SKZ Fake Texts - He's Not There When You Need Help (part 1?)

✩𝒥𝓊𝒿𝓊𝓉𝓈𝓊 𝒦𝒶𝒾𝓈ℯ𝓃 ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉．✩

Smut : ♕

Dark content : 𖤐

Fluff : ❤︎︎

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮.

ℬℯ𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒶 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹𝓎 𝒷ℴ𝓎𝒻𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓃𝒹． ❤︎︎ ♕

ℋ𝒾𝒹ℯ， 𝒹ℴ𝓁𝓁． 𖤐 ♕

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢.

𝒷ℯ𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹 ❤︎︎ ♕

𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐘𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢.

𝒫𝓊𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ．❤︎︎

𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢.

𝓂𝒾𝓈𝒷ℯ𝒽𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃ℊ．♕ ❤︎

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨.

𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉． ♕

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮.

𝒹ℯ𝓈𝒾𝓇ℯ．♕

𝐑𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚.

ℴ𝒷𝓈ℯ𝓈𝓈𝒾ℴ𝓃．𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 1 ♕ 𖤐

ℴ𝒷𝓈ℯ𝓈𝓈𝒾ℴ𝓃．𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 2 ♕

︎⚠︎︎ 𝒹ℴ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝒸ℴ𝓅𝓎，𝓅ℴ𝓈𝓉，ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓁𝒶𝓉ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓀𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓇𝒾𝓏𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃．

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ masterlist !!

⁀➷ all work is nswf. mdni !! (* dark content)

⁀➷ MULTI-CHAR HEADCANONS

jjk men love to eat you out

⁀➷ SMAU

come over?

⁀➷ they’re blowin’ up your phone past midnight—sure you won’t fall back into that situationship trap again? right??

⁀➷ HEADCANONS

TOJI ♡ FUSHIGURO

older bf!toji headcanons 02

older bf!toji headcanons 01

KENTO ♡ NANAMI

older bf!kento headcanons

SHIU ♡ KONG

older bf!shiu headcanons

⁀➷ STORIES

SATORU ♡ GOJO

virgin!satoru (college au)

⁀➷ satoru’s a nervous wreck, barely holding it together as his long-time crush—you—steps into his room. one touch, one smile, and he’s done for, desperate and clumsy, trying to fuck you right.

SUGURU ♡ GETO

tbd

KENTO ♡ NANAMI

tbd

TOJI ♡ FUSHIGURO

ridin’ out the attitude

⁀➷ you’ve been pushin’ toji’s buttons all damn day. now he’s got you straddlin’ his lap, smirkin’ as he makes you ride that thick cock ‘til you’re beggin’, spankin’ your ass red just to remind you who’s boss.

RYOMEN ♡ SUKUNA

fuck you (on that bike)

⁀➷ you thought you could bug sukuna while he’s working on his bike and get away with it. big mistake—he’s about to fuck you raw on that leather seat ‘til you’re crying his name.

⁀➷ DRABBLES

SATORU ♡ GOJO

pervy!satoru drabble

husband!satoru can’r resist you

hate fucking with satoru

fratboy!satoru loves to fuck you stupid

sub!satoru gets jerked off by you

satoru jerking off to your only fans vid

virgin!satoru has some (unholy) thoughts about you

SUGURU ♡ GETO

step-brother!suguru can’t cum unless inside you <3 *

step-brother!suguru loves his little sister so much *

SATO ♡ SUGU

sucking suguru while satoru fucks you <3

we should totally fuck sometime, right?

you take satosugu both for the first time

KENTO ♡ NANAMI

husband!kento loses it when you say you want a baby

husband!kento punishes you (again) *

husband!kento loses his shit around you at dinner

husband!kento punishes you after he comes home

⁀➷ X LINKS

SATO ♡ SUGU

why have only one when you can have both?

⁀➷ HASHTAGS

✧ find my works by character:

#—amy writes : satoru gojo ★

#—amy writes : suguru geto ★

#—amy writes : satosugu ★

#—amy writes : toji fushiguro ★

#—amy writes : kento nanami ★

#—amy writes : ryomen sukuna ★

#—amy writes : choso kamo ★

#—amy writes : shiu kong ★

#—amy writes : jjk men ★

#—amy writes : dark content ★

Undone

Notes: I can't even wrap my head around it—1,000 people following this account? It's honestly surreal. Thank you so, so much, for sticking around and supporting me and my writing, especially when I went away for a bit. I’ve got something a little different for you guys as a thank-you gift. @furioussheepluminary's Ghost Protocol has been taking over my brain the past few days (I highly recommend it, by the way), so... here’s something inspired by it. I hope you enjoy it <3

Content Warnings: This story contains explicit sexual content and language, including graphic sex scenes, intense power dynamics, and dominant-submissive interactions. Themes of manipulation, possessiveness, vulnerability, emotional intensity, physical and psychological control, and possible trauma are explored. The reader is described as AFAB, and Chan is... a bit mean on this, be cautious.

[7.7k words]

──────────────────────────────────────────── The door slams shut behind him with a force that rattles the room, the heavy lock sliding into place with an unmistakable finality. There’s no sound, no words, only the oppressive stillness that fills the space between you. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating, and it crushes the air in your lungs as he steps into the room, his every movement deliberate and sharp. The tension is palpable, humming between you two like a live wire, stretching thinner by the second, and you know, you know exactly why he’s like this. The mission was too close, the danger too real, and the bullet—the bullet—it had come too damn close to taking you from him. You barely escaped with your life, and he’s been holding onto that fear, that cold terror, ever since and you can feel it in the way he looks at you now, eyes dark with something you can’t quite name.

His breath is uneven, and it stings with the weight of everything unsaid, but you don’t need him to say it. You feel it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his muscles coil beneath the fabric of his clothes, he’s holding himself back, just barely, and the control he’s exerting is becoming a dangerous thing.

