#no chance for noises. or interruptions. or interactions.

[ghostzzy]

ngl i love being home alone

[kislnd]

jumper - arthurtv~

synopsis: a simple gesture from arthur has the chance to turn his and y/n's relationship into something much greater. notes: literally procrastinated everything else so hard by writing this but it's fine i ❤️ mr television warnings: none word count: 1.9k

masterlist

ping. y/n's eyes flickered to the notification that had just come down. having just come home from a shift that had felt a year long, she wasn't sure if she was in the mood for social interaction but, after mentally preparing to make some kind of lame excuse to whoever it was, she clicked on it.

"getting together at mine, you should come." it read. it was from chris, one of y/n's long time friends - they had worked together for a few years before y/n decided it was time for her to make a career change. seeing it was from him lifted her mood slightly, she knew she would be in for a good time, especially assuming the other boys would be there. they were all both equally stupid and entertaining and despite how drained she felt, she thought this might be the pick me up she needed. she typed out a quick reply, despite hardly being able to keep her eyes open from tiredness and changed into different clothes, at this point she wasn't bothered what, anything would be preferable to her work clothes. luckily for her, chris didn't live far, it was easily a few minutes walk that she was grateful for. maybe the cold evening air will wake me up a little, she thought.

//

y/n approaches the front door and raises her arm to knock, but before her knuckle could make contact with the door, it swung open to reveal chris. "took you ten minutes exactly," he grins, referencing the text she had sent him in reply. "i am a woman of my word." she smiles and steps into the house, a flood of warmth rushing over her body. shouts could be heard from the living room, but this wasn't to y/n's surprise. "football?" she raises her eyebrow in the direction of chris, "yeah, it's an important match today." y/n didn't have the faintest idea who was playing, if it was a final or some other major tournament that would go down in football history. "i'd suggest some paracetamol for your head if you plan on staying for more than a couple of hours," he jokes, waiting for y/n to slip her shoes off before making their way into the living room.

like any time there was a match on, the boys were crunched up together on the sofa, staring intently at the tv. y/n wasn't even sure if they were aware chris had left and come back with an extra person. "hello to you all too," y/n giggles at their complete focus on the game. at this everyone turned towards her at the same time and greeted her, but of course, they were all talking over each other so it just came out like a garbled mess of noise. "that was a bit freaky," she laughs, "did you rehearse that turn?"

"there isn't a single reality where i could get them to cooperate with me like that," george grins up at y/n from the couch, "so no, definitely not." she notices arthur roll his eyes playfully at george's remark and smiles herself. "you know, y/n has really poor knowledge of football-" chris quips, sitting himself down on the couch, but is interrupted by y/n defending herself, "that was slightly unwarranted, was it not?" she quirks her eyebrow at him. "am i wrong?" he laughs, "i mean, you don't even know what is happening today, do you?"

"god forbid i don't memorise the league table or what friendlies are happening," y/n throws her arms up jokingly in defense. "maybe she should watch and learn then?" arthur sighs in exasperation and tries his best to shuffle over on the couch to make space for y/n but naturally, there was no moving the others. the room did have more seating but this particular sofa had the best view of the television hence why everyone was piled there. "be realistic arthur." george glances at him and smiles at his attempts to shove everyone, "we can't all fit on here."

"maybe if you could try to move over even slightly?" y/n moves closer to them and tries to shuffle her hips into the small gap arthur managed to create, but with no avail. she was half on the sliver of couch and half on top of arthur's leg. "oh, sorry," she gets up quickly and smiles at him before shooting chris a pleading look, "can you stop taking the piss now so i don't have to crush poor arthur?" without saying anything, arthur, arthur, george and chris moved closer to each other, making sure there was adequate space for y/n to fit into.

she sunk down into the couch, grateful that the others had obliged - it was by far the most comfortable piece of furniture in the flat. with half time of the match over, the others were fixated on the television once again. y/n felt her eyelids grow heavy and was far too tired to fight sleep once again, so she laid back and shut her eyes for a moment to recharge.

//

"shut the fuck up!" the familiar voice hisses at the others, "y/n is literally sleeping,"

"not anymore," she mumbles, not even bothering to open her eyes. "now look what you've done, you've woken her up," the voice, that y/n could now tell was arthur, scolded the others. "yeah, i can see that now thanks," george replies, "sorry y/n," he adds. by now y/n was awake fully and aware of the goings-on, to be honest she felt like she needed to be woken up anyway so it didn't bother her.

suddenly, a rush of cold air hit her, goosebumps forming on her arms. she couldn't tell if it was actually freezing in the room or if since she had just woken up, everything felt extra cold. "is it cold in here or is it me?" y/n asks the others, who were just on their phones or engaged in meaningless conversation. "i'm alright." chris shrugs and the others agree, "yeah it's a good temperature in here."

y/n huddles on the sofa for a couple of minutes, thinking of something she could use to warm herself up especially since the heating was already definitely on. she couldn't see any blankets in the living room but she didn't want to go searching around the house, because that would be rude. luckily, chris noticed her shivering, "hey, if you want you can grab one of my jumpers from upstairs," he tells her. before y/n even had a chance to reply, arthur interjects.

"you can have mine," he says, matter-of-factly but then grimaces slightly. "i mean to save your legs," he pauses, trying to figure out how to downplay such a forward gesture, "it would be so annoying to try and fit you back onto the sofa, because we would definitely take up your space," george and chris mock offended looks, and y/n giggles. arthur felt his face turn slightly red but the room was only illuminated by the soft glow of the television so, much to his relief the others couldn't tell.

"oh okay, sure," she smiles, looking up at arthur, who didn't reply and simply pulled the jumper over his head and let it flop down onto y/n's lap. "thanks," she grins, eagerly pulling it over her own head. "no problem." arthur smiles back, pleased he had worn a t-shirt under it this time. it was perfectly oversized and so warm from arthur's body that y/n almost felt herself falling asleep all over again.

"comfy there?" george jokes, looking up from his phone to see y/n's shape nestled in the corner of the couch with her arms folded over her chest. "very much so, no thanks to you," she says cheekily, "i could sleep again."

"you can rest on me if you want," arthur says, only glancing at her for a split second and with less urgency than last time. "thanks," y/n says, resting her head on his shoulder.

//

"huh?" y/n's eyes flicker open, "what time is it?" she asks the room, hoping someone will reply. "it's about to turn midnight," chris says, having a quick look at his lock screen. "oh no," she groans, "i was hoping to get back home earlier," she sighs, every task she needed to do flooding back into her memory. "i've got to get going," she says, standing up from the couch. "i'm coming with," arthur says sternly.

"what? why?" y/n couldn't hide the fact she was slightly taken aback by his determined tone.

"you really think i'd let you walk alone in the dark?" he pulls a confused expression.

"no, seriously, i'll be fine, don't bother yourself" she protests, he had already let her borrow his jumper and she didn't want to inconvenience him further. "i'm coming with you and that's final," he folds his arms, and then stands up from the sofa as well, "it's not safe." y/n sighs, he was clearly set on coming and she couldn't particularly be bothered to argue with him, "if you're sure." she shrugs.

they said their goodbyes to the others, who were already home, and set out into the night. the sky was actually clear for london, the moon and stars were perfectly visible and casting a gentle glow across it.

soon after, they arrived at y/n's front door, "thanks for walking back with me," she feels her face heating up slightly at his gesture. quickly, she turned towards the door and slid the key into the lock. he won't have noticed, it's dark anyway. she affirms in her mind. "any time," he smiles back, "oh, and, aren't you forgetting something?" he smirks. "oh god yeah," she starts to pull the jumper off over her head. "woah, woah, i was joking, it looks better on you anyway," arthur wiggles his eyebrows jokingly, but reaches out to pull the jumper back down properly over her.

"arthur, i can't just keep it," y/n's eyes widen, "aren't you cold right now? i don't want you to be ill." she was genuinely worried, sure, it was hardly a winter night but it wasn't mild either. "no no, don't worry," he gives her a warm smile, "it's quite nice out here." y/n wasn't convinced and she knew he would only continue to insist he was fine but nevertheless she felt it was right to ask again, "are you sure? like are you sure you're sure?" she giggles.

"yes," he smirks, "and i'll be back to collect it if that's a worry," y/n's mouth falls open in shock at his sudden surge of confidence, "is that right?" she raises her eyebrow at him. "if you'll have me," he laughs, "maybe even as soon as tomorrow night?"

"wow very smooth arthur," y/n laughs, she was beginning to question if any of this was really happening, was she about to accept a date with her best friend's best friend? yes, yes she was. she couldn't deny she had always thought he was really handsome, this was not an opportunity she could pass up, "you have my number." arthur smiles widely, eyes gleaming from excitement, "that's right. i will follow up with more details then," y/n giggles and nods, "see you tomorrow then arthur."

"goodnight y/n." he grins and turns to walk down the path, she waits for him to be out of sight before letting herself in. tomorrow couldn't come any faster.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Dad!Tangerine x wife!reader

Summary: Tangerine and your daughter go grocery shopping.

Genre: Just fluff <3

Warnings: jealousy (nothing super serious)

~ in honor of Father's Day 🤍 and this is officially an apology for breaking your hearts with Last Kiss… ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

There was nothing Tangerine hated more than grocery stores. No matter how clean, they always smell like dust, and no matter how empty, they are always loud. 

This afternoon, the new, hip, pop music is blasting across the store's multiple speakers and Tangerine almost considers covering his poor daughter's little ears because of how loud and obnoxious it all is. But, she's sleeping so darn peacefully, he's afraid that touching her more than the firm hand he has on her little head will disturb her.

He walks down to the baby food aisle, pushing his shopping cart with one hand. Thank God you had insisted on buying this ridiculously expensive baby carrier. It makes life so much easier and it's snug around his hips, keeping Maisie secured to his chest. Tangerine looks at all the brands on the shelves, taking his time, as he tries to find the ones you like best for her. After all, you spend more time with Maisie than he does—because of his job and all. Which is exactly why when he's home, he likes doing all the things you usually do—including shopping. 

Maisie makes a little sound, indicating that she's stirring awake and Tangerine smiles. "Hiya, Pipsqueak," he whispers as her round blue eyes blink up at him. Her small mouth forms into an 'O' and she hiccups, blinking rapidly. Tangerine bounces her in the carrier, his hand patting her back, anticipating her crying and, distracted by the movement, Maisie giggles. 

"There ya go," Tangerine praises, his smile widening. 

"She's very cute," a woman's voice interrupts the happy moment and Tangerine looks behind him. She looks around his age, early-thirties, with chestnut brown hair and wide hazel eyes. She's pretty, he makes the observation—objectively, of course. No woman compares to you in his eyes so he doesn't linger on the passing thought. The woman has her own child, a rowdy little boy who is half-hanging off the shopping cart he's strapped to. 

"How old is she?" 

"Almost seven months," Tangerine answers politely and turns to his food choices. Maisie makes a little sound and he coos, "I know, Pip, don't these all look so good?" as he caresses her wisps of hair.

He holds the little jar of orange pudding over Maisie, watching her eyes move with the jar, and he reads the label; Apricot and Beef. His nose scrunches in disgust. "Bloody hell," he mumbles and shakes his head, discarding the jar back onto the shelf.

"Are you a single dad?" The woman asks again, her son making loud car noises and Tangerine's mood instantly sours. 

"Oi, what kinda question is that?" he turns back to her, sounding offended. He's still bouncing Maisie, his gaze narrows at the woman, hoping his wedding ring becomes obvious. 

The woman pales at his tone and she raises her hands in a surrendering motion. "I- I didn't mean any harm," she mutters and her gaze drops to his hand. "Oh," she finishes, her cheeks becoming pink. Tangerine's gaze hardens as he becomes increasingly annoyed by this entire interaction. 

"I think she only asked because it's rare to see a man in this position," another woman interrupts cheerily from his opposite side. She is also wearing a baby carrier, but her daughter is much older than Maisie and she rests against the woman's back, her small hands hitting her mother's shoulder.

This woman is older and her eyes look tired. "I sure wish my husband would offer to take the children and do the groceries once in a while, if only so I could have a moment to myself. How long have you been married?"

Tangerine's expression softens as he looks between the women. What an fucking odd situation, he thinks. "Four years," he says. He smiles. He truly takes any chance given to talk about you and his marriage. "Been together for a little more than eight now though." His smile widens a little, your beautiful face popping into his mind. Maisie bables, drool getting on his chemise, but he just chuckles. "Quite a long time, huh, Pip?"  

The older woman smiles, wrinkles crinkling near her eyes. "Ah, the honeymoon phase—although, I'm sure it will last if you keep this up." She gestures towards him. The younger one, who is now holding her boy as he fusses in her arms, nods as well and she sends Tangerine a strained smile. She's looking at him with envy, but he can't blame her. His gaze drifts to her wedding ring. Her husband must be a real bellend. 

"It'll last," he says, grabbing some baby crackers and dropping them in his cart. "And a bit of friendly advice for ya." He looks back at the younger woman, smiling without his eyes. "Tell yer good for nothing husband to man the fudge up or leave his sorry arse. Kay?"

She seems speechless and he pats Maisie's back as she makes another gurgle and he rolls his cart past the woman. He pauses and reaches up higher than she can, grabbing some squeezable apple sauce from the top shelf. He'd noticed her debating on how to reach them, her eyes flickering to them during the conversation. He hands them to her and her eyes widen. 

"Oh, how did you—"

"By paying attention," he shrugs, looking between the women again. "Evenin'," he nods his head and walks away. 

He can't deny the thrill of being better. Better than their husbands, better than most men. It makes him feel superior and the closest to perfect he can be. He beams. He can't wait to tell you this when he gets home.

Maisie keeps on babbling at him, her tiny hands reaching for the lapels of his suit. He looks at her adoringly and nods, "Daddy did good, didn't he? Yeah," he chuckles and looks around, until he catches the plant section. "Now what kind of flowers do ya think Mummy would want, hm, Pip?"  

* * *

You've fallen asleep on the couch by the time Tangerine and Maisie come home. Your book is resting open on your chest as you snore slightly, your hair slightly damp from your shower.

Still, no matter how quietly your husband closes the door, you hear the sound. You've trained yourself to hear every little noise around the house because of Maisie. 

"Sorry, luv, I didn' wanna wake you," he says with a smile and unclasps the carrier, one hand under Maisie's bum as he slips the strap down his shoulder. You stand, yawning behind your hand as you walk over to him. He leans down and kisses your cheek, handing you the roses he'd picked. You take them, thanking him immediately as you smile brightly. Tangerine kisses your lips and then you bend down to pick up the groceries from the floor. You blink the haziness from your vision as Tangerine secures Maisie in his arms, the carrier put away. You caress your daughter's cheek and smile, walking into the kitchen.

Once you're inside and have found a vase, you arrange the pink and red roses. Tangerine buckles Maisie into the reclined infant seat, cooing sounds at her and it makes you smile. You move to the brown paper bag. "Oh, you found the ones I like," you hum, starting to put away the food. You hand Tangerine the baby crackers and he takes a sticky baby-plate and arranges some for Maisie. She gurgles happily when she sees them. 

"You were very specific, darling." Tangerine chuckles, breaking the crackers into smaller pieces for Maisie. 

He walks behind you, his hand skimming your stomach as he presses his chest against your back. Your eyes flutter closed and you lean into him, sighing. Exhaustion falls over you again, your body tired and relaxed. "How was your snooze?" He whispers in your ear. 

"Perfect," you say with a smile. "Thank you for going."

"Anything for you."

Tangerine rests his chin on your shoulder and you reach up to cup his cheek. "Was she fussy?"

"Nah, she was an angel," he smirks against your neck, pressing a kiss to your skin. "Although, some ladies seemed quite interested in 'er. And me, I suppose," he says with some cheek, hoping you take the bait.

When you spin around, your back pressed to the counter, he knows he won. His gaze flickers to Maisie, making sure she's okay, and then he looks at you again. 

"What happened?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. Not out of suspicion that something did happen. But simply because he's wearing that expression. You poke his cheek. "You're smiling like something happened," you tease. 

Tangerine shrugs. "What can I say, married women seem to love me. Some of them asked if I was a single dad."

Now your gaze hardens. "They what?"

Tangerine laughs and cups your cheek, kissing near your eye. "Don't look so gutted, my luv. Told 'em about you. Showed 'em my ring and all. They did sing my praises however, best husband or what not—" he winks, a smug grin creeping up his face. 

You cross your arms, now holding in your smirk. "Oh, they said that? For what? Grocery shopping for me? For our daughter?" 

