#i personally can’t imagine him with longer hair but i can imagine he likes a specific haircut n sticks to it

[starshapedspider]

can i offer yall a tommy

[beloveds-embrace]

(Based on the idea of having a sensitive nose in the omegaverse, poly 141 x reader)

The air in the meeting room was dense with overlapping scents: leather, citrus, gunpowder, faint traces of cigar smoke. It was suffocating. You had been doing your best to keep a neutral face, to not draw attention to the way your sensitive nose wrinkled every few seconds as the mingling aromas assaulted your senses.

You weren’t trying to be rude; it wasn’t anyone’s fault that their scents were this potent. It was just your lot in life to have a nose that picked up everything. And you were part of this stupid task force, which meant you were constantly surrounded by some of the most intense scents imaginable.

It was John who caught your reaction first. The alpha was sitting across the table, arms crossed, earthy, smoky scent rolling off him in waves. His cigar habit didn’t help matters; it clung to his clothes, his hair, his skin- every part of him. Your nose twitched involuntarily as another wave hit you, and his brow furrowed deeply.

“You alright there, love?” he asked, low and curious, though there was an edge to it.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” You lied quickly, forcing a smile and trying to breathe through your mouth instead.

His sharp eyes stayed on you for a beat longer, and the corner of his mouth tugged downward. He didn’t believe you, but he let it slide.

Soap, however, wasn’t as subtle. He had been perched on the edge of his chair, citrusy, spicy scent practically bouncing off the walls. The man smelled like an explosion at an orange grove- sharp and tangy, with an undercurrent of something metallic that always made your head throb.

“Are you wrinklin’ your nose at me, lass?” He asked, accent thick, tone mock-wounded.

“No! No, not at all.” You stammered, shaking your head. God, what you wouldn’t sacrifice to leave this room…

“Looked like a bloody insult to me,” Johnny teased, though there was something almost earnest in his pout. “Dinnae think I smell that bad, eh? Gaz, back me up here!”

Gaz- bless him- was seated beside you. His scent was a calm balm in the storm: a light, fresh breeze with subtle hints of cedar. It didn’t overpower your senses. It was safe, grounding. You leaned ever so slightly in his direction, seeking refuge without realizing it.

“I think it’s just her nose being sensitive,” Kyle said smoothly, shooting you a kind look. He always seemed to know when you were struggling, always gave you a quiet out. “We probably smell stronger to her.”

“You mean Price and Johnny stink.” Ghost rumbled from his spot at the back of the room, scoffing in amusement.

You glanced at him, and, God, he really was no better. He was a mixture of John and Johnny- a heavy, musky scent tinged with smoke and gunpowder, like he’d been living in a war zone for years. It was hard to breathe when he was near, though his stoic demeanor meant he didn’t take it as personally as the others.

“Oi, I don’t stink!” Johnny protested. “I smell fresh, like citrus and energy.”

“Explosives aren’t energy.” Ghost deadpanned.

“You all smell fine,” you said, hasty and desperate, your voice thin and shaky. “I just have a… sensitive nose. That’s all.”

“You’ve been wrinkling it all bloody morning,” Price grumbled, arms crossing tighter. “If you don’t like something, just say it. We’re alphas; we can handle it.”

“I don’t dislike it!” you blurted. “It’s just… strong. All of you smell so strong, and my nose is a little… overwhelmed.”

Kyle chuckled softly, a sound that eased the tension in the room. “Can’t really blame her, can you? The three of you probably do smell like a bloody armory to her.”

Price frowned, clearly still annoyed, but Johnny looked contemplative, leaning toward you with a curious expression. “You’re not lying, are you? Your nose is just sensitive?”

“Very.” You admitted, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m not trying to insult you, I promise. It’s just… a lot.”

Johnny relaxed a little, though his pout remained. “Alright, lass. I suppose I can let you off the hook this time. But you should’ve said something earlier.”

“And deal with you taking it more personally than you already do? No, thank you.” you muttered under your breath.

Kyle snorted beside you, and you turned to him with a grateful smile. “You’re the only one who doesn’t make my nose hurt, by the way. Thanks for that.”

The other three bristled instantly.

“What?” Price barked, looking genuinely offended.

“Gaz doesn’t smell any less than we do.” Ghost growled, eyes narrowing beneath his balaclava, and Johnny threw his hands up in exasperation.

“She’s playing favorites, that’s what this is!”

“It’s not favoritism!” You said quickly, holding your hands up defensively. “He just smells calmer. It’s not as… intense.”

Kyle, smug but silent, leaned back in his chair with a knowing smirk. He didn’t say a word, but the satisfied glint in his eyes said it all: he’d won.

Of course, this only made the other three more competitive.

“Maybe you just need to get used to it.” Price suggested, peering at you.

“Aye,” Johnny added, grin wide and cheeky. “Maybe we need to stick closer to you so your nose can adjust.”

“Or maybe you all need to tone it down.” you shot back, though your voice lacked bite, and they just stared at you even more intently- even Ghost.

It was going to be a long day.

[quarterlifekitty]

Can we pretty please have König with the secret baby trope?

/)/)

( . .)

( づ♡

I offer a little bunny as a bribe [I really hope it works and doesn’t end up misshapen lol]

Bunny looks good to me…. I accept

So in this, I imagine that you were something of a friends with benefits to him. While it wasn’t a sugaring situation, he did insist upon treating you to a nice dinner whenever you met up. When he’d come home on leave, he’d reach out, you’d meet up and fuck, and eventually he’d ship back out and the cycle repeated.

Truthfully, he’d been planning on trying to make things less casual for a long time. He’s not the kind of person who can fuck someone repeatedly and not fall in love, as much as he tried to be when this began. He decided that on his next leave, he would tell you.

He didn’t expect his next leave to be as far away as it turned out to be. While he is within his rights as a mercenary to decline extending his time on the job, he often doesn’t. He’s a workaholic and one of the small number of people at KorTac with no family to speak of, so he often takes on the burden staying on longer when needed. The time gets away from him. He’s gone longer than a year.

He comes back, anxious about where he stands with you. What you had hadn’t exactly been exclusive, and it’s hard to believe that you wouldn’t have been snapped up in that time away. To him, there can be no shortage of other men in your life that are crazy about you.

He contacts you. You tell him that you’re not really in a position to meet up with him, and you don’t really know if you ever will be again, honestly. His hands are sweating and his fingers fuck up on the keyboard all the time, so he just decides to call. Ask you what he’s done, if there’s someone else, if you know that he’s madly in love—

Not thirty seconds into the phone call, just barely past the niceties and pleasant greetings, when all of those questions are on the tip of his tongue— he hears crying. A baby crying. You tell him hurriedly that you’ll have to call him back. He decides he just can’t wait that long. He goes to your place.

You answer the door with a baby in a sling around you, tucked up to your chest, markedly more calm than it had been over the phone. Red hair. Your expression is a little tightened, like you hadn’t really wanted to see him at the door.

“As you can see, I’m not really able to attend a dick appointment right now.”

Fuck, is that what it was? You thought he just wanted sex?

A Quick look at your apartment tells him there isn’t anyone else. No men’s shoes by the door. Photos on the wall are just you and your friends— no partner in sight. It’s also kind of a mess. If there was a man in your life, he deserved to have his head beat in for leaving you to deal with all of this alone all day.

Then comes the quick mental math.

“That’s not what I want. Let me come in, schatz. Let me talk to you.”

It breaks his heart to see how reticent you are to let him in. It’s part and parcel with how tired you look.

“Look, if you’re wondering— yes, he’s yours, biologically.” Well, that clarification at the end stings a little. “But it was my choice to keep him, so I don’t expect anything from you. If this feels like an obligation to you, I’d prefer if we just cut things off here.”

The words that follow spill from his mouth uncontrollably.

“I don’t just want him— I want you. I want the both of you. I want it to be us,” he nearly babbles, hoping what he says is even halfway coherent.

“You’re all I think of when I’m away. I cannot lie and say I’d imagined the… the order of events would be this way. But I’d thought of it— with you. Please let me in, and… and let me meet him properly, ja?”

There are tears in his eyes when his son holding his finger for the first time, not ten minutes later.

[ofminstrelandwine]

.

[sincerelyneo]

hiii can you repost hello angel? as a jaemin girl it was one of my favorite fics everrrr i read it everyday fr😭❤️

hey angel | n.jm

“i come alive when i hear your voice, it’s a beautiful sound”

💿now playing: hey angel by one direction

❯ summary: You're Jaemin's best friend - so of course he loves to call you up late at night and hear your voice. He's definitely not calling because the sound of your voice turns him on - yeah definitely not that.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff.

❯ words: 3.7k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, slight possessiveness?, begging, praise, heavy use of nicknames, reader uses she/her pronouns, just pure filth tbh, jaemin has a voice kink??

It was late and you were already in bed, snuggled deep and cozy in the sea of your blankets, when your best friend Jaemin called. He’s your closest friend and the person you were more than a little bit in love with — but you’d never risk telling him for fear of it ruining your friendship.

So even though it was late, and you were sleepy, you answered his call. To be fair, he’d answered plenty of your late-night phone calls over the years.

“Hey angel,” Jaemin greets in an eager tone.

You can hear the alcohol in his voice — that and Jaemin only ever used that nickname for you when he’d been drinking. Still, it never fails to send warmth curling through your heart. It felt like it was his way of wrapping you up in his strong arms whilst he wasn’t with you. 

“Annngelll,” your best friend continues in singsong, making you giggle softly. 

Jaemin’s voice sounds rough and gravelly, like he’d been shouting over a crowded bar all night. Which wasn't a surprise since it was his friend Jeno’s birthday tonight. And you knew your charming and extroverted best friend would never pass up the chance of a good time. 

Before you could respond to his greetings, Jaemin’s tone suddenly turned serious. “I missed you tonight.”

“Na Jaemin,” you try to match his quick change of mood, attempting a serious tone. But it was a losing battle as you tried to fight against the smile threatening to let loose at his statement. “You’re drunk—I bet you barely noticed I wasn’t there tonight.”

He grumbles and you hear fabric rustle like he was flopping back on his bed. You can’t help but imagine what he currently looked like: his body probably sprawled out on top of his comforter, the strands of his hair falling into his face as his head propped up on his pillows. He probably had one hand behind his head, his bicep bulging while his other hand held the phone to his ear.

You know it’s wrong, but your mind wonders if he was still in his clothes from the night or if he’d stripped down—knowing the fact that your best friend liked to sleep in his boxers.

But you were also familiar with intoxicated Jaemin, he likely hadn’t changed out of his clothes yet, too drunk, and tired to care. Still, that didn’t stop you from thinking about your best friend laying in his bed shirtless while he talked to you. 

“I may have had a couple drinks,” he admits grudgingly. “But of course, I missed my angel. I swear—cross my heart and hope to die—I was a good boy tonight,” he says with enough conviction that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You’re silly, Jaem.” There’s a warmth in your voice, and you have no hope of wiping the smile from your face even if you tried. 

Pulling the phone away from your ear to check the time, you felt bad and ask, “Why are you calling?”

A long, loud sigh came through the phone from your best friend. “I wanted to hear your voice,” he explains after a silent moment.

It was a cute sentiment, making you feel warm all over, and you wished you could talk to him longer. “Jaem,” you start, gentling your voice. “It’s late and you know I have to get up early. So, if that’s all, I’m going to hang up.”

“But I can’t sleep,” he whines, and you could hear the pout in his voice. Without even seeing his face, you knew he was deploying his puppy dog eyes. “Just talk to me for a few minutes, angel, please?”

“Fine,” you say with another sigh, folding instantly at the thought of imagining his gentle expression asking you. He’d learned long ago it was a sure way to make you give in. You’d fallen sucker to Jaemin’s big brown eyes, and he knew exactly how to use them. 

Resigning yourself to being tired at work the next day, you settled deeper into your pillows. Your voice gentle as you got comfortable. “But you can’t hold it against me if I fall asleep,” you warn.

“Deal.” His smugness at getting you to agree so easily was loud and clear through the phone even if you couldn’t see his self-satisfied smile. “How was your day, angel?” he asks as his bed sheets rustled again and you presumed he was settling in too.

Tired, but always happy to talk to your best friend, you told him about your day and complained about why you had to get up early the next morning. Your voice turns softer and sweeter as you get more and more tired. Jaemin’s does the same, getting even deeper and more husky as he told you about his day. Eventually, there was a lull in the conversation, and you were about to tell him good night when he said something that surprised you enough to drag you away from the edge of sleep.

“Have I ever told you how hard your sleepy little voice makes me?” he asks, making a sound like he was biting back a groan. “I love calling you before you fall asleep, but I always gotta rub one out after.”

“Jaemin,” you say, voice going for stern, but not quite hitting the mark since it was still laced with sleepiness. “That is not true.”

“It is!” he insists, sounding more awake by the minute—and you were right there with him. “I’m hard right now.” He makes a soft sound, like a grunt.

Before you could stop yourself, you imagined him— still sprawled out on his bed — but this time he had a bulge in his jeans. In your mind’s eye, Jaemin grips his hard length through his jeans, stroking himself roughly. The thought makes you gasp softly, and you clench your thighs together against a sudden pulse in your core.

Jaemin must’ve heard the sound because you could hear the grin in his voice when he speaks again. “Tell me, angel, are you wearing one of my shirts tonight?” he asks gruffly.

You swallow heavily, trying to buy yourself some time. It felt like crossing a line to admit that you were wearing one of his shirts, but when Jaemim didn’t take the question back, you realise you’d had to answer. 

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Which one?” His voice is rough now, like sandpaper, but oh so eager.

“One of your varsity shirts from college—the one that says ‘Jaemin’ on the back,” you answer, unable to lie to your best friend even if you were a little shy to admit you still sleep in his shirts. You knew you didn’t need to be, since he clearly knew you slept in them. 