Sit down. His voice is low, rough, stripped of the softness you once relied on. It’s a command, not a request, and something inside you flares—anger, defiance—mixed with something darker, something deeper that you won’t admit to yourself. You hesitate, just a beat too long, as your body betrays you, and it’s enough to make him take that final step forward, closing the space between you with a dangerous grace. His gaze locks onto yours, unwavering and cold, and the air seems to crackle with something raw. The authority in his eyes is so sharp that it cuts through any resistance you might have left. I said—sit.

It’s a warning, a low growl that threatens to break you if you test him. His hand moves toward you, and the sheer weight of his presence makes your heart stutter in your chest, his fingers brush against your arm, the touch rough and hard, and it sends a shiver down your spine—not from cold, but from something else entirely. Without a word, you sink into the worn chair behind you, your muscles stiff as you do. You’re not used to this, him like this, but there’s a certain clarity in the way he moves, a certainty that presses down on you like a vice. You can’t fight it, not when he’s like this. And the look in his eyes, cold and unforgiving, tells you that he’s done pretending.

His hands are on you before you can even react. He’s too fast, too precise as he grabs your jacket, tugging it off your shoulders with a savage kind of efficiency, the roughness of the movement sending a jolt through your body. The fabric falls to the ground, leaving your chest bare beneath your tactical vest. And that’s when you feel it, the rawness of the situation, the weight of it all crashing down around you.

You should’ve followed the plan, he mutters, the words laced with a fury that feels like it’s been building since the moment that bullet nearly tore you apart. His hands move to your vest, working quickly to loosen the straps, his fingers brushing against your skin with an intensity that borders on brutal. Every touch is sharp, calculated, like he’s stripping away not just your gear, but every last trace of control you thought you had and you open your mouth to argue—to remind him that you’ve always had this handled—but the words die on your tongue before they can escape. He’s already yanked the vest off, tossing it aside like it’s nothing, his gaze never leaving yours.

You think you’re untouchable? His voice is harder now, cutting through the thick tension in the room like a blade. He kneels in front of you, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, a constant, burning reminder of just how little space you have to breathe, his hands trail down your leg, stopping at the holster strapped to your thigh. The motion is fluid, almost too smooth, but it carries with it a force that makes your chest tighten.

You think you can take risks like that and walk away?, his fingers close around the clip of your holster, unbuckling it with a practiced ease that feels too personal, too intimate for a moment like this. He slides the holster off your leg, his gaze never leaving yours, and you feel the full weight of his eyes on you, weighing you, measuring you, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve. You could’ve gotten yourself killed, he adds, his voice barely more than a whisper. It’s quiet, so quiet that it makes your skin crawl.

I handled it, you snap, but even you can hear the way your voice trembles. It’s not as confident as you want it to be. It’s not as strong as you need it to be. He doesn’t respond with words, he responds with force, his hand shoots up, snapping to your jaw with a speed that leaves you no time to brace for it. The pressure isn’t painful, not quite, but it’s enough to make you freeze, enough to remind you just how fragile the illusion of control really is. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes, and the moment you do, the anger, the frustration, the fear, they all hit you like a wave.

You don’t ‘handle’ anything without me, is voice is low, a dangerous hum that vibrates through your bones. Not out there. Not here.

You want to break free, to tear away from him, but the words die in your throat, as his hand on your jaw tightens ever so slightly, and the softness of his thumb against your lower lip feels like a brand against your skin. Don’t test me, you warn, but you know, he knows, that it’s hollow. It’s a weak attempt at regaining control that you’re already losing. His lips curl into something dark, something feral—an almost-smile that makes your heart race with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

You’re not in a position to make threats. The words are clipped, final, and before you can respond, before you can even take a breath, he’s moving again, towering over you, every inch of his body blocking your escape. The space between you is suffocating, there’s nowhere to hide from the intensity of his gaze, from the command in his posture. He’s taking control of the room, of you, in a way that feels irrevocable, and deep down, you know you don’t want him to stop. Up, he orders.

You rise before your mind even catches up, your body obeys his command instinctively, every muscle in your body responding to the strength in his voice. And before you can gather your thoughts, he’s on you, his hands wrapping around the back of your neck with a firm, unyielding grip. his other hand drags down your side, fingers brushing over the still-tender skin of your ribs, where the bullet had grazed you. The pain is sharp—excruciating—but you don’t let out a sound, you don’t give him that satisfaction. But he knows, he knows what’s happening beneath the surface, what’s breaking inside you.

You’re shaking, he murmurs, his voice a cruel mockery of concern, his fingers tighten around your neck, forcing you to look up at him. What’s the matter, agent? Not so tough now? You want to say something, anything, but you can’t, the words die in your throat. You glare up at him, every ounce of defiance you have left burning in your veins, ut it’s not enough, not when he’s like this.

You think I don’t see what you’re doing? His voice is cold, cutting through the last of your defenses. Running yourself into the ground. Pushing past your limits like you’re invincible. Like you’re trying to prove something. His fingers tighten again, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you. But you don’t get to break. Not on my watch.

I don’t need you, you force out, but it sounds weak, hollow. You don’t believe it. His laugh is dark, rough, humorless. Liar.

And then, with a brutal speed, he’s backing you into the nearest wall, pressing you hard against the rough wood as his body crowds yours. There’s no room to fight, no space to escape, the force of him feels like a weight on your chest, a constant reminder of how small you’ve become in this moment. You can pretend you’re in control all you want, he whispers, his mouth brushing against your ear, his breath hot and commanding. But when it comes down to it? You’re mine.

The words hit you like a punch. And for a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think. He kisses you, hard, harsh—like he’s taking back every shred of control you tried to steal from him. His hands are everywhere, rough and unforgiving, and you know, deep down, that you’ll never be the same after this. You don’t fight it, not anymore, you let him claim you, let him strip away the last of your resistance, until you’re nothing but his. And when he finally pulls back, when he releases you just enough to breathe, the look in his eyes is suffocating, possessive.

You don’t get to run from me, he says, his voice low, lethal. Not out there. Not in here. Not ever. And you know—you know—that he means it.

