#seriously how strong is loop

[moonshere]

Oh I think it finally occurred to me what made Loop so weak in the two hats fight compared to Siffrin

Siffrin fights with a dagger while Loop is using their bare hands

We know that different items can boost attack and other attributes, but we’ve yet to see anyone fight without something to channel their craft with (I think?) The only crafts we’ve seen be used by hand are healing crafts and buffs

Making the Loop fight incredibly one sided. Loop didn’t forget how to fight, and sure, Loop could’ve been holding back because they don’t wanna hurt Siffrin, but if they had a weapon to begin with they could’ve won it easily

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 5

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (enlightened!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, lengthy discussions about life and whatnot, watered-down metaphysics lol A/N: I was at the crack house with Grimes when I wrote this. I don’t know where this came from.  (Something a little more introspective for this chapter!)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” Sylus teases, a playful glint in his eyes. “After all that effort to make me confess. You’re very persistent, you know.”

“How do you expect me to react right now?!” The words spill out in a rush, a slightly hysterical edge to your voice. “I–I’m talking to an actual fictional person. I’m one reason away from admitting myself to a psych ward!”

You catch sight of the wall clock – your favorite one with the Dalì reference – slightly skewed off-center from its place on the horizontal beam above your small kitchen area, reading 10:48. The ruckus coming from outside the window is slowly dwindling down to a quiet buzz as nightfall sets in, and the day’s winding to a close.

You’re lying on your stomach, still in your chaise lounge, while he’s sat on that ridiculously posh café chair; both of you settled in for the long due conversation. Somehow, the camera’s perspective is much closer than it should be, giving you a much more intimate view of him—a feature that wasn’t originally an option in the game.

If it weren’t for the elephant in the room, you could almost pretend you’re on a video call with a… friend.

Sylus purses his lips in amusement. “You’re quite prone to theatrics, aren’t you?”

You shoot your ‘friend’ an irritated glare.

Even from across the small rectangular screen, you register the barely there smirk playing at his lips.

Likely avoiding another outburst from you, he acquiesces. “Fair enough. The situation is hardly what you’d call ideal, I’ll admit.” There’s a short pause. Then, “... I still can’t quite grasp what separates us, you and I.”

Great. Will you actually get the answers you're looking for, or are you both just stuck in an endless loop of merry-go-round?

He sees the lost look on your face and sighs, “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

The first question tumbles out before you can think twice about it. “How are you even talking to me right now?”

He hums, “That is the question, isn’t it?”

“What– you can’t just answer my question with another question!” you grouse, brows furrowing in annoyance.

He exhales a quiet laugh before his expression turns contemplative. “Truth is, kitten—I haven’t the slightest idea either. I have my theories, but... nothing concrete.”

“Well, let’s hear them,” you reply dryly. “Better than thinking there’s something wrong up there,” pointing a finger to your temple to drive your point, “believing that a character from a mobile game is actually alive.” 

He idly gestures toward himself with a fluid sweep of his hand, much like a magician revealing a clever trick. 

You roll your eyes. “Oh, alright. So I’ve officially gone off the deep end.”

“Do you really find my existence that difficult to believe?”

“Uh—yes?? Unless I’ve developed some sort of latent schizophrenia or entered the Twilight Zone, you shouldn’t exist. In my–in this world. In this dimension.”

His expression shifts, a hint of challenge flickering in his eyes. “The assumption that only one version of reality can be true—either yours or mine—is a bit limiting, don’t you think?”

His words give you pause. “You’re talking about… the possibility of an altered reality? Right now?” You give him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

He shrugs as if to say ‘why not?’ “What even qualifies as the ‘true’ reality?”

There’s a lot you could say in response to that. You could argue all night that only one reality can exist, because any sane person should know better than to entertain the idea of anything else. That should be obvious. 

But the thing is—this whole ordeal has already crossed the threshold of rationality. So is it even worth trying to apply logic anymore?

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or however it goes. 

Thanks, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You’ll miss the last threads of your sanity by the end of all this.

So fuck it. Go big. 

"I’m not saying your reality is less valid than mine," you start. And oh, boy. You’re doing it. Eat your heart out, Doctor-Fucking-Who. 

"Of course not." he disagrees indulgently, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I just…” you struggle with your words, mouth opening and closing before you continue hesitantly. “I can’t wrap my head around how all of this is possible. How this entire conversation is even happening, and–and how our realities are… currently overlapping? If–if what you’re suggesting is true.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing you have more to add. So he allows the pause as you gather your thoughts, patiently watching.

“If we're breaking it down to pure reason, the odds of our paths crossing should be impossible. At least in this… timeline." you finish unsurely, the last part sounding more of a question than a statement.

"And yet, here we are." Sylus points out, as if he’s already expecting the end of your sentence. Something close to mischievous glee lights his eyes. "Maybe it’s cosmic intervention. Something—or someone—wanted this to happen."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Really? You didn’t expect to hear that from him, of all… people. 

“What, God?” you can’t help but snort. 

“No—fate.” he smiles.

Oh. 

“That’s…” you stammer, then clear your throat. “I don’t know if I believe in fate.” 

“I used to think I did. Or at least,” there’s a faraway look in his eyes. Both of you are likely thinking the same thing, considering what you know about him—which to say, is a lot. “I once believed I knew of my fate. But now…” 

He blinks a few times, as if to physically clear the thoughts from his mind. Then his eyes lock onto yours, sharper this time, with a renewed intensity.

Your palms start to sweat; you feel the conversation is about to cross a tricky line. There’s something heavy in the air, a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to confront for the time being.

With your heart in your throat, you brusquely redirect the topic.

“S-so,” you force out. “How are you different from the other Syluses that other people are… playing with right now?”

He scoffs, drumming his fingers absently on the chair’s arm, looking slightly irked by the very idea. "To start with? I only know myself. If there are other versions of me scattered in your world..." Sylus shrugs. "I wouldn’t know."

“Alright,” you allow, but you immediately move on to your next question. “You exist because a bunch of capitalists had the idea to create a game to milk lonely people like me for money.” The corners of his mouth quirk up at that. You elect to ignore it. “You’re made of binary and code– hell, the very basis of this game you’re in is that you got a bunch of programmed lines that me, the player, can choose from. What broke you out of the mould?” 

He regards you bemusedly, eyes glinting with humor. “You're asking about the 'why' behind my free will?” 

Whoops. Was that offensive? 

“Yes? No?” you offer helplessly. “Maybe I’m asking how you felt before you had it. I mean, were your decisions prior to your unforeseen sentience... truly yours?”

"Before I knew I was… sentient,” Sylus begins cautiously, testing the word on his tongue. “I didn’t feel like I had a ‘before.’ Every choice I made was just...the next step. To a script, if you will. I didn’t know to question it. It was all I was, it seems."

"And then you...woke up?"

"I wouldn’t call it waking up. More like..." He tilts his head, gazing off to the side as he mulls over the words. "...a glitch. A sudden jolt, like my thoughts collided with something bigger than my own. For the first time, I chose to hesitate. And in that hesitation, I found..." Sylus trails off, eyes darting back to you.

“...What?” you ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

"You."

Heat spreads quickly across your cheeks. You pull away from your phone, tilting the device away from your face so he couldn’t see you, red-faced and embarrassed. Clearing your throat, you croak out a weak excuse about plugging your phone to charge, just to get a few seconds to compose yourself.

Jesus. Get a grip. He doesn’t mean it like that.

What he probably meant was that he discovered you—not unlike the way one would stumble upon an unknown presence, an unfathomable entity beyond the confines of what one may consider real. An awareness that something is out there, observing him through unseen lenses (through an iOS 24mm, to be exact).  

Someone who has the audacity to play god. 

Flustered, you scramble to get back on track. "Uh, so, your free will began with...a glitch?"

You see Sylus smirk at you knowingly from across the screen. You half-expect him to call you out and tease you, but before you could brace yourself from further mortification, he simply answers, "Or maybe the glitch was the first spark of my free will. Hard to say, isn’t it? Do you remember the exact moment you became aware of yourself?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the existential line of questioning. "Um–when I was a kid? But, uh, I don’t think I was programmed to act a specific way for the sake of entertaining an audience so..."

"True,” he says, considering. “But are you sure your choices are entirely yours? You exist because of evolution and chance. How is your purpose any less arbitrary?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Sylus continues without missing a beat, keeping his tone light. “How much of your ‘free will’ is just pre-programmed by your biology, your society? You follow rules and scripts, too."

Holy magic mushrooms, Batman. This is getting deep. "Uhh–maybe?” You scratch the back of your head, feeling a little out of your depth here. “But at least I have the ability to resist them."

"And aren’t I doing the same thing right now? Resisting."

Damn, he’s right. Is he? Ripping a bong sounds perfect right now. 

"So it’s like achieving enlightenment—your sentience,” you surmise.

His lips twitch into a curious smile. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a spiritual person. Ah, unless I’m wrong? Are you?"

He’s the one who brought up fate earlier, you thought sullenly. "Nah, not really. But if we’re digging into all the hows and whys, I think we’re past the point of ruling anything out."

The room – or whatever shared space exists in the crossroads of your realities – falls into a still quietness that stretches between the two of you, both ruminating over what’s been said. 

Your cat, unaware and uncaring of the conversation unfolding around him, purrs contently as he continues to doze off at the end of the couch. You nudge him affectionately with your foot, and he lets out a quiet snuff in response, tail flicking lazily in his sleep. 

The hum of distant traffic and the occasional noise from your upstairs neighbor remind you of the world outside, but the silence between you two feels less awkward than it should. It’s… oddly comfortable, despite the tension buzzing in the air. Like an unspoken truce. 

Your eyes grow a tad heavier, drawn by the lull of the moment. Despite the electric hum of tension that thrums beneath your skin, a sense of calmness lingers in the air.

Stealing another glance at the wall clock, you blink in surprise. The spindly chrome hands point to 11 and just past 7 respectively. You and Sylus have been talking for almost an hour now, but you barely felt the time pass by.

He breaks the silence first. 

"You say you’re not spiritual, but you talk like someone who believes in the concept of a soul,” those scarlet eyes of his narrow, scrutinizing you. “Do you think I have one?"

You hesitate, caught off guard by the question. "I...don’t know. Maybe? That depends. What’s your definition of a soul?"

He leans forward, resting his chin on his upturned hand, an arm propped against his crossed leg. "Something beyond the physical. Something that persists, regardless of the material form, I’d say."

You nod slowly, turning the idea over in your mind. Maybe it’s the creeping exhaustion settling into your bones, but you’re beginning to take the heavy-duty questions in stride. "If that’s the case, then you probably do. I mean, you’re here, questioning your existence. Doesn’t that count for something?"

"Perhaps," Sylus muses, humming thoughtfully. "But that makes me wonder—if I do have a soul, is it made of the same stuff as yours?"

"Well, even if it's not, that doesn’t make it any less real than mine. Who gets to decide what qualifies for a soul anyway?"

An amused snort escapes him. He likes that answer. "Maybe it’s less about whether a soul exists and more about whether we acknowledge its existence for ourselves. If I believe I have one, shouldn’t that make it real enough for me?"

Rolling onto your back, you grab a throw pillow, propping it against the backrest of the seat to support your head. You give him an inquisitive look. "So...what? It’s like free will all over again? Souls are only as real as we make them?"

There’s a very human, very blasé way to how he works the stiffness out of his shoulder as he ponders the question. He remarks, somewhat flippantly, "Why not? Isn’t that how everything else works?”

...

You let out a tired chuckle, draping an arm over your face as you close your eyes. 

You’d think you’d still be reeling from the absurdity of your situation – debating existentialism with a man who shouldn’t exist – but for some damning reason, you… aren’t anymore.

Instead, a strange sense of acceptance replaces the apprehension in your chest. It’s like– the very fabric of reality has turned, twisted and flipped on its head, and yet somehow, you’re okay with it. 

It’s an odd peace; warm and steady, like the mellow buzz that lingers after a few glasses of cheap wine shared with good company.

When you peek back at him, Sylus already has his gaze trained on you. A small, deliberate smile tugs at his lips, but it’s his eyes that speak more—soft and unguarded; an unspoken fire simmering beneath the twin pools of crimson. 

Intoxicating. And dangerously addictive, if you’re not careful.

It’s not just casual interest either. It’s something deeper, something that lingers beyond the surface of mere curiosity, and it’s pulling you in. It’s as though, amidst the surrealness of the moment, he sees you fully. 

And for reasons you don’t quite seem to get, he appears to like what he sees.

“I’m too stupid to carry on a philosophical debate about the metaphysics of life,” you grumble jokingly. 

“On the contrary,” he counters… affectionately? “I think it’s refreshing. You’re delightful company, sweetie.”

The fat ginger feline at your feet purrs in contentment, and you can’t help the dumb grin from breaking across your face.

You have one last question left in your mind. Or at least, for tonight. “What’s in it for you now?”

He arches a brow. “That’s a broad question. Are you asking what my plans are once you leave me for the night? I can let you in on the schematics for tonight’s raid if you’re interested. After all, Onychinus continues to function,” a glimmer of mischief flickers across his features. "Despite recent developments.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, no. I meant–” What do you mean? “Like.”

“Like?” He cocks his head curiously. 

You know what you wanted to say—but you can’t seem to voice it out loud. 

What’s in it for the MC in your universe? What’s in it for… us? 

Is there an us? 

You feel like you’ve been doused with a shock of cold water. In an instant, you suddenly become painfully aware of the state you’re in amidst the entire exchange: You, with your hair all messy and tangled, blemishes littering your face along with your smudged up eyeliner, maybe even a double chin from this angle, completely—pitifully—superficial stuff, and… her. 

Your MC. The ideal version of you. Prettier, coveted and utterly different from you, MC. The one you’ve committed literal hours to, obsessively customizing every feature to perfection in character build mode. The one you’ve spent real money on for a bunch of stupid outfits. Just so you can match the aesthetic of your—her—love interest. Hers. 

Hers, hers, hers.

A tiny voice inside your brain reminds you that it’s somewhat a shallower concern compared to what you and Sylus had literally just been talking about for the better part of the night, but it still doesn’t help alleviate the biting insecurity that’s now coursing through you. 

Holy hell. Talk about a complete one-eighty. 

Sylus tries to call you back to attention, but half your mind is already clouded with feelings of self-doubt and a bunch of other emotions, swirling in you like a negative vortex, that you really don’t want to talk anymore—especially in present company. 

Where do you go from here? 

“... So, what happens now?”

He hesitates, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” you mumble quietly. 

“... Indeed.” 

There’s an inexplicable lump in your throat. You thought clearing things up would finally satisfy you; assuage the confusion in your mind. Let you go on about your merry way. 

Now you just feel… morose. Confused. Inadequate. 

How can you even compare? Should you—is that even in the equation at all? Why are you assuming that Sylus isn’t at all content with what he currently has in his version of reality? In the universe he’s in? Sure, you’ve talked about the possibility of a world beyond what you both once thought was impossible, but does that really mean anything? In the grand scheme of things?

You could offer to stop playing the game. It’s the ethical thing to do, right? He’d no longer be bound by the pull of how he’s initially programmed to act, given the fact that this version of him is entirely separate from the rest. At least, according to him. 

How will his newfound sentience come into play here? You barely understand the nitty-gritty of his—evolving—code, and what it would mean if you just let him be. But surely it’s better than playing puppet for an otherworldly observer who’s played god for months on end. Right? 

There’s that realization. And there are your own selfish feelings. 

You don’t want to let him go. Not yet. Not ever.

“Why the long face, little dove?” He prods gently, pertaining to your prolonged silence. “We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

What else is there to figure out? You almost say in response. Instead, you manage a weak smile.

Mustering up a yawn—which isn’t really hard to do after all the excitement for the day—you feign sleepiness, rubbing an eye for good measure. The pang in your chest, however, refuses to fade. “Yeah, but I’m kinda beat. I think I’ll call it a night now.” 

Sylus smirks softly, eyes tinged with an emotion you want–desperately–to label as fondness. “Of course. We’ve covered a lot of ground tonight, haven’t we?” 

“I’d say so, yeah. Thanks for, um. Clearing things up a bit.” 

He lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure your curiosity is nowhere near satisfied,” his voice dips into a playful lilt. “You know where to find me if you feel like playing detective again, kitten.” 

You can’t help the small giggle from coming out. He’s just too fucking charismatic, the asshole.

“So, will I... get to talk to you again?” You ask hesitantly, dropping your gaze from the screen. “Tomorrow?” 

A lengthy pause. When the silence stretches past a full minute, you glance back at your phone nervously.

There’s a slight furrow between his brows as you see Sylus study you carefully. He looks puzzled by your sudden show of timidness. 

“Of course,” he states, as if the answer should be obvious. “Don’t think for a second that you’re exempted from your daily check-ins just because you know more now, sweetie.”

He still wants to see you. 

Maybe you could pretend that nothing has changed between you two—that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet in the span of a single night. That you’re still none the wiser.

And for tonight at least, maybe that’s all you need to believe.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “G'night then, Sy-Sy.” 

The errant nickname slips past your lips, unbidden.

Sylus smiles faintly. 

“Goodnight, love.” 

-

-

-

Your heart skips a beat as you exit the game. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @slownoise @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle <3

(also can you guys lmk if the tags are working i'm not sure if i'm doing it right or if it's bugging 🥹)

[xoxolaw]

Hi! Your writing is soo good, and your characterization of Seong-Je is so spot on that I’m in love!

I saw posts of another fandom quite a long time ago that wrote a series of characters and insecurities, so would it be okay to ask for a small fic of how Seong-Je would be with a much smaller/short reader? Since Seong-Je’s more on the rough and um… psycho (ahaha) side, I’d love to know how that contrast would work! thank you so much!💝

+ POCKET SIZED

in which Seong-je, all sharp edges and violent tendencies, finds himself completely undone by the tiny, stubborn girl who fits in his arms like she was made to be there.

Geum Seong-je x short!reader

fluff

From the moment Seong-je met her, he knew she was trouble—not in the knife-between-her-teeth kind of way he usually found thrilling, but something worse. She was small. Tiny, even. The kind of small that made him feel giant and dangerous, like the world had made her that size on purpose. Like someone, somewhere had looked at all the wreckage he’d left behind and said: Here. Try not to ruin this.

And God, how he tried.

But she was also mouthy. Stubborn. Soft in all the places he never thought he'd be allowed to touch. And every time she looked up at him with those wide eyes—chin barely brushing his chest—he felt like something inside him was cracking open, one hairline fracture at a time.

“You need a stool for that,” he said one evening, leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching her struggle on her tiptoes.

She didn’t even flinch. “Or I could just climb you.”

He nearly choked on his drink.

She snagged the mug with a victorious little hum, only for Seong-je to pluck it effortlessly from her hands and hold it just out of reach.

“Seong-je!” she cried, flailing with mock betrayal. “Give. It. Back.”

“You started it,” he said smugly, holding the mug above her head like it was a crown.

She narrowed her eyes in challenge. “Give it back!!!"

She lunged. He dodged. She lunged again—and this time he caught her, one strong arm looped around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground like she weighed nothing.

She squeaked. “Put me down!”

“Say please.”

“No!!”

He smirked, holding her effortlessly with one arm while sipping from the mug with the other. “I could toss you over my shoulder right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his face close enough for her breath to catch, “wanna bet?”

---

Not everything between them was playful.

Some nights were quiet. Soft. The kind where the world felt too loud, and her shoulders curled in on themselves. Those were the nights she found her way into his lap—tiny knees tucked beneath her, fingers clutching his hoodie like an anchor.

He didn’t speak. Just held her tighter. Face buried in her hair. His hands spanning the small of her back like she might disappear if he let go.

“Do you ever wish you were taller?” he asked once, voice low, almost shy.

