#when you bend backwards...I guess | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

boyfiechan · 2 months ago

Text

[21 Questions]

...or the one where your hot one-night stand gets trapped inside with you during a storm.

Notes: Romantic comedy brainrot meets “what if your one-night stand accidentally had boyfriend energy” vibes but dirty, I guess? Pretty much porn that pretends to have a plot. Bang Chan x Reader Content Warnings: AFAB reader, explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, face riding, dry humping, dirty talk, question-based escalation, creampie. [8.1k words]

The rain is already loud when you wake up, but it’s the thunder that makes you sit up too fast—your body protesting with a dull ache and a rush of confusion and for a moment, you forget where you are, blinking against the soft light that filters through pale curtains stirred by wind. Then you remember the man lying next to you. The one with the tousled brown hair and the silver chain still clinging to his throat, half-buried beneath the white sheet he’d stolen most of in the night. Chris. His name floats up through the haze of sleep and lingering heat and half-faded memory, the syllables settling heavy in your chest and you’d meant for last night to be a clean break, something fleeting, something fun—but now it’s morning and the world outside is a mess of lightning and rising water and all exits, apparently, are blocked.

You shift carefully, pulling the sheet with you like it might shield you from the awkwardness of waking up next to someone you barely know, but Chris doesn’t look awkward at all. He looks like he belongs there, face still soft with sleep, lips parted just slightly like he’s caught in a dream he doesn’t want to leave, his hair is a disaster and his arm is slung over your pillow like he’d meant to hold you and missed. And maybe you’re still drunk on the way he’d touched you last night—like he already knew how you wanted to be handled, like he’d been reading your mind with every slow drag of his mouth over your skin, but now the tension is different, the air is heavy with the storm and something else you can’t quite name. Something not-so-temporary.

Chris groans softly when the thunder cracks again, brow creasing as he stretches, and you get a front row seat to the slow reveal of muscle and skin and that faint trail of ink on his ribs. He blinks up at you, eyes half-lidded and pretty brown in the gray light. What time is it? he asks, rough and warm and entirely too familiar for someone you just met. You shrug, reaching for your phone with fingers that are still trembling a little, not from fear, just the residual adrenaline of being alone in a house with a man who kissed you like he could rewrite your whole damn story if you let him. Does it matter? you murmur, holding up the screen. Storm’s not letting up. Roads are flooded. There’s a beat of silence, then Chris hums like it’s not the worst news he’s ever heard. Guess I’m staying for breakfast.

And it should be awkward, it should be that fumbling, clothes-on-backwards, this was fun kind of goodbye you’d practiced in your head but instead, Chris rolls out of bed like it’s his own room, scratching the back of his neck and scanning the floor for his shirt with a sleepy smirk. You got anything edible? Or are we on a strictly coffee-and-regret diet this morning? he asks, and you laugh, the sound surprising even you. There’s eggs. Maybe toast if the bread survived the humidity. You’re already pulling on one of your old t-shirts—something oversized and faded and absolutely not cute, but Chris gives you this once-over that makes you feel like you’re in silk as he follows you into the kitchen barefoot, steps quiet, and there’s still a weight to him that makes the room feel fuller somehow, like his presence bends the space around him just a little.

You move around each other clumsily at first, two strangers pretending you haven’t already seen each other naked, but it settles quickly into something easy, comfortable. You hand him a pan without thinking, and he flips it in one hand like he’s done this a hundred times. So what do you do, he asks, cracking eggs like a professional, when you’re not picking up mysterious men at bars and rescuing them from natural disasters? You shoot him a look over your shoulder, but your smile betrays you. I’m an illustrator, you admit. Freelance. Mostly book covers and concept stuff. He raises a brow, looking impressed. That explains the art on your walls. I thought you were just trying to seem deep. You bump your hip into his and he laughs—really laughs, head thrown back for a second, the sound warm enough to cut through the storm still howling outside.

Breakfast takes longer than it should, between the burnt toast and the failed attempt at pancakes and the way Chris keeps trying to juggle eggs when he thinks you’re not looking, the kitchen becomes a little world of its own—bright with laughter and low teasing and the kind of unspoken intimacy that feels like it’s been there longer than a single night. He sits at the table while you pour the coffee, fingers drumming on the wood like he can’t quite sit still. You know, he says, eyeing you over the rim of his mug, I was supposed to fly out today. Back to Seoul. Meetings, rehearsals. All that glamorous idol life crap. You glance out the window, as rain streaks down the glass in frantic patterns, wind battering the trees sideways. Storm says no, you offer, and he grins, like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

You end up on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, the empty plates abandoned somewhere behind you. The power flickers once, twice, and then holds and at some point, Chris had ducked into the other room to make a quiet call—checking on someone, just to make sure they were safe in the storm. It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still made something in your chest ache a little and now, as he shifts beside you, arm grazing yours, it’s quieter—the kind of quiet that feels like waiting, like choosing. He doesn’t push, doesn’t lean in, but when he looks at you it’s soft and curious and a little cautious, like he’s wondering what this could be if it wasn’t just a one-night stand and a thunderstorm, and you don’t know either. But you like the way he watches the lightning like it’s a show, the way he turns toward you with that slow smile that’s more promise than performance. You don’t know if the roads will be clear tomorrow, yu don’t know if this will last past the rain but for now, there’s warmth, and coffee, and a very content Chris beside you like he’s meant to stay.

He eats like someone who hasn’t had a real meal in days, half-sleepy and quietly appreciative, the kind of silence that says more than any compliment could. Every so often he hums, low and pleased, like even the mediocre toast is some kind of hidden delicacy. I think... he mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, this might be the best breakfast I’ve had all year. You glance at him, one brow raised. That’s a low bar. He shrugs, grinning around his coffee mug. Yeah, well, my standards are shot. I live off protein bars and takeout most days. He says it casually, like it’s a joke, but something in his eyes dims around the edges and you file that away somewhere quiet in your chest.

Then he sniffs at the mug and makes a face, setting it down with a quiet sigh. Full disclosure? I don’t even like coffee. You blink at him, mid-bite. Then why drink it? He shrugs, sheepish and a little guilty, like a kid caught faking his homework. Felt like the kind of morning where I should be holding something warm. Thought maybe it’d make me look normal. He hesitates, then adds, Tea’s not any better, by the way. Tastes like regret. You laugh and offer, There’s juice in the fridge, but he just shoots you a slow smile and leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours. Think I’ve had enough sweet stuff for one morning, and the line hangs there between you, light but deliberate, and when you arch a brow, he doesn’t take it back, just lifts his mug again like he didn’t say anything at all, even though you’re both still smiling into the silence.

The wind picks up again, another sharp gust rattling the windows, and the lights flicker like they’re considering betraying you. You look over your shoulder, half-expecting a blackout, but they steady as Chris catches your gaze, leaning forward on his elbows, bare forearms braced against the table. Scared? he teases, but it’s soft, more curious than mocking. Of the storm? you ask, tipping your head. Not really. I like it. Makes everything feel... slower. Like the world’s taking a breath. Chris watches you for a long moment, something thoughtful in the way his eyes trace over your face like he’s committing it to memory. That’s a nice way to put it, he murmurs. I think I forget how to slow down.

You end up back on the couch with two mugs of reheated coffee and a blanket that still smells faintly like clean laundry and the detergent your mom insists on mailing you in bulk as he lets you pick the movie, something old and a little ridiculous, more comfort than content, and by the time the opening credits roll, he’s already slid a little closer, his thigh pressed lightly against yours beneath the blanket. I haven’t watched a movie on an actual home couch in months, he admits, almost sheepish. Hotel beds don’t count. Too sterile, always feels like I’m trespassing. You look at him, really look, and for all the easy smiles and casual confidence, there’s something in the way he curls slightly inward, like he’s still waiting to be asked to leave.

So… what’s it like? you ask, tilting your head against the back cushion. Being you. Idol life. Cameras. Fans. Endless protein bars. He laughs, but it’s quieter now. It’s loud, he says after a pause. Even when it’s quiet. There’s always something. A performance, a deadline, someone waiting for you to screw up so they can clip it and post it out of context. His voice is calm, but you feel the weight of it, heavy and real between you. Don’t get me wrong. I love it. Music saved me, still does. But sometimes it feels like I forget who I am when the lights go off.

You nudge his knee with yours. And who are you right now? He glances at you, then away, like he’s not used to being seen like this—barefoot on someone else’s couch, coffee he doesn't even pretent to drink anymore in hand, weathered by rain and time and the strange intimacy of survival. Right now? he echoes, a little surprised. I’m… just Chris. I think. His mouth twitches, like he’s almost amused by the sound of his own name out loud in that context. Not Bang Chan, not leader, not hyung. Just… a guy who ate eggs in someone’s kitchen. You nod like that’s enough. Like it means more than it should. Well, you say, lifting your mug in a mock toast, cheers to Just Chris.

He bumps his mug against yours, eyes warm with something that looks a lot like gratitude as the movie plays on in the background, half-forgotten, and you both settle into the kind of silence that isn’t awkward—it’s tentative, sure, but there’s an unspoken agreement not to break the spell just yet. His arm ends up behind you on the backrest, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the quiet hum of presence that anchors you in place and when your shoulders brush, neither of you pulls away.

You know, he says eventually, eyes still on the screen, I didn’t expect to like you this much. You blink, caught off guard by the blunt honesty. I mean, he adds quickly, the tips of his ears slighly pink, not that I thought I wouldn’t like you. But last night… it wasn’t supposed to turn into this. He gestures vaguely, encompassing the coffee, the couch, the storm still raging outside like a protective barrier between this moment and the rest of the world. It was just supposed to be one night. A good distraction. You swallow, unsure whether to laugh or let the weight of it settle. Yeah, you say. Me too.

But the way he’s looking at you now, like you’re not just a chapter break but maybe a plot twist—it makes something shift in your chest. Something dangerous and soft and utterly unplanned. So what happens, you ask quietly, if the storm doesn’t let up? He smirks, eyes flicking toward the window before turning back to you. Guess we'll keep distracting each other, he says, and his hand finally brushes yours beneath the blanket, fingers curling slightly like a question, and you don’t hesitate when you answer. You let him.

The movie drifts on in the background—some half-forgotten rom-com playing at half volume, all overly dramatic meet-cutes and orchestral swells that feel far too on-the-nose given the weight in the air, and the storm hasn’t eased. If anything, the wind howls louder now, rattling through the eaves of the house like it’s trying to crawl inside, but you’re warm, not just because of the blanket or the coffee or the body beside you—but because something is building. Slowly, unspoken, the kind of tension that hums under the skin like an electrical current, soft but insistent, curling into the spaces between breath and glance and word.

Chris shifts beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the couch, but you can feel the subtle change in his posture, how he’s turned slightly more toward you, how his knee now presses firmly into yours instead of just brushing. His fingers are close enough to yours that you can feel the heat from them, the faint tremble of restraint in the way he hasn’t closed that last inch of distance as you risk a glance, and he’s already watching you—not smiling, not teasing, just looking, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing again. Like he’s debating something he already knows the answer to.

You’re kind of hard to read, you know that? you murmur, letting your voice drop just a little, the edge of a smile curling at your lips. His brow lifts, intrigued. Yeah? Most people say I’m too easy to read. His voice is quieter now too, dipping into something husky, a little rough. Too open. You tilt your head, feigning thought. No… you give people just enough to make them think they’ve got you figured out. You feel bold now, watching his expression shift—curious, then interested, then something more primal flickering just under the surface. But there’s always something you’re holding back.

He leans in a fraction, close enough that you can feel his breath ghost across your cheek, and when he speaks again it’s low and deliberate. What do you think I’m holding back? And you want to be coy, want to toss back some flirty quip and pretend like your heart isn’t beating faster with every syllable that falls from his mouth—but the air between you is too heavy now, charged with something that feels inevitable as you shift to face him more fully, knees drawn up beneath the blanket, and he mirrors you, his hand finally brushing yours beneath the fabric—just a soft drag of knuckles, but it’s enough to send a little shock up your spine.

I think you want to touch me again, you whisper, the words slipping out before you can think better of them. But you’re trying to be good. Chris huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just tension, tightly wound and dangerously close to snapping. Yeah, he says, voice rougher now, throat working as he swallows. I’ve been trying real hard not to. And that admission, that little crack in his carefully controlled exterior, does something to you. You shift closer, just slightly, enough that your knees press between his, enough that the blanket slips a little off your shoulder and his eyes follow the movement like he’s been starving.

But you’re not that good, are you? you tease, soft and breathy, like you’re testing the line just to see if he’ll cross it. And then his hand is on your thigh beneath the blanket—slow and deliberate, fingers curling against bare skin where your oversized t-shirt rides up, he doesn’t rush, just drags his palm upward with agonizing patience, his eyes never leaving yours. Not even close, he says, and it’s more confession than warning. You shift into his touch, lips parting on a quiet breath, and the way he looks at you now it’s like the storm has moved inside the room, all pressure and heat and the dangerous thrill of surrender.

Still, he waits. That last sliver of distance remains, his lips close but not touching, his fingers warm but not daring yet, you can see it in his eyes—the way he’s giving you the choice, the way he’s already halfway gone if you want to meet him there and something about that restraint, that aching pause, makes your skin burn. Come here, you whisper, and that’s all it takes.

He kisses you like he’s been holding it back all morning, all night, maybe longer, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t do it now, he might never get to again, his hand slides up further, anchoring at your waist, pulling you into his lap with a fluid kind of urgency that still manages to feel careful. His lips are warm, a little chapped, but he moves like he knows exactly what you need, tongue teasing at the seam of your mouth until you let him in, until the taste of him floods your senses and you forget everything else. Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groans softly against your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your whole body.

The blanket falls away, and the storm outside rages louder but inside, the world narrows to the press of his body against yours, the slow grind of hips, the heat rising fast and thick between you like it’s trying to suffocate the space where words used to live. You don’t know where this is going, don’t know what happens after the rain. But you know how he kisses, you know the way his hand slides up the back of your shirt with reverence and hunger, how he breathes your name like a promise he hasn’t figured out how to keep yet. And right now, that’s enough.

His mouth breaks from yours with a reluctant drag, breath heavy against your cheek as his lips skim the edge of your jaw. The storm batters the world outside, wind clawing at the glass, but here, on this couch, wrapped in each other and the remnants of a morning that wasn't supposed to last, everything feels slow, thick with a new kind of tension. His hand has slipped beneath your shirt now, not urgent, but reverent, fingers tracing up your spine in slow, deliberate lines that make you shiver, thumb brushing the underside of your breast, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, but he stops there, teasing, waiting.

You know… he murmurs against your neck, punctuating the words with a lazy kiss just below your ear, ...we barely know anything about each other. You huff a breath that could almost be a laugh, tipping your head back to give him more access. Funny time to bring that up. His teeth graze your throat, the gentlest bite, and he smirks when you gasp. Just trying to be a gentleman, he says, all faux innocence while his other hand slides up the inside of your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles where your skin is most sensitive. Maybe we should get to know each other first. You know, before we really do this.

