#this magnificent fucking book

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

both this book and the song it's based off fucking ruuuuuuule

The Deep

Rivers Solomon

Yetu holds the memories for her people--water-dwelling descendants of pregnant African slave women thrown overboard by slave owners--who live idyllic lives in the deep. Their past, too traumatic to be remembered regularly is forgotten by everyone, save one--the historian. This demanding role has been bestowed on Yetu. Yetu remembers for everyone, and the memories, painful and wonderful, traumatic and terrible and miraculous, are destroying her. And so, she flees to the surface escaping the memories, the expectations, and the responsibilities--and discovers a world her people left behind long ago. Yetu will learn more than she ever expected about her own past--and about the future of her people. If they are all to survive, they'll need to reclaim the memories, reclaim their identity--and own who they really are.

(Affiliate link above)

[cherisheachother]

hell bent plot summary

[cuteniarose]

This absolutely belongs on my personal blog but idgaf HEY 🗑️🔥 GANG GUESS WHO FINALLY FINISHED THEIR WAR AND PEACE CHARACTERISATION TABLE

It's such an ugly uneven mess and my handwriting is shit but I'm beyond caring genuinely

[tenrose]

So the critics were right about the secret history... It was good.

[xxlumos]

This is going to be an unpopular post probably, hate post even, according to some of you. Yes I am a hater now.

Spoilers, kinda, for the Mandalorian season 3.

I kind of disliked the first episode of the new season. There I said it.

Alright, it is the first episode and sets the tone and story for the rest of the season. But after knowing the other two first episodes, this one falls flat, in. my. opinion. Remember that before you come for me.

And by that I mean the story, the dialogue, the setting, the colors, the cgi … it all feels so … “disneyfied”.

I know mando was always about side quests, and how that plot leads to another, but this episode had like no depth? “Oh I have to go there to get that? Alright!”. Also, I’m sorry, but the cliche catchphrases “Never trust a pirate” made my eyes roll. And I know we love fan service, trust me I do too, but I can’t hear “This is the way” anymore.

I know it’s a “kids show”, and the mouse tries to make merch off of everything, but knowing how good season one and two were, I have to say I am disappointed. Still gonna watch the whole season though.

[bullseyelover]

Q: When you get the role, what were your impressions of Benjamin Poindexter before you had to live in his skin and peel back those layers?

A: Well, obviously, there’s a pretty big mythology around this character. So, you can’t ignore ignore that. That said, Erik Oleson, the showrunner, he had something pretty close to a carte blanche in developing a backstory and really developing a more intimate and intricate psychology for the character. You have a certain version of the character that exists in the comic book, but I’d like to think you get a really more fleshed out version. You’re getting to really spend some time with him this season on the show and hopefully in future seasons. So, I think part of the excitement for me was really getting to learn about him as I read more scripts. And of course as an actor, that just enriches just a bigger understanding of what his motivations are and where he’s going — what his arc is. I think part of what makes the character so cool is that when you meet him, he’s a troubled guy clearly, but he’s also good guy. He’s on the right side of the law, and he’s fighting the good fight. He’s working with the FBI, and for all intents and purposes, he’s a hero. What this season charts is his being pulled from a better nature into a darker nature, and Wilson Fisk is a big part of that.

Wilson Bethel for 411 Mania

[bakugosgothhoe]

"But your brain is still trying to process how someone who looks like he volunteers at retirement homes can be so...ripped."

This fucking sent me LMFAO. How is this so fucking accurate?

This was what got me to pay closer attention to this fic. This just describes Yuuji to a T. Just fucking perfect. Fantastic.

₊˚⊹｡ it's a match! | itadori yuuji

wc: 1.8k

summary: the guy you match with on a dating app is too good to be true. 

contains: gn!reader, non-curse au, athletic trainer yuuji, dating apps, megumi and nobara cameos

a/n: this is such a projection of my insane attraction for yuuji + a few songs i associate with this fic and him: mariposa - peach tree rascals, sunshine - kyle, miguel, sunkissed - khai dreams

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event prompt: finally saying yes to that nice guy you’re afraid is too good to be true

Itadori Yuuji. Athletic Trainer. 24. Loves dogs, exploring nature, cheat day meals, and a good workout!

Pink hair, wide eyes, bright smile—the kind that can’t possibly be rehearsed; the photo on your screen is candid, edges blurred by movement but the center clearly in focus. 

He’s cute, you think. Enough for you to scroll further down to get to know more about him. 

The second photo you land on is definitely something; your eyes widen and you swear you hear yourself gulp a little. On your screen, crouched low, is this same Itadori Yuuji smiling in between a golden retriever and a husky; he has an arm wrapped around each dog, bringing them close as their tongues stick out in the summer heat. 

And you’re pretty sure it’s summer because this Itadori Yuuji guy also happens to be shirtless, towel slung around his neck as strands of pink hair cling to the sweat on his forehead. That, and the trees behind him glisten underneath the sunlight—vibrant green. 

Considering the bigger picture, the photo is adorable. Cool. Absolutely heartwarming even.

But your brain is still trying to process how someone who looks like he volunteers at retirement homes can be so… ripped. 

You scroll some more. 

And after two question prompts, one muscle tee gym photo (which is way more attractive than shirtless, by the way), and one group photo–a girl with short hair and a pretty boy with unruly black hair–, you’ve concluded that this Itadori Yuuji guy is a picture-perfect example of a kind of boy-next-door. 

You say kind of because you learn that his ‘typical sunday’ is waking up at dawn to take his and his bestfriend’s dogs out for a hike. You also say kind of because the most surprising fact about him is that he’s been a stunt double because he knows how to do parkour.

It feels like an illusion, as if someone so down-to-earth and seemingly friendly, living just eight kilometres away from you is being dangled right under your nose. 

He’s way too good to be true.

So when you press ‘like’ to his answer for the prompt ‘typical sunday’ and comment, “Cool! Are these the same dogs as the one in your photo?”, you definitely do not expect to be matched a few minutes later. 

.

To your surprise, you and Yuuji get along swimmingly. 

There’s a reason dating apps are not messaging apps, and you both find out when your chat page begins to lag after a series of 100+ messages in the span of 10 minutes. 

So, you swap numbers. 

And it’s good—way too good. 

It’s unbelievable how easy it is to talk to him, how fun. There’s never an awkward lull and he always replies enthusiastically, never too late and never too early. If others are walls, Yuuji is a trampoline—bouncing off your energy and returning what you throw at him.

You learn that not only is he a kind of boy-next-door, but a golden retriever boy too. And you don’t really know what to do or how to feel about that realization. 

5:47 p.m. 

Itadori Yuuji

> [attachment] 

> cheat meal today!! 

The attachment opens to a photo of him using french fries as a moustache, along with a giant burger set on a plate in front of him. Despite the very obvious distraction of his biceps flexing while his arms cross in front of his chest, you chuckle and roll your eyes.

It’s an inside joke—kind of. You mentioned once that you only found out when you were 13 that french fries did not in fact come from the French. 

5:48 p.m. 

< ha ha ha 🙄

You straighten up in your chair, stretching your back until you hear it crack.

< late lunch or early dinner? 

5:49 p.m. 

Itadori Yuuji 

> late lunch!

> had the whole team in a while ago then got a workout in right after!

5:50 p.m. 

< good reward? 

5:50 p.m. 

Itadori Yuuji 

> good enough

> would be better with some company though!

Herein lies the problem. 

You stare at your screen, biting your bottom lip as you watch the little bubble move as he types. 

5:51 p.m. 

Itadori Yuuji 

> only if you aren’t busy or anything!!

This is the second time Yuuji has tried to ask you out in the month and a half of you both talking; the first time was just completely wrong timing, but this one—you have nowhere else to be and you actually can go to him.

5:54 p.m. 

Itadori Yuuji 

> no pressure!! 

And yet—

Your fingers move faster than you can think. 

5:55 p.m. 

< still caught up at work, sorry 😞

< next time!! 

You can’t even explain why you feel so hesitant to meet him. 

5:56 p.m.

< eat enough for the both of us for now 😌

—you groan, dropping your forehead down on your desk. 

To be honest, you aren’t sure what to call the fuzzy feeling in your stomach. Is it butterflies? Nerves kicking in? Fear? 

5:57 p.m. 

Itadori Yuuji 

> that’s okay!! i ordered a milkshake too

> i’ll drink it in your spirit 🫡

It’s confusing, because he’d confessed that he’s never done dating apps before, isn’t so sure how it goes; that his friend was solely responsible for the creation of his account because why not? 

He’d admitted that he wasn’t too keen on it because he wasn’t really looking, but he’s glad he agreed because otherwise, he wouldn’t have met you. 

And you think, for someone who ‘isn’t so sure how it goes’, he’s actually pretty smooth. 

So, maybe you have trust issues.

And maybe, he’s just so sweet—about this, about everything, that you can’t figure out if he’s just really nice or if he’s flirting. 

.

.

.

“Kugisaki, I think I’m being rejected.” 

“Huh?” Nobara looks up midbite, face scrunching into confusion. Megumi raises his eyebrow from the side. 

“Yeah,” Yuuji shrugs, pouting as he swirls his chopsticks around, “maybe they don’t like me that way. Why else would they be avoiding a meet-up?” 

Nobara clears her throat, setting her chopsticks down as she straightens her back against the booth. Her fingers clasp together on the desk. 

“Itadori.” 

Yuuji looks up as Nobara shoots him a look. 

“No.” 

Megumi slurps on his soup.

“Phone.” Nobara reaches an arm out, palm up as she waits. 

Once she grabs a hold of the device, she taps on his text thread with you, scrolling up and up and up as if to prove a point. For even more evidence, she goes to your socials, reading the exchange of compliments you both have left on each other’s Instagram stories. 

“Maybe they just see me as a friend, you know?” 

“Itadori, I did not curate your profile for someone to tap on it because they ‘see you as a friend’.” 

The table is quiet—even Megumi’s stopped eating, cheek resting on his palm.

“You cannot tell me that someone tapped on your profile after seeing that bait photo of you with your dog and Fushiguro’s dog because they wanted to ‘just be friends’.” 

Yuuji has nothing else to say, eyes wide and mouth completely shut as Nobara goes on to explain (air quotes and all) how his profile is the quintessential design of a boy-next-door who anyone is bound to fall for. 

Only when she’s done, having exposed every single detail about your relationship (friendship?) that Yuuji never even knew she knew, does Megumi speak. 

“I wouldn’t be talking to someone everyday for three months straight if I didn’t like them that way.” 

.

.

.

You’re horrible. 

Yuuji should honestly just stop talking to you at this point. 

You’ve declined a meet-up three times for god’s sake. 

Each time, he’s been so nice about it too, telling you that it’s okay, you don’t need to worry about it. That he’ll definitely treat you to a big meal when you finally do meet��to make up for all the wrong timings. 

He’s not the problem, it’s you. 

Yuuji hasn’t replied to your text since yesterday, and you honestly wouldn’t blame him if he completely stopped because, why bother if his advances have been blocked every single time anyway? 

You’d get it, would completely understand if he ghosted you now. 

But… there’s no denying the way your stomach drops when you think about it. 

You’ve clicked open your phone five times in the past 10 minutes, and every time it vibrates, you rush to check it, hoping it’s him. 

This is the last time, you swear to yourself—the sign. 

If he asks you again one more time, you’ll finally do it. No more excuses, no more chickening out at the last minute. 

(You pray to whatever god is out there that he does.

And just as you’re about to go to bed, a notification pops up)

.

12:03 a.m. 

Itadori Yuuji 

> hey! slr!! someone on the team got injured so we had to rush him in

> it was a whole thing

> but i hope your back’s doing better! are the stretches i sent helping?

12:05 a.m. 

Itadori Yuuji

> also no pressure at all but there’s a game this saturday in our area

> was wondering if you’d like to drop by? 

> no worries if you’re busy though! 

> just let me know so i can get a pass for you 🫡

.

.

.

The cafe you agreed to meet at is busier than you expected, ceramics clinking and the coffee machines working double time as an influx of customers line up by the cashier. 

You’re thankful for the noise, the endless chatter around you drowning out each rapid pulse of your heart beat. 

Do you bow? Shake his hand? Wave?  

You’re so nervous, you might not even get a word in at all. 

It should be any minute now, based on his texts. 

You do your best to distract yourself, looking around the cafe and fiddling with the straps of your bag.

But the doors swing open, and you turn to see who’s come in—

It’s him. Itadori Yuuji in the flesh. 

The guy you’ve spent the past few months talking to, laughing at his jokes and sharing pieces of your day-to-day with. 

