#atomic looks like he’s enjoying it too

[cherryhands]

Everyone else fighting and these two napping

#opm #mood tbh #atomic looks like he’s enjoying it too

[boydepartment]

hii :)) i saw ur requests and since i love how you do your piece of work, i was wondering if u could do enha texts when their partner (y/n) is failing one of their subjects at school? or smth like that? thank you!

enha texts + scenarios- when you’re failing your class!

a/n: OMG OF COURSE ANON!!! i really hope you aren’t failing any of your classes :( but i get it trust me. i am not very academic i’ll be fr

warnings- cursing

MASTERLIST

jungwon-

jungwon immediately after comes out of his room to watch you and jake try to tackle this math assignment. you were not wrong jake was terrifying while explaining calculus. eventually jungwon got bored and saw you needed a break so you both took a late night walk and got ice cream :)

heeseung-

heeseung surprisingly helped you a lot with your work. he doubted himself greatly but when it came to it he really did help you. he would read your books, try to get a grasp, and then explain it to you. heeseung is also super reassuring and holds your hand softly while explaining things.

jay-

making your studying session a competition was absolutely genius. jay had the rest of enha join the jeopardy game and it helped A TON. you would remember things because someone did something stupid and it’d trigger the memory in your head. eventually your grade rose and jay took you out 🫶

jake-

jake felt awful holding you in his arms and listening to you stress over school. he understood. as much as he enjoyed learning and growing, the numbers and grades always stressed him out to. it felt wrong to put a grade on learning. jake from this point forward made it his absolute goal to help you with whatever schooling you needed help with. to him it was a win win, he got to learn and help his favorite person.

sunghoon-

sunghoon didn’t know your history work from atom. he felt horrible that he couldn’t help as much as a tutor or something. however, he didn’t know all you needed was just someone there. your studying went smoothy with sunghoon leaning on you and feeding you when needed. he’d always remind you to eat and drink, to be honest you believed you only passed because of him taking care of you.

sunoo-

right when sunoo found out you were failing he immediately went to riki and begged him to help you with your language work. you were taking japanese and no matter how good you were at it the teacher just was not it. so you obviously needed extra help. sunoo hated to see you struggling so he would sit there next to you while riki attempted to help you as much as he could. if either of you got frustrated sunoo would have a 15 min break which consisted of ice cream and playing with your hair. then it was back to work

riki-

having riki in your home while you attempted to write an essay sounds like a nightmare. but to be honest, all he did was lay on you and go on tiktok as you typed away. you’d ask questions about a certain topic and he would look it up then text you the article for the bibliography page too. he really did help you even if he had no clue what the fuck MLA formatting was

#enhypen #kpop #enha #enhypen imagines #enha imagines #enhypen x reader #enha texts #enhypen texts #enhypen scenarios #enha scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen comfort #enha fluff #enha comfort #yang jungwon smau #jungwon imagines #lee heeseung smau #heeseung imagines #jay park smau #jay park imagines #jake sim smau #jake sim imagines #park sunghoon smau #sunghoon imagines #kim sunoo smau #sunoo imagines #nishimura riki smau #nishimura riki imagines #yang jungwon x reader #lee heeseung x reader

[caramelcleopatraa]

"I want to sit on your face" ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

another porn with a atom's amount of plot

word count: 1,500~

x: !this is not proofread! 😭 please disregard any mistakes <3 I came up with this idea before my current series "suit & tie", but I never got to finish it.... until now 😏 hopefully you guys enjoy this (not quick) quick thing I whipped up.

content: oral ( f receiving )

“Baby…”

“Yes?” Roman responds with curiosity in his eyes. You had been daydreaming about a specific situation. It was almost disturbing the flow of your daily life. Your husband was always up for trying new things. You've brought up ideas to him that have led to countless nights of exhilarating love making. You didn't know why you were so nervous to tell him something so simple. Perhaps it comes with your own matter of insecurities that stopped you from telling him your newly proposed idea. “Nevermind, sorry to bother you.” You turned your back to his desk to walk out of the double doors of your home office. Roman noticed your sudden change in energy and decided to chase after you. His hand gently, but firmly, latched onto your wrist and tugged you towards him. Your back hit his sturdy torso and his hands interlaced with yours. “What’s going on? Y’know you can tell me.”

“U-uhm.. Uh…” Your heart was starting to race and your breathing became heavy. You tried to walk away from him, but you must have forgotten who you married. “Nuh uh, stay right here. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

“Aren’t you in the middle of some work?” 

“Work doesn’t matter when my wife needs me.” He tenderly kisses the side of your neck and his hands rest on your hips. A tactic he used to calm you down when you're nervous. Just as he was about to console you, you spoke up. “Can we try something tonight?” Romans eyes locked with yours and he already knew what you were insinuating. He took your hand and led you upstairs to your bedroom. All of his movements were slow, but sure and tender. All thoughts of work were left downstairs. His focus was on making sure he could make your fantasies come true tonight. He sat on your bed and held both of your hands in his. His thumbs worked over your soft skin as his chocolate eyes looked up at yours. “Alright. What fun things have you thought of to try today, princess?” 

“I don’t know how to say this so that it sounds normal.” You nervously laugh and he joins you in laughter. Still massaging your hands, he says “Well you know i'm not gonna judge you.” “Yeah, I know” You took a deep breath and gathered the courage you needed to say the next sentence that came out of your mouth. “I want to sit on your face. But I don't really know how it’s supposed to work. Like am I supposed to completely sit or ho-” Your body was suddenly caged by Roman’s arms as he pulled you on to the bed. It wasn't long until your lips connected, cutting off your nervous rambling. Your lips danced in an intimate fight for dominance against him, in which you lost. Pulling away from him, you were finally able to get a glimpse of him. His once gentle eyes were low and dark, and laced with lust. He let go of your body, allowing you to rest next to him. He scoots all the way back to the headboard and puts his head on a pillow. He motions you to come over to him and you crawl to meet him.

‘Sit.” He says. You look at him with a surprised look on your face. Again, his hands imitate a “come hither” motion. You slowly straddle his chest and move to hover above his face. His hands dig into your plush thighs as he admires your body from below.

“So umm.. Am I supposed to-”

“Sit on my face”

“Like fully sit?” The tone in your voice shifts to a more confused one.

“Yes mama”

“What if I'm too heavy and you can't breathe?”

“Mama, I wrestle grown ass men for a living. And I'll tap your thigh if I need some air.”

His lips kissed and sucked at the inside of your thighs. “Stop worrying so much. Be a good girl and let daddy eat his pussy.” Soft moans escaped your mouth while he worked his way up your thighs. His thumb creeped up to your aching clit, softly rubbing up and down while continuing to kiss and suck on your thighs. Your head tilted back as you held onto his wrists. You started to grind against his thumb, but Roman grabbed your hips and held them in place. 

“Uh-uh. On my face.” His grip loosened, but his hands landed on your thighs and pushed you down. His arms snaked around your thighs, making it impossible for you to escape if you tried. You didn’t have enough time to process what happened, but a long stripe on your cunt fogged your brain in the best possible way. Once his tongue reached your clit, he planted a tender kiss before sucking and flicking your clit with his tongue. His hands massaged your thighs while he continued to work his magic. He rotated between teasing you with long stripes up your cunt and ruthlessly abusing your clit. 

Roman’s grip on your thighs still restricted much of your movement. You tried your hardest not to grind against his tongue, but the way he was eating you up made it damn near impossible. His hair laid sprawled out on the pillow below him. His right hand let go of your thigh and quickly slapped your ass, startling you and causing you to jump. “Fuck baby,” You moaned, loving the temporary sting on your ass. After a couple more slaps to your ass, his hand returned to its original place, hugging your thigh and holding you in place. His eyes would remain on you and momentarily close while he relished the taste of your pussy, and the loud slurping sounds he was making added on to your arousal. 

You finally succumbed and softly grinded on his tongue. A salacious moan from him vibrated your clit. In return, your moans started to get louder. You tilted your head down and locked eyes with your lover beneath you. You placed your hands on his while you continued to ride his face. You could see droplets of your juices running down his face. He gives you three taps on your thigh and you immediately rise off of his face with concern. He takes a couple of deep breaths while still keeping his hands on you. “I’m so sorry, did you not want me to do that? i’m sorry i got carried away-“

You take a moment to look at Roman. His beard is littered and decorated with your juices and he keeps eye contact with your pussy the entire time he wasn’t devouring you. “Just need a couple of breaths mama. That’s all,” He says, his eyes finally meeting your beautiful ones. The collective heavy breathing occupied the silence for a couple of seconds before you felt those same hands pulling you down to his mouth. “Don’t mean i’m done. C’mere, need to eat that pussy,” He says, before you’re forced to sit on what will be your new favorite seat. Your consistent babbles and whines only made him harder, making him eat your pussy like a starved man. He loves taking care of his baby. Whether that’s pounding you into the mattress or eating you out until you drench the sheets, it was his favorite thing ever. Seeing you lose your mind because of the things he does to you makes him so ecstatic. 

“Got me addicted to this pussy.” He knew that you loved it when he talked you through it. Every chance that he got, he was gonna talk his shit, and it never failed to make you weak. “aah- oohhh shiiiit daddy you finna- ffuuck make me cum.” He moans into your pussy, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your hips were moving nonstop and you couldn’t stop calling his name. You pried his fingers off of your thighs and intertwined his fingers with yours. His arms were still hugging your thighs in place, and yes, you had the headboard to hold if you lost balance. You wanted to hold him instead. “Ohh myy goddd, daddyy. I’m cummin,” You said, slurring your words due to your mind fogging orgasm. Your movements became uneven and Roman’s hold on your thighs tightened to keep you in place. You let out screams of bliss while Roman lapped up your release, while any remainders he missed landed in his beard. Roman’s hands roamed your lower body as low whines escaped your mouth. He pushed up your hips a little to plant loving kisses on your pussy. “How did I do?”

“Fuck, that was amazing,” You said between ragged breaths. Roman’s deep chuckle vibrated through your body, adding to the intimate atmosphere. You attempted to lay next to him but his hands dug into your skin, preventing you from moving.

“I’m still hungry mama.”

finished this while I was at work :p (so happy that I work at a family business or I would've never finished this today)

🏷️ tags :) @harmshake @jeyusos-girl @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede

~ your hippie author

#roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns smut #carmenreigns #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x chubby reader #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x you #joe anoa'i

[padfootagain]

Confessions

Hi!! Here is a sweet little scene with Hozier! Hope you like it, tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem! Reader

Warning: just fluff!! Lots of feelings. Confessions of love. Only the sweet stuff! Mentions of sexy times, but no smut.

Summary: Andrew might be a brilliant lyricist, but he struggles when it comes to expressing his love for you. It's too overwhelming for him. Still, he will try to explain his feelings this time.

Word Count: 2240

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

His heart is still in a rush when the thought crosses his mind. He’s still high on adrenaline and pleasure, with an erratic heartbeat and lungs ready to burst into flames. Mind clearer than usual in its ecstasy, and muscles incredibly numb after tensing to an extreme. He’s still on cloud nine, in that little bubble that follows right after orgasm, where the world is gone and there is nothing in the universe but him, the softness of sheets and the cadence of your breathing. Your fingers reach for his across the mattress, clammy with your joined efforts towards heaven, an anchor for his brain to clear the fog of physical pleasure and focus fully on you again.

And so Andrew turns his head on the pillow to look at you, as you lay there with him, across the bed you share every night. His bed, officially, but it doesn’t feel like that anymore. Ever since he’s been back from touring, you’ve only been to your place to grab some of your stuff and bring them to his place. It’s been over a month, and it feels like you live here now. In his head, you do. He’s realized that this house feels like home because you are here. He’s home because you’re lying in this bed with him instead of seeing your pixelated face on a screen. And he ponders for a moment when that shift actually happened, when home became a person rather than a place. It’s been a while, he reckons. Longer than he’s willing to admit.

Although, he could almost let himself be vulnerable enough tonight to actually accept it all. Especially now, when the sweat across his torso is starting to make him shiver, and you notice, and you tuck him in under the sheets, leaning closer as you do. You turn to your side to face him, and you truly are a sight to behold. And Andrew thinks about your hand still in his and how he wishes he could hold it forever.

Yeah, he could almost admit that this feeling has been here for a long, long time. That he loves you. That he loves you more than he has ever loved anyone in his life. That he can picture himself growing old with you. That this sight, you laying by his side with beads of perspiration still glistening on your brow, dishevelled and lovely after enjoying pleasure he gave you… yeah, that sight, he could picture himself staring at it every night for the next fifty years or so.

And he has thought about how your children would look like. How it would feel to see your hair become grey with old age. To run his calloused fingertips through the lines on your face. To hold you when you’ve become fragile with the passing of time. To hold your hand when it all ends.

Andrew chuckles at the thought. What a desperate romantic. What a fool. He doesn’t even know if that’s you want. Perhaps he’s just… momentary. A beautiful flicker in the dark, and then you’ll move to another, brighter star. You’re permanent, though. On him, on his heart, on his very soul, you’ll always remain there, altering his atoms, changing his very being…

“You’re alright?”

He nods, adds a hum for good measure, before turning as well in the bed, cheek now smudged against the pillow. He pesters at his hair when his movements pull on a strand, making you giggle. And then he’s facing you, getting lost in your eyes all over again. And it’s almost painful, the way he loves you. It’s like a burn searing through his soul. Something he craves for nonetheless, a moth heading towards a flame even though it knows it will hurt when it reaches for the heat.

And you shine so brightly tonight…

“You’re sure? You seem… a little out of it.”

He raises a playful eyebrow at that. Your voice sounds a little hoarse, one more proof that you’re ending the evening as satisfied as he does.

“You were not saying that five minutes ago…”

You roll your eyes at his teasing.

“No, you were very much focused five minutes ago. I’m talking about right now. You’re… staring at me funny.”

“Am I?”

You nod and hum, you’ve been doing that more since you’ve started dating. Perhaps he’s changed you a little too. Rearranged a part of your molecules the same way you had with him.

But then again, he never says it. Not out loud, at least. Oh, the I love you has been spoken time and time again, but… do you know how much he means it? What he actually means when he speaks these three words? That he would do anything for you? That he’s become yours with a devotion that was foreign to him before he met you? That you’ve rewritten every line of his verses to spell them all with your name, and that he adores it? You’re the only thing he can write about. The only thing he thinks about. The only thing he craves for.

God, he was never afraid to fall hard before you, despite the risks. Love was an act of adoration in his eyes, a touch of skin more sacred than any holy text ever written on paper. But you… you’re taking it all to another level. Do you know that?

He’s never been good at talking about his feelings, not in a clear, upfront way, at least. That’s why he needs music, because otherwise the words stay stuck in his throat. It’s so much easier to write down the way he feels, wrap some metaphors around his heart to reveal it, hide behind images and politics. Craft another voice to speak about his feelings. It’s easier than to look at you now, laying in bed with him, and open himself to you. He feels vulnerable, and he hates it. It is to an extent that terrifies him. Like an offering. Will you crush the heart he presents to you now, or cradle it against yours instead?

