#“despite everything it's still you” something something

[lizardho]

Being at BYU after my mission was weird. Like. Bad weird. Everybody was still acting like missionaries but they had nobody to teach so it all turned into the holier-than-thou bs that missions always degenerate into over time. Just the forced establishment of some weird social hierarchy where value is based on how devout you are, with people digging and scratching and clawing their way around humanity in order to become even more devout.

And this bullshit was actively killing me. The attempts to stay Good Enough were scraping the remnants of my humanity out of my husk like a spoon scraping the last bits of watermelon from a rind - I was doing what I had always done, be Mormon, do what Mormons do, be as good a Mormon as I could be, only it was breaking me. Instead of healing me, making me whole, taking away my burdens, it was pulling the life out of me in exchange for nothing. I was just being squeezed dry of everything I had to offer and being given back shame and isolation and rejection because I didn’t do it first, or fast enough, or with a willing enough heart, or whatever the hell they could come up with.

But despite myself, because most people smarter than me AND dumber than me would have left already, I found myself trying over and over and over again to make it work with no success.

One day, I snap. I’ve had enough. I need answers. I’ve looked everywhere and done everything I could by myself, and nothing had come of it, so I went to talk to a faculty member. A teacher at the school. He taught religion classes and his lessons were powerfully and inspiringly honest, earnest, and filled with raw humanity. I figured if I could get a straight (ha) answer from anyone, it would be that guy. He wasn’t involved in the Mormon rat race. He wasn’t playing the stupid “I’m Worthier Than You” games that were so pernicious on campus. He was being real and open and vulnerable and I needed that from someone.

So I go into his office and I lay my cards on the table. I figure if I’m gonna get helped, I need to be honest. I share with him my weird feelings about dad leaving the church on my mission. About my siblings leaving the church. About my own doubts and hurts. I tell him about how hard it is to be in limbo like this without knowing what to do or where to turn. I tell him I need answers.

And he listens. And then he starts with the usual Mormon apologetics bullshit. And I say “no” because I’m done with that. That doesn’t fly with me anymore. And he sees and hears me say no and he puts a hand on mine, makes direct eye contact, and says,

“You know, you don’t have to go to church, right?”

I, being a person who was hurting, interpreted that as “if you have questions that I can’t answer you should fuck off.” I got defensive immediately and he again listened, put his hand on mine, and said,

“Not what I meant. You can stay if you want, but I want you to know you can leave too. Take a break. Give yourself time to heal. This isn’t supposed to hurt this much, and if it hurts you can take a break and come back when it feels good.”

I’m actually getting choked up just writing that out. Nobody had ever said that to me before. When I talked about my dysphoria to my parents, they said teenagers are supposed to feel like that a little bit. When I talked to people about my difficulties at church they had always told me that it was a sign that church was working. That I was doing it right. That growth was supposed to hurt, that excising the Natural Man from me was supposed to be difficult, that I was supposed to be feeling this anxious and sad and scared. I had never ever ever been told that pain and suffering were signs things were going wrong. I had actually explicitly been told by many many many many many many many many people that it was good, that the hurt and the heartache and the constant feeling of never being good enough and never being able to fit into my own skin or love myself in any meaningful way was desirable. That it was something they envied.

It’s not supposed to hurt. Some things can, and should. My parents were right that some body concerns were normal (although we later found out my specific concerns were more abnormal lmao, I got that tgirl swag). My family and friends were right that challenging myself with difficult assignments and ambitious goals was supposed to feel uncomfortable.

And at the same time, THIS was not supposed to hurt. I was not meant to have this gaping throbbing aching hole in my Me that never let up. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HURT.

I don’t know when exactly I started crying, but I was crying the whole rest of the day. It was the first time in a while I had to actually take a Valium to clam down. It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

He also told me that if it ever stopped hurting I could always come back.

I think that was the day I really left. Others might say otherwise, I still tried to make it work for a few more months after that, but the idea that it wasn’t supposed to hurt really changed me.

If any of you are reading this - there are things that are supposed to be difficult. Things that are supposed to hurt. But if your faith or your beliefs about the world or yourself leave you feeling like you’ve been hollowed out at a minor mistake or setback, if your failures and setbacks leave you feeling raw and numb frequently, if the company you keep or the places you stay leave you feeling constantly inadequate with out hope or help, then I’ll tell you the same thing that professor told me:

You can go somewhere else. You can do something else. And you can always come back when you want.

But it’s not supposed to hurt.

[maskedbyghost]

part 2 to Simon marrying another woman. there will be one more part.

That dreadful day, you didn’t stay for the reception. You couldn’t.

The sight of Simon’s lips pressing against hers, his hands on her waist, was more than you could bear. The weight of it settled in your chest, as you pushed through the church doors and into the biting cold. You told yourself you just needed air, but you kept walking, your heels clicking against the pavement as the world blurred past you.

It’s been seven months since he married her.

Seven months since you watched the love of your life vow to cherish someone else for the rest of his days.

Not you like he promised.

Her.

You tried moving on—tried dating, tried sleeping with other men. But no matter how hard you tried, no one compared. They didn’t know how you liked your coffee after a mission, or the songs you hummed when you thought no one was listening.

They weren’t him.

The team had noticed, of course. How could they not? Soap was the first to say something, pulling you aside after a particularly grueling mission.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

You lied, of course. “I’m fine.”

But Soap wasn’t buying it. “Fine, my arse. You’ve been off for months now. We’re worried about you.”

We.

The word stung more than it should have. You knew they all meant well—Price, Gaz, Soap—they were your family in every way that mattered. But the one person you wanted to notice, the one person who had always been able to read you like an open book, wasn’t yours anymore.

Simon barely looked at you these days. He kept things professional, as though the years you’d spent breaking down each other’s walls had never happened.

You hated him for it. You hated her for taking him from you. But more than anything, you hated yourself—for still loving him despite it all.

Why wouldn’t you? You and Simon were perfect for each other. Everyone saw it. The team had long accepted that you and Simon were a package deal, even when neither had put a label on it.

Everything was great—until she arrived.

She was an old friend of Simon’s, someone he’d known long before the Task Force. You remember the day she was introduced to the team, handpicked for her unique skillset, and vouched for by Simon himself.

Captain Price welcomed her without hesitation, and the rest of the team quickly followed. She was smart, capable, and annoyingly charming.

You wanted to like her. You really did. But something about her never sat right with you.

At first, her friendliness seemed genuine, and her interest in Simon was understandable given their history. She would tell stories about him from the past. You noticed how he seemed to soften around her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he listened. It stung, but you told yourself it was harmless.

Then the games began.

She found ways to insert herself into moments that were once yours and Simon’s alone. If you were paired with him during training drills, she’d casually request to swap partners, laughing it off as wanting to “catch up with an old friend.” On missions, she’d position herself as his backup, leaving you to work with others.

Her manipulation was well calculated. When she slipped into Simon’s good graces, it was so gradual that even he didn’t see it happening.

During a team meeting, she’d mention how Simon had always been the one to “clean up after reckless partners” in the past, glancing at you just long enough to make her point. Or she’d joke about how “some people” needed constant saving in the field, her tone light but her eyes sharp as they flicked in your direction.

Simon rarely reacted to that. But you could see the doubt creeping into his expression, the seeds she was planting beginning to take root.

It wasn’t just her words, either. She had a thing for orchestrating situations that made you look bad without ever appearing to do so intentionally. During one mission, she “accidentally” overlooked a key piece of intel you’d flagged, leading to a delay in the operation. When Simon asked what happened, she apologized but subtly implied that your instructions had been unclear.

Another time, she volunteered to handle a critical piece of equipment, only to claim later that she thought you had already taken care of it. It was small things—barely noticeable—but they added up, each one chipping away at the trust you and Simon had built.

What hurt the most was how easily she slipped into Simon’s world. She knew how to talk to him in a way that made him feel understood, playing on their shared history to create a bond you couldn’t touch. She’d bring up memories from their past, reminding him of a time when life was simpler, safer.

And slowly, Simon began to change.

He second-guessed your decisions in the field. When you tried to talk to him about it, he brushed it off, saying you were overthinking things.

The worst part was that she always made sure to maintain her image as the perfect teammate—loyal, competent, and supportive. To everyone else, she was a godsend, a valuable asset to the team.

But you knew the truth. You saw through her façade, the way she manipulated situations to her advantage, the way she slowly turned Simon against you. And no matter how hard you tried to hold on, to remind Simon of the bond you shared, she was always there, pulling him further away.

And by the time Simon announced his engagement to her, you barely recognized the man you’d fallen in love with. The man who once held you with such tenderness now looked at you as though you were a stranger.

You started to fight with Simon often, because he was a dumb, stupid man who didn’t realize he was being manipulated. You tried to make him see it—the way she twisted things, the way she subtly undermined you—but he wouldn’t listen.

“She’s my friend,” he said once, his jaw tight. “You’re overreacting.”

You hated the way he said it, as if you were imagining things. The man you knew better than anyone, was slipping through your fingers, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The fights grew worse, spilling over from arguments in private to tense exchanges on missions. The team noticed, of course, but no one said anything. They kept their heads down, unwilling to get involved in whatever was happening between the two of you.

Then, one night, while you were on leave, Simon came home to the apartment you shared and started packing his things. You didn’t understand at first, standing frozen in the doorway as he folded his clothes and stuffed them into a duffel bag.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He didn’t look at you. “Leaving.”

“Why?” You stepped closer, trying to put yourself between him and the door. “Simon, please. Just tell me why.”

But he wouldn’t. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

You begged him to stay, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded for an explanation, for anything that could make sense of the sudden shift. But Simon—your Simon—had already made up his mind.

A month later, you saw the photos—Simon and her, sitting side by side at a café, her hand resting on his arm like she’d always belonged there. The smile on his face was small, but it was there, and it broke something inside you.

A few months after that, they were engaged. The wedding followed soon after.

“They want to have a small ceremony,” Soap said. He hadn’t looked at you when he spoke, as if he couldn’t bear to see your reaction.

And now here you were, seven months later, still trying to piece yourself back together while Simon lived a life you were supposed to share with him.

One night, during a late briefing, you caught Simon looking at you. It was just a flicker, his gaze lingering a moment too long, his expression unreadable.

For a second, you thought you saw something—regret, maybe even sorrow—but it was gone before you could be sure. You told yourself you imagined it, that your mind was playing tricks on you, desperate for any sign that he might still care. But the look stayed with you, in your memory next to the happy moments with him.

And so, you wanted to continue living your life normally, and tried to move on, but it was hard. You kept telling yourself it would get easier with time, but time seemed to stand still.

The memories of Simon lingered everywhere—his voice in your head, the way he used to call you “love,” the small habits he’d left behind in your shared life.

You threw yourself into your work, drowning in the chaos of missions and training. But even in the most hectic moments, there was always an ache in the back of your mind, serving like a fucking reminder of the man you’d loved and lost.

You tried dating, fleeting distractions that always ended the same way—with you staring at the ceiling, wondering why no one could make you feel the way Simon did.

But then, one day, something happened.

Price called you to Simon’s office. His tone over the comm was urgent and it made your stomach twist. He didn’t explain, only told you to come immediately.

You hurried down the corridor, your mind racing. Something about Price’s voice told you this wasn’t about a mission or a routine debriefing.

Something was wrong.

When you reached the door, you hesitated for just a moment, hand hovering over the handle. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and pushed it open.

The sight inside made your heart drop.

The office was in ruins—papers scattered across the floor, the desk overturned, a chair broken and lying in pieces. A crack ran through the mirror on the wall, distorting your reflection.

And there, amidst the chaos, was Simon.

He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, knees drawn up slightly. His mask was gone, revealing a face filled with exhaustion and pain. His eyes were fixed on the ground, as he muttered the same words over and over, barely audible.

“She ruined my life… she ruined my life…”

Price stood near the door, arms crossed tightly as he watched Simon. When he saw you, his shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d been waiting for you.

“Please,” he said quietly. “Talk to him. You’re the only one he might listen to.”

Your throat tightened as you stepped closer, every movement feeling heavy. You knelt a few feet away, your voice soft, almost trembling.

“Simon…”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, his gaze locking with yours. He managed a weak, bitter smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry, love,” he murmured, the words barely more than a whisper.

And then, before you could react, he raised the gun to his head.

PART 3

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yup. this is a perfect place to stop. gonna go hide now hehe

(sorry if you didn't want to be tagged)

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[vrystalius]

GI-HUN / PLAYER 456 YOUR YANDERE.

What will happen if the previous winner of the games falls utterly and sickly inlove with you?

Pairing: Gi-hun x fem!reader (x In-ho)

Warnings: non-con themes, gaslighting, unhealthy obsessions, stalker-ish behaviour, sexual/perverse fantasies, slight somnophilia if you squint, groping, violent fantasies, barely read-proof.

Summary, Gi-hun as your yandere: Falling for you, his yandere profile (with nsfw), his jealousy, his rivalry with In-ho

Words in total: 3.4k

(There will be a part 2 for In-ho’s as your yandere. It will be linked here once I publish it <3 Please leave some feedback if you liked this one, I’m new to the darker themes of writing :,))

Introduction.

Gi-hun is incredibly careful ever since the horrific death games he witnessed and survived. Paranoia followed him everywhere, the feeling of being utterly useless crept more and more to his head as another year passes by without any useable evidence or clues that brought him even a little closer to the people controlling and allowing these games and the dread that tried to lure him into simply giving up.

