#up to you if I mean they start making out in the middle of the battlefield or they take over the world together

[nkogneatho]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 ✦ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

—characters: oliver, shidou, sae.

—cw: fem!reader, fingering, pearl necklace, overstimulation, finger sucking, not proofread.

—a/n: i need lobotomy. you do too if you're reading this shit.

𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔

oliver's hands are thick and has arms full of veins. he is not exactly a workout freak but he does fair amount of sets during practice resulting in his amazing physique. his fingers are girthy and he has amazing control over them.

oliver likes to spend his time with his fingers up your pussy, stretching your hole with his thick digits. he loves the feeling of your wetness dripping down his knuckles as he pumps them inside you.

"nasty little pussy. always so greedy, right, babe?" he whispers against your ears. "gimme one more and i promise i'll put my cock in then." you know he's lying. you've already came thrice and he's been repeating the same damn thing but won't stop fingering you. you can feel his erection poking your lower back, your pussy fluttering and craving more. too bad. aiku will only pull his fingers out when he wants to and not when you want to.

"oli...ngh—gunna cum," you mewl as your body tightens.

"let go, baby. 'm right here. cum on my fingers, yeah?" and you do, legs shivering as they close up, trapping his arms in place. when you calm down. aiku gives you peck on your head and you finally think he's gonna put it in. finally. "let's see if you can take four fingers." fucking hell.

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐈

shidou's hands are very veiny even when he is not flexing his muscles. but i doubt this man is ever relaxed because he is on adrenaline 24x7. his skin is glowing with melanin so each nerve is visible. he works out a lot. well his workout is divided in two sections. gym and good old sex.

ryu's favorite thing to do with his hands are massage your tits. massage would be and understatement 'cause this man is full on groping, pinching and abusing them. your poor nipples are always sore when he is done with you. don't get me wrong. he loves to suck on them too. but something about fondling them while thrusting in you gets him off so much. even more lovely when he spits on them and smears them with his thumb.

"got such a sexy set on ya, babe. fhuuuck. gonna make me shoot a load just with this. ya won' mind if i slap them yeah?"

*slap*

you hiss at the sensation. "shit. did my pretty pussy just clenched? fucking hell. ah! my balls are tightening," he moans. you think he's gonna cum inside you but shidou pulls out faster than a lightning, his veiny hands tightening and stroking his cock as he aims for your tits. and just in a second, he is shooting thick translucent ropes all over them. he takes his palm and spread his cum all over your tits. "fuck. jus' like a glazed donut." he takes a lick. "best fucking donut ever."

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

given sae's slender yet washboard ab physique, his hands are long. not full of veins but his knuckles are very visible and it's so hot. his veins show when he is working out, pissed or...horny. sae didn't know he had attractive hands and he was dating a person who has a hand kink. what he did know was you loved to always suckle on his thumb when his palm rests on your jaw while dry humping you. so sae tries to push it further this time.

you're sitting and reading a book on the couch before sae's shadow towers over you. you shoot your head up, looking at him with confused eyes. he scans your face for a minute before speaking.

"open," he commands. you're not sure at first what he means but the way his green eyes are fixated on your mouth, your jaw instinctively follows his command like a servant. before you can grasp the situation, sae's middle and ring finger are already in your mouth. he let's you suckle on them for a few seconds and he's quick to start thrusting them. he might have just discovered that you have a hand kink is pretty convenient for him too 'cause the boner he popped might be the fastest ever.

"i am fucked," is all he says before thrusting his digits deeper, his other hand palming his cock through his gray sweats. his biceps buldge out and his veins pop when he fists his dick so you deliver the most appropriate reaction. a moan and a whimper that vibrate around his fingers sending shivers in his body. he's right. he is fucked. and so are you.

[vampzity]

pretty tears | BC

★ DAY THREE : DACRYPHILIA WITH BANGCHAN ★

pairing: husband! bangchan x f! reader

did you really think it was a good idea to bug your lovely boyfriend at a sophisticated dinner of all places? to think that you’d actually get away with it just because he can’t react then and there? you’d be extremely mistaken. he’ll show you exactly what whining and teasing gets you— in fact, he’ll have you whining at his mercy.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+!!, literally no plot, dacryphilia, dom bangchan x brat reader, slight spanking, rough unprotected sex, cursing, pet names (slut, whore, baby, babygirl), hair pulling, some fluff at the end, chan is a whole different person in bed

word count: 1.7k

“I’m sure Bangchan buys you all the finest jewelry, isn’t that right?”

You raised your eyebrows smugly, glancing at Bangchan’s “you better not” look. You smiled at him, taking a sip from your glass.

“Well it has been a little long since I’ve received any jewelry.. you would know, right Channie?”

You bat your lashes at him, watching as his face turned red from embarrassment. Some of the guest at the table snickered, others staying silent at your response. You didn’t mean anything rude from it, in fact you knew the reason why you haven’t received anything from Bangchan in some time. You didn’t care for the jewelry or expensive gifts, as his love was enough to hold you over, but boy did you love to play with him like a toy.

Only because you knew what it would get you later on.

“Baby, you know why I haven’t..” he turned to look at you, holding your hand under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze.

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from your glass. Chan gave a hesitant smile to the group, soon moving his hand to your thigh and giving it a tight squeeze.

“Why it shouldn’t be hard to provide for your lady. You make more than enough to sustain the both of you.”

You looked up at Chan’s right hand man in the business world, crossing your arms and nodding. Bangchan gritted his teeth, his nails digging into your thigh as you struggled to now hold back a yelp of pain.

“I say, treat her to something lovely, something containing 18 carat gold, with a pretty rock in the middle.” The younger looked at the woman next to him, admiring her beauty.

“As I always say, nothing but the best for my wife.”

Bangchan stood up from the dinner table, grabbing your coat and pulling you out of the chair. You furrowed your eyebrows at his sudden change in character, getting up from your seat.

“Well it has certainly been a nice evening with you all.” He helped you put on your jacket. “I’ll see you Monday, yeah?”

He waved goodbye to everyone, dragging you out of the house silently. He opened the car door for you, still nothing but silence between the two of you. You both sat in the car for a moment, allowing the quiet of night to engulf you two before you spoke.

“Did I upset you Channie? You know I was only joking, right?”

You ran your fingers across his cheek, making him turn away from you as he started the car. He refused eye contact with you, driving away from the house without saying another word to you.

“And I’m sure you know by now that this bratty behavior doesn’t reward.”

— ✧⁂✬ —

You both walked into your shared bedroom, Chan taking off his blazer and setting it aside in on the desk. He was still silent as ever even after what felt like the longest car ride of your life.

You kicked off your heels and placed them in the closet, turning around to be met with Chan right in front of you. You met his eyes as they were filled with both lust and rage. Bangchan was always good with hiding his emotions around others, especially when you were the cause of them, but being alone with you was a different story.

“Bed. Now.”

Your breath hitched for a moment, feeling a cool chill run up your back. His face was stern and cold, but it wasn’t unfamiliar to you. Bangchan never appreciated your brattiness, especially not in front of others, but boy did he love to put you in your place for it. You were sure that he knew you enjoyed it as well.

“Or what, I’m not scared of you Channie.” you crossed your arms, smugging as he furrowed his eyebrows.

He grabbed you by the waist, pushing you toward the bed and bending you over. His hands slipped beneath your skirt, attempting to rip your panties off only to find that you had a thong on. Bangchan sighed, pulling your skirt up just enough to show your bare ass to him.

“You fucking slut.” he gritted his teeth, smacking his hand against your ass. You yelped out in pleasure, hands gripped at the bedsheets as he fondled with your ass.

“Wearing this little thing for me? You must want me to mess up this pretty pussy of yours, yeah?”

Another rough smack rippled through the room, leaving a tingling sensation against your skin. He grabbed your hair, pulling you up to meet his level. He smirked at your painful expression, his other hand rubbing your reddened skin.

“Not so bratty now, huh? What happened to that necklace you wanted so badly?”

You attempted to turn your head away, only for Chan’s grip to tighten. You hissed in response, your cunt already leaking in arousal from how rough he was with you.

“Maybe if you’re good for me, I’ll think about getting you one.” he looked at your bare ass, tilting his head.

“What did he say? 18 carat? With a pretty rock?”

He let go of your hair, undoing the buckle to his pants and pulling them down with ease. He pressed his bulge against your ass, groaning softly as his hands squeezed your skin. You moaned quietly as he pressed himself against your clothed folds.

He pulled your thong off, letting it drop to your ankles and soon pulling out his cock. He rubbing his tip against your folds, throwing his head back at how wet you were.

“Since you wanna be a brat,” he shoved his dick into you without warning, watching as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Why don’t we get you begging over that necklace, hm?”

He pulled your hands behind your back, holding them down as he rammed into your aching cunt. Your whimpers filled the room, unable to get a break as he grazed your sweet spot over and over. Your face dug into the bed, letting out countless cries of pleasure as Chan manhandled you.

“Channie, fuck!”

His nails dug into your waist as he held you tightly, slamming into you with no remorse. He left go of your hands and grabbed onto your hair once again, pulling you back against him. You winced in pain as Chan came down to your level, kissing your temple softly as he continued to fuck you.

“You like that, baby? Huh?”

A loud smack rippled against the walls, your asscheek tingling once again. You yelped in pleasure, nodding your head as tears began to spill down your cheeks. You moaned aloud, not even caring to wipe the tears that ran down your face.

“Aw look at you, not so bratty anymore hm?”

He kissed your tears, pulling out of you and flipping you onto your back. You met his lustful eyes, a good kind of fear instilling within you as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He rubbed the head of his dick softly against your folds, groaning as his tip leaked. He leaned forward, kissing you gently before pushing himself back into you without warning.

“Gonna fill you so good..” his thrusts grew hastily with every push. “You’re so pretty when you cry baby.”

He leaned over your body as he fucked you roughly. His eyes piercing into you like a knife while he watched your helpless tears escape you. A smug smile painted his face as he held your arms above your head.

“Whose pussy is this, hm?” he grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Answer me when I talk to you, yeah? You know how I feel about you disrespecting me.”

He threw his head back and groaned as his tip grazed your sweet spot. You could barely take him in, let alone when he fucked you this roughly. All because you wanted to embarrass him in front of guests.

“Yours, it’s yours!

Chan smiled at you, his thumb coming down to rub against your clit softly. You let out a deep moan, back arching as he never stopped his harsh movements inside of you. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as your climax reached an all time high, suddenly rushing over your body and spilling all over his cock.

“Fuck, baby.” he threw his head back, holding your legs up as he pounded into you.

Tears continued to escape you as you begging him to slow down, but unfortunately for you he was too close to stop now. His thrusts got faster, harder as he felt his own high approaching, desperate to release into you. His hands dug into your thighs as you whimpered, small marks being left on your skin as a reminder of the behavior that earned you this type of treatment.

“Gonna, gonna cum.”

He leaned closer to your body, his head burrowed in your neck as his final thrusts were aggressive. A loud groan left his mouth as he released himself into you, pumping his dick into you a few more times to make sure you were stuffed. He kissed your neck gently, wiping the stained tears from your cheeks as his body came down from his high.

He gently pulled out of you, kissing your stomach softly as he pulled your skirt back down. He fixed himself up and sat next to your limp body, his hand rubbing your thigh.

“You learn your lesson, baby?” you looked up at him with doe eyes, nodding quietly as the last of your sniffles came. Chan smiled at you, ruffling your hair and getting up.

“Good. Want me to start a warm bath for you?”

You met his kindhearted eyes, the ones you adored just as much as his piercing ones. You smiled and nodded, playing with the hem of your skirt. Chan took you by the hand, guiding you to the bathroom and helped you undress as the water ran. Once you sat in the tub, he offered to wash you up, also bringing you some company while you relaxed.

“Thank you Channie.”

He kissed your forehead softly as he grabbed a warm towel for you, laying it on his lap as you laid in the water.

“Anything for my babygirl.”

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: OUU railway still has the craziest chokehold on me to this day man… neways 🌝

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @jjongibears @h4untedgrl @rvereri @joonezra @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @mingtinysworld @tiredlittlevirgo @honeyhwaaa @evidive @inniesfanblog @bluesungology

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[introvertbard]

@fairykukla I just realized I typed this huge thing up on the wrong blog, so if I've reblogged your stuff already from my writing blog, sorry! Also, my post has been HEAVILY updated to account for preindustrial armies, camp followers, and "everyone who knows anything about horses is begging people to at least look at the Wikipedia page about ''medieval warhorses!' Stop using modern, chunky, and ridiculously tall farm-horses like Shires and Percherons as the "noble destriers" of medieval times!" https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Remember that in True Grit, Blackie most likely didn't cover a 40-mile trek to reach a doctor--he collapses after the first day, and Rooster has to shoot him for a mercy-kill before he and Mattie continue on foot. This is likely because Blackie was overloaded with two riders, one of whom was critically injured.

