#he wants to do it; says he has never had a passion like this before

[melodyanqel]

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 ── ✦ h.ih. (one - reunion)

a pretty little thing, who grew up extremely sheltered and has never seen the horrors in life until she gets recuited in a mysterious competition.

⤷ pairing: hwang in-ho x fem!oc

⤷ genre/tags: fluff, angst, thriller, psychological drama, established relationship, games, action, financial issues, gambling, betrayal, team bonding, family, possessive!sadistic!in-ho, sheltered!sunshine!oc

⤷ warning: mention of character's death

⤷ wc: 1.3k words

⤷ note: this first chapter is so fluffy and a bit emotional but i had fun writing it and i said to myself no prologue just go right into the story

⤷ melodyanqel taglist: @buckitostan

The café's honeyed hues bring sweetness to the day, coaxing an inner smile that warms from within.

Behind the counter, a young woman in her twenties is hard at work and her presence brightens the atmosphere like the glowing sun. Myung Yu-na is her name. She enjoys being a barista because she loves creating unique and delicious drinks. It may sound strange to many but sometimes not-so-extravagant things can be a passion. 

The happy-go-lucky Yu-na is viewed as too pure, wholesome, and, most importantly, very sheltered. Even though she still lives with her parents and they allow her to work and make some money for herself, Yu-na is too protected from the harsh realities and circumstances of the real world. Not once in her life has she seen or experienced any of it. 

Despite her lack of exposure, she is still a wonderful person. It did take a lot of courage and effort to convince her parents that she wanted to make decisions for herself until she reached adulthood. Yu-na will always love them and be grateful for everything they’ve done for her since she was born. 

“Yu-na! A customer is at the register!”

“Okay!”

She responds to her co-worker and a small grunt escapes her lips when putting the pesky lid on a mocha chocolate frappuccino. She calls out the order and the person’s name. Yu-na sees them approaching the counter. “Thank you, miss.” A sweet-looking elderly woman thanks her before taking the drink. 

Yu-na shows a kind smile. “You’re welcome. Have a great afternoon,” She said, cordially. “You too, miss.” The older woman returns the smile and leaves the place. 

Shortly after, Yu-na walks to the register to place the next order. “What can I get for you?” She asked a tall man dressed in dark clothes with a cap over his head, covering half of their face. She hears his deep, gruff voice speak. “Yu-na, how have you been?” He gives her a question. The young woman furrowed her brows with a confused look. 

Instantly, she gasps when he lifts the cap to reveal his face. Her dark brown eyes widened owlishly. “Oh my goodness! Uncle Gi-hun!” Yu-na says the man’s name in shock. A small smile plays on his wrinkled face. Hearing her angelic voice in so long makes him elated. She also has her ebony hair in double ponytails, like when she was a little girl.

Gi-hun’s niece responds, “I’m doing good. I’ll explain more when my lunch break starts in ten minutes. But I need your order.” She giggles blithely, her uncle almost forgot his coffee. Gi-hun clears his throat, “Yes. One warm Americano, please.” He said. Yu-na punches in his order on the register and gives him the price. She receives his money to pay for the drink and has him wait until it gets done. 

Within those ten minutes, Yu-na served Gi-hun’s Americano and three more customers. The uncle watches his niece do her best at being quick on her feet, kindly greeting people, and saying goodbye to them. Gi-hun was once like Yu-na before his life became what it is now. His youth was living a simple life with his mother and friends. If only he hadn’t made those mistakes and thrown his well-being away. Gi-hun’s expression downcasted. 

The winner of the 33rd game has the money he desires for a long time, but it’s meaningless to him. Gi-hun will forever feel tainted by the thought and look of the stacks of cash in his space, which is a rundown motel. 

Shortly enough, his train of thought gets interrupted. “I’m ready! Where do you want to start?” Yu-na happily has her cooked ramen cup and sits across from her uncle. He shifts his sitting position to face her with his back leaning against the chair. “How is everyone? Do you hear much from your aunt?” Gi-hun hops onto the topic of family. He does miss his sister-in-law or his ex-wife’s sister. Even though Gi-hun was never on good terms with Eun-ji after Ga-yeong came into the world, he does get along with her sister Yu-bin. 

“Omma and appa are doing well. The restaurant is still in business and they finally realized I should start my own life. I get that I’m a late bloomer, but I’ll keep on learning. Also, Auntie Eun-ji, I haven’t spoken to her since she left around 2021. It is much more difficult because of the time difference and adjusting to a new lifestyle.” Yu-na delivered a full response or an update about herself. She slurps on her noodles like a happy child.

Gi-hun sighed and nodded. “I see. That's great for your parents. I find it fascinating how they can keep running a business before you were born.” He chuckles dryly because he used to own businesses but failed to manage them properly. “I can understand not seeing your aunt as much. I wish to contact Ga-yeong more but I know her mother doesn’t want her to. But anyway, I’m glad you all are doing fine.” Gi-hun sips on his Americano and feels content, like a regular person. 

He has been out of touch with closure. It must be a miracle that Yu-na is unknowingly helping him. 

As they continued to talk, Gi-hun discovered new things about his niece. She has done a lot these past years; majoring in digital marketing because she gravitates towards creating her brand of art and clothes, making new friends, and going out more. Gi-hun can tell it’s a family thing to build your own business. He is even proud that she is becoming an independent woman. 

“How about you uncle? My family and I have been wondering where you’ve been. I’m also sorry for your omma.” Yu-na questions about his absence and she couldn’t help but mention his mother. It was devastating when she and her family received the news about her death because she practically raised both Yu-na and Ga-yeong. 

The older man answers the best he can to make it sound convincing. “I’ve been working overseas because I decided to wake up and find a better job. And I did. I’ve earned more than I usually get during my gambling days, which are done for. I got so busy that I couldn’t be at home as often. I then started to get homesick so I’m doing more of my duties here.” Gi-hun doesn’t want to look crazy in front of Yu-na if he talks about the game and has been searching for the so-called salesman.

As a pure and innocent girl, she takes his response as the truth. 

“I also took the time to heal when my omma passed. But thank you for your condolence.” Gi-hun truly appreciates Yu-na’s sympathy. She says to him, “Oh wow! I hope you are proud of what you are doing. I’m sure your omma is too from above.” Her beautiful face draws a reassuring smile. 

Gi-hun feels the warmth spread across his cold, dark heart. He hopes Yu-na will never forget herself. She is still young, vibrant, and has a long life ahead. 

Thirty minutes felt so short, but it was worth having a moment of peace and freedom. Before Yu-na goes back to work, she sees her uncle standing up from the chair and moves aside with open arms. She mirrors his actions and to enter a long-awaited hug. It was comforting and full of love. He needed this. 

When they pull away from the embrace, Gi-hun says one last thing before leaving the café. “I wish you the best of luck on everything you do. And remember this, please make good decisions because I know it’s hard being careful but I know you’re smart and can handle anything. Stay safe out there.” He doesn’t know whether this will be their first and last time together, but he believes she’ll follow his advice. 

Yu-na delivers a merry smile. “Alright, uncle. Thank you for making my day.” She expressed joy that brought fondness in Gi-hun's dark gaze. “You’re welcome. I hope to see you again.” The uncle bids his farewell to his niece who nods her head in a silent yet sincere response. Yu-na sees Gi-hun walk out of the café, feeling a bit bittersweet.

She hopes to see him again as well. 

series masterlist | two

[freakydeaky6969]

Training officer Leon Kennedy x Fem Rookie Reader

WARNINGS: PROFANITY, IMPLIED AGE GAP, AWKWARD SITUATIONS, Litterally nothing else but part 2 is a little friskier

Word count:

I have part of part.2 if y’all want it just lmk😛

Oh and this is NOT proofread so sorry🙃

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The mindless buzz of the radio echoed through the dirty policed issued junker. Street lights illuminating your face through the dusty windshield. The pitch black darkness of the outside blanketed the ground casting darkness around the light of the streetlights on the sidestreet where you and your TO were parked.

Yet another long houred stakeout you and your training officer had to babysit. Being a rookie meant long grueling hours and staying in a shitty motel paid for by the department.

You and your training officer’s shift was from 5am to 9pm. Usually your shifts aren't this long but your TO, Officer Kennedy volunteered the two of you for the long shift without you knowledge, of course. He is always looking for more hours to teach you the ins and outs of police work. He really is passionate about his job.

You take the hand your head was resting on and bring it out in front of your exhausted eyes to check the time on your watch.

8:56

Only 4 more minutes of this awful silence before you can sleep in some shitty motel bed to do this all over again.

It’s not that your training officer is boring, quite the opposite actually. The two of you can talk for hours on end about everything and nothing at the same time. Talking about things from life and philosophies to stupid things like movies and tv shows. However, he was very passionate that stakeouts are supposed to be silent.

If he wasn't your training officer and ahead of you in your chain of command you’d totally ask him out. Not only did the two of you instantly click the day he was assigned to be your training officer but he really is gorgeous. He has a sharp defined jawline, sandy blonde hair pushed back out of his face, pretty pinkish lips that look so soft, and piercing blue eyes that you could stare into for hours and never get bored.

“You done daydreaming rookie, our shift is over” Kennedy says with a tired smile, already out of the car holding your door open waiting for you to get out.

“Oh shoot sorry” you say sleepily apologetic, hurrying out of the vehicle before he shuts the door, letting out an awful creaking noise. “Is this junker the best they can afford?” you say staring judgefully at the beat up dirty black sedan you've been sitting in for the past 17 hours.

He huffs out a breathy laugh, “Oh this is nothing, you should've seen the trash they stuck me with when I was a rookie. You should be glad I'm your TO, we got one of the better ones”. He says while starting to walk towards the gas station you were meeting up with the next shift at.

He looks back to make sure you're catching up to him as you lagged back looking at the dents on the car.

You hurry up to his side, continuing a normal pace to match his.

“I can’t wait to take this uniform off and go to sleep” you say sighing whilst walking on the sidewalk just inches away from Kennedy.

“Me too, I'm exhausted, that had to be the longest shift of my career. But if it gives you valuable stakeout experience I'm all for it” Kennedy says, turning his eyes to meet yours with a sleepy smile. “And you're not horrible to be around y’know” he says staring into your eyes so strongly you think he must see your soul.

‘God if he was someone, anyone else, I’d be with him right now’ is all you could think when he gave you that sweet genuine smile. And you know he cares about you, he's gone in the line of fire to protect you countless times, but that's just his job, right?

You smile back at him and stare back into his icy blue eyes that were anything but cold. You’d swear that coworkers don't look at each other this way, but you have a tendency to be a little delusional. ‘We’re just two coworkers who flirt a little, that's normal’, you tell yourself.

After breaking eye contact your mind starts wandering. Maybe you aren't being delusional?

Kennedy looks over seeing you lost in thought staring off into space as you approach the brightly lit gas station. A red and blue “Open” sign flashed in your eyes catching your attention at the same time as his words “You okay rookie? You spaced out on me there” he says with nothing but concern on his pink face.

You immediately become flustered and feel your cheeks heat up so much they must be steaming in this bitter cold weather, realizing that you were daydreaming about the man standing right next to you. “Uhh yeah” you say hoping he doesn't pick up on your blush.

“You daydreamin’ about me or something” he says with a sly smile after he spotted your cheeks warming.

Your eyes shoot open before slapping him on his arm “shut up, you wish” you say with a scoff so he doesn't notice you internally screaming at yourself.

He chuckles and opens the door for you gesturing for you to walk in infront of him.

‘Ugh at this point I'm gonna fall in love with him before I become an actual officer’ is all you can think as he walks beside you to the employee break room of the gas station, opening the door for you once again. You catch yourself staring at the way the cuff of his shirt gets tight on his thick bicep when he moves it.

You enter the room and lock eyes with the night shift. A pale brown haired man with a 5 o’clock shadow standing stiffly in an isolated corner. The screen of his phone lit up his pale face highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. A stereotypical night shifter.

Kennedy tells him what we’ve learned over the course of our shift and the pale man nods before walking out of the room without another word.

Kennedy grabs a backpack and the cash on the table left by the department to use at the nextdoor motel for us to stay at until our next shift since it's so early, and this stakeout is particularly far. He opens the doors for you, as usual, and starts heading to the motel.

The flashing red light from the broken motel sign lights up Kennedys face beautifully. Painting every crevice of his face in deep red light. The red mixes with the blue of his eyes making them appear to be grey, and more beautiful than ever.

When you get inside you walk up to the older lady wearing a brown blouse sitting at the stand. “Hi, could we have two rooms please, preferably with anything bigger than a twin bed” you say with a polite smile.

“Sorry sweetie we’re fully booked, only got a room with a full” the lady says in a thick Appalachian accent.

“A room?” Kennedy asks from a step behind you.

“Yup, ‘ts all we got” she says with an unbothered shrug.

You and Kennedy exchange glances and you sit in silence trying to come up with a win-win solution to your problem.

He brings his hand up to place it on the back of his neck looking at you in an awakened silence. “Why don’t you take the room, my car isn’t too far, I can slee-”

You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence “Hell no it's freezing outside, im not letting you sleep in your car”. You say like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard before turning back to the lady at the stand. “We’ll take that room please” you say with a smile and turn back to Kennedy. “We’re both grown adults, we can share a room” you say insistently.

He shrugs and grabs the room key from the lady and heads toward your room on the second floor. While going up the stairs you notice him look at you with a sly smile “Jeez rookie if you wanted to share a bed with me this badly you could’ve just asked”.

