#i fear to be cancelled for some reason

[hazopal]

suggestive oc ink work I’ve experimented :-) I miss this story a lot, I’m unsure whether to talk about them !

[ladylingua]

RIP WOT

[hezuart]

If Seven have water bending powers, Six soul eating powers and Mono space-time powers what would Raincoat Girl powers would be

oOOOO see, I thought about this quite a bit for the past week. I don't think Raincoat girl's powers will come up in Channel Change, so I'll share my headcanon here.

Raincoat girl I've always called "Five" though I've considered calling her "Quinn" (or even "Cinc") sometimes to not be so obviously a number, kind of like Mono's naming scheme. But I don't think the name Quinn would stick with the fandom as well as "Five" would...

To me, Five would have the ability to change her size at will. (Typically shrink, but only when she gets more powerful later she will learn how to enlarge herself.) She may also have the ability the manipulate the sizes of objects, people, or animals around her.

My evidence: 1. "VERY LITTLE Nightmares" game title 2. The Nest is more like a giant doll house, and she's surrounded by children turned into dolls 3. Each collectible has something to do with the children's powers. She collects Jack-in-the-boxes; children's toys that had been made in France as little "Demon-in-the-boxes". A tiny puppet pops out to surprise/scare the person playing its music because typically, no one would expect a creature to be compressed in something so small.

Six is a soul eater. She can suck the souls out of adults for sustenance. She can suck the youth out of children, turning them into nomes so that she may remain immortal. She may have the ability to teleport through shadows. She may or may not also have the ability to create shadow proxy children?

Mono is a space-time manipulator. He can travel through time and teleport elsewhere through TVs. He can leave behind imprints of children and also reabsorb them? He has minor to major telekinesis and draws in the attention of those around him.

Seven has hydrokinesis. He can physically manipulate water. He can create air pockets to breathe underwater. If he concentrates, he can also control the water inside someone's body including his own. This proves difficult when trying to lift others, but his body is the easiest to control, giving the illusion that he's floating on air.

Five/Quinn is a size shifter. She can shrink at will to crawl through small spaces like a mouse; to get into hidden rooms or to avoid being caught. She can also enlarge herself at will and has the ability the manipulate thse sizes of objects, people, or animals around her. But this requires heavy concentration to do so.

[heirbane]

Like I earnestly believe that for all he's known for, gaius DID look at the black rose project and put his foot down and did his best to make it impossible to proceed. Even earlier on, before Werlyt, we were seeing glimpses of the cracks in how far he was willing to go for Garlemald. How is that overlooked? How do people see that and blanket him as a bad person? Like, he IS - but there's hope there.

[louderfade]

exene talking about the state of the world. the good stuff starts at eight minutes. or you can just read the transcript complete with the usual errors that accompany robot transcribed speech (the irony of which is not lost on me). maybe it's not about transhumanism and living forever (or maybe it is who knows), but there's definitely an agenda of surveillance and control at work which is designed to keep the powerful in power. cash rules everything around me and you will own nothing etc. the future is worse.

[dontrecogniserecogniseme]

I manifested my dream life after 1+ year of nonstop trying

First of all, i would like to give some background information. I've been in the subliminal community since 2017-2018, i was LITERALLY in primary school 😭

Manifestation is not a new concept to me, i tried the law of assumption in 2021 but didn't get my desire so i gave up. in december 2024 i got back into it and decided for myself what i wanted my dream life to be.

Here's everything i manifested:

desired face

desired body

desired family

desired grades + having skipped a year

seeing my long distance boyfriend in august

and many MANY other things i can't think of rn LOL

HERE'S WHAT CLICKED

I used to think that i was doing everything right, i persisted, i affirmed, i lived in the end and i NEVER wavered, or so i thought. I thought wavering was strictly contradicting your desires for example "i don't have _", i thought it was anything that implied that you don't have it.

However my version of wavering is what i would refer to as "creating a Plan B" which this post made me realise i was doing. I constantly discussed what i would do IF i didn't get it. For example: let's say i want to manifest a class being cancelled, i would decide the class is cancelled and maybe affirm a little but then i would suddenly proceed to take my notes for the class 'just in case it didn't get cancelled'. I didn't think it was wavering because i was talking hypothetically but that ALSO contradicts the mindset of me having it all.

Eventually i also came across this subliminal. I HIGHLY recommend you look at the benefits, you don't even have to listen. The subliminal talks about the law of obsession and honestly i could try as hard as i can to explain it but i recommend you just look at the document because it's perfectly worded and i would NOT do it justice i fear.

HOW DID I PROCEED ?

With this newfound clarity i decided to continue my journey differently. I would never EVER contradict my desires. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER !!!!

Now this is the part where this post saved my ass. I know for a FACT that if ur reading this ur wondering "well how the hell am i supposed to just stop my negative thoughts overnight" and let me tell you something, you don't. STOP TRYING TO PUSH UR NEGATIVE THOUGHTS AWAY !! IT ONLY MAKES IT WORSE !! And now ur DEFINITELY wondering "well wtf do i do then ??" and this is where i tell you to Just. Let. Them. Pass.

Do not entertain negative thoughts. Don't agree with them and don't disagree with them, they're quite literally ragebaiters 🥀

Ragebait is made for interaction, otherwise it serves no purpose. You should only observe those thoughts and move on, instantly distract yourself.

HOWEVER let's say you absolutely CANNOT get rid of those thoughts then i firmly recommend this post to help you deal with them so you can move on. SUMMARY

NEVER contradict ur desires, do not even dare to think about "well what if i don't get it ??" and stop trying to play it safe.

Don't try to fight wavering or negative thoughts just ignore them and move on, if you really can't check out the post i linked.

In fortnite terms 🔥

I thought I was manifesting like a pro, but turns out I was still playing scared — making backup plans like setting a reboot van just in case. That’s wavering. Real manifesting is committing like you already won the match — no Plan B, just full send.

Negative thoughts? Don’t fight them. That’s like building against a bot for no reason. Just let them glide by — they’re ragebait trying to get a reaction. Observe, ignore, move on. If they keep spamming, check out the post/subliminal mentioned — it’s like grabbing a mythic to help reset your mindset.

A BIG THANK YOU TO THESE PEOPLE !!!

@salemlunaa

@justmanifestit

@manifestingitgurlll

@itsrlymine

@ang3lrem

@urprettyangel888

[twilightofthesandwiches]

It's interesting to think that, like... The Dark Sanctuary Dark World in Chapter 4 is the first Dark World we've seen that has no real connection to the theme of 'abandonment'.

Like, Card Kingdom is based on an unused classroom filled with abandoned toys. The entire plotline there revolves around King's anger and resentment at being abandoned by the Lightners and his desire to take revenge.

The computer room that became Cyber World is usually very frequently used, but.... because the Internet is down it's not at the moment. And Queen is driven by the anxiety of being abandoned if this internet shutdown continues, synthesized through her ego in a very "what would the Lightners do without me?" way.

And TV Land is the heaviest on this theme. With Tenna being driven by the grief of falling into disuse due to both technological advancements and the Dreemurr-Holiday Family Unit slow dissolution and the fear that this will get worse and he will be thrown out.

But then in the Dark Sanctuary... The Church is often used by the people of Hometown, this doesn't seem like it's going to change anytime soon and we see no Darkner be anxious about, like, the canceled Choir practice or anything like that. The closest thing we have to a 'leader' in that Dark World is Gerson/the Hammer of Justice, who is clearly a precious and well-loved Monster-Equivalent-of-an-Urn. If anything, his main worry is about him not being there for his Lightner son!

And, like, I said the Hammer of Justice is the closest thing we have to the 'Dark World Leader' slot in the formula seen in the previous three worlds, but that's also not quite the case.... cause he's also the Shadow Crystal Bearer of the same world. If the Hammer is like the Jevil or Spamton of this world, than it doesn't really have a King/Queen/Tenna for itself?

I remember when Chapter 2 came out, I already noticed this 'Abandonment' Pattern and I wondered whatever a Dark World created from objects that are not neglected or abandoned would just be far too.... content to actually have an adventure in it. Like, there would be no one to fight cause all the Darkners would just be chill and happy they're fulfilling their purposes.

And I also wondered if the Dark is, like, attracted to objects which were abandoned or neglected, gives them bigger importance or power in the Dark World. Hence a 'TV Land" instead of a general "Dreemurr House Land", the TV is the most abandoned thing there and so it is granted more focus.

And on that same topic I wondered about the fact Kris deliberately turned on the TV before opening that Dark Fountain. Like they were intentionally trying to aim for a TV Land Dark World.

Obviously the first idea, that non-abandoned Darkners would all just be benign NPCs has been disproved by the Dark Sanctuary, which has it's fair share of enemies to battle. But I think the idea that the Dark gives extra power and importance to things that have been Abandonment might have some merit. Not just with the Dreemurrs' living room being ruled and controlled by their disused old TV but also with the fact there isn't a clearly equivalent to Tenna (or Queen or King) in Dark Sanctuary.

And again, it makes me think of Kris' reasons for turning on the TV... Was it because their plans is to deliberately invoke the prophecy as much as possible and a TV Guy being slashed by the Knight is mentioned so they had to make a TV Guy?

Could they intuit that the Darkner that would be created from the Television would probably be desperate for attention and obsessed with Toriel and thus easier for the Knight to manipulate.... and also maybe that the Abandonment it feels will make it stronger?

(Notable perhaps that they also slightly opened the house's front door before turning on the TV and making a Fountain. In light of the events of Chapter 3, it seems like it was Kris laying a trap to pull Undyne to the Dark World so that the Knight could kidnap her)

Have Kris and/or the Knight have been deliberately seeking out abandoned and disused places that will therefore have stronger 'boss' Darkners that are easier to manipulate towards the Knight's goals?

And if that was the case, why did they stop with the Dark Sanctuary?

Did they just kinda... ran out of obviously abandoned places/things around Hometown?

Was it simply a matter of following the prophecy?

Was it a desperate attempt to re-capture Toriel via the choir practice?

Was the Knight just desperate to open a new Dark Fountain... somewhere and went with the Church as their first opportunity?

Was that pattern I noticed just a coincidence and doesn't actually mean anything?

A lot of things to think about...

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧃 How to Develop a Vibe AND a Plot (aesthetic doesn’t cancel arcs. let’s balance them.)

hey you. yes, you. the one with the moody playlists, the 73-tab Pinterest board, and a half-written draft that just keeps…vibing in circles.

if you’ve ever written 10k of immaculate vibes but couldn’t tell anyone what your story is about, this post is for you. because here’s the thing: ✨ aesthetic is not a substitute for stakes. ✨

let’s talk about how to keep your ✨vibes✨ and actually have a plot that moves. no ✧ fluff ✧ just structure, character arcs, and some lovingly blunt advice from your local writeblr gremlin (me).

🌊 1. aesthetic is a result, not a premise

the most common mistake i see is starting with a vibe as the story. like:

“sad girls on the beach in 1996”

“a cursed forest full of dead gods”

“a pastel academic rivalry with secrets and sexual tension”

cool. great. love that for you. but… what’s the story? what’s happening?

✨vibes = setting + mood + tone. ✨plot = choices + consequences + change.

your aesthetic can inspire the story (please keep making playlists. i love them). but don’t confuse the feel of your world with the function of your plot. start with tension. stakes. character flaws. emotional damage. that’s the engine. the aesthetic is the paint job.

🎯 2. define your “emotional throughline”

okay, so you’ve got an aesthetic. what’s the emotional core of it? your plot should orbit a single emotional question, like:

will this character ever let themselves be known?

what does it take to unlearn loyalty?

is love worth destroying something sacred?

start with that. then attach aesthetic scenes to it.

🧩 pro tip: aesthetic scenes are more powerful when they contradict or complicate your emotional throughline.

ex: your story’s about loneliness? show them at the loudest, busiest party. story’s about grief? show them smiling in photos while everything breaks behind the lens.

aesthetic is stronger with irony. contrast. juxtapositions. don’t just bathe the reader in vibes. weaponize them.

💥 3. let your aesthetic hurt your characters

whatever your aesthetic is--soft academia, vaporwave horror, regency witchcore, don’t make it just a backdrop. make it an obstacle.

your setting should create problems. friction. conflict.

if it’s a sleepy coastal town: what’s festering beneath the quiet?

if it’s a hauntingly beautiful forest: what does it take from people?

if it’s a cursed mansion: what happens to the girls who stay too long?

every time you design a pretty place or moody visual, ask: ❓ how does this setting test my characters’ beliefs or desires?

because then your aesthetic drives the story forward instead of just decorating it.

📚 4. develop plot like a playlist: structure the escalation

your aesthetic playlist has structure, right? (don’t lie. i know you’ve got a specific song for act 3 heartbreak.)

plot works the same way. it’s not a mystery. it’s escalation.

you want a structure? here’s a dead-simple one:

give your main character a desire (internal & external)

give them a reason they can’t have it (flaw, fear, lie)

make them try anyway (rising stakes)

make it cost them something (midpoint shift)

force them to change or break (climax)

let that change play out (falling action / resolution)

that’s it. apply that structure to your vibey little story and suddenly it’s a book.

👁‍🗨 5. plot is what they do - vibe is how it feels

don’t choose one. you can have both.

you can have a soft lighting scene on a rooftop and the secret betrayal reveal. you can have dreamy prose and broken character dynamics. you can give me worldbuilding so lush it smells like petrichor and rot and still give me a plot twist that leaves me feral.

you just need to be intentional.

every scene = a purpose. every aesthetic = an angle. every image = tied to stakes, desire, or change.

✨ that’s the difference between “ooh pretty” and “oh my god i can’t stop thinking about this story.” ✨

💌 so in conclusion:

start with an emotional arc

let your aesthetic scenes earn their place

make your world fight your characters

escalate, escalate, escalate

and stop hiding a lack of plot under “vibe” like a glittery throw blanket over a broken chair

you’ve got this. now go write the beautifully messy, aesthetic and emotionally devastating story you were meant to.

i believe in you.

🧃rin t.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (8)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: i will be out of town this weekend, so jury's out on how long it'll take me to write the next chapter. this will satiate you for the time being :)

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: oral (m & f receiving), sunghoon gets sucked off while driving, fingering, p in v, missionary unprotected sex, and probably some typos. whoops.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

As it turns out, Sunghoon was completely serious about the weekend getaway. 

He’d managed to rearrange meetings on his own without bothering you about it. All of his Friday priorities have been taken care of, and the one meeting he had on Saturday morning managed to be pushed onto another week. Sunghoon told you to let him worry about the logistics, and that your only responsibility is bringing clothes for the weekend. 