"Guess so. Some husbands they must have. Miserable, innit?" Tangerine rolls his eyes. 

You laugh wholeheartedly now, placing your hands on his chest. "Aren't I lucky," you say it with a hint of sarcasm, but behind the playful tone, you do mean every word.

You are lucky.

Tangerine hums and leans in, his lips almost touching yours. He's still smiling, his eyes soft. "So lucky."

You nod, kissing him. "Mmm. The luckiest."

The sound of crackers falling from Maisie's hand interrupts the moment and you pull away, fussing over her as Tangerine continues to put away the groceries. You pick Maisie up, handing her a new small cracker. She gnaws on it happily, her consistency softening in her mouth. She's smiling up at you as she chews, babbling at you. 

"So damn talkative," Tangerine hums from behind you, closing the fridge.

 You nuzzle into Maisie's head, wiping some cracker crumbs from her lips. "He is such a complainer— you're just a little chatterbox, hmm?"

Another gurgle and a grin. 

"Heard that," Tangerine calls. 

You playfully narrow your gaze, ignoring him. You kiss Maisie's cheeks, putting her back into the chair and turn to ask Tangerine to prepare one of the fruit purées for her but he's already stirring the small spoon in the glass jar. You smile, your gaze softening. "You're such an overachiever," you say with a laugh.

He grins. "I'm adaptable. I think ahead."

"Show off."

"You love me."

You nod, "I do."

"And I love you."

"I would hope so," you say as he walks towards you and captures your lips with his again. 

"I love you more than anything," he says and then his gaze drifts towards Maisie behind you, her wide eyes staring at him and he smiles softly. "Maybe not anything," he adds and you turn your head as well, your smile obvious.

"Mm, of course."

Tangerine straightens up and smells the jar, his nose wrinkling. "You promise we aren't killing our daughter by feeding her this shit? Smells proper nasty."

"Promise. Now give it here you big drama queen," you say and take the jar from him. You take a spoonful for Maisie and bring it to her mouth. "Daddy is such a drama queen, isn't he, Maisie?" 

Tangerine rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Oi, stop bad mouthing me to our kid." 

"Sooo dramatic." 

Maisie makes a little sound and both your hearts melt on the spot. The banter dies and you both look at your daughter with love and adoration. Tangerine glances at you and you lock eyes, simply smiling. 

And at that moment, nothing else matters.

[catiuskaa]

RAINKISSED CHERRIES.

summary: by chance or luck, you and minho found each other that rainy summer evening. dirty dishes, cherries and all.

series masterlist (☆) collab with @dalamjisung !

wc: 3.1k

cw: absolute heart-wreaking fluff! short mentions of bullying, minho is a soft introverted cutie pie, the reader is a cherry enthusiast, and a slight suggestive thing on the end [as a present for all of you who thought the cherry emoji on the poll was for dirty stuff, lololol]

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

Minho was used to being alone. 

It didn’t scare him, not really. He didn’t feel fear when all that was happening around him was the silence that crowded the restaurant after a busy day as he cleaned up his kitchen. He relished the scent of lemons that lingered on him after he was done, sometimes going as far as doing the dishes by hand instead of popping them into the dishwasher, in an attempt to intensify it.

He knew most people wouldn’t understand. And quite frankly, he didn’t mind it. The kitchen was his space. No one came in during their shifts, merely speaking to him through the window that divided it from the rest of the place. He could cook without interruption, with the tranquil chatter that the clients brought merely on the background as he hummed distant tunes he couldn’t remember the lyrics to while chopping vegetables or cleaning up a fish.

So he took his time cleaning too, waiting for his ears to get used to the absence of noise and to welcome the reverberation his steps made when he walked around cleaning the counters, or when he moved the plates and cutlery and glasses, the sounds all too familiar, or sometimes new ones, like the door to the fridge that now chirped as he opened it while checking on the list next to it to see what he’d need to buy or refill.

The rain sounded shyly as it fell on the roof over him, like a gentle reminder to bring an umbrella to work. Its soothing charm made him sigh in comfort, and Minho relished in the sound of nothing at all that filled the restaurant after closing.

And when there was a sudden shaking of the backdoor, is why his heart skipped a beat. Or that’s what he liked to think at first, considering that it seemed much more normal to relate that to the unexpected sound rather than the unexpected, unknown visit.

“We’re… closed,” Minho uttered, frowning lightly, confused at the sight of you.

He was pretty sure it was late enough for you to know that the restaurant was closed —if the fact that the sign over the main door that read HAVEN wasn’t on couldn’t have been a dead giveaway already—.

But under his disoriented grin, he found you smiling. “Right. S-sorry,” you mumbled. Your hair was wet, your clothes too, which was also weird, considering summer rain showers were never intense to such an extent.

It brought the conclusion that you had probably been walking under the rain for a while.

“Did you… um.” He felt a small lump in his throat, and he cursed in his mind.

Minho knew he wasn’t cut out for customer service. That’s why his brother, Felix, like the everlasting ray of sunshine he was and had always been, was the one who managed the front while he stayed in the kitchen. The sole contact he had with clients would be when they sat on the window by the kitchen, and that was only allowed in the early mornings, which meant barely any people interacted with him aside from the casual, “coffee, black,” or “is there a newspaper I could read?” He kind of enjoyed that sort of contact. Minho didn’t even need to answer, merely nodding and following suit to what the clients demanded.

But this was different, and despite himself, he tried to push through. “You’re soaked.” He stated, a fact you didn’t dare to contradict, as foolish as that might have been, taking in the state of you. “Come in. You’ll get a cold.”

He moved on autopilot as he headed to the locker that stood in the corner of the kitchen. There was a small smile of triumph that crossed his face when he found the towels that Felix kept there for rain showers, and grabbed one.

“Take a seat… if you, um, want to.”

You blinked at him, puzzled, watching as he left the neatly folded towel over the windowsill-like counter.

Licking his lips, Minho just stared at you, doubting his every action, going as far as wondering if his breathing was too loud for the silence that crowded the restaurant, bubbling with the gentle words he had just spoken.

But then your eyes got teary, and you smiled at him like he had hung the stars in the sky for you to see. His heart did a thing at the sight of your new-formed happiness, beating a bit faster as you took the towel and messily squeezed your hair with it, sitting on the other side of the counter.

You were an unexpected visit in his space. His kitchen. His mind related that to the fact that his heart was going what his brother would call “bananas”, now timidly troubled at the sight of you.

It was a small diner in a small village. With the exception of tourists here and there, arriving in boats to enjoy the cool water to ease the warmth the Sun brought. But there were no boats that night, if Minho’s view of the sea from the kitchen was right. Still, he had no idea who you were, nor how it was that he had never seen you before.

“Do you have a charger I could borrow?” The tone of your voice was soft, almost as soothing as the silence had been before your arrival.

He nodded, handing it to you with a sheepish smile on his features, ones that matched your own.

You sighed, plopping your head down against the towel, laying on the counter, fidgeting with the stool you were sitting on, moving side to side.

“Are you not going to ask?” You mumbled softly, playing with the wet strands of hair that fell over your eyes.

Truth be told, Minho hadn’t planned to, not when he had just remembered he had to dry and hang the wine glasses over the counter.

He let out a somewhat breathless chuckle as he unloaded the glasses from the dishwasher.

“Last time I walked for hours in the rain, I wasn’t keen on people wondering why.”

Your gaze felt piercing against his face, but he pretended to be so very interested in drying the glass in his hands. Mmh, oh, yes, glass was made out of glass. Surprising.

The snicker that passed your lips felt equally sad and amused, and a small part of Minho couldn’t help but think that it sounded way better than the tinkles of the dishes.

“Guess so, yeah.”

“You do look like you have a good story to tell.” He grinned bashfully.

The tips of his ears turned pink, but he didn’t mind it when he noticed the shimmer in your eyes turning lighter, entertained by his words.

“You think so?”

He cherished the giggle you let out. Better than a bittersweet snicker. Much better. 

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

A gentle blush dusted your cheeks, and you remained silent, wondering what could be the best way to explain how you had ended up there, like a stray kitten, scratching the wooden door.

“A friend invited me over. I live nearby, I moved recently, but her house is closer to the main plaza here. You know, where the summer concerts are.” He nodded, attentively listening to your every word.

It wasn’t a place he frequented, much less when it was so crowded, but it was easy to hear the music and see the lights from his room, a recurrent scenario every summer since he could recall.

“I don’t drink. Which, to a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, seems weird enough to comment on it every single time. Sometimes they say that I ruin the vibe, that I’m a killjoy. It’s whatever.”

Now, Minho sucked at social cues half of the time, —the other half he just wasn’t interested enough to give a flying fuck—, but even for him it was easy to say that, to you, it wasn’t just whatever.

“We went to today’s—, well, yesterday’s concert.” You snickered, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It was okay. They had their fair share of alcohol, I had apple juice. I can’t say I didn’t have fun.”

Minho felt his heart pout inside his chest when he saw you shrug nonchalantly. And he lied too, by omission, deciding not to comment on it.

“Then we went back to my friend's house.” Your tone had changed, and the palms of your hands pressed into your eye sockets, as if that could make the memory of a few hours ago more bearable. “And I had this necklace on. A silly thing. Gold.” You muttered, moving your hands to your jaw as you kept speaking. “Probably fake anyways.”

You gulped, as if swallowing dry. “Suddenly, the girl who invited me turned against me.” You bit your lip, chuckling a cold laugh out of your system. “Said I was only there to drive them, because I didn’t drink. But now her boyfriend had a license.” You rolled your eyes, frowning. “Like, girl, your sad excuse of a boyfriend is one shove away from an alcoholic coma. Sure. Let him drive. First one who ends up in a ditch loses.”

Hanging up yet another wine glass, Minho snickered, which got you out of your head lightly, making you smile shyly, noticing your phone had turned back on.

But instead of throwing yourself at it head first, you sighed, continuing the story.

“She said I wasn’t needed now.” Your voice felt heavy with pent-up emotions. “That the only cute thing I could bring to the group was my necklace.” Your eyes were teary again, and Minho couldn’t help but scoff, frowning.

“Sounds like a handful.” He mumbled.

“God, yeah,” you passed your hands through your hair, “but the worst was when her boyfriend, drunk as fuck, decided that if she liked my necklace, she should have it.”

His hands stopped, as if someone had pressed pause on him, and Minho promptly left the wine glass on the counter, cloth inside it. 

“He… grabbed the necklace and… and shoved me.” You recalled the motion, taking a hand to your neck, tightening it on a fist, and tensing up your body, as if you had been pushed right then and there before Minho’s eyes. 

“And, well, the thing couldn’t really hold my weight to begin with…” You scratched the back of your head, your hair still damp under your fingertips. “The clasp got loose and… I fell back to the swimming pool.”

“God, you must be freezing, then,” Minho mumbled, the shock passing through his tone, mixed with light worry. 

You dismissed it with a gentle groan and a flick of the wrist, but when he got you another towel, you were quick to settle it over your shoulders. 

“I don’t know if Lix could have left something around here…” 

But you settled your hand over his wrist, smiling. “No, please. You’ve done enough for me already. More than any of my so-called friends to begin with.”

That’s why I should keep doing more. 

It was a thought, just a random idea, something far from being a grand gesture of any kind. Still, the weight of it threatened to tint Minho’s ears a deep shade of red and take his breath away. It was then and only then that he noticed a red scratch on your neck, just a bit over your collarbone.

You could only blink, puzzled, when he didn’t move his arm away from you, but instead leaned forward, slightly over the counter, boring his eyes to your neck. 

“He did this to you?” 

Ah. You were talking. Mmh. Having a conversation, yes. He— god, he was a total stranger. Handsome, sure, whatever. Ok, maybe not exactly whatever, fine. Still. Huh? What had you been thinking?

“I, uh,” you swallowed dry, but it hadn’t been full of awkward tension. Not as much as you had expected. “What… what?” 

Breathless. It was ridiculous! How could a random, gorgeous, beautiful young man from the countryside make you so weak in such little time? It wasn’t normal to fall so easily for anyone, was it?

His eyes stared at yours, and the brown of his calmed your racing heart and fuzzy mind. 

Oh. 

“Um. You have a… t-there’s a… scratch. Red. From, um, the necklace, probably.” 

But neither of you had moved from the closeness that you had just discovered. 

“Is it, eh, bleeding?” 

Minho’s tone matched your own. A whisper, barely loud enough to be called a sound. 

“No. Just a scratch.” 

His eyes —bright and kind, yet guarded— held yours with an intensity that was both unnerving and comforting, whereas Minho felt like he was being seen, really seen, for the first time in a long while. Which was, again, bananas. One hundred per cent bananas. 

Like I said, ridiculous. Odds are that you had spent less than an hour in his space, his kitchen, and now he didn’t find himself yearning for the tranquil buzz of his ears after a loud day. Tonight, he wanted your voice, telling him a story. And he’d love to listen to anything, especially if you didn’t have that sad undertone while you spoke, because when you had giggled, it had reverberated in his space. Not his kitchen, honestly, but his chest, fluttering butterflies fighting inside of him. 

Neither of you spoke, but the silence was no longer awkward. It was filled with something else, something tender and unspoken. You licked your lips, chuckling lightly, and tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear, a delicate movement that had only seemed to draw him closer, despite the stillness of your bodies.

“I think there are bandaids here somewhere.” He grinned gently, and you watched him, almost mesmerized. “It’s better than nothing.” There was a slight doubt in his mind, but he ended up shoving it away, speaking softly. “I can’t offer you much aside from bandaids and cherries, really.  Let me.” Minho chuckled.

He had to hold back the impulse to bite his lip at your toothy grin. “You have cherries?” 

For you, yes. But instead, he merely smiled, cruising to the counter close to the window, moving the bowl closer to you. 

Plopping a cherry in your mouth, you sighed in contentment. The familiar, almost homey feeling of the explosion of sweetness in your mouth brought you back to the comfort of your own house. You picked a paper napkin from the corner of the windowsill counter, leaving the pits over it. 

“You must really like cherries.” He tongued his cheek, missing your enthusiastic nod, heading to one of the small drawers of the aisle in the kitchen, like a man on a mission, and you snickered, staring at his back as he looked around in the different drawers. But then, he paused, and his shoulders made a weird motion. “Ah, Yongbok…” 

You couldn’t help but frown at him, yet it was obvious that the giggle you let out after he turned back to face you had been totally on purpose. 

“Hello Kitty bandaids?” You relished on the light blush that dusted his cheeks pink, before sparing him. “That’s so cute.”

Minho let out a chuckle that was full of relief. “My little brother. A menace, as you can see.” 

“Mmh, I’m thoroughly terrified.” 

“You don’t say.” 

He snickered, getting out of the kitchen, standing now before you, towering over your sitting figure, even on the bar stool. 

You watched as he skilfully unwrapped the pink and colourful bandaid, lemon-scented hands tenderly pressing the sticky band over the red scratch. 

“There,” Minho mumbled. “You can keep an extra one if you’d like.”

Only in certain moments, he could remember not missing the old clock that used to tick every second, hanging over the backdoor like an impending sign that his time in the kitchen was well past midnight. And that night was not only one more to the list, but most likely its number one addition. Minho loved the feeling that came over him when he stared into your eyes, and that old wooden thing would have ruined everything. 

No old clock. Just two strangers standing in front of each other, on a late August night, inside a closed diner, waiting for something to interrupt what was too early to happen yet. 

There would be other chances, Minho was sure of it. At least a small part of him was, whereas the other debated how stupid he was because he hadn’t asked for your name yet. Nevertheless, the other part of his brain —a much, much funnier one, if you asked for this humble author’s opinion— knew there was time. 

He didn’t need an old clock in the diner, because there would be time on other rainy evenings, when you’d come back from wherever you had been in the day, the lingering scent of rain on you, and he’d melt in your arms, as if that could make the lemon scent stain on you as much as you had stained him. 

Minho would scrunch his nose. 

“You reek of cherries.” 

And you’d smile, guilty as charged, both of you fully aware that you had probably bought and finished a small box of cherries on your way to him. 

“Change that, then.” 

It would only take a playful giggle escape from your cherry-tinted lips for him to grab you in his arms and sit you down, not behind the counter like the night you two had met, and not on the edge of his bed like he had done barely a couple of months after —one could only resist a sweet sweet cherry for so long—, but on top of the recently-cleaned surface, and he’d giggle too, torn between kissing away the day off you as you both simmered in the late, rainy night, protected only by the diner’s roof, or melting in your hold, your hands, slightly cold from being outside running through his hair and scratching his scalp, letting rain, cherries and lemons lull him to sleep. 