As he finally managed to join the games once more in firm belief that his hired team of investigators/hitmen and Jun-ho can track his exact location before his hopes were shattered for one another time as he discovered the missing chip in his tooth.

He spotted you for the first time during the Red Light Green Light game. As Gi-hun yelled instructions on when to move and when to freeze, his eyes found your precious face.

You were horrified, that was obvious. Your eyes were darting around in panic as more and more people were shot and bodies hit the floor, your hands shaking slightly despite your best effort to hold them still after seeing a woman get eliminated for having trembling hands, a strangers blood splattered over your face and tears threatening to run down your soft cheeks.

Gi-hun’s voice faltered for a moment. Glancing around and noticing that most people were over the finish line already, he rushed over to your side as quickly as he can and hooked your arm in his, practically dragging across the large hall to force you to move. Instinctively, you clung onto this stranger as he was guiding as carefully as he can to survival.

He released a deep breath he never knew he was holding as he gently lowered your shaking onto the dirt below. Seeing you cower and bow at his feet and thanking him over and over for saving him stirred something inside of him he hasn’t felt in years.

What exactly it was, Gi-hun doesn’t really know.

“You can get up, it was nothing. I am glad you are safe now.”

Yandere profile (SFW part).

- Overcompensating Generosity -

Gi-hun shares every single meal be gets with you. If you ever refuse or kindly decline his offer so he can have more for himself, he will come up with lies about allergies or feeling sick so that you can have even more. He worries that you might be malnourished or don’t have enough energy to live through and survive the next round of games.

He quietly stalks you from the side and makes sure you eat and drink everything up. If you ever complain about being full and sharing a little with Dae-ho or Jun-hee, Gi-hun will gently scold you for not eating properly, almost like a father would in a way.

His hand would ruffle your hair slightly in frustration. The kimbab he gave you was intended to be eaten by you, not… Dae-ho. No matter how much you grew fond of him. But your kindess and compassion to share does put a small smile to his face, even if it frustrates him.

“You shouldn’t be careless. Think about yourself first. Stop sharing your food with others.”

He completely contradicts his own actions by scolding you for offering Jung-hee or Dae-ho some of your share by giving you his own food.

Gi-hun doesn’t only share food but his clothes as well. If yours ever get bloody or if he catches you shiver just once, expect his jacket to immediately be wrapped around your shoulders or offered to you to wear it instead of your bloody one. He did consider giving you his t-shirt and going without one more than once after seeing your face scrunch up in disgust at the sight of someone’s blood on your shirt.

He wants and will do everything in his power to keep that frown of your face. Your smile lights up the whole bunkbed-hall and gives one more reason to keep going. It may sound depressing, but you gave him a reason to live and fight for survival. Even if you don’t know about it yet. He planned on leaving the rest of the money he had for his child and ending his life after the games. What other reason does he have to live for anyway?

Now he has. You are his reason to live. Gi-hun can provide for you, care for you, love , protect and worship you with every cell in his body, if you let him or not, he will find a way to fulfil his new purpose in life and Gi-hun will make you enjoy it.

- Persistent attention -

He is watching you every minute, every hour, every day and all day. Gi-hun insists on taking watch during the night and shooing Jung-bae off just so he can have a moment to himself to watch your adorable sleeping face. He takes mental notes on your sleepy expression, your soft pout, squished cheek as you lay on your side, your hair perfectly falling into place and how your chest was perfectly squished by the mattress or just lift up and down when laying on your back, synchronised with your breathing.

His fingers briefly brushed over your forehead to push some loose strands from your eyes so he can admire you further, a soft smile resting on his face. Watching you and knowing that you are safe brings makes his heart race a little slower when around you. One less thing to worry about.

For some reason, Gi-hun knows more about you than you do yourself. He can predict when you need to use the bathroom by watching what and when you drink. He knows your sleeping schedule and your favourite position to lay in. He knows what food you prefer despite barely mentioning it. He knows what to say to make you smile, his favourite expression on you, and how to comfort you when you are scared. Gi-hun also constantly “helps” you in a way that includes physical touch.

He might close your zipper up, his fingers briefly brushing over your chest, or tucking you into your bunkbed as if you were a child needing constant care.

Even if it may seem sweet from time to time, it does feel incredibly overbearing and annoying when Gi-hun goes ahead and “helps” you with eating food as if you’re not capable doing so yourself (embarrassing you in front of the others during the process) or offering you to go to the bathroom with you for protection, waiting outside with the guard while you did your business.

Somehow, even the stationed guard felt creeped out by him.

⁎⁺˳ — A mini scenario starts here. —

You were afraid to fall asleep at night despite Gi-hun assuring you that he will keep watch at all times. Your eyes were tired and heavy but your mind just couldn’t relax, couldn’t rest. No matter how hard you tried your own body forced you awake, believing that you are in immediate danger.

Paranoia kept swirling inside your mind as your eyes floated around the room. Did that shadow in the corner just move? Or was your exhaustion finally catching up with you?

“Hey.” Gi-hun’s voice ripped you out of trance like state as you flinched violently in surprise. His heavy hand carefully brushed over your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you as it rubbed back and forth slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The soft red light of the X marking on the floor illuminated his face to the point where you could read his soft expression. Worry was etched into his face. “Can’t sleep?” His voice was mich quieter now, trying to provide a little more comfort. His hand slowly made its way down to your waist as it began rubbing gentle circles there. You slowly nodded your head as you shifted your position to carefully shake his hand off.

You rolled over onto your back and Gi-hun smiled slightly. His fingers brushed some hair strands out of your face, briefly brushing over your soft cheek to savour your warmth a little more.

“Let me…” Without asking, Gi-hun suddenly gently scooted you aside to make space for himself as he crawled into your bunk bed, wrapping his arms around your smaller body. His hand began running through your hair, untying knots and feeling their softness. You uncomfortably shifted under him. “I-I can sleep on my own—“ “It’s okay, I’ll stay here.”

His voice left little space for arguments, just as much as his arms did. They were tightly wrapped around your back and waist, pressing you so firmly against his body that you could swear he was trying to absorb you. His nose brushed over the top of your head briefly, nuzzling into your hair.

“Close your eyes, I’ll keep you safe.”

⁎⁺˳ — End of the mini scenario here. —

If you ever try to tell him about how uncomfortable it makes you when he keeps on treating you like you’re incapable of being independent and thinking/acting on your own. Gi-hun first on denies being so overbearing with you and insists that it’s all you’re exaggerating, mistaking his simple kindness for whatever you’re talking about.

“Why are you so unreasonable? I’m trying to help you stay alive in these games. Don’t you want to survive and go back home? Let me take care of this, of you. You’ll die without me.”

- Idealisation -

Gi-hun put you on a pedestal the moment you came into his life. To him, you embody perfection, kindness, beauty, patience… Everything good in the world. Whoever dares to taint your image just the slightest earns themselves a night visit by Gi-hun himself to force their eyes away from you (and everything else) forever.

He’ll downplay or outright ignore all your “bad” or “negative” traits, fully believing that you could never do or feel wrong. Even your tears, your anger, your fear makes him feel absolute euphoria since you blessed him with the opportunity to witness your emotions on full display.

He sees you as his saviour and the one who will cure all of his illnesses, mental and physical. You fill the void in the man’s heart and he believes, no, knows, that you will bring Gi-hun everything he ever longer for; happiness, stability, protection, hope, absolute love and eternal devotion.

He fantasises every hour about having a perfect future with you together; a rural house somewhere quiet and peaceful, a child or maybe children (wether you want them or not), worshipping the ground you walk on everyday and come home with a new bouquet of flowers whenever he returns from grocery shopping. A fulfilling family life.

If you ever voice something that would go against his fantasies and imagination, for example that you don’t even want to marry him, Gi-hun will become visibly depressed and deflated, going as far as stopping to eat until you comfort him and shower him in attention, encouraging his fantasies once more.

- NSFW -

Gi-hun cannot control his own body anymore to the point of constantly finding his hard on pressing against the damn pants of the track suit uniform. Concealing it is hard so he either uses your pillow to cover it up and letting it rest on his lap until it finally calms and goes down or he sneaks off to the bathrooms, basically pleading with the guard to let him use the men’s room in the middle of the night.

During masturbation, you are again the only thing on his mind. He teases himself my cupping himself by the base harshly, makes himself whimper broken parts or your name by brushing his thumb over his leaving tip and drown himself in the fantasy that you are right there, with him, your hand on his cock and furiously jerking him off while the lewd Schlick Schlick Schlick sounds echo through the bathroom.

He also likes using your belongings and things to pleasure himself. Your pillow, for example. Gi-hun secretly swapped it out with yours while you weren’t looking and now has it pressed between his thighs tightly during the night when everyone is asleep, pathetically grinding onto it, thinking about where exactly he went wrong again and again as thought of your soft lips leaving burning kisses all over his body, your soft voice whispering encouragements and praises into his ear before switching around and calling him your obedient slut as you edge him over and over.

Gi-bun bites down onto the thin blanket to muffle his pathetic whines as he coats the inside of his boxers with sprays of his warm cum, his head falling back and his eyes tightly shut, not ready to leave his fantasy just yet and open his eyes to find himself back in the damn death games. He cuddles onto the thin of his blanket as if it were you lying right beside him, comforting him after such a rough and unforgiving session of imaginary praise, edging and your soft coos.

He does get more and more perverted and rather desperate at times when his fantasies aren’t enough anymore. Gi-hun lets his hand “accidentally” brush over your backside before profusely apologising over for his honest mistake. You forgive him and wave it off of course. Your forgiveness and the way you wave it off so quickly pushes Gi-hun to go further, do more, *feel* more. His hand frequently brushed over your backside, his palms gently pat on top your chest after zipping your jacket close, his fingers briefly brushing over your soft thighs while you slept, lingering close to your core but never daring to outright touch it. Yet.

When it comes to thought of sex with, Gi-hun gets all shy when even thinking about doing it with you. He isn’t the youngest and his stamina is not the best either. It was a long, long time since he felt anyone else be wrapped around his cock than his own fist working up and down so what if he forgets what to do? What if you’ll be disappointed? What if you become disgusted by him and leave him forever? He doesn’t want to think of that so he finds himself content with just finishing inside his boxers, hand and all over your pillow.

Gi-hun gets incredibly ashamed of himself after cumming to the fantasy of you being there with him, encouraging him. He beats himself up over being so utterly in love with you, such a perfect, young woman. You would never love a middle aged man like him, he is sure of it. He knows he has to somehow make you love him, at least just a little. Make you learn to love him, accept his care, teach you how to pleasure him properly, keep you all to himself and shut you away from the world, all the perverts and men that ogle you when you simply exist.

The world is too cruel, too corrupted, too perverted for a naive thing like you.

- NSFW ends here -

Gihun’s jealousy.

The moment In-ho joined his little alliance group he immediately felt inferior to him. He is intelligent, charismatic, dependable, kind. Everything Gi-hun barely ever is. It’s no wonder you got so attached to someone like him, the way your eyes sparkle when In-ho begins to talk or explain something, how fascinated you looked after he put Thanos in his place by demonstrating his strength, how you complimented his kindness after he gave his milk carton to Jun-hee. It makes him feel sick and incredibly angry at his friend for seemingly no reason other than existing near you.

Gi-hun slouches in his seat and fiddles with his fingers as he watches you have some small-talk with In-ho during breakfast. He’ll compare himself to In-ho in every way he possibly can, from his appearance to behaviour and actions.

Gi-hun watches him closely and tries to study his gestures and the way he presents himself, subconsciously mimicking everything his does in hopes to appeal to you even more.

He’ll start over analysing every single, every small interaction between you, imagining and spiralling himself into dark thoughts. He somehow fully convinced himself that by you clinging onto In-ho during the six-legged game means that you are in love with him and will end up marrying him after the games (despite the fact that you held onto your life on Dae-ho and In-ho’s shoulders, scared you’ll trip. But Gi-hun is just focused on your touch with In-ho).

Gi-hun becomes much more irrational as he keeps switching back and forth between showering you in love and affection and accusing you with trying to sleep with In-ho. One moment he is happily sharing his meal with you, admiring your hamster-like cheeks as you chewed on the food he shared with you before passively-aggressively interrogating you about why you even looked at the other man.

“You and In-ho seem to get along really well. What’s going on between you two? Are you trying to seduce him?”

It rarely happens but Gi-hun does explode out of rage sometimes, mostly when you two are alone and after letting his chronic jealousy get suppressed. He’ll scream and yell, vividly gesturing around, accusing you of everything you can be possibly accused of; having sex with him, wanting sex from him, loving him, thinking about marriage, you thinking In-ho is soo much better than him, you seducing the man… Gi-hun would’ve gone on and on, yelling and screaming at your trembling form as you were totally confused on why he was so angry if not for a guard that stepped in and dragged him back into the halls of bunkbeds with the other players.

In-ho. In-ho. In-ho. Whenever you say In-ho’s name, Gi-hun could throw his guts out or snap his own neck. He both wants to die and murder someone whenever his name slips through your soft lips. It makes him want to break your jaw so you could never utter his name again or bash your head in to the point of not being able to think about anything but himself, Gi-hun, your caring and generous future husband you don’t know about yet.

⁎⁺˳ — A mini scenario starts here. —

“You seem awfully tense. Is everything alright, Gi-hun?” In-ho’s voice sounded sincere. He scooted a little closer to his friend and leaned forward to rest his arms on his thighs, a concerned look on his face.

Gi-hun didn’t bother to spare him a glance and kept his eyes glued to the ground below him as he kept clenching and unclenching his fist. “I’m fine. Just worried about the games and all.” He lied through his teeth and turned his face away from him, earning a hum from the man beside him. In-ho placed a warm hand on his shoulder and gave it a small pat.

