#looking at this makes me feel so reassured

[00valentina-writes00]

virgin!reader with caitlyn who makes reader squirt during their first time please 🙏

♡♥︎ LESSONS IN PLEASURE ♥︎♡

Warnings: smut, first time (virgin!reader), fingering, oral sex (reader receiving), squirting, Caitlyn being soft and attentive, gentle dominance, a little teasing

You had never felt this way before.

Sure, you’d fantasized about it—about Caitlyn, about her touch, about how it would feel to be bare beneath her.

But fantasizing and experiencing were two completely different things.

And now, lying beneath her, skin hot, chest rising and falling unevenly, you were realizing just how much you had no idea what you were in for.

Caitlyn’s lips curled into a soft smile, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your hip as she looked down at you.

“Nervous, darling?” she murmured.

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening on the sheets beneath you.

“A little,” you admitted.

Caitlyn’s deep blue eyes softened, and she leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your jawline, then your neck, voice warm and gentle.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” she assured, her tone so patient, so loving.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding.

“I want this,” you whispered, cheeks burning as you felt her hand ghost down your stomach, brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Caitlyn’s smirk was subtle but teasing.

“Oh, I know.”

She was so slow with you.

Kissing you softly, taking her time, her fingers mapping out every inch of your skin, learning what made you shiver, what made you whimper.

Her mouth followed, lips and tongue trailing over delicate spots, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your chest, your stomach, watching the way you arched beneath her.

She murmured sweet words against your skin, reassuring you, praising you.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

“Just relax, darling, let me take care of you.”

Her fingers traced slow, featherlight strokes up your thighs, making your breath hitch, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

Her fingertips brushed against your center, making you gasp, your hips jerking slightly.

Caitlyn chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh.

“So sensitive,” she mused, voice like silk, her touch still so teasing, so delicate.

Your cheeks burned, a mix of embarrassment and desire making your pulse race.

Caitlyn’s fingers dipped lower, parting you gently, sliding through your wetness, making you whimper at the new sensation.

“Gods,” she murmured, breath hitching, her voice thick with something dark and hungry. “You’re already soaked for me.”

You could barely breathe, let alone answer, your body tense, needy, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

Caitlyn pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your inner thigh, then another, lips trailing dangerously close to where you needed her most.

Her tongue met your clit.

The sound you made was nothing short of desperate, your hips jerking instinctively, but Caitlyn’s hands pinned you down, keeping you right where she wanted you.

Her mouth was slow, precise, her tongue circling your most sensitive spot, flicking in gentle, teasing strokes, as if she was savoring every second.

You gasped, legs trembling, fingers tangling in her soft, dark hair, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Cait—” You barely choked out her name, your voice breaking on a whimper.

She hummed against you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine, and the sheer pleasure made you whine, hips twitching beneath her hold.

Her tongue was insistent, her lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just enough to make your entire body jolt.

It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

You had never felt anything like this before, had never known your body could feel this good, this intensely alive.

Caitlyn’s hand slid up, fingertips pressing against your entrance, teasing.

“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your throbbing clit before looking up at you, her lips glistening with your arousal.

Her eyes were dark, filled with something possessive, adoring, utterly transfixed.

“I want to make you feel even better,” she whispered.

And then she pushed a finger inside you.

It was tight, the stretch foreign but not painful, just… different.

Caitlyn watched your face, reading every reaction, moving slowly, letting you adjust as she curled her finger, stroking your inner walls in a way that made your breath stutter.

“Good girl,” she praised, voice thick with affection and hunger.

She added another finger, moving in deep, slow strokes, her mouth returning to your clit, tongue working you over and over again.

The pleasure was overwhelming, her fingers finding that spot inside you, pressing against it with skilled precision, making your entire body seize up.

“Oh—Cait—” Your voice was barely coherent, the pressure in your stomach coiling so tight you thought you might snap in half.

Caitlyn sensed it, her fingers working faster, her tongue flicking against your clit, her pace never faltering.

“Let go, darling,” she whispered against you, her breath hot, her voice commanding yet soft, demanding yet tender.

The coil in your stomach snapped.

It hit you all at once, a wave of pleasure so intense, so blinding, your back arched violently, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

You felt the gush before you could process it.

A sudden, overwhelming release, liquid gushing from you, soaking Caitlyn’s hand, her mouth, the sheets beneath you, your entire body convulsing as your orgasm tore through you.

Your moan turned into a cry, half-shocked, half-helpless, your hands gripping onto Caitlyn, nails digging into her shoulders.

Caitlyn groaned, low and needy, relishing in what she had just done to you, her fingers still deep inside, working you through the aftermath of your climax.

You felt boneless, your body twitching, your chest heaving for air, your mind barely able to process what just happened.

Caitlyn finally pulled away, her lips and chin shining with your release, her fingers slick and glistening.

She looked so smug, so proud, but her touch remained soft, reverent, as she leaned over you, brushing sweat-damp hair from your flushed face.

“Darling,” she murmured, voice gentle, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Did you just—?”

Your face burned even hotter, embarrassment crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“I—I didn’t even know I could—”

Caitlyn chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Well,” she murmured, her smirk utterly sinful, “now you know.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands, making Caitlyn laugh softly, kissing the tips of your fingers before gathering you into her arms.

“Shh,” she whispered, pulling the blankets over you, stroking soothing circles into your bare back.

“You were perfect, love.”

You sighed, sinking into her warm embrace, your heart still racing from what had just happened.

[mv1simp]

Often ♥️

Mafia!Max Verstappen x Reader

she asked me if I do this everyday, I said often (asked her how many times she rode the wave, not so often)

You’re a hard working, intelligent medical student - at the top of her class. Desperate to pay off your debts, you end up bartending in Monaco’s most exclusive nightclub….and catch the eye of the mafia boss who runs half the city, Max Verstappen. And now that he’s found you, he’s never letting you go.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, dom/sub themes, dark mafia!max, innocent student! reader tryna pay her bills, sugar daddy vibes

It had truly meant to be a one time thing. You’d been strapped for cash, as per usual - stretching yourself thin with your overpriced rent in your tiny one bedroom apartment in a dodgy area, with your utility bills, your parent’s monthly mortgage payments. And of course, the costliest expense of all was your goddamn medical degree. You were in your final year, so close to the end that you could almost taste it.

Maybe that’s what made you say yes to one of the other tutors you work with at your university tutoring job, when she sees you at your second job later than evening tidying up at a local clinic, and then your third the next morning where you hand her a fresh iced coffee you’ve brewed. You know, she says in a hushed tone, leaning in rather conspiratorially. You’re going to work yourself to the bone, with three jobs and putting yourself through med school?

You wave her off with a practised cheerful smile, used to hiding your tiredness from your peers who all thought of you as a model student. But when she persisted, texting you the details of her mysterious cousin who worked at some bar downtown and earned one thousands dollars in a single night…you couldn’t help but being intrigued. You were cautious about it, of course, asking to meet the cousin - Layla - at the coffee shop you worked at. And when she told you about the VIP club, JimmyZ, that she worked at - nothing like those sleazy stripclubs downtown, she hastily reassured, seeing the nervous look on your face. No, JimmyZ was an exclusive club, only for the rich and elite who enjoyed throwing stacks of cash for bags of cocaine and exotic dancers. That’s what Layla called herself, but you still privately think it’s a glorified term for a stripper, as you watch her on stage from your corner in the bar with mixed feelings of awe at how sexy she looks, and discomfort from the sleazy gazes on her.

You’d somehow been talked into helping bartend for a night, Layla having mentioned that you were the perfect girl for the kind of men who came to JimmyZ. At your insulted expression, she giggled, saying that she was trying to saw you had an angelic, natural beauty about you, exactly the kind of authenticity the clientele liked to see instead of the more artificial look found at cheaper clubs. You looked at her skeptically, but still ended up lured in to try and make your rent that month. And after your first night, where you noted impressive amounts of security protecting the gorgeous dancing girls on stage, you felt yourself seduced by the offer of a single night at JimmyZ making up for an entire weeks of your previous job’s earning.

So before you knew it, you’d been working steadily for a couple of months now, finding yourself at a familiar ease behind the bar as you expertly poured drinks and humming the sensual music. You loved the job, with its high pay meaning you had time to focus on your studies again, and last month you’d even topped your class in one of your exams! Of course, it came with its risks - you worked well through the middle of busy weekend nights, many curious and lustful gazes on you from men who enjoyed the skimpy bartender uniform you had to wear. A tight, low cut white button up shirt that showed off your cleavage, and a miniskirt that came dangerously close to flashing someone when you bent over, paired with heeled knee high boots. It was certainly not the type of usual thing you wore, with your conservative full sleeve tops and flattering jeans with scuffed converse that you recycled constantly given your tight budget. But after some adjusting of your long curls hiding your cleavage and avoiding any eye contact skittishly with any man who looked at you too closely, you found yourself falling into an easy rhythm at work.

Until one evening, a Friday night before some big racing event in the city, meaning the club was even more packed that usual with clubgoers overflowing out the entrance and bass thumping down the street. Your boss had found you as you checked in for your late night shift, rapidly saying something about how the owner was visiting tonight and there weren't enough girls for the show, could you help out just this once-

Despite your adamant protests and squeaks that you absolutely could not, would not go on stage, you find yourself shoved into the backstage room to get ready, or risk losing your job permanently, your boss says meanly before storming off. Your lip trembles in anxiety, at the thought of someone recognising you tonight and then seeing you working as a doctor after your graduated. You'd lose your reputation before you could even start your career. You feel lost in the bright makeup room, surrounded by stunning, slim women who had their hair blown own perfectly and makeup done to perfection. You never imagined that you'd have to be up on stage with the beautiful dancers, who you looked so plain standing next too. A few toss you sympathetic looks but are too busy getting ready themselves to help you - until Layla enters and catches sight of your shaking form. She scowls when you tearfully tell her what the boss had said, but gives you a firm pep talk as she quickly helps you get ready. You've barely used any of the dozens of makeup products she has open on the counter, never having had any money to spend on nice clothes or jewellery to spoil yourself with.

But you feel yourself start to settle as she hands you a shot of tequila, then another for confidence, as she guides you through how to navigate the stage, how it was all about faking it till you make it!

You nod determinedly as she coaches you, before quickly getting change into a glittery strappy piece of fabric she hands you, with strappy heels to match. It takes you a few minutes to adjust to the height, but you find yourself being able to walk comfortably in them. When you come out from the side room to show Layla, the rest of the girls in the room stop in their tracks and look at you with renewed interest, yelling out whoops of encouragements about how hot you looked, girl! You flush with the praise, eyeing yourself in the mirror every few minutes as this pretty girl you didn't recognise stared at you. With lush, long curls styled messily, and wide, doe eyed eyes framed in smoky liner and glittery eyeshadow, and full, pouty glossed lips. And your body, which you'd been feeling so insecure about compared to the other dancers, looked undeniably sexy in a shimmery gold minidress that was so short it showed off the swell of your thick ass and chubby thighs invitingly. See, Layla says rather smugly as she comes up behind you. I told you, face of an angel with a body of a dancer. The audience is going to go feral for you.

And she was right, when an hour later and another practise session later, this time with the aid of the other dancers as they critiqued your form, you find yourself on one of the three stages the club had throughout its two levels. If there’s one thing you pride yourself on, it’s being a quick learner. You relax, letting yourself get lost in the music as a sensual song by The Weeknd croons over the speakers. The other girls had told you that dancing could also be fun, empowering, and make you feel in control - and you know understood what they meant as you sway your body enticingly on the stage, running your hands across your tits where your cleavage shows through the low neckline. At least in a club like JimmyZ, which had the reputation of luxury and class to uphold, the dancers wore skimpy outfits but never got fully naked like at a proper stripclub. You made full use of this small mercy, giving teasing flashes of your cleavage and ass but never actually taking your tiny glittery dress off. You could feel dozens of eyes fixed on every movement you made, every toss of your curls, every breathy sigh and bounce of your ass as you let yourself get lost in the beat.

But there's one set of piercing blue eyes that you keep finding your wide eyes returning to curiously. A man you’ve never seen before is seated in one of the VIP lounges a level above and directly in front of your elevated stage. He’s tall and muscular, with messy blonde hair and the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen. And to pull it off, he’s lounging comfortable on a leather sofa, well dressed in a fitted white shirt and jeans, his intense gaze roaming over your dancing body while everyone around him was standing up and hollering towards the dancers on the stage.

He looked like a lion amongst the pack of sheep, and you couldn’t help but bat your lashes in his direction just a bit more as a spark of attraction flutters within you. You've never felt so desirable in your life, and the rush it gives you is addictive. Your show is over before you know it, with enthused yells and demands for an Encore! from the frenzied crowd around your stage as clubgoers migrated to see your show instead of the two others. You giggle coyly, finding this new, confident side of yourself so much more fun than your usual run down, shy one. Stacks of paper notes have been tossed up on your stage and the bouncers dutifully collect it up to bring to you backstage. You blow a kiss into the air for the crowd, but your eyes don’t leave the gorgeous mystery man’s when you do so.

Afterwards, the other girls are laughing and excitedly hugging you backstage, oohing over the stacks of money you’d made and saying you needed to start dancing as a regular at the club, you’d instantly become a favourite! As you giggled their encouragement off, the mood suddenly soured when your boss strode in and said there’s been a request for a private show.

This was the darker, naughtier side of JimmyZ - only offered to the filthy rich VIP clients who could afford the outrageous hourly rate for the prized, beautiful dancers at the club. You’d walked past the closed VIP lounge doors before, your face turning red from the excited moans of male and female pleasure and lewd sounds. It was highly secret, of course, so you’d never known to much about what it fully involved. But you’d have to get to know it tonight, when your boss's finger points past everyone to land on you, to say the request is for our latest dancer, who’s been hiding how much of a natural she is!

Your quickly shake your head, saying you weren’t comfortable with anything more - but your boss says you might want to hear how much he's offering to pay, first. I turned him down, too, saying you weren't one of the regular dancers...but he's very certain he can make it worth your while. When you hear the figure being offered, specifically just for you, your jaw drops. It's enough to pay your shitty rent for two whole months.

You still feel uneasy, because dancing was one thing but to go to a private room was another, and you weren't sure how you felt about using your body for money. In the end, you find yourself curious to go, to get that addictive feeling of desirability and swayed by the security of the income. You’re fully in control, Layla reassures, there’s security in the room the whole time if the client gets touchy. You just have to undress a bit, down to your underwear and give them a show, maybe a lap dance or two. Nothing more than a quick handjob at most, she insists. Then, seeing your face go red as you stammer in response, she pauses to ask that you had done that before, right?

You nod your head quickly, saying yes, of course, I'm 23! You’re too embarrassed to tell her that even though you’re in college, you’ve barely had any sexual experiences and have never had a boyfriend. There was never any time with all the jobs you worked and your full time degree. You’ve had quick, forgettable and sloppy drunk hookups, with uncomfortable fingering that didn’t make you cum or half hearted handjobs at frat parties. You’ve never had sex before, but you know there’s no point freaking out about that now when you’re commited to getting paid tonight. Besides, it was just a quick lap dance probably on some middle aged divorced guy, right?

You can do this, you tell yourself internally, this was nothing compared to dancing in front of hundred of strangers. Maybe this month you’d finally be able to buy some nice dresses and heels to treat yourself with. It can feel good, too Layla had added as she helped you touch up your lip gloss. For your own pleasure, I mean. If you let it, she says with a wink. Remember, you're in control!

When you finally enter the VIP room that night, you're shocked at the man who awaits you. Because it was certainly no sleazy middle aged man. The gorgeous blue eyed blonde from earlier looks up from his conversation at you, his lips quirking up as he sees your golden minidress sparkle in the dim light. You’re too caught off guard to move, but once he dismissed the other men he was talking to with a tilt of his hand, he beckons you over. With a backwards glance to make sure the bouncer stands guard at the door, you take a seat on the comfortable sofa next to him.

It turns out the mystery man isn't just handsome, but friendly, and funny too, with an infectious laugh that makes your heart race. He introduced himself as Max, in a delicious low Dutch accent, and offers you a drink. You politely decline, not wanting to be too disinhibited, but he pours you a glass of expensive whiskey to match the one in his hand anyways. When he asks you for your name, you give him a fake one - but his eyes darken as he tells you he doesn’t think you’re telling him the truth. I’ll call you whatever I want, then, he hums. Schatje seems very fitting for an angel like you. I hope you don’t mind that I asked to see you personally tonight. But the way you danced, I was completely entranced. And then when I saw your pretty face, these big doe eyes...well, I knew I had to meet you. No matter the cost.

You flush under the compliment from such an attractive man, now comfortably sipping on your whiskey. You're the one who's meant to be pleasing him, but it seemed he was more focused on your pleasure. He relaxes you into a surprisingly easy conversation, making you laugh with funny stories about his two house cats. How cute, you say wistfully when he shows you his saved album on his phone. You miss the way his icy eyes hungrily glance down your tempting neckline as you admire the photos, taking advantage of the angle. The tension eases from your stiff form and soon you find yourself leaning in closer to the tall, muscular blonde.

You’re a very charming talker, Max, you say coyly, your newfound confidence emerging as your attraction for him grows. I think you’ve earned your reward. He smirks as you easily climb onto his broad lap, gasping slightly from the feeling of his strong, muscular thighs beneath your soft ones. Soon you’re performing your little routine, giggling and tossing your hair, running wandering hands over yourself, squeezing your juicy tits so they popped in your small hands and make Max’s gaze narrow with desire. Layla had been right. You did feel in complete control, and your pussy throbbed in interest at the gorgeous man whose lap you sat on.

He leans back to appreciate the view and you feel lust cloud your senses from the addicting feeling of those heated blue eyes on you, mixing with the heady feeling from the expensive whiskey he’d offered. And then his fingers are skimming your waist, sending electric sparks shooting from the lightest of touches. You’re not supposed to touch, Max you say with a teasing voice, your playful smile giving away how you really felt. When you untie your dress straps, letting it fall down your waist to show him your chest, barely covered in a see through lacy bra, he lets out a low groan. C’mon, schat, he murmurs huskily. I’m meant to see the prettiest tits in my life and not even kiss them?

You giggle again, running small hands down his shirt as you slowly unbutton him to reveal a muscular, broad chest. He smirks as he watches you bite your lip as your eyes wander all the way down to his blonde happy trail, where your curious fingers have now stopped. What’s the matter, baby, he teases a little twistedly, because he knows exactly what’s stopping you. Never done this before?