You whip your head over to meet his, giving him a dirty look and rolling your eyes. “I did not” you say with a blank face.

“You sure? Seemed pretty insistent on me sleeping with you” he says smirking at his carefully chosen words.

“Gross, we’re sharing a bed not having sex. This is real life not one of your little fantasies” you say chuckling at your remark when you see his face drop.

Kennedy tries to come up with a comeback but is left blank. He scoffs “Whatever” before arriving at the door to your room reading ‘206’. He opens it and ushers you inside and out of the frigid cold.

When inside he plops down his small black and grey backpack he had kept at the gas station. He unzips the bag you didn't even realize he had, and starts pulling out shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in. He looks over to see you staring at him when he realizes you didn't have a bag with you.

“Did you seriously not bring a change of clothes?” he asks, looking genuinely shocked since you’re usually quite prepared.

“I completely forgot” you say slapping your hand on your forehead, closing your eyes and groaning at the thought of sleeping in your uniform.

He chuckles at your moping before throwing a shirt and some boxers at your head. “Here” he says with no elaboration.

You feel the slap of fabric on your face, looking at his clothes now at your feet. “No way, i'm not making you sleep in uniform” you say while picking up his clothes from where they had fallen on the floor. Walking up to him holding them out.

“Don’t worry about it, I brought shorts i'll just sleep in those” he says innocently like it's nothing.

You hesitantly accept and head to the bathroom to change. ‘Sleeping in a small bed with Leon Kennedy. In nothing but shorts. What could go wrong’ you think nervously while staring in the bathroom mirror. You change and stare at yourself in the mirror. Dressed in his clothes that smell just like him has you feeling all kinds of things. You walk out of the bathroom and stop in place when you see leon on his phone standing by the bed in nothing but shorts. Your eyes trail from his biceps, across his chest, down his toned muscular stomach, and a trail of sandy blond hair leading down into his shorts. Realizing where you are staring you snap your eyes back up only to see him staring at you dressed in his baggy clothes.

“Wow uh, you look good” he says almost out of breath.

“I'm just in a t-shirt weirdo” you say, feeling your cheeks heating up at his staring. You walk over to your side of the bed and plop down on your back and shut your eyes. Letting out the deepest breath you feel like you’ve been holding on to all day. You seriously were so tired you could fall asleep in seconds. Instead, you chose to force yourself back up to turn off the main light. You’re feet hit the cold floor jolting you awake. You turn off the light and turn around, going back to the bed you see Kennedy already under the covers. Part of you is a little sad you don’t get to stare at him just a little longer.

You follow his lead and climb under the covers and get comfortable. You lie on your back staring at the ceiling ‘why can't I fall asleep? I just worked way too many hours to be restless’ you thought to yourself. Too deep in thought to notice Kennedy in the same position but staring at you instead of the ceiling.

You look back over at him, finding his bright blue eyes through the darkness of the stuffy motel room. He was almost analyzing your face. Every feature, every freckle, every mole, every perfection.

“You’re so beautiful y’know” he says out of the blue. It’s not unusual for the two of you to flirt by any means, but this felt different. Felt real. Like everything we’ve said before was just jokes up until now.

[teaandjumpers]

Obikin Clueless AU (WIP Wednesday)

“Blast,” said Obi-Wan as he stared down at the three ties laid out on his bed. 

Apart from some minor differences in color and texture, they all looked interchangeable to him. It was not something he should be fixating on, not with the signing a mere two hours away. 

A sharp knock pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned towards the sound to find Anakin leaning against the door frame. He was dressed for the occasion in flared high-waisted trousers, a semi-sheer ivory lace button down, and black loafers with no socks.

He looked more like a model from a high-end fashion magazine than the teenager who used to fly drones outside their home, repeatedly crashing them into Obi-Wan’s car, much to the younger man’s amusement.  

“What are you doing here?” asked Obi-Wan, surprised to see his step-brother back home from school, especially on this day. 

It wasn’t that Anakin didn’t support Obi-Wan’s appointment as managing partner of Qui-Gonn’s firm. In fact, he pushed for it more than anyone, grateful that the mantle wouldn’t pass to him, not having the patience for law and the often slow and tactful art of persuasion. 

The young man had found his passion in engineering, and with an Ivy League degree and a trust fund that had made Obi-Wan choke on a swig of Scotch upon hearing the size of it, Anakin could fund any project he wanted. Or he could do absolutely nothing for the rest of his life and fund other people’s projects, living in the type of splendor that was usually only seen in swanky Hollywood movies. 

But Anakin didn’t like to be idle. It was one of the things Obi-Wan admired about the boy—no, man. At twenty-five, Anakin was very much a man now, and he looked it, too, the way his chest had filled out, the way those long thighs broadened, the way his eyes smoldered, always looking like he was about to take the runway, strike a pose and glare. 

Obi-Wan used to tease him about it, saying things like, “I heard they’re hiring live models for the Versace window display, darling. You should look into it.” 

It would, of course, make Anakin glower even more, prompting the younger man to chase Obi-Wan around the many rooms of their mansion, ready to smother him with a pillow. 

Those were simpler times—before the moment. Before that night in the living room when Obi-Wan was sorting through depositions and Anakin, being the brat that he was, had plopped onto the couch, turned on wrestling, and started chewing on Pringles—loudly. 

“Do you mind,” Obi-Wan had asked, grabbing the remote out from under Anakin and turning off the television. 

“Actually, I do,” said Anakin, attempting to snatch the remote back but failing. “You can work anywhere, Obi-Wan,” he whined. 

“I’m certain you have two televisions in your room, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, holding the remote out of reach behind him. “And one in your bathroom.”

“Yeah, but this is the only room with a TV and a fireplace,” said Anakin, rising to his knees on the couch, attempting to use his height to snatch the remote. 

With one hand pressed firmly against the younger man’s chest, Obi-Wan managed to keep Anakin at bay. 

“You’re such a spoiled brat,” he said, looking up at Anakin with disbelief.  

“Well, you took the only other room with a fireplace, and you don’t believe in having televisions in the bedroom,” Anakin said, mimicking Obi-Wan’s accent.

Distracted by Anakin’s ridiculous attempt at mocking him, Obi-Wan was caught off guard when Anakin lunged at him and pulled the remote from his hand. 

“Ha,” the younger man said triumphantly, turning the television back on. 

On any other day, Obi-Wan would have left it. Would have left the room, let Anakin win, because Anakin almost never gave up on something once he set his sights on it, whether it was a person or getting his way on movie night. 

But that night, Obi-Wan was frustrated—they were falling behind on work, and Anakin, newly graduated from high school, had too much energy. He’d been bouncing through the house all day, and when Obi-Wan finally settled down in a space that Anakin had already torn through, he thought he was safe. 

Not so. And so Anakin, who had already turned his wrestling show back back on, who was reaching for the cylinder of Pringles that had rolled under the couch, didn’t expect Obi-Wan to grab him from behind, didn’t expect his step-brother to hook his arms beneath his armpits, locking the younger man’s arms up in a tight hold. 

Anakin grunted and tried to shake his way out of Obi-Wan’s hold, but it was no use. 

“You forget, I was captain of the wrestling team in college,” said Obi-Wan, huffing the words against the tousled mess that was Anakin’s hair. 

“Community college,” snorted Anakin, and that earned him a sharp tug of the arms, one that brought his body closer to Obi-Wan’s, making it so that Anakin was sitting on Obi-Wan’s lap, squirming in the older man’s lap, and then panting as his movements stilled, as he slid farther into Obi-Wan’s space until his back was pressed up against the other man. 

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved, save for the slow heaving of their chests and the soft shuddering breaths coming from Anakin. The fire crackled in the background and cheers sounded from the television, but Anakin stayed perched atop Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan held him there, the young man’s arms still suspended above his head. 

“They call this the Master Lock,” said Obi-Wan softly, relishing the clenching of Anakin’s jaw and the haughty but quiet “I know” that fell from his lips.

At least a full minute passed before Obi-Wan released his hold. Once free, he assumed Anakin would wrench his body away from him, ready to take up the fight again, but Anakin didn’t move. Or at least he didn’t move away. He turned his head, presenting his profile to Obi-Wan. His eyes were downcast, and it made the heavy line of his lashes even more pronounced. Anakin swallowed, and Obi-Wan tracked the slow path of the movement down Anakin’s throat. 

And then Anakin shifted. It was minute, nearly imperceptible, but Obi-Wan most certainly felt it, sitting so still beneath his legal but still very young step-brother. It was a slow rock of Anakin’s hips, not even a rock, but a slight pivot, the weight of Anakin’s hips pressing down then sliding back.

At first, Obi-Wan thought that maybe Anakin was trying to get up, get some momentum before sliding off of him, but then it happened again, the press of Anakin’s cheeks against his thighs and then he was shifting back, sliding closer and closer to his groin. When it happened one more time, the slow grind paired now with a low moan that slipped from Anakin’s pink, parted lips, Obi-Wan shot up from his seat and upended Anakin, too afraid to look back as he fled to his room. 

Obi-Wan had been careful to give Anakin a wide berth since then, not wanting to examine the very un-familial emotions that had coursed through him when he had Anakin on his lap. 

It wasn’t like they were actually brothers. Not by blood at least. But it was still frowned upon, and the other partners at the firm would undoubtedly reconsider appointing Obi-Wan their new managing partner if they knew there was anything untoward going on between him and his step-brother, the current managing partner’s son. 

“I thought you were still in Seville—living it up with Padme,” said Obi-Wan, softening his tone. He felt he might have been a bit too harsh to the younger man when he asked him what he was doing here. 

“I was,” said Anakin, approaching Obi-Wan’s bed and examining the ties alongside the other man. “But I couldn’t miss your big day,” he said, poking Obi-Wan with an elbow.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin’s profile. He was tanned, even more so than usual, and, dear god, he looked beautiful. His lashes were dark and his lips extra pouty, as if he had applied some kind of plumper to it. He really should have been a model, he thought, shaking the words away as quickly as they came.

“Perhaps you can help me pick out a tie for the event?” he asked. “Satine sent them, but they look identical to me.”

“Still letting your ex dress you, Obi-Wan?” Anakin teased as he leaned forward to examine the ties more closely. He turned his nose up at each option, then looked up at Obi-Wan, assessing his wardrobe. 

He eyed the dark blue pleated trousers and the fitted white dress shirt, the one Obi-Wan worried he was now sweating through. Anakin stepped closer, a mere foot separating them now. He brought a hand to Obi-Wan’s throat and undid one of the buttons of his collar. He pulled back to consider his work and unbuttoned one more. 

“No tie,” said Anakin with finality. 

“Did I miss that year where you minored in public relations?”

“Satine knows the press, but I know clothes,” said Anakin, unnecessarily readjusting Obi-Wan’s collar. “The partners chose you because they want someone practical to take over—someone pragmatic who’s not fussy. A tie is fussy.”

“And here I thought they chose me because I’ve only had three losses in my fifteen years of practice.”

“We’re all very impressed,” said Anakin, sarcastic. He smoothed out the nonexistent lines at the front of Obi-Wan’s shirt. Also unnecessary, thought Obi-Wan. 

When Anakin seemed satisfied with his efforts, he pulled away, turning towards the door. But he paused for a moment and turned back, biting his bottom lip before approaching Obi-Wan.

“I’m really proud of you, Obi-Wan,” he said, uncharacteristically sincere. 

It made Obi-Wan blink back at him in surprise, but what surprised him even more was when Anakin leaned in close and, after hesitating for a moment, gripped the thickest part of Obi-Wan’s arm and pressed a soft kiss on Obi-Wan’s cheek. 

When Anakin pulled away, his own cheeks were pink, and he glanced at Obi-Wan shyly. 

“You’re gonna be great,” Anakin said, and then he left Obi-Wan on his own, hours away from achieving one of his life-long goals.

Only now, all he would be able to think about was Anakin—Anakin and his impossibly long legs, Anakin and that obscene sheer shirt and the golden warm expanse of skin beneath it, Anakin and those eyes, those eyes that still grew dark when they skirted over Obi-Wan’s shoulders. Anakin and his soft, petal pink lips that were just moments ago pressed against the line where his beard met his cheek. 

Fuck. He was definitely sweating through his shirt now.

- - - -

(Anakin’s outfit)

[lizziesloopy]

NSFW ALPHABET W DARYL DIXON

A - Aftercare: I don’t care what anyone else says, Daryl is the master of aftercare. He’s always worried about you, so he always insists u rest and take a minute after u two do anything, and gets a warm washcloth or tissue to clean you up, and or water. If you’re the type to get tired after sex, he sleeps with you, lets u sleep on his chest while playing with your hair.

B - Body Part: He likes all of you equally, but he’s a sucker for your breasts and hips. I will DIE on this hill. Daryl has a thing for hips, holding them while he’s fucking you, keeping them down while he’s eating you out, brushing his thumb along them while kissing you.

C - Cum: Daryl has a breeding kink. He’s already generally protective of the people he cares about, especially you, and that doesn’t change in the bedroom. The idea of filling you up, cumming inside you, thats what does it for him.

D - Dirty Secret: Daryl is a pretty reserved guy, so I don’t think he’d ever admit to any kind of dirty secret unless you asked first. But, he secretly really likes the idea of you riding his face, and really likes the scent of you.