“If you are worrying about your darling, don’t worry. She is too smart and fast, she’s a real fighter. We’ll keep her safe together though, won’t we?”That statement shook Gi-hun to the core. We? Who exactly is we? He turned his head to finally look into his eyes, trying to see if he was trying to joke or being serious right now. He’d thought about letting In-ho purposefully die in the next game if it means to finally end this friendship or whatever it was between you and In-ho, but he always felt ashamed to think of someone like that right after. But not right now.

Right now, staring at that man’s face, Gi-hun wished he could wrap his hands around his neck and shut him up forever. Cut off all the air and watch as the life leaves his eyes, personally making sure that he will never talk, look or even breathe your way. How dare he. How dare he touch you, how dare he make smile, how dare he make you happy, how dare he do the life-long-job Gi-hun assigned to himself and only himself.

Gi-hun’s thoughts spiralled further. Surely In-ho fantasises about you too. About how the fat of your ass jiggles ever so slightly when you walk, how your chest stretches against the fabric of your jacket, how beautiful you’d look covered in his cum, how it would feel to take and taint you as his and only his.

And yet, he forced his violent thoughts away and let out a small sigh. Gi-hun nodded and turned to look away from In-ho again, not able to bear to have bim in his sight without fantasising about bashing his skull into the bed frame until his brain was mush and never able to conjure another thought again.

“Sure. Let’s keep her safe.”

⁎⁺˳ — End of the mini scenario here. —

💠

Author’s note.

Oh wow, I wasn’t nervous about posting like this since the first time I ever posted. To be fair this is kind of my first time posting about something else than Demon Slayer, soo… Also, Dae-ho is my baby, my precious. I need to hold him and tell him that everything will be okay and that it’s okay to feel scared. 🥺 Poor baby is so traumatised. Anyways, rant about Dae-ho over.

Make sure to EAT, DRINK and SLEEP enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[pandapetals]

Faking It

During sex, you fake an orgasm causing Logan to spiral. Once he confronts you about it, he wants to prove he can make you feel good without faking it.

logan howlett x fem!reader - established relationship, no reader description, no y/n used, faking an orgasm, self-loathing logan, slight angst, imagined worst logan but this gives dofp!logan too, vibes, smut, feral logan, p in v sex, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie 

a/n: idea from @yxtkiwiyxt - it ate away at my brain and being on my period really caused this to be born

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan could feel everything. Every shift in your body, every flicker in your expression, every whispered contradiction between what you said and felt. He didn’t just sense when you lied—he absorbed it, like static in the air before a storm.

Now, with your body beneath his, every nerve in him was attuned to you. The heat of your skin pressed against his, the rhythmic creak of the mattress, the broken gasps you offered him—it was intoxicating. Yet it wasn’t enough. Something was off.

The faint furrow of your brow was his first clue. At first, he thought it was pleasure, that delicious kind of tension that came right before you unraveled. But then he felt the subtle stiffness in your thighs, the shallow way you breathed, and a flicker of doubt crackled through his chest. The feral part of him that craved, that demanded—urged him forward, driving him to thrust harder, deeper, desperate to coax something real out of you. He growled low in your ear, his voice rough with need.

“C’mon, pretty girl… make a mess for me,” he rasped, his teeth grazing the delicate line of your jaw.

You whimpered, but it wasn’t the sound he was chasing. And when the moan came—high-pitched, trembling, but hollow—it hit him like a cold slap to the face. It wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real.

His hands tightened on your hips as frustration swirled with something darker, something that felt too close to shame. His feral side snarled inside him, demanding he keep going, demanding release, and for one selfish, fleeting moment, he gave in. He pushed through, riding the edge until he spilled into you with a broken groan, collapsing onto the bed beside you as his chest heaved.

The room felt too quiet after, too still. Your fingers trailed idly over his chest, your touch soft and featherlight, but Logan’s body felt stiff beneath your hand. He turned his head, searching your face in the dim light, and when you offered a lazy smile, it was like glass shattering in his chest.

“I make you feel good, gorgeous?” he asked, his voice low and soft, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Uh-huh,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him like it was nothing. Like the lie wasn’t still hanging heavy in the air between you.

Logan wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t oblivious. That tiny, fake little moan echoed in his ears, replaying like a bad song on repeat. And it hurt. God, it hurt. He’d been in your bed, in your body, but not once had he felt like he was truly with you. Not tonight.

Still, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as his thoughts churned. He held you close, feeling your breathing slow as sleep crept in, and though his arms tightened around you protectively, his mind refused to rest.

Why had you faked it? Was it him? Something he’d done—or something he hadn’t done? Did you not trust him enough to tell him? The questions coiled in his gut, twisting and knotting until frustration and hurt blurred together in a haze of anger. And yet, despite the heat crawling under his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to wake you. Not now. 

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Logan didn’t let things go easily—especially not when it came to you.

But figuring out how to bring it up? That wasn’t his strong suit. For a whole day, he sat on it, the frustration gnawing at him like a splinter buried too deep to pull out. He replayed every moment in his head: the way your body tensed, the way your fake moan had grated against his ears, the way you had smiled afterward like nothing had happened. By the time the sun had begun to set again, the weight of it had him wound so tight it felt like a rubber band about to snap. And, unfortunately for Wade, Logan’s rubber band tended to snap loudly.

The bar was dimly lit, its usual haze of stale beer and cigarette smoke clinging to the air. Logan sat nursing a whiskey he’d barely touched, his mood written all over his face. Wade, of course, was oblivious—or maybe just ignoring it. He leaned on the counter beside Logan, rambling on about some escapade Logan hadn’t bothered to keep track of. His jaw clenched tighter with every passing second until Wade finally poked the wrong bear.

“You’ve been pissy all day,” Wade said, squinting at Logan like he was examining a strange animal. “Let me guess, you finally found someone who doesn’t think your claws are sexy? Or—oh, wait—” Wade’s face lit up with a spark of mischief. “You’re telling me you couldn’t make your girlfriend orgasm?”

Logan stiffened.

“Oh, peanut,” Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he was genuinely heartbroken. “Say it ain’t so! The big bad Wolverine, all growls and muscles, and—nothing? Nada? No fireworks?”

Logan’s hand slammed down on the bar, the sound sharp enough to make a few heads turn. He rounded on Wade, eyes blazing, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, so maybe shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you.”

Wade blinked, and there was a beat of silence—a rare occurrence for him. But it lasted all of two seconds before his lips quirked into a grin. “Ohhhh, I hit a nerve, didn’t I? Don’t worry, champ, it happens to the best of us. Well, not to me, obviously, but—”

“Wade.” Logan’s tone cut through the air like a blade. The room seemed to drop a few degrees as Logan pushed himself up from the barstool, his knuckles white against the edge of the counter. Wade threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright! Geez, no need to go full Wolverine on me.” Wade stepped back, but not without muttering under his breath, “Touchy subject, huh?”

Logan ignored him. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the bar, his mind racing. Wade might be an idiot, but even idiots could land a hit when they weren’t aiming. The truth was, the jab had struck too close to home. He didn’t care about the idea of failure, not really—not when it came to anyone else. But with you? It felt like a crack in something he hadn’t even realized was fragile.

When Logan got back to your shared space, you were curled up on the couch, your feet tucked under you as you watched TV. The sight of you—so calm, so untouched by the storm that had been raging inside him all day—made something snap loose in his chest. He couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Can we talk?” His voice was gruff, but quieter than you expected, almost hesitant.

You glanced up, surprised. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little before settling on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Last night,” he started, his voice strained. “Somethin’ was off. I know it. You know it. And I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

Your stomach twisted, guilt pooling in your chest. “Logan, I—”

“You faked it,” he said bluntly, cutting to the heart of it. His eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and the vulnerability there nearly knocked the wind out of you. “Why?”

The word hung in the air between you.

You swallowed hard, turning the TV off and shifting in your seat. “It wasn’t you,” you said quickly, wanting to get that part out first. “I mean, it wasn’t because of you. It’s… me.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied you. “What does that mean?”

You took a deep breath, your hands twisting in your lap. “I’ve been in my head lately,” you admitted. “I’ve been… struggling. With work, with stress, with feeling like I’m enough. And I guess last night, I just—” You hesitated, looking away. “I didn’t want you to feel like you weren’t enough. So I faked it.”

Logan stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled a low sound that was more frustration with himself than anything else. “Darlin’,” he said, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to fake anything with me. Ever.”

“I know,” you whispered, your throat tight. “I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” Logan’s voice sharpened, and he leaned forward again, his hands reaching out to take yours. “You think that’s what this is about? I don’t care about some… performance. I care about you. And if somethin’s wrong, I wanna know. I wanna fix it, not pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you gave a small nod. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just… tell me when something’s wrong, okay?” His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, his voice softening again.

You managed a small smile, squeezing his hands. “Okay.” 

Logan’s lips brushed your forehead before he pulled you into his arms. His touch was warm, and grounding, but there was something beneath it—something deliberate. His hands settled on your hips like he was afraid you might pull away.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “let me make you feel good.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine—”

He cut you off with a shake of his head, his thumb brushing over the curve of your waist. “No, you’re not,” he said plainly, his tone gruff but tender. His eyes met yours, intense and unwavering, and his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “You’re stressed. I can see it. I can feel it.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down your arms, calloused fingertips trailing a path that sent shivers racing across your skin. “Let me take care of you,” he said, his voice softer now, more coaxing.

And honestly? There was no denying it. The idea of Logan worshipping your body—of losing yourself in the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed—was too tempting to resist. You swallowed hard, your lips parting slightly as his gaze dropped to your mouth.

“I mean…” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it wavered as his hands slid lower, settling on the backs of your thighs. “If you insist…”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh, I insist,” he drawled, his grip tightening just enough to make your stomach flip. Before you could process the thought, he was lifting you with ease, his strength as effortless as it was intoxicating.

The world tilted as he carried you to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He laid you down with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache, his broad frame hovering over you. His lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and your breath hitched as he kissed his way down, the scrape of his stubble sending sparks skittering across your skin.

By the time his hands found the waistband of your underwear, you were already melting under his touch. He peeled them off slowly, his eyes darkening as they roamed your bare skin. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with desire.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words dissolved into a soft gasp as his lips trailed lower, his mouth hot and insistent against your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, grounding you as he shifted lower, and the anticipation coiled in your stomach like a live wire.

“Logan,” you whispered, his name slipping from your lips like a plea.

He glanced up at you, his smirk returning as he settled between your thighs. “Relax, darlin’,” he murmured, his hands spreading your legs with deliberate care. “Let me take my time with you.”

The first press of his mouth was soft and exploratory, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Logan was nothing if not thorough, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that left you breathless. He watched your every reaction, the flicker of his eyes on you making it clear he was entirely in control—but completely devoted to you.

Your hands tangled in his hair as the tension inside you built, his name falling from your lips in broken whispers. He hummed against you, the vibrations making you arch into him, and he responded by gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

And when you finally came undone, shuddering and gasping beneath him, Logan didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling as your body shook with aftershocks.

“Not done with you yet, pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly. His lips curved into a wicked grin, and before you could catch your breath, he dipped his head again, his mouth finding you with renewed purpose.

Time blurred after that, the world narrowing to the feel of him, the sound of him, the way he seemed utterly consumed by the act of worshipping every inch of you. By the time he finally let you catch your breath, your body was boneless, your mind a haze of blissful exhaustion.

Logan crawled up the bed, his lips brushing over your temple as he pulled you into his arms. His hands, still warm and steady, skimmed over your back, grounding you in the aftermath of it all.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft now, full of quiet satisfaction.

You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face in his chest. “You could say that,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Logan chuckled softly as he kissed the top of your head. His hand rested against the small of your back, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Good,” he murmured, his tone laced with smug satisfaction but dripping with affection. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

You nodded weakly, still catching your breath, your body feeling boneless in the aftermath of his touch. Every nerve was still humming, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. But then you felt it—a shift in the air, a change in the weight of the bed as Logan leaned forward.

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see the smirk tugging at his lips, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. He hovered above you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His lips brushed over yours in a soft kiss making your heart stutter. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely above a whimper.

“I know,” he replied, his breath warm against your lips. “But I’m not done with you yet.” His voice was a low growl, rough edges softened by something tender and utterly consuming. “I just want to make you feel so good.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your head sinking back into the pillows. “You did, Logan. I promise—”

He cut you off with a smirk, the curve of his lips playful and dangerous. “Okay, then,” he drawled, his tone dropping to something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “If you’re good, I want to hear you whimper my name.”

Before you could protest—or agree—his hand slid down your body, his touch slow and deliberate. His calloused fingertips brushed over your stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, before they dipped lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively arching toward him as his hand moved closer, teasing and torturously slow. Logan’s gaze never left yours, and the intensity in his eyes made your pulse race.

“Logan…” you moaned softly, his name slipping from your lips like a reflex as his fingers finally slid between your thighs.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble of satisfaction. His touch was firm but unhurried, exploring you with a focus that made your head spin. His thumb moved in a way that had your legs trembling, and when his fingers pressed exactly where you needed them, your back arched off the mattress, a gasp spilling from your lips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if he couldn’t quite believe the way you were unraveling beneath him. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—all you could do was feel. Logan was relentless, his lips brushing against your neck, your collarbone, and your shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses that made your skin tingle. He alternated between soft and demanding, his touch a perfect balance of control and devotion.

