#lighting because it reminds me of your fierce and protective side

[lassiie]

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON (Headcon for upcoming fic)

MDNI ! NSFW ! Dancer reader x Truly Obsessive, psychosexual, dark vibes step bro Sunghoon who's manipulative and have dacryphilia. “You needed someone. I became everything. You cried for me, now I crave every soft, broken sound you make. I'll make you cross the line...”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who first saw you crying for him—soft tears of pure compassion—and knew he’d never let you go.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who tells himself he’s protecting you by watching—making sure no one goes too far—but all he really wants is to go too far himself. To pull you off stage and ruin you.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who watches your spine curve in a bend like it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen—every rib counting down to where he wants to leave his mouth, his hands, and marks.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who touches you with feather-light fingers when no one’s looking, caresing your bare back and tightening your dress, getting off your every reaction.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who helps you dry off after practice, hand lingering a second too long, voice rough as he warns, “Don’t make me lose control, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who lets you straddle his lap, watching you mindlesly start moving against him, whispering apologies between gasps. His fingers dig into your waist, voice low and rough: “Don’t stop. I’ll take care of everything you need.” And you both get lost in that secret, forbidden pleasure only you share.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who starts bickering with you in the bathroom but can’t hold back—his hands grab your hips, and you both grind hard against each other until you hear someone and yank from each other, soaked and desperate.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who says, “I’ll use anyone to remind you how badly you need me—because you belong to me, no matter what.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who won’t let anyone else hold you but him, making sure he's starving you of affection until you cross every line and come begging into his arms.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who watches the slow roll of your hips in contemporary choreography and thinks, “That’s how she’d ride me. That’s exactly how she’d move if I told her she could cum.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who doesn’t storm out or make a scene at the club he found you dance for side money. He just book the VIP booth, and pays off the manager under the table to make sure no one touches you

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who takes that pretty, flirty dancer to dinner the same night you go out on date. He makes sure you see them, laughing, her hand on his thigh, his thumb grazing her lip, kissing her while looking at you.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who fucks that same girl poolside at 2AM, right beneath your balcony, her moans echoing through the estate. And when he glances up mid-thrust, he sees your bedroom curtains flickers, a smile his lips.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who fucks her the day she's dressed at your stan-in. Hand choking her lightly, hips snapping rough, hair pulled—not because he wants her, but because he wants you wrecked.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who sucks bruises into your inner thighs in the backseat of his Benz, until you're shaking and leaking onto the leather, only to zip up his slacks, wipe his mouth before walking into his family’s matchmaking dinner like he isn’t still hard for you.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who slips his fingers into you under the table at his own matchmaking dinner, face blank but hand trembling in your soaked heat—breath hitching as he leans in and whispers, “They want me to pick a wife, but I already belong to you. You know that, right?”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who shuts the door to his secret apartment, strips you bare with fierce hands, and bites into your skin while his fingers pry you open. His voice is rough, desperate: “I don’t care about their rules. I only want you—body and soul.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who ghosts on a futur in-law meeting to press your thighs around his face in his appartment—eating you out and loving you so violently he misses the in-law brunch entirely.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who takes his soon to be fiancée to a gala but spends the whole night texting you under the table—until she notices his fingers twitching and jaw clenching right when you appear in a dress he told you not to wear.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who wraps your own satin ribbon around your throat during that night jealous fuck, pulling. His mind full of : “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who leaves your bite marks on his collarbone before a family dinner with soon to be fiancée—and when she reaches to fix his shirt, she sees it. She sees it.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who drives you home after representation one night, lets you fall asleep in his lap in the backseat—and misses his date completely. Doesn’t even answer her calls after.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who ends up fucking you right there in the private studio he booked for you, on the Marley floor, because the way your body moved tonight was too much, and just couldn’t resist it.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who fucks you hard against the mirror in your ballerina robe, hand over your mouth, breath in your ear: “Say you’ll leave again and I’ll make sure the only stage you dance on is my lap.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who grabs your packed suitcase with shaking hands and throws it across the room—then kneels in front of you, hair falling into his eyes, whispering, “Don’t go. I’ll give you anything. Just don’t go.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who leans into your skin, hands gripping your waist so tight your breath hitches, “You’re my only escape. Run all you want—but you’ll always come back to me.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who gets breathless and rough when you finally give yourself to him, voice cracking, “I’m gonna mark you... Fuck... Make sure everyone knows you’re mine." Then embrace you, "But I’m never gonna hurt you, babe.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who moves slow and careful, but every touch and sigh is charged with possessiveness, murmuring against your skin, “No one’s allowed to have you but me. Not like this.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who makes you beg for his touch after the other guy leaves, his fingers slipping between your thighs, rough and demanding, “You think you want him? I’m the only one who can make you scream like this.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who kisses you like he’s drowning, hands desperate and rough, but the way he whimpers into your mouth when you touch him back? That’s the sound of someone starved for love and losing control.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who fucks into you slow and deep, voice trembling with rage and want, saying, “He wants to control me, but you’re the only thing I’ll ever obey. I’d give up everything just to stay inside you.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who lets you see him fall apart, lets you hold him while he’s still inside you, chest heaving, voice shaking, “I don’t care if it’s wrong. You’re home to me.”

Coming real soon...

Here’s your first taste of the next stepbro AU—this one’s all Hoon, and it’s got that slow, dangerous burn that slips under your skin before you even realize.

It’s possessive. It’s twisted. It’s dripping in obsession, the kind that makes you squirm and sigh and want to be ruined a little.

So reblog it. Moan about it. Slide into my inbox if something in it aches just right. And if there’s something you’re craving... something dark, dirty, or delicious comment ! I want to hear it~

Don’t be shy, baby. I’m all ears. 🖤

xoxo, Lassiie

MASTERLIST

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request establish relationship with The Void (reader is also dating Bob) where it’s like, soft moments Void has with sunshine reader, please and thank you!!

#1

‘You trust in those belligerent fools continues to baffle me.’ The Void says as he watched Walker, Yelena, Ava and Alexi with suspicion and skepticism. He knew your heart was pure as gold, much like Bob’s which was one of the main reasons for your relationship being as beautiful and effortlessly filled with light and life, you both held similar values then you and The void did.

And yet you loved The Void all the same as you saw no point loving one part of a man without loving his darkness also, something The Void had once said you were extremely foolish for before finding himself where he was currently in being cuddled up in your arms, with you running your fingers through his hair and giving him kisses on occasions.

‘I can’t help it, they’ve saved me more times I can count.’ You replied softly, keenly aware of Void’s protectiveness over you with how hesitant he was to allow you closer contact with the Thunderbolts, not for any particular reason other then they were getting too close to what was his and Bob’s. The Void acted like your second shadow, always lurking close by, making sure that the message was clear to anyone who seemingly didn’t get it the first time; you were off limits and were not to be taken away from him should they wish a reckoning unlike another, and thankfully many understood when when they were biting off more then they could chew with The Void and left you both be for the majority.

‘Are you saying my protection isn’t enough?’ The void asked and you were quick to press a kiss to where you believed his cheek to be, his form was a hard one to navigate but after countlessly tracing your fingers across bob’s face, you believed yourself to be well aware enough to know where your kisses landed on The Void as his white pinprick eyes watched you unsettlingly.

‘I’m never saying that silly.’ You told him as you pressed another kiss to his cheek. ‘Your protecting of me is sweet and reminds me of that of dragons of fantasy books and movies I would always watch, ones where they’d fiercely protect their horde of gold and other riches with fire and annihilation.’ you add as you felt Void shuffle himself further into your arms, wanting to hear more of your words while hogging your warmth that seemed to be the only thing calm him down whenever one of the Thunderbolts step out of line in his eyes.

'Do you like these horde obsessed dragons who'd go to war for what's theirs?' The Void asked, his white pinprick eyes looking deeply into your own, much like two stars in the night that were for you and only you. While others might find them unsettiling and creepy, like they're being seen through and being disected to their foundations, yet to you it was anything but those things knowing that this powerful being was more then willing to wage war to keep you with him.

'i do.' you replied as you press your forehead against his, feeling nothing but protected, safe and weridly at ease because you knew that while you were within the presence of the Void, you could feel Bob with you as you felt Void raise his hand and caress your face with gentleness as you melted into hi touch with a smile.

'It makes me feel special, like i'm worth hoarding and keeping out of the hands of others, even if some people see it in a possessive light.' you added, knowing that many people saw your relationsip with The Void as posessive, but to you it was one where he did everything in his power to keep you safe and show a side of himself that went against everything you thought you knew about him. Yet you didn't mind it one bit as you knew that The Void was more then originally conceived, especially when he's nothing more then putty in your hand and asking deep and thought provoking questions.

Void brings his other hand to hold your other cheek softly as though he was handeling a feather, something delicate that he knew he shouldn't use his full strength on, unless he wishes to destroy that delicate feather entierly. 'Then i shall strive to keep you as protected, as safe within my care as i can and will wage war should i ever find that you were ever hurt or brought to harm, for i cannot exisit without my light to my darkness as we are equal beings on par with no one but each other.' Void finished as he kisses your eyelids, forehead and brim of your nose before snatching a final kiss ffom your lips, making you smile against his lips.

'sap.' you muttered playfully.

'only for you my light.' Void responded without heistation.

#2

'do i scare you?' Void asks.

You furrowed your brows as you looked at him, sure you had been made aware of the type of being the Void was by Bob, but now that you were seeing him yourself your feelings hasn't changed much regarding him.

'No.' you replied as you moved over towards him, reaching out to hold his face, pausing briefly when it seemed as though The Void flinched before allowing you to hold his face, letting out a sigh he seemed to have been holding ever since asking the question. 'why? should i be afraid of you?'

'No.' The Void anwsered as though your questioned had personally hurt him.

'Do you want me to be afraid of you?' you continued to ask, wanting to know why he was thinking like this, what was the reason behind it and considering how The Void usually holds himself, this only made you worry that something had gotten under his skin.

'Never.' The Void steps closer to you, hands holding you in place by the small of your back, making sure you were always within reach of him and never too close where he felt as though you'd feel suffocated.

'Then why ask if you knew the answer all along?' you spoke softly as your thumbs caress his cheeks while you tried to look for the anwsers you seeked within his pinprick eyes that reminded you of two lonely stars, together yet so isolated within the mass expanse of darkness, only within the company of the other for all time always; but there was beauty in that and you liked to think that you and Bob/The Void were those pinpricks that make up his eyes.

'For the reason why any other human would ask such questions, fear of one day that those fears will be realised and used against me.' Void tells you as he reassures himself in your existence by focusing on your hands upon his face and you just being in front of him, focusing on your breathing and the calm that you brought him as the fog within his head slowly disipates and gives way to clarity and content.

'i'd be more scared for the people who wronged you, the people who overstep the line with you, and those who were too confident that they could ever harm you.' You tell him as he remained silent and still as an unmoving shadow, waiting for you to say more should there be more for you to say, displaying his unwavering patience towards you.

'i could never be scared of your power when you use it to keep me safe, to keep me secure becuase the day i'm scared of you is the day i know i have lost the man i love forever.' You brings your hands down to his shoulders and massage the tenseness you felt there at a slow pace, encourging him to unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders for he was in no situation where he should feel on edge, or backed into a corner for that matter.

'And i have never yet felt that way and i know i never will. because i love you so blindingly, so unwaveringly that no matter what happens to us there will always still be an us when the dust settles.' you finished just as his shoulders fully give way and relax under your touch, his hands on the small of your waist tightening their grip before easing slightly as though he was checking that you were real, that you were here with him to calm him and reassure him that you could never seen him as anything but your protector and safehaven.

