#not a single pastel in sight

[woozivrsefactry]

l.sm — your own sweet sex-god

pairing : bsf!lee seokmin x reader synopsis : you did not expect to witness your otherwise seokmin's heavenly body tonight. you also didn't think you'd end up in his bed. tho, you're not complaining about it. w.c. : 2.1 k tw : oral (m rec), dirty talking, mentions of breakup, mentions of dk's hookup, very explicit description of dk's body (yes its a warning), subby seokmin, cum swallowing

The breakup didn’t hurt as much as it bruised your pride. You’d seen it coming from a mile away; in truth, you'd expected to be the one to call it off. But here you were, newly single, dumped, and, oddly, more aggravated than heartbroken. Frustration simmered under your skin, and in that moment, all you wanted was to vent to Seokmin, your best friend, the one person who could make everything right with his warm smile and endless patience. So, with little thought, you found yourself heading to his place unannounced.

When Seokmin answered the door, though, all thoughts of your ex fell away in a heartbeat.

He was…different. Shirtless, firstly, his bare torso, shining with a thin layer of sweat in the dim light of the hallway, just open and out there for you to gawk at. Your eyes began at his broad shoulders, down his sharp collarbones, lingering over his chocolatey nipples decorating his pecs, the defined lines of his abs -- he'd been really working lately, and it was showing now -- and of his sharp v dissapearing inside the elastic of his loosely hung grey sweat. god, those grey sweats, that as you ogled further, made obvious of the line of his dick (and god, that was BIG), and hence, the obvious lack of his underwear. you stared a second longer before your eyes snapped back up to his eyes.

Seokmin’s eyes widened as he realized who was standing there, and his lips turned up in that familiar, disarming smile. “O-oh, uhm, hey… What brings you here?”

You tried to summon the words you’d rehearsed in your head, but suddenly they felt silly. The whole “I-just-got-dumped-and-I’m-annoyed” speech faded away as you took in the Seokmin in front of you—powerfully attractive, and clearly freshly sexed with how good he smelled right now. The disheveled girl you’d passed in the lobby made sense now, and somehow, that knowledge made you feel…jealous?

It surprised you how badly you wanted to know if she meant something to him.

He seemed oblivious to your racing thoughts and gestured for you to come in. “I’ll get you a drink. Come in, relax.”

Seokmin moved to his bedroom to grab a shirt, -- you'd lie if you said you didn't stare at his beautifully plump ass as he turned his back to you-- leaving you momentarily alone in the living room, your mind still reeling. It wasn’t the time or place to entertain the fantasies that started to swirl in your head—images of those strong hands on you, that laugh as he held you close, your fingers running along his jawline and his against your something else. But it was difficult not to feel the pull of attraction, now almost impossible to ignore.

He returned, looking a little more like the Seokmin you knew, wearing a simple pastel henley shirt. But every time your eyes flicked to his lips or the lingering sight of his toned body, the air between you felt charged with something new.

“Alright,” he said, handing you a warm cup of tea and giving you his full attention. “What happened?”

You tried to recount the breakup, but even to your ears, it sounded flat, a half-hearted retelling of events that didn’t truly matter anymore. Every time you glanced his way, your eyes kept lingering over his features, imagining his hands on your skin. You barely registered the comforting words he offered about how you “deserved so much better” and that your ex was clearly clueless to let you go.

Eventually, you found yourself retreating to the guest room—your room, as Seokmin always called it, since he kept it prepared just for you, cozy and warm. You tried to shake off the vivid daydreams filling your mind as you lied down on the bed, but it was no use. After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, your hands inside your pants, an attempt (and failing) to quell the ache that had only grown stronger with every new thought of Seokmin.

But it wasn’t enough. Nothing seemed to ease the tension building inside you, not when every thought was filled with Seokmin’s face, his body, his touch. If only he was touching you with his own fingers.

Frustrated, you found yourself standing, almost as if on autopilot, and made your way to his bedroom. You hesitated for just a moment, but the need inside you pushed you forward. Seokmin glanced at you from his bed and before either of you knew, you were on top of him, your knees trapping his hips on either side, your hands pinning his, your faces close. he didn't stop you. you took that as sign to lean in closer and felt his breath hitch, his heart eating faster, eyes wide as your hair brushed against the side of his face. "y/n..."

“God, Seokmin,” you whispered, "whats wrong with me. why are you making me so damn wet..."

"I-i?" His question was so stupid. Of course him. Of course its him with that fucking sex-god body. His knee raised, thigh proding between your legs, making you whine.

"Yes, you. You are the one whos made me this wet, and now you need to take care of it."

Thats the only words seokmin needed before he flips you over on your back, getting on top of you. "Can I?"

the audacity to even ask that. You didnt bother an answer, just pulled him by the neck, capturing his lips with yours. He moaned in your mouth. you both kissed each other with such passion that made you wonder if Seokmin had thought of kissing you like this before. you two looked less like kissing and more like two snakes trying to bite into each other's mouth. when he pulled away, it was only to breathe, because you both did forget to breathe with how hot that kiss was.

You took that chance to flip him back. you began kissing down his neck, down his shoulders, making him moan and gasp and yelp everytime you bit too hard. you sucked on the would and licked it nastily, marking him yours with how dark the marks were gonna get. you pulled his shirt off and threw it aside, almost with anger, because how dare his shirts hide that god-bod from you for so long. you instantly bit his nipples, making seokmin gasp, fingers tightening in your hair. you licked over his nipple again, relishing in the sweat and metal-y taste.

you continued biting and licking and kissing and marking him, moving lower and lower till you reached the hem of his sweats. you looked up at him with half lidded eyes as you slid your tongue along his hardened length through the fabric of his sweats,watching his head throwing back with a gasp. "God, Seokmin, you're so damn slutty, still not wearing any underwear. You must wanna flaunt this to me, don't you?"

you gave a oen mouthed kiss over his crotch, wetting the fabric and making it even thinner.

"I-i, no, fuck. y/n, ngh, s-slow down." he was beyond forming coherent words as you sucked over his length from over his sweats, the taste of his precum almost immediately hitting your tongue. "Feel so good, aah-"

His words faded into a soft gasp as you pressed your lips over him again, just firm enough to make him shiver, his resolve unraveling with every slow, deliberate touch. Each press of your mouth felt electric, like a spark building between you both, until he was gripping the edge of the bed, breath catching in shallow bursts.

When you finally hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and began to pull them down, his anticipation was palpable. His length was hard and flushed, wet with your spit and his precum that leaked enough to make it look like he already came, and you felt a surge of confidence seeing how much he was affected by you. you took him whole in your mouth, going down on him till you could feel his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He groaned, his hands curling in the sheets, and you could feel every inch of his reaction, his muscles tensing under your touch. With every movement, every teasing glide, he became more and more undone, his breathing shallow and quick. you bobbed your head up and down, the obscene gurgling noise loud as you swallowed around him. He came soon, down your throat without any warning except the exceptionally loud and beautifully broken cry from his mouth. you coughed as you pulled out, grinning mischievously as you opened your mouth and showed him that you drank it all up.

Seokmin’s chest heaved, his eyes barely open as he lay there, still catching his breath. But you weren’t about to let him rest. Without a word, you moved over him, your fingers of one hand grazing his shoulders, holding him down as you settled in his lap, your other hand holding his dick up as you sat on it. His body was still sensitive, and the moment you pressed your hips down, a soft, helpless sound escaped him.

"Sensitive much, Minnie?” you murmured, leaning close, a hint of mischief in your tone. His cheeks flushed, but he couldn’t look away, his hands instinctively coming to your hips as he tried to steady himself, clearly caught off guard by your boldness.

But you weren’t giving him a moment to adjust. As you moved, he let out a moan, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter, unable to keep himself from reacting to every movement. His eyes were hazy, completely overwhelmed, and as you leaned down, your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him look up at you.

“By the way,” you whispered, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Who was the girl in the elevator earlier? A girlfriend? Casual fling? A friend with benefits I don't know about?”

His eyes went wide, and you saw a flicker of nervousness there, breath hitching as he tried to answer. “N-no, it was a tinder match. We just… It was nothing serious, just…you know…” His voice trailed off, his cheeks turning pinker as he tried to find the words. "Some handsy stuff, that's all."

Your smirk grew, and you gave his hair another gentle tug, making him meet your gaze fully. “Nothing serious, huh?” You leaned down, your voice a whisper against his lips. “You're such a slut, baby, getting two girls in your bed in the same night, and still being so needy.”

That comment had him flustered, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red as he stammered out something incoherent, his hips betraying him as they jerked upward instinctively. "Y-you're the one fucking your best friend the first night after your b-breakup!" Seokmin attempted to fight back, but it was still useless, and it made you chuckle cruelly. It was clear he was lost to the moment, every word from you pulling him deeper under your spell, his reactions belying just how much he was enjoying the teasing.

You didn’t let up, watching as he tried to hold back his reactions, utterly captivated by you, his every breath quickening as you took full control of the moment. Each movement, each teasing word left him completely at your mercy, a sight you could get used to.

You leaned back, riding him faster, earning a stuttering long whimper from him. His fingers reached between your legs, touching your clit to bring you as close to orgasm as he was. His other hand slipping upwards, grabbing one of your boobs gently squeezing.

"Y-y/n! Nghh- I am cumming again." Seokmin said, eyes shut of embarrassment, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. You would tease his state more, if not for how close to cumming you were yourself. "I wanna cum with you."

Your hips rolled faster, seokmin's own hips jerking up to meet yours, impatient. With a shared guttereal moan you both came. You collapsed on his chest, your hips still rolling slowly, riding out the waves of pleasure.

You lazily looked up at Seokmin. Red swollen lips, sweaty blushed cheeks and droopy eyes staring back at you. Face fucked. As much as you loved your sweet, innocent-looking best friend Seokmin, you could do get used to this version of him. Maybe have something more with him.

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 2)

You try not to linger too much on the way they were acting. They seemed fine, really, they did, and you were just nervous, you knew that. It was just mindless anxiety that made you flinch quietly when they approached a little too much as they gave you a tour around their house.

They were being relatively quiet, their voices in a low volume as mostly John Price, the dragon, introduced each part of their house to you. You all walked with you on the middle, as John was walking in front of you and the other three behing you, Johnny a little bit more to the side.

You didn't really notice, not with how you were keeping your eyes mostly at the ground and at the dragon's back, but the three other hybrids had their eyes glued to your small form. Small little thing, that walked so slow. Since John was in front of the group, he had a bit more space to walk, even if he was going slower for you. But for the three who were slightly behind? They were almost just shuffling along so they could keep following you and still keep a respectful distance.

Johnny was clearly getting antsy as they walked. He's a werewolf, that, like dragons, are a very... touchy species. Especially with their pups. And you're just so slow, so cute, so small... he really wanted to touch you. To pick you up and carry you in strong and big arms that would certainly keep a small, soft thing like you warm. And now, he can't avoid paying attention on the fact that you seen to be wearing just a light jacket, and it's cold outside. Well, not to him, but he knows humans, he knows they get cold so easily......

"Control yourself, Tav." Before he could even process, sharp talons were pulling him back as Gaz hissed quietly in his ear, holding his arm firmly. "She's not used to us yet." "I knae, i knae..." Johhny breathed in quietly, trying to compose himself. "Just... such a wee thing..."

You look back for a second, just to see the two big hybrids whispering to eachother. Before you could even try and pay attention to what they were saying, John called your attention back to him. "And this, sweetheart, is your new room."

You nod quietly at that, still a little unsure. John smiled gently at your hesitance, opening a white door at the end of the hallway they were walking on. That makes you frown a little. What kind of kid's room is the last one on the hallway? That's usually the parents room, from your experience.

Still, you couldn't avoid widening your eyes a bit at the sight of the bedroom. Their house was big, that much was obvious (they must have had a hundred children or something), so the room being big wasn't exactly a... surprise. Still, were all rooms in hybrid houses like this?

The room was spacious, big like the rest of the house, but also... very heavily padded. The bedroom floor had soft thick carpet while the rest of the house had wooden floors. In the middle of the room, it had some kind of weird blankets and pillows nest, caved inside the floor. Still, it had a single lonely bed to the side, a cute little bed that looked like it couldn't fit any of the hybrid men.

The bed was pilled with a lot of blankets and pillows, just like the nest. Very fluffy looking, and even had a small metal fance at the side that wasn't against the wall, padded, of course, that made you think that it could have only come from their kids' toddler years or something.

There were a lot of toys tucked inside toy boxes to the side, that were by a giant closet. Some of the plushies were around the room, inside the weird nest at the middle and close to the bed, all soft plush animals. The only two windows had metal bars on them, and were covered by long curtains.

The colors of the room were heavily leaning into pastel tones, like pastel pink, pastel purple, pastel yellow, pastel blue, pastel green and white. It all looked so... childish, but... confortable too.... It looked confortable, safe, clean. It was very clean. This room looked like something out of a movie or something.

So that's why all you could do was stay still as you stared inside the room, a bit stunned. It was just by John's gentle nudge, one that still made you flinch a bit as you felt a heavy, scaily tail touch your back, that you finally stepped inside.

"This was some of our children's room when they were younger." John explained gently, leaning against the door as the others also tried (and failed) to look smooth as they leaned forward by Price's body to watch you inside. "I hope it's okay?"

"A-ah, it's... good..." You mumble quietly, still looking around the room.

Kyle's wings ruffled at your small, meak voice, eyes foucused on you like a damn eagle. Simon leaned a bit more inside the room, silent, a big scary presence. John cleaned his throat a little as he noticed how shy that was making you.

"We're gonna leave you to unpack. If you need us for anything, you just need to call, okay, sweetheart?"

You nodded quietly, still standing in the middle of the room with uncertainty. John smiled gently once again before pushing the others back with his tail and closing the door. You pretended not to hear rushed whispers as soon as the door was closed, foucusing more on putting your backpack under the bed safely.

The bed that... looked so inviting, and so fluff, and it smelled so clean too...

And in a second, you were out like a light, curled in a small little ball on the bed, sleeping over the confortable covers.

Part 1 / Part 3

[hyuniemyunie]

sleeping with hyun-ju ☆ミ

gn!reader x cho hyun-ju

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): no tws! just pure fluff and cuddling<3 established relationships, after the game, FUCK THAT PLACE.

id love to hear your requests if you have any!

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

hyun-ju was just..staring at the elevator floor, her eyes zoned out and her mind elsewhere. she was nervous.

it was her first time going to a partners house after starting her transition, and she didnt know how to act. what was she supposed to do? how was she supposed to act..?

her thoughts were interrupted by you nudging your pinky finger against hers, looking up at her with an amused smile

"you okay?"

she shook her head a little, her eyes focusing on you. she nodded, a stiff smile on her face

"yeah, yeah..im okay."

you huffed out a laugh, taking her hand in yours. you lifted her hand up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of it.

"you got any bad sleeping habits i should know about?"

hyun-ju let out a soft chuckle as you kissed her hand, a pleasant shiver running down her spine at the gentle touch. she stepped outside the elevator, the doors sliding closed behind them with a soft whoosh. she considered your question, a thoughtful look on her face.

"i tend to sleep lightly, so sudden movements might startle me. and im used to having a strict schedule, so I might be a bit... particular about meal times and bedtimes at first."

she paused, thinking for a moment longer. "oh, and I have a habit of waking up early, like ridiculously early. like, before the sun early. I'll try to keep the noise down, but no promises."

hyun-ju glance down the hallway before turning back to you with a soft smile. you returned it, reaching into your pocket to take out your keys. you unlocked the door with a soft "click!", stepping inside. you leaned down, taking your shoes off and kicking them..somewhere, the shoes didnt really matter when you had a beautiful woman at your place.

hyun-ju followed you into the apartment, shrugging off her beige jacket and draping it over the back of the couch. she took a moment to look around, taking in the comfortable, lived-in feel of the space. it was so different from the places she was used to, but somehow, it felt welcoming and warm.

"its nice," she said softly, meaning it. she kicked off her own shoes and set them neatly by the door, unlike you. as she stepped further into the apartment, she noticed the soft lighting, the plush furniture, the personal touches scattered throughout.

hyun-ju felt a flicker of nerves again, suddenly self-conscious about her own appearance and background. she was a far cry from the typical girlfriend material you probably dated. but as she looked around the cozy space, she felt a sense of belonging begin to take root, maybe you'll both make it work out..

"so, wheres your room?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light and casual. "i should probably... unpack my bag." she gestured vaguely to the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, kinda the only possession she had left after everything else had been taken from her.

as you were in the middle of taking your jacket off, you pointed towards your room, tilting your head towards it.

hyun-ju nodded, making her way down the hallway. she paused outside the door you had indicated, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. the room was simply furnished, with a bed, a dresser, and a small desk, and your own little personal touches to it. it was clean and tidy, just how she liked it.

she set her bag down on the bed and unzipped it, pulling out the single change of clothes. It was a simple outfit, a soft pastel blue sweater and a pair of comfortable pants. nothing fancy, but warm and practical for a night in.

as she changed out of her jeans and black shirt, hyun-ju caught sight of herself in the mirror on the closet door. she paused, looking at her reflection critically. she could still see the remnants of her military bearing, the lean muscle and the hard edges. but there was a softness to her now too, a vulnerability that she had never allowed herself to show before. all the compliments youve showered her with before flooded her mind, making her feel..a little better about herself.

with a small sigh, she finished dressing and made her way back out to the living room. she found you sprawled out on the couch, looking incredibly comfortable and at home. for a moment, hyun-ju felt a pang of..envy. she had never had a space like this, a place where she could truly relax and be herself.

but as she approached the couch, she felt a sense of belonging begin to take hold. this was your space, but somehow, it felt like it could be hers too. at least for tonight.

"is this okay?" she asked softly, hovering uncertainly by the couch. "im not sure ive ever..done this before." she bit her lip, suddenly feeling shy and unsure.

"of course its okay!" you answered happily, scooting over to make room for hyun-ju, letting her sit down next to you. you took a moment to look at her face, the light of the tv illuminating her already beautiful face. was it possible for someone to look this gorgeous? if not, hyun-ju made it possible.

she hesitated for a moment before sinking down onto the couch beside you, the soft cushions molding to her body in a way that made her sigh with reluctant pleasure. as you pulled her closer, resting your head on her shoulder, she felt a wave of warmth wash over her, a sense of rightness that made her heart ache.

she wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close as she settled back against the couch. It was a foreign sensation, being this close to someone, allowing herself to be vulnerable. but with you, it felt... natural. comfortable.

you let out a soft sigh, leaning into her touch. "this is nice.."

"Mm, it is," hyun-ju murmured softly, tilting her head to rest atop yours as you two watched the drama unfold on the tv screen. the dialogue washed over her, the korean words familiar but the context new. she found herself more focused on the feeling of your body pressed against her own, the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the softness of your hair beneath her cheek.

as the episode went on, hyun-ju felt her eyelids growing heavy. the events of the past few days caught up with her, the adrenaline that had been keeping her going fading away. she blinked slowly, fighting to stay awake, but it was a losing battle.

"love.." she murmured, her voice slurring slightly with exhaustion. "i think...i think I might fall asleep." she knew she should keep watching, should stay awake and keep you company. but her body had other plans.

she tightened her arm around your waist, holding you close as the TV flickered in front of them. "dont let me... snore too loud," she mumbled, already feeling herself drifting off, safe and warm in your embrace.

she let out a soft, sleepy murmur as you pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. she felt herself being maneuvered, her head coming to rest on the softness of your lower stomach as she was pulled to lay partially on top of you.

she nuzzled instinctively into the warmth of your stomach, her eyelids drooping as she felt your fingers threading gently through her short hair. the touch was soothing, comforting, and it made hyun-ju feel a rush of emotions she couldnt quite name. she had never been cared for like this before, never been held and comforted with such tenderness.

