#if I am incorrect about that please lmk :)

[pinkhairswagtourney]

hihi , welcome to the pink hair swag tourney ! this blog is dedicated to pitting pink haired characters against each other to determine the very best of the best !!

check out the carrd to learn more !!! [:

current tourney: pink hair swag tourney: niche edition

polls go up every other day at ~9PM EST <3

#finally got around to making a carrd for the blog-- it's about time !!! #intro #also i am so sleepy . so there might be spelling errors or incorrect urls . please lmk if something is wrong !! #ok bedtime

[mingigoo]

look after you || k.hj (m.)

🩺 pairing ⇢ nurse! (fem) reader x struggling musician! Hongjoong

🩺 synopsis ⇢ after a long night at work with little to no sleep, you nearly doze off on your way home, hitting a tattooed, spikey-haired guy in the middle of the road. Panicking, you run out to help him and go with him to the hospital, only to lie and say he was your husband so you could go back with him. Well, when he woke up, he didn't exactly take it the way you thought he would...

🩺 genre/au ⇢ enemies to lovers (kind of), some angst, smut, fluff, hospital au

🩺 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ MINORS DNI, injury, car accident, hospital scenes, unprotected sex, undefined relationship, mention of possible suicide attempt, Hongjoong is a scruffy underground musician, trauma with touch, tattoo!joong, grumpy sunshine, cum shot, biting, teasing

🩺 word count ⇢ 10.3k

🩺 taglist ⇢ @atinywhore @jjhmk @yukine-smx @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @y00nzin0 @yesv01 @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @gayliljoong @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @baguette-atiny @seokwoosmole @nyeatinyjunkie @juliettechokilo @pockyddalgi @justaqueerbufoin @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @miriamxsworld @daegale @knucklesdeepmingi @naiify @yeoyeoland @arya9111 @mdibby @8tinytings @angelicyeo @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts @mangishii @yeoyeoland @pink-hwaberry @wooyoluvrr @maru-matt @pearltinyy @loveuwoo @m3chigo @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @interweab @skz1-4-3 (if I missed you please lmk!! bold = can’t tag)

masterlist

A/N ⇢ this story is purely fictional! I am not nurse, and do not have unlimited knowledge on this topic. However, I am a healthcare worker, so I know a little, but not a lot. I am sorry for any information this is incorrect. This is meant for entertainment purposes only. This is not meant to take place in reality.

They never prepare you enough for the things you might see within the hospital walls. 

Nothing is ever enough within those few years of education, the desperate attempt to create life savers. No one tells you how much it hurts to see a child suffer until death, a mother, a daughter.

You just wanted to be something. Do something. Be like the girl you dreamed of being as a child—a child who put bandaids on her mother, all over, decorating her like a painting. Sometimes, your mother would act like she was hurt, just for you to play make-belief, “stitching” up her “wounds.”

And here you were, in the hospital locker room, tears falling silently down your cheeks as you unclipped your hair, letting it fall just like the tears. You sniffed, hiding your face in the locker, although no one was around to see. It was embarrassing enough to yourself—you couldn't believe you were crying. You just…couldn't stop.

The day was rough—just too much. Too much death, too much sadness. This wasn't what you dreamed of. You never thought about how hard it would be to put a smile on your face to a patient, right after witnessing someone leave the world. To act, really. You should've taken up that career instead. You were pretty damn good at doing it—well, until you landed behind the curtain.

You haven't slept in ages. It's been constant insomnia on top of twelve-hour shifts, sometimes even longer, and once you are able to lay down, the only thing you hear is the sound of a patient crashing, the cries of family members. It had you questioning your profession. Your devotion. Your childhood.

As you made your drive home, for some reason, the lines on the road soothed you. Your eyes began to beg for sleep, rolling back ever so slightly as you continued. The gentle patter of rain graced the windshield, the red hue of the stoplight in front of you nearing. 

You stopped at the light—pausing to look at the city around you. The city was bright, even at the dark hour of midnight. People were walking, carrying on,  bar lights bright, apartments lit up in an array of colors. You took in a breath and closed your eyes.

And you closed them a little too long when a car horn sounded behind you.

You jumped, feeling apologetic for holding up the line, and continued forward. People passed you with impatience, but you didn't care. You kept going, crawling, really, till you felt sleep creep up once again, shutting your eyes. You drifted off, only for a short moment, and suddenly you awoke with haste—but not quick enough. In your headlights stood a man, walking across the street, and you didn't have enough time to move. You slowed as best you could, tires screeching, praying to anything, anyone, that this was your imagination.

As your car came to a screeching halt, you hit the man with a thump, causing him to crumble to the ground. You gasped, now wide awake, a scream caught in your throat.

You swallowed hard, hands shaking as you pulled over as best as you could and put your vehicle in park, looking around for any sign of someone. 

No one, absolutely no one, but you and this man you just hit. Just a few blocks back, the city was bustling, bars were hopping, but now, it was like a wasteland. You stepped out of your car, gasping for air, and sprinted through the rain to get to the man.

He was lying still, his head bleeding, his back on the asphalt. His black clothing hid the damage he received from the hit, hiding his body, his black hair covering his face. The only thing you saw was the black ink of a tattoo on his hand as it grasped the road.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, kneeling down to him. You assessed him as best as you could, fighting an anxiety attack. “I am so sorry, oh my god.”

He groaned in response, his arm visibly broken. You hurriedly dialed the emergency line, panting, nearly in tears. You didn't even think about the consequences of this action—you were only worried about the man, the stranger, in front of you. 

After nearly crying once more on the phone, the paramedics explained that they would arrive quickly. You hung up and looked over the stranger once more. “Are you alive?” you asked like a dumb ass, nearly face-palming. You were a nurse, goddammit. Act like one. 

You leaned over him, as gently as possible, putting a finger under his nose, and you felt a soft breath hit it. You checked for an airway obstruction, but nothing. He was breathing fine. In pain, but breathing.

The man tried to move, to roll over sharply, but you quickly bellowed, “Wait, please, you could have a spinal injury,” you pleaded, and surprisingly he stopped. “Don't move.” You caught a glimpse of his face. A large cut near his eyebrow painted his skin crimson, but his eyes were beautiful. His lip was cut, too, and you felt immense pain just looking at him. God, what if he was homeless? He looked it. What if he didn't have insurance? Oh god—

You saw how much blood was coming from his head as he looked up at you. His eyes were hazy, like he wasn't really seeing. You hurriedly looked around for anything to stop his bleeding, and when you found nothing, you took your coat off, then your scrub top, and you quickly put your coat back on. You held your shirt to his head as gently as possible, applying pressure, praying that the paramedics would come soon—

Your anxious thoughts were interrupted by sirens. You let out a sigh of relief.

When the ambulance pulled up, two men came to you with a stretcher. You were barely alert enough to hear them say anything. You mumbled a few things, your hands shaking as they set down the gurney. You mumbled to have them put on a neck brace, chest tightening at how the man cried in pain. You let out an ugly cry with him, but no tears fell. They gently rested him on the stretcher, his head steady, but his arm—

“Are you crazy!” you hissed, standing up quickly. “His arm….he needs his arm stabilized!”

“I’m sorry, mam,” the one man condescendingly said, giving you a dull look. “We know how to do our job. We don't need your input.”

You huffed. Mam? Mam? That was insulting. “I’m a nurse, I also know what I’m talking about.”

They ignored you like everyone seemed to ignore you. They began to move away, but a small object caught their eye that lay right where the man was. You picked it up, finding it to be an empty wallet—you’d give it back later.

They rolled him towards the ambulance, and you followed, forgetting about your car, and everything in it, leaving the scene behind. The paramedics didn't seem to care that you went with them, so you sat in the vehicle, watching them treat the guy you hit. You wanted to throw up as they treated him, as you sat still, like a worthless piece of paper. A crumbled-up piece of paper. Yeah. Crumbled. 

When you arrived at the hospital—a hospital that wasn't yours, you walked beside the homeless man, nearly reaching for his hand. However, your race with him was put to a stop as the emergency room staff stopped you as he headed into the wing.

“I’m sorry, only family members are allowed inside,” the woman softly muttered, her eyes genuine. 

She reminded you of yourself.

What….what if this man was really homeless? What if he had no help, no insurance, no family? You had to do something. You’d feel horrible if you didn't do anything.

“I’m—I’m his wife!” you blurted out, louder than you intended. 

The young lady gave you a heartfelt look and nodded towards the door. “Go ahead. There’s a waiting room inside. What’s your name? I’ll let them know you’re the guardian.”

You told her your name, sparing no second longer than needed, and you ran into the emergency room, sitting down in a hurry.

It was now a waiting game.

—

For what seemed like forever, a doctor came out into the waiting room, looking right at you. 

“Miss y/n?” He asked.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat. “….You are Kim Hongjoong’s guardian?”

You paused, almost forgetting your whole spiel at the entrance. You remembered the name from his ID in his wallet, and nodded sharply, standing up quickly. “Is he all right?”

“He sustained many injuries, but nothing too major. His arm is broken in three places, and that will limit his mobility quite a lot. We set his arm, but he might possibly need surgery.”

You nodded, relief washing over you. Good, minor injuries. Phew. 

The doctor pondered for a long while as he stared at you. “The paramedics stated that you were the one to hit him with the car.”

You sighed. “Yeah, he came out of nowhere—”

“Why was he walking alone so late at night?”

You looked around the waiting room, seeing only one other soul in the corner seat, sleeping. You wondered about what to say, as your little white lie was becoming a web. 

“I uh….he works late?”

“He was intoxicated at the time of the accident—”

“He works at a bar?” you tried not to sound like you were questioning that statement.

The doctor deadpanned and then sighed. “Listen, I’m sure there's stuff that’s none of my business. So I’m going to choose to ignore this,” he nodded toward the emergency wing. “But you’re welcome to go see him. He’s awake now.”

You wondered for a second whether you should go back there. If he was going to rip your head off for lying, for hitting him with your damn car.

You nodded, telling yourself to grow some damn balls. “Okay, I’ll see him.”

The doctor led you to a room at the very end of the hall, the lights dim. There, in front of you, was the man you hit. He was all bandaged up, a large one spanning around his forehead, covering some of the spikey black hair. His arm was wrapped in a cast and held up for circulation, and his eyes were wide open. Right on you.

“Your wife is here,” the doctor spoke nonchalantly as he entered with you. However, you were stationary at the door. 

“Wife?” he scoffed, coughing a bit. He tried to sit up, but you put on your act, walking up to his bedside. 

“Don't move,” you spoke sweetly, eyes pleading. The attractive man just furrowed a brow, his lips curling down in a grimace.

“We’re gonna keep you here for observation tonight, and see how you are doing in the morning to keep an eye on that arm of yours.” The doctor quickly did what he needed to do and left, leaving you alone with….your husband?

The pretty homeless guy spared no second in the questioning. “Who the fuck are you?”

Your eyes widened, looking down at him. He gazed up at you, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. A tattoo peaked out of his hospital gown, where it met the skin of his neck. 

“Listen,” you sat down roughly on the seat next to the bed. He watched you emotionlessly. “I’m sorry—I didn't see you when you walked across the road. I take full responsibility,” you breathed, getting nervous under his gaze. 

You were expecting him to scream at you. Well, at least to freak out in some way. It was more alarming that he sat still, completely still, his mouth set in a line.

You blinked.

“I don't care, it’s fine,” he sighed. He showed no emotion, nothing. Not even a twinkle of anger. It was the look in his eye that told you that maybe, just maybe, he ran in front of your car on purpose.

Your eyes widened at the man in front of you—at hongjoong in front of you. He looked distraught tired, brown eyes never leaving your face as you gazed at him. He raised his eyebrows slightly, tilting his head.

“You can leave now,” he huffed, eyes dropping to your open mouth before darting up back to your eyes. “I’m not sure why you're even here in the first place.”

It was your turn to scoff. You crossed your legs in irritation at his lack of care. “Well, maybe because I hit you with my damn car? Maybe I’m worried, maybe I feel horrible, maybe I wanted to see if you were going to be okay.”

Hongjoong just blankly stared. He didn't show any signs of pain, of anger, of anything, really. 