“Logan,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking on the syllable as the pressure built impossibly high, teetering on the edge of something devastatingly good.

“There it is,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, his lips ghosting over your ear. “That’s my girl.”

The words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and with one more perfectly placed movement of his hand, you shattered. Your body arched into him as pleasure crashed over you, wave after wave, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Logan didn’t stop right away—he worked you through it, his hands steady, his lips murmuring quiet praises against your skin as you rode out the high. By the time the tremors subsided, you were trembling, your body utterly spent.

He finally pulled his hand away, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its absence. Logan leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss. 

“Still with me, darlin’?” he asked, his voice soft, his smirk replaced with something gentler as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You managed a weak nod, your body still buzzing, and Logan chuckled, the sound warm and rumbling.

“Good,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His hand slid up your back, holding you close as your head rested against his chest. “Because I think you’ve got one more in you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your cheeks flushing. 

“What?” Logan murmured, his smirk teasing and wicked as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. His breath was warm against your skin, and the way his lips lingered made your stomach twist with anticipation. “Told you, I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could reply, his hands began their slow descent, tracing the curves of your body with deliberate care. His palms were warm and rough, gliding over your hips and your thighs. Every touch felt like a promise he had no intention of breaking.

“Logan…” you started, but your words dissolved into a shaky exhale as his fingers found the sensitive spot just above your knee, kneading gently before sliding higher.

He shifted above you, his movements unhurried, his gaze dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you sprawled beneath him. “You can take it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You watched as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, the fabric slipping down his hips in one fluid motion. The sight of him, the sheer confidence in how he moved, made your breath catch. He tossed the pants aside without a second thought, his smirk deepening as he leaned back over you, his body heat radiating against your skin.

“Give me one more,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. His tone was soft but commanding, his words rolling over you like a wave, pulling you under.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, though it was breathless, tinged with disbelief at his sheer audacity. “I thought this was supposed to be about me feeling good,” you teased, your voice light, though your heart was pounding.

Logan’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin, but his eyes burned with intent. “Oh, it is,” he drawled, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you flush against him. “But I’m pretty damn sure you’ll feel real good giving me what I want.”

The heat in his gaze sent a fresh rush of anticipation coursing through you, and you felt your teasing resolve falter. His fingers trailed over your skin, mapping every inch of you as if he were committing it to memory. When he shifted lower, pressing his lips to your collarbone, then to the soft curve of your breast, his mouth was hot and insistent, each kiss drawing soft gasps from your lips.

You barely had time to process the way his teeth grazed over your skin, sending sparks skittering down your spine, before his hips pressed against yours, his body slotting against yours perfectly. His movements were slow at first like he was savoring every reaction he pulled from you.

Then Logan whispered, husky and dripping with that dark, primal edge, “I want you to feel it everywhere, darlin’—every inch, every second. No faking this time.”

Your breath hitched, the intensity in his voice making your head spin, your body arching into him in a silent plea. Logan’s lips curved into a knowing smirk against your skin. His hands were everywhere—gripping, teasing, worshiping—making it impossible to think, let alone resist the pull of him.

As his mouth found yours, the kiss was all-consuming with the addictive mix of dominance and tenderness only Logan could manage. You clung to him, your hands sliding over the planes of his back, your nails digging in just enough to make him groan against your lips.

“You feelin’ good yet?” he teased, his voice low and rough, thick with need. His lips hovered over yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath, but not quite touching, a maddening taunt that sent a fresh wave of anticipation rolling through you.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, desperate to ground yourself as his pace shifted. He moved deeper, his hips rolling in a way that made your back arch off the bed, a gasp tumbling from your lips before you could stop it. The deliberate rhythm he’d kept moments ago began to unravel, his movements growing more intense, more insistent.

“Logan,” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, shaky and breathless.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he growled, his voice rumbling in his chest like a distant storm. His lips brushed over your jawline, leaving a trail of heat as they trailed down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his teeth grazed your skin, a soft cry escaped you, your body tightening beneath him.

He groaned low, the sound vibrating against your neck, as your nails dug deeper into the muscles of his back. “So good for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise.

Your response came in broken gasps and soft whimpers, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Each thrust was deliberate, calculated, but they grew harder, deeper, until your body melted into the mattress, pliant and trembling under him.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, white-hot, and electric until it felt like you might come undone. You couldn’t think, speak—could barely even hold on—your body responding to him instinctively, as though it were made just for this.

“Look at me,” Logan rasped, his voice pulling you back to him. Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, to find his gaze locked on yours, burning and unrelenting. “That’s it, pretty girl. I want to see you.”

His hips pressed into you again, hitting the spot so devastating that your eyes rolled back and a broken cry escaped your lips. You clung to him, your body trembling as pleasure surged through you, raw and overwhelming. His name spilled from your mouth in a whisper, soft and reverent, and it only seemed to spur him on.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his voice rough and frayed, his movements driving you higher and higher. “Just like that.”

When you finally broke, the world seemed to splinter apart, the sensation crashing over you in waves so intense you could hardly breathe. Your body arched into his, your thighs shaking as your release consumed you, dragging you under.

Logan slowed, his touch gentler now as you trembled in his arms. He pressed soft kisses to your neck, shoulder, and temple, breathing heavily and unevenly against your skin.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now, warm and teasing as his lips ghosted over yours.

You managed a weak nod, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks, and he chuckled, his breath tickling your cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his tone low and full of quiet pride. He tucked you closer against him, his arms wrapping around you protectively, and you let yourself melt into his warmth, utterly spent but completely safe in his embrace.

[pinkboaclub]

Sweet Thing [part two]

[First Part Here!]

Summery: You and Harry are best friends, despite your 15 year age gap. One night, when your blind date goes wrong, he wants to make sure your night still ends in pleasure. [Older!Harry]—continued.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: essentially just smut, age gap (15 years), fem!reader

You came down from your orgasm, still laying in Harry’s embrace, leaving light kisses along his neck. After you got your energy back, your mind was one in one thing; getting upstairs.

You grabbed his hand, stood up, and quickly led him to the stairs.

“Eager girl.” Harry cheekily remarked.

“Need you to catch up, you still have all your clothes on.” You said as you arrived in his room. You didn’t give him enough time to respond before turning around, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him.

You both grabbed the bottom of his sweater, pulling it over his head. You back up towards his bed, unbuckling the belt wrapped around his jean bell bottoms.

You felt the back of your legs hit the bed, the bed you had slept in countless times, the bed you had dreamed of this very moment in. For some reason this made you more nervous.

Your hand traveled up Harry’s abdomen, feeling the outline of his abs. The abs you had accidentally felt before when you had been innocently cuddling.

Your hand went back down to his pants, you felt yourself start slowly dropping to your knees. Harry’s breath got a little heavier almost matching your nervous breathing pattern, but not quite.

You took off his belt, throwing it to the side, and carefully pulling down his jeans, letting him slip out of them.

You felt your heart against your chest as your fingers wrapped around the waistband of his briefs.

“Is this okay?” You softly asked. He gave you a sweet smile in response, bringing his hand to your face and rubbing his thumb on your cheek.

“Better than okay, keep going, sweet thing.”

When you felt the head of his cock brush against your lips, your mouth opened automatically. It made your mouth water like you craved it. You knew there were a lot of people out there who hated giving blow jobs, including yourself at times, but at this moment, you had never craved something more.

You grasped the base of his cock and began running your tongue around the tip. Although Harry made you feel safe and confident like nobody else could, you found yourself wanting to make a good impression. You had to breathe through your nose as you tried not to choke. You moaned in the back of your throat, enjoying yourself thoroughly.

Harry let out low, soft grunts at the feeling of your moans against his cock. Hearing his breathing become heavier in the room made you more turned on than you could have ever imagined feeling.

His hand went up to your head, brushing some of your out of your face. He made sure to be gentle with you, not wanting you to feel any pressure to go beyond your limits.

As you got comfortable with him and yourself, you felt yourself wanting more. You wanted him dominating you, fucking you until you screamed.

You felt your head going faster on his cock, grabbing his thigh, giving it a squeeze as almost a way to center yourself.

You pulled back, gasping for breath. Before he could say anything, you were back at him, sucking him off in earnest. Your mouth suctioned tight over him as you went up and down his cock, your hand twisting gently at the base.

“Take what you can handle, baby.” He let you know, though he didn’t mind what you were doing. You pulled him off again.

“I know what I can handle.” You replied, his breath hitched at the naturally seductive look you gave him. The sweet girl he had been best friends with for so many years was now on her knees in front of him, her mouth expertly sliding up and down his cock, her breath soft and steady against his skin. He had always dreamed of this moment—of letting himself give into everything he had buried deep inside—and now, it was more than he ever imagined. The age gap, the years of friendship, the countless moments that led them here didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Both of you couldn’t wait anymore, without saying anything, you both layed down on his bed, going back to kissing. Your mind knew you could stay like this forever, but your body wanted more.

Your hand squeezed his hard, large bicep, a signal that you were ready for him. He moved his fingers away from you, shifting position and you felt his hard cock brush against your inner thigh, before he slid into you, not stopping until he'd bottomed out.

A moan escaped your lips, a moan that felt like you had been saving it for this exact moment. You did the only thing you could think of, the one thing you knew would get him moving in you. You began to tighten and relax your inner muscles, massaging his cock deep inside you. You felt his entire body shudder before he grunted, his fingers digging so hard into your hips you knew he'd leave bruises.

He began to move, his thrusts deep and slow, each glide making you moan. He was perfectly proportioned, long and thick enough to fill you just right. Every thrust sent your nerve endings on alert, making the hair on your body stand at up.

You looked at his face, entirely focused on pleasing you, nothing had turned you on this much before.

“Harry, it’s so good.” You cried out in a whisper.

“You’re feeling good, sweet girl?” Any words you had left your mouth, you would be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined him calling you his numerous pet names for you in this exact scenario.

“God, Harry….please go faster.”

He lifted himself up to gain a better angle before quickening his pace. Uncontrollable whimpers left your mouth, leaving him in awe of you.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so perfect.”

You could feel your eyes roll back, sensation overwhelming you. He was going to tease you to death, but what a way to die. Your arms wrapped tight around his arms, holding on for dear life.

You were a sobbing, incoherent mess, your body straining for release. You could feel the muscles of your pussy pulsing and contracting on each glide of his cock, but it wasn’t enough. You needed him to fuck you hard.

“Mm, Harry,” you felt yourself become a bit more shy.

“What do you want, sweet thing?” He lowered himself to your neck kissing along its entirety. “Tell me what you want…anything, I’ll give it to you.” His breath was hot against your skin, sending a shudder throughout your body.

“Don’t want you to hold back.” You rubbed the back of his neck, making eye contact with him, letting him know you were serious. “I can handle it.”

You started to lift yourself, he did the same, letting you adjust. You turned around facing the head board and arched your back.

You heard Harry take another deep, as if he was collecting himself. He grabbed your hips, letting one of his thumbs rub side to side in a reassuring motion.

He slid into you, making sure to pay attention to your body, letting you properly adjust to him. Which you definitely needed to do.

Once he found a nice rhythm, he didn’t let it go–continuously, thrusting into you–the sound of heavy breathing, moaning, and skin slapping in the room as he tightly gripped on to your hips.

“So perfect, baby.” He took your moans as encouragement he was doing good. “Such a perfect pussy.”

“I love your cock, Harry.” You moaned.

“Yeah? How much, sweet thing?”

"So so much," you managed to get out, your chest heaving with every breath that you tried to take. Your walls clenched tighter around him. "Gonna c-cum," you managed to get out, the coil in your lower belly tightening and tightening with each of his sloppy thrusts.

He reached down to your clit, rubbing circles around it, helping you reach your orgasm. You felt your legs begin to uncontrollably shake, the most euphoric feeling you ever felt running through them.

"Good girl." He lowered himself to your ear, talking you through your orgasm. “Shhh, that’s it, there you go, let it happen, bunny.” He halted his thrusts and rubbed your back, letting you calmly come down from your high.

He took his cock out of you and helped you flip onto your back. He grabbed one of your hands and kissed all over your face, making you let out a giggle.

“We don’t have to keep going, if you can’t handle it.” He said, in a reassuring tone.

“No, no,” You grabbed his cock, beginning to jerk him off. “I told you I can handle it.” You kissed up his neck, getting to his ear, and biting his earlobe. “Cum on my face.”

His breathing stopped, his face almost freezing in disbelief.

“And here I was thinking you were this sweet, innocent girl.”

You climbed off the bed, dropping to your knees again. Switching between jerking and sucking him off. His hand stayed on the back of your head, guiding you through your motions.

You looked up at him before his abs began to flex and his breathing got slightly quicker.

“Gonna cum, sweet thing.” He took over, rubbing his hand up and down himself. You closed your eyes, letting him finish on your face. Giving any light kisses and licks to his cock you could sneak in as he jerked himself off.

“Wait here.” Your eyes stayed closed, but you heard him walk to the bathroom, turning on the sink before making his way back to you. “I got you.” He wiped your face completely clean, kissed your lips, and helped you up.

“Why don’t you go take a shower, put on some pajamas—or not—and I’ll go get you some water and something to eat.” He suggested, holding your face in his hand. You nodded, and began to walk to the bathroom, you felt yourself blushing when he talked to you. Of course you had been best friends with him for a while, but you couldn’t help feeling nervous around him at this moment. Your stomach filled with butterflies as you watched him slip on some sweat pants and head downstairs.

You finished your shower, deciding to put on clothes, but only one of Harry’s shirts. Surely this was a nice middle ground of putting on pajamas and staying naked.