"Mm... thank you," she whispered, her voice muffled against your shirt. she knew her words were slurred, her mind hazy with exhaustion and a strange, warm feeling she couldn't quite comprehend

ss sleep claimed her, hyun-ju let herself sink into the comfort of your embrace, feeling safe and wanted in a way she never had before. she stirred softly as she felt herself being gently lifted and moved, her head coming to rest on a soft, warm pillow, aka your chest. she nuzzled instinctively into the comfortable surface, her sleep-addled brain registering the change in position but not quite waking her. as she drifted on the edge of sleep, she felt strong arms wrap around her, holding her close and pulling her snug against a warm, soft body.

in her half-asleep state, hyun-ju's instincts took over, and she melted into the embrace, her own arms coming up to wrap around the person holding her. she burrowed deeper into the comforting warmth, a soft sigh of contentment escaping her lips. it was a peaceful, safe feeling.

as the night deepened and the world outside fell silent, hyun-ju and her partner remained entwined on the couch, their breathing falling into a slow, synchronized rhythm. the soft glow of the TV cast a gentle, flickering light over their still forms, illuminating the intimate embrace they shared.

hyun-ju's head rested on the crook of your shoulder, her face nestled against your neck. her arm lay draped across your stomach, while your arm wrapped protectively around hyun-ju's waist, holding her close. you fit together like two puzzle pieces, bodies molding to each other as if they were made to be this way.

as the hours passed, the first light of dawn began to creep in through the windows, casting a soft, warm glow over the sleeping couple. it illuminated the gentle rise and fall of their chests, the soft, peaceful expressions on their faces. in sleep, they looked younger, softer, the weight of the traumatic experiences they had endured lifted from their shoulders.

hyun-ju stirred first, her brow furrowing slightly as she surfaced from the deep sleep that had claimed her. she blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the soft morning light. as she became more aware of her surroundings, she realized she was still cradled in her partners arms, her head resting on a soft chest, their legs tangled together beneath a soft blanket that had been draped over them sometime during the night.

a soft, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of hyun-ju's mouth as she took in the peaceful, content expression on your face. you looked so beautiful, so serene in sleep.

'"nnh.." you stirred slightly, groaning in your sleep as you let out some incoherent sleepy mumbles, pulling hyun-ju closer, needing to feel her close, needing to know that this was actually real.

her heart melted at the sleepy, incoherent mumblings. she felt your arms tighten around her, strong and secure, pulling her even closer until she was nestled completely against your body.

sensing your need for comfort and closeness even in sleep, hyun-ju tightened her own grip around your waist, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear. she nuzzled her nose against your neck, breathing in the comforting, familiar scent of your sleep-warmed skin.

"Shh, it's okay," she murmured softly, her voice low and soothing. "I've got you, sweetheart. you're safe with me." she started to gently rub your back in slow, soothing circles, trying to ease any lingering tension or unease.

hyun-ju knew she should likely wake you, but seeing you so peaceful and content, she couldn't bring herself to disturb her. Instead, she settled in more comfortably, letting her own eyes drift shut as she matched her breathing to yours once more.

"mmh..hyun-juuu.."

you mumbled in your sleep, reaching out for her.

she smiled softly at the sleepy mumble of her name. "Shh, I'm here," hyun-ju whispered, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as she spoke. she tightened her embrace, holding you even closer, molding your bodies together until not an inch of space remained between you.

hyun-ju's hand continued its gentle, soothing path along your back, now tracing random patterns on the soft fabric of her shirt. she wanted to comfort, to reassure, to let you know that you were safe and protected in her arms.

"rest now, my love," she murmured, the endearment slipping from her lips like a soft sigh. "I'll be right here when you wake, I promise." she peppered gentle kisses along your jawline, your cheek, your forehead, the tip of your nose..

hyun-ju's fingers drifted up to comb gently through the sleep-tousled hair at your nape, savoring the silky texture. she marveled at the trust you placed in her, to sleep so deeply, so completely in her arms. It was a gift, a precious treasure that hyun-ju vowed to cherish and protect.

drawing the blanket more snugly around them, hyun-ju settled in, her own eyes growing heavy once more. she let herself drift, not quite sleeping but not quite awake, content to simply hold and be held, to bask in the warmth and closeness of the moment.

If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

[actual-changeling]

a continuation of this post

-

Demons do not need to sleep, and yet he does, mostly because time spent unconscious is not time spent crying, which demons also do not do, and yet.

A deep, crushing pain resides in the middle of his chest—a heartbreak not entirely unfamiliar; he never forgot the smell of burning books and the lack of his angel's presence anywhere on earth. He never forgot what it felt like to lose Aziraphale, and the reminder he received was entirely unnecessary.

If anyone were to ask, he'd deny the crying, arguing that technically not a single tear has left his eyes in the last three months, sixteen days, and seven hours—not that he is keeping count—although there is no one left to care. Except Muriel, who adjusted surprisingly quickly to living on earth and having a demonic snake curled up by the window.

Crowley sleeps and endures a never-ending series of nightmares for about two months, and while he wakes and slithers out of his chair, he decides to remain in his serpent form.

The most surprising development is perhaps how easily he bonds with Muriel. They offer up a steady arm, having switched the uniform for a sunshine-yellow pastel jumper and a simple black skirt, and to hell with it all, the warmth, the touch, the soft breaths, and the regular heartbeat pulsating next to him do not heal the wound, but they stop the bleeding; for a while, anyway.

So they go about their days, Crowley coiled around their shoulders while they read or do inventory, reorganise books, and then organise them differently as soon as they're done, never selling a single copy. They sing, too, having apparently discovered a lot of earthly pleasures during his nap, low and quiet, soothing in a way he did not expect.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, the Serpent of Eden wrapped around an angel's shoulders was a familiar sight. The serpent remains unchanged, although if you were to ask anyone regularly passing by the shop, they'd tell you it seems sadder now, somehow.

The angel has changed, however.

As time passes, Crowley waits not in a garden but in a bookshop, longing for a thunderstorm and a white wing above his head. He watches the sky, he watches the door, and he waits and waits and waits.

[prael]

Pliancy

Kinktember Day 4: Dollification

ILLIT Park Minju x male reader smut

words: 6,488 Kinktember Masterlist

Art is eternal. Who was it that once said that a thing of beauty is a joy forever? Was it Byron? Was it Yeats? Who cares. But that line, however trite, does kind of get the concept down, really, as clichéd and insipid as it sounds.

Minju, too, is a joy forever, with her soft face, her sweet body, and her delicate touch. On this, I will allow you an image: she was the absolute pinnacle of girlhood, the perfect blending of innocence and wanton sexiness. When you pressed her slender wrists down into the sheets of her bed with those pale, thin fingers and pinned her slender body with your cock, you became one with a living, breathing piece of high art. The feeling of that, ah, that is something you cannot ever convey. And that's probably how it started, your obsession with her; she was beautiful and delicate and utterly desirable. She had all the loveliness of a porcelain figurine; just looking at her could arouse you, bring about your lusts and make your mouth dry up.

But there is something, and you realise this, something both primal and shameful, about wanting to sully that image of innocence. Not, of course, that your feelings towards Minju are wholly visceral—you do love her, and genuinely so. The things you do may imply something different, a detachment from her as a person if someone were looking in from the outside, but just as you assured her, it's an act born out of admiration. It's an act out of devotion.

To dollify the living, breathing, loving, feeling organism called Minju, then to make her merely an object for your desires. Ah, there's something wonderfully, gloriously filthy in that—the violation and the liberation. In all those actions and thoughts, you can be sure, is that undercurrent of perverseness and lust. Your lips tracing across Minju's navel is an act of passion, one to express the fullness and warmth that has bloomed inside your chest. Your hands gripping her thighs so tight that they leave deep, crimson fingerprints on the skin is an act of passion too—one to express a primal need.

When it all starts, Minju, a girl so usually full of energy and vivacity, is demure and quiet; she sits in this stoic way in front of you, knees together and her hands resting on her thighs, just below the table. The table holds the tools of your art: hairclips, mascara, lip gloss, nail polish and everything else. She waits, as she always does, in silent expectation.

Minju wears the outfit you laid out for her that afternoon. The fabrics are light and flowing, cotton in a milky off-white colour hugging her upper body and a linen shirt whose billowy sleeves hang around her slender arms; at the wrists, she keeps the cuffs rolled up. Cotton shorts, equally soft, equally neutral in colour, held to her small waist by a ribbon as a makeshift belt. All of it was chosen specifically by you—it's all so very angelic, and comfortable. Innocent.

You set about your work, asking her to place a hand on the table. Nails take the longest to dry so you start there: you paint the end of each of her slender fingers one at a time, taking great care, letting her rest her hand in the palm of your own as you go through the motion. Whisper-like strokes of the brush over the thin keratin in a pastel shade, the pink of newly-blossomed cherry flowers. A compliment to her fair complexion. 

One hand done, you raise it closer to your mouth and gently blow over the fingertips, to quicken their drying. Her hand, in yours, is ever so small. So petite. You remark this, smiling, and her expression—wide-eyed and quietly attentive—softens. It's a sight so adorable; how the ends of her lips upturn as if you've said something exceptionally touching. That's the thing with Minju; you just never quite get used to how much trust and affection is conveyed in those big, soft eyes.

Not long until the other hand is done, perfect crisp painting without a single smudge, or mistake.

You screw in the brush, then stand to move the table aside, you pull it away from her and then push it away. You kneel at her feet, hand resting gently on a small calf. You lift a leg, then draw your hand down it, to her heel. Bare feet, too, are a marvel in and of themselves: smooth skin over arched bones. Like all good things, it's imperfect; she's a dancer after all, still, she takes all the care to moisturise and you take all the care to massage them.

Now, Minju is ticklish, always has been, so when you take hold of her foot in preparation to paint her nails, she struggles not to break composure, and yet a cute little smirk betrays her. With one hand, you hold it steady; with the other, you reach to the table and draw the brush from the pot of white paint. White like the brightest snow, a winter's morn. You make slow, even strokes, over her nails, starting with the big toe and making your way down the digits, till her little feet are thoroughly and beautifully made up.

She flinches occasionally, under your touch, but with great care, you never make a mistake. No stain on her flesh. Repeated for her other foot too, each followed by a patient period of gently blowing, which sees her struggle against the tickling of her flesh even more. This time, she moves, almost unable to help it—and you know that to admonish her would not be the gentlemanly thing.

"It's okay Minju. Relax," you tell her, softly, as she takes a steadying breath, "that's it. Good."

It is here where you see a glow of pleasure and a hint of a smile on her pretty, youthful face, at hearing words of praise from you. This you know well: to Minju, your affirmations have an almost spiritual significance. In all the time you have known her, she has yearned to do well, to make others around her happy, to gain approval and affection, and as someone important in her life, this sentiment extends to you.

"My angel," you call her, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. You lean close to place a gentle peck of your lips against her leg, just above the ankle, which causes her to stir. But that's okay, a moment of weakness is ever expected. You shift away from her leg, letting the soft flesh slip from your hand, and admire the neat work you have done so far. "There we go."

You bring your chair close to her, so you can sit, knee to knee across from her and set to work on her pretty features. First, you frame her face by clipping back the locks of fine honey-brown that threatened to obscure her eyes. Then you take the lip gloss in a soft rose colour, and a slender, synthetic-haired brush, and begin the work of accentuating her lips. Start at the top and glide over the curve that runs along her cupid's bow. Define the fine edges and then coat, to treat yourself to a shimmering pink glow; a shine over the otherwise natural look.

"Perfect. Oh, how I want to kiss them."

Minju doesn't say a word but the look in her eye speaks all the same, 'I wish you would do it.'

She remains still as you take hold of the thin eyeliner pencil in one hand and Minju's chin with the other, carefully positioning the tip under the lash line, and drawing it slowly, ever-so-carefully. Drawing a light, curved line to the side, first on her right, and then on her left. Do the same, light and clean, under the bottom lashes, being extra sure to define her creases.

Her eyes, as you study them, are so rich and vivid in colour that they command all of your attention and all of your efforts. So you work carefully, deliberately; being this close to her means you can see each speck, each mote in those deep, earthy brown irises. This intimacy, the face-to-face nearness of it all, brings on a unique vulnerability: when she closes her eyes next, to allow you to apply shadow to her lids, Minju puts herself at your mercy.

Minju's lips part and a small but noticeable hitch of her breath follows as you pull yourself away and admire your work. She has this kind of seductive natural pout—soft, shapely. Something alluring that the angles of her mouth lend her. As you sweep blush powder over her cheeks with a fine, oval-shaped brush, she utters a soft question, "How does it look?"

You bring a finger to rest against the fullness of her cheek, letting it trace along her soft flesh, down her jaw, and under her chin—before bringing it upwards, a physical prompting, to make her lift her chin higher. "Perfect. Always."

It occurs to you, as you define her eyebrows in quick, practised strokes, that for all the work you put into her, the inhuman focus and the undivided attention, this effort is nothing against the absolute, undying beauty that is Park Minju. It's a sort of colour-by-numbers deal; with all the perfect lines drawn out, it's up to you—a mock amateur—to simply embellish, to exaggerate, what is already there. To add shadow, light, and life.

You finish your work creating ('Creating' is the wrong word, more so, refining) the perfect doll. Minju keeps still, and patient. Beautiful.

"Precious girl."

By her earlobe, just below the jaw, there is a spot. The most perfect, sensitive area, to which you bow your head. Close your eyes. Place your lips. You kiss this spot, slowly, dragging your lips against her flesh, across it, revelling in the delicate softness. Revelling in her soft little moan, muffled only by pursed lips.

You push your chair back, and stand, looking down at her from above. You draw the clips back from her hair and it falls back into the perfect place. You circle around her once, slow, methodical. Taking all of her in, marvelling.

The greatest treasure in all the world. A masterpiece.

She follows your every guidance as you pull her to her feet. After all, she is, for tonight, nothing more than a doll. Pliable. Openly, and explicitly, subservient. You turn her and position her before a full-length mirror set in the far corner of her room. There she stands, arms at her side, staring back at you with doe-like, innocent eyes. There you stand, tall, strong behind her, hands on her arms.

"Perfect. You really are the most precious girl."

Your grip on her upper arms is gentle but firm as you ease her forward into a bend at the hips, tilting her towards the mirror as you place her into a pose. Fingers playing lightly down her limbs, like stroking the keys on the piano, or the strings on a guitar. You place her hands behind her back, and instruct her expression, "Give me a sweet smile."

Your voice is quiet in her ear as she nods, just the slightest, almost indiscernible incline of the head. She stares down the mirror as her full, kissable lips slowly contort into a charming, simpering smile, the type that the most beloved princesses often wear. You press up behind her, brushing your body tight against hers and see how that lovely little grin of hers slowly stretches up, to become ever so slightly crooked.

In your reflection in the mirror, you see yourself behind her. She holds perfectly still, hands fixed as if bound at the wrists, legs set slightly apart. "Pretty, don't you think?" You ask, teasingly. You press a little into her upper back, angling her in such a way that in the reflection you see down her cotton shirt, revealing the taut, soft curve of her small breasts. The sight of that, the teasing glance, is intoxicating. It brings a slight tremor down your spine, one you swallow down with a sharp breath. "Yes," you assure her, "Very pretty."

Her breathing comes laboured now, sharp little gasps; perhaps it has started to arouse her too, knowing herself to be at the mercy of your hands. Knowing herself to be nothing more than an object at this time—a living doll. To be used, played with, broken, toyed with, cared for or cast aside as you will.

You pull her to a stand and guide her away from the mirror. Her legs are long but you tower over her. She's so light to the touch, the petite girl, that should you need to, you could carry anywhere you desire in one swooping embrace.

You lead her to her dresser, to pose her against it. You guide her lithe left leg, so it crosses over the right one, you place her hands on the wood and let her rest against it. And she, docile, complies. "Like this?" She whispers.

"That's perfect."

You draw the collar of her shirt over her left shoulder, the one closest to you, until it hangs at around elbow height, exposing the skin underneath. A bare arm, all the way up to the strap of her tank top. You smile, admiring your own work, her poise and posture. You adjust her face, so she gazes slightly down in front of her. A final check to ensure the pose is perfect. It doesn't hurt that Minju is a natural when it comes to expressions: there is always some inflexion to the curl of her lips and the shape of her eyes, that says, 'I love this'.

You take the final unused item from the table, a Polaroid camera, one of the new instant types. This one, white, boxy and expensive, is perfect to capture Minju's pristine beauty. One image taken of her here, a pose in the frame, holding the photo to wait for it to develop is worth, it seems, a thousand words. It never ceases to amaze you: how well the camera captures her: how it draws out that natural aura of Minju and depicts it on the fine gloss. It makes, in effect, a perfect keepsake.

You take two more shots, each one giving you pause for appreciation. Each one, was perfect, like it was a scene from an album cover or the poster for a movie. She watches you from her position, gazing intently at you with a lovingly longing gaze. Watching you in fascination, and admiration.

You hold one in front of her. "This is my favourite, look at the way your leg curves here," you point to it, showing her. "And here, the shoulder, just at that angle. See the light dancing in your eyes and on the pink gloss, on the lips. Beautiful."

She remains lifelessly still staring at herself in the print without a word or reaction.

"Now, just one more like this, but first..." You place the camera slowly on the dresser, then grab the hem of her shirt. You fold it in under itself a few times until it sits taut across her stomach, just above her button. Her narrow waist is set into beautiful relief: a curvature down toned abs leading to between her thin hips. Then you pull at the other shoulder of the shirt, more pale skin, more svelteness of form, more smooth flesh. There's a light shiver through her skin as you graze her arm with your finger.

You push slightly into her chest, leaning her back a little over the dresser and then you tilt her head back exposing her neck. Soft lips fall open just the slightest, like the petals of a rose blooming, a faint gasp of a moan parting her pink lips, and her heavy breathing filling her heaving chest.

Taking the camera, you step back, crouch slightly, hold the lens up to eye height and take the shot; a flash and a click of the shutter is followed by a slow hum and a whir of the plastic film rolling out. Another polaroid, you take it to her, tugging lightly at her chin to direct her gaze to it. "This one," you breathe in close to her, placing a kiss on her exposed neck, "is something truly special." You fix on her scent, something fruity and soft: orange blossom undertones.

Minju lets out a soft gasp.

"This one turns me on. The exposed skin. The lustful eyes. Those parted lips, like an invitation," you utter, "do you know how beautiful you look, Minju? How sexy?"

The deepening of her breath tells you what you want to hear.

"New pose. Come here." You take hold of her bare shoulders and pull her to a stand. Her shirt hangs at her back between her elbows. You move behind her as you guide her toward the window, opening her curtains wide and letting the final embers of sunlight in to kiss her skin. You slip her shirt from her arms that hang by her side. "Let's lean you against here."

You guide her hands onto the sill of the window. Let her hands rest flat against it. Hold her by the hips and pull them back, making her shuffle her legs back. Make the curve of her ass tighter, the flex of her lower back deeper.

You pose her into this deep bend, then guide her face up so she faces the evening light. So she basks, regally, in the final glow of the setting sun, and you can see the pinking hue reflected in her eyes.

"Be a good doll and remain still."

The heat has turned Minju's pale flesh red, but you soothe her with a palm, a brush against a soft cheek and an affectionate 'hush'. You fixate upon the curves and lines of her back, following the path of her spine down with your hand, taking care to remain in the hollow. That central channel carved through her back that draws down the centre, passing by dimples in her lower back before widening at the hips and merging into her tapering waist, is a work of art unto itself. 

A simple touch of a kiss against that soft flesh at the base of the spine, and Minju fails to disguise a sharp breath as you kneel, her bare calves become a mounting point for your hands. She inhales in soft, controlled bursts as your fingertips stroke around the curve of her lower leg, working around and under the leg, dragging slowly upwards as you make careful circles over her toned calves, till your finger hits the lower thigh. Upward, further. Her body trembles gently as your hand traces along her inner thigh, up to her light cotton shorts where you draw your hand over to the back of her thighs and back down.

"Be a good doll," you repeat, quiet, breath warm against her lower back. You hook your fingers into her shorts, running your palms on her taut, toned little ass. Slight tremors from Minju ripple through your skin as you hook in the fingers of either hand beneath the elastic of her underwear too. A lingering hesitation passes as you focus, and in the serenity of the moment, you draw everything down in one slow, measured pull. The sight of the white cotton dragging down over the firm roundness of her ass has you weak.

You stop at her ankles, and one at a time, you lift a foot out of the clothes, and pull them free, planting her foot back down in a slightly wider stance. You look up, and to her faint reflection in the window, and admire the look she wears, the unnerving determination to hold still and say not a single thing. The deep red hue paints her skin as the day darkens.

"Stay," you command.

You find the camera one final time, to indulge in one final intoxicating shot: Minju, back beautifully lit by the last remnants of the sun's rays, the light striking her skin and making the paleness and tone all the more beautiful; the slight swell of her hips, the small, firm, almost apple-like curve of her behind, and those slim toned thighs in the shadow.

"Hold for me, don't move."

She stares resolutely into the distance through the window, hands clutching the edge of the window sill as you draw the viewfinder to your eye once again. Click, a flash and a whir. The exposure of the light behind her leaves a shadowy image on the thinning film of her nude behind; the smooth line of her legs, her trim waist and that sweet little thing between her legs. An air of sophistication; and one of sin.

"See this?" You show it to her and the embarrassment causes a flutter in her eyes; the arousal of watching her own bare ass on the printed film causes the slightest redness of her cheeks. "I'm going to use that right there. Stay."

There's another twitch in her eyes as you walk away and leave her there, still posing, looking as sensational as ever. You walk out the door, to drink, relax, anything to make her wait. Make her suffer the indignity of exposure and vulnerability.