“You don't have to worry,” he spoke eventually, turning away from your gaze to look forward. You watched the tattoo dance against his neck as he moved. “I’m fine. This is all fine.”

You didn't know what to say, how to feel. Your head was spinning, all the tiredness washed away. It pained you to see him so empty, so barren, even though he was a stranger. “I feel like I need to do something for you.”

He bit the bottom of his busted lip, as if forgetting. He made a face, the only expression he’s shone. “No need.”

“But I need to,” you leaned forward, closer to him. He turned to you, eyes void. “I’ll pay for your hospital bill, maybe treat you for a dinner, I don't know—”

“Don't,” he hissed. His eyes grew dark, the fire in them rising. You nearly shrunk back in response to his sudden change of attitude. “Listen, just forget about this, about me, all of it. I don't need your money, or your time, or—” he paused, his anger faltering as he looked at you. “Just…just carry on with your life. I’ll only affect it if I stay in it.”

You frowned, wondering what he meant by that. It didn't matter, though. Your guilt was all-consuming—and the fact that he most likely ended up in front of the car on purpose really was overbearing.

After a second of just…staring at one another, you sighed. “One meal.”

He didn't make a face. Didn't change his plain, empty expression. You looked at his starless eyes, his pale skin. You had the need to brighten him up, to heal him. That was your job, after all.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a nurse came in before he could say a word. You immediately straightened, putting on a smile, hoping he would keep up the act even though he had no reason to. You didn't want to be kicked out—not right now. 

“How are we feeling, Hongjoong?” the young nurse asked, a smile on her bright face. 

“Fine, I guess.” His response was toneless. The nurse still bubbled around, checking his vitals. You watched as he stiffened as the woman touched him. 

She looked at you, arching a brow. “Oh? Are you the wife?” she let out a hum of appreciation, then turned her gaze to Hongjoong. “You’re lucky with this one. They said she freaked out when they didn't stabilize your arm and when they wouldn't let her inside the emergency wing! She must really love you to nearly fight someone to get back here.”

Hongjoong, for the little time you knew him, showed more emotion on his face than ever after hearing that. After hearing that someone—you, a stranger nonetheless—was distraught at his expense. His lips flattened in a line, his gaze faltering.

You grabbed his good hand, although bruises were painted across his knuckles. Old, yellowing bruises. You furrowed your brows, subconsciously rubbing a thumb softly over the colored skin. Hongjoong stiffened, eyes widening, at either your caring touch or the pain it could have been causing. Or both.

You felt your stomach tighten as you met eyes with him. The air was stuffy, his eyes were….practically begging for a reason for your attention, as if he’d never had it before.

“I’m lucky to have him,” you sighed, acting but feeling an intense pull to him. Just touching him, although you didn't even know him, felt like a second nature. 

Maybe it was the regret, the disparity, of hitting him, of being the reason his life was almost nonexistent. Maybe this feeling was because of the responsibility you felt for doing this to him. It didn't matter if it was true; this tension you were feeling with the stranger was more powerful than what you felt with your ex, the one before that, and the one before.

His face was devout of color besides the bruises that scattered his skin. He looked drained, tired, alone. The nurse just smiled at you two, noticing your bloody scrubs and messy exterior. “You’re a nurse, too?”

You just nodded, lost in the feeling that strummed through your body.

Hongjoong’s hand twitched under your hold, his eyes still wide. Still on you.

“Well, Hongjoong,” the friendly nurse smiled. “Don't let her go, she’s a keeper.”

He tore his gaze from you to look at your hand on his. He swallowed hard, blinking. “Ah, yeah.”

Soon after the nurse left, your hand still rested on his. He sat silently, staring forward at the whiteboard with his name on it.

“I….” you struggled with your words, realizing you were still caressing his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said as you pulled your hand away. His head shot towards you.

After a few moments of silence, he said, “It’s okay.” His tone was soft, defeated. 

You wiped your hands on your thighs, sweating buckets. “I, uh, I should go.”

He watched you stand up, but your back was turned, unable to see the wishful glance he offered you. 

You stopped in the door frame, turning around to meet his eyes once more. 

“It was nice to meet you, Hongjoong,” you smiled, watching the glimmer in his eye trying to sparkle. “I wish you well.”

Before you were able to leave the room, he called for you.

“Wait,” he breathed, voice raspy.

You froze.

He took a breath in, exhaling his words. “What’s your name?” 

You turned around. “Y/n,” you spoke softly, your chest aching at the little half-smile peeking through his bruised lips.

“y/n,” he repeated, blinking slowly. He didn't say anything else. You didn't either. You smiled at him once more before turning on your heel and walking out of the room, despite the tear in your heart telling you to stay.

And on your way out, you paid his hospital bill in full, not a single regret in your mind about it.

—

After a few days, you continued your days like normal.

Well, as normal as they could be. Your mind wandered to the spikey haired guy at every sparing second, thinking of how his eyes pleaded something unreadable, how his hand twitched underneath yours.

You were at the hospital, reaching the end of your workday in the emergency room. After running in with a few scruffy-looking guys, they reminded you of a certain someone, and you just wanted to tear at your hair. You were certain your odd feelings were due to the fact that you hit him with your car, and nothing else. This will pass. 

When the quietness of the night was about to still, a man ran into the emergency room door.

“My friend is hurt,” The man huffed in desperation. You turned to the commotion, seeing a thin, black-haired man holding up another—his friend. But that friend and his familiar spikey hair jolted something inside of you.

You jumped out of your seat behind the nurses’ station and ran to the men, meeting eyes with the taller one. He was just as beautiful as hongjoong was, but his eyes were frantic.

“Sir, what happened?” you questioned, reaching out to the man who was just who you thought. Hongjoong’s head rolled back, his eyes squinted in pain, his teeth barred. You carefully steadied him. “What’s hurting you?”

At your voice, Hongjoong opened his eyes wide, looking straight at you. “Y/n?” he grunted out, his breaths strained. He shut his eyes again, and you almost couldn't take the look he had on his face.

“His arm,” the other guy said to you as you called for help,  struggling to hold Hongjoong up. “He got into a fight at the bar, some guy decided to mess with his broken arm and, well…..”

You felt a sense of rage fill your body. You wanted to ask Hongjoong why the hell he was at the bar only days after getting hit by a damn car, let alone getting into a fight.

A few other nurses gathered around, all helping to walk him over to a bed. The wing was empty at this time of night—only a few people around. Once again, Hongjoong looked extremely uncomfortable as the nurses touched him.

You held him gently as you set him down on the bed, feeling his fingers curl around your arm.

He held on to you with his good arm—the hand you held only days before. The other nurses fluttered around, setting things up, but Hongjoong just stared up at you.

“Hi,” is all he said, his fingertips etching into your skin.

Your chest tightened, forcing yourself to smile. “We must be fated or something,” you joked, hoping to brighten him up. “That or you just frequent hospitals often.”

He blinked up at you, his eyebrows knitted in pain. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.” He coughed as he joked.

Your heart skipped a beat, the other nurses and the man that came with him side-eyeing you.

“If you wanted to see me again, there are better ways than this,” you huffed, looking around. “We have to get an X-ray, alright? We’ll give you something to ease your pain meanwhile.”

The air between you two was undeniable. He nodded, emotion sparkling in his eyes, unlike the days before. You wondered if you were the reason for it.

It was probably just the pain.

The other nurses wheeled him to the radiology room, leaving you alone with the man who brought him there.

“You’re the girl that hit him, aren't you?” His voice was soft, gentle. It held no anger.

You turned to him, seeing the caring exterior he showed. “I….yes.”

He tilted his head at you, blinking, as if figuring you out in a single glance. “He’s been looking all over for you. You…paid his bill. He doesn't like handouts.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh? I didn't think he ever wanted to see me again. You know, I hit him with my car—that isn't something to take lightly—”

“You paid his bill,” the man repeated, crossing his arms. “He feels indebted to you. Please just make sure he knows not to feel that way.” The man sighed, looking into your eyes. “Despite how he looks, he ruminates over things. He’s sensitive. He’s a mess right now.”

You sighed, too. “I…I paid his bill because I did this to him—”

“No,” he interrupted, eyes serious. “You didn't.”

You knitted your brows. “....What do you mean?”

The man gave you a deadpan stare, as if not wanting to spell it out. He let out a breath he seemed to be holding. “He….he jumped in front of your car on purpose, y/n,” he bit his bottom lip. “So no, you really didn't do it to him. He’s…he’s just been a mess lately—and now that you acted sweet, played a wife, held his hand or whatever, he’s even more of a mess.”

Before you could ask what he meant by that, Hongjoong was back, alert and upright, but the pain still rested on his face. His gaze met yours, and you felt your stomach swirl in a mess of emotions.

You couldn't look him in the eye as you took care of him.

—

Hongjoong was sleeping as your shift was about to end. Before you clocked out, you couldn't help but go to him, check his injury out, check his vitals. His friend—Seonghwa, you learned his name—left about an hour ago.

As if noticing your presence, his eyes slowly peeked open, slightly drugged and delirious from the pain medications.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” he mumbled out, blinking lazily.

“I didn't expect you, either,” you spoke, keeping your emotions in check.

Silence enveloped you as you checked his pulse ox. 

“Why’d you do that?”

He turned his head to look at you. “Do what?”

You unclipped the pulse oximeter from his finger. “Why’d you get into that fight? You were really injured.” You wanted to ask the deeper question, the question as to why he stepped in front of your car, but you didn't want to overstep.

He shrugged, wincing. He didn't have an answer. He didn't owe you one, really. 

“Just,” you breathed, moving over to the computer to open his chart. “Just don't do anything like this while you’re healing. You need surgery. You need rest.”

He bit his lip, probably stopping himself from saying something he shouldn't. 

“Also,” you sighed, looking over at him. “Your friend told me you were looking for me?”

“Yeah, well,” he scoffed. “I really didn't mean to meet you here.”

You let out a chuckle. “Well, here we are.”

He nearly smiled at you, lips curling beautifully. He had a bit of dried blood on his lip, and knowing that you were supposed to be leaving, you still reached for a washcloth. You didn't need to do this—in fact, you were acting against every thought in your head as you leaned forward and brushed the cloth against his lip, watching them part.

His breath hitched as you neared, as you touched him, and once again, his hand twitched, begging to touch you.

Your hand lingered on his cheek for a moment too long, meeting his eyes. He stared at you, expression unreadable, lips parted.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

You took a second to study his face before you moved away from him. His eyes followed you as you put space between you and him, dark and beautiful. 

You logged out of the portal on the computer. “We’ll move you to your own room before we prep you for surgery,” you said gently, heart aching as you met his gaze once more. “The doctor will tell you more.”

“Will you….be there for the surgery?” he showed no specific feelings as he asked the question.

“I am only part of the emergency department right now,” you shrugged. “I don't think so.”

He pondered for a second before nodding, settling himself back into the comfort of his hospital bed. “Okay,” he spoke softly.

You offered him a solemn look, causing him to stiffen.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” you repeated, confused.

He blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” you frowned.

“Like you feel sorry for me.” He looked pained, a deeper type of pain.

You thought about a response to that—you didn't necessarily feel sorry for him, you didn't pity him either. In fact, you just felt an immense feeling of wanting to see him happy, to see him without pain.

Which confused you incredibly, given that he was just a stranger.

“I don't feel sorry for you,” you clarified. “I just don't want you to be in pain.”

“You don't even know me,” he huffed, his expression contorting, and you figured that he didn't even know how he was feeling—what he was feeling. “Why would you even care if I’m hurting?”

You smiled at him. “Because you don't deserve the pain.”

He just stared at you, hazily, emotionally. There was a light in his eyes—a light that wasn't there the other day. “You don't know me well enough to know that.”

The air grew cold; you had nothing left to say. You wished he realized that he didn't have to suffer like this.

“Goodnight, Hongjoong,” you hummed, walking away, feeling his stare burn into your back.

—

The next day, you found yourself drawn to the bed Hongjoong was in yesterday. It was empty, with him now in a room of his own in another part of the hospital.

You typed away at your computer as your colleague, Yeosang, came up to you. 

“Hey,” he leaned over the counter of the nurses’ station. “There's a guy asking for you.”

