarcastically and vaguely), cursing

I could see something like her her getting your name being this little game between you two. at first, she's not interested in you, but then, during your first meeting, you spit something out at her, and she reels back, eyebrows arching up in what seems to be... admiration? she's frankly impressed at your quick comeback, and the fact that you even have the nerve to say it to her. that's the first thing that piques her curiosity.

she leans on the nearest wall, her eyes scanning you before asking, "what's your name?"

you scoff and say, "none of your business," before turning and walking away.

sevika's lips part in surprise as your form gets smaller. it's not like she's a huge flirt or anything like that. she's usually too busy running shit for silco and making sure jinx doesn't screw up. most of her free time is spent in rubbing her fingers against the soothing paper of a card desk as she plays poker. that, or drinking. intimacy is usually reserved for babette's, and while there are some praising words involved in that, it never really amounts to anything serious, nor any flirtation outside of those walls.

so, it's not like she's surprised that she didn't woo you or something, since frankly, it had been curiosity pushing the words from her mouth above all else. but, she is, on the other hand, once again shocked at just how much courage you have to bite at her like that.

when you guys are forced into proximity again, maybe being crushed together when a stall opens for fresh fruit you're both in need of, her eyes widen before softening into her usual stone hard expression.

"you gonna tell me your name now?"

"hm, let's see..." you tap a finger on your chin, and sevika nearly grits her teeth at the doe-eyed look of false pondering that overtakes your features.

"no," you finally say with a flat expression, turning back to the seller and placing your order.

she rolls her eyes, placing hers right after. as you both wait, side by side, she casts you a sidelong glance. "why exactly do you dislike me?" her voice is hard with the question. she knows tons of people have reasons to vehemently hate her and want her dead -- but, you're a complete stranger, so it's hard to precisely account for your disdain.

you practically squint at her, eyes flashing with incredulity. "you kidding me? you think I want to get mixed up with one of silco's henchmen?" your voice cracks into a heavy chuckle as your head shakes. "yeah, I'm content with my life being boring just as it is."

"so, that's all there is to it? you're too scared?" there's a sharp edge of condescension to her words, and she hopes it's enough to hook into you and lure you into the trap.

your lip twists in clear contempt, and sevika tries not to give into the urge to grin in success.

"yeah, I'm a pussy. great work."

she nearly fucking splutters at your reply, watching with wide, bulging eyes as you nod and give the stall owner an almost sickeningly sweet smile before grabbing the bag and leaving her with a playful curtesy that's nothing short of being completely drenched in mockery.

it might've been perfect exit on your end if it wasn't for the fact that right as you're pacing away, a name is suddenly called and your body goes whirling around in recognition. you seem to realize your mistake a beat just past the nick of time, your head darting to sevika, whose chest is practically swelling in pride and satisfaction. when your eyes narrow into a sharp glare, she tips her head in your direction as though she's the perfect gentleman.

you seem to know better, though, grumbling and marching to whoever called you in order to quietly scold them away. sevika can only watch from afar in completely amusement.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

not that she even gets your name right. your eyes slide to her menacingly as she, yet again, gets it wrong, drawling it out obnoxiously as she stares down at you with that shit-eating grin. you hate how it makes your stomach flip. it really shouldn't, considering she's behaving like an overgrown twelve year old boy.

she does it all the time, any opportunity she gets. when she calls out for you when you're out, she'll change at least one syllable or one letter of your name. when you and your friends hit the last drop, and you approach her, very apprehensively, to say hi, and some of the men surrounding her coo and ask after you, sevika pats your thigh and with crinkled eyes, boasts out a name that's decidedly wrong.

that, or she calls you by an annoying nickname, having settled on the fruit you bought at the market that one day, which results in many nonchalant slips of the word "lemon" from her mouth.

you know you shouldn't like her attention this much. but, it's hard not to. especially when the more time you spend around her, the more you figure out that she's not just some senseless brute working for silco. no, she's calm, she's levelled, she's more intelligent than people suspect her to be. just because she fights, and does it well, doesn't mean it's her immediate strategy to dealing with people. when guys at her gambling table make comments to prod and poke at her ego, almost as though she's a sleeping bear they want to watch roar to a brutal awakening, she simply smokes her cigar and simpers in clear amusement.

and you can't deny just how handsome she is. rough around every edge, paired with sharp, stern eyes that observe everything. you're convinced that's how she always catches sight of you in crowds.

part of you hopes it's because she's seeking out, but you'd die before admitting that to her.

something she, unfortunately, is probably able to detect, considering the first time you smile upon her approaching you, and she says, "someone missed me," you immediately scoff, spitting out, "oh, yeah, nearly as much as I miss a piltie."

she releases a low whistle. "wow, must've struck some nerve."

you smack her arm, something in you cracking at how steady and strong her bicep is under your fingers. "yeah, it's the same one you manage to get under every single time."

"at least I'm consistent."

"oh, nice, one redeeming factor."

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

but, sevika never lets anyone but herself get your name wrong. hypocrite she is, just as you accuse her of being all the time, whenever someone else gets it wrong, she immediately corrects them, her voice cool and collected, all mirth drained from it. it's a tone that says she's not kidding this time, that she earnestly wants people to know your name. this automatic, instinctive defense of you occurs whether or not you're in the room.

oh, and if someone tries to fuck with you? maybe make a rude comment about you? yeah, no, she won't even blink twice before sending them a pointed look that leaves absolutely nothing up to questioning.

and if someone dares to proceed anyways, spluttering out, "but, you do it, sevika--" she cuts them off without hesitation, her voice unflinching and hard as she sharply says, "yeah, and that's me. doesn't mean I'm gonna let other people walk all over them."

the first time something like this happens in front of you, you wait until everyone leaves before saying with a chortle, "so, is this some kind of possessive thing? you're the only one allowed to bully me?"

"oh, yeah, that's exactly it," she dryly responds, shooting you a half-hearted glare. "I'm just so obsessed that I can't stand anyone else tormenting you." she ignores the part of her brain that itches with the hidden, tucked away knowledge that while her words aren't entirely accurate, they hold some truth. at least a little.

despite the sarcasm coating every syllable, your mouth turns up into an infuriating grin. "you know, it sure sounds like it when you put it like that."

"good to know that beneath being a bitch, you have a sense of humour."

"just as spectacular as knowing beneath being a musclehead dick, you have enough brains to manage lying to yourself."

an amused huff flies past her lips at your harsh words. from any stranger, she wouldn't give two shits hearing those words. from you, she only cares so little because she knows the words are said with no intention other than to get under her skin. the knowledge that you're just trying to bug her as much as she does you is directly what prevents your words from being effective. it's only more laughable when you get so clearly frustrated at her lack of reaction.

"so, you think I'm a musclehead?"

you grunt. "you're a lost cause is what you are."

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

and you're convinced that every now and then, she ogles girls just to piss you off. she'll bump your shoulder as though you guys are fucking comrades, nodding to different figures and saying, "pretty, hm?" eyes honed in on your face as though she's a predator just waiting for her prize to make the wrong move.

sometimes, you manage your feelings, shooting a compliment right back about the girl in question, flashing her a tight-lipped smile. other times, there's no getting around the jealousy, and you snap at her, saying things like, "you're a complete pervert," or, "what are you, in heat?"

sometimes, she barks out a laugh. other times, she shoots back a smart quip of her own. and on the rarer occasion, she'll say something in her gravelly voice that's more steady, more gentle, like, "c'mon, what do you think I am? I'm here with you, aren't I?" (which, yes, infuriatingly gets your stomach fluttering)

it all started after you slipped up -- once. just once. that's all it took for her to find something you dislike, and latch onto it without wavering.

you couldn't help it that first time. you and her had been spending back-to-back days together due to silco sparing her from tasks that took her outside of zaun. so, you had slipped all too easily into the shared routine of meeting with her after work, and going to her apartment for shared meals, or at the very least, taking a walk around the block.

so, when the weekend reaches, and babette off-handedly mentions sevika visiting the night before, you nearly see red. maybe you just got used to being the only one she's been giving attention to this week, maybe you had gotten too in your head and had stupidly convinced yourself she actually wants you like that. maybe all her words had been buttered up with teasing playfulness rather than genuine romance and affection.

but, either way, it pisses you the fuck off. you know you two aren't official, nor even possess a romantic status or title, so jealousy shouldn't be making a home in your chest. but, you can't help it. the teasing remarks, the ceaseless banter, the occasional flirt -- you want to be the only one on the receiving end of that.

which is why when sevika is grumbling about her arm as she twists a screwdriver in, you feel justified in saying in the most snarky voice you can muster up, "awe, things got a bit too crazy at babette's last night?"

your tone is practically seething, bitterly cut in with faux concern, and sevika's eyes immediately raise to you, narrowed.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

you shrug, teeth clenched together. "well, I heard you paid the brothel a visit."

she snickers softly, shaking her head slowly. "you think babette would know to be more discreet."

you shrug. "she knows I can't do shit about your salacious little visits."

"except glare daggers into my head." almost as if to emphasize this, she tests out the blade component of her arm, your body jerking back in surprise as it shoots out with an egregiously scraping noise that sends your ears thrumming. "the only thing I can't figure out is why."

"why what?"

"why you're acting like me going to babette's is a bad thing. why you're acting as though I got someone waiting up for me at night who I have to return home to."

you bristle at this. you shouldn't have to be her official partner in order for her to have some respect for the flirtatious, and apparently now misleading, back-and-forth thing you guys have going on. "oh, yeah, trust me, all the singletons in zaun are lucky for that lack."

her mouth twitches, the corner of it quirking up. "well, if I'm that bad, then why are you making such a ruckus about babette's?"

"I'm not!" you snap, shoulders stiffening from the weight of the truth in the accusation. "I'm just asking about it!"

"what, so you can find a girl to go to?"

you can hear the sarcasm in her voice, and the irritation in you only flares up further. does she think that after today's revelation, you're going to be one-sidedly devoted to her or something? "maybe I will. why, who did you see last time?"

her smirk falters, softening at the tips. "no one. I went for intel. nothing else."

you look away, feeling your face run hot, burning and burning. fuck, ugh, how pathetic. "oh."

"yeah, 'oh.'"

you blink hard at your knees. okay, well, this took a sudden, abrupt turn you hadn't anticipated whatsoever.

after the humiliation thickens, seizing at your throat too tightly, your body prickling with the awareness of her gaze, you mumble, feebly, "okay, so, um... I should head home."

you just need to get out of here.

"you sure? was just about to pull out some tricks and tips you could use for your visit."

"yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself," you grumble, yanking your bag from where she had slung it on her shoulder when you guys had walked to the last drop.

she chuckles, her arm going slack to make it easier for your bag to slip off. "what a zinger. I'm impressed."

right as you turn to leave, she grabs your wrist. you nearly gasp at the feeling of her warm, dry palm planted against your skin. it makes you feel like something is sizzling right up your arm from the point of contact.

"you know..." she mutters, her broad thumb rubbing along your vein, right where your thumping pulse is.

you hold your breath, eyes wide with the anticipation that shoots through you. "what?"

"if you want..."

you release an exasperated puff of air, your patience waning. "yes?"

"mention my name at the front when you go, yeah? babette will you give you a discount."

you rip your hand from her grip, spluttering at the wide grin that splits her face open once her words finally settle on you. "god, I hate you."

"yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow," she tosses through her deep, rumbling laughter.

despite how badly you want to look back at her before leaving through the towering doors, you resist. you've exposed a bit too much today as is -- you're not exactly eager to bare more of yourself.

at least not today.

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane x you #arcane x reader #s.writing

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mejaemin · 2 months ago

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trained him well - choi seungcheol

wc: 0.8k

summary: chan calls about his relationship problems, surfacing memories of a time where seungcheol used to cause the same trouble

warnings: light cursing, suicide mention (as a joke), fluff, cuddling, pet names

an: i literally just wrote this in like 30 minutes bc i got random inspo for it. i lowk hate doing things like this, including readers from one fic in one with a “different reader” but i felt like it’d be fun to do this pov !!! i hope evb enjoys my coups debut !!!

(this is a second pov to my other work 6 hours !!! i don’t think it’s necessary to read it but things would probably make a little more sense if you did)

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

you’re laying with seungcheol in bed, his obnoxiously loud snores filling the room as he sleeps on top of you. his cheeks are puffy and smushed, and his lips are parted with the way he rests his head on your chest. every once in a while he’ll subconsciously snuggle into you a little more when he feels your nails scrape his scalp, soothing him even when he’s in his dreamland.

it’s your boyfriend’s day off, the office going on a company wide vacation for some holiday. all of his friends have off too, and after their late night celebration yesterday he’s been sleeping all morning into the afternoon. you couldn’t complain, knowing that with your allergies to working this fits right in with your everyday routine. his body is heavy on top of yours, going fully dead weight in his slumber but it’s just the right amount of pressure to feel comfortable, lulling you back to sleep.

just as your mind slips from its last bit of consciousness, it’s brought right back by the loud, annoying screech of a phone ringing. sifting through the sheets for whoever’s it is, you pull out seungcheol’s phone. it’s chan who’s calling, and you really couldn’t be bothered to let your boyfriend know, especially when his ringtone didn’t even wake him up. declining the call, you set it back down and try going back to sleep before it rings again.

accepting defeat, you gently push the man’s shoulder. “cheollie, get up..” you whine, just as displeased as he is when he picks his head up.

he squints, looking up at you. “hm?” he looks incredibly displeased, and you almost want to pinch his cheeks at his furrowed brows and pout.

“chan is calling.” you hand him his phone, and he sighs heavily at the disturbance.

“so? i’m too tired for this-“ the call ends, having taken to long to pick up. it starts right back up again, his caller id paired with a photo of him while drunk filling the screen.

