#remind me to say something about it... later. or something.

[thatonegrimm]

Hiya!! How are you? I'd like to request the Saja Boys (separately) react to their gf doing a sexy performance on stage. She's a famous soloist and during her tour she did a sexy dance performance.

Hiya!! I’m doing great—thank you for asking! 💖 And oof, this is such a fun one 👀🔥Sexy performance onstage while the Saja Boys are losing their minds? Say less.

🌙Saja Boys x GF’s Sexy Stage Performance

----------------------------

🧿 Jinu 

He thought he was ready.

You’d rehearsed. You told him about the outfit. You even joked about the choreography being “a little scandalous.”

Still. He wasn’t ready.

The moment you step on stage, the crowd erupts—but Jinu only hears the rush of his own heartbeat. You move like the music’s built into your bones—controlled, sultry, and intentional.

And then you do that thing with your hips.

His soul leaves his body.

He stares from the wings, frozen, hands gripping his clipboard like it’s an anchor.

“She’s going to break the internet,” a crew member says behind him.

“She just broke me,” he mutters.

Later, he’s in your dressing room before you are—still flushed, still stunned. You walk in glowing, exhilarated.

“You saw?”

He looks up at you like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You hip-thrusted,” he says, dead serious.

You laugh. “So?”

He blinks.

“I think I transcended.”

----------------------------------

💪 Abby 

He wants to be chill.

Really, he does.

He knew what the performance would be like. You told him. He supported it. Still does. But watching it unfold in real time? Watching you move like that, in that outfit, with a crowd of thousands screaming?

Yeah. No.

He’s not okay.

The second you run your hand up your thigh, Abby nearly forgets where he is. His jaw tightens. His arms cross. He’s proud. He’s impressed. He’s—

"God, she’s hot,” someone nearby mutters.

Abby turns. Not violently. Just enough. Just sharp enough that the guy instantly finds something else to look at.

After the show, you find him leaning against the hallway wall outside your green room, arms still crossed.

You grin. “Jealous?”

He shakes his head. “Not jealous. Just…”

He steps close, voice dropping.

“I love that you’re mine. But I hated that they got to see it.”

You raise a brow. “See what?”

“The way you look when you know you’re about to ruin someone.”

--------------------------

📚 Mystery 

He watches from the wings.

No expression. No reaction.

But his silence feels heavy. Calculated. You know him well enough to recognize the tension behind it.

You hit your mark. Move your hips. Slide your hand down your thigh with slow, deliberate grace.

The crowd goes wild.

Mystery doesn’t flinch—but his jaw ticks. Just once.

Later, when you return to the hotel, he’s already there. Seated on the windowsill, hoodie on, one leg drawn up. Watching your performance on someone’s livestream clip, brightness turned low.

You raise a brow. “You rewatching me?”

He doesn’t look at you. “Needed to confirm.”

“Confirm what?”

“That no one else gets to touch you.”

You smile, stepping into his space.

“You didn’t need a reminder,” you whisper.

He finally looks at you—eyes dark, quiet.

“No. But I needed the reassurance.”

You kiss his cheek.

“Then next time, I’ll wink directly at you.”

-------------------------

💋 Romance

He insisted on front-row seats.

“Best view in the house,” he’d said. “Your biggest fan, right here.”

He didn’t know you were going to destroy his life from the stage.

The lights dimmed. The music hit. And then you walked out in that outfit.

By the second body roll, he’s gripping the velvet seat arm like he’s bracing for impact.

You make eye contact. Wink. Then drop to the floor and roll your hips back up.

He whispers a desperate prayer into his soda.

After the show, you find him lounging dramatically in your green room chair, like he’s processing trauma.

“Well?” you ask sweetly.

He groans. “I need therapy.”

You smirk. “Was I too much?”

He stands, walks right up to you, and murmurs against your neck:

“You’re lucky I have self-control. Because otherwise? We would’ve cleared the building.”

---------------------------

🔥 Baby

He watches from the shadows, hoodie up, expression unreadable.

You? You’re in your element. Confident. Gorgeous. Dripping with attitude. The moment you slide your hand across your chest and smirk toward his side of the stage—

Oh, he’s plotting.

He doesn’t say a word the entire show. Doesn’t blink.

But later, as soon as you step off stage, still riding the adrenaline, you find him already waiting—leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted.

“You trying to kill me?” he asks, voice low, calm.

You grin. “Did it work?”

He walks over slowly, takes your wrist gently, and murmurs against your ear:

“You keep dancing like that, and I’ll have to remind people who you belong to.”

You raise a brow. “Possessive much?”

He smirks. “You’re the one who started it.”

And you know he’s going to prove it the second you get back to the hotel.

--------------------------

M-List

[littledykeblue]

──𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄-𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄;

(college roommates! vi x reader): vi gets a little frisky at the drive in

wc: 3k | cw: kinda enemies to lovers, but like not really enemies, heavy petting, fingering (r!receiving), light degradation, car sex (in the bed of a truck) MINORS DNI.

note: vi, my beloved, simply had to be next up! also thank you guys for all the love on my first post!! kissing each and everyone of u telepathically <3

You wouldn’t exactly say you’re friends with your dorm mate.

Vi is loud, popular, and constantly flitting around campus like the social butterfly she was clearly born to be. Half the time, she's crashing at a friend’s—or a hookup’s—place, so it’s already pretty rare to see her on the regular.

If anything, you’d say life is easier when Vi’s not around. It’s nearly impossible to get any studying or homework done in her presence. And it’s not just the videos she insists on watching at what feels like full blast or the endless stream of calls she takes on speakerphone for reasons you still can’t comprehend.

It’s the doing push-ups shirtless in the middle of the room. It’s the rare (but no less horrifying) occasions she brings a girl back and thinks she’s being subtle about it. Worse than both? When she decides to talk to you.

She never picks a time when you’re actually free. Never cares if you're neck-deep in coursework. She’ll plop herself into your desk chair (or your bed, whichever’s unoccupied) and lob the most inane questions at you.

"You studying?" she asks, despite the open laptop in front of you and the mess of notes scattered across your comforter.

You glance up with a withering look, irritation already prickling at the edges of your patience. It’s not entirely her fault, but she’s definitely not helping.

"No, I just keep all this out for the fun of it." Your tone is dry, bordering on rude. Vi, as always, takes it in stride.

The corner of her mouth lifts, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Woah, firecracker. Somebody’s in a mood."

You hum noncommittally, trying to drag your focus back to the same damn paragraph you've been stuck on since she barged in. Vi, unsurprisingly, isn’t content to be ignored.

“Know what you need?” she says, standing and casually closing your laptop with two fingers. For one dark moment, you genuinely consider the logistics of getting away with murder.

“I seriously doubt you have any idea,” you snap, prying your laptop back open. “Don’t you have, like, a million other girls you could go bother?”

Vi shrugs, grinning like the question only flatters her. “Yeah, but none of them are you.”

A traitorous flutter sparks low in your stomach. Fuck her.

“Wow. That line usually work for you?”

“You think I’m using a line? I’m wounded.”

“Vi.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question only seems to delight her.

She pauses, pretending to think it over, longer than necessary, just to be annoying. “I was gonna catch a movie with my friend, but she bailed. Come with me.”

You consider, once again, pointing out that she has no shortage of people she could drag along. But something tells you it’d be an exercise in futility.

“Fine. If it gets you out of my face.”

“Wonderful. Catch ya later, roomie!” Vi hops to her feet, pretending like she’s going to shut your laptop again—laughing when you scramble to keep it open.

You watch her leave, resisting the urge to throw something at the door after it clicks shut. Once the whirlwind that is Vi is gone, the silence feels almost sacred. You manage to actually focus, knocking out a good chunk of your work during the blessed hours of reprieve.

It’s nearing seven when you get a text from Vi telling you to start getting ready.

You’d exchanged numbers strictly for practical reasons—shared dorm emergencies, class reminders, the occasional “come let me in.” Definitely not for this.

Still, you don’t argue. You’re not about to dress up either; it’s just a movie. The theater will be dark, and more importantly, this outing is purely transactional. You're earning yourself some peace. That’s the story you’re sticking to.

You stuff your phone, wallet, and keys into the pockets of your sweatpants and head out to meet her out front, just like she told you to.

Vi’s there, leaning against her truck, scrolling through her phone. You walk up and swat at the device—not hard enough to knock it from her hand, but just enough to make her fumble it.

“You’re so funny,” she says dryly, slipping it into her pocket. She opens the car door for you with an exaggerated flourish.

"I learned from the best."

"Aw, you think I'm the best?" Vi holds a hand to her chest and smiles wide.

You narrow your eyes at her. "The best at being annoying."

“I love this little back-and-forth we’ve got going,” she says as she closes the door behind you.

Vi rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat like she’s done it a hundred times. Her grin flashes sideways.

“You ready?”

You buckle in, side-eyeing her with suspicion. “Yep.”

When Vi said “catch a movie,” you, perhaps foolishly, assumed she meant a regular theater. Popcorn. Reclining seats. A sticky floor or two.

Instead, she pulls into a drive-in.

The truck eases into a spot with the bed facing the massive screen. A few other cars are scattered around, but Vi finds a space tucked away from the nearest cluster.

She’s out of the driver’s seat in a flash, and before you can even reach for the handle, she’s at your side, swinging your door open. Weirdly date-like.

The two of you make your way to the back of the truck, and before you can climb in on your own, Vi’s hands settle at your waist. With little warning, she lifts you easily into the bed of the truck like it’s nothing.

Now you’re seated beside her, knees brushing, thighs nearly touching. You're close enough to feel the radiant warmth rolling off her body. The whole thing suddenly feels incredibly intimate. You’re not sure if Vi means for it to feel that way…and that’s maybe the worst part.

You barely have time to untangle the knot in your stomach before a breeze cuts through your sweatshirt, making you shiver. Of course, you hadn’t thought to bring a jacket.

Vi notices immediately. Without saying a word, she grabs a blanket from beside her and tosses it over your lap, casual as ever. You shift under it, trying to find a comfortable position—and in doing so, end up pressed flush against her.

It’s awkward, kind of. Your shoulders don’t sit quite right, and there’s only so much blanket. Vi adjusts first, lifting an arm and curling it around your shoulders. You follow instinctively, arm sliding behind her back so you can rest your head on her chest.

She’s warm. Unfairly so. You soak it in, entirely greedy.

You are trying to watch the movie. Honestly. But Vi’s fingertips are now tracing lazy, featherlight shapes along your shoulder, and it’s impossible to focus. Your heart taps out an anxious rhythm against your ribs.

Vi makes a comment about something on-screen—funny, probably—but you don’t catch it. You tilt your head, intending to ask her to repeat herself, only to realize her face is right there.

Close. Too close.

She’s beautiful, obviously. You’ve known that. But it’s a different kind of dangerous seeing her like this: soft smile on her lips, eyes dipping to your mouth, like she’s already halfway to deciding.

You quickly avert your gaze, suddenly and profoundly invested in the movie. The screen blurs slightly, but you commit yourself to pretending it’s the most riveting film you've ever seen. Still, you're sitting noticeably more tense than before, shoulders stiff, muscles locked, for the next thirty minutes.

“My arm’s falling asleep,” Vi murmurs. “Here, uh, sit like this.”

She doesn't wait for a response. Of course she doesn't. She starts manhandling you like it’s just a normal, everyday activity—like rearranging throw pillows. Within seconds, you’re guided to sit snugly between her legs, her hands steering you as though you belong there.

You sit up ramrod straight, carefully avoiding any real contact with her front because that would be insane. That would probably be the final nail in the coffin, so to speak.

Vi, apparently, did not get that memo.

Because it’s not long before her arms are curling around your waist, slow and deliberate, pulling you gently back until your spine meets her chest. “Sit back,” she says, voice a low hum in your ear, something warm and unplaceable blooming in your chest. "Can't see the screen past your giant head."

"You're one to talk," you bite back with none of your usual heat.

You let yourself relax, just a little. Her hands don’t leave your waist. They start tracing lazy, absentminded shapes, drifting higher in barely-there passes. One finger skims across your sternum, then lingers at the edge of something more. Brushing, just once, beneath the swell of your breast.

“Hey, Vi,” you murmur, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing?”

“I don’t know about you,” she replies, deadpan, her breath warm against the shell of your ear, “but I’m trying to touch your boobs, if I’m honest.” You feel her shrug behind you.

“Can I?”

“That usually work for you?” you ask, arching a brow even though she can’t see it.

Vi chuckles, low and smug, and you feel it vibrate right through your spine. God, of course that laugh is working on you right now.

“Works better when they can see me,” she says, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “Puppy dog eyes’ll get you pretty far.”

You roll your eyes and reach down, placing your hands on top of hers. “I don’t think you’re supposed to admit you have puppy dog eyes. Takes away the charm.”

“You asked,” she says, laughing again. She sucks in a sharp breath as you guide her hands under your shirt. “Guess I don’t really need ‘em now.”

“Guess not,” you breathe, relaxing fully into her as her palms slide up, rough and warm.

She pushes under your bra with slow, sure hands, and you can feel her exhale against your neck.

Her fingers curve around your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in teasing little circles before she rolls them between her fingers, slow and deliberate.

You suck in a breath, shifting in her lap.

Her mouth finds your neck, lips brushing the skin just below your ear. She kisses you there, soft and warm, then again, a little lower, with just the ghost of teeth. Her hands are everywhere now — one pinching lightly, the other kneading and groping, and it’s taking everything in you to stay quiet under the thin blanket.

Then you feel her hand begin to drift, trailing down your stomach with aching patience, fingers brushing the waistband of your sweatpants.

She pulls her mouth away from your neck just long enough to ask, voice husky and careful: “This okay? I'd like a real answer, this time.”

You nod, a little too quickly, arching your back slightly into her hand. “Yeah. Yeah, you can.”

Vi presses a kiss to your jaw, a quiet thank you, before her hand slides past the waistband. Her other hand doesn’t stop working your nipple, thumb flicking it with practiced ease as her fingers dip lower.

You gasp softly, shifting your hips as her hand finds its way between your legs.

Vi exhales like she’s been waiting for this forever. “Gotta be quiet, baby. We don't wanna get caught,” she whispers, mouth back on your throat.

Vi’s fingers slide lower, finally dipping between your legs — but she doesn’t go deep. Just runs a single finger slowly through your folds, dragging slick up and down with maddening patience.

You twitch in her lap, breath catching. “Vi,” you whine.

“Shhh,” she hums, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Her finger brushes your clit barely and then circles it. Lazy, light, not nearly enough pressure to do anything but tease.

“God, come on—”

She laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Begging already?” she murmurs, lips ghosting over your ear. “Thought you liked acting like you hate me.”

You scoff, shifting your hips again, trying to chase more pressure. Her hand doesn’t budge. “You’re infuriating.”

Vi clicks her tongue, still circling, still maddeningly soft. “You’re always so mean to me, you know that?” she says, voice low and calm, like she’s not slowly unraveling you in the back of a truck. “Always rolling your eyes when I talk to you. Never smile when I say hi. Always got that nasty little attitude.”

Your jaw clenches. “You’re always interrupting my work—”

“Seriously? You still complaining?” Vi cuts in, and then she presses down on your clit, two fingers now moving in firm, tight circles.

Your breath stutters. Words die in your throat.

Vi grins, satisfied. “That shut you up.”

Your hands fly to her thighs, gripping tight, trying to ground yourself as she keeps the pace steady and devastating. Your head tips back against her shoulder, mouth open, eyes wide at the sudden rush of sensation.

She kisses your neck again. The pressure is firmer this time, tongue dragging over the skin before she sinks her teeth in just enough to leave a mark. She sucks there, slow and dark, her free hand sliding up to your chest again, palm curling around your breast as her other hand stays merciless on your clit.

“Lot of complaints,” she says against your throat, lips brushing over the new bruise. “For someone who clearly wants me to make them come.”

You gasp, legs trembling under the blanket. She’s right and she knows it. You hate how much she knows it.

But you’re past the point of arguing now. "That'd be nice," you say through clenched teeth, keeping down the sounds that threaten to spill from your mouth.

Vi keeps her fingers moving in those devastating, tight circles—not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to keep you on the edge, just enough to keep your thighs twitching and your breathing shallow.

"I bet it pisses you off that I've got you this wet," she murmurs, her voice thick with smug satisfaction. "And you act like you can't stand me. What's that about, huh?"

You groan under your breath, hips twitching again as she dips just low enough to press at your entrance, teasing it without pushing in.

She laughs softly, low in your ear. “Bet you were getting wet the second I touched you. Just too proud to admit it.”

You bite your lip and say nothing. You shift, lifting your legs and hooking them around the outside of Vi’s, knees wide, body fully open for her. Thank god she parked far enough away from any potential prying eyes.

Vi's breath stutters as her hand slips back between your legs, now with nothing in her way.

“Oh,” she whispers, a grin curling into her voice. “Look at you. Finally acting like you want it.”

You squirm, half in protest, half in need, and Vi presses two fingers inside in one smooth thrust. You gasp, body tightening, walls fluttering around her.

"Do you ever shut up?" You manage to say in spite of your wobbly voice.

She groans in your ear. “I think you like it when I talk. This pussy does, at least.”

You don’t mean to moan (not that loud, at least) but it punches out of you anyway, high and helpless.

Vi’s hand shoots up to the back of your neck, turning your face toward hers in the same second her mouth crashes over yours. Her kiss swallows the sound, all teeth and tongue and filthy satisfaction.

She fucks you with her fingers harder now, thrusts quick and precise, of her palm grinding against your clit. Her mouth stays on yours, swallowing every broken gasp, every hitched breath, every moan you can’t keep down.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she murmurs against your lips, her pace relentless. “So desperate for it. Can’t even pretend anymore, can you?”

All you can manage is a broken moan that vaguely resembles her name. Over and over again, breathless against her lips.

Your hands dig into her thighs for something to hold onto, nails biting through the fabric of her pants. Your hips lift into her, chasing every stroke, every drag of her palm. You’re close. So close your whole body is taut with the anticipation.

