#i know because i’ve seen this time and time again

[xoxojisu]

MINE !

synopsis: when a guy confesses to you on valentine's day, how will katsuki react?

notes: request here! i like how it's not 'be mine,' just 'you're mine' lol bc thats so katsuki. again w the unofficialbf!katsuki agenda like always

you weren’t expecting much out of valentine’s day.

you liked all the pink everywhere, sure. the flowers, the hearts, the whole aesthetic. but you weren’t holding your breath for a grand romantic gesture or a super hot valentine or anything.

you thought maybe you, mina, and sato would make some chocolates to give to friends. a fun, holiday-sprit thing to do with your good friends, no big deal.

of course, you'd wear a cute pink top because, well, why not? it’s valentine’s day, and you'd get to embrace the theme and look super cute!

and, also of course, you’d give katsuki some chocolate, like you've done every year since you were like four.

it wasn’t anything new. it was just.. something you did. a little exchange between the two of you. you'd make his differently than the friend-chocolate you'd make for everyone else. he preferred dark chocolate to milk, cocoa powder over condensed milk, and you always made it cute and packaged it nicely. in return, he’d always give you something back on white day, something he made just for you. it had become a tradition. a small, personal ritual.

but, other than that, because you were #singleasf, valentine’s day was just another fun hearts-themed day. you liked it, but it was nothing to make a big deal of.

you definitely weren’t expecting someone to walk up to you, red-faced and nervous, holding a little box of chocolates with your name on it.

“i know this is kinda random,” the guy says, laughing awkwardly. “but i’ve liked you for a while, y/n, and i figured if there's any day to do this, it should be valentines day, right? and-"

at some point, you start zoning out. ..who was this guy again? he looked vaguely familiar, but honestly, if he didn't know your name and wasn't confessing to you in real time, you would have said you didn't know him if prompted.

"-i think you're really pretty! and, um, your quirk is really impressive. and, like, i know we haven't talked much, but-"

you wonder how you're going to respond. what is the kindest way to say "who the fuck are you, no" to someone confessing to you in person. you consider saying yes solely because you respect his courage and would feel bad saying no.

"-so, um, would you please go out on a date with me?"

you consider asking him for his name, but that feels a little rude for someone who just poured his heart out.

before you can even answer, a hand appears on your waist.

a very familiar hand.

it's katsuki.

“she's mine,” he says flatly. no hesitation, no stutter.

you blink. that's news to you. the guy does too.

“oh,” he says, awkward. “i didn’t know that-”

“yeah. now you do.”

the guy backs off quickly, and you turn around, heart pounding despite your cool exterior.

“so… yours?” you ask, voice slightly teasing. "didn't realize you were so possessive, katsuki."

"'m not possessive." katsuki’s jaw is tense. “it's just.. that dumbass musta been dropped on his head when he was a baby. you're obviously mine."

katsuki's face gets close to yours. "you've always been mine."

"hey, don't be mean." you scold mockingly. "how was he even supposed to know? it's not like you told him beforehand. and we're not.."

"dating" is what you want to say, but you bite your tongue.

neither of you comment on the fact that he called you his and you went with it. or that his hand is still on your waist, or that his face was maybe an inch away from yours.

that's nothing unusual, though. you've been dancing around each other like this for years.

he scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck like it physically hurts to show that he has any emotion other than hot, fiery rage. (as if you haven't seen him curled up on your lap whining for you to scratch his head.)

“i shouldn't have to,” he mutters. “i mean… i spend every damn second with you. you wear my hoodie. i walk you to your dorm. for fuck's sake, we fucking cuddle on more nights than we don't,” he stops himself, groaning.

“fuck. you’re mine. you know it, everyone knows it, and he should damn well know it too.”

your breath catches. “katsuki-"

"don't listen to any other fuckin' dumbass." katsuki growls, suddenly pulling you close. "you're mine."

your heart races and your cheeks get hot. it's not just the proximity that's getting you. you're close all the time. it's the tone. the glint in his eyes. he's jealous, whether he'd ever admit it or not, and fuck, you're almost ashamed to admit how hot you think it is.

you smile, throwing your arms lazily around his neck.

"i'm yours."

masterlist rbs + comments super duper appreciated!

[gloomwitchwrites]

I feel a bit shameless asking this—I don’t know if anyone else has, but here it goes.

The guys saying “I love you” before leaving for work, and we don’t even respond. An old TikTok trend, but I’ve never seen a fic with that theme.

Soap: so upset that you don't say it back that he literally follows you around and keeps repeating "I love you" until he's nearly in tears.

Price: sighs heavily because he knows you're on your bullshit again.

Gaz: thinks you didn't hear him so he repeats himself. When you don't say it back he gets really close to you, grasps the sides of your face, forces you to stare at him as he demands you say "I love you" back.

Ghost: pretends like he doesn't notice/care that you don't say it back. Uses his time at work to silently plan your punishment for when he comes home.

CoD Headcanons / AUs / Quick Writes Masterlist

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Hold Me (More Like That)

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, fluff, pre-established relationship, lotta smut (oral m! receiving, p in v sex)

Summary/Warnings: Dean takes a second to pick up on what you want, but doesn't disappoint once he starts to play your game.

Author's Note: Sorta request from an anon! I wanna be thrown around so bad you guys don't even know.

Word Count: 3.3k

“I bet I could beat you in a fight.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

“I could.” You push up on Dean’s chest, glaring at him in the shifting light of the TV. “You don’t believe in me.”

A small smile plays on Dean’s lips, but he doesn’t look away from the movie. “Never said that. I’m pretty damn sure I agreed with you-“

“Yeah, but you said sure.” You drop your tone to mimic his, and that gets his attention. “That’s how you say sure when you don’t really agree, Dean, I know you-“

“Alright.” Dean catches your finger as you poke his chest. “I don’t think you could beat me in a fight, baby. You win.”

You whack his chest, and his grin only grows. 

“That what you wanted to hear?”

“You know it’s not-“

“Then you want me to keep lyin’?”

You roll your eyes at him. “No, I want you to admit I’d beat you.”

“Okay.” Dean shrugs, kissing your knuckles before turning back to the TV. “You’d beat me. You’d kick my ass, Sammy would have to drive me to the hospital, and- Oof-“

You’d climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and bracing your hands on his shoulders. Dean raises his brows with a half amused, half befuddled expression, and his hands fly to your hips in half a second.

He could push you off—easily, too—but he won’t. 

You really want him to. 

“I bet I could beat you.” You lean down until your noses are almost bumping. “In a fight.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Dean hums your name, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing small circles on the bare skin under your shirt. “What’re you doing?”

You shrug. “Trying to make you take me seriously.”

“I always take you seriously-“

“No. You don’t think I could beat you.”

For a man you know looks for any reason to jump your bones—you’ve seen him walk you back against a wall because the wind blew up your skirt, and he needs to check you’re okay—Dean is impressively confused about what’s happening. He just keeps looking at you in confusion, holding you firm enough by your hips you know he’s not going to take your bait and toss you around. You’re going to have to step it up. 

You love him. He’s adorable and sweet and trying really hard to be a good boyfriend, to the point that you feel sort of bad about what’s about to happen, but you’ll get over it. Call it vengeance for when he tried to prove he could change a tire faster than you could, and it was just an excuse to fuck you on the hood of the car. 

“C’mon.” You drag his hands off your hips, pinning them to the couch, and he doesn’t fight you at all. “I can win, Dean.”

“Yeah, you could-“

“Stop agreeing with me-“

He snorts, putting on a weak, mock show of trying to push out of your grip, but mostly just flexing his arms and making the heat in your core spark. “Look, sweetheart, you’re stronger-“

“I didn’t say I was stronger,” you grind down onto him, disguising it as a just a shift of your body, and Dean’s jaw twitches slightly. “I said I could beat you.”

You grind again, and he lets out a long, slow breath. 

Progress.

“You want the truth, baby?” He gives you a pointed look, still not struggling against you, and you nod. 

“I could-“

“No, you couldn’t.” Dean shrugs, and to sort of obviously prove his point, pushes just one hand out of your hold to wrap around your waist. “Not ‘cause I don’t think you’re strong, or smart, or sexy as fuck when you kick ass. But I would beat you. I’ve beaten Sam, and he’s a fuckin’ Sasquatch. It’s my freakin’ job-“

“It’s my job, too-“

“It’s your job when we’re real short on hands.” Dean eyes narrow, and that was the right button. He doesn’t like the maybe you should hunt more conversation. “And we’re not.”

You raise your brows. “So I couldn’t beat you because I don’t hunt?”

“Yes- No-“ He sighs, hauling you a little further up his chest. “You just couldn’t beat me, baby, I promise-“

“Prove it.”

Dean frowns at you. “What?”

“If you think I can’t beat you.” You grab his arm around you—he lets you move it again, but that’s fine, you don’t actually care about winning—and pin it back down. “Then prove it.”

“I’m not gonna fight you, sweetheart-“

You shrug. “Then I win. And if I can beat Dean Winchester in a fight, maybe I should hunt more-“

That does it. Your words turn into a yelp as Dean flips you over like it’s nothing, pinning your hands over your head and pressing his hips down to keep you pinned to the couch. You have to take a quick breath to stop from caving right away, but you can see his muscles rippling through his shirt and his eyes shamelessly scanning your form below him, and he’s half-hard already and pressed right into your thigh-

“I don’t know what goin’ on with you.” His voice is a half growl, and the sound almost vibrates through your body. “But I can beat you, babygirl. And you fuckin’ hate hunting-“

“Maybe I just miss you when you’re gone,” you challenge, hooking your leg around him and flipping him back over with a grunt. “You always leave me, De, and I get lonely-“

He snorts, standing up with you almost thrown over his should. “I call you every day, smartass, and I never hear you complaining when you cum from just me talkin’ to you.”

“Not the- fuck-“ You’re trying to squirm away as he walks through the halls of the bunker—the movie long forgotten—but it’s not working in your favor. “It’s not the same-“

“Then you can come on a few hunts and stay in the hotel.”

He needs to stop being so rational and sweet. “No, I want to hunt-“

“No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Dean-“

You squeak as he drops you onto the mattress, standing over you with a glower. 

“You don’t want to hunt,” he grunts your name, grabbing your face between his hands with an adoring, vaguely annoyed expression. “You hate it, you always get mad about blood on your clothing- Hell, you get pissed about blood on my clothing-“

“I’m over it.” You lie quickly, and throw all your weight into pulling Dean down. He lands on the mattress with a grunt, and you crawl back on top of him with a grin. “I can beat you, Dean. You haven’t proven I can’t.”

He shakes his head. “I told you I’m not fighting you, sweetheart-“

“Cause you’ll lose.”

“I-“ His eyes narrow on yours, right as you wiggle slightly, and you know that expression.

You won.

“If I beat you, you drop the hunting thing.”

You nod quickly, and don’t even get the chance to say deal before Dean’s moving. He flips your back over with practiced ease, and he probably could’ve won right there, but you’re determined to put on a mock show. So when his hand go to pin both of yours, you worm then against his chest and shove right into his gut. It catches him off guard, just enough for you to roll away and scramble up onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Dean grunts, and rises up on his knees before dropping onto his side, just enough to knock the wind slightly out of your chest, and pry you off his neck. You try to roll away, but he’s—somehow—faster, and catches you by the waist, hauling you right up into his lap and pinning your arms behind your back with one hand, the other grabbing your jaw to keep your gaze trapped on his. 

And you’ve lost. It was only a few seconds of fighting, but you lost dramatically. 

In Dean’s eyes, at least, you lost.

But you feel a little high, right now. Dean’s big and warm and all around you, touching you everywhere with his chest pressed right against your breasts and his legs wrapped around you to keep you pinned to him. There’s a building, almost mind-numbing ache for him between your thighs, and you can feel his muscles every time he shifts, and he barely out of breath but you’re a giggling, needy mess his arms, and-

You can see the exact moment it hits him. He blinks at you for a second, his grip tightening on your jaw just enough to pull out a tiny, soft moan, and his cock twitches against your leg.

“You’re fucking-“ He cuts himself off with a groan and shake of his head. “Son of a bitch, sweetheart, if you wanted to be fucked, you coulda told me.”

You shake your head, still beaming at him like an idiot. “Better when you mean it. I- I wanna feel you, Dean, please-“

“Please, what?” He hums, squeezing your jaw again, right as he thrusts up against your clothed cunt. “Please fuck you? Toss you around? Or should I make you wait, for giving me a damn heart attack about hunting?”

You flush, and shake your head. “I’m sorry, I just- You weren’t getting it and I- I wanted-“

“I know what you wanted.” Dean shrugs, grinning down at you. “You wanted me to touch you, didn’t you.”

You nod desperately, and he’s so close. His lips brushing over yours, his grip on you tight and perfect and god-

“You wanna touch me, babygirl?” His question is a low, teasing hum, his hips jerking up again to make sure you can feel how hard he is, and a high, needy moan escapes your lips. 

“Dean, please-“

He shakes his head, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Answer the question, sweetheart-“

“Yes- I do, I need it-“

“Yeah, you do.” He mutters, his hand on your jaw dragging down to rest lightly on your throat. “Lie down.”

You scramble back the second Dean lets go of you, settling into the pillows and giving him your prettiest, most hopeful doe-eyed look. He just chuckles, peeling his shirt and jeans at a painfully slow speed, and gives you a pointed expression. He doesn’t have to say it aloud to know what he’s asking. You know him well enough.

“Not those,” he grunts when you go for your panties, the rest of your clothing now discarded onto the floor. “Wanna rip them off you.”

You sigh, pouting up at him, and it hard not to get dizzy from his attention—standing at the edge of the bed, all strength and softness, stroking his cock to the sight of you below him—but you manage. “You always rip them off of me, Dean, I’m going to run out of underwear-“

“Good.” He mutters, starting to prowl over you with an almost feral grin, and you roll your eyes.

“Dean-“

“Don’t worry, baby.” He hums, and your protests about the panties die in your throat as he stops right over you, pressing his thick cock right on your lower lip. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

You hum, blinking hopefully up at him as you open your mouth, and he nods. Dean’s hand tangles in your hair as he slides into your mouth, and you moan shamelessly around him, making his hips jerk and his dick press right against the back of your throat. 