His eyes lock onto yours, dark and dangerous, and the space between you feels like a chasm, a yawning pit you know you’ll never escape. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, heavy, suffocating, like it’s stripping away every last shred of your defenses, the air around you is thick with something primal, something visceral, and you can’t help but feel like prey, even as your heart pounds with that familiar, twisted rhythm, the pulse of something between rage and need.

You still think you’re in control? His voice is a cold, guttural growl, each word laced with a kind of fury that both terrifies and excites you. His grip on your neck tightens, just enough to remind you who holds the power, his other hand traces down your body, his fingers grazing the tender skin where your bullet wound is still raw, still burning, and the pain shoots through you like fire. You don’t flinch, you don’t show weakness, but it doesn’t matter. His gaze is already on the trembling of your chest, the subtle hitch in your breath.

His mouth comes down on yours, claiming it in a kiss that is brutal, punishing. There’s no gentleness in the way his lips move against yours, no sweetness or tenderness, only hunger. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, demanding, commanding, and you can taste the bitterness of his need, the depth of his fury at what almost happened to you. He doesn’t pull back, doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, and you can feel your body responding against your will. You hate it, you hate how easily he bends you to his will, how your body betrays you, how you can't help but drown in the fire he ignites with every touch. But you hate yourself more for wanting it, for craving it, for needing him like this.

His hand slides down your side, fingers digging into the flesh of your hip as he pushes you harder against the wall. His body is a solid weight pressing you into the rough wood, and for a split second, you think you might suffocate under the intensity of it all, his breath comes in sharp bursts, hot against your ear, as he whispers darkly, You think you’re still strong? You think you’re still tough? You’re nothing but a broken thing, a shattered piece, and I’m the only one who can fix you. You’ll never be anything without me.

The words slam into you like a physical blow. You want to scream, to fight back, to prove him wrong, but the reality is, he’s right. Deep down, you know that, he has you cornered, body and soul, and every move he makes chips away at the fragile walls you’ve built around yourself. The worst part? You don’t want to stop him. Don’t fight me, he growls, and his teeth graze your ear, sending a shiver of pure need down your spine. You know you want this. You want me to break you. You want me to show you how fucking powerless you are.

His hands move like wildfire, pushing your clothes off with brutal efficiency, exposing you to him in ways that make your skin burn. His lips trail down your neck, biting and sucking in places that make you gasp, your body trembling beneath him, every touch, every kiss, is a demand for submission, his submission, his way of reminding you that he owns you, that you’re his to break and remake however he sees fit.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with possessive hunger. You’ll learn to rely on me. You’ll learn to stop pushing me away. His fingers press into the tender flesh of your ribs, the wound still fresh beneath his touch. I can protect you. I can keep you safe. But you have to stop being reckless. Stop acting like you don’t need me. Because you do. You need me more than you’ll ever admit. And I’ll be here, every time you forget that, to remind you.

Your heart races, a violent drumbeat that echoes in your chest as you lock eyes with him and there’s a kind of love there, you can see it, but it’s raw and brutal, twisted and suffocating. It’s the kind of love that’s not meant to heal, but to own, to possess, to claim every piece of you until there’s nothing left but him. And maybe that’s what terrifies you the most—that you want to give it to him. You want him to own you, to shape you into whatever twisted thing he thinks you should be. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t stop it, you can’t escape him, not now, not ever.

He pulls you close, his body pressing into yours as his hand locks around your throat, holding you there as his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, bruising, punishing. The kiss is like a storm, relentless and unforgiving, until you’re gasping for air, every inch of you drowning in him. You’re mine, he says, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. And I’ll keep you that way. No matter how much you try to fight it, no matter how much you push me away, you belong to me. You always have.

You don’t respond, there’s nothing to say. He knows the truth. You know the truth, as he presses you harder into the wall, his lips curling into a twisted smile as he lowers his head to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. You think you can run from me? he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. You think you can leave me behind? You’ll never escape me. Not in this lifetime, not in any other. You’re mine, now and forever.

And as his hands move with a brutal confidence, tearing away the last of your resistance, you know, deep down, that he’s right. You’ll never escape him, you’ll never be free of this. But the thought doesn’t terrify you the way it should, instead, it makes you want him more, it makes you crave the control he’s taking—because in the end, you know he’s the only one who can tame the storm inside you.

His hand trails lower, slow but unyielding, like he wants you to feel every brush of his fingertips, every inch of his control sinking into your skin. The roughness of his touch is deliberate, designed to remind you that nothing you do, no defiance you cling to, will shake his hold on you, no tenderness in the way he pulls your body closer, fitting you against him like you belong there.

You think I’m going to let you walk away from me? His voice is a low rasp, vibrating against the curve of your jaw as his mouth drags across your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. After tonight? After you almost fucking died? His teeth sink into the side of your neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark, a reminder of exactly who you belong to. His hand moves higher, sliding under the thin barrier of your shirt, rough fingers grazing over your ribs. The scrape of his touch stings against the bruise forming there, but he doesn’t ease up. If anything, he lingers—pressing just hard enough to remind you of the damage, your damage, the damage he couldn’t stop.

You think this is nothing? he growls, pushing the fabric higher, exposing more of you to the cool air. You think you can brush this off and pretend it didn’t happen? His voice is venomous, pure, unfiltered rage, but underneath it, there’s something else, something raw, something desperate. Not with me. Not anymore.

The words are a promise and a threat all at once, and they make your breath catch in your throat. You open your mouth to speak—to push back, to tell him that you don’t need his protection—but before you can get a word out, his hand is already at your chest, his palm presses between your breasts, right over your pounding heart, and the weight of his touch is enough to steal whatever fight you were about to throw his way.

I felt it, he says, quieter now, but no less intense. The moment you went down. The second that bullet touched you. His fingers curl into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. I thought— He stops himself, jaw clenching tight. Doesn’t matter.