As he looks around for you, you take a few minutes to soak in this moment. Still too good to be true: black polo shirt hugging the expanse of his chest, his pink hair styled boyishly; there’s a natural brightness to him that draws you in, almost like his personality shines outward, charming you the more you look at him. 

—and when your gazes meet, he smiles, eyes crinkling, lighting up at the sight of you as he raises his hand and finally, waves. 

.

You don’t know what took you so long to finally say yes, but thank god you did. 

Because aside from all the qualities that make him a kind of boy-next-door and a golden retriever boy all packed in one, you’re becoming well aware that Itadori Yuuji’s biggest asset is the way his ass looks tight, hugged snuggly by his pants as you watch from the stands.

a/n: coming up with this idea was so much fun that there's a bunch of lore i wasn't able to include! like: 1) megumi hates yuuji's music and definitely told him to never mention it out of fear that he’ll be rejected even more, 2) yuuji has received messages asking 'who's your friend?' 'is he single?' on the group photo with nobara and megumi, 3) he definitely stunt doubled for sukuna

thank you notes: to @augustinewrites for literally feeding me inspiration for this entire plot omfg this is lowkey her brainchild too & for helping me with dating app research along with @ufo-ikawa 🥺 ily both + @mysugu @soumies for of course listening to me ramble abt this, as you both do with everything else i talk about 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[alphafemalecarla]

springfield did NOT just mention magnificent century SCREAMING

[sanguineterrain]

smut 18+ only, fucking jason on the kitchen floor, feral horny afab reader who wants to maul jason, unprotected sex, breeding kink, submissive jaytodd!!! rock on!!!

The first time you go absolutely batshit feral over Jason, he's cleaning the apartment.

He's done nothing to provoke your ferality (he never does), and usually, you keep it to yourself. Thoughts like if I were a vampire I'd suck his blood and I need my boyfriend to hold me down until I orgasm or pass out, whichever comes first, are inside thoughts, and you do a great job at keeping them as such.

So you're not quite sure what compels you to act the way that you do.

First, Jason's in clothes that don't help your insanity. The shirt is Dick's (Jason insists that he did NOT have an emo phase, thank you), so the cropped quality of the My Immortal t-shirt isn't by design. Jason's just big.

Yes, yep, your boyfriend sure is a big boy. That's all you can think about as you watch him over the top of your open book while he attacks the kitchen floor with his Swiffer Jet. He's humming a song you don't recognize.

You love him so much. The thought hits you square in the chest. You love Jason Todd. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.

The next thought that hits you is how soft and squishy your boyfriend is. Jason's sweatpants are baggy, the baggiest he could find, and they still can't hide how humongous his thighs are. His thighs are pure muscle, but when not in the middle of a fight, they are soft. Bitable. Very bitable.

Your gazes moves to the strip of belly that flexes and flutters with every movement. Jason's stomach isn't perfectly flat, a fact that you know sometimes bothers him. You take care to treat it delicately, not wanting him to be self-conscious even though every part of him makes you rabid.

You want to kiss Jason's stomach. Feel it twitch under your hand as you do, uh... other stuff besides kissing. You love watching Jason in action, love watching him wield his powerful body. But you also love him like this: using his body to take care of himself, his space, and you.

Jason's arms. You could write prose poetry on such magnificent creations. More than once you've had the urge to wrap one of Jason's arms around your neck and let him squeeze until you lose consciousness. Another inside thought! Jason would staunchly refuse and probably get you checked for head trauma if you requested such a thing, but you can dream.

Once or twice, Jason's flexed for you, silly and smiley. You've managed to hide just how fucking hot you found it. It's been well over a year and you still want to jump your boyfriend. You try to keep it to a manageable level, not wanting to startle or overwhelm him. You know Jason's complicated relationship with his body. You respect his boundaries.

But still, the thoughts linger...

Your feet carry you to the kitchen before you can think about it. Jason's done with the mop and has moved to wiping the counters. You seize the opportunity to get behind him.

"Hey, baby," Jason says before you reach him. He keeps wiping. And that's another thing: Jason is highly competent. His training makes him hear you before you've reached him. If you were an evil goon, you'd be on the floor before you could inhale. You also find that concerningly hot.

You stick yourself to his back and wrap your arms around his stomach. You grab handfuls of the layer of fat that covers his muscles, brushing your thumbs over where his hair thickens below his bellybutton.

"What's up, hm?" Jason asks, patting your hand.

"You're really hot," you say.

He snorts, glances behind at you. "I'm what now?"

"Hot. Juicy. I wanna maul you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," you say peacefully, groping his waist. "Soon as possible."

"I'm free for a mauling in ten minutes. That work for you?"

"I don't know if I can wait that long." You slip your hands up his shirt. "Mind if I feel you up while I wait?"

Jason laughs but it comes out a little airy. "You're a menace."

"I'm crazy about you."

"Mm, I've noticed. Feeling's mutual."

"No, no." You move your head so that your mouth is on his exposed bicep. You feel the hot flesh in your mouth, lave your tongue over it for some time. As soon as it flexes, you bite the hard muscle.

Jason drops his dishcloth. You soothe your teeth marks with your tongue.

"You don't understand," you say, shifting so you're pressing Jason against the counter edge. He lets you keep him there. "I'm crazy about you. I wanna eat you, Jay. Let me eat you."

"Jesus, what's gotten into ya?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.

"Hopefully you," you say, unrepentant.

Jason's eyes widen. You adore how squirmy he gets whenever you're bold about wanting him. Despite how long you've known each other, Jason never fails to get flustered. Perhaps that's half the fun.

"C'mon, Jay, let me fuck you. I wanna fuck you on the kitchen floor," you say, past coyness.

He full-body shudders. "I jus' cleaned."

You grin against his arm, pawing at his hip. "I'll help you mop again, honey pie. Deal?" You're eyeing his stomach next, ready to suck his skin there.

Jason can't deny you for long. You both know that.

"You're persuasive," he says, eyelids fluttering.

You hum. "Didn't take much, though, did it? Is your dick hard already?" You squeeze him through his sweats. Jason whines, bracing himself against the counter. "Never takes long, huh? You're always ready for me in no time, stud. Ready to fill me up, right?"

"Oh m'God," he says, looking at you like you're divine. That look swells your ego every time.

"Is that a yes?" You cup his balls like you're choosing a bull for breeding. Jason buckles under your brazenness. "Yes, you want me to let you fuck my pussy? Yes, you want me to fuck you on the floor?"

"Yeah, yeah, please."

So Jason lets you push him down onto the tiles. You yank his sweats down first, then his underwear. He's already leaking onto his stomach.

"Fuck," you say, grabbing and holding Jason's wrists on either side of his head. "You gonna give me what I want, sweetie? Love of my life, handsomest guy I've ever seen?"

Jason nods vigorously. "Yeah, yes, an-anything y'want. Oh my God, I'm s-so hard. I love you. Y'so nice to me."

You smile gently.

"I'm nice for taking you on the kitchen floor, huh?" you ask, bending your knees and lining up his cock to your cunt. "What if I make you wait until I come first?"

Jason nods again, already breathing hard. "I want to, I wanna wait. You should come first. I want you to come first. I don't have ta come at all."

You raise an eyebrow. That's new. New, but not unwelcome.

"So even when I..." You sink down on his cock, just the tip. Jason whimpers in the back of his throat. "Do that? You don't need to come?"

You feel him flex under your hands but he's good and stays put. He doesn't break your hold even though he could. You grin.

"Oh-oh. Sweet boy. My best guy. Look at you, big and hard. You could take me if you wanted, but you don't want that, do you? You want me to take what I want from you. All that muscle and strength, but what d'you need, Jaybee? Hm? Tell me."

"Need you," he says, voice strained. "Need you to do whatever y'want."

You kiss under his jaw and dig your nails into his wrists. Then you sink further onto Jason's cock. His hips twitch but he doesn't thrust like he usually does.

"Will you kiss me?" he asks when he bottoms out, body strung tight like a bow.

"I did kiss you," you say, smiling into his neck.

"On th'lips," Jason says, fingers shaking. "Please? Please."

You thread your fingers with his to steady them. Then you lean in to kiss his mouth. Jason moans, greedily kissing you back. You begin to move. Jason's shoulders tense.

"You're so perfect," you say against his lips. "You'd be so perfect at knocking me up. Any time I wanted, you'd be hard and ready to come in me, right?"

"Ah-ah," Jason says, voice wrecked. "Y-yeah, yeah. As much as y'want. Do anything y'want. I'd do anything."

"Yeah, I know," you say, grunting as you slide back onto him. "I know, sweetheart. Pretty boy. Y'dunno what you got with this fat cock. Can barely speak when your dick's wet."

You do a particularly hard grind and growl against Jason's sweaty throat. You lick the salt from his Adam's apple, feel it bob against your tongue. Then you bite.

"Oh, oh," he whines, and your gut tightens further at his sounds.

"Don't come," you snarl, pussy like a vice. "I come first."

Jason shakes his head, lips parted. His pulse throbs against your mouth. "No, no, won't. I won't. I'm good. I'll be good. 'M I good?"

You pet his hair, voice softening. "You're good, Jason. So good, baby. So good that I gotta take you right here on the floor. You understand, right? I was aching over there, watching you. I had to fuck you. Had to use your big dick for something."

"Uh-huh," he says, voice wet and sticky with pleasure. "Y'had to. I can do it. I wanna be good for you."

He looks up at you, and you're struck again by your difference in size, and how easy Jason gets when he's inside of you. You feel that familiar tightness, the edge of your impending orgasm.

"Rub my clit," you say, letting go of his right hand, and Jason obeys instantly, locating and deftly rubbing your clit.

"Harder," you tell him, and he rubs harder. Your mouth falls open as the pleasure swells. "Yeah. This is what you're made for. Pleasing me."

One of these days, you'll broach the subject of Jason putting those muscles to good use and fucking you doggy-style, whining in your ear as he shoots load after load into you.

"I'm gonna come," you say, cunt tightening. "Are you gonna come?"

Jason shakes his head desperately. "No. No, no, y'said not to. Not gonna come!"

"A-are you sure?" you ask, grinning as Jason makes uh-uh's in the back of his throat.

"Won't come, I promise, won't come," he says, near tears.

You come, tightening hard around Jason's cock. He nearly howls, the corners of his eyes wet, tendons pulled taut in his neck.

But he doesn't come, true to his word.

Sloppily, you kiss him. Jason kisses you back, but it's frenzied. You know his brain must be soup with the effort it's taking to not come.

"Look at you," you say, gaze hungrily roving over Jason's swollen nipples, his red face, his drawn eyebrows. "You listened so well. Y'wanna touch me? Wanna hold me?"

Jason nods frantically. "Yeah, yeah, please, baby, please, can I?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart. Hold me how you want and make yourself come. Don't be gentle."

Jason hesitates at the last direction. "Don't be gentle? Are y'sure?"

You pinch his nipple lightly. Jason bucks his hips. Your eyes narrow.

"I'm sure. Gimme everything you got, big guy."

You bite your lip as Jason's body comes alive, strength kicking in as he draws your thighs up over his hips, plants his feet, and drives into you. He punches the air out of you with each thrust, sobbing as he does. You hold on to his arms as he moves.

It only takes him a few thrusts before hot cum fills your pussy. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, nails scratching Jason's biceps.

"I want more," you say, grinding shallowly against his cock. Jason cries out, and more cum fills you.

"Was that good?" Jason asks, holding you closer.

You grin. "We're definitely doing that again."

Except, maybe not right after Jason's cleaned. You're not that mean.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’  simple acts of love from skz

—All the times stray kids said I love you in the little things.

words・6.8k pairings・stray kids x reader genres・fluff, a little crack, established relationships warnings・lots and lots of kisses!! happy tears, drunken re-confessions, silliness, playful living room dancing, minhos a shy baby, he's also a little shit in changbins, erotic painting in hyunjins, hans is a little bit more emotional, silly little proposals, my terrible attempt at writing lyrics, jeongin stalks your goodreads profile and buys your entire TBR list like I don't have at least a thousand tbr books...some of these are silly some of these are sickeningly sweet,

a/n・I wrote these drabbles based on these headcanons, but I did change Minho's because I believed it fit him better!! Also, this has been rotting in my drafts for MONTHS im not super proud of them, but I hope you like them anyways.

ᡣ𐭩 chan + sneaking into your bathroom to trace hearts onto the bathroom mirror.

"This is a suicide mission!" his lungs scream as he slips into your inferno of a bathroom, a heavy cloak of steam hugging him instantly. His respiratory system begs for release, a moist cough rolling up his throat; but like the magnificent boyfriend he is, he shoves those rebellious bodily functions right back down his windpipe.

Was his silly little plan worth the ability to breathe? Yes. Did he also wonder how you even could? Also yes.