You spy her through the doorway and never does she move a muscle, your little doll-girl stands there obediently as requested. Time passes—several minutes. And yet she, with such admirable determination, wills herself to stay in position until you return. And you do. You saunter back in, slow. Walking behind her and she never once looks back over her shoulder.

You rest a hand on her waist and the contact is met with a sudden release of tension—her chest falls with a sigh. Her pose remains perfect—adulation for your hand, written in the small shakes of her body and the gradual intonations of her heavy pants. A perfect and delicate angel. Your hand slips from her waist down over the taut curve of her ass, palm resting for the briefest moment on the soft, supple flesh. The pliability. Your hand continues the path it has carved over her skin until it rests lightly between her legs.

A gentle palm over her sex sends a current through her entire form, and a tensing in her muscles is the only indication she offers that there's a struggle to suppress noise in her throat. Hot and wet and you're a man driven by impulse. You step behind her, stroking her, massaging her, then withdrawing to instead spread her slightly with a single, teasing fingertip. "Good little doll."

A clear, sticky, glistening moisture trickles onto the digit and in the way Minju shivers, you are given every impression, you're sure of it, that her lower stomach muscles have clenched tight and are presently squeezing themselves in on each other. A fever pitch is reached within her, and you're ready too.

You draw your hand away, leaving Minju suspended in torment: there is desire, there is desperation and tension that must be alleviated. That itch soothed. She must hear it, the sound of you unbuckling and unzipping. A rustle of fabric as you pull them down and take them off.

With no word, you hit a palm against her ass, a quick and painful swat with your bare hand. Hard, smacking against soft, dough-like flesh. She stifles a soft, bitten-off yelp that sends a vibration up the curve of her back. "Going to play with you," you utter quietly. "Use this doll however I like."

Your hand is drawn back over the red mark on her tender flesh, stroking the mark, massaging, and it soon heats against your palm. You follow it by pressing the very tip of your dick, gently, against her opening. Enough pressure there for you both to know where the next moments go and a slight motion—only the gentlest thrusting—to grind that sensitive flesh in. Just enough to make her bite back her lower lip, to struggle against the overwhelming urge to break her poise.

To add to that struggle, the sensation, you lull her, deceive her, by trailing your length against her slick, tender folds, then abruptly drag it over the tight hole right there at the back. One more light tap there too, right on her little asshole, that drives her into a daze. Then you take her slit again, spreading her open, rubbing yourself over that hot hole and sending her a thousand electric tingles up through her hips.

You thrust once, a single long thrust, right into her little pussy, as much as her wetness will allow until resistance forms. Then back out, completely. Glistening with the slick fluids, you slap your shaft against her ass a couple of times. Wetness dripping, staining those tight cheeks. Then a wet slap of your hand to a cheek. Testing when she will break. Searching for that whimper, that moan, or maybe she'll hold it so well that a tear will form in her eye.

You fill her again, use her a little, rocking your hips back and forth. A careless use of her for pleasure, no consideration for her, for what she might desire and it is pure torture to her. One hand circles over her ass, grazing over the reddened mark, you let it settle on the top of her thigh for leverage and dig your fingertips into the skin. Another few firm pumps into her. Out. All the way out.

Dripping fluid pools around her slit, spilling out down her thigh, hot. "There's no better use for you than this," you hiss, as you smear the wetness over her flesh with the swollen head. The discomfort, the uncertainty, all of it written on her reddened skin and trembling lips. Another few slow pumps up her. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Draw out—slow, torturous—and then fill her again, rough, and violent, driving yourself up hard against her soft skin. Again. "Just like a sex doll," you groan. "Like you're a dirty toy."

Those words draw this low growl inside her, and Minju shudders under the intensity, this vibrating noise rising in her. Fuck, it feels wonderful in her, tight, burning hot—soft, yielding—wet, messy. Drive into that tension, the squeeze on you, where she can feel you so full and snug inside her.

Allow yourself for a moment, to just enjoy her, as she is. She will allow you to, don't fret. Enjoy her as a possession, something lesser than yourself; an object to be manipulated, used and owned. Let her be your slut and let the words roll around in your head. There are times you prefer to fill her with long, agonising strokes, and there are those other times that are frantic and hurried. She takes it all, wilfully and willingly and adoration flows through your veins.

No care for if she cums, you simply use her too. It is not in a casual disregard for her desires, or in selfish pursuit of pleasure at the sacrifice of her. No, no. That is not true. Minju wants this. She cares less about her own pleasure than you. Should she cum, then maybe that would be a nice perk to all of this, but all she wants is to submit herself as a vessel for yours. To serve as the implement to which you expel everything. You have taken her into that dream world she desires to inhabit, where she's an item to be manoeuvred as one wills.

And so you get close, right inside of her—clutch, tense—as she milks you so exquisitely, squeezing and so soft, so fucking silken-smooth and at the very last, you pull out—every last drop is captured on Minju's skin. Her spread ass, her back, thighs.

For all the care you took, perfecting her makeup, now a fine sweat paints a layer across her skin and you're shooting over it and making a true mess of her. All that, her absolute purity and devotion, and what you have done is sullied it. Your doll, your most precious is dirtied. But your most precious thing in the world deserves the best you can give her.

So it is after you have painted your release over her body, that you leave her again—basking in the humiliation of how fluids trickle down her flesh. Just a toy, put aside to stand, vulnerable, debauched and unsatisfied, waiting to be picked up again and played with once more. You could leave her all night. Have her be ready and willing any time you desire. Your toy.

"Fuck, what a sight." You step away, back out of the room, spent and gazing at her. Minju, of course, keeps her back facing you the entire time, she does not dare turn back around to see her, not even to cover up or find modesty, it simply would not occur to her to do so.

Aware of the pain, the hurt of being left this way. Left unfinished. A small smile plays on your lips, the knowledge that this is what turns her on most. Her lover is out there, he's drinking, eating, watching TV, or anything, and she doesn't really know where. She just stays resting over the window ledge with her legs held apart, exposed and vulnerable.

Knowing, feeling, every stroke that has been applied over her body, every part you have made use of, and the places in which you have violated, is enough to turn Minju's insides all warm and fuzzy and soft. Your fingerprints are inked upon her flesh—traced by the veneer of liquids coating her—a record of who has marked her, owned her, as nothing more than an instrument of delight.

Until you're ready to come back, she holds back an unspoken whimper. Tension in her stomach muscles and legs threatened to give out.

Oh, how badly the poor girl yearns to be picked up, taken and fucked again and again.

Eventually, you do return, and without warning. As if you'd never been gone a moment at all, you're just there suddenly behind her, you just have that presence of power that exudes over her. You say her name—nothing else—but the tinge to your voice tells her that you've missed her.

You bring your hands around her slim waist, just above the hips, and trail upwards. Grinding back inside her feels as wonderful as ever. Still throbbing, still wet, still wanton, and she takes you in, spreading wide once again. "Missed me?" You coo, but she still never responds verbally—dutifully compliant, Minju simply moans, her cheeks flushed the same colour as her smeared lips.

You're rough with her, pulling her away from the window and pushing her into the middle of the room. Hasty, impatient, and uncaring. Now, you see, Minju weighs nothing to you, it feels like there's nothing to her; something light, lithe, easily manoeuvrable, like you can twist her and pull her without resistance.

You draw her to you, picking her up from the ground by her waist and walking forward. You set her down on a desk—her ass perching first, then you push her onto her back, drawing up her knees to her chest and pressing onto her. Oh, flexible Minju, sweet Minju: the perfect sexual tool to place and fold and screw whichever way you want.

Minju is pinned there, under you, taking you into her pussy, tight around you. Dutifully letting you shove into her repeatedly, without fight or complaint, only meek, restrained sounds of satisfaction. Letting her limbs fold, letting herself be toyed with however you need or want.

Stretch her as you take hold of her neck and restrain her to the wooden surface. You bear down on her, fucking into her with strong, sure pumps, and with every thrust into Minju, you feel her heat against your thighs and groin, her warm juices seeping down over her, and a vulgar squelching sound filling the air.

The air is dense and hot and she is flushed bright red; she gazes at you, her face etched with need. You're forcing your doll-girl, fucking her raw and hard into her desk. Rough, dominating strokes. And what does she do but squirm and moan and take every ounce of your strength? "F-fuck," she moans out the profanity, her body succumbing to the overwhelming burst of intense, numbing heat. She flinches a few times as her eyes squeeze shut.

So close, now. Another round, and there is nowhere Minju is more content than trapped, helpless, watching you near another orgasm. She doesn't even attempt to hide her delight when you're about to blow. A smile of satisfaction as you unload inside of her. A welcome sight as you feel yourself rupture, as your essence pumps into her little fuckhole. The sticky hot cum that fills her.

And Minju moans for you, breathless, happy, so lovingly joyful that her existence has resulted in this moment—this act—her purpose as nothing more than something you fuck, claim, and own.

But, there is work to be done, work you cannot shirk away from. So, with a light sigh, you wipe your forehead, you gather Minju off of the table—flickering eyelids and all—and you lead her with gentle encouragement. "Let's clean you off. There's a good girl," you say, and she holds onto your neck, as you lift her off the desk.

You perch Minju on the sink for a moment, un-trapping her legs so she can stand once you place her into the shower.

"Stay. Still."

And again, you can see that longing gaze. Sultry, drawn. She wants so much, and she needs so little.

"There," you draw out the word with a certain finality and walk behind her to start the shower, switching from bath faucet to shower nozzle, and taking great care in testing the heat of the water, to make sure not to burn her precious skin.

You start with her shoulders, sweeping her soaked locks down her back, wet, heavy and darker now. Washing her takes time, patience, and gentleness—you bring the palm of your hand over her shoulder while the other directs the shower head. The water trails down her arm, little rivulets tracing over her porcelain skin. You draw the shower across her back and admire how the water caresses the curves of her frame.

She keeps perfectly still, save the tremble that comes with the rise of her chest each time the water meets a sensitive point. Your hand follows in the water, over her sides, slowly. You draw her close against your chest, putting your head beside Minju's, looking down over her shoulder. you bring the head of the shower to her chest and let the water flow across, over the swell of her breasts.

You whisper into her ear, "Stay just like this. Let me wash down my toy after use."

Your name comes out of her mouth, a little strained, and when you wrap your arm around her and cup her little breast, she immediately whimpers. This poor girl still hasn't cum, and she's so sensitive.

You rest her against you, keeping your front flush against the curve of her back, and there is something wonderful and sweet in the way she falls back against you. Minju leans her head back on your shoulder, a nuzzle, and your hand continues to cup her and you play with her nipple. The shower, however, you bring lower and lower, down over her slender belly and between her legs.

The lower it goes, the more soft whimpers she makes, and Minju's feet begin to curl, and she draws a slow intake of air through her clenched teeth. You dip the jets of water low, and Minju finally gives out this small groan, her eyes squeezing tight and her mouth opening and closing, the words and sounds catching as she trembles all over. 

You press it against her pussy, and she bucks lightly backwards against you—hard—and grinds. A pleasured exhale, a sign of satisfaction. That the poor girl is finally getting her pleasure but "No, no, no," she says—is she feeling guilty for it?—and she struggles forward from your grasp.

"Shh... it's okay," you soothe her, but she still jerks her body. There's this fact, that always rings true, whenever you use Minju like this. Part of it, she told you before, is how in her own head she degrades herself. She tells herself that she doesn't deserve to cum. That a toy's only purpose is for others, and she will deny herself an orgasm until you give her express permission to finish herself. That's why she fights now, she is ashamed of her own arousal and enjoyment.

You press the shower hard into her clit and she groans, "I can't... I can't—"

"Yes, you can." You focus on using the shower in little circles, not allowing any distance between it and the sensitive nub. Her head falls back on you, eyes shut tight as if in anguish. "You have served me so well. You were so wonderful. Let go for me, beautiful." You murmur those things in her ear and Minju opens her lips to say something but no words form, it's simply a long, deep-seated, contented moan. A relief-filled sound that is music to your ears.

Her back goes completely tense, and her hips twist and buck, but you press firmly down, keeping her locked into the jet. She bites her lower lip, almost like she's desperate, and it hurts, the way her whole body tenses up for so many seconds before the relief sweeps over her. The sensations surge throughout her body, leaving her limp and satisfied.

After the rush passes through, she moans, over and over. Shattering pleasure has overtaken her mind and all she can think about is the joy her lover has bestowed upon her, the ultimate show of adoration and tenderness.

"Good girl. That's it. Give in," you breathe out the last sentence, and Minju moans louder, riding it out. Her body writhes violently and her toes curl as her breathing stops, she's stuck at the very height of her pleasure, but finally lets out an ecstatic, long-winded moan. You drop the shower, and cradle Minju with your whole body.

Her hips jump one last time against your hand and then she goes completely lax against you, her feet plant flat down and her whole body gives out. Minju slides back onto her heels, and her face drops toward the floor and she just smiles with pure glee. If not for you, she would collapse to the floor in this exhausted, limp state.

For some minutes, you hold Minju until she can find enough strength until the daze of her orgasm is no longer in effect.

"Now, let's really clean up."

"Let me," she says. "Let me clean you, please."

[nyao-mi]

NOT MY ASTARION BRAIN ROT CONTINUING CUS LIKE i just got the scene where he literally says he misses seeing his face and that like he wishes he knew what he looked like and i??? WANTED SO BADLY FOR IT TO BE AN OPTION TO DRAW HIM

LIKE IMAGINE STARING AT HIM ACROSS THE BONFIRE, watching the way the light dances across his pale skin. youve been through hard times and one of the things you've learned to get through it was to draw

at first, you loathed the fact that you had to paint rich people for mere couple pieces of gold when you knew your art was worth more than that. you loathed even more that they'd upturn their posh noses at you and scoff when, truly, they knew what a treasure your art was.

now, seeing astarion, the way his white hair seemed to almost form a halo around his head, reflecting the moonbeams that graced his body, watching as he crossed his legs and meditated; you knew that you didn't regret a single second of the trials and tribulations that led you to this point.

you could finally put this agonizing skill to use. you could draw him.

and so you scrounged up some paper, an ink well, a quill; all things you'd pocketed during your adventures with the rather willful vampire.

you sat there, nib of the quill scratching against the parchment.

your art was nothing compared to the paintings you'd done before; these were mere lines and ink blots. you wished you could truly show him how beautiful he was through water color or pastels. instead, trapped in a land you barely knew, all you could do for him was this.

he had his eyes closed, of course, so you drew them from memory. strikingly red, like rubies, like blood. you didn't forget his crow's feet; you loved the way they wrinkled when he laughed. you shaped his lips, soft but rough from years of bite and chew, and formed it into his infamous mischievous grin.

his hair always seemed unruly but, drawing it now, it felt like drawing gorgeous chaos; there was an order to it, the way the bangs fell across his forehead, the way the sides feathered in front of his ears and curled behind them.

when you stopped, you realised you'd drawn him over and over, across several pieces of parchment.

the way he frowned and his fangs would glance across his lips. the way he'd look confused and his eyebrows would furrow. the way he'd look longingly at the stars, mind distant and eyes almost empty, like he'd made so many wishes that were never granted by the cosmos.

you never liked tooting your own horn but you felt like you truly captured him.

so, you took your pieces of paper, all drawings of him, dozens of them, small and sketchy; you took it all and you sat beside him and spread them out in front of you.

it took him a second to realise you were there. he'd been letting his guard down recently, especially when you were on watch duty, and it took you laying your head across his shoulder for his eyes to flutter open.

he opened his mouth, like there had almost been a retort slipping off his tongue, but the sight of your drawings stopped him.

he let out a ragged breath, eyes flickering across all of them. his clawed hands hovered in the air, trembling, as if taking a hold of the drawings would make them crumble under his touch.

and perhaps, in his head, he really believed they would.

'darling,' he'd call you, his voice wet with unshed tears 'what's all of this?'

of course he'd still joke. it was how he coped with things. he joked to hide how he truly felt and, of course, you were always there to understand.

'it's you,' you answered a matter-of-factly, as if you hadn't just turned this vampires world upside down 'its you the way i see you.'

and that's what makes him crack. because maybe, since you were the one that drew all of it, you hadn't noticed. but he noticed.

he noticed all the love and devotion you spilled across the page. every single detail, every single stroke, it was all from love.

and as someone who had never been on the receiving end of it, astarion cracked and he hid his face into your neck and he cried.

they were soft sobs, almost unnoticeable. but he cried nonetheless.

he cried for his past that he'd lost under his sadistic master, he cried for his difficult present that seemed impossible to escape, and he cried for this hopeful future you seemed to lay out in front of him.

he cried because he didn't realise that he had this much hope left inside of him. because he didn't know what else to do in the face of your devotion.

you just sat there, humming and rubbing his back, ignoring the way his arm wrapped around your waist, claws digging into your skin as if you'd disappear in front of him if he didn't hold on to you as tightly as possible.

[pineconepie]

I DONT CARE WHAT YOUR CREATIVE BRAIN WHIPS JUST PLEASE GIVE ME A FEM YANNNN (love your work btw)

Hehe tysm!! I hope this is good!! <3 I made parental yandere ghost!!

TW: Kidnapping, parental yandere, infantilization

...

When you got a shady ad of a mansion for the same price of a tiny home, you figured it'd be covered with mold and falling apart. The ad didn't give much information, other than it had several acres, and three stories tall.

You wondered why someone would sell such a building for such a cheap price, but given your budget, might as well check it out.

And oh boy were you shocked at what you found.

A beautiful mansion, not a single sign of mold or decay in sight, other than a tiny bit of dust here and there. It's as if no one lived in it for quite some time, yet it was taken care of.

Three bedrooms, all fully furnished. Three bathrooms, also fully furnished. A kitchen that you couldn't even imagine in your wildest dreams. A living room. An attic, a basement, a garage. All of them with furniture inside. Several acres of land, as it had advertised.

"Is it to your liking?"

You whip around to see a woman with short black hair, brown eyes, wearing a dress shirt and tie with a long black skirt. She looks to be in her early to mid forties.

You're pretty sure she wasn't there before. Perhaps she came in silently and didn't mean to scare you like that.

"Yes. Yes! Of course! Is this seriously all for such a cheap price?" you ask, completely confused. Something isn't adding up here. There has to be some kind of catch, surely.

Her smile unnerves you just slightly, its a little too wide. She makes a cooing noise in the back of her throat, but snaps out of it quickly.

"The reason it's so cheap is because there's not that many people interested in living out here in the middle of nowhere. It's incredibly hard for us to get this off our hands."

You don't believe that's the only reason, but you decide not to question it. "And you're the realtor, right? Blair Watts?"

"That would be me!" she says cheerfully, although there's an edge to it that you can't place.

It doesn't matter anyway. This is the house for you. "So... where do I sign?"

Blair gestures to a paper and pen on the nearby table. You read over them.

Something about this house seems wrong. You should've listened to that feeling. But you sign the papers and hand them back to Blair, who takes it.

She smiles down at you, although her expression is a mix between condescension and what you think is relief.

"Welcome home," she croons. "If you need anything, feel free to contact me."

"Thank you!" you say, maybe a tad bit too quickly. But who cares! A mansion for such a cheap price! You're about to ask another question relating to the home, but in just one blink, she's gone. No trace she was ever there at all.

A chill goes down your spine. This woman is absolutely strange, although she didn't seem harmful in any way. Not in the physical sense, at least.

...

You move all your things with relative ease into your new home. It's not much to fill the space of a mansion, so you still have several empty rooms left. The furniture that's already there looks far too expensive and nice to get rid of or replace, so you decide to keep everything as is.

It could definitely use a makeover, if you have that kind of money anytime soon, but it isn't your top priority for now.

When you enter the room with your own things to decorate as your own bedroom, you notice it looks different than how you remember.

The walls are painted pastel, there's toys littering the floor, and even the bed has a cartoon-themed comforter spread over it. You glance behind you and see that nothing else looks out of place.

So weird. Maybe you just forgot which room you liked best, and didn't see this one earlier?

You back up, only to bump into someone. You drop all the boxes in your hands, and spin around with wide eyes. There stands Blair, a concerned smile on her face.

"Oh, what's wrong, honey?" Blair asks, her voice sounding like a parent trying to speak gently to their upset child.

Her arms wrap around your body. You freeze as she slowly rocks you both back and forth. Her touch feels cold yet not as solid as most normal touches are. As if it were... ghostly.

"Uh- yeah, I'm alright! Just... just lost my balance for a second there! But hey, when did you get here?" More importantly, why is she here?

She keeps rocking with you in her arms. "I never left." With a chuckle she finally lets you go. "That room is my favorite in the whole mansion. Isn't it lovely?"

You nod without thinking. You start gathering your dropped belongings as quickly as possible, and stand back up. When you look at Blair again, something really doesn't feel right. Her presence is uncanny, yet you can't really pinpoint why.

