#just thought I’d remind every one of that

[retrosabers]

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝.

FICMAS DAY 5 - UNWRAPPING

A RETROSABERS X PANDAPETALS DOUBLE FEATURE

old man logan x fem!reader

summary: logan didn’t believe in exchanging christmas presents. so, you offer him something you know he can’t refuse. a night where’s he’s free to have you all to himself.

contains: 18+ content below the cut. MINORS DNI. making out, some dry humping if you squint, oral (fem receiving), implied age gap, a dash of angst, swearing

word count: 2.6k

a/n: you thought i’d let a whole season pass without a little taste of some festive smut? absolutely hilarious. this is my first time writing for old man logan, and i think i did pretty alright considering i have yet to watch the movie (i’m terrified of the pain it will bring)

any feedback is always greatly appreciated!

also, don’t be confused by the fact that this says day 5 when i still haven’t posted day 4, i’m writing these bad boys out of order

and finally, a huge shoutout & thanks to the wildly talented @pandapetals for agreeing to do a little collaboration! please go check out her blog and all of her amazing work! <3

FIND HER PART HERE

!! divider by @estrelinha-s !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“are you sure your eyes are closed?”

logan grunts. “they’re closed, darlin’. promise.”

he’s been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes now, waiting for you to bring out this so-called “surprise.” from the ambient lighting and freshly washed bed sheets, the man thinks he’s got a general idea of what it is, but you’ve been fiddling in the bathroom too long for him to be certain.

still, he appeases you, and waits patiently at the foot of your bed. even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable on his knees.

meanwhile you’re fussing over every little detail of your appearance in the groggy bathroom mirror.

this was your solution to getting around logan’s “i don’t need anything for christmas” rule. you always begrudgingly abided by it, save for the box of cigars that always mysteriously turnt up in his nightstand on christmas eve. you knew he could never turn it down, no matter how much he tried.

logan could never say no to a smoke break with a nice pack of cubans. and he most certainly couldn’t say no to you.

that's how you decided upon this whole scheme. dolling yourself up and donning a new set of lingerie themed to the occasion, knowing logan had no leg to stand on. because technically, you didn’t buy anything for him. you bought this for you. he just so happened to be the person who was going to help take it off.

or rip it off, knowing your man’s track record of impatience and eagerness.

you share the exact same sentiment, though your tendency to be anile overpowers all else. you know it doesn’t matter if you have a hair or two out of place, or if your lips are slightly over lined. perfection never mattered to logan, but it still didn’t stop you from doing everything in your power to be pretty damn close to it tonight.

even if it meant making him wait a few extra minutes.

you pay your reflection one final glance before sauntering out into the bedroom.

he smells you before he hears you.

your scent wafting into the room captures his attention more than anything else. logan’s senses may not be as keen as they once were, but the fragrance of you was something utterly unmistakable. a sweet yet sultry aroma that he ached to have on his skin, his clothes, anywhere, to keep him grounded. to remind himself that you were real and you were his. it only adds to the anticipation building inside, the mere seconds he has to wait dragging on like hours in his mind.

a wave of lust overtakes you as logan comes into view. somehow just the sight of him is enough to send a bout of arousal down to your core.

that crisp white dress shirt he always wears is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to reveal those chiseled forearms you love to have wrapped around you. the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the weathered curves of his face so beautifully. a contrast to the ruggedness of his position; legs lazily spread wide and long, thick fingers tapping mindlessly against his thigh.

the picture of a real man. and he’s all yours for the taking.

the sound of your footsteps padding against the floor grows louder. obediently, logan’s eyes stay shut, despite the fact that the other aroma you carry is hot and heavy in his nostrils. his upper lip twitches with a knowing smirk.

so this is exactly what he had in mind.

on instinct, his thighs spread even further when he senses your approach, hands itching to find their place on you somehow. when your own stay glued to your sides, he takes that as his cue to do the same.

logan really hates to admit it, but there’s something about this little bit of mystery that’s got him going before you’ve even begun.

“you ready?” your voice comes out breathy, and if logan didn’t know any better he’d think you’re nervous. and truth be told, you were. not that logan wouldn’t get his kicks, you were certain of that. more so that you’d be unable to walk come tomorrow morning.

though neither of you would consider it a bad thing

“yes ma’am,” he grumbles in response, knowing exactly the effect it has on you. the cockiness on his face is inevitable when he hears your breath hitch.

tease. if that’s how he wants to play, you’re in for a long night.

with a quiet sigh, you splay your fingers over the expanse of his broad shoulders. the man takes it as permission, calloused palms wrapping around your calves and not daring to travel any further. he knows he’ll lose any remaining self control if he gets so much as an inch closer to the apex of your thighs.

“okay.” you murmur. “you can open your eyes.”

slowly, those dark irises begin to drink you in. his grip on you tightens as soon as he gets the whole picture, a visible tent forming in his dress slacks almost immediately.

logan thought you were the most beautiful women he’s ever seen under any conditions. didn’t matter if you were sick, if you were bare faced, none of that changed how otherworldly you looked in his eyes. but nothing, and i mean nothing, compared to the sight of you before him right now.

you look like something out of a dream. hair styled in a way that drives him particularly crazy, makeup done to highlight your features so elegantly in the dim light. the best, and quite possibly logan’s favorite part, however, is that your lips are painted a shade of red to perfectly match the ensemble adorning your body. it sparks a slideshow of rather lewd images in his brain, wanting the color scattered across his cheek, his chest, his cock. anywhere you’re willing to brand him.

he’s committed every inch of you to memory by now. countless nights of exploring, mapping out your curves with hand and tongue. and still, everytime he sees you like this, practically offering yourself on a silver platter, he can’t help but stare back as though this is the very first time.

especially when that crimson silk is accentuating your figure so nicely.

“do you like it?” you ask coyly, bottom lip tucked between your teeth like you’re not fully aware of the power you have over him.

logan scoffs out a laugh, dragging his hands higher and higher until they tug at your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap in one swift motion. you squeak at the sudden display of strength, forgetting that despite his age, he was still infinitely stronger than any man you’ve ever met.

even beneath the layers of fabric between you, the sheer size of him was impossible to ignore. fuck, and he wasn’t even fully hard. you bite back a moan at the outline of his length pressed between your legs.

“that answer your question?” he quips back lowly, smirking smugly.

you hum in content, pressing your hands further into his shoulders as you experimentally grind your hips. the pair of you preen at the contact, desperate for any form of relief after being pent up and waiting.

“careful,” logan grits out in warning. “gonna cum in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager if you keep that up.”

you tsk in response, cocking your head with faux concern. “can’t have that, now can we?”

logan shakes his head at your antics, eyes wandering back over your body once more. before tonight, his favorite set of lingerie you owned was a black lacy number. simple and classic. but the more time he spends inspecting what’s currently adorning your frame, the more he thinks that red might be his new favorite color.

something warm spills over him when he glances at your chest again. something different than what he normally experiences every time he catches a glimpse of your cleavage, anyways.

“is that a bow?” he questions, a little bit amused.

you let out a soft giggle, nodding in reply.

“wanted you to be able to unwrap your present.”

you can count the amount of times logan has laughed, really truly laughed, on one hand. and as much as it sounds like music to your ears, you’re rather confused as to why he’s laughing right now.

“what’s so funny?” you huff, brows knit together and bottom lip jutted in a near pout.

logan averts your inquiry, burying his face in your neck so you can’t see him grinning like an idiot. instead, he busies himself with dragging his lips up and down the column of your throat, reveling in the breathy moans spilling from your lips with each and every press against your skin.

from the moment you met logan howlett, you fantasized about that salt and pepper beard. longed to feel the delicious sting of scruff against every part of you. as addicting as it is, the sensation isn’t enough to keep you completely distracted.

“logan,” you whine, titling your head back to grant him more access. “m’serious.”

he doesn’t halt his ministrations, too consumed with making sure your neck is painted every shade of lavender under the sun. he only stops when you rake your fingers in his hair and physically pull him off, much to both your dismays.

you give him a look. that pursed lips, narrow eyed “what aren’t you saying to me” look that signals he’s going to have to fess up to whatever’s on his mind, or else the evening would be coming to an end right here and now. from the way he’s about to burst through the zipper on his dress slacks, you know he’s not considering weighing options.

logan sighs heavily. if you didn’t know all the variations of the sound, you’d think he was upset with you. but that was far from how the older man felt. he begins to examine your face, observing everything from the slopes of your bone structure, to the color of your irises. he studies your features like an artisan in a gallery, content on not missing a single detail.

after a moment, the corners of his mouth turn up a hair. eyes almost dopey; filled with a lovesickness he never thought could be possible.