The mirror fogs like the surface of an ancient lake, obstructing the image of his mischievous grin. He brings a pointer finger to the glass, drawing all his ardor in the mist—though it only comes out as lopsided hearts.

Your voice floats out from behind the curtain, absentmindedly humming to a silent tune. Shadows of your hands move through your hair, your body refracted onto the thin sheet.

You are so beautiful...

Cupid smacks his jaw shut.

He manages to slip out right as the water sputters off, sliding into the living room by his socks. He face-plants onto the couch, scrambling to sit upright. The loud smack of your towel echoes in his ears as his wide eyes dart to the table, frantically searching for something to occupy his attention. He snatches the first thing he sees, which just happens to be a... candle?

Whatever, no time!

Chan is intently studying the ocean-blue Bath & Body Works label, when you come pattering out, damp hair dribbling water behind you. The moment you step into his line of sight, his heart plummets—that stupid aromatherapy candle nearly tumbling with it.

There you were, in all your drenched glory, your towel wrapped snug against your chest, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. Did you hear that?! Tears!! You were crying?! Why were you crying?!?!

Chan must have embodied the spirit of a kangaroo, because he’s never jumped up faster in his life.

"Why are you crying? You're supposed to be happy!" he yelps, yanking your body into his arms, water seeping into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. His brain becomes the equivalent of the world’s most fucked-up ambrosia when you begin laughing, the curve of your smile pressed into his chest. He blinks—he doesn't know whether to kiss you or call a priest. Maybe he should do both?

Suddenly you pull away, cocooning his cheeks with pruney hands, your bottom lip wobbling as you sob, "I'm so in love with you."

Well, good job—now he's sobbing too.

"I'm in love with you too, baby."

You had drawn hearts on the walls of his soul in the same way he had drawn them in the steam of your mirror. The only difference is, yours would never fade away.

ᡣ𐭩 minho + randomly sending you songs that remind him of you.

Minho wasn't the type to throw his arms around you, pressing kisses to your face with all his overflowing ardor. Instead, in the minuscule overlaps of time between talking on the phone and constructing a perfect dance routine, he'll find himself sitting dazed upon the lounge room couch, mindlessly nodding to a catchy tune. He had left his Spotify on smart shuffle, finding comfort in the idea of a song found without searching, as if it were fate's gentle finger dusting the path to new adventures. He flutters his eyelids shut, ripples of sound washing over his skin.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In a rash flood of emotions, he sends you the song just before Chan steps into view, announcing his dire need to finish choreographing the final steps of their newest single. Begrudgingly, he slips his phone into his back pocket, his earbuds following suit. The only thing that keeps him sane throughout the day is the anticipation that he will go home and see you, and that makes it all worth it.

ᡣ𐭩

May I have this dance?" you declare, extending your arm with feigned seriousness, though the playful smile tugging at your lips betrays you instantly.

“What?” Minho chuckles through furrowed brows, observing the unusual surroundings; candles flicker dim lighting on the walls, throwing shadows on the rose petals you had scattered around your living room, forming an intriguing resemblance to a romantic dance floor. He sets the bags of groceries on the ground. Lee Know is so beyond confused, yet also pleasantly surprised, especially when you waltz over to him, tight red dress hugging all your gorgeous curves.

“You still haven't answered my question,” you sing, playfully twirling into his arms. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, tracing mindless circles in his hair. A shiver rolls up his spine as you tilt your face forward, lips so close; his heart flutters like a fragile leaf tumbling down from an autumn tree. He blinks before exhaling—

“Of course, I'll dance with you.”

A delighted squeal erupts from your lips, and you jump away from his arms, heading straight over to your phone to play the song he sent you prior. A warm blush floods his cheeks, painting them a bashful red.

“Did you like it?” His eyes fall away from yours.

“Did I like it?? Of course I liked it!” you squeal, gaping at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. World War Three rages inside his chest as he fights not to fold like a lawn chair, flopping on the floor like a flustered starfish. Though when your hands rub their way up from his chest to his shoulders, he's surprised he's even upright. Your hips sway to the melody, a warm smile melting away all his defenses; but when you guide his awkward hands to the dip in your hips, it’s game over. He stuffs his face into your neck, littering the sensitive skin with kisses, his brain screaming: distract the enemy!! distract the enemy!!

“Do you know how much I love you?” he mumbles with striking genuineness. Instead of answering his question, you simply twirl yourself around his finger, placing his hand to wrap around the small of your back. He dips you down right as the music swells. It was magical, really—the candlelight twinkling in your peripheral, spills of starlight dancing off the ocean's surface. It was all so perfect—that was until your shoe caught on one of the rose petals, the floor turning slick under your feet. You send yourself tumbling straight to the ground. Minho squeals, grasping at thin air, but then he too also slips, frantically shooting his wrists out so he doesn't crush you.

The music cuts through the deafening silence as petals weave their way into your hair. You roll your lips into your teeth, glancing over to an eerily still Minho, staring at the ceiling like a spooked tabby. As if he could feel your eyes, his gaze finds yours, and only then does he burst out into roaring laughter, which prompts you to also join the fun.

“Are you sure you're the main dancer?” you tease through breathy giggles. He gasps, smacking a dramatic hand over his chest.

“I’ll have you know you fell first.”

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In that moment, as the light hits you just right, he swears he finds the universe in your eyes. Your skin is showered in candlelight, head tilted back—joy flickers on your tongue as honey drips from your teeth. His heart pounds against his ribs, flowers sprouting in his lungs. To the world, he was an aloof grump with smooth moves and an impressive affinity for cats; but to you, with you, he was so much more.

Mid-snort, he captures your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. In a single gesture, he is pouring all the words he wished to say—

though to you, it tasted a little bit like—

If he had to blow a wish on every dandelion in the universe just to keep you, he would; and only through your lips would he find the power to keep breathing.

ᡣ𐭩 changbin + gushing about you while drunk

The balmy patio is sticky with soju-infused groans, most of the boys slumped in their respective seats, throwing back exasperated swigs of their drinks as they desperately try to drown out Changbin’s relentless rambles.

The two semicircle outdoor couches form a full circle around an unlit bonfire pit. On one of the couches sits a completely unfazed Felix, taking small sips of his soju between chuckles; an extremely annoyed Seungmin, glaring daggers at Changbin; and I.N, who doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything except, well, sleeping—body slumped against the armrest. Hyunjin is sandwiched between Chan and Changbin on the other couch: Chan, who wishes he never even brought up the idea to buy beer in the first place, and Changbin, who is currently slumped over a very irked Hyunjin’s lap. Han is somewhere in the house, probably giggling at his own swirling reflection.

Hyunjin digs his fingers into the roots of his locks, fighting every urge not to yank the tufts straight out.

“N-no, but Jinnie, you don’t u-understand—she’s so pretty,” Changbin slurs, stuffing his face into his friend’s hoodie, which makes Hyunjin frown and swat him away.

“That’s it! I’m calling Y/N!” Seungmin announces, jumping up from his seat. Chan grabs his sleeve, yanking him straight back down, much to Seungmin’s dismay. he sinks into the polyester in a puddle of disgruntled grumbles.

"Or we could record him," Minho calls out from the shadows of the back entryway, only ever appearing when he needed more beer or more entertainment. And right now, it was dinner and a show. Minho simply shrugs as if his evil plan wouldn’t ruin his best friend's bad-boy reputation. "Send it to Y/N later," he mumbles to himself, the devil tilting his cheek up. Nobody seems to hear him, so he slyly pulls his phone from his pocket and presses record.

"No, no, no! You can't call Y/N. She’ll know I love her!" Changbin gasps in horror, stumbling to grab the phantom phone that apparently appears on Hyunjin’s lap with the way he paws at his jeans. Hyunjin takes a nice, long swig of his soju.

"You know you and Y/N have been together for over four years, right?" Felix chuckles, finding the whole ordeal pure comedic relief.

"No, you don’t understand. She’ll know I love her... lover," Changbin’s words slur into an incoherent shake of his head. Minho's evil cackles float out from the concealment of the doorway, and Chan perks up.

"Minho, what are you doing?!" Minho slams his phone against his thigh. What the hell?? Does Chan have Spidey senses or something??

"Nothing!" he yelps, sounding super convincing. Chan narrows his eyes toward the darkness where Minho is supposedly lurking, sporting an eerily perfect rendition of a frustrated father. That is, until Changbin begins a very off-tune version of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” rolling over on Hyunjin’s lap to tap his fingers up his arm and eventually landing on Hyunjin’s nose with a giggle. When Hyunjin almost bites his finger off, Chan finally diverts his attention. Minho thanks God for the shadows—how else would he have gotten away with recording all of that?

“I’m about two seconds away from bringing you back to Y/N,” Hyunjin sighs, his lips pressed into a tight line as he glares at the man whose eyes just burst with light at the thought of seeing you. Chan smacks Hyunjin on the back sympathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why me, Lord? Why me?" Chan sings his woes under his breath but just loud enough for the camera to pick up—and for Minho to giggle.

"Y/N, I miss Y/N. Can I go home to Y/N, please?" Changbin hiccups, slumping his head onto Hyunjin’s shoulder. Hyunjin’s eye twitches. "I wanna tell the pretty girl I love her."

Felix emerges from his silence with a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his beer all over the floor. "Weren't you just saying you didn’t want to tell her you loved her?"

Changbin whips his gaze forward, his eyes hardening into a very foggy glare. "Well, now I want to tell the pretty girl I love her," he states matter-of-factly, his eyes fluttering a bit, betraying just how drunk he is.

Felix’s amusement is transparent as he raises his beer in Changbin’s direction. "Somebody needs to bring him to Y/N and let him re-confess his undying love for her."

Seungmin has never jumped up so fast in his life; he’s mid-volunteer when Chan grabs the cuff of his sleeve again and yanks him right back on his ass. Seungmin collapses onto the couch, ready to spit a disrespectful insult at his elder, but he folds like a lawn chair when Chan shoots him that look.

"Seungmin, you are far too drunk to take him home, while I," he looks to the sky with regret, "am very regretfully sober." Chan sounds like he’s going through the five stages of grief in one sentence.

"Okay, buddy, I’m taking you home," Chan grunts, clapping the drunken boy on the back. Changbin beams like he just heard there was a cure for cancer.

"Hell yeah!" He jumps up, only to stumble slightly, the patio swimming in his vision as he catches himself on Hyunjin’s forehead. When he finally, barely stabilizes himself, he throws his hands up. "See y’all bitches later! I—” he dramatically points to his chest in pride, “—am going to see my girl," he declares and marches straight out the door. Chan is mid-goodbye hug turned introspection with Felix, wondering what he’s doing with his life, when he hears a loud shatter in the hallway. Chan falls out of Felix’s arms immediately, his stride turned sprint. 

"Son of a bitch, Changbin, that was my favorite vase!"

ᡣ𐭩

“Go ahead, tell the pretty girl how much you love her,” you tease, playfully mimicking kissy faces while simultaneously poking Changbin’s crumpled form, his boiling cheeks sandwiched between his knees.

Why did Minho have to send you that video? But most of all, why did he have to send it while Changbin was still hungover? All this humiliation can’t be good for his headache.

Changbin groans, falling back on the bed to pull a pillow over his scorching face. The fact that the whole mattress hasn’t burst into flames is truly beyond him. Giggles pour from your lips, even as they settle atop his stomach, leaving kisses all the way up his torso. You can hear his flustered pants from down here.

“Okay, that’s enough bullying for one day,” you say, straddling his waist to snake your arms around his waist, pressing your chests flush together. Your teeth graze his shoulder, softly biting the flesh. “Come on, baby, take the pillow off your face.” You press your smile against his shirt before resting your chin on his chest.

He peeks out from under the pillow, tugging it down just enough to reveal his eyes, still reluctant to fully reveal himself. You bat your lashes at him, pouting ever so slightly. He folds—like a damn lawn chair, at this point, he’s practically collapsing in on himself with how much he’s folded. His face melts into a grin as he finally pulls the pillow down.

He so regrets that.

Your face lights up with laughter as you take in his beet-red cheeks, your eyes disappearing into crinkled slits. “I’m sorry, I just... I just can’t,” you cackle, doubling over in heaves.

“I hate you,” Changbin shouts, flustered, smacking you square in the side of the head with the pillow. It does nothing to quell your amusement; in fact, it only makes it worse.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you snort, falling off him as you kick your feet against the sheets.

Despite his urge to tie a millstone around his ankle and jump off the face of the earth, he can’t help but smile, caught in an unusual state of awe. Your mouth is boxy, laughter filling the air like strands of warm honey.

“Apparently, you think about me a lot,” you snicker, still rolling around. his smile only spreads wider.