“that’s the third time, honey. maybe you should answer?”

he sighs, letting his head fall back down against you before putting it on speaker next to his face. their conversation is brief, seungcheol too comfortable and tired to keep it up any longer than necessary. it makes you laugh, chan whining and panicking as he vents to the elder about his relationship issues. apparently he’s been given the silent treatment, and he’s so distressed he could ‘actually throw up’ over it. your boyfriend asks why, and when he learns how stupid the situation is, yet eerily similar to one he’s been in before, the only advice he can give is “you did that to yourself, man.”

truthfully, the situation is a bold parallel to one you and your boyfriend have been in yourselves. chan ate the last of his girlfriend’s food, and is now receiving the silent treatment among other consequences. though, you’re different now, and your cheollie knows better than to mess with you or get you angry. sometimes, you think he’s actually scared of you when you’re mad. regardless, chan’s predicament makes you laugh, feeling relief that you don’t experience stuff like that anymore.

he eventually hangs up the phone, turning to you. “how familiar does that sound, hm?”

you hum, “it sure is similar to how we used to be, isn’t it?” he nods, “you wouldn’t do that to me now though, right?”

your expression turned serious, and he’s almost too quick to nod and kiss the clothed skin between your breasts in confirmation. “of course not, i’d never eat your food, baby. now, should i actually call his girlfriend, or..?” he trails off, now feeling almost as if he’s in trouble too, uncertain as to whether or not he should meddle in their issues.

you nod, shrugging. “go ahead, i don’t see why not.”

he nods, reopening his phone to search for chan’s girlfriend’s contact. once he finds it, he calls her and reluctantly relays the news. he reiterates as many times as possible that he’s on her side, agreeing that chan is wrong and he’s only relaying his ‘dying message’ they share a laugh, and she apologizes for dragging him into their mess. you say hello as well, laughing about the similarity together before the call ends.

he throws his phone to the other end of the bed, sighing as he finally relaxes into your skin again. “i’m so happy that’s over. i was scared as if i was the one who did something..”

you kiss his crown, his face hidden in your body. “you’d never, though. i trained you well, didn’t i?” you giggle, running a hand over his hair like you would to a pet.

he nods. “after that one time where you literally sent death threats, i nearly had a heart attack. and getting silent treatment? don’t even get me started, not talking to you for three days straight over a donut had me almost killing myself. i definitely know better than to fuck with you like that.” he goes on, already in a nervous ramble at the idea of receiving a punishment like that again. you may have been a little harsh, but that’s what happens when your girlfriend’s buttons get pushed. at least he’s better now, and isn’t making mistakes like his friend lee chan.

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

#mejaemin #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #scoups #scoups x reader #s.coups #s.coups x reader #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #s.coups fluff #choi seungcheol fluff

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star--stilinski · 3 months ago

Note

I would absolutely LOVE to request a buzzcut stiles smut omg😭

If you are comfortable and if this is not too much detail could you write something about Stiles being insecure of his buzzcut thinking it makes him unattractive but when he tells his other bsf/reader she’s like flabbergasted and tells him how hot it makes him and it makes him all cocky. Then he’d probably like ask her is she’s serious and when she says yes finally act on his feelings. Maybe soft smut? If that is okay

HALLELUIAH YES GAWDDDD i love this sm omg

☆

stiles frowns at his reflection. scott is ranting in the school bathroom again, but it's all stuff stiles has already heard before and he's distracted anyway. he runs an absent hand over his short hair before following a still-rambling scott out of the bathroom and down the hall.

it's been getting on his nerves lately, how slow his hair is growing. he thought it was pretty cool at first, until he was slapped in the face with the reality of his best friend getting girls left and right and leaving stiles completely dry. not that it's scott's fault- he's just easy to get jealous of with this kind of thing.

"dude, are you even listening?" scott abruptly stops and whirls on stiles. "you've been dead silent for, like, three minutes."

"yeah, i heard you. but it's a little hard to care about your girlfriend strife when she actively wants to sleep with you. speaking of,"

allison is leaning against a locker, watching scott with a dreamy look. she waves and smiles softly, leaving scott to return the smile-wave combo with a lot less charisma.

"listen," stiles sighs, trying to keep the bite of envy out of his tone, "you probably just need to talk to her. girls love confidence. just, i dunno," he waves wildly with his hands. "do that."

scott squints at him. "i think that might be the worst advice you've ever given me."

"worse than killing derek?"

"possibly. now, i'm gonna go-" scott throws a look towards allison and swallows thickly, "figure that out. i'll see you."

stiles calls after him; "don't be an idiot! remember i'm living vicariously through you right now!"

once scott and allison are far enough down the hall, he rubs a hand over his hair again and huffs. stupid, stupid freshman stiles and his bad hair decisions.

"you're gonna rub right through your skull."

"GAH!" stiles jumps back from you, snapped out of his spiraling thoughts. you laugh at him behind your hand, looking up through your pretty lashes. "jesus, your footsteps are like feathers. i need to put a bell on you."

that makes you frown, shoulder-checking him as you start walking. "you're just not used to anything other than two-left-feet scott mccall. i have perfectly regular footsteps."

he jogs to catch up with you as you make your way to the school parking lot, eyeing your choice of shorts. your legs being out is a big plus for his racing mind today.

"hey, you busy today? scott ditched me to go play loverbirds and i don't want to do my homework." he hums, pushing one of the heavy doors open and letting you through.

"hmm, that depends, do you have food at your house?"

"not even a little," he smirks at the almost-yes as you both trot through the empty lot towards his jeep. "that's why we're getting drive thru."

"who's paying?"

"who do you think?"

you cheer excitedly as he unlocks the jeep.

☆

you're sat criss-cross on stiles' bed as he paces, tracking his movement with your eyes. he's on a tangent about scott, actually, and how his decision-making skills are subpar. you're listening intently with a tilted head, watching his hands flex as he talks, and the way his biceps bulge without his flannel on, and how his jawline is so sharp-

"and girls are confusing, y'know? sorry, no offense, it's just-" this catches your attention, making your eyes flit up to his as they dart around the room. "it's just that you're all so... so... what do you guys even want? can't be money, because scott has a girlfriend. can't be personality, because jackson has a girlfriend. definitely can't be looks, because i'm pretty sure greenburg is going out with abby right now."

he sighs and turns on you, taking a dangerous step closer to the bed. his brow is upturned, eyes pleading, lips parted.

"it's this stupid buzzcut, isn't it?"

you blink, just once, before squinting. "what?"

"my hair, it's so-" he pushes a frustrated hand through it, and his jaw clenches. "so not hot."

and when he says it, with his narrowed eyes all sharp and his pink lips pressed together, you think for a moment he must be joking. "...what?"

he turns his glare onto you. "you know what i mean, okay? it's unattractive, it must be. i mean, i go completely unnoticed-"

"wait, you actually mean to tell me you think your buzzcut is ugly?"

stiles huffs, clearly not liking the bluntness of his feelings being laid out. "that it makes me ugly, yeah."

this makes you pause. maybe you're a minority, but when stiles drives his jeep and starts talking fast about something nerdy, you imagine climbing into his lap and making him crash the car. one time you two were arguing while he was in his lacrosse uniform and you genuinely wanted to offer to suck his dick. and even right now, with his too-tight t-shirt and his frustrated face, you want to ask him to take his frustration out on you... in- in a hot way. you may have gone a little far with that one-

"would you stop looking at me like that?" he snips, eyes darting over your whole face and then your body like he's looking for the off switch. you frown up at where he stands.

"like what? i'm just in disbelief."

he rolls his eyes. "like you're gonna tackle me. it's weird, after what i just told you."

"well, maybe i do want to tackle you." oh shit, that was supposed to stay in your head! quick, make it look like it was on purpose! "the buzzcut doesn't make you ugly."

his face screws up in confusion. "well, then, what does it make me?"

"hot."

you both kinda falter, like there's nowhere to go from here. his mouth gapes open and you watch his cheeks grow pinker, much similar to your own. and since you've already dug the hole and he doesn't seem too bothered, you make it an inch or two deeper.

"you're pretty hot, stiles. i mean, you hang around scott and stay in your room, so it's not like you're around enough girls for them to tell you. and you never ask me, so... that's probably why you're unaware."

he gapes at you, a hand going to his hair like it has a whole new purpose to him. "i didn't know asking you was an option...."

"apparently it is." you shrug. your oversized t-shirt and shorts suddenly seem not pretty enough for where this conversation seems to be going, but it's too late to linger on that thought now. anyway, his eyes are on you like sniper lasers... or something... and he takes another step closer to you.

"okay, um... i'm asking you."

you raise your eyebrows. what, he just wants you to lament on how sexy he is? you're not that easy, he's probably going to use that information to chase the skirts of some long, skinny-legged girl at school. besides, there's not even that much to-

"please." he hums.

you swallow, turning your face away from him. "okay, well, you've got the whole secretly smart guy thing going on. and your nose is really nice. mix that with the way your eyes are...-"

"my eyes are what?"

you glance up to glare at his impatience. he tilts his head at you, and you swear you can see a mischievous glint in those stupid, stupid (aggravatingly sexy) eyes. bastard.

"they're, um, provocative. when you're frustrated. or focused." you turn your eyes awayyyy from his reaction, for your own safety. "and your jaw is nice, so. plus your hands-"

"my hands?"

"are you gonna keep interrupting me? 'cause i'll stop." you gripe up at him, but looking back up was a big mistake. his cheeks are tinted pink but his mouth is quirked up into a knowing little smirk, like your embarrassment is suddenly clay for him to play with. yeah, no. you are not getting stuck in this position with stiles. "okay, yeah, that's enough."

"no, nonononono wait." he crosses the rest of the distance to crouch in front of the bed, looking up at you. "i'm sorry. i'm just not used to this. or you, like this." his hand rests atop your knee. "i won't even react. keep going, just a bit?"

you pout and look at his hand as his thumb rubs back and forth on your bare skin. it's warm and relaxing and makes your whole body burn hot when his hand inches up your thigh just barely. you look back up at him, but his face is earnest, promising. you sigh.

"your buzzcut makes you look good."

his eyebrows inch up his forehead.

"really good."

stiles grins.

☆

you're not really sure if you left stiles' house or escaped it, after that. all you know is that last night did some serious damage to your ego... and some serious maintenance to his. as you leave school, your mind replays the series of events and the blush that has been plaguing your cheeks and making you overheat returns.

dammit! you had to avoid stiles all day because of this stupid embarrassment. which proved difficult, since you guys had plenty of classes together and ate lunch with each other every day since forever. you slap your cheeks as you shoulder your way past the school doors and into the parking lot, glancing over at the field where lacrosse practice is in full swing.

your eyes catch on something odd, and coach's voice fades into the background when the image registers in your mind. stiles is leaning on the fence with his helmet in hand, sweat making his skin glow and a cocky look on his face. he's leaned over the fence, chatting up three soccer girls, who all seem very interested in whatever he's saying.

this, unfortunately, does not make you happy. but alas, what are you going to do? pull him away by the ear and chastise him for... talking to girls? you just wish you hadn't said anything about his stupid buzzcut (which looks unrealistically good with his lacrosse uniform).

all three of the girls throw their heads back laughing. and it's not even, like, pretty girl flirtatious laughter. it's loud, and one of the girls slaps her friend's arm. you want to rip the arm off.

but you keep walking instead, because you decided the bus was too much and walking home was the best option. better than standing in the parking lot, staring like a creep as your best friend (who you want to messy-make-out with) finally gets girls (who you want dead).

this is going to be a pathetic walk home.

you barely get to the end of the parking lot when you hear stiles shout your name as loud as he can.

part of you wants to stomp your feet and cry, or ignore him (as if the echo didn't reverberate off of the school building), or flip him off. like a middle schooler. because right now, you don't want to deal with the humiliation of telling stiles (through mumbles and attitude) how hot he is and how badly you want him to fuck you into his mattress, only for him to use you as matchmaker for hotter, more experienced girls.

but you're not a child, and he's still your best friend. plus, his lacrosse uniform.... yum.

jesus christ, you need a drink. there is no way that thought just consciously happened.

you drag your feet walking back, and the soccer girls skip off with their ponytails swinging. stiles is smiling all big and bright when you finally reach him. you are not smiling at all. "you needed me?"

"yeah, i wanted to know if you were coming over tonight." he stands taller than you, and his buzzcut looks so touchable right now, you want to bend him down to your level and run your fingers through it. you blink up at him as you stare, and the silence stretches. his hand comes up to the back of his neck. "uhh, just 'cause i could help you with the homework we skipped yesterday-" he interrupts himself. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine. for both. the homework and the question." you press your thumb into your palm and turn towards the lacrosse field, away from his searching eyes and worried lips. "see you tomorrow, yeah?"

you start to back away from him when he steps forward, the fence catching him from coming closer to you. "well i just- you should come over. i want you to."

"stiles, i can't wait for lacrosse practice to end-"

"i'll skip. they don't even need me." he clenches his jaw when you look back at him. there's a determination in his eyes you've never seen directed at you, and it makes your stomach flip. you've never fell victim to being his prey before, when he wants something so he gets it. the feeling is unrivaled. his lips part. "please."

you can feel your cheeks flush. why does that always have to work on you?

"okay, alright, no need to beg." you nod your head to his jeep, on the far side of the parking lot. "let's go."

he does a subtle fist pump that he doesn't think you see, and hops the fence to follow you, leaving literally everything in the locker room except his car keys. "how was your day?"

you glance up at him, but only for a second when you see how he's staring. all curious and excited, probably from the attention he was getting from those soccer girls. your lips press together in distaste before you even realize.

"it was fine." you shrug, watching as he gets ahead of you to open the passenger door. "got an A on mrs. martin's project."

stiles hums in approval, which may or may not make your lower stomach fizz with butterflies. then he closes your door and makes the short jog to his side, clambering inside. "good job. you hungry?"

you shake your head as he pulls out of the parking lot, doing your best to ignore the vein in his neck when he looks over his shoulder as he backs out, hand resting on your seat. yeah, you totally don't notice that. "no thanks, i'm okay."

"are you sure? i didn't see you at lunch. or english. or-"

"i wasn't feeling well today."

this shuts him up, but not in a good way. you feel his eyes on you, even as he drives, and it makes you squirm a bit. but he doesn't comment on your icy tone, and you drive the rest of the way in silence.

☆

in fact, you're silent all the way up to his room, where you toss your bag in the corner and toe your shoes off. stiles huffs out a sigh and scrubs over his buzzcut self-consciously, tracking you with his eyes as you trail aimlessly around his room and admire the things on his walls.

he's been dying to ask it. he has to. the girls on the soccer team said... he squeezes his eyes shut while you're turned away, repeating what they said to him in his head for nth time. just be honest, and confident. that's what you'd want.

stiles takes bold strides across the room right up to you. he gives you enough room to turn around and face him, but not much more.

"hey."

you scrunch your face up just a bit in confusion. "...hi?"

he clears his throat, his jaw flexing on it's own accord. "the...- okay, when you said my buzzcut makes me look really good-"

"stiles," you scoff and push past him, walking to the middle of his room as a means of escape. "i'm not doing this with you."

"no, wait, doing what?" he scurries around you to face you again, holding you lightly by the shoulders. "waitwaitwait. you gotta let me-"

"no. stop." you're embarrassed, he can tell now. the way you turn your face away and narrow your brow, he never knew he'd be able to read you so well. but he's doing it now, and he's not happy with what he's seeing.

"no, you stop. let me ask you what i want to ask, alright?" he huffs through his nose, and watches as you seem to come to attention. it gives him an odd thrill to see you react so readily when he corrects you. "are you gonna listen to me?"

you glare up at him for a second too long before nodding slowly. he nods too, and in a impatient, annoyed tone, he grumbles: "good."

and then stiles watches your eyes flicker as you fluster much more than he expected. he didn't think much of the words when he was saying them, but here you both are, weirdly into it. he blinks hard to clear his head.