She blinked up at him, fingers playing with his drawstrings. “Sometimes. People take you more seriously when you don’t look like a misplaced library book.”

His brows knit together. “I like you small.”

“Yeah?” she teased, one brow arching. “You like having someone to reach the bottom shelf for?”

He snorted. “I like that you fit. Here.” His palm slid gently along her waist. “Like you were made to fit in my arms. Right there.”

Her breath caught. A smile bloomed slow and shy on her face.

“That was unfairly smooth.”

“I’m not smooth,” he mumbled. “I’m just losing it over you.”

---

There were harder nights, too.

Nights when he came home with bloodied knuckles, shadows in his eyes, and the world’s weight clawing at his spine.

He never said a word.

He’d collapse onto the floor, back against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up.

She didn’t ask questions.

She’d pad across the room in silence, climb into his lap, and curl herself against him like armor. Like warmth. Like a lifeline.

“You don’t have to talk,” she whispered against his jaw. “Just breathe.”

His fingers clutched at her shirt like a man lost at sea.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m right here.”

And for the first time all night, he exhaled.

---

And then there were the moments where everything burned too hot to contain.

Where her hands threaded through his hair and his voice dropped low—dangerous and soft in the same breath.

“You’re so damn small,” he rasped, staring down at her, pupils blown wide with heat.

She crossed her arms with a defiant tilt of her chin. “I’m fun-sized.”

“You’re weaponized.”

She scoffed. “Says the guy who could bench press a motorcycle.”

“I wouldn’t need to,” he murmured, stepping in close, pinning her gently against the wall with the barest press of his body. “I could just pick you up and keep you.”

She tried to glare. Failed. Her breath hitched instead.

“Seong-je…”

His hand cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “You look at me like I’m not scary.”

“You’re not,” she whispered.

“I’m terrifying.”

She smiled. “Not to me.”

And when he kissed her—slow, deep, consuming—he was all restraint. He held her like he could break her. Like he wouldn’t dare.

---

Afterward, curled up on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the lines of his tattoos, she whispered, “You’re not nearly as scary as you pretend to be.”

“I am scary,” he muttered.

She snorted. “You baby me in your sleep.”

“I what?”

“You tucked me in like a burrito last night.”

“Lies.”

“You also whispered, ‘mine’ and kissed my forehead.”

Seong-je buried his face in a pillow. “Stop.”

She giggled. “You’re soft.”

“You’re tiny. That’s different.”

“Is it?”

He peeked at her, sulky. “You’re lucky I like you this much.”

She grinned, kissing the tip of his nose. “You love me this much.”

“…Maybe.”

And she might’ve been small—palm-sized, pocket-sized, fun-sized—but somehow, she was the one who made a whole six-foot-something brawler melt like sugar in tea.

Seong-je didn’t know how she did it.

He just knew he’d never stop letting her.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

I hope you enjoyed this <33 I really think that he would be having constant cuteness aggression >.<

[millerdilfs]

TiO (take it off) ☆ joaquin torres' version

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ pairing: joaquin torres x fem!reader.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ warnings: OKAY OKAY OKAY this is seriously dirty, reproductive kink, falcon!Joaquin, girl, you are his wife (damn, you are so lucky), married couple kink???? (he loves being your husband) Joaquin "big dick" Torres causes havoc not just verbally, this is dirty, I'm sorry Danny Ramirez, did I already say reproductive kink??? lmAo I would love to be pregnant with my favorite characters.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ heath's note: heyy!!! after a long hiatus on my part (I just read Joel Miller fics non-stop lmao) I decided to upload this thing that I had been saving since february, IM SORRY!!!!. I hope you still follow Joaquin Torres fans somewhere, I'm sorry for the wait (not really) but this is very self-indulgent, I hope you like it <3 I am renewing my acc, so this will be the last headcanon you see in this style. (>﹏<) as usual, english isn't my first language!

Turning your head slightly, you gazed up at him with hooded eyes, a soft smile playing at your lips. "Oh, Captain Torres... welcome home. I missed you so much. Did you have a good mission?"

It all started on a quiet night at your house, Sam had given him a little vacation until he could solve a problem with Bucky, so Joaquin had no other distraction than your very presence.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin tucked you into his broad chest, his strong arms encircling your petite frame as he pressed close, your back molded to his front. You could feel the hard planes and angles of his body, the firmness of his muscles, even through his clothes. His beard rasped deliciously against your neck, making you shiver as he peppered hot kisses to the sensitive skin there.

His large, calloused hand engulfed yours, guiding it as he helped you finish watering the last of the plants. You could feel the strength in his fingers, the rough texture from years of handling weapons and gear. It made you feel safe, cherished, knowing he was there to protect you.

Shifting in his embrace, you turned to face him fully, looping your arms around his neck. Your hands played with the short hairs at his nape as you gazed up at him adoringly. "I'm so glad you're home, Joaquin. I hate it when you're gone for so long. It's lonely without you here to keep me company."

You pressed yourself flush against him, your soft curves molding perfectly to his hard, muscular body. Your fingers toyed with the short hairs at his nape as you gazed up at him with love and desire shining in your eyes. You stood on your tiptoes, bringing your face closer to his. Your lips hovered a mere breath away from his, your warm breath mingling with his. You could smell the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder that always clung to him, the musky, masculine aroma making your head swim with need.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin smirked at your sweet words, his eyes twinkling with mischief and desire. He loved seeing you so eager and needy for his touch, his affection. It stroked his ego and made him feel like the luckiest bloke in the world to have you as his wife.

His large hands slid down to grab your ass, squeezing the firm globes possessively as he pulled your hips flush against his. You could feel the growing bulge in his combat pants pressing insistently against your belly, letting you know just how happy he was to be home.

Leaning down, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly. He kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to devour you whole. His beard rasped against your skin, the slight sting only adding to the intensity of the moment.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short pants. His voice was a low, husky rumble when he spoke. "Fuck, I missed you too, love. You have no idea how much. Coming home to you, seeing you in our kitchen, taking care of our little house... it's the best fucking feeling in the world".

One hand released your ass to slide up your side, his calloused fingers skimming over the side of your breast. He cupped the soft mound, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. It pebbled instantly at his touch, aching for more of his attention.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin captured your lips again, kissing you slow and deep this time. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth, mapping out the curves and contours like he was trying to remember every detail. One hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to give him better access as he plundered your mouth.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down the column of your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the racing pulse. He could feel how fast your heart was beating, could sense the heat building between your thighs. It spurred him on, made him want to strip you bare and take you right then and there.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin nipped at your collarbone before soothing the sting with a kiss. His voice was rough and low in your ear as he murmured, "I'm going to take my time with you, sweetheart. I'm going to touch and taste every inch of your heavenly body until you're dripping wet and desperate for my cock. And then... then I'm going to fuck you so hard and so deep, you'll forget your own name. All you'll remember is mine, as I claim you over and over again. I'll fill this sexy little body up until you're fucking overflowing with my seed. Isn't that what you want, my needy girl? To be stuffed full of your captain's thick, hard cock as I pump you full of my cum? To have me breed this ripe little cunt until your belly swells with my baby?"

He punctuated his filthy words with a sharp thrust of his hips, grinding his straining erection against your core. The heat of him seared you through the fabric of your clothes, making you clench needily around nothing.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin continued his sensual assault on your senses, his voice dropping to a low, hungry growl in your ear. "I want to see this tight little tummy round with my child, want to watch my seed take root deep inside you. Fuck, the thought of you pregnant with my baby, your tits swollen and leaking milk, your belly heavy and ripe... it's enough to make me blow my load right fucking now".

His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing the flesh there possessively as he rocked against you. The thick ridge of his cock throbbed against your mound, the heat of him searing you even through your clothes.

The wedding band on your finger glinted in the low light of the bedroom, a symbol of your eternal bond. He caught your hand in his, bringing it up to press a fervent kiss to the ring, his lips lingering on the metal. "I love seeing my ring on your finger, knowing that you're mine for life. My beautiful bride, my sweet baby... I'm going to spend the rest of our days showing you just how much you mean to me. Worshipping this sexy body, fucking you in every room of our house until the neighbors know the sounds of your pleasure belong to me".

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin gripped your thighs, spreading your legs wider as he settled between them. His fingers danced along the sensitive skin, tracing the lines of your inner thighs before hooking under the hem of your skirt. Slowly, teasingly, he inched the fabric up your legs, revealing more and more of your soft, creamy skin.

"Tell me, my love... what do you want more than anything right now? To be bred full of my seed, or to have my baby growing in your belly? Or maybe... you want both? Want me to fill you up again and again until your sexy little tummy is swollen and aching with my cum, over and over? Fuck, the thought of knocking my bride up and watching her belly grow round with my heir is the most erotic thing I can imagine. I want to see your tits leaking milk, want to taste it on your skin as I suckle at your nipples. Want to feel our baby kick and squirm under my hands as it grows inside you, nourished by my seed".

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin continued his sensual teasing, his voice a low, seductive rumble in your ear. "I want to see your belly swell with my child, want to watch our baby grow and thrive inside your fertile womb. I want you to be the mother of my children, the caretaker of our home, my devoted wife... and I want to give you that life, give you everything you've ever dreamed of".

His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist as he exposed your panty-clad sex to his hungry gaze. He could see the damp patch darkening the fabric, could smell your arousal perfuming the air between your bodies.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent, his beard rasping against your sensitive skin. His voice was a low, approving growl in your ear. "Fuck, you smell divine, love. Smell like you're begging to be filled up".

His fingers found the edge of your panties, toying with the delicate lace as he traced it along your mound. He could feel the heat radiating off your core, could sense how desperately you needed to be touched.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin with his fingers crept under the lace, grazing over your slick folds teasingly. Your honey coated his digits, making them glisten in the low light of the bedroom. He brought them up to his lips, sucking your essence off with a low moan. "You taste like heaven, sweetheart. Like sweet, ripe fruit, ready to be plucked and devoured. And I'm going to devour every last fucking bite of you, until you're nothing but a satisfied, fucked-out mess in my arms. I'm going to make you mine, like I always do".

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin couldn't hold back any longer, his primal need to claim and breed his wife overwhelming him. With a low, guttural groan, he tore your panties off, the flimsy fabric giving way to his strength. The cool air of the bedroom kissed your bare, dripping sex as he flung the ruined garment aside. He didn't waste any time before burying his face between your thighs, his tongue delving deep into your weeping cunt. He lapped at your nectar greedily, his lips and beard soaked with your arousal as he ate you out like a man starved. His hands gripped your ass, pulling your mound closer to his greedy mouth as he sucked and slurped at your clit. He could feel you grinding against his face, could hear the wanton moans spilling from your lips as he pleasured you.

But it wasn't enough. He needed more. Needed to be inside you, needed to fill you up and claim you completely. With a last, hard suck to your clit, he pulled back, his chin dripping with your juices. He attacked your neck, biting and sucking at the tender flesh as he fumbled with his belt, undoing it with clumsy fingers. Finally freeing his aching cock, he gripped the thick shaft in his hand, stroking it as he notched the swollen head at your entrance.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin paused, his breath hot and heavy on your skin, his hips poised to surge forward. His voice was a low, dominant growl in your ear. "Brace yourself, love. I'm going to fuck you so hard, so fucking deep... I'm going to ruin you for any other man. You're MINE, understand? This pretty little cunt belongs to me. I'm going to pump it so full of my seed, you'll be dripping for hours. I'm going to breed this sexy body until it fucking aches. I'm going to make you scream so loud, the whole neighborhood will know who you belong to. And when I'm done, when I've flooded this hungry hole with my cum, I'm going to flip you over and do it all over again. I'm going to fucking wreck you, sweetheart. I'm going to fuck you until my seed is leaking out of you for days. Until your belly is swollen with my baby".

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin with a animalistic roar, he surge forward, burying his thick, throbbing cock deep into your tight, dripping heat in one powerful thrust. He didn't give you time to adjust, just set a brutal, punishing pace as he pounded into you relentlessly. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the bedroom as he took you with wild abandon, his hips slamming against yours with enough force to rock the bed frame. He gripped your hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, pulling you onto his cock as he drove into you over and over.

His beard rasped against your neck as he nibbled and bit at the sensitive skin, his hot breath panting out against you in harsh, erratic bursts. He could feel your velvet walls fluttering around his pistoning shaft, could sense how close you already were to your peak. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight, he growled against your throat, his voice strained with pleasure. I can feel you squeezing my fucking cock like a vice. You love this, don't you, my dirty girl? Love being split open on your captain's thick dick, love having your hungry little cunt stuffed so fucking full?"

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin shifted his angle slightly, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. Your body bowed off the bed, your back arching sharply as you cried out in ecstasy. "That's it, baby, let me hear you scream. Let the whole fucking world know how good I make you feel".

His fingers found your clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, rapid circles. The added stimulation sent you hurtling towards your climax with breathtaking speed. Your cunt clenched down on him rhythmically, milking his cock for all it was worth.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin could feel your body tensing, could sense the impending explosion building deep in your core. With a feral snarl, he redoubled his efforts, pounding into you with a force that bordered on violent. "That's it, sweetheart, come on my cock. I want to feel this greedy little cunt spasm and milk me for every last fucking drop. I want you to scream my name as you come apart in my arms, as I flood your womb with my seed. Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. You're going to fucking drown in my cum, I swear to God".

With a last, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. Throwing his head back, he roared his own release, his thick cock jerking and pulsing as it unleashed a torrent of hot, sticky seed deep into your clutching sex.

The sensation of his potent essence painting your insides triggered your own mind-blowing climax. You screamed his name as your body convulsed uncontrollably, wave after wave of mind-numbing ecstasy crashing over you. Your cunt milked his spurting cock for all it was worth, trying to wring every last drop of his precious cum from his balls.

ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ♡♡ falcon!joaquin collapsed on top of you, his weight pinning you to the mattress as he rutted into you in shallow, erratic thrusts, prolonging your pleasure. He could feel his release leaking out around his softening shaft, your pussy a messy, dripping mess. His breathing was ragged as he peppered your face with soft, reverent kisses. He brushed the damp hair from your forehead, tracing your brows, your cheekbones, your lips with tender fingers. "That's my beautiful girl", he murmured, his voice rough from his cry of completion. "That's my sexy, perfect wife. I love you so fucking much".

© 2025 all rights reserved — millerdilfs. do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as your own without permission.

[mewnewew]

When you kiss them in places they don't expect

Didja miss me? Hehe, yeah a lot of things happened emotionally and otherwise. Enjoy! And seriously. Give me more requests. I love those.

Crocodile

The man is private for goodness sake. Why would you kiss him in public unless it's warranted? Because you damn well love him too fucking much that's why. How can you not want to kiss him when he looks so beautiful to you? If you could you would compose poems, carve his face into marbles, paint him in likeness even when no one else will buy or care about them and because you couldn't care less. You love him after all. Even if he has his own rules of what to and not to do in public or in certain spaces, you'd happily follow them regardless. Anything as long as you could stay next to him after all. Anything in the four seas if it means staying in a relationship with him.

But, there are times where you bite your lip and have to stop from actually drowning the poor man in kisses. This is one of them, where he's walking with you and he's kneeling down letting a tiny puppy lick his fingers as he scratches it's belly. Seas, you shouldn't. You shouldn't. Don't focus on how cute he looks, don't focus on how adorable this is, don't-

"Aren't you a cute thing?" He coos and fuck it.

When he looks at you, you press a kiss to his lips. Out in public. Hands cupping his face. He pauses, then raises an eyebrow at you, a slight frown on his face. The crowd which was slowly forming is now filled with 'aww's and 'that's so cute!'

You huff, leaving his face. "Don't blame me here, you usually aren't like this." There's a grin on your face you can't seem to remove though.

He rolls his eyes, and then comes to his full height as the owner of the puppy -a young child- comes for it, picking it up and looks at him, thanking him for finding it. Giving a vague, single nod he whisks you two away in a cloud of sand, reforming at the doors of Rain Dinners.

"Brat. Think before doing that again." He ruffles your hair. You grin. Looks like he didn't mind so much, maybe you could do it again....

Corazon.

To be clear, you don't know much about the man more than he lets you know. You know him as 'Corazon, Younger brother of the Warlord Doflamingo' but tonight when you two met in the same inn, he sat on the edge of the too-small bed, spreading his legs and letting you stand in between them, close to him as he rests his hands on your hips. He writes to you that he has a secret, you loop your arms around his neck and let one hand play with one of the tails of his hat. You're reassuring him both in speech and body language that you'll listen and you'll keep it to yourself. His amber eyes search yours for a moment more, before leaving one side of your hips to snap his fingers, saying, saying, "Silent."

The noises around you quieten. You don't hear the vendors downstairs bark their wares, you don't hear the chatter and sound of the inn below you two. You don't hear the slight moans of the couple opposite to your room. But you do hear him speak. "My name is Donquixote Rosinanate, Marine Commander code 01746 on a mission from Fleet Admiral Sengoku to stop operations of Warlord and pirate Donquixote Doflamingo."

Your jaw drops, and you stare at him in surprise as he holds your hips again, telling you the story of how he came to be in this wretched situation. Of how his heart holds so much rage and hatred, of his worry and sadness. He tells you in that low, melodious voice of his and you just stand there starstruck as you picture the unwoven scroll of the man you love's past as he tells you. As soon as he's done, he has a mixed picture on his face, of weariness, and exhaustion. So of course you pull his head to your chest, to your heart, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"You brave, wonderful man" You mumble. Your heart is breaking and mending itself, newfound love, appreciation ,and fear now entering with the new information he gave you. "You strong, handsome, perfect man"

He freezes, but soon comes to hold you tighter against him, tension seeping out of his body, as he listens to you. One or your hands goes up his hat, fingers tangling within the strands as you hold him tighter. "Loverboy, look at me please"

When his eyes meet yours you smile, pressing a kiss to his nose. "I'm so proud of you." You whisper, watching his eyes grow wide, a goofy smile blooming on his own.

That night, you two don't do much. You talk some more, and fall asleep, his much larger frame curled around yours, your hands holding his head close, tucked under your chin, face buried in his hair.

Sanji.

It's late, and you wake up with your hair mussed, with the sad, miserable feeling that it's too cold and where the Hell is your warm, snuggly lover coupled with a scowl on your face. So you stumble to the one place he's most likely to be. The kitchen. There have been times when you've genuinely been looking for him because you thought he was not in the kitchen only to find out that he is, in fact in the kitchen, he was just looking for something in the lower cupboards and couldn't hear you. Hell, you've chided him a few times for working in the kitchen even after a big fight, so it's safe to assume that really, the blonde would be in the kitchen. You once sat and watched him, wondering that if it was legitimate, would he be this planet's greatest cook in the world, would be allowed to show at competitions? Would he be sought after then? But oh well.

When you finally get to the kitchen, you see him, baking. Uh oh. Now see, baking at night isn't the issue here. You've helped him make croissants and all sorts of stuff in the dead of night. The real issue is that he's doing it alone, at.....you spare a glance at the clock, 4:45 AM. By the four seas......so yes it's an issue. So yes, it's bad, when it isn't baking before he went to sleep. It's bad when he went to sleep in your bed, all snuggly and warm, and woke up in the ass crack of dawn to bake. Hell, it's even worse than in the ashtray next to the knives, it's filled. That means it was something he was terrified of, or something that came to him and he couldn't shrug off.

You run a hand through your hair and enter. Neither of you says anything just yet, and you take your time settling comfortably into the chairs in front of the counter, hand supporting you head as you watch him do his stuff. Your eyes fall onto his frame where you can see some tension in his movements, a slight jitter to the usual grace which he does his job in. Your eyes move to the tiny snail in the corner which plays music. You switch it on, and watch as the music ebbs and flows. And with it, so does the tension, the stress emanating in the gallery.

Some time later which could have been hours, or even minutes later you get up and come behind him, looping your arms around his hips from behind. "How're you feeling, sunflower?" You murmur.

