#pick a song from it and i know it by heart

[moonstonejpg]

ours (k.bakugou x reader)

"your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong in"

sum. bakugou is having a bad week, thankfully his girl is always there to make the bad days a little better

cw: a little angst, fluff at the end!

i hate hate hate paparazzi!! loosely based off of this and the song ours by taylor swift

It had been a rough week for Katsuki.

First, the hero rankings were announced, and he found himself at #15—not even in the top ten. And he swore it didn't bother him, that the rankings were just a stupid popularity contest. But you saw the way his shoulders slightly slumped in disappointment and the way his fists clenched so hard that the half-moon imprints of his nails in his skin stayed for hours after you had smoothed his fingers out.

It broke your heart to see him like that—and then yesterday he got into a silly fight with Izuku, one that was filmed and taken way out of context by thousands of people on the internet. Which in turn prompted the resurgence of people saying he didn't even deserve to be on the list at all, let alone at #15.

bakugou is mentally unstable lol

i worry about his gf tbh, those anger issues are a huuuge red flag

right?! i hope that poor girl gets out of that

she seems so sweet, he’s probably threatening her or something

It was just one hit after another for him.

And now, as he stares out the window at the crowd of paparazzi with a clenched jaw, the only thought in your mind is how this is strike three. All he wanted to do was take you out for a nice dinner to thank you for being so supportive this week, but he couldn't even do that without a swarm of media leeches waiting outside.

"Kats, we don't have to go. We can just stay here." You say quietly, worried eyes set on his tense shoulders.

"No," he growls, "I'm not letting them ruin this too." He positions himself in front of you before taking a few hesitant steps out the front door of your shared apartment building.

His warm hand envelopes your own, fingers threading through before tugging you behind him, half shielding you with his large body. The flash of the cameras and the noise of the crowd makes your vision blur, but Katsuki is moving fast, fingers tightly gripping your own while his gaze is laser focused on the awaiting black car parked on the other side of the street.

Everything is moving so fast, the shouts of the various reporters melting together around you. But you can't hear a word they say, the sound drowning out any specific words, until—

“Why him?”

And you nearly miss the step below as you freeze. The question has you rearing back as if you'd been hit, your eyes dancing towards the sound of the question. You see him right away, a male reporter who is nearly frothing at the mouth for a reaction. The reporter leans forward, eyeing you hungrily as he waits for an answer. And usually, you wouldn't give them any time of day, the daily harassment towards you and every other pro-hero and their significant other almost daily a good enough reason toignore any of their probing questions. But how could you ignore this?

“Why him?” you parrot back, white-hot anger burning through your body at a rapid rate. You don’t think twice before you’re ripping your wrist out of the blonde's hand and taking angry strides towards the reporter. You're nearly toe-to-toe with the man, and while he is a full head taller than you, he shrinks a bit from the look on your face.

Katsuki comes up beside you, gently tugging at your wrist.

“It’s not worth it.” He says lowly, looking down at you with something like sadness tinged in his eyes. And your heart cracks, picking up on the one thing he isn’t saying but you know he’s thinking.

That he’s not worth it.

And you can’t have that, you can't have Katsuki thinking that he isn’t worth any of this, because he is. He is worth everything, and despite being in each other’s lives for years now, the fact that he still doesn’t see that is devastating.  

Your body begins shaking from a mix of anger and adrenaline as you look at the crowd around you. A slow hush falls over the crowd, as if they are waiting with bated breath to see what you have to say.

“Because he is the kindest human I have ever had the pleasure of knowing; kinder than any of you will ever be. And what has he ever done to you to make you so obsessed with twisting every move he makes, every word he utters into something that makes him look like the bad guy? And for a quick buck? You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” After shooting a glare around the crowd, you keep your chin high as you grab a stunned Katsuki’s hand and drag him towards the car.

You gently push him in, keeping a hand smoothed over the back of your dress as you crawl in after him, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

The car ride to the restaurant is eerily quiet, and as the adrenaline begins to leak out of your body, your brain catches up to what you did. And yeah—they did need to be told off, but you start to wonder if this is something that will get him into trouble.

You weren’t a hero and you didn’t have a lick of media training, why did you think causing a scene would be a good idea? The thoughts spiral in, and you want to bury your face in your hands as dread slithers its way into your stomach.

When you get inside the building, you are ushered towards the back of the restaurant by the host, presumably to where your table is located. But before you round the corner, Katsuki is tugging you into a dimly lit closet, fingers making quick work of the lock. Even after the door is bolted shut, he stands and faces it, as you just watch the outline of the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Kats?” You say quietly, a hand hovering over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just—”

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh pushing its way out of his mouth.  

“No, you—” He shakes his head again, then turns around to face you, his body crowding you up against the wall. His eyes are dark, twinkling with emotions you can’t place. Both of his hands come up to gently cradle your face, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?”

You blink up at him, confused.

“Not only was that the hottest thing I have ever seen, but—well, that was the first time anyone has stuck up for me before.”

“I would do it again—anything for you really. You’re worth it. And I know that’s hard for you to believe, but you are. They can say whatever they want, but I know in my heart that I do not deserve you, and that you ” You say quietly, eyes locked on his. He smiles, eyes shining, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” He whispers in the dark of the room, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“I love you Kats.”

“I love you too. Now, how about we ditch this place?” He asks, leaning back to tug at his tie, before bending forward to loop it around your neck. “I think that new ice cream parlor is open. So, sundaes on me?”

You nod, a giggle escaping when he bends down and tugs the ends of the tie, your body falling into him. He lets out a gentle laugh, the sound like a gentle breeze on a hot day. It has your smile stretching across your face, your heart singing in response.

He reaches down to unlock the door, but when he flicks the lock back, nothing happens. Katsuki tries again, but again, nothing happens. It doesn’t budge, not the second time he tries or the fifth, or even the tenth time he tries. On the eleventh try his hand slips from the lock, his eyes colliding with yours.

It’s silent for a few seconds, and then a laugh bursts out of him, followed by another and another. The sound has the grin staying locked in place on your face, relief flowing through you at the change in his mood.

“We—we’re stuck.” He gasps out, hands falling on his knees as he hunches over, deep laughs spilling out of him. It isn’t long before you are on the floor next to him, trying to catch your breath around your own laughter.

[dollyfiles]

you are stalker!rafe’s new obsession

cw: dark!rafe, stalking, being rafe’s prey, obsession, explicit themes, violence, mentions of murder, knifes, blood, killing, inspired by the song “tag, you’re it.” by melanie martinez

you always felt eyes on you.

it started as an unease, a fleeting paranoia that maybe someone was watching. the first time you noticed it was in the parking lot of your favorite café.

you’d been fumbling with your keys when you felt it, that slow, suffocating pressure of being watched. but when you turned around, the only thing behind you was the golden glow of the streetlamp and the empty asphalt.

that night, you convinced yourself that you were imagining things. but then the notes started. small, carefully folded pieces of paper left under your windshield wiper. the handwriting was neat but strangely intimate, like someone whispering a secret in your ear.

“red looks good on you.”

“you shouldn’t walk alone at night.”

“i see you, sweetheart.”

your stomach twisted every time you found one. your friends laughed it off. “it’s probably some dumb guy with a crush,” they said. “creepy, but harmless.” but you knew better. and then there he was..

rafe cameron. he liked watching you. you barely knew him, but that didn’t stop him from showing up everywhere you went.

you looked soft. delicate. the kind of girl who smiled at strangers and said thank you too much. the kind of girl who had no idea how dangerous the world could be. he wondered how you’d look when you were afraid. the thought sent a slow, satisfied shiver down his spine.

it started small. a glance here, a lingering stare there. following you, just to see if you’d notice. but you never did. not at first. so, he pushed further.

one night, you woke up gasping. there was a soft and deliberate sound right outside your window. your heart pounded as you reached for your phone, hands shaking. peeling back the curtain just a bit, you saw him.

rafe.

standing beneath the streetlamp, staring at your window. a slow grin curled across his face as he saw you hiding there, watching. you shut the curtain so fast it nearly ripped off the rod.

good. he thought. the fear suited you.

the next morning, you found a fresh note tucked into your mailbox.

“run, little rabbit.”

your hands shook as you crumpled it, tightness building in your throat. you immediately told your friends. they said you were overreacting. you then told the police. they told you they couldn’t do much without proof.

that was the worst part. no one believed you. no one except rafe. and he loved that. but the real fun started when he got inside..

the first time, he didn’t take anything. didn’t break anything. just stood in your room, breathing in the scent of you—sweet, something floral, something innocent.

a single red rose was placed on your pillow one evening when you came home late. your perfume bottle—half-empty even though you hadn’t used it in days.

rafe wanted you to know he’d been there. that he could reach you whenever he wanted. that you were his.

on the night he finally decided to take you, it rained.

thunder rumbled in the distance as he stood outside your apartment, watching the glow of your bedroom window. you were in there. safe, warm, his. you just didn’t know it yet.

a click of the lock. the back door swung open with ease. you’d been good about locking it the last few nights. he wondered if you’d slipped up—or if you were getting too comfortable.

either way, it didn’t matter. rafe stepped inside, his pulse steady, movements slow. he didn’t rush. didn’t make a sound.

you were in the living room, curled up on the couch, phone in your hand. you were texting someone—he could see the soft glow of the screen lighting up your face.

you had no idea he was right there. he let the seconds stretch, savoring the moment. then, finally—he knocked. soft at first. then harder. persistent. your stomach dropped.

for a long, delicious moment, silence stretched between you. he could picture your heartbeat picking up, that sweet little pulse hammering in your throat.

you didn’t react at first. smart girl. but it was too late.

a low chuckle echoed from the dark hallway. you froze, pulling your knees to your chest. "you hide like a scared little rabbit," rafe’s voice drawled from the shadows.

he was inside.

you immediately bolted. ripping the kitchen drawer open, you snatched the first knife your fingers touched, your pulse a wild drum in your ears.

then his dark figure stepped forward. he was drenched from the storm, his shirt clinging to his chest, his blue eyes locked onto you like you were prey. he moved slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the moment.

"y/n," he murmured, tilting his head. "you weren't supposed to run yet.” your grip on the knife tightened, “get out." you screamed. his smirk deepened, amused. "now, why would I do that?"

the air in the room thickened. then—your phone rang. the shrill sound shattered the tension, and in that split second, you lunged.

the knife sliced through the air, but rafe was faster. he caught your wrist mid-swing, twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor. you gasped in pain. you made it too easy.

"you fight, too?" his breath was warm against your ear as he yanked you close, his grip rough, "i like that." you thrashed, kicking at him, but he barely flinched. the phone kept ringing. you screamed.

"you’re making this way more fun than i expected," he murmured, like this was a game. and you were his favorite new toy. your stomach lurched.

you couldn't let him win.

your eyes darted around the kitchen, searching and then your eyes caught it. the kettle. still full from when you’d boiled water earlier.

with one desperate motion, you threw yourself forward, stretching your free arm as far as it would go—fingers closing around the kettle's handle. and then you swung.

rafe screamed. the sting of boiling water shot through him. and his grip loosened just enough. you wrenched free, diving for the knife. your fingers closed around the handle, and before you could think twice—before you could hesitate—a flash of silver.

cold steel buried into his stomach. his breath hitched. the world around him tilted. his hands shot to the knife, warmth spreading beneath his fingertips, the sting sharp, alive.

and then he looked at you. you were panting. wide-eyed. but not terrified. no, this was something else entirely.

anger. power. something dark, something almost hungry. rafe’s lips twitched, his vision going hazy, but still—he grinned. you were finally playing the game.

you took a step closer, your breath shaky but your grip on the knife solid. "tag," you whispered. and then—you twisted it. "you’re it," you spat lastly.

a guttural sound escaped him, half groan, half laughter. fuck. he felt it all. the blade cutting deeper, the fire spreading through his veins, the sharp edge of death curling around him like a lover.

god, you were perfect.

his vision began to darken at the edges, but he was still grinning, teeth red with blood. his hand weakly reached for you, brushing your wrist, smearing crimson against your skin.

