#and some moments of tenderness in between

[moonlightwritingf1]

Between Goodbyes and Forevers | LN4

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando has to leave to prepare for the new season, and Y/N is super sad and clingy. He comforts her, and they have emotional goodbye sex.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ word count ━━━━━━━ 2.6k

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex,

Based on this request.

Y/N’s apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside her floor-to-ceiling windows. The evening was winding down, but her mind was anything but calm. Lando lounged on her sofa, one arm draped casually over the back, his signature smirk playing on his lips. He’d been teasing her all night, his words light and playful, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made her heart race.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he remarked, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the silence. His gaze lingered on her, and she felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny.

“Just tired,” Y/N lied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Tired didn’t even begin to cover it. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Lando was leaving tomorrow, heading back to Monaco to prepare for the new Formula One season. She’d known this was coming, but now that the moment was here, it felt like a weight pressing down on her chest.

“Bullshit,” Lando said with a chuckle, leaning forward slightly. His eyes narrowed, and that smirk turned into a knowing grin. “You’ve been clingy all evening. Not that I��m complaining,” he added, his tone softening.

“I haven’t been clingy,” Y/N retorted, though her voice lacked conviction. She hated how easily he saw through her.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve been glued to my side all night. Even when I went to grab a drink, you followed me like a lost puppy.”

She opened her mouth to argue but quickly shut it. He wasn’t wrong. She had been clingy, and she hated herself for it. She didn’t want to seem desperate or needy, but the thought of him leaving made her stomach churn.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, looking down at her hands. “I just… I’m really going to miss you.”

Lando’s expression softened, and he moved closer to her on the sofa. His hand found hers, intertwining their fingers. “I’m going to miss you too, you know. More than I can say.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. There was a sincerity in his gaze that made her breath catch. For someone who was always so carefree and teasing, Lando had a way of making her feel like she was the most important person in the world.

“You’ll call me, right?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Every day,” he promised, his thumb gently brushing over the back of her hand. “And I’ll FaceTime you after every race. You’ll be sick of me by the end of the season.”

Y/N managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She wanted to believe him, but there was a part of her that was terrified he’d forget about her. That she’d be just another girl he left behind.

Lando must have sensed her unease because he leaned in closer, his free hand cupping her cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice like a warm blanket wrapping around her. “You’re not just some girl, Y/n. You’re everything to me. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Her heart squeezed in her chest, and she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She hated how vulnerable she felt around him, but at the same time, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “What if… what if you meet someone else? Someone prettier, someone more….”

“Stop,” Lando interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. He tilted her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes. “There’s no one else. There’s only you. Always you.”

His words were like a balm to her insecurities, but they weren’t enough to completely erase the doubt gnawing at her. Before she could say anything else, Lando leaned in and captured her lips in a slow, tender kiss. It was soft and sweet, but there was an underlying passion that made her pulse quicken.

When he pulled away, she was breathless, her lips tingling from the contact. “I’m not letting you go, Y/N,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Not now, not ever.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel the heat pooling in her lower stomach. She wanted to believe him, to trust him completely, but it was hard. Harder than she’d ever admit.

“I love you,” she blurted out, the words slipping past her lips before she could stop them.

Lando froze for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise. Then, a slow, radiant smile spread across his face, lighting up his features. “I love you too,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection. “More than anything.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Before she could overthink it, she leaned in and kissed him again, this time with more urgency.

Lando responded immediately, his hands tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that mirrored her own, and she could feel the heat between them growing with every passing second.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their chests rising and fallings rapidly. Lando’s eyes were filled with desire, and Y/n could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable.

“I need you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

Lando didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his hands trailing down her sides to the hem of her shirt. He pulled it off slowly, his touch soft and deliberate.

Y/N bit her lip, her insecurities bubbling to the surface. She was so used to hiding her body, to covering up the parts of herself she didn’t like. But the way Lando looked at her made her feel like she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

His hands moved to her bra, and she tensed slightly. “Lando, I—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his voice soothing. “I love every inch of you, Y/n. Every scar, every curve. You’re perfect to me.”

His words melted her fears, and she relaxed as he unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. His eyes roamed over her body, and she could see the hunger in them. It made her feel powerful, desired.

Lando leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone before trailing his lips lower. His tongue flicked over her nipple, and she gasped, her back arching off the bed.

“Lando,” she moaned, her hands tangling in his hair.

He continued to tease her, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive her wild. She could feel the heat building inside her, her body trembling with need.

When he finally pulled away, she was a wreck, her chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes met hers, and there was a fire in them that made her stomach flip.

“I need you,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible.

Lando didn’t need to be told twice. He stripped off his clothes quickly, his eyes never leaving hers. When he finally joined her on the bed, she could feel the heat of his skin against hers, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

His lips found hers again, and he kissed her deeply, his hands roaming over her body. Every touch, every kiss, was slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every moment.

He hovered above her, his weight pressing into the mattress, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. His fingers traced the curve of her hip, sending shivers up her spine. With a gentleness that made her chest tighten, he guided himself to her entrance, the tip of him brushing against her, teasing, testing.

Y/n’s breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glistening, lips parted in a silent plea. Lando didn’t break eye contact as he slowly pressed into her, inch by inch. The stretch burned just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to him. He paused there, buried deep, letting her feel the full weight of him, the way their bodies fit together like they were made for this, for each other.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost pained. His jaw clenched, his forehead falling against hers as he struggled to hold still. “You’re so tight... so goddamn perfect.”

She could feel every pulse of him inside her, the heat of his skin searing into hers. Her muscles clenched around him instinctively, drawing a low groan from his throat. It was overwhelming, the fullness, the intensity of it all. She felt owned, claimed, but not in a way that scared her. In a way that made her heart swell, as if this was where she was always meant to be.

Lando began to move then—slow, deliberate thrusts that made her head spin. Each stroke dragged against her walls, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. She arched into him, her legs wrapping tighter around his hips, urging him deeper, faster. But he kept his pace unhurried, his lips painting a trail of heat along her neck, her collarbone, anywhere his mouth could reach.

“Look at me,” he demanded softly, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hand. Y/n’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. There was so much in those eyes—lust, yes, but something else too, something deeper. Something that made her chest ache with how much she felt for him.

She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the dampness of his skin. “I love you,” she whispered, the words tumbling out like a secret, a promise.

His breath caught, and he pressed his forehead against hers again, his thrusts faltering just for a moment. “I love you,” he breathed back, the words raw, unfiltered. And then he kissed her—deep, consuming, as if he could pour everything he felt through that one connection.

“You’re mine, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

She nodded, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Always.”

Their bodies moved together in a rhythm so deliberate, so unhurried, it felt like time itself had slowed. Every deep, calculated thrust was more than physical; it was a conversation, a language only they spoke. Lando’s hips rolled into hers with an almost unbearable precision, every stroke dragging against her inner walls in a way that left her gasping, her nails carving faint crescents into his back.

She could feel the fullness of him stretching her, the way he filled every inch of her impossibly tight heat. The friction was torturous and exquisite all at once, a slow burn that coiled low in her belly, building with every movement. He leaned back slightly, supporting himself on one arm, his free hand roaming down her side to grip her hip. His fingers dug in just enough to anchor her, pulling her closer as he drove deeper, their bodies slapping together in a wet, dizzying rhythm.

“Look at me,” he said again, his voice rough, strained. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his, and the intensity there stole her breath. His pupils were blown wide, filled with desire and love.

She reached up, her fingers trembling as they traced the damp line of his jaw, the stubble scratching her fingertips. “Lando...” she whispered, her voice breaking halfway. It wasn’t a plea or a demand; it was a confession, a surrender.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he bent his head, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that swallowed her moans whole. His tongue slid against hers, hot and demanding, mirroring the relentless pace of his hips. She could taste the desperation in him, the way he clung to her as though she might slip away.

And then his hand slid between them, his thumb finding her clit in one fluid motion. She arched off the bed, a broken cry tearing from her throat as he pressed firm circles there, the pressure exact and unrelenting. Her thighs clamped around his waist, her body tightening around him in waves that had him groaning into her mouth.

“Fuck, you feel... too good,” he rasped, his thrusts growing uneven, faltering as he lost control. His forehead dropped to hers, their breaths mingling, sweat-slick and frantic. “Y/n, I—”

She cut him off with a whimper, her orgasm crashing over her without warning, stealing her ability to think, to breathe. Her vision blurred, her body shuddering as pleasure ripped through her, sharp and all-consuming. And still he kept moving, dragging out her climax until tears pricked her eyes.

Her name fell from his lips again, this time a choked sound, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hips jerked sharply, once, twice, before he buried himself deep, his release spilling into her in thick, pulsing waves. He collapsed onto her, his weight heavy and warm, their chests heaving in unison.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the two of them, tangled together, heartbeats syncing as they came down from the high.

Lando’s fingers traced the curve of her jawline, his touch feather-light, as if memorizing every detail of her face. His lips pressed against her forehead, lingering there, soft and unhurried. The warmth of his breath against her skin sent a shiver through her, and she nestled closer, her arms tugging his tighter around her. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest, grounding her, anchoring her to this moment.

“I’m going to miss you,” Y/n murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, like a secret she couldn’t hold in anymore. Her breath hitched, the weight of his impending departure pressing heavily on her chest. “So much.”

Lando’s arms tightened around her, his lips brushing against her temple in a lingering kiss. “I’m going to miss you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Every second I’m away from you will feel like a lifetime.”

She tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes searching his face. The intensity in his gaze held her captive, his eyes filled with a love that made her chest ache. “Promise me,” she said softly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “that you’ll come back to me.”

“Always,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the ache in it. His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in sync. “You’re my home, Y/n. No matter where I am, I’ll always come back to you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her lips curving into a small, radiant smile. “I love you,” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions.

“I love you more,” he replied, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from her cheek. “More than I’ve ever loved anything.”

Her eyelashes fluttered shut as she leaned into him, her body melting against his. In his arms, she felt safe, cherished, and utterly loved. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them, holding onto each other as if nothing else mattered. The warmth of his embrace, the softness of his touch, the depth of his love— it was all she needed, all she ever wanted.

And as they lay there, tangled together in the quiet stillness of the night, Y/n knew, without a doubt, that no matter the distance, no matter the time, he would always be hers. And she would always be his.

[luvhcarly]

CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?

You go to a car race with your friend and Heesung’s sees you there, not being happy about it…

PAIRINGS - soft dom!heesung x fem!reader

GENRE - smut, enemies to lovers?

TAGS - smut, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), fingering, eating out, cum swallowing, lmk if I missed anything!

WC - 3.8k

A/N: Hi! For the first time in my life I decided to post on a tumblr. English is not my first language so if you find any mistakes let me know! I would be so happy to hear your opinions etc… have fun reading! <3

© All rights reserved luvhcarly do not copy, repost, or translate.

Music was playing around, the sound of cars echoed throughout the underground. With a smile on her face, she walked beside her friend to her friend’s boyfriend, who was casually leaning his body against his car. His hands were in his pockets and his gaze was directed in front of him. When he noticed how his girlfriend walked up to him, he smiled and bounced off the car, immediately putting an arm around her waist and leaving a tender kiss on her cheek.

"Hey stranger." Her friend joked while she just stared at them stupidly. Gently, she waved her hand in greeting and he just nodded and leaned against the car again. Her friend did the same and they looked at each other with hand in a hand.

Only a small soft sigh escaped her lips as she looked at them. Her friend was blushing from ear to ear as he whispered sweet words into her ear.

“I am going to grab some drink.” She announced to both of them and pointed to a small bar where people were constantly hanging around. Slowly, she walked to the bar and ran her hand through her hair. She had a casual look on her face, but the truth was that she was quite bored. Every time she inhaled, the only thing she could smell were the fumes from the cars and the only thing that could be heard was the engine of the cars and the loud noise of people who were enjoying themselves.

Everywhere she looked there were people leaning against their cars, laughing or even people betting money on who would win the race. When the bartender brought her an iced drink, she sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. She held the drink tightly in her hand and sipped from it, her eyes constantly darting around.

Suddenly, her eyes caught sight of someone she didn't really want to see. He had a smirk at shapes that she wanted to scrape off every time. His smirk was different from the other’s people smirk... It was mocking. As if he was mocking others directly. Without interest, he leaned his body against his black car. His hair was quite messy, not as smooth as usual. He had an earring on one ear, but not too prominent, a cigarette in his hand, which he gently placed between his full lips and took a drag.

With her eyes she followed his every step. She watched as his chest heaved when he laughed at something his friend said. When she realized that she was looking too long, she averted her eyes back and drink her drink.

The sound of the cars increased as they slowly began to prepare for the race. When she finished her drink, she placed it on the bar and directed her steps towards her friend.

He, who was still leaning against his car, noticed a familiar figure. He immediately furrowed his brows when he finally realized who it was. He watched with his eyes how she walked without interest, as if she didn't even know where she was and what she was doing here.

"Hold on." He stopped his friend with his hand, who was explaining something to him and quickly walked up to her, pulling her by hand, which stopped her in her steps.

"The fuck are you doing here." He looked around with a distasteful expression. Cigarettes could be smelled from his breath, but that smell was also combined with his spicy expensive scent. She just smiled at him and looked down at her hand and how he was gripping it tightly. His cold rings on his fingers pressed against her skin, but she said nothing. She remained silent and just stared at him.

He redirected his eyes to her and stared dangerously at her, waiting for her answer, His jaw clenched and his eyebrows still furrowed.

"I came to enjoy the race, Heesung." She said in a mocking voice and he just scoffed at her, not believer her.

"Don't make any trouble." His grip was still firm, so much that she had the feeling that he would leave her a small bruise if he continued to hold her so tightly. He leaned closer to her, his breath tickling her ear as he was close to her. Her breath stopped for a moment and her heart started beating faster, as his lips almost touched her ear. "Or I will drag you out of here myself." He whispered in her ear, as soon as he leaned closer to her, she could feel his perfume even better than before. Heesung noticed how she stopped breathing for a moment and he smirked at that.

"Afraid I will tell the police?" She asked him provocatively. At her words, he pulled away from her and looked into her eyes. Something broke in his eyes then. There was something darker that she had never seen before.

"Oh, try it, sweetheart. I will make your life living hell." He grinned as usual and she swallowed. She slightly opened her lips and wanted to say something to him, but unfortunately she didn't have time.

"Everyone, get in your places." The man shouted loudly and he immediately let go of her hand, but his eyes were still fixed on her.

“Enjoy the show.” With a smirk on his face, he walked to his car and took off his leather jacket, leaving him with a white short trick. He got into his car confidently and enjoyed it as the people around him shouted and cheered him on.

"Asshole." She rolled her eyes at his stupid and egotistical behavior and redirected her gaze to her wrist, where he was holding it tightly before. Her wrist was slightly red, she ran her fingers over it and sighed.

"Are you okay?" Her friend asked her as she leaned against the car annoyed.

"Yeah, just-" she ran her hand through her hair and then looked back at his car and how he was sitting there, grinning.

"Heesung will probably win." The friend’s boyfriend interrupted her and pointed his finger at Heesung’s car and how the car arrived at the starting line.

"He always wins." Her friend announced in annoyance, while she was too lost in her own thoughts.

The sound of the cars was again too loud as they started preparing for the starting line. A woman with flags came to the center and they started to count out loud. Everyone was full of adrenaline and couldn't wait.

“3…2…1! GO!” The woman raised the green flags in the air and the race started immediately at that moment. People around cheered and shouted. Adrenaline surged in their blood as the tension grew. Heesung was first, his opponents couldn't catch up. Everyone already knew that Heesung would be the first to cross the finish line. And so it was. Heesung was the first to cross the finish line. He got out of the car right away and his appearance had the look that was saying everything.

Everyone ran after his car and started shouting his name loudly. While he was just enjoying it. He was enjoying the attention he was getting. It gave him something that he himself could not even describe.

She just rolled her eyes at him. Heesung scanned the crowd of people looking for her. He didn't even really know why he wanted to see her expression so much. Probably because he wanted to see her disgusted and angry expression at his win.

When his eyes found her, she was talking to her friend and paid no attention to him. He scanned her from top to bottom and bit his bottom lip. Why doesn't she pay any attention to him? Why doesn't she get angry and why does she look like she doesn't care at all?

These questions ran through his mind as he stared at her with his eyes. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were darker at some weird point as he had his eyes fixed on her, watching how she laughed softly at something that her friend said.

"Hey man you good?" His friend interrupted him from his observation. He shifted his gaze to his friend and nervously ran a hand through his hair. "I am fine." He blurted out and put on his leather jacket. "Let's drink." Heesung announced with his usual grin and the others shouted out loud in excitement.

-

As the night went on, everywhere she looked, people were drinking, smoking and kissing in cars and fucking wherever they could at the moment. She was no different, holding a bottle of vodka in her hand and dancing together with her friend. She let herself be carried away by the rhythm of the music and slowly swayed her hips up and down, enjoying the moment.

Heesung watched this whole thing from a distance, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes were on her all evening. He watched how her perfect hips moved to the rhythm of the music and how her hair perfectly flowed when she danced. His thoughts got in the way where they probably shouldn't have, but there was always something about her that attracted him extremely. And he didn't say it. He hated how sometimes his eyes slid to her lips and how he wished he could taste them. But he never admitted it.

He hated like how she always knew what to say to him, how to always shut him up. Sometimes he had a tendency to silence her…

A boy's arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and she grinned. It didn't bother her. It was probably because she already had more alcohol in her than she should have.

"You're so beautiful." A voice she didn't recognize spoke into her ear, his lips brushing against her ear and she grinned with a sigh. His hands traveled all over her body and she turned around and pressed herself closer to him, their lips almost touching.

At that moment something snapped in Heesung and he quickly drank the glass of whiskey and put the glass down on the bar. He pushed through a huge crowd of people towards her and put his hands at fist and thrust it right into the boy's nose.

"What the hell dude?" The boy was immediately thrown backwards to the ground, putting his hand to his nose as he kept looking at Heesung, who still had both hands clenched.

"What the fuck, Heesung?" She blurted out at him and went to bend down to the boy who was holding his nose, but Heesung grabbed her by the waist and started pulling her out, away from people.

“You just broke the guys nose!” She screamed at him incomprehensibly while he dragged her to his car, where no one was.

