#they just get carried away when they flirt://

[issues4him]

Angst idea what about running into one of blue collar Rafes old girlfriends and sahm reader gets a little jealous 😬🤔😔

blue collar!rafe runs into his ex girlfriend at the grocery store with you & the kids

cw: jealousy

you hadn’t expected to see her. it was a quick stop after the park—just you, rafe, and the kids grabbing a few things from the grocery store. wren was hanging off the cart, hunter was babbling in the seat, and emmett had just wandered two aisles away trying to sneak fruit snacks into the basket. you were tired, your back ached, your hair was in a messy bun, and your shirt had a faint smear of applesauce from breakfast. it wasn’t exactly your finest hour.

then—her. long legs, styled hair, glossy lips. tight jeans and a fitted top that didn’t look a day out of place. she looked fresh. confident. like she hadn’t been up at 3 a.m. wiping spit-up off her collarbone. and the second her eyes lit up and she said, “rafe?”

you knew.

“oh—hey, lauren,” he said with that easy smile, pushing the cart to a stop. “been a while.”

you stood frozen beside him, holding a pack of diapers in one hand, suddenly very aware of your chipped nail polish and bare face. she smiled at you, polite and breezy, “oh my gosh—i had no idea you guys were still together that’s amazing!.”

you nodded, forcing a smile, “yeah, we—yeah.”

they didn’t talk long. just a quick, harmless catch-up. a “how’s your family” and “what’ve you been up to” kind of thing. he didn’t flirt. he didn’t overstep, but he smiled. he looked comfortable. and that smile—that warmth in his voice—it made something twist in your gut in a way you couldn’t explain.

she walked away after a few minutes with a soft “well, it was good seeing you, rafe.”

and rafe just kept pushing the cart like nothing happened.

you didn’t say anything at first. not in the store. not in the car. not even while unloading groceries into the fridge later that afternoon. but the longer the silence stretched, the heavier it felt on your chest. and when rafe leaned against the counter with a cold drink and said, “what’s goin’ on with you?”—you cracked, “do you still think about her?”

he blinked, “what?”

“your ex, lauren…from the one from the store.” you tried to sound casual, but your voice betrayed you. too quiet. too small. “you seemed… i don’t know. happy to see her.”

rafe stared at you for a long second. then he set his drink down and crossed the room until he was standing right in front of you, “baby,” he said, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “i said hi. that’s all. i wasn’t happy to see her. i was just bein’ polite.”

you looked away, shrugging, “she’s pretty.”

“so are you.”

“she looked like she had her life together.”

“she looked like someone who doesn’t spend every day takin’ care of three kids and lovin’ the hell outta her family.” his voice was soft now, but firm. grounded, “you think i’d trade what we have for some old memory? for someone i left behind a lifetime ago?”

he leaned in, brushing your hair away from your face, “i don’t want her. i don’t think about her. haven’t thought about her like that since i was sixteen. you’re it for me. you and these babies,” he kissed your forehead, “don’t go comparin’ yourself to people who ain’t walked through the fire with me. she wasn’t there when i was bustin’ my ass in the rain tryin’ to make rent. she didn’t hold my hand when any of our kids were born. she doesn’t get to touch this life we built.”

you closed your eyes, the tears stinging a little at the corners, “i just felt small today,” you admitted.

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight into his chest, “then i didn’t do my job. ‘cause you should never feel small, baby. not in this house. not with me.” now you knew it wasn’t about her. it was about everything you carried—motherhood, exhaustion, the invisible weight of keeping it all together. but rafe held you through it. kissed your cheek and whispered, “you’re the only girl i’ve ever been proud to come home to.”

and that was enough. always was.

[lovingdynamight]

Mha boys when they have a crush on you vs dating you

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Paring: Katsuki Bakugo, Denki Kaminari, Shoto Todoroki, Izuku Midoriya x reader

Genre: fluff

_______________________

Katsuki Bakugo

✦ First of all, denial. Hard, aggressive denial. There’s no way he likes you. Nope. Not happening.

✦ Spoiler: It’s happening.

✦ He gets annoyed at how much he notices you—your laugh, the way you talk, the way you tilt your head when you’re confused. It’s all infuriating (because it makes his heart race, and he HATES it).

✦ The second someone suggests he has a crush, he’s exploding. “THE HELL ARE YOU TALKIN’ ABOUT? I DON’T LIKE ‘EM!” (Yes, he does.)

✦ Despite his denial, he’s always around you. If you’re in the common room, so is he. If you’re training, he suddenly needs to train too.

✦ If someone flirts with you, his entire mood shifts. He won’t admit he’s jealous, but he will suddenly feel the urge to outshine whoever’s talking to you. (“Tch. Like that extra could even keep up with you.”)

✦ If you ask him for help with training, he acts super cocky about it, but deep down, he loves that you asked.

✦ Blushes when you compliment him but immediately covers it up with grumbling. “Damn right, I’m great.” (Meanwhile, his ears are bright red.)

✦ The type to bully his crush affectionately. If he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t waste his time teasing you. If he calls you an idiot, it’s probably his love language.

✦ His love is shown through actions. He’ll shove his jacket at you if you’re cold. He’ll bring you your favorite drink without a word. He’ll walk you back to your dorm and say it’s just “because you’d probably get lost or somethin’.”

✦ When he finally confesses, it’s not smooth. At all. Probably happens after he gets jealous. “Look, dumbass, I like you, alright?! So stop messin’ around with those other extras!”

✦ He’s the most possessive boyfriend. Not in a toxic way—he just wants everyone to know that you’re his.

✦ PDA? It depends. He won’t be all over you in public, but he will sling an arm around your shoulders or keep a hand on your waist to make sure people get the message.

✦ However, in private? Oh, yeah. Big softie. Will hold you for hours if you let him.

✦ Not a huge fan of pet names but will call you things like “dumbass” or “idiot” in an oddly affectionate way.

✦ But if he ever calls you something genuinely sweet (“Hey… you look good today, babe.”), it means everything.

✦ Aggressively supportive. If you’re struggling, he’s yelling about how strong you are. “You’re not some weak extra! You’re better than that! Now get up and prove it!”

✦ Acts annoyed but secretly loves it when you steal his hoodies.

✦ If you’re hurt, he’s hovering. Fuming. Yelling at the nurses to take better care of you. (“Fix them faster, dammit!”)

✦ The king of forehead kisses. He does them absentmindedly sometimes, like before he heads to bed or when he’s pulling away from a hug.

✦ Will fight literally anyone who upsets you. Doesn’t even ask what happened, just “Who do I gotta kill?”

✦ If you ever try to leave after an argument, good luck. He hates unresolved fights and will literally pick you up and carry you back.

✦ Secretly a cuddler. Won’t admit it, but if you fall asleep next to him, he’s not letting go.

Denki Kaminari

✦The most obvious crush in Class 1-A. If Denki likes you, literally everyone knows except you.

✦Flirts with you constantly. Even if you brush him off, he keeps trying. “Come on, babe, don’t break my heart like this.”

✦However, the moment you flirt back? Glitching. Buffering. Might actually short-circuit if you catch him off guard.

✦Finds any excuse to be around you. If you’re sitting, he’s sitting next to you. If you’re standing, suddenly he needs to stand right there, too.

✦Shamelessly asks to hold your hand all the time. “For science. I just wanna see if we have, like, good chemistry, y’know?”

✦If anyone else flirts with you, he’ll pretend it doesn’t bother him, but his dumb little pout says otherwise.

✦Subtly protective. If he notices you look uncomfortable, he’ll step in like, “Heyyy, there you are! Been looking for you!” even if he wasn’t.

✦The human charger. If your phone is dying, he insists on charging it for you. “See? I’m useful. You need me.”

✦ Laughs at all your jokes, even the bad ones. If you make fun of him, he just grins and goes, “Damn, you really like me, huh?”

✦Casually drops hints about liking you but makes it sound like a joke. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.” (He’s not joking.)

✦When he finally confesses, it’s probably in the middle of a casual conversation. “By the way, I’m, like, super in love with you.”

✦Clingy. If you’re in the same room, he’s touching you in some way—a hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist, leaning his head on you.

✦Loves PDA. If you let him, he’ll hold your hand, hug you from behind, and drop so many cheek kisses.

✦Calls you so many nicknames. Babe, baby, sweetheart, honey, lovebug, shockingly attractive, the list goes on.

✦Steals your stuff. Hoodies, accessories, snacks—it’s all his now. “I wear this hoodie better anyway.”

✦If you ever wear his hoodie, though? Malfunctioning. “Holy sh—okay, keep that forever.”

✦The most dramatic boyfriend. If you’re gone for five minutes, he’s whining, “I missed you so much.”

✦Gets jealous easily but tries to play it cool. Usually fails. “Yeah, whatever, I’m fine. It’s not like I’m mad or anything.” (He is definitely mad.)

✦Insists on being your human charger anytime your phone dies. “See? I’m the best boyfriend. Unlimited battery, baby.”

✦If you’re upset, he’ll do everything to make you smile—even if that means electrocuting himself on purpose to make you laugh.

✦Cuddle monster. He will literally wrap himself around you like a human blanket. “You’re warm. I’m comfy. This is how we live now.”

✦Kisses constantly. Especially your cheeks and nose. If you’re flustered? Mission accomplished.

✦Brags about you all the time. “Yeah, my s/o is literally the coolest person alive. I don’t make the rules.”

✦Loyal to the core. If someone talks bad about you, he’s ready to fight. Probably not a good idea, but he’ll still try.

✦Just so in love with you. Tells you every day. Probably writes your name with little hearts in his notebook.

Shoto Todoroki

✦ At first, he doesn’t fully realize he has a crush. He just notices that he enjoys being around you more than anyone else.

✦ You’re the only person he actively seeks out to sit next to in class or during lunch. If someone else takes the seat? He just stands there, waiting for them to move.

✦ He’s not super obvious, but you might catch him staring at you a lot. And if you ask why, he’ll just say, “I was thinking about something.” (That something is you.)

✦ If you ever compliment him, he takes it very seriously. You could say, “You look nice today, Todoroki,” and suddenly, he’s replaying it in his head for the rest of the week.

✦ Struggles to make small talk but will always listen to whatever you have to say, no matter how mundane. You could be ranting about your favorite snacks, and he’s nodding like it’s the most important conversation of his life.

✦ He’s not a jealous person, but if Denki or someone flirts with you, he’ll suddenly insert himself into the conversation, staring at them until they get uncomfortable and leave.

✦ If you’re ever cold, he offers the left side of his body without hesitation. Literally just— “You can use my fire.”