"shit," he rasped, his voice slurred, "you finally get it, don’t ya’?”

you yanked the knife free, and he choked, body collapsing to the floor. everything felt distant, fading—but not before he caught one last glimpse of you standing over him, fierce, wild, untouchable.

rafe had never wanted you more.

and as the world went black, the last thought that curled through his sick mind was simple.

you were finally his kind of dangerous.

a/n: something a lil different but im actually very happy with this !!

tags: @dearapril @deansbeer @rafesheaven @rafeysbangs @rafesbowbunny @rafespreciosa @rafesangelita @rafey-baby @plaidcowboy @filthyrafe @figthoughts @drewsephrry @et6rnalsun @dulcescorderitas @littlelamy @inspiredangel @fawnhart @cherrygirlfriend @rafesweetie @hauntedfawnn @starzify

[reveriebae]

Unveiled temptation

pairing(s) : Song Mingi x reader

word count : 5731

summary : You swore you’d never meet an online friend in person—until Mingi. One secret visit to his performance, one photo sent without a word, and now he’s found you. And tonight, he’s going to ruin you.

genre : smut

warning(s) : dominance, obsession, mild possessiveness, public teasing, and explicit language. Expect manhandling, desperate pacing, and overwhelming pleasure. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this fic is my favorite one this far. I hope you guys like it🥺🫶

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

You had always been careful. Always drawn lines you refused to cross.

The internet was a playground, a place to connect, but it was never supposed to be real. You had rules—clear, solid ones that kept you safe. No meeting people you knew online. No getting too attached. No blurring the lines between fantasy and reality.

And yet…

Mingi.

It started with a simple follow. Then the occasional like on your posts. Then came the conversations—long, winding ones that stretched across midnight and bled into early mornings. His words were addictive, pulling you in deeper than you should’ve allowed. He was confident, but never pushy. Smooth, but not rehearsed. He made you laugh, made your stomach flutter with the way he spoke so easily, so casually, yet always with just enough bite to make you wonder if there was more behind his words.

And there was.

You knew it when he sent you a video of him playing guitar late one night.

"I play here every Saturday," he had texted once, sending you a picture of a dimly lit stage. "You should come watch me sometime."

Your answer had been immediate. "I don’t meet people from online."

His reply had come just as fast. "One day, you will."

It sent a shiver down your spine, the kind that came not from fear, but from the way your pulse picked up at the thought.

And now, here you were.

Breaking your own rule.

The bar was warm, filled with the hum of conversation and the deep strum of a bass vibrating through the air. Dim lights bathed the wooden floors in a soft glow, casting long shadows against the walls. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of cigarette smoke lingered, mixing with something earthy and familiar—something that smelled like leather and musk.

Your eyes flickered to the stage.

And there he was.

Mingi.

You had seen him in photos, watched his videos, but nothing compared to seeing him in person. He was taller than you had imagined, broader. The loose fit of his black tee did nothing to hide the way it stretched over his shoulders, his sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins trailing down his forearms.

But it was his presence that stole your breath.

He wasn’t just playing. He was feeling the music. Fingers dancing over the guitar strings with practiced ease, head tilted slightly as if he were lost in the rhythm. His lips parted, brows furrowing slightly in concentration, his body moving with every note. He wasn’t just good—he was mesmerizing.

Your grip tightened on your phone.

You shouldn’t.

You really shouldn’t.

But you did.

Lifting the device, you snapped a picture of him mid-performance.

His fingers curled around the neck of the guitar, his head tilted back slightly, a sheen of sweat on his jawline catching the light. He looked unreal.

Your heart pounded as you typed out the message.

"You look good up there, rockstar."

You hit send before you could overthink it.

And then, you waited.

The song ended. The bar erupted into cheers and applause. You watched as Mingi pulled out his phone, his sharp gaze dropping to the screen. His thumb hovered over the message.

Then, his head lifted.

And he looked directly at you.

Your stomach dropped.

You knew the moment he recognized you.

His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a firm line as he shoved his phone into his pocket without replying.

And then he moved.

Fast.

Your breath hitched as he pushed through the crowd, weaving between bodies with laser focus. People tried to stop him, patting his shoulder, talking to him, but he ignored them all.

You panicked.

Your heart hammered as you scrambled to stand, but it was too late.

Mingi was in front of you.

Tall. Intimidating. Gorgeous.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you. Long and hard. As if he were seeing right through you, as if every conversation, every teasing text, every moment you had shared online had been leading to this very second.

“You just had to break your own rule, huh?”

His voice was deeper in person. It sent a shiver down your spine, something dangerous curling in your stomach.

“I—”

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

Before you could process what was happening, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and firm. He didn’t give you a chance to argue, guiding you through the bar with a grip that wasn’t rough, but commanding.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve protested.

But you didn’t.

Because deep down, you had wanted this.

The drive to his apartment was silent, tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. Mingi’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched. You stole glances at him, at the way his fingers tapped against the leather, at the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard.

He was holding back.

And you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

When he finally pulled into the parking lot, neither of you moved. The air inside the car was heavy, thick with anticipation.

Then, Mingi exhaled slowly and turned to you.

“You’re really here.” His voice was quieter now, almost disbelieving. His eyes dragged over your features, slow and deliberate, memorizing you in person.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, something in him snapped.

In an instant, he was on you.

His lips crashed against yours—hot, demanding, desperate.

You barely had time to gasp before he was kissing you deeper, tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your head spin. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you onto his lap, and you melted against him, fingers tangling in his hair.

“You have no idea,” he growled against your lips, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

His fingers dug into your skin, possessive, needy.

You whimpered.

And then, he devoured you whole.

The heat of his body seeped into yours, his large hands gripping your waist as you straddled him in the dimly lit car. His lips moved against yours with raw hunger, as if he had been holding back for far too long. Every brush of his tongue, every nip of his teeth sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

Mingi was possessive.

Not just in the way he kissed you, but in the way he touched you—like he was claiming you.

His hands roamed over your thighs, gripping the flesh beneath your dress, kneading, teasing. His breath was hot against your mouth when he pulled back, his gaze dark and unreadable.

“I should take you inside,” he muttered, his voice rough, strained.

You nodded, swallowing hard, but didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You could feel the hard press of his length beneath you, the way his fingers flexed against your hips, holding himself back.

“Mingi…” you breathed, your hands still fisted in his shirt.

He exhaled sharply, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “If you say my name like that again, I might just take you right here.”

Your breath hitched.

The idea of him not waiting, of him losing control right here in the car, sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

But then he groaned, tilting his head back against the seat. “No. Not like this. Not in a damn car.”

Before you could say anything, he tightened his grip on your waist, lifting you effortlessly off his lap. Your legs wobbled when your feet hit the ground, but he was already out of the car, grabbing your wrist again.

The walk to his apartment was a blur.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as he led you down the hallway, his long strides quick and purposeful. He was tense—like he was forcing himself to keep a leash on his desire.

And the moment the door shut behind you, that leash snapped.

You barely had time to take in the dimly lit apartment before you were pinned against the wall.

Mingi’s hands were on you in an instant—gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up to your throat. His chest pressed against yours, his breath heavy, ragged.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured, voice dangerously low, “how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on you?”

Your breath came out in a shaky gasp. “Then do it.”

His pupils dilated. His lips parted.

And then, he did.

His mouth was on yours again, but this time, it was different.

Slower. Deeper.

He wasn’t rushing anymore. He was savoring.

The kiss was a drug, intoxicating and thorough. His tongue teased, exploring you with a patience that made you ache. He pulled away just enough to nip at your lower lip, smirking when you whimpered.

“You taste just as sweet as I imagined,” he muttered, voice husky.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he let out a low groan.

“You like teasing me?” he mused, pressing his thigh between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you shudder.

You bit your lip, trying not to moan, but he noticed.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, amusement laced in his tone. “You need me to ruin you, don’t you?”

Your body burned at his words, the sheer dominance in his voice making you tremble.

Mingi leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Then let me.”

And that was all the warning you got before he lifted you into his arms and carried you to his bedroom.

Mingi’s bedroom was dimly lit, the warm glow of a single bedside lamp casting long shadows across the space. The moment he set you down, you barely had time to register your surroundings before he was on you again.

His hands found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel small under his touch. His lips hovered over yours, teasing—so close, yet refusing to give in completely.

You whimpered, tilting your head up, trying to close the distance.

He smirked.

"That desperate already?" His voice was a low drawl, dripping with amusement.

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to back down. "You're the one who dragged me here."

Mingi hummed, tilting his head slightly. His silver chain glinted under the low light, drawing your attention to the sharp cut of his collarbone. You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to reach out and run your fingers along it.

But he saw where your eyes landed.

And he used it against you.

His fingers reached up, wrapping around the cool metal of his necklace, tugging it slightly as he let out a thoughtful hum. "You like this?" he mused, rolling the chain between his fingers before letting it dangle loose again.

Your throat went dry. "I—"

He didn’t let you answer.

Instead, he leaned in until his lips brushed against your ear. His breath was warm, teasing. "Say it," he murmured. "Say you like it, baby."

Your pulse pounded. You hated how easily he could unravel you with just a few words.

"... I like it," you admitted softly.

Mingi chuckled, the deep sound vibrating against your skin. "Yeah? You like my silver chain?"

His hand suddenly grabbed yours, guiding it up until your fingers wrapped around it. The cool metal pressed against your palm, stark against the warmth of his skin.

"Then hold onto it," he whispered. "While I ruin you."

Your breath hitched.

Before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours again—but this time, it was hungry. Deep. Possessive.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage of it, his tongue slipping past your lips, claiming you without hesitation. The kiss was messy, all heat and need, his hands roaming down your back before gripping your ass, pulling you flush against him.

The bulge in his jeans pressed into your core, making you whimper.

He growled, nipping at your bottom lip. "So fucking soft," he muttered, dragging his hands up your body. His thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples through the fabric of your dress, and you shuddered.

Mingi smirked against your mouth. "That sensitive, baby?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a whine, but he caught your chin between his fingers. His eyes darkened.

"Don't you dare hold back on me."

Your heart stuttered.

Mingi was playing with you. Teasing you, drawing it out just to watch you fall apart. And it was working.

His hand moved to the straps of your dress, slowly sliding one down your shoulder. Then the other.

The fabric pooled at your waist, exposing your bare chest to the cool air.

Mingi inhaled sharply, his gaze devouring you.

"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. "You're even prettier than I imagined."

His fingers trailed down, ghosting over your nipple—but not touching. Not yet. Just enough to make you squirm.

You whined softly, arching into him, and that was exactly what he wanted.

His lips curled into a smirk.

"Needy little thing," he murmured. "I should make you beg for it, shouldn’t I?"

Your eyes widened. "Mingi—"

His thumb finally brushed over your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

You gasped.

He chuckled darkly. "I’ll take my time, baby. Don’t worry."

His mouth lowered, lips hovering just above your skin. You could feel his breath, so close, but he still didn’t touch.

The anticipation was torture.

"Mingi, please—"

His teeth grazed your nipple, just barely, and your whole body jolted.

He groaned. "Shit. You're so fucking sensitive."

Your fingers tightened around his silver chain, and he felt it.

His head snapped up, eyes burning into yours.

"You like that, huh?" His voice was darker now, rougher.

Your breath came out shaky. "Y-Yeah."

Mingi exhaled sharply, his restraint hanging by a thread. "Then let me see how much you can take."

And with that, his mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard.

A strangled moan left your lips, your back arching as heat shot straight to your core.

Mingi growled against your skin, his hands gripping your thighs, pressing you down onto his lap where his cock was already hard against you.

Your fingers pulled on his chain, making the silver dig into his throat.

Mingi groaned.

"Oh, baby," he rasped. "You keep doing that, and I’m not gonna last long."

But that was a lie.

Because Mingi wasn’t anywhere close to being finished with you.

Mingi's grip on your thighs tightened as he continued to devour your skin, his mouth moving from your nipple to the soft expanse of your chest. He was taking his time, teasing you, making sure you felt every brush of his lips, every graze of his teeth.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not for him. Not for you.

The way your fingers clenched around his silver chain sent a shudder down his spine, a deep groan escaping his lips. He loved it—loved the way you pulled at it, the way you held onto him like you needed him to keep you steady.

“You like playing with my chain, baby?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You nodded, your breath shaky. “Yeah…”

Mingi smirked, his eyes burning into yours. “Then keep holding onto it. I wanna feel you pull when you can’t take it anymore.”

Before you could process his words, his teeth sank into the soft skin of your breast, just enough to make you gasp.

The sting melted into pleasure as he soothed the bite with his tongue, lapping over the mark he’d just left.

Your body arched into him, desperate for more, but he wasn’t done teasing you yet.