You flush, but shake your head adamantly and denying his claim. Of course I have, you say with a defiant look, the competitive nature rising up as you continue to unzip his jeans. He finds your determination so cute, how hard you’re trying to please him, but you give your innocence away with a sudden gasp when his erect cock jumps out of his boxers to rest against his lower abs. It’s so big, you say with a tinge of nerves in your voice at the sight of his drooling, angry red rip. He distracts you with soft kisses to your neck, your cheeks before pressing his lips gently to yours. You can’t resist him either, leaning back in to recapture him in a deeper kiss as you two begin sloppily making out. It’s starting to feel so good, the way his skilled tongue explores your willing mouth, that you eagerly nod when he murmurs he’ll show you how to make him feel good, yeah?

And when his large hand takes yours and presses it right in between his large, spread thighs, he captures your gasps with his lips. He guides your trembling hands over his huge cock, one hand encircling both your palms around him, whispering naughty things in your ear. There you go, sweetheart, right from the tip and then down to the base in a twist, just like that. When you get confident and cutely spit a small glob on his shaft to start pumping him more furiously, he praises you even more. Fuck, you’re a natural, just perfect for me.

You blush under the praise, and together you both watch his cock swell even more with your dedicated handjob. He can’t resist giving you a deep kiss again as he sees the concentrated expression on your face. Doing so good for me, babygirl, Max murmurs as he breaks away for a second, admiring your swollen lips and dazed eyes. Here, let me make you feel good too, hmm?

You squeal in shock as his lips latch right onto your already hard nipples. Ma-Max! No touching, remember! You try to remind him breathlessly. He swirls his tongue around your areolas, one hand still guiding you to jerk him off and his other expertly squeezing and massaging your heaving tits. You very quickly find yourself distracted from his rule break as he spoils your sensitive nipples with attention. So distracted that you stop your handjob, making him pull away again and you whine from the loss of his talented tongue. He resists smirking as you practically push your jiggling tits in his face, your doe eyes begging him for more. I didn’t say you could stop jerking me off, baby, he says in mock disapproval. If you’re not going to be a good girl then you’ll have to say sorry some other way.

You tilt your head in confusion at his statement, when his strong hand tangles into your pretty curls and gently but firmly pushes your head down. Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s asking of you, and you stammer and try to weakly protest. It’s not that you aren’t into this; if anything, Max is the first guy you’ve ever felt such instant chemistry with. No - it’s that this feels so fast, too much too quick for your inexperience and self consciousness. You haven’t even processed just how far he’s planning on taking this and that technically you were selling yourself at some nightclub for his money. Besides, wasn’t there meant to be a guard here to stop the clients going too far? But when you quickly turn your head to look, Max’s hand relaxing briefly to let you peer around, you find yourself only becoming more anxious.

Because there’s no one else in the room.

Where did he go, you say, confused. I don’t understand, I thought he has to keep watch-Schatje, Max murmurs smoothly into your ear. I’m a possessive man. Did you really think I was going to let anyone else get a glimpse of what’s underneath your pretty dress? You gasp, heartbeat now fluttering rapidly from the confession that he’d been so taken with you with one look he wanted you all to himself. You’re half terrified of how much power this man seems to have, and half dizzy with pleasure that he finds you so desirable that he wants to stake his claim. He takes his time working you up again, running hands that were more like a lion’s large paws over your curves while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, asking if you were ready to be a good girl for him.

A thought plants in your head then, as you nod obediently, and he presses a kiss to your curls to lower your head into his lap again. That Max wasn’t the sweet, gorgeous guy next door type he looked to be. No, this was someone with serious power and money, who apparently controlled the ins and outs of the most luxurious nightclub in the city as if it was his own. And tonight, for whatever reason, he wanted you.

It was just one night, right? You let yourself relax and get lost in the unfamiliar pleasure as you reassure yourself.

This time, your glossy pink lips part easily as you leave curious kitten licks to his cockhead, taking in the salty taste of his precum. He immediately groaned, head tilting back against the sofa as he rasped at you to stop teasing.

You hum in response, sending vibrations through his shaft as you press wet kisses down it. You’re obediently following all the orders he gives to you as he strokes your hair almost gently, licking him up and down. When you finally take him into your mouth, he moans your name in approval, praising how good you were being. But you can barely take half of his length, already feeling your mouth stretch and struggling to breath. Let me take over, baby he says with a dark smirk, and within a second he’s lifted you up and deposited you on the floor, in between his spread legs. You’re trapped by muscular thighs as his grip tightens on you, and then he’s thrusting his hips right to the back of your throat. Fuck yes, there you go, just like that sweetheart, he encourages with a low groan, drowning out your high pitched whines with his jackhammering movements. Mmmh! Obscene, wet sounds of your mouth drooling all over him fills the air, as you choke on the largest cock you’d ever seen. You’re gripping onto him for dear life, your teary eyes making mascara run down your cheeks and only making him more turned on as he ruins your innocent, doe eyed look. And when he cums you don’t expect it, your mouth flooded with unfamiliar white cream that he covers your chubby, blushing cheeks and bouncing tits with as he pulls out mid release and makes a complete mess of your pretty makeup. Heavy pants fill the air as he comes down from his high, looking down at you with raw desire and approval. His thumb swipes his cum off your pouty lips and slides into your lips, smirking when you obediently suck on his finger. You wouldn’t have been able to tell it’s your first time, he teases.

After you clean yourself up in the private bathroom, too embarrassed to look at your positively debauched appearance in the mirror, you find Max signing a cheque that he folds in half that he discreetly leaves on the table. But before he leaves after apologising as he has business to attend to, bending down to your petite frame to give you a sweet kiss, he offers you a deal. To quit your job and be his private dancer, every night…and in turn he’d spoil you with whatever money or gifts your heart desired.

You decline, of course, telling him this was just a one time thing, you weren’t planning on dancing here ever again. He smirks, giving you a final appreciate once over, before declaring that was obvious, he wasn’t going to let another man see you dance like that again.

You don’t see him for a few weeks after that, and it’s almost as if that electric night had never happened at all. Things go back to normal and you resume your bartending job - although you notice that there is significantly more security hovering around your counter than before. But every night Max revisits you in your dreams, making you breathlessly moan from the memory of how good his tongue and hands felt on you, how they might feel inside you next time….you’d always wake up with damp panties.

And then one night everything changes, when a rowdy patron manages to get past the security guards and leer in your face. He remembers you from the dance show and when you try to move away he grabs onto your ass, telling you he wants another sexy performance, he demands with a pervy sneer, I know you secretly liked all the attention, like a slut.

The guards manage to get him off you but you’re shaken with how persistent the man had been. So shaken that you don’t realise the staff have pulled you into a side room until Max is in front of you, asking if you were okay with an intense gaze. He offers you his promise again, to provide for you and protect you - if you became his.

You’re annoyed with him, for just barging in and acting like you were some damsel. You hotly tell him that you're an independent girl, who wasn't going to let him have her in exchange for safety. I can take care of myself! He watched you walk off with a dark gaze, his blue eyes roaming your curves that he was desperate to get underneath him. And whatever Max Verstappen wanted, he always got.

The very next day chills run through your blood as the rowdy patron somehow turns up at your university campus. You quickly hide before he sees you, heart rate spiking as you realise he's found out who you are. Your pride melts away as you dial the number Max's men had put onto your phone despite your protests. Now, you're thankful that they did as a husky Dutch accent picks up. You're a mess on the call, crying and asking Max to please come and help-

I'm on my way, schatje. Go hide somewhere safe. After you hang up you realize you never told him where you were. But it doesn't matter, because the Dutch Lion is there within minutes, stepping out of a sleek black Aston Martin that looks like it costs more than all 5 years of your student debt. Your stalker doesn't stand a chance as he's pushed into a back alley easily by Max, who re-emerges a few moments later discreetly tucking what you're pretty sure is a handgun into his belt. You stare in stunned silence as he gestures to some men who have appeared to clean up whatever mess he left behind, before guiding you with a firm hand on your lower back into his luxurious car.

Still want to turn down what I can offer you, schatje? he murmurs lowly as he smoothly drives you home, his large hand resting on your thigh. And you realise that you don't, because for the first time in your life you don't have to fight tooth and nail to protect yourself. No - because Max had just proved he was willing to do that for you.

So you let yourself be worshipped, be cared for by him. And he knew how skittish you got, and started with baby steps - paying your phone bills, your groceries, and then your rent. Buying whatever handbag or necklace you would happen to briefly admire when walking past a shop, getting you a cute but outrageously expensive car so you stopped taking the train. And you can't lie about how good it feels to walk into class wearing diamond earrings and the Louboutin heels you'd always wanted, to have your mean classmates look at you in awe and envy.

And so when Max insisted that he couldn't let you stay at the dump you called a home any longer, that it was just unsafe for a sweet, precious thing like yourself - you barely resisted and moved into his spacious penthouse apartment. Truly, he gave you whatever you wanted, his toy that he spoils and lavishes however she likes - and at night, lets him climb into her bed to fuck however he wants. And oh, did he fuck you good. It became a habit for you to greet him after his late night meetings with a sweet kiss on the cheek and a gin on the rocks in your hand - which he would drink with you sitting on his lap, telling him animatedly about your day. And of course, he’d get to unwrap his present when he pulls off your silk nightie and widens his legs for you to kneel between them. Dressed in pretty pastel scraps of French lace you buy with his credit card, you’re dutifully slurping and kissing his thick, swollen cock and slapping it against your cheeks. You knew how much Max loved seeing his cum drip down your face and you’d make sure to wear extra eyeliner and lipgloss so he could enjoy the sight of you utterly ruined for him, stroking your mascara tear stained cheeks as you choke on his length. Such a fast learner, schatje Max chuckles at you, stroking your hair almost lovingly but the roughness of his thrusts anything but.

And most of all, you loved when Max would pick you up from class and casually announce that he was taking you away for the weekend. You’d been confused at first, stressed about the study time you were missing out on, but once you sit down in his private jet with you laptop and textbooks in hand you realise you’re truly going to be taken care of in every way. It’s impossible to resist the urge to give back the same to Max, to show him just how much affection you’ve started growing for him. So on those nights in some tropical island resort, with the breeze blowing in through open doors, you give him a free use pass. Whatever he wanted, however he wanted it - all weekend long. It’s to no surprise that you’re chained to the headboard within the hour, thighs tightly tied up around your waist so you’re spread open for him and he could see the wetness dripping through your lace thong. You’re whining, so embarrassed by how intently his heated gaze roams over your body that it’s a relief when he blindfolds you with his tie, and clips a collar around your neck with his initials gleaming from it. He teases you mercilessly, taking you right to the edge with his fingers or tongue but stopping just before you cum, until you’re screaming his name and begging him to fuck you already. And then he takes you for so many rounds that you’re crying for him to stop, it’s too much Maxie, you can’t cum a fourth time-

It’s safe to say you’ve grown into your place by Max’s side very well. You knew what others thought, from the jealous looks from your classmates when his Aston Martin rolls onto campus or the judgemental stares from other vacationers when you obediently sit in Max’s lap while he takes his business calls, dressed in a skimpy bikini and his collar that he absentmindedly traces before moving down to possessively curl his hand on your hip. But you couldn’t care less if they thought you were a trophy girlfriend or a sugar baby - because after all, he was the one wrapped around your pretty little finger, ready to wage a war if you so much as shed a tear.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[littelovelunette]

Sevika and a pregnant reader? Reader feels self-conscious about how her body has changed so Sevika has to fix that (smut please)

Little Bump

Contains smut, oral, pregnancy sex

You knew Sevika adored your baby bump because she'd stay up most of the night talking to it which you thought was a little ridiculous.

But did you like it?

Nuh-uh, I mean yeah it was sweet and all that you were carrying a symbol of your love with Sevika inside of your body, a little human of your own— but the stretch marks and body image issues it came with wasn't so fun afterall.

Although you were partially aware something like this would've happened because of all the darn pregnancy books you binged through, let's just say it's not the easiest when slapped onto your face at the worst possible moment ever.

Sevika noticed the way your gaze lingered a while too long on the marks on your stomach and breasts as you started slowly dressing for the day.

"What's up, hun?" She asked and looked your way with a tender gaze only reserved for you and nobody else... Except for Isha, of course.

You tried your best to smile anyway and brushed it off with a simple "Nothing."

"No, it's not nothing. I saw the way you looked at your body. It felt... Wrong." Sevika said and put down the book she was reading, taking her reading glasses off too, and settling both objects down on the coffee table.

She moved her boot adorned feet down from the table and walked upto you, muscular arm draping around you from behind like a blanket of warmth.

Her metal prosthetic clinked softly behind you, grounding her imposing presence. "Talk to me."

You sighed and tried to shake it off, "It's nothing, 'Vika, please, don't sweat it."

"Love." Sevika said in a warning tone, hand still gently caressing your baby bump making you smile at the sight. She was completely entranced by her unborn daughter already. "We agreed to be honest with each other." Sevika said, her voice like a soothing balm on your aching insecurities. "I tell you how many drinks I had and you tell me all the thoughts you have, honestly."

You chuckled at her comparison. She truly was a ray of sunshine behind her tough exterior.

You looked down at the floor for a bit before looking back up at her. "I just don't feel pretty. I have these stupid marks all over my thighs, ass and stomach. It's so—"

"So pretty." Sevika said and ran her finger over the stretch mark on your stomach making your breath hitch a little. "I love them. They're like thunderbolts." Sevika grinned like a satisfied child, hands still tracing your stretch marks before slowly coming up to cup your breasts. "And look they've grown too."

"Sevika..." You whisper and gasp a little when you feel her squeeze your swollen mounds making a little bit of breast milk seep out.

You giggled watching Sevika fawn over your plumper chest before she easily picked you up, and put you on the bed. "I can't have my wife feel bad for her own body, yknow, your body does wonders." Sevika knelt down, gently parting your legs to gain access to your sensitive pussy.

"Are you sure we should be having sex?" Your voice was quiet and vulnerable when you asked her but the way Sevika held you so gently as if you could break any moment was enough reassurance that she wouldn't be rough with you.

Sevika gave you a subtle nod with a little smile that followed, saying, "If anything hurts, tell me and I will stop." She gave your waist a small squeeze of reassurance.

"That's what you told me all those times before you didn't stop. You just kept it going." You said and smiled down at her, her chin pressed against the folds of your cunt which were pretty much already wet at the mere thought of having sex while you're pregnant.

"And do you say that didn't feel good?" Sevika narrowed her eyes although it was an exaggeration of her playful suspicion, she knew that you liked it because you were moaning her name right after and cumming around her cock quite instantly.

"I mean, no, no," you laughed a little, the corners of your eyes crinkling, "Not at all."

"Then let me make you feel good," Sevika leaned in and licked up on your pussy making you gasp and grab the sheets tightly. Her mouth worked diligently on your wet cunt, sucking up the wet mess you had become at the mere thought of being touched by her.

Sevika held your thighs open, her touch surprisingly gentle as she sucked your clit in her mouth, suckling hard on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"F-f-fuck," your mouth opened and closed, moaning feeling her tongue tease your cunt. Sevika pulled back and spat on your pussy before she resumed licking and sucking. She pushed her long tongue inside your cunt, stuffing her face into your cunt as if she didn't know oxygen.

"S-Sevika, it feels so good," you said, tears appearing in your eyes as you felt the waves of pleasure shoot up from your needy pussy.

Hot tears began to stream down your face as Sevika licked and sucked on your cunt, your body shuddered. "C-cumming..." You said, your fingers tangling in Sevika's hair and stuffing her face further onto your heat as you came on her face.

Sevika pulled away, face drenched in your liquids, "So much for not wanting sex," Sevika rubbed your baby bump, kissing at the stretch marks and whatever other marks you had on your body.

"Just stay with me now," you whispered, exhausted. Sevika smiled and sunk into the mattress beside you, spooning you, "Will do."

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Coming Home to You

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: it’s senior night a very big night for Paige indeed.. and you can’t miss it not when you’re each other’s home

For the past few weeks, keeping this secret had been absolute torture. Every time Paige texted me about how much she wished I could be at her senior night, my heart ached. I wanted to tell her, wanted to ease that longing in her voice, but I knew it would be worth it. Everyone was in on it—her teammates, the coaching staff, even her parents. The only person in the dark? Paige herself.

Now, as I sat on the plane with my niece squirming beside me, I felt the anticipation bubbling in my chest.

“Auntie, are we there yet?” my five-year-old niece, Aria, whined, her little legs swinging beneath her seat.

“Almost, baby,” I reassured her, smoothing down her curls. “Paige is gonna be so happy to see you.”

She grinned, showing off the gap where she had just lost a tooth last week. “She’s gonna be so surprised, right?”

I laughed, nodding. “Yeah, she has no idea we’re coming.”

Aria giggled, kicking her feet harder. She adored Paige, and the feeling was mutual. Anytime we FaceTimed, Paige always asked about her, sending little gifts and promising to teach her how to dribble properly one day.

As the plane began its descent, my stomach tightened. I had spent months away from Paige, only seeing her through a screen, listening to her talk about the season, about how it felt knowing this was her final year in a UConn jersey. She deserved to have her people there, and I needed to be there for her—just like she’d always been for me.

By the time we landed, the rush of excitement made my fingers tingle. Paige’s mom picked us up, greeting us with a warm hug before driving straight to campus. The plan was simple: hide in the tunnels until the seniors were honored, then walk out as they announced her name.

Aria bounced in her car seat, unable to contain herself. “I wanna run to Paige first! Can I? Can I?”

“Of course, baby,” I smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “She’s gonna love it.”

Game Night: Gampel Pavilion

The energy inside Gampel was electric. The crowd was buzzing, the students loud as ever, and the court gleamed under the bright lights. My heart pounded as I hid just behind the tunnel entrance, holding Aria’s hand tightly while the announcer began reading out names.

Each senior walked out to cheers, their families meeting them at center court. Paige was the last one to be called.

“And finally, our captain, our leader—number five, Paige Bueckers!”

The crowd erupted. My breath hitched as I peeked around the tunnel, watching Paige step forward, waving to the fans, her eyes already glassy with emotion. She thought her parents were the only ones waiting for her—but that was about to change.

“Now,” I whispered to Aria, squeezing her hand before letting go.

She took off like a shot.

“PAIGE!”

Paige barely had time to turn before Aria’s tiny body launched herself at Paige’s legs. Her arms instinctively wrapped around Aria, shock flashing across her face before realization dawned.

“What—? Aria?” Her voice cracked, looking down at the little girl clinging to her.

That’s when I stepped out.

The second Paige’s eyes met mine, everything around us seemed to fade. Her mouth parted in disbelief, her hands still frozen around Aria as if she thought she might be dreaming.