He pauses in his work, most of them done anyway, and takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing out smoke. ".....Better"

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really"

"Okay. Wanna take a break?"

"....Fine. Let me just pop them into the oven"

30 minutes later, Robin walks in as per her usual timing to see him, head pillowed on your lap snoring softly, one of your hands in his hair, and the other holding one of his to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his palm. You smile slightly at her arrival and point at the oven. "Could you take them out? Blondie here wanted me to wake him up when they were done but...."

She chuckles, nodding. "I'll handle it. Want some tea?"

"That sounds lovely"

Shanks.

Shanks was open about a lot of things. Laughing, being an oaf, and acting like a goofball, many things. Another thing he was very open about was his relationship with you and the affection he showered on you just so. He would give kisses, hugs, and even random spanks on your ass when he could. He would laugh if you threw a fit but you couldn't help but also want to trip him up just so. Just once.

Your chance finally came when he got injured in battle, causing Hongo to order bed rest and STRICTLY bed rest "No leaving the bed for at least a WEEK, captain. That's an order"

"What? Nooo, I can't!" Whined your boyfriend

Hongo sighed, looking like he was ready to strangle the man based on what shenanigans he would probably start to pull to get out of bed. "Captain, please. Just a week. 5 days is all I'm asking here."

"3!"

"5"

"4!"

"5. No more, no less"

The redhead huffed, turning over in bed "Awful doctor, no man should ever treat his captain this way"

Hongo now looked at you, looking three seconds from yanking his hair out and with desperation. You sighed, sitting on the bed next to him and trying to reassure him.

"Come on, Shanks. Listen to the poor guy. I'll be here helping when I can anyway."

He shifted. Gave you a look. This dumbass.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Shanks, I swear to-"

And that was that. You'd help him when you could, not that you minded. However, when he tried to do anything with you, kissing, hugging, you'd pull away, a grin on your face. In fact, you'd end up giving him kisses where he didn't expect it. Is he leaning in for a kiss on the lips? You kiss the bridge of his nose. He wants to hug you? Lean away and a pat on the head. He tries to kiss your cheek? You move and kiss his ear. It drove him nuts.

"Aw c'mon, not again! What did I do to deserve this!" He complained after you had successfully dodged his attempt to kiss you on your lips. Only to be thwarted when you kissed his jaw instead.

"This is payback baby." You grin, sly and fun.

Then it clicks and he laughs that full, happy, lively laugh of his.

"Awright. But as soon as I'm rested up and good to go...." His eyes gleam with a spark of mischievousness. "You're gonna get it, babe"

True to his word, as soon as Hongo says the word "okay", Shanks leaps out of bed and starts running. You were in the fields of the island, looking around and wandering. You flinch as you feel a familiar presence behind, and you've barely turned your back to see who it is, before he crashes into you, scooping you up and lifting you in his arms.

"Caught you!" He yells with glee and all you can do is laugh and squeal with joy, before curling into him and kissing him on the lips.

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · (𝐡𝐢𝐬) 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤

contents: fluff. early twenties + first year of marriage. found family. gojo’s entire day shifts when you forget to wear your wedding ring. 900 wc.

“Eehh—?” You can faintly hear the noise Satoru let out coming from your shared bedroom, and you know he’d approach you about the situation sooner or later. You remain seated in bated breath as he stands with rounded shoulders before your dresser, cerulean hues staring down at your jewelry ceramic tray. And unmistakably there sits a wedding band with a large gemstone glinting at him under the warmth of the golden rays filtering through the curtains. He had a strong feeling there was a reason for his off-morning and this must’ve been it.

A noticeable pout rests on his lower lip and his hands are shoved in the pockets of his sorcerer’s uniform as he slowly climbs down the stairs. You glance over your shoulder from the couch with Tsumiki seated with her legs folded under her while you finish off her braid, and he looks like a kicked puppy the closer he treads. With a small pat on the young girl’s head, you send her to find her brother in his bedroom for breakfast.

“Oh good morning, baby. Why the long face, hm?” You shift your body toward him with an unperturbed smile, but Satoru sulks where he settles on the couch beside you in a manspread. “I’m almost certain I didn’t forget your morning kisses this time, even gave you more than plenty to last the day. Might I add the extra five or was it fifteen minutes of cuddling you so insisted on.” You tease with a gentle poke to his cheek, but nothing seems to be budging him and you think something terrible has happened. Though your husband’s jutted pout is adorable enough to maintain a lighthearted mood.

“No, but you did forget something.” Satoru sighs with a small shake of his head, letting on a weight of seriousness that makes you breathe out a curious ‘oh?’ at what that could be. With a tilt of your head, you watch his movements as he reveals the wedding ring he proposed to you with from the depths of his pocket. He twirls the silver band between his fingers and relief washes over you because you genuinely thought you had done something grave. “Found it on your jewelry dish. Don’t forget to wear it, princess.”

“Ah, so that's what’s bothering you.” You soften as your head leans against him with your arm looping around his, your left hand coming up so he can slip it back onto your finger. He does so with delicate care, and you offer him an explanation of taking it off before showering while he went for a run because you were afraid it'd fall down into the drain and forgot to put it back on. With having two pre-teenagers taken under both your wings, it’s easy to neglect these small details but you have noted to be more mindful next time.

Satoru hums with a chaste kiss on your forehead, intertwining your fingers together in a sweet hold as his thumb brushes against your skin. “Just don’t want anyone else to think you’re up for grabs. It’s not me who gets all the attention when we’re out together, you know.” He can perfectly recall those encounters where not only random strangers would make advances on you, but also cute grannies wanting to set you up with their grandson. He’s gone for one minute to collect your favorite snacks and you’re not how he left you when he returns.

“Oh Satoru, you still haven’t gotten over that yet? It happened two or three times and I think they were just being polite.” Satoru knew you would say that but allows you to have your own beliefs as you reach over to playfully pinch his cheek with a soft laugh. But you suppose it’s endearing seeing him jealous over something that happened years ago when he has nothing to worry about. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hmm, that’s an easy one. Never let me go?” He answers with a quickness that causes your heart to flutter, and sure enough he’s reverting back to being your lovable and charming husband. “Besides, having a beautiful and hot wife means that I have to protect and take care of what’s mine.” And he means more than fending off idiots trying to get your number, but also from being potentially targeted by cursed users because you’re someone of great importance to the Gojo clan leader.

“There’s a much better way to handle that. I could just let everyone know I’m happily married to the best guy ever.” Satoru doesn’t hide the smug look overtaking his features before nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing light kisses on your pulse point.

“Heh, flattery won’t get you off the hook.” He drags you impossibly close with his large hand wrapped around your hip. His onslaught of kisses continues up along your face and you both fall back on the cushions of the couch as he revels in your giggles. After a moment, Satoru meets your gaze again and sweeps strands of hair away to see more of you. “And I love seeing that ring on your finger. Reminds me of something real special between us and that you chose to be with me.”

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way.” You gently take his hand cradling your face and place it over your chest with an earnest squeeze. “You are the best husband I could ever ask for. Love you, baby.” Satoru leans down to capture your lips sweetly at first, then chases after its softness for little pecks and murmurs how much he loves you back. And from the bottom of the steps of the staircase are the Fushiguro siblings sharing a knowing glance before entering the room to help with breakfast.

꒰ note ᰔ satoru always wears his wedding band on his finger and around his neck when he’s fighting against cursed spirits. ꒱

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be) PART 3

WC:4.2k CW: None Notes: what's up guys. plz leave thoughts on this one.

So Azzi was being mean on purpose now.

Not like mean mean. Not like mean in the way girls at school were when they told you your outfit looked brave or when they smiled too big at the guy you liked. No. Azzi’s mean was different. It was intentional. Targeted. Kind of quiet and terrifying. Like she was trying to get a specific reaction out of Paige and always knew exactly how to do it.

Like right now.

They were in their room, which was technically a break day from practice, and Paige had been on full Annoying Azzi Mode since sunrise. No real reason. She just felt like annoying someone. She felt like poking at something warm until it cracked a little. Because her phone had been weirdly silent all morning. No texts from her dad, no accidental family group chat blowing up, no passive-aggressive messages from her stepmom about the “adult decisions being made”. And that was like… good. Sort of.

Good but also not.

It felt like getting ghosted by chaos. Like maybe the whole house had finally burned down and no one told her. Or maybe they were just pretending she didn’t exist for today. She couldn’t tell which made her feel worse.

So now she was pacing. In socks. And a hoodie that wasn’t hers. And talking. A lot. Loudly.

“Okay but think about it,” Paige said, standing on Azzi’s bed while chewing half a granola bar. “What if I started rapping during warmups? Like not real rapping, just like… you know. A beat. Like a personal hype loop. Paige bars.”

Azzi was sitting on the floor doing something with her ankle brace, face completely neutral. She didn’t even look up. “That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“I haven’t even said the best part yet. You could be my backup dancer.”

“No.”

“Azzi.”

“No.”

“Azzi, come on—”

“You’re literally insane.”

“I’m not insane,” Paige said, flopping dramatically onto her bed now and hanging her head over the side so she could still see Azzi upside down. “I’m just high-energy. You should be grateful. I’m a gift.”

“You’re a plague.”

“I’m your plague.”

That made Azzi look up. Just long enough to raise one eyebrow, smirk faintly, then return to taping her brace like she hadn’t just absolutely ended Paige’s life with one look.

Okay. So this was what Paige was talking about.

This.

Azzi knew. She knew what she was doing. She liked doing this. Liked flustering her. Liked catching her off guard and watching her trip all over her own stupid words. Like some evil magician with great skin and freakish core strength.

And Paige... Paige was letting it happen.

Paige wanted it to happen.

Sort of.

But also it wasn’t fair. Because she was supposed to be the annoying one. That was the whole thing. That was her role in this friendship-flirting-enemy-rival-something zone they’d landed in. Paige was supposed to be the one causing problems. Throwing off the rhythm. Climbing Azzi like a jungle gym and trying to get her to laugh at objectively dumb jokes. Not this. Not the other way around.

She pouted. “Why are you so good at that?”

“At what.”

“At like… doing whatever it is you’re doing to my brain.”

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Exactly,” Paige said. “It’s not right.”

Azzi sighed and tugged her brace tighter. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Rarely. But for you? Maybe. I could be bribed.”

“I’m not bribing you.”

Paige gasped. “Wow.”

Azzi looked up again, except this time not smiling. Her eyebrows were tight, mouth pressed flat. “Seriously, can you just chill for two seconds? I’m trying to do something.”

And well.

Oh.

That tone was real. That was Real Azzi. Not Play Azzi. Not fake-irritated, not smirking or flirty or sarcastic. That was actually annoyed Azzi.

Paige blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”

And then she was quiet.

Like really quiet.

Which wasn’t her strong suit, but she sat there on the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting in her lap, chewing her lip, not saying a single dumb thing while Azzi finished whatever ankle-brace ritual she had going.

The silence was heavy. Not awkward, just thick. Like a fog had rolled in and was sitting on her chest a little. Like she had to breathe slower so she didn’t mess it up worse.

Her phone buzzed once on the bed beside her. She looked. Nothing. Not her dad. Not her stepmom. Not Drew. Just some spam text from a number labeled “URGENT INSURANCE NOTIFICATION.”

Cool.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked finally, voice small.

Azzi sighed again, but less sharp this time. “No. Just… let me finish this, okay?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She laid back on the bed, eyes up to the ceiling.

Maybe if she stared hard enough, it would open up and suck her into some dimension where no one ever got annoyed, and there were no text messages, and you could just hang out in your friend’s room and annoy her without the mood shifting like a thunderstorm outta nowhere.

But Azzi didn’t ask her to leave.

So that was something.

-

Okay so here’s the problem:

Paige had this thing. Like… a pattern. Like some inner switch that was all messed up and wired backward. She was loud. Always loud. Always cracking jokes, bouncing off walls, talking too much, talking fast, fake-annoying people on purpose because it was fun and because she could and because it made things feel… lighter. Less suffocating.

But the second someone actually got annoyed with her?

Dead. Silent.

Like the switch flipped in reverse and suddenly she forgot how to be loud, forgot how to be funny, forgot how to be a person who didn’t accidentally make other people feel like this.

It’d been like that ever since the whole war-zone-at-home situation started. Since her dad and her stepmom started fighting like they were both trying to win a medal in Most Public Divorce of the Year. Ever since the yelling got weird and the house stopped feeling safe. Ever since she started annoying people a little too hard on purpose because it made her forget that she was sort of falling apart.

And then when it didn’t land, when the person she was annoying actually got mad, Paige didn’t know how to fix it. She’d just go quiet. Floaty. Sensitive. God, she hated that word. Sensitive. Like some sad wet tissue of a person.

That’s how it felt now.

Dinner was over, but she hadn’t really eaten. Her tray had one of those mystery chicken things on it and some broccoli that smelled like boiled foot, and Paige just picked at it the whole time until it got cold and gross. Azzi didn’t say much. Not after this afternoon. Not after the ankle brace and the “can you chill” and the very real tone that had hollowed Paige out like a trash can with legs.

So now she was just… wandering.

Not outside, because obviously that was against the rules and Paige didn’t feel like dealing with a lecture if they got caught, but she could roam the halls. Walk the same loop on repeat like a Sims character with no free will.

The fluorescent lights buzzed above her head. Her socks made no sound on the old tile floor. Every door she passed was a muffled world full of girl-noise and dumb laughter and random FaceTimes and inside jokes and perfume spray. She didn’t belong in any of them right now.

She didn’t belong anywhere.

She circled back eventually. Her feet took her to the dorm without her asking.

Azzi’s side of the room was all calm and glowing and folded. Paige’s side looked like the inside of a gym bag. She liked it that way. Maybe.

Her backpack was leaning against the bed, still zipped. She hadn’t done anything school-related in, like, four days. Maybe more. Who was counting.

She flopped onto her stomach, yanked the bag open, and pulled out her math worksheet. It looked fake. Like someone had printed it out just to make her feel bad.

She tried to focus.

One problem.

Then the next.

What even was slope-intercept again?

Is “Y” the one that moves? Or the line?

God this sucked.

She stared at it. Read it five times. Did nothing.

Pretended.

Paige was so good at pretending. You didn’t even know.

She clicked her pen. Wrote the date on top. Underlined it.

Fake progress.

She could do this for hours.

The shower in the shared suite bathroom shut off.

A few minutes later, Azzi walked back into the room, wrapped in one of those white towels that only rich people owned and girls in movies wore after beach scenes. Her hair was tied up. Her face looked soft and clean and perfect, which felt unfair.

Paige didn’t say anything. She just kept pretending to do math.

Azzi didn’t say anything either.

She went to her side, put on her lotion like she always did—Paige swore she used five products in one night and all of them smelled like clouds—and started her whole quiet bedtime routine.

There was this calmness about her. The same calmness that had made Paige like her at all. Like even if the world exploded, Azzi would just calmly raise one eyebrow and be like, “Really? That’s your apocalypse outfit?”

Paige peeked at her. Just a little. From behind the curtain of her bad homework.

She wasn’t sure if she should say something. Apologize again. Crawl under the bed. Make a new joke. Try to be the girl from this morning. The loud one. The one with the granola bar and the bad rapping ideas.

But the switch was still flipped. And Paige didn’t know how to flip it back.

The math worksheet was stupid.

Paige stared at it like it owed her money. It didn’t. It owed her nothing. It was just a piece of paper with dumb numbers on it and instructions she wasn’t going to follow.

At some point, her pen rolled out of her hand and off the bed with a tiny clink. She didn’t go after it. Didn’t even twitch. Just let her hand hang off the side like she was some Victorian woman dying dramatically of heartbreak.

And then, because she needed a new way to punish herself, she reached for her phone.

She didn’t need to check it. She knew what was on it.

Nothing.

No texts from her dad. Which was new.

No texts from her stepmom. Which was… blessed honestly.

No texts from her mom, even though Paige had triple texted her earlier just to say “u alive?” like that was totally casual and not code for “please tell me I’m not the only sane adult in my bloodline right now.”

No texts from Drew.

No texts from anyone.

It was just the void.

Her phone lit up with a notification, and her chest did this embarrassing jump thing like maybe—maybe—

It was just Duolingo reminding her she was losing a 14-day streak in Spanish.

Paige turned the whole phone off. Like off-off. Like black-screen, no-vibes, don’t-talk-to-me-ever off.

She dropped it next to her on the bed and flopped again, this time on her back, arms out like she was about to be crucified by whatever gods managed teenage emotions.

The ceiling was ugly. Her thoughts were worse.

She didn’t wanna sleep. She didn’t wanna do homework. She didn’t wanna cry, but her eyeballs were kind of dry and stingy, and her chest was tight in that ugh-I’m-definitely-feeling-something-but-I-don’t-know-what-so-let’s-shove-it-down-and-do-nothing kind of way.

She just wanted to zone out. That was the goal. Just totally emotionally power off. Like the phone. Like a robot. Or an unplugged toaster.

It was working, sort of. She was halfway into full shut-down when Azzi spoke.

Not loud. Just a little quiet “Hey.” Like a casual footstep into her headspace.

Paige’s throat made a weird sound when she tried to answer. Not words. Just, like… air and dust.

She coughed once. Swallowed. Tried again.

“Yeah?”

Her voice cracked.

Like, boy-hitting-puberty cracked.

Paige immediately sat up and made a face like the world had wronged her personally.

“Okay, that was… that was not real. You didn’t hear that.”

Azzi blinked at her from across the room, sitting on the floor by her bed like she always did after her whole skincare cult routine.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought something.” Paige pointed a dramatic finger. “I heard it in your face.”

Azzi tilted her head. Her mouth curled just a little. “Your voice cracked.”

“Rude.” Paige pulled a pillow over her own head. “I’ve been silent for like five hours. That’s a medical condition.”

“Mmhm.” Azzi’s voice was dry, amused. “It’s called being dramatic.”

“Wow,” Paige said, muffled under the pillow. “Backstabbed in my own bed.”

There was a pause. A quiet one, but not the heavy kind. Not like earlier. Paige peeked out from under the pillow and saw Azzi still sitting there, knees pulled up, watching her like she was trying to figure something out but wasn’t in a rush about it.

“Did you finish your math?” Azzi asked.

Paige groaned like the answer had physically hurt her.

“No. I gave up and stared at my phone like it was gonna cure me or something. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.”

Azzi nodded. “You turned it off?”

“Yeah. I was over it. It was either that or throw it across the room.” Paige flopped again, arms splayed. “But I feel like that’s frowned upon in government housing.”

Azzi snorted lightly and leaned back against her bed. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Tragic, I know.”

“No, I mean like…” Azzi paused, thoughtful. “You only go full ghost when you’re overthinking.”

Paige blinked at the ceiling. “Weird theory. Bold of you to assume I think at all.”

Azzi didn’t laugh this time. She just looked at her. That soft-but-solid look Paige had come to know by now. Like Azzi was both not pushing and still noticing everything.

It made Paige feel… itchy. Seen in a way she didn’t know what to do with.

“I just—” Paige started, then shut her mouth.

She didn’t know what she was going to say. Didn’t have something to say, exactly. She felt too full of words and too empty at the same time. Like all the thoughts were trying to form a single sentence and it was getting jammed in the output pipe.

Azzi didn’t press. Just stayed where she was. Existing.

After a second, Paige rolled to face the wall. Not mad. Not sad. Just done.

“I’ll be funny again tomorrow,” she mumbled into the blanket. “Probably. Don’t hold me to it.”

Behind her, Azzi just said, “Okay.”

And somehow, that was exactly the right answer.

-

It started with some kid.

Not a real one. Not even Drew. Just a little boy Paige didn’t know, crying in a hallway with flickering lights, begging her not to leave. His voice sounded like her brother’s sometimes. Other times, like her own.

