#or you can just tell yourself that the universe always has you in it's palm

[stellamancer]

notes: time is a construct that bten!reader no longer understands. anyway, yes hellow, late gojo birthday fic that i am pretending that i'm not posting on megumi's birthday LMAO.

takes place in the same universe as beyond the unending night, however reading that fic is not necessary, all you need to know is that reader has a CT that can rewind time. slight and implied reader x gojo if you're squinting. also. reader is very unreliable narrator (there are some things in the narration that gojo responds to because reader is unaware they said it aloud oops.) not proofread.

wc: 944

“Your birthday was a couple days ago?” 

Gojo tilts his head toward you, expression passive for a split second before a broad grin spreads across his face. “It was! How did you know! Wait, let me guess, you—”

“The students,” you supply flatly before he can make any outlandish suggestions regarding how you happened across the information. “Yuta-kun mentioned it.” 

There’s a slight pucker to Gojo’s lips, but it’s gone almost instantly as he remarks. “Oh Yuta… He’s always been an exemplary student! Even going so far as to remember his dear old teacher’s birthday…” 

You stare at Gojo. There’s a trap here. Bait. It’s not well hidden either, if his exaggerated tone is any indication. You consider telling him straight up: it’s not possible to remember something you never knew in the first place. But instead, you decide to indulge him. “Do people usually not remember?” 

Now that you say that, you find the words hard to believe. You can barely call yourself a part of jujutsu society, but there’s no denying that Gojo is something of a big deal. There’s no way that these illustrious ‘higher ups’ would forget the birthday of someone as important as Satoru Gojo.

“It’s not that they don’t remember,” Gojo says, “it’s that they just don’t care.” 

The nonchalance in his voice stuns you, more so than the fact that you cannot detect even a hint of bitterness in it. They… don’t care? You want to be in denial, to think that that simply cannot be true. And yet…

You cannot deny it. 

Not when you know what you do of the top brass.

“Well, not the students,” Gojo adds, fondness seeping into his tone as the tiniest smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Threw me a party and everything. As expected of students of the Great Teacher Gojo!”

He puffs his chest out a little, clearly pleased, no doubt proud. 

“...did you do anything else?” you ask. Knowing someone as whimsical as Gojo, you can imagine him spending the day as he pleased, going from sweet shop to sweet shop spending exorbitant amounts of money on any and every sugary item he could possibly get his hands on. 

“Nope.” 

You blink at him. “What.”

“I was waaaaaay too busy to do anything else,” Gojo says with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I’m lucky that the students love me so much that they took on a couple extra missions just so we could party for a half hour.”

Gojo’s words have you gawking at him, slack jawed and in awe. You’re well aware that he’s a busy guy, but to only have had a half hour of free time on his birthday to celebrate is just…

“Don’t make that face.” His voice is quiet. Gentle. “It’s fine; I’m used to it. Just a part of being an adult, you know?”

He’s not wrong, but… 

Somehow, it doesn’t sit well with you. 

“....you’re done with everything you have to do today, right?” you ask, reaching into your pocket to check the time; it’s nearly midnight.

“Yeah?” Gojo answers, and while he sounds mostly amused, you think you can hear the smallest hint of confusion. “You thinking of having a late night snack together to make up for missing my birthday? How romantic of you!” 

“Not exactly,” you shoot back without missing a beat, but Gojo doesn’t seem to be disappointed by you rebuffing him. You outstretch your palm toward him and he inclines his head down slightly to show that he’s looking down at it. 

Gojo hums. He knows what you’re thinking. Of course he does. “You know that’s technically against the rules.” 

“And?” you ask as you stare back at him.

“You could get in biiiiiiig trouble, you know.”

Your gaze doesn’t waver.

“Could even be sentenced to death for it!” 

Your hand doesn’t move.

Gojo tilts his head to the side before heaving a sigh and shaking his head. He raises his hand, but rather than take yours, he reaches up higher and moves to flick your forehead. That would work just as well, and for a split second you gather your cursed energy, ready to use your technique, but—

You merely wince and Gojo tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as your energy quickly dissipates.

“Change your mind?” he asks.

“Wasn’t sure if you were actually going to do it,” you answer honestly. Did he actually flick you or did he just ‘pretend’ to? There wouldn't have been any point if he pretended. 

“What do you think?”

You frown as a playful, yet menacing grin spreads across Gojo's face. He knows full well that you can't tell, especially if you can't even see the point of contact. 

“Well wishes aside, the only other thing I can really offer you is time,” you deadpan. It wasn't like you were going to be stupid and give him a week or even a month, but…

Gojo wags his finger at you, tutting. “No, not true! There's something else!”

You give him a pointed look. What else could you possibly give? 

“Well, it's really more like an IOU,” he explains airily, before his tone shifts, growing quieter and more serious. “Just get stronger. Strong enough to take on missions just like me and maybe next year we can have a longer party.” 

You sigh. His suggestion is more practical, more useful in the long run, and while you can agree with what he's proposed… It's his birthday. He could afford to be a little more selfish. 

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile ever wide and absolutely ominous. “I'll keep that in mind next time.” 

[boringwomanwithabook]

I had a bit of an awkward misunderstanding with a fellow mutual and friend the other day and we went from talking every day to them just completely cutting me off but still following eachother. This feels really bad. I'm sad about messing things up even though I really don't know what I did wrong.

Anyway. I saw your post about the misunderstanding thing and it just resonated with me and I hope you are okay.

Very sorry to hear about that, I know it hurts, I've experienced it but I hope you find something that brings comfort soon

[meownotgood]

arcane season 2 spoilers

════════════════════

"Can you feel anything?" 

Viktor's foreign body shudders against his will; your fingertips trace down his chest, tingling, sparking, akin to little specks of light burning into his second-skin. The sound of your muddled voice barely registers. His head tosses back with a slight thud, hair fanned out as a halo. He allows your knees to bracket his waist, and keeps his arms sprawled above him — despite the aching in his dead heart to just touch you. The pulsing of the arcane beneath his system is hardly under control yet. 

It would be a risk he's willing to take, a necessary step to learn, if it were anyone else besides you. 

And Viktor does feel — so much, in fact, but it isn't anything explainable. The festering in his core, threatening to come up through his throat. The whirring, the throbbing of every muscle, rich with glowing rivers of purple. Shining with a mixture of magic and energy and his own blood. 

He's only distantly aware of your hand when it reaches his stomach, examining the juncture between cool metal and unholy flesh. Gears and bolts mimic the outline of ribs. Your touches are curious, distinctly gentle. Picking up on old habits, and trying not to break him, still. Then, your palm reaches up; it boldly cradles his cheek, brushes his pallid skin. And this, he can sense. 

It's familiar, human. Excruciatingly soft when your thumb brushes the space on his cheek, just above his beauty mark. It puts an easy feeling back in his chest, something he almost began to believe he'd forgotten. As warm as a shimmering sun, as molten as liquid gold. 

Nothing else matters but this moment, but you, and him. There is no outcome, across each expansive universe and every edge of the arcane, where the two of you would not meet again like this. You were meant to. Born and reborn to. 

Your gaze finds his, soft eyes glancing down at him, your expression crossed between pain and relief. You eclipse all of his vision: light fuzzy at your edges, your face a hazy memory that he'd still see with his eyes closed. You're a reminder of what it means to be alive. 

Viktor doesn't envy you. You've told him of nightmares, before. Dreams you had before this, of your mind putting yourself through the tragedy of watching him die ages before you truly had to. It must be difficult to see him like this, despite your best attempts to hide any uncertainty. 

Your hand shakes. He can feel it trembling, unsteady on his cheek. And every molecule in Viktor's system explodes, laced with the yearning to remember — to let hazy lovesickness swell within his palms and his new figments. To pull you closer, in an effort to convince himself you won't be taken away. 

Every echo of you is innate. Your voice, your name, your fingerprints. Your presence has the Hexcore — or what's become of him, what has embodied the Hexcore — blissfully, endlessly silent. The way you look at him, soft and brutally innocent, puts a chasmic, vivid hole in his center. Gods, you still look at him the same, just as you did when the two of you were young and innocent. The rot in him tells him he isn't worthy of it. 

Viktor's eyes swirl like kaleidoscopes. Drops of crimson swirling in pure water. Your brows pinch, a sight he finds frustrating and pretty, as you silently examine him. Emotions curl in your lungs, tearing and hungry and knife-like; stricken with attachment, or perhaps blaming yourself, Viktor figures. 

Exhaustion runs heavy in your expression, reminding him of looking into a mirror. He knows this look. You haven't slept. Haven't given yourself any form of a break, it seems.

So, he takes a chance. 

Your hand brushes some stray, messy strands of hair from his forehead, just as Viktor guides his weak arm to reach for you. You don't tense, don't move. He can hear your breathing, thinks he can still feel his. There isn't an ounce of fear in the way you look at him. You have always looked at him like he holds the world in his hands. And now, perhaps he does. 

His hand finds your cheek, same as yours. Copying, following. Thin, delicate, purple-hued fingers trace the edge of your face clumsily, still learning how to touch. Still afraid the line between hurt and healing might be blurred, and you are the one person left that he can't let get caught in the crossfire. You lean into his palm, trusting, and let go of a breath that makes your shoulders shake with the weight of it. 

Viktor thinks of crying, despite the press and pull in his chest that convinces him he shouldn't be able to. He can feel you. It isn't like the few touches he's experienced so far, or the aching, anomalous strength he's been forced to get used to. It contradicts the very constructs of everything he thought made sense. 

Your skin is so soft, sickly familiar. Viktor holds your face shakily, afraid to move. He can feel your individual atoms. Innumerable sparks just beneath his touch, galaxies upon universes of stars in your name, that beg to be grasped, possessed, cured. He cradles you with all of the devotion of a prophet, with all of the tenderness of a past friend: an almost-destiny, a saved seat at the edge of something more. 

Would clumsily pulling you in, and pressing his lips to yours feel wrong, or tangible — like nothing, or like everything? 

"Vik?" 

Your tone, sweeter than honeysuckle, sweeter than anything he might deserve, brings his vision back into focus. He blinks. Gaze never tearing away from his, your fingertips drop to thread the hard edge of his collarbone. A silent plea, can you feel this? You find each curve of his bones and his body easily, the details already memorized. Viktor senses the ghost of you, your touch gentle, something like home. 

"I'm not sure," Viktor finally answers; and the scientist, Hexgate creator, still-ambitious part of himself is hardly satisfied with that answer. His voice is quiet, distant. As though he isn't there, despite the lingering, familiar tenderness to his tone. 

The fried synapses in his brain can't yet separate a caress from a threat, he just perceives the lingering energy. He believes you could be the one to teach him the difference. 

This time, you let your palm press flat to his chest. There's a hum that attempts to mimic a heartbeat, a lack of coolness or heat. The action presses your form closer to his, guides you to lean part of your weight on him to bring your faces far too close. Sharing in the same reflection. Allowing each breath to be measured, along with every hesitation. 

What should he start with? Should he embrace you, holding you tight and close like you're sacrificial? Should he grab your hand in his, press his palm to your skin to measure your heartbeat? Lace his smallest finger with yours, to make you a promise like he used to? 

He can't promise you peace, nor the life you deserve, but if you came for him now, was it not a swear to follow him anywhere? 

There are still so many things left to feel, and every red thread has always begun and ended with you. 

Can you feel anything? 

Viktor guides a hand over yours, keeps it to his chest selfishly; he meets your gaze, he hums, "Are you eager to find out?" 