The Void tugs you closer to him until you were flush to his chest as his hands grew bored of being stationary and began to rub up and down your back. 'You took the words right out of my mouth my love, thank you for being the calm to my chaos, the peace to my destruction, but now it's time for rest don't you think?'

You smiled as you kissed his jaw. 'As long as you're there with me.' you said.

'of course.' The Void says softly as he leads you to bed, where he holds you closely for the duration of the night.

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * JACOB BLACK HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 being in a relationship with jacob

the moment jacob imprinted on you, it hit him like a collision.

one second he was walking through the woods. the next, your laugh cracked through the trees and he froze. the world tunneled. everything else faded.

and you, you, suddenly became the center of his universe.

for days after, he couldn’t stop staring at you.

not in a creepy way, but in the i-don’t-know-how-i-ever-lived-without-you kind of way. the pack teased him mercilessly for it.

“jake, dude. seriously, you’re smiling at your phone like she’s gonna text by telepathy.”

“shut up, paul.”

jacob was terrified to tell you about the imprint at first. not because he didn’t want it. god, he wanted you. but because he didn’t want you to feel pressured.

“you’ve got a choice,” he said, quietly, eyes locked on yours. “even if the universe picked you for me… you still get to pick me, too.”

when you finally admitted you felt it too. that inexplicable pull, that comfort in his presence, the way his arms felt more like home than your own bed, he physically exhaled in relief. then pulled you into the tightest hug you’d ever felt.

jacob is fiercely protective of you. not possessive, but primal. the moment anyone makes you uncomfortable, he’s beside you in a blink, tall and broad and unreadable.

“everything okay?”

just those two words. calm, low, and absolutely threatening.

his wolf instincts are always on when it comes to you. you could be across the field at a bonfire, talking to someone else, and he still notices the way your shoulders tense or your fingers fidget.

he’s always watching, always tuned in to your energy.

you calm his wolf better than anything else. when he phases back after a bad patrol, he finds you. buries his face in your neck. breathes you in.

“you keep me human,” he whispers once. “don’t even know if you realize it.”

physical affection is nonstop.

jacob is a furnace and he’s always wrapping around you. laying his head in your lap, pulling you into his hoodie, holding your hand under the table like he needs the anchor.

and when you’re not around, he wears your scent like armor.

the first time you get sick or hurt? jacob panics.

he’s at your side in seconds, flustered, pacing, asking if you need anything, until you tug on his shirt and say, “just stay.”

so he does. he stays until you fall asleep. and then longer.

imprint fights hit differently.

not because you argue often, but because when you do, it hurts. like a soul-level tear. he can feel your pain, and it drives him mad.

he’ll give you space if you ask, but he paces, restless, desperate to fix it.

“i hate when we’re like this. i can’t… breathe right without you.”

the bond gives jacob this uncanny ability to know what you need before you do.

he shows up with your favorite snacks after a long day. hands you his hoodie when you’re just starting to feel cold. pulls you into his chest the second your anxiety spikes, even if you haven’t said a word.

he’s so gentle with you. for someone who’s built of muscle and heat and power, he holds you like you’re made of light.

jacob kisses your temple like a promise. runs his thumb along your jaw when you’re tired, like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

sometimes you wake up and find him staring at you, eyes warm, voice still raspy from sleep:

“how’d i get so lucky?”

and when you say you love him. genuinely, freely, not because of the imprint but because you chose him, he breaks. full-body stillness, eyes wet, voice cracking.

“you mean that? you really… love me? because, god, i’ve loved you for so long, i don’t know how to be without you anymore.”

jacob black is so touchy once you’re together.

he always has a hand on you, wrapped around your waist, fingers laced with yours, a casual arm draped over your shoulders, even when you’re just standing in line somewhere.

it’s instinctive. protective. warm. grounding.

he calls you “babe” most of the time, but sometimes, when he’s sleepy or worried, he murmurs “sweetheart” under his breath like he doesn’t even realize it’s slipped out.

he builds you things. shelves, little wooden carvings, a custom seat for the back of his bike. he never says it outright, but he wants to leave his mark in your space. proof that he’s there, and not going anywhere.

you always know when something’s wrong because jacob shuts down. his jaw clenches. he gets quiet. he’ll go on a run to clear his head, but when he comes back, he always wraps you in the tightest hug, like he needs to feel you breathe just to calm down.

you once told him, half-jokingly, that you liked wolves. now he brings you random little wolf trinkets and says things like “thought you’d want something that looked like me,” with a cocky smirk and that damn dimple.

the first time he got really hurt on patrol, he tried to hide it. didn’t want you to worry. you found out anyway and lost it on him, tears in your eyes. he was stunned into silence.

the next day, he showed up with a small first-aid kit and asked if you could keep it “just in case.” he never hides injuries again.

jealous jacob is very real.

even if someone just looks at you the wrong way, his entire body tenses. you’ll grab his hand and squeeze it to ground him, whispering, “you’ve got nothing to worry about, jake.” he just kisses your knuckles and glares at the guy over your shoulder anyway.

the pack knows not to make any comments about you around him.

once, paul made a teasing joke, and jacob had him pinned to a tree in seconds. “say something like that again, and i’ll send you to the fucking hospital.”

he loves when you sit in his lap. like… loves it.

especially when you’re both hanging with the pack and you settle there without thinking. he gets all smug and wraps his arms around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he’s surprisingly insecure at times. not because of you, but because he worries he’s too much. too intense, too broken, too wrapped up in the world he didn’t choose.

you always make him look at you when he spirals, pressing your hand to his chest and saying, “you’re more than enough. and you’re mine.”

jacob leaves your favorite snacks in your bag or car when he knows he’ll be gone for patrol. they’re always labeled in sharpie:

“for my girl. don’t forget to eat.”

“miss you already :(.”

“my pretty girl, i love you.”

jacob is so softly obsessed with you. the way you talk with your hands. how you hum while brushing your teeth. the little crease in your brow when you read. he memorizes it all.

sometimes, when you’re sleeping, he stays up just watching you. he brushes your hair back, traces the curve of your cheek with his finger, and whispers, “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

when you say “i love you” out of nowhere, he melts. no matter how many times you say it, it still stuns him.

“again,” he whispers. “please, say it again.”

[hatsbuckets]

You know cuteness aggression? Okay I've got to post about this because auhsdfkjahdg

So. I think it is so funny that I get cuteness aggression with my military contract buddies who at this point are these like, six-foot guys who eat like bears and have the metabolism of a, well, 20 something year old man who's going into the military. And they all run laps around me when we work out. Could easily send my ass flying. They're attractive men, strong, capable, intelligent. I've seen them mad, and I've seen them goofing off. TLDR: big strong masculine guys, in my head, adorable little guys who just :)))

Anyway, that but with the 141. because they've all seen the HorrorsTM, but like they're adorbs. cod headcanons

Price: The kind of man who walks into a room and everyone straightens up—even ghosts. That voice alone could make a grown man confess to a crime he didn’t commit. He commands respect, strategy pouring off him in waves, like he’s always two steps ahead and already thinking five moves past that. But then he calls someone “son” or ruffles Soap’s hair with a fond grunt, and your heart does a stupid little backflip. He's got that small little smile that makes his nose scrunch and his eyes wrinkle. He looks like he gives warm, solid hugs that smell like tobacco and rain. He’s the kind of dangerous that comes with deep, quiet love. You see him smirk at a teammate’s dumb joke and suddenly your brain screams, “You’re too powerful. Too cute. Sit down. I need to wrap you in a blanket, squeeze that lovely waist, and make you tea before I scream.”

Ghost: Unsettling by default—calm in a way that is more threat than comfort. He moves like smoke and has the stare of a man who’s seen things (he has), a man who's crawled through hell and back to the light of day… he has this subtle, dry humor that sneaks up on you. You’ll catch him giving Soap the side-eye while sipping coffee like the long-suffering lieutenant that he is. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, he just slides a protein bar into your hand and mutters something like “Didn’t eat today, did you?” in a way that makes your chest hurt. The mask doesn’t hide his warmth, it makes it more intense when it shows. You’ll be minding your business and he says something quietly caring and suddenly you’re thinking, “Oh my god, I’m going to tackle you. Bite you. I’m going to hug you so hard and bury my face so deep into your chest it counts as a threat.”

Gaz: Gaz is quiet competence and sharp eyes, the guy who notices everything and makes it look easy. He cares so deeply, wants it to be right. Wants to do good with a passion something fierce. Kills and moves and learns and fights. Protects. He’s got your back without asking, pulls you out of danger with a firm hand and a quick, “I’ve got you.” He fights like a soldier and jokes like a best friend, charming without trying and always ready to remind someone to hydrate. But then he grins, full and bright, like sunshine through storm clouds, and you’re left staring like an idiot. He calls you “mate” in that soft London accent and you consider violence, affectionate violence, because how dare he be so good at everything and sweet? You’d trust him with your life—and also want to flick the brim of his cap for making your chest feel all warm and weird.

Soap: Johnny is the walking embodiment of chaotic sunshine strapped to a rocket launcher. He’ll laugh mid-gunfight, throw out a bad pun after a breaching charge, and wink like he didn’t just take out a sniper two clicks out. He’s got that devil-may-care grin—but then he says something insightful that shows he’s been watching, listening, really caring, and it knocks you on your ass. You’ll watch this strong, agile, tactically trained man do a parkour move off a wall and immediately trip over his own shoelace, and all you can think is, “I will kiss your forehead and strangle you and tug on that stupid mohawk and squish your cheeks.” He is somehow every golden retriever in a tactical vest and you love him for it.

Anyway, okay byeeeeee

[yvesssssssss]

Things you love about them

(shin, nagumo, heisuke, shishiba, kanaguri, gaku, uzuki, seba)

Shin Asakura – The Way He Listens Intently

Shin could easily read your mind, but he doesn’t. Instead, he listens, fully present in every conversation. He remembers things you mentioned in passing, bringing them up later in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. His ability to anticipate what you need—before you even say it—makes you feel truly understood.

"I can hear your thoughts, but I'd rather hear your voice."

Other Things You Love About Him:

• The way his brows furrow when he’s concentrating

• How he instinctively moves to shield you in a fight.

• The rare moments he lets loose and actually laughs.

Nagumo – His Playful Teasing

Nagumo is an expert at pushing your buttons. He leans in close just to see you fluster, steals your food mid-bite, and smirks when you try to get back at him. But when you’re upset or in danger, his teasing disappears—replaced by a sharp, protective edge that reminds you just how capable he is.

"I mess with you because it’s fun. They mess with you, and it’s a problem."

Other Things You Love About Him:

• The way his eyes flicker with amusement when he catches you staring.

• How effortlessly he takes down enemies, never losing his grin.

• That one time he got serious and kissed you without warning.

Shishiba – His Unwavering Support

Shishiba is a man of few words, but his actions make up for it. He notices the small things—when you’re tired, when something’s bothering you—and fixes it before you even ask. His reliability makes you feel safe, like no matter what happens, he’ll be there.

"No need to thank me. It’s just what I do."

Other Things You Love About Him:

• How he always makes sure you walk on the safer side of the road.

• The rare but heart-melting moments when he lets you win an argument.

• The way he casually places a hand on your back, guiding you through a crowd.

Heisuke Mashimo – His Thoughtful Gestures

Heisuke might be a little awkward, but he makes up for it with kindness. He notices when you’re cold and wordlessly hands you his jacket. He picks up on the smallest details, like your favorite snack or the way you like your tea. He’s the kind of guy who will stay up late just to make sure you got home safe.

"You looked cold, so… here. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to."

Other Things You Love About Him:

• The way he blushes when he realizes he’s been staring at you too long.