“I love it when you wear my shirts, angel,” Jaemin confesses. His tone now warm, like he was grinning and happy. It makes the last of your shyness disappear to hear him say that. 

“It lets everyone know you’re mine.”

“I’m not yours, Jaemin,” you protest half-heartedly. 

You weren’t, even if you desperately wanted to be his in every sense of the word.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, like there was no argument you could come up with to change his mind. “My best girl—that makes you mine.”

“Jaemin,” you exhale. 

You knew he was just talking about friendship, but you wished his words meant something different. You wished he felt the same way for you as you did for him.

“Fuck, say my name like that again,” he begs in a gruff voice. “Makin’ me so damn hard.”

You feel the blush rise to your cheeks and you go flustered, unsure what to do as Jaemin easily crosses lines you’d avoided delicately for years. But you didn’t want him to stop. The sound of his voice saying those things had wetness pooling between your thighs. So, you gave him what he wanted.

“Jaemin,” you repeat his name, voice breathier with your arousal, and he let out a happy hum.

“That’s my girl,” he says followed by a groan that is so low and husky, sending tingles racing through your entire body. “Fuck, I’m so hard,” he moans, a slight strain in his voice. “Do you mind, angel?”

It took a moment for your hazy mind to figure out what he was asking. Then, another to process that he was asking if you were okay with him stroking himself while he was on the phone with you. Your breath caught from a sudden surge of excitement. The voice that typically stops you from crossing the line with your best friend was conveniently quiet and all that was left was your need for him.

“I-I don’t mind, Jaem,” you answer softly, trying not to sound too eager.

The sound of him pulling down the zipper of his jeans was loud enough that you could hear it through the phone — and that alone sent a shiver down your spine. It was nothing, though, in comparison to the rough groan he makes as he grips his cock in his hand. 

“Fuck,” he curses.

You could feel yourself getting slicker from the sounds of him stroking himself. Distantly, you knew you were crossing a line by listening to him, by getting off on hearing your best friend pleasure himself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Instead, you found yourself holding your breath as you strained to hear him.

“What else are you wearing besides my shirt, angel?” his voice octaves lower than normal. The sound of it makes you squirm, your thighs clenching together harder. 

Biting your lip, you debated for a second whether to answer truthfully. You didn’t want to lie to your best friend and, you rationalise, you’d already crossed the line, hadn’t you?

“Just panties,” you whisper. 

You trail your hand down your chest over his shirt to toy with the hem where it had ridden up around your hips. Your fingers were dangerously close to slipping under the waistband your best friend had become oh so curious about.

“Just panties? Fucking hell, angel. What colour are they, huh?” He questions in his deep, rough voice.

You swallow thickly, wondering if he could hear how hot and bothered he was making you. You wonder if he knew you were so close to playing with yourself by the way your breath was getting faster. But you couldn’t stop yourself from answering. 

“They’re pink,” you say softly. 

“Angel,” Jaemin groans, thickened with need. “Fuck, I wanna bury my head between your thighs and kiss every single inch of you until you’re writhing under me, begging me to tear those panties off you.”

It was your turn to groan, and when you say, “Jaemin,” on a sharp exhale, you sound even more needy than anything else. Your fingers brushing over the hem of your panties, teasing yourself with whether or not you should dip beneath the fabric and touch yourself.

“You like that idea, angel?” He asks, a grin in his voice. “Like thinking about my mouth so close to your pussy.”

At his words, you couldn’t help but picture the scene. His head navigating between your legs, his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open so he could follow through on his promise. It was all too easy to imagine the way he’d look at you, mischief sparkling in his brown eyes as he slowly, teasingly kissed your mound over your panties, tongue sneaking out to lick the pink material. The picture he painted had you squirming in your bed. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, your fingers finally sliding into your panties, finding your pussy wet and swollen and needy.

When you don’t respond except with a sharp gasp, Jaemin asks, “Are you touching yourself?” 

His voice turns seductive. “You have to tell me if you are, angel—best friends tell each other this sort of thing. I have to know when you’re fingering your needy little cunt.”

“Oh god, Jaemin,” you cry softly, your breaths coming harsher. But you don’t for a second consider hiding what you were doing from your best friend. “Yes, I’m t-touching myself.”

“Good girl,” he praises, making warm pride curl through your chest as more wetness flooded your core. “Touch that pretty pussy for me.”

“H-how would you know it’s pretty?” you ask on a gasp, forcing the question out between hitching breaths as you slowly trace a finger around your dripping hole, teasing yourself and making you wetter.

“Because everything about you is pretty, angel. The way you laugh at me when I’m drunk, the way you bite your lip when you’re unsure, the way you look at me… fuck, you’re so fucking pretty.”

Your finger pauses and you suck in a deep breath, thoughts running chaotically. Jaemin had never complimented you like this before, and you couldn’t help yourself from asking a question you desperately wanted an answer to. 

“How do I look at you, Jaemin?” you ask in a small voice, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in the expression he’d just mentioned.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he teases. “You look up at me, giving me the dirtiest fuck me eyes possible. Fluttering your pretty eyelashes like you’re begging me to bend you over every surface and stuff you full of my cock.” 

“Jaemin,” you cry out in a little sob, emotions and arousal swirling through your body completely overwhelming you for a moment. 

“I know angel,” Jaemin’s voice is soothing and deep. “I know you give those eyes to me.” 

He paused for a moment and all you could hear was his deep, steady breathing. 

“Because you’re mine, yeah?” There was a thread of uncertainty in his question, and it made your heart thump in response.

“Yeah,” you agree without hesitation, without protest. “I’m yours, Jaemin.” 

“Good,” he declares. Without giving you time to fully process what had just transpired between the two of you, Jaemin continues speaking, his voice diving an octave lower and growing rough. “Now slide one of your fingers into that pretty pussy of yours.” 

It was so easy to listen to him, to give yourself over to his command. Letting his deep voice reverberate in your head, heat curling all through your body down to the tips of your toes, as you press one of your fingers into your wet hole. A soft moan tumbles from your lips and you knew Jaemin heard it from the way he sucks in a breath.

“That’s it, angel, being so good for me,” his breaths coming harsher down the phone line. “Tell me how it feels.”

You sink into the sensations and the sound of his voice, letting your eyes fall closed. You feel like you’re floating in the soft sea of your bed as you pull your finger out and thrust it back inside your pussy. 

“Feels so good,” you answer in another moan.

Jaemin responds with a groan of his own. “Bet you’re fucking tight,” he says, breath heavy and raw. “Bet you’re clenching down on your little finger, aren’t you?”

Like your body was trained to respond to his voice, your pussy clenches around your finger at his words and you let out a hitching moan. But Jaemin doesn’t stop talking. His deep, hoarse voice fills your ears and makes you hotter and hotter.

“Fuck, angel, keep going—keep fingering that wet pussy for me while I stroke my dick to those sweet little sounds you make,” he urges, as he bit back his groans. You moan and gasp in response to his filthy words. “Fuckin’ hell, I wish it was your warm cunt gripping me right now, clenching hard around my thick cock while I fuck you.”

“Please,” you beg, not sure what exactly you were asking for but knowing you didn’t want him to stop talking. You add another finger to your dripping hole, crying out at the slight stretch.

“Would you like that, angel?” he asks, managing to fill his tone with teasing even as his heavy breaths gave away how turned on, he was. “Tell me—fucking tell me,” he prompts when you don’t respond, too busy fucking yourself with your fingers to the sound of his voice.

A whine forces itself out of your lungs, the simple command sounding so filthy from your best friend’s mouth. “Yes, Jaem,” you whimper an answer between your gasping breaths. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck—fuck,” he groans almost painful. “The next time I see you, that pussy is mine. Gonna bury my face between your thighs and make you come on my tongue,” he promises. “Then I’m gonna shove my cock deep in your cunt and fuck you stupid.”

“Jaemin,” you sob out his name, fucking yourself harder as you picture your best friend hovering over you while you lay in his bed. You imagine how his body would start fucking you into the mattress, his cock buried deep in your pussy, your arms and legs wrapped around him — anything to be close to him. 

Through the phone, you hear the soft sound of Jaemin fucking himself into his own fist, the strain in his voice every time he spoke. 

Imagining your best friend sprawled on his bed, jeans open just enough for him to have his cock out, gripping and pumping his length roughly with his eyes squeezed shut. Thinking about him like that makes you whimper.

“Fuck—I can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’d look while I fuck you, angel,” he murmurs. “Wanna see my cock stretch you while I pound into you, wanna see your pretty lips swollen from my kisses as you moan for me, wanna see your eyes go all hazy as you get stupid on my cock.”

As he speaks, your thumb circles your clit and you moan loudly into the phone. Your best friend’s filthy words make your pussy clench down hard on your fingers as you get closer and closer to your release. 

“Don’t stop, Jaem, please don’t stop,” you beg breathlessly. Jaemin lets loose a deep groan in response to your desperate plea, the sound making your thighs clamp down hard around your hand. You wish your legs were wrapped around his waist instead of your wrist.

“Fuck your pussy, angel, nice and hard.”

You cry out as you force a third finger, making yourself stretch to take the intrusion. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl, fuck yourself stupid to the sound of my voice,” he encourages. 

Even with how far gone you are, you can hear the cocky grin in his tone, but your body just flushes and clenches tight in response. Desperately, you fuck yourself harder, hips rocking into your hand, mind drowning in lust as you gasp and moan into the phone. Knowing he can hear you only urges you not to hold back. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaemin groans loudly, his breath coming in sharp pants. “Keep making those cute little sounds for me, my cock is aching for you—fuck!” The cockiness in his tone fades into desperation. 

“Jaemin,” his name tumbles past your lips. 

You’d said your best friend’s name countless times over the years, but never like this—never with your fingers buried deep in your cunt wishing it was his thick cock.

“Jaem, I need…” you trail off, not even knowing what you need, just knowing he was the only one who could give it to you.

“You need my cock, don’t you?” You can hear the way his grin curls at the edges of his mouth. “Need my cock just like I need your pussy.” He bit off the end of his sentence with a groan. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” he moans. “Gonna come so hard to your sweet little moans, angel.”

You gasp and your back arches off your bed when you rub your thumb roughly over your clit. You moan so shamelessly for your best friend. “So close.” 

“When I fuck you,” he starts, cutting himself off abruptly as he groans again. “When I fuck you, angel, I’m gonna make you come so hard on my cock,” he promises, voice rough and deep you swear you can feel the pleasure from the sound shooting from your ear directly to your clit. “And while you’re screaming my name and coming all over my dick, I’m gonna bury myself in that sweet pussy and pump you full of my load—you want my come, angel?”

“Yes, Jaemin, please come inside me, fill me up,” you babble, so close to your own release you barely know what you’re saying. 

“That’s it. That’s my slutty little angel, begging for my come.” He groans, stroking himself faster. “Come for me, come for your best friend,” he commands, pausing to moan lowly. “Tell me who you belong to.” 

“I’m yours, Jaemin, all yours,” you cry out. With one more deep thrust of your fingers, the heel of your hand grinding against your clit, you come apart. 

You moan loudly as waves of pleasure surged through you, consuming you. Your limbs shaking as you wrench every ounce of pleasure from your release, fucking yourself through it as you breathe fast and harsh.

“That’s my good girl. Coming so sweetly for me, so perfect.” He grunts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! You made me come so fucking hard, angel,” he mumbles, a little breathless.

Since you hadn’t fully regained control over your body, you just hummed in delight. You were still riding the aftershocks of your orgasm, your lips turned in a smile while you listened to Jaemin catching his breath.

“Like hearing me come apart for you?” He teases the question. “Wish you were here to clean up the mess you made.” 

“Jaem,” you try to put some reproach into your voice but fail miserably as you giggle. 

“Don’t worry, you can help the next time I see you.”

The line goes quiet for a moment, the two of you gathering yourselves together. “You’re still my best girl, right?” he finally asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’m your girl.”

“That’s good to hear,” he murmurs, sighing contentedly, and you can tell he was starting to drift off. “Because all of me is yours, angel. And I plan on showing you that when I’m back.”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

mullet!Stan Pines headcanons

✦ it’s rare that you see him without a shirt, but one day you spot the burn scar tattoo you think? etched into his shoulder, something Stan never intended to have. he notices you looking and quickly covers. “ain’t nothin’ to look at, sweetheart” he laughs awkwardly, turning away

✦ now, whenever your hand brushes over it, even accidentally, though not really, because you’re so curious and want to know what is it, Stan freezes up and it takes him a second to relax again. he blinks, brows furrowed, face blank as he falls out of reality, like it brings him right back to that fight with his brother. you gently trace the scar and Stan lets you, though you can feel him fighting the wish to pull away. “just. . . don’t think about it too much, alright?” he’ll mumble, but you know that for Stan, this scar means more than he’ll ever admit.

✦ however one night Stanley finally tells you the full story. how it happened, the anger, the betrayal, the pain he never quite dealt with. he looks away, ashamed, preparing to be slapped and yelled at, but you gently tilt his face back toward you, brushing a thumb over the scar, tracing it without a word, letting him know it doesn’t change how you see him. when he wants to pull away, you stop him with a tender smile, whispering that he’s safe, that whatever happened, he’s not alone in it anymore

okay enough angst :)

✦ there’s a god somewhere blessing this man with a mullet and it’s only right that you get to take care of it. imagine him sitting there all gruff and complaining at first, like “i don’t need pampering,” but the second you get your hands in his hair he goes soft, eyes closed, practically melting. the tough guy act drops and he’s yours to play with. he’d mumble something like, “didn’t know ya liked my hair this much,” trying to sound casual, but he’s putty in your hands and he knows it. might even lean into you, letting you do whatever you want.