[sohnric]

'cause all the cool kids, they seem to fit in. /

starting univeristy with you has jake tumbling into a big, irrational fear of losing you to all the new cool kids in your orbit. little does he know, you'd always be rather stuck with him instead.

pairing: jake sim x fem! reader

genre: best friends to ?, fluff, slice of life. domestic and so cutesy i wanna cry. jake is an insecure wet puppy in this i wanna hold him☹️ nerdy shy introverted jakey!!!!

wc: 2.6k

a/n: building legos with jake is my deepest life dream 💔 thank you as always for beta reading my belovedest!!! @csenke

Eyes drifting from the small words and lined artwork in the manual to the crown of your head as you look down on the little building materializing right in your hands and then straight towards the wall behind you, Jake is almost too painfully aware of the time on the clock as you sit on top of his bed, enveloped by his red hoodie rather than the clothes he helped you pick out when you two went shopping together earlier in the day, chewing on the inside of his cheek and wondering when the time will come and you will leave his room to go do something better, something more exciting.

He curses himself in his head for being the way he is. For not being cool enough, for not being social enough to hold big parties he could invite you to, much like Lee Heeseung did, fitting snugly into your tonight’s schedule. For not being bold enough to flirt with you like all the new guys you’ve been meeting since the two of you got into university. For not telling everyone he is interested in you when they first asked him the question upon meeting the two of you in your shared classes. 

For not being loud and casual and funny like Jay is. For being nerdy and boring and maybe even a little shy. 

He curses himself out in his head for everything that makes him him, for everything he cannot change. It’s only been a few weeks since you two started university, and he already grew fifteen times more insecure than he was before– all because the painful realization that you won’t be around him, by his side forever, finally settled in after orientation– when he noticed the way you carry yourself and how it catches the eyes of many, and not just his.

It’s too late now to do anything, though. He will have to watch you slip from between his fingertips, he’s fully aware. Because you were invited to Lee Heeseung’s party– an upperclassman’s party– and an opportunity like this doesn’t get declined. 

The more he’s hypnotizing the clock on the wall, though, the more he’s concerned about the fact that you’re still residing in his dorm room instead of Lee Heeseung’s frat. And although he hates to see you leave, he doesn’t have it in him to stop his curiosity as he asks.

“Aren’t you supposed to be… like… on your way to Heeseung’s now?” he asks, voice coated with shyness mixed with curiosity, hating every single word that came out of his mouth.

“Hm?” you hum, looking up at him from under your eyelashes, a gaze that makes the boy immediately turn his head away and face his hands instead. “Oh, I dunno…” you trail off, not really giving him much of an explanation.

Jake furrows his eyebrows, confused. “Why?”

Out of the periphery of his vision, he sees you shrug. “I don’t really feel like going.”

This sentence alone makes the boy’s mood immediately a thousand times better. He can’t show it on his face, though– that would surely raise some red flags for you. Knowing he can’t face you because you can read him too well, he avoids all possible eye contact as he focuses on the Lego scattered all across his blanket.

“Suddenly?” he hums. “You bought a whole new outfit for it, though..?” A whole new outfit that you looked great in, Jake mentally grunts. A whole new outfit to show off in in front of Lee Heeseung, a whole new outfit that hugs your figure just right and makes Jake’s heartbeat quicken, his palms sweating as you twirled in the clothes outside of the changing room back at the store, asking him how you look.

“I can wear those clothes anywhere,” you snicker. “I dunno, Jake, I think I changed my mind about the party…”

Don’t show any emotion. Don’t look happy about it, Jake has to remind himself. Stay cool, calm and collected.

“Why?” He has a lot of questions.

“Well, first of all, I don’t really know these people,” you say, laughing to yourself. Jake could argue with the fact that Park Sunghoon, his new roommate for the year that you met a load of times before since you hang out with Jake in his room often, would be there– he doesn’t, though. He listens to you as you continue. “I doubt I’d have fun there if I don’t know anyone.”

“I think meeting new people is kinda the point of a party, though, isn’t it?” he notes, earning a soft chuckle out of you.

“I guess… But I dunno, I think the moment I got to your room and we started building these, I was completely sold on just staying over and hanging out with you instead,” you mumble, tone of voice soft and tender, making Jake’s stomach buzz with a thousand fireflies, lighting up his intestines and making him warm all over.

He prays it doesn’t mirror on his cheeks. There’s nothing to blush about in such a simple statement, after all.

“Oh,” is the only thing that leaves his mouth, taking the new information in.

You chose to build Lego with him over going to one of the biggest frat parties of the year? You chose to hang out with him over Lee Heeseung? All of it is making Jake’s fingertips buzz with excitement, a satisfied smile begging to jump onto his cheeks– he keeps suppressing it, though. He’ll keep the celebrations to himself, after you leave.

“Besides,” you clear your throat, “I think it was rude of them to not… not invite you as well, y’know,” you note, shrugging, all nonchalant. 

Jake’s ears start ringing. He didn’t think you’d mention it– he didn’t even think you paid it much mind. 

He wasn’t bitter about not being invited to all the big, cool parties. He made a few new friends already, and they aren’t going either– it’s not like Lee Heeseung and his group are the only acquaintances he could hang out with. It stinged a little when he realized your new friend group was so much different to the one he was building for himself– merely because the fear of watching you detach yourself from him after seeing just how uncool he really is compared to all the fun, outgoing people you surround yourself with nowadays was too much for him to handle.

“Well, they are your friends, not mine,” he shrugs. “And I’m not exactly the party type,” he justifies.

“Well, no,” you admit, “but the invitation would’ve been nice anyway. You’re my best friend, of course I would wanna bring you along.”

Jake chuckles at your words. He’s your best friend– and something about that makes him both overjoyed and a little defeated at the same time.

“Y/N, look, I won’t be mad if you still wanna go. You don’t have to stay with me–”

“But I want to,” you cut him off, finally forcing the boy to meet your eyes. You smile at him all soft and gentle, making Jake melt away and bashfully grin at your hurried argument. “I’m having much more fun building these with you than getting drunk with Lee Heeseung in a frat somewhere, trust me.”

As if to further prove your point, you nestle a little in your place and stretch your legs out as you plop your back against the perpendicular wall, landing your limbs right into Jake’s lap. The boy swallows at the sudden act of affection from you, instinctively resting his forearms against your shins as he continues to work on the Lego set you two picked out together in the mall.

If there’s one thing Jake enjoys doing the most, it’s Lego. His impressive collection stayed back home, though, so you insisted that he has to get at least one set to build to display in his dorm room as well. Convincing him was hard only until you told him you will get one as well and build it with him eventually– not really knowing just yet that the time would come the same day, later in the evening.

The boy lets himself relax once the idea of you leaving any minute and forgetting all about him and the bond you two have is disapproved of by your own words. Eyes involuntarily landing on your face every few seconds and the relaxing, yet heart-palpitation inducing humming of a song unfamiliar to him are preventing him from fully focusing on the Lego set in his hands, making him fall behind. The realization of the fact has you furrowing your eyebrows at him once you finish building up the blocks in your own hands, shifting in your position so now you’re sitting back next to him, legs still hovering over his– making you basically sit in his lap– as you speak up close to his face, having the boy’s ears ring and palms sweat, clammy with the bricks in between his fingertips.

“What’s taking you so long? I swear I witnessed you building that huge Star Wars ship faster than this little thing,” you giggle, taking a block from the little hoard of them on the blanket in front of you two into your hands and offering it to the boy.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, swallowing hard as you help him build up the little structure, hands tangling with his, skin brushing against skin, the scent of your shampoo hitting him in the nose. 

It only takes you two a couple more minutes to finish building the little structure– since the Lego sets you bought were similar, which meant you already knew what you were doing– and as the Lego flowers sit right at Jake’s feet, he lets himself admire them for a bit. 

“You should put them on your table there,” you prompt, pointing towards the desk under the window that’s sitting right opposite of Jake’s bed. “I think it would look super cute.”

Jake nods. He thinks he’d agree with anything that ever comes out of your mouth.

“Put this one next to it,” you snicker as you drag your own Lego set into his point of vision, the sakura flowers making Jake’s poor heart jump, twisting his head to face you.

“Huh?” he voices out. “But that’s yours.”

You shrug. “I bought it for you, ‘cause you like Legos so much,” you hum. “Besides, you can always think of me when you see it on your desk,” you nod.

That’s a silly idea. Jake always thinks of you.

“But you bought it with your own money, you can’t just–”

“Watch me,” you laugh as you scramble to your feet, taking both of the Lego plants and putting them into the corner of the desk, to the opposite end than his lamp is situated, admiring your interior design work.

Jake quickly follows you with a pout on his face. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the sentiment, no– he just really dislikes the idea of you spending money on him. 

“Y/N, you spent money on that! I thought you were getting it so we could match and–”

You spin towards him, making the boy’s breathing hitch in his throat. It seems he didn’t successfully estimate the proximity of his body to yours as he was trying to take the Lego off the table, earning himself only a few centimeters between his and your face. Looking at you with wide eyes and mouth hanging agape– unknowingly making himself seem like an eager, adorable puppy– he can’t help it but let his eyes roam all over your features.

“You can buy me a real plant and I’ll keep that one on my desk, how about that?” you ask him sweetly, raising your brows at him and sending him that cute, cunning smile. 

Something about you right in this moment is making Jake’s blood boil hotter, your composure teasing, daring. The second your arms sneak around his neck, he’s a goner– he can’t think of anything else besides your sheer existence and how that alone makes him feel. What’s worse, he can’t put his attention anywhere but to your soft, plump lips. 

He thinks he’s going crazy. This is insane. If you like playing with him, then he’s happy enough to be your toy– anything but letting you go is good in his eyes.

He doesn’t allow himself to move. Having you like this is already enough for him– it’s far more intimate than anything he’s experienced with you, with anyone ever before– and it’s just a simple hug, goddamn it. You’re breathing the same air as you let your forehead rest against Jake’s, the action alone making him feel weak in his knees, a fit of fireworks erupting in his stomach harder than the New Year’s celebrations. 

He’s trying hard not to think about kissing you right now. Not because he doesn’t want to– no, he just believes you don’t want to. 

Because this is just what friends do on Friday evenings, right? 

Don’t get your hopes up, Jake thinks. You just finished building Lego together– how much of a loser can you really be?

Not enough to stop himself from imagining, it seems. 

Because your face moving towards his with unstoppable force can only ever be a dream– one he’s had far too many nights, far too often than he’d like to admit to himself. 

It feels so real, though? He almost lets himself believe it. He almost lets himself indulge in the fantasy– perhaps even make it a reality– before the bubble bursts itself and all his hopes and dreams with the sound of the door opening, making you jump away from him.

You should’ve locked the door, Jake curses at himself. Actually, no– that would be weird.

Either way, he can’t help but roll his eyes when he hears the voice of Park Sunghoon break the silence. 

“Yo, Y/N, are you coming or not? Heeseung texted me to ask about you. I can give you a lift, if you wanna, but I’m leaving, like, right now, so– did I interrupt something?” the taller boy finally realizes after you send him an annoyed look, the question so deadpan it has Jake cringing at the words.

“Yeah, no,” you clear your throat, dropping your arms and putting some space between you and Jake. “Uhm– I… I’m not going tonight. Thanks, though.”

“So you’re staying behind with that nerd?” Sunghoon asks, a teasing glint in his grin. Jake doesn’t know if he should be taking it personally.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Hanging with the nerd tonight,” you joke, looking behind your shoulder. The gaze you send Jake is softer, more tender than he imagined– something about it making heat crawl to all crevices of his body and making him immensely embarrassed, as he knows there is a blush very apparent and unhidable on his cheeks right now.

Sunghoon nods. After taking one last look between the two of you, the male shrugs. “Alright, then. Have fun!” he says as he turns to leave. Jake thinks the torture is finally over and he gets to be alone with you again, before his roommate spins on his heel and sends you two another shit-eating grin. “Can at least one of you text me if I should find a place to sleep tonight, though? I wouldn’t wanna interrupt again in case you end up–”

“Get out!” you yelp, chasing after the man, threatening him with your fists and kicks.

Jake feels like burying himself alive under the cold ground and disappearing. Curse Park Sunghoon, Lee Heeseung and all the cool kids in school– because it seems that one way or another, they always have a way of keeping you from him. 