The air is thick, heavy with everything he’s not saying, everything he’s feeling, but there’s no room for tenderness here, not with the way he touches you. Not with the way his hands move—possessive, demanding, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you might slip through his fingers again. His thumb brushes over your nipple through the thin fabric, and even that touch feels like a command. Your body reacts instantly, traitorously, heat curling low in your stomach despite the lingering ache of your wound. He notices, of course, he always notices, mouth twisting into a cruel, knowing smirk against your neck.

Sensitive, he murmurs, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers tighten, tweaking the peak between them just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you as you bite down on your lip to hold back a sound, a whimper, a plea—but it’s useless. He can already feel the way your body responds to him, can already tell how much you want this despite the fight you’re trying to put up, and he’s not going to let you hide it, not tonight.

His hand slides down your body, fingers dragging over your stomach before he grips your hip, fingerprints digging into your skin. You think you're still in control? his voice is low, rough, each word thick with intent. You're strong, I get it. But you're also fucking delusional if you think you don’t need me. He slips his hand lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your pants. You need me. And I'm gonna make sure you feel it. You don’t answer right away—not fast enough, not before he feels the tension building in your body, and it pushes him to snap.

Answer me, he demands, his grip on your hip tightening to the point of bruising. Yes, you finally choke out, the word tasting heavy and wrong on your tongue, but it’s so easy, too easy. He’s unraveling you with every word, every touch, and you hate how much you want it.A dark, satisfied smile plays at the edge of his mouth. Good girl.

He doesn’t waste time as his fingers work with brutal efficiency, undoing the button of your pants and dragging the zipper down with a sound that seems deafening in the tense silence between you. The rough tug as he pulls the fabric over your hips is just as punishing, deliberate, like he wants you to feel the loss of control as much as he does. You’re always so fucking stubborn, he mutters, more to himself than to you. Always acting like you don’t want this—like you don’t need this. His hand slips beneath the last barrier of fabric, fingers brushing against the heat between your thighs—and the sharp inhale you can’t stop is all the confirmation he needs.

So wet, he taunts, dragging his fingers through your slick with slow, devastating precision. Is this what gets you off? Pushing me until I lose my temper? His fingers hover over your clit, teasing, just barely grazing it as he watches your body tremble with anticipation. He knows exactly what he's doing, the subtle pressure making your breath hitch. His gaze is cold, ruthless, a twisted satisfaction in his eyes as he watches you squirm beneath him. Or is it knowing that no matter how tough you act, I can still break you wide open? he whispers, his voice dark with dominance.

You want to fight back. You want to tell him he’s wrong—that he doesn’t own you the way he thinks he does, but the words die in your throat when he presses down, hard, right where you need him most. Your whole body jolts against the wall, and his grip on your neck tightens just enough to hold you still. That’s it, he murmurs, and there’s something almost cruel in his tone, like he’s savoring the way you tremble under his hands. You can act like you don’t need me all you want. But this— He pushes two fingers inside you without warning, stretching you open with a ruthless, punishing rhythm that leaves no room for resistance. This doesn’t lie.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, not to push him away, but to hold on, because you’re slipping, losing yourself in the sheer force of him, the way he tears down every last defense you’ve tried so hard to keep between you, and he knows it, lives for it. His fingers are relentless—deep and demanding, stretching you in a way that burns, that pushes against the edge of too much, but you take it because he makes you. Because he isn’t giving you another option as his grip on your hip tightens, pulling you harder against his hand, forcing your body to accept the brutal rhythm he sets. There’s no hesitation, no softness, only his raw need to claim you, to remind you exactly who you belong to.

You think I’m going to let you keep doing this? His voice is low, rough against your ear, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you. Running yourself into the ground, acting like you don’t need me—like I won’t fucking stop you? His fingers curl inside you, hitting that devastating spot that makes your legs tremble beneath you. I’m done letting you play that game.

A broken sound escapes your throat before you can stop it—a sharp, breathless whimper that only makes him push harder and you want to fight back, want to hold onto the last shred of control you have left, but he isn’t giving you the chance. His body cages you in, one hand still wrapped tight around your throat, just enough pressure to remind you who’s in charge, while the other works you open with ruthless precision.

You’re shaking, he mocks, his tone cold and unforgiving. What happened to all that fight, huh? You were so fucking mouthy before—where’d that go? His thumb brushes against your clit in another sharp, punishing stroke, and your knees nearly buckle beneath you. Or is this what you needed all along? Someone to put you in your place?

His words cut through the fog clouding your thoughts, sharp and brutal. You want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but your body betrays you, the slick, obscene sounds of his fingers working inside you are proof enough, and he knows it, he feels it, every tremor, every twitch, every desperate clench around his fingers.

Pathetic, he breathes, though the heat in his voice tells a different story. You talk so big, but the second I get my hands on you— His teeth scrape along the curve of your jaw, biting down just enough to make you gasp. You fall apart. You try to hold onto your pride, try to keep the words locked behind your teeth, but the pressure is building too fast, his touch is too much, too rough, too perfect in the way it breaks you down. Your body arches against him, chasing the friction he’s giving you even as you bite back the moan rising in your throat, and he notices, of course he notices Look at you, he sneers, dragging his fingers out of you only to slam them back in, harder, deeper. So desperate. So easy.

You bite down on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Even now, when your body is trembling against him, when every nerve is burning with the pleasure he’s forcing on you, you hold onto your pride. But he’s not a patient man. Not tonight. Think you can still keep that up? His voice drops lower, rougher—dangerous. Fine

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty, aching. The sudden loss makes you gasp, makes your knees threaten to give out, but he doesn’t let you fall, his hand on your throat tightens just enough to hold you upright, keeping you exactly where he wants you. See how far that attitude gets you, he growls, dragging his wet fingers along your inner thigh in a slow, filthy tease. You want to act tough? Go ahead.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, hot and cruel and dripping with the promise of punishment. And he means it, you know he does, he’s never been the type to bluff. If you push him, he’ll make you pay for it.