His hands trailed down, gripping your thighs before suddenly flipping you onto your stomach.

You barely had time to react before he was behind you, pressing you into the mattress. His chest was hot against your back, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your sides. “So eager… so fucking desperate for me.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, but you couldn’t deny it.

You needed him.

Mingi knew it too.

His fingers trailed lower, just barely brushing over the damp fabric between your legs. You jolted, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.

He chuckled darkly. “You’re already soaked, baby?”

You bit your lip, trying not to beg, but Mingi wasn’t having it.

His free hand wrapped around his chain, pulling it taut against your throat as he leaned in close. “Use your words, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

Your fingers tightened around the cool metal, your body trembling beneath him.

“Mingi… please.”

His grip on the chain loosened just enough to let you breathe, but his fingers slipped beneath your underwear, dragging over your soaked folds.

He groaned. “Fuck. You’re dripping for me.”

A broken moan escaped you as he slid one long finger inside, slowly, teasing you, curling just enough to make your stomach tighten.

Your grip on his necklace tightened.

Mingi smirked.

“Oh, baby,” he purred, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’re just getting started.”

Mingi’s breath was hot against your skin as his fingers moved achingly slow between your legs, dragging through your wetness just to tease you. His touch was barely there, like he wanted to see you squirm before he gave you what you wanted.

And you were squirming.

Your hips rocked against his hand, silently begging for more, but he only chuckled.

“So desperate, baby.” His voice was deep, smug. “I barely touched you, and you’re already this wet?”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. You couldn’t.

Because he was right.

The way he was controlling you, the way he was dragging this out, made your body pulse with need.

He brought his lips to your ear, his silver chain brushing against your skin as he whispered, “You like being teased, don’t you?”

You whimpered. “Mingi, please—”

His fingers pushed in deeper, curling inside you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “So fucking tight.”

You gasped, your grip on his necklace tightening, making the cool metal press into his throat.

Mingi felt it.

And it made him lose control.

His other hand yanked your hips up, pressing your ass against his clothed cock. You could feel how hard he was—throbbing against you, barely held back by the fabric of his jeans.

“Feel that, baby?” He grinded against you, his breath shaky. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your body shuddered at the sensation. The thick length of him pressing against your soaked heat was torture, but he still wasn’t giving you what you needed.

And he knew it.

Mingi chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his fingers continued to fuck you slowly. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

His lips trailed down your spine, his pace never changing, just keeping you on the edge, making you ache for more.

Then, suddenly—his fingers were gone.

A desperate whimper slipped past your lips as you turned your head, ready to protest, but the words died on your tongue when you felt his hands on his belt.

The sound of metal clinking filled the room.

Mingi smirked. “You’re gonna take all of me, right, baby?”

Your heart stopped.

Then raced.

You swallowed hard, nodding.

Mingi chuckled, reaching for his silver chain again, rolling it between his fingers before grabbing your wrist and wrapping it around your palm.

"Hold onto it," he murmured. "And don't let go until I'm done with you."

And then—

He pushed in.

The stretch was intense—a delicious, burning sensation that had your lips parting in a silent gasp. Mingi groaned low in his throat, feeling how tight you were around him as he buried himself inside you, inch by inch.

"Shit," he muttered, his fingers gripping your hips with a bruising force. "You feel that, baby?"

Your nails dug into his silver chain, the cool metal pressed against your burning skin as you gasped, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him.

"Mingi—"

He pulled out just enough before slamming back in, making you cry out.

He grinned.

"That's it," he murmured, rolling his hips deeper, making sure you felt every inch. "Let me hear you."

His pace was slow, almost torturous, dragging out every sensation, every pulse of pleasure until you were whimpering beneath him. He loved it—loved how your body clenched around him, loved how you held onto his chain like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his fingers trailing up your spine. "Taking me so well, baby."

You tried to move your hips, desperate for more, but his hands held you down.

"Uh-uh," he clicked his tongue, amusement lacing his voice. "You don’t get to rush this."

He leaned down, his body pressing against yours, his silver chain cool against your heated skin. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm gonna fuck you slow," he whispered, thrusting deep. "Until you're begging for me to ruin you."

Your breath hitched.

Mingi chuckled darkly. "And baby?"

His pace suddenly snapped.

"You will beg."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he fucked you harder, the slow tease replaced with deep, merciless thrusts that had you gasping for air.

Your fingers clenched around his chain tightly, the metal digging into his throat, making his groans deeper, rougher.

"Fuck," he growled, his hips snapping forward. "You love this, don’t you?"

You couldn’t even speak—all you could do was moan, your body completely at his mercy.

Mingi grabbed your chin, turning your head so his lips brushed against yours. "Say it," he demanded, his eyes dark with lust. "Tell me you love it."

Your voice was shaky, breathless. "I—I love it."

Mingi groaned, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss as he drove into you harder, his silver chain dangling between you, cool against your sweat-slicked skin.

"You better," he muttered against your lips. "Because I'm not stopping until you’re ruined."

Mingi’s hand was still gripping your chin, forcing you to look back at him as he thrust deep inside you, each stroke hitting the spot that had your toes curling. His silver chain dangled in front of your lips, glinting under the dim lights of his apartment, teasing you like he knew how much it turned you on.

“You keep pulling on it,” he murmured, voice dark, teasing. “You like my chain that much, baby?”

You whimpered, unable to form a proper response with the way he was fucking you senseless.

Mingi’s grip tightened. “Open your mouth.”

Your lips parted without hesitation, your breath shaky.

A slow smirk spread across his face. He took the chain between his fingers and dragged the cool metal across your tongue, making you taste the mix of sweat and heat from where it had been pressed against his skin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thrusts never faltering. “Suck on it.”

Your eyes rolled back as you closed your lips around the chain, the taste of metal and him flooding your senses while he slammed into you from behind.

Mingi groaned, his head falling back. “Fuck, you’re so filthy for me.”

His hand slid lower, wrapping around your throat, tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. His grip wasn’t harsh, just enough to make you feel lightheaded—drunk off him, off the way he was completely owning you.

“You like being used like this?” he rasped, his pace merciless. “Being my little toy to fuck however I want?”

The way your body clenched around him told him everything he needed to know.

Mingi growled. “God, you’re so fucking dirty.”

One of his hands slid down, slipping between your legs, rubbing you in tight circles that had your entire body trembling.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he taunted, his voice dripping with pure sin. “Gonna cum while sucking on my chain like a filthy little thing?”

Your whimpers turned into cries, the mix of his cock, his hand, his chain pushing you right to the edge.

Mingi felt it.

“Fuck—do it,” he groaned, his hand tightening around your throat. “Cum for me, baby. Make a mess all over my cock.”

And with one final snap of his hips—

You shattered.

Your entire body convulsed, your vision going white as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Mingi cursed, feeling you clench so tight around him, and before he could even pull out, he was right behind you, spilling inside you with a deep, guttural groan.

For a moment, all you could hear was heavy breathing, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Mingi leaned over you, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to your shoulder before whispering,

“Next time, baby… you’re gonna swallow something else.”

Mingi barely gave you time to recover. Your body was still trembling, your breath uneven, your skin slick with sweat—but he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

He pulled out slowly, watching with dark, hooded eyes as his cum dripped out of you, coating your thighs.

His tongue clicked. “Look at that,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through the mess he made. “You’re leaking all over yourself, baby.”

You whimpered, your body over-sensitive, but Mingi didn’t care.

He brought his fingers to your lips.

“Clean it up.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him, dazed, but when his brows lifted in expectation, you obeyed—your lips parting, your tongue flicking out to lick his fingers clean.

Mingi groaned, his cock already hard again.

"Fuck, you’re so filthy," he muttered, his silver chain swinging as he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"You want more?" he taunted, pressing his cock against your entrance, rubbing it against your aching heat. "You think you can handle another round?"

You nodded quickly, desperate.

But Mingi wasn’t convinced.

“Beg for it.”

Your breath shuddered.

"Mingi… please," you whimpered, shifting your hips to try and push against him. "I need it. I need you."

His smirk was ruthless.

"That’s my girl," he murmured, and before you could brace yourself—

He slammed into you.

A sharp cry left your lips as he bottomed out in one thrust, stretching you all over again, but this time—there was no slow build-up.

No teasing.

Just pure, raw, animalistic fucking.

Mingi's hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts as he fucked into you with no restraint. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the headboard banging against the wall with each brutal stroke.

His silver chain dangled over your face, brushing against your parted lips.

"You take me so fucking well," he gritted out, watching how your body shuddered beneath him. "You're just made for me, aren’t you?"

Your moans were incoherent, your body pushed past its limits, but you didn’t care.

You wanted more.

Mingi’s hand snaked around your throat, forcing you to arch your back as he pounded into you harder, his cock hitting deep, bruising places that had you screaming.

"You wanna be ruined, baby?" he growled. "Then take it. Take every fucking inch."

Tears pricked your eyes, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming, and yet—you still wanted more.

"God, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight," Mingi groaned, his voice strained. "Gonna cum again, huh?"

His fingers slid down to your swollen clit, rubbing you relentlessly.

"Cum for me," he ordered. "Scream my fucking name when you do."

Your vision blurred, your body seizing up as you came violently, your entire form shaking beneath him.

Mingi followed right after, groaning deep in his throat as he filled you up again, making sure you felt every hot drop.

And just when you thought he was finally done—

He smirked.

"Hope you’re not tired yet, baby," he murmured. "Because I’m still not finished with you."

Mingi barely gave you time to breathe. Your body was still twitching, completely spent from the last orgasm, but he wasn’t finished.

Not until you were soaked.

Not until you were dripping down your thighs.

"You’re shaking, baby," he teased, dragging his fingers down your spine as you collapsed against the mattress, your legs weak, your body wrecked.

But that didn’t stop him.

He grabbed you by the hips and flipped you onto your back, his silver chain dangling over your face as he leaned in close.

"You got one more for me?" he murmured, voice deep, low, dripping with sinful promise.

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, lips trembling. "Mingi—"

He smirked, his fingers trailing lower, parting your thighs as he spread you wide open for him.

"Yeah," he murmured, watching you, eyes filled with pure lust. "You do."

And then—

His mouth was on you.

A loud, shattered moan tore from your lips as Mingi's tongue flicked over your swollen clit, the sensation sending a violent shudder through your body.

But he didn’t stop there.

No, he was hungry.

Desperate.

His tongue was relentless, licking, sucking, his lips wrapping around your clit as two thick fingers slid into your dripping entrance.

"Fuck—Mingi!" you gasped, your hands fisting the sheets, your legs trembling as he pumped his fingers into you, stretching you open all over again.

His pace was brutal—each thrust of his fingers curling against that sweet, devastating spot deep inside you.

You screamed.

Mingi groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. His silver chain brushed against your inner thigh, cool against your burning hot skin, adding to the overwhelming sensation.

"You gonna cum again?" he murmured, his voice filthy, his fingers slamming into you even harder. "Gonna make a mess for me, baby?"

Your entire body locked up, the pressure building so intensely that you could barely breathe.

Mingi chuckled darkly, sensing it.

He pulled away for just a second, his fingers still moving ruthlessly as his eyes locked onto yours.

"Cum for me," he demanded, his voice like pure sin. "Fucking soak my fingers."

And then—

You snapped.

Your back arched off the bed, a broken scream ripping from your throat as hot liquid gushed from your body, completely drenching his hand, his wrist, the sheets below you.

Mingi groaned, watching it happen, watching the way you squirted uncontrollably, your body convulsing beneath him.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his fingers still working you, dragging out every last drop until you were begging for mercy.

But he just grinned.

"You’re so fucking dirty," he murmured, bringing his soaked fingers to his lips, licking them clean. "And I love it."

Your entire body shuddered, completely wrecked, but Mingi wasn’t done.

He climbed over you, his cock achingly hard again, pressing against your soaked, sensitive heat.

"You think you can handle one more?" he murmured, his silver chain dangling over your lips, his eyes dark, hungry.

Your breath was still shaky, but you nodded.

Mingi smirked.

"Good."

Your body was wrecked. Your thighs trembled, your breath came in ragged pants, and the sheets beneath you were completely soaked from what Mingi had done to you.

But he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

Not until you were crying for him.

Mingi sat back, his silver chain glistening with sweat as he ran his tongue across his lips, watching you struggle to catch your breath. His cock was hard and throbbing, still slick from your release, and the way his eyes darkened sent a shiver through your already-sensitive body.