You glance down at him, raising a brow even as your hips shift against his lap, finding the heat of him through thin layers of cotton. What, you want to play 20 Questions while you’ve got your hand up my shirt? His eyes glitter with mischief. Twenty-one. Gotta keep it spicy. You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips as you settle more fully against him, legs straddling his hips now, thighs bracketing his as the blanket slips off entirely. Fine, you say, voice a little breathless as his hands find their way to your waist, thumbs dragging slow along your ribs. But I go first. He leans back slightly, arms resting along the couch, a picture of casual sin. Hit me.

What’s your biggest red flag? you ask, grinning as you slowly grind down just enough to watch his expression falter and Chris groans, head tipping back briefly before he looks at you from beneath heavy lashes. You’re evil. You just shrug, hips rocking against him, slow and tempting. Answer the question.

He exhales a laugh that curls low in his chest, fingers tightening at your waist. Okay… red flag? His tongue flicks across his bottom lip as he thinks, and your eyes follow the motion helplessly. I work too much. Like… too much. I disappear into it sometimes. Not great for relationships. There’s honesty in it, even as he slides one hand back under your shirt, thumb grazing the curve of your breast again, still not touching you fully, just circling around it like he’s trying to drive you crazy. Your turn. You shift, barely resisting the urge to lean into his hand. Hmm… what’s your question?

Chris hums, considering. Biggest turn-on.

You tilt your head, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him twitch before you answer, Confidence. Teasing. Someone who can make me laugh and lose my mind. You roll your hips again, slow and purposeful, and he curses under his breath. Your turn, he growls, hands sliding lower now, gripping your ass as he pulls you tighter against him. Better make it a good one.

What do you think I taste like? you whisper it near his ear, just to watch him shudder. His hands still on your body, eyes snapping to yours, suddenly darker as he swallows hard, fingers digging in just a bit. You want the honest answer? he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. Obviously.

Chris leans in, lips brushing yours without kissing, like he’s tasting the air between you. Like trouble. Like something I shouldn’t get addicted to but already am. His hand drags back up your thigh, higher now, brushing between your legs over your underwear, just enough pressure to make you gasp, but still maddeningly light. Like heaven with a little hell in it.

You clench your hands in the fabric of his shirt, breath catching as he rocks up against you, heat meeting heat through frustrating layers. Fuck, you whisper, hips stuttering. That’s not fair. He smirks again. I said I was bad at being good. You dip your head to his neck, biting lightly at the skin just below his jaw as you murmur, Then stop pretending and show me just how bad you can be. But Chris just chuckles, fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear before he stops again, teasing, waiting, torturing. Only if you answer the next one.

You groan. You’re the worst. He grins. Next question. What are you most afraid of right now?

And it’s unfair, how he can drop that kind of weight right when his fingers are slipping beneath your panties, how he can make you feel completely exposed even before he touches you properly as you blink, breathless, caught in the twist of sensation and honesty. Getting too close, you admit quietly. Wanting more than I should. He stills, his hand resting gently between your thighs now, no pressure, just presence as his gaze softens, searching your face like he’s looking for something hidden beneath all your teasing. Me too, he says. And then—finally, finally—his fingers move with purpose, and you stop thinking altogether.

His fingers move with an ease that makes you curse your own memory, like your body already remembers him, already trusts the rhythm, the pressure, the subtle curl of his touch. He’s slow with it, maddeningly so, dragging the pads of his fingers through your slick just to feel how wet you are before he even really does anything. Jesus, he murmurs, almost to himself, eyes dropping to where you’re straddled in his lap, shirt rumpled, underwear pushed aside, heat pressed tight to the bulge in his sweatpants. And you’re telling me we’re just getting to know each other? You roll your hips down against his hand and smirk. Exactly. I’m an open book, remember? But your voice catches at the end when one of his fingers slides inside you, slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as you clench around him with a broken little sound you wish you could play off as cooler than it is. Chris just grins, lazy and pleased, like he’s won something. Sure you are, sweetheart.

And then he fucking pauses again.

Just holds there, buried in you up to the knuckle like he’s content to keep you right on the edge of madness as you glare at him, lips parted, already shifting your hips for friction, but his free hand comes up to steady you at the waist. Nuh-uh, he warns, teasing. You’re the one who agreed to twenty-one questions. You’re not getting out of it just because your legs are shaking. You blink at him, somewhere between aroused and outraged. Are you seriously going to edge me over a quiz game?

Chris has the audacity to laugh, pressing another finger inside you with a slow, cruel twist that makes you forget what planet you’re on for a second. That’s question twenty-two, he says, voice all wicked sweetness. But I’ll allow it. You swear under your breath, grinding down again because two can play at this game. Fine, you bite out. Truth or dare. He raises a brow, interested. We’re switching formats?

Answer it. Chris smirks, lips dragging over your jaw as he pumps his fingers in a slow rhythm that’s almost enough, but not quite. Truth. You narrow your eyes at him. Who’s your embarrassing celebrity crush?

He laughs, really laughs, breathless and boyish and warm in a way that makes your chest ache through the haze of want. Jesus, okay, he says, eyes scrunched, still slowly fucking you with the kind of patience that feels like punishment. This is going to haunt me, but… it’s the girl from Scooby-Doo. The live-action one. Velma. You blink at him. You mean Linda Cardellini? He groans. Yes. The sweater, the glasses, the sass—don’t judge me. You’re laughing too hard to speak for a second, which becomes very inconvenient when his thumb brushes against your clit in a lazy circle that makes your laugh crack into a moan. Okay, you breathe. That’s fair. Honestly? Valid.

He leans in like he’s about to kiss you, but instead he whispers, Your turn, and curls his fingers just right, making your hips jolt forward against his palm. Would you rather, he says, clearly enjoying your ruined expression, have sex in a public place and get caught, or accidentally send your mom a sext? You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a wheeze. Oh my God, what kind of demon are you? He just grins, smug. Answer carefully. You’re half-laughing, half-dying as you try to think through the haze of building pressure between your legs, his thumb not letting up for a second. Okay, okay, public sex.

Getting caught. Bold, he says, watching your face tighten when his fingers thrust a little faster. That says something about you. You gasp, breath hitching hard in your throat as you press your hips forward again, unable to stop yourself. Shut up, you gasp, helpless. You knew I wouldn’t say mom sext. You set me up.

Guilty, he murmurs, kissing along your neck now, open-mouthed and warm. Next question. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever masturbated to? You freeze against him, eyes going wide. Oh my God.

C’mon, he coaxes, mouth curved into a devilish smile. I told you about Velma. Don’t leave me hanging. You hide your face in his shoulder, but he doesn’t let up with his fingers, still moving inside you, still making you gasp even through your mortification. Fine, you groan. There was this audio clip, some guy reading from a tax fraud legal deposition with a deep voice and—don’t look at me like that. It was weirdly hot, okay?

Chris actually chokes laughing, full-body shaking, but his hand never stops, and now it’s infuriatingly good, rhythmic and deep and filthy enough that you start to lose the ability to laugh along. Oh my God, he wheezes, still grinning. That’s incredible. That’s like, top-tier trivia material. He leans in again, brushing his nose against yours, watching you with heat and fondness in equal measure. You’re insane. I think I’m obsessed with you.

You open your mouth to answer, but your words melt into a strangled moan when he presses just right and your body clenches down around him, thighs trembling on either side of his hips as he watches you unravel with greedy eyes, his mouth hovering just over yours, breath mixing with yours as your orgasm shudders through you, sharp and wet and aching. Fuck, you whisper. You're the insane one.

You’re welcome, he whispers back, then kisses you like a man who plans on earning another twenty-one answers. Your breath is still shaky, ribs rising too fast under your shirt, your thighs quivering where they’re slung over his lap, and he hasn’t even pulled his hand away yet. His fingers are still inside you, slow and wet and fucking obscene, curling lazily like he’s not done teasing your body just yet, like he wants to feel every aftershock and memorize the way your walls flutter around him, greedy and overstimulated. And the worst part if you don’t want him to stop, not even a little.

Chris watches you with that smug curve to his mouth, but there’s something darker in his eyes now, hotter, hungrier, like the teasing has started to backfire on him too. You’re so easy to mess with, he murmurs, like it’s a compliment, like he’s impressed, his free hand comes up to brush the damp hair from your face, thumb stroking your cheek with a gentleness that doesn’t match the filth of his other hand. And you still owe me another question.

You laugh, breathless, hoarse, but defiant. You’re still playing the game?

Chris grins, slow and wicked. Don’t act like you’re not into it. Come on, next one. Or I stop. His fingers shift inside you, one last teasing thrust before he slides out completely, leaving you empty and aching. You glare at him, hips twitching forward on instinct. Okay, okay. You pause, breath catching as you readjust your weight in his lap, only now realizing how hard he is beneath you, thick and straining against his sweats, twitching under the press of your soaked panties.

Your brain short-circuits a little, but you recover fast. If you could only use your mouth or your hands during sex, never both again, which would you pick? Chris whistles low, eyes flicking down to your lips like he’s imagining either option in vivid, detailed color. Cruel one, he mutters, shifting beneath you just to feel more of your heat. But I’m gonna say mouth. There’s something about making a mess of someone with just my tongue. Something about control, seems like. His hands tighten at your hips as he leans up, lips grazing yours without committing to the kiss. And I think you like being teased too much for me to give that up.

You open your mouth to argue, or moan, but he silences you with a single, filthy swipe of his thumb over your clit, barely there, just enough to remind you who’s in charge of your pulse. You grip his shoulders to steady yourself, blinking down at him like you hate how much he knows you already. My turn, he says, voice low, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your ruined underwear and he doesn’t touch, just hovers there. What’s the dirtiest thought you’ve ever had about me? You stare at him, startled. We’ve only known each other, like, twelve hours. Chris raises an eyebrow. You’ve definitely had thoughts.

You look away, cheeks flushed, your body still warm from the orgasm and the press of his cock trapped beneath you. Fine, you mutter. It’s from this morning. When you were standing in the kitchen, still sleepy, shirtless… stretching like that. He smirks, already smug. And I thought about getting on my knees, you continue, forcing the words past your throat, and just pulling your sweats down while you were mid-yawn. Making you lean back against the counter and letting me suck you off before you even woke up properly. His jaw flexes, hands gripping your hips so tight it makes you whimper. Fuck, he breathes, almost like a warning. You trying to kill me?

You smile, dragging your hips slowly against his, grinding the slick heat of your core over the length of his cock through the fabric. I dunno. You said we’re getting to know each other. He groans, deep and broken, eyes fluttering closed for a second. Okay, he says. New rule. Every time you don’t answer a question honestly, I get to put my mouth somewhere new. You blink. That’s the punishment?

Chris slides his hands up your shirt in one slow motion, finally lifting it over your head and tossing it aside. His gaze drops to your chest, hungry and reverent as he leans forward, brushing his mouth against the swell of one breast before licking a slow stripe over your nipple. It’ll feel like a punishment soon, he says, dragging his teeth gently across the skin until you arch into him. Now ask me something hard. Your voice is trembling now. What’s your biggest kink?

Chris looks up at you, mouth still warm and wet against your skin, his eyes dark with intent. Praise, he says. Control. Watching you fall apart because you want to, not because I’m forcing you. He licks again, sucks a little now, and your fingers sink into his hair like you need to anchor yourself. And right now? he murmurs, pulling back with a soft pop. Hearing you beg. That might top the list. You swallow, completely undone, grinding harder now just to feel more of him, leaking through your panties onto the front of his sweats. Next question, he says, voice wrecked now. How many orgasms do you think I could pull out of you if we stopped playing and really got started? And suddenly, you don’t feel like teasing anymore.

You can’t even remember what number you’re on, somewhere past twenty-one and deep into uncharted territory, half the questions aren’t even questions anymore, just confessions and dares passed between kisses and breathless moans, your body curled around his like you’ve forgotten it wasn’t always yours to hold. Chris still got that look in his eyes, wild and focused, like he’s reading every flicker of reaction off your face, adjusting his touch with surgical precision and the game—if it can even be called that anymore—is just another way to keep you strung out on tension, anticipation, the high of not knowing what he’ll ask or do next. Okay, he says, voice low and almost tender as he kisses your thigh, lips trailing dangerously close to where you’re soaked through and twitching. Would you rather have me use my mouth and take my time, or let you sit on my face and lose control? You laugh, wrecked, hoarse, practically vibrating with need. Is that even a real question?

Answer it, he says, lips brushing the edge of your underwear like a threat. Or I’ll pick for you. You glance down at him, his face between your thighs, his eyes bright and dark at once and something about the way he looks like he wants to be overwhelmed by you makes the answer easy. Your face, you whisper. I wanna ride your face.

He hums, low, approving, and pulls your underwear down so slowly it’s practically cruel, dragging them down your legs like he wants to savor every inch of bare skin. You’re lucky I like the sound of that, he murmurs, kissing up your inner thigh, hands gripping your hips as you shift to straddle his face, heart pounding so loud it drowns out the storm still raging outside. He settles back against the couch cushions, eyes fixed on you, and his voice is husky when he says, Don’t hold back.

And then his mouth is on you, devouring you with a hunger so intense it makes you cry out, your fingers flying to his hair for balance as your thighs tremble on either side of his head. His tongue is everywhere, licking and sucking and circling your clit with a precision that has you shaking, gasping his name before the first full minute is up. He moans into you like he can’t get enough, like the taste of you is something he’s needed all fucking day, and when you grind down harder, chasing the heat, he just grips your hips tighter and lets you.

You lose yourself in it, completely. Your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as you rock against his mouth, every muscle in your body pulled tight with tension. Fuck, I—I can’t, you gasp, already close again, already ruined. You can, he growls against your cunt, the vibration of his voice shooting straight through your spine. You’re gonna come in my mouth, baby? I've got you. And when you do,it's shameless and desperate, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashes over you, mouth open in a broken moan that echoes off the walls, raw and frantic as you ride it out against his tongue. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until you’re whimpering, until your body slumps forward with every nerve alight and his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

When you finally slide off his face, your legs barely work, and he’s panting beneath you, flushed, hair messy, lips glistening with you. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he just won the fucking lottery. Still counting the questions? he teases, voice rough and hoarse and yu laugh weakly, collapsing into his lap with your chest still heaving. I think we passed twenty-one a long time ago. Chris leans in, kissing you deep, messy, filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before pulling back just enough to whisper, Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending it’s still a game.

It’s not a game anymore, but neither of you stops playing, even as he lifts you into his lap again, even as his hands drag across your waist and down your spine with a hunger that makes your skin burn, you’re still trading words, still throwing questions like gasoline on a fire that’s already too big to contain. What do you want me to do to you? he asks, voice low and rough as he kisses the edge of your jaw, lips dragging down your throat, chest, teeth grazing over the mark he left earlierl you breathe out something between a laugh and a whimper, fingers curling in the waistband of his sweatpants. Want you inside me. Deep. Slow. Until I can’t even remember what I was supposed to ask next.