“Fuck,” Dean groans your name, and you suck on him, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as he pulls slightly out. “You’re gonna choke, you can’t- Shit-“

It’s too easy to whine and run your tongue up his shaft, and he ruts into your mouth with a groan. 

“God- You’re-“ He glares down at you, and you return it with an innocent expression. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You just blink at him sweetly, grabbing his thighs, and trying to guide him deeper into your mouth, and his brows raise, his voice suddenly a slight rasp.

“More, baby?” 

You hum, already grinding into the sheets from the feeling of him heavy in your mouth and the intensity of his gaze, and Dean groans. 

“You gotta stop me if it’s too much-“ You swallow around him, and his words turn into a loud moan that goes straight between your legs.

The leash Dean’s been keeping on his movements snaps, and your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure as he starts to fuck your mouth. You can feel his gaze as the lewd sounds of his balls slapping your chin and his cock sliding in and out of your lips fills the room. Your nails are digging into his thighs, and your breathing is heavy through your nose, but it feels so good.

There’s all the power of him over you, making you lightheaded and your pussy start to clench around nothing every time he groans your name. You can taste the salt of his precum on your tongue whenever you manage to flick it over the head of him, and when you whimper around him, he always pulls all the way out before slamming back it and groaning your name. 

He’s getting close. You can feel it in the growing sloppiness of his thrusts and the tightness of his grip on your hair. So you double your effort and start to suck him off best you can, but all you can really remember how to do is wiggle and moan-

Dean pulls aways with groan, and your eyes flutter open to see him looking down at you with borderline wonder, his arm braced on the headboard above you and his chest heaving.

“You’re too good at that.” He mutters, moving his hand from your hair to wipe a little bit of drool over your cheek. “Almost came in your mouth, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth again, sticking your tongue out, and he groans, leaning back with a shake of his head. 

“Need to fuck you,” he grunts, shifting so your caged below his arms, his brow pressed against yours. “I’m gonna make you cum ‘till you can’t walk, baby. That sound good?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, spreading your legs as wide as you can. “Good. Touch me, Dean, I- I need you-“

“I know you do.” Rough, warm fingers dance on your panties, teasing on your inner thigh for a second before ripping them away, and running over your pussy. “So fucking wet for me, babygirl, need it that bad?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yes, please-“

Dean cuts you off with a long, sloppy kiss, and you gasp his name into his mouth, grinding onto the palm of his hand in chance of any relief.

“You wanna try and wrestle again?” He hums, rubbing his hand right over your clit. “Or you gonna let me take care of my girl.”

“Take care.” Your voice is barely a breath, but you might fly out of your mind if he doesn’t really, properly fuck you. “Dean, your cock, I need it-“

His hand moves away, but you don’t get a moment to complain before Dean’s shoving himself into you with one rough movement, and your back is arching off the bed.

“That’s right, baby.” His voice is a teasing coo, but you don’t really care. He’s earned it, and it feels so good, being filled up and split open with him all over you and kissing up your neck- “You’re so fuckin’ tight, son of a bitch-“

“Dean.” You gasp, and his mouth crashes back over yours, kissing you into the pillows until you’re limp in his arms, only fluttering desperately around his cock. “Move-“

He groans into your mouth, and your breath hitches in your throat as he slams into you. You wrap your arms around him tight enough to strangle him, just he doesn’t even flinch, just moaning your name and repeating the movement once more. Pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, then starts to fuck you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

Sometimes, Dean likes to sit up and watch you come apart below him, or flip you over and fuck you into the mattress. But he knows what you need right now is to just keep feeling him, everywhere, and he’s perfect so that’s exactly what he gives you. Almost holding you off the mattress like it’s nothing, fucking into your pussy with a feverish pace, until your head is falling back with pleasure as he hits that deep, painfully needy spot deep inside you. 

His lips attach to your throat, biting and sucking small marks that make your mouth fall open in a silent scream, and your start to grind onto him. Trying to get your clit to rub on his abdomen, because you’re so fucking close-

Dean grabs your ankles, shifting your around below him without ever breaking pace, and only once you’re securely hanging off his body does his arm wrap around your waist and-

You spasm as his fingers find your clit and start to rub tight, firm circles, and you cum with a scream of his name. He just groans, fucking into you harder as you spasm around his cock, and you’re not coming down. Dean pushes your back down onto the mattress, slams his lips back over yours and angling your hips further up, and you stare up at him as he just keeps fucking you. Your orgasm crests into another one, and there’s a strange, new heat building in your core that’s hot and tight, and-

Dean slams hip hips at the right angle to almost bruise your g-spot, right as his fingers on your clit pinch, and your body goes loose as the coil snaps. Something wet is gushing out of you and running between your legs, and Dean’s jaw is clenched as he drops his brow to yours, his eyes fluttering as he tenses over you.

“Dean.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair. “Please. On me.”

He stares at you for barely a second before giving a tight nod, and sitting up on his knees. He pulls out with his hand braced on your hip, and it’s a beautiful sight. Dean beating his cock into his hand at the sight of you wrecked and fucked out, thick white cum shooting over your stomach and cunt as he cums with a moan of your name. 

He collapses over you with a grunt, and you hum happily, your fingers shooting into his hair. 

“That what you wanted, baby?” He hums into your ear, and you nod.

“Perfect. Thank you, my love.” 

He grunts as your kiss the side of his head, shifting down to bury his face between your breasts. 

“Love you too.” He grumbles, wrapping his around your body, and you beam up at the ceiling. “Even when you play dumb tricks.”

“I think you liked that trick.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But next time, just freakin’ ask me to fuck you stupid.”

You hum. “Dean?”

He grunts, and you tug on his hair, forcing his gaze up to yours. 

“Can you fuck me stupid.”

His lips twitch and he grabs your hand, turning it to press a kiss to your palm. “Jesus, sweetheart-“

“Please?” You flutter your lashes at him, and he sighs. 

“Gimme ten. In the shower?”

You give him an amused look. “You just wanna cum on me again.”

“Yep.” He grins up at you. “You love it.”

“I do.” You mumble. “But you like it when I play dumb tricks.”

He rolls his eyes, but hauls your upright, standing with you cradled in his arms and a kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, sweetheart. But I think I just like you.”

End Note: It's probably good for my productiveness that Dean isn't real. I'd never get anything done again.

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@jofinka

[izzih22]

All That Tension

Note: I saw someone ask their anons if they wanted it and well I wanted to try to write it so here y’all go.

Warning: Smutish

Azzi was shaking her leg again.

Not a little, nervous bounce. Full-on trembling like her muscles had been locked up too long and couldn’t handle the tension. Her shoulders were tight, hands clenched around a highlighter cap, and her jaw looked like she’d been grinding her teeth for an hour.

Paige watched quietly from the other end of the bed, cross-legged and still, letting Azzi spiral just enough to know this wasn’t going to pass on its own.

“You’re chewing through that cap like it owes you money,” Paige finally said, voice calm, low, just a little teasing.

Azzi didn’t look up from the textbook. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve read that page four times.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense.”

“You already know this. You’ve been working on it since last week.”

Azzi sighed, still not looking at her. “Doesn’t matter. If I freeze on the exam, knowing it now won’t help me then.”

Her voice cracked a little on that last word. Paige moved quiet, slow until she was next to her, their knees brushing.

“Az” she said softly. “Look at me.”

Azzi hesitated. But she did.

And Paige could see it now under the sharp edge of stress in her eyes, there was fear. Real fear. Not of failing the test, but of letting herself down. Letting others down.

“Come here,” Paige murmured, opening her arms.

Azzi hesitated again. “But we haven’t—”

“Azzi.” Paige’s voice dropped, not harsh, but firm. “You don’t need another flashcard. You need to breathe.”

Azzi let out a shuddering breath and let herself fall forward into Paige’s arms.

She melted the second Paige wrapped around her.

“I got you,” Paige whispered, kissing the side of her head. “You don’t have to be perfect for me. You never have to be perfect.”

Azzi clutched her hoodie like a lifeline, burying her face into Paige’s neck.

They stayed like that for a minute. Or maybe longer.

Then Paige tilted her head, lips brushing Azzi’s ear. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

“I know what you need,” Paige said, lips brushing her cheek now. “You need to stop thinking. You need to feel.”

Azzi didn’t speak just nodded into her shoulder.

Paige leaned back just enough to look at her, fingers tucking a curl behind Azzi’s ear. “Say it.”

Azzi’s cheeks were flushed. Her voice came out soft, breathless: “Please.”

That was all Paige needed.

She kissed her slow, lips warm and deliberate, her hand cradling the side of Azzi’s face like she was something fragile and precious. And when Azzi gasped softly into her mouth, Paige deepened the kiss just a little just enough to make Azzi sigh.

Paige moved like she had time. Like there was nowhere else in the world she needed to be.

Her hands found Azzi’s waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin where her hoodie had ridden up. “Lift your arms for me,” she murmured.

Azzi did, wordless and eager, and Paige slipped the hoodie off, revealing the tank top beneath. Paige kissed down her shoulder, slow and reverent, and whispered, “You always carry everything right here.” She trailed her mouth across Azzi’s collarbone. “All your stress. All your pressure. Let me take it off you.”

Azzi’s chest rose in a shaky breath.

Paige gently lowered her onto the bed, mouth never leaving her skin. She kissed her stomach through the tank top, tugging it up inch by inch, exposing her skin like a gift. She didn’t rush. Just let Azzi feel every brush of her lips, every pass of her hand.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige whispered, voice rough with emotion. “You know that?”

Azzi moaned, her hands trembling against Paige’s back. “Say it again.”

Paige smiled, cupping her jaw. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

She kissed the words into her neck, into her chest, into every inch of skin she could reach.

By the time Paige eased Azzi’s leggings down, Azzi was panting, her body arching up into every touch.

Paige kissed the inside of her knee, trailing up her thigh. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

Azzi’s voice cracked. “You. Please, I—I just… I need to feel you. I need you so bad.”

Paige groaned low in her throat, like Azzi’s words undid her. “That’s my girl.”

She moved up to kiss her again, slow and deep, one hand holding Azzi’s cheek, the other slipping between her thighs, gentle and confident.

Azzi cried out, soft and desperate, clinging to her. “Please don’t stop. Paige, please—”

“I’m right here.” Paige whispered the words like a vow. “I’ve got you.”

She moved slow. Precise. Every touch was patient, every motion designed to unravel Azzi in the most loving way possible. And when Azzi started shaking body trembling from how much she needed the release Paige leaned down and pressed their foreheads together.

“Let go for me,” she whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let go.”

Azzi did.

With a sob of relief, she came hard, whole body arching, breath catching as Paige held her through it still whispering to her, still kissing her skin.

“Good girl,” Paige breathed. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Azzi was wrecked in the best way. Tears clung to the corners of her lashes, but she was smiling, flushed and dazed, chest rising and falling like she’d just run five miles.

Paige kissed her nose. Her cheek. Her jaw.

“You still anxious?” she asked softly.

Azzi giggled weakly. “I don’t even remember what class we were studying for.”

Paige grinned. “Perfect.”

She pulled her into her arms, under the covers, pressing kisses to her forehead as Azzi curled into her chest.

Azzi whispered, barely audible: “Thank you.”

Paige kissed the top of her head. “Always.”

[nayiana0]

"Off Limits"

choi san. just your brother’s best friend. off-limits. untouchable. but the tension between you two just doesn’t just disappear—it builds, until one late night... he snaps.. and it gets messy. and your brother seonghwa?? he’s not putting up with it.

wc : 4.9k

tags : explicit content, edging, teasing, overstimulation, softdom!san, cursing possessive behavior, messy creampie, san is thirsty & down bad, brothers bestfriend, protective!seonghwa, possessive!san, aftercare,secret hookup,so much cum, nighttime tension.

genre : smut

a/n : i wanted someone’s best friend fucking oc quiet on the couch while their brother sleeps upstairs. so i wrote it.

It’s past 1AM. The house is dead quiet. You pad down the stairs barefoot, oversized shirt brushing your thighs, craving nothing more than cold water and maybe some silence to soothe your restless mind.

But then—you freeze.

He’s still here.

Crashing on the couch like he always does when he drinks too much with your brother.

Except this time, he’s not bundled under a hoodie or buried under a blanket.

He’s shirtless. One arm slung across his eyes. The other resting on his chest, the veins in his forearm catching the dim moonlight.

Sweats hanging low on his hips.

Your throat goes dry.

And then… a shift.

His hips twitch. A groan escapes him.

You freeze.

Is he…?

No. No way.

You take one step closer. Then another.

And then—your name.

Low. Guttural. Slurred like a dream.

“Y/N…”

You press your lips together, shocked… and a little smug.

So that’s what’s going on.

You tiptoe closer, now definitely playing with fire, and whisper:

“San?”

He stirs, blinks—his eyes open, unfocused. And then they land on you.

“What are you doing?” “Getting water.” You hold up the glass. “What are you doing?”

A beat.

“Trying not to get in trouble.”

You glance down.

Then you see it.

A bulge.

Barely noticeable—but growing.

And then… a twitch. 

He’s trying so hard to cover it with the blanket, but you see the way his hand twitches like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“You always walk around dressed like that at 1am?”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirk. “Didn’t know you slept with your dick out.”

He sighs. Covers his entire body with the blanket. Face turning red.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbles.

“Oh?” You tilt your head. “So you’re not hard right now?”

“Y/N…” he warns, voice hoarse.

“Did I do that to you? Just me standing here got you hard?”

“Go to bed, Y/N.”

“Is that how you talk to all your best friend’s sisters when they catch you with a boner?”

“You’re not funny.”

“Oh, but I am,” you giggle. “I’ve never seen you so uncomfortable.”

He shifts again, jaw tight. “Y/N, stop.”

“Why? Because I’m your best friend’s little sister?”

He doesn’t answer.

You lean in just a little more.

“Poor thing,” you whisper against his ear. “Bet you’ve been jerking off thinking about me for years.”

Silence. Thick. Tense.

Then his voice—low, gravelly:

“Come here.”

You blink. Step back, teasing.

“Why?”

“Just—” he exhales— “I won’t touch you. Just… sit… uh .. Talk to me. I can’t sleep.”

You hesitate. Teasing is one thing, but this? Dangerous. But you sit anyway—not on his lap, not quite. Perched on the edge of the coffee table, facing him.

Your knees brush.

