#the instinct just. isn't as strong for them?

[laurasimonsdaughter]

What’s your preferred way of portraying lycanthropy and werewolves in your works & media?

For me I love having lycanthropy being like a chronic illness. Having it be a serious, but manageable condition that werewolves must deal with in their daily lives. The symptoms and transformation causing them a lot of inconvenience/ stress/ and if ill managed serious risk to their health and those around them. But it’s not a death sentence or condemnation, a werewolf can live a safe and fulfilling life as long as they manage their lycanthropy properly.

As for their wolf form, I like my werewolves more akin to a dangerous wild animal rather then a bloodthirsty murder machine. Their wolf form can be hazardous but isn’t beyond reproach, attacks being avoidable as long as the werewolf isn’t antagonized or threatened. And one of the big things I like to focus on is that a unrestrained werewolf is a bigger risk to themselves then to others, as in their animalistic state their prone to getting into dangerous situations like getting hit by cars or shot by Hunter or law enforcement.

For me it depends entirely on the kind of story I'm telling!

I like your approach, I think it would work particularly well in an urban fantasy setting that isn't too dark, but still grounded in realism.

For my generally lighthearted fiction, I usually prefer writing werewolfism as something genetic that people are born with, that is neither a curse nor an infection that can be passed on. This allows me to dive into ways to manage living as a werewolf without all the fear and tragedy:

Like parents advising kids on clothes that are good to wear around the full moon.

And werewolf families having pack instincts that include humans.

Or human parents adopting a dog to keep their werewolf kid company.

While I do sometimes write werewolves that can transform at any time at will (because it's funny) I do think that weakens the werewolf-ness of it all a bit. Loss of control and animal instincts are a big part of the appeal of werewolves for me and shifting because of the moon (or because of strong emotions) belongs to that. But how the transformation works and how in control they are once in wolf form, again depends on the type of story I'm telling:

So I might write a werewolf that can be taken by surprise by their transformation and end up locked in their apartment, looks fully animal, but does retain human intelligence.

Or a werewolf who has trouble changing back to human form if they get a little too lost in the wolf part while the moon is out.

Or a werewolf who gets progressively hairier and more wolflike the closer it gets to the full moon. (I'm very fond of this concept, because I get to have my wolfish human and my majestic fully transformed animal.)

Or a werewolf that starts shifting just a little when she gets a little too distracted by her girlfriend because emotions and instincts get tangled up.

But all my werewolves are generally mostly non-violent (unless provoked) and not murderous, even if their animal instincts tend to take over from the humans side sometimes. While I appreciate that a complete loss of control and (threat of) violence is a big part of werewolves for many people, it's just not something I enjoy writing. I also think that side of werewolf stories fit better with the "lycanthropy as a violent infection or curse" concept.

And the only time I've written a werewolf that was infected and considers the transformation a curse was for a fanfic, because my friend and I needed an excuse for copious angst and hurt/comfort that could slowly be turned into self-acceptance and happiness~

[quitealotofsodapop]

For the drafted fate AU

Other than the time Wukong changed Macaque fate by feeding him the immortal peach, does he knows that he had been changing people's fate all this time ??

Prev.

Nope.

All he knows is that he scrubbed a bunch of names from the official Book of the Dead, and kept a close eye on his best friend/mate's health.

But he gets strong feelings.

One line of the Buddha's breakdown of Wukong's powers includes;

Knows transformations, Recognizes the seasons, Discerns the advantages of earth, And is able to alter the course of planets and stars.

The second line seems like an odd extra power to have. Most mortal animals have a pretty keen understanding of seasonal changes without godly extra-celestial powers.

Unless like "alter the course of planets and stars" it's meant to be metaphorical.

As in; A Divine Gut Feeling.

Wukong has been going through life with a built-in Spidey Sense and not even realise it.

He knew to choose MK as his successor, even if he wasn't sure who this little mortal was.

He tore across Heaven, Hell, and Earth seeking answers the moment LBD made her presence known. And his instincts told him that only the True Fire could stop what she had planned.

This gut feeling isn't always clear though. He did plan to reforge the Samadhi Fire without an idea of how he'd be able to use it, if at all. But at the same time this reforging likely saved Mei from the same slow-burning fate of her ancestor.

He canonically had no idea that MK was another Stone Monkey, but he felt it.

To quote the convo between him and Macaque at the beginning of Season 5;

Macaque: He's not just a kid! Why him, Wukong? Did you know about— when you chose him? Wukong: No, I didn't know. It just felt... right.

Look at this past Wukong glaring at his egg shard and try telling me he didn't suspect something Big was happening with it;

Wukong may not realise it, but an aspect of his "fate changing" abilities is being able to sense that a great danger or change is afoot.

MK's powers are a lot less easy to pin down. But he's able to say "Nu-uh!" to fate and chart a different course.

And of course this all come back to who helped create them: The Goddess of Creation and Positive Chaos, and the person who set the Investiture of the Gods into motion.

Nüwa herself.

S5 really goofed up having her trying to represent Order, when this lady literally brought the Shang Dynasty to ruin as part of a loophole to not kill the Emperor.

[whelpimnauthuman]

I know I keep mentioning "oh yeah, as a dragon I was very aggressive/protective and territorial, but keep forgetting until it hits me" but it never ceases to be true

I've been playing VRchat and recently (re)discovered a dragon(ish) avatar with wings for hands. It's great for so many reasons (wings are 100% autistic culture)! But.

You know how people talk about wing hugs all the time? I never really got it. I mean. Yeah, I did to a certain extent - I wanted to wrap my wings around those I care about, and cover them up. Hold my spouse under my wings while we sleep. I guess, in a way, shield them from the world (which, uh, should've already been a warning sign?)

But now? Having wings for hands? Where they're more accessible? I'm suddenly filled with protection I didn't realize I had. All I want to do is hold the people I care about as close to me as possible, keep them under my wings. They're not allowed to leave, random people can't just come over - I have to hold and protect them and shield them from everything. If I could growl and bite and swat away others I would. Ready at the smallest notice to spread my wings wide in threat- "Get away from them"

I can't tell if it's misdirected territorial or hoarding instinct but damn. Did not realize it was that strong.

[ranvwoop]

cooing over my own ocs part 282737. listening to songs abt teenagers like woaah ..... they're teenagers

[s0fter-sin]

alpha!ghost who's always hated the sound of an omega's purr; he’s always found it patronising, manipulative, an attempt to twist his biology - twist him - into submission like he's some animal

until he hears soap purr for the first time and it's about as choppy and comforting as a machine gun. there's nothing smooth about it, nothing seductive or wily; it's broken and guttural and the most honest noise ghost's ever heard outside his own growls

he doesn't use it to coo him into complacency, doesn't try to bend him to his will or smooth over his bristles. he's never tried to distract ghost from his anger, never used his intrinsic control over him to gentle him. hell, he seems to forget he can even do it, ghost hears it so rarely. it's only a touch above his growls, subharmonic and demanding attention instead of the pretty titter of a pampered omega

ghost hears it for the first time when he’s covered in blood not his, after he slits an enemy pinning him down from navel to chin; dark blood instantly soaking him. the body’s practically cool with blood loss already when he tosses it aside and rolls to his feet to find soap stock still, staring at him with a feral gleam in his eyes

he drops his jaw with a deep inhale, rolling the scent of blood and pissed alpha pheromones in his mouth and his chest rumbles with all the subtlety of a chainsaw

it's suddenly all ghost can do to keep himself from dragging the body and dropping it at soap's feet like a courting gift of old; to carve out his heart and rich organs and present them for his approval, to hold them to his mouth and never break eye contact as he takes his first bloody bite

ghost shakes it off, strangling the chuff trying to claw out his throat, and heads for the rv point and feels absolutely nothing when soap falls into step behind him without a word; his purr that more closely mimics an alpha's rumble an echoing memory

soap's far from a meek, compliant omega and he's no conniving prince wrapping alphas around his finger either; he's just as much a protector, an aggressor, as any alpha. he's never been ashamed of his instincts; never shied away from nuzzling into price's throat, purring for his pack alpha with no regard to the uncomfortable crowd surrounding them. never hesitates to wrap gaz up and drop him in his nest when the beta reeks of stress and sickly insomnia

and he never stops himself from baring his fangs with a guttural hiss whenever another omega dares to purr at ghost

it's a threat and a warning in one; something only the most foolish omega would ignore. he knows ghost has a complex relationship with omegas, knows it isn't something so pathetic as biological prejudice. something about omegas makes his lt's scent go flat and steely, as close to distress as he thinks he can manage and it makes something dark and old rise in his chest

territorial rage broils off him, strong enough to make the omega whine and back off with their tail between their legs without even taking a step towards them. the scent is sour and pungent enough to drown out ghost's subtle distressed smell, to hide it, and it makes him snort; shaking his head to try and clear it

soap all but trots up beside him, chirping in greeting. he sneezes playfully, lets him know the rage scent wasn't for him; never for him. he replaces it with happy-friend-pack, replaces it with nitroglycerin and burning sparklers and butts his forehead against his sternum instead of crowding into his throat and purring the way he wants to

he earned his way into ghost's pack, into becoming an omega not just accepted but welcomed and he won't jeopardise his hard won progress by pushing his purr on him

he lifts his head and grins as ghost cups his nape in a faux-scruff, something offensive and borderline taboo and if he were anyone else, he'd rip his hand off with his teeth. but it's ghost and ghost does strange things, things that reassure him on a deeper level than any purr or chirp could ever hope to, so soap presses into his gentling hand and bares his teeth in the thinnest facsimile of a smile at the retreating omega

all ghost has to do is aim him in the right direction and he'd bring the omega back to him in pieces; would gift him their torn out throat so they could never purr at him again

his chest rumbles subconsciously and soap gnashes his teeth, forcing his purr back down when ghost squeezes his nape

he thumps his temple into his and a puff of air tickles his ear, the closest thing soap's ever heard to a chuff from him and he couldn't stop his purr if he tried; choppy and broken as it is

you inhale enough explosive fumes and it's bound to damage something

ghost huffs again and soap presses up to nibble appeasingly at his clothed jaw, a question and an apology in each bite

ghost just takes the tip of his ear between his teeth, shaking it with a teasing growl and soap laughs as he tackles him just for ghost to bow over his back and wrap his arms around his waist; effortlessly picking him up and tossing him away

soap stays low and growls right back, a wild smile splitting his face. ghost meets him with a sneeze and his grin grows impossibly wider

if he can't hunt for his alpha, can't purr for him with blood on his teeth, he'll happily wrestle with him instead

[guiltyasdave]

help me hold onto you

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant! f!reader

word count: ~3.5k

summary: Logan deals with feeling guilty after he's accidentally cut you with his claws in his sleep.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be pulled, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, graphic description of an injury, graphic description of violence, angst, nightmares, Logan's pov, fighting as foreplay, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, like they're just a little... primal, it's cute i swear, also reader looks like a human being it's just the mannerisms, fluff

a/n: guess i'm a multi fandom writer now? this literally came to me in a fever dream, very much like the logan brainrot itself lol. this is my first time writing for the man, after watching the movies - also for the first time - last week, so please be gentle with me <3 something very similar happens in the origins movie and i wanted them to explore that more, but alas, i had to do it myself.

massive thanks to @kiwisbell for assuring me that this idea isn't terrible and for freaking out about logan with me in general, to @catchallfangirl for coming up with the whole cat theme and for being so supportive, to @sizzlingcloudmentality for matching my freak and taking the cat theme to the next level, for helping me plot and for being an amazing beta reader, and to @javier-pena for listening to me rant about this idea and being so lovely and supportive <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is a queen <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

Most nights, Logan sleeps easier when you’re in bed with him. Your body pressed against his, your skin soft and warm against his bare chest. One of his thighs between your legs where you’ve wrapped yourself around him, your touch moving over his torso aimlessly, fingers curling into his chest hair, your hands kneading his flesh in your sleep. The soothing little purrs that emit from your chest when you’re sound asleep. None of it bothers him, no matter how many times it disturbs his own rest. 