E - Expirience: The only expirience Daryl has is from before the apocalypse, and even then it was never all that good. He was usually intoxicated when he had the occasional one night stand, most of his sexual knowledge coming from Merle. But once he’s with you, he’s very eager to please you, whether he knows what he’s doing, he WILL make it his mission to learn.

F - Favorite Position: Contrary to popular belief, I think Daryl is a pretty vanilla guy. He mostly enjoys missionary, he likes to be able to see your face, and hold you close. He also likes spooning, it feels much more intimate, and it’s usually a go to for sleepy sex. He also never complains when you want to ride him because god does he love it. But I don’t think he’d like to bend you over something or do doggy style, he feels it’s too degrading or disrespectful.

G - Goofy: Things stay pretty passionate and serious between you too when being intamite. But, when something is akward and happens to be funny, a little laugh here and there isn’t unusual, especially in the beginning.

H - Hair: I mean, it’s an apocalypse, I don’t think people are all too focused on how well groomed thier bits are. Despite that, he doesn’t let it get crazy, keeps it tame, very clean. He doesn’t like the feeling of being unkempt down there, it’s uncomfortable. As for you, who could give two shits bush or bald, as long as he can get in there, he’s a happy man. And if he’s being honest, he’s likes when you have a little more hair because he likes the scent of you.

I - Intimacy: Daryl is extremely intimate nobody is changing my mind. I don’t understand how yall think this man would fuck you like an animal against a tree, absolutely not. He’s very private about your sex life and plans to keep it that way. He’s quiet overall, but that doesn’t stop him from absolutely ravishing you. He likes being as humanly close to you as possible, whether that be spooning you, reverse cowgirl, pulling you impossibly close to him in missionary, anything.

J - Jack Off: Daryl isn’t much of a masturbater. Never has been. He doesn’t have the highest sex drive, and when he does, he has you. He’d rather have you than his hand, always.

K - Kink: Like I said, he’s pretty vanilla, but not to say he doesn’t enjoy a thing or two. He 100% has an oral fixation, going down on you or you going down on him, obsessed with it. He also likes pulling your hair every now and then, but never too hard.

L - Location: Only the bed. Yall are crazy for sayin ‘over a table’ ‘in the middle of the woods’ like what the FUCK are you on 😭. He’s a very private man, who prioritizes your comfort over anything else, therefore, the bed.

M - Motivation: I mentioned how he wouldn’t have a very high sex drive, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get turned on by you. If you’re in the mood, that’s his motivation. But also, seeing you all sweaty or working hard, or when he’s teaching you how to use his crossbow, seeing you use it, that turns him on hella.

N - NO: There’s a lot of no’s for Daryl when it comes to intimacy for you. He would never hurt you in any way shape or form, that consists of spanking, slapping, hitting, restraining, choking, etc. IF you asked him to choke you he’d be ok with doing it very lightly, but still worried. He’s not ok with risky/public sex, degrading you, and certain kinks like mommy/daddy. I hate when ppl say he’d have that, he’d hate it.

O - Oral: ORAL FIXATIONNNNNNNNNNN!!! This man is a certified MUNCH. Bro feasts like it’s his last meal alive. He love love loves that he can make you feel that good, because he’s exceptionally good with using his tongue, and has learned all the ways you like it. He likes watching the way you loose control of yourself, your face and your body. He also loooves when you go down on him, but he never says that. He actually has an extremely hard time containing himself when you suck him off. He usually doesn’t last long. Seeing you on your knees, looking at him through your eyelashes with his cock in your mouth, it’s his wet dream.

P - Pace: Depends. Depends on the mood, how you wanted, how you both are feeling, if he’s stressed, if he’s relaxed. I mentioned earlier he likes being intimate, therefore I’d say most of the time he’s not too fast or hard, maybe when he’s getting close or knows you’re getting close though. But times when he’s stressed, or he can tell you are, he’s a bit more fast paced with it.

Q - Quickie: Nope. 100% absolutely not. He despises the idea of rushing sex. He needs to feel comfortable in a safe environment where he knows he has time and there is no danger.

R - Risk: No risks. He doesn’t take risks with places, kinkiness, or new stuff. Unless you specifically say you want to try something and he’s ok with it, or he thinks it something, than nah. The only thing I could think of is he loves cumming in you, so there would be the risk of pregnancy if you are fertile.

S - Stamina: Depends again. He can go for long if you can, but when he’s tired, one round is enough to put him on his ass. But, just solely pleasuring you alone, he could do that all day.

T - Toy: He is definetly not opposed to anything that makes you feel good. If he were to ever stumble upon something on a run, or some other way, he’d definetly grab it. Using something like a vibrator or a dildo on you is definitely something he’s very open too, but when it comes to him, he’d rather not use anything.

U - Unfair: There is lots of teasing in your relationship in general, but when it comes to sexual teasing yes, but very subtle, never things other people would notice. But when it comes down to actual sex, neither of you like to be kept waiting.

V - Volume: He’s mostly quiet like usual. Grunts mostly, especially when he’s cumming, he usually burries his face in your shoulder to muffle himself. He loves to hear how vocal you are though. I think he could be a bit of a whimperer when you give him head too.

W - Wild Card: He doesn’t mind when you’re on your period, he’s just extra cautious with the mess. Puts a towel down or does it in the shower.

X - X Ray: He’s pretty big, not too big, but above average. It’s mostly the girth, cuz damn. Your first time with him had to be slow and steady because YOWCH.

Y - Yearning: Well, I already said this before but he had a medium sex drive, not awfully high. But if you do, especially if you’re younger than him, he’s more than happy to get you off. Eating you out, fingering you, letting you ride his thigh, whatever you want.

Z - zzzz: He gets pretty eepy 😴 He doesn’t like quickies because he likes to have his time with you, specifically time to cuddle you and sleep afterwards. Which is why he mostly prefer sex before bed/at night.

Hope you guys liked it!! My first time writing something like this, lmk how you like it and if I should do a SFW one.

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Do you think Al would actually get jealous at Vox getting closer with his female self? I remember him not being threatened, but since it's another version of himself, do you think he would be?

Anon asked: Alastor doesn't get jealous but he got jealous of Velvette right? Is there a reason for that? What would get Alastor jealous?

You know, those are excellent questions! I guess a little talk about jelly Al:

I might've mentioned it before but part of the reason that Alastor doesn't get jealous of Vox's, um, paramours is that he truly thinks Vox is only really interested in men, namely because he doesn't see him flirt with girls with any serious intent while he's around. It's a cover, a front, and any 'relationship' he could have with them is, to Alastor, based upon an impossible to maintain lie. He is very, very much in the black or white view on sexuality because of the time and place he was raised in. Basically, he's not jealous because he doesn't believe Vox would ever want someone else...which isn't too far off from the truth, if for entirely different reasons.

But there's another side to this, that Alastor has never seen Vox with someone he's had an actual relationship with, man or woman. Alastor is far from the first person that Vox has been in love with, though he's the only one that Vox himself admits finally makes feel like that passion and spark unlike anything and anyone before. But he's had other relationships before. Al's also not around to see Vox with his current paramours. Vox keeps it all behind closed doors and for a very brief time. Al might see them 'flirt' at a party, and maybe head off to a hotel together, but he doesn't see all the little things in between. That, and Vox is always back with him the next day.

This is all a long way to say that Alastor...has never been given a reason to be jealous. He's not threatened by people who he is convinced don't have a shot. He thinks he wouldn't be jealous but, oh boy, is he very, very wrong.

Take Velvette, for example. Kinda teased here, but Vel is someone who Vox has a longstanding business partnership/professional friendship with...who may also be interested in him like that. Professional business partners with benefits kinda deal, and they're both mature enough to just leave it at that.

But to Alastor? Who thinks that you can't have one without the other? Oh, he would get so, so jealous if he ever saw the two of them together. Heck, the kisses were already pushing it beyond acceptable. And he doesn't even realize he is jealous/possessive. And if you asked him, he'd deny it, and say that Vel is a woman so Vox can't love her anyways so what does it matter.

His reaction doesn't always reflect what he's saying ;)

Anyways, Vel loves to poke the bear. Hence, manipulating it to make Alastor jealous on purpose.

But, hypothetically, if there was a guy that caught Vox's eye aside from Al...well, they better start running. He might say he wants Vox to move on, but he both, in the back of his head, doesn't believe it could ever really happen and refuses to have someone take his attention away from him. He would torment anyone who got too close...and he probably wouldn't even realize he was doing it.

As I liked to put it, and in a nebulous way, Vox is Al's, but Al is not Vox's.

Annnnd to get to the female Alastor issue...oh boy, would that be a barrel of 'fun'. So, bluntly? Yes, he would be insanely jealous. Not only because this would be the, in Alastor's view, one and only woman who could catch Vox's eye, but also 'Allie' is a lot more aware and comfortable with herself than Alastor at this point.

'Allie's' been married before, and it wasn't a happy experience. She knows that she doesn't 'want' men in that way, and she doesn't 'want' women in the same way either. She hasn't quite gotten that she's aroace, particularly because there isn't a term at the time for it, but she's already figured out what she's comfortable with and what's too much, both emotionally and physically. Vox, to 'Allie', is just about perfect for her. He knows her boundaries without a word needing to be said. His touch doesn't make her skin crawl. She gets to define what their relationship is at any given point in time. There's no negotiation or trying to 'prove' her affections for him. He can love her without needing anything back, just like her Vee. Except he's a man, so she can even fulfill those little promises of a house with a white fence. If he was in her verse, she'd marry him, 100%. Possibly kids too, depending on her own comfort levels.

And that would drive Alastor up the wall. Because how dare. That's his Vox, and, no, he doesn't not care if they're technically the same person because they aren't the same person and-!

So, yeah, in short? He'd be very, very jealous.

Not that he'd really ever needed to be, because Vox would never do anything with 'Allie' that would make Al uncomfortable. All he'd really need to do, with any potential relationship, is tell Vox that he's uncomfortable with it and that would be that.

To Vox, his (but not his) Alastor will always come first.

(Secretly, Alastor knows that too.)

TLDR: Yes, Alastor would get jealous if there was ever a legitimate 'threat'. 'Allie' qualifies for that too, more than most. He's not usually jealous de facto though. And Vox would end any relationship on the spot the minute Alastor asked him to.

Thanks for the asks!

[almostwisegalaxy]

Under a grey sky

Bonus part

Older men oc x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story and is in his twenties

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: DtMF_bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando de tuve. Debi darte más besos y abrazos. Las veces que pude...

Translation : I should have taken more photos of when I had it. I should have given you more kisses and hugs. The times I could. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Sensitive souls please refrain. Sensitive subject. Death, cancer. I'm not making fun of anything. I'm just writing a story. As they say on Wattpad : I am responsible for what I write, you are responsible for what you read

..................................................................................

It was an evening like any other. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Y/n, apprentice baker, was finishing her day. She had spent hours crafting chocolate éclairs and apple tarts, her mind lost in the dream of owning her own bakery. But that night, her thoughts wandered. Too absorbed in calculating her savings, she hadn’t noticed the man crossing at a poorly lit street corner.

The screech of brakes. A thud.

Horrified, Y/n hurriedly got out of her small car. The man on the ground was still breathing, but a thin cut marked his forehead. She immediately called for help, her voice trembling with panic.

Armand opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. A dull ache pulsed through his head, and bandages covered his face. Yet what caught his attention was the young woman sitting by his bedside. Y/n was curled up in a chair, nervously twisting a tissue in her hands.

“You’re awake… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her pleading eyes fixed on him.

Armand, a 39-year-old interior architect, looked at her curiously. Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Don’t worry… It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? I ran you over…”

“And yet, you’re here watching over me,” he replied lightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/n flushed deeply, but he continued, his gaze gentle:

“Go home. I’m fine, I promise.”

She hesitated but eventually obeyed. Yet the image of his comforting smile remained etched in her mind.

A few weeks later, as Y/n was decorating pastries in the bakery where she worked, the doorbell chimed. She glanced up briefly to greet the customer, but her gaze quickly returned to the tart she was preparing.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

She abruptly looked up. Standing before her was Armand, well-dressed, his bright smile hiding the slight scar on his forehead. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

“Do you have croissants?” he asked with a disarming ease.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” she replied, turning toward the display.

As she placed the croissants in a paper bag, he observed her with a hidden tenderness. She seemed more at ease here, in a world that felt made for her.

“You have a real talent,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, surprised by the remark.

“Thank you… But how can you tell?”

“It’s obvious,” he said warmly. “I can see it in your movements.”

She blushed again, uncomfortable with such a sincere compliment.

Armand became a regular customer. Every morning, he stopped by for a coffee or pastry, finding excuses to exchange a few words with Y/n. He was interested in her work, her dreams.

“So, you want to open your own bakery?” he asked one day, taking a bite of a financier she had made.

She nodded timidly.

“Yes… But it’s still a long way off. I need to save, learn, and find the right place.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with conviction.

His encouragements touched her, but she never dared to ask him personal questions. She was too shy to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Armand found himself increasingly fascinated by her. Her passion, her reserve, and even her clumsiness made him smile.

One evening, as he worked on an architectural project in his office, Armand found his thoughts drifting. He realized he looked forward to seeing her every morning. But he couldn’t ignore the age gap between them.

“She’s in her twenties,” he murmured to himself. “She has so much to live, so much to discover.”