You deserve to know, though. He’s fucked up relationships before because he couldn’t talk clearly about his feelings. He can’t let that happen to you too. Especially when you have told him how you feel. You tell him all the time. You shower him in love and attention and care, just like right now: you’re rearranging the sheets on his shoulder to keep him warm, then tenderly caress his cheek, and the way you look at him… he can see it, that you love him. He’s not sure if you would be ready to picture a full life with him, the same he does with you., but he knows you love him.

He tries to show you, as he can’t really say it. It’s always been easier to show than tell for him. He offers cups of tea, he holds your hands, he worships you at night, he listens, he leaves tiny notes all around, he tries to make your life easier. Is it enough to tell you that you’re becoming his entire world? That losing you would mean losing himself too?

And perhaps it isn’t fully healthy, a love so supreme. Andrew doesn’t really care. Isn’t that why you say falling in love? Because it’s supposed to kill you when it ends?

“Andy?”

He’s zoned out again, he focuses on you once more.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you ask, voice quiet and soothing, the brush of your thumb in his beard lulling him to a peaceful state.

“Nothing. I’m just looking at you.”

You roll your eyes, shying away a little.

“Staring would be more appropriate, you freak,” you tease him, mischief held in your smile.

“Yeah, drooling even. But can you blame me?”

You laugh, bright and clear, the sun pale in comparison. A true ray of sunshine.

“Well… I do stare at your pretty face a lot, too. So, I guess it’s only fair,” you tease, and it’s his time to roll his eyes and blush.

“And I thought you were here only for my hair.”

“Definitely a solid argument in your favour,” you keep on teasing, both of you chuckling and moving closer without noticing.

When he reaches for your cheek though, he’s grown serious again. Andrew lets his palm rest on the side of your face, thumb stretching across your cheekbone while the rest of his fingers get lost in your hair. He feels you leaning into his touch, almost nuzzling in his hand. Like you crave for him as much as he craves for you.

“I love you, you know?”

His voice is a mere whisper when he lets out the confession. You nod, your expression serious as well now, though infinitely tender too.

“I know. I love you too.”

“No, I mean… I love you. Like… like a lot. Like… crazy.”

He lets out a quiet tkst in his frustration against himself, mumbles a God under his breath.

He can’t say it. It’s coming out all wrong. He thinks about words to say and others form on his tongue…

“I’m so bad at this, God’s sake…” he mumbles. “I’m sorry. I’m so bad at talking about these things.”

He heaves a sigh, almost hoping you’ll change the subject, say something, anything… but you remain quiet, expectant as you stare at him.

“Why do I reverse to a nervous teenager whenever I try to talk about my feelings, huh?” he tries to joke, turning to humour as he struggles. You grant him a chuckle, but don’t interrupt him.

He takes a few seconds before trying again.

“I just… I really love you. I know I’m not very good at… voicing that, like… but I do. I love you. And I… I love you enough to imagine everything with you in it. You see what I mean?”

You raise a surprised eyebrow.

“Why are you telling me that now?”

“Good orgasm brings wisdom?”

You finally laugh, and a little of the tension dissipates.

“Way to kill the romantic mood.”

“Forgive the dude in me.”

“Yeah, not sure I should. You were about to confess your undying love for me before that dirty joke.”

“It was pretty tame, come on. I’ve done worse.”

“Let’s go back to your confession of love.”

“Do we have to?”

You give him a peck on the lips as an encouragement, and he grunts, faking annoyance when he’s just scared, really.

“I just… I’m worried sometimes because… I’m not good at saying how I feel. And I… I don’t know, with you, it’s like… like this could be it, for me. And I don’t know if I’m always good at showing you that. But I’ve been thinking and… maybe you could move in with me.”

Your shy smile breaks into a grin.

“Yeah, I’d love that. I’m already stealing all your hot water and electricity anyway.”

“Exactly,” he laughs, but he’s still serious when he goes on. “I mean. I want this for the long run, you know what I mean? Like… I want you on the long run. I love you…”

His voice breaks and he curses at himself, looking away as he blinks tears out of his eyes.

“Speak of a lyricist,” he grumbles, making you chuckle while he escapes your touch, trying to gather his courage again by sitting up.

But you move to keep him close, wrapping your arms around him, and despite his tall frame, he seems almost small in your arms as he rests his forehead in the crook of your neck.

“I’m here for the long run too,” you reassure him. “I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone before. I want this to last. I think… I think you’re the one for me, Andy.”

“I feel that way too,” he whispers, kind of stealing your words to express his own feelings but you don’t mind. “I’m just… I just know that I struggle to talk about that stuff. I don’t want you to think I don’t love you the way I truly feel. Cause it’s… it’s overwhelming, really. The way I feel for you. And it makes it difficult for me to express it.”

You hum, but shake your head, too.

“I know you love me. You show me every day that you love me.”

He relaxes in your touch then, a wave of relief that escapes in a long exhale. And he relishes in the warmth of your skin against his, in the vulnerability that you offer each other now, holding tight your naked bodies, as an attempt to let the other feel your heartbeats.

And perhaps he’s just being silly. Perhaps you know already. Perhaps you do feel the same.

“So… if I’m moving in, I have one condition.”

“Whatever you want, love,” he whispers into your skin.

“So, you’re ready to give up on the red blanket? The super warm one your mother gave us for Christmas?”

He laughs, holding you tighter, but unwilling to move away from your neck.

“Hey! She gave that blanket to me, not to you! What are you talking about?”

“She said it would keep us warm.”

“She never said that.”

“I will call her and ask for her to defend me and my claim on the blanket.”

“Or we could share it.”

You chuckle, and your tone is more tender as you answer.

“Yeah… yeah, let’s share it.”

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #writing

[fillinforlater]

Hello plz feel free to replace my Eunbi ask with a Rose daddy kink feet smut. She has maybe my fave feet for K idol and I dream of the day I can see this smut published. White polish Rose feet stuff, licking, sucking, tasting, feet fucking ofc, and also getting her pussy pounded cumming inside, but also cumming all over her feet. Plot line you can decide. Thanks QT.

The Interview

Male Reader x Roseanne Park

Length: 2188 words

Tags: feet kink, cheating, daddy kink, an interview gone wild, infidelity, fucking feet, feet licking, footjob, masturbation, creampie, hair pulling, cum drinking, rough sex, folding in half

TW: no editing lol

(A/N: the final request of my first request phase back in early 2022. This one is so old, sorry that you had to wait for so long buddy @sooyadelicacies. I hope you enjoy it lol)

"Are you not going to start the interview? Or are you just going to stare at my feet all day?"

"W-well, it's hard to focus, like, your legs are literally pointing down at them. Your sandals barely hide the rosie!"

Rose rolls her eyes. Slender arms folded like a pretzel, she leans back into the beige cushion of her chair, fifteen-hundred, made for her ass and her ass alone. In annoyance she watches her useless boyfriend put the back of his pen on her calves but even a heavy sigh does not stop his advance. In one continuous trail, he drags the pen to her knee before she stops him with a snarky remark.

"Will you stop it? This is important to me. I need your focus on this." She taps the clipboard in his hand, knowing all too well that his horny ass has not written down a single practice question. "Please practice this with me."

"Nah, I'd much rather practice with my cock in your pussie, Rosie~" he responds, face in a smirk so disgustingly self-satisfied at his pathetic attempt at a joke that no one would argue with him looking downright ugly. Rose turns to the side, arms entangled rightly.

"You don't give a fuck about this, hm?" Rose fires back and grips her boyfriend's wrist. "We can fuck afterwards, but not now. I need your help, so please, at least try to act like a journalist."

There he goes again, blank stare focussed on her feet, her face, turning to a smirk as he finds another horny rebuttal:

"I'm no journalist, I'd much rather be an explorer. I could write books about how smooth your legs feel and how tight your pussy is."

"He is a journalist, he can surely write better than you can ever dream off!"

Rose's shout makes the room go quiet. Not that there were more people anywhere near them—but it feels like every atom has stopped moving and only motionless, perfect silence remains. Her boyfriend sinks backwards into the couch, arms folded the same way she has, an eyebrow raised in more than light concern.

"Oh. It's a guy doing the interview?"

#

"Are you not going to start the interview? Or are you just going to stare at my feet all day?"

You straighten your neck, terrified at Rose’s carelessly spoken words. It was only for a fleeting moment that your eyes caught her bare feet, the way her slender legs seem to point down at them, it was impossible not to look. You could promise her that this was only because she decided not to wear any shoes, which would have explained it, but nonetheless, you are in deep shit.

“Excuse my behavior, please,” you quickly respond, beads of sweat forming at the side of your temple. “I was just spacing out. I know I shouldn’t, but please, forgive me.”

“You’re taking this too seriously,” Rose laughs and leans back into her chair. “Is this your first interview with…”

“With someone of your caliber—yes, though I have never felt nervousness rise in me to the point such a mistake happens. I really am sorry.” You bow your head to the idol, hoping to overplay any and every thought of her thinking that you’re thinking about her feet in all kinds of ways. “Shall we begin?”

You pull out your recording device, ready to hit play and make this the professional question and answer session it was supposed to be, but Rose interjects. God knows what she is thinking when she leans forward, slender fingers right above your thigh, voice husky and deep.

“You want them on your cock, right?”

“What?!”

“You want my feet around your cock, right

“Daddy?”

“E-excuse me?!”

“I can see you drooling.” Rose captures a string of saliva with her thumb, blowing away your coverage behind decency, and spreading it over your dry lips. “I can see the want in your eyes when you look at my feet. Aren’t they pretty?”

“R-Rose, this is highly—”

"Inappropriate?" she asks, a look of brattiness and disappointment on her stunning features as her pointy, purple painted nail pokes your cheek. “Inappropriate, like staring at a lady’s feet while fantasizing about them?”

“I-I told you I’m sorry. A-and I was not fantasizing in the slightest.”

Your explanation ends with a wince. The pointy ends of Rose’s delicate fingers sink into the skin of your neck. You throw your head back. The pain is sharp, severe enough that you want it to end, but your hands still tightly hold onto the clipboard and recording device.

“Now you’re lying, Daddy.” Rose repeats that damn word without care. “Why can’t you admit that you like my feet?”

“Because…” you stammer, trying to escape the idol by sinking deeper into the couch, but Rose gets closer to you. Her face right above yours, her thighs trapping yours, her other hand is right on your—

“Because then I wouldn’t be able to hold back!”

Rose is gone, the small of her back back in her seat, her entire body far away from yours. Her entire body? No. You could never forget about her bare feet, which she raises from the carpet and places them on your piping hot bulge. In an attempt at torture, she giggles while rubbing you in between her tiny toes, curling them, pressing them against the head of your hidden cock.

“What if I don’t want you to hold back?” she whispers and fiddles with the top of her dress.

“Rose, I—”

"Don’t talk, Daddy, just

“Take me.”

Drop these useless devices, there will be no record of what is about to happen. Rose’s last sentence has ended the interview before it even started. If you can’t talk with your mouth, your hands will have to do the talking. Nothing stops you from popping open your dress pants, yanking them down your legs, your bulge the only real(ly massive) obstacle, and getting a hold of Rose’s feet.

She smiles, pale cheeks blushing at your sight and the feeling of your cock on her soles. You adjust them, making a perfect pocket to thrust into, but before you can jerk your hips upwards, Rose has taken the lead with this absolutely dreamy look in her eyes.

“Oh Daddy~” Rose moans and moves her feet up and down your length. “You are so big and girthy. Let me worship you with my feet, pretty please.”

“I-I… you’re already doing it, Rosie,” you hiss, her soft soles feeling incredible, yet you wish for some kind of lubrication for things to go smoothly.

Rose nods, her breathing getting more rapid by the second: “It’s just that I—I can’t hold back anymore. Daddy, I need to make you cover my feet, Daddy!”

Not holding back, not holding back, not—you grab Rose’s left calf and as she still yelps in shock, you put her toes in your mouth. With all manners thrown out of the window, you slobber all over her pretty little foot, spit covering every inch of her spotless skin. Rose starts to moan, her other foot teasing the sensitive underside of your shaft, forcing droplets of clean precum out of the tip.

Done with one foot, you take the other and everything leads up to this vicious cycle of covering one foot in drool while the other massages your member, smearing it with your saliva. You take a second to open your eyes and look at the idol before you. She has melted into the chair, biting the fingers of one hand while the other is rubbing her clothed crotch.

"Take them off," you mindlessly groan, before your tongue twirls around her toes. "Take off your clothes for Daddy."

Rose is eager to nod at you using the uncalled for, yet not unwanted nickname. Her eagerness does not stop there however, as she is quick to get rid of her tight white outfit, the thin strings fly over her head, her skirt travels down her legs. Before they reach her feet, she starts to jerk you off, keeping you hard and horny the few short seconds without stimulation.

"Daddy, please plaster your thick cum on my feet!" Rose moans as she inserts two fingers into her cunt.

"I won't hold back."

Pull her ankles close to you. Rose almost falls off her chair, eyes in surprise, then bliss. She is piercing herself open, her fragile legs weak, fully under her control. She loses her mind, you help her lose it and you lose your mind, she helps you lose it and you lose your train of thought—fuck it, fuck her feet.

"Daddy, y-you really seem to like me feet~"

"Fuck, they are the softest."

Move your hips back and forth, her ankles forth and back, squeeze them tighter around your cock. Watch your tip poke through it, watch Rose's finger move in and out, watch her tongue fall out of her mouth. It's all getting you closer, your breathing is rapid, Rose's too. Is she also—

"Daddy, I'm so~close~" the idol mewls and you thrust faster.

"Finger yourself stupid!" you command. "Watch me paint your feet, fuck!"

Rose's eyes tremble. She can barely focus on your erupting cock as her own sex explodes in a violent, squirting orgasm that leaves her thighs and chair in a messy, wet puddle. A deep, echoing, dumb sounding scream comes from her wide open mouth. She is the opposite of you, quietly relishing in the bliss of a climax that sends strings of cum all over soles, feet, even up to her legs.

Before the tremble of Rose's legs makes your semen fall off of them onto the carpet, you quickly fold her in half. The surprisingly flexible woman now has her cum-covered feet dangling above her delirious, glowing face.

"Open your mouth, baby girl," you whisper and watch Rose instinctively stick out her tongue. Your cum drips from her thin legs and feet straight on her face. Rose licks off whatever she can get in desperate desire, while you poke her exposed labia with your stiff cock.

"How does it taste?" you jokingly ask, ready to penetrate her pristine pussy.

"Is this really the first question to your interview?"

"There was an interview?"

Oh fuck.

"Oh fuck!" Rose vocalizes your inner thought as her pussy engulfs your entire length. You can feel her sensitive walls wrap around you, cling onto you, like she wants to squeeze more of your initial load out of you. No, you first have to get there, but with this incredible tightness and her insanely lewd expression as she swallows your dripping cum, she will have you cumming in no time.

