#prowess the testament

[newsfromthefront]

2024.2.15

In one month, on March 16th, the Official SXSW Nerdcore Showcase returns to Flamingo Cantina with a killer lineup. Looks a lil something like this:

[bahadurislam011444]

Unveiling the Best SEO Worker in Bangladesh: Driving Digital Success

[hoppinkiss]

wtf this ya.utja is just out here killing deer and baby bears. pick better targets

[escapismsworld]

The Ancient Theatre of Epidaurus in Greece is a remarkable testament to ancient Greek artistic prowess and classical architecture. Built in the 4th century BCE, this meticulously designed amphitheater features exceptional acoustics, allowing even faint whispers to be heard from the highest seats. It was primarily used for Greek tragedies and comedies, highlighting the cultural significance of theater in ancient times.

📸: Dimitrios Pallis

[leyiorr]

heian era satoru is a god among men. gifted with the looks and prowess of the deities - he alone bares the title of 'the strongest'. with the ability to distort and expand space itself, there are few who hold a candle to him, let alone foolish enough to challenge his authority.

he's gorgeous, the kind of beauty that only higher beings possess. every contour of his skin is sculpted to perfection, every line carefully painted, pale skin a testament to the star from which he was born. behind bandages that cover the upper half of his face are the jewels he called eyes. not two like the normal person, but six, proof of his inhumanity. they're an arctic shade of blue - icy and cold.

as a ruler, he is far from merciful. he does things according to his own rulebook, and anyone who steps out of line does not live to tell the tale. corpses are unable to talk, unfortunately.

his personality is of the worst kind; he's cocky, arrogant and self-indulgent. it's especially noticeable when he's in battle. he enjoys the high and thrill of bloodshed, and he encourages his enemies to fight with everything they have. toppling their pride feels better that way.

he has no need for a wife or concubines, no matter how many women throw themselves at his feet or how many are offered up by their parents. his absence at marriage meetings becomes the norm, and the most eligible bachelor quickly becomes unattainable.

he stands alone in all of his glory, pleas for wife and future heir falling on deaf ears. no matter how much the elders try to convince him he is adamant - he will not have either.

that is, until his six eyes catch sight of you.

you - aphrodite's personal creation. from the first look, satoru is hooked.

he makes a weak attempt to swallow - he's oddly parched. he isn't sure what is; be it pure, innocent curiosity or the deeper, more sinister seeds of obsession, he allows his feet to move like moth to flame.

he looks at you like he sees god, like the perpetual ticking of time has come to a halt. like he's in the presence of divinty.

you greet him like everyone else, bowing in respect and calling him by his title. 'your majesty'. it doesn't sound right on your lips, he thinks. so he requests for you to call him by his first name and you do, who are you ro refuse your ruler?

but satoru? satoru, god, satoru forgets to breathe.

he's ready to tear out his beating heart and place it in your hold already. he's sure you'd take good care of it.

the syllables that make up the name 'satoru' have never sounded more beautiful. with a voice honeyed and dipped in sugar, you introduce yourself, and your name ricochets off the bone of his skull before it buries itself in the tissue of his brain known as memory.

he has never lowered himself for anyone but if you asked he'd be on his knees in an instant.

he sets about courting you. you find roses dyed a deep royal blue on your balcony, along with a note from their sender. the finest jewelry find purchase on your dresser - probably from villages he'd massacred - and the newest silks rest against your figure (your favourite garment is eerily similar to a woman's who had badmouthed you in satoru's presence). all from him. you deserve the best, after all.

he takes note of your likes and dislikes, ever fascinated by how expressive you are. he's infatuated, but it doesn't feel half bad. instead it feels like it's what he was made to do. he's convinced that you and him were written in the stars; that the gods themselves would envy him for taking you as his own.

and you? you revel in your newfound power over the most powerful person of your era. you'd asked him once if he'd kill for you and his answer was instant. a simple yes.

perhaps your personality is as twisted as his, but it felt so good.

[two-white-butterflies]

silver spring | coriolanus snow

Description: Coriolanus Snow knows that he shouldn't have ended up this way. He knows that he was destined to be something better. The woman sleeping beside him is a testament of his reckoning, Lucy Gray is a ghost that he tries to forget. (Snow and Reader's marriage told through the cold beliefs of Coriolanus.)

Pairing: young-president!coriolanus snow/wife!reader

Warning: childbirth, major character death, angst, snow is haunted by lucy gray's memory.

"Time cast a spell on you But you won't forget me." - Fleetwood Mac.

[...] He was glad about the erasure. It was just another way to eliminate Lucy Gray from the world. The Capitol would forget her, the districts barely knew her, and District 12 had never accepted her as their own. In a few years, there would be a vague memory that a girl had once sung in the arena. And then that would be forgotten too. Goodbye Lucy Gray, we hardly knew you.

"Are you alright?" you cleared your throat seeing him in deep thought. There was always something mysterious inside the man that you married - he was always deep in thought. "You came to visit?" he seemed disinterested in what you had to say. "I-they told me that you didn't eat dinner yet," you managed to choke out.

He was very clear and precise. He told you that he couldn't stand you - that he hated you, and it was the very reason that you were wed.

An amused chuckle exits his mouth. "Aren't there more important things to have your attention?" he raised an eyebrow, staring at you up and down with that incredulous stare.

You seemed to amuse him - to some extent.

"- like running our household or gossiping with your friends." he mused, returning back to his paperwork. His statement made you feel awry, you were never the one to listen to gossip - the suggestion that you should do that only cemented the fact that he didn't know you - didn't bother enough to know you. "I was worried that you'd starve without dinner." you took another step forward.

He shakes his head.

"I will not die without dinner." he scoffed - dismissing you.

It was late at night when Coriolanus stumbled inside your room. By then, he could hardly make out the outline of your body on the bed.

He couldn't believe that the woman he hated - had finally become his wife. "Coriolanus," you mumbled - eyes trying to adjust with the dim light. "Did I wake you?" he removed his jacket, surprised at his tone. "N-No," you stuttered. A meek prey against him.

You moved slightly, leaving him enough space to lay beside you.

Coriolanus was surprised that you slept that quick - though, perhaps he was also thankful. He didn't want to create a reason for small talk. Your purpose in his life wasn't to be loved - it was to create children, and to strengthen his political prowess.

The moment he set his eyes on you - he vowed to never love or care for you. He couldn't afford to love again. He knows what love feels like - Lucy Gray manipulated him, both body and soul. Until now he doesn't know if she is truly dead. He wishes that she is.

He is snapped away from his thoughts again.

This time, you wrap your arms around him. His eyes widen in surprise, he opens his mouth to speak but he relents seeing your sleeping figure.

He may hate you, but it does not stop him from finding you beautiful.

It was a few months later when he sees you again - this time with good news. "They tell me that our child is the size of a small ball." you smiled, reaching for his hand and placing it on your stomach. This was one of the few moments where he showed his love. You were sat on his lap, almost inhaling his scent at the proximity.

It was all for show, you thought. He had guests in the courtyard, and they could see you from the window.

"I've thought of names, but I wanted you to choose too." you continued, licking your pink lips. Oh, Coriolanus wanted nothing than to kiss those lips right now - but alas, his ambition ruled him. "What are they?" he continued rubbing your belly.

"Brutus, if it is a boy and Lucy-"

"No, not Lucy. Something else." he demanded, interrupting you. "Josephine," you quickly replace and he nods.

"- but if there are other names that you prefer, you may choose." you stared deep into his eyes. "You bleed, you decide." he whispered, his hands trailing up to your neck. "Kiss me," he suddenly demanded.

"What?" your eyebrows merged into each other.

"There's people watching, kiss me."

And you obeyed him.

"As pure as the driven snow," you mumble while soothing the pain in your stomach. "What did you say?" Coriolanus raised an eyebrow. "Our child is as pure as the driven snow," you repeated - almost seeing his face in a dream. "Where did you come up with that?" he chuckled, slowly used to your company.

"You mumbled it in your sleep." you responded, continuing to write on your journal. "Well, I can't remember saying that anymore." he shrugged, feeling paranoia gnaw at his bones.

Lucy Gray, let me live.

"It sounds familiar, it's from that tribute - I watched her then, but its been so long I can't even remember." you chuckled, Lucy Gray Baird, the songbird from District 12.

You were enamored by her - intrigued by her voice. Your husband seems to be the same. "Is that why you wanted to name our child Lucy?" he questioned, her name tasted bitter on his tongue. "No, of course not - you'd never approve." you scoffed.

"Why wouldn't I? I don't know Lucy Gray personally." he lied once more, maintaining his narrative. "You told me that the Games were created to remind the Districts of what they are - animals." you remembered, not fully believing his speech. "You would hate me if I named our child after an ... well, someone that you hate."

"Good, and don't mention Lucy Gray ever again." his eyes narrowed.

part two >>

[mysunshinetemptress]

For England

Alexia Putellas x lioness!reader x ocdaughter!reader

Warnings: Fluff

Even before Melia arrived, Alexia and you had joked about the future. Would we have a mini-me in a Spanish jersey, mimicking her mama's stepovers, or a fearless lioness with your crunching tackles? As it turned out, Melia was a curious mix. From her first kick of a ball, she'd proudly rock a jersey split down the middle, the Spanish crest battling for dominance with the Three Lions As Melia toddled around, she'd proudly rock a mishmash of kits. Or sometimes it would be an oversized Spain shirt drowning her tiny frame, the next a miniature Lionesses jersey that barely covered her knees. You both knew, deep down, that she'd eventually choose a side.

 She was very proudly called "Amorcito," she was your love in a smaller version, a mix of the cultures you both so desperately loved and just like the love that brought you both together.

However, by the age of three, Melia's allegiance became undeniable. The turning point came during the Euros. She was mesmerised by the Lionesses' attacking prowess. Sat alongside your wife as she watched excitedly her passion only seemed to build with every goal an elicited joyous shrieks, every tackle a passionate fist pump. When the final whistle blew, crowning England champions, Melia danced with unbridled glee, waving a miniature Lionesses flag like a warrior queen. 

 I expected a flicker of disappointment, maybe even a playful jab. After all, she was a Barcelona legend, a "Culer" through and through. But instead, a wide smile stretched across her face. Later that night, as Melia slept soundly in her England-themed pyjamas, Alexia surprised me again. With a mischievous grin, she pulled out a brand new Lionesses jersey, emblazoned with "Melia 10" on the back.

"She is a Culer mi vida," she said, her voice soft, "that is my legacy, that is my career, not La Roja. But family? Our family supports each other, no matter the colours we wear on the pitch But supporting England, the lionesses, your team, cheering for your country, her country? That's a love that runs deeper than football."

Her words struck a chord. Melia's choice wasn't a rejection of Alexia's heritage, but a blossoming of her own. It was a beautiful testament to the power of sports to unite families, even if they cheered for different teams.

The World Cup final, with its clash of loyalties, only solidified that realisation. Melia, both yours and Alexias Amorcito, defied expectations throughout the tournament with her continued wear of England jerseys as well as the St George crest painted along her cheeks and her red and white ribbon tied into her ponytail.

Your heart lurched as you saw Melia freeze in the tunnel, her small hand gripping Alexia's Spanish jersey like a vice. The roar of the crowd was a distant echo in the tense silence. Alexia’s warm smile, usually contagious, faltered at the edges. Melia's eyes, brimming with tears, locked with yours.

Alexia, ever the teammate, knelt beside her, a gentle smile on her face. "Hey, Amoricito," she said, "It's okay, you look beautiful. Just a few steps, and then you can change after the walkout, alright?"

Melia, however, remained rooted to the spot, her tiny chin jutting out. Tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring the red and yellow stripes of the Spanish jersey. "I'm English, Mami!" she cried, her voice cracking with frustration. "I can't walk out with you! I'll let them down!" Alexia looked down at Melia confused "Who down Amoricito" "I'm English, Mami, not Spanish! I'll be letting the lionesses down, I'll be letting Mama down" she cried, her voice cracking.

Alexia sighed her voice a soothing balm. "Amoricito," she began, "we all love you, no matter what jersey you wear. You just need to walk out with us, then you can change, okay?"

Melia shook her head, adamant. "But I want everyone to see I'm cheering for England!" Her lower lip quivered, threatening to spill over.

Alexia exchanged a helpless glance with you. it had been planned to perfection this little moment between you all a cute family moment, a symbol of international unity on the biggest stage. Now, it was unravelling before the world's eyes. Your gaze darted towards the tunnel entrance, where the announcer's voice boomed, signalling the imminent walkout. Time was ticking and Melia wasn't letting up or calming down.

Taking a deep breath, You rushed over and knelt beside them your daughter might have been born in England and loved the country with every ounce of her heart but she was so much like Alexia in looks and personality. "Hey, Amoricito," you said softly, your voice laced with calm. "It's okay, sweetheart. We know you love England, the girls know you love England. But remember, Mami is Spanish and she wanted to include her favourite girl during this moment, but this walkout is for both teams, for both of us, for our family and, for everyone who loves football."

Melia sniffled, her lower lip trembling. "But the badge," she hiccupped, pointing at the Spanish crest emblazoned on the jersey. "It's not right."