There's a slight haze that comes off her outline, almost like she's blurry around the edges. Like a bad photoshop edit on the image of reality.

"Yeah. Lovely," you mutter. "I swore it was different last time."

"Oh." Her smile softens. "I tried to decorate it to your personality."

"But it's not..." You shake your head. "Why? I don't understand what's going on..."

"My child deserves the best, after all." She makes that cooing noise again, which sends another chill down your spine. "How about we unpack?" You're in too much shock to argue when she kneels down to pull things out of your moving boxes.

"Hey, that's not--"

"Hush, dear. Mama needs a moment."

A long beat passes. "...What? Mama?"

Blair sets almost everything into a large pile--things like your electronics, books, paperwork, and other adult essentials. In fact, anything adult seems to have been set aside.

The only things left from the box is your stuffed animals and blankets.

Then she glances back up at you. "You can call me Mommy too, if you'd like. Anything but 'Mother'. Makes me feel old." Her voice gets distant. "I always wanted a little baby to raise as my own... that's why the price was so low! To encourage someone like you to buy this home. I could tell you would need me right away. I mean, look at you!" She gestures to your clothing and messy appearance.

You're too confused to even get offended. "Someone... like me? Aren't you the realtor? What's going on?"

She sighs. "No. Not technically. But this is all too complicated talk for you, silly. Grown-up talk will just overwhelm you."

"But..." You flinch when her smile fades just slightly. "Look... I don't know what's going on, but I think I wanna back out of this..."

"No. No, no, no. We can't do that."

"Well I just--"

"You just want attention," she scoffs. "Don't worry. You'll get plenty of it from Mama." She effortlessly picks you up, much to your shock. Is this a real person, or are you just losing it? "Now, how about some dinner, hm? I have many bottles and sippy cups already prepared for you, and more items for you on the way!" She peppers the side of your face in kisses.

They still feel cold, almost like ice. "Blair, please put me down! This has gone far enough!"

"If that's what you want..." She releases you, and you land with a hard thud onto the floor. You wince at the impact and lay there, taking a minute to process this interaction. She has the audacity to gasp in shock. "Oh goodness! Are you alright? Oh, my poor baby!"

You're too speechless to answer, and before you know it, she picks you up again. If you didn't know any better, you'd say this woman was legitimately worried over you.

For the rest of dinner, you tune out her words, in too much shock and confusion over your situation.

She gives you some sliced fruits and finger foods to eat, as well as a sippy cup filled with juice. You keep pushing the items away, but every time you do, she simply pushes them right back. Finally giving up, you eat, wondering when you can escape her and figure this place out yourself.

At the end of the meal, you push away the empty plates.

"Are you finished?" she asks in such a gentle tone, you nearly forget how scary she can be.

"Yes." Your voice sounds raspy and far-away. It makes sense, given what you've been through today.

"Very good!" she praises, pinching your cheeks as you sit frozen on the spot. She takes the dishes away and hums as she cleans up, her apron tied behind her back as she washes each plate by hand.

"...Blair."

"That's Mama," she corrects gently. "Try again. Here, I'll help you practice. Ma-ma. Can you say that?"

Your eye twitches. "Mama," you repeat emotionlessly. "I'm tired. Can I just go to bed?" Hopefully you can wake up from this nightmare.

"Yes, of course." She puts the wet dishes onto a drying rack to let them air dry. Her skirt swishes around her legs as she turns back to you. "Do you need my help changing into your jammies?"

"I'm not a child," you deadpan. "Let me just change clothes by myself and you go somewhere else. Anywhere else."

"How rude!" Blair says, putting her hands on her hips. "I try so hard for you, and then you disrespect me like this? You really do need discipline. Do you really think you can do whatever you want in this house?"

You go quiet.

She tuts. "You go get dressed into your jammies, and I'll come up in a few minutes to tuck you in. Got that?"

With that command, she nudges you towards the stairs.

You trudge up, each step taking much more energy than it normally should.

As soon as you step into your bedroom, you shut the door behind you. It's not like this door has a lock or anything, but at least she can't watch you while you get ready.

After you change into the childish pajamas she put out for you and climb into bed, you bury yourself under the covers and pray this all blows over by tomorrow.

She comes in, and you try your hardest not to glare at her. Blair sees that your eyes are open anyway and beams.

"There's my perfect angel~" Her cooing voice does nothing but terrify you now. You stay silent and try to ignore her gaze. "Now, would you like a bedtime story? Or perhaps a lullaby?" You feel her presence as she sits down next to your blanket-covered form.

"How about you tell me what you are? Why are you doing this?" You don't sound angry or even scared anymore. Just tired and done with everything that happened so far today.

You suppose there must be an explanation to this.

She takes a deep breath. "...I'm not... human. I used to be, but not anymore."

You blink. "Are you a vampire?"

Blair chuckles. "No, sweet pea." She hesitates a bit more. "I'm... I suppose what people would call a ghost." She speaks her last word so softly you nearly miss it.

"...A ghost?" You sit up. "You're lying! If you were a ghost, why can you touch me and other objects?"

She tilts her head. "Hm? Oh! That's because we're in my home. Where I died. As long as I'm here, I can be seen and touch anything like you can. I can leave, but I can't really do anything. That's why I made that fake listing. I'm lonely, and I've always wanted a baby of my own. But I died before I ever got to experience that."

"...A ghost..."

The pieces fall into place. Her blurry outline, her strange appearance, her odd behavior. It makes more sense than one would expect.

You can almost see pity in her brown eyes as she brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. "But now that you're here, I have my very own little baby to take care of!" Blair practically squeals in excitement. "My life--or rather afterlife--is complete now that I have you. And as long as you stay, I will always love and take care of you."

So if what she says is right, then if you escape, there's no possibility she could make you come back, or even be visible to you.

Blair frowns. "I know what you're thinking. But please reconsider! You're already settled in, and I want you to have everything you could ever need. This doesn't need to be negative."

You narrow your eyes. "...okay."

She doesn't like your dry, one-worded response, but chooses not to push it. Instead, she stands up.

"Sleep tight, angel. Mama loves you. I promise to show you that, okay?" She kisses your forehead and flicks off the light, closing the door behind her.

You hear her lock it from outside the room with a key.

[thomamaru]

Hierarchy of Intimacy Special (Chapter Shidou)

Request: Hi I was wondering if u could add shidou to your hierarchy of intimacy series. The plot be something on the lines of reader is soft and a baker, but shidou enjoys how different she is from him.

Synopsis: After a heated practice, Shidou Ryusei storms into a pink bakery, only to be struck speechless by the baker behind the counter. Who knew a quick stop for food would leave him with a possible future spouse? (Falling in love at first sight)

Tags: Shidou Ryusei x gn!reader, reader owns a bakery, shidou is veryyy flirty as usual, fluff

Author notes: this is a series based on a trend of tiktok. characters that will be included is nagi, yukimiya, rin, chigiri, isagi, reo, kunigami, sae, and bachira. If you want to add a character, you can request with a prompt :)

Shidou Ryusei stormed out of practice, his jaw clenched and frustration bubbling under his skin.

The usual tension between him and Rin had reached its peak, and after yet another argument that ended in shouting, Shidou had decided he’d rather walk out than waste another second listening to that guy’s voice.

His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, fingers twitching with pent-up irritation.

His mind replayed every insult, every smug remark Rin had thrown at him, and it only fueled his growing irritation.

He was ready to kick something—maybe even someone—but his stomach made a more pressing demand before he could act on it. A loud growl cut through the silence, making him pause mid-step.

Right. He hadn’t eaten.

Glancing around, he searched for the nearest place to grab food and spotted a small bakery at the corner of the street.

It was decorated entirely in pastel pink, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a romance movie rather than a street filled with sweaty athletes and overpriced sports stores.

Normally, he wouldn’t have even given it a second glance, but hunger outweighed his preferences.

He figured food was food, regardless of how cute the shop looked.

Pushing the door open, a small bell chimed overhead, announcing his entrance. The air inside was warm and sweet, filled with the scent of fresh bread, vanilla, and strawberries.

The soft hum of classical music played in the background, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy he had carried in with him. Small round tables were set up neatly with floral tablecloths, and a few customers sat in quiet conversation, enjoying their pastries.

None of it mattered to him. He was too focused on getting food. His gaze was locked onto the glass display case as he strode toward the counter, his stomach demanding the first thing he could get his hands on.

It wasn’t until he finally looked up that something cut through his single-minded hunger.

Behind the counter, arranging a fresh tray of pastries, stood someone who completely threw him off balance.

Flour dusted the edges of your apron, a few strands of hair had escaped from your loose ponytail, and there was a smudge of icing on your cheek from what he assumed had been a long day of baking.

It wasn’t just the warmth of the bakery that made the scene feel softer—it was you.

There was something about the way you moved, the way the golden glow from the overhead lights framed your features, making the moment feel oddly surreal.

Shidou wasn’t the type to get caught up in aesthetics, but for a brief moment, everything around him blurred.

It was like one of those ridiculous, glittery romance scenes in a drama. He would have laughed at the absurdity of it if he wasn’t so caught up in the moment.

Then, before he could even think about stopping himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"Please marry me."

The words were barely above a mumble, almost an automatic reaction rather than something he had consciously decided to say.

You blinked, pausing in your movements as if you weren’t entirely sure you had heard him correctly. "Sorry, what?"

Shidou didn’t even hesitate. "Please marry me." This time, his voice was louder—loud enough that the entire bakery went silent for a few seconds.

A few heads turned in curiosity, and one of the older women sitting near the window let out a surprised laugh.

Even the oven in the back let out a timely beep as if to emphasize the absurdity of the moment.

Heat rushed to your face as you struggled to process what had just happened. This wasn’t exactly a situation you dealt with every day.

Hell, did anyone deal with something like this? A random customer walking in and immediately proposing was far from normal, and yet here you were, standing across from him, completely dumbfounded.

"Excuse me, sir?" You tried to keep your voice steady, hoping that maybe you had misheard him.

A slow grin spread across Shidou’s face, the initial daze of the moment quickly morphing into something more familiar—teasing amusement.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the counter as he studied your reaction.

"You heard me, sweetheart," he said, his voice taking on that lazy, playful tone that suggested he was enjoying this far too much. "I came in here for food and ended up finding my future spouse. Pretty good deal, huh?"

You weren’t sure what was more ridiculous—the fact that he was saying this with a straight face or the fact that your brain was struggling to find an immediate response.

"I—what—sir, I think you need to order something before making any life-changing decisions," you finally managed to say, hoping to steer the conversation back to something normal.

Shidou let out a short laugh but didn’t argue. "Alright, alright. I’ll take whatever’s best here. Oh, and your number while we’re at it."

You ignored the second request entirely and turned to grab one of the bakery’s best-selling pastries—a strawberry danish.

Placing it into a small paper bag, you handed it over, making sure to keep the interaction as professional as possible.

"One strawberry danish," you said. "That'll be—"

Before you could finish, Shidou reached out to take the bag, and for the briefest moment, his fingers brushed against yours.

The touch was fleeting, barely even a second, but it was enough for his sharp eyes to catch the way you stiffened ever so slightly. His grin widened.

"Shy, huh?" he mused, tilting his head.

Your expression quickly shifted into something more defensive.

"I am not shy."

"Liar," he shot back smoothly.

"You’re delusional," you countered.

"And you’re blushing," he pointed out.

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, he tossed a few bills onto the counter, more than enough to cover his order, and took a step back.

"I’ll be back tomorrow," he said confidently.

"Why?" you asked, more out of exasperation than genuine curiosity.

Shidou’s gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest second before he met your eyes again, his smirk never fading.

"Because you’re sweeter than anything on this menu."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you standing there, utterly flustered and unsure of what had just happened.

Little did you know, that was only the beginning.

---

The bell chimed again.

At this point, you had grown painfully familiar with that sound—more specifically, what followed after it.

"Miss me, sweetheart?"

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The unmistakable drawl, the self-assured arrogance dripping from his tone—it was all Shidou Ryusei.

Suppressing a sigh, you continued wiping down the counter, choosing to ignore him entirely.

Maybe, just maybe, if you pretended he wasn’t there, he would take the hint and—

"Aw, don’t ignore me, pretty thing," he whined, leaning against the counter as if he owned the place. "I came all the way here just to see you, y'know."

Your hands froze mid-wipe, heat creeping up your neck. "You came here for the food," you corrected, still refusing to meet his gaze.

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle—one of amusement, deep and lazy, the kind that made your stomach do an annoying little flip.

"Nah," Shidou said, dragging the word out as he propped his chin up with one hand. "I mean, sure, the food’s good, but let’s be real. You’re the main attraction here."

Your grip on the cloth tightened. This man was impossible.

Ever since the day he had quite literally proposed to you at first sight, Shidou had become a daily occurrence in the bakery.

No matter what time of day it was—early morning, afternoon rush, or near closing—he always found a reason to stop by.

At first, you thought he would lose interest quickly, that the whole thing was just another one of his ridiculous, heat-of-the-moment antics.

But he kept coming back.

Every. Single. Day.

And worse? He always made you his target.

From outrageous compliments to flirty one-liners that had no business being spoken in a bakery, Shidou had made it his personal mission to get a reaction out of you. And unfortunately, you weren’t exactly the best at hiding your emotions.

You had tried. You really had.

But every time he smirked, every time he leaned in just a little too close, every time he looked at you like you were something worth devouring—your brain short-circuited.

It was infuriating.

And yet, somehow, he never crossed the line.

Despite his teasing, he never actually touched you, never made you uncomfortable.

It was all just words, playful and light, but the effect they had on you? Unfair.

Shidou knew it too.

"You gonna take my order or just keep looking flustered?" he asked, grinning as he finally straightened up.

"I—I'm not flustered!" you shot back immediately, turning your back to him as you focused on rearranging some pastries on the shelf.

"Right, right," he hummed, clearly not believing you. "So that means if I told you that you look real cute in that apron, you wouldn’t turn even pinker than the walls in here?"

You nearly dropped the tray.

"Shidou."

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Order. Your. Food."

He laughed, the sound unreasonably pleased as he finally, finally stopped tormenting you and placed his order.

You quickly set to work, preparing his usual—because yes, of course, he had a usual now—and placed it on the counter, hoping to get him out of here before he could say anything else that would ruin what little composure you had left.

But as you slid his food toward him, his fingers lingered on the bag, his gaze locking onto yours with something… unreadable.

"You really don’t get it, do you?" he murmured, his voice softer this time.

You frowned. "Get what?"

Shidou tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was trying to figure something out.

It was different from his usual teasing—still intense, still undeniably Shidou—but there was something else lingering beneath it. Something heavier.

You waited, expecting some sort of comeback, another flirty remark to make your heart race.

But instead, he just smirked and took his bag, throwing you one last wink before heading for the door.

"Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back until you do."

And then he was gone.

The door to the bakery closed softly behind him, and Shidou paused on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets as he looked up at the sky.

She’s different.

It wasn’t like he’d never been intrigued before. He had a pretty damn good track record when it came to getting people’s attention.

He was used to people fawning over him, used to the constant chase, the endless flirtation—it was a game, one he’d mastered years ago.

But you?

You weren’t like anyone he’d met.

At first, he didn’t know what to make of it. Every time he walked in, you’d play it cool—almost too cool, like you were trying to fight the pull of his charm.

And the way you’d avoid his gaze when he’d throw a compliment or a teasing remark? It wasn’t like those other girls who'd blush and stammer.

You were trying not to react, but Shidou could see it—the small shifts, the way you bit your lip to keep from smiling, the way your fingers tightened around the cloth when he got too close.

It was... almost too fun.

But then, something about the way you handled him—it started to get under his skin in a way that didn’t make sense. The more he saw you, the more he started to notice things.

You didn’t care about his reputation, about his name, about anything that most people worshipped about him.

You treated him like a regular customer, and that was something Shidou hadn’t gotten in years. And it hit him harder than he’d care to admit.

They didn’t want him.

No, it wasn’t that. It was more like…

You weren’t awed by him. You didn’t think he was some untouchable figure, someone to swoon over.

You saw through him.

That was what made him different in this moment—he wanted to be seen. For who he was under the brash confidence, the swagger, the sharp insults he’d throw at anyone who crossed him.

But you?

You didn’t play into any of that.

It was the way you made him feel like he actually had to earn a smile from you, the way you’d challenge him with your teasing right back, and the way your eyes would light up when you spoke about something you loved. Your passion for your craft—it was different from his, but somehow, it was what drew him in even more.

Shidou didn’t let people close, didn’t let anyone see that side of him. And yet, with you, there was this quiet part of him, buried deep down, that wanted you to understand him.

You didn’t give him a pass just because he was famous. You didn’t get starry-eyed when he walked in, didn’t fawn over him like so many others did.

That made you different—and for some reason, that’s what made him care.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop coming back.

The thrill wasn’t in getting you to blush or fumble over his words. The thrill was in the way you made him feel like he had to strip away the bravado, the loud persona, and actually show up as himself.

Not some soccer star, not some cocky jerk—but Shidou, the guy who could hardly make a connection with anyone because he was too busy trying to stay on top.

And yet…

There was something magnetic about the way you pulled him in without even trying. You didn’t need him to be a hero or a legend. You just treated him like a regular guy, and that stung in a way that made him crave more.

Shidou wasn’t used to it. Not one bit.

And that, more than anything, made you stand out in his mind.

He shook his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips despite the strange warmth curling in his chest.

She’s not like the others, huh?

For once, he didn’t mind it.

If anything, it made the whole thing more exciting.

ARGHH THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT!!! thank you so much for requestinggg<33 (@cloudysunnyday)

[mickandmusings]

love you, miss you, mean it

*this is a two part series, read part two here!*

**I recommend listening to 'love you, miss you, mean it' by luke bryan. it's a slight inspiration for this story and it's part two. (sorry, my southern roots are showing oops) **

pairing: bob floyd x f!kazansky!reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: before the daggers, before the uranium mission, before even top gun and 'bob', there was just young bobby floyd, finding himself at the doorstep of the kazansky household, year after year, finding family between a father and daughter, and a new understanding of true love.

(based off a request, but i'll post it when i'm finished with both parts, it will give too much away! <3)

warnings: lots of sticky sweet fluff, I accidentally made Ice a single dad??, 'Bobby' as Bob's civilian name, most likely military inaccuracies

-

The very first time Bob Floyd found himself standing on the Kazansky's front door, he was seventeen years old. He had parked his hand-me-down pickup truck on the street in front of the house, crossed the yard in record time, and rang the doorbell. He was standing on the welcome mat in a spiffy black tux, his sweaty palms clutching a plastic box that contained a corsage made of light purple flowers. Bob had no idea what kind of flowers they were, more than happy to leave that to the florist, but he knew they were the same color as the bowtie that seemed to be choking him. He was incredibly nervous, pushing his glasses up his nose in a repetitive nervous habit. His sapphire eyes caught a tall shadow approaching the door, and Bob felt his spine straighten, his heart hammering in his chest. Bob had heard the stories of Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky, US Pacific Fleet Commander (and more importantly, Y/N's dad) but now, as Iceman stared down at him, he began to realize he certainly lived up to his callsign.

The Admiral's eyes were a cool blue, piercing through the teenage boy's frame as he looked him up and down. He had seemingly only just arrived home from work, still in his Navy attire. His well-pressed, wrinkle-free Navy uniform made him appear taller than he was, a looming presence that demanded respect. The flat, stoic look on his face seemed permanent, only cutting into a small upturn as he spoke.

"You must be the Bobby I keep hearing about."

Bob nods, letting out a measly, "Yes sir," before sticking out a clammy hand to shake Y/N's father's hand.

The Admiral shakes his hand with a firm grip, squeezing Bob's hand so tightly that Bob swore his blood flow had been cut off. Finally, he opened the front door wider to allow Bob in, speaking as he shut the door back into the frame.

"You should probably take a seat, get comfortable. She's been giggling upstairs for hours now, but I doubt she's ready. You'll get used to it, waiting around until she's ready."

Bob chuckles nervously, sitting stiffly on the couch as he watches the Admiral stomp about the kitchen, seemingly making a cup of coffee. The silence is deafening, Bob is too nervous to say anything, but the man's booming voice soon cuts the quiet with ease.

"So, Bobby, Y/N says you're a military brat too, is that right?"

"Uh, y-yes sir, my father, he's in the service as well, my grandfather was too, sort of the Floyd family legacy."

The Admiral nods, absorbing the information.

"What about you, do you have any plans to-"

"Dad!" Y/N's annoyed voice broke the Admiral's sentence. Her heels clack down the wooden stairs, her dress whooshing in the wind created by her motion. Bob turned his attention in the direction of her voice, standing promptly, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight of Y/N. She was dazzling in her pastel purple gown, a slight smile on her face as she spoke. "Stop trying to recruit my prom date."