✦ so yeah, Stan will never admit It, but he loves being pampered. brush your fingers through his hair, scratch his back or rub his shoulders, and he’ll melt right there. “aw, c’mon, I don’t need all that mushy stuff,” he’ll grumble, but then he’ll lean right into your touch, closing his eyes, sighing as you work out the knots in his shoulders. “alright, alright, I take it back. keep doin’ that, I’m beggin’ ya.” and he’s yours — grumpy, needy mess, secretly loving every second.

✦ when it’s late and there’s an open bottle of whiskey between you, Stan got just enough liquor in him that his guard slips. he’s closer than usual, looking at you like you’re the only thing worth seeing and then out of nowhere, he speaks so damn quiet, “ain’t used to somebody like you.” he’s saying it to himself more than anything. and when you press him on it he brushes it off, acting all tough like he didn’t just spill his heart right there

✦ you’ll never hear it in so many words, but it’s there in all the little things he does. after a rough day or some dumb close call, he’ll look at you a little longer than usual, saying softly, “don’t know what i’d do without ya, y’know?” and yeah, then he’ll laugh it off, crack a joke to brush it away, because he’s so scared to show vulnerability but you still notice the truth in his eyes. he’s showing it even if he can’t say it out loud. it’s his way, in that unpolished, stubborn way of his, but damn, if it isn’t sweet.  

✦ sometimes, it all boils over and you two end up in a heated argument because he can be so damn stubborn, your voices raised, tempers flaring. but after it’s over, when the dust settles he’s not one to just let it go. Stan will not forgive himself if another person close to him leaves him. he’ll come back to you, eyes softer, whispering apologies under his breath, wanting to make things right, at least once. he pulls you close, his fingers brushing your cheek while he looks into it eyes just to make sure they aren’t red from tears.

✦ “i ain’t the best guy, ya know?” you want to reassure him that he’s more than just a messed-up past. when he looks at you, his eyes searching yours, it’s like he’s waiting for you to see through the bullshit. and god, when you reach for him, telling him he’s enough, you can practically feel him exhale, releasing that tight tension.

✦ at first, Stan hid his jealousy. well, what can you do, this man is used to hiding all his life. so before, when someone else got a little too close to you, Stan would hide his jealousy with “just didn’t like the way they were lookin’ at ya, thats all”

so later when you got much closer, he’s all kinds of possessive in the hottest way. someone brushes past you at the bar or shack? his grip on your waist tightens just a bit and he’s leaning in, “you keep yer distance.” actually Stan isnt just jealous, he needs to keep you close, to remind everyone that you’re his

✦ so now you know — this man is possessive, if he’s got you, he wants everybody to know it. he’ll leave little marks, love bites along your collarbone, your shoulders, neck, anywhere he can reach. he’ll smirk when he sees them later, running his thumb over the spot, all proud, whispering something like, “gotta let ‘em know who ya belong to.” so when he notices you wearing something that shows them off, that just sets him off all over again.

✦ sometimes, Stanley just gets quiet, he’ll pull you into this tight hug, burying his face against your neck. no words, no jokes, just him, needing you. maybe it’s after a long day, or some memory from the past got to him, but he won’t explain it, not yet. he’ll just hold you like he’s afraid of letting go, mumbling a half-hearted “don’t mind me”

✦ you’ll never know about it, but sometimes he’ll wake up early just to look at you, his hand resting on your side, thumb rubbing lazy circles on your hip. he’d mumble under his breath, half in awe, half still sleepy, “how the hell’d i get so lucky?” it’s this rare soft look he’ll snap out of the second you move in your sleep, pretending he wasn’t just watching you like you’re the best damn thing he’s ever seen.

✦ as cocky as Stan is, sometimes he’ll just lean back and wait, watching you with this smug lazy smirk, waiting for you to break first. he’ll spread his arms, eyebrows raised, saying “go on, sweetheart, show me what ya got.” and it’s not that he doesn’t want you, he’s just savouring the anticipation, the way you look when you finally grab his shirt and pull him close, wiping that smirk right off his face as he gives in, hands rough and needy on you

✦ there’s something about Stan getting down and dirty with his car that just makes him even hotter. he’ll be sprawled under the hood, greasy hands and all, and when you come by, he’ll flash that charming grin and you’ll find him making suggestive comments about how the car isn’t the only thing he’d love to get under

✦ you’ll be curled up together watching some old flick and the moment something emotional hits you’ll catch him sneaking a sniffle, clearing his throat like it’s nothing. “damn movies, always gettin’ me,” he’ll grumble, trying to cover it up, but when you tease him, he’ll roll his eyes. “oh please, sweetheart, I just. . . like a good story, okay?”

[aluraveil]

Lisa im having major braunrot about blade fucking Darling in his Mara struck state 👀

imagine how rough he would be <3.. im getting horny just thinking abt it 🥰

ooh yes anon!! blade would be extra possessive esp when the mara hits him!! plus his cock would be much thicker and harder.. poor darling. thank you for the food anon!!

~

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒..

Pairing: Blade x Female Reader (ft. Kafka)

TW: Yandere-ish?? Masterbation, lots of smut, vaginal penetration, bedroom activities basically. Everything is consensual here.

MINORS DNI. 18+ only.

~

Blade has time periods that occur every month due to being mara struck where he sorta becomes.. a completely different person. When he’s in the mara struck state, he becomes more.. insane for the lack of a better word.

He was already possessive of his darling before, but during this state, he becomes ten times if not more possessive. Blades mental state becomes more deranged and downright crazy. He’s more angry and more aggressive due to the painful memories that flash back to him. Blade also acts as if he’s in an animal in heat because of how horny he becomes. His cock becomes bigger and stretches out wider and the veins pop out more. His dick is flushing an angry shade of red and the tip is dripping out pre-cum. His cock is painfully erect and it always stretches through his boxers hence why there’s a large bulge forming in his pants.

Blade always has to deal with his.. problem by himself by sneaking off during a mission to hide in a private place such as a bathroom stall or just anywhere where there’s privacy for him and his horniness. He sits himself on his bed in the room that he’s currently staying in for a mission. What a pain, he grumbles as his bandaged hands quickly undo his belt and fumbles with his zipper. He shudders as his cock is finally freed from the confining place and he could almost cum from the feeling of the cold air hitting it. His hands work hastily as he masterbaits. He moans at how pleasurable it felt as his hands began moving up and down went faster and faster, until finally his dick splashes out thick ropes of cum and it squirts everywhere on his bed and dirties his pants. During his Mara struck state, his cum becomes more thick and the duration that it comes out becomes even longer. As for taste, it’s extra creamier and sweeter.

Kafka’s spirit whisper is able to help with some of the symptoms of his mara, such as utterly destroying his opponents, but she can’t do much about his.. hormones. Kafka tells him that her spirit whisper can be useful during missions but the best thing for him would be masterbation and having sex.

“Maybe Y/N could help you with it,” Kafka winks at Blade as she turns back to her magazine. Blade grumbles in pain as he leaves the Stellaron Hunter’s base as he makes the journey back to your shared home.

You weren’t aware about Blade’s tendencies due to the Mara quelling within him. But imagine to your surprise when you’re laying in your living room on the couch wearing one of your boyfriends shirts when Blade bursts the door of your shared home in hushed, raggedy breathes. His shirts covered in blood and his hair is slightly messy. When Blade sees you, he almost couldn’t restrain himself from pouncing on you. Fuck, you looked so gorgeous wearing his shirt and your scent smelled just like him. Blades thoughts were clouded with nothing but lust as he imagined the ways he wanted to ravage your body right then and there.

“Blade? What’s wrong?” You asked him with your eyes full of concern.

Blade’s breathing becomes shallow as his finger points to a certain place. “The mara.” Blade isn’t a man of many words, you were confused on what he meant until you look down and oh. You quickly catch on and realize he’s having another Mara flare up at that moment and he’s painfully horny.

“I can try my best.. and help if you would like- woah!”

You barely even finished your sentence before Blade lifted you up and rushed to your shared bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress and he hurriedly rushes to undo his pants. You stare in awe as you look at how huge his cock had become. You could see the pre-cuz leaking out and how desperate it was for some friction. You and Blade have had sex many times in the past before, but the difference between now and then was big especially since this would be your first time having sex with him in his Mara struck state.

Blade’s bandaged hands begin to stroke himself and he groaned at the feeling. He quickly climbed on top of the mattress as he rushed to undo your clothing. Your shirt that you borrowed from him was quickly thrown and your laced panties were ripped off.

Blade immediately pounces on you and begins to push inch after inch of his cock into you. You cry out in pain because of how big and thick he is. Blade makes sure to savor every inch of your walls being wrapped around him and he groans at how tight you feel.

“M’gonna pound you,” He breathes out in rushed breathes as he begins to thrust in and out. “Gonna mark you up and make you mine..”

You moan at the feeling of Blade’s dick going in and out. It felt so good and you could feel every inch poking and prodding your insides. The bed began to shake as Blade started going rougher and rougher.

Unfortunately for you, Blades stamina is also increased a lot when he’s having a mara flare up. Which means that whenever you have sex with him during this, you can expect that he’s gonna be cumming inside you a lot and that you’re gonna be having rough sex for a couple of hours. You can also expect that from now on, you’ll be having sex with Blade during his mara flare up all the time since you so nicely volunteered to help him. You’re impressed and shocked with how Blade is able to have sex with you for such long periods of time and how hes able to bend and fold you in numerous positions as he thrusts in and out of your hole. At this point, know that you won’t be leaving the bedroom for at least a week every month.

After your first night of rough intercourse, Blade immediately reports back the good results to Kafka. She notices that whenever Blade is with you during his Mara flare ups, hes more calmer and hes able to control the Mara within him and keep himself more at bay. Meanwhile you’re laying on Blade’s lap with your clothed pussy is all used up and worn out from the abuse of his large cock while your arms, body, and neck are all covered in bite marks and hickeys. Blade has his arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his face on the side of your neck. He feels calmer now because his sweet girlfriend helped him.

Now imagine when you open the door to your shared home one day when you notice a pink present laying on top of your porch with a magenta ribbon. Curious, you open the box only to be greeted with a red laced lingerie set. Your face immediately heats up in embarrassment as you notice a note also placed inside the box.

“For Bladie’s next mara flare up ;)

-Kafka”

Your breath hitched as you feel a strong pair of arms wrap themselves around you. You realize it’s Blade as he nuzzled his face into your neck, then he notices the box you’re holding in his hand.

“Pretty.” He mumbles, “I want you to wear that for me.” You could feel his bulge start to harden as he grinds himself against your ass. “The mara is coming back..” Blade says with a hushed voice, “Be a good girl and help me.”

Well who were you to deny your boyfriend access? After all, you loved him a lot and you were of course willing to help him contain the Mara <3

~

[diamonddaze01]

missed calls

Pairing: idol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader | wc: 3.7k genre: fluff, angst warnings: none a/n: missing my husband extra hard // all my love to @lovetaroandtaemin @gyubakeries and @gotta-winwin for beta-ing this <3

now playing: better half by jeonghan ft. omoinotake

summary: It’s a strange kind of ache, missing someone who feels both so close and so far.

The time difference makes you feel like a ghost sometimes.

There are moments when the world feels off-kilter, as though you’re existing in parallel timelines that never quite overlap. You wake to silence, your phone screen dark, the weight of unanswered messages settling in your chest like morning fog. You wonder where Jeonghan is when you miss his calls.

Maybe he’s walking through crowded streets in some unfamiliar city, the hum of life around him muted by his own thoughts. You picture him with his hood up, his head tilted just slightly, the breeze lifting strands of his hair as he stares out at a horizon that feels impossibly far from you. His lips might curve in that faint, private smile he wears when the world seems too loud, when he’s retreating into himself in a way only he can.

Or maybe he’s somewhere quiet, tucked into a hotel room that still feels too big for one person, the night pressing against the window like an old friend. You imagine him leaning back in his chair, his voice heavy with exhaustion, his words soft and slow as they try to find their way to you. But the distance swallows the sound before it can reach you, leaving you with nothing but the memory of how it feels to hear his laugh, his voice calling your name.

It’s a strange kind of ache, missing someone who feels both so close and so far.

Saitama, Japan. November.

네가 있는 그곳의 일기예보는 유난히 자꾸 눈에 들어와 이런 날 보며 웃어 줘 (The weather forecast where you are strangely keeps catching my eye / smile for me on a day like this)

Saitama. His third stop on the tour. Japan, a city far away from you, but close enough to feel like an ache in the back of your mind. It’s the way Jeonghan’s absence seems to stretch time itself. Some days, you don’t even recognize the hours as they pass—you only feel the silence.

When his name lights up your phone, it’s late—too late, really, to expect any sort of coherent conversation. But with Jeonghan, it never matters.

“I saw the weather in your city,” he says, his voice a low, familiar hum against the backdrop of your quiet apartment. There’s no greeting, no preamble—just the way his words always feel like home. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

You glance out the window. The rain has stopped, but the world is still soaked in its aftermath. The streetlights paint the wet pavement in long, streaking reflections, the kind that feel like they belong in an old film.

“It’s not raining anymore,” you murmur, leaning into the sound of his voice. “But everything’s still wet.”

There’s a pause, the kind of silence that stretches not in discomfort but in longing. You can almost picture him, somewhere in Bangkok, leaning against the edge of a hotel balcony, the humid night pressing in around him.

“You always loved the rain,” he says finally, his voice soft with memory. “You’d sit by the window for hours, just watching it fall, like it was the most important thing in the world.”

“And you’d tell me to close it,” you reply, smiling even though he can’t see it. “Before we both caught a cold.”