“you’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmurs into the air, rough fingertips tracing back and forth across your spine.

you speak the language of logan fluently, knowing exactly what the underlying message of his words were. in reality, he was saying, “what did i do in this life to deserve you? will you ever know how much i love you? i hope you’ll be mine for as long as you’ll have me.”

suddenly his round of laughter from before rings brighter in your ears.

instead of saying another word, you guide his face to yours, connecting your lips in a silent understanding.

logan always kisses you like a man starved, devouring you whole as though every kiss may be the last. there was nothing tame, or tender about the man they once called the wolverine, but you managed to slip between the cracks of his stony disposition, and bring forth all the parts of himself he swore he lost decades ago.

your hands encircle around the back of his neck, logan’s squeezing at the flesh of your hips. he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing the swell of your chest against his own. the feeling of your nipples pebbling through velvet fabric reminds him of the true nature of your current situation.

tonight was for him. his pleasure, his enjoyment. he knew you’d be heavily dissatisfied if he didn’t indulge in what you were offering.

and what kind of man would logan be, if he disappointed his sweet girl?

you’re not expecting him to be so gentle when he turns and flips you over, mouth never once leaving yours. a large hand spread across your back as he lowers you down onto the mattress with a care reserved for you and only you. a fact that adds to your current state of arousal. your legs open like second nature, and logan slots himself between them as though that’s where he was always meant to be.

the whine that leaves you when he pulls away would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the hunger in his stare. those normally hazel pupils now a brownish black that overshadowed bright white. he sits back on his haunches, glazing over your pretty little lingerie with a newfound appreciation.

he reaches to toy with the end of the bow tied snugly between your breasts, a teasing invitation that he graciously accepts.

at a tantalizing pace, he begins to unwrap his present, watching with lustful eyes as more and more skin becomes exposed. you arch your back the slightest bit to get the job done faster, the shoe of impatience now snug on your foot instead of his.

normally, logan would scold, spit something about “being a good girl and waiting.” but he’s just as riled up and eager as you are, and he gives the velvet one final tug that has your breasts springing free.

god you were absolute perfection.

he can’t resist running a thumb over your erect nipples, reveling in the way you squirm over such a small touch. your color coated lips swollen and shiny from his kisses. body already relaxed and pliant, willing to do whatever he so pleases.

a few minutes ago, he would’ve torn your outfit off without second thought and shown no mercy. let the shitty week he was having take control, guide him through the motions of achieving pleasure. but something inside logan urges him to be a little sentimental; take his sweet time on the off chance that he wakes up and discovers this was all a dream.

so he decides that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

the path down to your core was a familiar one, a route he knew like the back of his hand. sloppy, wet kisses trail down your stomach, a small crack in logan’s otherwise composed exterior. by the time he reaches the hem of your panties, tongue teasing beneath the waistband, you’re bursting at the seams with desire, unable to stop yourself from whimpering and bucking your hips upward.

“i gotcha honey,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. “m’gonna take real good care of ya.”

logan knew you were soaked the second you walked into the room. didn’t need to see or feel it to know. still, he indulges his ego and stares proudly at the dark patch in the center of your underwear. knowing it was all his doing, that he was the only one who could get you like this.

when he pulls the fabric to the side and is met with your glistening folds, he can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to me,” he all but growls before diving right in.

it’s in moments like these where he wishes that photographic memory was his mutation, though he doubts he’ll ever forget this. his perfect girl, laid out so delicately beneath him, basking in the pale moonlight that seeped in between the curtains. his own personal utopia, paradise within the four walls of this rickety building you called home.

logan wonders if maybe he’s finally succumbed to the poison in his bones. because this sure does feel like heaven.

at the very least, it most definitely feels like christmas.

because having the privilege of watching you come undone was the gift that kept on giving all year round.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals @hextech-bros

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

The first Christmas after the Curtis parents die is not only the gangs first Christmas without them, it’s also their first Christmas without Johnny and Dally.

[jinniejjam]

Lonely Wine

✎ Mean Neighbor!Lee Know x Lonely Afab!Reader

✎ Christmas AU, Emotional, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, 18+ MDNI! NSFW, Mutual Pining, Smut, Mistletoe Trope, Romantic Ending.

✎ 3.4k

✎ Synopsis: you find yourself feeling alone and distant, lost in your own thoughts. Your annoying neighbor, Lee Minho, crosses your path, and the exchange between you is far from pleasant. But then, to your surprise, he apologizes. As the holiday season continues, the walls between you begin to crumble, and you start to realize that even the most unexpected neighbors can bring warmth and connection when you least expect it.

A/n : hii y'all! I bring the christmas fanfic for today, hope you enjoy the story and also Merry Christmas! I hope warmth found u^^

—Bae

The air was cold, sharp against your skin as you leaned on the edge of your window, a half-empty glass of wine in your hand. Christmas Eve had always been a hollow affair for you, a reminder of what you didn’t have.

Your family wasn’t just complicated—it was fractured, splintered beyond repair. Your parents had divorced years ago, both quickly moving on to build new families, leaving you somewhere in the middle. No one outright abandoned you, but no one fought for you either. Holidays became a game of polite invitations and shallow smiles, and eventually, you stopped trying to belong anywhere.

You finished the wine faster than you intended, the warmth in your chest doing little to ease the ache. The sound of distant laughter and carols drifted in through the window, each note a cruel reminder of what this night was supposed to be.

When you realized your stock of wine was gone, you sighed and grabbed your coat. A trip to the store would be better than sitting alone with your thoughts.

The grocery store was mostly empty, its fluorescent lights buzzing softly. You wandered the aisles, the sight of festive decorations and holiday discounts doing nothing to lift your spirits. Three bottles of wine went into your basket—too much for one night, maybe, but you didn’t care.

By the time you returned to your building, your arms were aching from the weight of the bottles. You stepped into the elevator, letting out a breath as the doors closed.

But they didn’t close fast enough.

“Hold it!” a familiar voice called, and your stomach dropped as Lee Minho slid in just before the doors shut.

Of course. Out of all the people in this building, it had to be him.

Lee Minho, your annoying salty neighbor who had been a thorn of your peacefull life in this building, you're not sure how and when it started, but every encounter with him always feels like a war somehow, well its maybe begin from the very first you moved in to this building.

Flashback

The new apartment smelled like fresh paint and floor polish. You sat on your worn couch, staring at the boxes still stacked in chaotic clusters, a sigh escaping your lips. Starting over wasn’t easy. The stress of work and the pressures of life had already begun weighing down on you, but you were determined to make this new chapter as bright as possible.

After a long debate, you decided to bake cookies for your neighbors as a peace offering—a way to establish yourself in the building. A sense of community might help ease the loneliness. Armed with a plate of warm cookies, you stepped out of your door, knocking at the unit beside yours.

It swung open sharply.

The man who stood before you was breathtakingly gorgeous, but his expression was nothing short of murderous. His dark, sharp eyes narrowed in annoyance, his jawline so sharp you could swear it could cut glass.

“Yes?” His voice was flat, unwelcoming.

“Oh, hi! I just moved in next door. I made cookies and thought I’d introduce myself!” you said, holding the plate out with a smile.

He stared at the cookies like they were contaminated.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” His tone was curt. Without another word, he shut the door.

You blinked, stunned. What the hell was that?

Or that one time when he complained, saying that you're being loud just 3 days right after you moved in.

The next few days after moving in filled with unpacking, arranging furniture, and trying to settle into your new place. It was exhausting, and by the weekend, you decided to reward yourself with a relaxing night—some wine, your favorite playlist, and a bubble bath.

The music was soft, barely above a whisper, but as you swayed along while unpacking some remaining boxes, a sudden knock startled you. It wasn’t just a polite tap; it was loud, deliberate, and aggressive.

You frowned as you opened the door, only to find yourself face-to-face with your grumpy neighbor. Lee Minho stood there, arms crossed, his dark eyes glaring down at you like you were the source of all his problems.

“Seriously?” he snapped.

“What?” you asked, taken aback.

“The music,” he said. “Some of us are trying to sleep, and your constant noise is making it impossible.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s barely 9 PM.”

“And? Some people have early mornings,” he replied. “Unlike you, apparently.”

You folded your arms. “Excuse me, but I’m not exactly throwing a party over here. The music is quiet enough that I can barely hear it myself. Maybe the problem isn’t me; maybe it’s you.”

His jaw tightened. “Oh, so now I’m the problem?”

“Kind of, yeah,” you shot back. “Maybe you should consider moving to a remote cabin in the woods if you hate hearing other people so much.”

The tension between you crackled like static. He exhaled sharply, clearly deciding you weren’t worth more of his time.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “Just keep it down.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his apartment, leaving you fuming in the doorway.

You think that was the moment the gloves came off. From then on, the two of you clashed at every opportunity—snarky comments in the elevator, icy glares in the hallway, and a mounting frustration that turned into outright hostility.

Back to present time, he leaned casually against the cold wall of the elevator, his sharp eyes scanning the bottles in your arms. His smirk was almost immediate.