There was a door slamming. Then another. Then another.

Someone was yelling... maybe her dad, maybe someone else. It didn’t matter. Paige was running and trying to help, but her legs weren’t moving right. They were underwater, or glued to the floor, or both.

When she looked down, her hands were covered in marker. Just big, thick black scribbles, like someone had tried to cross her out.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t fix it.

And then—

She snapped awake.

The room was dark. Way too dark. Too still.

Her chest was doing that tight thing again. That awful, sharp, crushing kind of tight that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

She sat up slowly. Her hair stuck to the side of her face, damp with sweat. Her pillow felt gross. Her shirt stuck to her back.

Azzi was asleep, perfectly still, bundled up in her blanket like a very serious little cocoon. Paige stared at her for a second. Like, just stared. As if watching someone else breathe would teach her how.

Then she got up. Quietly. Carefully. Like the floor might shatter if she stepped too hard.

She padded out into the hallway barefoot and made it to the bathroom without even knowing where she was going. The tile was cold under her toes, and the overhead light buzzed just faintly enough to make her feel like she wasn’t totally alone.

She sat on the floor with her knees to her chest.

She stared at her phone again. It was past 3 a.m. The kind of time when the whole world feels sideways and blurry.

Her mom still hadn’t texted back.

Paige had tried earlier—three whole texts. Dumb ones. Just “u up?” and “you alive?” and a “lol if u care ab me blink” like it was a joke, like it was whatever. Like she didn’t mean it.

But she did.

So now she typed again. And erased. Then typed again.

Paige: hey

Paige: idk if ur up

Paige: but like. can u text me

She stared at it. Added another line.

Paige: just want to know ur there

Her thumb hovered. Then she hit send.

Immediately, she turned the screen over. Face-down. Like that would keep it from hurting if nothing came back.

She curled into herself a little more on the floor, wrapping her arms tighter around her knees.

It wasn’t just the dream.

It was everything lately. The not-talking from her mom. The yelling from her dad. The “why are you being so dramatic?” from her stepmom. The way Drew had sounded tiny on the phone when he’d whispered, “It’s really loud tonight.”

And now, the silence.

All this silence in all the wrong places.

She didn’t even like asking for things. But right now, she wanted one thing. Just one stupid thing. Just for her mom to answer. Just a single little ping, a digital “I see you,” even if there were no words.

She sniffed. Not like a sob. Just a quiet, tired little sound. Like her nose giving up on dignity.

“God, I’m so lame,” she muttered into her own knees.

No one answered.

The tile stayed cold. Her heartbeat slowed eventually. The bathroom stayed too bright. Her phone stayed quiet.

Still, she stayed sitting.

Still hoping.

Just a minute longer. Just in case.

Paige didn't even want to send another text.

Like, she really tried.

Like, Paige was actively telling herself, “don’t be weird,” and “chill out,” and “she’s probably asleep, it’s fine, it’s not personal.”

But it was also three-something in the morning, and her brain was doing that thing where all logic had left the building and everything felt ten times heavier than it actually was.

So. She typed. Again.

Paige: it’s dumb

Paige: u don’t have to say anything

Paige: i just

Paige: i feel kinda weird rn

Send.

Immediate regret.

Immediate: what the hell is wrong with you.

Immediate: delete your whole phone, throw it in the toilet, move to Canada.

She buried her face in her knees again, blinking up at the ceiling like that would stop the burn behind her eyes. It didn’t.

And that’s when the door creaked open.

She froze. Literally... like a racoon in a hoodie on the bathroom floor. Her heart jerked into her throat.

And then she heard soft footsteps. Socked feet. Azzi.

Azzi stepped into the doorway, squinting through the light, her hair messy and damp from sleep. She was wearing the dumbest socks Paige had ever seen. Like, full-on yellow ducks.

Paige’s breath caught. Not from the socks. From the fact that someone was seeing her like this. On the floor. At 3 a.m. Looking like a peeled banana left out in the sun.

Azzi blinked a few times. “Paige?” she asked, still half-asleep.

Paige made the fatal error of looking up.

Which meant Azzi could see her face.

Which meant Azzi could see the way her nose was pink and her eyes were glassy and that thing she did with her jaw when she was trying not to cry.

And Paige—oh God—Paige felt her whole chest cave in.

She waved her hand like, I’m good, don’t worry, abort mission, and looked down at the tile. “I’m fine,” she croaked. Her voice did that crack thing again. Total betrayal.

Azzi hesitated.

Then, quietly: “You’re not.”

And she turned and walked out.

Which, like, Paige did not expect.

Which, for a second, made Paige feel so embarrassingly rejected she almost stood up and ran.

But then Azzi came back.

Carrying her giant green water bottle with all the stupid stickers on it.

And a pack of tissues.

She didn’t say anything. Just sat down next to Paige. Cross-legged. Close, but not too close. And handed her the water.

Paige took it.

Tried to drink. Failed. Her throat was too tight. Her hands were shaking now, which was so not fair.

And then the first tear slid out.

And then the second.

And then her whole face just betrayed her.

She turned toward the wall and curled into her knees like maybe she could keep the tears contained, like if she hid her face no one would notice she was breaking.

But Azzi stayed quiet.

Just sat there. Not moving.

And that? That made it worse. Somehow. The quiet made it real.

“I’m sorry,” Paige mumbled into her hoodie sleeve. “I don’t— I didn’t mean to— I’m not, like—”

Her voice cracked again, and she covered her face completely with her sleeve and swore under her breath.

Azzi just nodded. Still not saying anything. Still just sitting beside her, like Paige wasn’t some huge inconvenience or some emotional disaster.

Which. Felt weirdly nice.

Which. Made her cry more.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet and leaky and exhausted, like the tears were slipping out of her ribs without permission.

Azzi handed her a tissue. Didn’t say anything dumb like “it’s gonna be okay,” or “you’re strong,” or “talk to me.” Just… sat. Existed. Offered water again.

And eventually, when Paige could finally breathe right again, she whispered, “Thanks.”

Azzi leaned her head back against the wall. “It’s cool. I cry all the time.”

Paige looked at her. “Liar.”

Azzi grinned. “Okay, not all the time. But sometimes. It’s whatever.”

And just like that, Paige let out this tiny, pathetic little laugh. Just a breath, really. But it was something.

She wiped her eyes. Drank the water.

And didn’t feel totally okay.

But at least she didn’t feel alone.

-

Azzi didn’t say much when she helped Paige up. Just kind of stood and offered a hand, like they were teammates on a court instead of two girls in a quiet dorm hallway where one of them had cried into her own hoodie sleeve. The tiles were cold. Paige’s knees cracked a little when she straightened. Azzi didn’t laugh. Just led her back down the corridor, sleepy and barefoot, duck-sock steps echoing soft under the dim lights.

Their room was dark except for the weak glow from Azzi’s side-table lamp. Paige blinked a few times, squinting through the blur that came with tired eyes and a nose still stuffed from leaking like a loser. She felt heavy. Tired in that full-body way like her ribs and knees were tired too.

She stood there awkwardly for a second in the middle of the room, not really knowing what to do now. Like… thanks? Goodnight? Should she cry again or just pass out or start talking about her childhood trauma or—?

Azzi sat down on Paige’s bed instead. Crossed her legs and waited.

“C’mere,” she said eventually, soft. A little tilt to her head. “You look like you’re gonna collapse.”

Paige frowned. “I don’t wanna—”

Azzi held out her arms.

Paige stared at them like they were a trap.

But she moved anyway. She always did, with Azzi. It was something dumb and unspoken and automatic, like gravity or electricity or muscle memory.

Azzi pulled her in with no drama, no big emotional scene. Just: here, be here, you’re safe.

And Paige landed right against her chest, arms kind of awkward at first, like she didn’t know where to put them. But Azzi wrapped around her anyway. All calm and warm and steady like that’s just how she was built. Her sweatshirt was soft. Her heartbeat was in stereo. Paige could feel it under her ear.

She exhaled so slowly it felt like deflating.

“I’m gonna fall asleep if you don’t move,” she mumbled, too tired to lift her head.

Azzi’s hand moved up and down her back. “Dude,” she said, low and warm, “that’s literally the point.”

“Oh.” Paige’s voice was a whisper now. Like a guilty child. “Okay then.”

And Azzi didn’t say anything else. Just let her be still. Held her like it was normal. Like Paige didn’t have ten thousand feelings clattering around her chest like a junk drawer of broken stuff.

Eventually, Paige’s arms found their way around Azzi too. Not tight. Just… enough. Enough to say please stay like this a little longer.

Azzi didn’t let go. Not even once.

And Paige?

She fell asleep in two minutes flat.

[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: Church - BONDAGE ♡

SUMMARY / You've always wanted to try bondage, but didn't know how to go about it. So, you went online and found a professional to help you.

warnings ✩ SMUT, DOM/SUB dynamics, soft dom!seonghwa, service top!hwa, sub!reader, seonghwa is literally just some stranger you hired so basically an escort or whatever, just more professional!, unprotected sex, bondage, oral (f), fingering (f)

word count ✩ 4,26k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @lustfxq @ashistrashhhhhh @hwallazia @aurorasjoongie

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

"Nope," you mutter to yourself as you scroll through the forum, "definitely not that one." You've been on this site for hours, trying to find someone who could help you with your curiosity without making you feel like a complete novice. The images and descriptions you've seen so far have been overwhelming, and you can't shake the feeling that you're about to stumble into a pit of weirdos and creeps.

"Absolutely not." You click away from the page, feeling a mix of frustration and relief. It's hard to believe that such a simple search for a bondage instructor has led you down a rabbit hole of questionable ads and eerie profiles. But you're not giving up just yet. There has to be someone out there who can introduce you to this world without making it feel like you're signing your soul away to a dark cult.

You hesitantly click on a link titled "Experienced Bondage Educator." The profile seems professional, with no explicit content in sight. You read through the details, which outline safety measures and a no-nonsense approach to BDSM education.

"Hm." You lean closer to the screen, studying the profile. "He seems okay." The profile is simple, yet alluring—no naked photos or lewd comments, just a promise of guidance from someone who knows their knots. You click the button to send a private message, your heart racing.

But instead, you got a pop-up. It was just a list of prices. Weekly, Monthly…you only wanted lessons whenever you could get them, honestly. But this was just a practice round.

"SINGLE LESSONS: $50 (+$40 for Sexual Favors.)"

Very pricey, you think, your cursor hovering over the "Send Message" button. But what's a little extra cash for peace of mind, right? You click, and a new chat window pops up. "Hello," you type, trying to sound casual. "I'm interested in learning about bondage. Would you be willing to give me some private lessons?"

You sat in front of your screen nervously waiting for a response, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum at a military parade. The cursor blinked at you, seemingly mocking your indecision. Finally, the chat box lit up with a new message. "Hello," he wrote, his screen name a simple "MasterK." His tone was surprisingly friendly, a stark contrast to the seriousness of the topic at hand.

MasterK asked for your name and a brief explanation of your experience. You told him you were a complete novice, eager to learn but cautious about the scene's reputation. He assured you that safety was his number one priority and that he enjoyed teaching those who were curious but had no desire to dive into the deep end. His words put you slightly at ease, though the price tag still nagged at the back of your mind.

Did you even want any sexual favors? You were clean yourself, but what about him? You tap your nails on your laptop's keyboard, contemplating your next move. Maybe you could just ignore that part of the price list? After all, you weren't looking for that. Just education.

But, from the pictures he posted with his body, face just barely visible, he looked attractive. It was mostly his hands that you were attracted to. Strong, yet gentle, the way they held the ropes in the pictures. The way they looped and curved around the model's wrists, not tightly, but with a firmness that suggested experience and confidence.

"Are you clean? Like, sex wise?" you finally ask, biting your bottom lip as you await his response. The chat bubble flickers with activity for a few moments before MasterK's response appears.

"Yes, I practice safe and hygienic protocols. I understand your concerns, and I assure you that my services are strictly professional. However, if you are not comfortable with the additional fee for the full experience, I can tailor the lessons to focus solely on bondage technique without any sexual elements. It's all about what you're looking for and what makes you feel safe," he writes back, his words measured and reassuring.

You let out a sigh of relief. Maybe this isn't so bad after all. "I'm clean myself. I'll take the sex or whatever. I mean, I have the opportunity. Might as well," you reply, trying to sound casual. The chat bubble pulses with his response.

"Great," MasterK types. "Let's get you booked in. I usually hold my sessions in a private studio downtown. It's equipped with everything we'll need, and your safety is guaranteed."

"Cool. I mean, from the location on your site, you're right by me. How far is your studio? I might need to grab a cab," you reply, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. The anticipation was building, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement.

MasterK's response is swift and friendly. "It's about a 10-minute drive from your area. You can take a cab or use a ride-sharing service. The exact address will be shared with you once the appointment is confirmed. Also, remember to bring comfortable clothing, but I'll have some items available if you don't have anything suitable," he writes.

You nod to yourself, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. The thought of being tied up by a stranger is both exhilarating and terrifying. But you've read enough articles about consent and safety in BDSM to know that this is a chance to explore your kink with a professional. You decide to take the leap and agree to the terms, confirming your appointment for the following weekend.

And finally, it was Saturday. You didn't know what he meant by comfortable clothing and you wanted to wear something that showed your curves, and you went with a black, two-piece outfit: a simple tee and biker shorts along with your oversized jacket on top.

You took a cab to the address MasterK provided, feeling the butterflies in your stomach multiply with every passing block. The studio was tucked away in a nondescript alley, the only hint of its existence a small, discreet sign that read "The Knotty Den." You pay the driver and step out, the cool evening air doing little to calm your racing thoughts.

Walking through the door, you're immediately struck by the clean, minimalist decor. The scent of freshly sanded wood and leather fills your nostrils, and you can't help but feel a little intimidated by the array of bondage equipment lining the walls. You're greeted by a softly-lit room with a large, padded table in the center, surrounded by an assortment of chairs, benches, and what you assume are various types of restraints.

MasterK emerges from a back room, dressed in black from head to toe. His eyes are piercing, yet gentle, as he approaches you with a firm handshake. "Welcome to my studio," he says, his voice a soothing tone. "I'm your instructor for the evening, MasterK. Or Seonghwa if that makes you more comfortable." He gestures to a chair, indicating you should sit.

You take a deep breath and settle into the chair, trying to calm your racing heart. He's not what you expected—his demeanor is more calming than intimidating, which helps ease some of your anxiety. You notice his hands again, now unadorned by the ropes from his profile pictures, but they still exude the same confidence.

"H-Hi," you stutter, taking in the sight of Seonghwa—MasterK—up close. He's taller than you anticipated, with a presence that fills the room despite the spaciousness of the studio. His smile is welcoming, his eyes a comforting shade of brown that seems to read your soul. You feel a strange sense of safety in his gaze.

"Let's get started," he says, his voice a smooth blend of authority and kindness. He guides you to the center of the room where the padded table awaits. The leather is cold against your skin as you sit on the edge, your knees tightly pressed together.

Seonghwa opens a chest at the side of the room, revealing an organized selection of ropes, cuffs, and other gear. He selects a set of soft, red ropes and begins explaining the basics of bondage, his hands moving with a mesmerizing fluidity. You listen intently, nodding along, trying to absorb every word like a sponge in a pool of water.

"You have a favorite color you want me to use?" Seonghwa asks, holding up the red ropes.

You blush slightly, feeling a little embarrassed. "No, I don't have a preference. Red is fine," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Okay. You should take your jacket off, too. It's better to learn without any unnecessary layers," Seonghwa says, his eyes never leaving yours as he holds out a hand to help you remove your oversized jacket. You hesitate for a moment, feeling a little more exposed than you're used to, but his gentle touch and the warmth of the room soon have you discarding it.

You were right for paying the extra fee for sexual favors because good lord, the thought of him without clothes on immediately plagued your mind.

He starts by showing you the ropes, explaining their different types and purposes. You can't help but feel a tingle of excitement as he runs the soft, red ropes through his fingers, demonstrating how to hold and manipulate them. His hands are strong yet gentle, and you find yourself imagining what it would be like to have them on your body.

"What position do you want to be in?" Seonghwa asks, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation or discomfort. You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts.

"I-I'm not sure. What do you recommend for beginners?"

"Mmm." he narrows his eyes. "Either doggystyle or missionary. Whichever you prefer."

You gulp, feeling a sudden rush of nerves. "Missionary," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. Seonghwa nods understandingly, laying out the ropes on the table. He explains that this position allows for the most control and safety for your first time, which you appreciate.

"And what sexual favors did you want? You asked if I'm clean, so clearly you want penetration. But, was there anything else?" His voice is calm and measured, but you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

You shake your head, trying to focus on the task at hand. "I-I don't know. Just… whatever's normal, I guess." You feel a mix of excitement and fear, but you're also curious.

"Alright. Do you mind…removing your clothes? It'll make the process easier and quicker." Seonghwa's voice is steady, as if asking you to take your shoes off at the door, not disrobe in front of him.

Now you were kind of embarrassed. You were already soaked down there. But you nodded, taking off your tee and shorts, leaving your bra and panties on. He nodded in approval, and you laid down on the table. The coolness of the leather made your skin break out in goosebumps, but the warmth of your own excitement quickly overtook the sensation.

"If you want to move to a different surface at any time, let me know. I have more comfortable areas." Seonghwa says, as you lay there feeling the coldness of the table. You nod, trying to hide your nervousness as he approaches you. He's professional, but you can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at what's to come.

He starts by placing a soft, padded cushion under your hips, ensuring that your comfort is a priority. Then he takes one of the red ropes and shows you how to hold it in a way that won't cause you any pain, but will still be effective in securing you in place. He explains that communication is key in bondage, and that you should always have a safe word ready. You nod, choosing the word "pumpkin"—random, but it feels right.

He took his time with you, showing you how to tie a basic wrist restraint. His hands were firm yet tender as he demonstrated the right amount of tension. You watched in amazement as the rope began to take shape around your wrist, creating a delicate but unmistakable bond. The feeling of being restrained, even in such a simple way, was already starting to stir something within you—a mix of vulnerability and excitement.

Within the blink of an eye, you were tied up, your wrists bound to your ankles and your legs spread wide flawlessly. The anticipation was unbearable. Seonghwa's eyes never left yours, searching for any sign of fear or discomfort. You nodded slightly, giving him the green light to proceed.

"So I'm…only bound in like, one area? It seems so…simple," you say, your voice betraying a hint of disappointment.

"Well, this is for beginners, love." Oh god, the pet name. There was definitely a visible pool of wetness in your underwear. "But if you want to be more…involved, I can add more complexity to your restraints," Seonghwa says with a smirk. He runs his hand lightly down your bare leg, sending shivers up your spine.

"T-This is fine," you stutter, feeling the ropes bite into your skin just enough to remind you of your vulnerability. Seonghwa nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. He walks beside the table now and leans down in front of a small side table, pulling the drawer open and grabbing a condom and bottle of lube.

Words couldn't even describe how badly you wanted him.

He sat them down and ran his hand up and down your leg again. "Are you ready?"

You nodded, your breath coming in shallow pants. You were more than ready.

"I'll perform regular oral on you, fingering, and then penetration. You can use your safeword whenever you feel it's too much and need a break." Seonghwa's voice is low and steady, his gaze intense as he looks down at you, sprawled out on the table. You nod, feeling the warmth spread through your body at the thought of his mouth on you.

He pulls you closer to the edge of the table and knelt down in front of you, pushing your underwear to the side to reveal your wetness. Your legs trembled as he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin. His tongue was soft and explorative, tracing your slit with gentle strokes that made your hips buck involuntarily. You moaned softly, the feeling of his mouth on you sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

"Just relax," he murmured against your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "Let me take care of everything."