✦ You make him smile without realizing it. Sometimes he’ll catch himself smiling after you say something funny and quickly go blank-faced again.

✦ Now that he knows for sure he likes you, he’s much more direct. “I like you. Be my s/o?” No hesitation, just vibes.

✦ Dates with him are either extremely fancy (five-star restaurants because Endeavor’s money) or ridiculously casual (“Do you want soba?”). There is no in-between.

✦ Not big on PDA, but if he sees other people looking at you, he will put a hand on your back or casually hold your hand as a silent flex.

✦ He’s not used to being physically affectionate but learns quickly. If you initiate a hug, expect him to just hold you there for a while.

✦ Tries to learn your favorite things so he can surprise you with them. If you mention liking a certain dessert, expect it to randomly appear in your dorm or on your desk.

✦ If you get sick or injured? He’s sitting by your side, watching you like a hawk, making sure you rest properly.

✦ Lowkey competitive about being the best boyfriend. If he sees another couple being cute, he immediately takes notes. “Do you want me to call you cute names? I can do that.”

✦ If you tease him, he’ll stare at you for a long moment before hitting you with a dry, unexpected comeback that leaves you speechless.

✦ Absolutely cherishes you but doesn’t always know how to express it with words. Instead, he just shows up and does things for you—helping with training, bringing you snacks, or simply being near you.

✦ Occasionally drops the most romantic lines without even realizing it. You could be joking about something, and he’ll just go, “I’d go anywhere if you were there.”

✦ If he ever kisses you in public, it’s brief but meaningful. But in private? He’s surprisingly soft about it, cupping your face like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Izuku Midoriya

✦ Blushy mess. The second he realizes he likes you, he’s doomed. Face red, hands fidgeting, brain short-circuiting anytime you talk to him.

✦ Overthinks everything. Did he stare too long? Did he say something weird? Should he say something now? Oh no, you’re looking at him—PANIC.

✦ You can always tell when he’s flustered because he starts rambling.

✦“You’re really strong! I mean, you’ve always been strong, but I’ve been watching— WAIT, not in a weird way! I just mean you’ve improved a lot, and—”*

✦ Writes about you in his notebook. He’ll analyze your fighting style, strengths, weaknesses—but there’s also a random section like: “They looked really cute today.”

✦ If you get hurt in battle, he immediately drops everything to check on you. “Are you okay? Does it hurt? Do you need Recovery Girl?”

✦ SO SUPPORTIVE. If you’re training, he’s hyping you up. If you’re struggling, he’s offering help. He’ll literally never let you doubt yourself.

✦ Tries to act casual around you but fails horribly. His friends figure it out before he even tells them.

✦ If you compliment him? Dead. He freezes, stammers out a thank you, and turns the color of a tomato.

✦ Low-key jealous but won’t admit it. Instead, he’ll silently sulk and train harder. “I have to be stronger…” (Translation: I must be worthy of them.)

✦ You could breathe in his direction and he’d probably write a mental essay about how amazing you are.

✦ The sweetest, most caring boyfriend ever. He remembers the little things—your favorite food, how you like your tea, that one random fact you mentioned weeks ago.

✦ Constantly checking on you. “Did you eat? Are you getting enough rest? You’re not pushing yourself too hard, right?”

✦ Loves holding your hand. It calms him down, and he thinks it’s the most comforting thing in the world.

✦ Still gets flustered when you kiss him, even if you’ve been dating for a while.

✦ Study dates! If you ever struggle with schoolwork, he’ll patiently tutor you (and definitely get distracted just admiring you).

✦ If you get hurt? Full-on panic mode. He’ll carry you to Recovery Girl himself if needed. “You need to be more careful! I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you…”

✦ PDA? Minimal. He’s shy about it, but he’ll hold your hand or press small kisses to your forehead when no one’s looking.

✦ If you’re upset, he’ll listen for hours and offer the most heartfelt advice. “I know it’s hard, but you’re strong. And no matter what, I’ll always be here.”

✦ If you ever wear his hoodie? Meltdown. He thinks you look so cute in his clothes. “T-That’s… um… it looks good on you.” (Brain officially short-circuited.)

✦ Rambles about you to All Might. “They’re incredible, sensei! Their technique, their determination—oh, and did I mention how amazing they are?”

✦ The type to whisper ‘I love you’ when he thinks you’re asleep.

✦ If he ever gets jealous, he won’t lash out, but he’ll get extra clingy after. Might even pull you in for a surprise hug just to reassure himself you’re his.

✦ Always puts you first. Your happiness, your safety, your dreams—he wants all of it for you.

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Thanks for reading.

First time doing head cannons let me know if we want more of these or one shots along with what kind of scenarios for head cannons and one shots.

All works done by me. Reblogs comments and likes are encouraged and appreciated. Make sure to leave request in my inbox.

[eupheme]

— orange colored sky

joel miller x f!reader

rated e - 2k

tags: fluff and smut, pre!/no!outbreak!joel, summer lovin’, flirting, references to readers hair, oral sex, soft piv, creampies, soft and mushy head-over-heels joel

a/n: my contribution to the writing through the seasons challenge hosted by the lovely @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality 💕 thank you for the gorgeous moodboard & theme! 🍊

Joel tasted like citrus, when your tongue dipped past his lips.

Like the orange he peeled for Sarah as you all dried under the sun - thumbnail sinking into the flesh and tugging, passing a segment her way before popping a piece into his mouth.

Now, it melds with the taste of you.

(or - a soft summer weekend is spent at the lake with Joel and his family)

You wish you could have a million more days like this.

The summer heat and the wind whipping through the rolled-down windows, ruffling your hair. Joel’s truck packed to the brim for the weekend away - the hours of open road passed as the radio worked its way through boy bands and top hits.

Tripping back in time once Sarah’s head had begun to bob sleepily in the back seat. The dials twisted, before a warm hand curled around your thigh - eyes lingering under the stretch of blue sky.

Familiar faces greet you at the cabin - a wide wrap-around deck jutting up against the lapping shore of the lake. Tommy’s hand clapping Joel’s shoulder. Bags slung across backs, a box of fresh produce from the local farmers market tucked under your arm. The bed of the truck unpacked efficiently, the sights taken in with each trip you made.

Truly a little slice of heaven. The property is surrounded by a thick ring of trees. The waters stretching as far as you can see - and when your squint your eyes, you can just catch the pin-prick of a boat on the horizon.

You soak it all in.

The cabin itself. Two levels, all wooden planks and soft, worn furniture. A large stone fireplace already stocked with wood - the large window on the back wall framing the picturesque view, sunlight pouring across the floor.

Watercolor landscapes framed on the wall, pride in the way Tommy tells you that their mother would spend their summer trips painting them.

More stories are shared, woven around you as the groceries are tucked into the fridge, clothes unpacked. A shy smile shot Joel’s way when he shows you the room you’ll share - butterflies taking off at the thought of spending the long weekend together.

Everything still tinged in a rosy-hued newness. Still eager to prove yourself as part of the pack, to fit in amongst them.

Ready to throw yourself into those traditions. Sarah’s fist rapping on the door, her swim suit already tugged on. A shouted reminder, as her feet thunk down the stairs - lake first, and then dinner.

Joel smiles, when you join them. Something loosened, this step away from the heavy load of responsibility. The ease of three days ahead of him, spent with those he cares about most.

Something you can emphasize with. Eager yourself for this getaway. To leave behind your own weight that follows you, shedding it for this brief pocket of time.

Promising yourself to enjoy every minute.

Laughter is layered with the splash of water. Sarah follows the bank, barely visible as she crouches near a downed tree - a collection of water-polished rocks tucked carefully into a bag.

You linger next to Maria, inching your way deeper into the lake with each step. Shrieking when hands curve against your hips from behind, pressing you to a broad chest before dragging you deeper.

A low laugh at the way you squirm, then go limp. The chill wearing off as you get used to the water, as you lean into the reprieve of the heat. Going boneless in his arms, as he flips you around, carrying you deeper.

“You havin’ a good time?” It’s murmured - the low sound melding in with the buzz of cicadas, and rustle of trees in the breeze.

An eyebrow lifted at the way your legs hook a little more tightly around his waist, a warning look that lights up a spark in your belly.

Your arms winding around his shoulders, meeting those soft, brown eyes.

“Yeah.” You smile, “Really good. You’ve got a nice place, Joel.”

A breath, before you’re adding, “I’m really happy I’m here with you.”

More than happy, though you’re not brave enough to say it yet.

But you think he knows - the kiss he steals stoking the embers.

Daring in the way a hand drops beneath the water to squeeze your ass, nudging you flush against him as his tongue brushes the seam of your lips.

Only breaking when he hears Tommy’s heckling, the wave of water that is splashed your way.

He flips you back around before he loses himself, arms banding around your waist beneath the water.

“Later.” Joel murmurs, into the shell of your ear. To himself, you think, with the way his sun-warmed fingers trace patterns against your skin.

It feels right. Your body weightless, in his embrace. Safe, in his arms.

Your head tips back against his shoulder, and you let the clouds drift by above.

The rest of your worries slipping away, with the ebb and flow of water. Lips press against your temple, and finally - you can breathe.

Joel finds you as soon as the truck disappears around the bend.

The remaining three off on an adventure to find the shell necklace Sarah had been eyeing last year, in the little collections of gift shop near the docks.

The door creaking open - clothes peeled off, shoulders rolling as he tugs his t-shirt off to pool on the floor.

A trail leading to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Joining you where you doze - sun-drunk, hair still damp from your shower.

“Was hoping you’d join me.” Your voice is soft - raspy with sleep, arms opening to coax him down to you.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded as he kisses you. Lips curling as a hand cups the back of your head, already parting as he deepens it. Fingers drifting down to rucking up the fabric of your shirt, as his mouth follows.

“I like having you here.”

It’s mumbled out - a kiss pressed to your throat, your sternum. Another warm exhale against your skin, as more of himself slips free.

“Like to come back sometime. Just you and me”

Something behind your rib flips, your heartbeat kicking up a notch.

You can imagine it.

That pretty lake, frozen over. Nothing to do but spend time together in front of that roaring fire - hands wandering beneath the layers of handmade quilts.

“Joel.”

Your breath hitches, palms clamping against his shoulders when he mouths at your tits. An amused hum at how your hips lift, pressing into his belly.

Your shorts next, his fingers dipping below the waistband. Kicked off as he shoulders his way between your legs, his hot mouth leaving a wet mark against your inner thigh.