If only you knew how much he thought of you.

ᡣ𐭩 hyunjin + painting perfectly captured portraits of you

“Hold still for me, baby,” Hyunjin whispers, his voice low and intimate, as he lightly drags his brush down the length of your arm, adding the final touches to your portrait. His gaze traces your bare body, memorizing every inch until even the freckle on the upper left side of your waist is drawn onto the inside of his eyelids. The valley of your breasts trembles with each labored breath, your muscles tightening against the couch where you lay.

“I’m really trying, Jinnie, but it hurts,” you whine, fighting to keep your head steady. Your boyfriend lets out a breathy laugh, savoring one final glance at your naked form. With careful precision, he drags the sharpest part of his brush down your thigh, finishing the entire painting with his favorite peice of you.

“Done,” Hyunjin murmurs, settling back into his chair with a satisfied smile, admiring the art he’s just created. Usually when he painted, there was always something he hated about his work—whether it's the proportions or the colors were slightly out of harmony—it was never good enough. but when he paints you, there's never an issue; for he could capture you with children's finger paints, and you'd still find a way to look utterly breathtaking.

“Let me see,” you squeal, jumping up from the uncomfortable spot you’d claimed on his couch. A faint blush appears on his face as he turns the easel around, unraveling his heart before you. And oh, when he does—you collapse into his arms, all your strength diffused into a shuddering gasp. He had dipped his brush into your soul, and with every meticulous stroke, he gathered the very essence of your heart. It was almost unreal how perfect he made you appear to be—your moles speckled across your skin in gold, dusted like stars; your stretch marks adorned in silver, shining like slips of light.

How are you not sobbing right now??

“Is it okay?” he asks, bashfully wrapping his arms around your naked waist, completely unfazed by your current state of undress.

“Hyunjin, this is more than okay,” you sniffle, voice crackling with emotion. You turn to meet his gaze, only for his palms cradle your cheeks with a touch so tender, it's barely there. One second, you’re breathing; the next, you’re transcending, existing only between his lips.

By the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. He’s on top of you now, his hands resting on either side of your head, thoughts long forgotten. He moves closer, allowing whisps of his hair to tickle the sensitive flesh of your neck; for his lips to settle upong the delicate curve of your collarbone. He doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop until the sun kisses your skin, until the sky is filled with the very stars he painted upon your skin.

Only in love and art are you eternal and in hyunjin, with hyunjin, you are both. 

ᡣ𐭩 han + hiding messages into every song he produces

"In every lifetime," a heartfelt promise whispered between shuttering breaths. Han's lips parted, your tongue savoring his astonished gasp. "What did you say?" quickly transformed into "Did you mean it?" when you had tenderly threaded your fingers into his hair, the pad of your thumb settling just under his jaw. Your needy hands had fogged his head, but he never forgot it.

"In every lifetime," you had uttered many moons later, nestled underneath the stretch of midnight sky. The universe had stilled, all of time and space screeching to a deafening halt. You unraveled the scrolls of his soul, and with the eternal vow of "I do," swore forever. So, he, for however long he may live, intends to hold you to that promise.

From: Hannie 🐿 Do not by any means play my new song!!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Im serious!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Promise me Y/N!!!

You giggle at his earnestness, clicking the notification to message him back.

From: My Wife ❤ I won't I promise!

From: My Wife ❤ Scouts honor 🫡

You admired Han's dedication to his craft, but what you admired most was his need to share every single part of it with you.

"You didn't listen to the song, did you?" Han calls out from the foyer, slamming the front door behind him. He urgently throws off his shoes, his heavy footsteps following him all the way up the stairs. Your mirth bubbles up behind a bitten grin, lip firmly tucked between your teeth.

"No!" you shout back, feigning indifference; though when he swings your bedroom door open, you’re overcome with breathy giggles—his hair is tossed around at all angles, puffed cheeks pink and gasping.

Now that was the man you fell in love with.

"Somebody's eager," you tease, chucking your phone somewhere on the bed. His eyes are oddly fearful when you lift yourself up from the comforter, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest heaves, breath labored and shaky; flighty fingers find the knot of his tie, yanking it loose. You reel your head back. Since when does he wear a tie? You flick your gaze down his figure. Since when does he wear suits?? Your confusion only festers as he lets out an anxious chuckle, wringing his hands like wet rags.

"You have no idea." You didn’t know—didn’t know what he was about to risk. His heart was clay in your hands, and with the delicacy of a butterfly's wing, you pressed your fingerprints into his skin. For now, through touch alone, his soul will find you in every lifetime; but first, he must promise you himself in this one, and that appeared to be an impossible feat.

It's now or never, he tells himself.

So, with an arduous breath, he steadies his quivering hands just long enough to slip his phone out of his back pocket. Was it just him, or is it suddenly really hot in here? He swipes to YouTube. Why was it getting so hard to breathe?? He presses play. His heart somersaults its way down to his stomach when the opening melody echoes from the speakers. Your brows lift, lips pursing in your signature concentrated quirk. His mouth forms around a smile, breathing getting marginally easier, but that peace is short-lived as the chorus begins—only then does he feel the symptoms of real fear.

In every lifetime, his warm voice melts from the speaker.

A falling star just shot from space and hit you directly in the chest, rendering you utterly speechless; even as your gaze finds his glassy eyes, you just can’t believe it.

In every lifetime you swore.

It’s just too perfect.

So, for as long as I may live, I wanna be yours.

He’s just too perfect.

In every lifetime I'll dip my knee down.

There’s no way.

And yet he sinks to one knee, slipping a velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands make purchase around your mouth, stifling a wet cry.

In every lifetime I'll ask to be yours.

"Y/N L/N, will you marry me?"

You drop to your knees, tears tracing cordate-shaped rivulets down your cheeks. "Yes, Han, I'll marry you! I'll marry you!"

Your lips swear forever as they land on his, and that promise echoes far into lifetime number twelve.

ᡣ𐭩 felix + giving you gum wrapper hearts

Lee Felix was stupid in love, heavy on the stupid, figuring he was about to start World War Three to get that gum wrapper out of Seungmin’s hand.

“Please,” Felix begs, drawing out the "e" in an obnoxious whine.

Felix has been professing his love for you through gum wrapper hearts for about as long as he’s been chewing gum, so he is going to be damned if he lets one gum wrapper gets away without meeting his fingers first. Seungmin’s eyes harden into an frustrated glare, about two seconds away from punching a pizza-sized hole in his best friend’s face.

“You know, the more that you beg me for this wrapper, the more I don’t want to give it to you,” he deadpans, voice flat with irritation. Felix throws his head back in an ear-splitting groan.

“Whyyy not??”

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin, just give him the damn wrapper,” Chan interjects, exasperated.

“Yeah, listen to Chan. Give Felix the wrapper,” Felix teases, laying his chin on his hand, fluttering his lashes with a shit-eating grin. Seungmin clenches his jaw, crumpling up the foil—much to poor Lixie’s dismay.

“Did you see that, Chan?! Seungmin crumpled my wrapper!” Seungmin squeezes it harder. “Look! Do you see that, Chan?! Seungmin is bullying me!” Chan sighs, digging a knuckle into his eye. He is about five seconds away from sticking both grown toddlers in time out.

“Seungmin, for the sake of my sanity, give Felix the damn gum wrapper.” The fact that he actually had to tell two full-fledged adults that was truly beyond him, yet here he was.

“It’s the principle of it, old man—” As soon as the words leave his lips, Seungmin wants to stuff them right back in. Chan grits his teeth, steam practically whistling from his ears.

Oh, crap.

“You little—” Chan dives for Seungmin, to which he squeals, ducking from his elder’s hand, gearing up to smack him square in the forehead. In the clamber of movements, he ends up dropping the beloved wrapper. Felix lets out a squeal of excitement, lunging for the foil. When the crumpled aluminum sits in his hands, he has never felt so rewarded in his entire life, smiling like he just won a million bucks.

Almost out of muscle memory, he begins smoothing it out, folding up all the right corners. He beams, stuffing the little token into his pocket, fingers itching to give it to you later.

“Thanks, Seungmin,” Felix smirks, taking a proud sip of his drink. Seungmin manages to stick his tongue out while trapped in a headlock.

“You suck,” he wheezes, throwing weak slaps onto Chan's bicep. Felix giggles, his phone buzzing against his jeans. Felix quite literally drops everything to pick it up, his heart singing the same song as your special ringtone.

From: My world 💙 Look, baby, isn’t it so beautiful? I took the pic while I was on my way to work. I actually swerved off the road to take the picture, haha. Just wanted to share it with you. Love you, baby!! [Image.png]

When he clicks the image, his phone is flooded with the most breathtaking view. The sky is stained like melting ice cream, cotton candy colors that burst around your hair, though that isn’t what Felix is looking at—he is looking at you. The moment he looks into your lopsided smile, Cupid shoots him all over again.

From: My star-light 🌟 Wow.

From: My star-light 🌟 No words.

From: My star-light 🌟 I didn’t know my girlfriend could look so stunning.

From: My star-light 🌟 Oh, wait, there was a sunset back there somewhere.

From: My star-light 🌟 Yeah, that was pretty too.

From: My star-light 🌟 Are we still on for tonight?? I miss youuu.

From: My world 💙 Oh my gosh, Lix, you’re making me blush, haha.

Seungmin chokes somewhere in the background. Felix doesn’t notice. Felix is submerged in the silky ocean of rose-colored love.

From: My world 💙 Of course we are!!

From: My world 💙 I miss you too, baby!!

From: My world 💙 Literally can’t wait to see you.

Felix is mid-text when his friends suddenly turn bright red, clambering to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs they got themselves stuck in. Felix doesn’t realize the reason Chan is suddenly fixing his hair or Seungmin is unruffling his shirt is because two of the most stunning women just walked past them. Felix was too focused on making time move faster.

ᡣ𐭩

Felix has never been to space, though he can accurately say that he has tasted the sky.

He sips the stars off your lips, every shared breath an inhale of the galaxy. Felix knows that somewhere, someplace time exists, but not here, not now, not with the blades of grass lacing through his hair; not when he’s pressing your chest flush against his, rolling around on the ground until the night sky is kissing the earth in his vision. Your laughs are buried in his neck when he gets too dizzy to continue, littering kisses on the sensitive flesh there. You pull away for only a moment, brushing a rogue strand of hair off his brow. You smile, dipping to press a soft peck to the tip of his nose.

The two of you had crept into this darkened backyard hours ago; you proposing a date under the stars only to share them between your lips instead. You have been locked in this position for lifetimes, and Felix has no plan to stop.

His palms lift to graze your cheeks before sealing your mouths together again. His soft laugh puffs against the seam of your lips, his smile curving against your own. “God, I am so in love with you.”

He was; he so, so, so was.

He was so in love with you, he had almost forgotten about his gift. Key word: almost.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he gasps, chasing your warmth when he pulls away, sitting up.

“What?” you playfully whine, biting back a grin, settling your hips against his thighs. He chuckles, poking a finger into his pocket, fishing out the gum wrapper heart.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he whispers, cupping something in his palm, “but I hope you still like it.” He rolls his fingers out bashfully, offering you the crinkled silver heart. He bites his lip, a faint blush falling over the apples of his cheeks. The little gift was by no means perfect; it was ripped, wrinkled, and just a little lopsided. Yet you can’t help the fondness that explodes in your chest. Still cradling the heart with care, you throw your arms around his neck, tackling him to the ground. Your chest flush against his, he grunts when you land upon the earth, smacking slobbery kisses all over his face. You don’t stop, not until he is flipping you over, now attacking you with equally wet kisses. Your giggles live in the balmy summer air.

To you, he was the sun; but to him, you were the universe 

ᡣ𐭩 seungmin + buying you a bouquet every time the old ones wilt

October 11th, 2020.

That was the last time your apartment smelled like something other than florals. That was also the first time Seungmin had ever bought you flowers—a simple gift for your one-year anniversary that spiraled into a four-year tradition. You don’t ever talk about it, and he certainly denies it, when you thank him for how the wilting tulips magically evolved into beautiful daylilies. You find it endearing, the faint blush that falls over his cheeks when he tries to convince you that it wasn’t him.

Now that you think about it, your white roses did seem to have a little bit of brown on them yesterday.

Mid-wipe of the bathroom counter, you rush down the stairs, almost sliding into the kitchen in your socks. Without fail, there they were: bright red tulips, replacing the withering roses that had been in the vase earlier. A spreading grin pulls at your lips as you check the stove clock, quickly connecting the dots.