When you walked out of the bathroom, Harry was just pulling off the blankets, preparing to get in. He had placed a glass of water and a chocolate chip cookie on the nightstand.

“What do you think will be a worse hangover for me, getting drunk or having mind blowing sex?” You asked, getting into bed next to him.

“Mind blowing, huh?” Harry clarified, raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been told that before. I’m sure you get raving reviews.”

You drank your water and ate your cookie, cuddling close to Harry, watching the tv show he had put on.

“Oh, look at this!” You remembered the light marks you had seen in the shower.

You lifted up your shirt–well, his shirt–and showed him the pink finger marks that he had left on your hips. He ran his thumb over them, a little surprised.

“I’m sorry, I must've gotten carried away.”

“Oh, no…I think it’s hot.” He laughed, bending down and leaving kisses along the mark. “You’ll have to leave darker ones next time.”

He chuckled again. “So there will be a next time?”

“I would hope so. Will there?” You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Of course, don’t think we can stop, we’ve opened the floodgates.”

“Literally.” You both laughed and he pulled you closer and kissed you on the head. “But for now, let’s get some sleep, I can already feel my legs getting sore.”

[rafeysbangs]

⋆˚✿˖ ↷ab riding with rafe

warnings ; mdni. suggestive? not entirely smut..., ab ridiing obviously, kinda fluffy angst.

notes ; someone sent an ask with this but midway through writing this before it just disappeared off the face of the earth :( anyway to whoever sent the ask - this is for uuu. also i wrote this as a more angsty suggestive fluff fic i hope you enjoy it still !

the room is bathed in dim, golden light, the kind that makes everything feel hazy, dreamlike. the soft hum of the air conditioning is the only sound, a stark contrast to the rapid beating of your heart as you straddle rafe's lap. he's lounging on the plush sofa in his bedroom, shirtless, the toned expanse of his chest and abs on full display, and his hands rest lightly on your hips, as if he's waiting for you to make the first move.

“you’re staring,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. his voice is low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. his blue eyes gleam with mischief, though there's something deeper there too, something softer, reserved only for you.

“just... appreciating the view,” you reply, your voice teasing but breathless. the words make his smirk deepen, though the intensity of his gaze never wavers.

his abs shift under you as he shifts slightly, leaning back further into the couch, giving you full control. “appreciate all you want, baby. i’m not stopping you.”

there’s a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes, though. even as he teases, you know this is more than just playful banter for him. rafe, the man who’s always been so guarded, so closed off, is offering himself to you in ways he’s never offered to anyone else. and it’s not just physical. it’s trust. it’s the walls he’s built so high coming down, brick by brick, just for you.

your fingers trail along the ridges of his abdomen, tracing the lines that define his muscles. he’s impossibly warm beneath your touch, his skin smooth but taut. he’s watching you, his breathing slow but deliberate, as if he’s trying to steady himself. it’s a rare moment; to see rafe cameron unguarded, vulnerable, completely at your mercy.

“you’re so serious,” he murmurs, his tone softer now. “you’re gonna make me think you’re nervous.”

“i’m not nervous,” you lie, though the way your voice wavers gives you away. his smirk returns, and his hands tighten ever so slightly on your hips.

“good,” he says, his voice dropping lower, sending a thrill through you. ‘cause you’ve got no reason to be. you’ve got me, baby. i’m yours.”

you’ve never been able to get used to the way he says things like that, so openly, so confidently, even when you know it’s a big deal for him. rafe cameron, who’s always been the one to push people away, is now pulling you closer, letting you see every raw, messy part of him.

slowly, you start to move, your hips rocking gently against him. his hands guide you instinctively, finding the rhythm with you. his head falls back against the couch, a low groan escaping his lips as his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters, his voice rough with need. his hands slide up your sides, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a way that makes your heart race even faster.

but it’s not just about the physical connection. it’s about the way he looks at you like you’re his entire world. the way his walls come crashing down when he’s with you. the way he lets himself be vulnerable, open, raw, things he’s never been able to be with anyone else.

as the intensity builds, you lean down, your forehead resting against his. his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world fades away. it’s just the two of you, tangled together, hearts pounding in unison.

“i’ve got you,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you.

his hands tighten on you, his breath hitching as he nods, his eyes never leaving yours. “and i’ve got you,” he says, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. “always.”

in that moment, you realise just how much he’s given you. not just his body, but his heart, his soul, his everything. and you know, without a doubt, that you’ll never let him go.

taglist ;  @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @foolishangelic @i2rapunzel @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafestoothbrush ( feel free to ask to be added! idm! )

[inthehystericalrealm]

Thinking about Pre-Death Best Friend!Reader x Red Hood!Jason Todd who craves the intimate personal connection and affection he once had with you but is so terrified of letting people in that he watches from the sidelines to make sure you’re okay. All he wants is you to be happy.

Jason Todd who hasn’t tried to see you since he came back. He’s seen his family, albeit mostly reluctantly, but he can’t bring himself to insert himself back into your life. Not the way he is now. You won’t want him the way he is now.

Jason Todd who made your apartment a key feature of his patrolling route, your workplace too. You still sometimes walk home alone at night despite how often he told you not to back in his Robin days. You’re just as stubborn as ever and though he worries for your safety, the sense of familiarity it gives him provides a semblance of comfort when everything about him feels so unbelievably wrong now.

Jason Todd who had to try and hide in the small bookstore you both frequent recently. It’s quaint, cozy and feels like taking a step outside of Gotham every time he visits. Something so homey doesn’t belong in this city. Though he supposes it makes sense that you would be here, you feel just as much like home to him. He’s too big to hide behind the shelves standing, so he finds himself crouching, pretending to be looking intently for a novel on the bottom shelf of the classics section. He hasn’t moved an inch since he heard the bell chime, and your voice carry through the space as you shook your damp umbrella off on the doormat. He listens to you chat with the young kid working the counter, picking up a special cloth-bound edition of Pride and Prejudice you’d ordered earlier in the week. It makes him smile, you’d always said you hated classics, that they were boring, until you’d both laid down under the big oak tree that sat on the edge of Wayne Manor’s grounds and let him read it to you. He remembers the sunshine, dappled, and filtering through the leaves. He remembers the way the light kissed your face. How he wished he could do the same. Even then. But he was afraid. Too afraid to risk losing your friendship, the only real one he’d ever had. He’s still too afraid. He supposes not everything about him has changed.

Jason Todd who has accidentally (he thinks, maybe, mostly) started to run into you as Red Hood. Softly knocking on the window from your fire escape. Behaviour uncharacteristic of ‘Red Hood the vigilante’ as you knew him, supposedly gruff and imposing. Asking quietly to monitor an ongoing situation from your fire escape. It really was the best vantage point. Some goon posted himself in the shady alley between buildings, selling drugs to local kids and he needed to make sure he wouldn’t come back again after Hood had put the fear of god in him the night previous. He tries to tell himself that the roof would have obstructed his view too much. If you don’t know about Jason he can’t hurt you so this is okay. You of course say yes. You’ve heard what people have to say about Red Hood, adults and the elite who spit his name with vitriol, but you’ve also seen the kids on the street who excitedly wait for their daily high five from the masked man. You know who you believe. You bring him a bottle of water halfway through the stakeout, you shrug lightly in response to his thank you and return to reading on the couch. Window open, sheer curtains blowing softly in the light breeze. He can’t remember a time he felt so calm.

Part 2

[cross-d-a]

Jod Na Nawood’s backstory is FASCINATING!! And makes SO much sense!!! Order 66 fucked up SO much in the galaxy, it’s so interesting (and tragic) to see what it’s done to the force sensitive children who were unable to be taken into the Temple. It truly supports how GOOD the Jedi Order is. How good the JEDI are. I can’t even fully comprehend everything the galaxy lost and suffered without them. And- Jod’s master. She didn’t have to take him in. He knew that. He knows she was desperate. But she took him in anyway and taught him what she could. We only get a very tiny glimpse of that backstory but it’s utterly gut-wrenching.

Imagine the survivor of a genocide. A Jedi on the run, desperate and hungry and grieving, running into a little kid just as lost as her and seeing that LIFE in him. Feeling the FORCE in him. What would that have done to her after feeling everyone she knew and loved ripped away from her. But here is this kid and he needs help and maybe she does, too. Maybe they can help each other. And so she folds him under her wing just as any Jedi would have done. She teaches him the ways of her people, knowing that their way of life lives on in her and that she is passing it on to a new generation. And that probably hurt. It probably hurt SO much. Because she can’t give him what she could have if the Order was still alive. And he’ll never understand what it means to be part of something so beautiful and long-lasting. But she does what she can, and they maybe never would have met if Order 66 didn’t happen. And it’s an awful thought, the worst kind of thought, but she can’t help but be relieved they found each other. Because she loves this lost little kid and maybe they’re broken together, but they’re more whole together, too. And maybe without Jod she could have run and hid forever. Maybe she couldn’t have, plenty Jedi were caught and murdered. But she knew the risk and she took it- and the way Jod talks about it (“they made me watch”) makes me think that he feels he’s responsible for her getting caught. And it makes me wonder how she felt when she was caught. Knowing she was one of the last of her kind, and that this kid was going to be alone again. Orphaned in a completely new, terrible way.

And I wonder, too, if looking after the kids reminded Jod of his old Jedi Master. And maybe he thought “I can’t get attached because then they’ll catch me too and I’ll die just like her.” And you know what, Jod? It did happen that way. You got caught because of those kids. But only because you forgot what it means to be a Jedi, which is to say that after your Master died you tore out that softness within you. Abandoned love for fear. Exchanged generosity for greed. And it’s true grief and trauma changes people. That a little kid alone in the galaxy does what they can to survive. But Jod isn’t a little kid anymore and it doesn’t excuse the choices you make. It’s a wretched world, one without a Jedi, and Jod suffered all the more for it.

And I wonder, too, what Jod thought when Wim paused in the elevator. When that little kid called out to him, despite everything Jod had done to him. Did Jod look at Wim and think: “Yeah, that’s what a Jedi would be” and then hate himself all the more for it? Well, who can tell. Jod is a fascinating character and I’m excited to see where the show next takes us.

[shysuccubusstuff]

Boyfriend! Caleb:

Content: SFW headcanons; jealousy

Note: Thanks for this one fanart of Caleb falling for MC's tactics just cause he loves her too much. Have you all noticed that I'm now turning to more SFW content? I feel as if I'm turning from a crow into a dove--. Btw, thanks for all those who like, comment and reblog my content, it makes me feel very happy!! Hope everyone is having a great week.

Caleb, who suddenly returns after his apparent death, face just as handsome as the one you saw every night in your dreams. He returns to you just as suddenly as you both met, and as you go rushing to hug him, you notice something strange in his demeanor. His face is smiling, yet it is apparent that there is something else in his gaze... some kind of hunger, something primal that he had been trying to lock away.

Caleb, who starts to act cold towards you, trying to run away from every little physical contact you tried to do, his mind still conflicted as he was now aware of what had truly brought the two of you together. It wasn't Josephine's love for the two, but something much more obscure... something that he was trying to keep hidden from you as long as he could try, at least.

Caleb, who starts to warm up to you. He starts to allow your touches, even if these are just minimal, but what starts with light brushes between each other's fingertips, soon turns into the both of you holding hands, with you creating excuses such as: "being afraid of getting separated in the middle of the Glint Photoboot" or "needing some comfort as you have grown scared of the darkness". Despite Caleb's head moves in disagreement, he does as you ask him, taking your hand and enveloping your whole hand with his as he lets a whisper escape his lips: "You never change...".

Caleb, who starts to go back to his old ways. Caleb's hands are always there for you, reaching out in case you trip while walking. Other times, his hands are held out for you while the two of you share a little treat together, his hands playing with yours as he listens to you speak about how today's work was much more difficult than usual, or how you really wanted to check that new place that had recently opened in the city center.

Caleb, who almost falls to his knees the moment he hears your confession. The two of you were drinking some tea at your place while watching some corny old soap opera, when you suddenly spoke those words: "I wouldn't mind us becoming a couple." He looks at you for a few seconds, his shock being apparent as his hands start to shake a bit, he moves closer to you, just enough for him to see your full face. "...What... what do you mean by that?" Caleb's purple orbes lock with yours, face slightly flushed as he tries his best not to burn his hand with the recently boiled water that he was carring inside the teacups. "I love you, Caleb, wasn't I clear enough during all these months?" Caleb's face becomes even redder, his hands start to shake even more, quickly leaving the cups in case he would actually spill them. "I... I just thought you were still thinking about our childhood--- I never imagined that you would actually--..." Caleb's words start to blend with each other, his mind rushing as he tried to understand everything that was going on at that moment. Irritated, you suddenly approached him, your hands locking behind his neck just so you could pull him closer, your lips crashing against his in a fast kiss.

B! Caleb, who finally surrenders to your approaches, allowing himself to become more and more starved. His hands start to move from your hands to your hips, his thumbs making small circles over it as he waited for you to stop talking with that grey haired man that lived nextdoor. Caleb standing behind you as he keeps glaring at him with an unamused look, his arms wrapping around your waist as a less threatening way of showing his closer position as not only your childhood friend, but your boyfriend.

B! Caleb who loves posting things with you. He is the kind of guy who loves having a private yet public relationship, the one that loves posting photos of the two of you, always avoiding showing your face in case someone of his work tried to get a bit too close to you. he just can't help it you know? Having a pretty girlfriend is so hard when he has to keep restraining himself from trying to get you as attached to him as possible.