Chris groans, like the words knock the wind out of him, and you barely get the chance to tug his pants down before he’s helping you, lifting his hips, cock springing free, thick and flushed and so hard it makes your breath catch in your throat. He wraps a hand around himself just to tease you, dragging his palm slowly along the length, the tip smearing precum across his skin, eyes locked on yours. You sure? he murmurs, voice tight with restraint. 'Cause I want you, but I’m not gonna last long if you keep looking at me like that.

You nod, almost dizzy with need, sinking your hips until the head of his cock catches at your entrance, slick and warm and perfect as you lower yourself onto him in one slow, devastating slide that punches a moan from both of you. Fuck, he hisses, head dropping back against the couch. You feel—holy shit—so tight. You clench around him on purpose, just to hear him swear again, and he thrusts up into you shallowly, hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear. Next question, you breathe, rocking your hips gently, letting him get used to the rhythm of you. If I told you to come inside me, would you?

Chris blinks at you like he can’t believe you said that, like the words physically affect him as his jaw flexes hard, and he thrusts up deeper, rougher, like you just snapped the last thread of his restraint. Don’t say that unless you mean it, he growls, voice raw. Because if you tell me to, I will. I’ll fill you up so deep you feel it for days. Your next breath stutters as he hits that spot again, as your walls flutter around him, your body already trying to pull him deeper. You’re insane, you gasp. And I might be worse.

Another question, he says, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts again, slower now but harder, making your whole body jolt with every movement. If I told you I wanted to fuck you on every surface in this house before the storm ends, what would you say?

You laugh—moan, really—your fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. I’d say you’d better start with the kitchen counter and work your way through the rooms alphabetically. He groans, the sound almost broken, and his hands slide down to your ass, guiding your hips as you bounce on his cock with slow, grinding rolls, the kind that drag every inch of him through you with a rhythm that borders on cruel. Fuck, he mutters again, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, your mouth. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.

Maybe it’s the storm, maybe it’s the heat between your bodies or the way your souls feel too close already, but the words don’t scare you, they anchor you, drive you forward. Then show me, you whisper, lips brushing his. No more holding back.

And he doesn’t. He flips you onto your back on the couch with a roughness that makes you gasp, cock slipping free for only a second before he’s guiding himself back inside you in one hard, smooth thrust that makes your eyes roll back and he fucks you, slow, deep, rhythmic, his body pressed tight to yours as his hands roam everywhere at once. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do after this? he pants into your ear and you laugh, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Probably pass out.

Wrong answer. He pulls almost all the way out, waits for you to open your eyes again, then slams back in. Try again. Your head spins. Shower, you choke out. With you. Maybe round two against the wall if you're strong enough. Chris grins, breathless, sweat dripping from his brow as he picks up the pace. Better. He kisses you hard, messy, tongues tangling, and he swallows your next moan when he grinds in deeper, just to feel the way your body clenches around him. Your turn. Ask me something, he says. Hurry. Before I make you come so hard you forget how to speak. You’re already close again, body arching, nails dragging down his back, but you manage to gasp, What’s your favorite part of me?

He thrusts deep and stills, buried to the hilt, his cock twitching inside you, his voice shaking when he answers. Right now? This. His hand slides down between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing slow, tight circles. But if you mean really... he leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth, his voice going soft even as his thrusts turn sharp again. It’s the way you look at me, like I’m already yours.

And then he makes you come again, loud and trembling, your body clenching so hard around him that he groans and follows you seconds later, spilling into you with a long, broken sound that feels like surrender. You cling to each other through it, hips still twitching, mouths still searching, and somewhere between the kisses and the breathless laughter, you realize you stopped counting the questions a long time ago.

The world is soft when it settles, like the storm outside finally gave up, like the air around you folded into something warm and quiet and real. Your bodies are tangled on the couch, skin damp and flushed, still pressed together in the kind of closeness that feels more like a conversation than anything you’ve said out loud and he hasn’t moved much, still half on top of you, head buried in the crook of your neck, one arm slung heavy over your waist. His breathing is slow now, steady, like he’s trying to memorize the rhythm of your heart with his cheek against your chest as you trail your fingers lazily through his hair, feeling the way his curls cling to your skin with sweat and time, and somewhere in the mess of it, you smile.

Hey, you whisper, voice raw, your throat a little ruined from all the gasping and laughing and moaning. If you had to rank that on a scale from one to ten— Chris groans, shifting just enough to lift his head and glare at you, but the edge doesn’t stick, he’s too blissed-out for sarcasm. Don’t make me throw you over this couch and do it again just to prove a point.

You snort, brushing a kiss against his temple. So… eleven? He sighs dramatically, flopping back beside you, arm still wrapped tight around your middle as he turns his head to look at you. His eyes are soft now, still playful, still glowing with that dangerous charm, but slower, gentler. I stopped counting, he says. Somewhere around the time you said you wanted to ride my face. Everything after that was just… instinct.

You laugh, a real one, breathless and a little unhinged, your hand sliding across his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm. So what happens now? you ask, and you don’t mean for it to sound so honest, but there it is, naked between you. Storm’s still going, you’re still technically trapped here. Chris glances toward the window as the rain still lashes against the glass, wind howling down the alley like it’s not done being dramatic. He hums softly. Guess we’re stuck with each other.

Tragic.

Devastating. He nudges your thigh with his knee, smirking. We could watch something. Recharge. Maybe eat something that doesn’t involve my head between your legs. You fake a groan, tossing an arm over your eyes. Boring.

Okay, fine. He laughs, twisting to kiss your bare shoulder. But only if you ask me another question. You peek at him from beneath your arm, grinning. Why are you still here? He goes still for a second, the quiet between you deepening, thick with something unspoken and his voice lowers, more serious than you expect. Because this didn’t feel like a one-night thing.

Your breath catches, soft and small but he hears it, because of course he does. You roll onto your side to face him, his arm adjusting to keep you close. Yeah, you say, quieter now, eyes searching his. It didn't. For a while, neither of you says anything as the storm rolls on outside, wind still battering the windows, but it feels far away now, like the noise can’t touch this, can’t reach whatever this bubble is you’ve both fallen into. Chris shifts, brushing hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek with the same tenderness he used hours ago, when everything was still new and charged and uncertain.

And then he smilesl soft, a little shy. New rule, he says. Every time we see each other… we have to play twenty-one questions.

You raise an eyebrow. We suck at keeping count.

Exactly, he murmurs, kissing your forehead like a promise. That’s how I’ll know it’s working.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan thoughts #bang chan hard hours #bang chan hard thoughts #bang chan smut #chan hard thoughts #skz smut #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #bang chan headcanons #chan smut #stray kids smut

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jinwoosbabyboo · 10 months ago

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Nah Nah Nah…

I saw a post saying we love to fantasize that the LADS Men are just amazing in bed but considering that they all only have eyes for MC they’re probably inexperienced af.

I wanna speak on this because let’s not forget….

Rafayel has been in love w/ MC for over 800 years and remembers everything yall think they weren’t boom shakalakin’ ever?? Please …. they were causing tsunamis and earthquakes …. wanderers weren’t the only thing getting beat up

Xavier has been in love with MC since they were in school all the way up til she became Queen of Philos best believe they were batta bink boom powin’ while dating and consummated that marriage THOROUGHLY (I’ll do a correction for this one they weren’t married HOWEVER COMMA main story wise Xavier isn’t from earth he’s from Philos and he’s been on earth for 214 years he’s been protecting and meeting MC again and again and falling in love … you think he didn’t sheath his sword in her at all over the course of 214 years?)

Zayne??? He’s the reason MC is a cowgirl fr you think that man don’t know what he’s doing with the way he was DEVOURING her neck and chest? PLEASE … seeing as how his memory is intertwined with all his other lives and past lives he’s truly going off instinct from what his past self(s) learned while loddy doddying w/ MC

Now Sylus we don’t have his full lore yet but we know they have a past considering the foggy flashback & his “I guess you don’t remember anything” line he also just gives husband vibes w/ how love struck he is they were married bro and if we’re sticking with the ‘they’ve known MC longer than she knows’ vibe then yes Sylus was flippin dippin and bending MC backwards when they were married.

They all know MCs body down the the last dip and curve. My sources? Trust Me.

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads rafayel #lads zayne #lads xavier #nikaaaaimagine

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strawberrystepmom · 2 months ago

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dante x f!reader. established relationship, fluff. | wc 807, reading time: less than 5 minutes.

“Oh shit!”

You exclaim too quickly as you walk into your kitchen after tossing your keys and bag aside and taking your shoes off. The wall between the entryway and the kitchen is a blind spot, leaving you unprepared to walk in on a towel clad, still dripping from the shower version of Dante who grins and points at you.

“Welcome ho-o-o-me.”

He sings his greeting while you press your hand against your chest, trying to catch your breath and slow your heart rate from the surprise of seeing him. It’s never that shocking that he makes his way into your apartment, he does know where the spare key is. A spare key that is just the one you had made for him he insisted that he couldn’t take so you hid it in a place you knew he’d find it.

Clearly it has been used.

You eye him up and down though it’s playful, folding your arms over your chest while approaching him.

“Let me guess. You used the good stuff in the shower and have finished off the last of the juice by now too, right?”

Dante shrugs in response, turning the shrug into a shimmy that gradually becomes something more frenetic, his whole body moving in response. The ends of his hair drip onto your floor yet it’s impossible to do much but smile sweetly at his rolling chest and shaking hips.

“Is this your version of a mating dance?” Whispering out of the corner of your mouth, you raise your brows while wrapping an arm around his moving hips. “I feel like a girl bird or something right now.”

“Dunno, is it working?”

Shaking your head, you grin up at him. Distraction successful, he notes to none but himself.

“Hi handsome,” the words are muffled while you press a kiss to his smiling mouth.

Dante’s hand naturally falls to the small of your back and he pulls you against him, chest to chest, and swaying softly in place with you. You look down to check on your feet, quickly returning them upward to glance at him. Those pretty blue eyes stare down at you, his lips curling into a fond smile when his eyes fall upon the crinkle of your nose.

You lean against his bicep, letting him rock you at a rhythm nobody but him can hear.

Copying the little sing-song in his voice from earlier, you raise your eyebrows expectantly while asking. “Seriously, what are you doing?”

He pulls you tighter against him and you place your feet atop his, letting him take full control of whatever is happening. A big hand slides from your lower back to your ass, cupping it gently. The damp towel over his thighs gets the front of you wet but whatever worry it causes fades away while you let him step you around, holding onto you and swinging you in a makeshift circle. He indicates he’s about to dip you and you giggle, bending backward over his arm and wrinkling your nose again while he leans in to collect a small kiss.

“Making myself at home just like you always tell me to.”

Grinning, another giggle springs out of you.

“You mean it this time?”

A stronger man would stick to his values and say no. He’d avoid this - the domesticity that makes a wild man tame and lazy. He’d decline the comfort of your shampoo and sheets, the fridge that’s always semi full, the pleasure of seeing the owner of his favorite pair of lips and hands and other things in her natural habitat.

A man is only as strong as his biggest weakness. Dante’s fortunate that his weakness possesses so much strength of her own, enough to keep pushing the issue until you knew he’d eventually give in.

He nods, his amused-at-your-surprise smile fading into something fond. A knowing smirk perhaps, always certain that you knew he’d end up giving in eventually. A simple bow of his head puts it just above yours.

“Yeah,” he kisses you and you greedily allow it, the dancing pausing while his towel slides a little lower on his hips. Both of you burst into a fit of childish giggles, the arm you have slung around his waist pinning the towel in place to keep him decent.

“Think I’d have to be an idiot to keep leaving such a good thing.”

His lips barely part from yours yet he continues to speak, the dancing paused in favor of touching, hand sliding across every still clothed part of you they can touch. Lost in the moment, you slide your arm upward and the towel wrapped around his hips falls to your feet.

“Yeah, I think so too.” You whisper, lifting a foot to kick the towel aside while he reaches to grab your thigh and wrap your leg around his waist.

Never one to miss a signal, you hop up and wrap them both around him, resuming your giggling and kissing while being carried off to christen the couch like it hasn’t been done a thousand times before.

At least it’s a couch you technically share now.

#dante x you #dante x reader #dante sparda x you #dante sparda x reader #dmc x you #dmc x reader #kendall writes #danken #canon au

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spinningwebsandtales · 3 months ago

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Imagine You and Dante Meeting Baby Nero For The First Time

Dante X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Suggestive themes, fluff, a sprinkle of angst, Dante has baby fever

Word Count: 1.3k

(A/N:) I saw some fanart of Dante holding a baby Nero and I was blind sided by this idea. Sorry I haven't been posting much as my job and etsy shop is taking a lot of my time here lately. I've been struggling with a little writers block too. Every time I sat down to write everything felt like garbage. It's possible that this is garbage too but I'm tired of not trying to get some stories posted. Also it's perfect timing with the new trailer dropping for the upcoming series! I am going to be insatiable when it drops so prepare for DMC and Dante fangirling! I hope you enjoy this story and it gives you warm and fluffy feelings! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Dante hadn't heard much from his brother in awhile and that wasn't unusual. What was unusual was said brother to wind up at the door of the Devil May Cry office with a silver haired baby boy in his arms. Dante stiffened, his eyes wet with unshed tears at the sight before him. You stood at his side taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"What are you doing here," Dante asked, making sure he had you protected from his brother. While he loved Vergil, he didn't trust him. Especially when it came to humans. He would protect you no matter what, but his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of the young child in his twin's arms.

"I didn't know what else to do," Vergil replied staring straight into Dante's harsh gaze without flinching.

You stepped forward causing Dante to snarl and step in front of you again. You shook your head at him, making Dante back down but he still kept at the ready prepared to protect you at any cost.

"Vergil," you spoke, "who's kid is this?"

Dante sucked in a breath and Vergil stiffened.

"Mine," he replied. "I couldn't bring myself to leave him all alone."

"Guess there's still a human heart in there somewhere," you teased before reaching out to Vergil to hand over the child. He handed him over to you, stepping back when Dante growled. You held the boy gently pressing his cheek to your chest and carefully rocked him. Though you weren't looking at him, the gentle smile you had on your lips made Dante's heart quicken in his chest. His body heated and he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. A twinge of jealousy tweaked at his heart, that it was his brother's kid you were holding and not one of you two's creation.

"Dante," your voiced tugged him out of his thoughts," come meet your nephew. He's precious."

"Can't be that cute he's Vergil spawn," he snorted.

Vergil scoffed," We look the same brother."

"I disagree I always thought I was the better looking twin."

You sighed and rolled your eyes, one second they want to tear each other's throats out and the next their snarking it up. You hoped Nero would at least have enough braincells to not be like his father and uncle.

"Grow up to not be like them," you whispered into his ear before Dante stood before your side.

He leaned down taking in the sight of his nephew but his eyes darted quickly towards your face. "I heard that."