"when you said my buzzcut makes me look 'really good'," he repeats, "did you mean really good to you or to other people?"

he feels you shift your weight by the movement of your shoulders. looking away, you hum, "i don't understand why this is important to you."

stiles narrows his eyes. "yes you do. you know you're into me and you just wont say it."

you snap your eyes to his and take a challenging step forward. "who said i'm into you? just because i said you're good looking doesn't mean you get to use me as some matchmaking machine. i won't inflate your ego just so you can hook up with popular girls, stiles. you can't-"

"i'm not asking so you can inflate my ego." stiles takes a step towards you, making you step back. "i'm asking because i want to know if you were serious." another step. "because i want you to think that about me." another step, and your back hits the wall.

you watch, doe eyed, as stiles brings a hand up to push some of your hair away from your face. his eyes meet yours, but dip down when your lips part. he swallows.

"so," stiles hums, towering over you. "were you being serious?"

stiles watches in awe as your pretty mouth forms around his new favorite word.

"yes."

he half expects himself to tear both of your clothes off and go wild. but his body moves on its own accord; taking your face gently in his hands, kissing you like you're made of glass. when you reciprocate eagerly, he feels his pants start to strain. fuck. seriously? can you please pretend you've had at least some action before?

he can't believe he has to talk his dick down when he's kissing you.

pressing you back up against his bedroom wall, he feels goosebumps rise as your nails rake lightly over his buzz, and it makes him hum. stiles gently removes one hand from the curve of your jaw and slides it onto your hip instead. he loves your hips. he loves them even more when his hands are on them, apparently, because the feeling of it is otherworldly.

what's even better, though, is when your tongue collides with his and you let out a small noise. it's high-pitched and whiney, and it almost makes him finish prematurely. he licks eagerly into your mouth to try and draw it out of you again, but you seem to silence yourself from embarrassment. this does not fly with stiles. his knee draws forward and splits your thighs apart, resting in between them, and he moves down to kiss at your neck. he'll make you whine again, he's sure of it.

"wait," you breathe out. he almost doesn't catch it, too busy with the way your skin feel on his lips and how he has you up against his wall, breathless and pliant. but he pulls back (albeit reluctantly) and meets your dazed look with one of his own.

"what? is this okay? do you wanna stop?" he might actually die on the spot if you want to stop. but he'd do it, for you. his hand massages your hip where he's got you gently pinned, and he watches as it visibly makes you sway (swoon, but you'd never admit that).

"no, no. but, your dad-"

"he's out."

"he could get home anytime."

"we can be quick. we don't have to do anything more than this right now."

"stiles," you're laughing at him. it's airy, and mostly just a teasing smile, but you're still laughing at him. "are you just saying that to get me in your bed? i mean..."

your thigh, which is in between his because of his being in between yours, slides up and presses lightly against his hard-on. his jaw goes slack as the unexpected pressure washes pleasure all over his nerves, and his shoulders bend over for a moment as his hips react on their own. he stops himself, thoroughly embarrassed, and glares at you. you giggle behind your hand, raising an eyebrow. "how're you gonna say you don't want anything below the collar with that going on?"

he pushes your thigh away, shaking his head. "i never said i didn't want anything more, i said we don't have to do anything more. plus, you're the one making the noises and touching me and... so, if anything, this isn't even my fault." stiles gestures vaguely to his dick.

"i'm flattered." you deadpan, before your hand trails from his chest to his stomach. he watches in awe, still half disbelieving that he got you here. you hook your fingers into his waistband and look up at him. "promise your dad wont walk in on us?"

"can you not talk about my dad while turning me on?" he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "swear on my life, you have nothing to worry about."

you nod and lean back against the wall, tugging him by his pants to meet you there. he follows suit, lining his body against yours as he kisses you, hands on your hips with yours running through his buzz. he captures your lower lip in his teeth and gently as he can, and you make another short, high-pitched noise again. his dick twitches in his pants.

"you wanna, um," you suck in a breath as he kisses your neck, "move to the bed?"

"yes," he sighs, and immediately pulls your hips forward and directs you to his bed. when you drop onto it and scoot back, stiles hesitates. your hair is a bit messy, lips are full, and your eyes have a glint in them he's never seen before. he's assaulted with the thought of you being his wife and having his kids and growing old and dying together, and then he blinks it away. jesus christ, you're a powerful woman.

he wants to do anything to make you look like this all the time. needy, pretty, all your insecurities and doubts kissed right off of your lips, even if it's just for a bit. is this what being horny is going to be like for him now? is he gonna be a sap when you want to fuck?

stiles crawls over you slowly, laying you back against his pillows. you're excited and it shows, and you're both smiling when he kisses you this time.

☆

he's a mess for days after, head full of the faces you make when he touches you just right, the noises coming from your mouth when you finish. the feeling of skin on skin, the picture perfect look of you wearing his shirt after. it takes scott about two and a half seconds to scrunch up his nose and make a disgusted face at stiles when he starts thinking it. your beauty is just seeping out of him, like he soaked you up and now every werewolf in a one hundred mile radius can smell the lovesick puppy on him.

you want to go on dates, too. real ones, all the time, and you think he's hot and cute and sometimes pretty, which is confusing to him but he likes it anyway. and he wants to save up his money so he can take you to a fancy restaurant. and he is so whipped.

which he's fine with. as long as it's for you. honestly, he's fine with almost anything, as long as it's for you.

☆

i didn't write smut and i apologize but my writing process is to blackout while my fingers fly across my keyboard like i'm a hacker spy until i come to and there's a story on the screen. so. smut didn't happen naturally so it ain't gonna happen at all, i guess. i dunno. ask writing star, not editing star. sorry i've been so absent, holidays is super busy with extended family and such. wish me luck. xoxo!!!

☆

BONUS!! stiles asks some poor soccer girls for help before you went to his house after lacrosse practice. the advice is... really somethin'.

"hey, um, lily?" he had to guess the name of the girl jogging past, but he got it right. she stopped and approached him skeptically, glancing at her two friends in front of her.

"yeah?" she threaded her fingers through the fence as he strided the rest of the distance to her. her two friends had begun making their way over as well. she had to squint past the sun as she stared at him. "what's up?"

"hi, hey, we have bio together. fourth period? i've sat behind you all sememster?"

her face showed no recognition.

"...anyway, i have a question. actually, i can ask all three of you. since you're, um, girls."

her two friends had approached at that point, and looked equally as put off by stiles as lily did. he cleared his throat and started on his ramble:

"so, let's say i'm best friends with this girl, and i like her. like, a lot. and she's kinda totally way out of my leauge, but we never talk about it because she doesn't see things like that anyway. and one day i get on a rant about girls and how confusing they are because, y'know," he gestured to his face like it was a tell of itself, "and she says that my biggest insecurity- err, physically- is actually really hot. and she says my hands are sexy. and my eyes are seductive. and she's like, kinda blushing a lot? but she blushes anyway about stuff around me so it doesn't really-"

"she likes you." one of lily's friends piped up behind her. "if that's what you're asking."

"are you sure? i'm not her type, plus-"

"dude," sighed the other one. the three girls shared a look, making stiles gulp. "girls don't call guys' hands sexy unless they're dying to have them in their mouth."

"mazie!" lily whirled around to slap her friend's shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to censor her. when she turned back to stiles, it was apologetically. "sorry, but she's got a point."

he slumped onto the fence in relief. "you think so? i want to put my hands in her mouth, if she's asking for that."

"nice." mazie nodded as the other two girls made noises of disgust. ignoring them, mazie continued. "honestly, she probably likes you but thinks you don't like her. especially if you're chatting up three soccer girls, looking like that."

the only girl stiles hadn't gotten the name of nodded solemly, and lily put her hands on her hips, determined. "okay, skinhead. how're you gonna confess?"

stiles smiles awkwardly. "uh, i'll just tell her when she comes over tonight?"

lily barked out a laugh, and her two friends followed suit. it was loud, like three crows making fun of him while they toss their heads back. it ended abruptly, too, and lily glared daggers at him in the silence. "no, idiot."

stiles whimpered a little "oh."

"girls love confidence." the unnamed girl declared, tilting her head. "when i flirt with girls i always make them like, say how hot i am. always gets them going."

"god," lily scrunched her nose, "are you both ovulating? we do not need to know all of that."

"so... what should i do?" stiles blinked at them, and they refocused their attention on him.

"be confident. be honest. that's always a rare, and hot, trait in a guy." lily said, before her eyes roved over him analytically. "anyway, you're attractive. it'll be fine."

"he's attractive?" the unnamed girl said, making all three of them laugh again. lily slapped her arm, and stiles let himself get distracted as his eye caught on someone walking across the parking lot.

oh, it's you.

his body feels a bit warmer, buzzing with nervous energy, as he shouts your name.

☆

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski smut #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi smut #star--stilinski #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brian x reader #thomas tmr x reader #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinksi fluff #stiles stilinski

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 3 months ago

Note

hear me out what about a fratboy jaehyun one shot where reader asks him to do slim pickins by sabrina carpenter tiktok challenge

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTYDKbWBx/

⋆⭒˚.⋆ a boy who's jacked and kind ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, profanity, TikTok trend)

You were extremely entranced by each TikTok you scrolled past. Fratboy!Jaehyun was eyeing you with fascination, what about Sabrina Carpenter singing about a kind man was so upsetting to you? The same line over and over again, "a boy who's jacked and kind." Were you staring at jacked guys and wishing he was more jacked? Was it some kind of gross trend that you got distracted watching? Who would do something so gross to a Sabrina Carpenter song?

"What are you watching, sweetheart?" Jaehyun asked.

Immediately, you set your phone down with a poorly concealed, sneaky smile, "would you... consider yourself strong?"

Jaehyun lets out a choked chuckle, "I think I am, yeah. I don't spend 4 days a week in the gym and meal prep for nothing." He studies your face for a second, noting that you look serious, "do you- do you not think I'm strong? Sweetheart, you told me you loved my abs and you always feel my arms up! You've literally licked up my abs and left hickies on my arms! Do you know how long I had to wear hoodies in the dead of summer to hide those?!"

You throw your head back onto his pillows while giggling, once again reaching for your phone before the screen is facing him. "Do you think you could do this?" you ask.

Jaehyun squints his eyes, watching the screen as the boyfriend picks up his girlfriend and lifts her onto his shoulder while flexing. It's a simple shoulder press, extremely simple. Jaehyun isn't even afraid to admit that he's really proud of his back muscles - especially his shoulders and traps. Fuck yeah, he could do this.

"So what, are we doing this now?" Jaehyun asks simply.

Your eyes widen and your brows raise with very poorly concealed surprise (could you try a little harder?) (for his pride?), "you can do this? Like, actually?"

"Don't wound me, sweets. Of course I can. Get up," Jaehyun instructs, standing from his bed and setting your phone up on his dresser. He already knows how to go about setting up the TikTok after the many, many TikToks you've made him do with you. The sound is ready, countdown set as you stand beside him.

The numbers on the screen start to countdown from ten as you tell Jaehyun, "maybe we should practice."

"Just stand there and look pretty, sweets. I got this," Jaehyun mumbles just as the audio begins going off.

Before you know it, his hands are on your hips. As he squats, you bend your knees, jumping to help him out. The next thing you know, you're up in the air. You're too amazed and laughing with shock to even begin to mouth along to the lyrics.

Jaehyun watched you through the screen with a loving smile as he flexes his other arm. The audio ends and Jaehyun slowly lets you back down. When you feet hit the floor, you're immediately turning to Jaehyun and kissing him all over his face while he lets out a deep laugh.

"You're so cool! I can't believe you can do that! Oh my god! That was sexy, how do you feel about more hickies?" You ask breathlessly, his face still cupped in your hands.

Jaehyun smirks down a you, "I'll never say no to my girl marking me up."

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #fratboy!jaehyun #frat!jaehyun #frat!nct #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun drabbles #jaehyun blurb

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eightstarr · 5 months ago

Text

pacify — sevika.

summary: is it possible to miss a stranger, or does one thing negate the other? maybe you miss sevika because she isn't a stranger, because she stuck her claws far too deep in you and never let go— or just because she looks really fucking good sitting there, looking at you like she's waiting for you to say "hello again".

warnings: mild descriptions of violence, smut (mdni!), pre time jump sevika!

notes: my thesis with this one is that eating out a woman you love will revolutionize you in a way nothing else can and i'm joking but also dead serious. also dear god please me and who… okay bye i love you

・。.・゜✧・. ────

“You know, I’ve always liked this place the best.”

It’s the first thing you remember him saying, blue uniform to match his now slightly reddened eyes, vile alcohol in his breath. You’re at a different bar, not Vander's, the first actual job you ever had if you don't count what came before— the shiny rock of a stranger’s ring in your pocket, another’s gold coins in your bag, all from the quick trips to the city above with your father. “It’s not difficult to steal from a Piltovan,” he’d say, squinting at the engraving on the inside of a sparkly bracelet, a small bounty spread over the kitchen table, “they’re all show, all ego.”

Now watching the smirk on the Enforcer’s face after he downs his fourth glass without taking a breath, a laughable skill for an audience of no one, you find it hard to disagree with your father’s assessment. The well nurtured instinct to wonder what you’d get if you slipped your fingers inside the pockets of his tailored jacket grows loud and tempting in your head, but you shove it away and keep your eyes on the dusty floor you’re meant to sweep, determined to keep this job.

“The drinks are better than up there, I’ll give you that,” the drunk man continued, half empty fifth glass tipped dangerously towards the brooding barman, your only coworker tonight. There’s barely anyone left in the bar at all except a couple regulars. Tension has been brewing through the entirety of your shift, an argument in one of the booths during your first hour, a drink on someone’s face by the third, a wave of tired scoffs when the man in uniform walked in near the end of the night; the last nail on the coffin. In your head, you’ve listed all the possible exits you could use to escape enough times to memorize them.

The man takes a surprisingly controlled sip, thin lips furrowed in a grimace. “Wish it was enough to make up for that fucking stench.”

The air in Zaun is different to foreigners. You’ve never minded it the way they do. It's your air, the first to ever fill your lungs, the one you’re so used to that you can feel the way it shifts— the way it becomes a stench, as he called it, when blood is about to be spilt.

The barman does, to his credit, offer you the chance to leave. Or orders it, morelike, his sharp eyes meeting yours and then a tilt of his head towards the door. Maybe he pities you for the nerves splashed all over your face, or maybe he’d just find it a shame to lose an employee he hired barely a month ago. “You. Out.”

“Out?” the Piltovan repeats, turning his head, his voice grossly high pitched. “Why? What's gonna happen now?” he’s drunk enough that you notice the seconds that pass before his eyes properly focus. You remember the exact way his smirk faded, the deep-set wrinkles between his eyebrows when he recognized your face, a nauseating anger. “No. No, you don't move.”

Enforcers never go anywhere alone. Maybe the man had just remembered this, just now realized the true risk of his cockiness when it's not backed up by two or three of his colleagues. Maybe that's why he finds it easy to target you rather than the angry figures lurking in the tables behind him. Maybe that's why he draws his gun so fast.