"You are drunk." He told her as he leaned her against the hood of his car, his hand still firmly holding hers. His cold rings again touching her skin. She shook her head at his words and sighed with laughter. There was alcohol on her breath and Heesung clenched his jaw slightly.

"You are an asshole, you know that?" She raised her eyebrows as she let it out, pulled her hand away from him, but he just put his hands on the hood of the car, caging her between his car and his body. His body was so close that for a small moment her breath stopped. His eyes drifted to her lips and she swallowed loudly, he leaned closer to her ear and his lips gently touched her ear causing her to open her mouth slightly.

"Can we already stop the tension?" He asked her, his hot breath glazing her ear and she swallowed again and closed her eyes for a small moment. There was always an unknown tension between them, which she strongly suppressed. She didn't want to give in to him, she really didn't. But the desire was stronger than her mind. He pulled away from her ear and observed every part of her shape with his eyes. The way she blinked her eyes and looked at him nervously, the way she bit her lip trying to control her irregular breathing.

“I don’t know what are you talking about.” She suppressed her thoughts and sighed nervously, at which he only grinned.

"Oh, I know you do. Don't act dumb.” For a moment, he looked at how her chest was rising quickly and how her eyes were nervously scanning his features.

"I really don't." She repeated it to him and he leaned closer to her, their lips almost touching. "Then why are you breathing so heavily?" There was desire and something dark in his eyes, which attracted her even more. For the first time in her life, she did not know how to answer him, she just watched him with her eyes silently.

"Fuck it." At that moment he pressed his lips to hers and his hands on her waist tightened. He kissed her lips hungrily, as if he couldn't get enough of her. At first she was surprised that he really kissed her, but then she started kissing him back. "Tell me." He broke the kiss and began to speak. "Tell me to stop." He wanted to stop, but fuck the way she looked at him? His breathing was irregular and too heavy. She began to think for a moment, but then she grabbed his cheeks and pressed her lips to his. Even though she was drunk, she wanted it. She wanted him.

The kisses were wet and dominant. His hands traveled slowly from her waist to her exposed thighs, which he immediately squeezed and she opened her mouth. He used this moment to stick his tongue into her mouth and began to explore it. Their tongues danced around each other and the tension between them grew more and more.

Heesung pulled away from her for a moment but then pressed his lips to her jaw as he slowly made his way down. He trailed gentle wet kisses, but stopped at her neck. First he licked one spot with his tongue, but then he started sucking on it and she buried her hands in his dark hair. Heesung marked her and then he pulled away from her and took a good look at her. Her cheeks flushed, eyes hooded.

He pressed his lips to hers again and slid one hand under her skirt. He ran his index finger over her panties and she let out a sigh of pleasure. He could feel how wet she was between her legs, even though she was wearing panties. His touch was gentle and so addictive that she needed more and he could see it in her eyes. The way she looked at him made him even more horny than he was right now. He put the panties to the side and ran his index finger over her sensitive area again. He didn't break eye contact with her and he enjoyed it as she breathed heavily and how a shiver came down her spine.

He thrusts one finger into her and she let out a moan at which he grinned possessively. He liked how she reacted to him. To his touch. To his finger. He curls his one finger inside her and he enjoys how she squirms at that. His thumb finds her clit, circling around teasingly as another finger joins the first.

“Feels good, sweetheart?” He asks her as he presses his thumb on her clitoris and fucks her with his fingers. “Y-yes.” She admits between moans and he watches his two fingers disappear into her. He then shifts his gaze to her chest and he watches it rise and fall rapidly, her eyes squeeze shut tightly. He can feel her inner walls tightening around his fingers. So he adds another one, stretching her, making her take them deeper. He watches her mouth open slightly, silent moans trying to escape, his thumb rubbing her clit faster. When he feels her being close, he suddenly pulls out, her eyes shut open immediately. With his hand he pushes her skirt higher and he throws her panties away. Slowly, he kneels before her, keeping an eye contact on as she raises her eyebrows at him, not understanding what he is doing.

“What are you doing?” She asks out of breath. “I want to taste you.” He informs her as he begins to leave wet kisses on her inner thighs. She leans on the hood of the car more to have better body stability. She swallows loudly at his words as he begins to gradually leave kisses near her sensitive area. When she feels his hot breath, she sighs loudly, but she keeps looking at him and so does he.

Suddenly he starts to suck on her clit heavily. He licks and sucks with abandon, his tongue penetrating her entrance before moving back up to her clit. He hums against her, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through her body.

"Heesung-" His name rolls over her tongue so gently and he moans again at her entrance. Her hands dig into his hair and she holds his head better against her pussy. She tries to control her sighs, but it's too hard for her. His hands spread her legs wider, feasting on her pussy like a starving man. He licks up one side of her slit and down the other, spreading her lips with his thumbs. He finds her entrance again, pushing his tongue inside.

“Please-“ She starts to beg for more and he moans against her core which sends vibrations through her body. He pushes his tongue deep inside again and again, his nose bumping against her clit. Wanting more, she again presses his face against her pussy, his tongue buried inside her as he eats her out with a frenzy. He can feel her legs trembling and he knows she is close.

Heesung hums as he feels her pussy clench, her climax washing over her. He laps up her release hungrily, not wasting a single drop. For the last time he gives her sensitive clit one last gentle lick before pulling back, a smug smile on his face. Hungrily she presses her lips on his and he lets her taste herself on his tongue.

“I want you.” She breathes heavily and she looks into his eyes, searching for something. “You sure?” His voice is gentle suddenly, not wanting to press on her too much. At first she swallows but then she shakes her head in agreement.

“Sit up.” Heesung orders her to sit on the hood of the car and she obeys. Her cheeks are red as she tries to control her breathing. Slowly, Heesung starts to unbuckle his belt, his manspread hurting from how hard he is. She watches him how he pulls his jeans down along with his boxers. When her eyes meets his red tip with precum she swallows loudly.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” With his eyes he scans her and takes a good look at her. Her eyes are widened slightly as she observers him with hunger.

“No.” With a quiet confidence she replies to him and he lets out a small chuckle as he pumps his dick a few times. Then he slowly positions himself between her legs and she lets out a small moan as his dick presses against her core. “Spread your legs, come on.” He leans closer to her ear, sending shiver down her spine. And she does, she spreads her legs to him, obeying him again.

Slowly he slides his dick into her, stretching her out. “Fuck.” He lets out as he feels her tight walls around his dick. At first he lets her adjust to his length, then he starts to thrust into her more faster. His thrusts are deep, his pelvis grinding against her clit with each movement.

“Would you let that guy fuck you like this huh?” Out of nowhere a jealousy hits him when he remembers the guys hands all over her, slamming more hard against her watching her moaning loudly. “No.” With a quiet voice she replies, he leans closer to her lips, brushing against them softly. “Didn’t hear you. Say it louder, sweetheart.”

Heesung whispers into her mouth , slamming into her with renewed vigor, his pelvis crashing against hers. He grips her thighs tightly, pushing them back to alter the angle, allowing him to penetrate even deeper. “No! Fuck.” He smirks at the answer being satisfied. “That’s what I thought.” He speeds up again and her moans spurn him on, making him lose control.

“I hate you.” Her chest is rising up and down heavily and she tries not to be loud. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t stop thinking about you.” She swallows as he admits the truth, resting his head against her, keeping an eye contact with her. His dick still slumming hard, hitting that spot with each snap of his hips. Her moans are louder now, her body tensing. He knows she is close again. With his hands he squeezes her thighs again, enjoying every bit of it.

“You’re close, sweetheart?” He asks with low voice, lips brushing against hers again. She shakes her head in agreement not being able to reply.

“Aw, come on you are better than that.” With a pitiful voice he teases, wanting a proper answer from her. “Yes, fuck please.” He spreads her legs wider, going even deeper.

“There you go. Good girl.” He praises, his voice strained. He leans down, capturing her lips in a rough, demanding kiss as he continues to fuck her senselessly. He swallows her moans, his tongue dancing with hers. He can feel himself getting close too, his balls tightening.

Heesung feels her body tense, her walls clamping down on him like a vice. He groans loudly, his movements becoming jerky as he loses control. But he doesn’t stop, he keeps thrusting into her, chasing his high.

“Heesung! Too much.” She lets out a little cry and he shuts her up with a kiss. “I know, fuck just-“ He groans as he slumps into her for the last time and when he feels that he is cumming, he puts his dick outside, cumming on his jacket.

Both of them stare each other out of breath, thinking about what just happened. She quickly pulls her skirt down and jumps down of the hood of his car, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He pulls his jeans up and he sees how nervous she is, looking like she regrets it. He catches her by wrist pulling her closer, making her look at his worried face.

“Hey…” He whispers in a low voice catching her off guard. “I hope you don’t regret it.” He pauses for a little as she bits her bottom lip nervously, letting out a big sigh.

“Because I don’t.”

[christopher-bangnaldoskzz]

Pairing: Bangchan x Female Reader

Word count: 1.7 k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, there is sexual content within this fiction so if that make you feel uncomfortable then please don't read.

Summary: Chan has been traveling with his band, and you decide to surprise him by flying to Sydney to see him. Desperate to be with you, he sneaks you into his hotel for some privacy and takes you for a late-night swim.

“No one can see you,” Chan whispers softly into your ear, his voice low and caressing. His warm, intoxicating breath dances across your skin, sending a thrilling sensation racing down your spine as he presses you firmly against the cool, smooth tiles of the pool wall. The water around you, lapping gently, creates a rhythmic sound that envelops you in an intimate cocoon, isolating both of you from the outside world. It feels like a secret haven where only the two of you exist.

As Chan’s hands roam over your skin, his fingertips glide along your arms with a delicate touch that is both tender and electrifying. His hands’ warmth contrasts with the tiles’ coolness, heightening your senses. Each gentle caress ignites every nerve ending, sending shivers cascading down your body like gentle waves lapping at the shore. You can feel your heart racing, echoing the moment’s thrill as his presence envelops you completely, intensifying the intimacy shared in this secluded space.

You can feel the warmth radiating from him, an unsettling but exhilarating mix of desire and anticipation that hangs thickly in the air, electrifying the atmosphere. The dim light overhead dances across the water’s surface, casting playful shadows that swirl and shift around you, enhancing the sense of isolation. In this secluded moment, time seems to stretch and blur, as if the world has paused to give way to the intensity of your connection.

“What if someone comes up here?” you whisper, your breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as anticipation tingles through your body. Your heart races as Chan leans in closer. His warm breath lightly brushes against your skin; with each gentle kiss, he places along the sensitive curve of your neck. It’s just the two of you, lost in this intimate moment. The ache of worry about being discovered only intensifies the electric connection between you.

“Relax, Joseph is guarding the staircase up here,” he says, his voice low and teasing. You can practically feel the smirk on his lips as he nestles his head deeper into your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “It’s just you and me out here,” he murmurs, his words hanging in the air, filled with an intoxicating mixture of mischief and intimacy. The atmosphere around you feels charged, a cocoon of privacy that amplifies the moment’s thrill, making you acutely aware of every brush of your skin against his.

“And are you certain that no one can see us?” Your voice quivered with anxiety, each word laced with the unsettling thought of a potential betrayal. The image of someone capturing moments between you and Chan and then leaking them to the media loomed ominously in your mind. You glanced around, half-expecting a hidden camera lurking in the shadows, amplifying your unease.

“I will never let anyone see you… I promise,” he whispered softly, his voice barely above a murmur. He gently lifted your chin with his index finger as he spoke, tilting your face upward. You met his gaze, losing yourself in the depths of his sparkling sepia-brown eyes, twinkling with warmth and determination. The world around you faded away as the moment’s intensity enveloped both of you, creating a private bubble in which only the two of you existed.

His lips find yours in a tantalizing kiss that steals the breath from your lungs and sends a rush of warmth through your body. It’s a kiss that seems to erase all thoughts, leaving you momentarily suspended in a blissful haze, lost in the moment’s sweetness. Your senses heighten as you feel the gentle pressure of his lips, soft yet fervent, igniting a spark deep within you. Time stands still, and all the world’s worries fade away, leaving only the two of you in this intoxicating embrace.

Your fingers glide gently over his sculpted back, feeling the contours of his muscles beneath your touch as he pushes you closer against the cool, smooth surface of the tiled pool wall. The warmth of his body contrasts the refreshing chill of the tiles, creating a delicious tension between heat and cold as you both become lost in the moment. Each movement sends ripples through the water, heightening the intimacy of the encounter, and you can sense the exhilaration building with your body. 

His hand stays steady as it firmly grips your hips, a possessive declaration in his touch. “You’re all mine,” he growls. He leans in, capturing your lips in a brief, electrifying peck, a taste of something deeper simmering beneath the surface. Pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes, he breathes softly into your neck, his warm breath sending delightful tingles across your skin. “No one will ever catch a glimpse of what’s mine,” he whispers, the intensity in his voice resonating, making it clear that this moment belongs solely to the two of you.

He stretches out his hand towards the delicate bikini string, his fingers grazing your skin with a feather-light touch. The warmth of his body radiates as he inches closer, each moment stretching out the tension in the air. With deliberate slowness, he skillfully begins to unravel the intricate bow you had tied with such care, each gentle tug of the fabric loosening the delicate knot you meticulously crafted just moments before. 

The moonlight spills over your skin, illuminating you in a soft glow. At the same time, a playful breeze sweeps through, rustling the leaves nearby and further heightening the charged atmosphere surrounding you both. His gaze remains fixed on his task as if he’s completely enveloped in the moment. 

With the same patient precision, he moves to the drawstring fastened around your neck, his fingers deftly coaxing the knot free. The intimacy of each motion ignites within your body.

Chan took a moment to carefully adjust your position, making sure you felt secure and comfortable nestled in the corner of the pool. His broad shoulder pressed against you, creating a reassuring barrier that shielded you from the world. As his fingers delicately glided along the fabric of your bottoms, a warm sensation spread through you, heightening your awareness of the moment. With a gentle tug, he helped you step out of them, ultimately freeing you from their constraint and allowing you to feel the cool water envelop you in a soothing embrace.

“Fuck,” Chan mutters under his breath, halting abruptly as he takes a moment to absorb the sight of you standing before him. His brow furrows slightly, a mix of surprise and uncertainty crossing his features as he draws in a deep, steadying breath, grounding himself in the moment. The tension in the air is thick and electrifying, his gaze lingering on you with an almost palpable intensity. “I still can’t believe you flew all the way here for me,” he says quietly, his nose brushing softly against yours, a fleeting touch that sends a ripple of heat between you.

You leaned in slowly, feeling the warmth radiating from Chan as you drew closer. With gentle intention, you pressed your lips softly against his, savouring the moment. The kiss was tender and lingering, a sweet connection that felt electric and calming. You could feel his warm and inviting breath mingling with yours as time stood still in that intimate exchange. Chan opens his mouth to you, and your tongue slides inside, twisting against his as he lets out a sweet hum. 

“I missed you,” your voice trembled softly. The words spilled from your lips like a gentle caress, each syllable infused with a warmth that made the confession all the more profound.

“I need you so fucking bad”, he murmured, his fingertips lightly tracing the curve of your breast. 

“Then take me,” you whisper, your lips hovering tantalizingly close to his, a mere breath apart. The warmth of your breath brushes against his skin. You can see his chest rise and fall as his breath catches, a fleeting moment of hesitation before he once again kisses you moving his hand down to cup your ass, lifting your body. Hence, your bare core now sits just above his rigid member. 

Pulling his swim trunks down just enough for his hard cock to bounce free. “I’m a bit rusty, so I'll have to take it nice and slow”, he growls, entering your core slowly, hugging for a moment while he allows your wall to stretch around him. 

“Oh, please”, you beg, frustrated with how slow things have progressed, his hips slowly thrusting deeper inside you with every stride. 

“Fuck”, his grown, sending a shot of pleasure down your spine. Slowly placing light genital kisses down your throat before selling into your neck to breathe in your cent.

You begin to roll your hips as a moan of pleasure escapes, causing Chan to quicken his pace. “If you keep doing that, baby, I’m going to cum inside you.” 

“Please”, you cry as you use your feet to shove him deeper inside you as you again begin to roll your hips. 

“Are you sure?” Chan pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for clarity. The concern etched on his face deepens as he seeks an answer.

“I'm so sure”, you moan as the wave of pleasure increases to build, resulting in the sensation that makes your skin feel like it is being scorched.

“Fuck” He lets out a low grunt, a sound that escapes his lips almost instinctively. With a deliberate motion, he runs his finger through his tousled hair, the strands glistening slightly as they slide through his fingers “you're going to be the death of me”, his eyes tracing your lips before he silences your moans with his mouth. 

With just a few more thrusts and Chan tipping over the edge, the pent-up orgasm spills over, releasing a massive wave of pleasure, sending your body vibrating. 

“That’s it, baby,” Chan whispered softly, a warm smile spreading across his face as he gently threaded his fingers through your hair. His touch was both tender and reassuring, sending a wave of comfort through you as he leaned closer, his gaze filled with warmth and affection as he helped you ride out your orgasm. 

“We should continue this downstairs,” Chan says with a playful grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. You find yourself momentarily out of breath, the thrill of the moment leaving you a bit dizzy, but you nod your head in agreement. 

“Good, now get dressed,” he said with a playful wink, his eyes sparkling mischievously. He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours for one final, sweet kiss, leaving a lingering sense of warmth and affection between you.

Taglist: @daceydeath @krishastumblernow @bakedlilgoonie @cakeracha @armystay89

[4chensungs]

just got an idea how about a one-shot of giving js the best head and you both know you give the best head but HE doesn't know he's also the best at eating you out so he rarely does that but he accidentally catches you ranting to of your friends about how much you miss him eating you out cuz his lips are so plump so it feels just PERFECT UUUGGHHH PLZ

notes: anon the wait is FINALLY over. thank you sm for the request i had the time of my life writing this <3

18+. smut. oral (f. receiving.) just overall messy.

-

what a crazy day when your boyfriend came home after spending a whole week, seven days overseas for one of his schedules. crazy how you wasted no time the moment he got there in getting on your knees and sucking him off, your favorite activity to do cause you're simply the best.

