#their scenes are so quiet and yet speak volumes

[tytangfei]

"Why do you always avoid looking at me, my empress?"

ARE YOU THE ONE (2024) - EP. 25 CHANG HUA SEN as ZI YU & YUAN YU XUAN as SHI XUEJI

[earthtooz]

x : QUIET LOVE :*+ﾟ

in which: neuvillette doesn't understand human emotion, but a quiet night after a bustling gala with you might help him.

warnings: fluff, gn!reader, pining neuvi but he doesn't know it, quiet walks along the beach at night, gentlemanly flirting bc it's neuvillette, hand kisses lol

a/n: sacrificial fic because neuvillette is not coming home, so i poured my blood, sweat, and tears into this, even if it's not all that. ALSO, this was inspired by a wip on @gum-iie's page (hi gumiie >_<), so i hope you all enjoy !! i tried my hand at the vision i saw.

Gatherings in Fontaine are nothing short of magnificent. The nation of justice will never shy away from a party that reeks of grandeur and extraordinaire, with crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, flowing gowns, and slicked-back hair. With an archon as dramatic as Furina herself, what else can the citizens of Fontaine expect?

Except for a long life such as Neuvillette himself, he has seen this scene one too many times. Gazing out amongst the sea of people, there is an ocean of unfamiliar faces, a sight that doesn’t bring him much peace. It’s not that Neuvillette does not enjoy interacting with humans- even if he’s not so good at doing so, but being amongst so many at once is the unpleasant part.

Despite his distaste for these kinds of bustling environments, he still thinks it’s good manners to attend, even if he will leave after an hour or two. 

Yet, it has been half an hour past the two hour mark, and yet the Iudex still has not seen himself out because there is a particular someone that he is hoping to catch the eye of. Someone who is worth all this extra trouble and socialisation. 

The melusines frequently run back to Neuvillette, concern and curiosity animated in their expressions as they ask their beloved father figure why he is still present. Their questions get brushed off by the Chief of Justice, who merely thanks them for checking up on him before telling them that there is no need to be worried, he is merely waiting for something. Or rather, someone. 

Only at the third hour since the party’s commencement, does he get what he wants: your attention. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” A voice cuts through the crowd and straight to him, causing him to turn around, eyes dancing wildly around the room to search for the source. He effortlessly finds your gaze and watches as you come closer to him, outfit flowing behind you and he decides that the crystals of the chandelier are no match against the ones that dance in your eyes. You are more radiant than the purest diamond and Neuvillette can’t find it in himself to glance away. 

You are perhaps the most ethereal being he has ever seen in his long life. 

What Furina promised him has arrived. Neuvillette can enjoy the night happily now.

“Y/n,” he greets, curt and polite, but the smile on his face speaks volumes. It tells a tune of subtle delight and enthusiasm mulled over for the sake of appearances and composition, and it is a melody that you are deaf to. In fact, the melusines are perhaps some of the only souls who can read his silent song of adoration but instead of meddling, they have resigned themselves to the corner of the hall, watching their beloved Chief Justice.  

“I did not expect to see you tonight,” you murmur, placing your empty glass of wine onto the plate of a passing waiter. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He wants to say something charming, perhaps something like telling you how lovely you look tonight or how absolutely magnetic you are, but the words fall short and Neuvillette panics briefly, scrambling to continue the conversation. “It is important to keep up social relations, after all. Not attending would be problematic.”

“An utmost scandal for the Iudex, no less.” There is a teasing glimmer in your eye, one that most people keep away from him but you are an exception; you always have been with how you regard him. Many respect him but also fear him, he is revered but avoided by the public, people speak of him but never would do so causally to his face. It is a particular dance that Neuvillette has become accustomed to, and you have slotted yourself in a position that none usually take: right beside him. 

He doesn’t completely understand human emotions just yet, but you evoke one that he cannot describe. 

“How has your night been?” Neuvillette asks.

“Tiring, fleeting, boring,” you murmur, expression melting into something more fatigued. “I want to leave, monsieur, is that too frank of a confession?”

“No, not at all,” he sees an opportunity and scrambles to get the words out, “may I accompany you or will I be overstepping?” 

You blink at him before a small, cheery smile pulls on your lips. “I would love your company, but I only ask that we leave at this very moment because it is getting far too stuffy in here.”

“Then time is of the essence.” Neuvillette extends his arm for you to take and he relishes in the feeling of when you do. 

Leaving the venue and helping you down numerous flights of stairs, the lighting and allure outside is far more romantic than it is inside. The street lamps of Fontaine were made for functionality so that no citizen could walk around unassuming and unaware of the darkness, and never were they made with the intent of illuminating anyone’s beauty. Yet here you stand before him, radiant under the warm tones of the lamp with the evening breeze flowing through your hair. 

Moreover it is quiet out here. There is no one to bother the two of you, no melusines, no meddling Archon who lives for drama, no loud music and chatter, just you and him, together. It is a contrast so stark that he fears reality will shatter any second. 

Naïve to his internal turmoils, you tug at his arm gently. “Let us go for a walk along the river,” you propose. A muted feeling of enthusiasm flows through Neuvillette and he readily agrees to your suggestion, more than happy to indulge in the gentle kisses of the sea breeze on his face.

The stroll is peaceful and quiet, neither of you speak too much but it is not awkward in the slightest. Your gowns trail behind the two of you with each step, dancing in sync with the wind as your slow pace allows the two of you to bathe in the light of the moon. 

Although Neuvillette does not want the night to end nor to let you go, the amount of yawns you’ve suppressed since leaving is alerting him of your fatigue, and he’ll feel bad if he keeps you from your sleep any longer. 

Finally, with one long yawn that you were not able to shut away, he stops you in your tracks. “Tired?” The Iudex asks.

You look up at him with eyes forced open, wider than they usually would be. “Just a little, but the night has been lovely so far, I’d hate for it to end.”

“Please, if you need the rest then you should rest.”

“Thank you for your concern, however-”

“There will be no objections. Let me walk you home.”

The moonlight casts a shade of melancholy over your features and the last glance you give to the ocean is nothing but full of longing. You surrender reluctantly. “Alright.”

You two make it back to the last aquabus just in time, and you’re the only passengers onboard. There is occasional chatter with the conductor, as well as private conversations, but Neuvillette has no qualms just spending the ride in silence, admiring you whilst you gaze out at the beautiful landscape of Fontaine. 

“There are so many stars out tonight.”

He glances away from you. “So there are.” Then he makes a brave leap. “There is one right beside me, too.”

“Me?” Your voice is strained with disbelief and your hold on his arms tightens just a little. There is momentary silence before laughter- a quiet sort of laugh, shy and not at all mocking or condescending. “Thank you,” you whisper, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m very flattered you think so highly of me.” 

It becomes quiet again after that but your hand never leaves his. If anything, Neuvillette feels you even more now, your warmth pressed up against his side is addicting, he cannot help but want more of it; he cannot help but want more of you. He wants more nights like this with you, days even- just as long as he can spend some more time with you, he’ll be grateful.

Humans and the complexity of the emotions they feel are something Neuvillette still can’t get a grasp of, but you fill him with something so inherently humane. Sitting beside you on an aquabus that is minutes away from its end is a bittersweet reminder of how little time there is until the evening ends, and this mesmerising evening becomes nothing but a memory. How irrational it is to yearn for something so temporary, but that is what makes it beautiful.

The walk back to your neighbourhood is quick, too quick for Neuvillette’s liking, but the smile you give him when you stop before your door is heartwarming. “Thank you dearly for walking me home, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you begin. “You have been the best part about this lively evening.” 

The Chief Justice has never had a way with words, rather, they have always been his enemy, so instead of speaking to convey what he feels, Neuvillette takes your hand instead and places a kiss on your knuckles. A gentlemanly act to many, but he holds and kisses you with such firm intention that it makes you dizzy. It makes you think deeper about whether or not there are underlying intentions to address, and it’s exhilarating questioning what exactly you are to the Chief Justice of Fontaine. 

For now, you’ll find contentment in the moonlight dream that was this evening, and he’ll engrave the feeling of you so close to him into his memory. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

The One where Soap finds Himself in an ✨ Awkward ✨Situation. [ Ghost x Reader ]

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Soap Being Confused, Occasional Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except for ‘You’.

Summary: Hiding out at your house, the 141 are settling in for the evening. Soap ends up hearing something he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t have on his way to the bathroom. But why can’t he seem to stop listening ?

“Gah! Fuck–”

The voice splintering through the door made Soap jump – near caused him to soil his favourite pair of jeans as it rumbled through the wood, practically taking it off its hinges with how the nails shuddered in their slots. The voice was baritone, deep. Grizzled. A carnality slumbered in its tone, rearing its waking head.

Ghost.

“Shh, Simon ! You’re going to get us caught !”

Yours followed soon after, a reprimand Johnny would never dream of dishing to the most lethal man he’s ever known. And yet here you were, doing God-knows-what, speaking to him as if you were in control.

When all went quiet again, just for a moment, Soap stopped and wondered if it had all been a hallucination. One second, then two. A low moan slipped beneath the door. Johnny jumped.

He was just going to walk away. Truly, he was ! He – and the rest of the 141 – saw how much chemistry – history – you and Ghost shared. Although, he’d just never imagined you’d be sharing it with the rest of the house, too. 

Well, if Simon’s volume was anything to go by.

Johnny’s eyes drifted from the end of the hallway – where the beloved bathroom was – to the door beside him. He bit his lip, heart beating, still recovering from the fright. His curiosity was far from piqued – it shot through the bloody roof and left an impromptu skylight in its wake. And as imaginary sunlight filtered in through the hole, Johnny begged that divine intervention would tear him away from the scene unfolding beside him so he wouldn’t have to.

“God, don’t stop,” came Simon’s pleading tone, any harshness that was custom to it having melted away. Soap, against all better judgement and higher power, inched closer to the door. He cast a glance over his shoulder, once, twice. Nobody lurked behind. His ear was almost pressed to the wood. He could hear Simon panting, hear you humming as you did…something.

“I won’t – not until you’re finished.” There was little to be heard in the way of shame in your voice, especially in your gentle whisper: “I promise.” Soap swallowed thickly, then, blinking, began rubbing his ears. He couldn’t be hearing this right. He just couldn’t !

Only, when he had thoroughly cleared the imaginary poison from his ears, the issue remained.

“Shit–! That’s it, right there–”

“God, you’re so stiff, Simon. What have you been doing while you were away ?” There was almost a purr to your voice. Ghost only let out a moan as his response, muffled by what Johnny could only guess were pillows.

Why am I still here?! he all but screamed, remembering that he was no Pinocchio, trapped on this stage, bound by strings. He could have been a free man if he so wished. And trust, he did. So why was it that, when he went to walk away, to scour his ears with bleach, to finally embark upon his uninterrupted journey to the bathroom, that he found himself glued in place ?

Perhaps it was the primal instinct to know all that there is to know, to discern danger wherever it lay. Or, perhaps, he was so eneamoured with the idea of whatever could be happening on the other side of this door – Ghost being human for a change – that he couldn’t bring himself to pass up the opportunity to see him so…vulnerable.

That sounded about right.

“(Y/N),” Ghost’s voice husked, no longer dampened, restricted, by an unknown force. He groaned, long and unfiltered. The way he spoke your name was almost in the tone of love, its softest and most carnal form, as if tasting the gradient of your syllables, vowels and consonants upon his tongue. He all but growled. You gasped.

“(Y/N), you’re so close–”

“You want it there, Simon ?” You didn’t miss a beat. Soap’s breath caught in his throat. He looked over his shoulder to the imaginary camera filming his ordeal.

“Yes, yes, God – yes–”

“Doing so well for me, Si,” you said, soft and encouraging. Ghost’s breathing was at its heaviest now, heaving breaths as if they were bricks, building a tower from which he may never come down. A high he will never beat.

“We’re almost there,” you told him, to which he only let out a thick, strangled noise, bulging beneath invisible chains as he tried to conceal it. His moans only grew longer and more frequent, his jaw presumably dropping open to let them pass when he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

Soap began to wring his hands, thankful for the lack of a keyhole in the door so to spare him the intrusive desire to spy on the situation visually, too. Trapped in his own daze, his hurried, sweating, anxious contemplation was torn open by a sound so sharp and brilliant he never wanted to hear it again.

Ghost moaned.

Straight-up howled, roared, as he came to an end. 

Soap’s soul clung to his body as the sheer calamity Ghost’s booming voice brought with it shook the very ground he stood on. Johnny’s hands flew to his racing heart, trying to catch it as it jumped up his throat.

Simon’s voice tapered, muffled after most likely burying his face into a pillow. With every exhale, a sliver of euphoria would follow, eventually baying out like the tide, his breathing returning to a shallow rhythm. And all the while, you paid him words of comfort.

“Well done,” you said, the smile in your voice evident. “Took it so well, Simon,” Your voice was feather-light, belied the illicit nature of all Soap had heard you do.

Though, even in this dazed, mortified state, he couldn’t fathom how you sounded so…normal. As if you’d exerted no energy.

Perhaps (Y/N)’s just…strong…? Johnny’s reasoning left much to be desired, that much he knew. Even Ghost was winded, and he was by far the fittest of the 141.

In amongst his rampant thoughts, the idea to flee the scene came too late as, upon hearing you dismount Ghost, your footsteps fast approaching the door, Johnny’s eyes widened, the state he’d be in if either you or Ghost found him unintentionally spying flashing before his eyes as his life no doubt would later.

He couldn’t scramble away in time. He ran on the spot, a cartoon, his impending doom facing him head-on as you swung the door open. His eyes all but watered as he caught sight of you wiping your hands on a towel. You smiled.

“Oh, hey, Jo-Jo !” You said, his nickname rolling off your tongue as if Simon’s hadn’t been just minutes ago. You gave him a brief nod before walking past him, a spectre. A harbinger of death. Johnny stood, body reeling, mind freezing, as nothing became clearer to him except your blase manner. He released a short, puffed breath.

He saw the inside of your bedroom, your bed just out of sight, hidden by the door.

Breath quivering, Body shaking, Soap knew this was his chance.

His last chance.

He turned. Didn’t even make the floorboards creak as he did so.

“Fuck’re you lookin’ at, Johnny ?”

Ghost’s voice rolled across Soap’s mind like thunder clouds, despite the laxity of it, the slowness. He froze, ice rain slipping down the back of his shirt and making him stand up straight. Rigid.

“Uh…I–” He winced, his voice cracking, showing the uncertainty that lay below his usually obsidian tone.

“N-Nothing, Sir !”

Sir ? We’re not at base now, you daft fool–

“Somethin’s obviously botherin’ you,” came Ghost again. He let out a breath. “So come on.” His voice was free from the cotton-mouth effect of the pillows.

“Say it.”

Johnny swallowed, his voice prickling either with dehydration, tears, or an unsolvable mixture of both. When he said nothing – did nothing – Ghost sighed.

“Come on, Johnny,” he said, stark as ever. “Haven’t got all day.”

“W…Well–”

“And come out from ‘round that door. S’impolite not to face the person you’re talking to.”

Johnny’s heart stopped.

No, he couldn’t have heard him properly.

“Are…you…sure…?”

Better safe than sorry.

“What’d’you– course I’m bloody sure. Now stop messin’ about and get in ‘ere.”

Taking a deep breath, and a leap of faith, Johnny rounded the door, the corner. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping and praying.