Yet he couldn’t deny the emotions growing within him. Every smile, every exchanged word gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

One day, as he waited in line at the bakery, he placed a book on the counter. It was a French pastry manual, thick and adorned with vibrant photos.

“For you,” he said with a smile.

Y/n stared at him, puzzled.

“Why…?”

“Because I believe in your dreams,” he said simply.

She clutched the book to her chest, moved by his gesture.

“Thank you… It’s… it’s a lot.”

For the first time, she looked up at him and held his gaze a little longer. An invisible butterfly stirred in Armand’s stomach.

Their relationship evolved slowly, like dough rising under a damp cloth. Y/n found herself waiting for his visits, listening for the bell to chime. Armand, for his part, took his time, respecting her pace, admiring every facet of her personality.

One day, as they shared a brioche fresh from the oven, he softly murmured:

“Y/n… You’re like this brioche.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soft. And… you bring a warmth that isn’t always noticed at first, but it lingers long after.”

She blushed, lowering her eyes, but this time, she didn’t look away completely.

It was the beginning of a fragile yet sincere love, built on glances, gestures, and shared dreams. A love that, like a good pastry, required patience and care.

---

Weeks Passed, but Armand’s Ambition Remained Intact

Weeks went by, but Armand’s ambition remained unshaken. He was a determined man, always immersed in his work, pushing his limits day after day. His architectural projects consumed more of his life than he cared to admit, and every minute of inaction felt like wasted time. Yet deep inside, something grew stronger every time he crossed paths with Y/n: love.

But he was caught in a spiral. He saw their age difference as an undeniable obstacle he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want Y/n to get lost in a relationship that, in his mind, had no future. She was young, full of dreams, and he… he was already in a different phase of life. He had made choices, sacrificed moments of leisure to achieve his goals.

One evening, after an especially long day, Armand went to the bakery as usual, hoping for a light conversation, a little comfort in Y/n’s small gestures. But something wasn’t right. The stress of his job, his grueling hours, the constant pressure, and lack of sleep weighed heavily on him. He entered the bakery, heading toward the counter, his tired gaze fixed on her.

“Hello,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips as always. She didn’t know he’d had an especially difficult day.

“I need a coffee, strong,” he murmured, his tone sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t respond, simply preparing his order with calm concentration. When she handed him the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and he felt a dull tension rise within him. She was so gentle, so calm. She seemed worlds away from his own turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to talk about his job, his frustrations. But instead of responding, his words came out more abruptly than he intended.

“Why do you always worry about everyone? Don’t you have anything better to do? It’s not your job to take everything on yourself.”

She flinched, her eyes widening at his harsh tone. He immediately realized his mistake, but he couldn’t seem to regain control of the situation. He had acted impulsively, without thinking. The fatigue and stress had overridden his usual gentleness.

Y/n remained silent, her gaze lowering. She didn’t know what to say, but the hurt was clear on her face. Normally so understanding, so kind, she now felt deeply wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long pause. “I… I just wanted to offer you a little… comfort.”

He looked at her, ashamed of his words. He shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but his nerves were frayed. Watching her retreat in silence made his heart ache.

The next morning, Armand arrived at the bakery earlier than usual, his mind tormented by the events of the previous evening. He had spent the night reflecting on his behavior, knowing he owed her an apology. But seeing her behind the counter, arranging the morning pastries, he realized he couldn’t bear to hurt her any further.

He waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he approached cautiously, a bit hesitant.

“Y/n… I’m sorry about yesterday. I was… I was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. He knew his words had deeply hurt her, and the thought gnawed at him.

“It wasn’t about you,” he added, his tone calmer, almost gentle. “It’s just… it’s hard for me to balance everything I need to do.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze, as if his apology wasn’t enough to erase the sting of his behavior. But instead of retreating into her usual silence, she offered a small gesture of understanding.

“I understand,” she said softly, but with a gentleness that instantly eased his heart. “It’s just… sometimes, we forget to rest. And that hurts you too, doesn’t it?”

Armand stood in silence for a moment, surprised by her insight. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized how much the tension was hurting him from the inside.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, his voice rougher than he intended. “Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I want to accomplish that I forget to stop, to breathe.”

She nodded slightly, a timid smile brushing her lips. She understood what it meant to be swept up in dreams and ambitions, forgetting to care for oneself.

That evening, Armand went home replaying their conversation in his mind. He knew he was still far from understanding everything that was happening between him and Y/n. But one thing was clear: he loved her, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of his own shortcomings.

He also knew he had to change. Not for her. But for himself. And perhaps, in that process, they could learn to understand and love each other in a healthier, gentler way. Because Y/n deserved to be cherished, with no room for anger or exhaustion.

And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if finding balance between his dreams and his feelings was the true key to his happiness.

---

Armand’s project had consumed every fiber of his being. For months, he had poured his heart and soul into it, investing his time, ideas, and ambitions. He had imagined, designed, and created with the hope that his work would finally be recognized. He knew the moment was approaching—the moment his project would be unveiled to the public, the moment his name would finally be associated with success. And that moment came.

But it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The day the project was praised, with critics unanimously lauding its quality, Armand felt a strange coldness seep into him. It wasn’t pride. Nor elation. It was emptiness. A void. His superior, someone who hadn’t contributed a single idea, had taken all the glory. His name shone in the headlines, while Armand’s was nowhere to be found.

He was devastated. And yet, he felt nothing. No anger. No frustration. Only an endless fatigue, a deep exhaustion.

He wanted to scream, to overturn everything around him, but his muscles were paralyzed. He couldn’t even move. He couldn’t scream. His mind was blank, as if everything he had lived, everything he had accomplished, had been swallowed by an ocean of silence. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn’t even lift them. It all seemed so futile, so insignificant.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of frustration. He hated himself for not being able to feel the injustice more intensely, for not being able to scream, to fight. Why couldn’t he react the way he wanted? Why did he feel like an empty man, a broken man without the strength to get back up?

That evening, he returned home, devoid of any enthusiasm. He collapsed on his couch, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive. It was as if he were breathing in a space too small, drowning in a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even organize.

It was far too late when he finally stepped outside. He didn’t even know why he left or what he was hoping for. Maybe it was the anxiety driving him out, or perhaps the need to be alone with his thoughts in the silence of the night.

The park was deserted, lit only by a few solitary streetlights. He sat on a bench under one of them and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the city felt distant, muffled by the stillness of the place. He felt so far from everything, so disconnected from reality.

That’s when he saw her. Y/n. She was walking alone in the park, probably after her workday. When she noticed him, she stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised to see him there at such a late hour. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, expressionless. He didn’t have the strength to smile. Nor the strength to pretend.

Y/n approached cautiously, her gaze uncertain but gentle. She seemed hesitant, unsure if she should disturb him. But she didn’t need words to know she should sit beside him. She said nothing, offering only her quiet presence.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but rather… soothing. She didn’t need to ask questions. Somehow, she knew he needed this moment of calm.

And that’s when Armand felt the first tears well up. He tried to hold them back, to stop them from falling, but it was no use. They began to stream down his face, slowly, gently, like a river cascading down a mountain, carrying away all the pain, all the frustration he had suppressed for so long.

The tears wouldn’t stop, one after another, breaking the silence of the night. He let himself go, giving in to the flood of emotions he had ignored for far too long. His body trembled as he leaned toward Y/n, unable to control the shaking.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself lean into her, his face buried in her shoulder, the tears flowing endlessly. There was no shame in the gesture. No pride. Just the need to feel safe, to let go.

Y/n, silent, held him gently. She didn’t say anything, but she was there for him. That was all that mattered. She could feel the pain in his movements, in his cries, and she knew he wasn’t asking for anything other than understanding, support without judgment.

In her arms, Armand allowed himself to completely let go, his heart heavy but unburdened from the weight that had suffocated him for so long. He had finally stopped holding back his emotions, stopped repressing his pain. Y/n offered him the freedom to cry without judgment, without pressure.

Eventually, the tears subsided, though the emptiness lingered. Yet something had shifted. That emptiness, though still present, felt less insurmountable. He knew he wouldn’t face it alone. Y/n had accepted him without demanding answers, without imposing expectations. She had simply offered her heart, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged.

---

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it was soothing. Y/n didn’t move; she stayed there, her arms around him, like an anchor in a calm sea. She understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. She felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease, and she knew that, little by little, he was regaining control over his emotions.

Armand eventually pulled away slightly, his breathing still uneven. His eyes were red, but they no longer held that empty expression. In Y/n’s embrace, he had found something precious—a peace he hadn’t sought but that had found him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice broken but full of gratitude.

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes gentle and reassuring. She didn’t need a response, but her gaze spoke volumes. She wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to fix him. She was simply there, by his side, and that was enough.

“I’m here, Armand,” she said simply, her voice soft but filled with tenderness. Nothing more needed to be said.

A faint smile crossed Armand’s lips, but it wasn’t forced. It was genuine—a gratitude he never thought he could feel so purely.

He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath. The night was calm around them, but something within him had shifted. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had lifted, and he felt lighter, even if only for the moment.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his tone now calmer.

She shook her head gently, a small hint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, I’m fine. But thank you. It’s… nice to be here, with you.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, though he felt a new warmth stir within him. It wasn’t just gratitude. He felt a connection, something deep silently weaving between them, without the need for words to express it. He knew that what he had just shared with her, this moment of vulnerability, could never be forgotten.

They remained there for a little while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the night. At some point, though, the silence became lighter, almost playful.

Armand turned to Y/n, his eyes now holding a spark of admiration he had felt for her since their first meeting. He looked at her, and this time, he didn’t see her as timid, fragile, or different from him. No. He saw her simply as Y/n—the person who, with a simple gesture of understanding, had brought him a kind of calm, a kind of peace he hadn’t known for a long time.

“You know, you’re really incredible,” he said softly, his voice both sincere and filled with tenderness.

Y/n blushed slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She was used to hiding her emotions, retreating into shyness. But that night, something about him encouraged her to be more open.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “But… I think we help each other.”

He smiled at her response. He didn’t need more words. He understood. They understood each other.

The days that followed felt different. Armand woke up in the morning with a slightly lighter burden on his shoulders. He continued to work, but he found himself appreciating the small things around him—things he had neglected for far too long. He spent more time reflecting on his life choices, his priorities, and what he truly wanted to achieve. But more than that, he started considering how he let his ambitions consume him.

And Y/n. He thought of her often. He hadn’t immediately seen her as someone who could help him through his moments of weakness, but he was beginning to realize that she might be the one who had shown him the path to a balance he had never sought before but was now striving to find.

For her part, Y/n seemed calmer too. She hadn’t tried to force her way into his world or immediately uncover the reasons behind his pain. She had simply listened, offering her support without expectations. She had always been a determined, dream-filled woman, but she understood that life had its own rhythm and that sometimes, stepping back was all it took to see things differently.

It wasn’t a fiery, explosive relationship, nor an all-consuming love story. It was gentler, calmer, like a quiet river. A love that grew in small gestures, in shared silences, in quiet laughter, and late-night conversations. They were learning about each other slowly but surely.

Armand knew he still had battles to fight. He also knew his responsibilities would pull him back into the whirlwind of work. But what he knew even more was that Y/n, with her quiet light and her gentle strength, would always be there, by his side. And perhaps, this budding relationship—fragile and uncertain as it might be—would become the key to a balance he had long sought without realizing it.

---

The little bakery, bathed in soft, warm light, was soothingly quiet. The last customers had long since left, and only Y/n remained behind the counter, meticulously tidying up the utensils, her precise movements reflecting her love for her craft. Armand stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets, looking unusually nervous.

He had rehearsed this confession in his head dozens of times. He had written a letter, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case he forgot everything he wanted to say. But now, standing there in front of her, his thoughts seemed to unravel with each heartbeat.

Y/n finally looked up at him, intrigued by his uncharacteristic silence.

“Armand? Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

He pulled out the letter, hesitating.

“I… I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

He placed the letter on the counter, but as he was about to hand it to her, his hand accidentally knocked over a cup of coffee left nearby. The brown liquid spread across the paper in an instant, soaking the carefully written words until the ink became a blur of illegible smudges.

Y/n, initially surprised, watched the scene before bursting into laughter.

“Oh no… You really planned everything, didn’t you?” she said, her playful smile lighting up her face.

Armand, initially panicked, began to laugh nervously too.

“Yes… Well, not exactly this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Y/n’s laughter faded gently, but the smile remained. She looked at him, curious, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. So much for the letter. There was no escape now.

“Y/n… I’ll be honest—I’m terrible at expressing how I feel, especially about something this important. But I’m going to try.”

She stood still, her hands folded on the counter, her eyes fixed on him.

“For a while now, I… I’ve been struggling with how I feel about you. Not because I doubt what it is, but because I doubt… myself.”

She furrowed her brows slightly but said nothing, giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“You’re young, Y/n, full of dreams, talent, and life. You have your whole future ahead of you. And me… I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word, but none came.

“I’m already in a world where I’m fighting just to stay standing. Where I work too much, where I’m always tired. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m just… an obstacle for you.”

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her gently.

“Wait, let me finish, please.”

She nodded, though her gaze softened.

“For the longest time, I told myself you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give you everything you deserve. Someone who could make you happy in ways I can’t. But every time I tried to let go of that idea… I couldn’t. Because the truth is, I want to be that person for you. Even if I’m imperfect. Even if I’m not the obvious choice.”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before.

