#there is no word in any language to express that

[undead-moth]

In order for any of this post to make the point it’s trying to make, it needs to completely ignore 1) nonviolent uses of fuck (and there are many) and 2) other nonviolent euphemisms for sex (and there are many) lmao.

Yes people use fuck violently. They also say “just fuck me up” to mean something like “let go” or “stop caring@ or similarly “let’s get fucked up” to mean “let’s get drunk and have fun.” They say “I fucking love this’ to add emphasis. They say “I fucked up” to mean “made a mistake.” They say “fucking around” to mean “goofing off.” Like. Are you kidding. There are a million nonviolent uses of the word fuck. Due to it being a curse word, it’s going to be used in a variety of ways.

People also say “I slept with him” and common phrases like “Netflix and chill” and “hooked up” and “got laid” and “made whoopie” and “went at it” and so so so many other things I can’t even think of right now. If there’s one word in this language that probably has a million euphemisms, it’s sex and many if not most would be nonviolent or at least not crude do to how excessively the word sex has been censored over time lmao

There are also very legitimate reasons not to use “making love” when you mean “fucking.” “Making love” isn’t dirty talk and many people like dirty talk. It would also be really weird to say you “made love” about a one-night-stand or something, given that the kind of intimacy and deep connection and well, romantic love implied in “making love” probably isn’t there with a one-night-stand.

And sure, our culture has in some ways tried to remove the concept of “intimacy and vulnerability and emotion” from sex but it is erroneous to attribute this to patriarchy.

Part of the reason why people have made efforts to remove these things from sex is in defiance of a (patriarchal!) culture that has always asserted that sex is something that should be reserved for marriage, and only ever done with one person, and that sexual expression of any kind outside of god-fearing vanilla heterosexual reproductive sex is sinful and wrong and shameful.

Efforts to remove intimacy/vulnerability/emotion from sex are in part an effort to take the shame and Christianity out of sex. People are resisting the idea that sex has to be with someone you’re committed to, or in love with and asserting that sex is a neutral act people can do for pleasure with whoever they want.

This has benefitted women. Historically women far more than men have been societally punished for sexual expression and for having sex when they weren’t supposed to, in a way they weren’t supposed to, or with someone they weren’t supposed to. They are also expected to be coy and ladylike when talking about sex in a way men aren’t. It is a good thing that women can fuck if they want to and it says a lot if you think that any sex that is not tender touches in the quiet dark with your one true love forevermore or talking about it in any other way is somehow by default violent to women.

The Will To Change by Bell Hooks fucked me up good

[gyubakeries]

𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 | x.mh

a/n: A BREAK FROM ANGST!!! this is very much needed, and the idea had been brewing for a while hehe. skye ( @etherealyoungk ) thank u for being my enabler. ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) , kae ( @ylangelegy ) and a ( @chugging-antiseptic-dye ) thank you for beta-reading <333 also tagging tara ( @diamonddaze01 ) and serena ( @gotta-winwin ) because we all are deprived of happiness..... also i apologize for the lack of artist minghao, i just needed to feed my angsty brain SOME FLUFF

word count: 2k contents: minghao x f!reader , art teacher!minghao , best friend!minghao , single mom!mc , friends to lovers , she has a son named junseo , the biological dad dipped lol , junseo is 6 , swearing , light angst , fluff , crack

“sweetie, two times two is four, not six,” you sigh, repeating the words all over again when your son makes the same mistake for the seventh time. it’s been an hour since you sat down with his math homework, and you’ve only managed to finish five questions. out of twenty.

“oh fuck,” your son mutters, erasing out the crude 6 he had written and replacing it with a 4.

you blink.

“junseo, what did you just say?”

“fuck,” junseo repeats with a smile on his face, and somehow, it feels even more shocking than the first time he said it.

“okay, listen carefully to mom,” you sigh. “that’s a bad word. you’re not supposed to use it. ever.”

“why can’t i say it?” junseo questions, like every other kid his age.

“because it’s a bad word,” you state firmly. “where did you hear this?” you ask him. ever since junseo was born, you’ve taken a lot of care to make sure he doesn’t learn and use any explicit language. whenever your parents or friends are babysitting him, you make sure to tell them to avoid any movies or songs with heavy cursing in them for this exact reason.

“hao taught me!” junseo reveals. “in yesterday’s art class, hao spilled his dirty paint water all over himself, and then he said… the bad word!” 

your eye twitches.

“xu minghao, i will kill you,” you whisper under your breath.

“mom! you can’t kill hao! he’s my best friend,” junseo gasps, completely believing your words.

“start looking for a new one then, sweetie,” you tell him, and it takes another hour for you to calm a crying junseo down by promising him that you won’t actually kill minghao.

the math homework remains unfinished.

—

minghao, your best friend, has been in your life since forever. he was there when you were the shy, introverted girl in high school with no friends. he was there when you had a ‘hoe phase’ in college. he was there when you got your first job. he was also around to see junseo’s biological father vanish from your life the day he learned about your pregnancy.

before junseo, you’d jokingly complain that minghao had been in your life for too long. but now, seeing how your son has labelled minghao as his own best friend as well, you can’t help but be grateful for his presence.

having been friends for almost all your lives has also granted the both of you the ability to read each other’s expressions flawlessly, which is why when minghao welcomes you and junseo into his apartment for lunch on a saturday, he knows that your death glare means he’s in trouble.

“hao!” junseo exclaims, hugging minghao tightly as soon as he enters the apartment. “i got my new drawing to show you! i colored it the way you taught me.”

“i’m sure it’s lovely, jun,” minghao smiles, giving the boy a high-five. “how about you watch some peppa pig now, hm? your mom and i will go to the kitchen to finish making lunch, okay? then we can look at your drawing.”

“okay, hao!” junseo agrees easily, and you couldn’t be more thankful for how obedient your boy is. 

once junseo was distracted by the television, you drag minghao into his kitchen and face him with a stern look.

“do you know what junseo said to me last week?” you glare at him, and minghao gulps nervously.

“uh, no?”

“he got his math homework wrong, and unlike any other kid his age, he says, fuck,” you recount the events of the previous week. “when i asked him where he heard it, he told me that you said it in front of him during art class.”

“oh, so that’s what this is about,” minghao sighs with relief. “god, y/n, with the way you’re looking at me, it feels like i robbed your house or something.”

“this is worse, minghao!” you counter. “you know how particular i am when it comes to junseo and cursing.”

“i do know, and i’m sorry,” minghao winces. “but it was an accident! i would never do it intentionally. why are you getting so worked up over it?”

your anger dissipates immediately as you freeze in place. minghao deduces your body language as a sign of you hiding something from him.

“there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?” minghao asks, his voice much gentler now. “did someone do something at work?”

you sigh, knowing that keeping anything from minghao was a futile exercise. “yeah, this jerk kept trying to hit on me, even after i told him i was uncomfortable. he won’t leave me alone, and it’s pissing me off.”

“why don’t you tell your boss about it?” minghao frowns.

“there’s been budget cuts at the company, and they’re looking for any reason to fire people,” you explain. “with junseo’s school fees getting more expensive, i can’t afford to lose my job now. the stress of it all has had me in a bad mood. i’m not even that mad about the cursing, i’m sorry i took it out on you.” you admit to minghao, feeling a lot more lighter after sharing your burden with him.

“we’ve had too many arguments to apologize over something stupid like this,” minghao chuckles, but then his expression turns serious. “but also, if you’re struggling with his fees, why don’t you let me help? i keep telling you that i’m more than capable of paying junseo’s fees—”

“i don’t need your help, hao!” you cut him off.

“why not?”

“because it feels like you’re doing it out of some obligation,” you tell him. “look, i’m really thankful that you were there to support me when junseo’s dad left and i had no one, but i can manage junseo on my own just fine. i don’t want you to help me out of pity and—”

“y/n, do you think that i’ve stuck around all this time just because i pity you?” minghao interrupts you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

your heart stutters when your eyes meet his, and you’re reminded of yet another problem in your life.

the crush on minghao you had back in college which has somehow developed into something more over the years.

you’re afraid to label it, because it means that it makes everything real. labelling the flutter in your chest and the tingling in your palms whenever minghao smiles at you or offers to take care of junseo on nights where you have to work over time would mean acknowledging that you did have feelings for minghao, which was unfortunately another luxury you couldn’t afford.

not when minghao definitely saw you only as a friend.

“i— i just don’t want you to feel compelled to help me just because i’m your friend,” you stutter, looking away from minghao.

“i only help because i care for both you and junseo,” minghao shakes his head, trying to convince you with the sincerity in his tone. “you two are the most precious people in my life, and i’d do anything to make sure you were happy. so just let me help, okay? there’s nothing wrong in asking for help when you need it.”

your eyes well up with tears embarrassingly quickly, and you duck your head so that minghao doesn’t have to see you like that. minghao is quicker than you, however, and he gently holds your chin to lift your face up.

“are you shy about crying in front of me now?” he teases, but his eyes reflect a look of concern. “we’ve seen each other through every phase of our lives, y/n. you don’t have to hide from me.”

his words are enough to make your tears spill over. you’re quick to wrap minghao in a hug, placing your head on his chest while his arms hold you by the waist. he doesn’t say anything; he just lets you cry into his shoulder as he gently sways you and pats your back.

“i’m sorry i’m such a wreck,” you sniffle, pulling away from the hug. before you can get too close, however, minghao is pulling you in closer, and the lack of an appropriate, friendly distance between your lips has your breath hitching.

“don’t you get it, y/n?” his voice carries a hint of annoyance. “i don’t want you to apologize for being a wreck. i don’t want you to hesitate to ask me for help. i don’t want you to think that i’m obliging you by being in your life. i’m here because i want you. i want to be here for junseo, but i also want to be here to take care of you. have i not made it obvious?”

his confession has your jaw dropping open. your brain has turned to mush, and you can’t find it in you to string together a coherent response.

just then, junseo is padding into the kitchen, and it has you and minghao scrambling away from each other immediately.

“mom, i’m hungry,” junseo complains. “can we have lunch now?”

—

lunch is an awkward affair— for you and minghao at least. junseo seems blissfully unaware of the uncomfortable tension between you and minghao as he slurps away on his noodles and shares stories from school. you feel a little bad for zoning out in the middle of his stories, but you can’t help but replay minghao’s words over and over in your head.

however, the moment you tune into the conversation again, you hear something else that makes your head spin.

“— and she was asking me if i had a dad, and i said yes. but the girl said i was lying because my dad never accompanies my mom for any of the events at school,” junseo blabbers. “so, i asked mrs. lee who a dad really is, and she said that my dad is my best friend and a person i trust the most. he’s also a person who loves my mom, but she has to love him back too, and i knew i wasn’t lying! hao, you’re my dad, right?”

you choke on your noodles and minghao’s chopsticks clatter against his plate.

“oh, fuck.”

“minghao!”

—

“i can’t believe it took junseo’s constant yapping for you to reveal your feelings for me,” minghao teases, and you shove his shoulder playfully.

“and i can’t believe you swore in front of junseo. again,” you roll your eyes at him, and minghao presses a kiss to your temple as he mutters an apology.

the kiss has the butterflies in your stomach flitting around restlessly; it is a new development after all. soon after junseo’s declaration of minghao being his dad, you dragged minghao back into the kitchen to have a proper conversation, this one involving the truth about your feelings for him, and him asking you to be his girlfriend.

you had expected some sort of dramatic shift. dating your best friend of fifteen years sounds like it requires some sort of drastic change, but it feels surprisingly easy. in fact, it doesn’t feel like much of a change at all, not when having minghao by your side feels as natural as breathing.

“i’ll be more mindful of my words,” minghao promises, and you lean into his embrace, curling up closer to him on the couch, when junseo plops down right between the two of you, tv remote clutched in his hands.

“we’re watching how to train your dragon today!” he announces happily, and you watch with a fond smile as minghao and junseo engage in an animated conversation related to the movie.

there’s a flutter in your chest. there’s a tingling sensation in your palms. they’re all tell-tale signs of an emotion you’ve been hesitating to label all this while.

love, your heart tells you later on, when junseo and minghao have fallen asleep on the couch, junseo’s hands gently gripping onto minghao’s shirt and minghao’s arms protectively wrapped around him.

you find yourself agreeing with your heart. this feeling, it can’t be anything else but love.

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[gh0stly-mp3]

do me a favour

michael kaiser x gn!reader

synopsis: you finally decide to stand up for yourself and put an end in your toxic relationship with kaiser

tags: music fic, song fic, angst, kaiser is an asshole

warnings: break up, hurt no comfort, toxic relationship, mature language

a/n: hey! i'll be less frequent (cause i have to live), but one or two times a week i might post something! see y'all! - btw requests are open :)

masterlist.

The rain outside seemed to match the storm inside you, and as the minutes passed, it felt like every drop falling from the sky mirrored the tears falling from your eyes.

Kaiser is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that look in his eyes. It’s the same look he used to give you when (he thought) he knew what you were thinking. The one that made you feel like you were under a microscope, always being judged.

You can feel the familiar tension in the air, that awful, charged feeling that always came before a breakdown. The kind of breakdown that left you both bruised, but never quite broken. Not until now.

"I’m not playing anymore" - You say, your voice shaky. - "It’s over. And honestly, I don’t care what you think about it. I don’t want this anymore."

Kaiser doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at you with that look you know all too well — the one that always made you feel small, as if you were nothing more than an accessory to his life. But today, you won’t be that. Not anymore.

“Is that what you think?” - He raises an eyebrow, voice smooth, but the seriousness in it’s clear. - "You really think you're better off without me?"

It’s almost laughable, how easily he dismisses everything.

"Do me a favor and stop flattering yourself" - You reply, standing still, even if your heart feels like it's being torn apart. - "I’m better off without pretending to be someone I’m not just to please you. Without you thinking you're the only thing that matters."

Kaiser takes a step closer, his eyes scanning your face, as if looking for any sign of weakness. But you’ve made your decision. You won’t break this time.

“Oh, so that's how it is, hm? Now I’m the bad guy here” - He’s taunting now, but there's something in his voice that catches you off guard, something that almost sounds... frustrated. - "Maybe it’s you who doesn’t get it."

“Save it, Michael” - You whisper. - “I can’t keep pretending you care when all you do is tear me apart. This... us... it’s over.”