"F-forget the interview," Rose whines. "I'll send you the answers per, per mail."

"No, we'll do the interview. Now," you growl at her, fingers tightly grabbing her small thighs. "You'll answer truthfully, baby girl."

"Hng, I-I can't think!"

"No need to. Just tell me: who fucks you better?"

"Wha—ah!"

Rose screams, laughs when you tickle her feet by spreading the remnants of your first load over her soles. Through all of it you start to thrust slower but harder, the depths of her cunt spread widely by your tip. You watch Rose throw her head back and decide to ask again.

"Who fucks you better, Rose? Your boyfriend or me?"

"You, oh God, you!"

"And who did you wear this white polish for?"

"Y-you, I'm only fucking you."

You ponder for a second, resting a hand on her throat. Rose suddenly has these puppy eyes that lack lewdness but increase your desire to dump a ridiculously large second load in her tight cunt.

"God, you look so breedable," you groan and lean down to her face, strands of rose-gold hair not hiding but increasing her stunningness. "But remember: I'm the one fucking you."

"Yes, Daddy." Rose seems to brace for a hard final fucking, but you don't want to give it to her. You feel great, fully inside her small pussy, her juices around you, keeping you wet and warm.

"Final question, Mrs. sluttiest idol:

"Where do you want my seed?"

"I need it in my pussy, Daddy~"

"You need it?"

"Of course, Daddy~ Fill me up!"

A loving thumb crazing her cheek, that's your final showing of mercy. Her ponytail in one hand, clit pinch with the other, you start to jackhammer into Rose's pussy with all the power the word 'Daddy' has given you. You won't be able to keep this up for long, but Rose is already a mess, nothing compared to the powerful idol from before.

She wants to be the little messy nothing on the chair, drilled by a big cock, her painted feet high in the air, her pussy convulsing. That's the way she wants to milk you, get your seed, and with a final thrust (and final, very harsh pull on her hair) you start to cum inside her.

"So warm, Daddy, ah!"

Fuck the interview or Fuck: The Interview? you think as you see you either losing your job or having the most incredible career of anyone in this industry.

[star-wrote]

nsfw alphabet : sam winchester

ao3 link

character: sam winchester x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw(obviously) | sexual details | mentions of scars and monsters | intentional lowercase | 18+

a/n: roughly season 2 era, but applies for most of his eras. first time writing for sammy boy, enjoy :)

-praying this doesn’t get hidden like my daryl dixon one did </3

(not my image or character)

A- aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

sam is very big on aftercare. he’ll hold you until he feels like cleaning you up, gently kissing any parts of you that he was particularly rough with. when he lies down with you again, he whispers sweet words into your hair until you and him giggle and talk yourselves to sleep.

B- body part (their favorite part of both of your bodies)

sam’s favorite body part on himself is his arms. he loves how he can lift you and toss you around, and he knows you like how they flex while his fingers pump into you.

sam’s favorite body part on you is… everything. he knows that isn’t much of an answer, but it's true, he loves every atom of your existence. the way your eyes hold love and lust for him, how your hips are so easy to grasp onto, your lips that can take his length, and your ass that gets so red from his spanking.

C- cum (anything to do with it)

this man loves to cum inside of you. filling you up is better than the heaven he experienced in death. his load has to be bigger than average with how it fills you up and leaks out in thick globs. 

D- dirty secret (self explanatory)

sam secretly loves fucking you when you get back from a hunt since you’re more bratty than normal. he knows you want to be set straight and he’s just the man for the job. 

E- experience (do they know what they’re doing)

even though sam is a huge nerd, he’s very experienced. it probably causes you a little jealousy to think about how he got so experienced, but at least he’s using that experience on you and not some other girl.

F- favorite position (self explanatory)

any position where he can look into your eyes is his favorite. he likes to see them roll back when he pushes into you for the first time. he can’t deny how good it feels to take you from behind, however. occasionally he’ll let you on top, but somehow he still ends up in control.

G- goofy (how serious are they)

pretty serious, but he always laughs at any joke you make. one time, you guys even stopped halfway through since you both were laughing so hard.

H- hair grooming habits (how much hair do they have down there)

it varies, but he usually keeps it slightly trimmed since he doesn’t have much time or privacy in between hunts. he also doesn’t care what you do; he knows your body enough to bring you pleasure either way. 

I- intimacy (romantic or rough/dirty)

both. he can be romantic and kiss you sweetly as you both cum while looking into each other’s eyes. but he can also be rough, spanking you and making you cry into the pillow while you’re asking permission to cum.

J- jack off (how often do they masturbate)

again, not much privacy in between hunts. when he’s away from you, most showers in motel rooms involve him stroking himself while thinking of you.

K- kinks (self explanatory)

size kink- he loves to see how big he is compared to you.

choking- having his hand around your neck, whether squeezing or not, is usually a must.

spanking- he loves to see how red your ass can get from his hand.

praise and degradation kink- he loves praising you to see how your eyes glaze over. but he also loves to call you things like “a needy slut.”

crying- sam gets hard when you cry for him. you just look so pretty.

eating you out- sam could cum just from giving you pleasure this way.

marking- he loves to mark you up to show others that you’re taken. dean makes fun of the hickeys on your neck, but you smirk when you remember how you got them.

multiple orgasms and orgasm denial- he loves to deny you when you ask to cum, and then make you cum too many times after that.

sam is pretty much always the dominant one when it comes to sex between the two of you. not being in control for most of his life led to him needing to be in control in the bedroom.

L- location (where they like to get it on)

most often in motel rooms while dean is out. sometimes you guys get it on in baby while dean sleeps in the motel room, but you have to keep that a secret.

M- motivation (what turns them on)

when you get sassy with him, he wants to fuck that sass out of you. he also can’t help but get turned on when you look up at him sweetly. and when you research lore with him… and when you kill a monster. he pretty much just gets turned on by you being you. 

N- no (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

he won’t do anything with you in public or anywhere someone could see you. he gets a little possessive and doesn’t want anyone seeing what’s his. he also won’t do anything that will put you in danger.

O- oral (do they prefer receiving or giving)

definitely a giver, he could suffocate between your thighs with a smile on his face. however, he does love when you give him head. seeing you struggle to take all of him in your mouth is a sight that he wants ingrained into his memory.

P- pace (do they prefer fast or slow)

depends on how he’s feeling. if you both are hopped up on adrenaline after a hunt, it’s fast. if one of you had a near death experience, it’s slow and loving. 

Q- quickie (do they like them)

quickies are a must as a hunter sometimes. sam makes sure to take advantage of the time, though, assuring that you’re both sated. 

R- risk (do they like to try new things)

he’s down to try anything that you want to try, as long as it doesn’t put either of you in too much danger.

S- stamina (how many times and how long each round)

sam clearly has insane stamina. he can go for multiple rounds without finishing, making sure he’s pulled as many orgasms from your body as he can.

T- toys (do they like using them)

he’s not particularly into toys, but if you ask, he’ll use one on you in a heartbeat. maybe he could get one that’s similar to his cock so you can only think about him while using it.

U- unfair (how often do they tease)

sam is so unfair in his teasing. he teases you with his words and his body, making sure you’re begging to cum by the end of it.

V- volume (how loud are they)

not very loud, but dirty talk and grunts in your ear make up for it. he loves to hear you moan for him, though.

W- wild card (anything random)

sam is insecure about the scars on his body from hunts. but when he sees you kissing them gently and calling him a hero, he decides that he shouldn’t be insecure about them anymore.

X- x-ray (what’s going on down there)

larger than average; about 7-8 inches when hard. curves slightly upward and is cut. pinkish-purple that leads to an angry red mushroom tip.

Y- yearning (sex-drive level)

very high sex-drive, arguably higher than dean’s. he always wants you.

Z- zzz (how fast do they fall asleep)

he usually waits until you fall asleep, and then falls asleep with you if he feels like it’s safe enough, holding you through the night so the monsters in your dreams don’t hurt you. <3

#sam winchester #sam winchester supernatural #sam winchester smut #smut #sam winchester alphabet #sam winchester spn #spn #supernatural #spn fanfic #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester/reader

[hanilessa]

HIIII i dont usually make requests but I HAVE AN IDEA THAT IM REALLT KINDA INTERESTed SO

so SO SO SO

what if

JUST WHAT IF

childe and/or scara with dick piercings 🫣🫣

` Author’s notes: hii dear!! i think it would be cool if they both had piercings. it's very hot >_< i'm glad you decided to send your request to me. thank you!! <3 i hope you like it!

` Includes: Childe, Scaramouche x fem!reader

` Warnings: nsfw, smut, bl0wj0b, use of pet names (baby, princess, slut)

CHILDE

"What a good girl." You choke on his cock as he roughly squeezes your hair, guiding you that way so you can take him deeper. Your cheeks are red, there are small crystal tears in your eyes, and saliva mixed with his cum flows from your chin. Childe's lips are touched by the most mean smirk — oh, how he adores this sight. You kneel before him with his cock deep in your mouth, drooling but you keep taking what he gives you. "Do you like how you feel?"

You didn't have a chance to respond because your mouth was filled with his fat cock that was tearing you apart. There is a metallic taste in your mouth as your tongue brushes against the small ball on his scrotum. You run your tongue over the little ball, and Tartaglia hisses loudly through his teeth, throwing his head back. He breathes deeply, trying to even out his breathing, but it seems impossible when you do such incredible things with his cock.

"Fuck, baby… I'm going to…"

Your legs trembled treacherously as you imagined how it would feel to have that little iron ball inside you while Ajax was fucking you. Your panties get wet from your thoughts and you really wanted to experience it. Childe continues to fuck your mouth, making you choke on his cock, and finally cums profusely, letting out a guttural moan. He gradually evens out his breathing, looking at your face covered in his cum and noticing how impatiently your legs are trembling.

"My princess is so needy, isn't she? Do you want to feel it inside you, huh?"

SCARAMOUCHE

Your tears roll down your face because it was too much for you. Your cheeks burn brightly as Scaramouche continues to fuck you on the bed, accompanying it with the most dirty and shameful words. Your insides are squeezing his big cock, and you can feel with your whole being this cold metal of his piercing, which touches every cell of your body, making you see bright stars. The sensation of a hot cock and a cold metal ball make you feel completely unreal bliss. The contrast blows your brain to atoms.

"You're so predictable." Scaramouche smirks, leaning closer to you and pressing his bare chest against your back. "Little slut."

Your cheeks turn red, but you can't deny that you really feel so good, and that you could never trade this feeling for anything else in the whole world. Scaramouche continues to move roughly inside you, the tip of his cock and the small iron ball kissing your cervix and fireworks explode before your eyes as you cum profusely on Scaramouche's cock and tighten around it.

He wheezes in a strangled voice as he senses his release is nearing and accelerates despite you asking him to stop, crying from the overstimulation and tossing about the bed in his arms. Scaramouche smiles contentedly and triumphantly, enjoying the sight of how pathetic and helpless you were in his rough grip. These thoughts make him immediately cum deep inside you, painting your tight walls white. You literally lose consciousness when you see his sly smile.

"Did you really think we were done with this? No, baby, that was just the beginning."

#genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin x you #childe x reader #childe x you #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #tartaglia smut #childe smut #scaramouche smut #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer smut #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you been told to get your ducks in a row? Waterfowl linearity is actually impossible: the counterfactual was proven back in the 60s by completely sober mathematicians. Because of the native imprecision of our universe, and the variance within animals, each duck is gonna be one or two microns away from perfect alignment even before you take into account the inherent jiggling motion of their constituent atoms. Of course, the media isn't going to tell you this. They just want to sell ads, promising the impossible dream of dorsine parallelism.

When I was a kid, my dad and I used to go to the park on weekends and evenings. Usually, this was when my mom was sick of watching me disassemble every mechanical object within thirty miles and stuff the entrails into any available copse "for later." Together, as you do when the austerity-choked public park system is devoid of nearly every other amenity, we'd look at the duck pond. Because I live in Canada, ducks were sometimes hard to find. In the winter, which is often, the drakes and hens fuck off to a warmer clime in order to enjoy their hedonistic lifestyles without discomfort, leaving behind a frozen pond and occasionally one or two confused geese. I could have left, too, I tell myself, but I'm toughing it out.

Back to ducks, and my father: like any good dad, he would tell me dozens of useless facts about the world that never sank in until it was tragically too late for me to realize they were useful at exactly one point in my life. Again, me not listening is not my fault. I was simply too captivated with studying the industrial plated finish of the Robertson wood screws keeping the observation deck's duck dock in ship shape.

One of the things that my dad taught me about ducks, I did actually remember. That factoid is that, if they attack you – and they will – grab the neck. It's what ducks do to each other when they have a squabble, and it's the easiest way to move them away, to a relatively defensible arm's length, from your delicate parts before they can bite you. When they lose interest in combat, you throw them as far away from you as possible and run like hell in the opposite direction. Once, I got to see his technique in action, after a neighbour's errant coonhound managed to spook a bunch of the tenants of the ol' pond.

I sure wish he had told me he was going to do that first. That's what they called "active parenting" back then, as the glorious new age of child-rearing theory provided all kinds of excuses for abandoning your tender son and his precocious/obsessive interest in machined fasteners to a harem of vicious anatidaes.

[mydearesthrry]

the end - h.s.

a/n: and just like that, harry styles love on tour is over. thank you for the memories. hoping and praying h stays happy and safe and healthy always. enjoy nearly 600 words of me being emo also none of this makes sense and it’s so so shit but I had to post something im so sorry

🎀 warnings/cw: angst. fluff. harry crying

🐇 pairing: fem!reader x harry styles

💐 wc: 583

summary: following the final show of love on tour, you reassure harry that it’s time for him to rest now.

“C’mere Bunny,” she whispers in the muffled quiet of the dressing room. Harry was sat on the opposite side of her on the couch, and she knew to give him space at this moment in time. Harry was fully soaking everything in. Every ounce of love, support, every atom of appreciation he felt, he was allowing it to happen in the safe of his dressing room, no prying eyes there to watch one of the most vulnerable states he’s been in besides his love.

He looked up from where his head was in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Her heart broke when she saw his face. Watery eyes, splotchy redness covering his cheeks, and pink pillowy lips damp from him flattening them into his mouth. He crawled over to her without a second thought, resting his body from his waist up on hers, twisting to bury his head into her neck, the tears falling at an even more rapid pace.

“Bunny, ‘s the matter?” YN asked, her lips pressed to his sweaty mop of curls, pecking soft kisses to his head.

“‘M jus- I dunno, I jus- I feel so loved, and I feel selfish that ‘M leaving them when they’ve given me everythin’ I have… I jus- It doesn’t feel… right?” He let his insecurities float around in the stale air of the room, wincing at the quietness that seemed to amplify now that he let his thoughts roam free, thoughts that he knew would now spill into his girlfriends.

