#gen x music hour

[clatterbane]

Jane's Addiction - Ain't No Right (Official Video)

[pariahfox]

Viagra Boys - Just Like You | Audiotree Far Out

...

[Lyrics]

There is also the, erm, cinematic masterpiece of their original video for this one.

[solradguy]

Nothing has ever come close to replacing the void left behind when Last.fm stopped doing their "artists similar to this" radios. 2009 was something else with that thing, tell you what. Found so many bands on there that I still listen to nearly 15 years later...

[thepersonnamedsam]

you already know how much I love gen z driver! could you maybe write something of how would it be if gen z reader’s birthday happened to be during one of the gp���s? how everyone acts and makes it all about her?

happy birthday!

pairing: the genz!driver x '23!grid

summary: it’s the genz!drivers birthday, and it just happens to be the miami gp!

word count: 1.7k

warnings: some swear words and some google translated spanish and dutch :)

note: oh i just love all of your request, especially that one, bc i’m a birthday lover myself! have fun reading it and feel free to request more!! <3

masterlist/ taglist

The first people to congratulate her, were her parents. They called her, in the middle of the night; they forgot that time zones exist. But her heart was full when she picked up the phone at 3AM and both of her parents where singing ‚happy birthday‘ to her. What wasn’t so good, was that she had to be asleep, because it was a Sunday and race day! But it didn’t matter, it was her birthday!

Two hours later, her phone was ringing again, but this time not because someone was wishing her a happy birthday, no, it was her alarm. But today it was okay. 5AM on your birthday doesn’t feel that early, does it now? At least it didn’t for her.

Andy, her personal trainer, knocked on her door at exactly 6.30AM, holding a tiny cupcake with a candle in it. „Happy birthday, y/n!“, his voice cheerful and happy. Her smiled widened and her heart full with love again. „Thank you, Andy.“

„Are you ready for the race?“, Andy asked her. She nodded and closed her hotel door. „I’m excited to see Danny again and Nando and all the other people of course. Oh and definitely Lewis.“, Birthdays were her thing, she always missed them in school, either she had them on a weekend or she was on holiday. So, being surrounded by people who are important to her, was the best present she could’ve gotten.

On the way to the paddock, Andy let her pick out the music, her car playlist was blasting on full volume. Tongue Tied by GROUPLOVE was her favourite song at the moment, that’s why she was singing at the top of her lungs to the lyrics.

„Take me to your best friends house, go around this roundabout, oh yeah“, she looked at Andy as if he would follow the orders of the song.

The music died down, as they arrived at the paddock. Press was already waiting on her, they knew it was her special day and hoped to get some good footage of the birthday-girl. Usually the media annoyed her this early in the morning, but today, nothing could’ve ruined her day. She smiled and waved to the camera, spoke to some press people and had nice conversations with all of them.

The media always tried to find some gossip, especially on the young driver, but not today. They were happy to see her this happy.

As she set foot on the paddock, people were congratulating her. Pads on the back, some strokes on her arm here and there, everyone was nice to her, and who doesn’t enjoy some attention sometimes. Especially if it’s for something you didn’t work for. It was her favourite day of the year, Christmas is second.

„Danny!“, she shrieked as soon as she saw him. She sprinted towards the Australian and jumped into his arms. „I missed you so bad!“ Daniel just laughed and hugged the young driver. „Happy birthday, y/n.“

Her smile was consistent and contagious, every person she smiled at, they just had to smile back. Even Max smiled at her. Well, he always smiled at her, she was one of the persons that could make him smile.

„Max, can you give me a piggyback ride?“, she looked at him with puppy dog eyes and he just couldn’t deny her. „Of course, zus sister.“

As Martin Brundle spotted the two, he motioned to his cameraman to put the focus on them. „And now we see Max Verstappen carrying the birthday girl y/n. It is not rare to see the young driver interact with the different drivers. Let’s wish her a happy birthday“, he talked into the camera. „Hello you two, happy birthday y/n, am I the first to congratulate?“, the older man looked at her with an amusing look on his face. „Martin, as much as I love you, you are hopefully not the first person to wish me a happy birthday“, she looked at him with a serious face.

„Did Max congratulate yet?“, a challenging look on Martins face, he pointed at the camera and said: „Remember, this is a livestream.“, Max‘ cheeks turned a pretty pink colour and y/n gasped. „He did not!“, she gasped. „Max, you didn’t wish me a happy birthday?!“ - „I’m sorry, schat darling. Happy birthday, my dear.“

But how could she hold a grudge against a face that looked like Sid from Ice Age?

Fernando was the next person she saw, and he instantly grinned at her. „Oh Nando, do you know whose special day it is today?“, she singsang to the oldest driver on the grid. „Hmm, let me guess, is it Roscoes?“, he laughed as he saw her shocked face. „How could you, I thought we were friends?“ - „We are, we are, cariño darling. Feliz cumpleaños happy birthday, y/n.“

„How old are you now, 5?“, he laughed at her. „Har har, very funny Nando. How old are you turning this year, 60?“ She was always getting irritated fast. He grabbed her by her hip and pushed her into a side hug of his. „Don’t ever change, cariño.“

„Don’t have a plan for that, who’d change something as fabulous like this“, her hands were pointing to herself. „But on a serious note, Nando, do you know where Lewis is? I’ve been searching for him.“ Fernando only shook his head, he didn’t know where the British driver was. He rubbed over her hair as she left his side to search for her mentor.

„Oh Lewis! Your favourite person is looking for you“, she shouted over the paddock, with no luck. She didn’t even see a trace of Lew, none. But what she did find, was a monegasque driver with the number 16 and a spaniard driving under the number 55. They were arguing over some bullshit, as always, as they spotted her. „y/n! Over here“, Charles shouted over to her and waved his hand. She ran over to them and greeted the older drivers with a side hug. Carlos quickly kissed her head as he wished her a brilliant birthday. Charles even sang the first to lines of the song.

She was a bit embarrassed, but she enjoyed the attention of the two Ferrari drivers. „I love you guys, but have you seen Lewis?“, she smiled at the two as they rolled their eyes. She just wanted to see her favourite person on the paddock. She loved them all equally, but you couldn’t deny that Lewis definitely was her favourite. „I think I saw him at Mercedes, his motorhome“, Charles told her, she totally missed the sarcastic undertone of his and just skipped along to the Mercedes garage.

Before she even set a foot in the motorhome, Toto Wolff approached her and squished her into a hug. „Alles gute zum Geburtstag, liebes! Happy birthday, darling! How are you, so happy to see you“, he whispered into her ear. She loved Toto. „Hi Toto!“, she grinned up at him, „I’m good, thank you. Do you know where Lewis is?“ Toto laughed and pointed to his drivers room. „Thanks!“, she yelled as she took off.

She hasn’t been to her own motorhome, just wandering around the paddock and taking in all the attention from the others. And as she knocked on the door, she knew she’d receive the best attention of them all.

„It’s open“, she heard and busted into the tiny room. „Hello, your favourite human on this planet has arrived and will be gracing your presence from now on!“ She grinned at him and he only laughed and embraced the girl. „I have a present for the birthday girl? do you know where she is“, he joked and turned around to grab her present. „A present? Aw Lewis, you shouldn’t have, you totally should have.“

The present contained some gag gifts, such as a Mercedes hat and shirt, or some shirts with funny pattern on it. But the original present was a necklace. It wasn’t anything special, really. It was a simple silver necklace with a tiny turtle as a pendant. Her eyes were tearing up, so she quickly wiped them away.

„Is this one of the necklaces that makes you a godparent of a sea turtle?“ - „It sure is, have fun with“ he turned the pendant around and looked at the engraving on it „Yertle. He is now your godchild“, he smiled at her and motioned to y/n to turn around, so he could put the necklace on. „Thank you so much, it means a lot“, she hugged him as a thank you. He smiled at her, he adored the young driver and was grateful that he was apart of her journey.

„Thank you, love you Lewis!“, she yelled to him as she sprinted out of the motorhome. She was finally headed to her own garage. They had planned a surprise party for her and Lewis was the distraction. As she reached her motorhome, she didn’t see anyone. „Hello, is it not race day?“, she joked into the dark.

„Happy birthday, y/n!“

She jumped, her heart was racing, but she had a giant smile on her face. Her heart, once again, was full, full with love.

„Ahh, thank you guys!“, she squealed and sprinted into the engineers and mechanics, just like she won a race, which she hasn’t, by the way. She hugged all of them, thanked all and smiled the biggest smile she ever smiled. „I’m so grateful for all of you! And now, let’s win this race!“

She didn’t win, but was one of her best birthdays so far. And the after party was her personal highlight of the day. There was a huge pile of presents, just for her of course.

Lando was the DJ, Max was standing on a table, preparing to do a toast for her and Danny was laughing and pointing his camera at everybody.

The evening was definitely something she’d remember, maybe not Max‘ toast, as it was very embarrassing;

„Dear people, we have gathered here to celebrate not only my win, but also a birthday of some special person. She is not our girlfriend, which we are all happy about, but they’re all jealous of her, y/n! Happy birthday, you beast, come up here!“

The alcohol definitely made it more bearable, but the fact that Pierre had to drag you to Mac spoke for itself.

„Pierre, let me be, go back to your boyfriend“, she spoke harshly to the French man, but he ignored her with a smirk on his face and brought her up to Max.

„Ladys and gents, the birthday girl herself!“

It was one of the better party’s she attended and when she looked at all the posts she’s been tagged, she found one particular that she liked the most.

daniel3.jpg

Liked by yninsta, charles_leclerc and 473’827 others

daniel3.jpg happy birthday to my personal favourite female driver of all time! let’s raise a glass or two, to all the things i’ve lost on you ;)

View all 4638 comments

yninsta i am the only female driver…

landonorris that’s why your his fav

yninsta rude af

daniel3.jpg don’t fight kids

charles_leclerc happy birthday y/n!

carlossainz55 yeah, feliz compleaños to our fav girl

pierregasly liked by pierre gasly

f1girly we love all the drivers in the comments, y/n is definitely the paddock princess

likedbypear oh yes, idk if i want to be her or with her

yninsta be definitely with me, c’mon

neymarjr happy birthday y/n!