He heard Simon sigh.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake – at least open you eyes, you daft prick.”

Begrudgingly, hesitantly, Soap cracked one eye open, then the other.

His brain almost couldn’t fathom the dissonance between all that was there, all that wasn’t, and all that he’d expected there to be.

Simon was chest-down on your bed, arms surrounding a bundle of pillows, holding them as if they were collected sticks, his head resting atop one. He watched Johnny from the corner of his half-lidded eye. He was dressed from the waist down, and his back, wet with what Soap had initially come to the horrifying conclusion was sweat, was actually bronzed with what permeated the air: a soothing oil.

Lavender.

Soap’s gaze jumped from point to point, trying to find something – anything – of the reality that had played out behind the door.

“Well ?” Ghost said. “I’m listening.”

Johnny, for the last time, swallowed, rubbed the back of his neck. His frying nerves cooled, though electricity still ran through them.

“I thought–” he gave the room another once-over.

“I thought you and… (Y/N)... were…”

Simon huffed.

“Were…?”

Johnny let out a breath, an almost-laugh. He gave a feeble smile.

“Nothin’ Sir–”

“No, go on,” Ghost prodded, getting up onto his elbows and turning over, now facing Johnny. “I’m curious now.”

John bit his lip, trying to quell the incessant itch there. He could taste the sweat collecting on his top lip.

“I just thought that…” He couldn’t look SImon in the eyes, his gaze bouncing around the room. He could feel Simon’s eyes narrowing, his patience waning.

He sighed. The jig was up.

“I…thought– that you and (Y/N) were…” He looked to Ghost, who gave no indication of understanding what Johnny was getting at, his disposition monotone as ever. Even without the mask, he was no less imposing.

Johnny made a gesture with his fists, bumping them together.

Simon’s eyes widened by a fraction of a fraction.

He said nothing. Soap’s fight-or-flight instinct re-activated. He glanced at the door. The hallway. His narrow chance of escape.

“How–” Ghost’s voice drew Johnny back to the land of the living.

“How loud were we ?”

Johnny grimaced.

“Not really (Y/N), Sir,” he said. “Just…” his hand grew into the shape of what he was trying to say. “You.”

Upon seeing Simon’s eyes widen even more, Johnny’s gaze dropped. And found another, damning detail.

Quick, use your natural humour and charm !

“Though,” he smiled, crooked, sided and small. A start. “I can see something’s made you somewhat excited,”

Simon’s eyebrow raised, and following Soap’s gaze, his shoulders went rigid.

Oh no.

A tent had been pitched in his sweatpants, plain as day for all who looked to see. Johnny’s top set of teeth grappled with his bottom lip, trying to purse his lips shut.

A snort sneaked past, and he slapped a hand over his mouth immediately, as if trying to scoop it back in.

Ghost’s gaze hardened. His eyes concrete.

“Tell (Y/N), you die tonight.”

Soap, smiling widely, simply turned in the beginnings of his departure.

“Course, Lieutenant,” he said. “Aaanything you say.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[lxndonorris]

racing surprise for Lando - Lando Norris (SFS24)

fem!reader x Lando Norris Theme: Smut (you've been warned) in the midst of pre-season testing, Mclaren invited you to surprise Lando x word count: 2710+ taglist: @game-set-canet another edition to the suit fitting saga 2024 (SFS24). Quite similar but I hope you like the added twist. Oh and I needed that picture so dont blame me. Next one will hopefully be este, and if you have any request, for SFS24, testing or simply something else, dont be shy and hit me up!

The air crackles with anticipation as the new season of Formula 1 looms on the horizon, heralding a fresh chapter in Lando Norris's illustrious career as a professional racing driver. With the promise of new gear, a state-of-the-art racing suit, a meticulously crafted helmet, and a gleaming Mclaren race car awaiting him, excitement pulses through his veins like the roar of an engine.

Amidst the flurry of activity in the Mclaren garage, you stand, a silent observer disguised as one of the team members. Dressed in the team's iconic orange shirt, dark pants, a cap, and sporting a headset, you blend seamlessly into the backdrop, your heart aflutter with anticipation as you await Lando's arrival.

He initially invited you himself to join him here, but you had to decline. Unbeknownst to him, his team has already reached out to you, preparing a surprise for your boyfriend. 

And then, like a whirlwind of energy and charisma, he enters the scene. Clad in his new racing suit, adorned with sponsor logos, he cuts a stroking figure. The fabric hugs his form in all the right places, accentuating his athletic build with precision and care. His curly locks framed his face, adding a touch of boyish charm to his rugged allure.

As Lando moves through the garage, his presence commands attention. There is confidence in his stride, a swagger in his step that speaks volumes about his self-assurance. He greets everyone with a warm smile and a handshake; his enthusiasm infectious. There is a genuine camaraderie between them, a sense of unity forged by their shared passion for racing.

With the assistance of two friendly mechanics who shield you from view, you watch as Lando prepares for his testing session. The air is thick with excitement and tension, a tangible buzz of anticipation that electrifies the atmosphere. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, a subtle reminder of his proximity that sends shivers down your spine.

Each step Lando takes seems to echo purpose, his eyes alight with a belnd of determination and curiosity.

You watch from your vantage point, hidden in plain sight among the team members. As a conversation turns to the upcoming training session, Lando's demeanor shifts slightly. A curious, shy smile played on his lips as he listens closely. With a hand on his hip, he leans in slightly, his posture relaxed yet attentive.

There is a quiet determination in his gaze, a hunger to extract every ounce of potential from the testing session. He understands the importance of these moments, recognizing them as opportunities to fine-tune his skills and familiarize himself with the nuances of the new car.

You can't help but admire the way the fabric hugs his body tightly, emphasizing the curves of his backside and the strength of his arms. His movements are fluid and purposeful, each gesture imbued with quiet confidence.

With each glance, your eyes trace the lines of his suit, lingering on the subtle details that hint at the layers beneath. You know that beneath the sleek exterior lies a network of tight undergarments—fireproofs designed to protect him.

This knowledge adds an extra layer of allure to his already magnetic presence, heightening the intensity of your admiration.

As the conversation draws to a close, Lando offers a grateful nod to his mechanics. With a sense of purpose, he turns his attention toward the track, eager to put their plans into action and unleash the full extent of his talents.

With practiced ease, Lando slips into the remaining racing gear—his gloves and a tight balaclava—each movement deliberate and precise. The helmet, adorned with beautiful colors and logos, completes his ensemble, its glossy surface reflecting the glow of excitement in his eyes.

With a playful twirl, he settles into the driver's seat, his grin widening as he prepares to start testing. With a loud roar, the engine comes to life, and slowly but steadily, he makes his way out of the garage. Your stomach tightens in a mixture of anticipation and pride.

Through the crackle of the radio, his voice rings out, a symphony of exhilaration as he tackles each corner with precision and finesse. You listen intently, your heart swelling with joy as he pushes the limits of his Mclaren. You know he is so happy to be back, and you can actually see him smiling when you close your eyes. His voice is a little rougher, yet it carries his joy and passion through the radio.

Once his session is over, he returns to the garage. As Lando emerges from the cockpit of his Mclaren, he lets out a jubilant cheer with a triumphant flex of his arms. Shaking your head, you can't believe him actually doing that. Licking your lips, you still can't tear your eyes away from his arse, filling his suit fully.

The testing had been a success, and he surpassed all expectations. Running a hand across his chest, he can't help but revel in the rush of adrenaline that still courses through his veins. The fabric of his racing suit clings to him, damp with sweat from the intensity of the session—a sensational sight that you missed during the winter break.

In one swift movement, he reaches up to remove his helmet and balaclava, revealing a mop of tousled curls and a flushed complexion beneath. His lips part slightly with a satsified smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he licks his lips, sending shivers down your spine. He looks so happy and excited, and you smile seeing him like that.

As he moves through the garage, shaking hands with his team members, he can't contain his joy. His tongue darts out playfully, a gesture of exuberance that shows his satisfaction with the achievements so far.

Lando chats with a few mechanics for a while, and you can tell the residual excitement from the testing session continues to surge through his veins, pulsating with every beat of his heart. He keeps stroking his chest, touching his arms, and subconsciously, he touches himself through his suit—just barely, yet it catches your attention. 

It is as if the adrenaline of the track has infused his very being, filling him with an exhilarating energy that seems to amplify with each passing moment.

Entranced by his every move, the sound of his voice, and his cologne's scent still hovering all around you, you miss the opportunity to reveal yourself—Lando has already left for his private quarters.

Leaving your headset and cap behind, you rush after him and spot him strolling through the paddock. Unable to tear your eyes away from him, captivated by the effortless grace with which he moved, you follow him. Every step seems to exude confidence, joy, and self-confidence.

As he runs a hand through his messy curls, you can't help but notice the way his hair fell in disarray, framing his face in a way that is both endearing and alluring. There is a rawness to his appearance—a sense of vulnerability—that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, he runs a hand across his chest, a subtle gesture that speaks volumes about the excitement still running through his body. You can almost feel the electric energy radiating off him, a tangible reminder of the thrill of driving an F1 car.

In this moment, you are struck by the sheer magnetism of his presence, even though you're just looking at his beautiful back. And as he disappears into his quarters, leaving you to ponder the whirlwind of emitions he had stirred within you, you can't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration.

As you knock on his door, a nervous anticipation grips you, your heart pounding with uncertainty—how is he going to react?

"Coming." Lando's voice echoes through the door before it swings open, revealing your boyfriend standing right in front of you. With an almost shocked expression, your breath catches in your throat.

"Y/N?" He asks, and in an instant, his entire face lit up with a radiant smile that reaches his eyes, filling you with warmth and joy. 

"Hi." You smile shyly, your face flushing with heat. 

Without hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you closely. You melt into him, running your hands across his firm back.

"What are you doing here?" Lando smiles, separating himself just enough for his face to be mere inches away from yours. He places a hand on your cheek, tracing your skin with his fingertips.

"Surprising you." You motion for a few Mclaren team members to film the two of you from afar. 

Both of you turn your heads and wave toward the camera. 

"They offered to get me here; we just needed a few clips for their channel." You shrug, and he nods in agreement and curiousity.

"This is great," he leans into you, kissing you gently. You lock eyes with him for what feels like an eternity.

The film crew gives you a thumbs up, telling you that it's now time for some alone time. 

As Lando welcomes you into his private quarters, a rush of excitement surges through you, mingling with the lingering traces of adrenaline from his testing session. Your gaze is drawn irresistibly to the contours of his chest, the fabric of his racing suit accentuating every curve and sinew.

He meets your gaze with a knowing smile, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes as he senses the admiration and desire in your gaze. There is confidence in his demeanor, a quiet assurance that speaks of his comfort in his own skin.

"So, how was I?" With a playful grin, he steps closer, closing the distance between you until the warmth of his presence envelops you.

"Amazing." You lift your chin slightly, meeting his confidence with your own. "And you look the part too." Smirking, you lick your lips.

Without a word, he takes your hand and guides it to the fabric of his suit, allowing you to feel the sleek material beneath your fingertips.

"I know how much you like this on me," Lando breathes, locking his eyes with your own. However, you're unable to withstand his burning gaze and lower your eyes, following the movements of your hands instead.

As your hand traces the lines of his chest and arms, you can't help but marvel at the strength and resilience that lie beneath the surface. The fabric is cool to the touch, yet it seems to hum with the energy of the track, a tangible reminder of the passion and dedication that fuel his every movement.

"This feels so good." You breathe deeply while you keep stroking his chest, feeling his biceps, and watch his chest move with every breath he takes, eliciting a low rumble of pleasure deep down his throat.

"Fuck," Lando can't hold back a low moan, his hand now following yours closely, his body yearning for so much more. He leans his head back, embracing both of your hands now on his chest.

You know how much he loves to be teased, touched, and stroked. Effortlessly, you push all of his buttons and his most sensitive spots—his nipples, pecs, arms, and most importantly, his member filling his suit.

"Good." You whisper, leaning in to him, tracing the outlines of his stubble just above his lips. A shiver races down your spine, the rough texture of his beard contrasting with the softness of your touch. There is something undeniably alluring about the way his beard frames his lips, adding a touch of raw sensuality to his appearance. 

With each passing moment, the desire to feel the roughness of his stubble against your skin grows stronger—a primal urge that threatens to consume you completely. You lean in, brushing your lips against his in a tender caress. The sensation of his beard against your skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

With your hand on his crotch, he moans softly against your lips. Lost in the heat of the moment, you surrender yourself to the heady rush of emotions. Your lips meet in a fervent kiss, craving his delicious taste.

"Y/N." Lando murmurs, his hands now steady on your waist, holding you close.

"Care to give me a show?" You bite his lower lip teasingly, causing him to chuckle. "I want to see all of you in that." Tugging at the zipper of his racing suit, you stroke him firmer, encouraging him to show off.

"Of course." He giggles, and you settle onto the sofa, anticipation tingling in the air, thick with the electricity of the moment. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Lando takes center stage, spreading your legs to make some space. His movements are fluid and confident as he begins his private show.

With each flex of his muscles, his form seems to come alive, the contours of his body highlighted by the sleek fabric of his racing suit. He lets you feel his muscles tense, letting out more guttural growls.

"Very good." You smile, and with a playful smirk dancing on his lips, he turns around, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of his firm back and arse. He bends to show off his butt even more, much to your amusement. 

And then, with a sudden burst of energy, he begins to dance, his movements a mesmerizing combination of grace and athleticism. His hips sway to an invisible rhythm, and his body moves with a natural ease that shows off his innate charisma and confidence.

As he twirls and turns, the fabric of his suit seems to come alive as well, clinging to his form as he moves with effortless grace. With a slow and deliberate motion, he reaches for the zipper, his fingers tracing the line with teasing slowness.

As Lando slowly unzips his suit, his eyes never leave yours; their intensity like a flame igniting the air between you. His gaze is electric, a silnt invitation that sends shivers down your entire back. Hidden beneath his beautiful eyes lies hunger—a raw desire that mirrors the heat pulsating through your veins.

With each inch of fabric that melts away, inch by inch, he reveals the tight garments—a glimpse of the tight fireproofs. Easily, he slips out of the upper half of his suit, giving you a good look at his chest. His defined muscles barely conceiled, he flexes again, straining the fabric even more. 

Lando closes the distance between you until you feel the warmth of his body radiating against your skin. His gaze is never wavering, pulling you so much closer.

"Fuck." You reach for his chest, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs, as he licks his lips. With the sleeves of his suit dangling down his waist, he stands before you, his form outlined against the soft glow of the room, a vision of strength and sensuality that takes your breath away.

In that moment, as you drink in the sight of him, you know you want him. 

You motion for him to sit down right next to you, and right away, you lean in, kissing him passionately.

Lando embraces your body against his, and at the same time, your hand slips underneath his suit. His skin is warm and tight; all of the tension is showing its effect on his body.

"Mhmmm." He purrs into your mouth, one of his hands firmly on his length, bulging against his clothes.

In one swift motion, you manage to get into his pants and pull his member out of his clothes, causing him to moan in agreement.

"That would be so good, Y/N." Fully aware of what you're about to do, you keep kissing him while simultaneously running your hand up and down his length.

With every breath he takes, Lando lets out guttural groans before leaning his head back against the sofa cushions.