You didn’t have time to pack during the week and find yourself scrambling to think of everything in your closet. Should you bring that lingerie set your friend bought you for your birthday all those years ago? You’ve never had any reason to wear it. When you see it in the back of your closet and try it on before packing it in your duffle bag, you’re a bit too shy to admit the lacy, deep red fabric looks incredible on your body.

You’re halfway done packing (re: you’ve packed undergarments and a few pajamas) by the time the end of Friday comes around. Sunghoon drives you back to your place in order to help you pack, even though you insist on doing it by yourself and meeting him at his place. He argues it wouldn’t be proper of him to not accompany and help you. 

Sunghoon meets Nabi for the first time, too. She’s more than eager to watch Pochi over the weekend if that means you get to spend time with the hot boss she’s only ever seen in photos or Internet searches. They get along fine if you count her talking his ear off while she collects Pochi while Sunghoon politely smiles at her and nods. You’ve told her how he is around strangers when he isn’t working, and Nabi’s more than willing to fill up the silence. It’s kind of sweet watching this short, loud personality overshadow a tall, quiet guy. 

Pochi doesn’t seem to care that you’re leaving either. You give her a million kisses to the point where Sunghoon fears you might cancel the entire weekend because of how much you dote on her. He finds it to be incredibly adorable, too. Sunghoon doesn’t know if he’s ever seen you be so affectionate before now. You seem more delicate around Pochi, caring for the little creature like she’s an extension of you. He wonders if this is what other people see when they note how well you take care of him. 

“Give me fifteen minutes,” you tell Nabi and Sunghoon. “Or twenty. I don’t know. It’s Friday and my brain is fried.”

“Take your time, babe,” says Nabi with a wink. “I can’t have you forgetting things on your first weekend getaway since I’ve known you.” 

“Yah. Stop patronizing me.”

“It’s what I’m here to do.” 

Pochi meows faintly when you disappear around the corner, but Nabi scoops her up in her arms. Pochi doesn’t make a fuss and rests against the crook of Nabi’s elbow as Sunghoon smoothes over his pants, feeling awkward and out of place.

“You’re doing her a real favor by taking her on a vacation.”

“We’ll be two hours outside of Seoul. I hardly count that as a vacation.”

“To each their own,” Nabi says with a casual shrug. “She’s been working her ass off for the last few years. I haven’t known her as long as you have, of course, but I see her when she comes home.”

Sunghoon quirks an eyebrow. “And…what is she like? When she’s with you?”

“Someone who doesn’t know how to relax. She’s so good at anticipating what other people need and planning things, but I don’t think she’s truly had a day to herself without worrying about you.”

“I feel a little guilty about that.”

“Eh, that’s the job, right? If it makes you feel better, she says you’re one of the least demanding partners at your firm. She’s happy working for you instead of somebody else.” 

His cheeks flush and he looks away for a moment. “Thanks. I tend to keep my work and my personal life separate, but it’s hard to keep that line when I spend so much time with her.”

“Oh, I can tell.” Nabi winks again and Pochi reaches her paw out towards Sunghoon like she knows something. He bites back an embarrassed laugh, but Nabi doesn’t seem to be judging him as he thought she might. “Look, I don’t know how long this has been going on, but you seem to be good for her. She’s happier, you know? No cloud above her head.”

“Really?”

She nods. “You and I both know she’s not the type of person to wear her heart on her sleeve. It takes time for her to warm up to people.”

He snorts. “Her brother says she’s like a cat.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Between you and me,” Sunghoon says, “I’ve liked getting to know this side of her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy either, now that I think about it.”

“Make this weekend count for something, okay?”

“I will. For what it’s worth, I think she wants to become closer with you, too, but doesn’t know how to do it. She calls you her neighbor, but talks about you like you’re Pochi’s aunt.”

“I had a feeling.” Nabi laughs and Sunghoon feels his shoulders ease. “I would consider her a friend. I wouldn’t be watching her cat if I didn’t. I assumed she probably felt the same way too, but based on our conversations, I think work and family get in the way of meaningful relationships.”

“You are a very perceptive person, Nabi.”

“I do try my best.” They share a laugh and hear you walking back from your bedroom.

“Talking shit about me?” you ask, putting your duffle bag by the door before slipping on a pair of sneakers. 

“Duh. What else would Sunghoon and I talk about?” 

“We should probably get going.” 

Sunghoon says goodbye to Nabi and Pochi, and you give her another short cuddle session before Nabi forces you to leave. It pains you to leave Pochi, even if it’s just for the weekend, and Sunghoon gets this look on his face that you can’t seem to decipher when you finally look at him. Like a gentleman, Sunghoon carries your duffle bag and lets you hold your purse as you lock your door shut, saying goodbye to Pochi one last time. She juts her head towards Sunghoon unexpectedly, to which he flinches, and the three of you share a laugh. 

You recognize the car he’s driving and silently curse him for being so wealthy. It’s my weekend car, Sunghoon once said to you offhandedly in the beginning of your career. Stick around long enough and you might get the privilege of riding in it. 

“Are you excited?” Sunghoon asks once the two of you are in the car together. “I’m excited. I can't remember the last time I’ve been to this house.” 

“Pfft. You take vacation all the time.”

“Business meetings in fancy places.” He dismisses you with a wave and drives off. 

“Same difference.”

“Would you count our travel as vacation?” You remain silent. “Thought so.” 

“Hmph. I hate when you’re right.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “Yeah, I know. That’s the first thing I learned about you when we started working together.”

“Anything else I should know.” He pretends to think. 

“You’re really opinionated. Like, really opinionated. Even before you became comfortable with me, I knew you were holding yourself back.” You swat his bicep and pretend to be offended. “You’re just as opinionated as you were back then, except you’re outspoken about it. You’re the only assistant in that office who isn’t afraid to talk back to their boss.”

“That’s because you know I’m right most of the time.” 

“Debatable, but I’ll let you keep thinking that.” You scowl and Sunghoon’s grin widens. 

“Excuse me?! Who guides you through campaigns and projects? Who helps you with your publicity? Who makes sure you get what you need on time?” 

“The office ghost. Duh.” 

You laugh and relax back in your seat. “Yeah, I’ll admit that I can be brash sometimes.” 

“Don’t mistake being opinionated for being too much,” he says. “I like it when you push back. You make me think about things differently and it makes work pretty fun.” 

“I’ve always had people tell me I talk too much. I’ve started to think people should talk more, but there are moments where I think I should just shut up altogether.” 

“Don’t stop talking just because some shitty people can’t appreciate you, okay? I say that as your boss and as a human being. People need to hear how stupid they are, and they need to know what you’re thinking. You’re like, a know-it-all machine.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s the best. You’re the best.” 

“Now you’re just buttering me up.” 

He laughs. “It’s what I know best.”

“Am I allowed to ask how long this drive will be?” 

“No. Absolutely not. How dare you ask me such a question?”

You snort. “You’re such a loser.” 

“Your loser.”

“Case in point.”

“Stop teasing me.” Sunghoon pouts and looks at you, but you shove his face away. “The drive’s about two hours away. The vacation home I’m taking us to belongs to my family and we all use it. We don’t really use it that often, though. I cleared it with them so we could have it to ourselves.”

“Do they know I’m coming too? I don’t want anyone to think I'm sleeping with my boss.”

“You are sleeping with your boss.” 

“Yeah, but nobody knows that except for us, Nabi, and Sunoo.”

“Sunoo knows?” 

“He’s my brother, Sunghoon. Even if I didn’t tell him, he’d probably guess.” 

“Okay, fair.” He expertly switches lanes when you notice the veins on his hands. You try not to drool in front of him. “But no, none of them know as far as I can tell. I didn’t specify other than needing a break from the city and they didn’t ask. In fact, they’ve been telling me to take some time off, anyway. I’m pretty sure my mom cried of relief when I told her I wasn’t working on the weekend.”

“She has the sweetest soul,” you say. “Though, she cries at everything. She cried when you got her a custom cake for her birthday last year.” 

“You’re absolutely right,” Sunghoon agrees with a laugh. “I think she cried the hardest when she realized I found someone to put up with me. She was worried I’d be too hard on you because the other two assistants before you were terrible at their jobs, and even more worried to think I’d have to handle all of this work on my own.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. My mom was so excited when I told her the news because she saw how much I was struggling to find my footing without my dad. It’s a legacy company, as you know, and my dad brought it to the forefront in Asia. It was hard to step out of his shadow, and even some people of the older generation think of me as his son instead of a business partner.

“It doesn’t affect me anymore because my portfolio speaks for itself. But back then? Man, I was worried I would screw things up. My past assistants wouldn't tell me when I had meetings or remind me of deadlines, and I looked like a complete screw up. My anxiety got so bad that I had to take medication for it. But you came, knocked it out of the park, and the rest is history.”

“Wow…I never knew that. How come you’ve never told me you were struggling so much?” 

“What’s past is past. My personal life wasn’t yours to deal with. You were getting used to the job anyway, and I figured you’d either succeed or burn out like the rest of them. There wasn’t any reason to tell you all of this and put more on your plate.”

“Huh. I don’t remember you being anxious at all,” you say. “In fact, I’ve always thought of you as headstrong and pretty confident.”

“I’m glad it came off that way. Fake it until you make it, right?” 

You nod. “I hope you’re comfortable telling me when things aren’t okay, though. I think we’ve known each other long enough where you don’t need to hide things from me.:

Sunghoon reaches over and grasps your hand in his, giving you a gentle squeeze. He glances at you just briefly, but the eye contact is enough to make your heart race. 

“I know,” he says slowly. “I trust you more than I trust anybody else in my life.”

The admission renders you speechless. 

“All the other assistants are scared of you.” Sunghoon chuckles as you try to fill the silence and change the subject. To your surprise, he doesn’t let go of your hand and intertwined your fingers instead. 

“Good. Everyone should be scared of me. I’m the big, bad, venture capitalist wolf.”

“You’re corny, is what you are.”

“That’s because you know the real me.” 

“Ha-ha. I suppose that’s true, though. I think people still see you the way I did when we first started working together. You’re pretty stoic when you want to be.”

“My dad says that’s my greatest asset. I have a great poker face and it comes in handy when I negotiate business deals, especially when money is involved. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, as you know. Can’t be too careful.” 

“You’re also really hot. Everyone tells me how lucky I am to work with the hot boss.”

“Oh?” Sunghoon asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Hot, you say?” 

“Shut up. You know you’re hot.”

“I love that you think I am, too.” You fight off a blush. 

“Egotistical jerk.” Sunghoon squeezes your hand again. 

“I like it when you compliment me. You don’t do it often.” 

“You need to earn it,” you say with a playful scoff. “You’re my boss. There’s no reason for me to tell you how good you are.” 

“I’m not your boss when my mouth is on your pussy.” 

You nearly choke. “S-Sunghoon.”

“What? It’s the truth. I like it when you tell me how I’m making you feel. It lets me know if I’m doing a good job or not.”

“Jesus. You’re so vulgar.” 

“Nah. I’m just honest.” 

Sunghoon brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it as if to soothe your thoughts. Even with how comfortable you are with him, this dynamic is new, and your inexperience makes the bashful side of you come forward. You’re getting better at relaxing around him, though. It’s not hard to let your guard down when you’re hopelessly in love with Sunghoon. 

He’s gotten you off multiple times but you’ve never returned the favor, save the time you two masturbated together over the phone. But that hardly counts. You couldn’t see or touch him, only hear him. Sunghoon’s moans replay in your head the more you think about it and you try not to squirm in your seat and alert him in any way to save yourself from the embarrassment. 

Is it so bad that you want to make Sunghoon come, too? You’ve built a thick exterior in the face of men because of the industry you work in. It’s like you run on autopilot and immediately push men to the sidelines because there isn’t enough time in the day for you to indulge in stupidity. But Sunghoon isn’t like that. He’s considerate and he’s never made you feel like you don’t have a seat at the table. 

It makes you incredibly aroused to imagine yourself on your knees in front of Sunghoon with his body standing above you. Enough so that you confuse Sunghoon when you pull your hand away from his and put it on his knee. 

“What—”

“Eyes on the road.” 

Sunghoon gulps and looks straight ahead. He adjusts himself to sit up taller because something about your determined command makes him freeze on the spot. You get like this when you’re trying to convince him to change his mind at work. The tone of your voice, and that fact that your hand is on his fucking thigh, makes him feel insane. 

You see it, too. Some emboldened part of you has come to terms with the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with Sunghoon after years of pretending you weren’t. He’s seen you naked and has made you orgasm more times than he’s ever let you touch him. Which, by your calculations so far, is never. 

But now? Sunghoon can’t fight back and tell you to relax and enjoy yourself. He’s driving and needs to concentrate on not crashing the car instead of putting his mouth and fingers on you. You know he’ll tell you if he really wants you to stop, but you won’t because you like that he can’t get the satisfaction of making you come before he does. 

His thigh tenses underneath your palm and you feel how muscular he is. It makes your mouth water when you think about what Sunghoon looks like fully naked. His pants don’t give you much to work with—they’re probably some expensive brand that makes him look casual and put together at the same time—but you see the outline of his hardening dick when you look at his lap. 

The music in the background faded away for the both of you. Neither of you care that you have an hour left of the drive at this point. Sunghoon is laser focused on making sure the car doesn’t swerve, and you’re done holding your resolve back.

Your hand ghosts over his clothed dick and Sunghoon inhales a particularly sharp breath like he wasn’t expecting you to be this bold. Your fingertips barely graze the entirety of him and he’s already melting against you. He acts like he’s never been touched before with the way he sits and refuses to make eye contact with you or your hand. 

He hardens underneath your touch the more you touch him. Sunghoon utility grunts when your hand cups his dick through his pants and he nearly jolts out of the driver’s seat when you do. You look at him in amazement and he sees you from the corner of his eye, willing his beating hard to remain still and keep the two of you from crashing onto the side roads. 

“You’re so hard.” 

You say it like an observation. You look at Sunghoon knowing he can’t look back, and some part of him thinks you enjoy torturing him when he can’t retaliate. Your hand makes work of his cock and you switch from squeezing him to slowly stroking over his pants. 

“Getting comfortable?”

You chuckle. “More than that. I’ve wanted to know how big you are since the first night I stayed over.”

“What do you think?” 

A smile he’s never seen you wear before dawns on your lips. It’s a mix between sly and mischievous, sultry and seductive. He almost thinks you’ve got him under some kind of spell with the way you’re looking at him.