“Three bottles?” he quipped, tilting his head. “For one person? What is this, a pity party?”

You didn’t respond, staring straight ahead and hoping he’d shut up.

But Minho wasn’t done. “What? Are you that lonely? Not even a family to spend Christmas with?”

His words hit like a gut punch, sharp and uncalled for. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles as you turned to glare at him.

“Yeah, keep talking, Lee. I’m sure your perfect little life makes all of this just so much better,” you shot back, your voice trembling but laced with bitterness.

Minho blinked, taken aback. He had expected you to snap back, to fight him with the same sarcastic edge you always did. Instead, he saw the hurt in your eyes, the raw emotion you’d been trying so hard to hide. His stomach twisted in regret, realizing too late that he had pushed the wrong button this time. The smug expression he wore faltered, guilt creeping in as he watched you turn away right after the elevator door opened.

Once inside your apartment, the weight of his words finally crashed down on you. You set the bottles on the counter, your hands trembling.

Not even a family.

It wasn’t just an insult—it was the truth. Your parents had their own lives, their own families, and you were nothing more than a reminder of their failed marriage. Christmas had become a painful routine: fake smiles, awkward dinners, and feeling like an outsider in both of their homes. This year, you hadn’t even bothered to show up.

Tears welled in your eyes as you uncorked one of the bottles. The first sip burned your throat, but you didn’t stop. With each gulp, you tried to drown the ache, to silence the doubts and regrets swirling in your mind.

But the wine didn’t help. Instead, it magnified everything.

The tears spilled over, hot and relentless, as the weight of the night pressed harder on you. You sank onto the couch, clutching the bottle like it was your lifeline. The sound of distant carols and laughter seeped in through the thin walls, each note a cruel reminder of what you didn’t have.

A knock at the door made you freeze.

“Who’s there?” you called, your voice hoarse.

“It’s me.”

Minho.

Your chest tightened. The last person you wanted to see right now was him.

“Go away!” you shouted, wiping at your tear-streaked face.

But he didn’t leave.

“I need to apologize,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You clenched your jaw, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t need your pity, Minho. Just leave me alone.”

But his voice came again, insistent. “Please. I shouldn’t have said that. It was out of line.”

Something about the raw sincerity in his tone gave you pause. Slowly, you stood and walked to the door, hesitating before unlocking it.

When you opened it, Minho was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk replaced by something almost apologetic. His eyes flickered to your puffy, tear-streaked face, and his jaw tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why do you care?”

Minho hesitated, his gaze softening. “Because I know what it’s like to be alone on Christmas.”

The admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him.

“I’m serious,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was being an ass, and—"

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Before you knew it, you were crying again, the weight of the evening too much to hold back.

Minho stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “—Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him. He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly. The warmth of his embrace broke something inside you, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you afloat.

Minho held you close, his arms steady and sure, like he was the only anchor keeping you from falling apart. The quiet between you was heavy but not uncomfortable; his presence alone was enough to steady your trembling breaths. His hand moved gently up and down your back, offering a kind of comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his chest, your voice muffled.

“For what?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“For being a mess.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes softened as they searched yours, and for the first time, you saw something other than irritation or smugness—something tender.

“You’re not a mess,” he murmured. “You’re human.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten, and before you could think twice, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne.

“Come on,” he said gently, his hands steadying you as he guided you toward the couch. “Sit down. Let me help.”

He left briefly, and you heard the soft clink of glasses. When he returned, he handed you a glass of water and a blanket, sitting beside you with a closeness that felt intentional.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice still fragile.

“I wanted to.” His reply was simple, but his tone carried weight.

The room was quiet as you sipped the water, his eyes never leaving you. The soft glow of the Christmas lights from your small tree cast warm shadows across his face, making him look softer, more vulnerable.

“You’re different tonight,” you said softly, daring to glance at him.

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners. “So are you.”

The silence stretched again, but this time it was charged, buzzing with something unspoken.

“Minho,” you began, your voice hesitant, but he interrupted you by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long, making heat creeping to your cheeks, redish hue appear within a second.

“You deserve better than this,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at your apartment, the wine bottles on the counter, the loneliness hanging in the air. “Being alone on Christmas. Feeling like you don’t have anyone. You deserve someone who cares.”

The vulnerability in his voice stunned you.

“Do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Care, I mean?”

His eyes darkened slightly as they locked onto yours. “More than I should.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you seemed to shrink as the tension thickened. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low, his gaze flickering to your lips.

But you didn’t want him to stop.

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, closing the gap between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters, but quickly deepened as you both gave in to the pull that had been simmering between you for weeks.

Minho’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as you shifted onto his lap. His lips were soft but insistent, exploring yours with a passion that sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his hair, eliciting a low sound from him that made your stomach flip.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, your heart pounding. “Yes.”

He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second. He stood, carrying you effortlessly toward your bedroom, his movements careful and intentional.

Once inside, he laid you gently on the bed, his hands brushing over your skin like he was memorizing every inch of you. The way he looked at you—like you were something precious—made your chest tighten.

His touch was both tender and consuming, each kiss and caress unraveling the stress and pain that had been weighing you down for so long. The intimacy of it all made your heart ache in the best way.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection—it was about the way he held you, the way he whispered your name like it was sacred, the way he made you feel seen, cherished.

His lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You shivered, your body responding to his touch even before you could think. Minho’s hands caressed the curves of your body, each movement slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of you. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting something inside of you that had been dormant for far too long.

"Minho..." You whispered his name, your voice trembling as your fingers slid to the waistband of his pants, grabing his clothed cock making him groan from the contact.

"Fuck, Princess."

He kissed you again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your pulse spike. You felt his body pressing against yours, his muscles flexing as he leaned into you. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer to him until you could feel the heat of his body, hands trailing to tug on your sweater, getting rid of it in a swift motion, leaving you in your black lacy bra.

When he pulled away for just a second, his dark eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "You're so beautiful” he said, his voice low and raspy, full of an almost dangerous edge.

He squeze your tits from outside of your bra, your body aching for him in a way you couldn’t deny. "Minh, please.”

With a growl, he kissed you again, his hands rough as they worked quickly to remove the last remnants of your clothes. You felt the heat of his skin against yours, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your spine before they slid to your hips, pulling you closer as his mouth moved over your collarbone, his kisses becoming more desperate.

Every kiss he gave, every movement of his hands, felt like it was igniting something inside of you, a need that you hadn’t realized had been building up for so long. You moaned softly, your hands running over his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

He responded with a groan of his own, his mouth returning to yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. The air between you grew thick with desire, the tension so palpable you could hardly breathe. His hands moved to your back, gently pushing you back onto the bed, his body following you, never breaking the connection.

As he hovered over you, his lips brushing against your ear, he whispered, “I want you, all of you.”

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as his words sank in, the meaning behind them making your heart race even faster. “Then take me,” you responded, your voice low and demanding, feeling a surge of confidence you hadn’t known you had.

Without another word, Minho moved over you, his hands and lips tracing the line of your body with a sense of urgency, like he couldn’t wait any longer. He drag his waist band You felt the pressure of his body against yours, he run his heavy cock along your folds, squelching sound coming from the contact signing how wet you are already, "Holly fuck baby, do you hear that? Mmh all wet for me" he said, still teasing your drench cunt. The heat between you both becoming almost unbearable.

Minho finally align his tip to your enterance, pushing it in to your clenching hole, earning a trail of moan from both of you.

"Ahh minhh," Your fingers dug into his back, urging him on as you kissed him with the same urgency, your body moving against his in rhythm.

His movements grew faster, more desperate, as he sought to claim you in the way that only he could. You could feel every inch of him as he slid deeper, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp with pleasure. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as your body trembled beneath him.

"Minho mmh," his name slipped from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, and the sound of it seemed to drive him wild. He growled low in his throat, his hips snapping against yours with a relentless intensity. You met him with every thrust, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control, the pleasure building, escalating with each movement.

"Minho... fuckh you're gonna make me cumhh," you gasped, the heat of your bodies colliding with an intensity that took your breath away.

He groaned, his name slipping from your lips in a way that made his pulse quicken. The sound of your voice, the way you were calling out for him, drove him to the edge. He leaned down, kissing you deeply, his tongue claiming yours in a dance that matched the rhythm of your bodies.

"Cum for me kitten, cum" he said, hips pistoning to hit the certain spot that makes you see the stars.

As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, you felt the tension inside of you snap, "Minhh ahh FUCK," your body convulsing in waves of ecstasy.

"Fuck, fuck fuck shit baby s'goodh mmhh" Minho followed you over the edge, his body trembling as he gave in to the moment, his own release consuming him.

You both lay there, breathless and tangled in each other's arms, your bodies still pressed together, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you in the reality of the moment. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Minho’s hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you gently, the softness of the kiss in stark contrast to the fiery intensity of what had just happened.

