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ruewritesoccasionally · 2 days ago

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Made for Me | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black reader

summary: after a long day on the job, all terry wants is the warmth of his woman and the comfort of home. but when she’s not waiting at the door, he finds something even sweeter waiting in bed and a night that reminds him just how lucky he is.

word count: 2.3K

warnings: fluff, explicit smut (18+), praise kink, soft dom/sub dynamics, domestic intimacy, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, spanking, dirty talk, themes of possessiveness + ownership, aftercare

a/n: soft!dom terry and wife worship ?? sign me up

The door creaked open on its hinges, the familiar weight of it grounding Terry as he stepped inside, steel-toe boots thudding heavily against the floor. The scent of home hit him first, something warm, seasoned, and slow-cooked. His stomach grumbled. His shoulders ached. Muscles pulled taut from a long shift, grease still clinging under his fingernails and grit caked into the lines of his palms.

The house was quiet.

No soft footsteps rushing to the door. No warm body throwing arms around his neck, peppering kisses across his jaw, teasing him for smelling like diesel and sweat. Just silence, low-lit lamps, and the soft hum of something playing faintly from the kitchen radio.

He paused, brows drawing together. Not in frustration, just… surprise. He had been used to her. To that light in his day, that little smile she always wore just for him, like she had been waiting all afternoon just to make him feel like a king walking through the door.

Instead, he found a plate waiting on the kitchen counter, wrapped neatly in foil. Beside it, a little note written in her hand:

“Eat up, baby. I made your favourite. Didn’t want it to get cold. I’ll be waiting in bed. I love you.”

—x—

A slow smile curved across his face as he pulled off his jacket, fingers lingering on the note. His chest swelled, soft with affection and longing. God, he loved her.

Still… something about the house without her presence at the door made it feel too still. Like it hadn’t quite turned into home yet.

He sat down, ate with quiet gratitude, licking sauce from his thumb and letting the warmth of her cooking settle in his bones. But the thing he really craved?

Was upstairs.

Waiting for him.

Terry set his empty plate in the sink, gave the note one last glance, and sighed like a man already half-asleep on his feet. Every muscle begged for rest, but his mind was fixed on her - how quiet the house felt without her laughter drifting from the living room, or the scent of her skin hugging him in welcome.

Upstairs, he peeled off his clothes slow. Not for show, he never did anything just for show but because that was how he unwound. Belt undone, jeans shrugged off one leg at a time, T-shirt pulled over his head and tossed into the hamper with a tired grunt.

The shower steamed quickly, hot and heavy as he stepped beneath the spray. Dirt and sweat ran in rivulets down his broad back, his arms, his thick thighs. He braced one hand on the wall, head bowed, letting the water drum against sore shoulders. Another day down.

He reached for the soap, lathered up slowly, scrubbing the grime from his skin. A breathy chuckle escaped as he murmured to himself, low and fond,

“She’d still call me handsome even when I come home smelling like work. Crazy little thing.”

He thought of her in that second, probably curled up in bed, half-asleep, wearing one of those soft nightgowns she swore weren’t sexy. But to him?

God, nothing had ever looked better.

He washed his neck, thinking of her lips there. Washed between his legs, thinking of how her hands always fit just right. She had been in every thought, every muscle memory, every sigh that left his lungs.

He finished up with another long pass of water over his face, letting the day slide off him completely. Then, towel slung low on his hips, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, he stepped out, silent and barefoot, ready to find the heart of his home.

The bedroom was dim and quiet, moonlight cutting soft lines across the floor. Terry stepped in, still towel-clad, still warm from the shower, and stopped in his tracks.

There she was.

Curled up on her side of the bed, delicate and small despite how deeply she filled every corner of his heart. One arm tucked under her head, legs drawn up, nightdress bunched up high on her thighs like it always did when she slept deep and undisturbed.

It wasn’t anything flashy; no lace, no satin. Just a soft, worn little thing. Wife-core to the bone. But it was hers. And on her? Christ. It clung to every soft swell and gentle curve like it was stitched by the hands of fate just for her and his eyes alone.

Terry stood there for a long moment, just watching. Chest aching with something bigger than exhaustion, heavier than lust. That familiar swell behind the ribs, the feeling that this was what made every long shift worth it.

He padded closer, slow and quiet, not wanting to startle her. The towel slipped lower on his hips as he knelt beside the bed and reached out.

His fingers brushed the bare skin of her calf, warm and smooth under his calloused hand.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice low and thick with longing. “Come into bed more. You know I couldn’t sleep without holdin’ my girl.”

She stirred, slow and groggy, barely blinking as she turned her head toward him. Her voice was a breath of air, soft and drowsy:

“Wanted to leave space for you…”

God.

It hit him like a punch to the gut - the kind that stole your breath not from pain, but from love so thick it pressed into your lungs.

“Aw, sweetheart…”

He eased the blanket back, climbed in beside her, strong arms snaking around her waist. One hand slid up her side, coaxing her gently toward him, cradling her like she was made of spun sugar.

She stretched in that half-asleep way, arms forward, legs back, and her body arched, slow and feline. The hem of her nightdress hiked up over her hips in the process. And that was when he saw it.

Nothing underneath.

No panties. Just bare, warm, glistening skin.

Terry stilled.

His breath stopped in his chest, then spilled out in one slow, ragged draw. That pulse between his legs kicked alive, instant and undeniable.

“Ooooh fuck, woman…” His voice was thick, almost reverent, laced with a growl at the end. “The things you do to me.”

He didn’t pounce. He didn’t rush.

No, he slid out from under the covers, knelt behind her at the edge of the bed, and just looked.

Big hands spread her thighs with reverent care. He groaned under his breath at the sight—soft folds slick and glistening, waiting, aching. Her warmth already called to him.

“You tryna kill me, leavin’ this sweet little thing waitin’ for me like that?” His voice dipped lower, rougher. He palmed the curve of her ass, leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, slow and indulgent.

One hand kept her spread while the other ran up her spine, settling over her lower back. His mouth hovered just barely above her cunt, his breath ghosting over sensitive skin.

He kissed her again, right there, tongue parting her lips in a slow, deliberate lick from back to front.

“Mmhm… you taste like my girl. My good little wife. Built for me, huh?”

Terry was already on his knees, shoulders square between her thighs. The room was quiet, still, save for the soft sigh of her breathing and the low hum of his voice, thick with hunger.

He leaned in again, tongue flattening as he licked a long, deliberate stripe up her soaked centre. Her thighs twitched. He hummed into her, pleased.

“You taste like my whole damn world, baby…” he groaned, barely audible as he pressed another open-mouthed kiss to her folds. “This pussy’s heaven.”

He didn’t rush. He savoured.

Slow, deep licks. Tongue flicking against her clit, then dipping lower to tease her entrance, then lower still, giving her ass the same reverence, like she was made of gold and he was here to worship.

He ate like a man starved. Gripping the meat of her thighs to keep her still while he feasted, each moan vibrating against her until she was gasping, trembling, toes curled into the sheets.

“Can’t believe this is mine…” he panted, between licks. “Sweetest fuckin’ thing I ever tasted. Goddamn, girl, you spoil me.”

She tried to wriggle, the pressure building too fast—but he didn’t let her go.

“Uh-uh, stay right there. Don’t you run from me.”

He groaned as she began to fall apart, her thighs squeezing around his head, her voice cracking with breathless, desperate moans.

That was what he wanted. That was what he needed.

She came with a whimper, shaking, face buried in a pillow, and he didn’t stop, not until she was gasping, twitching, overstimulated.

Only then did he pull back, face wet, eyes dark, voice wrecked with praise.

“That’s my good girl… makin’ Daddy proud.

The moment he sank into her, it was deep, slow—deliberate. He paused just for a second, allowing her to adjust to the fullness of him before pulling her closer. The weight of him stretched her, making her gasp softly. He watched her closely, his hands digging into her waist, fingers marking her skin as if he wanted to brand her.

He let her ride for a moment, a slow rhythm at first. Her hips rolled against him, taking what he gave her, each movement driving him mad with the sweet friction.

Then, with one swift motion, he flipped her. Her body landed with a soft thud against the bed, and he loomed over her, a grin playing on his lips, cock still buried deep inside her. He couldn’t stop himself from praising her, the words spilling out like they’d been pent up for far too long.

“The boys at work don’t know I come home to a pussy like this,” he gritted, voice rough and possessive. “They can only dream about this. My perfect little wife. Built just for me, aren’t you?”

Her brain was fogged with pleasure. Her body could barely keep up. She wanted to respond, but all she could manage was a desperate, incoherent whimper.

Terry chuckled darkly at her lack of words. His hand came down on her ass with a sharp, satisfying crack. The sound reverberated in the room, making the heat between them even hotter. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, gravelly and commanding.

“Say it. Tell Daddy who owned this sweet fuckin’ cunt.”

Her body trembled, and she could barely speak through the haze of pleasure. But she knew what he wanted. She knew he would never let up until she gave him what he needed.

“Y-You, Terry,” she gasped, voice cracking with the intensity of it all. “You own me. All yours.”

The words sent a surge of possessiveness through him, and he rutted into her, pushing deeper. His body moved like an unstoppable force, each thrust a little harder, a little faster, until she was gasping, clinging to the sheets beneath her.

He could feel her tightness, her heat, her desperate need for him. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her, keeping her in place as he took what was his.

“Good girl,” he murmured, praising her through gritted teeth. “So fuckin’ good for me. I could never share you. You’re built just for me.”

Her body trembled with the force of each thrust, and Terry could feel the way she tightened around him, her orgasm building. He slapped her ass again, louder this time, and heard her voice break with pleasure, feeling her pussy flutter around him in response.

Her moans fuelled him, making him want to lose himself in her.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice thick with need. “Tell me who owned this pussy.”

Her words spilled out in a rush, breathless and full of need. “You do, Terry! You own me! I’m yours!”

Her response spurred him on, and his pace quickened. He felt himself getting closer, he could feel the tightening in his gut, the familiar rush of pleasure building inside him. Her cries became more frantic, her body rocking in time with his.

Then, just when he thought he couldn’t hold back anymore, he hit that perfect spot—the spot that made her scream out in pleasure. She cried his name, her orgasm rushing over her in waves. Her body shook, and the sound of her release drove him wild.

The warmth of her pleasure, the way her body tightened around him, pushed him over the edge. With a final groan, he released, burying himself deep inside her as his own orgasm hit, flooding her with his warmth.

He stayed still for a moment, chest heaving, both of them caught in the aftershocks of the intensity of it all.

The room felt thick with warmth and sweat, the air still humming with the echoes of their bodies. Terry moved slowly, as if the world had quieted around them. He reached for a soft towel by the bed, careful not to pull too far from her. His movements were gentle, reverent, like he was handling something sacred.