Vi feels it—has to—because her voice drops again, filthy and sweet at the same time. “C’mon, baby. I got you. Make a mess all over my fingers. You wanna come for me?”

You nod frantically into her mouth, legs trembling, body pulsing around her fingers. "Yes. Fuck. Please."

“That’s it,” she says, voice low and hot. “You're being so sweet for me. Go ahead, come.”

And you do.

It crashes through you, thighs quaking with the urge to press together, mouth going slack as your orgasm rips out of you. Vi keeps her hand moving through it, fingers working you through to the end while her mouth swallows the sound of your release.

When you finally go still, breathing hard, body limp, sweat cooling on your neck, Vi presses a final kiss to your lips and pulls back just enough to grin down at you.

“You gonna be nice to me now?” she asks, voice smug and breathless.

"Probably not."

Vi laughs as she eases her fingers out of you slowly, deliberately, dragging every last shiver from your overstimmed body.

She sucks her fingers clean, totally unbothered, and leans back against the bed of the truck like she didn’t just finger-fuck you in public.

You’re still catching your breath, chest rising and falling under the blanket, when Vi leans in and murmurs, “When we get back to the dorm, I’m gonna take my time with you.”

You blink, dazed, half-laughing. “Oh? You're thinking this wasn't the first and last time?”

She grins. “Nah. That was a warm-up. When we get back, I’m gonna have you naked and on your stomach, legs spread, begging. And I’m not gonna stop until I hear every pretty little sound you can make. Gonna keep going ‘til you’re sobbing into the pillow.”

You exhale sharply, lips twitching as you try not to let the flush crawl up your neck. “That so?”

“Mhm.” She nips at your jaw, just a little. “Might even let you come twice.”

You snort, leaning your head back against her shoulder. “And this is assuming I just lay there and let you do all those things?"

Vi tilts her head mockingly. “You literally just did.”

You glare at her, and she grins wider.

“Well,” you say, still breathless but trying to reclaim some ground, “you’ll have to earn your second chance. I can't be out here rewarding bad behavior, after all.”

Vi scoffs and shakes her head, laughing under her breath. “Unbelievable. You were just coming and whining on my fingers like a slut, and you’re still talking shit?”

You shrug, biting back a smile. “Guess you’ll have to do a better job if you want to shut me up.”

Vi leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “Clearly. Don't worry, we'll fuck that attitude out of you yet.”

You shiver, despite the warmth of her hoodie and her body at your back.

“Can’t wait to see you try,” you murmur.

[vylosinbound]

Hello! I just read your work for Mc calling them brothers their husband! I loved it! It actually made me want to ask if you could do one where the brothers accidentally call mc their spouse and how they would react after their own slip-up. 😊 and maybe Diavolo and Solomon if you could! I think those two would be hilarious about it afterwards.

Hi!! Thank you so much for your kind words, I’m so happy you enjoyed the “MC calling them husband” post! Your request is adorable and I absolutely love the twist! the reactions will definitely be fun to explore! Thank you for sending it in! 💌

P.S: The side characters (including Diavolo and Solomon) will be in a second part, so I can give them the attention they deserve. Stay tuned!

Oops, I mean… Partner?

MC gets called something unexpected.

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor.

Genre: Fluff / humor / slight emotional tension.

The brothers accidentally call MC their spouse and must deal with the aftermath of their slip-up.

LUCIFER

It was during a routine meeting with Diavolo and Barbatos that it happened. You’d been sitting beside Lucifer quietly, listening in and occasionally sipping tea when Barbatos posed a logistical question about a joint human-devildom initiative.

Lucifer’s response was immediate. “I believe my spouse and I could oversee that transition smoothly.”

Silence.

Lucifer blinked. His teacup froze midway to his mouth. Diavolo choked on his drink. You turned to look at him, eyes wide.

“Your what?” Diavolo echoed, barely containing his grin. Lucifer cleared his throat sharply, every trace of his cool demeanor slipping. “My—MC. I meant MC.”

You tried not to laugh. “Did you just call me your spouse?” He looked straight ahead, ears slightly red. “It was... a slip.” Barbatos smiled knowingly. “A revealing one, Lord Lucifer.”

Later that night, he didn’t deny it again.

MAMMON

It happened in the middle of an argument with Levi.

“I ain’t gonna just let ya talk ‘bout my spouse like that!” Mammon snapped, puffing up like a furious cat. Levi blinked. “Your what?!”

“You heard me! My—” He froze, face paling. “WAIT NO I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT.” You peeked around the corner with a surprised expression. “Mammon?”

“SHUT UP SHUT UP I DIDN’T MEAN SPOUSE LIKE SPOUSE, I MEANT… LIKE... FIGURATIVELY?!” Levi cackled. “Bro, just admit it. You’re simping out loud.”

Mammon refused to look at anyone for hours. That night, however, you found a hastily scribbled note under your door: "But like, if ya were my spouse… I wouldn’t hate it or nothin."

LEVIATHAN

“Yeah, I was playin’ that new co-op route with my spouse—uh, MC, and—”

The voice chat went silent. Levi's streaming audience was already blowing up the chat with spam.

"YOU HAVE A SPOUSE??? 😱💍"

" SPOUSE REVEAL WHEN?"

Levi nearly fainted. His face turned purple as he muted himself and scrambled for damage control. “Oh my god oh my god I can’t believe I said that, MC’s gonna die. I’m gonna die. I can’t exist anymore.”

You knocked lightly on his door. “Sooo… I’m your spouse now?” He screamed and yeeted a body pillow into the air. “But like... do you wanna be?” he muttered later while clinging to you, voice tiny.

SATAN

It happened while he was reading. “…My spouse always reminds me of this character,” he murmured aloud, flipping a page. Then he paused.

His eyes widened.

You, lying next to him with your own book, raised an eyebrow. “Your what?” He looked mortified. “I said that out loud?”

You smirked. “Yep.”. “…Would it be inappropriate to say I’ve considered it?” You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached for his hand. He kissed your knuckles without another word.

ASMODEUS

“Oh darling~! This scent is perfect for my spouse...wait-”

You turned around slowly, your eyebrow arched as he froze mid-spray with perfume in hand. “I didn’t mean spouse! I meant future spouse! I mean, potential! POSSIBLY?!”

He tossed himself dramatically on the bed. “I hate how honest my tongue is. Ugh. But also… I mean if the shoe fits~”

He later gifted you that same perfume. “I only give signature scents to my lovers,” he whispered with a wink.

BEELZEBUB

You had just handed him a wrapped sandwich. “You’re the best. Thank you, spouse.” He said it so casually that it didn’t register.

You blinked. “Beel… did you just call me spouse?” He stopped mid-bite. “…Oh. I guess I did.” He chewed thoughtfully. “I like the way it sounds.”

You choked on your drink. “You… do?” He nodded seriously. “Would you like to be?” And he wasn’t joking.

BELPHEGOR

It slipped out during a nap.

You were half-asleep too, curled beside him in the attic when he mumbled, “C’mere, spouse… warm…”

Your eyes popped open. You whispered, “Did you just call me your spouse?” He didn’t respond. He was out cold again.

Later, when you brought it up, he smirked lazily. “Dreams tell truths we don’t say aloud, right?”. Cue a blush from you, and a sleepy arm around your waist.

[heartz-for-de]

“Current boyfriend” prank on MHA boys.

—“I’m your what?”

—multiple X fem! Reader

—includes: Izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugo, eijirou kirishima, denki kaminari, shinso Hitoshi.

—warnings: mentions of making out, swearing, teenage boy humor, sorry if I forget anything else

!!NOT PROOFREAD!! It’s three am sorry I cannot bring myself to do that I’ll do to later maybe probably not

—IZUKU—

You had been scrolling through TikTok for what seemed to be forever, until a certain video caught your eye. It was a trend done by a couple consisting of the girlfriend introducing her partner as her “current boyfriend”. You couldn’t help but laugh at the boys reaction to the label.

While sitting and giggling at your phone you looked at Izuku who was present in your dorm. He’d been at your desk for awhile now, going over some quirk notes he’d needed to fix. You then got a pleasant idea.

“Hey, Izu?” You called out to him from your bed.

He looked up from his paper, his ears already tinted pink.

“Yeah? What’s up?” He now had his full body turned to you.

“I need to film a TikTok for this brand I’m reviewing, do you want to be in it with me?” You hated lying to him, but it you knew the joke was going to have a rewarding outcome.

He smiled softly, “of course, baby. Let me finish this up real fast, I’m almost done.” He muttered out quickly.

You used the extra time to set up your phone and grab a random item from your drawers to “review”. You couldn’t hide the smile that was so blatantly apparent on your face.

Soon enough Izuku got up from his spot and made his way to your setup. He stood kind of behind and to the side, waiting for your instruction.

You then started the video.

“Hey Guys! Today I’m going to be reviewing this new mascara—Annnndd as a special guest I’m here with my current boyfriend,” you gestured your hands to him with a stifled laugh. “Izuku, say hi.” You turned your head slightly to look at him, only to be met with a confused and concerned look. You nearly broke on the spot at his expression.

“Current?” Was all he responded with.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to hide your coughing fit of laughter. He then let a smile spread on his face.

“Uh—hey guys! I’m midoriya, her forever boyfriend! I don’t know why she said current, don’t listen to her.” Izuku grabbed you and covered your mouth with his hand—it was in moments like these where you were reminded how strong he truly was. You could hear the laughter spilling from his own mouth as he locked you in his arms and fumbled to grab your phone.

—SHOTO—

It wasn’t really your intention to do the trend, but when shoto had come up to you and asked if you wanted to film a soba review for your TikTok account? The idea popped into your head like a lightbulb.

There was a new place in town that shoto had been nonstop hinting at wanting to try, so one day after training the two of you stopped by and ordered some soba. He remembered your desert review you had done with him several weeks prior and realized you could do the same thing here.

You agreed cheerfully at the recommendation and whipped out your phone in a heartbeat. It didn’t take long to open up TikTok and get your video set up.

“Hey guys! I’m back with my current boyfriend, but this time we are reviewing soba from—“ you felt a poke in your side.

You snapped your head to the man beside you.

“You said it wrong.” He deadpanned at you.

“Huh? Sho, what are you talking about—“ you were on the brink of busting out laughing at his serious face but you held it together.

“You said ‘current’, I don’t think that’s the appropriate term for what I am to you.” His eyes squinted as he explained where you had went wrong.

“Oh no, I just mean like you’re my current boyfriend. Yknow I’m with you..currently.” You tried to explain something that sounded somewhat believable.

“Oh. Well, I’m not sure if I like that.” His eyebrows were now furrowed as he looked down at the table in thought. “I’d rather just be your boyfriend, I don’t like what the word current infers to our relationship.”

You nearly combusted from his honest and sweet response. “Awww, sho I’m sorry. You aren’t my current boyfriend.” You apologized as you looked back at the camera and smiled, realizing it’d still filming.

“It’s okay—I just wouldn’t want people to think we are temporary. You are going to be my girlfriend forever,” his voice cut off quickly. “Wait no, that is until I marry you.” He finished with a calm look resurfacing on his face.

You looked at the boy next to you with watery eyes. You couldn’t help the squeal that left your mouth as you hugged him tightly from the side, the boy shooting you a shocked look.

—KATSUKI—

It was entirely Mina’s idea. You were in the common room filming an outfit of the day with the pink haired girl, when all of the sudden Katsuki had strolled into the vicinity. Mina pointed with an excited look, to which you questioned what she was acting so antsy about. She then reminded you of the trend you had seen earlier, stating how funny it would be to do it to bakugo. You thought for a second, but ultimately decided to go through with the risky idea. You called him over from the couches and pulled him into the frame where you and Mina had just been.

“The fuck is this.” He looked at you off camera.

“It’s an outfit check, Kats. Here let me help you.” You latched onto his arm and pulled yourself into frame.

“Kay guys, this is my current boyfriend and he’s gonna tell you what he’s—“ before you could finish you felt bakugo strip himself from your arms and snatch the phone from the counter. Mina immediately was sucked into a fit of cackles.

“Katsuki!” You tried to grab your phone from his grasp but he gave you no leverage, only scowling and side eyeing you.

“Current boyfriend my fucking ass. Like hell there’ll be another extra after me.” He grumbled out to you. Mina was still dying from laughter, the more he spoke the less oxygen she seemed to intake.

“That’s not what I meant, I just meant I’m with you currently.” You reasoned with the angry boy.

“Yeah I think the fuck not, you’re mine always. Not currently.” He huffed.

“I know, but I’m dating you right now aren’t I? That’s current.” You replied with a giggle while trying to grab your phone back.

“I’m about to blast your phone into the damn ground, stop saying that shit.” He held the phone just out of reach with a snarl of his teeth.

“Okay, okay! You aren’t my current boyfriend, you’re gonna be my man forever!” You let out the words quickly, all while still trying to apprehend your phone from his heated hands.

“Damn right I am. Now re-do that dumbass video and say that shit to the camera.” He said, finally giving the phone back.

—EIJIROU—

Close to the beginning of your relationship, Kirishima had came up with the brilliant idea to make a joint couples account. It had grown popular over the years you had been together—the videos you two posted consisting of cute trends and gym trips. You were at the gym, filming a small video like usual, when you saw a comment on a previous post that had caught some traction.

“Herolvvr55: omg! Yall are def gonna be my fav pro hero couple when yall become official heros! Doing the current bf trend on him would be sooooo funny:))”

you stared at the comment, holy shit she was so right. Your sweet, unknowing boyfriend was soon to be a victim of her plans.

As you started scheming how you’d say it, you felt two large hands come up around your waist.

“Babeeuhhhh, are you almost ready to start our sets? It’s leg day today, so you don’t have anything to stall for.” Kirishima laid his head in the crook of your shoulder, speaking in a sing songy voice.

“Yeah! We gotta film some clips for TikTok, so let me set it up.” You told him with a smug smile. He nodded with understanding and retracted his hands so you could get everything in order. You set up the camera and pressed record as he started putting some weight on the bar.

“Hey guys! We are at the gym today. I think after we are gonna go do some sparring, but I’m not sure.” You tried to start the video normally, not wanting your boyfriend to grow suspicious of you so early on.

“Baby, cmere. I wanna show them our matching workout fits.” You dragged Kiri to where the phone was propped up, flexing slightly once you were both in frame.

“You look great in red, babe. You should wear it more often.” He giggled slightly as he matched your pose, flexing one of his arms as the other fell onto your waist.

“I should! Guys if you didn’t know, my current boyfriend’s pro hero name is red rio—“ you felt his hand drop from your waist as he took a step back. You broke your stare from the camera to see you 6’1 boyfriend with his head cocked back and a nasty look on his face.

“I am not your current boyfriend, ma’am.” He retaliated rather quickly. “Better change whatever the heck you just said, I’m not afraid to change today’s workout to upper body.” He crossed his arms around his chest.

“What? Eji, it was a joke! Please don’t, I really don’t want to do arms.” You pouted as he kept his frame turned from you.

“Then take it back.” He ordered. “Please.”

You huffed softly. “Guys, prank failed, my boyfriend hates me and won’t let me have any fun ever.” You fake sobbed.

“Wrong and even wronger.” He got close to the camera, leaving only his face visible in the frame. “Guys I’m not her current boyfriend, I’m her husband—AND I do not hate her, I love her so much that even when she does these cruel jokes, I still buy her whatever snacks she wants.”

You laughed while trying to pull him back from the cameras view.

“We are not married you big baby! Cmon we need to get started on the workout.” You yanked at his arm.

As you were walking towards the squat rack, Kirishima turned to the camera one last time.

“We aren’t married yet.” He whispered so that you couldn’t hear over the Loud ambiance of the gym.

“EJIROU! if you don’t get your ass over here and come spot me I will never let you kiss me again.” You shouted at the red haired boy.

He snapped his head you, jogging over to the rack as well. “yes ma’am!” He couldn’t help the laughter that came with his words as the two of you went about your workout.

—DENKI—

You had planned it hours before, texting denki asking if he’d want to hang out later that day. He texted back almost immediately, telling you to come to his dorm whenever you were ready. With the go ahead, you began your journey to the cluttered room. You barely even got one knock in before he swung open the door with a weird smirk plastered on his face.

“Hey gorgeous, never seen you around here before.” He reached for your hand and grabbed it swiftly, placing a soft kiss on your fingers.

“Hi, I’m looking for my boyfriend, have you seen him?” You asked the yellow haired boy.

“Uhhh, dunno. What’s he look like?” He continued the joke.

“Short, messy hair, probably has some drool running down his chin. You’d know if you saw him, trust me.” His expression immediately dropped as he pulled himself off the doorframe.

“Short?—DROOL? babe I don’t drool, and I’m like almost six foot. Why do you hate me so much?” He mocked offense at the obviously false statements.

“You’re such a dork, I don’t hate you.” You sighed “Are you gonna let me in, or are we gonna sit here and talk about your drooling problems?” You rolled your eyes at him with a smile inching its way onto your lips.

He moved to the side and gestured dramatically for your entrance.

You scoffed at his overly emphasized actions. You then turned back towards him once fully inside the room.

“I’m gonna film a TikTok, mkay?” You told him as you pulled out your phone.

“Huh? What kind? Are you gonna dance—oh that would be so hot.” He rambled as he shut his door, plopping himself onto his messy bed.

“No, you perv, I’m not gonna dance. I’m gonna talk about….” You instantly realized you had no good excuse for making one “…girl stuff.” you said with an almost unsure undertone.

Of course, denki didn’t catch on to that, though.

“Okie dokie, tell me whenever you’re done. There’s this new movie I wanna look at and I’ve heard it’s fire.” He crossed one leg over the other as you grabbed your phone out of your pocket, opening TikTok with a weird smile.

“What’s up guys, sorry for the scenery change! I’m in my current boyfriend’s dorm, so it’s a little messy. But anyways I’m j—“ you were snatched from your place you stood, your phone getting dropped onto the floor almost immediately.

You felt his hands reaching to tickle your sides as you tried to fight him off.