“I love you, Y/n. Not in some grand, dramatic way, but in a simple, honest way. I love you because you’re you—with your shy smiles, your passion for what you do, your way of always seeing the best in others… And I know I’m clumsy, that maybe I don’t deserve this, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Y/n, her cheeks slightly flushed, seemed to be searching for the right words, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You know, Armand,” she murmured, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What I love about you isn’t some perfection you think you have to reach. What I love is you. Your clumsiness, your seriousness, the way you look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never wanted someone perfect. I just want you.”

This time, it was his turn to be speechless. She leaned slightly over the counter, reducing the distance between them.

“I love you too, Armand,” she added, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you’re incredibly clumsy sometimes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved, and this time, the laughter was pure, sincere, full of a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So… you’ll have me, despite everything?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

She nodded, her smile widening.

“Yes. But only if you promise never to write letters next to a cup of coffee again.”

They laughed together once more, and in that shared moment of joy, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. It wasn’t a perfect confession, nor a scene straight out of a romantic movie. It was clumsy, sincere, full of laughter and shyness. But it was them. Just them.

---

The months had flown by, and their relationship had blossomed in a quiet, unexpected way. Armand and Y/n had found their rhythm, balancing Armand’s busy workdays with the long hours Y/n spent in her bakery perfecting her recipes. Their love was sincere, built on small daily gestures and shared silences that spoke volumes.

They had celebrated Y/n’s victory in the pastry competition together. That day, she had climbed the stage, trembling but radiant, to receive her trophy. Armand had watched her with unwavering pride, as if she had just reached for the stars. They spent the evening laughing and celebrating in a way that felt simple and true to them.

But a few weeks after that moment of glory, their happiness was brutally interrupted.

Y/n had begun feeling pain in her lower abdomen and a fatigue she could no longer ignore. At first, she thought it was due to stress or overwork and delayed seeking medical advice. But one day, Armand insisted she see a doctor.

The diagnosis hit like a thunderbolt: terminal cancer, already too advanced to treat.

When Y/n walked out of the consultation room, her legs trembled. Armand, who had been waiting in the hallway, stood up immediately upon seeing her expression.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed his.

“I… I only have a few months left,” she finally murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Armand felt his heart shatter, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. But he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that simple gesture could shield her from everything.

The shock of the diagnosis changed them. Y/n, initially terrified, found the strength to smile again thanks to Armand. He, though devastated inside, became her pillar of support. Together, they made a decision: they would not let this illness steal the time they had left.

They began crossing dreams off Y/n’s list. A weekend in a small cabin by the lake, where they fished together and stargazed. A day spent at a bustling market, tasting dishes they’d never dared to try before. And, of course, hours spent in the bakery’s kitchen, experimenting with new recipes Y/n had dreamed up.

One evening, as they kneaded brioche dough together, Y/n suddenly stopped, her hands covered in flour.

“You know, Armand…” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I think… even if I’d known all of this beforehand… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Nothing?”

She nodded, a sad but sincere smile on her lips.

“Because meeting you, loving you… it was worth it.”

Armand felt his throat tighten. He stepped closer and gently wiped a smear of flour from her forehead.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

A few months after the diagnosis, Y/n was weaker, but she refused to let it defeat her. It was the day of the event they had planned to share her final pastry creations with her loved ones and loyal customers.

The little bakery was filled with laughter and joy. Armand watched her from a distance, marveling at the way she lit up the room despite her visible exhaustion. At one point, she caught his gaze and walked over to him.

“You know, I saved the best for you,” she said, handing him a small box adorned with a ribbon.

He opened it to find a delicate dessert, carefully crafted.

“I named it ‘Renaissance,’ because… even when something ends, there’s always a part of life that remains.”

He looked at her, moved, and whispered:

“Y/n, you are my renaissance.”

That night, under a starry sky, they sat on the bench in the park where it had all begun. Y/n, nestled against him, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Armand… you’ve given me so much more than I could have imagined,” she murmured.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s taught me everything. To love, to live…”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with love.

“Then promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“When I’m gone, live for both of us. Live so fully that people will say Y/n taught you how to smile.”

Armand felt the tears well up but nodded, unable to speak. He etched that moment into his heart, as an eternal promise.

Y/n couldn’t change her fate, but she had turned their love into a light that would never fade.

---

The months had passed, and Y/n’s condition had worsened. Yet, she tried to maintain her smile, like a shield against the pain—for Armand, and for herself.

That morning, Armand arrived at Y/n’s place with a box filled with croissants he had carefully chosen from a bakery she particularly loved. But when he knocked on the door and she didn’t answer, a wave of worry washed over him.

“Y/n? It’s me, Armand.”

The silence was oppressive. After a few moments of waiting, he pulled out the spare key she had entrusted to him. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of lavender and flour greeted him, but the atmosphere felt strangely still. He hurried upstairs, his heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

In the bedroom, Y/n was still lying in bed. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but something in her gaze had changed. She seemed… distant. Armand approached her, and that’s when he noticed the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. Her once vibrant hair was almost all gone.

She reached a hand to her head, then lowered her eyes to the strands. A faint “Ah…” escaped her lips, barely audible, as if she no longer had the strength to react.

Armand felt a dull pain crush his heart. That indifference, that emptiness in her voice—it was worse than any tears she could have shed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

But she didn’t respond. Slowly, mechanically, she got up to get ready.

He stayed there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty pillow, his trembling fingers clutching the wrinkled sheet. She was moving forward, but he felt her slipping away, like a wisp of wind he couldn’t hold onto.

A few months later, despite Y/n’s obvious weakness, Armand organized a small evening just for the two of them. He wanted to give her a moment of lightness, a little escape.

They laughed. They talked about memories, unfinished dreams, and even joked about how Armand could never bake a cake without burning it.

Y/n, tired but glowing, rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know… I think I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you,” she murmured.

Armand gently stroked what was left of her hair and kissed her forehead.

“You are my life, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Then keep living, even after me.”

That was their last conversation.

That night, Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He preferred to watch her, to engrave every detail into his memory: the softness of her features, the rhythm of her breath in the silence, the fragile warmth of her hand in his.

In the early morning, sunlight timidly peeked through the curtains. Armand opened his eyes and immediately felt something was wrong. Y/n was still—too still.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice filled with a hope he knew was futile.

He touched her cheek—it was cold.

“No… no,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes.

He held her in his arms, gently rocking her, as if saying a final goodbye. Her face was peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep after a beautiful evening. But for Armand, the world collapsed in that moment.

The days that followed were dark, but Armand found strength in the memories they had shared. Y/n had taught him how to love, how to live fully, and he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to drown in despair.

He kept the notebook where she had written her recipes and thoughts, and he worked to keep the promise he had made to her: to live for the both of them.

A year later, Armand opened a small bakery, which he named Y/n’s Light. Each creation carried a piece of her, a tribute to her talent and her brilliance.

And every morning, when he saw the smiles of customers enjoying what she had inspired, he felt her presence beside him. Y/n may not have had all the time she deserved, but her love—her light—was eternal.

---

Days passed, yet Armand continued to visit the cemetery regularly. Under the weeping willow, Y/n rested in the peaceful spot he had chosen carefully for her. He often spoke to the grave as if she were still there, sharing his achievements, doubts, and even the mundane stories of his day.

He decorated the gravestone with care. At Christmas, he brought small garlands and winter flowers. At Easter, he left colorful eggs and sweets he had prepared while thinking of her. The engraved photo on the stone smiled back at him, soft and almost alive.

But one day, something changed.

As part of his new project—renovating an orphanage—Armand immersed himself in his work. He wanted to create a warm, welcoming space where children could feel all the love they deserved.

One afternoon, while discussing the plans with a nun, he passed by the nursery. His gaze was drawn to a group of infants sleeping peacefully, their soft breaths filling the room with a calming rhythm.

That’s when he noticed a little girl, apart from the others. She cooed softly, observing the world with curious but timid eyes. Her cries were gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether she should ask for attention.

Armand froze, his heart clenching. She reminded him of Y/n. Not physically, but in the fragile sweetness she radiated.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The idea of adopting her became an undeniable calling, almost as if Y/n had sent him a sign.

A few weeks later, after completing all the necessary procedures, he finally welcomed the little girl into his home. He named her Y/n, in honor of the woman who had changed his life.

Four months passed. Little Y/n clung to Armand as if afraid he might disappear. Her smile, her clumsy laughter, her first attempts to stand on her tiny legs—everything about her rekindled a light he thought he had lost.

One morning, Armand made a decision. He wanted to introduce little Y/n to her “mother.”

He prepared a simple picnic, packing bottles for the baby and snacks for himself.

When he arrived at the grave, he paused for a moment, his eyes on Y/n’s engraved photo.

“Hello, Y/n,” he murmured.

Little Y/n, nestled against him, babbled softly, her big curious eyes following the willow leaves dancing in the wind. Armand knelt before the grave, spread out the blanket he had brought, and gently placed the baby on it.

“I brought someone to meet you today,” he said, a fragile smile on his lips.

He sat facing the gravestone and placed little Y/n on his lap.

“This is Y/n. She has your name. I couldn’t think of a more perfect name for her…”

He ran a tender hand through the baby’s short, soft hair as she played with a fallen willow leaf.

“She’s incredible, you know. Every day, she reminds me that life can still be beautiful, even after everything.”

He spoke for hours, sharing stories, thoughts, and promises he wanted to keep.

“I’m doing my best to be a good father. It’s not always easy… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. But she trusts me, Y/n, just like you trusted me.”

The little girl let out a joyful cry as she spotted a butterfly fluttering nearby. Armand laughed—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time.

“You see? Even a butterfly fascinates her. She has your way of finding beauty everywhere.”

He leaned forward slightly, bringing little Y/n closer to the gravestone as if to introduce her properly to her mother.

“ Say hi to Mama” he whispered tenderly.

The baby didn’t understand what was happening, but when she saw the photo on the grave, she cheerfully held out a flower she had picked earlier and babbled joyfully. The gesture brought a smile to Armand’s face.

“See, Y/n? This little one already loves you.”

As the sun began to set, Armand rose slowly, holding little Y/n close to him.

"In another life, I hope it's you and me... I beg God that it's still you and me. I hope we will be happy together, Maybe we can love each other and... grow old together?" The little y/n in his arms suddenly lets out a chirp, as if to make her presence felt. Armand laughs despite his tears that threaten to flow. "Yes, and that the three of us can form a beautiful and happy family" he said, playing with his daughter's little hand. "Until then, I'll take care of her for both of us. Promise, my love."

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the gravestone one last time. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

He placed one final flower on the grave before walking away.

On the way home, little Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, walked with a lighter step. That day, under the weeping willow, he felt something shift. It wasn’t a goodbye, but a new chapter—a bridge between the love he had lost and the love he had found.

And he knew he would return to that willow, again and again, to share the joys and sorrows of the life he was building for the two of them.

..................................................................................

Tags list : @elizalabs3

[virtueofsanityx]

reggie's already half asleep when he feels the movement, and though a low little moan in his chest slips out as he feels dmitri press inside of him again, he doesn't move much, feeling limbless and spent, tired in a way he's never sure he's felt before, all the while dmitri's low, warm voice drips like honey over him, soothing him more, letting him fall into sleep that only rouses momentarily here and there before taking him under again. it feels like bliss, a warm, safe, perfect bliss, and all thoughts of what's going to happen in the morning are scrubbed from his mind and not at all a worry or concern. he's simply happy.

as the sleep starts to fade, however, his body protests against much movement at all, groaning and complaining about any little shift, as his hips and legs twist and move, his arms press against the cush bed under him to push him upright, and his eyes slowly open to face the cold grey light of the room.

dmitri isn't beside him anymore, and every inch of him feels cold, but before he can even scan the room, he hears the words and stops short. blinks. it's all rushing back, a sudden wave, a moment of true joy before it's ripped out of him again. dmitri's across the room before reggie has a moment to even think and the more the other man talks, to more it's like icy little stabs to that place inside of him that had been so warm and content just a moment before.

I never wanted this to happen.

it's that stab that twists the hardest in his gut, and something so cold crawls up his stomach that he's afraid he might be sick if he keeps looking at the regret written all over dmitri's face. he's the stupid one, here, the desperate, horny slut who spread his legs for a man he knew couldn't feel the same way about him that he felt. his heart still aches, remembering whispered words from the night before. mine, need you, promises made in a throw of passion that mean absolutely nothing now that the light of day is shining on them. he felt hope, maybe too much of it, even with all of the warning he had before, and now that it's being ripped away from him so soon after bliss...

reggie just blows out a breath and shakes his head. "forget it." words cold, colder than he's ever been with dmitri before, and his body is moving in the exact opposite direction of where the other man is knelt by the bed, like he's praying forgiveness to some god that might not even exist. eyes scan the floor for any sign of his haphazardly discarded clothes, suddenly feeling too exposed and too raw and needing out. some part of him is screaming that he needs to shower, to wash away any hint of dmitri on his body (a task he knows will be impossible for at least a few days, as he can feel pulsing points of skin bruised with claiming bites and marks all over), but even the idea of that makes him sick.

he can't be here, being rejected to his face, being told he's dmitri's best friend and that's all he wants when all reggie can think about is how good last night felt. he finds his pants and tosses them on, hanging low on his hips as he stands and stretches, still searching for his shirt. "i told abuela that i'd help her fix that creaky step on her porch before i have to be back to the firestation for my next stretch of on calls, so i should just--" he sucks at his teeth, stopping himself from saying more as he feels the hurt and anger dripping in his tone. he has plenty of time before he needs to leave, he planned vacation days around this, being here with his friend, but right now--

right now, running feels safer than his heart breaking more.

finally, his shirt is in his hand and he's tossing it on, mind already doing the checklist, where are his keys, where's his wallet, where is his phone. what music is he gonna put on his shitty truck stereo while he drives the hell away from here to completely drown out the voices in his head saying 'i told you so' over and over.