Looking into his eyes, you bend down and take him into your mouth. 

"That's what I meant." He swallows hard, running a hand through your hair.

Together, you easily catch up to each other's rhythm, moving as one. His husky, rough voice echoes through your mind as more and more drops of his taste cover your tongue. 

Then, his body gets stiff and rigid, and he holds his breath before letting go of all this tension, pressure, and desire. It feels so good. Letting out a long, breathless moan, he relaxes quickly, leaning back even more. You let go of him, licking your lips to savor the taste.

Lando fondles with himself for a while while you catch your breath.

"This was so good." You sigh deeply before a chuckle leaves your wet lips. He smirks, leans in, and kisses you.

"Thank you for being here." Lando rubs his nose against yours gently.

[amirasainz]

Hello I am a huge fan of this fanfic your doing, but can I please request, the grid watching a spicy scene of her show? Or her in a body suit type like the picture below? I think Carlos reaction would be funny

Of couse! I had so much fun writing this! My request are OPEN and feedback is always welcome.

-XoXo

The unexpected red-flag

The conference room fell into stunned silence as the rain drummed relentlessly against the windows. The TV murmured in the background, its volume turned low, but it was the soft, melodic voice of Amira Sainz that cut through the quiet.

News had spread like wildfire: Baby!Sainz, the beloved sister of Carlos, would grace the third season of the renowned Netflix series “Narcos”. The drivers, usually a rowdy bunch, now sat in hushed anticipation. For Carlos, this was more than just excitement; it was a lifeline. His sister’s return to the family was long overdue, and the chance to witness her artistic brilliance on screen made his heart swell.

Yet, their busy lives as racers left little room for leisure. Days blurred into nights, filled with data analysis and the adrenaline rush of the track. But fate intervened during the red flag at Spa, where the heavens unleashed torrents of rain. The perfect opportunity arose: why not start watching “Narcos” during this unexpected break?

Surprisingly, it was Yuki who suggested it. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he proposed the idea, met with a chorus of enthusiastic “yeah’s” and “omg, yes!” from the other drivers. Carlos and Oscar, absent at the moment, would soon join the impromptu viewing party.

And so, they embarked on their journey into the world of drug cartels, corruption, and intrigue. They skipped scenes where Amira wasn’t present, eager to witness her talent firsthand. But little did they know that the next scene would unravel secrets and twists they never anticipated.

Let's just say Amira Sainz looked good with and without clothes. Throughout her spicy scene, the drivers were so silent. They all looked at her dreamily on the TV when she kissed the guy and started taking of her clothes and-

"¡Eh, estúpidos idiotas! ¿Qué demonios estáis haciendo? ¡¿Por qué demonios estáis viendo a mi hermana desvestirse?!" questioned an angry Carlos. As soon as he saw his little sister on the TV he went into full overprotective big brother mode.

Instantly, Logan shot back, “It’s not what it looks like,” while Fernando chimed in with a soothing “Hermano, you have to calm down.” Meanwhile, Lance attempted diplomacy: “Carlos Boy, we can talk like adults.”

The other drivers rallied, attempting to quell the hot-blooded Spanish driver. But amidst the chaos, Oscar slipped away, drawn by curiosity. He cornered Lando, who was practically bursting with excitement.

“I can’t believe I missed this. How was it?” Oscar leaned in, eager for details.

Lando’s eyes sparkled. “Oscar, you should have heard her speak Spanish. And her hair—oh, her hair falls down her back like—” His words were cut short.

“LANDO NORRIS! STOP TALKING ABOUT MY SISTER, YOU CREEP!” Carlos’s voice thundered across the room, drowning out the rain and the TV.

From the commentator box outside, a muffled sound reached their ears—a high-pitched scream. Lando Norris, usually unflappable on the track, had met his match in Carlos’s protective fury.

[angelbwrry]

excuse errors, just something before I sleep.ft my man choso❤︎︎

mature content ahead,18+

You can sense the tension in the air as soon as you walk into the room. Choso is sitting on the couch, his eyes flicking over his phone screen, but you can tell he's not really paying attention. He hates seeing you like this, burdened by the weight of college assignments and the relentless demands of life. It's a familiar scene, one that plays out far too often for his liking.

You drop your bag on the floor with a heavy thud, feeling the exhaustion seep into your bones. The stress is like a constant companion, gnawing at the edges of your mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. You can feel Choso's eyes on you, filled with concern and a touch of frustration. He wants to help, to take away the burden, but he doesn't know how.

You move to the kitchen, mechanically going through the motions of making a cup of tea. The steam rises, curling in the air, but it does little to soothe your frayed nerves. Choso stands up, his movements quiet and deliberate. He walks over to you, his presence a comforting weight at your back. He doesn't say anything, but you can feel his silent support, the way he wishes he could take all your stress and make it disappear.

You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. The warmth of the tea cup in your hands is grounding, but it's Choso's unwavering presence that truly begins to ease the tension. He wraps his arms around you from behind, his embrace firm yet gentle. It's his way of telling you that you're not alone, that he's here and he cares.

You lean into him, letting his strength bolster your own. The stress is still there, a persistent shadow, but with Choso by your side, it feels a little more manageable. You know he hates seeing you like this, and in his silent, steadfast way, he's doing everything he can to help you through it.

"Babe, I think we should just relax tonight. No assignments, just us and some takeout. Please?" Choso mutters into your shoulder. It's a Friday night and you have a five-page essay due Monday, but the way Choso pleads, you can't possibly say no. You nod setting the hot mug down, turning around to drape your arms around his neck, a smile playing on your lips.

“Fine, but I get to pick dinner!” You mutter grinning against his lips.He nods,pulling your waist closer.

“As you wish princess.”

You’d showered, done your skincare routine, and now you were snuggled into Choso’s side watching Twilight. He hated this movie, but you liked it so he would endure it. You’d decided on Chipotle since you were craving it, and Choso had insisted on using DoorDash since he just wanted to relax with you. So you two were waiting, your stomach growling in anticipation.

Choso can’t help but sneak looks at you; you look so pretty to him. Your wet hair is pulled up into a high bun, one of his shirts hanging off your shoulders. It was way too big for you, but you didn’t care—it smelled like him and it was comfy. He bites his cheek to stop from smiling. God, he’s so lucky to have you. You notice his heartbeat thundering against his chest, and your glistening brown eyes peer up at him through wispy lashes.

“You okay baby?” You question, concern lacing your voice.

“M’fine,” Choso reassures, his thumb trailing over your bottom lip. Your lips were probably his favorite thing about you—they’re two-toned, plump, and so damn soft. He loves the way you always ask him about which lip combos to wear; he likes when you wear the brown liner with gloss. That’s his favorite.

Your lips meet in a tender kiss, soft and lingering. It’s as if time slows down, and the world around you fades away. Your breaths mingle, and you can feel the warmth of each other’s skin. The kiss is unhurried, a gentle exploration that speaks volumes of your affection. It’s a moment of pure connection, where nothing else matters but the feel of your lips together, savoring every second of the tender and long embrace.

“C-Choso,” you whine, feeling the heat between your legs grow.His kiss is slow and deliberate, sending waves of heat through your body. You can feel your heart racing as his hands gently cup your face, pulling you closer. Every touch, every movement of his lips against yours, ignites a fire within you. Your breath hitches, and you feel a deep, stirring desire building with each tender kiss. His closeness, his scent, everything about him turns you on, making you crave more.

“Let me take care of you,” he mutters against your lips, his large hands finding their way under the shirt you’re wearing. You bite your lip as your stomach swirls, your breath hitched as you anticipated his next move, your legs falling open of their own accord, inviting him to explore further.

And explore he did. Choso's fingers ghosted over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, inching ever closer to your core. you felt your hips buck slightly as his touch danced over your most intimate areas, teasing you, building the anticipation. Choso swiftly pulls your underwear to the side, your arousal dripping from you. He knows you need this, and the intensity in his eyes tells you he’s ready to give you everything you desire. His breath was hot on your neck, sending shivers down your spine, swiftly, he pulls your underwear to the side,his thumb finding your throbbing clit, circling it gently.

His middle finger dips into you, and you moan softly, the subtle stretch making your head spin. "So wet," he coos, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. He gently fingers you, the subtle gushing of your juices on his fingers filling both of your ears. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can’t help but lose yourself in the pleasure he’s giving you.

"M’feels so f’cking g-good," you whine, head dropping back as he slides his pointer finger in you. It’d been weeks since you and Choso had done anything sexually; you were too stressed with the weight of life, and he understood. You didn’t realize how much you’d missed his touch; the way his fingers are digging into you makes you wanna scream. He’s passionately slow, he likes you way you squirm each time his fingers brush against your cervix.

"Oh, God..." you moan, your head falling back as the pleasure began to build. Choso's fingers were skilled, knowing exactly how to touch you, how to tease and please you. He worked slowly, methodically, his fingers sliding inside you, his thumb continuing to work its magic on your clit. You’re soaking wet, your juices coating his hand as he finger-fucks you slowly, deeply.

With each thrust of his fingers, Choso pushed you further toward the edge. Your legs spread wider, encouraging him to go deeper, harder. His fingers curve to hit your sweet spot, and you cry out, your hips bucking off the couch. Choso holds you down, his free hand on your stomach, as he continues his relentless assault on your pussy, his thumb never ceasing its circular motions on your clit.

"S-hit.. oh, Choso... right there..." you groan, your body on fire, senses overwhelmed. Choso whispered dirty nothings in your ear, his hot breath sending spasms of pleasure through you. "You feel so good... so tight... I love how you're taking my fingers, baby."

His words push you over the edge, and you sob out as your orgasm hit, your body shaking with the force of it. Choso didn't stop, riding you through your climax, his fingers never slowing. You bucked and writhed beneath him as the pleasure intensified, juices flowing over his hand.

As your orgasm began to subside, Choso slowed his fingers, gently pulling them from your pussy. You felt empty for a moment, a delicious ache between your legs. But Choso wasn't done with you yet.

His fingers, slick with your arousal, trailed downward, over your sensitive inner thighs, and then back up, pausing to circle your hole gently. "Mmm, you like that, baby?" Choso whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Without waiting for an answer, he gently pushed a finger inside, probing gently. You groan in bliss, your body yielding to him, accepting the intrusion. Choso added a second finger, stretching you, scissoring slowly as he worked his way in. Desperate hips rising to meet his fingers, encouraging him to go deeper.

"You feel so tight," Choso groaned, his breath hot and heavy on your neck. "So fucking tight. I love stretching you out, making you take all of me." His fingers work slowly, methodically, scissoring and twisting as he stretches your hole.

"Ahh... Choso... it feels s-so good..." you pant, your body on fire once more. Choso crooked his fingers, once again finding that spot inside you that sent electric shocks through your body. "Oh, fuck..."

As he finger-fucked your cunt Choso reached down with his other hand, his fingers finding your swollen clit again. He rubbed slow, firm circles, applying just the right amount of pressure as he worked your most sensitive spot.You were lost in a haze of pleasure, your body bucking and squirming as he worked you toward another climax.

"That's it, baby, cum for me again," Choso whispered, his fingers working furiously. "Cum all over my fingers, take what you need." His demand sent you spiraling over the edge, and you nearly scream out, your body shaking as another powerful orgasm hit. Choso kept working your clit through your climax, milking every last drop of pleasure from you.

Finally, as your orgasm subsided, Choso slowed his fingers, gently pulling them from your pussy. You’re exhausted,utterly spent, your body boneless and satisfied. Choso leaned down, his breath hot on your ear. "That was incredible, but I want more," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I want to feel that tight pussy and ass wrapped around my cock now."

You peer over at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

And as Choso pulled you up from the couch, you felt his hard length pressing against you, and you knew that the night was far from over. In fact, it was just the beginning...

[soulofapatrick]

Under the Mistletoe - Peter Hale x Femae Reader

Summary: Peter has to step outside during christmas celebrations and you follow him

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: None, just some pure Christmas fluff

Y/N’s POV 

The Stilinski living room is an embodiment of cozy chaos—warmly lit by twinkling lights and filled with laughter that bounces off the walls. We're all gathered, the whole pack, tightly nestled onto every available surface. Couches are claimed by some, while others opt for the floor, sharing pillows and throws in a haphazard but comfortable manner. It's crowded, but the festive cheer keeps us close, shoulders brushing and smiles exchanged.

From the doorway, Dad, Melissa and Peter stand, observing the scene with amused expressions. Dad’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he leans against the doorframe, a mug of something warm in his hand, as Erica and Liam bicker over who the gift in Malia’s hand is for. Melissa exchanges a fond glance with him, her lips curving into a soft smile, while Peter’s gaze holds a mixture of amusement and something else—a tinge of sadness. 

Peter’s eyes meet mine across the room, a brief but charged connection that sends an unexpected warmth cascading through me. Caught in the intensity of his gaze, I can’t help but feel my cheeks flush, and I quickly avert my eyes, focusing instead on the gift being launched my way by Scott. 

As I peel away the layers of wrapping paper, a soft chuckle escapes me when I uncover a hoodie. But not just any hoodie—its a simple yet heartwarming statement piece. In bold letters, it reads “Best Pack Mom Ever!” 

The room erupts into laughter and cheers, a chorus of voices expressing their approval and amusement at the gift. I can’t help but grin, feeling a warm rush of gratitude and affection for this pack that feels more and more like family with each passing day. Without a thought I pull it over my head and melt with love as it’s so fluffy and warm and oversized. 

Glancing up again, I catch Peter’s eyes once again, this time softened with a gentle smile that reaches them. There’s a subtle depth in his gaze, a silent understanding that tugs at my heartstrings. His subtle nod and the ghost of a reassuring smile sends a flutter of warmth through me, easing any lingering nervousness. 

Despite the festive cheer enveloping the room, a lingering sense of melancholy in Peter’s eyes doesn’t escape my notice. His smile, though warm, carries a weight that speaks volumes, and I can’t shake the feeling of a hidden sorrow behind it. As the laughter and chatter of the pack fills the air once more, I see Peter swallow hard, a visible lump forming in his throat. Without a word, he turns and quietly slips away, his departure unnoticed amidst the joyful chaos. 

Squashed between Derek and Jordan, I feel a nudge of worry from the latter as I shift to get up. Patting Jordan’s knee with a reassuring smile, I offer a quick “I’ll be right back Jor.” Before making my way out onto the small front porch, where Peter stands, cloaked in shadows. 

The night air is crisp, filled with a serene quiet that contrasts sharply with the festive buzz indoors. Outside, the world feels different—quieter, more contemplative—and it seems to match Peter’s pensive demeanour. 

“Peter?” I call softly, stepping closer, the faint glow of the porch light casting a gentle illumination around us. He turns slightly at the sound of my voice, the moonlight painting his features in soft contrasts. There’s a vulnerability in the way he holds himself, a rawness that I’ve seldom seen, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” I offer, feeling a pang of uncertainty about stepping into his private moment.

His age meets mine a mixture of surprise and something akin to gratitude flickering in those intense blue eyes, “You didn’t,” he assures, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation. 

Feeling the unspoken weight between us, I cautiously move closer until I’m standing at his side. Peter remains still, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his forearms resting against the edge of the porch. Without a word, I lean in, resting my head gently against his shoulder, a silent offering of comfort. 