"fuuuck oh my god i'm going-" you cut jisung off when you trailed your lips to the underside of his dick, letting a out trail of spit to drip onto his shaft. you hum, mouth full of him - so good at teasing.

jisung groans nonstop, keeping your hair tangled in his long fingers to help you, fingers that you wish were inside you right now.

so in that day, when you sucked him off til he came two times in your mouth, you left unsatisfied. and wet.

panties all sticky, needy pussy asking silently for his attention. his mouth, moist and plump lips that make you go feral.

the question kept replaying in your head, why do you seem to enjoy giving head more than he does?

why are you the only one that makes sure to put your mouth on him to work?

-

"i'm sure he loves it, look at him. he's so whipped for you." one of your friends said. you had your phone in hand, the voices being heard through the other side of the voice call.

you spoke lowly, "i just.. just miss it. and i don't know how to tell him."

"oh cmon! he's your boyfriend. offer him some pussy and he'll go down on you immediately."

god. you ended the call just when jisung left the bathroom, being met with your figure sprawled on his bed. running his hands through his hair and looking at you with a sharp, interesting grin.

you smiled too, getting up a bit to lay with your head on the headboard.

"ji." your voice cracked. dumb, stupid because of him.

he got on the bed, crawling to your body. you were actually so innocent, the thought that he might've heard your call went missed by you.

he just grabbed your hands to pull your body closer and off the sheets, his lips meeting yours in a tender, warm kiss. jisung was always this sweet.

"why didn't you tell me, baby?" jisung leans away, his voice was quiet, tone sincere.

your lips were pressed in a thin line, and instead of answering him, you just lay back and part your legs, slowly - inviting him.

jisung hums in approval at the scene you're giving him, baby pink panties peeking out from your sleeping shorts as you give him the perfect view. the pair he bought for you.

he sighs before getting comfortable between your legs, big hands pulling them apart - chest pressed onto the mattress while his lips meet the skin of your thighs.

"i'm such an asshole." his pointed nose brushes up and down on your soft flesh.

you hold back a whine, "n- no ji you're not.. don't say that"

"didn't give my princess the attention she deserves. i'm s' sorry- shit."

jisung pulls your shorts off in an instant, your legs closing involuntarily at the sudden arousal that builds up your body and senses.

"it's okay ji, really... feels good."

he parts your legs again, pressing one knee to your still covered chest as the other leg went to rest around his head.

his glasses fogged up as he kisses your awaiting cunt through the already damp material of your panties - the lacy pink, he chose with so much love for his princess to look pretty for him.

"can't live without this pretty pussy mhm i'm sorry, love." he mumbles in your core.

one finger hooks around the edge of your underwear, pulling it to the side to give him direct contact to your sweet wet spot.

"she’s so fucking beautiful."

this time you couldn't hold back a moan, hand coming to mess with his darkish hair and just as you were about to push him straight into your cunt, he was faster - licking all the way from your pussy up to your clit.

"ji fuck! ji- "

you tried to breath but it was hard, he was really making up to you. he meant it.

jisung leans his mouth away just to throw his glasses on the other side of the bed - big fingers now spreading your pussy open to give him better access.

“jisung mgh stop- wait sungie!” you squirm, hands gripping the sheets when he sucks your clit into his mouth, repeating this process tons of times til he notices you’re getting close.

he kisses your clit, tongue darting out to lick it, “want to make you know that i’m in love with you and this sweet pussy. always been.”

you cry out, hands shaking and throat hoarse from moaning his name. your mind’s all blurry, the smooching wet sounds of his plump and red lips eating you out like you were really the tastiest thing on earth.

the friction was so strong that you couldn’t help but slowly start moving your hips on your boyfriend’s face, riding his perfect features - feeling his nose bumping and his saliva and spit wetting your whole cunt.

that’s what you missed. messy, just how you crave it. and jisung seems to love this just as much as you do.

“fuck, princess. so wet, yeah?” he tries to sooth you by rubbing his huge hands on your waist and hips.

two more minutes and you’d cum, but he stopped.

you looked down at him between your legs. the loss of contact made you pout, whining like a baby.

“ji.. please.”

jisung eyes you, massages your swollen pussy with two fingers for a minute before getting up to meet your face, cute begging eyes staring at his, a little drool on your chin from how you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

he smiles, “you’re the prettiest, so gorgeous.” tucking the stray hairs out of your face.

jisung lands a kiss, two, three kisses on your lips, a blush growing on both of your cheeks - “let me suck you o-“

“no, love. i want to make this all about you.”

you blush again, messing with the fabric of his black hoodie to pull him closer when he starts to trail his wet kisses down to your jaw, neck, chest, stomach.

and in fact, he made sure that itd be all about you. making you cum so easily on his fingers at first, then his tongue. all the rounds of him fucking you and you just kept cumming on his cock. so it went.

© 4chensungs

[woozinhos]

can I request virgin reader and virgin hoshi’s first time having sex, please?

Made for you || Kwon Soonyoung

Notes: hope you enjoy!! Thank you for requesting anon!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You and Hoshi are both nervous but excited as you prepare for your first time together. You've been dating for a while now, and you've both talked about taking this step in your relationship. Hoshi looks at you with a mix of anticipation and tenderness. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asks, his voice soft. "We don't have to rush into anything if you're not comfortable." You smile and take his hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm ready," you assure him. "I trust you, Hoshi."

He nods and pulls you into a gentle kiss, his lips moving slowly against yours. The kiss deepens, and soon you're both lying on the bed, your bodies pressed together. Hoshi breaks the kiss and looks at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Can I take your clothes off?" he whispers.

You nod, your heart racing with excitement. Hoshi's hands move to the hem of your shirt, and he slowly pulls it over your head, revealing your bare skin to him. He lets out a low whistle as he takes in your body. "You're stunning," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the contours of your body. "I can't believe I get to see you like this."

He kisses your neck, his lips moving down to your collarbone and chest. He spends some time exploring your breasts, gently cupping them in his hands and teasing your nipples with his tongue. As Hoshi continues to kiss and touch you, you can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, hard and eager. You reach down and stroke it gently, causing him to gasp and buck his hips against you.

"You're driving me crazy," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "I want you so badly." You whimper at his words, feeling a surge of heat in your core. Hoshi notices your reaction and smirks, his hands moving to the waistband of your pants.

"Are you getting needy for me, baby?" he teases, his fingers playing with the elastic. "Do you want me to take these off?" You nod again, unable to form words as you squirm beneath him. Hoshi grins and slowly pulls your pants down, revealing your lacy panties.

"You even put on some nice underwear for me," he comments, his eyes roaming over your body appreciatively. "Such a good girl." He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts to slide them down as well, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

As Hoshi takes off your panties, he tries to keep up his confident act, but deep down, he's feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He's been thinking about this moment for a long time, and he wants it to be perfect for you. But he can't help but worry that he won't be able to satisfy you or make you feel good.

He takes a deep breath and tries to push those thoughts aside, focusing on making you feel comfortable and loved. "You're so beautiful," he whispers again, his hands gently parting your legs. You claw at his pants, wanting him to be as naked as you are. Hoshi laughs softly and quickly takes off his pants, leaving him completely bare in front of you.

He looks at you with a mixture of lust and affection, his eyes roaming over your body once more. "You're so impatient," he teases, his hands moving to your thighs. "I love it." He kneels between your legs, his cock standing proudly against his stomach. He leans down and kisses your inner thighs, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You can't help but admire his size as he kisses your thighs. "You're so big," you breathe out, your voice filled with awe. Hoshi grins and looks up at you. "All for you, baby," he says, his tone playful. "I hope you're ready for this."

He moves closer to your core, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to take care of you," he promises, his fingers gently stroking your folds. Hoshi grabs a condom from the bedside table and tears it open with his teeth. He rolls it onto his cock, his hands shaking slightly with anticipation.

"Are you sure you're ready?" he asks one last time, looking into your eyes. "We can stop at any time if you want to." You shake your head, your eyes locked on his. "I want this," you say firmly. "I want you, Hoshi."

He smiles and positions himself at your entrance, his cock nudging against your wetness. "Okay, baby," he says, his voice low and husky. "Here I go." He slowly pushes into you, taking his time to let you adjust to his size. Hoshi groans as he enters you, his eyes widening in surprise at the tightness and warmth of your pussy. He stops for a moment, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his orgasm.

"Fuck," he mutters, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "You feel so good, Y-N." He takes a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself. "I need a moment," he says, his voice strained. "You're so tight, I'm not going to last long if I move."

He leans down and kisses you deeply, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming pleasure he's feeling. "You're doing so well," he praises, his lips moving to your neck again. "You're taking me so well, baby." After a few moments, Hoshi starts to move, slowly at first, savoring the feeling of being inside you. He thrusts in and out of you, his pace gradually increasing as he gains more confidence.

"You're taking my cock so well," he says again, his voice rough with desire. "You were made for me, weren't you?" You and Hoshi are both moaning and panting, lost in the pleasure of each other's bodies. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the creaking of the bed. Hoshi's hands roam all over your body, touching and caressing every inch of you. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to his climax, but he wants to make sure you come first.

"Cum for me, Y-N," Hoshi pleads, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "I want to feel you cum around my cock. Please, baby, cum for me." You're on the edge, your body trembling with the impending orgasm. Hoshi's words push you over the edge, and you cry out as you come, your walls clenching tightly around him.

"That's it, good girl," he praises, his own orgasm not far behind. "I'm going to cum soon too, fuck." Hoshi's pace falters as he feels you clenching around him, and with a final deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and comes hard, his body shaking with the force of his release. He collapses on top of you, breathing heavily as he tries to recover from the intense orgasm. "That was amazing," he says, his face buried in your neck. "You were amazing."

Hoshi pulls out of you and removes the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the trash can beside the bed. He lies down next to you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly. "I love you," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

[spr1ngtweaks]

You should totally write Harley + readers first kiss

First kiss with Harley 💋

ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕒𝕨𝕪𝕖𝕣/𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 (ℙ𝕣𝕖 -“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣” 𝕍ℍ𝕊 𝕋𝕒𝕡𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘) 𝕩 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕘𝕦𝕖!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

Welp...Kissing Harley for the first time was definitely not a sweet or easy experience. He wasn't the type to take the initiative in moments like that—or if he did, it wasn't the tenderness one would typically expect.

Feeling: At first, there might be a moment of hesitation—not because he is afraid, but because he is analyzing. His sharp gaze will sweep over you, as if measuring and considering every detail. But when the distance fades, when his lips touch yours, everything will change.

Harley kisses like he lives—intensely, with a bit of restraint, but also full of things he doesn't say. At first, he was stiff, almost hesitant, as if he didn't trust this.

But then, when he realized that he wanted more than that, the kiss became deeper, full of possessiveness.

Taste: There is a hint of caffeine—he always drinks black coffee, strong and slightly bitter. Mixed in with that is a hint of something sharp and cold, like metal and ozone, like his laboratory—a place filled with machinery, reagents, and ideas that never sleep. There's also something warmer, deeper, a lingering taste that's hard to forget.

But deep inside, there is a hint of something else—not sweet, but the echo of someone who once was something... more than that.

Something that has been lost.

Lips: Not as soft as those who spend all day thinking about love. There is a slight roughness at the corners of the lips, traces of sleepless nights, days spent biting the lips in thought amidst experiments and research.

But that very roughness makes each moment of contact feel more real, more vibrant—as if it were proof that he still exists, still feels, if only for this moment.

Does he have a deep kiss?(🤨) Sure... But it's not just about passion—it's also about desire, about an unnameable obsession. And when he lets go, he will pause for a brief moment, as if he is trying to confirm that it is not a mistake.

But just a moment—because he didn't want to wait for the answer.

───── ⋆⋅✝⋅⋆ ─────

If we consider it realistically (a lil bit, idk), the first time you both kissed each other was probably not an impulsive or classically romantic moment. Instead, it was a slow but inevitable collision—like an equation that both knew the answer to, but neither wanted to admit. Maybe it happened on a late night, after a long shift when both were exhausted. The unfinished reports, the cold light from the flickering screen, the smell of chemicals still lingering on the sleeves.

A small argument between the two—not quite a quarrel, but tense enough to push both into a corner from which neither could retreat.

The silence dragged on for too long, breaths mingling in the narrow gap between you.

Or maybe it happened after some incident, when an experiment almost got out of control, or when one of you got hurt.

Harley is not the type of person to easily show anxiety, but in a rare moment, he revealed his loss of control—by holding you tighter than necessary, with a cold yet confused gaze, and then his lips sought yours as a way to regain control.

Not hurried, not gentle, but an obsession to hold on.

But no matter what, it's not perfect. It could be a hesitant, rough kiss, or too intense as if both were experimenting with something you both weren't sure you all could handle. But after that moment, Harley would be the one to pull himself away, his eyes heavy as if he had just made a mistake he couldn't fix.

Bonus: I don't think he's the kind of person who speaks flowery, overly romantic words... But, have you ever imagined that after you both kiss, looking into each other's eyes, he says something like this-

"You taste like the chemical formula C12H22O11."

:D

Notes: So, if you guys want to make a request or have any suggestions, my ask box is always open, anything but SMUT (I'm terrible at it... I was traumatized when I reread that damn old draft of mine), maybe spicy 16+ would be okay...

[paperyowl]

One more snippet for Tommy Kinard appreciation day - I hope this counts :)

For the prompt "want", Bucktommy, rated E

+++

Tommy didn’t lose control. Not often. He had a tight lid on it, knew what he was supposed to be doing- knew exactly how to carve out the spaces in which he could decompress. He wasn’t out of touch with his emotions; he just knew how to control them.

It was the distinction between want and need - and Tommy wanted a lot of things, even when he couldn’t have them. But that was alright. For as long as he could find ways to get his needs met. In controlled spaces.

Evan made it easier. (He was definitely a want. An indulgence.) Around him, Tommy would allow his iron grip on control to loosen a little. And then a little more, and then - Evan was a problem. Tommy had known that from the moment he'd laid eyes on him, but he hadn't understood just how affected he would be by this man who bled affection into any room as easily as breathing.

He'd slipped under the wires before Tommy had entirely realized - and Tommy hadn't even realized how vulnerable he'd made himself, had followed only the pull of that sweet boy with his baby blues and the bulk of that body. And, yes, fine, he'd wanted Evan to fuck him since he'd seen that cock for the first time. It wasn't shallow - it was inevitable or some shit.

So the first time that they did it that way, Tommy was excited enough to almost trip over his feet when he dragged Evan to his bedroom. The laughter between them was sweet, it did nothing to make Tommy want him any less.

He ended up on his back, and Evan knew what he was doing. He was such a quick study and so good at taking directions, attentive to every little gasp. They were in this together, and Tommy met him halfway, right until he directed Evan into changing the angle and - oh.

"Just like that."

He didn't recognize his voice, and he wondered about it briefly, but then he just felt the way Evan leaned over his body to press a sloppy kiss to his mouth before grinning and probably saying something sexy. But Tommy wasn't paying attention to that; he couldn't track the words over the rush of sweet pleasure when Evan picked up speed.

Tommy urged him on, moaning and clinging, and he hadn’t expected it - but from one moment to the next, he was gasping, tears running down his cheeks, because it was good, it was so good-

And when a hand settled on his cheeks, cupping it gently, Tommy blinked his eyes clear. Oh. Evan. He didn’t want him to worry-

But all Tommy saw was a gentle smile. Of course, of course, sweet, gentle, perfect Evan understood.

„Good tears?“ he checked anyway, warm and fond.

„Y-yeah,“ Tommy breathed. „Kiss me again?“

Evan did. And it was perfect, too: with affection and tenderness all wrapped together. Not like it was too much or not enough - but like want and need had always been two sides of the same coin that were meant to be together.

[damiansgoodgirll]

HEYYY, I'm CRAVING for some soft Rhea 🥹🥹🥹🥹 something about needy Y/N and soft sex, #needthat 💔

rhea ripley x reader

‼️soft smut, dom!rhea, soft!rhea, overstimulation, aftercare‼️

always, remember?

the room was dimly lit, the city lights casting a soft glow through the window, but all you could focus on was rhea. the way she looked at you, with those intense, adoring eyes - like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

she sat beside you on the bed, her fingers trailing slowly up your arm, her touch featherlight but firm. her hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to hers.

“you trust me, yeah?” she murmured, her voice deep, steady.

you nodded, your breath catching in your throat “always rhea…always.”

her lips curled into a small smile before she leaned in, kissing you slowly, deeply. her hands moved with the same patience, sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed against hers.

“i wanna take my time with you gorgeous girl” she whispered against your lips, her fingers brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. you shivered as she lifted it, tossing the fabric away, her touch sending heat through your skin. she took a moment, her eyes roaming over you, mesmerized by your beauty.

“so beautiful love” she murmured, her voice thick, filled with love.

she eased you back onto the bed, her body hovering over yours, her lips trailing from your jaw down to your collarbone, pressing kisses that were warm and lingering. every touch was careful, deliberate - like she wanted you to feel everything, like she wanted to savor every inch of you.

when her hand slid between your thighs, her fingers grazing over your heat, a soft gasp left your lips. she hummed, satisfied, her lips brushing against your ear.

“already so wet for me, aren’t you?” she whispered.

her fingers moved slowly, teasing, circling exactly where you needed her but never rushing. she wanted to take her time, teasing you and making you feel loved.

your clit already swollen from rhea’s torture.

your breath hitched as she slid a single finger inside you, moving with a slow, steady rhythm. her free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you open for her, her thumb rubbing slow circles that sent sparks up your spine.

“fuck…” you whimpered, feeling her finger against your walls, hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars.

“that’s it, baby…” she murmured, her lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder “let me make you feel good.”

you whimpered, your fingers clutching at her arms as she added another finger, curling them just right, her pace still gentle but deliberate.

“you’re doing so good for me” she praised, her voice like silk, her breath warm against your skin.

this side of rhea was always mesmerizing for you.

you loved when she took control and had you crying and begging onto the bed. when she would leave your ass sore red to due her spanking you. when she would edge you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

but you loved the side where she would slowly make love to you, taking time and not rushing you. making you feel loved, appreciated, adored.

her fingers moved deeper, slower, her touch coaxing pleasure from you with every movement. her mouth followed, trailing down to your chest, her lips worshipping you, her tongue teasing just enough to make you arch into her.