You have:

-Rooster, a middle-aged/old man (in his forties in the book, and played by actors in their sixties in the movies). He can ride, but he will not have his former endurance from when he was twenty or thirty. Rooster is also busy HOLDING MATTIE ON THE HORSE, because she's been bitten by a snake and can't ride properly. In the 2010 version, after Blackie's died and Rooster has to run the normal way, he can't even make that last sprint to the house they come across: He has to shoot his gun to wake everyone up and he just wheezes, "I have grown old."

-Mattie, a teenager suffering a snakebite. Mattie is fourteen and she might be lighter than a grown woman, but snakebites mean you CANNOT exert yourself too much, or you will die faster... like, say, with horse-riding. After a few hours, the OTHER problem with snakebite happens: Mattie starts hallucinating. This makes her as good as a sack of potatoes on a horse.

I would guess the group covered a regular 20-30 miles on horse, and after Blackie died, they went that last 10 or so miles on foot. But the end result is the same--at a given point, you are drenched in sweat, EVERYTHING in your body hurts, and at some point you will not be able to put one foot in front of the other anymore.

Many historical writers refer to a horse being "blown" or "blown out" when it's at this point, but just as many writers bluntly say "the horse collapsed," or "the horse couldn't go any longer."

Also, while we're talking about Westerns and horses, here's a terrible writing note to keep in mind: SOMETIMES HORSES GET NOSEBLEEDS FROM HEAVY EXERTION. If you really need that grimness for a (near-)death scene--or alternately, if you need a clear and emphatic sign that your character's horse is in trouble and YOU NEED TO STOP MOVING THIS INSTANT--then throw a nosebleed into the scene, and riders in the audience will know that You Mean Business.

When you ride a horse to death (both theirs and your own), it's an ugly death.

But if you, the writer, don't WANT your character/character's-horse to die, you just need them to STOP RIGHT NOW, STOPPPPP--and they will recover in time. That help might be full-on bedrest (RIDING A HORSE IS A FUCKING WORKOUT!!!), or it might "just" be getting someone to cook/buy food, support them while they limp around to the bathroom and kitchen, etc. Being fit and prime-aged will help a LOT with recovery!

Teens and young adults can bounce back amazingly fast, if nothing's broken or bleeding. They could easily start recovering to the level of "household tasks and basic horse care" in a few days. But a very young child who hasn't hit puberty yet, or an older person who's starting to collect gray hairs or wrinkles, is probably gonna be closer to the "full bedrest" side of recovery for a while.

If you are LESS LUCKY, you'll recover... just not to your former abilities. I keep repeating this, but riding is a full-body workout! I imagine you can basically say ANYTHING got knocked around, and it won't work right anymore.

"The Character's legs hurt. They can still walk and ride, but for long trips or hard gallops, they need painkillers / rest."

"The Character's lungs are worn out--if they start wheezing, pull them off the fucking horse, or they'll fall off."

"The Character rode their horse for so long that they fell and hit their head. They mostly got better, but [insert concussion or traumatic brain injury]."

"The Character rode their horse for so long that that they fell and broke their arm/leg. They need a brace/cane now."

And for emotional trauma where your MIND got knocked around and won't work right, it's entirely possible to say that, "Character didn't want to ride anymore." or "Character stopped riding after their horse died, and it took them years to get another one."

Modern riders are constantly dealing with emotional trauma after an accident, so in preindustrial times where horses were both EXPENSIVE and NECESSARY, that trauma would be especially deep.

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance." For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND.

If you are traveling in winter or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

[greynatomy]

the space between us

ingrid engen x reader

hi, it’s been a while

———

You met in the strangest way—one of those encounters that should have been fleeting but instead rearranges the entire landscape of your life. It wasn’t a grand romance at first, just a quiet unfolding, a slow realization that her presence fits into the empty spaces of your days. In hindsight, you realize it was never small. It was everything.

At the time, you didn’t know how brief it would be.

You met on one fateful day, losing your grip on your dog’s leash, he rushes to a person sitting at a cafe.

“Oh, hello little one.” She reaches down to pet the dog’s head.

“Benny!” You chase after him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to let go of his leash.”

She looks up to meet your eyes and you swear time stopped.

“Well I’m glad you did.”

“Y/N.” You reach your hand out. She gives you a smile, taking your hand in hers.

“Ingrid.”

It starts with a text. A ridiculous, unfiltered thought they send late at night that somehow finds you in the middle of your sleepiness.

“Did you know that your brain blends out a lot of noises your body makes?”

“Huh?” You reply, squinting your eyes from the brightness of your phone.

“If you were able to hear it, you would slowly drive yourself insane.”

You smile in the dark, the glow of your screen paints soft shadows on the wall.

“That would absolutely drive me insane.”

And just like that, a door is opened.

That night, you talk for hours. About anything, everything and nothing all at once. About her childhood fears. About the way you pick at your nails when you’re nervous. About how some songs feel like home even if you don’t know why.

“You ever feel like you’ve met someone before even when you haven’t?”

“Like déjà vu?” she replies, her voice drowsy through the phone.

“No. Like…fate.”

She didn’t reply after that, you heard the way her breathing evened out, knowing she fell asleep.

“Goodnight.”

The days that followed are filled with stolen moments, with messages slipped into the space of obligations.

You were on call again late at night. You knew she was half asleep but you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Can I tell you something?” you ask.

“Anything.”

There was a moment of silence as you find the courage to speak.

“I think I’m scared.”

You can hear her bedsheets rustling. “Of what?”

“Of how much I feel this. How I don’t wanna lose you.”

There was another moment of silence.

“You won’t lose me.” she whispers.

You don’t reply right away, but when you do, your voice is barely there, your vulnerability can be heard.

“Promise?”

Ingrid promises, but sometimes promises aren’t enough.

The unraveling happens so slowly that you don’t notice at first. Maybe neither of you wanted to.

She signed with Barcelona, promising that nothing will change and distance is just a small obstacle.

But the texts become less frequent. The calls grow shorter. The easy and effortless way she once reached out to you becomes hesitant, uncertain. You tell yourself that she’s just been busy. That nothing is wrong.

But something is.

“Are we okay?” you ask one night, after yet another day of silence.

She hesitates.

“Yeah. I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve just got a lot going on.”

You want to believe her. But there’s a distance in her words now, something slipping through the cracks.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know.”

But she doesn’t . Not in the way she used to.

And then one day, they just… stop.

Not in a dramatic and catastrophic way. Not with a fight, not with a storm of angry words. Just a slow fading, like ink dissolving in water.

At first you make excuses. She’s busy. She’s tired. She had a long day. Everything will go back to normal again.

But it doesn’t.

You try once more, sending her a short message.

“Goodnight, sleep well. I love you ❤️”

It sits there, unread.

And you know.

The absence settles into you like a ghost. You still catch yourself reaching for you phone, expecting her name to light up your screen. Some nights you find yourself scrolling through old messages, rereading conversations that once felt infinite, listening to the many voice notes she used to send.

You tell yourself that it was brief. That it shouldn’t hurt this much. But it does.

Because it was real. Even if it was short.

Even if it’s over.

One night, much later, you find yourself looking up at the moon, remembering a moment a few days into her move to Barcelona.

“Oh wow, the moon is beautiful tonight. Not as beautiful as you, but still beautiful.” you tell her as you stand outside, earphones in your ears.

“Thank you.”

“How’s your moon looking like?”

“Beautiful.”

“Do we have the same moon? Wait. Duh. There’s only one moon.”

She laughs. “You’re so cute.”

As you look at the moon, you wonder if she’s thinking of you too.

If somewhere in the quiet of her own loneliness, she remembers the sound of your laughter.

If she ever misses you the way you miss her.

If she ever looked at her phone, just for a second, and almost reach out.

But she does’t.

And you don’t.

So, instead, you whisper a goodbye to the sky.

And let her go.

[yawchi]

"just fucking listen to me and do it already."

there has never been a time in itoshi rin's life that he has ever allowed anyone to speak to him this way.

"yes, beloved."

until now.

leaning back against the headboard, you cross your arms over your chest and let out a light huff of satisfaction. of triumph. he has half a mind to jerk you out of the bed by your ankles.

yet, he doesn't. no, instead he tugs his shirt off over his head, shrugs past broad shoulders. slinks past chiseled forearms. he discards it in the laundry bin (something he's discovered is hard for you to do) and picks up the object of your demands.

a baby pink sweater, with dark pink hearts stitched throughout.

he picks it up and pretends he doesn't hear your faint chuckle at his demise; rubs the fabric between the pads of his fingers. scrunches his nose up in the way you chastise him for.

that's too mean, rin! you say. how are you ever gonna make any friends with a face like that?

he doesn't care. he doesn't want to. why would he need friends when he has you? are you not enough? do you not fulfill all of his needs? he believes so, at the very least.

one arm slips through surprisingly soft cashmere, then the other. then he's poking his head through the middle whole and there's a whole lot of pink passing in his line of sight.

seriously, when the fuck did he start letting people boss him around like that?

when did he start to find it so easy to give in? when did you sneak in? why haven't you left?

"oh. my god," you're whispering, then shrieking, "oh my god!"

"okay," he chokes out, finally, tugging at the collar before the sweater’s even laid properly over his torso. “that’s enough.”

“don’t you dare,” you snap, and he listens.

and what the fuck.

you shimmy your way to the foot of the bed, right in front of rin. pushing yourself onto your knees, you reach forward to swat his hands away and smooth out the wrinkles. there’s something in your eye—a glimmer, maybe. it’s pretty. rin frowns to hide his blush.

“oh, yeah. this is—“

“ridiculous,” rin cuts you off with a fixed glare. “i look ridiculous.”

“ridiculously adorable,” you counter, scoff at him with a wave of your hand. “this is it. i want you to wear this one to dinner.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no.”

“yes,” and you’re leaning in, smoothing one hand over his clavicle and circling the other around the back of his neck. nose brushing nose, warm breath to warm cheeks. “for me? i’ll be so good.”

you kiss him—more of a peck, really—but it’s enough to have him feigning, giving in.

“fine,” he huffs, jerks his head away from you and grabs his keys off the top of the dresser. “one hour.”

“deal!” you chirp, slipping out of bed to slip into your shoes and itoshi rin is seriously dumb founded.

he isn’t sure when he started letting people boss him around—when he started letting you—but, he must admit that a little piece of him thinks it might be worth it.

especially when you’re going to be so very good for him later.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

SFW Alphabet (A-N) - MCU!Johnny Storm 🔥| Marvel Headcanon

The teaser literally just dropped this morning 💀 but I've loved the FF and JS since 2005, and the FF fandom has been starved. This is for y'all 💌 Happy Fantastic (February) Four Day!!

Marvel Masterlist

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Johnny is very affectionate to the point it is almost suffocating but endearing. He enjoys showing you off and making it known he's in a committed relationship--especially after garnering a reputation that said otherwise. He'll shower you with compliments, wink at you when you enter a room to make you blush. When you have to present something to the Fantastic Four Johnny is openly checking you out unapologetically that'll have you using every muscle to not stumble over your words.

He shows it in actions that make your heart race. Proving that Johnny listens when you tell him something even if it does not seem important at the time. You'll find flowers on your nightstand, but you'll see that your favorite snacks and drinks have been stocked when they run low and you haven't had time to go shopping. If you leave a basket of clean laundry on the bed but then had to run to the lab for an emergency, you'll come back to find it folded and put away in its respected places. Small touches as he passes by you. Either letting his hand drift across your lower back or hooking his pinkie finger with yours.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Johnny is that best friend where people are surprised you are, but it somehow just works. Besides the constant bickering and threatening to throw each other off Baxter Building, you and Johnny know you'd run in the line of bullets for each other. There are jokes between you that the rest of the Four don't understand--which can be annoying when debriefing or in the middle of a presentation. But again, he's your ride or die and you're his.

The friendship would start when you were employed at Baxter Building. You were visibly annoyed during a meeting in which the Four and the department you worked for were present and the head of your department kept undermining the data you gathered that was crucial for a project the teams were working on. Johnny saw this and stood up for you, telling the department head that without the data they'd be at a loss, and he needed to make sure everything was consistent. Afterwards he introduced himself and you two went over the files and before you knew it you were friends with the flying, fire wielding man.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Say the word cuddle and Johnny is throwing you over his shoulder to haul you either to the couch or bed, whichever is closer, and taking you prisoner in his arms. This man loves a good cuddle and thrives on the feeling of your skin against his. Once his body hits the bed/couch and he's comfy do not expect him to leave for hours. And if you need to pee you'll just have to wait or physically pry yourself from him to which you'd receive groans of discontent.