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Hi can I request first time with chan with shy reader? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

i’ll help you through it, yeah?

pairing: chan x virgin reader

genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

word count: ~2.6k

warnings: mutual pining, pet names, protected sex, praise.

authors note: i have this request in my inbox for other members as well, so look out for those in the future. i have so many requests (tysm btw) so it’s taking me a little while to get through them. i’m trying to do the oldest ones first because y’all been waiting so long. - not me blushing while writing this. i wish my first time was this sweet. lol

masterlist

"i’m just sick of it, ya know?" you complained. "i’m sick of feeling like this. like im unwanted and missing out on something."

your best friend looked at you, intently listening, but worry starting to mar his features. "are people being mean to you because you’re a virgin?" you could sense the anger threatening to rise up out of him at the thought of someone being mean to you.

"no. this is just pressure i’m putting on myself at this point. im too old to still be a virgin."

"i don’t think that’s true." chris said. "i thought you were saving yourself for someone you really loved? wasn’t that the point?"

he was right, you had always said that since you and chris were kids. you didn’t want your first time to be some fleeting, gross experience. you wanted it to be sweet and full of love. but, it didn’t seem like that was working out and you were tired of waiting.

"yeah well i don’t think that’s going to happen." you said, your voice soft, almost sad. "the person i love doesn’t love me, so im just going to have to give up on that." you chuckled sadly, the sound almost a scoff.

"i understand that. im in the same situation." he confided. "but i haven’t given up. i don’t think you should either."

you looked over at him, the space between you both on the couch was small. you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. that’s just how chris is. he’s warm. he’s warm and he’s safe and.. how could you not be in love with him? your heart longed for him to be the one to take your virginity. your heart ached with the thought of it.

he looked back at you with his big brown eyes, his curly hair tickling his eyelashes. and he thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. why couldn’t you just see how in love with you he is? he hated himself for not being able to confess to you. for not being able to just come clean and tell you how you are the center of his universe. but he was scared. to have you as his best friend and to long for you but never have you was better than telling you and losing you all together. but maybe.. he could try to help you with your current problem? see how things went and then he could decide from there what he would do.

"i could maybe.. help you." chris said shyly, rubbing his sweaty palms together in his lap.

you were shocked. "help me? with this?" why would he offer to help you unless he also wanted to? you felt a small bit of hope bloom in your chest.

"only if you want to." he said quickly. "i’m not trying to push myself on you. i’m just trying to help. we don’t have to."

you thought about it for a moment, your body screaming at you to say yes. but your mind was telling you everything that could go wrong. what if he hated it? found you gross and laughed at your inexperience? you brushed those thoughts off. you and chris has been friends for over fifteen years. he would never do something like that to you. he was kind.

"i would be okay with that.." you said. "but it might not be very good."

"i’ll help you through it, yeah?"

you loved him. god you loved him. this was the right decision,you knew that.

he scooted closer to you on the couch, your thighs pressed against each other. he touched your face, turning you to look at him. he looked in your eyes before saying "if you want to stop, just tell me,okay? i won’t be mad." you nodded as he looked down at your lips. and ever so slowly, not wanting to overwhelm you or scare you, he leaned it. his pillow soft lips made contact with yours and you were done for. he moved his lips against yours, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head. your hands found their way around his neck, tangling in his curls.

this felt so right, but your stomach churned with worry. your body was still tense.

"sweetheart, relax." he whispered against your lips. "you know me." he kissed you again, his tongue grazing your bottom lip. you felt embarrassed. kissing chris felt like the first time you had ever kissed anyone,even though that wasn’t the case.he had you so flustered, your lips weren’t listening to your brain’s commands. you opened your mouth and let his tongue in. he tasted sweet.

he pulled away, admiring your flushed cheeks. "do you want to move to your bedroom?" he asked. you nodded, and he stood, offering you his hand. he led you though your apartment and to your bedroom, knowing the way by heart. standing at the edge of your bed, he pulled you close. he kissed you again, his hands finding their way under your shirt, tickling the skin of your tummy.

"can we take this off?"

your hesitation made him pull away, studying your face for any signs of wanting to stop. "would it help if i took mine off first?" you nodded again, thankful for his suggestion. "you want to help me?"

you grabbed the hem of his black shirt and pulled it up and over his head, discarding it on the floor. you looked at him, at his body. you had seen him shirtless multiple times over the years. summers spent together swimming and early mornings at his apartment after late night study sessions, but this was different. his chest was bare because he wanted you to see it. and that made your skin hot.

"now you.." he said, reaching for your shirt slowly, giving you time to protest. but you didn’t. you let him pull your shirt off, leaving you standing in front of him in your jeans and lacy black bra. his eyes grew wide, his breath catching in his throat. could he do this? you were so beautiful and he hadn’t even seen all of you yet. you were starting to squirm under his stare. his hands were warm and soft as they grazed over your skin, his arms wrapping around your waist as he moved to kiss you again. his fingertips danced up your back, until they unclasped your bra and it fell to the floor. he continued kissing you, not looking at your bare chest right away, giving you time to get used to being bare in his presence. you nipples brushed against his chest, growing harder. arousal pooling between your legs as his kisses moved to your jaw and then your neck.

he took his time with you, slowly placing wet kisses on your skin as he guided you to the bed. he laid you down gently, his body hovering above you. he kissed down to your collarbones, across your chest and down to between your breasts. he looked up at you, his lips still pressed to your skin. your cheeks were red, your mouth slightly open as you tried to draw in breath. he saw no signs of stopping in your eyes. no , they begged him to continue. his lips closed around one of your nipples, his tongue gently caressing the nub. his hand gripped your waist as he sucked on your nipple, your hands balled into fists at your sides.

"you can touch me if you want to, baby." he said, his breath blowing cold against the wet skin of your breast. "don’t hold back."

he kissed his way across to your other nipple as you brought your hands to his hair. he started to move lower, until his lips were against your belly button, and even lower still until his tongue was running along the top of your jeans. "can i take these off?" he asked, fingers grazing over the button and zipper. with your approval, he carefully unbuttoned them and slid them down your legs, revealing your panties that matched your bra. he looked up at you, his face only inches from your center. "you’re so wet, baby." he said. "i can see a little wet patch on your panties."

your face flushed and you turned your head, hiding your embarrassment in your pillow.

"hey.. hey.." he said, his hand finding yours, tangling your fingers together. "don’t hide, baby. let me see your pretty face." you did your best to look at him, trying not to focus on your insecurities, but trying to focus on him instead. you squeezed his hand, his kind brown eyes showing nothing but love. he kissed your hip, and across your skin until he was placing a gentle kiss on your clothed clit. you jerked slightly. "is that the spot baby?" you nodded, biting your lip.

he pulled away, standing up. he chuckled at your pout, your little whines of protest. "just let me take these off." he unbuttoned his jeans, and kicked them to the side. he was only wearing his underwear now, his erection causing the material to stretch uncomfortably. he admired your body from this angle. your arms wrapped around your middle, your legs bending, trying to cover yourself. "don’t." he said, grabbing one of your wrists in each hand and holding your arms out. "let me look at you, baby. god, you are so beautiful."

his hands found their way back to your breasts,squeezing slightly before his fingertips grazed down your skin to the elastic of your panties. he hooked his fingers around them. "can i take these off? can i see your little pussy?" you lifted your hips in answer, helping him slide them off. you were completely naked in front of him now but you didn’t have time to be self conscious about it. his lips were already back on your skin,kissing everywhere he could reach. "fuck you’re so pretty." he mumbled against your tummy. "been dreaming about this."

what did he mean by that? you wondered.

"can i see you too?" you asked, your voice sounding so loud to your own ears, having been silent for so long. but you were starting to feel more comfortable. he made you feel so safe.

"of course you can." he said, straightening again to take his briefs off. and now you got to admire him for a moment. the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen leading down to his hard and leaking erection. the first thing you thought was that he was big. but honestly, you didn’t really have much to compare it to.. so what did you know? "don’t worry baby. we’ll go slow." he said, sensing your hesitation.

he leaned down to kiss your lips once again, his fingers making contact with your wetness. he rubbed soft circles on your clit. you grabbed onto his shoulders, your small whimpers falling into his mouth.

"does that feel good?" he asked.

"yes.." you breathed. "so good."

his fingers traveled down through your folds and teased your entrance. "i’ve got to prepare you a little bit, okay? like this.." and he slid one finger inside of you slowly, pumping in and out. you had done this to yourself before but this was completely different. you had never felt like this before. "there you go, baby." once he felt you had gotten used to the first finger, he added a second. he moved them in and out slowly, his thumb rubbing softly on your clit. you could feel your orgasm building. you were embarrassed by how quickly it had come. but you had been waiting so long for him to touch you like this, you couldn’t help it. he could feel you fluttering around his fingers. "are you going to cum?" he whispered against your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses, his teeth nibbling.

"yes.. yes fuck." you panted.

"go ahead, baby. let go."

and you did, you clamped down on his fingers, his name falling from your lips as your body shook.

he had been fantasizing about you moaning his name like that for so long now that it took everything in him not to bust right then. he took a deep breath, pulling his fingers out of you. you watched as he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, your pussy dripping and pulsing, begging for more. he leaned over the side of the bed and fished a condom out of his pants pocket.

"are you ready?" he asked, holding the condom up.

"yes please." you said, breathless.

"ooh so polite." he teased, giggling as he tore the foil pack open. you watched as he pumped himself a few times, precum leaking from his swollen tip, before sliding the condom down his length. he leaned down and cupped your face, kissing you softly. "remember, we can stop at any time. just tell me. okay?"

"i don’t want to stop." you said, desperate. "please don’t stop."

he smiled. "i won’t unless you tell me to." he knelt in front of you, his hands on your knees, spreading your legs. he lined himself up with your entrance before slowly pushing the tip in. you gasped and his head fell back, his mouth open. he slowly inched his way inside, giving you time to adjust. you whined under him, your eyes squeezing shut at the stretch. "i know, baby. i know." he said. "you’re doing so good." once you felt his thighs on the back of yours, he stilled. letting you properly adjust to his size. he could feel you pulsing around him, his cock begging to cum. "i’m gonna move now, okay?"

you nodded frantically. "yes. yes please, please."

he slowly pulled out and pushed back in, his pace increasing with each thrust. he wasn’t going to last much longer. he knew that. "fuck— baby you feel so g—good." he stuttered. his hands were digging into your hips as he pumped into you. his mouth open, his eyebrows scrunched together, his hair sticking to his forehead. "are you doing okay?"

"fuck yes.." you gasped. "gonna— gonna cum."

he could feel you squeezing around him. he fell down on to his elbows, his arms caging your head, his panting breath in your ear. he continued pumping in and out of you, the wet sounds filling the room. "cum with m-me baby." he said. "fuck- fuck-"

you squeezed him tighter as your orgasm washed over you, you vision going dark. his thrusts got sloppy and then stopped all together as he spilled into the condom. he collapsed next to you, his panting matching your own. he lazily kissed your jaw and your shoulder. "i love you.." he said.

you froze.

"shit- sorry." he said. "i- i didn’t mean to ruin the moment.. it slipped out."

you turned to face him, his brown eyes looking worried. "i love you too.."

his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb rubbing softly back and forth. "really? you’re not just saying that because your overcome with emotion right now?"

you shook your head no. "i’ve been in love with you for a while now.." you confessed.

he chuckled. "i’ve been in love with you for a while. guess we were both too scared to say anything."

you nodded, feeling blissfully happy. you nuzzled into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"are you okay?" he asked. "was that.. okay?"

"i feel amazing." you said, your voice muffled by his chest. "i’m glad i waited for someone i truly love."

"gahh my heart." he said, squeezing you tighter,

[sweetfushi]

ASKING HIM IF HE STILL LOVES YOU

fluff, hurt/comfort | yuta okkotsu x reader, established relationship, yuta is so in love with you.