Y/N and her father shared a look, seemingly speaking without having to say a word before she broke out into a smile, matching the wide toothy grin of her father, before turning back to Bob, a slight pink blush forming across her cheeks. Bob blushed as he saw her walk into the room, making his way over to her.

"Y-You look," Bob swallows thickly, gaining his confidence. "You're beautiful."

Y/N blushes fiercely, straightening the lavender bowtie around Bob's neck.

"You clean up pretty well yourself."

The teenagers' awkward gazing is cut off by Ice clearing his throat loudly, his mug of coffee in his hand as he approached them.

"C'mon, kid. Your grandparents'll kill me if I don't get a thousand pictures of you two before you leave."

Y/N cut her eyes at Bob as he stuck his arm out for her to take, helping her over the threshold of the door and into the yard, the Admiral standing in front of them with his camera ready. They all went through the motions of a typical prom photo shoot-the corsage exchange, the awkward photos in front of the house, the send off.

Finally, she and Bob were down the road in his truck, Y/N smiling in his passenger seat, Bob's shoulders much more relaxed, not feeling nearly as tense in the presence of her looming father.

"Sorry about my dad," Y/N speaks over the music playing in the truck, squeezing Bob's hand where their hands intertwined on the console. "He's just a little protective, and, not very good at small talk." She chuckles lightly.

"No, no, it's fine. He was nice. Intimidating for sure, but nice. Made a joke that you take too long to get ready for everything."

"Of course he did," Y/N smiled and rolled her eyes, leaning her head on Bob's arm. The high school juniors had been dating for a little over six months, but both of them were head-over-heels.

The couple arrived and carried on as usual for teenagers on a prom night-mingling with their mutual friend and indulging on PTO-mom made snacks. As the night wrapped up, the last slow song of the night had Bob and Y/N swaying under the sparkling disco ball in the middle of the gym. Bob's tux jacket had been discarded on a chair hours ago, accompanied by Y/N's heels, both tossed about carelessly in favor of running back to the dance floor. Her head rested on his chest, his hands around her waist sweetly. Neither of them were paying much attention to the song playing, or the other numerous couples swaying next to them. Bob's blue orbs were focused entirely on the girl looking up at him from his chest, his hand moving to brush stray curls that had fallen in her eyes. As he looked at her face, his chest filled with warmth, a funny feeling erupting, one he had never felt before. His eyebrows furrowed, his forehead creasing.

"What's the matter, B?" Her voice came soft, just loud enough for both of them to hear.

"I love you," It came out blunt and honest, with no hesitation. Neither of them had said it before, and he watched as Y/N's face went from one of confusion to one of pure elation, a wide grin forming on her face as Bob lightly pulled her closer, their lips meeting in a kiss more meaningful than their previous ones.

That night, when Bob dropped her off back at her house, with the figure of her father sitting in their living room, he smiled as he helped her out of the truck and closed the door behind her. He walked her to the front door and kissed her again before saying goodnight, a permanent smile etched on his face. He watched her get into the house and waited for the porch light to turn off before peeling out of the driveway, his face aching from his never ending smile.

When he got into his own house for the night, his tux coat thrown over his shoulder, bowtie undone and his feet aching in his dress shoes, he collapsed onto his bed with a content sigh. His phone dinged with a new message, and he smiled as he saw Y/N's name flash across the screen. He opened it quickly:

I love you, too. I miss you already. Mean it.

A blush sprouted across his fair skin, typing back a reply as his heart soared.

-

Over the next few years, Bob found himself on the Kazansky doorstep hundreds of more times-weekend dates, barbecues, birthdays, study dates, movie nights, senior prom, just because, forgetting his house keys in Y/N's room, graduation parties, the list could go on and on forever. He had grown to find the Kazansky household his second home, Iceman's walls slowly melting towards the awkward boy his daughter loved. Y/N's father would allow him to stay over on long weekends and holidays through her first years of college and his of the Naval Academy, letting Bob tag along for family vacations. Bob slowly became an extension of the Kazansky family. Bob learned lots about the Admiral during his days and weeks of being in their home. Iceman loved things that made him seem less and less intimidating from when they first met. Tom Kazansky loved to make homemade banana bread, could often be found dozing off with a book in his hand, leaned back in the recliner closest to the front door, and the Admiral loved rom-com movies with a fierceness only championed by his own daughter. The father and daughter were a well-oiled machine, understanding each other in a way that Bob had never seen before. Bob would observe as the duo would work in fluid motion in the kitchen cooking dinner-knowing what each other was thinking without having to say a word. Y/N tossing her father spices and seasonings as he lifted the spoon to her mouth, and Iceman knowing just how she liked her coffee, her tea, and her favorite shape of ice. They knew one another inside and out, something Bob would often sit in awe of. It was a true display of love for one another, so loved that you know everything about someone, you know what they need without having to say a word.

When Bob had visited the Kazansky's over his final Christmas break from the Academy, he had expected the feeling of closeness and familial love. He found himself in the kitchen with Y/N, an Elvis Christmas record spinning in the living room adjacent. He wordlessly handed her the spoon from the pot he was stirring, her lips pursing as she thought for a moment, handing him a container of salt and other seasonings she knew were needed for the soup. Bob wordlessly adds an estimated amount in the pot before he stops abruptly, realizing what had just happened. His heart hammers, he and Y/N had been dating for nearly five years now, his time at the Academy coming to an end. They had suffered through nearly four years of a long distance relationship-he in Maryland at the Naval Academy, her attending college back in their hometown. They had made it through with phone calls and even letters, long lonely days and nights, and a love for one another that defied odds. He stopped stirring promptly, looking as Y/N was pressing cookie dough onto a pan, her eyes looking up at him.

"B? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." She smiled at him sweetly, wiping off her hands before placing them on his cheeks. "Do you feel okay? You're really red, you're warm. Do you think you're coming down with a cold?"

Bob couldn't make his dry mouth form many words, finally sputtering out a single sentence:

"I-I need to talk to your Dad."

Y/N's eyebrows furrow, looking at her boyfriend incredulously, as if he had grown another head.

"Um, okay? He's in his office. Bobby, are you okay?"

Bob nodded, leaning down to place a kiss on her head before racing off to the office on the second floor. Y/N only shook her head and continued making her cookies.

Bob knocks on the heavy office door, waiting for a response.

"It's open," Iceman's voice sounds from behind the thick mahogany colored door. Bob creaks open the door, Ice's cool eyes softening as he sees Bob enter.

"She drive you out of the kitchen already, Bob?" His voice was laced with humor. "She's too much like me, taking control of every situation. Sorry."

Bob laughs, "No sir, I just, needed to talk to you."

Ice narrows in on Bob's firmly serious expression, leaning back in his chair and looking at the boy man in front of him. Bob had grown up in the past few years, taller and more muscular thanks to the Academy. He only wore his glasses when required by the military, often opting for contacts when he was home, giving him a more mature look.

"What can I do for you, son?"

Bob's heart hammered in his chest. Was he planning on doing this now? No-he had planned for a lovely dinner, perhaps a walk on the beach before he did all of this. He had certainly, at least, planned on finishing the Academy before all of this, but after their interaction in the kitchen, the complete domesticity of it, paired with his overwhelming love for her, he knew now was the right time.

"Mr. Kazansky-"

Tom interrupts him, shaking his head in a good-natured manner. "How many times have I told you to call me Iceman, or Tom? I've known you for half a decade, I don't think the formalities are necessary."

Bob nods, understanding the man's warmth, but this was different.

"Any other time before this, and after this, sir, absolutely. But I'm coming to you for matters that pertain to Y/N, and I want this to be as respectful as possible."

Tom nods curtly, appreciating Bob's respectful nature, hands meeting in his lap as Bob speaks.

"Sir, I-," Bob swallows. He thought about this conversation a million times over and over as he stared at his ceiling at the Academy every night. "I love your daughter. I have for five years now. She is infinitely kind, and overwhelmingly beautiful. She's far too smart for me to keep up with most days, and she makes even my worst days bright. I think that's truly a testament to your parenting, she's the most headstrong yet considerate person I know. She loves fiercely, and looks after those she loves with the same fervor. She knows me unlike anyone else, and she's quickly become my feeling of home. Her music has taken over my truck, my headphones, and my inner thoughts. Her favorite movies have become part of my repertoire, and her favorite books sit next to mine on a bookcase in my room. Her things are scattered all over my apartment, and she is seeped into my every thought. When something good happens, she's the first person I want to call. When something bad happens, she's the first person I want to call. I want to spend the rest of my life with her by my side. I know this is sort of sudden, but I've spent every night for a year thinking about this, and I-I would like to marry Y/N. I graduate from the Academy in less than six months, and I'll be in aviation school, and I just-I want her to know she's a priority for my future. If I have your blessing, I would like to ask her before I go back to the Academy."

Tom's head nods, standing from his chair behind the desk, causing Bob to stand, Tom's palm meeting his in a handshake, a sign of respect. He suddenly pulls Bob into a hug, a tightness that is only matched by Y/N herself, the infamous Kazansky suffocating hug.

"You've got my blessing, kid."

Bob nods in understanding, pausing as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiles lightly at Y/N's name and several emojis beside her name on the screen.

It's lonely down here. :( Love you, miss you, mean it.

He smiles at their simple loving joke that had survived from when she had first said it years ago. He pockets his phone again, looking up at Iceman with a newfound confidence.

"Thank you, Ice, sincerely. Y/N means more to me than I feel like I could express in words."

Tom's face breaks out into a smile, his eyes twinkling with something that might have been the beginning of tears, but that's yet to be confirmed. He lightly slapped a hand on Bob's shoulder.

"For what it's worth, you've got my permission. But it's not mine that matters, kid, it's hers."

-

part two out now!

[lunamoonbby]

Warnings: Simon thinks about murder, lost child, female reader, Simon falling in love at first sight, Mafia AU

A/N: only thing specific to reader is her height which is 4'11"

Single dad! Mafia boss! Simon "Ghost" Riley who somehow got separated from his 3 year old daughter who's name is Millie cause she let go of daddy's hand cause she smelled yummy cupcakes from the new bakery that opened up and baker!reader sees this young girl outside her shop after closing hours and reader let's in the little girl so she can be in a safe place, y/n asks the girl, "my name is y/n, and can you tell me your name? And what are doing all alone out here by yourself?" "My name is Milly Riley and I smelled cupcakes and I wanted to get a cupcake for me and my daddy and I followed to smell and I got separated from my daddy🥺", responded Millie. Y/N picked up Millie and placed sat her on the counter and told her,"stay right there". Y/n comes back with two cupcakes, icing, and sprinkles and she give Millie a cupcake for her to decorate for her daddy and Millie asks reader for Halloween theme sprinkles so the cupcake and match her daddy and y/n got Millie Halloween theme cupcakes that consists of ghost, spiders, orange and black sprinkles, and skulls and skeletons, and Millie ice the cupcake and she puts the black sprinkles and the ghost and skull sprinkles and y/n decorates a cupcake for Millie with pink and pastel purple flowers and with pink, pastel purple, and pastel yellow sprinkles when y/n and Millie are done with the cupcakes y/n packaged up the cupcakes for Millie and makes her a small hot chocolate while Millie is drinking her hot chocolate Simon sees her in the bakery and get tries to open the door only for it to be locked and he thinks to him once he gets his hands on the person who took my child I'm murdering them, and y/n sees Simon and when Millie sees Simon too she exlaims,"DADDY!!!" And y/n opens the door and Simon sees reader and his thought disappears and reader is says to Simon, "your daughter Millie is safe and sound we decorated cupcakes and I gave her hot chocolate and a croissant since she said she was a bit hungry" and Millie shows her daddy the cupcake she made for Simon and Simon not really liking sweets still accepts the cupcake cause his daughter made it just for him and millie takes out her cupcake so both of them could eat it and Simon fell in love with who ever made this cupcake and he asks,"who made this cupcake?" And y/n says,"oh I did I make them all from scratch" and Simon, wants to marry reader and make Millie an older sister and Simon pulls out $300 to give to y/n and she's refuses the money so he just puts it in the tip jar and he leaves her his card and Millie refusing to leave when Simon wants to go back home reader tells Millie that she is welcome in her shop any time she wants to visit and that she could be her little tast-tester, and Millie agrees and Simon can finally go home and when reader looks at the card Simon gives her she's shocked to find out that he's a Mafia boss

[writingoddess1125]

Morticia and Gomez Effect pt. 2

Mihawk X FemReader

Since people liked this made a part two!

Part 1 <<<

• Mihawk mood had been fowl as of late, Clearly issues had been getting to him silently. His wine intake growing and his irritation rising

• You needed to fix this, Anger was never the most attractive look for your husband anyway-

• He had been home for two days and still hadn't spoke. Instead sitting in his study and doing paperwork while drinking, Sometimes the waft of cigar smoke greeting you as well from the halls.

• "Growling at the wall?" You call out seeing him sitting there scowling at the wall with his face turned up like a beast growling.

• He glanced at you, Seeing you close the door behind you, as well as noticing your done up appearance- mainly the black dress that fit you like a lustful sin he had bought some time again- already lessening his angry face.

• "I am in no mood Wife, leave me" He said with a irritated sigh. He never called you 'Wife' only when truly upset did he say this, Just like how when he was furious he would use your name.

• "I see, so you don't wish for your spirits to be lifted?" You said with a smirk starting to crawl across your face. Walking to the other side of his desk to close a curtain.

• "No- nor do I wish for whatever parlor trick you have p-pla-" Mihawk couldn't even finish his sentence as you pulled down the front of your dress flashing him your naked chest with a smile.

• Just like any man at any age his eyes widened and mind blank at the sight of breast. You quickly pulling the dress back up with a smile.

• He frozen, His drink almost falling from his hand if he didn't clumsily catch it and hold it steady.

• Mihawk stared at you for a moment like he was trying to formulate a response, his stoic face starting to break as a hearty laugh broke through his lips. His woes easily being wiped away by your trick as he tried to wave it away.

• "Dragostea mea (My Darling) you are too much, drawing me from my mood in such a childish way" He mused as he reached his arm out and pulling you into his lap.

• You smile at his words and nestle yourself against his strong chest, Your fingers playing with the cross on his chest.

• "Well anything for you my Love~" You smile and pepper kisses on his face and lips. He gives a delighted groan and his hand travels to find the zipper of the dress.

• "Idle hands my Love" You warn making him grumble for a short while- Mainly cause you both knew what was coming.

• His lips falling from its smile as the door bursted open and Perona March in like she owned the place. Recently you had been in charge of training her- Especially since you felt like Mihawk was too soft on her.

• Mihawk sighed as he sat up and saw Perona standing there making a face at the two of you.

• "So Gross!-" She tried as she stared at you two and invaded the space, You smoothing down your dark gown as you stared at the young woman with a amused face.

• "What do you want Perona?" Mihawk said as she stomped into the room, You watching her glare at you and look away flustered.

• "I never got a thank you from you for my recent mission!" She yelled as she pointed to you

• "Thats because you failed-" You spoke plainly.

• "I didn't fail!" She began to rant about the events of loosing to someone who flashed rainbow colors and worse 'disgusting' pastels.

• "So you lost to someone in pastels, Didn't get the information needed, didn't listen to the advice I gave you for the last mission. Now you come through here causing a ruckus cause I will not reward you?" You spoke very carefully, watching her stiffen at the lace of irritation through your voice.

• She shuffled a bit awkwardly and gave a single nod. You sighing at this-

• "Now your failing in the mission is one thing but my darling girl- Being beaten by Pastels?" You mused, she had fallen prey to a pastel nightmare was just too much of a burn. Her face turning as pink as her dress as she fluttered out screaming and throwing a temper tantrum thankfully she slammed the door closed behind her.

• Mihawk sighing as he leaned in his chair and pulled you back against him properly.

• "Disobedient" You hummed with a tired sigh.

• "If we had our own they would be more obedient and skilled" He mused, You feeling him place another kiss to the back of your neck.

• Surprised by his words you roll so you are facing him now, seated on him like a saddle. His intense yellowed eyes meeting your gaze before continuing to kiss you this time down your throat.

• "You're making it sound like you actually want one?" You said in mused question, a few breathy moans leaving you as he proceeded to bite rather hard down on your soft skin and his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

• Catching his gaze as he pulls back you could read him like a picture book. He did?

• "You actually want a child?" You hummed as your eyebrow raised, Feeling your husband's eyes wonder your form. His arm doing a quick sweep over his desk to push everything to the side and floor, uncaring as he had a goal in mind.

• "I am surprised we haven't already given an army due to us taking caution to the wind" He said calmly, setting you on the desk as his hands made easy work of rolling up the dark garment over your thighs.

• "Well if it's an army you want-" You purr and pull him closer to you by the cross around his neck feeling him close the distance between you two. "We better make up for lost time~"

• He smirked at this as he leaned down to kiss you with wine flavored lips as his hands found the front of your dress and in a fluid motion ripped the fabric down the center.

• Lost time indeed

Tag list-

@who-the-hockeysticks @vexladin

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

where’s your doppelgänger? | s.r. x liaison!fem reader

you could never memorize the train system, no matter how many years you’ve taken it. you’ll be stuck staring at the maps for twenty minutes and not remember which way leads uptown. but when you’re with spencer you could be blissfully tugged along as he seamlessly weaves through the crowds of commuters, making sure you’re tucked close to his back.

“so we’re gonna take the red line up to jefferson street then the green line all the way to apple road.” both of you stood near the back of the platform, watching strangers scurry like ants to and fro this afternoon.

“that guy reminds me of hotch,” leaning in close to spencer’s side as you pointed a subtle finger towards the well dressed man. his dark hair was nearly combed, his navy blue suit was well pressed and his posture was stick straight while he held a book in one hand.

“could be his doppelgänger. statistically everyone should have one to three look a likes. your eyes see the person you know but also identify the new traits that form the other face, helping you separate the two.” his mouth spewing out these facts easily from his lips as you gazed his profile.

an unclear intercom announced something just as your first train pulled into its platform. spencer lead both of you to a pair of forward facing seats, you beside the window and him next to the walkway. “should take twenty minutes if uninterrupted,” spencer estimated.

the first few minutes neither spoke, just let the noisy tracks sing their song. “what do you think your other selves are doing?” shoulders bumping into each other with the swaying of the cart.

spencer’s thumb rubbed along your knuckles as your joined digits sat atop his thigh. “maybe one got to fulfill my childhood dream.” his low voice got particularly swallowed from a loud screech. you leaned in a bit closer and raised your voice to ask, “which is?”

spencer ducked his chin to his chest as he mumbled and you had to ask for him to repeat it. “a- a cowboy,” his eyes partially catching yours.

you couldn’t help the coo that slipped free, “now that would be a sight.” softly giggling at the pastel hue warming spencer’s cheeks. that caused spencer to chuckle sheepishly, “yeah. don’t think i’d be hired.” nervously he scratched behind his ear.

you let your eyes trail over his pointed features, “loved to see you in a hat though. bet you’ll look ever dashing.” freely flirting and enjoying the flushed pink on his apples under the fluorescent lights.

“what about your second one?” nudging his knee to redirect the conversation. spencer hummed in thought, the wheels filled most of the noise along with someone sneezing and a baby giving a small whine. “maybe a professor, like my mom. but i think my intelligence with all my doppelgänger’s would be lower than mine.”

“pure perfection as your mother would say.” giving a squeeze to his hand as your bodies moved with the stopping train. spencer lead both of you out and towards the second train, “got about five minutes before it arrives.” he lead both of you to a bench.

“i kinda wish one of my doppelgängers is living somewhere peacefully in europe. always a small dream of mine that i don’t know when i’ll ever peruse.” letting your mouth speak your thoughts openly. you leaned your head against spencer shoulder, a dreamy gaze filtering over the well maintained but still slightly dirty subway.

“i think one of yours would be a florist. probably somewhere in italy where many people visit you.” spencer spoke softly as he gave your joined hands a slight sway. both of you just tucked away into shadow as you wait.

“lovers would buy bouquets and friends would buy singles. family’s would buy many vases and i would wonder if it’s for something happy or somber. i’ll get to see small glimpses of people’s lives or make my own story for them.” creating this alternative world that you personally could live, or someone similar to you is living life in the present.

“another one could possibly be a journalist, or you’ll still be a liaison, just in a different department. you’re very good at dealing with the press, talking with people sincerely. you’d always make sure the pure truth was told and- what?”

spencer stopped talking as his eyes locked with yours, his brows scrunching at the front. “did- did i say something?”

you could feel your lips stretching into a lovesick smile as you stared at your boyfriend. “i- i just really wanna kiss you, but we’re in public and i know how you feel about pda-“

“i’ll allow it this time.” “…wait, really?”

spencer smiled shyly, “yeah. besides i know you’re not gonna jump me here. a kiss isn’t bad.” he just shrugged as his eyes bounced around.

with your free left hand your palm cupped spencer’s cheek to turn his face in your direction. “i love you a lot, like a crazy amount.” letting your thumb smooth the skin under his eye. you leaned in quickly to press your lips to spencer’s, staying for a moment then pulling away just as you hear the screeching of wheels on tracks.