Johnny prefers holding you as the big spoon but dabbles in being the little spoon from time to time. That usually takes place after a long day or a mission gone array where Johnny is still feeling the effects of nearly losing his life or the people he cares about. You'll hold him close; his head pressed against your chest and lull him asleep with the gentle beat of your heart. "I got you, baby, I've got you. You're safe now."

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) 

He definitely sees himself settling down in the near future. Probably when the Fantastic Four have reached a period where they can relax and be able to settle without the fears of it backfiring. but make no mistake, this man sees and needs you in his future. He wants the whole shebang and if that means leaving the Four then he'll do it.

This man can cook and he knows how to clean up after himself. You'll wake up to him making breakfast or coming back from the lab to find the most gourmet looking meal prepared. "What's all this for, hotshot? Don't tell me I forgot an important date?" "There does need to be an occasion for me to cook for my lover. Now bring your sweet ass over here before it gets cold." And you never have to worry about a dirty apartment. Johnny makes sure it is in pristine condition. Of course you do your part and if you happen to have the day off and he's working then you tidy the place. But it's nice to live with someone who values a clean home just as much as you.

E = Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Johnny breaking up with you would likely because you were in danger. A villain they were dealing with had discovered you, threatened your life, and Johnny could not live with himself if something happened to you. So he did the only thing he could and that was to break both of your hearts by ending things. There'd be tears, yelling, and you'd fight with him on it. Insisting that you'd be better off with him than without."

"I don't understand, Johnny--you said you love me!" "I do love you! So much that I'm doing this so you can live without the fear of being killed because I made enemies with the wrong person." "All this does is make me vulnerable. You want me safe? Then stay by my side because they are just waiting for us to be apart to actually do something."

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He's already got the ring picked out 💀 Expect to be proposed within the first year of dating because Johnny WILL put a ring on it.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Surprisingly Johnny is very gentle with you. His touch is light, his words are soft. He'll sit and listen when you vent to him about work and people in your life who've pissed you off. He'll tend to you on days you're sick and encourage you to do the things you love.

On your bad days, where you feel like the world is out to get you, Johnny will run you a bubble bath and cook your favorite meal. He'll sit on the edge of the tub to wash your hair, hold you while you cry, and dress you before carrying you to the bed for some cuddles until sleep overtakes you. Despite the powers that make him rival the sun, Johnny is a teddy bear who will put you first above all else.

H = Hugs (do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Of course he likes hugs, in fact he craves them. You'll be at your desk working, in the lab, or making food when Johnny will come up behind and wrap his arms around you. Perching his chin on your shoulder while you work simply because he wants to hold you.

I = I love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

Look, this man is a simp and when he's in love he makes it known. So he probably thought it within the first month of dating, but did not say it until you made it to three for fear of saying it too fast and causing everything to crumble. But once you both say it is like a weight lifted off his shoulder and Johnny is shouting it from the terrace of Baxter Building.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He'll never outright admit but he gets jealous. Who could blame him when he has a catch like you and everywhere you go there are people trying to flirt with you and get under his skin. When this happens he'll usually go quiet and glare at the person, but his frustration is never at you. He knows better than that and understands jealousy is something he needs to work on. Honestly it flatters you, and you can't help but tease him, bringing his mouth to yours in a possessive, passionate kiss. "Take that frown off your face, hotshot. You know I only have eyes for guys made of fire.'

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with Johnny take your breath away. They are soft and tender. Sometimes rough and sloppy when tensions rise and the fire in his veins mixed with the love for you consumes him. He'll pull you close, leaving no room for you to escape, cupping the back of your head while cradling you as he kisses you until you have to break for air.

Johnny's favorite places to kiss you, besides your lips, is your jaw and neck. He'll trail his mouth along every bit of skin it can find and nibble when he's feeling frisky causing you to erupt in a heap of giggles. You on the other hand, bring Johnny to his knees when you kiss his temple. It's so soft, makes him all fuzzy inside where he's practically begging for you to do it again. He doesn't know what it is about the way you do it but your lips to his temple and forehead have him in a chokehold.

L = Little ones (how are they around children?)

Johnny is a pro around children. He adores them and the sight of Johnny in his suit around kids makes your heart flutter. Even if he does not see having his own children in his future, Johnny knows how to deal with kids whenever the moment calls for it.

Plus he's had to risk his life on more than one occasion to save them when an enemy decides to use them as collateral.

M = Morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

Expect to be up bright and early every morning because Johnny has places to be, people to save, and things to do. Whether it is training, missions, or running errands. He is up on his feet the moment the sun touches the sky to drag you out of bed so that he can get it all done in record time and have the rest of the day to sit on his ass and relax.

Now on the rare occasions that he gets a day off or a super villain decides to not cause chaos, Johnny is catching up on all the sleep he can. You'll wake up past noon to him half on top of you, face tucked in the crook of your neck and pretty much in a puddle of sweat thanks to the godly levels of heat radiating off this man. He'll moan and grumble when you decide it's time to be productive--going as far to lay a love tap to his ass and bribe him with coffee and breakfast...or threaten to tattle tell.

"Get your hot ass up before I tell Sue you stole the last Coca-Cola from the fridge." "You wouldn't dare!"

N = Night (how are nights spent with them?)

Let's be real, nights are long and rarely quiet. Johnny is exhausted. Dragging himself to the bathroom to shower off the days work. You'll either join him if he's in the mood or set up the television to watch your favorite film. After he's done you'll cuddle up on the couch before one of you falls asleep first to ultimately drag the other to bed, or you'll both knock out right there since it's too comfortable to move.

Despite his reputation Johnny is a romantic. When there's a night where he can properly take you out on a date he is going all out. Reserving a table at the best restaurant, catching a movie at the theater, whatever it is, expect to have the best night of your life.

[xhyjin]

yanderenanami! who was your boss when you two first met? you were an intern at the company he worked at, assigned to be his personal assistant and tend to his needs, handling tasks like making reservations, scheduling his appointments/meetings, and basically all the small stuff he couldn’t waste any company time on. your relationship was strictly professional. you two never spoke unless you needed his confirmation on something; other than that, it was pure silence.

yanderenanami! you had been working with him for the past 8 months as an intern, and you were seeing no signs of getting the job permanently. you had no choice; you couldn’t waste any more time as an intern—you had loans to pay off and bills to take care of! when you knocked on his office door and heard a low grumble of “come in,” you walked into his office with your resignation letter behind your back. “mr. nanami, i need you to sign something off for me,” you asked, expecting it to be another application or something for approval. but when you handed him the envelope, he raised an eyebrow. “what’s this?” he said, not even letting you answer as he opened the envelope and read it. looking at you and then the envelope, he said, “you’re quitting?” you nodded, not knowing what to say. he just sighed and signed it off before handing it back to you.

yanderenanami! you walked out of his office dumbfounded by his lack of sympathy. i mean, he didn’t even say goodbye or anything along the lines of “it was great having you here,” but what did you expect? he had always been stoic and nonchalant since the day you started working there. you packed away the little stuff you had on your desk in front of his office, a bit bummed that you didn’t get the job, but you weren’t going to continue working for free. you walked into the elevator, thinking you would never see mr. nanami again either as the elevator doors shut.

yanderenanami! he immediately called one of his buddies when you walked out of his office—the one who was good at keeping tabs and dealing with situations like yours: toji fushiguro. he told him straight up what he needed, which was you, but he wasn’t going to ask toji to kidnap you or anything extreme. he just wanted him to keep track of where you were, who you were with, what you were doing, and all the usual details. that way, he could have some time to plan something out, something special for you.

yanderenanami! who spent weeks planning everything for your “arrival,” setting up cameras in every corner, barricading any exits from the inside, keeping sharp or harmful objects away, and most of all, creating a perfect little room for you to spend your time in. you were going to be there for a long time, and maybe a good time. he had toji along with shiu parked outside your place. It was in the middle of the night, and due to your circumstance, you didn’t live in the best part of town, so cameras or police or civilians were nowhere in sight, which was perfect for him but not perfect for you. he unlocked your door with the duplicate key that toji had made, tiptoeing into your house like a thief and up the stairs to your single bedroom where you lay like a princess in slumber. he carefully placed a cloth on your nose, making sure not to hurt you in the process, and as he felt you fall into an unconscious state that wasn’t slumber, he carefully tossed you over his shoulder before making his way out of the house and into the van that was parked outside.

yanderenanami! who watched you sleep peacefully as shiu drove to nanamis house that was on the other side of town, a gated neighbourhood where only the elites lived, where you would be safe. he knew that shiu and toji might me wondering who you were or why you were in this situation but he didn’t care all that he cared about was that he finally got you and he will never let you go.

yanderenanami! who carried you into his house, which was prepared for your “visit,” carefully taking you up the stairs as you lay unconscious in his arms to the room he had prepared for you. he placed you down on the bed, tucking you in with a faint smile on his lips. he didn’t want you to be scared when you woke up, so he placed a stuffed animal—your favorite—beside you and left the room, his heart beating fast as he couldn’t believe he had you all to himself now.

yanderenanami! who woke up in a panic the next day when he heard your scream but quickly calmed down once he realized what was happening. of course, you would scream—you had fallen asleep in your room, only to wake up in a perfect replica of it, but with an eerie feeling lingering in the air.

he quickly threw on a shirt and sweats, making his way to your room, which was heavily locked and barricaded. when he finally opened the door, he saw you curled up in the corner, legs pulled to your chest as you trembled in fear. but the moment your eyes met his, something shifted.

as he stepped closer, a small smile played on his lips. “relax,” he said, his hands reaching out, almost like how you’d show a dog you were friendly. “you’re safe now, okay? it’s just me.” his voice was calm, reassuring, as he crouched down to your level, gently patting your head.

“i’ve got you now.”

[paddockletters]

study session | charles leclerc

summary: charles misses you (not that he’d admit it), but when studying keeps you too distracted, he finds a way to steal your attention. request: yessss! thank you hope y’all like it

Charles has always been needy when it comes to you. He won’t admit it, of course, but the evidence is clear.

Like now—where he’s supposedly at your apartment to “keep you company” while you study, but in reality, he’s just here to be a menace.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, textbooks and notes spread around you, highlighter tucked between your fingers as you try to focus. Charles, meanwhile, is sprawled across your bed, bored out of his mind.

"Are you done yet?"

You don’t even look up. "No, Charles."

A beat of silence.

"How about now?"

You sigh, highlighting another sentence. "No."

Another pause. Then, he groans dramatically. "This is torture. I came all this way just to be ignored?"

"You came here on your own," you remind him, flipping a page.

"You should be grateful,” he mutters. “Most people would kill for my presence.”

"Lucky me." You snort.

You don’t have to look up to know he’s pouting. And then—silence.

Suspicious silence.

You finally glance up, only to choke on air.

Charles is standing in the middle of your room, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Go on, doctor,” Charles smirks, stretching as he leans back on his hands. "Start your examination."

You refuse to look at him. Absolutely not. You have textbooks to read, notes to review, an exam to pass.

“Charles,” you grit through clenched teeth, gripping your pen just a little too hard. “Put your shirt back on.”

“What?” He blinks, feigning innocence. "You need a realistic study session, no?"

You groan, slamming your textbook shut and covering your face with it. “You’re impossible.”

Charles just laughs and that makes your stomach flip. He’s doing this on purpose.

You peek over your book, only to find him watching you, amused. His entire posture is relaxed, like he has all the time in the world to mess with you. And he does—he always does this when he’s bored, finding new ways to distract you, tease you, get under your skin.

“So where’s my most important bone?” he teases, tilting his head as if he’s actually being helpful.

Your brain malfunctions.

“W-What?”

“My most important bone,” Charles repeats, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I assume you know where it is, no?”

Your eyes widen, and Charles’ smirk only grows as he watches your mind go straight to hell.

“You are—” you huff, trying to shove him away, but he catches your wrist, grinning.

“Careful, doctor.” He tuts playfully. “You wouldn’t want to hurt your patient, would you?”

Your patience is hanging by a thread.

“You are not my patient,” you mutter.

Charles hums, pretending to think. “But I could be. Imagine, I come in with an injury, and you have to take care of me. You’d be so gentle, no?”

You swallow hard. “You’re so annoying.”

Charles leans in way too close, looking entirely too smug for someone who’s supposed to be helping you study. “I just like being a good student. Ask me anything.”

You sigh. “Fine. What’s the largest bone in the body?”

Charles opens his mouth, then closes it. “Uhhhh—”

You smirk. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I do,” he says defensively. “It’s… the leg one.”