A warmth bloomed in your chest. Her fierce loyalty, even at this tender age, filled me with pride.

A quick decision had to be made. Glancing at Alexia, I saw a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She squeezed Melia's hand gently. "How about this," Alexia offered, "You walk out with me, but when we get to the national anthems, you can stand with Mama and the lionesses, okay? English and Spanish."

A flicker of hope sparked in Melia's eyes. She looked down at the Spanish jersey, then back at you. "Can I?"

"Absolutely," You confirmed, relief flooding through you as you looked back at your teammates and your own mascot you had abandoned trying to calm your daughter down.

As the announcer's voice reached a crescendo, the tunnel doors swung open. Alexia took Melia's tiny hand gripping it tightly, as you placed a kiss on her head and squeezed Alexia's hand before grabbing the hand of your mascot.

The pre-game formalities flew by in a blur. As the teams lined up for the national anthems,  Alexia crouched down and winked at Melia. "Ready to change sides, Amoricito?" she asked playfully Melia smiled grabbing Alexia's hand before pulling her towards you and grabbing your hand with hers as she stood proudly in between you both, her tiny voice joining the chorus of "God Save the King," Your heart swelled with pride, a mixture of maternal love and admiration for her courage.

Melia, her smile now radiant, let go of Alexia and raised her hands to be lifted up by you laughing as you kissed her cheeks. "Just hold on for the win, Mama," she whispered, her eyes sparkling. "For England!"

"Maybe next time, we'll walk out with you wearing an England jersey, leading the English fans in cheers."

Melia's eyes sparkled. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you promised.

[happilyhertale]

The Rogue Prince - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After a stressful day that leaves Daemon in a bit of an angry mood, you decide to give him some relief. But in a different way than you usually do.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x poc!wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading!

Author’s note: Hey you (: A one-shot Daemon story requested by Anon 🖤 It took me some time but I hope you like it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.5 k

Other stories of mine

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You didn't have to look up, just the way the door slammed open was enough of a sign for you to know - Daemon was pissed. He entered without knocking, his armour clattering against itself.

In a mixture of snorts and grumbles, your husband strode into your chambers. As you lifted your gaze, your warm hazel eyes met the captivating intensity of his purple eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. Your curious gaze wandered further, discovering the mess of dirt and the almost macabre pattern of dried blood clinging to him. Uncertainly, you put aside the book you were engrossed in and approached Daemon, who was already in the process of freeing himself from the constricting confines of his armour. But before you could approach him, a piece of his armour flew into the far corner of the room.

"It will not improve your mood if you damage your armour," you say gently and help him to open his armour.

He just looks at you and his gaze makes you shiver a little again.

"What do I care about this fucking armour?" he hisses.

You look at him and your hands continue to work on the buckles and remove the chest piece.

"You want to tell me what happened?" you ask quietly.

There is a brief silence in your chambers and you use the time to admire his muscular chest, visible under his shirt. His body does not fail to bring you to ecstasy.

You look into his eyes again as he begins to speak.

"None of these idiots in this council understand the importance of cleansing our city of these filthy criminals! Not one!" he hisses.

You nod at him and try to concentrate on his words and not let his body distract you.

Your hands continue to work on the buckles of his armour.

"The city is full of disgusting creatures. They steal, they kill, they rape and none of those cunts at that council table give a shit!" he continues to hiss.

"But you do," you say softly and his eyes meet yours.

"I will teach these people to fear the golden cloaks again," he says in his deep voice.

You smile slightly and take off the last piece of his armour. Your fingers begin to take off his shirt.

"First we have to clean you up," you say gently.

Daemon's soft chuckle, markedly different from his previous behaviour, resounds through the air as he spreads his arms and asks you to release him from his shirt. His shimmering silver lengths fall over his shoulders, framing the network of scars etched into the skin of his neck and nape. These battle-scarred marks, created by victories and fire, are revealed in all their glory.

Your fingertips run tenderly over these well-deserved scars, your soft olive hue a striking contrast to his pale skin. You relish these imprints of his commanding prowess on the battlefield, each scar telling its own story, a testament to his unwavering leadership qualities. Daemon watches the movements of your fingers and notices how your gaze is fixed on his chest, unable to avert your gaze.

"Are you sure you just want to bathe me?" he murmurs, and your gaze jumps to his eyes.

You smile slightly, "Yes, I do," you say seriously and take his hand, leading him into the adjoining bathroom. Daemon grunts in disappointment, but lets himself be led along. The bath is quickly prepared and warm steam rises from the tub.

Daemon stands next to the tub of hot water and begins to open his trousers. As they slide down, you can see his already hardening arousal, but you avert your gaze and go to a small dresser in the corner of the bathroom.

Daemon watches you, a grin on his lips.

"Oh come on... You can't ignore my needs like that..." he says, but you interrupt him.

"Into the warm water with you," is all you say as you look through small bottles on the dresser to find the right one. You have these little vials from your home in Dorne, filled with different elixirs, and this time you want to put him in the right, stimulating mood.

Daemon grumbles something unintelligible, but obeys and gets into the tub. His gaze is fixed firmly on your back.

"Will you at least keep me company?" he asks, and you can hear in his voice that he is getting impatient.

You turn to him and smile, "No... at least not in the water," you say softly.

With two bottles in your hand, you stride to the bathtub. In the soft, flickering light created by candles, Daemon's gaze fixes on you and you can see an unspoken desire in the depths of his eyes to just grab you. But instead of giving in to temptation, his hands grip the edge of the tub. He leans back slightly and lets you pleasure him, a sign of trust he has only in you.

You kneel behind him, set the vials aside and carefully remove the hair ribbon from its silken lengths. As the ribbon gives up its hold, his hair falls gracefully over his shoulders. The once shining silver strands, now clouded with dirt and sweat, literally crave your touch. You gently begin to work water into the lengths, and the soothing rhythm elicits a contented murmur from Daemon as his eyes are gently closed.

Your hand wanders to a vial, its lid giving way with a soft, melodic pop at your careful touch. At this slight disturbance, Daemon's eyes flicker open to take in the unexpected intrusion.

"What's that?" he murmurs. You smile slightly, "Lavender oil... I like it when your hair smells fresh," you say soflty.

Daemon reflects your soft smile, "All right... If my Dornish princess wants me to smell like a silly bush from the garden, I don't think I could refuse," he mutters. With a smile, you apply a few drops of oil to his shiny silver locks and enjoy the feel of his long strands gliding through your fingers as the accumulated dirt runs effortlessly down.

After pampering him with your grooming, you rise and hand Daemon a towel. With a synchronised movement, he accepts the towel, and as he dries himself, you return to the bedroom with the other vial of elixir. Daemon follows you silently, his shapely form wrapped in the loosely hanging towel.

"Now you're going to take care of my needs?" he says to you, a cheeky smile around his lips. And at that moment you notice the bulge under the towel. You smile, "Lie down on the bed," you say.

Daemon's smile widens, like that of a child who finds an unexpected, delicious treat. He complies with your request and lies down in your marital sanctuary - the very bed where he makes you squirm and beg every night. But this night it will be different.

With an expectant gaze, Daemon watches your every move. How you slowly take off your dress and walk towards the bed. You crawl onto the bed and his hands reach out longingly to pull you close.

But you push them away, "Hands by your side," you say and move to sit astride him. Daemon looks irritated, but he obeys. You take the bottle and open it while Daemon watches you closely.

"More lavender oil?" he asks, "You know I'll have trouble commanding my men if my whole body smells like a flower bouquet" he says.

With a soft chuckle, you murmur, "Not a hint of lavender..." as the delicate scents of osmanthus and patchouli dance around you, washing you with their stimulating embrace as you place a few drops of the oil on your warm palm. Daemon's eyes remain fixed, transfixed by your hands as you set about the task of massaging the oil into his powerful chest.

"And I don't think you'll have any problems commanding your men.... No matter how you smell..." you say softly.

Daemon can only growl slightly as he slowly feels the effect of the scents and his arousal presses harder against you. You can feel a slight movement of his hips as he tries to grind against you. You stare into his eyes as your hands continue to glide over his skin.

"Don't move," you say to him. Daemon grunts, but he obeys - again.

You hear his breathing become more irregular as your hand turns to his belly. Slowly you massage the oil into the muscles of his belly, but your hands are unstoppable. You sit up a little and release him from the towel and his hot length springs free. It twitches wildly as you begin to rub his pubic hair with the oil. It twitches even more wildly as your hands turn to the shaft of his cock, which almost invites you to let yourself sink onto it. Daemon grunts impatiently, wanting to move his hips again, to somehow get close to your cunt.

"Don't," you just whisper, and your hands begin to wander up and down. You hear him gasp, see his hands gripping the sheet beneath you tightly. Your hands slide faster as his member literally pulses. Daemon breathes faster and faster as he chases his climax and you can already see the first drops of his release coming from the tip of his cock. You lean down and lick them away and hear him hiss.

"Woman, you will be my death," he whispers breathlessly. You just look up at him, grinning a little, and bite your lip. Your hand slides up and down faster.

It also increasingly excites you that he could just grab you, push you onto the bed and thrust into you, but he does not. He lies there and lets the feelings and actions wash over him.

When suddenly you feel a strong twitch in his member and Daemon spurts his hot seed onto his belly. He grunts loudly and watches you pump the last drops of cum out of his cock. He breathes heavily and closes his eyes briefly. His head falls back on the pillow.

"I think I need to take another bath..." he mumbles.

But you only smile, "I'm not done with you yet," you whisper. Daemon opens his eyes and looks at you in irritation.

You notice how he slowly softens in your hand, but it is not over for you yet. Slowly you slide further down and push his legs apart. You kneel between his legs and your hand gently moves along his shaft again. Daemon hisses slightly as you lean down.

You take his softening member into your mouth and begin to suck. The remnants of his cum unfold their salty taste on your tongue, but you love the way he tastes.

Daemon gasps, "What are you doing?"

But you just grin slightly and push him all the way down your throat.

"Gods...", Daemon gasps, but you notice that he is getting hard again.

But then, with a pop, you release his cock from your mouth. He is breathing heavily and still looks irritated, his cock hard again and standing in all its glory.

Daemon's heavy breath echoes from the walls of your chambers. You move and lie down beside him. You bite your lip gently and lean forward, kissing his neck softly. Your tongue is like pure fire that hits his skin and could cause new scars. A hot, arousing fire. His hips rise again with arousal and his hand reaches for the back of your head to move your head down. But you stop caressing his neck and look at him. You shake your head resolutely and Daemon pulls his hand back grumbling.

His voice fails in his throat and nothing more leaves his mouth as he slowly loses control. A growl sounds from him and his back arches slightly as your hand begins to caress his chest.

A moan escapes him as your nails leave light marks on his skin.

"Stop it, love," he murmurs. "You're driving me crazy" But you see his cock twitch wildly and you know he doesn't want you to stop. His hands reach into the sheet again and you know, that it's taking all his will not to grab you. Gently your lips graze over his neck as your fingers gently move down, teasing him. You feel the remnants of his previous climax and you see him bite his lip as you slide through it. His eyes are closed and you can see him enjoying this. Your fingers gently caress his abdomen, following the light hair to your destination.

A moan escapes him again. His hand suddenly reaches for your arm and you gasp softly, feeling his fingertips dig into your arm, showing you how much you're already teasing him. But you are not finished yet.

Daemon tries to concentrate on staying calm for your sake.

Once again, you can't stop your fingers from stroking his pubic hair as your smile widens. You watch his expression as you caress him.

A sharp intake of breath comes from his throat. He feels nothing but your touch. His fingertips dig further into your arm, but he finds it hard to stay still. You feel his muscles twitch and he just wants to pull you closer to him and take control of the situation so he can use your body as he wants.

But he forces himself to stay still. He forces himself to enjoy the passive role for once.

Your fingers gently graze the tip of his hard manhood. You bite your lip as you feel it twitch. As you close your fingers around the tip and the twitch shoots through your fingers.

"Ops...", you say softly, with an air of innocence, but Daemon knows you are not innocent and it's impossible for him not to react to that – a soft hiss escapes him.

His back arches slightly upwards and he grips your arm even tighter. His head turns towards you. His eyes are still closed, but you feel his lips seek yours. But you let him suffer. Let him feel what it is like to be on the receiving end of something like this.

"Is this what I put you through every night?" he suddenly asks softly, still keeping his eyes closed. You hear a slight breathlessness in his voice.

You smile again, "Yes... Every time you tease me..." you whisper.

You feel at your fingertips how his arousal continues to make itself felt, and the drops wet the tip of his cock.

"You like that, don't you?" you whisper.

He responds with a low growl, as if he's too busy enjoying it to reply with words.

His fingers disengage from your arm and sink to the bed, holding them still. It works up to a point. But you see his fingers clench into fists again and again.

You lean forward again and gently kiss his neck. Lightly you let your teeth sink into the skin. Again you hear a slight growl.

But still your fingers do not touch his hard member. Teasingly you only stroke his tip, refusing to embrace it completely. You feel it twitch violently again and again. Almost desperately it wants you to touch it. And again a moan escapes Daemon's throat.