Yeosang, although very young, was a surgical resident in orthopedics. He was super smart, super sexy, super everything. You went to school together, spending lots of time in the library and everywhere else together. 

“Who?” you mumbled without looking up.

“He’s a patient I’m prepping for an open reduction surgery, but he’s having a hard time letting anyone touch him. Says he only needs you or something.”

You looked up, hands freezing on your keyboard. Hongjoong. “He won't let anyone touch him?”

Yeosang sighed, propping his head up on his palm as he leaned on the counter. “We had to give him more pain medication, and it made him a bit….difficult. I suspect he has some sort of trauma.”

You frowned. “And why is he asking for me?”

Yeosang gave you a knowing look. “I don't know. He kept saying your name, saying he needed you.”

You tried to avoid the rush of blood to your cheeks. “I don't even know him.”

“Yeah, about that….” Yeosang looked a bit confused, a smile peeking through his lips. “He keeps calling you his wife.”

Oh, dear god. “How drugged is he?” you huffed, looking defeated. 

Yeosang laughed. “I kept telling him that you weren't his wife, and he got super mad at me. He said only his wife can touch him. I really need him to stop this so I can get him into pre-op,” The surgeon sighed, giving you a pleading glance. “I’ll ask the attending if you can scrub in—”

“I’m an ER nurse,” you raised a brow. “I have other duties, Yeosang.”

“Y/n, please,” Yeosang pleaded, “ignore the rules or whatever. Can you just come and help me so we can get him into surgery?”

Your mind wandered to the fact that Hongjoong was having a hard time. Sure, he was delirious off of his meds and pain, but knowing that he was struggling with touch, a part of you crumbled.

So you followed Yeosang—after getting approved by the charge nurse, and went up to the third floor.

As you neared the room, you let Yeosang enter first. 

“Mr. Kim, I have Nurse y/n here for you.”

There Hongjoong was, his eyes frantic, his breathing rushed. He was anxious, a mess. The nurses tried to ease him, and relax him, but he wasn't having it. That is, until he saw you in the doorway.

“y/n,” he breathed, as if he knew you forever. Everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Hongjoong,” you spoke softly, walking slowly near him. You sat in the chair next to his bed, scooting closer as the room emptied, Yeosang being the only other presence. “I heard you were asking for me.”

He blinked, his eyes lined with worry, with anxiety. For someone who looks so tough, he looks like a completely different person.

He didn't speak; he just looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed, his expression all over the place. You took a glance at Yeosang, who was observing you before you reached for Hongjoong's hand just like before. 

The bruises were faded now, only old scars left on his skin. A tattoo trailed the skin of his arm. You went to rub his knuckles,  but Hongjoong gripped your hand tightly.

You met his frantic gaze. No words were spoken. He just pleaded with his touch, his eyes. You knew he was scared. 

“It's okay,” you hummed, fighting the urge to tuck his hair behind his ear. “It's a simple surgery. You will be just fine.”

He mumbled something, but you weren't able to catch it. Yeosang stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, the other nurses peering over his shoulder from the hall. Hongjoong’s gaze moved to the door, seeing everyone watching him.

And you realized that, more than being anxious, he was embarrassed, too.

You looked to Yeosang, giving him a desperate look, a silent cry for him to leave and to get those damn nosy bitches out, too. He complied, and they were alone once more.

“It’s alright,” you hummed, and this time, you did reach out to his face, gliding a gentle hand across his cheek. Without thinking, he leaned into your touch, craving it, longing for it, as if you were really his wife. “They’re gone now.”

His eyes were droopy, his lips downturned. He looked tough, someone with a rough exterior, but now, he was crumbling. He was alone. Alone to the point that he called for you, basically a stranger to him. 

The moment could have lasted forever. His eyes bled into yours, yours into his, your hand on his cheek drawing circles into his skin. He took in a breath, and nodded.

“Will you let them take care of you?” you asked him gently.

He hesitated. You also did, as you realized that he leaned into your touch rather than avoiding it. That he felt comfortable with you—the one who hurt him. In his eyes, though, he didn't see it that way.

Your hand stilled on his cheek, his worried eyes lighting up a little. You didn't even realize that his good hand—the hand that you were holding just a minute before, was now resting on top of your hand that was on his cheek. He gripped it, his medical haze confusing him, confusing you.

You froze, your eyes wide. You allowed his fingers to interlock yours, having him hold your hand to his face as he shut his eyes. He was vulnerable. Human. Although he looked tough, looked troubled, he was just a person under all that trouble. Just a normal guy with normal feelings, normal fears.

And you were indebted to each other. You for hitting him, him for his gratefulness of your care.

“I’ll be there with you,” you murmured, knowing that Yeosang was still outside the room, close enough to hear, close enough to see. “I’ll be in the room while they’re operating.” 

He nodded, his grip loosening slightly, but he still didn't release your hand.

“I’ll look after you,” you offered, and his eyes met yours once more. 

He slowly let go of your hand, allowing you to move back. You looked at Yeosang through the window, giving him a curt nod for him to come back in. 

Hongjoong let the other nurses touch him, but not without a grimace on his face. Yeosang’s words swirled around your mind; I suspect he has some sort of trauma.

Trauma. Trauma that didn't quite reach you—your touch. He allowed it, actually, he wanted it. You wondered what made him okay with yours. Why he needed you when you were the one to do this to him.

Eventually, Hongjoong entered the operating room, knocked out by anesthesia, but not without you holding his hand, making him childlike, making him….a normal human being.

—

After the surgery, Hongjoong sat in his bed even more dazed than before. Before the daze wore off, he kept calling you his wife, causing confusion to stir around the hospital. 

As you left Hongjoong’s room to go back to the ER, Yeosang followed. “What’s this about?”

“I don't know what you mean.” 

You walked faster.

“I mean, why does that guy keep calling you his wife?” Yeosang’s shoulder bumped into yours accidentally as you turned a corner. “And why are you the only one who can touch him? Why did you—”

You stopped suddenly. “Why did I what?”

Yeosang let out a breath. “Why did you….touch him like that? As far as I know, you….you aren't married.”

“I’m not married, you’re right,” you nodded, confused by why you touched him like that, too. Confused as to why he looked so relaxed with your touch rather than freaking out. “And…let’s just say we have met each other before. I did that to calm him down.”

You continued walking towards the elevator, Yeosang following still. “Okay, but you still didn't answer my question about why he keeps calling you his wife.” you pressed the down button and waited.

“Is that really any of your business?”

“Just a little—”

“Why?” you interrupted, turning towards him, arms crossed. “Why does it matter to you?”

You didn't mean to sound rude, you and Yeosang were good friends for a while. You've never dated, but you’ve flirted with each other occasionally. You never thought much of it other than being a little playful.

But the look on Yeosang’s face caused you to pause your racing thoughts. “Because I thought we…we had something going on?”

You blinked. “Do we?”

“I mean,” Yeo scoffed. “With the way you were looking at him, I don't think I have a chance.”

The elevator dinged, doors opening. You paused for a second before entering, Yeosang following.

It was quiet before the doors closed.

“I didn't think I looked at him any differently than anyone else,” you admitted honestly, causing Yeosang to look over at you. 

He gave you a smile, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. “You feel something for him, huh?”

You frowned, leaning back against the wall. “I barely know him. I only…” you sighed. “I only met him twice.”

“But yet, you are the only one he allows to touch him,” Yeosang breathed as the elevator dinged on the first floor. 

“That’s something to think about.”

—

Hongjoong was back to his normal self when you went to check on him in the evening; the anesthesia and meds had worn off. His arm was bandaged up and held in a sling, his eyes empty once more. 

You hesitated on entering, but his stare moved to you.

For a second, you saw regret, and embarrassment, cross his face before melting back into a void stare.

You entered, but he didn't look at you. He avoided your gaze, too. Very unlike his earlier, medical high self. 

You took his blood pressure, fingertips gently wrapping around his tattooed bicep as you put the cuff on. He didn't say anything, didn't even spare a passing glance. He just kept looking forward.

“119 over 79,” you mumbled out, letting loose of the cuff.

He nodded, coughing a bit. He didn't say anything, though.

“Dr. Kang told me that you’re cleared to be discharged,” you tried to start a conversation, but things just felt too awkward. You wrote down his vitals in his chart. “That’s good. Can I call anyone to pick you up? Maybe the guy that was here—”

“No,” he said quietly, looking down at his arm. “There is no one to call.”

“You need someone to help you. You just had surgery—”

“I have no one, y/n,” he hissed, finally looking at you. “Not like that’s any of your business, anyway.”

You didn't know what to say, so you just stared at him with confusion. He was putting his walls up.

“I just….don't want you to suffer alone,” you admitted.

“Why?” he let out a laugh, but it wasn't humorous. “I don't need your worry.”

“Okay,” you breathed, defeated. There was no point; he was just a stranger, just a man. Although, this feeling you had about him was overwhelming. And when you touched him, you wanted to hold him longer. Wanted him to feel better.

You left the room without a glance toward him and carried on the rest of your day as best you could.

—

Hongjoong was sitting on the bench outside the hospital entrance, head low, as if sleeping.

You knew you should keep walking. You shouldn't give him any attention, any time of day. But your chest ached as you got closer and closer, and as you reached him, you couldn't bear to walk past him.

“Why are you still here?” you asked him, keeping a good amount of distance away from him.

At your voice, he looked up quickly, as if waiting for you despite his nastiness earlier.

He took a second to respond. “I, uh, I’m just sitting here.”

You looked him over. His black hair was no longer styled spikey, it laid flat across his forehead softly. His tattoos were on full display in the black t-shirt he wore. 

“You don't have anywhere to go,” you meant to ask it like a question, but it came out more like a declaration. He furrowed his brows at your words but didn't deny it.

“I’m fine, I’ll figure it out,” he sniffed, the cold air dancing around him. He didn't even have a coat.

Without thinking, you spoke quickly. “Come with me.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because,” you huffed, taking a step closer to him. “I owe you.”

“For what?” he spat out, probably not intending to sound rude. 

You gave him an honest look, and his eyes softened. “Did you just forget that I hit you with my car? That I broke your arm?”

He just sat there, blinking slowly. “You don't owe me anything, y/n.”

You reached your hand out. His own hand twitched. “Come with me.”

After a long moment of just staring at your outstretched hand, he let his hand find yours, standing up at his full height. You got a good look at his face, his eyes, his lips. He was breathtakingly beautiful. So beautiful. 

You held his hand as you walked to your car, feeling a flutter of emotion in the pit of your stomach.

When you got to the car, you helped him into the passenger seat, despite his aggravated digs at you. You leaned over him, buckling his seatbelt, feeling his hot breath against your cheek.

You paused, frozen, inches away from his lips.

He swallowed hard, eyes glancing down at your lips. He didn't make a move. You didn't, either. 

You pulled away, forcing yourself to get out of his personal space to shut the door. You saw him tilt back his head and take a deep breath before you got to the driver's seat.

As you drove, you asked random questions like a goddamn idiot.

“So, uh,” you swallowed, looking over at him for a second. “What do you do for a living?”

What kind of damn question is that?

“I’m a musician,” he mumbled, looking out the window. “Kind of.”

“Ah,” you nodded, thinking of what to say next. Now you were thinking way too much into things. “What do you play?”

He looked down at his arm, sighing. “Well, I played the guitar, piano, some other things. I don't think I’ll be picking anything up for a while.”

“You will, eventually,” you tried to encourage him, but he just kept his gaze even out the window. You arrived at your apartment, pulled into the parking lot, and shut off the car. “We’re here.”

He nodded, watching you get out of the car. You opened his door, and with slight hesitation, you leaned over him again to unbuckle his seatbelt, but before you could, he stopped you with his good arm. 

You paused, inches from his face, meeting his eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” you whispered, feeling an immense pull to him, to his lips.

You ignored the urge and unbuckled the belt, but you didn't back away. Not like you could, anyway, with Hongjoong’s grip on your arm tightening.

The belt slowly slipped off of him.

He chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes dancing with emotion. “I was just… embarrassed. And drugged, and uh, well,” he paused, thinking. “Mostly embarrassed. I can't believe I freaked out over a little surgery. That’s so lame—”

“No, it's not,” you hummed softly, delicately. “It's a normal fear.”

He smiled. Actually smiled. From the little time you knew him, you haven't seen a genuine smile on his face. Or any sort of light, really.

“Thanks, uh,” he sniffed. “Thanks again. For looking after me.” his eyes fell to your lips. “You don't even know me, and you still…” he trailed off.

You realized that you were inhaling the air he was exhaling, that you were eye to eye, almost nose to nose. His breaths were shaky, labored, and tired. 

“I would want someone to look after me in the same way,” You whispered. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” he tilted his head upward, leaning against the headrest, warm, brown eyes on full display. 

“Mhm,” you swallowed. 

His eyes glimmered. He didn't have anything to say, and you didn't either. Realizing that you were shrinking the space ever so slowly, you took the opportunity to back away from the musician. He let go of your arm, but not without a little tug on it beforehand.

You cleared your throat as he got out of the car. You shut the door for him, and you walked together—slowly, till you reached your apartment door.

When you entered, hongjoong strayed back behind the door, not entering. You turned to face him, eyebrow raised. 

“Come in,” you beckoned, and with one more second of hesitation, he followed you in, shutting the door behind him.

He surveyed the place, his eyes finding the piano that sat in the corner of the room. His eyes danced as if surprised to see it there.

The air was thick. The room was quiet. You tossed off your shoes with ease, noticing his struggle with his own, so you bent down the help him. He didn't pull away, didn't speak. He just let you take care of it—of him.

“I don't mean to be a bother,” he mumbled as you untied his shoe. “But I’d really like to shower.”

You glanced up at him. “Oh,” you nodded, taking off his shoe before standing up. “Sure. it’s the first door down the hall.”

He didn't make any move. He stood, a confused, shy look resting on his face.

And then you realized.

He had no clothes to change into. Nothing. He also only had one working arm, and one covered in material that couldn't get wet.

“I can help you,” you trailed off, trying not to read too much into his stare. 

“If you comfortable with that.”

—

In the bathroom, Hongjoong stood anxiously as you waited for the water to warm up. It took a second, and most of the time, the hot water only lasted so long.

You figured a shower would be too difficult to help him with without seeing too much. You opted for a warm bath, filling the water up once it got hot enough. You made sure to add some suds to it, so he wasn't too uncomfortable.

When you turned around to face him,  his eyes were cloudy, his lips in a line.

“Do you….not like baths?” you mumbled, scratching your head. “I probably should've asked you before I—”

“It’s not that.” His eyes met yours, switching his weight onto his other leg. 

You didn't pry, knowing he was just probably embarrassed that he needed help for something as trivial as a bath. 

Walking toward him, he backed up into the door. You nearly smirked but maintained your cool as you grabbed the plastic bag off the sink counter. “I just have to wrap your cast in this. It'll just be a second. You might want to take your shirt off before I….”

He blinked, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“I don't think you normally bathe in clothes,” you murmured slyly, tilting your head. “Unless you like that.”

He didn't move. His body was as stiff as a board, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Just take your shirt off, dammit, or I’ll do it for you.”

You saw his expression change the minute the words left your mouth.

His good hand found the hem of his t-shirt, hesitating to take it off. You realized that he probably did need your help with taking it off, but with the look in his eye, you weren't sure what would happen if you got any closer to him.

But you moved closer, anyway, setting the plastic bag back onto the counter. His back was nearly up against the wooden door, his breath hitching as your fingertips gently pulled at the fabric.

“Why are you….so okay with this?” he breathed before you could pull the shirt up.

You met his gaze, his eyes unreadable. Almost as if he didn't know what he was feeling, either. 

“I told you already,” you shrugged, smiling.

He blinked, his eyes red with emotion, begging to send a flood down his cheeks. “I don't deserve your help.”

“You do, though.” Ever so slowly, you began to pull his shirt, soft, carved abs appearing as you moved it up. “Because you know, you don't have to suffer alone.”

“Who said I was suffering?” he croaked out, his eyes, his tone, spilling his guts out on the floor for her to see. 

You didn't say anything. You just slowly tugged the black t-shirt over his casted arm, watching him wince slightly. Then, he stood, half-naked, emotionally charged in front of you. He was no longer a stranger. No longer someone that you classified as a patient, either.

His eyes spoke volumes, his good hand twitching at his side. You looked at it, and took it in your own.

“Come on,” you nodded behind you. “I’ll help.”

He looked like he was ready to cry. Ready to break down. He didn't, though, and you walked him over to the bath. You unbuttoned his jeans, but turned around as he stepped out of them and into the tub. 

The soap covered his lower body, all that was on display was his torso, his slim shoulders, the tattoos inked on his tanned skin.  He didn't break away from your gaze as you began to wash him.

“I feel….something I shouldn't be feeling,” he swallowed, his voice raspy, tender, defeated. 

“And what’s that?” you wondered before running your hands through his silky hair, coating the strands in your lavender shampoo.

He shut his eyes, sighing. “I don't know what it is, but what I do know is, for some reason, your touch is very calming when everyone else’s hurts me.”

You paused, hands still tangled in his locks, but he opened his eyes.

A confession of feelings—worth more than any other cliche words. He stared up at you, heart on his sleeve, confusion and fear and everything in between dancing around his eyes.

“For the first time,” he whispered, the only sounds in the room being your shaky breathing and the quiet trickle of water from the spigot. “I feel…comfortable being touched. I….need it.”

His lips parted, his hair dripping wet, your hands still frozen within the strands. You didn't know how to respond, didn't know exactly how you felt, either. But you also knew one thing, and it became ever so apparent as his hand slowly reached your cheek, wet fingertips leaving a trail of soap across your skin.

You blinked slowly.

Softly, gently, you moved forward, over the tub, and brushed your lips against his. His eyes remained open from shock, but his lips moved slowly along with yours.

You pulled away, but didn't go too far, resting your forehead against his. His breaths tickled your skin, sending a blush to your cheeks. 

Emotions are complex. You didn't know exactly why you kissed him. Why you needed to. Why you wanted to do it again. But what you did know was that you liked how his touch felt, liked the little smile that appeared as you kissed him, liked how he gently pulled you back into another kiss.

You took in his breath as you kissed once more, this time a bit more urgent. Your hands gripped his soapy hair, his hand rested softly on your cheek, his thumb on the corner of your lips, his fingers tickling the lobe of your ear. 

He kissed you like he knew you forever. Like he knew just how you liked it. You found your hand trailing down his tattooed neck, fingers dancing on the ink, his dewy skin, his tongue in your mouth.

You parted once more, so close, breaths tangling, fingers scrunching. His breath was hot against your face, his dark eyes pleading.

You’d so get on top of him in that damn tub. You wanted to, so bad. But you remembered that his arm was hurt, that you were the one that did it, and you nearly stood up to move away before he gripped you by the arm.

“Don't go,” he breathed hazily.

So you didn't. You washed him, this time, knowing that you were begging to end this bath and fuck him silly till the sunrise. Till the warm, glow of the burning star fluttered through your blinds. And with that damn look on his face, you knew he was thinking about it, too.

You helped him out of the bath, not turning around this time. He stood slowly, body on full display, even more tattoos, even more scars covering the skin you didn't get to see. 

You sheepishly handed him a towel. He took it, but didn't use it to cover himself up.

“You’re not dating that damn doctor, are you?” he spoke, his tone serious, deep. Sensuous. 

You breathed out, “No.” 

He grinned, cheshire-like. “Good.”

You could tell he wanted to rip your clothes off. He wanted to claw at your skin like some goddamn animal, his expression pained in all of the right ways. 

You needed air. God, this bathroom was stuffy.

Turning on your heel, you forced yourself to walk out of the damn room, because if you didn't, Hongjoong would become something far more stranger than, well, a stranger to you.

But he had other plans. More impulsive plans.

He followed you out of the bathroom and into your main living space. He gripped your hand, his fingertips gently pressing into your skin. When you turned to face him, he was dripping wet onto the lightwash wood floor, beads of water collecting on the ends of his hair. His eyes were wide, begging you for something, anything.

So you gave up on your act.

“Do you want to fuck me right now?” you wheezed, smiling as his eyes widened even more. “Is that what you want?”

You stepped closer to him at his silence, and arched your body against his bare torso, feeling the hardness of him press your thigh, his lips begging to meet yours once more.

You teased him, lifting your mouth to his, letting out a sigh. He shivered as your hands felt up his bare skin, and your hot breath tickled his face. 

He nearly growled, his good arm wrapping around your waist swiftly, tugging your body towards him completely, holding you here as his mouth crashed to yours. His broken arm begged to touch you, too, and without thinking, he moved it quickly. He hissed in pain, his arm definitely hurting him, but he didn't care as much as you did. You tried to part from his lips, to ask him if he was okay, but he bit hard down on your lip to keep you from speaking. 

You moaned while he stuck his tongue down your throat, his hand now tearing at your top, your waistband. You hurriedly tore off your clothes for him, giving him no second to stare at your body before tossing yourself onto him again. He grunted, moaning into your mouth, the vibrations tickling every part of you. He pushed you back, nearly tripping over the throw rug, the coffee table, until your back slammed into the keyboard of your piano.

The keys slammed as your ass hit them roughly, the musician making music without even intending to. His hips bucked into yours, your core right where he needed it, his dick pulsing, aching to be inside you. You lifted your hips, grinding them against his cock, gaining pleasure in his expression.

He nearly whined as you bit his ear lobe, his hips shifting into you, begging for you.

“Can I get inside you?” he moaned, eyes frantic. “I need you, fuck, I need it bad.”

In more ways than one, he needed you, but now, he needed your body. Needed your touch, your moans. You obliged, your body already wet enough for him to enter. You lined up, and without a second to waste, he slowly moved into you, causing you to toss your head back at the feeling. His eyes rolled back; a whine left his pretty pink lips, his chest heaved in pleasure.

His head dipped to suck your nipple, tongue gliding over the sensitive skin of your breast. You huffed, trying so hard to breathe. He let out moans that did something dangerous to your body, to your mind. You moaned along with him as his hips snapped.

“Oh, god,” he whimpered, his tone light, airy. Water dripped onto the soft skin of his chest from his hair. “You feel so good.”

You smiled, tearing your hands up his back as the piano cried along with you. The keys clicked, moaning from the weight above them. The music filled the room, tangled within your breaths, your sweat. You gripped the back of his head, lacing your fingers through his wet, dripping hair, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter by the minute.

Your walls caved into him, his cock pulsing inside you. He looked into your eyes for a long moment as he moved, his black hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth open in gratification. He kissed you, tongue dragging across your bottom lip, tugging on it. He liked to bite.

You felt euphoria reach you before you knew it, and you cried out, gripping his hair, pulling it as he fucked you. His face pained, his teeth barred, his eyes shut tight. Just his expression—his appearance—could've made you come on the spot.

You felt tingles in your fingers, and your toes, and saw stars in your vision. Black spots fluttered, your heart rate probably much higher than it should be. You didn't care if you died right here, right now. It didn't matter. Nope. This was bliss. So much better than that damn vibrator.

You felt like you were on fire—no, more like a falling, burning star crashing to earth. Your stomach ached at his pressure, your hips aching, your head pounding. You came onto him with haste as your vision blurred, tearing into his shoulder blades, leaving little marks on his skin. At your actions, you witnessed the look of utter satisfaction on the pretty boy’s face, his breaths quickening, shallowing. He let out a whine, just as musical as the keys underneath you.

Before he could come, he pulled out, cumming all over your breasts, your stomach. You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

He stared at you, eyes low, lips swollen and red. So fuckable, so delicious. 

He looked at how he painted you, smirking a bit to himself. He was so full of life, full of emotion. “Let me go grab that towel,” he breathed, his voice crackling a bit. You watched in enjoyment when he walked away from you, watching his ass, his legs, the tattoos move with him.

He returned with the towel, wiping you gently as if he hadn't just made you nearly black out. You gazed at him, not sure what you were feeling, how you were feeling. You could do it all night with him, with this guy who was a stranger only a couple of days before. It wasn't too often that you acted on your desires, but there was no possible way you were supposed to avoid this, avoid him.