You roll your eyes. “The femur, dumbass.”

Charles gasps dramatically. “You’re such a mean doctor.”

“I’d be a lot nicer if you actually let me study.”

Charles grins, but before he can retort, your phone vibrates with a text.

You glance at Charles, only to find him reading over your shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the texts.

“Who’s texting you?” he asks, far too casual.

You lock your phone. “No one.”

Charles squints at you. “No one?”

“No one,” you repeat firmly.

A pause. Then—

“Is it that med student you always talk about?”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

“That guy,” Charles says, crossing his arms. “The one you’re always studying with.”

You blink. “You mean Liam?”

“Oh, so his name is Liam.”

“Charles,” you say slowly, biting back a laugh. “Are you jealous?”

Charles scoffs. “No.”

You grin. “You totally are.”

“I’m not,” he insists, jaw clenching.

You lean in slightly, smirking. “Charles, you’re jealous.”

Charles avoids your gaze, muttering something in French under his breath. He’s 100% jealous.

You tilt your head playfully. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t even like Liam like that?”

Charles perks up immediately. “You don’t?”

“No,” you laugh.

Charles nods once, clearly pleased. Then, without missing a beat—

“So I’m your favorite?”

You stare. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“Oh my God.”

He grins. “Just admit it, doctor. I’m your favorite patient.”

You groan, shoving him off the bed.

Charles lands with a thud, laughing as he sprawls out on your bedroom floor like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You, however, are one exasperated breath away from throwing your textbook at his stupidly perfect face.

“I’m trying to study,” you remind him, pointing at your notes as if that’ll make him take you seriously.

Charles, still lying on your floor, stretches his arms above his head, shamelessly showing off the definition in his abs. “And I’m trying to help.”

“You’re being a menace.” You roll your eyes, refusing to look.

“I like that you think I’m distracting.” He smirks.

You groan. “You’re insufferable.”

Charles props himself up on his elbows, watching you. “Come on, just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That I’m your favorite.”

You don’t answer.

Because the problem isn’t that he’s wrong.

The problem is that he’s absolutely right.

Charles has been your favorite for a long, long time. But admitting that? Giving him the satisfaction? Not happening.

“I’m not answering that,” you mumble, flipping through your notes as if your entire body isn’t burning up from his gaze.

Charles smirks, sensing your hesitation.

“Okay,” he says, getting up and stretching once more—because apparently, he needs to remind you how ridiculously good-looking he is. Then, before you can react, he plops down beside you again, way too close, his bare shoulder brushing yours.

Your breath catches.

“Let’s do a test,” Charles says suddenly, his voice dipping slightly.

You blink. “What?”

“A test,” he repeats, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, something that makes your heart speed up. “I’ll quiz you. If you get it wrong, you admit I’m your favorite.”

You narrow your eyes. “And if I get it right?”

Charles smirks. “Then I’ll put my shirt back on.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. It’s a trap.

Because either way, you lose.

Still, your competitive streak won’t let you back down. “Fine.”

Charles grins, shifting even closer. “Alright, doctor,” he muses. “What’s the smallest bone in the human body?”

You exhale sharply, relieved. He chose an easy one.

“The stapes,” you answer confidently.

Charles tilts his head, eyes flickering with amusement. “And where is it?”

“In the middle ear.”

“Are you sure?”

You give him a pointed look. “Yes, Charles. I’m sure.”

He laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. You win this round.”

You smirk. “Shirt. On. Now.”

Charles grabs his shirt… but doesn’t move to put it on. Instead, he leans in, his voice dropping into something softer, something dangerous.

“Last chance,” he murmurs. “Are you sure you don’t want to lose?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Your entire body betrays you—the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers tighten around your notes, the way you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his mouth.

And Charles? He sees it all.

He knows.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look back at your textbook. “I think we’re done here.”

Charles chuckles, finally pulling his shirt over his head. “For now.”

He leans back on your bed, clearly satisfied with himself.

And you?

You pretend like you’re not thinking about his lips.

[meleebites]

🧸 Hugs, kisses, snuggles, words. He's very warm.

🦢 "You need to stop snoring, Gorey. I'm a light sleeper." "I told you far too many times that I can sleep on the couch if you can't sleep with me!"

🍡 How many times have I answered this question? He has no nicknames for me, I call him everything in the book that isn't "babe", "bae" or "baby".

🪽 Still working this part out but damn was it ever warm and comforting. He deserved it. His soft lips deserved it. <3

🪺 "Oh, he's pretty and he's nice and I kinda wanna hug him." to "Most charming man alive, 10/10, I'd marry him and start a new family with him."

🪷 Picture a divorced middle-aged man starting a selfship blog. That's literally it.

🧊 Proper grammar, emojis (particularly hearts), no extreme tones. Has autocorrect.

🍋‍🟩 Probably something cheesy. "My beloved Kannon ♡" "MY PRECIOUS BUTTERCUP ♡"

💍 We'd get married ASAP if we didn't care about how long we've been a thing for. Asgore would LOVE to get married, as his last divorce really affected him and he wants to get back what he once had, but he'd be nervous about me leaving him like he normally is. I'm a bit less ready for marriage, as I have less experience and am younger, but I want our bond to get even stronger so nothing could tear us apart.

🪻 In source his favourite is golden flower tea. He'll drink any herbal or floral tea. He probably doesn't drink them cold usually.

☁️ We don't actually do much, come to think of it. We just coexist and breathe in each other's air. And eat. And sleep. And play games. And go on walks. And make out. And cuddle. And travel. Or something close.

🛍 He always gives me flowers. They mean a lot to him. He gives me ones that remind him of me. I mostly get him food, or I make art for him, or whatever he asks me to get him... but if he does that, he's in a great mood. He usually tells me not to buy or get him anything as he says he is undeserving of gifts. He isn't.

🫧 Skipping this one yet again as it's difficult for me.

🪼 Writing fanfiction is something I do to cheer myself up. I'm good at writing (I think) so I always have a fanfiction I'm working on. Unfortunately, I don't really share these as the contents are usually sexual and might offend some people. It's not proshippy though, that stuff's gross.

misc. selfship asks ❤︎

thank you for 400! <3 answer these asks however you'd like, but please practice reblog karma if applicable! 💌

🧸 - how would your f/o try to comfort you if you were upset? 🦢 - what's a petty argument you'd have with your f/o? 🍡 - what nicknames do you have for each other?

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

🪺 - describe your f/os perception of you before you got together, compared to what it is now! 🪷 - if the roles were reversed and your f/o was the one selfshipping with you, what would their blog look like?

🧊 - how would your f/o text you? would they use proper punctuation/capitalization, or type more informally?

🍋‍🟩 - similarly, what would your contact names be for each other?

💍 - how do you and your f/o feel about marriage?

🪻 - what's your f/o's coffee or drink order?

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you? 🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

🫧 - what song(s) remind you of your f/o?

🪼 - what’s your favorite way to feel closer to your f/o?

proship/comship/neutral dni

[tpwk-formula1]

I saw your Drabble ideas 🥵

What about Lance Stroll ( I know he has like 10 fans but stay with me) with a pregnancy/lactation kink 🥵🥵 he’s really been on my mind lately

AN: I'm ngl Im not really a Lance girlie but I loved writing this so I hope you guys love it too!

TW: MDNI 18+ Lacation/ pregnancy kink. nipple orgams

WC: 950+

Y/N POV

Being 8 months pregnant in the middle of an F1 season is not necessarily ideal but Lance is finally on summer break which means for the next two weeks we get to do nothing but relax in Montreal before he has to go back to work.

"I think I'm starting to produce," I comment while rubbing my sensitive boobs softly.

"Oh, really?" Lance says while walking towards me to meet me in the middle of the room. When he gets close enough he's already rubbing my very swollen belly.

"Ya, Ive leaked through a couple shirts already and it's only 2 in the afternoon," I whine getting frustrated with going through so much laundry.

"Just wear nothing than," Lance smirks while jokingly pulling at the end of the Aston Martin shirt I had thrown on. I jokingly send him a glare but when he leans down and places a soft kiss on my lips I kind of just melt into his touch.

"I'm mostly joking, but what about one of your nursing bras with some breast pads in them," Lance says softly while still rubbing soothing circles on my bump.

"I tried that earlier but the pads where rubbing against my nipples too much and it was making them too sensitive," I respond which only makes Lance look at me with a soft smirk.

"Sensitive huh?" Lance comments which makes me look at him with a raised brow.

"Bet I could make you cum with just a little bit of nipple play," Lance comments with a smirk knowing I've been extra horny since being pregnant and it really doesn't take much to cum for him anymore. But just nipple play? I doubt it plus I was leaking which would make it all too messy, which makes me shake my head at the thought but the thought of it has my pussy slightly throbbing.

"You're thinking about it aren't you?" Lance teases making me look him in the eye and nod softly. Lance takes this as his chance to softly pull my shirt over my head leaving my top half completely bare given I hadn't put a bra on after leaking through the first one.

As soon as the air hits my already sensitive nipples I can feel a bead of my milk pebble out making Lance look at it before gently rubbing his thumb over it making me whimper at the touch.

"Oh I'm gonna have you cumming in the next 10 minutes," Lance smirks when he seems how sensitive they really are. He brings up the thumb that's gently coded in my milk before bringing it up to his mouth and sucking it off making me grow red in embarrassment but when I see Lance close his eyes and enjoy the taste I can't help but grow weak in the knees.

"Tastes so good baby," Lance says softly while pushing me towards the bed and gently laying me down on my back while he climbs into the bed next to me.

"Look so fucking pretty like this," Lance keeps praising while rubbing my swollen bump before slowly bringing his hand up to my slightly leaking nipples.

"Oh fuck," I moan gently when Lance pinches my nipples making more milk leak out. I can feel the pleasure from my nipples going straight to my pussy.

I feel Lance start kissing my shoulder and slowly moving closer and to my nipples where he instantly latched his mouth onto my right nipple while still teasing my lift one.

"Mmmm, so good," Lance mumbles when he gets a weak stream of milk filling his mouth. While Lance is sucking on my right nipple he keeps playing with my left leaving me a whimpering mess under his touch.

"Lance," I moan softly when I feel myself really starting to dampen my panties wanting to touch myself.

"More Lance please," I whine trying to push Lance's hand towards the waistband of my pants but he keeps a firm pinch on my nipples making me whimper at the feeling.

"I said I was making you cum just by playing with your nipples," Lance says before leaning back down and taking my nipples back into his mouth while giving it a small bite knowing how much I love a little pain mixed with my pleasure.

I could tell that I really was gonna be able to cum like this if Lance kept playing with me like this.

"Shit, Lance," I moan when he keeps pinching my left nipple between his fingers making me whimper when he starts pulling at them while pinching.

"Lance," I whine a little louder when I feel myself nearly the edge of my orgasm which quickly has Lance shifting slightly so he can take my left nipple into his mouth and start pinching my right nipple instead making me gasps as I feel the milk in my left milk start to spray out slightly.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I start loudly moaning as I feel myself starting to fall over the edge.

Thats when Lance gently bites down on my nipple and tugs it's between his teeth while pinching and pulling my other nipple helping me ride out one of the more intense orgasms he has given me while pregnant.

"Oh! Lance," I cry as I relax into the waves of my orgasm.

Once I slowly start coming down from my orgasm Lance gently releases me nipples but brings his mouth back towards each one giving it a gently suck to help sooth any pain he might have caused.

"I'm not gonna lie, you taste divine," Lance says with a smile playing on his lips before he leans down and gives me a gently kiss on the lips.

-----------

The end! I hope you enjoyed!

[paetalks]

the first time sukuna ryomen hears 212 by azealia banks it’s through the walls of his room that he shares directly with your bathroom. your voice sounds muffled over the loud bass base that is pounding a hole in his head while he’s trying to focus on his pc. he’s trying to write a paper for college and it’s almost impossible with all the noise you have been making. you weren’t a bad neighbor overall - i mean, he has never seen you in person - but the music you would blast while showering was absolutely insufferable to him. you always kept quiet, day and night, never run around or moved furniture. sukuna has been living there for well over a month and everything was going well, apart from the fact that you loved singing in the shower. it was okay the first times, really, but lately the songs kept getting louder and louder. and it was all annoying, girly club music. the one he couldn’t really stomach.

so when he hears the first notes of yet another kim petras’ song he gets up from his chair and bolts out the apartment, ringing at your doorbell. it takes a while for the volume to be turned down, and ever more for you to reach the door. when you crack it slightly open, you see a tall, tattooed, attractive, muscular man looking down at you with pure hatred in his eyes. your brain goes blank and you let the door slip from your hands, opening fully only to reveal your towel-covered body and damp hair. his eyes widen, but never leave your frame or seem to be less angry. “hi?” you say, confused.