There’s a momentary pause, a heartbeat of anticipation, before Peter slowly turns his head, his breath brushing against my hair. Without a word, he leans in, burying his face in the soft strands, a subtle but profound gesture of seeking solace in the simple closeness. The wolves of the pack seem to do it a lot, as if they’re memorising my scent. I don’t mind it at this point, quite used to it and just wanting to make Peter smile again. 

His strong arms, once unmoving, now wraps around me, pulling me closer into a gentle embrace. I feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a reassurance admits the silent turmoil within him. 

Gently pulling back after a moment, just enough to meet his gaze, I sense a shift in peter’s demeanour. The shadow of sadness is still present, lingering in the depths of his bright blue eyes, but it’s fading, giving way to something else—something that sends my heart racing and my usually eloquent words scattering like autumn leaves. 

His features, usually etched with an air of intensity and determination, soften in this moment of vulnerability. There’s a depth to his gaze that draws me in, an unspoken understanding that feels like a whispered secret shared between us. 

I find myself entranced by the subtle play of moonlight on his angular features—the chiseled jawline, the faint scars, and those piercing eyes that seem to hold entire galaxies within them. It’s a sight I’ve admired from afar, a magnetic pull that has stirred a quiet longing within me for longer than I can remember. 

My throat feels dry as I wet my sudden parched lips, nerves fluttering like a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. Being this close to him, feeling the warmth of his embrace and seeing the vulnerability in his expression, stirs emotions I’ve kept carefully hidden—a rush of affection and an undeniable attraction that refuses to be ignored. 

As the moment lingers, I feel the shift in Peter—a subtle but distinct change in his demeanour. His suave facade seems to resurface, a shield to conceal the vulnerability he had briefly allowed me to see. 

His hand lifts, cupping my cheek in a gesture that sends shivers down my spine. The rough pad of his thumb grazes over my bottom lip, a barely-there touch that ignites a flurry of sensations. I catch the flicker in his bright eyes, the way they linger on my lips before meeting my gaze once more. There’s a hesitation in his expression, a hint of conflict that dances in those intense blue eyes. "I should stop," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a mix of uncertainty and restraint, a self-imposed barrier he seems hesitant to breach.

The words hang between us, heavy with unspoken desires and emotions. My heart races, caught between the yearning to lean into his touch and the fear of misunderstanding his intentions. 

Caught in the charged atmosphere between us, my heart pounds louder in my ears, an erratic rhythm matching the intensity of the moment. With a surge of boldness fuelled by emotions I can no longer suppress, I act on impulse.

Without a second thought, I rise onto my tiptoes, closing the distance between us. My hands find their place on his shoulders, seeking support and anchoring myself as our lips finally meet. There’s a tender urgency in the kiss, a mingling of hesitance and longing, a culmination of unspoken emotions and desires. 

Peter’s arms, strong and reassuring, wrap around me in response—one securely around my waist, drawing me closer, while the other cradles my head, holding me gently but firmly. 

The touch of our lips sparks an electric current that courses through me, sending tingles down my spine and causing my entire being to tremble. His lips are soft against mine, a perfect harmony of warmth and reassurance, igniting a fire that spreads through every fibre of my being.

In that moment, there's a convergence of emotions—a sense of familiarity mingled with the exhilaration of something new and exhilarating. The kiss feels like coming home, yet exploring uncharted territory, a blend of comfort and passion that leaves me breathless. 

I feel the tension in Peter's embrace ease, a silent affirmation of reciprocation. His kiss holds a tenderness that speaks volumes, a silent confession of emotions that words fail to express. It's a moment suspended in time, a revelation of desires and an acknowledgment of a connection that had silently thrived between us.

With a gentle breath against my lips, Peter murmurs, his voice barely audible yet carrying a weight of amusement, "There's mistletoe above us.”

A soft chuckle escapes me, muffled against the warmth of our lingering kiss. It's a rare sight, seeing a genuine smile grace Peter's lips, a fleeting but captivating moment that feels like a precious gift. 

Breaking the kiss, we share a brief, lighthearted glance upward, confirming the small sprig of mistletoe hanging just overhead. It's an almost serendipitous detail, adding a whimsical touch to this unexpected but undeniably cherished moment. Our gazes meet again, and the air between us crackles with a newfound energy, a playful warmth contrasting the depth of emotions we've just shared. There's a silent understanding, an unspoken agreement to cherish this rare moment of vulnerability and connection.

Peter's thumb brushes over my cheek, a tender gesture that holds a promise of more unspoken conversations yet to come. His gaze lingers on mine, a silent reassurance in those intense blue eyes.

"I didn't expect this," he admits softly, a trace of vulnerability coloruing his tone, a rare glimpse of the man behind the walls he usually upholds, “I didn’t expect you to want me back, to feel the same way with our age gap.” 

“I don’t care about that Creeperwolf,” I reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips, feeling the weight of the unspoken but shared sentiment between us, “Now come back inside and celebrate with me.” 

“The others…” 

“Peter Angus Hale, when have you cared what others think of you?” 

“Alright Love, lead the way.” 

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[doormatty3]

Ocean Eyes: Chapter 4 (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary:

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You]

The ocean has always fascinated you - the ebb and flow of its water, the marine life in the sea and the wild and untamed beauty it exudes. Your attempts to explain this fascination have always fallen short. But when you meet Orm at the seaside one rainy day you find, that he just understands.  You offer to show him around since he is not from the city. And you are intrigued by his rather strange quirks and his regal demeanour.  After all, how could you not? When his eyes mirror the ocean itself, deep and incredibly blue. OR: You impress Orm with the surface world and he impresses you with his Atlantean cock

Wordcount: 4721

A/N: If there some mistakes, I had a major surgery and am currently high on Oxycodon...

As the day unfolds in a gentle rhythm, you and Orm find solace in the simplicity of lazy kisses and unhurried walks along the shoreline. The connection between you two is palpable, a subtle energy that defies explanation. 

It‘s akin to the unspoken bond you have with the sea – a presence that exists without the need for words or rationale. It just is.

The lazy kisses are a sweet punctuation to moments of shared silence. Each touch, each caress, carries with it absolute bliss. 

The slow walks along the beach with the sand beneath your feet, warmed by the sun, create a soft pathway for the two of you. The play of light on the water, the shifting hues of the sea mirroring the ebb and flow of emotions between you and Orm. The horizon stretches endlessly, a metaphor for the boundless potential of the connection you share. 

The day progresses at its own unhurried pace, mirroring the unhurried nature of your connection. It‘s as if time itself has slowed down, allowing you to savour the simplicity of being in each other‘s company.

As you spend more time with Orm, you find yourself wanting to get to know him better - to unravel the layers of the person beneath the surface. However, you sense that it doesn‘t make sense to push him - he has to approach you,

Sometimes, his eyes betray the storm within him. There‘s a depth to Orm that intrigues you, a narrative etched in the lines of his expressions. 

And so, you tread gently through the storm in his eyes, offering a steady presence without demanding entry into the tempest.

In the ebb and flow of days, you find a quiet rhythm with Orm. 

The days are punctuated with laughter, conversations, and shared silences that speak volumes. You explore the nuances of his likes and dislikes, weaving the tapestry of your understanding of each other. In the simple joys of companionship, you find a happiness that surpasses even your most cherished expectations.

Waking up next to Orm becomes a source of comfort, a tangible warmth that permeates your mornings. His presence beside you is a reassurance, and falling asleep in his arms at night feels like being cradled by a serenade of tranquillity. 

As you navigate the passage of time together, the bond between you and Orm deepens with shared experiences, mutual understanding, and unspoken affections. 

_____

In the gentle embrace of morning, you awaken to the warmth of Orm‘s body pressed against yours. The soft light filtering through the curtains paints a tranquil scene, and as you open your eyes, the first thing you feel is the steady rhythm of his breath, a comforting lullaby in the quietude of the dawn.

Orm‘s arms are securely wrapped around you, creating a sense of safety and intimacy. The rise and fall of his chest against your back form a soothing cadence, a heartbeat that resonates with the peaceful stillness of the early morning. 

With eyes half-open, you take in the contours of the room, the subdued light of dawn casting a gentle glow. Cradled in Orm‘s embrace, you savour the quiet beauty of these morning moments, where time seems to stand still, and the world outside is yet to fully awaken.

But it‘s late enough to get up you think, so you slip out of Orm‘s embrace, careful not to disturb his peaceful slumber. With a gentle touch, you rise from the bed, leaving behind the warmth of the covers.

You steal a final glance at him, a quiet affection swelling within you for his peaceful, sleeping form.

You make your way to the kitchen to brew coffee for yourself and prepare tea for Orm. While he really doesn‘t like coffee, you found out that he has a rather sweet tooth and likes fruity teas. 

As you walk through your living room, your gaze shifts towards the window overlooking the terrace. 

To your surprise, a tall, bulky figure captures your attention - A huge man stands on your lawn.

His long brown hair and beard contribute to a rugged appearance. As he stands there, the rays of the morning sun dance upon intricate tribal tattoos that tell a silent tale on his well-defined arms.

Instead of looking lost, he seems like he belongs - like he is waiting.  

Reacting instinctively, you grab a fire poker, your heart pounding with a mix of caution and adrenaline. The sturdy handle feels reassuring in your grip as you cautiously open the door, the brisk morning air brushing against your skin.

The stranger meets your gaze as the door swings ajar, and you waste no time asking, “What do you want? And who are you?”

“I‘m Arthur,” the towering man responds, his eyes locked onto yours. 

His sheer size renders him an imposing figure, dwarfing even Orm in comparison. In hindsight, you realise you should have called for Orm instead of venturing out on your own.

Thinking logically, you surmise that if he intended to harm you, he would have struck by now, so you inquire, “And what do you want, Arthur?”

“I‘m Orm‘s brother. I need to talk to him, please,” he explains, hands raised in a gesture of non-aggression.

Your scepticism persists as you lower the fire poker and remark, “What? I‘m sorry, but you two don‘t exactly look alike.”

Amused, Arthur lets out a hearty laugh, “I know. He‘s my half-brother.”

“How do you know he‘s here?” you inquire, unable to shake off the scepticism. Orm‘s family is uncharted territory, and Arthur‘s sudden arrival stirs a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Oh, he told me,” Arthur replies with a nonchalant smile. 

The revelation that Orm talks about you to his family brings a pleasant warmth to your cheeks. It‘s a subtle affirmation of the connection you‘ve been building with him. It‘s a vulnerable yet comforting feeling, knowing that you hold a place in his thoughts outside the moments you spend together.

However, Arthur‘s unexpected appearance and claim of urgency cast a shadow of doubt and wariness.

“But if you talk to him regularly, why not just ask him directly?” you press, your tone carrying a note of suspicion.

“It‘s urgent – please,” Arthur implores, his gaze holding a sense of sincerity. The urgency in his voice hints at something pressing, and you furrow your brow - you‘d really like to know what‘s going on.

“Arthur, he never mentioned you – he never said anything about his family,” you assert, your words carrying a mix of confusion and caution. The unexpected nature of the encounter prompts a wave of doubt about Arthur‘s intentions. “For all I know, you‘re gonna murder me because you don‘t know him and just pretend.”

Arthur lets out a hearty laugh, a sound that echoes across the terrace. “If I wanted to hurt you, don‘t you think I‘d already have done that?” he retorts, the humour in his tone attempting to diffuse the tension.

The acknowledgement of your shared perspective brings a momentary alignment of understanding. “But you get why I‘m sceptical, right?” you press, seeking reassurance in the face of the unknown.

Arthur‘s laughter rumbles through the air again, seems inconsistent with the seriousness of the situation. “Sure, alright, listen. I can just prove to you that I know my little brother, alright.”

“Okay, go ahead,” you say, a glimmer of curiosity mingling with your scepticism.

“When he drank coffee at your place, he almost spat it out – he told me it was one of the most vile things he‘s ever drunk, and he really doesn‘t understand how we can drink it - and how you can call your coffee a good roast ,” Arthur reveals, a grin playing on his face.

A surprised chuckle escapes you, realising that Arthur‘s story is an accurate retelling of your and Orm‘s first breakfast together. “I didn‘t know he thought it was that bad,” you admit, laughter bubbling up at the unexpected revelation.

“Oh, he hates it,” Arthur laughs, his deep voice resonating with amusement. “But he really likes that fruit tea you have,” he adds, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He finds it funny that you and his brother are so smitten with each other.

You smile, feeling a warmth spreading through you. Clearing your throat, you say, “Well, Arthur, you just earned yourself a cup of coffee in my humble home. Come in.”

You head inside, leaving the door ajar for Arthur to accompany you.

He follows you into the house, his gaze wandering around the living room and open kitchen. As you prepare coffee for both of you and a cup of tea for Orm, Arthur‘s attention is drawn to the aquarium. Colourful fish gracefully move through the water, creating a captivating display. 

Setting the mugs on the table, you join him by the aquarium. “It‘s a passion of mine,” you say, gesturing toward the fish gliding through the water. “Helps bring some life into the place.”

Arthur nods, his eyes still fixed on the mesmerising dance of the aquatic life. “I can see the appeal. Orm never mentioned you had such a lively home.”

You chuckle, “Well, surprises are always good, right?”

Arthur smirks, “Indeed. So, where‘s Orm? Still asleep?”

“He is,” you reply, “I didn‘t want to disturb him. Plus, I wasn‘t sure if waking him abruptly for a family reunion was the best idea.”

Arthur chuckles, “Fair point. I appreciate you being understanding about this.”

As you lead Arthur to the table, both of you take a seat, the morning light streaming through the windows casting a warm glow on the room. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the comforting scent of tea, creating an inviting atmosphere.

The conversation flows smoothly, and you start to feel more at ease with Arthur‘s presence. He talks about his life, sharing snippets of his experiences - you find out that he‘s married with a kid. 

It becomes evident that despite the differences, there‘s a shared thread of love for the sea that ties the siblings together.

After a while, Arthur‘s eyes wander to the sea glass on the table. “Interesting choice of décor,” he remarks, picking it up and examining it.

You smile, recalling the moment when you found it on the beach. “It‘s a little souvenir. Reminded me of Orm.”

Arthur nods, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, he‘s not one to easily let people in. Must‘ve seen something special in you.”

You blush at the compliment, feeling a mix of warmth and appreciation.

As the conversation progresses, you discover more about Arthur, finding him to be not only funny but also kind. He delves into anecdotes about his child‘s antics and shares tales of odd jobs he‘s worked. 

The warm atmosphere changes when Orm enters the kitchen. You eagerly go to greet him, excited to see him, but his expression stops you in your tracks. 

Instead of the usual calm demeanour, Orm is seething with anger. 

His brows are furrowed, and his normally serene eyes now burn with an intense fury akin to a storm raging beneath the surface.

The soft blue eyes that you love looking into have turned into a cold and cloudy hue. It feels as though you are looking into the heart of the storm, waves of fury rising and falling with a savage rhythm, crashing against each other like warring titans engaged in an eternal struggle.

The lines on his forehead deepen as he directs a stern gaze towards Arthur, whose presence has triggered this unexpected reaction.

You have never seen him like that.

Orm‘s anger is palpable, radiating off him like waves of heat. His clenched fists and completely tense posture speak volumes, signalling a storm about to unleash its wrath. His broad shoulders are rigid, every muscle coiled with tension.

You feel your heart beating in your chest, a mix of concern and confusion enveloping you. You‘re not sure how to react.