He’s still flushed, trying so hard not to look at your thighs.

“I don’t get it,” you say after a minute.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve wanted me for how long now? Months? Years? And you’ve never tried anything.”

He stares at you like you’ve knocked the wind out of him.

“Because I can’t try anything,” he says finally. “You know that.”

“But you want to.”

His jaw flexes. His eyes drop to your legs again—bare, close, right there.

“It doesn’t matter.”

You lean forward, drop your voice.

“So.. if I sat on your lap right now, and kissed you, would you stop me?”

No answer.

“San,” you press, “would you?”

And then?

He laughs once—quiet and dark—and you don’t even have time to react before his hand grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in.

Not for a kiss.

He doesn’t kiss you yet.

He just brings you so close you can feel his breath. Foreheads almost touching. His other hand wraps around your bare thigh, tight.

“You don’t get it,” he murmurs.

“Do you know how many nights I’ve had to sit across from you and pretend I wasn’t so fucking hard under the table?”

“I’m just–…”

“No,” he cuts in. “You want to play games? Fine. But if you’re gonna sit on me—if you’re gonna whisper shit like that in the dark—you better mean it.”

You go still. The air is so hot you’re dizzy.

“And if I do?” you whisper.

His grip tightens.

“Then don’t ever laugh at me again.”

His mouth is on yours before you can breathe.

It’s not soft. Not gentle. Not even romantic.

But you pull back, and stand up. 

His eyes are locked on you, not looking away.  

“You’re never gonna stop looking at me like that, are you?” you say, voice low, nearly a whisper.

He tilts his head. Smiles faintly.

“Nope.”

You cross your arms over your chest, trying to stay composed even though your heart is about to punch through your ribs.

“You said you wouldn’t touch me.”

“Sorry.”

A pause. Then:

“You’re dangerous.”

“You’re the one still standing there,” he murmurs. “Not me.”

The silence stretches.

“I shouldn’t–,” you murmur.

“Then don’t,” he replies, jaw tight. “I won’t ask again.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t flinch.

And that’s what breaks you.

Slowly—carefully—you step toward him. Your thighs brush his knees. His breath catches, just barely.

You climb onto his lap with agonizing slowness, straddling him, your knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips.

He still doesn’t move.

But you feel it. Every muscle in his body is locked and ready, barely held in check.

“Okay..,” you whisper, leaning in just enough that your nose brushes his. “Happy now?”

He swallows hard. His voice is rough when he speaks again:

“If I touch you again, I’m not stopping.”

You pause. Let the weight of that sink in. Your eyes flick to his lips, then back to his eyes.

And then?

One of his hands grips your waist—tight.

The other slides up your back, dragging you flush against him until your lips almost meet, until his forehead presses to yours, and the only sound left is the ragged rhythm of both your breaths.

You can feel him underneath you—hard, hot, straining against the thin fabric of his sweats.

His mouth is on yours before you can breathe.

It’s not soft. Not gentle. Not even romantic.

It’s heat. Years of tension, swallowed feelings, frustrated restraint, finally breaking loose in one chaotic, punishing kiss. Teeth. Tongue.

Hands gripping your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

You gasp into him, your hands curling in his hair. You’re dizzy. 

You feel like you’ve been yanked out of your body and shoved into someone else’s life.

You pull back just enough to whisper—lips brushing his—

“You’ve wanted this that bad, huh?”

His palms are pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you close.

“Don’t start.”

“You’ve thought about this, like, every night?”

“Y/N…”

“Mmm?”

“You really want me to answer that while you’re sitting on me like this?”

“Thought so.”

That’s when he groans—really groans, low and wrecked—and leans back on the couch, dragging you with him. 

Now you’re straddling him completely, your thighs bracketing his, your top pulled tight against his chest.

“Still not gonna touch me?” you whisper, teasing.

“Say it again,” he breathes.

“Say what?”

“Say I can’t touch you.”

You blink—heart stuttering.

“I… didn’t say—”

“No,” he cuts you off, voice low, dangerous. 

“You didn’t. But you teased me like I couldn’t. Like I wouldn’t. Like I didn’t have the balls.”

You swallow hard.

“You think it was easy? Watching you flirt with every guy who wasn’t me?”

“I wasn’t—”

“Walking into a room knowing you knew what you were doing to me?”

His hands slide up under your shirt, slow, maddening, his rough palms grazing bare skin. You hiss in a breath as they find your waist.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t need to.

Because your hips rock forward—just slightly. Just enough for both of you to feel it.

And that’s when he snaps.

His hands grip your hips hard, and he drags you down against him in one sharp pull. Your breath catches—your head tips back.

He’s grinding up against you now, shameless, rough. His mouth finds your neck—kisses, bites, breathless murmurs against your skin

“You wanted this?”

“For a long time, Y/N.”

“You think I haven’t had to jerk off thinking about you in this exact outfit?”

You whimper before you can stop it—and he smirks against your collarbone.

“Thought so.”

He flips you—sudden, fast, hot.

Now you’re on your back. Couch cushions under you. His body over yours.

“I’m done pretending,” he growls.

His mouth finds your throat. Your collarbone. Your chest.

Your shirt and underwear are gone in seconds. His sweats follow.

He drags his hips down and pushes into you with a deep, shuddering groan.

You gasp—back arching, nails digging into his arms.

“Not so cocky now, huh?”

He thrusts again. Deep.

You cry out.

“Still think this is a joke?”

You’re panting. Legs trembling. Your hands scrabble for something to hold.

“I think you’re a fucking brat,” he growls. “And I’m done letting you tease me.”

He doesn’t give you time.

He sets a slow, brutal rhythm.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Dragging moans out of you with every inch. He holds your jaw, keeps your eyes on him, makes you feel every second.

And when you try to speak—he slaps a hand over your mouth.

“Shh. If your brother hears, I’m fucked.”

You whimper against his palm.

“And you,” he growls, “aren’t even trying to be quiet.”

His pace picks up. You’re dripping.

Shaking.

Crying into his shoulder.

He whispers in your ear:

“Say it. Say my name. Say it’s mine.”

You barely manage it between gasps. “Yours. Yours. Yours—”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “You’re squeezing me like you need me.”

You try to answer, but it comes out a breathy, broken sound.

“What was that?” he smirks, leaning down. “No more smart remarks?”

You glare through the haze. “You’re cocky for someone who’s about to fall apart.”

He growls—and speeds up.

Now every thrust is heavier. Deeper. The couch creaks beneath you. His hand slips between you, fingers circling your clit, rough and unrelenting.

“Tell me this is what you wanted,” he pants.

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

“Tell me you thought about this,” he rasps against your ear, “when you touched yourself at night.”

“Every time,” you moan. “Always you.”

That breaks him.

He fucks into you harder now—hips snapping, fingers working faster.

You’re right there—right on the edge—but trying so hard to hold out, to tease him one more time.

“Y—you gonna cum first?” you whisper, breath stuttering.

He grits his teeth.

“Fuck no.” he growls, hand clamping over your mouth as you let out a cry. “You are. And you’re gonna make a fucking mess doing it.”

He keeps going—grinding into you now, every inch hitting deep, precise. His lips brush yours, voice ragged:

“Cum for me. Cum on me. I wanna feel it.”

You’re right there—legs trembling, spine arching, thighs clenched tight around his waist. 

He’s deep and relentless, and his fingers haven’t stopped circling your clit in slick, perfect pressure.

It’s building fast—too fast.

“Fuck—wait—”

You gasp, hand flying to his wrist. “I—I’m gonna—just wait—don’t—”

He freezes.

Almost.

Because he doesn’t pull out. He doesn’t stop touching.

He just slows everything down.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, lips dragging over your neck. “Too much?”

You nod, whimpering. “I—I can’t—”

“You can.”

He kisses you softly, lips barely brushing.

“But you’re not allowed to cum yet.”

Then he pulls out halfway, slow and torturous, dragging the head of his cock over your sensitive walls—then pushes back in so deep you gasp and shudder under him.

“You feel that?” he whispers. “How close you are? How your body’s begging me to let go?”

You whimper. Try to rock your hips, chase it.

He pins you down.

“No, baby,” he breathes, grinding into you just enough to make your breath stutter.

“Not yet.”

You’re sweating. Shaking. Your legs twitch uncontrollably, heart pounding out of your chest.

“Please—please,” you choke. “I was right there, I was so close—”

“I know,” he says, voice all low heat and devilish control. “You’re cute when you beg.”

His fingers return to your clit—but not the way you need. Just feather-light touches. Barely there. Just enough to keep your skin buzzing.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he whispers, watching you unravel. “Tell me how close you are.”

“I—I feel.. It f–feels like like I’m gonna explode,” you breathe. “It hurts. Please, I need to—”

“You’ll take it,” he growls. “Don’t forget how much you've teased me, sweetheart. Made me bite my fucking tongue every time you bent over in front of me.”

He pushes in deeper. Slow. Grinding.

“Now you’re mine, and I’m gonna make you suffer for it.”

Your whole body jerks—your stomach twisting up like a coil pulled too tight.

“You wanna cum?” he murmurs at your throat. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you moan. “I swear—please, let me—please—”

“Nah,” he smirks. “You don’t mean it yet.”

Then—he pulls out completely.

You cry out—frustrated, aching, dripping down your thighs.

“Look at this mess,” he mutters, watching your slick glisten in the low light. “All this for me?”

You nod frantically, eyes glassy. “I can’t—I can’t take it, please—”

He smirks.

“You will.”

He leans in, strokes himself once, twice, right against your entrance. Just pressing. Not pushing in.

Your hips try to move, chase it. He holds you down by the throat—just enough pressure to make you still.

“You don’t come until I say. You hear me?”

“Y-Yes—yes, please—”

And then he slams back in.

Deep. Full. But still slow.

He fucks you like he wants to destroy you inch by inch. Every time you get close, he eases off. 

Every time you try to beg, he cuts you off with a kiss, or a palm over your mouth, or a whisper that makes your spine arch:

“Not yet.”

“Almost.”

“Hold it.”

“Be good.”

Your body is on fire. Every nerve lit up, throbbing with denied pleasure. You feel like you're going to break.

And all he does is keep you there. Teetering. Shaking. Ruined.

Your body’s gone numb with need—so close for so long that you’re past the point of control, past the edge of thought.

He’s still grinding into you slow, deep, relentless—your legs spread wide around his waist, held there by the iron grip of his hands on your thighs.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants, sweat dripping from his temple. “You gonna fall apart on my cock like the filthy little tease you are?”

You shake your head, but your hips betray you—grinding up to meet him.

“N-No—can’t—can’t take it—”

“Yes you can,” he growls, pressing harder. “You’re gonna cum, and you’re gonna fucking thank me for it.”

He’s right there at your throat, teeth scraping your skin, breath hot.

His fingers slide down again—cruel and practiced—and you lose it.

“F-Fuck—fuck, I’m—”

Your whole body snaps tight, legs seizing, back arched, mouth open in a silent scream—and you cum.

Hard. Violent. Wracking sobs shaking your chest.

“Please,” you whimper, barely conscious, voice trembling. 

“Please, I can’t—stop—please—too much—”

You’re broken. Twisted inside out. Twitching, begging, done.

But he doesn’t stop.

He shifts your legs higher, deeper angle, and it punches a new moan from your lungs.

You sob—gasping, writhing beneath him, so overstimulated it feels like lightning under your skin.

“I’m not done,” he groans. “Not till I fill you. Not till I cum inside this perfect pussy—so you never fucking forget who owns it.”

You’re crying now—quiet, broken little sounds—and still, he keeps going.

You feel that?” he pants. “How your body’s still taking me? Still sucking me in like you need it?”

“I—I c-can’t—”

Your voice cracks. Eyes squeezed shut.

He leans in, presses his forehead to yours.

“You can. One more. Be good. Cum with me.”

His thrusts grow frantic now—deeper, sharper, completely lost to the feeling. His breath stutters.

You’re still shaking—raw, ruined, stretched too far—

Then he growls, hips jerking as he buries himself to the edge.

“Fuck—I’m cumming..—fucking mine—”

He spills inside you with a shudder so intense he collapses onto your chest, panting into your neck.

And still—he gives one last slow roll of his hips.

You twitch. Gasp.

“S-still… going?” you whisper, weak.

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I know. I know, baby. Just… needed to make sure it stuck.”

He kisses your temple, breath still shaking.

And finally—finally—he stops.

–

You’re both drenched in sweat. Your thighs are trembling. Your voice is wrecked. He’s still inside you, softening slowly, holding you tight.

You’re not sure how long you lie there.

Sweaty. Twitching. Barely breathing.

His weight still half on you, cock softening slowly inside you, both of you wrapped in the kind of silence that feels sacred.

You’re shaking. Barely able to keep your eyes open. His chest rises and falls against yours—hot and heavy.

Then, gently, he shifts.

“I’m gonna pull out,” he murmurs near your ear, voice hoarse. “You okay?”

You nod—barely.

But when he finally does, you both hiss—a sharp inhale at the feeling of it. The stretch, even now. The slick sound. The mess.

You gasp.

“Oh my gosh—fuck—”

It’s everywhere.

His cum spills out of you in thick, warm drips, sliding between your thighs, down your ass, soaking the already-damp cushions beneath you.

You blink, dazed. “That’s so much…”

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice full of smug disbelief. “Fuck.”

He sits up slowly, looking down at you—completely wrecked, legs spread, skin flushed, his cum leaking out of you like you were meant for this.

“Stay there,” he says softly, brushing damp hair from your face. “Don’t move.”

You nod. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

He disappears for a second—footsteps padding into the kitchen—and returns with a warm, damp towel. He kneels between your thighs, careful, reverent. His brows are furrowed, jaw tight.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs.

You shiver when he touches you—wiping between your legs, cleaning you up as gently as he can.

But it’s still sensitive. Every pass of the towel makes you twitch and whimper.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I know, baby. I know. I got you.”

He kisses your thigh. Then your hip. Then your stomach. The towel’s warm, but his hands are warmer—soft, slow, soothing.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “You did so good for me.”

You don’t say anything—you just watch him.

This man, your brother’s best friend .. who just fucked you like an animal, is now kneeling, caring for your body like he’s scared he broke it.

Maybe he did.

When he’s finished, he tosses the towel to the floor and leans over you again.

“Need help getting up?” he asks gently.

You nod, throat too dry to answer.