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Checkmate

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: angst, murder, fearful for your life, psycho ex

Summary: You work as a maid for the richest and most eligible bachelor. You go to his mansion twice a week and clean his house, and you make pretty good money doing it. The only issue? Your psycho ex, but Dean shows you that he might be just a tad worse than Isaac.

Square Filled: maid au (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Another day, another eight hours spent in this mansion. This is a place you can never see yourself living in only because you can’t ever think to make as much money as your boss does. From what you know, he’s the CEO of two companies, has investments in other places, and is just really smart about managing his money. You don’t see him often since he spends most of his time in his office or not at the house at all, but he did hire you to clean his mansion. He pays you generously, more than you have ever made in your life, twice even.

He’s very generous but you hear he’s a cold-hearted bitch. He’s the most respected and most eligible bachelor this state has ever seen, but he can be as cold as ice. You’ve walked past his office before and have overheard him yelling at people more than once. You do not want to be on the receiving end of that cold stare, so it’s best if you keep your head down and clean as best as you can without getting in his way.

You walk into the kitchen carrying five bouquets of bright and colorful flowers. Dean doesn’t like to keep color in his mansion--only black, gray, and white--so the flowers stand out beautifully. He doesn’t seem to mind since they don’t move once you put them up. Before you get started cleaning, you replace the old flowers with the new ones and toss the old ones into the trash.

Normally, you connect your speaker to your phone and use music to pass the time, but you promised to call your best friend once you got here because of what happened last night. You grab the cleaning cart from the closet and start with the kitchen, and you call your best friend on FaceTime. It’s better than keeping the phone to your ear or putting in uncomfortable headphones in your ear.

“Bitch, you will never guess who just sent me a DM,” Gen says when she answers.

“Who?”

“Isaac.”

“What did he say?”

“What do you think? You rejected him last night and he thinks coming to me is the next best thing.”

Isaac used to be your boyfriend. You were blind to the red flags in the beginning of the relationship because you thought you were in love with him. He said all the right things, did all the right things, and made you feel special. He complimented you all the time, showed you off to all of his friends, and never laid a merciful hand on you.

That is, until about a year into the relationship. The red flags became so apparent that you couldn’t ignore them any longer. He became possessive, jealous, controlling, and more violent. He has never hit or slapped you, but he has grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises on your arms. You broke it off a month ago but the bitch won’t stay away from you.

He keeps showing up at your house telling you to come home and that you’re being overdramatic. He’s there when you go get coffee in the morning. He’s there when you visit your sister (he’s friends with her husband). He’s there even in your nightmares. You’re shocked he hasn’t shown up at your work. You’re not sure how Dean would take to having someone like Isaac in, on, or around his property.

“The best thing to do is ignore him. He’ll go away,” you sigh.

“I don’t think so. He was pretty adamant about getting in touch with you. My husband would have kicked his ass if he came over.”

You wipe down the counters with a sigh.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

“I think you should call the police.”

You roll the cart into the living room and get started dusting the surfaces.

“He hasn’t trespassed onto your property, though. What will they do?”

“He’s harassing you, Y/N. He keeps coming to your house uninvited. That’s trespassing. He was bad enough as your boyfriend, but now he’s crossing the line into psycho territory. He hurt you, Y/N. The bruises may be gone but those emotional scars are still there.”

You replace the duster and stand in the living room in thought. She does have a point but the bruises are long gone. That’s physical evidence you don’t have to use against him. He hasn’t laid a hand on you since the breakup. What will the police do?

“Yeah, I know but they won’t do anything if he hasn’t done anything. If he does, I’ll make sure to call you.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuck him up.”

You giggle at her eagerness. “I gotta go. Got lots to clean.”

“Yeah, for the hot bachelor.”

“Him being hot has nothing to do with him being a bachelor.”

“Still, you’re lucky to see that all day.”

“I rarely see him. He stays in his office all day which I’m not allowed in, by the way. If he’s not in there, he’s at his office building in town.”

“You’re single and he’s single. I’d tap that if I were you.”

“Imagine if Isaac found out. He’d kill Dean.” You roll the cart into the bathroom. “I gotta go, though.”

“Call me later.”

“Will do.”

Like you told Gen, you don’t see Dean the entire day. If it weren't for the initial interview you had with him and the short passings you’ve shared with him, you wouldn’t think he’s real. There is one thing that Gen got right. The man is hot. Gorgeous, even. If you two saw each other at a bar, you’d definitely be trying to take him home. Bright green eyes, tank skin, freckles, bow legs, and muscles for days. The man is the whole package.

After doing your eight hours, the sun is already going down. You leave the invoice for Dean on the kitchen counter as he requests before returning the cleaning cart and packing up your things. You walk across Dean’s lawn to get to your car but pause when you see someone standing in your way.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hiss at your ex. “How did you know where I work? How did you get past the fence?”

“I know everything about you, baby. I’m here to see if you’re done being dramatic.”

“Being dramatic? You’re a psycho!”

“I call that determination.”

“Okay, Isaac, I need you to leave. We broke up and this is highly inappropriate. Plus, Dean isn’t going to be happy when he finds you loitering on his property.”

“Who the fuck is Dean?”

“Isaac, please leave. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life anymore. Show up uninvited again, and I will call the police.”

You try to walk past him but Isaac isn’t taking no for an answer. He grabs your arm so tightly you think there will be bruises there tomorrow. 

“If I were you, I’d get your hand off her.”

You and Isaac turn to see Dean standing about twenty feet away.

“Who the fuck are you?” Isaac snaps.

“The fuck person who owns this property. Get your hands off her.”

Isaac listens and you move your arm to get the blood flowing again.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go home.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere with you. Just leave me alone.”

“Are you deaf? No means no.”

“No offense, dude, but she’s mine, okay?”

“Not on my property, she isn’t.” Dean narrows his eyes.

“Your property?”

“Yes, touch her again and I’ll decorate your remains across it.”

“Whatever,” Isaac scoffs. “Call me when you’re done being dramatic.”

Isaac turns and leaves until you can’t see him anymore.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine.” Dean doesn't believe you but he’ll let it go for now. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. It’s not your fault, but you’re not going home. Come on, you’ll stay here for the night.”

Dean turns and starts walking back toward his house. You don’t know what to do but you feel yourself following him. It’s like your legs have a mind of their own.

“No, it’s okay.”

“I’m not a man who takes no for an answer, Y/N.”

Damn, that’s hot. You’re definitely thinking with your vagina and not your head. You should get in your car and go home but something compels you to stay here with Dean.

“Would you really have scattered his remains across your lawn?” you ask when you catch up to him.

“Which answer would make you feel better?”

“Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Dean chuckles and leads you up the stairs. “Do you have a friend you can stay with?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You can stay with her tomorrow. Isaac won’t be a problem much longer.”

You’re too scared and too turned on to ask follow-up questions. He takes you to a spare bedroom and opens the door for you.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. I’m right down the hall if you need me.”

He leaves you alone, but you’re not sure what to do now. In less than twenty-four hours, you’ve gone from working for Dean to sleeping in the bedroom next to his. He’s now on Isaac’s radar but you have a feeling Dean can take him out before he even knows what’s happening.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[captain-hawks]

i know i usually ask for my boi soshiro but what about narumi and hm... a location... the rooftop of a building? all good if this doesn't spark anything though!!

the shape of your absence

gen narumi x f!reader

In the months since you left the First Division, you've tried so hard to let go of the torch your heart carries for Captain Gen Narumi. But it's nearly impossible to avoid the heady pull of his orbit when he's standing right in front of you under the glow of string lights on a rooftop at Tachikawa Base.

wc: 2.6k

c: 18+ only, exes to lovers, angst, pining, feels, unprotected p in v, creampie

SPICY SLEEPOVER — ROUND V

This was a terrible idea.

“Gen—” you gasp out, head tipping back against the wall as your knees begin to wobble.

He ignores you from where he’s kneeling on the ground in front of you, the skirt of your dress bunched up in one of his fisted hands, the other clasped against the inside of your thigh. His fingertips skirt the bottom of your ass as he slowly, pointedly strokes his thumb over your underwear and down the length of your sensitive folds. Despite the cotton boundary, it makes you shiver all the same. 

(And admittedly, you’re not sure if you’re more affected by the sensation itself, or the inherent muscle memory in your body’s reaction to his touch.)

“Gen, we shouldn’t—”

Soft lips meet skin at the curve of your hip, teeth teasing the waistband of your panties.

“Why not?”

You know Gen far too well to be surprised by his unbothered, matter-of-fact tone. And quite frankly, it’s difficult to find the strength to grasp the flimsy arguments flitting about in your mind under the weight of his steady gaze as he looks up at you from between your legs. 

“Because someone could walk over here,” you protest, jerking your head in the direction of the warm glow of string lights and the sounds of music and laughter.

Most of the Third Division is currently up on the large rooftop of the training building for a party, milling about with food and drinks as the hour grows late and the day’s humid air turns cool beneath the star-speckled sky. 

And your goddamn ex-boyfriend shouldn’t even be here crashing this celebration in the first place, but as luck would have it, he’s at your base running a special month-long training program with the latest recruits. 

Gen gestures at the supply sheds that you’re currently tucked behind. “Nobody can see. And that never stopped us before.” 

Heat crawls up the back of your neck at the memory of all of the careless places you’ve found yourselves in compromising positions together, too absorbed in one another to care.

“—and we broke up for a reason,” you sigh.

Eight months ago, the Third Division found itself in dire need of a skilled Platoon Leader after sustaining significant losses during a difficult battle. You and Gen were both sitting around the same table when news of the request made it to the First Division, and you’d felt sick over the immediate look of pained resignation that crossed his face the moment he met your gaze.

Because you were both well aware that you were the best person for the job.

…and he knew you’d go, without hesitation.