He laughs, and the sound is so achingly familiar that you press your phone tighter against your ear, as though it might close the miles between you. “I miss that,” he says, quieter now, the amusement fading into something deeper. “I miss you.”

His words sit heavy and warm between you, like a blanket you can’t quite pull around yourself. You press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, letting it anchor you in the present.

“I miss you too,” you whisper, and though the words feel small compared to the weight of your longing, it’s all you can give him right now.

There’s another pause, longer this time, and when he speaks again, his voice is a thread pulled tight with exhaustion and tenderness. “It’s been seven stops,” he says, almost to himself. “Seven cities. But every time I look out at the crowd, I think of you. Wonder if you’d be somewhere out there, smiling at me.”

You close your eyes against the sudden sting of tears, the thought of him standing on a stage, searching for a face that isn’t there. “I wish I could be,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d give anything to be there.”

“You’ll be with me at the last stop,” he replies, his voice firm, as if saying it will make it true. “We’ll be together then.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he echoes, the word carrying a weight that you know he won’t let go of.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence filled only with the quiet hum of static and the imagined sound of rain falling somewhere far away.

“Smile for me,” Jeonghan says suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice is playful now, teasing in the way that only he can be. “On a day like this, just smile for me.”

And even though he can’t see it, even though it doesn’t feel like enough, you smile. Because for now, it’s the closest thing to being by his side.

Bangkok, Thailand. December. 

멀리서 바라본대도 언제나 함께인 너와 나 서로 꽉 잡아주었던 손가락 대신 말이야 (Even if we’re far away, you and I are always together / Instead of fingers tightly holding each other, we have words)

Jeonghan’s in Bangkok now, and your calls have become more sporadic. The time zone difference has made it harder to sync up, and his rehearsals and soundchecks stretch late into the evening. The countdown to Christmas is drawing near, and there’s something about the holiday season that amplifies the distance. The twinkling lights in your apartment feel colder, the festive music playing on the radio a bit too cheerful. It’s hard to ignore the ache that fills the gaps between the fleeting conversations.

But he always finds a way to let you know he’s thinking of you, even when the calls don’t come.

It’s one of those late nights, just days before Christmas Eve, when his name flashes across your phone. You’re curled up on the couch, surrounded by half-wrapped presents and an unopened box of decorations, the scent of pine from the small tree you managed to set up lingering in the air. The world outside is dusted with snow, and for a moment, you let the stillness settle. But the phone call is like a soft knock at the door, a gentle reminder that even when he’s far away, Jeonghan’s voice is always there to anchor you.

“Sorry I missed you earlier,” his voice crackles through the speaker, a bit raspy from all the singing. You smile to yourself, hearing that familiar tone, the one that always sounds so far away yet somehow so close. “I hate not being able to hold your hand.”

You press the phone to your ear tighter, as if that could bridge the miles between you. The emptiness of the space beside you feels even more pronounced in this quiet moment. Your fingers ache, as if they could still feel the warmth of his touch from all those nights when you held each other close.

“I know,” you reply, your voice soft, the words carrying a weight that makes the distance feel like a tangible thing. “We’ll make up for it.”

You let the silence linger, as if it could somehow fill the void. “Someday,” you continue, the hope threading through your words. “When we’re together again.”

You can hear him exhale, a heavy sound that speaks of fatigue but also of something deeper. “Someday,” he echoes, but his tone is threaded with something that makes your heart ache. There’s a distance in the word, and yet a promise too, like a whispered prayer in the cold night air. “Until then, I guess I’ll have to settle for this.”

“Settle for what?” You shift on the couch, glancing at the twinkling lights on the tree, the soft shadows they cast on the walls. The thought of him fills your chest with warmth despite the cold that’s crept into the room.

“My voice,” he says, the corners of his voice curling into a soft smile. You can almost hear it, as though he’s there, standing beside you in the living room, smiling that quiet smile you love so much. “Calling your name.”

The sudden rush of emotion hits you like a wave, and you let out a laugh, albeit a quiet one. You can hear his smile through the phone, and it makes your heart flutter in that familiar way. Even though you’re separated by miles and time zones, you know that smile. You know that voice.

“That’s all I need,” you say, your words steady despite the longing twisting inside you. There’s a comfort in this—knowing that, even through the distance, he’s thinking of you. Even as you sit here, surrounded by the quiet of the holiday season, you are not alone. You never are when his voice is with you.

“Just my voice?” Jeonghan teases, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness behind it.

“For now,” you tease back. The smile that spreads across your face feels like the sun breaking through the clouds after a long storm. “But I can’t wait for the day when I can hear you say it in person again.”

He pauses for a moment, and you can tell that he’s smiling too, even though you can’t see him. “Me neither,” he says softly. “Just wait, okay? I’ll be home soon. And I’ll hold your hand then. All the Christmas lights in the world won’t be able to compare to that.”

The words settle in your heart, and for a moment, you let the phone slip from your ear as you look out at the snow falling softly against the darkened window. The world outside seems to hold its breath as you hold on to that promise, the quiet magic of love woven through the simple exchange of words.

As the conversation ends, you stand and walk over to the window, watching the snowflakes fall. You can almost feel him beside you, can almost imagine his fingers lacing with yours in the stillness of the night.

And in that moment, with the twinkling lights of Christmas warming the room, you let yourself believe—this will pass. Soon, he’ll be back. And you’ll both hold on to each other, through every season, no matter the miles.

Incheon, South Korea. January. 

변하지 않는 중력처럼 끌어당겨 날 너에게로 (Like unchanging gravity, you pull me toward you)

The months of separation have felt like a quiet ache, each day stretching endlessly between you and Jeonghan, but as his flight lands at Incheon, the world shifts, and you feel it in your bones. The moment the doors open, his figure steps through the airport terminal, the hum of conversations and the bustle of travelers fading into a distant blur.

He's wearing the exhaustion of tour like a second skin—his eyes heavy, his steps slow—but there’s something in the way he moves toward you, something magnetic, something undeniable. It’s like gravity, drawing him back to you with an inevitable pull, no matter how far apart you were.

As he crosses the threshold, his eyes meet yours, and in that instant, the months of absence dissolve. His tiredness melts away in the warmth of your gaze, and his lips curve into a smile—soft, yet filled with the same intensity as a thousand words unsaid. He drops his bag with a thud, not caring where it lands, and before you can even take a breath, his arms are around you, pulling you close, as if the air itself is too thin for him to breathe without you in it.

It’s not just a hug. It’s an avalanche of emotion, a force so powerful that it steals your breath away. His heartbeat syncs with yours as if it has never been out of rhythm, as if time had never existed between the last time you held him and now. The world, with all its noise, its demands, its distractions, seems to quiet around you.

His scent is the first thing that hits you—a familiar blend of him, of warmth and the soft whisper of something that always makes you feel like home. His skin is warmer than you remember, and his fingers, gentle but sure, find the back of your neck, cradling your head like he’s afraid you might slip away again.

“I told you I’d come back,” Jeonghan murmurs against your ear, his voice hoarse, as though it’s been waiting for this moment for so long. You don’t know if he means he’d promised in the past or if it’s a vow meant to echo through every moment you share in the future. The weight of his words lingers in the air, rich and heavy, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh.

The sound is barely audible, but it’s enough to break through the haze of emotions thick in the air. You pull away just enough to see his face, eyes darker than you remember but alive with a quiet, burning affection. Your fingers find the fabric of his coat, clinging to him as if it’s the only thing that could anchor you to this moment, this reality where the distance no longer exists.

“You’re real,” you whisper into the hollow of his shoulder, fingers gripping the cloth like you might lose him again if you let go. The ache in your chest rises, threatening to swallow you whole, but it’s different now. He’s here, and the space you’ve carried between you for so long is finally closed.

“I’ve always been real,” he answers softly, his voice a balm against the tremor in your voice. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands gently cupping your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks with a tenderness that threatens to undo you. His gaze is endless, like the ocean, deep and consuming, and you find yourself lost in it, drowning in the warmth of his presence.

“You’re the gravity that pulls me back,” he says, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile, one that’s both soft and filled with something heavier. “I could never stay away.” And then, before either of you can think about it too much, he leans in, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment before he seals it with a kiss.

It’s soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters of this closeness that feels like it could shatter the fragile air between you. But then his lips press against yours with a quiet urgency, a hunger that’s been buried under weeks of separation. His hands slide to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your hands threading through his hair, holding him as if you could absorb him into your very being.

The kiss deepens, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for this moment to unfold. There’s no rush, no hurry—just the slow burn of his lips against yours, the shared exhale, the tender weight of his arms around you.

When you finally pull away, the air between you feels impossibly full, as if the kiss itself has filled the space where words have always struggled to reach. Jeonghan presses his forehead against yours, his breathing unsteady but steadying.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, voice thick with everything he’s felt in the time you’ve been apart.

You smile, feeling like the distance, the longing, all of it has finally found its place in the quiet of his embrace. “I’ve missed you too.”

And in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you know that no matter how far he goes, no matter the miles between you, he’ll always be the gravity that pulls you back to him. And you’ll always come back, too.

Bocaue, Philippines. February. 

어린아이처럼 늘 손을 꼽아 다시 만나는 그날을 (Like a child, I count down the days / Until the day we meet again)

Even reunions are fleeting. When Jeonghan leaves again, this time for the Philippines, you are left to breathe in the emptiness that lingers in his absence. The quiet stretches out before you like an untraveled road, the days growing heavier with every passing hour.

But in the stillness, you find a strange comfort—counting the days, one by one. The routine becomes a delicate ritual, as if the act of waiting itself is a thread connecting your hearts, pulling him back toward you.

You find yourself tracing the days in your mind, as though they were beads on a string, one for each heartbeat. Like a child who waits for the seasons to change, you cross off each night on an invisible calendar, whispering his name to the moon as if it could carry your voice to him. 

Each day feels endless, and yet, within it, there is hope.

One evening, just as you settle into your favorite spot by the window, the full moon rising to bathe your room in silver light, the familiar sound of his voice breaks the silence. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed the sound of it—soft, distant, yet so very close.

“Are you looking at the sky?” Jeonghan’s voice hums across the distance, pulling you in, weaving a bridge between the two of you.

“I am,” you reply, a tender smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you tilt your head toward the heavens. “Are you?”

“Always,” he says, his voice carrying a warmth that feels like a caress even through the phone. “It’s the one thing we can share, no matter how far apart we are.”

There is something about those words, simple yet profound, that makes your heart ache in the most beautiful way. You imagine him, somewhere under the same sky, the moonlight washing over his face, just as it does yours. His eyes, probably closed in that soft, familiar way, drinking in the same view. And in that moment, the world seems smaller. The distance between you and Jeonghan, though vast, feels like a mere whisper.

You picture him looking at the same moon, its light spilling over his face, and suddenly, the distance feels bearable. The days may pass in slow motion, but each one brings you closer to him. And so, with the moon as your silent witness, you smile softly into the night, counting the days as they turn into weeks, knowing that soon—soon—he will be home.

Osaka, Japan. March. 

다음 그다음 싹이 틀 연 분홍빛의 벚꽃잎이 수줍게 핀 모습을 함께 보도록 (the buds of pale pink cherry blossoms / Will bloom shyly for us to see together)

By the time Jeonghan reaches Osaka, spring has arrived. The cherry blossoms you dreamed of seeing together have finally bloomed, delicate petals painting the air with soft pinks, like a memory you’ve held onto through the long months of distance. Their fragile beauty seems to mirror your own waiting heart, tender and yearning, unfolding bit by bit with every passing day.

One afternoon, he calls you just as you’re stepping outside, the warm breeze teasing the edges of your jacket, the scent of fresh earth and spring in the air. The cherry trees in your own neighborhood sway gently, their petals dancing in the sunlight, their branches dipping toward the ground as though offering their beauty to the world. It’s not quite the same as the ones in Japan, but they’re still stunning, just like the dream you once whispered to him late at night: that one day, you’d be there together to witness this moment.

His voice crackles through the phone, distant yet intimate, like he's right beside you. “They’re blooming here too,” Jeonghan says, and you can hear the awe in his voice, the wonder that always lingers when he talks about the little things that make life feel full. “I wish you could see them.”

There’s a slight catch in his words, and you can tell it’s the same wistful longing that fills your chest when you look at the trees, but you smile anyway, because you know he’s thinking of you.

“Next year,” you reply, trying to sound certain, though your voice catches in the same way his did. “We’ll see them together next year.”

You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the air around you, letting the thought of his warmth beside you on a spring day settle in your chest.

There’s a long pause. For a moment, the connection feels stretched across miles, but you can still feel him there, as though he’s standing in front of you, watching the same cherry blossoms. His voice, when it comes, is steady, unwavering, and filled with the quiet certainty that’s always been his signature. “We will.”

And in that moment, you know it’s true. You know that no matter how far apart you are, no matter how many missed calls or delayed flights or sleepless nights you face, this love is something that time cannot touch. It’s written in the cherry blossoms that bloom when the seasons change, in the soft glow of the moon that shines for both of you, no matter where you are. It’s in every smile that crosses your lips when you hear his voice, every quiet moment when you can almost feel him beside you, even though he’s thousands of miles away.

It’s in the way he always calls, no matter how late it is or how busy he gets. In the way he’s never too far to remind you that he’s thinking of you. You believe him because you’ve felt it—the way his love wraps around you, steady and sure, even when the distance feels endless. It’s in the promise of next year, and the year after that. It’s in every missed call, every whispered promise, and every moment that pulls you back together, stronger than before.

In the distance, a cherry blossom blooms.  

[machveil]

What do you HC König to look like under the hood?