“You don’t disappoint.” 

It’s not what he expected to hear. And yet, some part of him wants to get you to tell him exactly what he wants. 

Sunghoon licks his lips to distract himself from your hands that have undone his button. He tries to keep his foot steady on the gas pedal when he hears the zipper come down, revealing his boxers underneath. You don’t make a fuss about it, either. You aren’t as timid or as nervous as you’ve been the past two times Sunghoon has touched you. Instead, you act like a woman on a mission, and you’d be damned if anybody got in the way of what you want. 

He nearly chokes when he sees you bend over the console. Your face hovers right above his lap and he’s praying to every entity he knows that he won’t crash the vehicle. Sunghoon risks a glance to his right and sees the way your body is arched to accommodate the small space, and he forces himself to look back on the road instead of reaching behind you to touch you. 

When you start to pepper kisses on his covered dick, Sunghoon audibly moans. It makes you laugh against him and you hear the way the gas pedal accelerates just briefly before Sunghoon keeps himself in check. You test his limits when your hand comes to pull him out of his boxers. 

The way you stare at his dick makes up for how nonchalant you were just moments ago. 

Your eyes visibly widen and Sunghoon hears you swallow loudly. He smirks to himself and grips the steering wheel when you pull him out of his boxers completely and grip the base to accurately assess him. He’s fully hard, so hard that he thinks he might pull over and have his way with you. But he doesn’t want to have sex with you on a random street and would rather wait it out until he gets to his vacation home. Still, it pains him to not be able to watch you properly. 

“So fucking big,” you whisper to yourself. A sense of pride blooms in Sunghoon’s chest. He’s heard women say this about him before because his length and girth leave nothing to doubt. But something about hearing you compliment him makes Sunghoon’s heartbeat irrationally fast. 

He doesn’t know what to expect. You press a little kiss to his warm tip and he breathes through his nose while his knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. It’s cute, the way you kiss his dick from the top to the base. Sunghoon has never had a woman adore him like this before. He loves them eager and will never say no to having a tight throat around him, but he feels warmth spread all over his body when you kiss him there. 

You clench in your seat when you start to envision yourself taking his dick in more ways than one. He’s ginormous and much bigger than you’ve ever taken before, and it excited you more than he knows. You find yourself nearly drooling the more you kiss on his dick and can’t help but let your tongue glide over his warm skin, relishing in the way Sunghoon moans from above you. 

Curiously, you envelope the tip inside of your mouth. He’s big like this. Sunghoon grunts as you fit him between your lips and when he feels your hands push against his base for stability. You don’t rush yourself, either. You both know he’s far bigger than you’ve experienced before and for as eager as Sunghoon is, he’s become so aroused at the idea that you’re taking your time because you haven’t had the experience yet. 

You’ve been keeping to yourself out of the fear of acting out of line when Sunghoon has been the one to initiate pleasure. He’s never asked for anything in return, nor has he ever expected you to get him off just because he did it for you. It makes you want to repay him, if not for all the orgasms, then for all of the times he’s made you feel good about yourself. 

Sunghoon chokes when you push your mouth further onto him. Drool coats the corners of your mouth the more you take him and you take your time with the pace. There’s something about the quiet ambiance and the low volume music in the background that makes this moment feel that much more sensual. Whereas you’d feel inadequate should you have touched Sunghoon otherwise, you feel in control right now. 

Your head comes back up to pull him out of your mouth before diving back in. Sunghoon’s hand cups the back of your head like he’s trying to stabilize himself while the other keeps his grip on the steering wheel. 

“Shit. That’s so good.” He strokes your head with his thumb and it brings an odd sense of comfort, considering the fact that you have his dick in your mouth. 

His naturally salty taste coats your tongue the more you push your head towards his lap. The tip hits the back of your throat with every passing moment and you find yourself clenching around absolutely nothing the more you push Sunghoon closer over the edge. His ragged breaths barely form moans because of how good he feels with your mouth on him. 

“I’m close,” Sunghoon says through gritted teeth. He tells you as a warning so you can lift your head and be free from his come, but to his surprise, you don’t pull away from him. “Oh, fuck.” 

He grips the back of your head with deadly force to pull and push your mouth. The gagging sounds of your spit egg him closer to his orgasm, and the way your hand stabilizes against his leg to move in tune with his movements makes him come straight into your mouth. 

You still as soon as you feel his semen hit the back of your throat and choke on it. It tastes warm and salty, but uniquely Sunghoon. His grip on your hair loosens as he relaxes and you take this opportunity to swallow with his cock still in your mouth. Sunghoon hisses at the feeling but doesn’t push you off of him. He feels you lick his base and around his dick until he’s as clean as can be. You tuck him back in your pants and sit back in your seat.

From the corner of his eye, Sunghoon watches you push his come from the former of your mouth onto your thumb and lick it.

“You make me so fucking horny.” You chuckle and face him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. “You’re a brat, you know that? Couldn’t even wait until we got to the house.” 

“Dunno. You seemed to like it.” 

You find humor in the sight of his softening cock against his pants and boxers, and tuck him back in carefully. 

Sunghoon wills himself to remain soft for the remainder of the drive. 

***

His vacation house is fairly modest. It isn’t the grand spectacle you expected, like his penthouse in Seoul. Instead, it’s quaint and beautiful like a suburban house on a hot summer’s day. The sun has already set and the dark blanket that covers the night sky shines with a billion stars. You’re happy to be here instead of the big city because you can actually see them. 

Sunghoon smiles to himself when you make him look at the moon. It amuses him when you grab onto his arm and point to it, yet he finds himself basking in this moment as you unapologetically share your happiness with him. 

You offer to help him carry bags inside, but he tells you not to worry about it since neither of you brought too much. Sunghoon tells you the passcode and you joke about how comfortable he must be with you to willingly give you the combination. It’s wildly fascinating how comfortable you are with Sunghoon away from work where nobody could ever see the two of you and make the assumption that you two are sleeping together when your careers could be put on the line. Here, you two are lovers. 

He pulls you into the kitchen for some water and takes you on a grand tour of the house. It’s nothing like his place in Seoul, but it’s still beautiful altogether. Photos of his family adorn the walls and you stop to look at every picture of Sunghoon as a child, to which he tries to pull you away, but you don’t budge. He blushes even more when you kiss his cheek and comment how cute he is when he’s trying to act all nonchalant and cool in front of you. 

Sunghoon’s attitude changes when he leads you to the primary bedroom, though. While this house is technically shared by his entire family, Sunghoon is the one who purchased it initially. Everybody uses the other guest bedrooms and have chosen designated ones for themselves when visiting the house. The room has elements of his decorative taste and reminds you of his house in Seoul. It’s elegant and sophisticated, neat and organized. 

You’re not able to think about it too much because Sunghoon closes the door behind you and pulls you into his body for a kiss. With both hands steady on your waist, he pushes his plush lips against you until your back touches the wall. You gasp against his mouth and he drinks it up like it’s water. 

“You deserve a reward for giving me the best head,” Sunghoon mutters against your mouth, tilting his head to kiss you deeper. One of his hands snakes its way to grasp your neck to make you look up at him. The subtle control he has on your body makes you even more aroused. “But I was going to do that anyway, since you’ve been such a good girl for me all this time.” 

He moves your body quickly albeit gently until your back hits the mattress. Sunghoon climbs on top of you and pushes his head in the crook of your neck and begins peppering wet kisses along the skin, effectively making you screw your eyes shut with your back arching until your chest is pointed towards the ceiling. Sunghoon feels your hands wrap around his head as if to keep him there, and he moves to the other side of your neck. 

Your legs part naturally and Sunghoon slots himself between them. It feels like a million volts of electricity are flowing through your body simultaneously without any way to stop them from overtaking your senses. You pull him impossibly closer to you and Sunghoon doesn’t complain when you slot your fingers in his hair and tug slightly at the roots. 

“You stayed with me for six years and I’ve never properly appreciated you,” he says against your neck. His breath makes you shudder. “Can’t believe I’ve never shown you gratitude. Fuck me for treating you like some assistant.” 

“Aren’t I?”

“No.” He kisses up your jawline until capturing your mouth into a harsh kiss that leaves your mind spinning. Sunghoon licks your bottom lip and pushes his tongue inside when you open your mouth. 

He doesn’t elaborate further, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Sunghoon moves his head down to kiss over your neck again and moves across your collarbone before pushing your tank top sleeve off of your shoulder, pressing kisses along both of them as he works his way down your body. 

You ache for him and he knows it when you push your chest against him. Sunghoon brings a hand to cup your left breast. He kneads it in between his fingers and moans against your skin when you sigh from above him. As if to ask for more, you tug on his hair again and he pulls your top town until you’re free from its confines. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers as he stares at your naked chest. Sunghoon brings both hands to cup your breasts and gives them a gentle squeeze, watching as they slot in between his fingers. “Your tits are perfect.” 

“Sunghoon,” you whine. 

“Hm? Can’t handle it?” 

You shake your head and he holds your eye contact as he licks both of your nipples one by one. It makes you whimper and Sunghoon lowers himself until his face is situated against your chest. 

“You’re cute when you’re shy,” says Sunghoon. He doesn’t wait for your response and wraps his mouth around your right nipple, gently licking over the bud with his warm tongue.

For him to be as intimate as he is, it puts you at a different level. You can’t remember the last time a guy has made you feel as worshipped as Sunghoon. From the first few times he’s touched you until now, he acts like adorning your body with his is the only purpose he has in life. 

His mouth is warm and wet. Sunghoon’s mouth tugging away at your nipple and squeezing your chest with his hands drives you crazy. You can’t help but thrust your hips right against him as a reaction. Sunghoon moans against you and switches his mouth to the other bud while kissing you all over the place. 

Once your nipples are nice and erect, Sunghoon dips between your breasts and kisses the middle of your chest. He beckons you to lift yourself up just enough for him to remove your tank top from your body, flinging it somewhere behind you before he trails his mouth down your body. 

Sunghoon puts open-mouthed kisses along your warm skin and you feel his ginormous hands slide down your body. It’s like he’s holding you in place the more he leaves wet kisses on you until he reaches the sweatpants you’re wearing. Sunghoon takes it off with ease until you’re left in nothing but your underwear. 

“I need to taste you again.” He licks your covered cunt with the surface of his tongue. “Can’t fucking get enough.” 

Sunghoon pulls the fabric down your legs and once he’s discarded them, he pulls you closer to his face and shoves his tongue in between your folds. There’s no warning or any precursor. He eats you whole and devours your body with his mouth. 

He pushes his face deeper into you until his nose brushes against your clit. You lose all of your inhibitions and roll your hips against his face while bringing your hands to steady him in place, which makes him moan right into your body. The vibrations send your mind into a frenzy and you think you might as well be drunk. 

Sunghoon relishes in the string of moans coming from your mouth and grows more eager to get you off with every second that passes by. His drool coats the entirety of your cunt and he switches between forcefully thrusting his tongue inside of you, and licking up your slit like he’s afraid he’ll miss a drop of your wetness.

“She’s so wet for me,” he says when he finally pulls back. There’s a string of spit that connects your cunt with his bottom lip and Sunghoon quickly bends down to lick it up. “Just for me, yeah?”

You nod feverishly, entangling your fingers in his hair. “Just for you.” 

“So fucking pretty, too.” He brings his fingertips to your entrance and grazes over your swollen clit, brushing them across your slit. It makes your body feel like it may as well be on fire. 

“More,” you plead. “I need more.”

“Baby needs my fingers too, huh?” he taunts. Sunghoon pushes the entirety of his middle finger inside of you and curls it on the downward push. You clench around him and grip the bed sheets beside you for stability. “She’s so greedy.” 

You look at him but he isn’t focused on you anymore. Sunghoon stares at your lap and you become acutely aware of the fact that you are completely naked while he’s still fully clothed. His sleeves are rolled to his elbow while his vein-covered arm is thrusting in and out of you. It makes you roll your eyes backwards and arch your back up into the air, and Sunghoon smirks while adding another finger. Even this feels like it’s too much. You don’t relent, however, and clench around his fingers. 

“Your pussy is so tight from just this. I wonder what you’ll feel like around my cock.”

“Make me cum and you might find out.”

“Oh? You think you can talk back to me?” He pistons his fingers in and out of you with intense, rapid precision. You don’t know how Sunghoon manages to leave you speechless, save for the wanton moans that echo in his bedroom. “You think you can speak when I’m making you moan like that?”

“D-Dick.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says with a smirk. “A big one, too.”

“S-Shut up.” He ignores you. 

“You’re close, I can tell.” 

Sunghoon bends down and moves his tongue against your pussy along with his fingers pushing in and out. He swallows your wetness and the slick he’s pulling out of you like an oasis. Sunghoon doesn’t bother looking at you, either. He’s laser focused on the task at hand and isn’t afraid to moan against you, too, letting you know just how good he feels getting you off. 

Your body starts to convulse the more he plunges his fingers inside of you. With the added sensation of his warm mouth moving to your clit to suck on the sensitive bud, it’s no surprise that you come against him with a loud moan. 

“Keep it coming,” he beckons. “Give me your fucking cum and let me taste you like this.”

Who are you to deny him?”

You buck your hips while Sunghoon keeps you between him and the mattress, pinning your body to the sheets below. His face chases your hips when you move and thrash your body around like he’s trying to tame a wild animal. You certainly feel like one. You’ve suddenly let go of all your inhibitions and stopped feeling insecure about Sunghoon looking at you and touching you like this. There’s no second guessing when it comes to him pleasuring you. Sunghoon looks like he needs to or else he’ll die. 

Maybe it’s the years spent alongside him. Maybe it’s the weeks you’ve spent being taken out to fancy dinners with an all expenses-paid meal that you don’t have to think about. Or, maybe it’s the fact that Sunghoon has never given you the impression that you’re lacking in the bedroom after years of trying to find good sex. People say it comes naturally and you’ve been tired of waiting. He brings out something in you that you’ve never felt before.

Is this what it means to yearn? To burn? To desire someone? 

When your hips fall back down, Sunghoon pulls his fingers out and clutches your waist with both hands to lick up the remnants of your orgasm around your folds before moving across the inside of your thighs to lick up your slick. He moves his tongue gently, a nice juxtaposition compared to mere seconds prior. He licks you in long, relaxed stripes that make the come down that much smoother. 