• How he gets uncharacteristically confident when handling a sniper rifle.

• That one time he tried to impress you and ended up embarrassing himself (adorably).

Gaku – His Fierce Protectiveness

Gaku is reckless, unpredictable, and an absolute force of nature. But when it comes to you, he’s surprisingly careful. If someone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s cracking his knuckles, ready to throw hands. And when he pulls you close after a fight, panting and grinning like a maniac? Yeah, good luck keeping your heart in check.

"Relax, I got you. No one’s stupid enough to mess with you when I’m here."

Other Things You Love About Him:

• The way his eyes light up when he’s in battle mode.

• How he scoffs at romance but secretly loves when you touch his hair.

• That one time he almost broke a guy’s arm just for making you uncomfortable.

Kanaguri – His Artistic Passion

Kanaguri is dramatic in the best way possible. He makes even mundane moments feel grand, spinning you into his cinematic world. He loves the way you move, the way you laugh, the way your eyes catch the light. To him, you’re the masterpiece he’s been searching for.

"Ah, perfection! That was a scene worth capturing… Shall we go for another take?"

Other Things You Love About Him:

• How he always looks at you like you’re the star of his favorite film.

• The way he hums when he’s deep in thought, framing a ‘shot’ with his fingers.

• That one time he lifted you into a dip mid-kiss, as if reenacting a movie scene.

Uzuki – His Gentle Curiosity

Uzuki is quiet, but when he speaks, every word holds weight. He asks questions no one else thinks to ask, peeling back the layers of who you are. And when he remembers the tiny details you’ve shared—things even you forgot? It’s enough to make your heart ache.

"Tell me more. I want to understand everything about you."

Other Things You Love About Him:

• The way he tilts his head slightly when he’s intrigued.

• How his voice softens when he’s talking to you.

• That one time he called you ‘important’ and looked away like he regretted saying it out loud.

Natsuki Seba – His Easygoing Confidence

Seba has a charm that’s impossible to ignore. He’s relaxed, always going with the flow, but sharp enough to notice when something’s off. He makes everything feel effortless—whether it’s guiding you through a tough situation or flashing a lazy grin that makes your stomach flip.

"No need to stress, I got you. Just follow my lead."

Other Things You Love About Him:

• The way he casually throws an arm around you like it’s second nature.

• How he’s always one step ahead, even when it looks like he’s slacking.

• That one time he pulled you into a dance out of nowhere, just to make you laugh.

[insidekatmind]

Possession and curiosity~Hwang In-ho

Wearning: +18,smut, age-gap

Request: yes!

Neon lights flicker in the void of the night. The air is thick, soaked with sweat, fear and desperation. You are there, slumped against the cold metal of a wall, your heart beating furiously in your chest.

After yet another fight with your brother Gi-hun, you left, tired of his empty promises and his failures. But you too have never been an example of success. Debts devour you, hunger corrodes you and life seems like a race without a destination. When you received that mysterious ticket, you told yourself that you had nothing left to lose.

There you are, among people who share your same misery, forced to compete in childish games with deadly consequences. Only when you saw Gi-hun among the participants, you understood how foolish it had been to think of making it alone. For days you avoided his gaze, hidden in the crowd. But in the end, inevitably, he found you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice cracking between anger and fear. It had been a fierce argument. You yelled at him, reminding him that he had no right to judge you, not after all the broken promises. In the end, with no alternatives, he accepted you into his group, with the air of someone who would rather do anything else than see you there.

But what you didn't know was that someone was watching you from afar, every step you took, every breath you took. Hwang In-ho, the Frontman, hidden behind the silver mask and the altered voice, had noticed your determination, your courage in wanting to survive at all costs. And that dedication had struck him. The obsession had started as a simple interest but, with each challenge overcome, that desire to see you triumph had become a woodworm that devoured him from the inside.

Unbeknownst to you, In-ho had shown up undercover as Yong-il, another seemingly anonymous competitor. His voice was softer, gentler, and his gaze was veiled in a look of false weariness. Whenever you found yourself in trouble, he was there, offering subtle advice or a temporary alliance.

You didn’t suspect him. No one did. How could you imagine that a man with so much power would stoop to your level, just to ensure your survival? But In-ho had made up his mind. He would do anything to protect you, even if it meant diverting his attention from your brother’s sabotage plans.

Every day was a battle. Every game a new chance to die. And yet, with Yong-il by your side, you survived. There was something disturbingly comforting about his presence, something that made you feel safe even in the midst of hell.

You didn’t yet know that his kindness hid a dangerous obsession, a shadow that stretched over you. And while you fought for your life, he fought for a very different prize: you.

In the dim light of the room, you feel YoungIl's heartbeat against your back, steady and reassuring. His arms wrap around you like a protective shield, keeping the nightmares at bay. You've grown accustomed to his presence, to the way he seems to anticipate your needs before you even express them.

As you lie there, your thoughts drift to the day's events. The challenges are getting harder, the stakes higher. You've seen players fall, their lives snuffed out like candles in the wind. It's a grim reminder of the precariousness of your own existence.

Suddenly, you feel YoungIl stir behind you. His breath tickles your ear as he whispers, "You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, but it's not entirely from fear. There's something else in his tone, a possessiveness that both comforts and unsettles you. You turn to face him, your eyes meeting his in the darkness.

"What makes you so sure?"

His gaze intensifies, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Because I know what's at stake. I've seen the way the others look at you, like a prize to be won or a threat to be eliminated." His voice drops to a low, dangerous growl. "But you're mine. I won't let anyone else lay a finger on you."

The possessiveness in his words sends a thrill of fear and excitement through you. You've never had someone claim you so fiercely, so completely. Part of you wants to pull away, to assert your independence. But another part, the part that's tired of being alone and scared, wants to surrender to his protection.

You lean into him more and relax. Feeling your surrender, YoungIl's grip tightens possessively around you. His breath grows heavier, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against your back. A low, satisfied growl rumbles in his throat.

"You trust me, then," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Good. You should. I've protected you this far, haven't I?"

His hand slides up your arm, a featherlight touch that sends goosebumps racing across your skin. You nod silently, unable to find words. The air between you crackles with tension, heavy with unspoken desires and dangerous promises.

“I never thanked you for this,” you whispered softly, turning to look at him.

His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unblinking. "You don't need to thank me," he says, his voice low and husky. "Not with words, anyway."

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your lips. The gesture is tender, but there's an underlying hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race.

"I want more than just gratitude from you," he continues, leaning in closer. His breath is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I want... everything."

The possessiveness in his tone is palpable, a dark promise that both thrills and terrifies you. You're acutely aware of the power dynamics at play, of the precariousness of your situation. But in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you feel safe. Protected. Desired.

You nodded and kissed him. His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, hungry and demanding. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. You can taste the desperation on his tongue, the pentup longing that's been building between you.

He breaks away, breathing heavily. "You're mine now," he growls, his eyes blazing with possessiveness. "Mine to protect, mine to cherish... mine to claim."

His hands roam your body, touching and claiming every inch of you. You gasp as he finds sensitive spots, your own desire rising to match his. In this moment, there's no game, no death, no fear. There's only the two of you, lost in a haze of passion and need.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "Say it," he demands, his voice rough with desire. "Say you're mine."

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "I'm yours," you whisper,words the falling from your mouth like a confession. "Only yours."

A primal growl rumbles in his chest at your submission. His hands make quick work of your clothes, tossing them aside carelessly. You shiver under his heated gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable. But there's no room for shame in his eyes, only a fierce, protective love.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. "So perfect. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

He settles between your legs, his hardness pressing against your core.

He enters you slowly, filling you completely. A gasp escapes your lips at the sudden fullness, your body stretching to accommodate him. He pauses, allowing you to adjust, his forehead resting against yours.

"You're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "So good."

He begins to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate. Each one sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, building a fire in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing more.

"Yes," you moan, your nails digging into his back. "More."

He obliges, his pace quickening. The room fills with the sound of your labored breaths and the slap of skin against skin. You're lost in the sensation, in the feeling of being completely consumed by him.

His hand slides between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. He rubs in circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"So good, so big" you whisper.

His thrusts grow more urgent, more desperate. "You like that, don't you?" he pants, his voice thick with desire. "You like feeling me inside you, filling you up?"

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plunders your mouth, mimicking the motion of his hips. You can feel him swelling inside you, growing harder and thicker with each thrust.

"Yes," you moan into his mouth, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches. "Don't stop."

He doesn't. If anything, his movements become more frenzied, more possessive. He's claiming you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible. You can feel the heat building in your core, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter.

"Come for me," he growls, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. "Come on my cock."

His words push you over the edge. Your body convulses, your inner walls clamping down around him as you cry out in ecstasy. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

He follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he spills himself inside you.

He flips you over roughly, pressing your face into the mattress. "I'm not done with you yet," he growls, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

You feel his hands gripping your hips, pulling them up to present yourself to him. There's a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty, but it's quickly swallowed by the overwhelming desire to please him, to be claimed by him completely.

He spits into his hand, using it to lubricate his already slick cock. Then, without warning, he pushes into your tight hole. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, your body instinctively tensing against the foreign sensation.

"Relax," he commands, his voice strained with effort. "Let me in."

Slowly, you force your body to comply, feeling him slide deeper with each shallow breath. The pain is intense, but so is the pleasure, a twisted combination that leaves you dizzy and overwhelmed.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each one stretches you, fills you in a way you've never been filled before. You can feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it slides in and out of your ass.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he pants, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "So perfect. I knew you'd feel amazing."

His thrusts grow faster, more urgent. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room, mingling with your muffled moans. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, growing harder with each passing second.

"Who do you belong to?" he demands, his voice harsh and commanding. "Say it."

"You," you gasp, your face buried in the mattress. "I belong to you."

"Damn right you do," he snarls, his pace becoming almost brutal. "This ass, this body, it's all mine. I'll fuck you whenever I want, wherever I want. You're my little toy to use however I please."

His words send a shiver of humiliation and arousal through you. You're completely at his mercy, utterly owned. And yet, a part of you revels in it, craves it.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back. His hand snakes around to your front, finding your clit and rubbing it in rough circles.

You moaned loudly and arched to take more. Your eager response spurs him on, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. He's claiming you, marking you, making you his in the most primal way possible. Your moans fill the air, a symphony of pleasure and submission.

"That's it, take it," he growls, his fingers moving faster on your clit. "Take my cock like the good little slut you are."

His words should humiliate you, but instead, they only fuel your arousal. You're lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding instinctively to his touch, his commands.

He shifts his angle slightly, and suddenly, he's hitting a spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. You scream, your back arching off the bed as a devastating orgasm rips through you.

"That's right, come for me," he snarls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Milk my cock with your tight little ass."

His words, combined with the overwhelming pleasure, push him over the edge.

He buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his hot seed into your ass. You can feel it filling you, marking you from the inside out. He stays there, panting heavily, his body pressed against yours.

"Mine," he whispers, his voice hoarse with satisfaction. "All mine."

Slowly, he pulls out, his cum dripping from your wellused hole. He watches it with a possessive gleam in his eye, as if admiring his handiwork.