“You— Harry, you saying that is more selfish than you leaving. Baby, do you know how long we’ve been on tour? Truthfully, do you?” She asked, a look of confusion blatant on her face as she pulled his head from the crook of her neck.

“I- no, time doesn’t really… ‘M not good at that stuff, Lovie.” He hung his head in shame and sadness.

“H, we got Peach in May of last year when she was a kitten, a few months before we left, and guess what, H? She’s stayed with Mum and has had babies, and my sister had her baby in June, a week before the tour started, and he’s turning two this year. So many things have happened, Baby, you’ve just been so caught up in this tour that you aren’t allowing yourself to see them happen,” She whispered, knowing he needed a little ounce of tough love in this moment. “You have to let yourself rest.”

“‘M so tired, YN.” His voice cracked, and she felt the tears begin to whir behind her eyelids.

“I know, I know baby, I’m so tired too, but you can rest now, my sweet love. It’s time for us now. You can— we can rest, and we can go anywhere y’want. We can go home, if you want, or we can stay at the villa, even. It’s just— it’s time for you to rest.” She allowed herself to get emotional, wanting Harry to know that he wasn’t in this alone.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. “I don’t… I don’t deserve you, at all.”

“Bunny, you deserve more than me. You deserve everything that’s good in this world, sweet boy, and I kick myself every day that I can’t give that to you. I love you more than I can even explain, Harry. You’ve changed my life and have saved me, time and time again.”

Harry shook his head. “There’s no one above you. You’re it for me, I swear on it.”

“I know, H,” She smiled down at him. “I feel the same way. I always have and always will.”

“Can we go home?” Harry asked sweetly.

“Of course we can, Baby. Wherever you want. I love you.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles

[chouxsardine]

Mariner's Complex -- Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: "Look for the lighthouse when you are lost, it will always bring you home. May the light in your soul guide you, may the love in your heart keep you strong." -- Jake is nervous before going on stage. You know just the right way to calm his nerves.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 2532

Warnings: 18+! minors be gone, mention of alcohol, mention of anxiety, public sex, unprotected penetrative sex, soft Jake (please let me know if I missed any!)

Genre: Smut, hurt/comfort (kind of)

Author's note: This piece is inspired by the gif above. I am smitten upon seeing it. This is my first time writing smut. It's about vulnerability, about receiving and giving love, lots of love. It is my fictional way of hoping that Jake is reminded of being one of the best guitarists out there and that he is loved by us. Deepest thanks to the wonderful @sacredjake for beta reading and for inspiring and encouraging me to pick up writing and post this. Please do yourself a favor and read her works; they're awesome beyond words. Enjoy!!

🎧: songs that pair nice with this piece: Lost at Sea by Lana Del Rey and Rob Grant; Mariners apartment complex by Lana Del Rey (can you tell I'm bad at titles now?)

----------------------------------------------

There’s just something about the air in the stadium before the concert; it feels like with every inhale, it immediately turns into adrenaline. With its graininess accentuated, one can almost sense the atoms buzzing in the air, like a shoal of sardines forming a bait ball, enclosing him, a cyclone where he is the eye. Is this what Josh means when he writes “carbon dancing through time” ?

His mind is racing a million miles a second; it’s like hoping onto a car with broken brakes, he’s bound to hit something in the hazardous terrain——

Knock knock. “Jake?”

As if someone pulled the switch, he is snapped back to reality. He immediately recognizes the voice of his lover. The sweetest sound in the world. His shoulder visibly relaxes, the corner of his mouth turning up, and his heart feels tender. He has always appreciated this—forever so considerate and thoughtful, always respecting his privacy even though they have already been together for so long.

“Come in!”

As expected, his lover’s face came into view, the familiar smile.

“I got you the salad you wanted!” You said, raising the white plastic bags in your hands.

You can tell he is anxious the moment you push open the door. Years of a committed relationship must have formed some kind of telepath between you two. You can almost sense it in the air. Is it a thing though? Like the service dogs that can smell it when their owner’s heart is beating too fast. Well, you know someone’s heart is certainly racing now.

You can’t quite figure out where his anxiety is coming from. They boys are at the middle leg of this tour. Is it from the traveling? Or maybe it has to do with his string snapping during soundcheck earlier? Or it could just be his brain playing tricks on him. And you respect that, even amazed or amused because you know it’s from the very same place where all the amazing melodies and witty remarks are born.

You spotted the glass on the vanity. Amber liquid barely covering its bottom, corresponding to the proportionate empty space in the newly-opened bottle of whiskey right next to it. You know Jake is never one to get plastered before going on stage. The alcohol is just a pacifier for his nerves. You follow his gaze to the white roses sitting in the vase. He’s remained quiet all this time, not even trying to hide his feelings, only giving you a smile through his reflection in the mirror. The comfortable silence hangs mellowly like willow branches, a mute radiation of his trust and vulnerability.

You set the bag aside and squat down in front of him, thumb brushing the back of his hand. You know better than to ask questions like “are you okay”. You know that right now your physical presence is already a comfort for him. You’d rather let him take the lead for the rest.

Jake tilts up your chin—a silent cue for kisses. You happily oblige, feeling his lips forming a smile upon contact with yours. He releases a contented sigh, pulling back after a moment. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah? You’ve got me now.” Now sitting across his lap, your hand rests gently on his cheek. Jake immediately leans into your touch like a cat, turning his head and pressing kisses into your palm.

“They already double-checked it. I’ll ask them to pay extra attention before the show starts, just to make sure.” You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, revealing the little hoop dangling.

Jake hums, knowing you are referring to the snapped string earlier. Stupid mistake. His throat feels dry, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I——”

“Shh,” you give him a peck on the lips, “none of that. You don’t have to explain anything. Those feelings are valid. And they are temporary.”

Then a brilliant idea strikes you.

“We’ll take a walk, alright?”

“Here?” He cocks his head in slight confusion.

He immediately recognizes that you are giving him a taste of his own medicine. Well, in a good way. He knows you are talking about one of those “mental health walks” that he proposes when you are engulfed by the noises inside your head. But the backstage is not street gardens or some hiking trials in a park, how will that work?

“Yeah, you have time. Right?”

There’s indeed at least a good half an hour before the last sound check. He can’t argue with you. By the way, when were he ever able to say no to your invitations? This little genius mind of his lovers, constantly conjuring up the most amusing and endearing words and ideas like the hat of a magician. With a resigned smile, he caves in, placing his hands in yours.

“Come on, up you get, you lazy butt.” You step back and pull on his arm.

“Hey, you love this butt!” He protests in feigned grievance.

“Yup, can’t deny it’s a nice one.” You jokingly smack his ass as you follow him out of the dressing room, feeling happier hearing his banter, seeing him slowly getting back to himself. He’ll get there, you will make sure of it.

The corridors are generally quiet around this time, allowing the artists to rest before the real frenzy starts. Occasionally, stage crews pass by, rolling equipments boxes down the hall. You two swiftly move out of their way, hand in hand, strolling as if window shopping in the mall. You are entertaining Jake with a funny little incident you saw on your way to buy him food.

“You should’ve seen it, really,” you snort out a laugh recalling the scene, “that poor lady is struggling so hard and the shopping cart is just running away from her, loaded with two cases of Guinness!”

Jake is laughing with you, slightly shaking his head in disbelief. You turn to admire his profile, the apple of his cheek rising, the wrinkle to his nose deepening, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. There’s nothing you love more than seeing Jake smile and laugh, it never fails to create that fizzy feeling in your heart, like a bubble approaching the surface of a cream soda.

Having jumped out of your storytelling, your attention diverts back to the feeling of Jake’s arm snaking around your waist. Now his hands are sliding up your sides, from the small of your back to the sweet spot on your flank.

He turns to look at you. Upon meeting his gaze, you immediately pick up the implicit plea. His caramel eyes full of admiration, the edge of his iris grows fuzzy. His eyelashes flutter as his gaze falls to your lips.

You cover the distance between you with a kiss. This one is different from the one in the dressing room. The tip of his tongue tickles your bottom lip with small licks before him pulls back a bit and mutters under his breath, “Want you, want to be close to you.”

Once again, you are more than willing to indulge.

It’s just so convenient that you happened to be near the corner where a pilaster protrudes enough to hide you from the passersby. As your back hits the wall, your fingers are already tangled in Jake’s hair, holding him close. You are circled by him, his freshly applied cologne lingers, now well adapted to his skin, bergamot wrapping the hidden notes of pepper and cedar. Jake kisses along your jawline and traces downwards, creating a dotted line of kisses across your breasts and hovering over your navel. His hands tugging on the waist of your pants. As he unzips it smoothly, he dives back in with more kisses, nibbling on the material of your underwear.

“No,” you mumble, tugging on his elbow motioning him to stand up, “I want you in me.” You loved it when he goes down on you, but not now. Now you need it to be about him, you know he needs it too.

There is a halt in his movement, suddenly his eyes a shade darker.

“Yes, let it out, Jake.” You hold your forehead against his, making sure he hears every word certain and clear. Whatever it is, a much-needed release, a claim of territory, an outlet of his bundled nerves. “Use me. Fuck me.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Jake sucks in a breath.

You smirk, tilting your head back against the wall and surrendering more of your body to his arms. Jake’s hands on your thighs cover the coolness of your skin as your pants pool around your ankles. His knuckles tracing your heat through the fabric, the ghostly touch making you squirm.

“Please, Jake.” You loop your arms around his neck, raising up a leg pressing it into the side of his waist.

“So wet for me already, angel.” With frantic eagerness, he takes out his length and pulls your underwear aside. Your slickness draws his hard cock inside as he bottoms out in one firm and steady thrust. Jake was looking down as he enters you, his eyebrows creased in concentration, eyelashes throwing shadows under his eyes. He never fails to marvel at the way your bodies connect, it catches him in awe every time no matter how many times you have fucked, just as you are exploring each other’s bodies for the first time. When his gaze meets yours again, it’s like moonlight spilling behind clouds. You are the only object of his vision.

“Yes!” You mouth silently as he starts moving, him picking up the pace almost instantly as if placed in a running wheel. Jake’s head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath radiating and him lapping up at whatever area of skin he comes in contact with. His arm goes under your knee and finds leverage on the wall, the other hand holding onto your pelvis, pinning you in place. The rough texture of the brick wall rubs against your back along each shudder, magnifying the titillation deep inside you.

You feel like with each thrust his insecurity and anxiety ebbs away like the snaky morning fog, replaced by his confidence and charming self: the one you know will work his magic on stage tonight just like ever, the one that will make the entire stadium shake and roar just by his fingers moving across six strings, the one that proves both to the world and to himself again and again that “it could be done”.

You can feel him swell and twitch against your walls, you squeeze you thighs and clench, knowing he’s getting close. The spasms of his cock tickling that particular spot to the point of no return, the ecstasy washing over you like a cascade. The whines and screams rolling and tumbling in your chest like a pot of boiling water, threatening to jump out of your mouth. You roll your eyes back and swallow them down, releasing only one suppressed moan of “let go, baby” against Jake’s ear, and that is enough to send him over the edge.

With one jerk of his body, he cums hard. You can feel the additional thickness of his release almost dripping down your crotch. Jake’s whole weight falls towards you with the hunch of his shoulders. His chest presses firmly against your body, its rise and fall teasing your still hard nipples.

You hold his head against your chest as he comes down from the high, fingers brushing away the naughty strands of hair that have flown into the corner of his mouth and stuck to his cheek.

“As much as I would like to stay here forever, you really have to get going. They must be looking for their rockstar everywhere.” You chuckle while shimmying out of your rumpled underwear, using it to clean up.

“Damn.” Jake leans back against the wall as he watches you, still on cloud nine and short of words. For a moment, all he can do is look at you.

“Stop staring.” You nudge him, unable to stop blushing facing his caramel eyes filled with unadulterated adoration. You bet if you could reach into them, you would find a handful of stars. Plus, Jake looks exceptionally beautiful post-fuck, the upturn at the corners of his mouth accentuated the curve of his cupid’s bow. The smug smirk is counterbalanced by the rosy blush on his cheekbones, a tell-tale sign of his satiated desire. Good. That’s what you’d expected and what you’d like to see.

Jake cups your face in both of his hands as he leans in for a kiss. This time, almost childish, his pouted lips pepper all over, the bilabial “mwah” is especially pronounced, causing you to giggle again.

“Quite the walk, huh?” You insinuate.

“Well, now I prefer to call it the ‘mental health fuck’,” Jake slowly straightens his back, resembling a cat stretching after a content nap. “Catch you on the flip side, my love.”

He was already a couple of strides away when he rushes back to kiss you again, catching you in surprise. Aggressive and fervent in his actions, but oh so gentle when his mouth meets yours. This is the type of kiss where he takes the lead, and you are completely at his mercy. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, and his teeth softly bite your lower lip. It’s a kiss that steals your breath and your heartbeat away for tits entirety . “You know you are my lighthouse, yeah?” He stares right into your eyes, his voice low and husky. “ You always guide me back when I’m lost at sea. My Leucothea, my Lady of Luck.”

You feel a lump in your throat, and every word goes straight to your heart. The feelings there are so overwhelming that they rise and swell like tidal waves. It;s so much love that it makes you want to cry.

“Gosh, Jake, such the poet.” That all you manage to say.

“Because you’re my muse, my angel,” Jake smiles again as he steps back one last time. “And now it’s time for me to set sail again, yeah?”

“Aye aye,” you blow him a kiss, “Fair Winds, Captain.”

You watch as he leaves. The Starcatcher symbol on his back standing tall and proud. The crystal embellishments on his jacket scintillate, jet crystals and glass beads shimmers, reflecting the lights like a thousand stars falling onto his shoulders. He is the warrior that breaks their fall, wearing them proud as a crystal armour. You watch as he marches forward, carrying on his shoulders the weight of dreams. Your dearest rocker, the bravest captain.

For Jake, the atoms are still buzzing, but now he can feel them moving rhythmically, like the joyful wings of a hummingbird or the secret dance of bees. They delivering a yet undecipherable but nonetheless auspicious message. Soon he will be going on stage, carrying a heart full of love from his lover, so he can give all his love to his fans out there. And he knows if he looks, he will find you among the crowd, a cluster of flame, a powerhouse of love.

----------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for reading!! :) any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated.

The description of Jake's jacket is heavily relied on this post

kudos to who spotted the TLSP reference hehe

If you are in need of some fluff, feel free to check out my another Jake pieces: Permission to Fall || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones

#jake kiskza x reader #greta van fleet fan fiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet smut #jake kiszka

[juyeonszn]

I LOOK BETTER UNDER YOU

PAIRING choi chanhee x f!reader

WORD COUNT 2.62k

GENRES smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, TW: LEWIS STRUCTURES/CHEMISTRY TERMS 🤢🤢🤢, academic rivals to something idk, kev and jichang appearances, chanhee is a cocky little shit, vaginal fingering, edging, exhibitionism lowkey, there’s not p in v action but they are in a public space so…. take with that what u will

SUMMARY aside from excelling at literally everything else, choi chanhee was also really fucking good at getting on your last nerve.