He murmured something low, a kiss pressed to the curve of her shoulder. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

She whimpered softly, spent and pliant, trusting him entirely as he cleaned her up. Every swipe was tender, not rushed, like he was committing her to memory all over again. He tossed the towel aside when he was done and slipped back under the blankets, gathering her close until her body curved perfectly into his.

One arm wrapped firmly around her middle, the other came up to stroke her hair—slow, soothing, like he could lull her to sleep just with the rhythm of his touch. His nose nuzzled the top of her head, breath brushing her temple.

“You’re all I ever wanted,” he whispered, voice thick with everything he didn’t say aloud. “My good girl. My whole damn heart.”

She didn’t speak right away, too heavy-limbed and sated, but when she did, her voice was small and drowsy.

“You’re mine too.”

Her words settled into him like a prayer, anchoring him. Terry tightened his hold just slightly, grounding himself in the weight of her, the scent of her skin, the soft rise and fall of her chest against his.

Outside, the moonlight peeked in faint silver slivers through the curtains. But inside their little world, everything was warm and still.

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#ruewrites #terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black female reader #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond fic #aaron pierre #aaron pierre fanfic #rebel ridge

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wonsiwon · 2 days ago

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the breaking point | p.js

genre— angst (not really) hurt/comfort, slice of life, domestic

pairing— reader × jay (husband!jay)

synopsis— after the worst day in a long time, you get in jay’s car without a word. you don’t mean to be mean, but when he asks what’s wrong, everything you’ve buried comes crashing out.

warnings— mentions of stress, crying, emotional shutdown, implied burnout, slight argument, comfort-heavy ending

you didn’t even want to call him.

you stood outside the building, hands freezing, breath visible in the air even though it wasn��t that cold. your phone screen showed his name on the lock screen, calling you because you were late. because you said you’d be out by six, and it was already pushing seven.

it was supposed to be an easy day. a few reports, a presentation, some annoying emails. you’ve handled worse. but today, nothing worked. the printer jammed, your coworker dumped their part of the work on you last minute, your boss nitpicked everything you did like it was personal, and someone even made a comment about how tired you looked in the elevator. you forgot your lunch on the kitchen counter this morning. you spilled coffee on your shirt before noon. and then had to stay late to redo something that wasn’t even your mistake.

so, yeah. you were already over it before you even stepped into jay’s car.

you pull the door shut without saying anything. just drop your bag at your feet and lean your head back against the seat, eyes closed.

jay turns his head, smile ready but it falters the second he sees your face.

you don’t look at him. don’t say hi. don’t even breathe in his direction. your jaw’s tight, arms crossed, eyes fixed out the window like the sky pissed you off too.

jay watches you for a second, hand still resting on the steering wheel. “hey, baby..” he says softly, “you okay?”

you exhale, sharp and tired. “just drive, jay.”

his brows pull together. “okay…” he puts the car in drive, silence wrapping around both of you. but he keeps glancing over, concern growing. “work was that bad, huh?”

you don’t respond. you’re chewing your bottom lip raw, picking at your nails like if you stay quiet long enough, you’ll disappear into the leather seat.

jay tries again, gentle. “wanna talk about it?”

“no.”

“you sure? maybe i can help—”

“i said no, jay.” it came out harsher than you intended, turning to him.

jay blinked, pulling the car up to a red light. “alright. but you don’t have to snap at me, baby.”

“jesus.” you mutter under your breath, head falling back against the seat, again. “i’m not snapping, you just don’t listen.”

his hand grips the wheel a little tighter, but his voice stays calm. “don’t do that. i’m trying here.”

you shake your head. “i don’t need you to try. i just need peace. five fucking minutes without someone asking me to explain myself.”

that does it.

he pulls the car over to the side of the road and puts it in park. turns to face you fully.

“baby, what’s wrong with you tonight?” his voice is low now. not angry, hurt. “you’ve been all snappy since you got in the car.

you open your mouth, to yell, to bite back, to say something that’ll push him further away, but instead it crumbles.

your lip wobbles. breath catches. and then it hits you all at once.

the tears you’ve been holding back since noon break loose. they burst out of your eyes like a dam finally gave in. you turn your face to your hands, sobbing so hard like you’ve been holding it in for weeks.

jay’s already unbuckling. leaning over to wrap his arms around you. “oh, sweetheart—” he whispers, wrapping you in his arms before you can even think.

“i’m so tired..” you cry into his chest. “everything’s falling apart. they dumped everything on me again, and i messed up and my boss was on my ass and i didn’t even get to eat and—fuck, i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

“hey, it’s okay. don’t apologize.” he murmurs, brushing your hair back. “my poor girl. why didn’t you say something sooner?”

you can barely talk through the sobs, but it spills out in pieces. how everything just felt too much and you didn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“you should’ve called me..” he says gently, brushing your hair back. “i would’ve brought you lunch. you’re my wife. if something it’s happening, you have to tell me.”

he pulls back just enough to cup your face, thumbing away your tears. your shoulders shake again and he kisses your forehead.

“you’re so strong, baby. i’m proud of you, especially on the worst days.”

“i was mean to you..” you whisper.

“you were overwhelmed.” he corrects gently. “you don’t have to be perfect with me. i know who you are, and i love you. all of you. even the tired, pissed off version.”

you let out a broken laugh, still teary.

he tucks your hair behind your ear. “we’re gonna go home. i’m gonna run you a bath, order your favourite food and rub your back until you fall asleep. okay?”

you nod slowly, clinging to him.

“okay..” you whisper. “thank you.”

“always, baby.” he says, kissing your temple again. “you don’t have to go through any of this alone.”

need a boyfie jay like dis ˙◠˙

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 days ago

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Right Here, Always

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst with a soft ending, parental themes, military separation, mentions of emotional distance, a persistent but soft!Simon, slow-burn reconnection

Author's Note: This is for all of my baby daddy Simon lovers out there. I’m sorry if there’s mistakes! I’m half awake doing this

Summary: You swore you were done with him, but Simon Riley never really let go. And even with the miles and damage between you, he keeps showing up—for you, and the son you share. Maybe the door you slammed shut wasn't as locked as you thought.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

——

The knock comes just after sunset.

You glance up from where you’re wrestling your wriggly four-year-old into pajamas.

“Johnny, stop kicking, baby. Mummy doesn’t have the stamina to fight you and whatever just showed up at the door.”

He giggles, completely unaffected. “Is it Daddy?”

Your heart lurches. He always asks that.

You lift him into your arms and head to the door, half-expecting no one—only to find the broad silhouette of Simon Riley leaning against the frame, hood up, hands full of bags.

Again.

You don’t even ask how he got past the gate buzzer this time. He always finds a way.

“You’re supposed to be on base,” you say, eyeing the bag with the logo of your favorite bakery. “You flew down just to restock my fridge?”

He shrugs. “Had leave. Figured I’d spend it right.”

Johnny wriggles in your arms and squeals, “Daddy!”

Simon immediately straightens and opens his arms. You let your son dive into them, even though your chest tightens watching it.

“Missed you, mate,” Simon murmurs as he lifts the boy into a hug. His eyes flicker toward you. “Missed you both.”

You say nothing.

——

Flashback – One Year Ago

The breakup wasn’t one big explosion. It was a slow burn. Missed birthdays. Silent dinners. Deployment after deployment until you were raising a toddler alone while loving a ghost who kept disappearing.

“I can’t keep doing this, Simon,” you had said one night, voice shaking. “You’re more devoted to the bloody military than your own son.”

He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t begged.

He’d just looked at you with those hollow, tired eyes.

“I do this for him.”

And that was the problem. You didn’t want a soldier. You wanted the man behind the mask. But somewhere along the way, you lost him.

——

Your phone buzzes late one night, just as you’re settling into bed.

SIMON (FaceTime)

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the answer button. Johnny’s already asleep, but he’ll be heartbroken if he misses a call.

You pick up.

The screen flickers. Simon’s face is partially shadowed, a locker behind him, camo undershirt clinging to his frame. He looks exhausted.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hi.”

“Where’s my little menace?”

“Sleeping. Long day.”

He smiles faintly. “Wish I’d seen him.”

You shift the phone, then sigh. “He made a dinosaur out of socks today. He says its name is ‘Sergeant Roary.’”

Simon chuckles, rubbing his jaw. “He’s got the imagination.”

“Wonder where he gets it from,” you mutter, a soft jab.

A pause.

Then—quietly—“How are you, love?”

You blink at the endearment, throat tightening. You should shut it down, remind him it’s not like that anymore. But instead…

“Tired. Work’s a mess. He’s got another ear infection, and I—” You stop, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

Simon doesn’t. “Want me to send some extra meds? I’ll call the doc.”

“No,” you snap. “I don’t need you to fix everything, Simon.”

He nods slowly. “Alright. But I’ll always offer.”

You end the call before you say something stupid. But later, as you lay beside your sleeping son, your fingers ghost over his cheek and you whisper, “He misses you.”

——

You don’t expect to find Simon sitting on your porch the next day, a toolbox at his feet.

“Boiler’s acting up,” he says casually.

You narrow your eyes. “You stalking my utility bills now?”

“Neighbour mentioned you cursed it out loud enough to rattle windows.”

You glare—but you let him in.

While he works under the sink, Johnny sits beside him, handing tools with far too much excitement. You catch yourself leaning against the doorframe, watching.

Simon glances up at you and grins slightly.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t think this means anything.”

“Didn’t say it did.”

But something about the way his voice dips—hopeful, steady—tells you he’s counting every inch you let him in.

——

The boiler works again.

And you didn’t even have to call a technician—Simon handled it in less than an hour, sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor in a worn t-shirt and jeans, his arms covered in grease and soap bubbles from your leaky pipe.

You should’ve been irritated. But instead, you found yourself standing in the doorway with your arms crossed and an ache in your chest as you watched him talk softly to your son, Johnny, while they “fixed the monster pipe” together.

Johnny had squealed in delight every time Simon asked him to hand him a wrench. His tiny voice shouted, “Aye aye, Sarge!”—a little phrase Simon had taught him a year ago and he still remembered.

You don’t tell Simon that Johnny sometimes uses it when he’s playing alone, marching through the living room with his toy soldiers, pretending he’s on a secret mission to “rescue Daddy.”

You don’t tell him because if you say it aloud, it makes it real—how much his absence hurts, how much it’s still affecting you both.

And you’ve worked so damn hard to keep that part of your heart on lockdown.

——

It starts with a flat tire, followed by a warning light blinking on your dashboard all the way to work. Johnny throws a tantrum during daycare drop-off. Then your boss decides it’s the perfect day to breathe down your neck about a report that wasn’t even late.

By the time you get home, your back is aching, your eyes sting, and your soul just feels exhausted.

You manage to make it through dinner and bedtime—barely. But as soon as Johnny’s tucked in and the house is still, the weight of the day slams into you.

You sink to the couch, face in your hands. For a moment, you don’t even realize you’re crying until the tears are dripping through your fingers.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Simon: You okay?

You stare at the message.

You hadn’t texted him.

You hadn’t called.

But somehow, he still knows.