"Good," you laughed before holding out the little bundle of joy towards his uncle. "Your turn."

Dante jolted backwards, Vergil chuckled from the doorway. Shooting a glare at his brother Dante shook his head.

"I can't. I never held a kid before."

"Oh please! It's easy," you scoffed. You couldn't help but find his worry amusing but it also melted your heart. For such a fearless devil may care attitude, Dante was just a big softy at heart. Gripping his wrist you lead him towards the couch before shoving him onto the cushions.

"Babe," Dante smirked, "not in front of the baby or my brother."

Sighing you began to move Dante's arms around, "Shut up. I'm helping you. Now bend your arm and put...hey Vergil what's his name?"

"Nero," he said.

"Weird name," Dante retorted and you slapped his chest.

"I like it. Now put Nero's head in the crook of your arm to support him and now and now put this one under his body and cuddle him to your chest. See, easy peasy?"

Nero snuggled deeper into Dante's warmth causing the devil hunter to melt. His glanced from the baby towards you. You oblivious to the want in his eyes. With baby fever nipping at his heels, he knew it was going to be hard staying away from you. But one look at Vergil had his blood cooling. Dante started to rock Nero a little like he had watched you do and you nodded in approval.

"Now care to explain yourself," Dante asked when he handed Nero back to you and you passed him back to Vergil. Vergil had enough shame to look guilty.

"I needed a place until I could find another home for me and him," he replied looking down at his son.

"Where's the mom," you asked while holding Dante's arm just in case.

"She's dead."

Dante snarled.

"What do you expect Dante? We're sons of Sparda, they'll always go after the people we care about," Vergil snarled before pinning his glare onto you.

You stepped backwards and Dante took a threatening step towards his twin. Vergil backed down immediately, not wanting to anger his only hope for a roof over his child's head. Glancing towards Dante, the younger twin sighed his shoulders dropping.

"You can stay," he pointed a finger towards his brother. "But you have to find an alternative quickly and you can't harm anyone while you're here. I don't owe you anything but I'm not tossing a defenseless baby out there, though I would you in a heartbeat."

"Guess you're bunking in my spare room," you said with a smile. "Follow me I'll show you."

"I'll show him," Dante shook his head. He couldn't help but feel a little more protective over you after seeing you so close to Vergil and seeing a baby in your arms didn't help.

"Thank you Dante."

"You owe me one now and you owe her big time," Dante nodded in your direction but you waved the gratitude away.

"I'm fighting for Nero. He deserves better."

Vergil nodded in agreement before turning and following his brother to his temporary room.

Later that night as you laid beside Dante, your fingers laced together with his, you waited for him to break the silence and say what was on his mind since his brother came to the front door. He couldn't go to sleep and though you couldn't see him, the tension in his body was telling you it was eating at him.

"Do you think," he began to say before releasing your hand and turning over. "Never mind it's stupid."

"Dante," you sighed wrapping your arms around his sides and pressing yourself against his bare back, "it's not stupid if it's bothering you so much."

Seconds ticked by before he tossed back over almost making you fall off the too small bed. He caught you pulling you in tight, causing you to giggle.

"Do you think that you could see that type of future for the both of us," he finally asked.

You melted, tracing patterns across his skin, "What do you mean?"

"Marriage, kids, the whole shebang," he whispered.

You snuggled in tighter, "You want that with me?"

Dante scoffed, booping you on the nose, "I had to fight the devil inside not to toss you over my shoulder and carry you to this room while my brother watched when you held the little rugrat."

"That would have been humiliating," you snorted.

"Not to me," Dante laughed.

"Don't laugh at my embarrassment," you growled.

"Sorry," he said in a tone that didn't prove he was sorry at all. "I have baby fever. Or more like you fever."

"How flattering," you teased. "I may have a touch of Dante fever too."

Internally purring at your words Dante squeezed you and kissed the top of your head. "Stay by my side?"

You brushed your lips against his and stroked the longer silver strands that brushed against Dante's cheeks, "Always."

Dante kissed you deeply, holding you tight through the night as you both talked about the future and what it could hold for you both.

#Dante X Reader #Dante / Reader #Dante #Devil May Cry #DMC #Dante Imagine #Devil May Cry Imagine #DMC Imagine #Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing

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aninipanin1 · 4 months ago

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SPOILED

Notes: Since there has been no Sae moments as of all of my works, I decided to make one special for him lol

"Eh? What was it again, Sae-chan?" Girolan asked, very much confused and a little taken aback from the midfielder's question.

"What do girls usually like to receive as a gift?" The redhead repeated the question. At first, the manager thought he was just hearing things, that maybe the stress of his job finally caught unto his head and he started to somewhat hallucinate.

But no, what he heard was indeed right. THE Itoshi Sae is asking about girls? The man who is too focused on his career in football that he does not have many side hobbies other than the sport? The man who cursed the hell out of a model's management team when they asked him to fake date the said model just for fame and clicks?

That Itoshi Sae?

"Ah, well. It really depends on the girl, Sae-chan. Who are you talking about? Maybe I can help." He offered, but he knew deep down that it was not just for the sake of helping the player under his management, but also because he was a little curious as to who he was even planning to gift.

"Hm? I would say it's none of your business, but since I want to make sure she likes it, It's Y/n from Blue Lock." He said cooly, as he always does.

To be honest, he knew he was not supposed to be shocked at this revelation. Of course, it was her, the manager of the Blue Lock facility. Ever since the midfielder touched the soils of Japan and learned about the project, he became a bit interested at the manager.

It was out of respect than anything, respect and acknowledgement of her huge role in making sure the participants of the facility are on the right path to becoming the world's greatest striker.

Why would he not be impressed and interested? After all, he wants to see through how the facility will produce their version of the world's greatest striker and if that person is worthy of such an epithet and even his passes.

But, ever since the U20 match against the Blue Lock 11, he has been acting much more differently. This was an observation of Girolan more than Sae's own judgement of himself.

The manager heard that the midfielder got your number, and ever since then, you two would share calls and texts. Most of the time, talking about football and other things related to the sport. And ever since then, his screen time skyrocketed a bit, most of the time viewing his social media accounts or messaging app to see if you may have sent him another message in any of the said apps.

He also changed his diet that he strictly follows ever since he moved to Spain for a new and supposed better one. According to Sae, you recommended it to him and he has no way of not trusting your words.

Needless to say, Itoshi Sae absolutely puts his whole trust on you. And that was a miracle if the manager ever seen one.

"Hmm, does she post her hobbies on social media?"

"She does sometimes. She posts about her plushies and some lego stuff she makes."

"Then that's good! You can buy her some of those. I'm sure she'll appreciate it. Ms. Y/n seems to be a very kind and warm individual, so I'm sure she'll love anything you give her."

"I guess."

Deep inside, Girolan was absolutely ecstatic for Sae. He never expected to be giving advice over a girl with Sae. He has managed some other people before, but Sae was the one he felt a little sad about.

He was really young when he was thrust into the professional world in football, and it seems like this impacted him harshly both mentally and emotionally , and he can not even seem to love and trust people quite easily, even if they bend over backwards for him.

'They would look really cute together.'

"Wow, you really put so much thought on this, Sae-chan."

Girolan could not help but gawk at the large box that the midfielder was currently storing many things inside. From lego flower sets to adorable stationary items to different plushies, it felt like the man robbed the damn stores.

The redhead just shrugged at the comment, not even minding the tons of money he spent just for this. He does not even use his huge salary for himself, so why not just spend it on someone worth it?

"Hm, I should have bought more sticky notes. She really likes them."

'Wow...he's seriously this whipped?'

The brunette manager thought, never ever thinking that this version of Itoshi Sae even existed. He has always been a man who could not care less about money and material things, so to see him pour so much effort on a gift for a girl nonetheless, was quite the heart attack for those who knew him well.

The box was overflowing with trinkets and gifts, and Girolan could not help but wonder if Sae even remembered you lived in the Blue Lock facility and you probably have not much space for all these gifts But, he just let him be. After all, it was nice to see him care about someone like this for the first time in so long.

After sealing the box, he let the service driver take the box to ship to Japan, specifically to the Blue Lock Facility address where you would probably receive the package.

Meanwhile, days later in Japan inside the Blue Lock facility, you were more than shocked when Anri rolled in a large box inside of your office/room.

"What's this, Anri-san?"

Anri could not help the grin on her face. She read the address of where it came from and when she saw that it was from Madrid, Spain, there was only one person that went straight into her mind of who might this be from.

"A package for you, from Madrid!"

"Madrid...? Why would I have a pacakage from...oh."

Realization ran through your mind, remembering a rather confusing text Sae sent you about something coming your way from him. At first, you did not think much of it. But now that a huge box was in front of you, you could not help but feel overwhelmed and sheepish at the prospect of being sent so many things.

After Anri left you to your own devices, you decided to open the box. You felt overwhelmed by the size of the box? That earlier feeling would turn shy with the feeling you currently felt looking at what was inside the box.

There were enough plushies for you to make a small bed out of them, or enough lego sets for you to be occupied for a whole year and even enough stationary and art supplies to occupy your doodling and artistic habits. You did not know how the redhead midfielder knew about your love for these things, but to say that you were happy was an understatement.

But other than the feeling of gratefulness, you also felt embarrassed, especially seeing that most of the objects were branded, meaning they were far from cheap.

'I would probably have to sell my whole household just to buy all these...'

You cried out inwardly, but nonetheless, you are more than happy and grateful for all of Sae's gifts. Immediately, you set up the cute plushies around your office and even started to build the lego sets that turned out to be flowers.

You:

[Sent photo]

Thank you for all the gifts Sae-san :D

You didn't have to buy me so many things, and I was wondering what the occassion is?

Sae:

Nothing. Is there something wrong with giving gifts just because?

You:

Of course not. I was just really surprised T_T

Thank you so much for all of these Sae-san! I promise I'll gift you something very soon:DD

'Heh, cute...'

The midfielder could not help the slight smirk that appeared on his face, especially when he saw the cute emoticons you always added to your messages.

He wished he can visit you soon, but seeing as to how you were busy with Blue Lock and he, with training for the upcoming U-20 World Cup, it will probably be a struggle to find some sort of time to meet up with you back at Japan.

'Maybe we can meet up at the World Cup venue..? Hmm...'

ADDITIONAL TIME!

Rin eventually found out about the gift his elder brother gave you, needless to say, he was less than happy. So he went and texted said brother:

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

#aninipanin1 #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x manager!reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bluelockxreader #itoshi sae #sae x reader #itoshi rin #rin x reader

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osamucide · 5 months ago

Text

⊹ I KNOW

I WILL PRETEND THAT I DON’T KNOW OF YOUR SINS UNTIL YOU ARE READY TO CONFESS . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: 2.1k

cw: gn!reader, implied/referenced dissociation+anxiety+self harm+scars+past suicide attempts, hurt/comfort but it's him so of course it's a little unhinged, mentions of dying and being dead, mentions of kidnapping but it's not serious, minor suicidal ideation but it's romantic i guess? non-sexual nudity/intimacy, showering together, lots of kisses, just unbandaging a fragile Dazai and covering him in kisses

reid: draft i been sittin on. how many times will i do an iteration of unwrap and clean him. idk. a million billion. i love him so bad

He’s looking down at his hands—or his wrists, or his fingers, or the spaces between his fingers; you’re not sure. But he’s looking down, emptily, when you nudge the cracked bathroom door further open.

He’s sitting on the lid of the closed toilet. He has no shirt on. His bandages are unraveling at each end of their respective reaches. It’s long past time they should be changed, long past time the flesh beneath them breathe and be washed.

Changing the bandages is just something that has to be done; he will not give them up, nor will he give up the habit evidenced beneath them, and you’ve been with him long enough to know this is how he survives. The bandages do the holding-together when you’re not there to, which is far more often than he’d like. Ideally, he’d be able to shrink you down and keep you in his pocket for safe-keeping and take you out whenever he needs, like a good luck charm; he’d be able to have you on his arm all day, every day, but that’s not possible when you’re an adult with a job and a life. Like him. Right? Right. He’d shuck this skin sooner than the habit, anyway, so, like showering, it’s just something that has to be done.

He doesn’t particularly love when you watch him do it, or offer to do it for him, but you certainly drive off the impulses, hazes, and tremors that come with doing it alone. So, he lets you.

He didn’t always; he went out of his way, bent over backwards for a long time to make sure you never could, much less had to. Somewhere deep down, though, beneath that resolve and the facade stilted upon it, he knew he couldn’t hide his ugliness from you forever.

Despite the normality—the domestic intimacy that standing beneath the water with you suggests now, so much that he has to admit it stills the expansion of the ever-growing black hole inside him—he still always fears it’ll be the last time you want to look at it.

“Osamu?” you mumble from the doorframe.

He does not move, does not look at you over the white noise of the shower running—if he’s noticed you’re here, he doesn't show it. You move to him, slowly, like approaching a skittish cat.

Before you touch him, you bend down—beneath the sink are the rolls of fresh bandages, the clean, new ones that make him look less like a mummy unearthed from Victorian times and more like what he understands himself to be in his purest form: a basket case of the modern era, the worst gift you unwrap every Christmas and birthday and have to pretend to fawn over until it’s safe to be rid of it. You’ll never be rid of him, he thinks regretfully while you shuffle next to him; he’ll never get by without you now, and it almost makes him wish he never met you in the first place, just so he never could’ve inflicted himself upon you.

But you never send him back. Dazai can’t seem to understand, even with all that sharp intelligence of his, that you don’t ever plan to.

Four rolls. One for each of his legs, one for both of his arms, the rest for miscellaneous spots like around his neck or across his chest or wherever else he decides he needs them this time. That’s how many you set on the counter before you land in front of him, your hands pushing his hair back, your proximity forcing his cheek to lay tired against your stomach while those hands curl around the backs of your legs and pull you closer to stand between his.

You cradle Dazai’s head like you’re some sort of saint. To him, you might as well be.

Thumbs brushing his temple and the base of his skull, you speak again, just as quiet. “Come on, let’s wash.” Or, let me unwrap you and look at all that ugliness. He can’t help that he doesn’t move for a firm fifteen seconds; why would he want to, when you hold him so sweetly like this?

But eventually, he rises.

You don’t feed him formalities or those silly questions anymore when you do this. No more can I? Or, you’re gorgeous, or, is this okay? He doesn’t want those during this, you’ve come to find out; you’ll tell him you love him plenty in a few minutes, when he’s only marginally more ready to receive it, but right now you go to work like a tinker repairing a broken doll. Your touch is objective, but not cold or clinical. You treat him with a tenderness he couldn’t have fathomed until he knew you.

After he steps out of his slacks, you loosen the strips with one hand and twirl them around the other; they accumulate in a graying mass of two or more weeks worth of sweat, and you place them in the trash, softly, like you adore and respect those, too, as he skitters past you toward the water for a sense of cover. He knows you’ll be in right after him, but at least the light behind the shower curtain is dimmer. When he disappears, it’s as if he was never there.