..this is for scientific reasons , nothing nefarious going on here 👀👀

okay, so I have some Fun Thoughts, might get angsty (?), but overall we’re grooving🎀✨

CW: mention of a gun misfiring + shrapnel, past injury

[big sigh] crooked roman nose, and he’s got a big nose. I know it in my heart. very pronounced, his nose bridge is defined, but I’m a whore for a good crooked nose and I just. I know he has one, look away from me. as much as König is anxious over his physical appearance, I don’t think he hates his nose in particular or anything - like, yeah, it’s busted and another thing someone could stare at or whisper about, but it’s the least of his personal concerns. could he have it fixed? absolutely, he has the cash for it, but I think his mindset is ‘this could get broken again, why bother’

I don’t know, I just see him and I picture this man has a honkin’ nose

sad, wet König has sad, wet eyes. we know those baby blues anywhere, them icy eyes, but I think they’re always a little wet. he’s just one of those people who’s eyes always look a little glossy even when he’s not feeling any particularly strong emotion. he could be brushing his teeth and his eyes look wet

also, with his eyes in mind, he’s got long eyelashes. just a brief mention because, not that he cries regularly - far from it, but when he does? miserable little meow meow, he’s got big, fat tears clumping to his eyelashes as he sniffles (very snotty, sorry) and sobs (choked and broken, again, very sorry)

oh baby, man has thick, slightly upturned eyebrows. for as fearsome and intimidating as the Colonel is, he has resting miserable face. his eyebrows are thick, a couple stragglers that are longer than the rest (old man eyebrow moment). they naturally look like he’s knitting his eyebrows, even when his face is resting. he actually looks so pitiful and miserable when he actually furrows his brows, just a dramatic upturn

he’s ginger. in my head, he’s ginger. as much as I love hearing König with different hair colors, he’s got long, luscious copper hair to me. now, I’m not saying my personal opinion is objectively correct, but I have three photos that I want you to look at because please. please imagine sad, wet König with copper hair for me (picture one, picture two, and picture three). I’m a ginger König truther, I just have to put it out here

also, you heard me right. long hair. gorgeous, long locks of hair. let me paint you a picture, and by paint you a picture I mean here’s another Pinterest link. please! big, muscular man, the back of a Greek statue, and he has his pretty copper hair braided? ough, fucking manifesting him. and he has a lot of hair, it’s thick. he can’t be bothered to always brush it - can you imagine this behemoth of a man with the worst bed head ever? knots and matted down clumps of hair, stray strands poking out every which way - and when the sun hits his hair it looks a little more on the blonde side. I just think he’d be so pretty with copper hair guys, have I won someone over? do you believe me and my ginger König propaganda?

freckles!! as much as I love König having freckles, I don’t think he’d enjoy having them. and they’re not just under his hood, mind you, man is covered in them from head to toe. while his face is definitely coated in them, I think his shoulders and upper back got hit the hardest with them, also his arms, but more so his biceps. again, absolutely covered in them, but those areas are slammed with them

back to his face, he’s plastered. chin to forehead, ears dotted with some too. as an adult no one really comments on them because he wears the hood, very few actually know what he looks like, but as a kid? maybe it’s because he’s so heavily freckled, but that was a sore point that kids poked fun at him for. he’s carried that with him into adulthood, sometimes he’ll wear a balaclava around the house when he feels particularly bad about it - but even then, he still sees the freckles around his eyes

okay, so, firm believer he has facial scars, right? but I don’t think they’re from deployments or anything in the field, I think they’re from when he was a rookie. I saw one (1) post about it and it’ll live in my head forever (I wish I saved it, it was a recommended post on my feed that vanished). König has facial scars from shrapnel. this is really early König I’m talking about, predeceasing the balaclava and sniper hood. either his own gun or someone’s training next to him (I lean towards another rookie, I eat up the angst of it being something that was out of his control, don’t mind me), but there was a misfire and shrapnel got his face

I think prior to the misfire he still had a couple nicks and smaller scars from his childhood on his face. maybe a kid pushed him a little too hard and a piece of gravel got him or something. but this? granted, it was a total accident, but it shatters his heart. everything heals up fine, luckily it missed his eye, but half his face is scarred over in various spots - short and long streaks, rough skin covering where freckles had been

present day, as much as he hides his face for the sake of his identity, I think the main contributor are his scars. since that accident he’s gotten a few more minor scars to his face, mostly faded and barely visible, but the shrapnel scars are what he’s really hiding

I think his lips are on the thinner side, quite chapped too. in the same vein, I’ll also mention his teeth - König has nice white teeth, they’re just a little crooked. obviously, he’s very smoochable, got some kissable lips. he likes to joke about how, because his teeth aren’t perfect, he’d be easy to recognize by his dental records. he finds this very amusing

I think those are all my current thoughts on what he looks like! uuh, optional opinion I go back and forth on is him having stubble. I like to think he keeps clean shaven a majority of the time, but sometimes he’ll let his stubble grow out. sorry König beard truthers, I cannot get on board that train

[yurinaa-world]

"𝑅𝑒𝓅𝓊𝓃𝓏𝑒𝓁 𝑅𝑒𝓅𝓊𝓃𝓏𝑒𝓁 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝒟𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝐻𝒶𝒾𝓇"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Moze, Jing Yuan, Aventurine, & Blade x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: His hair is something else

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

A shadow guard like Moze has no time to take care of himself, which truly does explain the texture of his hair, rough and slightly tangled—because he never took care of it, has a lot of split ends with how his hair was styled and cut, it’s horrendous. 

He doesn’t have time to care about outside appearances and you usually can’t catch him on a day off to take care of his body properly until he (unlucky) gets injured and gets sent home, acting shameful and wishing he did things differently as if he got suspended from school. But you think this is positive since now he should take his “day off” and take care of himself.

Since he’s spending it with you, he’ll accept his situation. “See now you’re hair feels nice,” you complimented, scratching his scalp with your fingers, while you sat on the bed and had him sitting on the ground; his arm around your calf, pressing the side of his face against your knee. He may have been injured, but at least he can enjoy every part of your body, even your legs. “Doesn’t it feel nice when finally take care of hair?”

“Mhm,” He hummed. forget his hair, the feeling of you is way better to him. It might just be his only bliss. His hair was usually dry and unkept, like a quick comb (if he was lucky) and getting out there. (He would try to fix it up when going to see you, like running his hands slightly through it—just making him look like a total goof). 

Such rugged and matted feeling to it, yet it never bothered him when it was in his face, you always chided him about personal care, and he tried to listen, he truly did but his life had always been like this before you fell into his life. Old habits just die hard.

“Moze, move, I need to dry your hair.” Gently tapping him so he could move off your leg so you could dry his hair, yet he refused, he wanted to stay in this position for a little longer, but for the first time in a long time, he’s let his guard down.

“Forget it.”

💫𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈"

His hair is slightly messy when he puts it down from that ponytail he wears every day, his hair has been cut in several different layers which has just caused a complete mess when it’s put down. You needed a closer look at it, just curious, which he doesn’t mind at all, just keep running those pretty fingers like a lullaby being sung to a child and he won’t complain.

There may be a few tangles here and there, yet his hair was soft. The odd thing is, there are always birds popping in and out of that white nest that he calls his hair so you didn’t expect it to feel so good! 

“Seems like you’re having fun, yet try to be a little gentle with me.” 

That tired expression accompanied by his groggy voice, looking up at you from your soft lap as if you were some being out of this world. 

“Was I being too rough?” You worried, stopping your fingers, “I was only messing with you, keep on going,” he reassured you, a smile plastered on his lips just to make feel better, which you just laughed at before going back to where you left off. 

“Your hair is so odd.”

“What is odd about it?”

“So many layers and cuts at this point you’ll just have to wait for it to grow back to put into one proper layer.” you talked like some sort of dictionary that you were all about hair, yet it was adorable that you analyzed the strands of his hair as if he were your subject in a lab. 

“Do you like the style of it now?” he hummed, eyes closed and relaxing while your gentle fingers prodded against his scalp.

 “Of course I do! It suits you well! I couldn’t imagine you with anything else.”

“If you like it then I shall keep it that way.”

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

His hair looks like something out of a commercial, it looks so glossy like a diamond, looking smooth and soft to the touch, and you can't forget how well-moisturized it is. It makes any hair model jealous of him, yet it just makes you wanna touch his hair more, just to feel if it’s as soft as it looks. You can’t help yourself, it’s more like a need than a want.

No tangles, no matting, nothing bad at all. Just a touch that’s all you have to do while he wears his signature hat.

“Want a touch?”

He won’t act like he doesn’t see you staring, loving at his hair, looking like you wanted to get a feel—eyes lighting up whenever he goes to take off his hat. Tonight he feels tired, just wanting a little love from you after a tough workday. You, were already in bed as he came in, arms out waiting for him to hug you, which he couldn’t resist.

Feeling your arms around him, probably fixed the stiffness of his shoulders, as if you’re like a remedy to every problem he’s had.

 His scalp is killing him, won’t you help him out? Taking off the hat that sat perfectly on the top of his head and threw it to the side, one knee down on the bed, sinking the bed with the weight of his knee, before bending down; giving the go-ahead card to touch his hair.

It was just as soft as it looked to be, your soft fingers gently going through and touching his hair. He can see your eyes shine so brightly while playing with his hair as if he were a little doll.

Just the feeling of those pretty fingers makes him want to stay forever.

“Keep on going.”

💫𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈"

Rough and straw-like, are the only words you can use to describe his hair, you can tell he never takes care of it properly—always too busy going on missions, a quick shower—to get all that muck off and he’s gone out again, it’s truly a sad sight to see. A man with those illustrious locks of hair just to not be treated properly.

Even now with his hair wet and still filled with so many tangles, every time you try to move the hairbrush after fighting with a knot it just ends with another fight with another nasty knot, which makes him look back at you, biting his lip while pain looks in his eyes, as this wasn’t just the consequences of his actions. 

“Don’t look at me like that, you should brush your hair more often,” you groan after manually untangling the knot in his locks before arriving at the same problem again when you attempt to brush it again. “What am I going to do with you, blade,” sighing at the fact it’s been an hour of you doing this.

You hear his groans of pain while going through his hair, sectioning it pretty well. You can feel your hands go numb from all that fighting you had to do with his hair, but it was worth it since now his hair is silky smooth and smells like oranges, you can’t forget the little bows as well, and he’ll let put it on begrudgingly since you did all that work (and that you gaslit him about your pain).

“Like it? You’re so pretty now.”

“Tsk…”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[doki-doki-imagines]

author note: fic written a long time ago, but that is really fitting now. Hope you'll enjoy reading it!💫

“Michael is inside the locker room, you should see him.” Noa’s voice is firm, as always, even after such a big defeat, for him, it’s just like finishing a chapter, ready to start the new one, not many afterthoughts to ruin his next steps.

Michael Kaiser, your boyfriend can’t deal with defeat as well.

You enter the empty room, only your boyfriend is in, sitting in his sweat-drenched uniform, a towel covering his face.

You take uneasy steps toward his figure, he doesn’t even look up, too absorbed in his own world.

“Michael, I’m here, can you look at me?” You sit next to him, the bench creaks under your weight, you pinch the corner of the towel trying to lift it up, to finally see Michael’s face.

Your hand gets slapped away.

“Don’t even try it.” Some time ago this crude and cold voice would have swollen your eyes with tears, you would have been able to hear just the crippling hate in his voice.

Now you can hear the sad undertone and how the hate isn’t for you, but only for himself.

“What do you want to look at-“ he stands up abruptly, the bench recoil, the towel falls on the ground “At this failure! At this poor excuse of a player, walking trash-“ Michael can’t finish his phrase, broken sobs interrupt.

His blue eyes are bloodshot, the red of his makeup staining his face, sticky with dried tears. Michael is trembling, you don’t know if for sadness or anger, he is hitting his chest with his left fist, while the right hand is pinching his neck, the skin is broken, some drop of blood on his roses tattoo.

“Michael stop-“ You try to walk near your boyfriend, but he pushes you away and crouch on himself hands now covering his face

“No! You can’t understand, you don’t want to understand! This is all my life, I’m nothing- I shouldn’t even live if-“

“Michael!” You shout, finally stepping closer “Don’t you dare finish that phrase.”

It wasn’t the first time Michael got depressed after a match, but this is a peak he never reached before and it indescribably broke your heart.

He finally looks up, new tears forming in his deep blue eyes, you gently hold his cheeks with your hands, and lift his face up so you could look at him straight in the eyes.

“Your value as a person doesn’t depend on a match, no wait let me reformulate. Your value doesn’t depend on football. And don’t you dare-“ This time you are the one letting out a sigh “to say that you shouldn’t live anymore, because I can’t imagine a life without you.”

You kiss his forehead just before hugging him tight against your body, your right hand caressing his head.

Michael doesn’t reply back, he just keeps sobbing and crying on your shoulder.

“Please Michael stop crying, but I promise, losing this match won’t be your end, there will be a ton of other occasions, please Michael believe me.” You coo at him.

“O-Ok” His body still trembles under you.

“Can you look at me when you say that?” You say softly before kissing the top of his head.

He lift up from your shoulder and nod, a wobbly smile appearing on his face, his breath still being broken by sobs.

You smooch his forehead again, this time the contact last longer and he closes his eyes in relaxation, finally the sobs and sighs are slowing down and he is regaining control of his body.

“Can I kiss you even if I look like a mess?”  

A small laugh escapes your lips but you nod.

“I find you handsome-“  “you look like a wet kitty, love it.” You wanted to say, but his mouth catch yours before you can finish.

His chapped lips find yours. It’s a slow dance, made of broken breaths bound by a strong love. Your right hand drying away those fresh tears, your thumb moving slow circles on his sticky cheeks, the left one finds peace in the back of his neck, scratching his little hair knowing full well he loves it.