When he was done, when you were clean, he set the towel down on the floor, but his eyes didn't leave you. 

“What?” you hummed.

“Just,” he breathed, smiling. “That was really good.”

“I hope so,” you chuckled the feeling of the room lightening, almost in a playful way. “I hope this wasn't your goal all along—you really freaked me out when I hit you.”

He looked down as you jumped off the piano. “Uh, yeah. I bet I did.”

You moved to him, gently reaching to hold his cheeks for him to look at you. “I got you now, huh? No more running in front of cars, unless it's mine. I’ll be prepared next time.”

His eyes widened as if he was shocked by your words. That you knew he did it on purpose. He didn't deny it. He just leaned into your touch, eyes closing tight in comfort.

“Like I said,” you started, giving his lips a little peck. “I’ll look after you, if you’ll allow it.”

He took in a deep breath, opening his eyes, meeting your sincere gaze. His lips curved up. “I’ll look after you, too.”

You smiled along with him. You wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, embracing him, feeling even more intimate than sex. He let out a shaky breath, as if finally realizing he wasn't alone, didn't have to be. That he deserved a caring touch, a longing touch, a needy touch. That he could actually have something to himself.

You didn't know what you were to each other, and it really didn't matter. There was no need to label it so specifically. You could be his rock, his personal nurse, the person to stitch him up when he gets hurt. The one he could confide in, have sex with, whatever he needed. Whatever you needed. 

So when he kissed the top of your head while you hugged him, you tightened your arms just a little, holding onto him as long as he’ll let you.

You’ll look after each other.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong fic #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hospital au #enemies to lovers

[balletfilmss]

HOME TO HER

✸ pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hera! reader smau

✸ notes: requested by @aryxchse!! i tried out tweets with this one bc i think they’re SO fun so lmk what you think 😚

…now playing: you & i — one direction

itsyn: dear camp jupiter, you can’t keep him, he’s mine 🤍🫶

tagged: itspercy

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itspercy: they couldn’t keep me away from you even if they wanted to

╰┈➤ itsyn: they better not try again bc i have a bow and arrows and ik how to use em

╰┈➤ itspercy: use them next time your mom tries to square up w me

╰┈➤ itsyn: 🤺🤺🤺

wise.girl: HEY I (unfortunately) TOOK THAT SECOND PIC, WHERE’S MY PHOTO CRED???

╰┈➤ itsyn: pic creds to my amazing sweet gorgeous angel spectacular best friend annie 🫶

╰┈➤ wise.girl: thank you 😌

pipermcqueen: third pic is the best photo i’ve ever seen of percy

╰┈➤ wise.girl: because his face is covered?

╰┈➤ pipermcqueen: YES MAAAAAM

sunshinesolace: yall they got matching users, ain’t NOBODY separating them

╰┈➤ itsyn: damn straight 😤

╰┈➤ sunshinesolace: damn HUH?? WHO?? WHERE?? LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER

╰┈➤ itsyn: AJSHSK THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT

itspercy: i look fly as hell in that first pic 😮‍💨

╰┈➤ pipermcqueen: someone humble this man rn

╰┈➤itspercy: PIPER LET ME LIVE

praetor.reyna: girl TAKE HIM PLEASE

╰┈➤ itsyn: don’t worry rey, i’ll keep him on a leash or smth and away from you <3

╰┈➤ itspercy: HELLO??

╰┈➤ itsyn: the leash can be blue, now shush

╰┈➤ itspercy: 🫡

…now playing: work song — hozier

itspercy: sorry future mama-in-law, but you could never make me forget her

tagged: itsyn

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jaygrace: hera throwing a temper tantrum over that caption rn i just know it (i don’t mean it, queen, pls don’t hurt me 😇)

╰┈➤ itspercy: hoes mad 🤷‍♂️ (hoes is obviously jason…just in case anyone was wondering)

╰┈➤ itsyn: shut up rn, both of you

itsyn: im not crying, you’re crying

╰┈➤ itspercy: NO BABY DONT CRY

╰┈➤ itsyn: IT’S TOO LATE TO SAY THAT 😭😭

wise.girl: WHO TOLD THIS MAN ABOUT HOZIER???

╰┈➤ itsyn: um, guilty?

╰┈➤ itspercy: hozier is me in disguise bc that song WAS written about my sweet girl yn

gman_: why do you always have THE MOST INTENSE EYE CONTACT W THE CAMERA LIKE???

╰┈➤ itspercy: fabulous genetics, courtesy of the queen (MY mom)

itsyn: i love you water boy ☹️

╰┈➤ itspercy: i love you more angel

╰┈➤ itsyn: IMPOSSIBLE

╰┈➤ itspercy: POSSIBLE

╰┈➤ itsyn: WE’RE NOT DOING THIS AGAIN

jaygrace: IMAGINE getting all your memories back

╰┈➤ pipermcqueen: JASON STOP TRAUMA DUMPING IN THE COMMENT SECTION 🗣️🗣️

╰┈➤ itspercy: it’s okay bro, all you’ve gotta remember is me

frank.zz: if juno comes for your ass over that caption, i am NOT helping this time

╰┈➤ itsyn: haven’t you been observing, frank? if she tries again imma get her, obviously 🙄🤺

╰┈➤ itspercy: problem SOLVED

praetor.reyna: imma get you a shirt that says “if lost return to yn” so we don’t have this problem again

╰┈➤ itspercy: and i will wear it religiously, give

itsyn: NO GRAVE COULD HOLD MY BODY DOWN

╰┈➤ itspercy: I’LL CRAWL HOME TO HER (you)

╰┈➤ itsyn: 🤭🤍

#୨୧ love letters #୨୧ sealed with a kiss! #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #pjo smau #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson x y/n #pjo fandom #pjo thoughts #percy jackson smau #smau

[pinksturniolo]

Amor e Outras Drogas (AU)

A blurb about Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader from Robbers (AU)

Summary: You and your boyfriend Chris are bored one night and take an edible together. One thing leads to another and well... you know.

Content warnings: smut, high sex, oral, sub!chris, blindfolding, teasing, ice kink (??) not sure how to word that one lol

is this before or after the events of robbers, did they get out alive? who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️

disclaimer!!: i am not fluent in portuguese, so pls lmk if anything is incorrect. <3 chris is full portuguese in robbers.

i wanted to put art deco by lana but it wouldn’t let me add it 🙄

“Baby…”

“Yeah?”

“What exactly was in those edibles?”

Chris smirks, looking at your nearly closed eyes.

“It’s the same ones we took last time Ma.”

“But it feels… different.”

A good kind of different. You watch the ceiling fan as it spins in counterclockwise circles, your head leaned against the mattress from your seated position of the bedroom carpet floor. Chris lays on top of it, his head near yours, long hair tickling the side of your face. You feel like you’re sitting on a cloud and your body is tingling, vibrations of the room coursing through you. Everything feels ultra-sensitive and your breathing is calm, your mind relaxed.

“You okay though?” He asks and you turn towards him, nodding your head. “Yeah… just really high.”

He chuckles, stroking the top of your head. “Come lay up here with me.”

You follow his instructions, climbing on top of the bed where he is and laying next to him. He pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while your head rests on chest. You lay together for a minute, listening to each other’s heart beats.

Your hand lazily strokes his upper body, running from his chest down to his stomach, your fingers brushing the band of his boxers that peek out from his sweatpants.

It’s not exactly your intention to turn him on, although the fibers of your being radiate sexual energy, something he picks up on extremely easily.

Especially when you two are in this particular state.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a tent in his pants and once you notice it, you smile cheekily, your hand automatically palming his hardness.

He groans and looks down at you touching him, his hand tightening on your shoulder.

“That must be a new record, Chris.” You say, referring to the fact that it took him all of 30 seconds to get hard from your touch on his body.

He closes his eyes, his hand moving to the back of your neck now, fingertips massaging into the roots of your hair.

“Você sabe o que você faz comigo.” He murmurs, giving you butterflies. You know what you do to me.

You loved when he spoke in his first language, it made your heart squeeze in your chest and your panties flood with arousal.

You continue to rub him through his sweatpants, your teeth digging into your bottom lip from the feeling of him growing harder and harder in your hand. You dip your hand into his pants, now touching him over his boxers.

He groans again, this time grabbing your wrist and stopping your movements. You start to whine when he moves on top of you, his head hovering over the lower half of your body, pulling your pajama short down your legs.

“Not wearing any panties, pretty girl?” He says, his eyes taking in the sight of your bareness that he’s revealed. He licks his lips, looking into your glossy eyes before pressing a kiss to your navel.

“Chris…” You protest. You wanted him in your mouth badly, to help with his problem.

“Shhh, I wanna take care of my girl first.” He responds, his hands rubbing your thighs and spreading them open softly. He doesn’t tease you too much, ready to please you simply because he wants to.

He places more soft kisses to your wetness, kitten licking through your folds. You moan out, your hands on his head and tugging the strands of his hair.

He keeps one hand wrapped around your thigh, holding you open for him, and his other hand reaches up to squeeze your breast and flick his thumb across your nipple.

This has you leaking into his mouth, your breathing shallow as he caresses your walls with his tongue, pushing it as deep into you as it can go, his nose bumping your clit.

The feeling of pleasure is heightened, the sounds of him eating you out echoing through the room as you feel yourself close already.

“You’re so beautiful amor… always so wet for me.” He rasps, his tongue now circling your clit as he pushes two fingers inside you with ease.

“Fuck, baby…” You moan and you throw your head against the mattress, clenching around his fingers. He moans with you as you drip down his hands the longer he thrusts in and out of you.

He attaches his lips around your clit again, sucking. He knows you’re close by the way you’re pulling on his hair and moaning his name. “Cum for me, mama. Eu preciso disso, por favor.” I need it, please.

Within seconds, you’re cumming around his fingers, your legs shaking around his head. He helps you ride it out, smothering your thighs with warm kisses.

Once you’ve settled down, he removes your shirt along with his and takes his sweatpants off, climbing on top of you again so he can bury himself inside you the way he’s been craving to since you started touching him earlier.

But you stop him, pressing a hand to his chest and flipping him around so now he’s laid on his back and you straddle him. You shake your head, making a sound of disapproval. “You’re gonna let me take the lead this time, baby. Understand?” And he hesitates for a split second before nodding his head in agreement, placing his hands on your hips.

“Use your words, Chris.” You say, unsatisfied with just a nod. You want him to know you’re in control right now.

“Yes, amor. I understand.”

Chris was usually dominant in the bedroom as well as in the relationship, which you absolutely loved. But there were times when he would let you take over, and you enjoyed it more than anything. It was so hot.

“Good boy.” You smirk and a devilish idea sneaks its way into your mind as you look at the yellow bandana on his head.

You yank it down so that it covers his eyes, turning it into a makeshift blind fold.

“Baby- “he starts, his hands tightening on your waist.

“Its okay, you trust me, right?” You ask, rubbing his shoulders soothingly.

“Yes, mama.” His lips part, his breathing picking up as your run your hands down his chest.

“Be right back. Don’t move.” You say and run off to get what you need.

You return shortly, an ice cube in your hand from the freezer.

As you sit back on him, you make sure the bandana is still secure around his eyes before you place the cube on his chest and drag it very slowly down his abs.

He hisses as soon as he feels the sharp coldness, his abdomen flexing and jaw falling open.

“Fuck, what is that?” He pants, his fingertips digging into your skin harshly.

He’s hard as a rock in his boxers, your naked body still straddling him. You grind on him subtly, the view of his lips parted in pleasure and the veins in his arms popping out getting you wet again.

You don’t answer his question, trailing the ice cube further down, stopping right above his boxers. It’s already melting from his hot skin, leaving droplets of water that roll down his hips.

You move it upwards again, this time circling it over one of his nipples lightly and then across his neck. He groans and bucks his hips up into you, the cube now gone and you lean down to lap up the water that’s pooled there, sucking and biting your marks onto his neck.

“Please, amor. Não me provoque…” He moans, his hips bucking uncontrollably. Don’t tease me.

You sit up and wrap a hand around his throat lightly. “I think you should shut your mouth until I ask you to speak.” You demand.