“hi.” his voice is deep, his sentences short and cutting “would you mind turning the damn music down?”

“oh” you frown, looking at him from head to toe. you notice how he’s wearing grey sweat pants and a black sabbath’s t-shirt that looks like it has seen better days. his hair is all over the place. a smirk makes its way to your face. “yeah, i would actually mind. i was kinda in the middle of something…” you gesture back to the direction in which the music is still coming from and your towel falls slightly lower.

the stranger’s eyes follow your hands as you pull it up again, rolling them afterwards. “i’m trying to work here.” he gestures (mocking you) at his front door, right next to yours.

“okay?” you purse your lips. “i don’t think that’s any of my business really. i’m just playing some good music.”

“good?” his eyebrows furrow. “you don’t even know what good music is.”

you roll your eyes. “okay, stranger. go ahead and insult me right in my house.” you chuckle ironically, meanwhile ayesha erotica starts playing in the background. “oooh, i love this song!” you squeal, and his eyes dart quickly between the direction in which the music is coming from and your body. your frame hugged by that towel is making him rethink being mad at you.

before he can say anything else, you smile forcefully. “gotta go back in there. byeeee!” and you close the door right in front of his face.

he stands there for a while, eyes widened and twitching. how can you be so hot and yet so annoying? he starts asking himself while walking back to his room. he sits back in his chair and as soon as he decides to surrender for the day and give up on his work, the music finally stops. sighting in relief, he opens his laptop again, still thinking about you and how that little towel wasn’t even covering all that much.

you definitely will be a problem, he thinks, taking a deep breath finally in silence.

or so he thinks, because not even a second later the first notes of paranoid from black sabbath start playing at full volume on your speaker. he laughs with himself. “she’s funny” he mumbles, shaking his head, secretly hoping to bump in you again soon.

sorry guys just had a shower and thought aboyt this. also i love music bye <3 hope you get all my songs references i’m sorry

[ruruumin]

phone call.

₊˚ ᗢ itoshi rin x gn! reader.

⤷ an unexpected phone call breaks you out of your mess.

going home, by all means, should mean good things. you no longer had to worry about your next paycheck or whats in your fridge. your parents dote on you every now and then, checking up on you as you lay in bed, noting the change in smell of your sheets. you should be happy, you keep telling yourself, but every time you wake up in the morning with the grease in your hair and a frown that doesn’t seem to turn upside down, you’re growing ever so frustrated by the circumstances. 

there lacks a feeling of agency that you felt when you left. whenever you ask your family what they have planned for the week, your parents shrug their shoulders, meanwhile your siblings roll their eyes and wave you off. outings are reserved for only the most special of occasions, like someone’s birthday or a national holiday. and if things couldn’t get any worse, the stickiness in your hair hasn’t gone away.

two weeks. thats all you have to endure, so why is it so increasingly difficult to feel normal? your bed should be the comfiest it has ever been, but its uncomfortable when you toss and turn, struggling to find the sweet spot that lulls you to sleep. in the morning, you have to continuously tug the corners of the sheets down so they don’t roll up on you again. you’re determined to say you’re no princess and pea, but the bags underneath your eyes are telling you to wake up and fix the bed.

for a moment, you start to miss your job. as much as its dreadful having to wake up early every single morning and motivate yourself in the mirror that it’ll be an easy day, you’re starting to realize the beauty in routine. the miniscule of joy that bubbles up in your chest whenever you come home and drop your bags to the ground, sighing in relief as you pop all the joints in your shoulders. even with exhaustion hanging off of you, at the end of the day, there was something to do. something that made everything all worth it.

and yet you lay in bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling that you swear will one day come crashing down on you like dust. its obsessive the way you check your phone for any new messages, scrolling through dozens of instagram stories and seeing your friends travel the world with their families. 

suddenly, your phone goes off. rising from your coffin you take it into your hands, seeing the caller id flash. itoshi rin is calling! fumbling, you hurriedly answer the call, nervous beads of cold sweat running down the side of your neck. you pat down the frizz from your hair as you sigh.

“rin-chan?” 

his nickname rolls off your tongue as easily as your sanity in this room. you’ve been calling him with the same honorific since you were middle schoolers. despite the childishness of it all and how frighteningly shocked his friends look hearing it, he never once corrected you. 

“hello.” his voice is deep and alluding. sometimes it comes off as a little dry from the way he ends each sentence with a raspy breath. you hold the phone close to your ear, pressing your lips together as you eye the clock on your wall. 

“is something wrong? you don’t call unless its an emergency.” 

ever since sae left for spain, he’s lost interest in calling people. he would prefer texting his parents over answering their phone calls. even when he’s gotten lost on multiple occasions, ending up next to a river five miles from his house, he refused to make the first call. perhaps its the pride in his heart that has him refusing any form of voice-related communication, like asking for help was the equivalent of kneeling down and begging. 

you could already imagine his voice: that’s disgusting. i’d never call unless i need to. 

however, that’s not the thing that comes out of his mouth. 

“...nothing, i just wanted to call and ask how you are.” he replies with the same nonchalant tone you’ve grown too fond of. “i haven’t seen you in a while.”

“oh, i see.”

“are you busy?” 

you shake your head, even if hes unable to see it through the other line. “no, i was thinking about watching a movie or something to pass the time.” you look over to the laptop on your bed. its covered in stickers from different conventions you’ve been to. some of which you’ve miraculously dragged rin into attending, only because the author of dragon head was doing a panel. 

“i see.” there is a pause before he speaks up again. “do you want to watch anything together?”

“like—in person? or stream something online?” 

he hums with a melodic trill that has you on the edge of your bed. 

“either or works. but i like watching horror movies in person.” 

a shiver immediately runs down your spine as you close your eyes, teeth clattering together comedically. the last time you agreed to watch a horror movie with rin (regrettably you were the one to ask him what he wanted to watch since you asked him out first), he chose the goriest film known to man. 

at the time, you were both high schoolers sneaking out past curfew to watch movies at the local theater. you were holding onto his arm, begging to squeeze his hand to ease your worries. he somehow agreed despite knowing your grip strength, and allowed you to grip his hand as tight as you wanted. during the movie, you didn’t think much about it, not wanting to overcomplicate the strange relationship you had. all you did remember though, was that his skin felt warm against yours and how perfectly your fingers fit against the cracks of his hand. 

“please don’t make us watch another film like the sadness. i couldn’t handle it.”

“it’ll be tamer than that.” 

“really?”

“would i lie to you?”

you suppose he wouldn’t. he hasn’t for the last few years you’ve known him. he’s been open as a book. he’s a quiet man but his eyes scream the words in his throat. you think he’s the true definition of the quote: eyes are windows to the soul, because every time he’s drooling over icy-blue popsicles, it shows in the slight sheen in his eyes.

he’s sweeter than sugar when he wants to be and it makes you wonder if there was more to this than just a simple phone call. you want to think by some heavenly force, he heard your thoughts and wanted to pull you out of this slump. unknowingly, you let out a soft laugh. 

“what are you laughing about?”

you exhale in response, “i just thought it was funny that you would call. you normally don’t—so i was wondering if there was more to it.” 

he’s quiet on the other line. 

“sorry, did i say something wrong?” 

“no. i guess i was thinking the same thing.” 

you hold back a surprised gasp. for someone calm and rational as rin, going out of his way to call you was already a big step. but him asking to watch a movie with you? out of nowhere? surely there was something at play here that you weren’t quite seeing. swallowing your nervousness, you open your mouth to ask him the most important question of all:

“what is the real reason you’re calling, rin?” 

he takes a deep breath before saying three words. just three. nothing more. nothing less. but enough to convey to you the true intent of his actions.

“...i like you.” 

“huh?”

“i liked you since we met, (name). i didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else but me.”

“what are you—wait, rin—”

there is knocking on the other side. you could hear rin’s exasperated sigh and the sharp inhale he takes when the door opens. you heard isagi call out his name alongside bachira. they stumbled into the same place as rin, asking him if he will confess to his special somebody, not knowing that this special person was listening into their conversation, heart stopped and cupid-struck. 

rin brings his phone back up to his ear, “if you feel the same, can you watch a movie with me? i’ll be at the same place we always go to.” 

after that, the call ends abruptly. you’re left in shock, hand trembling and fingers fumbling over the call back button. you wanted answers. like how long did it take you to find out? why confess now? did something happen between him and the other boys at blue lock? and will you be joining him? 

looking at his caller id, you press your lips together, swiping your phone and running to your closet to throw on any fitting clothes. you realize after exiting your house that he had kept you from spiraling.

[nylauninterrupted]

CL16 x Reader [the Golden Boy] Valentines Special I

before reading: Welcome to the Valentines Specials! This one is a bit long, since I wanted to do a lot of teasing and slight tension. The intention behind this one is to make it feel sort of like a trashy romcom but in a good way, if you know what I mean? I hope I managed to do that, let me know your thoughts. As always, requests are open and ready for y'all. Happy reading!

summary: You were an anonymous journalist, trying to bring down one of Monaco's biggest illegal organisations. But once its head figured out that you were the one behind the mocking articles, he felt something other than hate.

content warnings: morality is out of question here, a lot of money talk, weird comparisons I guess?, eating out, sex, dom!Charles, no protection implied (wrap it before you tap it obvi), nonproofread

word count: 3943

"The golden boy of the House of Leclerc amazes the public once more with his ignorance and disregard towards the middle class," you observed in satisfaction as the paper's redactor read the article's title out loud.

You took pride in your work, as it was completely unrelated to making money. If anything, you put money into it, reassuring the small local paper's office that you would be more than happy to provide for them if things went sideways due to your articles.

Although you were certainly a part of the upper class, you made no move to get even richer, instead choosing to use your resources in the scheme you had planned out in the last year.

The plan was to bring down the House of Leclerc, possibly the most prosperous criminal organisation in Monaco, covered up as a fashion brand. You knew all about them from your old man, an eccentric millionaire who had information on pretty much anyone in Monaco and beyond.

You felt completely safe in this line of work; you wrote provocative articles that left the public fuming, slowly bringing down the golden boy—Charles Leclerc. Your articles were published anonymously and were the reason for the recent growth of the small paper.

The money they made off selling it went to them alone, as you did not need it. It helped with the anonymity, as you couldn't be traced by the money transfers.

And during your father's parties and dinners, you could watch the golden boy's face as his advisor walked up to him and reported that another article about his sketchy business had just come up.It was a thing you enjoyed immensely, seeing his polite, slightly amused expression shift into a subtle frown. 

It's a good thing you avoided ever speaking with him directly and kept your distance; he might have noticed your little smirk otherwise.

"At this point I am surprised he did not pull some strings to get our office to shut down," the editor sighed, setting the manuscript on the table. "It's a good thing you have the money to fight it."

Yes, you fought money with money in a sense. Writing these articles certainly would have been more noble if you were a part of the middle class, but you knew very well how that would go; you would have been silenced before people even started reading your work properly.

"Even if he were to do it, it would not escape the public's attention." You smiled, twirling a strand of your hair between your fingertips. "And if he were to stop me from writing the articles, he wouldn't just force the office to shut down. He'd focus on finding me alone."

"Well, I admire your courage." The editor sighed. "Though sometimes it is getting dangerously close to bordering on stupidity."

You rolled your eyes and smiled again before getting up and dusting your jeans off.

"The transfer came through in the morning, from a dummy account, like always. I will see you next week, yeah?"

And with that you left for your apartment to get ready for another one of your old man's dinners. It did not take too long; there have been heat waves in Monaco recently, making your clothing options quite limited. You settled for a sparkly golden dress, paired with gorgeous makeup. 

You winked at yourself in the mirror before checking the time and heading out.It did not take you too long to get to the gathering, where most were already present. You were immediately pulled into hugs and showered with kisses on the cheek from the females present, who were very happy to see you.They all loved you; you were the apple in their eye. If only they knew who was behind the biting articles about them...

Your eyes wandered around the room, searching for your main target—Charles. You were surprised not to see him; the man was almost never late.With a shrug of your shoulders, you entered your father's villa, walking up the staircase and reaching your old bedroom to adjust your makeup a bit.

It was as beautiful and comfortable as you remembered, with little lights hanging down from the ceiling and the art you painted on your walls when you were a teenager. While searching for your highlighter in your bag, you sat down on the chair in front of your old vanity table, not noticing the quiet sound of a person entering the room.

You gazed in the mirror, applying some of the highlighter as an eyetopper, when a voice sounded from somewhere behind you.

"Hello, little writer." Charles spoke in a calm tone, taking a step closer to the light. "I liked your newest article."