But before you can even utter a word, Orm curtly nods towards Arthur, his jaw clenched. The silent message is crystal clear – this is not the time for pleasantries. Without further ado, Orm guides him outside, the door closing behind them.

As you stand in the kitchen, you can‘t help but notice the drastic shift in the atmosphere. The air feels tense, and you can‘t help but wonder what transpired to provoke such a reaction from Orm.

You observe them through the glass door, the transparency offering a distorted lens into the unfolding scene.

Orm‘s expression has contorted into a visage of frustration. His brows are furrowed, and the anger etched on his face transforms him, turning him into someone feral. 

On the other side, Arthur appears to be caught off guard by Orm‘s reaction. He stands with a mix of surprise and contrition, facing the verbal onslaught from his brother. 

Through the closed door, you catch fragments of Orm‘s voice. The tone is heated, and you can sense the palpable tension in the air. 

You hear his voice, sharp and reproachful, berating Arthur for showing up unannounced. The words come in bits and pieces, like the distant echoes of a conversation carried by the wind. The door muffles the sound, leaving you with only intermittent snippets of the exchange.

“Arthur, you can‘t just...” Orm‘s voice pierces through the door, each word laden with reproach.

You see Arthur talking back but can‘t understand what he‘s saying.

“...eat a cockroach, Arthur!” Orm‘s voice surges, and you can almost feel the exasperation in his shove when his hands press against Arthur‘s chest, pushing him back a step.

Arthur‘s reaction is a mix of shock and indignation. His eyes widen, and he instinctively recoils from the force of the shove, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before finding his footing again.

Orm‘s voice escalates, slicing through the air with a sharp sense of accusation, punctuating his words with another forceful shove.

“...took my throne, my betrothed, and now my peace of mind!”  Orm‘s voice carries a weight of bitterness and resentment, the gravity of his words hitting you like a sudden tempest. 

Wait what?

The unexpected revelation leaves you stunned, grappling with the realisation that there are layers to Orm‘s turmoil that extend beyond the immediate situation.

As the tension between Orm and Arthur reaches a boiling point, Arthur‘s composure begins to crack. His anger builds, evident in the tightening of his jaw and the fire that sparks in his eyes.

Arthur‘s accusatory words, dripping with frustration, reverberate through the room like an unspoken challenge, “What‘s your problem, Orm?”

He not only responds with words but also looks like he‘s ready to hit back, his fists clenched and posture shifting into a defensive stance when a flicker of realisation seems to cross his face. 

“You never told her, did you?” he accuses Orm, his words laden with disbelief. His tone takes a sharper edge, and the words pierce the air like a dagger.

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, caught in the whirlwind of emotions and uncertainty. He spoke about a fiance, and now there‘s something he never told you?

The bits and pieces of the argument you manage to overhear only serve to deepen your confusion. Determined to seek clarity, you take a deep breath, summoning courage, and make the decision to step outside. 

The chilly air nips at your skin, and you‘re met with the intense atmosphere that hangs between Orm and Arthur. 

Determined to understand the roots of this conflict, you inquire, “What‘s going on?”

Orm remains silent, his features etched with reluctance and a hint of frustration. It‘s clear he‘s not eager to divulge the details.

Arthur, seemingly less concerned about the secrecy, interjects with a tone that swings between nonchalance and urgency, “We‘re from Atlantis. He was the Ocean Master, the king of Atlantis. But he lost it all. Too hungry for power, and I had to step in to fix the mess. And now I have to deal with the Council of Houses that want my ass.”

“Sure. And I‘m the Chinese emperor.,” you say in disbelief,  the sarcasm dripping from your words. Your gaze shifts to Orm, who avoids your eyes and still appears visibly angered, with frustration and regret emanating from him.

The growing anger inside you prompts you to confront Orm directly, “You won‘t tell me what‘s really going on, Orm?” You don‘t know what‘s worse: Orm just being silent or Arthur lying to you.

“Shit, I am not lying,” Arthur exclaims, his frustration matching yours. “Orm, this is your woman, fucking tell her the truth.”

Orm finally meets your eyes, and you swallow nervously. His expression shifts to remorseful; the once-angry blue eyes now reflect sadness and uncertainty.

“Orm?” you say quietly, a plea for honesty and transparency.

“I‘m Atlantean - so is he. He didn‘t lie,” he begins, running his hand through his hair. “I have never been to the surface before...and -”

Arthur interjects with a hint of playfulness, “Look, we can breathe underwater, and I can talk to fish. The ones in your living room told me some interesting things about you two a few days ago.”

“Arthur, please,” Orm says, a mix of exasperation and concern in his tone.

At this point, you‘re just confused. You don‘t know what to believe. Surely, they must be lying. There is no way in hell Atlantis is real - it seems preposterous, Yet the sincerity in Orm‘s eyes challenges your scepticism.

Arthur somehow senses that you need some proof, and realising Orm is not in a state to do something, he strides back into the house. The urgency in his movements compels you and Orm to follow, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

Once inside, Arthur doesn‘t waste a moment. His eyes, now with a peculiar yellow gleam, fixate on the aquarium as he approaches.

You watch in amazement as the aquatic inhabitants respond to him. They swim in intricate patterns, almost as if following a choreographed dance. Some even seem to perform playful flips in the water, creating a surreal spectacle. 

Arthur, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, turns to you and grins. “Impressive, huh?”

You find it hard to fathom the reality unfolding before you.

“Atlantis is a fun place,” Arthur continues, undeterred by the incredulous atmosphere. “Full of politics, underwater cities, and, well, talking fish.”

The surreal scene in your living room challenges the very fabric of your understanding, leaving you grappling with the notion that Atlantis, a mythical realm, might be more than just a legend.

As Arthur‘s words linger in the air, you‘re faced with the undeniable truth that the world you thought you knew is just the surface of a much deeper and more complex reality. 

Your attention shifts to Orm standing beside you. As he reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder, you turn around, your voice a mix of hurt and confusion. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest - this is not how you envisioned the morning unfolding. Hell, you had placed trust in Orm, and you genuinely like him. However, you‘re uncertain about what this revelation means for you.

The room seems to tighten with tension, and Orm‘s response is palpably strained. “I was going to, in due time.” 

The weight of his words lingers in the air, leaving you standing on shaky ground. Uncertainty creeps in, and you‘re left to grapple with the implications of this newfound knowledge. The man you thought you knew harbours a secret world beneath the surface, a world you were blissfully unaware of until now.

Feeling the need to collect your thoughts, you excuse yourself, stammering out something about needing a moment. Hastily making your way to the bedroom, you close the door behind you, the muffled sounds of conversation still audible from the other room. 

As the weight of the revelation bears down on you, you find yourself overwhelmed by a rising tide of emotions. 

Panic tightens its grip around your chest, and you can feel the telltale signs of an impending attack. Placing your head in your hands, you try to steady your breathing, attempting to navigate the storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions swirling within you as the room feels suffocating.

As the door creaks open, Orm enters the room, his footsteps measured and purposeful, his demeanour carrying a palpable sense of remorse. The soft click of the closing door resonates in the air as he crosses the threshold, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of regret and genuine concern. 

His movements are deliberate, each step echoing the weight of emotions he carries. Without hesitation, he gracefully kneels down, his hand extending to rest on your back, a comforting touch that conveys both warmth and strength.

“Hey, it‘s going to be okay. Just take a breath, honey,” his voice is a soothing cadence, every word chosen with care. 

You observe the furrow in his brow and the slight slump of his shoulders, evidence of the burden he shares with you in this moment. His presence feels like a reassuring anchor amidst the tumult of emotions.

Attempting to steady your breath, panic tightens its grip on you, “I can‘t, I can‘t-” Your words falter, caught in the throes of distress.

His voice assumes a rhythmic flow, guiding you through the storm of emotions. The deliberate pace of his words creates a sense of order within the chaos, each syllable serving as a lifeline. With each uttered phrase, you sense a gradual easing of panic, his words acting as a balm for your distressed mind.

His large hands gently brush over your cheeks and hair, reaching wherever they can. The warmth of his touch is palpable. You find solace in the softness of his fingertips and the sincerity etched in his gaze.

“You‘re doing so well, honey. Just keep breathing. I‘m here with you. You‘re safe. Inhale slowly... and exhale,” Orm‘s voice continues its calming effect, a steady stream of reassurance that envelops you like a protective cocoon. 

He talks you through the panic attack, guiding you with words that carry the warmth of understanding and reassurance.

With each carefully chosen phrase, Orm helps you navigate the tempest within. The room, once suffocating, begins to loosen its grip as Orm‘s presence becomes a source of comfort and support, helping you weather the emotional storm.

You manage a shaky breath and look at Orm, gratitude in your eyes.

“Thank you, Orm. I... I didn‘t expect all of this,” you admit, your voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and appreciation.

“I know, and I‘m sorry,” he reassures, cradling your face in his hand. His blue eyes shine with worry and tenderness, a testament to his commitment to being there for you.

You observe him close his eyes, taking in a shaky breath before reopening them. He appears on the verge of tears as he apologises once again.

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around Orm. Tears held back for too long stream down your face, a release of the pent-up emotions that have been coursing through you.

Orm responds with a gentle understanding, reciprocating by wrapping one arm around you in a protective hold. With his other hand, he tenderly wipes away the tears that cascade down your cheeks, and you feel the comforting touch of his fingers on your face.

As you remain wrapped in Orm‘s embrace, you become keenly aware of the rhythmic thudding of his heart against your chest. His shaky breaths resonate in the quiet space, a testament to the emotional intensity of the moment.

In response to the palpable tremor in his breath, you softly whisper, your words a gentle reassurance, “Everything will be alright, Orm. We‘ll get through this together.” The words uttered in a hushed tone carry the weight of sincerity, weaving a sense of comfort into the shared space.

Feeling Orm‘s tightening embrace, as if he fears you might slip away, you reciprocate the gesture, bringing your arms to cup his face gently. 

As you lift his gaze to meet yours, you see the aftermath of the emotional storm in his eyes. They swim with unshed tears, and the intensity of the blue is almost overwhelming. His bottom lip trembles with the weight of the shared emotions, and you can sense the vulnerability etched across his features.

Your touch on his face is both a grounding presence and an assurance that you‘re here, steadfast and unwavering. 

It is at that moment that you realise that you‘re falling in love with him. 

Despite lingering anger about the concealment of his Atlantean identity and Atlantis itself,  you know that he didn‘t do it out of bad intentions. He did it because he was afraid, and you know that feeling all too well.

With a gentle yet firm touch, your hand buries itself in Orm‘s blonde hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. The kiss that follows is soft, tender, and brimming with a vulnerability that binds you both.

Orm responds to the kiss, and his vulnerability meets with your own as the unsheared tears in his eyes glisten. 

Breaking the kiss, he tenderly smooths your hair away from your face, apologising, “I‘m so sorry. I didn‘t mean to tell you like that.”

“I know,” you assure him, your voice carrying a soothing tone as you lean in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I know.”

“I‘m glad you know now, for all that‘s worth,” a small smile graces his lips.

“I‘m glad too. It does explain a few things,” you chuckle. “I‘m looking forward to showing you more surface things  -  now you can actually tell me what you haven‘t seen before.”

He laughs at that, a full-blown grin spreading across his face, reaching his eyes.

“I‘m genuinely excited to see more with you,” Orm admits, his eyes reflecting a genuine curiosity and eagerness. “And I promise not to keep any Atlantean secrets this time.”

“I‘ll hold you to that, King Orm,” you share a playful smirk, “Or do you want me to call you Ocean Master?”

His head snaps up at that, and his eyes darken with a feral intensity that makes you swallow dryly. He holds your gaze for a few seconds before surging up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. 

That was not the reaction you wanted, but you‘re not complaining, you think.

You whine into the kiss as Orm‘s hands cradle your face, his touch both gentle and possessive. It‘s as if he‘s imprinting the kiss with a promise, and the raw passion sends a surge of electricity through your veins.

The kiss deepens, the feral intensity transforming into a potent blend of desire and longing. Orm‘s lips move with a rhythmic urgency, leaving little room for doubt or hesitation. 

His fingers thread through your hair, a tactile exploration that sends shivers down your spine. Each touch, each caress, is a language of its own, conveying unspoken promises and a shared hunger for connection.

Breaking away, Orm rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the shared space.

Orm‘s eyes, still darkened with desire, lock onto yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His thumb traces your lower lip, a lingering touch that ignites a spark of anticipation.

“I didn‘t expect you to call me Ocean Master,” he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You laugh softly, still a bit breathless, “Well, you do seem to enjoy it.”

“Perhaps I do,” a wicked gleam enters Orm‘s eyes, and he bites down on your bottom lip before leaving a warm trail along your jawline.

Orm‘s movements are both tender and possessive, making you gasp beneath him. His touch leaves a trail of heat, a tantalising promise of more to come.

As he continues his journey, his hands find their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer. The room seems to shrink around you as Orm‘s body presses against yours, the closeness igniting a delicious ache of desire.

Orm‘s breath, warm and steady, fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. The scent of him, a mix of sea and musk, envelops you, adding to the intoxicating atmosphere.

You feel arousal pumping through your veins and driven by pure instinct, you lean up and whisper in his ear, “Or do you prefer to be called my king.”

[shinynewmemories]

Okay okay I'm having Thoughts™ about the basement exchange again. It's a lot all at once but ima try to organize it into 3 main points:

1. Why was Katniss so hurt that Peeta didn't argue with Gale when he said "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can’t survive without"?

At this point, Peeta had in no way recovered from the hijacking. Parts of the old Peeta were returning, yes, but he was NOT 100% back yet. Obviously, Katniss knew this. And it's not like Peeta necessarily AGREED with Gale; he just kept quiet. So why did she feel wronged by Peeta's "failure" to defend her? 

I think it's because Katniss's feelings for Peeta are the exact feelings Gale implied she WOULDN'T have for whomever she picked. Immediately after Gale said it, Katniss thinks: 

Am I really that cold and calculating? Gale didn’t say, “Katniss will pick whoever it will break her heart to give up,” or even “whoever she can’t live without.” Those would have implied I was motivated by a kind of passion. But my best friend predicts I will choose the person who I think I “can’t survive without.” There’s not the least indication that love, or desire, or even compatibility will sway me.

I think Katniss is so deeply offended because she IS motivated by passion (for Peeta). I think love, desire, and compatibility ALL play a part in why she chooses Peeta. And Katniss subconsciously feels that Peeta, who is the OBJECT of her love/passion/desire, should know this. It's as if she's saying "Peeta, you OF ALL PEOPLE should know Gale is wrong because I feel ALL OF THESE THINGS FOR YOU!!!"

And while I think most people (including Katniss) would say her offence at Peeta's silence is a bit irrational, I think it speaks VOLUMES about the truth of her feelings. Especially towards Peeta.

2. What if Gale took what Peeta said about him having "to take care of her family" to heart?

I always assumed Gale took whatever Peeta said and promptly threw it in the garbage bin in his brain. You know, because jealousy? Or I thought Gale was already of the opinion that protecting Katniss's family was his job.

But what if Gale actually listened? What if that's why, during their last interaction before Snow's execution, Gale says, “That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family"?

Idk I don't have any big point to this. It's just a "what if".

3. What if Peeta took what Gale said about how Katniss would make her choice to heart?

I also always assumed Peeta didn't give Gale's statements in the basement much thought afterwards. After all, he had a lot of other things on his mind (the war, people being beaten to death for looking like him, the hijacking, etc.).