You had been cleaning the bathroom most of the evening, your earbuds blocking the world out. He had probably heard you humming from upstairs, choosing the perfect time to sneak in through the door. You squeal, sprinting up the stairs to throw open your bedroom door. You expect to find him lounging on the bed, but instead, you find him below it, cradling a square object in his hands. His head whips around, panic falling over his features. He slams the lid shut before fumbling to shove it right back under the bed, much to your dismay.

“Hey, what?” You yelp, diving for the box. Seungmin blocks you, accidentally knocking it out of his hands, unfurling its contents all over the floor.

It looks like a garden just threw up in your bedroom.

Hundreds, thousands of differently shaped petals are scattered on your floor, tufts of colorful memories spread out like a silky scroll. First, you freeze. Then, you gasp; your muscles thawing like a flower unfurling in the snow. It hits you slowly, blossoming in your chest and spilling from your eyes—Seungmin hasn’t been throwing away the flowers he bought you. He’s been collecting them.

You didn’t realize you were crying—not until you spoke—“Seungmin, what is this?”—then you heard it, your voice withering and wet. When you finally go to meet his gaze, he can’t seem to look at you, tilting his head down in shame.

“W-Well I-I’ve just…” he begins, trailing off with a rub of his burning neck. “Fuck, this is going to sound so stupid,” he flushes, staring down at the single yellow petal that fluttered onto his folded thighs. Suddenly, Seungmin feels your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and something shoots through his skin, something that straightens his spine and evens his breathing.

“I-I’ve um…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Been collecting them for a while now, I wanted to keep them for when we get married. Wanted to scatter them down the aisle…”

His voice gets smaller with every word, sinking into himself as though that will make the gravity of the sentence less exposed, less raw. For a second, as silence stretches between you, Seungmin feels so stupid, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. You must think he’s such a fool, must think he’s crazy for ever believing he could marry you—his thoughts stop the moment your lips meet his, palms pressed firmly against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you whisper in between breaths, kissing him until it feels like you can’t kiss anymore; until he falls back upon the feathery bed made of magnolias and memories; until, with a star-lit sigh, he pulls away, untucking the red of a dried rose tangled above your brow. Even surrounded by God's most beautiful creations, he can’t bring his gaze to fall from yours, your eyes and all the mesmerizing sparkles they hold.

Seungmin couldn’t trace the exact moment he fell in love with you. Rather, it bloomed slowly over time, a feeling that took root; wrapping around the slabs of his ribs.

With you, he grew, and all of a sudden, with every breath he inhales, he finds you fluttering in his chest. At first, it terrified him. Though, now he knows—some gardens never die.

ᡣ𐭩 jeongin + stalking your goodreads profile to annotate your favorite books

“So, you’re a stalker, huh?” you muse, brushing your palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, which was clearly not a good idea, cause no sooner do you make contact is he jumping twenty feet out of his skin. You throw your hands up when he swivels around, ripping off his headphones like they were going to materialize into a baseball bat.

“Crap, y/n, you scared the hell out of me,” Jeongin pants, a relieved smile pulling on his cheeks; grateful that the intruder was indeed his girlfriend and not a 6-foot-tall man in a scream mask. For a second, he wonders if you’re possessed, a lopsided smirk playing on your lips while you tweak out, kind of laughing, kind of nodding, kind of looking like you need an exorcism. Then it hits him. Hits him like a 200-pound dump truck, rendering him breathless once more. He puts Flash to shame by how fast he slams his laptop shut, scrunching his face in cringe. The laugh you let out is devastating, a full-belly guffaw that makes you double over, stumbling straight into his arms.

For a second, when the lamplight hits you just right, Jeongin has to stop.

His breath catches in his throat, taking all of you in. There you were, with your hair falling in messy tangles, your eyelids slightly smudged in black, your smile boxy and sun-bright, you were perfect, and you were sitting on his lap. If you didn’t start talking, he would have stared at you for hours—probably would have started drooling as well.

“So, this is how you’ve known all my favorite books, huh?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. It takes him a hot second to gather himself, heart fluttering at the newfound proximity.

He stuffs his head into your neck, the heat of his cheeks burning into your skin. “Yeah…is that weird?”

“Is it weird?? Yang Jeongin, I’m pretty sure you just inadvertently proposed to me,” you reply, your tone light-hearted though you're dead serious.

“What?” He chuckles with a shy smile, leaning back.

“Yeah, I mean, you stalk your girlfriend’s Goodreads profile to read and annotate her TBR list. That is a proposal. I don’t make the rules.”

“Is that so?” he smirks, inching forward, your noses brushing together.

“Yeah,” you whisper, hot breath fanning across his lips, you lean in, finally sealing your mouths shut. Jeongin groans, your thumb swiping the nape of his neck. His heart pounds with a thousand different translations of 'I love you'.

“How many?”

He hums, slamming back down to earth, still a little bit dizzy.

“How many books have you bought?”

That sobers him up.

His eyes widen slightly before he bashfully chuckles, awkwardly scratching his ear. “Oh, uh…not that many.”

“Can I see them?” He’s two seconds from saying no, until you brush your lips against his cheeks, then his forehead, then the sides of his eyes, before, finally, he is tasting your grin instead, “Please?”

Well, how can he say no now?

He fiddles with the bottom of your shirt, biting his lip before sighing and pointing under his bed. “They’re all under there.”

You squeal, clambering off him to dive at the foot of his bed, sticking your hands into the dusty abyss below. It doesn’t take you but five seconds to find the box, though it takes you 5 minutes to actually pull the damn thing out, feeling more like a dead body than dead trees.

However, when you flip open the lid, the struggle is all worth it. Your jaw drops. Jeongin’s stomach flips upside down.

"Yang Jeongin, there’s no way..." You peer at him through dewy lashes, there had to be at least fifty books in this container. "You were planning on giving me all of these?"

"Well, yeah. Just...when I had enough time to annotate them."

"You've already given me like 10. How have you found enough time to read them?"

"I read them every night before I go to bed."

"And annotate them?"

He clears his throat, a faint blush falling over his cheeks like rose petals. "Yes."

"Where did you get the money for all this? These books have to have been like a thousand dollars."

"My check had just come in, and I knew how much you liked to read... I just wanted to do something nice for you. Why is this starting to feel kind of like an interrogation? Are you mad? Is this, like, really weird?" Jeongin can feel his eyes widen, anxiously shifting in place.

“One more question,” you step forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. He shutters when you make contact, gaze fluttering down. Jeongin expects you to laugh, maybe demand that he takes them back, or the worst of them all tell him he’s too obsessed. What he doesn’t expect you to do is drag him forward, and smash your lips together.

“How are you so perfect?” you exhale, puffing onto his lips like a breath of his own. He was going to show you how, he was going to show you how all night long.

ᡣ𐭩

If you thought he was perfect then you definitely think he is perfect now.

The sun slips through the curtains, dyeing your sweaty skin in gold; your mouth is nuzzled into his neck, lashes tickling his skin every time you shift. He draws phantom circles over your naked waist, savoring this moment, soaking your body in until he can remember the feel of your form through memory alone. You stir, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

It must have been a dream that urged you to say it, because somewhere, on the edge of sleep, you murmur, “What’s your favorite story?”

He didn’t have to think about the answer, not when he had thought about it a million times before. Without hesitation, Jeongin whispers, “Ours.”

(I rushed tf out of some of these I'm sorry)

[miraclewoozi]

no i just. i just need a few weeks to recover from this.

Like A Melody | ljh x f!reader

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~3.9k | Pairing: ljh x f!reader | genre: smut

Jihoon has fucked you in his studio before, but never like this.

Warnings: dom!jihoon, studio sex, biting, hair pulling, grinding, cumming in pants, multiple orgasms, oral f. rec., fingering,, recorded sex (just voices), male masturbation, praise kink, piv sex, creampie

Reader Notes: chubby, has breasts and a vagina, subby

Jihoon needs to take a break. 

He desperately needs to take a break, and he knows this, so why can’t he do it?

He’s been working on music for hours; his fingers are starting to cramp from plucking guitar strings and pressing down piano keys, his throat is sore from trying lyric after lyric, and his hair is a mess from his fingers running through it every other minute. His eyes are exhausted, the blue light lenses in his glasses only doing so much. Even his back hurts, which rarely happens now that he lifts so heavy. 

But he just can’t make himself quit, which is why he breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the knock. It’s soft, just like you, and he calls out a quiet, “Come in,” feeling the smile stretch his lips as soon as your sweet face peeks through the slowly opening door. 

“Are you busy?” You ask apprehensively, your eyes darting between his face and his computer. 

He can’t take a break for himself but he can for you, so he says, “Not at all, baby,” and pulls his glasses off, minimizing his music production software. Pushing away from his desk, he turns his chair to face you and holds his hand out, waiting for you to come closer and take it. He just holds your hand for a minute, staring up at you with tired eyes and letting them blink closed when you lean down and press your lips to his. 

Kissing you is as easy as loving you. It’s one of the few times in his life where he can shut his brain off and just feel, because every movement comes naturally to him. Dancing and singing do too, of course, but he has to count beats and remember words and keep every next move in mind. 

With you, Jihoon can just do what feels right. Like taking hold of your knee with his free hand and pulling until you give in and straddle him in his chair. He loves how plush and perfect you feel against him, all of his sharp edges rounded out by your curves, and he loves even more having your weight on him. 

He can take it, he can take you, and he likes to remind you at every opportunity. 

Sliding lower in the chair, he pulls your hips into his to let you feel his hardening dick, his hand flexing in yours when you grind down. He can feel how hot you are through your little pajama shorts, and if he knows you at all, you’re wet already. He works his fingers free of yours to slide them between your legs, pulling your shorts and panties to the side so he can feel you through his thin athletic pants. 

Your arousal soaks the fabric as soon as he thrusts up into you, making him let out a small laugh against your lips. You pout in response and mutter, “Shut up,” still working your hips against his. 

“Didn’t say anything, baby,” he teases, smirking up at you and squeezing your lush hips with both hands. You sink yours into his hair and pull, and suddenly, nothing is funny. His hips buck against yours as his cock twitches, precum leaking from the head adding to the wet patch on his lap. 

Your hips roll into his and he starts to throb, his dick pulsing in time with his heart. He can’t let you keep going or you’ll make him cum in his pants, or maybe… he could? 

Should he? 

It makes you feel good to make him feel good, and you always have a little pep in your step after he lets you make him cum first. He’s also desperate to get his mouth on you, and you’ll be more inclined to let him take care of you if he’s already taken care of. 

With his mind made up, he pulls you down onto his cock and grinds into you, exhaling a moan against your mouth when you tug on his hair again. You love it this length, you’ve told him, and he’s going to keep it like this for as long as he possibly can. Partially for you, mostly because he fucking adores having you brush it and play with it and braid it. 

He gets to be so close to you, and your fingers in his hair feel heavenly, even (especially) when you get a little rough. 

His scalp stings with the next pull and it sends a shiver down his spine, ending in a sharp buck of his hips. He stretches his thumbs out to pull your pussy apart so he can grind into your clit, hoping to take you over the edge with him. 

He’s getting close already, and you’re so wet, he can feel every inch of your cunt like there’s nothing separating him from you. Soon enough, there will be nothing, and he’ll be able to lick and suck and kiss you as much as he wants. 

You bite his lip and drag your nails over his scalp, and that’s it for him. 

His brain goes offline and his hips stutter against yours, a low groan leaving his open mouth as his dick twitches and jerks, streaks of cum splattering the inside of his pants. Your hips don’t stop moving until he stops them himself, his harsh grip dimpling your flesh. 

“Fuck,” Jihoon sighs, blinking his eyes open to find you beaming at him. 

He can only smile wryly at you in response, shaking his head and letting go of your hips to grab you by the waist. 

“Up you go,” he pushes, hefting you up to sit on his keyboard, discordant notes filling the studio until he leans forward and presses mute. 

“Are you su-”

“I’ve literally dreamed about this,” he tells you, for the first time. 

“You have?” You almost sound like you don’t believe him, and Jihoon simply can’t have that.

“Yes. I’ve dreamed about spreading you out on my desk just like this,” he shoulders his way between your legs. “And kissing up these thighs,” he presses his mouth to your soft skin, digging his teeth in only once, though he wants to leave you covered in bite marks. 

“And feeling them squeeze my head when I finally get you on my tongue,” he leans in and licks from your cunt to your clit, fighting a smile when your thighs snap closed just like he knew they would. 

He wants to talk to you more but he can’t pull himself away from your pussy, can’t make his mouth form words when he’s so busy using it on you. And honestly, his priority is keeping it on you, for as long as he possibly can. 

Between work and sleep, he doesn’t get to taste you nearly as often as he wants to, and now that he actually is between work and sleep, he plans on making the most of it. By shoving his tongue inside you over and over, by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking until you cry, by groaning and humming into you both so you can feel the vibrations and to voice his obsession with your pussy. 