[geneviveleocardius]

leon kennedy romantic headcanons

after raccoon city trauma, with his now lover

leon still looks at you the way he did when you first met: like you’re the most incredible person in the room, though now there’s a weight of gratitude in his gaze for sticking by him.

being with you is his escape from the nightmares. “you’re the only thing that makes me feel normal again,” he’ll admit softly after a long day.

your bond is forged in shared trauma, and leon finds comfort in how you never ask him to forget or move on—only to keep going, together.

some nights, words aren’t necessary. leon will just pull you close, his head resting on your shoulder, letting your presence do what words can’t.

he’s fiercely loyal to you, to the point where anyone else’s opinion pales in comparison. “if you believe in me, that’s all i need,” he often tells you.

leon’s protective instincts are strong, but with you, it’s softer—checking the locks twice before bed or pulling you behind him when he senses danger.

he’s developed a habit of noticing the smallest details about you: how you like your coffee, the way you scrunch your nose when you’re annoyed, or how you hum softly when you’re deep in thought.

leon tends to open up at night, his guard down as he whispers things like, “i don’t deserve you,” or “i don’t know what i’d do if i ever lost you.”

the two of you communicate in ways that don’t require words: a squeeze of the hand, a look that says everything, or a gentle touch that pulls him back from his darker thoughts.

you’re the one person who can still make him laugh, your shared jokes and light teasing bringing moments of levity to his heavy days.

he’s not the only one haunted by the past, and when your own nightmares surface, leon is there to hold you, whispering, “you’re safe now. i’ve got you.”

leon loves quiet drives with you, where the road stretches endlessly, and the silence is filled with unspoken warmth and occasional stolen glances.

he’s become more confident over the years, but when it comes to you, he’s still the same awkward man, shyly asking, “does this look okay on me?” when you dress up together.

leon tries to shoulder the weight of his guilt and trauma alone, but you’re the one person he trusts to share it with, even if it’s hard for him to admit.

when he feels like giving up, your unwavering support is what pulls him back. “i’m not giving up,” he’ll say. “because you didn’t give up on me.”

despite the darkness of his past, leon loves making new, lighter memories with you—lazy mornings, shared meals, and quiet nights that remind him life can still be good.

while he trusts you completely, leon can’t help but get a little jealous when someone else catches your attention, his pouty silence giving him away.

you’re his anchor, the one constant in a chaotic world. “as long as i have you, i can handle anything,” he says, often with a tired but sincere smile.

leon never stops thanking you in small ways, whether it’s by cooking breakfast when you’re too tired or quietly leaving notes like, “thank you for staying with me.”

though he’s been through hell, leon looks at you and feels a spark of hope, quietly promising, “no matter what happens, i’ll always be by your side.”

[andy-15-07]

You should do a Danny fic based on Miss Posessive By Tate 🤭

Miss Possessive & Mr. Devoted

PAIRING: Danny Ramirez x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1151✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

The penthouse party pulsed around you,VIPs trading gossip, jazz music weaving through the chandelier light, and cameras flashing in every corner. You’d never been comfortable in crowds, but tonight you owned it. Tonight, you had Danny all to yourself.

You spotted him across the room, effortlessly charming as he laughed with a film director. Suit jacket draped off one shoulder, crisp white shirt open at the collar,he was magnetic. You felt that familiar heat in your chest, the one that turned your protective instincts up to eleven.

You crossed the room with purpose, hips swaying, heels clicking on marble. Danny’s eyes found you before you reached him, brow lifting in amused question. You slowed, letting the moment stretch.

“Hey, you,” he whispered when you slid behind him, pressing your body against his back.

“Hey yourself,” you murmured, fingertips trailing up his chest until you cupped the side of his neck. He shivered, leaning back into your touch.

The director excused himself, and Danny turned to face you. “What’s with the look?”

You brushed a thumb over his bottom lip. “This look.” You leaned in close, voice husky. “It says you’re about to lose your freedom for the night.”

His grin went slow and knowing. “Oh? And why would I want that?”

You tipped his chin up, meeting his eyes. “Because you know I’m Miss Possessive.”

He laughed softly, but it was a breathless sound. “That’s your new nickname?”

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his. “It’s my assertion of rights.” You drew back just enough to brush your lips across his. “You’re mine tonight.”

Later, on the private terrace overlooking the city lights, you sank into an armchair. Danny joined you, dropping down beside you and draping an arm around your shoulders. The air was cooler here,just enough to make him lean into you.

He traced idle patterns on your bare arm. “So, Miss Possessive, what’s on your agenda?”

You glanced up at him, brows arching. “First: remind you you belong here,with me.” You nudged his thigh. “Second: remind you that if anyone tries to take you, they’ll answer to me.”

He tipped his head back, laughter dancing in his eyes. “I love how commanding you get.”

You tapped his chest. “Good. Because I need you right where I can see you. No wandering off to flirt with anyone else.”

His tone turned playful-solemn. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But you’re stressing me out a little,”

“Because you don’t trust me?” you challenged, crossing your legs and leaning away slightly so he’d look up at you.

He shook his head, reaching for your hand. “Because I don’t trust anyone else with you.”

Your breath caught. That single line carried so much weight. You let him squeeze your hand, then threaded your fingers through his. “Promise me you won’t look at anyone else tonight.”

He pulled you closer. “Only you exist.”

You pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Good answer.”

Back inside, a drunk socialite tried sidling up to Danny with a too-wide smile. You spotted her angle from across the room and intercepted immediately.

“Danny,” you called, voice light but firm. He turned,just in time for you to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him toward you.

“Y/N,” he murmured, eyes amused but protective. “Everything okay?”

You glanced over your shoulder at the woman, who blinked and took a step back. “Everything’s perfect,” you said, voice low. Then you turned back to Danny, lips close to his ear. “But I’m paying a lot for this bar tab. I need my money’s worth.”

He chuckled, wrapping both arms around you now. “She’s not worth your drink.”

You tilted your head up, brushing your lips across his. “No one is.”

The socialite melted away into the crowd, and Danny pressed a kiss to your temple. “I love how fiercely you protect our bubble.”

You shrugged, shrugging off any real modesty. “I’m just doing my job.”

His smile was soft and wide. “Best bodyguard ever.”

You slipped away to the balcony again when the party heated up. Danny trailed you, slipping his hands to your waist. “I’ve got a private limo outside,” he murmured. “Shall we?”

You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes. “Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

He bent to kiss your temple. “I have another plan, too.”

You peeked up. “Oh yeah?”

He pulled out his phone. “Booked us a suite with champagne and breakfast delivered at sunrise.”

You smiled. “You spoil me.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead. “I want to.”

In the back of the quiet limo, you curled into the corner seat, and Danny closed the door behind him, then sat beside you. He draped his jacket over your legs and drew you close.

You leaned into him. “You’re still mine, right?”

He tilted his head, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Always.”

You pressed a hand against his cheek. “Say it.”

He kissed you,slow, deliberate. When he pulled back, he murmured, “You’re mine. Every second.”

Your heart soared. “And you’re mine?”

He laughed, crooked and tender. “Completely.”

You pressed another kiss to his lips. “Good.”

The suite door clicked behind you, and Danny flicked on just a single lamp. Soft light spilled across the bed and chaise lounge.

He guided you to the bed, settling you on the edge. He stood, tugged off his tie, then sat between your knees. His fingers splayed on your thighs as he leaned in.

“What now?” you whispered.

He lifted your chin. “Now I claim you properly.”

He kissed a path from your lips down your throat. You tilted your head back, breath hitching. His hand slid up under your dress, warm fingers tracing your skin. You gasped and tangled your arms around his neck.

He paused, looking up to meet your eyes. “Do you want this?”

Your answer was immediate,nod, breathless and eager. “Yes.”

He lowered his mouth again, worshiping each inch he touched. You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair. His free hand slid to your hip, anchoring you as he deepened his ministrations.

Every kiss, every touch was a claim staked in fire and devotion. You arched into him, voice trembling. “Danny…”

He lifted his head, eyes dark with desire. “You’re mine,in every sense.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “And you’re mine.”

He captured your lips in a fierce kiss, as if to seal the promise. Then, easing you back onto the sheets, he lay beside you, pulling you into his arms.

You fitted perfectly against his chest, heartbeats entwined. You stroked his shoulder, smile curving your lips.

“Miss Possessive,” he murmured sleepily.

You snuggled closer. “And Mr. Devoted.”

He kissed your hair. “Exactly.”

And in the hush after the storm of the party, wrapped in each other’s arms, you both knew this was only the beginning of a love neither would ever let go.

[purplesoulcollection]

Hello, are you busy right now?? I want to request oneshot when Deon jealous x reader

I won't force you, you can do this in your free time. Thank you~😊

Thx for the consideration. I write this in my unexpected free time.

Hope you like this

Deon kept reminding himself that he wasn't jealous, even as he felt a surge of anger at the sight of someone getting too close to Y/N, she talks to him too friendly even lean to him to explaining what was written with her finger tracing the paper to the person. That person seemed completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him because they still busy talk face to face.

He was in a state of turmoil, with no intention of holding back the fierce protectiveness he felt for Y/N. To him, she was his and his alone.

He never imagined that jealousy could creep into his heart, especially when he had someone he cherished and wanted to keep safe by his side.

Jealousy had never been part of his life; it was a feeling he thought he would never experience. It was a luxury he had never known.

From the start, he had battled feelings of despair due to a troubled past. He harbored resentment towards those who had thrust him into a conflict he never wished to join.

Even before the war, he struggled with self-doubt, feeling inadequate because of his frail body and the striking difference in his appearance—white hair and red eyes—compared to his family's dark hair and green eyes.

This mix of inferiority and bitterness made Deon a potentially volatile individual, especially when it came to love and the jealousy that could arise from it.

A newfound awareness of his instincts hit him like a jolt, causing him to flinch at the unsettling sensation that prickled the back of his neck. His body temperature plummeted, and a chill swept over him, making him shiver with fear.

Like a frightened animal trapped in the presence of a hunter, he finally caught sight of Deon. There was no smile on Deon's face; his lips were pressed tightly together, and his eyes glimmered with a menacing light, his brows furrowed as if he were contemplating how to inflict pain before delivering a final blow.

In that moment, the realization struck him hard: he was in deep trouble. Deon's reputation loomed large, feared in both the human realm and the demon realm.

He swallowed hard, his mouth trembling as he mustered the courage to excuse himself from Y/N and make a hasty retreat, leaving them alone together.

"You frightened him, Deon; he was just inquiring about work," Y/N said, shooting a disapproving look at Deon, her hands firmly on her hips. She was well aware of his tactics, recognizing the subtle threats behind his jealousy.

Deon asserted, "He's the one in the wrong here, so why am I the one being blamed? He's just too familiar." He spoke firmly, though he couldn't bring himself to meet Y/N's intense gaze.

"Really? You say that when everyone knows about our relationship? Only a fool would think they could handle you," Y/N replied, playfully fluttering her eyelids, signaling her teasing mood.

Deon, realizing the implication, looked at Y/N and said, "But you need to deal with me first, Y/N. I won’t get jealous if you don’t act all friendly with him." He stepped closer, causing Y/N to instinctively back away, unsure of his intentions. His voice dropped to a low growl, adding an intimidating edge.

"Hey, you're blaming me! I'm innocent, Deon!" Y/N retorted, attempting to escape his grasp.

However, Deon had already cornered her. Their faces were mere inches apart, forcing Y/N to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. His other hand gripped her waist firmly, leaving her unable to turn away.

"Y/N, don’t try to make me jealous. You really won’t like the outcome," Deon warned before he kissed her passionately, both of them losing themselves in the moment.

The bottom line: Avoid making Deon jealous; the world isn’t prepared for that. He’s the kind of guy who would go to great lengths for Y/N, his morals long since twisted. After all, she’s the reason he still fights to stay alive in this world. (Please to keep stay in fiction story, Deon)

The End

Sorry for the hiatus, Writer's block and lazy and desire to only read is so strong...