I smiled, my throat tightening. “Hey, baby.”

The moment shattered as she let go of Aria and practically ran to me, wrapping me up in the tightest hug imaginable.

“You’re here,” she whispered, her voice trembling against my ear.

“I’m here,” I murmured, holding onto her just as tightly. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

She pulled back slightly, cupping my face with both hands, her thumbs brushing over my cheeks as if she needed to make sure I was real. “You—you flew all the way here? When? How? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I laughed, my own tears welling up. “Because I wanted to surprise you. Everyone knew except you.”

She shook her head, laughing through her disbelief. “You’re evil.”

“You love me, though,” I teased.

Her grin softened into something more tender. “Yeah,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to mine. “I really, really do.”

The crowd was still cheering, the moment stretching between us as if we were the only two people in the gym. Paige’s hands never left my face, and I could feel her heart racing just as fast as mine.

“This is the best surprise ever,” she whispered.

I bit my lip, glancing down at Aria, who was grinning up at us, completely unbothered by the fact that she had just helped execute the best senior night surprise in history. “I had some help.”

Paige laughed, ruffling Aria’s curls before scooping her up into her arms. “You little sneak,” she teased.

Aria giggled, hugging Paige’s neck. “I missed you, P!”

“I missed you too, munchkin.” Paige pressed a kiss to her cheek before turning back to me. “God, I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I wasn’t gonna let you finish this without me,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You deserve to have the people who love you here, Paige.”

Her expression softened, and she tugged me close again, this time pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead. “I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she whispered.

I smiled. “I think we both got lucky.”

She let out a soft laugh before glancing at the crowd, then back at me. “You’re staying for a while, right?”

I nodded. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Her grin turned into something mischievous. “That’s a dangerous offer, baby.”

“I’m serious.” I squeezed her hand. “I don’t wanna be apart anymore. I wanna be with you.”

For a moment, she just stared at me, and then—right there, in front of everyone—she leaned in and kissed me.

It was soft, sweet, and full of every unspoken word between us.

When she pulled away, her eyes were bright, full of something deeper than happiness. “Then stay,” she murmured. “Stay with me.”

I grinned. “You don’t even have to ask.”

She kissed me again, and this time, I knew—no matter where life took us, no matter what came next—I would always come home to her.

Paige’s POV

The adrenaline from senior night hadn’t worn off, but the moment we stepped inside my apartment, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. The last few hours had been a blur—cheers, speeches, hugs, and the overwhelming joy of seeing her again. Seeing them again.

Aria clung to me the entire time, refusing to let go even after we left the arena. Every time I tried to pass her off to her aunt, she just tightened her grip around my neck, mumbling, “I missed you too much.”

I wasn’t gonna fight her on it. I missed her too.

Now, after a well needed shower, the little girl was curled up against my chest, completely knocked out, her tiny fingers still clutching the front of my hoodie like she was scared I’d disappear again.

I glanced over at the love of my life—because that’s what she was, no doubt about it—as she set her bag down by the door, stretching out her arms with a soft groan.

“You look dead,” I teased, my voice barely above a whisper.

She shot me a tired glare, but the small smile on her lips told me she wasn’t really mad. “I feel dead. That flight, the sneaking around, wrangling her—” she gestured at the sleeping child nestled in my arms. “I deserve a medal.”

I laughed, adjusting Aria slightly so she wouldn’t slip. “You deserve a lot more than that.”

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer, reaching out to brush a stray curl from Aria’s forehead. “She missed you like crazy, you know.”

“I missed her too,” I murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Aria’s head.

Her eyes flickered to mine, something unreadable in them. “And me?”

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. “You? Who’s that?”

Her jaw dropped. “Oh, okay. That’s how we’re playing this?”

I bit my lip to hold back a laugh, but the playful glare she shot me made it impossible. “Come here,” I said softly, and the teasing faded from her face.

She stepped between my legs, resting her hands on my shoulders as I pulled her closer with one arm, the other still supporting Aria.

“You know I missed you,” I murmured, letting my forehead rest against hers.

Her breath hitched, and I could feel the weight of the months apart in the way she exhaled, like she was finally letting herself breathe again.

“I hate being away from you,” she admitted quietly. “I hated every second of it.”

I tightened my hold on her waist, pressing my lips to her temple. “Then don’t be.”

Her fingers dug into the fabric of my hoodie. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “You said you wanted to stay. So stay. I don’t care how we make it work—I just know I don’t wanna go another night without you.”

She swallowed hard, searching my face like she was trying to memorize every detail. “Paige…”

“I’m serious.” I brushed my thumb over her cheek, letting myself get lost in her warmth. “I love you. I don’t wanna keep doing this long-distance thing when we both know where this is going.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she let out a shaky laugh. “And where’s that?”

I gave her a knowing look. “Where do you think?”

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes flickering between mine, and I could see the exact moment she realized I meant every word.

“You mean—”

“I mean,” I cut her off gently, “that I see forever when I look at you.”

Her face crumbled, and she let out a soft, shaky breath before pressing her lips to mine. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—just right. Just home.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, and she whispered, “I see forever with you too.”

I smiled, feeling something settle deep in my chest. “Good.”

A tiny, sleepy voice suddenly mumbled between us.

“Paige?”

We both froze before glancing down. Aria stirred slightly, blinking up at me with half-lidded eyes.

“Yeah, munchkin?”

Her tiny hand reached up to touch my cheek, her voice drowsy. “Don’t go away again.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, holding her just a little bit closer. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

She sighed contently, snuggling deeper into my hoodie.

I glanced at the love of my life, who was watching us with nothing but pure adoration in her eyes.

Home wasn’t a place. It was this. It was her. It was the sleepy little girl in my arms, the steady heartbeat against mine, and the unspoken promise that we’d never have to say goodbye again.

I had everything I needed right here.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[krazycat6167]

Say No

(written for @keferon’s Apocalyptic Ponyo AU. A bit of Jazz and Prowl set after most of the events of the au. Enjoy!)

-.-.-.-

Prowl watches from the sidelines as Jazz goes through yet another interview. He can’t shake the feeling that there is something off with Jazz. That there is something that isn’t right. 

Oh sure, Jazz looks happy, but Prowl doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t trust it though, so he’s scrutinizing Jazz and his behavior to try and figure it out. 

The other orca mer is smiling, talking as animated as he usually does (though notably trying to be polite by staying in one general area), using his hands as he speaks. Those are normal Jazz things to do, even if he seems a bit…more Jazz-y? He’s using a bit more inflection, slightly more exaggerated movements, a smidge extra charm behind the smile. The effect is entertaining, sure, but-.

But…he is…being entertaining. He is here, in an interview, answering questions both benign and personal, and he is putting on a show. 

Prowl’s gaze flicks around the room. Multiple cameras, stage lights, a dazzled audience. 

The interviewer, masterfully directing Jazz through the narrative with light and heavy topics and making sure to end on a high note. 

Jazz, big movements, big personality, put on display like a thing to be marveled at. 

A large grin that had been bothering Prowl the whole time because it is wrong. And now he knows it’s because it is fake. 

When the interview ends and Jazz swims offstage, Prowl takes his arm and leads him away. Away from the crowds, the lights, the cameras. Just away. From everything. Anyone who even thinks of approaching the two as they leave take one look at Prowl's hard expression and become too scared to even try. 

“While I enjoy swimming with you,” Jazz says when they are properly away from everyone, “is there a reason we left so quick?”

“You were uncomfortable.” Prowl answers. 

“Is that so?” Jazz says, amused. 

Prowl stops and turns to Jazz, stopping the other mer cold with a hard stare. “Yes, you were. You were putting on a show like it was still an obligation you owed for living somewhere when in reality you don’t owe anyone anything of yourself that you don’t want to give.”

The fact that Jazz looks shocked by this makes Prowl’s heart clench painfully. 

Prowl takes both of Jazz’s large hands in his. “I’m sorry,” he says while giving his hands a reassuring squeeze, “that I didn’t see it sooner. You did so many interviews and I didn’t see how similar they were to that tank until now.”

“Wha- hey, no,” Jazz brings their hands closer to his chest. “don’t apologize for this when it wasn’t even your fault. They asked to hear my story and-“

“And you could’ve told them no.” Prowl interrupts. “You don’t have to do these things anymore. You can say no. You can leave off you want. You aren’t confined to a small space anymore with no escape and no privacy. You can say no.”

“I- I can say no.” Jazz whispers like it’s revelation straight from the vents below. “I can leave.”

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want.”

Jazz floats there, clutching Prowls hands to his chest like they’re a lifeline, as his gaze drifts down in thought. “What I want…”

Slowly, Jazz looks up at Prowl. “I want you to show me that Crystal Reef you were talking about.”

Prowl smiles. “This way then.”

-.-.-.-

Two of the things Jazz loves about Mer society are the pouches that he can carry stuff—his stuff—in and the phones. After years of seeing humans use them (filming him, taking pictures of him), he now has one of his very own. An underwater phone, a fish phone, a fone (“It’s funny Prowler, trust me.”). It’s awesome!

Not very awesome right this second though. 

It’s vibrating, meaning someone is calling him. The screen only shows a frequency instead of a name, meaning it’s someone he doesn’t know. 

He sees Prowl look at him curiously from where he’s been sunbathing next to him as Jazz answers.

“Hello?”

“Hello! I am Undertow, a reporter with The Tuning Trident. Is this Jazz?”

Jazz sits up. “Yeah, I’m Jazz.”

“Excellent!” Undertow says, chipper. “We have been working on an article covering your story and the trials you went through. We here at The Tuning Trident are dedicated to bringing our readers the most accurate information that we can provide and we were wondering if you could come over sometime within the next few days to answer a few questions we have about your experience.”

Jazz freezes. He…doesn’t really want to talk about it with reporters anymore. He’ll just have to politely turn them down. 

Jazz opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His throat is suddenly dry. He swallows his trepidation and tries again. “Uh…”

Is that it? Is that all he can bring himself to say that isn’t a fake and enthusiastic agreement?

The reporter on the phone starts talking again. “Of course, if coming in is an inconvenience, we can have a small team come to you to conduct the interview. We are very flexible here, so whatever may be best for you, we can certainly work with!”

That was even worse! He didn’t want nosy strangers coming to his favorite spots!

But he still can’t say no. 

His gaze flicks to Prowl, desperately and silently pleading for help. 

Prowl sits up and holds his hand open to Jazz. Jazz gives him the phone. 

“I regret to inform you,” Prowl says with no regret or remorse, “that Jazz won’t be doing any interviews for the time being.”

“It’ll just be a quick thing.” Undertow promises in a small tinny voice that Jazz can still hear. “Only a couple of questions to clarify a few facts.”

“No.”

“I- but- who is this? Who are you to speak for Jazz?”

“His manager.” Prowl's tone turns cold. “He is not available for an interview at this time.”

“Why not?”

“Jazz has his reasons and he doesn’t owe them to you. Good day.”

“Wait, if you could just tell us-“

“No.” Prowl hangs up. “The nerve of some Mer, it’s like they forgot that you're an apex- urk!”

Jazz hugs him, eyes shut tight, tucking his head into Prowl’s shoulder, and squeezes. “Thank you.” He whispers, voice wobbly. 

Prowl returns the hug, using one hand to cradle Jazz’s head. “Of course. You deserve some peace.”

“I tried.” Jazz says to Prowl’s shoulder. “I wanted to say no. I tried but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get that one word out and I tried.”

“I know.” Prowl pats Jazz’s head through his beanie. “It’s okay. You keep trying. And until you are able, I can say no for you whenever you need.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

[rafes-slut]

Could you do some smut with a Reader who is a bit insecure about being so naked/exposed, feeling unattractive and gets in her head during sex and can't relax, and because of that tenses up (therefor pain) so Rafe is really soft with her and understanding

Hope you will like it <3

Let me show you

Pairing: soft!Rafe Cameron x insecure!reader

Warnings: Smut, insecurity/self-consciousness, body image struggles, soft!Rafe, praise kink, gentle and reassuring intimacy, established relationship.

Summary: you are insecure and always feeling exposed about yourself, as rafe tries to praise you and make you feel comfortable in any way. Giving you all the time you need about it

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

Rafe's room is dimly lit, the warm glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows along the walls. The bed beneath you feels impossibly plush, but no amount of comfort can settle the nervous knot twisting inside your stomach.

You should be used to this by now—you and Rafe have been together for a while, and he's never given you a reason to doubt how much he wants you. But still, every time things get intimate, you can’t shake the overwhelming self-consciousness that creeps in. Every touch feels like a spotlight on the parts of yourself you wish you could hide. Every second that passes without him saying something makes you spiral, convinced that maybe—just maybe—he’s finally seeing what you see when you look in the mirror.

You’re tense, your body rigid beneath him as his hands trace down your sides. He notices. He always does.

“Baby,” Rafe murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Relax for me.” His voice is low, soothing, but you still can’t bring yourself to fully let go.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, but it doesn’t sound convincing.

Rafe pulls back slightly, resting his weight on his forearm as his other hand moves to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes over your skin, eyes searching yours with a kind of tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“You’re not,” he says softly. “Talk to me, angel.”

You swallow hard, feeling your throat tighten. You don’t want to ruin the moment, but the words are already forming, slipping out before you can stop them.

“I just…” You hesitate, eyes flickering away in embarrassment. “I feel… exposed.”

Rafe stills for a moment, and you brace yourself for him to be annoyed or frustrated, but instead, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. “You’re supposed to be,” he murmurs. “That’s the whole point, baby. You don’t have to hide from me.”

His fingers trail down your arm, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “I wish you could see what I see,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Every part of you.”

You shake your head slightly, but Rafe doesn’t let you pull away. Instead, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“You are,” he insists. “And I don’t just mean when you’re all dressed up or when you’re wearing something cute. I mean right now. Just like this.”

Your heart stumbles over itself at the sincerity in his voice.

“I love your body,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. “I love the way you feel under me, the way you fit so fucking perfectly against me.” His hand moves down, tracing the dip of your waist. “You were made for me, angel. You know that, right?”

Heat spreads through your body, replacing some of the doubt with something softer—something warm and safe.

Rafe presses his lips to yours, slow and deep, his hands never straying too far, never moving too fast. He wants you to feel wanted, not just desired. There’s a difference, and he knows you need to feel it.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes between kisses. “So goddamn perfect for me.”

Rafe watches you closely, waiting for any hesitation, any sign that you still feel unsure. His fingers brush over your skin like he’s trying to soothe the nerves buzzing under the surface. His lips trail down your neck, lingering there as he whispers, “I’m not going to rush you, baby. We have all night.”

His patience makes your chest ache. He always takes his time with you, never pushing, never making you feel like you have to be anything other than what you are. But even now, as his hands move lower, you still feel the tension clinging to you, the weight of your insecurities trying to pull you under.

“Come here,” he murmurs, shifting slightly so that you’re fully beneath him. He presses his forehead against yours, his body warm and steady against your own. “Tell me what you need.”

You chew on your lip, your fingers instinctively reaching for the fabric of his shirt. “I just… I don’t want you to look at me too much,” you admit quietly, feeling ridiculous even as you say it.

Rafe exhales slowly, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. “Baby…” He lifts your chin gently, his blue eyes soft yet unwavering. “I love looking at you. I could stare at you all fucking day.”

Your stomach twists, your instincts telling you to shrink away, but Rafe won’t let you. His hand moves to your waist, fingers pressing just firm enough to ground you.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something possessive yet impossibly tender. “Every part of you belongs to me, and I love what’s mine.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, but you still can’t help the way your body tenses as his hands move lower, brushing over the parts of yourself you always try to hide.

“Hey,” Rafe whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then another along your collarbone. “Relax, angel. I got you.”

His touch is slow, reverent, giving you time to adjust, to breathe. Every movement is filled with purpose, meant to remind you that this is him, that you’re safe here, that he’s not going anywhere.

When his hands finally push your shirt up, his gaze doesn’t drop to your exposed skin like you expect it to. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice almost aching. “I don’t know how you don’t see it.”

Your heart clenches, your breath stuttering slightly as his fingers graze over your stomach. He traces patterns there, his touch gentle but deliberate. “Every time I touch you, I just—” He exhales, shaking his head like he can’t find the right words. “I can’t get enough of you, baby.”

You feel your pulse quicken at his words, the sincerity in them making it harder to hold onto your doubts.

Rafe leans down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Let me take care of you.”

His hands move to your shorts, but he doesn’t do anything yet. He just watches you, waiting for you to give him some kind of sign.

And for once, you don’t let the insecurities win. You give him a small nod, and the soft smile that spreads across his lips makes your chest feel warm.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips before slowly—so slowly—helping you out of the rest of your clothes.

Your body stiffens instinctively as you’re left bare beneath him, the rush of vulnerability making you want to hide, but Rafe doesn’t let you. His hands are warm as they smooth over your thighs, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering.

“You’re breathtaking,” he says, and the way he says it—like it’s an undeniable fact—makes you believe him, even if just for a moment.

Then his hands are moving, his lips following, and all you can do is feel.

Every kiss, every touch, every whispered praise is meant to replace the doubts in your mind with something softer, something better.

[holyblonded]

always sunny in australia

pairings: tillies x teen!reader

summary: your first debut for the tillies

warnings: mentions of anxiety

notes: this is such a switch from estrella i love it. also apologies because it’s a bit short but i am getting to writing a character like this so give me grace 🙏🏾

you guys can also request stories for this too!

You anxiously chew on your lip as you sit in your cubby, watching your teammates move around the locker room, pulling on their socks, tying their cleats, shaking out their limbs. The energy in the room is electric— excitement, determination, focus. But all you can feel is the nervous pit growing in your stomach.

Your fingers tremble as you retie your laces for what feels like the tenth time, your knee bouncing up and down in a restless rhythm. The fluorescent lights hum above you, their sterile glow making everything feel too bright, too sharp. The sound of studs scraping against the floor, the murmur of pre-game rituals, the distant echo of the stadium crowd, it all blurs together in a disorienting buzz.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until a voice snaps you out of it.

“You nervous?”

You jolt slightly, looking up to see your captain standing over you, arms crossed, an amused yet knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“No,” you blurt out, shaking your head a little too fast. Your voice comes out higher than usual, unconvincing even to your own ears. Sam raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Ellie, tying her cleats a few cubbies over, snorts. “Please, we all saw you nearly pass out in the warm-up, kid.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “That was one time.”

Steph walks by, ruffling your hair. “Sure, kid. One time. And yesterday. And the day before that.”