“best get moving before they leave without us.” taking the lead on moving the two of you onto the chariot towards your museum date.

[anareblogz-posts]

𝐄𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - A cozy night in turns into a TikTok-worthy moment as Theo hums along to Disney songs, indulges in snacks, and proves he’s not as intimidating as he seems.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Inspired by a tiktok I saw and had to write it and because I just did my third re-watch of encanto and why not add that.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The soft glow of fairy lights filled the room, casting a warm, cozy ambiance over Y/N’s bedroom.

She lay nestled among a pile of pillows on her bed, scrolling through her phone while the familiar melody of Encanto played in the background.

Beside her, Theo Nott—her usually composed and brooding boyfriend—looked utterly out of character.

A pale green face mask covered his face, and one of her fluffy pastel headbands held back his dark hair.

Between them sat a tray of snacks: popcorn, chocolate-covered pretzels, and an ice cream tub already half gone.

Theo leaned back against the headboard, his long legs stretched out, one hand absentmindedly tapping to the rhythm of the music as the TV lit up his sharp features.

Y/N couldn’t help but grin at the sight. She opened the TikTok app, quickly typing a caption that read, “When he gets used to your lifestyle 🥹💗”, before tilting her phone camera towards Theo.

He didn’t notice at first. His eyes were fixed on the screen as he hummed along to “We Don’t Talk About Bruno.”

A smudge of ice cream lingered at the corner of his mouth, which he didn’t seem to notice as he sang softly under his breath.

“Seven-foot frame, rats along his back…” he muttered, his voice low and a little off-key but undeniably earnest.

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, and zoomed in slightly to capture the moment.

Theo looked so different from his usual self—stoic, mysterious, and borderline intimidating—yet somehow, this version of him was her favorite.

It wasn’t until the song transitioned to the next verse that Theo turned and caught sight of her phone pointed squarely at him. He froze mid-bite of a chocolate pretzel.

“Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you filming me?”

Y/N giggled, not bothering to hide her amusement. “How could I not? You’re adorable!”

Theo groaned and dropped his head back against the pillows. "Amore…” he drawled, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his mock annoyance. “You’re lucky I love you. If this ends up online…”

“Oh, it’s definitely going online,” she teased, lowering her phone just slightly.

Theo gave her a look but shook his head in defeat. “Fine. But if we watch Encanto for a fourth time, you’re the one wearing the face mask next.”

Y/N burst out laughing, leaning into his side as she stopped recording. “Deal,” she said, her laughter trailing off into a contented sigh.

As the movie played on, Theo absentmindedly began humming along again, his deep voice blending with the colorful soundtrack.

Y/N set her phone aside, smiling to herself as she rested her head on his shoulder.

For all his protests, Theo didn’t seem to mind her world of cozy nights, Disney movies, and skincare routines. In fact, he fit into it perfectly.

And as Theo hummed along to the next verse, she couldn’t help but think she wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

[n0vazsq]

Cherish my love | Pau Cubarsi x Reader

pairing . . . pau cubarsi x gf!reader

summary . . . Hard launching your relationship with Pau at a team event

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 4.4k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . took me like two years but we dont take about that!! I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT BC I YAPPED MY ASS OFF IN THIS ONE

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The moment you stepped out of the car, hand tucked in Pau’s firm but gentle hold, the flashing lights began. Camera shutters clicked relentlessly, the glowing backdrop of the grand venue providing a perfect canvas for the chaos of photographers and fans.

The hum of voices grew louder, rising to an excited chatter as Pau emerged in a black suit with a cut that complemented his tall frame. But tonight, he wasn’t the main focus of his own entrance, that honor belonged to you.

Your outfit, effortlessly elegant and impossibly perfect, managed to be both understated and show stopping. A soft pastel hue swept through the fabric, catching the lights just so, making you look like you’d just walked out of a dream. Pau’s hand tightened slightly on yours, and you turned toward him, catching the soft curve of a smile he’d been trying to hide.

"You look…. incredible," Pau tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur only you could hear. His eyes, warm and undeniably devoted, traveled across your face as if memorizing every detail.

"Thank you," you whispered back, cheeks heating slightly under his gaze.

The cameras might as well not have existed. Pau only saw you.

The two of you stepped forward together, perfectly in sync, as though you’d been attending events like this for years. The truth, of course, was far from that.

You weren’t famous. You weren’t a model, an actress, or someone the media recognized. You were just you. And yet, tonight, standing beside Pau, you looked every bit his equal.

What made it even better was how natural it felt.

While reporters shouted Pau’s name, trying to get his attention, his focus never wavered. It was as if the world faded, leaving only you in his sight. He didn’t let go of your hand, not even for a second. He didn’t release you to wave to the fans or pose for solo shots.

Instead, he kept you close, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand as though to reassure you that this, all of this, was something you were facing together.

"You sure you’re okay?" Pau leaned down slightly, his voice soft against your ear.

You tilted your head up, meeting those deep green eyes that had an almost blue hue under the camera flashes. "I’m fine," you replied, smiling softly. "You don’t have to worry so much."

Pau let out a quiet laugh, a sound that sent warmth curling through your chest. "I can’t help it."

The way he looked at you was impossible to ignore. His gaze lingered, filled with such open admiration that it left you feeling both flustered and cherished. As you walked along the carpeted entrance, he barely noticed the cameras trained on him or the murmurs from the press.

All of his attention was centered solely on you.

When you stumbled slightly on a step, thrown off by the overwhelming lights and noise, Pau reacted instantly, his hand steadying your waist with instinctive care.

"You’ve got me," he said softly, flashing you that boyish grin that made your heart skip a beat.

His words weren’t loud enough for anyone else to hear, but the way his teammates, who were already socializing at the end of the carpet, shot each other looks said otherwise. They noticed everything.

The pair of you finally reached the event entrance, where a small gathering of Pau’s teammates stood off to the side. Their suits were sleek, their energy relaxed, but when Pau entered the space with you at his side, every single one of them fell silent for a beat.

Then came the looks; the wide eyes, the sly smiles, the unmistakable amusement.

Pau ignored them, choosing instead to lean in close to you again as he murmured, "Do you want to head inside, or should we stop for a few more photos?"

His tone was so gentle, so patient. You knew he wouldn’t push you into anything, and that only made you admire him more.

"Let’s go inside," you said softly, and Pau nodded immediately.

"Of course."

As the two of you passed the group of teammates, someone, likely one of the defenders, murmured loud enough for Pau to hear, "Look at him, acting all in love."

Pau shot them a pointed look over his shoulder, though there was no real annoyance behind it. He was used to their teasing. But as you glanced up at him, you couldn’t help but notice how unbothered he looked by their words.

If anything, the slight upward tilt of his lips told you he was proud. Proud to be here with you, proud to have you on his arm.

And the truth was, you felt it too.

The moment the two of you stepped inside the venue, the noise outside faded into a comfortable hum, leaving the warm, golden lights of the room to bathe everything in a soft glow. Pau finally stopped walking, turning to face you as he lifted your joined hands to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"You’re doing perfectly," he said quietly, his gaze locking onto yours with a depth that made your breath catch. "Thank you for coming with me tonight."

You blinked up at him, momentarily stunned at how sincere he sounded, as though you’d just done him the greatest favor in the world.

"Of course," you replied softly. "I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

Pau smiled then, really smiled, and for a moment, it was just the two of you; standing in a crowded room and yet somehow existing in your own little world.

The night was just beginning, and you could already feel it. Pau wasn’t just proud to have you here, he was in awe of you.

And the way he looked at you, as though you were the most precious thing in his life, made you feel as though the world had stopped spinning. If only for a moment.

Later, as Pau guided you down the carpet and into the entrance hall of the gala, the energy around you both felt electric; like everyone in the room could sense something, but no one dared say it out loud.

His grip on your hand was steady, a silent reassurance you didn’t know you needed. Fingers laced securely with yours as if to silently tell the world, this is her. She’s with me.

If the photographers outside had been relentless, the attention inside was only slightly more subdued. Golden lights sparkled from the chandeliers above, the low hum of voices mixing with the faint clink of champagne glasses.

Everywhere you looked, there were athletes, managers, and club executives scattered across the sprawling room. Yet, Pau’s attention stayed fixed on you.

"You okay?" he murmured, leaning down so you could hear him over the low hum of conversations.

You nodded, letting a soft smile pull at your lips. "You’re staring again, Pau."

"Can’t help it," he replied effortlessly, his voice soft but firm.

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called out, slicing through the moment like a knife.

"Cubarsi! Took you long enough!"

You both turned to see a small group of Pau’s teammates nearby, clearly having spotted him the moment he entered the room. They were gathered by one of the cocktail tables, grinning like they were about to make the most of the situation.

Pau sighed lightly but didn’t look away from you. "Here we go," he said under his breath, his tone affectionate but exasperated.

He finally turned toward them, and as the two of you walked over, you felt a subtle shift in the air; a mix of curiosity and amusement radiating off the group.

"That’s why he was late," one of them muttered loud enough for you to hear, smirking as their eyes flickered to you.

"Didn’t think Pau would actually show up with someone," another chimed in, barely hiding the grin spreading across his face. "And here he is, making the rest of us look bad."

Pau gave them a pointed look, still holding your hand. "Don’t start."

"Oh, we’re starting," one of them shot back, clearly unable to resist. Then he turned toward you, his grin turning charming as he asked, "And who do we have to thank for getting Pau to finally show some personality?"

You didn’t miss the way Pau’s grip tightened slightly, subtle, but enough to remind you of his presence. Before you could answer, Pau beat you to it.

"She doesn’t need to answer that," he said insipidly, though the smile tugging at his lips defied the edge to his tone. "You can just say thank you and move on."

The guys let out a chorus of mock oohs, clearly enjoying Pau’s rare show of protectiveness.

"Relax, Cubarsi," one of them said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "We’re just saying. You bring someone like her to a club event, and what do you expect us to do? Pretend we’re not impressed?"

Pau shot him a sharp look, his hand never leaving yours as he turned back to you. His gaze softened immediately, a stark contrast to the deadpan he’d reserved for his teammates. "Ignore them," he said quietly, just for you. "They don’t know how to act."

"I heard that," one of the guys said, but his teasing tone made it clear he wasn’t offended. "Come on, man. You can’t blame us for being curious. Who is she?"

Pau hesitated for half a second, just long enough for his teammates to notice, which only made their grins widen.

"Oh, he’s done for," one of them laughed, nudging another’s shoulder. "Look at him."

"Pau’s not even denying it," someone else added, clearly entertained.

You turned to look at Pau, arching a brow in amusement. "They’re not going to stop, are they?"

"No," he admitted softly, a touch of exasperation in his voice. But then, as if to shut them out entirely, he shifted his focus back to you, his thumb brushing against your hand absentmindedly. "But they’re not important."

Pau’s eyes lingered on you, his expression softening as if seeing you for the first time. You felt heat creep up your cheeks under the weight of his stare. It was impossible to ignore, how utterly focused he was, like you were the only person in the room.

Unfortunately for Pau, his teammates were still watching.

"Oh, he's down bad," one of them teased. His teammates erupted with laughter, their teasing relentless but harmless.

"Could you be more obvious?" another chimed in.

Pau finally shot them a look over his shoulder, one that managed to quiet the group for a moment. "You all done?"

"Not even close," one of them muttered with a smirk. "But we’ll give you a break, for now."

Before they could start up again, Pau turned back to you, his expression softening in an instant. The sudden shift made your heart stutter; it was like a light only you got to see.

"I told you," he said, his voice low and steady, "they’re children."

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. "They’re not so bad."

"You’re being too nice," Pau said, a teasing glint in his eyes. Then, leaning closer so his words were just for you, he added, "They’re lucky you’re here to keep me from walking out."

"Oh, so I’m your saving grace now?" you teased back, though the way his words sent warmth spreading through you made it hard to keep a straight face.

"Always," Pau replied simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And before you could come up with a response, one of the guys let out a loud groan from behind him.

"Seriously, Cubarsi, stop looking at her like that. You’re embarrassing the rest of us."

Pau didn’t even glance their way. His gaze held yours like you were the only one in the room, his thumb brushing over your hand one more time. "Let them be embarrassed," he murmured. "I’m not stopping."

You stared at him, caught completely off guard by how serious he was, how unapologetically in love he looked. Your heart hammered in your chest, but before you could process it, Pau gave your hand a light squeeze and leaned down once more.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said softly, as if the rest of the world had completely melted away.

The room around you felt distant; the lights, the noise, the teasing voices in the background. None of it mattered. Not when Pau was looking at you like this.

The teasing had dulled down a little after Pau’s teammates were finally distracted by other conversations, and for once, the two of you were left to yourselves. You stood beside him, your hand still in his as the evening carried on.

The gala had a certain charm to it, a mix of elegance and chaos that only big events like this could pull off. But truthfully, you didn’t care about any of it.

All you could feel was him.

The way Pau stood so close, like even the thought of space between you was unbearable. The subtle brush of his thumb against your knuckles. The way his eyes, soft and unwavering, would find yours every few minutes, as though he just couldn’t help himself.

You could feel the weight of people’s gazes. Every once in a while, someone would shoot you both a curious look or whisper something to the person next to them, but none of it mattered when Pau turned to you, his voice soft.

"You’re okay, right?"

His quiet concern made you smile. "You’ve asked me that three times now."

"Because I want to be sure." He squeezed your hand lightly, his expression warm. "You’re handling all this too well. If it were me, I’d want to disappear after five minutes."

You bit back a grin, tilting your head up at him. "And yet here you are, sticking it out for me."

Pau smiled, that kind that turned his soft features into something bright and breathtaking. "Of course. It’s you."

It was a simple phrase, barely more than a whisper, but the way he said it made your chest tighten. It’s you. Like the answer to every question in the world was standing right in front of him.

Before you could respond, a new wave of guests poured into the hall, forcing you and Pau to shift off to the side. The corner of the room was quieter, a little more private, away from the endless hum of conversations. Pau took the opportunity to guide you over, his hand firm against the small of your back.

The moment you stopped, he turned to face you fully, still holding onto your hand. For a moment, neither of you said anything. It was just quiet between you; comfortable, grounding, as if the rest of the world had gone still.

"You’re doing that thing again," you said softly, breaking the silence.

"What thing?" Pau’s voice was low, teasing, but there was something else in it, something heavier.

"Staring," you replied, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. "Like I’m the only person here."

"Because you are," he said, his words coming out effortlessly, like he didn’t even need to think about them.

Your heart stuttered. The weight of his gaze was impossible to ignore; soft, steady, and so full of something you didn’t dare name out loud.

He was looking at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky, like he couldn’t believe you were real. And the way it made you feel, light, dizzy and almost untethered, was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

"You’re ridiculous," you murmured, shaking your head.

Pau only smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there for half a second, brushing against your skin so lightly it made your breath catch.

"You’re beautiful," he said softly, like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud.

"Pau-"

"Just let me say it," he cut in gently, his thumb grazing your cheek. "You have no idea how lucky I feel right now."

For a moment, you were frozen in place, caught under the weight of his words. How was it possible for someone to look at you like this? To see you, really see you, and make you feel like the most extraordinary person in the room?

Pau tilted his head slightly, his gaze dipping down to your lips for the briefest second before meeting your eyes again. The subtle shift sent warmth rushing to your cheeks, and suddenly, the air between you felt heavier.

"Someone might see," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smiled faintly, his hand still cupping your cheek. "Let them see. I don’t care."

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in. It was gentle at first, tentative, as though he was waiting for you to stop him, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your eyes fluttered closed, and in the next breath, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft, slow. Like he had all the time in the world to love you, and he wasn’t about to rush it. The noise of the gala seemed to fade away entirely, the weight of Pau’s touch anchoring you in place. One of his hands stayed against your cheek while the other slid to your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

It was impossible to think about anything else. About the event, the people, the cameras waiting just outside the doors, when he kissed you like this. Like you were the only thing that mattered.

After a moment, Pau pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. Neither of you said anything at first. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was soft, filled with something neither of you could put into words.

Finally, Pau opened his eyes, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. "I’ve wanted to do that all night."

You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to collect yourself. "You’re lucky no one saw."

"I wouldn’t care if they did," he replied easily, brushing his thumb over your cheek one last time before letting his hand drop. "They’ll know soon enough."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but before you could respond, you both heard a faint, teasing voice from a few feet away.

"Did we interrupt something?"

You froze instinctively, whipping your head around to see two of Pau’s teammates watching the two of you with matching smirks.

Pau straightened slightly, his expression shifting into something closer to exasperation. "You two again? Don’t you have anything better to do?"

"Not when you’re putting on a show," one of them shot back, clearly enjoying himself. "Seriously, though, if you’re gonna sneak off to the corner for a moment, maybe don’t pick the one spot where everyone can see you."

Heat rushed to your face, but before you could get embarrassed, he squeezed your hand lightly, a small but deliberate reminder he was there. He shot his teammates a look that was more annoyed than anything else.

"Maybe mind your own business next time," he said.

One of the guys grinned, clearly unfazed. "Relax, Cubarsi. We’re just happy for you. You’ve been acting like a lovesick puppy all night, it’s about time you did something about it."

Pau ignored them, turning his attention back to you. His expression softened immediately, like his teammates didn’t even exist. "Come on," he murmured, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "Let’s get out of here for a minute."

You let him pull you away, barely registering the quiet laughter of his teammates behind you. His fingers stayed intertwined with yours, grounding you like a quiet promise as he guided you toward a quieter part of the gala, where the noise dulled to a low hum.

"Are they always like that?" you asked softly, though you couldn’t help but smile.

"Unfortunately," Pau replied, shaking his head. "But it doesn’t matter. They’ll get over it."

He stopped walking once you were both out of sight, turning back to you with that same soft, steady look in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, your heart still racing from everything that had just happened. "More than okay."

Pau smiled faintly, his fingers brushing against yours once more. "Good. Because I don’t plan on letting go of you anytime soon."

You felt warmth bloom in your chest at his words, and as Pau pulled you just a little closer, you realized you didn’t want him to, either.

The night stretched on, but you hardly noticed. The gala was alive with energy, music, laughter and the hum of conversations all around.

But for you, the only person in the room was Pau.

After that kiss, he hadn’t strayed from your side. His hand remained intertwined with yours, his thumb tracing slow, comforting circles on your skin.

The movement was casual, like second nature, but the weight of it, the unspoken tenderness, was impossible to ignore. It made your heart flutter each time you caught it.

Pau couldn’t stop looking at you either. Every glance was drenched with admiration, like he couldn’t believe you were real, standing beside him, shining under the soft lights of the venue.

You noticed it every time someone greeted him. He would exchange polite words with a teammate, a coach, or a sponsor, but his eyes always drifted back to you. Like no one else mattered.

You were standing near one of the grand tables, talking with a few people Pau seemed to know. He was keeping the conversation light, mostly for your sake, his hand never leaving yours. You were mid laugh when you caught something, or rather someone, out of the corner of your eye.

It was a man across the room, tall and well dressed, his gaze unmistakably lingering on you.

You thought nothing of it at first. You were used to people glancing around at these events, sizing up everyone in the room. But this man wasn’t looking at the crowd, he was looking directly at you, holding the stare for just a little too long. You shifted on your heels, feeling slightly uncomfortable, and tightened your hold on Pau’s hand without realizing it.

Pau noticed instantly. His smile faltered, his head turning subtly in the direction you were looking. His gaze darkened the moment he spotted the stranger, sharp and unmistakable.

The warmth of his hand in yours was suddenly firmer, protective. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to, but the message was clear. You’re with me.

"Pau," you murmured softly, as if to bring him back to the moment.

His eyes flickered to you, instantly softening. The frustration there melted the moment he met your gaze. "Sorry," he muttered, forcing a small smile as if he’d been caught. "I just-"

"You don’t need to explain," you teased gently, though your voice was laced with fondness.

"Still," Pau added, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at you, a mischievous spark in his eye, "if he keeps staring at you like that, I’m not responsible for what happens."

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please. You’re not intimidating anyone, Pau."

"Are you sure about that?" he challenged, his voice dipping just enough to make your heart race.

The moment hung between you, electric and full of something unspoken. And then, Pau tugged you gently toward him, forcing you to tilt your head up as he leaned down closer.

"You look too beautiful tonight," he said. His words were meant for you alone, low and warm like a secret shared in the dark. "That’s the problem."

You felt your cheeks flush at the way he said it; like he was confessing something sacred, something he’d been holding onto for hours. You couldn’t look away from him.