You stopped in your tracks for a second, your hand freezing mid-air. You quickly gathered yourself and calmly continued applying your makeup.

"I am no writer," you responded, dabbing the glowy product into your face. "Unfortunately, I never possessed the ability to write proper pieces. You can ask my father, Mr..." 

You paused, pretending to be clueless and not know his name, as you looked at him questioningly.

"Charles," he answered softly, looking at you with amusement, "If your father thinks you have no ability to write, then he is quite ignorant, miss (l/n)."

"Well then, I will entertain your theory, Charles." You spoke, turning around and getting up from the chair to face him. Charles checked you out conspicuously, not even trying to hide the way his eyes traced your every curve.

"How did you come up with the idea that I write articles?" you asked, controlling your body language to perfection. In order to appear less confident and intelligent than in reality, you put your hands behind your back instead of folding your arms on your chest.

He seemed to see right through your trick, seeing you for the way you were: smart and cunning.

"Well, there is someone who writes rather... bold articles in some small local newspaper, bringing a lot of attention to themselves," he spoke huskily, taking a step closer to you, "and I decided to investigate, tracing money transfers from a dummy account, observing the newspaper's office..."

Charles leaned towards you, bending down to whisper into your ear, as his warm breath brushed over your neck faintly.

"You should have picked a busier time to visit the office, little miss... Maybe it would have been easier to miss your pretty face on the camera footage."

You shivered slightly and pulled away to the side, giving him a cold look with your eyes narrowed.

"The next time you try to come into a room I'm in alone, without permission, I will be waiting. With a gun." You spoke coldly.

"Don't tempt me." Charles grinned, his eyes glued to yours. "There is one thing I am curious about."

"Why would a rich girl like you care about what I do, enough to risk her reputation and money, writing articles that mock me? You won't benefit financially... You don't have a business that could expand because of it... Oh, wait." He paused, leaning close to your ear again."Is it to get my attention?" He whispered, smirking at you.

"Did you think that way you would be different from all the other women who throw themselves at me?"

"It might be a shock to you, Leclerc, but not every woman out there dreams of seducing you." You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. While he was still a complete jerk, you appreciated that he did not try to put his hands on you during your first encounter, like entitled men who attended your father's gatherings would often do.

Before Charles had the chance to respond, you turned away and left the room. You did not really care what he would do once you left him on his own in your childhood bedroom. He would not dare to do anything in your father's house.

You quickly got back to the gathering and were immediately welcomed back by the group of women from before. You tried to forget about your encounter with the golden boy and the way his hot breath made your whole body shiver, even though he did not lay a single finger on you.

A girl that has been eyeing you all night had offered you a dance, which you gratefully accepted. You twirled around and had fun, the shiny pieces of your dress making you look ethereal in the warm light, as you continued to be watched by Charles, who got back to the party as well.

Just as you finished dancing with the girl and thanked her, a bit out of breath, another one came up to you giggling, telling you that Charles was talking to your father, asking whether he could dance with you.

Your eyes narrowed, and you looked in your old man's way to see him chatting with Leclerc while gesturing in a lively way. As Charles noticed you gazing at them, he gave you a small smirk and a wave before excusing himself and walking towards you.

"I am not dancing with you," you spoke bluntly, looking at him with disdain. Your words just made him smile and roll his eyes in response.

"Oh, but we wouldn't want to disappoint your papa, would we?" Charles spoke teasingly, "It would be very rude to deny a dance with me, don't you think?"

You bit your lip, knowing he was right. To make matters worse, a cheery Italian love song started playing. Your old man liked romcoms and love songs a bit too much for your liking; you had to talk to him about his Mamma Mia obsession at some point.

Charles raised his eyebrow and held out his hand towards you, just as the chorus of Sarà perché ti amo started playing. You gave him a subtle glare once more before placing your fingers on his warm hand. He smiled and pulled you closer to the centre of the room, leading the dance and twirling you around.

"You look gorgeous tonight, little miss," he whispered teasingly, as the crowd watched you dance. "Are you this beautiful even when mocking me in your writing, or did you simply dress up tonight?"

"Considering how you were busy watching me through the street cameras, I think you are well aware of how I look while working," you bit back through gritted teeth as you smiled at him charmingly to keep up appearances. He gave you an equally tender smile, faking it almost effortlessly, before spinning you around again.

"Oh, street cameras aren't the only thing I can use to watch you. I have eyes too, ma déesse," he whispered into your ear, just as the track ended, and he had to let you go. As you walked away from him, you glanced at your father and groaned at his beaming smile. You silently prayed that he wouldn't try to plan anything as a follow-up to your dance with one of his business partners.

Your prayers were not answered. The next evening you got a text from your father, happily informing you that Charles was absolutely enthralled by you and has asked for your number. (You would not be surprised if your father just came up to him after you two danced and forced him to write down your number in his phone.)

You were still seething as you made dinner in the quiet of your apartment when the doorbell rang. You did not expect any guests, so you raised your eyebrows in surprise and washed your hands before opening the door to see Charles standing behind them. A thought of simply shutting the door in his face ran through your head, but you doubted he would actually let you have your peace.

"Why are you here?" You asked, folding your arms while you looked at him questioningly. 

"Maybe I wanted to see your pretty face again?" he suggested, a grin appearing on his face. You made a mental note to add "womaniser" to the long list of epithets you used in your articles.

"Bullshit," you said calmly, completely unfazed.

"I want answers, little miss." Charles finally replied, looking at you closely, "I want to know why the little rich girl who attends her daddy's parties every other week decided to mock me and make me her enemy when she would benefit so much more if I were her ally."

"It's fun," you replied. "I like it. Watching all the other rich people in town squirm once word about their little illegal businesses spreads. I liked seeing your expression, the perplexity in your eyes."

He kept observing you for a couple more seconds before he smirked again and started taking slow steps towards you. You instinctively started to retreat to your apartment, but it didn't make him stop. As he entered it, he closed the door behind him, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Are you going to grab a gun now?" Charles teased, referring to the threat you made the evening before. You stopped and overcame your unease. He was on your turf. And you weren't going to take his shit.

"My turn to ask the questions. Why didn't you try to shut me up earlier?"

"It's pretty simple." He responded, tilting his head slightly. "When you first started writing, I wanted nothing more than to find you and rip your head off. But with each little piece of yours, your gender became clear. It baffled me, since I have not crossed any women recently. It interested me, irked me."

Charles took another step towards you, slowly extending his hand, giving you time to retreat. But you did not, surprisingly letting him place his hand on your chin.

"I found out who you were a while ago. But I decided to watch and tried to see what your motive was. At first, I thought it was your father's idea, but I quickly came to the conclusion that he is a harmless old man. No, you came up with it all by yourself."

You remained silent, listening to his words, as his warm fingers traced your jawline and brushed against your neck, stroking your soft skin softly.

"I was completely sure you were a man pretending to be a woman before I discovered your identity." Charles chuckled. 

"I did not understand why else you would watch me so closely, describing my every... evil move."His hand went slightly up once more, and he brushed the tip of his thumb against your peach-tinted lips.

"Otherwise... Why would someone want to bring me down? Without any gain from it..." his voice trailed off. "You are fascinating, little miss."

You let out a small, barely audible sigh at his faint touches, making his eyes glint with interest once more.

"Are you sure you still don't want a bit of my attention?" He murmured, bending down slightly, his head inching closer to your face as he spoke.

Of course you knew what kind of man he was. Filthy rich, attractive, and thought the world belonged to him. But could anyone fault you for finding him just a bit appealing?You tilted your head up to look at him properly. Thoughts were running in circles in your mind as you bit your lip, feeling conflicted. Charles could see your struggle, and he waited patiently for your response, not making any move to touch you more. He wanted your consent, for you to give in willingly.

"Maybe just a bit," you whispered, knowing damn well that there was no way that this would be a one-time thing. He smiled at your response, reaching his hand out again, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear, and leaning in to place a small peck on the side of your neck to test the waters. Seeing that you did not resist his affections, he moved closer, his body meeting yours. Charles took you in with his eyes, massaging your body through your clothes, taking his time with you.

"You really do look incredible regardless of the situation," he muttered, burying his face in your hair and inhaling your scent. "You are so interesting, little miss..."

His hands slipped under your shirt and kept massaging your body slowly, warming it up. You didn't really speak, still unsure how to respond to the situation. The man whose life you tried to ruin was in your apartment, being intimate with you, and you were... Well, you were a willing participant.

Charles roamed your body with his fingers, keeping it pretty civil for now, and you tilted your head up again, brushing your nose against his slightly, making him smile at you.

"I have to say, you were more fierce yesterday. This is not an unpleasant change," he whispered tenderly. "I suppose you can be quite nice if you want to."

You grabbed his wrists and slowly guided his hands to your breasts, placing them around the round tissue.

"Oh, generous even," he added, but he did not tease you further and kept massaging instead.

"Should I get this off?" Charles asked after a while, referring to the large shirt you were wearing. You nodded without hesitating much, making him take the shirt off your body with ease. His hands were immediately back on your skin, this time enveloping your hips with their warmth.You reached for his shirt, taking it off as well. He gently guided you to the couch, carefully pushing you on the soft cushions.

"You're a bit like a wild cat, ma déesse," he whispered with a hint of satisfaction. "It is very difficult to tame you, and even if one succeeds, you still remain wonderfully independent and fierce."

You rolled your eyes a bit at the compliment but did not stop him from undressing you further, giggling a bit as he struggled with taking his trousers off. Charles gave you a warning look, though he couldn't help but smirk as well.

"Watch out, little miss, or I might lose my temper," he whispered.

"Do you ever?" you asked, looking up at him, as he crawled on top of you. "Were those frowns every time you heard about a new article all feigned?"

"Oh, I was not frowning about the articles." Charles chuckled, pressing soft kisses on your neck. "I just think some of the... labels you gave me were a bit harsh. I don't think I'm a 'filthy lecher who feasts on the weak,' to be quite honest."

"Fine, maybe I am a bit... passionate at times." You admitted with a sigh, as he continued leaving gentle pecks on her body, trailing them down towards her chest, "...You're still a jerk."

"Sure I am." He beamed, his shiny eyes glancing up into yours, before he focused on cherishing you again. He was careful, almost as if he worried about damaging you. You took him for someone who liked it rough, yet right now it seemed like he was prioritising your pleasure over his.

You sighed again as his mouth started inching closer to your abdomen before passing in and hovering above her temple.

"Are you ready, little miss?" he asked, and without really waiting for a response, he leaned down, pressing his mouth directly to your clit. He wasn't hesitant; he dove right in, beginning to suck on your labia, eliciting soft moans from your mouth.

Charles took his time, licking and sucking on the outside, before slowly pushing his mouth further, penetrating your cunt with his tongue. The man had skill; he turned into a panting, whimpering mess in a matter of minutes.

Before he brought you to a climax, he pulled away carefully, glancing at you with a grin.

"It's okay, you can come over my face later," he whispered, massaging your hip, as you glanced down at him, your face flushed. 

"Do you want to feel me inside, ma déesse?" 

You nodded, almost squirming from the tension he built up in your body. He kept watching your expression as he positioned his hard shaft at your entrance, teasing it a little bit, before slowly but surely pushing it in.

You slowly got used to the sensation, letting out small moans and whimpers at the sensation. You closed your eyes, savouring the experience, before pulling him into your arms, making his dick go deeper and causing him to groan in pleasure.

He was so careful with you, as if afraid to break you, to damage you. You would never take him for someone gentle; you assumed he liked it rough. But right now, he seemed to be containing himself for you.

"You don't have to be gentle with me. I'm not made out of glass." you whispered, after letting out another moan. "I want to feel you everywhere."

At your words, his restraint seemed to weaken; his gentle strokes grew into desperate thrusts, the pace quickening significantly. You were now moaning at every move, your body responding to his affections perfectly.

You could not help but admire the way he looked, his brown hair illuminated by the warm light seeping from a lamp placed on the coffee table, his green eyes that usually resembled spring leaves, now looking more like a shadowy forest. Small beads formed on his forehead as he kept a quick pace, sliding his cock in and out of you.

Soon, he reached his high, painting your inner walls white, before sliding out of you, his dick now limp. He tried not to collapse on you, but you simply pulled him in, making him lie on top of your body. You both breathed heavily, spent after the intense sex.

Your mind was analysing the situation now. In the past hours, your opinion on Charles changed significantly. He was still a dick and a bad man, but you couldn't deny the want you felt for him. It might have transcended sexual desire alone.

Charles clearly felt something for you as well; he knew better than to hope that sleeping with you would make you stop writing about him. He was tender, affectionate... It was unclear what he wanted for you. But after a couple more moments of thinking, you decided to let it go for now, choosing to enjoy the presence of the man you seemed to hate just yesterday.