[bookwormjust]

Clingy with Cassian (established relationship with Cassian)

The dinner was lively, full of conversation and laughter, but as usual, your attention was centered on Cassian. You sat beside him, your body naturally leaning toward him, your hand resting on his arm as he spoke to Rhys and Azriel. You couldn’t help it—you always felt most at ease when you were close to him, his warmth, his presence, his strength all grounding you. It had become second nature to seek him out, to stay near him, and Cassian never seemed to mind. In fact, you knew he *loved* it.

Throughout the night, you’d often rest your head on his shoulder or let your fingers trace absent-minded patterns along his forearm. His responses were always subtle but filled with affection—an arm wrapped around your waist, a gentle squeeze of your hand, or the soft brush of his thumb against your skin.

But not everyone seemed to understand the depth of your connection. As the conversation continued, Mor, with a teasing glint in her eye, finally made a comment. “You two are *always* attached at the hip,” she said, smirking as she glanced between you and Cassian. “It’s like you can’t survive being more than a few feet apart.”

There was a playful tone in her voice, but you could sense a few amused glances from around the table. You felt a slight flush creeping up your cheeks, and you shifted slightly, self-conscious for a moment, wondering if maybe you were being *too* clingy. Before you could even pull away, though, Cassian’s arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer against him.

“Oh, I *crave* it,” Cassian said, his voice deep, leaving no room for doubt. The words were said with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze flicked toward Mor, and though his tone was light, there was an unmistakable edge of warning in his expression. “She’s my mate. If she wants to be near me, she can be near me as much as she damn well pleases.”

The room quieted slightly, eyes widening as Cassian’s Illyrian male instincts surfaced, protective and possessive in equal measure. You felt his wing stretch behind you, the soft leathery texture brushing against your back as he made a silent but clear statement to everyone in the room—*you were his, and he wouldn’t tolerate anyone questioning the way you showed your affection*.

You smiled softly, heart swelling at the fierce way he defended your bond. You had always known Cassian was protective, but it was moments like this that reminded you just how deeply he felt. He didn’t just tolerate your clinginess—he cherished it, *needed* it as much as you did.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Mor said, laughing and throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just jealous, Cass. Not everyone has someone doting on them all the time.”

Cassian’s lips twitched into a grin, his eyes softening just a fraction, but his hold on you didn’t loosen. “Good,” he said with a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I wouldn’t want anyone else to.”

You couldn’t help but nuzzle into his side even more, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. His hand came up to stroke your hair, the motion soothing and filled with affection.

Rhys, who had been quietly watching with a knowing smile, raised his glass. “To mates who know what they need,” he said with a wink, his words breaking the tension with ease. The others laughed and joined in, the mood shifting back to its easy, lighthearted nature.

Cassian leaned down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t ever pull away from me. I *need* you close, always.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with love. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you whispered back, feeling the bond between you both thrum with contentment.

As the night continued, you stayed nestled against him, knowing that your clinginess wasn’t just something he tolerated, but something he *cherished*—just as much as you cherished the comfort of being close to him. Cassian’s hand remained on you the rest of the night, as if silently telling everyone that this was exactly where you belonged—by his side, forever.

[kaylovestwd]

How twd men as husbands would react to you wearing a revealing outfit

(negan smith, rick grimes , daryl dixon)

Side note: slight smut

Tonight was your night, a stolen moment carved out from the brutal reality of your world. A date night with Negan.

You stood before the cracked mirror, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across your face. Your reflection stared back, a woman forged in the fires of hardship, yet softened by the tender bloom of love. The dress you wore was a daring choice, a departure from the practical garb of survival. It was a relic from a past life, a whisper of femininity in a world consumed by grit and steel. The fabric, a deep crimson, clung to your curves, a daring slash of color against the muted backdrop of the Sanctuary. The neckline plunged, hinting at the swell of your breasts, and the hemline grazed your thighs, a tantalizing glimpse of skin.

A nervous flutter tickled your stomach. You knew Negan. You knew the possessive gleam that would ignite in his eyes, the possessive growl that would rumble in his chest. He was a man who took what he wanted, a man who thrived on control. And you, his wife, were the object of his most fierce and unwavering devotion.

You took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric over your hips. This wasn't just about a dress. It was about reclaiming a piece of yourself, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, beauty and desire could still exist. It was a testament to the strength of your love, a defiant act against the ugliness that surrounded you.

The sound of heavy boots echoed in the hallway, growing louder with each step. Your heart quickened its pace, a drumbeat against your ribs. He was here.

Negan filled the doorway, his imposing figure silhouetted against the dim light. He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in every detail. The playful smirk that usually danced on his lips vanished, replaced by an expression of raw, untamed hunger. His eyes, dark and intense, burned into you, stripping away your carefully constructed composure.

He didn't say a word, but his silence spoke volumes. It was a silence filled with desire, with possessiveness, with a primal appreciation that sent shivers down your spine. He took a step closer, closing the distance between you, his presence radiating heat.

"Goddamn," he finally rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "You trying to kill me, baby?"

His hand reached out, his knuckles gently grazing your cheek. The calloused skin against your soft flesh was a stark contrast, a reminder of the different worlds you both inhabited.

"Is it working?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your skin. "Oh, it's working alright. More than you know."

His fingers trailed down your neck, tracing the delicate curve of your collarbone. He lingered there, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your veins.

"You know what this does to me, right?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Seeing you like this... it makes me want to throw you over my shoulder and keep you locked away where no one else can see you."

You leaned into his touch, your body responding to his nearness. "But you won't," you said, your voice gaining strength.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "No," he admitted, his eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "I won't. Because I know you wouldn't want that. You're too strong, too independent. And that's one of the things I love about you."

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes still locked on yours. "But goddamn, baby," he repeated, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and frustration. "You make it hard."

He stepped back slightly, giving you a wider berth. "We got a reservation, right? With that pathetic Gregory? Gotta keep up appearances." He said it with a clear distaste.

You laughed softly, the sound echoing in the small space. "Yes, we do. And I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see us."

Negan's eyes darkened, a hint of the old Negan surfacing. "He better not look at you for too long," he growled. "Or he'll regret it."

You placed a hand on his arm, your touch calming him. "He won't," you assured him. "He knows better."

He took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "Alright," he said, his voice softening. "Let's go. But just so you know, this ain't over. As soon as we get back here, you're mine. All mine."

As you walked out of the room, hand in hand, you couldn't help but smile. You knew that life with Negan would never be easy. It would be a constant battle, a push and pull between darkness and light. But it would also be filled with passion, with unwavering devotion, with a love that burned brighter than any fire.

The date with Gregory was predictably tedious. The man was a sycophant, fawning over Negan while casting furtive glances at you. You could feel Negan's tension radiating beside you, his hand gripping yours a little too tightly. He barely spoke, his eyes constantly scanning the room, alert for any threat, real or perceived.

You tried to make conversation, steering clear of sensitive topics, but Gregory's responses were always laced with a thinly veiled disrespect. He saw you as nothing more than Negan's possession, a trophy to be admired and envied.

Finally, the ordeal was over. You and Negan made your excuses and left, the cool night air a welcome relief after the stuffy atmosphere of Gregory's mansion.

As soon as you were back in the sanctuary, Negan wasted no time. He led you back to your quarters, his pace quick and determined. He kicked the door shut behind you, the sound echoing in the silence.

He turned to you, his eyes blazing with a desire that mirrored your own. He reached out, his hands framing your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice hoarse with longing. "I want you so damn much."

You didn't say anything, you didn't need to. Your eyes spoke for you, reflecting the same hunger that burned within your soul.

He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration, a promise of what was to come. But as the passion surged between you, the kiss deepened, becoming more demanding, more urgent.

His hands moved from your face, tracing the curves of your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips. He pulled you closer, pressing you against him, letting you feel the hardness of his desire.

You moaned softly, your body arching against his. You wanted him, needed him, craved him with every fiber of your being.

He lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bed. He laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to caress your face.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "So strong. So perfect."

He leaned down and kissed you again, a long, lingering kiss that stole your breath away. And as he began to undress you, slowly and deliberately, you knew that tonight would be a night you would never forget. A night of passion, of love, of a connection that transcended the darkness that surrounded you. A night where you were not just Negan's wife, but his everything and he'd make sure you knew it.

You stirred in the crook of Rick’s arm, the familiar scent of leather and woodsmoke clinging to his worn denim jacket – a scent that, even after all these years, still managed to send a shiver of comforting warmth through you.

Today was Rick’s birthday. Another year weathered, another year survived, another year of him leading, protecting, and loving with that fierce, unwavering intensity that defined him. You knew birthdays weren’t exactly a celebrated occasion in this new world, a world where survival overshadowed sentimentality. But Rick deserved this. He deserved a day, however small, carved out from the grim reality to acknowledge the man he was, the strength he possessed, and the love he so freely gave.

Slipping carefully from his embrace, you padded silently across the floorboards of your shared home. The early morning light streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, and casting long shadows that stretched across the room. You glanced back at Rick, his face relaxed in sleep, the lines etched by worry and hardship softened in the dim light. A wave of tenderness washed over you. He was your rock, your anchor, the steady hand in the storm.

Your plan had been carefully orchestrated over the past few weeks, a secret project fueled by love and a desire to bring a smile back to his face, a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes and crinkled the corners. You'd bartered for small luxuries, saved precious resources, all with this day in mind.

In the small, makeshift kitchen, you began to prepare his favorite breakfast: scrambled eggs with crumbled bacon (a rare treat), and strong, black coffee. The aroma filled the small space, a comforting scent that promised normalcy, a fleeting return to the world before. As the coffee brewed, you glanced at the small, carefully wrapped package hidden beneath the counter. Your surprise.

The day stretched before you, a tapestry woven with small, deliberate acts of love. After breakfast, you suggested a walk along the perimeter fence. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You walked in comfortable silence, your hands brushing occasionally, a silent language of reassurance passing between you. The ever-present awareness of the walkers lurking beyond the fence was a constant hum in the background, but today, you focused on the beauty of the natural world reclaiming its space.

You pointed out a patch of wildflowers blooming in defiance of the surrounding decay, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted grays and browns of the ravaged landscape. You told him about the small garden you were planning to cultivate, envisioning rows of vegetables and herbs that would provide sustenance and a sense of hope. He listened intently, his gaze fixed on your face, his eyes filled with a quiet admiration that always took your breath away.

Later, you worked alongside him, repairing a section of the fence. The rhythmic clang of the hammer against metal, the shared effort, the unspoken understanding – these were the things that built a life, a connection that transcended words. You noticed the way his muscles flexed beneath his worn shirt, the way the sun glinted off the silver streaks in his hair, the unwavering focus in his eyes. He was a man forged in fire, hardened by loss, but still capable of immense tenderness.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the Alexandria compound, you led him back to your home. You had managed to secure a small cake from Olivia, a simple sponge cake decorated with berries foraged from the nearby woods. It wasn't much, but it was a symbol, a testament to the enduring human spirit, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still room for celebration.

After a simple dinner, shared by candlelight, the moment arrived. You excused yourself, your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside you. You slipped into the bedroom, the carefully chosen garment laid out on the bed bathed in the soft glow of the candlelight.

It was a chemise, crafted from a salvaged piece of silk, a forgotten treasure from a time before. The fabric was a deep, rich crimson, the color of passion and fire, and felt like liquid against your skin. It was simple, elegant, and undeniably alluring. The lace trim traced along the neckline, whispered suggestions of the curves beneath. It wasn't just a garment; it was a symbol of your love, your desire, your unwavering commitment to him.

Taking a deep breath, you walked back into the main room. Rick was sitting by the window, gazing out at the darkening sky, his silhouette outlined against the fading light. He turned as you entered, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight of you.