You notice his breath quickening, and your own smile turns into a wicked little grin.

His fingers clutch the sheets on the bed as his muscles tremble slightly. You can feel the tension building inside him.

"Stop it... stop..," he murmurs, his voice strained by the desire to just grab you.

You continue to nibble on his neck. Your fingers, meanwhile, are stroking his pubic hair again, your caress growing rougher.

"Would you like me to touch you?" you whisper. With this question you have sealed his fate.

You see him contort his face almost painfully, trying to resist his urge. It would be so easy for him to give in, to just turn and take you as he wants. You see the inner struggle in him. The Rogue Prince who never begs, never bows to any command. The dragon who needs control over every situation. But still you see his breathing quicken, his muscles tremble slightly, he moistens his lips.

"Yes..." he whispers after a while, almost defeated.

But then his fingers move to your hips, wanting to grab you and force you closer to him. You slap his hand away.

"No, Daemon. Get your hands off me," you whisper warningly in his ear. You underline your momentary power and nibble lightly on his earlobe.

Your fingers now find their way to his balls, your fingernails gently scratching the now taut skin and he hisses again.

It's a struggle for him to take his hands off your hips. He doesn't want to. But he obeys.

You continue the torment, your fingernails almost driving him mad.

"You know you'll pay for this, you little pest," his voice sounds a little hoarse.

But with each word his voice grows softer and is now just a low murmur as his body continues to tremble with desire. You have the power over this moment, and you know it. You smile just slightly, knowing you will pay for this, and a feeling of anticipation spreads through you.

"Please," he murmurs suddenly. His breathing is quick and heavy. Right now he is nothing more than your plaything. The Rogue Prince on the verge of begging.

You bite his neck again, "Please, what, my love?" you whisper as your fingernails continue to tease his balls. He hisses again. His hips jerk a little, desperate for a touch.

His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find words to say what he wants. It's all gasps and moans and deep, animalistic noises now.

"Please... I need more...," he finally murmurs weakly. He can't say much more, he wants you too much. You know it. He knows it. You both know it.

A low grumble escapes his throat as he hisses again. He clenches his teeth as you grab his balls. He tries to take a deep breath to keep his voice low, but he can't stop his voice from shaking. "Touch me...", these are the only words he manages to say.

Your hand continues to grip his balls, squeezing them gently.

You kiss his neck, "My Rogue Prince...", you whisper.

He is silent now, looking at you with half-closed eyes, his breathing heavy.

You continue to kiss and nibble on his neck as your hand holds him tight, enjoying this newfound power over him. "If you keep this up, I swear we won't leave this bed for at least twelve hours. And I will make you suffer,“ he hisses, his last attempt at exuding dominance.

You smile at him, your fingers now slowly stroking along his shaft.

"I wouldn't mind," you whisper.

His hard manhood is dripping with precum. Your hand wanders along his hard manhood. It twitches violently as you rub the pecum over its tip. He gasps and grunts.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" you whisper as you nibble on his neck again.

"Yes...!" Daemon suddenly groans. You're playing with fire and you know it. Your teasing only drives him closer to his climax without you actually touching him. But you embrace him fully now, and the sudden rough touch makes him grunt loudly. Your hand wanders up and down, your other hand starts massaging his balls again.

"Then come for me, love...", you whisper. You are also breathing harder by now as your hand slides along his hard manhood. He is moaning uncontrollably by now, his manhood twitching. His eyes are closed and his hips are twitching.

His fingers dig deep into the sheet as he makes sounds you didn't think he was capable of. But his moans turn into hisses as your hand works faster.

He pulls your head towards him and kisses you fiercely, almost desperately. He holds nothing back now and you let him.

"My wife. My Dornish princess. My queen. I am yours. Only yours.", Daemon gasps and you feel the twitch move from his balls up into his cock.

And then he comes. Again his seed spurts onto his belly, while your hand does not slacken in its movement. You're still kissing him and he moans and whimpers into your mouth.

Daemon releases the kiss, still breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Softly he whispers your name, smiling.

"You're cruel, you know that? Cruel and beautiful," he whispers.

You giggle softly and watch the movements of his face. After a few deep breaths from him, he suddenly moves. So suddenly that you gasp slightly. Your eyes grow wide as he suddenly hovers over you. You stare into his violet eyes, his cum dripping onto your soft, olive skin, creating a complete contrast. Daemon slides his finger through it as it continues to drip, just as you did on his skin before. A dark grin on his lips.

"I'm going to make you pay even more cruelly for this..." he murmurs and before you can say anything, his lips meet yours and his hand finds its way between your thighs. Your whimpers echo through your chambers as his hand grips your cunt roughly.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @sylasthegrim

[nayziiz]

Our Home | CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader (she/her)

Warnings: Very soft & fluffy

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

Carlos was a meticulous planner, a quality that permeated every aspect of his life, including the most significant moments. The proposal to his better half was no exception. Knowing her aversion to public displays of affection, he crafted a scenario that was intimate, heartfelt, and entirely personal.

Their routine bike rides had become a cherished tradition, a time for them to escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life and simply be together. Carlos recognized the significance of this shared activity and decided it would serve as the perfect backdrop for his proposal.

As they pedalled along their familiar route, Carlos couldn't help but steal glances at the ring tucked securely in his pocket, a symbol of his unwavering commitment to the person he loved most in the world. He waited for just the right moment, biding his time until the setting felt just as perfect as the sentiment behind his proposal.

When they stopped to address the issue of tire pressure, Carlos seized the opportunity to transform an ordinary moment into something extraordinary. With a steady hand and a heart full of love, he knelt down before her, the words he had rehearsed a hundred times over finally spilling forth in a rush of emotion.

In that quiet, secluded spot, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of their shared love, Carlos asked the question he had been longing to pose. And as her eyes filled with tears of joy and her lips curled into a radiant smile, he knew that his meticulous planning had paid off in the most perfect way imaginable.

For Carlos, the proposal wasn't just about popping the question; it was a reflection of his deep understanding of her desires and his unwavering commitment to making every moment they shared as special as possible.

Navigating the intricate world of wedding planning can be a daunting task, but she and Carlos had found a harmonious approach that played to each of their strengths. With her sister and his mom by her side, the process felt more like a collaborative celebration than a burdensome chore.

She took the reins, drawing upon her organisational prowess and meticulous attention to detail to create a vision that reflected both of their personalities and desires. From selecting the perfect venue to curating a menu that would tantalise the taste buds of the guests, she threw herself into the planning process with passion and determination.

Meanwhile, Carlos stood steadfastly beside her, offering unwavering support and a listening ear whenever she needed it. While he may not have been as involved in the nitty-gritty details, his presence was a constant source of reassurance and comfort, reminding her that she was never alone in this endeavour.

Together, they navigated the inevitable ups and downs of wedding planning, leaning on each other and her trusted confidantes for guidance and support. And as the big day drew nearer, they found themselves more in love than ever, united not only by their commitment to each other but also by the shared experience of bringing their dream wedding to life.

Carlos's gesture was nothing short of extraordinary—a testament to his thoughtfulness and unwavering commitment to her happiness. With the wedding on the horizon, he embarked on a mission, fueled by love and determination, to find her the perfect home in Barcelona, a place where her dreams could take root and flourish.

Together with his father, Carlos scoured the city, poring over listings and exploring properties with a discerning eye. He wasn't just looking for any house; he was searching for a sanctuary, a place that would not only meet her practical needs but also speak to her heart and soul.

With each potential home they visited, Carlos envisioned the life they would build together within its walls—the laughter shared in the kitchen, the quiet moments stolen away in the garden, the memories that would be woven into the very fabric of the space.

And then, finally, he found it—the perfect house, a hidden gem nestled in the heart of Barcelona, brimming with charm and character. From the moment he laid eyes on it, he knew that this was the place where their future would unfold, where their love story would continue to unfold with each passing day.

Carlos's plan was set into motion with precision and care, his excitement barely contained as he orchestrated a trip to Barcelona under the guise of a family visit. Little did she know, this journey held a secret purpose—one that would soon unfold in a whirlwind of surprises and heartfelt moments.

As they boarded the plane, Carlos's anticipation bubbled beneath the surface, his heart pounding with the thrill of what was to come. With each passing moment, the excitement in his eyes grew, a telltale sign of the surprise he had in store for her.

Upon arriving in Barcelona, Carlos seamlessly blended the visit with his family into the fabric of your trip, effortlessly steering the conversation away from any suspicion. He was a picture of composure, his every move calculated to keep the surprise under wraps until the perfect moment.

As Carlos guided the car through the winding streets of Barcelona, she couldn't shake the feeling of excitement that hung in the air. The sun cast a warm glow over the city, illuminating the vibrant colours of the buildings and infusing the atmosphere with a sense of possibility.

As they pulled up behind a gated compound, curiosity bubbled within her, mingling with a hint of apprehension. Carlos helped her out of the car, his hand warm against hers as he led her towards the imposing entrance. With each step, her anticipation grew, the mystery of the moment hanging heavy in the air.

“What's this?” she asked, her voice tinged with surprise as she took in the sight before her. Carlos's gaze softened, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he turned to face her.

“I thought we could start house-hunting, see what the market is like,” he explained, his words carrying a note of excitement and anticipation.

She blinked in disbelief, her mind struggling to process the unexpected turn of events. House-hunting in Barcelona? It was a dream she had shared countless times, but she never imagined it would become a reality so soon.

With a sense of wonder and excitement coursing through her veins, she followed Carlos and the real estate agent inside, her heart racing with the thrill of what lay ahead. As she crossed the threshold into the unknown, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the man by her side, whose love and thoughtfulness knew no bounds.

After twenty minutes of exploring every nook and cranny of the house, Carlos found her standing in the spacious kitchen, her eyes alight with wonder as she admired the gleaming countertops and state-of-the-art appliances. With a tender smile, he approached her, his arms open wide as he wrapped them around her from behind.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, his voice filled with anticipation as he waited for her verdict.

“It's huge,” she replied, her voice tinged with awe as she took in the expanse of the room. Carlos chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through the air as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You like big homes, no?” he teased, his words laced with affection.

“Yeah, I do, especially if we want to start a family in a few years,” she replied, her voice soft with the weight of her dreams.

Carlos's eyes sparkled with affection as he took in her words, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. And then, with a sense of determination in his gaze, he dropped a bombshell that left her speechless.

“I bought it,” he declared simply, his voice tinged with excitement.

“What?” she gasped, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to comprehend the enormity of his words.

“I bought this house for us,” Carlos repeated, his voice filled with certainty and unwavering determination.

“You're joking, right?” she questioned, her tone tinged with disbelief as she searched his eyes for any sign of jest. Carlos's smile faltered slightly at the disbelief in her voice, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his expression.

Carlos's hand found hers, his touch warm and reassuring as he met her gaze with a mixture of affection and concern. 

“You don't like it?” he asked, his voice soft with genuine concern. She shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her  lips as she reached up to cup his cheek.

“I love it, but Carlos, you should have told me, baby,” she murmured, her heart swelling with love and gratitude for the man standing before her.

Carlos's admission tugged at your heartstrings, his words washing over you with a wave of emotion. You reached up to gently stroke his cheek, your eyes shimmering with tears of gratitude and love.

“I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t want the house-hunting to stress you out, but I also wanted to buy you a house as a thank you for everything you do for me, for the late nights, the early mornings, the travelling, giving up your job to be by my side,” Carlos confessed, his voice filled with sincerity and love.

Her breath caught in her throat as she listened to his words, feeling the weight of his appreciation and devotion settle over her like a warm embrace. In that moment, she was overwhelmed with a profound sense of gratitude for the man standing before her, whose love knew no bounds.

“This is our home, honey,” Carlos said softly, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity as he gazed at her with affection. “It may be empty now, but it’s already filled with love. I know it doesn't matter where we live or what it looks like, but I really want to build a home with you. I want it to be the place I always want to be, because you're there.”

Tears welled up in her eyes at his heartfelt words.

“Carlos,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. “You don't have to thank me. Being by your side, supporting you in every way I can—it's all I ever want to do. And this... this house, it's more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

“And that's why I want to marry you,” Carlos added with a coy smile, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looked into hers.

In that moment, surrounded by the promise of a future filled with love and possibility, she knew that this house was more than just a building—it was a sanctuary, a haven where their love could take root and flourish, where every corner would be filled with the echoes of their laughter and the warmth of his embrace.

And as she stood hand in hand with Carlos, gazing out at the blank canvas before her, she felt a sense of excitement and anticipation for the journey that lay ahead. For in each other's arms, she knew that you had found the true meaning of home—a place where love dwelled, where hearts entwined, and where every moment was a testament to the beautiful bond they shared.

[thedensworld]

Case 143 | K.Mg

Pairing: Detective!Mingyu x reader

Genre: action, romance, ex Au

Summary: Mingyu and Y/n are exes. One day, they have to work a case together and it makes the situation uncomfortable for both teams. Besides for the rookie, Hansol.

Breathless and with his heart pounding against his ribcage, Mingyu pushed himself to keep running. Every inhale felt like fire in his lungs, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins kept him going. The urgency of catching Kim Jiheon, the elusive drug dealer he had been tracking for weeks, was consuming him.