MORE my brain hurts LOL anyway fawntober day???? 7 holy fuck that is actually insane… ANYWAY shout out reese for being my beta as always <3 and also shout out @sungbeam for the idea <3 laurv u bestie!!! pls reblog if u enjoyed :)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

You felt stupid. Never in your life had you ever struggled to learn a concept, usually understanding on the first go around. This was the case for a majority of your courses. However, for some reason you just couldn’t quite grasp Lewis Structures in your Chemistry class.

Everything else seemed simple enough, your professor explaining them in a way that made them sound easy. They were anything but. You found yourself stressing over whether or not you could fully comprehend the bonds between atoms in time for your midterm. With the way it was going for you, that hope appeared to get less and less realistic.

“Have you thought about going to tutoring?” Your friend, Kevin, asks as you sit across from each other in one of the library’s study rooms, your chemistry textbook opened up to the section on Lewis Structures.

“I mean, no, I haven’t. I just think they’d judge me, considering I have the second highest GPA in our department.” You huff, scribbling down even more notes on the concept, as if you didn’t already have everything you needed to know. God, being a woman in STEM was so hard.

“That’s your problem,” Kevin rolls his eyes, working on his communications homework simultaneously. “Your ego is too damn big. Maybe if you toned it down a notch and set aside your pride, you’d be able to grow the balls to actually ask for help.”

You’re offended, honestly. Because as much as he was right, he was simultaneously very wrong. It wasn’t that you didn’t have the courage to ask for assistance. It was the fact that your biggest rival was the person in charge of the science department’s tutoring lab. He had the highest GPA in your year and you couldn’t stand the thought of losing to him. Let alone showing your weak side.

Aside from excelling at literally everything else, Choi Chanhee was also really fucking good at getting on your last nerve. You were thankful that he wasn’t in your Chemistry lecture, lest he made fun of you for all the questions you asked pertaining to your struggles. He had a knack for crawling under your skin like a goddamn parasite, doing everything in his power to make sure you never felt a moment of peace as long as he was around.

You hated him. You hated him so much for all of the unnecessary competition and constant need to one-up you in every mutual category possible. You hated his overall overachievement to be better than you, to be above you at all costs. You hated his dumb pretty face.

So how could you turn to tutoring after all of that? It just wasn’t feasible. Kevin wouldn’t get it. He didn’t have an arch nemesis holding him back from success.

“That’s not it at all, Kev. But it’s whatever, I’ll figure this shit out myself.”

You could not figure that shit out by yourself. Midterms were a week and a half away, and you were still ripping your hair out over which structures were more dominant and other things of that nature. This was absolutely humiliating. Perhaps growing up as a gifted kid was the worst thing that could’ve happened to you.

With a frown permanently etched on your face, you glance over at your tablemate’s notes. He had messily scrawled examples of those damn Lewis Structures covering the sheet, eyes flickering back and forth between his notebook and the projector at the front of the lecture hall. Oh how badly you wished to be in his shoes, to decipher everything and anything to do with the dot structures presented to you.

Ji Changmin was by no means a genius. His intelligence levels were above average, but that was still below you. How could he understand this better than you? It made no sense. Then again, he was close friends with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. That had to be the reason why. His friend was practically the Einstein reincarnate.

This meant that you couldn’t even express your difficulties with him either. Chanhee no doubtedly knew that you sat beside his friend. If you asked for his help, it would obviously circle back to him and you’d never hear the end of it. You’d never unhear the taunting voice of Choi Chanhee teasing you for asking Ji Changmin for assistance with fucking Lewis Structures. There really was no winning here.

As the lecture draws to a close and your professor reminds you to study for the fast approaching midterm, Changmin clears his throat beside you with a raised eyebrow. You look at him with thinly concealed surprise. So much for being subtle.

“I saw you looking at my notes,” he snorts. “You know, if you’re having a hard time with this chapter, you should just go to the tutoring lab. I’m assuming you haven’t because Chanhee hasn’t gloated about it yet. But if you were curious, he won’t be there today. He has to go to some meeting for the newspaper. You know that guy’s got like ten different clubs he’s a part of.”

You’re not sure why Ji Changmin would be on your side with this. In fact, it kind of makes you skeptical. You didn’t know how credible he was, so why would you trust this information? For all you knew, he could’ve been attempting to lure you right into a trap. However, despite the bit of laughter he exhibited, he didn’t appear to be lying. You were usually a pretty good judge of character.

That’s how you found yourself showing up to the tutoring lab later that evening.

It was located inside of the STEM building on the fourth floor, along with some of the offices belonging to several professors. You chose to go later at night with the knowledge that most students would be gone by that time. The lab was available for use until 9 PM on weekdays, and it was currently 8 PM.

Your grip on the strap of your bag tightens as you push open the see-through glass door of the lab, grateful for the evident emptiness. Though it also worries you, because there were no tutors around either. Maybe the slowness of a Thursday evening encouraged them to head home early. You decide to wait a few minutes anyway, just in case someone shows up.

That was, unfortunately, a very big mistake. As you’re pulling out your notes and textbook, you hear the low creak of the door opening. You think you might keel over and die when you’re suddenly face to face with The Choi Chanhee.

His lips curl up almost menacingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well well well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Shut the fuck up,” your teeth grit together. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting or something? Why are you here?”

“Ended early,” he shrugs. “The tutors have a habit of leaving prematurely when I’m not around, so I wanted to see if there was anyone here. Guess it’s my lucky day, huh?”

This dude was a walking headache for real. You were seriously going to walk out of the lab with a migraine if he kept talking like he was so fucking smart. He was, but he didn’t need to know that you thought that. His own ego was large enough without you inflating it even more.

“I’m going home.” You state simply, mouth drawn in a straight line. You didn’t have the patience for his aggravating ass tonight.

“Am I really that horrible that you won’t accept my aid? I heard that you’ve been having problems with Lewis Structures. I may like to joke around, but I’m not really a masochist who likes to watch people suffer,” Chanhee chuckles with a shake of his head. “You’re just so easy to rile up.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, avoiding his piercing gaze. “But fine. If you’re actually gonna help me, I’ll let you just this once. I can’t afford to have this cost me a perfect midterm grade.”

He grins, something that looks conniving. You hate how much more attractive it makes him. You were thankful again for the fact that there were no other students present. It was embarrassing enough to be seen being civil with the worst person in the world.

Chanhee takes the seat beside you, turning it so he’s facing you. You keep your body squared to the table, flipping your textbook to the page on Lewis Structures and preparing a fresh sheet in your notebook. You feel your cheeks warm up with the attention on you, his arms still folded in front of him.

“S-So I don’t get the— um— I don’t— uh— I don’t understand the dominant— the dominant bonds,” your eyes squeeze shut, mortified by the amount of stuttering and fumbling over your words. “How do you— um— how do you determine them?”

He smiles at how cute you are, a shy side of you he’s never seen before. He was so used to you constantly arguing with him, used to you standing your ground and competing with him even when you knew he’d come out on top. He places an arm on the back of your chair, leaning in to read what was in your textbook although he didn’t need to. He just wanted an excuse to get closer to you.

“So you’re gonna want your formal charge to be as close to zero as possible. In order to calculate that, you’ll have to subtract the number of bonds divided by two and the number of electron pairs from the total number of valence electrons per individual atom,” Chanhee explains, pointing at the formula on the page. “How about I give you a couple examples to work on?”

You nod slowly, afraid your voice might betray you again. He jots down a few molecular examples on your notebook, pausing for a moment to nip at his lip and examine you. You blink, a little confused by the action.

“What are you doing?” There’s a slight crack in your tone.

“I have an idea,” he licks his lips. “To make this more rewarding for us both.”

Your brows furrow, his response further perplexing you. One of his hands situates itself on your thigh, your eyes widening. Of all days to wear a skirt, why did you have to choose today? You glance between his face and his hand, lips parted.

“Ch-Chanhee?”

“Yes, pretty?”

You don’t know why the nickname has your upper and lower heartbeats skipping, sweat forming on your palms. You’d always been too preoccupied despising him for being so much better at everything than you were. But right now, his fingers creeping beneath the denim of your skirt, all of that seemed to fly out of the window. You gasp as his fingertips reach the lace of your panties.

“I can make you feel good,” he says into your ear, thumb massaging your thigh. “I can make this worth your while if you do well for me.”

He was giving you fucking whiplash. One second he was teasing you for coming to the tutoring lab, and the next he was trying to coax you into coming quite literally. You think you’re the insane one, however, because you can’t conjure a logical reason to say no.

“Okay,” you breathe, shakily picking up your mechanical pencil. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

You begin to work on the first molecule he wrote out, trying to ignore his slender fingers pushing aside your underwear and rubbing your clit gently. Your bottom lip quivers when his lips make contact with your neck, kissing up and down softly with each circle of his phalanges on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Chanhee presses two fingers inside of your cunt, smiling against your skin when you whimper, nearly dropping your pencil. You fight back tears threatening to spill from your eyes due to lack of reaction, his digits so skilled at working your pussy and looping that knot in your abdomen. Your legs spread wider as you attempt to finish the first example as quickly as possible, so he can knock you over that edge that seems so close now.

“D-Done,” you shiver, lids almost fluttering shut from pure bliss.

Chanhee judges your answer, fingers halting their movements when he recognizes an error. You whine, that taste of sweet release pulled right from under you like a rug. He tsks, kissing your temple as if he hadn’t just denied you an orgasm.

“That’s not the dominant structure. Try again.” He instructs, not continuing until you’ve picked up the pencil and rewrote the Lewis Structure.

You ignore his palm applying pressure to your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of your drooling cunt, lips sucking at the exposed base of your neck, where it meets your shoulder. Your focus zeroes in on completing this structure correctly, rearranging the electron bonds until they’re right. You feel your climax returning when he praises you for getting it this time.

“Such a smart girl,” he murmurs into your collarbone. “Now do the other one.”

He doesn’t stop his assault, increasing the pace of his fingers while you scribble out numbers and draw electron pairs. Your orgasm inches towards you, like a freight train going at full speed. Chanhee curls his middle finger, tripping you up and causing you to write down a wrong number on accident. Ever the perceptive, he relaxes his wrist and retracts his hand, the band in your stomach loosening along with it.

“Please, Chanhee,” you cry, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. “Need to cum so bad.”

“Mm-mm,” he scolds. “Not until you finish the structure properly. C’mon, I know you can be a good girl for me.”

You force yourself to persevere, bottom lip between your teeth when he slips his fingers back into your pussy. Pretending like you weren’t on the cusp of euphoria was making you dizzy, but it was necessary if you wanted to reach it completely. You couldn’t handle a third denial.

Chanhee speeds up his fingers, adding his thumb on your clit for extra stimulation. It was like he did enjoy watching you suffer. Perhaps he really was a masochist. You scrawl the last electron bond of the structure, releasing the pencil from your grasp and throwing your head back with a low whine. He hums in appreciation at a job well done.

“Oh my god,” you moan softly, looking down at where his hand disappears in your skirt. “Feels s-so good.”

“Yeah?” Chanhee goads, peppering kisses on your jaw and nibbling at your pulse point. “Ready to cum for me, pretty? Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You can’t even reply, his cocky voice filling your head as he finally permits your orgasm, walls convulsing and clenching around his digits with a wail. It hasn’t even occurred to you that you’re in a very public, very open space, where anyone could walk in at any given moment. Your brain is too foggy from your overstimulated cunt and the comprehension that Choi Chanhee just fucking fingered you to even consider the consequences of the location.

It only takes a few seconds for you to come to, your body catching up with your head. You look at Chanhee with eyes resembling those of a prey cornered by its predator.

“Why is your hand still inside my skirt?”

“‘S warm down there,” he shrugs with a sly smile. “Besides, I’m not really done with you yet.”

“What are you talking about…?” You trail off, throat dry from how winded this guy was making you.

“You still need some practice before your midterm, no? And I kinda wanna see how pretty you look under me.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz chanhee #the boyz new #tbz chanhee #tbz new #choi chanhee x reader #choi chanhee smut #chanhee x reader #chanhee smut #juyeonszn #fawntober.2023🎃

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hello again! I've returned with another fic roulette request!

I would love to see what you can do with 2 and 31 Tech and f!reader. Please and thank you~ (Apologies for another Tech request, I'm a wee bit of a Tech girlie. ^^' )

Hello gorgeous,

I'm a Tech girlie too, so don't worry. I love our lovable nerd clone. He's so adorable.

I hope you enjoy this fic, since you didn't specify a platonic relationship, I didn't write one. I hope that's okay.

Also all the star talk is copied from Study.com, 'What Causes a Star to Shine Brightly?' article. Thank you to the writer for providing a great synopsis I could use.

Also it got a bit long at 1400+ words.

Love oo,

Just a Dream

Warning: Fluff, anxiety, force sensitive reader, possible character death, fear, nightmare, information dumping, I think that's it, if I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

The house was quiet, the island was quiet, not surprising when it was nearly two in the morning. You did your best to try and sleep, but you couldn’t. You kept having the same dream, a secret meeting with Imperial commanders. An explosion that dislodges a cable car. Tech hanging from a rappelling cable. No matter how hard you tried to push those images away, you couldn’t. Something about Tech dangling over nothing from a rappelling cable put knots in your stomach. You grabbed the shawl one of the villagers made you, they said you looked like the kind that indulged in warmth. She was a kind older woman, and you couldn’t say no. 

You tightened the shawl around as you sat on the patio chairs that had been donated to you and the Bad Batch. It was their way of welcoming all of you and honestly, you were beyond overwhelmed by Pabu’s hospitality and openness. You never wanted to leave here. 

As quietly as possible you moved the chair away from the patio table, took a seat and looked up watching the stars, trying to calm down your mind. 

It was a few minutes before you heard the door to the house close and footsteps coming to join your side. 

Tech sat down and looked up to the stars with you, he knew if you were out here it usually had to do with a nightmare that wouldn’t leave your mind or it had to do with some anxiety you were going through at the moment. 

“Do you know a star is a glowing body of gas and plasma? The reason a star glows is that it uses nuclear fusion to fuse hydrogen atoms into helium nuclei producing both heat and light. Scientists can determine what elements make up a star by looking at the emission spectra of the light they produce.”

You turned your head looking at him smiling, enjoying listening to his voice.

“There’s a star that is known as a red dwarf star, it’s smaller and cooler than main-sequence stars. However, due to their dimensions and cooler temperature they are too dim to be seen by the naked eye. You need a telescope in order to see them.  And some have been estimated to have a life span of 10 trillion years.”

As you listened to his soothing voice you couldn’t help but smile and keep looking at him as you turned fully to face him, keeping the shawl close, shutting out the cold air.

“What other star is there?”