His hand leaves your neck only to grab your wrists, dragging them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The sudden loss of freedom, the sheer force of his control, makes your head spin and he knows it, he feels the way your breathing quickens, the way your body tenses beneath his hold, and he uses it against you. He pushes you against the wall harder, pressing his body into yours until there’s nothing left between you, nothing but heat and rage and the raw, brutal need simmering just beneath the surface. His lips find your ear again, and his voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper.

You’re not going anywhere, he promises, his tone filled with dark, undeniable possession. Not out there. Not in here. Not without me. His fingers find your clit again, circling it in slow, punishing strokes that make you writhe against his hold. You went off without telling me. You think you’re untouchable? You think you can do whatever the hell you want?

His grip on your wrists tightens as he works you closer to the edge, dragging you toward it whether you want it or not, and you can’t fight it, not when he touches you like this, not when he tears you apart with nothing but his hands and his voice and the sheer force of his will. Your pride clings to you like a vice, tight, stubborn, but his touch is tearing it apart piece by piece, and you know you can’t hold out forever, not when he’s like this, not when his fingers are so unforgiving, dragging you to the edge with brutal, calculated precision. He doesn’t care how much you fight him, he’ll take what he wants, what he knows is his, and right now that’s you, shaking, breathless, pinned beneath the weight of his control.

His grip on your wrists is like iron, unyielding as he keeps your hands trapped behind your back. It forces your body to arch, to open up for him as he presses his chest against yours, the heat of him searing through your clothes, a constant reminder of just how little power you have left. He’s taking it from you, every last shred, and God, you hate how much you want to let him.

You’re so stubborn, he growls, his mouth brushing over your jaw as his teeth graze your skin. So fucking difficult. He pulls his fingers from you, too soon, too suddenly, and the loss is enough to make you whimper, a soft, broken sound that only makes him crueler. His other hand, rough and unforgiving, grips your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his and there's something dark in his eyes—something stormy, a dangerous mix of fear and fury. You don’t get to make me watch you bleed again, he hisses, voice thick with something raw. I thought I lost you tonight. You don’t get to forget that.

His thumb slides over your lip, dragging it down, a silent command that he wants you to see him, to feel him, because everything about him is breaking apart at the seams, and he can’t hide it. I don’t care how stubborn you are. I’m done letting you act like you don’t matter. Breaking fucking news—you matter, matter more than you’ll ever understand. I’m not letting anyone else touch you. I’m not letting you slip through my fucking fingers. Do you understand me? You’re mine. You always will be. I’ll burn the fucking world down to keep you here.

The moment his body finally stills, the air between you is thick with more than just lust, it’s something unspoken, something raw, something he’s been fighting for far too long to admit to himself, but now, as his breath evens out and his chest presses against yours, it’s impossible to ignore. There’s no anger left in his touch now, no sharp edges to cut you open, just heat, just need. It bleeds into every movement, every place his skin meets yours, burning through the space between you like something primal, irreversible.

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and glassy, still filled with that vulnerability he’s tried so hard to bury. His fingers tremble ever so slightly as they tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch softer now, more reverent, like he’s terrified to touch you too roughly, even after everything as his gaze lingers on your face, studying every feature like he’s trying to imprint it in his mind. Like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here.

Are you okay? His voice is low, almost hoarse, the concern in it so genuine that it hits you harder than anything else he’s said tonight. He’s not angry anymore, not demanding, there’s no harshness, no dominance, it’s just him, standing here, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this fucked-up world. Just quiet, raw truth. I almost lost you.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping tight as if that alone could hold him together, could hold both of you together, because the truth is, you almost lost him too. You could’ve watched him bleed out on that cold, dirty concrete, could’ve been the one left behind, forced to live with the hollow, gaping wound he would’ve left behind in your chest. But you don’t say it, ot now, not when he needs this, needs you—more than he needs to hear words that can’t change what already happened.

I’m right here, you whisper instead, turning in his arms, pressing yourself against him as close as you can get. Your body is still aching, your legs still weak from what he just did to you, but none of it matters, none of it even registers against the way his arms tighten around you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. I’m here, Chris. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, his eyes search yours, like he’s trying to make sure you’re telling the truth, trying to convince himself that you’re really safe now, that you’re really his.

He exhales slowly, long and deep, as if the breath he’s been holding finally finds its way out and then, before you can react, his lips find yours, gentle at first, testing, hesitant even, like he’s afraid of breaking you if he’s too rough. His kiss is slow, as though he’s savoring this moment—this connection—in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his hands drifting to your back, pulling you in closer, if that’s even possible.

I thought I lost you, he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging you closer until you can feel the heat of his body, the thrum of his heartbeat against yours. I can’t... I can’t lose you, not like that. Not after everything. You feel a pang in your chest at the rawness of his words, the way they scrape at your soul, like he’s afraid to need you, afraid of depending on you when the stakes are so high. He’s always been the strong one, the one who keeps it together, who holds it all in, but now, with the fear still lingering in his eyes, it’s clear, he’s not invincible, not when it comes to you.

I’m not going anywhere, you promise, your voice steady, even as your own emotions threaten to spill over. You feel the sincerity in your own words, the promise of something more than just survival. You don’t just want to be here; you need to be here, with him, always. He exhales a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away, but there’s still a fire in his eyes, one that isn’t angry, or demanding, or filled with the same brutal hunger from earlier, but something softer now, something that says I love you, even if he can’t quite say it yet.

His hands move lower, tracing down your spine with a tenderness that makes your breath catch in your throat and when they reach the hem of your shirt, he pauses, looking at you, seeking your permission, and it’s in that look that you realize, he doesn’t just want control. He wants to care for you, in a way that makes you feel safe, not just desired. Slowly, carefully, you lift your arms, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head, his fingers brushing your skin with a reverence that feels almost sacred. When you’re bare before him, his gaze lingers for a moment, his eyes dark, his breath hitching as if the sight of you, vulnerable in his arms, hits him harder than he ever expected.