You roll your hips down onto him and he shuts his mouth like you asked, gritting his teeth.

You smile smugly to yourself and pull his boxers down, freeing his hard length. A pool of saliva drips from your mouth as you spit on the tip, letting it fall down to the base. He pants and bites his lip in anticipation before you finally sink yourself down onto him, the familiar stretch making you both moan out.

“God, Chris.. always feel so fucking good.” You say, your hands on his chest for support as you start to bounce on him. He’s gripping your hips with so much force, you’re sure there will be bruises in the morning. Whimpers escape his throat, his head against the pillows.

You know he’s just dying to say what he wants, to praise you for how good it feels. But you don’t give him permission to talk just yet, enjoying the feeling of riding him. This angle is making you see stars, the high from the edible still strong.

Your orgasm is near again, sweat starting to build on your forehead. Chris is a mess beneath you, panting and moaning, and then suddenly his thumb grazes your clit, rubbing circles on you.

“Please, Y/N. Please, let me see you. Eu quero ver seus lindos olhos. Quero observar você quando você vier.” Chris breaks his silence.

I want to see your pretty eyes. I want to watch you when you come.

His voice is so desperate and needy that you give in, ripping the bandana off his face. You make eye contact with his icy blue eyes, sending sparks through you.

He doesn’t look away once as you cum around his cock, his hands gripping your ass as you ride out your high and he finishes soon after, releasing deep inside you.

You collapse on his chest, your head tucked into his neck as he strokes your hair, pressing a breathless kiss to your forehead.

“So good, amor. I love you so much.” He whispers. “Let’s go clean up in the shower.”

a/n: this isn’t the one shot i’m working on, just a blurb i had in my head since i wrote robbers and just had to put out 🩷 they have my heart 🥹

taglist <3: (if you want to be added/taken off, reply to this post or comment on my masterlist. and if you weren't mentioned, it wouldnt let me tag u :/)

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @honestlyjb @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @sturnioloco @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo x reader

[blingblong55]

-`ღ´-Hello, welcome to my blog -`ღ´-

I am an 18+ blog so MDNI

Hi! I'm Kasper, I'm a 20-year-old fanfic writer for the COD fandom. You probably know me as blingblong55, so Hi!:)

Masterlist

Playlist

Join my tag list

FAQ

̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'̵͇̿̿з=༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ ༽=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿[} ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿

Disclaimer:

I write for pretty much any COD character, with that said, I am a straight woman so I do apologise if any LGBTQ+ fanfic aren't so well written, (but I will try to make them as good as possible).

Also, I don't really ever check my grammar or how well I punctuate my stories, just had to make that clear:)

I write 18+ stuff so if you are a minor please do not interact with my blog. Thank you.

If you are a minor please be respectful of the MDNI tag I always leave on my NSFW stories. Now I know I can’t confirm if you are indeed a minor or not but be aware that the topics I write for can be unrealistic standards for sexual intercourse and they can/will ruin your own perception of such intimacy.

Rules for requests: -Themes that involve paedophilia will be deleted immediately. - I write on pretty much everything, from kinks, fluff, angst and incorrect quotes to any little drabble I can create from your ideas or mine. - will not write anything that has to do with the reader getting r**ed. -I can maybe...just maybe allow consensual non-consent (CNC), but those are very minimal, Dub-Con is acceptable but rare -will not write anything that has to do with racism, incest, or homophobiaಠ_ಠ -Full-on smut is an obvious yes. -I, at times do AUs so you are welcome to make a request about anything like that -if you want to make a request whether it be Male, Female or GN reader, let it be known or I will end up choosing the gender\pronouns.

Side note:

GN, M, F reader's call sign is 'Grim'.

Kasper Team/Squad is non-canon and has been created by me for my stories.

Anon's can claim emojis!

(yes....I named a team after me...but you would too..so shhh)

Please remember that if I haven't done your requests it's either because I am busy or I am in the process of writing it. :)

Also, my inbox is always open for when you just need to rant or vent, just lmk if you wish to keep it only in my inbox lol

Much love xx <3

#cod mw2 #cod 141 #ghost cod #mw2 141 #cod requests #cod reader insert #kasper writes #cod masterlist #cod modern warfare #call of duty

[1ovede1uxe]

What "Unusual" pet would the Jobros have?

Anime only, I've had no time to read. Also some fun facts about some of these pets!

I am by no means an expert on any of these animals, so if I'm incorrect in my info, please lmk! :)

Speedwagon definitely has a giant flemish rabbit. The vibes just match up entirely. Almost like a dog, but not really. Just a positive vibe to have around. He takes it on walks (without a leash because they're so loyal to each other) and if Danny were still around they would play together!

Giant flemish rabbits are rabbits that are "dog-sized (about 20 lbs)." There are seven recognized fur colors/patterns: black, blue, fawn, light gray, steel gray, sandy, and white. These gentle giants are docile and can be litterbox trained, so they've become a popular breed of housepet.

Caesar would absolutely have a chinchilla and spoil the crap out of it. Since chinchillas are very sociable, its hours of entertainment for both parties, and can both can be sassy (from what I've seen, but chinchillas might just be curious critters, chewing on wires and such). The chinchilla would sleep on Caesar’s chest or in his hair :)

Under proper care, these soft and social critters can live to be 20 years old! Being sociable, they like to communicate and make 10 different sounds for different needs and expressions

Kakyoin would have a snake, but not just any snake, but an albino California kingsnake! The vibes matched very much. When he can, he would totally spoil his baby. Only the finest rodents to eat for his snake or the coolest new cave and the most high-tech heat lamp. This boy would play with her for hours at a time. Even if they're not playing, he lets her rest on his shoulders while he draws.

These white danger noodles can grow 3-5 ft in length and are overall docile creatures. When they're young they can be quite defensive!

Okuyasu definitely has a pet tortoise he promptly named Mr. Turtle. Mr. Turtle loves Okuyasu so much and is quite fond of Josuke, walking up to them every time they get back home. I was thinking of Crab Man and his Mr. Turtle from 'My Name is Earl' while writing this.

Tortoises are turtles, but turtles are not tortoises (so the name is accurate I suppose)! Tortoises can live in all climates and the current weather in their egg determines their sex.

Bucci gang has a tropical fish tank that every single one of them picked out one fish. They spoil the hell out of the fish, as much as one really can when your pets are fish. Narancia chose to adopt the snail in the tank too. Live plants, castles to swim in, these fish have it all.

Foo Fighters would absolutely have a Mudskipper! These cute little tadpoles with legs are so damn adorable. Ermes and Jolyne really end up taking care of it at the end of the day, but Foo loves her mudskipper!

Mudskippers often live in burrows in intertidal habitats. They can also breathe through their skin!

#graceposting #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba headcanons #exotic pets #speedwagon #jjba caesar #caesar zeppeli #jojo kakyoin #kakyoin noriaki #jjba kakyoin #okuyasu nijimura #jjba okuyasu #bucci gang #vento aureo #stone ocean #foo fighters #jjba foo fighters #jojo foo fighters

[nosolaceofastraightanswer]

[disclaimer. this post was from a handful of months ago but it prob still applies. it’s also pretty angry!! sorry abt that lol. i do realize that most people doing this aren’t aware or trying to be malicious. it’s kind of a rant post. originally i wasn’t gonna post it but my mutual said i should lol. anyway here it is]

okay the cross tagging in the tua fandom has gotten way out of hand. i’m just really frustrated right now because this is ridiculous. if you want someone to see your post, tag it correctly. don’t add a bunch of random fandom related tags about characters that aren’t even mentioned just so you can get more notes.

there is actually a Reason for this alright? it’s not just rules for the sake of rules. when you tag in an unrelated tag, it clogs it up with posts that aren’t related (stay w me here). so if someone’s looking through their favorite character’s tag they don’t want to see a random incorrect quote in the general fandom NOT EVEN MENTIONING THE CHARACTER. when it gets really intense, it’s difficult to even find posts that mention the character (cough cough the ben hargreeves tag cough cough)

tagging is an organization system that helps people find stuff. you are making it ineffective and frustrating to use by crosstagging. please stop.

pls do not:

-tag “character a” in a post about “character b” and “character c” because they are all in the same show/book/video game etc

-tag an incorrect quotes post with every character in the fandom. (you know who you are. yes i’m targeting iq acc’s because they do this A LOT but lots of ppl do it!!)

-tag a general post about tua with the characters (this one has nuance, like many other things in the world. just use your best judgement like i trust you!!!)

also usually i wouldn’t tag a fandom post about fictional characters with the actors that play them??? like it would have to be a v specific situation so idk why people do this. you are not writing analysis of emmy raver lampman?? hello??

anyway lmk if you have any more tips. i’m not the tagging police (ACAB) so take everything i say with a grain of salt because i am not the ruler of the tua fandom or tumblr! i’m just seeing a problem in this community that i know other people are bothered by. alr live your life just be considerate of other ppl while ur doing ur thing 👍

it’s really not something that you have to obsess or worry about whether you’re doing it just keep it in mind!!!

tldr: use tagging as a filtering tool- not a way to get more engagement

#tua #the umbrella academy #fandom #discourse #i guess?? #cross tagging #writingastraightanswer

[bbyquokka]

I’ll help you remember | drabble ✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧

🐶: pairing: Kim Seungmin x F!Reader 

🐶: genre: fluff, suggestive 

🐶: warnings: suggestive. lmk if i missed any!

🐶: words: 541

🐶: a/n: just a lil something for Seungmin's birthday 🍰🥳 i do have a fic in mind for him so stay tuned.

part 3 of my Changbin sequel (one-sided love) should be up soontm 🙈

Feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated as they help get my fic/blogs out there. please let me know what you think, ty for the support and love as of lately! 🖤

i hope you all enjoy & like it! 🥰🖤

➸ m.list  — ➸ faq — ➸ tag list

"I don't get it, Seungmin!" you exclaimed in frustration, throwing your pencil across the table.

"It's easy, (Y/N)! see, x equals this." Seungmin pointed at the equation with his fingers. You looked at Seungmin, confusion and frustration apparent on your facial features.

"But how did you get the number? where did you get the number?" 

Seungmin shuffled closer to you, grabbing your pencil. He jotted down his working out, showing you the exact process he went through. You watched, listening to his explanation.

"Understand?" He looked at you, faces inches away from each other. Your throat went dry as you looked in his eyes. You licked your lips and looked away

"No." you mumbled, feeling a blush creep up on your cheeks. "Who thought it was a good idea to put the alphabet in math anyways."

Seungmin laughed, placing a gentle hand on your thigh. "You'll get there in the end."

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling defeated from math. 

"Want to study something else?" You nodded slowly.

"yes, I need a break from x and y and 1 plus 1 equals 45." Seungmin laughed again, shaking his head. You grabbed your flash cards that you made for your English lit class and handed them to him.

"Ready?" Seungmin shuffled so he was sat facing you, looking at the flash cards. You nodded. Seungmin proceeded with the first few questions – which you got correct – however, a small pile of incorrect cards started to pile up beside Seungmin

"No, (Y/N) that's not correct." Seungmin sighed, placing another card on the pile. You grumbled in frustration. 

"Why am I doing so bad!? I don't understand." You whined. Seungmin shuffled even closer to you, skin touching skin. Your body felt hot at the contact, your mind suddenly forgetting everything.

Seungmin proceeded to ask another trivia question off the hand made flash cards – to which you got incorrect. You rubbed your face, on the verge of frustrated tears.

You continued with your cards, getting more wrong than right. You swallowed, panic setting in.

"I did so bad, Seungmin." You whispered. Seungmin furrowed his brows together.

"Hey, it happens to the best of us. don't beat yourself up over it. a bit more practise and you will get there." Seungmin's words failing to comfort you

"I don't have time! my exam is right around the corner!" You flayed your arms around causing Seungmin to laugh.

He picked up the pile of incorrect answers and leaned in close to you. You froze, heartbeat ringing in your ears. Seungmin smirked, his breath fanning on the shell of your ear.

"How about I help you?. His voice dropped an octave, his fingertips ghosted over the inside of your thigh, creeping closer and closer to your clothed pussy.