Suddenly, you giggled, making him look up at you questioningly.

"Did you really memorise every insult I have written about you?" you asked, looking at him tenderly. He smiled as well, nuzzling his face into your chest. It wasn't in a sexual way; it seemed that he was simply yearning to be close to you, to stay in this moment, in this apartment, for as long as possible.

"Maybe not every single one, but I remember most of them." Charles murmured, with his face buried in your chest. 

You smiled again, deciding that talking about what this evening meant for you two could happen some other time. For now, you wanted to keep him in your arms for as long as possible.

...And maybe a few kisses, you thought, as you gently grabbed his chin and leaned in, kissing him on the lips. He reciprocated immediately, taking the lead and pouring his affection for you into the gesture, leaving you breathless.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" You asked, making his eyes light up like a little child's.

"I would love to." Charles smiled genuinely. Yes, he was a bad man. But his presence was something you grew fond of. In a matter of a day, you found yourself infatuated with the golden boy that you mocked.

"Maybe I should have suggested breakfast as well," you spoke, pulling him in for another kiss.

[slcmml]

teacher! charlie & reader — me + you = ♡

i don’t know who agrees with me on this, but i’ve been onto math teacher! charlie & english teacher! reader since dinosaurs went extinct..

♡ i’m thinking a middle school setting.. eighth grade, perhaps. you’re across the hall from each other, but don’t talk too often. not much apart from the shy waves in the morning and small talk while waiting outside of your classrooms to greet your students.

♡ well, that was until charlie started having computer issues. now, don’t get me wrong, he’s a very intelligent man! but he fucking hates these school issued chromebooks they’ve handed out to students.

♡ he usually assigns most work on paper since it’s math, but the school asked for him to start using ixl or fucking khan academy, i don’t know. something online that students can access in case they lose their papers.

♡ but you? you used chromebooks all the time! you weren’t cruel enough to make your students write their papers by hand!

♡ none of charlie’s students could figure out what was wrong with the chromebooks, and neither could he, so he went across the hall to get some help (all embarrassed too.. so cute).

“hi! sorry to interrupt, but i’m having trouble getting my students chromebooks to work? do you think you could help?”

♡ of course, being a nice person, you invite him into your classroom and happily help the man. you explain to him why it was broken and how to fix it etc (he wasn’t listening btw, was staring at you the entire time, he thinks you’re so beautiful).

♡ and after that interaction, charlie tries to talk to you more. (YOU’RE SOOOOO BEAUTIFUL HE JUST WANTS TO BE AROUND YOU) in the break room, he’ll ask how your classes are going, and at lunch, he’ll stop by to see what you’re doing, and even at the end of the day, he’ll check up on you to make sure you don’t stay at the school too late.

♡ his students do not fail to notice this. in fact, they encourage it. “but mr dalgeish, my chomebook is broken! can you please ask them to fix it? i want to finish my work so i don’t have to do it at home!” how could he turn down an opportunity to see you?

♡ he tells his class to keep a low volume while he leaves the room for a moment, walking over to your classroom with his student’s chromebook before knocking.

“hello. sorry, again, for interrupting. i’m not quite sure what’s wrong with this chromebook… could you help?” “oh, don’t worry about it! of course i’ll help!”

♡ you start to take a liking to mr dalgeish too.. he’s quite cute, isn’t he? :) he seems so nervous to talk to you outside of the routine good mornings, which you adore.

“so, uh, how was your weekend?” “it was nice! i got to relax and not worry about grading, so what more could i ask for?” “haha, yeah, i, uh, i agree!”

♡ your students probably get so sick of you both. smiling at him while he stumbles over his words like an idiot. one of his students probably try to stage a note, but it’s so obvious that it’s from said student LMAO.

‘dear beautiful english teacher please date me - mr d’

♡ you put a note on his desk with the note from the student attached.

‘so mr d, do you know what this is about?’

♡ oh GOD. he’s so embarrassed. he spends THIRTY minutes of class lecturing them on how that was unprofessional and inappropriate.

♡ talks to you at some point during lunch break.

“i’m so sorry about them—they can get really out of hand and they really like to meddle in other people’s business which is an entirely different conversation—” “charlie, it’s fine.” “i-it’s fine? ‘charlie’?” “oh, is that okay? i mean, i thought—” “no, no, no, it’s more than okay. i like it.” JUST KISS ALREADY.

♡ so. much. fucking. tension. YOU’RE BOTH TEETERING ON FRIENDS/MORE THAN FRIENDS AND IT ANNOYS EVERYONE.

♡ i can assure you right now, if you or charlie don’t make a move, your students or even a fucking coworker will do it for you. (enter: teacher! jschlatt and teacher! ted nivison)

© slcmml

[winwintea]

stolen dance

PAIRING ↬ idol!park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ romance, fluff, they dance a bit, there is totally no angst, i would never lie!

SUMMARY ↬ jisung has been teaching you how to dance lately. but is it really to teach you or is jisung using these dances as a form of escapism to hold onto a deeper secret?

WORD COUNT ↬ 2.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ in classic winwintea fashion here is jisung's birthday fic <33 suffer.

PLAYLIST ↬ stolen dance - milky chance; show me the meaning of being lonely - backstreet boys

“Alright, alright, one more time!”

Jisung grins, as he claps his hands and beckons you to step back into the middle of the room.

The living room is bathed in the soft amber glow of a single lamp in the corner, casting warm shadows across the room. The faint hum of a speaker plays an upbeat pop track, its rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat through the air. A pile of mismatched socks and sneakers sits abandoned by the couch, proof of your long evening spent dancing. You groan dramatically, flopping onto the couch instead. “I can’t feel my legs anymore, Jisung. This is basically torture.”

“Nope, no quitting!” he says, darting over and tugging you up by the wrists. His hands are warm, steady, and they pull you effortlessly to your feet. “We’re not done until you can at least try to keep up with me.”

You roll your eyes but smile, letting him guide you into position. “I’m only doing this because you’re making me, you know.”

Jisung smirks. “And because you secretly love it. Admit it, you want to keep up with me on stage one day.”

“Oh, sure,” you laugh, stumbling a little as he begins to guide you through a spin. “Me, a world-class dancer. We’re talking about K-pop standards too. Totally believable.”

“Hey, don’t doubt yourself like that!” Jisung says, catching your hand to stop your wobble. “Besides, I’m a great teacher. You’ll be better than me in no time.”

“Better than you? Let’s not get carried away.”

He steps back, giving you a playful once-over. “Okay, fine, maybe not better. But decent. Maybe passable.”

You swat at his shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.

The music shifts to a softer beat, and Jisung takes a step closer. “Alright, let’s try that one move again. Step left, then cross. No, your other left—”

You fumble the step, tripping slightly, and Jisung reaches out just in time to steady you. His arm loops around your waist, holding you close for a moment.

“Gotcha,” he says softly, his voice losing its teasing edge for a second.

You look up at him, breathless but grinning. “You know, for someone who claims to be a great teacher, you’re not very patient.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “And for someone who says they hate dancing, you’re not as bad as you think.”

The room feels still for a beat, the music fading into the background. Jisung’s dark eyes linger on yours, something unspoken passing between you. It’s the kind of gaze that makes your heart skip, though you can’t quite place why.

“Anyway!” Jisung suddenly blurts, breaking the moment as he steps back with a sheepish grin. “Let’s try again. I’ll slow it down this time, I promise.”

“Good. My feet are already filing a complaint,” you joke, shaking off the strange flutter in your chest.

He grins, taking your hands in his again, and the music picks up once more. The two of you fall into the rhythm, tripping over each other’s feet and laughing so loudly that it drowns out the sound of the song.

The days start to blur together, each evening spent in the same corner of the living room. The small space becomes your personal dance studio, the furniture pushed against the walls to give you just enough room to practice. Jisung shows up every time with the same excitement, the kind that’s so contagious you can’t help but play along.

“Step, step, and pivot—yes! That’s it!” Jisung exclaims, clapping his hands together as you nail the move for the first time. His grin lights up the room.

You beam, sweat dripping down your face, and collapse onto the floor. “Finally! That only took, what, twenty tries?”

Jisung flops down next to you, still full of energy. “More like thirty, but hey, who’s counting?” He nudges you with his shoulder, handing you a water bottle.

You take a long sip and gasp dramatically. “I didn’t sign up for this boot camp, you know. What happened to ‘just a fun dance session’?”

Jisung leans back on his hands, smirking. “This is fun! Besides, you’re getting so much better. Look at you, two weeks ago, you couldn’t even figure out which foot was your left.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpan, though your smile betrays your mock annoyance.

The next night, the routine continues. The two of you move in near-perfect sync as Jisung teaches you a new routine to a faster song. Your steps are cleaner, your turns sharper, and when you finish the sequence without a single mistake, you both cheer so loudly the neighbor downstairs bangs on their ceiling.

“Oops,” you whisper, covering your mouth to stifle your giggles.

Jisung shrugs, unbothered. “Worth it. You nailed that!” He holds up a hand for a high-five, which you give him, laughing at how proud he looks.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice how your progress isn’t the only thing changing.

One evening, as you struggle through a particularly tricky move, Jisung stops mid-step. His gaze drifts off toward the window, his body going still.

“Jisung?” you call, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Jisung?”

He blinks, shaking his head quickly. “Sorry, what? Did you say something?”

You frown. “You spaced out. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a too-bright smile, waving you off. “Just tired, I guess.” He grabs the remote and cranks up the music. “Come on, let’s run it again.”

You hesitate but decide not to press him.

Later, after another exhausting session, you collapse on the couch, panting. “I’m done. For real this time. My legs are basically jelly.”

Jisung sits beside you, his gaze soft as he watches you. “You’re really doing great, you know.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you joke, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“I mean it,” he says, his tone quieter now. “I just... I like seeing you like this. Happy. Laughing.”

You glance over at him, and for a moment, he looks... sad, though the expression vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You okay?” you ask cautiously.

“Of course,” he says, forcing a grin. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“Lucky me,” you tease, but his words stick with you as the night goes on.

The dance sessions grow more frequent, his enthusiasm almost desperate. Every moment feels heavier, though you can’t quite figure out why. You catch him watching you sometimes, his smile softer, as though he’s trying to memorize the way you move, the sound of your laugh.

“What?” you ask one night when his eyes linger too long.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, spinning you around before you can press further. “Just... don’t stop dancing, okay?”

You laugh, brushing it off, but there’s something in his voice that makes you wonder what he’s not telling you.

The music echoes softly through the living room as you and Jisung move together, your steps slightly out of sync but improving with each pass. The rhythm feels effortless now, the usual fumbling replaced by a newfound fluidity. You’re laughing, breathless but exhilarated, when the sharp buzz of Jisung’s phone cuts through the song.

It vibrates insistently on the counter, the screen lighting up in the dim room.

“Hold on,” Jisung mutters, his usual smile faltering as he jogs over to check it. He picks up the phone and stares at the screen, his expression shifting to something unreadable.

You wipe your forehead with the hem of your shirt, catching your breath. “What is it?” you ask, noticing the way he hesitates.

Jisung’s thumb hovers over the screen, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, in a voice that’s a little too casual, he says, “It’s nothing. Just a friend checking in.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Must be a pretty intense message to make you zone out like that.”

He glances at you quickly, forcing a small smile. “It’s not important. I’ll deal with it later. Come on, let’s not lose our momentum.” He sets the phone back down, face down this time, and crosses the room toward you.

Before you can say anything, he reaches for your hands and pulls you into a hug. It’s sudden, uncharacteristic, and tight. Tighter than his usual playful embraces. You blink, caught off guard.

“Uh, Jisung? You good?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he buries his face against your shoulder, his grip unyielding. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost fragile. “I’m just... really proud of you, you know? You’ve worked so hard.”

The hug lasts longer than it should, and something in his tone feels off. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he only holds on tighter.

“Jisung, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head against your shoulder and releases you just as abruptly as he hugged you. “Nothing. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” His smile is back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now, come on. Let’s run through it again. You were so close to getting it perfect!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you press, still watching him carefully.

“Of course I am,” he says quickly, bouncing on his toes to reset the mood. “Now, less talking, more dancing!”

You hesitate but eventually let it go, letting him take your hand and spin you back into position. Yet, as the music starts up again, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s more to the text than he’s letting on.

On the counter, Jisung’s phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up briefly before going dark. The message still sits there: "You ready to see her?"

The rhythmic click of Jisung’s shoes echoes down the hospital hallway, a stark contrast to the sterile silence that surrounds him. His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, clenched tightly as if to keep himself from shaking. The confidence and playfulness that had defined him earlier in the living room are gone, replaced by a hollow, heavy weight in his chest.