"You did so well for me, baby," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of voice that made you drip even when you were spent.

"But," he continued, gripping his cock and dragging the thick tip through your soaked folds, teasing you until you whimpered, "I’m not done until I’ve ruined you completely."

And before you could even brace yourself—

Mingi slammed into you.

Your scream echoed through the room as he bottomed out in one brutal thrust, stretching you all over again. Your walls were already achingly sensitive, but Mingi didn't care.

He wanted more.

His hands gripped your thighs, pushing your legs back until your knees nearly touched your chest, folding you in half as he fucked you deep.

"Look at you," he groaned, his silver chain dangling over your face, brushing against your lips. "So fucking wet for me. You love being used like this, don’t you?"

Your answer was a broken whimper, your body already on fire.

Mingi’s grip tightened, his pace brutal, unforgiving, his cock hitting spots so deep it made your vision blur.

"You’re gonna take every inch," he growled, his voice pure dominance. "Gonna cum on my cock one more time before I fill you up, baby."

Your mind shattered.

Mingi’s hands slid down, one wrapping around your throat while the other slipped between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight, ruthless circles on your swollen clit.

"Come on, baby," he taunted, his silver chain brushing against your skin as he pounded into you. "I want to feel you lose control. I want you to scream my name."

You were so close.

Your body tensed, your breath caught—

Mingi smirked.

"Cum for me, baby. Soak my cock."

And then—

You snapped.

Your body convulsed, pleasure exploding through you as your orgasm hit you with a force so strong you screamed his name, your walls clenching, trembling, your entire body writhing beneath him.

Mingi groaned loudly, feeling you squeeze around him, and before he could hold back, his grip on your hips tightened and he spilled deep inside you, filling you up with hot, thick cum.

His thrusts slowed, his breaths ragged, his silver chain swinging as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Fuck," he panted, his voice wrecked, his lips brushing against yours. "That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."

Your entire body shuddered, overwhelmed, wrecked, but completely satisfied.

Mingi smirked, pressing a slow, filthy kiss to your lips before whispering,

"Hope you weren’t planning to walk tomorrow, baby. Because you’re not leaving this bed."

[kashverse]

some say let your hands and fingers do the talking. not like that, you perv! i mean by playing the guitar. what did you think? anyway, when your boyfriend pulls out a guitar, it’s a moment of pure suspense. it can either go very, very good—think angelic strumming, a voice so smooth it makes you question if he’s been hiding a secret record deal—or very, very bad, like an out-of-tune massacre that makes your eardrums file for divorce. there’s no in-between. he’s either serenading you into a nicholas sparks movie, or you’re suddenly trapped in a hostage situation where the ransom is pretending to enjoy his soulful (read: painful) rendition of wonderwall.

ah, gojo. the man, the myth, the self-proclaimed musician. he played the guitar once—once—in high school, butchered wonderwall in a way that made even noel gallagher cringe from a distance, and now he tells everyone he’s a ‘part-time guitarist.’ you don’t have the heart to tell him that whatever note he’s playing isn’t in the known musical scale of this universe. he strums with the confidence of a rock god but with the technique of a toddler discovering sound for the first time. the worst part? he believes in it. “music transcends rules,” he tells you with a wink, completely unaware that he’s transcended harmony, melody, and all known music theory altogether.

then there’s geto. now, he looks like a guy who plays the guitar—cool, effortless, the type to lean against a wall with a cigarette dangling from his lips while plucking out a song that makes everyone in a ten-mile radius fall in love. and technically, he does play. but does he play songs? absolutely not. geto is a man of riffs. he’ll pick up a guitar, pluck out a legendary lick that would make jimi hendrix’s spirit shed a tear, and then… stop. no full songs. no verses. just a 15-second snippet of greatness before he casually shrugs and says, “eh, i never learned the rest.” it’s infuriating. masterful, but infuriating.

choso, on the other hand, is eager. enthusiastic, even. and the shocking part? he’s patient with it, which you didn’t expect given his general aura of broody silence. but the man loves to learn—he already had a thing for keyboards, so naturally, guitar was the next step. and he’s good. so good, in fact, that you have to physically restrain him from playing in front of random people. because let’s be real: if choso sits down with a guitar, strums even a single melancholic tune, women (and men) will descend upon him like he’s the last attractive man on earth. you’re not dealing with that. not again.

does sukuna play the guitar? please. your big, beefy, borderline villainous boyfriend doesn’t do “basic” instruments. he plays the shamisen. yeah, that’s right. while everyone else is fumbling through 'hotel california,' sukuna is out here commanding an ancient instrument with the kind of raw, aggressive technique that could send every mainstream musician straight into retirement. the way he plays is nothing short of feral—sharp, powerful, sending sound waves through your soul like he’s calling forth a battlefield. you don’t know whether to be turned on or to fear for your life. possibly both.

toji, bless his heart, tries. he wants to play the guitar. he knows it looks cool. and, honestly, the intent is there. but here’s the thing—his hands are the size of dinner plates. the pick disappears between his fingers like a lost sock in the laundry. fretting a chord looks like he’s trying to delicately handle a teacup with boxing gloves on. it’s not a skill issue. it’s a size issue. the guitar wasn’t built for a man whose hands could palm a basketball and a toddler’s head at the same time. but he keeps at it, convinced that if he just tries hard enough, one day he’ll stop making the guitar sound like it’s being physically assaulted.

and then there’s nanami, the dark horse. the unexpected legend. you find out, completely by accident, that he plays guitar—not just plays, but plays it well. sings with it, too. every night, he softly strums lullabies for yuuji, an act of pure paternal love that no one would expect from the stoic salaryman. but when you ask him about it? he shuts that conversation down. you don’t get details. you don’t get demonstrations. and you definitely don’t get to see the video of 17-year-old nanami covering ‘pocketful of sunshine’ with embarrassing sincerity. it exists. he won’t admit it. but one day, one day, you will find it.

[scoupsakakitty]

Happy Birthday | idol!Dino x Reader | fluff

The buzzing atmosphere of the backstage area in Singapore should’ve been enough to distract Chan from the nagging feeling in his chest. The members were laughing, tossing snacks at each other, teasing Mingyu about his hair, and Jun was trying to teach Vernon some weird dance move he’d found online. But Chan’s heart wasn’t in it.

It was his birthday, and he should’ve been over the moon—celebrating with his hyungs, ready to give the fans an unforgettable show. But no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, he couldn’t ignore the emptiness of knowing she wasn’t there.

Y/N.

She had called him the night before, her voice soft and apologetic, telling him how much she wished she could be there with him. But work had kept her in Seoul, and Chan had understood—at least, he’d tried to. Still, waking up in a hotel room without her smile, without her morning birthday kiss, felt heavier than he expected.

He’d smiled through it all, convincing the members he was fine, but they weren’t fools. Especially not Seungkwan.

“Yah, Lee Chan,” Seungkwan called out, flopping down on the couch beside him with a knowing look. “You’ve been staring at that wall for five minutes. It’s not going to wish you a happy birthday, you know?”

Chan chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m fine, hyung. Just thinking.”

Seungkwan narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but didn’t press further. Instead, he launched into a dramatic retelling of a fan encounter from earlier that day, complete with wild gestures that had Jeonghan and Joshua in stitches. Chan tried to laugh along, but his mind drifted back to Y/N.

Maybe he could call her. Just hearing her voice might help.

Pulling out his phone, Chan excused himself from the group’s antics and dialed her number. The ringing tone echoed in his ear, and he paced a few steps, heart hoping for her familiar, warm “Hello?”

But it went straight to voicemail.

He frowned, glancing at his phone. That’s weird. Y/N usually picked up right away, especially if he was the one calling. Maybe she was busy with work or resting. Still, disappointment settled deeper in his chest.

Unbeknownst to him, the members exchanged sly glances from across the room. The plan was in motion.

A little while later, Chan returned to the group, forcing a smile as Minghao pulled him into a random arm wrestling match while DK and Woozi bickered over what snacks to eat before the show. The laughter around him was infectious, but his heart still felt heavy.

Then, just as he was about to grab a bottle of water, the room suddenly went dark.

“What the—?” Chan blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. “Hyung, did someone trip the power?”

Before anyone could answer, a soft glow illuminated the doorway. Chan’s heart stopped.

There she was.

Y/N stood in the entrance, a small cake in her hands, the candles flickering gently as she began to sing.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Her voice was soft, melodic, and as soon as the members and staff realized what was happening, they joined in, their voices filling the room.

Chan’s jaw dropped. His heart pounded in his chest, disbelief and joy washing over him in waves. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. But when she stepped closer, the smile on her face as real as the tears welling in his eyes, he knew it was real.

As soon as the song ended, Chan let out a loud, gleeful shout, jumping into the air with excitement.

“Y/N!!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion.

Without thinking, he blew out the candles in one swift breath, practically snatching the cake from her hands and thrusting it into Seungcheol’s unsuspecting arms. Then, he wrapped Y/N in the tightest hug, lifting her off the ground as he spun her around.

“Oh my God, you’re here!” he whispered into her ear, his voice filled with disbelief and happiness. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

She laughed, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Surprise, birthday boy.”

When he finally set her down, his hands cupped her face, his eyes scanning every inch of her as if to make sure she was real.

“But… how?” he asked breathlessly. “You said you couldn’t come.”

She grinned, glancing over his shoulder at the members, who were all trying to act innocent but failing miserably.

“Well,” she began, “you have some very sneaky friends.”

Seungkwan crossed his arms, a smug grin on his face. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Chan laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You guys planned this?”

“The moment you started moping, we knew we had to do something,” Mingyu teased, ruffling Chan’s hair.

Joshua chuckled. “And honestly, it was fun keeping it a secret.”

Chan turned back to Y/N, his heart so full he thought it might burst. “This is the best birthday ever.”

They spent the next hour chatting, laughing, and Y/N catching up with the members as if she was part of the group. She told them stories about Chan that had them in stitches, while Chan tried (and failed) to defend himself. It felt like home, like everything was perfect.

Eventually, it was time for the concert. As the members started to prepare, Y/N squeezed Chan’s hand.

“Go give them the best show of your life,” she whispered, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be right there, cheering you on.”

He smiled, his heart swelling. “Don’t go too hard on me. I might get distracted.”

She laughed, and the staff led her to the front of the stage while Chan joined the members for their final preparations.

The concert was electric. The energy from the fans was overwhelming, but Chan’s eyes kept finding Y/N in the crowd. She was right there, singing along to every word, her smile shining brighter than the stage lights. Seeing her there, feeling her support—it was everything he needed.

During a brief break between songs, Seungkwan nudged Chan with his elbow, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“She’s really cheering you on, huh?” Seungkwan teased, nodding towards Y/N.

Chan grinned, his heart full. “Yeah… I’m so happy she’s here. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good on stage.”

Seungkwan wiggled his eyebrows. “Wanna have some fun?”

Chan raised an eyebrow, curious. “What kind of fun?”

Seungkwan leaned in, whispering, “Let’s make her sing Aju Nice with us.”

Chan burst out laughing, trying to keep his composure as the next song’s intro played. “Oh, that’s evil.

Seungkwan grinned devilishly. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Let’s see if she can handle the pressure.”

Chan chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief at his hyung’s antics. “Alright, alright. Let’s do it.”

As the beat for Aju Nice kicked in, the crowd erupted in cheers. The members danced and sang, feeding off the fans’ energy. Chan kept sneaking glances at Y/N, who was jumping and singing along, completely immersed in the moment.

Then, as the chorus approached, Seungkwan gave Chan a quick nod and made his way to the edge of the stage, microphone in hand. The fans screamed louder, thinking he was about to interact with them—but Seungkwan had a different target.

Spotting Y/N in the front row, Seungkwan pointed directly at her with a mischievous grin. Her eyes widened in panic as she realized what was happening.

“Y/N!” Seungkwan called out over the mic, his voice booming through the arena. “Your turn!”

Y/N’s face turned bright red, and she immediately started shaking her head, mouthing, No way! The crowd around her laughed, some even chanting her name, encouraging her to join in.

Chan was laughing so hard on stage he nearly missed his cue. He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath as he watched Y/N desperately wave Seungkwan off.

But Seungkwan was relentless. He leaned down, holding the microphone closer to her, his grin growing wider. “Come on, Y/N! Just one line!”