Caitlin grins as she leans against the locker. “It’s kinda cute, honestly.”

“Yeah, in a baby bird who might pass out kind of way,” Ellie adds.

You let out a dramatic sigh, slumping forward. “This is bullying.”

Mini laughs, patting your back. “Nah, this is love.”

Sam, still beside you, finally takes mercy. She plops down and throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side. It’s grounding, the solid warmth of her presence, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

“Listen, Kiddie,” she says, her voice softer now, reassuring. “I was your age when I debuted, and I nearly shit my pants. No joke.”

That earns a small laugh from you, but Sam continues, her tone serious despite the grin playing on her lips.

“But here’s the thing, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t ready. If you didn’t have pure talent and skill, they wouldn’t have called you up. You belong here, and you’ve got all of us behind you. You have nothing to worry about.”

You take a shaky breath, nodding, letting her words sink in. Maybe she’s right. No. She is right.

“Thanks, Sammy,” you murmur, and she smiles before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Anytime, Kiddie.”

Before you can respond, the coach’s voice booms through the locker room.

“Game time!”

The room erupts into motion. Your heart pounds, but this time, there’s something else mixed in with the nerves, excitement. You take one last deep breath, stand up, and follow your team out onto the field.

The stadium lights bear down on you, illuminating the field in a way that makes everything feel surreal. The roar of the crowd is deafening, a mix of Australian and American fans creating a constant buzz that fills your chest with nerves.

You blink. For a second, the lights seem too bright, the world almost dreamlike.

You shake your head quickly, grounding yourself back in the moment. Focus.

Sam is hyping everyone up, her voice loud and confident. Caitlin gives you a nod, her usual calm demeanor somehow reassuring.

“Ready, kid?” Alanna nudges you with her elbow.

You take a deep breath and nod. You don’t know if it’s entirely true, but you want it to be.

“Good,” she grins. “Let’s give ’em hell.”

Ellie cracks her knuckles beside you. “Try not to faint, alright?”

Before you can reply, Mini elbows her. “Leave the kid alone, she’s already stressing.”

“I’m not stressing,” you protest weakly.

Mini raises an eyebrow. “Right, and I’m a six-foot striker.”

Steph smirks. “Hey, that’d be terrifying.”

Ellie grins. “I’d score a hat trick every game.”

“Against an open goal, maybe,” Caitlin mutters.

Before Ellie can argue, the ref’s whistle cuts through the noise.

The U.S. comes out aggressive, pressing hard and fast, making it difficult for your team to settle. You track back defensively, trying to hold your own against their left-back, who isn’t giving you an inch of space. The pace is relentless, and your lungs burn, but you push through it.

Then, in the 23rd minute, the U.S. strikes first. A sharp cross, a towering header, and just like that, you’re down 1-0.

Macca picks the ball out of the net, shaking her head but clapping her hands. “We go again!”

Sam shouts, “Heads up, we’re still in this!”

And she’s right. Because ten minutes later, you get your first real moment.

Mini finds you out wide with a pinpoint pass. You take a quick touch, feel the defender closing in, and then you burst forward. A sharp cut inside, a feint, and you slip past her. The space opens up just enough. You whip in a cross, and there’s Mary, perfectly positioned. One touch, back of the net.

1-1.

The celebration is instant. Mary grins at you, offering a fist bump as the team huddles together. Steph ruffles your hair, and Ellie slaps your back.

“That’s more like it! Goal in your first debut!” Alanna shouts.

“See, baby bird can fly,” Caitlin teases.

For the first time all game, you let yourself breathe. You’re doing it. You’re here.

The U.S. regains the lead early in the second half with a rocket from distance. Macca dives, fingertips grazing the ball, but it’s not enough.

2-1.

You jog back to your position, frustration bubbling under your skin. You glance up into the stands, and for a split second, your breath catches.

A little girl with an Australian flag painted on her face. She has an old Tillies jersey, but it’s her sign that caught your attention. It had your name on it obviously in her hand writing.

“Stay in it,” Sam mouths, bringing you back.

And you do. Minute 78. Your moment comes.

Mini wins the ball in midfield and immediately looks for you. The second you see her foot swing, you’re already moving. The ball zips toward you, perfect weight, perfect angle. You take one touch, just enough to set yourself up, and then, you strike.

It’s clean. Pure. The ball curls, spinning past the keeper’s outstretched hands. The net ripples.

For a second, everything is silent in your head. And then, chaos.

Ellie practically jumps on your back. Caitlin grabs your shoulders, shaking you with excitement. Alanna and Steph clap you on the back, and Mini, beaming, yells, “THAT’S MY GIRL!”

But it’s Sam’s voice that cuts through the noise.

“THAT’S MY KID!”

The match ends shortly after. 2-2. A draw against the U.S., and considering the way your team is celebrating, it feels like a win.

As the final whistle blows, you exchange handshakes, feeling the adrenaline finally start to fade. Your legs are heavy, exhaustion creeping in. You quietly peel away from the group, heading toward the tunnel, wanting to slip away unnoticed. But before you can disappear, an arm wraps around your shoulders.

“Where are you going, Kiddie?”

Sam’s voice is light, teasing, as she gently redirects you.

“The locker room?” you answer hesitantly, furrowing your brows.

She chuckles. “Nope. I have someone you need to meet.”

She steers you toward the center of the field, where a blonde U.S. player is waiting with an easy smirk.

“Sunny, this is Kristie,” Sam says, grinning. “My better half.”

Ellie leans in from behind you. “The actual boss of Sam Kerr.”

Kristie extends a hand, her smirk softening into a warm smile. “Nice goal, kid. You gave us trouble out there.”

You shake her hand, still feeling a little starstruck. “Uh, thanks.”

Sam squeezes your shoulder. “She’s shy, but don’t worry, she’ll warm up.”

Kristie laughs. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Ellie gasps dramatically. “You mean Sam wasn’t born screaming orders at people?”

Caitlin grins. “Shocking, I know.”

You glance between the two of them as they exchange knowing looks. The nerves that had been weighing you down all night start to fade, replaced by something warmer, acceptance.

[akawifeyy]

friends with benefits | fic (FC43)

description: it’s six months into your relationship with formula one driver franco colapinto, but you’re still believing the delusional lie that there’s no strings attached.

tropes: no strings attached, he’s obsessed with you, playboy, girlfriend!fem!reader

face claim: none

trigger warnings: suggestive and mature content (!!), minor mentions of violence, swearing

| note: agh i love franco so much, i wish there was more f1 content with him

Franco kissed you, his touch soft as a feather while his fingers splayed across your skin, worshipping your curves. He knew every inch of you, committing it to memory like you’d evaporate in his arms if he didn’t do so. “Mmm, mi alma, I love you,” he murmured in the shell of your ear, his breath warm. “I don’t know how I could ever live without you.”

You froze, going deathly still, at a loss of words. I love you. This was the first time he had ever uttered that phrase, and you were struck dumb, unable to respond.

Noticing your distress, Franco cupped your cheek in reassurance, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he grinned. “You don’t have to say it back. I understand. I want you to mean it when you do tell me it.”

“No, that’s not it,” you whispered, face flushing with embarrassment. You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to break the spell and ruin the sweet moment. With Franco’s rapidly intensifying schedule, time between you was being whittled down more and more.

Franco’s eyebrows furrowed, concern etching lines in his face. “¿Que te pasa?”

Averting your gaze, you quickly blurted, “I didn’t realize we were so serious. I guess I still thought we were just hooking up, no strings attached. Hearing you say that…It’s just shocking.”

He reared back, dropping his hand from your face like he had been burnt. “Are you trying to tell me that there’s someone else you’d rather have been spending your time with?” His eyes hardened with hurt as he imagined you underneath some faceless man while he made love to you. In Franco’s mind, the two of you had been together since he’d taken you out on that first date in Buenos Aires, exploring his hometown with you by his side. Ever since then, you were inseparable. So why were you pretending otherwise?

You shook your head, suddenly feeling stupid. “No, of course not, I just assumed you’d find someone better and leave me. I thought all Formula One drivers were like that.”

Franco blinked. “There is no girl better than you, Y/N. And I’m not all Formula One drivers, I’m my own person.”

“Well…” You squirmed out of his reach, turning away from him as you fumbled for the right thing to say. “So, we’re… together? You want to be with me? For real?”

He nodded vigorously. “I’ve always wanted to be with you. I thought I made this clear.”

You twisted your lips, guilt gnawing at your insides. “It didn’t click. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been calling you mi novia to my parents ever since day one,” Franco said, expelling a breath. “Telling them that I’ve found my wife, I’ve found the woman I will marry and spend the rest of my days with. And the whole time you’ve been believing that we were nothing? Just fuck buddies?”

Heat permeated your skin, and you thought you might die from the humiliation. “I’m sorry, Franco.”

“You’re not just a good fuck for me, Y/N,” Franco hissed, stepping close to you and jerking your head up so you would be forced to look at him. Arousal pooled in your lower gut as you watched frustration grow in his piercing stare. “You’re my everything. Why else would I buy you everything you want? Why would I make you wear my jersey, hold your hand in public, warn other men off and threaten to chop their dicks off? Just to have some fun?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as his words sunk in. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t understand how upset I am with you,” Franco retorted. He tugged you roughly, crashing his lips against your forehead. “Mierda. Six months, and you really thought you were just another warm body for me?”

You covered your mouth with your hands, all semblances of speech eradicated.

“You’re not. Get that idea out of your head.” Franco’s eyes narrowed to slits. “We’re not fuck buddies, or some other crazy shit. We do have strings attached, because I’m in love with you. And I’m never giving you up for another woman. Not in a thousand years.”

You inclined your head. “OK, if you say so.”

“Good.” Franco touched your chin again with one finger. “Now let’s get back to what we were doing, hm?”

A moan broke free as he lowered your shirt, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder and collarbones. A flurry of kisses were embedded as his own shirt was removed and you were placed carefully on the bed. He positioned himself on top, his strong arms barricading you and muscles flexing as he began working his way down to your pussy. When your skirt was tossed on the floor along with your panties, he began his conquest, two fingers sliding in you without much difficulty.

“It’s like you’re built for me,” Franco growled. “So fucking ready.”

You swallowed back another moan as he extricated his fingers, instead replacing it with his cock.

“¿Todo bien?” he asked a few minutes later, languidly thrusting as sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. “Do I need to stop?”

You shook your head feebly. “No, please, Franco,” you mewled.

“I hope you know that I adore you, hermosa. I don’t care if this is too much, too soon, because my emotions are going to swallow me whole if I don’t tell you.” Franco groaned as he dug deeper, his entire body pulsing with unspent energy as his release neared. “You live in my every heartbeat, you linger in my thoughts. When I am away from you, I feel like I will die.”

“I...” Your breath was shaky as you continued, “I love you, Franco.”

“If my legacy is to be your lover, then so be it,” he added. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

And together, the pleasure that had been steadily mounting reached its breaking point, and you unraveled together.

Two souls, in sync. The way you wanted it to be forever.

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[seongwars]

strangers by nature | viii

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Rating: NC-17 Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 5.5K Warnings: fluff, mentions of infidelity

Fic Masterlist | Taglist Signup

“You’ll need extensive physical therapy,” Dr. Jang said, flipping through his chart the day Mingi was to be discharged. 

“Walking will be difficult at first. You’ll experience weakness, dizziness, and possibly some coordination issues.”

Mrs. Song let out a sharp breath, bringing a hand up to her mouth as if to stifle a gasp. Beside her, Mr. Song reached over and placed a firm, reassuring hand on her arm. They had known this was coming, yet hearing it aloud made it all the more real.

“We’ll have to make arrangements,” his mother replied. “Oh, if he’s going to struggle, we can have the physical therapist come to the house.”

“There’s no need,” Mingi rasped, glancing over at you. “Y/N can help me.”

The entire room fell silent.

Dr. Jang stopped mid-page, his eyes flickering up over his glasses. The nurse who had been taking discharge notes blinked so fast it was almost comical. Even Mr. Song, ever composed, arched an eyebrow in surprise.

“W-What? Me?” you stammered, pointing to yourself as if there had been some mistake.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like your help,” Mingi repeated, his voice steadier now, as if the decision had already been made in his mind. There was something almost… gentle in the way he looked at you.

You stared at him in disbelief. Mingi, the man who never wanted anything to do with you, was asking for your help? 

“Mingi, are you sure?”

Mrs. Song was still staring at him like he had grown a second head. “But you always—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. 

“You’ve never liked being…helped. You always insist on doing things yourself.”

Mingi exhaled, leaning back against the pillows, his fingers twitching slightly against the blanket. “I know,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. 

“But things are different now.”

And for some reason, the way he said it made it feel like he wasn’t just talking about his injury.

You pulled up to the entrance, cutting the engine before stepping out to grab Mingi’s crutches from the backseat. By now, the visits were becoming routine, but each time, it still struck you as surreal.

You turned to him, holding out the crutches. “Do you need anything else? I can grab a wheelchair if you want.”

Mingi shook his head. “No thanks, I’ve got it.”

Then, to your complete and utter bewilderment, he smiled—small, unguarded, but warm in a way you’d never quite seen before. The sight of it sent a strange flutter through your chest, something unfamiliar yet not entirely unwelcome.

Before you could process it, his hand brushed against your arm, a brief touch that sent a gentle warmth trailing in its wake. His fingers lingered just long enough to make you wonder if it was intentional before he gave your arm a light squeeze—as if he were telling you he’d see you soon.

It was fleeting, gone too soon, but the feeling remained, leaving you gripping the car door handle as if it were the only thing keeping you steady.

Mingi had never smiled at you before. 

The whole drive home, you were lost in thought, your hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Confused didn’t even begin to cover it. Lately, everything about Mingi had been confusing.

At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then it became impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just the way he looked at you now—like he was seeing you for the first time, rather than through you. It was how he acted. How he hovered. 

He followed you around the penthouse like a puppy. If you turned around too quickly, he was there, standing just a few feet away. If you rounded a corner, you nearly crashed into him. It was like he was always waiting for something. 

Waiting for you.

You could almost see it—the imaginary puppy ears perking up, the wagging tail swishing behind him, hoping you’d notice that he was there. 

And as if that weren’t strange enough, he’d also become…talkative. Well, in his own way. Mingi had started initiating conversations with you through animal facts, seemingly random tidbits of knowledge he’d been holding in until they just slipped out. 

“Did you know that vampire bats share their food with other vampire bats?”

“What?” You blinked at him, holding your fork mid bite. 

“They, um…they regurgitate blood for bats that didn’t eat.” His voice was quiet and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if this was something you’d want to hear but hoped you might find it interesting.

You blinked at him, trying to decide if this was some kind of weird joke. But there was no teasing in his expression—just an earnest kind of hopefulness, like he wanted you to acknowledge his effort.

Like he wanted you to know he was trying.

“Oh…” You let out a small laugh, tilting your head at him. “Are you telling me I don’t eat enough?”

Mingi’s ears tinged pink as he gave a small, sheepish nod. 

“Kind of…” he admitted, shifting awkwardly. 

“I noticed that sometimes you skip meals when you’re busy or stressed.” His voice dropped slightly, almost as if he was embarrassed to say it aloud. 

“It’s not good for you.”

Another instance, you were humming to yourself as you sorted through the laundry, tossing a few shirts into the washing machine. The penthouse was quiet, save for the whir of the dryer running in the background. You reached for the basket when—

“Did you know that wombats poop in cubes?”

You yelped, throwing your laundry into the air as you spun around. Mingi stood just a few feet away, wide-eyed, his hands hovering awkwardly in front of him like he wasn’t sure whether to help or apologize.

“Mingi!” you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “You scared me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, shifting on his feet. “The sugar cubes you put in your tea reminded me of wombat poop for some reason.”

You shook your head as you stepped into the lift back to the penthouse. You weren’t sure how you felt about your husband’s newfound attitude. It wasn’t that you were ungrateful—Mingi had finally woken up, and that should have been enough. 

The moment you kicked off your shoes in the foyer, Mrs. Ha, the chef, scurried over, her eyes darting between you and the hallway like she was still in the habit of speaking cautiously.  

“Oh, Ms. Y/N!” she whispered urgently, clutching her apron. “How was he?”

You let out a sharp exhale, still trying to make sense of it yourself. “Weird,” you hissed, picking up your pace to match hers as you both hurried toward the kitchen.

“He smiled at me. And—” You hesitated for a second before lowering your voice. “He squeezed my arm.”

Mrs. Ha gasped so dramatically you thought she might faint. “No.” She shook her head as if refusing to believe it.

“I know,” you muttered, half-joking, but not really. “He used to pretend I didn't exist. Now he’s…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

Warm? Inviting? Considerate?

It felt strange to say out loud, but stranger still that it might actually be true.

Mrs. Ha grabbed your wrist as if trying to steady herself, or maybe you. “Ms. Y/N,” she said gravely, “do you think he hit his head too hard?”

You swallowed, the thought lingering in your mind longer than it should. Mingi’s accident had been severe. He’d been unconscious for months and it was a miracle he woke up at all. 

And yet, this wasn’t just waking up. This was different. The Mingi you knew had been cold, distant, cruel even. He never touched you unless absolutely necessary, never smiled at you unless it was laced with sarcasm or condescension. But today?

Today, he’d looked at you like he actually saw you.

Could head trauma really alter someone’s personality that drastically? Had the accident shaken something loose inside him?

“Can you believe he asked me about plants?” Yohan scoffed, handing you a cup of tea as you stepped into the kitchen.

“Mingi and plants.” He shook his head in disbelief, leaning against the counter. “I can’t believe he’s actually considering keeping something alive besides himself.”

You snorted, though the humor was short-lived. The shift in Mingi’s behavior was too drastic, too unnatural. You took a sip of your tea, the warmth doing little to ease the uncertainty. This new Mingi was too good to be true, and you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Mingi’s kindness, his warmth—it didn’t make sense. Not when he had spent so long resenting you.

“This morning, he casually mentioned that zebras can’t sleep alone,” you murmured, tapping your fingers against the cup. 

“Well he said he’s looking forward to dinner!” Mrs. Ha interjected. 

“Three months ago, he barely spoke to anyone, including Y/N and now he’s making conversation?” Yohan shook his head, placing a hand on his hip. 

“This is suspicious.”

No one wanted to say it out loud, but you all felt the same way. Mingi’s recovery wasn’t just physical. He was changing, bit by bit. And for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t for the worse.

⋆

“Your grip strength is starting to improve, as well as the mobility on your left side. Soon, you won’t need the crutches anymore,” Dr. Lim noted encouragingly.