It keeps him grounded, feeling you next to him. He’d rather spend the whole night somewhere in that haze between waking and sleeping, listening to your sounds, your breath fanning against his skin, than being pulled under into the depths of his subconsciousness. 

He’d rather open his eyes to see you disentangling your limbs from his, stretching your whole body, arching against him as you yawn. 

He’d rather greet you with a smiling “Good morning, kitten,” waiting for that adorable little crease to appear between your brows when you pout up at him. 

“Did I do it again?” 

He doesn’t hide his grin as he nods, growing wider when you flop back against the cushions with a groan. 

“What exactly?”

“All of it.” 

Your sorry comes out muffled as you hide your face behind your hands. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning over you to pull your hands away and kiss the pout off your lips. Caressing that spot under your chin with two fingers, watching you go all soft, baring your throat to him. “I like it.” 

He would much rather wake up like this. 

But it’s been a long week and he’s exhausted. Exhausted enough to get lulled into a deep sleep, encased in the safe cloud of your warm body against his and your touch on his skin. Exhausted enough to dream. And his dreams are not a safe place. 

His eyes fly open with a shout, his whole body jolting upwards, every muscle pulled taut. He doesn’t even register the claws shooting out between his knuckles, all of his instincts screaming at him to fight. 

He’s only faintly aware of the sudden yelp of pain from beside him, the movement of something jerking away from him. 

“Logan,” your voice rings through the buzzing in his ears. Smaller hands landing on his shoulders, fighting to hold him steady. 

It takes a few disoriented blinks before he recognizes the familiar bedroom, a few more deep breaths to stop his body from shaking. To clear the fog in his head enough to understand what you’re saying.

“It’s me, Logan. You’re safe, everyone’s safe, it’s okay.” 

His eyes find yours in the semi-darkness. Wide with worry, but firmly trained on his face, repeating that everything’s okay. He finally registers the familiar weight of you straddling him, understands that it’s your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

He’s still panting, not daring to look away from your face again. The one tether that keeps him from getting lost in his mind again. 

“Are you with me?” you ask, your voice softer now. 

He manages a nod, tries to smile, to wipe the deep worry of your face, but he’s not sure if his mouth even twitches. 

As the feeling slowly returns to his body, he notices something else. A kind of wetness, warm and sticky where your right hand is connected to his skin. The unmistakable tang of iron in the air. He stretches to turn on a bedside lamp, jostling you along with his movement. A quiet whimper hits his ears, so low that he’s sure you tried to suppress it. 

With a new kind of panic surging through him, he grabs hold of your arm, bringing it to his eye level. 

Three scratches ooze in deep red, just beneath your wrist. It forces a gasp from him, eyes dancing frantically between the wounds on your arm and your face. How much blood did you lose already while you were busy helping him? As if he deserved it. 

“Fuck, I’m— I’m so sorry baby, we gotta—” He stumbles over his own words, grasping at you almost blindly, panicked tears blurring his vision. He did this. 

“Logan,” you say, still so inexplicably calm. “It’s fine. Look. It’s fine.” 

You gently pry his fingers off your arm and bring your wrist up to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, drawing long licks against your marred skin, collecting the blood and gliding over the cuts in your flesh. 

It pains him to watch, but it’s the least he can do. The least he owes you. He watches you clean the blood off, watches as the wounds start shrinking at the touch of your saliva, as the skin smoothes over before his very eyes until there’s only three thin marks left, a shade lighter than the rest of your skin. 

“Look,” you tell him again, extending your arm towards him. “I told you it’s okay.” 

He knows you can do this, of course he does. Has watched you multiple times, his fascination with your powers never wavering. How fluidly you move, how quick you attack, how skilled you are at surviving. You just never had to survive him. 

You lean down on top of him until your whole torso rests on his, your thighs still on either side of him, burrowing your head into his chest. “Which war did you dream about?” you ask quietly.

Most of the time, the dreams don’t grant him the mercy to zero in on one single memory. It’s a constant stream, one fight after the other, until all he knows is shouting, fighting, blood and death.

“All of them.” 

You sigh deeply, your breath cool against his sweat-dampened skin. Raising your head a little, you start placing kisses on his chest, pressing your lips into his skin where you can feel the faint beating of his heart.

“I wish I could kiss this better, too,” you mumble. 

He chuckles humorlessly, one hand reaching into your hair to scratch at your scalp. You shudder at the touch, an approving little purr traveling up your throat. 

“It’s okay now,” he mutters, leaning in to inhale the scent of your hair. “Just— I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

It sounds so simple, falling from your lips like this. But it’s no match for the aching guilt that’s already eating at him, the questions of what if that start swirling through his mind. 

Your body is growing heavier on top of him as you relax, your breaths evening out and your eyelids fluttering shut. It soothes him, has his own breathing slowing down, but he can’t risk falling asleep again. Not like this, not with your body so close to his.

“What are you— Logan?” comes your instant protest when he moves you to your side of the mattress, your eyes flying back open, wide and mildly confused.

“I could’ve killed you,” he mutters. It could have happened so easily. Just a little deeper, just a slightly different spot. 

“No, you couldn’t,” you quip, arching an eyebrow at him. “Cats have nine lives, remember?” You sneak another quick kiss on his chest before finding his gaze again, a teasing smile on your lips. “Even kittens.” 

It’s an attempt to lighten the mood, to make him laugh. He knows that. You hate the pet name he’s given you. 

“And you’re not gonna waste one on me,” he grits out. 

Hurt flashes over your face, more pain in your eyes than when there was an actual wound on your arm. 

“It wouldn’t be—”

“Don’t you dare say it wouldn’t be a waste.” 

The words come out as a low growl, aggressive enough to send most anyone running. You don’t run. 

Your animal doesn’t like it when he growls at you. He can feel the tension rolling off of you, your hair probably standing on end. Gritting your teeth, you take a deep breath, release your fingers’ grip from digging into the sheets.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” you tell him, resignation in your voice. 

Your eyes fall shut again, your head for once resting on your own pillow instead of his chest. He misses the weight of it instantly. You doze off quickly, your hands still pawing weakly at his side, like your body can’t help it. He almost pulls you closer himself. 

While you sleep, Logan forces his own eyes to stay wide open, staring unseeingly into the darkness. 

It’s a quiet day. You had tried talking to him, tried to convince him that it’s okay, that it’s fine. He can’t keep listening to you insisting that him almost killing you is no big deal. He should have known, should have been more aware of the risk instead of letting himself get lost in the blissful sensation of your body curled around his every night. You’ve trusted him so completely, only for him to let you down. 

Just like he always does, the voice in his head whispers.

No matter how many times you swear that you can take care of yourself, he should still be protecting you, not actively putting you in danger while you’re fucking asleep. It’s happened once now, so it can happen again, and he knows that he could never forgive himself. 

He knows that he’s hurting your feelings. Sees how your brows knit together when he barely kisses you back throughout the day. How you bite your lip when the way you’re butting your head against his doesn’t make him chuckle like it usually does. 

He should be angry at himself. He is. But you shouldn’t be the one to catch the brunt of it, and it makes him feel even worse. You always say that he should talk about his feelings more, that it would help to let them out. He suspects that you’re right. He just doesn’t know how.

By evening, you’ve grown uncharacteristically quiet, but he keeps catching your burning glares at him when you think he isn’t looking. Finally, after you’ve stared at him for what felt like an eternity and he’s pointedly ignored you, you seem to snap.

“Can you stop it?!” It leaves your mouth in a hiss, triggering his instincts before the words even register in his brain. 

“Stop what?” he growls back. 

Your fingers curl as a low snarl escapes you. Normally, neither of you lets your animalistic side take over like that. Normally, you’re good at soothing each other. 

But tonight, he can feel the energy crackle between you, the tension begging to be released. 

“You know what! This fucking— sulking or whatever it is you think you’re doing!” 

He rises to his feet, pulling up to his full height. One of your hands twitches. 

“I’m not—” 

You charge at him with an angry shout before another word can leave his mouth. You’re on him in a flash, grabbing onto his arm and letting your momentum carry you until you’re behind him, your nails digging into his shoulders until you’re perched on his backside. 

Whipping his head around, he bares his teeth at you, growls rumbling in his chest. You angrily hiss in his face and swing a hand at him in return, leaving angry red scratches down his cheek. They heal and fade as quickly as they came, but a triumphant grin flashes over your features regardless. 

“Come on, Logan,” you breathe into his ear. The edge in your voice sends fire straight through him. “Fight. You’re not gonna break me.” Your canines nip at his earlobe, somewhere between affectionate and challenging.

He tries shaking you off, but your grip on him only tightens. He collects a fist of your hair instead, pulling harshly to keep your teeth away from his throat. 

“Enough,” he grits, trying desperately to regain control, to become more human again, to smother the primal need to match your aggression. 

He finally grabs hold of one of your hands as well and manages to rip you off his back and in front of him, holding on tight to your upper arms to keep you in place. You’re snarling and twisting in his hold, but he doesn’t let up. 

“Enough,” he repeats, searching your wild eyes. Your movements slow down a fraction, giving him a moment of hope, before you surge forward and bury your teeth in his lower lip. It hurts like hell and he can taste blood on his tongue instantly. 

“Fight me,” you demand again, baring your teeth at him.

He pulls you back by your hair with a roar, gathers both your wrists in one large hand and holds you steady. You could still break free if you wanted to, he thinks. He might be stronger than you, but your movements turn almost liquid when you want to escape, he’s watched it more than once. 

The pain in his lip has already subsided, but his blood is still coating your mouth, a stark contrast against the white shimmer of your teeth. 

“Are you done?” His voice is harsh, his jaw clenched, carefully keeping the desire to strike back at bay. 

You deflate a little, some of the wildness draining from you before his eyes. 

“I just— I’m not fragile, I don’t want you to be scared of— of touching me.” Your voice grows small at the end and he’s horrified to see wetness glistening in your eyes. 

The fight mode leaves him as fast as it came, replaced with the overwhelming urge to care, to protect what’s his. His pack, in a way.  

He gathers you into his arms, curling himself around you. It feels good to hold you close again. Breathing you in deeply, he smells the adrenaline still oozing from you, hears the rapid beating of your heart. But mostly, it’s your unique scent, one that he thinks he could recognize anywhere. His tether to this world. 

“I’m sorry, kitten. I’m not scared of touching you,” he mumbles into your hair. 

You sniffle against his chest, but when you finally raise your head to look at him, new determination is glinting in your eyes. 

“Prove it,” you coo, tracing the shape of his lips with one fingertip. “Please.” 

That he can do. He nips at your finger playfully, your responding giggle the best sound he’s heard all day, before he shoves it out of the way to connect his lips with yours. It’s rough, a clashing of teeth and tongues, the tension that has been building and warping all day finally finding a release. 