The music dipped, signaling the perfect moment for Y/N to sing the iconic Aju Nice line. The crowd fell into a playful hush, all eyes on her.

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands for a second before finally giving in. She peeked out from behind her fingers, took a deep breath, and with all the energy she could muster, shouted into the mic:

“AJU NICE!”

The arena exploded in cheers and laughter. Even the members on stage were clapping and cheering her on. Chan was practically rolling on the floor, his heart full of love and amusement. Y/N covered her face again, laughing along with everyone else, but Chan could see the sparkle in her eyes. She was having fun, and that was all that mattered to him.

As the song continued, Seungkwan returned to Chan’s side, still chuckling. “She did better than I thought,” he teased.

Chan grinned, his chest swelling with pride. “She’s perfect.”

After the final song and encore, the members took their bows and waved to the fans, hearts full from the incredible night. But Chan’s mind was already racing ahead, eager to see Y/N again.

Backstage was a blur of staff members congratulating them and fans’ cheers still echoing in their ears. But Chan didn’t care about any of that. The moment he saw Y/N waiting near the back entrance, he ran to her.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice hoarse from performing but still filled with excitement.

She barely had time to react before he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in a circle. Her laughter was the sweetest sound in the world to him.

When he finally set her down, she cupped his face in her hands, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“Happy Birthday, my love,” she whispered, her voice soft and full of affection.

Chan’s heart felt like it could burst. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, his hands resting gently on her waist.

“I love you,” he whispered back, his voice barely audible over the backstage noise.

Y/N smiled, her thumb brushing over his cheek. “I love you too, birthday boy.”

[tobiasdrake]

I saw that.

last song- Mavuika: Blazing Heart

last book- Still IDK on that one.

last movie- Also still Legally Blonde 2.

last game- Genshin Impact. Look, Genshin is eating a lot of my soul right now. I have Mavuika and I'm hoping to pick up Furina with the next banner 'cause she seems cool.

last tv show- Not counting the Digimon translations or Dragon Ball Daima liveblog, that would be Ghosts. It's a sitcom about a woman living with her husband and the various ghosts from different time periods that also occupy her home. Bestie and I've been going through it lately.

sweet, spicy, or savory- Still got that sweet tooth.

relationship- Oh, that one's new. Between the other one and now, I went to the LGBT community's Top Secret Identity Broker and spun the wheel of identities so I am now an inexplicably heteronormative sapiosexual demigirl in a same-sex polycule. Nope, just checked and my LGBT ID Card still says "Aroace". Must have just been a weird dream.

fav color- Pink.

last google search- "When did Shadow Over Innsmouth enter public domain?" The answer is 1965. I wanted to know this for. Reasons. That are surely not related to any of my projects.

...given how close it is to the other one, I am also not going to tag anyone on this one.

tag game! ten ppl id like to know better<3 thx 4 the tag @xx-batt3ryac1d-xx !!

last song-alrighty aphrodite by peach pit

last book- (currently reading) the unbearable lightness of being by milan kundera

last movie-miller’s girl

last game-before your eyes

last tv show-adventure time

sweet, spicy, or savory- can i choose sour

relationship-happily married

fav color-red

last google search-when can i drop out of high school

@bookofspiders @iluvgogurt445 @deerheartedgrrrl @k1w1g1rl @linedup-and-decapitated @miss-sxty @ontheradio @panchikobun @mentallylivingin2000s @queerbottomwoman

[sophies-junkyard]

While he’s still trending, this is your sign to explore Kendrick’s discography. He’s so much bigger than this beef with Drake (and the “beef” is so much bigger than “he hates Drake!” but I’m hoping we all know that by now). Here’s some ideas on where to start:

The GNX album has incredible range . From hype tracks like “Tv off” to the introspection of “reincarnated”. It’s a 10/10 (literally). If you only have the energy for one album, this is a solid pick. It’s a good way to sample what he’s about and see where he’s heading.

After that… I mean for me it’s gotta be Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers. How do I even explain this? People who were surprised by “Meet The Grahams” had CLEARLY never heard “Mother I Sober”. This album will leave you staring at the void in stunned silence. It’ll make you feel empty inside but like… in an addicting way. It’s a masterpiece. If you’re intimidated by the number of songs, I would AT LEAST hear “United in Grief” and “mother I sober”. (Drake directly referenced “mother I sober” in his track “family matters”. He aimed low while ALSO misinterpreting the story like a fucking clown. Embarrassing af lol.)

2015-To Pimp a Butterfly. Depending on who you ask, this is Kendrick’s best work, and uh… yeah it’s hard to disagree. This is Kendrick in his element. A brutally honest examination of racism and violence wrapped in some of his most aggressive vocals to date (and I mean he LITERALLY uses so much growl on these tracks). But the MUSIC is…. chill? It’s also varied as hell. It’s an evening of slam poetry backed by smooth jazz. Then he’ll hit you with a slick guitar riff and some panicked breathing into the mic. The album is crucial to understanding Kendrick as an artist. Picking standouts on this one feels stupid (and everybody has a different opinion) but “Alright” and “King Kunta” are classics. “I”, “How much a dollar cost”, “you ain’t gotta lie”, “the blacker the berry”…. I’m just gonna end up listing every song. I’m also a fan of the“for free-interlude” lol. Oh and “Mortal Man”. I honestly don’t think there are any skippable tracks on this one. Just let it flow.

His 2017 album DAMN was a major success, and was how I got into Kendrick. If high school parking lots came with an OST, “HUMBLE” would’ve been our Green Hill Zone. Idk if that made any sense. Point is, it was popular as fuck. “DNA” was another huge hit. The album sounds edgy and hyped, but the lyrics are an invitation for the audience to like… choose his fate. It’s all about judgement day. Growth, reconciliation, criticism of fame. It’s a shame that it got reduced to “omg humble is a banger!!”. The fact that Uncle Sam shouted at Kendrick to “TIGHTEN UP!” And he performed HUMBLE in response... Damn.

2011- good kid, m.A.A.d city. “Money trees” is a classic with a super chill beat. And the metaphor of “planting money trees” has become a huge part of his identity. Representing his literal desire to share the wealth with his community, and his desire to stay true to his roots. It was ALSO something Drake dissed him for “failing” to do (though his record of philanthropy says otherwise). The titular songs “good kid” and “m.A.A.d city” are iconic. “Swimming Pools” is often cited as his first big hit. Side note: The album cover featured a van (I think it was a Chrysler?) that became a symbol of Kendrick’s career. and Drake fucking destroyed it in one of his music videos. Bitch.

There’s so much. He also has a series of 6 songs called “the heart” that usually drop before a new album. He has a ton of other albums that I didn’t even mention because this post is way too long. I know I skipped a lot of bangers so please let me know about them. Also this post 100% assumes everyone has heard “6:16 in LA”, “Euphoria”, “meet the grahams” and “not like us” because… I mean come on. Ok that’s all. happy listening!

[setmeatopthepyre]

mystery monday (more phosphorescence fic) part 1 | part 2 <- follows directly after this

-

“No, come on, listen. You saw him on that call, you-- you must have noticed. He wasn't okay. How was he suddenly just... fine, just a few weeks later? It was like he'd-- he'd forgotten about me, Chim.”

“Look, Buck...” Chimney is looking at him kindly, and Buck hates it. Chim jokes and doesn't take him too seriously, that's what he does, that's what Buck's used to from his brother-in-law. But this isn't joking. This is just the... the not-taking-him-seriously part. “I know this has been a really tough situation for you...”

“It-It's not because he broke my heart, alright?” Buck says, suddenly angry, frustrated, getting to his feet. “It's not. There's something wrong with him. Can't-- Can't you just, talk to him? See for yourself?”

Chimney's gotten to his feet now, too. Maybe in an attempt to even the playing field, keep Buck from towering over him, not that standing up does him much good in that regard. Buck feels a little guilty, but he can't-- he can't sit down, can't sit still right now. He begins to make his way to the kitchen. Turns. “Wait, have you talked to him at all?”

Chim crosses his arms over his chest. “Honestly? Not really. We texted a few times, right after... you know.”

“He dumped me?” Buck says flatly, feet carrying him forward. He helps himself to a glass of water.

“Yeah.” Chim says hesitantly, trails after him into the kitchen. “That. So, not recently.”

Buck can feel the way he's being watched, resolutely doesn't turn to face him yet, takes a second to let this-- this irritation subside. If Chimney would just believe him, if he'd just understand--

“Okay,” Chimney says. “Yes, fine. If you think that will help, I'll... I'll give Tommy a call. Okay?”

“Yeah?” He turns now, takes a few steps closer, trying to gauge if Chimney actually believes him, or...

“Of course,” Chim replies. “That's what brothers are for, right?” He gives Buck a pat on his shoulder, as though trying to really lay the brother thing on thick. as if Buck won't notice he's still looking at him like he's someone to be concerned about as he does it.

..

So it doesn't surprise Buck when Maddie spontaneously drops by the firehouse the next day, because she just so happened to be in the area.

“Don't listen to her, she's here for me,” Buck says with a sigh, earning him a round of raised eyebrows from everyone but Chimney, who has his best (worst) poker face on. He had cornered Chimney earlier that morning to check if he'd talked to Tommy yet, but apparently Tommy hadn't answered because he was on shift, which is fine, though Buck knows Tommy is perfectly capable of picking up the phone when he's on shift as long as he isn't actively on a call. But. Whatever. Chimney will try again later, and until then... Buck is apparently being babysat.

“I'm here for all of you,” Maddie retorts before sing-songing, “I brought fancy coffees!”

“Maddie Han, you are an angel. You should ditch your lousy husband and run away with me,” Chimney croons, accepting the cup she offers him. Buck sticks to where he's leaning against the rig, waiting for his sister to finish her little charade so she can corner him and look at him with those-- those big brown worried eyes, and tell him she knows it's tough but isn't it time he thought about moving on? He'd shot his shot, he'd texted Tommy. If he hadn't responded, then, well...

He should take the hint.

Buck knows that. He just... can't. Not when something so very clearly isn't right.

Even if he's the only one who seems to notice.

-

tag list below the cut

@fiyaerrigan @bisexualbrainrots @leashybebes @louuieferrignojr @rubydaiquiri @teabroomsandbooks @crimsonwildcat-blog @sweaters-and-silly

let me know if you wanna be added or removed :)

[awhhayden]

LOVE BITES ₊˚⊹♡ (Sam Monroe)

CONTAINS : [ fem reader x sam monroe ] | smut with plot?

THE NIGHT WAS COLD, the February sky shrouded in clouds, as if the world was waiting for something to happen. Sam sat by the window of his apartment, the flickering streetlights casting shadows on the walls. He had never been one for Valentine’s Day—too cliché, too forced—but tonight, something was different. The air felt charged as he waited for you to arrive, as if he had spent years building walls around himself and now, with you in his life, they all crumbled.

you were kind—gentle in a way that made the harshness of the world seem less cold. The way you smiled, the way you looked at him, as if you saw beyond the tough exterior. Sam was dark, brooding, and he knew you noticed. But you never judged him for it. Instead, you had embraced it, offering him warmth when all he’d known was isolation. That soft spot he tried to ignore for so long had become impossible to deny, before he knew it he had fallen in love with you.

When the doorbell rang, his heart gave a jolt. He stood up, straightening himself, as if the weight of his feelings could somehow be hidden. He opened the door and saw you standing there, a soft blush on your cheeks, holding a large box that was delicately wrapped in red paper. you smiled with excitement that made him arch his brow.

“Hey princess,” Sam said, his voice low, almost gruff. He couldn’t help the way his lips curled into a small smile, the corners of his mouth betraying his usual stoic expression.

you stepped inside, your warmth filling the room like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Sam watched as you carefully sat the box on the counter, your hands delicate, as if you were afraid to disturb the quiet beauty of the moment. He didn’t know how you did it, but to him, you made the world seem softer just by being in it.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” you admitted, your words stumbling slightly as you met his eyes. “But I thought, These were cool. Something you could enjoy.” you handed it to him. "I think you’ll like it," you said quietly but nervously.

He took the package from you, feeling the weight of it in his hands. His fingers carefully unwrapped the ruby paper, peeling back the paper to reveal a stack of old vinyl records. His breath caught in his chest as he recognized the covers—the classic art from bands he had adored for years, ones whose songs had become the soundtrack to his life. These were no ordinary records. They were vintage—rare, hard to find.