“DENKI—Oh my gosh! Cut it out—“ you fought tirelessly as the blankets tussled underneath your two bodies.

“Nope, say mercy.” He stated matter of factly. You snarked at the boy, unwilling to let your pride get damaged like that.

That was until he grabbed a specifically ticklish part and you began thrashing uncontrollably.

“MERCY—HOLYSHITMERCY!” you cackled.

He sat up in his bed, an innocent expression appearing onto his face.

“Great! Now apologize for calling me your current boyfriend to your TikTok. They are gonna think I’m some cuck loser—“ you smacked his shoulder from where you still laid.

“Denki nobody is gonna think that you freak. It was just a prank.” You let out small huffs of air, still out of breath.

“Ohhhh. Well, prank or not. I’m not current nothin’. You’re stuck with me forever, sorry not sorry pretty girl.” He flopped into you, his body weight crushing you beneath him.

“Ow! You’re too heavy for this!” You pushed at his shoulders while trying to get him off.

“We could so make out right now.” He said as he propped himself onto his elbows while still ontop of you.

“Denki, if you do not get the hell off of me I will kick you straight in the dick.” you ordered harshly.

“Okay, that’s unneeded and unnecessarily aggressive.” He whined.

—SHINSO—

It was a lazy day, as shinso liked to call it. Which, in technical terms, was everyday. But this one was specifically lazy since all you two had been doing was laying in his bed and cuddling. You were playing with his hair for what seemed like an eternity, his soft grunts whenever you’d scratch his scalp egging you on.

Your leg was thrown over his own, his hand resting on your thigh. His other hand was rubbing up and down your back soothingly as you two talked about anything and everything on and off for hours.

Out of the blue you had gotten a sudden urge to start something, but you were unsure of what to say. You looked up at him, his eyes planted on the ceiling as he continued to softly caress you. He truly was a great boyfriend, you thought. Oh shit—boyfriend. You had seen a video on your for you page earlier that day of a girl referring to her partner as her “current boyfriend” and the man had a rather funny reaction. You wondered for a second about how Hitoshi would respond, giggling softly to yourself at the thought.

He broke his gaze from the ceiling and brought it back to you.

“What’s so funny?” He questioned in a sleepy voice.

“Hmm? Nothin’, jus’ thinking about…how cute you are.” You chose to say something different than your actual thoughts, still deciding on whether or not you wanted to go through with the joke.

“…you are such a cornball.” He laughed softly with his deep and velvety voice.

You jokingly pushed on his chest in response. You came to the conclusion that you’d do the prank, but just wouldn’t record it. Instead you’d keep it as a funny memory in your brain between the two of you.

“So I was talking to my friend earlier, and she didn’t know who you were— can you believe that?” You started off a small conversation.

“Mmmm, is that so?” He turned his head back to the ceiling as he let his hand begin to massage your thigh.

“Yeah, and I had to explain to her. I was like, well he’s my current boyfriend—“ you felt his grub tighten ever so slightly.

“No.” Was all he said.

“Huh, what do you mean no?” You questioned, even though you were very aware of why he’d said that.

“I mean no.” He half opened one of his eyes and peered down at you. “You didn’t say that, you know better.”

You let your cheeks heat up slightly. “What are you talking about? You are my current boyfriend.” You tried to explain, but it fell on deaf ears.

“No, I’m not, baby. But you already knew that. This little joke you’re doing is cute though.” he loosened his grip as he revealed that he knew your plan.

“Ugh, how did you know? I can’t ever prank you.” You whined as you shoved your face into his shoulder.

“Course you can’t, I know my girl too well. Now if you don’t mind I’m trying to go to sleep.” He let out another low laugh.

“We’ve been sleeping all day, it’s time to get up.” You groaned in boredom.

“Yeah, absolutely not.” Was all he responded with before flipping the position you two were in, laying him ontop of you. He laughed as you squirmed, trying to break free from his weight.

“Toshi! I can’t move!” You gripped at the already half asleep shinso.

“That’s kinda the whole point, sweetheart.”

[erwinsvow]

you have a phantom neighbor. 

you’ve lived in this apartment complex for four months and you’ve met every other person on the floor already, if not the entire building.

the sweet old lady with the long last name across from you (and the phantom), who told you just call me mrs. p when you knocked on her door to introduce yourself. the married couple three doors down—they’re looking to move out soon, find somewhere bigger since they’re trying to have a baby. you had nodded and smile politely, a little uncomfortable with the openness, but hey, maybe that’s just what people here are like. 

there’s others that you haven’t seen as much, so they don’t come to mind as quickly. you have a strict routine, you always have. out the door by seven-fifteen, at school at by seven-thirty, and you come back around four usually. even then, you have a routine you stick to after work. cleaning up, getting started on dinner, an episode of love island while you eat. you try to go on a walk afterwards, especially in the summer when it’s still warm and sunny around seven or seven-thirty.

and in all that time, you have never seen your next door neighbor.

it doesn’t make sense—how can that possibly be? you know he exists. there’s a label that says 309 — j. abbot in the building directory, right above yours, 311. you’ve seen packages left at his door before. one time the mailman accidentally slipped his electric bill into your slot—and you had left it on the floor by his door, and the next day it wasn’t there anymore

so j. abbot did exist, just maybe on a different operating schedule than yours. you don’t know why you even care so much—it’s not really that important. in other cities people go years without meeting their neighbors, and sometimes they’re better off. the last thing you need is for other people on the floor to learn that you’re nosy, or something terrible like that. 

you think maybe you’re just curious. the better answer is that all the cheesy romance novels you read have passed through your skull and infiltrated like a virus, giving your self-diagnosed brain rot a whole new meaning. 

you’re not nosy, you decide, but you still ask mrs. p about him one day, when you’re helping the older woman get her groceries up the stairs. they’re servicing the elevators, and she tells you how they must have started after she’d already left that morning. to thank you for hauling in the reusable bags filled with something inordinately heavy, she invites you in for tea. 

you’ve never really been a girl who drinks tea, but you accept her invitation with a smile. she makes a pot of earl grey and you two chat about things that come up—what you’re doing this weekend (nothing, if you can help it), how your students are (wonderful, but june can’t get here soon enough), and then you sneak it in.

“do you know the man who lives next to me? in 309? mister abbot?” 

“oh! that’s doctor abbot, honey,” she says, and you feel yourself flush, as if you’re embarrassed for getting his title wrong when he isn’t even there. you’ve never even seen the man. “he’s very nice. a widower, you know, so sad.” she whispers the last part as if it’s some sort of secret she shouldn’t be sharing. 

“oh. that’s very sad. is he young?” 

nosy, nosy nosy, a voice in the back of your head sings to reminds you. 

“everyone’s young when you get to be my age,” she says with a smile, piling on more cookies to your plate while you try to resist. 

you leave about an hour and a half later, after mrs. p has gotten a chance to fill you in on everything she deemed necessary for you to know. now that it’s warm, there’s a farmer’s market in the early afternoon she thinks has the best produce—get there early before they run out, though. a couple upstairs is getting divorced, and she’s keeping the apartment—he cheated. can you believe it? well, you haven’t seen the man, but trust me, you wouldn’t believe it. him? 

and right before you were about to excuse yourself to go finish lesson plans and treat yourself to a eight dollar latte, she fills you in on 309, dr. abbot, the very nice, allegedly young, widower. 

“well he served, just like my husband did. always stops by on veteran’s day for tea. i think he works nights at the hospital.”

but then she changes the topic again, and you don’t want to keep pushing just to satiate your own stupid curiosity. by all accounts, though, he does seem really nice. maybe you’re just not old enough to know many nice men, but stopping to have tea with his elderly neighbor on veteran’s day doesn’t seem like something just any man would do. you bid mrs. p goodbye and buy your latte and finish your work.

your schedule seems a little thrown off today—courtesy of all the cookies you ate with tea. you’re not hungry at all come six pm, so you keep reading whatever romance book is rotting your brain today, and then at six-thirty, with the notable absence of clanging pots and pans and your overstimulating kitchen hood, you hear it for the first time.

the door next to you close. there’s the sound of jangling keys. and as quickly as your tip-toes can take you to your peephole, you miss him almost entirely, just seeing his back—broad and covered with a black scrub top—and the back of his head—salt and pepper. 

you wanted to see what he looked like and deduce for yourself just how young he really is, since mrs. p told you to basically not trust her judgment. you’re a little dejected but you’ll take what you can get—before today he was a complete phantom. now he’s a blend, somewhere between phantom and person, with a very nice personality and gray hair.

you suppose that’ll have to be enough for today.

[formulafanfics13]

Not sure if the first one sent but can you please do a size kink 🔥 with Lando and something with his fingers. Since his hand is literally so big. Almost the size of his monster can.

https://www.tumblr.com/f1kenny121/787369343547785216/this-just-reminded-me-how-massive-landos-hands

that photo😫

Monster - LN4 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: A teasing joke about the size of Lando’s hand turns into a full-blown, filthy exploration of how much you can take. Lando starts slow but quickly pushes your limits, finger-fucking you with intense precision, filthy praise, and overwhelming pressure until you come hard — twice — completely ruined, soaked, and wrecked by nothing but his hand. It's obsessive, hot, and devastating in the best way.

Content Warning: This story includes explicit sexual content, size kink, fingering (intense and multiple fingers), overstimulation, dirty talk, light degradation, possessive praise, crying from pleasure, and brief mention of fisting kink.

You’d said it as a joke. That was your first mistake.

Standing in the kitchen, holding his new Lando Monster can, all black with his green blobs, and obnoxiously tall, you turned to him, eyebrows raised, and smirked.

“This is, like, the size of your hand.”

Lando didn’t even blink. He just grinned, slow and evil. “My fingers are longer.” And then he walked off like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking nuclear bomb in the middle of your day.

You stood there, still holding the can, thighs clenching, mind spiralling. You don’t think about it again until later that night.

Correction, you don’t say it again until later that night. You’d been thinking about it all goddamn day. The way his fingers looked around the steering wheel. The way he absentmindedly flexed them during debrief. The way his palm engulfed your entire thigh in the car.

It was haunting you. So when you were in bed, already tangled under the sheets, his mouth trailing down your chest, breath hot, hair messy, you whispered it into the dark like a sin. “Do you ever wonder what your hand looks like… inside me?”

Lando froze. Then pulled back, blinking down at you like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard that right.

“Come again?”

Your face burned, but you were already too far gone. “I was just thinking—your hand is the size of that fucking Monster can. Like… what if…”

He didn’t let you finish. He sat up, pulling you with him, voice already darker. “Show me.”

You blinked. “Show you what?”

“Show me how much you can take.” His voice was calm. Dangerous. “C’mon baby. Let me see.”

You should’ve said no. You didn’t.

He starts slow. Always does. Lando kisses down your stomach, spreading your thighs gently. Worshipfully. Like he’s doing a science experiment and you are the subject.

He traces his thumb down your slit, slow, soft, then slides one finger in.

You gasp. Not from the size, not yet, but from the fucking intensity of the eye contact. He watches you like a hawk. Every twitch. Every whimper. Every little clench around his knuckle. “Good girl,” he whispers, adding a second.

Your body tightens, back arching. Two fingers feel like nothing when it’s anyone else. But Lando? His hands are big. His fingers are thick. Calloused. Rough from the wheel.

You bite your lip. He curls them. And your moan is instant. “Fuck-Lando-”

“I know,” he says, grinning like he owns you. “You’re so tight already. And we’ve barely started.”

He scissors gently, stretching you open, watching the way your cunt flutters around his fingers. His thumb brushes your clit, and your hips jerk. Then comes the third. You’re not ready. He does it anyway.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs. “You can take it. You want to, don’t you?”

You nod, panting, legs falling wider. The stretch is insane. You’re wet enough that he can slide in, but you feel every second of it. Every knuckle. Every flex of his wrist.

He groans under his breath. “God, you’re squeezing so hard.”

“I can’t-”

“You can.” He leans in, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You said it yourself. Monster can, right?”

You let out a shaky laugh. He shoves his fingers deeper in response. You scream.

By the time he’s got four fingers inside you, your eyes are rolling back. Your thighs are shaking. Your whole body’s going limp except for the way your cunt is gripping him like it’s trying to pull him deeper.

Lando’s obsessed.

“You’re fucking dripping,” he mutters, flexing his hand slowly. “All for my fingers. Not even my cock.”

You whimper something that sounds like his name.

“Look at you. Look how full you are.” He pulls back slightly, just to watch your hole clench around the retreat, then thrusts back in so hard your hips jolt off the bed. “You like this? Like being stretched open by my fucking hand?”

“Yes-fuck-please don’t stop-”

His pace quickens.

You’re a mess. Moaning, panting, unable to keep your eyes open. He presses his thumb to your clit again, this time rougher, flicking and circling until you’re thrashing.

“Gonna come for me?” he breathes. “Come on my fingers, baby. Show me how much you love being ruined.”

You nod frantically. Then you break. Loud. Violent. Gushing.

Your orgasm hits like a fucking freight train, full-body, shaking, mouth open in a silent scream, legs twitching as your cunt pulses around his fingers like it’s trying to milk them.

He keeps going. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispers. “One more. You can give me one more.”

“Too much-”

“You’re doing so good,” he says, thumb still teasing your clit while his fingers stay deep inside you. “My pretty girl. My messy girl. Fuck, you’re so wet.”

You’re crying now. From the pleasure. From the stretch. From the fact that you can feel your own heartbeat between your legs.

“Please-Lando-please-”

He leans over you, lips brushing your cheek. “Wanna know a secret?” he whispers. “I dream about this. All the time. Stretching you open on my fingers. Watching you take it. Watching you drip for me.”

You moan helplessly. “Think I could fuck you with my whole fist?”

Your eyes go wide.

“Maybe not yet,” he murmurs. “But someday.”

You come again. Harder. This time you scream his name.

He pulls out slowly, reverently, watching the way you spasm from the loss of pressure. Your hole is still fluttering, leaking down your thighs, soaking the sheets.

Lando lifts his hand to the light, watching your slick drip down the back of his wrist. “Fucking soaked,” he whispers, then glances at you, wild and red and trembling.

“You’re okay,” he promises softly, climbing up beside you, stroking your thigh. “You were perfect.”

You nod weakly, eyes fluttering shut, chest rising and falling like you just ran a marathon.

Lando kisses your forehead. “Remind me to get more Monsters,” he whispers.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐚 || 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 ||

A/n: part two of wrong words fic for Spencer

Spencer was still sulking. Not dramatically, not technically out loud—but you knew your husband well enough to recognize the subtle, wounded signs.

He was sitting in the nursery rocker with his lanky arms crossed, glasses sliding down his nose, lips pursed like he’d tasted something sour. Your daughter—cheeky little thing—was asleep in his lap, a soft blanket draped over her tiny form and one of her fists curled into the collar of his cardigan.

You padded in quietly and leaned on the doorframe, fighting back a laugh. “You know you’re still her favorite person, right?”

Spencer didn’t look at you. He adjusted his glasses, gaze fixed stubbornly on the wall. “She said Derek, Y/N.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. “I know, sweetheart. You’ve only reminded me 47 times since breakfast.”

“Forty-nine,” he corrected immediately. “And I wouldn’t have to if it weren’t true.”

You walked over and crouched next to the rocker, resting a gentle hand on his knee. “She’s nine months old. It’s not like she wrote Derek a thank-you card and left you out. She just mimicked the last person to hand her a graham cracker.”

“She said his name,” Spencer mumbled dramatically, “before mine. I carried her in the BabyBjörn through the Smithsonian in July. I read her every book in the Magic Treehouse series in Latin and Italian. And he gets the first word?”

You rested your chin on his leg, looking up at him with a playful pout. “Well…if it helps, she definitely takes after you. The dramatics? The flair for injustice?”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s not helping.”

You giggled, shaking your head for a moment watching your husband.

He sighed, softer now, brushing a hand over your daughter’s downy curls. “I just… I know it’s irrational, I do. But part of me—”

“Wants her to say ‘Dada,’ because it’s yours,” you whispered. “Because you’ve loved her since the second those little pink lines showed up.”

Spencer swallowed thickly and gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”

You reached up and tugged gently at his cardigan. “It’ll happen. She’s just making you wait like a true Reid girl—building tension.”

“I don’t like tension,” he grumbled.

“You married me,” you smirked. “You love tension.”

—

It happened two days later.

Spencer had been pacing around the living room, trying to rock her to sleep while muttering about inconsistent phoneme acquisition rates. You were curled up on the couch, sipping tea and watching the show with a fond smile.

Your daughter—wide awake and stubborn, just like her father—suddenly pointed at him and chirped,

“Dada!”

Everything stopped.

Spencer froze mid-step. You choked on your tea. The baby blinked, surprised by her own voice, then gave a delighted squeal and repeated, “Dada!”

He turned so slowly, like he didn’t trust his ears. “Did she—did you hear that? Did she just—?”

You were already nodding, hands over your mouth, eyes misty. “She did. She said Dada.”

Spencer crumpled onto the couch beside you, daughter in his arms and a look of absolute awe on his face. He kissed her chubby cheek, his voice thick with emotion. “You said Dada. That’s me. That’s—I’m Dada.”

The baby patted his face proudly and giggled.

He turned to you, eyes glassy behind his glasses. “I’ve solved international code decryptions faster than this moment came.” Spencer ignoring her taking the glasses off his face.

You snorted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Worth the wait?”

He looked at the tiny human in his lap—his daughter, his first word girl, the piece of his heart that breathed and babbled and drooled as she waved the glasses around gurgling happily.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Absolutely.”

[cloudcountry]

how would they react to mc giving them a nickname fitting to the one they give you? like clover for towa, prince for haku, d̶e̶l̶i̶n̶q̶u̶e̶n̶t̶ f̶o̶r̶ l̶e̶o̶ for example? towa, haku, haru, lyca, jin, jiro (for jiro i imagine something in complete opposition to the monster/frankenstein names hes called)

SUMMARY: you give them an affectionate pet name ... how do they react?