"And what would you like me to do about that, hm?" you teased, trying to steady your voice despite the butterflies in your chest.

"Stay close to me," Pau murmured, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"You’re lucky I like you, Cubarsi," you said, though your voice had softened.

"Like me?" he echoed, pretending to be offended. "I think I deserve a bit more credit than that."

Before you could protest, Pau dipped down and pressed a kiss to your forehead; sweet, lingering, and painfully soft. It wasn’t showy or loud, but it sent a message loud and clear. You were his, and he wasn’t letting anyone forget it.

When you pulled back to look at him, you could see it again, the look of awe in his eyes. Like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

"I think you enjoy showing off," you teased lightly, but the warmth in your voice betrayed how much you adored him for it.

"Only when it comes to you," Pau replied smoothly, grinning as his hand lifted to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

Across the room, a few of Pau’s teammates had clearly noticed the little display. You could hear their teasing whistles and calls from a distance, but Pau didn’t care. He stayed close to you, smiling like the happiest man alive.

"Looks like they’re having fun," you said, nodding subtly toward them.

"Let them," Pau replied with a small shrug. "They’ll get over it."

You laughed at his nonchalance, but before you could say anything else, Pau leaned in again, just close enough that his voice was a soft murmur.

"Let’s get out of here soon," he suggested. "I’d rather spend the rest of the night with just you."

The way he said it made your heart flip. "And where would we go?" you asked, biting back a smile.

"Anywhere you want," he replied, his gaze steady and full of warmth. "As long as I’m with you."

You couldn’t fight the grin that broke across your face. "You really don’t let up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to you," Pau answered without missing a beat.

And just like that, with his hand still holding yours and his eyes never straying far from your face, the rest of the world melted away. It didn’t matter where you were, award show, gala, or anywhere else, as long as Pau was beside you.

For him, and for you, there was no better place to be.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

A Daughter's Plan

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): Pure Fluff. Single Dad. Girl Dad energy. Terry's POV. Low angst.

Summary: Terry Richmond is a lonely single dad caring for his ten-year-old daughter, Pilar. When Pilar's mother re-marries and moves overseas to start a new job and family, the pre-teen thinks her dad needs to find someone for himself, too. Unbeknownst to Terry, his clever daughter has her sights set on the new neighbor, Allegra, who might be the perfect match.

Word count: 7,481

"Isn't she pretty

Truly the angel's best

Boy, I'm so happy

We have been heaven blessed"

Stevie Wonder—"Isn't She Lovely?"

Terry Richmond heard the familiar rolling sound of his ten-year-old daughter's skateboard crossing over into the cul-de-sac of their gated townhome neighborhood. He could always pick out the unique sound of her board's ka-kump, ka-kump, ka-kump rhythm compared to her school buddies as they raced each other home.

Pilar always did a few kick flip tricks by Mr. Rhea's property before she jumped the curb and circled past a speed bump near Mrs. Purdue's home. While hand sanding a rocking chair, that he made for his pregnant sister, Terry paused.

He didn't hear Pilar's skateboard anymore.

Her crew of three friends whizzed past his open garage door toward their homes, but Terry didn't see his only child roll up to greet him with her angelic smile and chaotic energy. He lifted his protective goggles and wiped his hands on his work apron. Still no sign of her.

He strode out of the garage to take a peek and he noticed her lingering by their mailbox, still wearing her protective helmet and staring across the wide street. A furniture van blocked the driveway of the townhome facing across their property. A Black woman in her late twenties or early thirties directed two burly movers to carry a brand new sofa covered in plastic through her front door. The cute bob and conservative pastel colors of her sweater and pencil skirt had him guessing she was a teacher, or worked in corporate.

He glanced at Pilar who kept her dark brown eyes laser-focused on the recent addition to their quiet corner of the world. She chewed on her lip and rolled her board back and forth with her left foot. The new neighbor bought the house of Pilar's best friend since kindergarten. Little Leslie Gardner left Ville Broussard, Louisiana a year ago, and her old house stood empty for nine months until the For Sale sign finally came down three months ago. Terry knew that Mr. Gardner put a pretty penny into renovating the place before putting it on the market, and the expense of the renovation drove the price up.

The woman across the street probably spent over two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the two-bedroom property. Pilar pretended to dig in the mailbox, knowing he had already gotten the mail, and stared at the woman. From that distance, he couldn't tell if Pilar was still upset about Leslie moving or if she was upset that a stranger was moving into her bestie's old home.

"Pilar," he called out.

His daughter looked his way, and so did the woman across the street.

Whoa.

Terry never got a full view of the neighbor before. He always caught sideways glances or the back of her head. But the full frontal turned out to be something else. She looked like a gorgeous Black Barbie doll. He peeped her figure a few days ago when she first showed up in form-fitting pale green sweatpants and a matching hoodie. The fall weather brought out the layers, but she must've ignored the forecast because she walked around double-cheeked up in sportswear not designed for cooler temperatures.

Miss Neighbor turned her attention back to the interior of her home and Pilar ambled over, carrying her skateboard. She pulled off her skateboard helmet.

"Hey munchkin," he said, ruffling her thick two-toned curls pulled back with a light blue scrunchie. From the roots to just above the tips, Pilar's hair was dark brown. The ends had turned their annual summer-in-the-sun reddish brown that matched her skin tone. She looked exactly like his oldest sister Brianna and had her spirited personality, too.

Pilar's down-turned lips reflected a little 'tude.

"I don't see any kids," Pilar said.

She sounded bummed.

"Checking out the neighbor, huh?"

"She's pretty. Do you think she's pretty, Dad?"

"She is very attractive."

"Very?" Pilar said with a smug grin.

"Don't read anything into that."

"We should go say hi."

"She's busy with furniture. Let her get settled in."

He guided Pilar into their home through the garage, and she dumped her board and helmet by the dinette table. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink and he pulled a PB&J sandwich on a plate and a Capri Sun from the fridge, placing them on the table for her after-school snack.

The landline rang, and he answered it.

"Hi Terry, is Pilar in yet?"

His ex wife's voice sounded perky and happy.

"Yeah, hold on.'"

He carried the cordless from the living room into the kitchen and handed it to Pilar.

"It's your mom."

Pilar's face brightened, and she chatted away on the overseas call. Terry returned to the garage and began sanding the armrest of the rocking chair. He swept sawdust on the ground and closed the garage door after he finished.

Back in the kitchen, he rinsed his hands. An uneaten sandwich remained on the kitchen table without Pilar in sight. He looked in their living room and didn't find her there.

"Pilar?"

Terry climbed the stairs to the second floor and found his daughter weeping on her bed, her face buried in a yellow Big Bird pillow.

"What's wrong?"

He sat his big body on her twin bed, and she shook her head on the pillow. He laid a hand on her back.

"Babygirl, what is it?"

"Mom isn't coming back for Christmas. She eloped with that man in Italy and they plan on flying me out there for a boat cruise instead of coming to the lake like she promised. They'll have a big party in place of a wedding in Rome next July."

Pilar never addressed her new step-father by his name, Bryson. It was always "that man" despite her mother dating him for two years. Bryson was east coast respectability. A Black Archon Boulé with a prestigious prep school background and long family money. The complete opposite of Terry's country boy/military roots. He drove a 2015 F-250 truck and drank beer. Bryson drove a 2025 Jaguar and sipped Chardonnay.

Yolanda leveled up to the Black bougie life she always wanted. Terry knew in his heart that Yolanda would never be happy building a life with him. They were both twenty and naïve, getting married the moment they found out Pilar was conceived. He quit college and joined the marines to support them. Yolanda worked as a flight attendant after their daughter was born, so Terry stayed the primary caretaker, training other marines and not deploying out of the country.

Yolanda wanted more out of life than he could provide financially and asked for a divorce when Pilar turned six. Both their families had been shocked when she granted Terry primary custody of their only child. Yolanda wanted to travel the world and her career let her do that. She eventually settled in Atlanta, working for Delta. Pilar adjusted to being shuttled back and forth for holidays and summers.

Then Bryson popped up, freeing Yolanda from the working class. He was older, established, and child-free. Also very generous with his money.

Terry had made arrangements to send Pilar abroad for a lavish wedding the following summer as her mother's flower girl. She and Bryson had planned to spend the Christmas holiday with the entire Richmond family so that they could all meet the new man who would be connected to them through Pilar. Christmas was going to be the rare treat of being with both her parents for a holiday. The Richmond clan had reserved fancy cabins by a lake for a week and planned on turning it into a family reunion of sorts. Yolanda offered to arrange her Christmas plans for the reunion so Pilar wouldn't miss out on seeing all of her cousins from all over the states. Now she eloped and switched up on their child three months in advance.

Terry kept his anger in check in front of Pilar. He'd call Yolanda when his daughter was back in school and give her a smooth cuss out. He offered to switch Thanksgiving for Christmas because it was important for Pilar to experience a big reunion for the first time on his side of the family.

Pilar turned her head from the pillow. Big, wet eyes stared at him. Her bottom lip trembled and his heart squeezed in his chest. His daughter was the light of his life. Watching her expectations crumble hurt his soul. Pilar came first before anything, and that was the difference between him and Yolanda. Their daughter became a secondary consideration with her. His ex wasn't a terrible person. He loved her once a long time ago. She was ambitious, energetic, pretty, and gave him a perfect child. Yolanda just wasn't cut out to be a mother saddled with the responsibility of putting her daughter's emotional needs first. To Yolanda, whisking Pilar off to Rome probably sounded like giving her child the best in life. Bryson was an American Express Exec for their Italian branch and lived in a lavish home with staff and chauffeurs. Yolanda shopped, dined, and played tennis every day in luxury. She wanted Pilar to experience that lifestyle. In his own way, Terry wanted their daughter to have that chance, too. But without pulling the rug from under Pilar. She set her heart on having them all together for once since their divorce.

"Tell you what…I'll talk to her and try to convince them to come for Christmas."

"She said the cruise is their early honeymoon and they want me to go so we can bond as a new family. I already have a family!"

Pilar buried her face in his chest, and he stroked her hair.

"How about we go to Cholly's Burgers for dinner and you can mope over a double cheeseburger and a big chocolate malt?"

Pilar sniffled and wiped her nose.

"Okay, I'll go…but I can't guarantee that I'll feel better."

"Deal," he said.

He left her alone in her room and went down to the kitchen and put her sandwich and juice away. Checking emails on his smartphone, he spent the next couple of hours watching TV and then ironed Pilar's clothes for school. He showered and called his daughter down for their dinner trip. Outside, their new neighbor carried some things from her cream-colored Mercedes S-Class in the driveway.

"Excuse me," the woman called as Pilar jumped into his truck's passenger side.

"Yeah?" he called back.

"Hi, I'm Allegra…new neighbor…um, can you tell me what day the trash and recycling go out?"

"Thursdays!" Pilar called out.

His daughter had her head stuck out of the window with a big grin on her face.

"Yeah, Thursdays. They normally roll through around eleven a.m.," he said.

"Great, thanks."

"I'm Terry, and this is my daughter, Pilar—"

"Are you married? Have kids?" Pilar asked.

Allegra smiled politely, holding a small box. Her eyes bounced from Pilar's to his, then back to Pilar.

"I'm not married. No kids."

Pilar whipped her head around to look at Terry. He ignored her.

"Have a good evening," he said.

He climbed into his truck and started it up.

"You're really not good at finding a date, Dad."

"What are you talking about, little girl?"

He backed out of their driveway and headed toward the main road that led to the highway.

"A single, beautiful woman with a fancy car asked you about trash day. She could've called her realtor or looked it up online."

"We were right there in front of her. It's quicker to ask a neighbor. That woman is not looking to date people she lives around. Besides, she saw me with you, so she'll think I'm married with a family already."

"She'll know pretty soon that it's just you and me."

"I don't think most upwardly mobile Black women are interested in men that already have children nowadays."

It took them twenty minutes to arrive at the burger joint, and Pilar's mood lifted considerably. They talked about her upcoming soccer game and she slurped down her chocolate malt content with life once again.

Back home, he washed and braided her hair in two cornrows, tying it down with a black satin hair scarf so he wouldn't have to do her hair in the morning. Their evening bedtime routine went off without a hitch and he allowed her to watch a cartoon before she went to sleep in her room.

The next couple of weeks were normal in the Richmond household. He'd ride his bike in the morning to take Pilar to school, following behind her as she skateboarded ahead of him with her classmates. Later, he'd ride his bike over to check on the restaurant he invested in. He spent a few days with his financial advisor and moved some money around that he received from a police settlement. His current financial status allowed him to enjoy not having the worries of steady employment until he found something he wanted to do. He put funds in stocks that did well, paid off the townhouse, and Yolanda's monthly child support covered the rest for Pilar. His woodworking kept him busy during the afternoon while Pilar was in school. But once she was home, he went straight into daddy mode. Soccer Dad duty, carpooling to games, checking homework, cooking and cleaning, fixing things at his parent's house and running their errands…they all filled his time.

Once a week he went bowling with friends and drank at bars, chasing a little tail, but not really trying to catch much. His three older sisters rotated keeping Pilar with their kids so he could have some adult time. The last few "dates" he had were with single moms who complained about their ex-husbands or ex boyfriends. He thought one woman named Michaela would be a long-term situation, but she reconciled with her boyfriend and moved to Dallas.

After a Saturday soccer practice, Pilar came to him and asked if she could bake some cookies for a school party. It was nearing Halloween. He pulled out some easy to bake pre-made Tollhouse cookie dough from the freezer. All Pilar had to do was place the small chocolate chip cookie dough squares onto a baking sheet and use the stove timer to keep them from burning.

He kicked up his feet to watch the news and when the stove buzzer went off, he trotted into the kitchen to make sure Pilar didn't burn herself by taking them out of the oven with the oven mits. She only baked a dozen.

"Shouldn't you bake more for your class?" he asked.

"It's a potluck, so people are just bringing whatever to share."

After they cooled, she used a spatula to scoop them onto a decorative plate of pumpkins and fall leaves. He covered them with plastic wrap.

"Maybe you should put them in some Tupperware," he suggested.

"No, this is good."

He left her to handle her party business.

Terry didn't think anything about the cookies until three days later when Allegra showed up at his open garage door. His electric sander and earplugs prevented him from hearing her approach. He turned toward the street and almost jumped, not expecting someone to be standing near his truck watching him. Shutting off the sander, he pulled out the earplugs and stared at her with his goggles on.

"Sorry to startle you…Terry…right?"

He nodded.

"I came over to bring you back your cookie plate. That was such a thoughtful housewarming gift. I ate every single chocolate chip cookie. Perfectly gooey in the center the way I like! The note you wrote was really sweet, too. Thank you so much."

"I'm sorry?" he said in confusion.

Terry pushed up his goggles. Allegra handed him the plate that wasn't empty. On it were slices of banana bread. He looked at the baked goods, then back at her.

"To show my appreciation for the cookies…I just made it last night. I didn't put nuts in it because I don't know if anyone in your family is allergic to nuts."

"No, we aren't."

"I'll remember that."

Allegra's pretty eyelashes curled over naturally, and her lips had just enough red lipstick to give her plump lips a rosy tint. She was dream girl material, and the cut and style of her bob reminded him of something the old Black starlets wore in the sixties, but it looked contemporary too with a soft flip on the ends. Terry became lost in her face and she seemed equally lost in his, her gaze never leaving his eyes. That was one of the physical traits that women always said they loved about him. The green, lion-like eyes. She looked up at him and their size difference was quite obvious. She was petite-chic, the cut and color of her clothes making her seem taller far away. Allegra was shorter than his ex wife. He felt like a big giant standing next to her. She smelled so good. Her perfume hinted at jasmine in the summer.

"My daughter and I will enjoy this. Thanks for bringing it over with the plate," he said.

Allegra smiled and his chest caved in. Was it possible for her to be even more attractive with a smile on her face?

She glanced around his makeshift workshop.

"Woodworking? You do this for a living?" she asked.

He stepped aside to let her see the dining cabinet he built for another neighbor.

"Actually, it's a hobby of mine."

"Hobby? This is true craftsmanship."

He touched the side of the cabinet.

"I learned it from my dad and kept at it in highschool."

"If I paid you, could you make me a couple of custom bookshelves?"

"What type of wood?"

"Not too expensive."

"I can make some maple wood shelves and stain them to look expensive.'

"I like your way of thinking. When I get the time, I'll measure my walls and let you know what I need."

"Still settling in?"

"My god, I haven't unpacked all of my boxes. I'm still eating takeout because I dread unpacking everything in my kitchen. My new job keeps me busy and I'm usually too tired by the end of the day. I should be unpacking right now, but I have to leave for an event soon."

She sighed and pushed back a flipped curl on her forehead.

"I better let you get back to work. Again…thank you for the sweet welcoming gesture."

Allegra left him alone in the garage and he watched her walk back across the street to her place. She had a little sway in her hips as she walked in her well-fitted navy blue dress pants and structured white button-down shirt. The light pink cardigan sweater tied around her shoulders was such a classy touch, along with her chunky blocked-heeled pumps.

He looked down at his dust-laden ripped jeans and brown work apron. Not too shabby, but he almost wanted to spruce up. He took the plate into the kitchen and checked the time. Pilar would be there in half an hour. He wanted to know what she wrote in that note to Allegra.

Running a hot shower, he cleaned his body and stared at his reflection in the mirror afterward. Time for a fresh line-up. His facial hair looked a little ungroomed. He took time to shave and then changed into better jeans and a fitted long sleeve shirt. He waited at the front door, peeking out of the screen.

Allegra stepped into her Mercedes wearing a pastel coral cocktail dress with an upswept hairdo, looking like Diahann Carroll with a smidgen of Grace Kelly. She drove off to wherever she needed to go and he imagined how breathtaking she'd look, stepping into a crowded room with all eyes on her beauty.

Ka-kump. Ka-kump. Ka-kump.

Pilar glided onto the sidewalk near their house and headed for the garage.

"I'm right here," he said.

She looked at him through the screen. He opened it and stepped outside. Folding his arms over his wide chest, he gave his daughter a questioning look.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked.

Her friends Caleb, Trudy, and Aisha waved at her and kick-pushed their skateboards toward their houses while yelling hello to him.

"You baked those cookies for Miss Allegra. Not a school party."

Pilar gave him a sheepish grin.

"What did you write in the note?"

"I just said something like…welcome to the neighborhood. Enjoy these homemade cookies. Then I put your name on it."

"Just my name?"

"Yes."

"She brought the plate back and made us some banana bread."

"Ooh!" Pilar said, rubbing her hands together. "My plan is set in motion."

"What plan?"

"Dad…c'mon. Miss Allegra is the best-looking woman around here. I think you should ask her out on a date."

"I don't need my ten-year-old setting us up."

Pilar put a hand on her hip.

"Well, Auntie Brianna and Auntie Sloane said she's gorgeous and they think you should get to know her. She might be your perfect fit."

"How would they know? They've never seen her."

"I snuck a picture of her on my phone and sent it to them."

"Why the sudden interest in getting me to date?"

Pilar's gaze dropped to the ground.

"No reason. She's new and you don't go out as much anymore."

"That's because I have to take care of you. You're my priority. Dating can always come later."

He stepped aside and let her come in with her skateboard.

"It was a nice thing you did…giving her the cookies," he said.

Pilar grinned.

Terry was an adept father and took pride in keeping a meticulous home, and his child put together well when she exited the front door. Two weeks before Thanksgiving, Pilar started coming home from school with wildly disheveled hair. Even if he put protective styles in with twists or high buns with little curls framing her face with cute tendrils, his daughter returned looking like her head went through a blender.

She'd claim it was the weather. Bad rainfall, or the wind messing it up, but for ten school days, she rolled back home with her hair every which-way, rubber bands busted, barrettes missing, and knocker ball hair bobbles vanished into thin air. She'd roll through, and each time, their neighbor Allegra would be outside collecting her mail. Pilar would wave and say "Hi!" really loud and Allegra responded in kind before stepping back into her house.

He assumed she wanted her hair out, craving to wear hairstyles like her older girl cousins. Rather than make a big deal about it, he started putting a headband on her.

One Saturday afternoon, Pilar played outside on the curved part of the cul-de-sac with her friends, kicking a soccer ball into Caleb's two netted goal posts. A typical loud day of children freely running around screaming and playing in the street. Pilar rocked a bushy 'fro and had the loudest voice out of the bunch.

He kept an eye out for them while watching a football game by leaving his livingroom shades open. Snacking on some chips, he turned his head to check on the action outside.

He quickly ducked his head down low.

Allegra played outside with the children.

Terry hid behind the couch and secretly watched Allegra interact with the neighborhood kids doing soccer ball tricks with her knees and sneaker'd feet. She kicked the ball to Pilar and his daughter charged her, heading for a goal post. Allegra wasn't shy about her defensive moves and easily swiped the ball away from his daughter, kicking it with a curved arc into the opposite goal post. All the children squealed in delight and high-fived her. She stepped aside to let the children continue their boisterous match up.