And Jihoon is obsessed with your pussy, make no mistake. If he didn’t love his job so much, he’d quit and spend all his time worshiping you, taking care of you, loving you. He honestly thinks he’d make a killer house husband, and someday, when he retires, he plans on becoming one. 

He can imagine it now, cleaning and working out and sleeping until you come home, then feeding you and fucking you till the sun sets, reading to you and massaging away any soreness before wrapping you up in his arms and falling to sleep together. He can still make music while you’re gone, but he won’t be jetting off or practicing for hours on end anymore. 

He’s not ready for that now, but for a distant dream, it’s pretty enticing. 

Even more enticing is the paradise between your thighs; the taste of you, the scent of you, the feel of you clouding his mind. He can barely breathe but that doesn’t matter, not when you’re moving with his tongue like this, grinding your hips onto his face as he sucks and sucks and sucks at your swollen little clit. 

He wishes he could record the sounds coming out of your mouth, wishes he could play them back to you, watch you squirm and feel you flush at the sheer debauchery of them. It occurs to him that he could, but he’d have to pull away from you enough to ask and he’s unable to do so at the moment. 

You’re just too hot and wet and perfect for him to stop for even a second, so he’ll save that idea for another time and focus on making you cum for him now. He can tell you’re getting close, by the way your thighs shudder against his ears, by the keen you let out when he sucks hard enough to hollow his cheeks, by the hand you sink into his hair to hold him to you, as if he’d ever want to leave. 

All it takes is a groan and a shake of his head and you’re cumming, your arousal leaking all over his chin and dripping down his throat to soak into the neckline of his t-shirt. He’ll take it off as soon as he gains the will to detach himself from you. 

It doesn’t come to him until his eyes travel up your body and catch on the way your tits heave in your sleep tank. He wants to see them, feel them, taste them, bury his face in them. 

Finally, he stands and rips off his shirt, leaning over you and waiting for you to raise your arms before tugging your top off and throwing it to the side. He takes a second to appreciate your bare breasts, the shape and weight of them intoxicating, and then shoves his face between them, licking over to one nipple and opening his mouth around it with a groan. 

He fucking loves your tits, and he shows you just how much with his lips and his teeth and his tongue, one thigh between yours to hold them open for his searching fingers. They find your clit with practiced ease and start to rub staccato circles, chasing you when your hips buck in sensitivity. 

He covers your other breast with his free hand, squeezing and brushing his thumb over your pebbled nipple as he sucks at its twin. You must have already showered, your skin tasting like your honey and cocoa butter lotion, and he can’t get enough, his head filling with clouds and images of you dripping wet and running your hands all over your body. 

He’s gotten you messy again, but he’s sure you knew what you were doing when you knocked on his studio door. This is almost always how you end up when you come to check on him, his hunger for you insatiable, incurable. 

How could he ever get enough of you when you’re this luscious, this sweet, this perfect? His mouth strays from your breast to your stomach, his lips tracing your rolls and stretch marks and cute little belly button before he sinks back down into his chair. He pushes your legs apart with a firm hand and replaces his fingers with his tongue, gliding it over you and sliding his fingers down to your entrance. 

He fills you with them slowly even as your cunt flutters and squeezes, wanting them deeper already. He’ll give you what you want, he always does, but first he’ll tease you a little bit. Not to be mean, or to punish you for something, but because he fucking loves to hear you beg. 

It always takes you a little push to lose your shyness, to find your voice, and this time, his push comes in the form of three fingers stretching your entrance open, sinking in only to the first knuckle. Your hips roll into his hand and his free one flies up to hold them still, his arm banding over your lap to hold you down so he can fill you at his pace. 

He goes much slower than he knows you would prefer, and he presses his smile into your clit when you finally break down. 

“Jihoon, please, I’ve been so good for you,” you whine, and he feels the heat spread from head to toe as he realizes it’s one of those nights. The kind where you need him to take control, to be rough with you, to reward you when you’ve earned it. 

And you have earned it, so he lets his fingers fill you, pushing them in all the way and murmuring into your clit, “You have been good, baby. I’ll give you what you need, promise.”

You just whimper, your head tilting back on your neck when he scissors his fingers apart and your walls clinging to them as he pulls them out to the tip. “Eyes on me, baby.”

He waits for you to return your gaze to his before pushing his fingers back inside of you and beginning to fuck you with them, his lips pursing around your clit and sucking with every thrust. Your pussy is so fucking hot and wet around his fingers, it makes him moan into you, just the thought of feeling you wrapped around his cock enough to reawaken it. 

It twitches in his damp boxers when a curl of his fingers beckons forth a rush of wetness and a sharp keen, one that echoes in his mind like a looped track.  

“Baby, can I record you?” 

He asks before he can stop himself, but now that it’s out in the air, he won’t take it back. He rests his cheek against your thigh as he waits, his heart pounding and his dick throbbing. 

“Um, sure?” You don’t sound certain, and Jihoon doesn’t want you to regret anything. He can always delete them, but he doesn’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with. 

“You don’t have to say yes, Y/n. I just think it would be… really fucking hot. Having your voice on file, being able to listen to you whenever I want, using your sounds in songs that will never be heard by anyone but us.”

You squirm under his forearm and clench around his fingers, and he believes you when you say, “Do it, Jihoon. Record me.”

His lips stretch in a broad, genuine smile and he reaches for the computer mouse, opening his recording software and clicking the red button. 

He watches little waves form on the baseline, curls his fingers, grinds them into the rough patch inside of you, and arches an eyebrow. You gasp weakly, seemingly shy now that your noises are being picked up by something other than his ears. 

Jihoon can be patient though, knows that soon enough, he’ll make you forget all about it. 

You’re still being good, holding eye contact and keeping your thighs spread for him, so he rewards you with his mouth around your clit, a heavy suck startling a moan from your parted lips. He fights a smile, his lips pursing and pulling at the swollen bundle of nerves, and starts to hum, knowing you love the vibrations. 

He can’t see the software from here but the wave must spike because you let out a sharp cry, your nails scratching at the edge of his desk until he takes your hands and puts them on his head. Your fingers delve into his hair and you pull his face into your pussy, and he knows he’s got you. 

He didn’t really consider the mic picking up his own noises but he’s sure it is, his grunts and groans audible even with your thighs pressed to his ears. He can’t stop though, can’t hold them in when you taste so fucking good, when your cunt is searing hot and soaking wet under his mouth, when your nails are scratching at his scalp and sending zaps of electricity down his spine. 

They all end in his cock, and he feels it jerk against the waistband of his boxers. He’s tired of them, removes his arm from your hips to shove them and his pants down, groaning loudly when his cock pops out into the open air. It’s sticky with cum and hard enough to hurt, and he can’t resist taking hold of it with his free hand, squeezing hard at the base to ease some of the ache. 

His fingers thrust into you as he strokes his dick, the slick sounds loud in his studio, and you crane your neck, your eyes searching until they find his hand at work. 

“Fuck, Jihoon, I want you inside of me,” you whine breathlessly, trying to pull him off your cunt by the hair. That just makes him moan into you, makes his cock jump in his grasp, makes him fuck his fingers into you harder. 

“Cum for me first,” he demands, determined to get at least two orgasms on this file for mixing purposes. It seems he’s still a producer even when he’s trying to just be a boyfriend. 

You pout but listen well, your cries reaching a fever pitch as your pussy flutters around his fingers, arousal spilling out of you and dripping between the keys of his keyboard. He may have to buy a new one, but that’s a problem for future Jihoon, and a problem he would be lucky to have. 

“Perfect, baby, that was perfect,” he murmurs in a low tone, wanting your voice to be the focal point. 

“Will you fuck me now?” You pant, reaching down to smooth your fingers over the head of his cock, making him shiver and swallow a groan. 

“Yeah, baby, I’ll fuck you now,” he whispers, standing from the chair and pulling away from you to tug you off his desk. Your knees shake when you get your feet under you and he smirks, cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss to your lips before taking you by the hips and turning you around. 

He squeezes your shoulder and starts pushing you down, letting you bend over the rest of the way by yourself. You fold your arms under your head, resting your cheek on them so you can watch as he guides his dick to your cunt and sinks inside. 

You’re stretched out enough to take him easily, your walls forming to his cock and gripping it tightly. You’re such a perfect fucking fit for him, it’s like you were made for one another, like your bodies were designed to match. It blows his mind every single time he has the privilege of being inside of you. 

He’s reluctant to leave you and you’re reluctant to let him, but pulling out means he can thrust back in. He keeps one hand on your shoulder and drops the other to your hip, clutching at it like a lifeline as he starts to fuck you in earnest. 

His hips smack into your plush ass rhythmically, the sound causing sharp spikes on the waveform graph and acting as the perfect percussion to the moans and whimpers escaping you. The mic is right by your mouth and he knows they’re being picked up beautifully, butterflies gathering in his stomach just at the thought of getting to hear them through his headphones. 

“Sound so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunts, angling his hips up to hit your g-spot and smirking when you yelp at the sensation. Your back arches, your stomach pressing into his keyboard and your hips pressing into his, and he just holds you tighter, fucks into you harder. 

Your pussy undulates around him as his hand slides from your shoulder to join the other at your hip, both of them gripping your ass and spreading you apart so he can watch his cock enter you again and again. It’s a sight he’ll never get tired of, a feeling he’ll never get used to, a gift he’ll never truly deserve. 

It’s what will send him over the edge, just as long as he makes you fall first. He already came before you once and he doesn’t plan on doing so again for a long time, but he needs to get you there soon or he won’t have a choice. 

One of his hands slips around your waist to dive between your legs, his fingers finding your sensitive clit and starting to strum it as he fills you over and over. You whimper and tremble against him, your cunt fluttering wildly around his aching cock and your hand flying down to grasp his wrist like you think he’ll pull away. 

He doesn’t intend to, honestly wouldn’t mind being attached to you like this for the rest of his life, knows already that he wants to spend it with you. 

His fingers get rougher on your clit and his hips move on autopilot as his brain empties, his balls aching to do the same. “Please cum, fuck. Baby, please fucking cum.”

Jihoon should have known he’d be the one begging you at the end of the night. 

Thankfully, you like to indulge him, your pussy locking him in place as you cum with a loud cry, followed by gasping sobs of his name when he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s right there, he’s right fucking-

“Jihoon, cum inside me. Fill me up, I want it,” you whimper, pressing your ass into his hips and squeezing your inner muscles around his throbbing cock, and that’s the end for him. 

He drops down to cover your body with his as he breaks apart, his own moans and whimpers registering on the graph alongside yours and his cum flooding into you in pulses. His hand leaves your clit so he can wrap his arm around your waist in a hug, his cheek pressed to your back and his other hand finding yours. 

He tangles your fingers together and rises up, pulling you with him and sitting heavily in his chair. He’s still hard enough his cock doesn’t slip out, and he leans you to the side so he can cup your cheek and turn your face into his, pressing his lips to yours in an openmouthed kiss. 

“Love you, baby,” he whispers into your mouth, waiting for you to say it back before kissing his way to your neck and biting down gently, just enough to leave an indent of his teeth behind. 

“Will you come to bed with me?” You whisper in a small voice, and he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply and responding, “Of course, baby.” 

He reaches a hand out and stops the recording, saving the file to his private hard drive, ideas filling his head already. They can wait until the morning though, you asked him to go to bed with you and go to bed he will. 

Jihoon thinks this might be the most productive break he’s ever had. 

AN: this one's for all the jihoon stans who have been thirsting with me lately 💖

My Masterlist

My Chubby!Reader Masterlist

[xxrougefangxx]

Jason Todd x Reader fic recs

This is originally made for @marinas-trench , but anybody can use this. Will update as I find more

Added little notes in pink to specify some stuff, includes BOTH platonic and romantic works.

Anybody who does use these recs please try to reblog works- that's the Tumblr algorithm likes don't do anything- to help the authors out <3 (no pressure tho)

-----

Authors because I can't pick a favorite work:

DC Masterlist by @sanguineterrain - The works speak for themselves.

@jasmines-library - Includes lots of platonic batfamily x reader and the hurt/comfort is just *chefs kiss*

@morverenmaybewrites Ao3 link- Her works are just godsend. She portrays Jason in such a beautiful way and acknowledges his trauma as well.

@minnieearsposts Ao3 Link - Jason works are 10/10, but she also has many other fics that connect with each other. Definitely recommend

@xxgoblin-dumplingxx - All of the au's are just magnificent! There's no master list but you can check the works out using tags.

Batfam masterlist by @book-place - All works are platonic

@writersfailure - Honestly a gold mine, check out their dc master list and other fics as well!