“rhea…” your voice came out breathless, needy, your body already trembling.

she groaned softly, kissing the spot right beneath your ear. “i got you, baby, come for me” she promised “just let go.”

her pace stayed steady, her fingers coaxing you closer and closer, her thumb never leaving that sensitive spot. she watched you the entire time, her eyes dark and full of something deep, something tender. when you finally came undone, a broken moan left your lips, your body tightening around her fingers before melting into pure bliss. she held you through it, her touch never leaving you, her lips pressing soft kisses against your heated skin.

when the aftershocks faded, she slowly pulled her fingers from you, bringing them to her lips, her eyes locked into yours as she sucked them clean with a quiet hum of satisfaction, making you moan a little.

she was so hot - you thought.

then she gathered you in her arms, pulling you close against her chest, her fingers trailing soothing patterns along your spine.

“told you i’d take care of you” she murmured, her lips pressing against your temple.

you smiled, exhausted but completely blissed out, nuzzling into her warmth.

“always…you’re my always” you whispered.

rhea held you tighter, her breath steady, her presence strong, unshakable.

“always….” she echoed. an unspoken promise between the two of you “but i wanna give you more” her dark but comforting smile made you shiver a little.

your body was still trembling, your mind hazy from the pleasure rhea had just given you. your breathing was uneven, your skin flushed, but she wasn’t done.

she pressed a lingering kiss to your temple before pulling back slightly, her dark eyes scanning your face. the corner of her lips curled into a smirk, and you barely had time to register the look before she murmured against your skin,

“i’m not done with you, baby” she smiled.

your breath hitched, and your thighs instinctively pressed together, but rhea’s strong hands were already there, parting them again with ease.

“don’t hide from me…” she murmured, her voice softer this time, but still full of command “let me see all of you.”

her fingers trailed down your stomach, slow and teasing, making you shudder. you were still sensitive, your body still recovering from the first orgasm she had given you, but the heat in her eyes told you she wasn’t going to let you rest just yet.

before you could say anything, she shifted lower, her lips leaving soft, wet kisses down your torso, her tongue flicking against your skin in ways that made your breath catch. her hands gripped your thighs, keeping you open for her, her touch firm but still gentle.

“rhea, i…” your words broke into a soft gasp as she pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, her lips lingering, her breath warm against your oversensitive skin.

“shh, baby…” she murmured, dragging her lips higher, her tongue tracing a teasing line up to where you needed her most “i got you, be pretty for me…”

your fingers twisted into the sheets as she took her time, kissing, nipping, teasing, refusing to give you what you were begging for just yet. she looked up at you from between your thighs, her eyes dark with hunger, and the sight alone had you whimpering.

“so desperate for me again” she teased, her voice thick with satisfaction.

before you could answer, her tongue finally made contact with your already red clit. slow and deliberate, making your back arch instantly. she groaned at the taste of you, gripping your thighs tighter as she settled in, completely focused on unraveling you. her tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, her pace unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. she worked you open again, her mouth learning every sensitive spot, every tiny movement that made you gasp.

when she sucked lightly, your whole body jerked, your fingers flying to her hair, gripping tight. rhea groaned at the tug, her nails digging into your thighs as she kept you exactly where she wanted.

“fuck, rhea…” your voice broke as she flattened her tongue against you, licking you deep and slow. moans leaving your lips.

she hummed against your skin, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you “that’s it, baby” she whispered against you before dipping her tongue lower, teasing, tasting, devouring as if you were her last meal.

your legs trembled around her shoulders, your body already climbing toward another high. rhea felt it, sensed the way your muscles tightened, the way your breaths grew uneven.

but just as you were about to fall, she pulled away, leaving you aching, your body burning for more.

you let out a desperate whimper, lifting your head to look at her, your eyes glazed over. “rhea, please…”

her smirk was nothing short of wicked, her chin glistening with you, her hands holding your thighs firmly apart.

“you can take more…” she murmured, her voice full of dark promise.

before you could respond, her lips were on you again, her tongue relentless, her pace no longer slow and teasing but focused, determined to drag you over the edge again.

your back arched off the bed as the pleasure became too much, too intense, your moans broken, desperate.

“let go for me, come for me baby…” she commanded, her voice vibrating against you “give me another one, i know you can.”

you had no choice. your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking beneath her as she held you through it, licking you through the aftershocks, refusing to let you come down completely.

you barely had time to catch your breath before her fingers replaced her tongue, pressing deep inside you, stretching you open again.

“that’s two…good girl, i love you so much” she whispered, her lips brushing against the inside of your thigh, her fingers curling in just the right way.

your body was already sensitive, but she was relentless. her mouth returned to you, her tongue working in perfect sync with her fingers, pushing you higher, faster this time.

“you’re so perfect for me” she murmured between kisses, her tongue flicking, her fingers pressing deeper.

your head fell back against the pillows, your hands gripping the sheets, your body burning up.

“i can’t…” your voice was barely a whimper, but rhea didn’t let up.

“yes, you can love, you did before…” she whispered, her pace increasing, her fingers pressing against that perfect spot inside you, making you see stars “one more, baby. i know you can.”

your third orgasm ripped through you harder than the last, your body trembling, your moans breaking as rhea worked you through it, her tongue still lapping at you like she wasn’t satisfied yet.

your entire body felt like it was floating, overstimulated, pleasure pulsing through every nerve. rhea finally pulled back, her lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs as she slowly withdrew her fingers, making you shudder.

she crawled up your body, her hands stroking your sides gently, grounding you. her lips pressed to your jaw, then your cheek, then your lips, soft and lingering.

“so good for me” she murmured, her voice low, soothing “my perfect girl.”

you barely had the strength to respond, but you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her as close as you could. rhea chuckled softly, tucking you against her chest, her fingers trailing up and down your spine in slow, comforting strokes.

“i got you, baby” she whispered “always, remember?”

and as your body slowly relaxed against hers, completely spent, tired, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

your body was still trembling, your skin flushed and sensitive as you lay against the pillows, completely spent. rhea hovered over you, her hands moving gently now, completely different from how they had just been. she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, her lips lingering as she whispered “you okay, baby?”

you nodded, still catching your breath, but she wasn’t satisfied with just that. her fingers tilted your chin up, making you look at her, her eyes searching yours.

“too much?” she asked, her voice softer now, full of care.

“no” you whispered, your lips curling into a small, exhausted smile “just perfect.”

she hummed in approval before slipping off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. when she returned, she had a warm washcloth in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“c’mon, sit up for me” she coaxed, her arms slipping around you, helping you up with ease. she held the bottle to your lips first, watching as you took slow sips, her thumb stroking soothing circles into your thigh.

then she pressed the warm cloth between your legs, cleaning you up with careful, delicate movements. her brows furrowed in concentration, like she was making sure she didn’t miss a single spot.

“i love you “she murmured suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. vulnerable, just like the rhea you know and love.

you smiled sleepily, reaching up to cup her face, your thumb brushing over her cheek “i love you more.”

she scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully, but you saw the way her lips twitched, how her gaze softened. once she was satisfied that you were comfortable, she tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, wrapping you in her arms. her strong body was warm, grounding, her fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns along your back.

you smiled into her comforting touch.

“you did so good for me” she murmured against your hair, her lips pressing soft kisses to your temple “my sweet girl.” rhea couldn’t explain how much she loved you.

you melted into her touch, nuzzling closer, your body finally relaxing as sleep started to creep in.

“get some rest, baby…” she whispered, pulling the blanket over you both “i got you.”

and with her warmth surrounding you, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you knew she always would.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You and Xavier train. Rafayel teaches you to paint. And you have and appointment with Zayne.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Jealous!Xavier, Possessive Behavior, Mild NS!FW

Chapter 7: Checkup

After a day off, a long bubble bath, and an even longer nap, you felt marginally sane again. You would have never pegged Zayne as someone to be as modern as being in an open–? Poly? He didn’t seem to really know what it was, and how weird was that? Zayne’s parents were so traditional, you’d always assume Zayne would be the same. 

An adjustment, that’s all it was. And you spent your Sunday adjusting. Monday morning rolled around and you had forgotten about training with Xavier completely– until a soft knock came at 5:30am sharp.

You remembered it the moment you heard it, and scrambled out of bed. Calling out a hasty, “One minute!” As you scrounge for something to wear. Luckily for you, your limited wardrobe made it easy and you were dressed and ready in only a little over one minute. 

You weren’t exactly gym-chic, but who cared? Xavier clearly didn’t as he smiled brightly at you when you opened the door, “Ready?”

Your mind conjured a too-vivid fantasy of Xavier and Zayne. The sharp contrast between their light and dark– like watching sweet cream being poured into dark coffee. Your face flushed and you nodded, your voice a hoarse squeak, “ Yup.”

Xavier leads you to the gym and he makes sure the both of you have water before getting started. You weren’t sure what to expect but let him take the lead, letting him play ‘trainer and trainee’ which he seemed to enjoy. 

You started off with dynamic stretching and then some cardio. Xavier went to some stationary bikes and so you went too. Side by side, the two of you worked up a sweat for a while, too focused on keeping your heart rates up to really make conversation. 

Then it was on to strength training, and Xavier was…friendly. His fingers were warm when he adjusted your form on squats, and his eyes lingered whenever you finished a set. 

Xavier was remarkably strong for his physique– all precise lithe muscle without much bulk. Like his sword, a precise honed instrument for one thing only. You tried not to stare, but it was hard when you were supposed to be spotting him. 

You were relieved in more ways than one when the workout was over, and from routine alone you prepared yourself for combat drills and sparring next. That’s what the Hunter’s usually did. 

Only Xavier seemed to be done, and he saw your look of confusion and answered it with a proud smile, “We can work back up to sparring. How was today? Comfortable? Or too hard?”

“It was fine.” You answer, rolling your shoulders as that familiar ache settled over your body. It’d been too long since you’d pushed yourself, if you’d had to run from that statler yesterday, you’d probably be out of breath before you could get away. 

“You held yourself well before,” Xavier said, looking down at the water bottle in his hands instead of at your face, “I forgot to say it. But you did well.”

“Oh, thanks.” You said, a sparkle of pride blooming. It felt nice to be complimented on your skill in battle. You had assumed you’d made a fool of yourself, which is why Xavier had asked to train. 

“I need to get to patrol,” He explained, reaching out to place his hand on your shoulder. The thin strap of your workout shirt leaves little protection between your skin and his. His hand was larger than it appeared to be, and it expanded over the majority of your shoulder. His thumb drifted up, pressing into the tender pulse on your neck, and your breathing hitched. 

“What are you…” You breathed, but his hands squeezed slightly and your voice evaporated. 

“Checking your heart rate.” He answered your unfinished question. “It’s important to reach your target heart rate…”

You laughed and felt it shift his hand on you, “I know. Zayne reminds me of my heart a lot.”

“When do you see him next?” He asked, letting his hands fall, but sliding it down your arm as he did so.

“Wednesday. “ You replied, hoping he didn’t notice the little shiver that his benign gesture caused. 

Xavier seemed to think and then nodded, “Good. You can rest tomorrow and we’ll work out again Wednesday morning.”

It felt nice to be included and so you smiled and nodded, “Sounds like a plan. Now, off with you. I’ve got to get started on breakfast before Rafayel drags himself downstairs.”

There was a moment. A tiny almost imperceptible movement that Xavier made towards you, like he might try and hug you goodbye. But he stopped, turned, and left– taking his water bottle and towel with him.

After a quick shower, you start on breakfast. You had bought some premade pastries at the store and heated them up in the oven, and made some quick scrambled eggs. Xavier took a little longer than you to get ready; his hunter uniform is a bit more time-consuming than your sweater and pants. 

He sat down like he always did and asked about your day, what you had planned and if you were going to get your firearm soon. You answered with which rooms you were planning on cleaning and that no, you didn’t have plans for that yet. 

Zayne arrived, looking at his watch and always moving in a rush. The poor cardiac surgeon never allowed a proper breakfast, which is exactly why you got the pastries. You grabbed some parchment paper and wrapped two of the pastries up: a vanilla, and a raspberry. 

“Good morning,” Zayne greeted, setting his coat onto the counter while he moved to read messages on his phone. “Thank you, Y/N for breakfast again but I really have to–”

“I know,” You interrupted him, moving into his line of sight and handing him the warm offering, “Here. You can take it with you. Eat in the car, or in your office. Just make sure you eat.”

Zayne stared at the offered parcel like it was a prize, a sparkle in the gold of his eyes as the sweet smell of the pastries met his nose. He was such a sucker for sweets, and you felt mildly proud of yourself for thinking of it. 

“Thank you.” He said, taking the treats and then picking up his coat. He threw it over his arm and moved towards the door. You turned back to the stove, putting your back to him and heard him gently bid Xavier goodbye. The shuffle of movement makes you assume he’d given him another kiss to his temple. 

You wondered if you asked nicely if you could have one too. But that was ridiculous. Childish, even. You laughed at yourself at such a pathetic thought, but in the next moment there were fingertips in between your shoulder blades, pulling your attention away from the simmering eggs. 

You turned your head, and the fingers at your back moved to the back of your head, pulling you in so Zayne could press a quick, intentional kiss at your hairline. “Thank you, again.” He whispered into your hair, and you could only watch dumbfounded as he turned and left. 

When you finally managed to blink, you saw Xavier with his hand resting on his hand, elbow set next to his empty plate and his eyes staring you down with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Sorry,” You say quickly, turning back to the eggs and facing away from him. “I can tell him to stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You heard the barstool screech against the floor as it was scooted back. A sense of dejavu coming over you as you watch Xavier approach you from the corner of your eye.

“Why would you do that?” Xavier’s voice sounded different now. Lower and darker. 

“B-because he’s…because you two….” You cleared your throat and continued to stir the eggs, turning them more into tiny crumbles instead of thick scrambles. 

The heat from the stove became even more intense as the air around you turned icy. Xavier placed a hand next to the stove and crowded into your space, nearly pressing his back into yours. Heat leaching into you and your senses shivering like the gaze of a predator had fallen on your soft prey skin.

“The only thing wrong with what just happened…” Xavier’s voice was a hushed rumble, like thunder in the distance, “Was that I didn’t get my share…”

You swallowed hard, and tried to keep still. His breath had ghosted across the back of your neck, he must be so close. His lips were only one accidental movement away from your skin. It took more effort than you thought it would to not move. To stay completely still and not move back into him– into the awaiting expanse of him that seemed to pull at you like fishhooks in your bones. 

“Did he not..?” You stuttered, hands having stopped in their movement, “Did he not give you one?”

“No, he did.” Xavier’s hiss was at your ear now, “You said it wasn’t part of your contract…but Zayne has gotten two now, and I’ve gotten none.”

His words knocked something loose in your brain and you set the spatula down and turned. He was close. Close enough you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes, and you found a black void there. It was the angriest you’d ever seen him, “What?”

The arm not braced on the countertop went around you, fingertips grazing against the curve of your spine. His eyes never left you, and his head tilted slightly, “Are you playing favorites, Miss Housekeeper?”

“Don’t–” You squeaked, “I have a name.”

The corners of Xavier’s mouth quirked up, “ Y/N , I’ll ask again. Are you playing favorites?”

Your brain, which was only partially functional at this point, came up with a sharp remark, but what left your lips was, “N-no.”

“Then I should get two, right?” Xavier asked hoarsely, “Or, something equivalent.”

You swallowed again, “Something equivalent?”

“I could give you two.” Xavier ran his fingers up and up and up your back, flattening out just beneath your shoulder blades, “Or you could give me one.”

You recalled the last time Xavier asked you about this, but that had been so different. He’d be almost curious then. Inquisitive instead of interrogatory. He had asked about Zayne’s slip up like someone was passing out candy and he’d been forgotten. This time…this time was an offense. A crime to be punished for, and he was determined to get his due. 

“I thought you were with…” Your voice was barely a whisper, and came out like a guilty plea, “I don’t understand.”

“Two?” Xavier continued darkly, “Or one?”

Your mind short circuited, the touch on your back searing into your skin and misfiring in your brain. You’d never been so overcome before, and by such an innocuous thing. He was asking for a goodbye kiss of all things, and you were getting weak in the knees like some medieval virgin that saw too much ankle. 

But something about Xavier burned so intensely. A nuclear reactor– both subdued and dangerous, and the scent of him was like some potent drug. You felt a bit lost when he was too close, a bit dreamy like you weren’t really here. Like this wasn’t really you. 

“Two.” You heard your voice reply, though you were sure your brain hadn’t thought a thing. 

Xavier hummed, pleased, and pulled you in by his hand on your back. Reflexively, you tilted your head down expecting him to kiss the same spot that Zayne had, but he used his other hand to hold your chin. Tilting your head up and pulling a gasp from your lips. 

His lips pressed against your cheek, nearly on your jaw, and your hand snapped onto his upper arm– searching for something stable to hold onto. 

“One.” He whispered, lips moving against your cheek as he only moved far enough away to inhale. 

You tilted your head back as he moved down, prostrating yourself to his teeth and his desires. He could tear your throat out, bite down and thrash like a dog and you’d let him. What a horrible delectable feeling, to be so at the mercy of someone. 

He pressed his lips again, more open this time so that when he pulled away you felt the cool dot of saliva he left behind, “Two.”

A barely audible whimper escaped you, and you weren’t sure whether to faint or to fight anymore. Xavier pulled away, looking smug and victorious, “There, now I’ll be twice as lucky today.”

He let you go slowly, almost making sure you could stand on your own before he stepped away. On his way out he grabbed a warm pastry, stuffing it in his mouth like his victory meal and leaving the house like a conquering hero. 

You were stuck there. Breathless and standing on a knife’s edge. A part of you wanting to sink into the sticky, syrupy feeling of affection– and the other buzzing with anger at being manipulated. What was that? What was the point of that? 

As soon as you feel like you understand things, then they go and do something else! 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, only that the smell of burning eggs is what broke you from your spiraling thoughts. You quickly moved the eggs and sighed exasperatedly at the black char on the bottom of them. 

Stupid Xavier and his angelic eyes and his devil tongue. Stupid Zayne and his savored affection and sweet touch. They would be the death of you, if something else didn’t get you first. You felt like a bone being tossed into a lion’s den, gnawed at and exposed for their enjoyment. 

Were you a bone to starving lions? Or lion yourself? You realized the only reason you were struggling so much was the idea that you would ruin whatever it was that was going on between them. You were many things, but you weren’t a homewrecker. You wouldn’t participate if it meant coming between them, despite Xavier and his…persuasion.

Cleaning keeps your mind and your body busy. You were sore from your workout from Xavier but it worked in keeping you from thinking too much about your interaction that morning. 