His expression shifts again, but it’s not the anger you expect. Instead, there’s a flicker of something darker — a mixture of frustration and something else. Maybe it’s regret. But it’s fleeting. His complex smirk returns almost immediately. - "You’re making a mistake, you know it."

You look away, unable to meet his eyes. The tears sting the back of your eyes, but you won’t let them fall. Not for him. Not this time.

“I’m not” - You reply. - “You’re the one who’s been making mistakes all along. You just never cared to admit it."

Kaiser steps back, running a hand through his hair. He’s trying to regain his composure, to return to that untouchable version of himself, the one that never showed weakness. But even now, there’s something there — something you almost wish you could have held on to. Something that might have meant more, if only he had let it.

He pauses, and for a fleeting moment, you think you might see something shift in his eyes. But then, that mask is back. His expression hardens, and the Kaiser you’ve known — the arrogant, invincible version of him — is back.

“Fine" - He says with a sharp exhale, the word almost like a challenge. - "Do me a favor." - His voice softens just enough for you to catch it. - "Tell me to go away."

You finally turn to face him, holding your ground. The weight of the moment presses on your chest, but there’s no turning back now. Kaiser stands there for a moment, looking at you like he's trying to find something in your expression — some trace of doubt, some spark of the person he used to have under his control. But it’s gone. You’ve made your choice, and he made his.

"I already did."

He stares at you for a long moment, trying to process what you just said. Maybe it’s the realization that you’re finally strong enough to walk away. Maybe it’s something he’s never fully allowed himself to acknowledge: that he’s lost you.

"Fuck off, Michael."

The finality of the words cuts through the silence. And this time, you turn your back without hesitation. You know he’s not going to chase you this time. He doesn’t need to. This is the moment that was always going to come, the one you both avoided, but now it's here. And you won’t look back. He had forced you to be cold.

You turn away before you can hear him say anything else, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given him everything — your love, your time, your heart — but you won’t let him break you anymore.

Curiosity had once pulled you in, made you think you could unravel all the pieces of Michael Kaiser. But now, you understand. The truth is simple. He had always been too much of a mystery to solve, and in the end, it was that mystery that kept you trapped in a cycle of longing, pain, and false hope.

Later that evening, as the rain continues to pour outside, you sit in your room, the weight of the past few hours pressing down on you. The silence is overwhelming, but there’s something good about it now. It’s not the quiet that suffocates; it’s the quiet that heals.

"Perhaps 'fuck off' might be too kind." - You think to yourself, remembering everything he has done to you all along. But now, you’ve learned that walking away doesn’t always mean losing. Sometimes, it means saving yourself.

[luvsferrariss]

˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ who said that I hate you? - OO2

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: Where Y/n, in an attempt to escape from Charles, her rival, fails because Charles keeps getting closer, and Y/n starts to like it.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Charles Leclerc x Female Reader! Red Bull Driver

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Warnings: Cute, Charles has improved from his foolishness, nothing too serious in this one, just fluff 🤍

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Notes: I didn’t really like this story, it feels like I couldn’t develop it very well, but I hope you like it! English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ part one here ! 🤍

You couldn’t deny how Charles’ proximity brought several consequences, like: the media. Everyone was speculating so many things that happened between you two, theories totally out of reality. You tried to avoid him as much as you could or push him away, but he was always there, and that irritated you.

When you thought the wave of bad luck had ended, the universe conspired against you again.

This time it wasn’t your fault. It was finally your chance to make it to the podium, you were in second place, and because of a mistake from your team, you ended up in sixteenth place. After the race, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, and everyone knew it.

Then you hear a knock on the door but completely ignore it.

“I know you’re in there,” Charles says, and you just ignore him again.

After a while, you hear another knock. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Go away, Leclerc,” you say straightforwardly.

After your response, there’s a deadly silence, then you just close your eyes and sigh. But within a few seconds, you get startled when your door opens.

Clearly, Charles hadn’t left, so he decides to check and see how you’re doing, then opens the unlocked door.

“Are you crazy, you idiot?” you say, irritated as he enters, still recovering from the shock. Charles smiles and leans against the doorframe.

“Before anything, I need to know. Are you going to break something? Because if you are, just let me know and I’ll leave,” Charles asks calmly, making your blood boil.

“I’ll break you, idiot!” you say, throwing a pillow at him, which he just catches.

“Look how bold you are,” Charles laughs, and you huff.

“Go to hell.” Your voice is quieter now. “What kind of idiot enters someone’s room uninvited?”

He ignores the provocation and gets closer, throwing himself on the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stressing yourself out alone won’t help anything, you know?” You squint your eyes at his words.

“Since when do you care about what I do?” He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, like he’s analyzing every expression.

“Since when did you stop hating me?” Charles says, and in that instant, you freeze.

And Charles notices.

His gaze locks on you for a second that’s too long, and for the first time, there’s something beyond rivalry there.

You look away, feeling your heart race in a way that annoys you deeply.

“Go screw yourself,” you say, still not looking at him, and Charles laughs softly.

“You’ve said that before, Y/n.”

He stands up and walks towards the door. But before leaving, he throws one last provocation:

“Try not to think too much about me, Y/n.”

And then, he leaves, leaving you even more confused and furious than before, not knowing what to respond.

( . . . )

The tension between you two grows to an unbearable point. Everything explodes in a tense practice, where Charles makes an aggressive move, and Y/n nearly hits the wall.

When you both get out of the cars, she goes straight to him in the pit lane, pushing him in the chest.

“What’s your problem?! You could’ve slammed me into the wall!”

Charles grabs her wrists, stopping her from pushing him again.

“You’re shaking. Are you scared, Y/n?” he asks, almost choking on the words.

You pull your arms forcefully, your face burning with anger.

“I will NEVER be afraid of you!”

He leans in slightly, closing the distance between them.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

You pale.

Charles smiles.

You’re so angry that you almost punch him right there. But instead, you just glare at him with hatred and walk away.

But, for the first time, that hatred doesn’t feel so simple.

( . . . )

After that fight, Charles pulls back a bit. He stops provoking her so much, but Y/n misses it. This deeply irritates her.

Until one night, before an important race, she finds him alone in the pits, sitting with his arms crossed, staring at the car.

Without thinking, you approach him.

“So, you think sometimes too. I thought you only talked nonsense.” You say, stopping beside him.

Charles smiles, but doesn’t make a joke.

“Hey, what’s up, idiot? You’re way too quiet.” Her question makes him sigh.

You frown.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be tough,” Charles murmurs.

She frowns.

“You always say that, and in the end, you go speeding like there’s no tomorrow.” You respond, rolling your eyes, stating the obvious.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his face.

“This time it’s weird. I’ve been feeling bad since yesterday, like I have a fever or something.” His words make you worry, but you don’t show it.

“What?”

“If they find out, they won’t let me race. So you’re the only one who knows, and if you tell anyone, you’re done.” He says jokingly, and you cross your arms, skeptical.

“So you’re gonna hide this until you pass out in the car? Great plan.”

Charles gives a slight smile.

“I thought you’d like the idea. If I pass out, you can finally get first place.” You roll your eyes, but inside, you feel a strange tightness in your chest. He was really sick. And still, he was there, ready to race.

You sigh. You didn’t understand why this feeling of worry, especially since, above all, you hated each other, right? Of course, you hated each other, and could never be friends.

“You’re an idiot. But a fast idiot.” Charles turns his face to Y/n, surprised by the concern.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Charles says sincerely, and you just roll your eyes as if you hadn’t said anything, but the truth was that you were really “kind,” and you didn’t understand why.

“Don’t get used to it,” you say bluntly.

But when you leave, you hate admitting that something between you two has changed.

And you didn’t know what it was.

( . . . )

The heat inside the car was suffocating, and Charles felt the sweat trickling down his neck as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. His body felt heavy, the fever draining his strength, but he couldn’t back down.

On the radio, the voice of the team sounded distant.

“Charles, how are the conditions?” The engineer asks, as usual.

He presses the radio button, trying to sound normal.

“Everything’s under control.”

Lie.

Nothing was under control, and Charles knew it, but he couldn’t admit it. The race seemed to last longer than expected, every corner demanding more from him than he was used to. His vision seemed blurry at times, but he was already here, and there was no way to quit.

A few laps later, Y/n had already noticed something was wrong. She saw Henrique in the rearview mirror, struggling more than usual to keep pace. He wasn’t driving with his usual aggression.

“Shit, he’s worse than he seemed yesterday,” you think to yourself, growing concern building up.

You grip the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. Why were you worrying about him?

On lap 38, a mistake. Small, but enough.

Charles brakes too late in a corner and ends up sliding, losing position to Y/n. You pass him, but, when glancing at the car beside you, you see his hand trembling on the steering wheel.

He won’t make it through the entire race.

Y/n’s engineer’s voice comes through the radio:

“Good job, P2 now. Keep pushing the leader.” Your engineer says happily, but you weren’t on the same level of happiness.

You should be satisfied. But, for the first time, you weren’t.

When the race ends, Charles can barely get out of the car. As soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs give out. The fever, the exhaustion… everything hit him at once. He stumbles a little, trying to hide it, but before he can fall, someone catches him.

You.

You hold his arm firmly, preventing him from collapsing right there.

“I knew you were gonna do this shit,” you say, irritated.

Charles lets out a weak laugh.

“And I knew you’d catch me if I fell.” Charles says, cocky, making you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go of his arm.

The journalists notice the scene and begin to approach with cameras and microphones, sniffing out an interesting moment.

Before anyone can ask anything, Y/n steps forward, blocking Charles from their view.

“No questions right now. He needs rest.” You say firmly, but the journalists don’t leave.

Charles looks at you, surprised by the attitude. He didn’t expect this from you, not really.

You look at him.

“Come on, before I regret helping you.” You say, helping him again, making his body lean against yours.

Charles smiles lightly, liking the idea of being close to you.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You sigh, impatient.

“I swear, if you say that again…” you say, impatient, but a slight blush creeping onto your face. Thankfully, you could say it was because of the race.

Charles laughs, but inside, he feels that something between you two has changed.

( . . . )

The deafening roar of the engines had faded, replaced by the cheers and applause of the crowd. You had won. Your first victory in Formula 1.

It was a dream come true, beyond just proving your ability and strength to everyone. You were radiant like never before, a genuine smile on your face.

You were on the podium, holding the trophy, champagne dripping through your fingers. Max and Lando, beside you, were smiling, but you could barely process anything. The world seemed like a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Your first victory after racing against rumors and trying to prove you were capable. And even more so, you were beside people you could trust and count on forever.

It was so rewarding.

The podium ceremony and trophy presentation, you couldn’t have been happier. Lando and Max, without excitement, sprayed champagne on you, celebrating.

When you were finally ready for interviews, you felt someone pull you by the wrist to a secluded spot.

You had seen this scene before, and your heart sank.

“Lando, please don’t tell me it’s another fake news about me,” you murmur sadly, and when you turn, you see Charles.

He says nothing. He just looks at you with an intensity that makes you forget all the confusion around you.

“You did it.” His voice is quieter than you imagined, but there’s a genuine smile on Charles’ face. You laugh, sighing.

“I did it, didn’t I? This is crazy. Doesn’t even feel real!” you say, like a child who just got a candy. You’re so happy, and it captivates your rival.

Charles hesitates for a second. You notice he wants to say something else, but at the last moment, he just smiles and pulls you into a tight, unexpected hug.

This time, you don’t resist and hug him back.

You both pull away from the hug, and the adrenaline runs through your body. Until you hear someone call your name, you quickly say a “see you later” to Charles and leave him there alone, thinking.

Charles’ heart hurt when he saw your fear that there might be more bad news about you.

It was clear Charles had been a jerk to you since he entered Formula 1, but he really didn’t understand why.

Maybe it was because pretending to hate you was easier than saying he loved you.

But he felt guilty instantly when he saw you broken, crying on Lando’s shoulder, when he saw you more vulnerable than ever.

He hated everyone who made you cry, and from that day on, he made a promise to himself: he didn’t want to be that kind of person.

The team decided to celebrate the win with a dinner. Everyone was there – the engineers, the drivers, even some members of the media. You were sitting next to Lando, listening to some nonsense joke he was telling, but you could feel a gaze on you.

When you looked up, there he was.

Charles, across the table, holding a glass, watching you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

His eyes didn’t shift, not even when you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say something.

And then, he smiled.

Small, discreet, but the kind of smile that made something inside you tremble.

You swallow hard and look away.

Damn it.

You turn back to Lando to hide it, but soon laugh at a completely absurd joke, laughing the same way Lando did at his own joke.

Later that night, you were outside the restaurant, enjoying the fresh air. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the muffled sound of the celebration still echoed from inside.

“Running away from your own party?” You jump, startled, as soon as you hear someone behind you.

But as soon as you recognize the familiar voice, your heart skips a beat. You slowly turn around, and Charles is there, hands in his pockets, that intense look again.

“I just needed a moment.” You reply, looking away from Charles, now staring at the ground.

He nods and steps closer, stopping beside you. The silence between you two feels different now. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not easy to ignore either. When you look up again and look at Charles beside you, your heart skips.

Then, he extends his hand and, without warning, brushes a strand of hair from your face.

Your body stiffens. The touch is brief, but the skin where he touched feels like it’s burning. You see when Charles notices. You see when he finally understands.

And then, he smiles again.

“This might be a problem,” Charles says, looking at you with a smile. You just breathe deeply and nod, now looking away at the view in front of you. You can feel Charles staring at you.

( . . . )

In the next race, everything seemed normal. Or at least, it should have been.

You were talking with Lando and Max in the paddock, laughing at some silly thing Lando had just said. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, until you felt that gaze again.

Charles.

He was just a few meters away, arms crossed, listening to an engineer speak, but clearly not paying attention. His gaze was fixed on you. You did everything to hide the nervousness he caused, but your cheeks flushed slightly, and once again, your heart was faltering. You tried to focus on the conversation between the two drivers in front of you, but you failed miserably.

When your eyes met, something shifted. Your breath stopped in your throat, and time seemed to slow down. The only thing you could hear was your heart racing.

He squinted his eyes, as if irritated, leaving you confused. You raised an eyebrow and turned back to your friends. After a few minutes, you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You turned around and saw the person you really wanted to avoid.