“I care about you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over yours once more. “More than you know.”

You looked up at him, the vulnerability in your chest now replaced with something deeper, something stronger. You smiled softly, your hands running over his back, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

"I care about you too," you whispered, your voice full of quiet certainty.

And as the two of you lay together, tangled in the aftermath, you realized that this wasn’t just a night of passion. It was a turning point—one that would change everything between you. It was the beginning of something real, something lasting, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at home.

Make a brief synopsis for this story

[devildomwriter]

Jolly Old St Nick | Solomon x Reader

1.2K Word Count | GN! Reader | Fluff, Humor | CW: none? Magic shenanigans

You’d never been so relaxed while in such a crowded place. You held Solomon’s hand tightly as he slowly walked from booth to booth at the Christmas market.

When Solomon called you away on business, he’d done so specifically to stop the brothers from following you on what was actually a surprise date.

You like Solomon so you didn’t mind the surprise date but you were shocked at how good of a job he’d done choosing locations.

A world-famous Christmas market hadn’t been your first idea for a holiday-timed date but he was fully prepared to buy you anything that caught your attention so you weren’t complaining about the crowds.

“Look, ___, they’re making candy canes,” he pointed out the booth next to you and you stood on your tip-toes to sneak a look as the sugar was poured into the molds.

“Are they all made like that?” You asked aloud and he proceeded to give you a more in-depth explanation than you were expecting. Even the booth owner looked shocked by his expertise and appeared to quickly be taking notes on his phone.

You pulled Solomon away from the candy canes after he bought a few to a booth with glass blowers who were making custom Christmas ornaments.

“Blowing glass art, it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen anyone do it. It’s still as incredible as it was thousands of years ago,” he sighed nostalgically and got a few curious looks.

You gave him a cautious look and he laughed and patted your back. “Ah, there’s no need to worry now. No one would believe me anyway.” He made a valid point so you decided to have fun with it instead.

“Did you ever meet Saint Nick?” You asked him as you clutched the paper bag with your glass ornaments.

Solomon laughed and stopped walking, “would you believe me if I told you I am him.”

You ran into somebody in Sienese and dropped your delicate bag. “Oh!”

Solomon quickly caught it before it hit the icy stone path. You breathed a sigh of relief and he chose to hold onto it instead. A wise decision from the wise king himself.

“There’s no way. You just snuck into people’s houses and gave them stuff?”

“Well, sort of. I’m certainly not the only one who did something like that but when I came into my power more I experimented with it a little and tried teleporting small things. Every so often if I overheard a family wasn’t doing well, their child especially, I’d place something small and fun in their drying clothes.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “So…you’re a king of ancient times, a sorcerer, and Santa Clause? All in one, huh?”

Solomon laughed it off and shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ancient…”

“That’s the part you disagree with?”

You laughed at Solomon and you both continued through the Christmas market. You found a few cute items for everyone. A hand-stitched angel ornament that reminded you of Luke, a hand-carved wooden cow from a nativity scene (Belphegor didn’t need to know that part), an antique metallic Christmas tree from a fad decades past, and a fancy leather belt you thought would be perfect for Thirteen.

Solomon found a booth with kettle corn and immediately purchased some while you found a free bench. As soon as you sat down a distraught woman sat next to you on the phone while the kid held onto her leg looking like they’d cried for a long time.

You knew it wasn’t your business but as soon as she hung up the phone you had to pry. Just to see if you could help them.

“I’m sorry for intruding but…is something wrong?” You asked.

The mom looked slightly annoyed to be asked as she’d been through enough but the child quickly fessed up. “My doggy,” he trembled and his mother quickly picked him up and sat him in her lap to coddle him.

“Did your doggy go missing?” You asked as Solomon approached you from behind.

“Oh dear, did he?” Solomon asked with a frown.

The mother shook her head. “It’s his stuffed animal. I told him not to bring it,” she began but the indication it was his fault brought a wave of tears from the young child so she stopped herself.

You thought about it for a moment and looked at Solomon who nodded with a similar idea. “Do you have a picture?”

The mother shook her head, “It’s okay. Really,” she dismissed but you shook your head.

“I happen to be a private investigator, mam. I’m pretty good at finding things. If you hand a picture, I promise you’ll have that dog back in the hour.”

She looked horrified you’d made such a promise with her son in earshot but Solomon nodded confirming the same thing.

Reluctantly she took out her phone and found a picture. The dog appeared to be handmade and well-loved.

You nodded and took off into the crowd with Solomon to keep an eye on the woman.

After searching for a while using a tracking spell you had no luck so you texted Solomon for help. He sent you a laughing emoji which frustrated you and then sent you a spell you hadn’t tried before and asked you to recite it out of sight.

You slipped away into a dark alley behind some booths and recited the spell with the stuffed animal in mind and it materialized in front of you. You gasped and caught it before it hit the ground.

It was identical to the photo. You weren’t sure if you summoned it or made it but either way, you knew a little boy was about to be very happy.

You quickly rushed back to the bench and the mother’s eyes widened when she saw you.

The little boy sprang free from her arms and ran to you to quickly hug his beloved stuffed dog.

“You actually found it!” The mother gasped and looked teary-eyed. “I can’t thank you enough. What do I owe you?”

You shook your head, “I’m Santa’s helper, Mam, I find kids their toys for free, it’s part of my job.”

Suddenly you heard a laugh from Solomon and gave him a puzzled look.

“Time to go,” he said quickly and you walked his way as a man called out to the mother and son.

“Honey I found the dog, it was by the vending machine still—huh?”

The family looked at the dog in the dad’s hands to the one in the boys and to you and Solomon smiling like nothing weird just happened.

“How did you…this dog was hand-made by my mother…she died last year…” The woman was too shocked to say more and her husband stood there silently bewildered.

“Umm…merry Christmas from Saint Nick!” you said and grabbed Solomon’s hand running away as quickly as you could as he laughed loudly.

“Shut up Solomon! Didn’t that break some kind of rule!?” You exclaimed and he shook his head.

“Who cares? You magically created the exact toy a child wanted. I think that makes you a st nick just like me,” he chucked and you rolled your eyes.

“Give me the scarf. I want to look around more but now I need to hide my face.”

Solomon continued to laugh at you the rest of your date at the Christmas market.

Sure enough, the story of the two stuffed dogs made it to the local news as a Christmas miracle from one of Santa’s mysterious helpers.

[phantomwithbreakfast]

✩ ~ If You Know, You Know ~ ✩

If you’re adrift in your own vivid, imaginary world, you know. If your mind doesn’t follow the typical pathways, you know.

(A kind of animated thing at the end of this)

———————

The sunlight stretched long fingers through my window, spilling warm streaks across the cluttered floor. Paints, pencils, and half-finished sketches surrounded me, a small fortress of creative chaos. I was deep into it—lost in the rhythm of sketching lines that might, just might, lead somewhere—when Danny appeared.

At first, he was just a shadow in the corner of my eye, a faint blur of movement. But then, as if the sunlight solidified him, he stood there, leaning casually against the wall like he’d always been a part of this room.

“Working hard or hardly working?” he teased me, that lopsided grin of his making me smile despite myself.

I waved him off, pretending I was drawing. “What do you think, genius?”

Danny didn’t answer.

Of course, he didn’t.

He never gave me that satisfaction. So instead, he plopped himself on my desk chair and began whistling.

“Do you mind?” I asked, feigning irritation.

He shrugged. “Not really.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to concentrate, but Danny had other plans. He started tapping his fingers on my desk, drumming out some rhythm that had no beginning and no end. When that didn’t get a rise out of me, he started humming—soft at first, then louder, adding lyrics that made absolutely no freaking sense.

“Danny!”

“What? You looked like you needed a break.”

“I don’t.”

“You sure?” He grinned wider and reached over to nudge one of my pencils off the desk. It clattered to the floor, joining the others he’d already scattered.

This was the thing about Danny. He didn’t come when I needed him, not really. He came when I thought I didn’t need anyone. He came when I was so buried in my own mind—in every single way possible—that I didn’t notice the sunlight anymore or the way the world felt alive outside these four walls.

If you know, you know. If you’re the kind of person whose head is so full of ideas it feels like it might burst, you know what it’s like to have a Danny. Someone that pulls you out of your own brain and reminds you there’s more to life than the next line, the next stroke, the next brilliant thought.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed, setting my pencil down. “You win.”

Danny lit up like I’d handed him a trophy. “Excellent choice.”

He flopped onto the floor beside me against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like he was seeing constellations in the cracks of the plaster.

“So, what are we working on today?” He asked.

“I am working,” I corrected. “You are distracting.”

“Same difference.”

He turned his head to grin at me, and for a slight moment, I forgot all about the mess, the deadlines, the pressure.