A groan pushing from his chest when he sees the way you gleam for him. Fingers running feather light up your slit, a slick thumb rolling against the sensitive bud.

Your thighs flex. A soft whine as the pressure increases, the sound drawing out as he finally puts his mouth on you.

He could never resist. Idle threats to match your coy grin - an “I’ll make you wait, sweetheart” murmured in your ear, as you brush your ass against his front one too many times at the bar.

Only for it to be forgotten, the moment he has you alone and under him.

Your fingers twist in his curls. He hums against your cunt, long lashes resting against his cheeks. Eyes shut - lost, in the taste of you.

Hot and wet strokes of his tongue - your sounds muffled with the tight clamp of your teeth.

Loosening when he sinks two fingers into you - those heavy-lidded eyes flicking open and up.

You almost expect a reprimand. A sharp look, but instead he echos a low moan - lips shining as he pulls away from you.

“Wanna hear you, darlin’,” He husks, “No one’s home but us.”

Home. It’s funny how right it sounds, coming from Joel. In this moment, in this room. Your head nods, as the sounds loosen further.

Gasps and sighs, your breath following the crescendo of your heartbeat. Everything winding tight with the curl of his fingers, middle and ring tucked together and plunged deep. His hips working against the bed, unable to help the need for friction.

Joel’s name breaking, drawn out like a song, when you reach your peak. Lips parted as his tongue slows, flattened to feel the pulse of your clit.

His mouth finds yours again, as the sparks still glitter through your system. Slick fingers denting flesh as he grips at your waist, drawing soft patterns.

Joel had tasted like citrus, when your tongue first dipped past his lips.

Like the orange he peeled for Sarah as you all dried under the sun, on the shore - thumbnail sinking into the flesh and tugging, passing a segment her way before popping a piece into his mouth.

Now, it melds with the taste of you.

His hand steady on your jaw, keeping your face tipped up to meet his. Indulgent in the way he kisses you - as if he cannot get enough.

Pressed into the mattress beneath him, as his body settles over yours. The stiff curve of his cock nudged up against the seam of your thigh, his hips rocking downward as you tug him flush against you.

Breathless, in the way you kiss him. Lost in the soft haze of your orgasm, how the simmering heat flares with the way he rubs against your slick core.

Catching on your entrance, as your toes curl in anticipation. The kiss breaks, Joel’s head tipping back to watch the way your brow pinches as he sinks an inch inside, and then another.

A slow slide until he’s flush, pressed snugly against you. His hand catching at your thigh, hauling it around hip, as if he’s not close enough.

Wanting to feel every inch of you against him. Needing you to feel how deep he is like this, the shallow thrusts that sends up sparks behind your lids.

Fitting so perfectly inside you. Almost too much, but you know you can take it - aching foe the way only he can fill you. The way his cock strokes the spot his fingers found, sending bliss to pool warm and low in your belly.

Joel holds out for one more.

Something to tide him over since he can’t have you this weekend as often as he’d like. Thumb working against you again, the crooning “come on, baby. One more, give me another” that sends you pitching into your second orgasm.

Stronger than last time, with the slick plunge of his cock, the wet swirl of his fingers. His low voice in your ear, the words turning into a rough and senseless string as you clench around him.

And when you return it - your arms winding around his neck, hips lifting to match his, the “wanna feel you Joel. Want you to come too, baby-” moaned against his throat - he follows.

Three sloppy thrusts, the needy snap of his hips and a ragged groan, and he’s spilling inside you. Cock throbbing as he loosens a long-held breath, the bristle of his scruff pricking the soft curve of your neck.

Warmth flooding through you, as your nails scrape across his back. Through the finger-mussed curls, the harsh breath turning slower, relaxed.

Content, as his arms curl beneath your back. Molding you against him, kisses trailed against your throat, jaw, cheek.

And wrapped around him like this, you silently will time to slow.

Just for a little bit.

“Today has been perfect.” It’s breathed against his chest, your eyes and body heavy. Leaden, where you curl into him, his nose buried in your hair.

“Not over yet.” He rasps - fingers flexing, where they splay out across your back, ���Got a couple more days ahead of us, too.”

Hopefully more than that - the sentiment reflected in the soft crinkle of his eyes, a shy smile. You hum happily, and the minutes slowly slip into each other.

Later, a kiss is pressed to your bare shoulder, with the slam of a car door. The slow untangle of limbs, with the promise of dinner - an appetite worked up, after a long day.

Smiles bright as they show off their finds. A different necklace than before around Sarah’s neck, but “infinitely cooler” with the addition of colorful beads strung between them.

The quiet cabin coming alive, with the bustle of plates and sides. Both brothers bent over the grill, a bark of laughter at good-natured ribbing and of more old stories, almost forgotten.

The sun dips low behind them, spilling across the waters. Lighting them both in a soft, hazy silhouette of orange and gold - the scene a perfect mimicry of the pretty watercolors inside.

Maria’s shoulder nudges yours, as she sidles up to you. A knowing, sideways look that has your eyebrow raising, head tilting.

“Love looks pretty on you.”

Her quiet observation feels like a jolt. A live wire against your heart, as heat blooms - settling in your cheeks. A little, self-conscious laugh as you shake your head at the soft, added insistence.

“Both of you.”

The words punctuated just as he turns - almost as if hearing - though he’s certainly too far away. A hand lifting your way, his smile bright in the golden sunset.

Yours matches its illumination.

Yeah.

Maybe it does.

thank you for reading, and thank you again jana and daphne for this amazing event! it’s been so cold here, I loved getting to jet off to summer for a little bit 💖

[idk6505]

Something Special (Derek Morgan x BAU! Reid! reader)

Summary: The Team is out on a case and while Y/N is part of the team she has to stay back because of a leg injury so she’s spending the day in the conference room with the officer of supreme genius, Miss Penelope Garcia ( a la Jason Gideon when he had that cast but like Y/N is nicer) and once Derek calls Garcia for something kind of menial so Y/N speaks instead.

Paring: Derek Morgan x Reid! Reader (they're in that weird stage where they flirt but are like still a will they, won't they and they know they're into each other)

Warnings: So violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of SA, mentions of necrophilia, murder, serial killings. (I keep everything brief. It’s in one paragraph) use of y/n, fem!reader

Sadie notes: this isn’t the first fic I’m writing ever but it is my first fic about Derek Morgan and my first fic on Tumblr so please be gentle! Also I maybe spent too long on everything that happened before the call and like a little moment with Penelope before the call. this is around maybe season 4 or 5-ish

Another day, Another case. Y/n sighs as she walks into the bullpen with her crutches and her ankle all wrapped up. She immediately can feel Derek, Spencer, and Emily look at her. She does her best to just keep her head down.

“What happened to you? Wild night?” Emily is the first to speak, curiosity and teasing dripping from her tongue, and Y/n shakes her head as she makes her way to her desk.

“Girls' night with a friend from college went wrong… We had a good time, and then I rolled my ankle on some stairs and fell. There was a crack or two and lots of pain. My friend is a nurse…” She paused for a moment and turned her head to look at her brother.

“Spencer, do you remember my friend Maggie?” She asked him, knowing, of course, he remembered. She watched him nod.

“Interestingly enough I remember 2 people named Maggie that you mentioned. Was it Maggie, the Party animal, or Maggie, the never-left-her-room ex-roommate? Your letters from college talked about both.” He gives that thinking look he makes, the one where his eyebrows furrow and he pouts just a smidge.

“The 'never left her room' one” Y/n shrugs and uses your crutches to finally get to your desk.

“Anyway, she carried me to the closest urgent care apparently she's a boxer and got super into bodybuilding after college- anyway here we are” she shrugs and finally sits down. Derek looked her way and raised an eyebrow and she just shrugged it off and looked away from him.

“Is that why you texted me at 2 am, Sweet thing?” He asks Y/N as Emily and Spencer go back to other things they were probably doing before she came in, although that seemed suspicious. She looks at him and bites her lip a little, feeling bad, of course, that she didn’t tell him about her leg. Before she could say anything though Hotch came out of his office with JJ.

"We've got a case" Hotch spoke and she sighed and got to the conference room as quickly as she could with Derek helping her since she was on crutches. Her cheeks felt warm as she felt his hand on the small of her back, guiding her and providing support.

Part of her always liked the way he seemed to have such an effect on her and Derek being the guy he was always played with that shyness. He didn't do that this time though. "You gotta be more careful. I might have to come along next time and play knight in shining armor" He chuckled a little, though it was a little pained because he wished she wasn't hurt right now.

After the briefing, she makes her crutch-ed hobble to her desk by herself while the others get ready to go. She had been told by Hotch that she wasn't going into the field injured and even though she hated it she knew she needed to listen.

Thankfully, her brother was gracious enough to promise to text her everything or at least call her with how opposed he was to technology. So she texted Penelope, telling her what happened and when the rest of the team left. Y/n would spend time with Penelope and just help out over the phone.

After everyone was gone she and Penelope had set up in the conference room making a few interns help out since Y/n was on crutches. It all got done pretty smoothly and soon enough Y/n was sitting down and going through some files she had to finish reports on while waiting for the team to talk to her about new details on the profile for this new case.

"So when are you going to tell Derek about that big fat crush you're sitting on?" Garcia smirks a little, not looking up from her laptop for even a moment. Y/n is, for lack of a better word, flabbergasted at Penelope's comment. She does her best to shrug it off and looks at her files again. "I have no clue what you're talking about" Y/n mumbled as she wrote some things down about the case in the file she had worked on.

The topic wasn't dropped the way Y/n had hoped. Penelope gave her a knowing look and smiled. "You know I don't have to be a profiler to know you're totally lying. We all see the way you are with him. You lose all that quick thinking of yours the minute he calls you 'Sweet Thing'. We all see those heart eyes, well everyone but him." She giggles and gets back to her work.

Penelope's words stick with the younger Reid though. She thinks about it and hopes she really isn't that obvious about her crush. She mostly just hoped that Spencer didn't know. Her brother was usually oblivious to things like that.

A few hours later, Y/n is writing down everything her brother has texted her about the case so far. It seemed relatively straightforward. All they’d come up with so far is that the guy was clearly a narcissist and that it was definitely a guy. The victims all had their eyelids sewn shut and large cuts and autopsies of the bodies showed signs of assault both pre and post-mortem. This was a pretty gruesome case really. The guy doing this shouldn't have been so good at hiding but he was and that was why they had jobs.