COMMENTS: i only write for five characters in a request so i kicked jin off. couldnt come up w a nickname for him anyway...he'll be fine. (✿◡‿◡) i wrote these with romantic undertones!!

The first time you call Haru sunshine he almost doesn’t process it fully. Runs out the door with a swift bahnti! and comes back no less than twenty seconds later after checking half the exhibits to frantically ask you if he was hallucinating.

This is one of the best things that has ever happened to him. He lights up when you confirm that you gave him such a sweet nickname—this means he’s special to you, right? Well you’re special to him too!

If you dare, the next time you call him that, you should pair it with a soft laugh and a gentle touch on his bicep. He’s gone. Haru is a lovesick puddle on the floor!

Towa’s dramatic ass is never letting you live this down. You called him clover? He’d better be your four leaf one. And yes, he does mean your four lead clover, who else’s? (Don’t say Haru, he'll pout at you.)

The thing is, Towa will take this as a sign that he can cling to you all he wants and get away with it. Who is going to stop him? Coriander can’t, Haru won’t, Wolfsbane just gags and leaves you to your cuddly fate.

Be ready to tell him how great he is and shower him the compliments he so obviously craves. Pair it with your soft touch and he’ll drop his whole body weight onto you like an oversized cat.

Haku is seconds away from pulling a just kidding out of his ass, but the words get caught in his throat when you call him your prince. You’re playing along with him for the very first time—what a rush.

Despite the fact that he was the first one to give you a nickname, he laughs it off and reminds me that most guys would take that the wrong way, so you should be careful. Right, because he isn’t taking it the wrong way. Of course. He’s so normal about this.

Haku, to his core, is another lovesick boy. You do strange things to his heart and even if he tries to play it off as a joke, he really does think you’re cute. Maybe it’s fate that he met you—now if only he could save you from your curse like a proper prince.

Something simple is most effective with Lyca! Call him hon or sweetpea and watch him perk up. He does find it a bit embarrassing (and he’ll bite Edward’s head off if he says anything) but don't stop.

He naturally takes care of you—making sure you’re eating enough, buying you little things he knows you like, paying for your food—so getting that extra pet name boost is like a genuine award to him.

Honestly, he might take it as platonic at first. Lyca is a bit dense in matters of the heart, but once he goes to Subaru and has to watch as his face dawns in understanding, maybe he will understand too.

The first time you called Jiro angel, it was offhanded. You’re not sure why it slipped out. Much to your relief he simply hands you what you were asking for and walks off. You’re left standing there in front of one of Mortkranken’s lab tables with the taste of angel still on your tongue.

Later, Yuri storms up to you and starts hollering about public displays of affection and indecency, lecturing you thoroughly. It’s so much that you can barely get a word in. It isn’t until Jiro and you cross paths again that you realize what happened.

Jiro, point blank, tells you he asked Yuri for clarification on why you had called him angel. It obviously isn’t a bad thing, and he is familiar with nicknames, but no one has called him something so kind before. (Psst, he likes it.)

[ak319]

A.M x fem!reader ─ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 (𝐁𝐲 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲)

Warnings/MDNI: fluff, a little angst, emotional too? it touched me a lot though 😭, reader is preggo, arthur is paranoid af even from trees--to the point of losing his mind- Syno: Arthur meets an old lady, and his greatest fears are left ruffled. he isn't going back to normal now. +++ it's kind of a self-indulgent oneshot based on things I heard growing up, hehe. Arthur pic by Caramello on Pin.

┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list

He’d found her near the fork in the trail, hunched by a busted wheel and muttering curses. Old, but not frail, her eyes were sharp and her tongue sharper as she waved him down like he was late to something.

"You! Boy!"

Arthur slowed his horse, brow raised. "Ma’am."

"You got hands, don’t you? Good. Help me get this damned thing back on the axle before I throw it in the creek."

He could’ve ridden past. Should’ve, maybe. But something about her tone, bossy, impatient, proud , reminded him of you.

So he dismounted without a word and started working. Took him fifteen minutes, a few grunts, and one splinter, but the wheel was back in place. The old woman clucked her tongue like she approved, but didn’t say thanks.

"Figured it was a good day for helping folks," Arthur said, brushing his hands off on his pants.

She squinted at him. "You from these parts?"

"Not really."

"Got family?"

He hesitated, blushing. "Sort of."

She nodded, like she knew what that meant. "You’re not law, are you?"

He smirked faintly. "No, ma’am."

"Good. I don’t like ‘em. Too nosy."

That made him chuckle under his breath. "Ain’t got much reason to like 'em myself."

She jerked her head toward the bench on the cart. "Come on. You’re ridin’ with me to the river. Least you can do after helpin’ is keep me from dyin’ of boredom."

He didn’t argue. He helped her up, then climbed in beside her.

She started talking before the horse even took a step.

And that’s how, somewhere between a crooked mile and a winding bend, Arthur learned about her niece , about the girl’s sadness, the things she shouldn’t have done, and all the things her husband failed to do. He didn’t say much. Just listened.

"Lost the baby," she said, matter-of-fact. "Girl didn’t take care of herself properly. Started acting odd, too. Very...odd. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn't talk. Spent a lot of her time in her garden, alone. Quiet, under trees."

Arthur glanced sideways. "What’s trees got to do with it?"

"You don’t get all pretty, dolled up and sit under them, especially when the sun's goin' down. Pulls in bad stuff y'know. Makes the air heavy. Don’t hang clothes under open sky for long either, or leave hairbrushes lying around. They attract things. The old folks always said so."

Arthur nodded slowly, like he wasn’t paying attention, but he was already filing each word away.

No trees. No clothes hanging. Put the brush away.

"She sat in the dark too much. Alone. Cryin’. That’s no good. You sit in the dark, you invite things you don’t understand. You keep a house with warmth and sound in it. Laughter. Music. Light."

He looked down at his hands. You’d cried last night. Quiet, somewhere alone in the camp, when no one was looking, thought he wouldn't know. He knew because your eyes were swollen a bit too much when you had lain down beside him at night. Upon questioning , you had refused to answer him which led to an argument.

Dammit, I am a fuckin' bastard.

"Her husband was useless," the woman added with a sniff. "Didn’t even talk to the baby, didn’t keep her company. A woman carryin’ life needs love louder than the fear in her head. Needs someone holdin’ her hand more often than not."

Arthur swallowed hard, his jaw clenching out of instinct.

All this time, he’d been so focused on saving for the future , for the child, for safety, for the mess the gang might leave behind , that he hadn’t realized he was already failing at the most important part.

Being there.

Being present.

Being a father now, not just later.

"She was always angry before the baby passed," she said more gently. "You can’t sleep angry. That sort of feeling gets into everything. Into the child, even. Husband should smooth her hair, put a hand on her belly. Say good words. Doesn’t matter which ones. What matters is how he says ‘em."

"Right," Arthur murmured, jaw tight. "Got it."

"And feed her fruit. Good fruit. Give her water from your own cup once a day. Makes the child feel known. And keep her off her feet when the wind’s wrong."

Arthur looked up. "When the wind’s wrong?"

"You’ll know when it is. If you love her."

She patted his arm as he helped her climb down the wagon. "Men think protecting a woman is about killin’ things for her. Sometimes, it’s just makin’ sure she eats right and don’t cry alone."

She looked at him , really looked and said, "You got a woman carryin' your child, don’t you?"

Arthur blinked with a faint smile, his neck once again going red. "...Mhm...wife."

"Then go home, boy," she said, reaching out to straighten the fold of his shirt like he was twelve. "And stop leaving her alone with her sadness. You ain’t just protectin’ her body. You’re protectin’ the world you’ll both live in once that baby arrives. Make sure it’s one she wants to stay in."

He was left speechless and...heavy with an uncountable amount of feelings. He stood there a minute longer after she was gone, then rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

When Arthur got back to camp, he didn’t waste time.

Didn't greet anyone. Didn’t even scold Sean like usual when the boy hollered something about the horse looking tired.

No, he went straight to you.

You were sitting by the fire, poking at your plate, looking exhausted and a little distant, like you’d been left alone with your thoughts too long. You’d been doing that a lot these days. Same quiet place. Same untouched food. Same hollowness behind your eyes.

And it wasn’t like you.

Not you, who used to slam down your fork when dinner was cold. Who used to bite back at Dutch, roll her eyes at everyone, and make jokes, insult John like a hobby, to make Abigail smile. You loved poking people for fun not a piece of meat on a plate.

But now…

Now you just sat there. Under the dark sky, firelight soft against your skin, shadows deep under your eyes.

And you looked alone.

Arthur’s throat closed up.

Camp was still moving. Bill and Javier were somewhere near the wagons. Mary-Beth was chatting with Tilly. Uncle and Sean were probably off yelling about something that didn’t matter. You were surrounded by people.

And yet, he had never seen someone look so alone in a crowd.

His vision blurred for a second. He blinked fast, looking away, dragging a hand down his face as if that’d somehow fix what he was feeling. His chest ached in a quiet, unbearable way.

He’d been too focused on everything else. And there you were. His girl. His wife. The mother of his child. Sitting right in the middle of it all, still feeling like nobody saw her.

He swore under his breath, quiet, and started walking toward you before his legs could second-guess it.

He wasn’t about to let you sit in the dark by yourself another damn minute.

Arthur squatted down in front of you, his big hand sliding over your knee, startling you. "You eat?"

"Um...hi?". You shrugged. "And yeah, a...little."

"Not enough."

Before you could argue, he plucked an apple from his bag, one he’d bought on the ride back, carefully picking the ripest one like it was mission critical, and set it in your palm. "Eat it."

You blinked at him. "What are you doing?"

"Feedin' you."

"I know but-"

"You’re gonna eat it," he said firmly, already brushing crumbs off your lap and pulling your legs gently into his. "Ain’t no harm in lettin’ me fuss over you a little."

You squinted at him, suspicious. "What’s got you so-"

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, holding the back of your neck to calm himself. "J-us'---jus' heard some things today."

"About...what?"

"About how a woman in your condition oughta be cared for. And how I ain’t been doin’ enough of it."

You frowned, but you bit into the apple anyway.

Arthur sat back, watching you like you might disappear if he looked away. His hand absent-mindedly rubbed your shin, his thumb circling the spot where you’d complained about aching last night to Karen.

...You’d even stopped sharing your problems with him.... Whether it was because you didn’t think he was worthy of them anymore, or you just didn’t want to be a burden, he didn’t know. But he knew one thing. He didn’t like it

Slowly chewing, you spoke up, "You’re acting strange."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, "guess I figured out I ain't just protectin' you from guns and bad men. I gotta protect you from bein' sad. From bein’ tired. From...feelin' like you gotta do this alone."

You stared at him, gulping.

He caught the look and clicked his tongue. "Don’t go gettin' all weepy on me now. I'm still mad you didn't finish your lunch."

"You sound like...Uncle Hosea."

"Good. He’s smarter than me, always has been." He brushed your hair behind your ear, voice dropping as he added, "Also, always put your brush away. And we’re sleepin’ with the lamp on. No arguments."

Your brows shot up in confusion.

"Not arguin’," he said sweetly, cupping your face. "Just lovin’ you loud enough to drown out the fear. That’s the rule now."

You sat there for a beat too long, caught in his stare, your fingers tightening around the apple.

Finally, you mumbled, "I was fine, you don't have to."

Arthur smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "No, you weren’t. You aren't. And don’t you dare say ‘you didn’t have to’ or ‘don’t do it’, not to me, you silly girl." His voice dropped, softer, but firm. "Who else’s job is it, huh? Mhm? You should’ve beat my sorry ass to make me do it sooner. Don't think you ain't a priority of mine, not...more important than the gang. You are...I jus' never made you feel it, I guess. So be selfish, very, very selfish, ya' hear me?"

And when you slowly leaned into his chest with your eyes glistening, food forgotten, Arthur wrapped his arms around you like he never planned to let go.

That night, you found your brush tucked neatly away. Arthur had fussed a bit more over the fire, made sure you ate more than you could even, and massaged your feet till you dozed off.

All the while as he just shrugged and muttered, "Wind’s wrong." He pulled you onto his chest, his big hand resting over your belly like it was the most natural thing in the world. No words. Just the warmth of his palm, the steady hum of his breath, and the soft glow of the lamp in the tent, he absolutely refused to turn off.

Because love protects in ways no gun ever could.

And you were delusional to think it wouldn't get much more than this...

❀˖°

You hadn’t even been under the damn tree for five minutes.

The breeze was soft, sun low, and you’d just finished pinning your hair up the way you liked, a little loose, a little elegant, with one of the new combs Arthur brought back from town. You smelled like rosewater from your bath. Felt good for once, onto some evening reading. Fresh and light, pretty, settled, calm.

Which is exactly when you heard thundering footsteps.

"Hey!" Arthur’s voice cracked through camp like a whip. "Get up."

You looked over your shoulder slowly, like you were dreaming. There he was, stomping across the clearing like a man possessed. Hat crooked from running. Eyes locked on you like you'd personally offended him.

"...What did I do now?" you asked flatly.

"You're sittin' under a tree."

"So?"

"So?!" he panted, stopping a few feet from you, "you look... like that."

You blinked. "L-like what?"

"Like... you got your hair all done up, smell like a damn field of flowers, and you're glowin'. And you're sittin' under the one thing I was told to keep you the hell away from."

"...Arthur."

"She said don't let you near trees if you're glamoured up!" he hissed, glancing up at the branches like they were about to lunge at you.

"But I just wanted to-"

"YOU NEVER LISTEN, WOMAN! THEY NOTICE--BAD THINGS NOTICE, AND THEY'RE GONNA GET YOU! OR GET INSIDE YOU, I DUNNO! JUS' GET YOUR ASS UP!"

Your breath caught. He'd never spoken to you like that before. Never so sharp. And it scared the hell out of you.

You hadn’t meant to make a mistake. You were just tired. You wanted peace.

Your lip trembled before you could stop it. You tried to blink away the burn in your eyes, tried to breathe through the rising weight in your chest... but you couldn’t. Not this time.

That’s when Susan stormed over.

"Arthur Morgan! What in God’s name are you barkin’ about?! What could she possibly have done?"

Arthur spun to her, exasperated. "She's sittin' under a fuckin' tree!"

"And?!"

"And she ain’t supposed to! Not when she’s all pretty and perfumed and-" He gestured toward you, like that explained everything.

Susan crossed her arms. "The tree’s gonna gobble her up, is it?"

Arthur clenched his jaw. "That ain’t the point! It ain’t safe. Evil, horror things--I dunno!"

But Susan’s eyes had already flicked back to you. She saw the tears brimming, the way your shoulders were shaking.

And then it happened.

You broke.

A sob tore from your throat as you covered your face, crying in spite of yourself.

Susan’s expression softened. "Oh, sweetheart, are you alright? Ignore him."

Arthur’s heart plummeted.

In two strides, he was in front of you, crouching down low, voice suddenly low and raw. "Hey. No, no, c’mere. I ain’t mad at you, alright? I’m just--hell, I’m scared. I didn’t mean to yell."

But you were already leaning into Susan, hiding in her arms as you cried harder.

Arthur’s hands hovered before gently cupping your chin, coaxing your gaze to his. "I ain’t scared of much," he whispered, eyes glistening, "but losin’ you? I’d burn down every tree in the damn country if it meant keepin’ you safe."

Susan shook her head, fighting a smile. "Well, now you’ve done it. She’s crying, and it’s your fault."

Arthur didn’t look away from you. "I’m so sorry, darlin'. Look at me."

You blinked up at him through tears. He brushed your jaw with his thumb, then pressed a long kiss to your forehead, staying there like he could kiss away the world.

"Lemme walk you back, alright? No more trees today."

You hiccupped quietly. "I w-was co-mfortable."

Arthur smiled softly. "I’ll build you a chair outta blankets and hold your hand the whole damn time. Deal?"

You nodded, finally leaning into his chest.

Susan chuckled as she walked off. "Lord, you two’ll give me gray hair."

Arthur murmured against your temple, "Mine’ll go first at this rate," and then added under his breath, "Damn old ladies… damn gorgeous woman… damn hauntin’ trees…"

He tugged you up gently by the hand, draped his jacket over your shoulders like a shield, and guided you back toward the tents, never letting go.

Now everyone was sure that...

Arthur was absolutely gonna start carrying an axe from now on.

Just in case.

Which made him target of stupid ass jokes from Bill , Sean and John like...

'Oi, Arthur! Need us to put up a fence around the trees for ya? Keep the lady safe from wild bark and seductive leaves?'

'Should we start packin’ flowers around her bed too? Maybe get her a tree-repellent candle?'

Even Dutch-"Boy, have I ever told you how proud I am? Chivalry. Romance. Tree-related overreactions. That’s what this gang needs more of."

"Dammit" Arthur closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. "I ain’t never talkin’ to old women again."

"You will," you said sweetly, "especially if they give more advice about how to treat me like royalty."

The camp howled.

Arthur gave up, dragging a hand over his face and shaking his head, but not before pressing a kiss to your temple again, just to shut them all up for a moment.

He didn't mind the notion at all. If that makes you happy and safe. Old people spoke wisdom anyway.

Two days later, you sat by the fire, reaching for knife to help Susan with chopping veggies for stew when-

Arthur appeared like a storm cloud.

He had said no things sharp.

And so he didn’t even speak. Just slowly pulled the knife from your hand, gave Susan a look of deep apology, and started chopping himself.

"Sharp things," he said solemnly. "Not today."

Also, did you mention how he tied a makeshift ribbon on your wrist made from his handkerchief? Soft. So that way, even when he isn't here, you know he's close. To you both.

❀˖°

By the end of the week, the notebook had:

A tally of how many times you sneezed

A small doodle of the tree you sat under (labeled 'Dangerous Shady Bastard')

A list titled "Food Cravings Approved / Denied"

Goose eggs cooked over a fire (ticked).

Well, this made you remember how he was chased down while stealing them, and you're laughing the whole time while Arthur’s yelling, "it ain’t funny, damnit!"