You were debating telling Zayne about it, for transparency's sake. But that made your stomach curl in on itself. What would you even say? ‘Hey, your not-boyfriend demanded a goodbye kiss this morning and I trembled like a touch-starved virgin?’

You sighed and shook your head as you put away the cleaning caddy you had been using, “I should just leave.” You whisper to yourself.

“Where are you going?” A voice spoke from behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

Rafayel grinned down at you, hands on his hips and his shirt covered in splotches of paint.

“What?” You questioned as you let your heart recover from the scare.

“You said you were going to leave, where are you going?” Rafayel shifted his weight onto one foot and jutted out his hip.

“No where.” You replied as you shut the door on the supply closet, “I was just thinking.”

The smudge of pale lavender paint on the side of Rafayel’s lips stretched as he frowned, and he looked unconvinced. He clicked his tongue and you saw him move on from that thought.

“Come with me, I need your eyes.” Rafayel reached out and took your hand, his palm was warm but his fingertips cool and you hoped he didn’t mind the slight dampness on yours.

“You need my eyes?” You repeated as he dragged you along towards his studio. 

Cool, ventilated air hit you as you entered his creative domain. A fan in the corner stirring up a sketchbook and fluttering its canvas pages. It made it almost too cool for comfort here, but Rafayel didn’t seem to mind. 

“I started a new series.” Rafayel explained as he pulled you to the low goldenrod couch. With a little maneuvering he sat you down and then walked over to grab a large square canvas that was leaning against a work table. “Tell me what you think.”

Rafayel held up the canvas in front of him, his paint stained fingers careful to remain along the edges. 

“I’m hardly qualified to critique your work,” You protested.

Rafayel’s pout nearly made you cackle, “You do it. Tell me if it’s too waiting-room.”

You sighed and examined the work. It was soft. That was your first thought. Clearly a depiction of flowers floating on the surface of water. Though it was hazy, the edges all softened and slightly blurred. Dreamlike and ethereal but still very real. Like you could reach out and feel the softness of the petals or ripple the surface of the water.

“It’s beautiful.” You say as you sit up a bit straighter. “It’s so soft. How do you make it feel so glowy?”

Rafayel peers around the edge of his painting and then back to you, “Blending mostly. Reflected light, and making sure the color palette is cohesive.”

He sits the painting down and goes back to you, bending down to take your hand that was sitting on your knee. “Here I’ll show you.” 

And again, you’re being pulled. You pass by three more paintings on the floor that match the one he showed you, all flowers on different liquid surfaces. One is multicolored and iridescent and the flowers are surrounded with bubbles like they’re floating in a bath. Another on shifting wine-dark seawater, edged with churning foam.

He brings you to an easel in the corner, a few other unfinished paintings sit on the floor discarded and a large rectangular canvas sits on its ledge. A workstation is sat next to it, a glass palette on top of it and several containers of long paintbrushes alongside it.

“Sit,” He directs as he pulls a stool over and sets you on in. Placed directly in front of the canvas you feel too much like a kid in front of a fragile vase. One wrong move and it’s shattered. 

Rafayel’s hand settles on your back, sliding down to rest at the base of your spine as he plucks a paintbrush out and hands it to you.

“Hold it back here.” He shows you with his own hand, “And let us just barely touch the canvas.” 

You jerk back as he begins to guide your hand to the painting, “I can’t. I’ll ruin it!”

“There is no ruining it.” Rafayel’s voice is a rumble in your ear, “Just changing. Now, let the brush just barely touch the surface and swirl it. Like tickling it.” 

You can’t help but giggle softly and let Rafayel hold his hand over yours as the paintbrush barely kisses the wet paint. The forget-me-nots have barely come into fruition, Rafayel must have been working on them still as he slides his and your hands to feather the edge of a petal, blending it into the crystalline water.

“Good.” Rafayel coos and you feel his voice as much as you hear it. It slides down you like a shot of liquor sending a shiver down your spine and heat in your belly. 

The fingertips on your back feel like they press harder into you, but you’re sure that’s your imagination.

“Now you try.” Rafayel lets go of your hand. You turn your head to look at him but his expression is unreadable.

“Are you sure?” You ask, still worried about somehow ruining his work.

Rafayel grins, “I’ll just have to make sure you sign your name next to mine on this one. Since you did help.” 

You laugh, “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious, cutie. Your hands have touched it, so I can’t take full credit.” Rafayel hummed and watched you hesitantly continue to blend.

He steps onto your other side and he lowers his chin down onto your shoulder. The weight of him makes you freeze and then your head, but that makes your hair shift over him. And your face was far too close to his.

“How are you getting along?” He asks, eyes glued to the canvas and your frozen brush. You feel the rumble of his voice on your back, “With the others?”

“Oh…um…” Words are hard when you're this flustered. A sane part of you argues for your personal space, but another sadder more starved part of you hushes the other. 

You clear your throat before continuing, “It’s going well. Zayne explained a little about your situation.”

His chin shifts, head tilting closer into your neck, “He did?”

You nod and try to focus on the other flower and not the addition of his hands in your waist, “Mhmm. I got to talk more with Sylus the other day, and Xavier has offered to train with me. It’s nice. I feel like we can all be friends, you know?”

Rafayel huffs and his breath tickles your neck, “Friends, huh?”

He shifts, moving to press himself against your back fully. Boldly. A low inquiring rumble vibrates behind you. “I feel like I should warn you about your new friends , then.”

The seriousness in his tone contrasts against the warm lighting and the tenderness in his touch. Like his body and voice weren’t connected at all. Because he holds you like someone cradles something precious– like he’d held his painting not a few minutes before. Keeping his fingers along the edge to preserve the image. 

But his voice is a drawl. The low tone of a bow across a cello, setting a tone of solemn disdain. He sounded disappointed, or maybe irritated? He was hard to define, and harder to know. It felt like each time you saw him he was something new, and you had to learn all over again. 

“How so?” You whisper, his hand gliding up the curve of your waist and trailing down your arm back to your wrist. His long fingers wrap around you, and pull your brush over to the palette. As if you were his paintbrush, he effortlessly swishes the bristles into smears of his mixed paints, picking up form blobs around the corner to create a deeper hue. 

In an act of puppetry, Rafayel draws you back to the painting and begins to paint with your hand. His chest stretched across your shoulder and his breath brushing against your ear. The silence in the room deafened by the soft brush of his exhale. 

“Zayne is clueless.” Rafayel said, his lips quirking upwards, “For someone so smart, he rarely knows what’s going on. Don’t count on him for answers. Come to me instead.”

His face was on the other side of you now, and you turned to argue in defense of your friend. But Rafayel was already looking at you, smirking. He continued, silencing your protest before it began, “Sylus is a glutton. Don’t give him anything you aren’t willing to give up completely. Unless you want him following you around like a lost little puppy, don’t bother with him.”

The spark of irritation you had felt for Zayne is only stoked higher. You didn’t know Sylus well, if at all, but he hardly deserved to be talked down to like that. A sense of defensiveness swelled in your chest, and you were scowling at him, open mouth ready to argue.

“And Xavier’s a liar.” Rafayel continued, no one in the house safe from his critique it seemed, “He wants to train? Yeah, right. He wants to hoard your time. He’s worse than Sylus sometimes, and he’s twice as jealous.”

You scoff, believing now that Rafayel was making stuff up just to confuse you, “Jealous? Of what?”

The hand holding your wrist and glissading across the canvas stopped, and the grip tightened. Rafayel’s alexandrite eyes turned on you like the sight of a bow, and an arrow was knocked. 

His other arm wrapped around your waist, sliding until his hand was firmly gripping your hip and squeezing until it almost hurt. A darkness brewed in his eyes, expanding like cold-front of an ocean storm. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling pinned. Worse than this morning when Xavier had crowded you up against the countertop. That felt like being cornered. This felt like being snared. You were tangled in a net and the more you moved the worse it got. 

“Of anything and everything that takes your attention away from him.” Rafayel’s words brushed against you, his lips so close. 

You were breathing fast, ensnared in the multicolor of his eyes and the heat from him leaching into you.

“He’s bad at sharing.” Rafayel looked slightly amused at the rabbit-like wideness to your eyes, “The worst of us.”

“I didn’t…” Nonsense is all that could escape you. “I don’t want to get between.”

“Oh cutie .” Rafayel’s hand around your wrist slid down, flicking the paintbrush out of your fingers and letting it clatter to the floor. He grabbed your palm and drew it close. You were completely wrapped up in him now. A little guppy tangled up in the paralyzing fingers of an anemone. “ Are you sure about that?”

Your heart stopped, “What?”

Rafayel grinned and suddenly the ear-popping pressure of his presence backed off. The arm around your waist slid back to settle benignly at your spine, and the hand clenched around yours eased. He blinked and the storm in his eyes was replaced with sunny playfulness, “Don’t worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

You could feel him dismiss this, and frowned, “No, what do you mean? I’m not trying to get in between you guys. I’m not that kind of person.”

“You’re not? That’s a shame.” Rafayel took a step back and you felt you might fall off your stool without him for a moment. He placed his hands on his hips, taunting you, “It’s too bad you’re already there.”

“What’s that mean?” You stand up, “If I’m causing problems I’ll leave. Is Xavier mad at me? Is that why he–”

“He what?” Rafayel’s chin lowered.

You huffed, “Zayne kissed me goodbye this morning. On the forehead, nothing crazy. And Xavier wanted one too. Only he…he wanted a slightly different one.”

Rafayel scoffs, “He tries to act so cool, but he’s so predictable sometimes. I knew he’d break first. Look cutie, stop thinking of us like some four-way engagement that you’ll somehow put a wedge in. Stop tiptoeing and overthinking.”

“I’m just here to clean. “ You raise your hands in a wall in front of you, “I got put on leave at my job and kicked out of my apartment. That’s the only reason why I’m here. I think you’re overthinking this.”

Rafayel crossed his arms, “Oh, yeah? Well, the last two housekeepers lasted less than a week each. Xavier never even saw them, and you can bet Zayne wasn’t giving them little good-bye kisses. Sylus avoided them like the plague and when he did see them  he made sure to put the fear of God into them. Regardless of how you got here, you’re here now. And it’s different.”

You cross your arms, an unconscious movement to seek some comfort. It was overwhelming to imagine that all four of them liked you enough to not only keep you around but to want you here. 

“Well, save your declarations of love until after I clean your studio.” You say, hoping to deflect some of this pressure. “I’ll be sure to move everything.”

Rafayel laughs and steps forward, reaching out like he might place his hand on the side of your face, but changing his mind at the last second. “Just let me know if you change any of them. So you can sign them too.”

__________________

You spend Tuesday in Rafayel’s studio. He spends a remarkable amount of time not painting. Lazing about on the couch, or flipping through sketchbooks. He mumbles to himself and scrolls on his phone, and only precious few moments are spent actually working. 

It confounds you that he can be such a popular and famous artist if this is how his days look. 

You don’t know why you're irritated with him, and when you first enter his studio its with the intention to wreck it. It wouldn’t occur to you later that anger is just the replacement for confusion, and frankly– embarrassment. 

It takes less than an hour for you to change your mind. You meticulously flatten out the crumpled pieces of sketchbook paper and lay them in a stack. Trash is still thrown away, and the floor is swept in piecemeal. You pick up tubes of paint, wipe beneath them, and place them exactly where they were before. Canvases are shifted to sweep behind and then put back.

Your threat of moving everything turns into an apologetic, agonizing amount of effort to not do that. There is love in Rafayel’s work, and it feels too wrong to try and wound him that way. 

So, you clean the studio and it looks the same as when you started sans scattered papers, trash, dust bunnies, etc. It’s all around just a shinier, more pristine chaos. 

Rafayel tries on more than one occasion to get you to help him again. He lures you in with inquiries about color choices. Which paint brush is your favorite? Can you hold this for me? Here, stand there, you can be my model. No, don’t pout at me miss housekeeper. I’m serious!

The tempestuous aura he had yesterday is gone, replaced by a more familiar pestering. It’s easier to deal with, and honestly a bit fun. He pouts so childishly when you deny him. 

It takes you all day to finish the studio and you’re so exhausted you text Zayne you can’t make dinner and then promptly pass out. 

Wednesday morning rolls around and you wake up before your alarm. Your heart is racing and stomach fluttering. You’d promised to train with Xavier again today before your appointment with Zayne. Your last interaction with the blond has left you unsure of what to expect, and you’re equal parts confused and buzzing with anticipation. 

Xavier knocks on your door and smiles at you with that blinding sweetness. You’re dressed and ready this time, and follow him to the gym like nothing has changed. Had it?

He pushes a little harder today. Like he wanted to make sure you feel it. It distracts you enough to all but forget about the last time Xavier was close to you. The possession in his touch and how you knew for almost certain it wasn’t because of his feelings for Zayne. 

You’re panting and tired by the time you’re done, and only when you're nearly ready to tap out does Xavier relent. 

Xavier tells you you're done and you collapse out of your plank onto the padded floor below. You hear his soft chuckle from above and then his gentle fingers nudging your hair to the side. They trail downward to palm at your shoulder and he helps you up. 

“You did well.” He crooned. His crooked fingers lift your chin and place your water bottle to your lips, letting you drink– keeping you there until he’s satisfied you’ve hydrated enough. 

“Thanks.” You pant in between gulps of air. Leveling out, you go to stand but Xavier is there, offering his hand which you take. He hauls you up and keeps his hand in yours like you might be unsteady. It’s not until you look at your clasped hands that he lets go. 

You part ways and the rest of the morning plays out the same as it had before, only Zayne isn’t there. A note and a text both letting you know he had to leave early. His pretty handwriting on a little sticky note which also assures you that he has eaten. 

You make breakfast and Xavier eats his portion. He thanks you, puts his dish in the sink and then comes to your side. His hand sliding across your back to keep you in place. 

Xavier’s laugh is low as you look up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth. He tilts his head, “Does it make you uncomfortable? If it’s not Zayne?”

Your mouth falls open, “No. I mean…maybe. It’s new. That’s all.”

“New.” He repeats the word like he's tasting it. Letting it mull in his mouth as his brows tilt downward. He blinks and focuses back on you, “So then– one, or two?”

Your stomach flips and you keep your clammy hands clenched, “One.”

Xavier’s smile could blind someone someday. It’s a hazard and should be regulated, surely. You nearly stumble and the genuine eagerness that appears in his face. The teasing and amusement melting into something so deeply, and emphatically pure.

He happily lowers his head down for you, closing his eyes like you might bestow him a crown. You can’t help but laugh, for all his boyish charms he’s still ridiculously tall and has to practically kneel so you can kiss his forehead. 

Call it a spark of insanity, or perhaps a lack of self-preservation, you step forward, placing your foot in between his. You pinch his chin in between your thumb and forefinger, maneuvering as you wish as you tilt him up slightly. 

His eyes open and he looks so caught off guard that he might faint. You lean in, and Xavier’s breathing stops. 

When you press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, a ragged vulnerable exhale leaves him. Like you’ve wounded him, but simultaneously blessed him too. A too-raw expression making you wonder if you miscalculated. 

“Only one, right?” You ask, all the bravado leaving you at the sudden flash in his eyes. You can almost see him debate, closing the distance himself as his eyes flick down to your lips before going back up again. 

He closes his eyes and nods, “Right. Only a normal amount of luck then.”

You laugh lightly as Xavier straightens up, “Be careful, yeah?”

Xavier pauses to give you another affirming nod and then leaves. 

When you’re alone in the kitchen, you exhale like you’ve just run a marathon and continue with preparing the other two’s breakfast. You’ve learned by now to just put them in containers for whenever they decide to eat. 

Maybe Rafayel was right, and you need to stop overthinking. It did feel remarkably good to just….enjoy. 

You realize you should have asked Xavier for a ride when you realize you don’t have your own transportation less than thirty minutes later. It pains you to order a taxi– the price alone makes your chest hurt, but it's not like it's your last dime anymore. Which is nice. 

The ride to the hospital is spent with its normal amount of pre-appointment nerves. Zayne is ruthless when it comes to your health, and it doesn’t help that you can’t exactly lie to him and tell him anymore. Not when he knows every meal you eat and the amount of sleep you’re getting. 

You greet the receptionist and wait less than five minutes before Zayne comes out to get you. He’s wearing an emerald button up and charcoal vest under his white coat today, and he looks so very good in green. The lab coat doesn’t hurt either. 

His office doubles as an exam room for his patients, and you go over to the table and sit on the crunchy paper when he directs you to. 

The first part is always the same. Vitals. Heart Rate, O2, Blood pressure. He takes a small blood sample and listens to your heart with a good old-fashioned stethoscope. There was plenty of technology that made stethoscopes unnecessary in many cases, but Zayne always said he liked to do things with his own hands, and listen with his own ears.

“How have you been sleeping?” He asks as he scribbles down a note with the stylus on the tablet next to him. “Any more disruptions?”

You shake your head, “I’m sleeping fine. I hardly wake up at night anymore.”

“That’s good.” Zayne replies coolly, “I’m reluctant to prescribe my heart patients with sleeping medication.”

“How are you sleeping?” You turn back to him, “You’ve been at the hospital a lot lately.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes flicker up to you and he shakes his head, “I go where I’m needed. There’s been more fluctuations lately.”

“Ah, I see.” You reply lamely. “That doesn’t mean you don’t need sleep. Are you still sleeping in your office?”

Zayne’s eyes narrow, “I believe this is your examination. Not mine.”

“I worry. That’s all.” You reply quickly. “So, what’s the prognosis, doctor Zayne? How long do I have?”

“I hate those jokes, you know that.” Zayne condemns with an icy look, “You’re doing well. Your vitals are slightly better than the last appointment, and the preliminary blood work is acceptable.”

You nod as Zayne goes over to his desk and you hop down from the exam table to follow him. He places his tablet down next to his computer and then turns back to you, “I’d like you to eat more iron, and make sure you’re resting when you can.”

“Xavier kissed me.”

It’s not the reply you intended, but it’s what came out. Zayne doesn’t physically react beyond looking up at you sharply. 

“What?”

You pick at your nails and scramble to pick up the pieces of your sudden confession. “It wasn’t too crazy or anything! He wanted a goodbye kiss too! And then he did it twice, and then this morning I kissed him back.”

Zayne was silent. His middle fingertip tapping against the lacquered wood of his desk was the only movement besides his eyes. They searched your face and then closed.