But he says, “I’m okay,” unprompted, as you step beneath the water.

He is, really. It’s just jarring when it’s the focus.

The process of becoming accustomed to vulnerability is often more painful than the vulnerability itself, Dazai has learned. While the realization can be sudden, like the flipping of a switch, the vulnerability on its own can actually be quite nice. Peaceful. He knows this because you showed him—continue to show him.

He’s just a man in the shower with his beloved, so, now you’ll talk to him.

“I know,” you say. And you do, really. The hardest part is over, and he’s practically pranced through it this time. You crack a smile.

And he mirrors your smile, not so bright and smug as under normal circumstances but soft and searching. Dazai reaches for your arms, your waist, and pulls you into him; the water hits your back—hot, how he likes it—and you tuck your head into his shoulder and wrap yourself around his middle, whispering I love yous into his shoulder.

It's peaceful. He sways you ever so subtly.

But in true Dazai fashion, he'll shatter the peace. Ever the disruptor.

“I'm sorry you have to love this part of me, too.”

The ugliness, he means. Not just the marred and keloided skin that maps out his history of self-destruction, but his resignation to it. The scabs that touch the small of your back are freshly healing and peeling. If you didn't have him beneath your watch right now they'd probably be scratched open, raw and bleeding again, but as previously mentioned, your presence staves off the itching need to do so.

The tips of his fingers squeeze you when you pull back to look up at him, sliding your hands up his shoulders and behind his neck to link.

“I love every part of you,” you murmur as his forehead dips to rest against yours. Your stunted slow-dance deepens as he sighs himself back into his body, back into the clearer image of you in his grasp. “Don’t be sorry about it. Wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”

The demons snap at his ankles, though. “What if you change your mind one day?”

If he was a hair more insane, he might take you hostage. Keep you to himself forever, and never let you leave. But that would take the peace out of it, he thinks. Your volition makes it all sweeter. You want to be here. You want to love him.

He just doesn’t want that to change.

You hum patiently, although hating when he what ifs. That’s the plague of the ever-moving mind he keeps, you suppose; so intelligent, but so restless. “I don’t think I will.”

You don’t think you will, but that doesn’t settle the insecurity that’s settled in his stomach like a coiled snake.

You don’t think you will, but you will. He knows you will, because that’s how it’s fated to unfold for him.

Your short words don’t corral him away from the snake, but the less you treat him like he’s a gaping wound, the better. You see it. You don’t cry or gasp or lament or promise how you could never leave him, will never leave him; you don’t like to make promises that reach beyond your control.

The human existence is so strange and fluid, and while you’re confident you won’t tire of him, well, your reciprocated touches aren’t the only things stitching you together, you know; there’s a world, much larger than both of you, that you live in, and a universe even more incomprehensible and its whims are fickle—but they’re also serendipitous. Everything is a miracle, if you think about it. A big, beautiful mistake. You don’t know how much he buys into this, and you’d rather him not read into it as an excuse not to answer with a resounding I’ll never leave you, my love, so you just do what you always do best: spin it in a direction his troubled mind can find solace in, pair it with kisses that have all your soul for him to inhale, and promise what you can: your hope.

You start with his lips. The best place, arguably; one of your hands tilts his chin toward yours and you kiss him softly, simply. Dazai responds hesitantly, still holding onto you tight. You kiss him for minutes, until he's humming, until his grip loosens comfortably and his shoulders untense and his palms rest on either of your hips.

You have a habit of kissing him silly, literally. Your lips move against his and he feels high. His head gets light, and his hands get restless, and between the short puffs of air he draws in through his nose he croons at the way your fingers push his hair back, trail down his neck.

“I’m confident,” you say, sliding across his cheek to beneath his ear while he grabs at you in soft and absent-minded desperation, “that I’ll love you ‘til the end of my days.”

“But what if the e—”

“I’m certain—” You cut him off, first with speech and then with a kiss before you begin pressing your lips into a necklace around his throat, “—that I want to get old with you.” On one side, you bite softly. “That I want to die with you.” You bite the other. “That I want to be buried next to you.”

Osamu’s breath catches on the words buried next to you. Of course it’s crossed his mind before that if you were to go before him, he certainly wouldn’t be long after you. The thought that you want to live a full life with him before any of that can happen, however, makes his heart swell almost uncomfortably, like it’s no longer meant to fit inside his chest—like it wants to crawl up his throat and go home to yours. It will one day, you say, when you’re rotting next to each other. He wants to melt at the idea of it.

“And then… I don’t know what, if anything, will happen after that. But it’s my purest hope—” You traverse from one shoulder, across his collarbones, stopping only above his sternum to finish, “—that I’ll be with you forever,” before making your way to the other. He’s a mistake you’d make again and again, given the opportunity. If reincarnation is real, you’re sure of it, more than anything—you will.

And you know not expect anything but speechlessness from Osamu until after you’ve kissed a circle around that heart of his that’s beating so frantically for you, until after you’ve brought his knuckles to your lips, all twenty-eight of them, until after you’ve made your way back up one arm just to kiss down the other, until you’ve bent to scatter kisses across his stomach, his hips, until you’ve knelt to descend the ladder marking each of his thighs, until you’ve sat at his feet with your arms looped around the backs of his knees with your head pressed against him like he’s the saint this time. You sit at the feet of a sinner and make him taste redemption. It tastes like the shower water that’s touched your skin and the dinner you both ate before wandering into this strange place between his disillusion and his sheer need. You kiss him back into his humanity.

When you stand, level with him again, he smiles that smile you love so much—not the cocky, performative smile nor the uneasy, misgiving one that wants to trust but has forgotten how to but the smile that’s altogether subtle and plain and sad and the most radiant thing you’ve ever known. Every time he falls apart, you just stitch him right back up what he’s always wanted to be: loved, held, loving and holding.

Osamu touches your lips with his fingertips like you’re not quite real, like you’ve not just reminded every other inch of him that you very much are; he speaks, not a progenitor of pretty promises himself—but he owes you forever, he thinks, as long as it’s what you want. “Thank you.”

You laugh once, breathy, in no need. “Thank you,” you echo, “for being the most wonderful thing to love.”

Not the easiest, you both know—but it’s just something that has to be done, and there’s no law forbidding you from reminding him how beautiful he is in the process. Until you can be buried next to him. There’s hardly anything keeping forever from beginning right now.

He holds you, and you hold him, and he feels clean.

#osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd fluff #dazai fluff #with love—reid

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sungiescheotluv · 5 months ago

Text

kiss it better ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.5k

tags/warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, crack (if you squint), swearing, you're mark's long-time friend

summary: jaemin's been lucky enough to get everything he wants, all except you. at this point, it may take a christmas miracle for you to look his way. or something else festive-related.

notes: i do realize it is (checks calendar) 25 days after christmas, but after i came across this prompt list, i couldn't say no. thank you so much to @dumplingsjinson for the prompt and the following swooning i did while writing this. i hope you enjoy a bit of jaemin's charm in this fic. hope to post soon, hope you have a great day! much love <3

Jaemin is a natural flirt.

Blessed with looks that warrant more than a double take, doubled with an ever so kind personality, it’s no wonder he leaves a trail of fawning hearts in his wake. Honestly, it amazes you every time, how people bend over backwards to make his life simpler. He’s lost? He’s personally escorted to his destinations, sometimes even given money for an Uber. He’s a few pennies short for his coffee order? It’s on the house, served with a complimentary pastry. He’s picking up rubbish in his local community? He’s scouted by SM entertainment.

Moral of the story is, he’s very lucky. You guess, it’s a reflection of his goodwill. How pure and kind-hearted he is, reflecting back at him in the real world. It’s a side he doesn’t allow many people to see: discreet donations made in other’s names, disappearing on his days off to help uplift marginalised communities. Heck, he’s been the one to pay for people’s Ubers when they’re lost, cold or drunk. He’s never once accepted anybody else’s efforts to do the same for him.

It’s a side of him you like seeing, more often than not, witnessing the image he projects for others. Charming and quirky, maybe even a bit weird by other’s standards. It’s like he’s wears his idol persona even after he’s off work, and since you’ve met him through Mark - someone he works with - maybe that’s why he’s this way with you. You’re unsure. All that you know is that in any other case, he’s usually successful with getting what he wants out of this world.

Except for you.

Ever since Mark, your long-time friend, introduced you to the group a few years ago, Jaemin’s not let up on pursuing you. Thinking a few innuendo compliments and acts of service would have you wrapped around his finger. How wrong he is, because even after two years, he’s still more or less in the same place - close enough to text you on days off, but not enough to call you his. Honestly, you kind of admire how laser-focused his interest is, no whispers of him looking any other way since the day you met. Mark even made a comment about it, that he’s been in multiple scenarios where Jaemin politely refuses a confession or advance, stating, “I have someone I’m interested in. They’re the only person I want to focus on. I’m sorry.”

Is it bad that when you heard this, your heart fluttered? It’s like a light switched and you were seeing Jaemin in a new light, how earnest his efforts to be with you were. How his compliments, while some based on your appearance, were more heartfelt - more personable. How at any point to be chivalrous, he was - carrying your heavy belongings, giving you his jacket when you shivered, walked on the outer side of the pavement and all the likes. There was one incident where you were helping prepare vegetables for a hotpot you and the guys were making, and Jaemin guided you aside by your waist to chop the rest. Said the knife was too sharp and worried you’d get hurt, chopping the spring onions like he was a world-renowned chef. If you weren’t braced against the counter, you’re pretty sure your knees would’ve given out.

Why you were unable to take that last leap, you don’t know. Your feelings for him were growing, less platonic as you interacted, but maybe it was because he hadn’t asked like before. When you’d first met, every time you’d come face to face, he’d propose dinner and for you to be his, which you denied with a laugh. Now, you didn’t bat an eyelash when it was only you two at a restaurant table, and he’d stopped asking. Maybe because he thought the door had closed, like after all this, you still only wanted to be friends.

If only he knew.

Christmas brings a chill to Seoul like no other, snowflakes floating down to the heaps of snow you trudge through to get to the lobby of Mark’s apartment building. This could be worse than the cold sting against your cheeks, you could’ve walked here like you initially were going to do. When Jaemin caught wind of it, he simply texted you:

pain in my ass?: Uber will be there in three. Hope you’re ready.

Unlike before, you’re grateful for the gesture and now as you walk through Mark’s doorway, Jaemin welcoming you, you can’t help the warm bundles of nerves building in your stomach as he helps take off your coat and hang it.

“If you eat another jelly bean, we’re going to have problems.” Haechan sighs.

What you’ve walked into, is best described as chaos. There’s flour. Everywhere. On the counter tops, on the ceiling and even on Jisung’s cheek who you heard later on didn’t have a hand in baking because of a fork-in-microwave incident that happened years before that kept him permanently out of the kitchen. Alongside the sugary scent of cookies and spice of gingerbread, another hearty meal wafts in the air. Your Christmas dinner, you assume. After all, it’s the very reason you’re here, a dinner hosted by your long-time friend to celebrate the rare day off and the good year that’s quickly coming to a close.

If you remember correctly, it was around Christmas two years ago that you’d first met Jaemin, the flirtatious raise of his eyebrows amusing you more than wooing you.

Oh, how time flies.

“What the fuck, you decorated the tree without me?” you curse, footsteps thumping against the heated floors as you approach the Christmas tree, mostly dazzled with ornaments and lights.

“I told them to wait for you,” Jaemin raises his hands in surrender, closer to you than you thought he’d be.

“Naked Christmas trees make me uncomfortable,” Mark remarks, compiling pieces of his gingerbread house with Chenle beside him. “Should’ve come sooner, like the agreed meetup time.”

“You know I’ve been trying.”

“Try harder,” Mark laughs, snickers filtering around the dining table covered in gingerbread crumbs and frosting. “Maybe showing up on time can be your new year’s resolution.”

“Maybe not being lame can be yours,” you roll your eyes, catching the top of the Christmas tree and how bare it is. “No star this year?”

“We at least saved that for you,” Haechan murmurs, hand swatting Jisung’s mid jelly-bean snatch. “Though you’ll have to find another way to get in on. Renjun’s using it so he can be a few centimetres above the stove.”

“I heard that, asshole,” Renjun curses from the kitchen opposite the dining room, Jeno laughing beside him. “He’s just covering up for the fact that he broke it. And probably his tailbone too.”

“What were you doing?” you laugh.

“Just some manly repairs around the house - you know how helpless Mark is,” Haechan has the audacity to puff out his chest, hands behind his head in a not so subtle way to flex.

“Bro literally couldn’t reach the medicine cabinet because he got a paper cut and then broke his tailbone.” Jeno chirps, a chorus of loud laughter echoing throughout the apartment as Haechan sighs in defeat, having the decency to look sheepish.

“If not healed in time, papercuts can be deadly. Get infected and stuff,” Haechan retorts, crossing his arms. “You’re lucky I’m alive to tell this story.”

“Sure you are,” Mark pats his back, a smirk that has Haechan rolling his eyes. “Anyways, you’ll have to find something else to help you. You’re welcome to use something less deadly than a step-ladder.”

“I’ve got it,” Jaemin says and suddenly his warm hands are on either side of his hips, star shaking in your hand as you’re hoisted up like you’re nothing. “The star.”

It’s like he’s speaking another language. The star, of all things, that’s what he’s focusing on? Not that he’s lifting you like you’re weightless in front of your friends, who might you add, are smirking and high-fiving in your direction? If your brain wasn’t busy short-circuiting, you’d give Jaemin and your friends a piece of your mind, but your face’s entirely too hot and the lights from the Christmas tree twinkle in Jaemin’s adoring eyes and you’re at a loss what’s happening in your chest. How fast your heart can possibly rabbit in your chest, especially when he gives you an easy, heartfelt smile and nod as if to say, go on. So, you do go on, placing the star on as best as you can and are only let down when you’re satisfied with its position. Jaemin lets you down easily, no huff or puff and admires your work, like you’d decorated the big tree all yourself. And when his eyes flicker to yours, laser-focused on him, his hand gives your lower back a pat, voice low and entirely too intimate as he says,

“You did well.”

You excuse yourself to the bathroom soon after. Or right after, really because what was that? When did he become less cheesy, and so swoon-worthy? When couldn’t you pry your eyes from him and long for him at your side when he stood elsewhere? Perhaps, your life isn’t busy enough for you to be entertaining such thoughts, but what remains true for here and now is that this Christmas dinner is going to be a lot different from years past.

After you’ve returned, you’re conveniently paired up with Jaemin to build your gingerbread house. He asks if you’re ok, if you needed any painkillers or wanted to lie down, all which you dismiss more flustered than you usually do and try to get to work, scowling when you catch Jeno and Mark snickering to themselves. In usual, tender-hearted Jaemin style, he specifically bought your favourite candy to decorate the gingerbread house, an assortment of candy you both share a love for too. You keep your cool. He laughs, like he adores you when you put some icing on the tip of his nose - you keep your cool. He only encourages you when the house comes tumbling down in your hands, the two of you working together to build a stronger, better house - you keep your cool. However, what really sends you over the edge is when in a rotation of jokes, Jaemin snags some icing from Renjun and Jeno’s serving, a cheeky lift of the eyebrows as he licks three fingertips of icing off his hand.