With trembling fingers, you type back:

You always text me when I’m about to fall apart?

He replies instantly.

Only when I feel it. Want me to call?

You hesitate.

You: Yeah. Please.

The screen lights up, and his face fills the frame. His hair is damp, pushed back messily, a plain white tee hugging his chest.

He looks like he’s in the barracks, soft lighting flickering above him.

He sees your face and his expression immediately shifts—softens.

“Bad day?” he asks, voice low and comforting.

You nod, wiping at your eyes. “Felt like everything hit at once. I’m just... tired, Simon.”

There’s a pause.

Then his voice, barely above a whisper: “Wish I was there.”

Your throat closes up. You hate how much you want him next to you right now.

“You don’t get to do this,” you say shakily.

“You don’t get to still know when I need someone.”

He tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours.

“Then tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this. That you don’t want me around anymore.”

Silence stretches between you.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

Simon doesn’t smile—but his gaze warms.

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

——

A week later, you find Johnny curled on the couch with your phone, giggling at the screen. You’re half-certain he’s watching cartoons until you hear a familiar voice through the speaker.

“Oi, you cheeky bugger. You eat your broccoli today or is your mum still fighting that battle solo?”

You glance over his shoulder—and there’s Simon, grinning faintly from a shadowed corner of base.

You sit beside your son as he giggles, “Mum said I can have dessert after.”

“Smart lad,” Simon replies. “She’s the boss, ain’t she?”

Johnny pauses, then says something you didn’t expect:

“Miss you, Daddy.”

Your heart freezes.

Simon’s face softens immediately—his jaw tightening like he’s holding something in. “I miss you too, Johnny.”

You look at your son, who’s smiling like the sun’s in his chest, and feel something inside you crack open.

That night, while tucking Johnny in, you ask quietly, “Why did you call him that? Daddy?”

He looks at you, confused. “He is my daddy. Even if he’s busy being a superhero! He’ll always be my daddy.”

It’s so simple. So honest.

And you don’t have the strength to argue with it.

——

Simon shows up two days later with a box of food and a secondhand bike small enough for Johnny’s age.

You’re about to tell him off—again—but stop when you see Johnny’s face.

He squeals with joy, jumps into his dad’s arms, and for the first time in weeks, you don’t tell Simon to leave after dinner.

You watch as he tightens the bike bolts in the hallway, Johnny hovering beside him asking a million questions, and you realize you don’t feel exhausted tonight. You feel...

Warm.

Full.

When Simon stands to go, he stops by the door and looks at you, hopeful.

“You okay if I stop by again tomorrow?”

You hesitate. Then nod, once.

His expression doesn’t change much—but his eyes soften, like he just took a deep breath after holding it for months.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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changeling-droneco · 2 days ago

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#i fully used the jkr stuff to hopefully get some allos to actually pay attention and I am not ashamed#i would do it again in heartbeat

Honestly it's nothing to be ashamed if even one person saw that going down and decided to look deeper into aspec stuff or at least put forward a bit more of an effort to support it, totally worth it. Talking about some of my own experiences under the cut, it's a bit heavy with serious themes therefor, cut.

I got pretty lucky back then due to being a rather smaller blog at the time who mostly just reblogged other people back then so I dodged anything specifically targeting me but it really did feel like every other day someone I followed would reblog just something super aphobic out of the blue and I'd have to block them. I changed my icon to the ace colors back then as a part of being prideful of my identity yes, but also as a show of "you can't make us go away" I genuinely thought over whether it was worth the potential attention and hate from other queer people.

I remember finding cool lesbian blogs or whatever and having to check their faq or info or just search asexual and nine times out of ten be met with some cheeky aphobic response about how we weren't real or that our acceptance was heavily conditional like "ace" or "aro" was just an unimportant additive to our REAL label. I remember the gore and the sheer amount of sexual violence. I remember being TERRIFIED in june because it all got SO MUCH WORSE and more violent during pride an instinct that took me YEARS to get over.

I was there for the Thomas Sanders stuff and the tldr is someone sent an ask going all "hey what do you think of ace people" and thomas sanders the gay tiktok star was like "yeah ace people exist I support them" and then he IMMEDIATELY got accused of being a groomer pedophile and people dug for MILES to find anything even SLIGHTLY incriminating, he took a selfie that featured his butt? pedophile.

He was "cancelled" basically overnight the moment he said that with everyone complaining about how he was being homophobic by just acknowledging we exist. Like, right before that he was SUPER popular and hyped up but the moment ace people popped up? nope, he's a gay class traitor now. Genuinely despicable, no one ever apologized for THAT either.

It's still kinda hard to talk about this stuff, I was one of the luckier ones who dug my heels in but was also small enough to go under the radar, we lost a lot back then.

We were begging people to understand that to the rest of the world we were also seen as something wrong, something incorrect, something that needed to be fixed through pills and conversion therapy or sexual violence, and all we got was victim blaming and telling us that the language we used wasn't made for us and it was actually lesbophobic of us to use that language of corrective rape actually!

Oh also also any teenager who associates with Asexual has clearly being groomed by the Asexual Agenda tm because asexuality is purely about just SEX obviously and thats GROSS because obviously talking about kids and teens about sex in literally any capacity is bad. so we're cancelling sesame street for having an ace flag in their pride video because it's pedophilia did you know sesame street promoted pedophilia?

Plus that teen girl who got MURDERED in part for being asexual? not only are we going to spam the tags with her murder picture, we're going to gaslight everyone about how it was JUST about misogyny the asexual stuff had nooothing to do with it. It wasn't like we were constantly getting threats of assault and death. I remember you Bianca, and I'm so fucking sorry your memory was used to hurt your own community.

We're still here though with our black and white rings, and we'll always be here, but I know this shit comes in cycles, I'm just waiting for us to end up on the chopping block again.

I guess you could call tumblr's support for us very.....all or nothing

Honestly, I am pretty frustrated by the "haha why would anyone hate ace people" responses to Rowling's tweet.

Don't get me wrong, the support is nice. But if you want to be an ally, you have to do so on our terms, not yours. And that means actually engaging with the aspec community, not just posting positivity every now and again. And what those responses highlight to me is what I've known for a while; you guys only support aspec people when it's easy and convenient.

It's easy to support aspec people when it's J.K. Rowling being awful again. It's easy to support us when it's just reblogging an "aspec people are queer" post.

But what about when we are talking about amatonormativity and the relationship hierarchy? When we are discussing the enforcement of compulsory sexuality? When we are pushing for greater awareness and support for aspec identities that are not asexuality or aromanticism? When we are criticizing terminology that you use but harms us? Because I can tell you right now, I rarely see allo people engage with those posts.

Why do people hate asexuality (or any other aspec identity)? Because it challenges the societal norms that benefit them. And that is uncomfortable and scary. So they turn to hate and oppression in order to assure that the changes we push by just openly existing never happen.

That means that to be a good aspec ally, you can't just make a positivity post every now and again, and you can't just laugh about how stupid aphobes are. You have to openly challenge the societal norms that harm us, even if they benefit you. Including but not limited to:

The idea that romantic and sexual attraction is the default state of being (amatonormativity)

The idea that a romantic, sexual relationship completes a person

People in marriages receiving special privileges and benefits

The idea that platonic, familial, etc. attraction are default states of being

The idea that not feeling some form of attraction must be compensated for through another form of attraction

The idea that love (not just romantic) is inherently morally good, while not feeling love is inherently a moral failing

The idea that any one form of relationship is inherently more important or deeper than any other (relationship hierarchy)

The idea that any one thing makes someone human

The idea that not having sex is shameful or infantile

The idea that having sex without romantic love is callous

Gendered divides of sexual and romantic attraction

Other aspec people please feel free to add on/challenge any of this. Allo (not aspec) people please feel free to ask questions.

I've placed some resources for learning more about these topics under the cut.

Amatonormativity:

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5 - also in the Loveless section] [6 - also in the Compulsory Sexuality section]

Marriage Benefits:

[1]

Other Aspec Identities:

[Aplatonicism] [Afamilialism]

Loveless:

[1] [2 - also in the Amatonormativity section] [3] [4] [5]

Compulsory Sexuality:

[1 - also in the Amatonormativity section] [2]

Relationship Hierarchy vs Relationship Anarchy:

[1] [2] [3]

Oppression:

[1] [2] [3]

Miscellaneous:

[1] [2]

Books and Video Essays:

An Ace Discourse Retrospective by Jenny Geist

Ace: What Asexuality Reveals about Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex by Angela Chen

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality: A Black Asexual Lens on Our Sex-Obsessed Culture by Sherronda J. Brown

#i had to get in a small reference joke at the end for my own sanity #this has been three am thoughts #i also got a bit lucky that i realized i was aro after the worst of it died down so i can't fully speak for the aro experience of that time #but it was bad #rip to all the aro guys who got deemed as evil sex pests what the fuck is wrong with people

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surfeitstar · 17 hours ago

Text

reflections — iwaizumi x reader

ᯓ✦ ๋࣭ ⭑ social media au! (smau)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

bonus #4 — the breakup 🌀

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

you don’t know how he does it. how hajime can make everything feel okay just by being in the same room.

when he showed up three days ago, you almost cried. not because he flew in from california to surprise you, not because he was there watching all your matches, but because for a moment, you didn’t feel like your whole life was falling apart.

you didn’t tell him about the phone call from your mom. the way your dad signed the divorce papers with a smile. the silence that followed after tooru left for argentina and never really looked back.

you didn’t want to talk about it. fencing was the only thing you felt like you had control over.

hajime was helping. his hand on your lower back before matches. his stupid nutrition reminders. the quiet way he looked at you like you were the whole world.

you were fine, at least you thought you were.

he slips into your changing room five minutes before your semi-finals.

“you’re not supposed to be back here,” you tease, fixing your gear. “you’re going to get kicked out before i even make it to finals.”

he doesn’t smile.

“we need to talk.”

your heart dips, but you laugh it off. “can’t it wait? you know how important this match is—”

“i’m serious.”

you freeze.

and then he says it. five words, so quiet you almost miss them.

“we need to break up.”

you laugh again, but it’s wrong now. “okay. that’s… not funny.”

“i’m not joking.”

you stare at him. the room feels smaller, suffocating. “we were fine this morning,” you whisper in disbelief. “you kissed me. you held my hand. you said i’ve got this—”

“i meant it,” he sighs exasperatedly. “but this… this isn’t right.”

you take a step back, like distance will help you breathe. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

his hands brushes back his hair and his voice begins to shake. “i can’t keep doing this, okay? lying to tooru. going behind his back like this. i feel like shit every time i look him in the eye knowing he doesn’t know.”

“so let’s tell him!” you snap. “tell him we’ve been together for three years, that you love me and that—”

“he won’t forgive me.”

your mouth opens. shuts. “so you’re choosing him over me?”