You're here, he murmurs, his hands cupping your face now, his thumbs sweeping across your cheekbones in a slow, tender rhythm. The way he says it, like he’s trying to embed the words into the very marrow of your bones, makes something stir deep inside you, something that aches, something that wants to give itself to him, over and over, until there’s nothing left but this. He lets out a breath—shaky, uneven—before his hands slide down your back, gripping your thighs and then, with terrifying ease, he lifts you, pressing your back against the wall, his body solid and unyielding between your legs. There’s nothing hesitant about it, nothing slow. It’s pure instinct, pure hunger, his mouth finding yours with the kind of desperation that feels like it’s been building for years.

He swallows every sound you make like he needs it to live, like your gasps and whimpers are the only thing keeping him from falling apart as his tongue claims yours, deep and insatiable, and there’s nothing left of hesitation now, just possession, just the raw, unrelenting need to feel you, to remind himself you’re still here, still his. His grip tightens beneath your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and he rocks against you, slow but deliberate, the thick press of him dragging between your legs, teasing at your swollen, oversensitive heat. He’s still fully clothed, but you can feel him hot, heavy, aching even through the layers, and it sends a fresh pulse of arousal flooding low in your stomach.

Your body trembles against the unyielding surface of the wall, your nails biting into his shoulders as the heat between you builds, thick and smothering. His hands slide lower, rough palms skating over the curve of your ass before gripping tight, holding you steady as he grinds into you with torturous precision and he pulls back just enough to rip his shirt over his head, the motion sharp and impatient, like he can’t stand another second with anything between you. His gaze locks onto yours, something dark and searching in his eyes—an unspoken question, even though he already knows the answer. He can feel it in the way you shake beneath him, the way your thighs squeeze around his waist, the way your body aches for him without a single word.

And then, he’s pressing your hands to his bare chest, forcing you to feel every sculpted line, every rigid muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. You trace the sharp planes of him, the heat of his skin searing against your palms, and just as you start to explore, his fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding your hands to his lips. He presses a kiss to the inside of each one, slow and reverent, before dragging them lower, to the waistband of his jeans as he lets you unbutton them, lets you feel the way his breath shudders when your fingers graze his stomach, but he’s too impatient to wait. He shoves them down himself, the metallic clicks of the zipper barely registering over the pounding of your heart.

His cock presses against your inner thigh, thick and throbbing, the heat of him burning into your skin, his lips brush against your ear, his voice rough and barely holding together. My baby, he murmurs, and the words are edged with something almost tender, something that makes your stomach clench with need. He’s so close now, so unbearably close, his forehead pressing to yours as his breath comes hot and ragged, syncing with yours as the air between you crackles, charged with a desperate kind of hunger, a need so intense it threatens to consume you both whole.

He lowers you to the ground just long enough to shove his jeans the rest of the way down, kicking them aside with a quiet curse, his eyes never leaving yours. You’re trembling by the time he presses himself against you again, your bodies aligning like they were made to fit together. His hand slides between your legs, fingers gliding over your drenched slit, teasing, testing, a broken sound catches in your throat as he circles your clit with a slow, agonizing precision, his touch light, almost teasing, until your legs start to shake. He groans, low and ragged, his fingers slick with proof of just how badly you need him. Fuck, he mutters, voice thick with restraint. You’re so wet for me, baby. You sure?

You nod, barely able to form words, lost in the ache, the unbearable anticipation of what’s coming next. He lifts you again, strong hands guiding your legs around his waist, holding you steady as he lines himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing against your entrance. The contact alone is enough to send a shiver ripping through you, your fingers clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality and he pauses—just for a second, just long enough for the tension to coil impossibly tight between you. His gaze meets yours, dark and unwavering, his voice barely above a whisper. I’ve got you. Just trust me.

The words sink into your skin, into your bones, and you exhale a shaky breath, nodding, needing him more than you’ve ever needed anything and then, in one slow, devastating motion, he pushes inside you, and the stretch is blinding, a white-hot pleasure that borders on pain, and you cry out, your body struggling to take him, to fit around the sheer size of him. He groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps.

He holds himself still for a moment, letting you adjust, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he fights for control. Every nerve in your body is on fire, every inch of you stretched wide around him, and it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s everything, as you whimper, shifting against him, and that’s all it takes to snap his restraint.

He pulls back, just enough to thrust in again, slow but precise, dragging against every sensitive nerve inside you. A sharp, choked sound escapes you, your head tipping back against the wall as he sets a pace, each stroke deep, claiming, designed to make you feel every inch of him, his lips finding your neck, your jaw, his teeth scraping over your pulse as he fucks into you, relentless and unyielding, until you’re nothing but heat and sensation, nothing but a desperate, pleading mess in his arms. So good, he breathes against your skin, voice wrecked. Like you were made for me.

The words unravel something inside you, send a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs, and he groans as he feels you clench around him, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering just for a second. But then he’s pressing you harder against the wall, his grip tightening, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper, until you’re right on the edge, dangling over the precipice with nothing to hold onto but him and you can’t hold back anymore. The pleasure builds, sharp and unbearable, and then it crashes over you all at once. Your body seizes, your vision going white as you cry out, your walls clamping down around him, dragging him over the edge with you as he groans, low and wrecked, his hips slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you, heat flooding deep, filling you completely.

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you caught in the aftermath, tangled together, bodies shaking, hearts hammering in sync, his breath is warm against your temple, his hands sliding up your back, holding you close like he can’t bear to let go. His forehead presses to yours, his lips barely ghosting over your own, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, raw and there’s something softer beneath it, something almost fragile.