"i don't regret it, by the way." it comes out of him before he can stop it, eyes firmly planted on the door now, the escape, but feet rooted seemingly to the floor. "i'm sorry that you do, but it was--" perfect. wonderful. "-- i don't regret it. but i won't bring it up again. we're best friends. that's it. that's all."

Dmitri feels the steady, soothing glide of Reggie’s palm down the back of his scalp. It’s careful, grounding, but not enough to make him drowsy------ not after one round. Pffftchh, please. But his mind's still whirring from the most powerful orgasm that he's had in... fuck, who cares. Dmitri doesn't remember those other faceless lovers, doesn't want to even call anyone else his lover except for... Yeah, it's all sinking in now, though not in a way that cools that ever-burning flame in the pit of his gut. His need for Reggie snaps and snarls like a vicious and violent stray thing, that doesn't know how to stop wanting more. That hunger... well, nothing else in Dmitri’s life has ever felt quite this all-encompassing, this strong, outside of his burning ambition to become the greatest MMA Champion in the world. Fighting and fucking are the highest of highs, but Reggie? Promises everlasting desire and paradise and it's----- it's colossal, bone-deep love drenched in ravenous lust. Of course Dmitri's addicted beyond reason and pure sanity------ he's never wanted anything, anyone this unbearably before!

And so, the moment his even breathing returns to him (and he can tell Reggie's gone all tired and limp against his sweat-slick muscles,) Dmitri rolls onto his side, into the bed soaked in the mess that they made, and pulls Reggie into a protective embrace. From there, it's a lot of cuddling, squeezing, whispered words of obsessive passion, "You're mine." "Need you so much." "Belong to me." Shit that he's absolutely gonna pretend he never said in the morning, but for right now, he's possessed by some stronger force that only thinks, breathes, practically salivates over Reggie. And in between him lulling Reggie to sleep, comforting him, pulling some of the furs up to drape them both in that tranquil warmth... he's pressing his cock against the swell of Reggie's ass, slipping his pulsating girth back inside that impossibly tight hug of gushy walls and heat. Dmitri fucks into Reggie with slow, needy, but no less pleasurable pumps of his heavy cock, sometimes hard enough to stir Reggie into greater awareness----- but then Dmitri just reaches around to grasp Reggie's throat (firm but gentle, always that hypnotizing balance when his baby's half asleep) and purrs at him to take it, that he's doing so good, that he's Master's good little bitch, his slut, his fucking everything. Dmitri wants Reggie to be his everything, because it already feels like he is, as he's chasing wave after wave of pleasure, lost in an endless pursuit of carnal ecstasy and leaving Reggie dripping sloppy wet throughout the night. That hole had to be so fucking wrecked and puffy that he'd absolutely be sore and tender by tomorrow, more than likely unable to even sit down for prolonged periods.

Dmitri doesn’t know when he finally exhausts himself enough to fall asleep, and he’s lost count of how many times he’s given Reggie hot steamy load after load, but eventually, sleep claims him. Reggie stays nestled close against his chest, and outside, the winter clouds block out any hint of sunlight, allowing them to remain undisturbed in this sensual dreamworld. ...But Dmitri inevitably wakes first, surfacing from the fog of sleep with a jolt. Brown eyes snap open, wild and unfocused, his nose buried in the curve of Reggie’s neck as if he’d been unconsciously seeking his pulse throughout the night. And, with the realizations about last night swiftly crashing down upon him, his heart feels terrible. Crushed. He's going to be fucking sick.

Not at Reggie, but at himself.

What did he do? What the fuck did he just do? His breaths quicken------- short, panicked gasps that feel alien to him. It’s a sensation he’s only familiar with in the ring or after pushing his body to its limits during an intense conditioning routine. This was... so fucking bad------- in the matter of one night he destroyed his best friendship, his heart, and probably his happiness. All because he couldn’t resist something that felt incredible in the moment, but was the final blow to any stable and platonic future between him and Reg.

Chest trembling, breaths uneven, Dmitri moves cautiously to slip out of bed, determined not to wake Reggie, not yet, not when he’s not ready to meet those big doe eyes head on. He dashes toward the expansive cabin bathroom, desperate for a moment of solitude. A freestanding tub rests invitingly in one corner, but Dmitri heads straight for the shower, cranking the water on and stepping under the spray. The cold hits first, crawling across his skin until the heat finally takes over. As the water cascades down, he’s unable to escape the memory of Reggie’s touch------- the press of his teeth against Dmitri’s throat, the soft sweep of his lips over his collarbone. Worse still, he keeps hearing Reggie's goddamn voice------ making his body react, his lower half tense with an arrow of heat straight to his cock. Making him need again.

Belong to you. Dmitri. Sir.

Oh, it's fucking over. He's supposed to try to act normal after that? The things he did... the nasty shit that he said, that he called Reggie----- the fact that he knows he could take it a step further, but that it'll be all out of lust, out of treating Reggie as more of a slut than a best friend because he doesn't know how to properly love. Wouldn't know what to do with someone else's heart, not even if Reggie just placed his right into Dmitri's destructive hands, trusting him implicitly with it. Oh---- oh god, he just broke his own fucking heart, and possibly Reggie's right along with it.

No, no. It's just some pre-orgasm pining, Reggie wanting a taste for something he's never had before. Dmitri can't break Reggie's heart, because no one as good as Reggie would ever actually be in love with the likes of him.

A shaky hand hovers over the water dial, turning it with slow precision. Afterwards, Dmitri steps out, body revving into overdrive while his mind lingers in a distant fog. His eyes appear blurred and far-off as he reaches for a towel, drying himself absentmindedly. Only when he’s back in the other room, slipping into a fresh pair of boxers and black lounge pants, does he hear the sound of movement on the bed that jolts his spine straight. A wave of dread floods his veins. For what feels like an eternity, Dmitri stands motionless, dead silent, watching as Reggie stirs awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes------- still beautiful, still covered in Dmitri’s marks, his dried seed. Goddammit.

"I'm so sorry," it just comes out, pained and worried and full of unavoidable regret. He hates that he did what he did, even though he knows his inner monster, fueled by lust, is grinning and panting for more. "I'm so fucking sorry, I------ don't know what came over me." A few long-legged strides carry him to the bed, where Dmitri drops down on his knees against the side of it, hands setting on top of fur covers----- close to Reggie's but too uneasy to touch. "I fucked up, so, so bad. I never wanted this to happen."

And he doesn't realize how hurtful that probably sounds, because he's overcome with emotion his damn self, and he just wants to convey sincerity but he's never slept with someone so dear to him before. It was wrong to take advantage of Reggie's confession and trust like that.

"You're----- you're my best friend," his voice aches. Reggie's his best friend, and he betrayed him. "That's it, that's all I want from you. You gotta believe me." And he has to clamp his mouth shut and swallow deep to stop himself from uttering baby, please.

[onika-t-maraj]

...

[seraphic-sibyl]

I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been

[prodixal]

"Oh you revoke your kindness, do you?" he leans in, a playful smile passing his lips over a shrug of his shoulders. "Will you be cruel to me now, do you think? Or, indifferent?" his eyes shift away slowly in thought, brows furrowing as her gaze is caught once more. "I should prefer cruelty, I think. To indifference." And yet, he could not truly imagine her ever being cruel, and she was too passionate, too alive to ever be indifferent. "Suppose riots could break out over it." he replies smoothly, their hands hanging tied at the pinky, and he'll look upon them with gladness and sense of sweet victory. "It would be entirely too bad -- for them, that is, I've every intention of staying your favourite." Rickon knew, with every part of his being, there was no replacing what had existed in the small spaces between them. In gentle touches, and stolen glances. He was pretty certain no one had ever felt such a thing before. He had wanted her closer, he had wanted her under his skin. He had wanted never to part again. Perhaps they would need not part. Perhaps there was hope yet. "Still growing? Which way? Downwards?" retort is offered through a laugh and his free hand will rush to lay gently upon her cheek so that she remains leaning instead of looking up at him in feigned offence. "I jest, I jest." he pets her cheek then, hand falling atop the other which had laid entangled with hers. "I could not forbid such a thing." he says, "-- I am much too aware of the effort it would take for you to keep your hands to yourself." his words are serious, and while he tries to keep a smile from cracking through, he cannot quite manage. "I am not so rude." or so selfless. He had wanted her hands. He had wanted a great many things, it seemed. At her words he nods instantly with a smile of reassurance. Rickon did not forget, truly, only he did not quite connect the two either, in the moment. "I remember." he adds. "I do." his own hand squeezes hers now, and his head will tilt just slightly to the side as he considers. "A house near Gulltown then." he nods, decidedly. "For us." It felt less like a dream, rather, something to hope for. Something he could yet achieve. Something he could give. Something of their own.

-

With her hand clutching to his shirt, his heart will pound faster and his breath will catch in his lungs as he tries to read whatever unravelled behind her eyes. He was certain he had ruined things -- and yet it seemed he did not. Her words come in quick succession, and he is too dizzy and warm and nervous to process them entirely. With knitted brows, and parted lips, he tries to speak. But nothing comes out. What could he truly say? How could he even begin sorting his feelings into thoughts, thoughts into words? It would surely take an infinity. Rickon did not have infinity. Then she shoves him, and he reaches for her instantly, instinctively. Hands are greedy, almost pleading -- 'do not push me away' -- they say, it shows in his eyes, it shows as he struggles for words only to speak them with utmost resolve. "I do wish for it." his admittance is sharp, certain. "I do wish for you t'...-- to play with my hair." It was not about the hair, it was not about touch at all. It never had been. "I wish for nothing more." He knew how confusing it all must have seemed, how utterly disconnected. He too was struggling to make any sense of what has come to pass. He knew only two, very simple, very contrasting things: He knew had wanted her, And that it could never be. It could never be him. And yet... "Only...what happens now..." his throat clears, thumbs brushing softly over her cheeks as his eyes fix upon hers in utter sincerity. "Now I spend the rest of my life...wishing..." And that was alright, he decided. He would rather wish for her, than have anybody else. "Tell me you will wish for me too." it is soft, and quiet in its longing. He had wanted to hear it, he wanted to know. "Tell me, and it will be enough." "Tell me." he says, and perhaps it sounds an awful lot like 'love me'.

DAENYA MAKES AN AFFRONTED NOISE AS SHE SHOVES AT HIS SHOULDER . " i hardly believe that !" she huffs lightly , giving him a playful glare that truly has no heat . her chin raises as she adds , " your soul is soft and sweet . we both know this ." she tilts her head before giving him a second shove to say , " but if we are speaking of rough and calloused perhaps your feet would apply there !" she puts her hands on her hips to arch a brow and primly say , " you are taking advantage of my kindness now . i am revoking it ." daenya can't help but brighten at the offer of his pinkie , at the broadness of his grin . she beams as she wraps her pinkie around his own , as she leans in . she swings gently the link between them , their joint hands swaying with it . " i'm gladdened to hear it ." daeny's eyes twinkle with fondness . she allows her brows to arch to to say , " whatever would i do if this got out ?" daenya knows now that she would do nothing . that perhaps even if the world knew of this bond between them it would not break . that rickon perhaps won't be swayed by one of her more mature , more charismatic siblings . that he perhaps won't even be stolen by ladies like her cousin , or whomever else might come after . she wanted to tuck what they had close to protect it . to keep it . but perhaps it does not need to be protected anymore . perhaps it'll be hers no matter who knows of it . " oi !" daenya makes a sound of offense at the jest , eyes twinkling even as she huffs , " i am still growing !" she is not , in all likelihood . still it is nice to imagine . " soon i will be taller than jaehaerys ! then you will see ." the words are accompanied by a pout that is only skin deep , and it falls away as she shrugs to say , " and if you enjoy to roam that is no matter as i cling in my sleep , so perhaps i will chain you down ." a decisive nod before she is blinking at his question . her brows arch before she lifts their joint hands pointedly , turning to tilt her head where her cheek rests on his shoulder . " am i not to touch you ? you can say ." she blinks at his surprise , moving to pull back enough to meet his eyes to say , " like we agreed ! at my mother's banquet !" it feels like so long ago now . it was before she had even known that xaerys had died . before any of it . " we said we'd choose a meeting spot just for us ." daeny gives his hand a squeeze . " do you remember ?"