He lifts you like it’s nothing—arms under your back and thighs, carrying you bridal-style toward the stairs.

“Thought I was walking,” you murmur, head on his shoulder.

“You can barely breathe,” he chuckles softly. “You think I’m letting you crawl back to your room leaking my cum down your legs?”

You groan. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah,” he smirks. “But you’re still dripping for me.”

He walks you down the hall and into your room—dark, quiet, still. Gently lays you on your bed, pulling the blanket back like it’s ritual.

He hesitates before pulling away.

“You want me to stay?” he asks, voice softer now. “I can. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want space.”

You look at him for a long second—shirtless, sweat-damp, hair a mess, looking somehow more beautiful when he’s being gentle.

“No,” you whisper. “Go before I ask you to do.. that again.”

He grins—low and wolfish.

“You say that like I wouldn’t.”

Then he kisses you. Just once. Soft, lazy, familiar.

“Go to sleep, Y/N,” he murmurs. “I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”

He leaves you there—sore, wrecked, satisfied—slipping out of your room with one last look.

You pull the blanket up.

Bite your lip. And feel every inch of him still inside you, even when he’s gone.

—————

The next morning,

You wake up sore in places that shouldn’t be sore.

Throat raw. Thighs aching. Knees? You don’t even want to talk about your knees.

You sit up, wincing.

“Fuck me…” you whisper. “I can’t even walk straight…”

Every shift of your legs reminds you exactly how deep he was. 

How long he went. How many times you begged—half-lucid—for him to stop, and he just kept ruining you like it was personal.

You shower fast. No time to process anything. Throw on a hoodie, some shorts you barely manage to walk in, and limp your way out of your room.

The smell of breakfast hits first. Bacon. Coffee. Something sizzling. Then—

Voices.

You freeze in the hallway, then peek around the corner.

There he is.

Choi San.

Sitting at the kitchen island, looking dangerously normal.

Shirtless, again. Muscles out. Hair still damp from a shower. Same grey sweatpants he absolutely came in last night.

He doesn’t look tired. You, on the other hand, look like you got thrown off a cliff and crawled back.

Seonghwa’s at the stove. Cooking. Humming. Oblivious.

You walk in like it’s nothing.

“Morning,” you mutter, heading straight for the fridge.

Seonghwa turns, glances at you, and immediately frowns. “Jesus. You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, pulling out the orange juice.

“Didn’t sleep?”

“Eventually.”

“Mmhmm.” He flips a pancake and turns to look at you. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“Are you.. limping?”

You freeze mid-pour.

“No.”

“Pretty sure you’re limping.”

From behind you, a voice:

“She’s definitely limping.”

You whirl around to glare at San.

He’s sipping coffee like he didn’t have you sobbing into a couch cushion six hours ago.

Seonghwa turns back to the stove. “You hurt something?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“You’re walking like someone beat your ass.”

“Well maybe someone should beat yours,” you snap.

Seonghwa raises a brow. “Damn, chill. Just asking.”

From across the island, San’s silently laughing into his mug. You shoot him a glare. He just winks.

You sit down—too fast. A flash of soreness shoots up your spine and you hiss.

“Okay. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Seonghwa asks, genuinely confused now. “Did you get hit by a bike or something?”

“I stretched wrong.”

“Doing what?”

“Yoga.”

Seonghwa squints. “You don’t do yoga.”

“Well maybe I fuckin’ started, Seonghwa.”

“Damn, okay. Shit.”

You shoot a desperate look across the table—and San’s biting his lip, clearly loving this. Eyes flicking down to your bare legs, then back up to your flushed face.

Your thighs are glued shut under the table. 

You’re not even wearing underwear. You were too sore to even try.

Seonghwa slaps a plate of pancakes down in front of you and leans on the counter.

“Eat up. Maybe it’ll help you walk straight again.”

You choke on your coffee. San’s laughing as if nothing happened.

“You good?” he asks sweetly, reaching over to rub your thigh under the table—hidden from Seonghwa’s view.

You jump.

Seonghwa frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Just a leg cramp.”

San’s hand slides higher.

You slap it away under the table.

“What the hell was that?” Seonghwa’s looking between you now, suspicious. “You two are being so weird..”

“We’re always weird,” you say quickly. “You just now noticing?”

“No. This is, like, extra weird. Eye contact. Inside jokes. You’re jumpy. He’s smiling.”

He turns to look directly at his best friend.

“What the fuck are you grinning at?”

“Nothing, man.” His voice is calm. Too calm. “She’s just fun to mess with.”

“Right.. you better not be sneaking out again, Y/N.  I swear, if I catch you with some random dude—”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him if I do.”

“And you,” he snaps, pointing his spatula at his best friend, “if you’re smoking in the house again I swear to God—”

“Mmm.. no,” he says smoothly, sipping his coffee. “But sure. Blame the guy who slept on the couch.”

You feel heat crawl up your neck. The couch.

“Seonghwa’s spatula points mid-air. “Yeah, well—don’t think I didn’t see you smoking it last week. You think I’m fuckin’ blind?”

“Clearly not,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Whatever,” Seonghwa huffs. “Just keep your shit outside. My place isn’t a fuckin’ frat house.”

He turns his back again—finally.

You exhale. Barely.

And that’s when he leans in, eyes lazy, voice low so only you can hear.

“Didn’t think you’d still be walking today.”

You blink. Whip your head up. He’s not even looking at you. Just sipping. Like that filthy line didn’t leave his mouth.

Your lips part. “Shut the fuck up.”

His eyes flick toward you—just a glance—and then right back to his mug. Smirking.

“You didn’t say that last night.”

You kick him under the table. Hard.

He grunts. Then chuckles.

Seonghwa turns around with a plate in hand. “What now?”

“Nothing,” you say too fast.

“Y/N’s mad ‘cause she didn’t get her eggs yet,” he offers helpfully.

“I swear to God—” you mutter.

“You swear a lot for someone who couldn’t even form words last night.”

You drop your fork.

Seonghwa freezes. “What?”

“What?” San echoes, totally deadpan. “She was sleep talking.”

You slam your hands on the table. “I hate both of you.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing, Seonghwa.”

“You two are acting weird as hell.”

Your brother looks between the two of you—your flushed face, his smug smirk, the way your knees are clearly pressed together under the table like you’re holding in a crime scene.

Seonghwa squints.

“You sure you didn’t sneak out?”

You glare. “Positive.”

He looks at San.

“You sure you didn’t do anything?”

He shrugs, slow and easy. “Define ‘anything.’”

Seonghwa stares. “I will beat your ass.”

“Okay.”

Seonghwa finally turns around to get the toast.

You exhale through your teeth.

Under the table—again—a hand finds your thigh. Squeezes. Not playful. Possessive. Deliberate.

You don’t even look at him.

“You’re gonna get us killed.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you last night.”

You turn your head slightly, lips barely moving.

“You left a fucking mess.”

He hums. “You loved it.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You came, like, four times.”

Seonghwa clears his throat, too loud.

You both freeze. He turns, looking at you.

“Y/N. Eat. Before you pass out or stab someone.”

“Okay.. I am...”

Seonghwa eyes you again. “You sure you’re good?”

“Totally fine,” you lie. “Just… sore.”

He nods. “Uh-huh. Well, hydrate. You look like you’re about to faint.”

Across the table, San’s lip twitches.

“She’ll be fine, Seonghwa. Just needs… some rest… she's just grumpy”

Seonghwa squints. “Why?”

“No idea.”

He shoots him a look. “Did you piss her off?”

“Not recently.”

“Right. Because you never piss people off.”

“Not unless they’re asking for it.”

Seonghwa frowns. “..You better not be fucking messing with her, man.”

“I’m not.”

“You sure?”

“Dead serious.”

“Because I swear, if you touched her—”

“Seonghwa,” he cuts in smoothly. “I didn’t touch your sister.”

“Then you better not be sneaking girls in. I’ve let you crash here for how long now?”

“I was on the couch all night!”

Seonghwa scoffs. “Right. Couch. Thats where you were all night?”

“Relax. I wasn’t sneaking around.”

“Right. Then why was my sister coming downstairs at 1am?”

Your fork hits the plate.

Seonghwa looks straight at you. “Yeah. Thought I didn’t notice, huh?”

“I was just getting water,” you mutter.

He tilts his head. “Took you a long-ass time for one glass.”

San jumps in.

“Maybe she couldn’t sleep.”

“And what, you could help her with that?” Seonghwa snaps.

“Not my place.”

“Alright,” he mutters. “You know what? What the fuck happened last night?”

“Okay. After Y/N came downstairs to get some water, she told me she couldn't sleep. So we watched a movie.

“And?”

“And… after the movie.. I went to sleep. On the couch. She went back to her room”

He’s smug. Too smug.

Seonghwa doesn’t blink.

“So why was she walking funny this morning?”

“Maybe she slept weird.”

“Or maybe she got railed. By my best friend. Behind my back,” Seonghwa spits.

You cough — loud — and practically choke on your eggs.

Seonghwa turns to you. “You good?”

“Yeah. Yup. Swallowed wrong.”

He frowns.

“I said I’m fine.”

Across the table, San bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Seonghwa’s eyes flick to him. “You think this is funny?”

“A little.”

“You’re seriously testing me right now.”

“Look, man,” he says, putting his hands up. “I really didn’t touch your sister.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“Because I’ve got a sixth sense for this shit, alright? She’s acting off. You’re acting cocky. I know you.”

San just smirks.

“Seonghwa—” you start, trying to soothe.

“Nah,” he cuts you off. “This is some bullshit.”

“You’re paranoid,” San says. Calm. Controlled.

Seonghwa takes a step forward. “Say that again.”

“I said you’re paranoid.”

“You think I won’t fucking hit you?”

“Seonghwa!” you shout, flushing hard.

Seonghwa’s eyes snap to you. “What?! I’m not dumb, Y/N. I see the way he looks at you. You think I don’t notice shit?”

Silence.

You stare at your plate. He stares at your face. San sips his coffee like he’s watching a movie.

“Seonghwa. There's nothing going on. We didn’t do anything.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not—” you try.

“Swear to God, Y/N. If this whole limping thing is about him—”

“It’s not.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

Seonghwa exhales, nostrils flaring.

“Fine. But if I find out either of you are lying to me—”

You push your chair back.

“Okay,” you say. “I’m done.”

Seonghwa watches you limp away from the table and narrows his eyes further. “Yeah, that’s real normal, huh?”

Your back is to them.

And that’s when you hear it.

“You’re playing a dangerous fucking game, man,” Seonghwa mutters under his breath.

“It’s already been played,” San murmurs back

Masterlist Part 2 soon

[sentientcave]

John gently pulls the gun from your shaking hands, using his big frame to block out the sight of your husband laying on the floor. You try not to think about the specks of blood that freckle John's face. You try to focus on John's eyes, the guileless blues that you fell in love with, eyes that you haven't seen look at you so softly in too long.

"I'll deal with this," he promises, ushering you into the bathroom. "You have a bath, maybe. Take your time. I'm sorry."

You reach for his arm to stop him from leaving the room. "You're… Staying, right?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Not goin' anywhere. Promise."

That's enough to convince you to let go. You strip off the big t-shirt that you were wearing and step into the shower.

You stand under the spray until the water runs cold, and only then can you will yourself to get out and scrub yourself dry. The bedroom smells strongly of bleach, but there's no sign of blood, and both John and the captain's body are gone.

You find John in the backyard, digging a grave. Your eyes glance off the body-shape wrapped in a tarp laying on the lawn a few feet away. It's impossible to know if you made the right choice.

"You alright?" he asks gently, setting the shovel to the side so he can give you his full attention.

"What… Who…" It's hard to decide what the right question is. "You're not my husband," you say at last.

"I could be," he says. "I'd like to be."

"But you're not."

"No."

"Who-- What are you, then?"

There's a strange look in his eyes for a moment, something dark and distant, like the pale glimmer of starlight across the void. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Does it matter?"

"He didn't deserve you."

It's not an answer to the question, not really, but it still tells you something. “Why do you care?”

“Because I love you,” he says, and it sounds easy, coming from his lips. You’re not sure you remember the last time your husband said that he loved you. “I’m never going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Are you going to hurt anyone else?”

“No one that doesn’t deserve it.”

That’s no different than usual. John’s made a living out of killing, and you’ve always known that. You ignored the blood on his hands, because he used to make you feel like the centre of the universe. You nod and wrap your robe more securely around yourself as you sit by the head of the grave he stands in.

“Do you remember… No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

He takes your clean hands in his dirt-streaked palms. “I remember everything. I’ve been wih him a long time. Don’t fret, love. It’ll seem like tonight was just a nightmare by the morning. I can make you forget.”

“I don’t want to forget.”

“That’s up to you.” He brings your hands to his mouth and kisses both of them. “Tomorrow, we’ll buy some roses. This is a nice spot for a garden, don’t you think? You’ve said as much before.”

“You were— He was always too busy to help.”

“Not anymore. You just tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Would you quit?” It’s something you never dared ask the Captain. It would have broken your heart to hear him say no.

John doesn’t scoff at the idea the way you know your husband would have. He nods, a pensive look on his face. “I need a little time to wrap up a few loose strings. A year? No more than two.”

“It’s that simple?”

Again, that look, like something ancient and unknowable looks out of those familiar eyes. There for a flicker, and then gone behind a soft smile. “For you? Anything.”

You’ve heard it before, but it’s been a long time since you believed it

Maybe it doesn’t matter what he really is.

He’s John, and you love him.

It’s enough.

Thinking about "came back wrong" Price, but he's come back better. John is brusque when he returns home from deployment, monosyllabic, closed off. He barely looks at you, barely speaks to you, sits in his office by himself for hours, cigar smoke creeping out into the hallway while you sit by and wait to see if the man that comes out of the room next will be the sweet, smiling, attentive man that you fell in love with, or the Captain.

You keep your head down when the Captain's home. He only needs two things from you when he's like this, and you're prompt with dinner, and bend over uncomplainingly when he tells you to. It's just a matter of time before your loving husband returns. You just have to be patient.

But this time... He's just John as soon as he walks in the door, and he beams when he sees you, and kisses you like it's all he's been able to think about during the long months away. He pulls you away from the kitchen and makes love to you, and the only smoke that fills the house is the dinner that burns while he refuses to let you out of bed. And then he offers to take you out, or order in. His eyes stay soft, and he doesn't reach for the whiskey or cigars all night.