“Well I’ve also read about red supergiant stars. Now these stars have fused all their hydrogen, so now they are fusing helium into carbon. Causing the star to expand in size until all the helium runs out in about one to two million years. The stars with the coolest temperatures appear red, and when a red supergiant star dies, it explodes into a supernova.”

You smirked as you listened to him, “When did you learn all this stuff about stars?” You asked him as you watched him turn his head to look at you.

“When I learned you enjoyed looking at the stars.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. You are important to me, and what you find enjoyable is important to me too.”

“You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

"I will always be there for you. Whether you need me to simply info dump so your brain turns off, or you need someone to sit beside you in silence and hold your hand. I’ll always be there for you.”

As he said those words the image of him dangling from the rappelling cable came back into your mind, your smile fading as the sense of dread from before filled you again. 

He didn’t have to ask to see what something was wrong, he moved his chair closer, and gently caressed your head, holding your hand, “Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay. Hey, look at me.” He tilted your head, using his forefinger to lift your chin, until your eyes met his. 

“What’s wrong?” He gently wiped the tears that had been silently falling down your cheeks, “What is it? Was it a nightmare?”

You simply nodded afraid that speaking what you feared may come true. 

“Was it a bad dream?”

Well that’s the thing, it wasn’t necessarily a bad dream, but the feeling that came with the dream is what made it worse. It was almost as though your heart was preparing you for a loss that you hadn’t even experienced yet, “I … I don’t know.” You finally answered, giving the only answer you really could. 

Tech tilted his head as he looked at you, slowly guiding you out of your chair, to sit on his lap as his arms wrapped around you, gently rubbing your back as you tucked your head into his neck, wanting to hide from everything.

“Well… can you tell me what’s got you so upset. Was it something in the dream? Or was it something you realized because of the dream?”

“It …. It didn’t really …” you took a breath and closed your eyes as you wrapped your free arm around Tech holding him close, “It was about you.”

“Me. Okay. What about me? Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Was I mean to you?”

“No.”

“Did this have to do with a mission?” You were silent. “Okay, a mission. Did something go wrong in the mission?” 

“I don’t know… I think so. I saw an explosion.”

“Okay. Explosion, was someone injured because of the explosion?”

“No.”

“Was I in danger because of the explosion?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well what can you tell me?”

“You were dangling.”

“Dangling. Was I holding on to something for dear life, dangling? Or was I gripping onto Wrecker’s arm, and waiting for him to pull me back to safety dangling?”

“You were hanging over nothing from a rappelling cable. I know it doesn’t sound bad, but … I have this feeling.”

“Feeling?”

“Yes. I feel as though … I … I’ll lose you.”

Tech didn’t speak for a second, processing what you were saying, trying to understand the fear that had somehow embedded itself into your heart. 

“So … you think I’ll die on this mission that we haven’t planned or even expected.”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but … I feel something big is going to happen, and because of that … we’ll be forced to make a decision. And because of that decision … I’ll …” your voice died down, barely above a whisper as you were about to answer him, “I’ll lose you. Forever.”

He let out a sigh, as he turned his head to kiss your forehead and wrapped his arms tighter around you, “Death is part of life, cyar’ika. You know that, I know that. These dreams … I know your force sensitive, not a Jedi, but at least somewhat knowledgeable of the force, and … it could mean a lot of things. It could mean that I’m simply dangling out in the open for a short amount of time. Could mean that I need to pack a second rappelling gun, in case the first one gets jammed it doesn’t mean I’m going to die.”

He took a minute to breathe in your scent leaving another kiss on your forehead, “And even if I die, it won’t change how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt about you. Ner cyare, please know that the time I’ve spent with you, being loved by you, having the privilege to love you in return has been some of the happiest and most loveliest days of my life. I look forward to every morning and night, because you’re there to make it better. I’m not saddened by the fact I may have to face my death, because I have no regrets.”

“I don’t want you to go” you stated, trying to fight back the tears despite the pricks you felt, “I’d rather have you alive and beside me. I …” you voice trembled as your bottom lip quivered, “I’m not ready to let you go.”

“Cyare, it was just a dream. I’m not going anywhere. Like I said there are no missions we plan on taking or are planning. I’m going to be right here.”

Tech held you for the rest of the night, even when you went back to your quarters, he didn’t stop holding you, keeping you pressed against him hoping to calm your fears and worries. He didn’t want to tell you, but the fact you may have dreamt his death, unnerved him a little. He shook the idea out of his mind, there was no need to worry. There were no missions coming up. 

At least that’s what he thought, until he received the distress call from Crosshair. 

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[chvnnie]

Bro, fkn made me tear up while I'm in my PMS week Lawd have mercy.

Your response was so sweet,

Okay but what would happen if they reunited years later when he has had children?

Would that spark be there?

Would he avoid her?

Would she not want to see him with another woman?

Will they enjoy one final night together?

Decisions, decisions 🤔

do you guys enjoy seeing me suffer like—

blaming you for how much I love this fucking couple and the way I couldn’t stop writing this!!! AND I TRIED!!!

it’s long. im apologizing now.

SMUT — MINORS DNI

You never fell out of contact with Chan.

Well, maybe for a few months. When everything was still fresh. It hurt too much to even see his name in your contact list; talking to him would have shattered every atom inside you.

Everything stops hurting eventually. When he called you one day, exactly five months and three days after the world ended, the pain was almost numbed. As your phone vibrated in your hand, you realized it wasn’t what you were that you missed. It was him. Chan. Your best friend, even long before the two of you became one.

You answered. And suddenly the atoms started to bounce together, the world rebuilding from scratch.

The years passed. The planet flourished. Not a day went by without a word shared between the two of you. Weddings were held — Chan’s, insistent that you were always meant to be by his side. Begging you to be his “best woman”.

“You were always meant to be at my wedding.” He said after you denied the request over and over, a little tipsy on the bottle of wine you were sharing at his engagement party. “Please. It can’t happen without you.”

The thought was shared, but never spoken. Off to the side isn’t where either of you pictured your place in it.

Yours. A spur of the moment decision, overwhelmed from planning a party that neither you or your husband really wanted. A quick search proved that tickets to Vegas were far cheaper. A bottle of shitty champagne was shared over fast food burgers that really weren’t that filling.

Or, you tell yourself it was the burger.

Your best friend almost passed out at your monthly double date night. After the shock wore off, and after he chugged a glass or two of bourbon, he smile at you from across the table.

But it looks a little sad.

“I guess you can’t help your wants, huh?”

Other milestones passed. Big birthdays, new jobs and promotions, two babies for Chan, a dog for you. All was well; the sun shining, flowers blooming, the world finally stable again.

The first earthquake came the day of the youngest’s third birthday party.

You’re in Chan’s kitchen, digging through the adult cooler for the seltzers you brought. Did somebody drink them all? Ugh, you knew that fucking bitch from across the street was being a little too sneaky with her beverage. Wait until you hit her with that cash request after the party—

The backdoor opens quickly, two sets of feet rushing inside followed by a loud slam. You jump, quickly hiding in the pantry before they can make it into the kitchen.

“Will you just talk to me?” It’s Chan.

“How many times are you going to ask me about it?” His wife. “Fuck, can you just drop it—“

“I just think it’s pretty convenient that your boss brings up another business trip, just the two of you, today.”

Silence. A drawer slams.

“Are you really going to ruin your son’s party like this, Christopher?”

The snicker Chan gives raises the hairs on your arm. “Are you really going to keep pretending like you’re not fucking your boss?”

You have to clasp a hand over your mouth to silence the loud gasp that escapes you. It’s not like it was any secret that they’re having problems; he confided in you months ago that things have started to get rocky. Never, ever, did you expect this, though.

She storms out, saying something under your breath that you can’t hear. Door slams. Chan sighs into the empty kitchen, probably running his fingers through his hair if had to guess—

“I know you’re in there.” He sounds defeated. “You left your phone on the counter.”

Shit.

Slowly, you crack the door open, peeking out of the dark pantry. Your friend is leaning against the sink, arms crossed across his broad chest. There’s a small smile on his pain stricken face, eyes crinkling at the outer corners. Age treated him well.

“I wasn’t listening.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

You step out of the pantry fully, walking slowly up to your friend. There’s enough space next to him for you, which you take. Leaning side by side, staring out the large window at the party. It carries on; children laughing, eating cake. Parents chatting, chasing kids. All this joy on the other side of the thin glass, completely oblivious to the trembling beneath their feet.

You speak first. “How long have you known?”

“A while.” Chan takes a deep breath, trying to relax his shoulders. “I had hoped when she switched departments it would stop but…yeah.”

Outside the window, the curly haired boy turns in a circle. His little eyes are wide and bright, searching the crowd of grownups for a familiar face. His mom’s back is turned, he doesn’t see her. Though you’re sure he’s actually speaking, all you see is his mouth move.

Dada?

When he can’t find him, another name comes from his mouth. Scanning the sea of people for you.

The second quake comes three months later.

Chan and his wife are in therapy, and though all appears well, the cracks are deep. Wide. You can see right through the facade.

It’s cold outside. Even through your thick jacket, you can feel the heavy winter breeze. It freezes your nose, numbs your lips. You walk quickly, dog trotting alongside you in the same rush. The little boots he wears protects his paws, yet he still whimpers.

When was the last time Christmas Eve was this cold?

There’s a fire crackling when you open the front door, your dog barely off the leash before she barrels to it. Jumping on her little boots, trying to warm up.

“Fuck, it’s cold.” You curse, shedding the many layers you wore. “I literally thought I was going to get frostbite.”

Your husband doesn’t give more than a hum in acknowledgment, nose in his book. Plopping on the couch next to him, you lean in to give him a kiss.

And he moves away.

“All good?” The concern is heavy in your voice.

Nothing. Just a hum.

“Can I have a kiss?”

“I’m busy.”

“Reading. The same book you read every winter.”

It’s harsh, the way he slams the book shut. When he looks up at you, you can help but recoil. Scooting just a bit back from him. The look in his eyes is so…different.

“Can you just give me some fucking space? Please?” He doesn’t raise his voice, and that makes it all the more concerning. Scary. “God, you’re so clingy all the time.”

Oh. Your eyes drop, lips pressing into a thin line. Jeez, why does this cut so deep? It’s not the first time he’s said it to you.

“I guess—I just thought, since it’s Christmas—“

“Eve.” He’s annoyed. You awkwardly adjust yourself on the couch, bringing a sweater clad hand to your face to wipe the tears you can’t help. “Oh, please, stop crying. It’s not that deep.”

There’s a tree on the planet. It’s tall, home to leaves that change colors. Usually, it’s day by day, depending on the waves and the weather and the stars. All day they’ve been a sparkly light green. Peace. A good color.

But they’ve started to bleed, something dark taking over the peace just as the ground begins to break.

Your husband picks the book up. Not another word to you. Heart in your stomach, you head towards the staircase. “I’m going to bed.”

He doesn’t look up from the book. “Take your fucking dog with you.”

The most impactful quake comes a mere three weeks later.

You’re sat on the living room floor, a brush handled by a five year old girl roughly running through your hair. It stings a little, but there’s no point in stopping her. She’s too stubborn to listen.

“Why don’t you wear braids?” She asked in her little voice.

“Never thought about it.” You shrug.

She sighs as if this is the most awful thing you could’ve have told her. “But you would be a princess if you wore them!”

You turn your head slightly, looking up at the girl. Her eyes are her father’s, along with the exasperated look she’s giving you.

“Shit, really?”

You cringe at the word choice, but the little girl doesn’t even flinch.

“Yes.” She sighs. “Turn around, I help you.”

Can’t really argue with that. Right as you think she’s taken at least half of your hair, Chan comes into the living room. Headed straight for the front door.

“Alright, the youngest is asleep.” He’s reaching for his coat, checking his watch obsessively. He’s late. “Pizza is on the way, don’t let the monster stay up too late.”

Finger guns to his daughter, who just ignored him. Not amused with his stupid joke.

“I shouldn’t be long, maybe three hours tops.” Chan says to you. “Changbin has kids to get home to, so I’ll be back before you can miss me too much.”

You flip him off. The daughter follows.

“Okay, don’t like do that at school or anything-“

“We’ll be alright.” You say, trying to get him out the door. Things have been more tense that usual lately; it took all of Changbin’s energy to convince him to get a drink with him. Nothing is going to keep him in this house. “Don’t have too much fun.”

The smile he gives you is so genuine. Real happiness. It’s been a while since you’ve seen that.

The pizza? Mediocre at best. The movie she picked? You hate how invested you were in that storyline. It’s like you blinked and it was time for bed, helping the little girl into her bright blue sheets.

She picks the book for you to read. Four pages, and she’s snoring.

You’ve never liked kids. Never really wanted them, either. While you still hold these sentiments, it’s hard to not like her. Her brother. There’s something about them that’s different, tugging on your heart so hard you think it will pop out of your chest.

Kids are awful. But Chan’s? You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of.

She’s been asleep about thirty minutes. Mindlessly, you click through the tv channel, trying to decide on something. Barely nine in the evening, and there’s nothing to watch? That seems like a scam—

Bang. Thunder. Flashes of lightning. The world shaking harder than it has since it’s birth about ten years ago. Chan storms inside his home, the heavy footsteps making you jump.

“Fuck!” You cry, holding a hand over your heart as you try to catch your breath. “You scared me—“

“She’s not on a trip.” He’s tearing off his coat, kicking off his shoes. Slamming the keys and wallet on the coffee table.

The wheels are turning slowly, but when they click, you feel cold. A blizzard tumbling through the planet. “What?”

Everything was fine. Chan was happy, talking with Changbin and sharing shitty wings over even shittier beer. For a second, he forgot. Forgot about his wife and her affair, the therapy that he honestly felt was a waste of time. The divorce papers in the top drawer of his office, already signed and ready to be present when his wife gets back.

He just needed to pee. Walking towards the back of the crowded bar, he saw a set of eyes he knew too well. It brings him to a halt, looking right at his wife. Who is staring right back at him. With the arm of her boss around her shoulders.

“How many times has she said she was going to be gone, just to stay in town with him?” Chan asks, his voice rising as the storm gets heavier. “Does she not give a shit about our children—“

“Who are sleeping.” You add, grabbing your friend’s biceps and squeezing them tightly. He’s getting too worked up. The feelings he had for her are long, long gone. Buried so deep they’ll never be found.

He’s not mad about the cheating. He’s mad about how she’s abandoned the children.

Chan nods before he sits on the couch. Head hanging in his hands, nails scratching his scalp. Exhausted. Lonely. Broken.

“Why did I fucking marry her?”

You take a seat next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. Your best friend, your everything. Soulmates always seem like an unbelievable concept, until you met Chan. Without a doubt, he is one of yours.

Though, the universe still seems torn on the kind.

“She wasn’t always like this.” You reassure him. “Remember how hard you fell for her? It was really cute; you couldn’t stop talking about her. Nobody expected this, Chan.”