But what if Peeta actually listened? And not only that, but what if he, like Katniss, understood everything Gale was implying: that Katniss would not make her choice based on love, or desire, or compatibility? What if, when Gale said "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can’t survive without", Peeta heard "Even if Katniss DOES pick you, love, passion, and desire will have nothing to do with it"? And what if Peeta BELIEVED him??

If we assume all that is the case, the "so after" scene takes on a whole new meaning. Because one night, Katniss feels such an intense hunger (that's desire!) for Peeta that they end up having sex (that's passion!). And it's this moment that Katniss realizes she would have ended up with Peeta anyway and that he's the only one who can give her what she needs (that's compatibility!). And then, of course, the closing line of the book:

So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

(That's love!)(Duh!)

So yeah maybe at some point after "so after", Peeta's just lying there and he thinks "Hey, Gale, if you can hear this: I just gotta let you know that you were dead wrong."

[silviakundera]

The Double episode 26 spoilery comments

Jiang Daddy's claim to have Jiang Li's back lasted like 2.5 days. We see more evidence of his fair-weather support in the flashbacks, in which Jiang Li's mom had to step in to save the pregnant maid while he just watches. Everyone and anyone can be discarded. He'll step up for you big -- when yours is the winning side. That man is an excellent politicial animal for sure.

Justice for Aunt Hu!! The evil stepmom really has to ruin everything

That Zhou boy thinking he can play the game on this level is just pathetic. Always kill your enemies immediately. ALWAYS.

"Why are all of you forcing me?" the most despicable cdrama characters' refrain

The drama stays determined to humanize the selfish, short-sighted, and self-absorbed sister archetype that populates the most popular revenge webnovels.

Are they really gonna redeem Jiang Ruoyao? Curious to where this character goes. Is she truly going to find herself?

Duke Su finally managed a lil date with his crush without any favors

Her feeling so safe with him, free and easy to take a nap in his rooms with him sitting there (after she's just on the verge of sexual assault) speaks volumes. avalanches.

You just know A 'Li feels a hundred times more secure to rest at ease there than at the Jiang residence. She doesn't have a home yet but -- it's coming.

"Everywhere else is not comfortable, but the place you picked sure is not bad." ❤

THEY ARE GIVING ME THE PACEY WITTER SPECIAL (look I have residual shipper triggers, you cannot possibly understand the things that fire off in my brain at a quiet watching-your-crush-sleep scene like this)

We got the whistle from the novel !

btw can I comment that tons of cdramas have a FL with martial arts skills, so I don't have any issue with the drama not making FL perfect at everything - it's ok that she needs protection from immediate physical threats. She isn't a warrior. Her weapon is her brain and her persuasive eloquence.

Does Duke Su need to be in this episode? Well no, not objectively for plot reasons. But full applause to the screenwriter and director for understanding the assignment: this drama is so enjoyable to watch because it's paced to give the audience a succession of threat, conflict, resolution + shipper moment in 1 or 2 episode beats. ✔ ✔ ✔

[leejenowrld]

Heyy can you please do jeno helping y/n out with exam stress😖

- 🐶 anon

word count - 1.5k

genre - fluff smut

The library is a cold haven of solitude, its silence broken only by the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional shuffle of papers. The air is crisp, sending chills down your spine as you huddle over your laptop, you curse yourself for wearing shorts and a flimsy top. You’re desperately trying to absorb every bit of information for the impending finals.

Your hands ache from relentless typing, the tension in the room palpable. Finals week is a storm, and you're navigating it with the determination to succeed. You’re incredibly stressed and so is Jeno but he has different coping mechanisms to you. He relieves his stress by using you, you love it of course, it means he spends hours upon hours with his head shoved in between the warmth and tenderness of your thighs.

The library serves as your refuge, a place to immerse yourself in academia. Yet, there's a secret you've kept from Jeno. He's a potent distraction, and you've deliberately chosen not to invite him to this study session even though you promised him you would. You love him, but the looming deadlines demand focus and all he does is distract you.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts, catching you off guard. The air seems to vibrate with an unexpected energy. You widen your eyes and release a heavy sigh. He's unmistakable — Jeno. He strides into the library with an audible presence, both in his footsteps and his vibrant voice. Your concentration wavers as you wonder, what is he doing here? The library's quiet facade is disrupted by his arrival, and you brace yourself for the distraction that is your boyfriend.

Attempting to remain inconspicuous, you blend into the quiet backdrop of the library, hoping to evade Jeno’s notice. However, the subtle narrowing of Juyeon’s eyes suggests otherwise. His gaze flickers to you, and a knowing smirk plays on his lips.

Amidst the whispers of Juyeon mentioning “your girl,” the unexpected touch of Jeno flicking his finger against your forehead startles you. His soft voice, barely audible, brushes against your ear as he leans down, “I didn’t even notice you.”

The library’s tranquility contrasts sharply with Jeno’s boldness. While you maintain your quiet demeanor, Jeno’s disregard for the disapproving glances and shushes from others defines his presence. His loudness stands as a testament to his refusal to let people tell him what to do. He’s always so unapologetically himself.

Amidst the predictability of your boyfriend's adorable antics, he enters the scene with a red nose, his cute trademark that never fails to make you smile. His tousled blonde hair adds to the charm, framing soft eyes that hold a world of affection.

As he approaches, the sweet scent of blueberry lingers, a mix of his recent vaping and smoking sessions – his chosen means to relieve the pressures of the day. A mischievous grin lights up his face, and he can't resist kissing your forehead tenderly.

With gentle fingers, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch warm and comforting. His accusing words, whispered softly, playfully punctuate the air, "You've been ignoring me." You feign innocence, responding with a casual "Nooo," but his knowing smile suggests he sees through the act.

Shaking his head in mock disappointment, he remains irresistibly dreamy. Closing the distance, he kisses you with an intensity that conveys just how much he's missed you. The kisses are a symphony of emotions – a mix of longing, sweetness, and a hint of playfulness.

Breaking the kiss, he smiles, those soft eyes locking onto yours. The shared glances between you two speak volumes, silently conveying the connection and love you share. He can't help but express, "I missed you, pretty," sealing the sentiment with another affectionate kiss that lingers, creating a moment suspended in the sweetness of your connection.

Just when you think the moment can't get any sweeter, he nuzzles his nose against yours, a playful and affectionate gesture. His warm breath against your cheek sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but giggle as he continues to shower you with love. It's a simple act, yet it adds an extra layer of intimacy, making the moment even more special. The shared smiles and sweet kisses become a dance, a celebration of the love that fills the air between you two.

"We haven't had sex in so long." He whispers in your ear. You look at him apologetically; finals have overtaken your time.

"Yeah, it's been quite long." You agree, acknowledging it's been a week – the longest you've ever gone without making love. He coos at what you're wearing – cute shorts and a top.

"You look beautiful, but why aren't you dressing for the weather? It's freezing. Y/N, I always tell you to be mindful about these things, but you don't listen." He says in a calm yet scolding, taking off his coat and placing it over you, fastening it up to keep you warm. You sigh and relish in his scent.

He signals to Juyeon to give his own coat, which he does, and Jeno covers your bare legs with it. You pout your bottom lip, but your attention shifts as soon as his bare hand goes to your stomach.

Teasingly, a playful smirk you love so much playing on his face, he whispers in your ear about how good you always feel, how tight you are, how he wants to feel you clench against his cock. He bites his lips and moans heavily to you, expressing his desire. His fingers graze over your stomach, and he bites his lip, puppy eyes gazing at you. "Don't you want to?" he says in a sexy and seductive tone.

He doesn’t care who’s watching or who looks. His eyes don’t leave yours as he licks his digit, moving his hand to your waist and then easily slipping his fingers through the waistband of your shorts, his finger swiftly thrusting in and out of your pussy, he smiles against your lips when he notices how wet you are. He rubs his finger against your bottom lip and then makes you suck on it, your eyes heat up at the taste of your desire.

“Don’t you wanna feel my lips in between your pussy? Don’t you want me to eat you out? Don’t you want me to cum inside of you?”

"I do." You whisper, and he gets more direct and intimate.

Juyeon goes, "Wow," widening his eyes, having stayed quiet and witnessed the whole exchange. "I guess we're not going to the gym." He laughs at Jeno but you both ignore him.

"But we don't have any condoms left." You make excuses to Jeno who’s looking at you like he wants to fuck you here and there.

"That's not stopped us before." Jeno smirks, revealing he brought loads more.

Jeno's eyes meet yours in a deep, affectionate gaze, his sweet smile conveying the warmth of his feelings. "Have you eaten?" he asks, the concern evident in his eyes. Though you haven't, you lie and nod. You know how he worries about you and you know he’ll tell you off for not eating enough. You believe it to be a believable lie but when he gently tuts at your attempt, you know he hasn’t fallen for it.

Undeterred, Jeno leans in, planting tender kisses on each side of your cheeks. The air becomes charged with the sweetness of the moment as he offers you his water bottle, holding it as he guides you to the straw, shaking his head when you move it after one sip, making you drink more. His touch conveying both care and affection. "You're so dehydrated." he notes, his eyes reflecting worry.

With a soft smile, he reminds you, "I told you to take care of yourself, didn't I? His gaze lingers on you, and he adds, "I can't have my pretty and sweet girlfriend fainting." The room seems to glow as he punctuates each word with a kiss to the sides of your neck, creating an intimate symphony of shared glances, sweet smiles, and deepening connections.

Your arms loop around his shoulders as you whimper softly. Pouting, you meet his gaze, and a deep kiss follows. “Let me take you to mine,” he whispers, hoping for a positive response.

“I need to study, though,” you mumble, expressing your academic concerns.

“You will study,” he promises with conviction. As soon as you sit in front of the desk, a comforting warmth envelops you – his cock. It’s a welcome distraction, you’ve come to realize. Cockwarming Jeno while studying is a game changer.

His occasional kisses are like sweet rewards, warming your heart amid the study session. Whispers of praise and encouragement in your ear make every moment more rewarding. He feeds you water, ensuring you stay hydrated, his care evident in every gesture.

He’s good to you, reminding you to take breaks and even cooking for you. With his support, studying genuinely becomes more manageable, and the room is filled with the sweet symphony of shared moments, making the academic endeavor more enjoyable.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Spoilers for Thousand Autumns Volumes 3 and 4!!!

I didn't pay attention to it the first time I read Thousand Autumns, but during my reread it's obvious that Xie Ling and A-Yan knew that Yan Wushi loved Shen Qiao from the start.

Art by @_Konia_; reposted with permission.

It's fairly obvious that Xie Ling is infatuated with Shen Qiao immediately because his gaze never leaves Shen Qiao and Xie Ling trusts him completely:

Yan Wushi only looked at him, his eyes filled entirely with Shen Qiao’s reflection. “I’ll be taking your pulse.” Shen Qiao lifted his wrist, and Yan Wushi didn’t respond to that either, letting Shen Qiao handle him as he wished. But his eyes remained fixed on Shen Qiao—whether Shen Qiao was hunched over or sitting upright, Yan Wushi’s gaze never left him. ...Just as Shen Qiao was furrowing his brows and pondering, Yan Wushi suddenly smiled at him. This smile was different from those faint half smiles from the past, and lacked any sense of sarcasm, ridicule, or unbridled arrogance. It was simply a smile, nothing more, as if it weren’t Shen Qiao in front of him, but a beautiful flower. (vol. 3, pg. 85-6)

A-Yan tells Shen Qiao, "...I understand why my previous self treated you the way he did. He’s a paranoid person at heart, someone who’d never trust anyone else. No matter how good you are, he’d always want to bring out the darkness hidden within you. But he doesn’t know that you are you. There may be hundreds of thousands of Chen Gongs in this world, but there is only one Shen Qiao." (vol. 3, pg. 135)

Yan Wushi notices that, "There was still a hint of remaining warmth within his chest, left there by Xie Ling and A-Yan, from their feelings whenever they thought about Shen Qiao. But at this moment, Yan Wushi forcefully wiped it away..." He doesn't consider the the thoughts and feelings from the other parts of his personality to be his own." (vol. 3, pg. 142)

There's also the scene where Xie Ling tries to kiss Shen Qiao:

...Yan Wushi abruptly seized Shen Qiao’s neck, then he threw himself closer and bit down on his lips! In pain, Shen Qiao snaked his arm around Yan Wushi’s neck and struck hard. The other man fell limply on top of him. It was finally quiet. Shen Qiao let out a sigh of relief. He picked up Yan Wushi’s wrist and felt it, then let out a gasp of surprise. If the man had just been in the throes of qi deviation earlier, then now, only a short time later, his pulse had completely calmed. In contrast, his life force even seemed to be thriving? (vol. 3, pg. 225)

When Yan Wushi is back to his normal personality, he commented on the unskilled kiss: "What, did Xie Ling even forget how to kiss someone after losing most of my memories? He was so impatient he even bit you?" (vol. 3, pg. 232) Yan Wushi knows immediately that Xie Ling has feelings for Shen Qiao, but he doesn't realize his own feelings yet.

Later, Yan Wushi admits to himself that Xie Ling and A-Yan's thoughts where his own as well, and that's what leads to the confession scene:

Yan Wushi smiled but didn’t speak. Before, he’d loathed “Xie Ling’s” influence, thinking that those thoughts weren’t his own. He’d tried to suppress that strange feeling numerous times, and he’d believed that the moment he repaired the flaw in the demonic core, that feeling would vanish with it. He hadn’t expected that Shen Qiao’s smile would reawaken everything. He was unwilling to admit that he, who’d looked down upon everyone in the world, would one day find that a name had wormed its way into his heart. Human hearts were filled with malice. Some people were traitors, turning their backs on all integrity; some were ingrates, repaying kindness with enmity. There were also those who’d abandon their spouses, who were willing to do anything for wealth and glory. Yan Wushi had seen many, and he’d thought nothing of them because he, too, was a selfish, callous human. He only categorized things based on whether they deserved his notice, and to him, there were no actions that fell beyond a line that could not be crossed. However, now Yan Wushi was forced to admit that Shen Qiao was unique and that he couldn’t change him. Though the world was vast, there was still only one Shen Qiao. “My venerable self suddenly thought of something amusing,” he said. “Would you like to listen?” “No,” said Shen Qiao. Yan Wushi turned a deaf ear and started talking anyway. “Once upon a time, there was a man who found a stone in a heap of gold and jewels.” Shen Qiao’s mouth twitched. Didn’t he just say that he didn’t want to listen? “But he couldn’t believe that it was only an ordinary stone. He thought that since it’d been piled together with the mass of treasures in that room, it must also be a treasure. So, he brought it everywhere with him, and even had it examined and polished by many. But every single person, without exception, told him that it was only an ordinary stone, that there was nothing special about it. Guess what happened in the end?” Shen Qiao’s face was both lost and bewildered. “In the end, he finally believed that it was indeed a worthless stone. But in his eyes, compared to the room full of gold and silver treasure, even if it was only a stone, it was still one of a kind—a stone out of a million.” Shen Qiao was silent. Why did this story sound so bizarre? It was indeed unusual to hear such a normal story from such an abnormal person. He couldn’t help but say, “Even thousands of gold pieces cannot purchase happiness. Some people care little for wealth—they only wish to seek out things that other people find worthless. In my opinion, that man already liked that stone more than the other jewels and treasures, but he was trapped by his preconceptions and unwilling to admit it.” Yan Wushi laughed. “That’s true, you’re very correct. Thousands of gold pieces cannot purchase happiness." There seemed to be a deep significance within these words. (vol. 4, pg. 58-60)

[bloody-bee-tea]

No more soup

This was supposed to be one long fic but I haven't figured out some of the finer details yet and this scene kept begging to be written, so I'll make it into a series instead. I'll link the parts as they are being written.