-

the step he takes forward is a surprise . the hands on her cheeks is the next one . daeny has to blink with it all , startled despite being the one who asked , caught off guard despite being the provoker . must I say it ? daeny finds her lips parting in surprise . they are quickly taken . daeny has one moment to expect it . a moment to see how his eyes flick down south to her mouth . to feel the warmth of his hands on her cheeks . to notice the closing proximity . to stop it . and yet she doesn't . and yet she allows his lips to brush against hers with a hitch of surprised breath . and yet she allows herself to be pulled closer and closer still , malleable and flushed warm as she allows rickon to kiss her . rickon is kissing her . his lips warm where they're against her own . his hands drawing her closer . it is somehow dizzying , somehow unexpected , and yet —  just as daeny finds herself easing into it , as she finds her lips parting under his , he is gone . she finds herself blinking hard in the absence . the shock in her own eyes is mirrored by the panic in his . daeny finds him spitting out words faster than she can strictly process them . her head shakes between one stuttered sentence and the next . " i — " another shake of her head as she watches him step away , as she moves instinctually to fist a hand in his shirt and keep him there . she looks at him with quickly furrowing brows , her mouth opening and closing before it can fully form words . " you are apologizing ?" daenya's cheeks are dizzyingly hot . her lips are too , from when his own were against hers . her head shakes again . " there is nothing to forgive you for , i was — " she cheeks seem to only get hotter . " i was going to offer anyways ." and yet daeny is quite sure the offer would not have played out quite like that . her ears are warm . " it is not as if you have done something i would not have permitted otherwise ." her gaze shifts away from his for a moment , cheeks still burning as she honestly adds , " i simply thought you did not wish to ." a beat before her eyes are moving to meet his again , her brows pulled down as she gives him a shove that is light even as she firmly says , " because you did not even wish for me to play with your hair !" her bewilderment only grows . " and yet to kiss me is quite fine ?"

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my dupe ocs again... Maybe Quinn does have hashtag issues actually

[sttoru]

Trueform sukuna who never kisses his concubines. EXCEPT he only kisses his favorite concubine aka reader 😞🎀

𝝑𝑒 synopsis. you’re the only one deserving of lord sukuna’s.. direct affection.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!reader. fluff, suggestive at most. uhh exhibitionism ? kinda but nothing crazy sexual happens, so pda. size difference. reader gets called ‘doll.’

you’re standing at the entrance of the estate, along with some other concubines. four of them. uraume is there with you as well. you’re all awaiting the one person you’re serving; ryomen sukuna.

it’s silent. the women don’t dare to speak up nor do they dare address you in a menacing manner because of uraume’s presence. you’re thankful for them. you really don’t want to have another petty fight with the concubines. not before your little trip to the village nearby.

you’re all accompanying sukuna to meet up with an infamous clan leader. it’s official business, but you’re needed as a sign of your lord’s high status. you’re basically his trophies that he likes to show off.

“interesting choice of clothing,” sukuna finally shows up. you all bow, showing respect. you look up and only then realise that he’s addressing you. his eyes wander over your figure, “who’s chosen that for you?”

you glance down at your kimono. it’s a beautiful red—suiting the color of sukuna’s eyes. your hair is put up in a neat bun, with a matching crimson hairpin that represented who you belong to.

him.

“my lady-in-waiting, my lord,” you say quietly. you cannot see it, yet can easily feel it; the jealous glares from the four women. they’re dressed in the exact same color red, yet their lord hasn’t paid them any mind. not even a glance.

sukuna just hums in response and makes a mental note of your answer. at least his human servants are good for something. he continues to shamelessly check you out.

“lord sukuna,” uraume interrupts carefully. they bow their head once the king of curses looks their way with a stoic expression, “we’ll have to leave now if we wish to make it there at dawn.”

it’s a gentle reminder, but there’s some urgency in their voice. sukuna rolls his eyes—he may have some official business, but he’s not attending that. not before taking care of other more important stuff first. “silence,” he comments to uraume, heavy steps heading your way afterwards.

your eyes meet his. you blink in confusion, eyelashes fluttering. the sight makes sukuna’s hands twitch at his sides. the way you stare up at him with such naïveté is making him want to destroy it.

you’re unsure what sukuna wants from you. as he orders, everyone stays quiet. you watch as his big hands wrap around your body—your waist engulfed by his warm palms. your eyes widen, but before you can question his actions, your lips are sealed by his.

it’s rare that he does this. kissing sukuna is a privilege. one that no one has ever gotten the honour of having, except for you.

you’ve tasted him. you’ve felt his tongue slither against yours. you’ve had his saliva mix with yours. you’ve had him grunting in your mouth.

you’ve had it all.

no one says a thing. even as your feet are lifted from the ground by the sheer strength of sukuna’s grip on your small body. to reach his lips properly, he has to pick you up and hold you against his chest. it’s his favorite thing to do.

“pretty thing,” sukuna coos with a grin. you can feel his lips curling up menacingly against your mouth. it makes you whine. you instantly shut up once you realise that you’re still outside and surrounded by others—who are basically waiting on you two to be done.

you’re embarrassed to the point that you want nothing more than to hide your face against sukuna’s chest. but he will not let you until he’s had his fill. your tongues swirl around each other passionately, followed by him sucking on your bottom lip and biting it with his sharp fangs.

“my lord,” you whine quietly. you know this’ll end up like that one time in the garden. where he shamelessly took you in front of his servants. you’re unsure if it’s a smart thing to do right now. sukuna has an appointment to go to after all.

his mouth doesn’t stop interlocking with yours. his thick fingers tug at the hairs on the back of your neck, causing you to part your lips in surprise. the king of curses takes his chance and explores your warm little mouth. the one that he’s claimed as his the moment you became his concubine.

you tug at his sleeve as a reminder. sukuna grumbles in annoyance, but he knows you’re right; he should let go. his bottom set of eyes dart over to uraume for a second and upon seeing their expressionless yet determined face, he sighs.

all that official business can suck his dick.

sukuna finally detaches his lips from your now wet and swollen ones. you’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. you’re flustered to the point you actually bury your face into sukuna’s chiseled chest. you’re sure this’ll be the only talk around the estate for the upcoming week. you’ll become the victim of some more. . . bullying.

the king of curses notices that you don’t let go of him at all. he grins at the sight of you so desperately clinging onto him. he tries to undo the little mess he made of your once neat hair in the meantime.

“what? want me to carry you all the way there, doll?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, teasing you as per usual. you don’t let go of him since you’re still cooling off. you’ve never really kissed outside of the bedroom. it always happens behind closed doors, so this one time took you by surprise.

you shake your head and plop down on your feet again. “no, my apologies, my lord,” you straighten the material of your kimono and don’t even dare to look at the others. uraume would understand, since they’re used to their lord’s antics, but the concubines will cause big trouble once you’re back home.

sukuna nods in acknowledgment. he still got that evil smirk on his face. his thumb brushes the smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth, cleaning up his mess once again. he’s nice enough to do so today.

“heh.” sukuna lets out an amused chuckle before walking away and ahead of you—the others silently following, as do you. you’re right behind him, on his right side, as he turns his head to yours, “just so y’know, i’m not done with you.”

you know sukuna isn’t. you can easily tell by the way that he didn’t even bother to wipe the lipstick from his own lips. he’s wearing that stain like it’s a medal of sorts. evidence that you’re the only one he’s ever going to show such affection to.

either way; you’re in for one hell of a ride once you’re back from your little business trip.

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.

[polarisjisung]

ꨄ X-O, KISS ME, DON'T SAY NO

KISSES WITH ENHYPEN

pairings: enha x fem! reader genre: fluff wc: 1k warnings: use of petnames, slightly suggestive notes: I wrote this for dream had to do it for enha too ! | LIBRARY

HEESEUNG — desperate, flirty kisses

A simple peck doesn't exist for Heeseung. You're like his drug, once he gets a taste, he's addicted. Quick morning kisses are impossible. One peck on your forehead easily turns into a full makeout session and suddenly you're late for work. And not for a second is Heeseung worried about your impending anger, instead he'll try and convince you to call in sick, no work meant more time for kisses, right?

“Heeseung, I have places to be” You know it's no use arguing but you seem to try anyway.

You'd been in this situation countless times before, and it ended the same way each time. In your defence, Heeseung was pretty good at convincing.

“Yeah, want me to list a few?”

Something about a kiss-driven Heeseung is so exceptionally flirty. You both know that you're never getting out of this your way. “My arms, the bed, against the wall if you're into that.

Okay maybe you didn't take much convincing either.

“All of the above?”

Heeseung can't dispute that.

JAY — forehead kisses

Jay's kisses are spontaneous, but so tender and loving, like a scene cut out straight from a high school romance.

You're perched up on the sofa with your nose stuck in one of those picture-perfect romance books you love so much.

Jay can barely make out your face from the material of the hood pulled over your head.

You look cute. There's a pair of blue light glasses resting on your nose and your eyebrows are furrowed with concentration. Jay couldn't help but leave a soft peck against your forehead. He takes a couple moments to just sit beside you and stare, truly wondering how he ever got so lucky.

Next thing you know, his hand moves carefully to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb positioned just under your chin, guiding you into a slow, soft kiss.

JAKE — messy kisses

Jake kisses like a man starved.

Hands tugging at your hair, arms around your waist, loud, shallow pants filling the room. It's like he can't get enough.

He pulls back to stare at you, breathless. But only for a moment.

To Jake, catching his breath seems awfully difficult when you're staring up at him with swollen lips and a sultry gaze.

“I could kiss you forever.”

His words are more a promise than a statement, and how could you not believe him when he pulls you back in so impossibly close, letting his cold fingertips run across your skin.

Both his hands cup your cheeks, passionately. Lips moving over yours with an unsteady, fervent rhythm, and so much urgency, you swear you feel your heart beat out of your chest.

Each time you kiss is like the first, brash. But Jake always holds you so tight, like he's afraid you'll disappear the second he lets go.

When he does finally pull away, Jake exhales a soft laugh, giggling almost.

“You alright?”

You can only nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

SUNGHOON — distracted kisses

Playful fights or debates like whether orange juice is better than apple (it's not) or whether milk comes before or after the cereal always seem to arise with you and Sunghoon.

Part of it has to do with the fact that Sunghoon thinks you look so insanely fine when you're passionately arguing your point forwards.

But somewhere along the way Sunghoon stops listening to what you're saying, eyes zeroing in on your lips when he'd come to a sudden realisation. That shade of lipstick suited you, a little too well maybe.

“Hoon, are you even listening?”

He nods, he's not listening.

He wouldn't have this problem if the lipstick wasn't there. But you were still explaining in full detail, hand gestures and everything. And as much as he loved to hear you ramble, Sunghoon could not concentrate.

He was going insane— he needed to kiss you. Now.

You don't really know why you continue, seeing as Sunghoon's clearly not present, but you can't help but gasp when he pulls you in close and crashes his lips to yours.

“You're right, I wasn't listening”

JUNGWON — soft morning kisses

Soft and intimate, that's what kissing Jungwon feels like.

There’s quiet whispers of ‘I love you's’ and the sweetest compliments.

Even if you've just rolled out of bed, when your hair's a mess and your eyes can barely open all the way, Jungwon thinks you're beautiful.

“Good morning my love” he presses a kiss to the back of your head, just below your ear as he slips past you on the couch, making his way to the kitchen so he can check on breakfast.

But he can only stay away for so long, running back a few minutes later with your morning coffee and a couple kisses to keep you occupied while you wait for it to cool down.

“I love you.” he'd keep it short and sweet, holding your face in hands with so much care. By the time breakfast is ready, not a single inch of your pretty face remains unkissed and that's an achievement Jungwon is insanely proud of.

SUNOO — giggly kisses

You and Sunoo are like the epitome of PDA— cuddling, quick pecks on the cheeks, always holding hands— you have to have your hands on each other at all times. It's sickeningly sweet.

And matters only get worse when your behind closed doors, Sunoo would spend all his time with his lips glued to yours if he could.

He's obsessed with you, and your strawberry flavoured chapstick is anything but helpful. He needs kisses, no matter what it is you're doing.

“Sunoo, I'm busy.” You roll your eyes at him playfully, but he only shrugs, spinning you around on your desk chair.

“Too busy for kisses?”

When you nod, it's Sunoo's turn to roll his eyes.

“Wrong answer.”

And he crashes his lips to yours just as he had intended, illiciting a few giggles from you, laughing at his urgency.

NI-KI — kisses in the rain

Kisses never last too long with riki, quick pecks, passionate and loving but short. Long kisses, something you'd both be down to try but had never actually made the effort to. It's felt scary, awkward, maybe?

The two of you always had a more easygoing relationship, so your more affectionate gestures had always been kept to a minimum.

Until one night when your car broke down and you found yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Rain pelted down from the sky and the wind whistled loudly, but even so, you'd be a fool not to step out of the car and watch the sunset in person.

You and Riki sat with your legs crossed, dangerously close to the cliff edge, bodies pressed against each other as an attempt to conserve heat.

There was something about that moment— maybe the soft glow of the sky as the sun dipped just below the horizon — or the way your eyes beamed and sparkled as each strand of your hair slowly grew wet. Something so raw.

Riki couldn't even bring himself to hesitate, pulling you into his lap in one swift motion and kissing you urgently.

One hand reached back to grip your hair, and another cradled your chin, guiding your lips further into his.

Safe to say, kissing in the rain might just be his favourite.

taglist: @chenlezip @nanawrlds @mystverse @jenobubbles @flaminghotyourmom @lotties-readings

[hyuny-bunny]

skz + types of p*rn they watch (w/links) pt 1. hyung line

MDNI (+18) content warning: p*rn, nsfw links, mentions of rough sex, use of female anatomy, breeding, spanking, choking, fingering, oral (f receiving) most afab reader terms.

a/n: if the links are not working for you, you may need the app as most are not compatible with a web browser

pt 2. maknae line

chan: he's definitely watching twitter/x porn. as for what side of x he's on all depends on the mood. he definitely seems to stay on a more "vanilla" side. probably has a keen interest on size kink and breeding videos. but what they all have common is riding. it gets him so riled up seeing ones shot in cars because the next time he sees you it's all he thinks about. he'd love nothing more then to have you riding his dick, his hands holding your hips in place, eventually snacking a hand to lightly you choke and bunching your skirt in the other hand while you sloppily bounce on his cock. maybe he's taking you out to a nice dinner & movie but once your back in that car he's practically begging you to sit on his cock.