Mingi exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he steadied himself. The session had been brutal, as they always were, but hearing that he was making progress gave him a small sense of victory.

“That’s it for today. We’ll see you next week.” The physical therapist gave him a nod of approval before turning away, already moving on to his next patient.

Mingi nodded, gripping his crutches tightly as he made his way toward the exit. Every movement still felt like an uphill battle. He had spent the last two months relearning how to move, how to function without feeling like his own body was working against him. The physical therapy sessions were grueling, pushing him to his limits, but he refused to back down.

The accident had nearly killed him. Three broken ribs, a fractured femur, and nerve damage. Though it wasn’t extensive, it was enough to remind him that no matter how much he pushed, there were still limits. 

And he hated that.

He hated the way his body trembled when he overexerted himself, the way his right arm sometimes felt too weak to grip things properly. He hated that he still struggled to get up without support, that simple tasks took twice the effort they used to. 

But he didn’t hate the way you anticipated his struggles before he could voice them. The way you reached for his arm before he could stumble, or placed things in a way that made it easier for him to access. And he didn’t hate how easily you entertained his ramblings, even when they were about the most mundane things.

For an hour and a half each week, he hated being away from you.

Because no matter how frustrating the setbacks were, no matter how exhausting the battle of recovery became, seeing you at the end of each session reminded him of his purpose and his promise to Hongjoong and Wooyoung. 

The thought of going home had him biting back a grin as he adjusted his crutches and made his way out of the rehabilitation center. He was already looking forward to sliding into the passenger seat beside you, exaggerating the difficulty of his new balance exercises and guessing what Mrs. Ha had whipped up today.

The anticipation carried him forward until it came to a screeching halt.

The moment he stepped into the rotunda, his fingers instinctively tightened around the crutches, his body going rigid. The hospital lobby was a blur of white coats and murmured conversations, but all he could focus on was the figure standing in front of him.

Ahri.

Her arms were crossed, her manicured nails tapping impatiently against her sleeve. She looked annoyed with her lips pressed into a thin line as her sharp gaze raked over him. 

The sight of her made something curdle in his stomach—something sharp, bitter, and unwelcome.

“What are you doing here?” Mingi asked flatly.

Ahri scoffed, stepping closer. “Are you seriously asking me that? You’ve been avoiding me ever since you woke up.”

“Maybe that should tell you something,” he muttered, but he already knew Ahri wouldn’t take the hint.

Ahri rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Mingi. Don’t act like this. We need to talk.”

“No,” he said simply, his grip tightening around the crutches until his knuckles turned white. 

“We really don’t.”

“You’re being dramatic. I was worried about you—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his voice low, firm. 

Ahri’s mouth opened, then closed. For the first time, she looked uncertain, like she hadn’t expected him to be this direct. Her expression faltered for a split second, But then, just as quickly, she recovered, her lips curling into a sneer.

“So that’s how it is?” she scoffed. “You wake up and suddenly forget about us? Is it because you want to play house with her?”

Mingi’s jaw tensed but his silence spoke volumes.

“What’s wrong with that?” he replied quietly. 

That made her pause. Just for a second. But then she shook her head, scoffing again like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

“Oh, give me a break,” she snapped. “You spent so long telling me how miserable you were, how you were trapped with her.” She let out a bitter laugh. 

“But now what? You wake up from a coma and suddenly, she’s the one you want? You told me you wished you’d never married her, that you never loved her.” 

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to something softer, something almost pleading as if she could still reach him. 

“Mingi, you told me I was the only thing that made you happy.”

And maybe, once, he had believed that.

Maybe, once, he had convinced himself that Ahri was the answer, the escape he craved, the proof that he was still alive, still capable of feeling something. But standing here now, after dying and coming back, after losing everything and being given a second chance, he saw it for what it truly was.

A mistake. A desperate attempt to outrun his own self-destruction.

But you—you had always been real. And this time, he wasn’t going to run.

This time, he was going to love you the way he should have all along.

“You weren’t,” he said steadily. “You never were.”

Ahri’s face twisted, something wounded flickering across her features before it morphed into anger. 

“Bullshit! If that were true, then why did you keep coming back to me?”

"You were there when it was easy, Ahri. When it was fun. But when I was lying in that hospital bed, barely clinging to life, you were nowhere to be found."

Ahri’s lips parted, but no words came out.

“And you know what? I don’t blame you,” Mingi said, tilting his head. 

“Because we were never real, were we? We were just two selfish people feeding off each other’s worst impulses.” He exhaled sharply, as if the weight of it all was finally lifting off his chest. 

“I don’t owe you anything.”

People turned, pausing in their tracks, stealing glances at the commotion, but Mingi could care less. Instead, he stepped past her without another glance, heading toward the one person who mattered—

You.

"You think you can just walk away from me?" Ahri's voice rose, sharp and unhinged. 

Mingi didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all. 

And that set her off. 

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

Her lips curled, a smirk. "You think a self-respecting woman like Choi Y/N would want you?" She let out a breathless, almost manic laugh, her eyes glinting with something unhinged. 

"Especially when you fucked me on your wedding night!"

A murmur rippled through the gathering crowd. Gasps. A sharp intake of breath. Someone muttering under their breath. But Ahri was past caring. Her hands trembled at her sides, whether from rage or something deeper, something uglier, even she wasn’t sure.

“You threw her away like she was nothing. And now, you think you can just have her?”

Ahri let out a broken laugh, something desperate and wild. 

"She’s stronger than you ever gave her credit for." Ahri’s voice turned quiet, almost pitying.

“She doesn’t need you."

Mingi’s breath hitched, and for the first time since this entire confrontation began, doubt slithered in, coiling tight around his chest.

Because what if Ahri was right?

What if you never forgave him? What if everything he had done, all the cruel words, all the neglect, had built a wall so high between you that he’d never be able to climb over it?

He remembered the way you had looked at him when he was just a clumsy, oversized puppy, tail wagging, tongue lolling, no words to defend himself—only his actions. And still, still, you had cared for him. Fed him. Sheltered him. Loved him, even when you hadn’t known it was him.

Mingi clenched his jaw. He could fix this.

Because if he had been capable of love then, stripped of his pride and his excuses, then he was capable of love now. And he would prove it to you. No matter what it took.

He would not lose you.

"Ms. Jeong," a voice said smoothly, "I suggest you leave before you embarrass yourself any further."

Mingi tensed. He didn’t need to turn to know what he’d see—that infuriatingly calm expression, always so composed, so sure with his stupid face and stupid hair.

Seonghwa.

The hospital director's voice was calm, but the authority behind it was unmistakable. He stepped into Ahri’s path, yet the weight of his presence alone was enough to send a chill through the air.

Ahri whirled on him. "Stay out of this, Park Seonghwa!" she snapped. "This has nothing to do with you!"

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. "You’re causing a disturbance in my hospital. That makes it my problem."

Her chest rose and fell with sharp, angry breaths, but Seonghwa remained unfazed.

"You’re humiliating yourself. If you don’t leave, I’ll have security escort you out."

Ahri’s lips parted, her eyes darting between Seonghwa and Mingi, as if searching for an opening—one last attempt to regain control of the situation. But Mingi had already turned his back, walking toward the exit. Toward you.

And you—you had just barely managed to keep your knees from buckling.

You had been standing just around the corner, heart in your throat, ears ringing with every word that had left Mingi’s mouth.

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

You didn’t have an answer for that. Not yet.

But Mingi, your husband, the same man who once treated your marriage like a prison sentence—was choosing you.

Your phone chimed, interrupting your conversation with Yohan and Mrs. Ha.

Pick up Mingi.

“Has it already been an hour and a half?” Yohan sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Mrs. Ha chuckled as she wiped her hands on her apron, already turning back to the half-prepped vegetables on the counter. 

“Time flies when you’re talking shit, I guess,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone.

Conversations like these had once been a source of relief, a safe space where you, Yohan, and Mrs. Ha could freely air out your frustrations about Mingi and his insufferable attitude. It had been cathartic, a necessary way to bond over shared grievances, particularly in the way he ignored Yohan’s presence, dismissed Mrs. Ha’s kindness, and, worst of all, the way he had treated you.

The usual satisfaction of venting was absent, replaced instead by something heavier. 

Guilt.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered now, softer, searching, as if trying to memorize every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. Like he was looking for something—hoping for something.

Or maybe it was the way he hesitated before speaking, as if he wanted to be understood but didn’t know how. As if he was afraid that one wrong step would send him tumbling right back into the version of himself you had every reason to despise.

And that’s what made your chest ache.

You sighed, grabbing your keys from the counter and with a quick farewell to Yohan and Mrs. Ha, you made your way down to the garage. The drive to the hospital was quiet, the high rises casting fleeting shadows as you navigated the city streets.

Your mind wandered. Mingi was still a mess of contradictions—still the person who had hurt you more than anyone else ever had. And yet, in the past two months, something had shifted. He’d been different.

You weren’t sure what that meant for you, if it meant anything at all.

Pulling into the hospital lot, you glanced at the time. You were early. With minutes to spare, you found yourself hesitating, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. You could just wait here, let Mingi find his way out like always. 

But today, something in you wavered.

Maybe, just this once, you’d meet him halfway.

Sighing, you turned off the engine and walked into the hospital. The automatic doors parted soundlessly as you entered, the sterile scent of antiseptic and faint traces of coffee from the café wrapping around you. 

You weaved through the familiar hallways toward the rehabilitation center, past patients in wheelchairs and staff exchanging clipped instructions.

And then—

"You think you can just walk away from me?"

You stopped.

Ahri.

Her voice carried through the clinic, too loud, too reckless for a public space, but she didn’t seem to care.

A few steps ahead, just past a row of columns, Mingi stood—partially obscured, his broad shoulders stiff with tension. Ahri stood in front of him, heaving with anger, her expression twisted into something between fury and despair.

Your instincts told you to walk away before you were pulled into something you weren’t meant to witness. But your feet wouldn’t move. Instead, you ducked behind the corner, pressing yourself against the wall, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

You sucked in a breath. That stopped Mingi and Ahri knew it. You peeked out just enough to catch the smirk curling at the edges of her lips and the cruel glint in her eyes.

"You think a self-respecting woman like Choi Y/N would want you? You fucked me on your wedding night!"

The words slammed into you, knocking the air from your lungs. You had known what you were getting into when your parents arranged your marriage to Mingi. You had no illusions about love or loyalty, not when his heart had already belonged to someone else. You had told yourself his affair with Ahri didn’t matter, that you weren’t some naive child clinging to false hope.

But hearing the words now, so bluntly and irrevocably, felt different. It was like an old wound you thought had scarred over, threatening to tear open all over again.

A murmur of voices rippled through the onlookers—gasps, hushed whispers, stolen glances exchanged in uneasy silence. Mingi remained frozen, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful, his fists curling and uncurling around his crutches.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, nails pressing crescent marks into your skin. The way Mingi stood there, facing Ahri’s wrath without backing down, without crumbling the way you might have expected, made your chest tighten.

For the first time in your marriage, Mingi was choosing you.

The realization sent a flutter through you, foreign and unwelcome and you had to keep your knees from buckling beneath you. 

This wasn’t forgiveness.

But it was something.

Swallowing hard, you spun on your heel and hurried back to your car. By the time you reached the door, your hands fumbled slightly, a little shaky as you slid inside and shut yourself away from the world.  

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the strange, fluttery feeling in your chest to go away. But it lingered, stubborn and insistent, curling around the edges of your thoughts. Ahri’s words still echoed in your mind, but even louder—more impossible to ignore—was the quiet whisper of, What if?

What if Mingi really was choosing you?

Not out of obligation. Not because there was no one else left. But because he wanted to.

A breathy laugh escaped you, more out of disbelief than amusement. 

“What do you think, Maro?”

The name slipped out before you could stop it, but it felt natural, like Maro was still here, curled up beside you, tail wagging, waiting for you to spill your heart out. 

You swallowed, gripping the steering wheel as if it could ground you. 

“It’s stupid, right?” Your voice was tentative as you leaned your head against the headrest. 

“It doesn’t change anything. Just because he—” You stopped, shook your head, trying to chase away the warmth threatening to creep in.

“It doesn’t mean I should believe in something that’s never been real.”

You could imagine Maro pressing his head into your palm like he understood everything you couldn’t say. Like he was telling you that you didn’t have to figure it all out alone.

“God, I don’t even know what's happening anymore.”

A sudden, sharp knock against the window jolted you upright. Your heart lurched into your throat as you turned, only to find Mingi standing just outside, giving you a small wave. Your face burned. Huffing, you fumbled for the lock with clumsy fingers before scrambling out of the car. 

“I got it,” Mingi said with a chuckle, adjusting his grip on his crutches. His voice was light, but his gaze lingered on you, studying you with an expression softer than you were used to.

“You okay?”

You forced a small smile, brushing imaginary dust off your sleeves in an attempt to steady yourself. “Yeah, just tired.”

Mingi didn’t look convinced. He lingered for a second longer, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to press further. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, nodded, and slid into the passenger seat.

The drive home passed in a blur. The streetlights stretched long across the pavement, casting soft, flickering patterns against the windshield, but you were lost in the whirlwind of thoughts brewing in your mind.

Did he really love you?

⋆

"Y/N…can you call my phone? I can’t seem to find it."

Mingi had been more flustered than usual lately—not that he wanted to admit. The accident had left him disoriented, but it was unlike him to be clumsy. But lately, he kept doing things that frustrated him to no end like pushing against a pull door and standing there and now, misplacing his phone for the third time this week. 

He was also never one to ask for help—especially from you.

Before the accident, he had gone out of his way to keep his distance. He had made it clear he wanted nothing from you, and you had gotten the message. Eventually, you stopped offering. And for a while, that’s what he thought he wanted.

Now, he couldn’t stand the thought of it.

If you were in the kitchen, he was suddenly rummaging through the cabinets for a snack he didn’t actually want. If you were on the couch, he was sitting on the opposite end, scrolling through his phone but not really paying attention to it. 

And if you got up to leave the room? Well…so did he.

Because he wasn’t afraid of being clingy. Not with you. Not when the thought of you leaving, of not having you here, was far scarier than anything else.

You nodded, pressing the call button as Mingi shuffled past you, disappearing into his room. Your gaze lingered on the doorway long after he was gone.

For the duration of your marriage, you had never once stepped foot inside this room. The door had always remained shut, a silent boundary he had drawn long before he ever knew you. A reminder that no matter what legal document bound you together, there would always be parts of him you would never reach.

But as you took a step forward, following the faint sound of his phone vibrating somewhere in the great beyond, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d let you glimpse into the parts of himself he had kept locked away.  

You stood hesitantly by the threshold watching your husband rifling through his laundry, digging through pockets, and muttering to himself under his breath. The Mingi you had married would’ve cursed under his breath, thrown something, or blamed someone else for his misplaced phone. 

But this version of him? He simply kept looking, patient and persistent.

His room was dimly lit with the faint scent of paint and cologne filling the space. Canvases leaned against the walls, some vibrant and abstract, others more detailed and unfinished sketches scattered across his desk.  

Your gaze landed on a small canvas resting on the edge of his desk. The soft eyes and the cheeky glint, the little nose, and that signature smile. It wasn’t finished, but there was no mistaking it.

Maro.

“There it is,” Mingi muttered, plucking his phone from the ground next to his bed.

As he swiped the screen to end the call, his gaze flickered toward you, then followed yours to the canvas on his desk. He watched you carefully, half-expecting sadness, maybe even confusion. But instead there was something unexpectedly tender. 

And then you looked at him, and Mingi felt it.

Why did you have to look at him like that? Like he had done something right for once. Like you saw him in a way that made his heart squeeze. His ears burned. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I… picked up painting,” he admitted. “My physical therapist said it’d help with motor skills and strengthening my hands and fingers.” 

He swallowed. “I hope you don’t mind that I painted Maro. I… I wasn’t sure if I got the eyes right,” he admitted, almost shyly. 

You stepped closer, drawn in by the familiar shape on the canvas. “It looks just like him,” you murmured, reaching out to trace the dried brushstrokes with your fingertips. The texture of the paint, the careful detail—Mingi had poured himself into this.

Mingi let out a sigh of relief but then, as if realizing something, tensed again a second later. “I—uh, it was supposed to be a surprise,” he blurted out, his eyes widening slightly, as if he’d just realized his mistake.

You blinked up at him. “A surprise?”

“For you,” he admitted, shifting awkwardly. His fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. 

“I wanted to give it to you when I felt like it was perfect. But, um… I guess I kind of ruined that, huh?” He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head.

“You painted this for me?”

He peeked at you through his lashes, leaving something softer and more vulnerable in its place as he gave you a small nod.

“I just… I know how much you loved—love Maro, and I thought maybe… you’d want something to keep. Something I made for you.”

Something only for you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Oh. Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice and the way he’d poured so much of himself into a piece just for you was overwhelming. 

“Oh, Mingi…” you breathed.

Emotion swelled in your chest, thick and impossible to name. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could do was stare at him—the quiet hope in his eyes, the way he watched you like he wasn’t sure what you’d do next.

“I love it,” you said, and you meant it. Not just the painting, but the thought behind it. It was just a painting. But it wasn’t. It was a piece of him—his effort, his sincerity, his quiet way of saying what he couldn’t put into words.

“Thank you.”

The words felt small, insufficient for the weight of what he had given you. But then he smiled—a slow, relieved, utterly radiant smile that knocked the breath from your lungs.

And suddenly, the moment stretched—too long, too precarious.

Your eyes flickered around the room, a sharp awareness settling over you. Mingi’s room. When did he get so close? When did you even come in here?

“I should…” You cleared your throat, glancing toward the door. “I should let you get back to painting.”

Before he could say anything, you turned, slipping out of the room, closing the door gently behind you. For a moment, you leaned against it, trying to steady the sudden pounding in your chest. But before you could make sense of anything—

The door creaked open.

“Wait.”

You turned, as Mingi poked his head out. There was a hint of bashfulness in the way his fingers gripped the doorframe, but his eyes held no hesitation.

“…You can leave it open.”