Terry's back ached from being hunched over spying. Pilar spoke to Allegra for a long time, ignoring her friends, and her bouncy energy kept a smile on the woman's face. Allegra glanced toward his open window and Terry dropped to the floor, hiding his body.

He waited five minutes.

"Why are you on the floor, Daddy?"

Pilar stood above him with a quizzical expression. She'd come in the house through the garage door.

"Stretching my back out," he said.

"But you're on your stomach."

"Can I help you with something?" he said, standing up.

Outside, Allegra stood watching him through the window.

"I asked Miss Allegra how she kept her hair so pretty and she told me her hair care routine. I'm coming to get a pen and paper for her to write it down so you can take care of my hair."

"What? I know how to take care of your hair! I've been doing it since you were born."

Pilar grabbed a Bic pen and tore a piece off some junk mail envelope sitting on the coffee table.

"Daddy, please. Work with me here. I've been looking raggedy for two weeks to get her attention. She finally asked about my curls and I asked about her hair."

Pilar dashed out the front door before he could stop her. She handed Allegra the pen and paper. Terry became flustered. His daughter pretended to be unkempt to fool a grown woman into having sympathy for him.

Allegra scribbled on the paper outside and he felt exposed for something that wasn't true. Pilar ran back into the house through the front door and handed him the half envelope. Most of what Allegra listed, Terry already had in his bathroom for his daughter.

However…she wrote her phone number down, too.

"Boo-ya!" Pilar said, flinging her fingers open like an explosion going off.

"Come into the kitchen with me," he said.

Pilar followed him.

"Sit," he commanded.

He stuffed the half envelope in his back pocket.

"Pilar…babygirl…I know you mean well, but please…stop the antics."

"But Daddy—"

"I mean it."

His voice went down an octave, his baritone sounding harsh. Pilar ran from the kitchen table and stomped loudly up the stairs. He closed his eyes in frustration and waited fifteen minutes before going upstairs.

Pilar cried on her bed. Her loud bawling startled him.

"Munchkin…I'm not mad…I just…you don't have to do this."

"I do!" she wailed.

He sat in his usual spot and let her get her emotions out. She eventually calmed down to gaspy shudders and sad moans of pain. He brushed her hair back, and she threw her arms around his neck.

"I don't want you being alone. Mom married somebody and now she gets to be happy. I want you to be happy, too, Daddy."

"Munchkin, I am happy. I have you…grampy and grandma, your aunts, my friends—"

She shook her head against his neck.

"It's not the same as having someone for yourself. I'll grow up and go to college and you'll be here by yourself. Everyone in our family has someone. Grampy has Grandma, Auntie Brianna has Uncle Mitch…Auntie Sloane has Uncle Kenny. Even Auntie Monique has her boyfriend Gordon. I'm scared for you, Daddy. You're such a good, kind person and you deserve what Mommy has."

Pilar burst into more tears and his eyes grew blurry. He wiped them and pulled back from his daughter.

"It's not your responsibility to worry about me. My job is to worry about you, hear me?"

Pilar kept crying. Her nose ran, but she nodded at his words.

"When the time comes for me to find my special someone…it'll happen. Naturally. Understand?"

"Y-Y-Yessss," she blubbered.

He kissed her forehead and used his thumbs to wipe away warm tears.

"Can I tell you something that will make you happy?"

"O-O-Okayyyy," she choked out.

"Your Mom and 'that man' agreed to change their plans back to coming out for Christmas. And, I don't have to trade Thanksgiving."

"For real?"

"For real. In fact, Bryson urged your mother to reconsider, and he rescheduled the cruise for next year. He's not so bad, huh?"

Pilar sniffled, and her swollen red eyes pained him.

"I guess not."

"Let's make a deal, okay? You don't worry about hooking me up and just enjoy being a little girl with a happy father."

"Are you happy?"

"I am. I have you and a very full life. Promise. Go wash your face and get back outside with your friends."

"Okay, Daddy."

She jumped off the bed and ran to the hall bathroom. He went to her bedroom window and peeked out from the blinds. Allegra went back into her home. He pulled the scrap of envelope from his back pocket and stared at her phone number.

Saturday afternoons were usually Terry and Pilar's time to decompress and watch movies together. Sometimes there was a slumber party with her cousins at their house or one of his sister's. But on this particular Saturday, it was football fever on the flatscreen TV with his buddies while Pilar was at her grandparents' house.

Terry had plenty of pizzas and beer, and his sound system blasted the play-by-play of the game. He enjoyed the company of his buddies, all Black men with families, and very little free time except for the small moments of respite at Terry's place. The Steelers beat the Commanders and the guys talked shit, then they played his AuxGod Hip Hop Edition game. He rapped his ass off while playing Nas's "One Mic" on his smartphone and got his friends hyped to share R&B music. They all howled when someone messed up playing the wrong songs based on cards they pulled, thinking they had the perfect jam. Good clean fun.

The afternoon wound down into late evening and he cleaned up pizza boxes and empty beer cans. His friends bumped fists and gave each other dap as they left out the front door. Rain started falling, and he noticed Allegra pulling into her driveway. The late hour had him guessing she had a night out again. Her job didn't keep her from a busy social life. He often caught sight of her coming and going on the weekends. One time, another car brought her home and stayed overnight in her driveway.

He waved his friends away and pulled out his cell to call his father.

"Hey Junior," his father said.

"Hey, Pops. How's it going over there?"

"Good. The girls are playing and your mama is letting them stay up late to watch some Godzilla movie on Amazon Prime."

"I wanted to say goodnight to Pilar."

"No problem, hold on…Pilar! Your Dad is on the phone!"

Terry waited for his daughter, and soon enough, her voice rang in his ear.

"Hey, Dad."

"Being good?"

"Of course. What time are you picking me up tomorrow?"

"After you get back from church."

"Aw man. You can't get me early, so I don't have to go?"

"I had to suffer through it. It's your turn now."

"But they take forever. Even God goes to sleep by the time that preacher gets done."

"Hey, don't blaspheme, and don't you two keep Grampy and Grandma up too late, okay?"

"We won't. Night, Dad!"

Terry swiped his smartphone and noticed Allegra's car lights were still on. She hadn't left her driveway. He guessed she was talking on her cell phone.

His house smelled of cigars, pepperoni, and Budweiser. He finished cleaning up and sprayed the dining room with air freshener. Rolling his neck muscles, he climbed up to his bedroom. His blinds were open, and he checked the street again.

Allegra stood near her car in the rain looking up at the sky. She stuck her tongue out, tasting the droplets, and spun around in a circle with her arms outstretched. He smiled. She looked like a big kid having fun.

The rain drenched her hair, and she swiped it back, her tresses turning into slick ringlets. The playfulness she exuded cracked something open inside of him. Maybe Pilar was right. Maybe he did want someone to share his life with. He and Allegra barely exchanged enough words in passing for him to sense that she would be open to going out for a coffee or dinner. She never got back to him about the bookshelves, and he never called her phone number to ask about the hair care products she suggested for Pilar.

His confidence in asking women out had waned that year. Each time he thought he might want to spend time with a woman, schedules didn't match up, or he didn't feel that pull to pursue a relationship. The spark wasn't there. Part of him was afraid to put his heart back out there. His ex, Yolanda, had been a heartbreak he finally let go of two years ago. It frightened him into not wanting to be vulnerable with another woman again. Romantic love was for the brave, and Terry was not feeling brave anymore.

But Allegra?

After shaking her arms, she finally went inside her house, not caring that her snazzy outfit was soaked clear through to her skin. He looked at his dresser. The envelope with her number sat next to his hairbrush.

He texted her number.

Hi, Allegra. This is your neighbor, Terry. I was going to pick up some lumber at Home Depot tomorrow and wanted to know if you were still interested in getting bookshelves made? No rush to answer. I'm always going there every other week. If you changed your mind, that's cool, too.

He sent it off, and seconds later, she rang him up.

"Hello?"

He sounded breathless.

"Hi…Terry? It's Allegra…from across the street. Got your message."

"Oh, great. Sorry for texting so late. I was about to turn in and wanted to ask you before I forgot and left tomorrow."

He winced. His words came out in a rush of nervous energy.

"I do want the bookshelves made. I've been so busy I just never got around to measuring anything. Could you come by tomorrow before you leave and take a look at my floor space? You'd have a better idea of measurements than I would."

Terry stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes turned into saucers.

"I can do that. I've got to pick up my daughter from church tomorrow at one. I can drop by with my digital tape measure before then and then go to Home Depot."

"Can I go with you? I'd like to see the wood you're considering besides the maple you told me about."

"Uh…sure."

"What time should I expect you over here?"

"Let's say ten?"

"Great, see ya then."

"Goodnight."

He hung up, stunned.

She wanted to go with him to the Depot?

"So, what do you think? Two shelves here and then two more in my office room?"

Allegra watched him make final calculations on his phone. He surveyed her living room set-up one more time to ensure efficient use of her space. They'd spent a good twenty minutes upstairs in her stylish office and he made a quick sketch on his notepad of the shelving unit he could make for her in there. She would pay for the wood and any extra supplies he needed, and he insisted on doing the work for free.

The layout in her house was roomy and leaned toward a mid-century modern styled interior. She liked rich and luxurious wood furniture with mustard yellow and avocado-colored accents. Her home fit her personal style the way he imagined it would. It had a timeless quality. He told her a little about the family that lived there before she bought the place, and the conversation meandered into her own hobbies of painting and gardening. She showed him her patio space in the back and he offered to build her plant containers to grow her favorite flowers. Those were easy to put together and would be cheaper than her buying them pre-made online.

He learned that she had been a highschool soccer star, and that talent landed her a full-ride scholarship to Brown University where she almost landed a spot on the Olympic team. But a skiing accident ruined her shot. She still liked to watch the game and play occasionally.

Allegra worked from home mostly as an In-House attorney for a legal firm with document heavy cases, thus the need for bookshelves to hold all her law books. She did contract reviews, legal research, and dealt with a lot of intellectual property research for her clients.

Terry listened to her talk about herself, and her warm personality gave him the courage to open up about himself. Of course, he bragged about Pilar, and on their way to Home Depot, he pointed out places of interest to her.

"I always wanted to live in a small town," she said. "I grew up in New England, but my grandparents were from here, so I had annual trips for holidays and always liked it. Now that I can work remotely from home, I put stakes in the ground and live here full time. Getting away from the east coast has been a relief. This place makes me happy."

"We love it here. Excellent schools, nice people who look out for each other."

"It's just you and Pilar?"

"Yep. My ex remarried and moved to Europe."

"Co-parenting overseas must be rough."

"Yolanda…my ex…she recently moved there. It's going to be a change for sure. I'm used to Pilar flying a quick hop to Atlanta. Now, she'll have partial summers there and I don't know if I can handle her flying so far away where I can't get to her fast, y'know?"

"I had to do it when I was young. My parents divorced when I was twelve. I hopped from Boston to England to stay with my dad and his new wife on my school breaks. My mother was a nervous wreck at first, but you adjust."

"I hope so. I try to be stoic for Pilar, but I know I'll be in shambles when she flies out there next year."

Allegra laughed and the sound of her voice so close comforted him.

"I'll help talk you down when those nerves kick up," she said.

They walked up and down aisles at the Home Depot, and since he was a regular, the workers there were quick to help him because he didn't waste time. Terry explained the different type of wood options and they compared prices. He did his best to keep costs down for her, and she went along with whatever he thought was best. She'd seen his work output and trusted his skills.

He loaded up the truck bed, and they swooped over to his grandparents' church to pick up Pilar. His daughter's eyes widened when she noticed Allegra sitting in the truck. She ran past Terry and chatted with Allegra. He soon introduced his parents to her, and they invited her to attend a church service in the future.

Pilar hopped in the seat behind Allegra, and he drove them back to their home.

"I'll unload this and start working on your shelving units tomorrow," he said.

"Great."

Pilar watched them interact. She wore the goofiest grin on her face.

Allegra took off across the street and he watched her leave along with Pilar. When she was outside of earshot, Pilar grabbed his arm.

"You hung out with her?" she enthused.

"We talked about her bookshelves."

"So you went inside her house and spent time with her, right?"

"I did."

"Isn't she cool? She plays soccer, and she likes monster movies…"

Pilar stopped gushing about Allegra.

"I forgot. You told me not to interfere."

"I might've been wrong about that," he said.

Pilar's face lit up.

"Oh, yeah?"

"I like her. She's really nice and smart."

"My work here is done," Pilar said.

She skipped into the house, and he unloaded the truck.

Making bookshelves and planter boxes was the beginning.

Next came inviting Allegra over for football game gatherings with his family.

He introduced her to his oldest sister who gave birth to a baby boy, her first, and he watched Allegra nervously hold the newborn with trepidation in her eyes.

"You got it…just hold his head like this and keep him close to you…yeah, see, you got it," he said.

Terry's new nephew was a little chocolate drop.

"He's so tiny and adorable," Allegra said.

All of his sisters liked her, and his mother took the grand gesture of inviting her to join them on their family Christmas trip. Allegra looked genuinely receptive to the idea, but she already had plans to fly out to Boston to spend the winter holiday with her family. Terry felt bummed about it and realized that he was catching feelings for her.

He kept their budding friendship platonic, but by the following spring, it was clear to everyone around them that something was blooming past friendship. They hadn't been physical with each other yet, not even kissing. He liked the slow, easy pace. It gave him time to know her before jumping into anything serious, especially since he had Pilar to think of.

His daughter was crazy about Allegra.

He was too.

As time ticked on and it grew closer to the time that Pilar would have to fly overseas, his anxiety spiked. He was not planning on attending the celebration. His former sister-in-law, Zarah, was going to fly the long distance with Pilar to Rome.

The day his daughter was to leave, he paced in his living room, going over Pilar's packing list several times. Allegra hung out with him, reassuring him that all would be well. Zarah was on her way in a Lyft to pick up Pilar. They all thought it best that he say his goodbyes from home and not go to the airport.

"Go to the restroom one more time before you leave," he told his daughter.

Pilar ran upstairs to her bathroom.

"I'm going to put the roast in the oven for our dinner tonight," Allegra said. "Be right back."

He walked her outside of his home. When Allegra reached the sidewalk, she turned around to face him. For the first time, she slid her arms around his waist and looked up at him.

"You're a great Dad, Terry. Pilar is so lucky to have you…and so am I."

Terry locked eyes with her, and any fears he had about taking a chance on finding love melted away.

"May I kiss you?" he asked.

Her eyes twinkled like she'd been waiting her whole life to hear him say those four words.

"Yes, you may, Mr. Richmond."

He placed his forehead against hers first and savored the moment before the moment. Yes, he deserved someone for himself. His wily daughter had been so correct in her assessment of him. Forever grateful for Pilar's push to get him out into the world with the special woman in his arms, Terry lowered his head and kissed Allegra.

His full, lush lips were nothing compared to the soft place of comfort he found pressed against her mouth. Her lips coaxed a passion out of him he hadn't felt in years. He kept the kiss a little below chaste…she gave him a little teasing of her tongue to entice him for more later, when they would be alone. His grin broke their physical contact and the butterflies in his stomach told him she was the one to take a chance with.

He pushed a fluffy bang away from her left eye and Allegra glanced up toward his second floor. Terry followed her gaze, and they both glimpsed Pilar looking down at them from her bedroom window. She fist-pumped her right hand, and the expression she gave them was pure joy.

Her little plan worked.

Author's Note:

I wanted to write something fast and fluffy to put out the day after the horror of that anti-Black orange menace being put back in office by racist white people and their non-Black PoC racist minions. Black women need soft, joyful things to get us through. We all we got. Remember that.

[woso-story]

First Birthday

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x BabyMila x Barca Team

The morning sunlight painted golden streaks on the nursery walls as Ingrid and Mapi leaned over Mila’s crib, their hearts full of quiet joy. Their voices blended softly as they sang a lullaby, the melody wrapping around their daughter like a warm embrace. Mila stirred, her tiny fingers curling into fists, her big green eyes blinking open as a small yawn escaped her lips. She caught sight of her mothers and broke into a sleepy, toothless grin.

“Good morning, birthday girl,” Ingrid whispered, her voice brimming with love. She reached down to scoop Mila into her arms, holding her close and breathing in the faint baby scent that still clung to her daughter. “Today’s a big day, Mila.”

Mapi kissed the top of Mila’s head and smiled. “You don’t know it yet, but you’re about to be spoiled by so many people who love you.”

---

The small family made their way to the kitchen, where a single candle flickered atop a small cake. The cake was simple but beautiful, decorated with pastel icing and Mila’s name written in tiny, looping letters. Mapi knelt next to Mila, who was perched in her high chair, her little hands banging on the tray in excitement. “Okay, mi amor, let’s make a wish,” Mapi said, her voice playful.

Mila’s wide eyes followed the dancing flame, utterly mesmerized. “She’ll figure out what to do in a year or two,” Ingrid said with a laugh. Mapi blew out the candle on Mila’s behalf, then leaned over to plant a loud kiss on Mila’s cheek. Mila responded with an enthusiastic squeal, her tiny hands clapping in delight.

---

The morning passed quickly as Mila enjoyed her breakfast, smeared with bits of banana and yogurt, before Ingrid and Mapi dressed her in a soft pink dress with tiny embroidered flowers. They carefully tucked her into her stroller, packed her favorite blanket and a few essentials, and set off for the Barcelona training facilities.

The moment they stepped into the lobby, they were met with a chorus of cheers and laughter. The entire FC Barcelona women’s team had gathered, a sea of familiar faces glowing with excitement. Mila’s stroller became the center of attention as her aunties crowded around, cooing and laughing. The gifts they’d promised not to bring piled up quickly—brightly wrapped boxes, stuffed animals, books, and more.

“Mila! There’s the birthday girl!” Alexia was the first to reach them, scooping Mila out of her stroller with ease. Mila let out a delighted laugh as Alexia peppered her face with exaggerated kisses. “You’re so loved, little one,” Alexia said, cradling Mila close. “Feliz cumpleaños, princesa.”

Mapi and Ingrid exchanged amused glances, their hearts full as they watched their teammates dote on Mila. “We said no presents,” Ingrid said, shaking her head as Claudia added another brightly wrapped box to the growing pile.

“Come on, Ingrid,” Salma teased. “It’s her first birthday. Rules don’t count today!”

Mila, oblivious to the chaos around her, soaked up the energy of the room. She clapped her hands, giggling as Patri made funny faces at her. Nearby, Ingrid watched with a mix of pride and gratitude. This team wasn’t just a collection of players—they were family.

A second cake appeared—this one larger and more colorful, adorned with stars and flowers. Mapi held Mila in her lap as everyone sang “Happy Birthday” in a mix of Spanish and English. Mila’s eyes sparkled as the cake was set in front of her, and with her mothers’ help, she grabbed a small handful of frosting, smearing it across her face and hands. The room erupted in laughter, the joy palpable.

---

As the day unfolded, the scene became a delightful mix of chaos and camaraderie. Mila sat on a blanket in the center of the room, surrounded by Aitana, Esmee, and Kika, who were playing with some of her new toys. Aitana built a tower of blocks, only to laugh as Mila knocked it over with an excited squeal. Kika handed Mila a soft stuffed animal—a lion—and Mila hugged it tightly, babbling in her baby language as if telling the lion all about her big day.

Ingrid and Mapi watched from a distance, sipping coffee and chatting with Alexia and Keira. “She’s so happy,” Ingrid said, her voice soft with wonder. “She doesn’t understand what today is, but she feels it. All the love in the room.”

“She’s surrounded by her family,” Mapi agreed, her eyes lingering on Mila. “That’s all that matters.”

---

As the afternoon wore on, the excitement began to take its toll. Mila, who had been all smiles and giggles, started to fuss. Her face crumpled, and she let out a tired whimper. Recognizing the signs, Mapi swooped in and picked her up. “Shh, mi pequeñita,” she murmured, rocking her gently. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”

The mothers said their goodbyes, thanking their teammates for making Mila’s first birthday so special. They drove home in the soft glow of the setting sun, Mila asleep in her car seat. Once home, they carefully tucked her into her crib, her lion clutched tightly in her tiny hands.

Standing by the crib, Ingrid and Mapi shared a quiet moment, watching their daughter’s peaceful face. “Can you believe she’s already one?” Ingrid asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Mapi shook her head, her eyes glistening. “It feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital.”

They stood in silence for a moment, their hearts full. The day had been perfect—a celebration of Mila, of their family, and of the community that surrounded them with love. As they looked at their daughter, dreaming sweetly, they felt ready to face whatever the future might bring. Together, they could do anything.