Sunghoon hums when you put your hands back in his hair. You don’t tug on it this time and match the sensitivity he’s showing you. You assume he must like it when his hair is played with because he purrs against you like a kitten while drinking from its milk bowl. His hair is soft but thick, no doubt laced with expensive hair products he’s asked you to replenish a million times. They work for him, though, because his hair feels like you’re touching an expensive fabric.

“You are unreal,” Sunghoon mumbles before pressing one last kiss to your bud. He pulls away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before bending down to kiss you. It’s tender and soft, and you try not to smile too much. 

“Your mouth is magical,” you say in a drunken daze. “That tongue…”

“Complimenting me now, are we?” 

You huff out a laugh and sit up, tugging on the bottom of Sunghoon’s shirt before he gets the hint and takes it off of him. His sculpted body looks like it was created from clay by a master of ceramics, each chisel of his rigid abdomen prominent and calling your name. You bring your hand to touch him there and feel him tense beneath you. You don’t pay any mind to the way he’s staring at you while you’re busy exploring his body. 

This must be what he felt like when he saw you naked for the first time. You’re at a loss for words and it’s like your mind has gone completely berzerk. You don’t know what to do next or where to look. His broad shoulders are enticing you, but at the same time, his defined biceps make you want to sink your teeth into his skin and never let go. Would he be into that? 

Sunghoon is uncharacteristically quiet. He doesn't make a remark or send a quip your way about how he’s managed to render you speechless. Instead, he looks at you like he can’t believe he’s in this position with your naked body right in front of him, touching his chest like you’re the first person to discover treasure. You can feel the goosebumps on his pectorals and move your way to his shoulder, grazing down his arm until finally landing at the belt buckle that immediately brings you back to sucking him off in the car. 

“You’re looking at me like you want to eat me,” Sunghoon says, breaking the silence. 

“And if I wanted to?” 

Sunghoon removes your hand from his belt buckle and stands from the mattress to face you on the bed. Without losing eye contact, he unbuckles his belt and pulls the zipper down slowly, savoring every reaction from you. He doesn’t mind that your eyes flicker from his own to his crotch because he keeps his eyes on you. He doesn’t care that you start to ignore him for his dick. In fact, Sunghoon feels emboldened in a way he’s never felt before. Other women love him for his cock. He thinks you might like him for that and much more, too. 

When Sunghoon steps out of his clothing, you crawl on your hands and knees until your face is met with the sight of his erection. It stands tall and proud, facing you as if trying to say it’s ready for your mouth. Sunghoon watches you push half of him down your throat with relative ease after giving him a blowjob in the car, and his face contorts into that of pleasure. 

He looks like Adonis when he’s being pleasured. This realization sparks a fire within you and it makes you wonder what kind of sounds and expressions you can pull out of him. Too turned on to care about the consequences of your sudden actions, you push your head as far down his dick as you can while hollowing your cheeks to allow room for air and comfort as you start to rock your mouth against him. 

The wet sounds make this whole ordeal that much hotter. Sunghoon widens his stance to accommodate your body and watches you arch your back with your ass up in the air. You watch him lose his mind and stare at you for a moment before throwing his head back when you look up at him. You try to smirk with him in your mouth and use your arm as leverage in order to push even more of him down your throat. 

“Fuck. You’re so good at this.” 

A momentum builds. You don’t know if it’s because Sunghoon keeps muttering curse words every time your tongue passes his veins or because of the erotic sounds coming from your mouth, but you naturally push yourself against him faster. Sunghoon loses himself in you too, and begins to rock his hips back and forth to meet your movements. His hands come to hold your hair in place and when he tugs at the roots for stability, you moan against his dick. 

Sunghoon grunts while pushing himself deeper into your mouth, but you don’t stop him. It stings and it aches, but the feeling of his girth making room down your throat feels like you’re chasing after some kind of near unattainable high. It’s thrilling, the way Sunghoon’s resolve melts completely. His hips thrust faster as he mouth fucks you with the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. He moans deeply when you choke on him and can’t find it in him to tell you just how good you’re making him feel. 

“I have to fuck you,” Sunghoon says breathlessly. “I have to or I might die.” 

You don’t have time to react because he’s pushing you on your back and hovering his body above yours. You gulp when you feel him slot the underside of his dick right onto your bare lap and clench around nothing when you see the way Sunghoon is measuring just how big he is against you. 

“I’ll be right there.” He uses the tip of his dick to point at the deepest part of you, and it makes you bite your lip to hold back a moan. 

Sunghoon rocks himself until his slit is gliding across your wet slit. The sound echoes like a soft splash the more he moves himself back and forth. You’re positive he can feel the way you start to clench with every passing second, making you whine and beg for him without meaning to. 

“Put it in.”

“My cock?” Sunghoon asks innocently, dipping the head inside before pulling it out to resume grinding it against you. He dips it inside once again before pulling it out, and you feel like you’ve completely lost your mind at the anticipation. 

“I need it,” you say in a fit of desperation. “P-Please give it to me.” 

“I love it when you beg,” Sunghoon replies, dipping himself inside of you once again just to pull out. You watch his entire shudder as he holds himself back from properly putting himself inside of your cunt. “I never see this side of you. It’s so fucking sexy.” 

Sunghoon dips the tip inside of your folds, but he doesn’t pull out. With his hand gripped at his base, he watches as his dick disappears inside of you slowly, pushing half an inch at a time in order to savor the feeling of your tight walls wrapping him inside of you. Your breathing becomes irregular with every passing move and Sunghoon looking like a Greek god from above you doesn’t help slow your heart beat. 

“Condom?” You shake your head. 

“Birth control.” 

He keeps his mouth wide open like he’s staring at something completely unbelievable the more he watches himself push inside of you until he’s managed to sheath himself completely to the brim. 

“Tight,” Sunghoon hisses, keeping himself lodged inside of you without pulling away. “So goddamn tight. It’s been a while since you’ve been fucked, hasn’t it?”

“I…”

“It’s okay.” He pulls out slowly and pushes then himself back in, making you feel just as full as the first time. “I’m here to fix that.” 

The room is so hot and heavy with passion and euphoria. Sunghoon’s dick glistens with your slick and his precum, and it’s making the glide that much easier the faster he goes. The drag against your walls makes you feel like you’re orbiting another planet. You cling onto Sunghoon’s shoulder for dear life and claw at his back when he snaps his hips into yours once you’ve pulled his body closer to you. 

It’s like the two of you are trying to crawl into each other’s skin. Sunghoon pushes the entirety of his weight onto you and you hold him there like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go of him. His body is warm and sticky with sweat from being in this hot room all night without any of the windows cracked open, but you don’t care. You love seeing Sunghoon lose his inhibitions and control you the way he’s always wanted to. 

He pins your body in between his and the mattress while pulling his hips back just to push into you harshly. The smacks bounce off of the walls while he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and messily kisses your skin with his hot breath. He pushes around his saliva with his tongue the more he kisses on your neck, and you wrap your legs around him when you feel your body let go. It’s hard to keep yourself quiet when you’re with Sunghoon.

“Coming already?” he says with a grunt. It’s a mix between amusement and satisfaction. Sunghoon pulls himself away from your neck to peer below him where the two of you are connected and temporarily thrusts at a quicker pace when he sees your cum coating his cock. He groans in disbelief and pistons his hips against your until temporarily stilling inside of you once he feels you clench around him. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.” 

Sunghoon positions his palms until they’re on either side of your head. The new angle allows him to reach you deeper, hitting your sweet spots in a way no one has before. His muscles keep him balanced and upright on his bed while you spread your legs even wider than before to accommodate his body between yours. 

He looks and sounds like absolute sine when he fucks you. No amount of wet dreams could ever compare to the real thing. 

“O-Oh my God,” you choke. “Keep going. I-I’m gonna come again.”

“Shit, baby. Give it to me right now or I’ll stop,” Sunghoon says, his hips meeting yours ferociously. Albeit much weaker after having orgasmed twice before, you manage to finish on his cock for the third time in the span of one evening and clutch the sheets between your fingers until you see little stars against your closed eyes. 

Sunghoon pistons his hips faster and faster when he focuses on your face. You peek your eyes open once you’ve gained some semblance of reality and watch as he moans with his mouth open and eyes trained on you–your chest, your neck, your lips–before he spills inside of you. 

“F-Fuck,” he grunts. “Take my cum like the good girl I know you are.”

It’s warm and sticky, pooling from between your bodies with the sheer volume that’s coming from him. Sunghoon doesn’t stop to push it all out at once. Instead, he continues his fast, rough pace and slams his hips against yours as he continues to spill his come inside of your pussy. His arms grow weaker and weaker by the second, and you see him start to lose his balance the more he comes down from his high. 

He doesn't completely stop fucking you, either. Not when you’ve started to relax. Not when he’s collapsed onto your chest. 

Sunghoon still manages to subtly move his dick in a slow drag. It stings in all the right ways and the friction makes your legs ache, but you don’t ask him to get off of you. Sunghoon peppers kisses onto your jawline and uses his hands to soothe your sweaty forehead, pushing away any hair that comes in front of your eyes. 

Yeah, you’ll admit that it feels fucking amazing to be doted on like this. Sunghoon doesn’t rush to get off of you and leave you to clean up after yourself. He’s still lodged inside you, semi-hard even after orgasming. Sunghoon kisses you as if to remind you that he’s still with you while his hands touch every available part of your body he can find. 

In the years you’ve known him, you’ve learned that Sunghoon is a man of few words when it comes to his feelings. He can talk, but he doesn’t say much. He’s the kind of person to show you how he feels through his actions, and you’re starting to feel like he might care about you with the way he isn’t letting you go. 

“You’re incredible,” he mumbles against your jaw. His lips feel nice and soft. “I can’t believe we waited so long to do this.” 

“I don’t think I can feel my legs.” 

He chuckles and scrapes your skin with his teeth. “Good. Can’t have you tarnishing my reputation now.”

“You have a reputation?” He shakes his head. 

“Nah. Just wanted to get a rise out of you.” 

“You’re so stupid.” You laugh anyway and kiss him when he puts his lips on yours. 

“Hope you’re not tapping out now. I’ve got years of good sex to make up for.” 

“What?” 

Sunghoon turns your body over until your stomach and chest are against the mattress. He slots himself in between your legs and pulls them apart just enough for him to rest his tip against your slit. You feel his hands grip your hips to pull you into a small arch, presenting even more of himself to you. 

“Didn’t think we were done, did you?” 

Sunghoon slides right back in. 

***

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please adjust your settings if I couldn’t tag you!

[genderqueerdykes]

honestly, as a trans woman who's running a fairly 'popular' or whatever queer blog, i've noticed so much shit in the past 2 years and i'm just gonna lay it out for y'all. it's a new year. it's 2025. i do NOT wanna carry any more of this bullshit forward. i'm calling everything for what it is. if this pisses you off, unfollow or block and move on.

as someone else put it in the tags on one of my other posts:

i am sick and tired of not talking about extremely important queer conversation topics for the sake of "keeping the peace".

this is not giving trans women and transfemmes a better quality of life to attack literally every every and all trans men for being trans men. it's making people fucking scared shitless of us. i hope people realize this isn't helping improve the opinion other people have on trans women and transfemmes. it's making people absolutely fucking terrified to even exist around us, because we've gotten to the point where we're attacking literally everyone and anyone who says something we don't like. people are fucking terrified of talking around transfemmes and trans women and it's time we broke the silence on that.

other transfemmes and trans women: do you seriously, really want other trans people to be scared to death of you? do you really want other trans people to be absolutely fucking terrified to speak around you because they're scared of getting fucking yelled at? do you really want other trans people to be utterly terrified to speak up about their own trans issues for fear of being told they hate you? do you really want other people around you to feel utterly terrified to talk about anything queer related at all for fear of being corrected, looked down upon, or verbally harassed?

i am just completely done with this environment we've fostered where basically everyone is on pins and goddamn needles holding themselves back from having real, genuine, impactful, substantial conversations about gender because they're absolutely scared shitless of being called transmisogynistic and publicly cancelled and harassed at all times for saying something as simple as "trans men don't have it easy" or talking about how AFAB people can also be trans. it really does not take much at all to set people off on this website and start accusing people of being transmisogynists left right and center.

i'm not participating in this weird mind game anymore. i do not like how this is being used to control the narrative on transness and trans experiences.

i am done with having to walk on eggshells in every. single. conversation. we have about gender.

i am done with acting like talking about transmasculinity and transmanhood is somehow magically attacking and silencing trans women and transfemmes.

i am done with people having to tack on massive disclaimers saying that they're not attacking trans women and transfemmes just for talking about their experiences on just about every post people write about gender.

i feel like every conversation about gender on here has to be so fucking sterile and calculated and meticulously planned out and stripped of most of its contents in order to not immediately get slammed with a "oh so you hate trans women" or a "oh so you're transmisogynstic." it's fine to point out genuine transmisogyny, i'm not gonna say you have to put up with it when it's real, but can we acknowledge that people are leveraging the fear other people have of being called transmisogynistic to shut people up?

at this point it's being used as a scare tactic and i'm so over it. i loathe how accusing people of being transmisogynistic is a default insult. trans men can't make a post about transmasculinity without someone getting pissed off and calling them transmisogynistic. trans men can't talk about a goddamn thing without being told to shut up, for some reason? why is this happening? like literally why are you doing this? trans men can't talk about ANYTHING at this point. like they needed to be able to coin words for the specific types of oppression they face so they could talk about it, and instead they just get fucking yelled at and told they're being copycats and that the violence they faced wasn't real? what the actual hell is this accomplishing?

why are we acting like we own oppression and no one else can even come close to understanding what its like? come on now, we don't own the goddamn concept of oppression. we also don't own transness. i am sick to death of this idea that transfemininity and trans womanhood are the only "real" ways to be trans. we do not own the concept of transness. it's not just about us. "trans rights" applies to more than just us. it can't be about us all the time. WE are the ones being self centered right now. WE are the ones who are forcing the conversation to be about us in situations where it's completely and totally inappropriate.

we need to say it for what it is: we're fostering an environment where, at this point, only trans women and transfemmes are allowed to talk about anything queer related at this point. like can we call it for what it is? for some reason, trans men and transmascs aren't allowed to talk about trans manhood or transmasculinity at all. ever. they're not allowed to say a fucking peep. they have to shut up and listen to a trans woman explain it to them, because for some reason, the trans woman knows trans manhood better than the trans man. this is out of fucking control, we should not have trans women explaining trans manhood to other people unless they are also a trans man. this is just unacceptable. transfems attack transmascs who speak for transfems, and yet this is seen as good and the norm?