<< vii | ix >>

taglist: @syubseokie @koyagifs @sunnysidesins @thedistractedwriter @notevenheretbh1

@molberto @litolmochi @intowxnderland @yn-reincarnate @lemonkait00

@corgilover20 @randomgworlypop @taegi1016 @almondtofu006 @ateezaddict24

@desi2go @beabatiny @sangilov-r @roomsofangel @symmieangela

@dumplingsyum @etaerealboy @fairylover68 @foxinnie8

@yoonrixx @jean-swolo @silent-potato @jiwoongsblondehair @sanriomilk

@sanniesbum @tyudearyous @kang-ulzzang @scary-thingz @painted-hills

@kyomiingi @tournesol155 @bee-gremlin @sutskyu @fleuresjay

@http-gyu @ishz @park-simphwa @moonsanshine @drinkingrumandcocacola

@innocygnet @jaeyunlvrs @shanabtsarmy @soso59love-blog @plum-stxr

@vcutparis @kaituyyn @blvckarabixnvoid @amazaynaastha

[voitier]

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... your angel of a boyfriend always respected your wishes and boundaries. but what happens when you feel your resolutions slowly crumble to the ground?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [smut!] teasing, making out, mentions of dry humping, fingering, reader's first time, softdom!gguk × inexperienced!reader, gentle sex, mentions of discomfort during penetration.

▸ 𝓔𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮

▸ 𝔀.𝓬: 2𝓴 +

There were certain things you absolutely loved about your boyfriend, like the way his eyes lit up in excitement when you cooked him his favourite meal, or the way his natural non-toxic masculine energy immediately put you at ease, making you slide into your soft feminine energy naturally. This was probably one of the first things you noticed even before you got together, slowly becoming aware of how well you fit into a balanced dynamic that you both felt comfortable in.

But, most of all, you loved the way he never pushed you to do things you weren't keen on doing, never made you feel like you had to something for him "because he said so", never forced anything. Always treated you so well, so gently, so lovingly. He held you at night tight enough like he was afraid you would slip from his arms, but also so delicately like he was scared he could break you if he made a tiny mistake, the same way glass shatters to the ground if you're not careful enough.

So it shouldn't have been a surprise when you told him you weren't ready to have sex just yet, tears striking down your face in fear he would leave you right then and there, and he didn't even appear to be annoyed by that. If anything, he ran you a warm bubble bath, hugging you from behind while cuddling you and whispering sweet nothings to reassure you that no, he wouldn't leave you for that and yes, he would wait as long as you needed. 

"Thank you," you had whispered, sniffling softly as the sobs finally subdued. Jungkook gathered the bubbles in the palm of his hand, blowing them in your face. His expression visibly relaxed as you giggled, wiping the scented bubbles that landed on the tip of your nose. 

"Princess, I don't want you to feel pressured about doing anything with me, got that? I could never leave you, I love you too much. Also, your cute little face got me wrapped around your pinky."

A few months had passed from that moment, and he had kept his promise. This doesn’t mean that you never shared moments of intimacy, but rather that you both opted for things that you liked and were comfortable in, like grinding while making out, or giving and receiving oral. And you always felt so at ease, so sure that he would never take advantage of you in any way or form.

But as time went on, you felt your resolutions slowly crumble to the ground: it all started with following him on set, watching mesmerized as he posed for the camera. He was magnificent in his expressions, in his demeanor, in the way he rocked the outfits given by the CK company. He was confident, alluring, his muscles moving in a way that made you feel tingly all over. His eyes caught yours, crouched on the chair behind the camera, trying to be invisible to the eyes of all the professionals that hurriedly walked around you. You watched as a weird glint sparkled in his eyes, his lips curling in a knowing smirk briefly before he snapped back into character, leaving you a flustered, breathless mess. You weren’t entirely sure, but after that it looked like he posed even sexier for the camera, manipulating his body so that it could allure you in the same way a siren’s song allures pirates before devouring them. and god, did it work…

You shifted around uncomfortably, fiddling with your phone, looking around at anything to tear your eyes from your boyfriend, trying to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs. and Jungkook took notice of every effort you made to hide your need, quite amused by it all. Soon after, the director called for the end of the day, screaming loud enough for everyone to hear “good job, guys, see you tomorrow!”, clapping his hands and stopping by the photographer to discuss something about the lightning of some photos. 

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, stretching his body to relax his tensed limbs before making his way to you, chuckling darkly when he noticed you acting like you weren’t paying any attention to him. he leaned over you, trapping you between his arms as his lips hovered your ear. “What's wrong, princess?” he purred, nibbling softly your earlobe. Your breath struck in your throat at his sultry tone, and you prayed he couldn’t hear your heart thrumming in your chest, or your hands shaking by your side. You felt like you were floating in a bubble where nothing mattered aside from his presence, and his musky cologne that clouded your senses and made your head dizzy. You closed your eyes breathing it in, parting your lips slightly to let out a soft breath.

Jungkook hummed pleased at your responsiveness, cupping your jaw with his warm hand. He traced your bottom lip with his thumb, staring at it almost as if hypnotised by his own action, pulling it down softly before murmuring “let’s go home, princess”, a tinge of urgency lacing his words. 

The drive home was probably the quickest you’ve ever been in, with Jungkook’s foot slamming the pedal to the ground, one hand grabbing possessively your thigh and fingers touching where you most need him with featherlight pressure. As soon as the car pulled into the driveway Jungkook was quick to pick you up and bring you inside, pushing your back against the door as soon as it closed behind you. 

His lips immediately found yours, pulling you into a desperate kiss. He gently pulled your hair at the back of your neck, angling your face better in order to deepen the kiss. You moaned, the sound swallowed by your boyfriend’s lips, hands tugging at his shirt to take it off. Jungkook pulled back slightly, groaning at the sight of your swollen red lips and hooded eyes. “Bedroom?” he asked, throwing his shirt on the ground.

“Yes, please” you whispered, following him around the house as more kissing and more stripping occurred, ending up in the bedroom already half naked and even more worked up than before. You wiggled out of the shirt that covered your chest and your panties-clad bottom, straddling your boyfriend’s lap as he sat against the headboard.

“C’mon, princess, you know what to do” he said, hands holding your thighs firmly while you rocked back and forth, whimpering as his still clothed boner provided the perfect friction against your aching clit. “Want… more,” you cried out, hips rutting desperately. Jungkook’s lips latched on your skin, sucking deep purple spots all over your neck and collarbones. “Yeah?” he asked against your flesh, “what is it that you want, princess?”

Your cheeks burned at the embarrassment, yet it didn’t stop you from whimpering “want you inside me”. You felt your boyfriend’s body tense beneath you, his kissing stopping on the spot. His hand cupped your jaw, keeping you in place as his eyes locked with yours. “What did you say, princess?”

If possible, you felt your whole body catch on fire just from his tone alone, trying to divert your gaze as you repeated shyly “want… want you inside me. Please”. You swore you felt his cock throbbing at your words, his pupils completely blown out in lust. The fingers that held your jaw twitched briefly before he asked “you’re sure, princess?”, struggling to hide the restraint in his voice. You nodded, rocking your hips tentatively to spur him on.  

He bit his lip, trying to hold back the smile that threatened to break over his face. He failed at that, though, and a happy giggle escaped his lips as he switched your position, letting you fall on the soft pillows, your back landing on the mattress. He showered your face in excited kisses before he finally calmed down, a serious expression on his face. “Promise you’ll tell me if I'm hurting you or if you want to stop”. You smiled, nodding your head. “Pinky promise”. And just like that he was on you again, reaching a hand behind your back to flick your bra off your chest, sighing in pleasure once he cupped your breast in his hand, gently rolling your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Always looking so pretty,” he purred, reaching a hand down to unzip his pants, trying to take some pressure off his painfully hard member. He groaned, muttering a small “fuck,” before lowering his head on your torso, kissing his way down all the way to your panties. He pressed a hand on your thigh, keeping you spread over in front of his eyes. He smirked pleased at the wet patch on the baby blue fabric of your thong, rubbing his thumb up and down your clothed slit, then pressing his finger on your clit. “Oh fuck- please, Kook,” you moaned, bucking your hips up to gain some more friction. 

“Patience, princess,” he whispered, blowing softly on your clothed sex. You gasped at the feeling, trying to press your thighs back together, but you were stopped by Jungkook’s firm grasp that pinned you to the bed. “How sensitive,” he chuckled, teasingly licking a stripe up the drenched fabric. You whimpered, a string of pleas falling repeatedly from your plush lips as you grew progressively more desperate for more.

“Oh I know, I know, princess,” he cooed, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulling them down, throwing them somewhere on the floor. “Gonna make you feel so nice,” he continued, stopping to admire your glistening folds, all wet and leaking just for him. He ran his pointer finger between your folds, gathering your moisture before slowly slipping the finger in. 

“Oh-” you gasped, closing your eyes as Jungkook’s finger stroked your walls, curling it just right. “Gonna put another one in,” he murmured, slipping another finger in. A loud moan escaped your lips, spurring your boyfriend to move in quicker and deeper movements, his fingers hitting repeatedly your g-spot almost as if in a quest to let you release as many sounds as possible. Slick sounds and ragged breaths filled the room, your mind clouding into a hazy state. The bands in your stomach threatened to snap at any moment now, your walls fluttering around Jungkook’s fingers.

Said man, of course, wanted to toy with you a little longer before giving you the relief you needed, and that’s why he immediately pulled his fingers out, chucking darkly at your disappointed whines. He slipped the same two fingers in his mouth, moaning around them as your juices dripped on his tongue. “Always taste so good,” he groaned, leaning down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Think you’re ready for me, princess?”

You nodded eagerly, though you couldn’t hide the nervousness pricking at the back of your neck. “Can you just… be gentle? Like, a lot? Pretty please”.

“Of course, princess, you don’t even have to ask. We’re gonna take it nice and slow, yeah?” of course there was no doubt that Jungkook already planned on taking it easy with you, nevertheless the confirmation was much needed for you, helping your nerves ease even a tiny bit. 

The man sat back on his knees, taking off his pants and briefs in one go. Even though it wasn’t the first time you had seen him completely naked, you couldn’t help but stare at him mesmerised. He was just that good looking, his body built the same way the greeks carved their most beloved statues. Your mouth ran dry at the sight, and your hands itched to explore every inch of flesh. 

Jungkook leaned back down, caging your head between his arms. He stroked your cheek lovingly, kissing you softly before asking “Do you want me to put a condom on?”

You shook your head, whispering “I’m still on the pill, it’s fine. Wanna feel you raw”. Your boyfriend closed his eyes at the confession, your desire of feeling him bare both arousing and touching. “Okay,” his hand reached between your bodies, holding his member in a firm grasp as he ran his almost purplish tip over your folds, gathering your wetness. 

“Oh god,” you choked out, your walls clenching around nothing. Finally, Jungkook aligned his cock with your entrance, looking at your face one last time before slowly pushing it in, holding you closer to his chest as you gasped in discomfort. “Kook…ngh, wait…”

“I got you, princess,” he cooed, stopping his motion immediately. He stroked your hair, and he didn’t even wince when you bit his bicep to ignore the discomfort between your hips. “‘s alright, love. I promise it’s gonna feel nice really soon, hold tight for me”.

You nodded, taking a shaky breath in before your boyfriend pushed a couple more inches or so inside you, settling deep before he stilled his movements, waiting for you to give him permission to do anything. Despite the uncomfortable sensation, you couldn’t ignore how full you felt and how good it felt to have him nestled inside your walls completely bare, allowing you to feel even the littlest throb. Meanwhile, your angel of a boyfriend did everything in his hold to distract you, from kissing your lips to nibbling your earlobe, wanting you to feel good yet feeling guilty because he couldn’t do anything to let the pain subside faster.

“Mmh- Kook… I think you can move now,” you croaked out, catching Jungkook’s attention. The man whispered a soft “okay,” then locked your lips in a slow and passionate kiss as he began moving, pulling out almost entirely before pushing back in, over and over again. Soon, you whimpers of discomfort turned into moans of pleasure, and Jungkook followed you by example. Noises of skin slapping skin echoed in the bedroom, almost harmonising with your moans and grunts. 

“Princess… can I- fuck, can I go faster?” you nodded again, throwing your head against the pillows as Jungkook’s hips picked up their pace, almost snapping against your body. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jaw hanging low while your boyfriend got drunk on the sight, hissing as he felt himself approaching his orgasm at light’s speed. His hand reached down, toying with your clit to bring you closer to your finish line. However, he almost lost it all when you let out a loud, almost pornographic, moan, your walls sucking him in greedily. 

His brows furrowed in concentration, determined to make you cum before he did. “C’mon, princess, give it to me,” he grunted, applying the right pressure to your clit to make you completely unravel under him, whimpering and shaking as your walls fluttered around his dick. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, pulling out just in time to spill his warm milky white cum on your tummy, decorating your skin in ropes of white. 

He laid beside you with a huff, scanning your body with his eyes to check that everything was alright. He took a strand of hair falling onto your eyes and lovingly pushed it behind your ear, smiling at you softly as you opened your eyes back. “Doing alright, love?”

You hummed, feeling too weak to mutter out anything. Your body still shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you felt your sensitive sex still pulsing uncomfortably, but overall you felt great, and your mind wasn’t running miles per hour for once. 

Jungkook pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight. “C’mon, I’ll run us a bath. You’ve been so good, I love you so much, princess.”

© voitier 2025

⭒ a.n: first fic on here! let me know what you guys think, I'm so excited!

[wings-of-ink]

Plans, Updates and News!

The Future (and why that's a little scary)

Hello everyone! I hope you are all safe and well.

I wanted to make a post to keep everyone in the loop of where I'm at personally and what that means for the future of my creations, and also give an exciting update!

How about the update first! After some concerns brought to my attention via this post. I decided to change the MC's best friend (Lakota's) name. I received a lot of feedback with reassurances that it was okay to keep this as his name, but at the end of the day, I realized it still has the potential to do harm. That's not what I'm about. Even if most people feel okay with this, someone out there may genuinely not be. The name is easy to change here, and it's not something I feel comfortable trying to justify or anything like that. It hurts me and readers less to change the name than it could by not changing it.

So, I had subscribers on Patreon and Ko-fi vote on a new name! I chose a list starting with 7 names. Voters narrowed down the selection to a top 3. The first 7 were: Kuno, Thamir, Emre, Lailoken, Kalei, Avi, and Asa. After the first round of votes, we narrowed it down to: Emre, Lailoken, and Kalei.

And the winner is...

Emre!

The name will be updated in a future patch!

Up next, I'll give you a heads up on future developments. Here I'll dip into a bit of my personal life. I'm not dipping too far for my comfort zone, and I might put a few things...delicately. But I want you to know what's up and where my head is at right now and why.

So, the second IF is likely not going to happen right now - I think (more on that below). I am not writing this to "stir the pot" or create fear or debate, but it's no secret that things in the States are super not okay. This happens to be where I am. My future is feeling rather uncertain and unsteady and some days I am just scared and not just for myself and loved ones. I am not going to go into all the little details, but my time is already at a premium with working full time and my personal life, and that free time is about to get a bit more narrow in the next 6 or 7 months.

I am prioritizing God-Cursed and Subscriber benefits and have decided that now is not the time to start a second project. I would rather focus on getting GC updates out if my extra time will have more limitations.

Now, the reason I said "I think" it's not going to happen is that - frankly - I'm at risk for suddenly losing my job. Yaay, go me! Part of what I do is funded through the federal government. I'm not employed through them directly, but no money for social services means I'm out of work. If this happens though - I'll have the time for a second project! Yaay???

My partner and I have some emergency plans in place for all kinds of things that might happen be it job loss or something much worse. If this happens, I will prioritize and expand my subscriber benefits to help us survive financially until more work can be found. I am already looking for a new job since the uncertainty is...difficult.

So, if I do find myself with extra time and still employed, I will work on a short story-based IF instead where you can romance 1 character per story. It will be much easier to produce than a fully plotted game. It will likely be a subscriber-only project, but full stories should be released at once (fully interactive with optional spice of course). If I lose my job, you can expect details on a new public IF shortly after, lol.

Okay, moving on to happier things...March is like...here. And March is Duri-month on Patreon and Ko-fi! Around the middle of the month you can expect a cute extra story featuring our favorite demigod for the "Crows" tier and a spicy extra for the "Ravens" tier. I anticipate posting around the 15th or 16th.

Here's a sample!

Currently chapter 6 sits at around 15k words and the first section of it is done (just needs some editing and the like). I'm also making my way passage by passage in previous chapters to improve grammar, word choice, coding, etc....

Anyway, I think that's everything! Take care and be safe!

~Lunan ^_^

[currentloser]

playing pretend

pairing: choi seung-hyun x reader word count: 2557 summary: When you just try to enjoy your day at a bar you're bothered by your ex, so you ask Choi Seung-hyun to help avoid them. content: fake dating trope, alcohol, strangers to (fake) lovers

( ao3 link )

The bar you'd chosen for the night thrummed with low music and quiet conversation. The slow pulse of a bass-heavy song lingered in your ribs, buzzing against your skin. Overhead, dim golden lights hung low and cast hazy reflections against the polished counter. The faint scent of whiskey and something musky clung to the air, mixing in with the occasional clatter of glasses from the bartender’s study hands.

The crowd was sparse, just enough to make the place feel more intimate than you prepared. You sat by the bar, sipping through your drink before a figure poked out from the crowd. You were enjoying your drink, letting the warmth settle in your chest, when a shadow flickered at the edge of your vision. The moment your gaze landed on them, a heavy weight settled in your stomach.

Suddenly, the sickly sweet aftertaste of the alcohol you'd sipped on was sticking to the roof of your mouth, burning the back of your throat. Your grip went stiff around the glass, your knuckles paling. You tore your gaze away before they could catch you looking, but the damage was done. None other than your ex had decided to sour the night in an instant. You pressed your palms onto the table, close to making a break for it.

No. You wouldn't let them ruin a good time, especially when you'd gotten here first. You avoided glancing back at them, instead focusing on the man who had just slid into the seat beside yours.

Choi Seung-hyun.

Of course, you knew who he was. Anyone with half a sense of pop culture would recognize him, it was no wonder he would pick a less popular venue. To avoid the prying eyes of the media and crazed fans. His presence had a quiet gravity as if he could change the mood of the room without even trying.  Still, he managed to lighten up the heavy atmosphere that took hold over the room.

Your eyes bugged out for a moment. Instead of gawking you gave him a polite nod, not wanting to make the idol uncomfortable as much as you felt close to fumbling over yourself. He was a person, just like you were. 

“You don't look like you’re having fun,” He mused, tilting his head as his eyes flickered toward your barely touched drink.

You exhaled sharply and glanced toward the table where your ex still sat, “Just bad company.”

His gaze followed yours, lingering for a moment before turning back to you. He leaned in slightly, his elbows propped up on the counter. The corners of his lips quirked up into a small smirk.

“Ah, that kind of night?” He quickly became comfortable beside you, breaking his concentration to tap at the counter.