“Yuta,” you practically whine, watching him tense at the sound of his name falling from your lips. "Do you still love me?"

His brow furrows. “Oh baby, what’s making you ask such a question?” Yuta turns his attention away from fixing his hair to making his way over to your curled up form on the bed. “Of course I love you. I love you more than I thought was capable of myself.”

You shiver in delight when he brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear and presses a chaste kiss to your neck. “Hm?” he encourages, his arm encircling your waist for his large palm to rest on your stomach.

“I dunno,” you shrug. “I just feel weird.”

“Weird how?” He inquires, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck as your legs wrap around his hips.

“Just wanna hear you say it,” you mumble, feeling his hands rub up and down your back. He rocks you in his arms for a moment as you tell him summaries of how you feel, him nodding along or whispering a small go on to indicate that he's still listening. During this, Yuta sits on the edge of the bed and has you straddle him, letting his right hand gently guide you to face him.

He kisses your right eyelid first. "Let me know what I can do for you," then kisses your left. You flush from the attention you know you'll never get accustomed to, especially not when he treats you with such tenderness and consideration. Sometimes you feel as though you don't deserve it.

"Now what's that look?" He laughs softly, catching your awkward expression.

"Can I, um, have another hug?"

Yuta grins and kisses your lips before embracing you tightly. "Of course, baby." The cool notes of his skin feel oddly but familiarly comforting when in touch with your body heat. He's always joked that it's ironically reflective of you in that you initially had trouble opening up to him, whereas he was very warm and patient with you. You still feel guilty at how uncertain about him you used to be.

After two minutes of heart-warming silence, you sigh. Yuta doesn't release you however, but pulls you down on top of him as he lays back on the bed. You laugh breathily at his sudden clinginess, but don’t complain. If anything, you need him to reciprocate your neediness to assure you that you’re not a bother - despite the fact that he has reminded you many times that you are not and never will be.

"You wanna get takeout? Watch a movie?" He suggests, feeling you relax at the idea and simultaneously appear ecstatic at the idea from the way you sit up and nod your head rapidly.

Yuta loves you in whatever form you present yourself to him, but your happiness was particularly endearing. As you listed your food and movie recommendations, his thumbs rubbed gentle, soothing circles into your hips, eventually leading his hands to wander lower and grip your love handles. You can tell he's not fully focused on your rambling from the way his eyes sparkle and his lips seem permanently twitched into a smile.

You swallow thickly at his expression of utter adoration for you, holding eye contract with him until you don't. Somehow, you find the strength to conceal your squeals of embarrassment as you climb off of him and reach over to the bedside table to grab his phone.

"Huuuh, why'd you get off? I can order for us." It's now his turn to whine and cling to you, until he sees your avoidance of eye contact and a poorly-hidden smile.

When you start to feel his burning gaze again, you slap his shoulder and shove a pillow on his face, smothering him and his laughter in it.

"I need this food to arrive before you eat me first."

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Old love never rusts. Shanks has to face that truth when he meets again the husband of the girl he almost had.]

Shanks's version | Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Shanks knows he has no right to ask this question. Not when he's the one that up and left in the middle of the night, without even a word of warning that could soothe your aching heart. Nevertheless, he can't help but indulge his yearning:

"How is she?"

Mihawk raises his eyebrows barely noticeably. He seems surprised that after Shanks's disappearing act and a decade of dead silence, he's still interested in you, even if motivated by pure courtesy. But before Mihawk answers the question, he notices something strange in the red-haired captain's eyes, a sensation he's rarely seen in them before - sadness.

Interesting, how some things never quite change.

"Well," Mihawk answers laconically. Instead of indulging Shanks's lovesick longing, he wishes the man would finally accept his utter failure and move on. You're married to Dracule and this isn't going to change anytime soon. If ever.

"Wells tend to be cold and musty," Shanks jokes but his tone is far from lighthearted. In fact, his voice sounds strained like he's holding back tears. "I hope she fared better with you."

The Red-Hair pirates laugh at their captain's joke but quickly turn quiet again. Something about the tense confrontation makes their good humour virtually nonexistent. Especially when Mihawk gives them a curt, cold glare. He doesn't find his past rivalry with Shank to be funny in any way.

"She has everything she could ask for," he says with a sense of finality to his words. Mihawk feels himself growing irritated.

"Good, good..." Shanks nods, lost in thought for a moment. He clenches his hand, giving away the unpleasant tension inside his chest. The captain has promised himself to let go of you. Alas, here we are. "Is she happy?" he suddenly asks.

Mihawk furrows his thick eyebrows in an angry frown. It's almost insulting for Shanks to have any doubts regarding your well-being under the Warlord's care. "What sort of question is this?"

"A 'yes or no' sort."

"Then yes," he drones his words.

Shanks forces a wide, playful smile. There's agony hiding in his eyes and as though Mihawk is a blind man, he's trying to play it cool and appear unaffected. The truth is, the red-haired man is holding on by a thread.

"I bet she talks about me all the time," Shanks says in faux amusement. His voice almost doesn't shake. "We both know I've always been her favourite."

"And you'd lose." Mihawk begins to feel an insidious satisfaction from the distress of the other man. "In fact, I doubt she thinks about you at all."

"You keep telling yourself that, hawk-eyes."

"This misguided flattery is much unwarranted," Mihawk warns him. "No one bets on losing dogs."

But she would, Shanks thinks to himself. She always did.

Short fingernails leave bruising marks on the inside of Shanks's palm as he's clenching his fist. Once again he's reminded that when it mattered, he was a coward and fled from the overwhelming, crippling love he feels for you. Only know there's no hope, there's no ifs - you belong to another man.

Afternoon sunlight reflects off of Mihawk's gold ring. Shanks glares at it for a moment too long to pass off his intense stare as circumstantial. He can almost hear the mocking laughter of the universe as the consequence of the amalgamation of his bad choices is merely two meters away from him. There is nothing he wouldn't give up to turn back the time and make sure that things go differently, that he never became afraid of being too deep in love.

But time, like the seas, has no master.

_____

I was so torn about this one, I couldn't decide until the very end, so if you want to read a version where the scenario is flipped and Shanks is the 'lucky guy', just hit me up.

[cherryredstars]

Stress! Miguel x Spider! Mafia Queen! Reader? Where in Reader's universe it's kill or be killed and has no choice *but* to kill the bad guys and is a vicious spider to the enemies but a total sweetheart to children (yes, including Hobbie), and a seductress/tease to Miguel she's head over heels for our grumpy dilf.

But the main plot being Miguel being stressed and angry from between missions and the society not doing what they're supposed to do so he gave in to the temptation and called in Reader to de-stress himself and made sure we- reader belong to him and only him?

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Impact Play, Spanking, Breast Play, Mentions of Overstimulation, Minimal Aftercare

Unedited

You didn't expect it to lead to...this.

It was just mindless fun. Something to help take the edge off of the stress. Harmless teases and flirting that was supposed to stay one-sided. A way to temporarily distract yourself if anything.

You didn't know Miguel would ever act on anything you said.

It seemed normal enough. It isn't uncommon for Miguel to call on you, demanding your presence for a mission or to recruit new spiders that randomly popped up around the multiverse. He seemed normal too, sure a little more on the hotheaded side today, but still normal enough. But you were so wrong.

One second you're standing, and the next you're perched over Miguel's lap.

Each of your legs are spread wide as they're thrown over his muscular thighs, your suit up and missing as your bare back presses into the electric sting of his suited chest. The yellow screens around you gives your skin a glowing quality, exaggerating the natural shadows of your figure. You're already squirming from the discomfort of having your legs stretched so wide, embarrassed that your cunt is exposed fully. You flinch when Miguel's large palm strikes down on your core.

A wanton noise escapes you, and you turn your head to bury it in Miguel's neck. His other hand is kneading at your breast, massaging the rounded flesh before targeting your nipples with mean tugs and pinches. He's rambling about something, muttering into your hair about all the annoying shit that's happened the whole week and how you're the perfect stress toy to help redirect the anger. You can't quite make out the words, your mind focusing on the stinging sensation of his palm and the stimulation of your nipples.

Your hips jolt as he gives your cunt a rapid succession of slaps, each one targeting your sensitive clit. Your body tries to close in on itself in an attempt to save you, but Miguel is always quick to readjust your body for easy access. He gives your clit a mean pinch, and you feel tears well up in your eyes as the pain zaps up your body.

"stop squirming, only making m'more mad." He grunts into your ear as he relents his pinch.

You can only nod your head weakly in agreement, sniffling into his neck with a soft moan as his hand gently massages your red cunt. Even through the suit he can tell you're embarrassingly wet, his fingers circling around your pulsing hole before giving it tiny little spanks that do nothing but surprise you. His eyes are trained on your body, admiring the way you twitch and squirm as he takes out his anger on you. You take it so well, making him so proud.

He coos when a sob tears through your throat when he slaps your cunt again, leaning down to kiss the tears. He doesn't stop though, the sound of his palm meeting your wet flesh resonating through the room. You let out wet babbles, your hands desperately trying to grab onto him for comfort. He eventually lets go of your breast, freeing his hand so you can grab weakly onto it. Both of your tiny hands grab at it, fingers shaking as you take it.

With a few more quick slaps you let out an anguished scream, a dam suddenly breaking inside of you as you convulse in his lap. Miguel groans at the sigh of your body jumping with an unexpected orgasm, your clit twitchy and red. He talks you through the wave of pleasure, only stopping his slaps when your body slumps against him in exhaustion.

"There you go, pretty. That's a good girl." He mumbles down at you, rubbing slow circles into your clit despite the overstimulation.

You whine weakly, tears still streaming down your face as you hiccup into his neck. Miguel pulls his hand away from your clit, massaging your thighs to help soothe your body without irritating the sensitive skin of your sex. You almost want to cry out in relief when something cold presses gently at your core to relieve the burning ache of the lasting sting a few minutes later. Miguel seems to pick up on the relief it provides you, humming softly and pressing a small kiss to your hairline.

That's his good stress toy.

[awwitschuu]

THE SECRET DESIRES OF A HUNTER

☆*:.｡ as a hunter of your caliber, you’ve sworn to serving and protecting your community from the likes of wanderers and those that’s don’t hold Linkon City’s interest at heart… but there are things that you yourself want as well…

note from chuu: i found this in my docs and wanted to rework it and sylus needs to be fucked so! here we are lmaoo!! wc is about 1.1k no minors and no ageless blogs pls n thanks!!

cw: groping (breasts), f! reader, titty sucking, clit pinching, sylus refers to himself as “papa” (twice), calls reader princess, missionary to mating press, hint of oral (f! receiving)

as a hunter, your duty is to protect and serve for the greater good of linkon city. fighting and slaying the likes of corrupted wanderers, going underground and gathering information that could disrupt the fabric of the community you hold dear. as a hunter, you hold a lot of responsibility on your shoulders, you’re to set an example for those looking to fill your shoes once you’re one with the universe. at times you enjoy what you do, but you can’t help but to have certain…needs.

you’re always protecting and defending, but at the end of the day who is going to do the same for you? who’s going to satisfy your wants and desires when you find yourself alone at night, that specific hunger pooling deep in your core as you try to satiate it yourself…that is until you met the annoyingly charming silver haired leader of onychinus with a lust for blood. and you.

he always manages to toy with you at your most vulnerable. sylus has you sat in his lap, broad chest pressing against your back as he snakes his hands under your thin lace camisole. his calloused palms once covered in blood now eclipsing your bra. “you’re squirming, something wrong?” he purs teasingly. “your hands…” you sigh softly, anticipating his touch as he slips the cups of your bra off to reveal your breasts. “what about my hands? you don’t like it when i touch you like this?”

sylus takes his time with you, eating up the way you whine for his touch, the pathetic look in your glazed over eyes begging for him to do something, anything!

he finally makes contact with your supple skin, massaging the softness of your tits meticulously and brushing against your pebbled nipples. “i can stop, just say so”. he nips at the shell of your ear, groaning and whispering his darkest desires for you. you really can’t help but melt into the palms of his hands, your thighs pushing and rubbing together as you try to satiate that need building in your core. you’ve been craving this kind of attention, hungry for his touch and that feeling of pleasure he pulls out of you every time the two of you are alone.