You whimpered, watching his hand and anticipating. you swallowed, your saliva wetting your dry throat the best it could. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth as Seungmin ghosted his lips along the skin of your neck.

"H-How would you help me?" You stuttered. Seungmin's lips pressed against your soft skin delicately. You shivered at the contact, a sigh of content escaping your lips 

"Every incorrect answer equals a punishment. Punishment is lifted once you get it right. maybe that way, you will remember." 

#skz #stray kids #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #skz drabble #stray kids drabble #drabble #kim seungmin #seungmin #kim seungmin drabble #seungmin drabble #kim seungmin x you #seungmin x you #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #kpop #skz x you #stray kids x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids one shot #stray kids imagines #seungmin drabbles #kim seungmin drabbles #stray kids kim seungmin #stray kids seungmin

[seakicker]

u mention your bf hitting it from the back and grabbing your tummy—I have a new partner and I’m honestly kind of scared he’s going to do that, touch my stomach and grab onto me/the fat there. he’s really strong and muscular and it makes me feel really sexy that I am like. smaller than him strength wise but I’m still a little bigger. a little chub, some more to love

idrk what i’m asking but do u have any advice? it makes me feel a little insecure when he grabs onto me/my fat there

so this is a really good question that i’m really happy to answer. though i’m extremely open about my own tastes, preferences, likes/dislikes as a fat person, remember that i’m by no means a representative for what all fat people enjoy during sex and it is 100% okay to be uncomfortable with having your stomach touched or seen during sex. some of my fat friends don’t like having their stomach touched during sex because they either feel it’s almost fetishizing or because they’re just not at a point in their self-image journey to be touched there, and both of these reasons are totally okay!!!! not being okay with having a certain part or parts of your body touched during sex is a 100% natural feeling to have and there’s absolutely no weakness in wearing lingerie/shirts/etc that cover your stomach during sex; i’ve always hated the idea that wearing a shirt in the pool or during sex etc is something to be mocked bc why would you taking measures to help yourself feel more comfortable ever be embarrassing?

part of my inspiration for including things like belly grabs during sex in my fics is 50% to convey the idea that every single body part of yours is just that— a body part— and that having your tummy touched is really no different than having your chest or your ass touched even if a stomach isn’t generally seen as a “sexual” body part. i like this sort of body neutrality stance where you don’t have to love every single part of you— i don’t love my back or my ass, for instance— and that just accepting your body as your body and accepting every part of it for what it is is a more realistic goal for some than loving every part of your body.

the other 50% is a more explicitly body positive stance where (character) touches your belly bc they love you and love every part of you and your belly’s no different! i suppose what i’m trying to say is that you may find it more obtainable to view your belly through a neutral lens of “it’s just another part of my body” rather than traditionally-body positive lens of “i love my belly” because neither perspective is any weaker or more “incorrect” than the other. and like i mentioned above, wearing lingerie or sweaters or smth that cover your tummy during sex while you work with your thoughts towards your tummy are 100% a valid means of ensuring your own comfort.

i think it might be worth having a conversation w your partner about your feelings and how you don’t feel comfortable/ready/etc to have him touch you there. tons and tons of people have limits on where they’re touched during sex and how they’re touched during sex so asking to not have your stomach touched isn’t any different and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed about it! also experiment with different outfits that cover your tummy during sex, my boyfriend really likes a simple turtleneck + skirt combo so definitely play around with different lingerie, costumes, etc that cover you there if you think that’s what’s best for you. otherwise, having that boundary about your body established with your partner is super important and the convo is definitely worth having.

please lmk if there’s anything else i can do for you bc im really really happy to have these conversations 🥺

#good luck nonna we love you!!!!!!!! #chats #cw body image

[eda-does-things]

INTRO POST:

Hello everone!! My name is Eda :)

I am a nonbinary (They/them) autistic lesbian!!

I love Splatoon, vocaloid, pokemon, cosplay, & general nerdy nonsense!!

I also have a silly goofy Splatoon AU called inkblot. It's a future AU involving the agents, idols, & a couple others that follows their daily lives as adults with jobs and families. Please keep in mind this is an AU & may diverge from cannon! I talk about it often lol please ask me about it

I have been drawing since I was about 3 or 4

I am an ENFP personality type. I'm a lil awkward n clueless but I love making friends! Don't be shy ;)

I am also a Capricorn! (Jan 9 is my birthday lol)

I'm in the U.S. & CST time zone.

My Switch Code is: SW-4938-9780-2878

You're free to add me, but please lmk in advance!

I am currently not ready to take commissions regularly, however, if you want one for whatever reason, feel free to ask me.

Please keep in mind that I am a minor and that I need tone indicators!

Have a nice day :)

Oh, and read this

BYF & DNI:

BYF:

★ I am very high energy and a bit anxious,, but love making friends! If you're a mutual please feel free to DM! (Just say smth like “Hi, my name is (name) and I’m just here to chat! (or whatever reason) as stuff like just “Hi” makes me anxious!)

★ DO NOT CALL ME KID/KIDDO/CHILD/SWEETIE/HONEY/ANY OTHER PET NAMES UNLESS I GIVE THE OK

★I am a (mostly) Splatoon account!

★ I usually reply fast but get distracted easily!

★ PLEASE USE TONE INDICATORS

★ I go into a lot of detail with stuff I enjoy and tend to go on tangents/rambles

★ I tend to correct folks sometimes when they say something incorrect about one of my interests so I'm sorry in advance

★ C//ps/P//lice are MAJOR TRIGGERS, so please, censor them!

DNI

*Bold means it's ok if I interact FIRST

★ If you're homophobic, sexist, racist, ableist, etc. Please, leave

★ NSFW ACCOUNTS

★ You're a proshipper, IRL shipper or support them

YOU ARE NOT A PROSHIPPER FOR HAVING SHIPS

Proshipping is when you're fine with ANY ship, as in incest, adult and minor pairs, etc etc. Shipping is ok if it's legal!

You are not an IRL shipper if you just think two people would make a nice couple and do not actively ship them

an example of active shipping is Markiplier x Jacksepticeye

an example of thinking two people would be cute is me thinking it'd be dope if Alice Peralta and Rina Itou got together but I'm not gonna force it or anything

★ Unironically talk about or support Heterophobia (doing so satirically is ok!)

★ Dislike fanfiction/RP

★ Also please leave if you're just here to get after my comfort stuff, please leave.

★ DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU SUPPORT AUTISM SPEAKS YOU ABLEIST

★Your name is Kitty, Sebby, Moss, Dio, or Max

[selescope]

hello! i’m sorren/juno, and this is my tumblr blog! i mainly post about camp here and there, musicals, and other random things in my life. you can see the other sections below for some more stuff about me!!

about me:

⭑ i use any pronouns, including neos

⭑ i am a minor! please remember that when interacting with me

⭑ i have a few medical issues here n there as well as some mental things so i tend to talk about those a lot (if that makes you uncomfy please lmk!)

⭑ i tend to post about someone named rowan- his @ is @smorgelgof

dni:

⭑ homophobic, transphobic, racist, terf, etc

⭑ pro ed blogs, pro sh blogs, medical gore blogs

⭑ “hospital/medical core” blogs

⭑ 18+ blogs, 18+ goes both ways please and thank you

interests:

⭑ camp here and there

⭑ musicals (little shop, the lighting thief, carrie, etc)

⭑ music (oingo boingo, abba, autoheart, etc)

⭑ internet args

⭑ percy jackson

⭑ stardew valley

other:

⭑ please ask me to tag things if needed! i tend to forget about tagging certain things

⭑ feel free to dm me, i’m normally pretty open to conversation

⭑ if i say something that is offensive and or incorrect, or reblog something from a bad person, please let me know! i never try to purposely offend people.

⭑ you can find me on twitter at the same @

#info tag

[wormslikeme]

heyy I have a question. I read that a lot of people who have TS also have adhd but is it just for people with TS or tic disorders in general?

Hey anon sorry this took me so long I've been trying to do as thorough of a look through as I can. From my own research it is not just Tourette's it can be any tic disorder. " Up to 80% of ADHD patients have one or more co-morbid conditions which include Tic disorders (TD)" (NLM). Tic disorders are also commonly comorbid OCD, learning disabilities, mood disorders, anxiety disorders, depression, autistic spectrum disorder, and probably a whole host of other conditions that I am unaware of. However it is a very important to emphasize that ADHD does not cause tic disorders. I'm not incredibly knowledgeable on this topic so I encourage others to chime in if I've missed something or gotten something incorrect!

Here's a link to the quoted article if you want to give it a look over, if anyone finds something unsavory about the publishers or in the article itself please lmk so i can remove it and find a better more community agreed upon resource!!! Hope this is helpful and feel free to ask more questions if needed!

#tourettes #tics #tic disorder #actually autistic #tourette syndrome #actually tourettic #tics and tourettes #tic #tourettes syndrome #vocal tics #anon ask #neurodivergence #neurodivergent #actuallyadhd #neurodiversity

[justinotherteablog]

Please, I implore you, do not be mislead by the photos and videos in this post. If you believe what you see than it may lead to the incorrect conclusion that I’m going to be writing about tea. The tea that I am specifically not going to be writing about is daily duck shit from @white2tea and it calls my name far more frequently than I actually indulge in it. It’s the kind of tea that fills you up and floats you to the cookie shop. Cookies. That’s what this post is about. If you’re not into that kind of thing it’s best you scroll on down the feed. If you’re like me though, and you’re intrigued by the idea of a fresh hot cookie, piping from the oven, free, not once, not twice, but every day for a month…. Read on. Insomnia Cookies, known for their 3am hot cookie delivery, has -like the rest of the world- a subscription option. For the paltry fee of $9.95 you get a free cookie every day. Plus, with the code SWEETMAGIC you get your first month free, and I quote “cancel anytime” My dear tea friends, I am on day two of this 30 day cookie munching endeavor and I couldn’t be more pleased with the results. Peanut butter chip, double chocolate chunk, half of an M&M’s cuz the woman behind the counter was a little unwieldy with the spatula… Are they better than a hotel front desk cookie? Marginally. Are they made with margarine? Probably. Is it a healthful choice to eat a cookie every day for a month? Unlikely. Do I have the resolve to follow through and go for The Whole 30? Definitely. *read past the hashtags for a special #justinotherteablob promotional offer #oolong #oolongtea #duckshitoolong #oolongcha #white2tea #gongfucha #gongfu #chaxi #teadrunk #tearitual #tea #cha #teatime #teasession #justinotherteablog #cookie #insomniacookies #teainspired #teastagram #teasets #friyayvibes #teawares *ah, you’ve made it this far. Thank you, and welcome. Perhaps you’re thinking to yourself “what about this post merited the hashtag #friyayvibes” to which i respond: good point. Now, if this post has left you feeling cheated. Know, you’re not alone. If you want cookie pics, just lmk and it will be so. (at Up All Night Consulting) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cg5Jxc3u1V_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#justinotherteablob #oolong #oolongtea #duckshitoolong #oolongcha #white2tea #gongfucha #gongfu #chaxi #teadrunk #tearitual #tea #cha #teatime #teasession #justinotherteablog #cookie #insomniacookies #teainspired #teastagram #teasets #friyayvibes #teawares

[entishramblings]

Legolas Greenleaf

credit to: fneada; click for better quality

#lemon #i cant breathe #HES SO FUCKING HOT #*inherent chocking on water noise* #I could only find credit for the first pic but it looks like it was edited by the same person #if I am incorrect about that please lmk :) #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #legolas #legolas greenleaf

[set-phasers-to-whump]

delirium

prompt: delirium

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi! some background info - this fic is set when they've been partners for a while, they've got an apartment together in london because why the hell not. you could read this as romantic though i feel like it's more an on-the-way-there type deal. more important note though is that a lot of the dialogue is in russian bc i felt like that makes the most sense for the situation - like, idk about you, but if i'm really sick i'm not gonna be speaking in a foreign language. plus i just wanted to write some russian dialogue lol. i am far from fluent and did need to look up a couple words so if anything sounds wonky i apologize. i've got english translations in parentheses next to everything, but please lmk if that's annoying or if you think there's a better way to do it. i think that's everything, hope you enjoy!