It’s when you and Mark manage to make eye contact immediately afterwards that you know you’re screwed, an amused shake of the head coming from him as you turn away, the smile on your face too obvious.

You take another bathroom break after you’re finished building your houses, another tagline of ‘nice work’ thrown your way before you go. Were you not complimented enough throughout your life or were you developing a praise kink? Because, your reactions to his words are amateurish to say the least. Bracing your hands against the basin, you collect and expel breaths, somehow in your reflection deciding that if the opportunity came about, you’d accept Jaemin’s advances. Christmas is the season for giving, after all. Not that you saying yes is a gift, but he sure made it out to be, and who knew, maybe being with him would be a treat to yourself. Only time would tell.

Exiting the bathroom, your eyes are downcast, obscuring your peripheral which would’ve caught the body breezing past, except it’s your body that catches the body, two figures colliding into one. The slippery surface of the floor makes you spin on your socks, secured by your waist as your hands brace against the back of biceps. Very hard biceps, might you add. You’re about to thank Jeno, except you’re not met with a cat-like smile as you peer upwards, only pouty lips and puppy-dog brown eyes.

“You alright?” Jaemin asks, like he’s almost out of breath.

You nod rigidly, hands hesitating between letting go and looking suspicious or indulging and looking even more suspicious. “Y-yeah, yeah. I’m fine. All good.”

Jaemin gives you an unconvinced look, pink lips puckered with a crease in between his eyebrows. Fuck, you’re really losing your barings if all you could think is kissing him silly right now.

“You’ve been skittish all day, you sure?” he asks.

So, he’s noticed. Great.

“Positive,” you confirm, not meeting his eyes. When did he get so muscular? Under the soft lighting of Mark’s apartment, his chest looks broad and sturdy through his black sweatshirt, and he feels firm. Rigid. Like someone you can rely on. “You know what they say, gatherings make everyone nervous.”

That’s definitely not what they say. Whoever they are.

“We’ve been doing these dinners for ages, I’m not so sure about th-” he goes to say, but something grabs his attention. Makes him extend his neck and from your view, it makes you gulp. Several times. “Oh.”

Oh? What could get such a reaction?

You follow his gaze, finding a nicely tied mistletoe hovering above the two of you. One of the few strung around because Mark gets a kick out of his friends begrudgingly peck either’s cheek or bicker incessantly. It was funny to watch, and watch only. Now, you stand below one with the one man you’d love nothing more to kiss, if only he’d let you. Ask you if he could be yours again.

A gift or curse, you’d soon see what this would be.

“Oh,” you echo.

“Is your heart beating as fast as mine?”

You chuckle, half of out of habit and the other out of nerves. If he was any closer (which he couldn’t have possibly been), then he’d be able to hear how nervous you are. You cover up the skipped beat your heart does with a lame cough when his gaze falls back to you, smugness curving his lips.

“You wish.”

“I don’t think I have to wish,” he chuckles, then doing something out of your worst nightmare. Craning downwards to hear your heart better, forgetting he can feel your pulse that fights against your neck. He’s doing this to mess with you - there’s no other reason why. “Let’s hear your heartbeat.”

Suddenly, you’re downward spiralling, realising the gravity of your situation, how completely too close your bodies are and how, for some reason, in the face of someone who’s made their attraction to you known, you’re acting like you have the crush now.

“Too close,” you stutter out, hands finally leaving his biceps and wanting to separate but he’s been going to the gym, getting stronger and so, it’s no use escaping his grasp.

Especially when he holds you firm, brown eyes intent as he stares down at you, flickering between your eyes and lips. You swear your heart’s going to beat out your chest.

“Not close enough,” he murmurs, so close, practically sharing the same breath as you. “Can I?”

To drive home his point, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, holding you even closer as he shares a question between just the two of you, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, rigid and awkward, like you’re resigned to your fate and when Jaemin’s face flickers with concern, you find yourself leaning in first. Initiating the kiss.

Huh, who would’ve thought?

In any case, your hands are migrating from his sturdy biceps to his handsome face, melting into him as you kiss to become one. So deprived, so peaceful. United as one, lips moving as you taste vanilla icing and the beginnings of forever on his lips.

“Thank fuck,” you hear behind you, the moment gone in an instant as your head swivels behind you, finding each and every one of your friends peering over a wall at you. Having watched you and Jaemin kiss. “Jisung, you owe me pork belly when we’re next out.”

And so, that’s how you spend your Christmas dinner. Mercilessly teased by your friends who fake-kiss each other, burying your face in a hearty meal while Jaemin and you hold hands under the table. Lucky, in a way, that you’re shouldering your embarrassment together.

#na jaemin #nct dream #nct jaemin #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #nct dream fanfic #nct dream x reader #nct dream fic #na jaemin x reader #na jaemin x you #na jaemin fluff #jaemin x reader #jaemin fluff #jaemin x you #sungiescheotluv fics ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱

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noctunis · 1 year ago

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ffvii jealousy headcanons 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

✧˖*°࿐ includes cloud strife, zack fair, sephiroth, reno, genesis rhapsodos, and angeal hewley

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

just a little something to satisfy you guys while i continue working on my requests!! already did a dmc one so might as well do a ffvii one too lol

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

jealousy (obviously), some possessiveness, intended lowercase, like one bullet point about post-nibelheim sephiroth, just a couple of guys who love the reader??, lmk if i missed anything !! 🎀

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓒LOUD — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ cloud is the type of person who will swear up and down that he doesn’t get jealous, but truth be told, he does. however, he doesn’t recognize it as jealousy at first.

❥ although, he definitely tries to shove his feelings down once he realizes that he’s somewhat upset. cloud won’t upright and confess that he’s jealous or go up to you when he sees someone flirting with you.

❥ cloud’s pretty understanding if you needed space or if you were just talking with someone else, he’s not gonna immediately resort to his insecurity.

❥ but once it’s a reoccurring experience, or if they know what they’re doing— or worse, if they’re actively flirting with you or touching you, then he’ll definitely start to get a little jealous.

❥ instead of actively confronting you or getting up in the flirt’s face, he’ll only watch afar at first. he’ll observe the conversation, the light touches, checking to see if you look uncomfortable or not.

❥ when it begins to become too much though, cloud’ll come up to you, saying something along the lines of how he needs you or needs your help and that it’s so urgent that you have to come with him asap.

❥ if you even insinuate that he got jealous though, he’ll deny it to the moon and back and say that it never happened. he may act like he doesn’t care, but don’t let it fool you. cloud cares about you way too much to let you be slobbered over at a bar by a disrespectful dude.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓩ACK — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ i feel like zack’s semi into pda? as long as he’s not around the firsts or anybody important, especially angeal, then he just can’t wait to show you off. he can’t help it, poor boy loves you too much 😭 so because of the somewhat pda, i dont see a lot of people trying to flirt with you— especially knowing that your boyfriends a SOLDIER.

❥ i dont think he’d even notice at first, too busy talking to you to even notice that theres someone who has your attention also. i cant see anybody really trying to flirt with you though, zack’s like that one small dog who keeps yapping at your feet when you get to close to its owner.

❥ zack is very vocal!! if the person interrupts your conversation, he will blatantly call them out on it. he’d narrow his eyes at them and just say, “hello, i was talking to them??” because who interrupts people like that?? plain rude!!

❥ saw this in another post and i totally agree with it, zack’ll joke and joke with underlying messages behind these said ‘jokes’ and definitely has the mindset of, “what can they offer when you have me???” he just doesn’t see how they catch your attention or why they’re talking to you while hes sitting right there??

❥ will bend over backwards just for your attention, he will pout otherwise if he doesn’t get your full undivided attention after his attempts.

❥ will probably annoy the person after you’re gone by either passive-aggressively interrogating them or ranting about how in love he is with you. he’s like the cartoons where they hold their chin in their palm with heart eyes as they look up all dreamy with a giant thought bubble that’s just you. he can’t help it, he just loves you too much (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞!!1!1!

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓢EPHIROTH — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ for pre nibelheim (because i miss soft and not crazy sephiroth), i cant see him getting all that much jealous? i guess he’d get more so protective if he sees someone all up on you— but otherwise, he’s pretty laid back about it. he puts a lot of his faith in you entrusting that you won’t break it, so i cant see him going crazy over it.

❥ i think sephiroth’s mature enough to not cause a scene even if he was jealous, though. he wouldn’t be petty or actively try to keep you away from anybody pre nibelheim, although he finds it amusing how they try to flirt with you.

❥ he especially has to have trust in you considering he’s a first class!! unless you are also a SOLDIER or you’re associated with shinra, you guys will spend semi-large gaps of times apart. he doesn’t think you’d betray him like that though, he’s mature enough to have a conversation if he’s really worried.

❥ sephiroth has his moments of insecurity, but usually when he’s off duty— he’ll be with you. i’m just imagining sitting at a bar with sephiroth as he’s literally right beside you while this persons trying to slide up next to you lol. i also don’t think sephiroth gets jealous because he knows his worth and know he can be intimidating when he wants to be!! even just his teasing makes people quiver in their fuckin boots lmao. i doubt anybody would wanna mess with a first class SOLDIER who’s fit and over 5’11” / 180cm.

❥ after they either get intimidated or realize their advances aren’t working and that you’re happily in a relationship with sephiroth and leave, he’ll chuckle to himself as he thinks aloud about how silly it was to even attempt to get with you, knowing who you’re with. on the off chance that he’s feeling a little possessive or something, he’s not one for pda but he might just give you a kiss after they leave and a quick murmur of amusement due to their foolishness.

❥ now!! post-nibelheim!! you’re not even gonna be out of his sight enough to be hit on considering he’s kinda like.. a war criminal in a sense 😭. he’s much more possessive in his little silly criminally existentially crisis insane arc, never letting you leave alone or even go out in public that often. he’s much more obsessed with you after his break, so if he finds someone even making advances on you?? ooh, boy.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓡ENO — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ reno is one weird little dude, let me tell you that. every time i think of reno, i think of a cat. with a suit. suit cat.

❥ reno does get jealous a lot of the time, even if he is usually all up on you anyways. he still is a turk and also has to spend some time away from you, leading to overlapping thoughts of you while he’s away, maybe not even just possessive but also about if something happened to you. nothing could cure these thoughts better than a little phone sex, though.

❥ i’d like to think reno’s into pda as long as he’s not at work, poor rude having to witness wet kisses on your cheek with a lazy arm slung across your shoulder ever day. so i can’t really imagine anybody trying a bunch of stuff with you when usually— reno’s not too far behind.

❥ if reno happens to be not right next to you and he’s just doing his own thing and he happens to GLANCE AT YOU? AND HE SEES SOMEONE HITTING ON YOU?? instant slide next to you.

❥ he’s petty enough to start calling you all these pet names while he’s sitting next to you, wrapping his arm around you while he’s sizing the flirt up. he’ll look them up and down with a hard stare and maybe throw some passive aggressive comments every once in a while.

❥ he’ll probably make them uncomfortable (unless they wanna square up, because knowing reno, he might just charge if the person reciprocates his belligerent comments) so by the time they already leave, reno’s already whining against you as he asks what that was all about, acting all clueless afterwards. but you can tell just from the tone that laces his voice that he knows what he’s doing lol.

❥ he’s just a petty guy, maybe not so much possessive because i mean you can go out wherever you want wearing whatever you want (maybe after a small quickie at home if it’s something revealing), he can fend for you. he swears he’s your knight in shining armor no matter how much he teases you lmfao

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓐NGEAL — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ now here’s the real knight in shining armor™!!!! angeal is your savior if you’re ever in an uncomfortable situation, although he doesn’t really get jealous at all— he’s just very observant of you.

❥ angeal has a whole thing about how in a relationship you must have faith and he’s very comfortable with both you and himself. he’s happy in your relationship and he is secure with himself!! if zack ever sees you two together and he’s like “(」°ロ°) 」??”, bombarding him with questions as usual, then i can just see angeal giving zack a talk on how to treat women and the gentleman way of approach— although zack is very respectful, it’s just in angeals nature to lecture.

❥ he won’t think anything of it when someone you know sits with you, you guys usually know each others relatives and friends well enough to trust them. but he’s a little iffy when a random stranger starts chatting you up.

❥ angeal obviously trusts you!! again, unless you’re a SOLDIER (which he wouldn’t prefer only because he worries about your well being), then you guys will have to spend some time apart. he has a lot of faith in you and will always write you when he’s away, letting you know he’s always thinking of you while you’re apart.

❥ if anything, he’ll save you if he notices you’re uncomfortable or something along those lines. he’ll swiftly say he needs your for something and apologizes to the person out of courtesy that he interrupted your guys’ conversation, but oh it’s so urgent, we must retreat!! and i must hold you hand in hand while we run off and do totally boring SOLDIER duties!!

❥ omfg then he pulls you aside and asks if you’re okay and ugh i just want him so bad. like sephiroth, he’ll also explain how foolish it was to even hit on you when you’re clearly happily in a relationship with him. you two’ll walk along back to hq (?) or whatever while you talk about how odd the encounter was.

❥ so in conclusion !! angeal is a gentleman and doesn’t get jealous / protective unless he thinks you’re in trouble or you’re clearly uncomfortable. angeal hewley to the rescue!!!

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓖ENESIS — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ this dramatic bitch.

❥ genesis is so petty that he’ll probably consider the possibility that you’re flirting back? and then proceed to ignore you or leaving you off with some esoteric poetry while he tends to his duties. he is first class, after all.

❥ if he’s sitting right next to you though, and he hears that you’re not flirting with them. he’s petty enough like reno where he’ll suddenly be throwing out all these dramatic pet names and throw longing glances towards you, except he won’t even spare a glance towards the other person— simply only paying attention to you.

❥ id consider genesis a jealous person, but i do think that most of it strikes a protective instinct within him. he does understand that he’s also a first class SOLDIER meaning he’ll have to trust you, but he has way too much time on his hands to think. also like angeal where he’ll write you as much as he can— except he’ll send you mindless poems he writes or favored quotes of LOVELESS.

❥ in the case that you leave to go to the bathroom or any sort of occasion, genesis would probably scare the other person or make them feel uncomfortable as well. but when you return and they’re gone, he’ll act so clueless. all, “whatever do you mean, dearest?”

❥ another instance where i don’t think anybody would try anything with you. like angeal and sephiroth, genesis is a first class SOLDIER. everybody knows these dudes are the real shit (well, mainly only sephiroths talked about, but it applies to genesis and angeal too!!) so hes all smug parading you around as he side eyes every person who gawks at you. of course he knows you’re beautiful, but your beauty is too much for these fools to comprehend. so yes, he must glare at every single of them.