He hadn’t seen any of this in your eyes, that first night. But Minho knew deep inside that there was no way in hell he’d let you go without you coming back the next morning.

“I should go.” You grinned, looking down sheepishly. “Thank you for tonight.”

After folding the towels —an excuse to stay just a bit more—, you both parted ways under the rain. 

Were there things left unsaid? Sure. Honestly, it’s why this author keeps adding small bits and pieces between long hyphens. Minho hadn’t told you how he was dying to see you again someday —the sooner the better, if you asked him—. 

And you had just smiled cheekily as you walked away to find your car instead of saying what you had been thinking for a while, Hello Kitty bandaid in hand —that would surely end up stuck to the wall of your room—. 

It wasn’t your name, as some of you might be thinking. You had scribbled that on another napkin when he wasn’t looking. No, it was something even better. 

See you tomorrow.

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

kats, who is craving not cherries but a late-night, lemon-scented minho for herself to cuddle to sleep.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

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bold and red means i couldn’t tag you! </3

PERMANENT TAGLIST! @lyramundana @stayconnecteed

[undercoverslutt]

backseat: bestfriend's older brother! simon <- masterlist

parts: one, two

this was a night that pushed the limits a little further, than blurry.

you and your girlfriends decided to go to a bar tonight. one of them turning 21. this was your first time having them come to your home town. you already being of age, did your mini-celebration in the dorms with bottles and bottles of pink whitney and hennesy and titos. it was a horrific night. you enjoyed it. you were of course inviting your best-friend, and you both needed to go shopping for this. to the fact that neither of you have had the chance to go to a bar together, legally. so here you two are about to meet up with the rest of your crew, walking down the streets of your inner town. you both lived on the outskirts. you drove your car, but the plan to get home either an uber...or something else if things get to hectic. you'd pick your car up later, this town being quite the safety net. so there was nothing to worry over.

"no man with you?" you whisper to her, her hand grabbing yours before you both step over a puddle. a hearty laugh leaves her chest, but you notice her turn around slightly. almost like to look behind you guys. you feel so paranoid all of a sudden. "right?"

"right! he's in the dog house." she makes a little noise, and you couldn't be happier. you feel the weight lifting, a spring in your step already. but you look behind you guys too. and in the distance you see the only person on your same trail. they were slow about it. not as urgent, but still on a mission. that same paranoia caved in you, but you weren't going to be for much longer. you both we're getting closer and closer to the venue.

"girls!"

with a quick swivel of your head back to what was in front of you, you now see the rest of your babes in-front of you waving the both of you down. this was going to be a cute night. you were so happy to have your best friend finally meet your other friends. with no other interruptions. just you and your girls.

mhm.

by the end of the night, you were buzzing perfectly. everyone had a light in their eyes, and everyone in the building was very respectful. it felt like their was no care in the world. there were some more girls you guys had met that night, and stayed sitting with you in the same area. the music was great, the vibes were great. everything just perfect. you felt cute. you felt sexy. free. young. all of it.

but the end of night, meant some of your girls had do be departing. and you were getting hungry. and something else was bubbling in your stomach. the lot of you begin the circle hugs, the kisses on the cheeks, taking sloppy and drunk pictures. everything becoming a memory. you're outside now, the rest of your friends waving bye as they get into their Uber's. you tell them to share the ride with you, and they do so.

"baby..." you hear you best-friend whisper out beside you, and you look towards the parking area outside of the club. there her boyfriend was, standing beside his car, with his keys in hand. a soft hum leaves your throat at their interaction, it's so cute. and soft. with you following behind her, she leans up towards him and he kisses her.

you're now on your phone as you hear them begin to talk, you're scrolling at nothing really. your brain doesn't even feel here, you still feel the buzz and you can't help but feel giggly. and then you feel fingertips at the hem of your dress. a slight tug downward.

"Your ass is out."

it's low and deterring, drawing you completely away from your phone and whatever was happening around you. but it's so slight behind you, you have to look up and over your shoulder just to see who the fuck was touching you.

simon.

was he here all along? you look into is his eyes, and they're just like you remember. this was his way of greeting you, i guess. hand that's never been lower than your shoulders in a brief hug. fingers that have barely touched any part of you. and there goes the bubbling in your stomach again. he's looking into you, for awhile, before you break the eye contact. your gaze lowering to where his hand meets the edge of your dress. he was picking at it now, the ruffles looking so small in his big fingers. you feel the fabric slip from his fingers, and the ruffle flips up, the breeze catching a squeeze between your thighs. and then simon's fingers are back on the fabric. like he can't stop bullying it.

"okay, and?" your voice is so wavery, just like your balance. you turn around enough to get his hand off of you. and now you're face to face. a silent nod is tutted to you, and then he looks towards his little sister getting into the passenger seat of your ticket home. and then one of your friends began walking your way.

she asks for a ride. of course all of you say yes, and she begins to get in the backseat. everything was happening so fast. or maybe it was your malfunctioning processing skills right now. that car was small, a tiny little four seater. it wasn't meant to be a car-pool, type of car. it definitely didn't feel like it. especially with how far the drive was to home.

you had to sit on simon's lap.

there were no words exchanged when this clicked for you when you see him situating himself into the little automobile. he still finds a way to manspread, just like any guy in any car ever. it's just a glance before you sit down on him. you fold your hands over your dress, hoping this was going be quick. you knew better.

"Sorry." simon apologizes to both you and your friend. you know he didn't think this would happen. being crammed up in the back seat with two girls. but everyone was going to have to deal with his bulky frame.

It's been a few minuets. And it's been a lot of hand hovering, and oh-so-great shifting in his lap. he can't seem to find where to put his hands. and you can't either. you guys were already on the road and it was obvious nothing was going to change. your head was almost hitting the top of the car. your best friend was supposed to be back here. and simon in the front or something. that's if he was even supposed to be here.

you think he was the figure you saw in the distance earlier. following you and your best-friend. did she make him come along? or did he want to be here? it doesn't really matter, he's here. and he's crowding you.

there's his fingers again.

peeking from underneath your still fluttering dress. his hands were on the meats of your thighs. his palms calloused like you remember. he's always felt rough, fingertips, rigid arms, scruffy. you couldn't tell if his hands were roaming your legs or not. but it didn't matter. his hands were there. and they're the only things you can feel. hear. see. just his hands and nothing else. he was having issues with this too. still trying to be respectful of course. even if you didn't feel all too respectful yourself. not with your mind going blank like this.

his name was in your mouth, but you couldn't say it. you wanted to tell him to put his hands somewhere else. because you, with all this alcohol in your system was not something to play with. if you put your hands on top of his and move them yourself, then what is he going to think?you didn't have the time to embarrass yourself. or uncover something you didn't want to have a thought about. just push it away, make it home. go to sleep.

drinking too much always made you horny, it made you feel warm down there. and you sitting and bumping in simon's lap was not helping shit.

"You okay?" his breath is right at your ear. the music in the car slowly disappeared. and it felt like it was only you and him in the car. you're sitting behind your best friend who's talking to her boyfriend, and your other friend to the left of you two. she's fallen asleep. and your dress was no longer tucked underneath your lap. it was fluttered over just enough, to where you could feel his jeans press up into your barely clothed pussy. you had a thin pair of panties on. just so you could feel more flexible with all the walking you were doing. you wanted to feel free.

you shake your head, another bump in the hilly road enlists a small huff from your chest. shit. you don't know what your panties must look like. completely sheer with your slick. and it's rubbing all over simon's crotch, do you think he knows?

maybe he'll think you were saying you were fine. the bumpy texture of his zipper keeps probing your clit. none of this is making sense. you weren't going to say anything. home. bed. you're fine.

his hands snake to your waist. maybe he got the memo. both of them gripping softly. and then you feel a slight press of him slightly lifting you off his lap. you wondered if you felt like any weight at all to him. you felt so supported. and steady. but that friction was gone.

you didn't know how to feel, especially when you hear him apologize again in your ear. he lowered his voice so fucking low, how did he do that? like he almost didn't want to say what he was about to.

"Ignore it." it feels like you are reading simon's mouth, but without looking. barely any noise coming out. just the sound of his tongue leaving the roof of his mouth, and sliding along his teeth. his mouth so close, his breath feels like a kiss to the ear. you knew what he was saying regardless. you can't help but look back. as much as you could to where his voice met with your conscious. he looks away before you can. hands still steady in your waist as he lifts you from his lap.

simon was getting hard underneath you.

but this wasn't anything you both would talk about. ever.

[cuppasunu]

» DEOBI DAY SPECIAL REQUEST DELIVERY »

to: anon

req: eric x gn reader | next door by amelia moore ft. astn

summary: does breaking your neighbor's door count as flirting?

genre: non-idol au | fluff, strangers to something else?

warnings: none

wc: 1.2k words

an: these are one of those days where inspiration just truly hits my god it's like a rush of dopamine that never runs out.. absolutely love amelia moore so i'm sooo happy i got to write something inspired by her songs :) anon i hope you like this one <3

stars: @carrotsworld @winterchimez @honeybeehorizon @sknyuz @bbangbies @from-izzy @jaehunnyy | taglist (please sign up or comment if you want to be tagged for the other requests!)

masterlist | @deoboyznet

"first of all- is it even your own?"

you stood in the hallway outside your front door, leaving your dad's question unanswered. he didn't need to see your guilty expression on facetime to know the real reason why you were calling, he can hear it in your voice.

"don't tell me you just broke someone else's door on the third day you moved in."

"it was the next door neighbor's..." you muttered so quietly you could've sworn you said it in your head.

looking at it, the damage could not be described as major in any way, but it wasn't small enough to be overlooked. if the door was hit with a force a tad bit stronger, the chipped panel could have been a hole instead. 

"honey, what's your plan?" this time, your mom spoke on the line. you turned your head left and right, scanning for other residents walking on your floor. 

you can always walk away and act like nothing happened. but the moment you got closer to examine the dent and saw it was bigger than your hand, it was over. you can't walk away now.

"i have to tell my neighbor-"

"-that wasn't the first thing you did?" your dad interrupted, causing you to flinch at his volume.

"whatever- it'll be fine. i'll take care of it," you brushed off your parents’ nagging and pushed your moving cart in your apartment before closing the door. you quickly said goodbye and hung up the phone. 

the five steps you had to take to reach the next apartment felt heavier than usual. you brought your hand up to knock, then stopped. knowing how heavy your cart was, you wondered why he didn’t hear it. you were sure that the crash was loud enough to have alerted your neighbor, eric. 

eric sohn. the one with kind eyes and cute smile. strong build and confident air. the type to charm someone within a few seconds of meeting them, obviously, speaking from experience. 

on your first meeting, eric was wearing a plain black tee and tan cargo pants. he didn’t need to know you’re a sucker for his black-rimmed glasses or the way he brushed his hair, damp with sweat after working out. 

he was walking towards his unit when he saw you bringing in a few luggages, taking one of his airpods out his ear and starting a conversation. you had to check your expression before letting him know your surprise upon seeing him punch his pin code next door.

eric looked over your unit number, “405, right? let me know if you need anything, i’ll be right here,” he pointed at the sign.

unfortunately, you haven’t had another chance to interact with him since you exchanged greetings to apologize for the noise you’re making while moving-in. now, you’re standing in front of the very same sign, debating whether it was too late to run away. 

“out of all the reasons why i would be knocking…” you mumbled.

it only took you two knocks before he opened the door. you were able to say the word “hi” before freezing in place, your mouth agape in awe. eric was in the middle of putting on his shirt with a towel across his shoulder. he’s drying his wet hair while greeting you back, fresh out the shower.

“-wasn’t sure if i was hearing things.. i’m sorry, i was in the shower,” he explained. 

i can tell, you said to yourself, trying to peel your gaze from his face. 

droplets of water fell from a few strands of hair in front of his forehead. suddenly, you were too aware of how close you were standing when he stepped a little closer to the door and you could smell the scent of his shampoo and cologne. eric waits for a moment before asking why you were here, but inside you were wishing time would magically freeze so you can see him this close just a little longer.

“oh- uhm.. i accidentally hit your door with my cart and now there’s a crack on it,” you ran your fingers through the chipped wood below the handle, “-thought we should discuss how i can pay you back or help with the repair. i’m really, really sorry.”

eric hunched down to take a closer look at the damage, “you don’t need to pay me back. it’s such a small scratch, don’t worry about it,” he smiled.

“-no, but i really feel bad. i should pay for the repair, or the materials, whatever you need…”

just as you were apologizing profusely, eric kept reassuring you that you didn’t need to do anything. his resounding laugh filled your ears as he examined the crack, assessing how deep it was and feeling the rough edges that was exposed after the crash. following his hand, you noticed the silver ring on his right pinky.

“the perks of working in construction means i do this all day and have the right contacts for everything, including who to call if your neighbor breaks your door on your second meeting,” eric teased you.

“but because you’re cute, i’ll let it slide this time.”

you rolled your eyes, feeling a sense of relief when he threw you off with humor and trying not to freak out about the fact he was flirting. he goes on to say the repair would be quick and easy, something he can take care of so you can focus on completing your move-in. 

“eric…” you pouted, not letting it go.

“y/n…” he said, copying your tone. adorable, he thought.

you tapped your foot, thinking of another way to make this even. looking back at the door, you roughly knew what needed to be bought for the repairs and thought of when you could stop by the store.

“i’ll tell you what- let’s go to the hardware store together. i’ll let you pay for the materials but promise you’ll let me do the repairs?” eric suggested as if he read your mind seconds ago. 

he held out his phone to let you save your number in his contacts and took yours to do the same. deciding when you’ll be free, you checked your calendars and agreed to meet again and go to the store in two days. 

“alright, you’ll do the repairs. great timing, i have a few things i need to pick up there too-”

“-like what, a new shower head?” he chuckled before fully processing what he had said.

your eyes widen, figuring out what he meant by knowing exactly what you needed to buy. for the past two days, you’ve been complaining about the faulty shower head to the management but only met with half-hearted excuses and delayed responses. eric closed his eyes in regret, afraid he sounded like a creep after blurting out what he noticed.

“y-your bathroom is adjacent to mine, the acoustics are great but the soundproofing is a little…” his voice trails off in the end, understanding when to stop before he says more.

“oh…” you say quietly as warmth creeps in your cheeks the more you think about what else he heard the past couple of days. 

you tried to recall if you ever put your phone on speaker when calling your best friends in the bathroom, especially because he was definitely one of the topics in one of those conversations, already earning his own nickname. 

“-kay, i’ll see you soon?” he asked. you try not to melt when he shoots you that cute smile. 

you nod, barely croaking an indistinguishable yes to respond. running inside your own apartment before he even closed his door, you felt your phone buzzing with a few notifications, messages from eric. 

that’s when you knew he definitely heard you. 

loud and clear.

hey y/n

safe to assume i’m the boy next door?

[philistiniphagottini]

has it been done? 20 + jing yuan ong

No, it hasn't been done yet lol. Thank you for the request, it was a lot of fun. Comments/reblogs greatly appreciated.

cw. fluff, showering together, nudity, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

20. Washing their back/hair in the shower.

Prompts

Jing Yuan is a little surprised when you suddenly snatch up the shampoo before he even had the chance to grab it, his fingers barely even touching the surface as you reached out and took it for yourself. He blinked owlishly down at you, the hot water spitting from the shower head warm against his back and soothing the ache in his tired muscles. You give him a shy smile as you hold the bottle in your hands, peering up at him beneath your lashes as little droplets of water cling to the edges. 

"Can I do it for you?" you asked. 

A pleased smile lit up his features and Jing Yuan found himself nodding along to you. "Of course."

He stepped under the flow of water and wet his hair for you, his usual fluffy mane weighed down and heavy as the strands fell into his eyes and obscured his vision. He dropped to his knees before you, making it much easier for you to reach for his head as he patiently waited below you. He didn’t miss the bright smile that crossed your face as you popped the cap of the shampoo bottle and poured the contents into your hands. You placed the bottle to the side as you reached for Jing Yuan’s mop of hair, brushing the stray strands out of his eyes as you lathered the thick strands with the flowery scent of shampoo. Jing Yuan wrapped his hands around your plump waist and pulled you closer, resting his face against your soft stomach as you continued to scrub his hair. 