While the geographical space between Tachikawa Base and Ariake Maritime Base is negligible, it was already a struggle for the two of you to juggle the demands of your opposing schedules from the same place.

You knew it wouldn’t work.

(Gen did, too. Even though he did his best to convince you otherwise.)

The two of you always knew this would be a hazard of your jobs, the one potential downfall that could rip away the sole piece of selfish happiness you had been too weak to deny yourself after the first time he kissed you. 

(Following months of flirting and friendly competition. When you finally beat one of his long-standing records on the training ground and ran into his arms grinning and laughing after—all of the gloating swiftly dying on your lips when he picked you up and spun you around, his eyes shining with so much fondness and pride that your legs threatened to give out under the dam of emotions that burst open inside of you. 

Gen kissed you like he wanted to savor every second.)

But this dedication to your jobs, to the JAKDF, it was a reality you had to remind Gen of again and again on your final night with the First Division—a pale strip of moonlight illuminating the tangle of your bodies atop the mattress, his face buried in your hair, your chest rising and falling at unsteady intervals. 

(It was a reality you had to grapple with in the quiet of daybreak the morning that you left, your eyes clenched firmly shut as you tried to memorize rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm while he slept soundly beside you.)

The sharp, painful ache of leaving Gen has made itself a home in your chest, a steady pang that you’ve become resigned to in the weeks and months that have passed. It’s made bearable only by your mutual agreement to avoid direct contact—to let the hurt sink into the soft, pliant sand of the past as days tick by like the rise and fall of the tides. 

(Nobody needs to know how difficult it is for you to breathe some mornings when you wake up to the suffocating feeling of all of the empty space beside you.)

–

ONE HOUR EARLIER

“I think we should grab dinner next week.”

Glancing up from the drink clutched in your hands, you look at the fellow Platoon Leader standing in front of you. He transferred into the Third Division less than a month ago, and he’s yet to recognize the complete and total lack of interest that you’ve shown toward him and his cocky attitude. Admittedly, you haven’t even bothered to remember his name. 

“I think I’m good,” you reply with disinterest, taking a sip from the cup.

Tilting his head to the side, he offers you a wry smile. “It doesn’t need to be anything serious, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Exhaling through your nose, you blink at him several times. “I’m not interested.”

“Come on, just give me a—Captain Narumi.” The man’s eyes go wide as he cuts himself off mid sentence, gaze falling somewhere just beyond your shoulder. 

Your grip tightens on your glass as the distinct scent of citrus and sandalwood body wash reaches your nostrils a moment before a familiar voice says, “Anyone ever teach you what no means?”

“Captain Narumi, sir. I was just—”

“Leaving?” Gen’s shoulder brushes against yours as he comes to stand beside you.

“Leaving,” he nods, not even giving you one last cursory glance before turning away to busy himself with another group of officers nearby.

You stand there in silence, not trusting yourself to angle your body to look at the man standing beside you, who you’ve managed to avoid thus far since he arrived at your base earlier this week. 

And it’s ridiculous—the way you suddenly feel as if you can’t quite get enough air into your lungs, despite the wide open, endless expanse of it surrounding you on the rooftop.

“Hey,” Gen murmurs, his body nudging yours ever so slightly as he rocks back onto the heels of his feet, head tilted up to take in the blanket of stars littered across the dark sky.

You allow yourself one small discretion, one brief indulgence as you turn just enough to take in his tall profile.

It hurts—looking at him hurts.

This is why you opted for a clean break, because the mere weight of his presence beside you now is all it takes to puncture a fatal hole in the very fabric of your meager defenses.

“Hey.”

—

NOW

Gen straightens up, letting the skirt of your dress fall back down your thighs as he rests a hand flat against the wall beside your head, his gaze intense. 

Suddenly, the mood feels far heavier now than earlier, when your tentative conversation quickly fell into the easy, comfortable laughter the two of you once shared. When you didn’t pull your knee away as it brushed against Gen’s as you sat down. (When you pointedly ignored the loud thoughts clamoring in your head as you gave in to the urge to grasp the front of his shirt and tug his stupidly pretty mouth to yours.)

“Have you been seeing anyone else?” he asks.

Brows furrowing, you begin, “That’s none of your—”

“Because I haven’t,” he cuts you off quickly. “I haven’t been able to do anything but think of you every goddamn day since you left.”

“Gen—” You can’t get the words out, that you feel exactly the same. That there can’t be anyone else.

“Tell me to fuck off right now, and I will,” he exhales, voice rough. “But I can’t keep pretending like that’s not the truth.”

Your voice breaks a little as you quietly reply, “I miss you all the time.”

His forehead touches yours, a visible shudder wracking through him. You nearly forgot how it felt to see this side of Captain Gen Narumi, to peel back the layers of the perfect soldier, the relentless fighter, the arrogant leader with his sometimes childish tendencies. 

To be the full center of his focus and object of his attention (of his affection). 

To viscerally feel the vulnerable emotions painted starkly across his chest (to be trusted to cradle them within your grasp). 

It was a late summer evening beside the waterfront when Gen wrapped his arms around you from behind, a warm breeze rustling his hair as he pressed a kiss to the curve of your jaw and thanked you for being the one person to see him.

Now, his thumb traces your collarbone, and every part of you aches for all of the time you’ve spent apart. The days you’ve tried to distance yourself from drowning in the grief of this loss, throwing yourself headfirst into work until your limbs have threatened to collapse with exhaustion.

Every minute you’ve tried to convince yourself that this was the right choice—that the erratic thrumming of your heart that rises to meet each stroke of his fingertips against the side of your neck should be regarded as trivial when you have a country to protect.

Somewhere, Maslow is rolling in his grave at this blatant disregard of your own human needs.

And it only becomes apparent now, as you feel every fiber of your being rebel, yearning to sink into the warmth of Gen’s body heat—how fucking starved you’ve become.

“Then what do we do?” he carefully asks.

You take Gen’s face into your hands, letting your eyes drink in every corner and curve. “We worry about it tomorrow.”

(You savor it—the surprised little gasp that leaves him when your mouth crashes into his.)

—-

Gen’s lips are a searing hot brand and a hungry, desperate promise against your own when you stumble into the closed door of your quarters, hands fumbling with the lock—only to find yourself pressed up against the wall and moaning into his mouth the moment it clicks shut.

Clothes litter the path to your bed as you both stumble toward it, his hands equal parts deft and greedy as they roam your body before sliding off your dress. He groans when you begin to palm him through his boxers as he shoves down his pants, inhales sharply when you stroke a finger across one of his nipples and press an open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest. Your insides go molten as he cups your cunt, chest heaving when he feels the way your arousal has wholly soaked through your underwear. 

He used to be smug about how wet you’d get for him, the way it would already be dripping from your folds and sliding down your thighs before he even got your pants off. 

Now, it’s only desperate, awestruck hunger as he pushes against your quivering entrance, breaching the opening of your tight hole and rubbing your slick, wet panties against your sensitive inner walls. When he slides them down, he drops to the floor along with them, fingertips hooking in the waistband as he leans forward to press a kiss to your mound before lapping one firm, broad stroke up your slit. Your muscles tense with a bolt of pleasure as your toes curl against the carpet.

Gen hardly has time to straighten before you’re sliding down his boxers, forehead dropping against your shoulder with an exhaled groan of pleasure as you cup his balls and wrap your fingers around his achingly hard, flushed cock.

You reach back after a moment to unclasp your bra, only to find his fingertips already there, confidently pinching the hooks to let your tits spill out before him. His mouth is hot and damp against your nipple when he leans in to stroke and suck one with his tongue and his teeth, drawing a needy whine out of you as you begin to back him up toward the bed.

When Gen falls back onto your mattress, he looks utterly transfixed and wholly enraptured as you climb atop him and straddle his waist. You lean in, dragging your fingers through his hair, and he reaches up to meet you with a rough, messy kiss.

Your cunt throbs when you rock your hips, dragging your slick folds up his thick length and gasping into his mouth when your clit catches against the head of his dick. If only to relish in the intoxicating tightrope of need you’re feverishly dangling from, you begin to ride his cock like that—rutting your wet pussy up and down his thick shaft, leaving behind the slippery mess out arousal that continues to drip out of you. Gen’s hands dig into your hips as he grinds up into you just as desperately, moaning with each stroke.

And when you finally, finally sink down onto his cock, Gen’s lips find yours to swallow down the scream of pleasure that crawls up your throat and bursts past your lips. As he bottoms out, you’re both left panting into each other’s mouths, your tight pussy greedily taking in every last inch. 

Gen knows your body inside and out, knows every spot to touch and stroke and kiss and suck to have you gasping his name. And as he cups the back of your head, when he strokes your pebbled nipples just right, when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and presses his fingers into the base of your spine—you know he hasn’t forgotten a thing.

“I’m not gonna last,” he exhales roughly, teeth finding your earlobe before he drags his tongue against the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Because it’s been so long.

Because it feels so fucking good.

Because it’s him.

Because it’s you.

He doesn’t need to say the rest, doesn’t need to explain any further as you nod in agreement and whimper when he drags his thumb against your swollen clit while you ride his cock.

“Come for me,” he rasps, well aware that he’s got you dangling from the edge as he strokes your aching bundle of nerves and kisses his way down the side of your neck.

Pleasure explodes inside of you, and Gen rocks upward as your pussy clenches down on his shaft, stuffing his cock in as deep as it’ll go as your tight walls expand and contract around him. You tremble and moan under the intoxicating heat of your climax, every cell in your body reduced to the blistering euphoria seeping through your veins.

“Inside,” you breathe out, forehead pressed to his, the fingers of your right hand tangling with his left atop your hip as he resumes moving when your orgasm tapers off, the roll of his hips quickly growing sloppy as your cunt squelches with each thrust.

He sounds utterly and completely wrecked when he moans your name and kisses you hard, his climax tearing through him. Gen’s cock pulses hot and heavy inside of you, spilling thick ropes of cum into your cunt until you’ve milked him of every last drop.