You gasp into his mouth when his tongue moves against yours, your hands pulling at his hair, needing him closer and closer still, never close enough. His groan at the taste of you travels through you both as he’s grasping at your clothes. 

He longs for your warm skin under his palms, longs for how you lean into his touch so needy all the damn time. You pull away with a moan, helping him to pull your sweater over your head and stepping out of your jeans as he sheds his flannel. 

You bring both hands up to cup his face, to search his eyes. “Don’t be gentle,” you plead, “please, I need—” 

You don’t have to keep talking for him to understand what you need. I’m not scared of touching you. 

With a growl, his hands find your hips, holding you tight as he’s walking you backwards until your ass connects with the backside of the couch. He crowds you in, paws at every inch of bare skin he can reach, his cock already hard and aching at your soft warmth and the sweet mewls that tumble from your lips. 

Hitching one of your legs up to open you for him, he grinds himself against your barely covered center. A keening sound escapes you at the friction from his jeans against your sensitive flesh and he allows himself a grin. 

“Feels good, kitten?” 

You nod mindlessly, holding onto him and rocking your hips against his while you’re letting him move you however he sees fit. 

“Do you want more?”

“Please, Logan.”

You sound so sweet when you’re like this, when you put your body into his hands. I’m not scared of touching you.

Setting your leg back down, he watches with hunger as you hastily take off your underwear while he pulls the white tank top over his head and opens his belt buckle. He could swear that your pupils dilate a fraction at the sound of it, filling him with a possessive sense of pride. 

As soon as his jeans hit the floor, he’s all over you again, palming the weight of your breasts, tugging and pinching at your nipples as he swallows down your mewls. You’re soaking wet already, covering his cock in your slick as he nudges against your folds. He’s impatient to feel you all around him, to sink into you, to stake his claim again and again and again. 

He normally works you open longer, gives you more time to prepare, but your impatience is just as apparent as his own, with the way you whine and plead for him, your fingers digging into his flesh, trying to pull him nearer. 

He follows your pull, pressing your backside into the couch once more as he crowds your space. Leaning in, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth, one hand buried in your hair and holding you close. 

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips as he lets go of you. I’m not scared of touching you.

You smile softly, echoing the sentiment back at him. 

A surprised squeak escapes you when he turns you around suddenly, bending you over the back of the couch. He lines himself up at your dripping entrance, desperate to fill you up, to give you what you’re craving. 

“Not gentle?” he rasps once more, one hand curling around your neck from behind, both in reassurance and dominance. 

“Not gentle,” comes your breathy answer. It breaks off into a shriek of a moan when he slams into you with one long thrust, stretching your tight walls around his length. The sting of his sudden intrusion has to hurt at least a little, but you push back against him eagerly, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

Logan holds himself still for a moment, mesmerized by the sight of your squirming body and your needy little sounds, before he pulls out almost entirely, only to push back in forcefully. Your toes barely reach the floor with how far he’s bent you over, lifting you into the air with every harsh thrust, but he’s holding you steady with ease, both hands possessively spanning over your waist, positioning you exactly where he wants you. 

“Taking me so fucking well, like you were made for me,” he growls, gently scratching over your back with his nails. You arch up to chase his touch, tightening around him, almost purring with pleasure. Wetness pours out of you, coating his cock. I’m not scared of touching you. Not when it feels this good. 

“M–more, please,” you whine, blindly reaching backwards to him. 

He leans over you, cages you in, his arms on either side of you, his breath hot against your skin. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, not so deep as to draw blood, but enough that he knows the indents will stay there for quite some time. 

Your whole body goes limp at the sensation, a surprised mewl escaping you as you clench around him wildly. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, his own hips stuttering, “give it to me kitten, come on—” 

He reaches around your hip, fingers teasing through your slick folds and up to your clit, rubbing with slight pressure as he keeps pistoning into your heat. 

“Logan—” you gasp, getting almost impossibly tight, before you shatter around him. He keeps thrusting into you, keeps up his ministrations on your clit, until the pulsing of your cunt around him sends him over the edge as well. He spills his release deep inside of you, the thought of leaving a part of him with you always filling him with a primal satisfaction. 

Pulling you up instantly, he gathers you in his arms, your body soft and pliant against his chest. Walking around the couch and sinking into the cushions to lie down, he gently moves you until your weight is resting on top of him, his embrace wrapping around you.

You stir a little, needing a moment to take in your position. The look of uncertainty that you give him damn near breaks his heart. “Is this okay?” You sound uncertain, too.

God, he’s such an idiot. 

“Yeah, kitten. It’s— fuck, of course it’s okay.”

thank you so so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, a comment or a reblog would absolutely make my day :)

-> part 2!

[bi-writes]

I imagine that Johnny's "uncle" instincts are so strong that he would do anything for the MOB and Simon's kids, it doesn't matter that "the kids" are cats. Also i think Simon would have a talk with MOB (and Soap) along the lines "if something happens to me he is the person who would take care of you". ~ i spend to much time daydreaming about this fic

mail-order bride

johnny watches with a careful eye as simon disassembles his rifle. he's methodical about it, very careful. he has a clear desk in front of him, and every piece that comes out has a place on the surface, a special spot that it must go.

"ye called fer me, LT?" johnny asks, knocking on the door gently. simon nods, not looking up from where he's sitting. he motions to the chair in front of the desk, and johnny takes a seat, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest and spreading his legs as he sits there. "what do ye need?"

"'ave somethin' ta say," simon mutters. "'n i'm gonna say it, and y'r gonna keep quiet and not interrupt me. and when i finish, ya aren't gonna say anythin' about it. and we aren't gonna talk about it ever again. say ya understand me, sergeant."

johnny swallows, shuffling in his seat before nodding.

"aye," he says lowly. "roger tha'."

simon sniffs, picking up the barrel and using a microfiber cloth to rub it clean. he leans back in his chair, not meeting johnny's eyes.

"tha' last op got me thinkin'," simon mutters. "thinkin' a lot." he sighs, deep from his chest. "wot would happen to my girls. if somethin' were to happen to me."

johnny purses his lips, his palms getting a little clammy. but he doesn't speak, because he's been ordered not to.

"and if tha' happens," simon continues. "i don't want anyone else lookin' after them except for you, johnny."

their eyes meet finally, and johnny swallows hard. it's a long gaze, and they hold each other there for a few moments to get an understanding of one another, to speak without speaking.

johnny stands, shaking his head. it's hard for him to believe that simon could die. he's unkillable. he's ghost. he's a man too capable of staying alive, too good at crawling out of early graves, that he doesn't understand truly what it is he's seeing in his lieutenant right now.

the thing in his eyes, he's just never seen it before. it's fear.

"simon."

your greeting as he steps through the front door immediately makes his shoulders relax. you're in the living room in nothing but one of his old shirts, standing there with a big smile on your face. his eyes rake down your body, over your bare legs and socked feet. your smile is bright and contagious, and he drops his bag off as you come closer to him. as always, your hands find the hem of his skull mask and slip it up and over your head, and you giggle when he blushes as you look over his face.

"you're so handsome," you whisper, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you lean up on your toes and kiss him warmly, smoothing your hands up his big arms and wrapping them around his neck. simon can't help himself; he slides his hands down your back and slips them up the hem of the shirt you wear, cupping your ass in both gloved hands and squeezing hard. you laugh into the kiss, pulling away slowly, meeting his eyes. he looks tired. he looks...sad. "simon...is everything okay?"

you swipe your thumbs under his eyes, smudging the eye-black there, and he just shrugs. he doesn't lie. it isn't okay, he isn't okay, and you kiss him again to say you're sorry, because you don't know if he would want to hear that.

"i, uhm...ordered a pizza," you say softly. "thought we could watch a really bad movie and eat gross."

simon smirks, leaning his forehead against yours.

"i'd like tha'."

as you're plating up greasy slices of pizza, simon passes a piece of paper to you. it's an index card with a phone number on it and an address. the address is far, really far, and you lick the sauce off your finger before looking up at him.

"what is this?" you ask, taking it from him.

"tha's johnny," simon murmurs. "if anythin' ever happens...if ya ever need me...'n i'm not 'ere--" you open your mouth to say something, but simon shushes you gently. "--if somethin' ever happens to me...you call johnny."

you purse your lips, meeting his eyes for just a second before looking back down at the card.

"nothing's gonna happen to you, simon--"

he cups your face in his hands, shaking his head. he's staring down at you, pleading, asking you to just do this for him, to just say yes, to not fight him on this one thing because he needs this.

you press the index card to your chest gently, nodding finally.

"yeah...okay..." you whisper. "i'll call him, simon. if something happens...i'll call him."

if something happens, if something happens, if something happens--

"simon," you whisper, grabbing his eyes again. he blinks, and you compose yourself when you see that glaze over his eyes, the slight shake of his bottom lip. you have never seen him this way. you have never seen him shake ever before. this was your husband. simon riley, made of nothing but dense rock and steel. but his thoughts are far away. his thoughts are somewhere else, seeing a scenario in his mind that you imagine may not be hard to think about, as if he's lived something like it himself.

the unknown. the despair. the aftermath.

the inevitable.

"simon."

your voice brings him back. he's back in the kitchen. he's back at home. he can hear the cats in the living room, the little bells on their collars ringing as they chase each other in little chaotic circles.

he's back with you. in his little bubble. he's praying to a god he doesn't believe in that it won't burst so easily.

"dont worry, simon. i'll...i promise i'll call."

[astraystayyh]

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

“Look at me, hm?” he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. “Yn, please, I want to look at you.”

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

[yuujispinkhair]

okay questionable thoughts… Hybrid Tiger Sukuna… But… what if we gave him catnip? Cus I’ve seen videos of it working on tigers and I’m a bit cray cray-

Oh nooo!!! This drives me all kinds of FERAL!! I wrote the following in a horny daze lmaoo. I would give so much to be Tiger Hybrid Sukuna's owner who gets that gorgeous tiger-cock ;) Thank you so much for sending me this!!

Tiger Hybrid!Sukuna x Reader (female). 18+, smut, rough sex, creampie, mentions of breeding + risk of pregnancy if reader gives Sukuna more catnip in the future, dubcon on both sides, drugs. Minors don't interact. Divider @/hitobaby

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who is usually so in control, acting all aloof and majestic. But you give him catnip, and he loses all that control. You thought it would be cute to see him loosen up and become more playful, but you didn't expect him to become so wild.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who tackles you to the floor with a needy growl. Who presses you down with his heavy body, his large tail swishing from side to side excitedly, his pupils blown wide, his hot spit dripping down onto your neck. And his large bulge growing hard against your ass.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who loses his ability to talk in the state he is in now and just growls and purrs while he nuzzles his nose against your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, his lips and tongue and sharp canines leaving their marks on your skin while he ruts against you, needy like never before.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who scares you a bit when he goes crazy like that. This big, strong half-tiger, with those strong muscles and the sharp teeth and claws. And with that huge, strong cock. But your fear mixes with arousal, and you find yourself hoping your tiger will claim you thoroughly tonight.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who isn't even in the right mind to undress you but just tears at his and your clothes, ripping them to shreds in his primal need to mount you.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who pushes his hot, fat cock between your wet cunt, coating himself in your arousal, grunting and growling wildly against your neck while he ruts his throbbing tiger-cock against your heated cunt.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who bites your neck when he pushes his leaking cock into your dripping cunt, groaning loudly against your skin, instantly starting a punishing rough pace of fucking you. Mounting you so wild and hard right there on the floor.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who is so sexy like that, out of control, wild and feral like never before. More animal than man. Who snaps his hips fast and erratically, purely driven by his animal instinct to fuck and breed and fill a mate with his potent seed.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who holds you down and keeps his teeth on your neck while he fucks all his tiger-cum deep into you. Growling loudly while he mates you as if you are his fertile tigress.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who makes you lose control, too, pushing your ass needily against him, wanting all his hot seed and the feel of his heavy balls slapping against you. Making you squeal loudly when you cum all over his fat tiger-cock.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who pulls out of you with a low groan and then kneels on the floor behind you with a blissed-out expression on his beautiful face, not as feral anymore but still high on the catnip. His gorgeous cock softening but still glistening with your creamy juices and his milky seed, his dark pink tip still swollen.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, whose whole muscular body trembles lightly as the effects of the catnip wear off. Whose long, pretty tail is twitching suddenly when those glowing red eyes bore into yours with a dangerous glint in them.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who growls at you, "Never do that again!" And when you ask him why, he glares at you and is like, "Because who knows what I'll do next time. Maybe I'll breed you until you have my cubs."