B! Caleb who loves sharing the bed with you, his hands wrapping around you as he nuzzles against the crook of your neck, his hair tickling you as he starts to doze off, his breath slowly steading as he is finally able to rest. After twisting and turning for over ten minutes, you were about to get up, but just as you were about to do so, Caleb started to grunt, his nose scrunching as he started to hug you with more strength as you kept trying to get him to release you. "...Don't go... I love you." Caleb's grip only tightens, one of his legs suddenly wrapping around yours as if he was some kind of trap. "Just sleep... shhh." In the end, you have to surrender, moving a bit just so you could hide your face on the curve of his neck, his comforting scent making you feel at ease and slowly making you drift to sleep.

[charmedimsure]

Partners in (busting) Crime

pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x f!reader

summary: You bond with your new partner Jun-ho

word count: 2.5k

warnings: drinking. i think that's it

A/N: gotta write something with my OG squid game boy 🫶. if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

You smirk as a motorcycle rounds the corner, holding a man without a helmet and a girl on the back. "This one's all your's, newbie."

He sighs, a small grin on his face. "You know, I've been a cop longer than you have."

"Well, you're new here, so that makes you the newbie." You practically push him out of the squad car.

Jun-ho rolls his eyes, approaching the pulled over vehicle. "You're not wearing a helmet. Your license, please."

"Damn it," the man groans. "Isn't this entrapment? Hiding to catch people is shady. You want to squeeze money out of broke citizens?"

"Your license, please."

The man hands it over. You watch as the girl behind him gets off the bike.

"Hold on." She walks up to your partner. "Look can't you just let us go. I'm wearing one."

Jun-ho looks at her. "No, ma'am."

The girl smiles at him, bending to get a better look at his face from under his hat. "Hey, you're really hot."

You nearly choke as she squeals, crossing your arms and leaning against the back of the squad car, an amused smile on your face.

"I could charge you with obstruction," Jun-ho says, not even looking at her.

"You're a tough cookie," she says. You need to hold yourself back from bursting out laughing, feeling actual pain from your efforts when she pulls out her phone and starts posing for selfies with your partner, who is still ignoring her existence.

The ticket prints from Jun-ho's vest, and he walks to the man on the bike, the girl following him. "The fine for not wearing a helmet is 20,000 won. Pay it on time."

"Hey, can I post this picture online?" The girl asks.

"Yes please," you say under your breath, a few chuckles escaping your mouth.

"Are you on Instagram? Let's follow each other!"

The man starts his bike and drives off, leaving the girl standing there. She chases after him, and this time you can't hold back your laugh as she curses him out and throws her helmet at him.

Jun-ho laughs at the scene before turning to you, already knowing what's about to come.

"Why didn't you follow her on Insta?" you ask, a teasing smile on your face. "That could've been the start of something beautiful."

Your partner rolls his eyes, a smile on his face as he walks to the driver's side of the car. "She's not my type."

You walk to your side of the car. "I don't understand what's not to like. She could be your own personal fan girl." You mimic her squealing, jumping up and down and clapping your hands. Jun-ho laughs and gets in the car, you following him.

Jun-ho had been transferred to your precinct for traffic about a month ago, and you had been assigned as partners two weeks ago. So far you've enjoyed having him as a partner. For one, he's competent, which is definitely a good thing. He also has a sense of humor, something that your last partner lacked. He had requested a new partner when you put childproof locks on everything in his cubicle. When you pulled the same prank on Jun-ho, he just laughed it off. And, of course, that girl wasn't wrong - Jun-ho is very easy on the eyes.

"Alright, Officer Picky," you say as you close the door. "What is your type, then?"

Despite trying to quell it, a feeling of nervous hope bubbles inside of you.

"Definitely moms," Jun-ho says with a smile. "The older the better."

You let out a loud laugh. "What about grandmas?"

"Even better," he chuckles.

You smile fondly at him, and he gives you a confused look.

"What?"

"I'm just so happy you're not lame like my last partner," you chuckle. You slap the dashboard of the squad car, leaning back in your seat with a mischievous smile. "Let's go! Crime doesn't wait for us!"

Jun-ho playfully rolls his eyes as he starts the engine, pulling off the side of the road and back onto the street.

<>

Jun-ho smiles as you point the radar gun at the squirrel running down the street in front of the car.

You turn to him, an amused smile on your face. "That squirrel is going 32 in a 25. Should we bring him in?"

"He's getting away, it'd be a lost cause," he says.

You curse under your breath. "We'll get him next time."

Jun-ho laughs. He's been on traffic for six months now, and he's been enjoying it much more than he thought he would. There's definitely a lot less stress on him than there was as a detective. It's much less dangerous, so his mom is happy with the change.

He also has to give credit to you for making traffic enjoyable. Your humor keeps patrol from getting boring. And he'd be lying if he said he doesn't enjoy being around you. Watching the smile bloom on your face when one of you makes a bad joke is highlight of his day. He's not sure when your laugh became his favorite sound, but he does know that he doesn't think he can go a day without hearing it.

"So," you say, dragging out the O. "Some of the guys are going to grab a drink tonight. Are you coming?"

Jun-ho feels his heartbeat quicken just a bit. "Uh, yeah, I think so." He feels heat rushing to his cheeks. "Are you?"

You smile, biting your bottom lip as you nod. Jun-ho is startled by his urge to pull your lip free with his thumb. Instead, he grips the steering wheel.

"I'll see you there, then." He looks back at the road. "Oh, there's the squirrel!"

You gasp, flipping on the siren. "Let's get him!"

Jun-ho quickly turns the siren off, scolding you through his laugh.

<>

You step into the bar, immediately locating your coworkers based on the amount of noise they're making. With a small laugh to yourself, you walk over to them, clapping one on the back as you come up from behind them. "I have never met a louder group of people in my life."

They all cheer when they see you, raising their beers in greeting. One of your coworkers orders one for you, and you thank the bartender as they put it in front of the stool you're getting on.

"So what have I missed?" you ask, raising the bottle to your lips.

"Da-hae was drooling over that girl by the window," someone says, making everyone burst out laughing.

The man in question's face turns red. "Was not!"

"Yeah, he wasn't drooling," your friend Sun-hi says. "He was just staring like a psychopath."

You nearly spit your beer out, leaning on Sun-hi's shoulder to laugh.

Yong-gi, another one of your coworkers, looks toward the back of the bar, waving for someone to come over. "Jun-ho, come on. Your partner just got here."

You turn to see Jun-ho approaching your group with a bashful smile on his face. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. He's wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt that perfectly hugs his biceps. He picks up his beer, giving you a teasing smile. "Nice of you to finally join us."

You put your hands up in fake surrender. "Considering I had to stop home first, I actually made it here in record time."

"So Jun-ho tells us you tried to arrest a squirrel today?" Yong-gi laughs.

"He was breaking the speed limit and I took a sacred oath to protect this community. Jun-ho's the one who let him get away!"

<>

After about an hour of laughing and joking, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, Sun-hi following right behind you.

Once you're done and come out of the stall, Sun-hi smiles at you through the mirror. "So, are you finally gonna make a move on Jun-ho tonight?"

You look up at her, startled, making her laugh. "Please, you looked like you wanted to fuck him right there in the middle of the bar." She takes her chapstick out of her bag, reapplying. "You should go for it."

You shake your head, turning on the sink and getting soap. "Yeah, because it's such a good idea for me to try to hook up with my partner. He definitely won't request a transfer after that."

She smiles. "I don't think he would. That boy wants you just as badly as you want him."

You roll your eyes, turning off the sink and grabbing a few paper towels.

"I'm serious!" she defends. "You guys remind me of me and my husband before we started dating."

You sigh. Sun-hi and her husband are absolutely perfect together. You can only hope to have a relationship like their's someday.

"Look, if he says something, I'll say yes, but I'm not gonna mess this up. He's the best partner I've had and I'm not going back to another lame one."

Sun-hi groans. "Fine."

<>

Jun-ho takes a sip of his beer, nodding along to the story Da-hae is telling him, though his eyes are on you. He watches you bend over the pool table, subconsciously sticking your tongue out as you focus on the striped ball you want to get into the socket. You hit the cue ball and it knocks the 10 ball right into the hole, and the triumphant smile on your face as you add to your lead against Yong-gi has Jun-ho breaking out in a smile of his own.

"Are you even listening to me?" Da-hae asks, breaking Jun-ho out of his little trance.

"Yeah, man," he says.

"What was I just talking about?"

"Uhh, crime?"

Da-hae rolls his eyes. "You have got to ask her out already."

Jun-ho raises an eyebrow at his fellow cop. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you've been looking at her like a love-sick fool ever since you transferred here." Da-hae points towards the bar. "And because if you don't, someone else will."

Jun-ho follows his finger and sees a man standing with his friends, his gaze on you in a way that ties Jun-ho's stomach in knots.

"She's a good person, and so are you," Da-hae says, clapping a hand on Jun-ho's shoulder. "Don't miss out."

Jun-ho nods, taking another sip of his beer. Another coworker of theirs comes over and changes the subject, but his mind stays on Da-hae's words.

<>

The clock hits midnight, and most of the cops have left, needing to get up for another shift tomorrow. You and Jun-ho are two of the last to leave, both having off the next day.

Jun-ho feels a hand on his shoulder and turns his head to see you standing next to him. "I think I'm gonna head out. I'll see you Monday, though."

Jun-ho turns to you. "Let me drive you home. I was planning on leaving too and that way you won't have to pay for a cab."

You smile, nodding your head. You both say goodbye to the few that are left and head out to Jun-ho's car.

The ride to your apartment building is uncharacteristically quiet. Not uncomfortable, but quiet. You've driven with Jun-ho more times than you can count, it's literally your job, and usually the car is filled with chatter and laughter. Tonight, however, a peaceful silence envelops you like a nice, fluffy blanket.

He pulls in front of your building and an idea pops into your head, making you turn to him. "Hey, while I have you here, can you come take a look at my thermostat? It's been acting up."

"Yeah, no problem," he says, following you out of the car and up the stairs to your floor.

You unlock your door and step inside your apartment, letting Jun-ho walk in after you. He smiles as he sees your place, the comfy throw blankets messily hung over your couch, obviously used very often. This isn't the first time Jun-ho has been in your apartment, but he notices new things every time he comes.

Your digital picture frame catches his eye, smiling as he sees pictures of you and your friends and family. His face softens when another picture pops up. You're sitting in the squad car, smiling at the camera and throwing up peace signs as Jun-ho face-palms in the background at a bad joke you had made. He laughs at the memory, getting your attention.

He smiles at you, pointing to the frame. "I didn't think I'd make the frame."

You feel your cheeks heat up knowing that he saw that. "You're one of my closest friends, of course you're on there."

His heart flutters knowing that he's an important person in your life. You lead him over to the thermostat, leaning against the wall by it. Jun-ho removes the cover, checking the wiring.

You take the opportunity to admire the man in front of you. His hair falls perfectly over his forehead, his face scrunched up in concentration. Jun-ho may be the most perfect person you've ever met, both in terms of looks and personality. It's crazy that he's single. And here you are, doing nothing to show him your feelings.

Jun-ho lets out a small "aha", snapping you out of your thoughts. He holds the rubber around one of the wires, carefully pushing it into the socket. You hear the air turn on and smile.

"Good work, Officer," you tease.

He puts the cover back on with a smile. "You're welcome, ma'am, anything to help a citizen."

You lightly slap his arm, making him break out laughing. "What have I said about calling me 'ma'am'?"

"To call you it as much as possible."

You slap him again, making him laugh harder. "I said don't call me ma'am." You continue hitting him.

"Okay, okay, stop assaulting me," Jun-ho chuckles, catching your wrist before you can hit him again. You move to hit him with your other hand but he catches that wrist as well, smiling down at you. He examines your face, memorizing every detail. Da-hae's words from the bar echo in his mind. Finding his courage, Jun-ho releases your wrists, cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling you into him.

You gasp in surprise as his lips land on yours. You quickly recover, though, running one hand through his hair and putting the other on his chest, feeling his muscles.

Jun-ho pushes you against the wall, smiling against your lips. He pulls back, keeping his forehead against your own. "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that."

You smile up at him. "Me too."

He leans back in, kissing you again, enjoying the feeling of you against him. You happily kiss him back, opening when he darts his tongue out to trace your lips.

You pull back this time, looking at the man with a smile on your face. "Y'know, the others probably had bets on when this was gonna happen."

Jun-ho lets out a laugh. "We should mess with them. Ruin all their bets."

"I knew I liked you for a reason," you say, kissing him again as he chuckles on your lips. That can wait for Monday, though. All that matters right now is that he finally got the girl.

~

Squid Game Tags: @thebiggestigurosimp @vvnbxz @lov3yy @miltzzy

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

[cc-nadama]

Feelings, It’s Been Too Long Since I Felt

Inspired by a Mustafa Avşaroğlu song

Summary: When a series of innocent encounters with the cleaning lady led to a more intimate relationship, Viktor finds himself absolutely smitten.

Pairing: Viktor x cleaning lady!reader

Rating: Mature

Expected Content: There are no sexual acts depicted in this work. However, there is a passionate kissing scene.

Word count: 2,440

To @the-californicationist, thank you for your kind words and advice. I finally wrote something that I felt proud of sharing.

———

Even in his deepest moments of solitude, there was this undeniable feeling—a yearning that Viktor could never shake. It was this bothersome inkling, incessant in its demand and fervent in its inclination. Forever present in his lonesome existence and forever there to remind him of his growing need for companionship.