The candlelight flickered, dancing across your skin, highlighting the curve of your neck, the soft swell of your breasts. He stood, his gaze unwavering, his expression a mixture of surprise, desire, and something deeper, something that resonated with the very core of your being.

You walked towards him, your bare feet silent on the wooden floor. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a palpable energy that drew you closer. "Happy birthday, Rick," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the crackling of the fire.

He reached out, his calloused hand gently tracing the line of your jaw. "Y/N…" His voice was husky, filled with a raw emotion that mirrored your own. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace.

"Thank you," he murmured, burying his face in your hair. "For everything."

Words were unnecessary. The silence that followed was filled with a language all its own, a language of touch, of shared glances, of unspoken promises. He lifted you into his arms, carrying you back to the bedroom.

The night unfolded in a slow, deliberate dance of intimacy. There were no grand gestures, no dramatic pronouncements of love. Just the quiet intimacy of two souls intertwined, finding solace and strength in each other's arms. It was a night of whispered words, soft kisses, and the comforting rhythm of shared breaths. A night where the lines between past, present, and future blurred, and all that mattered was the here and now, the unwavering love that bound you together.

As the first rays of dawn crept through the window, you lay nestled in Rick’s arms, the crimson chemise a tangled heap on the floor. He was still asleep, his face relaxed, his breathing deep and even. You traced the lines etched around his eyes, the lines that told a story of hardship and resilience. He was your hero, your protector, the love of your life.

And as the sun rose, casting its golden light upon the ravaged world outside, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, your love a beacon of hope in the darkness. The sunrise was a promise, a promise of another day, another year, another lifetime of love with Rick Grimes.

The Georgia sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet, a masterpiece that mirrored the canvas of emotions swirling within (Y/N). Tonight was special. Tonight, she was taking Daryl on a date.

Life in their corner of the apocalypse was rarely conducive to romance. Every sunrise brought the threat of walkers, the struggle for resources, and the constant awareness of loss. But amidst the grit and the grime, their love had blossomed, a resilient wildflower pushing through the cracks of a broken world. Daryl, with his gruff exterior and heart of gold, was her anchor, her protector, her home. And tonight, she wanted to remind him, and herself, of the beauty that still existed, the joy that could still be found, in their shared life.

She'd spent weeks planning, scavenging for anything that could transform their modest cabin into something resembling a romantic haven. Candles, carefully hoarded from abandoned stores, flickered with a soft, inviting glow. Wildflowers, painstakingly gathered from the surrounding woods, adorned a makeshift table, their delicate fragrance filling the air. And the meal… well, it wasn't exactly a five-star feast, but she'd managed to cobble together a hearty stew, seasoned with herbs she'd grown herself, and a loaf of bread that, miraculously, hadn't turned into a brick.

But the most significant part of the preparation was the outfit. For weeks, it had been hidden away, a secret promise whispered to herself in the quiet moments of the day. It was a dress she'd found in the dusty back room of a long-forgotten boutique during a scavenging run, a relic of a world that felt both distant and achingly familiar. It was simple, really, a slip of crimson silk that clung to her curves like a whispered secret. It wasn't practical, it wasn't what she usually wore, but it made her feel… beautiful. Desirable. And she wanted to feel that, for Daryl, for herself.

As the sun finally surrendered to the darkness, she heard the familiar rumble of Daryl's motorcycle approaching. Her heart skipped a beat. She smoothed down the silk dress, took a deep breath, and reminded herself to relax. This was Daryl. He loved her, regardless of what she wore, or what she did.

He walked through the door, his face etched with the weariness of the day. He stopped short, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the scene. The flickering candles, the fragrant flowers, the simmering stew… and then his gaze landed on her.

"(Y/N)," he breathed, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. He stood there for a moment, speechless, his eyes tracing the lines of the dress, the curve of her neck, the soft glow of her skin in the candlelight.

She smiled, a nervous flutter in her stomach. "Happy date night, Daryl."

He didn't say anything, just walked towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. He cupped her face in his calloused hands, his thumbs gently stroking her cheekbones. "You look… beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

She leaned into his touch, her own hands finding their way to his waist. "I wanted to do something special, for us."

He nodded, his gaze softening. "You didn't have to. Just being here, with you… that's special enough."

But she knew he appreciated the effort, the gesture. He wasn't a man of many words, but she could see it in his eyes, the love, the gratitude, the longing.

They ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the occasional chirp of crickets in the distance. Daryl devoured the stew, praising her cooking with a rare grin. She told him about her day, the challenges she'd faced, the small victories she'd achieved. He listened intently, his eyes never leaving her face.

After dinner, they sat by the fire, wrapped in each other's arms. The silence was comfortable, filled with the unspoken language of two souls intertwined. She rested her head on his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and woodsmoke, a scent that had become synonymous with safety and belonging.

He ran a hand through her hair, his touch gentle and soothing. "You didn't have to get all dressed up for me, you know," he said, his voice quiet. "I love you just the way you are."

"I know," she said, tilting her head up to look at him. "But I wanted to. I wanted to feel… pretty. For you."

He smiled, a genuine, heart-stopping smile that made her insides melt. He leaned down and kissed her, a slow, tender kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss that tasted of love and longing, of shared history and unwavering commitment.

As the night deepened, the fire began to dwindle, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. She stood up, took Daryl's hand, and led him towards the bedroom.

The room was simple, furnished with only a bed and a small chest of drawers. But tonight, it felt like the most romantic sanctuary in the world. She turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest.

She reached behind her neck and slowly untied the delicate straps of the dress, letting it slip from her shoulders and pool at her feet. She stood before him, bathed in the soft glow of the candlelight, vulnerable and exposed.

His breath hitched in his throat. He stared at her, his eyes filled with a raw, primal desire that made her knees weak. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently trace the curve of her breast.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "So damn beautiful."

She reached out and cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his rough skin. "I love you, Daryl," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "More than anything."

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the words. Then he opened them, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I love you too, (Y/N)," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you'll ever know."

And then he kissed her, a kiss that was both passionate and tender, a kiss that sealed their love in the heart of a broken world. The night was filled with whispers and moans, with the soft rustling of sheets and the rhythmic beat of two hearts intertwined. In the darkness, they found solace and comfort, a refuge from the horrors of the world outside.

In each other's arms, they were home. They were safe. They were loved. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. The apocalypse could rage on, the walkers could claw at the door, but as long as they had each other, they had everything they needed. Their love was a beacon in the darkness, a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit. And tonight, it burned brighter than ever before.

[theseinfernalangels]

A Different Kind of Danger — Xaden Riorson ❤️‍🩹

Synopsis: Xaden can’t believe his eyes when you, the daughter of one of the most vicious Navarrian military officers, shows up to Conscription Day without trying to be noticed. When trouble strikes you on the parapet, are your actions proof of your heritage? Or is there something more that lurks beneath the surface?

(Or, Kora crosses the parapet, and shit goes DOWN.)

Includes: Lore! Xaden being Xaden (this is NOT romantic; Kora will always be with Sawyer lol), canon-typical unrealistic violence, made up spiritual stuff, and Cosette Cameo! Written before I do ARGR for contextual reasons. Decided to do in Xaden’s perspective for ✨style✨ but this is really Kora’s story.

When the blue-haired girl falls from the Parapet screaming, Xaden is already bored.

He doesn’t even remember her name off the top of his head. He’ll hear it again later, when Captain Fitzgibbons reads the death roll, but he won’t place the name with a face. There will be at least fifty others to go with it, after all.

“Really?” Sgaeyl snorts unhelpfully. “It’s been less than an hour, and you are already tuning out?”

Xaden sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No,” he murmurs through their sapphire bond. “I’m just bored. It’s all the same, over and over. We get a name, they hop on with too much confidence, and then they die. It’s too rhythmic for me this year.”

He scans the line in front of him, looking for something — anything — to pick out from the mundanity that is this year’s candidates, but he finds none. It’s futile, really. To expect something extraordinary of someone who’s going to die in the next five minutes is like expecting an infant to talk straight out of the womb. It won’t happen…Probably.

The names enter and disappear from his brain like lightning — there, but only in flashes. The ones that matter more stick better.

Gavin Lawner. Safe.

Ariadne Westmore. Dead.

Sebastian Pons. Dead.

Kessler Styres. Safe.

Yvette Aguilar. Safe, surprisingly.

Sgaeyl barks out a laugh. “I believe she slipped there, at the end.”

If Xaden had less self-control, he’d laugh, too. He can’t, though; this is a whole assload of people who would probably pay to see him executed fiercely, and if they get the wrong idea from as something as simple as a smile, they’ll find a reason to hate him more. Not that he cares, of course — as far as Xaden is concerned, he’s practically untouchable here. But to hate Xaden Riorson is to hate his people, and if he watches more of his Tyrrish family die because he couldn’t be there in time to protect them, he’ll never forgive himself.

By the time thirty minutes pass, two of his marked candidates — Jace Sutherland and Contessa Groves — have already fallen. He’ll probably have to fish them out of the ravine later and carry them himself to the fire pit while Leadership watches him lay their bodies on the pyre.

Sick fucks, watching kids die with a celebratory gleam in their eyes. Because that’s all they were, really — kids, just like the kids in front of him are, who practically smell of fear and overconfidence all at once. 

All except one. Xaden drags his gaze up until he finds the one in line that’s hardly moving. You’re hardly noticeable, really, but you stand out enough to catch his attention from ten feet away. A bit on the smaller side, but not enough to make you look weak. Your hair catches the light and glows in a way that reminds Xaden so much of Cosette that he has to glance around to make sure she’s not messing with you. Though, if anything, it’s your demeanor that has him raising a figurative eyebrow.

Where the rest of the candidates in this line permeate fear, excitement, and confidence, you reek of…resignation. A quick glance into you tells him that you don’t intend to kill yourself, like he watched one boy do last year, but you’re not exactly…happy, either. It’s strange. Very strange, considering that you look familiar, in a way. Something about the way your face is fixed into one of steel and that unforgiving military coldness has him unconsciously counting the number of weapons on him right now.

It takes about five minutes for you to get to the front of the line, and by that point, Xaden’s figured out that you’re at least familiar with some of the candidates behind you — one with blond curls, one with long, dark braids, and one with the most peculiar (and, let’s face it, fucking stunning) brown and silver hair. That last one must know you intimately, the way her words break that stoney composure like glass. You glance at her with a small, weak smile, but when Xaden calls for the boy in front of you to go, your face smooths back into that concealing, icy look that Xaden wears often himself. You must be used to putting it on, but that’s not his business.

Quiet murmurs and good luck wishes ring out through the air before the name-keeper from Second Wing finishes writing and looks up. “Name?”

You do not look at anyone else but the Second-Winger, maintaining the most unsettling eye contact that Xaden’s seen in years. You don’t speak at first, as if you’re weighing the weight of your name on your tongue, but your lips eventually part anyway.

“Callahan. That’s with a C.”

Oh. So that’s why you hesitated.

For a moment, Xaden is brought back to the Calldyr Executions. He’d not been paying attention to much, really — not until they’d brought everyone’s parents out and lined them up on their knees. He’d only been half-listening as they read through the charges for each offending Tyr before setting them ablaze. When his father came last and spit his final words, though, defiant and venomous, he did catch one noise.

A laugh. Single, clear as a bell.

A laugh. And then an amused murmur. 

“Only cowards die kneeling, traitor.”

Of course, he hadn’t known it then, but looking at the girl in front of him, it’s like reliving that moment in real time.

The Second-Winger looks up. “As in—“

“Yes.” You cut him off before he can finish, and then grimace a little, as if the action pains you. 

Xaden still doesn’t move.