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who calms down again when you tell him you are ok, and he didn't hurt you. Who finally purrs when you scratch him behind his ears and at the base of his pretty tiger tail and promise him that you won't give him catnip ever again, even though you quite enjoyed his wild side.

[traumasurvivors]

Sometimes, in fact a lot of the time, cutting contact with someone feels terrible.

You might feel guilty over what they're experiencing. You might miss them, and be grieving the loss of that relationship (which is still valid by the way, even if you chose to end it.) Sometimes it's that you feel lonely without that person. Or you're missing something in your life.

Often, the people we cut out did add something to our lives, even if the negative outweighed the positive. Maybe they were the person you sent funny cat memes to without second thought, and now you have to adjust to not having that anymore. You see those cat memes, and feel the instinctive urge to send it and have to catch yourself. And now, you just scroll on. Maybe they were the person that you messaged each week when that specific show aired and you knew they were watching it too. Maybe you don't even want to watch that show anymore because it hurts.

This is a reminder that even if it feels terrible, there's a reason you did it. And it's worth it. It might take a long time to feel like it's worth it, but eventually it will. It isn't always easy to leave someone. I think in most cases, it's actually really hard, even if you know it's best for you. Stay strong in your decision. You made it for a reason.

[bookdragonideas]

Here's the thing. I'm a girl, and as a girl, I really like it when girls are portrayed in fiction. Especially fantasy.

But so much fiction/fantasy mixes up 'girls' with 'unstoppable forces of female badass' and there's not necessarily anything wrong with having a character who is an 'unstoppable forces of female badass'. But it gets old real quick. And it is not the same as portraying normal girls, or having good female characters.

And that's one of the many reasons I love Avatar the Last Airbender.

Because all the girl characters have flaws and weaknesses and sometimes act like idiots or jerks. They get emotional and make mistakes. They lose fights or arguments or are just wrong sometimes. Some of them are amazing warriors, and some aren't. Some are powerful or special and some are normal, with nothing special about them.

And I Love that.

I was around the same age as Katara when I first watched Atla. And I instantly connected with her as a character. I loved her optimistic attitude and her fighting spirit. And I could relate with her anger, and with her maternal instinct. I admired her fighting skills of course, but I loved how the show portrayed her compassion and kindness, the way she could both beat up a bunch of bullies AND enjoy a relaxing day at the spa. She was a baddass warrior that should never be crossed. But she was also a normal teenage girl who had a lot of the same internal struggles and problems that I did.

(I never connected to Toph on the same level, but I did relate to her on a few things. She's an adorable trash gremlin who would commit any crime for fun and I love that. But she struggles with being both independent and letting people help her, and I still struggle with that sometimes. I've learned that sometimes, you can help others by letting them help you.)

Yue is, in my opinion, a perfect example of a type of hero that seems to be disappearing. She is not a warrior. She is not a fighter. She's not even a bender.

Yue is a perfect princess, a perfect daughter. She is extremely feminine in a rather older sense.

And she was the only one who could save the world. She gave up everything for her people. She saved everything, everyone, the entire world. Without ever becoming a fighter.

Yue is a perfect example of a girl who was never more than a girl, and how that's okay. Not every girl has to be rough and tumble and fight for her rights in order to change everything. Sometimes it's okay to just be a quiet obedient girly girl. Sometimes that's all it takes to be a hero.

And I love that. Yue is strong in her own way. She is unique and interesting. She appears in only a few episodes and yet manages to be one of my favorite characters.

Song is another great example of this. Song is a healer in a small town. We don't see much of her but we see her compassion and empathy. She is gentle and generous. A healer not a fighter.

She watches Zuko steal her ostrich horse and does nothing.

Is that because she's kind and generous and knows he needs it more? Or is it because she's a healer girl who knows she can't actually stop those two from taking the horse? Maybe neither, maybe both. I have always thought that the scene where Zuko steals the horse and only the audience knows she saw it is one of the most thought-provoking in the series.

Suki is a badass warrior woman who is an awesome fighter and good leader. She is one of the best non bender fighter we see in the entire show. She was one of the smartest, most efficient, and powerful characters we ever saw.

She kissed a boy she had just met because she thought he was cute.

Now don't get me wrong I love SokkaxSuki. Its one of the best couples in the show.

But Suki totally did the old 'love at first sight' thing. And that is awesome. Because when she kisses him she delivers one of the best lines, not only from her, but, I think, in the entire show.

"I AM a warrior, but I'm a girl too."

Being a warrior doesn't mean that she isn't also a teenage girl. She might be a fighter, but she still gets crushes and likes to flirt with cute boys. And hey, she picked a good one. Not every boy is going to come break you out of prison.

Anyways, let's have more realistic girls in fiction. And please enjoy the next 24 hours.

[skyahri]

Unplanned |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Shikamaru Nara, and Kakashi Hatake

Summary: Pregnancy scenarios 'cause I can.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy. Bad words. All fluff.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Sasuke Uchiha

He isn't the kind of guy to outwardly dote on you.

He's never been good with words or physical touch, more so preferring quality time together. You sleep in the same bed, eat meals together when it's convenient, and lounge around together when time allows.

When you come home from a last minute doctor's appointment with some big news, none of that really changes.

He assures you that he's happy, that he loves you, and this is all wonderful, but that's about all you're going to get out the emotionally constipated man.

However, while words may not be his strong suit, actions certainly are.

It's become painfully obvious that you are never allowed to go anywhere alone ever again.

He's like a shadow, following you everywhere and anywhere you decide to go. It doesn't matter that you're just running to the market- he's coming with. Ino invited the girls over for a dinner party? Cool, he'll walk you there, hang around in the shadows outside, then walk you home.

When questioned, Sasuke only says that he doesn't trust other people. Already knowing how he is, you don't push him any further. (Not that he'd entertain you if you did.)

People notice pretty quickly. He's not subtle and it's not exactly common for the Uchiha to be so openly clingy.

You wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret for a little while longer. You knew that his status would make the whole thing bigger than you'd like and it was still so early, only about eight weeks in. But people were becoming more and more insistent with their questions.

"Seriously, did something happen? He's been watching you like a Hawk for the past month."

"It was cute at first, but now it's straight up creepy."

Sakura and Ino dramatically shiver at the notion. You laugh, imagining how unsettling this all must look from the outside.

"It's fine, I promise. He's just been a little overprotective since he found out I was pregnant."

They don't register it at first. They just nod in understanding and move to sip their tea. You can almost see it click in their heads before they slam down their cups and start freaking out.

"Wait, WHAT?"

Naruto Uzumaki

"Congratulations! Based on the ultrasound, I'd say you're about five weeks along. It's still early, but you can see a tiny sac right here-"

Your mind is going a thousand miles a minute, thinking of everything and nothing as the doctor points out the tiny, centimeter-long blob in the picture.

Naruto had been bugging you for the past three weeks about a smell. He swears it's nothing bad, just that Kurama is insisting that your scent has changed and- blah, blah, blah. You never could get any more information out of him, which just left you to eventually cave and visit the doctor. Animals have instincts for a reason and who were you to ignore them?

Turns out, that damn fox was right.

After a half-hour lecture on what you can and can't do anymore, you were handed a goodie bag of essentials and sent on your way.

You barely remember the walk home. Your mind was completely blank as it tried to process the news. It wasn't until Naruto was standing in front of you in the doorway to your home that you finally snapped out of the trance.

You stared up at him. His eyebrows were knit together and he was asking if everything was alright. He pulled everything out of your hands and not-so-gently set them on the floor.

"I'm pregnant."

His eyes blew wide and not even a second later he was smiling, pulling you into him and spinning you around. It's over just as quickly as it started. He's setting you back down on your feet and looking you over, mumbling a few hollow apologies for manhandling you. He takes a deep breath, that lopsided grin on his face never leaving.

"You're pregnant."

Just those two words have all the fog clearing from your head. Reality is forced onto you in an instant. In any other situation, it might have made you dizzy, but right now you couldn't be happier.

"I'm pregnant."

Shikamaru Nara

He really should've seen this coming.

Honestly, with how careless he is with protection, it's a wonder how you hadn't gotten pregnant sooner. A year and some change of not bothering with condoms and lazy, half-assed pullouts had finally come to bite him in the ass.

Although he knows this is all going to be horrifically bothersome, he can't find it in himself to be all that bothered. No, not when you're standing in front of him so nervously, little tears gathering on your waterline as you hold out a slip of paper for him to take.

He pulls you into a hug- a very tight, very intimate hug. One of his hands is on your lower back, pressing you into him, and the other is in your hair to cup the back of your head. He can feel the stress start to melt from your body as you relax into him, your arms moving to loosely hold him back.

"I'm sorry. I know this wasn't exactly planned..."

It definitely wasn't planned. He didn't like to think about things too hard. The only talk about the future he'd engaged in was a brief confirmation that you were both interested in pursuing each other exclusively and that neither were against marriage and kids.

But even though this was sudden and unprompted and definitely not what he was expecting when you asked to talk with him privately, he just couldn't find it in himself to be anything other than pleased. Sure, he would've liked to wait a few years and it preferably be after he'd properly proposed and married you, but none of that is deterring him.

He loved you. He didn't say it as often as he probably should, but that didn't make it any less true. You were easygoing and passive and fit into his life with no resistance. His friends liked you, possibly more than they did him. You liked to cook and he never had to worry about you causing trouble.

This was fine.

Not troublesome in the least.

"No, this is... good."

Kakashi Hatake

He was positive he was sterile. He'd have to be after all the injuries and trauma he's sustained, right? Four years and not a single scare, yet here you were, apparently three months pregnant, handing him a report from the OB's office.

He couldn't even form a sentence. He just sighed and sat back onto the couch with his eyes closed. It's only eight in the morning, it's too early for this, not that there'd ever be a great time.

"I knew you weren't going to be thrilled, but now I'm starting to get nervous. Can you please say something?"

He held his arm up and gestured for you to come towards him. When he could feel you brush against him, he grabbed your wrist and carefully yanked you onto his lap. You let out a relieved, albeit hesitant, chuckle as he slowly wrapped himself around you, his head finding solace in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a little while until he let out the loudest, most dramatic groan you'd ever heard leave his mouth, followed by a mumbled 'are you sure?', to which you rolled your eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure. Here, you can see for yourself."