He felt his eyes growing heavier as the tips of your fingers rubbed along his scalp, massaging the shampoo into his hair and lulling him into a soft, dreamlike state. You could have sworn he started to purr as he pressed his face into the soft pudge of your stomach, his cheeks squished into your pillowy soft skin as he squeezed your plump waist. The sight made you giggle softly, the small wisps of steam curling around you from the hot water only briefly interrupted by the short huffs of breath. Once you finished applying the shampoo, you reached for the shower head. You had to reach up on the tips of your toes to grab it and detach it from the wall, Jing Yuan refusing to let go even in his peaceful state. 

"Yuan" you gently called.

You gently shook his shoulder, receiving a noise of complaint in protest that stirred in the back of Jing Yuan’s throat and disturbed the soft purrs that vibrated in his chest. 

"Yuan sweetie, tip your head back for me. I don’t want you getting shampoo in your eyes."

He peered up at you beneath tired lashes, his cheek still pressed into the roundness of your stomach as his lips tugged into a soft pout. 

"But you’re so warm and soft" Jing Yuan said. "I couldn’t bear to part from you for a second."

You huffed as he squeezed your soft waist to emphasize his point. You lightly rolled your eyes before placing your hand over his eyes. 

"Fine, have it your way."

"Hmm~"

You rinsed the soap suds out of his hair, idly watching them float down the drain as you carded your fingers through his thick hair and washed the shampoo out. Jing Yuan had been lapping up your attention the entire time, basking in your intimate touch, your bare skin touching him in moments of pure bliss as he melted under the touch of your hands. You were so gentle with him that his old, tired heart wept the entire time as you handled him with such care like he was the most precious object to you. Your soft skin contrasted against his battle torn body, weathered by countless scrapes and scars. Your caresses eased the ache in his bones and when his eyes fell shut he could feel your affection bleeding into bright colours dancing behind the heavy lids. It took you a full minute before his hair was adequately rinsed and when you removed your hand, he gave you a tired, dopey smile, eyes half lidded as it looked like he was ready to go back to sleep. 

"How did that feel?" you asked. "Good?"

"Perfect" Jing Yuan replied with a soft hum. 

You preened under his glowing praise as you leaned down and placed a soft kiss to his damp forehead. He hummed again, the deep warbles bouncing around the tiled bathroom as he pressed the calloused tips of his fingers into your pudgy stomach and squeezed. You could tell that as his eyes drooped, he was threatening to go to sleep but you nudged him awake as you reached for the bottle of conditioner, intent on repeating the process again as your soft voice called to him. 

"I’m not done yet. I’ve still gotta do the conditioner."

Your words brought a cat-like smile to his face as he got to enjoy your fingers running through his hair all over again. He might just have to ask you to do this more often. And offer the same service to you, while he was at it.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 8 | chapter 9

You would never love anything in this world the way you loved your first child.

The murder of King Joffrey was an unforeseen event even when everyone knew it coming due to his conceited attitude. He was never fit to be a King. But for all the wrong deeds he had done, no one would say he didn't deserve it.

Joffrey was poisoned on his wedding day. And Cersei immediately blamed her brother Tyrion, the one who served the spiked wine to the King as he was being humiliated in front of the guests. It didn't help Tyrion's case when his wife Sansa mysteriously disappeared after the crime.

The Queen was hysterical as she wept for her first son in her arms, demanding justice. You wanted to approach her, but that would only raise unwanted questions from the guests. Besides, Oberyn stopped you when you suddenly stood, ready to comfort Cersei, gripping your wrist as he did. It was only when Jaime ran towards the Queen when you managed to control yourself.

~~~

Cersei had started to shut herself off, ignoring your letters, ignoring your visits, even ignoring your attempts at making small conversation as you greeted her at the dining hall, as if nothing happened between the two of you. Grief does that to a person.

The incident caused the house Martell to postpone sailing back home, for leaving the Capital would only bring suspicion. The ongoing tension between the Martells and Lannisters were not a secret.

During the days you had extended your stay, you had made it your mission to seek justice for Cersei's son, no matter how he didn't deserve it.

You wanted to comfort her, you did, but when you saw Jaime came out of her chambers at nights almost looking disheveled, you knew you'd only be hurting yourself.

~~~

"So was it you?"

"Do you think I killed Joffrey?" Tyrion mocked, his gaze bored and on the ground. He sat on a small wooden barrel with drenched filthy clothes. The cell he was imprisoned was for common prisoners, but not for a highborn like him. "No. I wanted to. But no, I didn't."

Oberyn sighed, crossing his arms across his chest while leaning against the wall, as he observed the interaction. He insisted to come with you, no matter how he wanted nothing to do with it, to visit and interrogate Tyrion about the murder. Let them kill each other, their own blood, he had said.

"Can you prove it, your whereabouts, or doings hours or even days before the wedding?" Oberyn asked after a moment, seeing you troubled.

"Would it make any difference?" Tyrion stood, chains around his hands and feet making a noise. "Father doesn't care if I killed him or not. Cersei will never believe me that I didn't, of course she wouldn't-"

You interrupted, "But if you can only reason with her-"

"Reason with Cersei?" Tyrion laughed, his eyes rolling at you. "Look, Lady Y/n, I know you mean well. But do not be blinded by love. Cersei has always hated me and I will always be blamed for killing her son just like I killed our mother when she birthed me."

When he saw your frown grow deeper, he added, "I know you're in love with her."

Your eyes widened, filled with fear and guilt.

"I can see it in your eyes," he went on. "You two weren't really that discreet, you know. I think father suspects too."

"Do you think-"

"Cersei is not, well I don't know how to put this gently, she's not a kind woman, Y/n," he said. "So I suggest you lot better leave for Dorne and save yourself. You could be in my shoes if you weren't too careful."

~~~

It was four days after Joffrey's death, two days after his funeral, when you had managed to corner Cersei. She was staring into the horizon from the Red Keep's garden, the vast sea ahead. When she had advised her kingsguard to leave the both of you, you knew you finally had the chance to talk to her.

Carefully approaching her, you swallowed a nervous lump. Cold breeze from the sea made you shiver slightly as silence enveloped the two of you. You watched the Martells' ship from a distance, ready to sail in a fortnight, after Tyrion's trial.

"I watched my son die," Cersei began, "and I couldn't even do anything about it."

"It wasn't your fault," you said, finally facing the Queen. You then held her hand and squeezed it for assurance. She only let you, her gaze still fixed ahead.

"It was mine. Father said so. Even I could tell others had been judging me. I had been negligent, I had forgotten what I'm supposed to do."

"And that is?"

"To serve the kingdom, to be a King's mother-"

You stopped her, cupping her face as you did to make her look at you. "Cersei-"

"You will go back to Dorne," she ordered, her eyes boring into yours, a shadow of the Cersei you fell in love with present. "And never return."

Brows furrowing deeper, you sighed with a frown. "Let's not be-"

"I will never ask you to see me in my chambers nor in yours-"

"Cersei, stop!"

"You distracted me from my responsibilities," she interjected, her voice slightly rising and her cold eyes glaring at you. "Any actions moving forward will only affect my children."

"It wasn't your fault!"

"It was! My son wouldn't be dead if I was there for him!"

"You did your best," you said, holding her other hand as she began to walk away from you. "You were an amazing mother to him, even when he's not that kind of a person-"

Slap. "You do not speak ill about my son ever again!"

"I'm sorry, Cersei, but-"

"Leave!"

"Cersei, please don't close yourself off."

"The imp did this," she said out of trance, hysteric. "My brother imp did this. He's always hated Joffrey-"

"Hey, hey," you brushed her trembling shoulders, "you need to open your mind. And see reason. Tyrion might have his own reasons to kill Joffrey but do you ever think he'd actually do it? Because it doesn't seem like he did-"

"Get off me!" Cersei pulled away from you. "How dare you? I know he's been wanting to kill Joffrey since he was born."

"Oberyn had Tyrion list his whereabouts until the wedding day and Cersei, it doesn't really add up-"

"You talked to him?"

"Only to interrogate-"

"He and Sansa plotted it," she stated, nostrils flaring. "They both hated Joffrey. And with Sansa gone-"

"Sansa could have just run away because she was scared," you explained. "It's not possible-"

"I said leave!" The queen spat, punching your chest and you only let her. "You've already made up your mind not to believe me. You're just like everyone else. You're just like Jaime."

Your arms instinctively embraced around Cersei to stop her. Eventually, her fists curled against your clothes as she ended up sobbing into your chest.

Shushing her gently, you hugged her tight, your nose burying into her hair. Quiet moments passed as you both treasured the warmth from your bodies.

Until your heads slowly moved in synchronization, as your mouths met almost an inch close. Barely there. Eyes closed. Breathings hitched. Noses brushed against each other. As if one of you was terrified to close the distance yet desperately wanted to.

And you decided to place a soft kiss against her forehead instead.

"I'm always here for you, Cersei," you murmured. "Please do not ever forget that."

After a small pause, you whispered hesitantly, "I . . . I love you."

The Queen opened her eyes.

"What good will your love do?" Cersei said with a scowl as she pulled away from you. "Will it bring my son back alive?"

~~~

The ongoing turmoil inside you kept you awake most nights. You knew the worse was yet to happen, but it didn't stop you from worrying too much. Until one night, Lord Tywin sent for you to meet him in the council room. Your cousin Oberyn was already there when you arrived, ready to leave.

"Lady Y/N," Tywin greeted. You bowed shortly before opening your mouth. But then Tywin raised his hand to stop you. "I apologize for having to call you at a late hour. I was about to send another Kingsguard to disregard my prior request, given that I have already relayed my propositions to Oberyn and I trust Oberyn will be the bearer of good news."

"What's going on?"

Tywin smiled coyly as he placed a cloak around his shoulders, as if dismissing you. Oberyn walked towards you and pulled you out the room. He must have dragged you back to your chambers with difficulty, not with you always hesitating if he wouldn't tell you anything.

"Tywin knew about your affairs with Cersei," Oberyn began once you both were in your room. "He's suspicious about you getting too close to the queen without any objective."

"What? Does he think I killed the King?"

"Could be," he shrugged to which you let out a scoff, "especially when poison is known as a woman's weapon, Y/n."

You then fell silent, thinking of ways to defend yourself.

"You are to marry Cersei," Oberyn said, his eyes looking all worried.

When you only stared at him dumbfounded, he went on.

"Tywin suspects we had something to do with his grandson's death," Oberyn explained. "He doesn't believe Tyrion, his son, is capable to do that. And I know the Lannisters don't want to start a war against the Dornish folks for setting up a blame he cannot prove. So he made a proposal. For you to marry Cersei. You marrying Cersei would diminish doubts of any rebellion against them."

Somehow, your knees grew weaker as you leaned unto your bedpost before slipping to sit on the edge of your bed.

"Tywin and I discussed it at length-"

"When have you become friends with Tywin?" you interjected. "And aren't you the one insisting I should stay away from her?"

He walked closer towards you. "They believe sending your enemies far away is a disadvantage. I think Tywin wants to keep his enemies closer."

"Clearly, the ones who believe that doesn't have too many enemies."

"This is only to get assurance until we're safely back in Dorne," he said. "You won't be touched if you're married to a Lannister. Besides, that's what you want right? To be with Cersei?"

"Does father know?"

Oberyn shook his head as he stepped towards the window. "I have yet to tell him of the proposal. I'm sending a raven tonight. But I don't think he will take this lightly."

"What . . . about the Queen? Does Cersei know about this?"