His legs threatened to give out beneath him, protesting each step he took, but the thought of letting Jiheon slip through his fingers was unbearable. Alone and racing against time, Mingyu cursed under his breath as he sprinted towards the harbor. His team, blissfully unaware of the unfolding situation, was probably enjoying their dinner, oblivious to his urgent call for backup.

Frantically, he dialed the rookie of his team, Hansol, hoping beyond hope that his message had been received. Mingyu needed everyone at the harbor, and he needed them there now. The distance seemed endless, each stride feeling like an eternity as he fought against exhaustion and desperation.

As Mingyu finally reached the harbor, his eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of his team. But there was nothing. Doubt crept into his mind. Had Hansol even relayed his message? Was he truly alone in this race against time?

Despite the doubt gnawing at him, Mingyu clenched his jaw, refusing to give up. With determination burning in his eyes, he squared his shoulders and prepared to face whatever lay ahead. Kim Jiheon would not escape him, not this time.

Fortunately for Mingyu, his years of dedicated workouts and cardio had honed his body into a well-oiled machine, allowing him to chase down Kim Jiheon with impressive speed and agility. Even as fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, he pushed himself harder, driven by sheer determination to apprehend his elusive target.

It was a testament to Mingyu's resourcefulness that he had managed to uncover Jiheon's plans to ship out tonight. Yet, despite his strategic prowess, a pang of frustration surged through him as he realized his own clumsiness had led to him misplacing his gun at the worst possible moment. Shooting Jiheon's leg would have simplified matters, but fate seemed to have other plans.

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the night air, sending Mingyu's heart racing as Jiheon crumpled to the ground, his leg now wounded and useless. Relief flooded through Mingyu as he spotted the familiar figure holding the pistol, their timely intervention saving the day.

With a steadying breath, Mingyu hurried to Jiheon's side, his movements deliberate as he secured the handcuffs around the criminal's wrists. A mixture of triumph and exhaustion washed over him as he delivered a sharp slap near Jiheon's gunshot wound, a small act of retribution for the chase that had left him soaked with sweat.

As a car and a bike approached, Mingyu watched with a mixture of relief and anticipation as the people inside sprang into action, swiftly attending to the fallen Jiheon. "Nice shot, captain!" one of them exclaimed, praising the biker who had delivered the decisive blow. Mingyu's eyes met hers as she removed her helmet, her intense gaze locking onto him.

There was a palpable tension in the air as she approached Mingyu, her scowl evident even from a distance. Despite the exchange of the gun between them, her anger seemed to simmer just beneath the surface, casting a shadow over the otherwise triumphant moment.

Effortlessly catching the gun she tossed to him, Mingyu couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered between them. Even as he rose to his feet, his body still thrumming with adrenaline, her continued displeasure weighed heavily on him.

As their eyes met once more, Mingyu couldn't help but protest, "Don't look at me like that." He rose from his brief respite, his voice tinged with defiance.

She rolled her eyes in response, her frustration evident. "Like what? Like looking at an idiot? Yeah! I am looking at an idiot who dropped his gun while running. Why are you even here? It's my case!"

Mingyu coughed, feeling the weight of her words like a punch to the gut. "It's related to my department, so it's natural for me to investigate it as well."

She shook her head, her tone firm. "It's one hundred percent on the Narcotic Department. Violence and Crime have zero relevance to this case. Also, your team doesn't have an investigation permission letter. So whatever you're doing right now, it's not under the office regulations," she explained, her words cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Good you're not dead," she muttered under her breath before swiftly donning her helmet.

Mingyu's heart sank at her dismissive words, but he refused to let his pride get the better of him. "Can I join you?" he asked, stepping forward.

She turned to face him, her expression unreadable as she removed her helmet. "Where's your car? How could you even get here in the first place?" she questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Mingyu hesitated for a moment, feeling a pang of embarrassment at his lack of preparedness. But as he met her gaze, determination flickered in his eyes. "I found a way," he muttered, his resolve unwavering despite the obstacles in his path.

Mingyu didn't waste time with words. Instead, he reached for the helmet in her hand and the key, determination shining in his eyes. "Let's go," he said, motioning for her to join him on the back seat.

"Riding without a helmet is illegal, Kim Mingyu. We're police officers," she reminded him firmly.

A smirk played at the corners of Mingyu's lips as he tilted his head, meeting her gaze with a sense of camaraderie. "Well said, Ji Y/n. We're police officers."

*

Mingyu stood at the front of his team, his expression stern as he addressed each member in turn. With their heads bowed and hands folded behind their backs, they listened intently to his lecture, knowing they had failed their leader.

For seven minutes, Mingyu recounted the events of that fateful night, emphasizing the gravity of the situation had he been left to face danger alone. His voice carried a mixture of disappointment and frustration, each word punctuated by the weight of missed opportunities and the consequences of their negligence.

Hansol, the rookie whose distraction had led to Mingyu's solitary struggle, felt the weight of guilt settle heavy in his chest. The memory of the grandmother he had helped with directions now felt like a betrayal, a selfish act that had left his team leader vulnerable and alone in the line of duty.

As Mingyu concluded his lecture, his gaze swept over his team, the disappointment in his eyes unmistakable. Yet, beneath the reprimand, there was a glimmer of determination—a resolve to ensure that such a lapse in communication would never happen again.

Mingyu's commanding presence filled the room as he addressed his team, his eyes sweeping over each member with a sense of authority. "I want you to summarize an essay about how important teamwork is in our field and the role of the leader," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Without hesitation, Lee Seokmin, Seo Myungho, Boo Seungkwan, Lee Chan, and Choi Hansol snapped to attention, offering a crisp salute as a promise to fulfill their leader's directive.

As Mingyu's gaze lingered on Hansol, a sense of disappointment flickered in his eyes. "And Hansol," he added, his voice firm. "Face me after doing 20 laps of a run."

With a nod of acknowledgment, Mingyu dismissed his team, the air thick with the unspoken promise of accountability and unity in the face of adversity. They had learned a valuable lesson, one that would shape their future actions and reinforce the bonds of trust and solidarity among them. Mingyu turned on his heel and made his exit, leaving the room buzzing with a newfound sense of purpose and determination. Each member of the team knew that they had a responsibility to uphold, not only to their leader but to each other as well.

A shout erupted from Seungkwan, his voice echoing through the room, "I'm relieved that I'm not the rookie anymore, but I feel bad for Hansol." His frustration was palpable as he reached for the book sitting untouched on the bookcase for what seemed like ages—a self-improvement book on leadership and teamwork bought by their team leader, Kim Mingyu.

Lee Chan flopped onto the couch, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. He leaned back, his eyelids heavy with fatigue. "Then do his assignment instead," he mumbled, the remnants of their beef dinner lulling him into a sleepy stupor.

Seungkwan's fingers traced the embossed title of the book, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. Relief mingled with guilt as he thought of Hansol, burdened with the weight of being the rookie. Mingyu's gesture was well-intentioned, but it only served to highlight the disparities within their team. As he flipped through the pages, Seungkwan couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him.

Myungho gently tapped Hansol's shoulder, offering reassurance in his touch. "It's not totally your fault, Hansol. That case isn't officially ours, so even if we're losing it, it wouldn't be our responsibility," he explained calmly to the younger member.

Hansol's brow furrowed in surprise, his eyes betraying his confusion. "But didn't we work hard on that case? Is it really okay to just let it go like that?" he questioned, his voice tinged with a mixture of disbelief and concern.

Myungho nodded understandingly, his expression empathetic. "We assumed there might be a gang involved in Park Jiheon's case. But his capture definitely isn't in our hands," he clarified, his tone gentle yet firm as he tried to alleviate Hansol's worries.

Hansol sighed, a weight seeming to lift from his shoulders as he processed Myungho's words.

Seokmin chimed in, his voice carrying a sense of solidarity as he echoed Myungho's sentiments. "Don't worry about Mingyu, he just wasn't in the mood," he reassured, his tone soothing as he tried to ease any lingering concerns.

Chan's hands met in a soft clap of realization, his eyes widening with understanding. "Right? He's never scolded us that much before. I was really worried when he called. But then, when I saw him arriving on bike earlier..." Chan trailed off, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I knew," he concluded, his voice filled with certainty.

Seungkwan chuckled, his laughter ringing out in the room. "I saw them too. Kim Mingyu, our team leader..." he began, a hint of amusement evident in his tone as he recalled the sight of Mingyu's unexpected mode of transportation.

Sensing that the conversation was veering off track, Myungho interjected, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "Let's finish our assignment before midnight," he urged, directing everyone's attention back to the task at hand. With a determined stride, he made his way to his desk, ready to dive into the work.

Seokmin reached out to Hansol, his offer of assistance laced with genuine concern. "Hansol," he called out, his tone gentle yet firm. "You can start your run. I'll take care of your assignment." The weight lifted from Hansol's shoulders as he breathed a sigh of relief, gratitude evident in his expression. He offered a quick word of thanks to Seokmin before hurrying out into the backyard, his mind already racing ahead to the looming encounter with their team leader.

As Hansol disappeared from view, the air seemed to crackle with anticipation. Each member of the team understood the importance of their roles, the weight of their responsibilities hanging heavy in the air. With determination etched on their faces, they set to work, united in their mission to meet the deadline and prove their worth as a team.

*

"I've read your report on the potential Cubic involvement in Park Jiheon's case, and I truly appreciate your astuteness in uncovering this," Chief Park acknowledged, his tone conveying a mix of admiration and seriousness. "However, I can't simply assign this case to your department without the Narcotics Department's involvement, especially considering it's already under their investigation," he explained, his words carrying a weight of deliberation and careful consideration.

As Chief Park's gaze shifted to Choi Seungcheol, the Head of the Violence and Crime Department, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to await his response. Superintendent Choi's expression remained composed, his mind already racing through the implications of Chief Park's words. With a thoughtful nod, he prepared to offer his insight, knowing that the decision ahead would shape the course of their investigation and the fate of their team.

Seungcheol's gaze shifted to Mingyu, his words carrying a sense of reassurance. "There are cases that require the expertise of special teams from different departments, sir. It's quite common in our line of work. If involving our team will expedite the process, then we should proceed," he stated confidently, his tone firm yet respectful as he laid out their rationale.

Chief Park nodded thoughtfully, acknowledging Seungcheol's explanation. "Alright, I'll speak with Superintendent Yoon about this matter and keep you both informed," he confirmed, his expression reflecting a blend of contemplation and gratitude. "Thank you so much for your input," he added, appreciating the insight offered by his dedicated team members. As the conversation drew to a close, the room buzzed with a sense of anticipation, each member silently hoping for a favorable outcome.

Mingyu and Seungcheol strode out of the Chief's office in unison, the weight of the conversation lingering heavily between them. Frustration etched lines on Mingyu's usually cheerful face, his hand harshly rubbing at his forehead in a futile attempt to erase the tension. Seungcheol, observant as ever, couldn't ignore the sudden shift in his junior's demeanor.

"What's wrong?" Seungcheol asked, his own irritation growing as he tried to decipher what had dimmed the usually bright spirit of his junior.

Mingyu shrugged, attempting to downplay the turmoil brewing within him. "It's alright," he muttered, though the strain in his voice betrayed his attempt at composure.

Seungcheol scoffed, unable to contain his sarcasm. "Yeah, everyone can tell you're alright," he quipped, hoping to coax out the truth behind Mingyu's facade.

The jest halted Mingyu in his tracks, his gaze snapping towards Seungcheol with a mixture of surprise and irritation. "Really?" Mingyu's brow furrowed, his frustration momentarily eclipsed by confusion before realization dawned upon him. "That's not funny, sunbae," he retorted, the tension between them palpable as they stood locked in a silent battle of emotions.

Seungcheol motioned for Mingyu to halt in front of a cooler, offering him a soft drink. Mingyu nodded gratefully, sinking onto the nearby bench as Seungcheol handed him a can of coke.

"Are you going to be alright working with Y/n?" Seungcheol asked directly, his concern palpable in the air. Mingyu shot him a sidelong glance, his mood evident in the gesture.

"What? I'm just worried, okay? You both are my juniors and used to be under my team." Seungcheol explained.

"I know," Mingyu mumbled, his head dropping as he stared at his shoes. He sighed heavily. "It's been messing with my head. I can't seem to stop thinking about her."

Mingyu looked up at Seungcheol, his expression a mix of frustration and self-doubt. "Even last night, I lashed out at my team for not capturing Park Jiheon. We worked tirelessly on the case, even though it wasn't our responsibility. It was... selfish."

"I feel like such an idiot, sunbae," Mingyu confessed.

Seungcheol paused, considering his words carefully before responding. "Professionally? Yes, you made mistakes. But we can't ignore matters of the heart, Mingyu. We're police officers, yes, but we're also human. We feel things deeply. Sometimes, our emotions cloud our judgment."

Mingyu chuckled weakly. "It's surreal to hear reassurance from you, Seungcheol sunbae. I remember when you used to chew me out back in my rookie days."

Seungcheol scoffed, folding his arms. "Rookies are always in for a rough ride," he said with a wry smile, pointing a finger skyward.