You unfold the paper and pulled out a few pictures. He shifts you around so you're at a better angle before he takes them into his hands. It's obvious that he has no idea what he's looking at- just that the blob is already baby-shaped and very, very intimidating.

You point out some of the obvious things, the head and feet and such, before moving down to the very last photo at the bottom.

"And that little spot right there means that we're having a boy."

"I thought they couldn't tell the gender until later."

"It is later, Kashi. Fourteen weeks."

He lets you take the pictures from him so he can set his hand on your stomach. You'd mentioned gaining a little weight recently, which he honestly hadn't noticed, but now he's wondering how he could've missed it as he brushes his fingers over the slightest most obvious bump in your usually flat stomach.

He must've been zoned out for too long, because you're calling his name and setting your hand over his. He hums, a slight acknowledgment that he's heard you, but you know he's not actually listening.

He's too busy thinking about diapers and bottles and late nights and early mornings. How his son is going to be in the same class as his student's kids. How Gai is going to be a hundred times more annoying in the coming years.

But then a single thought completely derails his spiraling. He wonders what your baby will look like. If he'll be a morning person like you or like to take naps like him. If they'll accel in genjutsu or not, because while he certainly does, you most certainly don't.

He's spent time with Kurenai and Mirai. While raising a person definitely seemed difficult, he couldn't deny that Kurenai was happy. Actually, despite Asuma's untimely death, she's the happiest he'd ever seen her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just... thinking about how annoying it'll be to tell everyone we're expecting."

"Seemed more like panicking to me."

"... shut up."

[esotericalchemist]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐙𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 ☆

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The Character Zone in the Matrix of Destiny represents the core traits and behaviors that shape an individual’s personality. It reveals inherent strengths, weaknesses, and tendencies that influence how a person interacts with the world. Each energy in the Character Zone defines distinct qualities, such as courage, empathy, creativity, or spontaneity, providing insight into personal growth and life lessons. Understanding these energies helps one align with their true nature and navigate life more purposefully.

Calculate your Matrix of Destiny here:

Matrix of Destiny calculator

( if that one does not work, use the following link: alternative calculator)

! --- LOOK AT THE NUMBER IN THE MIDDLE --!

< image source: here! >

3. The Empress

The Third Arcanum in the Character Zone represents the core energy of femininity, beauty, and nurturing. This energy shapes the individual’s personality by emphasizing a deep connection to the feminine qualities of care, sensitivity, and creation. People with this energy in their Character Zone are often strongly influenced by their relationship with their mother or the maternal figures in their family.

The Third Arcanum fosters a desire to nurture and protect, whether that means raising children, taking care of loved ones, or nurturing creative projects. For women, it highlights the importance of embracing their femininity and taking care of their appearance and overall well-being. For men, it may manifest as gentleness, flexibility, and a nurturing personality, often leading them to prioritize family and relationships.

This arcanum encourages an individual to find fulfillment in the act of caring and creating beauty in the world around them, with a strong emphasis on maternal energy and nurturing instincts. The Third Energy pushes them to live in harmony with their feminine side and to use it to foster relationships and personal growth.

4. The Emperor

The Fourth Arcanum in the Character Zone represents the core energy of leadership, strength, and responsibility. People with this energy embody traditional masculine qualities, including being protective, decisive, and strong-willed. Their sense of duty and the need to control their surroundings are central to their personality, driving them to take charge in life, family, and work.

These individuals often see themselves as leaders and heads of their household, naturally assuming responsibility for others. They are pragmatic, self-sufficient, and focused on achieving their goals. However, if this energy isn't harnessed positively, it can lead to issues such as over-aggression, an inability to accept help, or a tendency to dominate others in unhealthy ways.

The Fourth Energy pushes individuals to be the anchor in their family or community, taking on the role of protector and provider. Success and self-actualization for them come from accepting responsibility, being independent, and using their strength wisely.

5. The Hierophant

The fifth arcanum represents the core traits of learning, teaching, and passing on wisdom. People with this energy at the heart of their Destiny Code are naturally inclined to seek out knowledge, traditions, and truths, and they often feel compelled to share what they learn with others. They may be seen as teachers or guides in their communities, embodying the role of those who preserve and pass on the wisdom of the past while creating new traditions.

This energy pushes them to continually grow in knowledge, ensuring that their learning is not just for themselves but also for the benefit of others. They are often driven by a need to make sense of the world, and this intellectual pursuit becomes a defining feature of their character. For those with Knowledge in their Character Zone, faith in something greater, whether it be in God, the universe, or simply in their purpose, is crucial to their personal growth and fulfillment.

6. The Lovers

The sixth arcanum in the Character Zone represents a core energy that revolves around love, communication, and making choices. People with this energy are driven by a deep desire to love and be loved, and this energy shapes their personality, making them charming, graceful, and often very attractive to others. They are naturally inclined towards socializing and forming connections, which they value highly in their lives.

One of the main lessons for individuals with this energy is to learn how to love themselves. The sixth arcanum requires them to focus on self-acceptance, as their ability to love others and attract love from others stems from their capacity to embrace their true selves. When this energy is well-balanced, it radiates beauty, emotional maturity, and honesty, allowing these individuals to build harmonious relationships with those around them.

In the Character Zone, this energy often presents challenges with decision-making, as people with this arcanum may struggle with choices in life, both big and small. However, once they learn to confidently make decisions and love themselves without constantly seeking validation from others, they unlock the full potential of this energy.

7. The Chariot

The seventh arcanum represents a driving force of action, speed, and achievement. People with this energy in their Destiny Code Matrix are natural achievers, constantly striving to move forward and hit their goals. They thrive on action and momentum, always feeling the need to progress, and can be frustrated by anything they perceive as slowing them down.

This energy provides immense stamina and drive, pushing them to act swiftly and decisively. However, Sevens must ensure they have clear goals, as aimlessness can lead to chaos and restlessness in their lives. When they have a target in mind, they excel at focusing all their energy toward reaching it.

In the Character Zone, this energy shapes a person who is always on the move, both mentally and physically, and motivates others around them to take action as well. Their strength lies in their ability to inspire movement and create momentum, but they must also learn to balance their speed with thoughtfulness, ensuring they don’t rush blindly without considering the consequences.

8. Justice

Arcanum 8, known as Justice, represents responsibility, law, and karma. Those with the energy of the Eighth Arcanum in the Character Zone are guided by a strong internal code of honor and an innate sense of fairness. They have a deep connection to karma, understanding that every action carries consequences, and they strive to act in alignment with the laws of both the physical and spiritual world.

People with this energy are often seen as reliable and responsible, setting high standards for themselves and those around them. Their sense of justice drives them to take responsibility seriously, whether in relationships, work, or personal matters. They thrive in situations where there is structure, law, and clarity, and they often pursue roles that require a strong ethical foundation, such as in legal or official capacities.

However, the energy of Justice can also become rigid if not balanced. These individuals may struggle with flexibility and may become overly principled or stubborn. Their focus on responsibility can lead them to overwork or become emotionally disconnected from others. It is important for them to find balance, allowing room for emotional expression and adaptability while maintaining their strong sense of justice and duty.

9. The Hermit

Arcanum 9, known as The Hermit, represents self-sufficiency, wisdom, and depth. Those with the energy of the Ninth Arcanum in the Character Zone are introspective and often prefer solitude. They are deep thinkers, constantly seeking knowledge and understanding of the world. Their inner world is rich, and they spend much of their time contemplating life's truths and complexities.

People with this energy are self-reliant and do not depend on others for validation or support. They value independence and may appear distant, but this is due to their focus on inner growth and wisdom. They are driven by a desire to uncover deeper meanings in life and often engage in intellectual or philosophical pursuits.

However, the energy of The Hermit can sometimes lead to isolation. These individuals may struggle to connect with others, believing that their depth of thought sets them apart. It is important for them to strike a balance between solitude and social interaction, allowing themselves to share their wisdom without becoming entirely withdrawn.

10. The Wheel of Fortune

Arcanum 10, known as The Wheel of Fortune, represents cycles, luck, and fate. Those with the energy of the Tenth Arcanum in the Character Zone are deeply connected to the flow of life and destiny. They are often seen as adaptable and open to change, understanding that life is full of ups and downs, and they are meant to ride these waves with ease.

People with this energy tend to go with the flow, trusting that life will take them where they need to be. They are often lucky and find themselves in favorable circumstances, seemingly by chance. However, they must learn to trust in this process and not resist the natural cycles of life. Their path is one of surrender to the greater forces at play, allowing fate to guide them.

At times, the energy of The Wheel of Destiny can lead to unpredictability. These individuals may struggle with control, wanting to direct their lives but needing to accept that much is beyond their influence. Finding peace in the uncertainty and embracing the cyclical nature of life is essential for their growth.

11. Strength

Arcanum 11, known as Strength, represents labor, energy, and effort. Those with the energy of the Eleventh Arcanum in the Character Zone are endowed with immense potential and power. They possess an extraordinary capacity for hard work and can achieve anything they set their mind to with dedication and effort. This strength is both their gift and their challenge, as it requires self-control and direction to prevent it from becoming overwhelming or destructive.

People with this energy are driven by a need to succeed through effort and hard work. They often face more demanding life tasks than others and are compelled to take on challenges that push them to their limits. Their strength manifests both physically and mentally, giving them the endurance to persist where others might give up. Elevens often thrive in roles that require leadership, responsibility, and the ability to motivate others.

However, the energy of Strength can become problematic if not channeled properly. When left unchecked, it can lead to aggression, domineering behavior, or even burnout. Elevens must learn to balance their energy by finding productive outlets for it, ensuring that their strength serves to uplift rather than oppress. This balance is crucial for their personal growth and fulfillment.

12. The Hanged Man

Arcanum 12 represents service, altruism, and creativity. Those with the energy of the Twelfth Arcanum in the Character Zone often find themselves drawn to helping others, sometimes at the expense of their own needs. They have a natural tendency toward self-sacrifice, often taking on the role of the giver or caretaker in relationships and life situations.

People with this energy feel a deep need to be of service, motivated by their strong sense of empathy and compassion. They may devote themselves to causes, volunteer work, or helping others in various ways. Their altruism is genuine, as they are often more focused on the well-being of others than their own personal gain.

However, the energy of Sacrifice can become complicated. In its negative expression, Twelves may adopt a "victim" mentality, feeling powerless or overly dependent on others. They might also become trapped in self-pity or martyrdom, struggling to balance their own needs with those of others. It is crucial for them to recognize their own worth and learn to say "no" when necessary, to avoid falling into patterns of self-neglect.

13. Death

Arcanum 13, known as Death, represents transformation, the end of the old, and the beginning of the new. Those with the energy of the Thirteenth Arcanum in the Character Zone are driven by constant change and the need to let go of the past to make way for new growth. They often experience several phases of transformation in their lives, embracing the idea of renewal and starting fresh.

People with this energy are natural transformers, capable of shedding their old ways, thoughts, and relationships to become something new. They thrive on change, and for them, it’s essential to release what no longer serves them to open up to new opportunities. This can make them appear mysterious and unique, as they are not afraid to embrace the unknown or move forward when others might hold back.

However, the energy of Death can also bring challenges. When out of balance, Thirteens may struggle with letting go, holding onto the past or clinging to material possessions and old memories. Their fear of change or attachment to the familiar can block their natural energy flow, leading to stagnation. Learning to accept endings as a necessary part of life and embracing the cycles of transformation is crucial for their growth.