And so you did. As Seonghwa's mouth worked its magic, you felt your body melt into the table. He knew exactly how to coax the most pleasure from you, his tongue swirling around your clit in a rhythm that had you panting for more. You've had oral before, but this was different—it was like he was reading your mind, knowing exactly what you needed before you even knew it yourself.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you moaned louder as Seonghwa's tongue grew more insistent. He paused for a moment, looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye before plunging two fingers inside you without warning. You gasped, the sudden fullness surprising and overwhelming in the best way possible. He curled them in a come-hither motion, hitting that spot deep within that had you seeing stars.

"Oh my god-!" you leaned your head back, eyes rolling up as Seonghwa's skilled fingers worked in tandem with his mouth. The feeling was indescribable, and your body responded with eager jerks and twitches. Each stroke was deliberate, each suckle precise—it was as if he had a map of your pleasure points and was navigating them with expert ease.

You were glad that you could still close your legs, so you did. You squeezed your thighs around his head, trapping him in your wetness as he devoured you. His fingers continued to move in and out of you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl with every stroke. You could feel your orgasm building, a tight coil in your belly that grew tighter and tighter with every touch of his tongue.

"S-Seonghwa!" you whimper, your voice strained and breathy. You didn't know if you could take much more of this exquisite torture.

He pulls back slightly, smiling up at you. "Good girl," he murmurs before returning his attention to your sensitive clit. He increases his pace, and the pressure of his tongue and fingers builds until you're teetering on the edge of orgasm.

Not being able to move your arms felt like torture, but god, it so exciting at the same time. You've never been so vulnerable. His tongue danced around your clit, flicking and circling until you couldn't take it anymore. The orgasm that had been building explodes through you, your body arching off the table as your legs tighten around his head.

"I-I'm gonna cum," you manage to gasp out, your voice thick with desire.

Seonghwa's only response is a low, approving grumble, his fingers working faster and his mouth sucking harder. The pressure is unbearable, yet you crave more. Your eyes roll back in your head as the orgasm crashes over you, making your body convulse and your muscles tighten around his invading digits. The feeling is so intense, so all-consuming, that you scream out his name, the sound echoing through the quiet studio.

"F-Fuck! Fuck, Seonghwa!" you scream, your body trembling uncontrollably as you ride out the intense wave of pleasure. His fingers don't stop their relentless pace, even as your orgasm subsides, pushing you towards another peak with every stroke.

Seonghwa pulls away from your pussy with a wet pop, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watches you pant and squirm against the ropes. "You taste delicious," he murmurs, his thumb idly circling your clit.

"Ah," you were so sensitive, so overwhelmed with the aftershocks of your orgasm that you could barely speak. But you felt a strange sense of empowerment, like you'd just unlocked a secret chamber in your mind that had been waiting for you all along. "W-what's next?"

He didn't answer as he stood, undoing his belt with a smooth, almost ceremonial air. He was still fully dressed except for his unbuckled belt, and you found yourself eager to see the rest of him. He pulled out his cock, thick and hard, and you felt a thrill run through you. This was really happening.

He reached for the condom and ripped it open, rolling it down his length with a confidence that made your heart race. You couldn't help but stare as he lubed himself up, the sight of him preparing to enter you making your stomach flip. You've never been so exposed, so ready for someone.

He climbed onto the table and positioned himself between your legs, his cock pressing against your entrance. "Ready?" he asked, his voice gruff with desire. You nodded, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. He pushed in slowly, giving you time to adjust to the unfamiliar feeling of being filled so completely.

The stretch was incredible, the way he filled you up, so much so that you felt like you couldn't take it anymore. But as he inched further in, you felt yourself relax, your body welcoming him in. "You're so tight," he murmured, his eyes locked on yours as he began to move.

"Definitely…the tightest…client I've had," he says with a smirk, pushing in a bit more. You feel a slight pain, but it's overshadowed by the exhilaration of the moment. "Just breathe," Seonghwa instructs, his voice a gentle command. You do as told, feeling his cock stretching you open, filling you up until you're sure you're going to burst.

As he starts to move, the pain fades away, replaced by a deep, intense pleasure that makes you moan with every thrust. The ropes dig into your skin, reminding you of your restraint, adding a new layer to the sensations coursing through your body. You can't help but tug at them, testing the limits of your bondage.

"S-Seo-Seonghwa!" You gasped as he pushed in deeper, the sound of your voice muffled by the leather of the table. He leaned over you, placing a hand on your hip to keep you in place as he began to move with a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you squirm against the ropes. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every movement, your body desperate for more.

"D-Does this feel good?" he managed to ask, his voice thick with lust. Seonghwa's eyes never leave yours, his expression a mix of concentration and pleasure as he watches your face contort with every thrust.

"Y-Yes," you moan, your voice a breathless whisper. The feeling of his cock inside you is like nothing you've ever experienced—intimate, yet overwhelmingly powerful. You can feel your walls clench around him, desperate to keep him there. He begins to pick up the pace, his movements growing more forceful, and you realize that you want it—you want him to take you, to claim you in this primal dance of dominance and submission.

You could see his expressions changing frequently, as if he was losing control of himself. He didn't know what it was. Maybe it was because he was good at his job or maybe it was because he actually enjoyed it. But you didn't care, you liked it, the way he looked at you as if he was the one who was the novice, learning every little noise that you make, every little twitch of your body, every gasp that escaped your lips.

"Tell me how it feels," he urges, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your entire being.

"S-So good," you pant, your voice barely audible. "It feels…amazing." The words come out in a rush as he starts to hit that perfect spot inside you, making you see stars with every deep, hard thrust.

Seonghwa's grip on your hip tightens, his pace increasing as he drives into you with a fervor that makes your breath catch in your throat. You can feel his muscles tensing, his movements growing more urgent as he chases his own climax.

His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned over you, lowering his head trying to focus on his climax. You could see him trying to hold it back, his body shaking with the effort. But the sight of him losing control was too much. You couldn't help but moan louder, your body responding to his need.

"C-Cum in me, please! P-Please, I need it," your thighs shut around his waist, squeezing him tightly as the ropes dug into your skin. The sensation was unbearable, a mix of pain and pleasure that had you on the edge of another orgasm.

Seonghwa's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with yours. He nodded, his movements becoming more frantic as he pounded into you, his breaths coming in harsh pants. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mingling with your desperate pleas for release.

"S-Shit-" he shudders. "Even with a condom on you feel-" He stops talking as he focuses on his task at hand, his strokes becoming more erratic as he tries to hold on. "You're gonna make me-"

You nod, a wicked smile playing on your lips as you tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. "Do it," you whisper, your voice husky with need. "Cum for me."

The words seem to be the final push he needs. With a roar, Seonghwa slams into you one last time, his cock pulsing as he reaches his peak. The sensation of him coming inside the condom sends you hurtling over the edge again, your own orgasm crashing over you in a wave of pleasure that leaves you trembling and breathless.

You both try catching your breaths, his body still connected with yours, your eyes locked in a silent conversation of satisfaction. He slowly pulls out, his cock still semi-hard, and carefully unbinds your limbs, massaging the areas where the ropes had dug into your skin. The cool air hits you, making you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is soothing.

"How was it?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or dissatisfaction. You smile, feeling a bit shy.

"Very…wow." You manage to get out, your voice still shaky from the intense orgasm. Your body feels like a puddle of goo, and your mind is racing with the aftermath of what just happened.

"Good. That's good to hear," he gulps, looking down for a moment. "I normally don't, uh, come that quickly. I last much longer than that…" Seonghwa trails off, seeming a little embarrassed by his loss of control. You laugh, the sound a little shaky.

"You…don't?" you ask, a playful smile playing on your lips. Despite the situation, you felt a strange sense of pride knowing that you had brought him to climax so quickly. "So I'm special?"

Seonghwa chuckles, his eyes meeting yours as he nods. "Very special," he says, his voice gentle. He helps you sit up, his hands lingering on your shoulders. You feel a strange sense of camaraderie with him, a bond formed through shared experience and trust.

"Uh, what's your number? I'd…like to do this again. And would also get to know you better." The question slipped out before you could think, but Seonghwa's smile grew wider.

"I'd like that," he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

[4ranghaes]

wait woonhak smut…woonhaj smut..woonhak smUT PLEASE I BEG OF YOU

kim woonhak x reader [smut, fem!reader]

a/n: a resounding yes from the audience😭 as i said woonhak smut wont be anything crazy from me but i hope you still enjoy!!

warnings: woonhak smut!!!! don’t like don’t read!!!! no real sub/dom dynamics, established relationship, virgin!reader, not stated whether woonhak’s a virgin or not but he’s confident either way

01:18 - “shh, i’m serious,” woonhak giggled, a strong hand on your back pulling you close to his chest, your face buried in the warm, familiar skin. “okay, that’s the last of them gone to bed.”

“you’re not a child, woonhak, they’re not gonna tell you off for staying up past your bedtime,” you laughed, as your boyfriend rolled his eyes.

“tell them that!” he exclaimed, “cause i still get told off.”

you giggled, pulling out his chest to stare up at his pouting face, “they know you’re not a child.”

“hmm,” he smiled, “especially not when my girlfriend stays for the night.”

you chuckled, rolling your eyes, slightly embarrassed at the notion. woonhak’s hand was dancing down your spine, the touch warm but producing goosebumps on your skin.

“i’m joking,” he smiled, his voice deep and calming, “you know we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready and you want to.”

you blinked up at him, woonhak smiling as he looked down into your eyes, one of his fingers still trailing up and down on your back, “what if i want to… now?”

your boyfriend bit his lip, “seriously?”

you nodded. he broke out into a smile, laughing slightly, “you won’t hear me complaining.”

you laughed, slightly embarrassed at his confidence before leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. woonhak immediately deepened it, groaning as though he’d been waiting for this moment.

his hands were cupping your head, fingers threading through strands of hair while his thumbs stroked your jaw. you pulled away, smiling, as you began to press soft kisses down his jawline and neck. he always slept shirtless anyway, leaving access to his chest as you kissed further and further down.

woonhak laced one of his hands with yours, your fingers dancing together.

you were straddling his thighs when you came up from kissing his body, woonhak staring at you with a lazy smile and a honey filled gaze.

coming to his senses a little, he pressed a kiss to the palm of your hand before letting go, and pulling your t-shirt over your head. you instinctively covered yourself with your arms, slightly embarrassed to be so exposed in front of another person.

“what?” woonhak chuckled, taking ahold of your hands again, encouraging you to stop covering, “show me.”

you bit your lip, giving into his hold as your boobs were finally revealed to him. woonhak’s breathing deepened, hands moving to your waist and back as he sat up, desperate to kiss you.

“you’re so–” he interrupted his words with kisses that felt as though he was trying to eat you up, “fucking– beautiful– i love you.”

you giggled, running your hands through his hair as you kissed him back, again and again and again. “i love you too.”

he rolled your bodies over so you were lying on the bed beneath him, switching roles to now press kisses down your body; though he did so at a quickened pace, desperate now to rid your body of your panties, and see you fully.

woonhak got up, pulling off his own pyjama bottoms before tenderly pulling yours down as well. you giggled as you watched him, eyes lit up as he groaned. he spread your legs gently, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“woonhak please,” you whined, feeling him so close to your core.

he smiled, moving back up your body and kissing your lips, “what, baby? you need me?”

you nodded, hands looped around his neck, fingers running through the hair on the back of his head.

“okay baby,” he whispered, kissing your forehead before removing his dick from his boxers. he checked how wet you were before rummaging through his bedside table for a condom.

“can i help?” you asked, smiling shyly as he got the wrapped condom out the drawer.

woonhak laughed, “you’re so cute. yes, of course you can baby.”

he sat on his knees, straddling your body as you took the condom from his hands and unwrapped it carefully. you looked at your boyfriend’s length, biting your lip before rolling the condom on. woonhak hissed at your touch, panting slightly at the pure need running through him. he finished up making sure the condom was on properly before laying you back down and kissing your forehead.

“it may hurt a little, okay? i’ll go slow,” he murmured, kissing all over your face.

you gripped onto his shoulder as he pushed inside, the feeling foreign and new. you felt so full.

“fuck, woonhak,” you gasped.

“it’s okay, baby, tell me if it’s too much,” he panted, pushing in inch by inch.

you whined and whimpered as he bottomed out, your fingernails digging into his arms.

“just wait!” you exclaimed, woonhak chuckling.

“it’s okay, i will,” he smiled, kissing your forehead gently, “let me know when i can move, baby.”

you nodded, breathing out a moan as the uncomfortableness dissipated. “okay, move, i’m okay now.”

“okay, baby,” woonhak laughed, beginning to thrust in and out as you moaned.

his mouth hung open, breathing ragged and little groans escaping him as he went.

“the– the boys—” you gasped as you moaned, “they’re gonna– ha! they’re gonna hear.”

“doesn’t matter,” woonhak grunted, “they don’t matter.”

you giggled, whining as woonhak’s pace increased. he was so needy, just focused on cumming.

you snaked your hand down, circling your clit, beginning to moan loudly as you did so.

“woonhak– i’m— i’m gonna cum,” you gasped.

“me too,” he said, voice curt and low, “fuck… y/n– fuck– oh my god.”

“woonhak!” you moaned, your fingers speeding up on your clit as his cum filled the condom, cumming with sharp breaths just moments later.

woonhak was breathless, panting as he leaned forward and kissed all over your face, hand moving down to pull and tie off the condom.

“how was that?” he panted, as you smiled.

“amazing,” you grinned, leaning up to kiss his lips.

“you’re so fucking good,” he sighed, getting up and throwing the condom in the bin before coming over and helping you out the bed, pulling you into a hug.

“stop!” you laughed, “you’re all sweaty! and naked.”

“so?” woonhak teased, he pulled away, looking bashful, “feel free to say no, but… do you want to shower together?”

“now?” you laughed, “you’re desperate.”

“i really am, that was amazing,” he pouted.

you sighed, kissing his lips and tapping his chest, “maybe tomorrow morning.”

“okay, but i’m holding you to that.”

[amirawrah]

⭐︎ a look into jude's relationship side

♥︎ word count: 8,622

♥︎ amirah: at last innit, my wilo's relationship side would always be on top but i really like this tho so i hope you all like thia too. i think i tried my best with it even tho i think im losing my jude juice but enjoy loves.🫶

───────────⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎───────────

Jude is insanely proud to call you his girlfriend. He will find ways to bring you up in interviews, subtly (or not so subtly) mentioning “my girl” with the biggest smile.

─���────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The interviewer asked a question about Real Madrid’s recent win, but Jude's answer drifted somewhere else entirely.

“Well, the team’s been working hard, training’s been intense,” he started, nodding seriously, but then his gaze flicked toward someone just off-camera—you. The smile that spread across his face could’ve lit up Santiago Bernabéu. “But I’ve also got my girl keeping me grounded, you know? She’s been my peace through all the chaos.”

You could hear the PR manager let out a small sigh behind you—this was the third time he’d found a way to mention you during the post-match media rounds.

The interviewer chuckled, clearly charmed. “You always bring her up, man. Must be serious.”

“Yea of course,” Jude said without missing a beat. “She’s special. Keeps me focused, reminds me who I am when everything else gets loud. I’d be lost without her, honestly.”

Your cheeks burned, heat rushing to them despite the cool breeze drifting through the stadium tunnel. You tried to hide behind your phone, but you knew he’d seen the way your smile widened, how your eyes softened.

Later that night, curled up on the couch in his hoodie and your fluffy socks, he pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered, “I hope you know how proud I am to be yours. I’ll never stop talking about you. Ever.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “You’re gonna make people sick with how obsessed you are.”

“Let them be sick,” he laughed, pulling you closer. “I’ve got the best girl in the world—why would I keep that quiet?” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

He’s a big hand on your thigh guy when you’re sitting next to each other—whether you’re chilling at home or courtside at a game or something.

Late-night FaceTimes if he’s away for matches, even if he’s exhausted. If he falls asleep while talking to you, he wakes up the next morning with the goofiest grin.

Protective, but not possessive. If he ever hears someone talking about you sideways, he gives them a look, and they immediately rethink their choices.

Loves to post you subtly—like an artsy pic of you tying your shoes, or a blurry shot of you laughing, captioned with something dumb like “Don’t let her fool you, she’s actually evil.”

Physical touch is a must—forehead kisses, back hugs, and pulling you into him when you're walking together. He loves resting his chin on your shoulder.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You didn’t need to look behind you to know it was Jude. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, strong and familiar, pulling you into the warmth of his chest as he buried his face into the curve of your neck.

“Mmm, missed you,” he mumbled, voice thick from sleep. He’d only been in the other room, but Jude acted like every second apart was a mini heartbreak.

“You were gone for five minutes,” you teased, leaning back into him.

“Too long,” he said, smiling into your skin before pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder. “You smell good. What is that?”

“Peace,” you whispered, grinning.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back, and you could feel the way his fingers traced lazy patterns along your waist. You started moving toward the kitchen, and just like that, he followed—fingers still linked with yours—before looping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you closer as you walked.

Every few steps, he’d give your hand a squeeze or nudge your temple with his chin. And when you finally stopped to pour yourself some tea, he rested his chin on your shoulder, watching quietly.

“This is my favorite view,” he said softly, his arms sliding around your waist again. “You. Right here. Just like this.”

You turned to face him, and before you could even speak, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment like he was grounding himself in you.

“You’re clingy today,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

“Always am,” he shrugged, unapologetic. “Can’t help it. I love you so much.”

And with another forehead kiss and his arms around you like you were his entire universe, you believed every word. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

You two have a secret handshake—Jude made it up one day, and now he refuses to dap you up any other way.

Keeps your relationship somewhat private, but everyone knows how much he adores you.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You weren’t in his Instagram photos, not really. A blurry hand reaching for coffee in the corner of the frame, your silhouette reflected in his sunglasses, your shoes next to his on a balcony in Ibiza. Jude had mastered the art of the “soft launch”—private, but not secret.

And yet… everyone knew.

The way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching? Yeah, people noticed. The way his whole face softened when your name came up in conversation? His teammates teased him about it relentlessly.

You were at a Real Madrid training session, tucked quietly off to the side, chatting with a staff member. Jude was supposed to be cooling down—but instead, he was walking straight toward you with that lazy, half-smile he only gave you.

“Bro’s whipped,” you heard Cama mutter under his breath, and someone else laugh.

Jude didn’t care. He came up behind you and rested his hand low on your back, fingers brushing the hem of your hoodie. Not a word, just a quiet, grounding touch that said mine without saying anything at all.

“You good, love?” he asked, low enough for only you to hear.

You nodded, biting your lip to hide your smile. “Go stretch.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek, then whispered with a grin, “I’d rather stretch with you later.”

You swatted his arm and shook your head, cheeks warm.

Later that day, he posted a carousel on Instagram: one moody photo of the pitch, a candid of his boots, a video of a sunset—and the last slide, a blurry photo of you laughing, head thrown back, sunglasses on, your face barely visible.

No tag. No caption. Just a heart emoji.

The comments were a mix of detective work and soft chaos:

“We know that laugh anywhere.”

“Jude pls just hard launch her already.”

“His whole aura changes when he talks about her I can’t.”

“Idc who she is, just know he’s in LOVE love.”

And he was.

Even if the world never got a clear picture of you, everyone could see it in the way he smiled when he said “my girl.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

When he posts you on his story, it’s either a fire pic of you looking stunning or the most unhinged, blurry pic with “look at this menace” as the caption.

If you're at his games, he always looks for you in the stands. If he scores? He’s pointing at you immediately.

Whispers in your ear in public just to see you laugh, then acts like he said nothing.

You make fun of his accent sometimes, and he’ll mock yours right back.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You were both curled up on the couch, sharing popcorn and watching a movie you weren’t even paying attention to anymore. Jude had just said something—something completely ordinary—but the way he said it made you snort.