“poor thing, panties probably soaked” he chuckles deeply, continuing his assault groping your tits and tugging at your sensitive nipples. “you just needed papa to take care of you” he whispers before pinching a little harder, smiling devilishly as you writhe in pure ecstasy. “t-took you long enough” you whine, pout melting as you succumb to the pleasure.

he has you on your back now, crowding your space as he slots himself in between your supple thighs. sylus takes a nipple into his mouth, slowly sucking on the sensitive peak as he massages the other in his hand. his tongue is hot and sticky, swirling around the puffy bud until he takes it into his mouth, sucking until he releases with a pop. whines for him leave your pretty lips, your hands gripping at his bicep. he smirks at you as his thumb rubs small circles around your nipple. “tell me what you need, princess.”

you need him where it aches most, you’re tired of being toyed with, tired of waiting. locking your legs around his waist, you stare him in the eyes with a seriousness and hunger he hasn’t seen from you. “s-stop toying with me and fuck me already!” the sexual tension that smothered the atmosphere of the room thickened, so still and quiet you could hear a pin drop.

with a swiftness sylus now has your legs thrown over his shoulders and your hands held over your head. his eyes are a radiant crimson red and his voice is lowered and rasped. “and here i was trying to be a gentleman,” he rips your panties to the side, revealing your soaked cunt. spreading your slick folds, he rubs your clit before pinching it, ripping a squeal from you. “meanwhile you just wanted to be fucked stupid, is that it?” before you can spit back an insult, the tip of his cock pushes through tight rings of muscle until he’s in fully.

you gasp in shock as his hips move at a rapid rhythm, cock pumping in and out of your sloppy cunt as you moan and writhe from the intensity. he pushes your legs back to your chest, large hands gripping your pillowy thighs as he plunges deeper. it doesn’t help that you’re sucking him in, velvety feel of your heat welcoming every inch of him. “mmm she needed this huh?” he groans, bending down to leave pretty blotchy marks on your neck. “you can hear how much she needed papa to take care of her, listen.” he stops talking and slows his thrusts so that the only sound is the lewd squelch every time he pushes in and out. “she’s got so much to say.”

the way he refers to your cunt like you’re not even in the room should have pissed you off… but your mind is clouded with every stroke. his condescending timbre unfortunately excites you, your pussy tightening anytime he teases you. you can feel yourself getting close, each stroke massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves within you. you stammer over your words and whine as your fingers fumble to play with your clit. the added sensation sending you over the edge as you moan louder, the high pitched cry at the end shushed with a sloppy kiss. sylus continues fucking into you, biting at your tongue and puffy lips like a starved animal.

“cum on it, that’s it. fuck!” he groans into your mouth as you mewl into his. euphoria radiates in your core until it finally bursts, shooting waves of pleasure through your body from your toes to your fingertips. you’ve never felt this kind of high, so overwhelming that you can’t help to babble mindlessly. “c-cumming! w-wait!” but it’s fallen on deaf ears, sylus himself lost in pleasure continues thrusting into you until he’s bored with the position. “awn now don’t give me that, i know you have one more in you.” he’s quick, turns you over so that your face is in the sheets and your ass is in the air.

you’d be lying if you told him you didn’t. you wanted more, the adrenaline rush so intoxicating that your fingers spread your slick folds for him without a thought. “d-don’t just gawk at it, either stick it in or eat it…” you weakly demand, whining as you start to play with your buzzy clit. sylus can’t help but laugh, you’re so cute when trying to assert yourself. it’s laughable that you said either, he thinks to himself as he spreads your pussy with his thumbs. he plans on ruining you the entire night, everything from devouring your sweet cunt to fucking you in every position imaginable until sunrise. but you don’t have to know that, before he’s nose deep he bites at your thigh. “yes ma’am.”

☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆thank you for reading! if you enjoyed feel free to like, reblog and or comment! send an ask if you want, i don’t bite :3!

[createdbytragedy]

HERE FOR YOU, WITH YOU

⋆｡°✩Pairing: Lee Minho x reader ⋆｡°✩Genre: Fluff, angst, hurt with comfort ⋆｡°✩Warning(s): mentions of trauma, very brief but use of words like alcohol, blood, not proofread

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were little, I would've iced the bruises on your back."

"What's wrong with you?" Minho asked, you looked at him surprised. Nothing was wrong with you. Why would he ask that?

"Nothing's wrong with me, Why would you ask that?" you asked back, looking into his unblinking eyes. He was studying your features like a detective trying to solve a mystery and it made you somewhat nervous.

"You look like you're in pain," he stated, piercing into your eyes. You tried to ignore the uneasy feeling on your chest and muster up a smile.

"Babe, what are you -" "No"

"What do you mean 'no'? I haven't even said anything yet!" you protested. Minho approached you from his seat to sit with you on the couch, where you were curled up with a blanket and some popcorns, watching 90's movies.

"You are not giving me any of your 'I'm fine, just tired' excuses, today," and before you knew it, the T.V was shut down, your blanket was snatched from you and you had Minho standing in front of you with a look you can't explain, " Tell me about yourself tonight, love. it's so unfair that we laugh together and you cry alone."

Everything was happening so quick. The rapid beating of your heart didn't help either. Your palm felt sweaty as Minho's words register inside your mind. You didn't know if you were ready to share everything with him yet. The past haunts you. It scare you. It broke you. And Minho just wanted to mend those cuts.

You tear your gaze away from him and looked straight ahead, your mind overflowing with horrible flashbacks and memories. Cuts and bruises. Blood and alcohol. You see everything you feared. Everything that broke the light within you.

Minho noticed this all. He always have. From the start. He knew there was something darker behind those shimmering gold eyes of yours. He knew you had a secret nobody cared to pry out, and he wanted to be the first one to hear it. He knew he'd love you even after hearing all the terrible things you did. He knew he'd love you even if your eyes no longer shined and sparkle the way it used to. He knew he'd love you until his last breath. Until every star of the universe died.

"Minho......... why now?" your voice sounded raw and timid, something it had never sound before. It didn't sound like the fake cheery tone you always greet everyone with. And he liked it.

"If not now, then when, love?" he repeats, looking into your eyes. Pleadingly. Desperately. Like trying to convince you that he is, in fact, trustworthy and capable of your love ,"I know you're suffering. But, don't do it alone. Let me help you. Share it with me."

"Its in the past, Min"

"Not if it still haunts you. " the silence that followed this time felt tensed and heavy, unlike the usual silence between you two. Minho took your hand and gently rubbed circles in them," you don't have to if you don't want to but I just wanted to let you know, I'm here. Whether you need me or not, and up until the last star of the universe dies, I'll be here. Right by your side."

His comforting words soothes your heart, and you feel yourself leaning into his touch. You trusted Minho. You really do. You trusted him more than yourself, in fact, you didn't know if you trusted yourself. He has been nothing but comforting and warm to you. And he loved you. That you can see in the way he holds you at night, in the way he shows his vulnerable side to you, the way he kisses you. You could feel his love in every breath of his and maybe, just maybe, you were willing to let him take care of you.

"Trust me, you don't wanna know"

Minho kissed your forehead in return, whispering, "trust me, you don't know how much I do."

You let out a sigh. Tonight, you were opening a jar you have kept away for too long. And you're scared the sharp edges might cut you again. But, this time Minho would be there to tend the wound. You knew he would. How could you forget when he reminds you everyday?

"Go ahead, baby, tell me every terrible thing you did and let me love you anyways," this time, you looked eyes with him. And you see nothing but love and adoration.

"It was my fault." you started. Minho didn't know what you meant but he knew it wasn't your fault. It never was yet you still blamed yourself and clean up someone else's mess.

He shifted in his seat and made you stand up. You looked at him confused until he open up his arms and invite you to sit on his lap," its your favorite seat, right?"

You couldn't help but smile as you settled into his lap, his arms around you and feeling safe and secure. He other hand stroked your head, soothingly playing with your hair as you told him about your biggest fears in the dim light of the night.

You told him about the household you grew up in. The heartbreak you went through. The depression that took over you. That night, you spilled your deepest secrets to Minho. Letting the words slip with no second thought. And you couldn't help yourself when he promised to love you despite all these. and you knew he wasn't lying by the way he looked at you. His eyes turning teary at your words, his fingers resting against yours would gently rub his thumb on your knuckles, calming him down. And when you were done and tears flowed from your eyes, he lets you. Rubbing your back soothingly as he whispered sweet nothings to you. But somehow, the tears felt so final for you. You felt lighter. Like a weight off your shoulder. It felt like the tears you were shedding carried the pain to be never experienced again. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when you were little," he tells you, cupping your face and wiping away tears with his thumb," I would've iced the bruises on your back," And somehow, his acceptance made you more emotional, knowing that he still liked you even after all this shit. "shh.. that's enough now, baby, don't cry,he cooed, smiling at you softly. You hiccuped, grabbing onto his shirt tightly like you were scared he was gonna leave. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? i'm right here," "I'm--I'm sorry," you sniffed, wiping your tears, "i'm a mess," Minho frowned at that, making you look at him, "You're not. Even if you are, you're my mess and I'll take care of you." "It's rotten work," "Not to me," he smiled," not if its you," And something about the way he said that, it made your tears stop. When he looked at you like there was something in you worth looking at, you can't help but fall into his embrace, craving in to the desire of wanting to be taken care of for once. You rested your head against his chest and he stroked your hair, letting you listen to his heartbeat. You stayed like that for a while, calming down and listening to his breathing. Neither of you said a word, the silence loud enough that you wanted to be taken care of and Minho will gladly take up that work. "Minho?" you whispered. "Hm?" "thank you. For everything" He kissed your head, "Shh...go to sleep. I'll fight off the bad dreams when they come,"

[lastoneout]

Hey @ my fellow bitches and besties who deal with a lot constipation/gas/bloating because of IBS or other digestive issues!!

Did you know there's a way to deal with it at home on your own without medication?? Because my doctor sure didn't fucking tell me about this!! But I just tried it because my gas always makes me SO fucking nauseous that I can barely function and it takes like an hour for my nausea and IBS meds to kick in, but I always feel the urge to rub my stomach when I'm bloated, so my Wikipedia boyfriend ass googled it and YEP MASSAGING IS BACKED UP BY SCIENCE.

The article does say to not do this if you have recently had abdominal surgery, but here's the method:

"To perform abdominal massage on yourself.

Lie flat on your back with your belly exposed.

Overlap your hands on your lower belly and hold them here as you focus on your breath.

Warm your hands by rubbing them together for about 30 seconds.

Apply any oils that you’re using.

Use the palm of your hand to massage your entire stomach in a clockwise direction several times.

Then massage the centerline of your abdomen, starting below your sternum and ending at your pubic bone.

Do three more lines an inch apart down the left side of the abdomen.

Do the same on the right side of the abdomen.

Then press your fingers into your navel firmly.

Continue massaging with gentle pressure and circle outward from your navel in a clockwise direction.

You can spend extra time on specific areas or trigger points that feel like they need some extra attention.

Do this for up to 20 minutes.

If you don’t feel comfortable massaging yourself, you can also have your abdomen massaged by a massage therapist. Call before you make your appointment to see if the therapist performs abdominal massage. Not all masseuses provide this service."

I also found a slightly different one from the University of Michigan!

"Massaging your stomach can help to move stool along the inside of your colon. It may help relieve symptoms of tightness, pressure, cramping, and bloating.

Start on the right side of your stomach down by the bone of your pelvis.