Oberyn only stayed silent as he stared out into the dark sky.

~~~

There was a knock in your chambers later that night. Consumed with thoughts about the recent events, sleep was hard to get by. The moment you opened your door, a sliver of golden hair in white gown flew past you.

"Cersei, you could have been seen-"

A harsh slap met your face, almost making you lose your balance. "You think you're so wise trying to get into my father's favors?"

The marriage proposal.

"Cersei-"

Another slap. "I'm still your queen!"

"Your Grace, I had nothing to do with it," you said, slowly approaching her. Yet, she didn't want anywhere near you.

"Father wants to punish me," she declared, her stare cold. "Marrying someone like you is a punishment."

And curse to seven hells, because that hurt.

You controlled your temper as she went on, pacing angrily around the room. "Just like what he did with Robert. As if marrying you would have any difference."

And when you didn't answer back, she continued. "How long have you known me, Y/n? A month and a half! And you think we're already in love."

"I'll try to persuade him-"

"Persuade my father?" she scoffed. "As if that man ever needed persuading. He'd kill you, put your head on a stake for everyone to see if you disobey him."

"I'm sure my father would seek-"

"Your father?" Cersei snorted a laugh. "Who's your father, Y/n? What power does he have that would help your case?"

She went on, observing you motionless leaning against your desk. "You've wanted this all along-"

"Cersei, I had nothing to do with it."

She pursed her lips as she walked towards the door. Then she looked back, her gaze at the floor. "You'll never ever have me. Not while I'm alive."

People warned you about it. And now you were too stupid to believe this woman could ever love you.

(Author's note: I will change the storyline from this moment on, so the events might not be in line with the books and movie any longer.)

[dailylcy]

A RIBBON TIED WISH 𝜗𝜚

ఌ︎. pairing. idol!bf!wonbin x reader ఌ︎. genre. fluff ఌ︎. warnings. none ఌ︎. word count. 1k

ఌ︎. a/n. woahh park wonbin’s 23rd bday :00 happy birthday binn and happy wonday to everyone celebrating

The soft hum of the city echoed through the windows of the dorm as the members buzzed around, prepping for Wonbin’s birthday party. There were balloons, confetti, and cake — a big, 3 tiers cake with candles waiting to be blown out. The excitement was there, but Wonbin seemed to be in his own world, exposed in the gentle glow of all the attention while trying not to get too overwhelmed.

You had noticed this about him before — how he loved the attention of his fans, how he enjoyed the energy of the stage, but behind it all, he was always so shy when it came to moments like these. Birthday celebrations, the ones where the noise dies down and it’s just him, his friends, and the quiet moments of affection shared between all of you.

“y/n, come on, help us set up!” Anton’s voice called from the other room, his usual burst of energy like a breeze. You smiled at the thought of how excited he was, But right now, it was just you and Wonbin. He was sitting by the window, looking out at the sky that was already dark and full of stars, his fingers lightly on the edge of the table.

You walked over to him quietly, not wanting to interrupt him. He glanced up and smiled that warm, soft smile that you knew was reserved just for you.

“Everything’s ready for the party” you said, taking a seat beside him. “How are you feeling?”

“Good” he replied, his voice a low hum that seemed to match the calm of the night. “Just… it’s nice to have some quiet before, you know?”

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. It wasn’t often that Wonbin got the chance to just sit and relax. The fans, the company, the endless schedules and performances, always pushed him forward, but moments like this — where he could pause — were few and far between.

“I’ll be back soon” you said with a smile, standing up from your seat. “I’ve got to help Anton with the cake and everything. The others are waiting for you too.”

Wonbin chuckled, his voice still warm but tinged with a hint of reluctance. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You made your way to the living room where the others were already gathered, a lot of noise filling the space. The mood was lighthearted — laughter, music playing in the background, and the occasional clink of glasses. Anton was the first to notice you, waving his arms dramatically as if you had been gone for hours instead of just a few minutes.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, “Everything’s ready! Wonbin’s gonna love it.”

You laughed, nodding. “I’m sure he will. It looks amazing.”

As you helped with the last few touches—adjusting the placement of balloons and making sure everyone had a drink in their hand — Wonbin entered the room. His face lit up when he saw the decorations and the table full of gifts and treats, his eyes scanning over the room with genuine delight.

The other members greeted him with cheers, and soon enough, the group settled into a comfortable rhythm, joking and laughing. You watched Wonbin as he interacted with the others, his usual calm and grounded nature bringing a sense of warmth to the whole room. Despite being the center of attention, there was something humbling about his demeanor, something that made him feel approachable even in moments like these.

“Make a wish!” Anton encouraged, practically jumping in excitement.

Wonbin turned to the cake, his eyes flicking from the candles to the faces around him. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. You couldn’t help but notice how peaceful he looked, a rare moment of quiet before the world shifted back into motion.

When he opened his eyes again, he blew out the candles in one breath, and the room erupted into cheers. The cake was cut, and everyone grabbed a slice, teasing each other about who got the biggest piece.

You found yourself standing near the edge of the group, watching Wonbin interact with his friends. There lightness to the way he laughed, the way he joked around — so different from the idol persona that everyone else saw.

After a while, the mood began to settle, and the party started winding down. The other members had all retired to their rooms, but Wonbin stayed behind, lingering by the window. You couldn’t help but feel the pull to join him.

You found him still by the window, his gaze lost in the city lights. Without a word, you walked over and stood beside him.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah” he replied, his voice low. “I love the view from here. It’s peaceful.”

There was a soft shift in the air, the kind that only comes when you’re standing close to someone who means something to you.

“I’ve got one more thing for you” you said, turning to face him fully. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a small ribbon, tied neatly with a little tag attached.

Wonbin raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

You gently placed the ribbon in his hands. “A wish, for you.”

He studied the ribbon for a moment, his fingers tracing it carefully, before he untied it slowly. He opened the small folded note inside, reading the words in the quiet.

I’m really grateful to have you in my life. You make everything brighter, even on the darkest days. I know it’s just a small note, but I hope it means something to you.

There was a long silence between the two of you as Wonbin folded the note back up and tucked it into his pocket. He looked at you, his expression softening. “I..I don’t know what to say..” he murmured. “Thank you.”

You smiled, your heart melting at the sincerity in his voice. “I wanted it to be special, sorry it’s not something valuable.”

Wonbin stepped closer, his presence warm and comforting. “You’ve already made it special, this is the most valuable thing i own now, y/n.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

When he pulled back, his eyes were full of warmth, like he was seeing something deeper in you than just the surface.

“Happy birthday, Wonbin”

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© dailylcy 2025

[quitealotofsodapop]

Spider Queen: *sees babies* And who are these little nibblings?

MK: Stay away form Monkey King's babies!!

Spider Queen: Wait... oh my! No wonder he fought so fiercely before my little minion managed to get the jump on him!

Prev.

Spider Queen finds one of the babies squeaking ferociously at her in a post-New Years episode, and can't even be mad at them.

I could see an encounter happening mid-S2 when the MKrew and Spider Gang are in tight competition, but LBD ain't risking going out of her sewer. Wukong likely gives the gang the cubs to babysit while he investigates what LBD is up to - claiming its a "break from parenting". In reality he doesn't want his precious shadows in the crossfire of any underworld traps or fights.

(*Tense scene of the Noodle Gang standing off against the Spider Demons after a chance encounter in the overworld. When suddenly one of the cubs leaps from MK's shadow and starts hissing at the spiders*) Savage: (*on all fours, posed aggressively at the opponent and making the scariest noises she can!*) \(｀ロ´)ノ Spider Queen, drops her guard, adoring: "Well! Aren't you the sweetest little thing?" Savage: (*chirping angrily as she's picked up by the queen spider*) >:V! Rumble: (*jumps out of MK's shadow and climbs up Spider Queen's leg, wanting ups too!*) Thunder: (*hangs back on MK's shoulders. Is too nervous to approach strangers*) MK: (*about to throw hands if SQ even dares hurt his little sibs!*) Spider Queen, nuzzling: "Just the softest little fuzzballs! You sure the Monkey King made these things? You'd swear they escaped my hairbrush! No wonder that ape was so hard to catch!" Savage: (*half-hearted grumbling as she's kissed on the cheek - leaving a purple lipstick stain*) Rumble: (*delighted giggling as she receives the same doting!*) The Noodle Gang & Spider Gang: (*watching the interaction with confusion, sharing puzzled expressions*)

Eventually the baby monkeys slip away into the shadows and back to MK. The vibe of the potential fight is ruined; everyone just goes home.

Spider Queen has the baby monkeys on her short list of; "do not harm". As a mother figure, she couldn't bare hurting the little nibblings! The Goliath spider agrees.

Huntsman, Syntax and Spindrax thinks they're gremlins - multiple times the monkey cubs impeded or interrupt one of their missions.

[hongjoongspoetry]

Sparks and Bruises | Teaser

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to strangers to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, more to come...

🥊 Wordcount: Estimated 12.0K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). So, two more days left until the last fic of the event is out!!! I'm so excited to share it with you guys :3 But first, here's a lil sneak peak

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains mature scenes such as descriptions of minor injuries and explicit language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

Masterpost Event taglist

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else. 

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.” 

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?”

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips. 

“Long time no see, huh?”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[callsign-swan]

Gold

Chapter Two

Marigold Winslow. An F1 driver flying through her first season. Rhett Abbott. An ex cowboy turned actor on a media circuit after his biggest role yet.

They weren't supposed to have any extended interaction. They weren't supposed to fall in love. They weren't supposed to make a mess of each others careers.

Rhett Abbott x OC

Chapter One

Rhett stared at her, blue eyes going wide. He watched as she pulled her orange hat from her head and raked her fingers through her hair. 

Maybe it would have looked a little less weird if he moved on, if he tried to talk to Lando instead. But he was fixed on her, unable to move on. 

Mari opened her mouth to say something more, but she was interrupted. A call of her name had her standing straight and striding away. She didn't so much as spare him a glance as she walked away from him. 

Rhett couldn't look away from her. She hiked up her race overalls, so they sat a little nicer over her hips and nodded along to what was being said to her. She looked so serious, but then something was said that had her laughing. Eyes creasing as she laughed to herself and held her elbows. 

A woman in an orange McLaren shirt approached the group. Her focus was on Lando as she knocked on her head twice. He repeated the gesture back to her and pushed away from the surface he was leaning against. 

“Sorry, folks,” said the woman. “But I’ve got to steal my drivers away. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you where you can watch the qualifying session.”

As they were escorted from the garage, Rhett turned his head. He tried to find her, searching for her black fireproofs in a sea of orange. But she was gone, disappeared to god knows where. 

Truthfully, Rhett knew nothing about the world of Formula One. He was there as an obligation, a PR stunt to try and promote the movie. Not that they needed to do any more promoting. The movie poster seemed to be on the side of every bus, on every billboard around the world. 

That morning, he didn’t know what McLaren was. He didn’t expect all of the bright orange, that was for sure. He pushed his hair back and placed the hat on his head, matching Lavinia and Miles. He looked back around the garage, at the engineers holding sheets around the tyres, at the bright orange cars. Fifty Six, the numbers black and bold, were printed on one car. Four was on the other. 

“So, what’s actually happening?” He asked Lavinia, stepping into the ‘Paddock Club’ above the garage. 

Lavinia had been to races before. Monaco, just the year before. With every movie, she was becoming more and more familiar with the sport, it seemed. “Qualifying!” She called over the noise in the garage. “Determines driver positions for tomorrow's race!” 

“Right.” Rhett placed his headset back over his ears. 

The drivers, with their orange race overalls zipped up to their necks and their helmets on their heads. Nothing gave away who was who, one with a black and neon helmet, the other with pink, blue and white, a little MW on the back. 

Neon helmet climbed into car number Nine. Pink helmet climbed into car Fifty-Six. 

***

“You got this, kid,” her engineer said, patting the top of her pink, blue and white helmet. 

She glanced up at him, only her eyes visible with her visor raised. You've got this, Mari. 

“Remember, you don't need to set the fastest time right away,” he reminded her. 

She rolled her eyes. “Got it,” she said through clenched teeth. 

Her engineer flipped down her visor as the tyre blankets were pulled from her car. As she was waved out of the garage, she switched into driver mode. No longer Mari, but MW56.

Daniel Ricciardo was in the car ahead as she approached the end of the pitlane. He was released onto the track and she followed. 

The first lap was always the same: give your tyres a chance to warm up, stay out of other people's way. Don't impede, don't give a tow, drive your heart out. 

When Mari approached the line, she put her foot down. One good lap time and you’ll be done for the session, she thought as she pushed her car around the corners, the other cars on track avoiding her. 

Back in the garage, Rhett watched the screens. It was all unfamiliar territory. Any kind of racing was. But Lavinia hit his arm. “Purple!” She cried and he looked at her with his eyebrows raised. “Purple!” She cried again, her own eyes widening. 

Suddenly, she grabbed Rhett’s arms. “Three purple sectors!” 

Holding her elbows to steady her, he watched as WIN moved to the top of the time board. 

“Vinia, what does that mean?” He asked.

“Three purple sectors, Rhett! She's done the fastest time so far!” 

Mari returned the car to the garage. She flipped up her visor as screens were placed around her. With her impressive time, she stayed in the garage. Her time was beaten, but not by much, not by many drivers. 

By the end of the first session, she was in sixth. 

Climbing out of the car, she spoke to her engineers with her back against the wall. Never leaving any side of her exposed. 

“Is that it?” Rhett asked Lavinia. “Race over?” 

Lavinia raised her eyebrows at him. “You really don't know anything, do you?” She asked and Rhett shook his head. “There's two more rounds of qualifying before the race tomorrow.” 

“Right,” Rhett nodded. “Got it.” He pushed up his sleeves, revealing the cattle skull tattoo on his forearm. 

The world of Formula One was entirely unfamiliar to him. The only sport he had time for growing up was Bull Riding. The one sports bar in Wabang never showed any sort of racing and he didn't have any free time to discover it. 

He was utterly lost when Q2 began. But he watched the track, waited for the orange cars to appear. Number four first, followed by number Fifty Six. 

This time, car Fifty-Six didn't just do one lap and return to the garage. On Mari's first lap, her wheel went off the track, leaving her lap falling a few seconds short of perfection. 

She went again, topping the times. As she returned to the garage, she was knocked from first. By the end of the session, she was in third. 

“One session left,” Vinia explained, her nail held between her teeth. She wouldn't bite down, wouldn't tear her nail off with her teeth, just hold it there. “Mari and Lando got through.” 

He listened as she explained the next qualifying session to him, how it would decide the order of the next ten drivers. “Pole could be anything from Verstappen to Leclerc, to Norris or Winslow.” 

“Pole? What's pole?” He asked. 

“Who goes first for the race tomorrow,” she explained. 

Rhett nodded and glanced up at the screens. NOR overtook WIN, with no time left for her to reclaim pole position. 

“That's P2, Mari. P2.” 

Whatever she said on the radio was bleeped. “Who got pole?” She asked, annoyance in her voice. 

“Lando.” 

Another bleep.

*** 

Rhett Anderson looked lost. Brows furrowed as he wandered around the car park. 

Taking pity on him was the right thing to do. 

Mari rolled down the window as she drove towards him. “You look lost,” she called out of the window as she pulled up the handbrake. 

Rhett scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said, drawing out the word. “I think Vinia left without me.”

At that, Mari raised her eyebrows. “You travelled together?” She asked, resting her arm out of the window. “Fell in love on a movie set. How romantic,” she muttered.

Really, Rhett didn’t mean to laugh. But it was absurd. Him and Lavinia? Lavinia Fox? She was beautiful and Rhett was aware of that. She just wasn’t his type. 

It wasn’t the kind of laugh that had his full body shaking. For that, Mari was grateful. His eyes didn’t close, his hands weren’t on his knees as he struggled to contain himself. No, Rhett’s laugh was polite. “It’s all PR, I swear,” he said. Vinia and I play characters who get close in the film so they paired us up for press.”

“And she abandoned you here,” Mari clarified. 

Almost like he was uncomfortable, Rhett began scratching the back of his neck again. “Looks like it,” He muttered. 

Mari unlocked the car doors. “Come on,” she said, leaning away from him to push open the passenger side door. “I’ll take you to your hotel,” she said.

As hard as he tried to hide it, Rhett’s face lit up. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, already walking around the front of the car to the passenger door. “I can get a taxi.”

“Just get in.”

At her insistence, Rhett climbed into the car. He gave her the name of his hotel and she drove out of the car park.

“I gotta know,” she began as she settled herself into Miami traffic. “You’ve got the coolest name for a cowboy ever, but you’re an actor.”

Rhett gave her a moment, a chance to finish her sentence. A chance to ask what she really wanted to ask. But she didn’t ask it. “Are y’ askin’ why I left cowboy life behind and became an actor?”

“Yes, exactly!” Mari cried like it was a relief for it to finally be said. “Why did you leave cowboy life behind to become an actor?”

He sucked in a breath, his hands resting on his thighs. The more Mari glanced at him, the more she understood the vision. The cowboy and his jeans and plaid shirt. A white, no, brown cowboy hat on his head and one of those big belt buckles tying it all together. 

“I left home,” he began. “If I didn’t get out then, I would’a died in that place.” He watched in the mirror as Mari’s eyes went wide. “I used to be a bull rider, you know?”

“What, like when the bulls try to throw you off?”

Rhett hummed as he nodded. “Best in Amelia County. But my family was a mess and I had to get away. So, I got in my truck and I left. Just took off.”

“Okay,” Mari said as she pulled out outside of his hotel. “So, how did you become an actor?”