Y/n sighs as she goes over the files they already had some more and Garcia comes in with her octopus mug filled with coffee. Sadie moves her rolly chair over to her stuff. She hears the phone ringing and she sees the number and she knows it's Morgan. she puts it on speaker as she answers it before Penelope can. "You have reached the brains and babes hotline! How may we be of service?" She bites her lip a little and looks at Garcia and hopes that was a good call opener that was similar enough to hers. Pen was practically about to burst with how adorable she thought Y/n's intro was.

"Well hello there, Sweet Thing! I was expecting my Babygirl but this is a change I welcome wholeheartedly." Derek spoke into the phone and Y/n didn't even have to be able to see him to know that he was smiling. "Well, you could always call again later or you have my personal and my work cell. Drop me a line sometime, baby?" Y/n smirked a little and she could see that their precious Penelope was trying not to squeal. "Will do Sweet Thing. Now I happen to need to talk to Garcia so pass me over?" He spoke to her.

Y/n sighs and gives a small 'uh huh' before passing over the phone. She lets them do work that only the unmitigated genius of Penelope Garcia can do. She went back to her files and kept a smile on her face. She was more than happy about this whole incident and it made her leg injury have a bit of an upside.

divider credit to: @aquazero @strangergraphics @ithemes

taglist: @justwhisperingfantasies

comment if you wanna join my taglist. I will write about Derek Morgan, Dean Winchester, and Gabriel! see you later, Lovies <3

[winterlico]

TANGLED IN YOU ᰔ sim jaeyun .ᐟ

ᯓ★ pairing : gryffindor!Jake x slytherin!fem!reader / fluff , , lots of teasing , makeout ᝰ.ᐟ

2.721 ｡ you thought Jake Sim’s relentless teasing was just a game. Now, you’re stuck between frustration and something far more irresistible.

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You were used to Jake Sim’s antics by now. The Gryffindor golden boy—Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and an insufferable flirt. He had an uncanny ability to get under your skin, weaving his way into your life with relentless charm and a glint of mischief in his honey-brown eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that you were the top Slytherin student, you’d have long since hexed him into next week just to get a moment’s peace.

But you had a reputation to maintain. Composed, calculating, always in control, never showing a crack in the carefully curated persona that had made you one of the most respected—and feared—students in Slytherin.

“Come on, love, don’t look at me like that.” His voice, thick with amusement, interrupted your thoughts as he leaned lazily against the towering bookshelf in the library, his posture a stark contrast to the studious atmosphere around you.

He was watching you, as he always did, with that knowing smirk on his lips, an air of confidence that seemed to settle over him like a second skin. The golden glow from the lanterns flickered against his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the cocky gleam in his eyes. He had no business looking that good when he was being this insufferable.

You didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Instead, you met his gaze with an impassive stare, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression giving away nothing. “Like what?” you asked, voice cool, uninterested.

“Like you secretly enjoy my company but are too proud to admit it.” He didn’t hesitate, the words rolling off his tongue effortlessly as if he were stating an undeniable fact. He always did this—played this game with you, pushed you, prodded, teasingly walked the line between arrogance and charm, waiting for you to slip, for you to react.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, an unimpressed scoff as you shifted your weight slightly. “In your dreams, Sim.”

“Oh, believe me, you’re in plenty of those,” he shot back, his grin widening as your lips pressed into a tight line. His confidence was infuriating.

Jake Sim was relentless. No matter how many times you tried to brush him off, he kept coming back, like a stubborn cat refusing to be ignored. He had a way of making even the simplest conversations into a verbal game of cat and mouse, and it was impossible not to get caught in his rhythm.

To everyone else, he was the epitome of Gryffindor charm—bold, confident, an exceptional student. But with you? He was something else entirely. Playful, persistent, and annoyingly endearing in a way you refused to acknowledge.

If there was one thing that fueled the already complicated dynamic between you and Jake, it was Quidditch. You were Slytherin’s Seeker, and he was Gryffindor’s. Two of the best players in the school, locked in an unspoken battle of pride and skill that the entire student body kept a close eye on. Every match was an event, a spectacle that had students choosing sides long before the game even began.

The day of the big match was no different. The stadium was alive with excitement, the air thick with the roar of the crowd. The sun hung high, casting golden light across the pitch, illuminating the sea of green and red scarves that fluttered in the stands. Your grip tightened around the handle of your broom, fingers curling instinctively as you took a steadying breath.

“Try not to miss me too much when I leave you in the dust,” Jake’s voice carried easily over the noise, drawing your attention to where he stood a few feet away, his broom slung casually over his shoulder, his grin a little too confident for your liking. His stance was easy, relaxed, as if he weren’t about to launch into one of the most intense matches of the season.

You barely spared him a glance. “I’ll be sure to wave when I’m ahead.”

His laughter was rich, warm, and far too amused. “See, this is why I like you.”

Before you could formulate a response, the whistle blew, and the world shifted. The moment your feet left the ground, the adrenaline kicked in, the thrill of the chase overtaking every other thought. The wind howled past your ears, the crowd’s cheers fading into a dull roar as your focus narrowed to one thing—the Snitch.

Jake was fast. That much had always been true. But you were clever, sharp, able to anticipate his moves before he even made them. Every feint, every sudden dive, you were right there, matching him stride for stride. The tension was unbearable, the air thick with competition as you both pushed your brooms to their limits. Then, just ahead, a glimmer of gold.

Your heart leapt, your body reacting instinctively. But Jake saw it too.

“May the best Seeker win, princess,” he called over the wind, his voice filled with challenge.

“You’re looking at her,” you shot back, leaning forward, pushing harder.

It was neck and neck. The entire school held its breath as the two of you raced toward victory. And then, just as your fingers were about to close around the Snitch, Jake made a reckless move—swerving directly into your path.

The impact was immediate. A tangle of limbs, the world spinning, the weightlessness of falling before the crash of reality as you both hit the ground in a heap. The gasp of the crowd barely registered over the pounding of your pulse.

Jake groaned beneath you, breathless laughter escaping his lips. “Well, that was dramatic.”

You blinked, dazed, realizing just how close your faces were. His brown eyes flickered with amusement, his expression annoyingly charming even in his disheveled state.

“Get off me,” you muttered, your face uncomfortably warm.

“You sure? You look awfully comfortable,” he teased, voice low, smug.

Your glare was scorching, but you didn’t push him away immediately. You hated that his proximity sent your pulse into an erratic rhythm. Hated the way he looked at you—like he enjoyed every second of annoying you.

He lifted his hand, and there, between his fingers, was the Snitch.

Jake grinned. “Looks like I win this round.”

The Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers, but you barely registered the noise. All you could focus on was the way your chest tightened at his victory, not out of bitterness, but because of something else entirely—something you weren’t ready to name.

That night, you found yourself on the Astronomy Tower, the cool night air a welcome relief. The stars stretched endlessly above, a reminder of how small everything felt in moments like this. But, of course, you weren’t alone for long.

“You always pick the best spots,” Jake’s voice broke through the quiet, his presence settling beside you.

“Should’ve known you’d show up,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t joking earlier,” he said after a moment, his voice steady. “I like you.”

The words hung between you, fragile and heavy all at once.

You swallowed, heart hammering. “Jake—”

“Just think about it,” he murmured, stepping close enough that the warmth of him reached you.

And, for the first time, you didn’t push him away.

For days after your encounter on the Astronomy Tower, Jake’s words became an unwanted echo in your head, replaying at the most inconvenient moments. His voice was relentless, a constant hum in the back of your mind, wrapping itself around your thoughts like a stubborn vine. You hated it. Hated how easily he had embedded himself there, as if he had always belonged in the quiet corners of your mind. Even worse, you hated the way the memory of his presence lingered—the warmth of his breath, the weight of his gaze, the way the air had crackled with something unspoken between you.

You told yourself it was nothing. A fleeting moment. A trick of the atmosphere, of the night, of exhaustion. But deep down, you knew better. Jake had looked at you like he knew something you didn’t, like he had already seen how this story would unfold, and the mere thought of it sent irritation prickling up your spine.

Avoiding him became your primary goal, but that was easier said than done. Jake Sim was impossible to ignore. He existed everywhere—at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, flashing you that insufferable smirk over breakfast; in the corridors, his shoulder brushing yours as he passed, as if by accident, though you knew better; even in the library, where he had never once cared for studying, but now seemed to have developed a sudden, suspicious interest in “reading” just a few tables away from you.

And he was always watching.

That was the worst part. The weight of his eyes on you, a silent challenge, daring you to acknowledge him, to react. You refused. You kept your expression blank, your posture rigid, your focus sharp. But inside, you could feel the cracks forming, the tension coiling tighter with every stolen glance, every near touch, every knowing smile that curled his lips.

It came to a head one afternoon outside the Great Hall. You had turned a corner too quickly, nearly colliding with him. His hands came up instinctively, fingers curling around your wrists to steady you. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through your skin, and you stiffened.

“Merlin, love, you in a hurry to get somewhere? Or just desperate to see me?” His voice was teasing, but there was something else in his eyes—something unreadable.

You jerked your hands away. “Neither. Just unlucky.”

Jake tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Unlucky? You wound me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Do you actually have somewhere to be, or do you just enjoy being in my way?”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make your breath catch. “Oh, I enjoy a lot of things, princess. Watching you pretend I don’t get under your skin is at the top of the list.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. He had won this round, and he knew it. With one last lingering glance, he stepped aside, allowing you to pass, but not before brushing his fingers lightly against yours in a barely-there touch that sent shivers down your spine.

It was getting under your skin. Slowly, inevitably. And no matter how hard you fought against it, you were losing.

You were doomed.

It was late, the castle halls empty as you made your way back to the Slytherin common room. You had stayed behind after a late-night study session in the library, enjoying the solitude, the silence that came with the late hours. But as you turned a corner, you found yourself face-to-face with the one person you had been trying to avoid.

“Princess.”

You sighed heavily. “Sim.”

He grinned, stepping closer, his presence warm in the cool corridor. “Avoiding me?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “I have better things to do.”

But Jake wasn’t one to be dismissed so easily. He fell into step beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets, his voice deceptively light. “You’ve been acting strange. More than usual.”

You kept walking, ignoring the way your heart pounded just a little harder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighed dramatically. “You wound me. And here I thought we had a moment up on that tower.”

You froze. Just for a second, but it was enough for Jake to notice. He turned to face you fully, the teasing edge in his voice softening. “Did I say something wrong?”

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Jake, you—”

“Like you?” he finished, his voice steady. “Yeah, I do. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

The air between you shifted, something heavy settling in the silence. Your instinct was to deflect, to push him away like you always did. But this time, you hesitated.

And Jake, ever perceptive, caught it.

Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His voice was quieter now, lacking the usual teasing lilt. “I’m not asking for an answer right now. I just need you to know.”

You swallowed, feeling your pulse in your throat. “Jake…”

He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering just a second too long. “Goodnight, princess.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the corridor, heart pounding, mind reeling.

You were really, truly doomed.

Avoidance was no longer an option. After another week of stolen glances and accidental brushes of hands, you found yourself seeking Jake out instead of running from him.

You found him by the Black Lake, his back against a tree, flipping absently through a book. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the lake, the water shimmering as the breeze carried the scent of damp earth and pine. He looked up as you approached, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Finally came to your senses?”

You exhaled, crossing your arms, steeling yourself against the pounding in your chest. “Don’t start.”

He smirked but said nothing, waiting. Always waiting.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. “But I do know I can’t get you out of my head.”

His eyes darkened slightly, the teasing gone. He studied you carefully, the silence stretching between you like an unspoken challenge. Then, his voice came lower, steadier. “So stop trying.”

The breeze carried his words straight to your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say, unsure if you wanted to fight him or let yourself fall. But Jake didn’t let you think too long. He took a step forward, then another, until you could feel the heat of him, the barely restrained energy in the air between you.

“Tell me to walk away,” he murmured, voice laced with something deeper, something desperate. “Tell me, and I will.”

You swallowed hard. You should. You should tell him to go, to leave this ridiculous push-and-pull where it was, but your lips betrayed you. “I don’t want you to.”

That was all it took. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing against the fabric of your robes as if he needed to feel something solid to anchor himself. His lips met yours, not gently, not cautiously, but with the force of everything unsaid between you.

The world blurred. There was no Hogwarts, no lake, no rivalry—just the warmth of his mouth, the press of his body against yours as he kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment forever. His fingers curled tighter around your waist, pulling you impossibly close, as if he could merge you together, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

You gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity, deepening the kiss, his breath mingling with yours in a dance of desperate want and unspoken emotions. His hands slid up your back, his touch searing, his body trembling slightly against yours as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

By the time you broke apart, your breaths were ragged, your pulse a chaotic rhythm against your ribs. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes still closed as if he were trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer.

“I was going to say that I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, voice rough. “But I think you already knew that.”

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers still gripping the fabric of his sweater. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice steadier than you felt. “I think I did.”

Jake’s lips curled into a small, breathless smile before he kissed you again, slower this time, lingering, savoring—as if he had all the time in the world to make up for the moments you had wasted fighting this.

And for once, you let him.

[winteringdream]

MY BOYFRIEND ! ──── lee riwoo

✩ ⋅ pairing. lee riwoo x gn!reader ✩ ⋅ genre. fluff, headcanons ✩ ⋅ warnings. none! ✩ ⋅ wc. 1k-ish ✩ ⋅ a/n. other bnd members ver. coming soon! i have a few drafts written already!

BOYFRIEND RIWOO WHO WOULD ... softly hum a song he knows you love when you’re falling asleep.

You’re barely awake, drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness, when you hear it. Riwoo's voice, soft and familiar. A quiet hum, just above a whisper.

The melody is one you’ve played on repeat, a song you once mentioned as your favorite.

Your head rests against Riwoo’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if you’re still awake. He just keeps humming, slow and soothing, like he’s trying to sing you into deeper sleep.

You don’t open your eyes, but you shift closer, curling slightly against him. His hand, which had been resting beside you, moves just the slightest bit, his fingers brushing against yours.

For a moment, you think about staying awake, about saying something. But instead, you exhale, letting the sound of his voice carry you to sleep.

BOYFRIEND RIWOO WHO WOULD ... pretend to be asleep on your lap so you won’t move away.

You shift slightly, Riwoo has been resting his head in your lap for the past twenty minutes, eyes shut, breathing slow and even.

At first, you didn’t mind, he had flopped down claiming he was tired, and you had absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair. But now, your legs are starting to go numb.

“Riwoo,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder lightly. “You should move.”

No response.

“I know you’re awake.” you sigh, adjusting your position carefully.

Still nothing. His breathing remains perfectly even, but you know him too well. The way his fingers twitch slightly against your knee, the way his lips are pressed together like he’s holding back a smile. It’s obvious.

Suspicious, you lean down slightly. “If you don’t move, I’m going to-”

His lips suddenly curve up into the tiniest smirk.

“Riwoo,” you deadpan, flicking his forehead lightly.

He finally cracks an eye open, amused. “Mm. Too comfortable,” he mumbles.

“You were awake the whole time?” you accuse, crossing your arms.

He hums, completely unbothered. “You were playing with my hair.”

Riwoo, as if sensing his victory, peeks up at you with a lazy and satisfied expression. “You’re not actually mad, right?” he murmurs, voice slow and teasing.

You groan, throwing your head back. “You’re the worst.”

But your fingers return to his hair anyway, and once again he closes his eyes, enjoying the moment..

BOYFRIEND RIWOO WHO WOULD ... fix your scarf without a word when it gets loose in the wind.

You don’t think much of the cold at first, too busy tucking your hands into your sleeves, but then you feel it: your scarf slipping loose, the cold sneaking in through the gap.

Before you can adjust it, Riwoo moves.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even pause in his steps. He simply reaches out, catching the fabric before it can fall completely.

He tugs it back into place, wrapping it snugly around your neck. His fingers are warm against your skin.

His hands retreat into his pockets like nothing happened.

You glance at him, but he’s already looking ahead, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Thanks,” you murmur, voice barely above the wind.

Riwoo doesn’t respond, but his hand drifts just slightly closer to yours. And as you walk together through the cold, you think you don’t really mind the winter that much. Not when he’s here.

BOYFRIEND RIWOO WHO WOULD ... out of nowhere make wordplay jokes to flirt with you.

You’re sitting across from Riwoo at a café, stirring your drink while scrolling through your phone.

“Are you a keyboard?”

You blink, glancing up. Riwoo’s watching you, a mischievous expression on his face, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“What?” you ask, already suspicious.

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “Because you’re just my type.”

You stare at him. For a second, neither of you move. Then, he cracks a small grin, clearly pleased with himself.

“That was terrible.” you laugh, punching his arm.

“Mm.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “But you laughed.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head, but there’s no stopping the warmth creeping onto your face. He notices, because Riwoo always notices how you react to his jokes.

And as he leans back, looking far too pleased with himself, you know he’s definitely not letting this go anytime soon.

BOYFRIEND RIWOO WHO WOULD ... refuse to let go of your hand when you try to leave, just to tease you.

You stand up, stretching your legs after sitting for too long. “Alright, I should get going.”

Riwoo, still laying comfortably in his seat, barely glances up.

You take a step toward the door. Or at least, you try to, except there’s a sudden resistance. You look down and realize Riwoo’s fingers are wrapped loosely around your wrist, holding you in place.

“Riwoo.” You give him a look. He looks up at you lazily, his grip light but firm. “No.”

“I have to go.” you sigh, but you can't seem to hide the smile creeping up your face. He looks like a kid who doesn't want you to leave.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You could stay.” he hums, tilting his head slightly.

“Give me one good reason.”

Riwoo pauses, then his lips curve into a small, knowing smirk. “Because I’m clingy,” he replies.

You let out a small chuckle. “You? Clingy?”

“Mhm.” He tugs your hand just slightly, enough to make you stumble a step closer. “But only with you.”

Your face heats up before you can stop it, and Riwoo notices immediately.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, amused and fond.

“Fine,” you mutter, dropping back into your seat with a huff. “Ten more minutes.”

Riwoo smiles triumphantly, quickly shifting his position so he can hug you.

bonedo taglist: @ihruaz

[spr1ngtweaks]

Here are some romantic + fluffy headcanons for Steve Raglan and you—full of warmth, comfort, and that dangerously soft side he only ever shows you.

🖤 1. He Pretends He’s Not Sappy, But He Totally Is

Steve acts like he’s too cool, indifferent, or unbothered by romance, but the truth? He’s a complete sucker for you.

You tease him with something affectionate? He scoffs, rolls his eyes, but his cheeks turn pink every single time.

The first time you called him “darling” or “love” without thinking? He nearly choked on his coffee.

If you get embarrassed over something romantic? He’ll chuckle—"Oh? What’s this now? Got yourself flustered, love?"—but deep down, he’s eating it up.

🐻 2. He’s a Physical Lover—Always Pulling You Close

If he wants your attention, he tugs you closer by your wrist or waist.

When he kisses you, it’s slow, deep, and lingering—like he’s memorizing the feeling.

He loves pulling you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You could be standing, and suddenly, his arms are around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he exhales against your skin.

If you try to pull away? He tightens his grip just slightly—not enough to trap you, but enough to remind you that you belong there.

🖤 3. He Lets You Do Things No One Else Could Ever Get Away With

Mess with his tie? He sighs dramatically but lets you fix it.

Play with his hair? He’ll grumble—"What, you a bloody hairstylist now?"—but he leans into your touch anyway.

Steal his jacket? He acts annoyed—"You know, you’ve got your own clothes, love."—but he never asks for it back.

Kiss his cheek out of nowhere? He won’t react at first, but the tips of his ears betray him.

🐻 4. When You Fall Asleep on Him, He Becomes Softest Man Alive

If you doze off against him? Oh, he’s not moving.

He’ll adjust his position to make sure you’re comfortable, even if it means he’s stuck in an awkward spot for hours.

His hand rests on your back, fingers moving in slow circles.

If you shift or make a sleepy noise, he’ll hush you in the softest voice imaginable.

And if you try to get up? His arm tightens, and he just mutters, "Tch… five more minutes, love."

🖤 5. He’s the Type to Say He’s Not Jealous, but He’s Lying

Steve doesn’t get jealous often, but when he does, it’s subtle but intense.

If someone flirts with you? He just steps up behind you, hand resting possessively on your waist—doesn’t say a word, just stares the other person down.

If someone tries to make a move? His voice gets dangerously smooth, sharp, almost amused—"Oh, you must be new. Didn’t realize they were taken, yeah?"

You teasing him about being jealous? Oh, you’ll regret that (or not, depending on how you see it). He’ll trap you against the nearest surface, leaning in close—"Care to repeat that, love?"

🐻 6. He Definitely Carries You (And He Loves It)

You jokingly ask him to carry you? He just smirks—"You do realize who you’re talking to, yeah?"—and then effortlessly lifts you like you weigh nothing.

You’re tired? He picks you up without hesitation and carries you to bed like it’s his duty.

If you protest? He chuckles—"What, you’d rather walk? Hm, shame. Too late now, love."