“I know you, little thief—”

A woman approaches at the same time he does, and you don't know why exactly you decide to focus on her instead. A plea, maybe. You remember the dull gray of the brass knuckles on her fingers, the thick leather belt hung around her lower waist, the thump of her boots against the old floorboards. You've never noticed her before. How ridiculous it feels to think that she was there all night. How lovely that she could be the last thing you see. There's comfort in her being there, a morbid, sad thing that feels almost like company. At least you’re not alone in the room with the monster, at least there's someone to watch you die.

Her hand falls on the Enforcer’s shoulder and she pushes him back with little effort, the quickest movement, almost without thought. The man stumbles (blame the well praised alcohol or Sevika’s strength), and the glass that had stayed in his hand shatters against the edge of the bar at the same time his gun fires a loose shot to the wall behind you.

Next comes a blur, a vague memory of hearing the Enforcer hiss in pain, a thread of red spilling down the open palm of his hand.

“You got somewhere to go?”

Her voice is the first and only thing that brings you back, the only sound louder than the heartbeat pounding in your ears. She sounds smooth, clear-headed, not like a woman who just stepped in the middle of the fastest paced violence you’ve ever encountered. Gray eyes move across your face, then the rest of you, and you quickly look down at yourself as if to check along with her that you’re actually unharmed.

Your lips feel awfully dry when your tongue brushes against them, enough air passing through to let you breathe, but not quite talk. You nod your head and remember in a rushed, distorted thought— somewhere to go, yes, home, now.

Sevika returns your nod, small praise, an odd way of saying something like good job. Less odd than the quiet satisfaction you feel for having earned it. She tilts her head towards the door, short black hair brushing her shoulder, her voice the kindest you’ve ever heard to this very day. Perhaps the thing you remember most. “Go on, love.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Years pass, deaths and joys and new odd jobs, and you still think about it. She sits at the back of your head like a softly worded reminder. And then one day, as things go, you find her again. Her making a deal at the back of The Last Drop, you behind the bar serving drinks.

There's a chance she doesn't remember it. What are the odds that she thought about you at all after the incident? You were just a stranger on a random night. It's not often that people fully understand the weight of what they did for someone, the trickle down of an action, of a kindness. There's a chance for you to go home, alone and unchanged. Instead (and not for the first time) you work for an hour longer, unpaid labor for a chance to serve her a drink.

Sevika doesn't come every night. You see her maybe once a week, talk to her maybe once a month. You don't expect tonight to be any different, but—

“You gonna watch me all night?” she mutters it into her glass, swallows the last sip before she looks at you. The are tiny wrinkles beginning to form on the corners of her eyes now, along each side of her lips from her smiles. Watching her is entrancing, the easiest thing you do, as natural as drawing a breath. “What are you still doing here?”

You blink downwards at the washed glass in your hand, continue to dry it like it could ever be half as interesting as being under her spell. “Working overtime.”

“Vander can't afford to pay you overtime,” Sevika scoffs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk.

You frown, maybe a little flustered. “He—”

“She's right. Why are you still here?”

The man himself stands tall to your left, glaring at this one permanently stained spot on the bar, working at it with a rag like he hasn't tried the same thing a hundred times before. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a purple hair tie on his wrist— Powder’s, if you were to guess. You’ve grown close to Vander since you met him, even closer when he hired you to work here. “‘S not a favor,” he’d said, quickly catching the suspicion on your face. “Just a gesture to him.” Turns out a lot more people knew your father than you thought; Vander isn’t old enough to have grown up with him, but they still found ways to end up at the same places. If he hadn’t been so secretive about who he was beyond the man who raised you, maybe you would’ve met Vander years ago, became friends at some bar in your teen years instead of at a diner a few days after your father’s funeral. But gaining a friend is a timeless thing, it obeys luck, not sensitivities. One day he wasn’t there, and then the next he was.

You spray some cleaning liquid over the spot on the table, roll your eyes as he leans closer to wonder at how the stain begins to slowly fade. “I’m working,” you repeat.

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes, one eyebrow raised. “I ain’t paying you.”

“I know, okay? It's fine,” you cross your arms over your chest, embarrassed to have been caught even though neither Vander nor Sevika seem to know what the real reason behind you staying late is. “It's a busy night, take it as a favor.”

“I can't afford favors.”

“Good thing they’re free, then,” you deadpan.

Sevika chuckles at the banter, forever amused at your unreserve, how simple you make things. It makes no sense to her to be that generous, that open, but it makes even less sense to think that you’d be any other way. Sevika isn’t particularly trusting, but she is loyal— the more you talk, the more watching you becomes addicting, her thing. She fixates on learning new things about you, clings to your words like a cat to its owner’s scent and wonders, over and over and over, if you remember her. From all those years ago. From last week. With you, she’d take anything.

And when she does finally see you up close, finds a good enough excuse in asking you for fire or a refill, there's little you could ask that she would say no to. It's senseless and thrilling and above all, it's true. She feels it down to her bones, painfully clear, like it's written all over her face.

“What do you do, Sevika?”

Sit and wait for you, she thinks, and instead replies, “What?”

“For work,” you clarify, your hand against the bar, leaning slightly forward. “I see you every week and I still don't know.”

You do know what she does, at least as much as anyone else does— too little to run your mouth, enough to stay away. And if you didn't know, you know her enough to be certain that she wouldn't tell you. It's a pointless question. Unless, of course, you’re as infatuated as you are.

Sevika takes another gulp of her drink, her eyes tracing over the line on your waist where the apron ties behind your back, the soft curve that the pull of it forms. She needs a smoke. “Same shit as everyone else,” she answers, and palms her pockets for a cigarette case. “What do you do? Other than this.”

“This is it,” you watch her flick open the case and shrug. You don’t sound particularly sad or frustrated, just plainly aware. “I pour drinks for people who all seem to do the same shit.”

Sevika hums, sets the case down, a click of metal against well worn wood. An unlit cigarette sits between her index and middle finger. “Be honest,” she starts, and it's the same voice that's been talking to you this whole time, but the gruffness still manages to catch you off guard. “Am I just as bad?”

You chuckle, the same addicting shimmer of genuineness in your eyes that she chases everytime you speak. “Just as bad as what?”

Her eyes follow your hands where they go to pull a lighter from the chest pocket of your apron. “The drunks that flirt with you while you do your job,” she lets the cigarette hang from her lips and leans forward.

“Hm,” you hum. The reflection of the flame sparkles in her eyes before you pull it away, orange against gray, odd and pretty. “I don't know.”

You’re not sure if she looks amused or slightly offended. It's a nice view regardless, the way her eyebrows lift and her lips curve downwards for a second before she breathes out, spilling smoke from her mouth as she talks, “You don't know.”

“I guess I didn't realize you were flirting with me.”

Sevika chuckles, a tiny half moon of a smile line on her cheek when she smirks, smugly aware of the way your eyes are looking at her. “You’re funny.”

Sevika is loyal. It would be easy to say that she doesn’t get what this feeling is, that it’s meaningless, that she doesn’t understand it— but she knows. She knows what it is even if it goes unnamed, because she’s the one deciding to keep it, stubborn and tight gripped, close to her heart. It’s in her dreams, in her first thought of the morning, in the disappointment that sours her mouth when she doesn’t find you at the bar. It’s in her stomach, tugging with need, when she looks at your face and realizes that if she asks if you wanna go home with her tonight, you will say yes.

She takes the leap. Parts her lips, names herself yours. “You wanna get out of here?”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You rarely pour your own drinks anymore. It’s a funny thing— Sevika doesn’t ask about your preference, which liquor is your favorite, if you’d like for her to do it for you. She figures it out like she does most things, making a study out of it, watching you enough. Maybe a little extra, too. The cork slides up with a pop!, her fingers around the neck of the bottle. The warmth of her still lingers on your thighs, your own fingers sitting restless over your lap now that her hair is not close enough to play with.

It’s been months since the first night she came home with you. You wouldn’t yet say that the newness is gone, or that you’re as quick of a student as she is, but there are things you know about Sevika already. Vivid truths, bright like the visions of her in the sunlight that you dream about sometimes. Reassurance is one of the first languages you learn from each other.

For Sevika, it's almost always about touch— you notice it immediately at the core of most of her silences, the way closeness makes her demeanor shift to something calmer, more true to herself. Slide closer to her on the couch and her arm will find itself around your shoulders immediately. Pat the empty spot next to you on the bed and she’ll let out a heavy sigh of relief, join you in sleep instead of torturing herself about tomorrow’s line of business. Part your lips when she's kissing you late at night with no goal other than to kiss you and she’ll let out a sound that vibrates through you and changes her mind on what was once an innocent gesture; she’ll tug your shirt off instead. Brush your hand over her shoulder when she's resting her head on your lap and she’ll guide it to her face instead, a lazy hold on your wrist while your thumb brushes her cheek. Coming to love her is the warmest science. But it’s not always exact.

You watch her pour you a drink at the bar table that sits in front of your bed— watch the dark hair that sits against the nape of her neck, messy and loose, watch the waistline of her pants sitting low on her waist, watch the bareness of her back. If there’s a reason why you decide to say it now, you don’t yet realize it. The words just spill out of you before you have a chance to stop them. “I remember you, you know."

Sevika’s hand hovers over the whiskey glass before she hums, resuming the movement and bringing it to her lips. "You didn't say."

“You didn’t ask,” you rest your back against the bed frame, watch her carefully.

The air sits still and you see her shoulders lift, muscles shifting as she shrugs, a big gulp of golden liquor sliding down her throat. Her voice comes in a mutter, low and almost shy, "Thought I might scare you off.”

The idea is so ridiculous that it's almost laughable. A startled chuckle dies in your chest and leaves room for aching sadness, your back leaving the frame as you lean forward and pray for her to turn around. "He was going to shoot me. Nobody moved a finger but you, Sev," you shake your head, try to manage your expression from saying too much, from confessing to something that’s been inside of you for years. At the tip of your tongue sits a raw desperation for this exact unraveling, for her. "How could you scare me?"

Another moment passes before Sevika turns to face you, lower back against the edge of the table, holding her drink down by her side. She won't look at your eyes— can't, maybe. You wonder if she's considering leaving, if she's already decided that she will, as soon as this is over. A part of you, small but dramatic and loudly pessimistic, is surprised that she’s entertained you this long. Even more surprised when she asks, "Is that what this is?" a turn of her head and the gray in her eyes finds you in a second, mechanical and unforgiving, the snap of a bear trap. You don't think you could look away if you tried. "Are you here because you think you owe me something?"

Your reaction is something close to a flinch, your frown deepening, feet firm on the floor instantly. "You can't seriously think that."

Sevika feels the regret come instantly. It splatters on her face, the pads of her fingers rough when they're brushed over her cheek to wipe herself clean of it like she does blood, gunpowder, fear. She watches out of the corner of her eye the way you part your pretty lips and can hear it in her head, imagine it so clearly, you asking her to leave.

She's already reaching for her coat to make quick work of obeying your wishes when, instead of that, you ask, "You wanna know why I’m here?"

Sevika lowers her hand and the glass hits the table with a thud. Her head tilts to make the slightest nod— and that's as much of an answer as you'll get, you think.

“Look at me,” your finger sits under her chin, a touch barely there, the rise of her head more her choice than your doing. “You’re good, Sevika,” she grimaces, feels like she's swimming in gross viscous shame older than herself and barely surviving it. You press your thumb into her cheek, firm but kind, and keep her from being swept away by it. If she used to find your openness sweet, right now she finds it fucking miraculous. How can you call her good and mean it, how can someone else know so deeply that she could be, that she will be, when most days she doesn’t even know it herself? How can she look you in the eyes and deny you that truth? Her face relaxes, grimace replaced by an aching need as she listens to you. “I see it better than most, but they all catch up eventually. Whatever you put your mind to, you’re fucking good at it,” you pause, try to read her expression and find yourself unsure, but calm. How lovely to think that there's still so much to learn. “You don't owe me and I’m not trying to change you… you don't need—”

Sevika rests her hand over your cheek, a warm hum from her throat to acknowledge what you're saying, a desperate shake of her head to say but I do. “I need you,” her forehead falls against your own, in her brain a chant of please.

You look at her through your lashes, nod your head and feel warm, warm, warm. Her hand guides your face closer, a needy pull of her fingers where they press against the back of your neck, your whisper of “me too” spilled into her mouth. Sevika kisses like there's nothing in the whole fucking world she’d rather be doing, nothing that could possibly distract her. She has kissed you in nightclub bathrooms even with someone's knocks shaking the flimsy door, in alleys with her knuckles still bloody from a fight, dangerously close to opening hours with your back against the very bar where she rests her drinks every night. She's hungry, insatiable, and every time you can't wait to part your lips and let her in.

It takes godlike strength to hold on for as long as you do, but there's power in making her wait too, a satisfaction that feels drunk and just as divine as it makes its way down your spine. A few more chaste kisses take seconds or a century, and Sevika indulges them for as long as she can before she breaks, falls to her knees at your altar and breathes, “Please.”

There's nothing you like more than hearing her beg, except maybe what happens after you give in— the relief, the sigh against your mouth, the wet warmth of her tongue and the desperation in the way she pushes her body against you like she hadn't til then realized just how famished she’d been. Her hands wrap around your waist meanly, pressing indents, and you're too busy soothing your own hunger on her lips to realize that she's switched your positions.

You feel the harshness of the table against your back and pull away to look down, catch up, your daze maybe a little too obvious judging by the curl of her mouth. She's panting as much as you are, though, tongue peeking out barely to brush over her lips, tingly and wet from your kisses. “Up,” she says with a tilt of her head, more a warning than a command, her hands already down on your hips to get you sitting over the wood.

Sevika is a sight, pretty and inviting and overwhelming— you reach for her waist and pull, entranced by the way she follows, the way your legs interlock. A thin layer of sweat glimmers over her chest and you've never found so much beauty in the undercity’s humidity, never felt yourself get wet as easily as she makes it, never been so desperate to find some relief from the aching between your legs. Your thighs squeeze into Sevika’s and looking up to meet her eyes feels like a punch, like the sweetest blood, a sea of glazed-over gray barely visible against the black of her pupils. A mirror of your wanting; how the hunger grows when it meets reciprocation this delicious. You lean forward to taste it from her lips and she meets you halfway, a hand traveling up your spine and ending at your neck.

You don't know when you started grinding against her, but you know you want more. And you know Sevika’s holding back, savoring the same power you’d tried before, a smirk against your lips when she feels you speed up, hears you moan from somewhere deep in your throat. It suits her, the way she holds control. Sevika likes to wonder if she’d ever hold on longer, make you really wait. Sometimes she thinks she might, and then (like now) your voice fills her ears and clouds every thought that says anything other than please, god, fuck, let me make you feel good. “Don’t be mean,” you say this time, breathy and achingly sweet. “Please, Sevika.”