He's buried face-first in your pussy when the door bangs open, and the Captain comes home. This is the husband you expected, eyes as cold as the stormy Atlantic, tense and ready for a fight, mouth set in a grim line. The look he gives you is murderous before he focuses on the interloper, dragging John away from you roughly.

The Captain hesitates a moment too long when he sees his own face staring back at him. It's long enough for John to lunge at him, the two of them hitting the floor, growling and snapping like dogs. The Captain goes for his gun, and John knocks it out of his grip. It skitters across the floor and stops in front of your feet.

You snatch it up, hands shaking. You tell them to stop, and they both freeze.

"Shoot him," the Captain orders.

It's obvious that John is the pretender. You should have known. It was too much to hope that he would come home happy to see you.

You study them both down the barrel of the gun, meeting the furious eyes of the Captain, and John's soft gaze. He expects that you'll do what you're told and shoot him, and he doesn't blame you. The understanding there is enough to shock you into pulling back the safety.

You take a steadying breath, and fire.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bob Floyd X Reader: Speedy Landing

a/n: Can’t stop thinking about Bob coming in his pants from desperation and being embarrassed. So yeah, that’s what this is, porn with no plot.

Warnings: smut, premature ejaculation, Bob being Bob, no use of y/n

Word count: 659

You couldn’t blame him—it wasn’t his fault. You were so beautiful, and so very desperate for him. It was impossible for him not to be just as desperate for you.

He was lying on the couch, you on top of him. Both of you were fully clothed and fully consumed by your lip-lock. He hadn’t even managed to get his uniform off before you jumped on him. The flight suit always seemed to put you in a good mood.

In between filthy kisses, you pulled back to whisper against his lips.

“Missed you.”

“I was only gone for a week,” he said with a soft laugh.

You pulled him into another messy kiss, nipping at his lip before answering.

“A week without you is a long time. Far too long.”

Bob’s brows furrowed as you moved to lick at his neck, soft whines escaping his lips.

You didn’t even realize you were doing it—not really. The way your hips moved—slow, unconscious little rocks against the growing bulge beneath you. Like your body knew what it wanted before your mind could catch up. And he let you, because how the hell could he not? He was already so hard it hurt.

It was remarkable how quickly you could get him needy for you.

The truth was, he’d missed you too. Every night he thought of you—of your warm body beside him. They weren’t even dirty thoughts, just thoughts of missing you.

He hadn’t even realized how touch-starved he was until now—until your body was pressing against him like this, warm and eager and so heartbreakingly close. Bob’s hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in, but not to stop you. Never to stop you. Just to hold on, desperately clawing at you as you continued to move against him.

God, how he loved you.

How you smelled. How you felt. How his name slipped from your lips in a breathless sigh.

He could barely breathe. You didn’t let him escape your mouth, trying to consume him entirely with only a feral kiss.

He buried his face in your neck, breathing hard, biting down on a groan as you kept moving against him, grinding in just the right way without even trying. You let soft pants into his ears, mouth moving over his neck. You were kissing him like you couldn’t get enough, like you needed him, and it was all too much—your mouth, your weight on him, the friction, the heat.

It was like a switch flipped in his head—like suddenly he’d been able to see through the foggy haze of lust. His eyes widened in realization, hands grabbing onto you with more desperation.

“Honey, please,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “You have to stop. I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

But it was already too late. His hips bucked up in their own accord. He tensed beneath you with a choked, broken sound as he came in his pants like a fucking teenager.

You didn’t even realize what had happened at first—not until you felt it. A sudden warmth seeping through the front of his flight suit, pressing hot and sticky against your inner thigh. You froze mid-motion, blinking down at him in surprise.

Bob’s face crumpled, equal parts overwhelmed and mortified.

“Fuck—I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to. You were just—Jesus, I tried to hold on—”

But you weren’t upset. Not even close.

“You came in your pants,” you whispered, almost in awe.

He groaned, covering his face with one hand.

“God, I know. Don’t—don’t say it like that.”

But you didn’t move off of him. Instead, you pressed your thighs tighter around his hips, just enough to feel the sticky warmth again. You looked at him—red-cheeked, hair mussed, lips still wet from your kisses—and you felt your core clench with the sheer heat of it. Your hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, and he shuddered beneath you.

“That,” you said, voice low and reverent, “was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

[psycholuvrgirl]

the 6 date disasters: the chaperone | series masterlist

featuring... megumi!

summary: a romantic night in takes a turn when your teacher shows up.

warnings: heated make out scene, no actual smut though

a/n: i think i'm going to change my dividers...

megumi planned this whole thing out. but megumi doesn’t plan dates, he stumbles into them. he just asks to hang out and ends up making the whole ordeal romantic without trying to.

but not tonight. tonight is intentional.

his dorm is clean. and not normal fushiguro clean, it’s too clean. the room is clear of anything that could make it look lived in, bed made, not a speck of dust or dirt in the room. soft music plays from the speaker you bought him ages ago, some instrumental playlist that he spent hours on. the lights are low, a few warm candles flickering on the shelves. he looks nervous.

and very, very pretty.

his jaw is tense, his eyes flickering to you and away again. he wears a soft black shirt that you’ve never seen before, but it looks perfect on him. when you show up and smile a real smile, he flushes so fast that you think he might combust. 

you know exactly what tonight is. or at least what tonight is supposed to be, and you want it just as badly.

so you don’t make him say it out loud. you let things unfold the way he clearly wants them to, slow and soft. like the moment is sacred, because it is.

at first, you sit close to one another, legs brushing. you talk and sip on tea that you can barely taste, but the conversation is quickly replaced with long, weighty looks and quiet stillness.

when he finally leans in, you meet him halfway.

the kiss starts sweet, gentle, and familiar. but then your hands slide up his chest and he makes a sound in the back of his throat. his fingers curl tightly around your waist, and just like that the entire mood changes.

his tongue slips into your mouth as his hand finds your thigh. he tugs you onto his lap and it all happens so fast. your bodies move like a perfectly choreographed dance, tension finally snapping loose. you’re straddling him, hands in his hair, mouth hot against his.

“are you sure?” you murmur, just in case.

megumi nods. “yeah. i’ve been— fuck, i’ve been thinking about this all week.”

that does something to you, making your eyes widen and your stomach do a flip.

he tilts his head, kissing down your neck. his grip on your hips tightens and you shift against him, pulling a groan from his lips. his hands slide up your shirt and your heart pounds. he’s hard under you, you can feel it.

and then… knock knock.

you both go still, looking at the door.

“don’t,” he whispers. “don’t answer it.”

“i wasn’t gonna—”

then the door flies open.

gojo’s voice rings out, loud and casual as always. “oh, megumi,” he says in a sing-song voice, dragging out the end of the name. “i brought those snacks you like. also, we need to talk about your training schedule because—” he pauses when he looks up from the grocery bag, blinking. “oh.” he takes in every detail. you in megumi’s lap, your shirt pushed up with megumi’s hands still under it. gojo beams. “wow. about time, huh?”

you scramble off of him, trying to fix your clothes.

“get out!” megumi shouts.

gojo flops down onto his bed, megumi’s bed, with absolutely no remorse. “relax. i’m just here to check in, you weren’t answering your texts.”

“because i was busy,” megumi growls out.

gojo’s already unwrapping a candy bar. “clearly.”

“how did you even get in? i locked the door.”

“i have a key,” gojo says simply.

you sit on the edge of the bed, stunned to silence by the entire situation. you glance at megumi, who looks one inconvenience away from a felony.

he storms over and grabs gojo’s arm. “get. out.”

gojo remains limp on the covers. “you’re so tense, fushiguro. it’s unhealthy. you need to talk more about your feelings instead of getting so physical. well, maybe getting physical is just what you need—”

megumi drags gojo halfway off the bed. “i swear to god—”

gojo swings his legs off the mattress and opts to lean against the desk. “okay, okay. i’m going. but seriously? proud of you for finally getting laid.”

“we weren’t—” you protest.

gojo grins. “don’t lie to me. i walked in on a scene straight out of a fanfic. candles? music? fushiguro, you romantic dog.”

megumi looks like he might pass out.

you bury your face in your hands. “please leave.”

gojo waves as he steps out the door. “alright, alright. i’ll be in my room, being lonely and unloved.”

“have fun with that,” megumi sneers, slamming the door shut and locking it. he lets out a groan as he slumps onto the bed. “i’m going to kill him.”

you sit beside him and slip your hand into his. “you tried to kill him.”

“i had a plan for tonight,” he mutters. “a whole plan!”

you glance down at his lap and notice that he’s still… affected.

you bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “we could still salvage tonight.”

he turns to look at you slowly, hope in his eyes.

“besides,” you say, “he won’t come back, and everyone else is out on missions.”

a grin creeps up on megumi’s face. and then he leans back in for a kiss.

[rafesteddy]

𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓓𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓮…

694 words

𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯 | rafe teaches his daughter to drive.

This doesn't need to be read with the rest of the AU. Max, who is mentioned, is her older brother.

for @zyafics and her #zyafixs-mrgacampaign 🌈

c/w: none

You brace yourself as the car bucks forward again—jolting like a carnival ride gone wrong—then immediately cuts out.

The engine sputters into silence. And the silence that follows is all too loud.

Winnie lets out a groan, her grip on the wheel gets harder, fingers digging in. She doesn’t look over, doesn’t say a word. Just sits there, stiff under the seatbelt, like if she moves even a little she might lose it.

From where you’re sitting, it’s plain as day—she’s not just pissed. She’s on the edge. You can see it in her jaw, the way her eyes flick but don’t settle, like she’s trying real hard not to cry in front of you. And maybe that’s what makes it worse.

Her eyes flash up to the rearview mirror and land on you. Her voice is sharp. “Are you done?”

It stings, but not as much as the hurt you hear tucked behind the bite. You raise your hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean—I just. Baby, you’re doing great.”

Rafe’s voice cuts in, warm and steady. “Hey.” He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t even raise his voice. Rafe reaches one hand over to steady the steering wheel, the other coming to rest gently on Winnie’s shoulder. “Hey. Look at me.”

She does; chest rising fast, eyes glossy.

“You’re not breathing,” he murmurs. “Take a breath, sweetheart.”

He inhales, deep and even, and waits until she does too, reluctantly, but she does. You see her jaw unclench a little.

“You’re not supposed to get it right today,” he tells her, voice like gravel softened with concern. “You’ve never done this before, nobody expects you to be perfect.”

“I do,” she mutters, but it comes out smaller than before. “This is so stupid. Tali didn’t have to learn stick. Why do I?”

Rafe leans back enough to look at her more fully, but keeps his hand where it is.

“Max learned… You’ll learn. I want you to know how to drive everything. Not just the easy shit. I want you to be able to get out of anywhere, any car, any situation.”

Winnie scoffs, but it’s half-hearted. “What kind of ‘situation’ am I gonna be in where I’m randomly stuck with a manual?”

“The kind where someone’s givin’ you a ride you shouldn’t take,” he says, calm but firm. “The kind where the only way out has three pedals and a stick shift.”

She goes quiet, letting that sink in.

“I’m not teaching you this because I think you’re reckless,” he says after a beat. “Or weak. Or not smart enough to be safe on your own.”

His thumb traces a slow, grounding line across her shoulder.

“I’m teachin’ you because I know how strong you are. Because you’re ours; the most important thing we’ve got. And because I’ve seen what the world can do to girls who don’t know how to leave fast when it matters.”

You glance at her from the backseat, and she’s chewing on her cheek now, blinking hard. “I just wanted to be good at it,” she mumbles.

“You will be,” Rafe says, with zero hesitation. “You already are. You just don’t see it yet.”

“Mhmm…” She hums.

“Though you did stall out like four times already, so maybe we save NASCAR tryouts for next summer.”

Winnie rolls her eyes. “Hilarious.”

“You laughed,” he points out, smug.

“I smirked. That’s not the same.”

“You got this, alright. We’ve got nothin’ but time, Win,” he says, quieter now.

You watch the tension start to fade from her shoulders as she turns the key again.

The car hums to life. She shifts into first, slower this time; carefully. And this time, it doesn’t jerk. She eases forward—just a little—but it’s progress. And you feel it. You all do.

Rafe’s lips twitch into a smile. He’s proud, and not hiding it. Winnie doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t say anything. Just keeps driving; one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, grit in her teeth, and pride in her eyes too.

You don’t know if she’s looking at the road or at Rafe through the corner of her eye, maybe both. But she drives.

@rafesthroatbaby | @ietss | @lilithblackkk | @rafecameronsfavourite | @my-name-is-baby | @urmotherlvr | @forgiveliv | @barnesboo1967 | @wtfisastiles | @k4yr14 | @taliescapes | @rafesbuzzcutseason | @sky-44 | @biascriptum | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @lolasangelz | @st8rkey | @lhhlver | @slut-4-rafey | @gri959 | @prettybabyyyy | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @maybankslover | @littlelamy | @buckybarnessweetheart | @angelicameron | @lover-girlyy | @rcameronlova1 | @rafesbabygirlx | @mayanqueenxx | @bimbob1tch | @dylsdaily | @blair-bears-blog | @akobx | @countryclubwhore | @esmerai-artemis | @jkmylove97 | @wtfdudesblog | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @yasmin-oviedo | @queen-cs | @floredaqueen | @alexxavicry | @aerie717 | @cokewithcameron | @premiumshitt | @rcameronlova1 | @zyafics

[i-love-zelda-16]

dear precious lu fandom, this post is for you <3

I LOVE YOU ALL DEARLY! you are all super cool, amazing, and incredibly talented!!!!!!! no, not someone else, you 🫵. <3

but um. i’m not mad at all, i’m just trying to maybe help calm this fandom down a bit. can we please stop the fanon vs. canon arguing?? or dissing others because they ‘haven’t played the games’?

i’ve tried to stay out of this. but when i search #linked universe, it pains me to see my dear fandom and fellow friends upset. this has been weighing on me. i’m not usually this serious, as those who know me probably recognize.

heacanons are amazing. headcanons are cool. i want to be able to headcanon that Hyrule is a sweet lil bean and Wind is a chaotic lil sailor pirate boy without being flamed, but recently we’ve been dissing each others’ headcanons. just because you disagree with someone’s headcanon does not mean you can ‘correct’ them or tell them it’s a bad headcanon. they love the blorbos too. in the nicest way possible, mind your own business please.

second, let’s not diss people for ‘not playing the games’. for example, i haven’t beaten Link’s Awakening. does that mean i can’t write Legend/Marin angst? no, of course i can write Legend/Marin angst, i love writing that! or even simpler, i’ve seen just straight up teasing, bullying, or saying someone’s ‘not a true fan’ because they haven’t beaten all the games. again, in the nicest way possible, this is ridiculous; not everyone can afford to beat all the games and not everyone has the time to beat all the games. from what i’ve seen, it seems almost like some people won’t be satisfied until the person they’re conversing with has 100%ed all the games— again, a crazy expectation. i personally don’t care if you’ve played all 21 canon games or none at all and you barely know anything about Zelda; i will treat you with kindness and respect, and i really hope others would do the same. shouldn’t we be trying to be kind and encourage new fans to enter the fandom?

everyone, please consider this your wakeup call. and please stop arguing. <3

again, i love you all dearly, and this fandom is the best thing that has ever happened to me. but please consider what i have to say <3

THANK YOU SINCERELY IF YOU READ THIS FAR!!!!!! <3

[littlejoyss]

𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 9

“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”

Stray Kids - Felix x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 21k

𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 ← 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 → 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 (coming soon!)