Rub in a circular motion lightly up to the right side till you reach your rib bones.

Move straight across to the left side.

Work your way down to the left to the hip bone and back up to the belly button for 2-3 minutes.

Rub with your fingertips in a circular motion. You may press a little deeper with your fingers.

Spend about 1 minute moving from the right hip bone to the right ribs then 1 minute across the middle (gently) and then 1 minute down to the left bone by your pelvis to the belly button.

Repeat rub, always in a clockwise motion, for 10 minutes."*

I was literally so nauseous from being bloated that I couldn't even swallow food without feeling like I was going to puke, but I did the second one just sitting up at my desk, clockwise like they both said(I'm assuming bcs that's the direction things travel through your gut) and within like 2 minutes I felt better. I cannot BELIEVE no one has ever recommended this. Fucking life-changing. I used to just sit there and drink sprite and hope it was over soon and now I don't have to do that!! And if people already know about this that's good but like, again, no one EVER told me about this so if this can help even ONE person who struggles like I do I'll consider it a win!

Also, for clarification, I'm not advocating ditching your meds obvs, I just know it takes a while for pills to kick in and I don't think people should have to be miserable while they wait when there's something easy you can do to get some quick relief.

(*I added more bullet points to the second method because the wall of text was a little hard to read.)

[kryptonitejelly]

A flyboy!universe idea/drabble because of this scene. Set in flyboy, but can be read as a standalone - Jake Seresin x you ft. Seresin sibling squabbling.

This is just me clearing up and finishing off the one billion wips sitting in my drafts…. these are just moments tbh.

Wish you were here.

Jake shoots off the text to you, telling you for what seems to be the hundredth time in that day that he wishes you were here. He sticks his phone back in his pocket, but not before taking a glance at his lock screen - a photo of you from a recent weekend where you both had gone to a flower market to pick up some blooms for home and Jake had managed to snap a candid photo of you bending down with your nose to a bouquet of fresh stalks.

“I’m sick of you moping,” Jake’s sister, Emma says as she comes into view, Layla in her arms. Jake opens his arms for his niece to which he gets an immediate response of her attempting to wriggle out of her own mother’s hold and into his. It makes Emma roll her eyes and Jake grin.

“We like Uncle Jake better don’t we,” he chuckles as the little girl secures her place in his arms and lets her head drop comfortable on his shoulder with a giggle.

“After all I’ve done for these kids,” Emma sighs dramatically in jest as she reaches out to tickle Layla’s stomach which makes her squirm in Jake’s hold.

“I’m not moping,” Jake says as Layla wriggles further into his hold, returning to Emma’s original topic of conversation, “I just miss my wife”

“Not your wife yet,” Emma corrects, but teasingly. Jake had taken to call you his wife as the wedding grew nearer - something he had easily, and happily, fallen into.

“Your wife,” Layla’s head pops up as she pats her Uncle Jake on the cheek the ruffles of her white poofy dress rustling as she moves her hand.

“That’s right princess, my wife,” says Jake as he grabs hold of Layla’s tiny arm, blowing a row of raspberry kisses into it.

It makes Layla giggle in excitement, her previous statements forgotten as she squirms in Jake’s arms.

“Has the wedding come and gone?” The sound of your voice makes Jake’s head whip up and you find yourself staring into stunned green eyes.

“Turns out the problem was easily solved,” you explain as you step forward, first hugging Emma hello before reaching out to allow Layla, who has her arms out and reaching to you, to find her way into your arms.

“You’re pretty,” she says in child-like awe as she pats your cheek gently.

“Not as beautiful as you,” you say with a gasp, doing a twirl together with Layla in your arms which earns you a child like shriek of excitement. You return to your original position, matching grins on yours and Layla’s faces only to find two pairs of similarly green eyes watching you both. Your eyes meet Jake’s and you take in the wide smile he has on his face. You pass Layla off to Emma who, reading her brother, has extended her arms to coax her daughter back into her hold.

“Surprise,” you say as Jake pulls you close to him, the front of your body flush against his, your heads pulled away just enough so that you could look at each other. Jake’s hand is resting in the small of your back.

“I would have come get you from the airport.”

“Missing the point of a surprise,” you tease, placing a palm on his chest, your hand meeting a the linen blend suit jacket he has on.

“Best kind of surprise,” Jake says before leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of your head, “but I’ll always prefer having you back earlier.”

His words make your smiler wider as you hear a pretend gag from Emma.

“You’re disgusting,” she says, as affectionately as a sister can, to Jake, her and Layla watching as Jake presses another kiss to the side of your head, before shifting you both to face the two of them with you now tucked into his side, his hand on massaging small circles into your waist.

“You’re disgusting,” is what Jake retorts in a way only a younger brother can, no matter the age.

“Are my grandchildren squabbling again,” the familiar voice of Grandma Doris sounds out as she comes sweeping into view. She’s met by two defiant sets of “yes-es” from Jake and Emma but ignores them for you instead, taking your hands as she pulls you in for an embrace, swatting Jake’s hold on you away in the process, “you look lovely my dear.”

“I was afraid it would be too simple,” you say, almost bashfully.

“Nonsense,” Grandma Doris waves a hand in the air, dismissing your concerns, “you look perfect.”

“You do,” Jake agrees, he lets his grandmother have you for a second more, but he reaches forward, gently tugging you back towards him by your waist.

“Won’t even let his Grandmother win,” is what she says to you with a smile on her lips despite the exasperated shake of her head that follows along as she releases her hold on you.

“He’s impossible,” you say with a chuckle, but only slightly bashful as Jake secures you back against his side.

“I’m not letting her go for the rest of the evening,” he informs the group matter of factly to which both Seresin women roll their eyes.

“I’m sorry you have to put up with him,” Emma says to you.

“No, we’re sorry,” Grandma Doris echos, as the two women shake their heads.

“I’m not sorry,” is all Jake supplies cheerily before planting another kiss on the side of your head.

[nadvs]

can i request for the swte universe in their college days, reader seems like a perfectionist to me so what if she failed on an exam or she didn't get there in time and she failed her class and she got really upset, feeling terrible about herself, very disappointed and rafe tries to uplift her mood, trying to get her out of her dorm room?🤍🤍🤍

omg yessss i always love your prompts 🥹

based on this fic

» au masterlist

she had a bad feeling about the midterm. sometimes she could tell when she was being too hard on herself, when she was catastrophizing, but she knew she wasn’t exaggerating when she told rafe that her mind went blank during the test and that she’s sure she failed.

now, as she sits in her dorm checking her grade on her laptop the night after, she gets the confirmation.

she texts her boyfriend, just like she did when they were best friends and told each other everything. i was right.

her phone starts buzzing with a phone call.

“you okay?” he says when she picks up. he remembers that her grade was supposed to be posted tonight.

“no,” she says with a defeated laugh.

rafe is with the guys, watching a game at the house. he stands up off the couch, holding his phone to his ear. one of his housemates points to the screen, eyebrow raised, clearly confused why rafe would leave when there’s a minute left in an intense game.

but he ignores him, rounding the corner to pace into the hallway. he leans back against a wall, arm crossed over his chest.

“how bad is it?” he asks.

“so bad that i’m working on an email to my prof to ask if i can retake it or do anything for extra credit,” she says. “i didn’t even pass.”

he can hear the panic in her voice. rafe chews on his thumbnail as he stares down at the floor.

“it’s not over,” he says. he realizes he sounds just like he does when he’s trying to motivate his teammates between periods during a rough game. he rethinks his approach. this isn’t a game. this is his girl. and she’s freaked out about her future.

“baby, it happens,” he says. “everyone fails at some point.”

“this is so bad,” she mumbles. “i’m so stupid.”

he grimaces. they’re basically the same person. he knows how much pressure she puts on herself. sometimes, he’s almost certain that she thinks she has to be perfect to be worth something, just like he does.

“where are you?” he asks.

“home.” her inhale is shaky. “i shouldn’t have stayed up late studying so much. i thought it’d be better to learn what i could, but running on barely any sleep must’ve messed me up.”

“send the email,” he says. “and be ready in half an hour, okay?”

she’s quiet for a moment.

“why?”

“because i know you’re gonna sit in your room all night, beating yourself up, thinking about what you should’ve done and there’s no point to any of it,” he says. “just be ready, alright?”

moments like these, she’s glad her boyfriend is so bossy and decisive. her head is such a mess right now, somehow feeling both chaotic and blank at the same time.

rafe texts when he arrives. when she settles in his passenger seat, he can see that she’s been crying. he shuts off his music and gently pulls her in, his palm at the back of her neck, so that she’ll nuzzle into his chest.

it’s his go-to move when she’s upset. it always works. after crying against him for a moment, her breaths start to even out.

he kisses her forehead, his hand running up and down her back. he hates this feeling, when she’s so stressed out and he’s utterly powerless.

“you’re not stupid,” he mumbles against her hair.

“i am. i’m so disappointed in myself,” she says, her voice brittle. “how could i fuck up this bad?”

he frowns. he knows her well enough by now. sometimes she needs tough love. sometimes it’s the only thing that’ll pull her out of her haze.

“it happened,” he says. he pulls back just enough so she can look up at him. “can you change that it happened?”

“no.”

“is calling yourself stupid going to fix it?”

“no.”

“that’s my girl you’re talking to,” he says, his blue eyes sweeping over her face in worry. “my girl isn’t stupid.”

her lips twist in sorrow, but she nods, eyelids fluttering. she spirals sometimes. she can tell she’s doing it right now.

rafe’s hand rests on her damp cheek, rubbing his thumb over her skin.

“you anxious?” he asks.

“very,” she replies.

so, he decides to see if his most effective way of cooling down when he’s wired will help her.

he pulls into a lot by an outdoor court he always sees on his drive to her campus and takes the basketball out of his trunk when he parks.

“this is kind of unfair,” she says lightheartedly when she gets out of his car into the cool night air. “no chance i’m winning a one-on-one against you.”

“we’re just shooting hoops,” he says, putting an arm around her as he holds the ball to his chest.

the court is empty and quiet and dimly lit. they stand below one of the nets, bouncing the ball back and forth between each other.

“what if i fail the course?” she says.

“you won’t.”

“but if i do?”

“if you do, you’ll survive,” rafe replies. “you think some class can take you down?”

she breathes a chuckle. when she gets the ball back, she holds it, standing across from him, staring. all they ever are with each other is honest. it’s how it’s always been.

“i’m scared,” she admits. “i’m scared this will throw off my timing and i won’t graduate when i want to.”

“baby, there’s no way that’s happening,” he says confidently. “one bad grade won’t do that.”

“you seem so sure,” she states. she bounces the ball back to him.

“here. if i make this, it means you’ll fail the course.”

he takes the ball in both hands, holds it over his head, and throws it so it hits the rim hard, making the whole backboard shake as the ball goes flying down the court.

“i think that was rigged,” she says, the ache in her chest loosening as she laughs.

“we’ll never know,” rafe half-shouts as he runs to pick up the ball. he bounces it back to her.

she dribbles it a few times, squaring up with the net, and launches the ball in the air. it falls in the net.

“nice,” he breathes. “don’t let my coach see you. he’ll replace me.”

she turns to look at him, mirroring his smile.

“you’re laying it on a little thick, cameron,” she teases. she’s touched that he’s being so sweet just to cheer her up.

“just telling it like it is,” he says. he passes the ball to her again. “let’s see how you do with some defense.”

he steps between her and the net, a hard wall against her. his hands find her hips as she tries to line up with the net, his big frame moving with her.

“i’m pretty sure that’s a technical foul,” she says. “you can’t touch me like that.”

“nah, that’s not a rule.”

“you can’t just decide that,” she laughs.

“such a tight-ass,” he scoffs with a smirk, taking his hands off her hips and cradling her face. “how about this? this allowed?”

she giggles, holding the ball in one hand and hooking the other around his neck to pull him closer. their lips touch tenderly, both of them expelling a quiet sigh of contentment under the kiss.

she pulls back. he’s too busy staring at her in awe to block her from making another shot.