Pickled beets (ticked)

Blackberries (ticked)

Stagecoach jerky from Sean (crossed)

Whatever the hell that "river cheese" was (crossed)

One page that just read:

"Combing her damn luscious hair while sittin' under trees = VERY BAD. DO NOT REPEAT."

You’d tried to ignore it. You really did.

But on the eighth day, after Arthur pressed a warm hand to your forehead because you sniffled once, wrote 'Chill in air?' and asked if Dutch’s cologne was 'too strong for the baby,' you finally cracked.

"Arthur!" you burst, snatching the notebook.

"You gonna scold me for protectin’ my family?" he asked, full cowboy martyr eyes.

You stared at the page.

He’d drawn a tiny picture of you. Next to it, he’d written:

Don’t let her sleep mad. Night’s too long to carry anger. If she breathes funny, check her pulse. If she walks fast, carry her. If she rolls her eyes, kiss her.

Your face softened.

"…You’re so-"

Arthur grinned, not even letting you finish as he pulled you snug to his chest, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. "Yeah. In love. I know."

You tried to squirm, only half-heartedly. "And you’re gonna give yourself a stroke if you keep this up. You’re making me worried now!"

Instead of easing off, he simply leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck like he was trying to melt into your skin. His voice was soft, all gravel and affection.

"Then I’ll die holdin’ this dumb little notebook and you."

You let out a snort, muffled as you buried your smile in his collar. "God help me. You’re gonna be so much worse when the baby’s here."

Arthur shifted then, gently pushing you back onto the bedroll, his body following yours like instinct. His weight was warm and grounding, his hand sliding behind your head as the other pulled the blanket up over both of you. He laid half on top of you, protective and lazy, like a man who had no intention of leaving.

"Oh, I already got a whole second notebook ready for that, sweetheart," he murmured smugly against your cheek.

You paused, squinting up at him. "What--Arthur."

He kissed your lips, slow and indulgent, like punctuation.

"Color-coded."

"Off the rails, aren't you?."

"For you," he said with zero shame, kissing the tip of your nose before resting his forehead to yours.

Then, softer, almost sheepish, "I just wanna do right by you. And the kid. Even if it means not sleepin’ and keepin’ track of how many times you throw a pillow at me."

You blinked slowly, the lump rising in your throat making it hard to speak.

Arthur kissed your jaw, then your wrist, then held your hand right over his chest, where his heartbeat thudded steady beneath your palm.

"I ain’t lettin’ a damn thing touch both of you," he whispered. "Not worry, not fear, not even a rough patch in camp. You hear me?"

You nodded, tucking yourself closer into his arms, his weight like armor and his words like prayer.

tag list: @sensitivegamergirl

[thatonegrimm]

Hello Grimm !

It’s a pleasure send you an ask for the first time, if I’m not writing this right, feel free to tell me.

I wanted to request a one shot (or whatever it’s called, I’m not used to these terms, sorry) with the Saja Boys (separately) with a reader who is always innocent and sweet and then the boys find out that they write really dark stories, like thrillers with morally gray characters and that go highly philosophical about the corruption and hypocrisy of humanity, you can write them dating the reader or not dating them but crushing on them, whichever you’re comfortable with !

I hope it was okay and that this made sense lol, have a good day/evening/night !

Hello, and welcome!! 💌 You absolutely nailed the ask — it was clear, thoughtful, and gave me everything I needed to work with! This one leans romantic-crush-adjacent, so you can read it as dating or just tension building — whatever feels right for you. It’s written as a drabble set, with each-reacting separately. Hope you enjoy!

"What Sweet People Don’t Say Out Loud"

Summary: The Saja Boys find out their sunshine might have a darker mind than expected.

----------------------------

🧿 Jinu

Jinu finds your writing by accident. You'd left your laptop open to a document titled “Cured By Fire: A Moral Treatise on Manufactured Innocence” while you stepped away to make tea.

He’d only meant to close the screen — honestly. But curiosity got the better of him. The title alone didn’t match the person who giggles at animal memes and says “oopsies” when they trip over a pillow.

A few scrolls in, he forgets about the tea.

The story unravels like a slow-burning reckoning. Government corruption, religious rot, and a protagonist who justifies arson as “a cleansing act in a city that won’t admit it’s already ash.”

When you return, he’s sitting rigidly upright, eyes wide behind his glasses. He looks… lost.

“Everything okay?” “You… wrote this?” “Uh. Yeah. Is it… bad?” “No, no, it’s—” He gestures vaguely. “It’s just… disturbingly good?” He pauses. “How long have you been thinking about the illusion of free will?” “Since middle school.” “Oh. Huh.”

He doesn’t touch his tea for an hour. You catch him rereading the ending later, brows furrowed.

“I think your villain might be right,” he mumbles, almost sheepish. Then softer, like it snuck up on him: “You’re… kind of brilliant.”

--------------------------------

💪 Abby

You print your story out for him — all 17 pages — and hand it over like it’s fragile. You're smiling nervously, chewing your lip.

“Be nice?” “Always.”

He’s expecting poetry. Something light. Maybe a whimsical fairytale about cats.

What he gets is a psychological thriller about a prison warden who slowly manipulates both inmates and guards into losing track of who’s imprisoned who. The tone is cold. Surgical. Inescapably brilliant.

By the time he finishes, he’s still staring at the final paragraph like it called him out personally.

“...Did you just make me root for a guy who drowns his boss in a koi pond?” “A little bit.” “I’m scared of you. In the best way.”

He sets the story down, still processing.

Then looks at you with open awe.

“You hide this whole part of yourself behind cute sweaters and sunny playlists, huh?” “...Maybe.” “That’s wild. I love it.”

He throws an arm around your shoulder, pulls you into his side, and presses a kiss to your temple like it’s instinct.

“Just remind me not to piss you off too bad. I’d like to stay above water.”

--------------------------------

📚 Mystery

You hadn’t meant for anyone to read it.

You keep your darker writing tucked away in a leather-bound notebook, usually hidden under your pillow. But Mystery finds it while you’re asleep — not on purpose, just straightening the blankets after you passed out reading.

He flips it open absently. Stops flipping five seconds later.

The story is unlike anything he’s read — a first-person monologue from a vigilante priest who sees sins as carvings, both literal and metaphorical. The prose is lyrical. Unnerving. Devastating.

He reads it in silence, unmoving. The kind of stillness he only slips into when something truly grips him.

When you wake up, you find him sitting on the edge of the bed, notebook in his lap, expression unreadable.

“Did you dream this?” “No... I wrote it a few weeks ago.” “It reads like it hurt.”

You wait for him to laugh. Or be weirded out. But he just closes the notebook gently and places it beside you.

“Everyone sees you as light.” He looks at you. “But you write like someone who understands what darkness actually costs.”

He lies beside you after, shoulder to shoulder, silent. But when he presses his forehead to yours, there’s reverence in it.

-----------------------------------

💋 Romance

It’s open mic night. Romance volunteers to read your piece out loud without looking it over first — he says he wants to be surprised.

He is.

The story is a sleek, cutting piece about a world where people wear masks that reflect their social status — and the one character who dares to shatter their own. It reads like a manifesto in disguise, full of quiet rage and philosophical tension.

By the end, the audience is dead silent. Romance lowers the paper slowly.

“So.” He clears his throat. “This was not about bunnies.” You nod. “And you wrote this?” “Yup.” “This explains… so much.”

Later, once the adrenaline wears off, you find him leaning against the hallway wall backstage, still holding the pages like they’re made of fire.

“You wrote this like a scalpel,” he says. “Soft hands. Sharp intent.” He laughs, shakes his head. “You had me out here baring your philosophical teeth to a full room. I’ve never been prouder.”

He leans in, nose brushing yours.

“Sweet, dangerous, and literary. What a combination.”

--------------------------------------

🔥 Baby

He finds your notebook in his backpack two days after you borrowed it. He flips it open thinking it’s a to-do list or grocery note.

Instead, he finds this:

“They call me innocent because I smile in public. But no one ever asks why the monsters in my stories look like men in suits.”

He stops chewing his gum.

Turns the page.

Keeps reading.

And then, at 2:12 AM, you get this:

baby🖕: wtf baby🖕: ur a menace baby🖕: u write like ur planning a quiet revolution and i’d probably help

When you see him the next morning, he tosses the notebook at you and crosses his arms.

“You have no right being that nice and also writing like this.” “You didn’t like it?” “Are you kidding? I read it three times. I might be in love with your brain.”

He grabs your face, thumb brushing your cheek, gaze intense.

“You’re soft and terrifying. That’s hot.” Then he smirks. “Just don’t ever base a villain on me, okay?”

You don’t answer. You definitely already did.

-------------------------------

M-List

[moondustbaby]

Just Us, Just This

blue collar!Rafe x pregnant wife!Reader

summary: It’s your first official day of summer break, and you’re 7 months pregnant—exhausted, emotional, and not expecting much more than a quiet day on the couch. But Rafe’s got other plans… and they involve watermelon, sunshine, and reminding you that you are so loved.

⸻

It’s your first official day off for summer break, and for the first time in weeks, you don’t have to set an alarm or shuffle paperwork or politely argue with the school’s IT guy about fixing the copier. You’re home. You’re in pajamas. You’re 7 months pregnant and moving a little slower than usual, but you’re free.

Well—sort of.

Your back aches, your belly feels impossibly tight, and the fridge has absolutely nothing you’re craving. You’ve spent the morning nesting like a woman possessed, then crashing on the couch with a bowl of cereal and Mamma Mia playing on low volume. The fan hums overhead. Your phone buzzes once—Rafe: be ready in 15, sweetheart. wear something comfy. bring sunscreen.

You blink at the message. You’re about to text back what?? when the sound of his truck rumbling into the driveway answers you.

You shuffle to the bedroom and tug on one of the sundresses you have that actually still fits. You toss your hair up. Try not to overheat. And when you open the front door, Rafe’s already walking up the steps—messy hair, sun-warmed skin, and a stupid grin that tells you he’s up to something.

“Hey, mama,” he says, kissing you slow before dropping a hand to your belly. “You ready?”

“I’m pregnant and sweating. This is as ready as it gets.”

He laughs and takes your hand. “C’mon. I got somethin’ to show you.”

You raise a brow, but follow him—carefully, because again, you’re enormous and hormonal and everything hurts. He leads you out to the back of the property, down the little dirt path lined with wildflowers that he mowed clean for you last summer. And there, under the shade of your favorite tree, is a blanket spread out with pillows, a cooler, and a whole container of cut-up watermelon.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “You made a picnic.”

“Your first day off,” he shrugs, setting the cooler down. “Figured you deserved something nice.”

You sit carefully, cross-legged, and watch as he unpacks sandwiches, lemonade, strawberries, and cookies from the bakery you like in town. He even remembered the ice packs for your swollen feet.

“You’re insane,” you murmur, teary-eyed before you can stop it.

Rafe leans over and kisses your temple. “Nah. Just in love.”

The afternoon drifts by slow and warm. You eat watermelon with your fingers and laugh when Rafe gets juice on his chin. He feeds you a bite of cookie, then rests his hand on your belly when the baby kicks.

“You think he knows your voice?” you ask, breath catching a little.

“Hope so,” Rafe says, eyes soft. “Been talkin’ to him every night.”

You blink back more tears. “I love you.”

He smiles. “I know, mama. I love you more.”

Later, he lets you stretch out with your head in his lap, rubbing slow circles into your hip while the sun filters through the leaves. The only sound is the wind, the birds, and your breathing syncing with his.

Just you, him, and the little life growing inside you.

And for the first time in what feels like weeks, you don’t feel overwhelmed or exhausted or like you’re falling behind.

You just feel safe. Loved. Home.

a/n: hii! this one’s been sitting in my drafts for a couple weeks — i actually wrote it right when my summer break first started and just never got around to posting it 😭 but after some last minute edits, it’s finally ready to share! hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@lolabunnyworldss @superlegend216 @bonjourjiminie @rafesbabygirlx @raineshua @wolfcin04 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @angelofcigs

[onlyforsebastianstan]

Lessons

Summary:

You and Bucky Barnes have always been close — the kind of best friends who share inside jokes, midnight snacks, and quiet truths. He sees you as someone to protect. Nothing more.

But after a night out with friends, where the conversation turned toward sex. Something you’ve never experienced, a curiosity sparked in you. Nervous and innocent, you turned to the one person you trusted most

“What does sex feel like?”

At first, Bucky laughed it off. Then he grew quiet. Your questions didn’t stop and after days of soft, awkward tension, Bucky gave in.

Genre:

NSFW | Smut | Soft Emotional Tension | (eventual smut, pregnancy themes, emotional intensity) | Friends-to-Lovers

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!

You and Bucky had been best friends for years, your bond built on late-night talks, shared pizza, and an unspoken trust that ran deeper than words. To Bucky, you were family—someone he’d protect with his life, no hint of romance in his steady blue gaze. He was your safe haven, the one person you could ask anything without judgment, and you were his reminder that the world could still be soft.

It all started at a meetup with your friends. The conversation had turned to sex, their stories spilling out with knowing laughs and vivid details. You stayed quiet, cheeks burning, as their words painted a world you’d never touched. A virgin, you’d never felt the urgency to change that, but their stories stirred something—curiosity, sharp and persistent. What did it feel like? The heat, the closeness, the intensity they described—what was it really?

Later that night, sprawled on your couch with Bucky, a half-eaten pizza box between you, the question gnawed at you. The TV droned on, but your mind was elsewhere. You fidgeted, twisting the hem of your sweater, heart pounding as you tried to find the words. Finally, you mumbled, barely audible, “Bucky… what’s it like? Sex, I mean.”

He froze, soda can halfway to his lips, his eyes flicking to yours. “What?”

You cringed, wishing you could sink into the couch. “I—I heard my friends talking, and I’ve never… I just want to know what it’s like. Sorry, it’s stupid.”

He set the can down, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up his face. “It’s not stupid. It’s… hard to describe. It’s intense, I guess. Physical. Different for everyone.” His voice was gruff, and he quickly changed the subject, tossing you a playful jab about your terrible taste in pizza toppings.

But the question didn’t fade. Over the next few days, your curiosity grew, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking again.

At first, it was small—innocent questions about what made it special, how it felt to be that vulnerable, even what “cumming” meant, though you were too shy to say the word outright.

Bucky answered awkwardly, his responses short, his discomfort obvious. He’d deflect with a joke or a quick subject change, but your persistence wore him down, your naivety disarming in a way he couldn’t ignore.

One night, at his place, you were both sitting on his bed, a scattered deck of cards from a lazy game between you. You’d been pressing him with questions again, your voice softer each time, your shyness making the air heavy.

Finally, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Staring at your hands, you whispered, “Bucky… would you… show me? Like, do it with me? Just so I know what it’s like?”

His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. “What? You’re serious?”

You nodded, face burning, unable to meet his gaze. “I trust you. You’re my best friend. I just… I want to understand, and I don’t want it to be with anyone else. Please?”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Doll, that’s… a big ask. You sure you’ve thought this through? We’re friends. This could make things weird.”

“I know,” you said, voice small but firm. “But I trust you more than anyone. I don’t want it to mean anything… romantic. Just… help me understand.”

He studied you for a long moment, his jaw tight, the protective part of him warring with your request. Finally, he sighed, his voice low. “Okay. But only if you’re absolutely sure. And we stop the second you’re not okay with it. Promise.”

“I promise,” you said, heart racing, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your chest.

He shifted closer, his movements slow, deliberate, giving you every chance to back out. “Alright,” he murmured, his flesh hand reaching out to rest lightly on your shoulder. “We’ll go slow. You tell me what you’re feeling, okay?”

You nodded, scooting closer, your knee brushing his. The air felt heavier, charged with something new but still grounded in the trust between you.

He guided you to lie back, his weight braced on his elbows as he hovered over you, his expression serious but kind.

“It’s about feeling close,” he said softly, his hand sliding to your arm, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “Letting someone in, physically. It’s a lot, but I’ve got you.”

You swallowed, nodding, your pulse hammering as his hands moved carefully, lifting the hem of your shirt. You shivered at the contrast of his flesh hand, warm and steady, and the cool brush of his metal fingers. He paused, checking your face. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice shaky but certain.

He continued, slow and deliberate, shedding your clothes and his own with a clinical sort of care, keeping it as unromantic as possible. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but his presence was a steady anchor. When you were both bare, he guided your hands to his shoulders, letting you feel the solidity of him.

“Touch helps,” he said, voice low. “Makes it real. You ready for more?”

You nodded, and he shifted, positioning himself carefully. His hands found your hips, steadying you as he explained each step, his voice a quiet rumble. “It might feel strange at first. Just breathe, okay?”

When he entered you, the sensation was overwhelming—full, intense, a stretch that made you gasp. He froze, eyes searching yours. “You okay? Need me to stop?”

“No,” you breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Just… go slow.”

He did, moving with a careful rhythm, watching your every reaction. With a muffled groan “Fuck… you’re so tight.”

The initial discomfort faded, replaced by a warmth that built with each movement, a connection that was physical but still tethered to the trust between you. His hands stayed on your hips, guiding you, teaching you how to move with him. The sensation grew, a slow burn that spread through you, making you cling to him tighter.

It was strange, new, but not unpleasant—a heat that coiled tighter with every thrust, every shift of his body against yours.

You felt something building, a pressure you didn’t understand, your breaths coming faster, your body tensing. “Bucky,” you gasped, voice trembling with confusion, “w-wait… I feel something coming out”

He slowed slightly, his eyes softening as he recognized your innocence. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice steady, reassuring. “You’re feeling it build. It’s okay. Just let go, doll. Let your body do what it wants.”

“Let go?” you repeated, uncertain, your fingers tightening on his shoulders as the sensation grew sharper, almost overwhelming.

“Yeah,” he said, his metal hand sliding to your lower back, cool against your flushed skin. “Don’t fight it. Just let it happen. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, trusting him completely, and focused on the feeling—the way his movements sent sparks through you, the way the pressure coiled tighter, like a spring ready to snap. His rhythm stayed steady, deliberate, his flesh hand gripping your hip as he guided you, his breaths ragged but controlled. The heat of his skin against yours, the slight roughness of his calloused fingers, the way his muscles flexed under your touch—it all blended into a haze of sensation, pulling you under.