“I did.” When he looks at you, his eyes are dark. Wide. Solid, serious expression not waving even in the intense winds. “I always knew. She never loved me like I loved—“

The sentence isn’t finished. It doesn’t need to be.

Like that, the rain has stopped. Thunder silenced, sky dark. Time has been paused, standing still as you stare at each other in the dimly lit living room. It doesn’t feel like you’re breathing. Like anything is happening.

Except for a teeny, tiny spark. Rock against rock. Fire being invented once again.

Time resumes as Chan pulls you into his lap, lips colliding intensely. His tongue is heavy on yours, deeply kissing you as if to consume you. To make up for all the kisses that should have been.

This affair isn’t driven by hurt, by the agony caused at the hands of both your spouses. It isn’t jealousy, it isn’t hate. It’s a love that always was, always will, and was always meant to be at the core of the universe.

Even the apocalypse couldn’t destroy it.

Ten years. Ten years and Chan still knows how to touch you. The little place on your collarbone that turns you into jelly. How you love when he bites roughly on your nipples, the teasing of his fingers hooking under the waistband of your jeans.

“I hate that you got married in Vegas.” He says in a growl, lowering you onto the coffee table. “I hate that you didn’t fucking tell me until you got back.”

He yanks your jeans down, taking the soft cotton panties will them. Body bare for him once again.

“I hate that I wasn’t there.” The buttons become loose as he roughly takes his shirt off. He watches as your eyes travel, following his hands to the belt he’s pulling off. A familiar awe.

It’s cute. Sets his heart on fire in the best way possible.

Grabbing your chin, he tilts your head so you’re looking at him again.

“Pay attention to me when I talk to you, baby.” He says with a smile, wetting his lips before capturing yours again. “Don’t you want to know why I hated that so much?”

You blink slowly, giving a brief nod.

Hips against hips, the head of his cock works it’s way up and down your silt. A beautiful moan, a cold shiver. Everything falling into place as he lines himself up.

“Because I was going to say no.”

He doesn’t linger. Quickly, Chan buries himself inside you, fucking you with a passion you haven’t felt in years.

“How dare you-“ hands on either side of your head, he grips the coffee table for support. “—marry someone who isn’t me?”

You’re breathless. Jaw dropped, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. It’s like no time has passed; fucking you like you need, like you deserve. Something only Chan has ever been able to do.

“You’re my girl, remember?” He grunts, eyes rolling back slightly when you clench around him. “How could you forget that?”

Shaking your head, your head rolls back. Full, wonderful moans like music to Chan’s ears.

“N-never did.” You admit, chest shaking with heavy breaths. “I’ve always been y-yours, Chan-“

When he kisses you, the world splits in two. Existence finally starting to make sense. Teeth and tongue, he loves you in the best way anyone ever has. Bodies becoming one, forces beyond your own making you whole once more.

He looks at you. Your heart skips a beat.

Has this world always been full of life, or is it all brand new? Could life exist without the two of you?

“Good.” Chan’s smile is like home. “Because I’ll never stop wanting you.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #bang chan angst #chan angst #chvnnie thots

[simpxxstan]

perfect complements (ch. 1)

pairing: professor!seungcheol x professor!f.reader

genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, angst, slight smut

series summary: four and a half years of working together breeds familiarity, resentment, and everything in between. it's almost like living together.

chapter word count: 2.1k

warnings: bickering (will be a major feature in this story, so please do not read if verbal fights are not your cup of tea), seungcheol smokes.

a/n: seventeen is my new addiction and i'm not backing off! this is inspired from my dream life (hehe i want to be an econ prof). the series title is an econ term lolol sorry if it's too geeky. i think this series will have multiple spinoffs, maybe you can guess for which characters? all i can hope for is that i'll be able to pull through the plot till the very end and not get writers' block midway :(

slight heads up? seungcheol is 32 here, and the f. reader y/n is 33 here. wonwoo is 35-36, and minghao is slightly younger than seungcheol, probably 30. chan is 24-25 years old. y/n is shorter than seungcheol, and wears glasses. not much other physical description of y/n. also, this fic will probably have different povs, so this chapter is from seungcheol's pov.

thank you so much for reading! your reblogs, likes and comments mean sooo much honestly. i know every content creator says this, and i know we all mean it from our hearts.

enjoy some of my ult svt bias, seungcheollie!

series masterlist

With four and a half years of working together comes a ton of familiarity. Choi Seungcheol knows it annoyingly well: annoying because he’s greeted by the sight of your coat on his chair again, and well because this is a sight he sees nearly every Monday. Four years ago, he would have tried to explain to you that it’s a Monday morning, he didn’t want to come to take classes this early, and his patience is running thin, so it would be very nice if you could remember which chair was yours every morning when you came and took off your coat. Three years ago, he would have shrieked out, irritation burning through his veins. Two years ago, he would walk up to your desk, and spill your coffee all over the term paper you were currently checking. One year ago, he would purposely ruin your day even if it increased his headache tenfold just thinking about ways to annoy you. 

But not any more. Choi Seungcheol has decided you are not worth a penny of his hard earned money, a moment of his precious time, and a nano atom of his genius brain cells. He simply picks your coat and dumps it on the ground, deliciously close to the dustbin. He knows his ears shouldn’t perk up, but they do, and when they hear your reaction, it is so gratifying, it feels like he has won a World War. 

“Prof. Choi, if you feel you cannot respect the personal property of others, feel free to accompany me to the Dean’s Office.” You have somehow stomped up to him, standing right before him, as he pulls out the chair to his desk, taking in the endless papers and books that are arranged neatly before him. Your attitude never ceases to surprise him, given that you’re an entire head shorter than him, and even if you’re wearing heels, he can tower over you whenever you stomp up to him in these little furies. It makes you look like a little furry puppy, your hands on your hips, and Seungcheol thrives off the fire burning in your eyes. “There, there. I’d actually love to, but it seems that you need to remember how to respect public property and not hog over the space of others.” 

You’re staring at him above your glasses, which have slipped down to the middle of your nose, and god, Seungcheol finds it hilarious. He wants to burst out laughing, the only thing holding him on is his determination to not break character and push you further. 

“And if your routine morning tantrums are over, Seungcheol and Y/N, please settle down in your seats. It seems like I have to send you both to college again.” 

Said Dean’s voice booms out behind you, and although his voice is surprisingly firm, there’s a shit-eating grin on his face, and he walks towards the two of you. He picks up the coat, lying on the floor, and hands it to Y/N. Jeon Wonwoo does not miss out on how flustered you both look on getting caught during your little lovers’ quarrel, as Wonwoo likes to call it in his mind, all alone in the Economics Department Staffroom. 

“Morning Wonwoo! Enlighten me why no one else is here. Why am I stuck with this lady through this sad Monday morning?” 

Seungcheol leans back on his chair, casual now that Wonwoo has calmed down the mood. You walk back to your desk, which unfortunately is right opposite Seungcheol’s, but he’s used to your ugly face to stay unfazed by it now. It’s like a terrible gift from a nosy relative you’ve hung up on the wall for long enough that it doesn’t catch the eye anymore and is just… there. But he’s quick to take note of how you’re smiling at Wonwoo, your glasses have been pushed to the top of your head, revealing your forehead and the same tiny pair of diamond hoops you wear every day. 

It is, like he knows well, a scene of familiarity. And he really despises that fact. 

“Minghao has a conference, he’s in the States. This is in preparation for his exchange program thing.”

“Oh yeah, he texted me on Saturday that he’s leaving soon… wasn’t aware it’s today.” You speak softly, already opening your laptop to get started with your work for the day. 

“And Minhee is in the Girls’ Hostel.”

“Why?” You both ask, confused. “I thought Prof. Kim from History is the warden?” “Yes, but they’ve recently gone on their maternity leave. Minhee has to take over. And, bad luck for her, but on the very first day, there’s been a kind of emergency. Some punches were thrown while drunk, and now Minhee’s lecturing them.” “As if anyone’s gonna take her seriously,” Seungcheol scoffs, since everyone knew Minhee to be one of the coolest professors in the university. 

“Hey! They took me very seriously, thank you. This is the problem with men. Give them a woman with good tits and a kind face and they think she’s a dumb bitch to run over.” Minhee walks into the small Staffroom, looking very much exhausted but she’s never going to admit it. She plops down on your desk, pushing away the laptop. “Is the situation better now?” you ask, holding out your coffee to Minhee, asking her silently to take a sip. “Yes, thankfully. I’ll have to go and check again after classes get over for the day.”

“Well then, you’re all up to date. Don’t forget the meeting with the Faculty Coordinator today at 5 pm!” “Yes Sir,” you all echo unenthusiastically, as Wonwoo chuckles and walks out of the room. It’s going to be a long day and Seungcheol can already feel his temples buzzing. 

_

Six classes down, and he’s feeling the Monday blues wear off into a blissful exhaustion. At the end of the day, this is a profession he has not once regretted choosing. He absolutely adores spending time with his students- mostly. There’s always going to be a black sheep, like Lee Chan from his Advanced Game Theory course. Chan isn’t a bad guy, per se. He’s just over-enthusiastic and is always looking to impress: which results in him reading texts beyond his level just to try and make Seungcheol happy and end up confusing the entire concept. 

But at least dealing with the well-meaning Chan is better than going to the faculty counselling meeting with you. Well, not just with you. But he knows very well what he’s going to hear at the meeting, and he’s absolutely dreading it. He has nearly the same look on his face as his students do when they get the term results, he’s just better at masking it. 

As he walks into the Faculty Coordinator’s office, he sees you’re already sitting in a corner, staring outside the window, while Minhee is chatting with the Coordinator. He notices you glancing his way once, before turning your eyes towards the sky again. “Good Afternoon Prof. Choi! How are you doing?” Ms. Song looks at Seungcheol with warm eyes as he takes a seat. “I’m fine, thank you, and you?” It seems that nervousness has rendered Seungcheol incapable of forming sentences beyond nursery-level, and both Minhee and Ms. Song let out a small laugh at his childish response. “I’m sure you know why you’re here, Prof. Choi, as does Prof. Y/L/N. I’ll spare you the intro.” Minhee asks, “Am I really needed to be here?” Ms. Song says, “Prof. Jeon, unless you seriously want me to be alone with this pair who want to murder each other, I would really prefer if you could be here.” Seungcheol is blushing now, embarrassed to the toe. He can hear you groan, and Minhee somehow finds it all funny enough to smile. “If it's so amusing to you, Minhee, you can leave. We swear we won’t kill each other today, if we’ve been able to control ourselves all this time.” Seungcheol’s not even looking at you, but the sarcasm is biting his skin. 

“Alright, alright. Calm down, Prof. Y/L/N. Remember, aggression is not the key. We’re here for resolutions.” 

“Well then, could we please proceed to the point directly?”

“You’re in a rush on a Monday? You play baseball with the kids after class-” you ask him, staring into his face.

“I have a date today after class.” 

That shuts you up for good, and Seungcheol feels queasy. It’s one thing trying to get the last word in, and it’s another to hit your weak point just to get the last word in. He wants to explain but Ms. Song interrupts. “I’ll cut the chase. From what I can see now, and from all the reports I’ve received in the last three months, there’s been not much improvement from the situation we had observed earlier. In fact, it’s only gotten more alarming-”

“Ever since I’ve turned thirty-three,” you sigh, but Ms. Song ignores you. 

“I’ve spoken to the Dean, Dr. Wonwoo, and also to some of the other faculty members you share your classes and university space with. We collectively think it’s only fair to say that your interpersonal relationship is harming the kind of environment we want to foster in our university. It is, by no means, a new development, and students of several batches have noticed this relationship of yours as well. This kind of banter, which includes quite serious threats at times-” she raises a hand to quieten Seungcheol’s attempt to interrupt, “is not conducive to a healthy academic environment.”

You both sigh, you whisper something along the lines of it’s not that serious, and although Seungcheol hates to say it out loud, he agrees with you. 

“I would recommend you both to go to the University Counsellor and take a few… bonding sessions over the next semester. We think this kind of banter is not too serious, we’re extremely hopeful of a resolution. It’s just not happening right now, because you’re not aware of the efforts to be taken. Once you sit with a counsellor, the path will be clearer-”

Seungcheol doesn’t even realise when he’s stood up. It feels stuffy. He had thought he was long past the age of getting reprimanded for fighting with his peers. 

“I really have to leave now. Thank you for the talk, Ms. Song. I’ll get back to you with my schedule and we can set up the meetings with the counsellor.”

“Prof. Choi.” The voice is stern, and Seungcheol holds up. He needs a cigarette, or fresh air. Neither is really available right now, so he grips on to the chair to steady himself. “I will mail you the meetings and Plan of Action, and you shall adjust your schedule accordingly. You know the consequences-” Seungcheol nods before the threat gets completed. Wonwoo has explained the consequences several times to him. 

“I will do so. Don’t worry, Ms. Song. You shall get nothing but my best efforts.” “I hope so. Really.” 

Seungcheol finally steps out of the room, and heaves deep breaths to get his brain working again. His phone rings, as he walks down the stairs to get away from the building. He picks it up while lighting the cigarette between his lips as he leaves the campus-

“Hello Cheollie! Should I come over to your place to pick you up or-”

“Hyerin?”

“What? Did you forget about our date? Yah! Oppa!”

“No no, I just-” he realises that you’ve just left the campus walking past him, not even sparing him a glance. He watches you as you walk farther away from him, your car blinking in the distance, and the tap-tap of your heels fading out amidst the sounds of the wind. The campus is remarkably quiet for this time of the day, or maybe he’s just too out of it all. 

“I’ll meet you at the cafe. We can go to your place later, right?”

“Yes yes, I’ve talked to my roommate already, but why not Oppa’s place this time?” the sickly sweet voice from the other end of the phone irritates him, but he knows she’s acting cute just for fun. 

“You know why-” 

“Oppa, Kkuma doesn’t care about the girls you bring over.” “She does! She’s a very sensitive princess.” “Cheol-ah, you can just say you don’t care enough about me, and I’ll get it. Don’t bring the poor baby into this.” Seungcheol sighs. This is why he likes Hyerin, she can be mature when she wants to.

But it seems like now is not the time.

“I’ll see you later then, Oppa! Maybe tonight will change your mind!” “Hmm!” Seungcheol hears the call get cut, and he finally drags a puff from his cigarette. You’ve disappeared out of sight, and Seungcheol’s mind is clear now.

#choi seungcheol #s.coups #s.coups x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fluff #seventeen series #s.coups series #s.coups fluff #s.coups fanfiction #seungcheol fanfiction #seungcheol x y/n #seungcheol series #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol x reader #seventeen fanfic #perfect complements series #simpxxstan

[oliviajdjarin]

Joel Miller: Stripped to the Bone

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: He tucked a hand into your hair and pulled you close, massaging your scalp. You exhaled in relief and breathed him in, not for the last time. He then lifted your head to look up at him and pulled your face closer, and closer, and closer.