@wh1sp3rr - The jackpot at the end of the rainbow. That's all I'm going to say

@dccomicsimagines - Amazing pieces of work that I can't believe I didn't find before.

Series :

love is not designed for the cynical by @thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels - The thoughts and emotions are portrayed SO BEAUTIFULLY!!! And while Jason is just spectacular, I also recommend the other series as well.

What we want by @sophiethewitch1 - It's with all the batboys

Crimson Red by @ravenna-reid - Has multiple parts all located on the master list.

Guard Dog by @mostly-imagines

Your secrets are ours, kid by@jaythes1mp - Platonic and yandere

again &. again masterlist by @acid-ixx - Platonic and yandere

Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie by @urmoonlightbebe - I can't believe I almost forgot to add this here

Batfam x neglected reader by @dickgraysonass - Platonic

Gilded Cage by @heavysighing-dreamyeyes

Headcannons/Drabbles:

Girl!DadJason by @in-som-niyah

Reaction to you letting go of their hand by @gay-dorito-dust - Its paired up with both Dick and Damian

Existentional Crisis by @millyhelp

College student!Jason by @orchidsangel

BabyDaddy! Jason fic idea by @kuromitos

Unnamed by @aldryrththerainbowheart

Saturdays by @zer0wzs

Unnamed by @misdeliria

Artist!Reader by @charliedakotariley - This is so wholesome I love it

Fics:

JasonTodd x Fem!Reader by @spidernuggets - reader gets stuck in a time loop to save Jason

sickly sweet romance of u & jay by @wh1sp3rr

Unnamed by @millyhelp

tired and touchstarved!Jason by @indulgentdaydream

A Spoonful of Honey by @stararch4ngelqueen

Golden by @orionremastered

Reader who likes Superman more than Batman by @spidernuggets

Reader who prefers Superman more than batman (different fic than above) by @gay-dorito-dust

Rescuer by @kimberly-spirits13

graceless by @udiudijaye - platonic batfam x batsis but love the fic and had to recommend

Take care by @batsycline69

Forensic Psychologist Reader by @ravenna-reid

What are you doing here? by @a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all

What a night by @batboysandgirls

call me your fool by @jasonsmirrorball

18+ Works MDNI

Til Death Do We Part Brings Us Together by @luvf4ngz - I love the au idea!

Jason distracting you from studying by @millyhelp

Slumber Party by @dollwritesarchive - Includes Dick

Thoughts on Jason being rough by @midnightorchids

jason 'don't run from this dick' todd by @killakalx

BabyDaddy!Jason by @hanasnx

Say Sorry by @dancewithdeath11

Jason fucking reader in the Batmobile by @martiniluvr

Series 18+

guns and roses masterlist by @jayswhorex

[coolemmasulivan2]

Clumsy Woman

Pairing: Rúben Dias x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn't like how clumsy you are, afraid you might seriously injure yourself.

Word count: 1976

Can't pretend to understand I'll be here to hold your hand I will wait for you, I will wait for you

You had been clumsy from a young age. Falling from trees, falling off bicycles, or simply tripping over your own feet seemed to be your speciality. It was during one of these graceful performances that you met your boyfriend, Ruben. You were barreling toward a magnificent face-plant when his strong arms caught you, saving you from certain embarrassment.

"I want to paint that wall!" You announced over breakfast one morning, your eyes sparkling with determination. "A deep blue, maybe."

Ruben raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and the wall. "That bookshelf has to go first." He pointed out. "It's heavy. We can do it together this weekend." He kissed your forehead and grabbed his keys. "I have to go!"

"Bye." Your attention was still on the wall and Ruben knew what you were thinking.

"Don't do it!" He called out as he reached for his bag. "Wait for me."

"But it's my day off!" You protested, already picturing the transformed wall. "I can at least start." Ruben gave you a look. "Fine." He gave you one final kiss on the lips and then left for training.

You didn't like to stay still at home. There was always a compulsion to be busy, so when boredom crept in, your eyes fell on the wall, then the bookshelf. Maybe it wasn't that difficult. With a burst of energy, you dashed out the door to buy the paint and everything you needed to paint the wall.

At home, you slip into old clothes and turn up the music. The bookshelf was packed with your books and Ruben's trophies. He'd be furious if he saw you right now, but you would prove you could handle it alone.

The bookshelf, a dark wood monster that dominated the room, had been a custom order. You started by emptying it, a task that required more muscle than expected. Then came the acrobatics. With much effort, you managed to slide a rug under one end. But as you attempted to repeat the same on the other side, disaster hit. Your hands slipped and the bookshelf came crashing down on your bare foot. A scream ripped through you as pain exploded.

"Don't do it!" Ruben's words echoed in your head. He was so going to kill you.

With a grunt of effort, you lifted the bookshelf off your foot. Pain shot through you as you collapsed to the floor, cradling your injured limb. It looked horrific, swollen and red. Trying to stand was a mistake, as a fresh wave of agony crippled you. You couldn't walk.

"Oh God, oh God!" Panic set in. Your phone was fumbled out of your pocket. You needed help, and you needed it now. Ruben wouldn't be home for hours. Calling an ambulance was the only option.

Ruben stepped into the locker room, and he heard the insistent vibration of his phone. "That thing hasn't stopped ringing." Bernardo commented, a grin spreading across his face.

Ruben's brow furrowed as he glanced at the caller ID. It was Lily, your best friend. "Hey, Lily, everything okay?"

"Hi Ruben, sorry to bother you, but I was supposed to meet Y/N at your place, and she’s not there and a neighbour mentioned seeing an ambulance at your building." His blood ran cold. "Do you know what happened?"

"I can't believe her!" His voice rose in frustration. "She wanted to paint the wall, the one with the bookshelf. I told her not to touch it!" A wave of dread washed over him.

"She probably didn't listen. Oh God." Lily knew you better than anyone. Your stubborn independence was legendary. "I've tried calling her, but no answer."

"Let me take a shower really quick and then I'll call you back."

Bernardo and Walker exchanged concerned glances. "What's going on, man? Your girl in trouble again?" Walker asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

"Looks like it!" Ruben replied, his voice rough. "She can't stay out of trouble for five minutes. Fuck." He desperately searched for the contact of his friend Eric who worked at the hospital. He answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey, mate, what's up?"

"Eric, man, sorry to bother you, I know you're working, but I need a huge favour." Ruben rushed out, his voice was laced with urgency.

"Shoot!" Eric replied, his tone professional.

"Can you check if Y/N was admitted to the hospital? I think she might have had an accident. Again." He quickly explained the situation, his voice rising with each word. Eric promised to check and call back in a few minutes.

"I'm gonna be quick in the shower." Ruben said, turning to his friends. "If Eric calls, can you answer? Please." Walker and Bernardo nodded.

He'd never showered so fast in his life. Emerging a few minutes later, Bernardo was already on the phone.

"I'll tell him, thanks, Eric," Bernardo said, hanging up.

Ruben's heart pounded in his chest. "So?"

"She's there. Broken foot, but she's okay." Bernardo reported.

"For fuck's sake."

You rolled your eyes as Ruben burst into the hospital room. His face was a mask of irritation. Lily, who'd arrived earlier, squeezed your hand in silent support before stepping back.

"Seriously, Y/n?" Ruben’s voice was dripping with disbelief. "I told you to stay put."

"I'm fine, thanks for the concern." You replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You loved him and knew he was worried, but sometimes it felt suffocating.

"A broken foot means you’re not." He disagreed. "Can’t you just stay still for one day?"

You didn’t want to argue, especially as he seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. "I’m a grown woman, Ruben. I don’t need you to tell me to sit still."

"Well, you don’t act like one. Sometimes I feel like I’m dating a child." His response was harsh and unexpected.

Shock washed over you. Had he really just said that?

"Maybe you should break up with this child then. I wouldn’t want to keep the great Ruben Dias from the real women in the city." You retorted, your voice trembling with anger.

He ran his hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. He knew his words had been cruel, but his worry often manifested in this way. But breaking up with you was the last thing he wanted.

"You know that’s not what I meant-- what are you doing?" He began, but you cut him off as you tried to stand, to reach for the crutches. He pushed you back down, but you quickly pushed his hand away.

"Lily, can you take me home, please?" You asked, ignoring Ruben completely.

Lily, who had been a silent observer, helped you up.

"I can take you home!" Ruben offered.

"I don’t want you to take me home." You replied coldly. "You don’t have a car seat for a child, remember?"

Using crutches was something familiar. This wasn’t your first rodeo. You had broken other body parts before.

In the car, Lily broke the tense silence. "You know he’s just worried about you."

"I know, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat me like a child. "He has known since the beginning how clumsy I am. If he can’t handle it, maybe we shouldn't be together."

"Don’t say that!" Lily replied, her voice firm. "You two can't live without the other." Through the rearview mirror, you saw Ruben’s car following you. "I know it’s hard, but try to understand his point of view."

You looked away, trying to focus on anything but the conversation. You knew Lily was right. Ruben loved you, and his overprotectiveness came from that love. But it was hard to accept when it felt like he was suffocating you.

As the car pulled up to your apartment building, you felt a pang of sadness hit you. Lily opened your door, and carefully you stepped out. "Thanks for everything, Lily. I really appreciate it."

She smiled. "Anytime, Babe! Call me if you need anything, okay?"

You nodded and the the help of the clutches you walked towards the building entrance. As you turned around, you saw Ruben's car waiting for the garage door of the building to open up. You hesitated, looking at his car for a long moment before turning and going inside.

When you entered the house, you realised that your books were scattered like confetti, Ruben's trophies were still on the dining table, and the monstrous bookshelf stood there, a mocking presence in the room. It was impossible to clean it up. Not with your foot like that.

A few minutes later, Ruben entered the house and he looked around it. You were nowhere to be seen, but by the sound of the water running, he knew you were taking a shower. Without his help.

What if you fell? He shocked the thought out of his head. You needed space and he was going to give it to you. Kind of.

Jumping from the shower with only one foot and the other in the air, you dried yourself and put on your pyjamas. You felt like everything was hurting, but you had to prove a point to Ruben. You could do things alone without needing his help.

As you opened the bedroom door, the smell of the food hit you and your belly made a noise, not realising how starving you were. However what surprised you the most was not Ruben cooking but the fact the bookshelf was no longer on the wall that you wanted to paint, but the wall in front of it, with all his trophies and your books. Everything was really clean and the small lamp you had on the corner where you sat reading was welcoming.

The table was set, and Ruben was busy tossing salad at the kitchen island. When he saw you emerge from the bedroom, he paused, his expression softening.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentle, laced with concern.

You met his gaze with a cold stare. "Fine."

You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, walking around the kitchen with surprising ease on your crutches. Ruben watched your movements with a mixture of relief and worry.

He sighed, setting down the salad bowl. "Can we talk?"

You scoffed. "Are you sure you want to do that? You think talking to a child is easy?" Your voice was sharp, but a pang of hurt shot through you as the words left your lips.

Ruben rinsed his hands and pulled out two chairs. Gently, he guided you to one and sat down across from you. His hands rested lightly on your bare legs. "I'm so sorry for calling you a child. I didn't mean it like that, and you know it."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "It still hurt." You mumbled.

"I know, I know. I've been overprotective." He admitted. "But every time you get hurt, it feels like my heart stops. I worry about you constantly. But calling you a child was wrong, and I'm truly sorry."

Your anger was slowly dissipating. You couldn't stay mad at him for long. He always knew how to break through your walls. "You're an idiot if you think this is the last time I'll hurt myself." You retorted, trying to sound tough.

He chuckled softly. "Let me be an idiot, then. I love you, you know that, right?"

Ruben's eyes held yours. Slowly, he leaned forward, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. Your heart pounded in your chest as his gaze lowered to your lips.

With a hesitant touch, his lips met yours. It was a soft and passionate kiss. As the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of relief and happiness wash over you. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

A small smile crept onto your face. "I know. I love you too."

[threepandas]

Bad End, Hidden Heir: Part 2

Prev <-

A pounding headache and cave air, that's what I woke up too. The air was being choked, though, by familiar scents. All trying desperately to make the cold, wet, and softly echoing quiet, hospitable. It was nauseating in my current state. Weak and... drugged? Had I been drugged? I certainly hadn't been drunk.

So why did my head hurt so much?

Why did every motion, make my stomach want to rebel?

My limbs felt so WEAK. Heavy and useless. Barely budging when I try to lift them. To rub my head? Adjust the blanket? Sit up? I can't tell. Thinking... thinking is so hard past... the pounding in my head. The fog. I struggle to concentrate. God, that SMELL.

Like a perfume store combined with... with... ugh. Everything!