"baby, i need you so bad. come here, ride me, need to feel this pretty pussy on me."

breeding

riding

minho: there's so many things i could say about him. i don't think he necessarily needs porn to get off or actively looks for it, but i do think he loves being able to send you links that either remind him of the both of yours sexcapades or things he wants to do to you. i feel like he watches a lot of overstimulation, spanking, BREEDING, and just a sprinkle of voyeurism. i think he gets really turned on by the ones of girls in pretty lingerie wearing collars with bells, so every movement makes the bell ring. he almost collapses to his knees when he gets home one day to see you wearing the collar he bought, the one he'd been hiding and waiting for the right moment.

the only thing on your mind is the feeling of your sopping wet cunt being suffocated by minho's cock. he's got a fistful of your hair in hand, pulling you up from your pillow before landing a hard smack on your ass, never letting up on his thrusts.

overstimulation

spanking

changbin: another one in my books that loves size kink porn. not because i think he likes someone smaller, but more so the fact that he likes the feeling of being able to make someone feel so small. in seo changbins biceps, we trust. i think this one in particular will have him pleading with you to let him try it. you might feel reluctant because of any underlying insecurities at the though of feeling like you're "too heavy" (there's so no such thing to him) . it isn't till he's got you lifted up against the wall with no holding you either than his arms & shoulders, his mouth lapping away at your pretty cunt, any worries you ever had dissipated along with your ability to use your words.

"bin-binnie please i-i can't hold on much longer" a string of whines follow suit. he's been at it for a while and you've already had two orgasm but he's relentless. all you can hear are his groans and the squelching sound of his tongue abusing your cunt. he lifts his head up from between your thighs with you hand webbed in his hair, mirroring your worn out lustful look.

size kink

making you feel small

hyunjin: to me, i think hyun goes either of these two ways. he's the most depraved man known to walk this earth that loves it sloppy, messy, wet and downright lustfully filthy. the latter also leads me to believe he's not big on porn, prefers either his imagination or his OWN videos. one he's recorded (with your consent + encouragement) while you've done it together. he needs the passion of either love or the passion of wanting to make the either cum so hard they've gone to heaven (preferably both). if he's watching videos, his favorite ones always have the girl shaking and crying in pleasure by the end. he needs to see the passion, lust to be able to get off. when it's you, it's different, if anything it brings him back to those moments to fully remember the need between the two of you. that being said he's heavy into breeding/cumplay and semi restraining. he loves seeing the hands held behind the back and holding someone in place while they fall apart in his lap + cock.

it was supposed to be a quick kiss, which turned into heavy petting, and now he's brought your leg over his hips. the panties you were wearing discarded somewhere in the room, one arm is wrapped around you holding you tightly to his chest while his other hand is at work. his middle & ring finger are knuckle deep thrusting into you and he's groaning into your neck sucking hickies in all your favorite spots.

semi restraints

playing w you in his lap

[bunny-jpeg]

lust is a loaded hand gun

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, ferrari!reader, baby fever, seduction, cowgirl position, alcohol/drinking, breeding, the reader wants to have a baby and chooses to have it with max, max is not aware

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part 2: love is a kick to the stomach

this sounded stupid. but you wanted a baby. and while that was an easy task for most women, you knew that there was something impersonal about picking from a catalogue. reading profiles felt weird, like you were looking for a used car rather than the biological other half of your child. even if you'd raise them without a father, you'd rather have a night of passion than an awkward doctor's visit.

charles leaned back in his seat and asked, "why don't you and i just make one." he shrugged his shoulders. he considered himself close to you. you had been teammates for a little over two seasons and prior to that you knew each other. he didn't mind being the one to help you bring a child into the world, "i can be his uncle and he'd never know."

but, as close as you were to your teammate. you had other drivers in mind.

you made a face, "no offense, charles. but it would feel like doing it with my brother." being teammates meant you two knew too much about one another. you worked well as teammates and rivals because you were more like siblings. while you appreciated the offer, you felt it was weird.

charles asked, relaxed in his seat, "why are you doing this anyway? isn't there a million ways for you to have a child."

you shrugged, "i want to be a mom, i don't know. leave my seat behind to another woman and let her make all the history. i'm honestly tired. i've reached the peak and now." you sighed, "i want something else. i've got enough money to retire and let my future child retire before they're born." you crossed your arms, "i don't want to be doing this shit until i'm forty and just degrade in the skills department. end on a high note." while it was not an insult to other driver's on the grid. you felt bad that they never got to really be parents due to the schedules.

"so you need to seduce a driver to make that happen."

you nodded, out of the corner of your eye you spotted the driver you had your eye on. while you eyed the man crossing your path, your voice got softer, "and i think i know just the driver."

charles looked over to the direction you were looking at. he noticed who was walking by and he looked back to you, shoulders dropped, "max. you're going to seduce and have a child with max?"

you looked back to charles and shrugged, "why not? what's not to like?" max wasn't a perfect man, sometimes you wondered about the mechanics of his brain. but, you knew your child with him would lay waste to the track in the future.

"i can name a few. do you want them alphabetically or severity of it?" charles asked.

you gave him a look, "it wouldn't be hard to get him to sleep with me. you, me and the rest of the garage has seen how he looks at me. i mean who else do i have to choose from? either they're too old, they're rookies, or they have girlfriends. and i'm not getting a heel in the eye because i'm trying to have a baby."

charles rubbed the bridge of his nose, "i think you just like him."

you tensed up for a moment, "no. this is all just simple. scheming... nothing more. i don't expect to trap him with a child. he is free to live his life after i'm done with him."

charles found it hard to believe. not on your end, but max's. he had heard at sickeningly lengths about how max felt for you. it was probably the most eloquent the driver had ever been. if you got pregnant by him, he'd be getting a ring the next day. he sighed once more, "then have fun with the wold champion. i'd say to be safe, but i think being unsafe is the whole point of this."

you gave the once over of max in the near distance and smiled, "don't worry charles, you'll get all the details in the morning." which earned a groan from your teammate.

-

it started over a bottle of wine and ended in the motor home of red bull. you and max had gotten frisky over the evening. you wondered if anyone was selling the photos of you two in the back of the restaurant to tmz or some other trashy outlet. you had shared two bottles of wine over dinner. the benefit of being as wealthy as you were, you could throw the cash onto the table and giggle as you stumble out of your place.

you knew someone had a photo of max kissing you at the table to 'taste' the sauce that came with your meal. as if he couldn't take some from the plate.

but back in the motor home, you had dropped your purse by the door. in the dark of the place, you two were starting to get undressed. heels kicked to the wall, your bracelets set on the coffee table. your dress was on the floor by the bed, your bra over the lamp by the bed and your panties on the bed.

"i'm on top." you said as you kissed max's lips. he tasted like wine and fine dining. he tasted and smelled expensive. in all fairness he could be worth more than a micro nation. he was not an easy man to buy, but the currency of sex was in high demand. max wanted you, and you knew that because he got on his back without much argument.

you were both naked on the bed. the faint lights gleamed through the large windows as you rubbed up against max with no other lighting. you could see his face against the shadows of the night. his blue eyes were like gems and they pulled you in. whoever he ended up with would be very lucky.

but tonight you needed him. he was an important piece in your plan. you rubbed against him and with a little help, you sank down onto his cock. while cowgirl wasn't the best position to try and get pregnant, but it ensured that your plan would work. any position is a working one.

"you're beautiful."

"i know." you said as you rubbed yourself against him. you braced your hands on his strong chest. he was a handsome man, he was good at what he did and he was a winner. you knew anyone would be lucky to have him, but tonight was the perfect partner. you knew a child with him would be perfect.

you continued to rub up against him. the roll of your hips were methodical. this wasn't the first time you slept with a man. you moaned when max groped your breasts, massaged the flesh between those bear paws he called hands. soon you sank on his cock and shuddered, feeling the heat raise in your belly.

this was a mission, no time to get attached. you were both tipsy from the alcohol and the driver under you were more handsy than ever. you try not to feel the emotions that came with it. the feeling of being attached to someone you were having sex with. you batted charles' assumptions about your feelings for max out of your mind as you rode the dutch driver.

you were determined to get pregnant tonight. you measured it all down to a t, all you needed was for max not to get whiskey dick. you curved your back to get closer to him, your lips met his as you moved up and down. his cock was snug in your, but it went in almost perfect. the blunt head hit against the furthest parts of you. your heart hammered in your chest as you moved your hips.

you pushed hair out of your face before your braced your hands on his chest once more. he was very toned, you almost wanted to joke about what happened to his slightly kinder chocolate addiction. but that was neither here nor there.

"you feel so good." he grunted, "why haven't we done this before? fuck." he panted, he could feel the heat in his cheeks as you rode him. he had been with others before but being under you was a pleasure no money could buy. you were really good at it, knowing exactly how to make him feel good.

"good things take time." you panted, part of you wondered what would happen if you covered his mouth. you didn't need the dirty talk, this was a mission. if you wanted a casual friends with benefits, you'd try something online or another in the paddock. fucking max was a certainly that you'd get pregnant. it didn't have to be intimate or soft. it was a means to an end, and you'd get there no matter what.

the sounds of your fucking filled the room as you continued to move against him. you raked your nails down his chest, catching his nipples which made him moan. he was cute on his back, letting you take over. you wondered how deep his affection for you went.

you didn't want the emotional baggage of it all. tonight you were both drunk and having sex in the motor homes. it would be a one night stand before you two finished out the season. you could feel the heat across your back as you stared at him.

his eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open as he panted heavily. there was heat in his face and you felt something tug in your chest. he was beautiful, you hated to admit it. but max verstappen was a pretty boy.

he was already blissed out, his noises forced you by the movement of your hips. you licked your lips and without thinking, you left a mark on his collarbone. it was stupid, but it excited your further.

you continued to move against him. your breasts bounced with each move of your hips. you felt moans in the back of your throat and a hum in your soul. pleasure was close and it wasn't long before you really worked yourself onto his cock and finished.

the tightness around his cock made max's back arch a little bit. he could feel the heat in the back of his head. his heart pounded as he watched you continue to ride his cock. he panted heavily and soon climaxed as well. you made sure to get everything you could out. you kissed him once more before you stopped. when you pulled away you got off of his waist and laid down on the bed.

"wow." he said out of breath.

you didn't want to talk. instead you turned your head to kiss him on the lips to keep him quiet. there was no time for mushy romantic bedroom talk. you needed him to fall asleep before you could leave.

you tried to count down the seconds, placing kisses across his heated face. you reminded yourself that there would be some lucky enough to keep him for life.

when you pulled away from his lips after one last kiss, he curled up beside you and right then fell asleep. you stayed awake, when the heat cooled in your body. you hoped your mission was a success. the lust and the alcohol still made its rounds in your body. but you were lucid enough to find your clothes in the dark and slip out of the motor home before morning.

you'd never bring up the event to max, only briefly mentioning it to charles. you'd drive harder after that, in the end you'd secure a world championship. as you kissed the trophy and your country's national anthem played, you were already pregnant with your child.

-

your retirement was a shock to max. you could've easily decorated your home with many trophies over the next few years. but at the end of the 2024 season, you bowed out. you thanked fans and told them that it was a new chapter in your life. and then like that you fell off the face of the earth over the off-season.

max tried to find ways to contact you. where did you go? what happened? why leave at the height of it all? the more he thought about it, the more questions were raised in his head. he asked around the paddock, even going as far as to ask charles where you went. the other drive shrugged and told him that you moved back to your home country with a "little extra luggage". there were no social media posts. nothing. it nagged in the back of his brain for what felt like a lifetime. what happened to ferrari's princess?

it wasn't until almost three years later, max had claimed another world championship. it felt like these days he was riding high. he was still the best. but as he walked into the paddock to train for the upcoming season, he stopped in his tracks. he felt like he was splashed with cold water.

there you were, three years older with a glow to you. you were laughing with charles and lewis, you looked different but in a good way. you were in overalls and a ferrari shirt underneath. you were more curvy than you were when you were driving. and while you were still beautiful like the sun, pulling max in. what made his stomach drop was who was in your arms.

a young boy, with big curious eyes and round cheeks. he held onto you tightly, his small fists in the fabric of your shirt. he seemed curious about the track, but not scared of how big it all felt. while max would've assumed that you got married and had a child as a lot of people did. but that's not what had happened.

max knew right away at the first glance of your son. looking at him was like looking at max's childhood photos. even in features that matched your own, your son carried a lot of max in him. the itch in his brain after you fell off the earth all those years ago came back, this was where you went. the boy looked like him and if he was right about the boy's age then dates lined up. there was no question. max verstappen was your son's father. and when you noticed him staring. you simply smiled and gave him a wink, shifting the boy in your arms and pointing at the me. when your son smiled, max felt something in his gut. looking at you, holding your (his) son, made max feel like he was home. and all those feelings he had been carrying poured back into his head and heart. the same emotions that allowed you to bed him. <3

sequel: love is a kick to the stomach