14. Temperance

Arcanum 14 represents balance, harmony, and patience. Those with the energy of the Fourteenth Arcanum in the Character Zone are characterized by their calm demeanor, refined manners, and ability to find the middle ground in any situation. They are patient, tactful, and always strive for peace, preferring to take a measured approach to life.

People with this energy have an innate ability to stay grounded and avoid extremes. They value quality over quantity and prefer simplicity, whether in material possessions or relationships. Their life path often requires them to seek balance and compromise, patiently working through challenges rather than rushing or forcing solutions.

However, if out of balance, Fourteens may struggle with impatience, becoming argumentative or stubborn. They may lose their usual calm and find themselves overwhelmed by indecision or mood swings. To thrive, they must embrace their natural inclination toward harmony, learning to act with patience and moderation in all areas of life.

16. The Tower

Arcanum 16, known as The Tower, represents destruction, growth, and reconstruction. Those with the energy of the Sixteenth Arcanum in the Character Zone are destined for intense experiences, often facing abrupt changes or sudden upheavals. They live eventful lives, filled with challenges that force them to rebuild and adapt, whether in their careers, relationships, or personal endeavors.

People with this energy are natural builders and planners, always striving to create something substantial. However, they must also learn to accept that the structures they build, whether literal or metaphorical, may collapse unexpectedly. This constant need to rebuild teaches them resilience and the ability to grow from their trials. The Sixteenth Arcanum pushes individuals to embrace change, accept failure, and start anew with greater strength and insight.

However, if this energy is not balanced, Sixteens may struggle with fear of failure, avoid taking risks, or experience recurring losses. They might find themselves in a cycle of building only to see their efforts crumble. To thrive, they must embrace the process of growth, understanding that destruction is a necessary part of their path toward creating something stronger and more resilient.

18. The Moon

Arcanum 18, known as The Moon, represents genius, magic, and insanity. Those with the energy of the Eighteenth Arcanum in the Character Zone possess an extraordinary ability to manifest their thoughts into reality, for better or worse. This energy is deeply connected to mystery and illusion, as the Moon reveals hidden truths, unspoken fears, and subconscious desires.

People with this energy are often introverted and live in their own world of imagination and intuition. They are gifted with powerful creative and psychic abilities, but must be careful, as their fears and negative thoughts can also materialize. The key challenge for Eighteens is to gain mastery over their inner world and harness their magical abilities in a positive and constructive way.

If this energy is not controlled, it can lead to self-deception, illusions, or even destructive behavior. These individuals may struggle with mental instability or difficulty distinguishing between reality and their fears. However, when balanced, the energy of The Moon allows them to tap into profound wisdom, creativity, and spiritual insight, making them true visionaries in the world.

20. Judgement

Judgement symbolizes family, patriotism, and vocation. Those with the Energy of the Twentieth Arcanum in their Destiny Code Matrix are called to uphold honor, dignity, and family values. This energy is deeply connected to resolving ancestral karma, mending family ties, and restoring the bond between relatives. The ultimate goal for Twenties is to elevate their family line and fulfill a higher purpose tied to their lineage.

The Twentieth Arcanum is about purification and renewal, urging individuals to restore justice, preserve their homeland’s traditions, and remain devoted to their family and country. People with this energy must guard their family’s honor and never speak ill of their kin or homeland. Doing so weakens their energy, blocking their path in life and bringing harsh karmic trials.

Those with Judgement energy often find themselves as protectors and advocates for their family, standing firm in their principles. Their duty is to defend what is right, ensure justice is served, and bring unity to their family. They thrive when they devote themselves to a cause larger than themselves, making significant contributions to their family, community, or nation.

22. The Fool

The Fool represents freedom, spontaneity, and living in the present. People with this energy are often open-hearted, optimistic, and full of childlike wonder. They are unbound by societal expectations, living their lives in the "here and now" without overthinking consequences. Their approach to life is often light-hearted, and they tend to see the world through the lens of innocence and joy, preferring simplicity over complexity.

The Fool, however, can struggle with responsibility, making them vulnerable to being easily manipulated or caught in negative situations like addiction or recklessness. Their love for freedom and thrill can sometimes lead them astray, causing financial and personal instability. Despite these challenges, Fools can live incredibly fulfilling lives when they learn to balance their free spirit with some form of structure or grounding.

In relationships, they value independence and are often drawn to partners who allow them to roam freely without heavy obligations. They seek playful, light, and passionate relationships but can easily walk away if they feel restricted. Their karmic lesson is to learn to enjoy freedom without hurting others, remain grounded in reality while maintaining their joyful nature, and embrace responsibility when necessary.

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[yuquinzel]

JEALOUSY LOOKS GOOD ON YOU. . . feat ⨾ blue lock!

ಣ𐬹𝆬 ─ content ⨾ fem!reader, just some headcanons of blue lock boys when someone hits on you in front of them :')

ಣ𐬹𝆬 ─ characters ⨾ rin, sae, nagi, isagi, reo, chigiri.

RIN — wants to set the guy on fire.

rin’s eyes are locked on your frame, and that lukewarm bastard who has the audacity to hit on you when he's around.

for a long moment, he simply watches in silence. the guy hasn't done anything besides throw casual compliments, laced with a flirtatious undertone that's beginning to get under rin's nerves. you've been politely but surely rejecting his advances.

if looks could kill, the guy would drop dead right now. but unfortunately, they can't— so it's only when he reaches out his hand to grasp yours, gaining the nerves to directly ask you out, that rin instead takes your hand in his.

entwining your fingers with his as he tugs you behind, rin's hold is protective —possessive— eyes shooting daggers at the guy and with a voice so dangerously low and dripping with venom, rin steps in front of you; shielding you from the eyes of the other guy and also prompting some distance. “fuck off and take the hint, you lukewarm fuckface. don't you dare get too close.”

the guy backs up 10m away.

SAE — absolutely shatters the guy's confidence.

sae is amused more than anything, he's watching— the guy trying his best to shoot his shot, fumbling with his words and shyly complimenting you. in all honesty, he doesn't really blame him.

it's even more amusing that you don't look interested at all, the idea that anyone besides him can even think that they have a chance with you is baffling to him.

oh but it's when the guy takes one step closer to you, and you reel back. it's as he's just beginning to ask you for your number that you feel a hand roughly grab the side of your jaw, and the sensation of sae's lips moving in sync on yours takes over your senses.

you're kissing him back by instinct, but sae's eyes travel to the guy frozen in his spot. something flashes in his eyes, and there's no words that exchange between anyone after that, sae had made his point very clear.

NAGI — intense staring until the guy leaves.

nagi is distracted, the bright red ‘game over’ blurring on his phone screen as he's glancing at you from across the room and some other guy talking.

he hadn't paid much attention to a nobody like that, didn't think to bother giving him much of his attention when he knows he's the one that's one your mind.

but he can't really help it that the guy is too loud for his own good, and he's not far enough to not be able to hear your conversation. nagi knows he's trying to flirt with you— by the way he's trying to inch closer. and he also knows you've been rejecting his advances— by the way you're distancing yourself.

you're uncomfortable— this is where nagi knows to step in, so that's when he walks over to you. you feel two strong arms drape around your frame, trapping you in a firm embrace. nagi rests his chin on your shoulder, pulling you closer into the warmth of his embrace, “eh, are you dumb? can't you take the hint? you're such a pain.”

you're a little dumbfounded at the apparent staring contest nagi has initiated, he doesn't say anything else. instead preferring to stare through the soul of the guy muttering something unintelligible as he begrudgingly leaves.

REO — makes it crystal clear you belong to him.

reo isn't jealous, definitely not. he's just confused, because he has his arm hooked around your waist keeping you tucked safe and sweet next to him. he's also absolutely sure his collar is exposing just enough of his skin for anyone to trace the fresh purple bruises— let them question it if they can.

so why exactly, is this guy so intent on complimenting you on your dress, something about the way he's saying you look gorgeous really twinges a nerve.

he's right, reo'll give him that. you look stunning in your evening gown, but he doesn't like that the compliment is from a nobody who doesn't deserve to be anywhere near you.

when the guy holds out his hand for you to take, asking you for a dance, it's then that reo realises he needs to mark what's his.

“alright sweetheart, i think it's time we leave.” he says, and you're taken aback when he leans in to press a kiss against your neck, lips hovering for seconds before he pulls back.

you're all too familiar of the way reo's gazing down at the man, a self assured smirk that says nothing but— “hand's off from what's mine.”

ISAGI — is the most mature about it.

isagi doesn't get jealous a lot, he's very secure in your relationship with him and he trusts you so much.

what he doesn't trust is the way this guy that has been trying to start a conversation with you for the past 15 minutes is looking at you.

it had been tolerable as long as it was just compliments and small talk, you weren't paying much attention him anyway. but it's been fifteen minutes now and the guy still won't leave, and as isagi can name it; his confidence is building up the longer he's there.

“maybe you and i could—” he's beginning to say, voice hopeful as he turns to you— only to be cut off by isagi.

“i don't think you can read the room, but she's taken. whatever you're asking of won't be possible, leave before you make her uncomfortable.” he says, eyes narrowing with each word. the guy huffs, and isagi raises his eyebrows, grabbing your wrist to pull you to him. the gesture speaks loud enough, the way isagi is staring down at the guy is firm and precise, daring the guy to try something.

some time after he leaves, isagi will be more attentive and careful around you, more protective and sweet. a lot more clingy than usual too, he's determined to not anyone steal his time with you.

CHIGIRI — no guy will flirt with you when chigiri is around.

but if by chance, there are some special cases where a particular airhead would have enough guts to hit on you when chigiri is around, then he's quick to shut them down before it gets too far.

his first instinct is to prefer to wait for the guy to come to his senses, pack up and leave eventually. you can feel the mood drop though, chigiri just waits in silence until the guy gets the hint.

but if that doesn't happen, and if someone dares to step closer to you more than what's appropriate, chigiri is there in seconds like a protective wall.

“back off, I'm her boyfriend.”

you don't get to see chigiri as serious as he is now very often, it's a rare right. but you'd be lying if you said it didn't give you butterflies when he tilts his head, a look of superiority flashes in his eyes as he watches the guy step away and scurry off.

when he turns to you, he's all sweet and romantic like you know him to be, peppering you with kisses and an apology if the guy made you uncomfortable.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

possessive reo possessive reo possessive reo he's a need not a want.

[the-original-skipps]

|| When you carry them bridal style. || Wind Breaker Reactions ||

just a cute idea that popped up hehe i have so many wips i have to finish ahhh guys pls give me strength

CW: slight angst for suo and nirei

: Sakura Haruka. Suo Hayato. Nirei Akihito. Umemiya Hajime. Kaji Ren. Togame Jo.

❥ Sakura was confused when you suddenly crouched, but then that confusion quickly turned into surprise when you lifted with up. He could feel his heart leaping out of chest, no one has ever carried him before - much less like this! As much as he wants to cover his vibrant red face, he immediately wrapped his arms around your neck, afraid that you'd suddenly drop him. He struggles to find the words to express his feelings, only coming out as random stutters and yelling. You giggle at his reaction, he's just too adorable. You tell him that he's your little princess, which has him sputtering like a fish out of water. He demands you let him down but you refuse, only if he says please.