“no,” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “i’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“the right thing?” your voice cracks, angry tears blurring your vision. “you fly halfway across the world to support me, stand by me during every round, and then dump me right before one of the most important matches of my life? it’s the perfect time to do the right thing now?”

hajime won’t look at you. a part of you knows he can’t look at you. “i knew you wouldn’t understand. i just can’t do this anymore.”

“then why bother coming at all?” your voice is rising, and you can’t stop it. “why say all those things, why hold me last night like nothing was wrong if you didn’t fucking mean it?”

“because i wanted to believe it was okay!” he explodes. “i wanted to pretend that we could keep doing this, but i was lying to myself. i was lying to you.”

his voice is raw now, shaking with something you can’t name.

“this—us—has been killing me.”

your chest caves in.

“the guilt’s been eating at me. you don’t know what it feels like because you don’t even bother thinking about anyone but yourself. haven’t you noticed how it’s been eating away at me? this is the right thing to do. we can’t keep doing this.”

“you don’t mean that,” you whisper. “tell me you don’t mean that.”

“i do. you have no idea what it’s like to be in my shoes, to keep lying to your own best friend like this,” he says it all too fast. “i can’t keep doing this. you’re killing me.”

“fuck you,” your throat tightens. “if you wanted out, you could’ve left me months ago. you could’ve decided to end this years ago before it got serious. not here. not now. not when i needed you the most.”

he doesn’t say anything.

so you keep going, choking on it now. “you don’t even care, do you? i’m falling apart and you don’t even see it. you’re too busy protecting him to notice that i’m drowning.”

he closes his eyes.

you step forward. “haji, look at me.”

he doesn’t.

“hajime, please,” you plead, your voice breaking.

he still doesn’t.

you can’t hold it in anymore. your voice breaks. “please don’t do this, not now.”

he looks at you.

you wish he didn’t. because there’s something final in his eyes. like the decision is already made and it’s killing him, too.

“i’m sorry,” iwaizumi says. you know he means it.

but he turns around and walks out on you. on everything you’ve built with him. he walks away from everything, he walks away from you and doesn’t bother looking back.

you don’t follow. you want to, but you can’t.

you sink onto the bench as the door clicks shut behind him, hands trembling, mouth pressed into your sleeve to muffle the sound of your sobs. your chest hurts. your throat burns. you feel like you’re going to be sick.

your coach bangs on the door. “come on, you’re up soon.”

you wipe your own tears because he’s not here anymore to wipe it for you, and you grab your own helmet because he won’t be here to carry it for you anymore.

most importantly? you walk out like your heart didn’t just shatter into a million pieces.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

fun facts! ❀༉‧₊˚

wait for the next bonus chapter to see just how it affected you

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

taglist ❀༉‧₊˚

@wordsofelie , @loriiiroari , @bbning , @sunny-sailor , @sexylexy12 , @evilari111 , @softtashoney , @rowensboat , @aldebrana , @zuhaeri , @jadeyaps , @mo072806 , @0rangej0e , @curlyhairkk , @iamflav , @forgottensniper , @hashxu , @karinaaanakamura , @tsukisangel , @kozu-chan , @juie13 , @wham-stars , @baggies-of-eggies , @yiooobb37 , @amterasuu , @oneanabillion , @meikstv , @realrintaro , @heyhihellowhatsup , @sophiahearttss , @manaribbons , @nobodybutnnoorr , @mmst4rz , @mistpx , @nscuit , @tojirin , @insbread , @rabbitcola , @rvm1ne , @origamipivo , @rnashkalyy , @lexi2005 , @saiongfs , @choiuikawa , @starrzzworld , @explosionmurdergoddynamite , @nomyimi , @bbyrugou , @shozuken , @iloveiwaizumihajime

previous || m. list || next

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

thanks for reading! all characters belong to haikyuu, all writing belongs to surfeitstar, please do not repost without permission. reblogs are greatly appreciated:) — ©️ 2025

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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 days ago

Text

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 47: something big

The festive bliss of Christmas break faded too quickly, and before you knew it, it was time to return to work. Only this time, there was one major difference—you and Sunghoon were no longer hiding your relationship.

After the Christmas gala, where you both had made a grand entrance together, there was no point in keeping things lowkey anymore. Your colleagues had already suspected something for months, and now, they had their confirmation.

As you got ready for work that morning, you could feel Sunghoon watching you from the bed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“What?” you asked, fixing your blazer in the mirror.

He propped himself up on one elbow. “Just thinking about how nice it is that we don’t have to pretend anymore. No more separate arrivals, no more ‘acting professional’ when someone walks by.”

You rolled your eyes. “We still have to be professional, Hoon.”

He groaned dramatically. “But I wanna hold your hand in the break room.”

You chuckled, throwing a pillow at him. “Get up, we’re leaving soon.”

—

The moment you both stepped into the office, eyes immediately darted toward you. Whispers spread like wildfire as people nudged their coworkers, pointing discreetly (or not so discreetly) in your direction.

Minseok was the first to approach, arms crossed with an exasperated look. “So it’s true,” he said, eyeing Sunghoon. “No wonder you were acting so weird about that ring months ago.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “I was not acting weird.”

“You were literally sweating bullets,” Minseok deadpanned.

You stifled a laugh as Sunghoon rolled his eyes.

From there, the teasing was endless.

“Wow, you guys really had us fooled—”

“I knew something was up! The little looks you two always gave each other? So obvious—”

“Wait, so when Minseok teased you about your ‘mystery hickey’ back then, that was her?”

Sunghoon simply smirked. “What do you think?”

—

Despite the teasing, nothing really changed in terms of professionalism. You both were still the same hardworking employees, just with the added luxury of not hiding your smiles or lingering glances anymore.

Lunch breaks were spent together more openly now, though Sunghoon still found ways to be extra.

“Hoon, stop kicking my foot under the table,” you whispered one afternoon as you ate with your coworkers.

He grinned, completely unapologetic. “I have to, or else how will I show my love?”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart melted anyway.

—

One of the best changes was finally being able to leave together. No more sneaking around, no more taking different elevators.

“Ready to go, Lolove?” Sunghoon asked as the workday ended.

You grabbed your bag, smiling. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, the office watched as Park Sunghoon—who had once been so mysterious about his personal life—walked out with you by his side, hand in hand.

—

One afternoon, you were in the break room getting coffee when a coworker smirked at you. “So, how does it feel to be the office’s ‘it’ couple now?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “We are not the office ‘it’ couple.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” They leaned in, whispering, “So, tell me, how long really have you guys been together?”

Before you could answer, Sunghoon casually walked in and wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Long enough to make you all jealous,” he said with a smirk.

Your coworker groaned. “Ugh, get a room!”

“We have one,” Sunghoon said smugly. “It’s called our apartment.”

You smacked his chest, cheeks heating up as your coworker walked away, muttering about how disgustingly in love you two were.

Sunghoon just chuckled, handing you a cup of coffee. “What? It’s true.”

You sighed but couldn’t help but smile. “You’re impossible.”

—

Despite being affectionate outside of work matters, when it came to actual business, you both kept things professional. Well… mostly.

During a meeting, Sunghoon was sitting beside you, nodding seriously as someone from his department spoke. But under the table, his fingers casually laced with yours, hidden from view.

You shot him a look. He responded with an innocent smile as if he wasn’t currently breaking company policies by holding your hand in secret.

When the meeting ended, you leaned in. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

Sunghoon smirked, leaning in just a bit closer. “Then stop looking so pretty when I’m trying to focus.”

Your face heated up as he winked and walked away.

—

Ever since your relationship became public, the ridiculous office shipping finally died down.

Minseok, however, was still holding a grudge about it. “Man, I can’t believe all those ships were a waste of time.”

“Were they really, though?” another coworker mused. “They just made one ship official instead of any of the fake ones.”

Minseok groaned. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.”

Sunghoon, overhearing, just smirked. “Be impressed. It suits me better.”

—

Even though you two technically weren’t hiding anymore, you still weren’t overly affectionate at work. Sure, Sunghoon would sneak little touches here and there—handholding under the table, his palm resting against your lower back when he walked past, or the occasional forehead kiss before you left for different departments—but you kept it professional.

Mostly.

“Hoon, let go,” you muttered one day when he refused to stop holding your hand at the copier machine.

“Nope,” he said stubbornly. “I barely got to see you today.”

“We literally had lunch together.”

“Not enough.”

You sighed, giving him a pointed look. “If HR walks in right now, we’re done for.”

Right on cue, one of your managers appeared around the corner. Sunghoon immediately let go and straightened up, nodding respectfully as if he hadn’t just been glued to your side.

When the manager left, he sighed dramatically. “You see how cruel the universe is?”

You just laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

—

Before, you and Sunghoon would go to extreme lengths to avoid suspicion when going on dates. Separate exits, meeting at the location instead of driving together, pretending to be just friends.

Now? None of that.

“Where do you want to eat?” Sunghoon asked one evening as you both left the office together without worrying about sneaking around.

“Anywhere you want, Mr. Finance,” you teased. “You’re paying, right?”

He huffed. “I always pay.”

You laughed, looping your arm through his as you both headed to his car, no longer caring who saw.

—

Since your relationship was now open knowledge, your coworkers started picking up on the little things.

“Y/N, you drink two cups of coffee every morning, right?”

“Yeah… why?”

“Sunghoon came in an hour ago with a second cup of coffee and left it on your desk.”

Or—

“Sunghoon, you have a meeting with the director at 3.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still on Y/N’s floor?”

Sunghoon, deadpan: “I got lost.”

Everyone: “Sure you did.”

—

One of the biggest rules you and Sunghoon set was no talking about work at home (unless something major happened).

So, when you both walked into your apartment after a long day, Sunghoon sighed dramatically. “Ugh, finally. I can kiss you without HR breathing down my neck.”

You laughed as he pulled you into a deep kiss, swaying you slightly in the doorway. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he murmured against your lips.

He wasn’t wrong.

—

It didn’t take long for people to start referring to you both as that couple—powerful, talented, and annoyingly in love.

Minseok sighed one day. “I hate how disgustingly perfect they are.”

A coworker smirked. “Give it a few years. Maybe we’ll be invited to their wedding.”

Sunghoon, overhearing, just smiled. “Maybe sooner than you think.”

You, smacking his arm: “Sunghoon!”