❥ and yes, also like his companions, he will jeer and whine about how silly it was to try that with you when you two are alone. i can even see genesis pulling a cloud and just whisking you away claiming you need to do something and then act like nothing happened afterwards. either that, or he’ll overdo it and claim to be your angel— no in between.

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mercifulstate · 3 months ago

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GIRL TALK.

GIRL. When I tell you I have never felt more powerful in my entire life—like, hello??? LOA is actually the biggest life hack, and I was out here treating it like a college entrance exam for NO REASON. The way I used to overcomplicate everything... Doing thousands of affirmations a day, scripting like I was submitting a novel, stressing over if I was doing it right—and surprise, surprise, it wasn’t working because I kept telling myself it wasn’t working. Like??? DUH.

The fact that I can literally do this in whatever way feels good to me?? Like, if I wanna affirm all day, I can. If I wanna visualize once and move on, that works too. If I wanna manifest while watching YouTube and eating snacks, BEST BELIEVE THAT'S ENOUGH. No rituals, no overthinking, just knowing it’s already mine and letting reality do its thing.

Honestly, the fact that I even ran into LOA again after years just PROVES that I was always meant to WIN. I was never going to miss out on my dream life. The 3D might lag sometimes (bless its slow ass), but that’s not my business. I already have everything I want—it’s just a matter of time before it shows up. Or you know, assume that it's already here. LMFAO

So yeah, moral of the story: if you’re still out here complicating LOA, STOP IT RIGHT NOW. Just assume it’s easy, persist in that knowing, and watch reality bend over backwards for you. I’m living proof, babe.

Even if the 3D tries to push me over a little, like—girl? WHO CARES? It’s literally just a distraction. I’m not about to give that my energy because it’s a waste of my time. Why can’t we just be friends, 3D? Like, help a girlie out, ykwim? I’m over here chilling, knowing exactly what I’ve got coming, while you’re out here trying to test me for NO REASON. But, like, that’s cute, I guess.

At the end of the day, it’s all about staying centered in the knowing that I’m already living my dream life. The 3D can throw its little tantrums, but I’m not phased. My reality is mine to shape, and no matter how much it tries to act up, I’m just gonna keep walking with my head held high, like, “Nice try sweetie, but I’m still getting everything I want—Oh wait! I already have them. LMAO"

Honestly, the more I let go of the need to control and just assume it’s already mine, persist in that knowing, the easier it gets. It’s almost like the 3D knows it’s on its last legs trying to play with me. Watch how I rise. <3

#loablr #loassblog #loassumption #loa tumblr #neville goddard #law of assumption #loa blog #manifest #voidblr

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lieslab · 26 days ago

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You're wearing me out, but I love you the same

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: You're filming a new Skz Code video at a summer camp and your group members are unhinged in the best way possible.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Requestee, I've been writing this for hours (hence why it's up later than usual) I've giggled far too much writing this one because picturing it playing out brings me pure joy and giddiness. The guys are so silly, I love them. It isn't Stray Kids without chaos <3

_ _ _

“This is so exciting!” Changbin squealed. “I can’t wait! Hyunjinnie, are you excited?” He glanced over, lightly punching Hyunjin’s arm.

“I’m just thrilled we’re not staying in tents. You know how I feel about tents. They’re way too much work and ugh. Thank god, we’re sleeping in actual cabins.”

Further down the way, you smoothed out your t-shirt. You purchased the white t-shirt at some point last week. Screen-printed graphic fish sat on the front in black outlines. Tucked into your denim shorts, you eagerly awaited instructions from staff members.

All nine members would be filming for a summer camp themed Skz Code. Dressed in long socks and tennis shoes, you’d been eagerly awaiting since this morning. Last night, you could barely sleep due to excitement.

“Can everyone line up? We’re going to start filming in a moment.” The director waved a few of the guys to walk further ahead.

You all stood soaked in bright sunlight. Felix groaned and shielded his eyes. “How are we going to survive this? It’s so bright out here.”

“Struggling already, Yongbok? How do you plan to survive the day? You should have come prepared like me.” Minho tapped his sunglasses. “A smart camper thinks ahead.”

“I didn’t really think about it,” Felix frowned. “I guess I’ll have to pack them next time. I forgot we’d be filming a lot outside.”

Without a word, Minho took off his glasses and handed them over. Felix perked up instantly and placed them on his face. The bright yellow sun dimmed instantly. “Thanks, hyung!”

“Okay, we’re going to start filming in three, two…” The director signaled and your eyes went over to the camera crew.

A variety of staff members held different cameras. Your mic pack sat in your back pocket. The corded mic strung up through your shirt and hid in the inner collar. “Hi, Stay!” You waved.

Greetings were given to the camera. They cut off with a shrill scream. Han stumbled backward and rushed over to you. “Help! There’s a bee!”

“That’s not a bee, that’s a wasp,” Jeongin corrected him.

Seungmin pointed and laughed, causing Han to huddle behind your body. He stuck his head over your shoulder and poked a pink tongue out at Seungmin. Seungmin rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It’s going to be a long day.”

“Anyway, we’re spending a day at summer camp and I hope I get to stay at a cabin with my wife!” Changbin leaned over and wrapped an arm around Hyunjin, at least, he tried.

When Hyunjin wouldn’t bend down and allow it, Changbin huffed and wrapped an arm around his waist instead. Hyunjin’s head tipped back with a groan. “Why do we have to do this today? It’s too hot. Get off of me, you oaf!”

His face fell in disbelief “OAF? That’s not very nice. I’d never call my significant other an oaf.”

Hyunjin shoved him off. You laughed and Han’s fingers curled into the back of your shirt. “Do you think the bee is gone?” He whispered.

“Yeah, I think so. It came up missing after it dived at Seungmin. Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”

“My hero.”

Chan grabbed a small bucket from one of the staff members. The company rented out a small camp in the countryside. Everyone had already been briefed on how the day would go.

“We’re going to pick who is in what cabin. Since there’s nine of us, five of us will go into the bigger cabin. Four of you will be in the other.”

“I’ve got dips bunking with Han!”

“Shut up, Minho, that’s not how it works,” Hyunjin said.

“What did you just say to me, you muskrat?”

“What’s a muskrat?”

Han peeked out from behind your shoulder once more. “Hyunjin, you kinda do look like a muskrat. It’s your scruffy short hair.”

“What does that mean?”

“Google it,” Minho snapped.

Chan beamed at the camera and shook the bucket. “Who wants to draw names for cabin one? Once we’re in our groups, we’re going to pick names for our cabins. How about I go first?”

“I wanted to go first,” Han frowned.

“Mind your manners for the elderly,” Seungmin reminded him.

You and Felix tried not to laugh. Chan reached into the bucket. “Okay the first person in the first cabin is-” He picked up a small piece of paper and opened it. “Seungmin!”

“How horrible.”

“You wanna come pick the next person?”

Seungmin headed over and stuck his hand in the bucket. Chan kept it raised, so Seungmin couldn’t see who he was picking. He stretched onto his tip-toes and pulled out a sheet of paper. When he opened it, his face fell.

“Nuh-uh, let me put it back and try again.”

“Who is it?”

“Hey,” Felix called over, “it can’t be that bad.” He headed over and tugged the paper from Seungmin’s hand. When he opened it, he busted into a fit of giggles. “It’s channie hyung!”

Chan grinned and handed the bucket to Felix. “You know what this means Seungmin!”

“Don’t even start.”

“We sleep together, Seungmin!”

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

Chan wrapped his arms around Seungmin’s body and squeezed. He groaned and let it happen. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“It could be worse,” you offered.

“Nothing is worse than this. This is my own personal purgatory. I’m going to smell like an old man by the end of this.”

“You don’t wanna smell like the new Fendi cologne?” Chan teased.

“You smell like a-”

Chan placed his hand over Seungmin’s mouth. “Felix, you can pick the next name. Don’t leave us waiting for too long.”

~ ~ ~

After finishing picking cabins, you wheeled your suitcase into one of the log cabins. To your relief, you were only stuck with three of the guys, instead of four. Minho, Jeongin, and Felix were trapped with you.

In the other cabin, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, and Seungmin would likely be fighting for their lives. You couldn’t imagine the chaos that’d ensue. You were content with your bunkmates.

Two freshly made bunk-beds sat opposite of each other. Pillows neatly sat on top of the red bedding. You tugged your suitcase closer to the area, debating on which bunk you might want.

“How did you get here so fast?”

You glanced over your shoulder to find Felix. Minho’s sunglasses were pushed up onto the top of his head. “I was the first one to get my luggage out of the car.”

“Are you a top bunk or bottom bunk type of person?”

You shrugged, “I don’t mind either option. I was waiting for you guys to pick your bunks before I-”

“Bunk with me!” He swung off his backpack and shoved it on the top of one of the bunks. “Be my bunk buddy, please!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” You rolled your suitcase near the bottom bunk and plopped down on it. A few inches sat between you and the top bunk. “I hope I don’t whack my head on the top bunk while trying to get out of the bed.”

By the time Jeongin and Minho came inside, you and Felix were already situated. Minho glanced at the top bunk and looked at Jeongin. Before he could speak, Jeongin beat him to it. “You can have it, if you want it.”

“Good because I wasn’t going to ask.”

You yawned, already feeling the anguish of getting up early. “I can’t believe we’re staying here for the next few days and filming content. I’m tired from getting up early.”

“Yeah, same,” Jeongin agreed.”

“I think you two could just use some coffee. Felix doesn’t need any, he’s already bright and chipper.”

“Yeah, it’d be a bad idea.”

While the four of you talked, you glanced around the cabin. The cabin door locked and across the way, a small opening led to a bathroom with two sinks, two showers, and two bathroom stalls.

You slumped over onto the pillow, letting your shoes dangle off the side of your bed. You sighed and let your eyes shut. Right before you drifted off, a knock sounded at the door. A ladder creaked and shuffling shoes fell across the hardwood floor.

Minho opened the door to reveal one of the staff members. He chuckled at the sight over Minho’s shoulder. “Are you guys ready to eat? Breakfast is ready.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, you’re going to need some energy for what we have planned today.”

~ ~ ~

“Are we sure this is safe?” Felix frowned and looked over at the staff members with worry. “These arrows look awfully pointy and-”

Thwack!

“Hey, I did it! Look at me! I did it!” Han pointed down at the painted target. “Do you see that Stay? I’ll keep you safe with my archery skills. Get behind me!”

“Um… weren’t you the same guy that took off running for cover earlier because you saw a wasp?”

“Shut up, Seungmin.”

You waited a few feet behind Chan. There were only six targets out and nine of you. You waited with Changbin and Jeongin for a turn. The camp staff filled the day with activities they completed with campers.

Your stomach slowly digested your yogurt parfait. Vanilla yogurt mixed with layers of blueberries and chopped strawberries. Topped with honey-glazed granola, you paired it with a side of hashbrowns.

The sweetness stained your lips as you waited for your turn to come around. After eating, one of the staff members led you over to the archery targets. You watched as they carefully instructed the right way to load the bow and how to shoot the arrows.

The targets sat in an empty area. Orange cones blocked off small portions of space for each archer. You watched the guys load arrows from a plastic stand and fire them. So far, nobody has hit the center of the target.

A loud yelp caught your attention and you glanced over. Hyunjin cried out and shook his arm. “Ow! Ow! OW!”

“Oh no, what happened? Are you okay?” The concerned counselor rushed over with a frown.

“I pulled the string back and let go. It snapped against my forearm in the process. I’m fine, but it felt like a bee sting.”

“Oh dear. Please be careful when shooting. Make sure you are all keeping your forearms-” Another yelp cut her off.

Felix’s bow dropped to the ground and he grabbed his forearm. “Holy fuck! Ow! I don’t wanna do this anymore. That hurt too much.” He called your name and gestured to the bow. “Can you take over?”

“Please be careful. I’m going to go get some of the arm guards we have. They’ll protect your forearms from being injured.” The woman spun around and hurried to the designated office.

You took your time studying the bow and figuring out the proper way to hold it. Chan and Hyunjin pulled back, so Jeongin and Changbin could have a turn to shoot. When you felt prepared enough, you grabbed one of the arrows and hooked it onto the string.

Your eyes narrowed at the target and you pulled the string back. The arrow quivered and quickly straightened. You took a deep breath in and out. You aimed the arrow at the target and let it fly.

Thwack!

“Bullseye!” You called triumphantly.

“Wait, that’s not fair! I’m out of arrows! Let me go- AH! Seungmin, you nearly took off my head!”

“What kind of idiot starts to walk into a field when everyone else is still shooting their arrows? Did you not hear what the woman said about safety? Can you hear?”

“I forgot!”

“You won’t forget when an arrow pierced you upside the head, idiot.”

You ignored them, hooked another arrow, soaked in your adrenaline, and let it fly.

~ ~ ~

“Let’s go!” Changbin shrieked. He flexed his muscles and rushed towards an unprepared Chan. The moment he chest bumped him, Chan slipped backwards, hitting the ground with a faint ‘oof.’

“Whoops! Sorry, hyung. I guess I still don’t know my own strength.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” Chan grabbed Changbin’s outstretched arms and let him pull him to his feet. “Good job on scoring.”

“I’m on a roll today!”

“Keep it up.”

On the opposite side of the field, Felix stood in front of the awaiting goal. The black and white soccer ball sat behind him. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked back at the ball. “How did that happen? I swore I had enough time to-”

“Suck it!” Changbin hollered.

Hyunjin’s fists went up in the air. He shrieked and ran around the soccer field. He weaved between you and Seungmin. The two of you both shared a look of annoyance. Seungmin’s leg went out, trying to trip Hyunjin, but he hurdled over it.

You all split up and huddled with your cabin members. For the past forty-five minutes, you all played soccer. You tried to play because playing four members versus five was tough. Just when you thought you were doing well, the other team snagged the ball.

You were the first goalie and when they kept getting balls into the net, you swapped with Jeongin. You tried to trip up Seungmin, but he managed to outwit you and score a goal between Jeongin’s spread legs.

Han attempted to keep up with Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin, but it mainly turned into him jumping up and down on the field. The one time he got the ball from Felix, he attempted to kick it, missed the ball, and slipped to the ground like a cartoon character.

You all stopped the soccer game because none of you could recover. Pointing and giggling, Han laid on the ground with tears forming in his eyes. A hand curled over his stomach as he laughed, trying to find the strength to get up.

Hyunjin performed another victory lap between you and Seungmin. It came to a sudden halt when Minho grabbed the back of his shirt and jerked him back. “Do you know what a yellow card is? You’re about to get one, Hwang.”

“Eat my-”

“Play ball!” Chan called out. “Felix, pass me the ball.”

“Yes, sir!” He kicked the ball from the goal, sending it rolling down the green grass. It stopped along the side of Chan’s foot. “Minho hyung, sick ‘em!”

“I’ll skewer them.”

“Yeah!”

You wiped sweat from the side of your forehead and jogged to the side of Minho. “Can this be the last round? I’m dying. It’s nine points to one.”