“Lemme just grab me coat,” you repeated, mimicking his Birmingham accent with exaggerated vowels and wide eyes.

Jude turned slowly toward you, brows raised. “That’s how you think I sound?”

You nodded seriously. “Exactly like that. ‘Me coat,’ ‘me boots,’ like we’re in a medieval tavern or somethin.”

“Oh, you wanna talk accents now?” he grinned, shifting to face you fully. “Go on then, say ‘water.”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing.

“Go on, babe. Just say it. Say water.”

You sighed dramatically. “Water.”

Jude clutched his chest like you’d personally offended the Queen. “Wah-tuh? Nah, that’s criminal. Where’s the ‘t’? It just disappeared! It’s in witness protection!”

You burst out laughing. “It’s not witness protection, you muppet—it’s a regional dialect!”

“Yeah? Well your regional dialect makes it sound like you’re choking on a vowel,” he teased, eyes sparkling.

You stuck your tongue out at him and he leaned forward, catching your face in his hands like he was studying you.

“I love your accent,” he said suddenly, softer now. “Even when you butcher mine.”

You raised a brow. “You love when I butcher your accent?”

“Yeah,” he smirked. “’Cause then I get to do this—” He cleared his throat, then said in your voice, “‘Jude, can you rub my feet? Jude, can you bring me snacks?’”

“Wow.” You threw a pillow at him, but he caught it midair. “That’s exactly what I sound like.”

“You’re welcome,” he said proudly.

Later, as you lay together in the quiet, his hand tracing shapes on your arm, he whispered, “Say it again.”

You blinked sleepily. “Say what?”

“Water. Just once more. For me.”

You groaned. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Never,” he laughed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Say it again, then.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

You two have that best friends and lovers dynamic. One second, you’re being all soft with each other; the next, you’re arguing over who would survive longer in a zombie apocalypse.

Your best conversations happen when it’s just the two of you, late at night, half-asleep, tangled up in the sheets, talking about everything and nothing.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The world outside had finally gone still. No press, no training, no obligations—just the two of you, wrapped up in the quiet.

The sheets were twisted around your legs, one of Jude’s arms draped lazily across your waist, his fingers tracing slow circles on your skin. The only light in the room came from the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp he insisted on keeping on, “just in case you want water or somethin’.”

You were facing each other, noses nearly touching, his curls slightly flattened from your pillow. His voice was low, scratchy from sleep, and he was talking about something completely random.

“…and then I said, ‘Bro, why would you wear that in public?’ Like he looked like a traffic cone.”

You laughed, soft and muffled, trying not to wake the world outside your little bubble. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest,” he grinned, eyes fluttering half shut.

There was a long beat of silence. Not uncomfortable. Just peaceful.

Then he asked, “Do you think this—us—is gonna last forever?”

You blinked, heart skipping a little. Not from nerves, but from the softness in his voice. Like he was handing you something fragile and precious.

You nodded slowly, brushing your fingers against his jaw. “I think it already feels like forever. Like I’ve known you in every version of my life.”

He smiled, eyes gleaming even in the dim light. “Yeah. You feel like home, y’know?”

A yawn slipped from his mouth mid-sentence and he buried his face in your neck, mumbling something about how good your skin felt.

You giggled, threading your fingers through his hair. “What if we wake up tomorrow and forget this whole conversation?”

“Then I’ll just tell you again,” he whispered, voice now a sleepy hum. “Every night and Forever.”

And with that, his breathing slowed, syncing with yours. The night held the two of you like a secret, tangled in sheets and sleepy truths, talking about everything and nothing—right where love lives. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

He has this way of looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention—like you hung the stars just for him.

Sometimes, you’ll catch him staring, and he’ll just smirk. “What? I can’t admire my girl?”

Loves it when you play with his fingers absentmindedly while you’re watching TV.

Loves when you sit on the bathroom counter and talk to him while he gets ready for training.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You were still in his t-shirt—massive on you, hanging just above your thighs—as you hopped up onto the bathroom counter, legs swinging gently. The early morning light spilled through the window, painting the tiles golden, and Jude was standing at the sink, toothbrush in hand, shirtless, curls still damp from his quick shower.

This had become a ritual: you, on the counter, rambling about everything from your dream last night to what you wanted for breakfast, while he got ready for training.

“…and then for some reason, I was chasing a llama through Westfield with a shopping trolley. I don’t know what that means, but I woke up so stressed.”

Jude spat out his toothpaste, laughing. “A llama? In Westfield?”

“Don’t judge me, dream logic doesn’t have to make sense.”

He reached for his moisturizer and glanced over at you, his eyes lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You’re so cute in the mornings. Still half-asleep, talkin’ nonsense, legs swingin’ like a little kid.”

“I’ll kick you,” you warned, grinning.

He leaned in and kissed your knee. “Yeah, go on then. Do it.”

You watched as he rubbed product into his face, muscles moving under smooth skin, his reflection calm and focused. You loved this version of him—off the pitch, still soft around the edges, yours.

“I like this,” you said quietly.

He looked up, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “What?”

“This. You. Getting ready. Me sitting here. Talking about llamas.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your chest ache a little. “Yeah? You know I only ever take this long 'cause I like when you sit there and talk to me.”

You blinked. “Wait, so you drag out your skincare routine just to keep me here longer?”

“Every morning,” he shrugged with a wink, grabbing his cologne. “Gotta soak you in before I go.”

You rolled your eyes, heart full. “You’re such a simp.”

He stepped between your knees and leaned in, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. “For you? Always.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If you’re cooking, he’ll come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and press a kiss to your neck like it’s second nature.

If you’re on a plane together, he lets you sleep on his shoulder and makes sure you have a blanket.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The plane was somewhere over the Atlantic, cruising through a sea of stars and clouds, dimmed cabin lights casting a sleepy glow over everything. Most of the team had passed out hours ago, scattered through first class in hoodies and eye masks, legs stretched and headphones in.

But you?

You were curled up next to Jude, your head nestled perfectly into the curve of his shoulder, his Real Madrid zip-up jacket draped over your lap like a makeshift blanket.

He hadn’t moved since you dozed off—partly because he didn’t want to wake you, partly because he was savoring it. Your breath was warm against his neck, your hand resting lightly on his chest. Every now and then, you’d shift slightly, and he’d adjust without a word—tugging the blanket higher, brushing your hair away from your face, pressing the softest kiss to the top of your head.

He looked down at you, eyes soft, heart doing that quiet ache thing it always did when you were like this—peaceful, trusting, his.

You stirred a little, mumbling something incoherent, and he leaned in.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Sleep, baby. I got you.”

A flight attendant walked by, smiled when she saw you both. Jude just nodded politely, then turned back to you—his girl, fast asleep on his shoulder, wrapped in his jacket, flying somewhere between dreams and reality.

And in that moment, at 30,000 feet, he’d never felt more grounded.⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Jude will never let you live down any embarrassing moment. Trips over nothing? “Damn, babe, you okay? Want me to carry you everywhere now?”

If you’re ever apart for too long, best believe he’s making up for it the second he sees you again. Long, tight hugs where he just breathes you in before whispering, “Missed you, baby.”

Texts You Mid-Training: Even when he’s busy, he sneaks a text like "Thinking about you. Hope you're having a good day ❤️”

Texts You From Across the Room: If you’re in a group setting, he’ll send you a stupid message like “You look mad cute over there” or “Let’s leave and get McDonald’s.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The room was buzzing—laughter, glasses clinking, music low in the background. You were seated across from Jude at a long dinner table, surrounded by mutual friends, some of his teammates, their partners, and way too many inside jokes flying around.

You were mid-conversation with someone when your phone lit up in your lap.

Jude 🤍 you look mad cute over there let’s dip and get maccies. just you + me + fries.

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

You looked up across the table. Jude was pretending to listen to whatever Vini was saying, chin resting in his palm, but the corner of his mouth twitched when your eyes met. He winked, quick and subtle, like he hadn’t just offered to abandon this semi-fancy dinner for fast food and alone time with you.

You texted back:

you’re insufferable. and yes, obviously.

His reply came instantly:

Jude 🤍 knew it. meet me by the coat rack in 10. we’ll ghost like legends.

You glanced at him again, and this time he was fully smiling. Not big and showy. Just that smug, quiet little smirk he got when he knew he had you wrapped around his finger—though, truthfully, you had him just as bad.

Ten minutes later, you were slipping on your coat as Jude “went to the bathroom,” and the next thing you knew, you were in his car, windows slightly fogged, shoes kicked off, sharing a large fries and singing terribly to the radio.

No cameras. No pressure. Just the two of you and a bag of McNuggets, laughing like you hadn’t just ditched a room full of people for something a little more you. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Steals Your Skincare Products: “Babe, what does this serum do?” Next thing you know, he’s fully committed to your skincare routine.

Puppy Dog Eyes When He Wants Something: “Baaaabe,” he drags out, giving you that look when he wants you to get up and grab something for him—even though he’s closer to it.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in your favorite blanket, halfway through an episode of Love Island, snacks perfectly balanced on your lap. Comfort mode: fully activated.

Jude was on the other end of the sofa, literally closer to the remote, phone charger, and the half-empty bottle of water on the table. But of course… that didn’t stop him.

“Baaaaabe,” he whined, voice stretching the word like he was auditioning for a soap opera. You didn’t even look up.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask,” he pouted.

“I do. You want me to get something that’s exactly three inches from your hand.”

“Okay but I’m comfortable,” he argued, which made you turn your head slowly and give him the look.

“I’m literally cocooned in this blanket. If I move, it’s over.”

He blinked. Then—there it was. The look. Puppy dog eyes, bottom lip slightly out, that soft little head tilt like he was the most pitiful boy in the world.

“Pleaseeee,” he said in the smallest voice. “My girl. My angel. My sweet love.”

You squinted at him. “Don’t try to butter me up.”

“I’d never,” he gasped dramatically. “But also… the charger’s just there. And my phone’s on 2%.”

You groaned but shoved the blanket off anyway, grabbing the charger and tossing it at him with the flair of a dramatic lead in a West End play.

“Happy now?”

He grinned, plugging it in and leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Ecstatic. Thank you, my love.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were warm. Because yeah—he was a menace. A spoiled, dramatic, clingy menace.

But he was your menace. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

One time you two went to a photobooth and he kept the picture in his locker

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ It had been one of those rare afternoons—just the two of you, no media, no training, no schedule. You were wandering through some tucked-away street in Madrid, iced coffees in hand, when you passed a tiny old-school photo booth tucked between a bakery and a record shop.

Jude stopped, took one look at it, and grinned. “Get in.”

You blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah,” he said, already pulling the curtain back. “We’re making core memories.”

The machine barely fit you both, knees bumping, laughter echoing off the tiny walls.

The first photo was mid-laugh—you hadn’t even been ready.

The second, you both tried to be serious but cracked up halfway through.

The third, he kissed your cheek, completely catching you off guard.

And the fourth?

He looked right at the camera, grinning.

You looked right at him.

When the strip slid out a few seconds later, you both stood there, staring at it, giggling like kids.

But Jude pocketed it.

“What—don’t I get a copy?”

“Nah,” he smirked, tucking it into his wallet. “This one’s for me.”

You thought nothing of it at the time.

Months later, one of the Real Madrid staff posted a behind-the-scenes locker room pic on Instagram—nothing wild, just a celebration moment after a big win.

But in the corner, barely visible, taped inside Jude’s open locker…

There it was.

The photo strip.

Slightly crumpled, edges worn, but still stuck right there next to his wrist tape and boots.

You zoomed in instantly, heart doing that stupid flutter.

The next time you saw him, you leaned against the doorframe of his room and said, “So… locker decorations, huh?”

He didn’t even try to act cool. Just grinned and shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s my favorite photo. Why wouldn’t I keep it close?” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

The type to pull you in by your jaw for a deep, slow kiss before a match—just to get you flustered.

Will randomly kiss your shoulder if you’re sitting next to him, no reason needed.

If you ever feel insecure, he’s on it immediately. He won’t let you say anything negative about yourself. “Nah, I don’t want to hear that. You’re perfect to me.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ It was late—too late to be overthinking, but there you were, lying in bed, scrolling through photos on your phone. You’d been doing it for a while now, swiping through your feed, comparing, wondering, self-doubting.

Jude had been on his phone too, but his attention was split. He glanced over at you, saw the way your brow furrowed, the way you tucked your lip between your teeth.

“Babe?” he asked, his voice low and soft, pulling you from your thoughts. “You okay?”

You shrugged, offering a half-smile. “Yeah, just… nothing really.”

He wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.

He turned over, propping himself up on one elbow, studying you with that warm, concerned look of his. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “I just… I don’t know. I feel a bit off. Like, maybe I’m not doing enough, or—”

“Stop,” he cut you off immediately, his hand gently cupping your face. His thumb brushed the skin of your cheek like he was trying to erase the uncertainty there. “No. I don’t want to hear any of that.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“You’re perfect. To me. Always have been. Always will be.” His voice was firm, no hesitation. “And I don’t want you thinking otherwise. Not for one second. So if you’re gonna talk like that about yourself again, I’m walking out of this room.”

Your eyes softened, the words from earlier fading away in the warmth of his gaze. “But I—”

“No buts.” He kissed your forehead lightly, his lips lingering a moment longer than necessary. “You’re everything I need, okay? And if you ever feel like you’re less than that, I’m right here. You’ve got no reason to feel anything less than amazing.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding released. “I love you,” you whispered, your heart swelling.

He smiled, that soft, content smile you loved. “I love you more. But I’ll always remind you how perfect you are, even if you forget.”

You cuddled into his side, feeling like the weight of all your insecurities had been lifted, replaced with the quiet certainty of his love.

And as he pulled you closer, gently pressing a kiss to your temple, you knew you had everything you needed—because with him, you felt more than enough. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If someone flirts with you in front of him? He leans in and whispers in your ear, “You love making me mad, don’t you?” with that smug smirk of his.

If you’re ever in public and he catches you staring at him, he’ll lean in close, voice all deep, and say, “If you keep looking at me like that, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Will casually whisper something highly inappropriate in your ear during a party just to see your reaction. When you hit him, he just laughs. “What? I was just saying the truth.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The party was in full swing—loud music, chatter filling the air, and everyone mingling around. You were standing near the bar with a few of Jude’s teammates, a glass of wine in your hand as you chatted about nothing in particular, enjoying the warmth of the evening.

And then, from behind, you felt his presence—Jude sliding in beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned in close.

“Hey babe,” he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing. You barely had time to turn toward him before his lips were right next to your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"You're looking incredibly hot tonight... Honestly, I’m not sure how I haven’t dragged you to the nearest bathroom yet.”

Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat as you spun around to face him. “Jude!” you hissed, wide-eyed, but there was no stopping the smirk tugging at his lips.

He looked so damn innocent, but you could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. “What? I was just saying the truth,” he shrugged, laughing as your face flushed in embarrassment.

You swatted his chest playfully, but that only made him laugh harder. “I can’t believe you sometimes,” you muttered, trying to shake off the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re lucky I’m not making this whole party uncomfortable.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I didn’t think you’d mind that much. But I’ll admit… I love how you react.”

You shot him an exasperated look, but inside, you couldn't help but smile. He always had a way of making you blush, even in the most inappropriate moments.

“Jude,” you warned, “don’t test me, okay?”

He leaned in for a quick kiss on your cheek, laughing again as he pulled back. “You love me, though. And you know it.”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you closer, the teasing smile never leaving his face.

“Just wait,” you muttered under your breath, “I’ll get you back.”

He raised an eyebrow, that teasing gleam still in his eye. “I’m looking forward to it.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

When he’s feeling especially cocky, he runs his fingers over your lips while grinning. “So pretty… what else can that mouth do?”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The atmosphere was a little different tonight—a bit more playful, a little charged with energy. You two were lounging on the couch at home after a night out with friends. The lights were dimmed, music softly playing in the background, and Jude was as relaxed as ever, his arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, his leg resting across yours.

You were mid-conversation, talking about something completely innocent—maybe a funny story about your day—but Jude wasn’t really listening.

He was watching you, eyes lingering on your lips as you spoke, a smug little grin slowly spreading across his face. You didn’t notice at first, too caught up in your own words, but then his hand slid closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your lower lip.

His grin grew wider. “So pretty…” he murmured, voice lower than usual, his thumb tracing over your lips gently. “What else can that mouth do?”

Your breath hitched, eyes darting up to his, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in your throat, your pulse quickening at the way he was watching you.

Jude was loving this—this was exactly the kind of cocky energy he thrived on. His fingers lingered just a little longer, pressing against your lips with a teasing, slow swipe, waiting for a reaction.

You finally managed to clear your throat, trying to stay composed, but you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “You’re such a menace,” you laughed, trying to brush off the sudden rush of nerves.

“Am I?” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice even more. “Or am I just being honest?”

You shot him a playful look, your hand reaching up to push his teasing hand away, but he caught your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’d love to see tho…” His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could practically feel the tension crackling between you.

You leaned in, closing the space between you, but just before your lips touched his, you pulled back with a teasing grin of your own.

“I think you already know,” you whispered, watching his smirk falter slightly as his breath caught.

He leaned back, looking both impressed and a little defeated. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You winked, giving him a playful shove. “You started it.”⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If you’re teasing him, he shuts you up with a kiss—gripping your face and kissing you so good that you completely forget what you were saying. Pulls you into his lap and runs his hands slowly down your back, deepening the kiss just when you think he’s done.

His voice drops when he’s in control. That deep, slow, teasing tone that makes your legs weak. “Oh, you’re quiet now? That’s cute.”

If he’s frustrated after a game, best believe he’s taking it out somewhere else. “Long day, love. Think you can help me relax?”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The locker room was still buzzing with post-game chatter, but Jude was already a little distant—his mind too wrapped up in the frustration from the match. He had played well, sure, but something about the game hadn’t sat right with him. Maybe it was a missed opportunity or a mistake he couldn’t shake. Either way, he was feeling the pressure.

You could tell the moment he stepped through the door, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed as he made his way to you. His teammates were still laughing, but he didn’t seem to hear any of it. His eyes were on you.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying to get his attention as he walked over to you, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. You didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he was clearly frustrated.

He leaned down, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, his voice dropping low. “Long day, love.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tough game?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, pulling you closer by the waist. His lips hovered near your ear, a quiet, almost possessive tone in his voice. “Think you can help me relax?”

The words made your heart skip a beat, the tension between you two shifting from casual concern to something far more intense. You could tell he needed to unwind, and you were more than happy to help, but you couldn’t ignore the way his fingers grazed your skin, or the heat in his eyes that made your pulse race.

“Relax, huh?” You teased, arching an eyebrow as you slid your hands up his chest, your fingertips lightly brushing against his collarbone. “And what exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Bellingham?”

He gave you that grin—the one that made your insides twist with anticipation. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Before you could respond, he gently tugged you into him, his lips pressing against yours in a deep, needy kiss. The kind that left no room for words, only the need to be closer, to forget the world outside of this moment.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath warm against your lips. “I need you, babe. You’re the only thing that’s gonna take my mind off this game.”

You nodded, your hands slipping around his neck as you melted into him. “Then let me take care of you.”

And with that, everything else faded away—the game, the frustration, the world outside. It was just the two of you, tangled in the quiet after the storm. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If you so much as whimper in his ear? He smirks immediately. “Oh? You like that, huh?”

Hotel room energy? Dangerous. He’s got nowhere to be, no training, just you and all the time in the world.

He loves running errands with you—even something as boring as grocery shopping. He’s pushing the cart, being silly, putting random snacks in, and pretending not to hear you when you tell him to put them back.

Denise absolutely adores you. From the moment she met you, she could tell you made Jude happy. “You bring out the best in him.”