Rhett looked towards the hotel. “That’s a story for another day,” he mused. 

Before he could thank her and climb out of the car, Mari opened her mouth. “Are you watching the race tomorrow?” She asked, hand resting on the gear stick.

Rhett ignored the way her thumb swiped over the top of the gear stick. “Not scheduled to,” he answered, his mouth dry. 

She held out her hand, tapped her fingers against her palm. “Phone, now,” she said. 

Fishing his phone from his pocket, Rhett swiped his finger across the screen and placed it in Mari’s hand. She typed quickly and passed the phone back to him. “Now you are,” she said. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Text me.”

Rhett finally climbed out of the car. With her number in his phone, he walked towards the hotel.

Before he stepped foot inside, Mari had driven off, leaving him there. She’s twenty-four, said the voice in the back of his head. Twenty-four and she had already accomplished so much. When he was twenty-four, he was bull riding and deep in his family's shit. 

Rhett didn't let himself think about her anymore as he stepped into the elevator. He didn't let her race through his mind as he wandered down the corridor, towards his room. 

But then, he say down on his bed and opened his phone. 

Her name, her phone number. A direct way to contact her. Rhett's mouth dried up. His fingers started moving across the screen before his brain had a chance to catch up. 

Hey

A simple message. A simple message that added nothing. What was she supposed to reply with, a hey back? What then, the most boring conversation in human history?

So, he kept typing. 

I didn't actually realise what happened today wasn't the race.

He put his phone down, toed off his shoes, and sat in his hotel room bed. God, he had been so far out of his comfort zone. But part of him didn't understand what his comfort zone was anymore. 

It used to be in the back of a Bull, holding on for dear life. Or it was in The Handsome Gambler, being congratulated for a good ride with pats on the shoulder, or with pitying smiles. 

His phone buzzed on the end of his bed. Reaching across, Rhett picked it up and switched it in. 

No, that comes tomorrow. 

It wasn't much to go off, but she was busy, Rhett justified. He had been there, too busy and uninterested to respond. His last messages to Maria showed that. 

Rhett looked at the name she had given herself in his phone. Mari 🏎. Not Marigold. Not goldie. Just Mari. He wanted to know more. 

Am I gonna watch you win tomorrow? 

His mouth dried up the second he hit ‘send’, the second ‘read’ appeared beneath it. It sounded far too much like flirting, even if he was just being polite, even if he did genuinely want to see her win. 

Let me get past turn one first, she had replied. Three little grey dots appeared beneath the message. Rhett held his breath, waiting. 

But another message appeared, not from Mari. It flashed across the top of his screen, just long enough for him to see who it was from. Mom. Mom. Another message he couldn't bring himself to answer. It would be a few days before he could read it, but then he would spend too much time reading through the messages his mom had sent him since he left. 

I'll pick you up in the morning. Gotta sleep, Mari said in her text. 

For a moment, Rhett debated what to send back. Whether to just like the message, to send back a thumbs up or type something out. A good night, maybe something else. He could have spent all night trying to find a message that felt right. 

Can't wait. Rhett held his breath, watched for the ‘read’ to appear beneath the message. But it didn't. 

I know this took a long time but i'm proud of it, i love it, i love them

[lookinghalfacorpse]

pandora's vault as a point-and-click horror game.

the objective is always at the top of your screen: "get the revival book." you can access a map that will take you to a few different places on the server, but once you click on the prison, the map icon only appears when you're near the entrance. when you get further in, you're trapped.

you can go to the arctic. philza is there, always peaceful and always sewing, sitting on a nice rocking chair. you can present items to him and he'll give you some clues about how to use it. you have a hunger bar, and if you're low, you can get food from him. technoblade is in the background, cooking. you can't interact with him.

you can stop by some other places too, like mcpuffys, and get a burger if you gather enough gold to buy it.

wandering the prison is confusing. it's a maze, and the more you click, the more the prison shifts. interact with too many items that make a lot of noise and you'll upset sam, and he'll kill you quickly. the warden walks in a pre-determined circle around the prison, and you can't interrupt him unless you have an item that interests him. following him is your best bet to navigate the prison, but he's hard to track. you have to learn his pattern.

take too long, and the prison shifts faster. doors close on their own.

you can summon technoblade once to save you from sam. he'll buy you time and de-aggro sam, but then he disappears, and you'll see him in the background with philza again when you tp there.

make too many mistakes, and you'll be transported to the main cell.

dream is there, starved and thin. he's curled into himself. hover your cursor over him and he'll kill you-- he doesn't want to be seen.

you have to be patient. keep your cursor on the wall. wait. eventually, dream says "...what do you want?" and a dialogue options shows up. he'll chat, but he won't give up the revival book. you click everywhere. you find no way out. new objective: "get out alive."

there are different items you can collect on your way to the cell that will affect your chances. you can gather food from chests you find, but you should preserve them and give some to dream to get on his good side. if you present shears, he'll kill you, no matter how good you're doing with him. you can collect status effects, and if you get "sir," he'll obey faster. but he's never particularly helpful.

the screen flashes into images of blood and gore across the cell.

try to kill dream, and sam stops you. you hear dream sigh.

really, the key is endurance. you have to make sure you have enough resources when you enter the cell to stay on dream's good side and survive until sam decides to let you out. a bit of experimentation.

or, if you make it to the main cell without sam putting you there, you can get out at will. but that's very difficult, and you won't achieve that your first run, but the status effects help. you'll gather more of those as you play. with "sir," sam gets less agitated with you.

get dream's favor, and you get a new objective: "get both of us out alive"

there's an item called "hope"-- a stuffed cat. if you present it to philza, he'll say "…someone else could use this more, mate. you shouldn't leave it here with me."

get back to the main cell.

What do you want to do with "Hope"?

>>Give to Dream Destroy Nothing

if you give it to him, big tears will roll down his face-- an animation you've never seen before. he'll give you a piece of his bloody shirt in exchange.

take the bloody shirt to philza, and technoblade will move from the background. there's an animation where he rushes out the door, and philza follows him. that's the good end. objective complete.

you can also keep with the first objective, if you want. you can go in every day, if you want. you can gather weapons and shears and experiment with how dream responds, if you want. perhaps, somewhere in the code, there's a way for you to get that book. maybe THAT'S your good end.

[eliciria]

Ahmmm..

Headcanons for Leona Kingscholar while being friends with benefits with Reader/yuu

Angst and fluff??

a/n : thanks so much for requesting! My first post that actually shows my writing! wow! Sorry if it's a bit more angsty than fluff, i naturally go there hehe. Hope you enjoy!

whisper to the trees... (ask box) : open

check my about me/request rules here

wc : 0.8k words

cws : suggestive but still fluff, miscommunication phase for like 2 seconds, swearing, kind of ooc leona, potentially happy ending? gn reader

song playing : this is how it feels by laufey ft. d4vd

Leona Kingscholar with a friends to benefit! Relationship

I'll be so real right now, he actually wouldn't do any type of PDA with you. Even if you lean to more of the affectionate and almost lover-type phase of your 'friendship', he won't even attempt to try and hold your hand out in the open.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want to, though.

It's just that his pride kind of gets in the way when he attempts to brush his fingers against yours a little longer.

Pride is also probably the main reason why both of you remain friends. You think he wants to remain friends, while he struggles to pour his true emotions to you.

It leads into a cycle of ghosting then love bombing. The lack of responsibility within the interactions of both of you, before finally missing you becomes toxic.

He misses your supposed first dates, before apologizing later in the night. After reconciling, you'd attempt to meet up with him again past your `nightly activities` , but he misses it again. The cycle repeats.

Frankly, you were a bit sick of it. But you gave him one last chance to talk it out with you after class. To figure it out together.

So when he notices you right after he flirts with a random student(for them to carry one of the group projects, that is). He can't help but regret to have confessed earlier.

You walk hastily, trying to avoid the awkward situation you just witnessed. You finally got your answer, but you wished it wasn't in this way.

You pretended that you weren't in denial, and your actions showed the opposite. You really were. Tears were fighting to come out, and your lips trembled in both sadness and anger.

You only snapped out of it when Leona grabbed your hand a bit too tightly, breaking you out of your train of thought.

"Are you seriously walking away?" He asked you. How funny. You scoff.

"After witnessing that? Any person would."

"You don't understand." Really? Is this how he is going to act? You roll your eyes, tears sliding.

"Just what do I not understand? That you pulled that shit on me? Just how long do you think I can handle this bullshit?" Your voice attempts to remain stable, but the broken sobs break your attempt to look like you didn't care. You were just friends, yes. But the nights where he had "loved" you felt too much now.

" Yuu--"

"What, huh? I'm tired, so tired of you treating me like a whore. Like someone with no dignity. You treat me like a friend, and I'm happy you do. But when we try to step forward, you act like I'm just a fucking bed warmer! Just what do you want from me Leona?! I can't keep up with this. I love you, but I'm tired. Please, just stop-"

You get interrupted with your face being buried in his chest. He was embracing you, with a bit too much gentleness. He was stroking your hair, muttering a "shhh...". You hit his chest again and again, your broken sobs muffled. It would happen all over again. You'd fall again, and he'd do nothing but let you.

He watched as you screamed at him. It was understandable, he had refused to show any sign that he had truly loved you. But when he picked up the noise of students' footsteps, he can't help but want this to be cut short.

Nobody can hear your cries, unless it was him.

He immediately embraced you, both in comfort, and to blur your cries.

As you hit him as he hugs you, he gripped you a bit tighter. The punches were weak, and he was too focused on stopping you from crying.

Students passed by the both of you, glaring at the scene. A couple hugging in a hallway? Out of all the places?

But they rushed on as they noticed his death stare. The second they had tried to look at your face, he was tempted to pounce at them right then or there. He fought the urge to actually commit the act; he simply moved himself so all they would see was his back, and not you.

After a few more minutes of silence, he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I do love you. I really fucking do. The only person I want to see is you. The only person I want to be with is you. I just...don't know how to tell you that. I acted incredibly douchey, so i apologize. For everything. For all the dates I missed. For the missed opportunities to say I love you. For not being able to give you what you deserve. I'll change. Fuck, I'll do anything. I need you, so please. Don't leave."

You remain still, before letting out a jagged breath. You held onto the side of his jacket, and he rests his hand on your neck, the other on your waist. You look at him.

"I won't."

a/n : the cycle continues! if you liked this, please like or repost it! again, my asks are open, and thanks for reading!

[torusbitch]

“You know you can call if you need me, tell me you ain’t never ever leaving, when I suck it I look in your eyes, you better fuck me like you mean it.” Never lose me.

content: geto suguru x reader. cunnilingus, mature content. minors do not interact.

Geto Suguru is a hungry man. With a raunchy mania and an insatiable yearning. Perhaps that’s why he was hungry lapping on your core with no intention of stopping.

His tongue administered sinful movements, fully making out with your pussy, barraging your clit with atrocious licks. Your secreting wetness coating everything from his nose and below. Tongue sinfully delving through your folds, he did not hold back his greed.

The bridge nose beautifully rubbing against your clit, tongue thrusting in and out the source of all your slick, hungrily swallowing and lapping at every ounce of wetness. He was feasting, letting out guttural groans from the back of his throat, making vibrations reverberate against your core. Back arched, tongue lolled out, words couldn’t describe the piercing pleasure ricocheting through every inch of your body.

Although you were the one on the receiving end of the pleasure, it seemed like the opposite. While he assaulted you with his mouth, he let out vehement grumbles, shuttered moans, sounds so..sinful. He was overwhelmed with pleasure just from tasting you.

Eyelids fluttering, you looked down on him, hair pulled back in a messy bun, side bang tucked behind his ears. You could see the utter yearning in his eyes, eyebrows knitted in concentration as he feasted on his favorite meal.

The sounds escaping your lips were incoherent, shameful, but he loved them. Relishing in the vocalization of the pleasure that he was giving you. You couldn’t even bother with feeling embarrassed, you were too astounded with the pure ecstasy.

“Oh.. mm- Suguru- fuckk..” You let out the most hedonistic noises, you felt like you were floating, stars littering your vision from how intense and gratifying the pleasure was. Your body squirmed, trying to slither out of his forceful hold, yet he didn’t relent. Not giving you the chance to close your legs.

It was all too overwhelming, tears of pleasure dampened your face. You cried and whined, the sensitivity making you too dazed to think straight. “I- I can’t.” You cry out, yet you couldn’t push his face away with your hands tied to the headboard. Suguru had no problem with restraining you, he knew if he wanted to eat you out like he pleased-with no holding back- you wouldn’t be able to take it.

So you’d try to push his face away, or squeeze your legs. That’s why your hands were tightly tied to the headboard, legs forced apart with small belts. You couldn’t push him away even if you tried.

You were a subject of his entertainment, he treated you how he deemed fit, yet he’d never overwhelm you. If you said your established safeword he’d immediately pull away, yet you couldn’t. Something about this was too thrilling for you to stop it.

He grunted, kissing and devilishly sucking on your clit. Spitting on your folds and sucking, he was a master at what he was doing. You felt the pleasure build up, suddenly feeling the need to pee. You writhed with a strangled whine. “S-stop, fuck.” You breathed out, biting your lips. “Sugu- mm! Need to go to the bathro-” you cried out, feeling the sensation build up.

Suguru pulled away to look at you, eyes half lidded. “You interrupted me”. He spoke, provoked. You shake your head. “I’m- I wa-” he cut you off with a click of his tongue, “S’called squirting baby.” He smirked, before diving back into you, jaw working hard as he painted an artwork on your pussy with his saliva.

You couldn’t take it, hips bucking and body writhing. He grunted. Slapping your thighs warningly, you don’t listen, too fucked-out to focus on his actions. All you could feel was his tongue fucking you. Liquid gushed out of you, squirting all over him. He didn’t pull back, savoring every drop.

He pulled back with a satisfied hum, licking a stripe down your folds. “What a messy brat.” He grinned, “it’s all for me.” His words were almost slurred, he didn’t let you reply, going back to his sinful actions. You were mortified, face blown red, yet he didn’t seem to mind, pressing a kiss to your clit, watching how your body jerked back in adoration. Soon after, you felt another load build up.

You whine breathily, crying out into the chilly air, a pillow settled under your back to give him better access. “m close.” You moan, gnawing on your lips. He just hummed in acknowledgement, sucking on your clit harshly, making you jolt.

“Oh fuck. Suguru.. I-” your hands tugged against the restrains, you needed to hold something, anything. You could feel your slick dampen your inner thighs, you would’ve been embarrassed, but not with him you weren’t. “Fffuck, fuck-I’m, oh shit.”

White hot pleasure blinds your vision, for a split second you swore you were levitating. The gratifying bliss almost out of this world. You cry out loudly, messy and incoherent noises filling the room. “Mm—oh fuck, shit, shit.” You hiss, feeling your body spasm, your thighs quiver, and your eyes roll into your head backwards.

You almost passed out, vision blurring. You huff and puff, trying to catch your irregular breathing. You were bought back to earth when you felt Suguru sucking up every bit of your orgasm, you hiss, crying loudly. He doesn’t stop, flattening his tongue against your clit and scooping up all the slick and come. It was too much. Too much.

He pulled back swiftly, shaking his head when you told him to stop. Looking at you with squinted eyes, he only bothered with one phrase “I’m not full yet.”

🐳 hello lovelies! guys why is writing geto so difficult, I’m so afraid to mischaracterize him cause he’s so complex, so I hope I wrote this we enough:,)

SEND REQUESTS

[enigmaticexplorer]

I trust him, and he trusts me

Summary: When Wolffe accidentally interrupts a private moment between you and Fox, dynamics change. And even though you’re mistrustful of most men and reserved with the intimacies of your life, you find yourself opening up to Wolffe. Much to Fox’s pleasure.

Pairings: Established Commander Fox x female!reader. Commander Fox x female!reader x Commander Wolffe.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI.

Word count: 7.6K

Read on AO3. 

A/N: Please know that hygiene is of the upmost importance to me. I may not explicitly state in my works that people wash their hands before any type of sexual contact, but they do. Everyone always washes their hands.

A Like without a Reblog will result in an automatic block.

A wet tongue flattened itself against your clit and you moaned. A spark of heat coiled tighter inside of you, the beginnings of what you hoped for so desperately.

The tongue circled your clit. Slow, tortuous circles that had your hips posturing, your cunt fluttering, your hands trembling.

At your sharp tug on his curls, Fox groaned. The vibration from the guttural noise stroked your cunt. Like a shock of lightning, pleasure rocked through your body and you gasped, arching off the bed. Heavy pants hissed between your teeth, your fingers clinging to Fox’s hair for steadiness.

Strong hands held you down, deft fingers massaging into your hips. The heat of his mouth enveloped your clit and Fox sucked. Your legs squeezed the breadth of his shoulders at the same moment your cunt clenched.

“Oh gods,” you moaned. Deep inside of you, pressure mounted. Sharpened. “Fox—”

The door to your bedroom swung open.

Wrenched from the pleasure addling your thoughts, you jerked up. Your breaths faltered and you stared wide-eyed at the intruder.

For in the doorway of your bedroom stood Commander Wolffe.

Nude body fully displayed, you wrapped a protective arm around your chest, trying to close your legs.

Except Fox still held your hips, his shoulders holding your thighs wide open, refusing to let you go. His upper lip curled and his narrowed eyes took in your sweaty body, took in what you assumed to be both surprise and unease on your face. He shifted himself, just enough to cover your body.