🖤 7. "If You’re Cold, Then Get Over Here."

You shiver once? Instant excuse for him to pull you into his arms.

He’s warm. Very warm. And he knows it.

He’ll act like he’s tolerating you using him for warmth, but the way his arms instinctively tighten around you gives him away.

"Tch. Ridiculous. It’s not even that cold, love." — but he’s already wrapping you up in his coat.

You trying to wriggle out of his hold? Not happening.

🐻 8. He’s Protective, But Not in the Overbearing Way

Steve trusts you, but if he senses even the slightest danger, he shifts immediately into something scarier.

If someone is rude to you? His entire demeanor changes—suddenly, he’s dangerously quiet, calculating, unreadable.

If someone lays a hand on you? Oh, they just signed their own death warrant.

But the moment he knows you’re safe and okay? He switches right back to being your warm, teasing teddy bear.

🖤 9. The Way He Looks at You When You’re Not Watching

You’ll catch him sometimes—just staring, like he’s memorizing every detail of your face.

If you ask him about it, he just smirks—"Caught me, did you? Hm. Not my fault you’re easy on the eyes."

But sometimes, it’s different.

Sometimes, it’s softer—like he can’t quite believe you’re his.

And if you ever catch him in one of those unguarded moments?

He just clicks his tongue, looks away—"Don’t go looking at me like that, love."

But he’s already reaching for your hand.

🐻 10. He Loves You in a Way That’s Almost Terrifying

When Steve loves, he loves deeply, entirely, without hesitation.

You’re not just someone he likes—you’re someone he’s made part of himself.

He’s not a good man, but God, he wants to be better for you.

And if you ever doubt it? Just feel the way he holds you—firm, steady, like letting you go isn’t even an option.

Because for him, it never was.

🖤 You Are His Safe Place

Steve doesn’t let his guard down easily, but with you? He doesn’t just let it down—he abandons it.

You’re the only one who gets to see him when he’s soft, unguarded, completely at ease.

You’re the only one he lets into his space, his mind, his heart.

And if you ever tried to leave?

He’d never stop you.

But he’d never be the same, either.

Because once you’ve been loved by Steve Raglan?

There is no going back.

[adelaidedrubman]

sorry. i guess i have to do this a second time

wip. whatever. i just woke up

been tagged by dears @henbased @socially-awkward-skeleton to share a wip! sadly haven’t gotten much new writing done following a stressful weekend, so here’s a short little piece from one of the comfort prompts that got way too long. warnings for discussions of stalking and graphic violence, you know how they get.

“How did —” she runs a frustrated hand through her hair, pushing it back towards the opossum still clinging there. “How did you even find my spot?! You stalkin’ me now?” A sharp grin carves itself into his face to push back the modest rounds of his cheeks and deepen the sag of his laugh lines, his eyes lighting up with an irritatingly proud twinkle.  He slides a hand beneath his vest, pulling out a sleek smartphone with a cross insignia on its case. “Scathing negative reviews of Snowshoe Lake suddenly popped up last night on Fishbrain, FishHub, ANGLR — even AllTrails and 27 Crags mentioned the nearby mountain pass being subpar.”  “You saw somewhere with shitty reviews and figured you belonged there?”

“I figured it was the work of my clever, reclusive little angler slyly marking her territory.” A slow bat-batting of his eyelashes punctuates the statement. “And lo and behold, here you are.” The hinge of her jaw; her nose twitches. “I like my privacy,” she drawls slowly, so that he may understand. “Now that we’ve gone over the how, maybe we can move on to why the fuck you’re here? And when you’ll be fucking leaving?” If it’s within the next ninety seconds, perhaps she can still salvage her perfect day.  “Why, you haven’t been keeping track?” His tongue clicks against his teeth with a furrow of his brow in a contrived display of woundedness. “We’re celebrating our one month anniversary today!” She snarls and bugs her eyes. “Great! Our fake relationship reached a fake milestone I wouldn’t even celebrate if it was real!” “Do you think that attitude could have been a contributing factor to the death of your real relationship?”  She thinks how beautiful her fishing knife would look lovingly buried to the hilt in his jugular, the sweet glug glug glug he would make choking on his own blood. She thinks about how pretty he would look with that sharp grin sliced to gape and droop like a catfish’s mouth.  “I think interrupting my fishin’ time is about to be a contributing factor in your death,” she settles on. “The only way you’re gonna be any good to me around here is if I chop you up into little bits and use you to bait my fucking hook.” 

no pressure tags out to @wrathfulrook @fourlittleseedlings @galaxycunt @cassietrn @florbelles @g0dspeeed @unholymilf @belorage @shallow-gravy @roofgeese @socially-awkward-skeleton @corvosattano @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat @afarcryfrommymain @poetikat @blissfulalchemist @deputyash @confidentandgood @captastra @voidika @just-another-wasteland-merc @strangefable @8bitpizzacoupons @stacispratt @orionlancasterr @v0idbuggy @jackiesarch @strafethesesinners @henbased @simplegenius042 @clicheantagonist @firstaidspray @quickhacked @miyabilicious @nightbloodbix @thedeadthree @shellibisshe + join/unjoin my wip day tag list by liking/unliking here!

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i need them to put eddie in a coma so he can have his own little coma dream realization

[room4creation]

Guys im tweaking so bad rn trying not to convince myself the universe is setting me up but like ina. Funky fun cool way

[wolves-in-the-world]

tags on krakenartificer's post about a leverage au where nate enters the priesthood but ends up running cons for people who come to him for help anyway:

#now i need a crossover episode of catholic priest nate who's still running leverage style shenanigans #with father brown [via @trivalentlinks]

thank you for making me stare at the wall in fascination and horror about this crossover

they'd be occasional allies occasional confidantes they'd go behind each other's backs once or twice and only kinda regret it. This nate hasn't gone through the same loss as in canon, but that wouldn't make him a whole lot softer, so he'd be fundamentally irritated with father brown - his tested and unshakeable belief and his optimism about the human condition - and father brown would be generally concerned about everyone on nate's end, and nate not the least of it. They'd play chess together and be fairly well-matched. They'd visit each other's confessionals to check in.

we'd get some interesting acknowledgement of father brown's "I'm nice and simple and harmless" grift (which I could also call power negativity) which is only kind of a grift because he really is that nice and harmless beneath, except that he uses it to get information from people.

flambeau would be utterly thrilled and (playfully?) insulted not to be father brown's only criminal associate.

the leverage crew would be correctly suspicious of flambeau, I think, but sophie would greet him by name - possibly with a kiss to the cheek, possibly eyeing him like he's a viper in their midst - and reference some very improbable occasion when they were after the same prize. He mentions she was using a different name then; he doesn't say what it was. Bonus points if he also had his eye on the dagger in the Rashomon Job but had the flu / was unexpectedly in prison / had to attend a grandmother's funeral at the time.

I have this certainty in my mind that the leverage crew would be largely dismissive of sid's abilities and he'd kind of snort and roll his eyes about it - he's at worst a common criminal and very lower class, so he's used to being understimated - and surprise them with his connections or lock-picking or holding his own in a brawl or fixing an elderly car in the quickest dirtiest way imaginable. (Parker would decide she likes him then; the others would be reassured after seeing how gentle he is when talking with her.) He'd also nope out of leverage's business at a sensible time, because father brown's rubbed off on him and he doesn't actually want that kind of danger - unless the con's personal.

(I'm not sure whether to set this in leverage time or drag it back to father brown's 1950s so I'm settling for mashing the two together and pretending it's not an issue. See also: geography.)

… father brown would have I think one harrowing conversation with eliot where they mention their time in the military, the marks that killing people and losing people leaves on a person - father brown already does this in canon, tells someone it's unfair that they're mired in trauma and alcoholism when he found his faith through trauma instead, it floored me - and after brushing on repentance and god here, he wouldn't bring it up with eliot again. (I think father brown varies on this in canon, frankly, but he often respects that kind of boundary, and I think he'd recognise a wound so sore it should be left to heal however it can.)

(yes I'm playing with fictional priests like barbie dolls but no I'm not comfortable with the conversion aspects, so apologies and bear with me while I skate on past that.)

(he'd describe eliot as a good person, once, or as someone working very hard at it. Eliot would be on edge about that for the entire con, finding a little too much uneasy satisfaction in getting to knock people out and play the bad guy - play at the simpler stuff he used to do. Sophie might catch father brown for a word about it; father brown wouldn't be that clumsy again.)

I think father brown and nate would both talk bunty out of getting involved in a joint kembleford-leverage operation except in the most innocent way possible. The problem is she actually would make a good getaway driver, and she's thrilled with the idea, but she's already had some run-ins with the press and the law and can't risk another; luckily she's better used as a distraction elsewhere.

and I'm sorry to do this, but I think lady felicia's husband would be a mark or potential mark at one point. It would be fraught.

(the main reason I haven't recommended father brown's heist episode (s7e10), aside from not having a background on the politics in it, is that it shows lady felicia as a victim and pulls the heist on her behalf. The show largely convinced me to ignore the messy reality of her and her husband's inherited wealth, but that episode made me kinda uncomfortable - which is a shame, because seeing these characters pull a heist was fucking great.)

mrs mccarthy would be used against her will or knowledge as a distraction while someone's pockets are picked. She isn't told until afterwards, and then only half by accident. She is, of course, horrified. Father brown was absolutely the one to suggest it in planning, but flambeau slips in mid-apology to smoothly take the blame.

I could in fact go on and this is in fact a problem.