When it hit, it was like nothing you’d ever felt—a rush that made your whole body tremble, a gasp tearing from your throat as you arched against him. “Bucky,” you whimpered, clinging to him, overwhelmed by the intensity.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low, encouraging. “You’re doing great. Just ride it out.”

He kept moving, slower now, letting you feel every wave, every pulse, until the sensation ebbed, leaving you breathless.

“F-fuck..” he followed, a low groan escaping him as he stilled, his forehead resting against your shoulder for a brief moment. Neither of you spoke, the air heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

He pulled back, grabbing a blanket to drape over you both, his movements quick, almost guilty. “Shit,” he muttered, sitting up, his eyes wide with realization. “We didn’t… I didn’t use anything. Protection.”

You froze, the implications hitting you. “Oh,” you said, voice small. “I… didn’t think about that.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, panic flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought—should’ve been more careful. You’re my best friend, I wasn’t supposed to let it go this far.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

He looked at you, his expression torn between guilt and the same protective instinct that always defined him. “It’s not okay. I’m supposed to look out for you, not… complicate things.”

“It’s not complicated,” you said, though your voice wavered. But as you sat there, wrapped in the blanket, his hand still in yours, you felt it—a subtle shift, something unspoken that neither of you could name. You were still friends, still tethered by that unshakable bond, but the air between you felt different, heavier, like you’d crossed a line you couldn’t uncross.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said finally, his voice steady again. “Whatever happens, I’ve got your back. Always.”

And as you leaned against him, his arm settling around you in that familiar, protective way, you knew he meant it. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, you’d face it together.

A week later, you were back at Bucky’s place, sitting on his couch, the memory of that night tucked away like a secret neither of you acknowledged. But your curiosity hadn’t faded—if anything, it had grown, the experience leaving you with more questions than answers. You fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on your jeans, your heart pounding as you gathered the courage to speak.

“Bucky,” you started, voice barely above a whisper, “could we… do it again? Another lesson, I mean.”

He froze, his coffee mug halfway to his lips, his eyes snapping to yours. “You’re serious?” His voice was laced with disbelief, his brows furrowing. “After last time? You sure about this?”

You nodded, cheeks burning, your shyness making it hard to meet his gaze. “I just… I want to learn more. I trust you, and I don’t want it to be with just anyone. Please, Buck. Can we just… keep it like it was? No strings, no changing anything between us?”

He set the mug down, running a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “Doll, this… it’s risky. We got lucky last time, but we can’t mess up like that again. And what if it does change things? You’re my best friend. I don’t want to screw that up.”

“It won’t,” you said, voice firm despite your nerves. “I promise. It’s just… learning. Like before. We’ll keep it separate, like it never happened. Deal?”

He studied you for a long moment, his protective instincts warring with your earnest plea. Finally, he sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Alright. Deal. But we’re being careful this time. No mistakes. And you say stop, we stop. Got it?”

“Got it,” you said, relief flooding you.

He stood, disappearing into his bedroom and returning with a small foil packet, holding it up with a pointed look. “No repeats of last time. We’re doing this right.”

You nodded, heart racing as you followed him to the bedroom. The air was different this time—still grounded in trust, but with a mutual understanding that this was just a lesson, nothing more. He was careful, deliberate, slipping on the condom before guiding you to the bed. This time, he suggested a new position—lying on your side, one leg draped over his hip, his hands guiding you into place.

“It’s about angles,” he said, voice low, clinical, like he was teaching you a skill. “Changes how it feels. Just relax, okay?”

You did, letting him guide you, the sensation different but just as intense. His movements were slow, controlled, his hands steady on your hips as he taught you how to move with him. The lesson was practical, focused, his demeanor that of a friend helping you learn, nothing more. When that pressure built again, you recognized it this time, and he noticed your tension.

“Just let go,” he said, his voice steady, encouraging but detached. “You’ve got this.”

You did, trembling as the wave hit, and he followed shortly after, keeping the moment brief, functional. Afterward, you both got dressed, slipped back into your usual banter—joking about his terrible coffee, arguing over what to watch next—like nothing had happened. It was your agreement: no strings, no complications, just lessons.

It became a weekly ritual, always at his place, always with the same rules. Each time, he taught you something new—a different position, a different way to move. One week, it was you on top, his hands guiding your hips as he showed you how to set the pace, his voice calm and instructional. Another, it was against the wall, his strength holding you steady as he explained the mechanics, his tone practical. Each lesson was clinical in intent, grounded in your trust, with protection always used after that first scare. Afterward, you’d both act like it never happened—back to pizza nights, bad TV, and inside jokes, your friendship unchanged, the lessons tucked away like a separate compartment.

Through it all, Bucky remained your best friend—protective, steady, never letting the lessons bleed into your bond. You laughed together, shared secrets, leaned on each other, just as you always had. The moments in his bedroom were just that—moments, sealed off from the rest of your lives.

The team gathering was loud, filled with laughter and clinking glasses, but everything seemed to mute the moment Bucky walked in with Lia. She was new to the team, her smile bright and her charm effortless, drawing eyes like a magnet. Bucky’s arm was slung casually around her shoulders, his grin easy as he introduced her to the group. “This is Lia,” he said, his voice warm, almost proud. “New recruit, and she’s already kicking ass.”

You stood near the bar, your drink forgotten in your hand, the sight of them together hitting like a punch to the gut. Lia laughed at something Bucky whispered, her hand resting lightly on his chest, and your heart twisted. You forced a smile when Bucky’s eyes met yours, giving a small nod as if everything was fine. But it wasn’t.

Later that week, you were at Bucky’s apartment, sprawled on his couch like always, expecting another lesson. The lessons had started months ago, a practical arrangement to help you navigate your inexperience with sex. Bucky had been patient, guiding you with a mix of gentle instruction and intense focus, teaching you not just about touch but about trust, about feeling safe in your own skin. Those moments had shifted something in you, blurring the line between friendship and something deeper, though you’d never dared name it.

He sat across from you now, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. The air felt heavy, wrong. He cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze. “We need to stop the lessons,” he said, his voice low, steady, but laced with something you couldn’t place. “I’m with Lia now. It’s… not right to keep this up.”

The words landed like a blade, sharp and sudden. You froze, your breath catching, a dull ache blooming in your chest. “Oh,” you managed, forcing your voice to stay even. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

He finally looked at you, his blue eyes unreadable, searching your face for something. “You’re still my friend. That doesn’t change.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, keeping the hurt from spilling over. “Right. Still us.”

But it wasn’t. The lessons stopped, and Bucky’s world filled with Lia—dinners, missions, quiet moments that used to be yours. You’d catch glimpses of them: Lia’s hand in his, the way he’d lean into her, his laugh softer than it ever was with you. The distance carved a quiet pain in you, one you couldn’t shake. The lessons had changed you, not just in how you understood your body, but in how you wanted to be loved—touched with care, trusted completely, the way Bucky had shown you. Now, seeing him with Lia, you felt the loss of that closeness like a missing limb, a longing you hadn’t expected.

Determined to move forward, you turned to Steve. He’d always been a steady presence, his warm smile and quiet strength a comfort. You started spending more time with him—training in the gym, grabbing coffee, talking late into the night about art, old movies, and the world before everything got so complicated.

Steve was a gentleman in every sense, his kindness unwavering, and you felt a spark of something more, a possibility of a partner. But every time you laughed with him, every time his hand brushed yours, your mind drifted to Bucky—the way his hands had felt, steady and sure, the way he’d guided you with patience, the way he’d made you feel safe.

You wanted that physical connection again, that raw intimacy, but Steve was too respectful, too proper. Asking him for something so vulnerable felt wrong, like it would fracture the gentle bond you were building. So you buried the desire, focusing on the friendship blossoming with Steve.

What you didn’t see was how it was affecting Bucky. He’d watch you and Steve in the training room, your laughter echoing as you dodged a punch, and something dark would flicker in his eyes. He’d clench his jaw when Steve’s hand lingered on your shoulder, a possessiveness he hadn’t expected simmering beneath the surface.

He told himself it was nothing, that he’d made the right choice. But the sight of you with Steve gnawed at him, a quiet storm building in his chest.

One night, after a long mission debrief, the compound’s common room was empty except for you and Bucky. The others had left, their voices fading down the hall, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

You were gathering your things, ready to head out, when you noticed Bucky standing across the room, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. The air crackled with unspoken tension, weeks of distance piling up between you.

“You and Steve seem close,” he said, his voice low, an edge to it you didn’t recognize.

You paused, glancing at him, trying to keep it light. “He’s a good friend. Like you.”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Like me?”

The question hit like a spark, catching you off guard. You frowned, setting your bag down. “What’s that supposed to mean, Buck?”

He flinched, but didn’t back down, his voice sharper now. “The lessons you had with a friend like me, you do it with him too?”

The words stung, igniting a mix of anger and hurt in your chest. You stood, stepping toward him, your voice rising. “What the hell, Bucky?”

He closed the distance, his eyes dark, intense, his voice dropping to a growl. “You think Steve can make you feel the way I did? The way I made you shake, the way you clung to me when you let go?”

Your breath caught, his words slicing through you, stirring memories of his hands, his voice, the way he’d unraveled you. He was close now, too close, his presence overwhelming, his scent familiar and dizzying.

“You think you’re the only one who can fuck me?”

That was all it took. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his touch possessive, almost desperate. “You don’t get it,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips brushing your ear. “I trained your body to respond to me. No one else can break you the way I do”

“Bucky,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “Lia—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing your jaw. “Just… don’t.”

His lips crashed into yours, urgent, hungry, like he was trying to reclaim something he’d lost. You melted into him, the months of distance dissolving in the heat of his touch.

Clothes were shed in a rush, no thought, no plan, just need. Your shirt hit the floor, his followed, and soon you were pressed against the couch, his body over yours, his hands everywhere. He tugged your pants down, his fingers deft, and you gasped as his touch found your skin, sparking heat that made your head spin.

“Bucky,” you breathed, your hands roaming his back, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath his skin. “We shouldn’t—”

“Tell me to stop,” he growled, his lips grazing your neck, his hands gripping your hips. “Tell me, and I will.”

You couldn’t. You didn’t want to. Instead, you pulled him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned, low and rough, and when he entered you, it was raw, unprotected, a reckless breaking of every boundary you’d set.

The sensation was overwhelming, sharper without the barrier, every movement sending shocks of pleasure through you. His pace was urgent, possessive, his hips driving against yours with a rhythm that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly, angling deeper, and you gasped, your body arching against him.

“God,” he muttered, his voice rough against your ear, his breath hot. “You feel so good. So damn perfect.”

You clung to him, your body trembling as the pressure built, every thrust pulling you closer to the edge. His hands roamed, one sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over sensitive skin, the other gripping your thigh, holding you open for him. “Tell me,” he growled, his voice low, almost desperate. “Does Steve do this to you? Does he make you feel this?”

“No,” you gasped, your head thrown back, your body shaking as the pleasure coiled tighter. “Only you. Only you, Bucky.”

His name on your lips seemed to snap something in him. His pace quickened, his movements rougher, more intense, like he was claiming you, marking you. The couch creaked beneath you, the room filled with the sounds of your gasps, his low groans, the raw urgency of it all.

Your hands found his hair, tugging him closer, needing him, needing this. The pressure built, overwhelming, and when it hit, it was like a tidal wave, your body arching, a cry escaping as you let go, trembling beneath him. He followed moments later, a low groan rumbling through him as he stilled, his body tense, the weight of the moment crashing over you both.

For a heartbeat, you stayed there, tangled, breathless, your heart pounding against his. His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged, his hands still gripping you like he couldn’t let go. But then reality seeped in, cold and sharp. He pulled back, his expression closing off, his eyes shadowed.

“This was a mistake,” he said, his voice hollow, barely above a whisper. “I can’t… I can’t do this. Lia, you… it’s not fair.”

“Bucky, wait—” you started, reaching for him, your voice breaking, but he was already standing, pulling on his clothes with quick, jerky movements, his back to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not looking at you, his voice tight.

You sat up, pulling a blanket over yourself, the ache in your chest sharper now, a mix of longing and regret. “Bucky, please, just talk to me.”

He paused at the door, his hand on the frame, his shoulders tense. “I can’t,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Not now.”

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving you alone on the couch, the weight of what just happened settling like a stone in your chest.

[accidentcache]

dad touya. that is all. so so so incredibly self indulgent sue me

when your fifteen year old son walked into the dining room late this evening, he didn't know what he was expecting to find. he was late coming from from training, his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder— he was expecting his father to greet him at the door with a stern expression and some scolding— but what he walked in on was not entirely unwelcome either.

tatsuo hangs the strap of his bag off the back of the dining room chair and doesn't make any noise as he stands in the doorway. the scene in front of him isn't a rare one, it just doesn't happen a lot. only this time, he decides to stay and watch instead of rolling his eyes and scoffing as he finds another room to hide in.

you and touya are in the midst of cooking dinner. from off in the corner, he can hear music playing from his father's soundbar— something fairly older; it's a gamble on who's playlist is currently playing at the moment. you're stationed at the stove while touya stands just a couple feet away from you at the counter, chopping vegetables.

tatsuo doesn't know what's for dinner. does he care? no.

it's the way he can see the corner of your mouth lift upwards whenever you peek to the side. touya is still trying to learn the mechanics of the robotic arm he received during rehab after the war; so his chopping is slow and a little uncoordinated. tatsuo already knows there's going to be veggies of different sizes in this dish— it's a somewhat loving way of knowing that his dad was cooking.

there's a tenderness in the air roaming around the two of you. tatsuo can see it in the way you two look at each other, the little smiles that curl on your lips whenever you catch the other peeking. touya bumps his hip into yours every so often and tatsuo can't help the smile that forms when he hears the laugh that spills from your mouth.

tatsuo leans his hip against the doorframe. he watches the backs of both of you with the keen eyes only a fifteen year old could have.

you weren't old when you had tatsuo. but he can see the age in the way you hold yourself, in the way you move around the space when you're thinking absentmindedly. tatsuo will always stand by the fact that you look better now than you did before the war.

from what he remembers, touya wasn't around much before then. he looked different back then, more cold and off putting. visits were brief and very seldom. tatsuo often remembered how much you vouched for his father in that time, how much you apologized for the way his dad treated him.

the war had softened all three of you. it shows in his dad the most, but tatsuo knows it shows in himself as well. seeing his father in a metal tube after the war at nine years old does things that wreck a young boy's psyche. but it was also at that point in time that he knew his dad was staying. in whatever way he decided to do so.

now, seven years later; the guilt has been shaved from touya's shoulders by now and it's easier for the two of them to look each other in the eyes.

touya's letting his hair grow again. it's healthy and snow white, and when it hangs around his ears in that boyish charming way you've always loved; it reminds you of tatsuo when he was younger. tatsuo has never seen it himself when you gush about how he's got his looks and some genetics from his dad, but it makes touya beam with pride whenever you get that starry and dreamy look in your eyes.

your son knows that the two of you are in love. it's obvious in the way he catches you looking at touya— he catches his father staring at you the same way. through the years, he's learned that his father shows his love more with actions. but those times that touya audibly says it are ones to cherish.

tatsuo watches as your hand reaches out to push some hair from touya's forehead, grinning that smile that you only get in those sweet gentle moments when it's just the two of you. it's so sickeningly and stupidly sweet that your son would gag and make a scene at the sight if he wasn't in the mood to cherish having such loving parents.

your head shifts just the slightest bit more and you catch sight of your son in the doorway of the kitchen. your expression lights up at the sight of him. "stink!"

tatsuo's lip curls a little at the affectionate nickname you've called him since he was six. with your hands raised, you make your way towards him to cup his cheeks and press an affectionate kiss to your son's nose. tatsuo swats at your hands and pulls a face— but there's that small little grin that says he's not all that opposed to your attention.

"how was training?" touya asks over his shoulder. he's gathering some chopped up onions in the palm of his hand to toss in the heated pan on the stove before turning his attention towards him.

tatsuo makes his way beside his father and leans against the counter with a small hum. "it was alright."

touya's eyebrow lifts, but there's a couple beats of silence before he chooses to respond. the knife meets the cutting board a couple more times and touya tosses garlic to meet the onions on the stove. "did you nail that move yet?"

tatsuo's lip curls. his hand reaches out to steal a bean sprout— it's a habit he's learned from touya himself. touya swats at his hand playfully with a scowl, shooing him away. tatsuo thinks that's the end of the conversation— the expression was enough of a response. he moves over to kiss your cheek, also a habit he's adopted from a young age.

touya's knuckles rap against his son's arm to get his attention. when their eyes meet, touya gives him a small smile. "you'll get it eventually. took me months to nail the move myself."

tatsuo's chest warms with his father's reassurance. he doesn't say anything, but the hesitant grin that spreads along his lips is enough. and that's the one thing about his father that he really appreciates. he's enough.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[niwaart]

More Sukubbus!reader! She's just a queen(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

Y/N was summoned by a desperate Gotham villain trying to bind a succubus to do his bidding. The poor fool didn���t read the fine print. No soul offered, no leash attached. She slipped through the ritual circle with a stretch, a pout, and a whip of her tail.

Then she saw where she’d landed.

Gotham City.

Dirty. Dramatic. Delicious.

It didn’t take long to catch the attention of the Bat.

She’d just seduced a minor crime boss into handing over his penthouse when Batman crashed through the window like a brooding gargoyle in a cape.

"Who are you?" he growled.

Y/N blinked, licked her fangs, and gave him her best slow-burn smile.

"Awww, Batsy. You came to check on me?"

He aimed a Batarang at your heart. It melted midair.

Y/N blew on her claws. "Oops. You’re not immune, are you?"

"I don’t get seduced," he snarled.

Fifteen minutes later, he was backing out of her room red-faced, muttering something about "mental training" and "inhuman pheromones" while his cape flapped awkwardly to hide a very obvious... situation.