The show had started five hours ago. It was full of chaos, as expected. And your models were supposed to start walking in an hour.

You barely had time to gather your breath before the curtain pulled back again, revealing seven very familiar silhouettes peeking cautiously into the alcove.

Changbin was the first to step fully inside. “Uh… are we interrupting something?” he asked, eyes darting between you and Felix like a nosy sibling catching someone mid-confession.

“No,” you and Felix said at the same time.

“You sure?” Seungmin deadpanned. “Because this feels like the part in a drama where we’re supposed to back out slowly and give you privacy.”

Lee Know crossed his arms and leaned against the wardrobe rack like he owned the place. “Too late. We’re here now. Besides, someone,” he shot a look at Chan, “wanted us to actually introduce ourselves instead of hovering like weird bodyguards.”

Felix laughed, stepping aside to make space. “Guys, this is her, the genius I haven’t shut up about for about a month now.”

Jeongin looked both bashful and starstruck. “Hi. I love your designs. Like, actually. I’ve never seen anything like what you did with that ombré silk and the beaded cuffs.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You know about the cuffs?”

“Oh, he knows everything,” Han chimed in, nudging him with his shoulder. “He watched the leaked rehearsal video three times. You’re a legend in the group chat right now.”

Hyunjin stepped forward, his eyes tracing the half-staged looks on the rack with reverent curiosity. “You did all this with substitute materials? After someone tried to erase your concept?”

Your throat bobbed. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

“You made it look like one,” Chan said quietly, stepping into view. “That’s what makes you different.”

There was a beat of silence where the air felt weighted with unspoken respect. None of them were putting on an idol charm or saying what they thought they should. They were just seeing you, tired, resilient, and stubborn. 

“Felix said you were scary when you’re focused,” Han said, eyebrows wiggling. “I didn’t believe him. But… yeah. You’ve got that ‘make-a-grown-man-cry-in-fittings’ aura.”

Felix gasped in mock betrayal. “You promised not to say anything!”

“I said it was a compliment!” Han retorted. “She looks like someone who commands a fashion army, not like someone who’s been surviving on stress and thread.”

You snorted. “That’s probably accurate.”

The wardrobe alcove wasn’t big, and with eight idols inside, it was starting to feel less like a safe haven and more like a very glamorous closet. But none of you seemed to mind.

Hyunjin gently picked up a headpiece you hadn’t had time to box yet, delicate wirework and mother-of-pearl pieces arcing like wings. He turned it in his hands with the care of someone who understood how long it must’ve taken to make.

“This belongs in a museum,” he murmured. “Or a gallery.”

You met his eyes. “Or on a runway, in fifty-five minutes.”

He smiled, handing it back like it was precious cargo. “You’re going to steal the whole show.”

Bang Chan stepped beside Felix, lowering his voice just enough to keep it between you three. “If you need anything. Statement, support, literally anything. We’re all here for you. You’re the first soulmate of one of our members, so you’re a little special.” 

“Thank you,” you said softly. “Seriously. All of you. You didn’t have to come back here, or say anything, but-”

“But we did,” Changbin interrupted, firm and warm. “Because he loves you.”

Felix turned bright red. “Bin!”

“What?” Changbin shrugged. “She should know. She deserves to know.”

“Got it,” you whispered, your smile matching the flutter in your chest.

“Okay, sappy time over,” Bora announced, poking her head in again like the unflappable queen she was. “Makeup touch-ups in three, model lineup in five, showtime in twenty. Anyone not actively sewing or strutting, out.”

There was a scramble. Stray Kids didn’t need to be told twice, though not without dramatic goodbyes.

“Can we get a picture with the genius before we’re kicked out?” Han asked, already pulling out his phone.

You laughed. “One. And someone tell Seungmin to stop pretending he’s not excited to be backstage.”

“I’m composed,” Seungmin deadpanned, but his phone camera was already open too.

They gathered around you, chaotic and warm, arms thrown around each other like they’d been doing this for years. Felix stood beside you, his hand grazing your waist.

The flash went off.

“Legendary,” Han declared. 

As the others dispersed with a few final waves and chaotic bickering, Felix lingered. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear before pressing his lips lightly to your forehead. “Go knock them out,” he whispered.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the hum of the venue, the curtain swaying in his wake.

You exhaled. Then squared your shoulders.

The noise of the crowd swelled beyond the backstage walls. Models slipped into their final looks. Your assistants flurried around you with pins and tape and calm panic.

Your show was next. Your story was next. And you were ready to tell it in every stitch they tried to erase, in every detail you fought to bring back to life. Because no one could silence a designer who had found her voice. Not even Jiwoo.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

  The announcer spoke over the speaker, announcing your name to the crowd.

You heard it from backstage, your name echoing across the venue in perfect pronunciation, your brand stitched into the air like your embroidery on silk. The spotlight shifted to the edge of the runway, where a sleek black podium stood waiting.

Bora appeared at your side with a mic and a fire in her eyes. “It’s time. Go out there and let them know who you are.”

You took the mic with both hands, grounding yourself in the weight of it. Around you, your team stilled, models in half-laced boots, assistants gripping lint rollers mid-swipe. Even the hum of backstage fell to a hush.

One step. Two. Then you were past the curtain, stepping into the light.

The crowd murmured. Cameras clicked like a second heartbeat. Behind the runway, a massive screen flashed your name and collection title in bold, serif font. The music dipped just enough for the audience to feel the gravity of the moment.

You reached the center of the stage and paused. The podium mic caught a soft intake of your breath, but you didn’t flinch.

You lifted the mic. “Good evening,” you began, voice steady, clear, and somehow louder than the stadium-sized venue. “My name is …, and tonight’s collection is called Golden Resilience.”

A subtle shift rippled through the audience.

“I won’t take too much of your time, because the clothes will say everything I need to. But I want to tell you one thing before the first heel touches this runway.”

You took a breath, fingers tightening just slightly around the mic. “This collection almost didn’t happen. Materials went missing. Plans fell apart. Some of the original fabrics you’ll see tonight were never even meant to exist in this show. And yet, here they are.”

You let your breath fill your chest, grounding you in the moment. The runway lights were hot, and the silence was heavier than silk. “When I came to Korea, I wasn’t expecting my life to take this big of a turn. I thought I was just here to build a name for myself. Maybe prove a point. I had a vision, a sketchbook full of dreams, and enough ambition to power a city block. But then something unexpected happened. Something that rewrote everything I thought I knew about design, about why I create.”

You looked past the glare of the lights, past the rows of cameras and editors, toward the shadowed third row where you knew he sat.

“I found my soulmate.”

There were audible gasps. 

“I know many of you probably saw the headlines and the guesses in the media,” you continued. “But I didn’t want my first public confirmation to come from a photo or a rumor. I wanted it to come from me. From this.”

You swept a hand gently toward the runway, the garments lined in waiting just out of view.

“This collection was originally born from pain, creative pressure, fear of failure, and sabotage. But as I rebuilt it… I realized what I was really stitching into each piece. Hope. Trust. Safety. The kind of softness that only comes when someone sees you for exactly who you are and says, ‘Yes. You’re enough.’”

The spotlight narrowed slightly, sharpening around you like the universe was leaning in. “Golden Resilience isn’t just about bouncing back. It’s about who you become when you realize you don’t have to fight alone. When you meet someone who loves you not despite your cracks, but because of them.”

“This is my love letter. To resilience and rebuilding. And yes, to the boy who sat beside me on the floor while I worked, bringing me tea and folding scrap fabric just to keep me company.”

Your voice softened, but carried. “So, whether you’ve found your soulmate yet or not, I hope this collection reminds you that love doesn’t just look like flowers and kisses. Sometimes, it looks like thread. Like a golden string that holds you together.” You lift your pinky finger to remind everyone that they’re own soulmate thread is there. “And now… welcome to Golden Resilience.”

The lights dimmed. A heartbeat of silence. Then, the music began.

Your first model stepped out, draped in yellow hues. Every inch of fabric shimmered with intention. The gown’s train moved like water, embroidered with symbols you thought you'd lost when Jiwoo tried to bury your designs.

You stepped back, away from the podium, melting into the shadows as your story unfolded in silk and sequins.

Applause rose softly, respectful, awed. Not the kind of clapping people gave because it was expected, but the kind they offered when something hit them right in the chest.

Dress after dress, your designs walked the line between softness and steel. A cape that had been dyed into the deep blue of comfort, a jacket lined with fabric scraps, and a menswear piece with golden thread running through the collar.

You caught a glimpse of the boys from Stray Kids along the left wing, sitting now, faces beaming, clapping softly without stealing focus. Felix had a hand over his mouth, his eyes glossy in a way that told you he wasn’t blinking.

You waved lightly at him. He didn’t wave back. Not because he didn’t see you, but because if he did, he might cry. So instead, he placed his hand over his heart. Just once. You smiled, then turned your attention back to the runway.

There was a pantsuit dyed in golden tones, the fabric stiff at the shoulders and soft at the waist. Another model wore a coat with blue thread, glittering as they moved. 

And then came the look that silenced even the camera shutters. The finale dress.

Made of layered translucent silk, gold melting into rose, it moved like sunrise after the longest night. The bodice was embroidered in delicate loops of thread, the same design you used to sketch in the margins of your notebook when you thought no one would ever see your work. Attached to the back, a dramatic cape was placed. It was shaped like phoenix wings. 

The crowd gasped again, unfiltered this time. Some even stood.

The model at the center of it all walked like she already knew the runway beneath her was solid gold. And behind her, every dress that came before began to return one by one, flooding the runway with your army of resilience. Applause thundered. A full standing ovation.

You stepped forward with your bow. 

You bowed. Once. Twice.

And then, when you lifted your head. Felix was there. He was no longer seated. He had stepped just beside the runway, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he was holding himself together. When your eyes met, he gave you the smallest, most grounding smile. Then he mouthed: Told you you’d knock them out.

You laughed, even through the sting in your eyes.

As you turned to take your final bow, you were bathed in gold, but not from the lights. 

The string around your pinky glowed even brighter than when you first saw him. (A/N: This isn't over yet! The next release will be the last couple of parts. But...I have an itch to write more skz stuff! Could you vote on what you want below?)

taglist (comment to be added): @shinygubbins @lizzygd @btch8008s @under--space @monniemons @chimmyn0chu @wickedbutlovely @sunanlix @beal-o @valkirymin @moonlitcelestial @wolfhallows4 @beppybeesnuggets @eridanuswave @lynastrawberry @multiifanbigbang @yxna-bliss @chasinghxran @velvetmoonlght @rylea08 @rjrjhfvrvdhdhrvvrrv @daisylove3 @rougegenshin @wolfs-howling @akindaflora @felixsonlyrealwife @chaosandcandies @ateez-atiny380 

[pittsick]

RODEO BRUISES .ᐟ

summary: It took only a few seconds for you to fall down that horse. Legs, hips, back and the aching feeling of bruises already forming on your body. And Dodge, your boyfriend, is worried. But a massage and some fingering later, you both end up relaxed.

pairing: dodge mason x afab!girlfriend.

cw: +18. mdni. 2.8k words. praise. overstimulation. fingering. multiple orgasms. dirty-talking. aftercare.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @museboos, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @artstennisracket, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie

You should’ve seen the fall coming. The way your horse twitched under you, the crack of something in the trees, the second of stillness before the storm. But you didn’t. One sharp jolt and you were airborne—then earthbound. Shoulder first. Hip second. The wind punched out of your lungs like a slap to the chest.

Now you’re lying on your stomach in Dodge’s bed, your body aching in a dozen places, skin flushed warm from the hot bath he insisted on drawing for you earlier. You’re wearing only an oversized t-shirt—his—and a pair of soft cotton panties. The arnica oil sits on the nightstand beside you, and he’s rubbing it into your sore muscles with quiet, focused intensity.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, kneeling beside the bed as his hands press gentle circles into your lower back. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. You weren’t moving.”

“I’m okay now,” you murmur, voice muffled by the pillow. “Thanks to you.”

His thumbs press along your spine, just enough to stretch out the ache without pushing too far. Dodge’s hands are warm, rough in all the right ways. You can feel the calluses catch on your skin now and then, but they don’t hurt. They remind you of who he is—of how many times those same hands have steadied you, cupped your face, tugged you close like he didn’t trust the world to keep you safe.

“Can’t believe you’re still lettin’ me touch you,” he says softly, like the guilt’s still pressing into his chest. “I should’ve kept a better eye on you.”

You exhale a sleepy sound. “You weren’t the one who spooked the horse.”

“Still.”

His touch lingers at the small of your back. The room is dim—sunlight gone, leaving only the amber glow of the bedside lamp. You hear him open the oil bottle again, feel the warmth of it as he rubs it between his hands.

He starts again, slow and purposeful. First at your shoulders, then your back, kneading the soreness from your muscles in long, deliberate strokes. But this time, he doesn’t stop there. His hands slide lower—tracing the curves of your hips, then down, until his palms are resting over the swell of your ass. He does it in a way that you know is not sexual.