—

editing to continue:

I'm actually thinking that father brown might approach eliot from an ex-military angle and not a Religious Authority angle at all - eliot was raised protestant, after all, and it's an entirely different vibe. And I have to think eliot's guarded around father brown for the very fact that he's a priest and seems to mean it in a way that nate, I feel, wouldn't. So they may avoid the topic entirely, or as close to it as they can when brushing on, well, eliot's entire moral injury situation. Which is good news for me.

bunty would admire parker for being different and capable and getting up to exciting things, though would probably fail at any attempts at friendship until she thinks to ask what parker likes doing and ends up learning to pick pockets that evening. The second those two are around buildings tall enough to rappel down she's in danger. (The second parker can slip away at night she's giving the church a go; father brown gives her a look the night before and quietly warns her about the dodgy roof.)

mrs mccarthy decides fairly quickly that hardison is a very nice young man (his nana instincts are online and functional) even if he spends far too much time on the wretched computer. She's determined to feed him and half the time he's determined to find ways to politely refuse, though the strawberry scones are actually pretty good.

she's appalled by eliot's job, and fiercely territorial of her kitchen when he offers help, even just cleaning up, but once she's seen him get in the way of trouble she's absolutely catching his arm and half hiding behind him in any crisis real or perceived. (She still doesn't approve of him.)

lady felicia sees hardison and eliot as two very different kinds of novelties and does some talking to hardison about tech (mostly listening and marveling) and some quietly ogling both of them, and especially eliot once she's seen him fighting. (Eliot unfortunately turned on his charm when he realised she sort of expected it. She doesn't get to chat with charming southern gents all that often - it's very shallow, and she's not serious about it.)

thank goodness bunty's too young for eliot so I don't have to go there. He has to tuck her out of sight in a barn at some point when trouble's headed their way; when the mess is almost cleaned up and she's grabbed a rifle from somewhere to tell the the remaining goon to clear off, with every appearance of competence, eliot takes it from her and disarms it with a smear of blood under his nose and a slightly betrayed expression.

hardison and sid get along, aside from a little initial insecurity on the parker front, and get to bitch a bit about flambeau, who hardison mistrusts from the start.

flambeau... he admires parker, from a distance - professionally and not very effusively - but after he watches her work for a while he seems to realise who she was trained by, and tells her as much. He says he was too, for a very short time, and it's unclear if he'd gain anything from making it up. Says that he and archie had a difference of opinion - and has a way of saying it that implies there might have been fire involved.

[thornheartless]

Feeling very out of place with people, the world. I don't know. Like I talk too much but end up being quiet at the wrong times.

[exopelagic]

talking to him more very much achieved. we just talked for like 4 hours in the kitchen holy shit I need to sleep

[miihho]

Can you please write the salesman next for the kind of guy?🙏🏻🙏🏻

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) nsfw

The Salesman

— HES THE KIND OF GUY who never expected to fall in love—his life was far too consumed by duties and endless responsibilities. Love wasn’t even a consideration, not until you appeared like a sudden burst of color in his monochrome world. At first, it was your skill that caught his attention, the way you effortlessly bested him in ddakji, round after round, slap after slap. Frustrated but undeniably impressed, he handed you a card, feigning indifference. But as you walked away, something unfamiliar stirred within him—a quiet ache, a sense of loss he couldn’t quite place.

He tried to push it aside, burying himself in his work, recruiting others, and maintaining the facade of control. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. Then, one day, he saw you again, sitting at your usual spot. You hadn’t joined the game, and strangely, he felt a wave of relief he couldn’t explain. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you, asking for just one more match. The words came out almost on their own, a fragile excuse to see you again, to hear your voice, or maybe just to keep you close for a little longer.

— He’s the kind of guy who’s spent years trapped in a monotonous cycle—lonely, unfulfilled, and carrying the weight of a life that feels directionless. Every day bleeds into the next, nothing to look forward to, nothing to hold onto. But then, somehow, he acquires you. You, with your rare kindness, your quiet care, and the sweetness that seems to radiate from your every action.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done to him, how you’ve unknowingly become the one bright spot in his otherwise dull world. He starts catching himself stealing glances at you, his gaze softening without his permission. It’s the way you move, the way you speak, the way you bring life into spaces that once felt empty.

And then there are those moments—when you laugh, or when you smile at something simple—that makes his chest tighten in ways he didn’t think were possible anymore. He smiles back without realizing it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that feels foreign but good. You don’t just make his days better; you make him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something worth living for. (He's in love)

—He’s the kind of guy who would boldly approach you, his intentions clear but unspoken. He’d ask to get to know you better, his flirting subtle at first—smiles that linger a little too long, looks that make your heart race without explanation. At first, you might be taken aback, unsure of his advances, but when he offers you something you can’t refuse, like money, your resistance crumbles. You agreed, but something in the way he looks at you makes you forget about the deal. Slowly, you start enjoying your time together more than you care to admit.

—He’s also the kind of guy who wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, not for a second. If anyone dared to claim you as theirs, especially some trash asking you out, he’d make sure they paid. He’d go to any lengths to protect what’s his, with no hesitation, no mercy. If it came to it, he wouldn’t think twice about making them disappear, just so they’d know—he was the first one, and that meant something.

But it’s not just about possessiveness. He watches over you, guards you in ways you’ll never fully see, keeping a close eye without you ever knowing. He’s always there, even when you don’t realize it—protecting you from this world that’s full of danger, keeping the darkness at bay as best as he can. It’s his silent promise to you, even if you never ask for it. He doesn’t want to see you hurt, not ever.

— He's the kind of guy who would soil his hands with blood, not hesitating for a second, if it meant protecting you from anything that threatens your peace.

— He’s the kind of guy who will make you fall for him as deeply as he’s fallen for you. He adores your smaller build against his, the way your petite hands fit perfectly when cuffed by his larger ones—it drives him wild. The contrast, the way you seem so delicate in his grasp, makes him want to claim you entirely, to make you his in every way.

But he’s not the kind of man to stop at mere affection. No, he’s the type who thrives on control. He’ll manipulate you carefully, subtly, until the thought of leaving him feels impossible—terrifying even. He wants you to need him, crave him, think of him endlessly. He’s meticulous in the way he weaves himself into your thoughts, ensuring you wake up and fall asleep with only him in mind.

And when he flirts with you, watching as your cheeks turn that irresistible shade of red, your voice faltering under his gaze—it’s everything to him. You turn into a hot, blushing mess, and he loves it. It fuels his obsession, makes him fall even harder for you, because to him, you’re the epitome of perfection. Cute, vulnerable, and entirely his.

—He’s the kind of guy who takes his time with you, the tension between you building like a carefully orchestrated symphony. When the moment feels just right—your faces close, the air thick with anticipation—he starts leaning in, his eyes locked on yours, ready to steal a kiss.

But then it hits you, the realization of what’s happening, and your face flushes a deep red. You turn away in a rush, looking anywhere but at him, your heart racing like crazy. He pauses, letting the moment linger, before chuckling softly. That low, amused laugh of his sends a shiver down your spine, and when you finally sneak a glance at him, he’s grinning.

“Cute,” he murmurs, his tone playful but laced with something deeper. Yeah, he loves teasing you—loves watching you squirm and stutter, loves the way your reactions only make you more endearing to him. And he’ll do it all over again, just to see that flustered look on your face that he can’t get enough of.

—He’s also the kind of guy who knows exactly how to manipulate you, slow and calculated, planting seeds of dependence and trust without you fully realizing it. He knows your vulnerabilities, your habits, and where to find you when you’re at your lowest.

So, when he spots you crying at your usual secluded spot, alone and trembling, he makes his move. Sitting beside you, his presence feels warm, comforting—like he’s the only safe harbor in a storm. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, his voice soft and soothing as he whispers, “There, there, it’ll be alright. I’m here.”

As you cry into his chest, he murmurs gentle reassurances, “It’s alright, baby. Cry it all out.” His hand strokes your back, his touch deliberate and grounding, and he smiles. Not the kind of smile you can see—this one is hidden, smug, satisfied. His plan is working perfectly, and you’re falling deeper into his web. And oh, how he loves it—watching you lean into him, needing him, trusting him like he’s your savior. That’s exactly where he wants you.

— He’s the kind of guy who thrives on control, especially in moments of intimacy. The kind who, with practiced ease, unclips your bra with just one hand, never breaking the intensity of your kiss. And when he pulls back, his lips hovering just above yours, he’ll smirk and whisper in that low, teasing voice, “I’m not done with you yet.”

When you bury your face into his neck, trying to stifle your moans out of shyness, he doesn’t miss a beat. The scent of his cologne and aftershave lingers, intoxicating you further, as he lets out a deep chuckle, amused at your attempt to hide.

And when he’s got you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy, he makes sure you’re not holding back. He loves to hear you scream, loves the way his name falls from your lips like a prayer. Even when a phone call interrupts, he doesn’t stop. Oh no, he sees it as a challenge, a chance to tease you further. He’ll move slower, deeper, just to hear your breath hitch as you struggle to keep your composure.

If you try to stay professional, biting your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape, he’ll smirk, his pace relentless. “Go on,” he’ll purr, his voice dripping with mischief. “Try to keep quiet, baby. Let’s see how long you last.” And with that, he’ll have you unraveling, barely able to focus, completely at his mercy.

— He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just tease you with words—he lets his actions speak louder. Even in public, fully clothed, he’ll find a way to make you lose your composure. He steps in close, his large hands resting on your waist, pulling you just enough that his hips press against yours.

That’s when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, pressing firmly into you. His voice drops, low and dripping with desire, as he leans into your ear and whispers, “Feel that, baby? That’s what you do to me. You’ve got me all worked up, and I don't think I can wait any much longer."

The heat of his breath against your ear sends a shiver through you, and his bulge pressing into you makes it impossible to think straight. His grip tightens slightly, and the smirk playing on his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of your reaction. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he loves driving you wild, even when you’re supposed to be keeping things composed.

— He's the kind of guy who leaves his mark on you, a silent declaration that you're his and his alone

— He's the kind of guy who would pin you against the wall, bite your lip, and pull your hair—taking control in a way that leaves you breathles.

—He’s the kind of guy who’ll leave you completely undone, your body trembling as you take every inch of his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks while you beg for mercy. But he doesn’t stop—he thrives on the way you break beneath him, his voice dripping with a wicked mix of praise and degradation.

“You're being such an obedient little cum slut,” his hand tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Taking me so well like a fucking whore, like you were made for my cock. My perfect little bitch.” he said, his tone low and velvety, sending shivers down your spine as he continued to fuck his cock in and out of you. Your walls clenching hard around his massive cock as he fills you up with his fat load, still pounding into your hole not letting even a single drop of his release go to waste. (He has a breeding kink)

And if that's not enough. His thick, veiny cock would plunge relentlessly into your dripping folds, the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh filling the air. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he ravages your insides with unbridled lust while you're in a mating press. He is determined to make you the mother of his child, so he will pound your fertile womb over and over again until it's full of his cum. If his cum is seeping out of your pussy, he would pump it back with his fingers inside while he also plays with your swollen clit making you overstimulated as you beg him to stop. (he just fucking loves you crying and begging for him and only him. )

— Hes the kind of guy who craves more than just conception; he yearns to enslave your senses, to make your body crave the feeling of being utterly filled by him. He wants ypu to beg for his cock, to plead for the intense pleasure-pain of being stuffed to overflowing, regardless of your reproductive cycle.