Face drawn in a scowl, Wolffe assessed the situation, his gaze lingering on yours for a long moment. The reality of the situation seemed to catch up to him and a muscle flexed in his jaw. Crossing his arms over his chest, he faced the door.

“Apologies,” he grumbled.

“That’s okay,” you said.

It really wasn’t. You had been so close. A month of letting Fox pursue his whole “oral sex is pleasurable, give me a chance to prove it” thing, trusting him with a vulnerability you usually ignored, led to this moment, and his stupid brother had to interrupt.

Reaching for the sheet, you pulled it atop your naked body, blinking at Fox. Your partner was still scowling, his umbrage palpable in the small bedroom.

“We need to speak,” Wolffe said. Tone sharp, slightly annoyed, you knew he wasn’t speaking to you.

Your interactions with the commander were minimal, a mere crossing of paths whenever you visited Fox at his office. And while Wolffe had always been cordial—not friendly, but certainly respectful—you were not comfortable with him seeing you in such a compromising position.

Hell, you weren’t comfortable with any person seeing you naked, much less with a man’s head between your legs.

Only Fox held your trust. And he held it with careful hands, protective of the trust you both had developed the past year. Protective of the trust you gave to no one. No one, except him.

The same muscle in Wolffe’s jaw twitched in Fox’s and the man gently closed your legs, his fingers massaging your calf. An uncharacteristic glare darkened his features and he patted your calf, pushing himself to his feet.

“Were you close?” he asked softly.

It took an embarrassingly long amount of time for you to realize he was talking to you. And when it registered, heat warmed your cheeks. His tone was casual, intrigued, even though his brother was standing in the room and could hear.

Shifting uncomfortably under the sheet, you nodded. Fox ran a hand through his hair, the curls at his temples silvered, and then released a bitter chuckle. He continued to stare at you, his jaw working. Shoulders stiffening, he offered you a tight smile.

“I’ll be right back. We can continue—”

“It’s okay.” At his flicker of disappointment, you grimaced, fiddling with the sheet. “I don’t think…”

A meaningful look passed between you both and Fox nodded in understanding. Humiliation sunk into your body. Cold and unwelcome, you dropped your gaze to your hands, swallowing against the tears itching the backs of your eyes.

You would not cry. You would not.

A light tap encouraged you to look up. Fox squeezed your calf again, his expression gentle yet firm. He didn’t need to vocalize his thoughts for you to know what he was thinking.

Everything is okay. We’re okay.

The phrase he told you whenever something like this happened. Whenever your body reacted in an unwanted way.

His smile softened and he squeezed your thigh before turning on his heel and shoving Wolffe in the back. The door swung shut but you didn’t miss the baleful glare Fox shot his brother.

The door clipped shut and Wolffe faced his vod. He was expecting Fox’s annoyance. He was not expecting his fury. And he sure as fuck hadn’t expected his vod to slam his hands against his chest and shove him backwards.

Wolffe stumbled and Fox swung. Blocking his vod’s fist, he sidestepped another punch. He shoved Fox away and backtracked a meter, creating distance.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Fox snarled.

Wolffe rolled his eyes. Today had been long enough without dealing with a dumbass vod in love. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you were fucking?”

“We were in her fucking bedroom.” Fox glanced back at the closed door and winced. Taking a step closer, he lowered his voice. “We’ve been working on that for a month and you just had to fucking interrupt.”

Wolffe frowned. “You’ve been working on what for a month?”

“She can’t orgasm without a vibrator.” Running a hand through his hair, Fox sighed. “We’ve been working on it.”

“You’re telling me that you can’t get your woman to orgasm?” Wolffe said slowly, plainly. “I knew you weren’t as good as me, but what the actual fuck, Fox’ika?”

“Fuck off,” Fox hissed. “She’s uncomfortable with oral and we’re taking this slowly. It took me a fucking year to get her to trust me. I’m not fucking this up.”

A hint of guilt stabbed at his conscious and Wolffe grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze travelled to the closed door. No wonder you looked petrified the moment he walked in. Awkward situation aside, if you were trying to overcome discomfort with Fox, his arrival probably set the two of you back a bit.

“She can orgasm, right?” He wasn’t sure why the question forced its way out, but it felt important enough to ask.

“ ‘Course she can. With a vibrator.” Fox shrugged. “She gets too in her head—she thinks she’s taking too long or it’s not enjoyable for me and then she can’t.” He kicked at the floor. “I thought it would be useful to find someone who could help. Touch her and kiss her—”

“—so she gets distracted.”

Nodding, Fox heaved a heavy sigh. “But she doesn’t trust anyone. She doesn’t want a random man being with her like that.”

“Then choose someone she knows,” Wolffe said. The solution was fucking simple, even for a di’kut like Fox. “Cody. Or Rex.”

“Thought about it.” Fox shot him an annoyed look, probably reading his former thought. “I introduced her to them but she was too shy. She’s already reserved, and when she knows that’s why I’m introducing her to those vode, she gets even more mistrustful.”

“That’s… tough.”

Wolffe glanced at the chrono on his wrist. He gave his vod thirty more seconds to mope and then he straightened. “All right. There was a jail break.”

79s was not your favorite place on Coruscant. There were few places that appealed to you, and a club overcrowded with drunk men, too loud music, and strobe lights that hurt your eyes did not meet criteria. However, the place was special to Fox. A safe place for him to be with his brothers outside of work, share a drink with them, and make sure they were doing okay.

While you held no love for 79s, you cared enough for Fox to appreciate the club for the sanctuary it provided.

Lifting your hand to his lips, Fox brushed a soft kiss to your knuckles and returned your intertwined hands to his side. A simple gesture he did often whenever he was engrossed in conversation, as he was now, listening to a group of younger men. New transfers to the Coruscant Guard. Men Fox prioritized to get to know tonight.

Men who blinked wide eyes—awed by his presence—while he talked.

Much of what Fox did in the midst of the war earned him a certain reputation amongst the men outside the Guard. A reputation based on disagreement with certain orders he oversaw and acted upon. And while the Guard was steadfast in their loyalty to Fox, there were many in the ranks who held little care for him, much less respected him.

He wore a façade—one that spoke of control and indifference—to hide the guilt you knew gnawed at him. The guilt that woke him in the middle of the night and left him sitting on the edge of your bed with his head in his hands and his breaths erratic.

Never reacting to the disgruntled comments and bitter remarks muttered about him, Fox hid his emotions well. Over the months, though, you saw through the cracks. You saw the guilt and shame; you saw the hurt he refused to vocalize.

To see him speaking with these new transfers, to see the respect in their faces and their eagerness to prove themselves to him, soothed the defensiveness you felt on his behalf.

Fox squeezed your hand. A silent apology for your lack of inclusion in the conversation. You told him, on multiple occasions, you didn’t mind listening to his conversations with his brothers. That was the purpose of your visits to 79s, and you liked seeing him with his men. Liked how the stiffness eased from his shoulders, how his smile softened, how the lines marring his forehead and eyes smoothed.

But he always felt guilty whenever the conversation lasted longer than a few minutes.

“All right, boys,” Fox said. He clapped a hand to the shoulder of the closest man. “Go grab another drink. And remember: don’t contribute or take away from the population tonight.”

Rolling your eyes while smiling at the silly advice he always used with new recruits, you waved to the men as they wandered away.

“I like them,” you said.

Fox grabbed your waist and pulled you into his chest. An amused grin tugged on his lips. “You always like them.”

“You liked them, too.” Resting your hands on his chest, you quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t try and pretend otherwise.”

“I did like them.” His head lowered, his eyes hooded as his lips brushed against yours. “But I want to spend tonight with you.”

A comfortable warmth enveloped your body and you closed your eyes, leaning into him, leaning into the soft, pliant heat of his mouth. Your tongue teased the seam of his lips. His brushed yours, friendly and flirtatious. Before he could deepen the kiss and you both lost yourselves in the heady embrace of the other, you pulled away. Voyeurism and exhibition may have been Fox’s proclivities, but you weren’t comfortable with either. No matter the subtleties of his current intent.

With a quiet chuckle, Fox trailed soft kisses along your jaw, to your ear, his hands pulling you even closer. Close enough his hardening cock nestled firmly against your stomach. Your fingers curled into his shirt and you tilted your head to the side, sighing quietly at the flick of his tongue to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said quietly.

“Mm-hmm.” You leaned back so you could meet his gaze. “Those men adore you.” Lifting a hand to his face, you smoothed his cheekbone, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. “I wish you could see yourself the way those men do. The way I do.”

Fox exhaled a strained breath and dropped his forehead to yours. The hands on your waist expanded across your back until he was holding you. Embracing you.

It was always shocking when Fox dropped the hardened exterior he wore around his subordinates and superiors. The exterior that kept you away from his advances for so many months. Only when he had had a moment like this—a moment of silent vulnerability when the hurt he hid so well showed itself and he embraced you tightly, his hands trembling—did you finally start to trust him.

“Thank you, mesh’la,” he whispered hoarsely.

With a brush of his lips to your cheek, Fox scanned the crowd and grimaced.

“Need to take a piss,” he said. The corner of his lip twitched and he winked. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Go.” Unwinding yourself from his grip, you nodded toward the closest bar. “Find me over there.”

With a squeeze to your shoulder, Fox disappeared into the crowd. You made your way to the bar, prepared to sit and rest your feet. Instead, a human male—non-clone—cut off your path. A bottle in his hand and a friendly expression on his face, he dipped his chin.

“Nice dress,” he said.

The comment was harmless, and his relaxed demeanor convinced you he wasn’t a bother, so you smiled your thanks.

He took a step closer. “Are you here alone?”

Before you could refute his advances, two large hands landed atop your shoulders. Instinctively, you stiffened, your jaw clenching. Though the hands were gentle, their pressure light, you didn’t know who they belonged to—

“She’s spoken for.”

The depth of the voice, similar to Fox’s yet underlined by a perpetual gruffness, alerted you to the hands’ owner. Breathing a small sigh of relief, you relaxed. And on your exhale, you realized how close Wolffe stood. Little space separated his chest from your back, and if you so chose, you could easily lean into him. Little effort and little craning. He was standing far too close.

The man in front of you took one look at Wolffe and turned on his heel.

“That was rude.” You faced the commander and his hands fell from your shoulders, crossing his chest. His expression was apathetic and yet you could have sworn there was a hint of accusation. Strong enough of a hint that you stiffened, feeling defensive. “I was going to tell him about Fox.” Lips pursing, you eyed him. “I would never cheat on him, if that’s your concern.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Wolffe studied your face for a moment too long. The assessment in his gaze was too reminiscent of the night he saw you with Fox and you internally winced. “I wanted to apologize, again, for barging in.”

Heat warmed your cheeks and you looked away. “I already said it was okay.”

In your periphery, Wolffe scoffed. “It was okay enough you won’t look me in the eye?”

You gave him a disapproving look. “Did you need something, Commander?”

“It’s Wolffe.” The corner of his lip twitched. “Use it.”

With that, Wolffe pushed his way through the crowd, and a second later, Fox reappeared.

“Your brother is an asshole,” you grumbled.

A knowing grin lit Fox’s face as he leaned against the bar’s counter. “I don’t need you to tell me which brother you’re speaking of.”

“I don’t think he likes me.” A small smile curved your mouth and you stepped closer, intertwining your fingers.

“Impossible,” Fox said quietly. And though his expression was teasing, a serious note underscored his tone. His knuckles knocked beneath your jaw and titled your head back. “He’s jealous of me.”

You laughed and his grin widened.

“Seriously, my mesh’la.” Fox lowered his face, his lips a mere hairsbreadth away. He smiled against your mouth. “He knows I’m one lucky bastard.”

To the outsider, his words could be taken as a mere throwaway. But you knew Fox. You knew the subtle shifts in his expressions and tone. You knew when he was teasing and when he was being serious. Vulnerable.

His simple comment reminded you why you were with him. Why you trusted him so much. Even though you were difficult to know, guarded and aloof, he never gave up on you.

A knock on your door told you something was wrong. A peek through the peephole and the sight of an armored Commander Wolffe confirmed your suspicion.

Unnerved, you cracked open your door. “I’m surprised you know how to knock.”

Wolffe stared at you for a long second. He blinked once. The lines around his mouth tightened. And then he released a chuff of a chuckle. A tiny, amused smile worked its way across his lips and he looked down the hall, wiping his hand across his mouth.

When his gaze returned to yours, his expression was serious. “Fox won’t make it tonight.”

Your thoughts stalled on something painful and scary. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Wolffe leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, eyes narrowed as he peered into your apartment. His nose wrinkled and you could have sworn the quirk of his eyebrow meant he liked the scent of your dinner. “There was a terrorist threat on some senators. He has to clean up the mess.”

“Oh.” So long as he was alive and safe, and his men were alive and safe, and no one else was dead, then you could relax. “Thank—”

“Are you baking bread?”

The utter shock in his question caught you off guard and you frowned. “I am.”

“Hmm.” His gaze slid back to yours.

Something about his question and then his blasé response rubbed you the wrong way. You weren’t a connoisseur of fine food. But you weren’t unskilled either. “Is there a problem?”

“It smells good.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Wolffe shrugged and your eyes narrowed. “Fox never complains about my cooking.”

“That’s not the compliment you think it is.” Straightening and with a glance at his chrono, Wolffe gave you a bored look. “If my vod asks, tell him I was overly apologetic on his behalf.”

Snorting, you started to close your door but you hesitated. Dinner was served for two, and if Fox couldn’t make it tonight, you could gift Wolffe a serving to take back to his office. On behalf of Fox’s perpetual concern for his brothers, but especially concern for the apathetic commander walking away.  

“Wolffe?” The commander halted, glancing over his shoulder. You hesitated for only three seconds. “Would you like some dinner? I have enough for two people. Well, one normal person and then a second person who eats a lot.”

Surprise furrowed Wolffe’s brows and he hesitated, scanning your face. You almost rolled your eyes at his evidential skepticism. In a slow, controlled movement, he turned back around and took a barely perceptible step in your direction. More seconds passed as he hesitated again. His head cocked to the side as he studied your face.

If he was going to be uptight about the food he ate, then you wouldn’t have bothered—

“All right.”

The commander strolled into your apartment and made his way to the kitchen, setting his helmet on one of your chairs and then washing his hands in your sink. Somewhat startled by his abrupt response yet also satisfied by your intent, you were retrieving a container large enough for both the curry and a few rolls when you caught sight of Wolffe dishing two bowls. You stilled, frowning.

Oblivious to your confusion, Wolffe set the bowls on the table and returned, placing a few rolls on a plate. As he took a seat, he shot you a hard look.

“What?”

You hid the container behind your back. “Nothing.”

There was a loss in translation, apparently. Wolffe thought you were inviting him to eat with you, and since he was already seated at your table, and he had been kind enough to prepare your dishes, you felt too awkward to ask him to leave.

Taking a seat, you glanced at him. Wolffe was watching you, his brows furrowed and that unsettling calculative look on his face. Beneath his somewhat intimidating gaze, you focused on your bowl, opting for a bite of the curry.

Silence filled the kitchen. Loud and probing. The scrapes of your forks and the occasional sound of sauce stirring elapsed.

Dinner with Fox was easy and convivial. A time for him to unwind after a long day and for you to enjoy his company outside of the confines of work and the pressure of trying to gain his brothers’ approval. With Wolffe, dinner was tense and uncomfortable. Your thoughts kept returning to the night he interrupted; the fact that he had seen you left you feeling uneasy and unsettled.

You wished Fox were here—his steadying hand on your shoulder, the security of his presence.

The silence grew louder, more awkward.

After a moment, you snuck a peek. Wolffe was chewing slowly, thoughtfully. He swallowed and, in a move you would have missed if you weren’t looking at him, he nodded his approval. You stifled your small smile with a piece of the fluffy roll.

Minutes spent in silent contemplation of the food were soon eclipsed by a narrow-eyed Wolffe.

“My vod likes you,” he said.

You blinked. “I know.”

Wolffe’s gaze caressed your face in a way that left you feeling peeled apart and easily readable. An itch pricked the back of your neck and you shifted uncomfortably. He cocked his head to the side. “You’re not going to hurt him.”

It wasn’t a question, but you weren’t entirely certain if it was a threat or a simple statement.

“Fox has been through a lot,” Wolffe continued, and you realized it was a threat. “I don’t want to see him fucked over.”

At his audacity, a course of anger stiffened your spine.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Wolffe.” You held his gaze, refusing to balk from the wariness. “What I feel for Fox is none of your business, and you have no right to accuse me of wanting to hurt him.”

“I didn’t accuse—”

“I trust him, and he trusts me. That is all you need to know.”

Wolffe grimaced and he sat back in his chair, rubbing the nape of his neck. He stared at you, hesitation tensing along his body. In a soft voice, he asked, “Do you trust me?”

Bewildered by the question, you didn’t answer. The tension in his shoulders stiffened and he clenched his jaw.

“I don’t know you,” you answered truthfully.

His mouth opened but he paused. His gaze dropped to his plate and he was silent for almost a minute. Eyes returning to yours, he cleared his throat. “What if I wanted you to?”

To trust you? To know you? Or both?

“I don’t trust easily,” you murmured.

“I know.”

Wolffe held your gaze, unwavering and assessing, and then he pushed himself to his feet. Taking advantage of your stunned state at his sudden movement, he added your bowl to the piles of dishes he was carrying and wandered to the kitchen sink. The splash of water and the subsequent scrubbing noises revived you from your momentary lapse. But when you tried to take over the dish washing, Wolffe gave you a bland look and shouldered you away. At your huff of indignation, the corners of his lips lifted.

Dishes washed, Wolffe grabbed his helmet and made his way to the door. One foot in the hallway, one still in your apartment, he looked you over.

“Think about it,” he said.

For the first three months in which you met Fox, the commander was determined in his intent to know you. He went out of his way in your shared office building to greet you each morning and evening. A rap of his knuckles on your door when you were engrossed in work; a quick conversation if you weren’t too busy. The man was persistent and, overtime, he wore down your defenses.