“I didn’t want to keep it from you.” You say quickly, “He said… and Rafayel– I’m sorry.”

Oh god, you fucked it up. You crossed a line. You were a homewrecker! You’d crushed Zayne’s heart by kissing his boyfriend and you’d let Rafaye convince you it was ok! You were definitely fucking his studio up now. No canvas was safe. 

“I see.” His voice in a deadly timbre, and you freeze. He approaches you slowly, a deadly prowl like the languid elegance of a jaguar. “Did he make you uncomfortable?

You lick at your lips, feeling suddenly dry, “No. Not really.”

Zayne nods and reaches out, holding your chin and resting his thumb against your bottom lip. The coolness of his touch makes your knees wobble. Zayne never touches you. Never initiates anything beyond chaste and familial contact. This is…

“Was it here?” Zayne asks, eyes locked on where his thumb pulls down your lower lip ever so slightly. 

You try not to move, afraid if you do he’ll flee. This delicate blossom of intimacy he’s given you too precious to lose. 

“N-no.” You whisper, barely moving your lips. His touch becomes a bit firmer, pressing into both your top and bottom lip and you resist the urge to kiss it properly. You’re suddenly very aware of your tongue too. 

“Where then?” Zayne’s whispering now, reserved still like he’s afraid to know the answer. He lets his head drift away from your chin, the backs of his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“M-my cheek first.” You explain, confessing like a child to their teacher. You felt like you were in trouble, but being honest would keep you out of a worse punishment.  Reaching up, you point to the place on your jaw where Xavier had kissed first. “Then…” You swallow, “Then my neck.”

You point that out too, and Zayne’s eyes follow the movement. 

“And you?” Zayne cups your jaw and swipes his thumb over where Xavier had kissed over two days ago. “Where did you kiss him?”

“On the nose. This morning.” You confess. 

Zayne blinks, the gears in his labyrinthine mind turning. You wouldn’t wager a bet to even guess what he was thinking. Flip flopping between fear and tenuous hope. 

His other hand goes to rest on your upper arm, and draws you in. 

“Zayne,” You whisper, moving along with him as he uses the hand on your jaw to tilt your face up. “Are you…Are you mad at me?”

Zayne replies with a hum, “I’m not sure.”

A stab to your gut, you scramble for more apologies. Willing to fall on your sword to gain his forgiveness again. 

“Don’t misinterpret me,” Zayne says a bit firmer, “You’re free to do as you wish. As is Xavier. I just…find myself…” 

He exhales and it sounds like it shakes, but you chock that up to your delirious imagination. 

“I didn’t want to cross that line with you.” Zayne sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to you. “I wanted to keep things professional, so you weren’t uncomfortable. But…but I find myself thinking of it more and more lately. Dreaming of it.”

You sink into his hold, the fear of his anger evaporating at his ragged words. “Dreaming of what?”

The hand on your jaw moves back down to place the tips of his middle and forefinger at the curve of your cupid’s bow, drawing a line down to the corner. “Can I have this spot? Can I ?”

You're suddenly dizzy, and worry for a moment that the taxi you rode here in is in a ditch and you're living out some pre-death fantasy, high on chemicals just before you die. 

Zayne’s head tilts to the side, taking you in. The moment stretches on for ages as your mind– sticky with his honeyed words– slowly begins to understand. He wants to kiss you. He’s asking to kiss you. 

The moment the realization hits you’re nodding and shifting forward, but Zayne is already there. Sliding his hand across your jaw and into your hair, intertwining his fingers as much as he can without grabbing it. 

His lips are warm as they press against you, pushing and pushing until you’re reeling from the pressure. He shifts and you follow, a slow sweet kiss sliding down into something richer. 

Hungry is the word you think of when you feel his lips ply at yours, opening you up from closed-mouth pecks into something more open and wet. Your first taste of him is so deafening you don��t even realize what it is, your mind three steps behind your body. 

Cool and sweet. Like soft butter mints. 

You wonder what you must taste like to him as he draws his teeth against your bottom lip. It must be good because he groans like he’s been wounded, and dives back in with more fervor and heat than before. 

The backs of your legs knock into his desk, a picture frame clattering over and onto the floor. It goes unheard and unnoticed as Zayne’s hands leave your hair to claw at your leg, pulling you up to sit on the edge of the desk. 

You whine into his mouth. A willingly and eager participant as you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping him close. A hedonistic thrall that entwines you both.

 A man possessed. Completely overcome and rendered down to nothing but physicality. His brain must be off, and you were glad it was. Lucid Zayne would never shift the books next to your hips to the side. Never hook his fingers under your knee to ply them apart so he could fit between them. 

He’d never use the wide expanse of his shoulders to hunch over you, slowly but surely pressing you further and further into the desktop. 

“ So sweet.” He groans under his breath and it slides down your spine like the hit of a drug. Settling in your core and you can’t help the breathy moan you answer him with. 

Your mewl is met with a roll of his hips. And it’s the most mind-numbing friction and simultaneously not enough. You cling to him as he grinds again, caught up in his own mind-numbing sensations. 

“We can’t…” You have just enough sense to whisper, remembering where you are. Zayne growls and drags his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking a mark onto your pulse. 

Zayne doesn’t seem to care. Continuing to move his clothed hips against yours until you’re close to tears. Close to begging him to just shift some clothes to the side. Move whatever he has to to get closer. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Like a death knell on the room, Zayne freezes mid thrust. His hips pressed firmly against yours. You’re holding onto his shoulders for dear life, wrinkling his pristine, white coat and his glasses are halfway down his nose. 

“ Dr. Zayne, your next patient is here. I’ve been messaging.”

“Shit.” You curse at the sound of the kind, but timid nurse on the other side of the door. 

“Give me five minutes.” Zayne answers, voice even– like he’d caught up reading a book and not tearing you apart. 

“Zayne.” You say quietly, unsure of what to do now.

He stands up and takes you with him, sitting up on his desk and moving to correct your shifted clothing. With a stern expression, he preens your hair and wipes at your face. 

“I got carried away.” He sounds guilty and you can’t help but laugh.

“I didn’t mind.” You say, hoping he’ll smile. He does. 

He adjusts his clothing and fixes his glasses, “We shouldn’t do this at the hospital.”

You laugh again and shake your head, holding his hand as he helps you off the desk. You help him pick up the scattered decor and set the photo back up. An old photo of when he’d graduated college, his parents standing next to him. 

“Are you alright? I didn’t–” He clears his throat, “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You firmly shake your head, “No you didn’t hurt me. Just the opposite. Unless you start spouting about this being a mistake. That would hurt.”

Zayne reaches out, petting your hair and placing his forehead to the top of yours, “Never. We got carried away, but this was not a mistake.”

“Good,” You reply. “I should go though, before she comes back.”

“Right.” Zayne looks physically reluctant to step away, but he manages it. “I’ll be home for dinner. I’ll see you then.”

You squeeze his hand, the last part of him to let go and then step away. “I’ll see you then.”

__________________________

You’re giddy the whole ride home. Buzzing with returned affection while simultaneously straining under unreleased tension. Any discomfort forgotten until you get to your room. 

You rush up the stairs, thankful no one else is around to see you flee. Locking the door behind you, you throw yourself down onto your bed, fully intending on sliding your hand down your pants as soon as you can. The remnants of Zayne’s touch enough to make you heart-poundingly desperate. 

Only you feel something under you. And you move to see what it is. 

A black box, wrapped in satiny black wrapping and a pretty crimson bow on top. You check for a tag, but find none. A little confused, you open it. Sliding it open and finding another box within. Only this one is more industrial and familiar. A gun case for a handgun. You flick open the latch and open it, surprised to see a 9mm handgun. Carbon black and trimmed with red. The handle and barrel are carved with a pretty scrolling script and down the lines of it are embedded with shiny red resin. It's tasteful. It's elegant. 

Checking the safety you lift it from its cushiony box and examine it closer. When you lift it however, you hear soft tinkling. And see a charm as been hooked to it– a juvenile addition to a very pretty gun. 

At the end of the chain is the cutesy head of a black cat. Smiling and round. It looked like something you’d win in a claw machine. And surely could not have come with a gun like this. 

You look back into the gun case and see a note, which had been placed underneath the firearm. 

A single folded card.

An extra claw for the kitten.

S

You huff in amusement and examine the gun again. Did Sylus really get you a gun? It’s extravagant and a bit odd, but you like it. It’s been a long time since you’d held a gun, and the weight of it was familiar and a bit exhilarating. 

A thought occurred to you as you placed the gun back into its case. Were you being wooed right now?

<- Previous Next ->

[777bae]

A LOVE THAT GROWS WILLIAM EKLUND

Summary :: William Eklund is a dedicated partner and father, supporting you through pregnancy, late-night cravings, and building the nursery. His love deepens with every milestone, always cheering on your daughter. (REQUESTED :: pregnancy -> girldad)

Warnings :: pregnancy

Word count :: 4.0k

You never thought you could love William Eklund more than you already did. From the moment you met him, he had been warm, kind, and full of life. But now, as you sit on the couch, your hand resting on your growing belly, you realize that love has a way of expanding—just like the life forming inside of you.

William had been over the moon when you first told him you were pregnant. You still remember the way his blue eyes widened, the way his lips parted in disbelief before curving into the biggest, most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. He had wrapped you in his arms, lifting you off the ground as he spun you around, laughing in pure joy.

He had always been attentive, but now, he was completely devoted. Some nights, when he thought you were asleep, he would trace gentle patterns over your skin, talking to her like she was already here.

“She’s going to be so beautiful,” he murmured one evening, his fingers brushing over your stomach. “Just like her mama.”

You let out a sleepy laugh, reaching to run your fingers through his soft hair. “You’re really in love with her already, aren’t you?”

William lifted his head, his hazel eyes shining with a warmth that made your heart ache in the best way. “Completely,” he admitted.

Every morning, before he leaves for practice, he kneels in front of you, pressing a soft kiss to your belly and murmuring sweet nothings in Swedish, his voice low and full of adoration. Sometimes he hums a lullaby, his fingers tracing light circles over your stomach, as if he’s already trying to soothe the baby inside. He always tells her he loves her, even before she’s here, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, she kicks in response, making his eyes go wide with awe.

“She knows her papa already,” he whispers, resting his cheek against your belly with a tender smile.

You swear he never stops thinking about you. When he comes home after a long day of practice, sweat still clinging to his skin, his first words aren’t about hockey or how training went. They’re always about you.

“How are my girls?” he asks, dropping his bag by the door and immediately walking over to you. He kneels down in front of the couch, his hands finding your belly first before he leans up to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

If your feet are swollen, he’s on the floor before you can even complain, rubbing slow, careful circles into your aching skin. His hands, rough from hockey, are warm and soothing as he kneads the tension away, pressing kisses to your ankle between strokes.

“You’re doing so much already,” he murmurs, gazing up at you with so much love it almost takes your breath away. “Let me take care of you.”

And he does—constantly.

When you wake up nauseous in the middle of the night, barely making it to the bathroom, he’s right behind you, gathering your hair and rubbing your back as you tremble over the sink. He whispers reassurances, pressing his lips to your temple as he holds you up.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly, waiting until you feel steady enough before guiding you back to bed. He disappears for only a moment, returning with a cold washcloth to press to your forehead, along with a glass of water and a handful of crackers.

He never lets you lift a finger. Laundry? Already done. Dishes? Washed and put away before you even notice. One time, you wake up to find him assembling a crib in the middle of the nursery at 2 a.m., struggling with the instructions but determined to finish before you wake up.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he admits sheepishly when you catch him, his hair a mess, frustration evident in the way his brows are furrowed. “I swear, the instructions make no sense.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You could’ve waited until morning.”

“I know,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he looks at the half-finished crib before glancing back at you, his expression softening. “But I just… I want everything to be perfect for her.”

Your heart melts at the sincerity in his voice.

William has always been the type to put others first, but now, with you carrying his child, he takes it to another level. When you’re out running errands together, he always insists on carrying the heavier bags, even if it’s just a carton of milk. If he notices you looking tired, he gently tugs you into his side, his arm wrapping around your waist as he kisses the top of your head.

And then there are the cravings.

One night, you’re curled up on the couch, barely paying attention to the movie playing, when the sudden, desperate need for chocolate-covered pretzels hits you.

“Will?” you mumble sleepily.

“Hmm?” He glances over from his spot beside you, already tucking the blanket tighter around your legs.

“I think I need chocolate-covered pretzels.”

He blinks, then checks his phone. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I know,” you sigh dramatically, pouting up at him. “But they sound so good right now.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly. “You and our daughter are really putting me to work, huh?”

Still, he doesn’t hesitate. Within minutes, he’s pulling on his hoodie and grabbing his car keys.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupts gently, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Twenty minutes later, he’s back, triumphant, holding up not one but three different brands of chocolate-covered pretzels.

“I didn’t know which ones you’d want,” he explains, setting them on your lap with a proud grin. “So I got them all.”

It’s in moments like these that you realize just how lucky you are.

One night, after a particularly long day, you find yourself overwhelmed with emotions. You’re exhausted, sore, and your hormones are making you cry over everything. William finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, silent tears slipping down your cheeks as you rub at your swollen belly.

“Baby,” he whispers, immediately kneeling in front of you. His hands frame your face, thumbs wiping away your tears. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffle, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I just… I feel huge, and everything hurts, and I’m so tired.”

He listens, his face soft with understanding as he gently pulls you into his arms.

“You’re growing a whole human,” he reminds you, pressing his lips against your hair. “It’s okay to feel this way. But you’re not just beautiful, you’re incredible.”

You close your eyes, sinking into his warmth. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he whispers.

That night, he holds you a little closer, his hand never straying from your belly, as if he’s silently promising to always be there for both of you.

And in that moment, you know—he always will be.

The moment your daughter enters the world, William changes forever.

You’ve never seen him cry much, but the second he hears her tiny, wobbly cry, he shatters. Tears spill down his cheeks, his lips parting in a stunned breath as he stares at the little miracle in the doctor’s hands. His hands shake when they finally place her in his arms, his entire world shifting in an instant.

She’s so small, wrapped in a soft hospital blanket, her delicate features scrunched up as she whimpers. A tuft of light brown hair, just like his, sticks up slightly at the top of her head. His breath catches as he studies her, as if memorizing every perfect little detail.

“Hi, älskling,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. His fingertip brushes over her tiny fingers, marveling at how impossibly soft they feel. When she instinctively grips his pinky, a broken laugh escapes him, followed by another round of silent tears. He leans forward, pressing a reverent kiss to her forehead, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “I’m your papa.”

And just like that, his heart belongs to her.

Even when the nurses gently take her for checkups, his body tenses as he watches every movement, as if ready to jump up and protect her at any moment. He’s at your side immediately, his hand gripping yours, but his eyes never leave her. The second they place her back in his arms, he cradles her like she’s made of glass, like the entire universe exists within her tiny frame.

The world has faded away. It’s just her now—just the two of you, wrapped around William Eklund’s heart forever.

From the very first night, William is the most devoted father.

Late-night diaper changes? He’s up before you can even blink, moving with a surprising grace despite his exhaustion. He rocks her in his arms, humming a soft Swedish lullaby, his voice a gentle vibration against her tiny body. Even when she fusses, even when sleep is a distant memory, he never complains.

“Shh, älskling, Papa’s here,” he whispers, rubbing circles into her back, swaying gently in the dim glow of the nursery light. His lips brush over her downy hair, his expression one of pure, unwavering love.

Bathtime becomes a sacred ritual. He kneels beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves as he carefully washes her, his touch so delicate, as if afraid he might break her. When she kicks her little feet and splashes him, he laughs, a deep, genuine sound that makes her coo in response.

“Oh, so you think that’s funny, huh?” he teases, flicking a few droplets back at her. “You’re already causing trouble.”

Tummy time? He’s right there on the floor with her, stretched out beside her as he makes exaggerated faces and noises, determined to get a reaction. When she finally lifts her head for the first time, he gasps dramatically, clapping his hands.

“She’s so strong!” he exclaims, looking over at you like she just won an Olympic medal. “Did you see that? She’s a natural.”

But the real magic happens when she starts recognizing him—when her big, bright eyes light up at the sight of him. The first time she reaches for him with her chubby little hands, his heart nearly stops. And when she giggles—her very first laugh—it breaks him completely.

“Did you hear that?” he gasps, eyes wide with amazement as he turns to you. “She laughed! She thinks I’m funny!”

From that moment on, he becomes addicted to making her laugh. He makes the silliest faces, the goofiest voices, anything to hear that perfect little sound.

She’s his little princess, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

When she insists on wearing a tutu and fairy wings to the grocery store, he doesn’t even hesitate. He scoops her up, balancing her effortlessly on his hip, nodding seriously as she waves her imaginary wand over the vegetables.

“Oh no,” he gasps dramatically. “Did you just turn me into a frog?”

She giggles, tapping his nose. “No, Papa! You’re a prince.”

He places a hand over his heart, feigning relief. “Phew. I was worried there for a second.”

When she decides he needs a “makeover,” he sits cross-legged on the floor, letting her carefully paint his nails with bright pink polish. His hands are far too big for the tiny brush, and her strokes are uneven, but he never flinches—only smiles as she sticks her tongue out in concentration.

“She’s got a future in this,” he tells you, admiring his very messy, very pink nails. “Think she’ll give me a discount as her first client?”

He tucks her into bed every single night, no matter how exhausted he is, no matter how late he gets home from a road trip. The second he walks through the door, his priority is always her. He scoops her up in his arms, pressing kisses to her cheeks as she sleepily mumbles, “Papa…”

“I missed you, älskling,” he murmurs, settling her against his chest as he reads her bedtime stories. His voice is warm and animated, changing tones for every character, making her giggle.

“Again, Papa!” she pleads, her little hands tugging at his jersey.

He sighs dramatically, pretending to think about it. “Hmm…okay, but only because you’re so cute.”

Some nights, when she’s sound asleep, he sneaks into her room just to watch her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. His heart swells in his chest, his voice barely a whisper.

“I love you, älskling. Always.”

As she grew, his devotion only deepened.

He was the dad who carried her everywhere, even when she was big enough to walk, because “she likes being close.” He was the one who let her put tiny bows in his hair, who sat through tea parties with a tiara on his head, who held her little hand as they danced around the living room to her favorite songs.

“She’s got me wrapped around her finger,” he admitted to you one night, watching her sleep, her tiny body curled up against his chest.