The very thought of you, round and ripe with his seed, brings him unparalleled satisfaction. He delights in the idea of your addiction to his cum, to the exquisite bliss of having your cunt packed to capacity with his thick, hot essence. For him, there is no greater joy than knowing you're forever changed, forever his, your body and soul irreversibly marked by his possession.

[odorefal]

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ how to fake date with fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna .ᐣ very much limited experience.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who agreed with his teammates – get a girlfriend before the season’s over. he just didn’t expect to want more than just the win.

he just needs to dodge some girl who’s been aggressively flirting with him, and you need an excuse to avoid a creepy dude who won’t stop texting you.

“we’ll fake date," sukuna proposes with that cocky smirk. “it’s not like we’ll catch feelings or anything.”

“are you sure? i don’t want that creep to bother me for the 56th time this week.”

“trust me, sunshine.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would take the acting slow but convincingly. he would start with holding your hands publicly while telling his dry jokes to you so all the people would believe him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would brushing his thumb over your hand. he’d play it cool — but the way his hand tightened in yours would give him away.

“it’s all for the show,” he would say.

but the way your fingers intertwine with his says otherwise.

“does it really have to be like this?”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would would wrap one of your hair ties or bracelets around his wrist during every game, claiming it’s his ‘lucky charm.’ if you ever ask about it, he’ll say, “worked last time, didn’t it?”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who constantly reminds himself that you’re just friends — even when his heart races every time you smile at him.

err . . . you’re just a good friend to him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would slowly realize how pretty and captivating you are. from the way your eyes stare at his when you ramble about your day to him to the way your lips seem to soft while you speak, he just wants to feel how soft it is.

when you mentioned liking someone else, he would sit beside you, fists curling at his sides. his face would stay blank, but his voice would darken. “he better not disappoint you.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who think you deserve better than that trashy guy you mentioned. and he’s the best.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would sneak you into his team’s closed practice.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who always reserves the spot next to him — bus rides, team meals, wherever. if anyone tries to sit down, they’ll be greeted with a warning glare and clipped, “taken.”

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would raise an eyebrow when you suggest to have a matching phone charms with him – just for fun. but he’II just shrug it off and let you pick which one you like.

when you actually really get him a matching phone charm, and even though it’s small and kind of cutesy, he’d attach it to his phone without hesitation.

front and center in the team’s photo, fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna’s fake girlfriend’s bracelet is right there on his wrist, and his matching phone charm would peeks out of his pocket proudly. if you say anything, he’ll just chuckle.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would take you out on a date to keep up on the act. but the way his thumb brushes your knuckles? that doesn’t feel fake. the way he’II hold your hand with him and place it in his pocket? doesn’t sound too fake either.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would using you as an excuse.

“can’t go out tonight — my girlfriend doesn’t allow me.”

oh, you both know that’s a massive lie.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would carry your bag since it seems to heavy for you. (even when it’s not, for certain times.)

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would feel if he will loses a game or feels like he underperformed, he’ll drag you to the gym late at evening or night, you call it.

sweat drips down his forehead as he sinks another shot. “49,” you call out. sukuna’s breathing is ragged, but he looks at you sitting there, waiting — and that’s all he needs to finish strong.

after the 50th shot, sukuna collapses on the floor, chest heaving. you walk over and drop down next to him, brushing damp hair from his forehead. he doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds yours.

gasps and shouts would fill the gym when the members saw you wearing sukuna’s jersey. “since when?” someone demands. fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna kisses your temple. “since they’re mine.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who never shows it, but he does get nervous before big games.

he won’t say it outright, but you’ll catch him squeezing your hand a little tighter or resting his forehead against yours.

you later then would give your hair tie to him, telling that it’II be a silly “good luck” charm for him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who would open his wallet before his game begin, revealing a polaroid of you wearing his jersey number under the sunlight. he suddenly needs to be remember who he’s playing for.

he would spot you the second he steps onto the court. his eyes would narrow slightly, that nervous, yet cocky smirk tugging at his lips when you catch his gaze.

if he makes a shot, he’d turn toward you, wiping sweat from his brow and flashing you a knowing grin — like you’re the only one he’s playing for.

when his team scores, he would glance at you in the stands, lifting his chin as if to say, did you see that, sunshine?

if you cheer for him, his smirk would deepen, and you’d catch the subtle way he straightens up — fueled by the fact that you’re watching. if you smile or wave at him, he’d bite back a grin before turning back toward the game.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would exclaimed energizedly as his team scores.

sukuna would walk straight toward you, ignoring his teammates’ cheers, would grab your wrist and pull you close, sweat-slick and breathless. “i told you, you’re my good luck charm," he’d murmur before brushing his thumb across your jaw.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who doesn’t care how sweaty he is — he will hug you immediately after his games.

“miss me?” he’ll question, pressing a kiss to your temple while you complain about how gross he is. “you’re smelling like rotten eggs with outdated pickles.”

you give him a playful judgemental look.

he just laughs warming-ly – except his teammates eyeing him up and down for noticing how soft he has been with you.

[catchastarorten]

—License and registration, please.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x wife!fem!reader

Summary: Did you pass the speed limit? No. Did Jun-ho pull you over anyways to steal a few moments (and kisses) with you? Yes.

Content: fluff, shared kisses, a girl flirting with him but Jun-ho being very loyal, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.1k

The air was cool that afternoon, sunlight glinting off the windshields of passing cars. Traffic duty wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was steady, and after everything Jun-ho had endured chasing shadows and secrets, it wasn’t so bad. He didn’t mind the transfer. It gave him time to breathe. To be with you.

A motorcycle driving into sight caught his eyes, bringing him out of his thoughts. A man carrying a girl on the back, helmet-less.

Jun-ho approached the two as the motorcycle came to a stop, his partner—a younger, less experienced officer trailed after him.

“You’re not wearing a helmet. Your license, please.” he took out a small tablet as the man cursed, eyes full of impatience and annoyance.

“Isn’t this entrapment? Hiding to catch people is shady. You want to squeeze money out of broke citizens?” the man scoffed.

“Your license, please.” Jun-ho ignored him and extended a hand out, waiting.

The man handed over his license begrudgingly as the girl sitting behind him on the motorcycle hopped down, giving the man a reassuring pat as if saying, “I’ve got this,” before coming closer to Jun-ho.

“Look, can’t you just let us go? I’m wearing one.” she gestured to her own helmet, giving it a steady pat.

“No, ma’am.”

The girl frowned, but took a second look at him and her eyes sparkled, peering at him. “Hey, you’re really handsome!” her voice tuned into a higher pitch at her excitement, as if she found some treasure.

“I could charge you with obstruction.” Jun-ho said dryly, checking the information on the small tablet in his hand.

“You’re a tough cookie,” the girl smiled wider, taking out her phone. She snapped a few pictures, striking different poses as Jun-ho tried to avoid the camera, his head ducked low as he scanned over the information shown on the tablet. The man on the motorcycle narrowed his eyes at the sight.

As the ticket printed out from a machine strapped to Jun-ho’s vest, the girl patted his shoulder. “Come on, get in here!” she leaned closer, but he stepped away to maintain a good distance, before walking over to the man.

Jun-ho handed the ticket to the guy. “The fine for not wearing a helmet is 20,000 won. Pay it on time.”

The man snatched the ticket away as the girl continued fawning.

“What’s your number? Are you single?” she squealed.

Jun-ho blinked, momentarily taken aback, before he smirked softly and raised his hand, the band on his finger glinting in the sunlight. “Happily married,” he said simply, his voice warm.

The girl’s excitement evaporated, replaced by a pout. “Seriously? Who’s the lucky woman?”

Jun-ho didn’t answer, instead he walked back to the squad car.

The man drove off on his motorcycle, a bitterness clinging onto him. The girl was startled and chased after the guy, shouting and exclaiming and throwing her helmet at him but missing while trying to catch up, her loud curses disappearing into the distance along with the motorcycle.

Jun-ho watched the scene unfold with an amused smile, shaking his head before getting back into the squad car. His rookie partner shot him a bewildered look. “Does that happen to you a lot?”

“More than you’d think. Just ignore them,” Jun-ho replied, settling back into his seat, looking down at the band on his ring finger as his eyes softened, already missing you.

They were driving back toward their usual patrol route when Jun-ho caught sight of a familiar car in the distance. It was yours, the unmistakable silhouette of the vehicle and the way it handled the road bringing an instant smile to his face.

“Pulling over for a second,” he told his rookie partner.

“What? Why?”

Without explanation, Jun-ho sped up slightly, falling into step behind your car before flicking on the lights. You weren’t speeding—you rarely did—but you pulled your car to the side of the road obediently anyway, your indicator blinking calmly, putting the car in park.

Jun-ho stepped out of the patrol car, smoothing his uniform. His partner stayed inside, fiddling with the radio.

He walked up to your window, tapping lightly on the glass, then gestured for you to roll it down. When you turned to look at him, he saw the way your eyes flickered in recognition and affectionate annoyance. He could already feel his heart melting.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along as you pressed the button and lowered the window.

“Officer,” you said, your voice laced with playful suspicion. “What’s the problem?”

Jun-ho leaned against the frame, speaking in a serious way, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “License and registration, please.”

You scoffed. “I wasn’t speeding. You know I wasn’t speeding.”

“You were driving suspiciously… within the speed limit,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Very suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Am I really getting a ticket for obeying the law?”

“Yes,” he said, dipping his head closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “But you can pay in kisses.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in through the open window, his lips brushing yours in a tender, stolen kiss. It was soft, warm, and lingering—the kind of kiss that reminded you just how much he adored you. When he pulled back, he waited for just a moment before stealing another kiss. And then another.

“Jun-ho,” you mumbled, your voice half-scolding but mostly filled with affection.

“One more,” he murmured, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the window.

You gave in, letting him kiss you again.

“That’ll cover it,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement as he pulled back, his eyes lingering on yours.

Just as he straightened, the passenger door of the squad car opened, and his rookie partner stepped out, looking thoroughly confused. “Uh… everything okay?”

Jun-ho let out a sigh, his expression shifting back to something more professional, though you could still see the softness in his eyes when he glanced at you. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute, go wait in the car.”

The officer hesitated but nodded, retreating back to the patrol car, leaving the two of you alone again.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Jun-ho said, his voice softening as he looked at you.

You smiled warmly. “I’ll see you at home.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised. “Sharp.”

With one last lingering look, Jun-ho stepped back, letting you drive off. He stood there for a moment, watching your car disappear down the road, his heart full.

As he returned to the squad car, his rookie partner gave him a questioning look, but Jun-ho didn’t offer an explanation. Some things were just for him to cherish.