Up until now, neither Napoleon nor Gaby has ever come into contact with a sick Illya. He’s been injured plenty, sure, and he’d been hypothermic that once, but he’s never been sick. He’d insisted to them, once, that he simply did not fall victim to illness.

They’ve now been made very much aware of the fact that this had been a lie. The illness had hit him quickly - he’d been ever so slightly off in the morning, brushing off his partners’ concern, and now, early in the afternoon, he’s delirious with fever.

--

Gaby and Napoleon had gone to the store to get some groceries, leaving a mostly-fine Illya to leaf through a battered copy of a book that he’s read at least a dozen times before. And now they’ve returned to find him standing in the hallway of their apartment building, looking utterly bewildered. His cheeks are bright pink, and he’s sweaty but shivering at the same time. Clearly, he’s sick. 

Gaby and Napoleon share a look before ushering him inside. His skin is hot to the touch and he most uncharacteristically puts up no resistance to their guiding hands. Napoleon steers him in the direction of the couch, and he and Gaby hurry to the kitchen and make quick work of putting away the groceries. 

They head back into the living room after not more than two minutes and find Illya most definitely not on the couch, instead pacing around the room, looking left and right like he’s searching for something.

His eyes land on them, bright with fever. “Где я? Где я?” (“Where am I? Where am I?”) he demands, stopping his pacing in favor of standing stock-still and looking at Gaby and Napoleon with startling intensity. 

Napoleon figures sticking to Russian is probably the best bet considering his partner’s current mental state. “Ты в нашей гостиной, в нашей квартире, в Лондоне,” (“You’re in our living room, in our apartment, in London,”) he explains. 

“В Лондоне? Нет, нет, мы не в Лондоне, мы в…” (“In London? No, no, we’re not in London, we’re in…”) Illya trails off, evidently not sure of where it is that they are, if not in London. 

“Илья. Это хорошо. Мы в Лондоне, мы -” (“Illya. It’s okay. We’re in London, we’re -”) Napoleon pauses, just for a second, not sure of the truth of what he’s about to say (or at least, the truth in regards to Illya, in regards to Gaby. It’s perfectly true for him, though). “Мы дома.” (“We’re home.”)

“Дома?” (“Home?”) Illya sounds confused, concerned. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, Napoleon thinks. Home is almost certainly a more fraught topic for Illya than it is for him. He corrects himself. 

“Или - не дома, но…ты в безопасности.” (“Or - not home, but…you’re safe.”)

Illya looks doubtful, but he relaxes slightly. He at last wanders to the couch and sits down. “Я устал,” (“I’m tired,”) he mutters, stretching out as though he’s about to go to sleep. The next second, though, he apparently thinks the better of it. 

“Нет, нет, нельзя спать, у нас есть миссия,” (“No, no, I can’t sleep, we have a mission,”) he says, half under his breath. At this entirely incorrect revelation, he begins to try and sit up, struggling valiantly - but to no avail - to get to his feet.

“У нас нет миссии,” (“We don’t have a mission,”) Napoleon promises, stepping forwards and gently pushing Illya back into the couch. “Можно спать.” (“You can sleep.”)

“Да?” (“Yes?”) Illya immediately stops trying to get up, suddenly pliant again.

“Да. Это хорошо.” (“Yeah. It’s okay.”)

Apparently this is reassurance enough. Illya’s eyes drift closed, and he falls asleep almost immediately. This is perhaps the strangest thing he’s done yet. Napoleon has never seen Illya fall asleep before - he’s always the last one awake, and Napoleon gets the sense that he doesn’t fall asleep easily, under normal circumstances. Now, though, he’s out like a light the second he closes his eyes, and Napoleon is at once glad (because it means Illya can finally relax) and worried (because this isn’t normal, none of this is). Gaby, evidently, feels the same way.

“I have not ever seen him fall asleep so fast.”

“He must be feeling pretty bad. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“What should we do?”

Napoleon thinks for a moment, rifling through his memories. “A cool cloth might help with the fever,” he suggests.

Gaby nods. “My father used to do this when I was young. And he would make tea. We definitely need tea.”

An idea stirs in Napoleon’s mind. “I know just the right kind. And while we’re at it, we might as well make some soup, too. I’ve never known anyone who didn’t like a bowl of soup when they were sick.”

Gaby nods. “What kind of soup?”

“It has to be chicken,” Napoleon says. He doesn’t think there’s really any other option.

Fortunately, they have plenty of food in the kitchen. Napoleon gets to work gathering ingredients, and Gaby tiptoes back into the living room to place a cool, damp cloth on Illya’s forehead.

She returns to the kitchen quickly, stopping at the sink to wash her hands. “He is still asleep,” she reports. “What can I do to help?”

A few minutes later, the both of them are chopping vegetables, chatting about nothing in particular and every so often casting worried glances in the direction of the living room, though there’s nothing to see since they’ve kept the door closed to try and muffle the sounds of their cooking. 

Eventually, the soup is bubbling away on the stove, and Napoleon is explaining his tea idea to Gaby. He recalls having learned of an old Russian remedy for illness, tea and raspberry jam. He’s never tried it, himself, but he imagines it can’t possibly hurt.

“Will it really work?” Gaby asks, even as she rummages through the pantry in search of the jam. 

“I have no idea. But it might be comforting, at least.”

Gaby nods in agreement, then triumphantly pulls a jar of raspberry jam out of the back of a cupboard. There’s no shortage of tea in their kitchen, and she selects Illya’s favorite, a simple black. Napoleon fills a kettle with water and sets it aside, and they settle in to wait for the soup to be done.

About an hour later, the soup is very nearly finished, and Napoleon finds himself quite glad to have made such a large quantity, because it smells wonderful, if he does say so himself, and he’s sure that the three of them will have no problem finishing it all. 

“I’ll start the tea,” Gaby decides, grabbing the kettle. “Go wake Illya up.”

Napoleon pushes through the kitchen door, stepping into the dim evening light of the living room. Illya is still asleep on the couch, lying on his side and curled up slightly, the cloth slowly slipping off his forehead. His cheeks are still pink, but the color is fainter than it was before, and although he’s still sweaty, he’s no longer shivering. 

Napoleon reaches out and gently shakes Illya’s shoulder, pulling the now-warm washcloth away from his forehead and touching a hand to his damp but significantly less hot skin. 

“Илья.” (“Illya.”)

Illya’s eyes open slowly, and he blinks several times, clearly doing his best to focus. They’ve lost their bright, almost manic quality in favor of a clouded, tired look, which Napoleon supposes is probably better. 

“Что,” (“What,”) he says flatly, apparently displeased at having been woken up. 

“Я и Габи приготовили суп. Ты хочешь?” (“Gaby and I made soup. Do you want some?”)

Illya considers this statement for a long moment. “Какой суп?” he asks, at last. (“What kind of soup?”)

“Куриный. У нас также есть чай. Черный, с малиной.” (“Chicken. We also have tea. Black, with raspberry.”)

Illya nods, and Napoleon retreats back to the kitchen, promising to be back quickly. 

“So?” Gaby asks, the second Napoleon steps through the kitchen door. “How is he?”

“Better, I think. No longer completely delirious, at any rate. He says he’ll have some soup. Tea, too.”

“Good,” Gaby replies. “The water is almost boiling, and the soup tastes done.”

“You tried it without me?” Napoleon asks, feigning offense. 

Gaby shrugs, smiles slightly. “It’s good,” she offers in defense.

At that moment, the kettle whistles. Gaby deftly snatches it off of the stove and distributes the water into three mugs - she and Napoleon have both decided that they need to give this tea a try, too. Napoleon, meanwhile, gathers the bowls and locates his favorite ladle.

A few moments later, they’re all in the living room. Gaby is curled up at one end of the couch. Napoleon has pulled over an easy chair. Illya has managed to sit up - stubbornly refusing his partners’ help, which is the best indication yet that he’s feeling a bit better - and is leaning against the armrest at the opposite end of the couch from Gaby. 

They sit and eat in a comfortable silence. The soup is good, as Gaby had said - not that Napoleon had had any doubts. Illya says nothing about its quality, but he finishes his bowl with remarkable speed considering the fact that he is clearly exhausted. 

The tea, too, seems to be a hit. It’s not the best thing Napoleon himself has ever had, but Illya had looked quite pleased when he’d first taken a sip, proclaiming it to be pretty good, for an American and a German. 

Eventually, the coffee table is covered in empty bowls and cups. Illya has shifted so that his entire body is curled up tightly on the couch, his head lying atop the armrest. His eyes are closed, though he’s not quite asleep yet. Gaby has picked up a magazine from the table and is leafing through it with too much speed to be paying attention to its contents. Napoleon is observing the both of them with a frankly embarrassing amount of fondness. Everything is still silent. 

Or, it’s silent until Illya, clearly about a second away from unconsciousness, mumbles “спасибо,” (“thank you,”) and then promptly falls asleep.

“Пожалуйста,” (“You’re welcome,”) Gaby and Napoleon respond in simultaneous whispers, though Illya is already asleep. They glance at each other, and a sort of unspoken understanding passes between them. There are dishes to do and food to put away, but for now, they will simply stay.

i know the ending could have been better but what can i say...simply a fact of life. anyways thanks so much for reading, i hope you liked it!

#febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday19 #delirium #the man from uncle #illya kuryakin #sick #fever #cared for #comfort #my writing #i say things #i wrote most of this a month ago but edited and added stuff tonight which was fun even though i am so so tired #literally i need to sleep so bad... #but yeah. i have been wanting to do a fic like this for a while bc how can i not write russian dialogue when im learning it! #anyways my ideal fic is like. written how things sound in my brain with random words from other languages just popping in whenever #but that would appeal to approximately no one. so here is this. hopefully if you do not speak russian it was easy enough to understand #and hopefully if you do speak it everything sounded ok. i am very much not fluent and so who knows how well this was written #but it was damn sure fun lmao. ok night i am so tired byeeee

[pirates-and-posies]

People in this fandom always act all high and mighty when it comes to "calling out American-centrism". Especially Western Europeans, who know nothing about Americans or their issues but act like they do and how they are so desperately struggling in an "American world."

You're not. Especially considering how you say that and then push your shit onto everyone else. You push your issues onto POC trying to speak up, you advocate only for your own and always ignore actual problems this fandom has with its microaggressions and subtle racism.

Obviously not every Western European is like this, there are ones out here who are respectable everyday human beings. I am not speaking about them. The little bit of you however need to grow up and maybe step outside or do some research for a change.

I know how American-centric this fandom can get, because I myself have seen it as an American. I've seen people I know who are also American be ignorant. Some of the shit y'all are accusing it to be is nowehere near American-centric either lmao. This sounds biased since I'm American, but I can assure you I've seen it enough to know what it is. Not all of us are purposefully ignorant. It's never unheard of, especially with our lovely education system, but education is always key, and it has worked 95% of the time. It is not that hard to say "hey, this is incorrect!" or "hey, this can be taken the wrong way!" instead of calling them out and making the situation escalate. At this point I've realized it's not even for educating them, it's for drama and fake wokeness, especially when they go to other Europeans of that ethnicity in the first place to gain knowledge and know what to do/where to look.

Just please understand It's genuinely confusing and hurting when y'all do this, then turn two faced and ignore your own problems in your country and sit high and mighty while others suffer. Where was this energy when racism and ethnic cleansing became such a largely known thing in Europe? Where was this energy when France banned hijabs and other facial coverings for Muslim women? When Spain's POC became notably homeless by the hundreds more? I sure as hell wouldn't know about these issues, because I'm just an American, right? Practice what you preach, or don't speak at all.

(Where did this term even come from? Is it even an official word/terminology or what? This is the first I've seen it being used so heavily, please lmk.)

To the Europeans and Americans who actually do your research and try to get as much information as you can about sensitive topics while also advocating for these issues, you put in more work than most of this fandom, and for that you are valid. Just keep pushing through whatever the fuck these messes are.

#tw: discourse #tw: fandom discourse #tw: racism mention #hetalia #Like please just be quiet if you're gonna talk over YOUR OWN PEOPLE about these issues #It's not even funny anymore #It's just blatant ignorance at this point