You’re Major Callahan’s daughter. The woman who laughed when his father was executed. The woman who he watched drag his family out of Riorson House screaming with a sickening grin on her face. Who smiled mockingly when him and his cousin were locked away and forced to listen to their parent’s screams as they were interrogated. Rumors said she simply shrugged when her husband was killed in action and proclaimed him to be too weak to really fight, anyway.

And this is her daughter, standing right in front of him.

He should kill you where you stand. Break your neck, suffocate you, throw you off the turret before you even step on to the parapet.

But he doesn’t. He waits.

The name-keeper nods at you to start crossing, and you nod back with a quiet thank you. As you turn to face the parapet, your eyes — just like your mother’s in their odd hue — briefly lock onto Xaden’s. All in one second, he sees a flurry of emotions pass through them rapidly.

Surprise.

Recognition.

Fear.

Realization. 

Calm.

And…guilt?

He doesn’t have enough time to figure the last one out before you climb up the steps and face the open air, taking in a lungful of air like you can’t get enough of it. Then, you take a step, and Xaden has to clench his fists in order to keep himself from sneering. 

Unsurprisingly, you get about a third of the way in just fine. You walk with a quiet, reluctant confidence — like you know you’ll cross and make it over safely, but you resent that fact. You’re either deep, privileged, or an idiot. By Xaden’s estimations, maybe all three.

When the next candidate steps up, Xaden is immediately on guard. He knows this boy; Quentin Abstroll was one of the first he took a scar for on that humid day in General Sorrengail’s office. He’s grown a lot since then, both in stature and in hunger for blood. Xaden already can tell without wielding what the candidate wants to do when he steps on to the parapet, if the way he’s clutching his knife and glaring murderously across the way tells him anything.

He’d try to convince the younger boy otherwise in a different world. He’d tell him to keep his nose down and just walk, and think about killing some other time, because it’s not worth messing with someone when you’re over two hundred feet in the air. Vengeance be damned; he’d rather have all of his people in one piece before the day ends.

But Xaden does not say anything. He doesn’t even try.

So the moment Abstroll steps foot onto the stone and launches himself forwards towards the Major’s daughter, Xaden is already trying to figure out who’ll die in the next five minutes: The tall, muscular man whose skill with a sword is rival to that of a seasoned officer, or the smaller woman who looks like she‘s dreading the moment she steps off the parapet.

Surprisingly, his money is on the latter.

Her friends aren’t so sure, though. The silver-haired girl’s eyes go huge when she realizes what the marked boy is about to do.

“Holy shit!” She yelps, raising her hands to cup around her mouth. “Callahan! Get the fuckout of there!”

You don’t respond. You don’t look up. You don’t even flinch. Instead, you keep walking, like there isn’t someone hot on your tail with the obvious intent on getting his revenge for his parents, like the people on this side of the parapet aren’t starting to notice the situation with their voices rising in interest.

He gets closer. You keep walking. 

It’s a shame Xaden can’t tell anyone about his second signet, because if he was able to train it, maybe he could read you from such a far distance. You’re not suicidal, obviously, so you’re either stupid as fuck, or planning something. Something deadly.

Just like your mother.

Abstroll gets closer, still. Your friends keep screaming. You still don’t look back.

Instead, you cautiously reach for the strap to your little backpack and roll it in front of you slowly, like you’re watching a small child on a balancing beam. You go still while Abstroll gets closer, and before Xaden can even ask himself what the fuck you’re doing, you’re ducking and hurling yourself in the space between Abstroll’s legs, skidding atop the wet stone on your knees. 

Then, all hell breaks loose everywhere on the parapet.

From such a far distance, it’s a bit hard to tell what’s exactly happening between the two of you. For every lunge and strike that Abstroll makes, you meet and dodge it whilst balancing precariously on the edges of the path. Every time he thinks you stumble, you pick yourself back up and keep weaving with what little space you have. Eventually, the taller boy is able to grab one of your arms and goes to throw, but you twist around and shove him hard with your legs, kicking him away and over the edge whilst your drop to the surface.

He should be commanding the candidates to shut up. He should be grasping for control. Instead, Xaden holds his breath silently, counting the heartbeats it takes until Abstroll can get a solid grip on the stone and begins to haul himself to his arms. His head jerks over to you, who’s backing away with a hand on the sheathe by your thigh. Xaden can hardly believe it — why aren’t you killing him? You have a clear shot, and it’d be so easy to just get rid of your attacker…so why don’t you?

Your friends agree. The one with the braids audibly goes, “What the fuck? Kick his ass off, Callahan!” 

Xaden ignores her and squints, tracking the movements with what little sight he has into the situation.

You’re shaking your head defiantly.

Abstroll pulls himself up and snarls something hateful, probably something about your mother being a murderer.

And you…just stop. Your chest expands like you’re sighing, and the words on your lips, subtle yet all too clear, have Xaden going still.

“I don’t want to kill you.”

At least…That’s what he thinks you say.

Even so, Abstroll does not take that for an answer and goes to slash at you once more. When the silver-haired girl screams, and he lunges forward, you just shake your head again—

And throw, burying your dagger right into Quentin Abstroll’s jugular. 

Just like that, the noise around Xaden dissipates into gasps and hushed murmurs. It seems like most people thought the bigger man was obviously going to hurl you into the ravine…which is Mistake Number One. Never judge an opponent by their size.

The girl with the braids and the blond boy whoop at your survival, but the silver-haired girl goes quiet, like she knows something is up. She stares at you from her place at the entrance with newfound fear, or is it pity? 

No; no one has pity for the daughter of the most bloodthirsty officer in Navarre. That’s concern, Xaden realizes. Like she knows something that the rest of them don’t.

He glances over at you, still crouched on the parapet alone. Abstroll probably tipped over the edge once the blade slit his throat, slicking the already-wet stone with blood. Your face is turned towards the ground, but that doesn’t hide the fact that you’re breathing��hard — and not just from the effort of the fight.

Then, like nothing happened, you straighten, slink over to your backpack, and stand back up. The air around you is still, tense from the death and the traitorous blood on your hands. Xaden watches as you glance down at the ravine below, your hands hesitantly dipping into that ritualistic motion he hasn’t seen in years — the Sign of Sorrow, a Navarrian custom in wishing peace to a soul lost to Malek.

Xaden should probably be enraged right now. You just killed one of the people he’s sworn to protect. He should want to kill you even more now.  

But he doesn’t. 

Huh, he thinks to himself. What could this possibly mean for the marked ones of this year?

He’ll have to take it up with Bodhi and Garrick later. If Xaden thinks about it too much, his mind might melt.

“The killer’s girl has caught interest among the riot,” Sgaeyl notes. “Not many respect the dead in that way these days.”

Xaden shakes himself out of his stupor and clears his throat, pinning his gaze back on the reformed line of candidates. He can deal with the Callahan girl later, he decides. Right now, he needs to get through these kids across and hope that there’s no more blood spillage on the damn parapet.

“Next!” He barks firmly, gesturing to the blond kid who’d been yelling for you just minutes prior. “Name?”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

When you make it past the name-keepers on the other side, you instantly shrink into yourself, hiding from prying eyes who might try to get a look at the girl who just sparred on the parapet.

Oh, gods. You just killed someone and watched them fall—

A scuffling noise on your left has you pivoting and reaching back for your dagger, but instead of someone coming to get revenge for the boy whose life you’ve stolen, it’s a face all too familiar — and all too comforting. Exactly why you need right now.

“Cosette?” You breathe, allowing the older girl to drag you closer and away from the rest of the cadets.

“Oh, my gods,” she whispers, grabbing your face and inspecting the bruises on your arms and face before checking your eyes, probably for a concussion. “You just scared the shit out of half the quadrant, kiddo. Are you okay?”

You just stare at her for a moment. When was the last time you saw your best friend? Three years ago? Right before she disappeared and the Scribes announced that the princess was suffering from an unfortunate condition?

What a bunch of bullshit. She was never sick; she was just here, bonding dragons and gods know what else.

“They said you were too weak to leave the palace,” you murmur, still holding down stray bile that rises in your throat. “That you were sick.”

“And you said you wanted to be a Healer,” she counters. “Loosen the grip on the weapons, will you? You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

At that, you flinch, which is a dead giveaway to your oldest friend. “Holy shit,” she says faintly, her hands dropping to her sides. “You actually—“

“Don’t.” You cut her off before she can finish the sentence that has you seconds away from bawling your eyes out. “Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks.

Cosette’s gaze softens, and she immediately takes you by the shoulders. “Hey,” she soothes, squeezing like she used to when you were kids. “It’s okay. This stuff happens, and no one’s going to penalize you for that. Especially not when your mom is…your mom.”

You catch her off guard with a pained look. “Not true.” You shake your head. “There’s no going back from this one, ‘Sette. I just made the worst fucking mistake of my life, and I’m going to pay.”

The older girl raises a brow, her cobalt eyes blazing in the sun. “Why?” She asks, keeping her voice low. “What makes you think that they’ll harm you?”

You shake your head rapidly, your heart pounding in your ears. “Not they,” you whisper shakily. “He. I just fucking killed a marked one in front of Xaden Riorson, and if I get put in his wing, I’ll be dead by tomorrow morning.”

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @kienhawon, @goldenmagnolias,

Want to be a part of my taglist? Leave a reply to be added!

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Could you write a benedict bridgerton x reader fic where the reader is on bedrest for the last few weeks of her pregnancy due to pre-eclampsia, and benedict will not leave her side because he feels guilty having to just watch. Ben doesn't even touch his easel or see his family much to readers sadness

of course! hope you enjoy🫶🏼

Paint

Benedict Bridgerton x wife fem reader

Benedict Bridgerton was a man accustomed to the vibrant swirl of colors on his easel, the laughter of his family filling the halls of their home, and the lively events of the ton. But now, he found himself ensnared in a muted world, tethered to his beloved wife's bedside. The news had come suddenly: Y/N was to be on strict bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy due to pre-eclampsia. The worry etched into the physician's face was mirrored in Benedict's heart, and he vowed not to leave her side.

The once-bustling house had quieted, with Benedict's studio abandoned and his family visits growing rare. His easel, which had once been his solace and joy, stood untouched in the corner of the room, a testament to the life he had temporarily put on hold. His world had narrowed to Y/N and their unborn child, and he watched her with a fierce, protective love that made every minute away from her feel like an eternity.

Y/N lay in their bed, her face pale but resolute. She had always been strong, a beacon of light in Benedict's life, and even now, confined to bed, she remained his guiding star. "Benedict," she said softly one evening, reaching out to take his hand. Her fingers were cool against his warmth, a stark reminder of her fragility.

"Yes, my love?" he asked, his voice gentle but edged with the worry that never left him.

"You mustn't neglect your painting," she urged. "It brings you so much joy, and I hate to see you without it."

Benedict shook his head, his grip tightening around her hand. "How can I paint when the only thing I see is you here, suffering? I can't find beauty in anything else right now."

Y/N's eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand. "Then paint me," she suggested. "Paint us. Our child. Paint the love you feel. Let it flow through you onto the canvas. It might help you as much as it helps me to see you doing what you love."

He kissed her hand, his lips lingering as he closed his eyes. "Maybe," he whispered, though he wasn't sure if he could bear to move from her side, even for a moment.

Days blurred into nights, and Benedict continued his vigil, reading to her, talking to her, simply being there. His family sent messages of concern and support, and his mother, Violet, visited as often as she could, offering comfort and practical help. She understood the fear that gripped her son, having faced similar fears herself with her own children.

One evening, as the setting sun cast a golden glow through the bedroom window, Y/N's condition seemed particularly fragile. Benedict could see the strain in her eyes, the way her breathing had grown shallower. His heart ached with helplessness, a deep seated guilt gnawing at him for being unable to alleviate her suffering.