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

William only chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Not at all.”

She’s two years old the first time she steps onto the ice.

Bundled up in layers, her tiny body almost swallowed by the oversized jacket you insisted she wear, she waddles onto the rink, her skates barely keeping up with her enthusiasm. William is right there, kneeling in front of her, his hands outstretched, ready to catch her at any moment. His eyes are soft, full of warmth and pride, even before she’s taken her first glide.

“You got this, älskling,” he coaxes gently, his voice full of encouragement as he steadies her wobbly frame.

Her tiny hands clutch his fingers so tightly, like she knows he’s her lifeline. Her brows furrow in determination as she plants her skates firmly on the ice, but balance isn’t her strong suit just yet. Within seconds, her legs slide out from under her, and she plops onto the ice with a soft thud.

William freezes for a moment, his breath catching, but then she looks up at him, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and giggles. The sound melts him completely.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?” he teases, chuckling as he kneels down and helps her up, brushing imaginary snowflakes from her padded jacket. “That’s okay—we fall and get back up, right?”

She nods eagerly, mimicking the way he straightens his shoulders. “Again!”

And so they try again. And again. And again.

Every time she falls, William picks her up without hesitation, his grip steady, his encouragement endless. He makes a game out of it, playfully pretending to slip himself just to make her laugh. But when she finally manages to push off on her own, gliding a few inches before coming to a wobbly stop, she gasps in excitement.

“I did it!”

William lets out a loud cheer, sweeping her up into his arms, spinning her around in celebration. His laugh is bright, uninhibited, full of pride as he presses an exaggerated kiss to her cold nose.

“Did you see that, Mama?” he shouts over to you, eyes shining with pure joy. “She’s a natural!”

From that moment on, she’s not just his little girl—she’s his biggest fan.

Every game day, she dresses in her tiny Sharks jersey, the name EKLUND printed across the back in bold white letters. It’s a mini replica of William’s own, and it’s slightly oversized on her small frame, the sleeves nearly swallowing her hands. But she insists on wearing it, proudly pointing to the letters as she tells anyone who will listen, “Papa’s number 72!”

You take her to every home game, and as soon as you settle into your seats, she’s perched eagerly on your lap, bouncing with excitement. Her eyes scan the ice, searching for him, and the moment William skates out for warmups, she’s already pressing her tiny hands against the glass.

“Papa!” she squeals, her voice high and full of joy. She taps her fingers eagerly, trying to get his attention. “Look! It’s Papa!”

William always finds you both, no matter what. Even in the chaos of warmups, even with music blaring through the arena, his gaze instinctively searches for his girls. The second he spots her, his entire face softens, and he grins, skating toward the glass.

He taps his stick twice—his little secret signal just for her.

She squeals in delight, pressing her palm to the glass as if she can reach through and hold his hand. He presses his glove to the same spot, mirroring her, before giving you a wink.

The bond they share is undeniable. She watches him with complete fascination, her eyes never leaving him as he skates, as he passes the puck, as he moves effortlessly across the ice. She cheers when everyone else does, clapping her little hands, even if she doesn’t fully understand the game just yet.

But the moment she sees him on the big screen, her excitement reaches a whole new level.

“PAPA!” she shouts, pointing frantically at the Jumbotron. “Look! It’s Papa!”

You can’t help but laugh, pulling her closer as she beams with pride. The people around you smile fondly, watching her tiny body practically vibrating with excitement. And on the ice, William glances up at the screen, catching sight of her pointing wildly. He shakes his head with a grin, mouthing a quick I love you before refocusing on the game.

William never stops being her biggest supporter.

When she’s five, she has her first dance recital. She’s a bundle of excitement and nerves, dressed in a sparkly tutu, her hair curled perfectly for the occasion. William is right there, sitting front row, his phone up and recording every second like a proud dad who doesn’t want to miss a thing. You’re right beside him, your heart swelling with pride as you watch your little girl step into the spotlight.

“She’s gonna be great,” you whisper, squeezing his arm.

“She’s already great,” he replies, eyes locked on her as she takes her place on stage.

The music starts, and even though she misses a step or two, to William, she is perfect. He cheers louder than anyone in the room when the recital ends, clapping so hard his palms turn red. You can feel your own pride radiating from him, the warmth in his gaze as he watches her run up to him, still buzzing with excitement. He scoops her into his arms without hesitation.

“You were amazing, älskling,” he says, spinning her around. “A star, just like I knew you’d be.”

She beams up at him, holding tight to the flowers he brought her—tiny pink roses, because he knows they’re her favorite. “Did you really like it, Papa?”

“I loved it,” he promises. “I’ll always love anything you do.”

And he means it, his gaze soft as he looks between you both. It’s clear that his world is right here in this moment, with you by his side, and her in his arms.

No matter how tough or busy his days are, William is always there when she needs him. When she wakes up crying from a nightmare, she knows exactly where to go. She tiptoes into your room, dragging her stuffed bunny by the ear, sniffling softly. Without hesitation, she climbs into bed between you both, curling into her father’s warmth.

William stirs almost immediately, as if his soul is wired to respond to her even in sleep. He shifts, pulling her against his chest, his voice low and soothing.

“Shh, baby,” he murmurs in Swedish, rubbing slow circles on her back. “It’s okay. Papa’s got you.”

You smile softly at the sight of them, the way his hand instinctively moves to comfort her, knowing she’s safe in his arms. She hiccups a little, still caught in the remnants of whatever had scared her, but his steady voice and familiar embrace work faster than any lullaby. He hums softly, whispering words of reassurance, kissing the top of her head like he has since the day she was born.

Within minutes, she’s breathing evenly again, safe in her father’s arms.

And even though the bed is now a little too crowded, even though he has practice early in the morning, William wouldn’t change a thing. Because this is what being a dad is—being the one she turns to, always, and you’re right there with him, holding your daughter close, loving her as much as he does.

The morning she starts school, William is a mess.

She looks so small with her tiny backpack, her shoes barely making a sound as she shuffles toward the front door. She’s excited—practically bouncing with anticipation—but William? He’s not ready.

“She’s too small for this,” he says, running his hands over his face as he watches her zip up her jacket. “She’s still my baby.”

You laugh softly, lacing your fingers through his, squeezing gently. “She always will be.”

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

At drop-off, she turns to him, her big, curious eyes shining as she holds her arms up for one last hug. He kneels down, pulling her in tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. You feel your own heart ache as you watch them.

“You’re gonna have the best day, älskling,” he tells her, voice thick with emotion. “And when you get home, you can tell me everything, okay?”

She nods, her little arms squeezing his neck. “Okay, Papa.”

And then, before he’s ready, she lets go.

He watches her walk inside, his heart clenching with every step she takes away from him. When the doors close behind her, he lets out a shaky breath, rubbing at his eyes.

“You’re crying,” you tease, nudging him gently, not bothering to hide the soft smile on your lips.

“No, I’m not,” he huffs, clearing his throat. “It’s just…dust. Or something.”

But the way he keeps staring at the doors says otherwise.

“She’s growing up too fast,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “She’s got the best dad to help her through it.”

Years later, when she’s a teenager, William is still just as soft—just as devoted.

He’s the dad who stays up late, pretending he wasn’t anxiously checking the time when she’s out with friends. The moment he hears the front door creak open, he’s there in the living room, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow.

“Have fun?” he asks casually, like he wasn’t just worried sick.

She sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Papa. I’m fine.”

You watch William’s face soften as he breathes out. “Good.” Then, softer, “I just like knowing you’re safe.”

She smiles at that, knowing deep down that he’ll always be the one who cares the most.

William is the dad who takes her on coffee dates just to check in, who listens—really listens—when she vents about school or friends or life. He doesn’t judge—just offers quiet advice, a steady presence when she needs him most. And you? You’re right there with him, standing as a united front for your daughter, always ready to support her.

And he’s still the dad who hugs her just as tightly as when she was little, no matter how much she grows.

No matter how old she gets, she will always be his little girl.

The years pass, and one day, she’s not so little anymore. She’s walking across a stage in her cap and gown, she’s packing for college, she’s chasing dreams that once felt so far away. William watches it all happen, pride and heartache mixing in equal measure. You stand beside him, both of you reflecting on the little girl who once wobbled on skates, now standing tall, ready to take on the world.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that she was pressing tiny hands against the glass, cheering him on?

Time moves fast, but one thing never changes—his love for her, and the love you share for her, too.

Because William Eklund was born to be a girl dad. And no matter how many years pass, no matter how much she grows, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. And neither would you.

[mrscarpenter]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Summary/request: Could you do Daemon Targaryen for please please please or espresso? that would be lovely

includes/warnings: just some angst, and i think thats it.

requested by: anon

🪐 notes: this one definitely sucks guys i’m so sorry 🥲

for my short & sweet collection

Daemon had a reputation. Everyone called him the Rogue Prince—reckless, wild, untamable. But when he married you, you thought things might change. You thought he’d settle down. You thought you’d finally be enough to keep him close.

But now, after weeks of silence and coldness between you, you were starting to wonder if you'd been wrong.

You stood by the window in your chambers, staring out at the night sky. The candles flickered in the room behind you, casting shadows against the stone walls. You hadn’t seen Daemon all day. He was always busy, always so distant, even though he had sworn that when you married him, you would never be apart.

You heard the door creak open, and there he was. Daemon. The man who had promised you everything but still hadn’t given you anything. His eyes met yours briefly, but then he looked away. He always looked away.

“Daemon,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “Where have you been?”

He didn't answer right away. He never did. Instead, he paced a little, his dark cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. You could feel the distance between you stretching, pulling, until it felt like you could hardly breathe.

“I’ve been busy,” he muttered, his voice colder than usual. He didn’t look at you when he said it.

“Busy?” You laughed, but it came out bitter, too sharp. “With what, Daemon? You’re always busy. You never have time for me anymore.”

You took a step toward him, your chest tightening with frustration. You needed him to look at you, needed him to see how much you were hurting. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me alone, but you’re always so far away.”

Daemon’s eyes flickered toward you, and there was something in them—something that almost looked like guilt. Almost.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “I didn’t ask to be married. I didn’t ask for someone to depend on me.”

Your heart sank. You could feel the sting of his words, like he was pushing you away, rejecting you. It was too much, too sudden, too painful.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice shaking now. “Please don’t do this. Don’t push me away. I love you. I need you. I want you.”

Daemon was silent, staring at the floor, fighting something inside himself. You could see it, the struggle, the way he couldn’t bring himself to let go of his pride. But you weren’t about to give up on him, not when you loved him this much.

You reached out, grabbing his sleeve, pulling him back toward you. “Daemon, please. Just... just be here. I don’t need anything else. Just you.”

Finally, he looked at you, his eyes dark and conflicted, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something else, push you away even more. But then, without warning, he pulled you into him, kissing you so hard you could taste the apology in it.

When he pulled away, his breath came in shaky waves. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice strained. “I didn’t know how to be what you needed.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Daemon,” you whispered, your hands tracing the lines of his face. “You just have to be here. Please.”

His face softened, and this time, when he kissed you again, it was different—gentle, tender, full of the words neither of you could say aloud.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like he was finally there. Finally, he was home.

explore, masterlist

please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. <3

© mrscarpenter, 2025.

[dilfismz]

Playing Dangerous Part 7

Summary: You and Sangwoo finally address the kiss under the cover of darkness, sharing a rare, tender moment. But just as emotions start to settle, chaos erupts, shattering the fragile peace.

Pairing: Cho Sangwoo X reader…Eventual Hwang In-ho X reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, graphic description of eye injury…let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: I’m having a lot of fun building the platonic relationship between the reader and Gi-hun

Previous

The dormitory buzzed with tension, the aftermath of Tug of War still hanging over everyone like a storm cloud. Some people huddled in their groups, whispering about the next game. Others sat in stunned silence, still trying to process the fact that they were alive.

You sat on the edge of your cot, absentmindedly running your fingers over the fabric of your pants. Your mind was still reeling from everything—the games, the exhaustion, and most of all, him.

Sangwoo.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over your face. You had completely lost it earlier. You had let your jealousy get the best of you, and now you couldn’t stop thinking about the way it had felt—the way he had felt under your hands, against your lips. The worst part?

He had kissed you back.

And now you had no idea what to do with yourself.

The cot beside you creaked, and you turned to see Gi-hun plopping down next to you, stretching his legs out with a tired sigh. He didn’t say anything at first, just side-eyed you with a small smirk.

“So,” he finally said, drawing the word out in amusement. “You and Sangwoo, huh?”

You tensed immediately. “What?”

Gi-hun chuckled, nudging your shoulder. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. I saw what happened earlier. I think everyone did.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face, “Jesus Christ.”

“I gotta admit, I did suspect something before,” Gi-hun continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Ever since Ali asked if you two were a couple, and Sangwoo nearly tripped over himself to say no? Yeah, that was suspicious as hell.”

You shot him a glare. “It was not suspicious.”

Gi-hun gave you a look. “Yeah? Well, this was pretty damn obvious. You kissed the guy like you were trying to steal the air from his lungs.”

You clenched your jaw. “I was angry.”

“Uh-huh.” Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. “So, you regularly shove your tongue down people’s throats when you’re pissed?”

You groaned again, shaking your head. “I hate you.”

Gi-hun laughed. “Nah, you love me.”

You shoved him lightly, but your amusement faded as her fingers curled into her lap. Your voice dropped slightly. “I really like him,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Gi-hun’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “Yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

“But?” he prompted

You hesitated. “…I don’t know… I feel weird about it sometimes.”

Gi-hun tilted his head. “Weird how?”

You exhaled, trying to find the right words, “There’s the age difference, for one. It’s not huge, but enough that it makes me overthink things.”

Gi-hun shrugged. “Sangwoo doesn’t strike me as the type to waste his time on people he doesn’t respect.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Maybe. But I’m also just bad at this. Letting people in.”

Gi-hun nodded. “In general, or…?���

“In general,” you admitted. “But especially here. Of all places to catch feelings, this has to be the worst.”

Gi-hun hummed in agreement. “Yeah, not exactly the setting for a rom-com.”

“No kidding.”

You both sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of everything settle.

Then, Gi-hun smirked again. “You know… I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sangwoo smile as much as he does around you.”

You frowned, “He doesn’t smile.”

Gi-hun chuckled, “Alright, his version of smiling, then. It’s subtle, but it’s there. And it’s only when he’s with you.”

You stayed quiet, but your fingers twitched against the fabric of your pants.

Gi-hun leaned back on his hands. “And you wanna know what else?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“In all the years I’ve known Sangwoo, I’ve never seen him go out of his way to talk to a woman before. Let alone risk himself to save one.” Gi-hun gave you a meaningful look. “But he did for you.”

Your breath hitched slightly. You hadn’t thought about it like that before.

Gi-hun watched her for a moment before smirking. “And you think you’re the only one struggling with feelings.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, a familiar presence caught your attention.

Sangwoo.

He was sitting a few cots away, but his gaze was locked on them, his jaw tight. The dim lighting didn’t hide the way his fingers curled slightly into his lap, like he was forcing himself to stay put.

You swallowed.

Gi-hun followed your gaze, and when he turned back to you, his smirk widened. “Well, someone’s jealous.”

You elbowed him, “Shut up.”

But you couldn’t deny the way your stomach twisted at the sight.

And you couldn’t ignore the way Sangwoo looked away the second your eyes met, like he hadn’t been staring at you the entire time.

⋆ ──── ❍ Δ □ ──── ⋆

The dormitory felt heavier than usual, thick with tension, paranoia, and the ever-present scent of fear. They all knew what was coming tonight. The massacre before lights out had been a preview, and now, as the surviving players whispered among themselves, everyone was preparing for the inevitable bloodshed.

You, Sangwoo, Gi-hun, Ali, and Il-nam worked together to set up what little defenses you could around the bunks. You stacked blankets, trays, and whatever other scraps you could find to act as barriers—though in reality, you all knew it wouldn’t do much if someone truly wanted to attack.

Il-nam sat cross-legged on his cot, watching you work with an amused little smile, “You young ones are so serious,” he chuckled. “Do you really think a few blankets will stop desperate people from trying to kill you?”

Adjusting one of the makeshift barriers, you glance at him, “It’s not about stopping them. It’s about buying time.”

Sangwoo nodded in agreement, eyes scanning the room carefully, “Exactly. If we stay together and stay alert, we make it through the night.”

Gi-hun sighed, rubbing his face, “It’s only going to get worse from here, isn’t it?”

No one answered.

The silence was confirmation enough.

Eventually, you decided on a watch rotation. You and Sangwoo would take the first shift, while Ali and Gi-hun would follow after. Il-nam, despite his insistence that he didn’t need rest, was left to sleep.

As the others laid down, trying to snatch what little sleep they could, you and Sangwoo took position near the edge of the small perimeter.

You sat close, backs partially pressed against the metal bedframe, knees nearly touching. The room was eerily quiet aside from the occasional shuffle of movement, the distant murmurs of hushed voices. Somewhere across the dorm, the sound of a knife unsheathing sent a chill down your spine.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. Then, Sangwoo cleared his throat. “So…”

You glanced at him, “So?”

He hesitated, glancing at you before looking away, “…About earlier.”

Your face warmed instantly. You knew exactly what he meant. Exhaling through your nose, you played it off, “What about it?”

Sangwoo shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, “Are we just… not going to talk about it?”

You smirked slightly, but the heat in your chest betrayed you,“I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

.“Why would you think that?”

You shrugged, crossing your arms, “I did slam you against a wall. Not exactly the most romantic moment.”

Sangwoo huffed a small laugh, “You don’t say.”

Your smirk widened, but then you sobered. You sighed, rubbing your hands together as if trying to warm them, “Look… I wasn’t thinking. I just—” You paused, chewing on your lip, “…I guess I got jealous.”

Sangwoo’s gaze snapped to you, “Jealous?”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the frame, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but…” you shook your head, “Seeing her all over you, acting like she had some kind of claim? It pissed me off.”

Sangwoo stared for a long moment. Then, his voice softened, “It wasn’t stupid.”

You blinked, glancing at him, “What?”

He hesitated before repeating, firmer this time, “It wasn’t stupid.” His fingers tapped against his knee, his voice quieter now. “Because if the roles were reversed, I think I’d feel the same.”