And later, as you find yourself nearing the precipice of sleep while tucked into the contentment of Gen's safe, warm embrace, the tightness in your chest finally loosens as you breathe in deeply for the first time in months.

[yellowwwcrayon]

Professor Logan x College Student Wade (problematic age gap warning)

Sister Margaret’s was a shithole. 

Logan’s boot slipped in a sticky pile of something the moment he stepped inside. It smelled of unwashed man, cheap alcohol and possibly all of life’s regrets. A noxious cocktail he’d been intimately familiar with during the late 70’s before Charles came into his life. He was better now that he’d retired from the X-Men and was teaching full time. Logan had even quit drinking. 

“Who the fuck are you?” It was a mountain of a man, bald, shaggy unkempt beard trailing all the way down to his sagging waistband and covered in tattoos. 

“Nobody,” Logan stood his ground and didn’t budge when the guy shoved him, “I’m not looking for trouble, just here to find a student of mine.” 

Neckbeard swept his gaze down Logan’s gray cardigan and wool slacks, lips curling back in a mocking smile. “What do you teach, grandpa? Art history?” 

“Didn’t know you knew what art history was,” He lifted an eyebrow, trying not to let the insult about his age get to him. That had never been an issue in the past until Wade walked in mid-lecture a few months back and all of a sudden made Logan feel a thousand years old and, well, like a bit of a creep.

He was practically a fossil, and a fossil shouldn’t be interacting with a twenty-year-old thing like Wade outside the classroom. It was inappropriate. Charles had even offhandedly said as much during one of their weekly breakfast conversations. 

And yet, here he was, on a Friday evening, definitively outside school hours, looking for Wade. Making sure one of his students was safe, Logan reminded himself as he sidestepped the giant man standing in his way.     

“Hey, I wasn’t done talkin’ to you.” 

The guy grabbed Logan’s shirt collar with a fist the size of a toddler’s head and whatever was left of Logan’s remaining patience finally ran out. He punched the guy in the temple. It was a quick jab, meant to incapacitate really. Neckbeard went down like a pile of rocks, thick hairy arms grazing a metal tray of empty drink glasses and causing a crashing bang that reverberated throughout the poorly lit bar. The deafening young people's music screeched to a halt. All eyes turned to Logan. Hands went to weapons. The gangly bartender in the baggy hoodie pulled out a sawed off shotgun from behind the bar. 

Fuck.

He hadn’t had to whisk out the adamantium claws in years, but Logan seriously considered it now facing a whole bar of angry drunk men with guns. He still hadn’t spotted Wade. 

“Weasel.” 

It was a woman who spoke, the only woman Logan had seen in the filthy establishment so far. She leaned in and whispered something in the bartender’s ear. He blinked, mouth parting slightly as he swept his gaze down Logan’s body. The shotgun was placed back in its hiding spot behind the bar. 

“Guys, it’s all cool. This is the hot daddy dilf Wade was ranting about. Go back to your regularly scheduled slow descent into alcohol poisoning.” 

The grating Gen Z music returned. Logan’s face burned.

[fuckyeahviagraboys]

SIGN UP FOR ALL THE LATEST IN SHRIMP NEWS

[pariahfox]

Hole - Credit In The Straight World (Live at The Metro, Chicago 1994)

I actually caught one date on this tour. Right up front crushed against the barrier, and that was the roughest goddamn pit I have ever been in. Which is saying something. And in a relatively small venue, at that. Lost all respect for one previously friendly acquaintance over some of his behavior in the pit that time.

But, it was quite a show. Nobody on stage was acting particularly wasted (so performing better) for that one.

[ssivinee]

✧Original Visual✧

Irene x Aespa! 96’ liner! F reader:  In the industry, beautiful idols aren’t uncommon. Your beauty was on the next level, all the 4th gen knew. But what if a certain 3rd-generation original visual begins to notice you due to a V-live you did?

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: Simple fic since I may not be able to write much today🥲

Character Vision Board

Choi Y/n, the oldest member of Aespa, was known for many things. Her dance skills, rap skills, composing, and even music production. She’s even the older sister of TXT member Choi Yeonjun.

But if you were to ask the K-pop community and idol industry what she was known for, it was her visuals. Y/n had a powerful gaze, sharp jawline, plump lips, and currently, oxford blue hair that cascaded down her back, ending right above her hips.

One dull day, Karina and Y/n were in SM’s dance studio. It was their day off, and despite being happy about that, the two members didn’t know what to do with their day, so they just decided to go to the company building and chill there.

The two girls wore similar outfits: grey sweats, a basic cropped hoodie, and sneakers. They lay on the black couch, just staring at the ceiling.

"Unnie~, I’m bored~"

"Jimin-ah... so am I."

The two looked at each other as Karina laid her head on Y/n’s lap, trying to figure out how to make time go by faster.

“Wait, what if we do a live?” Karina jumps into action, going to get the company phone, “you finally came up with an idea after so long.”

“You could’ve thought of it yourself!” Y/n chuckles as the girl sticks her tongue out, returning with another phone.

They take a tripod phone stand, attach it, and begin the V-live. After waiting a few minutes for MY to join, they finally had about 5k viewers, so they decided to start.

“Hello, guys,” Y/n stares at the chat while her and Karina wave.

“AESPA’S VISUAL LINE?”

“What did we do to deserve your guy’s grace today?”

“Y/n and Karina’s duo is something I didn’t know I needed.”

“Clap twice if you wanna leave SM.”

Y/n laughed at the several comments she saw, especially the English ones. “You guys know how to make me laugh.”

“We were bored, so we just decided to go on V-live to talk to you guys,” the younger stated, and spam of hearts came from the chat. The two keep reading and begin to read some questions.

“What song are you guys obsessed with at the moment?”

“Spicy by Aespa,” Karina said, making Y/n look at her like she was crazy, “Okay, self-promo.”

“Unnie, that’s how it should be. We’re idols, man,” Y/n laughs at Karina’s statement, hitting her lightly as it was a habit when she found things funny. “Anyways, for me, it would probably have to be Unforgiven & Fire in the Belly by Le Sserafim. They killed it on their album.” Karina nods in agreement.

“Dance Unforgiven? Guys, I haven’t learned the choreography.”

“She’s lying~ She knows it from TikTok,” Karina exposes her in a tattle-tale tone. “Wha~, no way you outed me like that,” the younger shrugs, followed by a giggle. “Do it, unnie.”

“Fine,” Y/n gets up to go to the computer. She ensured everything was connected before playing a few seconds before the chorus. “You guys ready for unnie to slay?” Karina says, and Y/n begins to dance the chorus. Effortlessly, she jumps with a bunny-like hand, then turns her fingers into horns and repeats, doing the same steps.

Once she finishes, the leader goes, “See, I told you she’s a liar. She knew the dance.” Y/n sits back down next to her, slapping Karina’s shoulder, which causes the girl to act like it hurts.

The live went on for 3 hours, and a lot happened. The girls talked, danced, and even sang songs. Now fans had a compilation of them dancing to ‘Kick It’ by NCT 127, ‘Wannabe’ by ITZY, ‘Hype Boy’ by New Jeans, ‘Hey Mama’ by the SWF dance challenge, and more.

Nearing the end, they decided to take one final request, “Psycho by Red Velvet sunbaenim?” When Karina read the comment, Y/n rushed to the computer and played the instrumental version. “Wait, we’re singing to it as well?”

“Yes! I love this song way too much to not sing it.”

The two got in place, and once the song began, Karina focused on dancing while Y/n did the adlibs perfectly. Comments start to go wild over her voice.

“Y/n drank the SM water again.”

“Ain’t no way she hitting Wendy’s notes????”

“Sub-vocal of Aespa, everyone!”

Y/n joins in on the dance now, and the two begin switching lines back and forth, creating a live vocal performance of the song. The second verse begins to hit, Y/n gets hyped and raps, “Hey trouble 경따윈 없이 오는 너, I’m original visual, 우린 원래 이랬어 yeah.” Karina joins her in singing the iconic one-liner. Then the comments go crazy again.

“4TH GEN ORIGINAL VISUALS YUH.”

“Wha~ the rap suits her.”

“I need a collab with Aespa’s visual line and Irene.”

As the song ends, the two are out of breath and fall to the ground. The echoing dance studio now echoed with their heavy breathing, “Sorry guys, we went a bit overboard,” Y/n tells them as the two drink their waters.

“No, you didn’t. It was amazing!”

“I need a live stage version stat.”

“Joohyun-ssi would be proud.”

“I think that’s it for us, you guys. We’ll do a V-live soon with the other members,” Karina tells the chat, and as fans spammed bye, she ended the stream.

“I’m pooped, man.”

“Same.”

The two get up and prepare to head back to their dorms. Once in the van, Y/n stays on her phone while Karina takes a quick nap. She then gets a notification from Instagram, which she questions. That would only mean an idol was texting her, but it would mean they’re an idol she never spoke to before since they didn’t message her regularly.

Looking at her DMs, shocked was an understatement. The Bae Joohyun had texted her, and once she opened the chat, she wanted to throw her phone out of the car.

Irene texted, ‘Wow, Y/n-ssi, you're a beautiful dancer. Thank you for rapping my lines and doing justice to our song.’

...

BEAUTIFUL DANCER?!

Y/n and the Aespa members were reasonably close to certain SM idols, mainly female idols, due to Y/n, Karina, and Winter being in Got The Beat. One specific idol she never got the chance to interact with was the one who was texting her right now.

‘It’s an honor, sunbaenim. I’m glad it got your approval,’ Y/n sends. She was frantic, not knowing what to say, ‘An honor? Your sound so corny, c’mon.’ Before she could even unsend the message, texting bubbles began to pop up.

Oh dear, she saw it. ‘Y/n-ah. No need to be so formal. Just call me Joohyun-unnie.’

If you thought this couldn’t make it any worse for Y/n, it did. She freaks out and has to do breathing exercises to calm herself down.

‘Okay, unnie! May I ask how you knew about the cover?’

‘Ah, the clips circulated very fast, lol.’