Y/N stretched out across the windowsill in a silk robe, tail flicking. Gotham was going to be fun.

The next week was like being dropped into a hot man buffet.

Nightwing was the first to show up.

He’d been doing his rounds in Blüdhaven, then came rushing when Bruce mentioned “a sex demon seducing criminals.” Big mistake.

"Hi! You must be the flying one," Y/N purred, materializing behind him mid-patrol.

He did a backflip out of pure instinct and landed in a defensive crouch. "Holy— What the— Okay, no offense, but you are way too attractive."

"Flatterer."

Y/N stalked toward him slowly. His escrima sticks shook.

"I have a very healthy sex life, lady," he stammered.

"Noted," Y/N grinned, right before she whispered something unholy in his ear.

He fainted. Straight up. Just face-planted on the rooftop.

Y/N turned to a gargoyle.

"Is this the Bat-standard?"

Red Hood found her next.

He was, as the humans say, built different.

He kicked open her door like an action movie hero, dual pistols aimed at her chest.

"Succubus, right? Demon, lust, and bad decisions?"

"Hi, Daddy."

Jason blinked.

"Okay, yeah. That’s not fair."

Y/N smiled slowly. "You’ve got rage. Trauma. Deep-rooted lust layered in guilt and defiance. I love that in a man."

Jason didn’t drop the guns. But he didn’t leave either. In fact, he sat down on her couch, threw his boots up on the table, and said:

"Alright. Seduce me. Let’s see what happens."

Y/N gasped. "Finally, a challenge."

Three hours later, Alfred had to call Jason’s phone six times to remind him to go home.

He left with his jacket half off and a glazed look in his eyes.

Tim found a lipstick mark on his neck the next day. Jason denied everything.

Tim tried to resist her with logic.

"I’m immune," he declared. "Demonology says succubi can’t affect people under high mental strain and with caffeine in their bloodstream."

"Is that a fact?" Y/N cooed, sitting cross-legged on the edge of his desk.

He nodded. "I drank four Red Bulls before coming here."

Y/N leaned in close, her breath like honey and heat. "Then let’s test that theory, genius."

Five minutes later, Tim was lying face-down in the Batcomputer keyboard mumbling, “We’re all going to hell.”

Damian was suspicious from the start.

"You will not corrupt me, temptress."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I like you. Very Shakespearean.”

He crossed his arms. "I have trained in the League of Assassins. My mind is sharp. My body, pure."

Y/N blinked. "I’m not interested in jailbait, demon-slayer."

He stared. "You... you what?"

"You heard me, baby bat. Come back when you grow a little more... testosterone."

Damian looked both insulted and vaguely relieved.

He stormed off shouting, "Grayson said you flirted with him too!"

Y/N sighed. “Oh, I flirted with everyone.”

Later that night, the Batcave held an emergency meeting.

Bruce: “She’s a demon. We can’t keep letting her... exist.”

Dick: “It’s not letting, she just does.”

Jason: “Don’t look at me like that. She’s hot and possibly immortal.”

Tim: “I have regrets. I also have a hickey in the shape of an ancient rune.”

Damian: "You are all weak. This is why she mocks us."

Bruce groaned into his cowl.

Y/N, meanwhile, were curled up in Wayne Manor’s guest room (which you definitely broke into), sipping wine and watching Gotham’s skyline.

A succubus loose in Gotham, living rent-free in the minds of every member of the Batfamily?

Delicious.

Y/N blew a kiss to the moon.

“Nighty night, Bats.”

[kenzdolls]

JAX RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS .

⌗ pairing: (tadc) jax x gn! reader

⌗ warnings: lowercase intended, has spoilers of ep 5

⌗ a/n: idk i did this since I’m trying to reach out to other fandoms (yes i’m doing all the characters i have free will)..also since my inbox is dry, i’m asking…PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS MY BRAIN IS FRYING FROM WRITERS BLOCK

FIRST TIME MEETING:

▹ jax literally does NOT care when you first arrive because he's seen too many newbies lose their minds within the first week (he's learned not to get attached too quickly after what happened with ribbit)

▹ probably pranks you on your literal first day because "welcome to hell, might as well get used to it now" but then feels weirdly guilty about it later??? like he'll leave a small apology gift outside your room (probably stolen from someone else's room tbh)

▹ gets annoyed when you don't immediately break down or start crying like most new people do - where's the entertainment in that??? you're just… adapting??? (this bothers him more than it should)

▹ starts paying attention to you when you either: 1) successfully prank him back, 2) don't rat him out when caine asks who put glitter in ragatha's hair, or 3) laugh at his jokes even when everyone else is giving him death glares

▹ definitely steals your room key within the first week just to see what you're hiding but then gets genuinely curious about your little personal space and the weird way you've arranged everything

▹ makes fun of whatever coping mechanism you've developed but secretly takes notes because holy shit you're actually handling this better than he did

▹ starts doing that thing where he "accidentally" bumps into you during adventures or walks just a little too close when caine isn't looking (personal space who???)

▹ probably gives you a stupid nickname based on either: something embarrassing that happened to you, your appearance, or just to annoy you (spoiler alert: he keeps using it even when you start dating)

▹ gets genuinely confused when you start talking to him like he's a actual person and not just the "funny mean rabbit" because??? people don't usually do that??? ribbit was the last person who really saw him as jax and not just comic relief

HIM CRUSHING ON YOU:

▹ this man is in DENIAL with a capital D - like he'll literally tell himself "i don't like them, i just think they're less annoying than the others" while actively going out of his way to spend time with you

▹ starts hoarding little things that remind him of you (a button that fell off your outfit, a drawing you doodled during a boring caine explanation, etc.) but will DIE before admitting it

▹ gets weirdly protective but tries to play it off as "you're MY entertainment, nobody else gets to mess with you" but really he's terrified of losing another person he cares about

▹ begins pranking you more but they're like… softer pranks??? like putting fake spiders in your bed (but making sure they're not the kind that actually scare you) or rearranging your room (but not actually breaking anything important)

▹ starts having those moments where he'll say something genuinely sweet/supportive but then IMMEDIATELY follow it up with an insult to maintain his image ("you're not completely terrible at this… for an idiot")

▹ catches himself staring at you during adventures and gets MAD about it - like why are you so distracting??? he has chaos to cause and you're just… existing??? attractively??? rude.

▹ probably has a minor crisis about his feelings because the last person he really cared about was ribbit and we all know how that ended (he's absolutely terrified of caring about someone again)

▹ gets jealous when other circus members get your attention but won't admit it - instead he'll just insert himself into conversations or create distractions to get focus back on him

▹ starts doing that thing where he remembers really specific details about you (your favorite corner to sit in, how you fidget when you're anxious, what makes you laugh) but acts like he doesn't pay attention to anyone

▹ has definitely had at least one dream about you and woke up SO MAD about it because feelings are WEAKNESS and he doesn't DO weakness

▹ begins testing the waters with more physical contact - "accidentally" grabbing your hand during adventures, leaning against you when he's "tired," finding excuses to be in your personal space

▹ gets genuinely upset when you're having a bad day but doesn't know how to help without compromising his reputation, so he'll just… be less mean to everyone that day (the others notice and are confused)

YOU DATING HIM:

▹ asking you out was probably the most awkward thing he's ever done because he had to drop the act for like 0.5 seconds to be genuine and he HATED every second of it (but your reaction made it worth it)

▹ your relationship is 70% banter and 30% genuine sweet moments when he thinks nobody is looking and 100% him being terrified you'll abstract and leave him like ribbit did

▹ still pranks you but now it's "couple pranks" - like putting fake love letters in your room signed from other circus members just to see you get flustered, or rearranging your stuff to spell out "I LOVE YOU" (but then denying he did it)

▹ gets SUPER jealous but tries to play it off as possessiveness - "that's MY idiot you're talking to" (he's not fooling anyone, he's just insecure)

▹ shows affection through: stealing things for you, letting you win at games sometimes, sharing his food, and most importantly - telling you his real thoughts instead of just sarcastic quips

▹ absolutely MELTS when you play with his ears but will threaten anyone who points it out (his ears do that little twitch thing when he's happy and you're the only one who gets to see it)

▹ has nightmares about you abstracting and will sometimes wake up and just… need to see you to make sure you're okay (he'll make up some excuse about being bored or wanting to prank someone)

▹ starts including you in his pranks as a partner rather than a target - you two become the WORST duo and everyone else suffers for it (but secretly they think it's cute that jax is happy)

▹ gets genuinely soft when you're upset about the whole "being trapped forever" thing because he KNOWS that feeling and doesn't want you to go through it alone like he did

▹ probably has a secret stash of things he's made/found for you that he's too embarrassed to give you directly, so he just leaves them places you'll find them

▹ learns your triggers and genuinely tries to avoid them in his pranks/jokes because making you laugh is good, making you hurt is NOT (growth!!!)

▹ gets scared when you're too quiet or seem distant because what if you're starting to abstract what if he's losing you what if what if what if so he'll just hover around you until you're acting normal again

▹ your first kiss was probably during a really dangerous adventure when he thought one of you might not make it out, and he just couldn't leave things unsaid (very dramatic, very him)

▹ now he's stuck between his fear of losing you and his genuine happiness at having you, so he's like… aggressively affectionate but also constantly worried (someone get this rabbit some therapy)

▹ starts planning little dates within the circus - like setting up movie nights in the common area or finding ways to get you both out of adventures so you can just hang out

▹ definitely practices saying "i love you" in his room before he actually says it to you (and when he finally does, it's probably during an argument where he just blurts it out and then gets embarrassed)

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare @boreaswrites [OPEN]

✦ REQUESTS ARE OPEN! ✦

© KENZDOLLS 2025 . do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.

[stlllle]

Stray Kids Headcanons — How They Act When They Miss You

Pairing: OT8 x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Soft Angsty Moments, Domestic Boyfriend Energy

Warnings: None, just pure soft chaos, mentions of longing, teasing and clingy boyfriends.

Author’s Note: Hey, angels 🖤! I’ve been cooking this headcanon for a while because let’s be honest — the Stray Kids are totally the type to miss their partner in the most ridiculous, cute and chaotic ways

If you like it and want to request something, feel free to! My requests are open 🙂 --

Masterlist –[link]

If you enjoy it, leave a comment or reblog, it means the world to me 🖤✨

Bang Chan — Habits he has when he misses you

---

Constantly checking his phone just to see if you’re online

Chan’s not usually clingy over text — in fact, he always tries to respect your space and not be that boyfriend. But when he misses you, he keeps unlocking his phone every two minutes to check if you’re online on KakaoTalk or Instagram.

Not even to text you — because he knows if he does, he’ll give away just how much he’s craving you, and Chris has this weird habit of pretending he’s got it under control.

His phone becomes an extension of his hand when you take too long to reply. Even when he’s in a meeting, he’ll sneak a glance just to see if your name pops up.

“Ugh… not even a story today?” he mumbles under his breath, shoving the phone back in his pocket — only to pull it out again twenty seconds later.

---

Looping the same song that reminds him of you

Bang Chan has this habit of connecting songs to people, and you have your own private playlist on his Spotify.

Whenever he misses you, he puts that one particular track that reminds him of you on repeat. It might be the first song you ever shared, or one you swore he didn’t like but secretly added to his saved list.

He listens to it while training, driving, or lying in bed.

If it gets really bad, he’ll lay down on the studio couch, hood pulled over his face, and just let the song play on loop.

“Why the hell did I let myself fall this hard, huh…” he whispers with a soft, defeated grin.

---

Hugging anything that smells like you

A hoodie you left behind, a T-shirt you wore at a sleepover, the pillowcase from his bed — when he misses you, he instinctively clings to anything that still has your scent on it.

It’s unconscious. He’ll grab the hoodie while lying down and only realize what he’s doing when someone points it out.

One time, Hyunjin walked into the studio to find Chan hugging your hoodie while working on his laptop.

“Yo… isn’t that Y/N’s?”

“Shut up.”

But didn’t let go.

---

Getting easily annoyed over dumb things

When he misses you, everything else starts to irritate him.

His computer freezes, Changbin leaves a mess in the studio, the coffee’s not sweet enough… it’s like your absence makes him extra sensitive and every tiny thing becomes an issue.

If anyone asks what’s wrong, he brushes it off, claiming he’s tired. But only Felix can tell by the way he fiddles with the bracelet you gave him and stays unusually quiet.

---

Rewatching your old videos and voice notes

Chan’s a silent emotional type.

When he misses you, he opens your old videos and voice notes — even the dumb ones where you’re ranting about a headache or lying in bed whispering a goodnight.

He’s never deleted a single one. He even has a secret folder.

His favorite? A video of you in pajamas, hair messy, smiling sleepily:

“You’re ignoring me, huh? It’s fine… just wanted to say I miss you.”

He watches it three times before bed when the ache hits.

“You have no idea how much I miss you too, baby…” he mutters to his screen.

---

Overworking himself at the gym or studio

When he can’t be near you, Chan tries to bury himself in work. Extra dance practice, long studio hours, random remix ideas for songs that don’t need remixes — anything to distract his brain.

But it never works.

Halfway through editing, he’ll catch himself typing your name in the file name or hiding a message in the beat.

“‘MissYouY/N.mp3’? Seriously, bro… I’m screwed.”

But he won’t delete it.

---

Staring at you nonstop on video calls

When you finally FaceTime, he can’t stop staring.

Even when you’re rambling about the most random stuff, he watches you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

Chan’s got this habit of admiring you quietly — studying your face, the way your hair falls, how you bite your lip when you’re thinking.

When you catch him and ask “What?”, he just shrugs:

“Nothing… just thinking about how pretty you are.”

---

Biting his lip without realizing it

It’s physical.

When he misses you, he starts biting his lower lip, sometimes leaving a mark. Especially when he’s typing a message and deleting it, or passing by a place you used to hang out.

It’s so obvious the guys pick up on it immediately.

“You’re doing the lip thing again. Missing Y/N?”

He rolls his eyes but never denies it.

---

Sending you random gifts anonymously

Chan has this habit of sending you little things when he misses you — but he won’t say it’s from him.

A bouquet at your office, your favorite snack left at your door, a tiny plush keychain… he’ll have staff or a delivery service drop it off without a name attached.

But you always know.

Because only he would pick something that perfect.

And when you mention it over the phone “I got a weird little surprise today”, he feigns surprise:

“Really? Must be someone who likes you a lot…”

---

Talking to you in his head

As cheesy as it sounds, he does this.

When he’s too busy, too far, or too shy to text you first, he has full-blown conversations with you in his head.

Imagining what you’d say to his jokes, how you’d react to his rants.

Sometimes he even chuckles to himself.

“You’d laugh at this, wouldn’t you?”

It’s his little way of keeping you close.

---

Lee Know — Habits he has when he misses you

---

Staring at your pictures on his phone

Minho isn’t glued to his phone 24/7, but when he misses you, he opens his gallery and scrolls through your photos together.

Even though he’s seen them a thousand times, he always finds some new detail — the way you smile, how you hold his hand, the sunset in the background.

He stares at the screen in silence with a small, bittersweet grin.

“Tsk… look at this silly face…”

And keeps staring anyway.

---

Watching cat videos to distract himself

To trick his brain, Lee Know has this habit of watching random cat TikToks when he misses you.

It’s his way of pretending he’s not thinking about you.

But deep down, he wishes you were next to him, watching those videos together.

Sometimes, he saves the best ones to send you later.

“Y/N’s gonna love this one.”

---

Playing with the rings or bracelets you gave him

Minho’s surprisingly sentimental, though he’ll never admit it.

When he misses you, he starts fiddling with the rings or bracelets you gave him — spinning them on his finger or tracing them with his thumb.

It’s unconscious.

If someone asks, he’ll dodge the question, but his eyes give him away.

---

Getting quieter than usual

Normally playful and sarcastic, Lee Know turns silent when he misses you.

His replies get short, jokes disappear, and he keeps to himself.

Only those closest to him notice it — Chan and Hyunjin clock it immediately.

“Dude, just text Y/N before you get unbearable.”

---

Practicing choreography until exhaustion

He throws himself into dancing.

When the ache gets too strong, Minho heads to the studio and practices until his body can’t anymore.

It’s his way of releasing tension and trying not to overthink.

He can spend all night there.

“If I get tired enough, I’ll fall asleep without missing her.”

(But it never works.)

---

Keeping unsent messages

His phone’s notes app is full of things he wishes he could tell you.

Photos he saw and thought of you, a quick “I miss you,” random thoughts — but his pride (and fear of being clingy) stop him from hitting send.

They just sit there, waiting.

---

Imagining conversations with you

When he misses you, Minho starts having conversations with you in his head.

He imagines your reactions, the things you’d say if he told you something dumb he did, or you scolding him for acting reckless.

Sometimes, it even makes him laugh.

“Y/N would kill me for this.”

---

Staring at places you used to go together

If he passes by a café or street you both used to visit, he stops and stares for a while, replaying the memories in his head.

If no one’s around, he might even go inside to feel closer to you again.

---

Staying up too late

Minho hates sleeping without saying goodnight to you.

When he misses you, he stays up scrolling aimlessly, hoping you’ll come online or message him first.

And when you finally do, his mood flips instantly.

“Took you long enough…”

(But he’s smiling like an idiot.)

---

Saving food for you

Even when you’re not around, he subconsciously saves part of his snack or the best bite of his meal for you.

It’s automatic.

Later, he realizes what he’s done and gets annoyed at himself for being so soft.

“Tsk… ridiculous.”

But still doesn’t throw it away.

--

Changbin — Habits he has when he misses you

---

Recording voice notes just to hear himself saying your name

Changbin misses you in this intense, restless way sometimes.

He records little voice notes saying your name or your pet names — just to listen to them later.

He never sends them, though. Keeps them saved.

Listens to them before bed or on the way to practice.

“Hey, Y/N… miss you, damn it.”

Then laughs at himself for being so cheesy — but never deletes them.

---

Sleeping hugging your-scented pillow

He’d never admit it, but there’s a pillow that still smells like you from the last time you stayed over.