It didn’t matter that Danny would probably be gone in a few hours, fading back into wherever he came from. What mattered was that right now, he was here. Pulling me out of myself, turning my messy little room into something brighter, something more alive.

And maybe that was the point of Danny. He wasn’t here to stay. He was here to remind me that sometimes, it’s okay to put the pencil down and just exist.

For a while, we just sat there, watching the sunlight move across the walls, filling the silence with his whistling and my laughter.

Again, if you know, you know.

———————

When my full hyper-fixated ADHD brain kicks in, this happens. Most of the time it’s just Phantom that shows up though, not Danny as Fenton. (I was doubting to post this, but yeah. I did it anyway)

———————

—OC: Hailey.

I’m that kind of a Phan… (っᵔ◡ᵔ)っ⋆˙⟡♡

Please, tell me I’m not the only one for Danny’s sake…

[lenny-link]

made a lil engiespy fic as a continuation of the sniperscout comic and basically the 7th comic too, hope you enjoy :>

——————————————————————-

The war was long over. All the mercenaries had returned to normal, peaceful lives they had almost forgotten. They were older now, lines drawn on their faces, but the bond created in the heart of battle remained. Tonight, they were all here, gathered at Jeremy’s for Christmas.

Jeremy’s house was filled with the chaotic energy of his children, the laughter of his old teammates, the smell of pine tree and smokey turkey that was a far contrast to the gunpowder and battlefields that had infested their lives for so long.

Christmas candlelights shined, reflecting Spy’s surprisingly softened gaze. He watched the children, the miniature versions of Scout, running around, their laughter a sound he hadn’t realized he have been missing.

 

Surrounded by the energetic children who were unknowingly his own grandchildren, felt a pang of longing. He kept his relation a secret from Jeremy, a part of his past he had buried deep a long time ago. The children, however, had jumped into his carefully constructed walls with ease, their innocent affection had created a desire he thought he had long forgotten: the desire for a family.

 

As the night went on, each ex-mercenary made their goodbyes and took their leave. Dell stayed finding himself cleaning up the dinning table spontaneously while Jeremy had slipped away with Mick to his bedroom, leaving Spy to manage the energetic youngsters. He didn’t mind. He found himself surprisingly content telling stories and playing charades with the kids, a different warmth bloomed within him with every giggle.

 

Eventually, the children fell asleep, their small forms tucked into their respective beds. The house fell silent. Engineer and Spy were the only ones left, cleaning up the rests of the festive party.

 

As Spy dried and stacked the plates, he felt a wave of melancholy washing over him. He yearned to stay, to be a part of this family, his family too, but the secret he held kept him from getting this chance.

Dell, being the smartest of the bunch, had noticed the change in Spy’s attitude, from his usual cold, rude persona in battlefield to his new softer fatherly side. He saw him, he understood the unspoken conflict within the Frenchman.

At some point, in their old absurd lifestyle, they had become close, two strategics, two intellectuals, they understood each others with just a glance, despite the counterintuitive nature of their classes, they felt like two side of the same coin, they matched each other’s minds, they knew they belonged together.

 

“They’re good kids,” Dell stated softly, breaking the silence. “Reminds me of… well, reminds me of simpler times.”

 

Spy offered a small, sad smile. “Indeed.”

 

Dell paused, then spoke with a quiet sincerity. “Y’know, my place ain’t far from here. It gets… lonely. I’ve got plenty of room” He looked at Spy who had his gaze still on the plates but had stopped drying them.

“You’re welcome to stay there. As long as you like. It would… it would be nice to have some company." he hesitated slightly "Y-you’d be closer to the kids too"

 

Spy’s eyes widened slightly, surprised with a flicker of hope shining in him. Living with Dell, close to Jeremy and his grandchildren… it felt like a new chance for him to have the warmth of a family he long loved, it was more than he could have wish for this Christmas.

“Dell…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion, he puts the plate down.

 

Dell, sensing the unspoken emotions of Spy, stepped closer, placing carefully both his hand on each of Spy’s shoulders, turning him around to face him. “We’ve been through a lot together, me and you, through thick and thin, and well, we’re not getting any younger" he laughed slightly "I’d love to spend the rest of my days with you Spy, and Jeremy and the kids" he gets even closer "Come, live with me" he slowly slides his hands down Spy’s arms now holding his hands "Only if you want this too"

 

Spy was speechless, his eyes widened as he looked straight at Dell’s eyes, not able to muster any word. He wants nothing more than this, having a family once again, how ideal could it be.

As they stood there, a small shiny light caught their attentions. Above them, hanging from the kitchen doorframe, was a branche of a mistletoe.

Time seemed to stop as they exchanged a silent, meaningful look, years of unspoken understanding passing between them.

 

Slowly, hesitantly, they leaned in. Their lips met in a tender, gentle kiss. Spy cupped Dell’s face deepening the kiss, his brows met in a focused expression, he needed this. Dell on the other end, had pressed his hands on Spy’s lower back, pressing their bodies against the other, his heart beating like a drum frantically in his chest, he wanted this.

It was a kiss of shared history, of unspoken longing. It wasn’t their first, but felt entirely new.

Moments later they broke the kiss, they stared at the other’s tender eyes, a silent promise of partnership in the years to come. The chaos of the day has faded away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of two men who had finally found their way home, to each others.

[grimmweepers]

— ☆ 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒

alhaitham x ryu. this is obviously a selfship piece for ryuhaitham and it’s in first person. canon au. comfort. fluff. read here if you want more context on us. 0.7k wc

I sat curled on the couch with a blanket drawn tightly around me, staring at the modest decorations I’d strung up days ago when Alhaitham first left for Akademiya business. The lights, the strings of ribbon—they felt out of place here, like foreign embellishments in a world that had no meaning for them.

Christmas. Once upon a time, it had been everywhere—woven into every light, every note of music, every breath of winter air. It wasn’t as though I’d celebrated Christmas extravagantly but the absence of it here made the ache of displacement settle heavy in my chest. Even if I’d only half-participated in the holiday back then, its laughter and warmth had always been a comforting constant.

Teyvat moved without pause. The winds of Mondstadt whipped across snow-buried plains, Sumeru’s ever-shifting leaves played on the breeze and Liyue’s lanterns flickered against a fading sky. It was timeless and unchanging, as if the universe was indifferent to the celebration I longed for. But like the decorations I’d strung up, Christmas had no place here. And in that knowledge, my homesickness deepened, the distance between my old world and this one stretching farther.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and I startled, my gaze snapped to the figure entering. Alhaitham’s silhouette was outlined against the dim light of Teyvat’s evening and in his hand was a small neatly wrapped package, the paper a rich shade of crimson, tied with thin, silver silk that shimmered softly in the light.

“You’re back,” I mustered, rising slightly from my seat.

“I am,” His gaze swept over me, and a crease formed between his brows. “You look troubled.”

I offered a fragile smile, “Just thinking about… you know.” I trailed off, eyes drifting to the window where whimsy unbeknownst to me twinkled in the inky expanse above.

Without preamble, he extended the gift toward me. “Here.”

I blinked in surprise, looking from his hand to his face. “What’s this for?”

“Isn’t it customary to exchange gifts for… Christmas?”

The word fell from his lips tentatively, as though testing its weight. His eyes searched mine for any sign that he had mispronounced it. Then, a bittersweet ache unfurled in my chest.

“You… remembered?”

He remembered. Even in passing, even if I hadn’t explained it in detail, he had remembered. And more than that, he had acted on it.

“You mentioned it once,” he replied, the faintest hint of awkwardness colouring his tone. “I don’t fully understand the tradition, but it seemed important to you.” He paused, then added softly, “I thought it might remind you of home.”

My fingers brushed the wrapping paper, tracing its edges as a quiet laugh escaped me. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It matters to you. If it makes this place feel less foreign, then it’s no trouble at all.” He spoke as though his sentiment was the simplest truth in the world.

I bit my lip, his words filling the emptiness in my heart like the flickering flame of a candle in the dark. Slowly, I unwrapped the gift, the paper falling away to reveal a delicate glass ornament, its shape a perfect, crystalline star. It caught the lamplight, scattering prisms across the room like a reflection of something celestial—like fragments of a distant sky.

“It’s not much,” he almost sounded apologetic, “but stars seem to hold significance in your world’s imagery for this holiday.”

I stared down at the gift, my vision blurring as the sting of tears welled unexpectedly. The ornament trembled in my grasp, held close to my chest as the first drops slipped free, unstoppable. “Thank you,” I whispered, so softly it felt like the words might dissolve and me with it.

Watching me closely, a shadow of concern crossed his face, as though uncertain whether he had made me uncomfortable. “You’re crying…” His voice wavered, caught somewhere between a statement and a question.

I wiped at my tears, smiling through them. “They’re happy tears,” I told him. “I really needed this.”