The first grind of her thigh against your pussy makes you end a kiss with your teeth biting into the meat of her lower lip, rougher than you intended. “Fuck, Sev—” you say, cut yourself off with a gasp when she does it again. Sevika figures out the angle unsurprisingly quickly, a hand on your hip and another on your ass to guide you back and forth at a rhythm that matches the movement of her own hips, enough fervency behind it that you know she needed this as much as you did. Maybe more, judging by the groans she spills on your neck every time you press up into her.

Full lips kiss at your pulse, open mouthed, her breath cool against your skin when it meets the wetness she left there. Your nails rake over her shoulder, over her scalp where your fingers are buried in between strands of dark hair— and when Sevika groans it sounds raw, a broken noise, her hips moving desperately faster. You can feel her warmth on your thigh and you've never wanted so badly to have her undressed, laid out, rubbing her pussy against you, leaving a mess on skin rather than the fabric of your pants. She's getting carried away, you know it, chasing her high and barely giving you a chance to catch up. You've never wanted anything more than to let her use you.

“You feel so fucking good,” she grunts, wrecked with need for you to pacify when she lifts her head from your neck, her eyebrows furrowed. You watch her get lost on your lips and you can imagine what they look like, how plump she left them, how the pride of that must simmer in her lower abdomen. Her thumb brushes over them once, then again, and you barely register that she's asking for permission before your mouth moves on its own accord to let her index and middle finger inside. It's filling, just what you needed; how beautifully unsurprising that she knew it more than you did, or that she needed it just the same.

You're fully caged in now, your back pressed against the wall, Sevika’s free hand on your waist still steering you back and forth on her thigh. “Too— hm, fuck,” her fingers slide out of your mouth and press wet indents into your cheek as she holds your jaw, traps you in her eyes. She’s far too gone to warn you but she doesn't have to, it's so painfully clear. Her eyes two dark pits to swallow you whole, lips parted, the grinding brutal and so fucking good— she says it until she can't form the words anymore, her head tilted back, thighs stuttering and tightening around your leg as she comes.

Your tongue tastes the skin of her bared neck and you feel yourself get closer and closer, fed by the feeling of her nipple under the pad of your thumb, by the shaking moans she spills into your ears as you keep grinding against her. Sevika must feel it too, in the same way you did, notice the change in your breath or the speed of your hips— because she pulls away and knows to soothe the needy desperation on your face with a messy kiss before she gets down on her knees.

“Shh,” her shushing comes soft and agonizingly kind, your whines barely contained as she presses kisses to the inside of your thighs. “What happened to my patient girl?” she asks, a tilt of her head and a smirk, the meanest angel.

Your palms press onto the table to lift yourself up enough to let her slide your pants and underwear off in one motion. “Spoiled me too much,” you answer, your mind foggy, drunk on the sight of her kneeling in front of you.

It takes Sevika a moment to reply, the pads of her finger pressing into your thighs. Her eyes meet yours and she wants to tell you, how could I not? You’re not trying to change her, you’d said, but you do. These days, she doesn't think about anything else like she used to— I love you prefaces everything. I love you, so I’m winning this stupid fight and making some money. I love you, so I gotta get home alive. I love you, so I think we could change this city. I love you, you should have every-fucking-thing. But Sevika's not really a woman of many words, especially not when you're looking at her like this, especially not when she's this hungry, so she shrugs her shoulders and says (like it explains everything, and maybe it does), "Look at you.”

The intensity of her makes your legs squeeze together, but you barely make it an inch before she’s pulling them apart and hooking them over her shoulders exactly how she likes.

Your face feels like it's burning, heat crawling up your neck, your grip on the table tight. “Please.”

Sevika barely manages to pry her eyes away from where you're open and glimmering, soaking her fingers after just one brush of them against your lips. Her voice comes out strained, drowned in hunger. “Please what?”

You must sound worse, but the thought barely registers, hardly matters. “Please, Sevika, make me come.”

And she does— pretty nose bumping perfectly against your clit whenever her tongue is too busy inside you, her lips shiny and wet and relentless. Like everything else, she's fucking good at it.

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika fanfic #sevika x you #sevika fic #sevika fluff #sevika smut #arcane fic #arcane fanfic #sevika x y/n #sevika x female reader #sevika x reader smut #arcane smut

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simpjaes · 1 year ago

Note

jungwon being amazed when reader begs to be titty fucked 😇😇 ik jungwon loves boobies, he just gives that vibeeeee

*gasp*

mdni wc: 1.1k tags: they're best friends and jungwon has a staring problem. reader doesn't beg but she definitely encourages it....he fingers her hahahaha……

jungwon, the shyest best friend you've ever had struggling not to stare every single time you wear a shirt that shows the curve of your bust or the cleavage of them.

countless times you've swatted at him, called him a perv, told him to go find a girl to sink into before he makes it weird-- and countless times he hasn't fought you on it.

countless times he's just kept staring. and staring. and nearly drooling.

especially when you sleep over, wearing that fucking tank top. Such huge tits, he shouldn't have been shocked when he woke up and loomed over you, seeing a glimpse of your perky and pretty nipple. Honestly, he's sure that your tits have fallen out of that tank top mid-sleep hundreds of times, at this point you're probably just wearing it so he feels embarrassed for looking, right?

Absolutely right.

Now, weeks after the tit-falling-out-of-your-top incident, you decide to push a little. After all, you love Jungwon with everything in you. It's what any best friend would do...maybe.

"You wanna fuck them?" You ask off handedly, watching as your best friend, once again, won't stop staring.

"Wha-"

"Just kidding," You wave him off, turning on your heel and walking towards his kitchen. You stop short of the entrance though, and turn back to face him. "Unless...?"

It's cute, really, how he basically throws himself back into his bedroom at the mere thought of seeing the head of his cock peek through your tits as he fucks them.

You're not serious though, right? You're just fucking with him again.

Oh, but you're so serious about it. As you walk back into his room with a glass of juice, you make a point to play with the strap on that same tank top.

"You want to." You dead-pan at him, clocking his desires at face value. "And I'd let you."

He watches as you shrug, those same dainty fingers teasing him with the strap of your tank top.

Watching, staring again. Is this why you didn't wear a bra today? Is this why he can practically see how hard your nipples are through that tank? Is this why you turned down his air conditioning?

"Stop fucking with me." Jungwon starts, forcing his eyes away from your tits and trying to look up at your face. "It'll be weird."

"Not any more weird than seeing you stare twenty-four-seven."

Ah, there goes his cheeks. Flushing before reddening at your words. His cock twitches between his legs at the way his mind races through images of doing just that with you.

But...you're his best friend.

"Wonnie, you're thinking too hard about it. See? Look." You chuckle, setting your glass down on his bed-side table and lifting the tank top off of you.

He's in shock when they bounce out, fleshy, heavy. Huge fucking tits. If he's ever stared before, he's only doing it harder now as he rubs his legs together, clenching his ass and pushing his growing cock up and against the inseam of his pants.

You, on the other hand, aren't typically this bold. You've never really been afraid to show your tits but Jungwon is right in worrying about the fact that the two of you are best friends.

The way his mouth falls open though? The way he rubs his legs together? The way you can see his cock twitching?

If anything, he's just a guy who loves some tits, and you happen to have him. It won't be weird....hopefully.

"See?" You repeat your words in a softer tone, feeling more seen than expected. "It's easy."

He slowly nods to you, moving his hand between his legs and pressing his palm down. He releases a seethed moan, eyes squinting as if he's in some sort of pain.

If anything, it's reluctance.

"It'll be s-so fucking weird." He finally manages to stutter out, still pressing his palm against himself, still shifting his eyes between both perked up nipples.

"Not any more weird than watching you practically jerk off to me-" You admit, rubbing your own legs together now at seeing your best friend act so...horny.

After all, yeah, he stares. Yeah, it's cute. But this. Why is he turning you on now?

And those words are really all it takes to have Jungwon standing to his feet and dropping his pants, cock hanging heavy and begging to be slid between your tits.

He's leaking when he does it, gently helping you down to your knees in front of his bed, and there, he sits with his cock in hand, unsure of what to do next.

You chuckle at him, as if the two of you haven't already made it weird. You hold both of your breasts up and rub one of your nipples along his length, collecting the precum until it's dribbling out even more.

His hips press up on instinct, fucking nothing but moaning all the while until you take it upon yourself once again to lean forward and nestle his cock between them.

And he just doesn't stop moaning, hands shooting to the outer cups of your tits and pressing them firmly together before fucking up again, and again, and again. Until he's panting rather than moaning, until his brain spirals into that of wondering how the plush sensation wrapping his cock right now is just as good as having it squeezed by a wet cunt. in other words, it's definitely weird but he also thinks no other pair of tits would feel this good against him. And he makes it a point to prove to you. Proving it by cumming within minutes, spurting his cum all up your neck with trembling hands struggling to hold your tits through it. You're in awe, really, seeing your best friend get off for the first time. It doesn't really pain you to stick your tongue out to catch some of his cum, though it seemed to shock him quite a bit as seeing you do it. And by shock him, you mean it seemed to turn him on more because you thought you'd caught the last of his release. No, oh no no. He kept cumming, repeatedly spurting out more and more up until he's entirely spent and flopping back on his bed.

You're quiet when you stand and hover over him, ignoring the swell of your clit and the thick wet sliding between your legs when you move. "Too weird?" You ask gently, slowly crawling onto the bed with him. He blinks up at you, glowing with his post-nut bliss and shakes his head. "Somehow, no." He smiles. "So...then..." You pause, your own face heating up. "You wouldn't be opposed to...yknow.." He feels you grip his hand and run it down your body, straight down between your legs. What he wasn't expecting was for you to like it enough to get this fucking wet over it. And when he looks at you quirking a brow, it's easy for him to offer you some release. Fingers plunging into you from under your shorts, smiling at you like he always does.

#enhypen smut #jungwon smut #enhypen hard hours #ask #anon #hardthots

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bonelyheartsclub · 1 month ago

Text

♡ Stretch - Valentine's One-Shot ♡

Written by @/buttergriffin332

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

The moon was high in the sky, the stars twinkling and bright. The cold night air granted a nice breeze through the neighborhood, sending little chills into open windows and to those who happened to be up at this ungodly hour. A pleasant night to be curled up in bed, sleeping away to begin the next day.

You were one of the many tucked away under the covers and pleasantly asleep. You’d have stayed asleep if not for the subtle chiming of your phone, the screen flashing on and shining right in your face. It seemed you had forgotten to put it on do not disturb mode. So you were roused from your slumber as you blindly reached for your phone. You moved to turn it off, but just barely caught who the notification was from.

It was from Stretch.

‘Lemme in ;3’

You squinted in confusion at the text and watched as a second one arrived.

‘Hi :D’

“Wha…” You grumbled sleepily.

“Hi.”

You yelped and jolted in your bed, sitting straight up as you gawked at the skeleton lazily peering through the window you left open last night. He just grinned as if he hadn’t just roused you from sleep and gave you the biggest scare of your life; at least, for the month.

“Nice shirt.”

“Stretch? What are you doing here? It’s 3 in the morning.” You groaned, voice rough with sleep as you rubbed your eyes. You weren’t that tired anymore after the spook, but you certainly wished you could go back to sleep.

Stretch grunted and hopped through your window, plopping down on your bed with a sigh. “Couldn’t sleep.” He put his hands in his pockets and turned to you. “Wanna go out with me?”

You sighed and pulled a blanket over your shoulders. “Stretch, it’s the middle of the night. Nothing is going to be open.”

He chuckled. “No, I mean literally. Do you wanna go out with me? Like for a walk.”

You tilted your head at him, confusion all over your face, and watched as Stretch’s goofy smile widened. “You, Stretch, are asking me to go for a walk?” You asked slowly.

“That’s how you know this relationship is serious. Only the very special people in my life know I walk outside in the dead of night with a flashlight when everyone else in the neighborhood is asleep.” His smile was unbelievably large at this point, and maybe it was that you’d only just woken up, but you really couldn’t tell if he was playing around or being serious.

“I’m going back to sleep.” You huffed and laid back down.

Stretch laughed and got up and gently pulled the blanket back. “Okay no, wait. Come on, hear me out.” He snickered and waited for you to turn back to him. “I know it’s late, but it’s a great time of night for lizard and frog hunting.” He knelt down beside the bed.

“Why would I wanna go lizard and frog hunting at three in the morning?” You rolled over and frowned sleepily at him.

“Because it’d be with me? And you love me?” He put on that stupid cheese smile that never fails to make you smile back, but you tried to hide it behind your blanket. “Besides, not like you’re doing anything important-”

“I was sleeping! One of your favorite things to do!” You argued.

He continued to talk. “So why not spend this time doing something fun?!” He stood up to his full height and put his hands on his hips. “Come on, you’ll like it!”

“I like sleep, too…” You slowly sat back up and tried to bite back a yawn.

Stretch settled down into a more calm pose, matching your energy a bit more. When he gets all excited his similarities with Papyrus really show. “We won’t be out too long, promise.”

You sighed, caving at his eager face. “If I do this, you’re treating me to lunch and dinner today.”

He snorted, and you almost moved to argue with him, but he waved it off. “I hear ya, it’s a deal. Lunch and dinner, on the to-do list.” He nodded and reached his hand out when you started to get up. “You’re gonna wanna change clothes.”

“I gathered that, silly.”

After you threw on a pair of sweatpants and a nice soft jacket, you and Stretch lazily strolled out of your house. Sure enough, it’s still the dead of night and very dark. The lamp posts were the only light source that allowed the two of you to see the sidewalk. Stretch seemed to have a specific target to walk towards, so you followed.

You soon found yourself in a more odd location than expected. The edge of a small thicket of trees that bordered the large neighborhood. You couldn’t help but laugh in denial.

“You know, if I didn’t care about you so much, I’d find it really strange that you woke me up in the middle of the night to lead me into a dark forest.” You hummed and gave a little shiver from the breeze.

Stretch snickered and pulled an item from the pocket of his hoodie and affixed it to his skull. You squinted from the bright light suddenly shining on your face and groaned.

“Luckily, I have a means to make it not dark.” He replied and offered a second head light to you. You decided to ask why he had multiple of these later.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“Oh so very lucky. Let’s go!”

Stretch was very careful with you as you both walked through the cluster of trees and bushes and whatnot. He kept a hand around yours, and the light pointed down to make sure you were never far behind and never slipped. All the while, the orange dots of his eyes flicked back and forth with each sound in the night. You could hear the hoot of an owl, the chirp of crickets, and even the occasional frog croak.

You stayed put when Stretch let your hand go and started snooping through some bushes. He rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie and dove his hands into a small, muddy puddle, and let out a shout of victory.

You cocked your head and watched as he approached you, his hands firmly gripping a large frog covered in dirt.