"P-Put me down! Dammit, do I really have to say it?!.....P-Please."

❥ Suo let's out a simple "wow" as you lift him up bridal style. He calmly wraps his arms around your neck, not the slightest bit worried that you'll drop him. Suo is very light, just like you expected him to be which brings a frown to your face. He's smiling and just about to tease you, until he sees the look on your face and questions you what's wrong. You tell him that he's very light, in which he replies laughing that it must be because his diet is working. Which makes you frown even deeper, you tell him you're worried and that he should eat more. Suo is slightly taken aback but he's back to smiling-placing a loving hand on your cheek, touched that you're worried about him.

"I'll eat, but only if you'll feed me～"

❥ Nirei squeaks, instantly clinging onto you as he looks at you with great surprise and embarrassment. He buries his face in your neck, as his cheeks flush red - his heart beating wildly in his chest. He can't deny the flutter he felt at being so affectionately held by you. Then he starts wondering if he can carry you like this too, what if he couldn't? The thought has him feeling self-conscious but tries to dismiss those thoughts away. He'll just have to get stronger, train more with Sakura and Suo. He snaps out of his thoughts when you call his name, looking at him with worry. Nirei responds with a bright grin, thanking you for carrying him and that he'll be sure to return the favor.

"Next time, let me carry you too!"

❥ Umemiya lets out a shout of surprise and excitement as he feels his body getting lifted up. No one ever heeded his request of wanting to be carried, especially Kotoha. He's quick to wrap his strong arms around your neck, nuzzling his face to your neck - complimenting you on how strong you are. His excitement is so adorable that a smile stretches on your face, he really reminds you of a golden retriever. Afterwards, he eagerly asks you if you could carry him around today in which you reply that you'll try. You're not sure how long you could go on carrying him, he is made up of pure muscle but you'll try just to see his bright smile on his face.

"Oh oh, let's go to the bakery next!. My treat!"

❥ Kaji is wary to say this least, he's always on guard on whether or not you'll pull some kind of prank on him. So you had to wait for just the right moment to suddenly pick him up. Of course, his first instinct is to yell and question your actions, all with a blush on his face. Luckily, Kaji wasn't eating his lollipop because he would have dropped it instantly. You could only laugh as he struggles with the new position he has in your arms. Even going as far into teasing him at how light he is which has him turning a darker shade of red. Eventually, he gives up the struggle and obediently lays still in your arms with a pout on his face. Luckily for him, Kusumi isn't here or else he'll gain some blackmail material.

"H-Hey! You better not d-drop me!"

❥ Togame whistles out, impressed that you were actually able to pick him up nonetheless carry him in your arms. All without breaking a sweat, wow - you might even be stronger than him. He calmly praises you for your strength, telling you how cool you are at being able to do this. He makes himself comfortable, leaning his head against your shoulder. Your arms holding him tightly, your scent enveloping him. He swears he could just fall asleep like this. You smile in response, happy at his reaction - it's almost as if you're carrying a giant teddy bear. Togame quietly lets you know that it's okay to let him down if you're tired but you quickly refuse. Togame lets out a chuckle and smiles, well he could get used to this.

"Mhmm, you're so strong..."

[aceyalonso]

mirror, mirror on the wall - GEORGE RUSSELL

pairing : boyfriend!george russell x fem!reader kinktober day 10 - mirror sex

summary : ever since y/n and george started spending some weekends on the boat, she has always wondered why he needed to have a mirror on the wall and on the ceiling of the bedroom

warnings/notes : short smau at the end, swearing, smut, switch!reader & switch!george, established relationship, smut (with A LOT of plot), unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!), handjob, cum play (ish?), creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (m!receiving), slight body worship, praise kink, begging, use of "good boy/girl"

word count : 4.3k

a/n : i need this man SO BAD

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist

Y/n and George spent the day on his small yacht, the warm sun beating down on the deck as the gentle waves lapped against the hull. The salty sea breeze tousled Y/n's hair, and she could feel the sun's heat on her skin, making her feel alive and invigorated.

George stood at the helm, his tanned muscles glistening with sweat as he expertly navigated the yacht through the crystal-clear waters. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he glanced over at Y/n, who was lounging on a plush deck chair, a fruity cocktail in hand.

"Isn't this just perfect?" George asked, his deep voice carrying over the sound of the wind and the water. "Just you, me, and the open sea."

Y/n smiled, taking a sip of her drink before responding. "It's amazing, George. I can't think of a better way to spend a day off."

He grinned mischievously as he approached Y/n, his wet swim trunks clinging to his muscular thighs. He knelt beside her deck chair, his eyes roaming over her sun-kissed skin before settling on her face. "I think it's time we get a little closer," he said, his voice low and seductive.

Without warning, George lunged forward, pressing his dripping-wet body on top of Y/n. She let out a surprised squeal, her hands instinctively pushing against his chest. "George! You're soaking wet!" she exclaimed, laughing playfully. "I'm trying to get a tan here, and you're ruining it!"

George chuckled, his breath hot against her ear. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt your tanning session?" he teased, his lips brushing against her neck. "I just couldn't resist getting a little closer to you."

Y/n giggled, her fingers tangling in George's damp hair as they playfully wrestled on the deck. She managed to push him off her, but he quickly regained his balance, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Oh, you want to play, do you?" he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning her arms above her head.

"Hey, no fair!" Y/n cried out, squirming beneath him. "Let me go!"

George smirked, his grip on her wrists tightening as he leaned in close. "I don't think so," he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "I think it's time we take this to the water."

With a sudden burst of strength, George released Y/n's wrists and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the deck chair. She let out a surprised yelp as he carried her to the edge of the yacht, the cool sea breeze whipping through her hair.

"George, wait!" she called out, her heart pounding in her chest. "What are you doing?"

He didn't hesitate, his strong arms wrapped tightly around Y/n as he leaped from the yacht into the crystal-clear waters below. They hit the water with a splash, and Y/n's scream quickly turned into laughter as the cool sea enveloped them.

As they surfaced, George kept a firm hold on Y/n, his hands gripping her waist as they tread water together. "There, isn't this better?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n splashed water at George, her eyes narrowing playfully as she asked, "Are you crazy? What if I couldn't swim?"

George grinned, his hands still firmly gripping her waist. "Oh, I'm sure you can swim just fine," he teased, his voice dripping with confidence. "But even if you couldn't, I've got you. I'll never let you go."

He pulled her closer, their bodies pressing together in the cool water. Y/n couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as she looked into his eyes, the sun reflecting off the waves around them. "You're such a show-off," she said, her voice breathless. "But I guess I can't blame you for wanting to impress me."

They swam together, their bodies moving in sync as they cut through the water. Y/n marveled at the way George's muscles rippled beneath his skin, his powerful strokes propelling them both forward. She felt a sense of freedom and exhilaration, the saltwater invigorating her senses as they played in the waves.

As they swam, George suddenly stopped, turning to face Y/n with a mischievous grin. "Race you back to the yacht!" he challenged, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/n laughed, her competitive spirit ignited. "You're on!" she exclaimed, pushing off from him and striking out for the boat.

They raced through the water, their laughter echoing across the surface as they splashed and kicked, determined to reach the yacht first. In the end, it was a photo finish, with both of them arriving at the ladder at the same time, breathless and grinning from ear to ear.

As they climbed back onto the yacht, George reached up and grabbed Y/n's hands, helping her onto the deck. Once they were both standing, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"I think you've had enough sun for today," George murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Let's get you out of this wet swimsuit and into something more comfortable."

Y/n shivered, her body responding to his touch as he carried her towards the cabin. "I don't know," she teased, her fingers playing with his damp hair. "I kind of like the way you look in those wet swim trunks."

George chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire as he kicked open the cabin door. "Oh, I'm sure you'll like what's underneath even more," he said, his voice low and seductive.

He carried Y/n into the small bathroom, setting her down gently on the edge of the bathtub. He turned on the faucet, letting the warm water fill the tub as steam began to rise, filling the room with a soothing, relaxing scent.

Once the tub was full, they both slipped into the water, sighing contentedly as the warmth enveloped their bodies. George pulled Y/n close, her back pressed against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting on her stomach.

They sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of the water and their soft breathing. Y/n closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of George's skin against hers, his strong arms holding her securely.

"This is perfect," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the water. "Just you and me, no distractions, no worries."

George pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering on her damp skin. "I couldn't agree more," he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her stomach. "I never want this moment to end."

Y/n's curiosity piqued as she thought about the mirrors in the master bedroom. "You know, I've always wondered why there are mirrors on the ceiling in the master bedroom," she mused, her head resting on George's shoulder. "And why only in that room, since there's already a mirror on the wall."

He chuckled, his fingers still tracing patterns on her stomach. "Ah, that's an interesting question," he said, his voice taking on a playful tone. "I guess the previous owner had some unique tastes when it came to decorating."

George's hands slowly moved up Y/n's body, his fingers dancing along her ribs before cupping her breasts. She let out a soft gasp, her nipples hardening under his touch. He leaned in, his lips finding hers in a passionate kiss, their tongues intertwining as they explored each other's mouths.

Y/n's hands roamed over George's chest, her fingers tracing the defined muscles before moving lower, teasing the waistband of his swim trunks. He groaned into the kiss, his hips pressing forward, seeking more of her touch.

She stood up from the bathtub, water cascading down her body as she reached for her bikini. She quickly removed the wet fabric, revealing her smooth, sun-kissed skin. George watched, his eyes darkening with desire as she slipped into his oversized shirt and a pair of short shorts that left little to the imagination.

"I really want to have sex," Y/n said, her voice low and sultry as she ran her hands through her damp hair. "But I need to cook first. I'm starving."

George groaned, his arousal evident as he watched her walk away, the shirt barely covering her assets. He knew he'd have to wait, but the anticipation only made him want her more.

In the kitchen, Y/n busied herself with preparing a meal, her movements graceful and sensual. George followed her, leaning against the counter as he watched her work. The sight of her in his clothes, the way the fabric clung to her curves, was driving him wild.

As Y/n cooked, George couldn't take his eyes off her. The way she moved, the way her hips swayed as she stirred the pot, was hypnotizing. He felt his desire growing, his body aching to touch her.

Y/n turned around, catching George's heated gaze. She smirked, knowing exactly the effect she was having on him. "You know," she said, her voice teasing, "I think I might have a little surprise for you later."

George's eyebrows raised, his interest piqued. "Oh, is that so?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "And what might that be?"

Y/n just smiled, turning back to the stove. "You'll see," she said, her tone playful and mysterious.

She set the food on the small table, the oversized shirt riding up as she bent over, revealing her barely covered ass. George couldn't help but stare, his mouth watering at the sight. He knew he had to control himself, but it was proving to be a challenge.

As they sat down to eat, George found it difficult to focus on the food. His eyes kept wandering to Y/n, taking in every curve and contour of her body. The way the shirt clung to her chest, the way her shorts hugged her hips, it was all too much for him to handle.

"You're staring," Y/n said, her voice playful as she caught him in the act. "Is there something stuck in my teeth?"

George shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "No, nothing like that," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. "I just can't help but admire the view."

Y/n suddenly stood up and tied her hair into a messy bun. The action caused the shirt to ride up even further, revealing more of her toned stomach and the tantalizing curve of her hips.

George's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight before him. He could feel his heart racing, his body responding to the visual feast in front of him.