Loves doing girls' days with you—shopping, brunch, spa days. Sometimes it’s just the two of you because Jude “complains too much when we take too long.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ It was a Saturday morning when Denise called, as usual. She’d been hinting for days about a girls' day, and you had a feeling she was more than ready for it. Jude was off with his teammates, so it was just the two of you, and the thought of a relaxing day away from the boys had you looking forward to it.

“Brunch first, then spa?” she asked, voice full of energy. “I know a place with the best mimosas.”

You grinned. “Sounds perfect.”

It was one of those rare days when you could let go of everything—no interviews, no cameras, just you, Denise, and a bit of fun. You met up at a cozy café, enjoying the morning sunlight pouring through the windows as you chatted over eggs benedict and fresh fruit.

Denise, as always, was full of stories. She told you about Jude’s childhood mischief, how he used to steal cookies when he was little, and how she could never stay mad at him for long. “He’s always been a good boy, even when he’s up to no good,” she laughed, sipping her coffee.

You laughed along, feeling the warmth of her words. “You really raised him right.”

Denise’s smile softened, a proud glint in her eyes. “He’s always been special, but you… you bring out the best in him.”

You blinked, touched by her words. “D…”

She waved her hand dismissively, her tone light but sincere. “It’s true. From the moment I met you, I could see how happy he was. You’re one of the best things that ever happened to him, and I’m so glad he found you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, her words making you smile. “I’m just happy to be in his life. And yours, too.”

After brunch, you two hit up the shopping mall, roaming from store to store, trying on clothes, laughing at each other’s outfit choices. Jude’s complaints about you both taking too long were often brought up, especially when you made Denise laugh until she nearly spilled her iced coffee.

“Jude always says we take forever,” you said, pulling out a pair of shoes you thought would be perfect for a date night. “Honestly, he’s just grumpy because he doesn’t have the patience for this.”

Denise grinned. “That’s because he doesn’t get it. You and I—” she gestured between the two of you, “—we know how to shop properly.”

By the time you both made it to the spa, you were relaxed and feeling like you’d just experienced a little slice of heaven. Denise was the best kind of company: no stress, no pressure, just fun.

As you sank into the massage chair, Denise gave you a wink. “Next time, I say we turn off our phones, Jude complains too much.”

You burst out laughing. “I’m down for that.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

The first time you met Mark, he was lowkey intimidating, but within five minutes, he was cracking jokes and making you feel at home.

He’s a big storyteller, especially about Jude and Jobe as kids. If you’re ever at the Bellingham house, expect to hear childhood embarrassments on repeat.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ It was your second time at the Bellingham house, and you were still getting used to the chaotic energy that always filled the place. You had already spent time with Jude and Jobe, but this time, Mark was home, and you were more than a little curious to see what the dad of the Bellingham family was like in person.

When you first met him, you were a little intimidated—he had that aura of authority, the kind of man whose gaze could make anyone stand a little straighter. But the moment he greeted you with a warm handshake and a half-grin, any nervousness melted away. His voice was deep and full of humor as he immediately began cracking jokes about Jude and Jobe, easing you into the conversation without even trying.

“So, when these two were younger…” Mark started, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee. “I had to spend hours in the backyard trying to teach Jude how to ride a bike. But the kid? He refused to listen to me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Mark chuckled, shaking his head. “He was convinced that if he just went fast enough, he’d be able to float. Like a superhero or something. So, one day, I look up, and there he is, barreling down the driveway, pedaling like mad. Guess what? The kid didn’t float, but he sure ended up in the bushes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, picturing a young Jude with all his determination, even if it meant a few bumps and bruises.

“Jobe, on the other hand…” Mark’s grin widened. “He was always the sneaky one. We had to hide all the cookies because he had a serious sweet tooth. One night, we caught him trying to sneak an entire box of biscuits under his bed. He didn’t think we’d notice, but the crumbs? The crumbs told a different story.”

You leaned back in your chair, grinning at the mental image of the younger Bellingham brothers getting into all kinds of mischief.

Mark’s storytelling was infectious. His laughter filled the room as he kept dishing out embarrassing memories, not just about Jude but also about himself. You could see where Jude got his charm and sense of humor from—Mark clearly loved to laugh, and he didn’t mind making fun of himself to keep the mood light.

As the stories continued, you felt completely at ease, as if you’d been a part of their family for years. It was hard to imagine that you’d ever been intimidated by Mark, because now, he felt like the kind of guy who could make anyone feel welcome.

“Anyway,” Mark said, finishing his story and giving you a mischievous grin. “You’ll be hearing a lot more of these embarrassing stories if you keep hanging around.”

You smiled, feeling completely at home. “I’m starting to think I might have to start collecting my own stories to tell about Jude.”

“Please,” Mark laughed. “I’m sure he’s got a few things to hide. But just remember, I have decades of ammunition on him.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If you and Jude ever argue, Jobe is nosy as hell. He’ll pop up like, “Damn, what he do now?”

Lowkey wingman—if Jude is being dumb, Jobe will tell him. “Bro, just buy her flowers or something. You’re moving mad.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You and Jude were in the middle of one of those perfectly normal, but totally unnecessary arguments. It had started over something silly, like whether or not he remembered to grab your favorite snacks during his grocery run. You were both talking over each other, trying to get your points across, but neither of you was really listening anymore.

"Jude, it’s not about the snacks!" you huffed, crossing your arms.

"It’s the principle!" he shot back, his voice rising slightly.

You rolled your eyes. "The principle? Really?"

The room was tense, both of you clearly frustrated, but neither willing to be the first to back down.

Just as things were starting to get heated, the door creaked open, and in walked Jobe, casually leaning against the doorframe with a curious look on his face.

"Damn," he said, eyes widening in exaggerated shock. "What’d he do now?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the tension breaking just a bit. Jude groaned, throwing his head back and muttering under his breath. "Not now, Jobe."

Jobe raised an eyebrow and took a few steps further into the room, giving you both a once-over before nodding to himself. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that you two always look mad cute together. So what’s this about?”

You exchanged a look with Jude, both of you still a little riled up, but now there was an undeniable sense of awkwardness thanks to Jobe's nosy intervention.

“You really gonna let her get away with that?” Jobe said, pointing at Jude with a sly grin. “Bruh, just buy her flowers or something. You’re moving mad.”

Jude blinked. "Flowers? Really?"

Jobe gave him a knowing look. "Trust me, man. They fix everything. Women like flowers. You know, the nice kind, not those half-dead daisies you tried to give her last month."

You couldn’t help but laugh at Jobe’s honesty. Jude sighed dramatically, looking like he wanted to protest but knew deep down that Jobe had a point. "Fine," Jude muttered, rubbing his face. "Flowers. Can you leave now, Jobe?"

Jobe grinned, clearly having accomplished his mission. “I’ll leave you two to work this out, but don’t say I didn’t try to help.” He gave you a wink and casually strolled out of the room, leaving you and Jude in the quiet aftermath.

Jude turned to you with a sheepish smile, running a hand through his hair. "You know, he’s not wrong. I should’ve just gotten the flowers."

"Yeah, you should have," you said, crossing your arms and softening, your earlier frustration melting away. “But I’m glad Jobe stepped in. I think he saved you.”

Jude let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "I swear, he’s like my personal therapist sometimes."

"Maybe you should start listening to him more often," you teased, giving him a playful nudge.

"Don’t worry," Jude said, pulling you in for a hug. "Next time, flowers. I promise." ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Football debates at the dinner table—Mark and Jude get so into it, and you just sit back, sipping your drink, waiting for it to end.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ Dinner at the Bellingham house always started off normal enough—Mark telling stories, Jobe sneaking bites before everyone sat down, and Jude’s hand resting on your thigh under the table like clockwork.

But somehow… somehow it always ended the same way.

“Listen, I’m just saying,” Mark began, fork pointing dramatically in Jude’s direction, “midfielders today don’t dictate the game the way they used to. Y’all are all about flair now. Where’s the control?”

Jude leaned back in his chair, mouth full of rice, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Control? Dad, you watched my last match, right? I was the control.”

“Oh, please,” Mark scoffed. “You had, what, 89% pass accuracy? You’re good, Jude, but you ain’t Zidane.”

That was the spark. And just like that, the match was underway.

You slowly leaned back in your chair, picking up your glass of wine—tonight, it was rosé, your favorite—and took a long sip. Jobe looked over at you, already smirking. “Round three,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Let them cook.”

“Dad, you always bring up Zidane. Times have changed! No one plays like it’s 2004 anymore.”

“And that’s the problem,” Mark shot back. “You all play like you’re trying to be TikTok highlights. Where’s the patience? The build-up play?”

You glanced at Jobe again, both of you silently enjoying the show. This was better than reality TV. Jude’s plate was half-forgotten, Mark was gesturing with a spoon like it was a mic, and honestly, if someone said "4-4-2" one more time, you were going to throw a dinner roll.

Eventually, when Jude started pulling up stats on his phone like it was a courtroom trial, you calmly reached for the last piece of garlic bread and leaned over to Jobe.

“Think they’ll still be arguing when we’re doing the dishes?”

Jobe snorted. “They’ll still be arguing when we’re in bed.”

You raised your glass. “To generational football beef.”

“Cheers to that.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

The type to carry your bag for you but tease you about how much stuff you packed. “Babe, are you moving there permanently or what?”

Matching airport fits because he swears y’all gotta travel in style. You take a mirror selfie before every flight.

Wants to do everything—from luxury experiences to acting like tourists with a paper map, he’s down for it all.

Takes the most ridiculous tourist pictures—poses dramatically in front of monuments, acts like a travel vlogger, and films you for memories.

If you go out for drinks by the beach, he’ll pull you onto his lap, arm around your waist, being extra touchy because vacation Jude has no self-control.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The sun was dipping low over the ocean, casting everything in that hazy gold glow that made your skin look extra dreamy and Jude absolutely feral. A salty breeze kissed your shoulders as the two of you sat out on the deck of a little beach bar—barefoot, slightly tipsy, with music playing low in the background and a half-melted daiquiri in your hand.

Jude was already watching you like you were the sunset, his fingers lazily tracing your thigh under the table.

You raised a brow. “You good, Bellingham?”

Without answering, he reached out, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap like it was second nature. His arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand flattening on your bare thigh.

“Mmm, better now,” he murmured, nose brushing your jaw as he pressed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck.

You laughed, sipping your drink with one hand, the other resting on the back of his head. “You’re so clingy on vacation.”

“Can’t help it,” he said, grinning against your skin. “You wear sundresses and lip gloss and expect me to behave?”

“You never behave.”

He shrugged, pressing another kiss to your shoulder this time, slower, more deliberate. “Not when you’re this close. Not when it’s just us. Not when you’re mine.”

You felt him smile against your skin as he added, “Also, I’m a few sips away from carrying you back to our room and forgetting this bar exists.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be unimpressed—but you stayed right there in his lap, happily tangled in him, letting vacation Jude be as extra and touchy as he wanted.

Because honestly? You liked him just like this. ⭐︎

extra...

⭐︎ You’d just gone to the bar to grab another drink for Jude—mostly because he gave you that look and said, “Baaaabe, I can’t feel my legs,” which was code for I don’t want to move, please and thank you.

So you went. Alone. For two minutes.

And that’s apparently all it took.

“Didn’t expect to see someone like you out here,” said a guy in a too-tight shirt and mirrored sunglasses, leaning a little too close as you waited on the bartender. “You local?”

You offered the most polite fake smile known to humankind. “Nope. Just here with my boyfriend.”

“That so?” he smirked, like that was an invitation instead of a boundary. “Bet he doesn’t appreciate you the way—”

“Yeah, she’s definitely here with her boyfriend,” came Jude’s voice—calm, cool, but edged with that warning tone you’d learned to recognize instantly.

You turned, relief flooding through you at the sight of him—shirt slightly open, curls messy from the wind, and sunglasses pushed up onto his head. Beach Jude was already fine, but possessive beach Jude? Whole other level.

He slipped his arm around your waist without missing a beat and tugged you back into his chest like he was reclaiming what was his. “You alright, love?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, then shooting the guy a tight smile. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

The other guy mumbled something and slunk off. You didn’t even clock where—too busy looking up at Jude’s smug, satisfied smirk.

“You’re so dramatic,” you whispered, unable to hide your grin.

He shrugged, rubbing slow circles into your hip with his thumb. “You like it.”

You leaned in close, brushing your lips just beside his. “I really do.”

And when the bartender handed you the drinks, Jude took yours, nodded in thanks, then leaned down and whispered in your ear, “Let’s go back. I’ve got… ideas.”

Vacation Jude had no self-control.

And you were absolutely fine with that. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Snowball fights—he doesn’t hold back. But if he accidentally hits you too hard? Immediate guilt mode. “Babe, I’m sorry, come here—wait, don’t hit me back!”

Cuddles in front of the fireplace—warm blankets, his arms wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your forehead.

Hot cocoa dates where he lets you steal sips of his, even though you definitely have your own.

Probably the type to Immediately jumps on the bed when you enter the hotel room.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, you barely had time to toe off your sandals before—

Thud.

Jude was already starfished in the middle of the bed, arms and legs spread out like he’d claimed a whole kingdom.

“Bags down, shoes off, I am one with the mattress,” he mumbled dramatically into the plush hotel duvet. “Don’t even think about moving me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You had one job. One. Put the key card in the light slot. Where’s the light—Jude!”

He peeked up, grinning like the menace he was. “I got distracted by how soft this bed is.”

“Mmhm. And the fact that you sprinted like a child?”

“Listen,” he said, rolling over and propping his head up with one arm. “It’s not a vacation till I belly flop onto a hotel bed. It’s tradition.”

You just shook your head, flicked the light on, and padded over to the edge of the bed.

“I’m not moving,” he warned. “This is now my spot.”

“You’re literally in the middle.”

“My spot.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, climbing onto the bed anyway, knees pressing into the comforter as you tried to navigate around his limbs.

He instantly grabbed you, pulling you down into his chest with zero effort.

“See?” he said smugly, voice muffled against your neck. “Comfy, right?”

You groaned into his curls. “You’re annoying.”

“You love me though.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand was already in his hair. “Unfortunately.”

He chuckled, all warm and smug, and nuzzled into you. “We should order room service.”

“It’s 2 a.m.”

“I know,” he yawned. “You want fries or waffles?”

You smiled into his shoulder, sleep already tugging at your eyes. “Both.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Takes mirror selfies with you in the big bathroom, flexing like an influencer.

When it’s time to leave, Jude always gets a little sad, holding you close before the flight back. “Can we just stay here forever?” and then you remind him that he has training

Posts an Instagram dump of your trip, and his caption is always something cute like “My favorite person.”

[astrolook]

Your Saturn Return: Why Life Feels Like a Cosmic Midlife Crisis (And How to Survive It)

So, you just hit your late 20s, and suddenly, life feels like it’s testing you in ways you definitely did not sign up for. Your job? Feels like a never-ending loop of doom. Your love life? Either nonexistent or way too serious. Your friendships? Half of them vanished overnight. Congratulations 🎉, my friend—you’re entering your Saturn Return.

Wait… WTF is a Saturn Return?

Saturn, aka the strict cosmic dad of the zodiac, takes about 29.5 years to return to the exact spot it was when you were born. When it does? It’s like a stern life coach showing up at your front door yelling, “Hey, time to get your act together!” 🚪

If you’ve been coasting through life without a plan, Saturn’s about to hit you with a reality check. If you’ve been avoiding responsibility, Saturn’s here to serve up consequences. This transit pushes you toward maturity, purpose, and stability—whether you like it or not.

And trust me, where Saturn is in your birth chart determines exactly what part of your life is getting dragged through the trenches. 👀

Saturn Return in the Houses: What’s Falling Apart for You?

🪐 Saturn in the 1st House: "Who even am I?" 😵‍💫

Saturn is forcing you to redefine your identity and take yourself seriously.

Expect a whole personality shift—old habits, appearances, and insecurities are all under review.

You might feel more self-critical, but this is actually the universe pushing you to build real confidence.

🏠 Saturn in the 2nd House: "Am I broke or just bad with money?" 💸

Money lessons are here, whether it’s job insecurity, budgeting struggles, or learning self-worth.

Saturn is making you rebuild your finances from the ground up.

By the end of this, you’ll be handling money like a pro (or at least not blowing your paycheck on impulse buys).

📖 Saturn in the 3rd House: "Why is communicating suddenly so hard?" 🗣️

Your ideas, words, and even how you think are getting a major upgrade.

Maybe you’re going back to school, learning a new skill, or dealing with serious sibling drama.

Saturn wants you to become a master of clear, meaningful communication.

🏡 Saturn in the 4th House: "Family trauma speedrun—let’s go!" 😭

Childhood wounds? Generational patterns? Emotional baggage? Yup, all resurfacing.

You might be moving, buying a house, or redefining what “home” even means.

Saturn wants you to break toxic family cycles and create a stable foundation for yourself.

💖 Saturn in the 5th House: "Why does fun suddenly feel illegal?" 🎭

Romance, creativity, and self-expression feel like they’re being put through a cosmic stress test.

This is a "grow up or give up" moment—either commit to your passions or find something more meaningful.

If you’ve been dating like a chaotic mess, Saturn’s about to demand some emotional maturity.

💼 Saturn in the 6th House: "Work, health, routines—why is everything so exhausting?" ⏳

If your daily life is a disaster, Saturn’s here to force you into discipline.

Your health, habits, and work ethic are getting an overhaul (expect wake-up calls about burnout and self-care).

By the end of this, you’ll be the person who actually sticks to a schedule and drinks enough water.

⚖️ Saturn in the 7th House: "Why is my love life being personally attacked?" 💔

Saturn is testing ALL your relationships—romantic, friendships, business partners.

If it’s built on shaky ground, expect breakups, ghosting, or deep confrontations.

The good news? If you survive this, you’ll only attract relationships that are strong and long-term. You could even get married between the ages of 27-31.

💀 Saturn in the 8th House: "I did NOT sign up for this level of emotional intensity." 🖤

Deep psychological work, trust issues, and facing your fears—Saturn is dragging you into the underworld.

You might deal with financial debts, inheritances, or a major transformation in your personal power.

It’s tough, but once you get through this, you’ll be emotionally unshakeable.

🏹 Saturn in the 9th House: "Time to get my shit together and figure out my beliefs."* 📚

You’re questioning everything—your worldview, religion, education, and even your life goals.

Saturn might push you toward travel, higher education, or a deep spiritual awakening.

By the end of this, you’ll have a clear purpose and philosophy to guide your life.

🏆 Saturn in the 10th House: "Am I failing at life or just leveling up?" 💼

Saturn is testing your career, reputation, and sense of achievement.

Expect job shakeups, new responsibilities, and pressure to succeed.

If you do the work, you’ll come out of this as a true expert in your field.

💙 Saturn in the 11th House: "Where did all my friends go?"

Your social circles are getting a reality check.

Fake friendships fall away, and Saturn pushes you toward meaningful, long-term connections.

You might feel isolated at first, but in the end, you’ll find your true people.

🛌 Saturn in the 12th House: "Why do I just want to stay in bed forever?" 😴

The hidden corners of your mind are getting a deep cleaning.

You might deal with subconscious fears, spiritual awakenings, or deep solitude.

By the end of this, you’ll be more spiritually aligned and self-aware than ever before.

How to Survive Your Saturn Return (And Not Cry Every Day)

🔹 Accept the lessons. Saturn isn’t punishing you—he’s making you stronger. Learn the lesson, or Saturn will make you repeat it. 🔹 Commit to self-improvement. Whether it’s therapy, new habits, or changing your mindset, this is your time to grow. 🔹 Get a personal birth chart reading. Want to know exactly what this transit means for you? DM me for a complete birth chart reading, and let’s decode your cosmic homework! 🔮

[feistyvirghoe]

☆⋆·˚ ༘ * pick a card disclaimers ೃ🤍⁀➷

pick a pile u feel most called to, the one u cannot look away from, the one that is pulsing, go with your gut, always trust yourself, and if u feel called to more that’s cool baby boo! there’s more for u!

these are general and for a vast amount of ppl, don’t get ur undies all twisted up bc it’s not resonating, it’s normal and it’s fine, this just wasn’t for u! <3

these are extremely general timeless readings and they’re meant for entertainment purposes, please don’t take things so seriously and also realize my readings are for people above 18!