“I got you a friend.”

“Oh my g-, put it down Stretch!”

He fake gasped. “You don’t like my gift?”

“I love your gift, just not the possibility of it attacking me.” You stepped back and smacked his arm when he moved the frog closer. It was surprisingly relaxed in his hands, all things considered.

Stretch smiled. “He’s fine. He won’t hurt ya!” He cocked his head and hummed. “Can’t tell what kind it is… it’s a wood frog.”

You hummed and nestled your hands in your warm pockets. “Well, we are around trees.” You teased gently.

He rolled his eyes and crouched back down to the spot where he’d grabbed the little guy and let him go. “Let’s hop to it!”

Oddly enough, rooting through leaves and bushes was quite fun! Even if it was a little cold. Your fingers gently tingled in the cold night air which left you to watch Stretch more than participate, but it was enjoyable nonetheless! Anything he caught he’d give you a quick show and share a fact or two about the critter before letting it go. It was remarkable that his clothes stayed clean the whole time.

“This a habit of yours I didn’t know about?” You asked as you were crouched with him as he set free a much smaller frog. It was various shades of brown and you were surprised Stretch saw it even with the light.

He shrugged. “Eh… consider it a temporary hobby? A lot of these little guys weren’t in the underground, so I’m kinda infatuated by them.”

“Ooh, big word.”

“Hush.” He pushed you with his elbow with a chuckle.

You laughed with him and stood back up, walking with him once again. “It’s actually really cute. Even if it’s a little silly to think of you stalking through the night just to look at reptiles and stuff.”

He hummed and wrapped an arm over your shoulders to gently pull you closer as you both strolled your way out towards the street. “I’m glad my silliness is endearing.”

“It’s one of your best qualities.” You replied, grinning when you caught the subtle orange that spread on his face. Though he probably thought you couldn’t see it in the darkness.

He rubbed the back of his neck with one of his hands, trying to brush off the embarrassment. “W-well uh… in that case I-OH!”

In a blink, and with speed you’d rarely seen from the skeleton, he was over by a bush and quickly swiped something from the leaves. You tried to ask what was so exciting that got that reaction from him, but he spun and offered you to look instead.

“Ooh, a lizard.” You smiled and reached out to try to give the rather large critter a pet, but Stretch pulled his hands away.

“A gecko! A tokay gecko specifically.” He lifted his hands up to his face to look at the little guy closer. “You’re not supposed to be out here. No, you are not.” He hummed and tried to look it over without loosening his grip.

“He’s not?” You inquired and shuffled closer to him. The little guy looked pretty. The red spots really made him pop.

He shook his head. “Nope. These little guys are actually from uh… Asia I believe? So far away from here. Obviously invasive.” He hummed and cocked his head to the side. “And usually supposed to be pretty aggressive….” His voice drifted off.

“Looks pretty docile to me.” You observed and leaned against the skeleton, partly to look at the large reptile and partly to soak up his warmth as the cold started to bite a bit more.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. That means he was captive bred. He shouldn’t be out here.” He frowned and held the critter closer to his chest.

You grinned. “Did you just make a new friend?” You teased, nudging him as he laughed.

“Nyeh heh, I wish. Regardless of if he was in captivity before, he’s pretty grown up and won’t hesitate to bite to protect whatever they call their territory. Wouldn’t want any of my little ones getting hurt.” He waved his head in motion for you to follow, going back to the original task of going home.

“What are you gonna do with him then?” You wrapped an arm around one of his own, looking at the reptile that seemed rather content in Stretch’s grasp.

“I’m gonna make a temporary tank for the night, then turn him over to a shelter in the morning. He’s a beautiful little one, I’m sure he won’t be stuck there long.”

You smiled. Watching Stretch dote on something the size of his hand was always so sweet to see. You knew a select few details of his past and that kindness is ingrained in his very being, despite some of the demons he obviously has, no matter how much he refused to tell you. Watching him be his authentic self in these moments reminded you of just why you fell for him.

You warmed up in the skeleton house and helped Stretch set up the temporary tank for the gecko. The little guy immediately hid under a hide away log the moment Stretch let him inside. After he was settled, you yawned and sat with the skeleton on the couch. Drowsiness had begun to weigh on you a while ago, but finally sitting down showed you just how tuckered out you were. It was only 5 in the morning, and you were thankful you didn’t have work tomorrow and had every intention of sleeping in.

You felt the skeleton nuzzle his face against the top of your head and hum. “Happy Valentine's Day, sweet bee.”

You turned to look at him. “Valentines day?”

“Yeah, it’s technically the 14th, even if the sun isn’t up yet. Had the whole day planned for ya…. If you’re up for that I mean.” he hummed, a shy smile tugged on his face.

You hummed sweetly and leaned your head back to his shoulder. “That sounds lovely, but I don’t know if I’ll be waking up any time soon for your plans.” You sighed.

Stretch rubbed your back and pulled you a touch closer. “Well, good thing I had that planned out too. Had a whole lunch and dinner date planned.”

“Aww.” You smiled and closed your eyes. Lunch and dinner, he’s so sweet.

…

Wait.

“Is that why you laughed!?”

Stretch’s cackling filled the living room and you’re once again reminded of another reason why you fell for him. He really does think of everything.

You groaned and roughly shoved yourself against him, intending to take all the warmth and comfort he could possibly have. “Happy Valentine's Day to you too, you dork.”

#bonely hearts club #valentines day #bhcmyvalentine25

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kashverse · 1 month ago

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𝒴our first encounter with the 呪術廻戦 men

⪩⪨ ✶ implied f!reader but can be read otherwise (use of "pretty" in choso's version), strangers to lovers, fluff, featuring ♡ canon! gojo, canon! geto, single dad! toji, modern au! choso, canon! sukuna in a modern au, corporate! nanami ✿ ⪩⪨ tried a new formatting style..! ib my dear @norikuna (∩˃o˂∩)♡

gojo doesn’t see you coming. not because he’s oblivious—though, sure, that’s part of it—but because he’s too busy making himself miserable, listening to some poor bastard on the phone cry about their ex. it’s barely noon, the sun’s out, people are living their lives, and this guy’s talking about how he let “the one” slip through his fingers. “bro, just get another one,” gojo had said, dead-eyed, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. the response was more crying. he sighed, hanging up.

and then he smacked straight into you.

not a polite bump, not even a nudge—full-on body collision, your forehead meeting his chin with a sharp crack. the impact was enough to send you both stumbling, but while gojo’s built like a brick wall, you had all the misfortune of being knocked back a few steps. “ow—what the fuck?!” your voice came first, and then, through the dizzying pain, you saw him. tall, white-haired, stupidly good-looking in an insufferable way, dressed like he was on some model’s off-day. sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and even through the slight daze, you could see the sharp glint of his blue eyes peering down at you.

“ah, my bad—”

“your bad?” your voice rose, disbelieving. the pain hadn’t even settled yet, but your temper had. “you nearly took my head off!”

gojo blinked. “well, technically, if i took your head off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he pointed out. “unless you’re a talking head, which would be—"

“are you serious?” you cut him off, hands flying up in exasperation. “you’re just standing in the middle of the damn sidewalk—”

“crosswalk,” he corrected.

“—like a fucking lamppost,” you barreled on, ignoring him. “and then you hit me. no, actually, you collided with me like a fucking train, and now you’re just standing there?”

you looked ready to kill him. gojo thought you looked radiant. people don’t really yell at him. they get nervous, flustered, awkward. maybe they complain a little, but they don’t yell. not like this—not with this kind of raw, unfiltered rage that was directed solely at him.

and he was loving it.

“ohhh, you’re mad mad,” he said, grinning.

“no shit?” you spat, rubbing your forehead. “you’re huge! why do you walk like you don’t know how to control your own size?”

“i’m huge? that’s a compliment,” he mused. “also, you ran into me.”

“i did not—"

“you did, but it’s okay,” he waved off. “i forgive you.”

your mouth dropped open. your jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it click. “i don’t need your forgiveness,” you snapped. “i need you to watch where the hell you’re going!” gojo just smiled. “i can do that,” he said. “but only if you tell me your name first.”

you squinted at him. “why?”

“so i know what to say in my apology,” he said smoothly. “y’know, something heartfelt, real personal. ‘i’m so sorry, dear stranger, for running into you with my big, strong, muscular body—’”

your scowl deepened. “forget it,” you turned to leave, shaking your head.

gojo grabbed your wrist. lightly, like he was afraid you’d shake him off (which you probably would). “wait,” he said, less teasing this time, more curious.

you stopped, staring at him warily. “what?”

he grinned. “you’re fun.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip. “you’re annoying.”

but you weren’t yelling anymore. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

toji doesn't believe in love—at least, not in the way people like to romanticize it. to him, love has always been transactional. people want things: security, pleasure, a warm body to cling to at night. he provides, they take. simple.

commitment? fuck no. he’s been there, done that, and all it got him was a headache and a kid who looks at him like he’s a walking disappointment. not that he blames megumi—he knows exactly the kind of man he is. relationships, from what he's seen, are just another job. another obligation. more shit to deal with when he's already stretched thin making sure megumi doesn't starve or turn into a little menace. and he's already got enough on his plate.

raising megumi is work. the kid is sharp, stubborn, and way too perceptive for his own good. keeping up with him is exhausting. fulfilling someone else’s expectations on top of that? hell no.

people ask if he’s lonely. he laughs. lonely? he’s got freedom. no nagging, no obligations, no answering to anyone but himself and, on the worst days, a grumpy eight-year-old who somehow thinks he’s smarter than him. love, in his experience, is just a distraction. and toji fushiguro doesn’t do distractions.

and toji swears he only looked away for a second.

he was just checking the damn price tag on some overpriced brand of instant noodles, and when he looked back, megumi was gone. poof. like a magic trick, except it wasn’t a trick, and the rising panic in his chest was very, very real. “shit,” he muttered, scanning the aisles. nothing. just a bunch of old ladies and college kids looking for cheap meals. no messy black hair, no tiny scowl. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep calm. he didn’t want to make a scene. people lost their kids all the time, right? it wasn’t a big deal. he just had to—

and then he saw him.

megumi was at the end of the next aisle, small hands clenched at his sides, his mouth pressed in a thin, stubborn line, like he wasn’t scared, even though he definitely was. and right next to him, crouched down to his level, was you. “you’re really good at this,” you said. megumi blinked up at you. “huh?”

“the whole ‘not panicking’ thing,” you smiled at him. “most kids freak out when they lose their parents. you’re staying calm. that’s cool.” megumi looked away, like he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or not. “i don’t wanna cause trouble,” he muttered.

“aw, but that’s what parents are for,” you teased. “causing them trouble.” megumi almost smiled. almost. toji, still frozen in place, narrowed his eyes. who the hell were you?

“c’mon, let’s go find your dad,” you said, standing up and holding out a hand. megumi didn’t take it, but he followed you anyway, his short legs working hard to keep up with your pace. and toji? well. he wasn’t sure why, but instead of stepping forward, he let you find him.

he let you do the whole thing, watching as you walked with megumi, asking him questions—where he last saw his dad, what his name was, what he looked like.

“he’s really tall,” megumi said. you hummed. “tall, huh? that helps.”

“and he’s got a scar on his mouth,” he added.

“even better. anyone who looks scary is easier to spot.”

megumi frowned a little. “he’s not scary.” you smiled, ruffling his hair. “i bet he isn’t.”

toji snorted under his breath.

by the time you turned the corner and finally spotted him, megumi exhaled in relief. toji pretended not to notice how fast he ran up to him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t just saying how calm he was. you, on the other hand, stopped a few steps away, hands on your hips. “you must be the scary, not-scary dad,” you said.

toji raised an eyebrow. “and you’re just a random saint, huh?” you shrugged. “not a saint. just someone who doesn’t like seeing kids upset.”

he looked at you, really looked at you. you didn’t seem put out by any of this, like helping some stranger’s kid wasn’t an inconvenience, but just another part of your day. like it was normal. toji let out a breath, then tilted his head down at megumi. “you good, kid?”

megumi nodded, though he still wasn’t letting go of toji’s shirt. toji sighed, glancing back at you. “guess i owe you, huh?”

you waved him off. “don’t worry about it. just keep an eye on him next time.”

toji huffed a laugh. “easier said than done.”

you grinned, giving megumi one last look before turning to leave. and toji? well. maybe being responsible for two people wouldn’t be so bad after all.

nanami never thought much about being single. it wasn’t a matter of pride or principle—just reality. his job was time-consuming, his patience was thin, and the thought of entertaining someone else’s needs after a long workday felt exhausting. he wasn’t lonely, just… fine. indifferent.

until he got sick of his office food.

“this is inedible,” he said flatly, staring at the sad excuse of a meal on his plate. his colleague, barely looking up from his own tray, mumbled, “it’s fine.”

nanami’s eye twitched. it was not fine. rubbery chicken, dry rice, and a soup that tasted more like dishwater than anything edible. this was not a meal—it was a punishment.

so, he made a change.

he found a small business that delivered homemade meals, something personal but convenient. it promised variety, quality ingredients, and, most importantly, flavor.

what he didn’t expect were the notes.

the first one came tucked under the neatly packed meal.

“hope today isn’t too exhausting! eat well!”

nanami stared at it for longer than he should have. then, at the food—real food. properly cooked, properly seasoned, steaming with warmth that no canteen meal could ever replicate. he didn’t think about it much. a kind gesture, that was all. but the notes kept coming.

“long meetings? i packed extra today.”

“rainy day! hope this brings some warmth.”

“rough week? your food will always be good at least.”

and then—

“your order is always so precise. you must be someone who likes routine.”

nanami paused mid-bite. he did like routine. he thrived on it. and yet, this—this unexpected kindness, these little messages—was beginning to throw him off in a way he couldn’t explain. weeks passed, meals came, and nanami found himself looking forward to them—not just for the food, but for the words that came with it. one afternoon, after another insufferable meeting, he opened his meal to find:

“do you ever take breaks? hope you’re not working too hard.”

he let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. he was working too hard. but how did you—someone he’d never met—seem to know that better than the people around him? finally, curiosity got the better of him. he grabbed a pen and, for the first time, wrote back.

“who are you?”

the next day, his meal came with a note, just like always.

“just someone who wants you to eat well. but i wouldn’t mind knowing who you are too.”

and for the first time in a long time, nanami thought—maybe being single wasn’t so fine after all.

geto doesn’t believe in love. not in the way people romanticize it, anyway. he’s known desire—used it, wielded it like a tool, a means to an end. a well-timed smile, a hand grazing a wrist, a whispered promise—all of it was just another step in expanding his cause. people were easy to sway when you made them feel special. and being single? it wasn’t something he mourned. it was efficient. no attachments, no complications, no wasted energy. everything he did, every conversation, every encounter—it all served a purpose.

until you.

“you’ve been talking for a while,” you said, tilting your head at him. geto smiled. “am i boring you?”