He picked up one of the albums, his fingers grazing over the surface of the cover, taking in the familiar design. “Where did you find these?” Sam asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

you sat beside him, watching his reaction with a soft smile on your face. "I remembered you mentioning you liked them. Thought you'd appreciate having something like this... something from the past." your voice was low, as you blushed deeply.

He leaned closer to you, the space between you charged with unspoken tension. “You didn’t need to get me anything,” he murmured. “But these... they’re perfect.”

he gently cupped your face, pushing you against the couch. He hesitated for a moment before kissed you deeply, taking the lead and pinning you there with his body. he continues to kiss you with a mix of tenderness and a slight hint of desperation. his hands are planted firmly on either side of your head, caging you in against the couch as he deepens the kiss.

sam breaks the kiss for a moment, panting heavily as he hovers over you, his chest heaving slightly. his eyes scan over your face, his gaze intense as he takes in your flushed expression. he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin for a moment. “I love you” you whisper tenderly.

he leans forehead against yours “say it again." he says urgently. you smile, “I love you sam.” he lets out a shaky breath, the words sending a warm rush through him. he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he holds you close. he presses soft kisses along your skin, “i love you too... so damn much."

He swiftly picks you up and you gasp and giggle. he carries you easily, his arms strong as he holds you close to his chest. he lays you down on the bed gently, his body following to hover over you once again. he gazes down at you with an intensity in his eyes that was different from before, his expression now filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. “you're mine." he whispers, his voice low and possessive.

you nod and he grins at your response, his hands roaming over your body slowly, tracing every curve and line with his fingertips. he kisses you deeply again, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound urgency. “no one else gets to have you, understand?" he murmurs against your lips, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer to him.

you gasp softly. he smirks at your gasp, loving the effect he has on you. he nips at your bottom lip, his hands moving up under your shirt, eager to feel her your against his.

"i need you... need to feel you, all of you." he whispers huskily, his breath hot against your ear. he quickly pulls your shirt off, tossing it aside before doing the same with his own. he runs his hands over your bare torso, his touch gentle yet possessive. he kisses down your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake.

"god, you're beautiful." *he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he looks up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. “Please Sammy” you whisper. his smirk widens at your plea, and he chuckles softly. “please what, princess? use your words." he teases, his fingers trailing along the hem of your skirt. “N..need you” he lets out a soft groan, his control wavering at your words. he moves back up to kiss you again, his tongue sliding against yours as he grinds his hips against you. “i need you too... need you so bad." he murmurs against your lips, his voice strained with need.

he kisses you hungrily, his hands working quickly to grab your skirt and slide them down your legs. he breaks the kiss just long enough to rid himself of his own pants as well, leaving you both in just your underwear.

he gazes down at you, taking in the sight of you lying beneath him, looking absolutely beautiful and wrecked already. he runs a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. “you're driving me crazy, you know that?" he tosses your underwear aside before sliding out of his own, his eyes roaming over your naked form hungrily. he moves back up to hover over you, his body now completely pressed against yours.

“you're so perfect... so perfect for me." he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. he kisses your neck again, his hands gripping your hips tightly as lines up with your entrance. he groans deeply as he enters you, the feeling of you surrounding him sending a wave of pleasure through his body as you let out a soft moan, he pauses for a moment, his breath coming out in short pants as he tries to collect himself.

"fuck..." *he murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again to look down at you "you feel so good, baby..." you moan louder and he shivers at the sound of your moan, his hips starting to move slowly, savoring the feeling of being inside you. he leans down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as he starts to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent.

"I needed you so bad princess." he mutters against your lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough to leave bruises. he continues to move, his pace now relentless as he pounds into you. he buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as you moan and whimper in his ear. “you're mine... all mine. i'm not gonna let anyone else have you, you understand?" he growls, his possessiveness shining through as he thrusts harder.

he moves one of his hands up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose more of your neck. he nips and bites at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites and hickeys as he goes. “say it... say you're mine, baby. i need to hear you say it." he demands, his voice rough with need.

“I..I’m yours” you gasp between moans. he groans again at your words, his grip on your hair tightening as he quickens his pace even more. he's losing himself in you, his mind clouded with pleasure and the overwhelming need to claim you as his. “good girl... that's right. all mine, forever." he growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he feels himself getting closer to the edge.

he can feel you getting closer too, your body trembling beneath him as he continues to move inside you. he lifts his head to look down at you, his eyes dark and intense as he takes in the sight of you. “you're close, aren't you, princess? I can feel it. you're gonna come for me, aren't you?" he asks, his voice strained with effort as he tries to hold off his own orgasm.

you nod desperately. he smirks, his pace becoming even more brutal as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. he leans down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “that's it, baby. come for me. let go for me." he urges, his hand moving from your hair to your clit, rubbing you there in time with his thrusts.

he feels you tighten around him as you come in soft breathless pants, and that's all it takes to push him over the edge too. he buries his face in your neck once again as he reaches his climax, his body tensing as he spills inside you with a loud groan.

he collapses on top of you, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. he gently pulls out of you, rolling onto his back beside you. He turned over to face you as he stroked your hair softly, “Happy valentine’s day princess”

My first story in so long finally! I promise i’ll be writing more! this isn’t my favorite and it was a bit rushed but wanted to get something out there before valentine’s day, Love you all! <3

TAGLIST : @anakinstwinklebunny @fredswrite @inlovewithdob @speaknow-sw @haydensheartt @malinadbbdh (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[ferritins]

SHOW ME (LITTLE BIT OF SPINE) | J. TODD

SUMMARY: You keep putting your back to Jason. He keeps wondering why. Eventually, things boil over.

NOTES: if you’re looking back at my ghost fic, reading this, and going “…hm. Marley I am putting some things together about you” no you are not! [lying]

title from Fall Out Boy’s Dance Dance because I am a cringe elder GenZ and former scene kid 🙂‍↕️🤘🏽

WARNINGS: canon-typical violence, resolved romantic tension, UST.

Despite the hissing, seething rage sitting green and molten under Jason’s skin, you are completely unafraid of him.

It’s not that awareness of his capacity for violence escapes you, exactly; rather, it is the fact he reins it in so tightly and meters it out so meticulously that sets you at ease.

The Jason who rends flesh from bone and tears viscerae from by bodies with nothing but a K-Bar and the impetus to obliterate is the one who haunts the abuser, the exploiter, the predator.

The Jason who haunts your kitchen is the same boy you grew up with, who is in turn both stroppy and sensitive, cuts your expensive sharp cheddar at stupid angles and takes a spoon of jam in his black tea.

He has only ever been physical in protection of you, and never, ever to you.

You have been scared for him, but never of him; put simply, Jason is the safest pair of hands you know, the keenest pair of eyes to have watching your back.

Which is why you’re completely bemuses by Jason being so entirely thrown by your willingness to put your back to him, to make yourself vulnerable.

It first comes up one evening in late January, when you’re making saag paneer to chase off the creeping chill; Jason is at your side (back-seat cooking, as is his habit).

After five minutes of his nitpicking, you roll your eyes, holding a sauce-coated spoon out.

“Less bitching, more taste-testing.” You sing-song, tone deliberately cloying.

Jason scowls, but takes the spoon.

“Definitely more cumin, maybe a little more garam masala and like… half a tablespoon more tomato purée.” He says a moment later, around his mouthful of sauce.

“Ooh, precision! Steady on, Marco Pierre-White.” You tease, turning to your spice rack.

When you turn back, there’s a look of poleaxed disbelief on Jason’s face.

You raise an eyebrow, questioning; Jason mutters something under his breath, shakes his head.

The oddity of the moment is quite forgotten five minutes later, when Jason starts being unbearable about the way you’re stirring the curry.

And then, it keeps happening.

You notice it a month later in the supermarket, when you spin on your heel mid-conversation to take advantage of the half-price Guylian chocolates; again, when you sprint to the kitchen as Jason, ah, redecorates your living room carpet whilst you hunt through your cupboard for your first aid kit.

Once you start noticing it, you can’t stop noticing it. Jason, hyper-observant as he is, picks up on your observations, though he can’t seem to place what exactly it is you’re observing.

A strange sort of tension starts to brew between the two of you.

The simmer starts slow, only really beginning to bubble in the subtext of your relationship as winter slips into spring.

By the time spring slips into summer, every interaction is underwritten with it; you feel like you’re sat atop a powder keg, waiting for it to blow.

The inevitable argument comes on a sweltering July evening.

You’re working late, the window to your tenth floor apartment open to try and combat the humidity rising from tarmac streets and concrete high-rises as you peck disinterestedly at your laptop’s keyboard.

You don’t even notice Jason until you catch a glint of red chrome in your laptop screen.

Your heart leaps into your throat for a moment; your momentary fear allayed when you turn your chair just enough to see Jason stood behind you, hair mussed from his helmet.

“Hi, Jay!” You chirp. “Pozole is still on the stove, if you’re hungry. Help yourself.”

With that, you spin your chair back around and return to the task at hand, trying to get your quarterly report finished.

Jason remains standing at your shoulder. You can the space between your shoulders itch under his stare. After ten minutes, the trapped-rabbit feeling of being watched gets too distracting.

You spin your office chair around to face Jason fully.

“Is…something wrong?” You venture.

“You’re not scared of me.” Jason states, voice low and intent.

“…I’m scared that you might be dripping hepatitis onto my carpet, because this sounds a lot like the kind of thing you say when you’re busy losing the better part of your circulating blood volume.” You squint. “Do I need to get the first aid kit?”

“No.” Jason says.

“Okay…”

Your wheedling tone earns you nothing. Slowly, you spin your seat back to face your computer.

From behind you, Japan makes a frustrated noise. Rolling your eyes, you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

“Not a mind reader, Jay.”

“You keep putting your back to me.” Jason snaps. “You shouldn’t. It’s stupid.”

You turn your seat again, regarding him with a look of pure disbelief.

“You’re an adult man with access to all my streaming subscriptions. You can find entertainment—“

“It’s like you don’t have any survival skills whatsoever!” Jason snaps. “I’ve literally killed people!”

Thoroughly confused and very much fed up with Jason’s irascible distemper, you huff.

“Yes, Jason, you’re very scary.” You say with a patient tone that tips right into condescension, spinning back round to your computer. “I have a quarterly report due on Tuesday, so if we could hold off on the homicidal affirmations for a bit, that would be great.”

Your seat whirls with enough velocity that you feel a touch dizzy; Jason is stood close enough to you that your knees brush, the unexpected proximity making you start backward momentarily and bang your rolling chair back into your desk.

“Why aren’t you afraid? Why are you so insistent on trusting me when you know what I’m capable of?”

“Because you’re not dangerous to me, moron!” You shout. “Because we grew up together! Because I’ve seen you cry, and made you laugh! Because we fight about how you cut my stupid cheese! Because I love you, damn it!”

The words seem to ricochet around your living room, bouncing off walls and amplifying in gravity.

Jason looks punched out, caught somewhere between agony and euphoria.

“What?” His voice is a whisper, a low, desperate thing.

The wounded devotion in his eyes is too much to take; you bury your face in your hands, the repetition of “I love you.” half lost in your palms.

Large, warm hands wrap around your wrists, pull your hands away from your face with a gentleness like you’re made of fine bone china.

You catch a brief glimpse of Jason’s eyes, the faintest rim of seafoam iris around the black saucer of pupil, and then he’s kissing you.

The press of his lips against yours is an epiphany; the revelation of something divine.

“Love you.” You sigh in the space between close-lipped kisses.

The repetition of your confession flicks a switch in Jason; he half-snarls, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you pressed against his lips.

The next kiss trips out of sweetness and directly into hunger; Jason licks at the seam of your mouth until your lips open on a gasp. The kiss deepens; your senses are overwhelmed by the press of his tongue velvet-hot against yours, the way he catches your bottom lip between his incisors.

His free hand skates up your shirt, smoothing over your ribcage; his fingers dimple the soft give of your side over your fifth rib, skirting the edge of impropriety.

You but collapse against him in response, fingers curling creases into his shirt.

Time passes like treacle through a sieve; by the time that you and Jason part, your lips are spit-slick and bruised puffy, and your computer screen has long since powered off.

“Be mine.” He pants against your neck. “I can’t do casual, not with you. Honey, I need you to say you’ll be mine.”

“I’ve been yours for years, Jay.” You reply, shuddering at the press of his lips to the thin skin over your carotid. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart.” He vows into your skin. “No getting rid of me now.”