"If working with Y/n is going to worsen things for you, then maybe you should assign the case to another member. I hear Myungho is a great profiler," Seungcheol suggested.

Mingyu nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."

As they stood in the quiet of the break room, the weight of Mingyu's dilemma hung heavy in the air, each man lost in his own thoughts.

*

"From today, the two of your teams will work together on the case given. Don't get distracted; Cubic might be more than we've known." The chief's words echoed in the room as the teams filed out.

Seungkwan and Chan exchanged subtle signals, while Seokmin and Myungho struggled to maintain their composure. Hansol, the only one oblivious to the tension, glanced at his leader, silently asking, "What's going on, sunbae?"

"Let's arrange a meeting tonight. My team will share everything we've found related to Cubic," you announced, stopping abruptly to address Mingyu.

Mingyu nodded and motioned for his team to proceed ahead. "Let's have a talk," he suggested, prompting you to instruct your team to head out first.

"We're talking," you said firmly once everyone had left. Mingyu rolled his eyes at your sudden display of petulance.

With a sigh, Mingyu began, "Let's not make everyone uncomfortable."

Your frown deepened. "I haven't done anything."

Mingyu hesitated, biting his lip before continuing, "I mean—"

"The way you speak makes everyone nervous," he clarified.

You shrugged nonchalantly. "That's just how I communicate. I thought you knew that."

"However," you added, your tone becoming more serious, "I'm sorry, but you can't tell me what to do unless it's about the case. You're not my boyfriend."

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving Kim Mingyu standing there, frustration evident on his face as he watched you go.

*

Mingyu, you, and Wonwoo entered the academy at the same time and were assigned to the same team upon graduation ten years ago. Working under intense pressure with Seungcheol as the team leader, the three of you quickly became inseparable. Mingyu and Wonwoo were always there to help you maintain your composure, making sure you didn't impulsively shoot anyone you caught, given your renowned marksmanship.

Mingyu, the athletic and brain one, carried the team with his impressive deductive skills, which had caught Seungcheol's eye during your rookie days. He had an uncanny ability to piece together the most obscure clues, turning chaos into coherent narratives that led to countless breakthroughs in your cases. His strategic thinking and physical prowess made him the backbone of the team.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, was a jack-of-all-trades and thrived on challenges. He was always willing to take the biggest risks, whether it was infiltrating dangerous territories or going undercover in high-stakes operations. His versatility and daring nature complemented Mingyu's methodical approach, creating a dynamic and effective duo.

For Seungcheol, having the three of you on the same team was a stroke of fortune. Your combined skills and unwavering loyalty to each other made the team formidable. Seungcheol knew he could rely on you to handle the toughest cases, confident that you would always have each other's backs, no matter the danger.

Wonwoo vividly remembered the day Mingyu panickedly ran down the hospital aisle after hearing you were injured during a mission to intercept a gang transaction. The two of them stood helplessly by your hospital bed, staring at your weak form with a broken leg and arm.

From that day forward, Mingyu and Wonwoo promised never to leave your side. You made the same promise to them.

"You two are dating?" Wonwoo asked, watching as you and Mingyu nodded excitedly like puppies.

"Finally." A sigh of relief escaped from Wonwoo's mouth.

Surprised by his reaction, you asked, "You knew?"

Wonwoo scoffed, "You were the only one who didn't realize how smitten Mingyu has been with you all these years."

You turned to Mingyu, who was blushing furiously at Wonwoo's words, his cheeks tinged a deep shade of red.

"Anyway, let's get some meat tonight. I'll pay," Mingyu declared, trying to shift the focus away from his embarrassment.

Just then, another figure stirred, startling the three of you. Seungcheol, who had been dozing at his desk, rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"Am I invited?" he asked, his voice slightly groggy.

The mood lightened as you all began discussing the evening's plans, the camaraderie and affection between you all evident. Despite the pressures and dangers of your work, moments like this reminded you why you were a team—why you were a family.

*

It's been a few weeks since you and Mingyu started working together on the case. The atmosphere was not as uncomfortable as it used to be, but everyone could still sense the underlying tension between the two leaders. Although you and Mingyu didn't feel that way, the rest of the team couldn't help but walk on thin ice around you.

The investigation had already uncovered Cubic's involvement in the narcotic industry and the powerful figures behind them. Mingyu and you had serious discussions from time to time, meticulously arranging every detail of the operation. The years of the close relationship you once had before it broke three years ago were now a distant memory, masked by the professionalism you both maintained.

Despite the professionalism, there were moments when the past seemed to seep through the cracks. A shared glance, an unspoken understanding—remnants of what once was. These moments, though fleeting, didn't go unnoticed by the team.

During one of the sessions, as you pored over maps and files, you couldn't help but recall the days when teamwork came effortlessly between you and Mingyu. Back then, your synergy was unmatched, a force that propelled your team to solve the most challenging cases.

Now, as you both focused on taking down Cubic, the stakes were higher than ever. The complexity of the case demanded absolute focus and collaboration. You admired Mingyu's analytical skills, his ability to connect dots that seemed unrelated, and his unwavering dedication to the mission. It reminded you of why you had once fallen for him.

Mingyu, on the other hand, found himself occasionally lost in thought, reminiscing about the times when your relationship wasn't just professional. He admired your courage and precision, your knack for getting to the heart of a matter with unerring accuracy. But he also knew that the past was a closed chapter, and what mattered now was the mission at hand.

As the team continued to unravel the tangled web of Cubic's operations, you and Mingyu found a new rhythm in your collaboration. The hints of rivalry that others perceived were, in truth, a testament to the high standards you both held each other to.

"Sunbae!" Seungkwan burst into the meeting room, his urgency drawing the attention of both you and Mingyu.

"Hansol and Jihoon were captured by Cubic," he announced, breathless.

"What?" you and Mingyu exclaimed simultaneously, immediately moving towards Seungkwan, who held out his phone, showing a picture of Hansol and Jihoon tied up, their faces bruised and bloodied.

"No..." you whispered, covering your mouth in shock.

Mingyu glanced at you, his expression a mix of frustration and concern, before turning to Seungkwan. "Gather everyone immediately," he instructed.

Seungkwan nodded and hurried out of the room.

"I'll inform the superintendents and the chief about this," Mingyu said, already reaching for his phone.

"We need to find them immediately," you told Mingyu, your voice trembling with urgency.

"We will save them. Please, calm down," he reassured you, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

As everyone gathered in the meeting room under Seungcheol's direction, they quickly got to work, tracking through CCTV footage, emails, phone numbers, and transmissions to pinpoint Hansol and Jihoon's location.

"How about the ring?" you asked Jun, one of your team members.

"What ring?" Mingyu inquired.

You showed him your ring. "We programmed GPS into our team rings."

Jun shook his head. "It was left in a small alley in Itaewon. Seokmin and Myungho have already checked it out."

You sighed, your foot tapping anxiously on the floor.

"Itaewon?" Mingyu asked, frowning. He recalled Hansol mentioning he was heading to Sadang, Dongjak. "Where was he last before he was captured?" Mingyu asked Jun.

"Dongjak Bridge," Jun replied.

Mingyu rushed to his desk, rifling through papers. "If they were captured at Dongjak Bridge and the GPS was discarded in Itaewon, it means they made a U-turn," he deduced. "Their nearest area from Itaewon would be Gwangjang."

You bit your lip at Mingyu's deduction and immediately instructed Jun to track the CCTV footage around Myeongdong.

Seungcheol received a call from the district station and made eye contact with the two of you. "Alright, we'll be there," he said, hanging up.

"The car that captured them was seen around Gwangjang Market. Jun, find any abandoned buildings there. Mingyu, Y/N, you two drive to Myeongdong,"

*

Mingyu stood motionless in front of the ICU, his eyes fixed on the doors, while you were crying on the floor after the incident during the mission. A bomb had exploded in the hotel while your team was attempting to catch a serial killer.

You had been trapped in the perpetrator's trap, tied up in a room with a time bomb ticking down. Wonwoo had been trying to save you, but he knew he had to get the bomb away from other people.

"No, don't," you pleaded as Wonwoo prepared to pull the strap of the time bomb.

"You need to get everyone out of this building. I'll take the bomb to a higher floor," Wonwoo instructed, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

You shook your head, desperation in your eyes. "Let's get down together." You grabbed his arm, but he stood firm.

"Save the people and do what I said. We have five minutes," he urged.

You looked at him, tears streaming down your face, before gradually stepping away. You watched as Wonwoo sprinted towards the emergency stairs, determination etched on his face. You then turned and began evacuating everyone, your heart heavy with fear and hope.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu mumbled as you both waited anxiously for news about Wonwoo's condition. Reports had indicated that he was badly injured and would require several surgeries.

You stood up, frustration and sorrow evident on your face. "You left us!"

Mingyu took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping with regret. "I'm very sorry."

In a surge of emotion, you grabbed his collar and shouted, "You saw me in trouble, but you ran off to catch that bastard! You lost sight of your priorities!"

Mingyu nodded, his face reflecting the realization that he had made a grave mistake by abandoning his injured teammates.

"Hey... Stop it," Seungcheol said, his voice heavy with exhaustion and stress. He stepped in and gently pulled you away from Mingyu.

Just then, the doctor emerged from the ICU, calling out Wonwoo's name. The news he delivered was something no one had been prepared for.

You fell to your knees, overwhelmed by the weight of the doctor’s words. Mingyu leaned against the nearest wall, his face hidden in his hands, unable to escape the guilt that consumed him.

Seungcheol, the team leader who had just lost a member, stood nearby, grappling with his own overwhelming sense of failure. He could not shake the feeling that he should have done more, that he had let his team down in their darkest hour. The weight of the day’s events hung heavily over everyone, casting a long and painful shadow on the team.

*

You and Mingyu immediately ran to the abandoned building where Hansol and Jihoon were being held captive. The rest of the team followed closely, their weapons at the ready. As you neared the building, Mingyu's phone rang. It was a call from Seungcheol. Mingyu signaled for everyone to stop moving when he heard Seungcheol's urgent voice, "Stop everyone. He wants to meet Y/N."

Mingyu's eyes locked onto yours as Seungcheol continued, "Yoo Yongchul wants to meet Y/N only."

Mingyu relayed the message, and you muttered a curse under your breath, "He hated it when I took down his men last week." The pieces clicked into place—this was why Hansol and Jihoon had been captured.

"Tell him that Y/N will be with me," Mingyu instructed Seungcheol before ending the call. He quickly briefed Myungho and Jisoo to lead the team while you and he headed upstairs.

"Be careful," Myungho whispered as he took his position, his eyes filled with concern.

With a nod, you and Mingyu moved cautiously up the stairs, the old wooden steps creaking under your weight. The air was thick with tension, every shadow a potential threat. Your mind raced, strategizing how to handle Yoo Yongchul and secure the safe release of your teammates.

Reaching the designated floor, you saw a dimly lit room at the end of the hallway. Mingyu placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We’ve got this. Just stay focused."

You nodded, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. As you entered the room, the dim light revealed Yoo Yongchul standing in the center, a sinister smile on his face. Hansol and Jihoon were tied up in the corner, their faces bruised and eyes filled with a mixture of relief and fear upon seeing you.

"Here we are. Did you bring my men?" Yoo Yongchul, the leader of Cubic, greeted you with a smile that stood in stark contrast to his grim-faced men, who held weapons aimed at Hansol and Jihoon.

"You let them go, and we'll talk," you replied, your calm tone surprising even Mingyu.

Mingyu's eyes widened as you pulled out your gun, unloaded it, and let the bullets clatter to the floor. You then tossed the gun aside, followed by your knife and handcuffs.

"What are you doing?" Mingyu whispered, alarmed.

Yoo Yongchul motioned for his men to release Hansol and Jihoon. Mingyu immediately moved to their side as they were pushed towards you.

"So, what do you want?" you asked.

"Let's pretend we never sold narcotics," Yoo Yongchul said smoothly. "Detective Kim knows what we've done, right? We just own a few nightclubs and do some debt collecting."

You smiled, a dangerous edge to your expression. "Nightclubs aren't enough, so you got your hands dirty with 'candy' from Russia? How does the money from selling narcotics feel?" Your taunt hit its mark, and Yoo Yongchul's smile vanished. He grabbed a gun from one of his men and aimed it at you.

Mingyu, Hansol, and Jihoon, who got their gun from Mingyu, quickly raised their guns, ready to protect you.

"Thank you for this invitation, Yoo Yongchul," you said, your voice steady.

Sensing your intent to capture him, Yoo Yongchul fired at you and immediately ran. Hansol and Jihoon sprinted after him, but Mingyu stopped when he noticed you were bleeding.

"You didn't wear a vest?" Mingyu exclaimed, shock evident in his voice. He quickly directed everyone to move through his radio, but you motioned for him to join the others in pursuing Yoo Yongchul.

"No, I'm not leaving you here bleeding," he insisted, gently lifting you into his arms and heading downstairs.

"I'm heavy," you whispered weakly, your hand pressed against the wound on your stomach to stem the bleeding.