Y/n smiled to herself. She was texting someone she thought was untouchable in the industry. The car stops, and she notices they’re in front of their dorm. “Jimin-ah, wake up, we’re here,” she wakes the younger in a delicate tone.

At another dorm, the older woman lay in bed watching the Psycho cover multiple times. “Unnie, do you have my sweater? The red one?” Irene heard Seulgi’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s in here on my chair!” She hears the dancer’s footsteps, and as Seulgi enters the room, she hears the Psycho clip, catching her attention as well.

“What are you watching?” The younger lay on her paid, peaking at her phone to see the familiar girls. “Y/n and Jimin did a cover of Psycho, even singing to it,” Irene shows her the phone, and Seulgi smiles at the two girls.

“I’m not surprised. They’ve always been excellent,” she stands up and takes her sweater. “That reminds me to text them soon.”

Irene says, “You think I can have Y/n’s number?” Seulgi looks at her leader with suspicious eyes.

“Sure,” Seulgi sends your number to Irene, but before she leaves, she asks the latter, “Can I ask why?”

“I just want to get to know her. Is that so bad?” Irene says as she adds your number to her contacts and in a sarcastic tone, “Right, that’s the reason, unnie.”

Irene rolled her eyes as Seulgi left. She wasn’t lying when she said she wanted to get to know you, but Seulgi knew her unnie too well to know that that wasn’t the only reason. Irene thought you were gorgeous, sexy, and very charismatic.

She’d never admit that to her members, though. Maybe she would after she and Y/n establish a bond.

[m00nc4kes]

Call Me?

hobie brown x black! reader

words: 1.4k

rating: gen

summary: You find an old note with a number written on it.

warnings: none :). reader is gender neutral and black (even if its not mentioned)

You held the small piece of paper in your hand as your eyes traced a string of numbers you’d long forgotten about. You had come across the note by a complete stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune from how your heart had yet to resume beating.

Unpacking boxes in your new apartment had been a long and grueling process that made you determined to not stop and reminisce. Even so, your box of high school memorabilia enticed you, making you grab your boxcutter and glide the blade along the taped edges. Ironically, you had triple-taped the box shut to prevent yourself from getting distracted. Alas, it couldn’t be helped.

You flipped through your old yearbook, taking in faces you hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. You knew that some people in your class never had the chance to have their picture in the book due to missed deadlines or having an inability to sit still and smile at the camera (a vague voice reminded you in the back of your mind). 

You continued to take things out of the box like old assignments, flyers, and notebooks. What you hadn’t expected was a piece of paper to slip out of your previously cherished music notebook. When you picked up the note, your heart hit a wall and you swore you would never recover.

You reread the messy ink that was scrawled onto the paper:

Call me? ;)

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

-Hobie

Hobie.

Flashes of a boy with a lopsided grin entered your mind. You don’t know how you could’ve forgotten about the boy who captured your heart by sliding a simple note to you. Years spent together roaming the same crowded halls, sneaking into concerts, and making music together all started with that note. This note. 

No, you were sure you never completely forgot about him. Your first love would always linger in the bright part of your subconscious. It was just that— life moved on. 

Yet, you held memories of that boy close to your soul as painful as it was to remember them. So in reality, you knew you never forgot about him, you simply avoided thinking about him until it became second nature. Until you couldn’t deny his existence with concrete proof— with the note in your hand. 

You would never forget how you two had bonded through a common love and appreciation for music. He was your first in so many areas and was someone you had commonly thanked the stars for.

Hobie. Hobie Brown.

He made you feel alive after your mother’s sudden death and your father’s sudden emotional reservation. You couldn’t possibly remember being a teenager without remembering Hobie.

Nights spent sneaking on the landline and typing in the number you had known by heart to talk to your boyfriend. Oh, how your father despised catching you twirling your finger along the phone cord in the late hours of the night. He would always say that his child didn’t need to be hanging around some punk teen who had no direction in life. Though, there was nothing he could do. You loved Hobie.

So when your dad suddenly dropped the news that you two would be leaving the city to be with family on the opposite side of the country, you lost your mind. But all your screams and cries and pleads didn’t do anything to stop it. 

Hobie would stay in the city with hopes of making it big, while you would finish your last year of high school in a random town no one’s ever heard of. So, you made the reckless decision to cut your relationship off.

You were seventeen and doomed to believe that your world was ending and you didn’t want to drag Hobie down with you.

You remembered that last day, how could you ever forget? Watching Hobie’s heartbroken face as your dad drove you two away, never to be heard from again.

It was a lifetime ago. You supposed, that was the end of it. An end to a chapter, never to be opened or read again.

Yet, here you were, nearly 8 years later, with this note. With this number. 

Before you could stop yourself, your eyes flicked over to your phone across the room. It was sat on top of a box labeled: bedroom. What were the odds that Hobie kept the same number? He never had a landline and kept his flip phone tucked in his front pocket. What were the odds?

You stared at the paper again then back at your phone. What were the odds? You slowly shifted toward it but stopped yourself. An image of Hobie’s crestfallen expression entered your mind. Guilt threatened to take hold of you but you stopped it with a heavy exhale. 

“What am I doing?” you muttered. You were supposed to be unpacking, not going back down memory lane. It was why you had taped up that godforsaken box in the first place.

You slowly reached for the music notebook and slid the note back into its place, then put the entire thing in the box. With a sudden resolve, you put the box into the closet and shut it behind you.

You walked across the room to your stack of boxes and moved your phone to your bed. You decided to start with the “bedroom” box and peeled off the tape. It came off easily and you tossed it aside, just like how you had tossed aside your dreams of making music with Hobie.

You paused. You could feel your brows furrow at the jab you made at yourself. 

You hadn’t tossed aside any dream, you thought indignantly as you pulled out the items inside the box with a little more force than necessary. You just made reasonable dreams. Like getting a degree to show teenagers how to pursue their love for music.

You grew up and after all this time, you were sure Hobie did too. Who knew where life took him? You surely didn’t know.

You tried to chew on that but you didn’t like the taste. You set your picture frame down and stared at your phone for a long moment. The air stilled and your heart slowly picked up its pace as a thought struck you.

…one call wouldn’t hurt, right?

Your fingers curled around your phone as you tried to will your heart to stop racing. You would only do it once, you told yourself as you found your legs leading you to your closet. Only one time, you reminded yourself when you found the notebook again. You flipped open your phone as you held the note in your hand and typed the number in.

Your thumb hovered over the call button.

“Just once,” you told yourself.

With a solidified resolve, you pressed the button. Your heart made thunder in your chest as the phone began to ring.

And ring.

And ring.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as the phone continued to ring. When the phone finally clicked, you were prepared to greet the voicemail on the other side.

Instead, you received a deep, “Hello?”

And by god, your heart completely surrendered itself to whatever being lied above. Your mind went haywire as you tried to remember the language that you had spoken your entire life. All you could do was fumble out a: “Hi.” 

You cringed at the random emphasis you put on the two letter word. Perhaps you had said it too loud or said it wrong because it didn’t feel right coming from your nervous tongue.

“Hi,” he said again, mimicking your tone. 

This— this had to be Hobie. Was this Hobie? You should just ask— “Is… is this Hobie? Hobie Brown?”

There was a vague hum on the other side. “Who’s askin’?”

A shaky exhale left your nose as you placed the phone between your ear and your shoulder to wipe your sweaty hands. “This is… um. This is (Y/N).” The silence that came after made you spiral.

Should you give him your last name? What if he didn’t remember you? What if this wasn’t Hobie and you were bothering some random man with the same number—

“(Y/N)?” You couldn’t read his tone. “From secondary?”

You suddenly felt emboldened as you remembered an age-old debate. “From high school. Yes, that’s me.” 

“High school?” he echoed to himself. Then a loud cackle burst through your speaker. “Oh my days?! (Y/N)? That is you— with your random ways of sayin’ things.” 

For once, your heart didn’t betray you and you could finally breathe. You couldn’t stop the smile that split across your face. Life moved on, but you swore you were a teenager again, twirling that cord around your finger.

“You got a lot of nerve calling me random, Hobart.”

The laughter you two shared would echo long into the dark hours of the night.

hi hi hiiiiii

hope you enjoyed ;)) i literally wrote this at work omg

[oliveisme533]

He will always come back for me

Din x F!reader

Warnings: angst. torture and abuse from imps. Misogynistic behavior

Summery: You had been employed by the Mandalorian for about a year before being captured by imperial troopers. They had wanted you for your knowledge of engineering, but once word got around to Moff Gideon that you had knowledge of the child, you were taken for questioning.

Questioning was a generous word… they tortured you for information about the child’s whereabouts and his Beskar protector. During long days in your imperial cell you recalled happy memories you’d made with your boys.

Grogu says his first word

“Din!” You shout from the hull. Din jumps down from the cockpit not bothering with any of the rungs on the latter. His boots hit the floor “what? Are you okay?”By the sound of your voice he assumed something was wrong. You look up at him from the floor where you were squatted down, playing with the child. “Grogu just said his first word.” You say with wide eyes. Din kneels down to his son’s level “okay let’s here it” Grogu looks back at you for assurance and then squawks the word “Din” you look over at Din with teary eyes “seeeee” Din chuckles. He’s always loved getting to see that tender side of you. He considers it a privilege after you spent so much of your life putting up walls just to survive. Din rubs his child’s head “good work buddy” and then climbs back up to the cockpit.

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you recall the memory. It’s short lived. A guard bangs on the bars. “ it’s dinner time, brat” a nickname you’ve earned after punching one of the guards in the throat for letting his hand slide a bit too low when guiding you back to your cell. And you’d do it again. You silently rise and exit your cell as the guard follows you to the cafeteria. He doesn’t try and touch you. You know Din would be proud of you. He had spent many hours teaching you to fight. It was too painful to think of him anymore. You missed him so much. Din was the closest friend you’d ever had in this fucked up life, a fact you reminded yourself of when that little nagging voice in the back of your mind whispered you know you love him as more than a friend. No, you’d argue back with yourself, this is just a side effect of being imprisoned. All my feelings are simply magnified. It’s not that I long for him because I love him, I long for him because I long for freedom…and I miss the old life he represents.