You shift slightly, breath hitching, still. Because it’s Dodge, and every little attention coming from him makes your body boil. Hot like summer, heat pooling inside your stomach without permission from your brain.

“Still okay?” he murmurs, low and close to your ear.

“Yes,” you whisper, and your body betrays you by arching into his touch just a little.

His thumbs move in careful circles across the soft flesh there, rubbing out the tension like he has every right to touch you this way—and he does. It’s tender. Reassuring. But there’s something else behind it too, simmering slow. The edge of want.

“You’ve got the prettiest ass I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs like it’s a confession. “Soft, even when you’re bruised.”

You let out a shaky laugh, still face-down in the pillow. “You’re not helping me rest, you know.”

“You want me to stop?”

You shake your head. Of course you don’t.

Dodge hums like he already knew the answer. His hands glide over your thighs, up again, then closer—until his thumbs brush along the crease where your thighs meet your core. The fabric of your panties is thin, barely separating his hands from the heat of you.

“You’re warm here,” he says quietly, almost reverently. “Real warm.”

You bury your face deeper into the pillows.

“You’re blushing,” he teases softly like he knows without needing to see your face, and he’s kissing the back of your thigh. “What, just from a little massage?”

“It’s not just the massage,” you mutter, and he laughs against your skin—low and fond.

He’s careful as he touches you, rubbing slow circles over your clothed pussy. One hand slips under your shirt again to rest warm on your lower back, grounding you. The other moves between your legs, teasing along your slit through the dampening cotton.

“You’re wet already,” he murmurs, voice dipping even lower. “All this just from me touchin’ you like this?”

You nod against the pillow, your breath shuddering.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft, baby. You always get like this when I take my time with you.”

A soft whimper escapes your throat, hips twitching as he touches you through your panties with maddening patience. He presses a little harder over your clit with his thumb, the pressure slow and steady, and you make a strangled sound into the sheets.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Let me take care of you.”

He slides the fabric to the side then, baring you to the warm air of the room. His fingers glide between your folds, wet and hot and already pulsing for more. When he dips a finger just against your entrance, you whimper.

“God, you’re so ready,” he groans. “So fuckin’ wet for me.”

His fingers stroke back up, teasing around your clit again before he leans down, breath hot over the curve of your ass. “You make the sweetest sounds, you know that? Every little cry just for me.”

You cry out again as he presses a finger inside—just one, slow and steady. It slides in easy, thanks to how wet you already are. You clench around him instinctively. “There we go,” he whispers. “That feel good?”

You nod, moaning into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, Dodge—”

He adds another finger, stretching you carefully, curling just enough to make your thighs tremble. The hand on your lower back strokes comfortingly, holding you in place as he fucks you slow with his fingers.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groans. “So fuckin’ needy tonight.”

“I c-can’t—” your voice cracks as you try to hold still. Your hips grind back into his hand on instinct. “You can,” he coaxes, voice going impossibly soft. “You always can for me, baby. Give me that first one. Let it out.”

It rises fast—so fast your breath can’t keep up. You come with a cry muffled in the pillow, your body shaking as you fall apart under his hand when his fingers hit your spongy spot multiple times. Tears slip down your cheeks and Dodge catches them with his thumb.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing the dip of your lower back. “That’s it. So fuckin’ good.”

He keeps going—slow, unrelenting—and the overstimulation hits like a wave. You whine, writhing against the bed as his fingers work your soaked cunt. “You’ve got more,” he whispers, low and certain. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I—it’s too much—Please—More…”

“It’s perfect,” he counters, and his voice is full of something warm and molten. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry.”

The second orgasm crashes over you, harder than the first. You sob into the mattress, trembling as he talks you through it, rubbing slow circles over your clit with his free fingers as your cunt pulses around his digits.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s my girl.”

You lay there panting, body shaking. He slows, finally withdrawing his fingers, and you hear the wet sound of it, slick coating his hand. He presses a kiss to the small of your back, then one to your thigh, then higher. “You alright?” he asks quietly, hand smoothing over your back.

You nod, still breathless. “I’m so good.”

He kisses your shoulder. “That was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” You let out a laugh, exhausted and floaty. “You’re gonna kill me with compliments.”

He chuckles, laying down beside you and resting a hand on your lower back. “Only if it gets you to cry like that again.”

You’re still trembling beneath him, cheek pressed into the pillow, your body limp and warm with the afterglow of two back-to-back orgasms. Your skin feels tight and glowing, like you’ve been cracked open and poured full of honey. Dodge’s hand is now resting between your shoulder blades, gentle and grounding.

“You alright, baby?” he murmurs again, his voice a little hoarse with want.

You hum a breathless yes, too gone to say much else. But your hips twitch when his palm trails back down, between your thighs again, where you’re slick and aching. He groans softly at the sight.

“Goddamn,” he says low, reverent. “You’re even more soaked.”

You bury your face deeper in the pillow, embarrassed—but it only makes him smile. He leans over you, kissing the back of your neck, your shoulder, the warm patch of skin just behind your ear. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he teases softly. “Not when your pretty pussy’s beggin’ for more.”

You shiver, and your legs part instinctively as his fingers return. He strokes along your folds again—slow, lazy, just enjoying the feel of you. You let out a soft sound, half-whimper, half-plea.

“You want more?” he asks gently. “You gotta say it.”

“Please…” Your voice is rough, sweet with exhaustion. “More.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He pushes two fingers back inside you easily, curling them deep. You gasp, your hips rolling down into the bed, your thighs twitching. “Still so fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs. “And you just came twice.” You moan, the pressure of him filling you again like a balm and a brand. He adds a third finger slowly, easing you open with care, watching your body stretch around him.

You gasp, the stretch bordering on too much—but just barely. Your muscles clench, trying to adjust, and Dodge strokes your back soothingly, kissing your spine.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Just breathe through it, baby. You’re takin’ me so well.”

He works them slowly, twisting and curling until your thighs begin to tremble again. You feel full, stuffed, stretched in the most tender way—your hips pinned to the mattress, your whole body reduced to sensation.

“Feels good,” you whisper, voice cracking. “So full, Dodge—”

“I know,” he croons. “You’re doin’ perfect. Always so sweet for me.” You sob into the pillow, overwhelmed by the heat pooling in your belly again. You didn’t think you had anything left, but the pressure’s building fast, sharp and hot and electric.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades. “Give me another. Come for me again. Let me see you fall apart.”

You try to hold it, just for a second longer—but it slams into you without warning. You cry out, hands clutching the sheets as your whole body tenses, shudders, and breaks. Your thighs are soaked now, his fingers working you through it until you’re gasping for air.

Tears wet your face, hot and steady. Dodge strokes your hip, coos into your ear like he’s trying to settle a wild thing.

“There she is,” he whispers. “There’s my girl.”

You don’t know how long you lie there, panting and shaking, skin flushed and nerves blazing. Dodge is still behind you, still touching you—gentle now, tracing circles into your skin with the pads of his fingers. His lips ghost along your spine, your shoulder blades, your ass.

“You still with me?” he asks finally.

You nod, still face-down in the pillow. “I’m here.”

“Did so good,” he says, voice thick with awe. “Let me fuckin’ ruin you without even movin’ you.”

You laugh weakly. “I don’t think I can walk anyway.”

He laughs too, kissing your hip. “Good. You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” You can feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh through his jeans, but he hasn’t taken his own pleasure—not yet. He’s too focused on you. Always has been. “Want me to stop?” he asks, even now. Always checking. Always careful.

You shake your head, arching weakly into his touch. “Don’t stop. Just… slower.” He hums, satisfied. “You wanna give me one more?”

You gasp, half-laughing, half-delirious. “I don’t even know if I can.”

“That’s alright, baby,” he whispers, settling back between your thighs, his hand already moving again—slow and purposeful, dragging your pleasure out like he has all the time in the world.

And Dodge?

He’s gonna make sure you remember it with every inch of your trembling body.

The room is quiet again, save for the sound of your breathing—still a little unsteady but settling, and the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you. Dodge stays close, his lips brushing your lower back, his hands warm where they rest on the swell of your hips.

You hum, soft and dazed, face still turned into the pillow. You’re boneless, stretched out and melted, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. You can feel your thighs still wet and sticky, your panties damp and clinging to the side, your body flushed with the aftershocks of everything he gave you.

But Dodge doesn’t rush. He never does.

"Alright, sweetheart," he murmurs into the small of your back. "Gonna get you cleaned up. Don't move, I’ve got it."

You feel the bed dip as he gets up, hear him padding across the room. The sound of a faucet running, a towel being wrung out. His care is quiet, reverent. Like he’s handling something precious.

When he comes back, he slides down beside you, and you flinch at the first contact—the towel is warm, wet, and soft as he eases your legs apart just enough to wipe gently between them. He murmurs something under his breath when he sees the mess, but it’s not dirty, not crude. It’s wonder. It’s pride.

“Look what you gave me,” he whispers, thumb brushing the inside of your thigh. “You were so good for me. So damn perfect.” You blink, eyes glassy from overstimulation and tears. Your lips twitch into a lazy smile.

He’s so careful as he cleans you, wiping you down with slow, tender strokes. He presses kisses to the backs of your knees, your thighs, the curve of your spine. And then, with the towel tossed aside, his fingers return—but not to tease, not to start anything new.

He starts massaging you again.

Same as before—like it’s still about your fall, still about the tight muscles and tension from the saddle and the ground. He starts at your ankles, kneading slow and steady. You sigh, letting yourself go limp all over again.

“You weren’t lyin’ earlier,” he says softly, voice full of affection. “Took a hell of a hit.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Was worth it.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t say that. I’d rather you keep your pretty bones in one piece.”

His hands glide up your calves, thumbs pressing into the flesh, gentle but firm. You twitch a little when he hits a sore spot, but he kisses your ankle in apology, smoothing the tension with a few more careful passes. "You like me takin’ care of you like this?" he asks quietly.

“Mmhmm.”

“You deserve it,” he says simply, like it’s fact. “Deserve to be touched real nice. Spoken to sweet. Made to feel good.”

Your chest tightens at that. There’s so much love in his voice it makes you ache.

He continues the massage, now at your thighs, avoiding your sore hips but stroking the surrounding muscles with steady care. The sensation is grounding. His touch, worshipful. There’s no rush now—no teasing, no game. Just love.

He kneads the small of your back, gentle over the spot that took the brunt of the fall. When you flinch a little, he pauses, kisses the ache, and moves around it. “Gonna need to ice that tomorrow,” he murmurs. “But for now, I’ll be your heat pack.”

You let out a sleepy giggle into the pillow.

He eventually stops massaging and shifts up the bed beside you, slipping under the covers, arms sliding around your waist. You’re still on your stomach, too dazed to flip, but he just wraps himself around you from behind, chest to your back, one hand slipping beneath the hem of your oversized shirt to stroke your waist.

“You know I love you, right?” he murmurs.

You nod instantly. “Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

“Good,” he says, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “’Cause I do. More than I know what to do with, sometimes.” You press your hand to his forearm where it’s draped over your side, squeezing lightly.

His voice dips lower, soft and sure. “Next time you fall off a horse, don’t wait for me to come find you, alright? You come to me right away.”

You smile against the pillow. “You’d always take care of me like this?” He laughs, husky and low. “Girl, I’ll take care of you like this every night if you want.”

“You’d wear your fingers out.”

“You’re worth it,” he says without missing a beat. “Every damn second.”

You turn your head just enough to see his face—his messy hair, his sleep-heavy eyes, the soft curve of his smile. He kisses your forehead, your temple, your cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth. “Sleep now,” he whispers. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And he is. Always.

[beaviu]

wrong table, right person .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ — sjy

⋆˚꩜｡ 002 :: not so ready

ʚଓ m.list — prev — next

synopsis . ❀ ݁ ˖ yn finally agrees to a blind date to finally shut her bffs up about her tragic dating life. Dressed to impress but armed with zero expectations, she arrives at a café, scans the room, and sits across from a guy who checks every box: handsome yet cute, and surprisingly sarcastic in a way that keeps her on her toes. Only one problem: he’s not her date. Jake, a schools heartthrob laying low not to be caught by his fan girls, is just trying to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee when a stranger slides into the seat across from him and starts talking like they know each other. Intrigued — and a little bored — he plays along. What starts as a mistaken identity turns into a full-blown accidental date. And when yn finally realizes her mixup… she walks away mortified. But Jake? He can’t stop thinking about her. Now he’s determined to find her again — without revealing who he really is. As fate (or nosy mutual friends) brings them back together, their story becomes anything but accidental. Because sometimes, love finds you at the wrong table — at exactly the right time.

“Oh my god, you guys really didn’t have to come over,” yn says, rummaging through her closet in a frantic attempt to find something to wear. Kai chuckles from the corner of the room, shaking his head. “bro you need all the help you can get. Whatever you’re doing to scare these guys off, it’s definitely working.”

Meanwhile, Juyeon is casually snacking on whatever he could find in yns fridge, seemingly unfazed by the chaos in the room. Yumi, who’s also digging through yns closet, suddenly stops and gasps. “yn! Look! Wear this! It’s perfect!” she exclaims, holding up a black off the shoulder top and a cute dark wash mini skirt “pfft is that even going to fit on her, I haven’t seen her wear that shirt since forever” wonbin says next to juyeon whos also snacking on the same thing

yn glares at wonbin and then glances at the mess of clothes scattered all over the room. “I don’t know if this is going to fit, ugh it doesn’t even look like it can go over my head bro” “Trust me,” Yumi says, grinning. “At this point, you’ve got nothing to lose nini” “wow thanks for all the support my loving friends who have gotten me into this situation in the first place” yn says laying on the floor making a snow angel with all her clothes on the floor.

“oh my god can you try it on already we don’t have all day” juyeon says rummaging through her fridge even more trying to find her secret stash of food. yn noticing “yea i will if you can get your fat fingers away from my fridge” juyeon gasps loudly “cmonnnn nini go try it on” yumi forces her to get up and pushes her towards her bathroom door. “ok fine but if i look like a hot mess im not coming out” “OH CMONN THATS THE FUN PART” kai yells from his corner and wonbin nodding silently from the kitchen counter.