“your defense sucks,” she teases. rafe puts his hand to his chest in mock outrage.

“now you’re trash-talking?” he says. she watches him pick up the ball. he makes it look so effortless, the net swishing as the ball whizzes through it.

she’s seen him on the court so many times before, but she never tires of the sight, always so struck by how skilled he is.

they play for another twenty minutes, talking and taking turns shooting hoops, until she finally feels too tired to keep going. and she realizes she hasn’t thought about her failed midterm the entire time.

“thank you,” she says as they settle in his car. “i feel better. sweaty, but better.”

“it always works. just gotta burn your energy on something else so you can’t use it stressing out.”

“smart,” she says. “i’ll keep that in mind when i take your spot on the team.”

“i’m not so sure about that anymore,” he says. “you take fucking forever to throw. you’d run out the shot clock every time.”

she laughs, thinking about how many times in the last twenty minutes she kept the ball in her hands while she got lost in conversation with him.

she playfully shoves him, but he takes her hand and pulls her in, meeting her in a slow kiss.

“listen, i don’t want to hear the word stupid come out of your mouth again,” he mumbles. “not when you’re talking about yourself. i’m serious.”

she looks down at her lap, exhaling slowly. she knows he’s right. there’s no reason for her to bully herself so mercilessly.

“okay.”

“and please, baby,” he says solemnly, his tone deep as if he’s about to say something serious, “throw the ball faster next time.”

“i hate you,” she laughs, shoving him again. he smirks at her, putting the car in drive.

rafe has felt proud of himself a few times in his life, mostly with his athletic achievements, but he thinks that hearing her laugh, knowing he’s the one who made her feel better, is the proudest he’s ever felt.

[junkissed]

wait

member — joshua x gn reader genre — fluff, comfort (18+) word count — 1.1k synopsis — sometimes you just need to take second to wait.  warnings — allusions to past/future sex but no sex happens in this fic, implied that shua is more dom and reader is more sub, this is literally just pure aftercare notes — i never feel like i put enough aftercare into my fics because i'm usually drained by the end of writing and i just want to finish it and hit post so this is kinda to make up for that. also i'm really particular about the way aftercare is written and i feel like i never see the kind i want to read so honestly this is just a super self-indulgent fic, because if you can't find it then write it yourself or whatever toni morrison said, but i hope you can enjoy this too :) i haven't proofread this since 3am so if there's mistakes pls ignore! also this is not based on the song wait by dino as you might have assumed i just thought it was a fitting title because we all need a reminder to just slow down and wait

"wait, wait... wait!"

joshua starts to stand up off the bed, but hesitates when you call out suddenly. "what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks quietly, eyes carefully watching your face, searching for signs and trying to figure out what you need.

"don't leave yet," you say softly, your fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist. "don't want you to go.”

he rubs his hand over the back of your palm. "just gonna get you a glass of water,” he explains but he sits back on the bed, waiting anyway.

you're exhausted and you know you both need to shower and change the sheets, but the thought of moving right now only sends you into a panic. you're overheated and sticky with sweat, but still you crave the warmth of joshua’s body next to yours, the feeling of his skin against you as close as he can possibly get.

“later?” you say the word like a statement, but your voice rises in a question. “just stay for now. please.”

there's a time and a place for everything, and joshua knows right now is not the time for rational thinking. sure, you've got twice the amount of laundry to do later and your mouth feels drier than a desert, but that can wait. it can always wait, for joshua. it can wait because right now you need to feel the grounding weight of him beside you, telling you he'll always be there, especially when you need him most. 

even though it's what he immediately wants to do, no amount of sweat-stained sheets could ever come before you in his mind. even though he knows you're thirsty and probably craving a cold shower and he wants nothing more than to jump up and take care of your every wish, that's not always what's best. yes, what you need is fresh laundry, but what you want is him. 

so he settles back in on top of the bed, easily sliding into place beside you without a second thought. because it's always about you. always has been.

"better?" he asks, his finger gently brushing your cheek in slow, repetitive motions. 

you exhale and lean into him, letting your eyes fall shut as you hum in reply. 

the gentleness of his touch is such a stark contrast from how he'd been handling you not even 15 minutes ago, but you can't help but love both sides of him. gone is the hair pulling, the slapping and biting, replaced with soft brushes of your hair and careful caresses of your skin over each of the marks he'd left in the heat of the moment.

really, it's joshua's favorite part, besides the fact that he gets the honor of fucking you and being the one to bring you pleasure. it's the part afterwards that he looks forward to, when you're at your most vulnerable and both still riding an emotional high, when he gets to build you back up after so meticulously taking you apart. it's the trust in him that you show without ever so much as saying a word, the sense of safety and comfort washing over you that only ever comes from the feeling of being held in his arms.

the air seems to hang silently around you, as if even the universe can sense that this is a moment that shouldn't be interrupted, your own little bubble together that exists outside of space and time.

you just need a second to collect yourself, and seconds turns to minutes turns to half an hour before you can fully feel like yourself again. sometimes it's minutes and sometimes it's longer, but he'll wait as long as it takes.

you slowly open your eyes and inhale, lips warming into a smile as you see joshua is still here, still cradling your head against his chest, and that this all wasn't just a pleasant dream. you can always rely on him that when you open your eyes, he'll be there waiting for you. no matter how long you need to rest, he's always there when you're ready.

your thumb brushes over his arm, and he rests his cheek against the top of your head. “okay now?” he asks. “or do you just wanna leave it and go to bed?”

as tired as you are and as comfortable as his body feels, the intense feelings have subsided a little and you've regained enough of your energy to realize that what you need most right now is a shower and a glass of water.

so joshua slips off the bed, but not without leaving you with another sweet kiss because why wouldn't he? and you let him leave without a word of protest, because you don't feel that crushing feeling in your chest anymore of being left alone when you really need someone to hug, so you just wait patiently for him to return.

he comes back not much later with cool, fresh water in your favorite cup, and he sits beside you as you drink with his hand on your thigh because now it's his turn to be cared for, and the way he feels cared for is knowing you feel good and knowing he's doing a good job at making you feel loved. and you know that he needs this time just as much as you do so you savor the seconds spent here, letting the water wash down your throat until you both feel refreshed.

“thank you,” you tell him as you sit atop the sink, watching as he sticks his hand under the faucet to see if the shower is the right temperature yet. the bed’s already been stripped of its sheets and a fresh stack of towels been laid out, one by one ticking things off joshua's mental checklist. it's a routine, one that isn't always this thorough every single night but always equal in the amount of care and love he puts in each step.

and eventually things will return to normal, and you'll wake up the next morning filled with nothing but adoration for the man still sleeping peacefully next to you, and then you'll go about your days and come home in the evening and still be so much in love with him that you do it all again. maybe it goes differently next time, faster or shorter or less intense and you don't need to wait like you did tonight.

but sometimes you need a little extra time. and joshua is a patient man.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

taglist | @wonderfulshinee @noniestars @onlymingyus @just-here-to-read-01 @darlingvernon @wonuziex @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @dkakapizzaboy @zozojella @rainyjeno @jwnghyuns @uwuheeseungie @miriamxsworld @synthetickitsune @simeonswhore @junhour @foxdaisy @honglynights @limesorbets @98-0603 @fairybinie @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @mingminghao @jeanjacketjesus @luvwonyy @tinkerbell460 @novalpha @ronnie97b @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @usari @hyneyedfiz @honestlydooetree @ktackore @k-drama-adict @cloecard @valentxi @aaniag

strikethrough means your blog cannot be tagged, please check your visibility settings and make sure they are off so i can tag you properly!

if you want to be notified when i post a new fic, you can join my taglist here!

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*original Image from a CW still photo

Summary: Dean shows you what it means to be in a relationship with a self-proclaimed Red-winged Bloodhound, and to be loved.

Characters: Dean Winchester x You

Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY, period sex, shower sex, brief oral, super horny bc hormones and Dean Winchester, ILY exchange, intimacy

Words: 2K

Author’s notes: Sanctioned will be a series of low-stakes explorations of sexual taboos and boundary nudging with one or both of the Winchester brothers and You. It will all be written in 2nd person, further fostering a sense of closeness and leaning into the level of intimacy achieved with each act. It will not necessarily be considered part of the same universe but can absolutely be read that way.

As always, all my love goes to my long-time beta and friend @brrose-apothecary and many thanks to @bigmouthlass for the read-through and green light.

Sanctioned: The Red-Wing Rodeo

Being on your period sucks.

You radiate heat, but you're freezing. You can’t even think about wearing anything other than sweatpants. Most days, you bleed through an ultra tampon and the thickest pads you can buy in less than an hour, and you’re hungry all the time.

For nasty, greasy junk food and for Dean.

Dean’s gorgeous and effortlessly sexy. Even when you aren’t on your period, all he has to do is say your name and you’re putty in his hands. When you are on your period, bloated as a bridge troll and craving melty cheese, the things your brain conjures up for him to do to you threaten to set feminism back faster and farther than an old, white conservative on the Supreme Court.

It’s all you can think about—Dean’s hands on your skin, his lips on your throat, and his cock hammering you senseless.

But you smell bad, right? Your eyes are puffy and your feet look like sausages. No one thinks that’s attractive.

He’s tried to tell you that he likes it. Loves it, is what he’s said. He’s the one who told you there’s a name for guys like him—Bloodhounds. He’s even gone down on women having their period.

You don’t consider yourself a prude, but he can’t be serious, can he?

Right now, you’re in the shower in an attempt to feel less ick and maybe work out some frustration where you can easily clean up afterward. You’ve washed and conditioned your hair, exfoliated, shaved everything, and now you’re standing under just-the-right-temperature water as it blessedly sluices your neck and shoulders to your toes. You’re starting to feel something approaching relaxed when you hear Dean’s voice.

“Care if I join ya?” he asks, peeking around the large shower stall with a grin that no one in their right mind could resist. He’s naked, his hair’s spiking in nine different directions, and his face is smudged with grease from the Impala.

You shake your head and shrug, afraid to firmly commit to any answer since every cell in your body is stretched tight between tenterhooks; you could snap at any second.

“You sure?” He arches a brow and dips his chin to his chest as he eases his way into the shower.

“M’sure,” you mutter, curling in on yourself.

He settles in behind you, tall and strong, skimming his big hands over your hips before gently palming your belly. You rest one hand on his forearm and reach up behind you with the other to slide your fingers through his dampening hair. Dean begins to hum and sway before moving to multitask—dragging one hand up to expertly cup and caress one hot, tender breast, and lazily drawing a random but intricate pattern around your navel and lower.

“I know it’s your time of the month or whatever you call it, and I know it’s gettin’ harder lately,” he murmurs, touching you with reverence and heat, kissing your temple, around the shell of your ear. “I wanna make it better.”

You sigh. “I know… I just-”

When his thumb brushes your nipple, you gasp and bite back a desperate moan.

“Just what, honey? Tell me.”

He shifts behind you and his thick, hard cock grazes the curve of your back. It’s too much. He’s told you so many times how good he could make it for you.

“Please?” He continues to kiss and suck the thin skin of your throat and thumb your nipple.

You bite your lip and twist his hair with your fingers. Maybe you can let go a little. The shower will help with the mess, right?

Dean sucks an earlobe between his lips and brings his other hand up to work your other breast, forcing a pitiful whimper from your chest. You grip his wrists, encouraging his touch and buck back against him.

“Fuck me,” you whisper.

Dean groans and you can practically feel him vibrate with excitement. “I promise I’m gonna make this so good for you,” he whispers back.

You sigh, brace your hands against the tile in front of you, and widen your stance before glancing over your shoulder. His eyes flick to yours as he lathers up his hands. When he takes a step closer to touch you again, you drop your head to hang between your arms and exhale. He works you up, kneading your breasts, pulling and teasing your taut, sensitive nipples.