He is way more restless, the right hand that was holding your arm to keep you as close as possible to his body find soon his way to your waist, fingers moving up and down pressing and releasing your waist like a piano key hoping to generate a new sound at every broken breath. His left one is kept firmly in the back of your head, pushing your face impossibly close to his, nose bumping, eyelashes caressing each other faces.

It’s when you feel the familiar feeling of something wet in your mouth that your mind return to reality.

“Michael, ehi-“ You put both your hands on his chest gently pushing on his pecs “I think you should take a shower.”

He looks at you with his wide blue eyes and tilts his head clearly looking at you like you just said the dumbest thing on Earth.

“Are you saying I stink?”

This time it isn’t small laughter that leaves your lips, but one of those that shakes your entire body and that makes Michael look at you with even wider eyes.

“Yes a little, but that wasn’t my main point. I think you need to take a hot shower, relax and come home with me and watch a film that neither of us is gonna finish because we’ll both fall asleep the second I press play.”

The blonde seems to think about it a little before nodding, walking towards the locker room’s showers stripping at every step for the joy of your eyes, till he disappears around the corner the sound of running water filling the room.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna join me?” Just his head pop out from behind the wall, water already dripping down his face and hair, a particular droplet following the line of his veins down his neck, skin shiny and inviting-

“Go finish your shower, there will be better times.” You see his head bending down, probably preparing his better kitty eyes to convince you “At home we’ll have all the time of this world for example.”

Michael never finished a shower so fast.

[jackiepackiee]

Telemachus SFW Alphabet

an- some are way longer than others, but I didn’t have ideas for some… sorry!!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Being a prince, Telemachus has an important image to hold. Especially with the suitors around, he wants to be seen as strong. So he keeps the affection in closed doors. There are a lot of ways this could go.

With the suitors on a normal day he will simply walk with you. Knowing it’s best to just stay normal for avoid any comments.

If (and when) the suitors get snappy or make comments he’ll hold your hand to quickly pull you out of the situation. He’d fight, but his top priority is you being away from danger

So if it’s just you two, in his room, he’ll do very comforting acts of affection. Back rubs, playing with your hair, forehead kisses, holding your hand and rubbing your hand with his thumb. Sure, he’s a soft guy, but he’s a prince who likes feel like he’s protecting you.

Now, when Odysseus gets back he’s much more affectionate. Seeing how his dad treats his mom, he does the same for you. Like a mini Odysseus, copying all the loving things he does for his wife.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Lots of sneaking around and sharing secrets like kids. He would be the most supportive person you’ve ever met, lending you a hand in every way possible for all you want.

He’d love to train near you, he’d never want to spar or anything of the like in fear of hurting you. But you’d both spend afternoons in the courtyard with you petting his dog and him swinging his sword at a dummy you built of cloth and wool.

Your friendship could’ve started a multitude of a ways, he’d a kind person so it’s unlikely he’d turn down any genuine offers of friendship.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Certified lover boy is a fan of cuddling. His favorite being these three

He loves the “honeymoon hug” your face in his chest or his in yours. He loves being able to hear your heartbeat and know you’re with him. When you’re in his chest he’s as ease knowing you’re safe from the world around you

The “half spoon” is a close second, both for when you’re lazy after a long day and unable to energize yourself for more than simple conversation. Your calmest moments are spent here

When he’s in your lap he feels the world melt around him and is surrounded by you. When you’re in his lap he plays with your hair. Either way, in this position he’ll talk for hours about anything you want. Smiling at your with a lovestruck expression

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

You “dating” is you courting and it’s practically guaranteed your marriage will follow. He’s a royal, and it’s expected of him to be married. It’s not that he doesn’t want that though! He’s very excited to get married, even offering to send ships to fetch the best seamstresses to make your wedding attire

But… your marriage will wait until Odysseus returns. He can’t imagine such a large part of his life without his father, and he wants him to meet you. Knowing his family is complete is all he wants.

As for cooking and cleaning? Don’t worry, he has servants and your hand and foot if you so wish for them to do anything. He’s not a great cook…

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

…that’s not happening. Just like his dad he is loyal until death, and he’d escape the underworld to see you again if he had to

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

You’re both getting married, and you’ll become apart of Ithaca’s royal family like I said before, it’s going to wait until Odysseus is back so he can witness your marriage.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically he touches you as if you’ll break. Only a few times he’s truly used his strength. The first time he truly touched you was when his dad returned. He was so overwhelmed from both you being safe and him family being complete that he practically lunged at you in a hug. Other than that, it’s soft pats and gentle hand holding

Emotionally he has a gentle soul. Despite being a fierce and dangerous warrior of Athena, he is always looking for the good in the world. And he sees the good in your heart. His first priority is your wellbeing, so he’ll do anything to make you happy. No yelling at disagreements, no overly rude teasing, only compliments and soft comments when you get embarrassed at kisses

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

One of his favorite things to do is hug, it serves two purposes in your relationship

Either he feels at ease knowing you’re in his arms, he’s keeping you safe and the world around you won’t reach you as long as he’s around

Or he just needs a minute to rest and you’re a sanctuary for him. Giving him the affection he so desperately needs

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Two months into the relationship is when he says I love you

It’s no heated and crazy confession, but instead a cute and shy one that he plans. Secret is he’s loved you from the beginning, but he hasn’t been able to express it

He gives you an apple (a sign of love to do with Aphrodite) and stammers out the three words, looking at you as if you hung the stars in the sky

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s not that jealous, but it not impossible for him to be. While he may be shy, he’s doesn’t doubt you love and knows you’re loyal to him so he doesn’t worry

Although, if another prince tries to woo you, he gets mildly frustrated. In this case he’ll tell them to leave his kingdom, and that you’ve already taken your home with him

He wouldn’t fight the princes he gets jealous of, that would be stupid and reckless. Instead he proves to them you aren’t leaving by passive aggressive words (Athena taught him)

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are like the touch of sun when it meets the mountains of Ithaca in the early morning. Soft, gentle, and full of love

His favorite places to kiss you are your forehead, cheek, and the crown of your head since it’s very affectionate

His favorite places to be kissed are his lips, knuckles, and shoulders. He’s very ticklish so if you kiss him anywhere below his jaw he’ll giggle

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Seeing him around kids makes you want children so so badly. With babies he’ll hold them in his arms, always sitting so he doesn’t risk dropping them. His cooing is adorable, always him and the baby giggling at the infants meaningless babble

With older children he’s playful, and it’s not crazy for when you two visit the market for him to be swarmed by 8 year olds who climb him like a tower

He has the cutest smile around kids, and he would be an amazing father (it’s all he wants)

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He’s a morning person, always waking before you. Half mornings you’ll wake up to him staring at you with this sickeningly lovestruck smile. He’ll nuzzle his cold nose into your neck and laugh when you whine at him for 5 more minutes

Sometimes though, after your late night sneak outs when you sleep in, Penelope and Odysseus will come in early just to see their son and his lover so peaceful. Smiling as proud parents (if Telemachus knew this the blush on his face would be permanent)

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Lazy cuddling, with you in his arms while he dotes on you. You kissing his bruises he got from training in days prior while he is too tired to blush so he just embraces your love

He likes to let the moonlight into his room so he can still see your face in the dark night right before he falls asleep

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

A bit sad but one night everything just kind of comes out. He’s upset and looks to you for comfort, spilling all his heartbreak to you. This isn’t a time thing, but rather based on what happens in the events of the day. He trusts you with his life when you get together, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked for your hand in the first place. But his true feelings are like a tidal wave

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

With you? He’s only gotten slightly frustrated with you a handful of times. A few grumbled sentences before he sees your upset (sad or mad) expression and hated it so much he all together lost his aggravation and apologized

In general he’s docile, not wanting to start anything with anyone for no reason. But as we see with the suitors, he doesn’t take rudeness lightly and is willing to fight back, just not with you

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you?)

Everything you mention about yourself he remembers

Every reaction you have, such as a slightly disgusted face at a food or a smile at a certain compliment, he remembers

Every piece of advice he gets about you from his mother, Athena, and eventually his father, he remembers

He is whipped for you, and wants to know any and everything there is to know about you

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

A bit NSFW… (he’s 20, it’s okay 🫡)

After your first time together (and his in general) when you’re sleeping against his chest. He can feel everything, your soft skin on his, gentle lips still ghosting over his in memory, breaths leaving and igniting in your chest.

He never felt more in love, knowing he could trust you completely and you’re both each other’s everything

Seeing you be so vulnerable with him, trusting him, leaves his heart running fast

Not his favorite for physical, selfish reasons. But instead his favorite because he knew in that moment you’re there and forever will be

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

When the suitors are still in his home he is incredibly protective. Now he’s no idiot, and knows fighting the suitors for you isn’t ideal. He’d hate to see you upset at him being hurt, and no way he’d win in a fist fight against a group of grown men. So his protection is more planned out. Sneaking you around, never letting you around without him or a guard. Of course you’re free to do as you please. But he’s nervous

If it came to it though? Be it a threat to you, a comment on your honor, or someone gets too close he will fight. With his anger he’ll have a fighting chance

When Odysseus is home he’s much more calm. Knowing he and his father will care for you. (Odysseus is willing to kill for you, you’re part of the family now and anyone his son cares for he cares for)

He’ll still make sure you’re in someone’s protection though

As for himself? He just tells you not to worry… he wants to be able to get strong and needs to experience danger to grow

Though if you pet his hair after a fight, praising him for his effort? He’s melting like putty in your hand

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He will buy ANYTHING you want, spend as much time with you as possible

Dates consist of sneaking out of the palace to the gardens to pluck flowers and fresh fruit or mountains to watch the waves hug the shore. You’ll share soft kisses. You go on dates at night, liking the solidarity. Little do you know Penelope and Odysseus are always watching and smiling at their son so in love…

On anniversaries he’ll take you sailing, walk you through your soon to be kingdom, and finish the night off with a gift. It’s always something insanely expensive, and he just shrugs

“Expensive? Don’t worry about the price, it’s for you!”

He’s royalty, he has sheep to bargain and gold to trade for the finest luxury for you, so what if he’s a little oblivious to the material world?

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Idealism - Telemachus tries to see the best in every situation, and it can be hard for him to know what is realistic. Especially going into being king, he needs to learn how to be realistic and not stuck in fantasy

Anxiety - He’s overly protective of you, suitors there or dead. It doesn’t matter, even since he’s known such a great threat he doesn’t let the people close to him near anyone he doesn’t trust

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s not too concerned with his appearance in terms of vanity. He wants to look clean, and he is. Being a prince he’s usually dressed nicely, with gold pieces adorning him. But he doesn’t put effort into his “handsome,” as Penelope calls it, face or anything of the sort. He focuses on being strong and naturally gains a lean and muscular build

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

110%, Tele is very family oriented and you’re his family now. He spent a lifetime without his father, and everyone he holds in his heart can’t leave like that again or he’ll break. The longest he can take is a few weeks when he has to leave the island for royal issues

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He’s adored music ever since he was kid. Singing, instruments, anything to do with art. But he can’t for the life of him play the lyre. If the string wasn’t so tough Penelope swears the lyre would’ve snapped when a young Telemachus tried to strum a tune

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Disloyalty - He’s not asking for blood sweat and tears, all he wants is one person to stay by his side of the rest of his life. He’ll never get with someone who betrays someone without good reason, even if it was just a friend or acquaintance. Loyalty is important to him!

Apathy - He believes every person should feel strongly for something. After all, it’s love that pushed his father to survive and his admiration of his father/protection of his mother that made him want to be a hero. He couldn’t be with someone who didn’t care about at least a few things strongly

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

It’s a bit different depending on the situation. In most cases it’s you two cuddling with his dog at the foot of your bed

Suitors (normal day) he’ll sleep lightly. Chest rising with a steady rhythm that puts you to sleep in minutes. He wakes up in the middle of the night at least twice a week. He’ll check over the room to see everything is fine before he drifts off again

Suitors (after a fight) he’ll be on edge. Coddling you as if to reassure himself you’re okay. Sometimes he’ll leave you for a few minutes to check his mother’s room to see if she’s okay. On the worst nights, after a scary interaction, you’ll both go to Penelope’s room. Her petting your heads until you both drift off

Without his dad he spends some nights awake. You in his arms, or without, he’ll stare at the ceiling and just think. Think about any and everything to do with his life and the lives of those around him. It’s best you stay asleep, he finds comfort in sleeping you so peaceful

After Odysseus returns this poor boy sleeps like a rock. Arms cradling you as if he’s awake while in reality the gods themselves could shake the earth and he’d be less the wiser. No snoring, only soft breaths and cute little mumbles when he first falls asleep. In the morning he’ll recount all his wild dreams to you in detail.

[becsabillion4]

false god (we still worship)

pairing: carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary: Carmen has a bad shift, but you’re more than willing to turn his night around and show him exactly how good he is.

word count: 3,362

tags: SMUT, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, creampie, semi-public sex, window sex, lingerie, praise kink, vulnerable Carmy, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and yet again NOT an advert for safe sex. with that said, it’s fucking hot ;) and thank you to the wonderful person who submitted the prompt that inspired this, based around Carmy having a tough day and reader taking care of him (even though I’ve failed at tumblr and can’t find the original message). enjoy!!

thesydkid

Yo. Awful shift. Glad you weren’t here to see it.

whochefsouschef

fuckkk what happened?

thesydkid

Newbies think they know better than Tina because they went to CIA. You can imagine how Carmy took that.

whochefsouschef

was it kyle? he’s been like that since he started.

thesydkid

Yeah

Classic

whochefsouschef

syd?

I know that’s not all. kyle doesn’t warrant a text warning

thesydkid

Carm got food sent back.

whochefsouschef

shit.

thanks for the heads up

thesydkid

Good luck, cya tomorrow.