Your boyfriend just grinned, taking your hand in his as if he wasn’t just hinting at something big.

taglist: @iboughtniz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @veilstqr

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh

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cbeargyu · 24 hours ago

Note

Can you make a SOOBIN smut where he is an idol

off-camera

summary: you're a rookie stylist working with txt on their world tour. soobin is known for being shy on camera, but behind closed doors, he's anything but. the tension between you builds until one night at the hotel, he texts you, claiming he "needs help with his mic pack."

pairing: idol!soobin x stylist fem!reader

genre: idol au, power play, mirror sex, soft-spoken dirty talk, consent emphasized, thigh grabbing.

warnings: explicit sexual content, power play, mirror sex, soft-spoken dirty talk, thigh grabbing, light choking (consensual), overstimulation, detailed aftercare, emotionally charged tension, all acts are safe, sane, and consensual.

wc: 3,5k

notes: hi anon! thank you for your request🎀 i hope you like it, at first, i was really unsure about how to start this story because i've always been a hater of idols au hahaha💀 so i had no idea, but i tried to execute it as best as possible so that you'll enjoy it.

you never expected to be assigned to their team. not with your limited experience, not with that tight, cynical mouth you wear like armor, and certainly not with the way you still flinch at proximity to fame. but there you are, backstage at the second stop of their world tour, a clipboard clutched to your chest like a shield, your headset buzzing with callouts you half-ignore because soobin just walked past you. again. and again, he’s looking.

he always looks.

it started out subtle. a soft glance across the room while he adjusted his in-ears, the tip of his tongue peeking out to wet his lips as you passed by holding his water bottle. it could’ve meant nothing. could’ve been habit, could’ve been coincidence. except it kept happening. and tonight, it’s worse. or better. depending on how weak you’re willing to admit you are.

soobin’s gaze lingers longer now—so long it sears. he doesn’t smile much, not around the staff, not unless a camera’s on him. but his eyes have a weight to them. thoughtful. heavy. dragging. and every time they land on you, you feel a flush that starts low, in your belly, and creeps up your spine like smoke. slow. lazy. hot. every time he speaks, you pretend not to notice the way his voice dips an octave around you. how his words stretch just a little softer, like silk unraveling.

you spend most of your night in half-awareness—running through wardrobe checklists, taping backup packs into place, fixing snapped buttons and stray threads—while always knowing where he is. like your body is tuned to him. like he’s some kind of low-frequency sound that only you can feel, thrumming beneath your skin.

it’s ridiculous.

you’re nothing more than another pair of hands. one more person to brush lint off his sleeve or fuss with his mic. except when you adjust it now—when your knuckles graze the curve of his neck just below his ear—his breath always hitches. just slightly. and you always pretend not to notice. you pretend a lot.

it’s after midnight when the show ends. you’re sore, sweating, feet aching in your boots. the rush of the crowd still echoes in your ears like ocean waves. you stay late to pack the last of the wardrobe cases, and when you finally reach your hotel room, your phone buzzes.

choi soobin i think my mic pack’s still stuck. can you help? i'm in room 714.

you read it twice. your pulse skips once. then again. and you answer too fast, like you’ve been waiting for this. maybe you have.

you tell yourself it’s just professional. mic packs stick all the time. adhesive, sweat, wardrobe layers—very normal. very explainable. but your palms are already damp when you knock. when he opens the door, he’s in a loose white t-shirt and grey sweats that hang dangerously low on his hips, and your breath is gone before you even speak.

“hey,” he says, voice quieter than usual, like he doesn’t want to wake the hallway. or maybe like he wants to keep this just between you two. his hair is damp from the shower. you can smell the scent of his shampoo—clean, sweet, something warm you want to bury your face in. he steps back and lets you in.

his room is dim. the only light is from the muted television, a music channel flickering quietly in the background. the air smells like soap and body heat and something undeniably him.

you clear your throat. “so… your mic?”

he nods, turns slowly, and lifts the hem of his shirt. “yeah. i think the tape didn’t come off.”

the adhesive is tucked beneath the waistband of his sweats, along the side of his lower back, where the cable had run up under his stage clothes. you kneel without thinking, fingers brushing his warm skin as you search for the edge. you’re too aware of everything—the subtle shift of his weight, the muscles along his hip flexing under your hand, the way the room has gone unbearably quiet except for the sound of your breathing.

“you okay?” he asks suddenly, voice low.

you glance up. his head is turned slightly, eyes fixed on you over his shoulder. unreadable. waiting.

“fine,” you whisper, even though you’re trembling slightly.

he hums. “you always touch me like you’re scared to want it.”

your hands freeze.

the silence between you becomes a thing—thick, humming, alive.

“maybe i am,” you say before you can stop yourself.

and he smiles, slow and crooked. “don’t be.”

he shifts, just enough to face you more, and when his hand comes down to rest on your jaw, you don’t pull away. his fingers are long, elegant, gentle as they tilt your face up, as he crouches down in front of you, lips dangerously close.

“you’ve been looking at me since day one,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “like you want me to break you open. like you want to see what i’m really like when the lights go off.”

your breath catches.

he leans in closer.

“i don’t have a mic pack,” he says, mouth brushing your cheek, almost smiling. “i just needed an excuse.”

you don’t say anything at first. your heart is beating so hard it’s almost painful. your lips are parted, your knees are still on the carpet, and soobin’s voice is echoing through you like he owns every bone in your body. no mic pack. no real reason for this moment to exist except that he made it. chose it. chose you.

the realization makes your whole body hum.

he watches you like he’s waiting for you to move. to react. to say no. or yes. his hand lingers along your jaw, his thumb barely grazing the corner of your mouth. your skin burns where he touches you. he’s not even doing anything yet, but your thighs are already pressing together, your breath coming out shaky.

“you should’ve just asked,” you whisper, finally—your voice barely holding together, splintering at the edges.

his eyes darken at that. “would you have said yes?”

you nod.

he takes a slow, deep breath, and something shifts in his posture. it’s subtle, but you feel it. the change in the air. the weight of him. like something inside him has snapped free, uncoiling with purpose.

his other hand moves to your waist, guiding you to stand, slowly, and you rise, dizzy with the heat of him, with the way he’s looking at you now like you’re not just a girl in his hotel room, not just a staff member. you’re something he’s been thinking about. wanting.

your back hits the door with a soft thud, and his hands are on either side of your head, his body so close but not touching yet. he wants you to feel how close he is. he’s giving you a chance to breathe before he takes it all away.

“i wanted to wait,” he says, voice low, a little hoarse. “i didn’t want it to be some... backstage thing. didn’t want you to think i was just using you because i was bored or lonely on tour.”

his confession hits harder than it should.

“soobin,” you whisper, voice trembling. “i don’t care. i don’t care about any of that.”

his eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “i do.”

you barely have time to absorb that before he kisses you.

and god—god—he kisses like he means it. like he’s been holding back for weeks. like he’s tired of pretending. his mouth is warm and slow at first, lips soft against yours, coaxing, tasting. then he tilts his head and deepens it, tongue sliding into your mouth with purpose, and the sound you make is embarrassing, needy, desperate.

he groans into the kiss, one hand threading into your hair, the other gripping your hip like he’s grounding himself. his body finally presses into yours, hard and real and there, and the feel of him almost knocks the wind out of you.

he pulls back just enough to whisper, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

his lips trail along your jaw, down your neck, each kiss wetter, more open, until he finds the spot that makes you gasp and bites—soft, but firm enough to make your knees buckle.

his hand catches under your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist, pressing you flush against him. and that’s when you feel it.

he’s hard. so hard. pressed right between your thighs, thick and aching and shameless about it. he ruts once, slow and controlled, and your head hits the door behind you.

“feel that?” he breathes against your skin. “been like this since rehearsal.”

you whimper.

“could barely focus,” he adds, nipping at your collarbone. “you in that tight little shirt, all bossy with your clipboard. fuck, i wanted to bend you over the wardrobe case and make you moan loud enough to get us both fired.”

you bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut, heart thudding against your ribs.

“but not tonight,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see your face. “tonight i’m gonna take my time.”

he reaches down, fingers tugging at the waistband of your pants.

“let me see you,” he says, voice all silk and sin.

you nod, breathless, already pulling your shirt over your head, not because you’re rushing but because the way he’s watching you—so focused, so quiet—makes it impossible not to give in. his gaze traces every inch of newly exposed skin like it’s sacred, like he’s memorizing it for later. his lips part just slightly, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t touch yet.

he waits. watches.

“you’re sure?” he murmurs, stepping in closer again, his fingers ghosting over the waistband of your pants but not tugging. “you want this?”

you look up at him, body thrumming, and say it without hesitation. “yes. i want you.”

he exhales like he needed to hear that. like he was holding himself back until you gave him permission to drop the act.

and when he does—when soobin finally moves—he does it like a man who’s been imagining this with terrifying precision. one arm slips beneath your thighs, the other around your back, and he lifts you like you weigh nothing. your breath catches as he carries you toward the dresser, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort. he sets you down gently, and you realize suddenly that the full-length mirror is right behind him.

he turns you toward it.

you sit there in nothing but your bra, pants still hanging low on your hips, your body flushed and hot and trembling. and soobin kneels between your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like he belongs there. his big hands curl around your thighs, thumbs stroking the soft skin just above your knees, and he leans in, eyes meeting yours through the mirror.

“look at you,” he says, voice soft, breath warm against your belly. “you’re so fucking beautiful.”

your cheeks heat. it’s almost too much—almost—but then he presses a kiss to your thigh, slow and reverent, and another a little higher. and then he bites. not hard, just enough to feel it, to make you jolt. his fingers squeeze, nails dragging up the sides of your legs, and he watches your reflection the entire time.

“watch what i do to you,” he whispers, mouth brushing over your hip bone. “i want you to see how good you look when you come.”

your head drops back, a soft moan slipping out of you, but he clicks his tongue, tilting your chin back up with maddening gentleness.

“eyes on me, baby.”

you obey.

he takes his time undressing you fully, like unwrapping something precious. like every inch he exposes is something he earned. the moment your underwear slips off, he sits back on his heels and lets his eyes drag over you—slow, appreciative, so visibly hungry it makes your stomach clench.

he palms your thighs again, spreading you a little wider, until you’re open in front of the mirror, wet and wanting, and he groans softly under his breath.

“fuck. look at that. already dripping.”

his fingers stroke up your inner thigh, feather-light, making you tremble. he doesn’t go where you need him. not yet. instead, he presses another kiss to your skin, higher this time, teeth scraping gently.

“you’re such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, lips brushing just next to where you need them. “letting me see all of you. letting me have all of you.”

he finally slides one long finger between your folds, slow and smooth, and you gasp, hips twitching forward. he smiles—soft, knowing—then adds a second finger, curling them just right as he watches your expression shift in the mirror.

“that’s it,” he says, voice like silk wrapping around you. “just like that, baby. take what i give you. you can do that for me, right?”

you nod helplessly, mouth open, and he leans in to kiss you again—deep and slow, one hand still between your thighs, the other bracing your waist as your body begins to unravel.

he whispers filth like it’s poetry.

“god, the things i want to do to you. bend you over that dresser. make you watch me fuck you slow. make you see how perfect you look falling apart on my cock.”

you moan, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, and he holds them tighter—grabs them—anchoring you in place like he owns them. like he owns you.

“can i?” he asks softly, lips brushing your ear as he stands, his fingers still buried inside you, his body towering over yours.

“can i make you mine tonight?”

the words hit you hard. deep.

you meet his gaze in the mirror again, and there’s no fear. no hesitation.