“Giving up so soon?” Minho glanced over with a playful smirk.

“I’m tired.”

Chan kicked the ball, sending it straight through your legs. You yelled his name and spun around. He giggled and rushed to the side. “Changbin, pass it back!”

“Don’t you dare!” You tried to run in his direction, but Hyunjin cut you off. The pair passed the ball and you chased after them. “Don’t just stand there, Jeongin, help me!”

“I’m trying!”

Han and Felix’s voices collided. One taunted while the other cheered. On the defense, Felix crouched low, trying to stop the blur of the ball from hitting the net. Minho sprinted, kicking the ball from Changbin’s soaring foot.

It jerked to the side, rolling away from your net. You rushed after it, letting the wind sail through your hair. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I-”

Seungmin rushed forward the same time you did. Your legs tangled and you both hit the ground. The ball drifted and your eyes widened. “Felix!”

“I see it!”

He lunged, but it was too late. Before he could stop the sailing ball, Han’s sudden kick sent it into the back of the net. Your eyes widened and Changbin gasped. Felix hit the ground with a defeated groan. “I don’t got it.” He shifted and his head dipped into the grass.

Screams erupted from the other team. Hyunjin rushed over and wrapped his arms around Han. “You did it! You scored the winning point!”

“Hannie! Hannie! Hannie! Hannie!”

He screeched as Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin lifted him into the air. On top of Changbin’s shoulders, he giggled and cheered. His fists pumped towards the sky.

Despite your loss, you couldn’t stop the fondness from filling your eyes as Seungmin rushed away from you and went over to celebrate.

~ ~ ~

After lunch, Jeongin groaned and held his stomach. “I’m never eating barbecued anything ever again. I’m having the worst heartburn. Oh, this is awful.”

“Do you need a Tums? I think one of the staff members carries a pack around. Do you want me to go find one for you?” Felix asked.

“Please. I think I’m going to erupt and die. I can feel my stomach bloating and gurgling.”

“Ew,” Seungmin mumbled.

The four of you were tailing the other guys. You were all given different clues for a scavenger hunt. With nine different clues, the staff members said you could solve them on your own, or together. So far, you found a stash of white t-shirts and a pack of rubber bands. What they were for, you didn’t know yet.

When Felix came back, Jeongin thanked him and chewed up the chalky tablet. You wandered further into the group. Over Changbin’s shoulder, you scanned his paper and an eyebrow raised.

“What’s blue and latex?” You uttered out loud.

“I don’t know. I’m stuck between balloons and hospital gloves. The tallest tree around, I know where that’s at. The manager pointed it out earlier, remember? Back where we were dropped off.”

As you talked amongst the guys, Han paused. “Um… that doesn’t seem right, does it? A giant table in the middle of the woods?”

“With a black tablecloth?”

As you all spread out, you studied the table in confusion. “It has to be part of the thing. Maybe we should put the stuff we’ve already gathered here. If we split up, it’ll be quicker. We could meet back here.”

“I’ve got dibs with you!” Changbin laced his hand through yours and you let him. “Minho, you have to go out to the entrance as well, right? Come with us.”

“Apparently.” He stepped over and followed the two of you as you wandered back down the worn trail. Dark bushy trees lingered over your heads. “Has anyone figured out what we’re doing yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you?” You looked over as he stepped in line with the two of you.

“I think we’re going to tie-dye shirts.”

“Oh!” Your face lit up. “That makes sense! Changbin, your item probably is gloves if we’re dyeing things.”

“Oh, great, just what I need. This is going to be horrendous. Have they met us? Seungmin’s going to dye us smurf blue and the staff won’t stop him because they’ll be laughing their asses off.”

Minho’s head shook. “ That won’t happen to me. I’m going to dye his annoying ass orange first. We’ll see what happens after that.”

“I guess we will.”

~ ~ ~

Ten minutes after you all came back to the table further in the woods, a camp staff member explained how to tie-dye your white shirts. Swirled a certain way and wrapped with multiple rubber bands, you glanced at the colors before you carefully.

Beside you, Chan grabbed a bottle of orange dye and squeezed it all over his shirt. He called your name and picked up another color. “Are you making your shirt rainbow, or are you only doing a few colors?”

“I don’t know. I think I might stick with three colors. That’s nice, right? I think it’ll go better with certain outfits that way. It already has white. Blue, pink, and purple? I could do green, orange, and yellow. There’s so many options, it’s hard to decide.”

You frowned and hesitated to grab a bottle of dye. On your opposite side, Seungmin grabbed a bottle of red. He shoved it between a shirt fold and squeezed. “I’m making mine red and purple.”

“Any reason why?”

“Nope.” He grabbed the purple with his opposite hand, stuck it between another fold and squeezed again. “I feel like I’m conducting wizardry.”

“IT’S NOT MY DWAEKKI PINK!”

All three of you looked over at Changbin’s shirt. A dark pink oozed everywhere, including all over the table around him. He frowned and stared at the bottle. “I’ve been betrayed by a color I trusted most.”

“It’s okay, Changbinnie. I want pink, too. We’re going to match.” Felix leaned over and reassuringly patted his shoulder. “Plus, it’ll dry and lighten a little. Maybe there’s still a little hope.”

“There better be!”

“Claude Monet, what are you doing over there?” Jeongin’s attention turned to Hyunjin after he injected purple into his own shirt. Hyunjin sat on his knees. He shoved a dark blue into specific parts of his shirt. “Why are you doing that?”

“I’m going for a specific pattern. Blue and green are both cool colors. If I add a little bit of purple, I think I’ll get exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Well, I know what I’m doing.” Minho grabbed pink and green and squirted the colors all over his white shirt. “It’s not that hard to decide.”

“I love that idea. It reminds me of our song. I wish there was brown for Han Quokka,” Han frowned. “I’ll do without and try to make it work. If I mixed up every color, do you think it’d come out brown?”

“Probably just a rainbow.”

“It’s worth a shot, I think.”

After a few more moments of hesitation, you grabbed your favorite color and began squirting dye into the white shirt.

~ ~ ~

By the time you all finished, dye was in places it shouldn’t have been. Pink stained Changbin’s arms. One of Seungmin’s latex gloves tore and purple soaked his left hand. Felix reached across the table to bother Jeongin and accidentally smeared green on the side of his forearm.

Your balled up shirts were left to dry. In the meantime, a staff member led you all towards a large pond. Hidden in an area of swaying trees, you cautiously walked along gravel and headed in the direction of awaiting canoes.

“Oh, perfect,” you mumbled.

“Who wants to be with who?” Hyunjin asked. “I wanna be with Innie.”

“This Innie wants to be left outie when it comes to you.”

“That only makes me want you more.”

“Gross.”

You stayed in the distance as everyone paired up. The idea of being in such a small canoe frightened you. Not to mention, you’d never done it before. Life jackets were provided, so it wasn’t like you’d drown, but it still made you incredibly nervous.

When you were handed a life jacket, you placed the orange flotation device over your head and fastened it. You didn’t want to canoe, but you knew the staff would want video footage of everyone in the water. So instead of backing out, you grabbed two oars and shoved a canoe across the sandy bank.

With a loud grunt, you pushed it into the water as far as you dared and carefully lowered yourself into the middle to balance it. An oar laid in your lap and you sucked in a deep breath. The rest of the guys were already nearly twenty feet ahead, paddling with ease.

“This is so nice,” Felix called to Changbin. “I wish we could do this all the time. Are you relaxed?”

“I could take a nap out here. Look at the water! It’s so blue! Do you think there’s fish in here?”

“Probably. I overheard a staff member question if we would fish today, or not. I’m pretty sure they decided against it.”

Chan giggled as Han and Jeongin panicked. Minho snorted and shook his head. “Hey, idiots! Stop shifting! You’re causing the boat to rock!”

“Easy for you to say! You’re older and wiser!” Han panicked and grabbed the sides of the canoe. “I’m scared!”

“If you don’t stop moving, I’m coming back there and whacking you with the oar.” Jeongin grumbled.

“AH!”

Hyunjin and Seungmin rowed further and further away from the group. “They’re too loud,” Seungmin mumbled. “Let’s enjoy peace and quiet on the opposite side of the pond. It’s getting harder to row out here.”

“Yeah, it’s because I’m letting you do all the work.” Hyunjin sat content in the back of the boat. His legs spread out and the oar sat horizontal along the boat. “I stopped rowing after we turned.”

“Jackass.”

With your single paddle in the water, you rowed further and further out into the water. From the shore, cameras zoomed in to catch sight of you. You were all going to be equipped with body cameras, but they were accidentally left behind at the company building.

Felix called your name and waved. “Hey, how are you hanging over here?”

“I’m not. I’m terrified, but I’m trying to survive.”

“Don’t worry,” Changbin reassured you. “You’ll be fine. If anything happens, we’ll rescue you.”

“That doesn’t feel reassuring.”

“Do you want us to let you get eaten by piranhas?”

Your eyes widened, causing Felix to laugh. “He’s just kidding. There aren’t any piranhas in this water. Probably just basic fish. I doubt they’d try to eat you.”

“But they might,” Changbin whispered as he rowed them away.

His words left your anxiety to grow. A few minutes later, you shifted, trying to readjust your body. The moment you did, your boat tipped to the side. You gasped and jerked to the other side. The sudden force was enough to overcorrect the issue. You shrieked and your body swayed. The sound of a loud splash caused everyone to stop and look over.

Felix shrieked your name, but you didn’t respond. The wooden canoe was upside down over where you once were. Both wooden oars vanished beneath the glossy water.

Bubbles floated up, causing Changbin and Felix to reverse. Chan shifted to jump out of the canoe, but Minho stopped him, worrying that their own canoe would tip over. Hyunjin and Seungmin shared a look and Seungmin nodded.

He crawled back, trying to stabilize the boat. Hyunjin shoved himself over the side and pressed against the canoe, keeping it balanced upright. When it stopped swaying, he swam in your direction.

Beneath the water, you were briefly engulfed and submerged before you popped back upright. You yelped as your head banged against the inside of the canoe. Before you could tip it back over, it shifted. Felix’s worried eyes met yours.

Hyunjin grabbed your life jacket, pulling you towards him. “Hey, are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

Your face sat void of its usual color. Shook up and soaked in chilled water, your head shook. “A little. I-I just wasn’t expecting to hit the water. I’m okay, I think. A little cold, but I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“Let’s get you back to land, so you can get changed into something warm.”

“Are they good?” Chan called out as he approached with Minho.

“Yeah, just cold and shaken up.”

“You didn’t inhale water, did you?” Minho asked.

“ARE THEY ALIVE? WE CAN’T GET BACK THERE! WE’RE STUCK! HELP!”

In the distance, Seungmin rolled his eyes. He was paddling towards you and the canoes until he stumbled upon Han and Jeongin. Their oars rowed, but they pushed themselves in a never-ending circle. Over and over, they meandered in a tail-spin.

“Han, put your paddle to the other side of the boat!”

“I’m trying, but now I’m scared I’ll tip us over!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You caught a brief glimpse of the spinning canoe. It didn’t last long as Hyunjin led you back to the shore. Shivering and with chattering teeth, you weren’t sure how he seemed so calm. The late spring day still felt pretty cool. Water dripped off of you, soaked your hair, and caused your shoes to squish uncomfortably.

As you reached land, two staff members rushed to your aid. A towel laid over your shoulders. Your canoe floated empty on the still pond. The guys paddled back to check up on you, but not Jeongin and Han.

Their canoe still spun in a slow circle while they moaned in misery.

~ ~ ~

A few hours later, you felt warmer. In the glow of the roaring campfire, a sticky s’more sat in your hand. Graham crackers with a gooey marshmallow and a piece of melted chocolate sat between them. Chan roasted it and created it for you.

In new clothes, much warmer clothes, you were wrapped in a blanket. The camera crew continued to film all nine of you. You sat your chair between Jeongin and Seungmin. After dinner, you didn’t feel like doing much of anything.

When the sun went down, a campfire was lit. The crew decided to skip the scary stories. Your fall from the canoe was frightening enough. Instead, they opted to have you judge a talent show while marshmallows roasted for s’mores.

“I have a talent. I wanna go first.” Seungmin stood up and the camera zoomed in. “I’d like to make an impression of Han being unable to jump rope.”

“Do not!”

An invisible rope swung and Seungmin jumped. He reached down and pretended to pull up his pant legs. “It must be my pants. Hold on, I can do it.”

Hyunjin leaned back, laughing and clapping his hands in delight. Jeongin chuckled and Han’s face fell into his hands. “Stop it. This is humiliating.”

“Let me try again. Here I go.” Seungmin swung the invisible rope again. He pretended to stumble and sank to his knees, curling against the floor. When he stood back up, he bowed. “That’s my scene and my talent.”

You clapped, enjoying Han’s humiliation. “I give that an eight out of ten. It would have been higher, but you didn’t include the pure anguish.”

“I’ll note it for next time.”

“No! There will be no next time!” Han jerked to his feet. “No next time! Here, I’m going to impersonate Seungmin doing an impression of JYP!”

A shared collection of “oohs” roamed around the fire. Minho pushed two more marshmallows onto a skewer and stuck it into the fire. They bubbled and caught on fire while Han continued.

“Gotta get, gotta get, gotta get that groove back! Uh!” He shifted and hip thrusted into the empty air.

Felix’s face fell and Chan’s eyes widened.

“Now when the hell have I ever added that to my JYP impression?” Seungmin questioned.

Han’s face went bright red and he plopped back into his chair. He jerked his hoodie hood over his face and slumped down in the chair. “Nobody talk to me again.”

“I’m screen recording this part of the video and sending it to him on his Bubble.”

“NO!” Han shrieked.

Changbin pointed and laughed. His high-pitched laughter caused you to fall into your own fit of giggles. You jerked upright and mimicked Han’s dramatic hip thrust, sending the group back into a fit of roaring laughter.

By the time you recuperated, the talent show was long forgotten about. Every time you looked at Han, he looked away in shame. He covered his face, or his eyes, mumbling about his embarrassment.

“If we just get you into those see through pants he wore,” Hyunjin added, “you’re practically a dead ringer for him.”

“JYP, what are you doing here?” Felix added.

“I’m never going to live this down,” Han mumbled.

“It’s okay, buddy, we know you can’t jump rope either.”

“Seungmin!”

He held up his hands innocently. “If you didn’t want people mocking you, you should have learned to jump rope as a kid.”

“I know how! I had bad pants that day! It wasn’t a fair shot!”

“Does anyone have a jump rope we could borrow?”

“Stop!”

“Make me.”

“I’m gonna throw you into a fire pit.”

“Wow, I’m so scared. Killed off by the guy that can’t jump rope to save his life. What a way to go.”

“STOP!”

Hoots and hollers filled the air, floating up with the curling smoke. Every time Changbin flooded into another fit of giggles, so did you. You couldn’t help it.

Life wasn’t always perfect, but surrounded by eight idiots, it was certainly far from boring.

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