[wendichester]

Darling! How are you? How is your week?

🍄 here

You said I could send more asks… so I’m going to reaaaally use that! Hope that’s ok :)

Hear me out… Dean an HER are undercover in a bar/roadhouse whatever to gather intel… SHE has to sing on stage because of reasons (you’re the genius writer you’ll figure it out 😘) and she sings “rhinestone ring” from Abby Cone cause she’s cheesy and her and Dean are idiots in love who have to talk about their feelings eventually?

Can be fluffy can be steamy… you decide

Luv ya 🍄

⋆˚˖° rhinestone ring,

summary. serenading dean in the middle of a case because the tension between you two is becoming unbearable

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 957

notes. first time hearing this song but it clicks so well with dean imo ehe thanks for the request lovely 🩷🍄

This is not what Dean signed up for.

He leans against the bar, whiskey in hand, watching as you step onto the stage, bathed in warm, golden light. The roadhouse is packed tonight—truckers, bikers, hunters, all of them turning to watch as you adjust the mic stand.

He should be watching the room. Keeping an eye out for their mark.

Instead, he’s watching you.

Your eyes flick to his before the music starts, and even from across the bar, Dean can see the teasing glint in them. You’re loving this.

He grits his teeth, rolling his shoulders. This is all part of the plan—cozy up to the locals, get the information they need, maybe shake a few hands and flash a few flirtatious smiles. The singing part? Not in the original game plan.

But you took one look at the stage, grinned like you had a secret, and next thing he knew, some gruff-looking guy was handing you a guitar and calling your name into the mic.

Now, Dean watches, breath held, as you bring the mic closer and let your voice pour into the room.

"Some girls want a big old diamond on a hand they hold too tight, Some girls wanna be in a fairytale, that’s just not my style..."

Your voice is smooth, soft but full of warmth, curling around every word like honey. Dean swallows hard, his fingers tightening around his glass.

He should have known you’d pick something like this.

You smirk as you get to the next part, eyes locking on him.

"I just want a rhinestone ring, Buy it with a neon glow, From a pawn shop down on Broadway, We’ll keep it on the low..."

Dean can feel the heat creeping up his neck. The crowd is eating it up, nodding along, tapping their fingers against their beers. They don’t know that this is for him, that you’re looking right at him like the words mean something.

He hates that his chest aches at the thought.

Because this is just a job. Just a cover. Just another night spent pretending.

Right?

You keep singing, strumming along to the melody, your voice turning sweeter, softer.

"I don’t need forever, just tonight with you..."

Dean exhales sharply. You have got to be kidding him.

He pushes off the bar, needing to put some space between himself and whatever the hell this is stirring up inside him. He moves to the edge of the crowd, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

You finish the song with a little flourish, sending a wink in his direction before handing off the guitar and hopping off the stage.

The bar erupts into applause.

Dean doesn’t move.

You weave through the crowd, stepping right up to him, eyes shining with amusement. "Well?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "That was real cute."

"Admit it, Winchester." You nudge him with your hip. "You liked it."

Dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re a damn menace, you know that?"

You grin. "And yet, you love me."

The words slip out so easily, so casually, that you don’t even seem to realize what you just said.

But Dean does.

His heart stutters, his smirk faltering for half a second before he covers it up with another sip of whiskey.

You tilt your head, watching him. "What?"

Dean sets his glass down on the table behind him, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Nothing."

But you don’t let it go.

Your fingers brush against his wrist, just for a second. A fleeting touch. A spark.

"Dean," you say, softer now.

He clenches his jaw, eyes flicking over the room—looking for an excuse, a distraction, anything.

But there’s nothing. Just you. Just this.

"You ever think about it?" you ask, voice quiet, hesitant.

Dean exhales sharply. "Think about what?"

Your lips quirk up. "A pawn shop ring. A neon glow."

His chest tightens. He should lie. He should. But when he looks at you, standing there with that damn knowing look in your eyes, he can’t.

"Yeah," he admits, voice rough. "Maybe."

You stare at him like you’re waiting for something else, something more.

And hell—maybe you deserve more.

But all Dean can do is shake his head with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "We should get back to work."

You study him for a beat longer before nodding. "Yeah. We should."

Neither of you move.

Dean swears under his breath before grabbing your hand and tugging you into the shadows of the hallway leading to the back of the bar.

You barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on yours, hungry and desperate, kissing you like he’s been dying for it.

And maybe he has.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, like you knew this was coming. Like you knew all along.

Dean presses you against the wall, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you fit against him like you were always meant to be here.

"Thought you didn’t do fairytales," he murmurs against your lips.

You smile, breathless. "I don’t."

His lips trail along your jaw, down to your neck. "Then what the hell was that song about?"

You laugh softly, tilting your head back to give him more access. "Not every love story needs a fairytale ending."

Dean pulls back just enough to look at you. "And ours?"

You search his face, your fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "Ours is whatever we want it to be." You shrug slightly. "As long as you're next to me, I don't really care,"

His breath catches.

And maybe a pawn shop ring and a neon glow don’t sound so bad after all.

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[wizard-on-whales]

I feel like when James is mad he'd be rude and aggressive but still caring…if that makes sense. 

Like if you don't feel good and aren't able to fix dinner one night. He'd come home from the studio, already in a bad mood from Lars and hangry and when he finds the table empty and you curled on the couch, he'd get even more upset. 

“Where's dinner?” He questions in an impatient tone. 

“I don't feel very good, just make yourself something,” You sigh softly, glancing over at him from the TV. 

“Seriously? What the hell’d you do all day? You've got a little stomach ache and now all of the sudden you can't do shit?,” He practically yelled before throwing his jacket aggressively onto the couch next to you and storming to the kitchen. You'd hear him slamming cabinets and the fridge and lots of ruckus for a few minutes before he returns with a few sandwiches. He sets down a plate in front of you, eating his own.

“Eat.” He'd demand, pushing the plate closer to you. 

“I told you I don't feel good…” you'd mutter, not making an effort to move.

“I don't give a shit, you need to eat something; You'll feel worse if you don't,” He groans impatiently, grabbing the plate and shoving it into your hands, not taking no for an answer. 

Or if you guys get into an argument over something and avoid each other all day, only sparing occasionally glares or mutters, he'd still kiss your forehead and wrap his arm around you when you get into bed that night because no matter how pissed, he wasn't able to sleep any other way. And he'd still mutter a quiet and slightly annoyed “I love you” in your ear. 

And if he snaps at you for no particular reason because his anger issues got the best of him, he'd try to take the time to cool down before speaking to you again. 

Maybe he was in the garage, pissed off because he couldn't get a rusted bolt off of the old car he was working on. You'd come in and ask him a simple question which resulted in him yelling at you. 

“Fuck off! Can't you leave me alone for five fucking seconds?!” He'd groan, throwing you a glare over his shoulder before going back to banging on the rusty bolt. You'd huff quietly and leave with pink cheeks of frustration and an aching heart. You'd go back into the house and mope around, deciding to distract yourself with the dishes. A while later you'd feel his arms wrap around your waist and a small kiss placed against your shoulder. 

“I'm sorry I yelled earlier…I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, I was in a pissy mood…” he'd say quietly, a sheepish tone in his voice. 

“It's okay…I shouldn't have bothered you knowing you were frustrated,” You'd sigh, keeping your gaze fixed on the dirty plate you were washing. James moves his arms away from you and grabs the plate, gently pushing you out of the way. 

“No it's not okay. I'll finish up, how about you go relax, alright,” He tells you softly, turning his attention to the dishes as he starts to do them for you. 

And we all know when he was a young drunk he was probably the type of man to get pissed if you denied him sex. He'd huff, and in an over exaggerated manner, turn his back to you and pull the sheets up, grumbling curses. You'd go to bed feeling guilty for denying him, feeling you disappointed him. But in the morning he'd realize his wrong doings and apologize. The next time you were in the mood he'd give you the best head he could, or knowing how much you loved his fast fingers, would have you lean against his chest as they quickly worked against your sensitive bud, somehow faster than he's ever picked a song, making you squirm and scream in pleasure. 

✭-----------------------------✭

[chenlezip]

secret admirer | woozi x reader .

⤷ summary: can i req a woozi fic? one where he writes little love songs and poems and y/n also writes them and they put love letters in eachother’s lockers BUTT its anonymous so they reject eachother without knowing its eachother :)!!

annas note: @jjjjeonww finally got around to writing this out for you, i’m so sorry it took me so long! 😖🤍 i hope i did it justice, thank you for writing chenle for me! (i’ll write out the mark request too!) i made a happy ending.. sort of..?

it’s the end of the school day and woozi is exhausted. he head to his locker, opening it and seeing something like a letter falling out of it. he bent down and picked it up, ‘to woozi’ it read with a small heart beside his name. what the hell? he questioned himself, who would do this? could it be someone he knew or not?

he shrugged it off for now, picking it up and hiding it in his blazer pocket as he grabbed his bag from the locker. he slammed it shut before feeling someone throw an arm over his shoulder, his best friend hoshi. “ji hoon~ how’s it going?” he asked and woozi just smiled, “it’s been a tiring day.”

once he’s back home and by himself in the comfort of his room, he opened the letter and read it.

‘your music reminds me of the sky before it rains— soft, melancholic, and utterly beautiful. i hope you never stop creating. it brings me great joy when i walk past the music room.’

but what intrigued him more was that there was no name on the bottom of the letter, just a small ‘yours, secret admirer.’

now, it’s your turn to find a letter in your locker. you just arrived at school and notice something just poking out of it. you take it out and smile, opening it up and reading the words on the paper, raw and unfiltered.

‘your words make me feel like i’m standing in the middle of my favourite song, you have such a way with them. and that’s quite rare.’

your heart pounded in your chest, oh my god.. this was the sweetest thing you’ve ever received in your life. you hid the letter in your notebook and head to class, rethinking the words over and over in your head.

it’s lunchtime. you’re eating together with woozi and his friends, laughing and having a great time. suddenly, someone mentions the fact that you both have received a secret letter from an admirer. you blush, “ah- it’s probably someone messaging around, right? i mean-“

woozi, on the other hand, noticed your reaction and his heart nearly dropped. messing around? he sighed, “yeah probably aha, i mean, who writes things like these nowadays?” now it was your turn for your heart to drop. thoughts were running through both your minds - is this really what they think? maybe i shouldn’t have wrote that letter now..

well, it soon comes out that woozi knows it’s you who wrote his letter. yeah.. he didn’t mean to snoop but he did notice the familiar writing poking out from your notebook that was on your desk in english class. luckily, you were asleep, head on the desk so he could take a closer look. he leaned in, slowly pulling it out and his eyes widened.

“you’re my secret admirer..” he whispered in a low tone. he smiled to himself and backed away, he had a plan. he was just going to write you a letter so you knew it was him, he didn’t care anymore, he wanted you to know.

and so, there he is in the back of the class, quickly writing out something small in his letter and quickly shoving it in your locker before the end of the day.

when you open it, you see it and you open it up, a gasp escaping from your lips as you see the name on the bottom.

‘i think we’ve been writing to each other for so long without really saying anything. let’s fix that, shall we? meet me after school— if you want this to be real.

lee jihoon.

[graceisinthelibrary]

Can I ask for the situation prompts. 9) Your favourite song is playing. (Maybe a slow dance 🥺)

Hello there,

I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but here we go...

“And the roses will die with the summertime, And our roads may be far apart, But there's one rose that dies not in Picardy, 'Tis the rose that I keep in my heart!” 

It was the saddest part of the song Audrey had ever heard, but there was so much truth in it. As the gramophone played on she blinked a tear away and did her best to focus on her knitting. She really should have put on another record for her little afternoon break, but it was one of favourites. So sad and yet so precious. 

“Roses of Picardy” reminded her of the Great War. Her war. The war she had served in as a Wren, when she had been of more use than today. These days she was only knitting socks for the boys at the front, hoping they would keep their feet warm. After all it was still January and the snow on the continent was deep. 

Rueful she remembered the time when she had done more than knitting to support her country. Her time in the Wrens had been an eye opening experience for her. She had learnt to shoot, had served on a minesweeper or had been taught how to use a telegraph. She still knew the Morse alphabet by heart and how to read a navigation map… She couldn’t believe there was nothing but knitting for her to do, but maybe she just hadn’t found the right occupation to do her bit yet.  