you are not cool if you hate trans men and misgender them on purpose. this isn't feminist. this isn't progressive. you're not getting back at the patriarchy- most trans men do not benefit from patriarchy and never will- you would understand this if you listened to them. instead of talking over and for trans men, and listening to people who talk over and for trans men, if you listened to trans men, the source, you'd understand that no, transmasculine lives are NOT easy and no, trans men do not instantly benefit from patriarchal society if at all, ever. if you listened you'd understand that T doesn't make people aggressive and hostile and evil. if you listened you'd understand that there are a lot of wonderful, loving trans men out there are who are not transmisogynistic just by virtue of existing.

nobody is saying that we want to you prioritize men over trans women when we talk about trans men's rights. we're not saying that we need to talk about men all the time and never talk about women, and that men are the only ones allowed to talk, now. we really have to let multiple people participate in conversations. we can't keep doing this thing where One Gender Has To Be Superior Over another. that's gender essentialism. why must you keep yourself trapped inside the binary like that? why are you so desperate to stay stuck inside of the machine that's trying to destroy you?

challenging someone else's transphobia is not being transphobic. challenging someone else's behavior is not hating them or their gender. criticism is not an attack on trans womanhood and transfemininity. transfemmes are trans women are not immune to criticism and we need to stop acting like we are. we're not. we've created an echo chamber where only trans women and transfemmes are allowed to talk right now and it's not transmisogynistic to point that out, because it's literally happening before our eyes.

if we're demanding that other people treat us better, why are we treating other people like shit in the process to get it?

stop silencing other people talking about other trans experiences. transfemininity and trans womanhood are not the only ways to be trans. stop forcing yourself into conversations you don't belong in. if you don't want trans men do that, don't do it as a trans woman. don't barge into conversations you have literally 0 stock in just to be rude and mean and make the conversation about trans women instead. let other people talk. this has gone on for way too long.

let. other. trans. people. talk. we shouldn't have let it get this bad. but i'm not letting it stay this bad. if you want to accuse people having genuine conversations about transness of being transmisogynistic just because they're not a trans woman, then feel free, i'm not gonna stop you, but i'm not listening to you. i don't care anymore. i'm sick to death of not being able to have REAL conversations on here because some people don't like being reminded that they are not the only people who suffer under cisheteronormative patriarchy. if you can't accept that you are not the only one who suffers under patriarchy and that men need to be liberated from patriarchy as well, then i'm not interested in having a conversation with you to begin with.

seriously, if any of this bothers you, please just block me. i'm not participating in these dumb ass little mind games anymore. i do not give a singular shit about offending people who think this behavior is okay. i spent way too long being afraid to speak up about real world issues because of shitty internet trolls. i don't give a fuck if someone you don't like speaking about their experiences hurts your feelings- you are the problem here.

this is affecting real people in real time and i care about that. i care about people, not stupid ideologies and fighting over who is or isn't "really trans". i care about people, not fighting over labels. open your mind and understand that is is about real ass people, and not just ideologies. trans men and mascs are real ass people. they're not antagonists made specifically to attack and piss off transfemmes and trans women. enough of this.

[colossrat]

A coven of very stereotypical witches? You know, eating little children to stay young and all. They are very feared by many magicians.

But Captain Marvel? What would he be afraid of? They love him!

One day, a great threat is there and JL is fighting, Cap has fallen into a trap and is now suffering too, but he uses one last drop of his energy to send out a call for help.

Suddenly, the environment changes. It becomes cold, deathly cold and silent.

The coven begins to appear, in the shadows, like monsters with dark expressions, their arms covered in dark magical markings.

Everyone stares, paralyzed in shock as the coven encases the thread and together, they release Marvel and make a circle to do a ritual, with their combined energy they manage to send the thread to pieces.

Later, Marvel explains that said coven that many people feared are very nice ladies who constantly make offerings to him in an ask to absorb some magical energy to stay young. And so they don't have to kill little kids anymore either

They see a scene where a very grumpy scary woman turns all smiles as she makes Marvel lower his head so she can pet him like a little kid

Witch 1: Wow, I'm glad we made it in time! It's good to see you, it's good to see you!!

Witch 2: We missed you so much, kid! Let me pinch those cheeks!!!

And then they watch as Marvel still bends over so the witch can pinch his cheeks

Marvel: Ladies, please… my friends are watching

Witch 1: Oh, don't be like that, we're just showing some love to our favorite demigod.

Witch 3: Were they the reason you've been so distant lately? You barely show up anymore.

Witch 2: Klarion is a little sad. You canceled your play date again…

Witch 1: We know he doesn't show it much, but he really appreciates it when you show up to share magical knowledge with him

Marvel: ah, i know. hey, how about we meet up later today to catch up? I just need to help with the clean-up--

Witch 3: I'm sure those heroes can handle it themselves, honey. --right?

And she gives the League a dirty, dirty look, who are watching in silence

Superman: Sur-- sure! Go ahead, Marvel, we'll take over from here, you've already done most of the work

Marvel: Ooh, sweet! Thank you, mister Superman! And League too! Bye, bye

And they left after heading straight for a dark corner, right behind the wall

The cold, deathly vibes went with them

Dr. Fate: Where are they talking about Klarion the witchboy…?

Zanatta: I don't know, I'm a little lost…

Wonder Woman with a big smile: I'm happy to see my little brother with such a lovely family! And so full of women. I knew that he, being so polite, must have come from a female environment

Superman: Is that what you pick up from the interaction?

Wonder Woman: Sure they look a little dangerous, but that just shows strength! I know Marvel wouldn't tolerate anything evil. Dangerous, sure, but not evil

Batman: Hmp. (I agreed)

Dr. Fate with his brain turning to goo: Klarion… is he a playmate with Klarion…?

John Constantine, who knows how much Billy is a big magnet for dangerous people and creatures: Don't think too much about it, mate, it only gets worse

[studioeisa]

hey! i was wondering whether u could write one for this

https://www.tumblr.com/svtsofthours/768410973781524480/mingyu-zoned-out-you-leans-in-and-kisses-him?source=share

just like do not disturb.. 💕 (loved it btw)

💋 none the wiser (mingyu x reader)

★ footnotes: major shoutout to @svtsofthours for being so chill about me using their posts as prompts lol! mingyu soft hours are perpetually open, i fear. listened to kiss me by sixpence none the richer the entire time. word count: 830~

It's a Wednesday, and the only thing on Mingyu's mind is where the two of you should go this evening.

Very rarely does he have a day off like this. He can count on one hand the amount of times that practice has been canceled, that a schedule has been postponed. As it is, the stars have aligned to give him this free afternoon.

And who else would he want to spend it with but you?

The sudden freedom has thrown him off-kilter, though, leaving him fumbling for plans. Mingyu reveled in being the date-planner. In getting to smirkingly tell you I got this, baby every time the two of you were supposed to head out.

He's never learned to work with spontaneity, and so he spends half of his time agonizing.

The two of you are lounging in your apartment as Mingyu swears to figure it out. You're sprawled out on the couch, doing one thing or the other, while your legs rest in Mingyu's lap. He's absentmindedly rubbing your ankles with one hand while the other clutches his phone, scrolling through Klook articles of last-minute date ideas.

"Is it cold enough to go ice skating?" he mumbles, his eyebrows drawn together with laser-sharp focus. It's a rhetorical question, really, because before you can answer, he's already grumbling, "No, no, you're too clumsy for that."

"Hey," you protest.

Mingyu gives your ankle an affectionate pat, but keeps on reading.

There's so many things to do. And so little time. When tomorrow comes, he'll be swept back into his busy day-to-day. The two of you might not see each other for another week or so, and the mere thought of it already has his fingers tightening ever so slightly around you.

Mingyu has never particularly thought himself to be a selfish person. He shares almost everything with his members; he'll give what he can to his fans.

You make him greedy. For affection, for attention, for time.

"I can try to get us a reservation at Via Toledo," he muses.

"Too expensive," you whine.

"If it's for you? Never."

"Mingyu."

"Fine, fine."

He scrolls some more. Clicks on to an entirely different article altogether. He doesn't know why he's stressing over this so badly. He knows you, knows you'll be happy with whatever reasonable thing he offers.

He just can't help it. He wants so, so badly to be good for you, to be good to you.

"How about Lotte World?" he tries.

You look up from your own phone with a considering expression, though it's a bit more on the wary side. "Won't there be too many people?" you ask, ever the careful one.

"I can just rent it out for—"

"Baby!"

"Alriiiight."

Mingyu's pouting now, but you're immune to his little displays of petulance and his attempts at grand gestures. You go back to whatever you were reading with a bemused shake of your head.

He tries to focus on the nth Top Seoul Date Places blog post, but his mind has practically turned to mush at this point. He doesn't realize that his eyes are unfocused or that he's barely registering the words on his phone. His head has quite literally emptied out, all of his ideas making no sense. All Mingyu really wants is—

Oh.

He hadn't even noticed you shifting, hadn't picked up on you leaning forward. When your lips press a gentle, sweet kiss to his forehead, he's dragged back down to earth.

Mingyu blinks once, then twice. He looks to you, starry-eyed and smitten.

"What was that for?" he asks, sounding far too dazed for someone who has already received dozens, hundreds of your kisses.

"No reason," you answer. Your rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We don't have to go anywhere, you know."

"We don't?"

"We don't."

"But—"

His protest is cut off by you darting forward to leave another kiss, this time on the corner of his mouth.

"This is enough," you tell him, and the sincerity in your tone is enough to leave him breathless.

And that was it, wasn't it? Mingyu had agonized, Mingyu had zoned out, Mingyu had fallen into near-panic, even, because he had wanted to make himself worth your time. He had wanted to give you the world. Something, anything to show you just how much he adored you.

But he supposes you're right.

"This is enough," he echoes quietly.

You get up from the couch to grab your laptop, announcing that the two of you are going to have a movie marathon. To give Mingyu something to do, you assign him the all-important task of ordering takeout. He rolls his eyes playfully but does as you ask, because you're the light of his life and he will order you the pizza you want if it's the last thing he does.

It's a Wednesday. Mingyu loves you, still.

svtsofthours post ->

Mingyu: [zoned out] You: [leans in and kisses him on the forehead] Mingyu: [blinks and smiles at you with stars in his eyes]

[lila-lou]

✨Settled - 2/4✨

Summary: With you, Dean Winchester feels something he never expected—a reason to slow down, to stay. One nervous first date is all it takes to make him want more than the road.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 8739

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.

For the past few weeks, it had been like clockwork. You and Dean meeting up almost every other day. Burgers, late-night movies, driving nowhere just to talk. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t complicated. It was perfect.

You knew he and Sam traveled sometimes, jobs, so when he texted you three days ago saying he had to be on the road for a bit, you hadn’t worried. You missed him like crazy, though.

Tonight, he’d promised another movie night. Another low-key hangout that made your heart do stupid things just thinking about it.

You heard the familiar sound of the Impala’s engine pulling up, and you rushed to the door, smoothing your hair without even thinking. Smiling wide, you pulled it open—

—and immediately froze. Your breath caught in your throat.

Dean stood there, a little awkwardly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, his broad frame filling the doorway. But he was a mess.

There were dark bruises blooming along the sharp line of his jaw, deep purples and sickly blues standing out against the scruff on his face. A cut split his bottom lip, puffy and still healing. His t-shirt, a simple dark gray one, stretched over his chest, but you caught the faint shadows of more bruises crawling up his neck and disappearing under the collar. Whoever had patched him up had done a good job, but there was no hiding the rough edges.

For a beat, you just stared, wide-eyed, heart hammering.

Dean shifted under your gaze, jaw tightening. He looked ashamed. Like he hated you seeing him like this. His eyes dropped to the porch floor, one boot scuffing against the wood. “Hey”, he muttered, voice rougher than usual.

You blinked yourself out of it, stepping aside immediately. “Dean… come in. Shit, are you okay?”.

He hesitated for half a second before stepping inside, moving a little stiffly, like every muscle in his body hurt.

You closed the door behind him, turning to face him fully. “What happened?”, you asked, your voice softer now, full of worry.

Dean forced a crooked, sheepish smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Work accident. Nothin’ serious. Just… got in the way of something”.

You frowned, not buying it entirely, but you didn’t push. Not yet. You could see how much it cost him just to stand there and let you see him like this.

Dean saw the look on your face and rubbed the back of his neck, wincing slightly when the motion pulled at his side. “Sorry”, he mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “I, uh… probably should’ve canceled. Didn’t mean to show up lookin’ like roadkill”.

You stepped closer without thinking, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides, wanting to touch him, but afraid of hurting him more. “Dean”, you said quietly, your heart breaking a little, “I don’t care how you look. I’m just glad you’re okay”.

Finally, finally, he looked up at you. And in his eyes, you saw it, he vulnerability he tried so damn hard to hide. The fear that maybe this , you, was too good for someone like him. Someone who came home looking like he’d been dragged through hell.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile and stepped back toward the kitchen, trying to keep your voice light, even though your heart still ached from seeing him so beat up. "Come on", you said, tossing a look over your shoulder. "I actually cooked for once. You’re not getting out of dinner just 'cause you got knocked around".

Dean huffed a small laugh, rough but real, and started shrugging out of his jacket. The second the heavy fabric slipped off his shoulders, your breath caught again. It was worse than you thought.

Bruises painted his arms, some fresh and dark, others already yellowing at the edges. A few shallow cuts trailed along his bicep and collarbone, the white of a bandage peeking out where his shirt dipped at the neck. Scratches, swelling, bruising… he looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a grizzly bear and barely made it out alive.

Dean caught your stare and immediately stiffened, his hands bunching the jacket tighter in his grip. His jaw worked, like he was fighting the urge to apologize again, maybe even turn around and leave.

"Don’t", you said quickly, softer. You stepped closer, moving carefully, like you were approaching something wild and wounded. "Don't shut me out".

Dean swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked exhausted. Worn down to the bone. But he still tried to grin. Still tried to be Dean. "You didn’t have to cook", he muttered, voice low, almost shy now. "Would’ve been fine with takeout".

You shook your head, your chest tightening at how hard he was trying to act normal for you. "I wanted to", you said simply.

Dean shifted awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do with himself now. He stood there in your living room, battered and bruised, and still somehow looked like the strongest man you'd ever seen.

"You hungry?", you asked, keeping your tone gentle.

Dean hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Yeah. Starvin', actually".