Alhaitham sat beside me with the same calmness that defined his every action. The silence now brimmed with a bubbling warmth, deeply felt like a steadfast anchor.

“If you’d like,” he started, “then we’ll celebrate it. Here, every year. However you wish.”

His offer settled gently. “I would like that,” I said, already untethered.

Alhaitham nodded, brushing his hands against mine, the touch so tender it seemed to carry a promise with a three word phrase hanging in the air. As the glass star shimmered between us, the ache of homesickness began to ebb. In its place bloomed a sense of belonging.

A realisation that home was here. Home was now. And it had been all along.

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

divider: @/adornedwithlight

[megumimania]

art is in his mid 40s, reader is in late 20s/early 30s, smut (18+), p in v sex, choking, art is hungry as fuck, use of petnames. @cindol this one is for you babes!!

“you alright sweetheart?”

his voice is what snaps you out of your writing frenzy.

art’s dressed in a polo and khaki set with his sunglasses on, a glass of bourbon sitting pretty in his left hand. his serving hand. you almost shiver as you remember the way his calloused hands brushed against the small of your back in passing.

he takes the seat next to yours, his knees slightly brushing yours as he peers over your laptop that is covered by post it notes that contain the editors tweaks and suggestions.

for the next ten minutes the only constant sound interrupting his midday zen was the aggressive sound of you hitting the space and backspace button on your laptop.

the sound of your frustration and stress is palpable and before you slam the backspace button again, he breaks the silence.

“you should take a break.” he offers, the concern evident in his voice and for a split second you consider it, toying with it in your mind. but then reality hits and you remember the editor's harsh emails and the final deadline that is just looming around the corner.

“i’d love to but i can’t.” you sighed giving him an apologetic smile, “first draft is due at the end of the week.”

art looked at you confused for a second before he realised what you were talking about. his memoir.

it was why you were here in the first place. you spent weeks on the road with him heading to every conference, game or whatever event he decided to show up to when his team wanted to remind the public he was still very much alive.

he thought it was a stupid idea at first, another cash grab for his management to seep their paws into but art wasn’t having it. the only way they managed to get him to say yes was if they brought an up and coming writer onto the project.

over time your presence was something he had gotten used to, even though you often felt like you were overstepping his boundaries by being in his home so often. you’d then remind yourself that you were contracted on a professional basis, to ghost write his memoir that you’ll be paid for, in both money and notoriety.

but when art woke up to the sound of your footsteps shuffling around in the kitchen or the sound of you typing away on his laptop on the patio, it made the house feel less like an investment and more like a home. after all it had been a couple of years since he’d had a woman stay longer than a night or a couple of hours at his home.

“c’mon you’ve been on that wretched thing all day, your eyes must be killing you huh?” he cajoles, another attempt to get you to hang out with him.

art takes another sip of his drink eyeing you once more, feeling grateful for the little bit of sun the hampshire’s decided to grace you all with today.

his eyes roam over your figure, not for too long though he doesn’t want to creep you out but he’s not blind. you are a stunning woman and he likes that you weren’t blind to that fact.

“you know you wanna, who knows maybe playing a quick tennis match, will get your creative juices flowing.” usually you’d decline but when he stares at you with those baby blues that haven’t dimmed with age, it sends a shiver down your spine.

his eyebrows wiggle, earning a groan from you but you relented, saving the file before closing your laptop and heading back to get changed into more suitable attire. who knows maybe stepping into his domain would help with your writer’s block right now.

tennis with art was not something easy, despite his graceful playing style he was an actual powerhouse on the court and you couldn’t keep up. 

“you’re tapping out already?” he grins, whilst you’re too busy catching your breath to respond. all you can muster is a middle finger to which he laughs at.

you realised in the end, that if you were gonna win, you had to resort to dirty tactics.

“god, it is so hot out here!” you said, fanning yourself whilst taking off your jacket to reveal your figure. you based the success rate of this tactic on art being a typical man with desires.

and it worked.

who knew a simple dress would throw art off kilter? his movements grew less refined and more messy as the game progressed, with you throwing him off his a-game. his eyes were glued to your bod, you used this to your advantage as you made the winning serve.

the ball whizzes past art and he is a second too late to hit it back. you drop the racket basking in the sunlight and your newfound victory.

it’s oddly quiet on his front, a professional like him that couldn’t show decent showmanship? it was nothing new in the world of tennis—arrogant athletes who saw accepting defeat as a bruise to their overinflated ego.

however the thoughts stewing in art’s mind cannot be expressed plainly, he drinks you in, an incubus-esque hunger taking over him. the way your body glistened in the sunlight as a light sheen of sweat covered you from head to toe, to the white attire that made you seem heaven sent.

oh he was spiraling.

it wasn’t like he could do casual relationships, he had a few fleeting ones post split with tashi but art’s hunger prevailed where his logic could not. he wasn’t satisfied with a simple night.

underneath that cold yet affable demeanour that he spent years working on and correcting, there was a part of him that required something more deeper, more intense.

“so what’s my reward?” you ask, still up on the high that beating art gave you.

he decides to indulge you in whatever you want—his desires can be suppressed for another day. last time he got you a new laptop for beating him in a game of pool. however he’s taken off guard when he feels your soft lips press against his own, stirring up a pot of desire in him that cannot be contained.

so when you end up on his plush bed with him above you, your dress bunched up to your stomach as he fucks you relentlessly without pause, you’re in bliss. the sounds of art’s gold medals, clinking against your stomach with each thrust sends shivers down your spine, the cool metal against your skin driving you insane.

art thinks you’re beautiful like this, all splayed out for him to see, adorned with several of his gold medals, that he has won in several championships like wimbledon and the us open. he knows he’s being mean, bullying your sweet cunt like this but he can’t help it.

he pulls you in by his medals dangling across your chest forcing you to look at the mess you’re making on his dick. “keep your eyes open sweetheart, i want you to see the mess you’re making.” he tells you, his voice smoother than his favourite bottle of bourbon.

you’re lost in it all, your mind reeling like a roll of film as he ruts into you like an animal in heat. he unleashes a slew of moans and groans against your ear, the vibrations driving you closer to your release.

“a-art, ‘s too much i can’t take it.” was all you managed to get out, a mangled sob escaping your lips.

in spite of your brain getting turning into mush each time art hit that sweet spot that set you alight. he looks down at you with a wicked grin, his voice taking on a faux sympathetic tone.

he pressed a kiss to your neck, maintaining his pace. “winner takes all, sweetheart.” he says with a chilling edge, that makes you clench around him as he buries himself deeper into you, stretching you out even more as he peppers kisses to your neck, leaving bites and hickeys that were sure gonna sting tomorrow.

and from the way things were going, it was safe to say that you weren’t completing that manuscript anytime soon.

not while art had you in his grasp anyway.

[starlightsuffered]

Holiday Morning

A/N - I know Timothée is Jewish on his mother side but I think he celebrates Christmas as well. This is what I wanted to be doing this morning so thought I’d write it

Info - Christmas morning, needing to be quiet, married and father Timothée, hitting it from the back, couple wanting a quiet moment together, tasting your own cum, oral (fem receiving), finger sucking, needing to keep partner quiet, light fingering, cream pie, taking sexual pics of partner

The morning was lazy and the kids had yet to wake up. I felt my lovers hand slip down to my heat. I moaned lightly. I pressed my body back against his and savoured the quiet.

“Mon amour,” he breathed in my ear.

“Mon cœur,” I sighed.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured.

“Merry Christmas,” I replied.

“They’ll be up any minute,” he sighed, but his hand didn’t stop moving. Slow circles were rubbed on my thighs and every once in a while my pussy lips would be touched.

“They’ll want all your attention, they’ll want all mine too. I can’t wait to show them what we picked out. I can’t wait for the hustle and bustle of the day. I can’t wait for the lights show tonight and the delicious treats we’ll all have,” he whispered these words into my skin.

“So what are you saying,” I asked.

“I’m saying let’s take this moment to be slow. I want you and I to make some Christmas magic. Don’t stress. Let me hold you and feel you.”

“Timothée,” I moaned. I began to turn, but I felt him shake his head.

“No baby, no time,” he gasped, grinding his rock hard length against my ass. He moved my hair off my shoulder and sucked a kiss onto my neck.

He moved my pj pants down slightly. He sucked in a breath as his tip touched my entrance. The lewd moan, combined with the sigh of relief when he bottomed out made wetness rush between my legs. He lifted my thigh up a bit to give himself more room.

One hand rested possessively and lovingly on my stomach. His lips were attached to my skin. He kissed love into my flesh. I leaned back, giving him more access to my throat.

“Say my name,” his words were hot in my ear.

“Timothée,” I whimpered as the thrusts got stronger. My leg was lifted even higher.