You picked around at your dinner. It looked nasty but you knew you needed to keep your strength up. You had already lost too much weight, you could see it in your hips. You forced the food down before you were marched back to your cell for the night. How long had it been? You stopped keeping track after 3 months. Maybe 5 months? 6? It was hard to tell. You let your eyes close knowing tomorrow would be just as miserable as today. You tried to conjure up a happy memory that you hoped would seep into your dreams. A memory you held particularly close to your heart popped into your head…

Din teaches you to dance

“I don’t understand what this has to do with fighting” you complained as you followed din down the ramp. He was taking a break from jobs and decided to lay low on a quiet planet where you and Grogu could stretch your legs for a bit. On breaks like this he always took advantage of the open space to train you more. “Because. It has to do with coordination. This is how I learned to fight.” You looked Din up and down, somehow you couldn’t picture him dancing, yet you understand the shared skill that coordination held between fighting and dancing. You signed “okay but I’m not much of a dancer.” You set Grogu down and took Din’s outstretched hand. “That’s why I’m teaching you” Din had brought his portable radio and turned it to a station with slow music. “Relax” he chuckled. “Do you not trust me?” You trusted him with your life. “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever trusted actually.” He caressed your hand gently with his thumb, understanding exactly how that felt. You felt heat rise in your chest “okay…let’s get on with this” you could have been imagining it, but you could have sworn that Din was extra attentive to you that afternoon, after you had made the comment about having only trusted one person. Later that evening, the three of you lay out under the stars. Grogu had tucked himself under his Dads arm and was now snorting softly. “I’ve never had someone quite like you before.” Din whispered. You turned your head to face him “how do you mean?” There was a beat of silence before he answered “such a close friend.” Your chest filled with warmth “yeah me neither” you reached out and squeezed his hand and Din squeezed it back.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” Every day they took you to a location where you did engineering work. They had mostly given up on torturing you for answers about the kid, they figured if you were this loyal to the Mandalorian they might as well keep you as bait. Your night in shining armor would likely come try and bust you out, or at least that’s what they were holding out for…it had been months though. It’s not like you wanted Din to risk his heck for you. You wondered if he still cared about you.

Your work was a good distraction. Today’s job was relatively easy and you were able to let your mind drift far away from your monotonous task. You decide to revisit the memory you had been thinking of last night, the one where Din taught you to dance.

“Alright, nice and slow. I step forward and you step …back. Perfect just like that. Watch my feet and mirror what they do. Good. Now try and do it without looking.” “Din that’s impos- “Don’t be so stubborn…just look at me.” And you did. In that moment you had never wanted to see his face more. How was he looking at you? You wanted so badly to know. “Okay. Hand placement.” Din continued. He gently put one hand on your waist and took your free hand in his. “You’re going to have to get a little close for this to work.” Din’s arm was almost fully outstretched to reach your waist. “Come hereeeeeee. I’m not going to hurt you.” He said as he pulled you to himself. You laughed nervously. It wasn’t like this was your first time being this close to him. You lived in a ship for goodness sakes. Quarters were cramped and it wasn’t uncommon that the two of you worked side by side, squished together trying to fix some electrical problem on the crest. You found dancing with him started to come incredibly naturally, like the two of you had done this ever night for years. “Yes, yes that’s so good!” You felt sheepish under his flattery.

“Hey 1187, get back to work!” You hadn’t even noticed it, but in your dreaming you had entirely stalled your work and had been simply staring into space. For the remainder of the day you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. That evening you overheard some of the guards saying Moff Gideon had arrived on base. Why the hell was he here? Overseeing the prison is a little below his pay grade. Then you heard them say “yeah he wants to question the girl himself.” Oh fuck …sounds like he was here for you. After dinner you weren’t led back to your cell, you were led into a dark room and handcuffed to a table. Moff entered the room. You stared him down, refusing to appear weak. “Are you enjoying your stay?” You spat “oh dear, I take that as a no. They told me you were a little brat. I will make this very simple for you…tell us any information you have on the Mandalorian and the child he is in procession of, or die a most painful death.” You smirked. “What good am I to you dead?” “You’re no good to use any longer, you have injured countless of my guards, you’re a self righteous brat, and you have proven your silence on this notion. You are becoming a hindrance to me.” “Kill me if you like, but you can kiss goodbye your plan to use me as bait for Mando to come rescue me.” “Oh I think we both know that ship has sailed. Your Mandalorian likely has a new little whore at this point…I doubt he’s coming back for you.” You breath quickened. You knew Moff was trying to break you down, and his words were starting to strike very close to the insecurities already dwelling in the back of your mind. “Go to hell. I’m not telling you shit.” Moff signaled to one of the guards who used his rod to electrify you. You screamed as the pain ripped through your body. “Let’s try again.” He said in an eerily calm voice. He calmly removed one of his black leather gloves and then without warning smacked you across the face. “Tell me where he is. I don’t think you understand how important the child is to me, but I will make you understand.” You kept your gaze fixed on him but said nothing. “Right well I have other matters to attend to. I will check back in with you in a couple hours to see if you’ve had a change of heart.” With that he moved to exit the interrogation room. “Take her back to her cell and put her in the restraints.”

Back in your cell they had you chained to three wall. You found it hard not to feel defeated. You refused to let that emotion take up any space in your body, but tonight felt different. You were tired, you were ready to give in and silently accept death with your head hanging low. You could feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness. You were pretty sure they had drugged you, before putting you in the restraints. Your head hung low to your chest and you felt as though you could almost fall asleep when all the lights turned red and sirens blared in the hall. Your head jerked up. “Are we being attacked?” You wondered to yourself. You heard shooting and other sounds of a struggle, and then silence. Two men rounded the corner. One man was bald and had a slight beard, the other …the other was your Mandalorian! You could have cried. Din saw you almost immediately. “Here!” He and the other man rushed towards your cell. The bald man used his comlink “Dune, do you copy? Open cell 1187” the door swung open moments later. You were at a loss for words. Din knelt down and began to work at your restraints while the other man kept watch. “Hey, we’re going to get you out of here okay.” He said softly. All you could do was nod. Tears threatened to spill over. Din worked quickly “Mayfield how we doing?” He called over his shoulder. “Fine for now, but pick it up.” The last restraint fell to the floor “okay can you run?” Din stood up and held out his hand to you. “I think so.” Mayfield used the comlink again. “Alright Dune we’re headed your way. Need you to be ready to jump to hyperspace the second we get back to the crest.” “Copy that” a woman’s voice responded.

The dash to escape the prison was a blur. You weren’t sure if it was the drugs, the chemicals in your brain or both, but before you knew it you were sitting in the hull of the razor crest panting. “Alright get us the fuck out of here!” Mayfield called. Din quickly scaled the ladder and in moments you were in hyperspace. The last thing you remember is Din calling your name before you hit the cold, metal floor.

Pt 2 is coming 😍

[starlost-mochi-x]

studio - han jisung

pairing: han jisung x reader

summary: you join jisung for a producing session

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, crack, chill jisung

a/n: han would be so much fun to produce with and you can't change my mind

The producing studio was filled with the soft hum of equipment as you sat across from Jisung, both of you focused intensely on the computer screen. The blank canvas of the rather large music project felt daunting, but Jisung’s limitless energy was infectious, putting you at ease. He'd come into the studio with two iced Americanos, a million-watt smile, a pair of cute glasses, and a head full of amazing ideas.

Only the 4th gen ace, you had thought to yourself amusedly as he'd settled down.

“Okay, let’s try something new,” Jisung suggested, his eyes lighting up as he adjusted his headphones. He took a swig of his iced Americano before setting it down carefully on the side table. “I want to hear what you’ve got.”

You hesitated, unsure if your ideas were on par with his. But Jisung, ever the encourager, nudged you gently.

“There’s no right or wrong here, yeah? It’s about creating something that feels like us. Something that feels unique and special.”

You nodded, picking up your bass, hands a little clammy, and tentatively played a chord progression you had been working on. To your complete and utter surprise, Jisung’s face broke into a grin.

“That’s fire!” he exclaimed, fingers already moving over his keyboard to add a beat.

The time seemed to blur and fly by as the two of you worked together, layering melodies and harmonies, Jisung with practiced, flowing ease, and you with slight hesitance and intrigue. Jisung hummed softly for a few seconds, then suddenly broke into a rap, the flow raw and unpolished but electric, his hands waving energetically in what you could only assume was a flurry of rapper gestures. You couldn’t help but laugh at the unfamiliarity of his movements.

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious,” he teased, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. The atmosphere was light and collaborative, professional yet comfortable, filled with shared laughter, occasional banter, and back-and-forth teasing.

Hours passed without notice, but the track was taking shape. The sounds you created together were vibrant, a reflection of your combined, juxtaposing music styles and tastes. Jisung leaned back, so far incredibly satisfied with the progress.

“See?” he said softly, a satisfied smile on his lips. “We make a great team.”

You couldn’t help but agree as you looked at him, realizing that not only was he an incredible artist and producer, but someone who made the process feel like magic. He was so easy to work with and talk to, taking your ideas on board and adding his own flair to it while allowing your unique visions to shine throughout.

You made a mental note to gatecrash 3RACHA's producing sessions more often in the future.

a/n: yay new dividers ! thanks to @anitalenia

[yoongihan]

Hii! If your requests are still open, I'd like to make one that includes:

"Like what you see?",🩸 Patching up a wound. (Stray kids, Changbin)

Hope you're doing well!