"Shut up, it's not like I’ve never lifted you before," Mingyu retorted, his tone a mix of frustration and concern.

You winced in pain, the reality of being shot for the first time hitting you hard. Your recklessness in not wearing a bulletproof vest during the mission now seemed like a grave mistake.

"Please, stay awake," Mingyu urged as he descended the stairs, his voice trembling slightly. He could feel your strength waning with each passing moment.

As he carried you, Mingyu's mind raced with thoughts of your shared history and the countless times you had saved each other. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you now. "Just a bit further," he whispered, more to himself than to you, as he pushed through the pain and fear gripping his heart.

With the help of the district station, Yoo Yongchul and his men were successfully captured. Seungcheol saw Mingyu holding you and immediately ran to assist. Quickly getting you to the paramedics, Mingyu watched anxiously as they tended to your wound.

"She didn't wear a vest?" Jihoon, who was also in the same ambulance on the way to the hospital, was shocked to find out his leader was injured.

Hansol, sitting beside Jihoon, looked on in concern as you slowly closed your eyes. "Ma'am, please stay awake. We're on our way to the hospital," the paramedic urged.

Mingyu's hand immediately found yours and squeezed it tightly. "Hey... stay awake... please," he begged, his voice filled with desperation.

"It's hurting," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Mingyu nodded, his face a mask of concern and guilt.

"Mingyu, thank you," you whispered, your voice growing weaker. "Thank you..."

Mingyu shook his head, hating the way you kept thanking him in this dire situation. "Stop it!" he said, his voice breaking.

"I'm so tired," you mumbled, your eyes fluttering. "I miss Wonwoo."

"Sunbae!" Jihoon exclaimed, his voice filled with disapproval and concern, speaking up on behalf of a speechless Mingyu.

Mingyu's heart clenched at your words, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Stay with me," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "We can't lose you too."

The ambulance sped through the city streets, sirens blaring. The paramedics worked tirelessly to stabilize you, their faces grim with determination. As the hospital came into view, Mingyu's grip on your hand tightened, a silent promise that he would never let you down again.

The ambulance doors flew open, and the medical team rushed you inside. Mingyu followed closely, his eyes never leaving you. "She's going to be okay," he told himself, the words a mantra he desperately needed to believe. "She has to be."

*

Hansol, Jihoon, Seungkwan, and Myungho sat waiting anxiously in front of the surgery room. Their eyes kept darting to Mingyu, who stood steadfastly by the door, not moving an inch since you were taken in an hour ago.

"I don't know what exactly happened, but I watched him in the ambulance," Hansol said, looking over at Jihoon. "He looked so worried. Like he was afraid something terrible would happen."

"I know... everyone can see he still loves her," Seungkwan sighed.

Hansol frowned. "What do you mean? They were together?"

Jihoon glanced at him. "You didn't know?"

"He's new," Seungkwan informed Jihoon.

"They were together until three years ago, before they were promoted to team leaders. It was Jihoon hyung, Myungho hyung, Mingyu sunbae, y/n sunbae, and I was the maknae. Seungcheol sunbae was the team leader," Seungkwan explained.

"We lost a member during a mission. It was their best friend," Jihoon added somberly. "I don't know all the details, but the rumors about their breakup started after that. However, I always knew that Mingyu sunbae never truly left Y/n sunbae's side."

The group fell silent, the weight of the past and present hanging heavily in the air. The surgical room doors remained closed, and every passing minute felt like an eternity. Mingyu's unwavering presence by the door was a testament to his feelings, a silent promise that he wouldn't lose you, no matter what it took.

"What is wrong with you, actually?" Those were the first words out of your mouth after days of not speaking to him. It was almost midnight when he drove you home after Wonwoo's funeral. Unable to bear the thought of leaving you alone, he stayed.

"What is wrong with you?" you asked again, this time in a whisper.

He knew exactly what you were referring to, but the guilt weighed heavily on him. He couldn't stop hating himself every time he remembered that he was the cause of losing Wonwoo and almost losing you as well.

"You've always been the one to prioritize other. How could you go when you saw me tied up in that room?" you continued, your voice cracking with emotion.

Mingyu held his head down, unable to meet your eyes. Deep down, he knew the reason behind his actions, and it made him hate himself even more. He remembered the frantic moments of trying to find, where the culprit had taken you, with Wonwoo while the rest of the team focused on evacuating the area.

"Did something happen to you?" Your question pierced through his thoughts, bringing tears to his eyes. You were too good for him, he thought. How could an angel like you exist for someone as flawed as him? He was betraying you, for God's sake!

"There are only two spots, Detective Kim," he remembered Chief Hong's insinuation. It was promotion time. Mingyu, Wonwoo, and you had dedicated your lives fully to the work. However, there were only two promotion spots available, and they were likely for him and Wonwoo.

Competently, Wonwoo and he were better detectives. But everyone knew you were fit for a leadership spot. Honestly, none of you didn't deserve the place.

"Detective Jeon definitely has a spot. Honestly, I have high hopes for you, Detective Kim. However, the superintendents have been discussing Detective Ji's performance in leading several cases," Chief Hong had said.

Mingyu’s mind replayed the conversation. The promotion meant everything to him. It wasn’t just about recognition; it was about proving his worth, his dedication. But that ambition had clouded his judgment, leading to choices that he now regretted deeply.

You sighed at his silence, frustration boiling over. "You left me in danger and now you're keeping things from me," you said, your voice trembling with hurt. "I guess seven years wasn't enough for you? For us?"

Mingyu shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

"Then tell me! We lost Wonwoo, for god's sake! How could you stay silent like this, Kim Mingyu?"

Mingyu was startled; it was the first time he'd heard you raise your voice at him. He looked at you, eyes widened in shock. Why was it always about Wonwoo? When was it going to be about him? When would he be prioritized?

"You shouldn't bring up Wonwoo. I'm having a hard time too," Mingyu said, his voice cracking. He stood from the couch, grabbing his black suit from the funeral.

"It's always about him, right?" Mingyu mumbled, his words heavy with bitterness and pain, before he walked out, leaving you alone in the silence of the night.

The echo of his departure hung in the air, leaving you with a hollow ache that felt impossible to fill. The chasm between you and Mingyu seemed wider than ever, and the loss of Wonwoo weighed down on both of you like an unspoken curse.

*

Mingyu stood somberly at the funeral with his team, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. In this industry, people came and went, and the harsh reality of that truth weighed heavily on his heart. He tapped one of your member, Jisoo's shoulder, silently urging him to stay strong amidst the recent turmoil.

After the funeral concluded, Mingyu found himself heading to your apartment. The familiar path brought a wave of nostalgia. He remembered all the times he had crashed at your place, finding solace and comfort within its walls. Your apartment had always felt more like home to him than his own, mainly because it had you in it.

As he stood outside your door, memories of laughter, shared meals, and late-night conversations flooded his mind. The warmth of your presence, the way you made everything better just by being there—it all came rushing back. With a deep breath, Mingyu stepped inside, hoping to find some semblance of the connection you once shared, even amidst the pain and unresolved issues that now lingered between you.

"Wake up," Mingyu said softly, shaking your shoulder. "I brought you lunch. It's past time for your medicine."

You groaned and stretched like a cat, wincing as the still-healing wound reminded you of its presence. "How's Jisoo?" you asked, feeling guilty for not being able to attend his father's funeral, Regional Chief Hong.

Mingyu prepared the food on your nightstand and handed it to you. "Even though we knew he hated his father, he's still his father. Jisoo's holding up as best as he can."

You sighed, taking the plate from him. "I wish I could've been there for him."

Mingyu sat beside you, watching you carefully. "He understands. We all do. Focus on getting better. That's what matters right now."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. "Thank you, Mingyu. For everything."

He smiled, gently squeezing your hand. "Always."

You shook your head. "I really mean it. Thank you for always being there," you said sincerely.

Mingyu looked at you, stunned by your words. "You knew?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded slowly. "Everyone knows."

Mingyu's face flushed slightly. "I know you weren't that stupid for stepping over regulations, helping with my cases," you mentioned as you took your first spoonful of food.

You frowned slightly. "It doesn't have green onion. You remembered?" you asked, surprised.

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "Of course I remembered."

You chuckled and playfully slapped his arm. "Stop acting like that to women!"

Mingyu raised his hand to pat your head, smiling softly. "Only for you."

You bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from saying something. However, Mingyu noticed it and said, "Just say it."

You sighed and set the food on the nightstand before turning to face him. "You know what happened to Wonwoo is not your fault, right?"

Mingyu shifted uncomfortably on your bed, his eyes wandering. There was a pregnant pause before he finally spoke. "I—I don't know. I—I just can't stop thinking and blaming myself."

You reached out and took his hand, feeling the tension in his grip. "Mingyu, none of us could have predicted what happened. Wonwoo made his choice to save everyone. He was a hero, and you did everything you could."

Mingyu's eyes met yours, filled with anguish. "But I should have been there. I should have done more."

"You were there, and you did everything you could," you insisted, squeezing his hand. "We all did. This job, it comes with risks, and we all knew that. Blaming yourself won't bring him back."

Mingyu sighed deeply, the weight of his guilt still pressing down on him. "I just wish things had been different."

"We all do," you whispered. "But we have to keep moving forward. For Wonwoo, for each other, and for the team."

Mingyu nodded slowly, his eyes still clouded with grief. "I know. It's just hard."

"It is," you agreed. "But we're in this together. We'll get through it, one step at a time."

He looked at you, his expression softening. "Thank you. For everything."

"Always," you replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Now, let's finish this food before it gets cold."

Mingyu managed a small smile, the first hint of light breaking through the darkness. "Okay. No green onions, just for you."

You chuckled, the sound a small but significant step toward healing. "Just for me."

*

It was nearly 3 a.m. when you and Mingyu decided to step out of the office together after a long night shift. You had just finished your leave and had fully recovered, while Mingyu had been dealing with everything related to Cubic over the past three months. Despite the challenges, things were looking up—especially now that he had you to come home to.

Everyone was thrilled when Mingyu finally revealed that you two were back together. Seungcheol, ever the perceptive leader, was the first to know. His response was typically Seungcheol: "I sensed that would happen." Meanwhile, the rest of the team, who had been watching Mingyu wander around like a lost soul since your separation, were ecstatic. They couldn't stop showering him with playful, embarrassing comments.

"My wish for today is that I won't see you running, on your first day back at work, catching some bastard," Mingyu said, a hint of a smile on his face as he placed an order for the two of you.

You both decided to stop at an old restaurant nearby your place. It was open 24 hours and served home-cooked meals—a usual go-to spot for you, Mingyu, and Wonwoo after night shifts. The owner, recognizing you both, was surprised to see you weren't alone this time.

"I'm so sorry for your friend," she said gently. "Here's a house service."

She handed you a plate of mandu, Wonwoo's favorite appetizer. Mingyu and you smiled gratefully at her before savoring the familiar taste.

"Shit, I didn't expect this atmosphere," Mingyu mumbled, hiding his face in his hands, still chewing on the mandu.

You reached out and touched his arm gently. "I know. It's... different without him."

Mingyu nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "This place... it was our spot."

You sighed, memories flooding back. "Yeah, it was. But I'm glad we came. It feels like he's still here with us, in a way."

Mingyu took a deep breath, lowering his hands to look at you. "I'm really glad you're back. I don't think I could have done this without you."

You smiled softly. "I'm glad to be back too. And we're going to get through this, together."

As the two of you sat there, sharing a meal and memories, the weight of the past few months began to lift. It wasn't easy, but you both knew that as long as you had each other, you could face anything the future held.

Once you two finished, Mingyu, who was facing the window, saw someone running while another followed. He cursed under his breath and lowered his head. You noticed his reaction and tried to look back.

"Promise me you won't get involved," he said, reminding you that your shift was over.

But then you saw Jihoon and Jisoo running in pursuit. You immediately stood up. "I have to go," you said, darting outside to follow your team members.

Mingyu sighed, pulling out his card to pay for the meal. The owner, noticing your sudden absence, approached with a curious look.

"Where's she? Did she leave already?" the owner asked.

Mingyu smiled wearily. "She's got a criminal to chase," he replied playfully before stepping out, scanning the area to find your whereabouts.

As you ran to catch up with Jihoon and Jisoo, the familiar adrenaline surged through your veins. Mingyu followed close behind, unable to ignore the pull of duty despite his earlier promise.

The chase was intense, but with Jihoon and Jisoo leading the way, you quickly caught up to the suspect. Jihoon tackled him to the ground while Jisoo expertly cuffed him. You arrived just in time to help them secure the scene.

"Nice work, team," you said, breathing heavily. Jihoon and Jisoo both gave you grateful nods, their expressions a mix of surprise and relief.

Just then, Mingyu arrived, slightly out of breath. "Nice job, everyone," he said, his tone a bit sharper than usual. Jihoon and Jisoo looked at him, then at you, confused.

"Wait, did Mingyu sunbae just follow you here?" Jihoon asked, raising an eyebrow.

You glanced at Mingyu, who looked slightly offended. "Yeah, we came together," you admitted.

Jisoo's eyes widened. "Together? Like, together-together?"