The bartender attended to him, taking his order quickly. You weren't sure what made you admit why you'd come, if only for how reassuring his presence managed to be. Silence passed as his drink slid across the counter to him and he took a sip of it, peering back to you. The way he looked at you had you speaking before you could second-guess yourself.

“Be my date.”

Seunghyun blinked, caught off guard, “You want me to be your date?” His expression melted into a small smile, his eyes crinkling, “To make them jealous?”

“Maybe I want to remind them what they lost,” You shrug, playing nonchalant.

You were certain this wouldn't work. Seung-hyun would laugh you out of the bar or politely turn your offer down. It was a ridiculous thing to ask if someone who had the media breathing down his neck, had all eyes on him. You grab your drink and quickly take a sip to steady yourself. You could practically hear the cogs in the other man’s head turning. Beside you, Seung-hyun broke it with a low, rich laugh. The sound made you want to lean in just a little closer.

“So, you want to give them something to watch?” He asked, tipping his glass toward you.

Surprised at his seeming eagerness, you nod slowly, not quite sure what he meant by it. His grin spread out wider and his hand slipped around your waist, scooting himself closer beside you. The edges of your chairs met and he was warm. Dangerously, his hand closed around the side of your waist and held onto you there.

Outside of this moment, Seung-hyun was an idol, a name, and a presence larger than life. Here in the dim glow of the bar, he was just a man warmed up easily to your side. It was easy to forget under the heat of his gaze this was all just an act.

A flush rose to your cheeks and you pressed into his side. Playing into the show he was putting on, as flustered as you felt at the moment. He raised his glass between the two of you for a cheer before throwing back his drink, exhaling hard as he set the glass back down. Through the reflection, you spot the mischief in his eyes.

“You're selling this, you know,” He leaned in to purr into your ear, teasing you.

You couldn't help how you fought between shying away and melting into him, “You're the one putting on a whole show.”

Seung-hyun pulled away just enough for you to see a playful part. His eyes sparkled even in the low light of the bar, with a mask of a false allure towards you. Somehow, even if you knew it was an act, his gaze was hungered. He kept staring at your lips before pressing close enough that his warm breath teased the shell of your ear.

Shuttering from the sensitivity, he chuckled, “That was the point, wasn't it?”

It was a show, after all, you reminded your traitorous mind wandering too far with the attention he gave you. The way he treated you was all too natural, the comfortable weight of his arm and how his gaze never left you. How quickly hid demeanor shifted from a kind stranger to a man you could've imagined as a partner instead. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of your ex beginning to shy away from the crowd.

You were grateful no one had seemed to recognize him. Your luck was beyond you. Even as your ex began to shrink away, Seung-hyun wasn't quite done playing along with you.

“We should kiss,” He proposed first, his eyes wide and managed to be much more desperate than you expected.

Your eyes widened as you whispered, “I know what we planned, but– really?! Are you crazy?”

Your demands were met with a low chuckle from him. He let go of his glass and pressed his thumb over your chin, his other fingers hooking underneath to guide your face to his own. You didn't back away, and instead melted underneath his warm gaze. He gave a little nod before pulling you in, tilting your head to the side at the last moment. He helped to create the illusion of a fake kiss, but you were still so close.

The warmth of his cheek pressed against yours, his hand pressed against your back slowly stroked over your back. The faintest trade or cologne lingered on his skin, an earthy subtle sweetness that made your head swim. The hand on your back moved in slow, deliberate strokes. His fingertips dipped down along the edge of the fabric of the shirt and pressed forming, as if testing your reaction.

Then, with a practiced ease, his fingers ghosted beneath the hem of your shirt. His skin was surprisingly cold against your back, jumping slightly. It was a touch so fleeting you could've written it off as an accident, yet still enough to make your stomach tighten. Again he teased his palm against the small of your back, lingering right at your waist. A touch that painted the image of a touchy, even possessive partner. 

Dizzies by the attention, your breath catches as he pulled away and gestured toward the crowd with a lazy tilt of his chin.

You had just enough time to witness your ex push their way through the crows, their stiff shoulders and quickened place made it all too obvious they'd seen enough. They disappeared through the exit without so much as a glance back your way. Your plan, surprisingly, had worked. That should've been the end of it.

Seung-hyun still made no move to retreat. Instead, he stayed close as his lips curled into a slow, teasing grin. His face only made his amusement more obvious to you. Toeing the line between genuine enjoyment and playing it up to keep your ex far, far away.

Instead of pulling away though, Seung-hyun gave you a teasing grin, his voice was rich with satisfaction, “That was a job well done.”

“Thanks for playing along,” You exhaled a quiet laugh and shake your head at the sheer absurdity of it all, “I owe you one.”

He clicked his tongue, in mock disapproval, waving a dismissive hand, “Don’t be silly.”

His glass sat forgotten on the counter, barely half-finished. The amber liquid inside caught the low light and casted a golden glow in the countertop. You had assumed he might have needed the buzz of alcohol to humor your plan, but he couldn't even be tipsy. His gaze flickered across the table before looking back to you.

“You know,” He hummed, his fingers tapping idly against the counter, “I didn't expect it, but we do make a good team.”

“What are you getting at?” You raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in his direction.

“Why stop now?” Seung-hyun turned slightly, propping his elbow against the bar with a playful gleam in his eye, “If we keep this up, you get to keep them on their toes. Maybe even a little bit jealous.”

You hesitated, unsure of whether to laugh at the suggestion or to consider it. The idea was ridiculous. For someone of fame such as himself you knew it was reckless, too. The thrill of it, and the giddy unpredictability made something spark inside you. Still, you couldn't help but be skeptical.

“You're serious?” You asked, narrowing your eyes slightly,  “What's in it for you?”

“Well, I could use a good distraction,” He chuckled, slow and rich, “What's life without a little fun?”

You studied him for a long moment, searching his face for a sign of insincerity. Curiosity fueled you- this game seemed to be going a bit too far, yet you couldn't bring yourself to mind it. The same easy confidence he displayed had an undeniable pull to it. The warm lighting, and his magnetism made anyone steal a second glance. You weren't immune to his charms, especially not his looks.

“Alright,” You finally leave your drink behind, “Let’s pretend I agree. How far do you plan to let this go?”

Seung-hyun as a second nature, reached across the bar and let his fingertips brush against your own. He pushed his hand far enough to enter twine your fingers together, clasping your hands together. He was savoring the anticipation, of this fake date the two of you created.

“Until you're out the door? As far as it needs to go,” He murmured.

There was something about the way he carried himself that felt more real than you could've expected. Before you could unpack it, he straightened himself up and unlaced your hands that were ones kept together. Besides the two of you, your glasses are whisked away. You're too busy meeting his gaze to fully register it.

“We should make it believable,” He considers, “For the sake of our relationship.”

You scoff softly, “Oh, now you care about commitment?”

“You wound me,” Seung-hyun held up a hand to his chest in mock-hurt.

Seung-hyun was effortlessly bold, leaning into your space yet again. As if he belonged there. Instead of curling around your waist he lets your hand find its way to your knee under the bar, curling at the fabric of your pants. His touch was warm, steady. It felt like a silent invitation rather than a demand.

“I don't do things halfway,” His voice dropped low as if he was warning you, “If we’re going to pretend, we might as well do it right.”

Your heart kicked up against your ribs. The absurdity of the situation must've been getting to him, suggesting such a thing to you.

“This was only supposed to be until they were gone,” You reminded him, though your words lacked any real conviction, “What if someone sees?”

His thumb brushed absently against your knee, considering your words for a moment. He glanced out to the crowd and tilted his head. He made a point of looking over it another time, pointing out no one could've cared about the two of you, as unlikely as it felt. Then, he pushed his way out of his chair without another warning. 

Suddenly his warm presence was gone, his gaze expectant on you, “Then let’s make sure they left.”

The challenge in his voice escalated a thrill in your stomach. Adrenaline soared through you, the way his hand was so warm and so inviting, you found yourself wondering. What if you didn't just stop at tonight, and you let yourself see where it went? The thrill those thoughts gave you was unfamiliar, but entirely welcomed.

You nod and follow him through the crowd. He leads you through the quiet bar and makes a show out of stopping by each table, exaggerating his movements as he makes sure that shadowy figure is gone. You're breathless with a giggling laughter by the time he’s made it to the exit, slipping out into a silent alley.

Ducking between the low lighted sidewalk, and the soft glow of passing headlights you walk by his side. The crisp night air brushed against your skin along with the soft fabric of his shirt. At he distant hum of the city surrounded you. Despite the coolness of the evening casted by the setting sun, a warmth lingered in your chest.

“Wow,” You sigh, fidgeting with your shirt, “This was really fun. Someone could've seen you, made rumors, but you helped me. It means a lot. Thank you.”

Beside you, Seung-hyun reaches out and grabs your hands to stop you, stopping you at the intersection, “I'm glad I was able to help you out of there.”

Before the opportunity is gone, you break your hands held together to sheepishly pull out your phone and shove it into your hands before you can think better of it, “We should go out again sometime.”

Somehow, Seung-hyun only managed to look more eager. He took your phone, typing on the screen for a few moments before sliding it back into your hands. His promise was kept, his contact jokingly titled Oppa. You couldn't help but chuckle at it, hiding your flush behind your hand as you meet his gaze yet again. 

“Oppa?” You read out loud, unable to help the grin that spreads across your face at his terrible humor. 

Seung-hyun shrugged, “You want them to believe we’re together. I should get going,” He gestured back to the alleys, “I'll see you later, ttoki.”

Soon enough you were left to the empty alley, your heart restless. The rush left in your chest was palpable. He called you cute.

taglist: @petersasteria @sherrayyyyy

[81pastrys]

Driving lessons?

Summary— When Carlos Sainz III is old enough for his road license, who’s better than his formula one driver of a father to teach him how to drive?

Warnings— none

A/N— Carlo is his nickname, Viviana makes a small appearance along with Lando.

Translations— ‘Mi hija’ : daughter ‘Mi hijo’ : son ‘si, mi Amor’ : yes, my love

Carlos had feared this day for around 17 years. When his son would ultimately need to get a real drivers license and not one for a junior formula. He was acting fine, until his wife forced him to dish lessons to his son. Almost spitting image of his father. “Papa, I don’t want to crash your car!” His son argued.

“Carlo, you’ll be fine.” Carlos said calm, despite the anxiety levels rising in his body. “It’s only my Bentley mi hijo, and I’ll be riding with you.” He added. As if she knew there was something to tease her brother about, Viviana entered the room.

“Scared of driving?” She laughed. Carlos gave her a look. “What? He drives a formula 2 car, how hard can it really be?” She defended herself against her father’s look.

“I’d like to see you try.” Carlo said. The teenagers go back and forth a minute before Carlos interjects. “Papa, it’s different!”

“I know, so then let’s go.” Carlos encouraged. The boy rolled his eyes and followed his dad out the front door. “Mi hija, don’t forget your chores. Mama will be home from work soon.” The 15 year old rolled her eyes but went on to do her chores as asked.

Carlos, being as rich as he is, pulled into the reserved karting track for his son to practice driving. They swapped seats and Carlos felt his hands get clammy at the thought. His little boy all grown up and about to drive his luxury car around a karting track.

“First, I want you to adjust everything.” He sighed. “The seat, mirrors, anything.” His son did just that. Moving the seat to accommodate his tall figure and mirrors to see everything necessary. “Okay, to shift gears, press the break firmly.”

“How different is this from my racing car?” His son asked. The nerves slamming his emotions completely now. The thought was one thing, but he’s actually sitting in a driver seat.

“Not too different, you just don’t feel the constant air or adrenaline rush.” Carlos explained. The car hummed quietly as they talk about the differences more.

“Okay, press the break and shift?” Carlo confirmed. He got a nod from his father and did so, shifting into drive. “Do I change the gears?” He asked, foot still on the break.

“Not today mi hijo, that’s for another day.” Carlos chuckled. The car started rolling forward slowly. Carlo hit the gas lightly and felt the speed pick up. He stayed at a comfortable 30kph. “See it isn’t hard, just need practice.” Carlos reassured.

They drive the track until sunset when Carlos deemed it too dark. Carlos drove them home for dinner. A familiar car in the parking garage. “Wait why is Lando here?” Carlo asked.

“He is?” Carlos asked before seeing the McLaren. “Ahh Vivi probably called him for something.” Sure enough Lando got a call from the girl about being scared for her brother. Lando was always welcome, hence why he stayed for dinner.

“How was it?” He questioned. He knew Carlos had been shitting his pants over this moment for years. He asked the question casually, although Carlos saw the mischief in his friend’s eyes.

“It was so cool.” Carlo said. Lando smiled along with Carlos. “It really isn’t that different to be honest.” He admitted.

“Clear track right Carlos?” His wife had a condescending tone. Carlos did inform her of their whereabouts and the plan he had. They stuck to the plan, knowing if they didn’t they were both getting scolded.

“Si, mi amor.” Carlos responded.

I felt it right for his son to be the third.

We don’t talk about how this was posted for 6 hours without me noticing the wrong suffix was used 🤫🤫

[5targh0st]

NUMBER ONE GIRL

78. don’t kick his ass (written)

prev // m.list // next

Looking at the ceiling, still feeling something between numbed and overwhelmed, Yeonjun convinces himself that he did what he had to do. It’s just a little break until he manages to get Yuna to stop harassing him. Once she’s out of the picture, all those feelings will go away. Once she’s gone again, he can go back to the life he’s worked so hard for, right? He knows he’s hurting the person he loves most in the world, but it’s all for a good reason. Surely, you will understand. He will explain and you’ll understand. Just not right now. Not when his old wounds are wide open and you can see his pitiful soul covered in blood. He just needs a few days, maybe weeks, and everything will be okay again.

He really wants to believe that, because it’s been just a couple of days and he’s already dying to talk to you and go back to how things were; how they’re supposed to be.

“Can you please calm down?” Dahyun sighs yet again.

Joshua’s been angry and anxious ever since he saw those posts. Just what the fuck is Yeonjun doing.

“I can’t!” He’s beyond exasperated right now. “She literally said nothing’s going on and yet has gone radio silence ever since. I need to know she’s okay, and she won’t talk to anyone. And I can’t go to Seoul ‘cause we’re closing an important deal and those fuckers insist on seeing me.”

“Hansol says he’s going,” she tries to reassure him.

“That’s way worse!” He complains.

As if sensing they were talking about him, Halson walks into the living room. He looks like he’s ready to kill someone.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get there.” He announces while he makes sure he has his passport with him.

“Just don’t kick his ass right away,” Dahyun pleads.

“I’m not making any promises,” Hansol rolls his eyes.

“She’s gonna hate us if you do,” Josh reminds him. “Just make sure to get both sides of the story.”

“We’re literally meddling in her private life, she’s gonna hate us regardless.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. “So I have to at least land a good punch on that fucker.”

Joshua can’t help but sigh again. Contrary to popular belief, Hansol is way more prone to be a lot more overprotective than he is, and that already says a lot. Of, course, Joshua knows he’s intense and kind of abrasive, but he’s never one to resort to violence. Josh admits he’s the bark, and Hansol is the bite. That’s why they make such a good team. And that’s why he didn’t want him to go alone.

“I really hope you guys don’t regret this,” Dahyun says hugging his waist.

“I think we will.”

During the flight, Hansol tries to think about something else. He really, really tries to write a song and even read the book he always carries around which title he’s already forgotten. He can’t. His mind goes back to his little sister and, by extension, to Josh.

He still remembers the day they met, they were both five and trying not to die of boredom at one of the fancy dinners their parents used to host all the time. Joshua’s chubby cheeks and proud grin are still clear in his mind, “I’m gonna be a big brother soon,” he remembers Joshua bragging. That summer, they met every day and Joshua would say he’d be his big brother too. He was bossy, even more than now, but he was fun. Joshua would try to teach him stuff and care for him, he really enjoyed flexing those few months between their birthdays. Hansol has to admit that he was a little jealous of Joshua’s unborn sister, he liked the attention and felt that the little girl would steal Joshua from him.

And then he saw her. So tiny and fragile, she stole his heart. “Can I be a big brother too?” He remembers asking Joshua. And it’s been like that ever since. He was there as much as he could and tried to help here and there. He thought little Yn would interfere with his time with Joshua, but it was Joshua who’d always tried to cut short his time with the little girl. He loved attending her tea parties and letting her and Karina paint his nails. He’s loved her ever since he first saw her, he’d give up his life for his sister. Blood doesn’t matter, that’s his sister. And he’s gonna make sure Yeonjun understands.

That’s what made him lose his mind in the first place. He was the first to welcome Yeonjun to their little family and even encouraged him to finally ask Yn out. He was really grateful for his presence in his sister’s life. He never expected that he would do something like this, especially completely out of nowhere.

“What the hell is going on?” He mutters looking out the window. There’s nothing to see, though, not besides some dark clouds in the distance.

Three days. It’s been three days since Yeonjun said he needed some space. You still can’t make sense out of his words. You tried texting him, calling him. You haven’t shown up to his place, though, you don’t think you could handle such a direct rejection if he refuses to see you even then. Where did it all go wrong? Everything was going great, better than great even. Everything was perfect.

Were you too pushy? Too clingy? Just too much? Or maybe he got scared? This was his first relationship after a really long time, after all. Maybe everything got way too serious way too fast. He did say he wanted to take things slow, see where it goes. But you thought you were on the same page, you thought you both had the same goals and desires. What if he was just trying to please you? What if you were just a means to an end? What if he was just trying to prove that he could be in a relationship?

But he said he loved you? Loved? When did you start to think about him in past tense? Isn’t he your present and future? Fuck. Everything is a little too overwhelming.

“I need to get out,” you say before grabbing your keys and going out.

You walk around for a few hours but turns out that that’s not enough to ease your mind. Your thoughts are still driving you crazy. Your heart still aching. And Yeonjun’s still missing. When did you get so used to him being around? You miss his jokes, his laugh. His yapping, his random stories. Every single part of him became a part of you. How is it possible to love someone that much in such a short time? His little quirks are engraved in your mind. And you miss him.

And then you see the best way to forget about everything. Even if just for a little while. You just want to forget. Life would be easier if you could just disappear until everything is right again.

“Just one drink,” you say before making your way into the bar.