(yes, i included two gifs because both changbins are to blame for this fic)

pairing: changbin x fem character

genre: smut, fluff, supernaturalish, f2l

rating: M (i have made up for all those earlier sfw drabbles)

word count: ~3200 (is this even a drabble anymore?)

warnings: smut in the form of oral (f. rec), unprotected sex, kissing and more kissing (biting too), fairly crass discussion of arousal, cursing (mc likes the f word quite a bit), endearments (baby, nakkeo), mc is a few inches taller than bin, maybe a strength kink (I don't even know what kinks are anymore after being on this website) for both mc and bin, mention of were-shifting (claws), undue amounts of changbin devotion. I think that's it.

a/n: welp, anon, i don't know if I should blame you and music bank Paris changbin (that dance cover with nmixx has not left my brain) for this ridiculous piece of writing. i was possessed, apparently. i hope you enjoy it. i had way too much fun writing this.

original request post here

I Don't Want to Hurt You

(the angsty title ever for a non-angst fic)

“Will you just hold still?” you say through clenched teeth. Your bedside manner is lacking, you know, but you are trying to not fall apart and that requires you to be more curt than courteous.

“I am,” he says, far more calmly than you. Changbin is good at keeping his cool in the middle of a crisis. Not that this happens often. You go out of your way to make sure he’s not around in crisis. Not that he can’t handle it.

It’s that you can’t.

He’s your friend. Has been since you were stuck together on some assignment in a freshman gen ed class. He’d been kind of skinny back then, all angular and full of bravado.

Almost ten years later, he isn’t skinny. His friendship with Chan meant he frequented the campus gym and that resulted in your friend becoming the biggest gym rat to ever grace your world. You might have a few inches on him in height, but the guy could bench-press you easily.

And if you were still human, he would probably be stronger than you too.

His bravado still exists and comes in handy, especially when two years out of university, you get bitten one night during the full moon and you now not only have days of the month where you cramp and deal with the logistics of being a woman, but you also have three days when the moon is full and your cramps turn you into a hairy beast.

You hate it.

Changbin is less bothered that you have nights where you turn into a werewolf, needing to be out running and hunting (you absolutely hate that your wolf loves to eat squirrels and chipmunks even though they might be the least endangered species on the planet), and often ending up waking up in the woods, naked and majorly scratched up the following morning. He more often than not finds you, brings clothes, a blanket and coffee with him. He doesn’t care that you track various foliage and hair (your hair, not fur…thank you, god) into his SUV. If he doesn’t have to be at work too early, he even buys you breakfast.

You cannot believe your life is a supernatural cliche and that your friend just rolls with it.

But tonight, you screwed up. You knew it was the last night of your cycle (the lunar-controlled one, not the biological reproductive one), but that usually meant you were a little clingy until the moon rose. You don’t usually struggle with turning at all on the third day.

If you think about it too deeply, you know that your feelings in regard to Changbin are probably responsible.

Or just the jeans he’s wearing.

It’s only six in the evening, you have almost two hours before sunset, longer until the moon shows its face and yet, you grow claws on your right hand when he boasts about his ass being better than yours.

(It totally is better).

He thinks you’re annoyed that he’s bragging and you let him think that because admitting that you’re turned on by him drawing your attention to his posterior is way way more embarrassing.

Not that half-heartedly swiping at him before realizing you have claws isn’t mortifying enough.

You have more bandages than a pharmacy in your apartment bathroom, and you pull out all of it to patch up the gash you’ve left on his upper arm as he sits on the sink. His legs are spread so you can stand between them, the bright light overhead illuminating the damage you inflicted.

He’d call it a scratch, but it did bleed and you are the worst friend ever.

The bleeding has stopped and you are doing your best to spread the antibiotic ointment, so it doesn’t get infected. Who knows what your claws could do?

“Hey,” he says after a few moments of silence. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I hurt you, Bin.”

Fuck, you hear the waver in your voice.

He makes a ‘tsking’ sound before wincing as the medicine stings. It’s involuntary, but his arm tenses at the pain, making it seem like he’s flexing.

“I said, stay still.”

“And I said, I am,” he whines back, pouting. You refuse to look at his face, knowing that the lower lip jutting out will be your undoing. You are trying to keep it together.

“Your bicep isn’t.”

You hear him hum arrogantly and you regret your words so much.

The flexing now is intentional.

“Like what you see?” Your friend (emphasis on friend) is the biggest tease and flirt. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s wriggling his eyebrows at you.

“Can it.”

You can feel his breath tickle your ear as he leans in. “You didn’t deny it.”

You turn to give him the most unimpressed expression you can muster, but he didn’t pull back at your move. He’s inches away, a little surprised if his parted lips are anything to go by.

God, for a gym rat, he’s so damn cute.

However, for a predatory animal, you are a coward, so you quickly look away to finish bandaging his arm. Your claws disappeared the moment you realized you’d injured him, but you’re still really careful with how you touch him, worried they’ll show up again.

He doesn’t have to smell so good.

You freeze when you feel warmth on your lower back. His hand slipped under and up the back of your shirt.

What the actual fuck.

You pull away, putting much much-needed space between the two of you. “There. All done.”

Apparently not enough because his finger catches you by the belt loop on your jeans.

“You know what I found out recently?”

You refuse to meet his gaze, so you stubbornly stare at the bandage.

“I was reading about lycanthropy, you know as I do, when I found out that there are several reasons why you might turn before moonrise.”

Oh fuck.

“It’s not only because you get angry.” His voice is very thoughtful, but when you steal a look at his face, you can see he’s teasing.

He’s the worst.

“Really?” Why are you speaking? Why are you continuing this conversation when you aren’t an idiot and he’s not an idiot and you know where this is going?

He nods, tugging you closer by said belt loop.

“Anger, yes. Anxiety, too. But also arousal.”

You cough. “Arousal?”

“It was a medical article I was reading.” He’s got you back between his legs, his finger moving from the belt loop to slide past your waistband just enough to touch your skin. “Arousal, horniness, libido, you know…you get wet.”

You are trying to keep your eyes on the collar of his shirt, but those words force you to look at him full in the face. His skin is a little red, but he doesn’t look away from you.

You feel it this time. The insistence at your fingertips and you clasp your hands behind your back.

You almost injure yourself when your claws come out.

“Soooo,” he continues, his other hand following along your arm to where you have hidden your hands. You feel the light touch on your claws. “Which is it? Anger, anxiety, or arousal?”

You swallow hard, wondering if you are trembling on the outside because you definitely are on the inside.

“Bin.”

He scoots to the edge of the sink, his legs pressing against your hips.

“Bin,” you repeat, as he grips you by the waist as though he knows you might bolt.

“Tell me,” he whispers, his nose touching yours.

“I don’t think this is safe.”

His other hand hasn’t moved from where your claws are more than evident.

When he speaks, his lips brush your lips lightly. “Ask me if I care.” His thumb draws a gentle circle against the skin at your waist as he presses his mouth to yours, insistent.

You know he feels you trembling now. With everything in you, you keep your hands off of him, but you kiss him back, the wanting to know what he tastes like is beyond your self-control. You hear him moan and he hooks his ankles together, dragging you impossibly closer. His mouth opens, his tongue seeking; and it shouldn’t surprise you that his kissing is a tease as well because he draws away half a second after his tongue touches yours.

You whine and he chuckles before kissing the corner of your lips, then your cheek, then dropping down to mouth at your neck.

Your whine is louder.

He bites and you push back, hands carefully on his shoulders, putting distance between you.

He pouts and makes grabby hands. “Come back here.”

You try not to acquiesce because no muscley man should be that adorable.

You do lean in to kiss that pouty lower lip, but then you back away so neither of you can reach the other.

“I…I need a moment.”

He slides off the sink and you take a few more steps back.

“This is not a good time,” you continue, waving your clawed hands in case he needs a visual.

He rolls his eyes, reaching out, but stops when you hold up your hands to stop him.

“I’ve already hurt you once today."

“It’s a scratch.”

“Not to me.”

His expression softens and if determined Changbin is a turn-on, concerned Changbin melts your heart.

“Okay…” he says carefully. “Does that mean…tomorrow is a better time?”

You scoff. “Obviously. This,” gesturing with your hands again. “Won’t be a thing.”

He presses his lips together, mildly annoyed, but you know he knows that you mean it.

“I’ll allow it only if–”

“You’ll allow it?”

He smirks at your affronted tone. “Only if you promise that this pause is just a pause. That tomorrow, when I find you, get you breakfast; that you’ll still…” His bravado falters and his voice gets quieter.

“I’ll still?”

He looks away then, the blush brightening. “You’ll still want me.”

It’s weird, right? That your claws retract immediately (it isn’t like you aren’t still wanting him) and you move without a second thought to hug him, pressing your face into his neck and shoulder. You feel his arms wrap around you, tight.

“Binnie,” you whisper, “I’ll always want you.”

–

He makes you breakfast the next morning, an hour after you stumble home, shower and dress. You don’t remark that you can tell he slept in your bed (it smells like him). He doesn’t ask you anything about your wolf ramblings, but tells you about how Felix gamed all night and he had to convince the younger man via texting to get some sleep.

You don’t say much (you are always starving the morning after wolf time), listening to him talk about your mutual friends like nothing life-changing happened last night. When you come out of the bathroom with more bandages, he rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine.”

You pull him over to sit on one of your barstools. “Let me check.”

He sniffs once. “You brushed your teeth.”

You look up from his arm to him. “Yeah.”

“Before and after breakfast?”

You grin at him. “Well, you’re going to kiss me, right? I’m just being considerate.”

He’s off the stool before you can finish your sentence, hands on your arms, maneuvering you toward the couch. You laugh when you fall back on it, dragging him with you.

His mouth finds yours the moment he’s on top of you, settling between your legs, one hand on your thigh. He squeezes before rolling his hips so you feel how hard he is.

“Fuck,” you breathe, so completely turned on in what feels like a matter of seconds. Your exclamation is mumbled against his lips as you mentally check your body, making sure that there are no lingering effects of the moon.

When you run your hands up his back, under his shirt, it incurs no damage and all you feel is the smooth skin and solid muscle. He ducks to kiss your neck, all the way down to your collarbone before raising up to look at you. He reaches behind his head to tug off his shirt before taking your hands in his.