A lunch he ordered into the office.

A walk in the evening back to your apartment with no intention otherwise.

An invite to drinks that you actually attended. And enjoyed.

A private dinner with lingering looks and shared smiles.

Months of intentional time together led to a kiss outside your apartment door. A few nights later you let him inside. The next night you showered together.

Mouths seeking sensitive spots on your bodies; hands gripping a heavy, hardened cock; fingers stroking a swollen, aching clit. Fox came first, as you intended, and, to your frustrated surprise, he became single-mindedly focused on providing you a similar release. So much intense focus concentrated solely on you.

An awkward conversation ensued but Fox was undeterred. It was the moment you realized you had possibly fucked up. Fox would not give up. It was terrifying, yet also reassuring.

Nights spent in your bed, hands on skin, different vibrators tested and used. Sheets entangled around your sweaty bodies as he sunk into the heat of your cunt, as he rocked his hips against yours, as he hit a depth that had your eyes rolling and fingers clinging to the headboard.

Fox was patient and understanding, and he was so fucking persistent. You didn’t understand why it mattered so much to him. His cock in your cunt—his mouth on your breasts and his hands bruising your hips—was enough. But soon you found his head between your legs, the tip of his tongue on your labia, the flattened length of his tongue against your clit.

Persistence, apparently, was an inherited trait.

Wolffe entered your life and refused to leave. Dinners with Fox became dinners with both men. Evenings at a museum or the theater or the local greenhouse, or even a visit to 79s, included Wolffe. To your immense irritation, you couldn’t fault the commander per your usually successful attempts to push a man away.

He was respectful of your private time with Fox, he was understanding of your space, and he was consistent and intentional in spending time with you.

The commander whom you knew preferred silence went out of his way to talk with you. Probing questions you couldn’t entirely avoid. Prolonged discussions when you accidentally let something slip. Moments when you revealed too much about yourself which led to private conversations between you and both men. Intimate conversations.

To your utter confusion, Fox didn’t seem to mind Wolffe. Rather, he encouraged Wolffe’s presence.

Even though the persistent presence of two men of such single-minded intensity would typically scare you away, things were different with Fox and Wolffe.

“Fox,” you chastised. A low sound hummed in the back of his throat and he pressed you harder against the wall of his office, rolling his hardened cock into your stomach. “It’s late. I should go.”

Late was a gross underestimation. It was midnight and he shouldn’t be working but you knew your Fox. Driven and determined, he completed his work on time. No matter the inappropriateness of the hour.

“Don’t want you to leave,” Fox murmured.

He kissed you slowly, deeply, and you sighed, giving in to him. His lips trailed beneath your jaw and you lifted your head, your eyelids fluttering.

“Then come home with me,” you said.

“I have work I need to finish—”

“I know, but you need a break—”

“I want to—”

The door to his office swished open.

It was like a replay of that night so many months ago, except this time you were fully clothed. And this time Wolffe didn’t turn around and apologize. Hesitating for a brief second, he strolled to Fox’s desk and sat on the edge. A tiny smirk curved his mouth.

“Do continue,” he drawled. “I don’t mind a show.”

Fox stopped thrusting his hips into your stomach but he didn’t move away. His eyes were hooded, a small smile on his face as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“You wanna go home?” he asked. With a reserved smile, you nodded. “Then let’s go home.”

Wolffe joined the both of you on your way to your apartment. His presence wasn’t abnormal. If anything, it was familiar.

So you didn’t question it when he followed you into your bedroom, and you didn’t question it when Fox held your face and kissed you while Wolffe kissed your neck, and you didn’t question it when Fox started unbuttoning your loose shirt while Wolffe stood at your back, his hands running along your skin as he held onto your waist. His lips tickled the top of your ear and he tightened his hold on you.

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he asked.

A shiver slid down your spine at the hoarse rasp of his voice. Your gaze locked onto Fox’s and he gave you a reassuring smile, his fingers still working the buttons on your shirt.

The answer was reflexive. “Yes.”

Clothes fell; fingers traced the contours of two bodies honed by war; lips and tongues skimmed your neck, collarbone, nipples. So much heat and attention embraced you three—warm skin pressed against yours, a hand between your legs, hands on your ass, teeth scraping your throat, bite marks sucked into your thighs.

Skin sweaty beneath your palms; muscles flexing at the light touch of your fingers; heads thrown back and throats bobbing. So much touching and masculine groans of praise—a lick along stomachs, squeezes to muscular biceps, bites to necks that unleased their waning restraint.

You found yourself in your bed. Legs thrown over Fox’s shoulders. A hand in his hair, the other curled into Wolffe’s muscular thigh.

Warmth lazed through your mind, a fog of pleasure and comfort dotting your thoughts like cotton balls.

Fox sucked on your labia and you jerked. Shocks of pleasure arced along your legs, fluttered in your cunt. The intense heat of a mouth sucked on the swell of your breast. Tingles tightened your nipples, the sensation arousing. Sloppy and unhurried, Wolffe licked a slow circle around your nipple, his hand on your throat, his thumb stroking the side of your neck.

“Gods,” you moaned.

“No gods here,” Wolffe said. His darkened gaze met yours and he smirked, nipping at your nipple and tugging it. “Just me and Fox.”

Your hips flexed and Fox chuckled against your cunt, strong hands pinning you to your bed. From between your legs, he raised his head. A drunken expression softened his features and he grinned lazily at you.

“Will you pray to us, mesh’la?” Fox teased.

His thumbs opened your labia and, eyes still on yours, he dragged the wet head of his tongue through your sensitized core. Spasms of pleasure erupted across your body and you moaned, closing your eyes.

Your attention was divided between the painful throb between your legs and the heavy tightness in your breasts. Your blood simmered from such unwavering attention, from the half-naked men running their hands down your body, licking and tasting the most intimate parts of you.

Pressure built deep inside of you, a wicked heat coiling tighter and tighter. Your stomach clenched. Your cunt pulsated.

Wolffe tugged on your opposite nipple, his large hand enveloping your breast and squeezing. The hand on your neck locked beneath your jaw, his thumb still stroking softly.

Skin afire, you gripped his thigh harder.

It was so much stimulation. Hot, wet mouths were in too many places. Calloused hands were massaging your hips, squeezing your breast harder, stroking your jawline.

Every nerve in your body was pulled taut. You were on an edge, teetering somewhere between painful bliss and intoxicating release.

“How does she taste, Fox’ika?” Wolffe asked.

Curiosity and dark hunger laced the rasp in his voice as he stared between your legs. He palmed himself—the bulge of his cock straining against the confines of his boxer briefs—and the sight alone made it harder to breathe.

“Good,” Fox groaned. He gripped your thighs and spread them open farther, leaning back so Wolffe could see your swollen clit and labia, see the arousal glistening your skin. “Look at her, Wolf’ika.”

Your heart raced in your chest, your cunt clenching at the lust-addled gazes of the two men. Wolffe released his hold on your neck and circled two fingers around your cunt. Your breath hitched and your hips arched for him, silently begging him to fill you. Instead, he pulled back and, eyes on yours, he tasted his fingers.

Eyelids fluttering, a low rumble of approval reverberated in his chest and Wolffe leaned forward, kissing you. You pulled him closer, clung to him, lost yourself to the feel of his lips. His tongue teased yours and he cupped your jaw, angling your face for himself so he could deepen the kiss. The domination in the kiss—the unrestrained passion in Wolffe—stole your thoughts until you were panting, crying out into his mouth at a sharp jolt of pleasure.

Fox circled his tongue around your cunt and then flattened it to your clit. He mouthed on your swollen nerve, sucked on it fervently.

The heat inside of you coalesced, mounted as your stomach tightened. Wound up into something so viciously tight that your eyes closed, your body tensing into hard lines. Fox pressed a thumb to your clit and you froze.

Relief swept through you and the tension cracked. Like ice breaking, you shattered.

Waves of ecstasy flowed through your body and a honeyed stream of bliss settled into your muscles, trickled into your bones. Distantly, you were aware of yourself moaning into Wolffe’s mouth, aware of Fox lifting your hips and lapping at your cunt.

Time elapsed in a daze of stroking touches and indolent kisses.

Warms hands clung to your hips. Pliant lips moved against yours. Boneless legs trembled as you straddled Fox. The wetness between your legs slickened his cock, and the possessive look on his face heated your blood.

The tip of his cock stretched your cunt. Head tilted back, tendons strained in his neck and he moaned. A hand between your legs teased your aching clit.

Slow increments, rocking and grinding, the stretch of his cock filled you. The fullness was prominent and the depth familiar. Your breath stuttered as your hips met his; air hissed between his teeth as his cock throbbed. Ardent fondness softened his expression as he held your gaze, his adoration palpable.

The beat of his heart thumped beneath your palm; muscles bunched in his stomach; a whimper fell from his lips; the wet heat of his mouth enveloped your nipple; pleasure spiked hot and blinding deep inside you.

Calloused palms skimmed your back and a hard cock rubbed against your ass. Murmured praises interspersed slow, lazy kisses down your spine.

Desperate brown eyes held your gaze as fingers grasped the nape of your neck and held you close. Held you closer until low pants groaned against your neck. Heat emanated from the two bodies entrapping you, the hands on your back and the mouth on your shoulder, the lips to your spine and the fingers grazing your clit.

Pressure coiled, harsh and brilliant, and you cried out, falling into the hands you trusted above all else. Waves of pleasure rolled from the base of your spine and outwards, and you moaned into Fox’s shoulder, losing yourself to the moment.  

“Fuck,” Fox groaned, kissing your temple, brushing strands of hair from your face. A moment later and he was clinging to your hips, pounding up into you while he released himself. His chest heaved beneath yours and his hands shook slightly on your thighs, raspy praises fell from his lips.

Time, once again, elapsed, and, satiated and limp, you curled into Fox’s chest. A moment of reprieve, you basked in the two men surrounding you, the warmth of their skin, the gentle strokes of hands down your thighs.

From behind you, Wolffe started to chuckle, his hand stroking slow circles along your thigh. His own cock throbbed against your ass. “That was fast, huh, Fox’ika?”

The taunt earned a hard glare from Fox and, deciding it was a question of your loyalty, you pulled away from him. Whatever he saw in your face must have alerted him to your intention for he gave you a mischievous wink. Without preamble, you reached behind, slipped your hand into Wolffe’s boxer briefs, and squeezed his cock. Hard.

“Fuck!” Wolffe jerked, his fingers tightening around your thigh.

Grinning at a now amused Fox, you gripped Wolffe tighter, roughly working your palm along his length. He was thick, like Fox, and he sat heavy in your palm, hardened beneath silky skin.

“Mesh’la—” Wolffe warned.

His pants were hoarse, strained against your ear and you gently pinched the head of his cock, twisting it in your palm. Wolffe groaned low, agonized, and he gripped your thigh harder. Another squeeze and twist of your palm and then he was moaning, hips jerking erratically while hot, thick ropes of cum streamed between your fingers.

“That was fast, huh?” you teased.

Still panting, Wolffe rested his forehead into the crook of your neck. “Fuck.”

Chuckling, Fox guided your hand to his boxer briefs, encouraging your fingers to stroke his cock.

“My turn,” he murmured.

Squeezing his cock, you smiled. “I want you inside me.”

“Whatever—fuck—whatever you want, my mesh’la,” he groaned. With a soft kiss to your mouth, he pushed himself up. “Take a pill, Wolf’ika. We have work to do.”

Laughter burst forth from your chest and you watched Wolffe punch Fox. The latter threw a smarmy grin at his brother and then shucked off his boxer briefs, hauling you toward him. He gave you a fond smile, something small and only for you, and you smiled back, lowering yourself to your elbows as he skimmed a hand down your spine.

“Bet I can make her come faster,” Fox taunted.

Wolffe rolled his eyes, stroking his already hardening cock. He met your gaze and a darkly amused smirk spread across his face. He pressed a button on his chrono. “Doubt it.”

1 Year Later

“Good morning, my mesh’la,” Wolffe rasped.

The grumble of his voice so early in the morning made your toes curl. You smiled, clinging to the arm thrown over your body. Warm lips pressed against your throat and your eyes closed. An indolent swipe of his tongue caressed your collarbone, the thickness of his tongue pressing against your skin as he kissed your collarbone more fully.

Warmth eased down your spine and you sighed. Wolffe in the morning was so carefree. Alert yet attentive. His chest nestled against your back, a large hand caressing your lower stomach before skimming your ribs to grip your breast. The coarseness of his palm hardened your nipple and you breathed a quiet moan. Wolffe chuckled, the sound low and hoarse, as he trailed his lips beneath your jaw.

“You are so easy to please in the morning,” he murmured, smiling against your neck. His other hand entangled in your hair and he angled your head back, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “May I fuck you, mesh’la?”

Your eyelids fluttered open and you reached a hand behind, resting it on the muscular thigh entrapping you in his embrace. Across from you, curled on his side, slept Fox. Deep asleep, his features were relaxed. Unworried and at peace. Shafts of sunlight danced through his hair and the silver curls at his temples winked. You would have to be quiet, for him.

“You have to be slow,” you said quietly.

“I know.” Wolffe squeezed your breast, massaging it while he sucked on your throat. A low hum of pleasure sounded in his chest. “You know I know that.”

His thigh moved between your legs and he leaned forward, forcing your upper body to curve. The blunted head of his cock pressed against your cunt and he pushed forward. Fingers curling into the sheets, you gritted your teeth to muffle your gasp. The coolness of the lube allowed him easier access, allowed him to push inside of you without restraint. Still, the girth of his cock—the pressure in the morning—was so much. Too much.

“Wolffe,” you whispered.

“ ‘M sorry.”

He stilled, barely inside, and skimmed his lips along your shoulder. The thumb on your breast slowly circled your nipple. Wet kisses tickled your neck as he worked his way up your throat to your mouth. A teasing swipe of your tongue against his had him groaning into your mouth and his hips jerked.

A breathy moan escaped and you raised your arm behind your head, reaching for his hair. He thrust again, his cock easing in further, and you panted for air. Soft lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear and Wolffe nipped at your earlobe.

“How are you doing, mesh’la?”

He thrusted forward and this time his hand abandoned your breast, sliding between your legs to stroke your clit. White-hot pleasure spiked in your belly and your clit throbbed.

“Good,” you whispered.

Wolffe took the single word as invitation and pushed in until his hips rested snuggly against your ass. Your cunt fluttered around him—around the splitting fullness. You bit your pillow, trying to quiet your whimpers. Fox rustled but his eyes remained closed. Based on the low groan coming from the man behind you, the sound pained and starved, you wouldn’t have to worry about yourself waking Fox.

Pace slow, Wolffe skimmed his hand along your stomach, tracing light, leisure circles on the swells of your breasts, the sensitive areas on your ribs, grazing your clit every few minutes to arouse the aching nerve. The sound of his cock slipping in and out of your cunt—your arousal slickening him as you matched his rhythm—joined your stifled moans.

He sucked on your neck, hoarse groans vibrating your skin. Teeth scraped possessive marks, one hand stroked your clit again and you jerked at such a sensually light touch; the other hand massaged your scalp, gently tugging on your hair until your eyes were rolling in the back of your head.

Biting your pillow harder, you whimpered. The sound snapped something in Wolffe and he pushed you onto your stomach, flattening his chest to your back. His next thrust was harder, rougher. Your cunt convulsed around him and he hissed.

So much for not waking Fox.

“Fuck—” Wolffe panted in your ear, the noise so fucking pained and desperate. “C-Can’t get enough of you, mesh’la—”

Harsh groans filled your ear as Wolffe slammed into you. Faster. Harder.

He was unrestrained. Hands bruising your hips. Tongue licking your neck. His groans whimpering.

“Ah, fuck.”

He rammed into you harder, fucking slammed his cock deep inside of you. Over and over until you were gasping and moaning for more. Your muscles grew taut, your stomach coiled tight, heat licked at the base of your spine.

“Can’t stop—” Wolffe moaned louder and his fingers tightened in your hair. “Sorry—”

The sound of his moans, the utter desperation in his thrusts overwhelmed your senses. Your muscles bunched, your cunt clamped around his cock, and you cried into your pillow, back arching as a volatile heat snaked up your spine. Jerky thrusts from behind and Wolffe’s slurred praises in your ear plummeted you into a moment of pure, euphoric release.

A pained groan fell from his chest and Wolffe slammed into you a final time, his cock throbbing as he came. His thrusts slowed and he buried himself in your cunt, stilling above you.

Limp and slightly dazed, you were aware of his weight crushing your body. Aware of his heavy breaths warming your ear, of his cock still inside you, of the cum trickling between your legs and making a mess of the bedsheets.

With a deep sigh, Wolffe eased his cock from your cunt and rolled onto his side. Sharing in a satiated smile with the man whose hair was properly tussled, you turned your head to the other man in the bed.

Rich brown eyes blinked sleepily at you and a thumb stroked your cheek. Fox grinned, lowering his face to yours, giving you a long, slow kiss. You angled your head for him, sighing into his mouth. His hands urged you forward and you found yourself lying atop him, his arms a protective barrier around you.

“Morning, my mesh’la.” His voice was hoarse and his words slurred while his hands squeezed your thighs.

“Morning, love,” you said quietly, kissing the tender spot beneath his jaw.

A quiet groan escaped his mouth and his chin tilted to the ceiling, his eyes closing. His hands stroked your spine, fingers playing with a few strands of your hair. He leaned back against the headboard, his smile content, the streams of sunlight highlighting the wearied lines on his face and the circles beneath his eyes.

Early morning Fox was always so soft, his touches unrushed and lackadaisical as he started to wake. Unlike Wolffe, who was immediately alert the moment he woke, Fox needed time. In half an hour, though, and with Wolffe already making a mess of the bed, he would take a long time with you. Partially because he liked watching you unwind beneath him, and partially because he liked to spite Wolffe by keeping you to himself.

Beside you both, Wolffe lounged on the bed, the sunlight dancing along the dark planes of his naked body. A relaxed smile curved his face and he watched you through half-lidded eyes, his fingers playing with yours.

A year together had taught you one important thing: You could trust these men.

And if you had accidentally discovered a simple, silver ring hidden in Fox’s socks, and a matching band in Wolffe’s trousers’ pocket…

Well, you could trust them both with that, too.