“not at all. just wondering if you’re going to get to the point.”

he chuckled, swirling his drink. clever. impatient. interesting.

“what do you think my point is?”

you leaned back, thoughtful. “well, you’re charming, you have that practiced ease of someone who’s very used to getting what they want, and yet…” you narrowed your eyes. “you haven’t tried to get anything from me yet.”

his smile twitched. perceptive too. “maybe i’m just enjoying the conversation.”

“hmm.” you didn’t look convinced. “i doubt you talk to people without a reason.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you wound me. am i not allowed to simply appreciate good company?”

you smirked. “do you?”

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he did.

he was supposed to be recruiting you. that was why he approached you in the first place—he had assessed, observed, picked you out for your potential. another piece in his grander vision. but now? now, he was talking to you about books, about philosophy, about things that had nothing to do with his cause.

he liked your sharp tongue, your quick comebacks, the way you saw through people but humored them anyway. and he was enjoying this. more than he should.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you noted.

“am i?”

“yeah. for someone who flirts so easily, you seem oddly distracted.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. you had no idea. for the first time in a long time, geto suguru had forgotten his purpose. and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

choso doesn’t really get love. it’s not that he doesn’t feel it—he does, deeply, messily, all-consuming in the way only someone who has lived too long without it can. it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to work. his friends talk about relationships like they’re puzzles, like you’re supposed to fit into someone else’s life piece by piece, no gaps, no edges sticking out. but choso? he keeps forcing the wrong pieces together. he’s had his heart broken by so many situationships, and he doesn’t even know what that word means. all he knows is that people like him enough to stay for a while, but not enough to stay forever. and when someone ghosts him? it’s over.

“why would they do that?” he asks yuuji, completely distraught. “i thought we were getting along.” yuuji winces. “yeah, but… sometimes people just disappear, man. it’s not your fault.”

“but why not just say they don’t like me?”

“because people suck.”

choso frowns. love is confusing. people are confusing. nothing makes sense.

until he meets you.

more specifically, until you send a pug flying in his direction. one second, he’s minding his own business, sipping a coffee, staring blankly at nothing. the next—

“watch out!”

and then—THUD.

a very round, very squishy pug collides with his chest, knocking the air out of him. he blinks. looks down. the pug is fine. choso, however, is shaken.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you pant, running up to him, looking horrified. “he’s got the speed of a missile and the weight distribution of a sack of potatoes. are you okay?”

choso is still holding the pug. he has not processed a single thing except that you’re talking to him, and you’re really pretty. you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“hello? earth to guy who just got body slammed by my dog?”

he swallows. “i—i’m okay.”

you sigh in relief. “good. i don’t think my insurance covers ‘pug-related assaults.’”

he stares. then—

he laughs.

it’s an awkward, slightly delayed laugh, but it’s real. it bubbles out of him, because suddenly, everything is just… simple. you’re still talking, apologizing, trying to pry your dog from his grip, and he realizes—love doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing. it can be a stranger, a runaway pug, and a stupidly perfect moment where he thinks, 'oh. this is it.'

sukuna has never cared for love. love is mortal, fleeting, an indulgence for the weak. he has lived for centuries without it, conquered, destroyed, thrived—all on his own. why bother with attachment? why waste time on something that promises nothing but vulnerability? he’s always been perfectly fine like this.

until the night he meets you at the bar.

he doesn’t even mean to notice you at first—just another human in a crowded room, laughing, talking, lighting up the space with an ease he’s never possessed.

and then he hears you speak. your voice is smooth, effortless, like you’re meant to be heard. every sentence flows into the next, words never fumbling, never uncertain. you make people laugh, pull them in, keep them hanging on to every syllable. sukuna watches, listens, enthralled, before someone leans in and calls you by name—your full name. followed by—

“aren’t you that talk show host?”

and it clicks. you are. he’s seen your face before, flickering on a television screen, a passing glimpse at a life so far removed from his own.

and now he’s irritated. because you talk so easily with everyone but him. and that won’t do.

so he tries. for the first time in centuries, he tries to talk to someone—like a normal person, like it’s something he’s done before, like it’s as easy as you make it look.

but it’s not. it’s a disaster.

he waits until the crowd around you has thinned, takes the seat next to you, and—

“so.” he clears his throat. “you talk to people for a living.”

you turn, blinking, mildly amused. “i do.”

he nods, confident. good start. then nothing. his mind goes blank. shit.

you raise a brow, waiting. sukuna glares at his drink like it’s betrayed him. “how do you do it?”

you tilt your head. “do what?” he gestures vaguely. “talk. keep people engaged.”

you blink. “are you asking me how to hold a conversation?”

his jaw tenses. “no.”

you laugh. he scowls.

he tries again. “what makes a good interview?”

“oh, that’s easy,” you hum. “you have to be genuinely interested in the other person.”

he deadpans.

you smirk. “which means you have to actually listen to what they’re saying.”

“i listen,” he grumbles.

“really?” you lean in. “then what were we just talking about?”

silence. your smirk widens. “you weren’t listening.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is hell.

but he keeps trying. keeps failing, keeps making an idiot of himself, keeps suffering through every one of your knowing smiles—because for the first time in his miserable, ancient existence, he actually wants to learn.

he wants to talk to you.

and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to talk to him, too.

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bvrnesher · 16 days ago

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Percy is the kind of boy that if he sees the amount of blood that comes out of you when you're on your period, he would say that you're having a hemorrhage and would say that you should go to the infirmary so that the children of Apollo can take a look at you... write something about it??? I'm on my period and Idk, I'm not very well

𝝑𓏲 — ¡! Silly Worries

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

warnings: none ! just percy being a silly boyfriend in the sweetest way <3

ㅤ୨ৎ —˳ percy jackson ! reader

summary: period cramps are killing you, and, for your good—or bad—luck, all you can do is cuddle up with a Percy who makes silly comments.

"𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞..." 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗚𝗥𝗨𝗠𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗗, 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗨𝗣 tighter on Percy’s bed as another cramp tore through you, a miserable attempt to will the pain away.

Percy walked out of the bathroom at the sound of your suffering, brows furrowed, thumb jerking behind him, looking just as confused as he was concerned.

"Huh... Babe, you good?" he asked, stepping closer, a couple of extra blankets draped over his arm.

"Have mercy and kill me," you mumbled, pouting as he carefully spread the blankets over you. He sat down on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand to your forehead. He had no idea why—it just seemed like the logical thing to do.

You squinted up at him. "What are you doing?"

He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. "The amount of blood I just saw in there is not normal," he said, staring at you like you were on the verge of passing out.

"How are you even alive?" he blurted, still in shock over the sight of your very full pad in the trash. "That—that can’t be normal. That’s like—worse than a stab wound." Because, of course, that was his only frame of reference.

"Are you bleeding out?" he pressed slightly.

You rolled your eyes. "Percy, I get my period every month. Do you know what that is? Do you? Because it’s kinda important to me that you do."

Percy scoffed. "Yeah, obviously, but—have you seen how much blood that is? How are you not dead?"

"Yes, Percy, I saw it," you muttered, shifting in search of a comfortable position.

Percy didn’t miss the way your face twisted in pain, the way soft little whimpers slipped out when you moved. His frown deepened. "I really think you should go to the infirmary," he said, completely serious.

You blinked at him. Was he for real right now?

After a few seconds of looking into those worried sea-green eyes, yeah. Yeah, he was for real.

"I don’t need Apollo’s kids poking me with needles and shoving ambrosia down my throat. I’m fine. I just need cuddles and maybe a heating pad," you grumbled, watching as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

"Your definition of ‘fine’ is literally writhing in pain on my bed?" he deadpanned. "Because I’m pretty sure if I lost that much blood, Chiron wouldn’t let me leave the infirmary."

You let out a slow breath, a mix of frustration and fondness bubbling in your chest. With a quiet huff, you scooted over and patted the empty space next to you.

"My definition of ‘fine’ is you in this bed with me, and us not moving all day," you said, raising a brow. "How about that?"

Percy didn’t even hesitate before climbing in next to you, pulling you against him, letting you bury your head in his chest as your hand slipped under his hoodie, curling around his waist. You slung a leg over his, and he immediately started running his fingers through your hair, slow and soothing.

He sighed, warm and content, holding you a little closer.

"Yeah," he murmured after a moment. "I like this plan better."

Despite the pain still twisting in your stomach, a small smile tugged at your lips. You nuzzled into his warmth, mumbling a quiet "I love you" against his skin. Percy melted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

The two of you curled up under the blankets, tangled up in each other, Percy’s fingers gently combing through your hair.

"Though," he added suddenly, "I still think you should go to the infirmary."

That earned him a soft pinch.

"Shut up."

"Make me," he shot back, smirking.

xoxo, s.

#bvrnesher #‧₊˚✧ s. posting !#pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa #riordanverse #riordanverse x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #pjo fluff #fluff

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ldr13beaches · 2 months ago

Text

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Harry Lewis x Y/N -

Drunken Confessions

Harry and you had been inseparable since you were kids. Growing up in Guernsey together, it was like you were glued at the hip. Even when life pulled you both in different directions, you'd always found your way back to one another. When you both made the decision to move to London, it was only natural that you'd live with Harry. The apartment you’d found was shared with your other close friends, the two Callums—Callux and Calfreezy—who somehow always brought the chaos with them.

It was just past two in the morning, and you were lounging on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the city outside the window. Harry had gone out earlier with Ethan for a night of drinks, and you'd had stayed home, enjoying the solitude. You hadn’t felt like partying; it was just one of those nights.

Then, a noise broke the silence. Muffled voices. Footsteps shuffling up the stairs. You squinted, not sure if you were hearing things. The voices grew louder until you could make out Harry's slurred voice from behind the door.

"Y/N? Cal?" Harry’s words were thick with alcohol, each syllable dragging a bit too long.

You sat up groaning, your head in your hands. Not again.

There was another voice, one you recognized instantly. Ethan.

"He’s wasted, someone come get him," Ethan said, knocking on the door again, clearly annoyed.

You sigh, glancing toward the bedrooms where the Callums were probably dead asleep.

You begrudgingly walk to the door and unlocked it. Harry was standing there, leaning against the frame for support, his eyes half-lidded and unsteady. Ethan was just behind him, shaking his head.

“Here he is,” Ethan said with a smirk, stepping back.

You roll your eyes, holding the door open wider. "Fucking idiot, I could kill him."

Ethan chuckled, "Good luck."

You sigh, "Thankyou for bringing him home."

"Course," Ethan nods, waving goodbye as he disappeared down the hallway.

You turned back to Harry, who was swaying slightly. He looked up at you with that goofy, drunken grin plastered across his face.

"Hey," Harry mumbled, his voice low and raspy. "I missed you."

You shake your head, with a small smile. It was hard to be angry at that face. You tried not to get too distracted by the way his messy hair fell across his forehead. "Uh-huh. Missed me, hm?"

"Mhm," He hums, grinning as you take his arm to lead him inside.

You chuckled softly, brushing your hair out of your face, the light from the lamp casting a soft glow over the room. "Maybe you should get some sleep," you suggested, a playful hint in your voice, though there was a small tug of concern buried underneath.

Harry blinked slowly, his gaze drifting toward you with an intensity that made the air around you feel heavier. His eyes held something unspoken, and it made you wonder for a moment if maybe you had been wrong—maybe he wasn’t as tipsy as you thought. "You’re really beautiful, you know that?" he said quietly, almost as if the words were meant for no one but himself.

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. There was a tenderness there, something you weren’t used to hearing from him. You laughed softly, your voice a little shaky. "Harry, you’re drunk."

But he shook his head, his expression serious, eyes fixed on yours like he was searching for something. "Doesn’t matter. You are."

Your heart fluttered, the words lingering in the air between you like a weight. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out right away. The room felt smaller somehow, more intimate, the distance between you both strangely charged.

"Bedtime, Harry," you said at last, your voice gentle but firm, trying to redirect the moment before it slipped into something you couldn’t undo. "Don’t say anything you’ll regret."

He sat back a little, but not far enough to break the closeness. You reached out to help him up, but before your hand could close around his arm, he reached for you—his fingers brushing yours with a softness that startled you.

The contact was light, but it sent a jolt through your body, a quick spark that ran from your hand to your chest, and you instinctively pulled your hand away, your breath catching. You told yourself it was nothing, just a fleeting thing. But his touch lingered in your thoughts, like an echo you couldn’t quite shake.

For a long moment, Harry didn’t speak. His hand hovered near yours, still as though he were waiting for something, and you could feel the space between you both growing heavy with the unspoken. His eyes never left yours, and you saw something there that wasn’t just the lingering fog of alcohol. There was something deeper, something that made the air feel too thick to breathe properly.

"Harry..." you started, your voice coming out softer than you intended, "you’re not yourself, this isn't-"

But he cut you off, his gaze softening as he shifted closer, just enough so his presence surrounded you. "I’m not asking for anything, Y/N. Just..." He seemed to struggle with the next words, his hand hesitating once more. "Just... don't leave. Please.."

The plea in his voice was almost imperceptible, but it hit you in a place you weren’t sure you wanted to admit was there. "Harry it's nearly half past two in the morning," you whispered, your pulse thrumming in your throat.

He let out a small, tired laugh, and there was something almost vulnerable in the sound. "Stay." He knew he was drunk, knew he wasn't thinking straight. But the sight of you, the sound of your voice, the touch of your skin under his fingers—it made him forget about everything else.

You felt the weight of the silence between you two, the slow pull of something neither of you could quite name. His hand, still close but not touching, seemed to be waiting for you—waiting for permission, waiting for you to make the next move.

You opened your mouth to speak, but instead of words, all that came out was a soft exhale, as if you were suddenly afraid to break whatever fragile thing was unfolding between you. The room seemed to shrink around you both, the silence growing more and more intense. You were acutely aware of every sound—the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, and the soft sound of Harry's breathing.

Harry suddenly stood up and stepped close to you, the proximity causing your mind to spin. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and you caught a whiff of his scent—a distinct smell you recognized as uniquely his. With every step, you felt the distance between you and Harry shrinking, like magnets drawn together. You had to tilt your chin up to keep your eyes on his. Despite the height difference, Harry's gaze never wavered. He was intense, his eyes locking onto yours as if he was peering into your soul.

One of his hands moved to cradle your cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the contour of your jawline. The touch was gentle but somehow possessive, as if he were trying to claim you in this moment.

You sigh and pull back slightly, "Harry, you know I love you, you're my best friend... but your drunk."

Harry's touch lingered on your cheek, his thumb still gently tracing patterns along your skin. There was a softness in his eyes as he looked down at you, a vulnerability you hadn't seen before. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their shallow breathing, the air almost crackling with tension. Then, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters Harry!" I groan.

Harry's fingers twitched on your cheek, his thumb still tracing those gentle circles. Despite the sharpness in your tone, there was no anger in his eyes, just a flicker of sadness. The touch on your skin felt like a lifeline, grounding him in the moment.