“Like what you see?” he teases. You know you’re gaping at him (he doesn’t go without a shirt all that often, despite his gym tendencies, that’s more Chan’s thing), but he’s so fit and broad. There’s something that makes your teeth ache at the thought that at purely human, he’s probably nearly as strong as you.

He won’t let go of your hands, so you rise to lick the line of his neck and shoulder. You feel his hands tighten and hear a deep guttural sound at your attentions. You know he sees your smug smile because he pushes you back down, hands pressed into the sofa. He tugs down the loose collar of your sleep shirt with his mouth so he can taste your skin, nipping once or twice.

“Please Bin,” you whimper.

“Please what, naekkeo?” he murmurs, still intent on marking right above your breast.

“I wanna touch you.”

He rests his chin on your chest so you can focus on his dark eyes. “So do it.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

He raises one eyebrow, a clear challenge, which you cannot ignore, so you pull your hands from his, one arm wrapping around his neck and shoulders to bring his mouth back to yours as your other hand slides down his naked back to skate under his flannel pj pants (commando, bless him) so you can get a really good grip. He gasps at your squeeze.

“Too much?” you ask, uninclined to draw away any farther than an inch. He shakes his head, pushing up your shirt hem, hands caressing the exposed skin of your stomach. His fingers trip over a scratch that hasn’t healed completely yet (it will in another hour or so) and he jerks away to look at it.

“Baby,” he says softly before leaning down to kiss it. If your hand wasn’t still on his ass (like you will ever remove it), it would be a sweet and almost chaste touch. But he lingers, kissing below your navel to where your underwear and pajama shorts begin. His eyes search for yours, a question unsaid.

“You want to?” you verbalize, your voice breathy. “I don’t want to h–”

He snaps the waistband of your shorts against your skin. “Stop worrying so damn much. I’ll pinch you if I can’t handle it.” He mutters a few other things, mostly thematic that you’re insulting his manliness, which makes you giggle.

Yes, he’s all man, but he also knows more K-pop girl group choreo than anyone you know (well, tied with Felix) and executes those feminine moves with gusto.

It’s one of many ways he’s sexy (you may have thought about his ability to move his hips with such ease a time or two).

He yanks down both your shorts and underwear to your knees which means your hand is no longer on his ass which is a disappointment, but then his tongue and lips are savoring you with the same enthusiasm and all you can do is tangle one hand in his curly hair and grip the sofa with the other.

You’ve had sex since being bitten, but not a lot and not without a lot of worry. You’re so terrified you will injure mid-orgasm that you haven't had one with a partner since that fateful night of the full moon.

So when his talented mouth and fingers do exactly that, you feel like you might never breathe normally again. When the aftershocks lessen and he’s crawling back up your body, wiping his face on your shirt before cradling your face in his hands to kiss you softly, you can’t stop staring at him in awe.

He boops your nose. “You okay?”

“I…yeah. You?”

He laughs, going in for another kiss. You kiss him back, flipping him over so you can be on top. You kick off your shorts and panties before divesting him of his bottoms. He curses when you take him in hand, his head falling back on the couch. You see his hand clench in a fist when you stroke him, your thumb teasing at the tip.

“Really glad you aren’t about to shift right now,” he breathes out, making you chuckle.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to damage this,” you say softly, kissing the tip. His head jerks up to look at you.

“No.”

“No?”

“Inside.” You watch his adam’s apple move as he swallows. “Wanna be inside you.” He props himself up on his elbows. “If you want…”

You nod, and start to move to find a condom (do you have any in your apartment? It’s been ages since you needed one), but he grabs you by the wrist.

“I’m clean. And you're clean and I know you're on the pill and…” He lets out a breath that flutters his fringe from his eyes. “If you’re okay with it.”

You nod again, closing the distance between you to kiss him again. He removes his hand from your wrist to cup your cheek. He lays back down as you ease down on him, breaking the kiss when he’s fully in you.

“Naekkeo,” he stutters, eyes full of heat and want. You start to move and he groans so deep you feel it in your chest. Your eyes fall shut when he sits back up, discontent to let you do all the work, his mouth connecting with yours again, murmuring words of praise and affection. You bury your face into the crook of his neck when he starts to speed up. He’s holding you by the thighs and hips, and every thrust feels so fucking good, even when it doesn’t hit that spot. He just feels good.

“Do…” he gasps in your ear. “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No baby,” you say into his neck, clinging to him probably too tight but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s seconds later that he comes, falling back onto the sofa as his hold on you weakens. His chest is heaving under you, his arms wrapped around you, locked. You press kisses on his shoulder as he comes down from his high. His skin is a little salty from sweat, but you like it.

You like him. So much.

“You didn’t,” he says once he has his breath back. You lift your head to look at him, confused. You think he’d be blushing if he wasn’t already flushed. “You didn’t come.”

You brush back his hair from his eyes, kissing his forehead. “No, but I did earlier.” You kiss his nose next. He opens his mouth, but you kiss him there too. “Don’t worry about it.”

He’s pouting again. “But–”

You nibble on that bottom lip of his before folding your arms on his chest and resting your chin on your hands. “Later. If you still want to.”

He snorts before running one hand up and down your back. “If I want to. I promise you, baby, I will forever be grateful you scratched me because my ass makes you horny.”

He’s giggling when you smack him on the chest before he kisses you again.

You’re pretty grateful too.

--

© yoongihan 2023. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[babiebom]

Hey! Hope you're having a great week!

I'd like to make a request about harvey and witch!reader (GN) who gifts him potions or invites him to do little rituals.(stuff like that)

This could be HCs or a little oneshot or whatever you're comfortable with!

(If that's too much, sorry/gen)

🦉-

A/N: you wanna know something funny? I wasn’t gonna announce it yet(as if anyone cares lmao) but I’m planning on doing musical inspired fics and the very first one I’m writing is about witch!reader(gender neutral) x Rasmodius! So you were literally in tune with me about the reader being a witch lmao. Also I hope you’re having a great week(and all the great weeks for forever) too!!

Tw:Witchcraft? Some stuff may be inaccurate I do not practice witchcraft at all so I am very ignorant. Cursing. A sexual mention (not bad or graphic I promise it’s just a lil jokey joke.) 1 mention of the war going on in the game.

Wc: 17 bulletpoints (i think) 0.6k for the oneshot

Sdv Masterlist

I personally think that Harvey has no experience AT ALL with witchcraft and magic or anything.

His experience is that he has watched scary movies with witches, and has seen every single episode of Charmed.

So he’s not really scared, just wary, especially since there is an actual Wizard that lives right outside of town.

So when you start becoming friends and you tell him that you’re a witch and partake in witchcraft he’s very….

I literally cannot explain without using an emoji I hope y’all can see it it’s just 😃

Like he’s literally like “hmm okay guess that’s something that’s part of my life now”because he likes you so much

If it was anyone else he would’ve been sorta like…that’s something I’m not comfy with

But with you he’s like “yeah okay I guess I can deal with this”

The first time you gift him a potion he is very confused like wtf is this for

You’re like “hehe it’s to help you have more energy🥰”

He is VERY HAPPY with how well it works and the fact that you made the potion taste GOOD

Like the medicine he sells in the clinic for energy tastes like absolute ass and he never takes it himself.

But you literally gave him a solution

Also a potion to get rid of insomnia(at least temporarily)

He is all for it especially since it’s you teaching him.

He actually allows you to sell your potions in the clinic for certain things like helping Granny Evelyn deal with her bad knees and arthritis.

Actually in love with you, and he has decided that even if you used a love potion on him he wouldn’t care at all.

The moon is slowly rising in the night sky by the time Harvey can lock up the clinic to head to your farm. He’s nervous, he has been to your place before, yes, but this is the first time you’ve invited him to be a part of a ritual that you’re doing. He doesn’t know what it is specifically, while on the phone you were very playful and vague. It takes him an hour to get to your place, he walks briskly, the wind whipping his hair around.

The closer he gets, the more his heart pounds and he feels the urge to turn back and go home. It’s not that he’s scare of you, in fact he trusts you with his life, he just is anxious about the ritual and what you have to do. His phone buzzes in his pocket the second he stops and he sees your name pop up.

Farmer: don’t you dare turn around.

i’ll turn you into a frog if you do.

okay i won’t but hurry up and get here.

He couldn’t help but smile at your words, and how you knew that he was getting cold feet. Harvey sends a reply and continues walking. This night is going to change his life, he knows it.

He knocks on your door, bouncing on his feet as he waits, too cold to just stand there. You open the door, and he is hit with the smell of what he thinks is cinnamon, and the warmth of the inside of your home. Your smile is so bright that he insults himself internally for even thinking of turning around.

“You’re here!” You grab at his arm to pull him inside, helping him take off his coat to hang it up. “I thought you would’ve changed your mind.”

“Never, not when you invited me.” You send a soft smile his way while leading him to your bedroom. He had never really been in it before, only seeing it from the living room or hallway when he’s passing by. It makes his heart thump so loudly that he fears that you can hear it.

“You ready?”

“Yeah…what kind of ritual is this?”

“A sex ritual.” He chokes on his saliva. You invited him to do a sex ritual? He thinks for a second that he doesn’t think that you were at that point yet, but he isn’t mad at it, he wouldn’t oppose it if this is really what you want to do.

“A sex ritual?”

“Yeah,” your eyes shine with mischief, “to make us super horny, totally. We’re gonna summon an incubus.”

Harvey can’t stop his eyes from widening at your words. “O…Kay?” You laugh loudly at him, doubling over and wheezing, your eyes closed in delight.

“I-“ you almost fall to the ground still laughing hard. “I’m joking! We’re doing a ritual to make sure that the beginning of next year will be good for everyone, and we’re doing a second one to protect the valley from monsters, especially with the war going on.”

He lets out a loud breath, sort of relieved but also sort of disappointed. He really did want to see you summon some sort of sex demon, it would be really funny now that he thinks about it.

Taking his hand, you grin as you pass him some ingredients. As you begin to read off how to do the ritual, he decided then and there that he has to ask you on a date, and maybe to do a ritual to make sure that the date goes well, he’d regret it if he didn’t.