“Y/n, can we talk?” Charles said, sounding irritated. You were confused and choked on your own saliva. Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the interruption. Lando looked at you, puzzled, then looked at Max.

“Now?” You asked, suspicious.

“Now,” Charles said firmly, and you nodded, with no real option.

You said goodbye to the others and followed him to a more secluded spot. Charles took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but in the end, he just blurted out:

“What were you doing with them?” He said bluntly, and you blinked, surprised. You opened your mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say.

“Excuse me?” You responded, still in shock.

“What were you doing with them? Max and Lando,” Charles repeated, moving a little closer to make sure he heard you right. You laughed in disbelief.

“Talking? Laughing? Ever heard of that?” You said, obviously crossing your arms.

He didn’t laugh. He remained serious.

“With Max? With Lando?” He asked again, and you tilted your head, still a little lost in all of this.

“Yes. What’s the problem?” You said innocently, and Charles thought it was cute, but then remembered why he was there.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“The problem is that…” He stopped in the middle of the sentence, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, now with a determined glint.

“Forget it.” The driver in front of you took a step forward. Now, you were so close that you could smell him, a mix of fuel and expensive cologne. Charles turned around to leave, but you grabbed his wrist, freezing him in place.

“What’s wrong, Charles?” You whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

He hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.

Then he murmured:

“I don’t like seeing you with them, I don’t know.” Charles shrugged. Your heart raced.

And for the first time, you saw in his eyes what you had only suspected before.

And you stood there for a while, just looking at each other. You sighed, half enjoying the confession, but it made you even more lost.

Then, without warning, Charles stepped closer, and again, you smelled him. You were only a few centimeters apart.

“C-Charles?” You called him.

“Yes?”

“What is this?” You asked, but completely lost in the proximity.

He didn’t answer. He just took a step forward, closing the distance between you. His hand found your face, hesitant at first, but firm enough for you to feel the warmth against your skin.

And then, without waiting any longer, Charles kissed you.

It wasn’t a rushed or uncertain kiss. It was something intense, charged with everything that had been hanging in the air for so long—unspoken teasing, glances that lasted a little too long, words never said but always felt.

You kissed him back without thinking. One of your hands grabbed his shirt, as if you needed something to hold on to. The other found his neck, feeling how he leaned in even more toward you.

The world around you disappeared.

It was just him. Just the two of you.

And when you finally pulled away, your faces still close, your breaths mixing, Charles smiled. That crooked, teasing smile, but now it was different—there was something more there now.

“Now tell me… are you still going to pretend this means nothing?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you didn’t look away. With a small smile, he gently ran his thumb across your cheek before adding, almost like a whisper:

“Because I can’t, I can’t pretend and deny what I feel for you, Y/n.”

( . . . )

The tension between you two had only grown since that conversation, that kiss. You couldn’t deny your mood had undoubtedly improved.

Now, minutes before the race start, you were on the grid, mentally reviewing the strategy, trying to concentrate. But your mind kept drifting back to Charles.

Then, he appeared. The red suit, the determined eyes, but at the same time… different.

He approached without hesitation.

“Good luck, Y/n,” you loved the way he said your name.

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Do I need it?” You asked, laughing, and Charles smiled.

He shrugged.

“No. But I needed an excuse.”

You furrowed your brow.

“An excuse for what?” You asked innocently again, and Charles smiled.

And then, again, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Not a full kiss. Just a touch, a test.

But it was enough to take your breath away.

Before you could react, he was already pulling away, putting on his helmet, and heading to his car. He turned to you and winked.

You stood there, frozen.

Lando, who had seen everything, whistled. You looked at him, lost, your face turning as red as a tomato.

“That was interesting,” he said, crossing his arms. You hit his arm.

Lando laughed and raised an eyebrow. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what, Norris?” You said impatiently.

“That you two are… like this,” he pointed to you and then to Charles.

“Like what?”

“Like this!” Lando said, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Y/n, you used to hate each other, and now he comes and kisses you in front of everyone, not even embarrassed.”

You couldn’t respond, just shrugged.

Because, in that moment, one thing became absolutely clear.

This was no longer a game.

( . . . )

You won.

Again.

But this time, the only thing you wanted wasn’t to lift the trophy or spray champagne.

It was to find Charles.

And he knew that.

As soon as the ceremony ended, you felt a hand on your wrist. He pulled you into a corner, away from the cameras, the journalists, any distractions.

His eyes were shining, but it wasn’t just from the race.

“How many more times are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?” Your chest tightened because you knew exactly what he meant.

You exhaled, a small smile forming on your lips.

“I think it’s already enough, right? You kissed me in front of everyone, I don’t think we need to pretend anymore.” You said, smiling like a happy little girl.

His smile grew, full of something new—certainty.

“Good.” And this time, when he leaned in, there were no doubts, hesitations, or teasing.

This time, it was real. And you knew there was no turning back, so you continued.

Charles pulled back and kissed your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with love.

“I want to hear that from you.” Charles said, holding your hand.

“Hear what?” You said, pretending not to understand, and Charles groaned, throwing his head back.

“If we’re going to be like this, I’ll say it first. Before anything, I want to apologize for being such a jerk. I thought pretending to hate you was easier than telling you how much I like you.” Charles sighed, and you felt like you were floating. Your heart leaped with joy, and the only thing you could do was hug him, so you did.

“It’s okay, Charles. This can stay in the past.” You said, still hugging him. Charles let go of you and held your waist firmly. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And besides, I think I like you a little too.”

“A little?” He complained, pretending to be offended.

“Yes, just a little.” You said, showing with your fingers how small the amount was. Charles laughed and gave you a quick kiss.

“You’re going to be my downfall, Y/n.” Charles said, and you kissed him.

[ditsycafe]

unplanned sweetness || p.js

pairings : park jay x female!reader

genre : fluff, angst?, sugar!daddy au

warnings : no strings attached, unexpected pregnancy (wrap it before you tap it), jay coded, dominant jay, mentions of being in reader raw.

work count : 5k

summary : Jay, a wealthy and dominant businessman, enjoys the arrangement has has with his sugar baby—you. The relationship is clear-cut: luxurious gifts, expensive vacations, and a no-strings —attached agreement. But after one drunken night where the two cross a line, everything changes. A few weeks later, you realise you’re pregnant. Now, you must fact the terrifying reality of breaking the news to jay, unsure of how he’ll react. Will he abandon the arrangement, or will this unexpected twist lead to something neither of you expected?

a/n : do not in any way plagiarise, translate my work to another language or claim my work as your own

The city lights blurred past as the sleek black car pulled up infront of your apartment. You sighed, kicking off your designer heels as soon as you stepped inside. The night had been long, filled with expensive champagne, laughter, and the familiar weight of jay’s possessive hand on your lower back.

Jay was many things—rich, powerful, and dangerously charming. He was also your sugar daddy, the man who spoiled you with lavish gifts and took care of your every need, as long as you followed the unspoken rules of your arrangement.

No attachments. No emotions. No complications.

But everything had changed three weeks ago.

Your fingers trembled as you clutched the pregnancy test, the two pink lines staring back at you like a cruel joke. You swallowed hard, your mind racing with memories of that drunken night—how jay’s usually controlled demeanour had slipped, how his hands had roamed your body with more desperation than ever before. How he had whispered your name like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

And now, here you were, pregnant with his child.

Your stomach churned as you thought about telling him. Jay wasn’t the type of man to deal with unexpected surprises. He liked control. He liked things on his terms.

Would this be the end of your arrangement?

would he turn his back on you?

You took a deep breath and reached for your phone.

It was time to find out.

Your fingers hovered over Jay’s contact name, your heart pounding so hard it drowned out all rational thought.

Just do it.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then his smooth, deep voice answered. “Didn’t expect to hear from you this late, sweetheart.”

You hesitated. How were you supposed to drop this bomb on him?

“Jay…” your voice wavered. “Can we talk, it’s important.”

A brief silence. Then, “Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“I’m on my way.”

The call ended before you could protest. Your stomach twisted as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale, anxious. The complete opposite of the poised, glamorous woman jay was used to seeing.

Fifteen minutes later, the familiar purr of his car’s engine reached your ears. A knock echoed through the apartment.

When you opened the door, Jay stood there, dressed in his usual tailored suit, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning your face with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping inside.

You swallowed hard. “I need to tell you something.”

Jay exuded authority and confidence, but this was the first time you’ve ever felt truly nervous into his presence.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re shaking.”

“I..” The words caught in your throat. Just say it. Rip off the band-aid. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

The air between you turned heavy, suffocating. Jay’s expression didn’t change at first—his dark eyes locked onto yours, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he hadn’t fully processed your words.

Then, he let out a slow breath. “Say that again.”

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered.

Jay took a step back, taking a hand through his hair. His usual composure cracked, just for a second. “And it’s mine.” It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. “We…that night… we weren’t careful.”

His jaw tensed. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I just found out,” you admitted. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Jay exhaled sharply, pacing for a moment before stopping infront of you. “And what do you want to do about this?”

Your heart clenched. “I don’t know.”

You had expected anger. Indifference. Maybe even an offer to make this problem go away.

But instead, jay stepped closer, his fingers tilting your chin up. His voice was softer now, more serious. “I take responsibility for what’s mine.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re saying…”

“You’re carrying my child,” he muttered, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Which means you’re not doing this alone.”

Jays words lingered in the air, thick with unspoken promises.

“You’re not doing this alone.”

You weren’t sure what you had expected—maybe cold detachment, maybe a check slid across the table to handle the situation—but not this. Not the firm resolve in his voice, the way his dark eyes held yours like he was already making plans in his head.

Your throat tightened, “what does that mean?”

“It means,” jay said slowly, as if the answer was obvious, “that you’re mine. And now, so is this baby.”

His possessiveness sent a shiver down your spine. Normally, you enjoyed it—it was part of the reason your arrangement had lasted so long. Jay wasn’t like other men. He didn’t just throw money at you and disappear. He wanted control. Over you. Over everything.

But this was different. This was real.

You took a shaky breath. “Jay, this isn’t just some business deal. This is a baby. A whole human being. You don’t just get to decide—“

“I do.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “You think I’d just walk away?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “We never talked about this. We never even thought this would happen.”

Jay’s gaze darkened. “That’s my fault. I was careless.” He ran a hand down his face, something almost frustrated in his expression. “I should’ve been more careful. But now that’s it’s happened, I won’t run from it.”

A lump formed in your throat. “So… what do we do?”

Jay was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tapping against his thigh as the thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Decisive.

“You’re moving in with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” Jay crossed his arms, his gaze locked onto yours. “You’re not staying here alone. I want you where I can take care of you.”

Your head spun. “Jay, that’s—“

“It’s not up for debate.” His tone left no room for argument. “I won’t have you stressing over this by yourself. You’ll be taken care of. Anything you need, I’ll provide.”

You hesitated. Living with jay? That wasn’t just changing your arrangement—it was crossing a line neither of you had dared to approach before.

“Jay…” you searched his face. “Why are you doing all of this?”

His jaw clenched. “Because it’s mine.” His hand slid down to your stomach, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “And so are you.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

Jay tilted his head. “Things change.”

His fingers curled around your waist, pulling you closer. The air between you cracked with something unfamiliar. This wasn’t just sugar daddy jay speaking. This was something more. Something deeper.

And it scared you.

Because if jay was serious…

Then you were in deeper than you ever intended to be.

He had already decided. In his world, once Jay made up his mind, there was no room for argument. That was how he operated in business, and now--apparently--in your life.

Your throat felt dry. "Jay, I can't just pack up and leave--"

"Yes, you can." He stepped closer, towering over you, his scent wrapping around you like a drug. "You're carrying my child. You think I'd let you stay here alone, stressing over this?"

You swallowed. "This wasn't part of our arrangement."

Jay's lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes held something softer, something unreadable. "We passed arrangements the moment you let me have you raw."

Your face burnt a bright red. "That was--"

"A mistake?" He raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

You opened your mouth, but now words came out. Was it? A mistake? It had been reckless, unplanned, but the memory of that night was still burned into your skin--the way jay had touched you like he was unravelling, the way his lips had traced every inch of you, the way he needed you.

And now...this.

A baby.

Your fingers curled into your palms. "Jay... I'm scared."

Something in his face softened. He exhaled, reaching for your hand. "I know." His grip was warm, steady. "That's why you're coming with me. You don't have to do this alone."

You searched his face, looking for cracks in his confidence. Some sign that he was panicking as much as you were. But there was none. Jay had already decided, and if there was one thing about him-- you knew he never backed down from what he claimed as his.

Still, you hesitated. "What if this changed everything?"

Jay's thumb brushed over your knuckles. "It already has."

Your breath hitched. He was right. There was no going back to what you had before.

And maybe... maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

A long silence stretched between you. Then, finally, you whispered, "Okay."

Jay's smirk returned, but this time, there was something dangerous behind it. Satisfaction. Possession. Like he had just won.

"Good girl."

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

You had no idea what you'd just agreed to. But with jay, there was no turning back.

all rights to this work belongs to me @ditsycafe.

[rafeysdeer]

boyfriend (aka insecure reader x bsf jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where the reader has a terrible boyfriend and always ends up crying about him to her best friend, jason todd, or, where jason finally gets tired of seeing his girl being mistreated and does something about it.

a/n: i know i kinda say pretty much the same thing here, but these two are really cute, okay? i was like giggling and kicking while writing it, hope you guys love it. english is not my first language, also, feel free to send requests!

At 8pm, on your birthday, the day that was supposed to be about you, for you, where you were supposed to be going out and partying, you were curled up on the couch, wearing a sweatshirt three sizes too big for you, after the worst fight you've ever had with your boyfriend.

Your hand wrapped around your phone as you dialed the number of the only person who would understand you, who always did, your best friend, Jason. Your voice sounded tearful on the phone as you almost begged him to come to your apartment, you didn't have to say much, or wait long, before he shows up at your frontdoor.

As you wiped the tears away from your face and dragged yourself to open the door, trying to force a smile on your face, as he pulled you into his arms, before you could even say anything. "You need to break up with that asshole, you know that, right?"

Your voice sounds like a whisper against his chest as he softly guides you into the apartment, with you still clinging to him. "He already did it, he broke up with me, because he's seeing someone else" Your voice barely comes out, the tears running down your pretty face again, and Jason feels his blood boil, as if that asshole wasn't enough of a jerk to you.