He pauses outside the door to a room, staring at the small plaque on the wall with your name printed neatly on it. His heart hammers in his chest as he exhales shakily, steeling himself before finally pushing the door open.

The fluorescent lights overhead hum faintly, casting an unforgiving brightness across the room. Machines beep softly, their rhythm steady and monotonous. And there you are. Completely motionless in the hospital bed, your face pale, your body almost swallowed by the thin blankets. Tubes and wires tether you to the machines keeping you stable, their presence stark and invasive.

Jisung freezes in the doorway, the sight of you knocking the air from his lungs.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice cracking. He steps closer, his movements hesitant and unsteady. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening.

He lowers himself into the chair by your bedside, his trembling hands reaching for yours. Your skin is cold, unmoving, and his grip tightens instinctively, as though holding on to you will keep you from slipping further away.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m here, so… you can wake up now, okay?”

The only response is the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Jisung leans forward, pressing his forehead against the back of your hand. His shoulders begin to shake as tears spill over, falling silently onto the thin hospital sheet.

“You know,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion, “I taught you how to dance. I mean, not perfectly, but we were getting there. You were laughing so much, and—” He stops, his breath hitching as the reality of his words catches up to him.

Because it wasn’t real.

The living room, the music, the laughter— it was all in his head. His imagination, his desperate mind, had conjured you up to fill the unbearable silence you’d left behind.

“I just…” His voice cracks again as he squeezes your hand. “I just wanted to see you smile. To hear you laugh. Even if it wasn’t real.”

The weight of the truth crashes down on him, suffocating and relentless. His mind replays every moment of the past few weeks—the way he had clung to the image of you, teaching you to dance, pretending everything was okay.

His tears flow freely now, soaking into the fabric of your blanket as he clutches your hand like a lifeline. The room feels unbearably quiet, the sound of the machines and his muffled cries the only noises breaking the stillness.

He sits there for what feels like hours, talking to you about everything and nothing—how much he misses you, how much he needs you to come back.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice raw, “don’t let this be the end. 

But you don’t move. Not yet. And Jisung can only sit there, crumbling under the weight of his grief, as reality continues to sink its claws into him.

“I thought…” His voice cracks, and he pauses, choking back a sob. He grips your hand tighter, as if that alone could anchor him in this unbearable moment. “I thought I could bring you back. Even if it wasn’t real—” His words catch in his throat, and he pulls his hands to his face, muffling the anguished cry that escapes him.

Tears stream down his face as he looks back at you, his expression one of complete devastation. “It felt real,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “You were laughing. You were dancing. It was like… like you were still here with me.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against your hand as he begins to unravel completely. “I just wanted one more dance with you,” he says, the words slipping out in a strangled sob.

The silence in the room presses against him, suffocating and unrelenting. His shoulders shake as he cries, the weight of the last few weeks crashing down on him all at once.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he confesses, his voice thick with grief. “You were the one who kept me grounded. When everything felt too hard, you… you were my anchor. You gave me a reason to keep going.”

He lifts his head slightly, his tear-streaked face staring at your still form. “And now…” His voice falters, his lips trembling as he struggles to find the words. “Now I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His gaze drops to your hand in his, his fingers tracing over yours with a tenderness that breaks his heart all over again. “Dancing with you, even in my head… it kept me going. It made me feel like maybe… maybe you were still with me.”

He swallows hard, the lump in his throat refusing to go away. “But they stole it from us,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “They stole our dance.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and final, as Jisung lets out another ragged sob. His grief pours out of him uncontrollably, raw and unfiltered, as he buries his face in his hands.

The walls of the hospital room seem to close in around him, the sterile brightness only amplifying the darkness he feels inside. He leans forward, pressing his lips gently to the back of your hand, his tears falling onto your skin.

“Please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me. I don’t care how long it takes. Just… come back.”

His words are met with the same unyielding stillness, the heart monitor’s steady rhythm the only response. And so he sits there, broken and lost, holding on to you as tightly as he can, afraid to let go of the only piece of you he has left.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from crying. He looks down at your hand, his tear-filled eyes blurring the sight of your still fingers. “I want to believe you’ll wake up, but… what if you don’t?”

The question lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating. He lets his head fall forward, his forehead pressing against your hand as his shoulders slump in defeat. “I’m so scared,” he murmurs, barely audible. “Scared that I’ve already lost you.”

For a moment, the only sound is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

And then it happens.

A faint movement—so subtle he almost misses it.

Your fingers twitch beneath his.

Jisung freezes, his breath catching in his throat. His head snaps up, his wide, tear-streaked eyes darting to your hand. “Y/N?” he whispers, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief.

He watches, his heart pounding in his chest, as your fingers twitch again—just the slightest motion, but enough to send a jolt through his entire body.

“Y/N!” he says again, louder this time, his grip tightening around your hand. He leans forward, his eyes darting between your hand and your face, searching desperately for any other sign of movement.

The heart monitor continues its steady rhythm, the faint beeping echoing in the room as the scene begins to fade.

“Please,” he whispers one last time, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[sxmmerberries]

ME OR THE PS5 - choi soobin x reader

✦ genre: fluff

✦ pairing: choi soobin as your boyfriend

✦ word count: 1,700

✦ summary: soobin apologises to you after ignoring the plans you guys had for a game

You sighed even louder, trying to get your boyfriend's attention off of his computer for the nth time. You were looking forward to having a cozy night in with your boyfriend, watching a movie together and then baking something together to have as a late night snack. But then, Beomgyu called and asked him to join a game immediately, saying that he needed backup.

Soobin kissed your forehead, promising he would be back in 30 minutes to watch the movie with you. However, as the minutes passed by, two hours had passed, and he was still glued to his computer, paying no attention to you as you sulked on the couch. You knew he loved gaming, but sometimes you wished he could at least spare some time for you.

You huffed in frustration and walked over to him, grabbing his soft cheeks in your hands, squishing them.

“Just 15 more minutes,” He said, removing your hands, his eyes glued to the screen.

"That's what you said two hours ago,” You frowned, grabbing his face again and placing small kisses on his cheeks.

Soobin looked a bit flustered by the sudden attack of kisses, but he still tried to resist. "Come on, babe, just a few more minutes. I'm in the middle of a really intense part of the game.” You continued pressing small kisses all over his face, determined to get his attention, making him look at you with a mixture of annoyance and affection.

"Babe, I really can't focus like this. Can you give me a few more minutes?,” Soobin tried to stay focused on the game, but he couldn't help but smile and blush at your affectionate display.

“That is the point,” You continued attacking his face with kisses, making him sigh, trying to look annoyed.

"You're being so clingy right now. We can watch the movie later too. Beomgyu is dying,” He rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the game as Beomgyu screamed in his ears through the headphones.

"I'm being clingy?, " You responded with a hurt look on your face and immediately stopped kissing his face, moving away a bit from him.

"Maybe I just want to spend some time with my boyfriend. You know, the one who promised he would watch a movie with me, but has been ignoring me for hours while he plays his stupid game?,” Soobin's expression softened as you stepped away from him, obviously hurt by his words.

“Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that……You know what? You can start the movie. I'll be there in a bit,” He paused, looking at you with a guilty look.

"I'll finish this game and then I'll come watch the movie with you, okay?,” He reached out and gently grabbed your hand, trying to soothe you with his touch only for you to smack his hand away.

"I don't want to watch it anymore," You snapped, storming out of the room, making sure to slam the door shut on your way out before he could say anything.

Soobin's eyes widened in surprise, watching as you left the room. He suddenly felt guilty and regretful for choosing the game over you.

"Damn it,” Soobin let out a frustrated sigh and muttered under his breath, turning his focus but on to the game in front of him, but his focus was somewhere else. He knew he had messed up prioritising the game over the plans you guys had.

He finally loses the game. He didn't expect his win streak to end like this. He is upset that he didn't win the game, but what bothered him more was that you were upset with him.

He gets up from his chair and walks out of his room, walking around the house in search of you before walking towards your room.

Soobin walked over to your room and quietly opened the door, peeking inside. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you sulking in the corner of the bed, wearing one of his shirts and cuddling the Yeongmong plushie he got you. You looked so adorable, despite the grumpy expression on your face.

He quietly walked over to the bed and sat down next to you, trying to reach for your hand to hold it only for you to pull your hand out of his grasp.

Soobin frowned and tried to reach out to hold your hand again, but you pulled it away once more. He looked at you with a pleading expression, not wanting this silent treatment.

He shuffled a bit closer to you on the bed, trying to get your attention. He reached out and gently placed his hand on your knee only for you to smack his hand away again.

"Can we talk, please?,” He asked softly, his voice gentle. He wanted to see your face and talk to you, but you were avoiding his gaze, still focused on the Yeongmong plushie in your arms.

"Hey Yeongmong-ie, do you hear something? Is it a ghost?,” You said in a fake-scared voice, completely ignoring Soobin, who was sitting right next to you.

Soobin couldn't help but chuckle at your antics. It was obvious that you were still upset with him, but he found your behaviour more cute than annoying.

"Please talk to me. I'm sorry for being a jerk and ignoring you for that stupid game. I won't do that ever again,” He scooted even closer to you, making you scoot further away from him.

"Yeongmong-ie, this house is haunted. There is an annoying ghost," You said, your voice laced with sarcasm as you side eyed Soobin. "Let's move out and leave your father behind. The ghost can play games with him, or maybe he'll ignore them too.”

Soobin couldn't help but chuckle again, finding it both adorable and annoying to watch you badmouth him to the plushie instead of acknowledging his presence.

He gently pried the plushie from your grip and tossed it onto the bed, making you glare at him before looking away from him again. He could see the mix of annoyance and hurt in your expression, but he was determined to talk to you.

Soobin let out an exasperated sigh and gently pulled you onto his lap, disregarding your weak protests. "I know I messed up, but please, don't keep ignoring me. Let me talk to you. I want to fix this, babe.”

"I can't stand it when you're mad at me. I'm sorry for being an idiot and prioritising that stupid game over you,” He refused to let you keep avoiding him, keeping a firm hold on you and making sure you couldn't look away.

He nuzzled his face into your neck and began to press soft kisses onto your neck, hoping that it'll lessen your anger a bit.

"Please... let me make it up to you," He murmured between kisses.

“I even gave you kisses,” You mumbled, trying to get his lips away from your neck. He couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, finding your statement a little cute

"Oh honey..I know..I am so sorry,” He says as he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. He continued to caress your face gently, but you still refused to look at him.

He pulled back slightly, looking at your frowning face. "Please, won't you at least look at me? I don't like it when you're mad. I said that I was sorry.”

“You called me clingy too,” You grumbled, sulking at his hurtful words.

He winced as you mentioned his earlier words, “Hey, I know, and I am sorry I said that. But you gotta understand, I was in the middle of the game, and you suddenly came in and started kissing me. I just got annoyed and said the first thing that came to mind without thinking.”

“But that is not an excuse. I shouldn't have called you clingy. I was being really mean," He said as he stared at you with a guilty look before deciding to press small kisses on your face like you did earlier with him.

"I promise I won't do it again, I'll pay attention to you first. I'll forget about the games for a while, and give you all the attention you want, please forgive me, honey,” He can see that you're no longer sulking that much but he still wants you to forgive him.

"Just tell me what you want me to do, just anything, and I'll do it. Just don't be mad at me, please. We can do whatever you want. I'll even let you bite my cheeks like you always wanted to. I'll let you poke my dimples as many times as you want, too. Please don't be mad at me anymore,” He moves back slightly so he can look at your face again.

He noticed the change in your expression, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He could see that his offers were starting to soften your anger, and he couldn't help but feel relieved.

"You're smiling," He noted, his voice gentle. "Are you already starting to forgive me? Or do I have to let you poke my dimples twenty times?.”

“One hundred times and I'll consider it,” You crossed your arms across your chest as you tried not to smile at him, trying to keep the sulky facade.

He let out a soft chuckle and leaned in closer, presenting one of his dimples to you. "Alright, one hundred times it is, and then will you forgive me?.”

“And bites on each cheek,” You bargained, reaching out to poke his dimples, your touch gentle despite your earlier anger towards him. He chuckled as you counted each poke.

He let out a soft laugh, fully aware that you were just teasing him at this point. "Okay, okay, one hundred pokes and bites on each cheek. Deal.”

“If you ignore me again for your games, you won't have cheeks anymore,” You threatened as you pinched his cheeks.

“Don't worry, babe. I promise I won't ignore you for games again,” He rubbed the spot you pinched as you leaned in closer to bite his cheeks as promised.

©sxmmerberries

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