“I dreamed of you,” he whispered, “all the time.” 

Warnings: ANGSTTTT, TLOU 1 spoiler (ish), heavy description of blood loss, injury, impalement, and all that fun stuff. Reader has a breakdown and also kills people, with some kissing at the end.

A/N: I could tell you how many times I have used this exact case scenario to fall asleep over the last two years...but I won’t. Happy Last of Us HBO show days. I hope you enjoy some Joel.

If you’d like to leave a like, reblog, ask, or comment, it would be really appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

For as long as you had known the greying, brick wall that was Joel Miller, he had always been almost...impenetrable to pain. You always wondered if it was because he seemed to constantly be gritting his teeth and bearing some steady kind pain, like a heartbeat or twitching muscle. He always seemed ready for it, thus allowing him not to be one for any sort of reactions when he did take damage. 

You had gotten used to it, too used to it, because the howl he released when he hit the floor of that disgusting University told you one thing--he had finally, finally, found something worse than his constant beat. 

You only stopped shooting the culprit when your ammunition finally ran out. Seven rounds. You didn’t blink once.

“Y/N,” Ellie yelled, her small voice echoing around the vacant building. She had gotten to him first. You immediately broke into a sprint, practically leaping off the same ledge Joel had fallen off of, and you finally reached him. 

It was bad. Really, really bad.

The rebars were poking from his stomach like a tree from the ground, his blood spread on the floor from his back all the way to your boots, and his body was already beginning to go static. 

“Holy fuck,” you said, and knelt down beside him. “Joel, can you hear me?”

He coughed and choked out a faint “yes”, and you placed your hand on his arm to calm him, already forming droplets in your eyes as the panic and shock set in.

You couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Not now. Not after everything. 

“What do you want me to do?” Ellie asked, but both you and Joel heard the steps of the hunters behind her. 

“Move,” you said simultaneously. 

“What?”

“Move,” you both said fiercely, and Joel pushed her body out of the way right as the hunters forced their way in. The both of you took them down with your bullets within a number of seconds. Their bodies littered the floor. 

Not an atom in you cared. The infamous, heartless woman you had become was in full force.

You took a deep breath, calming your brain, and turned back to him, focused on the fact that yes, his chest was still moving in a steady rhythm. Up, down, up, down. It was up to you to keep it moving. The universe wasn’t going to take him away from you. You’d grip him until he ripped himself in half.

“Alright Joel,” you whispered, sniffling. That new flick of rage lit you back on fire. “We’ve gotta get you up.” 

He nodded, the brown of his eyes already beginning to fade, and wrapped his hand around Ellie’s wrist. You went around and supported his back, grateful for any press of him you could get. Just like you always had been. 

“Ellie,” Joel croaked, “I’m gonna need you to pull.”

“Pull, alright,” Ellie gripped his hand in hers, “I can do that. Okay, one.--”

Joel gripped her hand tighter. 

“--two--”

You rubbed his back just so. 

“--three.” 

You pressed the faintest kiss to the back of Joel’s neck--right on the mole you had always been desperate to press to your mouth when he wasn’t looking--and lifted him from the floor. 

His scream echoed through the University once again as he yelled “pull,” still somehow managing to keep control of his body. The rebar made a quick shing as it exited his body, and with one final tug from Ellie, he was free, effectively spraying blood all over the floor and your face. 

You couldn’t feel your face anyway. 

“Alright,” he said, gathering his breath, and started making his way forward. He walked like an infected-- crouched, slow, holding his middle. You immediately slid beside him, asking him permission with your eyes, and he scoffed. 

That was Joel talk for “go on.”

You looped his left arm over your shoulder, immediately drenching your back in his sticky blood. When the warmth of it hit you, as well as its metallic smell, your vision blurred with tears of pure frustration and agony, and that’s when your memory began to blur. 

You could barely remember making your way through the University, effectively mowing down hunters as you went, or making it back to Callus, or helping Joel mount him only for him to tip, landing hard on his bad side, and you remembered nothing from the horse ride back. Your recognition was only the burning in your throat, the panic in Ellie’s voice, and the stickiness of his blood still dripping down your face.

                                        ~*~

Ellie had been gone a long time, enough time for you to sit in the cabin and just...think. Think about the what ifs, the almosts, and how fucking rock bottom you were. 

The only thing keeping you going was Joel’s pulse under the skin of your fingers. 

The season had changed dramatically, changing from a decent fall to a gnarly winter, and the three of you had found a semi-livable arrangement. One of you would stay home and watch Joel for the day, while the other went out and hunted, simple as that. You tended to prefer the hunt. Your brain never really did well with “downtime.” Especially with the man you loved slowly bleeding to death beside you. 

Today was Ellie’s day to hunt, meaning the rope of tension you felt curled in your stomach whenever you and Joel were in a room together tightened for at least five hours, and you were exhausted. Exhausted with worrying about Ellie, worrying about Joel, and worrying that, with everything that the two of you had been through even before Ellie was in the picture, you were still too chickenshit to tell Joel the truth. 

You wrapped your blankets around you tighter than they were before, blowing into your frigid hands as you did, and just looked at him. That was the sole advantage of this arrangement, no more sly glances at the back of his head or quick double-takes when the sun hit his eyes just right. You got a chance to study him and commit every part of him to memory--every mole, every wrinkle, every scar. They were yours now. 

With the way he was positioned—laying on the floor, eyes closed in a constant daze of pain and sleep—he was so real, so vulnerable. For a man who had only shown glimpses of vulnerability and weakness to you, he might as well have been stripped to the bone.

The best was when he dreamed, mumbling gibberish and cursive under his breath, because at least his brain was still functioning. At least he could still feel fear or exhaustion or cold, rather than nothing at all. 

And, God forbid he mumble your name, because you would be effectively distracted for the entire rest of the day. 

You sighed, rubbing your fingers against your temples, and watched his chest. He was still alive, still living to see another day. 

But what about tomorrow?

For once, in that moment, you let yourself fall down that rabbit hole while staring at him underneath all those blankets. The thoughts of what you would do without him coated your mind like a black paint, drenching all the good times you had with black. The day you met him, stranded in a river that he, by either fate or chance, was walking by that day. He pulled you out and immediately stuck a knife to your throat, grilling you through your chattering teeth. He still could not give a reason why he brought you in.

When the two of you first started taking jobs, usually covered in somebody’s blood when it was all said and done, and you would take turns using the shower. You would only manage to steal quick glances at his naked back when he exited, and you cemented them in your brain, storing them only for you to take to your grave and dream about in the afterlife.

When once, in the hottest month of a Boston summer, a hunter got you good, nicking the side of your neck just right to make it bleed, and bleed, and bleed. You had to press cloth against it for hours to stop the bleeding, and the mix of the loss of blood with the feeling of your own pulse against your hand successfully blurring your vision and passing you out. You woke to the press of cloth on your neck once again, but this time your back was against something…solid, as well as warm puffs of air against your ear.

“She wakes,” Joel said teasingly, country accent thick as ever.

You groaned at your pounding head. “What happened?”

“You scared the living shit out of me, that’s what happened,” Joel said, bringing you in closer—making his mouth that much closer to your earlobe—and wiping at the wound on your neck. “Never pull that shit again.”

He held you like that for the rest of the evening. Neither of you spoke a word. And now, your places have switched.

You didn’t notice when tears started streaming down your cheeks, but they hit the floor heavily and small sounds of your sobs echoed around the cabin.

You scooted closer to Joel laying on the ground and pressed your hand delicately against his wound—just like he did you—and held your face close to his.

“You’ve gotta get up from this one Joel. Ellie needs you, I—”

You swallowed.

“I need you. And I—I’m so fucking stupid. It’s my fault you’re here, I could have gotten the guy if I’d just moved faster, and it’s my fault that I’m losing my fucking mind with you like this.”

His wound was hot, healing, his heart was still beating, but he was only getting worse. You weren’t that delusional, and the weeks of it eating you up inside had led to this. 

Would you ever see the expanse of his shoulders again? Feel him follow you as you led the way? Look at you in awe as you did what you did best: destroy? Would you ever get to hear him sing, watch him dance, touch his skin, or fall deep into a life of domesticity with him that you had always wanted? You didn’t know if he would ever be able to do that, hell you weren’t sure if you could either, but he couldn’t try if he was rotting six feet in the ground. 

You had known him for years, and yet you didn’t at all, and maybe now, you never would. 

“God Joel,” you whispered as you cried, bowing your head near his chin, “Please don’t leave me here.”

You let yourself cry in what had to have been the first time in months, and you allowed your tears to drip on his blankets. You wanted to rub your face into them, into the smell of him that always seemed to poke through even after days of work and grime and killing-- cinnamon and woods, perfectly symbolic. 

After a few moments you let yourself catch your breath and looked back up at his face, still open mouthed and clenched in pain, and rubbed at your nose. With one last press of your forehead to his chest you began to back away, swallowing hard, but just before your hand on his wrappings pulled away, a hand both soft and callused held it in place. 

“That’s all? I was enjoying that.”

You gasped and looked to him, still in pain and yet, smiling, and began to laugh so joyously that you practically wept. 

“Oh Joel,” you laughed out, feeling blood rush into your cheeks, “you heard all that?” 

He nodded with a smirk. “Was almost as good as a kiss on the back of my neck.”

You rolled your eyes and tucked your face into his chest, completely mortified, yet the happiest you had been in weeks. More of your tears and snot rubbed into his blankets, but neither of you seemed to care. You felt alive, like you were the one being drained of life in the last weeks, and you had finally clogged the leakage. 

He tucked a hand into your hair and pulled you close, massaging your scalp. You exhaled in relief and breathed him in, not for the last time. He then lifted your head to look up at him and pulled your face closer, and closer, and closer.

“I dreamed of you,” he whispered, “all the time.” 

You smiled, love, gratitude, and disbelief flooding your eyes. “You mumble in your sleep. I heard my name a couple times.” 

“I’m sure ya did,” he said. His voice was extra husked from sleep and pain, as well as from moving his own muscles. Still, he continued to pull you close, close enough that your faces were now inches apart. “Most of the time, I was doin’ this.”

And he kissed you, so slowly, so gently, that you whined. 

His lips molded to yours expertly, parting your lips enough to make you begin to sweat, and you reciprocated the pressure. His hands framed your face and your hands worked their way up to his own, scratching your fingertips across his glorious, salted beard. It was just as soft as you had envisioned. His lips were slightly chapped and his breath was filled with sleep, which you got even more of a taste of when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you immediately became his zealot, and he became yours. 

With one last slip of his tongue, he pulled away. You reached in for more but he shook his head, brushing your hair away from your face. 

“I can’t lead you where I want this to end, darlin’, not like this,” he whispered, “but I will.”

You smiled at him and pecked his lips one last time. “I know you will.”

He smiled and nodded, the pain of his stomach obviously starting to get to him, and you laid his head back to rest. “Sleep. Ellie will be back soon, she’s tracked down some medicine.”

He nodded once more and calmed his breathing, obviously beginning to fade into a sleep that he could no longer fight, and you brushed his hair back as you watched. 

“Sleep Joel.”

He smiled, nice and wide, and whispered one thing before he was out cold. “I’ll dream of you.”

You hummed. “So will I.”

Tag List: (if you’d like to be added to my Joel taglist or any of my taglists, please feel free to ask!)

@leahkenobi​

#joel #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #thelastofus #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #the mandalorian #hbo #naughty dog

[kaiju-krew]

Hey there! Firstly, big big fan of your art and headcanons, ty for your cool and awesome big brain ❤️ Now that you’ve seen the movie, I’m wondering what your thoughts are on Shimo??? I’ve just seen impressions of her so scattered. (I saw your post on how she will NOT be treated as a pet, and I so appreciate that.)

I will say, for me the ‘old gal’ vibes are so strong and I’m here for it. Like when Goji blasts his atomic breath into the sky at the end and she’s looking at it with such awe and her cute super gummy smile, it reminds me of when a grandma gets shown some common piece of technology that the rest of us are used to, but she just can’t heckin believe it because she lives in a damn cave??? I loved that.

hi hi! omg u think i have a big brain...... compliment of the century.... i must have ppl fooled bcuz i am viscerally dumb most of the time

anywAYS. gxk spoilers below (and a lot of ranting)

shimo my beloved💙 i appreciate most interpretations of her, besides people who are just straight up caling her a dog. and like, not in the way i’d compare goji to a cat? for me it's more mannerisms based, so for goji my main expression/mannerism inspirations are cats, wolves, and komodo dragons (obviously), and for mosu it's owls and cats, with a crumb of horses because of their 'ear' communication so i use that with her antennae.

sorry for tangent but anyways. i dont need someone barking at me that i call goji a cat/draw him acting like a cat so calling shimo ‘kong’s pet dog’ is fine. i think its the difference between goji having the personality i characterize him with + mannerisms inspired by other animals, vs. him having no personality besides Being A Cat. like, he’s a dumbfuck but he’s clearly an intelligent creature capable of communication and understanding. i make a lot of shitposts but truly in my personal hc i’d never reduce him to ‘pet level intelligence’

i think i’m extra touchy about people calling her ‘kong’s pet’ because like. dawg. did you watch the movie? she was JUST freed from being skar’s slave/beast of burden/abused pet whatever you wanna call it. why would you want her to become another creature’s pet again?(obviously minus the abuse) idk mannn it just feels…. reductive somehow. she clearly shows intelligence and understanding when she realizes what’s happening during the fight and helps to kill skar. i just refuse to reduce her entire character to kong’s pet status bcuz that makes me uncomfortable asf.

as a disclaimer, you’re welcome to have whatever hc you enjoy. me expressing my personal thoughts on the matter isn’t an attack on anyone who characterizes her that way, i’m just not interested in engaging with it in the slightest.

DOUBLE ANYWAYS i just needed to get that outta my system. TIME FOR CUTE FUN IDEAS YAHOOO

i’m seeing mixed info about her age so idk where she actually sits there?? i remember seeing something like she’s the First Titan but i also think the novelization of the movie said she’s only 3 million years old?? when im p sure they’ve said goji is 250+ million years old so…. i have no clue there lol. personally she feels less jaded and grumpy than goji does to me so my brain automatically sees her as similar or younger bcuz of my Grumpy Old Man bias.

i’m still workin out my ideas for her but based on how the movie ends i like to think she helps kong with relocating the apes to a better home, and they mostly live in HE. her n kong venture up for surface dates bcuz she gets what she fucking deserves 💙

goji nearly has an aneurysm the first time they come up, since mosu literally takes them for a lil tour of monster island. bro standing there clenching his fist like the arthur meme, he begrudgingly knows she’s right and eventually he gets used to it

i got more ideas cookin for her but this post is already too damn long cuz of my ranting time to stfu

SHIMO BEST GIRL 10/10

#gxk spoilers #kai talks #KAI FKIN YAPS SOMEONE SHUT ME UP #godzilla #mothra #shimo #kong #didnt have time to spellcheck dont @ me