With a quick look around the apartment he was able to catch the signs from the fight, the shards of glass on the floor, the broken flower vase, besides the complete mess that the apartment was in, your boyfriend was never exactly a controlled person.

"He doesn't deserve you, he never did," he whispers against her hair as he sits the two of you on the couch, which by some miracle, was in perfect condition, and he hears her whimper against him. "What if the problem is me? What if I wasn't interesting enough, or pretty enough-" His eyebrows furrowed together in the purest expression of disbelief before he shuts you up. "Honey, I'm sorry, but shut up, are you even listening to yourself? You're doubting of the best person I know for some asshole who didn't know how to value the fucking treasure he had."

Your eyes, shining with tears, stare into his, without any words to express how you felt. Jason hated your boyfriend, he always did, and with a good reason, he always treated you as if you were less than him, and you accepted it, because he made you believe that you were less.

Your eyebrows furrowed in doubt slightly, your body moving away from his a little so you could finally look properly at him.

"I would never leave you crying alone on your own birthday for the God's sake, or leave you alond at a party at two am for someone else to take you home." He grabs your hands, an almost pleading look in his eyes, and there it was, you finally understand, all the hate directed at your boyfriend, is because he knew exactly how you should be treated, he knew exactly how to treat you.

Your eyes were shining with something different than tears this time, affection, as your head slowly tilted to the side, absorbing the information. "I could be a better boyfriend than him, come on, I doubt that idiot knows that you only drink tea with cream and a ton of sugar? That you bake cookies to the children at the shelter, so they can feel loved?" He shook his head, he wouldn't let the guy who left you crying on your own birthday after telling you he cheated on you go unpunished, but that was a story for later, for when you understand that everything you ever needed was right there.

"Shut up, I love you," she says with the most genuine, silly smile she had in weeks, maybe months, before wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a heated, well-deserved kiss.

"I've loved you since the day I saw you eating snow when you were six, Jay, I guess I just never thought it was mutual." He smirked, rolling his eyes, his arms keeping her wrapped around him. "I saw you having a crush on Edward Cullen when you were thirteen, do you really think I would still be here if I didn't love you?" You laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

"Shut up and kiss me."

[loserlvrss]

｡ ｡ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 ( 이.𝐃𝐇 )─────엔시티

( 二月 ). ──your boyfriend, donghyuck, learned your love language 이동혁 &fem!rea. ⟡ one shot, fluff warn. language, kiss wc : 1119THOU ++( 𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 )

노트 this is 100% self-indulgent

Your head cocked, a slight giggle meeting your ears. It wasn’t unlikely that your boyfriend laughed—he did it all the time in fact. However, he kept giggling to himself every couple of minutes (breaking the comfortable silence), you were starting to feel left out of the joke. 

“What’s so funny, Hyuck?” 

He hummed a moment, lifting your legs from off his lap and getting up, “Oh, nothing.”

He’d just spent the last half an hour letting you rant about your day, a couple snacks being nothing but ripped up wrappers by now, littering the top of your baby-pink blanket. 

Of course, he wasn’t laughing about what you’d just expressed. No, he was laughing at the plan he was about to enact. One he’d been cooking up throughout the entire time you’d been dating. 

He extended his hands out for you to take, “C’mon,” He instructed quietly. You jut your bottom lip out at him, soft eyes meeting his own. He found you so overwhelmingly adorable, “Baby, don’t be like that,” 

You took his hands, challenging, “Hyuck…” But before you had the chance to finish whatever thought had crossed your mind, he was pulling you up, the blanket pooling around your ankles. 

Your eyebrows creased, furthering the pout, “I was warm.” You stated simply. 

He picked it up wordlessly, wrapping it around your shoulders, “Better?” 

You shook your head, causing him to laugh. 

Then he led you through your place, and just as you thought he was just putting your pouty-ass to bed, he veered you by the shoulders. The bathroom illuminated, your boyfriend immediately catching your eye through the mirror. His hair was slightly messy, casually, but so attractive, complimenting his features; due to this comeback, his bangs were shaggy—arguably one of your favorite looks on him. 

And don’t think you hadn’t noticed that he kept doing that weird, guilty-pleasure thing that made you swoon like a schoolgirl: ruffling his hair with his fingers or shaking it out of his eyes. Maybe it was unconscious, or maybe he’d figured you out. 

“You’re just gonna stare?” 

You huffed when he broke your concentration, the feeling of a brush being gently pushed into your hair. He de-tangled it from bottom to top, and you wondered who taught him that. 

“Why do you look so confused?” 

“You got another bitch?” You audaciously accused, “Who taught you how to brush hair like this?” 

His laughter continued, “I have a sister,” He said, now being able to fully run the bristles down your hair without it getting caught. “And, a hair stylist.” 

You hummed a moment, squinting your eyes at him through the glass. However, your mock-accusation was short lived when you caught a glimpse of the way his toned arms flexed, his slightly oversized black-tee only adding to the allure. 

God, when’d you become so down bad? Usually it was the other way around—Donghyuck praising the very ground you walked on. Usually he was the one obsessed, but there was something about his gentle, yet confident mannerisms today. His domestic actions and attentiveness. The way he wasn’t saying you needed to feel better, but was trying his hardest to make it happen. 

Actually, he always did that. Failure to notice or comfortable complacency? 

You turned, the brush comically still in the air like you hadn’t. “What’s up?” He asked, confused, “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry,” 

There was never any doubt that he loved you like the sun loves the moon, however, now you were sure. 

“No,” You assured, “You didn’t.” 

“Okay good, I really wasn’t trying to make your day wor—“ 

The words died on his tongue when your lips met his suddenly. That wasn’t like you—always cautiously calculating your every move. 

But, Donghyuck wasn’t like you at all. And, maybe that’s why it worked, because two polar magnets can’t connect. 

You heard the brush clatter to the counter behind you, fingers gripping through the blanket against your waist. He pulled you close, close enough to become one in another universe (maybe you’d like to crawl into his skin, be the very blood in his veins). 

The air wasn’t moving when you broke apart, eyes fluttering open. You’d seen him this close before, but your cheeks still tinted pink every time. “Sorry,” You whispered against him, mouths only centimeters apart still, “I don’t know why I—“

“Shut up,” A smile creased his features, and he pecked your lips again, and then your cheek, and the other one, and the side of your mouth and anything else he could reach from that proximity until you were clawing your hands at his chest, giggling. 

“I love you,” 

No shit. “I know.”

You tried to push him away, a little embarrassed at all the skinship. You didn’t do things that were too much but you did enough because that’s how your boyfriend shows love. But Donghyuck wasn’t like you in that sense; he liked over-the-top displays of affection, or so you liked to think. On the other hand, maybe it was exactly what you actually needed. 

But somewhere down the line, he met you in the middle. He kissed you absentmindedly still, reassuring you a billion times that the heart behind his ribcage was for you and only you. He listened to your worries and irritations, remembering fine details, places and peoples names. He held the door and your hand. Arms a sturdy safety-net. He reminded you he was always there by standing behind you with his head on your shoulder, arms around your waist. He changed, but only because you had as well—opening up to him slowly. 

His knees buckled the first time you rested your legs over his lap, or head on his shoulder, or hand on his leg. He swears he could’ve died when you sat by him while he played his PC games, reading quietly on your iPad, sharing your hobbies. You made him coffee in the morning, and always asked if he wanted something from the store. You even slept with your head on his chest sometimes, listening to the constant rhythm of him. It was the little things, the things you’d do without overthinking. 

And through it all, he’d finally figured you out. You weren’t complicated, you had just never been taught what love was supposed to feel like. Luckily for you, he was a great teacher. 

“Say it back.” Unfortunately (or not) he trapped you between him and the countertop. 

Donghyuck didn’t need to hear it often from you, he really didn’t, he knew you loved him. He knew he was the only one in your heart, as you were his. But sometimes a man’s gotta be selfish. 

And, in actuality, he loved talking in your love language. 

© loserlvrss 2024 / 25. 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱.

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[partoffantasy]

Echoes of the Inevitable - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: during tense negotiations on the Isles, reader witnesses a side of Aaric she never expected—commanding, brilliant, and dangerously compelling.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: ONYX STORM SPOILERS - if you haven’t read Onyx Storm yet, don’t read further word count: 1.6k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The heat of the Isles pressed down on them, thick and stifling despite the breeze coming from the sea. The scent of salt and damp stone filled the air, mingling with the faintest trace of incense from the nearby marketplace. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the cracked stone plaza where the delegation stood. Soldiers lined the perimeter, their armor gleaming dully under the fading light, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. The atmosphere was laced with barely restrained hostility, the kind that could tip into violence really quickly.

Y/N shifted her weight, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat from her brow. She was keenly aware of the weight of her own weapons, the tension in the air settling into her bones. Xaden stood at the head of their group, his posture unyielding and full of dominance as he faced the Unbrish commander. Beside him, Violet held herself steady, her eyes flicking between the foreign dignitaries. Dain lingered a step behind, his focus entirely on the unfolding discussion, ready to translate at a moment’s notice.

The commander lifted his hand, and his soldiers immediately fell silent, waiting for his words. "He asks if this is our champion or our leader," Dain translated. A ripple of unease passed through the squad, but before anyone could react, a voice cut through the tension—smooth, confident, and unmistakably fluent. Not in Navarrian. Not in any broken attempt at the language. But in flawless, fluid Unbrish.

Y/N barely caught the way Dain stiffened beside her, his mouth parting in shock. She could only stare, heat creeping up her neck, her stomach twisting with something entirely inappropriate for the situation. It was Aaric. The moment he stepped forward, every ounce of his usual quiet reservation peeled away, revealing something sharper. He moved with a confidence that sent a thrill through her, his broad shoulders squared as he addressed the commander directly. And then, he spoke.

Aaric’s voice was smooth, assured. It carried through the tense plaza like a blade slicing through silk. The words were foreign to her, but that didn’t matter—because she could hear it in his tone. The weight. The meaning. The command. His accent was perfect, his cadence even, and the effect it had on their adversaries was instantaneous. The commander faltered, his expression shifting, while the priestess beside him flicked her gaze toward Aaric with something close to surprise.

Y/N’s throat went dry. By the time Dain regained his composure enough to translate, Aaric was already pivoting back toward them, his hand brushing the pommel of his sword. “Are you fucking serious?” Dain snaps at him. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re fluent?” "You never asked," Aaric said simply, his voice rich with amusement, and Y/N swore she felt it in the pit of her stomach.

Holy shit. This was not the Aaric she sparred with in training, the one who rolled his eyes at pointless drills and carried himself like he was just another first-year. This was someone else entirely. Someone who spoke like he belonged on a throne. Someone who was utterly, unfairly, devastatingly attractive when he wielded language like a weapon.

She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to shift on her feet. It wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. But when Xaden surged forward, grabbing Aaric by the collar to shove him back into place, all she could focus on was the flicker of defiance in Aaric’s green eyes. Y/N exhaled, barely resisting the urge to groan. Oh, she was in so much trouble.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The second time it happened, they were at the negotiation table in Hedontis, having just met Xaden’s mother, and Y/N swore Aaric was doing it on purpose. She had spent the better part of an hour trying to focus on the discussion, on the careful exchange of words between Xaden, the Isles’ leadership, and their allies. It was a delicate discussion, one she knew could turn dangerous if handled incorrectly. But then Aaric opened his mouth again, and all hope of concentration vanished.

"It is rather arrogant of us to simply refer to it as the Continent," he mused, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel. "As though there aren’t others beyond the sea. But we've been torn apart by war for so long, it's hard for anyone to think that we are one... anything." Y/N nearly choked on her drink. The table fell silent, all eyes snapping to him. Even Xaden looked mildly impressed. But Aaric? Aaric just continued cutting into his meal with calm indifference, as if he hadn’t just upended the entire tone of the conversation.

Nairi’s gaze flickered from Cat to Xaden to Aaric. "So many young royals here. So many potential alliances. Why are you not contracted to one another? It seems... foolish not to forge futures and provide heirs who could unite your kingdoms." The chicken went dry in Y/N’s mouth, but Mira shot her a can you believe these people look that steadied her heartbeat.

"My brother will be king," Aaric said, slicing through his chicken like this was any normal dinner. "Though a horrible one. Heirs and alliances aren't my concern. I will fight in this war, most likely die, and do so knowing that I protected others." Aaric's gaze flickered across the table, his usual air of detached confidence wavering for just a second. Then, his eyes found hers.

Y/N felt the shift—a sudden weight pressing down on her chest. His stare held something she couldn't decipher, something raw and knowing. It wasn’t just resolve or the grim acceptance of war. It was grief. It was finality. And it was personal. She swallowed, her pulse hammering against her throat. Why was he looking at her like that? Like he already knew something she didn't? Like he was memorizing her?

Before she could force her mouth to form a single question, Aaric turned away, his expression smoothing back into that infuriating, unreadable calm. "Honor has never been the equal of wisdom," Nairi sighed, then looked to Xaden. "And your excuse? We received news months ago that your title had been restored to you." When Xaden started answering Nairi, Y/N barely heard the next words. Aaric's gaze had lingered on hers, and the depth of emotion in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. There was something there—something heavy, something she couldn't decipher. He knew something, she was sure of it. But before she could press him, before she could demand an answer, the Hedontis’ changed the topic to what they value most—knowledge and thus drawing her attention away.

“Amaralys. The only thing our kingdoms ever agreed on was calling it the Continent after the Great War," Aaric said, finally putting his silverware down after cleaning his plate. "Rather arrogant of us to simply refer to it as the Continent, as though there aren't others beyond the sea, but we've been torn apart by war for so long it's hard for anyone to think that we are one... anything." For fuck's sake, what else was Aaric holding on to?

"You're rather quiet for someone who seems to know so much," Nairi remarked. "I prefer keeping my mouth shut until I understand the rules of whatever game is aiming for my throat. Helps me judge the character and acumen of my opponent." He looked at each of them in turn. "Honestly, I find you lacking, and I'm not sure I want you for an ally. You have no army and you're stingy with the very thing that should be free to all—knowledge."