—------------------------------

It’s late, the kind of late where even the drunks winding through the streets have stopped their singing, the kind where it’s already too late to go to bed and get an ounce of good sleep. It’s the kind of late where you would have known it was a bad night even if Sydney hadn’t texted you first, because you know how hard Carmy cleans when he’s upset, and exactly how long that takes.

You sit up in bed abruptly, pushing your hair out of your face and considering your options. You have maybe ten minutes if Sydney texted you as soon as Carmy left, ten minutes to decide how you want to handle this kind of bad day. You feel a surge of frustration that you weren’t on shift tonight. As the Front of House Manager, you could have soothed the moronic, greedy, power-tripping customer who wanted to pull one over on the best chef in Chicago by sending back his perfect food-

Actually, maybe it was for the best you weren’t on shift tonight, or you might no longer have a job.

You smile when you think about how Richie will have handled it though. His courteous, collected energy even as he probably said something like, “Oh, you’d like to send this back? Wow, I’ve never heard a, uh - what do you call ‘em - oh, complaint before. Are you sure you know what this dish is?”

The smile fades when you think about Carmy’s reaction. You push yourself out of bed, decided by the image of his frustration, the anger he uses to hide his sadness. There’s been a few particularly bad shifts since you and Carmy moved in together - and Richie labelled himself as “matchmaker to the stars” for hiring you - and you know that if left to his own devices, Carmy will happily stay up all night stewing.

But you’re here now, and you’re determined not to let him. So you set your plan in motion.

By the time you hear his keys clink in the lock, you’re settled by the sofa, bare skin slightly chilled by the evening air coming in from the cracked window. You glance up as Carmy walks in, catch his eye, and he stops dead, hand still on the lock.

Bluer-than-blue eyes flicker across the scene you’re presenting for him - your best lingerie, your patient kneel, steady eyes - and he straightens from his tired stoop.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes still tracing how the lace drapes across your skin in the low light.

“Hi,” you smile. “Join me?”

Without looking away from you, Carmy shuts the door, drops his stuff in a careless pile. “Syd texted?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to surprise you.”

Carmy’s eyes drift away from you for a second, glancing around the room, like he does when he’s thinking something through. You can almost hear his brain clicking through the gears. Turning the kitchen off, turning something else on.

“It was bad, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuckin’ shitty.”

“It’s over.” You raise a hand to him, tilt your head towards the sofa. “Get over here and let me do filthy things to you to make up for it.”

He laughs at that, toes off his shoes and takes the few steps to the sofa. He doesn’t sink into the cushions like you expected though, but kneels in front of you. You reach out, run a hand over the side of his face, feel the days-old stubble rasping under your touch. Bringing your other hand up, you cup his face, thumbs tracing over the bags under his eyes like you can smooth them out with that simple touch. You can feel his exhaustion in the way he leans forward into the feeling, and it breaks something in you.

When you kiss him, you intend for it to be careful and slow. Bring him out of his shell, remind him that things outside The Bear exist. But the moment your mouths press together, the moment you nip the edge of his bottom lip, the drained and defeated Carmy is gone.

He surges forward, almost sending you tipping over backwards, arms wrapping around your waist. One hand slides to your lower back, stretching to cover as much of your skin as he can possibly grasp. Pulling you forward, Carmy bows his head to suck a bruise into your throat and you know for damn sure it’ll be visible tomorrow. A glaring mark, a “fuck you” to the rest of the world painted on your skin.

Your hands are far from idle either, and as one pulls at his T-shirt, rucking it up to explore the muscles beneath, you run a finger from the other over the arch of his ear. Carmy shudders in a broad, full-body motion and his hips stutter, jerk forward into you. You both moan at the contact and you want to chase it, feel him pressed between your thighs, but clearly Carmy has other ideas.

He reaches under your arms and pulls you up to stand with him, letting his hands continue their journey down your sides to reach your waist. All you have time to do is gasp as he hoists you off your feet, and he’s already walking towards your floor-length window as you desperately try to wrap your legs around his waist. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe, the hand not holding you up pushing deep into your hair and curling strands around his fingers so he can pull your head back, press more kisses to the hollow of your throat.

For a dizzying moment, you can see the lights of Chicago upside down, but you manage to pull your head up just before your back hits the cold glass. You hiss at the chill against your bared skin and Carmy runs a hot palm around to your back in apology even as his tongue continues its insistent sweeps against your own.

You barely register the soft clink of his belt, the push and rustle of fabric between you until his cock is pressed close, the only thing keeping it from filling you your own stupid lacy underwear.

With a frustrated groan, Carmy gently lowers you until your feet sink into the carpet, but he still gives you no room to move, pressing you into the misted-up glass as if he can’t tear his body from yours.

“Carmy,” you pant, unsure what you’re asking, but you know he understands when he grabs your upper arm, spins you around to face the view. The glass is warmer now, but still cold enough that the press of your barely-concealed nipples to its surface makes you moan as you hear Carmy kneel, feel him sliding your panties down your legs.

He doesn’t even let them reach your ankles before he’s up again, kissing his way along your spine as he goes, and finally, finally, the head of his cock nestles in where it needs to be.

Its hot and heavy presence has you pushing your hips back, wanting to feel the glorious slide of him, lose yourself in the moment he splits you, and all you can see, eyes half-slitted in pleasure, are the glittering lights of the city below. You live pretty high up and the lights are low enough that none of the busy pedestrians below should see, but all it would really take is a glance up and an observant eye. To see your breasts pressed against the glass, Carmy’s possessive hands gripping your hips as he finally drives into you. Even from this distance, you imagine the pleasure on your own face and your walls flutter around Carmy until he growls, pulls your hands from where they were flat against the window into a bind behind you.

There is nothing kind and gentle about this moment, no give in Carmy’s body as he fucks into you, and you revel in it. Let him take his pain and translate it into pleasure through your body. Let him take and take and take until he has nothing left to give, and let the world see him doing it. Let them see what’s his.

These thoughts alone have you teetering, desperate for a few more strokes, but the surprise of Carmy reaching around to draw lazy circles over your clit as he snarls, “Fucking look at you, look how good you take me,” has you seizing up instantly. You can faintly hear your own surprised cry through the buzzing in your ears, and Carmy’s gasps as he feels you pulsate around him, but you only fully come back to yourself when you press your forehead against the blessedly cool glass.

The strength of your orgasm is enough that your legs are visibly shaking now, and without a word, Carmy bends to scoop up your lower half and pulls you in, cradling you across his front. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm your breathing as you push your face into his chest, but before you can even begin to get your head straight, you feel soft sheets on your back as he lowers you to the bed.

He sinks down beside you, and all his desperation from a moment ago is gone as his body finally relaxes. He’s still hard and straining towards you, but the light has dimmed in his eyes, so when you reach for him, it’s to run a hand across his cheek, to bring his eyes to yours. When you move towards him, it’s to curl your legs with his, to press your forehead against his and settle his breathing with your own.

People think Carmy is so used to taking shit that it doesn’t hurt him anymore, but you know. You know how each word drives so deep that he doesn’t know how to take good anymore, how he invites the anger and the aggression of a kitchen into his soul because the alternative is realising that all the shit he’s been through is too awful, too devastating to reconcile. To keep feeling it, so he has no time to wonder what his life would be without it.

You see the weakness and the fear and the vulnerability, and you know how he absorbs the feeling and translates it into his work, how he uses it to fuel him, how he turns the criticism and the insults and the hatred into being better, being perfect, doing a good job.

“You are so wonderful, Carmy,” you murmur, and when he tries to look away, you hold his head still. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Shit, not really anything.” You’re silent, and he sighs as he caves under the pressure of your gaze. “Back when I was in New York, you remember that chef I told you about?”

You nod, because you know you can’t say anything remotely okay about that particular chef.

“He had this thing, about pasta. Thought he was some kind of expert because he spent, like, three months with Massimo Bottura. We had to boil water from cold every time, for every single batch of pasta we served, and there was this exact amount of salt we had to add. It wasn’t like a teaspoon, it was seven point three grams for every hundred of pasta. And he could fucking tell if you were off, he barely had to taste it. One time I saw him smell somebody’s pasta and tell them they were off by point two.” Carmy’s voice is shaking, and you move your thumb along his cheekbone slowly, calmly, giving him something to root himself to. Remind him he’s not there.

“And I was thinking about it while I was cooking the bucatini, and it’s like he was in the room again, saying the same shit he always did. Watching over my shoulder as I added the salt, and it made me so mad,” Carmy mutters, breaths coming in pants now. “And I didn’t even think, I just added like way too much salt. Enough to fuckin’ ruin it, ‘cos I just wanted to see him choke on it. And then I sent it out.”

You don’t take your eyes from his face as you curl one hand down to straighten the fingers of his, to stop the nails he’s digging deep into his palm from cutting into his skin.

“And of course it got sent back, and Richie apologised and comped their bill, and they didn’t care. But, like, I just sabotaged my own restaurant. My own reputation, becuase I can’t stop fuckin’ thinking about salting pasta,” Carmy finishes in a rush, and he finally meets your eyes.

“Carmy, you’re working in a kitchen every day. It’s no surprise you remember other kitchens you’ve been in, and the kind of behaviour you’ve had to endure. But it’s not that kitchen anymore. This is your kitchen we’re talking about, your space. When you look over your shoulder, he’s not there anymore. Syd is, and she’s got your back. We’re not some pristine, sterile team with no heart. Richie’s there.” You feel a surge of emotion so strong for the brilliant, vulnerable man in front of you that you push your face into his shoulder, hard enough that he has to steady himself from falling back onto the bed. His other hand comes up to card loosely through your hair, and you suppress a soft noise of comfort to finish with, “I’m there.”

“I know, baby,” he responds, pulling you closer until you’re practically curled into his lap. “And I think it’ll get easier, it’s already easier. I just don’t think I’ll ever entirely stop sabotaging myself. I’m not like the food I make, I’m not composed and-and, perfect. I’m not, uh, not always good at stuff.”

“Okay, but you’re good plenty of the time,” you whisper, looking up at him. You smile as he glances down, catches your eye. “I could go on for days about the stuff you’re good at.”

“Oh yeah?” Carmy murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, down and round the edge of your face to the shell of your ear. You shiver instinctively, press into the feeling.

“You’re good at that. Good at getting me out of control,” and your voice is already shaking.

“You’re not out of control, babe. I’ve got you. You’re mine,” Carmy is muttering inbetween kisses as he rolls you onto your back, pins your arms to your sides with his legs and begins to fully slide off your lingerie, slowly, carefully. His hands are, as always, steady. You remember all the times you’ve watched him roll a cigarette, piece together edible art as flames lick at his chef’s whites, and you can’t remember a time you’ve seen them shake.

From the eye of the storm he’s creating in you, you watch as he slides down the bed, skimming his lips across your trembling thighs until he sits back, and moves his hands to your knees.

You can almost feel the pleasure it gives him as, at the lightest touch from him, you part your legs, let him see what he does to you. What he has done. When he growls, you realise he can see remnants of your earlier escapade against the window at your entrance, his come marking you.

When Carmy dips his finger inside you, your hips jerk towards him, but he holds them down with one hand. His finger delves deep for a moment, and then leaves you suddenly, but before you can protest, he brings his hand to your face, offers you the digit. You’re entranced by the silent command in his eyes, and with no hesitation, you open your mouth and let Carmy’s come-covered finger slide inside, press deep towards the back of your throat. When you swallow, the bitterness makes you moan, envision being on your knees for Carmy, his fingers twined so deep into your hair it hurts, feeling his white-hot heat at the back of your throat.

It breaks whatever tension was stretched taut between you, and Carmy wraps his arms around your legs, pulls your body towards him and lowers his face between your thighs. For a moment, he teases you, nibbling at the juncture where your leg curves into your hip, skimming his teeth across the bone, but you know he’s secretly just as impatient as you are, and when he takes his first tender lick across your clit, he moans even louder than you do.

Giving head is an art for Carmy, and feels like a privilege to you. You’ve seen him enjoy food in the kitchen, give somebody that blown-away glance that they’ve worked their whole lives to see, but he never takes more than one bite.

But this, with you, as you watch him devour you whole...It’s the only meal you’ve ever watched him finish.

Tongue swirling delicately across your center, breaking for hungry kisses to your thighs as his hands grasp at any inch of you he can reach, you can’t help the words that spill from you, “yes, yes, Carmy, you’re so good, you make me feel so good, my good boy, please-“, but you can’t continue as he slides two fingers deep inside your aching pussy, so deep you don’t ever want him to move.

At this point in the erotic novels you read during your lunch break (which, if Fak were to find them, would spell the end of your career), the heroine says something about how it feels like hours pass with her lover between her legs. But this is real life, and all Carmy has to do is mutter, “Finish for me baby, finish for me,” for you to come embarrassingly quickly.

You’re practically incoherent on the comedown, and all you can summon the strength to do is pull him into you, press kisses to his forehead and mumble over and over how fucking amazing he makes you feel.

“If you lose everything else, Carmy, if you ever think there isn’t a thing in this world you’re any good at, just know that you are a god at giving head,” you pant eventually, and when he pushes his face into your neck, you can feel his smile there.

For a moment more, you just enjoy the press of his body against yours, revel in the sweat and slick between you. It dawns on you slowly just how slick it feels, and you gasp as you realise-

“Carmy, did you-?”

Carmy laughs into your skin, tracing one hand across your chest idly until you shiver. “Yeah. You, uh, you were moaning and telling me how good I was and…it was hot.”

You laugh with him breathlessly, still kind of in awe at how well you fit after all this time, how at home you feel with him. “Well, I hope that made your bad day a little better.”

Carmy is silent for a second before he murmurs, “You have no idea what you do for me,” and you can see the shine of his eyes in the glitter of the city lights filtering through your window. “There can never be a bad day if I end it right here, in this bed, in your arms.”