I could pick out individual scents I knew I liked, on their own, added to the nauseating chaos. My favorite potpourri was there. But so was the one I like for winter? Fall? That one I liked as a kid until I found Mrs. Tianna's blend...

And perfumes! Colognes! The clean products and scents I preferred the maids used. God it... it blended together like a trash heap. As though someone drove a carriage through a perfume shop at speed. Cloying and musk and spice and fruity and-!

I sucked air through my teeth, trying not to smell it, hoping to god I wouldn't TASTE it.

Finally I managed to pry my eyes open. Either hunger or thirst giving my the strength to push past the nauseating pain. I NEEDED to move. Find out what was happening. Survive.

My gaze... met the most elaborate embroidery I had ever seen. Tapestries had less art. Almost to the point of gaudiness. Possibly past it. It was...

It was everything I had ever said I liked.

Too anyone.

Puppies and flowers, history and art, books scenes and more. It kept GOING! Hideous and magnificent. Chaos. Unhinged. Flowing down from above me, along the rest of the curtains, for the canopy bed upon which I rest. So I would be surrounded by it all. Even the blanket... it was a sea of my favorite flowers, made eternal through string.

This wasn't something people just DID. Could just FIND. I could feel my panic under the muting pain and exhaustion. This was the work of YEARS. Obsessive, continuous, YEARS. Some of these threads cost more then certain house hold make in WEEKS! And for what? A secret canopy bed?!

I struggled, body barely able to obey me but trying desperately to assist. The blankets were heavy. The curtain around the bed equally so, thanks to all the embroidery. I.. I manage to roll. Squirm. Wriggle my way, undignified, to the edge. Flop over it and out from under the blanket. Too freedom.

The air is cold.

The scents WORSE out here. Now, I can see why.

It is a museum to all that I am. Every like carefully gathered in one place, every preference. Stacked and shoved together, with no regard for if they fit. Hoarded like a collection.

I can not even tell... if I am sitting, flopped down, on my favorite winter bedside carpet or just an exact copy. My entire life is shoved together and suddenly... suddenly I do not like any of these things at all. They feel dirty. Dangerous. Like they have betrayed me. I want to cry.

But I am nauseous. Hurting. Tired and thirsty. So very hungry dispite it all. I just... I just need to know what's going ON! This isn't... this isn't how the Game goes! Not for Protag-chan. Not for me! I know I changed my "character's" behavior... but...

I... I don't understand...

Try not to cry. It's... it's really hard.

I was right. I'm pretty sure this is the Caves of Spring in the northwest of the Duchy. The offical Heir has an estate near them. The stone looks like the cliffs I'd seen in passing.

Crawling is hard. My legs keep getting tangled in my fucking nightgown. My... my f.. favorite.. nightgown! I'm not gonna cry. Damn it. I'm NOT GONNA CRY. How dare he? How DARE he ruin even that? What did he DO to me!? When I was... was...

No, don't think about it!

Move.

A decanter. Needlessly pretty. I probably loved it as a girl, fresh into this world. Everything was so FANCY and I wasn't used to having money yet. Hadn't developed any real class or taste. It looks so fucking gaudy to me now. But God, it has water. Please... PLEASE let that be water!

I drag myself up on badly shaking limbs. Nothing wants to hold. Wrists buckling, knees giving, legs shaking like a new born lamb. My arms are so weak. But thirst... oh thirst is a powerful motivator.

I force myself to move.

The water is not enough. It is everything. Cold and perfect, I force myself to go slow. To not spill a single drop, as I collapse against the dresser it was placed upon. Letting my eyes explore my cage in the way my poor abused body can not.

There are thick bars buried deep into the bedrock, separating the "room" I'm in from the hall that leads away from it. And it IS a "room". Made in cruel mockery to resemble the luxury of the dukes estate. Perhaps even more aggressively decadent in certain aspects, though that isn't a good thing. It makes it border on a storage room, for how crowded with luxury it has become.

It is the reflection of an unwell mind.

And staring up at the portraits of myself I KNOW I never sat for? The countless sketches pinned up beyond the bars? I am in trouble. I... I should have run. Not sent Creep away. I should have been the one to run. Before it was too late.

I think... I think it might be too late.

Footsteps.

I want to escape. But where can I run? I am caged. I feel close and far away. My head hurts. My body hurts. Everything stinks and I am cold. Why? Why did you do this? The foot steps are calm and commanding. Even. They do not break stride.

I do not bother to watch my hunter approach me. The monster I can not escape.

I close my eyes to spare myself the pounding in my head. Drink more water.

He makes a softly dismayed sound, as though he was not the one to drug me, to leave me here. The door to my cage opens. Closes. Ah... such a heavy lock. Should I be flattered?

Crisp steps, the rustle of fabric.

"My lady, the floor is so dirty! You shouldn't be out of bed yet. I was just about to make you tea."

The AUDACITY.

Tea? TEA! Ha ha! After DRUGGING my tea? He actually expects me to accept a cup from him again?! He truely IS insane, isn't he?

I am scooped up without my consent, unable to so much a truely struggle. Placed gently on a plush chair, a tea table moved in front of me. A familiar cup. My favorite blend. Pretty little snacks laid out deftly on lovely little plates. I grit my teeth. Slowly tip my head up to glare.

He pauses when our eye meet... then shudders, some terrible look of pleasure dancing across his face.

"That's right... look at me~" he whispers, leaning entirely too close. "I'm all that you have now. So you'll HAVE too now! No more others. No more distractions. No more sending me away! People trying to get between us. Trying to take you away. I'm all that you need, My Lady. All you'll EVER need."

"Just look at ME, your loyal dog. And I'll take such good care of you. I promise~♡"

[ravencromwell]

I have to add Archivist Wasp and its sequel Latchkey by Nicole Kornher-Stace. (Both those links lead to Weightless Books, an arm of the incomparable Small Beer Press that sells drm-free versions of numerous small presses' books for ease of reading and to avoid the amazon monster; to tout the awesome of Small Beer and Mythic Delirium, both primarily responsbiel for publishing Kornher-Stace would be a post of its own, but look them up if you're unfamiliar because they've provided some of the most envelope-pushing, queer-heavy scifi of the last decade.) Archivist Wasp is in the "destroyed earth" rather than the space category of scifi and...well, Amal El Mohtar can sell it better than I ever could:

An Archivist has two jobs. The first is to hunt and catch ghosts in order to learn about the precataclysm past from them; the second is to defend her life and position against “upstarts” — the other girls marked by the goddess Catchkeep’s claw-shaped scars at birth — once a year. Wasp has been Archivist for three years, and wants nothing more than to escape a dismal life of killing her sisters and obeying the Catchkeep-priest — so when an unusually powerful ghost asks her to help find his former partner in the underworld, she agrees. But, as is so often the case with the underworld, she finds both more and less than she bargained for. More than anything else, this book is sharp. You could cut yourself on the prose — Wasp’s world is one of thorns, knives, edges of thick, broken glass, a constant background-hum of pain that sometimes swells into a shout. Wasp’s perspective absolutely thrums with tension and violence, but also aches with a fierce, hollow loneliness to break the heart. The longing and gratitude for the smallest beginnings of true friendship make the betrayals more vicious, and the stakes just keep rising. I burned through this book in about three hours, desperately rooting for her. It’s also a brilliantly constructed narrative and world. The gods are cruel and absent. The underworld is a maze in layers, a twisting, turning palimpsest, one that allows Wasp to descend almost archaeologically through time by literally experiencing her ghost-partner’s memories. The pre- and post-apocalyptic worlds reflect each other in shards and fragments, all the more powerful for being subtle, for their resistance to being spelled out. It was also keenly refreshing — especially in something that’s ostensibly YA, where the Love Triangle of Doom is so annoyingly pervasive — to find a book in which all of the strongest, primary relationships are friendships; where friendship has the narrative, motive force usually reserved for sexualized romance. I very much wanted to see the A in QUILTBAG represented in this column, and this is a fine example: while the connection between the ghost and his (female) partner is intense and loving, it is never represented as sexual, and sex is in fact completely irrelevant.

Sci-fi books where a queer woman has the ghost of an annoying dead guy in her head

*Misery is nonbinary (she/they) and who’s in her head is not dead or a guy but I’m counting it, okay

[kitchenisking]

November Fic Rec

Don't Be Cocky by Spindiver - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 14,570, sterek)

For reasons, Derek wants to get a Prince Albert piercing. The only shop in town belongs to Stiles Stilinski. Who knew that Derek's life of lonely isolation was about to get a proper shake-up?

“Hey”, he says, in greeting, “what can I help you with, this morning?”

Given the man’s size and somewhat surly demeanour, Stiles is not expecting the voice of the giant to be so measured and polite.

“My name’s Derek Hale, I have an appointment booked for 11 o’clock.”

“Right”, says Stiles, coming out from behind the counter, he gestures towards his workspace, one of three rooms off the lobby of the shop.

“Come on through, my name’s Stiles, I run this place. I have to confess, the appointment book didn’t say what you were after.” He raises an eyebrow at the man, now sitting gingerly on the padded worktable in the middle of the room. He’s starting to look ever so slightly uncomfortable.

“Oh, I um…I’m looking to get a Prince Albert”, he mumbles

In from the Cold by frek, sova  - (Rating: T, Words: 1,279, sterek)

He's soaked to the bone and there are things he wants to say.

breakfast in bed by Winchesterek - (Rating: G, Words: 846, sterek)

Stiles stretched in bed, sighing softly as his muscles relaxed and his bones cracked like an ancient mummy moving for the first time in centuries.

He smiled as he smelled the delicious scent of bacon wafting in from the kitchen, hearing the constant chatter of Elijah talking away about nothing and everything at the same time, Derek’s soft tones assuring their son that he was listening when Elijah asked if he was paying attention.

breakfast in bed by Winchesterek - (Rating: G, Words: 2,119, sterek)

…the one where Derek confessed his feelings for Stiles.

The Happiest of All by Hedwig221b - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 32,580, sterek)

“It’s every wolf’s dream. To find a perfect mate, to procreate. It’s a necessity, it’s healthy. It’s in our blood; akin to the moon in the sky, a wolf belongs to their mate. And humans don’t have the capacity to become a mate.”

“But I love him,” Stiles whispered, begged.

Talia stayed silent for a couple of minutes.

“That’s why you should understand it’s not healthy for him to be with you,” her words were simple and clear, like a piece of glass, but sharp all the same. “He will not find true happiness with you. You’re wasting his time. Preventing him from having a future he deserves.”

You're My Sanctuary by lilmissdaydreamer - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 33,467, sterek)

The Argent Wolf Sanctuary. It’s been Stiles’ dream since he was five years old to work with the wolves, ever since his mother took him up there to see the magnificent creatures on one of their ‘full moon runs’ that the Sanctuary does once a month. The wolves are beautiful and much larger than Stiles would’ve thought, or at least, the newest wolf is. The owner had said he’s a special breed. 

Stiles just didn’t realize quite how special he is.

Keep You Tonight by TheRomantics - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,469, sterek)

“I don’t think you really want me to get off of you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re holding onto me, dumbass.”

-

Derek needs to go to work, but it’s hard to do with a grumpy little human in his lap.

No Brainer by youtwomakeagoodpair - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 12,641, sterek)

So it just is a no fucking brainer, of course this thing where Derek hides out in his room will lead to… embarrassing revelations about Stiles. Cause Derek is a snoopy snooper. Or maybe Stiles just made him try on shirts in front of Danny and didn’t think about the things he was hiding in his clothes drawers. Like the bottom drawer, and it’s lacy and silky contents. Which Derek fucking Hale was bound to see when looking through Stiles’ clothing. And Stiles being the scatterbrain he is, did not think about it in the moment. When Derek is out of his room later and Stiles goes over to clean up the clothes, he sees the lingerie drawer fully open and a pair of pink lacy panties lying on top of it all.

Choice by lizlybear - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,931, sterek)

Derek makes a choice, Stiles doesn't agree.

The One That Got Away by alikatastic - (Rating: T, Words: 9,261, sterek)

Derek didn’t get the memo about kids purposely doing things to spite their parents. The first time Eli put on a plaid shirt over a graphic tee and Derek got a constipated look on his face and tried to convince him to choose a different shirt, Eli went out and bought a heap more and exclusively wore plaid from then on. Every time Derek told him a story from his past and Eli remarked on how Stiles was “badass” and “the main hero”, Derek tried to emphasize how annoying Stiles actually was and to NOT pull any stunts like that, Eli started getting in trouble at school for pulling stunts just like them. Derek tried really hard not to overreact the first time Eli stole the jeep but… his son was wearing plaid, saying ‘dude’ and recklessly driving the goddamn jeep, for gods sake! Derek did NOT need all these reminders of “the one that got away”.