As she hummed along to the song, she also remembered the dancing. The singing. The comradery. The fun she had had with Dorothy. The sense of not knowing what lay ahead, the adventure of it…but most of all the dancing. The soldiers, mainly officers, who had asked her to dance. Most of the time it had been nothing but innocent fun. There had been wandering hands, of course, but she could deal with them. The dancing had been a way to pass the time. As long as they had danced, they had been alive. 

She remembered one particular officer who had stolen her heart just by dancing with her. Back then she had already been married, but he had allowed her to dream of another life than the one ahead of her. For one night she had envisioned another future than the one society had been expecting of her. 

“You’re in a jolly good mood.” 

She startled and almost dropped her knitting needles along with the two thirds of the sock she had been working on. 

“Mr Farnon!” She complained as she picked up her gear. As she looked over her shoulder she saw him standing in the doorway to the dining room, his arms crossed over his chest, a bright smile plastered all over his handsome face. 

He chuckled as approached her and kneeled down to help her. “I remember the song,” he said. 

“It ain’t Gilbert & Sullivan,” she joked. 

“I used to dance to it during the war,” he said, the fond memory now visible in his eyes. 

“Me too,” she confessed with a chuckle. “Those were the days.” 

“I guess we did have some fun after all,” he assumed as he handed her the sock, trying not to prick himself at the needles. Her fingers brushed against hers and she felt a little tingle where he touched her. 

He pushed himself up and sank on the sofa. 

“I seem to remember having encountered a couple of Wrens on my way back from Ypres. They served on our ship and I remember how marvellous they were - on the dance floor and in every other regard.” He gave a glance that made her blush. Did he try to flirt with her? 

“Well, the officers certainly knew how to get in our good graces.” 

“Did they succeed? With you I mean?” His brown rested on her, inquiringly and with a certain sense of mischief sparkling in them. 

“What do you think?” She returned the question, unwilling to give away too much. The former Captain Farnon had certainly been a notorious flirt in his day and age. 

“I think Principle Hall probably knows more than she lets on,” he replied. He looked down at his fingernails and added, “I got married on leave, so the last thing on my mind was overdoing it. But I enjoyed the dancing.” 

“Well, many did…” she mused. 

“Although once…” He paused when her eyes shot up. “I met a Wren who made me reconsider my vows in an instant.” 

“I reckon she were special,” Audrey said, trying to keep the mood light. Mr Farnon had loved his wife very much and she had a hard time imagining him straying from his promises to her. He wasn’t the kind of man who took vows lightly. 

“Dark hair, clear eyes, soft smile,” he summed up. “And wicked sense of humour. She was lucky I was taken.” 

“Were she?” Audrey wondered. 

“I remember dancing the night away with her…” He rose and put on the record again. 

“She is watching by the poplars, Colinette with the sea-blue eyes, She is watching and longing and waiting, Where the long white roadway lies…” 

“May I ask for this dance…” 

“Mr Farnon!” She giggled and looked down on her pinny. “We can’t… what if someone comes in…” 

“Then I’ll be willing to swear you’re teaching me how to move my rusty old bones!” He stretched out his hand. “Come on now, Mrs H! We haven’t got all afternoon!” 

With her knees consisting of pudding and her heart racing in her chest, she rose and followed him into the middle of the room. As he pulled her a little closer than necessary, her cheeks began to burn, and she wanted to hiccup with excitement. Their bodies fitted so well… he moved so exquisitely elegant that she felt clumsy and worried to stumble over her own feet. But she didn’t. The longer he guided her across the room, becoming more and more bold with her, she felt lighter. She picked up on his pace, relaxed her hand that was resting on his shoulder and started to giggle when he finally whirled her around. 

When she ended up back in his arms, she felt his lips brushing over her ear. His whisper was a bit husky and his hot breath made her dizzy, “I’ve always known it was you…” 

[wchswift]

ଓ VALENTINE'S DAY WITH DEAN

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: dean pretends not to care about the holiday, but every year he makes sure to celebrate it with you.

word count: 700

note: this blurb was requested by @bettystonewell for headcanon from dean in valentine's day! I didn't like this one very much but I really hope you enjoy it <3 this is part of my 125 followers celebration! Join the celebration too!

── english isn't my first language :)

mdni 𖤐 18+

"Valentine’s Day is a scam, sweetheart."

Dean had grumbled those exact words this morning—coffee in one hand, mouth full of pancake—looking wholly unimpressed by the pink and red decorations plastered around the diner where you’d stopped for breakfast.

"Hallmark holiday. Just a bunch of overpriced flowers and bad chocolate. What's the point? I show you that I love you every day; I don't need a special day for that," he snorted, continuing his speech. "Valentine's Day is only beneficial for singles because it's a great day to hit on women at the bar."

You’d rolled your eyes, laughing, because honestly? You knew better. You knew Dean Winchester—knew that he could act all tough and indifferent, but at the end of the day, he was all heart when it came to you. He literally did this every year, and by the end of the day, he always pulled off the most romantic or cute gesture to show that he still cared and was still there for you.

Which is how you found yourself here, sitting in a booth at your favorite diner, a basket of greasy fries between you, REO Speedwagon playing on the jukebox.

You narrow your eyes at the man across from you. “You sure you don’t do Valentine’s Day?”

Dean shrugs, all casual-like, grabbing a fry and popping it into his mouth. “What? Can’t we just enjoy a nice dinner together? Just you and me? You know how much I love a greasy meal,” he says with an exaggerated wink that tells you he's full of it.

You just nod but can't help but notice the small, wrapped package he's trying—and failing—to hide beneath his jacket on the seat.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Uh-huh. So, you just happened to take me to my favorite diner, with my favorite fries, let me pick all the songs, and—” With a pointed finger, you direct his attention to the little pink-wrapped gift. “—get me a gift?”

“It’s not a gift!” he protests, a hint of fluster breaking through his cool demeanor. “It’s just… something I’ve wanted to give you for a while, and it was in..." He stumbles over his words. "In my pocket,” he finishes, his voice low.

Biting your lip, you pull the little package toward you and carefully unwrap it, the delicate paper crinkling slightly under your fingers. Inside is a mixtape—classic Dean Winchester. And when you turn it over, your heart does a little stupid flip at the handwritten label.

I Love You Mix Tape

For My Lucky Charm.

It's so simple yet so meaningful.

You glance up at him, your chest tightening. “Dean… you big softie,” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

He lets out a snorted laugh, looking almost embarrassed, bringing his beer to his lips in a futile attempt to hide his reaction. “It's not anything grand,” he admits, his voice a bit sheepish. “I just thought I’d give you something you’d appreciate. I know it’s not much—definitely not a big, romantic gesture.”

The earnestness in his tone makes your heart swell a little more, softening the edges of the moment.

Setting the tape down, you slide out of your seat, and before he can react, you slip into the booth next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Shut up. It's perfect, Dean. Really. I love this—all of it.”

Dean huffs, but you can feel the way he relaxes under your touch, his arm immediately draping over your shoulders. “Damn it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re gonna make me start actually likin’ this stupid holiday.”

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips against his. “Oh, you love it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

His fingers tighten on your waist, and the playful glint in his eyes turns darker, more intent. “Maybe. But you know what part of the holiday I do like?”

You swallow as his lips graze your jaw, his voice dipping lower. “What’s that?”

Dean grins against your skin. “The part where I take you back to the motel and spend the whole damn night reminding you how much you mean to me.”

And suddenly, Valentine’s Day doesn’t seem like such a scam after all.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

taglist: @lyarr24 @chevroletdean @cowboysandcigarettes @nochedie (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

[chibinasuu]

How they'd spend Valentine's Day with you

Pairings: Penguin, Marco, Franky, Izou x Reader Tags: sfw, fluff, established relationship, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

a/n: you might be thinking, what a random set of characters! well, a while ago i did a poll on which of my blorbos i should write a valentine’s fic for, and Killer won, but i still felt like doing something for the other characters who didn’t win, so here are some valentine’s day headcanons with them! i hope you enjoy this and please be on the lookout for the Killer fic on 14 feb too 😘

Penguin

Penguin would be the type to ask “Will you be my Valentine’s?” every single time on Valentine’s Day, even after years of dating.

When you say yes, like you always do, he’d grin so wide and give you a big smooch right on your lips.

Penguin loves to spoil you with gifts.

He’d take you out on a special date to the market, indulging you as you browse the many stalls there one by one.

Without you knowing, he’d pay attention and take note of all the things you touched and admired, the stuff you’d eye for a tad bit too long, the items that made your eyes sparkle.

He’d buy every single one of them.

At the end of the day, his bag would be stuffed with all the little trinkets, to the point that it would be hard for him to hide it from you.

Before you return to the Polar Tang, he’d hand over the bag to you with a shy smile, which would turn into a wide grin when he witnessed your surprised expression and gasp of delight.

His face would flush as you hug him tight and pepper kisses all over his face.

He’d never get tired of receiving affection from you. That, for him, is the most precious gift of all.

Marco

Marco was not a fan of Valentine’s Day. He had always thought it trivial... at least, until he met you.

On your first Valentine’s Day as a couple, he’d be so nervous that he’d ask Ace for advice.

The Fire Fist would recommend candlelight dinners, romantic poetries, breakfast in bed – but none of them seemed right.

For Marco, loving you is as simple as breathing, as natural as flying. He had never felt the need to do grand gestures to show his love, and you never expected him to either. You have never felt more loved than the time you spent with Marco.

It would come as a surprise when a knock sounds on your door, and you open it to reveal a bashful Marco holding a humble bunch of hand-picked flowers.

His face would be bright red as he asks for your hand, inviting you out to the deck. You’d follow in confusion, even more so when he tells you to hop onto his back.

He’d spread his wings of blue flames and take you to the skies, laughing when you yelp in shock and tighten your grip around his neck, eyes firmly shut

He’d urge you to open your eyes, and you’d gasp in wonder at the sight of the bright stars all around you.

You’d relax and enjoy the wind on your face, occasionally giving him a peck on the cheek from your perch on his back.

Fear would not find you for the rest of the flight, despite the terrifying height.

You were with Marco, after all. He would never let you fall.

Franky

Franky is definitely a romantic and you bet he’d go all out for Valentine’s.

You’d be randomly visited by robot doves singing love songs. You’d find little love notes folded into hearts tucked in your drawers, slid underneath your door, and not-so-subtly slipped into your pockets.

The day would culminate in a romantic dinner on the upper deck of the Sunny.

He’d stand there with a suit (no pants, of course), the red bow tie matching his speedos and the massive bouquet of roses he’s holding out to you.

He’d grin, “Happy Valentine’s, Sugar.”

Before him would be a table for two, complete with a white tablecloth, candles, and a scatter of rose petals.

He’d pull out your chair, not forgetting to compliment your looks and outfit, of course.

He would've begged Sanji to make all of your favorite meals, bribing him with a new state-of-the-art lock for the fridge.

You two would share a toast with cola-filled wine glasses and spend the night just chatting and laughing together, and maybe shamelessly flirting too.

After dinner, he’d treat you to a spectacular fireworks show, and you’d wonder how he managed to make the pink sparks explode into heart patterns all over the night sky.

A sweet kiss would be the cherry on top following dessert, the sugary taste lingering as he’d drag you to some secret corner on the Sunny that only he knew about.  

Izou

Izou never so much as holds your hand in front of other people.

“It’s not very becoming of Wano men to show public displays of affection,” would be his usual excuse.

You never really minded. You’re plenty satisfied with the affection he showers you with whenever the two of you are alone.

But on Valentine’s Day, as the Whitebeard Pirates party the night away at a crowded bar, Izou would suddenly grasp your hips and pull you into his lap, his hand possessively resting against your thigh.

You’d quirk an eyebrow at him, “I thought it wasn’t becoming of Wano men to show public displays of affection.”

“Well, I’m a pirate now. I can do whatever I want.”

You’d laugh, knowing him well enough to figure out that he just wanted the other men at the bar to back off, in case they get ideas of wooing you during this Day of Love.

After a while, you’d drag him away from the bar, eagerly leading him to the shore where you can take a leisurely stroll beneath the moon.

Moonlit walks are among Izou's favorite things to do, and he had started taking you with him when you two became a couple.

You love how the moon illuminates his face and reflects off his hair. You love how serene and romantic these quiet walks with Izou are

But most of all, you love how it would be just the two of you out there on the shore, and you know that Izou’s hands and lips are always the most free when no one is watching.

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