"And yet you seek our favor?" Nairi’s eyebrows shot up, and she blinked rapidly. "Me?" Aaric shook his head. "No. I'm just here because Halden can't control his temper and Violet didn't just bond one of our most terrifying battle dragons, but also an irid—the seventh breed. Dark wielders are spreading. People are dying as we sit here. Every day we're gone could change the battle map in ways we can't begin to predict. And my kingdom is full of assholes who won't take refugees under king's orders, so tracking down the irids is our best hope of not only adding to our numbers but maybe figuring out how we beat the venin six hundred years ago.”

Holy shit, this was something else entirely. The way he stood his ground, unwavering, his voice a lethal mix of precision and raw conviction—it sent a thrill down her spine. Every word that left his mouth was deliberate, measured, and she could feel the weight of them settle deep in her chest. This wasn’t just confidence; it was command. And damn it, it was making her smirk. She couldn't help the way her eyes traced the sharp angles of his face, the way his fingers rested with deceptive ease on the table as if he hadn't just unsettled everyone around him. Every word he spoke sent another shiver down her spine, curling low in her stomach. It was dangerous, the way he did this to her—how effortlessly he held his own against people who had spent their entire lives navigating power plays.

"You are the highest member of nobility in your party," Roslyn noted, shifting. "Is it not up to you?" "Nobility doesn't play into rank, at least not for me." Aaric glanced Y/N’s way. "Andarna chose Violet, and though there are four superiorly ranked officers with us, it's Violet's mission. She's in command. And with the exception of her rather questionable taste in men, I've trusted Violet's wisdom since childhood." Their eyes met, and Y/N felt another rush of heat spread through her.

She was so, so screwed.

[w1w2]

A Taste of Love

Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 4k

Synopsis: Yn brings homemade food in Jennie's studio.

Requested by Anon

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The golden afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows of Y/N’s cozy apartment, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. The gentle clinking of utensils and the soft hum of an old favorite playlist filled the air as Y/N meticulously prepared a special meal. Today wasn’t just any ordinary day—it was a day she had set aside to surprise Jennie, her lover, with a home-cooked meal after weeks of intense work on her solo album.

Y/N stirred the pot of soup gently, inhaling the comforting aroma that filled the space. The rich scent of kimchi stew—spicy, tangy, and deeply savory—wrapped around her like a warm embrace. The broth bubbled gently, small ripples forming on the surface as steam curled upward, filling the air with a homey essence. She reached for a wooden spoon, giving the stew a careful taste. The balance was just right, the spice level perfect—not too overpowering, but strong enough to bring a satisfying heat to Jennie’s palate.

Turning to the cutting board, Y/N’s hands moved with practiced ease as she sliced fresh fruits into delicate pieces. The blade slid smoothly through ripe strawberries, their sweetness releasing a subtle fragrance into the air. Golden kiwi, its vibrant hue glistening under the light, joined the neat arrangement. Crisp apple slices, perfectly fanned out, completed the edible mosaic. She reached for a small container, carefully layering each fruit with precision, ensuring a visually appealing presentation. Jennie always appreciated the little details—Y/N knew that well.

Next, she moved on to plating the side dishes. The tteokbokki sat in a deep bowl, the rice cakes bathed in a thick, fiery-red sauce that clung to their smooth surface. A sprinkle of sesame seeds and finely chopped green onions added the finishing touch, making the dish look as appetizing as it smelled. A separate container held fluffy white rice, its warmth radiating through the container as Y/N carefully packed it. Beside it, a small dish of homemade kimchi sat, its deep red color hinting at the bold, tangy flavors within.

As she wiped her hands on a dish towel, Y/N paused to admire her work, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. The sight of the neatly packed meal filled her with a quiet sense of joy. It wasn’t just food; it was a piece of home, a reminder for Jennie to slow down and take a moment for herself amidst the chaos of her work. Y/N knew how much her girlfriend loved her cooking, but more than that, she knew that this meal was an expression of love in its purest form—one Jennie would understand without words.

Her thoughts drifted to Jennie, as they often did. Y/N could still picture the soft crease in Jennie’s brow when she talked about her album. This solo project was everything to her, a culmination of her talent, effort, and dreams. Late-night texts filled with song ideas, the endless hours she spent in the studio, and her drive to create something truly special—it was all evidence of Jennie’s passion and dedication. But it came at a cost.

Y/N frowned slightly, recalling how tired Jennie had sounded the last time they talked. Her voice, usually so bright and lively, had carried an edge of exhaustion. She’d joked about surviving on caffeine and protein bars, brushing off Y/N’s concerns with a laugh. But Y/N knew better. Jennie might be fiercely independent, but she had a habit of neglecting herself when she was deep in her work.

That was why Y/N was here now, standing in her kitchen, determined to remind Jennie that she didn’t have to carry everything alone. Y/N’s gaze fell on the small note she’d written earlier, now resting atop one of the boxes. The words, scrawled in her neat handwriting, were simple but heartfelt:

“To my Jendeuk, You’re doing amazing, and I’m so proud of you. Please remember to take care of yourself, too. Love you always. – Y/N”

The corners of Y/N’s lips curved upward as she slipped the note into the bag. It was a small gesture, but one she hoped would make Jennie smile, maybe even give her the strength to push through another long night in the studio.

Y/N carefully adjusted the lid of the boxes one last time, ensuring it was sealed tightly. She wrapped the containers in a soft kitchen towel, tucking them securely into the tote bag. The bag itself was simple but cute, adorned with small heart patterns, a detail that Y/N hoped would make Jennie smile.

Satisfied with her preparations, Y/N slipped into her favorite sneakers and reached for her coat. The cool, crisp air outside hit her as she stepped onto the street, and she drew her jacket tighter around herself. It was a quiet evening, the kind where the city seemed to breathe a little slower. The faint hum of distant traffic mixed with the rustling of leaves, creating a peaceful atmosphere that mirrored Y/N’s calm but focused mood.

She made her way to her car, pausing for a moment to glance at the tote bag in her hand. Y/N placed the bag gently on the passenger seat and started the car, the engine humming softly to life.

As she drove, Y/N allowed herself to relax, the familiar route to the studio giving her time to think. A soft playlist played in the background, and she smiled as a song Jennie loved came on. It was one of those tracks that Jennie always hummed absentmindedly while doing mundane things, like tying her hair or scrolling through her phone. Y/N found herself humming along, the melody stirring a warmth inside her.

Her thoughts wandered to the beginning of their relationship. Jennie had always been so radiant, so captivating, that Y/N often wondered how she managed to catch her attention in the first place. She recalled their first date, a simple coffee shop outing where Jennie had ordered an iced latte, even though it was the middle of winter. "I like the contrast," Jennie had explained with a sly grin, and Y/N had laughed, completely charmed.

Those early days felt both vivid and distant now, like a golden blur of laughter and stolen glances. Over time, they’d grown closer, learning to navigate each other’s worlds. Y/N had learned to find joy in Jennie’s quirks: her obsession with her pets, the way she’d suddenly burst into song while cooking, and her habit of curling up like a cat whenever they lounged on the couch.

More recent memories bubbled to the surface. Y/N thought of the mornings when Jennie would groggily pull her back into bed, mumbling, “Five more minutes,” as she clung to her like a sleepy koala. Or the evenings when Jennie would surprise her with takeout, claiming she “just happened to pass by” Y/N’s favorite place, even though it was miles out of the way.

But tonight wasn’t about reminiscing, it was about being there for Jennie when she needed it most. Y/N’s smile softened as she turned into a familiar street, the studio building coming into view. Its tall, modern structure loomed against the dusky sky, the warm glow of its windows cutting through the twilight. Jennie was inside, no doubt immersed in her work, her focus so intense that she’d likely forgotten to eat again.

Y/N parked the car and turned off the engine, letting the quiet settle around her. For a moment, she sat there, looking at the bag in the passenger seat. Her fingers brushed over the strap as a wave of fondness surged in her chest.

“Here we go,” she murmured to herself, grabbing the bag and stepping out into the cool evening.

The walk to the entrance was short, but every step carried a mix of anticipation and excitement. Y/N’s mind raced with images of Jennie’s reaction, how her tired eyes would light up, how she might laugh and call her “too sweet” before pulling her into a hug. It wasn’t much, but Y/N hoped it would remind Jennie that she wasn’t alone in this journey.

Reaching the doors, Y/N took a deep breath, clutching the tote bag a little tighter. With a determined smile, she pushed them open, ready to bring a moment of love and warmth into Jennie’s busy night.

The faint buzz of music filled the sleek lobby as Y/N entered the studio building, her tote bag securely slung over one shoulder. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of studio equipment. A few staff members milled about, some reviewing clipboards while others chatted casually. The warm, familiar atmosphere put Y/N at ease.

As she approached the front desk, Minji, the receptionist, immediately lit up. “Y/N! Long time no see!”

Y/N grinned and leaned on the counter playfully. “Hey, Minji. How’ve you been?”

“Busy as usual, but not as busy as Jennie,” Minji replied with a chuckle. “You here to check on her? She’s been practically living here.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” Y/N said, holding up the tote bag. “She’s overdue for some real food. Don’t tell me she’s been surviving on just coffee again?”

Minji sighed, shaking her head with mock exasperation. “You know her too well. She’s in Studio 3, probably hasn’t budged from her seat in hours.”

“Thanks, Minji,” Y/N said, giving her a small wave as she made her way toward the hallway.

As Y/N walked through the building, a few staff members greeted her with warm smiles. She was a familiar face here, and Jennie’s colleagues had grown used to seeing her drop by.

“Y/N! What’s in the bag this time?” one producer called out, his tone teasing.

“Tteokbokki, stew, and a side of love,” Y/N shot back with a laugh, making the man chuckle.

“You’re spoiling her, you know,” another staffer added with a grin.

“That’s the plan,” Y/N quipped, her pace quickening as she approached the quieter section of the hallway.

The noise faded as Y/N reached the doors to Studio 3. Through the small glass window, she could see Jennie sitting at the control board, her slender frame illuminated by the soft glow of the equipment. Jennie was in her zone, headphones covering her ears as she leaned forward to adjust the sliders on the mixing console. Her lips moved slightly as if silently singing along to the track playing in her ears.

Y/N paused for a moment, watching her girlfriend in her element. Jennie’s focus was magnetic, her passion radiating from every movement. But even in the dim light, Y/N could see the faint signs of exhaustion etched into her face, the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the way her shoulders dropped slightly as if carrying an invisible weight.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N pushed the door open quietly, stepping inside with practiced stealth. She set the tote bag down on a small table near the entrance and leaned against the wall, watching Jennie work.

Jennie’s head tilted slightly, her attention fully on the music. Her hand moved to adjust a knob, her brows furrowed in concentration. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight, it was moments like these that reminded her of how much Jennie loved what she did.

Finally, as if sensing the presence behind her, Jennie turned. Her eyes widened in surprise before softening into a radiant smile. She pulled the headphones down, letting them rest around her neck.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice was warm but tinged with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

Y/N stepped forward, shrugging playfully. “Checking on my favorite superstar. Heard she’s been skipping meals again.”

Jennie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a wry grin. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, I have my sources,” Y/N teased, crossing her arms. “And I’ve got proof too. You’re looking a little too thin, Jendeuk.”

Jennie rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small laugh that escaped her. “I’m fine, really.”

Y/N shook her head, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from Jennie’s face. “You’re amazing, but you’re not invincible. That’s why I brought this.”

Jennie’s eyes followed Y/N’s gesture toward the tote bag, her curiosity piqued. She stood and walked over, peeking inside before letting out a soft gasp.

“Tteokbokki? Stew?” Jennie’s voice rose slightly with excitement. She turned to Y/N, her tired expression brightening. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I did,” Y/N said, smiling. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t starve while you’re making history.”

Jennie chuckled, stepping closer to wrap her arms around Y/N’s waist. The hug was warm and grounding, and Y/N felt Jennie’s head rest lightly against her shoulder.

“You’re too good to me,” Jennie murmured, her voice muffled.

Y/N kissed the top of Jennie’s head. “I just love you baby. That’s all.”

Jennie pulled back slightly, her gaze tender as she looked up at Y/N. “You’re going to make me cry,” she said with a playful pout.

“Well, before you do that, why don’t you eat?” Y/N teased, poking Jennie’s cheek lightly.

Jennie laughed, her tiredness momentarily forgotten as she grabbed Y/N’s hand and led her to the table. “Okay, let’s see what you made. I’m starving!”

Y/N sat by a small table in the corner of the studio, away from the clutter of Jennie’s workstation. The soft glow of the equipment lights cast a cozy ambiance in the otherwise quiet room. Jennie leaned against the console, watching with unrestrained curiosity as Y/N carefully unpacked the tote bag.

One by one, Y/N placed the dishes on the table. First, the tteokbokki, its fiery red sauce still steaming as Y/N removed the lid. The glossy rice cakes gleamed under the soft lighting, sprinkled with sesame seeds and tiny green scallions. Then came the rice, perfectly fluffy and fragrant, followed by a container of soybean paste stew, its aroma earthy and comforting. A small side dish of homemade kimchi completed the savory spread. Finally, Y/N retrieved a box of neatly arranged fruits. Jennie’s jaw dropped slightly as she took in the sight of the feast before her. “Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed, stepping closer. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Y/N, this looks amazing.”

Y/N grinned, clearly pleased by Jennie’s reaction. “Only the best for my Jendeuk,” she replied, pulling out a pair of chopsticks and handing them over.

Jennie accepted them with a playful pout. “You’re setting the bar way too high. How am I supposed to go back to cup noodles after this?”

“You won’t have to,” Y/N quipped, sitting down across from her. “Not if I keep showing up with meals like this.”

Jennie laughed, a sound that made the room feel warmer. “You’re going to spoil me,” she said, though her teasing tone couldn’t hide the gratitude in her voice.

“Good,” Y/N shot back with a wink. “Now eat before it gets cold.”

Jennie didn’t need to be told twice. She picked up a piece of tteokbokki, the sauce clinging to the soft rice cake as she took a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed as she chewed, a soft hum of appreciation escaping her lips. “This is so good,” she murmured, savoring the flavor.

Y/N rested her chin in her hand, watching Jennie with a fond smile. “I knew you’d like it. You’ve been talking about craving tteokbokki for weeks.”

Jennie opened her eyes, a mock-serious expression on her face. “That’s because you make it better than anyone else,” she declared, pointing her chopsticks at Y/N for emphasis.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Y/N replied, laughing as Jennie reached for the stew next.