His fingers trace slow, absentminded paths over your skin, like he’s memorizing the feel of you, anchoring himself in the warmth of your body, the proof that you’re here. He exhales shakily, his lips pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your temple, not in hunger now, but in something deeper—something reverent. You feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, how he tucks you closer, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

He shifts, still holding you, pressing you deeper into him, his hands smoothing over your skin like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you and there’s something searching in the way his fingers move now, the way they trace along your arms, your ribs, down your thighs—like he’s checking, making sure you’re whole, that there’s nothing else he missed. His touch lingers when he finds the bruise on your side, his fingers brushing over it with unbearable gentleness, barely more than a whisper of contact. His breath catches, and for a moment, he just holds his hand there, like he could take the pain away if he pressed hard enough, like he hates himself for not stopping it before it ever touched you.

Gently, he lifts you, moving to lower you onto the forgotten bed, onto something softer, his touch lingering over every inch of you, his fingertips press lightly against your skin, brushing over the faintest marks, the places where you might still ache, where his fear still lingers. A breath catches in his throat when his fingers drift between your legs—hesitant, careful—before he exhales shakily and presses his lips to your shoulder, your collarbone, his mouth moving over you like a promise, like an apology, like a prayer.

I’ll clean you up, he murmurs, almost to himself, like it’s not just about the mess, but something else, like it’s about taking care of you, keeping you safe, giving you even this. His hands linger a little longer before he finally pulls back, hesitating like he doesn’t want to leave your warmth even for a second.

And when he returns, warm cloth in hand, he kneels beside you, his touch impossibly gentle, eyes flicking up to yours, searching, still needing to know you’re with him, that you’re not slipping away until he's finished, and he still doesn’t pull away, doesn’t shift back. Instead, he stays there, his hands still resting softly on your skin, his forehead pressing gently to your belly as his breath steadies, and for a long moment, he just breathes you in, as though grounding himself in you, like he needs the connection as much as you need his presence.

For a long moment, he simply stays there, his presence enveloping you, as if he needs this, needs you, to remind him of something real, something whole. I’ll take care of you, he murmurs, his words heavy with sincerity, almost like a promise. I won’t let anything hurt you again. His lips press a soft kiss to your stomach, lingering there, before he finally pulls away just enough to look at you, and in that quiet, still moment, everything feels right.

Accidentally In Enemies

He accidentally made her hate him, now he's going to purposely make her fall in love with him.

Pairing : Seo Changbin x Reader

Synopsis : When they were together, she rarely saw him. Now that they're broken up, she sees him everywhere. Changbin ends up swooping in and saving her from embarrassment. Now she has a clingy enemy and a much too friendly ex.

Warnings : This series will contain mature subject matter such as : swearing, drinking, break ups, insults, heartbreak, sex (no smut), fake dating, and more. Each chapter will have its own list of warnings. Reader's discretion is advised.

Taglist : CLOSED

Release : February 2, 2024

complete

{Let the story begin}

Teaser (0.7k)

Prologue (1.5k)

Part 1 (2.9k)

Part 2 (3.6k)

Part 3 (2.7k)

Epilogue (1.4k)

part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s instantly intrigued the first time you two meet. You were passing behind him when you noticed that he’s suffering from a knot in his shoulder. You didn’t hesitate to offer your help even with the evident scowl on his face.

“Can I touch you?” You asked politely with those innocent eyes. How dare he say no to that?

He nods timidly, inhaling a bit when he felt your fingers press onto his skin. You added pressure to deviate the tension on his muscles with such ease that even the current doctor can’t do.

“There, all done!” You smiled at him and walked away as if nothing happened.

He can’t get you out of his mind after that.

boxer!sukuna who learned that you were the new lead doctor of his agency. He’s so confused when you look so unfazed when examining him. The man was 6’8 and made out of muscle, yet you look at him like it’s normal for you to see his men like him all the time. He wants to change that.

boxer!sukuna who intentionally makes himself lose during training and sparring sessions just to have an excuse to see you more.

“You can’t keep doing this Sukuna.” You’re pissed, he can tell by the tone of your voice.

“Doing what?”

“Your next fight’s coming up. You can’t keep getting hurt. I thought you were the best boxer?”

“You distract me when you watch me fight, baby.”

“Don’t do that too.” He raised a brow at your statement.

“I’m your doctor ‘kuna, you can’t flirt with me.”

Then maybe you shouldn’t give me a nickname, he wants to say.

“Can’t help it doc, you’re too pretty.”

boxer!sukuna who going to give his PR team a headache, and the HR a disaster because his interest in you isn’t going away any time soon.

boxer!sukuna who watches you like a hawk when you examine other boxers. He thinks you look so cute when you’re extremely focused. Though sometimes, his jealously streak kicks in. He wants you to focus on him and only him.

boxer!sukuna who flirts with you non-stop even if you try to push him away. He believes that fate brought you to him that day you two met. The poor man is stage five in lovesickness.

boxer!sukuna who’s now suffering from an injury from his last fight that his vision started to become a little blurry. He still won but everyone rushed to attend to him backstage. You in particular, were very worried. Unfortunately, it looks like he needed to be taken to a hospital.

“Don’t pass out on me Sukuna.” Your palm felt so warm and comforting on his cheek.

“If I survive this, let me take you out on a date.” He managed to grin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

He’ll take that as a yes.

Stray Kids Masterlist

Reactions:

Surprise Visits and Silent Tears: Finding their S/O crying (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Animal Fears: Their S/O's SKZOO phobia (fluff, humor)

Rejected Embraces and Heavy Hearts: Their S/O refusing a hug (angst) -> pt.2: Reconciling Comfort (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Unfiltered Beauty: Their S/O not wearing makeup often (fluff, humor)

Unlocked Trust: The sharing of a phone PIN (humor)

Passionate Attacks: Their S/O suddenly kissing them (suggestive, fluff)

First-Night-Nerves and Quite Moments: First sleepovers (fluff)

Scars of the Past: Finding out their S/O was cheated on in the past (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Anxious Introductions: Their S/O being nervous to meet the members (fluff)

Friendly Fire: Accidently causing their S/O a minor injury (fluff, hurt/comfort, angst-isch)