You smiled and turned toward the kitchen, pretending not to notice the way he moved — slow and stiff, his hand pressing lightly against his ribs when he thought you weren’t looking.

You plated up some of the food, simple stuff, but warm and comforting, and brought it back to the coffee table. Dean lowered himself carefully onto the couch, grunting a little when his body protested the movement.

You handed him a plate, and for a moment he just stared down at it like he wasn’t sure he deserved it. Then he looked up at you again, and there was something in his eyes that made your chest ache, a kind of naked gratitude he didn’t have words for. "Thanks", he said roughly.

You sat down beside him, close but not crowding, giving him space he clearly didn’t even know he needed. And for a little while, you just ate quietly, the low hum of the TV in the background, the air between you filled with something thick and unspoken.

Dean didn’t talk about what happened. You didn’t push. But somewhere deep inside you, you knew… this man carried more scars than you could see. And you were already falling so damn hard for him anyway.

Dean picked at his food a little, his appetite clearly there but slowed by the pain threading through his body. Every now and then he'd wince, subtle, like he couldn’t help it.

You didn’t mention it. You just quietly shifted a little closer, your knee brushing his.

Dean’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He blinked down at the point of contact, such a small thing, really, but you might as well have cracked open the damn world with it.

Slowly, carefully, he set the fork down on his plate. "You’re somethin' else, you know that?", he said, voice low and a little rougher than before. He wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the TV like it held the answers he couldn’t find.

You smiled softly. "Good 'something else' or bad 'something else'?".

That finally made him look at you. Really look at you. And the sheer weight of it nearly stole your breath.

Dean's jaw flexed, and for a second it looked like he was fighting himself. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you, touch you, hold you, but he didn’t. He just stared, like he was trying to memorize you.

"Good", he said finally. His voice was thick, like it scraped something raw inside him. "The best kinda good".

You blinked, your chest tightening painfully. "Dean…".

He leaned forward suddenly, bracing his forearms on his knees, his head hanging low. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was gripping his hands together tight enough that his knuckles were white.

"I ain’t good at this", he muttered, like it physically hurt him to admit it. "This… havin’ someone give a damn".

You reached out without thinking, your hand brushing against his arm, gentle, careful.

"I do give a damn", you said, voice steady even though your heart was hammering.

Dean let out a rough breath, almost a laugh, but it cracked halfway through and turned into something broken. For a terrifying second, you thought he was going to tell you everything… that he was going to unload whatever heavy, bloody thing he was carrying.

He looked at you, and there was so much ache in those green eyes it nearly knocked you flat. "I…". He started, then shook his head like he could physically shake the words away. "I just… I don’t want you to get hurt".

You frowned, confused. "Dean, I’m fine. You’re the one who’s hurt".

He gave you a small, pained smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah", he said softly. "Maybe this time".

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but he reached out then, carefully, gently, and covered your hand with his. It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t a confession. It was something quieter. Stronger.

A promise he didn’t know how to put into words yet. You squeezed his hand back, letting him feel it, the certainty, the trust, and Dean’s shoulders dropped just slightly, some invisible weight easing off him.

You didn’t need all the answers right now. All you needed was this. Him, here, with you. Still trying. Still fighting to be the kind of man you deserved.

Hours slipped by like seconds.

Neither of you seemed in any hurry to move, even as the clock crept later and later. Dean stretched out on the couch beside you, nursing the last of his drink, your knee resting against his thigh in a quiet, constant touch that neither of you commented on.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this safe just existing beside someone.

When you yawned and tucked your legs up under you, Dean immediately shifted like he was about to stand, like he didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

You caught his hand before he could move. "Stay", you said, your voice soft but certain. "Please".

Dean blinked at you, like you’d just asked him to move mountains. His hand tightened slightly around yours. "You sure?", he asked, rough and hesitant, like maybe you’d change your mind if he breathed wrong.

You smiled sleepily. "Yeah. I want you here".

For a second, Dean just stared at you, like he was trying to memorize this, burn it into his skin, and then he nodded, a little stiffly. Like it cost him something to say yes, to accept it. "Alright", he said, voice rough.

You led him toward the bedroom. It felt strangely natural, like this wasn’t the first time, like you’d been doing this forever.

When you both stood by the bed, though, the air shifted again, something crackling under the soft domesticity.

Dean hesitated, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, clearly not sure what to do. He still wore his jeans, his boots long gone but the stiff denim clinging to his bruised legs like armor.

You turned away politely, rummaging through a drawer for your oversized sleep shirt, trying to give him space. "You’re gonna be uncomfortable if you sleep in jeans", you said lightly over your shoulder, pulling your shirt over your head. "You should change".

Behind you, Dean swallowed hard. Because while you had your back to him, delicate, soft, beautiful, he was standing there feeling like the roughest, most broken thing on the planet.

He didn't want you to see. Didn’t want you to see the bruises covering his ribs and back, the scars, the jagged wounds still healing from whatever terrible thing he’d fought off just days ago. He didn't want you to look at him differently.

But he also didn’t want to lie to you. Not tonight.

So, heart hammering against his battered ribs, Dean finally peeled his t-shirt off and stripped out of his jeans, standing there in just a pair of dark boxers. He felt exposed. Raw. Small in a way he hated.

You turned back around, sleep shirt hanging loose off your frame, brushing your thighs, and the moment your eyes met his, Dean felt something in him break a little.

Because you didn’t flinch. You didn’t stare at the bruises or the scars or the ugly things life had carved into him. You just smiled, sleepy, trusting, beautiful and climbed into bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dean stood frozen for a second longer, watching you tuck yourself into the blankets, your body curling slightly in the soft light. So pure. So good. Everything he thought he didn’t deserve… yet somehow, you wanted him.

Slowly, carefully, he slid into bed beside you, lying on his back stiffly, unsure if he was allowed to pull you closer or if he should stay right where he was. You answered the question for him without a word, curling up against his side, resting your head gently against his chest.

Dean sucked in a sharp, quiet breath, barely able to move. It hurt, his ribs ached, his body protesting, but none of it mattered. Because for the first time in a long time, the thing pounding in his chest wasn’t just pain or survival. It was something softer. Something that terrified him even more than the monsters he fought.

Hope.

Dean hesitated just a second longer before he finally, slowly, wrapped an arm around you, careful not to pull too tight.

You pressed your face into his chest, sighing contentedly, and Dean closed his eyes, feeling your warmth seep into all the cold, broken parts of him. It was terrifying. It was everything.

And as he lay there, battered, bruised, and entirely yours, Dean Winchester realized one very simple truth: He wasn’t just falling for you. He already had.

Dean didn’t know how long he lay there, wide awake in the quiet dark, just watching you.

You slept curled against his side, your breathing slow and even, your hand resting lightly over his chest, right above his heart. Like you were holding it there. Keeping it steady.

The bruises and aches of the last few days faded into the background, dulled by the warmth of you tucked into his side. He could’ve stayed like that forever.

But then you shifted slightly, murmuring something soft and half-dreamed, your nose brushing against his collarbone and Dean felt his whole world tilt.

He turned his head to look at you, really look at you. Your hair was messy from sleep, your face peaceful, lips slightly parted. You looked so delicate, so beautiful and pure, like you belonged to some part of life he thought he'd never be allowed to touch.

And he… he was him. Broken, bruised, bloodstained inside and out. You deserved better. He knew that.

But God help him, he couldn't walk away. Not from you. Not from this.

Dean’s fingers moved before he could stop them, brushing a piece of hair gently away from your face, careful not to wake you. You stirred, blinking sleepily up at him, your eyes soft and a little confused at first and then they focused. Right on him.

Neither of you said a word. Dean swallowed hard. His hand hovered near your cheek, shaking slightly. For one terrifying, perfect second, he let himself lean in. Slow. Careful. Giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

You tilted your chin up slightly, eyes fluttering closed, trusting him. Dean’s heart damn near burst in his chest.

His lips brushed yours, the faintest, softest touch, almost like he didn’t trust himself not to break you if he wasn’t careful.

You sighed into it, your hand sliding up his chest. That tiny sound you made, the quiet, relieved little hum, broke him wide open.

Dean pressed in again, a little surer this time, still feather-light but full of everything he didn’t know how to say. I'm here. I want you. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.

Dean pulled away first, just barely, resting his forehead against yours, his breath shaky against your lips.

Again, neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to. The feeling was written in the quiet space between heartbeats, in the way Dean finally, finally, let his arm wrap fully around you, pulling you closer like he could shield you from the whole damn world.

And you let him. Because somewhere deep down, you already knew, bruises and scars and broken edges and all, Dean Winchester was yours. And you were his.

The morning sunlight crept slow and golden through the edges of the curtains, casting long, warm lines across the bed. You woke to the sound of soft breathing, not your own, and the heavy, comforting weight of Dean’s arm draped loosely around your waist.

For a moment, you stayed perfectly still, soaking it in. His body was warm against yours, solid and real. His chest rose and fell steadily, his face turned slightly toward you. He looked so much softer like this, the usual sharp lines of tension smoothed away by sleep.

You glanced down and caught sight of the curve of his bare hip peeking out from the sheet, the way the bruises and scratches darkened his skin. Your heart twisted painfully at the sight, but there was something beautiful about it too, something honest.

Dean Winchester was a fighter. A survivor. And somehow, he'd let you into his guarded world.

You shifted slightly under the covers, the hem of your oversized sleep shirt riding up your thighs. Beneath it, you wore nothing but a simple pair of panties and suddenly, you were very aware of just how little was separating your body from his.

Dean stirred at the movement, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, thumb brushing lazily over your side like he was grounding himself. He murmured something low and gravelly under his breath, then blinked his eyes open.

For a second, he looked disoriented. Then he focused on you.

And you watched it happen, that moment of pure, stunned realization, the way his face softened, the way his lips parted slightly like he couldn't quite believe you were real. "Mornin'", he rasped, voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "Morning".

Dean's eyes flicked down for a heartbeat, catching the sight of your bare legs tangled with his under the sheets and you swore you saw the tips of his ears go pink.

He cleared his throat, suddenly shy in a way that made your chest ache with affection. He pulled his arm back a little, giving you space like he thought maybe he was crowding you. "You, uh… sleep okay?", he asked, voice rough.

You reached out before he could pull away fully, catching his hand and threading your fingers through his. "I slept great", you said softly. "Best sleep I’ve had in a long time".

Dean’s mouth twitched at the corners, like he wanted to smile but was still a little too in his head about it.

You squeezed his hand gently. "And you?", you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean looked at you for a long moment, his thumb tracing tiny circles over the back of your hand. "Yeah", he said finally. "Best in… longer than I can remember".

The words weren’t flashy or poetic but they hit you straight in the heart.

You smiled, cheeks warming.

Dean squeezed your hand once before finally, reluctantly, rolling onto his back with a groan, muscles protesting the movement. He winced, and you sat up instinctively, worry flashing across your face.

Dean caught the look and gave you a lazy, crooked grin. "M’fine. Just a little… banged up".

You narrowed your eyes but let it slide, for now.

Dean scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, then looked over at you, sheepish. "So… breakfast?", he offered, like he wasn’t half-naked and bruised to hell, lying in your bed looking stupidly gorgeous.

You laughed softly. "You cooking?".

Dean smirked, already pushing himself upright with a low grunt. "Don’t sound so skeptical, sweetheart. I can make eggs without burnin’ your kitchen down".

You swung your legs out of bed too, standing up with a stretch that made your oversized shirt ride even higher up your thighs.

Dean caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately looked away like a gentleman. Well. A gentleman who was very clearly dying inside. His ears turned red again.

You grinned to yourself, heart flipping over at how sweet he was, how he was trying so damn hard not to be an idiot about this.

Dean stood too, raking a hand through his hair and heading for the kitchen, still barefoot, still just in his black boxer briefs.

And as you followed him, bare-legged and smiling, you realized something simple and overwhelming: This didn’t feel scary. It didn’t feel rushed. It felt right. It felt like home.

Dean moved stiffly, but he was stubborn about it, already rummaging through the fridge for eggs and whatever else he could find. His back was to you, the broad lines of his shoulders tense as he shifted things around one-handed.

You leaned against the doorway, arms loosely crossed over your chest, just… watching him.

It wasn’t just the bruises anymore, though they tugged at something protective and tender deep in your chest.

It was him.

The way the morning light caught the strong lines of his back, the flex of muscle under battered skin, the way his boxers clung low to his hips, hinting at strength and power he didn’t even have to flaunt.

Dean Winchester, bruised and half-dressed in your kitchen, looked like every reckless daydream you never dared admit you had.

You bit your lip without thinking, feeling your cheeks burn. You should look away. You should be decent. But you couldn’t.

Dean finally turned around, holding a carton of eggs in one hand, and caught you staring. He froze for half a second, and something shifted in the air, thickened, sweet and dangerous all at once. His green eyes darkened slightly as they dropped, flickering over the way your shirt barely covered your thighs, the way you were biting your lip, your cheeks flushed pink. Dean's grip on the egg carton tightened just a little. Like he was physically restraining himself. "You keep lookin' at me like that, sweetheart", he said, voice low and rough, "and we ain’t makin' it to breakfast".

Your mouth went dry. You opened it, probably to say something clever, but nothing came out.

Dean’s lips quirked into a crooked little half-smile, but even that couldn’t hide the tension radiating off him. The way his whole body was practically humming with restraint. He set the eggs down carefully on the counter, moving slow and deliberate, like he didn’t trust himself not to pounce if he got too close.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering against your ribs. Without thinking, without planning, you took a small step closer.

Dean watched you like a hawk, every muscle in his battered body tight and alert.

Another step.

You could feel the heat rolling off him now, see the way his chest rose and fell faster, the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting every instinct he had. You stopped right in front of him, looking up into his eyes, so green, so raw and you swore the whole world stopped spinning.

Dean's hand lifted and brushed the side of your face, his thumb tracing lightly over your cheekbone. "You’re killin' me", he murmured, voice barely more than a breath.

You tilted your head into his touch without even thinking, your eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat. And that was it. That was all he needed.

Dean leaned down, closing the distance between you and kissed you.

This kiss wasn’t careful like the first. It was deeper, surer, tinged with the raw hunger he’d been holding back for weeks. But it was still him. Still so heartbreakingly gentle with you, careful even now not to hurt or scare you.

Your hands slid up his bare sides, feeling the heat of his skin, the faint roughness of healing bruises. Dean made a low sound in his throat, half growl, half sigh, and pulled you closer by the small of your back, careful of where he was hurt but still desperate to have you near.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing harder, your foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

Dean smiled against your lips. A real, slow, lazy smile that made your heart stutter. "Definitely not makin' it to breakfast now", he murmured.