As they ate, Jennie’s initial excitement gave way to a quieter sense of contentment. Her shoulders, which had been tense and hunched from hours of work, gradually relaxed. She alternated between bites of rice, tteokbokki, and the rich, savory stew, her hunger evident but her pace unhurried.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Jennie said softly after a while, glancing at Y/N with a mixture of gratitude and guilt.

“I did,” Y/N replied, her tone gentle but firm. “You’ve been working so hard, Jendeuk. I just wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself, even if you won’t do it on your own.”

Jennie’s expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed lost for words. She set her chopsticks down and reached across the table to take Y/N’s hand. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Y/N smiled, squeezing Jennie’s hand lightly. “And you’re even more amazing. I’m just here to remind you of that.”

Jennie let out a soft laugh, her gaze dropping briefly as she composed herself. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she admitted quietly.

“Well, for starters, you’d probably be eating instant ramen right now,” Y/N teased, lightening the mood.

Jennie laughed again, the sound bright and genuine. “True. But you know what? I think you’re more addictive than any tteokbokki.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed at the compliment. “If this is your way of convincing me to make this a weekly thing, it’s working.”

Jennie grinned and picked up a piece of strawberry from the fruit box. Holding it up, she leaned forward slightly. “Open up,” she said, her tone playful.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are we really doing this?”

Jennie tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What? I just want to share.”

Suppressing a laugh, Y/N leaned forward and let Jennie feed her the strawberry. The sweetness of the fruit was matched by the teasing smile on Jennie’s face. “You’re ridiculous,” Y/N muttered as she chewed.

“And you love it,” Jennie shot back.

The lighthearted exchange continued as they worked their way through the meal. Jennie fed Y/N more fruit, laughing every time Y/N playfully protested, and Y/N retaliated by sneaking extra pieces of kimchi onto Jennie’s plate. The room seemed to fill with their shared warmth, the earlier tension of Jennie’s workday melting away completely.

Eventually, they slowed down, both full and content. Jennie leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. “I don’t think I’ve been this full in weeks,” she admitted, her voice drowsy with comfort.

“That’s what happens when you don’t eat properly,” Y/N teased, starting to pack up the empty containers.

Jennie watched her with a soft smile, her earlier playfulness replaced by something gentler. “Thank you, Y/N. For everything. Not just the food, but… for being here. For caring.”

Y/N paused, looking up at her. “Always,” she said simply, her voice filled with sincerity. “That’s never going to change.”

Jennie’s eyes glistened slightly as she reached for Y/N’s hand again. “You’re really the best thing in my life, you know that?”

Y/N chuckled, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Jennie’s forehead. “And don’t you forget it.”

Jennie laughed, her cheeks pink as she leaned into the touch. For the first time in days, she felt truly rested, her heart lighter than it had been in a while.

Jennie sat back in her chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her cheeks were still faintly pink from laughing, and her hands rested on her lap as if she were trying to savor the comfort that had settled between them. “I don’t even know how to thank you, Y/N,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost shy.

Y/N, who was tidying up the remnants of their meal, glanced at Jennie with a playful smile. “You could start by eating like this more often. I can’t have my superstar girlfriend surviving on caffeine and willpower alone.”

Jennie laughed softly, shaking her head. “I don’t deserve you.” Her gaze softened, and she added, “But I’m so glad I have you.”

Y/N studied her for a moment, noticing the way Jennie’s posture had shifted, shoulders slightly hunched, gaze lowered. She recognized that look. It was the one Jennie wore when she was trying to carry too much on her own.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Y/N asked gently.

Jennie exhaled slowly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the table. “I just…” She paused, pressing her lips together before looking up at Y/N. “I’m scared.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. She reached across the table, resting her hand over Jennie’s. “Scared of what?”

Jennie swallowed, her eyes searching Y/N’s as if trying to find the right words. “Of disappointing everyone,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “My fans, my team… you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she squeezed Jennie’s hand. “Jennie, love… you could never disappoint me.”

Jennie let out a small, humorless laugh. “You say that now, but what if this album isn’t good enough? What if people hate it? What if—”

Y/N cut her off by bringing her hand up to Jennie’s cheek, cupping it tenderly. “Hey. Stop that,” she whispered. “You’re incredible, Jennie. You always have been.”

Jennie blinked, and Y/N could see the glimmer of doubt in her eyes.

“You work so hard,” Y/N continued, brushing her thumb gently over Jennie’s cheek. “You put your heart and soul into everything you do. That’s why people love you—not just because of your talent, but because of the passion you pour into your music.”

Jennie bit her lip, looking away for a moment. “But what if it’s not enough?”

Y/N tilted her head, waiting until Jennie met her gaze again. “Then I’ll be right here to remind you that it is. That you are.”

Jennie let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around Y/N’s. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

Y/N smiled softly. “Because I know you, Nini. And because I love you.”

Jennie’s smile grew, small but genuine, and she reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Maybe,” Y/N teased lightly, her tone softening. “But seeing you smile like that? That’s all the thanks I need.”

The moment lingered, a shared stillness that felt heavy with meaning. Finally, Jennie pulled Y/N into a tight hug, her arms wrapped securely around her waist. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she murmured against Y/N’s shoulder.

“I know darling,” Y/N replied, her voice laced with gentle humor as she hugged Jennie back just as tightly.

After a while, Jennie pulled away, her energy visibly restored. “I feel like I can take on the world right now,” she said, her eyes sparkling with determination.

“Good,” Y/N said, standing up and stretching. “But maybe start with one track at a time, yeah? I’ll save the ‘taking on the world’ part for later.”

Jennie laughed, shaking her head. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep bringing me those meals.”

“Done,” Y/N said, flashing her a grin as she grabbed the tote bag. “But remember, studio visits come with conditions now. No skipped meals, and no falling asleep in the control room.”

Jennie rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “I’ll try my best.”

“No, you’ll do it,” Y/N corrected, wagging a playful finger. “Otherwise, I’ll show up with a megaphone and drag you out of here myself.”

Jennie burst out laughing, the sound rich and unrestrained. “I don’t doubt that for a second,” she said, still smiling.

As Y/N walked toward the door, Jennie followed, lingering in the doorway as if reluctant to let her leave. “Thank you again, Y/N,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “For being here. For knowing exactly what I need even when I don’t.”

Y/N turned, her expression tender. “That’s what I’m here for, Jendeuk. To remind you that you’re not alone in any of this.”

Jennie’s lips parted as if to respond, but instead, she stepped forward, cupping Y/N’s face with both hands and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. When she pulled back, her smile was radiant, her eyes filled with gratitude and love.

“I’ll text you when I’m done,” Jennie said finally, her tone lighter but still warm.

“You’d better,” Y/N replied with mock sternness. “And don’t even think about pulling an all-nighter.”

Jennie raised a hand in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

With one last wave, Y/N stepped into the hallway, glancing back over her shoulder as she left. Through the small glass window in the door, she could see Jennie already back at her station, her headphones in place and her hands moving confidently across the console. But there was something different now, an ease in her posture, a brightness in her expression.

As Y/N walked out into the cool evening air, she felt a sense of quiet pride. The city lights twinkled above, and the hum of distant traffic filled the air, but her thoughts were focused on Jennie. She could already imagine the music Jennie would create tonight, music filled with the same passion and brilliance Y/N saw in her every day.

“I’ve got you, Jendeuk,” Y/N whispered to herself, a small smile on her lips. She adjusted the bag and headed home. She was already looking forward to the next time she could surprise Jennie again.

Because loving her? That was the easiest thing in the world.

[trustmypoison]

SVT when you simp for them

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘Hiiii, just saw Ateez and simping for them, can I request same for Seventeen please 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 Thank you very much🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻’

Seungcheol

Have you ever seen someone try to look smug while also blushing profusely? That’s what this would be like. He wants to be cool and say, “Of course, you love me,” but any smugness he tries to inject into the statement falls flat because of how pink his cheeks are. 

Jeonghan

Genuinely smug. If there’s any blushing at all, it’s so minimal that you might not notice. He’s absolutely going to egg you on and be like, “Uh huh, and what else?” I fear he’d be smug either way, so you might as well tell him what you really think. 

Joshua

Giggly. Not even blushing, just giggling at how sweet he thinks it is. He’ll dish it out as well - in five minutes though. He’s gotta soak up all of your lovely compliments first. 

Jun

A whiner!! Doesn’t know how to take it so he groans and tells you to stop fangirling from behind his hands as he covers his face. But if you do stop, he might peek between his fingers because he wasn’t serious. Keep going, he just can’t look at you. 

Hoshi

Melts into a puddle. I mean, just curls up into a ball against you because he’s overwhelmed by the compliments. Blushing with a big smile. Joshua needs five minutes but Hoshi needs hours to be able to properly return the simping. 

Wonwoo

Totally entertained by this. Will not blush and might not even crack a smile, doing his best to look unaffected. But he thinks you’re cute and your words are sweet. An underwhelming reaction of “Mhm, whatever you say,” but I’m not sure what you expected here. 

Woozi

Another one that’s secretly entertained by this, but whereas Wonwoo’s reaction is flat, Woozi actually does a great job of looking annoyed. He’ll be like, “Why are fangirling like this right now??” He’ll fold if you seem worried that he’s genuinely bothered, but he otherwise will act like your compliments are physically painful. 

DK

A shy baby. He has so much to say usually, but he’ll be a little flustered and soft-spoken when you do this. Later, when you’ve settled down, he’ll ask if you really meant all the nice things you said. Tell him yes!!!!

Mingyu

I think he’d genuinely be pretty smug to start, but the longer it goes on he might start to feel sort of flustered. I think he likes words of affirmation and this really feeds that need. But I think one of his preferred love languages to give is physical affection, so this just ends in him wrapped around you. 

Minghao

I think he’d be one of the few who doesn’t get flustered or shy, but at the same time isn’t super smug either. I think he’d just soak up your attention with a sweet, slightly entertained smile. He won’t fish for more simping or anything, but he’ll let you go on as long as you feel like. 

Seungkwan

Did you ever think that simping would end in a fight?? Not serious, of course. But for every statement you have, he’s going, “And what about YOU!!” Aggressive as it is, there’s a lot of sweetness in how vehemently you both simp after one another. 

Vernon

A long stare and a few blinks, and finally, a simple nod and an “okay.” I hope you didn’t expect anything more. I mean, he’s delighted by the compliments but I just don’t see him being expressive about it. He takes your simping and ranting in stride. 

Chan

This is an ego boost for him for sure, but he can’t let you know that. He’ll listen and slowly nod, sometimes looking concerned. He’s totally joking when he finally kisses your cheek and says, “You worry me sometimes.” 

[juletheghoul]

Hey there! Not sure if you're still taking submissions to expand your creativity, but I'd love to see what you come up with for everyone's favorite murder daddy, Dave. You have some great Dave stories, just curious if you still vibe with him. I love the look on his face when he gets caught in a lie, how he just lets the act drop.

Ouuu I DEFINITELY still vibe with Dave, I’ve been kicking around this idea of Dave and the surrogate him and Carol hire. Thank you for this ask!

Please enjoy the (possibly first part if I am inspired enough to continue🫣)

Dave (Murder Daddy) York x F!Reader 

Pairing: David York x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: **TRIGGER WARNING** NSFW 18+ INFIDELITY! (reader is a surrogate, David is married) language, Smut, PIV sex (wrap it up), dirty talk, Dave has a pregnancy kink 👀- let me know if I missed any!

(please note this is not beta'd and barely proofread)

Masterlist

-

He’s not exactly sure how to feel about the situation. Carol, his wife, is set on it though, and everything just feels easier to accept than to fight. There’s no real reason to deny her request, not unless you count the glaring fact that Dave York didn’t technically love his wife. 

He respected her, he appreciated what she brought to his life, he valued her as the perfect cover, but he never loved her. Not really. He’d made the commitment though, he’d said the words, he’d done all of the things that were expected of him as a man and husband and he’d committed. He’d even stayed faithful, he was in it for the long haul despite his lukewarm sentiments for her in the emotional department. 

When she broached the subject of children, part of him–the part that hated being tied to someone he felt nothing romantic for–rebelled. It set off warning bells and alarms about the finality of the whole thing. If they went through with this it would signify the complete intertwining of their lives. Even if in the future, for whatever reason they separated, a child would be the bonding element. The zip tie around his ankles. 

These fears, and a million more flooded his brain within seconds of her bringing up the subject, spiking his blood pressure and widening his eyes before he reigned it all in. He’d gotten his shit together though, and shifted the deer in headlights expression to a benign smile. He’d agreed with her, ignoring the cold sweat trickling down his spine. She’d gone to bed happy that night, excited to embark on the journey while he stayed up, terrified and apprehensive in the dark cavern of their room. 

He’d expected their sex-life to have a dramatic increase, he’d expected her to keep track of her cycle, to schedule their trysts according to her fertile periods and ovulation windows but she’d shocked him by suggesting a surrogate a few days after the initial talk. He’d always known her career was a priority for her, it was one of the main reasons he’d committed to her in the first place. The one characteristic they shared for real, their devotion and commitment to their respective jobs but he’d been a little taken aback at her not wanting to carry the child herself. 

“It’ll be so much easier for me, I won’t have to give birth, I won’t have to quit my job and with childcare I’ll barely be away from the office at all.” She’d said it with a toothy smile, so proud of herself for having thought of it, it had rubbed him the wrong way. Not for any of the archaic, sexist reasons you’d imagine, but he expected them both to take time off once the baby was born. He was all for her hiring someone to help should she want it but with the way she spoke, it sort of seemed like she expected their lives to continue without interruption after the baby was born. 

Despite his reluctance, despite his concerns and his general disagreement with her in how their lives would change with children, he said nothing. 

“Whatever you think is best, honey.” He’d smiled his agreeable smile and she’d accepted it happily. 

-

You almost didn’t answer the phone call, the name of the agency flashing meant another potential pregnancy and while the money was great, the emotional toll was a little more than you’d expected. You answered anyway, cursing yourself but smiling through the conversation all the same. 

With nails chewed down to the bone, and the raw edge of your t-shirt pulled until light blue strings hung like tinsel at your hip, you agreed to meet with the new couple and see how it went. 

-

The Yorks meet up with you at the coffee-shop down the street from your house. 