“You look so beautiful when you trust me like this. I want you to know it and believe it.”

He nuzzles and nips under your jaw as he hooks one hand under your right knee and gathers both your wrists with the other. You gasp when he lifts and shifts you like you weigh nothing, spreading you up and open, pressing you up against the cool tile.

“Makes me crazy knowin’ how bad you want somethin’ but won’t ask for it.”

And then he slowly sinks inside you.

You sob his name and quake between his solid weight and the soothing ceramic. You feel so hot and light, spread wide and fucked tight.

“So good, Dean,” you whimper, and he kisses you everywhere he can, sucking small bruises into your skin.

“You too.” He pushes your knee up higher, opening you wider. “So hot and greedy. Fuck, your pussy’s squeezin’ me so tight.”

“Ung.”

His thrusts are slow, shallow, and precise. Each pass sends ripples of brilliant pleasure from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes—liquid, rolling, boiling.

“Wanted you like this for so long,” he huffs in your ear. “Give you what you need when you feel so empty.”

He’s repeatedly, steadily driving over your g-spot, slip-sliding along the path he’s traveled time and time again—but this time, every single nerve ending inside you is engorged and hypersensitive. You can feel every ridge of his cock, stroking your insides.

“Yes, Dean. I can- can feel you everywhere. Fuck.” You gasp for air and arch your neck as he plants his forehead against the shower wall.

“C’mon,” he whispers, quickening his grinding pace and eliciting a shout from you.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” you’re chanting, your skin is singing, and your vision blurs.

Time warps and whirls, Dean tells you you’re so perfect, so beautiful, and then- your body seizes rigid and shocking before blowing up into the most powerful, white-hot orgasm you’ve ever had.

•

•

•

Dean gently nudges you awake with soft, warm touches and the aroma of chicken soup. Your eyelids flutter open and he’s lying on his side above the covers facing you, lightly brushing the wide tips of his fingers across your forehead.

“How ya feelin’?”

“Mmmph.” You wriggle into him, clutching his soft t-shirt in your fists, and nuzzle his chest.

Dean chuckles. “That good, huh?”

You feel brand new, wrapped in crystal-spun gossamer—delicate and feral. Your consciousness scrambles to catch up to your body’s instinct to climb on top of Dean and never let him out of bed ever again.

He runs a hand down and up your back, soothing and warm, and kisses your temple. “Should eat somethin’, babe. Made ya some chicken soup and those cheese crisps you like so much.”

“You’re so good to me,” you mutter as you roll and squirm toward your nightstand. You push yourself to sit up, holding the sheet to your chest, and reach for the steaming mug.

Dean traces your spine, back and forth, up and down, sending chill bumps all over your body. You are pretty hungry, so you take a few healthy sips from the mug and pop a cheese crisp into your mouth before turning back to face Dean.

“Thank you. I do love those crisps. But I like you even better.” You scoot closer to him and slide your hands up under his t-shirt. “You should get naked and get under the covers with me.”

“I should?” He smirks in that way that makes your heart skip and your guts twirl. “One single period sex shower session and you’re hooked. I like it.”

He helps you get his shirt off before shimmying out of his pajama pants and sliding under the covers with you so you’re skin to skin.

“God, you’re already hard.” You immediately push a hand down and wrap your fingers around his thick length, kissing him hungrily. “So smooth, want you in my mouth.”

“Uh-uh,” Dean stops you from diving down, rolling you to your back and kneeing your legs open to slot his hips and grind his cock right there. “I want you in my mouth, smell so fucking good, so ripe and hot.”

You groan. Two hours ago, you’d have been horrified by the mere suggestion, but now you want, want, want.

“Dean, you can’t-”

He answers your groan, rolling his hips and nestling his face against your neck. “I won’t if you don’t want it, but,” he pauses, pushing up to look you in the eye. “You want it, don’t you?”

His eyes sparkle, and your pussy throbs. He’s right; you’re hooked and there’s no going back. You’re so turned on that he likes the way you smell—that he wants to devour you. Dean’s always eager to eat your pussy, but right now he looks ravenous.

Your heart rate kicks up a notch, and you nod.

Dean swears under his breath before kissing you, hot and firm. He kisses you so well, every day. He’s thorough with his kisses and touches. This is no exception.

When he finally, slowly begins his descent, you’re breathless, writhing in the twisted bedding and fisting your hair. He gives every square inch of your body the same treatment as your mouth, all the way to your ankles and the arches of your feet. Everywhere he touches, licks, and kisses is a hot zone. As he makes his way back upward, you think you might come before he even lays a finger on your clit.

“Dean, I’m-” You break into a sob and squeeze your eyes shut.

“No, no- don’t hold back, honey. Make some noise, make a mess, I gotchu. C’mon.”

You open your eyes and he’s watching you closely as he hunkers back down, nodding. You mirror his nod and take a deep breath, reaching for him to sink your fingers into his hair.

He smiles as he continues kissing his way from your knee up the inside of your thigh, then splays his fingers against the backs of your thighs. You watch him gently part your seam with his thumbs and dip in to press a kiss to your swollen clit.

“Fuck,” you breathe, dropping your head back to the mattress and twisting his hair in your fists.

He huffs a quiet laugh, blowing a stream of cool air over your slick, open pussy, and you lose it.

“Aaahhh!”

You’re higher than you’ve ever been on any substance, raw, and on fire. You feel like you might rocket through the roof of the bunker into the stratosphere; then Dean slides up over you and inside you, filling you up and anchoring you. He braces his forearms on either side of your head and you wrap your arms around his back.

“I love you so much,” you whisper, accepting his kiss and reveling in his long, steady strokes inside you.

He rests his forehead against yours and breathes, dragging out and pushing back in.

“Me too,” he whispers back, brushing noses with you. “So much, honey. Thank you for lettin’ me take care of you.”

You giggle and lift your legs to hug him tight. “Thank you.”

“Next time, I’m goin’ down on you ‘til you forget your own name, but,” he pauses to rotate his hips and kiss you again. “I just had to be inside you.”

“Not complaining.”

Dean keeps that connection, pulls the thread, loops it back again, and reminds you why you’re there. He reminds you of why you love him.

[thunder-point]

Phumpeem au

hello have we all considered any kind of phumpeem soulmates au because, of course, i think the "once i become of age, everything i scribble on my skin appears on my soulmate's body as well" trope fits them so well.

just imagine: they become of age the same year, but phum is first. and for those months that separates them, peem is helplessly hit with little messages that make him want to rip his hair out, blow after blow. because the first time his soulmate writes to him, it's on his palm. letters small, unsure and so wobbly peem can barely make out the words. but he does. he does and he can't breathe for a few minutes after.

it reads "find me whenever you want, but please just like me. like me like me like me" his soulmate doesn't write often. but when they do, it's not 'hello', it's not 'i guess you're still not of age yet because you're not responding', it's not 'what's your name' or 'tell me things about yourself'

it's just every heart-wrecking piece of vocabulary ever created.

it's 'it hurts. i hope i'm the only one hurting so often. please take care of yourself'

it's 'i hope someone told you you're loved today. you deserve it. you deserve it even when i feel like i don't. even if we share this same soul.'

it's 'i'm sorry for hurting you. i feel like i'm hurting you sometimes. i just want to talk to you but i don't know how.'

it's 'are you reading me? can you see me? sometimes i feel like not many people can see me on this earth.'

it's 'i hope you like hugs. i hope you'll hug me until i can't breathe. please. please.'

and mostly it's just 'please like me. please don't find me lacking. not you.'

his soulmate writes them at the darkest of hours, and they're always wobbly, always without steady contour. and peem has understood from the first ever message that the ache in his gut is not his. not really. it's his soulmate's. it's the half that seems to tremble every time they seeks peem so ruthlessly.

when he becomes of age. he doesn't know what to do. his soulmate hasn't said a thing in two weeks. no more shattering messages that are whispered on peem's skin like a plead. peem can't find words to answer to everything ever revealed to him. to a pain he can't understand but can feel.

so he draws. he only draws. the first ever doodle he paints on his skin is a chibi version of himself hugging a shaded figure tightly to his chest. right in the center of his palm, where his soulmate chose to begin everything.

hours later, when he looks down at his palm, he stars quivering from within. because the paint is smeared. but it's not because of sweat. it has droplets peppered all over, as if someone cried over it freely. not peem's tears.

right under it, the same wobbly writing appears 'you are so talented. I'm sorry for ruining it. please don't stop.'

peem's tears join right after. q finds him sobbing into his elbow in a corner of their art classroom.

he never stops. he never fucking stops. he draws everyday. every morning, even if he's late for his first year of university, he opens his paints and doodles the most trivial of things on his palm, always in the middle of his palm. he mostly doodles himself, because he wants his soulmate to know him more and more. he doodles himself drinking coffee, because he loves coffee. he draws himself painting. draws himself bickering with q's chibi version, the bubbly letters 'this is my annoying best friend, you'll like him. he's the most caring person I've ever met.' right above it. he doodles peem's friend's sleeping on top of each other on his bed, and writes 'i hope you'll join the pile one day.'

he doodles the cats he sees on the streets 'i like them. what animals do you like?' he doodles characters from his favorite shows and books and bands. his soulmate answers them all hesitantly, after hours. like he doesn't know if he should, if he can.

but he never stops saying 'pretty.', 'talented.' never stops scribbling little, trembling 'thank yous' around peem's drawings.

most of all, peem just draws himself hugging the vague figure of his soulmate. because he likes hugs, he adores hugs and he'll give his soulmate hugs in every shape and form.

then one day, peem draws an annoyed version of his chibi's face, along with the words 'i met the most annoying person today.'

he didn't think much of phum at first. phum is annoying and cocky and nothing like his soulmate's meek writing, the ache that follows it. he and his deal get on peem's nerves. but also he seems like he can't escape phum. he can't stop seeing layers and layers of the guy. can't stop his initial annoyance from dissolving, watering down.

one time, he scoffs, mostly as a joke, as a taunt. 'i bet your other half is as much a handful as you are.'

but phum didn't rise to the bait, like he always does. his whole face mellowed, instead, voice the shiest it's ever been as he curls his palm to his chest and whispers, 'my soulmate is the most gentle soul I've ever met, even if he's my half.'

and peem is. he's shattered. mouth dry and shocked and strangely shattered. because what do you mean even if he's my half, what do you mean phum's so besotted it drips off his face like liquid paint.

weeks pass, time goes by and peem finds himself hurting for more reasons than one. because he's starting to yearn differently than before. because he feels no longer halved, but pulled in three different directions. he still draws for his soulmate daily, still feels warmth right in the middle of his chest when he receives his soulmate's words, no long so full of desolation, but mostly reactions to peem's doodles.

but there's a heat that engulfs him whenever phum is around. consuming and maddening and most of all, confusing. peem should not feel like this for someone who doesn't have the right to leave ink on his skin. he shouldn't. he should stop his heart from beating so desperately. he shouldn't because the first words his soulmate ever said were 'please like me like me like me' and peem can't go and break that unspoken promise of liking his other half until they both fade away.

yet his feelings are growing and glaring, and he finds himself grasping at delusions that do him no good.

peem finds himself trying to sneak looks at phum's palms, just for a glance, for an ounce of hope that perhaps the yearning is not so unfounded. that phum's moments of undiluted softness, so unexpected but somewhat familiar, are a sign from fate for peem to look, search, discover.

it's ridiculously hard to look at this man's palms, and that shouldn't give him such expectations but it does. because phum wears oversized stuff like he has something to hide beneath his sleeves. he keeps his hands curled nearly all the time, like he's protecting something.

[to be continued]

YEA WELL. I'm writing this one for ao3 so I'll stop here because it's already a very long post of me rambling. Many questions to be answered. Does Phum know before Peem does? For how long? How does Peem find out? Hmm.