What you need to know for the set up: Hizashi finds a ten-year-old Hitoshi muzzled on his way home and gets himself involved enough to get the kid away from his abusive foster family and take him home. From then on it's just a lot of trial and error for the three of them and this is just one of those instances.

I hope you enjoy!

(This is also my 1100th posted fic😱)

Shota isn’t quite sure what about the bowl of soup is so triggering for Hitoshi, but it’s undoubtedly a fact that it is. The way Hitoshi goes all still and quiet, his hands lightly trembling and his eyes almost unseeingly fixed on the bowl speak volumes.

“Hitoshi?” Shota carefully asks, wary to exuberate the reaction the kid clearly is having right now, and he was right to be wary, too, because as soon as Hitoshi hears his voice, he jerks back, chair clattering to the ground as Hitoshi stumbles away from the table.

“No, no, please, no,” Hitoshi gasps out, his voice barely audible under all the panicked breaths he takes in and Shota aches to follow him, to get close and put a hand to his shoulder, maybe even pull him into a hug, but they know better by now.

Hitoshi needs space when he has a panic attack and as long as he’s in sight, Shota is more than willing to give him that.

It’s hard, seeing Hitoshi as panicked as he is right now, Shota is not going to lie about that, but he has to keep a cool head to guide Hitoshi through it as best as he can.

Crowding him is a no-go, but talking to him seemed to ground him in the past so Shota takes a deep breath before he starts to talk.

It’s not his strong suit, Hizashi is way better with keeping senseless babble up, but Shota finds himself willing to try for this kid.

“It’s alright, Hitoshi, it’s just us here. Hizashi went out to buy some dessert, remember? He should be back soon and he’ll definitely bring more than we can reasonably eat in one evening, so you’ll get to pick some dessert for tomorrow, too, how does that sound?” Shota knows he’s not going to get an answer, but it can never hurt to include the kid at the off-chance he wants to contribute something but all that happens is that Hitoshi’s breath continues to come in too fast and too short.

Shota is just about to open his mouth again when he hears the front door open and Hitoshi must hear it, too, because he jerks violently and stumbles further back, slamming into the wall and Shota moves on instinct.

He has his hand stretched out, in a futile attempt to keep Hitoshi’s head from slamming against the wall and Hitoshi crouches low on the floor, arms coming up above his head as Shota comes to a stop, hand still uselessly stretched out.

“Don’t touch me, don’t, don’t,” he gasps out and Shota’s heart positively breaks in his chest.

“Kid, I’m not—”

Shota has never given much thought to how it would feel to fall under Hitoshi’s quirk. It would happen sooner or later—preferably during training so they can challenge his limits in a controlled environment but Shota was prepared to have it happen at home, too.

They allowed Hitoshi to use his quirk on them if he ever feels unsafe after all and Shota is almost proud of him for enforcing his boundary right now, if the entire situation wasn’t so heart-breaking.

Shota isn’t even sure how to describe the effect Hitoshi’s quirk has on him; he’s still in his body, he can still almost feel it, but it is as if he’s trapped inside a glass case. He still fills the same space as he did before inside his own body, but there’s something keeping him from actually using it. He can still see and hear and think, but everything is muffled and distant.

It’s almost peaceful, Shota has to admit, if you take away the fact that he is no longer in control of his own body.

“Step away from me,” Hitoshi says, his voice shaking so much that it takes Shota a moment to even make the words out but as soon as he understands their meaning, his body is already stepping away from Hitoshi.

He distantly wonders how many steps he’ll have to take, if he’ll have to cross all the way to the other side of the apartment but after three steps his body comes to a stop.

Shota should be scared of the fact that he’s no longer the one in control, but he doesn’t have the time to spare a single thought for himself. He can only think about Hitoshi.

Hitoshi who is still panicking, who is still crouched low on the floor, who feels unsafe enough to have to use his quirk on him—without the activation requirement, no less—and all Shota wants to do is hold the kid until he calms down.

Even though it would be the worst thing to do, as his current predicament shows.

“Sho? Kiddo?” Hizashi calls out finally, when no one welcomes him home and Shota strains against Hitoshi’s control as hard as he can, not that it’s doing anything.

Hizashi steps into the room mere seconds later, two bags dangling from his hands—definitely more dessert than they can eat in one evening, Shota knew it—and he takes in the situation with one glance.

“Hey, kiddo,” Hizashi softly says, putting the bags on the ground and crouching down a few feet away from Hitoshi. “I see you’re currently not doing so well, huh?” Hizashi asks, even though it’s more than obvious by the way Hitoshi is still hyperventilating.

Hizashi’s eyes slide back over to Shota and even though Shota knows he can’t do anything he still tries to convey with just his eyes that he’s currently under the influence of Hitoshi’s quirk.

Hizashi frowns briefly before turning back around to Hitoshi and even though Shota can see the tension in Hizashi’s shoulders, he keeps his voice low and gentle.

“How about we try some of those breathing exercises, kiddo? Do you remember how they go?” He waits for a moment, though of course no answer comes from Hitoshi and Hizashi doesn’t drag it out needlessly. “That’s alright, too, little listener, that’s what we’re here for, ya dig? I’ll just do them and you try to follow along with me, how does that sound?”

Hitoshi drags in a particularly rough breath and Shota panics slightly when he realises just for how long Hitoshi hasn’t been breathing right. Hizashi seems to harbour the same worries, because he doesn’t waste any time falling into exaggerate breaths.

He’s actually the perfect person to do this with, because thanks to his quirk he has amazing control over his breath and he doesn’t hesitate to be loud with them, either.

Hizashi is definitely loud enough to be heard over Hitoshi’s panicked gasps and Shota relaxes slightly when he notices that Hitoshi is trying to follow along. It doesn’t work very well, not at first, but eventually he manages to match his own breathing to Hizashi’s.

“You’re doing great, kiddo,” Hizashi praises him between breaths and Shota is glad to see that Hitoshi manages to continue the rhythm without Hizashi’s own exaggerated breathing.

Shota only gets a second for that, because then Hitoshi’s head flies up and wide eyes meet his. Logically, Shota knows that using his quirk is cause for panic for Hitoshi but he did not expect to see that panic etched so clearly into Hitoshi’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” he somehow manages to get out, Hizashi turning around to follow his line of sight and then Shota feels the effect of the quirk falling away.

It’s not gradual, just like being put under the quirk hadn’t been gradual. One moment he hadn’t been able to use his own body and the next he was in complete control again.

“Kid—” Shota starts, keeping his voice low and soothing but as soon as he opens his mouth, Hitoshi jerks to his feet and flees the room.

Hizashi and Shota are left staring after him as Hitoshi vanishes into his own room, firmly closing the door behind him without actually slamming it and it’s still quite the statement.

They have an open door policy in this home after all, and Hizashi and Shota promised him that if his door should ever be closed completely they wouldn’t come in without his permission. Shota doubts that right now, Hitoshi would give his permission and even though he stands by that rule, it feels wrong to let the kid go like that.

He was still in the middle of a panic attack after all.

“What the hell is going on here?” Hizashi breathes out after listening to absolute silence in the apartment for a few seconds and Shota slumps where he stands.

“We’ve had a bit of a hiccup, I’d say,” he whispers, eyes falling onto the by now probably cold bowl of soup on the table.

“No shit, Sho,” Hizashi snorts out and comes over to pull Shota into a hug.

Shota gladly falls into it, even though he wishes his husband could hug Hitoshi like this right now, and he breathes for a moment, safe in the knowledge that at least their kid is in the same apartment.

He could have made a dash for the front door, but he opted to hide in his own room and Shota has to remind himself that that is most likely progress, even though it doesn’t feel like it.

“He used his quirk on me without a question,” Shota mutters after a moment, right before he pulls away from Hizashi.

“What? I thought he has to ask a question to activate it.”

“I thought so, too. We’ll have to ask him about that. Maybe his panic overrode the rules of his quirk; if that’s the case we’ll need to take that into account for his training.”

“Sho, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Hizashi gently chides him. “Let’s just focus on the fact that our kid is panicking in the next room, okay? You know what caused it?”

“I put down a bowl of soup in front of him,” Shota replies, his eyes falling back onto the table, their dinner still untouched.

“Soup? That seems like a strange thing to panic about,” Hizashi muses before he sighs. “That is something we’ll have to ask him about, so we can avoid this in the future. Did he make you do something when you were under his quirk?”

“He didn’t want to be touched,” Shota shrugs. “Told me to step away from him. I’m not sure if he was even aware of the fact that he activated his quirk in the moment. He just wanted space, I think.”

“Okay, we can give that to him,” Hizashi says, even though he seems unhappy about it, and there’s nothing but worry in his eyes when they fall on the still closed door. “I don’t like leaving him alone to panic, though.”

“Me neither,” Shota agrees. He’d be calmer if he could actually see Hitoshi, he knows that, but he’s not about to barge into the kid’s room just to satisfy his own feelings.

They have to put Hitoshi first and they have to trust that he’ll come back out once he’s calmer. It’s all they can do for now.

~*~*~

Hizashi is slumped over the table by the time the door to Hitoshi’s room opens up again. Shota elbows him none too gently and Hizashi startles up, wildly looking around before his eyes fall on Shota, who nods his head towards Hitoshi’s door.

Shota knows that Hizashi wants to say something, yell even, maybe, but he presses his lips together and forces himself to keep sitting at the table, just like Shota. They have long cleared away the soup that started all of this away and Shota just hopes that Hitoshi is willing to explain just what set him off so they can avoid it in the future.

He does not enjoy seeing his kid in that state.

Even though the door is open now it still takes Hitoshi a moment to step through, and when he finally does he looks impossibly small somehow. His head is lowered but Shota can still see how red rimmed his eyes are and he looks absolutely exhausted.

Shota gets stuck on the duffel bag slung over Hitoshi’s shoulder though.

Hitoshi shuffles into the doorway of the kitchen, his head still lowered and it gives Hizashi and Shota a moment to share a confused look.

“Hey, kiddo,” Hizashi finally speaks up, always the one to break a silence first. “Are you going somewhere?”

It’s not ideal; Shota has no desire to let Hitoshi out of his sight at the moment, but if he wants to go somewhere, then they’ll make it happen.

“When is she coming?” Hitoshi whispers, his gaze still lowered and it only makes Shota frown.

“Who, kid?” Shota asks in return, not understanding who Hitoshi could be referring to but when he glances back over to Hizashi he’s taken aback by the crestfallen look on his face.

“Your social worker is not coming, kiddo,” Hizashi answers before Hitoshi can ask again and Shota almost feels as if he’s been sucker-punched, but of course. Of course that would be something Hitoshi is worried about.

They know he has been ready to leave, to be taken away, to be kicked out again ever since he came to stay with them.

“Tomorrow then?”

“She’s not coming at all,” Shota interjects and now that gets Hitoshi to look up at them, eyes painfully wide.

“She has to, though. I used my quirk. You told her.”

“We didn’t, kid. We didn’t tell her and no one is going to come and take you away from us,” Shota says with more patience than he really feels because he just gets so angry when he is reminded of how the system fucked this sweet kid over.

“But that’s how it goes,” Hitoshi breathes out. “I used my quirk on you, you have to tell her!” His voice gets progressively louder as he talks and Shota fears that he’s just a few wrong steps away from a panic attack again.

“Hitoshi, what is the rule for your quirk use in this house?” Shota asks, putting a hand to Hizashi’s when it seems as if he wants to go off on a rant.

It would probably not help the kid right now.

“I’m not allowed to use it. I can only directly talk to Yamada-san, so you can erase my quirk when I slip up.”

“If you slip up,” Shota corrects, because that distinction is important but that’s not actually the rule he was looking for. In fact, that is the rule he wishes Hitoshi would forget completely. “What rule did we give you regarding your quirk?”

Hitoshi opens and closes his mouth several times before he lowers his gaze again. “I’m allowed to use my quirk if I feel unsafe and think I need it to protect myself,” he finally mutters out and Shota nods.

“Correct. And you did just that. I’m proud of you for that.”

Shota wouldn’t normally praise using a quirk out of fear like that, but things are different with Hitoshi. The fact that he used his quirk at all is a big step for him.

“How can you say that?” Hitoshi wants to know, his voice desperate and lost. “I used my quirk on you.”

“And you did it to protect yourself. You felt crowded and unsafe and when I tried to touch you, you enforced your boundaries. That’s a good thing.”

Hitoshi gasps for breath, his eyes wide and wild, his gaze flickering between Shota and Hizashi without really stopping anywhere.

“Hey, little listener, you need to tell us what’s going on, okay? Take a deep breath, please,” Hizashi carefully cajoles Hitoshi, who sucks in a breath almost reflexively. “What’s got you all panicked again?”

“You—you’re mad at me,” Hitoshi eventually gets out and it’s surprising enough to make Shota frown.

“We’re not.”

“Scared of me then,” Hitoshi goes on, barely pausing to take another breath and Hizashi shakes his head.

“We could never be scared of you. Why would you think that?”

“You’re all the way over there,” Hitoshi gasps out, his hand reaching up to tangle in his wild hair. “Usually you would be—why aren’t you—” he tugs on his hair with so much force that Shota fears he’s going to lose a few strands and it only takes a second for everything to fall into place.

“Kid, you told me not to touch you. You used your quirk because you were so afraid I would touch you. As long as you don’t tell us otherwise, we’re not going to do it,” Shota gently tells him.

They have been a little bit handsy with him, Hizashi especially, in an attempt to get him used to it. It’s painfully obvious that Hitoshi is touch starved and that the only real touch he ever knew was a painful one and they’ve been trying their best to show him that it doesn’t have to be like that.

Shota has to admit that he likes ruffling the kid’s hair or pressing their shoulders together when they sit next to each other on the couch and Hizashi has taken to pulling him into a hug whenever he can get his hands on the kid.

And it seems they did get him used to it, at least when he’s not actively in a panic attack.

“Please,” Hitoshi gets out. “Please.”

It’s so desperate that Hizashi is out of his chair before the second ‘Please’ has even left Hitoshi’s mouth and he pulls the kid into a hug, holding him tightly. Hitoshi clings just as tightly to Hizashi and Shota doesn’t even have to hear it to know that the kid is crying again.

“We didn’t mean to make you think you did something wrong,” Hizashi mutters, pressing his head into Hitoshi’s hair. “We were just trying to respect your boundaries.”

“We’re here, Hitoshi,” Shota adds, finally joining his husband and rubbing a hand over Hitoshi’s back. “And we’re not leaving you and we won’t let anyone take you away from us.”

It only makes the kid cry harder and when Shota shares a look with Hizashi over his head, he can see tears in his husband’s eyes as well.

“Why don’t we move this to the couch, huh?” he gently suggests and Hizashi shuffles them over there without actually letting go of Hitoshi at all.