Very bad idea.

notes:

please tell me you get the modern family reference 😭

joshua trying to be reasonable is my favorite thing ever

han is a real one

if you don't hate my writing and storytelling, you can help me choose my next story here lol

taglist: open! (3/50)

@estella-novella @poetryforthesad @lisaswifey @angelzforu @ihrtlix @gloriousqueenking @domfikeluva @conwunder @miniature-tragedy @jeonginplsholdmyhand @sh0dor1 @yourenzoo @tkshairband @realrintaro @castingjinx @amara-mars @hwangrfrnd @nujeskz @jisungs-iced-americano @zeizeisjy @va1entinaa @beomgyusluver @to-toad @akindaflora @hoefororeo @mandydxndy @nyanamii @delulu4-life @thatonexcgirl @starsunoo @4lndr17 @nbjch05 @borahae-reads @mrsstayfox @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @mrsminseochoi @velvetmoonlght @night-storm7 @lilbrorufr @hyunjinstolemyheart @mangojellyyy @ihrtantn @lausnotverybright @hwangism143 @wa1kinggh0st @skz-ot8-stay @athens-09xx

[marie-swriting]

New Beginnings - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : Emily discovers Andrew Mendoza, her boyfriend, wants to propose and as she thinks back to what you told her when you broke up years ago, she realises why she's so reluctant at the idea of marrying a man.

Warnings : set between s15 and s16, comphet, struggling with sexuality, lesbian Emily Prentiss, reader is queer but no label is used, mention of Emily's abortion and catholic guilt about it and her sexuality, angst, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 2.7k

French version

Song inspiration : Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan

Emily blankly stares at the ceiling, her brain working fast and slow at the same time. She thinks back on her life, more specifically her relationships and the more she thinks about it, the more she notices a similarity in all of them.

Andrew Mendoza’s arm wraps itself around her waist, interrupting her train of thoughts. Emily’s body stiffens while she turns her head and looks at his sleeping face. She can’t believe she didn’t do anything to stop herself from getting into this situation. Feeling like she’s suffocating, Emily gets out of Andrew’s grip and goes to the bathroom without making any sound. The door closed, Emily drinks some water and then wets her face before putting her hands on both sides of the sink and looking at her reflection in the mirror. While she’s gazing at herself, Emily reminisces about the discovery she did earlier in the day.

As she was searching for one of her sweaters, she went through the entire closet where she found a ring in a red box hidden among her boyfriend’s socks. Emily panicked the second she saw the jewel, all at once she put it back in its place. Since then, she can’t stop thinking about what this ring means; Andrew plans on proposing to her nonetheless. When? She doesn’t know, she can’t stay in this relationship. Her head in her hands, she’s looking for a way to announce the awful news to Andrew. While she thinks about what she could say, a sentence and a voice she hadn’t thought about for a few decades make their way to her mind: “if you stay in denial, you’ll find yourself in a relationship you won’t want and one night, you’ll wake up in panic, wondering why you were so adamant on being someone you’re not.” You had said this to her when you were both fifteen.

You and Emily had become friends as soon as she first arrived in your school in Rome. You were inseparable and you shared your deepest secrets; one of them being you were questioning your sexuality which brought you closer. For the first time in your life, you felt understood. At first, it was platonic. From time to time, you were talking about how you were feeling, your interrogations and depending on the day, you’d reassure one another.

However, one night when Emily had invited you over, your relationship shifted. You kissed, your first kiss with someone from the same gender. At first, it was just to try, to be sure you liked girls, then, after a few more tries, you confessed to Emily your kisses meant a lot to you. Consequently, you had accepted to discover this new side of your relationship. There wasn’t a label on it, though you would kiss whenever you could, get jealous and do everything together. You were just experimenting. Yet, you were more in it than Emily. You wanted more, but she was always reluctant. Understanding perfectly your best friend, you hadn’t insisted on being official even if you would have wanted to. You were just two best friends who kissed. For you, it was reason enough to not meet other people, for Emily, it was really not the same.

One day, while you were going to school, you found her kissing John Cooley, a friend you had in common. Your heart had shattered into a billion pieces for the first time in your life. Sure, you were still discovering who you were, nevertheless you weren’t expecting her to kiss someone else, let alone a guy. Looking at her from afar, you had seen her smile, though you knew she was faking it. You were so hurt you ignored Emily for a whole week. Noticing your change, Emily took you aside during break, away from all the ears.

“What’s wrong? Why are you avoiding me?” Emily asked you.

“When were you gonna tell me about you and John?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied, looking away.

“Sure, you don’t,” you laughed humorless. “I saw you kissing him last week. I can’t believe you did this to me.”

“We never agreed on being together.”

“Because you never wanted to label it! And I’m not mad at you for that, I just didn’t think you’d kiss other people. I knew I should have put an end to this a long time ago,” you sighed, your heart beating loudly in your chest. “So, is he your boyfriend?”

“If you absolutely want to know, yes, he is. Besides, me and you, it was more to experience things. It was never love.”

“Wow, I can’t believe it. Let’s see how it lasts between you two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re wasting your time with him,” you replied, taking a step forward. “We both know you don’t like guys.”

“I can like boys and girls!”

“Sure you can, but you said it yourself several times, you’re not sure you love guys and you feel like you’re searching for their validation. I think that says a lot.”

“You don’t know how I feel. You’re not in my head,” Emily retorted, defensive.

“True, though I know you well enough. You can try to convince yourself all you want, it’s not gonna change who you are. But you know what? It’s not my problem. You took me for a fool for too long, I’m done, so go ahead, be with him,” you stated, tearing up. “Keep kissing him, go kiss other guys even, if it can make you feel better but if you stay in denial, you’ll find yourself in a relationship you won’t want and one night, you’ll wake up in panic, wondering why you were so adamant on being someone you’re not. And even if I don’t wish you an unfulfilling relationship, I will tell you ‘I told you so’. You’ll see. You can deny all you want, but we know the truth, so good luck, Emily.”

On those words, you walked away, leaving Emily alone with her denial, yet also her heartache. She might have been too proud to admit it, but losing you hurt her a lot purely and simply because she hadn’t just lost a best friend.

The following morning, Emily is exhausted. She only slept two hours as her dark circles under her eyes prove it. At the crack of dawn, Emily leaves the apartment she shares with Mendoza, leaving him alone, and goes to a café near the BAU headquarters. She orders a black coffee, hoping it’ll keep her awake. Her order ready, Emily is about to walk out from the place when a familiar face catches her attention. She does a double take, staring at the person sitting at a table away from her and once she’s sure she’s not mistaken, she walks towards them. At the table, Emily says your name out loud, making you look up. A surprise expression takes place on your face, realising who is in front of you.

“Emily Prentiss! What a surprise!” you exclaim with a big smile. “How long has it been? You know what, don’t tell me, I don’t want to feel old. I already struggle hiding my gray hair.”

“We're the same on this,” she laughs. “I didn’t know you were in D.C..”

“I moved here three months ago. What about you? You’ve been here for a long time? What do you do?”

“I moved about twenty years ago. I’m working for the FBI, at the Behavioral Analysis Unit, more specifically.”

“Wow, that’s something! It doesn’t surprise me, you’ve always been so intelligent,” you genuinely say and Emily’s cheeks start to heat up.

“What about you? Are you an English teacher, like you wanted?”

“Yes, I am. I work in a high school not too far from here. There’s a good team and the students are majorly nice.”

“That’s great. Sorry, one second,” Emily replies when her phone rings. She takes it and checks her notification. “I gotta go, duty calls, but I’m so happy I saw you. If you’re up for it, we could meet again? To make up for the lost time.”

“I’d love that,” you state before writing your number on a piece of paper. “Call me when you’re free.”

“I will. See you, then.”

“See you,” you say, waving at her.

Emily leaves the café, beaming in a way she didn’t expect to today. On the way to the BAU, Emily reminisces about your relationship and the cute moments, whether they’re from after or before your first kiss. However, the happy feeling stops once she remembers your last fight. She’s always regretted the way things ended between you two. She wishes she could have fixed things when you were still going to the same high school, however she wasn’t brave enough to do so. Now that she’s found you again, maybe it’s time to make amends? She doesn’t know if you’ll accept her apology but she has hope. After all, you didn’t push her away when she came to talk. And if you still hold a grudge, Emily will do everything to change that. She wants to make things better between you two, like she should have.

The following weeks, Emily spends them as much as she can at work - which isn’t complicated - so she can avoid Andrew. She knows she has to break up with him, nevertheless she doesn’t know how to do it. Though she can’t wait too long, Andrew might propose shortly; she has to end the relationship before it’s too late. Consequently, Emily decides it’s time to stop running away from the problem. She comes home earlier than expected as she thinks about what to say. The second she walks through the door, she finds Andrew sitting on the couch. She was hoping she’d have more time. Emily puts her bag down, next to the front door and walks towards him; she sits down beside him, though she keeps a small distance. Right away, Andrew notices something is wrong, Emily didn’t greet him with a kiss to say hello. Uncomfortable, Emily wets her lips before speaking.

“I found the ring,” she confesses, point blank. “It was an accident, I was looking for my sweater and I found it.”

“Oh, and judging by your face, you’re not excited about it,” Andrew says, embarrassed. 

“I spent most of my life hiding who I am and it’s time to stop. It’s better to stop now before our relationship passes this milestone,” Emily announces softly. “You’re a good man and you deserve better, a woman who will genuinely love you.”

“At least, you did it before I got down on one knee,” he nervously laughs. “I get it, Emily.”

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt you.”

Emily and Andrew stay silent for a few seconds, the tension being heavy. Emily doesn’t know what to do to make the situation less difficult. Andrew ends up clearing his throat and standing up.

“I’m going to spend the night at a friend’s, I need to be alone if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

Andrew quickly packs a bag before getting out of the apartment. Hearing the door closing, Emily sighs in relief. Not being with Andrew anymore is like a weight being lifted off her shoulders, a weight she didn’t know was crushing her. Of course, she feels bad about breaking Andrew’s heart but it was the right thing to do and this feeling of being relieved is the proof of it. Emily can finally be free to be who she is. From now on, she won’t hide herself, she makes that promise to herself.

You end up meeting Emily two months later. Cases kept her occupied while final exams did the same to you. She told you to meet at a bar halfway between your two apartments. You arrived first so you settle down at a table and check your phone, waiting for her. Emily comes ten minutes later. As soon as she’s in front of you, you notice her hair is now gray. You find her even more beautiful.

“You changed your hair. I love it,” you remark with joy.

“Yeah, I was tired of dying it so I decided to accept my gray hair,” she says, nervously running a hand through it.

“You did the right thing. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Before you begin to talk, a waiter comes to take your order then leaves. Once you’re alone, Emily tells you about when she moved to D.C. and you tell her about how you ended in the same city when the waiter comes back with your two glasses of red wine. The conversation flows naturally, as if you had never stopped talking, as if Emily hadn’t broken your heart years ago.

At one point, the infamous question about relationships comes. You simply answer by saying you’re single. You quickly talk about your last lover before asking her the same question.

“I noticed you don’t have a ring on your finger so either you’re like me and you haven’t found the perfect match or you divorced recently,” you suggest and Emily takes a large sip of her wine, trying to hide her uneasiness. 

“Well, I could have been engaged but I broke up two months ago,” she starts before clearing her throat. “I wasn’t in love with… him. You were right from the beginning. Come on, you can say ‘I told you so,’ I know you’ve been waiting for this since we were fifteen,” Emily adds and your heart tightens a little in your chest. 

“I’m not gonna lie, my fifteen-year-old self would have said it with a big smile on her face, but I won’t. It pains me to know you struggled so much with your sexuality,” you say, putting your hand on her wrist for a second.

“I wasn’t as brave as you when it comes to this.”

“I was only brave because you were with me. After our…,” you begin, looking for the right word, “fight, I took a step back. I could only talk about this with you so once we stopped talking, I struggled again. I had to wait until my third year of university to fully accept myself.”

“You were still quicker than me.”

“I was, yeah. I guess your faith didn’t help either,” you say, drinking.

“You have no idea. Especially when you get pregnant as a teenager and the priest tells you you can’t go back to church if you get an abortion. If he had this opinion about abortion, I don’t want to imagine what he thought about homosexuality,” Emily informs, casually, making you frown.

“I didn’t know you had an abortion.”

“It was after our fight. Only John and Matthew knew. The fact is, in the end, it was hard. Fortunately, I’ve accepted that I'm a lesbian. Better late than never like we say.”

“True.”

“You know, I’m really sorry for the way it ended between us. You were there for me and I only pushed you away and hurt you,” Emily says before taking a deep breath. “You were my first love and I ruined everything when you were nothing but patient with me, at least until I pushed it too far. Losing you is my biggest regret.”

Hearing Emily’s apology warms your heart. You moved on years ago though you’d be lying if you said hearing those words didn’t heal something in you.

“You were my first love, too, and because of this, I was mad for years,” you admit. “It’s true what they say about your first queer breakup, it hurts like hell. But growing up, I understood why you acted the way you did so I stopped being mad.”

“It doesn’t mean I should have done what I did. I knew I’d hurt you by dating John and maybe that's what I wanted,” she says, her eyebrows knitting together. “Hurting you so you’d leave me and I could reject who I was a bit longer.”

“You’re not in denial anymore and I’m not mad so let’s move on.”

“Does that mean you’d accept me being in your life again?” Emily asks, nervous.

“I came tonight, didn’t I?” you rhetorically answer. “Of course, I want you in my life again. I missed you, Emily,” you confess, raising your glass.

Emily does the same and you clink your glasses before drinking to new beginnings. You smile to each other, glad to finally have left the past behind you. You don’t know what the future holds for both of you, whether it’s platonic or romantic again, it doesn’t matter, as long as you don’t lose each other once more, that’s all that matters.

Masterlist

[rafes-slut]

Rafe takes care of you on your period

Pairing: soft!rafe x reader

Summary: you are on your period and to help with your cramps rafe spoils you and takes care of you to help with it

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, period-related themes, cramp relief, soft and slow lovemaking, bodily fluids, emotional tenderness, comfort and care during intimacy.

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

Rafe knew something was off the moment he walked into the room. The usual bright energy you carried was dimmed, replaced with a quiet discomfort. You were curled up on the bed, clutching your stomach, a deep frown on your face. His heart tightened at the sight, knowing exactly what was going on but hating to see you in pain.

He quietly walked over to the bed, setting down the grocery bags in his hands. “Hey,” he said softly, sitting beside you, his hand gently brushing your hair back from your face. “You okay, babe?”

You looked up at him with a small, tired smile, but it didn’t hide the strain on your face. “Just cramps… It’s worse than usual today.”

Rafe’s face softened, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m gonna make you feel better.” He stood up and quickly grabbed the bags, pulling out your favorite snacks—chocolate, chips, and a few candy bars—setting them down on the bed next to you. “I know it’s not much, but these should help, right?”

You chuckled weakly at the sight, the thought of food always managing to make you feel a little better. “You’re spoiling me.”

He smirked, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “You deserve it. But I’ve got something even better in mind.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, confused, but Rafe just smiled knowingly, moving to the side of the bed. “I’m gonna make you feel so much better. I know what works, baby.” He helped you sit up a little, propping some pillows behind you to make you comfortable.

You watched as he moved around the room, grabbing towels and laying them out carefully on the bed. “I’m just gonna get us settled, then I’m gonna take care of you.”

It took a few moments, but you realized exactly where this was going. You wanted to protest—because it felt strange to think about sex when you were on your period—but the thought of the pain easing, of him being so sweet and gentle, made the idea almost impossible to resist.

Rafe turned back to you, his expression serious but soft. “I don’t care if it’s messy, babe. I just want you to feel good again.” He reached out, brushing your hair out of your face, his touch warm and tender. “I’m gonna take care of you, I promise.”

You nodded, a mix of vulnerability and trust flooding you. Rafe was always a little intense, a little too confident at times, but in moments like this, his care for you was overwhelming. You could feel the sincerity in his words, the softness in his gaze.

He gently undressed you, starting with your shirt, taking extra care to be slow and considerate. When you were left in just your underwear, he carefully kissed the inside of your wrist, his lips lingering there as if to reassure you. Then he began to worship your body, kissing down your neck, tracing the lines of your collarbones, planting gentle, sweet kisses along your skin. Every touch, every kiss, was an attempt to make you feel better, to ease the tension in your body.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his lips moving lower to your chest. “I just want to make you feel better.”

You shook your head, a quiet moan escaping your lips as his hands gently cupped your breasts, massaging softly, making sure to be gentle, to focus on your pleasure. He moved slowly, cautiously, checking in with you every step of the way.

Rafe’s lips moved lower, kissing down your stomach, stopping just above your underwear. He looked up at you, eyes filled with tenderness, before gently sliding your panties off, exposing your body to him completely.

“I want you to feel good, okay? Relax for me, baby.” His voice was so soothing, so soft, like he was coaxing you into the calmest of places.

He kissed your inner thighs first, his touch light, then slowly began to kiss his way up, until his lips were brushing against your heat. You tensed at first, the pressure of his kisses sending shivers through your body, but Rafe was there, whispering to you, rubbing circles on your hips, keeping you grounded. “It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you. Let me help.”

When he finally reached your center, he didn’t rush. His touch was careful and deliberate, making sure you were comfortable, giving you time to adjust. His fingers explored slowly at first, his lips kissing and soothing you, all while he kept a constant flow of sweet, comforting words. “I love you so much. I’m so lucky to have you. Let go, baby, just let go.”

With every word, every kiss, you felt the pain from the cramps start to melt away. His body was warm against you, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible. As his fingers continued, the pressure inside you started to build in a way that had nothing to do with your discomfort. His slow, rhythmic motions helped ease the cramps and brought a new wave of pleasure.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your hands gripping the sheets, trying to stay calm, trying to focus on him, on how good he was making you feel.

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with his eyes full of concern. “You okay, baby?”

You nodded, though your breath was shaky. “Feels… good. Keep going.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He moved faster now, his hands pressing against your body with more confidence, his tongue following the same path, all while he continued to soothe you with soft, sweet words. His voice was steady, grounding you. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? I’m gonna take care of you, just let go, baby.”

And you did. With every touch, every kiss, you let yourself sink deeper into the pleasure, into the feeling of being loved and cared for by him. He didn’t rush you; he didn’t try to force anything. He simply stayed close, kissing you softly and talking you through it.

When you finally reached your peak, you let out a shaky sigh of relief, the pain from your cramps almost completely gone, replaced by a deep, pleasurable warmth that spread through your entire body.

Rafe was still with you, kissing your forehead, brushing your hair back as you both took a moment to catch your breath. “You did so good, baby,” he whispered softly, his lips grazing your ear. “I’m proud of you.”

You smiled weakly, your head resting on the pillow, feeling lighter, happier, and more relaxed than you had all day. “Thank you, Rafe. I didn’t think I could feel this good today.”

He chuckled softly, laying beside you, pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “Anything for you, sweetheart. I’ll always take care of you.”