“Yeah, that’s it baby, fuck you feel so good,” he gasped. His balls slapped me with wet sounds as he plunged deep inside me. Both of us tried hard to keep quiet.

“I love you, I love you so much,” I heaved as my fingers curled in the sheets.

“This is life is all I need this holiday. Our little family, you, your pussy, and this, just all of this. It is perfection,” he babbled. I loved how he went on and on when he was close.

His thrusts were getting sloppy and holy hell. Everything was heightened. I was barely holding on. My body was on fire and I was seeing stars.

The explosion happened as we climaxed together. He just repeated that he loved me over and over as he painted my insides white for the holiday. I couldn’t speak. I could only try to control my breathing.

“Good girl, shhhh, Mon amour,” he gently pushed his thumb in my mouth. I sucked it desperately, knowing that I was once again making too much noise.

“You got this, don’t scream,” he urged me as he massaged my clit throughout my high. Finally, with his soft encouragement, I settled.

“That was so good,” he said in a pleased voice. He kissed my cheek. I groaned as he pulled out. It always felt like it too forever, like his cock had been deeper inside me than humanly possible.

“Fuck, it was,” I agreed. My head was beaded with perspiration. I was about to move, when his hand shot out. He grabbed me.

“Wait, I want to get a picture of the white Christmas,” he said cheekily. He ripped down the covers to reveal the creampie mess in my cunt. I blushed but decided a sassy retort would be the best option.

“We already took holiday card pictures,” I reminded him.

He wriggled down the bed. He posed next to my pussy, his tongue sticking out between his lips, and his eyes sparkling with mischief. He kissed my southern lips delicately. That always made me insane.

“This picture is just for me,” he said in a dark voice. His tongue slowly lapped a stripe up my needy core. I could see his own love on his tongue. I was already close again.

“Think you can get me there again before they wake up?” I demanded, needing the answer to be yes.

“Consider it my Christmas Breakfast,” he hummed happily, and dove in.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker

[berryispunk]

Happy Accidents

pairing: Oberyn Martell x trans! reader

summary: a handsome and mysterious stranger enters the coffee shop you’re working at. (modern day AU)

tags: meet-cute!!, fluff, compliments, no physical description of reader, no smut

notes: This is for the secret Santa of @pedrostories ! It was truly a challenge but I hope I did decent. My giftee is @crowandmousewritingco I hope you like it 🥹💛 this is unbeta’d. We die with the sinking ship :)

It is a crazy busy day at the cafe. Nothing unusual for this time of year. When people are so lost in the Christmas preparations, too focused on their own misery to be nice to employees, time flies. You always tell yourself you don’t care. After all it's nothing personal you try to remind yourself. But today, when the fifth person yells at you that they ordered cappuccino without caffeine and not with it something inside of you snaps. You glare at the man who’s dressed in a suit that looks like it costs more than you make in a month.

“Sir, we’re all just doing our job. I am sorry if my colleague made a mistake with your order, but this doesn’t give you any right to be so rude,” you throw at him, your voice threateningly calm causing every pair of eyes on you and for a split second you regret even bothering to open your mouth.

That’s until the man answers, a dismissive look in his eyes as he scoffs “I want to speak to your manager.”

“I am in charge today, so if there’s something you want to discuss feel free, sir, ” you triumph and for a moment it feels like winning, like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that there would be a prize for it anyway.

The man musters you for a moment longer, anger and vanity seeping out of him, tinting the whole atmosphere until suddenly another man steps in, dressed in slacks and a really deep v-neck button down in mustard yellow.

The off white winter coat just casually thrown over his right shoulder, holding it with his big left hand, on every finger a gold ring, each one of it more splendid than the other.

He’s standing really tall, his confidence overshadowing the energy of the suit guy by far. His dark hair, a stark contrast to his golden skin tone, is perfectly trimmed and styled.

You caught yourself staring at him way longer than what would be considered decent as he winks at you and turns his attention back to the suit guy.

“Sir, please step back so the rest of us can make an order as well”, he purrs in a really deep voice. His voice is calm and calculated, but something else swings in the way he talks.

Authority.

The other man frowns a bit at the dark haired man, but instead of protesting he nods, takes his allegedly wrong order and flees the cafe causing the man in front of you to smile satisfied and his attention shifting back to you.

“Sorry,” he says almost apologetically, way softer in the way he talks than moments ago. “Some people just don’t know any manners.”

His comment causes you to snort and he gives you an honest smile back, a warm one that almost makes your heart flutter.

Fuck. He’s attractive.

“Nothing new, especially not during the holidays”, you answer.

“So, what can I get you ?” you ask in trained professionalism.

“I’d like a big black coffee to go, please. And maybe…” he drifts off, taking a step closer to the cake display. “A lemon cheesecake muffin as well.”

You nod in response, packing the muffin in a small paper bag and starting to prepare his coffee.

Your back is turned to him, but you’re really aware that his eyes still are on you. Maybe even checking you out and the thought simultaneously amuses and flusters you.

You think of the way this man handles himself, the way he’s so confident but also so kind should be a paradox. Usually people this confident are cocky and don’t care the slightest about employees like you. But he seems different. In a good way.

As you’re finishing up his coffee order, you decide to ask for his name. Usually you don’t do this here, but you think it’s a sneaky way to know more about this mysterious good looking man.

“Which name can I write on your cup ?” you ask with a professional smile.

“Full name or just my first name?” he asks back while he plays with one of his rings.

“Whatever you prefer,” you reply and he smiles in response as he leans a bit more towards you above the counter.

His gaze on the coffee cup in your hand before his eyes meet yours.

His eyes are dark brown, warm and welcoming.

The smile that still decorates his face reaches his eyes and causes small wrinkles around them.

It’s an honest smile, one that is really rare especially during the holidays but also incredibly flirty.

“Oberyn Martell.” he finally replies. “That’s my name,” he adds and you scribble it onto the coffee cup.

“Okay, Oberyn Martell,” you repeat and let the name ring in your ears, tasting the way it sounds in your own voice.

“Cash or card?” you ask as you place the paper bag and coffee cup on the counter, typing his order in your cash register system.

“Card,” he replies and hands you his credit card, a black american express. You push the payment device wordlessly closer to him and wait for the confirming beeping sound.

“You know you’ve got a beautiful smile” he smirks, causing your cheeks to get hot as your eyes meet again.

“Excuse me?” you ask to reinsure you heard it right while the heat creeps further up your face.

He chuckles cockily and repeats, a bit lower this time.

“I said, you’ve got a really beautiful smile”, his eyes wandering to your lips before they find your eyes again.

You swallow for a moment before you’re able to mumble a “Thank you.”

He shakes his head slightly, clearly enjoying getting you flustered that easily. The smirk never leaving his face as he takes his order from the counter.

“So, can we quit the chit-chat and I ask you for your number instead?” he asks, like it’s the most normal thing ever and not absolutely crazy considering the fact you two just met by accident in the cafe you’re working at.

You blink in disbelief about the absurdity of the moment before your brain kicks back in action.

“My phone number?” you ask back, clearly still puzzled by his bluntness. “I–”

You try to come back with something, anything, to let him know that this is out of line. That it’s too fast, too early, too much. But you can’t.

All you can focus on is this handsome stranger in front of you and the blush on your cheeks.

You finally snap out of your trance-like state and write down your number on a sticky note.

He takes it from you, making sure his fingers brush over the back of your hand as he gives you another charming smile.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he purrs and just as you thought you’re finally able to function like a normal human again, you start giggling like a teenager.

What the hell is wrong with you.

He still holds your hand and place a soft, feathery like kiss on the back of it, his eyes locked on you as he whispers

“I’ll call you as soon as I can, that’s a promise,” he smirks and as he’s in the movement of leaving he adds

“By the way, nice pin,” pointing to the little trans flag enamel pin on your work apron.

Usually people never notice it or just don’t say anything about it. Either because they don’t know what it is or simply because they don’t care but something about the way he noticed and pointed it out makes you giddy.

“Thank you,” you retort and smile genuinely at him.

“I need one of those with the bi-flag. If you have any recommendations where to get those, let me know” he winks and suddenly this man, who’s not even way too attractive for you, is also part of the LGBTQIA+ community and it makes your heart flutter even more.

“Will do,” you snicker. “Bye, Oberyn.”

“Bye, beautiful. See you soon.” he answers with a smile so bright it’s illuminating his whole being.

And as quickly as he came in the shop, as fast he vanishes out of it and leaves you alone with blushed cheeks, a racing heart and a million questions on your mind.

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter One

I stood at the edge of the racetrack, my eyes glued to the sleek F1 cars lining the grid. There was something almost hypnotic about them—the way their designs merged with the power of their engines, a seamless union of speed and precision. I wasn’t here just to watch. I was here to feel it, to soak in the atmosphere, to find the spark that would fuel my designs.