You nodded, a small smile forming. "Yeah, we're back together."

Jihoon and Jisoo exchanged surprised looks. "And you didn't think to tell us?" Jihoon teased, though there was genuine curiosity in his tone.

Mingyu crossed his arms, clearly still a bit annoyed. "Yeah, why didn't you tell them?" he asked you pointedly.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. "I was going to, but there was never a good time. And then, well, this happened."

Jisoo grinned. "Well, it's about time! We've been wondering when you two would finally get back together."

Jihoon chuckled. "Yeah, the whole team has been rooting for you guys."

Mingyu's annoyance softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I guess we could've been more open about it," he admitted.

"Definitely," you agreed, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "From now on, no more secrets."

As the night continued, the team settled back into their routine, the camaraderie and shared purpose stronger than ever. You and Mingyu were back together, and despite the challenges ahead, you knew you could face them as long as you had each other.

[cherriecove]

Fine Line Between Duty and Oaths (Part 4)

Gwayne Hightower x Targ!Reader

Summary: The second born daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma is just as brave, beautiful and stubborn as her older sister but cannot deny her growing love for a certain red haired knight who just so happens to be a dear friend's brother.

Cherrie's note:She/Her pronouns. I am amazed by how much love you guys have shown my writing. Thank you so so much for your support, i hope i can keep you all happy.

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

Watching Gwayne train was more exhilarating than you’d anticipated. Despite his youth, his skill with a sword was undeniable. He dispatched opponents with a grace and ease that bordered on effortless, his confidence—teetering on arrogance—seemingly justified by his prowess. It was clear that his confidence wasn’t misplaced, though it stirred a mix of admiration and irritation within you. You were captivated by him, his every move drenched in sweat yet still strikingly handsome. A fleeting thought crossed your mind: a wish to knock him off his high horse, if only to humble him. Yet, even with his confident demeanor, he looked every bit the part of a heavenly vision. You were painfully aware of how your cheeks flushed at the mere sight of him, a fact not lost on him, judging by the small smirk he directed your way after helping up his sparring partner.

Considering whether to order your sworn protector to intervene and knock him down was a fleeting thought. Instead, you stood, smoothing your dress. Gwayne jogged over, concern evident in his eyes. “You aren’t leaving already, are you, Princess? Am I not impressive enough?”

You descended the steps of the viewing stand with his assistance. “It was satisfactory, Ser.”

Gwayne placed a hand over his heart in mock distress. “I’ve disappointed my princess. Whatever shall I do to recover?”

You smiled, shaking your head at his dramatic flair. “I have every faith that you’ll redeem yourself in the tourney, Ser Gwayne.”

As you headed toward the Red Keep’s entrance, Gwayne’s voice followed. “I hope so too, my Princess!”

The day of the tourney had finally arrived, and the atmosphere in the Red Keep was electric with anticipation. Royal duties had kept you and Gwayne apart, your time together limited to quick exchanges and lingering glances. You found yourself missing him more than you’d expected, a testament to the swift and deep connection that had formed between you.

In the royal box, you were seated between Rhaenyra and Alicent. Alicent was visibly nervous about her brother’s performance, her hands fidgeting with her nails. You placed your hand over hers, giving a reassuring squeeze. She returned the gesture, understanding your shared concern for Gwayne. Both she and your sister had noted your growing fondness for the knight, often teasing you about it in the days leading up to the tournament.

As your father rose to announce the commencement of the tourney, your attention was elsewhere, scanning the arena for Gwayne. When you finally spotted him, your heart skipped a beat, and you silently prayed to the old gods and the new for his safety. When the knights came to request favors, you turned down every offer, knowing precisely where your allegiance lay.

Gwayne approached, removing his helmet and smiling up at you. “Princess, it would be an honor if you would present me with your favour. Even if I lose, I would still consider myself a winner.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words. You picked up your flower wreath and approached the barrier, the eyes of your father and Otto Hightower upon you. But in that moment, their scrutiny faded as you focused solely on Gwayne. “Of course, Ser. Do be careful.” You placed the wreath on his lance, and the connection between you was palpable. His nod was a silent promise, and though no more words passed between you, the understanding was mutual. He donned his helmet and returned to his place.

As you resumed your seat, the weight of your father’s and Otto Hightower’s gazes became more pronounced. You tried to steady your breath, watching intently as the jousting began. Gwayne’s skill was evident, but his opponent had the advantage of experience and brute strength. You gasped silently as Gwayne was unseated with a jarring impact, struggling to suppress your urge to cry out. Instead, you gripped Alicent’s hand tightly, your heart racing with concern. Despite knowing Gwayne’s stubbornness, you wished he would yield to avoid further injury. Yet, true to form, he stood and challenged his opponent to continue on the ground. Though nimble and quick, Gwayne’s superior opponent’s strength and strategy soon took their toll. Gwayne fought valiantly but was ultimately overpowered and forced to yield. As he released his sword and was helped from the field, your worry surged.

You quickly excused yourself from the royal box, making a hasty yet dignified dash toward the deep green tent. Your urgency overrode the need for decorum; your only focus was Gwayne. The thought of him hurt and vulnerable drove you to disregard the etiquette you had been taught since childhood, propelled only by your concern for the knight who had swiftly become significant in your life.

Tag List: @deniixlovezelda @kieracassette

[yandere-toons]

Matthew Patel

Romantic Headcanons – Yandere

WARNING: violence, death, implied stalking, mentions of religious concepts, toxic mindset.

From the moment you invite Matthew into your life, he will carry that memory to his deathbed. The bond you forged that day is unbreakable and immortal for him: he will go blind to all other reasons for living, consumed with rage at your absence, and ecstatic at any sign of your favour.

Talk of other suitors sends Matthew into a frenzy from which he will not emerge until this obstacle to his happiness is laid low. Dispute over the value of certain traits leaves Matthew resentful—of himself for not being better, of the other person for possessing what he lacks, and of the universe for cursing him with such horrid luck.

When such a person speaks your name, Matthew is driven by his own insecurities to loathe them. The sound of their voice becomes like a cheese grater to his ears, a reminder of how close he is to losing his world for the second time, and from thence into a sound he will fight to the death to silence.

The look of this person, particularly when they light up at the mere mention of you and receive such a look in kind, is a ghastly thing. Matthew's takeaway is one of doubt and bad memories, of all the similarities to Ramona's waning interest that he had been too immature and inattentive to rectify. He vows not to make the same mistake twice.

Seemingly overnight, Matthew transforms from a brooding presence lurking in your shadow to a wellspring of offers to solve even the smallest of issues. He makes a habit of dropping to one knee and delivering a Pagliacci-esque soliloquy about how deep his affection runs, professing that you've become his whole world and that to lose you would leave him with nothing.

Despite your promise not to "betray" him, as Matthew so graciously puts it, he fears it would be a mistake to let his guard down. He believes you were sincere at the time, but Ramona's flippant attitude has left him anxious that you may change your tune and turn your back on him for no apparent reason.

For years, Matthew sought answers as to why she hurt him: on bad days, he blames her for playing with his emotions; on worse days, he blames himself for not trying hard enough to become someone she wanted. Now that he has another shot at human connection, this earth will burn before it slips away from him.

Matthew's actions arise from a peculiar sense of justice: he views himself as retribution sent down upon all those who have wronged you. By daring to replace him, their way of looking after you is inherently and unforgivably flawed. Someone who could, in reality, be quite decent will devolve in his mind into a parasite who takes advantage of you.

Whether they are cruel or kind-hearted, what obsesses Matthew and keeps him stewing for potentially years is the notion that they've robbed him of his one chance at happiness. So long as they keep you company, he sees his future darkening.

What should be a private affair, Matthew turns into a spectacle: he takes to the stage in his most flamboyant attire and declares war, goading his enemy to meet their doom at his hand. Everything, from the venue to the battle itself, is a power play, a performance art in which he displays his prowess for all to admire and envy.

Once he has struck the first blow, there is no version of events where Matthew shows mercy or admits defeat. The harder they fight, the prouder he is to butcher them. Their death will be a triumph, a testament to the fact that he is strong enough to win this war. Anyone who rolls over in the face of his challenge must not be truly committed to you and therefore deserves to feel his wrath for stringing you along.

Coming to over the shiny remains of his enemy, Matthew forgets his rage and revells in the thought of having the sole being who brings him happiness. Ready to pick up where he left off and confident he's earned that right, Matthew throws himself at you and proclaims how thrilled he is to be together again.

Matthew struggles to move beyond the past and to envision a future where he is alone. Having spent much of his life pursuing others, Matthew has no concept of living for himself. He stakes his survival on the volume of applause at the end of every performance, and in the home environment, his tendency to cling to petty recognition has taken root in all interactions.

This emotional hunger reveals itself in the unnecessary extremes to which Matthew proves his devotion, convinced that the obsequious nature of his company and continual sacrifices gives them meaning. He jumps at every opportunity to be near you, no exceptions, afraid that missing even one will be termed neglect and spell the ruin of his life with you.

At his best, Matthew is an unrelenting thespian who serenades you with ballads and calligraphic poetry. But at his worst, he is an unstable and violent creature full of pent-up rage, who conspires with Daemonettes to bind your soul to his, making it virtually impossible to give him up for another.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Plymouth Superbird

The 1970 Plymouth Superbird: A High-Performance Engineering Marvel

The Plymouth Superbird is a quintessential example of automotive engineering and design focused on aerodynamic efficiency and raw power. Developed primarily for NASCAR competition, the Superbird's distinctive appearance, characterized by a prominent rear wing and elongated nose, was driven by functional considerations rather than aesthetic preference.

Equipped with Chrysler's potent V8 engines, including the legendary 426 Hemi, the Superbird was a formidable force on the racetrack. While its performance capabilities were exceptional, its practicality for everyday use was limited. Consequently, production numbers were relatively low, contributing to its status as a coveted collector's item.

Despite its short production run, the Superbird's impact on automotive culture and performance benchmarks is undeniable. It remains a symbol of the golden age of American muscle cars and a testament to Chrysler's engineering prowess.

[blessyouhawkeye]

it's really a testament to sam reid's acting prowess that he made the opening paragraph of the vampire lestat sound like it's anything other than complete and utter nonsense, let alone good.

[blkkizzat]

꒰ა 𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 ໒꒱

a/n: IDK if this will be a series yet but I really wanted to turn the tables on the JJK men and write a drabble on what it would be like returning that alpha feral energy to them lmfao. for now this a one off! I may do more in the future. cw: trueform!Sukuna, canonverse, y/n being feral, dirty talk, fantasizing, intrusive thoughts and, of course, objectifying Sukuna's thighs. crack drabble lol wc: 925 Black fem coded but no descriptors.

You were with Sukuna in his throne room. The one task you were given was to stand next to him, look pretty and be silent while he handled business with the various cursed and sorcerer associates who requested an audience with him. 

You fidgeted as you stood to his left, never good at remaining still.

Uruame stood to his right, stoic as ever.

But you did try your best to behave, eyes roaming around the room to find any source of focus. 

There.

Your eyes widened before slightly narrowing as you honed in on your target, now perfectly entranced by–

Sukuna’s thighs.

You loved Sukuna’s entire body, but most of all you loved his thighs. No love couldn’t even really quantify your affections –you were obsessed. 

Man spread out on his throne, a thick muscular thigh was exposed from Sukuna’s robes as he lounged back looking uninterested in whatever the curses in front of him were speaking of. 

Unconsciously you chew your lower lip, letting your mind wander. You easily get lost in your thoughts of Sukuna's thighs. 

Your mouth watered at the way the well-defined muscles beneath his skin created a sculpted landscape. It was a feast for your eyes and you didn’t fail to notice each subtle flex of movement they made. 

Even the thigh still clothed in the fabric of his robe clung to the Herculean contours of the sinewy curves beneath them, rippling beneath the fabric in a way that made moisture pool in your panties. 

The wide breadth of his thighs flaunted his sheer physical prowess, a testament to being The King of Curses.

It would feel oh, so good to relish the way his muscles flexed beneath you. Your hips would spread open near to the point of straining as you imagine vigorously riding his thigh. 

Unintentionally you were turning yourself on more than you even realized.

Your thoughts spiral further to picture Sukuna making you get on your knees after. He would look down on you with the most devious grin as he commanded your tongue to clean up the sizable mess your filthy lil’ cunt made on his thigh. 

Your stomach tightened at the thought of tracing the prominent vein on his inner thigh all the way up until you reached—-

A small whimper escaped you.

Shit.

Sukuna’s eyes immediately snapped to you, raising a hand to silence his cursed subjects speaking.

“What is it, Y/N?” 

Sukuna was annoyed you couldn’t even manage to stay still for a few hours as he had long sensed your restlessness. However, the current level of distress he read on your features had him curious as to what changed.

“It’s nothing, my King.” 

Sukuna was unmoved.

“I don't ask questions twice, Y/N.”

“Um, but it’s really nothing much at all… I-I, well…It’s just that uh, I was thinking…” 

“Spit it the fuck out woman I don’t have all da—

 “—you thicc as fuck Kuna!” 

Utter silence. 

A pin could drop and it would sound like the acoustics of a concert stadium. 