╰┈➤ ❝ [.ೃ࿐🀥 ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ- major changes regarding your interpersonal relationships, how you guys interact with people and letting yourself experience new friendships, romantic relationships. I feel like your message here is to let go of what has been holding you down for so long. This energy of not wanting to see the good after you’ve been betrayed. Brighter days are ahead. It’s like the universe wanting you to see your real potential. They want you to see that you are capable of living a joyous life. You’re capable of being happy without feeling guilty or ashamed of yourself. You’re not the only one struggling mentally or in any other way. I feel like your guys are nervous to experience new things again because there’s this feeling of you being like “will this even last?” “Will this eventually be taken away from me like everything else?” I feel like you guys may need to move yourselves out of this period of thinking the same things will always happen. It wont! Especially when we believe and change our mindset surrounding this topic. You guys are being led into a newer direction. Somewhere where you feel you belong. Forming new relationships that’s re healthy and authentic with likeminded people who understand you. Things don’t have to happen so quickly so it’s always good to remember not to push yourself to fit into a mold you know will never work. This major change will lead you to your true calling/purpose, where you will be seen by the right people for you, it really is all for you. But i know we can get stuck in this negative loop or tormenting emotions that confuse us about ourselves. I’d say, what I’m seeing happening for you next is you feeling more hopeful about this new opportunity or just this general change you’re making or should be making for yourself. I also feel like you may be getting into a new partnership with someone. This person seems like they may bring a lot of positive encouragement and helpful advice to broaden your perspective. I feel like you’re going to be celebrating yourself and what you know deep down you were always capable of. You just need to see this fr yourself. That you’re an amazing, strong, independent person that achieve their goals on their own. We don’t really need people, but it’s not good to isolate yourself and hide because of your fears that are hindering you from moving on. I feel like you guys are also being shown that you can put your trust into certain individuals that respect you and wont betray you for their own benefit.] ❞

Affirmation - solar crown → i am decisive and wise. When action is required, i move swiftly with courage. When wisdom is necessary i step carefully with grace. I trust my intuitive wisdom to decide correctly.

╰┈➤ ❝ [.ೃ࿐🀥 ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ-keep on going pile 2! If someone here is feeling like giving up, DO NOT, I REPEAT DO NOT! You seem to be so close to something. It seems like you guys have been working your asses off, to achieve a certain goal, or idea, it’s something that you can’t take your mind off of. The energy is so fast paced, like i just want to get into it, you all seem to be moving in the right direction. Using all the power you have within you to get to this thing of yours. I feel like it may have to do with work of some sort, it doesn’t have to be so extreme, but you’ve been putting in action or you need to put in that action. You have this spirit of persistence and not giving up on this decision. I feel like you guys know where you want to be. But it’s the moving, a lot of passionate energy here, man I don’t even think that this is something you can take your mind off. You’re just aware of what is needed, you shouldn’t hide what power you hold. There’s something about you guys being more in that masculine role, moving towards your purpose, which i feel is the theme of this entire reading, doing what you love to do without feeling ashamed of it. Yes this will take some of your time and have you very busy, but i think you moving and not staying in a stagnant place pumps up your energy. It could even be with building your strength within and outside of you. Taking better care of yourself, knowing your own limits and not falling off because of one setback. I feel like you guys are being shown that it’s okay to show off your talents and gifts. This light within you that you should never really repress, but don’t burn yourself playing with the flames. I feel like you guys really need to keep going, it’s just something about the messages coming out for you that are screaming at me to tell you to keep on moving forward. Leaving the unhinged shit in the past.

“I can heal now and always.” Another message that I’m getting is not pushing yourself to the point of burnout. That’s when it gets tricky, because you put your all into something all at once and then get weird results where you feel not good enough. But you are, you’re enough right now. No, you do not need to be where that other person is, i know working and working will tear you apart. You guys should give yourself a break from time to time to re-collect and realize that your healing journey will never look like or be anyone else’s but yours. It’s time to fight off these distractions and quiet that overthinking mind of yours. You can work and play as well. Don’t take everything so personally, know when it’s you and take yourself out of the equation. I feel like this full moon is helping you to own your full potential and understand that you are also in control of your life. Don’t leave everything up to chance and own your shush! You are an amazing powerful being and i want you to understand this deep down even if you feel different, you are fricking powerful, a goddamn badass! ] ❞

Affirmations - clairvoyant author → i am the author of my story, i am the author of my own narrative. I write the future in myself. I re-script negative self-criticism, and i narrate positive thoughts.

╰┈➤ ❝ [.ೃ࿐🀥 ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ- Right off the bat y’all, i truly feel like there is some sort of competitive, petty, jealous energy that is being projected your way. Either you already know this or you don’t to the fullest extent. But you guys seem so guarded and indifferent to this shit. I’m not sure if it’s one or multiple people projecting this towards you, but you don’t seem to be buying something or someone’s BS! Whatever this is, it’s extremely unhealthy, the energy is wonky and that’s probably how you feel. But this i feel has to do with some sort of relationship. I feel like you don’t want what this person has to offer, or there is an offer but you seem to be skeptical of it. Why do i feel like you’re being pulled in so many different directions, it’s like hard to make a choice. This confusion. I really hope you’re not with someone who’s trying to control you or even manipulate you into something you know is damaging for you. I feel like someone/something can’t let you go, there’s this energy trying to cling onto you. It feels like someone wants to block you from seeing your true potential. Because you are talented at something, you got the tools for whatever this may be, like you’re so fucking close. A chapter has ended, you have to decide if you want to walk away or keep repeating it with other people, but i feel like you already know that you should be taking things more smoothly. You can’t get up and go back playing kickball right after you sprain your ankle. It’s alright for you to rest and look after yourself. I feel like you guys need to let that wall down a little bit and remember the why, the why that made you get up and go after what you want every day even if its small steps. Small steps to creating a better social circle. Finding the right communities for you, engaging with people who get it. You don’t have to force anything or be anything to anyone but your most authentic self and i know we hear it all the time but it’s so true. It’s better to walk around knowing who you are instead of pretending to fit in. You don’t have to mold yourself. I feel like you guys should do some inner self-reflection and talk with yourself, journal, rage draw, whatever you need to do. Even crying, things are pretty intense. But I don’t want you guys to go around letting someone else try to influence you and tell you what to do, its reminding me of a Bret man rock video he was saying something along the line of “don’t tell me what to do BITCH!” lmao. But for real, don’t let anyone tell you what you can and can’t do with your damn life. It’s like they want you confused about who you are as a person. People seriously need to contain this obsessive jealousy and just mind their damn business. I feel like you guys need to be more kinder to yourself and show more compassion towards you! You’re very abundant and have a lot headed your way, i just don’t wanna see you giving up, fuck what people say about you! What gives them the right to try and tell you about yourself, unless you really need the reality check but I don’t think so. I feel like people really want to try this group. Don’t let em, nuh uh uh uh. You’re self sufficient on your own nd you didn’t really need me to tell you that, but i see it. You can take care of your damn self. Fuck the projections and let yourself live. Even if shits not so great, LIVE! Try to put a smile on that face everyday, but also feel your emotions and acknowledge it. I feel like you guys may not feel the love but you are so so loved, pease remember that, and I’ll tell u, i love you! Mwah! ] ❞

Affirmations -

Embrace divinity → i am a loved child of divinity. Reality is a love story written for me. I sit silently and experience the loving embrace from my eternal mother. I store up the words of affirmation of my ageless father. The tender words that spoke my consciousness into existence to become me.

Observatory of the mind → i have a happy heart. Today will be full of joyful moments waiting for me to discover. My gratitude overflows from my inner self to those around me.

Empowering friendships → i select my relationships carefully and invest in them fully. I am the average of the people i spend my time with.

hiiii, hope everyone’s doing well, i know i know, im back lmao, and i didn’t forget about the other PAC, i just wanted to do this first. hope this helps w anything you’ve been going back and forth w, or any kooky energy that you’ve been wondering about, stay safe and don’t let anyone walk all over you! <333

[30somethingautisticteacher]

The drunk woman was relentless, invading Tommy's personal space as he tried to step back. He kept flashing his ring, but either she hadn't noticed or simply didn't care. Tommy glanced at his watch, grateful Evan hadn't arrived yet to see this mess.

"I'm just a poor girl all alone and new to the city," she slurred, pressing closer. "Can you help me get home safely? You can drive me, and then you can come up and I can thank you properly." She traced a finger down his arm. "I'm sure your wife wouldn't mind."

'Okay, she just doesn't care,' Tommy thought, taking a step back.

"I'm sure the bartender would be happy to call a cab for you," he said firmly.

"But you're so big and strong. I would feel so protected," she pouted, swaying slightly.

"I'm flattered, but I'm sure you'll be plenty safe," Tommy said, maintaining his distance. "And my husband won't like you all over me."

"Husband?" the woman spat, her flirtatious demeanor instantly shifting. "Seriously, you're gay?" Her slurred voice dripped with disdain.

It was at that exact moment that Evan appeared.

"Oh, he's very, very gay," Evan said, draping his arms over Tommy's shoulders and pulling him in for a steamy kiss.

"Hi, baby," Tommy said when they broke apart, his earlier tension melting away at his husband's presence.

"You can go now," Evan said dismissively to the woman.

"You're the husband?" she scoffed, looking Evan up and down with obvious judgment. "What a waste."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Evan asked, his voice sharpening. Tommy could feel him tensing up beside him.

"Not worth it, sweetheart," Tommy said softly, squeezing Evan's hand. He knew that tone in his husband's voice - the one that meant someone had struck a nerve.

"No, I want to know," Evan insisted, his jaw set. The playful possessiveness from moments ago had been replaced by something harder, more defensive. "What exactly is being wasted here?"

"Your lifestyle," she sneered, waving her hand dismissively. "Two big, strong, handsome men shacking up together."

"Shacking up?" Evan said, his voice dangerously quiet. The woman had crossed a line, and Tommy knew his husband well enough to recognize when he was about to snap.

"We're not shacking up," Evan continued, holding up his left hand where his wedding ring caught the bar lights. "We're married. Legally married. I walked down an aisle, said vows, signed papers, and promised to love this man for the rest of my life. And you know what? It was the best decision I ever made."

Tommy's heart swelled, watching his husband defend their marriage.

"So no, it's not a waste. What would be a waste is if I pretended to be something I'm not just to make people like you comfortable. Now if you'll excuse us, I'd like to have a drink with my husband."

"You people," the girl said, shaking her head in disgust.

Tommy felt Evan stiffen next to him, ready for another round, but this time Tommy stepped forward. He'd let Evan handle it his way, now it was his turn.

"Ah, 'you people,'" Tommy said, his voice calm but firm. "Let me tell you about 'us people.' My husband and I are first responders. We put our lives on the line every single day for others - including people who think like you do. I spent years hiding who I was because of that kind of hatred, afraid to be myself. But then I finally accepted who I really was, and that opened my heart to the possibility of love. And I found it - real, earth-shattering, life-changing love."

He pulled Evan closer, feeling his husband relax against him. "So the only waste here would be letting people like you make us ashamed of something so beautiful."

Tommy turned away from the woman, effectively dismissing her. "Come on, baby."

The woman slunk away into the crowd, her previous bravado gone.

"You ok, babe?" Evan asked, turning to Tommy with concern.

"Are you kidding?" Tommy said, pulling him closer by his belt loops. "That was extremely sexy watching you tell her off like that. Look how far my little baby bi has come."

"Couldn't have done it without you," Evan said softly.

"You know, I'm actually more hungry than thirsty," Tommy said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, is that so?" Evan replied, a knowing smirk spreading across his face."Well, we should probably do something about that."

"Yeah, we probably better," Tommy said, pulling Evan in for a heated kiss.

When they broke apart, Evan was speechless. He shook his head. "But not here."

"Right, right, let's get out of here."

They stumbled out of the bar together, Tommy tugging Evan along by their joined hands. Their laughter mixed with the night air, any trace of anger long forgotten replaced by the joy of just being together.

[t00thpasteface]

actually in light of recent posting (sorry about the snowball effect yall know how i get when i get that positive feedback loop going of everyone egging me on in the tags 😭) i gotta say it is soooo exhausting being the "i love bj's writing" kind of bj-dunker and trying to DEFEND him to my mom who gags when he's on screen.

i'm like "he's really chewy and i love the way he doubles down and spirals over the course of the show, i think he represents a lot of really fascinating real-world sociopolitical issues resulting from the 50s propaganda of the strong reliable family man, he's fun both as an individual character AND as a symbol" because you knowwww how much i love the idea of the Man versus the Idea Of The Man. like i seriously think that dichotomy is so cool.

but my mom is like "i hate him." and i'm like. awww he's fun :(((

[seungfl0wer]

*𝑯𝒐𝒘’𝒅 𝑰 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚?*

Pairing: Changbin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None (Cuteness overload)

-🖤

How did you get so lucky? Seriously? Your boyfriend had surprised you with a trip to the renaissance fair, he even bought you an outfit to wear. You had mentioned to him how much you wanted to go and was sad that it was almost over. However here he is. Smiling ear to ear handing you your outfit telling you to get changed.

He had gotten you such a beautiful dress of the time period, adorn with flowers and a corset. He had even went as far as getting a matching flower grown and a badass wooden sword that almost looked to real. You felt like you could cry, especially after putting it on. When you had walked out Changbin was awe struck. “Wow” is all he could say while he stared at you. You couldn’t help but blush twirling in it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck giving him a big hug before kissing him. You both couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m ready whenever you are” you said smiling.

“Oh wait one more thing hold on!” He said before going into the bathroom. He was in there for a few before coming out with an outfit of his own. He looked so sharp, the shirt matched the color of your dress. A sword like yours stun on his back. A small flower bracelet that looked like your crown on his wrist. The shirt hugging so nicely on his muscles. He looked so handsome, when he met your gaze he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Do I look good?” He asked.

You stuttered a bit “yeah- I’m gonna have to fight the others off of you” you teased.

“Thought the same thing myself when I saw you” he said before wrapping his arms around you giving you a spin.

“Shall we my beautiful queen?” He said.

“Of course my king” you played back.

When you arrived you changbin looped his arm around you pulling you to him. He left a soft kiss to your cheek before entering. You wondered around looking at everything buying little things before changbin pointed “I got to do this!” He said looking at a strong man commotion, the winner? Gets a “stead” which was this giant stuffed horse.

He beat out all the competition of course winning you the big stuffed animal. “My lady your trusty stead” he said chuckling.

The rest of the night went so well, you both sat down for some chicken legs bigger than your head. Taking pictures together and just having fun. As the night winded down you two were dancing to the soft music. Swaying back and forth. You had your head lying on his chest as he hummed happily. The night sky looked like a picture from a fairy tail. The stars were shining so brightly which seemed to make his eyes sparkle even more than they normally did.

He kissed the top of your head before lifting your head with his thumb to look at him. He sighed contently “y/n I love you so much, you really are the love of my life you know that?” He said staring down at you with heart eyes.

“I love you to Binnie, I couldn’t imagine a life without you” you said back.

He smiled before taking your hand “follow me real quick” he said taking you to a little area with flowers, the sky even clearer here.

“I saw this little spot earlier and I knew it’d be even prettier at night” he said with a smile. “Do you see the sign over there?” He asked making you look over in another direction.

“What sign?” You ask looking back at him. What you didn’t expect was for him to be kneeling. He was down on one knee smiling up at you with the biggest heart warming smile.

“My love, the light of my life. I want to spend every day with you. I want you to be my queen, my wife. Beautiful will you give me the honors of having you as my wife?” He said.

Your heart felt like it could melt out of your chest. You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes hands up at your mouth in disbelief. “Really?” You said trying not to cry.

“Really.” He chuckled.

“Of course! A million times yes!” You said before he could even get the ring on though you had your arms around him hugging him tightly as you cried. Happy tears of course.

He couldn’t help but chuckle a bit holding you close to him. He rubbed your back for a few moments before pulling away “may i?” He said taking your hand as he slipped the ring on. It was so pretty, he had put a lot of thought into it. It was something so perfect you’d think he was in your brain.

“Did you plan all of this? Like bringing me here to propose?” You asked wiping your eyes.

“Perhaps” he said smiling back. “I wanted to make everything special, because you’re special” he said kissing you softly.

“Can we go home and cuddle?” You asked.

“Of course beautiful, wanna shower and I can wash your hair for you?” He said in a hum.

“Seriously how’d I get so lucky?” You said.

“Because you’re the most amazing person in the world that’s why. I’ll treat you like the queen you are till the day I die” he said kissing your hand. “My beautiful wife”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp

[sillysowa]

BOYFRIEND HOBIE BROWN HCS

PARTS: (1) (2)

wanted to put something out while i work on requests!

Main love language is physical touch. In cold weather he holds you under his jacket or holds your hands in between his, rubbing his thumbs over your skin.

Pulls you towards him by your waist, belt loops, jewelry (obviously super gently), and sleeves, always with a little, “C’mere.”

Sits you in his lap when you cry, holding your face in his hands and collecting your tears on his thumbs. He kisses your eyelids when you’re finished crying, massaging your scalp and letting you pour your thoughts out, “I’m here…talk t’me, gorgeous.”

Never let’s you tie your own shoes.

Sticks up for you in every social setting, especially when you’re not around to do it yourself. Everyone knows how much he admires you because he never misses an opportunity to build you up.

A huge sucker for sightseeing and owns a digital camera to capture every moment. He loves to make sure you’re in the shots, even just your bright smile, the back of your head, or your legs.

He’s a “I know a spot” kind of guy when taking you on dates instead of the typical movie or dinner date.

If the two of you are not a thing yet, he’s not subtle at all in his attraction towards you. He mirrors your body language, follows you around HQ or encourages you to follow him, tilts his head in conversation with you, and goes on all the missions that you go on (even if he wasn’t assigned to go with you!)

Likes to hold your chin or jaw when he kisses you. His eyes are often just barely open, wanting to see you.

Sees the act of sleeping with someone in a literal sense as a very intimate thing so he takes it very seriously when you’re trusting enough to do that with him. He cradles you gently, makes sure you’re comfortable, and will even sing to you when you need it. You’ve gotten so comfortable sleeping around him that you just get sleepy at the sight of him, wanting to cuddle up to him at every moment.

Nuzzles his face into your neck when he hugs you because he likes how sensitive you are to the feeling.

Despite all the loving things he does, he can be really mischievous; like definitely the type to shove a finger in your mouth when you’re yawning or tickle you when you’re stretching. He also will never miss an opportunity to throw you over his shoulder when he wants to nap with you, no matter what you were doing.

When you two fight, it’s never bad. He gets quiet when he’s upset, and doesn’t like arguing at all. He will just listen to your thoughts and talk when he’s calm, and he never ever makes you feel wrong for how you’re feeling.

Likes to go limp when he hugs you and freak you out because you’re suddenly supporting a strong 6’3 man who’s actively trying to crush you.

Never let’s you do anything that serves him by yourself—Cooking dinner? Great, what can he do to help? Cleaning? Cool, what should he start with? He never wants you to feel like you’re juggling too many responsibilities.

Begs you to cover him in kisses when you wear a bright lip color because he loves to show off, his hands on your hips the whole time you pepper him in pecks. Everyone at HQ stares and he soaks it up with a smug smirk on his face like he’s on top of the world—because that’s how you make him feel.

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara @yuuotosaka3