You would reply, but he’s kissing you into silence before you can, and you wonder for a moment if any words will ever need to be said between you and Carmy again, or whether you can communicate all the fear, all the anger, all the love, just with kisses and touch and his lips against yours. But eventually, as you slip into sleep with his body twined around yours, you decide that tongues were made for more than just talking.

[red-doll-face]

Imagine reader playing with Arthur's hair while he grumbles and pretends he's not totally into it >>>>>>>>😭🙏 But when you actually stop he's like 😳😞

that sounds so cute, i would love to run my fingers through his hair!!! 💖💖💖🥹🥹🥹 i wanted to do something short but writing for arthur always seems to run away from me, idkkk whyyyy i can never do anything bite sized with this man i stg. 😔😳😭😭😭 idk i guess small just doesnt cut it when it comes to this man 😏 i sort of took this as a request so i hope im not doing too much LMAO beware: sweetie weenie boy arthur...veryyyy fluffffy

Arthur doesn't like his hair as long as you like it but he can put it aside for you.

(high honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. reader

You had always thought Arthur’s hair looked nice, just a little bit longer than he preferred. Ok, maybe a lot longer than he preferred it but you couldn't help but like the way the strands fell in his pretty blue eyes, watching his big hands and fingers push it back over his head. His little frustrated huff when it inevitably slips back to feathering over the sides of his face was all too cute. You liked the way the sun caught the more blond strands; turned them a bright gold. You know the big scary outlaw, Arthur Morgan would never use the word beautiful to describe himself but you could use that word for him every day of every week.

And he doesn't always intend to grow it as long as he does, he runs out of time to get anything done about it, much preferring to return to your little corner of camp to rest with you sooner than stop in town. He’d rather come back to you, to get to lay his eyes on you than to spend another moment away from the sweet kiss you give him when he rejoins you.

 Of course, he was as strong as a draft horse. Arthur could handle just about anything thrown at him. But Dutch had a way of running him ragged. When it wasn’t Dutch, it was the other camp members and when it wasn’t them, it was himself. The pressure to be everywhere, to do everything; it crushed his shoulders down. You did what you could to help. It's why you so thoroughly enjoyed these quiet moments, just you and him in the cool evenings. 

“...Look at all this. Honey, I need a goddamned haircut,” he’d say, standing in front of the little mirror where he shaved his scruff after it grew too bushy. You sit on his bed, pouting at him. He stands with his hands gripping the edge of the barrel, turning to the left and the right. The way his hair bounced around made you giggle. 

“But-” 

“Yeah, you like it, I remember,” He sighs.

“I do, Arthur. I just think you look very handsome with your hair like that,” You look at his hair and then your eyes wander to his strong forearms gripping the lip of the barrel. You had found Arthur to be eye-catching the day that you met him. And his personality only bolstered how much you liked him. He could play at gruff simpleton brute but he had more sense and wit than most of the other men combined. He was more soft than he wanted to admit too, but he showed those pieces of himself to you. His vulnerabilities he liked to keep to himself; now he shares with you. 

“Right. You keep on tellin’ your beautiful lies; I might just start believin’ you,” He chuckles at the word ‘handsome’. You make a face at his self deprecating attitude. How he makes jokes of himself to keep his insecurities from seeming like they're bigger than they are. But the corners of his mouth always tug downwards when he’s looking in the mirror, even when he only intended to look at his hair or at his beard. 

“Arthur, I’m not lying. Come here?” You’re more siren-like than you realize; your beckon makes him turn, huffing a little. As if he knows he’s in some degree of trouble. The little disappointed frown you have is something he can’t help but look away from. Arthur leans away from the barrel and steps closer to you. He reaches for his hat that sits on the table at his bedside but you stop him, a gentle hand over the top of his. 

Your hand tugs him closer and he allows you to guide him. You squeeze his palm, those hard working hands, rough from all that he does with them.

He lets himself relax, which he rarely does, he’s always doing something or on his way there. But you love to hold him in your arms. To make him stay still with you for awhile.

He sits and the sweet kiss he gives you makes you light up. But you motion to have him lay over you while you play with his hair, even if you can tell he wants to keep giving you kisses. His head is in your lap while he uses your plush thighs as pillows. He’s a bit stiff, as if unwillingly and begrudgingly doing as you say. His brow still crinkles a bit, some of the lines on his face from pulling grimaces are creased. You lift the strands upwards to marvel at how long they are. 

“Too damn long,” 

“No, never,” you coo at him through his faux displeasure.

“Never? You’re kiddin’ me, sweetheart. Only you could want a man with hair down to his ass,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. You miss how he softens even more at your laugh, he liked that you found his jokes funny or at the very least, silly enough to warrant such a reaction.

“Ok, ok, you can get it cut, but maybe not so short on the sides? I like when it’s long here,” You look down at his eyes, petting the loose locks he usually wants to cut a bit shorter to keep hair off of his neck. 

“I’ll think on it; it’s still on my head, ain’t it?”

You giggle humming contentedly as you continue rubbing his hair in your fingers. He relaxes more even as he continues to murmur about how much he can’t wait to watch it all get chopped off at the barber in town. You shake your head, feeling him go soft from his usual intensity. 

Your nails lightly scratch against his scalp, your fingers pet his hair this way and that. Then you transition to what you know he likes, a repetitive soothing motion through the locks of his hair. The way the small furrow just over his nose bridge flattens out makes you smile. You can see his hands stop fussing, his lungs fill with a deep breath and puff it out slowly. He props one leg over his bed and the other hangs down to the floor. And he might grumble but those turn into simple rumbles of soft pleasure. You watch the tension leak from him, his usual stiffness weakening.

You’re pretty sure you can lull him to sleep like this, the rhythmic stroking over his hair and scalp like a lullaby. You comb his hair backwards, his thick hair is tangled in some places and you help work through it gently. When you feel you’ve perhaps messed with his hair enough, you remove your hands. One of his eyes slips open from where he had both closed in a sleepy gesture; revealing that gem toned hue. He looks grumpier than when you started, perhaps a little disgruntled. 

“What?” you ask, knowing he misses the sensation of your fingers fiddling around in his hair. “Thought you didn’t like me ruffling your feathers,” you tousle it a little. The teasing in your voice is prominent when you smile down at his small scowl, no real bite behind his bark. 

He seems to flush a little bit, you can appreciate the way his blushes crawl up his face, he can never hide how you make him feel. His artificial glare melts away. 

“It should be you, I guess- ya know, rufflin’ my feathers,” his sentimental tone brings him out of his element, showing his nerves around you. Not so steadfast now. You smile warmly and shyly as well, touched by his genuine feelings, the ones he told you just as bashfully that he harbored for you.

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HE CAN DO NO WRONG 😍💓🫂😭😳🥰 thank you for reading !!

[botchedsundoll]

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; christmas hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none! pure fluff

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; ho ho ho merry christmas idc if its nov its christmas time… do ppl drink on christmas? we do so idek? icl this is all like stuff i made up bcos i don’t celebrate christmas like this but wtv we roll #wesołychświąt

C. OLIVEIRA

do not let this man near the kitchen. everything that can go wrong goes WRONG

ask him to take something out the oven, he drops it. ask him to stir something in the bowl he stirs too vigorously and it goes flying all over the counters

he’s a pain. he’s distracting. constantly getting infront of you with the mistletoe, thinking he’s slick by trying to sneak in kisses. constantly sneaking bites of food whenever he thinks you’re not looking (you are, and you smack his hands away with a spoon)

one thing he’s actually good at and enjoys is cookie decorating. he’ll make little gingerbread men of you two and make them so damn detailed. makes one for jill too, though with less care and her face ends up a bit… strange

he’s THAT person which is always ringing everyone, friends and family, wishing them a merry christmas and sends them stupid gifs slavic babcias love so much (if u dont know what i mean then☹️)

LOVES the whole aspect of the christmas tree yet hates putting it together, it pisses him off to no end and half way through ends up calling you over to help him… definitely picks you up so that you can put the star on top

if he gets an ugly christmas sweater you best believe he’s wearing it for the full day, no shame

L. KENNEDY

depends which leon we’re talking about

younger leon puts in more effort, older leon genuinely can’t be fucked to do much

walks around with a trash bag when everyone���s opening presents so there’s no mess on the floor

your guys’ house is literally the christmas function. every year. mostly due to you inviting everyone round and deciding to host it, much to leon’s annoyance but he doesn’t mind THAT much since he loves you!!

definitely the best gift giver. for some damn reason he just knows what everyone wants, genuinely no explanation for it. he just does

he’s such a sweetheart, constantly asking you if you need help with anything in the kitchen or whether you need him to pop to the store for anything

he 100% sang carols when he was younger. just imagine 7 year old leon, hair gelled back, button up shirt, stood infront of the tv singing carols (lets pretend he didn’t have all that trauma okay)… get him to sing again, he might cave once he’s drunk enough with chris

on the topic of chris, something ALWAYS happens when the pair have had a few and aren’t sober any longer. something always gets broken for some reason

one year, they randomly got up and started dancing. leon went flying into the christmas tree and took it down with him.

i hc him as having a rather large sweet tooth, so he’s always down for some cookie decorating! it’s rather sloppy and they end up looking questionable most of the time, but he ends up eating half of them before he’s even fully finished decorating so that’s not much of a problem anyways

C. REDFIELD

santa. need i say more?

nag him constantly to wear a santa outfit or atleast a santa hat. he will cave eventually

DEFINITELY gets a wallet for christmas every damn year without fail, yet doesn’t even use the damn wallets

him in the kitchen helping you out is definitely… something. he doesn’t know how to measure - what the fuck is a cup?

you asked him to help you out and stuff the turkey. he walked out the kitchen.

gets claire shitty gifts on purpose but then gives her her ACTUAL gift. they’re siblings after all, he can’t help it, old habits die hard

hates decorating the outside of the house. it’s his nightmare. all the stupid lights, just no

goes CRAZY on your gift. it’s like a little reward for all the effort you go through every year, and it’s always something you wanted badly and doesn’t fail to put a smile on your face

he’s not necessarily a fan of sweet things, but hot chocolate? that’s a completely different story entirely, you end up having to send him to buy milk since he drank the whole damn carton and there’s none left by the time you get around to actually preparing for dinner

like leon, sits there with a trash bag. he gives such dad vibes i can’t stop imagining it

him and leon ultimate christmas duo after a few drinks. all of a sudden chris is in the biggest christmas spirit ever and can’t get last christmas out his head

best thing is? he’s not even too big on christmas. he actually celebrates it just because of you, what a sweetheart

[ox-imagines]

Tokyo Debunker as Romance Tropes

Feel free to ask me to write a longer imagine/oneshot for any of these!

Pt. 3 | Jabberwock

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7

Haru - Love at First Sight

Haru is a very busy man. He’s always on the go, rarely ever thinking about romance because he’s got thirty-thousand other things on his mind. One day, all these things weighing on him distracted him enough that Peekaboo managed to get out of his pen, wandering off out the back door that Ren had left open again. When he realized Peekaboo was missing he almost lost it, flying into a full panic and racing out the door. He found him playing with you in a large clearing in Jabberwock, you sitting on the ground picking wildflowers and handing them to Peekaboo, who’d sort them into piles based on their color. He was so relieved he came to a dead stop on the spot, a horrid crunch coming from one of his ankles from the sudden force of his momentum. He fell over, wincing softly, and you quickly moved over toward him, asking if he was ok. When he looked up at you, his breath caught in his throat. The sun was behind you, framing you and lighting up your loose hairs like they were glowing, and you wore a soft, concerned look on your face, which as far as he was concerned may well have been the prettiest face he’d ever seen.

“I, um, I’ll be fine, it, it happens! Thank you for watching my baby, I can’t believe I let him escape… whaddya say I, uh, treat you to dinner tonight as a thank-you?”

Towa - Soulmates

Towa has always loved the idea of soulmates. Towa loves love, period. Unfortunately, his love and devotion to Haru get in the way of him finding his own soulmate. At least, until you come into his life. He thinks you’re perfect: you understand him better than anyone ever has before, you’ve got an uncanny way of keeping his rapid mood swings at bay, and soon, he listens to you and does things for you unlike he will for anyone but Haru. The two of you can often even communicate without words, you adapting to his nonverbal tendencies so well you sometimes adopt them when you’re around him. You’re a bit free-spirited, but grounded enough that his wild, free spirit is calmed around you. Even if you don’t believe in soulmates, Towa does, and he’s certain that you’re his and won’t hesitate to let you know that on a regular basis. He regularly comes to you with R&R permits asking you to go off campus with him.

“~~~. You’re the one for me, Dandelion. Please never change~”

Ren - Roommates

All things considered, Ren is a good roommate. He doesn’t really help clean, but he also doesn’t spend much time outside his room to make much of a mess in the first place. He minds his own business, he never makes much noise, and sometimes, you can convince him to play video games with you. Ren loves video games. Sometimes, Ren loves video games more than he cares about his personal space, at least considering you’re also laid-back and mind his boundaries, so every once in a while he’ll even invite you into his room to play something with him, or watch game playthrough videos. One day, he does something you wouldn’t have ever expected of him, inviting you to watch a movie with him. You agree and go make popcorn, only to realize he’d meant in his room rather than the living room. You end up sitting up at his headboard together rather than perched on the end of his bed like you usually do when you’re in there. This becomes more frequent, the space between your shoulders decreasing little by little each time, until the night you fall asleep on his shoulder. He gets flustered, not even realizing you’re asleep at first, but he can’t deny that it’s a nice feeling to have you cuddled up next to him like that.

“So, uh. There’s a new movie that came out a couple weeks ago and it’s available to rent now, do you maybe wanna watch it tonight? I know you don’t love horror stuff, but…”