"Don't you dare blame yourself," Y/N whispered, her intuition piercing through his silence. "You're doing everything you can, Benedict. Just being here with me is enough."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "I feel so powerless, Y/N. I wish I could take this burden from you."

She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing his cheek. "You already are, by being with me. Our child will feel this love, Benedict. It's what keeps me strong."

It was in that moment that Benedict felt a shift within himself. He realized that he needed to find a way to channel his emotions, his love, and his fears into something that could give them both hope. That night, for the first time in weeks, he set up his easel beside the bed, positioning it so he could see Y/N as he worked.

With each stroke of the brush, he poured his heart onto the canvas. He painted Y/N as she was, a glowing embodiment of strength and grace, and he painted their unborn child, a symbol of the future they were fighting for. The hours slipped away unnoticed, and as the painting took shape, he felt a sense of peace he hadn't known in weeks.

Y/N watched him with tears in her eyes, moved by the depth of his love and the beauty he created even in the midst of their struggle. "It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with awe and love.

Benedict turned to her, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the lantern. "You are my inspiration, Y/N. You and our child. I won't let anything take that away from us."

As the weeks passed, Benedict's dedication never wavered. He balanced his time between caring for Y/N and painting, finding solace in both. His family began to visit more frequently, bringing warmth and laughter back into the house, but always mindful of Y/N's condition. They were a lifeline, a reminder that they were not alone in their ordeal.

Finally, the day came when Y/N went into labor. The hours were long and arduous, filled with moments of intense fear and hope. Benedict never left her side, holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement. When their child was born, healthy and crying, the relief that washed over them was indescribable.

As Benedict held his newborn son, Thomas, for the first time, he looked into Y/N's exhausted but radiant face and knew that they had come through the darkness together. His love for her had only deepened, and he vowed never to let go of the precious gift they had been given.

In the quiet moments that followed, as Y/N slept with their child nestled beside her, Benedict returned to his easel. This time, he painted the image that would forever symbolize their journey: Y/N, their son, and himself, bound together by love and strength. It was a testament to the trials they had faced and the unbreakable bond that had carried them through.

[tinyyoruichi]

𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 (𝐒,𝐆,𝐓)

→ contents : afab.reader, fluff alphabet, sfw headcanons, slightly modern au

→ notes : life has been really difficult lately, but hopefully, I will release more content and try to finish some requests. You can also send me a request using this alphabet template (I only accept up to 3 letters and 3 characters) :)

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

Zoro's protectiveness is undeniable. If someone gives you grief or tries to get under your skin, he'll be there in a heartbeat, a silent guardian ready to intervene. Zoro trusts your strength and knows you're a badass who can handle yourself. In fact, he admires your independence and wouldn't dream of smothering it.

Zoro's protective instincts kick in depending on the situation. When you're facing an opponent, he'll keep you in his peripheral vision, confident in your skills but ready to jump in if needed, the last thing he wants is to interrupt your own fight. Now, if someone's disrespecting you with unwelcome advances, that's a different story. One of Zoro's trademark icy glares is guaranteed to send a shiver down their spine and make them reconsider their behavior.

He views protecting you as his primary duty, especially considering the powerful pirates you often encounter. Deep down, the idea of you needing to protect him probably stings a little – the great Roronoa Zoro needing help ? But that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate your fierceness. He can't help but crack a tiny smirk when you shut down other women flirting with him, and the way your eyes light up when you offer backup during a fight secretly thrills him. He may be your protector, but your strength and loyalty make him incredibly proud.

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

“Gentle” wouldn't be the first word that pops into mind when describing Zoro. He might come across as gruff and straightforward, but beneath that exterior lies a surprising tenderness. It'll take a while, maybe even a looot of time, for him to fully express his warmer side (he is definitely a tsundere). But trust me, when those moments do arrive, they'll be all the more meaningful because of the effort he puts into showing his true feelings.

Zoro, bless his heart, has a fierce competitive streak, especially when it comes to Sanji. Sanji loves to boast about his romantic chivalry, and Zoro, well, Zoro wants to prove he can be just as thoughtful. The problem ? Romance isn't exactly his forte. Take, for example, the time he overheard Robin mentioning a new restaurant with your favorite dish on the menu. Determined to create a surprise date night, Zoro did some research and made a reservation…months in advance.

Here's how it played out :

“Zoro,” you say, peering out the window, “haven't we seen this street before? Maybe we're going the wrong way?”

Zoro puffs out his chest, trying to project an air of confident mystery. “Lost ? Absolutely not. I made reservations here, remember ? No way we're ending up at that greasy spoon near your place.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, you're taking me out? But—”

Zoro groans, realizing he's blown his surprise. He mutters a curse under his breath and slams his fist on the steering wheel. “Just trust me, it'll be…great.”

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

Zoro might not be the king of grand gestures, but he makes up for it in practicality. Let's face it, remembering important dates like birthdays and anniversaries can be a struggle for him. That's why his phone likely explodes with reminders long before the actual day. While elaborate romantic evenings might not be his forte, he shows his love in the everyday. He takes on extra chores to ensure you have free time for yourself and your friends, or surprises you with a relaxing spa day. His way of saying “I love you” might be a little unconventional, but it's his genuine effort to make your life easier and show he cares.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[broidobe]

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔩𝔦 𝔰𝔶𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested by 🐦‍⬛!

⁎⁺˳✧༚miscellaneous masterlist

oli is incredibly supportive in a relationship. he makes sure to constantly check in with his partner, whether it’s about personal goals or just everyday things.

he’s that partner who remembers every little detail about your day.

he loves planning unique, unexpected dates. something simple like a secret picnic under the stars or a spontaneous road trip to a quiet beach.

oli enjoys surprising you and keeping things fun and adventurous.

late-night talks are a favorite of oli’s.

he’s the kind of person who’ll talk about everything—dreams, fears, and the meaning of life—while laying in bed, listening to music, and just vibing together.

oli is extremely loyal and protective of you.

he may have a tough exterior, but when it comes to those he loves, he’s incredibly gentle and will go to any length to make sure they’re safe and happy.

since oli is deeply into music, he’d encourage your artistic side.

whether you play an instrument, sing, or write, he’s all about collaborating on music, even if it’s just for fun.

he’s not above sending cute handwritten notes or leaving random, sweet messages for his partner.

sometimes they’re tucked into pockets, other times they’re waiting by the coffee cup in the morning.

oli loves to tease his partner, but it’s always playful and full of affection.

his humor is a big part of the relationship, and he’s quick to make you laugh when things feel heavy.

he loves to share his interests with you, whether it’s watching old movies, showing off new music, or introducing you to his favorite places in the city. 

he also loves to learn new things together, whether it’s a hobby or a new recipe.

sometimes, there’s no need to talk.

oli loves moments of silence with you, just being present with each other, whether your lying in bed together or walking hand in hand through a park.

oli can be surprisingly clingy at times.

he’ll sneak up behind you, wrap his arms around you, and bury his face in your neck just because he wants to be close.

he loves physical affection and can’t get enough of it.

oli often shares playlists with you. he loves curating a soundtrack to your relationship, each song representing a memory or a feeling he wants to express.

he’ll text you a song with a little message like, “this one reminds me of you.”

while oli trusts you, he can’t help but show a little playful jealousy if someone flirts with you.

he’ll make a joking comment like, you’ve got them wrapped around your finger, don’t you? but it’s always light-hearted and full of affection.

oli loves coming up with sweet, sometimes cheesy pet names for his partner.

they range from the cute and simple like "babe" or "love" to something more personal and unique that only he calls you.

oli loves a little friendly competition, so he’ll often challenge his partner to a cook-off or bake-off in the kitchen.

no matter who wins, he’s just as happy sitting down to enjoy the meal together.

after a long day, oli is the type to just curl up on the couch with you, wrapped in blankets and watching old movies or playing video games.

he’s not afraid to be vulnerable and loves the quiet comfort of just being with his partner.

oli isn’t afraid to get emotional, especially in intimate moments with his partner.

he’s not one to bottle up his feelings and is always open to sharing his thoughts, no matter how vulnerable it makes him feel.

occasionally, oli will show up with a small, thoughtful gift for you—nothing extravagant, but it could be a new vinyl he knows they’ll love or something quirky he picked up while on tour.

when meeting your family, oli might be a little shy at first, but once he feels comfortable, he’s fiercely protective.

he’ll make sure your family knows just how much he cares for you and your well-being.

[yesihaveaobsession]

1.The Moment He Sees You The moment Lucifer lays eyes on you, his signature smirk falters for a brief second. He’s encountered many beautiful women, but there’s something about you — that ethereal glow, the way your eyes seem to carry the weight of Heaven and Hell — that leaves him speechless. (Although, you did plummet down onto his precious car.) He curses his Dear Old Dad for casting down such beauty.

2.Constant Flirty Banter Lucifer’s charm is dialed up to 1000% around you. He loves teasing you, especially about your ‘fallen’ status, but he does so in a way that always leaves you laughing or blushing. “Tell me, darling, do all fallen angels look this good, or are you just Heaven’s favorite mistake?” His British accent makes even the most sinful remarks sound poetic, and you can’t help but indulge in the flirtation.

3.Wine, Music, and Private Evenings Lucifer enjoys spoiling you with lavish nights at Lux — exclusive VIP treatment, a glass of his finest vintage, and a private serenade at the piano. “A beautiful angel deserves nothing but the best, love.” Sometimes, he’ll play slow, seductive melodies while his eyes stay locked on yours, making your heart flutter. (He knows exactly how to play the game with you.)

4.Protective Devil Mode Activated Though he pretends to be nonchalant, Lucifer becomes fiercely protective when someone threatens you. His eyes glow dangerously, and his usually charming demeanor turns menacing. “Touch her, and I’ll show you a version of Hell you’ve never imagined.”

5.Torn Between Light and Darkness Lucifer finds himself drawn to you because you embody both light and darkness, much like himself. You remind him of his former celestial life while embracing your fallen side. “You’re proof that even those who fall can still shine, love.” He admires your resilience and strength, making it harder for him to resist falling even harder for you. (He stood on the penthouse balcony one night, gifting you a beautiful necklace.)

6.Soft Moments When He Lets His Guard Down When it’s just the two of you, Lucifer lets his mask slip. He becomes vulnerable, honest, and sometimes even afraid of losing you. “I’ve lost so much… I don’t want to lose you too.” You’re the one who reminds him that he’s capable of love, and it terrifies him as much as it thrills him.

7.Offering You the World—But Letting You Choose Lucifer may offer you anything your heart desires, but he never tries to control you. He admires your independence and respects your choices, even if they sometimes lead to clashes between your celestial morals and his devilish tendencies. “The world’s at your feet, love. All you have to do… is ask.” But in the end, all he really wants is you.

8.Late-Night Conversations On long, quiet nights, Lucifer finds himself sitting with you, the two of you sharing your darkest thoughts and secrets. You talk about the life you left behind in Heaven, the battles you’ve fought, and the way the heavens view you now. Lucifer shares his own tale of rebellion, of being cast out for daring to be more than they wanted him to be. These moments of vulnerability draw you both closer, each finding comfort in the other’s understanding.

9.Romantic Moments There’s a deep, emotional bond between you two, and when you finally kiss, it’s a passionate, intense moment that feels like it’s been building for ages. You melt in his arms, the chemistry between you undeniable, yet there’s a sadness to it, a fear of getting too close because of what your connection might mean.

Bonus: When you call him “Luci” in that soft, angelic tone? He’s absolutely ruined.