He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. "Drunk words, sober thoughts." He grumbles.

Harry's hand dropped from your cheek, falling back to his side as he took a small step back, putting some distance between them. Clearly, you'd pissed him off slightly with your statement.

He ran his fingers through his messy hair, his jaw tight. There was a mix of emotions in his eyes—disappointment, hurt, maybe even a hint of shame. But above all, there was something there—longing, longing that he couldn't quite conceal. He forced out a humourless laugh.

"Do you really think I'm just your 'best friend'," he echoes your earlier words. The two words felt heavy in the air, laden with the weight of unspoken feelings. There was a sharp edge to his voice—a hint of anger mixed in with a hint of melancholy. He took another step back, creating a small pocket of space between you both.

Harry's back hit the wall behind him, and for a moment he looked like a fish out of water, struggling to find something to anchor him in this moment. His eyes flicked across your face, the intensity in them almost suffocating.

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. The words seemed to be clawing their way out from somewhere deep inside him. "You know, it's not fair." he muttered, opening his eyes again to look at you, his gaze intense. "To have you as a friend and nothing more."

"Harry, come on, please don't do this, not now," you say, your voice wavering as a knot tightens in your chest. You knew, deep down, you wanted the same thing he did, but not like this. Not when he was drunk. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this—not even remembering his words the following morning.

He stared at you, his eyes slightly unfocused, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your heart ache, something raw and vulnerable that you hadn’t seen before. He took a step closer, swaying slightly as he reached out for you, his hand brushing your arm with a softness that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze.

Harry's hand was warm against your skin, but there was something almost desperate in the gesture—as if he was grasping for something, anything to hold onto. He leaned forward, his head tilting to the side as he whispered your name in a voice that was a strange mix of vulnerability and determination.

"Please, don't push me away."

His hand, which was still touching your arm, slid down slowly to your waist, his fingers gently tracing the gap where cropped shirt ended and your trouser began. It was an intimate gesture, one that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze flicked down to your lips for a brief moment, and for a moment he looked like a man drowning, desperately grasping for air. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion, and then his eyes met yours once more.

His voice was barely a whisper, but the words echoed painfully in your ears. "You're killing me."

He was really testing your restraint now. "Fuck Harry." You breathe out, not wanting to take advantage of his drunken state.

Harry's mouth curled into a small, smile at your words. There was something almost masochistic about the intensity of his drunken gaze, the way he seemed to be silently daring you to keep pushing back.

He leaned in, his breath hot and slightly sweet on your skin. His hand, still on your waist, started to slide up under your shirt, tracing an infuriatingly teasing path over the bare skin of your stomach. The fact that you weren't stopping him was enough.

Harry's lips were so close to your ear now, you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. The closeness was intoxicating, a potent mix of alcohol and desire that had your senses on edge. "Stop running," he murmured, his voice thick with the weight of something deeper than the alcohol in his system. "I know you feel it too. Don't pretend you don’t."

Your chest tightened. His words were so quiet, yet so heavy, and it took everything in you not to crumble under the weight of his gaze. You couldn’t help but feel the heat rising between you two, the way his body shifted closer, his warmth invading your space.

"I... I’m not running," you whispered, but even you didn’t believe it. You were holding back. You knew you were. But you weren’t sure if it was because you didn’t want him, or because you feared what would happen if you did.

“Then why do you keep pulling away?” His voice was low, dragging across your skin like a touch, and it made your pulse spike.

"Harry you're my-" I start.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm your best friend, whatever. I've heard enough of that bullshit Y/N. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not dying to have you. Not when you look at me like that. Not when you make me feel like I can’t breathe without you.”

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly, you were pressed against him, the heat between you both almost unbearable. His lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low, seductive murmur. “Let go. Let me show you how much I need you. How much I want you. Just once. Let me make you feel everything.”

You felt your breath hitch, a thousand thoughts colliding in your mind, but you couldn’t push him away. Not this time. Not with the way his words, his touch, had unravelled every defence you’d put up. He was right. You did feel it. That same pull. That same burning need that he’d felt, too. And for once, you didn’t want to fight it.

The moment was hanging by a thread, and in it, everything felt possible. The world outside of this room didn’t matter. You didn’t care about the consequences, the aftermath, the broken pieces that might come later.

His lips, still so close to your ear, curled into a small, playful smile. He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, pressing his forehead against yours as he took a shaky breath, "I fucking love you Y/N." And with that Harry's lips crashed against yours, hot and insistent, as though the confession had unlocked something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. You could taste the rawness in the kiss, the desperation, the longing that had built up between you both over time.

For a moment, you lost yourself in it—lost yourself in him, in the way his fingers traced the lines of your jaw, in the way his body seemed to press into yours with an intensity that made everything else fade away. The world outside? Gone. The years of uncertainty, the quiet doubts, they all melted under the heat of his touch, under the warmth of his confession.

You couldn’t think straight. You didn’t want to. Everything about him felt like it had always been meant to happen. His lips, his hands, the way he held you like you were the one thing that kept him tethered to the earth.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you could hear the pounding of your heart in your chest, and you realized—maybe for the first time—that this was real. And somehow, that scared you. The intensity of it, the certainty, the way you couldn’t deny it anymore.

But when you looked into his eyes, there was only that same pull. That same gravity that had always existed between you two. And before you could stop yourself, you whispered, “I love you too, Harry.”

And just like that, everything fell into place.

#wroetoshaw #british youtubers #harry lewis #w2s imagine #harry lewis imagine #drunk #harry lewis x reader

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sundaaz-e · 2 months ago

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୨⎯ Stay a Little Longer ⎯୧

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes of gold across the bedroom. You stirred, squinting at the clock. 5:45 AM. Too early, but you had things to do. A long mission awaited, and every detail had to be perfect.

Carefully slipping out of bed, you reached for your duffel bag, hoping not to disturb the man still sprawled under the covers. You hadn’t even zipped the bag halfway before a low, gravelly voice broke the quiet.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You turned to see Shouta Aizawa sitting up, his dark hair a tangled mess and his eyes heavy with sleep. His gaze softened when it met yours, though he quickly masked it with his usual deadpan expression.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” you said, smiling apologetically.

“You didn’t,” he muttered, though the way he blinked sluggishly said otherwise. He yawned and stretched, the loose hem of his t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin.

You shook your head and returned to your packing. “Go back to bed, baby. I’ve got a lot to do before I head out.”

“Exactly why I’m not going back to bed,” he said, sliding off the mattress. Before you could protest, he grabbed the duffel bag from the floor and plopped onto the couch with it. “I’m helping.”

“You’re helping by taking my bag?”

“I’m making sure you don’t pack it so well you actually leave.” His tone was dead serious, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

You sighed, walking over to reclaim the bag. “Very mature.”

“I don’t hear you denying it.”

By mid-morning, you had made decent progress despite Aizawa’s assistance. He followed you from room to room like an overgrown cat, leaning against doorframes or draping himself across your shoulders as you gathered your gear.

“Do you really need this?” he asked, holding up a portable comm device.

“Yes,” you said, snatching it back.

“What about this?” He held up a neatly folded uniform jacket.

“Shouta.”

“Fine.” He sighed dramatically, tossing the jacket into your bag before flopping onto the couch. “I still don’t see why you have to go. Don’t they have rookies for missions like this?”

“They need someone experienced,” you replied, checking your gear.

“You’re too experienced,” he argued, now lying across the couch with his arms crossed. “Retirement sounds great, doesn’t it? You and me, staying home, sleeping in—”

“Shouta, you’d lose your mind if you retired.”

“Maybe. But at least you’d be here to keep me sane.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel. But before you could move it to the door, Aizawa was there again, blocking the way.

“You’re relentless,” you teased.

“I’m a man in love,” he replied, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks.

When the time came to leave, Aizawa’s clinginess reached its peak. As you slipped on your boots, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a playful scowl on his face.

“You could stay,” he said, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “Tell them something came up. You sprained your ankle. Or your husband fell apart because you abandoned him.”

“Abandoned?” You echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Abandoned.” He stepped closer, tugging lightly on the scarf wrapped around your neck. “Seven days is too long.”

“Seven days will fly by,” you assured him, cupping his cheek.

He leaned into the touch, his usual stoicism crumbling for just a moment. “Call me. Every night.”

“I will.”

“And don’t get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. “If you come back late, I’m sending the kids after you.”

You laughed, hugging him back. “I’ll come home in one piece. I promise.”

Reluctantly, he let you go, watching as you stepped out the door. “Be safe.”

“Always.”

Aizawa lingered in the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. He stayed there until you disappeared from view, already counting down the days until you’d be back.

#gn reader #mha #ynn #x reader #x yn #fanfic #male reader #fem reader #aizawa shouta #my hero acedamia #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha aizawa #mha aizawa #aizawa #aizawa shōta

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blessedbyahuntress · 3 months ago

Text

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Sixteen: I'm More Popular Than Ody?

Prev/Next

A/N: Who else thinks the Ithaca Saga is AWESOME??? And you know when I said that "Wouldn't You Like" was my favorite EPIC song? I'm now guilty of loving "Hold Them Down".

Warnings: I don't think so... maybe minor swearing?

Word Count: 1.1k

Listen to: No Longer You

Your legs stop shaking, and your shoulders pause in their trembling before continuing. Eurylochus can feel it resume under his hands, and realizes that you’re cold; he can hear your teeth chattering and feel the icy touch of your skin. He unbuttoned his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders. He is freezing now, yes, but at least you’re not.

You can feel your own mental health return to its normal state as the screams fade.

Turning to give Eurylochus a small smile of gratitude, you walk up to your captain. He’s directing a landing to the shore, and you follow his gaze to a spire of rock jutting out in front of the ship. You squint, and for a second you believe you have caught a glimpse of a young man, staring at the anchoring boat. Then he’s gone.

“That was him, wasn’t it.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“Yes,” Odysseus responds. He finally looks over to meet your eyes.

“Feeling better?” He asks.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, only a faint glimmer of happiness before you turn serious. “I’m sorry about your mother,” you whisper.

Odysseus pretends to miss your question. “It’s good that your mind has repaired quickly. I need you to come with me to speak to this… prophet.”

You have learned to stop gaping when Odysseus asks you to go on missions with him. Instead, you give him another nod. “Of course, captain.”

Eurylochus lowers a plank down to shore, gesturing for you and Odysseus to come over.

Polites joins you, a slight bounce in his step. You smile warmly at your friend, remembering how he had helped you during your mental breakdown. Polites tries to return it, grin faltering a little as he observes the cloak draped over your figure- Eurylochus’s cloak. The vile Aphrodite had given him feels heavy in his pocket.

“Good luck,” Eurylochus says, pulling you into a hug from behind.

You pat his forearm. “My luck’s not running out anytime soon,” you tease, completely missing the look of pure hatred Polites sends Eurylochus.

“Y/N!” Odysseus calls, stepping foot on the shore. He turns, eyebrow slightly raised as he takes in Polites pouting figure and Eurylochus’s arms wrapped around you. “Looks like everyone comes to wish you off, and not their own captain!”

You blush furiously, squirming out of Eurylochus’s grasp.

“Wasn’t my idea,” you pant when you reach the space beside your captain.

Odysseus dismisses your comment. “It’s fine. I was just teasing.”

You turn your attention back to the spire of rock ahead of you.

Odysseus notices you tensing. “Are you… fine to go with me? I can go get someone else…”

You force a smile, walking ahead to the path that would eventually lead to the top of the rock. “Me? Pft, I’m always up for a little jog to talk to a person who’ll reveal my doom!”

Odysseus chuckled, following you as you disappeared around the bend.

You look out at the scene laid out before you.

The prophet has his back turned to you, but he turns as he hears your approach. His eyes are covered in cloth- old bandages, you assume. You get the odd impression that under those bandages, his eyes are glowing.

You feel Odysseus emerge behind you, and instantly the prophet’s attention snaps to the captain. You try not to get annoyed by this.

“I am the prophet.” His voice is surprisingly smooth for a dead person. “With the answers you seek.”

He gestures widely, keeping the monotone as he speaks, “time, I’ve unlocked it. I see past and future running free.” Above his head, two hologram-like images chased each other around his head. The past- a dog- chasing the future- a cat.

“There is a world, where I help you get home.” You’re intrigued by this. What could he mean- ‘a world’? Were there multiple. “But that’s not a world I know.”

You furrow your brow. “What?” You and Odysseus demand in unison.

The prophet ignores your question, pointing just over your head. “I see a song of past romance.”

You turn, startled by seeing Penelope’s form watching over Odysseus. “Ody-”

You’re interrupted by the prophet, who motions to a spot next to you. You cover your mouth with one hand as you see Polites, Eurylochus, and Hermes locked in a fight. “I see the sacrifice of man.”

“I see portrayals of betrayals and a brother’s final stand.” The images dissolve as you reach for them. “I see you on the brink of death. I see you draw your final breath. I see a man who gets to make it home alive.”

The prophet indicates to Odysseus, who’s eyes widen at his words: “But it’s no longer you.”

You feel rage boiling inside of you. Your captain seems speechless, so you decide to take it from here.

“This can’t be,” you said. “We’ve suffered and sailed through the toughest of hells, now you tell us our effort’s for nothing?”

The prophet promptly ignores you, attention trained on Odysseus. “I see your palace, covered in red. Faces of men who had long believed you're dead.”

Another image of Penelope, and you feel your heart ache for her. The queen’s husband is missing, probably a long line of insufferable suitors with dirty minds. “I see your wife with a man who is haunting, a man with a trail of bodies.”

This ticks you off. “Who?” You screech, grabbing the hem of the prophet’s tunic and holding it in your iron-clad grip. You’re pretty sure that they can hear you all the way from the ship.

Yet the prophet doesn’t flinch, instead backing you, step by step, toward the edge of the plateau. “I see a song of past romance. I see the sacrifice of man. I see portrayals of betrayal and a brother’s final stand.”

“I see you on the brink of death.” This was pretty ironic since you were one step away from falling off of the spire. “I see you draw your final breath.”

You gasp, arms flailing as you begin to fall. This seems to snap Odysseus out of his daze.

“Y/N!” He cries, lunging forward to grab your hand.

“I see a man who gets to make it home alive,” the prophet continues. Odysseus’s main focus is keeping you suspended, so he doesn’t see when the side of the prophet’s bandages dips to his cheekbone, revealing glowing teal eyes who burned into your soul.

“But it’s no longer you.”

And then the prophet kicked Odysseus off the ledge.

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking @m-carriaga2021 @jackintheboxs-world @fallenh34art @itzkingbo @sabrina-senpai

#epic musical #epic the musical #blessed by a trickster #polites #polites x reader #eurylochus #eurylocus x reader #epic odysseus #odysseus #epic fandom #epic the musical x reader #epic the Musical underworld saga #no longer you #jorge rivera herrans

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