You laughed softly, your fingers curling into the waistband of his boxers, feeling him shiver at the touch.

You rested your forehead against his, breathing him in. The scent of him, warm and familiar now. Your heart hammered so hard you were sure he could feel it.

You met his eyes, steady, serious, and whispered, "You sure you’re up for this?".

Dean blinked, caught off guard for half a second. Then a slow, cocky grin pulled at the corner of his swollen lip — pure Dean.

His voice dropped to that low, dangerous murmur that made your knees weak. "Sweetheart", he rasped, "I’ve been through worse for less".

And before you could even react, he slid his big, calloused hands down your sides, gripping you firmly under your thighs and lifted you clean off the ground.

You gasped, grabbing at his shoulders instinctively as he set you down on the kitchen counter, your legs dangling over the edge, wide-eyed and breathless.

Even hurting, even battered and bruised, Dean moved you like you weighed nothing.

He hid it well, but you caught it, the tiny hitch in his breath, the way his jaw clenched for a second as he fought through the pain. But he didn’t let it show on his face. Because he was Dean Winchester. And right now, he wasn’t thinking about his bruises, or his cracked ribs, or how much his body screamed in protest. He was thinking about you.

He stepped closer between your legs, his hands settling lightly on your thighs, his body heat wrapping around you like a second skin. "You", he said, voice thick, rough, meaningful, "are the only thing I’m worried about right now".

Your breath hitched at the look in his eyes — all fire and sweetness and pure devotion. You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly through his messy hair, feeling him lean into your touch like he needed it more than air. "You’re an idiot", you whispered, smiling.

Dean chuckled, that low rumble vibrating against your legs. "Yeah. But I’m your idiot".

You leaned in, kissing him again, slow and deep, your fingers tangling at the nape of his neck. Dean responded instantly, one hand sliding up to the small of your back, pulling you gently but firmly against him, careful even in his eagerness.

You could feel the shudder that ran through him when you curled your legs lightly around his waist, pulling him closer. Could feel how much he wanted you but also how hard he was holding himself back, making sure you led this. Because you weren’t just a pretty face to him. You were everything.

You broke the kiss slowly, your nose brushing his, feeling the way his breath stuttered against your lips.

Dean pressed his forehead against yours, his hands gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him standing. "Not gonna break", he whispered, almost like he was reassuring you, not himself.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, all that stubbornness and rough-edged tenderness burning there, and smiled softly. "I know", you whispered back.

Dean stayed pressed against you for a long breath, forehead resting against yours, like he was making sure, one last time, that you wanted this too.

You tilted your face up, brushing your nose against his, giving him your answer without a single word. And something in him broke, not in a bad way, but like a dam giving way under the flood of everything he'd been holding back.

He kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he wanted to savor every second, every taste. His hands roamed down your sides, over your thighs, moving with such aching gentleness you almost wanted to cry.

When his fingers brushed the hem of your oversized shirt, he hesitated, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. But you didn’t. You just tightened your legs a little around his hips, pulling him closer, trusting him completely.

Dean let out a shaky breath against your lips, like he was barely holding himself together. Then, slowly, so slowly, he slid his hands beneath the shirt, his fingers tracing lightly over your hips until they hooked into the sides of your panties.

He swallowed hard, his hands almost trembling as he eased the thin fabric down your hips, over your thighs, down past your knees, until they fell to the floor with a whisper.

The entire time, he moved like you were made of glass, like you were something sacred he didn’t deserve to touch but couldn’t stop himself from worshipping anyway.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, wincing slightly at the motion but not letting it show. His hands came to rest on your bare thighs, thumbs stroking light circles against your skin.

You thought he might rush, might get lost in the heat sparking between you, but he didn’t. Dean leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to your inner thigh, so gentle it made you shiver. He looked up at you from beneath his lashes — those impossibly green eyes full of awe and hunger and something so much deeper.

You reached out, threading your fingers into his messy hair, your breath catching when he gently, so carefully, spread your thighs a little wider with those big, battle-scarred hands. Like he was making space for himself. Making a place to worship.

And damn, the way he looked at you, like you were the only beautiful thing left in his broken, bloody world, made your whole body ache in the best way.

Dean’s voice, when it came, was low and reverent. "You’re so damn beautiful, sweetheart".

Dean stayed there for a heartbeat longer, hands steady on your thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, grounding circles into your skin, as if he was giving you every last chance to change your mind. As if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. But you were. And you wanted him.

You gave a soft, shaky nod, your fingers tightening slightly in his hair, the silent permission he was waiting for.

Dean let out a low, shaky breath, like he’d been holding it for hours. And then, slowly, reverently, he leaned in.

His mouth brushed over your inner thigh again, hotter this time, sending sparks dancing across your skin. He worked his way closer with patient, devastating tenderness, soft kisses, a scrape of stubble that made you whimper under your breath.

Dean groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your skin.

He was careful, so careful, almost like he was afraid of hurting you, even now. His hands slid up your thighs, steady and warm, spreading you just a little wider with gentle, coaxing pressure.

When his mouth finally found you, you gasped, one hand flying to clutch the edge of the counter, the other tangled tight in his hair.

Dean worked slow at first, unbearably slow, his tongue tracing slow, lazy circles that made your whole body light up. He wasn't trying to rush you. He wasn’t chasing anything for himself. He was savoring you. Like you were something precious. Something he'd dreamed about but never dared believe he could have.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the soft, broken sounds spilling out of you, but Dean just growled low in approval and pulled you closer, his hands firm but still gentle on your hips.

He licked into you with slow, devastating skill, every flick of his tongue measured, focused entirely on you. He watched you too, eyes flickering up through his lashes every so often, as if drinking in every tiny shiver, every hitched breath you made.

"You’re perfect", he rasped against you, voice wrecked. "You taste so damn sweet, baby".

Your head fell back, a helpless moan slipping past your lips. Dean groaned like he was the one coming undone, tightening his grip just enough to ground you as he worked you higher and higher.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, your whole body taut with the need he was pulling from you so easily, so completely.

It built slow, not a wildfire, but a steady, aching climb, until you were gasping, your hips bucking slightly against his mouth, chasing the pleasure he was giving you so selflessly.

Dean felt it, the way you started to lose control, and he leaned in harder, his mouth claiming you fully now, pushing you right to the edge. "That’s it, sweetheart", he murmured against you. "Come on. Let go for me".

It was his voice, rough, low, that finally sent you crashing over the edge.

You came with a broken cry, your whole body shuddering, your hands clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

Dean didn’t pull away. He stayed with you, coaxing you through it, slowing his movements, whispering soft, filthy praises against your skin until your body finally sagged back against the counter, trembling and spent.

He pressed one last kiss to the inside of your thigh, so gentle it almost broke your heart, before standing slowly, his body stiff with pain he stubbornly didn’t show.

You blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked and so full of love you could hardly breathe. Dean cupped your face with one big, calloused hand, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "You’re okay?", he asked, voice hoarse, rough with more than just lust, rough with feeling.

You nodded, still breathless, and pulled him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips, feeling the way he melted into you, still so careful even now, as if you'd break if he touched you too hard.

After a long, breathless moment in the kitchen, you gently tugged at Dean’s hand, leading him toward the bedroom again. He followed without a word, barefoot and half-dressed, his body battered but his heart so full it was a miracle he was still standing.

The second you reached the bed, Dean leaned down, catching your mouth in another slow, aching kiss. His hands slid down your sides, reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you at all.

He guided you back toward the bed, lowering you carefully onto the mattress, his body moving over yours. You felt him hesitate, just for a second, the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath caught.

Dean was fighting himself. Fighting the pain. Trying not to let you feel the way his ribs ached, the way every movement sent flashes of agony through him.

But you felt it anyway. You felt the strain in his body, the trembling in his arms as he struggled to hold himself above you, not because he wanted distance, but because he didn’t want to hurt you. Didn’t want to collapse onto you with his full weight, bruised and broken as he was.

"Dean", you whispered against his lips, your hands cupping his face. "It’s okay. Let me".

He opened his eyes, green and wide and full of so much raw emotion you could hardly breathe. Before he could protest, you shifted carefully, gently turning the two of you until he was lying flat on his back, his head sinking into the pillows, his body relaxing under your touch.

You climbed over him, straddling his hips carefully, your oversized sleep shirt brushing against his bare stomach. Dean’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively finding your thighs, gripping them lightly, grounding himself. You sat up slightly, your hands trailing down his sides, your eyes never leaving his face. His boxer briefs stretched low across his hips, the only barrier left between you.

Dean looked up at you, bruised, beautiful, yours, and you saw it again, that flicker of fear. Not fear of you, but fear of not being enough. Of hurting you. Of ruining something too good for him.

You leaned down, brushing a kiss against his bruised jaw, working your way down the strong line of his throat, feeling him shiver beneath you. When you reached his hips, you sat back slightly, your fingers hooking gently into the waistband of his boxers.

Dean closed his eyes for a long moment, like he was physically bracing himself against the sheer force of what he felt for you.

You began to ease his boxer briefs down, slow, careful, reverent, revealing inch after inch of scarred, bruised, perfect skin.

Dean hissed quietly through his teeth when the fabric brushed a tender spot, but he didn’t stop you. He let you see him. All of him.

When you finally tossed the boxers aside, you leaned back slightly, drinking him in. Dean Winchester, strong and scarred and beautiful, lying there beneath you, his body laid bare, his heart even more so.

Dean kissed you like he was drowning, slow and deep and desperate for every single second of you. His hands roamed your back, your thighs, everywhere he could touch without hurting you or himself, trying to memorize the feel of you against him.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes and then, slowly, you reached down and grabbed the hem of your oversized shirt.

Dean’s breath caught audibly.

You pulled it over your head in one smooth motion and let it fall to the floor, leaving you completely bare above him.

Dean’s hands tightened instinctively on your hips, his chest rising and falling fast, his eyes drinking you in like he didn’t know where to look first, like he couldn’t believe someone like you was real, was his. "Shit, sweetheart", he breathed out, reverent and shaking.

You leaned down, kissing him softly, trying to steady your own racing heart, feeling the heat of his skin against yours everywhere you touched.

When you pulled back again, you reached for the top drawer of your nightstand, fumbling a little before grabbing a small foil packet.

Dean’s eyes darkened, his jaw flexing, but he didn’t move, just watched you, every muscle in his body vibrating with restraint and need and something almost tender.

You straddled him again, heart pounding, your small hands tearing open the condom wrapper carefully. When you took him in hand, he hissed quietly, his head falling back against the pillow, one bruised hand gripping the sheet beside him like he was barely holding himself together.

You tried to roll it on him, but he was big, thick and heavy in your palm, and you struggled slightly, your hands trembling with nerves and need.

Dean opened his eyes, catching your little frown of concentration, and for the first time since you started, a low, breathless chuckle rumbled out of him. "You’re killin' me, baby", he rasped, his voice rough and wrecked with affection.

You bit your lip, cheeks flushing deeper, shooting him a mock-glare that only made his grin widen.

Dean reached down carefully, slow, guiding your hands with his much bigger ones, helping you roll it down the thick, hard length of him.

The whole time, he kept his eyes on you, like watching you touch him, prepare him, was the greatest thing he’d ever seen.

When it was finally on, you sat back slightly, both of you breathing heavily, your bodies trembling with anticipation and emotion and that raw, aching tenderness neither of you could hide.

Dean’s hands slid up your thighs again, so gentle, so reverent, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he wasn’t careful. "You sure about this?", he asked, voice low, rough, serious.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead against his, your hand splayed over his bruised chest, feeling the steady, pounding beat of his heart under your palm. "I’m sure", you whispered, meaning every word. "I want you, Dean. I want this".

Dean groaned low in his throat, half need, half disbelief, and wrapped his arms carefully around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "You have no idea", he rasped against your skin, "what you do to me".

And with a slow, aching gentleness that left you both trembling, you shifted your hips, lining yourself up with him.

Dean’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, trying to hold himself back, trying to give you the control.

Slowly, carefully, you began to sink down onto him.

Both of you gasped at the first touch, the overwhelming heat, the stretch.

Dean’s hands shot up to your hips, his grip tight but not forceful, grounding himself as you took him in inch by inch. It was slow. It was intense. It was everything.

Dean kept whispering broken things under his breath, things you could barely hear, things like "so good", and "so perfect", and "mine, baby, you're mine".

You finally seated yourself fully, your thighs trembling slightly with the effort, and Dean let out a wrecked, desperate groan, his head falling back against the pillows.

You both stayed like that for a long, shuddering moment, bodies joined, hearts hammering, the weight of everything between you settling into something steady and real.

Dean’s chest heaved under your palms, bruises blooming beneath his skin, but he didn’t care. He only cared about you.

Slowly, he sat up, groaning quietly under his breath from the effort, until he was upright, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer against him. The movement pressed your bare chest flush against his, the brush of your soft skin against his rough, bruised one sending a shiver through both of you.

Dean's hands slid up your back, cupping the nape of your neck, holding you like you were something he could never get enough of. Your foreheads touched, your noses brushed and then Dean kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t demanding. It was slow, deep, achingly tender. Like he was pouring every broken, precious piece of himself into you.

You kissed him back just as slowly, your hands tangling in the short hair at the back of his neck, careful not to pull too hard, aware of the way he winced slightly when your body shifted against his bruises.

You moved carefully on his lap, your thighs straining to take him, your body stretching around his thick length with every slow roll of your hips.

Dean groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to your waist again, helping guide you, not forcing, never forcing, just grounding, supporting.

"That's it, baby", he rasped against your lips. "You're doin' so good".

Your body trembled with the effort, with the intensity, with the sheer size of him, filling you so deeply it felt like he was imprinted on your very soul.

Dean buried his face in your neck, breathing you in, kissing your skin between whispered words you barely caught, sweet, broken things.

You rocked your hips carefully, finding a slow, steady rhythm that made you gasp into his mouth. Dean moved with you, every shift of his hips sending shudders through both of you, but he held himself back, barely, afraid to push too hard, too fast.

Every movement sent tiny sparks of pain through his bruised body, but he didn’t care. He welcomed it. Because feeling this, feeling you, was worth every ache, every scar.

You clutched at his shoulders, your forehead resting against his, moaning softly every time you sank down onto him again.