She sat back down, her eyes locked with George's. She could see the desire burning in his gaze, and it only fueled her own arousal. "Eat up," she said, her voice low and seductive. "You'll need your energy for later."

As they started eating, some of the sauce from Y/n's food began to drip onto her fingers. Without thinking, she brought her fingers to her mouth, licking the sauce off in a slow, deliberate motion. The action was unintentional, but the effect was undeniable.

George watched, transfixed, as her tongue darted out, swirling around her fingers. He could feel his desire growing, his body aching to touch her. The way she licked her fingers, the way her lips glistened with the sauce, it was all too much for him to handle.

"You know," he said, his voice low and husky, "I think I'm done eating."

Y/n looked at George, confusion evident on her face. "Didn't you like the food?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

George shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "No, the food was perfect," he said, his voice filled with longing. "It's just that... I need you."

His words were spoken with a submissive tone, a plea for her to understand his desires. Y/n's eyes widened, realization dawning on her. She could see the desperation in his gaze, the way his body trembled with want.

"Oh, I see," she said, her voice soft and understanding. "Well, I suppose we could finish this later."

With that, she stood up, her hand reaching out to take George's. She led him to the bedroom, her heart pounding with anticipation. As they entered the room, she turned to face him, her eyes filled with desire.

"Show me what you need," she whispered, her fingers trailing down his chest. "I'm here for you."

George guided Y/n's hand down to his crotch, his hardness evident through the fabric of his swim trunks. "I need you so badly," he breathed, his voice filled with longing. "Please, touch me."

Y/n's fingers brushed against his length, and she could feel him twitch beneath her touch. She could sense his desperation, his desire for her to take control. Slowly, she slipped her hand inside his trunks, her fingers wrapping around his hardness.

"Like this?" she asked, her voice low and seductive. She began to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate, teasing him with her touch.

George groaned, his head falling back as he savored the sensation of her hand on his most intimate part. "Yes," he gasped, his hips bucking into her touch. "Just like that."

Y/n's eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked up at George, her hand still stroking his hardness. "You know," she said, her voice filled with excitement, "maybe we should put those mirrors on the ceiling to use."

She guided him towards the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress. "Lie back," she instructed, her tone commanding. "I want you to watch yourself as I please you."

George complied, his eyes locked on Y/n as she positioned herself between his legs. He could see his reflection in the mirror above, his chest heaving with anticipation.

"Look at yourself," Y/n said, her voice low and seductive. "Watch as I make you feel good."

Y/n's hand continued to stroke George's sensitive cock, her movements slow and deliberate. She could feel him throbbing beneath her touch, his body responding to her every caress. In the mirror above, she could see his reflection, his eyes dark with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Do you like watching yourself? Do you like seeing how much you want me?"

George nodded, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He could see every twitch, every shudder of his body as Y/n pleasured him. It was a sight he would never forget, the way she controlled him, the way she brought him to the brink of ecstasy.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," Y/n promised, her voice filled with desire. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

Y/n's hand continued to stroke George's cock, her movements growing faster and more intense. She could feel him getting closer to the edge, his body tensing beneath her touch.

"You're doing so well," she praised, her voice low and encouraging. "Such a good boy, letting me take control."

George's eyes remained fixed on the mirror, watching as his body responded to Y/n's ministrations. He could feel the pleasure building inside him, his hips bucking into her hand as she stroked him.

Y/n laughed as George continued to thrust into her hand, his body desperate for release. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, her lips lingering on his skin.

"You're so eager," she teased, her voice filled with affection. "I love how responsive you are to my touch."

George groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the sensation of her hand on his cock and her lips on his forehead. He could feel the pleasure building inside him, his body trembling with anticipation.

"I'm so close," he gasped, his voice strained with desire. "Please, don't stop."

Y/n's hand moved faster, her grip tightening around George's cock as she brought him closer to the edge. "I don't know," she said, her voice filled with mischief. "I kind of like seeing you like this, so desperate and needy."

George whimpered, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his orgasm. He could feel the pleasure coursing through him, his cock throbbing in Y/n's hand.

"Please," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to cum."

Y/n smiled, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Alright," she said, her voice softening. "Cum for me, George. Let go."

George's body tensed, his muscles clenching as he felt the wave of pleasure wash over him. With a low moan, he came, his seed spilling over his stomach and abdomen. Y/n watched, her hand still stroking him through his orgasm, prolonging his ecstasy.

As the last spurts of his release subsided, George collapsed back onto the bed, his chest heaving with exertion. Y/n released his cock, her hand moving to caress his thigh, her touch gentle and soothing.

Y/n began kissing George's abdomen, her tongue lapping up the remnants of his release. She could taste the saltiness of his skin, the musky scent of his arousal filling her senses. As she cleaned him up, she felt his hand run through her hair, his fingers tangling in the strands.

"You look gorgeous like that," George murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "I want you to be a good girl and suck my cock, okay?"

Y/n's eyes widened at George's command, a thrill of excitement running through her. She loved it when he took control, when he demanded her submission. Without hesitation, she positioned herself between his legs, her hands gripping his thighs as she took his cock into her mouth.

George groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair as she began to suck him. He could feel her tongue swirling around his shaft, her lips sealing tightly around him as she worked her way down.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice deep and authoritative. "Take it all, just like that."

Y/n obeyed, relaxing her throat as she took him deeper, her nose brushing against his lower abdomen. She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, his cock growing harder with each passing second.

George's grip on Y/n's hair tightened, his hips thrusting upwards as she continued to suck him. He could feel the pleasure building inside him, his body responding to her actions.

"Fuck, that feels amazing," he groaned, his voice strained with desire. "You're such a good girl, taking my cock so well."

Y/n moaned around him, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through his body. She loved the way he talked to her, the way he praised her for her efforts. It only fueled her desire to please him, to bring him to the brink of ecstasy.

As she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue swirling around his shaft, George could feel his orgasm approaching. His body tensed, his muscles clenching as he fought to hold back his release.

"I'm going to cum," he warned, his voice barely above a whisper. "Swallow it all, just like a good girl."

George pulled Y/n up, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned her in front of the mirror on the wall. He sat upright, his back against the pillows, as he spread her legs, slowly pushing her shorts off her legs. Her back was pressed against his chest, and he could feel her body trembling with anticipation.

"You did so well," he praised, his voice low and husky. "I'm so proud of you for taking my cock like that."

Y/n blushed, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. She could see the desire burning in his gaze, the way his hands roamed over her body as he admired her reflection.

George's hands trailed down Y/n's body, his fingers ghosting over her clit, teasing her with light, feather-like touches. She gasped, her hips bucking slightly as she sought more of his touch.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "I love how your body reacts to my touch."

Y/n's eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back against his shoulder as she savored the sensation of his fingers on her most sensitive area. She could feel the heat building inside her, her body aching for more.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I need more."

George's hands trailed down Y/n's body, his fingers ghosting over her clit, teasing her with light, feather-like touches. She gasped, her hips bucking slightly as she sought more of his touch.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "I love how your body reacts to my touch."

Y/n's eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back against his shoulder as she savored the sensation of his fingers on her most sensitive area. She could feel the heat building inside her, her body aching for more.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I need more."

He placed a soft kiss on Y/n's shoulder, his fingers slowly dipping into her wet heat. She moaned, her body arching into his touch as he began to move his fingers in and out, his thumb circling her clit.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his voice filled with desire. "I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Relax, baby."

Y/n's breath hitched, her hips moving in rhythm with his fingers. She could feel the pleasure building inside her, her body trembling with anticipation.

"I'm going to make you cum," George promised, his voice low and seductive. "And you're going to watch yourself in the mirror as it happens."

George continued to finger Y/n, his movements growing faster and more intense. Just as she was about to reach her peak, he abruptly stopped, his fingers slipping out of her heat.

"I want you to cum on my cock," he said, his voice filled with desire. "Not on my fingers."

Y/n whimpered, her body aching for release. She could feel the frustration building inside her, her hips bucking against his hand as she sought more of his touch.

"Please," she begged, her voice strained with need. "I need you inside me."

George positioned himself behind Y/n, his cock pressing against her entrance. He could feel her heat, the way her body craved his touch. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed into her, his cock stretching her walls as he filled her completely.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, his voice filled with pleasure. "You feel so good."

Y/n moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder as she savored the sensation of his cock inside her. She could feel every inch of him, the way he throbbed within her depths.

"Move," she pleaded, her voice desperate. "Please, I need you to move."

George complied, his hips beginning to thrust in a steady rhythm. He watched as Y/n's reflection in the mirror mirrored his movements, her body arching and undulating with each stroke of his cock.

"Look at yourself," George commanded, his voice low and husky. "So gorgeous, taking my cock like this."

Y/n's eyes met his in the mirror, her gaze filled with desire and lust. She could see the way her body moved, the way her skin glistened with sweat as George thrust into her. It was a sight she would never forget, the way he controlled her.

"I'm so close," she gasped, her body trembling with anticipation. "Don't stop, please."

George's hand moved to Y/n's chin, gently guiding her gaze back to their reflection in the mirror. He wanted her to see herself, to witness the raw passion and desire that radiated from her body as he pleasured her.

"Watch," he insisted, his voice firm yet tender. "Watch as I make you cum."

Y/n's moans grew louder, her body arching into his touch as he continued to thrust into her. She could feel the pleasure building inside her, her body tensing as she neared her climax.

"I'm going to cum," she warned, her voice strained with need. "Don't stop, please."

George's grip on her hips tightened, his thrusts becoming more forceful and intense. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her body trembling with the impending release.

His body tensed, his muscles clenching as he felt his orgasm approaching. With a low groan, he came inside Y/n, his seed filling her as he continued to thrust into her.

"Fuck, you're so amazing," he groaned, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "You take my cock so well, so perfectly."

Y/n's body convulsed, her own orgasm hitting her with a force that left her breathless. She could feel George's warmth inside her, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her depths.

As their climaxes subsided, George wrapped his arms around Y/n, holding her close as they both caught their breath. He pressed soft kisses to her neck and shoulder, his hands roaming over her body in a gentle, soothing manner.

"That was incredible," he murmured, his voice filled with awe and admiration. "I love you so much."

George pulled Y/n close, his lips brushing against her temple as he whispered, "Do you want to go again?"

She shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'm too tired," she admitted, her voice filled with contentment. "But that was amazing."

George chuckled, his hands continuing to roam over her body as he peppered her with kisses. He kissed her temple, her shoulder, her jawline, and every other inch of skin he could reach.

"Okay, my love," he said, his voice low and tender. "Let's rest for a while. I've got you."

y/n.l/n

liked by george_russell, francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux and 10,824 others y/n.l/n sunny skies and butterflies ☀️ tagged george_russell

alexandrasaintmleux so this is why you said no to saturday brunch? :( ↳ y/n.l/n i'm sorry babes, he took me hostage 😔😔😔 ↳ george_russell I DID NOT???

george_russell Who is that gorgeous man on the last slide? 🤔 ↳ y/n.l/n idk but i'd let him hit ↳ george_russell You already did

francisca.cgomes can you fight?? george_russell ↳ george_russell Yes. Now leave me and MY girlfriend alone ↳ francisca.cgomes last time i recall her ignoring YOU so she could go to ME. ↳ y/n.l/n ladies, ladies, calm down there's enough of me to go around ↳ george_russell Absolutely not. I'm not letting this woman take you away from me.

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