Carol is a lovely woman, a little manic maybe but there hasn’t been one potential mother you’ve met up with that hasn’t been. There is grace in you by the mile for her. 

Her husband, David, is another story, and it isn’t a new one–different flavour maybe. The men usually puttered around, awkward and detached while their wives took the lead. It wasn’t always a malicious, uninterested thing, you just found that sometimes it took them a little longer to connect to the idea. Once that baby was born though, they were usually just as emotional, just as invested in the whole thing. 

David isn’t so much detached, as clinical. His questions are concise, practical and intelligent. He supports his wife, even if he seems a little cold. His looks are…something to be impartial to on your part. Tall, broad, clean-cut and handsome–completely your type. Completely gorgeous in that, ‘you could be sort of dangerous’, ‘tell me what to do’ sort of way. 

You do your best to ignore the initial attraction, ignore the heavy way his eyes seem to bore into you and focus on the objective. This couple wants a baby, and you’re open for business. 

The agency called a few days after the initial meeting, congratulating you on being chosen, and a whole host of appointments lined up for check-ups, blood work and for insemination. There’s a request from the wife, Carol, though, for a private phone call before everything is to begin and you accept. 

When she calls you a few days after that, you’re taken aback by what she wants to discuss. 

“Okay, so I know this is a lot to spring on you but I was wondering if you’d be open to donating your own eggs, I know it’s usually just the surrogacy–my fertilized egg implanted and done, but I wanted to know if you’d be up for it. I would pay of course, the agency has given us the fee for the surrogacy and then I would add the fee for egg donation. You don’t have to agree right this second, and if you find you aren’t comfortable with that then I understand. Let me know once you’ve thought it through.” You can hear the smile in her voice, when she hangs up, you’re shocked. The idea of the extra money is appealing, that can't be denied but something about it gives you pause. 

You sit with it for a few days, weighing the pros and cons. The money is the biggest pro. It would be enough to finally buy the little house you’ve been dreaming of, enough for a down payment and to have a few months worth of mortgage payments. On the other hand though, there would be a child out there that is partly yours, a little girl or boy with your hands or eyes or your quirks living with another family. It’s all a little dramatic, but you always thought your children would be yours, with the love of your life. 

Your future ends up winning, and after a brief call to confirm that yes, you would be willing to donate your egg for the surrogacy, the process begins. 

-

The regiment of vitamins is insane, the shots and the fertility clinic visits are just as overwhelming as they’ve always been, despite there being no monetary aspect to worry about. You go through with it though, sometimes Carol is there with you, but mostly you go it alone. When the time comes to harvest the eggs, they end up with five. David makes his own contribution and all are fertilized. 

Carol smiles as the doctor explains the process, that there are two boys and three girls and something inside you wilts a little. She is happy, and the whole thing snowballs, what keeps you going is the thought that by this time next year you’ll be happy and living in your own home. 

They implant the first embryo, the sex of which is left to the doctor's discretion. Carol doesn’t want to know until it’s born and part of you thinks that might be for the best. It would help keep the emotional aspect of the whole thing separate. Might help to keep you objective through this whole ordeal, remember that it’s just like the other times.

This is Carol and David’s baby, not yours. 

-

The morning sickness hits a couple of weeks after the procedure and you know it took. You can feel it in your bones. You wait though, do things the right way and test at home, call for a follow up at the clinic to test thoroughly there and when the time comes they tell you what you already know. 

Carol and David send a massive gift basket to your apartment, so big you can barely lug it over to the sofa. It’s full of prenatal vitamins, treats to satisfy every craving. There’s a giftcard to a maternity store, one for a fancy local cafe, and then another one for the expensive grocery store. There’s a pregnancy pillow and soft pajamas, it’s very thoughtful and you genuinely appreciate the thought. 

Communication between you and the couple–well, Carol–is pretty consistent, David joins in on the random facetime call but you’ve accepted that he’s one of those men that only connects with the child once it's born. You push away that constant little thorn in your brain, the one that reminds you that he’s the father, and that the egg is yours.

-

Their house is a lot nicer than you’d imagined, it had to be for the amount they’re paying. 

Carol holds your arm as you walk through, even though there’s really no need. Although at twenty weeks and showing quite a bit, the baby isn’t a hindrance yet. Not in terms of getting around anyway. Hormonally however, that’s an altogether different story.

She prattles on while you eat, chattering happily about studies she’s read and the food and its beneficial properties. She speaks about nutrition and the size of the baby while you smile around your bites. 

David stares.

He barely speaks at all, a complete contrast to his wife and instead studies you as you sit there, in his house. It's a bit unnerving, intimidating and the heaviness of his gaze makes your hands tremble. There's something in his eyes that sets off those hormones you’d been battling, the ones that begged for a partner, for a man to rip your clothes off and give you the business.

Your mind gives your libido a serious talking to, all but dragging your imagination by the ear while smiling at them both. 

When the meal is over, David blessedly excuses himself, clearing the table while Carol ushers you to the sitting room sparing you from your unsavoury thoughts about a married man, about the father of the child you were carrying for them. About her husband.

“Okay tell me what you’re feeling, has the sickness gone away now?” It’s the first question she’s asked all night.

“Yes, thankfully the nausea has relaxed, I’m not throwing up as much. I’m feeling pretty good actually, despite being alone.” You smile, huffing a frustrated laugh. She tilts her head in confusion.

“Despite? Is there something you need help with? I could hire a nurse to come check in on you—“

“No no, it’s nothing like that. It’s more to do with the hormones.” You wave it away, dismissing her worries.

“Is it more supplemental? Should I get more prenatal vitamins for you?” You sigh, maybe you aren��t being clear enough.

“No, nothing like that, I have everything I need, believe me. It’s just, being single, and hormonal sucks. This is probably too much information but I’m just incredibly horny.” You laugh, half embarrassed and half amused by the expression on her face, it’s replaced with an empathetic smile.

“Oh! Oh gosh I’m sorry, yeah I can imagine that must be frustrating.” 

“It is, incredibly so. I am five months pregnant and all I want is to be fucked into my mattress you know? I’m sorry that sounds horrible—“ you cover your mouth but she waves away your concerns.

“Not at all, in the books I’ve read it’s completely normal. I’m sorry you’re going through it alone.” She pats your hand, kind above everything else.

David walks in then, broad shoulders filling out his white shirt so nicely.  There’s a tightness in his frame that gives you pause, an intensity that wasn’t there at dinner and it only highlights the loneliness, highlights the absence of a man like him in your life. There is no David waiting for you at home. 

“Would you ladies care for a coffee? Or maybe a tea for you? I’m not sure if coffee is okay–”

“I would love a coffee.” You smile, in your previous pregnancy coffee had been a no-go but luckily, this time it was something you still enjoyed. 

“How do you want it?” The question is simple, and appropriate in context, but your body can’t tell the difference, and the desire to say ‘hard’ is on the tip of your tongue. You blame the baby, and the tornado of hormones flooding your system, as well as your panties. 

“Um. Just–uh–” You flounder for a moment, mouth watering at the thought of him asking you the same question in bed, “Um.” 

“Just bring the tray with the cream and sugar, honey.” Carol smiles, oblivious to the torment. 

“Can I use the restroom?” You rise quickly, body warming, nipples hardening at the barrage of images flicking through your mind. 

“Sure, it’s just through here.” He points you in the right direction and once you close that door behind you, you let out the sigh trapped in your throat. You wipe away the arousal, annoyed with the sticky damp seat of your underwear, and splash some cold water on your face before rejoining them. The rest of the evening goes by smoothly, and once you’re home again you vow to put it out of your mind. 

-

Another basket arrives at your door a week later.

With a smile, you open the card, curious as to what Carol has sent this time since it’s wrapped up in brown paper. 

Just between you and I, 

Wish I could help. 

Enjoy, xoxo

David

His writing is neat, block letters so different from Carol's loopy script and for a moment you’re lost as to what he means. The paper rips under your fingers and what you find shocks you into frozen silence. It’s a collection of sex toys, different sizes, things that vibrate and thrust and alongside them are bottles and vials of arousal serums and lubricants. A whole menu selection of self-exploration. Your cunt clenched at the thought of using them, at the thought of him thinking about you using them. 

Your conscience chimes in, knocking down the door your libido had barricaded yourself behind and picked up your phone. WIth a shaky hand, you look through your emails and finally find his number.

“David York speaking.” He answers and his voice sends a thrill through your body, you push it away, focus on the anger that should be there.

“David, It’s-”

“I know who it is,” he sounds amused, and it only fuels the fire inside, whether it's in anger or arousal you cannot be sure, “I’m assuming you received my gift.” 

“Yes. I–I think you should come by and pick it up.” The wobble in your voice betrays you but you push through, “I am guessing by your note that Carol has no idea you’ve done this.”

“No. She doesn’t.” there is no wobble in his voice, and that only annoys you. 

“Then why?” 

“Because I heard what you said about how you’ve been feeling, the hormones, how horny you are and since I cannot fuck you myself, despite how badly I’d like to, I want you to be satisfied.” Your cunt clenches at the thought, at the knowledge that despite the way your body is changing, he still finds you attractive. Your hormones rage, they cloud the sense that screams that this is wrong, that he should not be saying these things to you. 

“It’s, um. David, this is so–inappropriate. I need you to come pick these things up, Carol wouldn’t be happy to know you’re speaking to me this way.” You take a deep breath, gathering your good sense. He’s silent on the other end, the sounds of people milling about in the background coming through and then he hums softly. 

“Understood, I’ll stop by after work.” 

“Thank you.” You hang up, and bask in the rightness of putting him in his place, even though your body screams and rebels at the loss of everything.

When your doorbell rings just before four-thirty, your heart races. He’s smiling when you open the door, the basket waiting on your table. He says nothing when you step aside for him to come in but the mistake becomes obvious when he fills your space. His eyes bore into yours and the smell of him, the crisp lines of his suit, the breadth of him clouds your brain. 

“There’s really none of this you’d like to keep?” He opens the package, pulling a little bullet out of the package, testing it against his palm before turning to you. Your heart races, your nipples harden, your cunt leaks. 

“Um. No–no I shouldn’t–”

“Shouldn’t?” He smiles, “Sort of sounds like you want to.”

“What I want makes no difference, you’re married, and I’m carrying a baby for your wife.”

“My baby. You’re carrying my baby.” He takes a step forward, “and you’re suffering, and to be honest, hearing what you said made me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.” He towers over you, stepping close enough that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact. 

“It did?” Your conscience screams, begs you to see reason and to back away, to shove the basket at him and shut the door in his face. 

“Oh yes.” His fingertips brush against your shoulder, sliding up to curve around the column of your neck, “You just need someone to give it to you, don’t you baby?” He tightens his hold and a moan slips out, something filthy and his smile is sharp. When he presses his mouth to yours the dam breaks and you clutch at him like your life depends on it. 

He groans when he pulls your clothes off, his mouth engulfing your nipple, the gentle scrape of his teeth turning your cunt to liquid on your couch. With shaking hands you loosen his tie, shoving his shirt off as he rips your leggings down. 

“Turn around, I want you on your knees.” He moves away, leaving your nipples puffy and shiny with this spit. You swallow thickly before getting on your knees on your couch, your heart races at the sounds of him taking his clothes off, all of you a raw nerve when he presses up behind you. 

When he slips inside, the world makes sense.

His cock is perfect, thick enough to make you gasp, that tiny edge of pain amping up the pleasure. Your face dips down, pressing against your forearm on your sofa but he pulls you up, your back hitting his chest, his hips snap roughly, pulling you apart with every thrust. 

“That’s it baby, just take it–” He talks into your ear, one hand holding onto your belly possessively, and the other slipping around and when he touches you your body tightens up. The bullet is on and he presses it against your clit, shoving you into an intense orgasm. 

“That’s so good huh? Fuck you’re squeezing me so fucking tight–” He doesn’t stop his rhythm, his cock kisses your cervix as he fucks you through your peak, the vibrator making your legs shake. Your hands reach back to hold onto his hair, clutching. 

Tears slip out, his hand moves from your belly up to your breast, he pants his exertion into your ear and the pleasure builds again, ramping up until you reach down to pull his hand away, it’s too intense. 

“David–” The voice that comes out of your mouth isn’t yours, it’s some wounded, desperate animal and he laughs, swirling the bullet quicker until you scream, clenching around him hard enough that he groans and spills his own passion deep inside. 

He kisses your shoulder as you float back into your body, thumb strumming at your oversensitive nipple while the other lets the bullet go and cradles the swell of your belly. 

You feel his come when he pulls out, part of you gets horny all over again, part of you feels incredibly ashamed but it's hard to focus on it, especially when he sits back on your couch and pulls you into his lap. Wordlessly you straddle him, pressing yourself close. 

“We shouldn’t have…” You speak mostly to yourself before giving into the urge to kiss him, his tongue licks into your mouth, his hands sweep from your shoulders to your back, down to the swell of your ass, kissing you like he’s done it a million times. 

“No, we shouldn’t have, but we did, and if you give me like twenty minutes we’ll do it again.” He skims his nose against your throat, and you hate that it excites you so much you feel both your arousal and his come drip out of you. 

He stays another hour, fucks you in your bed, and again in your shower before getting dressed and leaving you sore, and more satisfied than you’ve been in years.

The basket stays. 

-

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[andy-15-07]

Destined

pairing: Aaron Taylor Johnson x female!reader

word count: 1059 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

The aroma of buttery popcorn mingled with the comforting scent of Aaron's cologne, a familiar and intoxicating mix that always made Y/n feel at home. Curled up in his arms on the plush sofa, the soft fabric of his Henley shirt brushing against her cheek, she felt a sense of peace she rarely experienced elsewhere. On the screen, a classic rom-com flickered, but neither of them was paying much attention. Their comfortable silence spoke volumes, a language of shared glances, gentle nudges, and the unspoken understanding that had existed between them since… well, since forever.

"Remember that time we tried to make popcorn on the stove when we were, like, seven?" Y/n chuckled, breaking the comfortable quiet.

Aaron grinned, the memory clearly vivid in his mind. "And we ended up setting off the smoke alarm? Your mom almost had a heart attack."

"And your dad blamed it on me!" Y/n playfully shoved him. "Said I was a bad influence."