“yes,” you whisper. “please.”

he smiles when you say please—smiles like he’s already deep inside you and you don’t even know it yet. his fingers slip out of you slowly, glistening, and he brings them to your lips without saying a word. you open for him, tasting yourself, and he exhales shakily like he wasn’t expecting you to be that good.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re dangerous.”

his hand curls around your neck—not squeezing, just holding—guiding you to stand. your knees are shaky but he’s there, solid behind you, chest warm against your back, hands everywhere.

“look at us,” he murmurs against your ear as his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “look how pretty you are like this. skin flushed. eyes begging. legs all wobbly.”

you let out a shaky breath, but he doesn’t let you drop your gaze. one hand drifts down between your thighs again, slick with heat, and he hums in approval at how wet you still are. the other slips around your waist, grounding you to him as he gently grinds against your backside, his cock thick and hard and pressed right where you need it.

“i told you i was gonna take my time,” he says softly. “but you’re making it really fucking hard to stay patient.”

you whimper when you feel him grab his cock, rub the head between your folds, slow and lazy, teasing. he’s so big you instinctively reach for the dresser to brace yourself, knuckles white on the edge of the wood.

“breathe,” he whispers, kissing the back of your neck. “i got you.”

and then he’s pushing in.

inch by inch, the stretch overwhelming, burning in the best way. your mouth falls open but no sound comes out—only your breath, sharp and trembling as he sinks deeper. his hand squeezes your hip, anchoring you, letting you take him at your pace.

“so tight,” he groans, voice cracking. “so fucking tight around me. fuck, baby.”

you feel full. ruined. branded.

and when he bottoms out, he stays still, both hands gripping your thighs from behind, holding you open in front of the mirror.

“look,” he says again. “watch how pretty you take me.”

your eyes flicker open—barely—and the sight nearly undoes you. soobin, flushed and panting, hips snug against your ass, his cock buried so deep inside you it’s almost unbearable. and you—hair messy, lips red, skin glowing. wrecked already, and he’s barely even moved.

his hips pull back, slow, and when he thrusts in again, it’s sharp, perfect, and you feel it—deep and low and devastating.

you moan.

his pace builds gradually, like he’s testing how much you can take. each thrust comes with a low grunt, his hands still on your thighs, spreading you open wider, the angle making you see stars. the mirror trembles slightly with every movement, and he doesn’t look away—not once.

“you feel that?” he whispers. “how deep i am? how good you look bouncing on my cock?”

your legs shake. he notices. and instead of slowing, he grabs your thighs harder, spreading you more, bending you just slightly at the hips so your ass pushes back into him.

“that’s it,” he says, breath hot against your ear. “take me like the good girl you are. make it messy. make it loud.”

his hand trails up your torso, over your ribs, between your breasts, until it rests lightly around your throat again—not choking, just claiming. his other hand slips down to rub soft, slow circles against your clit, and your body jerks, already so close from everything.

you cry out. his name. a curse. a moan so broken it doesn’t sound like you.

“yeah,” he breathes. “just like that. fall apart on me. let go. i’ve got you.”

and you do.

your orgasm hits like a wave, sharp and overwhelming. your vision goes white, body trembling, walls clenching around him so tight he groans—deep, needy, almost feral. he fucks you through it, chasing his own edge now, pace rougher but still controlled, still soobin—respectful even when he’s wrecking you.

he thrusts once. twice. then pulls you flush against him as he spills inside you, moaning your name, low and raw, like it’s something holy.

he stays there, pressed to your back, breathing heavy against your shoulder.

you both look up at the mirror again.

your bodies tangled, skin slick and marked, hair wild, eyes dazed. and he smiles.

“worth the wait,” he whispers.

your legs give out the second he pulls out, but soobin catches you without a word, arms strong and steady like he knew your body would give up before your mind did. he lifts you again, this time slower, your skin sticking to his just slightly from sweat, and he carries you to the bed like you’re made of something rare.

“you okay?” he asks softly, brushing hair from your face as he lays you down gently, fingertips skimming the line of your cheek like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

you nod, still breathless, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “mhm. yep”

he smiles then—open and warm, that boyish curve that contrasts so painfully with the way he just fucked you against the mirror. he leans down to kiss you, not hungry this time, just there, a quiet reassurance as his hand rubs slow, calming circles over your thigh.

he disappears for a moment, returns with a warm cloth, and the care in his touch as he cleans you up nearly undoes you more than the orgasm did. he doesn't speak, doesn’t rush. just tends to you like you're something precious. when he's done, he tosses the cloth aside and slips under the covers beside you, bare skin against bare skin, one leg sliding between yours like he has no intention of letting you go.

you curl into him instinctively, head resting on his chest, and he lets out a quiet sigh like he’s been waiting for this part all night.

“you were unbelievable,” he murmurs, voice a soft hum beneath your ear. “i couldn’t stop watching you.”

you smile lazily, fingers tracing slow shapes over his ribs. “i noticed.”

his hand slides up your back, fingers dragging along your spine, light enough to make you shiver. then lower—over your ass, your thigh—until he’s gripping it again like he can’t help himself.

“so fucking responsive,” he whispers. “every little sound you made…”

his voice drops even more, intimate and slow. “you liked being watched, didn’t you?”

you don’t answer. not with words. your body does it for you—pressing closer, skin heating again even though you’re still flushed from before.

he grins.

“thought so.”

his hand shifts to your inner thigh, fingers splayed, not touching anything too sinful—but close. too close to ignore. he kisses your temple, the corner of your mouth, your jaw.

“you could ride me in front of the mirror next time,” he says, gentle, like he’s asking if you want tea. “take control. show me how pretty you look when you use me.”

you suck in a breath. your body tenses. and he feels it, of course he does—his lips curl.

“mm. thought you’d like that.”

he doesn’t press further. not yet. just lets the idea linger, like smoke curling around your limbs.

his voice is a whisper now, a promise.

“we’ve got time.”

you nuzzle into him, heart still fluttering, and think: yes. we do.

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shirleycarlton · 2 days ago

Note

I just found this post from 8 years ago(!) and it includes basically all of the points I subsequently based my S4 fix-it fic on! (Inspired by many brilliant meta posts like this one that were going round on tumblr at the time.)

If anyone is still interested (lots of new people on here now, after all):

The Lost Special: Family Matters

Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford.

Rating: Mature

Chapters: 40/40

Words: ~145K

Tags: S4 fix-it fic, nothing was as it seemed, unreliable narrator, John’s alibi theory, Sherlock and John were in cahoots against Mary the whole time, villain!Mary, TFP was John’s coma dream, John’s mind bungalow, Eurus is a liar, she’s not The Other One, there is an Other One though, Sherrinford, Redbeard, Redbeard was a dog after all, misunderstandings, alternating POVs, friends to lovers, missing scenes, happy ending

So this fic is 100% canon compliant, but with a twist. Things we saw on the show are now seen from a different perspective, which suddenly creates entirely different meanings of what really happened. (John never actually forgave Mary, but only pretended in order to get custody over his child, John and Sherlock acting estranged was just an act for covering up the fact that John really shot Mary, the hug scene was the version that John told his therapist, the cases Sherlock solves in Eurus’s murder maze are cases he’s actually solving while sitting at John’s hospital bed and waiting for him to wake up and which John incorporates into his coma dream, etc.)

And yes, it was Sherlock who was texting John!!

#johnlock #s4fix-it #that fic based on fandom meta #alibi theory #nothing was as it seemed

I thought I was over of how bad s4 was but I'm not and it's now 4 am and I can't sleep. The thought that's making me loose sleep is why did they have to make Mary part of the team? It's just the two of them against the rest of the world, right? why did they have to love her and include her in the cases? Why can't at least Sherlock see how horrible she is? I know I'm being rediculous but it gets to me it really does

Hey same ridiculous insomniac anon do you know what gets to me too??? John cheating on Mary even if it’s texting… people argue that it’s in character he’s a womanizer after all but isn’t he the guy who’s loyal very quickly? What do you think?

Hi Nonny!

Yeah, I never understood why they went the route of making all of S4 essentially NOT about John and Sherlock. I liked the visuals of T6T and TLD, but Mary REALLY fucking killed it for me, especially the magical redemption arc they chose to give to her. The whole season felt really ooc for me, and Mary being more of Sherlock’s partner than John was REALLY rubbed me and many others the wrong way. The way the narrative was going, it SHOULD have been her being on the run FROM them, not working WITH them.

Because of this, I really, really feel like there is a false narrative at play here, that the entirety of S4 is being told like a blog entry (hence why they stopped the blog AND used the title of one of the entries to clue us into this fact) because of all the OOC-ness, inconsistencies, fourth wall breaking, “scene jumping” and the “fakeness” of Mary’s death and TFP. The season contains a sense of adventure, is romanticized (though in the wrong direction), and fantastical elements, just like the blog. I found it SO bizarre that Sherlock CONSTANTLY kept saying “I’m Sherlock Holmes!”… just like John’s blog would have done. And TFP for me is John’s TAB, so there’s already an alternative narrative. Anyway, this went way off topic, but you get me. John’s blog is playing out on screen. Why, I don’t know; perhaps to show the general audience that not having John and Sherlock in the picture together doesn’t work, since most of the entries are told as if John is standing on the sidelines watching events unfold – ergo making the season seem very not-our-show. Plus, calling the first episode “The Six Thatchers” after a blog entry on John’s blog and ENDING the season with Mary narrating is so telling to me.

Second part of your ask: I AGREE. It’s really weird to me, simply because we SAW John was essentially done with dating by the end of ASiB because he was happy with whatever he could get with Sherlock. And it took him TWO YEARS to mourn Sherlock before he decided to move on, and for whatever reason, Mary was able to establish that trust with John within six months (I presume she emulated what she thought John wanted, but she’s a professional manipulator). He only stayed with Mary because he didn’t think Sherlock wanted what John wanted, and perhaps also some manipulation on Mary’s part, convincing John that Sherlock would never love him like she loved him.

So then when John is “cheating” I find it really OOC, if only because I just can’t see John ever wanting to get involved with anyone every again after the heartbreak of both Sherlock and Mary. Though, I still hold the belief that it’s really Sherlock John is texting in T6T, and we are told otherwise because of the false narratives (given that I think that the episodes are being told like a blog entry, it’s only natural to assume lies about the things truly happening are present). And maybe it was “just texting”, fine, but it just doesn’t really fit John’s character to me unless that person is Sherlock or unless John is doing another plan behind everyone’s backs with Mycroft (ie. the texting is coded and E is an associate of Mycroft). He has serious trust issues, even an emotional affair with some rando on the bus just doesn’t jive with his character arc they’ve built up over three seasons.

I don’t know. People say it’s in his character, but I just have a really hard time seeing it, especially since he knows the kind of person Mary is (killing Sherlock for trying to tip off John), like… I can’t imagine he would do that again. Mary’s complete shift from the character she was in S3 is what’s tipping me off the most about a false narrative, and as such we can assume the other characters may not be who they seem to be as well, at least in my opinion.