Dean's hands slid over your back, your hips, your thighs, everywhere he could touch without hurting you, his rough fingers tracing worshipful paths over your bare skin. "You feel so damn good", he breathed against your mouth, his voice shaking. "So perfect".

You whimpered at his words, your body clenching around him, and Dean groaned low and desperate, his hips jerking up into you before he caught himself with a tight, pained breath.

You pulled back slightly, cupping his face, looking down into those wild, wrecked green eyes. "You okay?", you whispered.

Dean let out a choked laugh, one hand cradling the back of your head, holding you so gently. "Never been better", he whispered hoarsely. "Never… never had anything like this".

You kissed him again, deep and slow, and rocked your hips just a little faster, drawing a wrecked sound from deep in Dean’s chest.

Your bodies moved together, carefully, tenderly, every roll of your hips sending pleasure spiraling higher, every brush of skin against skin stitching something broken in him back together. This wasn’t just sex. This was Dean giving you everything. And you taking it, loving him right back, without fear, without hesitation.

Dean kept his movements small, gentle. Not because he didn’t want to lose himself in you, but because every deep thrust, every shift of his body, sent sparks of pain through his ribs and back. Still, he didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop for anything.

His forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips, his hands stroking up and down your sides, steady, grounding, full of wordless devotion.

You could feel it building between you, slow, steady, unstoppable.

Dean was whispering broken things against your mouth between kisses, things he probably didn’t even realize he was saying.

You moved a little faster, a little harder, feeling him swell even thicker inside you, his bruised body trembling under the strain of holding back, of letting you set the pace while he clung to every last second of this, of you.

Dean groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding up to cup your face, tilting your head so he could kiss you again, deep and desperate and full of everything.

The pleasure built higher with every careful movement, slow and aching and perfect, until you felt yourself teetering right on the edge.

"Come for me, sweetheart”, he rasped, his voice wrecked and shaking. “Wanna feel you… please, baby…”.

That was it. You shattered around him with a soft, broken cry, your body clenching tight, your hands fisting in his hair as waves of pleasure rolled through you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Dean gasped against your mouth, his whole body seizing beneath you, his arms locking around your waist as he thrust up into you once, twice, as deep and careful as he could before he came too, groaning your name like a prayer.

His release hit him hard, harder than he expected, and he clutched you tight, burying his face against your neck as he trembled through it, his bruised body shuddering with the force of it.

You clung to him, holding him through it, feeling the way he shook, not just from the effort, not just from the pain, but from the sheer magnitude of what he was feeling.

When the aftershocks finally faded, you stayed wrapped around each other, neither of you moving, neither of you wanting to break the fragile, perfect bubble you’d created. Dean’s arms loosened just enough to let you breathe, but he kept you close, his hand stroking up and down your back in slow, shaky passes. “You okay?”, you whispered against his jaw, still breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

Dean let out a low, shaky laugh, one full of disbelief, wonder, and something rawer, deeper. “Never been better”, he murmured hoarsely, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You kissed the side of his neck gently, feeling him shudder again, this time not from pain, but from emotion he couldn’t hide. And you stayed there, tangled up with him, your heart still racing, your bodies still joined, breathing each other in like you were the only thing keeping the world from falling apart.

Eventually, your breathing began to slow, the wild, pounding beat of both your hearts settling into something softer, a quiet thrum that filled the room.

Dean shifted under you slightly, wincing before he caught himself. He masked it quickly, so typical of him, but you caught it anyway. The way his body tensed. The flicker of pain he tried to hide.

You leaned up slowly, your hands framing his bruised face, your thumbs brushing across his rough stubble. “You’re hurting”, you whispered, more fact than question.

Dean gave a little shrug, trying to play it off, but his arms stayed wrapped around you like he couldn’t let go, like he was terrified that if he loosened his grip, this would all disappear. “’M fine”, he muttered gruffly. “Just… sore”.

You kissed him again, soft, lingering, before finally, reluctantly, easing off him. He groaned low in protest at the loss of your warmth, his body instinctively reaching for you even as he lay back, utterly spent. You smiled and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere”.

Dean’s arms dropped to his sides, his battered chest heaving with slow breaths as he watched you with those impossibly green eyes, open, raw, no defenses left.

You moved gently, grabbing a clean towel and easing it between your legs with a shy, soft smile. Dean’s gaze followed every little movement, full of so much tenderness it made your chest ache.

Then you slipped back into bed beside him, grabbing a box of tissues from your nightstand and leaning over him.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, to tell you he didn’t need anything, but you shot him a look that made him shut up immediately. He huffed a quiet, breathless laugh, turning his head to the side as you began carefully, lovingly wiping the sheen of sweat from his bruised, overheated skin.

You were so gentle with him, careful of every scrape, every tender spot. Dean just lay there and let you, blinking up at you like he didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve any of this. No one had ever touched him like this before. Not just the sex, the after. The care.

The way you smoothed the cloth over his ribs with careful little touches, like he was something precious instead of something broken. “You don’t have to…”, he started, voice rough.

You cut him off with a soft look. “I want to”.

Dean’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, like he was trying not to choke on whatever emotion was clawing its way up inside him.

When you finished, you tossed the cloth aside and slid back under the covers, curling up beside him carefully, mindful of his injuries. Dean immediately pulled you against him, even though it clearly hurt.

You laid your head against his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart under your cheek. Dean pressed his lips to the top of your head, breathing you in like you were air and he’d been drowning without you.

For a long moment, you just lay there, wrapped around each other in the golden hush of the morning light.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 3

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[nomourners-nofunerals]

The fact that The Acolyte faced a hate campaign before it even aired speaks volumes about the real reason behind its cancellation. This was NEVER about the show’s quality or its potential….it was always about the toxic gatekeeping mentality that has taken root in the Star Wars community! When the so called "fans" choose to attack and sabotage a project before it even has a chance to prove itself it’s not a valid critique; it’s a reflection of deep seated prejudice and intolerance.

This whole controversy surrounding The Acolyte exposes the toxic and problematic values that the Star Wars community has embraced. Even if the show doesn’t return, I want you to remember how you behaved. This kind of behavior doesn’t just harm the show—it undermines the inclusive and hopeful spirit that Star Wars is supposed to represent. You call us "fake Star Wars fans" while embodying everything that Star Wars stands against. You've built a bubble of fear prejudice and intolerance towards anything new. but at some point this bubble will burst—what will you do then? Knowing random facts about lightsabers and Yoda doesn’t make you a real Star Wars fan. embracing the Star Wars spirit, its true message, and being kind and open to change is what makes you a real fan. So in a way you’ve been the fake fan all along and you SHOULD feel bad about the way you've treated all the people involved in this show and its fans.

[tswiftupdatess]

taylorswift: In summation We have officially wrapped the European leg of The Eras Tour. With it came the most passionate crowds I’ve ever played for, new traditions in the show, and an entirely new era added in. It was a more hectic pace than we’d done before, and I’m so proud of my crew/fellow performers for being able to physically perform that show and build our massive stage, take it apart, and make magic with so few days in between for recovery and travel. They’re the most impressive people I know and I’m so lucky they gave The Eras Tour their time, their energy, and their expertise. Walking onstage in London was a rollercoaster of emotions. Having our Vienna shows cancelled was devastating. The reason for the cancellations filled me with a new sense of fear, and a tremendous amount of guilt because so many people had planned on coming to those shows. But I was also so grateful to the authorities because thanks to them, we were grieving concerts and not lives. I was heartened by the love and unity I saw in the fans who banded together. I decided that all of my energy had to go toward helping to protect the nearly half a million people I had coming to see the shows in London. My team and I worked hand in hand with stadium staff and British authorities every day in pursuit of that goal, and I want to thank them for everything they did for us. Let me be very clear: I am not going to speak about something publicly if I think doing so might provoke those who would want to harm the fans who come to my shows. In cases like this one, ‘silence’ is actually showing restraint, and waiting to express yourself at a time when it’s right to. My priority was finishing our European tour safely, and it is with great relief that I can say we did that. And then London felt like a beautiful dream sequence. All five crowds at Wembley Stadium were bursting with passion, joy, and exuberance. The energy in that stadium was like the most giant bear hug from 92,000 people each night, and it brought me back to a place of carefree calm up there.

We had some EPIC surprise performances from my long time friends teddysphotos, florenceandthemachine, and jackantonoff. Performing ‘Florida!!!’ with Flo for the first time was unforgettable and Ed took me right back to our old Red Tour memories. It was the most dizzying honor to become the first solo artist to play Wembley 8 times in one tour. To the fans who have seen us this summer, you’ll always have the most sparkling place in my memories. You were a dream to perform for, dance with, and share those magical moments with. We’ll see you all again when we resume The Eras Tour in October, but for now we get to take a much needed rest. Thank you for the adventure of a lifetime. May it continue… 💚💛💜❤️🩵🖤🩷🩶🤎💙🤍

(August 21, 2024)

[yuvany]

#ENHYPEN AS SPIDERMAN

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 spiderman!au

OT7 ENHYPEN x female reader 𝜗𝜚 CONTENT/ WARNING(S) : injuries + unknown identities + fluff + kisses + not proofread :: WORD COUNT:1211. . . CHECK BOX !!

( reblogs + feedback always appreciated !! )

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

One evening you hear the sound of something hitting the glass of your window, and as you make your way there, you see the shadow of a person. You are horrified, realising that you live quite high up. "y/n?" You hear that familiar voice, and you open the window. "Who are you?" You ask defensively, fearing who the person under the red mask might be. Your eyes trail down to a wound that this mysterious person is clutching onto. "Are you evil, or-" you are cut off by the person taking off his mask. "Y/n calm down, it's me." It's Heeseung, and you are speechless. Your mouth hung agape as you try to find the right words to describe what you're thinking. "Explain it all to me while I take care of that." You say, pointing to his wound, and Heeseung jumps inside your room and nods, using his free hand to pull you close by the waist.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

He held you in his arms as the two of you watched the news on the television about the most recent crime. "This is crazy." You comment, and Jay rubs your shoulder with his palm reassuringly, "No need to worry about it, Sweetheart. They said that Spiderman had everything under control." he said proudly, kissing your hair, and you nod along, not knowing that the hero was sat right beside you. Jay suddenly gets a call and as he sees the screen he excuses himself, "Sorry baby, it's urgent." You start to get suspicious of how often these 'emergencies' occur, but let him out of your grasp. You hear how the door doesn't shut, and neither did you notice him walk by. Then, on the news they report that Spiderman had entered the scene again. Now you're suspicious of your boyfriend's real identity since this has been a returning pattern.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗬𝗨𝗡

He was sat on the closed toilet lid, his spiderman suit laying on the floor as you pulled out a medical kit from underneath the faucet. You had it there in case of situations like this. "I'm sorry, baby." Jake apologises, shivers running down his spine due to the cold. "I told you to be more careful, Jake, but I'm glad you're not too badly hurt." You sigh while getting some disinfectant. You turn to your wounded boyfriend, and coat a cotton pad with the disinfectant before slowly patting it on his skin. Jake jolts up with a yelp, but you hold him down by placing your palm on his shoulder. "It's almost done, honey." You whisper as you continue to clean his injuries. He sighs after it's finally over, and you reach for some bandage and wrap it around him. "You know, you scare me when you come home like this." You mutter after a long pause. "I know, and I'll try to better myself for you." He says, his arms wrap around your waist as he gives you a tender kiss.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

"I can't come to dinner, sorry baby." You read his message, feeling the disappointment arise within you. This wasn't the first time he'd cancel last minute, and you hoped he'd give you a reasonable reply to why he couldn't come, but there was never one. With a sigh you answer him, "It's alright." before walking home in your heels, hearing how they echo against the ground. You were so excited for this, but seems like it was all false. You search your bag for your keys, and you start to stress when you can't seem to find them. This day had been a mess, your date was cancelled, and you forgot your keys. You sit down on the stairs and pull out your phone, you want to call Sunghoon, but then you realise that he might be busy. The sun is set and you sit there with your face buried in your palms as you feel someone tap your shoulder. "What is it?" You ask, raising your head to see him there. "I'm sorry, angel." It was Sunghoon in a spiderman suit with a bouquet of flowers. You look him up and down. "What's this, baby?" He rubs the back of his neck and explains that he is Spiderman.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

You wake up in the middle of the night, feeling the cold spot next to you. You start to wonder where Sunoo is. You believe he went to the toilet, but it's been a while by now. You pick up your phone and dial his number, wanting to ask where he was, but you were sent to voicemail. Then you decide to get a glass of water since you were unable to sleep, and maybe search for your boyfriend. You stumble into the kitchen and pour yourself water from the water cooker before dragging yourself to the bathroom. As you shut the door behind you, you hear something fidgeting with the handle of the window. You freeze, and look for something to use in self defence, but the person who crawls in through the thin window is revealed to be a man dressed in a red suit covered in lines resembling spider webs. "What are you doing here?!" You call out, and the man turns around, pulling his mask away. "Sunoo?" You are shocked. "Haha, hey baby!" He laughs awkwardly at being caught.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

"I need to tell you something." His voice sounds serious as he sits straight, and naturally, you copy his moves. "What's up?" You feel your palms heat up, and you swallow even though your throat has turned dry. Jungwon takes your hand in his as he rubs circles around your knuckles. The silence is awfully still, and you wish he'd spit whatever he wanna say. "I'm sorry for being so distant recently." He introduces, and you nod with understanding, "No, it's alright, baby." "I'm spiderman." He mumbles, and you raise an eyebrow. "You can't be that Spiderman." You start to wonder if he's joking with you. "Y/n, honey, I'm serious." You hum lowly and recall all the times Jungwon conveniently happened to be gone during a crime scene near by every time. "Are you really telling the truth?" You are still sceptical, but Jungwon eases your worries when he shots webs at the wall opposite of you guys. "So?" "This is unbelievable." Your breathe out..

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

You two were watching an action movie together, and you comment on how cool it is that the stuntmen manage to perform such moves, Riki gets envious and blurts out, "I can do that as well, babe." You think he's joking and scoff with a chuckle. "There's no way you can." You nudge him by the shoulder playfully, and see him smirking confidently. "You wanna bet?" He asks, and your smile fades. "Sure." You say, wondering what he'll do, and he lets go of your hand and is now standing in the middle of the living room. You watch him intently with crossed arms. Riki lifts the sleeves of his arms and jump up so that he touches the ceiling with his finger tips, and he stays there, hanging by his fingers. You are wide eyed at this and stand up from your seat. He lets go and you ask him, "Are you Spiderman or something?" with a shocked expression. He only shrugs and smirks sheepily.