With each passing day, the notion remained. It festered like an ill-begotten wound, clawing into his flesh until it gnawed on his weary bones. Soon, his mind became a feverish haze, lost in a stream of consciousness that delved into the primal depths of his imagination.

For hours, Viktor sat. His gaze was turned towards the window, watching the silver light filter into his laboratory. His space was a mess, cluttered with various contraptions and inventions, the metal machinery glinting underneath the pearlescent glow. Somewhere, a faint yet constant hum filled the empty air, a noise that barely kept him from the brink of silence.

Within his hands was a small device, a partially constructed piece that kept his idle hands busy. Yet, despite his best efforts to keep his mind from conjuring visages of you, it was all met in vain.

For a brief moment, Viktor caught a faint whiff of your perfume—the delicate notes of lavender and vanilla flitting in the air until it swirled around him like a tender caress. Suddenly, memories of you rushed into his mind like a babbling brook. Every little detail came to him so vividly. The way you looked into his eyes with that sweet little smile. The lovely sound of your voice while you rambled on about your day. The feeling of your fingers running over his skin.

With a shuddering sigh, Viktor slumped into his chair and closed his eyes. He was fraying at the seam, practically unraveling from the mere thought of you. The moment he had gotten a taste, you became a craving for a man who never knew he was starved. You became his reckoning—the reason behind the fall of a brilliant scientist. If you were to ever disappear from his life, Viktor would be in absolute pieces. You became his everything.

It was a simple yet profound epiphany, one that dawned on him the night you slept in his arms. Your weary head was pressed against his firm chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sleep. His slender arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him while the two of you lay on his bed.

Somehow, that night stirred something deep within him as he watched you. His gaze was tender, eyes tracing the features of your face and counting the moles and freckles along your skin. Viktor spent those blissful hours studying every little detail, committing them to memory.

“Viktor? What are you doing, it’s a quarter past midnight.”

Your voice was a delicate sound, one that complimented the peaceful stillness in his laboratory. Amidst the constant humming and thrumming, devoid of the usual clanging and thrashing, your voice was the perfect harmony that soothe his aching heart.

Within an instant, Viktor turned in his seat to meet your gaze. Even under the dim moonlight, the amber in his eyes were smoldering with emotion—something so raw and intense that it left you momentarily stunned. Before Viktor, no one had ever looked at you that way. It was as if you were the definite solution to a once insoluble equation.

For a fleeting second, nothing else mattered. Whatever words you were supposed to utter next had died on your tongue. In the absence of speech was the weight of unspoken meaning—sentiments that were never fully expressed but entirely felt. It lingered heavy in the air, begging for someone to bring it to attention.

Then, Viktor cleared his throat and looked away.

“I needed to finish some work.” He gestured to the device in his hand before placing it on his desk. He spoke in an even tone, belaying the inner turmoil stirring deep within his core. Somehow, a simple cleaning lady was turning him inside out.

Unlike his stoic delivery, what tumbled out of your trembling lips was a sheepish reply,

“Well, you should—uhm—call it a… night.” You suggested, your voice barely even an audible mumble.

You watched the corner of his lips twitch into a crooked smile, his voice sounding softer than when he last spoke. When Viktor met your gaze again, the heat behind his eyes softened—replaced with a promising warmth that made your stomach flutter.

“I suppose I could use the rest.”

Viktor made a small hum before he lifted himself from his chair. His movements were careful, using his cane to support his crippled leg. Even with the subtle hobble in his step, his stride remained purposeful. There was nothing that could stop him from walking towards you. Viktor was always determined to cross the distance, especially when it meant he could be with you in the end.

Soon, the two of you were walking down the hallway side by side. It was a long journey from his laboratory to the dormitory, navigating through several intersections and winding corridors. But, whenever Viktor had you with him, it made the ache in his leg a little more bearable.

You listened to the sound of your footsteps padding against the marble floor, noticing how the tip of his cane would make a soft clack at the same moment. It was an easy melody, one that filled the comfortable silence.

“How have you been?” Viktor finally spoke. His heart was racing—building a thundering rhythm he was sure you could hear.

It was an innocent question. One that either of you would ask on any given occasion. Viktor knew about the misgivings of your work, having witnessed some of it firsthand. Yet, he always loved to hear your recounts—rather, he loved to hear your voice when you did so.

“The usual.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing the small smile that curved his lips. It was almost unusual to see him like this—content and at peace. Viktor was a man of relentless ambition. Yet, whenever you were with him, Viktor seemed to forget about his work. Instead, all he could focus on was you. You were what mattered most in that moment.

“The councilors had a gathering earlier. Had to clean after them…” You continued, relaying the events of your day while knowing how trivial it was to a distinguished scientist like him. Yet, unbeknownst to you, Viktor needed to hear something mundane. His mind was like a loom—constantly weaving equations and theorems. He needed to hear something unrelated to his work, something monotonous and ordinary.

“I missed you.” You remarked suddenly.

Within an instant, Viktor snapped his head to the side. He looked surprised, not expecting you to say something so bold. His lips were opening and closing, searching for the right words to say.

“I… I missed you too.” He mumbled a reply. But, beneath the twilight, you saw how his eyes gleamed with sincerity.

Then, the both of you stopped.

“How have you been, Viktor?” It was your turn to ask, and when you did, you saw how his lips curved into another smile.

“Restless—until you came.” It was an honest answer. Because throughout the day, his mind was nearing the brink of hysteria. You were driving him practically insane.

Then, the two of you continued to walk, rounding the corner to where his dormitory was.

It was only when you stood in front of his door did you meet his gaze again, noticing something swimming beneath the amber of his eyes. It was almost indiscernible—yet, it made your core blossom with warmth.

“Would you like some tea?” Viktor inquired as he opened the door, gesturing for you to enter.

“That would be lovely.” You smiled in reply before stepping inside.

A few of the curtains were still drawn from this morning, offering a faint pearlescent glow to an otherwise unlit apartment. He followed you from behind, closing the door until it made a click. Then, he made his way into the small kitchen, pulling the kettle from the shelves so he could boil some water.

Whenever the two of you had your little meetings, it always began with a good cup of tea. It became a tradition—something that Viktor looked forward too.

You ventured deeper into his room and took a deep breath, smelling something familiar. It was his scent—woody, musty, and with a delicate note of vanilla. It reminded you of an old book, where the pages were browning and the ink was fading.

His room reflected his simplicity, keeping to the basic necessities while staying true to his academic pursuits. You walked over to the side of his bed, your hand tracing over the grains of his wooden bookshelf. It displayed a few of his favorite collections, with titles written in his native tongue while others pertained to the sciences.

You undid the front buttons of your jacket, folding it over the backrest of his chair.

Meanwhile, Viktor watched you from the kitchen, his eyes following your gentle movements. While the kettle remained on the stovetop, boiling on low heat, he walked over to you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, the sound of his cane mingling with the soft patter of his footsteps. Then, it came to a stop just a few paces behind you.

When you turned around, you saw his slender fingers undoing his necktie and the first few buttons of his dress shirt. He gave you a knowing smile before glancing over to the bed.

“I could say the same about you.” You replied, the corners of your lips twitching into a cheeky grin. Even under the dim light, you could see the playful gleam in his eyes.

So, you kicked off your shoes and jumped into bed. Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, removing his loafers before he settling in beside you.

You lay your head on his chest, a finger tracing a gentle pattern over his skin. His nose was buried in your hair, an arm wrapped around your waist. Viktor pulled you closer to him until your bodies met, pressed impossibly close. Underneath the layers of clothing, you could feel his warmth seeping into your skin, stoking a fire deep within your core.

“I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.” Viktor whispered, his lips grazing your forehead.

You tilted your head back, wanting to meet his gaze. You could see something simmering beneath the amber of his eyes—something so intense. His desire for you was humming deep within his bones, his fingers twitching as it yearned to touch you.

Slowly, you leaned in, closing the space between you by millimeters a second. Then, your lips brushed against his chapped ones, soft and testing, wanting to see whether he would pull away. When he didn’t, you fell deeper into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close. The kiss deepened and you could feel the coolness of his fingers against your flushed cheek, hands moving to cup your face.

Viktor hummed in response, his eyes fluttering close as he melted into the kiss. Your head was spinning from the excitement, your heart pounding in your ears. It sent you into a blur of pure want, desperate to feel more of him. Your lips were moving in tandem with his, suddenly feeling something warm prod against your bottom lip. You made a quiet and pitchy sound, almost like a suppressed whine of surprise,

“Mm!”

Viktor hummed and continued his exploration, slipping into your mouth. You could feel his tongue gently moving inside, stirring something deep within your core that made you blush. It was becoming too much for you to handle, your head now dizzy from the sudden rush.

Your breathing became ragged, out of tune with your usual cadence. It was frantic and without pace, sucking in breaths whenever you could. It was only when Viktor broke the kiss did the both of you breathed again, panting heavily like a pair of dogs. Underneath the pale light, you could see his swollen lips glisten and parted while he took in a series of quick and sharp breaths.

“You make me feel things… I never thought possible.” Viktor muttered, his hands still cupping your face. His thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his touch light and tender.

There were no words to describe the feelings you had for him. It was profound, with no words or adjectives to do it justice.

“Viktor…” You whispered his name like it was a prayer, so soft yet reverent. Your voice was shaking, still trying to recover from the last kiss.

Without sparing another moment, his lips crashed into yours. He pulled you even closer, desperate to feel your body pressed against his while he poured his everything into one earth-shattering kiss.

In that moment, nothing else mattered—only you.

His blood was running hot with excitement, his heart blaring in his ears. Viktor felt like he was going insane. All the yearning, all the wanting, has now culminated into one fervent kiss—it was chaotic, overwhelming, like a maelstrom of emotions.

You were sinking into his kiss, completely and utterly ruined from the unrestrained passion he unleashed. You never expected to feel something so fierce from a man like Viktor. He was always controlled and immune to his impulses. Yet, when it came to you, he felt like a crazed man without reservations.

“Miláčku…” He muttered into the kiss, his voice strained and breathless.

You could hear something whistling, something sharp piercing into the quiet night. It took you longer than a minute to realize what it was, not exactly caring for whatever else was happening in the moment—except for Viktor.

Unlike you, the man heard nothing. His frantic movements remained that, fervent in his desire and consumed in the kiss. You muttered something incoherent, trying to catch his attention,

“Viktor… the kettle.”

He only hummed in response, not even stopping to hear you better,

“Viktor… kettle.” You mumbled again, a little louder this time.

His movements stuttered, as if he was beginning to realize that the kettle was indeed piping in the kitchen.

“Let it be.” He replied, his voice scratching deep in his throat. Before he could resume the kiss, you interjected with a more scolding tone,

“Viktor… we have neighbors…”

With a loud and reluctant sigh, Viktor conceded. He pulled away and gathered himself to stand.

“Fine.”

———

[loverboysturn]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ popular!chris tells some of the football team all about his little secret

wanted to post this before i start working on the blurb where they finally meet because it will just make everything all make more sense :) also how exciting that the next thing i post for this au will be them meeting!!!!!

my asks are always open for this au! you can find all writings for it here and everything else for it here!

chris was stood by his locker in the changing rooms.

the heavy bass of the music blaring through the speakers, as usual. the beat of the song playing was pounding throughout the room. the rest of the team scattered across the room, all getting ready for practice, talking and laughing, all discussing the upcoming weekend.

this weekend was the annual fancy dress fundraiser and it was a big deal, especially to the team. it was the one night of the year where everyone came together for one massive party as the whole school was usually in attendance, from the jocks to the quiet kids, all packed into one place, it was hosted by the football team to raise money for new equipment, gear and all the things they needed to get through the season. this year, especially, everyone was hyped, and the pressure to raise more money than they had last year was on. chris had been playing well recently, and he knew that just like last year, he expected to be the center of attention all night, but this year was different.

the party had been on his mind a lot but not in the same way as it was for the guys, this year it wasn’t just about getting black out drunk with his friends and raising the funds for football, it was the night he was finally going to meet you in person, the girl he’d been talking to for months, the girl who despite everything, made him feel like he was more than just the football captain, your conversations had turned into something he wasn’t sure how to explain, a connection that now felt so much more intense to him than anything else he had ever experienced, in his world full of constant pressure, you were his little bit of sanity and all he wanted now was to put a face to the words that he had become so attached to.

he’s snapped out of his thoughts of you when he hears matt across from him calling his name, “yo chris, you good?” he says, looking over at him, “you’re so zoned out.”

chris shakes his head, trying to shake off the thoughts that had started to creep up on him. “yeah fine, just fuckin’ tired man.” he mutters, grabbing his helmet off the bench and adjusting his pads.

“what you thinkin’ about? can see something is on your mind.” matt asks, not convinced.

“nah, i’m alright, just thinking about the weekend, still don’t know what i’m dressing up as.” chris mutters, his mind drifting back to the party and the secret he was keeping.

nate, who was stood next to them overhears and sits himself down next to chris, “bro what do you mean? i heard little miss cheerleader is telling everyone that you’re going together” he chuckles, “there’s no way she has left getting your outfits this late.”

“actually..” chris says, feeling ready to confess to his brother and best friend, “i’m not going with her.”

nate's mouth falls open in disbelief and his eyes widen as if they are about to fall out of his head with the shock of chris’s confession, "what the fuck are you talking about?" he laughs, "does she know that? she was bragging in biology this morning about how you’re going matching again”

chris leans back against the bench he was sat on, crossing his arms, shooting nate a look, “yeah, well, it’s all a little more complicated now and we aren’t together anymore, we haven’t been for months.”