"Hey! I was the one who suggested it!" Aaron defended, pulling her closer. "You just happened to be the one who grabbed the biggest pot we could find."

They both laughed, the sound echoing in the cozy apartment. It was a familiar routine, reminiscing about their shared childhood, a tapestry woven with countless memories, each one a thread connecting them closer. Their parents, best friends themselves, had always joked about them ending up together. "You two are practically made for each other," they'd say, their eyes twinkling with amusement. As kids, they'd rolled their eyes, the idea of romance between them as foreign as broccoli. But as they grew older, the teasing took on a different hue, a subtle shift in the air whenever their families were together.

Y/n leaned her head against Aaron's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting lullaby. "Remember when we used to play house?" she murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Aaron's arm tightened around her. "How could I forget? You were always the bossy mommy, and I was the hapless daddy."

"Aaron, the baby is crying!" six-year-old Y/n yelled, her tiny hands on her hips, a miniature version of her mother. She pointed a demanding finger at a doll wrapped in a blanket, lying haphazardly in a cardboard box that served as their makeshift crib.

Aaron, equally small and adorable in oversized overalls, sighed dramatically. "But I just finished making dinner!" He held up a plastic plate with a lone, misshapen Play-Doh "cookie" on it.

"Dinner can wait! The baby is hungry!" Y/n stomped her foot, her brow furrowed in a perfect imitation of her mother's "I mean business" look.

Aaron grumbled but dutifully picked up the doll, cradling it awkwardly. "There, there, little one," he mumbled, patting the doll's plastic head with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You have to be gentler! And sing a lullaby!"

Aaron groaned. He didn't know any lullabies. He started singing the theme song from his favorite cartoon, a loud and off-key rendition that made Y/n giggle.

"That's not a lullaby!" she shrieked, snatching the doll from his arms. "Here, let me show you."

She began to sing softly, her sweet voice filling their makeshift living room – a corner of Y/n's backyard enclosed by a blanket fort. Aaron watched her, mesmerized by the gentle expression on her face as she rocked the doll. He felt a strange warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite explain.

"You always had the best singing voice," Aaron said softly, breaking the spell of the memory.

Y/n blushed, a faint pink tint coloring her cheeks. "And you always had the most dramatic sighs," she teased.

"Hey, playing a beleaguered dad is hard work!" Aaron protested, playfully pulling her closer.

The movie on the screen reached its climax, the two main characters finally confessing their love for each other. Y/n glanced at Aaron, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. He met her gaze, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. The air between them crackled with an unspoken energy, a tension that had been building for years.

"Y/n," Aaron began, his voice low and husky.

"Aaron," she whispered back, her breath catching in her throat.

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. His eyes, usually full of laughter and mischief, were now serious, filled with an intensity that made her heart race.

"Our parents were right, you know," he said, his voice barely audible.

Y/n's breath hitched. "About what?" she whispered, though she knew exactly what he meant.

"About us," he said, his gaze never leaving hers. "We're… we're good together, Y/n. We always have been."

A wave of warmth washed over her, a feeling of rightness, of coming home. She had known this for a long time, a secret she had guarded carefully, afraid to admit it even to herself.

"I… I think so too," she finally managed to say, her voice trembling slightly.

Aaron leaned in closer, his breath warm against her lips. "Can I… can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice laced with a vulnerability she had never seen before.

Y/n nodded, her eyes fluttering closed. His lips met hers in a soft, tentative kiss, a promise of something more, something deeper. It was a kiss that spoke of years of friendship, of shared laughter and tears, of unspoken feelings finally coming to the surface. It was a kiss that sealed their fate, a destiny that had been written in the stars long before they were even born.

They broke apart slowly, their foreheads touching. A comfortable silence settled between them, a silence that was no longer just about friendship, but about something more, something infinitely more.

"So," Y/n said, a playful smile gracing her lips, "does this mean we're officially a couple now?"

Aaron grinned, his eyes sparkling with happiness. "I think it does," he said, pulling her into another kiss, this one more confident, more passionate.

The movie continued to play in the background, but neither of them noticed. They were lost in their own world, a world where their love story was just beginning, a story that had been waiting to be written for a lifetime. The popcorn lay forgotten on the coffee table, a testament to the fact that some things are more important than movie night. And for Y/n and Aaron, that something was each other.

[suspiciouscatastrophe]

I know, I know, the audacity I have barging into Czech Tumblr speaking English... (I have lost the ability to express myself comfortably in my native language) BUT this might come in handy to someone!

It'sssss... ✨ DOCTOR REVIEW ✨ time! (The trans kind. Of the sexologist sort.)

The subject of this review is MuDr R. Mužný (must be one of the top names for someone who can prescribe you T) of Fakultní nemocnice Ostrava. He's a sexologist currently accepting new patients.

My experience: I have only visited him once so far, so I have a concrete idea of his requirements to let you transition and his general attitude, but if something to add comes up in the future, I'll update and reblog the new version. It's also important to mention that I'm an adult transmasc, transfems or minors might have different experiences.

Attitude: The doctor's very young and seems laid-back and very friendly. He was affirming to me, and apologetic for some of the more sexual questions. He assured me that he didn't want to complicate my transition.

He didn't have any comments, derisive or supportive, when I mentioned having identified as non-binary in the past.

He thinks that even non-intersex people can transition. (yes, I was also surprised to learn about sexologists who don't)

He accepted a vague response to his question about sexuality. No need to pretend you're hetero if you aren't with this one.

He didn't seem to be against my ability to transition even though he was made aware I was autistic and had OCD.

Requirements: When making my first appointment, I mentioned to the nurse that I had spoken with a clinical psychologist about transsexuality before, and it led to them wanting a gender-related report from a different professional. I don't know to what extent is that a necessity, or if you can just come without any "recommendation" whatsoever.

Now here's the kicker: Dr. Mužný asks you for an essay (he calls it "životopis") in which you describe your relationship to your gender identity throughout your life, minimal length 3 A4s, written by hand. On top of that, it should include a written testimony from your PARENT. He also offered to invite the parent to come with me next time instead. I reiterate that I am not a minor, I'm in my mid twenties. The parental voice having to basically fact-check you if what you're writing about your childhood is true is, in my opinion, more than demeaning and terrifying. I voiced my disapproval and concern to him, to which he assured me that if the parent seems dismissive, unaccepting or simply transphobic, he won't give their words much weight. So at least there's that.

As for something positive, he doesn't do any violating, archaic physical examinations. (no physical examinations at all, actually) I was not asked to strip down.

The length of the real life test with him is 1 year. When he was answering this question of mine, he seemed to pause and ponder my case, since I came already fully socially transitioned (and had been for more than half a year), so there's a chance that it could be even shorter, if it turns out he takes your initiative into account.

The other doctors he sends you to are, as expected, an endocrinologist, a gynecologist (transmasc special, I don't know if transfems get sent for a "your genitals seem fine health-wise" paper somewhere, too, I'm sorry), but also a geneticist. (He told me that it was to complete a general patient anamnesis, but also to determine whether I was intersex. When I asked whether the result impacted my ability to transition, he said no.)

You may notice I didn't mention a psychiatrist. Neither did he. Whether that was because I already came armed with a paper saying that a clinical psychologist finds me sane enough to make medical decisions, or because he just doesn't do that (or forgot to tell me), I have no idea.

Oh yeah, and be prepared for the auto[insertgender]philia question. He will ask you whether transitioning turns you on and you will say no, because [even if you low-key think being trans is hot], your sexologist is not your friend and could only use it against you.

My conclusion so far: You could probably do worse with a sexologist, just make sure you have a functioning relationship with at least one parent and hope. My opinion might be object to change.

[helenofsparta2]

I don’t think that there are words in any language capable of describing how much I hate this sentence.

Mark of Athena takes place from June 25th to July 1st. You mean to tell me that in those six days, Percy “The-sight-of-his-deathly-pale-face-and-too-skinny-frame-made-Percy’s-heart-stop” Jackson

Percy “Percy-felt-like-a-hellhound-hamster-wheel-somewhere-in-his-chest-had-started-moving-again.-At-least-Nico-was-alive” Jackson

Percy “He-certainly-didn’t-deserve-slow-suffocation-in-a-bronze-jar-and-Percy-couldn’t-stand-seeing-Hazel-in-pain” Jackson

Percy "Just-go-back-to-your-father,"-I-said,-trying-not-to-sound-too-harsh" Jackson

Percy “But-your-children-should-not-be-left-out.-They-should-have-a-cabin-at-camp.-Nico-has-proven-that“ Jackson

Percy “loyalty-is-my-fatal-flaw” Jackson

had nothing better to do than tell Jason, a guy he barely knows, who has already expressed reluctance to the idea of saving Nico, some “disturbing stories”, after he had personally seen Nico slowly suffocate in that bronze jar a night, or a couple nights before????

Like, the same guy, who easily forgave Silena, and didn’t even mention her being the spy when Travis and Connor asked him about it, and the same guy, who easily forgave Chris after he rejoined their side??? The same guy, who wanted even Luke to receive a proper burial after his death, held such a strong resentment for Nico, a friend of his, might I add, that he felt the need to tell Jason this story, while apparently not even bothering to mention, that Nico had gotten tricked by Hades and didn't really intend to lure Percy into a trap????

 I’m sorry but this sentence is so out of character for Percy, and the way Rick Riordan wrote him in PJO, Son of Neptune and even Mark of Athena, that I get angry every single time I reread it.  I hate it so much.

[ditsycafe]

love in the spotlight || l.hs

pairings : lee heeseung x female!reader

genre : fluff, angst? (just a little sad)

word count : 750

warnings : none?

a/n : do not in any way plagiarise, translate my work to another language or claim my work as your own.

Lee Heeseung had always known that being an idol meant sacrifices. Long hours in the practice room, sleepless nights, the pressure to be perfect--it was all part of the life he had chosen. But he had never imagined that love would be one of those sacrifices.

She had walked into his life like a quiet melody, soothing yet unforgettable. They met before his debut, back when he was still a trainee, struggling through gruelling dance practices and vocal lessons. She had been his escape, the one person who saw him as just Heeseung, not a future idol, not a performer--just a boy with dreams and fears.

They kept in touch after his debut, though it wasn't easy. His schedule was relentless, and the weight of fame grew heavier with each passing day. Yet, she remained a constant in his life, a secret piece of normalcy he clung to.

One evening, after wrapping up a long day of filming for a music show, Heeseung found himself alone in the practice room, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His heart ached with the burden of what he was about to do. He had made up his mind--he couldn't live like this anymore. He couldn't bear the distance between them, the secrecy, the fear that one wrong step would destroy everything.

So he called her.

"Can we meet?" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

When she arrived at the quiet cafe where they often met in secret, Heeseung could see the concern in her eyes. He reached for her hands across the table, his fingers trembling slightly.

"I can't do this anymore," he whispered, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "I don't want to live a life where I have to choose between my dream and you. I'm willing to give it all up--being an idol, the fame, everything--if it means I can be with you."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. He expected relief, maybe even happiness. But instead, she shook her head, her grip on his hands tightening.

"No, Heeseung."

His breath hitched. "What?"

She smiled, a sad yet knowing expression on her face. "You love music, you love performing. Its part of you. If you gave it up for me, you'd regret it. And I can't be the reason you turn away from something you've worked so hard for."

"But--"

She squeezed his hands. "I love you, too. And I don't want to lose you either. But we don't have to choose between love and your dream."

Confusion swirled in his chest. "Then what do we do?"

She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I have something to tell you. I've been working towards something, too. Something that will let me stay close to you in a way that doesn't put your career at risk."

Heeseung frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm becoming a makeup artist," she said, her voice steady. "And I've been offered a position at your company."

His heart stopped. "What?"

"I'll be part of the team that works with idols--your team." She bit her lip. "This way, I can be by your side without anyone questioning it. No one will suspect anything, and we won't have to hide. I can be there for you, even if it's just in small ways."

Heeseung felt like the world had shifted beneath him. He had been ready to throw everything away for her, but instead, she had found a way to stay by his side without making him sacrifice his dream.

Tears pricked his eyes as he let out a shaky laugh. "You're incredible, you know that?"

She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I know."

And just like that, Heeseung realised that love didn't have to mean giving up everything. Sometimes, love meant finding a way to stay together—no matter what.

all rights to this work belongs to me @ditsycafe.

[drveamz]

♡ Warm Hands, Warmer Hearts - Kang Sae-Byeok

[kang saebyeok x gn reader]

notes! please remember that english isn’t my first language, im sorry for any mistakes i make, if u like u can go to my page and request any time, just make sure that you read my rules and my who i write for :)

synopsis - on a cold night, you find saebyeok on the rooftop. she’s used to the cold—but you’re here to remind her she doesn’t have to be.

warning! none.

It was late evening when you found Sae-Byeok sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building, the city lights reflecting in her dark eyes. She had a habit of disappearing to quiet places, away from the noise of the world, and you always knew where to find her.

She was bundled up in that old, oversized hoodie she loved—one you had given her months ago when she complained about the cold but refused to buy something new for herself. It was too big on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands as she hugged her knees to her chest.

“You know, it’s freezing out here,” you said, stepping closer. The wind nipped at your skin, but you ignored it.

She glanced up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m used to it.”

You sighed, sitting down beside her. “That doesn’t mean you have to suffer through it.”

She didn’t respond right away, just watched the city below. You knew Sae-Byeok wasn’t one for words—not unless they mattered. But when she finally spoke, her voice was softer than usual.

“I like it here,” she murmured. “It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

You nodded, understanding. Life had never been kind to her. She had spent so much time running, surviving, always looking over her shoulder. But here, in this moment, she could just be.

Still, she was shivering, and you noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly. Without thinking, you reached out and took her hands in yours, rubbing them gently between your palms.

She stiffened for a moment, surprised, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she watched you, her expression unreadable.

“You’re always cold,” you murmured, focusing on her hands. “You should wear gloves.”

“Maybe,” she said, tilting her head slightly. Then, after a pause, “Your hands are warm.”

You looked up, and for the first time in a while, she wasn’t guarded. There was something soft in her gaze, something fragile yet strong. You squeezed her hands lightly.

“Then I’ll just have to keep warming them for you.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she simply leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. The warmth between you was enough to keep the cold at bay.

For once, she wasn’t running. And you weren’t going anywhere.