Your breath caught. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Then, slowly, his fingers brushed against yours. It was a hesitant touch at first, as if testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away, his hand settled over yours, warm and grounding.

You swallowed, “Sangwoo…”

He exhaled softly, his thumb grazing your knuckles, “I know this isn’t exactly the best place to… start something.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, “No, it really isn’t.”

“But…” He turned slightly, angling his body toward yours. His hand curled more firmly around yours, grip warm and steady, “If we get out of here… I want to take you out.”

Your heart stuttered, “You want to?”

His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, yet somehow incredibly clear in that moment, “Yeah.”

You should say no. You should be focusing on survival, on making it through the next game, on not developing feelings in the middle of life-or-death stakes. But when you looked at him—really looked at him—you saw the same exhaustion, the same fear, the same desperate need for something good to hold onto. So instead of pushing him away, you squeezed his hand, “Then I’ll hold you to that.”

Sangwoo let out a breath, something in his expression softening. And despite everything—the danger, the uncertainty—you found comfort in the warmth of his palm against yours.

He studied you for a moment longer before his free hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle, deliberate. You barely breathed.

“You really are something else,” he murmured.

You raised a brow, “That a good thing?”

His lips quirked, the closest thing to a real smile you’d ever seen from him, “Yeah. It is.”

Warmth spread through your chest. After a beat, you nudged him playfully, “If we get out of here, you owe me a real date.”

Sangwoo huffed, squeezing your hand, “Deal.”

For a while, you sat there, hands still intertwined, leaning into the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. Despite the looming danger, despite the bloodshed sure to come, you felt a small, fragile sense of peace. And for now, that was enough.

But then it came.

The first scream shattered the fragile silence, and then the room erupted into hell. People lunged at each other, fists flying, broken bottles swinging. The metallic scent of blood quickly filled the air as players fought tooth and nail for survival. The ones who weren’t strong enough to fight cowered in the corners, but even they wouldn’t be spared for long.

You kept your back to the wall, eyes darting over the chaos, searching. You had trained for this. You had fought in worse situations. But here? Trapped in a death game with people who had nothing left to lose? It was an entirely different kind of battlefield.

A bottle shattered near your feet. You barely had time to react before a figure came lunging at you. Mi-nyeo.

Of course.

The woman grinned, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she twirled a jagged piece of glass between her fingers, “You think you’re special, don’t you?” she sneered, “Think you can waltz in here, take what you want—”

“Not the time,” you snapped, already preparing to strike.

Mi-nyeo lunged. You sidestepped, twisting out of the way, but then another player was on you—some guy you barely recognized, just as desperate, just as crazed.

You gritted your teeth. Two against one, great. You threw a sharp elbow into Mi-nyeo’s ribs, but the other player swung his glass shard at your face.

She jerked back— Too late.

A blinding pain exploded down the right side of your face as the jagged glass tore into your flesh. Your scream ripped through the air. You staggered, vision going white with agony.

Instinctively, your hand flew to your face—warm, thick blood poured between your fingers.

You could barely see.

Your right eye was as good as gone. The realization hit you like a freight train. The wound was deep, the pain unbearable. Blood gushed down your face, soaking into your clothes, dripping onto the cold floor.

You gasped for breath, but Mi-nyeo wasn’t done. The woman reared back, ready to strike again— Rage overtook the pain. You roared, lashing out with brutal force. You drove your knee into Mi-nyeo’s stomach, sending her sprawling.

The second player barely had time to react before you grabbed his wrist, twisted sharply— Snap. He howled, the glass falling from his useless hand. You struck again, this time sending him crashing to the floor, unmoving.

Mi-nyeo groaned, trying to crawl away, but you grabbed her hair and slammed her face into the ground. She didn’t move.

You stumbled, chest heaving. Your vision swam, the world around you tilting dangerously. The blood loss was hitting you fast. You blinked. Everything on your right side was nothing but darkness. Permanently partially blind.

The thought barely had time to settle before you heard your name. Footsteps pounded toward you. Then hands—warm, strong hands—grasped your shoulders.

“Sangwoo—” you gasped, dazed, blinking up at him.

His face was ashen, eyes wide with something bordering on panic, “Shit,” he breathed. “Damn it, you—your eye—”

You gave a weak, lopsided grin, “Yeah. Not great.”

His hands trembled as he yanked off his jacket, pressing it firmly against your wound to slow the bleeding. You hissed at the contact, entire body jerking.

“Hold still,” he muttered, voice tight, but gentle.

You focused on him, on the warmth of his hands, the way his jaw clenched as he worked. His eyes kept darting over your face, his expression growing darker and darker, “…This is bad,” he said, more to himself than you.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you quipped, though your voice was weaker now.

His grip tightened, “Stop joking.”

You exhaled sharply, glancing away—but of course, you could only see half the room now. The realization left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Sangwoo swallowed hard. His fingers lingered against your cheek, as if trying to ground himself in the fact that you were still here. Still alive. But not whole anymore. A muscle in his jaw twitched,“…You’re gonna have a scar.”

You let out a weak laugh,“Guess I’m going for the rugged look.”

He didn’t laugh.

His lips pressed into a tight line. He was still applying pressure to the wound, still trying to stop the bleeding, but there was a different kind of tension in his face. A quiet, helpless frustration.

“You’re really worked up over this”, you quip, studying his expression.

He huffs out a sigh, “Of course I am”.

“Cmon it’s not that bad, I’ll live”.

“Ya…you will”, he admits, a small smile resting on his face.

You didn’t quite know if the smile was one of reassurance or happiness. Nevertheless, you thought it suited him, “You should smile more, it’s cute”.

Sangwoo blushes a deep crimson, all while still applying pressure on your wound. He rolls his eyes and then takes your hands, pulling you to stand, “You can have my cot tonight, it’s a much safer location…I’ll watch over you”.

Taglist: @indifitel6661

For visuals this is how I image readers right eye looking :)

[grlmmjow]

Running After Astarion on the Docks...

Hi! I's me again. I haven't yet finished my run with Amara and Astarion, but I know what will be canon for them after they defeat the brain...

Are you as frustrated as I am that Astarion has to spend the whole day alone, cowering between some crates at the docks? That your Tav/Durge simply shrugs and says OK when he yells in panic that HE'S SORRY HE HAS TO LEAVE?!

Well. Not on my watch.

Again, English is not my first language, so apologies in advance.

Rating: non-explicit. Some descriptions of burned flesh, nothing too much

Pairing: Astarion/Dark Urge (Amara)

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Amara will NOT stand and watch Astarion flee for his life when he loses the tadpole.

Here you can read about Amara showing Astarion his face using the tadpole in act 1

The portal to Avernus closed, and everybody in the party sighed in relief. 

“By the gods,” Amara quickly rubbed her cheek, cleaning it off the tears that were freely falling while she held a burning Karlach to her chest. If she didn't have a stressful enough day… She almost lost her best friend forever.

Luckily enough, Wyll stepped in and convinced the tiefling to live with him in Avernus. Honestly, the idea of watching Karlach burn to death had been haunting Amara for weeks. 

She rose to her feet, making sure her tears were not visible. Next to her, Astarion glanced at the redhead, evidently seeing right through her mask and noticing that she was definitely not well. He stepped closer, resting a hand on the middle of her back. 

“Look what our bloodthirsty friend has turned into.” He joked, trying to ease the tension in the air. “Crying for your friends? That's not very bhaalspawn of you, my love.”

“That’s not funny, Astarion.” Amara responded, turning to face him. She knew he was just joking. She knew it was a defense mechanism. She knew Astarion was just as shaken as her.

He's such a little shit sometimes, Amara thought to herself. It was complicated for her not to react explosively at some of his snarky comments, especially when he tried to lift the mood at the worst possible times. 

But his hand was on her back, drawing comforting circles between her shoulder blades. It was soothing. It was sweet. It was exactly what she needed. She glanced up at him with a sweet little smile, which was answered with another of his own.

“Uh… well.” The distinct voice of a very uncomfortable Gale could be heard behind them, interrupting the tender moment between the pair and bringing all eyes on him.

“It seems that we successfully defeated the biggest threat this city has ever faced.” 

Amara felt a wave of exhaustion washing over her. Killing the brain was a tiring experience. Gods, how she wished for a soft bed, a warm bath and her lover's arms…

She slid her arm around Astarion's waist while listening to Gale speak. Her head came to rest on his chest, feeling absolutely drained. She used up all her spells, and there was not a single drop of magic in her. She needed support to stay standing. Maybe the Elfsong was still standing…?

“What will you guys do now?”

Amara was about to answer when Astarion quickly talked over her. He sounded excited. Of course he was! He was free of his torturer, free of the threat of becoming an ilithid, and, apparently, he could still walk under the sun. It would be a challenge to get him to let her nap for a few hours…

“I honestly don't mind what we do, once we get - ow!”

Amara felt that jolt, his armor accidentally scratching her cheek as he jerked in pain. It made her grunt and pull away from the half hug they were sharing.

“Astarion?” She asked, a bit irritated, but the sudden scent of burning flesh immediately alarmed her. 

“What the - Oh, gods. Oh, no.”

“Astarion!?” Amara stood in front of him, watching in horror as her lover's face started flaking and turning into ash, the pieces of his beautiful skin flying in the breeze and disappearing into the Chionthar. “What is it, my love?” Her eyes met his, and red wasn't the color that looked back. It was blue. And he was staring at her with deep, intense, and absolutely overwhelming panic.

“I'm burning, darling.” He announced, disentangling himself from the elf and turning to look in panic all over, seeking for cover. “Well… it was nice while it lasted.”

That phrase broke Amara’s heart into a million pieces. She reached her hand out to grasp his cloak, but he was slapping the burning skin of his forearms, trying to keep it from disintegrating into nothing. The scent of burning flesh was overwhelming, turning Amara's stomach inside out and spiking old bloodthirsty thoughts that still somewhat crept their way into her brain from time to time.

“Argh! I-I'm sorry. I have to go!” 

Astarion looked directly into his lover's eyes while he said that phrase, his voice breaking, the tears in his eyes sizzling and evaporating as more and more of his skin disappeared into the air.

Suddenly, a wave of utter panic knocked the breath off Amara's lungs.

Those are his last words to me.

Astarion took off, and so did Amara. She physically shoved Gale off her way when he also tried to reach out for the vampire, making the mage stumble and almost fall into the water with a strength she wasn't aware she had.

“Astarion!” She called out, watching him run under a tarp between some crates. Amara reached her hand out, calling for her magic, anything that would hide the love of her life from the sun and keep him from turning into ash. 

But nothing came out of her fingertips. She screamed in rage, reaching the cowering vampire and throwing herself onto her knees right between his legs.

“NO!” She yelled, hugging Astarion’s head to her stomach and shielding him from the sun. She yanked her cloak off her tunic and drapped it over his back. “I'M NOT LOSING YOU!”

“Amara, gods-”

“I've got you!” 

They found themselves both shaking, Astarion’s hands desperately grasping the sorcerer's tunic in tight fists. There were no more words, no more tears for a few more agonizing minutes as they waited to see if Astarion's life would be lost.

And then… the horrible scent of his burning skin evaporated into nothing, the sizzling sound of his tears stopping, ash no longer getting in Amara’s face. 

She dared to pull away a bit to glance down at him, and she gasped when she saw his face all burned up. His left eye was closed, as he lost it. His eyebrow and eyelashes were nonexistent, and his left cheek was raw, showing his muscle fibers. Amara looked horrified at him. 

“By the gods!” She reached up to touch it like the impulsive, mindless idiot she was, but Astarion was quick enough to snatch her wrist. 

“Don't touch it, woman.” He said with a shaky voice. “Are you mad? Gods.”

“Are you– Are you alright!?” Amara shook the need to prod the raw flesh off her brain, reminding herself that she almost lost her entire life to the fucking sun.

“I’m peachy, darling. Can't you see?” 

He sounded irritated, but she knew better than to get angry at him. He almost burned to death, and she was asking stupid questions. 

“Gods, right after I got my freedom back, too.” He sneered, and Amara could see the raw muscles on his face clench. It fascinated her. “What a cruel fucking joke. The gods must hate me.”

“Astarion…” Amara reached out to take his hands in hers. She was kneeling between his legs as he rested his back against a crate, his breathing ragged. She felt his hands clenching hers on instinct, her fingers bending under his rather tight grasp. She didn't mention that it hurt. 

“We will get you safe, for now. Alright?” Amara jumped right into action. Now that he wasn't actively burning to death, she could focus on making his wait until the sunset a bit more comfortable. “I'll build your tent here, and I'll wait with you until it's night time.”

“Gods… I… You shouldn't, there's a whole city clamoring your name, darling. You should go celebrate with them.”

“What? Shut up.” 

That made Astarion finally lift his gaze up to look at her partner with the single eye he had left. Gods. He was glad that only one eye burned. He'd hate it if he couldn't see those freckles until they regenerated.

“Amara…”

“I’m staying. You have no say in this.” 

“Gods, how stubborn can you be?”

“I don't believe for a moment that you want to be alone right now, Astarion. Let me take care of you.”

Sigh. “Fine. Insistent little bird.”

“Hmpf.” She felt a slight smile tug at the corner of her lips. They both seemed to have relaxed a little bit now that the imminent danger was controlled.  

“You look horrifying, love.”

“... Thank you, darling.”

“It will heal itself, right? With time?”

“Yes, love. I will be back to my handsome self in a few hours. Don't you worry.”

“You still look handsome right now.”

“Oh. What a charmer, you are. Come here.” With that purred phrase, Astarion lifted his hand to cup Amara's cheek and brought her close into a kiss. Their lips met, and Amara melted, feeling the adrenaline that kept her going suddenly wash away. She hummed into his mouth, feeling the trembling on his lips as he tried to soothe himself with her touch. 

He must have been terrified. 

“I said I'd always keep you safe. That includes the sun, you know.”

“Is that so? Are you going to fight the sun itself?”

“I'd cast the whole dam realms into an eternal night for you, my dear.” 

That made Astarion laugh. Amara, always the dramatic one. “Let's start with keeping me company until the sun goes down, alright, darling? We will talk about condemning the world after you've rested some.”

“Alright. I love you.”

“And I love you too.” 

[mercymaker]

and there were those precious moments, those glimmering rare rubies, where all their worries withered away like rose petals under winter chill. where they could forget how the world sees them—how it chooses to see them—and find that perfect little niche between pretending to be someone else and being their barest selves. some duke or a lady. a moon elf. a living man. a lover lost in a tender moment...

[psychomusic]

induced to me by my contemporary art exam AND a rewatch of rebels after years that. got me into sabezra unexpectedly AND i updated krita and there were many new brushes i wanted to try

refs (IF U CAN PLS HELP ME FIND THE ORIGINAL COSPLAYERS i can't find anything EDIT: found them!! they're starwars_irl on insta and @rebelartistwren / lionesscosplay on insta. thank you guys <3) and ✨colored version✨ under the cut

i can't find themmmmm I've been looking for 2 days but all i found were uncredited reposts

anyway they look amazing

i really wanted to try greyscaling but I'm not sure it looks good. idk. + while i was making it i was listening to i love you by fontaines d.c. (GREAT SONG FROM A GREAT UNDERRATED BAND) and. the grey fit into that mood much better

also two versions without the sketch lines. where ezra looks happier even if they're uglier

[momentomori24]

Surprisingly, hearing Vox and Val technically (I love how technically needed to be added) aren't dating didn't upset me as much as I thought it would. It did... for like a minute until I thought about how painfully much it fits them.

Val throws tantrums and is ready go out and kill people to let off steam, but decides to stay put in his room and sulk instead while he waits for his flat-faced prince to come and comfort him before he does anything drastic. He's killed and abused people for the slightest hint of non-compliance, which he sees as giving him an attitude or questioning his authority, but he doesn't so much as flinch when Vox raises his voice and starts shaking him in frustration more than once. He doesn't lash out or get angry when Vox tries to talk him out of marching towards the hotel, but instead listens to his points and takes his words to heart even when they weren't what he wanted to hear. He's not interested in Alastor, but is willing to sit through watching the extermination broadcast because Vox is a passionate football dad about his one-sided rival getting dunked on. He doesn't even act jealous towards Vox's obsession, just weirdly amused and supportive even tho he hates not being the center of attention any other times. And then there's Vox, who acts like he's annoyed to have to put up with Valentino but still does it anyway. He acts disinterested about Val's ranting over Angel until he hears that Angel might've quit because he's an jealous, insecure loser that wants that mf's attention to himself. He lights his cigarette and decides to call up their lowest earners for him to terrorize without being asked just to lighten his mood a little (unrelated but i feel for their employees). He keeps his eyes on him both in his room and when he's at the pub through the cameras he's got everywhere. He takes his hand like one would with a princess and smiles fondly at him before disappearing when noticing they're being watched. He's the only person that Val trusts enough to calm him down when his temper gets the better of him. And Val-- despite his volatile temper and obnoxious quirks-- is someone he respects and cares about, both as his business associate and romantic partner.

And they aren't dating. Val and Vox clearly have a connection and understanding and attraction yet are unable to confront those feelings in fear of being vulnerable. So they aren't dating. Val obsesses over Angel and Vox obsesses over Alastor to distract themselves of the other only to fall back into each other's arms at the end of the day. Even tho they aren't dating. They celebrate, dance, sing, support and shamelessly make out with each other. They're the only ones that would put up with each other's bullshit no matter what-- but for some reason, they're still not dating. They are two of the worst Overlords in Hell, capable of committing so many despicable acts and jumping to immoral tactics for their own gain without any regrets, but opening that door into genuine emotional vulnerability? Acknowledging their softness for each other? That's where they draw the line. They're clearly made for each other, but neither of them dare to step over that line to commit to something more.

Which means that we could get to actually see these changes take place. We could get to see more sides to these two we still haven't seen before. We could get to see them actually start dating and the complicated journey it took to get there. We could get to scream and kick and seeth as these two morons continue to dance around admitting their very much requited romantic feelings for every stupid reason under the sun episode after episode. We could get to see these two fix each other and make each other worse simultaneously. Mostly make each other worse. We could get to see them have a romantic duet. We could get to see them be happy together-- officially together-- while they make life worse for everyone around them.

All this mumbo-jumbo, sleep-deprived ranting will likely not happen, but the potential character growth, the dynamic development, the resolved romantic tension, the SONGS we could get??? I'm clinging onto this hope for dear life until it's ripped from my cold, dead hands.