“wait…” matt’s tone quickly changing to one of realization, and he raises an eyebrow. “you’ve met somebody else, haven’t you? you’ve been acting weird, being all fuckin’ mysterious and shit for months, all your late nights and always being on your phone is all making sense.” he says, before adding, “i knew it, i fuckin’ knew it. nick owes me fifty dollars”

chris glances between matt and nate, unsure of how much to reveal. he had never shared anything about you with anyone else, just because he wanted to keep you all to himself, “she’s someone i met online over the summer break,” chris says, keeping it vague, but he knows no matter how vague he keeps things, it wouldn’t stop them from asking questions, especially nate who was the biggest gossip chris knew.

nate looks more confused than anything now, leaning in, voice dropping to a whisper, “what do you mean online? you’ve never met her?” he asks.

“no nate, online as in i don’t actually know who she is” chris shrugs before quietly adding, “i met her on that fuckin’ anonymous student forum app during summer break, she doesn’t know who i am”

“oh my god, man” nate smacks his knees and stands up, “this is wild” he says, but before he can say anything else, chris quickly grabs the bottom of his shirt pulling him back to be sat back down.

“listen, keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about her, okay? i don’t want any of the team finding out until i have told ‘little miss cheerleader’ that i can’t go with her to the party” chris says, sternly. “i don’t want anything to fuck this up and i don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“i think it’s kinda hot actually, all the mystery of it all is sexy” nate laughs, “don’t you agree?” he looks over at matt who is quiet, just looking at chris with an almost concerned expression.

matt stands up, grabbing his helmet knowing the conversation was coming to an end, for now, as they needed to get on the field for practice, “as long as you know what you’re doing,” he says, his eyes locking with chris’s. “it’s cool that you’ve met someone new but just be careful with it. shit like this could get complicated real quick, especially if you’re finally meeting face to face.”

chris meets his brothers gaze, feeling the weight of his concern. “i’ve got a good feeling about this and i promise you i know what i’m doing, i wouldn’t be this far in with her if i didn’t.”

matt nods, giving chris a light pat on the back as they make their way towards the tunnel to the field.

“i knew you’d been less grumpy recently,” nate smirks, “it’s all that phone sex you’re having” and before chris can say anything back to that, nate is running down the tunnel and away from him.

[thewertsearch]

GG: Does this have to do with your crazy pen pal project? GT: It most certainly does and time is of the essence! GT: Today is the day i have to finish it and send it. Not a day later!

So Kid Bro was also contributing to Project Tyler. He's a Bladekind specialist, so maybe he's the one who sourced the Royal Deringer for her arsenal.

I have no idea how he'd get his hands on such a powerful sword, especially outside of Sburb - but this is still Bro, after all. He's impossible.

GG: This would be the birthday present… for your grandmother? GT: No! GT: It is for your grandfather simply to be relayed to him by my grandmother. A joint gift to him from she and i.

Jake knows that the bunny's meant for John, but it's hard to tell if he knows which John he's sending it to. He might not even know that there are multiple Johns in the equation.

GT: I am sending the gift back in time to when they are both alive and about our age. GT: Or… GT: Something like that. Something funny is going on here that i have not fully grappled yet but dag nab it if im not gonna see it through.

Asked and answered. Jake English has no idea that he's an old man's reincarnation, and he sincerely believes that his pen-pal is a girl from the early 1920s. I was about to argue that Jade must have demonstrated some awareness of modern culture during their correspondence, but Skaia probably just told her to hide it.

Anyway, Jake can tell that something's not right about this situation - but without knowledge of the Scratch, it's basically impossible for him to arrive at the correct conclusion. He's stumped.

GT: Look jane i know youve never believed me and you think everything i say is some big cockamamie goofoff but i think today of all days is when you should start taking some things more seriously. GT: Especially since i have always had your back. I have always believed in you! GG: Hey! I have believed in you too. GG: However, believing somebody isn't the same thing as believing IN somebody.

Jane, for her part, doesn’t seem to know anything. Crockercorp have successfully kept her in a Sburbless bubble, and have her doubting all testimony to the contrary.

I'm sure the Condesce has made sure that none of her friends can provide tangible proof of what's really going on, ensuring that Jane is isolated, out of the loop, and unable to trust her loved ones. There’s a wedge driven between her and her co-Players that may widen further, if the right pressure is applied.

GG: But that much said… GG: I think that maybe I am getting ready to believe some of the wild stories I've heard? [...] GG: I had a really wild dream last night. GG: And you were in it.

But there's nothing they can do to contain her Dream Self.

Today is the day that Jane wakes up.

GT: What was i doing there? GG: Um… GG: Not a heck of a lot!

...unlike Jake, apparently.

It's a little strange that he's less connected to Prospit(?), despite being far more immersed in Sburblore than his friend.

[carbonfiction]

i’m a resident jean hater because she’s really not all that (she makes me insecure as hell because she’s tall and slim and i’m short and just a liiiittle bit stout) and plus she only has that hot demure boring energy like wheres the fun in that? boring ahh hell😹plus she’s got a fake ass MD. would logan immediately lose interest in her the second charles hires the new young social studies teacher that prances in with her big framed specs, bouncy fat rack curls and nervous disheveled bubbly personality? she has so many facts on the top of her head from all the wars he fought and what?? he also sees her in the lab??? she has a plant mutation and she dabbles in biology???? AND she was in law school????? so she’s got a mouth on her… and when he finds out by eavesdropping that she’s a virgin and a squirter one night that the girls all confess secrets he loses it, completely tuning out jean’s confessions. he wants to ruin that smart girl 🐱 so bad.

can i please take the 🐳 emoji as an anon because this is my third ask and i’m both the bathtub and glasses anon i LOVE to yap

DEAR ANNNONNN HELLOO!! god im so sorry this took so long to reply to🥲 but you ABSOLUTELY can have🐳!!!

Honest that is so real as a fellow stout girlie (despite being on the slightly taller end)

Personally I just could never get into movie jean for a litany of reasons; i was and still am so much more of a storm and rogue kinda girl. And Especially within dynamics w logan; storm as a relationship interest is everything to me. (Ill never forget or forgive for what they took from us dofp stormverine kiss getting cut)

But logan and a fairly 'innocent' mouthy smart girl??? Oh that man is following like a puppy. He his obsessed.

I feel like he would love a smart girl so much. Theres just something so alluring about someone so confident in their knowledge and skills. not to mention the cocky twang of pride that threads through him whenever he sees you correct someone on a piece of info; never condisending but explaining the actual fact to who whomever got confused. (likely poor scott which instantly wins you extra brownie points bc you?? Gorgeous and smart girl happily correcting scott on a mistake??? His knees are buckled)

But there issss another perk of him having a smart, inexperienced girl.. And thats when he can turn his smart, headstrong princess all dumb.

When simple touches from his fingers, tongue and eventually, cock can all change you from chatty, brainy and sometimes even a little bratty into a babbling, brainless mess soaking through his sheets.

Getting to finally fuck the brains right out of his cleverest girls pretty head by way of her tight puffy cunt? Truly his favorite thing at the end of a long day.

(I rambled my way through this im so sorry- is it even cohesive idk?? but i do have manymanymany thoughts on smart girl reader that i might have to expand on at some stage..)

[sylver-star]

hi your writing is so cute!! could you please please please write getting married w vernon?? thank you! can't wait to see how this turns out!

❝ Like Fate ❞ - Chwe Vernon x reader

a/n: thank you! i have a hard time picturing how vernon would have a wedding, so i decided to just write a quiet moment between them

genre: blurb, fluff, established relationship, marriage word count: 722 warnings: mentions of alcohol rating: PG / SFW

Disclaimer: My works are fictional and do not reflect real-life situations, cultures, or individuals. All characters are purely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

Embarrassing childhood photos had been shown, speeches had been delivered, and now the venue was filled with the sounds of laughter and the rhythmic pulse of music. The celebratory atmosphere had gradually turned into a lively frenzy, with most people dancing, drinks in hand, and everyone letting loose. But as the night wore on, you found yourself growing more and more tired, the excitement of the day catching up with you.

Vernon, ever the attentive husband, had noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor. After offering a quiet, understanding glance, he gently led you away from the crowd, guiding you to a small, tucked-away corner where the noise seemed a little more distant. It was a cozy, intimate nook in the venue, a small space with dim lighting and a few scattered chairs. Despite the venue’s modest size, it felt like everything you’d ever wanted for this moment—a simple, private space to catch your breath.

Now, seated on a low window sill, you leaned your head against Vernon’s shoulder, savoring the peaceful stillness for a moment. Your dress, which had seemed so pristine hours ago, now hung a little limp with the weight of the evening, but you didn’t mind. Everything had been beautiful: the ceremony, the speeches, the way Vernon had looked at you when you said your vows. It was all more than you could have hoped for.

But as the noise from the party reached a crescendo and you felt the tug of exhaustion pulling at you, you let out a soft sigh. “Today was really nice,” you said quietly, almost as if to yourself. “Even if I was shaky during the ceremony, it was very nice.”

Vernon turned his head slightly to look at you. His eyes were warm, filled with affection, and when he spoke, his voice was steady and reassuring. “You weren’t shaky,” he said firmly. “You were perfect. You are perfect.”

You smiled faintly, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting a gentle halo around his face. The room around you seemed to blur and spin, but you weren’t sure if it was from the couple of drinks you’d had or if it was simply because Vernon had a way of making you feel like you were floating in some dreamlike state, completely consumed by love. Maybe it was both.

“You make me perfect,” you replied, your voice light, playful, yet filled with sincerity.

Normally, you’d both laugh your asses off at how cheesy that sounded, but tonight felt different. Maybe it was the quiet, intimate setting, or maybe it was the sheer joy of the moment, but neither of you could hold back the goofy smiles that tugged at your lips. There was something undeniably sweet about this quiet corner, this rare space where it was just the two of you, sharing something that was uniquely yours. You glanced down at your hands, now intertwined, and you couldn’t help but trace the smooth, cool surface of the wedding band on your finger, still unfamiliar, but infinitely precious.

“I can’t believe that we’re married,” you murmured, your voice soft as if saying it aloud would make it even more real.

Vernon hummed in agreement, his fingers gently squeezing yours. From somewhere in the background, you could hear someone—Soonyoung, you thought, though you couldn’t be sure—belting out the lyrics to one of your favorite songs. The music was a distant backdrop to the calm stillness between you and Vernon. His thumb stroked the back of your hand absentmindedly, his focus entirely on you.

“I don’t think I could be happier,” Vernon said quietly, his voice full of warmth and certainty. He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, lingering there just for a moment. “Like, this was meant to be or something.”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow at him. “You believe in fate?” you asked, half teasing, half curious.

Vernon paused, his lips quirking into a thoughtful smile as he gave it a moment of consideration. His expression shifted playfully as he wrinkled his nose slightly, as if trying to decide how seriously he should take the question. Then, with a sudden burst of confidence, he broke into a grin so wide it made your heart flutter. “With you?” he said. “Absolutely.”

[capquinn]

Quinny thought that popped into my head and now I can’t stop thinking about it!!

Taking a bath with Quinn would be so intimate and relaxing especially after a long day. Back pressed against his chest and he’s lazily running his fingers up and down your arm, your hands resting on his thighs. Just enjoying the quiet and peaceful moment together. Nearing the boundaries of something more with occasional grabs or touches but just loving the feeling of having each other’s touch on them

Oh.....my God. The seeds you have planted in my mind, sweet nonny.....

Taking a bath together absolutely feels like the kind of thing that happens after an especially long or frustrating day — one of those evenings when you both need to just be together without the noise of the outside world. He’d suggest it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal, but you’d catch the softness in his eyes when he says, “c’mon, let’s just relax for a bit.”

The water is always the perfect temperature, warm and soothing, and he’s thought of everything — candles because the bathroom light is far too bright, a soft playlist in the background, even a towel folded neatly nearby because Quinn’s nothing if not prepared. You’d climb in first, settling into the heat with a small sigh, and then he’d follow, his movements unhurried, deliberate, as he eased himself in behind you. The second his arms come around you, his chest against your back, it’s like the world outside doesn’t exist anymore.

He’d keep it simple at first — his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm, the occasional hum of acknowledgment when you talk about your day. He doesn’t say much, not because he’s disinterested, but because he’s just so content to listen, to let you fill the space with your voice. Sometimes he’d press a kiss to your shoulder, soft and lingering, like he’s quietly reminding you he’s there, that he loves you.

“Feel better?” he’d murmur at some point, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers dip lower, idly skimming across your forearm. And when you nod, sinking further into him, he’d chuckle softly, the vibration of it a low hum against your back.

But then, as the minutes stretch on, the touches would change — still tender, still Quinn, but with an edge of something more. His hand would slide along the curve of your hip, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that makes you shiver despite the heat. Your fingers would shift too, resting more firmly on his thighs, squeezing lightly every now and then, like you’re both testing the waters without saying a word.

“You’re trouble,” he’d whisper eventually, a teasing lilt in his voice as you lean your head back against his shoulder to meet his gaze. His eyes would crinkle at the corners, that soft, lopsided grin tugging at his lips as his fingers dip just a little lower, skimming across your stomach.

“Me?” you’d tease right back, though your voice would come out softer, breathier, because every touch feels like it’s unraveling you just a little more.

And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? The way you can toe the line of something more, letting the intimacy build at its own pace, or just let the moment stay quiet and comforting. Either way, being in his arms, his touch steady and grounding, is all you need.