For as long as I could remember, I’d dreamt of becoming one of the most well-known F1 car designers in the world. The idea of my work, my designs, pushing the limits of what was possible on a racetrack, it kept me up at night. But the reality was that in a world dominated by men, breaking in was going to be a hell of a challenge. That's why I moved to Canada—to study, to learn from the best, to make my name known.

This race was the perfect opportunity. I needed inspiration. The sound of the engines roaring to life, the sight of the cars speeding down the track—this was where I could connect the dots. This was where I could feel what my designs needed to reflect: the raw energy, the finesse, the danger.

The crowd around me buzzed with excitement as the drivers began lining up for their practice laps. I could feel my pulse quicken as I reached for my notebook, ready to capture whatever small detail might spark the next idea. And then it happened.

I felt a shove, hard and unrelenting. My feet tripped over each other as I was jolted back, nearly stumbling into a sea of people. The sting of it was sharp, the crowd pressing in around me, but it wasn’t the push that got to me—it was the voice.

"Watch where you’re standing, sweetheart," the voice growled, rough and laced with irritation. I shot a glare over my shoulder, prepared to snap back, but what I saw made my words stick in my throat. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with tattoos snaking down his neck and arms, dark designs that looked almost menacing. His leather jacket hung loosely, and under the low brim of his cap, his eyes flickered with something sharp, something intense.

His face was angular, his jaw set in a permanent scowl, and even though his gaze barely brushed over me, I could feel the weight of it. Before I could muster any words, he was already gone, moving through the crowd as if he didn’t care who he shoved along the way. I blinked, trying to shake off the sudden rush of frustration and curiosity. The encounter had rattled me more than I wanted to admit, and it was only then that I noticed the number on the back of his jacket. 06.

My heart skipped a beat. He was Jeon Jungkook. I didn’t know what to make of him. Sure, he had the looks and the reputation, but the way he’d shoved me aside—it was... unnecessary. And yet, something about him lingered in the back of my mind. The arrogance. The confidence.

I tried to shake the thought, reminding myself that I was here for one thing: inspiration.

The cars started zooming past again, the sound of the engines filling the air as they whipped around the track. I looked at them, my notebook open in front of me, but for some reason, my focus was elsewhere—on the driver I’d just encountered. It wasn’t just that he was famous. It was the way he moved, the energy he radiated. There was something magnetic about him, even from a distance. He was impossible to ignore, even in a sea of roaring cars.

I kept telling myself to focus. Focus on the cars. Focus on the design. But every time a car shot by, I couldn’t help but think of him—Jungkook, number 06, the man who had just shoved me out of his way without a second thought. It was then that I saw him again. This time, he was standing by his car in the pit lane, talking to his engineer. He was still wearing the same scowl, but there was a brief moment when he looked... human. Vulnerable, even, in the way he focused on the car, the way his hands moved over the wheel like he was trying to communicate something to the machine itself.

And then, just like that, his gaze snapped up and locked with mine. For a moment, time slowed. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met mine, and everything around us seemed to fade. I could feel my breath hitch in my chest, my pulse racing again. There was something about the way he looked at me—like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

I quickly looked away, heat rising to my face. But it wasn’t enough to stop the flutter in my stomach.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself why I was here. I wasn’t here to get caught up in some driver’s game. I wasn’t here to waste time. I was here to make a name for myself.

I gathered my composure and walked toward the pit lane, my notebook clutched tightly in my hand. I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away. Not when I was this close to everything I needed. The closer I got to him, the more my heart thudded in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the electric tension in the air or because I knew I was about to do something risky.

"Hey!" I called out, my voice firmer than I felt. He glanced up, and I saw that same smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It was the same confident, almost cocky expression I had seen on the screen countless times. "You again?" His voice was low, a hint of amusement lacing his words.

I didn’t flinch. "Yeah, I’ve got a few questions for you." He raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over me as though sizing me up.

"What’s your angle?" he asked, a mix of curiosity and skepticism in his tone.

"I’m a car designer," I said, holding his stare. "I want to learn everything I can about the sport—about the cars, the mechanics, the drivers. I want to understand what makes a car not just fast, but... unstoppable."

He studied me for a moment, then gave a slow nod, as if considering whether I was worth his time. "You think you can design something like that?" His voice dropped lower, the challenge unmistakable.

"I can," I replied, my confidence rising with every word. "I just need the right inspiration."

His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, before he gave a brief, dismissive nod. "Get in line," he said, his voice almost too casual. "The track’s out of bounds for amateurs." And with that, he turned, walking away without another glance. I stood there, my heart still pounding in my chest as his words echoed in my mind. Out of bounds.

[myundeadgayson]

had a dream that Jenna Marbles came back and in the announcement, we found out there’s also gonna be a podcast called “Exclusively Mumbo Jumbo”

it’s produced by Jimmy Solidarity, but it would be a podcast where Jimmy would just give Mumbo prompts from the audience, then let Mumbo talk into a microphone for 40 minutes. and it’d really be Mumbo just. spiraling into madness on his own bc Jimmy would encourage Mumbo to keep talking on and on so we’d all find out what goes on in that little guy’s brain

[jewishrizahawkeye]

and the arguments that i have won against you in my head; in the car, in the shower, and in the mirror before bed…

yeah i’m so tough when i’m alone and i make you feel so guilty and i fantasize about a time you’re a little fuckin’ sorry-

and i try to ꪊꪀᦔꫀ𝕣ડ𝕥ꪖꪀᦔ why you would do this all to me. ‘you must be insecure. you must be so unhappy.’

and i know in my heart: hurt people, hurt people. and we both drew blood, but man those cuts were

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴇQᴜᴀʟ!!

and i try to be tough. but i wanna scream ‘HOW COULD ANYBODY DO THE THINGS YOU DID SO EASILY?’

and i say that i don’t care.

say that i’m fine.

but you know i can’t let it go, i’vetriedi’ve triedi’vetried for so long… it takes s⃞   t⃞   r⃞   e⃞   n⃞   g⃞   t⃞   h⃞ to forgive but i don’t feel ₛₜᵣₒₙg

[darlinimamess]

.

[exospherethoughts]

It’s strange, how I often think I over-share, that I’m far too much of an open book, that I have no real private problems or thoughts. But then I find myself lying here in a warm bath — as I do every morning when I’m here — thinking about all the things I wish I could talk to someone about. The things that I’m ashamed of, or that I cannot find a string of linguistically sensible sounds to express in a way that do them justice, or that I simply do not want to share. Perhaps it is precisely because I am normally so open, that it feels foreign to *want* to keep something to myself.

Yet despite this desire for walls around my thoughts and feelings (my innermost mechanisms, as you would put it), I crave the intimacy of human connection. The kind that comes only from sharing the rawest of emotions, the most sensitive of thoughts. It’s a terrifying prospect, no? To be known so utterly well by someone that they understand you better than you understand yourself, for they have all the knowledge about your past and present and thoughts and feelings that you do, with the added bonus of a third party perspective. To be known in a manner which you never dreamed would be possible. To be known in a such a way that you do not need to ever be alone again, for no matter where they are, you know they would listen and understand— or even if they do not understand, they would not judge you.

I lie here, and I wonder. Imagine someone knowing I wished people would offer hugs more often because I think that although I’d decline most of the time, I would accept every now and then, and accepting is easier for me than to ask for one myself. Imagine someone knowing the details of what I went through the weeks surrounding my surgery, the feelings I’ve been having about those memories and the fear of what’s to come. Imagine someone knowing the cues I give off that indicate whether or not I’m mentally present at any given time (sometimes it’s so subtle I don’t even know if I’m there or not until later). Imagine someone knowing where each and every scar I have came from. Imagine someone knowing the full story of what happened with my parents growing up, the home dynamic I lived with, all the things they did and said to me, the complex way I’ve been irreversibly traumatized by them yet still love them so deeply I call them nearly every day. Imagine someone knowing how difficult moving out was for me, despite externally having behaved as though I had everything together. Imagine someone knowing the ugly and terrifying way I fall apart sometimes, how gravity wins and I find myself shaking on the floor, crying and whispering things to myself and begging the world for a way out. Imagine someone knowing about that horrible horrible horrible thing I did as a very young child that I know was simply a case of a kid not knowing any better but which haunts me regardless. Imagine someone knowing the story of how I got addicted to cutting and various other forms of self injury, and the events involving it that I sometimes remember, like getting hit by a truck.

Imagine someone knowing you so well that you could call them any time, whether it’s because you need help or because you don’t want to be alone or because you just miss them, and you know they’ll pick up if they can and that you will know them just as well as they know you.

Sounds like a pipe dream to me. Every time I get remotely close to someone I end up being too much. They get to know too many details about me and then they leave because I am not loveable. Not in my entirety. Even while trying so hard to be a better person over the years. I’m just, me.

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.