They sandwich him between them and going by the way he clings almost painfully to the both of them, he doesn’t mind at all. It takes him a while to calm down again and Shota hates to break the tentative peace they’ve achieved but they need to know what caused all of this.

“Kid, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, okay?” he starts with as he cards his fingers through Hitoshi’s hair, because it’s important that he knows that. “But we’d like to know what triggered you today, so we can avoid it in the future.”

Hizashi doesn’t seem too happy with his approach if the glare Shota gets for his trouble is anything to go by, but Shota holds his gaze steadily. He isn’t looking for a detailed explanation, he’s just looking for a what, not the why, not if Hitoshi doesn’t want to tell them and he wills Hizashi to understand that.

“It was the—” Hitoshi’s voice breaks over his words and it takes him a few tries to actually finish the sentence. “The soup. It was the soup.”

“This specific kind of soup or all soup?” Shota asks for clarification and Hitoshi wilts where he sits.

“All soup.”

It doesn’t make much sense to Shota, because how could it, but that isn’t important. The only thing that’s important is that it makes sense to Hitoshi and that they are going to avoid soup in the future. It’s as simple as that.

“Thank you for telling us,” Hizashi tells him, dropping a kiss to Hitoshi’s head.

Hitoshi leans into it and then he looks over to Shota before he slightly reaches out to him. Shota doesn’t leave him hanging, taking his hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly.

“They—they always gave me soup before—” Hitoshi needs a moment to regulate his breathing again and Shota desperately wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to explain, that they don’t need to hear this, but it’s clear that Hitoshi wants to get this off his chest and so Shota only nods encouragingly at him. “Before they locked me in the closet,” Hitoshi finishes, his voice barely audible in the space between them.

Hizashi sucks in a surprised breath and Shota can only hope that he manages to keep any emotion off his face because the kid doesn’t need to see how angry he is.

Sometimes, Shota thinks that villains might be on to something. That previous foster family certainly doesn’t deserve good things in their lives.

“I know you wouldn’t, I know—I guess I just forgot,” Hitoshi admits and Shota squeezes his hand again.

“And that’s alright. It will take time. You’ve been through a lot and it will take time for you to feel completely safe with us. And until that happens, no more soup,” he adds with a wry smile and it’s enough to bring out a small, shaky smile on Hitoshi’s face as well.

“No more soup,” he agrees and then leans back into Hizashi’s chest. Hizashi immediately tightens his arms around the kid again and Shota fears that he’s going to have to pry Hitoshi away from him tonight.

Or maybe they can just have an impromptu sleep-over in the living-room. That should work as well.

“Hizashi still brought dessert. Think you can stomach some of that?” Shota asks after a while and before Hitoshi can answer him, his stomach audibly growls.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Shota nods and pushes himself up, content to leave Hitoshi in the arms of his husband.

There’s still the matter of how Hitoshi used his quirk to talk about but Shota thinks that can easily wait a day or three. There’s no reason to rush this, no reason to overwhelm Hitoshi with this as well today and it’s a sensitive topic for Hitoshi anyway. They’ll have to tread carefully there and today is absolutely not the time to do that.

So instead of freaking their kid out any more Shota busies himself with getting as many desserts as he can into the living-room in one trip, while Hizashi sets up a movie.

With everything that happened today, Shota doubts Hitoshi will manage to stay awake for long but that doesn’t matter right now.

All that matters is that Hitoshi is safe and sound between them, that he still feels comfortable enough with them and in this home to allow them this close, and that all three of them ruin their stomach with as much sugar as they can.

And they do exactly that.

Read the next part here: You're not a pet

[empressofthewind]

Analysis of Near's Relationships & Social Skills

fairly long post below the cut :-)

something that i find really interesting about Near's sociability in the manga is the fact that he's immediately presented as a recluse. in his very first scene, he's sitting alone completing a puzzle, and declines Linda's invitation to come outside "for once", without looking up or even remotely entertaining the request. this is backed up by his profile in Volume 13, in which his social skills are rated a 1/10, and it's said that he "keeps human contact to a minimum". yet when we see him throughout the rest of the series, this doesn't really seem to be the case. it's tough to analyse what he's like in typical social situations given that the circumstances under which we see him are quite unique, but he is surrounded by people pretty much 24/7 and seems to be very comfortable in this setting. he frequently asks for the input of his team, he is extremely willing to share his thoughts with them at any given time, and he also empathises with them and encourages them to speak up if they feel uncomfortable at any point (e.g., telling Gevanni he does not have to touch the notebook if he's too scared, and telling the entire team that they are welcome to stay at headquarters if they do not want to risk Mello making contact with them). so it doesn't feel right to say that he's shy or unwilling to talk to others, or that he has limited understanding of/regard for others' feelings; nor does it feel accurate to say that he keeps contact "to a minimum" when it's both shown and confirmed that he functions best with others around him.

the impression i get from him is that he is very willing and able to talk to people, but only when he needs to. he can hold a conversation just fine and he talks a lot when prompted, but he does not engage with people simply for the sake of socialising. he won’t go out of his way to initiate a casual chat just because. he does not conform to social norms, as exhibited by his preference for wearing socks and pyjamas even when meeting the President of the United States, so he won't participate in activities or conversations that he is not interested in just for the sake of earning brownie points with the people involved. he doesn't crave the approval of those around him and would rather be alone than engage in forced social interaction. his manner is also very blunt and he is not above brutal honestly. even his lies are very blunt and bold, such as him pretending that he dialled the wrong number when calling Light to confirm that Mogi was not Kira, or announcing to the task force that Mogi had died - which is a stark contrast to L, who lies often and is generally not upfront about it. i also feel like as much as he is willing and able to articulate his thoughts very clearly and extensively, this isn't necessarily his default. when receiving the news of L's death, for example, his instinct is to remain quiet, and process the information internally before speaking about it. on several occasions during the Kira case, he has to be prompted by the members of the SPK to share his thoughts. so i think it is perhaps reasonable to say he is instinctively a fairly quiet person, but is more than capable of speaking his mind if the need arises.

but despite all of this, i do definitely feel like he prefers having people around him. he's perfectly capable of reaching conclusions on his own, at times even faster than he would be when thinking aloud - case in point, the moment when he deduced that Mikami is X-Kira - so it isn't as though he needs to voice every individual thought. in fact, he doesn't really need to have others in the room with him at all, which is once again exemplified by the X-Kira deduction. but he often chooses to be around his team and voice his thoughts anyway, especially when he has strong opinions about something or someone, such as Kira supporters attempting to break into his hideout, or the president withdrawing his support from the SPK. i also think it's worth mentioning that despite him having been alone when he deduced that Mikami was X-Kira, he did invite both Gevanni and Rester into the room individually to ask for their opinions on who stands out to them from the broadcasts, so he could, in his words, use them as a reference. this suggests that he does not just share his thoughts and ask for input because he feels obligated to do so as a member of a team, but that he deems their contributions worth taking into account. it seems to me that he genuinely values the input and presence of his team and recognises that they are instrumental in solving the case; thus he offers them the courtesy of hearing his thoughts at every stage throughout the case, and explaining the logic behind the duties he needs them to perform for him.

once again, though, it's tough to analyse Near's social skills & habits when looking purely through the lens of his interactions with his employees, and there are limited options to investigate outside of the SPK. one thing that is clear to me, though, is that he draws very clear lines between people he does and doesn't respect, and treats them differently as a result. Light is the best example of a person Near does not respect. even before establishing that Light is Kira, Near has no issues telling him to his face that he and the task force are incompetent. after deducing that Light is Kira, Near is snarky with him, calls him out on his lies, and is the only person in the entirety of Death Note who tells Light to his face that he is a mass murderer, not a God. this ties both into Near's bluntness & honesty and his lack of desire for social approval; he has no interest in pretending to like people he fundamentally does not.

the best example of someone Near does respect, in my opinion, is Mello. Near's relationship with Mello is a particularly interesting case to analyse as an outlier amongst the people he interacts with. Mello is the only person we see him engage with (other than the brief exchange between him and Linda) whom he has history with beyond the Kira case, and who is neither a direct ally nor masquerading as one. Mello is actively working against Near, and thus, in theory, Near has no allegiance to him, nor any reason to be polite to him unless he considers Mello a potential threat whom he needs to be especially sensitive towards - which clearly isn't the case, given he makes no effort to appease Mello when his gun is pointed at Near and instead gives Mello permission to shoot him. so the way he speaks about and to Mello is very notable to me. it's abundantly clear to me that Near likes Mello and has a lot of respect for him. he praises Mello on his ability to get the Death Note before the SPK could, and does not hold Mello's crimes against him. Near talks about Kira and his followers with disdain and condemns them for their crimes, but he vehemently defends Mello, and is very quick to justify Mello's actions. he also went to great lengths to protect Mello by contacting everyone he knew of who had seen Mello’s face, and kept his photo protected for five years.

however, Near also puts very little effort into forming any sort of amicable relationship with Mello, as far as we can tell from canon. he accepts Roger's request for them to work together, but does not complain or attempt to stop Mello when he walks out. he does not console Mello over L's death, either, and he makes no attempt to extend his interactions with Mello later in the manga when Mello visits his headquarters and sends Mogi to him so they can conduct a joint interrogation. he never tries to convince Mello to like him and he doesn’t make a big deal about the effort he has put into protecting him. what this shows, in my opinion, is that if Near does have any interest in befriending and/or working with Mello (the latter of which i think is implied, and the former is more so a matter of interpretation), he does not want to force those relationships. he would be willing to align himself with Mello directly, but he does not want Mello to do so out of any sense of obligation. since Mello has made it clear that he has no interest in working with him, Near does not try to persuade him, and is perfectly comfortable to let him follow his own path if that is what he wishes to do. this could also give context to his apparent lack of friendships at Wammy's House, as specified in Volume 13 - if all of this is true, it's possible that there were others at Wammy's House whom he liked and would have been open to befriending, but because of his unwillingness to take initiative when it comes to forming these relationships, he gave off the impression that he was not interested, and would rather be alone.

[partyanimal167]

Pretty Sounds- Kid x Reader x Killer

I've been wanting to write these two for awhile, so I'm throwing this out there to get a groove started. Thanks for stopping by~

CW: NSFW, voyeurism, masturbation, fem reader, dirty talk, slight misuse of haki

It really wasn't like him to just stand and listen. But he couldn't stop himself. He just had to hear more.

Let Killer tell it, he was honestly just trying to tell you that he took your laundry out the dryer. He knew that people didn't like their personal things touched and just wanted to give you a warning. He was walking down the hall towards your room when he barely heard the sounds.

He was a step away from your door, ready to knock, when the door push against the frame with a thud. "Fuck, Kid~" your whine was muffled.

Killer froze. That was definitely your voice, but he never heard it like that. It was always steady, confident. Cheerful and friendly. Silly and strong. But this sound wasn't.

It was needy and desperate.

The vice captain didn't think much about Kid's whereabouts. It was after dinner, so he usually isolated himself to look at maps or tinker with a few projects. But Killer was wondering now.

His hand twitched and wanted to open the door, but then another voice started. "Don't be so loud, princess. You want everyone knowing you're being a slut for your captain?"

Killer knew that voice too well. Years spent together, he was acquainted with Kid's arrogant tone, yet noted the gruffness to it.

His brain was screaming, telling him to leave and forget about whatever was going on behind that door. But there was something curiously poking at him too.

It couldn't hurt to stay another minute, just to be sure of his assumptions.

~~~

Kid grinned at you meanly as he continued to pound you into the door. He teased you about your volume but wasn't doing much better himself. He groaned at the way your pussy clenched around him. It was so nice hearing all those sounds you made as you got fucked dumb and held on tightly to his arms.

He was so in the moment he almost missed that distinct metal sound close by. He would have ignored it, yet just to be sure, he flexed that rare ability of his before grinning wildly to himself. He didn't mind an audience.

You gasped as you were lifted further up the door then suffocated by Kid's presence looming over you. He started speaking in your ear.

...

"Your pussy feels so good for daddy, doll. I got it all nice and wet. You like getting dicked down, huh?" Kid teased. His voice ran through your whole body and you moaned loudly in response. He groaned as you scratched up his back.

The smack to your thigh rung loudly. You gasped. "Daddy!"

Killer knew he was in trouble. He should have left before he got this deep in all of this. He was leaning against the door with an arm pillowing his head and a hand palming his front. He bit his lip to quiet himself which was proving to be a struggle as he got an earful of Kid's dirty talk and your delicious moans. The door beat against him slightly, and he scolded himself for not leaving.

He couldn't help it. After spending months daydreaming about you and years with his partner, it was a blessing and curse hearing what sexy ass scene was playing out. He made a mental note to punish Kid later. He'd let him have his fun tonight though.

Suddenly, Killer felt a shiver down his spine. Something was up.

The door stopped shaking, but Kid's voice was clear as day. "We got a little admirer, princess. How about we show 'im how good you can handle the two of us. I know you can do it."

Killer jolted then turned to get the fuck out, but the door swung open and he was pulled into your room. He stared dumbly as you laid out on your back naked breathing heavily--recovering from an orgasm.

He turned his attention, hearing Kid's laugh. He groaned. "You know rule number 2, big boy."

Killer's blush crawled up to his ears, yet he didn't hesitate to reach for his helmet and toss it off. His hair spread all over and he bit his lip trying to keep his eyes off you.

"Killer," you called after propping yourself up on your elbows. He only grunted in response.

Kid grabbed his chin and laughed in his face. "Don't be rude to princess. She wants to show you something."

The blonde turned his head before gulping hard. You grinned as you spread your legs and showed off how much of a mess Kid left behind. He whimpered.

"See princess, I told you he makes the prettiest noise. Let's get him to make some more."

~~~

Aaah, I'm happy I got this out. It was quick idea tbh but I love reading about these two. (I'd pay money to be their princess)

Thanks for reading!

[cuddleyhoney]

cozy times

ok this is just a small thought (john wick au imagine) >_<

Imagine being wrapped in John Wick's strong yet gentle embrace as you snuggle together on the couch, engrossed in a horror film. The flickering light from the screen casts dancing shadows across the room, but every time a particularly frightening scene comes on, you feel his fingers start to caress your arm soothingly. His touch is a balm, a reassurance that you're safe, and his warmth radiates comfort even in the midst of the movie's suspenseful moments.

John is the epitome of lovey-dovey kindness, his actions speaking volumes about his affection for you. Every week, you both set aside time for a special tradition that's become a cherished routine. It's your movie night, a time to unwind and share moments of togetherness. Your go-to is revisiting older films from the '80s and '90s, complete with a spread of popcorn and delectable sweet treats. The shared laughter and commentary make these movie nights unforgettable, and it's clear that John treasures every second spent in your company.

In these quiet hours, you notice the little things that make your bond unique. John loves the way your sweet scent lingers on his clothes after a cuddle, a testament to the closeness you share. As the movie progresses and the cozy blankets cocoon you both, the line between wakefulness and slumber begins to blur. Held in each other's arms, you drift off to sleep, the tranquility of the moment creating a bubble of contentment around you.

When morning light starts to filter through the curtains, it's John who stirs first. His awakening is always a gradual process, and you find it endearing how he snuggles his head into the crook of your neck, reminiscent of a cozy Sanrio character seeking comfort. It's as if he's savoring the intimacy of the morning, relishing the simple joy of being close to you.

i thought this was so cutesie hehe