#bbc sherlock #s4 fix-it fic #johnlock #based on all of the fandom's brilliant meta #my writing #the lost special

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sturniololuvz · 1 day ago

Note

You should write a little sister fic where she is in a bad mood and like yells at Chris and it makes him really upset then she realizes she was mean and starts crying and just wanting comfort from him and they like make up and it’s just fluff

“Too Much”

The door slammed harder than it needed to.

Y/N kicked off her shoes and threw her bag onto the floor. The apartment was warm, cozy — the smell of dinner in the air, some song playing faintly from upstairs where Nick was probably messing with speakers again — but it all grated on her nerves like sandpaper.

She stormed toward the kitchen without a word.

Chris glanced up from the stove. “Hey, you’re home late—”

“Don’t start,” she snapped, yanking the fridge open like it had offended her.

He blinked. “I was just saying hi.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to be talked to right now,” she said, slamming the fridge shut and grabbing a cup. “You ever think of that?”

Chris turned off the stove, brows furrowing. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing!” she shouted, spinning to face him. “God, can’t I have one bad day without you hovering over me like I’m gonna break?!”

His jaw tensed. “I’m not hovering, Y/N. I’m trying. You came in here like a hurricane, and I’m the one who always ends up picking up the pieces.”

She scoffed. “That’s not true.”

“It is true!” he snapped back, stepping forward. “Every time something’s wrong, I’m the one who has to guess what I did. You don’t talk, you just explode! And I’m sick of getting hit with the fallout!”

“I didn’t ask you to fix me!” she shouted, voice sharp. “You act like I’m some broken thing you have to babysit all the time, like I can’t be trusted to feel anything without you hovering!”

Chris flinched like she’d smacked him.

There was a long pause. His voice dropped, low and wounded. “That’s how you see me?”

The words echoed between them — loud in the sudden silence.

Y/N froze.

Chris stepped back, shaking his head. “I cook for you. I stay up worrying. I cover for you when you shut down. I’m not doing that because I think you’re broken. I’m doing it because I love you, and I want to take care of you. But if that makes me the bad guy, then fine.”

He walked past her.

“I didn’t mean—” she tried.

“I know,” he said over his shoulder, heading toward his room. “But it still hurt.”

And then he was gone.

The second his door clicked shut, Y/N felt it.

The anger drained out of her all at once, replaced by a hot, panicked wave of guilt that hit like a truck. Her knees wobbled. Her throat tightened. You hurt him. Not just annoyed — hurt him. The one person who always showed up for her.

She was crying before she even got the door open.

⸻

Chris was sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor when she slipped in.

“Chris…” Her voice cracked.

He didn’t look up.

Y/N walked straight over and dropped to her knees in front of him. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“I was mad. And tired. And everything felt too big. And I took it out on you because you’re the only safe thing I have and I thought… if I yelled, it would make the feelings stop.”

He looked at her now, eyes soft but still guarded.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice shaking. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like I’m not drowning. And I was so mean. I didn’t even realize how bad it was until I saw your face and—” Her voice cracked completely.

Chris leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her tight.

She burst into full sobs in his chest, clinging to the front of his hoodie like a little kid. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“You didn’t break anything,” he murmured, holding her steady. “You’re allowed to lose it. You just have to come back.”

“I’m back,” she whispered.

They sat there for a long time — her on the floor, him on the edge of the bed, arms around each other like the world couldn’t touch them in that moment.

Eventually, Chris kissed the top of her head. “Wanna go yell at a pint of ice cream together?”

She sniffled. “Only if we throw a spoon at it dramatically first.”

He smiled. “Atta girl.”

⸻

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt stuniolo fanfic

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yourmessagehasbeendenied · 1 day ago

Text

~NEVER WITH YOU, CAN'T WITHOUT YOU

tw; angst, nsfw, mdni, heavy angst once again, toxic relationship, something i call a "boomerang" relationship.

Simon and you were something not many people understood, not many people got. No one knew why you always got back with him- but they didn't feel the way you did for him, they didn't know what it was like. The break ups you two had was harsh. Worthless calls, drunk fucked up texts, desperate gifts and desperate hearts. You wished for something different, a sign from god- that this wasn't the end.

A different ending, a different life, a meaning, anything. You begged for anything, prayed, wept for what could have been each, but it never was. It was for the best, you told yourself. You were miserable, and you hated it. Getting drunk almost every weekend, giving him drunk texts and calls - leading to one night stands and filthy promises of a "second chance," for the hundredth time you promised it would be different. Fucking him, and humping his thigh like you needed it for life- he kissed you like he wanted you. Like you were air, he needed you to breathe. Always the words, "You're mine," Never, "I'm yours" while pounding his hips against you- and it felt comforting, it felt hot, you felt taken care of. Rutting his hips against you and telling you how much of a "Filthy fuckin' slut you are," for him. All for him. "Ain't that right baby girl? Ain't that right, Yeah it is. Look at this cunt clenchin' me like it needs me to fucking breathe- exactly, go on you slut, slut for me, right? Just me, just me." He fucked you like he hated you, but treated you like he loved you, afterwards. Balance. It never was different. Never for you. You never knew how he felt, you never even saw him cry, never even saw him shed a single tear for you, it made you think did he really love you? You've had several break ups, you two always got back together, he belonged to you, that's the way it had to be. Your break ups got so common you expected a second chance all the time - always just knowing, that you'd go back to him in a heartbeat, or he would come back for you. So when you appeared at his doorstep for the last time - sober this time, your eyes were baggy, red. Your lips were swollen and you were flushed, and he.. showed nothing. "Simon. Can we stop this?" You started, and swallowed. You looked up into his eyes, opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "No." A singular word that made your eyes widen, you weren't expecting that. You wanted to speak again, refuse to believe what you just heard- maybe he was just joking? But he spoke again. "This, was the last time. I'm not playing this game with you anymore, I'm tired of it. Go home, and move on." He said, and shut his door in your face without any emotions. So much for him telling you he loves you more. Drunk texts ended up on a blocked number- calls that were never picked up. Was it really the end? You couldn't believe it, you still loved him, you still cried over him. Spending weeks, days, months in your bed and barely doing anything, not going outside, not daring. Sunlight became a sickness, happiness became a distant hope- a distant want. He was your happiness. You drank alcohol, turned to what you promised you wouldn't, barely let anyone in - your hygiene was poor - non existent. Your hair was a mess, not being brushed in a week, your teeth neither, smoking cigarettes like it's a need. Depression. No hookups, no rebounds, no ways to cope with what had happened to you - with what he did to you. And the worst part was? You didn't even know if he ever cared. Was he pretending, just to keep you there until he got bored? It pissed you off, but you loved him. And god you denied and denied, denied denied until that was your personality, denying the truth. Your closest friends knew only, not even your mother could help, all you did was lay at home. They say time fixes things. Fuck that shit, because what the fuck did time fix? Nothing. 4 Months after that stupid fucking breakup and you still have nothing to show for it - you're still a mess- still chaos, still can't forget the way his lips felt against your soft tender skin. And how you got over it? Time had nothing to do with it. What did though, was a huge bottle of whiskey and a night out where you poured your heart to the first strange man you saw- and he told you, the most devastating sentence you wish you never had to hear. The most grieving and painful words that you'd ever heard,

"You want him to come back. He won't. He will never come back, Y/N. He doesn't love you." And it broke you. Broke you just to build you after - just to help you up and pick up the pieces putting it together like a puzzle. You slowly gained your confidence - motivation back, brushing your teeth again, brushing your hair, going outside. Shopping, cooking again instead of eating junk food. You stopped drinking and got your job back- not as good as before, but good enough. During breakups people tell you- "A few weeks after you get your life back together - he will fade, you won't remember him anymore." That was a lie. He was still in your mind all the time, seeing your favorite flower, the restaurant you always went to, his favorite foods, it all made you reminded of him. It all made you miss him even more, but you had to go through this. You had a goal, and you couldn't give up. But still you wondered each time, did he think of you, did he miss you? And then you were reminded of it all - of your relationship, and you told yourself he wouldn't. He doesn't miss you. He doesn't care at all. And maybe it was the truth afterall. ~~

"Earth to Lieutenant? I swear to god, LT, these past few months it's like you're in your own headspace. Can't even talk to you anymore," Soap chuckled, nudging Ghost. Ghost finally turned to look at his friend in the eyes. No one exactly ever knew what he felt, he always had a dead look in his eyes, never happy, never emotional. They never noticed. But this time? They weren't dead. They were full of emotions, - sorrow, could be mistaken for one who just lost someone to death, not they were the ones that were dead. His eyes were red, and Soap noticed, he swallowed. He didn't think it was that serious. His eyes weren't looking like he never felt happiness. No no, it was worse, his eyes looked like he felt happiness - and then it was killed in front of him. Like it was choked, stabbed, hung, shot to death. Broken, harmful. Soap knew why. Watching Ghost pack all of his pictures of you and him thrown out in the trashcan, broken picture frames and love letters burnt in the fireplace - He knew from the start. He spoke, looking away. "I Still don't get it, Lieutenant. You love her so much, why didn't you let her stay? Lass' came back to you, and you just told her no." Ghost's eyes darkened and he looked down at the floor. He grabbed the cup of whiskey in front of him- Tennessee, but it didn't taste good anymore, nothing tasted good anymore. "For her sake, Johnny. It was for her sake. Did you see how much better she's doin without me? Lassie is happy, I'm not, but god for fucks sake, I don't deserve to be." He said, and he poured the cup down his throat like it was needed. He slammed it down and poured himself another shot as he spoke. "I was holding her back. It's fucking killin' me Johnny, look at me. I always thought I was already dead, but It feels like I'm fucking dying. But look at my angel. Look at her, look at my pretty girl Johnny, she's shining better than she could with me. And fuck, if I could have her.." A tear fell down his face, and he sobbed the last sentences out. "She's all I ever wanted. I don't want anyone like her, I want her, I always wanted her. She's my damn way of life. But loving is letting go, and fuck love, but I love her. More than anything, I love her. And if she's better off without me," He cried now, and looked at Johnny. "I want her to have the best, and lord knows, I'm not it." Chugging the last cup of whiskey down, and he stood up, putting the empty cup down. "Headin' to sleep now." He said, and went to his room. Locked himself in and stared at the gun in front of him, debating. He cried for you, that night. And if only, he knew how you really felt. **HAPPY ENDING FROM HERE: DONT READ IF YOU DONT WANNA SEE.** ~~ 8 months. 8 Sad, miserable months after he last saw you. He still loved you, and you still loved him. You didn't contact, message or call at all - Until one day. You left him a voicemail. "For my dearest Simon. I still love you, more than anything I do. I will miss you always, I miss you now, the most. My life is successful and it feels incomplete- without you, without us. I love you forever, yours forever- Y/N." He broke that day. He sobbed to Johnny on how much he misses you too, for the first time breaking down - and he decided he was gonna make this right, change. Because you deserved better. So he's gonna be better, for you. When you two met up again, he greeted you with a hug. His girl was back in his arms, back with him, back for him. This time, at the coffee shop, he didn't say, "You belong to me," like usual. He kissed you, and you kissed back. Rubbing his palm that was on your cheek, and he whispered, "Y/N, I belong to you. Forever." And that sentence was the one engraved inside the ring he put on your finger, after 3 years.