Sleeves Pulled Back: Their S/O's s/h scars (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Echos of Home: Their S/O not being close with their parents (hurt/comfort, angst-isch fluff)

Reunited Moments: Seeing their S/O after a long time (comfort, fluff)

Sibling Bonds: Skz x Member's sister Scenarios (humor, fluff, angst-isch)

Imagines:

– Bang Chan –

One-Time Special Edition: You not being cuddly changed one morning (fluff)

Ruined for anyone else: "If we ever broke up, I think you ruined me for anyone else" (fluff)

Studio Interruptions: Changbin didn't expect to walk in on an passionate encounter (fluff, humor)

Dreaming of Peaches: He has a dream of little curls and your eyes (fluff)

Laptop Delivery: Practice got a little more eventful thanks to an forgotten laptop (humor, fluff)

A Lap to Nap: He finds peace in your lap, but duty calls him back to the studio (fluff, humor)

Boyfriend Taxi: He thought he was just dropping you off, but now he's meeting your friends (fluff, humor)

Beneath the Midnight Stars: "I didn't want to date, but now you're the one thing holding everything together" (fluff)

Chasing Yesterday: Years after splitting paths, he didn't expect a text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5 (fluff, 10k)

Hotter Than Expected: How you found out your boyfriend can't handle spicy food (humor, fluff)

– Lee Know –

Aishitemasu: His motivation for studying Japanese might not just be due to the fans (humor, fluff)

Early Bird: While you're still tangled in the sheets, he fills the kitchen with quite affection (fluff)

Feline Approval: How Soonie and he agreed you were the one (fluff)

A Snowy Promise: With his enlistment approaching, he contemplates building a deeper commitment with you (fluff)

Quite Rhythms: As the neighbour's music seeps through the walls, he pulls you close (fluff)

– Han –

Borrowed Warmth: Han didn’t realize the hoodie he grabbed wasn’t his (fluff, humor)

Lyric Stolen, Heart Taken: During your date night, you stumble upon lyrics that feel a little too familiar (fluff)

Soft Nuzzles: Lately, you couldn’t shake the urge to nuzzle into Han’s neck (fuff)

Mornings with You (and low Ceilings): A lazy morning turn hilarious and hardwarming as Han crashed into the ceiling (fluff)

Just One More: Goodbyes always take a little longer thanks to your lovely boyfriend (fluff)

– Seungmin –

Sm x Lee Know's sister (fluff, humor, ~ 10k)

pt.1: Tangled Lines

pt.2: Caught in the Middle

pt.3: Future Hyung-in-Law

pt.4: Chauffeur Duties

pt.5: Puppy Love

Can't wait to go though every single one of these blogs 🤓🤓

Stayblr Fanfiction Survey RESULTS

Last week or so, I posted a survey on Stayblr for readers and writers of SKZ fanfiction to take. I’ve been on Stayblr for more than a year now, a little less than a year to write for SKZ, and I’ve always had some questions on my mind while being on this platform.

So I put those questions to the test, along with some other questions I was interested to finally get some answers to, and here are the results! A total of 205 STAYs took my survey, thank you so much!

But first things first, it’s promo time baby. Go check out all of these fantastic writers on Stayblr! And for your convenience, I’ve sorted out which blogs are 100% SFW and which blogs have some NSFW content in them.

Sorry it’s so long, but I’d like to promote these people first before getting into the actual data! 

100% SFW Blogs (Fluff and Angst)

@strykiss

@cotccotc

@dayaswonderfulworld

@blueprint-han

@wingkkun

@lewsr

@crscendoforsung

@cherryhanji

@inmyfelix

@marriael

@pwarkhans

@chogiwow

@461lightfire

@tracing-letters

@armysantiny

@spdrmrk

@scriptura-delirus

@skzfairies

@leggomylino

@binnieswritings

@changbinniee

@n8dlesoupguk 

@luvhyjr 

@seungmoe

@banqtlattae 

@peachyhan

@freckledberries

@crystal-snowing

@neo-shitty

@fairiejunie

@thepixelelf 

@softbbyg0rl

@svnghrt 

@squishygyehyeon 

@lveletters

@jimmychansimp

@heyheybrownieboy (only on ao3)

NSFW Blogs (Includes smut or at least suggestive content, but I’m pretty sure 90% of these people here have a ton of SFW content too!)

@skzctnightnight

@delicatewerewolfsoul

@hanjizung

@ravenlixwitch (only suggestive content)

@dom–minnie

@mochinnie

@hanniiesuckle17 (only suggestive content)

@dreamyhan

@stayzenniesstuff

@goodcool

@sumideluxe

@hyunjeonnies

@missskzbiased

@binracha

@the-wonandonly

@hyunjinsdoll

@sturaykidseu

@jeonglixie 

@tabsteen

@16jan

@clandestine-lixie

@fictionxo

If I missed any of you, or misplaced you, please let me know.

Before we get started on the results, here are some things I’d like to point out:

No arguing under this post, however, I’d like to see everybody’s reactions through reblogs and comments!

Respect everybody’s opinions.

Please private message me if you’d like to spread this data on another platform!

Now, let’s get started!

(There might be some errors, I started at like 8:30 pm and it’s now 11 pm, the BACK PAIN MY GOSH)

Keep reading

THIIIIISSSS OMG THIIIISSS 😍😍

date a skater | jisung

pairing: han jisung x reader

word-count: 6.3k

genre: romance, skater au, friends-to-lovers

warnings: swearing, making-out, honestly this is quite tame and adorable, just two young dorks in love

summary:

“Of course I want to watch you skate,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “I’m not some kind of asshole. You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” Jisung replies automatically.

part of the six month anniversary drabble event!

prompts: “the skirt is supposed to be this short” “hold my hand so he gets jealous”

Keep reading

Masterlist

★ Class 1-A

★ Other Students

★ Heroes

★ Villains

★ Match-ups

★ Miscellaneous

✭SKZ cute icons✭

.

.

.

˜”*°•please like/reblog if you save/use•°*”˜