“Oh my god, is she seriously still laying on the floor?” Juyeon calls out from the kitchen counter, voice muffled by the fridge door as he digs through it, clearly trying to find yns secret stash of snacks. “We’re starving, and you’re still deciding if that shirt fits? Just get it over with already!” yn groans from the floor “I swear, youre worse than my mom. stop nagging me lee juyeon!! I’ll try it on when I want to gosh”

“Ugh, don’t act like we’re the problem here,” wonbin teases, walking toward the bathroom door. “The only thing slowing this down is you. Just try it on! I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone take so long to put on a shirt.” juyeon complains like theres no tomorrow as yumi gently pushes yn towards the bathroom door and wonbin opening the door for them. Kai pipes up from the couch, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, honestly, you’ve got this yn. It’s just a shirt and a skirt, not like you’re reinventing the wheel.”

Wonbin, sitting lazily at the floor infront of the bathroom door with a snack, chuckles. “Do you think she’s gonna come out wearing it or just get stuck halfway through? ‘Cause that seems more likely.” yumi smacks his shoulders “stop making fun of my baby and go and get me some of whatever your eating im hungry too” wonbin winces in pain but still gets up annoyed while sticking his tongue at her. “boy if you don’t put that fat tongue back in ur mouth”

“hey guys it fits i think?” yn calls back, her voice muffled as she struggles with the shirt. “But if I come out looking like a hot mess, it’s all your fault and im never trusting u bitches again”

“Oh, we know it’s gonna be a hot mess,” Kai says with a loud laugh.

“You’re the worst huening kai.” yelling from the bathroom

After a couple of minutes, yn emerges slowly from the bathroom, standing awkwardly in the doorway with her arms crossed like she’s waiting for the inevitable onslaught of teasing. The room goes dead silent for a moment. And then, as expected, it erupts.

“Oh my god, she actually did it,” Kai says, snickering like it’s the best thing he’s seen all week. “Who let you out of your cave yn?”

Juyeon takes one look and just bursts out laughing. “Okay, hold up. Did someone spike your water? What happened to chopped yn??” YN rolls her eyes. “It’s just a shirt and a skirt. Stop acting like I’m wearing a ballgown.”

Wonbin raises an eyebrow, still munching on his snack. “Not gonna lie, though. You actually kind of look like huzz but no glaze cause your still chopped” “I’m just so glad you think I look like chopped huzz” YN says dryly, giving him a playful shove. “Really boosts my self-esteem.”

Yumi, arms crossed and grinning mischievously, steps forward. “I literally told u guys this was THE fit. like cmon now” “Oh, for sure,” Kai chimes in. “next time can you dress me. I want to look unrecognizable too.”

Juyeon snorts. “honestly, I’m kind of impressed. I didn’t think you could manage this without looking like you just stepped out of a disaster movie.” YN shoots them all a look. “Yeah, keep laughing. I’ll just make sure you don’t get any snacks next time we hang out Lee juyeon.”

“Hey, don’t threaten me im the one who landed u on yet another date” juyeon says, holding up his bag of chips.

“You’re literally the worst one to play the Cupid role omg” YN scoffs, hands on her hips.

“youre all grown up now!!! guys she’s grown up so fast” Kai throws his hands in the air dramatically, like he’s being hit with a wave of sudden emotion. “Look at you! How do you go from our little baby to suddenly ready for marriage ”

Yn glares at him, fighting back a grin. “You guys are lucky I even let you guys in here to “help” me. You’re getting one look, and then youre all leaving.”

“my nini baby all grown up,” Yumi teases, “but just remember—you can’t run away from us. We’ll be sure to remind you of this moment forever.”

“Yeah,” Wonbin says, leaning back in the kitchen chair, “you look cute, but don’t get used to it. You’ve got the nonchalant persona to maintain.”

Yn crosses her arms, giving them all a look of mock seriousness. “Alright, I’ll leave the nonchalant part to you guys. You can keep it.” The teasing continues as she heads out, but before she can fully close the door she hears juyeon scream “CAN WE EAT YOUR RAMEN!” yn rolls her eyes and peeps her head through the door “yes but only two packs you guys can share, and I’ll know if you eat more than one. I WILL KNOW.”

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ authors note — this chapt is kinda boring but next chapt the plot will thicken trust. also taglist is always open for anyone who wants to join! 🩶

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ taglist — @astrobebba @rikchic @zoe1love @t1iqaa @enhanoa @yuyita-rosier @smolderingoasislegion @synamon @blvengene @urfavmelaninatedgeminii @cupidmiyu @naevisringring @swiftcityy @luhvletters @sumzysworld @w3willris3 @skepvids @enhastolemyheart @kimuranirisi @rairaiblog

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

Okay me have request for no doubt Jake. Something where they’re going out to a fancy dinner or something and reader starts to feel insecure when she puts her dress on and she now doesn’t want to go. And then you know good ol’ Jake coming in and saving the day with his kind words

OKAY FINALLY TACKLING ONE OF THE MANY ANGSTY ONES in my inbox !!! this one is just mildly angsty, but mainly just floof :P i hope you like ittt,,,lowkey felt iffy abt it but idk HELP😭good ol' puppy dog jakey <3

──── TO BE LOVED IS TO BE SEEN🪞🍷 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

“Baby?” Jake’s voice rings through the apartment from the living room. “We have to leave soon if we wanna make it to the reservation on time.” 

But you don’t answer.

You’re standing still in front of the mirror—still. Quiet. Barely breathing. 

Your hair’s done. Your makeup too. The dress fits just the way you imagined it would when Jake helped you pick it out last week—color stunning, silhouette flattering—the whole nine yards. 

But the longer you look—

The longer your eyes linger, the more you see. 

A weird angle. That one part of yourself you always avoid in photos. A spot where you swear the dress bunches up just a little wrong. 

And suddenly, the excitement from before turns into a tightness in your stomach. 

You’re still frozen when Jake walks in. 

He spots you, standing in front of the mirror, and his face lights up instantly. 

“Baby,” he says, voice genuine and fond, walking straight to you and sliding both his arms gently across your shoulders from behind. He kisses the back of your head. “You look so good.” 

You don’t say anything. 

He doesn’t notice at first, stepping next to you to adjust the cuff of his sleeve in the mirror. His hair is pushed back. Tie perfectly straight—the one you helped him with. He looks…perfect that it’s honestly unfair. 

You glance at him for half a second and it makes your chest ache. 

Then—

He looks up. His eyes meet yours.

And he knows. 

“Hey,” his voice is soft, immediately turning to face you. His hands find yours, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles. “What’s wrong?” 

You just shake your head. Shrug. You stare at the ground. 

“I don’t think I want to go anymore.” 

His brows furrow slightly. For a split second.

Then, he nods. Silently, simply, understandingly. 

Without saying anything, he guides you gently over to the bed. He sits first, tugging you down beside him, keeping your hands in his. 

He waits a beat. 

You swallow, then—

“…I don’t feel good in this, Jake. I don’t know why. I just—“ 

You stop yourself, your voice cracking before you can even finish. 

Jake’s heart breaks a little. 

His eyes soften. 

He lifts your joined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles once. Then again. 

“Okay,” he murmurs against your skin. “You don’t feel good in it. That’s valid. But…I’m gonna tell you what I see.” 

You look up at him. You don’t say anything.

So he keeps going.

He shifts closer, knees bumping yours, hands cupping your face so gently it feels like he’s holding glass. 

“I see the girl I’m completely in love with. In the dress that made me literally short-circuit ever since you tried it on.” He smiles a little. “Remember when I tripped on the fitting room carpet?” 

Your lips twitch, but the smile doesn’t reach quite yet. 

His thumbs brush over your cheeks, his eyes never leaving your face once. His voice drops quieter. 

“I don’t care if it’s the dress. Or that one hoodie you still own from middle school—even though it has that weird stain. Or my shirt. Or a trash bag. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You’re what makes everything look good.” 

You finally let out a breath. 

His hands fall back to your waist, fingers curling lightly at the fabric there, holding onto you steadily. Grounding you. 

“You’re allowed to feel off. I get it. But just know—if you still want to go, I’m gonna be the proudest guy in that restaurant. Because I’m walking in with you.” 

A beat.

“And if you don’t—I’ll be even prouder to eat takeout on this bed with my perfect, stunning girlfriend.” 

You finally smile.

It’s small. Little shaky. But there. 

You sigh. 

“…Let me try it with my strappy heels instead.” 

Jake grins. Your smile grows softly as he presses a soft kiss to your temple—then another to your cheek for good measure. 

“Take your time, baby. Being fashionably late is our thing anyways.” 

He squeezes your hand once before you stand up to dig through your closet, his eyes still watching you with the same awe he always has since day one. 

You still feel a little off. 

But—

You also feel seen. Steady. 

And loved. 

no doubt m. list

tag list pt 1!: @bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heekolazz @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[solplease]

my oc tamaki! he is THE toxic manipulative guy

as always, close ups and more info about him under the cut :]

toxic with a capital T

will twist his words to make you stay with him

incredibly desperate

manipulative, possessive and obsessive yandere

very very very jealous

he hates sharing your attention with anyone else and becomes upset if you pay attention to someone that isn’t him for too long

wants to protect you and keep you all to himself

lots and lots of guilt tripping im afraid

he has about ten piercings! 

becomes a puppy around you

jumps to conclusions a lot of the time 

becomes irrationally upset when you get even the slightest bit annoyed with him

he probably has a shrine dedicated to you i won’t even lie

his love is a bit intense

he’ll take care of you 

is very sweet to you (unless when he’s upset, he doesn’t think super clearly and assumes you hate him so he starts begging and guilting you,,, um…)

would give you anything you asked for

when he gets flustered (and he gets flustered easily) he gets nosebleeds 

wants to lock you up in his basement so he can be the only one that looks at you (but he doesn’t bc. what if you start hating him… and ask to leave…)

could kill someone, might kill someone

loves using pet names!

very pathetic

misspells things a lot (expect a lot of typos if he’s texting) 

very insecure and a huge overthinker

prone to biting? (whenever he can) 

bites his nails when he’s anxious so he paints them to keep himself from doing so (you probably gave him the idea)

owns a lot of arm covers

has a pet bunny!

plays the guitar

keeps a photo of you on him always (probs in his phone case too ehe) 

likes playing video games, if he’s still up at an ungodly time he’s probably playing some random ass game 

he does cosplay :D

he KINDA needs glasses but he refuses to get them, stubborn little fuck (he has to, one day) 

cut and dyed his own hair because why not

do NOT let him into a kitchen he will burn the place down (he’s trying his best)

knits when he’s stressed out

you need to repeat what you say a few times because he will not understand (but halfway through you repeating your words it clicks in his head) 

he has intense beef with the drooling emoji (me too) 

hates a lot of random things for whatever reason

likes sharks! (AND HATES DOLPHINS) ((again, me too!))  

would die if you left him, so don’t go anywhere.

tamaki's relationship with the others!

TAMAKI -> CASSIAN: who is this </3

CASSIAN -> TAMAKI: uhhh i don’t really have a clue?

TAMAKI -> CECILIA: i’ve seen her a few times at the mall i think? i recognize her bc of her pink hair lmfao

CECILIA -> TAMAKI: ohhh i’ve seen him! sometimes when i go shopping i see him, he’s got a cool look

TAMAKI -> LUNE: ahh, the scary guy? saw him beating the fuck out of this guy, it was pretty entertaining, and he looked like he was having a lot of fun lol

LUNE -> TAMAKI: oh i remember this guy, shockingly. he saw me beating someone up and then told me to carry on, strange dude

TAMAKI -> LUCIAN: ohh luci, he’s a funny guy, we’re friends, i don’t know how we became friends and i’m almost certain he doesn’t either. we hang out every now and then, he’s strange but he’s not a bad guy, he’s pretty entertaining if i’m being honest. he kind of reminds me of shadow the hedgehog a bit? but i think that’s the vibe he’s going for. 

LUCIAN -> TAMAKI: tamaki? i think he’s cool, he’s kinda like me, so we see eye to eye on a lot of things. i… don’t remember how we became friends honestly. i usually ride solo but he’s alright, i don’t mind keeping him around (secretly kinda happy that he has a friend though, as much as he won’t admit it) 

TAMAKI -> NOX: not a damn clue

NOX -> TAMAKI: am i supposed to know who this is?

TAMAKI -> ROWAN: i… don’t know </3

ROWAN -> TAMAKI: hmm??? :D

i also decided to try something new! here's how he is in a relationship :D

TAMAKI tends to cater to your needs and tries to treat you as well as possible but can become unstable at times. he will never ever take his anger out on you but instead becomes sad and desperate. he hates getting into arguments and will beg for forgiveness if he thinks you’re upset with him, but if he’s upset with you he tries to guilt you into feeling bad and spending more time with him. he likes to take care of you as much as he can, if you guys are in a relationship he will make you feel loved constantly, he likes keeping you happy. he’s very insecure and needs a lot of reassurance but he can make you happy he promises! he likes taking you shopping and dressing you up. he especially likes it when you help pick out clothes for him. he wants to pamper you as much as he can. he gives you some of his sweaters, his arm covers, and lets you basically do whatever you want. he likes having your attention on him so he loves to stay near you, he loves it when you guys play games together and loves to play the guitar for you. he gets really flustered and giggly when you do his makeup or hair, he loves you so much. he is the happiest when he is around you and would drop anything to be with you. if you ever left him he would die. he can’t live without you.

(i have this little blurb for my other ocs too! if you wanna see them pls lmk haha)

[renwritesalot]

So… annoyingly I wrote out a whole ass post about the new chapter of Midnight Strangers by @seriouslycalamitous and it’s disappeared.

I’m going to rant about it again anyway:

This chapter was inSANE. All of it while my prediction of Jimmy and Lizzie being pissed abt Grian knowing Scar name was wrong we did get to despised Lizzie. AND SCARED GRIAN!! Who is someone I’ve wanted back because it scratches my little lizard brain.

Additionally the change between ch1 Grian and ch7 Grian!!

Ch 1 Grian: vet, very few friends, has never really seen a villain or hero

Ch 7 Grian: vet and part time medic for some villains, hangs out with said villains often, has next to no fear, lies easily, is a human lie detector, has so much chapes in his day to day that a normal day is boring.

Also Grian figuring out his crush on Scar, getting heartbroken by Scar then realising Scar is lying. Like omg!! We love our problematic duo.

Anywhos!! This chapter has to be one of my favourites yet!!