When he misses you, he hugs it like it’s you.

Face buried in it, grumbling at how soft he’s being.

“Pathetic, Changbin… but it feels good.”

---

Writing rap lyrics about you

His favorite way to vent is writing.

And when he misses you, all his lyrics end up being about you — about the ache, the words he can’t say out loud, the emptiness without you.

He writes them secretly in his notes or the studio.

Never shows them to anyone. Not even Chan.

---

Stress-eating junk food

Changbin loves snacks, but when he misses you, he goes all out.

Devours everything in the dorm, orders midnight food deliveries, drinks soda when he’s supposed to be cutting down.

“Y/N would scold the hell outta me if they saw this.”

And still eats it anyway.

---

Getting moody and extra sensitive

He turns into a grumpy, clingy bear disguised as an annoyed grump.

Gets mad easily, hates being teased, snaps back, and any joke about you makes him shut down.

Just hearing your name makes his chest tighten.

“Stop talking about Y/N already…”

Though secretly hoping you’ll show up out of nowhere.

---

Listening to your shared playlists

Changbin saves every song you both liked or listened to together.

When he misses you, he pops in his earbuds and listens to them on repeat.

Sometimes, one special song gets stuck on loop.

He lies in bed, singing softly to himself, thinking about you.

---

Sending memes just to start a conversation

When he’s missing you but too shy to say it outright, he sends you memes, dumb stickers or TikToks just to get your attention.

If you take too long to reply, he sends another. And another.

“Look at this. It’s so you.”

Just to get a “you idiot” back from you.

---

Stalking your old Instagram posts

Changbin shamelessly scrolls through your Instagram.

Rewatches your old posts, reads the comments, smiles to himself, and regrets not liking more of your selfies before.

Sometimes he even comments on old pics to see if you’ll notice.

---

Locking himself in the studio

When the missing gets too heavy, he hides in the studio.

Dims the lights, plays a random beat and either writes or sits scrolling through his phone, hoping you’ll message.

Nobody can drag him out when he’s like that.

---

Imagining you two living together

Yeah — Changbin’s a lowkey hopeless romantic.

When he misses you, he starts imagining you living together — waiting for him at home, watching movies, sharing snacks, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Sometimes he even writes about it.

“Pathetic, but it’d be perfect.”

Hyunjin — Habits He Has When He Misses You

---

Playing with the bracelet or ring you gave him

Hyunjin is super sentimental when it comes to meaningful things. If you gave him a bracelet, ring, or necklace, it’s sacred.

Every time he misses you, he plays with it, spins it on his finger, traces its details, and stares at it.

If someone notices and asks, he just says:

“Nothing… just thinking.”

But inside, he’s drowning in missing you.

---

Drawing your face or things that remind him of you

When he misses you, Hyunjin locks himself in his room or art studio and starts sketching.

It could be your sleeping face, your smile, your profile, or something that reminds him of you — a flower, a star, or a little note that says “come back soon.”

His sketchbook has pages you have no idea about.

And he never throws them away.

---

Writing letters he never sends

Hyunjin has this habit of writing letters as if he were talking to you.

He vents about his day, talks about missing you, describes the things he wishes he could be doing with you, and finishes with lines like:

“If you were here now, everything would be better.”

He keeps these letters in a small wooden box in his closet.

---

Spraying your perfume on his pillow before sleeping

On days when missing you hurts too much, Hyunjin sprays your perfume on his pillow or bed sheets.

He lies down, closes his eyes, and imagines it’s you.

He whispers your name softly and smiles, but sometimes he tears up.

“Just a little longer… just until I fall asleep.”

---

Creating playlists full of sad love songs

Hyunjin is the king of themed playlists.

He has one just for songs about missing someone, long-distance love, and aching for a hug.

When he misses you, he plays that list, lies on his bed or the floor, stares at the ceiling, and lets the music speak for him.

Each song reminds him of a specific moment with you.

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Stalking your social media and accidentally liking old posts

He’s constantly checking your Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok.

He watches your stories over and over, replays your reels where you smile, and even reads the comments under your photos.

Sometimes he accidentally likes an old post, panics, and unlikes it right away — but it’s too late.

“Shit… now she’s gonna think I’m desperate.”

(He totally is.)

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Talking about you nonstop to the members

Hyunjin can’t hide it when he misses you.

He keeps telling stories, remembering silly things you two did, and randomly says stuff like:

“Ah, Y/N loved this food.”

“This reminds me of her.”

“She would’ve done this better.”

The members just roll their eyes and smile knowingly.

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Typing messages and deleting them before sending

He writes huge declarations at night, long texts about how much he misses you, how he dreamt about you, and how he just wants to hear your voice.

But in the end, he always deletes everything.

“What for? She’s probably busy… never mind.”

And does this almost every night.

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Wearing your clothes you left at his place

If you ever left a hoodie, T-shirt, or anything at his place, Hyunjin wears it.

He buries himself in it like a hug.

It’s where he feels safe and a little closer to you.

“Ridiculous, but comforting.”

If someone knocks on his door, he throws it across the room to avoid teasing.

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Sending Dwaekki videos to you

He knows Dwaekki makes you laugh, so when missing you gets too heavy, he records a video of his plushie and sends it, pretending it’s Dwaekki messaging you.

“Hi Y/N, come back soon, Hyunjin’s insufferable with longing.”

Then hides from embarrassment.

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Spacing out during rehearsals

During practice, he often zones out when he’s missing you.

He forgets steps, misses his marks, and takes too long to respond.

He’ll just stand there staring into space, imagining you smiling or lying on his lap.

If someone calls him out, he blames it on exhaustion.

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Listening to your old voice notes and videos

He has a hidden folder on his phone full of your voice notes, videos, and selfies.

When he misses you, he opens it, plays your good night audios, your silly laughs, and those times you called him “my prince.”

Sometimes he falls asleep holding his phone, listening to your voice.

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Talking to himself in the mirror

Yes, he talks to his reflection.

He rehearses things he wishes he could say to you, like:

“Why aren’t you here?”

“I miss you so much, Y/N.”

“You should’ve seen how beautiful the sky looked today…”

Then he laughs at himself and gets sad all over again.

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Dreaming about you and waking up even lonelier

When he finally sleeps, he usually dreams of you.

In those dreams, you’re holding hands, traveling, laughing, sharing desserts, or just lying down talking.

He wakes up with his chest heavy and missing you even more.

“I wish I could’ve stayed dreaming.”

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Texting the members for advice

When it gets too bad, he texts Chan, Han, or Felix asking what he should do.

Should he call you, wait, or just send a meme?

Most of the time, he decides to stay quiet.

“I don’t know… I’ll just draw.”

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Keeping every tiny thing you gave him

If you gave him a doodle, a flower, a movie ticket, a candy wrapper, anything — he keeps it.

He has a box full of those little things, and when he misses you, he opens it and goes through everything just to feel close again.

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Practicing choreo wondering if you’d like it

Every time there’s a new song, he imagines if you’d like the choreography, which part you’d find coolest or hottest.

Sometimes he practices harder just thinking it might impress you.

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Saving places he wants to take you

Whenever he sees a cute café, an art exhibit, or a new restaurant, he saves it on his phone.

“Take Y/N here.”

The list already has over 20 places.

Han Jisung — His Habits When He Misses You

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Eating junk food like the world’s ending

Han deals with missing you by eating literally everything he finds.

Snacks, cookies, chocolate, ice cream — you name it.

The other members always notice it right away:

“Missing Y/N again, huh?”

And he just pouts and keeps chewing.

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Writing songs about you and hiding them

Jisung loves writing songs, you know that.

But when he misses you, he secretly writes lyrics about you — some are cute, wishing you were there, and others are sad, about feeling lonely or frustrated.

Then he never has the guts to show them to you.

They’re all saved in a secret folder on his laptop.

“Maybe one day… or not.”

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Staring at his phone waiting for your message

He opens and closes your chat over and over, checks if you’re online, if you posted something, if you liked a post.

Sometimes he even types:

“Miss u”

And deletes it.

Every 5 minutes.

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Watching all your silly videos together

He has a gallery full of dumb videos you two made: dubbing memes, dancing badly, laughing at stupid things.

When he misses you, he watches them and laughs alone.

And keeps saying:

“You idiot, why do I like you this much?”

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Talking about you non-stop

Jisung can’t hide it.

Whenever he misses you, literally every topic turns into an excuse to mention you:

“Y/N would’ve done it better.”

“She loves this drama.”

“This reminds me of that one time with her.”

And the guys just look at him like:

“Dude, just confess already.”

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Setting your photo as his wallpaper (and changing it back out of embarrassment)

Every time the missing gets too strong, he sets your photo as his lockscreen.

But then he gets embarrassed someone might see it and changes it to a meme.

“Okay… no one saw, I’m fine.”

Then switches back to your pic at night.

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Talking to the stuffed animal you gave him

You gave him a little stuffed animal, and when he misses you, he actually talks to it.

“She won’t text me back… think she’s busy? I’m being dumb, huh?”

Then hugs it to sleep.

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Telling bad jokes to distract himself

When he’s missing you, he keeps making terrible jokes to try and laugh and distract himself.

No one finds them funny.

He ends up laughing alone, thinking of you.

“At least Y/N would laugh, for sure.”

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Sleeping with your hoodie

If you ever left a hoodie or shirt with him — forget it, it’s sacred now.

He sleeps hugging it, burying his face in it just to feel your scent, and only then he manages to fall asleep.

“I’m becoming a freak… but whatever.”

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Gaming until his hands hurt

When he misses you too much, he sits in front of the computer and plays nonstop.

FPS, LOL, whatever.

Until his fingers go numb.

It’s the only way to stop thinking about you for a while.

Felix — His Habits When He Misses You

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Recording cute voice notes for you but never sending them

Felix always records little voice notes when he misses you.

Saying he misses you, telling you about his day, or just calling your name in that soft, deep voice.

Then he listens to it, gets shy and never sends it.

He keeps them saved like little love letters you’ll never hear.

“Aigoo… this is so embarrassing…”

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Baking cookies or cakes thinking about you

Whenever he’s missing you too much, he goes to the kitchen.

Makes cookies, cupcakes, or any sweet thing he knows you love.

Sometimes he calls the members to eat together, but always keeps one especially for you in the fridge.

“This one’s for Y/N… don’t touch it, Changbin!”

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Hugging his pillow and pretending it’s you

Felix has a hard time sleeping when he misses you badly.

So he hugs his pillow tight, buries his face in it, and runs his hand over it like he’s stroking your hair.

Sometimes he even whispers:

“Good night, baby.”

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Staring at your pictures and videos until he knows them by heart

He spends hours going through your selfies, videos, and old clips you two made together.

Laughing alone, commenting to himself:

“You’re literally the most beautiful person in the world, you know?”

And keeps repeating it like you could hear him.

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Sending you random heart or teddy bear emojis

Felix hates disturbing you when you’re busy but misses you just the same.

So he sends a single heart or teddy bear emoji, hoping you’ll get the hint and message him first.

And if you reply — he melts.

“Aaaa she texted back! 😭💖”

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Getting unusually quiet and thoughtful

Felix is always so bright and bubbly, so when he suddenly gets quiet, everyone notices.

He’ll sit somewhere alone, fiddling with his rings or necklace, just waiting for a notification from you.

“Missing her like crazy, hyung…”

(To the other members)

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Writing little notes for you

He loves to write tiny notes saying:

“I miss you.”

“Thought of you today.”

“Come back soon.”

Then keeps them in a box or in his jacket pocket.

Sometimes when you meet, he shyly hands you one without a word.

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Staring at your shared playlist

Felix made a playlist with you, and when the missing gets too strong, he puts it on repeat.

Sings along, closes his eyes, and pretends you’re there next to him.

And when your favorite song plays — instant emotional meltdown.

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Wearing the bracelet or ring you gave him

If you gave him a matching accessory, he wears it all the time.

Sometimes kisses the bracelet or fiddles with the ring while thinking about you.

And if anyone notices, he’ll just smile shyly.

“It reminds me of her…”

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Writing your name on his hand

When the longing gets too painful, Felix writes your name or nickname on his palm.

Then keeps looking at it throughout the day, like it’ll make him feel closer to you.

“Okay… I feel a little better now.”

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Seungmin — His Habits When He Misses You

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Listening to your old voice messages

Seungmin isn’t the type to openly admit he misses you, but he feels it — hard.

He keeps every voice message you’ve sent, and when he misses you, he plugs in his earphones and listens to them over and over.

Especially the ones where you laugh or call his name sweetly.

“That laugh… damn, I miss it.”

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Dropping hints on Instagram stories or in the members' comments

Seungmin is a little menace sometimes.

When he misses you, he posts a sad love song or a quote on his story, or comments under other members’ photos things like:

“Would be better if she was here.”

Just to get your attention and make you message him.

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Wearing your hoodie or shirt that still smells like you

If you ever left a hoodie at his place, or if he stole one (which he definitely did), Seungmin wears it when the missing gets unbearable.

Lies in bed hugging it, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to feel your scent.

“Just for a little while.”

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Rewatching dumb videos you made together

He secretly has a folder on his phone just for videos of you two.

Clips of you complaining, making faces, teasing him, or telling him you love him.

When he misses you, he replays them, laughs by himself and feels that bittersweet ache.

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Typing huge messages then deleting them

Seungmin will type long paragraphs about how much he misses you, how important you are to him…

Then stare at the screen, sigh, and delete everything.

Leaving the chat open, hoping you’ll text first.

“Pathetic… whatever.”

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Watching the dramas or animes you used to binge together

When the loneliness hits, he puts on one of the shows you both watched.

Acts like it’s no big deal, but ends up laughing at scenes you loved or hated.

“She’d totally freak out here.”

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Gaming until late just to distract himself

Seungmin buries himself in games to stop thinking about how much he misses you.

But every time he wins a match or pulls off an insane play, he turns like you’d be there to cheer him on.

“If Y/N was here… tsk.”

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Sending pictures of his dog with captions meant for you

He’ll send a cute pic of his dog in the group chat or directly to you with something like:

“I think he misses you.”

But it’s him, obviously.

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Falling asleep listening to your voice or leaving a silent call open

On bad days, Seungmin plays one of your old voice notes on loop while falling asleep.

Or stays in a call with you on mute or even after you’ve hung up — just to have your name on his screen a little longer.

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Staring at your chat, waiting for a message

He keeps his phone in his hand, opens and closes your chat, types random letters and deletes them.

Sighs, rolls his eyes, and mumbles to himself:

“Could’ve just messaged me already…”

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Jeongin (I.N) — His Habits When He Misses You

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Constantly checking his phone just to see if you’re online

Jeongin is the type who won’t admit he misses you out loud, but his phone gives him away.

He keeps opening Instagram, checking your stories, seeing if you liked something, and when the longing hits harder, he opens your chat just to check if your online status is on.

Sometimes he even types “hey”, deletes it… types “miss you”, deletes it again.

Sighs. Puts his phone on his chest.

“Aish… idiot, hurry up and get online.”

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Hugging his pillow and talking to it like it’s you

Jeongin has this habit of talking to objects when he misses someone.

Whether it’s his pillow, a plushie you gave him, or his blanket — he’ll lie down hugging it and start complaining as if you’re right there.

“You left me alone here, huh? Having fun without me, aren’t you? Tsk, wait ‘til we see each other again.”

And when he realizes what he’s doing, he laughs, hides his face in the pillow and mumbles.

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Sending dumb memes just to start a conversation

He saves every ridiculous meme he finds online just to send you later.

And he loves sending them in the middle of the night, knowing you’ll either wake up laughing or cursing him out.

“If you don’t laugh at this, don’t talk to me anymore.”

When you answer, he acts like he wasn’t even missing you, just wanted to see if you’re still your grumpy self.

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Eating your favorite snack and complaining to himself

Whenever he misses you, he runs to the convenience store and buys that snack or candy you two always shared.

He sits on the couch, turns on any random TV show, and eats slowly.

Sometimes he holds onto the last piece and teases:

“You’d want this one, wouldn’t you? Too bad, it’s mine.”

And eats it just to annoy you, even if you’re not there.

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Remembering inside jokes and laughing by himself in front of the others

He just can’t help it.

If he’s hanging out with the members and someone says a word or a situation pops up that reminds him of a private joke you two have, Jeongin starts laughing alone.

The hyungs look at him, and he shakes his head:

“Nothing, just remembered something.”

But in his mind, the exact ridiculous scene is playing, the one only you two would laugh about.

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Sleeping while hugging his phone

When the longing really hits, he lies in bed, puts your last selfie as his wallpaper, and falls asleep hugging his phone.

Now and then, he unlocks it just to look at your picture and murmurs:

“I miss you, you know that?”

Sometimes he even records a voice note, but never sends it.

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Talking about you to the hyungs without realizing it

Jeongin doesn’t realize how often he talks about you until someone points it out.

Out of nowhere, in the middle of a conversation:

“Ah, Y/N likes this too.”

“Y/N would do better.”

“Y/N would totally roast this.”

Until Changbin or Seungmin nudges him:

“Dude, just confess already or shut up.”

He turns red and quickly changes the subject.

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Wearing the perfume you love on him to feel closer

There’s a specific perfume he knows you’re obsessed with.

When he misses you, Jeongin sprays it on himself, even leans in to sniff and says out loud:

“If she smelled this now, she’d melt.”

Even if no one’s in the room.

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Singing your songs everywhere — in the shower, his room, the studio

Being the vocal prince that he is, when he misses you, Jeongin hums or sings the songs that remind him of you.

In the shower, while cooking, during practice, or even mid-rehearsal.

And if someone notices, he brushes it off:

“It’s stuck in my head, what can I do?”

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Texting something provocative just to make you reply, then disappearing

He truly feels the ache when he sends:

“Bet you forgot about me, huh? Miss you, brat.”

And then vanishes, just to leave you annoyed or curious.

He waits for your reply, grins at the screen, but purposely takes his sweet time to text back.

Just to keep the little teasing game alive — because he loves the feeling of having you thinking about him.

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The end