Silence in general has always made you feel awkward and this was really awkward. 

Sukuna wasn’t saying anything, likely processing your statement and the fact you interrupted him to make it. 

More nervous than ever you couldn’t help what proceeded to spill forth, a dam of words broken as you attempted to explain yourself further.

“I-I mean your thighs daddy, you too thicc! You got the yams, thunder thighs, them wupples, hamhocks, you a real thighrannosaurus rex ,a thunty king even– y-you just thicc as fuck! Like damn daddy, ya know!?” 

The reality of what you were saying didn’t hit you until you had finished and you slapped your hands over your mouth, your eyes wider than saucers. 

You had been unable to be able to control the word vomit you’ve been oppressing.

Although you did have to admit in finally confessing your obsession you felt like a sinner absolved and a weight lifted from you. 

No lies were told though, so who could really blame you? 

Sukuna was still silent. His expression unreadable. 

The curses in front of Sukuna are frozen. Worried that a single move would cause his ire to explode at them reducing them to mere molecules for even witnessing whatever had just occurred.

Uruame’s face, oddly the most expressive one of the bunch, was clearly questioning what in the ever loving fuck was wrong with you. But more than anything Uruame was puzzled as to why you were still even being allowed to take breaths.

More silence followed. 

Yet after what seemed like a millennia to everyone else in the room, Sukuna finally spoke. His tone was calm, yet icier than the frozen temperatures outside his palace.

“You know how easily I can kill you, right Y/N?” 

You nearly had to bite your own tongue off as your intrusive thoughts had zero regard for your own life and threatened to bubble up out of your throat again.

Honestly? If we're being real, you wanted nothing more than to drop to your knees and stick your head up his robes. 

You would gladly die if it was from his massive thighs suffocating you, busting your skull like a tiny grape.

But then you wouldn’t be able to enjoy riding Sukuna’s thighs anymore and you didn’t want an afterlife where you couldn’t access Sukuna’s thighs.

Reluctantly, yet obediently, you gulped them down, swallowing any more embarrassment you could bring to The Curse King at this moment.

“Yes of course, dadd– my King.” 

“Then stand there and shut the fuck up brat.” 

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2024. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

a/n: when writing this I thought, what would @ryomens-vixen do? and here we are. lol. next up: still working on lactation kink yakuza!toji fic, ceo!gojo and nerd!geto fics.

tags: @littlemochabunni @biscuitsngravie @halobuns @honeeslust

Reblog to objectify Sukuna's yams but comments and likes are always appreciated!

[transform4u]

Switching teams and going for the bronze(r)

Tom Daley had just secured his fifth Olympic medal, a momentous occasion as it was also his first silver in the synchronized diving 10m platform competition. The jubilation was still evident as he exited the arena, his excitement glowing in every step. He was practically buoyant with triumph, his smile a testament to the pride and joy of the achievement. His eyes sparkled with an electrifying mix of relief and euphoria, reflecting the culmination of years of hard work and dedication.

After soaking in the last of the accolades, Tom headed towards the locker room, his mind already shifting from the competition to the more mundane pleasures of unwinding. He slipped into the showers, the cool, cascading water a welcome reprieve from the day's adrenaline rush. As he disrobed, his toned body was revealed in all its glory, a symphony of muscle and definition crafted through relentless effort.

Tom’s physique was nothing short of a sculptor’s dream. Broad shoulders seamlessly tapered down to a chiseled waist, presenting a v-shaped silhouette that could be considered almost mythological in its perfection. His biceps and triceps, visibly rippling with each movement, underscored the countless hours spent honing his form. His abs, a masterclass in abdominal architecture, were nothing short of awe-inspiring. Each muscle was sharply defined, creating a washboard of six-pack abs that almost seemed to glow with the allure of his hard-earned dedication. Every shift and flex of his stomach muscles showcased a fluid grace, designed to flaunt his physical prowess.

As he reached for a bottle of shampoo labeled "Swagger Silk," Tom’s attention was momentarily diverted. He began to lather his body up, the rich, foamy suds mixing with the water. Without noticing, a deep, brown tan began to cascade down his body, spreading like a liquid bronze sheen. The effect was subtle at first, but as the shampoo's luxurious foam mingled with the water, it became more pronounced.

The transformation was gradual but striking. Tom's body, previously well-defined and toned, began to grow in height, his physique expanding with a noticeable increase in mass. His muscles bulged and swelled, each sinew becoming more pronounced and sculpted. His shoulders broadened further, and his biceps and triceps took on an even more impressive definition. His abs, already a dazzling display, evolved into a more pronounced and awe-inspiring six-pack, each muscle delineated with almost supernatural precision.

His skin, now a rich, sun-kissed brown, highlighted his enhanced physique with a striking contrast. The muscles of his chest, arms, and abdomen appeared more defined and pronounced, each ripple and curve accentuated by the deepened tan. The water and suds created a mesmerizing interplay, making his newly expanded and more powerful form even more captivating.

Tom’s face, equally captivating, remained a striking feature. His chiseled jawline and high cheekbones caught the light, creating a visage that seemed both regal and commanding. His eyes, dark and intense, continued to hold that smoldering charisma, a silent promise of adventure and indulgence. His hair, immaculately styled, framed his face with effortless sophistication, adding to his overall aura of polished perfection.

As Tom Daley finished basking in the afterglow of his achievement, his mind began to shift in unexpected ways. The euphoria of securing his fifth Olympic medal, a silver in synchronized diving, was still fresh, but the effects of the shampoo, with its strange, transformative properties, began to alter him in unforeseen ways. With each passing moment, Tom felt a gradual but unmistakable dulling of his mental sharpness. His thoughts became slower, more disjointed, and a peculiar, almost childlike laugh escaped his lips as he absentmindedly played with his newly expanded chest. His once-masterful movements grew clumsy; he fumbled with the shower controls and began to forget the fundamental techniques of diving and swimming that had been second nature to him for years.

As he stared at his reflection, his once-chiseled, refined features started to morph into something altogether different. His face, previously a striking example of Middle Eastern elegance with a strong jawline and high cheekbones, began to distort into a more exaggerated, almost cartoonish version of itself. His features grew more pronounced, his jawline more brutish, and his cheekbones more angular, giving him a somewhat sinister appearance. The transformation extended beyond mere appearance; his demeanor changed drastically. Where there had been pride and dedication, there was now a burgeoning cruelty and obnoxiousness. Tom’s self-assured charm gave way to an entitled arrogance that was both jarring and complete.

His once sophisticated demeanor now manifested as a loud, brash persona. He couldn’t help but smirk with a cocky grin as he turned off the shower, his attitude reflecting the newly adopted arrogance. The elaborate world he now embraced was one of ostentation and indulgence. The high-end, entitled Arab “bro” that emerged was the epitome of excess and swagger, a figure who reveled in the pinnacle of luxury and social status.

His life was a glittering showcase of opulence. His passion for luxury cars and motorcycles was a performance art of its own, his garage a temple to automotive perfection. From sleek Lamborghinis to roaring Ducatis, each vehicle was a testament to his refined taste and immense wealth. His social media was a stage where he paraded these acquisitions with digital bravado, each post dripping with self-satisfaction and dominance.

Fitness was no longer just a hobby but a religion, with his gym sessions turning into legendary displays of muscle and power. His selfies, flaunting his physique, became a visual sermon on the virtues of dedication, accompanied by hashtags like #MuscleGod and #GainsOnGains. His body was his divine offering, sculpted and polished to a perfection that he displayed with relentless pride.

Fashion became his battlefield, where he wielded designer labels like armor. His wardrobe was a collection of haute couture, tailored to showcase both his wealth and taste. Each outfit was a statement, accessorized with watches and jewelry that spoke volumes of his superior status.

Partying and socializing were his playgrounds, his presence at exclusive events and private yacht parties a theatrical display of high-profile enjoyment. His social media was alive with images of his nightlife escapades, his grin suggesting he lived a dream that others only aspired to.

In the modern elite's vibrant social whirlpool, Tom had morphed into an unapologetic maestro of opulence and swagger. His life, now an exaggerated display of luxury and arrogance, was a carefully curated cocktail of unbridled arrogance and charming charisma. Every aspect of his existence—from his luxury cars to his high-end fashion, from his extravagant parties to his cutting-edge tech—reverberated with the unmistakable hum of high status and indulgent flair. In this new persona, Tom Daley had become the very epitome of excess and self-assuredness, a living testament to the allure of the meticulously curated, high-status lifestyle.

Tom Daley emerged from the shower, a newly minted figure of grandeur and confidence. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, admiring his reflection with a mix of awe and vanity. His physique, now larger and more pronounced, gleamed with a golden sheen, a testament to his ostentatious transformation. Flexing his biceps and running a hand down his sculpted abs, he marveled at the almost exaggerated definition of his muscles. His reflection showed a Herculean figure, every sinew and curve screaming excess.

Next, Tom selected an outfit that mirrored his newfound arrogance. He chose tight, glossy leather pants that hugged his beefed-up thighs and calves, accentuating each swell of muscle. The pants were paired with a sleeveless metallic shirt that glittered under the fluorescent lights, emphasizing his chest and abs with every shift. Completing the look were oversized sunglasses and a gaudy gold chain that seemed to scream vanity and extravagance. The ensemble was both flashy and provocative, perfectly representing his transformed identity.

As he admired himself, his phone buzzed incessantly, each notification a new reminder of his altered reality. The texts, arriving one after another, began to chip away at his previous life: “Hey T! 😘 You’re looking absolutely incredible lately. How about we grab a drink tonight? 🍸”

T’s eyes sparkled as he read the message. A cocky grin spread across his face. He felt a rush of desire and self-satisfaction, savoring the attention. The message made him feel more powerful and alluring, reinforcing his new persona. He continued to bask in his reflection, but his phone buzzed again “Just saw your post! 🔥🔥 I’d love to get to know you better. Any chance you’re free this weekend? 💋”

Each notification seemed to pull him further from his previous life, erasing the remnants of his once-happy gay marriage. The flirtatious tone of the message added fuel to his burgeoning sense of entitlement. He could almost feel the fog of lust and desire clouding his mind, the excitement of the attention turning into a palpable craving. As Tom composed a response, another text arrived “T---, you’re turning heads everywhere! Let’s meet up for a private party at my place. 😉”

The constant stream of flirtation was intoxicating, each message reinforcing his growing arrogance and self-importance. His grin widened as he envisioned himself as the center of attention at a private party. The seductive undertones of the message only intensified his transformation. His phone buzzed once more, “Can’t stop thinking about how amazing you looked today. Let’s make some plans soon! 😈”

The flood of attention was overwhelming. Each text solidified his new identity, pushing him further into the realm of superficial allure. The lines between Tom Daley and his new persona began to blur, his previous life as a happily married gay man gradually fading away. The name "Tom Daley" slipped from his mind, replaced by something more exotic and brash.

Tom’s thoughts became muddled, his once-clear sense of self clouded by a fog of lust and indulgence. The name "Tamim" began to take shape in his mind, embodying the essence of a cocky, entitled Arabic bro. The transformation was complete. Tamim was now the epitome of high-status arrogance and excessive charm, thriving on ostentation and self-adulation. His life, once filled with genuine love and commitment, had been replaced by a world of superficial allure and luxury. The fog of desire swirled around him, solidifying his new identity as Tamim, the ultimate embodiment of opulent arrogance.

As Tamim's thoughts became more and more consumed by his new persona, a distinct bulge began to form in his pants. His mind was racing with images of lavish parties, exotic dancers, and the countless women who desired him simply for his wealth and status. The transformation was complete - he was now the ultimate representation of opulent arrogance.

Suddenly, a notification sounded on his phone indicating that he had received a text message. Without hesitation, Tamim reached into his pocket and pulled out the device. As he read through the message from an unknown number, a look of disdain crossed his face; it was clearly some basic white bitch trying to get her hands on him for attention or money or both! But instead of ignoring her like any normal person would do in such situations, Tamim decided to play along… just because he could!

"Hey there sweetheart," he said, reading out loud the slut's text, in an overly flirtatious tone that would make even seasoned playboys blush," I might be able to help you out if you know what I mean." He winked cheekily at no one in particular before typing back: "I know exactly what you want darling… meet me at my penthouse tonight at midnight sharp!" Pressing send with confidence beyond measure; after all – who could resist an invitation like that?

Tamim's mind was filled with a final burst of gay intrusive thoughts, but he pushed them away with a forceful determination. His soul burned with an intense anger towards those who would dare to question his masculinity or threaten his dominance. With every fiber of his being, he rejected these unwanted ideas and embraced the persona he had created for himself - that of an entitled, obnoxious Middle Eastern douchebag.

Feeling renewed and empowered by this inner transformation, Tamim reached for the bottle of cologne on his dresser and sprayed it generously over his body. The cloying scent was meant to repel any potential suitors who might not meet his high standards; instead, it served as a powerful reminder to everyone else that they were beneath him in every way possible.

Satisfied with how he looked and smelled (or at least as satisfied as someone like him could ever be), Tamim made one last check in the mirror before heading out into the world once more – ready to conquer new heights of luxury while trampling over anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with him.