A/N: Yeah I'm.. actually so sorry, I cried during making this I love you guys, I'm ABSOLUTELY sorry if the happy ending isn't your type its why I put a warning, but I needed it. also HEY, just a quick warning over here -

THIS IS A FANFICTION! I REPEAT, THIS IS A FANFICTION, DON'T GO BACK TO YOUR EX, IT ENDED FOR A GODDAMN REASON! HE DOESNT LOVE YOU, but in the fanfiction simon does

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ryuyejiho · 2 days ago

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I saw you asked what should you write I'm thinking

Stray kids lee know x female ninth member

Like stray members before they debut they found out that bangchan picked a female member and all the members were stunned by her beauty, but also why a female member, and she was 🇹🇭🇰🇷, and they debut all nine, 3 years later some of the members had a crush on her like lee know and hyunjin and they were arguing we will win (leeknow) did, like make it interesting and fun please

"I Hate That I Need You" Lee Know ft. Hyunjin

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader ft. Hyunjin

Genre: Angst/Fluff (?)

Summary: He never said it out loud, but the way she smiles at him makes his blood boil… and his heart ache.

Word Count: 1k

After Stray Kids officially debuted, JYP announced a new experimental project — training a future solo artist who was expected to debut in three years. The girl was personally picked by the group’s leader to shadow them as a trainee. She was meant to learn from their stage experience, join rehearsals, training sessions, studio work, and even occasionally travel with them as support or a backup dancer.

Even though she wasn’t technically part of the group, she quickly became a regular presence in their everyday life. She had charm, talent, and this natural charisma that just drew people in — especially Lee Know and Hyunjin.

Their dynamics with her couldn’t have been more different.

Minho pretended she annoyed him and acted like he didn’t notice her at all, but the second someone else showed interest in her, the jealousy practically oozed out of him.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was open with his affection — he complimented her often, talked and laughed with her, made it very clear he liked her.

Even now, during a simple dance practice for a new routine, the two of them had burst into laughter over the most random thing. Minho, standing by the mirror, watched their reflection as they joked and giggled together. Eventually, he snapped.

“You guys here to flirt or train?” he said coldly, eyes still fixed on the mirror.

“Getting jealous again?” Hyunjin laughed and dropped onto the couch.

“Do you seriously have nothing better to do than laugh with him like an idiot?” Minho muttered a little more quietly, in that calm tone of his that always signaled a storm coming.

“What’s your problem now?” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow as she turned to ask.

“You were supposed to be here to train. Not flirt,” he said, finally looking directly at her.

“Are you actually jealous... or do you just really not like me that much?” she asked and that’s when Minho lost it. He walked over to her with heavy steps.

“Don’t like you? No. But I see how you look at him, how you smile at him. And you know what? I hate it,” she froze, surprised, but he kept going. “You can talk to him, dance with him, even laugh with him like a fool. But at the end of the day, it’s me you look for. I’m the one you ask if the dance was good. I’m the one you actually listen to when I tell you you messed up.”

“Why are you saying this?” she asked, and he clenched his jaw like he wanted to swallow his words — but it was too late now.

“I don’t know what this is. And I don’t want to name it. But this isn’t just some passing interest if I’m starting to hate anyone who gets too close to you,” he said, his eyes locking with hers with an intensity that pinned her in place.

Hyunjin had been watching them the entire time, and his expression was getting darker by the second.

“Seriously?” he spoke with a mocking tone.

“Mind your own fucking business” Lee Know hissed, but Hyunjin didn’t stop.

“Why? Maybe I should stay out of it, but I’ve been watching you hurt her for years — and for some reason she still thinks you’re the best,” his voice was calm but laced with sarcasm. “If I had what you have, I’d never pretend I didn’t like her.”

Minho let out a dry laugh, but it wasn’t sarcastic this time.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No, I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re an idiot. She deserves more than your two versions — the one that wants her, and the one that pretends she doesn’t exist.”

Her heart was pounding. Minho glanced at Hyunjin with a strange mix of regret… maybe jealousy, maybe fear. Then he looked back at her.

“I know I hurt you. But I don’t know how not to want you. And if you end up liking someone else... it’ll break me,” he said, breathing in sharply.

Hyunjin stared at them for a long, tense moment before something inside him snapped. His eyes filled with anger. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and phone. He walked past Minho, brushing his shoulder, but Minho didn’t move. He was still staring at her.

The door slammed shut, leaving behind a heavy silence.

She stood frozen, still processing what he’d said. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Eventually, she looked at Lee Know — his jaw was still clenched, and he hadn’t looked away once. He didn’t say anything, but the storm in his eyes gave him away — anger, regret, something he was desperately trying to contain.

“You didn’t have to say that in front of him. You have no right to be jealous,” she whispered, trying to stay calm, but her voice trembled.

“I have a right… because every time I watch him take you away, even for a second, and then you come back to me like nothing happened I lose it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” his words were messy, unsure. Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but they both knew something between them had shifted and couldn’t be stopped now.

He took a deep breath, like he was about to say something more — but instead, he just turned toward the door. Right before touching the handle, he paused.

“Do whatever you want. But next time you dance with someone else… be careful. Because I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said with a low, breaking voice.

The door slammed shut again, leaving her in silence. Her heart was trembling as she stood there, trying to process everything.

Before she could even move, the door opened again and Minho came back inside. This time, there was no anger — just something softer in his eyes.

“Look... what I said... I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry,” he said quietly, walking toward her slowly. She didn’t know what to say, but he kept going. “I just… wanted you to know it’s not that I don’t want you to dance with anyone else. That’s not it. I honestly don’t know what’s happening with me, but watching you smile at him like that? It killed me. I’m stupid, and I can’t hide it. I just…” he trailed off, searching for the right words.

He looked at her for a moment, then simply pulled her into a hug. His arms wrapped around her gently, like he was afraid she might slip away. There was no anger left, no coldness — just this strange kind of tenderness that hung between them in the silence.

“I don’t think I can explain it. But I know I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered into her hair.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling all that tension dissolve into a quiet calm spreading between them.

“I think I get it,” she finally said, hugging him tighter, her heartbeat syncing with his.

Minutes passed in silence. But it wasn’t heavy. It was full of understanding.

****************************************************

I hope you like it. I really tried my best to understand the topic and write it as well as I could 🩷

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 1 day ago

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Re Adrien and love: I was talking about what the show seems to be going with, not the subtle nuance that older viewers are going to pick up on. For example, I think we're all still wondering why Adrien was kept locked away from society until he was 14. Any adult who hears that fact is going to assume that Emilie and Gabriel were terrible parents from day one. However, unless canon is going to pull a twist even more bizarre than the season five final, that's not the story that canon is going with. The in your face messaging is that Emilie was a great mom for Adrien's entire life and that Gabriel was a good dad up until some nebulous point where he turned evil due to grief. That message doesn't really fit the facts of the story, but Miraculous has never been a show that tries to tell coherent narratives. It's brimming with confusing contradictions that are impossible to make sense of.

If you're going the fanfic route where we embrace the nuance and implications of the story canon set up while ignoring what the writers are saying because it makes no sense, then Emilie wasn't a good mom and Adrien probably isn't made from love. I'm not sure what power I'd give him in that setup, which is one of the many reasons that I like Emilie as at least a semi-decent mom in my own fanfics. Semi-decent to good Emilie just has a lot more potential in my eyes even if it means messing with Adrien's backstory a bit and fixing it to fit the version of Emilie that canon is going with.

While I don't personally mess around with the sentimonster stuff, here are a few ideas where you could take the concept of the sentikids' having secret powers. Since we know that sentimonsters can have unintended powers based on Feast, I'd make the lore that the creator picks the power, but if one isn't picked, then a random power develops based on the emotion the sentimonster is made from. That would fit nicely with the story Fu told us:

Soon I was hungry. With each passing hour I became hungrier. And it was all because of the Miraculous. Because I had to watch over them. I couldn't take it any longer. So I took the Peacock Miraculous and used its power. All I wanted was a nice little companion I could sent to the kitchen to fetch me some rice balls

Fu never gave Feast a power and so Feast got one based on what the creator was thinking and feeling in the moment. Based on this, all the sentikids can have secret powers that they figure out as the story goes on.

For Adrien, you just have to decide what his mother was supposedly feeling when he was born. If that was love, then he has some sort of secret power based around love. You could also do some more nuanced things with her thinking about her own parents and wanting her kid to have the freedom she never had growing up, giving Adrien some magically ability to break free of control in the right situation, overcoming his sentiprograming. Both of those fit nicely with Adrien having agency and breaking free of Gabriel. If you go with Emilie being evil and wanting a perfect doll, then I'm stumped on a power that fits a happy ending. There's probably something clever you could do if you get really into the nuance of what she was feeling and warp that to have it work against her, but nothing is coming to mind.

For Felix, there are some strong implications that he was born of jealousy. His father was angry that Gabriel and Emilie were getting a kid and so he wanted one that was even better. I think that's a nice setup for a copycat power of some sort. Maybe Felix has looked like Adrien his entire life because he was always compared to Adrien, but Felix could actually shift his appearance to look like anyone. Giving him the ability to copy other people's skills could also work. Might explain why he's supposedly good at competitions. That unlocks his powers.

We have no idea who created Kagami so it's hard to know what the perfect fit for her is, but her miraculous is perfection and Tomoe is always going on about how perfect Kagami is, so you could just go with that and make Kagami have the ability to master skills super easily. I think that's kind of boring and all too similar to what I'd do with Felix, so I'd take the time to give Kagami a stronger backstory and pick the power based on that. That's getting pretty far from canon, though, so my suggestions on that are going to be heavily biased towards what I want Kagami's backstory to be.

Sentimonsters are beings made from a single emotion and Adrien's emotion is heavily implied to be love. Sentimonsters can also have any random power the writers decide to give them and have been established to sometimes get powers their creators didn't intend (see Feast). That is the ultimate setup to use the power of love to empower Adrien and yet the show gives us nothing.

(See power of love rant for more)

#linartblogs #adrien deserves better #kagami deserves better #felix deserves better #brainstorming #brain dump #You all know I hate the sentimonster thing because of the overall execution and poor messaging #But I hate it even more because it's just so gods damn pointless #If the sentikids are all just normal kids than why bother to make them sentimonsters #It adds nothing fun to the story #Especially with the reveal that all the parents died by accident meaning that they didn't need a good motivation to use the peacock #They could have just been rich people having fun playing heroes and nothing would change #senti salt

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